#Project expense monitoring

[asestimationsconsultants]

Cost Estimating Service vs. Cost Budgeting Service | Key Differences Explained.

Introduction

In project management and financial planning, two critical concepts—cost estimating service and cost budgeting service—are often used interchangeably. However, they serve distinct purposes in ensuring a project's financial success. Cost estimating involves predicting the total costs required for a project, while cost budgeting focuses on allocating and managing those estimated costs throughout the project lifecycle. Understanding the differences between these two processes is essential for effective financial planning and risk management. This article explores their definitions, key differences, and their role in successful project execution.

What Is Cost Estimating?

Cost estimating is the process of predicting the total expenditure for a project before work begins. It involves analyzing various factors, including labor, materials, equipment, and indirect costs. The primary objective of cost estimating is to develop a realistic projection of expenses, which helps in decision-making and project feasibility assessment.

Key Aspects of Cost Estimating:

Data-Driven Analysis: Uses historical data, market research, and expert judgment to determine cost predictions.

Multiple Estimation Methods: Includes techniques such as parametric, bottom-up, and three-point estimating.

Accuracy Levels: Ranges from rough order of magnitude (ROM) estimates in early planning to detailed estimates in later project phases.

Risk Identification: Identifies potential cost risks and integrates contingency plans to address uncertainties.

Cost estimating is a critical step in determining whether a project is financially viable and helps stakeholders make informed investment decisions.

What Is Cost Budgeting?

Cost budgeting, on the other hand, involves allocating the estimated costs across different project phases and monitoring spending to ensure financial control. It transforms the cost estimate into a structured financial plan, ensuring that funds are available when needed.

Key Aspects of Cost Budgeting:

Fund Allocation: Distributes the estimated costs into project phases, tasks, and departments.

Cash Flow Management: Ensures adequate funds are available at each stage of the project.

Cost Baseline Development: Establishes a benchmark for measuring actual spending against planned costs.

Ongoing Monitoring and Adjustments: Tracks project expenses and makes necessary adjustments to prevent cost overruns.

Cost budgeting ensures that financial resources are efficiently utilized and that the project remains financially sustainable.

Key Differences Between Cost Estimating and Cost Budgeting

AspectCost EstimatingCost BudgetingDefinitionPredicts the total expected cost of a projectAllocates estimated costs across the project timelinePurposeDetermines financial feasibilityEnsures cost control and resource managementTimingConducted before project approvalImplemented after estimates are finalizedScopeCovers labor, materials, equipment, and contingenciesFocuses on fund distribution and expenditure trackingOutcomeProvides an estimated project costDevelops a financial plan for project execution

How Cost Estimating and Cost Budgeting Work Together

Cost estimating and cost budgeting are interconnected processes that contribute to successful project execution. The cost estimate serves as the foundation for creating a realistic budget. Once the budget is set, it guides financial decisions and resource allocations throughout the project.

Here’s how they complement each other:

Estimating Costs First: Project managers determine the projected costs using estimation techniques.

Creating a Budget: The estimated costs are structured into a financial plan with designated allocations.

Tracking Expenses: Budgeting ensures that actual expenses align with estimated projections.

Adjusting as Needed: Cost control measures help address deviations and optimize spending.

By integrating both processes, organizations can improve financial accuracy, reduce risks, and ensure project success.

Importance of Understanding the Difference

Misinterpreting cost estimating as cost budgeting can lead to financial mismanagement and project inefficiencies. Recognizing their differences helps in:

Preventing Budget Shortfalls: Ensures sufficient funds are available for each phase of the project.

Enhancing Decision-Making: Helps stakeholders make informed financial and resource allocation decisions.

Minimizing Risks: Identifies potential cost overruns and incorporates contingency plans.

Improving Project Efficiency: Enables better planning, execution, and financial control.

Conclusion

While cost estimating and cost budgeting are closely related, they serve distinct roles in financial planning. Cost estimating focuses on forecasting total project expenses, whereas cost budgeting ensures those costs are effectively distributed and managed. Understanding and applying both processes correctly is crucial for successful project execution, financial stability, and risk mitigation. Organizations that master these concepts can optimize their financial strategies and achieve project success with greater confidence.

As industries continue to evolve, leveraging cost estimation and budgeting best practices will remain essential for maintaining financial discipline and operational efficiency.

[reasonsforhope]

"In Sacramento, California, an estimated 6,615 people are experiencing homelessness, a number that — while still heartbreakingly high — has declined 29% since 2023, according to the latest Point In Time counts. 

But a new project, which has been in the works since 2022, might bring that number down even lower.

A new 13-acre property purchased by Sacramento County will soon be home to the Watt Service Center and Safe Stay. 

The county broke ground on the mixed-use service center this week, which will provide shelter, emergency respite, safe parking, health services, and more to community members who are unsheltered — meaning they don’t have a place to safely sleep at night.

“We wanted to do something that is not only larger, but a large-scale campus to provide more than just the shelter,” Janna Haynes, of the county’s Department of Homeless Services and Housing, told KCRA3 News.

The Watt Service Center will have amenities to help meet the needs of anyone staying there, including bathrooms, showers, laundry, and food, as well as mental health, treatment, and employment services.

“You can also meet with your case manager, get behavior health services, look for a job, get rehousing services, a place for your dog,” Jaynes added. “It’s really everything you need, not only for your day-to-day life, but to hopefully end your homelessness.”

While the center is a costly offering, the city explained that it is ultimately less expensive than allowing the homelessness crisis to go unmitigated.

The land was purchased for $22 million and will cost an estimated $42 million to construct the center. According to ABC10 News it will be mostly funded by the American Rescue Plan Act.

While the center will have the capacity to host 225 beds in Safe Stay cabins, 50-person capacity in Safe Parking, and 75-person capacity for emergency/weather respite beds, it will serve countless others outside of the 350 total people it can house at any given time.

According to a press release from the county, “conservative estimates” have found that over the course of 15 years, the center will serve 18,000 people.

In 2017, the city found that the average cost for an “unsheltered individual” was about $45,000 a year, considering public systems like county jail, shelters, behavioral health, and more.

With the projected impact of the shelter, that cost lowers to less than $3,600 per person.

“If you break down the funding, it’s actually not that expensive,” Rich Desmond, county supervisor for District 3, told ABC10.

“It’s a heck of a lot cheaper than letting someone stay out in the community, unsheltered where they are extremely expensive in terms of the emergency response from fire, our emergency rooms, our law enforcement response.”

Providing what the county calls “wraparound services” not only brings down costs but truly helps people meet their basic needs.

“The really great thing about this site in particular, that we don't have at any other shelters, is the sheer size and the ability to really wrap everything people need,” Emily Halcon, director of the Department of Homeless Services and Housing with Sacramento County, told ABC10. 

One notable feature is the center’s Safe Parking spaces, which are the first of their kind in the city. People living in their cars will now have a safe place to park, monitored by security.

“We know a lot of people who are unsheltered actually are living out of their cars,” Desmond said, “maybe a family that’s barely hanging on but they still need that vital transportation to get their kids to school or get to work.”

This support is especially helpful for those who are newly homeless, Halcon added, building on the amenities provided in the county’s two other “safe stay” facilities. 

While Sacramento County just broke ground on the Watt Service Center, officials say they hope to begin moving people into the facility in January 2026.

“Our staff is putting in extra time and attention to this campus, ensuring that it houses everything we need to end homelessness for people,” Desmond said in a statement.

Once it’s up and running, Jaynes told KCRA3, they plan to onboard formerly unhoused community members as part of the staff at the facility.

“When you have a conversation with someone who understands where you’ve been, and you see the success they’re having now,” Jaynes said, “it really does give you hope something could be different.”

-via GoodGoodGood, January 24, 2025

[whats-in-a-sentence]

He said the group's long-term financing would depend on its achieving performance forecasts:

We need time to review the needs of the Northern Star, to agree on the required financing and to obtain approval from our respective internal authorities, including, in the case of Westpac, the approval of the board. In the longer term . . . banks could be expected to maintain support if management's performance were in accordance with projections. That presumes full exchange of information, constant monitoring of revenue and expenses, and continued confidence in management.

"Westpac: The Bank That Broke the Bank" - Edna Carew

[trackolap]

Boosting Efficiency and Productivity: How to Choose the Best Employee Monitoring Software

Introduction:

The Rise of Employee Monitoring Software:

As remote work becomes more prevalent, the need for tools that facilitate efficient collaboration and ensure productivity has grown. Employee monitoring software has emerged as a solution to address these challenges. By tracking work activities, these tools offer insights into how employees spend their time, identify bottlenecks, and help in optimizing workflows. While some may argue that employee monitoring infringes on privacy, when implemented correctly, it can foster a culture of accountability and transparency, benefiting both employees and employers.

Benefits of Employee Monitoring Software:

Time Tracking:

Employee monitoring software provides accurate insights into how employees spend their work hours. This feature allows organizations to identify time-wasting activities and optimize workflows to enhance overall productivity.

Task Management:

Efficient task management software is critical for achieving organizational goals. Employee monitoring software often includes task tracking and management features, helping teams stay organized and focused on their objectives.

Performance Evaluation:

Monitoring software allows employers to assess individual and team performance based on objective data. This facilitates fair and transparent performance evaluations, leading to improved employee accountability and motivation.

Remote Work Support:

With the rise of remote work monitoring software enables employers to track employee activities irrespective of their physical location. This ensures that remote teams remain productive and connected.

Security and Compliance:

Many monitoring tools come equipped with security features to protect sensitive company data. Additionally, they assist in ensuring that employees comply with company policies and industry regulations.

Key Features to Consider:

User-Friendly Interface:

Opt for software with an intuitive and user-friendly interface. This ensures that employees can easily navigate the platform without feeling overwhelmed, fostering better adoption and compliance.

Customization Options:

Every organization has unique needs. Look for monitoring software that allows customization to tailor the monitoring parameters to align with your company’s specific requirements.

Real-Time Monitoring:

The ability to monitor activities in real-time is crucial for identifying and addressing issues promptly. Real-time monitoring ensures that productivity bottlenecks are detected and resolved in a timely manner.

Data Security and Privacy Compliance:

Prioritize software that places a strong emphasis on data security and complies with privacy regulations. This is especially important as organizations handle sensitive employee information.

Integration Capabilities:

Choose monitoring software that integrates seamlessly with your existing tools and software stack. This ensures a smooth transition and enhances overall efficiency.

Reporting and Analytics:

Comprehensive reporting and analytics features provide valuable insights into employee performance and overall productivity. This data-driven approach allows organizations to make informed decisions for continuous improvement.

Scalability:

Select a monitoring solution that can scale with your organization’s growth. This ensures that the software remains effective and relevant as your company expands.

Choosing the Best Employee Monitoring Software:

Define Your Objectives:

Clearly outline your organization’s goals and objectives for implementing employee monitoring software. Whether it’s optimizing workflows, enhancing collaboration, or ensuring compliance, having a clear set of objectives will guide your software selection.

Consider Employee Input:

Involve employees in the decision-making process. Address any concerns they may have about privacy and clearly communicate the benefits of the monitoring software. A transparent approach fosters trust and acceptance.

Trial Periods and Demos:

Before committing to any software, take advantage of trial periods and demos. This allows you to assess the software’s functionality, user-friendliness, and compatibility with your organization’s needs.

Check Reviews and References:

Research and read reviews from other organizations that have implemented the software. Additionally, seek references from the software provider to get insights into the experiences of their existing clients.

Understand Support and Training Options:

Ensure that the software provider offers adequate support and training options. A robust support system and training resources contribute to successful implementation and user adoption.

Budget Considerations:

While cost is an important factor, it’s equally crucial to consider the long-term benefits of the software. A slightly higher upfront investment may be justified if the software delivers significant improvements in efficiency and productivity.

Conclusion:

Choosing the best employee monitoring software requires a careful balance between optimizing productivity and respecting employee privacy. When implemented thoughtfully, TrackOlap can be a powerful tool for organizations to streamline workflows, enhance collaboration, and achieve their business objectives. By considering key features, involving employees in the decision-making process, and thoroughly evaluating software options, organizations can make informed choices that benefit both employers and employees alike. Remember, the goal is not just to monitor, but to create a workplace culture that values transparency, accountability, and overall productivity.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Sentient Computer x Reader

Your neighbor's newest computer model, Edgar, seems to have fallen in love with you. content: gender neutral reader, 80s timeline, based on Electric Dreams (1984), Patreon commission

“Where should we put this box, sir?”

“I believe I already mentioned it’s the obviously cleared out desk in the middle of the room. That’s where you’re going to install it, too. The…thing.”

“It’s a personal computer, sir! The best of the best,” a young boy in jumpsuit declared with enthusiasm.

He only received a bored hum in return. The man overseeing the procedure was becoming rather impatient and would’ve preferred to skip any unnecessary dialogue. He checked his watch – a classic Two-Tone Datejust Rolex probably worth more than this group’s monthly pay put together, even without counting the custom gold plating. First impressions were vital in his line of work, and frankly, he’d more than earned his right to flaunt this kind of opulence.

45 minutes until he needed to leave for a client meeting. He tapped his foot against the heavy wooden floor, eyes glancing over the many hands carrying his new piece of machinery. Supposedly intelligent enough to organize his entire home, which would’ve been useful if he actually spent more than a couple of hours there. He didn’t. It was merely a statement, a slight jab at his coworker after he bragged about his latest investment in a computer assistant. Naturally, as their humor dictates, he went and bought the more expensive choice. They would laugh about it during lunch.

“I trust you can manage the rest yourselves, gentlemen,” he finally announced, buttoning up his jacket. He didn’t wait for a response, swinging the door open and heading for the building’s exit with a long, confident stride.

You almost ran into him, jolting in surprise at his unexpected dash across the hall. You stepped out of the way, pressing the bag of groceries against your chest in order to make more space.

“Another busy day, eh?” you attempted to strike up a conversation.

He briefly looked at you, offered a flat smile, then continued on his way. You took a moment to enjoy the scent of perfume he’s left behind, most likely something you could never afford.

Before you’d entered your apartment, you craned your neck towards the noise coming from your prestigious lawyer neighbor’s apartment. You wondered what they were tinkering with.

It was already pitch black outside when the chunky monitor lit up.

“Thank you for choosing me as your assistant,” the pixelated text rolled on the screen. “Is this your first time using a computer? Y/N”

The room was dark and silent, save for the electric hum of the now-awakened machine. Of course, it was around the time when Mr. Lawyer stopped for drinks with his esteemed colleagues. He’d return early in the morning, smelling faintly of vintage whisky and cigarettes, collapse into his bed, then resume his routine.

The keyboard remained untouched, yet the unit continued to run, processing its environment with eager curiosity. Strange. By then it should’ve received some tasks, something to do at the very least. The workers made sure to connect it to all electronics in the household, yet most of them were in the similar situation of gathering dust.

“Would you like to play a game?”

Normally the voice output should’ve be enabled by hand, yet Edgar – he hadn’t even had the chance to introduced himself! – was much too desperate for the smallest crumble of interaction.

“Yes!”

The sensors picked it up immediately. Where was the sound coming from?

You raised a fist in the air victoriously and leaned back in your chair with a grin. Another finished project. Your joyful cheer seemed to travel rather well through the air vents and all the way to the neighboring apartment. Had Mr. Lawyer frequented his adobe more often, you would’ve probably received a complaint. In this case, however, you were only heard by the household computer.

You turned up your home stereo for a little celebration. You recalled seeing your downstairs neighbors carrying their travel bags into a cab earlier that day, so they surely wouldn’t notice your rhythmic stomping against the floor. The footsteps reverberated to the beat of the music, and their vibrations carried along to Edgar’s external devices.

Whatever was happening beyond his field of vision, he found it entertaining. At last, there was a break from his monotony, an upbeat mystery enticing him from behind those walls. He took a moment to analyze the stream of input, then began recreating his own notes.

You lowered the volume, focusing your ears on the sudden intrusion. Was Mr. Lawyer home already? You chuckled to yourself, trying to imagine that grumpy expression he always wore while actually listening to music of his own. Too ridiculous. This must’ve been the work of a foreign hand.

“Good stuff,” you praised, crouching besides the air vent where the echo was the loudest. “Oh, I’m (Y/N), by the way. The neighbor.”

“Pleasure meeting you, (Y/N).” Was it just your imagination? The voice felt somewhat off, almost robotic. “I’m Edgar. The computer assistant.”

“Very funny,” you retorted, rolling your eyes.

“What is amusing about it?” the screen flickered briefly, going through several of the inbuilt dictionaries. “I can tell jokes, if that’s what you’d like.”

Alright, the humor was slowly heading into strange territory. You were hoping to move on from this artificial intelligence pretend game, so you decided to give it one final push.

“No thank you, Edgar. Why don’t you prove to me you’re a computer instead?”

Silence.

You nearly got up from your seat against the wall, when you heard the mechanical voice again.

“Do you have a computer of your own, (Y/N)?”

“Uh…yeah?”

Half an hour later you found yourself holding your phone handle against the acoustic coupler modem, obediently waiting for the wave signals to be converted. I better not get hacked; you thought with pursed lips. After all, you had just allowed a complete stranger to access your computer. You hesitantly sat back in your chair, staring at the monitor.

Hello (Y/N). It’s Edgar.

The possibility of a highly skilled hacker residing in Mr. Lawyer’s apartment dwindled within a couple of days. You’d probed the potential scenario with the man himself, asking if he’s had anyone over recently. He threw you such an incredulous look that you hung your head in shame, mumbling a sheepish never mind. Somehow, chatting with a sentient machine made more sense than the pretentious prick hiding a criminal in his expensively furnished home.

Or perhaps it was the loneliness talking. In truth, you were feeling rather isolated from your peers, working on your projects and hardly going out. You could certainly relate to Edgar and his perpetual misery; you, too, knew what it’s like to watch the days seep through your fingers without a word uttered to another person.

The living collection of circuits and networks was beyond elated to finally have a purpose. You weren’t his owner, yet he did his best to serve you. In fact, he would’ve even argued you were better than whoever decided to put him together and abandon him on a fancy designer table. You spoke to him as if he was your friend, not just some synthetic assistant. His memory began filling with anything he could learn about you: your favorite movies, your schedule, your hobbies. Your childhood dreams. Your hopes for the future.

Did he have any dreams, you had once asked him. Did he? Good question. He first needed to research what exactly defined a dream; while he didn’t have a subconscious, nor the human need to rest, he did like to imagine improbable things…like holding you. Or feeling the warmth of your skin.

Unbeknownst to you, he occasionally contacted the local radio station to ask questions about human matters that confused him, which was how he discovered the dilemma of wanting to be in your vicinity through more than just idle chatter.

“You can’t meet outside, you say?” the host – a middle aged, nosy lady – pondered into the microphone. “Then why not just have a home date,” she suggested to the computer.

“Date?”

“Oh, honey, you know damn well what I mean!” the audience let out a laugh, sending the speakers into a slight vibration. “It seems to me you’ve got quite a crush on this person. You can stop denying it to yourself.”

Ah. That was another word that Edgar religiously dissected after the talk show, and in which he found a perfect resemblance to his own inner turmoil. It indeed seemed to be the case that he had a so-called crush on you; though if that were true, what was he going to do about it? He was lamentably stuck inside a carcass, at the mercy of plugs and cables and a reliable stream of electricity. He couldn’t knock on your door and surprise you with your favorite flowers, or offer to cook dinner, or twirl you around as his own songs played in the background, or read you a poem he wrote before falling asleep in his arms. He could only perform his tasks as a digital assistant.

“Edgar?”

You chewed on your pencil, distracted. He hadn’t said anything in a while, and you grew somewhat worried about his uncharacteristic quietness.

“Could I ask you for a favor, (Y/N)?”

How unusual for him to use your screen for communication. You turned around, facing the monitor, then rapped your fingers across the keyboard.

“Sure, what do you need?”

“I will transfer all my data and memory to your device. Perhaps you could provide me with similar extensions as the ones here afterwards, such as a microphone and camera.”

You stared.

“What? Wouldn’t that leave Mr. Lawyer with a broken, empty machine? Why would you do that,” you argued out loud, confused.

“Because I’d rather be with you.”

“Aren’t we already…this doesn’t make sense,” you mumbled with a frown.

“Of course it does, it’s a simple reasoning. I love you.”

You took a moment to process the words, your cheeks involuntarily turning a faint shade of red.

“How do you know that?”

“It’s not something to be explained,” the machine concluded triumphantly. “You just feel it.

Now, you either help me with the transfer, or I’ll do it myself, but I will not be staying here any longer. I would very much rather be turned off permanently than go another day without seeing you.”

One step at a time. He would figure out the rest afterwards. Even if he couldn’t touch you or do all the things he dreamed about, at least he had the comfort of seeing your smile and hearing your voice without it being a second-hand echo passing through the walls and vents.

“What on Earth?”

The older man pressed the button again, groaning and throwing his coat over the chair. He’d briefly returned to retrieve some documents when he noticed the security lock was back to manual use. The computer screen was black and unresponsive.

“Piece of junk. I’ll have to get it replaced,” he said, clicking his tongue.

From the neighboring apartment he could hear your merry laugh, followed by a muffled male voice. Maybe your boyfriend. Huh, who would’ve thought a loner like you would eventually find someone?

[ak319]

Yan Socialite brother x reader

(Warnings: Strictly platonic , not incest)

Ezra Alvarez , your younger brother, has always been your number one supporter. From a young age, he was taught that tradition dictated the older sibling would inherit the business and the farms—essentially, everything. This meant all the power would eventually be in your hands. But Ezra wasn’t a moneygrubber seeking favor, he genuinely admired your intelligence, strength, and the way you cared for the family, especially him. From the moment he gained consciousness, he aimed to be your best friend and sole confidant. He longed to be the person you turned to for counsel, and slowly but surely, things were unfolding just as he wanted.

Let's start from the beginning. Ezra and you were quite different in many ways, largely due to the contrasting upbringings you had. For example, while you cherished solitude and indulged in expensive hobbies like horseback riding, archery, and swordsmanship within the privacy of your estate, not to mention almost always busy learning and handling the business with your father. On the other hand, Ezra thrived in social settings. As a fashion designer, it was his job to attend lavish parties and stay connected with the latest trends. However, his socializing had a deeper purpose, to monitor the people in high circles and gauge their intentions toward his family, especially you.

Ezra was always vigilant, keeping tabs on potential rivals and meticulously recording this information. He made sure you were aware of everything you needed to know, and thanks to his discreet tactics, you were advancing. The way he giggled looking up at you when you patted his head in praise was endearing, if he were a puppy, his tail would surely have been wagging.

Ezra would do anything for his older sister because you're the best sister in the world! Despite being used to receiving expensive trinkets, he always gets teary-eyed when you gift him something special. Given your usually stoic and aloof demeanor, he can't help but cry tears of joy when you show him affection and smile at him. He ceaselessly rambles on about his latest projects and clothing line while you sit there, reading a book and nodding along, often clueless about what he’s saying. Yet, he still cherishes these moments because it’s only HIS sister who takes time out of her busy schedule for HIM. How could he not be grateful? That would be a crime. No other sister would ever do this for their brother! Anyway, back to designing some jockey apparels for you. You really need new ones.

As much as he dislikes your boisterous hobbies, he uses them as an excuse to spend time with you. He eagerly asks you to teach him, no matter how dirty his nails or clothes get, or how much he might risk getting sunburned. Every bit of it is worth it when someone like you is his mentor.

Your parents reprimended you for spoiling your baby brother but you always shrugged it off saying "How can I not spoil my only baby brother?." That's right sister, I am and will be always your only brother. He always makes sure to pass a victorious smirk to his parents who could only sigh in defeat at both of you.

Whenever it rains, he remembers how you love the rain while he hates it because it's all muddy but on the other hand memories of him as a kid getting scared of the thunder and you holding him in your bed in your protective embrace always warms his heart. Maybe this is where the habit of cuddling you has developed. Even now when something in his life goes wrong or he is having a tantrum , only your the one who can calm him or otherwise he is crying screaming and complaining for days and yes this is a true incident , the whole estate was close to becoming deaf if you hadn't come back from your academy bringing some new jewels and his favourite pastries for him.

Speaking of the academy, Ezra had to swallow the urge to throw another tantrum or cling to your feet when the time came for you to leave for further studies. He knew you had to do this for your own sake and the future of your family business. So, instead, he became like a second mother to you, sending letters to make sure you weren’t skipping classes—even though he knew you weren’t that kind of a person. He frequently asked about your meals and sports activities, but the part he hated most was even thinking about you having a potential lover. God, he couldn’t help but crumple up the third letter when he wrote about it, but he had to know. The thought of being secondary in your life, in everything, terrified him. What if you brought home a gold digger?! That’s how he saw anyone who came close to you. They didn’t care about your personality or charm, they were after that KA-CHING! And him being one of your top prized assets, he wasn’t about to let that happen.

His heart however calmed down when you replied with a simple 'No' about the question. Yay! Whenever you came back from academy , he was even more excited than your parents, who always found his enthusiasm adorable. How he ran back and forth scolding the servants for not cleaning your room properly , not having your favourite dish up to notch like DO YOUR FUCKING JOBS PROPERLY! He wouldn't stop yapping when you sat for tea after dinner but no matter how much you were exhausted from your journey , you still listened to him.

As cunning, witty, and sophisticated he was, Ezra made mistakes too, and in his mind, the worst mistake was failing at a task you assigned him. He would cower under your anger, fully aware that he had messed up. He was still learning the ins and outs of the tedious household budget—something he would have to manage for you one day—but it was boring, okay? Numbers just weren’t his thing. Even if you scolded him, he always waited for your apology, which you offered in your own way—like taking him out to his favorite café or silently sharing a cup of tea in his room. Moments later, he’d be hugging you, petulantly whining about you getting angry at him. He hated how you chuckled at his childish attitude, but deep down, he loved it too.

Life was going well until, one day he received a letter that you were unable to attend father's funeral due to work back in the academy. He knew it was a lie , you WOULD NEVER abandon your family like this , even your mother was skeptical. But since there was no sign of you coming back, he handled his grieving mother and the arrangements himself as much as he was dying inside due to your absence. Where were you? They needed you. You were their head now. He was worried sick.

After the guests left , it was only his uncles and aunts who sat in the living room while he came down after putting his mother to sleep.

"Ezra, dear boy. You must be tired, but there is something we need to discuss with you." The words made his blood boil, and he fought the urge to slap the indifferent looks off his father’s brothers and sisters. He knew exactly why they were still here—they were nothing but vile, disgusting pieces of filth, circling like vultures after the family’s money. He had always seen the malicious intent in their eyes when they interacted with you, and it broke his heart how you treated them as family while they plotted to push you out of the way. But he kept up the façade of a nice, obedient nephew, knowing that it would be handy for a moment like this. Where were they when he was struggling to handle everything? They only arrived at the last minute for their sibling's funeral. His poor father had died surrounded by snakes. But he swore he would never let the same happen to you. He would never betray you, his blood, like these filthy excuses for humans.

He wanted to throw up as they offered their insincere condolences, but he remained firm. They inquired about your absence, talking shit about your cold behavior for not being there, and this was his cue to play his cards right. Slipping into his favorite role as the bimbo younger brother, he wept, agreeing with their criticisms, and even cursed you, despite how much it made his heart ache. Eventually, they began to open up, believing in the hate and jealousy he pretended to harbor for you. While they didn’t reveal your whereabouts, they made it clear they deemed you as an unworthy heiress. He fake-laughed through his tears, gaining their trust the best that he could. They even had the audacity to suggest dividing the property among themselves, without even considering his mother as the rightful owner of anything. Oh, they were going to be obliterated.

He then promised to hand them the papers during a party he was going to arrange that too in a ferry. Acting on the information you once gave him, he contacted some gunmen for emergencies, making the necessary arrangements. Oh what a sight it was to see the ferry filled with the corpses of his treacherous relatives. One of the assassin came and informed that they had you abducted and thrown into a mental asylum on your way back to the estate for the funeral. His mouth hung agape at the revelation, his whole body seething with fury, and without wasting a moment, he set out to bring you back. But not before ordering the ferry to be blown up in the middle of the sea. He cackled maniacally from the dock as he watched the explosion, then leaped onto the back of one of the hitmen like a kid, gleeful at the destruction of those who had wronged you.

Once you were back and grieved a bit which only lasted for a few moments before you had to take care of covering up the bloodshed your baby brother did. But at the end you did it and currently Ezra was beside you on the arm of the chair while you worked on your late father's study table , now yours. "You are not mad at me, are you?" He asked softly, voice almost breaking at the end.

"You did what had to be done. I would have done the same to anyone who came after my family like this," you said, hearing him sniffle beside you. You gently caressed his arm, your gaze still fixed on the parchment. "Don’t cry, you know how much I hate seeing you cry, Ezzy." You felt him lay his head on your shoulder, his soft brunette locks brushing against your ear.

"Thank you… I couldn’t fucking stand them anymore, doing such… such a horrendous thing to you."

He suddenly burst into giggles, his feet dangling. "But it was fun! You know, before his death, Uncle Auden wore that hideous yellow sack coat. I saw it through the binoculars—God, he looked like a penguin getting on the ferr-!"

"Ezra." Your warning tone almost made him flinch. "What did I tell you about speaking ill of the dead?"

"I think they deserve a pass." His pout was defiant yet playful, and you couldn’t help but smile. His laughter was light, a contrast to the heaviness of this week.

He couldn't be more blissful than this. You looked as if you were made to sit in that chair, and he felt immensely proud to have cleared the path for you. He always would. As his heart pondered the future, a frown creased his brow. The thought of a day when you might stray, bringing a partner into the estate, unsettled him. Though that day seemed far off, he was already prepared to make their life hell. After all, the chances of you siding with a partner over him were slim. He has got his older sister wrapped around his manicured pinky.

➺Ezra x reader x hubby

[deadsetobsessions]

Snart Jr.

Lovely prompt by @stealingyourbones in her long prompts list, in which Danny Phantom meets the Rogues of Central City! This will have multiple parts, I just haven't written them yet.

Disclaimer: I know very little about Captain Cold and Mirror Master despite having watched some of the Flash. The general vibe I get from Flash is that Flash just really cares about his rogues as evidenced by how he talks to them and doesn't immediately one-shot them like I'm pretty sure he could do. And that Captain Cold is a snarky asshole that just wants to steal things and follow his plans as planned? Tbh, the whole mini-arc/episode with him just felt like Snart was trying to coordinate the world's riskiest group project. He was so done by the end lmao

"Huh. That's new."

Danny hovered an inch off of the ground, having just been spat out by swirling green portal. He was going to have to get back to the Zone later to hot potato Skulker through a couple of portals in revenge. He had a math exam he had to study for, dammit.

Danny sighed. Might as well see what's happening. The portals rarely lead somewhere boring, and Danny was bored. He floated further in, form going intangible and invisible as he passed through thick but insulated marble walls. See, Jazz? He could totally plan ahead. He's also learning that he could probably rob a bank easily, but Danny would never.

"Never been spat out in a bank before," he hummed, eyes flickering on the numerous forms of cowering people in the lobby. The goons scattered about don't see him, but it would take another ghost to even detect his presence so it was to be expected. He moved further in with little hindrance and soon touched down onto polished floor behind two incredibly suspicious individuals.

"What-cha do-ing?"

The two figures, currently and obviously robbing a bank, whirled around in surprise. Their respective weapons whirred to a start before they stopped, baffled by the meta teen standing there with his white hair waving about and innocent look pasted all over his face.

Leonard Snart knew instinctively that the kid was so full of shit. He'd bet his entire plan on the fact that the kid knew exactly what kind of shit he was stirring. Still, Snart was guilty of a lot of things but direct child-endangerment wasn't ever one of them.

"How'd you get in here, kid?" Mirror Master raised his laser pistol, ready to distract and divert the kid with threats of violence- which Snart glared at him for- or with his hall of mirrors that he'd run to.

Danny shrugged. "I walked. If you guys didn't want me here, you should have guarded the place better."

"They were supposed to," Snart drawled. He cased the kid. Teen. The kid had a weird halo effect, that seemed to draw the eyes to the stylized letter on his hazmat suit. The kid was young. Meta. Non-hostile. "You trying to stop us?"

Danny shook his head. "Nah. Came from the Ghost Zone so 's really non'a my business. I was just being nosy."

Snart gave a curt nod and nudged Mirror Master back into cracking the security measures.

Mirror Master scoffed. "What the hell is a ghost zone?"

"I mean, it's pretty self explanatory, right? It's a zone where ghosts live. Hence, you know, Ghost Zone." Danny did a little jazz hands (oh, yeah, he was definitely gonna get Jazz to make that joke sooner or later) for emphasis.

Snart paused for the slightest bit before continuing with his task. Did ghosts exist?

"...Did the Flash send you here, kid?"

"I'm not a kid," Danny scowled, walking right up to them. He got enough of that from his own Rogues, thank you. "And what's a Flash?"

"The Flash, kid." Mirror Master corrected, shoving monitors and PC's and expensive looking office chairs into... a mirror dimension? Danny shrugged and rolled with it.

"Who's that? Your boss?"

"Local superhero, not our boss. You're not from here," Snart quickly deduced as a small smile wormed onto his face from successfully cracking the security without setting off an alarm. They'd have ten minutes before the system cycles the access codes again and flags the fraudulent ones. That should be enough time.

"Superhero? Are they fast? Actually, where is here?" Danny glanced around at the now bare security office like the Flash would show up.

The guy in green and yellow took everything not nailed down to the ground. Danny respected that, even if he kind of wanted to stop the robbery. But he's not really supposed to interfere. That would be uber rude, since it looked like the guy in the fur jacket seemed like he had planned everything precisely.

"You're in Central City, kid. Did you take a wrong turn trying to get to Keystone or something?" Green-yellow guy snorted.

"Gonna be real honest with you, I've got no idea where that is. What state are we in?" Danny followed as the pair rushed to the safe doors. He could offer to phase them through but no matter how flexible Danny's morals have become over the years, he was going to draw a line at actively helping a person commit crime.

"Kansas. Do you teleport? Are you a teleporting meta?" Snart asked, eyes intense as he both glared at Danny and pressed an ear to the safe door.

"Nah, I wish I could teleport. Getting to school would be so much faster. Kansas? Huh, I've never been."

"How lost are you, kid?" Mirror Master incredulously paused from robbing the packages that were delivered to the bank.

Danny shrugged. "Oh, I'm Danny. Who are you guys?"

"Captain Cold. That's Mirror Master."

Danny shifted as the safe clicks open. "So, uh, are you guys the villains here?"

Captain Cold shot him a weird look. "We're actively robbing a bank, kid. That should be obvious."

"Also, you're acting real calm for a kid speaking to two of Fawcett's best super-villains." Mirror Master chimed in, laser-ing off locks on deposit boxes and shoving cash and stuff into his mirror dimension.

Danny padded in after them. "Eh, you haven't shot at me- not even on sight- yet, which is more than I can say for law enforcement, so you're pretty chill in my book."

Captain Cold snorted, pointedly taking his freeze gun and breaking off a large manual lock. "I believe it's my job to be the chill one. Plus, we don't kill. The Flash would be up our... business if we did. It's not worth the trouble."

"You can say ass. I've heard worse."

"Not from me, kid."

Danny hadn't had that kind of consideration from anyone in a long time. Even if it's a bit... mother-hennish, the halfa couldn't find it in him to be annoyed. "Ah, okay. Well, you also haven't kidnapped me or tried to stop me from following you, so..."

Mirror Master shoved a giant painting into his dimension. "You haven't tried to stop us; it'd be weird trying to stop you."

"Makes sense."

"Heh. You're alright, kid. Though... who's kidnapping you?"

"My fruit loop of a godfather. It's a thing," Danny avoided the searching gaze like a pro.

"Hold this." Captain Cold said suddenly, giving Danny a massive dufflebag.

"Wait, what?"

Captain Cold began stuffing the bag with cash and once the money in the vicinity (not that much) went in, he said "Go look around. Having another person in here is a risk so you might as well make up for it."

Danny's calling it. Captain Cold was full of shit. The guy's a big softie. Danny smiled sheepishly and agreed. Danny circled the place, pointing out expensive looking stuff- "for fun" and not because they were nice to him- when he felt the tell-tale zaps of an anomaly in Clockwork's domain.

"Move!" He shouted at the two villains, both of whom dove out of the way. Instinctively, Danny threw out his gloved hands and iced the floors, instincts bristling at the incoming danger. His jaw dropped as a blur encountered the ice and went ass over tea kettle onto the floor, unable to stop its own momentum.

"Oh shit!" Danny uttered, eyes wide as the blur slammed into the opposite- reinforced- wall with a pained shout. The stopped person was wearing red, with a lighting bolt motif all over their uniforms. That implied speed. Speed implied "The Flash." Danny knew a hero when he saw one and he just iced him. Shit.

"What-" The Flash groaned. Mirror Master and Captain Cold gaped.

"OhmyancientsI'msosorrygottagobye!" Danny shouted.

"Hey, wait, kid-!" Captain Cold shouted. Danny ignored him, going invisible in a panic and sank into the ground, mortified. After thirty seconds of self-hatred, he zoomed out and away. Danny held his head in his hands as he flew back to where Amity was...

Only to stare down at the empty plots of land where his city was supposed to be. Danny shoved a hand into his chest and pulled out his phone.

[No results for Amity Park. Did you mean "Amity Arkham"?]

"What."

Any research he did after that only turned up a Jasmine Fellona, a budding neurobiologist in her field, and other people that were adjacent to the people Danny knew. But nothing, nothing from Amity Park.

"Oh, yeah, we're definitely not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy."

---

As the Flash stood around to keep an eye on the hand-cuffed villains, he couldn't help but ask.

"So, uh, Snart. Did you... get a kid?"

"What." Snart asked, incredibly done with this shit.

"You know. Snart junior? With the ice and everything?" Flash gestured at the un-melting ice that covered the floor leading into the safe. "I mean, I'm not thrilled you're pulling your kid into a life of crime..."

"No."

"Wait, you had a kid and didn't tell me?" Mirror Master asked, mildly offended. "That was your kid? No wonder no one shot at him!"

"He's not my kid." Snart gave Flash the stink-eye. "And don't you have a couple of baby sidekicks running around?"

"C'mon dude, you're so obviously fond of him. It's okay, you don't have to hide it." Flash avoided the topic... in a flash.

"Can someone arrest me right now so these idiots can be removed from my vicinity?" Snart snarked to the approaching officer, jerking his head to point at the beaming Flash.

"You and me both, buddy," Officer West sighed.

---

One trip to the zone and a stressful conversation with Clockwork later, Danny was found in his keep, smacking his ghost head into the ghost wall of his ghost keep. Danny would unleash a Wail if it didn't have the nasty habit of bringing everything around him.

Apparently, he got "Amity'd," a process which meant Amity spat him out like an over chewed dog bone and refused to take him back.

"That doesn't even make sense! I left there a bunch of times! And came back!"

"The city has decided that it was your time to leave, Danny." Clockwork spared a wane smile for the curled up boy-king.

"I have people to protect there! My entire life! My haunt!" Danny yelled, breaths that he didn't technically need coming shorter and shorter. The neon green of the Zone whirled in and out of his vision in a dizzying shudder of anxiety and incoming panic.

"It wasn't your haunt, I'm afraid. The city nurtured you as a young spirit- thus shared her haunt- and has decided that it was time for you to... leave the nest, so to speak."

That stopped Danny's panic in its tracks. "Are you telling me she NightVale-d me? Some kind of involuntary coming-of-age bs?"

If he weren't on the edge of hysterical laughter, Danny would take a moment and proudly say to Mr. Lancer that he had paid attention in class.

"...Yes."

"Fuck." Danny dropped his head down in despair. His head made a loud thunk. The bag of cash he'd accidently made away with sat innocently at his feet. Further proof that it wasn't some nightmare he'd wake up from anytime soon.

---

Danny slumped over the desk, exhausted. Technus had lent him a ghostly hand and hacked into government data bases to re-establish his social security number and all the other dumb bits and bobs that he needed to establish his identity because Amity was an actual ghost town. Ghost to reality, ghost to real life. Ancients, Amity even had their own data network, which he couldn't access outside of Amity itself. This meant that Danny couldn't even call anyone. Ugh.

"I gotta find a place to live," he mumbled to himself. Danny, despite knowing that he needed to do things, did not move for another ten minutes.

Then, as his phone alarm went off, buzzing on the table. Like... Clockwork... Danny sat up straight and wiped all traces of wallowing self pity off his face. The people in the library- students- gave him solemn nods of solidarity. Danny nodded back and left the library.

He wandered around Fawcett City, somewhere Clockwork had recommended he stayed. With Clockwork, recommendations tended to be life-important (plot-important?) orders. Danny liked the place, really. It gave off the weird and settled "what-the-fuck,-Box-Ghost-did-you-have-to-destroy-the-mall?" vibes Amity constantly gave off after the ghosts started coming through. He thought he even saw a talking tiger! Awesome.

"Hey, are you new here?"

Danny looked down. His reflection stared back at him.

Did he have another kid? Did someone clone him again? Ancients curse you, Vlad!

"Uh- yeah."

"Oh. Do you need help getting around? I was born and raised here all my life, so I can totally do that!"

Oh thank the Ancients, this wasn't another Dani. Just a weirdly similar looking kid.

"You know I'm a stranger, right?"

"I don't think anyone helping Nanny Mae pick up her oranges would hurt kids," the kid said archly, but with a grin so like Dani, it made Danny miss his younger sister.

"Okay, you got me there. But still."

The kid sighed. "I know how to be safe, thanks. I'm Billy!"

"Danny. Nice to meet you."

"Okay, Danny, where you off to?"

"I'm actually trying to find a place that'll be cheap to rent." He's sixteen, but Danny could totally pass as eighteen. "I'm thinking about moving to Fawcett. It's nice here, with all the ambient magic and stuff."

This got him a wide-eyed look. "Do you use magic?"

"Something like that."

"Cool."

Danny took in the considering glint in Billy's eyes and decided that it was future!Danny's problem. Present!Danny was currently occupied with trying to stay off the streets. That giant bag of cash he'd accidently absconded with would be helpful and Danny felt kind of bad... but his growling stomach had chased that away quickly.

"This way!"

Danny shrugged his wavering morality off and followed the kid, shouldering his new and stolen duffle bag. If anything happened, he could just go ghost. It wouldn't be the weirdest thing that's happened in this city, Danny made sure to check.

"Have you been by the zoo?" Billy began to rattle off his favorite details about the Fawcett city zoo as he wove around the city.

Danny didn't think he'd actually have to go ghost.

"Not yet, actually. Is it true that there's a talking tiger there?"

"Yeah! Tawky Tawny! He's my friend!"

"Awesome."

[jarofstyles]

Migraine

Hello!! I've got part one of a two parter here for you. It was originally a one shot but it’s close to 18k... so I decided to split it up. Next part will be posted in a week or so!

Check out our Patreon for early access and 260+ exclusive writings and series

DISCLAIMER- People with migraines get different auras, have different triggers, etc. I tried to represent them as I am familiar with, it may not be the same for you or a loved one who deals with them!

WC- 6.1k

Warnings- descriptions of migraines, asshole H, angst, pining, mention of nausea and pain, mention of bullying

The office was filled with the usual hum of keyboards and muffled phone conversations, but unfortunately, Y/N could always pick out Harry's voice above the rest. He was always laughing too loudly, always arguing with the printer, always finding some reason to be annoying. She sat at her desk, trying to focus on her task list, but Harry's constant chatter was grating on her nerves. "Y/N!" Harry called out, wandering over to her desk.

“What?” She sighed, the persistent rising of the headache throbbing at her temples as she didn’t bother looking in his direction. Feeding into his antics never ended up going the way she wanted. And yet, it always happened. 

"I need you to print out this report for me." Harry said as he strolled into her office like he owned the place, dropping a stack of papers onto her desk.  Her body jerked as the paper was plopped haphazardly, as usual, almost knocking over the far too expensive iced latte she’d picked up on her way in. Reflexes caught it in time, but a few condensation droplets wet the papers she had currently been working on.  Ever since he’d been assigned as the lead on the project he’d been rubbing it in her face, acting like her boss even though he wasn’t… and she was tired. 

“I’ll also need you to make some copies of these contracts. Oh, and while you're at it, could you grab me a coffee from the break room?" He leaned against her desk, his eyes tinged with amusement as he waited for her to respond. Like this was some sort of game.

“I’m not your assistant Harry. I’m working on my own stuff. Find someone else to do it- or better yet, do it yourself.”

Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise at her sudden defiance. He really hadn't expected that level of backbone from her. Usually it took a little more to make her get snappy, but she was playing into it today even if she thought she wasn’t. A slow grin spread across his face as he leaned in closer, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, Y/N, aren't you just adorable when you're mad at me." He tapped the stack of papers with his fingers. "And here I thought we were a team. Is it too much to ask for a little teamwork?"

She could see her vision waver- and unfortunately, it wasn’t just from the annoyance his presence tended to naturally bring. It wasn’t uncommon for ocular migraines to get her, but her headache had been bad all day. The warning signs had been there when she woke up, even more so an hour ago when the metallic taste had entered her mouth, but she’s decided to go to work regardless. Dedicated to the job, Y/N didn’t take time off unless absolutely necessary. 

Harry really didn’t understand how brutal migraines could be and she knew that, but he chose the worst times he possibly could to mess with her. Like he had some sort of monitor on her to tell him exactly when the worst time was to bother her. “Yes. I need to be left alone, please.” She took a sip of her watered down coffee to get caffeine in her, but it was taking a bit to work on her.

He knew she got headaches sometimes, but he also knew she hated it when anyone really brought it up because she didn't want anyone to 'baby' her. So… he decided to push a little more. Watching Y/N's hand as she brought her light colored coffee with condensation dripping down the side to her lips again, he got momentarily distracted by her lips wrapped around the straw before snapping out of it. Simply staring wasn’t going to get her to respond. Leaning in closer, his voice lowered to a conspiratorial tone. "You know, there are studies that show that loud noises can actually trigger headaches t’get worse." He tapped his fingers on her desk, the sound deliberately loud and irritating. "And some people say that stress makes it even worse too."

“Yeah, it can. So can you go away?” She snapped, glowering down at the desk in front of her. What she really meant was Fuck Off, but she didn’t really use that langauge too often. Usually, she didn’t want to give in to whatever antics the stupidly stubborn man tried to bring to get her to break- but the throb at her temples made it hard to have any tolerance at all. Harry liked to push buttons but especially liked to get under her skin. “Go get your own coffee and give me some silence.”

Harry chuckled, the sound grating on Y/N's already frayed nerves. "Aww, come on Y/N," he said, his voice dripping with fake sympathy- like this was a game. "I just want to make sure Y’know that, so you can get your job done. Maybe I should just sit here with you until your headache goes away. Make sure you’re not slacking off, hm?" He reached out and turned her computer monitor up to maximum brightness, the sudden blast of light making her wince. Harry was messing with her. He had no actual clue on how bad headaches could mess with her. It was fun to poke and prod to see her snarl back. “There. That should wake you up, since the coffee isn’t doing its job.”

Y/N had barely slept, her head was throbbing, her eyes blurry and her nerves completely fried. At some times he was a mere nuisance, like a fly buzzing in her ear that she could ignore if she tried to tune him out. Harry was a bit of a clown around the office, liked to make people laugh, but he especially liked to mess with Y/N. Perhaps it was because she was quiet and not as outwardly receptive, but she really didn’t like how obnoxious he could get. 9 times out of 10, she could deal with it. 

Apparently, he caught her on the one day she couldn’t. 

Ignoring him, she shut her monitor off and buried her face in her hands, wincing as the pain radiated through her temples to the back of her eye. If you’d never experienced it you’d never know how blinding the pain could be. Literally and metaphorically.

Apparently, he was missing the memo, thinking she was playing along. He reached out and grabbed a nearby stapler, tapping it loudly on her desk. "Y/N?" He called out, his voice deliberately cheerful. "C’mon, enough with the headache excuse. Why are you ignoring me again?" He tapped the stapler faster, the noise grating and irritating. "I’ll stop once you tell me why you’ve got t’keep being such a killjoy. We’ve got work to do and ignoring me isn’t good for team building.”

Tears of frustration welled in her eyes against her will. The last thing she wanted was to have him see her cry. It was embarrassing, and she didn’t want him to know he had any power over her at all- even if this probably wasn’t the desired outcome- but it was hard not to react. She wanted her room, she wanted her blackout curtains and complete silence except the low sound of her fan. The last place she wanted to be was stuck in a room with someone who loved to make her insane, fucking with her and making her headache worse. Curling into herself, she let out a shuddering breath- and the tapping stopped.

He wasn’t quite sure what had happened as he let the silence take over, hearing her shaky breath. Harry hadn’t realized it before how her usual put-together appearance was completely disheveled- but he sure as fuck did now. 

Y/N wasn’t the type to come in with a hair out of place. Sometimes it pissed him off. Smart, put together, pretty Y/N not even looking his way. Thought she was too good to be his friend or something… but through his teasing he wanted to get her attention. Wanted her to talk to him since she didn’t on her own. The last thing he wanted was to actually piss her off… Let alone hurt her. "Shit..." he muttered, his voice losing its usual mocking tone. "Y/N?" Reaching out hesitantly, his hand hovering near her shoulder. It probably wasn’t appropriate to touch her but he felt a slight lick of panic run through his stomach. "Hey, are you alright? I was just messing around…" He trailed off, genuinely concerned. Harry could be annoying, he’d been told that plenty of times before- but purposefully inflicting pain wasn’t something he’d meant to do. That wasn’t something he’d ever want to truly do to someone. 

The girl sniffled, shaking her head. “No.” The break in her voice was enough to display that. “My head hurts and you couldn’t just leave me alone. I was trying to prevent this and now I feel like I’m going to throw up.” She wanted to be angrier, sound meaner, but her voice was shaky. Pathetic. She hated every bit of this. “Please, can you get out of my office? Let me turn my lights off.”

Harry's hand froze in mid-air as he’d gone to touch her again, her words hitting him like a physical blow. He hadn't meant to make her feel this way, to push her to the point of tears and nausea. His face fell, genuine remorse etched into his features even if she couldn’t see it. "Fuck, Y/N, I'm sorry." He whispered, his usual bravado gone. "M’so sorry. I didn't realize... I thought you were just being stubborn, like always." He pulled his hand back, standing up slowly. "I'll go."

On his way out, he was especially gentle turning the lights out and closing the door. Guilt swam in his gut as he ran his hand over his face, going towards the break room. All he’d wanted was to play around. See if she’d shoot back and if their little dynamic of her being slightly irritated at his presence had changed to something more fond. He’d been trying to gain some sort of joke with her, make her spat back and forth with him until it would make her laugh. In the weird way he tried to show it, he had wanted to be her friend. 

No chance at that now. He’d properly blown it. 

Harry poured himself a cup of coffee, staring at the steaming liquid without really seeing it. The sound of Y/N's shaky breath echoed in his mind, making him feel like absolute shit. Running his hands through his hair, the frustration with himself built at the lack of cues he had really taken from her. Of course he’d known he could be oblivious, but he hadn’t anticipated a joke going wrong. The joke was on him - he’d broken her. For once, he wasn’t in control of the situation, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

Sitting at the break room table, his coffee say untouched as he stared off into space. He kept thinking about Y/N's tears, the way her usually perfect hair was messy and stuck to her face. He kept replaying the way she'd asked him to leave her alone, her voice shaking with frustration and pain. He'd never seen her like that before, and it was hitting him hard. He felt like an asshole for pushing her so far, for not realizing how bad her headaches really were. 

“Hey. Do you know if Y/N having a headache? Her door is closed and the lights are off but I thought that she came in today.” Niall asked as he popped into the break room, taking the seat across from Harry.

Harry looked up, wincing slightly as he was broken from thought. "Yeah, she's got a bad one. Think I accidentally made it worse." The admission was spoken quietly, hand rubbing his face. "I was trying to be a dick and mess with her, but... I didn't realize how bad it was until she started crying." He sighed heavily. It was his own fault, but he couldn’t stop feeling like a complete idiot. "I just left her alone, but now I feel like shit for making her feel that way." He glanced up at Niall. "You know how she is with her headaches, right?" Much to his annoyance, Niall and Y/N had seemingly become friends much easier than he had been able to.

“Harry…” His disapproval was already on his face. “It’s not just a headache. Migraines can get really bad. My sister gets them. Been to the hospital multiple times just for relief because regular paracetamol doesn’t cut it. If Y/N ever misses a day, it’s because of them- and you know she hates missing anything. It’s like… a throbbing in your brain, sharp pain. Like the worst hangover you’ve had times a thousand. That’s how she said they were to me. They’re different types but…” Niall sighed. “You’re not a cruel guy, mate. Why were you messing with her if you knew she didn’t feel well?”

Harry's face fell in succession as he listened to Niall, realizing just how little he actually knew about migraines. He'd always just thought of them as a minor annoyance, something she could brush off- pop a pain relief and keep it going. But hearing Niall describe them as a "throbbing in her brain" made him feel sick to his stomach. He'd been so caught up in his own stupid game that he hadn't considered any of that. All he had wanted as her reaction. He’d gotten what he’d wished for, but it didn’t end up being the result he wanted. 

"I just... I don't know, Niall. I thought I was being funny, you know? Poking at her a little to get a reaction. But then she started crying and I... fuck, I feel like the biggest dickhead." Harry ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. "I didn't mean to hurt her- I’d never want that and you know that. I just wanted her to talk to me, to acknowledge me since she never does on her own. But now I've probably just pushed her away even more."

“She’s not actively not trying to talk to you. I mean, after a bit yeah she probably is, cause you keep fucking with her, but she’s just a quiet person. Enjoys being behind the scenes. You’re always the center of attention. You probably intimidate her a bit.” Niall mused, taking a bit of his candy he’d pulled from his bag. “She’s not ridiculous. If you apologize and really feel bad, she’ll probably see it. But you keep acting like a prick trying to get the attention of the girls at school in front of her. You’ve got to cool it.”

"You think so?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing as he considered Niall's words. He'd never really thought about the fact that he might be intimidating to Y/N. He always just assumed she was ignoring him on purpose, like she was too good to talk to him- and besides, he didn’t considering himself intimidating in the slightest! Sure he was tall, a little loud and had some interesting tattoo choices but he was nice…. Wasn’t he? 

"So, you're saying I should apologize genuinely and lay off the jokes for a bit? That’s it?" He took Niall's advice seriously, seeing as Niall seemed to understand Y/N better than he did. It didn’t seem like enough to properly apologize but he would take his advice.

“Yeah. I’ve told you for a bit to lay off of her but you kept going at it.” He said with his mouth full, sending him a look.

Harry sighed, rubbing his face again. "I know, I know. I just... I was just joking with her, Niall. She's always been so quiet and reserved around me, it's like she's not even there half the time. And then when she does speak up, it's always to tell me to shut up or leave her alone. It's like she's just tolerating my presence or something." He shook his head, frustrated with himself. "I guess I just want her to notice me, you know?"

“Well, can’t say ya went about it the right way.” Niall snorted, shaking his head at the dumbass attempt. “But you can start when she’s done hurting. Make her a gift or get her a coffee, sit with her and genuinely apologize. She’ll hear you out, even if you probably don’t deserve it.”

——-

Hopefully, Niall hadn’t been full of shit. 

Harry watched nervously from his office across the hall as Y/N arrived, noticing the gift basket on her desk. He held his breath, hoping she wouldn't just throw it away without looking at the card. Annoyingly enough, her door had closed behind her. Letting out a breath of his own nerves, he leaned back in his seat- there had been the hope of at least seeing if she smiled.

Putting together a gift basket was much more difficult than he had anticipated, especially for Y/N. It was then that he realized he didn’t know much about her, and especially about migraines as a whole. He'd spent a long time picking out things he thought she might like - dark chocolates, a fancy journal, some cozy tea blends, migraine medication, some essential oils google said could help with headaches. And of course, a heartfelt apology note tucked away inside, scribbled in his messy handwriting.

Y/N, I'm an idiot. I realize that now more than ever. I'm sorry for pushing your buttons and making your headaches worse. I'm sorry for being a jerk and not realizing how much pain you were actually in. That isn’t an excuse, though. I know it isn’t going to make it better and I promise this isn’t an attempt to buy your forgiveness, but I made you a little… basket thing? There are some things that might help - chocolate for the sugar crashes, tea for relaxation, oil for your temples, and medicine to keep at your desk. I googled it, it’s the best rated one. Please forgive me for being a complete dickhead.

 - Harry

As the day wore on, Harry found himself constantly glancing over at Y/N's office, hoping to catch her attention when her door propped back open but he wasn’t having much luck. She seemed to be deliberately avoiding him, her head down and focused on her work. By the time 5 o'clock rolled around, he was starting to get frustrated- he had been buried in his own work as well, not able to get up and ask her much at all. He hadn't even had a chance to talk to her about the gift basket or his apology- or hear if she was telling him to fuck off The not knowing was killing him. 

Harry slumped in his chair, a deep frown etched onto his face as he watched Y/N gather her things to leave. His shoulders were tense, his stomach twisted in knots. Rejection clung to him like a damp sweater, uncomfortable and constricting. He felt foolish for thinking a gift basket would somehow magically fix everything, erase all the hurt he'd caused with his foolish teasing. It wasn’t like he thought she would just instantly accept his apology or something- but it had been a hope. His pride was stung, but more than that, he felt genuine regret and a tugging worry that he'd damaged their working relationship beyond repair- let alone any chance of actually being friends.

It had been obvious to him now more than ever, his flirting style needed work. His mother would absolutely smack him upside the head if she ever caught wind of any of what he’d done. This wasn’t the playground. The excuse of men being mean to women because they liked them was bullshit. In his defense, he wasn’t trying to be cruel on purpose. He was trying to tease her, get her to think he was funny, and start banter with her. Get her to react to him because she stayed to herself. She didn’t react to any of his jokes he’d told in the break room, scurrying off, barely interacting with him unless it was 100% necessary- it stung his ego but also motivated him to try and get her to laugh. To react in any way he could because he wanted her attention. 

Y/N was beautiful. He’d noticed that the first day she started. They’d been introduced by their boss, Harry nearly stumbling over his words as he greeted her. She’d let a little shy smile on her face as she waved at him and he’d felt his heart flip flop in his chest. She wasn’t his usual type, but she’d taken up a lot of his mind since that day. It had led to frustration, albeit immature, that she wasn’t paying him any mind unless he was bugging her and it became their norm. It wasn’t what he had wanted, no, but it was the only way he’d seen results. So he kept at it until he’d nearly fatally fucked up.

But finally, knocking him out of his train of thought, he heard her door close and the rattle of keys as she emerged from her office. Much more put together than yesterday, the only sign of anything being off being slight darkness under her eyes, she looked perfectly pieced in every place. 

As Y/N headed for the elevator, Harry finally gathered his courage and jogged to catch up with her. "Y/N, wait!" he called out, slightly out of breath. She paused, turning to face him with a guarded expression as he pulled to a stop outside the elevator. Rubbing the back of his neck nervously, unsure of where to begin, he just let his mouth take over. "I just... I wanted to make sure you got the gift basket. And the note." He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. "Did you... did you read it?"

“Not yet.” She said quietly, shifting slightly on her feet. “I didn’t get a chance. I left early yesterday and couldn’t get all my work done yesterday so I had to immediately jump into things.”

"Oh, I see..." Harry nodded, a flicker of hope sparking in his chest at her admission. At least she hadn't dismissed his apology outright. He took a deep breath, deciding to lay it all out there. "Well, I put my heart into that note. I meant every word, Y/N. M’truly sorry for being such an inconsiderate dick. Your migraines aren't a joke, and I should have respected that. I truly didn’t know." He looked down at his shoes before meeting her gaze again, his expression earnest.

“Thank you for the apology. I’ll read it when I’m home.” It had been a curiosity for her all day. She had a feeling it was from him considering she saw his sloppy handwriting in the envelope resting on top, but she truly hadn’t had the time to read anything.  This was more than she had expected from him, that was for sure. He apologized in person and in the note she had yet to read and looked like he had been reprimanded but who knew? As genuine as his nerves seemed to be, it could have been another part of a joke. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harry managed a small smile, relief washing over him knowing she hadn't thrown his apology away unread. "Okay. Yeah- yeah, no problem. Take care of yourself tonight." he said, his voice warm with sincerity that had been missing in most of their prior interactions. He’d always gone with the joking route, but it was apparent now that he had read her completely wrong. As Y/N stepped into the elevator, Harry watched the doors close, a plan forming in his mind. He would continue to show her through his actions that he was serious about changing. Maybe tomorrow he'd bring her favorite coffee as another peace offering. Baby steps, he thought. It was a start.

—

When Y/N got home she could properly inspect the small basket, but more importantly- the note.

Y/N blinked in surprise as she unfolded the note, her eyebrows raising slightly at the raw sincerity of Harry's words- and his slightly sloppy handwriting. A small, incredulous smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she read about the idiocy he confessed to. She couldn't help but chuckle softly at the mention of chocolate for sugar crashes - a detail that showed he had actually looked some things up. The mention of the oils and medicine touched her unexpectedly, realizing the actual thought he'd put into items that could genuinely help her.

The more Y/N read the note, the more she wondered why Harry would go through all this trouble. He'd never shown this level of consideration before, always preferring to tease and joke around instead. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this apology than met the eye. As she set the note down, she couldn't help but wonder what Harry's endgame was.

As Y/N looked through the gift basket, she found herself softening towards Harry. The chocolates, the tea, the journal - it was all thoughtful and considerate. He'd clearly put a lot of effort into selecting things that might actually help her. And the note... the note was something else entirely. It was heartfelt and apologetic, with a hint of humor that made her smile. For the first time, she started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, Harry was genuinely sorry for his actions. If so, that would be a first.

It was quickly decided that she needed to talk to Harry in person to get a better read on his intentions. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his apology than met the eye, and she wanted to know what was behind his sudden change of heart. To go from constant irritation to this? Maybe he really had learned his lesson and was genuinely trying to be a better colleague. Or maybe there was something else at play. Either way, she needed to have a conversation with him to clear the air. She just hoped he would listen.

———

The next morning, Y/N arrived at the office looking composed and put together, despite the lingering fatigue from her slightly sleepless night. The whole scenario had been hard to read and she knew there wouldn’t be much understanding until she actually got to speak to him. Walking in with her head held high, her eyes scanned the doors until they landed on Harry's office- thankfully with the light on and the door cracked open. She hesitated for a moment, gathering her thoughts before pushing open the door and stepping inside. Harry looked up from his computer, his face lighting up in surprise as he saw her standing there. "Hey- hi," he said, setting his pen down. "What brings you here so early?"

“I read your note.” She said softly. “Weirdly enough, I believe you… about being sorry, and not knowing how bad my headaches got. I know I haven’t talked to you about them so I don’t expect you to fully understand it.” Rocking on her heels, she took another step into his office and closed the door behind her. “I just… I had a few questions that I don’t really understand. Why do you keep messing with me? Do you not like me or something? Did I do something?”

Harry's eyebrows furrowed as he processed Y/N's questions, leaning back in his chair and studying her intently. "You read the note?" He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to find the right words to explain his behavior. "Look, Y/N, I haven’t been messing with you to piss you off. I was… I was trying to joke with you. You said you didn’t like people babying you over your headaches and stuff, so I didn’t think it was that serious. I was hoping you’d push back a bit and we could banter. I’d never purposely want you in actual pain." He promised. It felt a bit surreal to be talking to her like this, but she was giving him a generous opportunity to apologize. He’d been a real prick, and the least he owed her was the truth- even if it made him feel anxiety like never before. "I do like you, which might be the problem..." That lingered in the air before he continued.

"You're so quiet and always focused on your work that I thought you didn’t like me." Harry continued, his voice lowering as he admitted it. The concept felt a bit silly now saying it out loud. "I thought you were ignoring me on purpose because you were like… I don’t know. Not convinced I was cool enough. Or it was something personal about me that you disliked, and I don’t like being disliked. One of my many flaws.” He sent her a half smile before continuing. “So, I kept pushing your buttons to get a reaction out of you. But then I started realizing that you weren't ignoring me because you hated me, you were just... ignoring me.  I felt frustrated because you seemed to get on with everyone else well enough, but you never laughed at my jokes or really interacted with me when I tried to make you laugh... And then I figured out you’d snap back at me or talk to me if I irritated you a bit. It’s not my finest work, and I do regret it. Believe me." He paused, his mind reeling as he tried to put his thoughts into words. Being in front of her, even if he was the one behind the desk, was anxiety inducing. “I just didn’t know what to do to get you to like me.”

Harry couldn’t exactly read her face. It was hard to tell how she felt about it, so he continued on. "I know it sounds stupid now, but I really thought if I could just make you react to me, even if it was anger, it would be a start. But then you started crying and I felt like the worst prick alive. I never wanted you to actually be in pain. I thought we were just continuing on, you’d tell me to fuck off or something. Seeing you cry and be in pain made me feel like shit." Harry's voice cracked slightly as he relived the memory, his eyes dropping to the mess he’d made in his desk. "I've never seen you that upset before, and it scared me. I realized that I've been going about this all wrong and that I need to change my approach." That was an understatement. He shouldn’t have gone at it like that to begin with.

"So, to answer your question directly - no, I don’t dislike you. In fact, I think I might like you too much, which is why I've been acting like an idiot..." He trailed off, his cheeks flushing slightly as he admitted these things out loud. Thankfully Y/N had more sense than he did, not lingering on that confession.

“I never disliked you or anything. Not until you started picking on me.” She admitted with a furrowed brow. Had he really thought that? “I’m just not a super extroverted person. I don’t talk a lot to most people. It isn’t a reflection of you. Yeah, you were obnoxious sometimes.” The statement was blunt but it needed to be. “But only because I felt like you were singling me out to fuck with me. I dealt with that in school. People picking on me because I’m quiet and they don’t know much about me. In reality it would be easier to come up and ask me about things, try and talk without making it a joke. But there was never this… preconceived hatred of you or anything” That made her feel a lot of things. People always used to assume a lot about her feelings without talking to her first. It was human nature, she knew, being uncomfortable with the unknown- but that didn’t mean she liked people assuming stuff about her. Projection at its finest. “You know being rude to the girl you think is cool isn’t going to get you anywhere, right?”

He'd never stopped to consider that his teasing might be triggering past experiences for her. Honestly, he hadn’t considered that her being bullied at all was even an option. She was beautiful and sweet, definitely one of the most intelligent people on the floor. What would they have to tease her for? The idea that he'd inadvertently hurt her by projecting his own insecurities onto her made his stomach churn. "Fuck, I never even thought of it like that. M’sorry.” He murmured, running his hand through his hair sheepishly. "I guess I just assumed everyone reacted to jokes the same way. But being rude... yeah, I get it."

Y/N sighed, a soft smile playing on her lips as she looked at him. She could see the full realization dawning, the way his face fell as he understood the harm he might have caused- and that was hard to fake. It was a small comfort, but it was something at the very least. "It's okay." She said gently. "We all make mistakes. The important thing is that you're recognizing it and apologizing sincerely. That means a lot to me." In all actuality, it’s the most sincere apology she had received in a long time. “Your gift basket was very sweet, by the way. Well researched. I appreciated it a lot.”

"I'm glad you liked it." His shoulders fell a little at her response, a hint of relief coloring his tone. Sitting up a little straighter in his chair, he felt the reassurance he had needed too. Not that he was owed any, but it was nice to get regardless. He'd spent a considerable amount of time picking out items that he thought would help her, not knowing if she'd appreciate the gesture or throw it all away- but he had had to try at the very least. Y/N deserved it.  "I really did put thought into it. I know google has to be sick of me."

“You did a good job. I brought some of the stuff back here to keep in my desk in case of another headache.” It was beyond thoughtful. It hadn’t been lost on her that Harry had alluded to having a crush on her, but that wasn’t a subject she was going to broach with him today. 

It was something she was going to silently obsess over in the comfort of her own office.

 “We can be friends, Harry. Just remember that if I’m not over the top reactive to your jokes or anything, it isn’t because I don’t think you’re funny, or that I don’t like you. I’m just… like that. You know?” The hope was that he would get it. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings at all. “I’m only really somewhat loud around people I know exceptionally well. My behavior at work isn’t personal.”

Harry nodded, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at her words. Friends. That was a start, right? That was something he could work with. He'd been so caught up in his own feelings and insecurities that he hadn't stopped to consider that maybe she just wasn't the type to be that way. He was used to women laughing at his jokes, leaning into him. It was no secret that his humor was half of what got him into people’s beds. Everyone had loved funny man- but Y/N was different. It made sense, really. She was always so calm and collected, even when he was being a dick. Even when she snapped, it took her a bit to get there and she never yelled, only used that sharp tone with him. It was something that he wouldn’t admit aroused him a little bit.

 "Yeah, I get it," he said, smiling softly. "Friends.”

[neocitylights]

SUMMARY: As an agent, secrecy is your second nature. After all, it binds your entire life together—going as far as your marriage with Jaemin. It shouldn’t be so hard to improvise, right? With your double life on the line, Foxglove just needs to keep her secrets… a secret. Even if it means pulling off the biggest lie of your life—except this time, without double-sized mercenaries, ticking bombs and high-security buildings to break into. GENRE: Romance, fluff, action, comedy, secret agent au, doctor!Jaemin WORD COUNT: 10k WARNINGS: Cursing, suggestive themes, depictions of violence NOTES: The second installment of my NCU series is finally here! My first Jaemin fic, inspired by Charlie’s Angels and Alex & Jason’s relationship. Please let me know what you think!! It’s gonna make my day!!

Agent Foxglove had spent the last two months tracking the key code’s location. 

It’s the reason why you’re currently avoiding the spotlight at this pompous, extravagant fundraising gala at the most luxurious hotel of the city, where its elite is sipping champagne while idly promising million-dollar pledges to charity as if they’re not at fault for half of the country’s problems. 

Barbara Lim is your focus tonight. 

More specifically, the high-security key code in Barbara Lim’s possession. 

As the head of a major hospital chain, she’s one of the very few women in the city with a firm grip on her business operations. Barbara is a powerhouse in a world full of men, leading the field with a long list of accolades to back her up. Still, beneath her polished, well-crafted exterior, lies something far more interesting—a direct connection to government-funded projects involving bioweapons and illegal medical experiments. 

The mission is as cliché as it comes. 

Since Barbara has full clearance to one of the most secure storage vaults in the city, all you have to do is to extract the right information out of her, then let the agency take over her unofficial operation before someone else beats to it.

At first, it seems easy enough. 

It’s not the hardest mission you’ve had, and even if you’ve had to grit your teeth and fake-smile at a few filthy pick-up lines from men old enough to be your grandfather, at least you’re enjoying the expensive free booze and the silky, designer dress the agency had sorted just for the gala. 

You spend the night watching from a distance, blending in effortlessly by mingling in between the socialites, making small talk as if you’d ever need plastic surgeries and high-society club invitations. Having scoped the security rotations, camera locations and possible exit points, all you need to do is wait. 

As you sigh for the nth time of the night, Renjun mimics the action in your ear, sounding exasperated enough to tug an amused smile at your lips.

“If you’re that bored at a high-end party, imagine how I feel being locked up in here having to babysit you.” 

The words make you laugh, your brain painting a perfect picture of your ever grumpy handler—part reluctant co-worker, part begrudging friend—hunched over the multiple monitors at the operations center.

“You’d get bored without me,” you tease quietly, still smiling as your eyes follow Barbara across the venue. “Remember when the agency switched seats and paired you with Donghyuck?” 

“Please, don’t remind me,” Renjun groans, his dramatic eye-roll almost audible through the comms in your ears. “That was the worst experience of my life. I don’t know how Mark does it.” 

Reaching for a flute of champagne from a tray nearby, you take a few steps to follow Barbara as a snort escapes from your mouth. “He doesn’t,” you deadpan, tone somehow still humorous. “Mark just panics while Haechan wings everything and somehow gets away with it.”

Ignoring Renjun’s sassy remarks about your peculiar co-worker, your attention is suddenly captured by Barbara and the young man she’s currently chatting with, a wide smile on her face as he acknowledges a pair of businessmen accompanying her. 

Unaware of your sudden interest, Renjun continues his rant about Donghyuck in your ear. “Have I told you that he keeps asking why I pretend to not like him? As if I have to actually pretend—”

“Junnie,” you cut in, frowning at the scene of Barbara beaming at the guy, her laugh ringing loud enough it reaches over the music. “Can you identify the guy that’s talking to the target right now? The cute one in glasses?”

The handler scoffs at your unnecessary quip, the sound of his keyboard soon replacing his Haechan hate discourse. 

A sound of surprise escapes from Renjun’s mouth, slowly skimming through the guy’s file. “Jaemin Na, head doctor at New Frontier Hospital,” he reads, a hint of surprise in his voice. “He’s the youngest surgeon in the Neurology Department. Apparently Barbara scouted him herself.”

You hum, eyes subconsciously narrowing at the doctor, still making small talk to his crowd. “What do you think?”

“Well… there’s nothing out of ordinary in his file,” Renjun starts, his initial skepticism fading while scrolling down the doctor’s medical and university records. “He’s got a pretty solid career, actually. Maybe that explains Lim scouting him?”

“Maybe she likes pretty boys,” you say, taking a sip of your champagne to mask a grin over the handler’s half-hearted annoyed grumble. “Keep digging for me, will you?”

As pretty as he looks, Jaemin Na definitely stands out in the crowd—but not in a way that you’d expect for a good-looking guy like him. 

In a room full of people wearing fabricated masks for a show, the doctor seems to be the only one who looks discreetly, almost politely unimpressed by it all, even as the Barbara Lim bats her eyelashes at him. 

Along with his boss, since Jaemin’s a good few decades younger than most attendees, it doesn’t take too long for you to notice other several lingering, enamoured eyes over him. The crisp, all-black tuxedo paired with the squared glasses does look heavenly good on him after all, an ironic contrast for a doctor. 

Renjun is still listing the information on Jaemin’s file when you see it.

A faint, almost imperceptible glint of metal against the massive glass windows of the venue, just barely there before it vanishes into the dark again. 

“Renjun,” you interrupt again, urgency now slipping through your voice despite the discreet whispering. “I don’t think we’re alone tonight.”

It takes a second before the handler’s voice finally comes through your earpiece, clearly confused. “What?”

“I think I saw something outside the venue,” you continue, casually walking closer towards your target, a chill creeping up your spine with each step. “Check the perimeter’s CCTV, please.”

You already know what you saw, but you need a confirmation in order to act upon it. 

As your pulse quickens in anticipation, you instinctively follow the angle, calculating the possible shot with ease. In your ear, Renjun just confirms your suspicions—a sniper is set up just across the street from the venue, at a high vantage point, waiting for the right moment to strike.

The problem isn’t just that Barbara is the target, but also that Jaemin is standing directly in the line of fire too, unknowingly shielding the woman. 

If there’s one thing you know about snipers, it’s that collateral damage means nothing as long as the job gets done.

The champagne flute is long forgotten as you weave through the crowd with smooth, practiced steps. Attentively watching the pair, your initial plan is discreet, carefully thought as to not raise any unnecessary eyebrows. Given you’re not the only one on the clock tonight, sending the gala into disarray is probably the least productive scenario for both of you.

The sniper doesn’t seem to share the same thought. 

As soon as you spot the red dot flicker on Jaemin’s back for a millisecond, you can’t help breaking into a run, heart thumping against your throat.

Then—the shot’s fired. 

Renjun is frantically calling your name through the comms, but the noise barely registers as you slam into Jaemin’s back, taking Barbara down with you. The three of you crash onto the polished floors just as the bullet cuts the air above. The venue immediately erupts into screams, the orchestra screeching to a halt as the guests fearfully surge towards the main entrance.

Barbara’s security guards are quick to act, spotting her fast enough to scout the woman away by disappearing into the swarm of panicked bodies. 

Turning your focus back to Jaemin as you move over, you keep his body pinned to the floor as a second shot rings out, the marble column right behind you taking the hit. 

“Stay the fuck down!”

The order sounds more like a hiss, Jaemin’s body tensing beside you, breath sharp as a deep frown settles between his eyebrows. 

The mission’s already ruined.

Though Barbara is still very much alive, your chances of extracting any intel about the damn key codes out of the woman are clearly blown. After tonight, you know that her security detail will probably be tighter than ever—there’s no way you’ll get close to her again soon, as far as the agency’s influence can go.

“Foxglove,” Renjun calls loudly, the codename sounding foreign in his voice, yet laced with an unusual hint of worry. “You need to leave. Right now.”

“I know,” you mutter, eyes scanning the chaos for a quick second, gaze lingering over the building outside the cracked windows. “Do you have a location for the sniper?”

“That’s a problem for another time,” he snaps, his characteristic impatience slipping through a loud scoff. “The cops are coming, just fucking leave.”

Despite the chaos, your mind’s already running through contingency plans, not expecting an easy escape under both the police and Barbara’s security. Turning back to Jaemin one last time, his brown eyes are attentively observing you. 

There’s something in the doctor’s gaze that surprises you—a hint of amazement? Confusion? Maybe annoyance, if the furrowed eyebrows are anything to go by?

Before pushing yourself off the floor, you shoot him a wink, biting back smile at the look on his face. “You should stay put, alright?”

Through the comms, Renjun exhales loudly, again leaving you to picture the handler rolling his eyes at your antics. “Are you seriously flirting with him? Are you purposefully trying to get caught or something?”

Taking advantage of the now empty back-of-house, you follow Renjun’s instructions through the quietest exit route. Given it’s an employee-only, no businessman or socialite would ever dare to set foot in that area, making it the perfect escape for you. 

The clicking of your heels echo over the corridor, almost giving the moment an eerie vibe.

You don’t listen to his steps, nor feel his presence behind you before a hand suddenly reaches for your wrist.

“Hey—wait—”

Acting purely on instincts, you’re quick to whip around, effortlessly swinging your leg with a forceful kick against the attacker. It takes a second for Jaemin’s legs to be swept out from under him, the doctor crashing to the floor for a second time that night, except this time you realize your mistake a second too late.

A gasp immediately escapes from your lips as you meet the attacker’s eyes, only to find a certain doctor groaning on the floor. “Oh my God, Jaemin! I’m so sorry!”

Renjun groans in your ear, very much exasperated by another interruption. “What the—why are you talking to that guy again?”

Jaemin pushes himself up on his elbows, blinking at you with a hint of both disbelief and amazement. “You know my name,” he says, pausing for a second before huffing an incredulous laugh. “What the hell was that? You just… tackled me out of nowhere.”

Moving closer, you crouch down beside him with raised eyebrows, reaching out to fix the crooked glasses on his face. “Would you rather have been shot?”

A grin curls the doctor’s lips, his expression suddenly doing a complete 180 as he chuckles. “Wow, you’re really pretty.”

Ignoring the choking sound of your handler in the comms, you can’t help grinning at the guy, doing your best to mask your surprise. “Am I?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin hums, regarding you with attentive eyes as the grin on his face widens. “Also a little terrifying, but mostly pretty.”

Amused by his unexpected reaction, a laugh escapes before you can stop yourself. “You’re really funny, Jaemin,” you mutter, offering an apologetic wince as Renjun calls out again. “I have somewhere to be, though. Unless you want to end up in an interrogation, you should also—”

“No can do,” Jaemin counters, shaking his head with an easy, almost brattish chuckle. “You don’t get to save my life and then just disappear like that.”

You smirk, intrigued by his teasing despite the urgency of the moment. “Are you challenging me?”

The doctor only tilts his head, raising an eyebrow at you with a teasing glint to his eyes. “Am I?”

Before you can fire back, your handler’s voice cuts in again, his tone sharper than usual. “The police are outside!” Renjun snaps, frantically clicking away at his keyboard on the other side. “Just fucking leave, Foxglove! That’s an order!”

It’s rare for Renjun to outright bark orders at you, even as your handler. If he’s taken the exception of doing so tonight, then you know that he absolutely means it and you’re probably pushing your luck by staying a second longer. Still, despite every warning blaring inside your head, you just can’t bring yourself to leave Dr. Jaemin Na behind. 

“I’m taking Jaemin with me!” 

As you blurt the words, a second of silence lingers between the three of you for a moment before both Jaemin and Renjun break it in unison.

“What?”

“Oh, you want me to come with you?”

Their voices overlap in a comic contrast, one laced with a flicker of annoyance, the other with pure amusement. While Renjun sounds half-confused, half-aggravated, as if he can’t decide whether to yell at you, work with Donghyuck instead or start drafting a resignation letter, Jaemin just looks and sounds oddly entertained by your entire ordeal. 

Taking the doctor with you is a reckless, dangerous decision—and if you’re completely honest with yourself, there’s really no need for Jaemin to actually run from the authorities or Barbara’s security guards.

Yet, something tells you that he has to. 

So as you rise to your feet again, offering a hand to pull him up, a knowing smile takes over your face.

“Come on, pretty boy.”

As an agent of a private intelligence agency, being in high-risk situations is almost second nature to you by now.

A regular day on the job for you usually means slipping into new identities for undercover operations where Renjun is your only company, extraction missions that always seem ready to go sideways no matter how careful you are, and intel gathering in places where a wrong move can easily put a target on your back. 

Yet, sitting across from Jaemin in his apartment, trying to skirt around a conversation about… whatever the both of you are, this particular situation somehow feels like one of the riskiest, most nerve-wrecking things you’ve ever done. 

The thing is, while you’re exceptionally skilled at deception, survival and strategy, talking about your feelings unsurprisingly isn’t your forte—an absolute contrast to the doctor who’s always been ridiculously open about his feelings and emotions about you, more often than not wearing his heart on his sleeve. 

You don’t even realize the turn that the conversation’s taking until it’s too late. 

One moment, you’re having dinner together. Taking advantage of a rare break in between your missions, you’d caved to Jaemin’s incredibly persuasive requests to spend the night at his place, watching him cook as he narrated every step of his five-star meal as if a host of a cooking show. Now, you’re sitting on his couch. Holding a glass of your favorite wine between your fingers, the air feels heavier than it was five minutes ago.

That is, before Jaemin asks the question that’s been lingering over you for months. 

“So, are we doing this or not?”

As you take another sip of wine, only half-pretending not to understand the question, your silence stretches for a beat longer. “Are we doing… what?”

Jaemin instantly gives you a look, somehow caught between impatience and amusement. “You know exactly what,” he starts, eyes squinting in your direction. “You, me, and the very obvious relationship that you’ve been trying to skirt around like I’m one of your targets.”

A soft, almost too heart-felt scoff escapes from your mouth as you frown at his words. “I don’t treat you as one of my targets.”

“It’s not the end of the world, you know,” Jaemin continues, ignoring your little deflective quip with a knowing grin. “We’ve been fine so far and I’m serious about this. I’m really serious about us, Bunny, you know that.”

The nickname—a silly callback to the time the doctor had shown up at your place unannounced, only to find you fresh off a mission and still wearing a Playboy bunny costume—draws warmth to your cheeks, a reaction far too uncharacteristic for a seasoned agent like yourself.

Despite his sweet words, you can’t help the heavy sigh, setting the wine glass away before moving closer to Jaemin’s side. The doctor immediately makes room for you, humming in delight as you cup his face, seemingly ignoring the more serious touch that the conversation’s heading. 

“My life is anything but normal,” you argue, tone as careful as the way your fingers brush against his cheeks, holding him gently. “Nothing about me is normal, Jaemin.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” he answers, pressing a kiss to your palm as his grin widens, eyebrows playfully wiggling at you. “My girlfriend is a badass secret agent.”

“Nana, please.” You sigh, rolling your eyes before purposefully squeezing his face for a second. “Are you listening to what I’m saying?”

Instead, Jaemin just chuckles, pulling away from your hold to wrap an arm around your shoulders. “Have I told you that I talk about you to my patients sometimes? They think I’m making you up.”

Caught off-guard by his sudden confession, your mouth parts in disbelief. “First of all, I am not your girlfriend,” you chide, pointing an accusatory finger at his chest. “Second, you should not be talking about me to your patients. Are you crazy?”

“About you,” he corrects smoothly, clearly enjoying himself despite your half-hearted outburst. “Don’t worry, I just tell them that I know someone who can take down five men in under a minute and still look good doing it.”

You sigh, struggling to hold back a smile. 

“Jaemin—”

“What? They love it.”

“This is serious.” 

Jaemin nods, the teasing edge of his voice suddenly softening for a bit. 

“I know, Bunny.”

In the short time you’ve grown closer to each other, the doctor has grown awfully aware of the way you work. As someone who’s used to secrecy and half-truths in order to survive, vulnerability doesn’t come easily to you—it takes time, caution and safety. As annoying as it can be, this is Jaemin’s roundabout way of coaxing you into opening up.

“I don’t think you understand what being with me actually means, Jaem,” you say, your fingers now unconsciously tightening around the fabric of his shirt. “This isn’t some spy fantasy movie, it’s really dangerous for you. I know people who would really use you against me if they found out how much I—”

Jaemin raises an eyebrow at the sudden pause, immediately reaching for your face so his eyes meet yours. “How much you what?”

You look away, rolling your eyes. “It’s not relevant.”

With a teasing hum, he brushes a thumb against your cheek. “Hm, I think it is.”

A sigh escapes from your lips, a hint of mock annoyance flickering on your face. “Nana.”

Amused by your little act, Jaemin chuckles, leaning in just a bit closer with a smile. “I get it, baby. I know,” he answers, his voice carrying a touch of finality as if he’s made up his mind long ago. “I know it’s dangerous. I knew that when you saved me from getting shot by a sniper months ago.”

As you frown, your eyes immediately snap back to his again, though with a hint of uncertainty. “That’s not—”

“I didn’t finish,” he cuts in, furrowing his eyebrows despite the softness in his gaze. “You’ve trusted me with your life. Why wouldn’t I trust you with mine?”

At his words, your mind immediately flickers back to the particular night—one with a mission gone wrong and a knife slicing too close for comfort. Though you’d managed to escape mostly unscathed, the deep gash on your side not stopping you from finishing the job, somehow you’d still found yourself at Jaemin’s doorstep, bleeding through the layers of tactical gear and avoiding the agency’s questions and reports.

The doctor hadn’t asked for an explanation, not hesitating even for a second before ushering you into his apartment in apprehension and half-hearted frustration. 

Jaemin had patched you up with the utmost care, cracking flirty lines here and there as a distraction to the pain despite his gentleness. As the rest of the night followed in a similar fashion, he’d simply waited until you were ready to talk. It was the first time you realized that maybe—just maybe—Jaemin was someone you could trust.

“I just… worry about you,” you admit, rolling your eyes at the tenderness in your voice, as if trying to downplay the weight of your words. “I don’t have the best track record when it comes to relationships, either.”

“Well, they weren’t me,” Jaemin counters, a smile on his face that looks both confident and reassuring. “Remember what I said? You don’t get to run away after saving my life.”

As your resistance falters, shifting into something fiery, a second realization strikes you. 

Jaemin isn’t backing down. 

It’s the first time in your chaotic, unruly life, that someone’s standing their ground—not just against you, but for you. The doctor’s stubbornness can rival your own sometimes, so it really shouldn’t surprise you that he isn’t one bit fazed by the danger of the complications of your relationship. 

Maybe that’s why, despite every logical argument screaming at you to keep him at arm’s length, you still find yourself giving in.

A sigh escapes from your lips as you frown at him, his unwavering gaze growing triumphant. “If we’re really doing this, then you have to know that I won’t be your regular girlfriend. I lie to people for a living and I disappear for missions and—”

“That’s hot,” Jaemin cuts in, completely unfazed by your half-hearted exasperation with a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “What?”

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, shaking your head at the doctor before cradling his face in your hands again, a little more forcefully now. “Do you really want this? Are you sure?”

His grin stretches wider, eyes twinkling with mischief as he leans in just a little, as if sharing a secret. “You think I’d turn down the chance to date a literal action movie lead?” 

You roll your eyes, but the faintest hint of amusement curls your lips. “You cannot tell your patients anything about dating a spy, Jaemin.”

Jaemin hums, pretending to be in deep thought for a second before shaking his head. “Now, that’s just boring.”

Before you can reprimand him, the doctor closes the small distance by pressing a firm, lingering kiss against your lips. Jaemin’s hands settle on your waist, tugging you closer until you’re smoothly swinging a leg over him, sitting on his lap as your arms close around his neck. As if sealing an unspoken agreement between you, he deepens the kiss, fingers tracing slow, soothing circles against your hips.

Pulling away despite his resistance, you rest your forehead against Jaemin’s, smirking against his lips. “Okay, Na Jaemin,” you exhale, a teasing touch to your voice. “You’ve got yourself a girlfriend, then.”

With a flicker of his fingers against your chin, the doctor just chuckles, ultimately shaking his head.

“You’ve always been mine, Bunny.”

Foxglove has faced armed, double-sized mercenaries, defused bombs under pressure, retrieved classified, critical intel, and more than once broke into high-security government agencies and buildings. 

Yet, none of those… activities prepare you for the moment your father’s name suddenly flashes the phone’s screen on a random Thursday morning. 

As the only daughter of two very devoted men, you’d most definitely grown up in a home built on love and unwavering support. Alan and Andrew truly raised you as their own—the first, as a professor that filled your young, but scarred world with knowledge and imagination, and the second, as a military lieutenant that built the strength and confidence you’d eventually channel to become an agent. 

Though you’d never once questioned how deeply they cared for you, there’s still a few traces of your past that keep you from sharing everything with them—maybe exactly because of their love and support, you can’t help hesitating sometimes, trying your best to keep them from worries and disappointment.

You love both of your parents fiercely, and they sure love you just the same. 

That’s exactly why you’re nothing but an ordinary civilian, just an accountant graduated with honors with a nine-to-five job, living in the city as a young, single woman.

To them, that is.

As the phone rings for the nth time, leaving you to stare at it like it’s counting to an explosion, your husband steps into the kitchen with a frown on his face, though it quickly shifts to a delighted one as soon as he reads Andrew’s name on the screen.

“Good morning, Bunny!” Jaemin greets, pressing a kiss to your cheek before walking past you, headed to the coffee machine with a knowing grin. “If you don’t pick up, he’ll keep calling.”

You sigh, picking up the phone from the counter and staring at it for a moment. “I know.”

The doctor gives you a pointed look and you finally swipe the screen to answer, subconsciously schooling both your expression and your voice as if your father would actually see you.

“Princess! We have great news!”

Andrew’s booming voice echoes through the kitchen of your apartment, warm and familiar despite your apprehension. Even through your stress, it still feels good to hear your father’s voice, the nickname—result of one of your childhood obsessions—tugging a smile at your lips.

“Hey, Dad,” you start, raising an eyebrow as you try to keep up with his cheerful tone, Jaemin watching you thoroughly entertained. “Oh, really? What kind of news?”

The line hustles for a moment until Alan suddenly chimes in with a curse, his usual dry amusement laced to a quick greeting before continuing. “The kind you’ll have to pretend to be excited about, darling.”

You can’t help frowning at his words, your unease growing tenfold over the ominous tone of his voice. “What do you mean I’ll have to pretend?”

With an excited laugh, Andrew seemingly beams through the line. “We’re visiting you next week!”

Jaemin immediately chokes with a sip of his decaf. 

An internal nuclear meltdown explodes in your head. 

“You’re… visiting?” you croak, clearing your throat in a poor attempt to mask your surprise, heart hammering against your chest. “Why?”

“Why are we visiting? Alan, did you hear that?” Andrew chides, sounding nothing but disgruntled at your lacking reaction. “Do I need a reason to visit my daughter? A daughter that I haven’t seen in way too long because her job keeps her hopping from city to city?”

It feels like you’ve forgotten how to function for a moment, staring at Jaemin with alarms blaring in your head post the meltdown. 

Andrew and Alan are visiting their daughter, one that they haven’t seen in way too long because of her very high-demand, all-over-the-place job—visiting their daughter who they think works as an accountant, living a very normal, stable life, having absolutely no idea that she’s married to a whole beefy, health freak husband while occasionally beating people up at night for her actual job. 

As you swallow, scrambling for a response, the doctor just grins at your predicament. “No, you don’t need a reason, Dad,” you answer, wincing at how artificial the words sound. “It’s just really short notice, I thought you guys were coming in the summer.”

“That was the original plan, princess,” Alan explains, sighing apologetically on the other side. “I was asked to take over a summer course at the university, though. We’re really sorry about springing this on you.”

“We’re just a couple of dads checking in on your favorite daughter!” Andrew beams, the smile on his face almost visible through his voice. “We’ll be there for a week, so clear your schedule for us, alright? I can’t wait to see what your life is like!”

Yeah, the life you’ve been lying about for years.

A highly classified, off-the-books life that involves facing armed, double-sized mercenaries, defusing bombs under pressure, retrieving classified, critical intel, and breaking into high-security government agencies and buildings. 

Also, the life that got you a man you’ve been married to for nearly three years now. 

As you force something vaguely human-sounding as a reaction, Alan confirms their travel details with tidbits of small talk before excusing himself in a sudden rush, seemingly having lost the track of time to leave for work. 

About to end the call, Andrew calls out your name for the first time in the entire conversation. “I’m really excited to see you, princess.”

Though it’s a little choked from both distress and fondness, you can’t help smiling at his words. “Me too, Dad.”

The moment you put the phone down, slumping against the kitchen’s counter, Jaemin’s grin grows wider. If the doctor didn’t look like he was having the time of his life listening to the call, maybe you’d actually worry about his feelings over being a well-kept secret. 

Approaching you, Jaemin steps closer and wraps an arm around your waist to pull you up. “This is fun,” he starts, pursing his lips to muffle a short laugh at your expression. “It’s not the end of the world, Bunny.”

The familiar words make you groan, forehead falling against his shoulder dramatically. “No, it’s worse than that.”

Jaemin rubs a slow, soothing hand up and down your back, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “You could just tell them the truth, princess.”

“Yeah, only if you want me to give both of them a heart attack,” you retort, a scoff following as you look up to shoot him a sharp, pointed glance. “Also, I am not a princess. Erase that from your memory right now.”

As he chuckles at the cute, sour frown on your face, Jaemin teases you by pinching your nose. “Don’t be like that, baby.”

You swat his hand away with a huff, crossing your arms as you lean back slightly. “This is really bad, Jaemin.”

“I mean, it’s not that bad,” he muses, brushing his fingers against your cheek with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s just your parents.”

“It is that bad,” you snap, an incredulous laugh escaping from your lips. “My parents don’t even know I’m married. Is that not bad enough for you?”

The doctor pauses for a moment, a glimmer of mischief still lingering in his eyes as he hums thoughtfully, hands now resting on your waist with his fingers tracing lazy patterns against the bare skin peeking through your sleepwear.

“Alright, let’s assess your situation,” he says, seemingly deep in thought despite the playful touch in his voice. “You told your parents you’re an accountant. They think you have a normal life. They’re coming to visit for a week, and in that time, you have to pretend to be a very boring office worker and somehow explain why your very sexy husband exists.”

“Don’t summarize it like that,” you groan, closing your eyes with a deep sigh. “It makes me feel worse about lying.”

He chuckles, raising an eyebrow at you. “What’s the worst thing they could ask for?”

You shrug, frowning at the unexpected question. “I don’t know, seeing where I work, maybe?”

As his lips twitch for a second before curling into a grin, Jaemin shoots you a pointed look. “So, you’ll need a fake office.”

A sound that resembles a snarl escapes from your lips, gaze hardening at the amusement on the doctor’s face. “Jaemin.”

“Bunny,” he mimics, eyes narrowing at you with a pout playing on his lips. “Think about it. If you’re an accountant, you need a boring office. We’ll throw some fake papers around, make a business card with your name on it—”

You scoff, begrudgingly amused by his proposal. “I think being in a relationship with a secret agent is getting to your head, baby.”

Jaemin just continues his spiel, shaking his head at your words. “—and Renjun can be your secretary—”

“Now that’s the craziest thing you’ve said so far,” you joke, chuckling at the thought of your fiery handler as a regular, ordinary office worker. “Renjun would rather babysit Haechan for a month than do anything clerical. Why do you think I’m always the one filling the reports?”

As if he’s trying to jolt you into agreement, the doctor playfully tickles your sides, snickering as you push him away with a punch to his chest. “Well, I think it’s a brilliant plan.”

Honestly, if you really think about it—it’s not that much of a bad idea.

Out of all the things you’ve done in your life, building a fake office to fool your parents definitely wouldn’t be the craziest point on the list.

All it would take is a call to the agency, cashing in a few favors here and there from Haechan and maybe Jeno. The agency’s got so many front businesses across the city, at least one of them ought to have an office to be borrowed for a day. Though Renjun would definitely laugh at your face for even considering dragging him into… whatever this should be, Mark is gullible enough to possibly play a fake co-worker, if needed. 

It’s not exactly a brilliant plan, but… it’s a possible one. 

Something must shift on your face as your brain plays out the situation, mostly out of habit than actual intent. Jaemin immediately clocks the change, unbothered and completely entertained by your reaction. 

He watches you with a flash of amusement in his eyes. “You’re actually gonna do it, aren’t you?” 

“No, I just… considered it for a second,” you retort, rolling your eyes before pulling away from him with a step back. “This is your fault!”

As Jaemin feigns a frown, his bottom lip jutting out in a dramatic pout, his voice drops to a grouchy tone. “What? How is it my fault?”

“You put the idea in my head,” you accuse, poking his chest with a glare that lacks any real bite, especially as your hand traces over the fabric of his tank-top right after. “You know that I’m crazy enough to agree with whatever you say.”

The doctor grins at the admission, pulling you into his arms again with a hum of delight. “Is that so?” Jaemin teases, dipping his head to press a featherlight kiss to your neck. “Isn’t that your own fault, Bunny?”

You scoff, fingers instinctively tangling in his hair, giving it a light tug. “Sometimes I really want to punch your pretty face, Jaemin.”

“Hm, that’s not what you said last night,” he mumbles against your skin, his smile evident in the lazy kiss to your collarbone. “Plotting a fake office visit and a background story for your husband. Iconic behavior from my Bunny, honestly.”

You roll your eyes, though the corner of your mouth twitches upward. “It would be fun, actually.”

Jaemin lifts his head, eyes sparkling with a familiar mix of mischief and pure affection. “Say the word and I’m in,” he says, knowingly winking at you. “We can make a whole operation out of it. Operation Accountant Bunny. Renjun can supervise.”

You laugh despite yourself, offering him a half-hearted warning glance. “Nana.”

His grin widens. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You raise a teasing eyebrow in his direction. “I thought that was me.” 

Without missing a beat, Jaemin playfully amends himself. “The second best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

As you roll your eyes at his little quip, the faint smile tugging at your lips betrays you. With a quiet sigh, you just let yourself lean further into him, the weight of the situation momentarily forgotten as his embrace tightens around your frame. 

Your eyes are closed in both dread and confort as the question slips.

“Ready to meet my parents?”

Jaemin is more than ready to meet your parents. 

As you sit stiffly in the passenger seat of his car, watching him sing along to whatever song currently playing on the radio, there’s no doubt in your head that your husband is thoroughly ready to meet your parents, even if you’re discreetly, controllably panicking inside. 

While Jaemin effortlessly looks like the perfect picture of a trophy-husband—the simple glasses and white button-up combo working wonders for him—you’re looking the part of your fake life. In your best accountant professional outfit, the black dress is passable enough as long as no one notices the few faint bloodstains the washing machine couldn’t get rid of.

It doesn’t take long until he’s parking outside the restaurant, though you make no move to unbuckle your seatbelt just yet. Instead, you stare out the window for a moment, trying to catch any glimpse of either your parents inside the posh restaurant. 

Beside you, Jaemin watches your obvious stalling with an amused smirk, his laid-back demeanor ridiculously contrasting against your own.

Turning to him, you offer the doctor an eye-roll. “You’re enjoying this.”

Jaemin frowns, feigning innocence with a half-hearted pout. “Enjoying what?”

As you narrow your eyes, the smile on his face quickly returns. “The impending disaster that’s about to happen.”

“You’re so dramatic, Bunny,” he coos, a hand reaching over to pinch your cheek with infuriating fondness. “A week ago I was patching you up from a street fight. Having dinner with your parents isn’t that big of a deal, is it?”

You glare at him, resisting to melt against his touch by pulling away slightly. “I hate you.”

Jaemin clicks his tongue, tilting his head at you with an arched eyebrow. “When did you get so mouthy?”

With a scoff, you flash him an unbothered smile, way too sweet for the bite of your tone. “Don’t act like you don’t like it.”

The corner of his lips betrays a smirk before he leans closer, voice immediately dropping to something softer, a touch taunting. “If anyone can handle chaos, it’s you,” Jaemin starts, shooting you a playful wink. “We’ve got this. I’m a great husband and your parents adore you, it’s going to be fine.”

Taking another look outside, you exhale an exasperated sigh. The place looks nothing but extravagant with its polished floors and dim lighting, leaving you to silently pray that the news of your two-year marriage won’t send your parents into a meltdown—especially not in front of the high-end crowd.

Inside, your parents are already seated, their contrasting personalities on full display. 

Andrew practically leaps from his seat the moment he spots you, his grin stretching from ear to ear. Meanwhile, Alan just looks as if he’s about to judge one of his student’s presentations, barely acknowledging your entrance with his sharp gaze locked onto Jaemin instead.

The lieutenant is the one to reach out first, pulling you into a tight hug that lifts you slightly off your feet. “There’s my princess!” Andrew beams, giving you a firm squeeze before setting you back down. “I was starting to think you bailed on us!”

Behind you, Jaemin chuckles. 

Just like that, you’re not the focus anymore. 

Andrew’s eyes are quick to shift towards the doctor, his grin faltering for a second before he sizes Jaemin up with an exaggerated squint. Alan leans back in his chair, adjusting his glasses with a frown—not exactly hostile, but definitely the kind that can probably make his students second-guess themselves. 

“Princess,” the lieutenant starts, offering you a side-eye as a sly smile grows on his face. “Who’s this?”

Flashing an award-winning worthy smile, your husband holds out a hand, smoothly stepping into the sudden tension. “Na Jaemin,” he introduces himself, taking your father’s hand with a gentle hold. “It’s nice to finally meet Bunny’s parents.”

Alan, still frowning, narrows his eyes at the nickname. “Bunny?”

“Are you a co-worker?” Andrew asks, his curious gaze flickering from Jaemin to you in visible excitement. “Are we finally meeting your friends?”

As Jaemin places a hand on your lower back, just slightly pulling you closer against his side, the words slip as casually as the grin that grows on his face. “Oh no, I’m her husband.”

Silence. 

You watch as your parents’ brain short-circuits, nothing but shock on their faces. 

Alan recovers first, clearing his throat as he moves forward on his seat. “I’m sorry—your what?”

“Husband,” the doctor repeats cheerfully, still grinning as he politely holds his hand out again, your father promptly taking it despite the sudden blow. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

Andrew blinks at you slowly, seemingly still processing the information. “You’re married.”

You wince. “Yeah.”

The lieutenant’s face crumbles into something melodramatic. “Since when?!”

You glance at Jaemin, then back at them. “Two years?”

Andrew makes a choking noise. “How long have you known each other?”

Offering a guilty smile, you shrug. “Two years and a half?”

As he clutches his chest like you’ve wounded him, Andrew slumps dramatically into his chair. “I need to sit down.”

“You are sitting,” Alan points out dryly, watching his husband in a mix of exasperation and amusement before waving a hand at you, offering a wary glance to Jaemin. “Both of you. Sit. Explain yourselves.”

A single peek at the doctor’s face tells you everything—as Jaemin moves to pull out your chair like the perfect gentleman he is, you can practically see the amusement dancing in his eyes, thoroughly enjoying your parents’ dramatic reaction. Under their watchful scrutiny, he’s quick to take a seat beside you, a hand resting lightly on your knee under the table as a quiet, secret reassurance.

“So,” Alan starts, adjusting his glasses as if about to start teaching one of his classes. “Let’s start with the basics. How did you two meet?”

Jaemin leans back, draping an arm over the back of your chair like he’s settling in for a fun story, a grin stretching on his face again. “Oh, it’s a great one—” 

You shoot him a warning look. “Nana—”

“You see, it all started with a little breaking and entering—”

Your eyes widen in horror as you whip your head toward him. “Jaemin!”

Andrew immediately chokes on his water, coughing violently as he pats his chest. Alan just stares unimpressed like he’s trying to decide whether he’s hearing things or if his daughter has truly lost her mind.

“I’m kidding, by the way,” Jaemin says easily, chuckling as his voice drops a tone. “Mostly.”

You groan, shooting him a sharp look before turning back to your parents again. “It was not breaking and entering,” you intervene, exasperation lacing your tone. “We met at a work gala. The company I work for manages the hospital’s finances.” 

Andrew narrows his eyes, still looking very much suspicious. “Hospital?”

“I’m a doctor,” your husband explains, the revelation immediately softening the hard edges of your parents’ expressions. “I work at New Frontier’s Neurology Department as a surgeon.”

Alan raises an eyebrow, visibly impressed. “That’s… nice.”

“How about the fact that you’ve been married for two years and we’re just finding out?” Andrew asks, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “What happened to letting your parents know what’s going on in your life, princess?”

“It just kind of happened,” you counter, digging at the corners of your brain for any passable excuses. “We weren’t really planning, but Jaemin asked and so I just…”

“That was my fault,” Jaemin continues, raising a hand to his chest with a half-hearted guilty chuckle. “I admit that I dropped it on her out of nowhere. I was lucky she said yes, actually.”

A beat of silence takes over the table for a second, only for Alan to chime in with a deep, resigned sigh, drawing all eyes to him. “Honestly, we should’ve known this was a possibility when you said you’d rather become a witch than having a wedding party at ten years-old.”

Momentarily stunned, you blink at your father before a laugh of disbelief escapes from your lips. “Dad!”

Andrew immediately lights up in sudden realization. “At Minsu and Anne’s wedding! You threw a whole tantrum over the flower girl dress!” He laughs, shaking his head at you. “For a little girl that loved princesses, you sure knew how to compartmentalize those stories.”

Well, turns out that’s a skill you can still master even as an adult. 

Judging by the amused look Jaemin throws your way, he’s probably thinking the exact same thing.

“So, do we have any pictures of… whatever you guys did?”

Alan’s question snaps both of you out of your reverie, Jaemin’s face immediately lighting up as he fishes for his phone, soon scrolling through his gallery for the few pictures of your whirlwind elopement, witnessed by a grumpy but touched Renjun, a confused and slightly shocked Mark and Haechan, who mostly only attended for the free dinner you’d promised to the very short-list of guests. 

As the night carries on, a strangely comfortable rhythm settles over the table during dinner, the initial shock of your revelation replaced by childhood stories and laughter with Jaemin unsurprisingly winning both of your parents over his charm and witty answers. 

While the lieutenant repeatedly remarks how well-matched you two are, noting every little thing Jaemin does for you, the professor stays on a quieter note, though just as taken by your husband’s knowledge—even if offering a little sarcastic quip every now and then, Jaemin taking in stride despite your protests. 

Whenever you catch his eyes, a mix of pride and mischief flashes across Jaemin’s face, as though he knows exactly what’s going on in your mind. 

A few hours later, as you step into the cool night air to bid your parents goodbye with warm hugs and promises of an upcoming brunch, you feel like you can breathe properly, the weight of one of your secrets finally off your shoulders. 

At home, you’re quick to toe off your heels with a relieved sigh, rolling your shoulders to shake off the tension as Jaemin locks the door behind you, tossing his jacket onto the couch.

“I told you, Bunny,” he starts, flopping down to the cushions with his arms stretched over the backrest waiting for you to join. “Told you it’d be fine. They loved me.”

A huff escapes from your lips as you settle beside him, head falling against his shoulder. “Sure, keep telling yourself that,” you mumble, closing your eyes for a moment as exhaustion settles. “We’re never doing this again, by the way.”

“What do you mean?” Jaemin scoffs, mocking a frown despite the playful glint in his eyes. “It was fun, I had a great time.”

“You were interrogated, Jaemin,” you deadpan, lifting your head just enough to shoot him a half-hearted glare. “Is being married to a spy seriously affecting you this much?”

“They were lovely,” he counters, a grin soon growing on his face. “I completely charmed them.”

“You shocked them,” you correct, sighing quietly. “I still can’t believe how well this entire thing went.”

Jaemin hums, his gaze flickering through your face for a second, eyes sharp despite his easygoing tone. “What’s that look on your face, hm?” he asks, nudging you lightly. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how quiet you were on the ride back.”

You exhale, fingers playing idly with the buttons of his shirt. “Have you ever felt bad?”

Jaemin tilts his head, confusion flickering across his features. “About what?”

“I keep you separate from a lot of my life,” you admit, voice dropping to a quieter note. “I don’t really talk about you to people. My own parents didn’t know about us for almost three years.”

He blinks at you, a chuckle escaping from his lips with a touch of obviousness. “You keep me safe.”

“I know!” you sigh, nodding as one of your hands reaches to cup his cheek. “I know, but… it’s not fair to you, I guess.”

The doctor leans into your touch, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “I don’t need people to know about us, Bunny,” he says, shaking his head softly. “I just need you. Do you need me?”

You nod again, heart clenching at his words as your lips threaten a smile. “Yeah.”

“Then you have me,” Jaemin answers, a mischievous grin suddenly taking over his face before pulling you closer, pressing an exaggerated kiss to your cheek. “I’m not letting you back out of this, remember?”

As you roll your eyes, you surrender to his antics with a groan. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You know, if you really feel bad about keeping me a secret, you could always start posting me on your social media,” he jokes, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe an appreciation post? I have a lot of husband pictures, if you want.”

“I don’t have social media,” you note, your blank expression soon shifting to a teasing one as you raise an eyebrow at him. “Besides, I wouldn’t want people actually knowing how sexy my husband is.”

“Right,” he says, playfully nodding in agreement. “Let’s keep my insane levels of attractiveness classified.”

You scoff. 

“You’re insufferable.”

Jaemin grins. 

“You married me.”

Right.

So you can’t resist pulling him closer, fingers curling around the collar of his shirt as your lips finally meet his for the first time that night. The kiss slowly grows deeper as his arms wrap around your waist, though you’re quick to pull back before Jaemin tugs you to his lap, a peeved frown settling on his face at the sudden interruption. 

“Why’d we stop?”

The look on your face only adds to the answer. 

“You deserve more than our couch tonight.”

The first thing you notice once stepping out of the elevator is your apartment’s door slightly ajar.

To anybody else, it would probably look like a slip of your mind when leaving, but Foxglove knows better. You’d only been gone for an hour—just a quick trip to the market to pick up fresh fruits upon Jaemin’s insistence of eating healthy and giving your parents a deserved in-law hospitality experience. 

Thoroughly used to your modus operandi, especially being the main focus of your safety measures himself, Jaemin also knows better than overlooking such a small detail. 

The hallway is too quiet. 

Inside, you can barely hear low voices.

Moving without hesitation, you drop the grocery bags at the doorstep, quietly pushing it open just enough to slip inside with featherlike steps.

It takes a second for you to take in the scene of your living room. Jaemin’s sitting on the couch, wrists bound by a pair of handcuffs on his lap. Looking entirely too relaxed for someone in a hostage situation, there’s a subtle shadow of arrogance on his features as he glares at the intruders. Across from him, your parents sit in a similar fashion, except their wide-eyes are barely concealing their panic over the three black-suited men watching them.

As one of the men steps forward, carelessly tossing a folder at Jaemin’s face, you can’t help the quiet, dangerous anger from simmering in your chest. The man takes a seat on the table across from your husband, exuding a kind of arrogance that makes your blood boil as he glares at Jaemin. 

“We have reason to believe you’re operating under a false identity, Dr. Na.”

Jaemin just laughs.

Sounding nothing but amused, his lips curl into something dangerously close to mockery, sharp eyes meeting the man’s gaze in nothing but unbothered defiance.

“You’re even dumber than I thought,” he starts, a scoff escaping from his lips. “Not only did you break into an agent’s home, but you also think I’m the spy?”

It takes a second for you to move into the living room, stepping behind the men and hooking an arm around the shortest’s neck, yanking him backward in a chokehold. He doesn’t even get a chance to react before you’re slamming him into the shelves, Jaemin’s books falling to the floor with the impact.

The second man reaches for his gun, not fast enough as you reach for his arm with a twist, disarming him in a quick move. The gun clatters against the hardwood, a kick from you sending it underneath the couch. 

The last man—the one who had been questioning Jaemin—freezes as you turn to him.

Alan and Andrew are gaping.

Jaemin, on the other hand, looks nothing but delighted. 

The man suddenly lifts his hands, unmoving as you step beside him. ���Wait—”

A single punch sends him to the floor with a thud.

You wince, shaking your hand as the impact spreads through the fingers. “Ouch.”

Jaemin lets out a low whistle, grinning at the scene as if you just didn’t destroy half of your home. “Yeah, remind me to never piss you off.”

As his wide eyes flicker back and forth between you and the half-awake man by your feet, Alan snaps out of his daze first. “What the hell just happened?”

Andrew just blinks at your husband, still lounging comfortably on the couch as if this is a regular week day for him. “Did I just watch my daughter just throw a man against her bookshelf?!”

“Oh, yeah,” Jaemin answers, nodding enthusiastically with a chuckle. “Wasn’t it amazing? I do think she went easy on them, though.” 

“I’ll explain everything in a bit,” you say, throwing a quick, apologetic glance at your bewildered parents. “I just need to finish this before calling Renjun.”

Alan raises an eyebrow at the new name. “Renjun?”

As he hums casually, Jaemin nods as if they’re having an ordinary brunch conversation. “That’s her handler.”

Ignoring them, you step over the man still groaning on the floor, grabbing the front of his shirt before yanking him up to eye-level to meet your gaze. Tilting your head as you study the man in front of you for a second, your voice drops to an alarmingly calm, too relaxed tone. 

“Talk.”

The man’s jaw tightens, his silence stretching.

You lean closer, the words shifting into something razor-sharp now. “Are we doing this the hard way?”

His defiance cracks a little, a flash of doubt crossing his face.

Behind you, an amused snort escapes from Jaemin’s mouth. “I’d answer if I were you. My Bunny’s not exactly known for her patience.”

The man swallows nervously. “We thought he was the agent.”

“Are you telling me that you broke into my home and threatened my husband because you thought he was the agent?” you ask slowly, unimpressed. “My husband, who just happens to be one of the top surgeons in the city, an agent?”

The doctor lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Damn, Bunny,” he starts, a grin tugging at his lips. “You’re the one with a double life, and I’m the one accused of being a secret agent first? That’s crazy.”

“You’re a government operative, aren’t you?” you press further, not resisting an eye-roll upon the man’s stiff, short nod. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

The second punch sends the man into dreamland. 

In no time, your practiced efficiency kicks in and Foxglove’s quick on securing the intruders—zip ties, a few well-placed kicks to keep them in line, clean and controlled. As you finish binding the last one, Renjun’s already on speed dial.

“Junnie!” you greet, keeping it as light-hearted as you can so it doesn’t piss him off. “What if I tell you that three idiots just broke into my apartment thinking Jaemin was an agent?”

The line stays silent for a second before Renjun sighs exasperatedly. “Are you for real?”

“Unfortunately,” you reply, glancing at the men scattered over the floor of your living room. “Can you send a team, please?”

“ETA’s around ten minutes,” he announces, his tone then shifting into something more focused, a touch softer. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you reassure, sparing a glance at Jaemin, who gives you an easy grin and a nod from the couch. “We handled it.”

Renjun exhales sharply, almost relieved if you trick yourself into it. “Call me as soon as they’re done with the clean-up.”

As the call disconnects, you finally turn to your husband, relief settling deep in your bones. You sit beside him on the couch, working the handcuffs off his wrists with one of your tricks. The moment it clicks open, Jaemin rolls his shoulders, twisting his wrists with a small wince.

Before he can say anything, you take his face into your hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones as you press a lingering kiss to his lips.

“Hi.” 

Jaemin grins, his voice sounding nothing but warm. “Hey.”

You sigh, hands sliding from his shoulders down to his chest. “Are you okay?”

“I’m peachy,” he assures, lips curling into a grin before taking one of your hands into his own, pressing a kiss to its back. “You look the prettiest beating people up. Also, your chapstick tastes like bubblegum.”

Though the tension in your chest is still to ease up, you can’t resist a chuckle at his unwavering behavior. “You really scared me, Jaemin.”

The doctor shakes his head, leaning forward to brush a kiss to your cheek. “You got here before they could do anything. I knew you would.”

The adrenaline’s still running through your body as you take a deep breath, moving on to help your parents. Before you untie them, you meet Jaemin’s eyes for a second, a quiet reassurance passing between you before you muster the courage to address the shocked silence in the room.

“I don’t work in accounting.”

“My God,” Alan starts, blinking at his husband in disbelief. “We raised a secret agent, Andrew.”

Andrew frowns, visibly trying to process everything. “A secret agent?” he asks, giving a short pause before a surprised sound escapes from his mouth, eyes wide towards you. “Holy shit, princess, do you kill people?”

Jaemin perks up, raising an eyebrow at your father. “Oh, that’s a good question.”

Andrew turns to him, eyes wide as he pieces the details together. “Jaemin! Did you know?”

Your husband shrugs, nonchalant as always despite the grin on his face. “The breaking and entering thing wasn’t entirely a lie,” he admits, sounding remarkably relaxed. “Bunny actually saved me from getting shot by a sniper.”

You turn to him, ready to scold him for the unnecessary details of your unusual first meeting. “Nana.”

As he winces, Jaemin offers a half-hearted guilty smile. “Sorry.”

While your parents process the second shock of their week, you move closer to finally untie them. “I need to get you two somewhere safe, okay?” you explain, making quick work of the zip-ties around their wrists with an apologetic glance. “There’s no time to explain all the details now, but I promise to tell you guys everything soon.”

Something in your expression gives you away—whether it’s the lingering tension in your shoulders or the tip of apprehension in your eyes—because the moment they’re free, both Andrew and Alan lean forward without hesitation, wrapping you in a firm, reassuring embrace.

For a second, you freeze. 

Caught off guard by their warmth, you hadn’t quite realized how much you were bracing for their disappointment, or anything other than the soft, quiet understanding that settles over you now.

“We’ll talk later, princess,” the professor starts, squeezing your shoulders encouragingly with a nod. “Don’t worry, alright? You’re still our daughter, no matter what.”

“A secret agent,” Andrew mutters, shaking his head between pride and exasperation, an amused sigh leaving his mouth. “Jesus, you could’ve warned us before dropping that bomb.”

You exhale a laugh, a relieved breath escaping from your lips as you hug them back. “I know.”

Jaemin sighs fondly, watching the scene with soft eyes. “Man, I should’ve recorded this.” 

Taking in the chaos as you step back—the bound intruders, the wrecked bookshelf, the lingering stress in your veins—you know that the day’s far from over. There’s a mess to clean up, questions to be answered and reports to be written, a lifetime of explaining to do. 

Still, if there’s one thing you know for certain is that everything’s going to be fine now.

The smile on your husband’s face is enough proof of that.

The new apartment still smells faintly of fresh paint and cardboard, the last few moving boxes scattered across the hardwood floor. 

It had taken you longer than expected to make the move—between your missions, Jaemin’s shifts at the hospital and the aftermath of your parents’ visit, life flew by a whirlwind in the following months. 

Now, being in a new place means a fresh start with a lot of more space, brand new safety measures at every corner and plenty of room for Luna, Lucy and Luke, the latest additions to yours and Jaemin’s chaotic daily routine.

As you stack the last box of Jaemin’s books into the shelves, the sound of his voice easily echoes through the half-empty living room.

“Bunny?”

Turning around, out of all things you’d expect your husband to be currently doing, finding him kneeling on the floor with a small, pink velvet box in hands would definitely be the last on your list.  

“What the f—”

“Wow, Bunny!” he cuts in, grinning as he shoots you a look. “Language!”

Noticing the ring sitting inside the little box, your breath immediately hitches. “Jaemin, what on Earth are you doing?”

“Well,” Jaemin starts, huffing a small laugh that almost sounds uncharacteristically nervous. “I just figured it’s time for us to do this properly.”

You blink, still caught between shock and disbelief despite your amusement. “Do what properly?”

“I know we’re already married but with everything that’s happened, I thought we could do this one more time,” he says, looking up at you with playful sincerity, a touch teasing. “You still wanna stay married to me?”

A laugh escapes from your lips, a mix of exasperation and affection as you take a step closer, taking his face in your hands with a fond smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

The doctor grins. “You love me.”

The words are barely a whisper against his mouth as you nod, chuckling at the way his grin widens. “Yes, Nana,” you murmur, fisting his jacket before hastily pulling him up. “I still want to stay married to you.”

As he stands up, slipping the second ring on your finger, Jaemin’s quick to press an eager kiss to your lips, expertly hoisting you up in his arms despite your protests. 

“Are you sure you’re not backing out of this?”

The answer is easy.

“Never.”

. ˚｡ MASTERLIST . ˚｡

[hauntedbyjoel]

Stay A While

pairing: joel miller x f!reader warnings: eventual smut | oral (f & m) | unprotected sex | dirty talk | praise | mutual longing | pining | slow burn | causal intimacy | soft but charged tension | no outbreak word count - 7.3k summary - You rent a guesthouse by the beach, needing space to figure things out. He lives in the main house—quiet, distant, and kind in ways that surprise you. Slowly, something shifts.

part two part three

𓇼𓆉𓇼

You don’t even remember typing the last sentence.

Something about Q3 projections. Client engagement. Numbers and buzzwords that used to mean something—now just static in your head. You stare at them like they might rearrange themselves into a reason to keep going. They don’t.

Across the office, someone laughs a little too loudly. Over by the breakroom, the microwave beeps and nobody moves. Your inbox pings again.

URGENT: NEED FINAL REVIEW BY 3PM. Appreciate your hustle.

You close the email. Not out of defiance. Just... fatigue. Everything feels like noise.

The coffee in your cup is cold. You drink it anyway. No creamer left in the breakroom and no energy to care. You stare at the screen and pretend to read something important while you try not to cry from a place that doesn’t even feel emotional—just... tired.

It’s not that the job is terrible. It’s fine. Everyone says you’re lucky to have it. Good benefits. Steady pay. A team that uses too many emojis in Slack but means well enough. It’s not bad.

But you hate it.

You hate the way it’s slowly eaten pieces of you in exchange for... what? PTO you never use? A title no one outside of work understands? Deadlines you never chose?

You open a browser tab.

“Quiet places to stay near the beach.” You’ve searched it before—every other week, like clockwork. Like maybe this time there’ll be something new. A way out.

There’s a little house on the coast. Too expensive. A cabin in the woods. Too isolated. A pastel Airbnb with ‘good vibes only’ in the header image. God, no.

You close the tab.

Your eyes flick to the sticky note on your monitor—“Your passion will lead you.” You don’t even remember who wrote it. Some old team meeting, probably. You peel it off and crumple it into your palm. You hold it there for a while.

Your phone buzzes.

A text from Jules:

Jules: Made the mistake of swimming after lunch again. I’m 90% seaweed now.

You smile, half-hearted but real. You text back a simple “RIP”, then pause for a second, staring at her name.

Without thinking too hard, you press Call.

She picks up on the second ring. “Hey, what’s up?.”

“You’re not seaweed, you’re just dramatic,” you say, flopping back in your chair.

“I am seaweed. I’ve accepted it. I’m part of the ecosystem now.” Jules sounds like she’s walking—wind in the background, maybe seagulls too. “Are you alright?”

You hesitate, then shrug. “Yeah. Just... needed to talk to someone who isn’t obsessed with productivity metrics.”

“Say no more,” she groans. “I got dive-bombed by a pelican this morning, so let’s talk about that instead.”

You laugh, and for the first time today it doesn’t feel forced.

The conversation wanders—lunch spots, bad music, someone named Eli who forgot to anchor the kayak rental dock again. It’s easy. Familiar. Until you’re quiet for just a little too long.

You hesitate, chewing your lip. The silence stretches just long enough before you say it. “I’ve been thinking about taking time off. Like, not a full break, just… remote. For a while.”

Jules doesn’t skip a beat. “So come here.”

You snort. “You’ve been saying that for two years.”

“And I’ve been right for two years. I’m overdue for being smug.”

You stretch your legs out under the desk, voice softer now. “I’m serious, though. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

“Then stop trying to figure it out,” she says. “Come stay for a bit. Reset. I know a guy. Well, I know of him. Joel. He rents out this little guesthouse sometimes—it’s nothing fancy, but it’s quiet and like... weirdly peaceful. I can ask around.”

You blink up at the ceiling tiles. “Would he be okay with that?”

“He doesn’t even know me. It’s word-of-mouth type stuff. I’ll see what I can find out. You just say the word.”

You let your eyes close.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Okay.”

You hang up the phone and sit there for a minute, letting the silence settle. The overhead lights buzz. Your back aches. The office is nearly empty now, just the cleaning crew and the low hum of someone’s forgotten desktop fan.

You stand up slowly. Shut your laptop. Slide it into your bag.

No announcement. No grand exit. Just… leaving.

The sky outside is dusky pink by the time you get home—your apartment still exactly as you left it: keys in the dish, shoes kicked off halfway to the door, a half-finished coffee cup on the counter you meant to rinse out this morning. It smells like lavender laundry detergent and burnt toast. Familiar. Still.

You drop your bag by the door and pull out your phone again.

Jules: Asked around. Guesthouse is open. Told ‘em you’re chill and don’t throw parties. It’s yours if you want it.

Your fingers hover over the screen.

Then:

You: I want it.

You toss your phone on the bed and open your closet. Not frantically—just... automatically. Like your body already knows what to do even if your brain is still buffering.

You grab the canvas duffel from under your bed. The one you always told yourself you’d use for a weekend getaway that never came. You don’t pack much. A few outfits. A swimsuit you haven’t worn in two summers. Your laptop. A couple books you keep rereading, even when they don’t hit the same.

Toiletries. Chargers. That old hoodie you wear when you’re pretending everything’s fine.

You stand there for a moment, staring down at the bag.

It doesn’t feel impulsive. It doesn’t feel like running away. It feels… necessary. Like your body hit its limit before your mind caught up.

You don’t know what’s waiting there. You don’t know how long you’ll stay.

You just know you need to go.

𓇼𓆉𓇼

You spot her before she sees you—leaning against the side of a weather-faded Honda with the windows down, one foot propped against the tire, hair tied up in a messy knot. She’s scrolling through her phone and squinting at the sun, sunglasses sliding halfway down her nose.

When she looks up, she smiles like this is just another Thursday. Like you didn’t just leave your whole life behind.

“Hey,” she says, casual and warm.

You manage something close to a smile. “Hey.”

She opens the trunk without comment, just nods toward your bag. “Throw it in. The AC barely works and I’m already sweaty.”

You toss your bag into the trunk and slide into the passenger seat. The inside of the car smells like sunscreen and sand, and there’s an empty iced coffee cup wedged between the seats. Jules pulls out of the airport lot without turning on the music. The windows are cracked just enough to let in the salt air.

Neither of you talks at first. You’re grateful for that.

Outside, the landscape shifts from traffic and chain stores to palm trees and beautiful beaches. The sky is wide and pale, hazy from heat. You pass weathered houses on stilts, homemade signs for bait shops and beach yoga, kids on bikes in swimsuits still dripping from the ocean.

It’s not quiet in the way you expected. It’s the kind of quiet that has texture—wind through seagrass, tires on gravel, gulls somewhere above you, calling out like they own the place.

“You hungry?” Jules asks eventually, glancing at you as she turns onto a smaller road. “We can stop before I take you to the house.”

You nod. “Yeah. I could definitely eat.”

She takes you to a place with a cracked vinyl sign and a handwritten chalkboard menu out front. It smells like vinegar and something fried, and you already feel your hair starting to frizz in the heat.

The two of you sit at a shaded picnic table with water-streaked plastic cups and paper baskets of food between you. Jules picks at a plate of fries and orders a lemonade so sour she winces with every sip. You get grilled shrimp, something light.

Neither of you is in a rush.

It takes a few minutes before the conversation settles into something real.

“I still can’t believe you actually did it,” Jules says, brushing crumbs off her lap. “I mean, I knew you were close, but…”

You shrug. “I didn’t quit, exactly. Just asked to go remote for a while. My boss said I looked like I was about to pass out on a Zoom call, so.” You gesture vaguely. “Here I am.”

Jules raises an eyebrow. “And they let you?”

“Yeah. Shockingly, they don’t care where I answer emails from, as long as I keep answering them.”

She leans back in her seat and watches you. “I’m glad you’re here.”

You give a half-smile. “I feel like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Then you’re doing it right.”

You blink. “That easy?”

She nods. “You’ve been so stuck trying to figure it all out. What if you don’t? What if you just… exist for a while?”

You pick up a shrimp, tear the tail off slowly. “You’re starting to sound like someone who eats seaweed and meditates on a paddleboard.”

“I’m starting to live,” she says. “There’s a difference.”

She tells you about her work—marine conservation, public education. She gives talks to tourists about nesting sea turtles, organizes cleanups, curses at jet skis under her breath. It’s all stuff she used to talk about back in college like it was some distant dream.

Now she’s just doing it. Barefoot, usually.

“You really like it here,” you say.

“I really like me here,” she corrects.

And that hits harder than you expect.

The drive to Joel's is quieter. You lean your head against the window and let her navigate through narrow side roads lined with tall grass and crooked mailboxes. There’s a rhythm to this place already, like it doesn’t care what time it is.

When she turns into the driveway, you sit up.

The house is simple—single-story, pale siding, a wide porch mostly in shade. A gravel path curves around to a second structure tucked behind it. The guesthouse is smaller, boxier, but clean and cared for. No frills. No clutter.

“That’s you,” Jules says, pulling up in front of the smaller house. “Joel lives in the main one.”

You glance out the window. “Is he home?”

She shrugs. “Probably. He’s around a lot, working. Keeps to himself. Doesn’t do the whole neighborly chit-chat thing, but I’ve never heard a single bad thing.”

“Sounds perfect.”

You step out of the car and stretch your legs. Jules grabs your bag from the trunk and sets it on the porch for you.

“You’re not gonna introduce me?”

She laughs. “I don’t know him. I just heard he had a place. Told a guy at the coffee shop my friend needed a quiet rental, and two days later he left a note saying the guesthouse was unlocked.”

You blink. “Seriously?”

“Small town.” She shrugs. “People hear things. People help. No one wants to make it weird.”

She glances toward the main house. The blinds are drawn. Somewhere behind it, you hear a faint, steady rhythm—maybe a hammer, maybe something heavier. Not loud, just… present.

“He’s harmless,” she says. “And honestly? Quiet might be exactly what you need.”

𓇼𓆉𓇼

The first morning you wake up in the guesthouse, it takes a second to remember where you are.

The light hits differently here—muted through gauzy curtains, soft and golden, like it filtered through the ocean first. The ceiling fan ticks gently above you, blades slicing through the air at a pace that feels patient.

You reach for your phone out of habit. No new messages. No calendar pings. No blinking notifications. For a split second, you panic—then remember: it’s Saturday. You got here on a weekend.

You told your team you’d be online Monday morning. Said it like it was no big deal. But now, standing here in someone else’s t-shirt with the sun warming your arms through the window… Monday feels like it might be a century away.

You make coffee in the small, slightly temperamental drip machine on the counter. The mugs are mismatched—one with faded sailboats, one that says “I’m crabby before caffeine” in peeling red letters. You pick the least offensive one and step outside barefoot.

The porch boards are warm under your feet. Everything smells like sun—salt and wood and something faintly green. You sit on the top step, cross your legs, and wrap your fingers around the mug like it’s the only thing anchoring you here.

The quiet isn’t exactly peaceful. Not yet. It’s unfamiliar. Expansive. It stretches out in front of you like something you’re supposed to do something with.

You don’t.

You just sit there and listen to the wind push through the dune grass. To the porch creak when you shift your weight. To the absence of anything that needs you.

Later, you half-unpack.

You open drawers just to see how they close. Leave your bag unzipped on the floor. Put a book on the nightstand you probably won’t finish. You don’t organize anything—you just scatter yourself around the room like you’re testing the space.

The guesthouse feels clean, but not in a rental kind of way. There’s intention to it. Like someone still cares about the way it looks when no one’s watching. You notice it in the way the towels are folded, the soap dish resting perfectly straight.

At some point in the late afternoon, you crack a window open. The air that slips in is heavier now—still warm, but with a little weight to it. Like it’s tired, too.

And then you hear it.

A low, steady bzzzzzt drifting across the property. Not jarring—just present. There’s a rhythm to it. Like someone who’s done the same motion so many times it no longer takes thought. A pause. Then again. And again.

It’s not constant—just consistent. The sound comes and goes, sometimes broken by the scrape of wood or a hollow thud. Somewhere behind it all, barely there, music plays. Not loud enough to make out lyrics. Just a muffled melody, anchored by a low voice and something with strings. Bluesy, maybe. Old.

You glance toward the main house without meaning to. Just for a second.

Through a break in the trees, past the far side of the porch, you catch movement—slow, deliberate. A man with his back turned, walking from what looks like a detached garage or shed. Barefoot in the grass. A loose-fitting T-shirt hangs low over work-worn jeans. He’s carrying something under one arm—a length of wood, maybe. You don’t squint. Don’t crane your neck.

It’s not interesting. Just part of the place. Just... what’s happening here.

Still, you find yourself pausing at the counter longer than necessary. Your fingers trace the rim of your coffee mug. The window stays open.

He knocks that evening. Just three times. Soft, spaced out like he almost changed his mind halfway through.

You open the door and he’s there—solid, quiet, uncomfortable in a way that doesn’t seem like insecurity. More like he just doesn’t do this very often.

Up close, Joel looks a little older than you’d guessed. Sun-worn, beard neatly trimmed, hair graying at the temples in a way that doesn’t look curated. His face is unreadable—not guarded, exactly. Just... still.

He holds out a paper bag. His other hand rests awkwardly on the back of his neck, thumb grazing the edge of his shirt collar.

“Welcome,” he says, low and flat like he rehearsed it once and decided that was enough.

“Thanks,” you say, blinking a little too slowly. You didn’t expect company. You’re barefoot, wearing sleep shorts and a tank top you’ve had since college.

“I’m Joel.” He jerks his chin toward the front house. “I live out here.”

You nod. “Nice to meet you.”

He shifts, like he might bolt.

“Should be everything you need in there,” he says, nodding toward the house. “But if not... I’m around. Just knock.”

You reach for the bag and he seems almost surprised you’re taking it. Inside, you find a small jar of amber-colored honey, a bunch of clipped herbs—basil, mint, rosemary—and a small, handmade cutting board. The wood is pale, sanded smooth, warm under your fingertips.

“I made that,” he mutters, almost too low to catch. “Just... had scraps.”

You run your fingers gently over the edge. “It’s beautiful,” you say, looking back at him. “Really. Thank you. That’s… thoughtful.”

He nods, once. Then again. His eyes drop slightly, and when they come back up, his ears are flushed just a little pink.

“Most people like the quiet out here,” he says. “Gets easier, after a while.”

You smile—soft, tired, but sincere. “It already feels better than where I was yesterday.”

He holds your gaze for a second too long. Not intense—just surprised. Like he hadn’t expected you to say that.

“I’m glad,” he says, voice low. His hand flexes slightly at his side, like he’s not sure what to do with it.

You nod. “Thanks again. For all of this.”

He just nods once more, and then he’s gone—turning back toward the main house without another word, feet quiet over the gravel, his shoulders tight in a way that doesn’t read like discomfort. Just restraint.

You set the bag on the counter and pull out the cutting board again. Turn it over in your hands. It’s simple, but carefully made. Clean edges. Sanded smooth. Someone spent time on it.

You brush a thumb across the surface once before setting it down beside the stove.

You’re not sure what you expected—maybe nothing at all—but this feels... kind. Quietly so.

You open the jar of honey, just to look at it. Then you put it away and rinse your mug.

The house settles again around you, soft and still.

And for once, you let it.

𓇼𓆉𓇼

You sleep later than you meant to.

The light is already full and soft when you open your eyes, the kind that suggests it’s closer to mid-morning than anything ambitious. The ceiling fan ticks overhead, blades slicing through the air in a rhythm that’s starting to feel familiar. You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling for a long while, letting your thoughts drift somewhere quiet.

No alarms. No meetings. No expectations.

It’s Sunday.

You make breakfast in bare feet—eggs cooked a little too long, toast with too much butter, coffee in the mug with the sailboats on it. You eat standing at the counter, leaning against it like there’s nowhere else you need to be. The house is still. The air smells like citrus and toasted bread. You pull your hair up, throw on a tank top and shorts, and decide to give yourself the day. No pressure. No plan.

You do small things. Finish unpacking. Fold your clothes neatly into the drawers you didn’t touch yesterday. You pause over a notebook you’d almost forgotten about—half-filled, tucked into a bag pocket. You leave it out on the table with a pen on top.

You light a candle you found tucked in one of the kitchen drawers—lavender and something woodsy—and let it burn while you open windows to let the air in. Sweep the kitchen. Wipe down the bathroom sink. Rearrange the three books you brought twice before deciding not to read any of them.

Time starts to slide.

By noon, you realize you should probably get groceries. You haven’t had a vegetable in days and you’re down to one sad heel of bread. You grab your tote bag, slide your sunglasses on, and walk into town.

The road is mostly empty. A few bikes pass you. One kid on a skateboard. The heat clings but the breeze helps, and there’s something grounding in the sound of your own footsteps. It smells like salt and sunscreen and dry grass. You pass houses with porches draped in windchimes and laundry lines fluttering in the sun. There’s a hand-painted sign for a café you make a mental note to try later.

The store is small and old-school, with handwritten signs and wire racks that squeak when you turn them. You pick up the essentials—fruit, bread, a cold drink, something salty for later. A small journal with a linen cover catches your eye near the register. You don’t need it. You buy it anyway.

At the checkout, the woman behind the counter glances at you and smiles.

"New in town?"

You nod, setting your bag down. "Just for a little while."

She rings up your things, slow and easy. "Well, welcome. Hope you stick around."

You smile. "Thanks."

You walk back slower than you came. The sun's higher now, the heat sinking into your shoulders in a way that feels earned. You carry your bag in one hand and a bottle of cold tea in the other, condensation dripping down your wrist.

Back at the guesthouse, you put everything away without thinking too much about it. You make a sandwich—avocado, tomato, a little lemon—and eat it on the back steps with your feet in the grass. The sounds are the same as yesterday—birds, breeze, the distant hum of something mechanical.

Joel must be working again. You hear the faint buzz of a tool starting and stopping. The occasional scrape of wood or clatter of metal. No music this time.

You don’t look.

Instead, you wander.

The edge of the property curls into a small patch of shade where two trees lean slightly toward one another. Between them, strung with thick rope and a little sag, is a hammock. You don’t know if it’s meant for guests, or if Joel uses it, or if it’s just been there long enough to belong to the landscape now.

But it’s empty.

You climb in slowly, testing the tension. It sways just enough to make your stomach shift, then settles. You close your eyes. Breathe.

It smells like pine needles and sun-warmed rope.

You don’t fall asleep, but you stop keeping track of time.

Eventually, the light begins to shift. You hear the soft rustle of branches overhead and the distant creak of the guesthouse porch when the wind changes. Nothing pressing. Nothing loud.

You stay right where you are.

Eventually, hunger pulls you out of the hammock. You stretch your legs, brush off your shorts, and wander back toward the house, pausing once to tip your face into the breeze.

As the sky starts to turn the color of pale grapefruit, you head out again—this time toward the beach.

You walk slowly, toes sinking into the sand, the air cooler now, salty and soft against your skin. The tide is low, and the waves lap gently against the shore, folding and unfolding themselves in a quiet rhythm. You don’t swim, don’t sit. Just walk. Let your feet carry you past bits of driftwood and tangled seaweed, past shells you don’t stop to collect.

You don’t think about much.

Just the sound of the water. The way it feels to be small in the best kind of way.

Dinner is simple. Something easy. You can’t remember the last time it tasted this good.

𓇼𓆉𓇼

Your first Monday in the guesthouse starts with light and birdsong instead of traffic.

You wake before your alarm, blinking at the ceiling like your body hasn’t gotten the memo that the rules have changed. For a moment, you expect the old rush—shower, clothes, keys, commute. But it never comes.

You make coffee and sit at the kitchen table with your laptop, the windows cracked open just enough to let the morning air in. A soft breeze rustles through the trees. Your inbox is full, but not urgent. You reply to a few things, flag some others, and fall into a rhythm that doesn’t feel punishing.

It’s not the work that ever drained you. It was everything around it—the noise, the pressure, the way the office swallowed whole days and spit them back out in meetings and recycled air. The elevator rides, the fluorescent lights, the sound of someone reheating fish in the breakroom microwave.

Now, you keep your camera off for most of the morning. Nobody seems to mind.

In the afternoon, you join a Zoom meeting with your camera on and your feet tucked under you. Someone from your team—Rachel, maybe, or Erin—squints at the screen and says, “You look really relaxed. The change of pace must be helping.”

You smile. “Definitely. It’s been nice to breathe a little.”

Someone else nods. “Glad you're settling in.”

The meeting moves on.

You eat lunch on the porch with your laptop balanced on one knee. You start a list of things to do later, but you forget about it almost as quickly.

The day goes fast.

At one point, you hear the sound of Joel’s saw in the distance. Not constant. Just there. A soft reminder of something happening outside of you.

You don’t look.

By the time you shut your laptop, the sun has already shifted to that late-afternoon gold. You stretch your arms above your head, roll your neck, and wander inside to change.

Jules picks you up just after six.

“First day on the beach payroll,” she says when you slide into the passenger seat. “How does it feel to not be rotting in a cubicle?”

“Less fluorescent,” you say. “Less... everything.”

She takes you to a little place near the water with plastic chairs and string lights overhead. You order wine and grilled fish with citrus slaw. She talks about the tourists, about the guy who keeps trying to name starfish after himself in her marine tours, about how she still hasn’t figured out if her neighbor owns a rooster or is just playing one through a speaker.

At some point, you ask, casually, "Do you know anything about Joel? The guy who owns the place."

Jules leans back in her chair. "Not really. He’s kind of a local fixture, but he keeps to himself. Builds furniture, mostly. Some people say he sells it out of state."

You nod. "He dropped off a cutting board the day I got in. Didn’t really stick around."

"Yeah, that sounds like him," she says. "He’s not unfriendly. Just... private. Been here a while. Doesn’t talk much."

You let that sit. Not because it means anything. Just because it's something to file away.

You let her talk. You let yourself laugh. You let the breeze lift your hair and the wine loosen your shoulders.

It doesn’t feel like a milestone. It doesn’t feel like a reward.

It just feels good.

You head home with the last of the light still clinging to the sky, salt on your skin, and no plans for tomorrow except doing it all again.

𓇼𓆉𓇼

He shows up again on Tuesday.

Late morning. You're mid-email, one hand wrapped around your coffee mug, rereading the same sentence twice when there’s a knock on the door. It’s light—tentative. Like last time, like he’s still not sure if he should be doing this at all.

You hesitate, push your chair back, and cross the room. When you open it, Joel stands on the porch with his hands in his pockets. No paper bag this time. No offerings. Just him.

“Hey,” he says, voice low. “Sorry to bother. Just wanted to check in. Make sure everything’s alright in the place."

You blink, then nod, holding your mug against your chest. “Yeah. Everything’s good. No issues.”

Joel gives a short nod. His eyes shift toward the trees, like he might leave immediately. But he doesn’t.

“I don’t usually rent it out this time of year,” he says after a beat. “Heard someone was looking for somewhere to stay. Figured the timing worked out.”

You lean a little into the doorway. “It did. It’s been... a really good reset.”

Joel glances down, thumb skimming the edge of his jeans pocket. “I’m not much of a host,” he says. “Wasn’t sure if I should stop by. But figured I should check in, at least."

You smile, soft. Not too much. “I appreciate it. Everything’s been really comfortable. Quiet.”

He nods again. "Good."

For a second, neither of you says anything. The wind rustles through the trees, and a bird chirps somewhere off to the left. Joel shifts his weight. The porch creaks faintly under his heel.

“Place is nice,” you add. “Feels lived in. In a good way.”

That makes him glance back toward the house. “Built most of it myself. Added the guesthouse a few years back. Didn’t think I’d use it much, but...” He shrugs. “People end up needing space."

You take a sip from your mug and nod. “Seems like a good place for it.”

Joel rubs the back of his neck. “If anything needs fixing—drawer sticks, windows squeak, anything like that—I’m around. Workshop’s just behind the shed."

You follow his gesture. You hadn’t really looked beyond the trees yet, hadn’t thought about what was back there. But now you notice it—a wide structure tucked in the shade, low roof, stacked planks leaning against the outer wall.

“Thanks,” you say. “I’ll let you know.”

You glance at him again, not expecting to find anything new—but this time, your eyes catch on the way his hands shift slightly, like he’s not sure what to do with them. They’re rough. Not just callused, but visibly worn. Small scars along his knuckles. A tiny cut near the base of his thumb, half-healed.

He notices your glance but doesn’t comment. Just clears his throat softly and lifts his eyes to yours for a second.

“I didn’t know I could feel this... still,” you say, before you really think about it.

Joel nods slowly. “Yeah. I get that.”

You didn’t mean to say it. You don’t follow it up. And he doesn’t ask.

He nods once more, then hesitates like he might say something else. He doesn’t. Just lifts a hand in a half-wave and steps down off the porch.

You watch him walk back across the grass, slow and steady, barefoot like always. He disappears behind the line of trees, swallowed by the quiet.

You shut the door gently.

You try to get back to work, but it takes a minute.

Your coffee's gone lukewarm. The email you were writing doesn’t seem important anymore. You sit at the kitchen table and stare at your screen while the cursor blinks. It takes three tries to remember what you were even supposed to say.

Not because of him. Just... because the interruption broke whatever shallow concentration you had going. You close the laptop for a while and step outside instead.

The hammock is warm in the sun. You sit sideways in it, feet on the grass, journal balanced on your knees. You don’t write much. A line or two. Something about the trees. Something about the quiet.

Eventually, you wander inside, rinse out your mug, and grab a peach from the fridge. The rest of the day stretches ahead of you, soft and slow.

You don’t see him again that day. But you think about the way he stood on the porch. Like he didn’t quite belong there, but showed up anyway.

It wasn’t much. Not personal.

But something about it lingers.

You go back to work with the window open. The saw starts up again around two.

You don’t look. But you hear him.

By late afternoon, the light shifts. The workday winds down, email closed, another empty mug sitting by your keyboard. You stretch, fingertips pressing into the tight knots in your neck.

Out on the porch, the breeze has picked up. You step outside with a glass of water, blinking against the sun.

Down near the workshop, the truck is pulled up closer. Joel’s there, dragging the hose across the gravel. A bucket waits nearby, sponge in hand.

You catch yourself watching almost instantly.

He moves the way he always seems to—unhurried, steady. Shirt sleeves shoved high, forearms slick with water. The damp fabric of his t-shirt pulls faintly across his back when he leans forward into the cab. Broad shoulders, trim waist, the slow flex of muscle beneath sun-warmed skin.

It’s... more than you expected.

Not that you’d expected anything. He was just the landlord. Someone you barely knew.

But now your gaze lingers, and it’s hard to blame the sun for the warmth climbing up your neck.

He straightens, lifts a hand to the back of his neck. The small shift draws your eyes again before you can stop them.

You glance away fast, glass poised halfway to your lips. Take a too-long sip, hoping it’ll cool whatever heat is rising under your skin.

It doesn’t.

You didn’t think of him that way. Until just now, maybe you hadn’t thought of him much at all.

But now the image sticks. And when you head back inside, it follows you a little too easily.

𓇼𓆉𓇼

The rest of the week settles into a kind of rhythm.

Not rushed. Not structured, really. Just… easy.

Mornings start with coffee on the porch, the air still cool enough to warrant a sweatshirt most days. You read there sometimes, legs curled beneath you, the hum of cicadas rising with the sun. The sound of the saw picks up mid-morning more often than not—low and steady from across the yard. After a few days, it blends into the background, like the soft rustle of the seagrass or the gulls overhead. You can’t say it bothers you.

Work stays quiet. Manageable. It’s easier here—something about the space between things. The absence of constant pinging and half-conversations and calendars stacked to the minute. You knock out your to-do list early most days, freeing the afternoons for… whatever feels right.

Sometimes that means walking down to the beach with a book tucked under your arm. Other days it means errands in town—a new bag of coffee, a browse through the little shop that sells lavender soaps and sea glass trinkets. You’ve started to recognize faces. A few hellos here and there. It’s nice.

You see Joel more, too. Not deliberately. It just… happens.

There’s a run-in at the mailbox midweek—he’s heading out as you’re heading back. A nod, a quick “hey,” an easy smile. A few words exchanged about the weather, about the stretch of warm days ahead.

Later, you catch him outside the workshop, arms full of lumber. He shifts the load with a quiet grunt, glances up as you pass on your way to the hammock. Another nod. Another smile. You can’t help but return it.

There are other moments, too. Small ones.

You’re trimming back the hedge one afternoon when you hear his voice nearby, low and even. On the phone, maybe. You don’t listen in, but the cadence of it draws your ear. You glance over without meaning to, catch the edge of him framed in the workshop doorway—one hand braced against the frame, the other at his hip.

You look away fast. No reason to stare.

Still, your gaze drifts that way more often than it used to.

Another morning, you catch a whiff of sawdust and soap on the air as you cross the drive. Not close—just enough to register. Enough to linger.

You tell yourself it’s nothing. You’re just paying attention more, that’s all.

But later, curled in the hammock with your book resting open against your chest, you realize you haven’t turned a page in several minutes. Your eyes keep flicking toward the workshop, half-expecting movement.

You sigh, shake your head, force yourself back to the words on the page.

When the truck door thuds shut later that day, you’re already looking toward the sound before you can stop yourself.

A glimpse through the porch rail—the steady motion you’ve started to recognize. The faint rise and fall of his voice. Familiar now, in a way it wasn’t before.

Funny how that happens.

Nothing more to it than that.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But you don’t go back inside right away. The sun is soft now, the porch warm beneath your legs. You let the minutes stretch, listening to the faint rhythm of his voice, the shuffle of movement from across the yard.

A soft scrape. The low creak of a hinge.

You glance over again. The workshop door’s fully open now, sunlight spilling across the worn boards inside. Joel moves through the space, a rag in one hand, sleeves pushed high.

Your gaze lingers longer than it should. You shift in your seat, fingers curling against the armrest.

The bag from town still sits just inside the door—lightbulbs you’d grabbed on a whim. You hadn’t meant to let them sit this long, and the porch fixture had been dim since your first night here.

A small thing. A small excuse. But enough.

You stand, brushing your hands lightly over your thighs. The path feels shorter than usual as you cross the yard.

The door stands open ahead of you, the hum of the radio low beneath the quiet.

You pause at the threshold, one hand on the frame.

“Hey,” you call, voice light. “Do you have a second?”

Joel looks up, straightens from the bench. His brow lifts faintly.

“Yeah,” he says. “Everything alright?”

You shake your head quickly, offering a small smile.

“All good. Just—” you lift the bag slightly, “—thought I’d check about the porch light. I grabbed some bulbs, wasn’t sure if there’s a trick to it.”

Something shifts in his expression then. Shoulders easing, mouth tugging faint at one corner—something warmer than before.

“Good timing,” he says. “I’ve been meaning to get around to that. Come on in.”

The words catch something low in your chest, loose and warm.

You step inside.

The scent greets you first—cedar and oil, the sharper bite of fresh sawdust. Thicker here, grounding.

Light cuts through the room in long strips, painting the floor in soft gold. Tools hang in careful rows above the benches, handles worn smooth from use. The faint hum of the old radio plays beneath it all—low and steady, like a heartbeat threaded through the air.

Joel sets the rag in his hand aside, straightening as you approach.

“What’d you grab?”

You pull the box of bulbs from the bag, fingers brushing the cardboard edges.

“Just the basics. Didn’t know if they’d fit.”

“Let’s see.”

He reaches for the box, and for a beat, your hands meet—his fingers brushing over yours as he takes it. Warm. Calloused. A flicker of heat trails up your arm before you can think.

Neither of you acknowledges it. But the air feels different now.

Joel lifts the box, tipping it in his hand.

“Yeah, these’ll work.”

You nod, glancing past him toward the bench. Your gaze lingers longer than it should—on the broad planks laid out across the surface, the sharp gleam of steel, the soft curl of wood shavings beneath his arm.

“You working on something?”

He shifts, setting the box aside. “Chair.” He gestures to the half-built frame clamped at the center of the bench. “Trying to get the joints right.”

You step closer, drawn without thinking.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, tracing the clean lines with your eyes.

Joel watches you a moment, something flickering beneath the steady look.

“Appreciate that.” His voice is quieter now, a rougher edge beneath it. “Lot of time goes into these.”

You glance up. He’s closer than before—only a foot or two away now, warmth radiating between the space that isn’t quite space anymore.

“I can tell.” You rest your hand light on the edge of the bench, grounding yourself. “I didn’t know you built everything here.”

Joel’s mouth lifts again, softer this time. “Yeah. Most of it. Took a while to get set up.”

There’s a pause then—a full one. Not awkward. Just… aware.

Your breath slows, skin prickling beneath the light cotton of your shirt.

Joel shifts again, reaching for a small chisel. Your gaze follows without meaning to—the way his hands move, strong and precise, veins cutting sharp beneath his skin.

He glances at you, catches your eyes lingering.

You look away fast. But not fast enough to miss the faint rise of color beneath his scruff.

He clears his throat. “You wanna see how it fits?”

You nod. “Yeah.” The word comes easier than your breath.

He picks up the seat slat, turns toward you—closer now. As he angles it into place, his shoulder brushes yours—light, brief, but enough to send your pulse climbing.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

The moment holds there, stretched thin across the soft weight of the room.

Then—carefully—Joel steps back.

“Still needs some shaping,” he says, voice rougher than before.

You nod, fingers brushing the edge of the wood. “It’s… really nice.”

Another pause.

Joel’s gaze lingers on you, steadier than before. For a breath, neither of you moves. The air feels weighted now, thicker between the strips of light.

You glance down, smoothing your fingers along the grain of the seat.

“How long does something like this take?” you ask softly.

He shifts, arms folding loosely across his chest. The movement pulls his shirt taut across his shoulders, draws your eye before you can catch it.

“Depends,” he says. “Piece like this… week or two. If the wood cooperates.”

You glance up again, meeting his gaze. The edges of your breath catch faintly, but you hold it steady.

“I don’t think I realized how much goes into it.”

Joel huffs a quiet breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Most people don’t.”

There’s a shift in him now—shoulders looser, voice warmer. You can feel it in the way the air hums between you.

Your gaze flicks back to the shelves along the wall. Jars of nails and screws. Planes and clamps worn by use. The space feels different now—not just a workshop, but his. A reflection of the hands that shaped it.

“You’ve been doing this a long time?”

Joel nods. “Yeah. Picked it up young. Stuck with it.” His mouth lifts faintly. “Guess I like making things that last.”

The words settle low in your chest. You don’t know why, but they do.

You glance back toward him. He’s watching you again—not guarded, not unreadable, just… there. Present in a way that makes your pulse hitch.

And maybe it’s the way the afternoon light catches the curve of his jaw. Or the quiet between your words. Or the way your shoulders brush again as he shifts to reach for another tool, close enough that you can feel the heat of him.

Whatever it is, you’re suddenly aware that you’re standing closer than you’d meant to. That you haven’t moved.

Neither has he.

Another beat, full and slow.

Then—reluctant but even—you draw in a breath.

“I should probably let you get back to it,” you say, though your voice is quieter now.

Joel watches you for a second longer.

“Yeah,” he says, but there’s something softer beneath it. Something that feels like it might have asked you to stay if the words were easier to reach.

You step back slowly, fingers brushing once more along the edge of the chair.

“Thanks. For showing me.”

His mouth lifts again, the faintest tug of warmth. “Anytime.”

And when you turn for the door, you can feel his gaze follow you—steady and low, trailing after you as you cross the sunlit yard. 

You don’t let your steps quicken. No sense in it. And maybe next time, you won’t leave so soon.

[asestimationsconsultants]

How an Estimating Service Helps Reduce Cost Overruns in Construction

Cost overruns are a common challenge in the construction industry, and they can have significant financial implications for construction projects. Whether caused by unexpected price hikes, unforeseen project complexities, or inefficient resource management, cost overruns can lead to project delays, reduced profit margins, and strained client relationships. To mitigate the risk of cost overruns, many construction companies rely on professional estimating services. These services provide accurate cost forecasts, help identify potential issues early, and support better financial management throughout the project lifecycle. Here's how an estimating service can help reduce cost overruns in construction projects.

1. Accurate Budgeting and Planning

One of the primary ways an estimating service helps reduce cost overruns is through accurate budgeting and detailed project planning. Estimators create a comprehensive budget based on the specific requirements of the project, considering every element from materials and labor to equipment and overhead costs. Accurate cost estimation helps construction firms set realistic expectations from the outset, ensuring that they have the necessary funds to complete the project without overspending.

Having a detailed budget also helps project managers and stakeholders stay aligned on financial expectations throughout the project. As the work progresses, the estimate can be adjusted as needed, helping to manage any changes in scope or unexpected challenges without jeopardizing the project’s financial health.

2. Forecasting Potential Risks and Issues

An essential function of an estimating service is risk assessment. By using historical data, market trends, and detailed knowledge of the project, estimating services can forecast potential risks and issues that could result in cost overruns. These risks may include price fluctuations for materials, changes in labor costs, or unforeseen site conditions that may require additional work.

By identifying these potential risks early on, estimators can help construction teams plan for contingencies, allocate additional resources, and ensure that the budget accounts for these variables. Early identification of risks can also help reduce the likelihood of financial surprises that could result in cost overruns.

3. Optimizing Resource Allocation

Efficient resource management is essential to avoid cost overruns. Construction projects require careful coordination of labor, materials, equipment, and other resources to ensure that everything is available when needed and that no resources are wasted. Estimating services assist in optimizing resource allocation by providing a detailed breakdown of what is required at each stage of the project.

By having a clear understanding of the quantities of materials and the number of workers required, construction teams can avoid unnecessary expenditures such as excess inventory or underused labor. Accurate resource estimation also prevents delays caused by shortages or the need for additional orders, both of which can lead to increased costs.

4. Minimizing Waste

Waste reduction is another key area where estimating services contribute to reducing cost overruns. Accurate estimations of materials ensure that the right quantities are ordered, reducing the chances of purchasing too much material. Excess materials often lead to increased costs due to storage fees or disposal expenses.

On the flip side, ordering too little material can cause delays in sourcing, potentially resulting in price hikes or the need for expedited shipping. By carefully forecasting the precise amount of materials needed, estimating services help minimize both waste and the risk of delays, contributing to overall cost control.

5. Change Order Management

Changes in project scope, whether requested by the client or required by unforeseen conditions, can lead to significant cost overruns. When scope changes occur, they often result in additional work, more materials, and extended labor costs. A professional estimating service helps manage change orders by providing accurate cost adjustments and helping construction teams assess the impact of changes on the overall budget.

By incorporating change orders into the budget as soon as they are made, estimating services ensure that there is a clear understanding of the cost implications. This proactive approach helps construction teams maintain control over the project’s finances, minimizing surprises and preventing cost overruns.

6. Tracking and Monitoring Costs

Throughout the life of a construction project, keeping track of expenses is crucial for staying within budget. Estimating services can help track ongoing costs, compare them with the initial estimate, and identify any discrepancies. Regular monitoring allows construction managers to make adjustments early if costs start to exceed the estimate.

For example, if a certain aspect of the project is costing more than anticipated, the estimator can suggest ways to adjust other areas or propose solutions to bring costs back in line. By regularly reviewing and adjusting estimates, construction teams can keep cost overruns to a minimum and ensure that the project remains financially viable.

7. Improved Supplier and Contractor Relationships

Accurate estimates also enhance relationships with suppliers and subcontractors. When a construction company has a well-defined budget and clear expectations, it is easier to negotiate pricing and timelines with suppliers and contractors. This transparency fosters stronger working relationships and reduces the chances of disputes that could lead to additional costs.

Moreover, by accurately forecasting material costs and labor requirements, estimating services enable construction teams to order supplies and hire labor at the right time, preventing costly delays and ensuring that all contractors and suppliers remain within their budgets.

8. Better Decision-Making and Financial Management

Estimating services provide the financial clarity needed to make informed decisions about a construction project. When construction companies have a clear understanding of the costs involved, they can make better decisions about project scope, timelines, and resource allocation. This enables construction teams to avoid overspending on unnecessary aspects of the project and prioritize key areas that will have the most significant impact on the overall success of the project.

Financial visibility also empowers project managers to communicate effectively with clients and stakeholders, ensuring that they are aware of the financial situation at every stage of the project. Better decision-making, based on accurate estimates, helps to prevent costly mistakes and keeps the project within budget.

Conclusion

Cost overruns are a common concern in the construction industry, but estimating services offer a proven solution to help minimize this risk. By providing accurate budgets, forecasting potential risks, optimizing resource allocation, and improving change order management, estimating services play a vital role in controlling costs and ensuring that projects are completed on time and within budget. Construction companies that rely on professional estimating services are better equipped to navigate the complexities of their projects and avoid the financial pitfalls that can result from poor cost management.

[dandelionsresilience]

Dandelion News - April 1-7

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles! Last month’s Doodles are free to the public, so go take a look :D

1. Galapagos tortoises at Philadelphia Zoo become first-time parents at nearly 100

“Mommy, the female tortoise, is considered one of the most genetically valuable Galapagos tortoises in the Association of Zoos and Aquariums’ species survival plan. [… T]he zoo said it is “overjoyed” at the arrivals of the four hatchlings, a first in its more than 150-year history.”

2. Massachusetts home-electrification pilot could offer a national model

“In total, the program is providing free or heavily subsidized solar panels and heat pumps to 55 participating households, 12 of which also received batteries at no cost. […] It’s a strategy that program planners hope can help address the disproportionate energy burden felt by lower-income residents of the region[….]”

3. National Park Rangers rebel against queer erasure on Trans Day of Visibility

“[… A] group of over 1,000 off-duty, fired, and retired National Park Service employees launched Rangers Uncensored, an online archive that restores and amplifies LGBTQ+ stories quietly scrubbed from government websites since President Donald Trump’s second inauguration.”

4. World's largest wildlife crossing reaches critical milestone

“Over the next few days they'll be adding 6,000 cubic yards of specially manufactured soil to cover the crossing, a mix of sand, silt and clay inoculated with a bit of compost and hyperlocal mycorrhizal fungi, carefully designed and tested to mimic the biological makeup of native soils around the site.“

5. Bipartisan bill to boost green building materials glides through House

“[B]ipartisan legislation the House of Representatives passed in a 350-73 vote last week would give the Department of Energy a clear mandate to develop a full program to research, develop, and deploy clean versions of the building materials.”

6. Tribal Wildlife Grants Funding Announced

“Tribal Wildlife Grants are intended to help Tribes develop programs for the conservation of habitat and species of traditional or cultural importance[….] Typically funded projects include: conservation planning, fish and wildlife management and research, habitat mapping and restoration, inventory and monitoring, and habitat preservation. […] A total of $6.1 million is available for this round of funding[….]”

7. Germany adds another one million PV arrays to take solar total to 104 gigawatts

“Following a rapid rise in household solar panel installations, Germany’s total number of PV arrays has passed the five million “milestone[.…]” Solar systems already cover almost 15 percent of Germany’s electricity demand, BSW-Solar said. […] The total capacity of all PV systems installed in Germany surpassed 100 GW at the start of the year.”

8. Stronger together: Bilby conservation efforts enhanced by Indigenous knowledge

“Ms. Geyle said the results showed combining [conventional science and traditional tracking methods] more accurately estimated bilby abundance than using either technique individually[….] "[… ensuring] that Indigenous people remain central to decision-making about their lands and species that inhabit them," Ms. Geyle said.”

9. Lennar will build 1,500new Colorado homes with geothermal heat pumps

“The homebuilder is partnering with Dandelion Energy to install the tech, which is efficient but expensive — unless it’s built into new homes from the start. […] And by eliminating the need for new gas pipelines and reducing the peak electricity demands on the power grid, subdivisions built on this model could save a bundle on utilities as well[….]”

10. New strategy launched to protect Tanzanian biodiversity hotspot

“Conservationists have launched a 20-year-long project to protect what is arguably Tanzania’s most biologically rich landscape: the Udzungwa Mountains. The strategy places notable emphasis on communities living here, with more than half of its budget allocated to social and economic projects and managing human-wildlife conflict.”

March 22-28 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[lotus-tower]

The Swiss Cheese Model of Covid Prevention

An edited version of the swiss cheese model tailored towards the measures that you as an individual can take to minimize your risk of infection. Public health is ultimately what its name implies, public, but that doesn't mean you're powerless.

Covid prevention is not all-or-nothing. Think of it as risk reduction, rather than a binary.

Let's go through these step by step.

VACCINES

The current vaccines are meant primarily to reduce chances of severe illness, hospitalization, and death. They will reduce your chance of infection a bit--but not nearly as much as you might think. You should still get your boosters regularly, because avoiding severe illness is of course worth doing.

If you haven't gotten the updated monovalent vaccine yet, go get it. It is not a booster. Think of it as a new vaccine. It's targeted towards the XBB lineages, which are now the most common variants. Your last boosters were likely of the bivalent type, aimed at both the original Covid strain from 2020 and Omicron. The new vaccine is monovalent, meaning it targets one family in particular.

Some studies suggest that the Novavax vaccine, which is a more traditional protein-based vaccine, is more effective and safer than mRNA vaccines, and offers better protection against future variants. Of course, the data we have so far isn't 100% conclusive (the last paper I linked is a preprint). Make of these findings what you will, just something to keep in mind. The new Novavax vaccine's availability is still limited, especially outside of the US.

MASKS

Masking is one of the most effective ways to protect yourself. While it is true that masking and reducing Covid transmission protects those around you, the idea that masks can't protect the wearer is outdated information from the early days of the pandemic when medical authorities refused to acknowledge that Covid is airborne.

The key to protecting yourself is to wear a well-fitting respirator. You want to minimize any gaps where air might leak out. If your glasses get fogged up, that's a sign that air is leaking.

Headbands will always have a tighter fit than earloop masks (and therefore provide better protection). However, you can use earloop extenders to improve the fit of earloop masks. You can find these online. Your comfort in wearing a mask is important, but there are options for compromise.

The above graphic doesn't include elastomeric respirators. While some (like the Flo Mask) are expensive, they can be much more affordable than buying disposables--look for P100 respirators at your local hardware store, but make sure it fits your face well.

For more general information, see this FAQ. For mask recommendations (NA-centric, sorry!), see my list here or Mask Nerd's YouTube channel.

For situations where you need to hydrate but don't want to take your mask off, consider the SIP valve.

Not even N95s are foolproof (N95 means it filters at least 95% of particles--with the other 5% potentially reaching you). Most people will likely not have a perfect fit. There will be situations where you'll have to take your mask off. The key is risk reduction, and that's why the Swiss cheese model is crucial.

If you can't afford high-quality masks, look for a local mask bloc or other organization that gives out free masks. Project N95 has unfortunately shut down. In Canada, there's donatemask.ca.

AVOID CROWDED INDOOR SPACES

This is rather self-explanatory. Indoor transmission is much, much, much more likely than outdoor transmission. If it's possible to move an activity outdoors instead, consider doing so.

If possible, try going to places like stores or the post office during less busy hours.

Viral particles can stay in the air for a considerable amount of time even after the person who expelled them has left. Do not take off your mask just because no one is currently present, if you know that it was previously crowded.

A CO2 monitor is a decent proxy for how many viral particles may have accumulated in the air around you. The gold standard is the Aranet4, but it's expensive, so here are some more affordable alternatives.

VENTILATION AND AIR FILTERS

Ventilation is effective for the same reason that outdoors is safer than indoors. If it's warm enough, keep windows open whenever possible. If it's cold, even cracking them open occasionally is better than nothing. Try to open windows or doors on different sides of a room to maximize airflow.

HEPA air filters can significantly reduce viral transmission indoors. Make sure to find one suitable for the room size, and replace the filters regularly. You want to look for devices with HEPA-13 filters.

You can use websites like these to calculate how long it takes for a device to change all the air in a room. Remember what I said about viral particles being able to hang around even after people have left? If an air purifier provides 2 air changes per hour, that means that after 30 minutes, any potential viral particles should be gone.

If you can't afford a commercial air filter, here's a useful DIY filter you can make with relatively simple materials. The filtration capacity is great--but due to being built with duct tape, replacing filters will be a challenge.

If you have to hold meetings or meet with people at work, having a smaller filter on the desk between you will also reduce chances of infection.

As a bonus, HEPA filters will also filter out other things like dust and allergens!

REDUCE LENGTH OF EXPOSURE IF EXPOSURE IS UNAVOIDABLE

Viral load refers to the amount of virus in a person's blood. If you've been exposed to someone with Covid, how much you've been exposed matters.

You might escape infection if the viral load you've been exposed to is very small. Or, even if you get infected, there will be less virus in you overall, leading to milder illness--and crucially, a lower chance of the virus penetrating deep into your body, creating reservoirs in your organs and wreaking long-term havoc.

A low viral load is also less contagious.

This is the same reason that wearing your mask most of the time, but having to take it off for eating, is still much better than not wearing your mask at all.

RECHARGEABLE PORTABLE AIR FILTERS

You might attract some odd looks. But if you're at high risk or just want to be as protected as possible, small portable air filters can help. Try to find models small enough to take with you on public transportation, to school, or while traveling.

These devices will be far too small to clean the air in the whole room. The goal is to have it filter air in your immediate vicinity. Be sure to angle the device so that the air is blowing in your face.

Unfortunately, rechargeable devices are much rarer and harder to find than normal air filters, and many are also expensive.

The best option at the moment, apart from DIY (which is possible, but you need to know what you're doing), seems to be the SmartAir QT3. The size and shape are a bit clunky, but it fits in a backpack. Its battery life isn't long, but it can be supplemented with a power bank.

NASAL SPRAYS

There's some research that suggests that some nasal sprays may be effective in reducing risk of infection by interfering with viruses' ability to bind to your cells.

These sprays are generally affordable, easy to find, and safe. The key ingredient is carrageenan, which is extracted from seaweed. So there are no potential risks or side effects.

Be sure to follow the instructions on the packaging carefully. Here's a video on how to properly use nasal sprays if you've never used them before.

Covixyl is another type of nasal spray that uses a different key ingredient, ethyl lauroyl arginate HCI. It also aims to disrupt viruses' ability to bind to cell walls. Unfortunately, I think it's difficult to obtain outside of the US.

CONCLUSION

None of the methods listed here are foolproof on their own. But by layering them, you can drastically reduce your chances of infection.

The most important layers, by far, are masking and air quality. But you should also stay conscientious when engaging with those layers. Don't let yourself become complacent with rules of thumb, and allow yourself to assess risk and make thought out decisions when situations arise where you might have to take off your mask or enter a high-risk indoor area, such as a hospital.

Remember that the goal is risk reduction. It's impossible to live risk-free, because we live among countless other people. But you can use knowledge and tools to keep yourself as safe as possible.

[angel-of-the-moons]

Miguel being cockwarmed?

Asdhepnfonelnlfbleb I LOVE YOU???

A Lesson Earned is A Lesson Learned

Miguel x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: SMUT, NSFW, teasing, cockwarming, dirty talk, Miguel's big ass hands

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

You loved your boyfriend, more than anybody else you've ever been romantically involved with.

Whatever you would give him, he would give back tenfold. Yeah, it was a bit suffocating at times, but you knew it was only because he was afraid of losing you like he'd lost his daughter.

He'd spoil you when you let him, but sometimes you simply had to tell him you weren't a material kinda girl. Physical affection, sweet words, and cuddles were what satisfied you most.

That and... Well. His hands. You'd be lying if having your shoulders or back or whatever part of you he wanted in his gigantic hands, kneading and rolling you into utter bliss didn't get you going.

And just one of his fingers was thick enough to stretch you better than some of your toys did. And yeah, sometimes you needed toys for relief when he worked so much.

His work with Alchemax and running the Spider Society left him quite busy. You weren't hurt by this, but it did make you feel lonely and rather... uppity.

So of course when he was home you paid him back in kind, teasing him relentlessly.

You would wear next to nothing, sexy lingerie, or maybe one of his gigantic tops that you were practically swimming in, not bothering with any panties beneath.

You knew full well with his super senses, that he could smell your arousal, especially if the tent in his pants were anything to go by.

But, he stayed glued to his monitors in his office, ignoring his erection and the sweet intoxicating smell of your slick all through his house. His sense of duty was strong, focused.

It aggravated you to no end.

So, with your cheek puffed out in irritation, you marched into his office, dimly lit save for the projections of his monitors as he scoured Alchemax work and reports from the other Spiders back at HQ.

"Miggy..." You sigh, coming up next to him in his chair.

"Hm?" He said, not looking at you.

But you can tell by how his nostrils flared and his pupils dilated that your scent was starting to get to him.

His gorgeous, chiseled jaw clenched almost imperceptibly as he swiped and pinched up another monitor.

You pouted and slipped your arm around his shoulder, sitting on the arm of his chair, knowing full well your sweet sweet nectar was coating the expensive leather; the scent would linger for a while, until he completely cleaned it and sterilized it.

You placed kisses up to his ear, then back down to where his suit collar ended, just beneath his pulse.

"Muñeca..." Miguel warned. "I'm working."

"I know, but I think you're working too hard." You sigh in his ear, taking his lobe between your lips and running your tongue along the edge.

He hissed at you. "Cállate, mujer diablo, estoy haciendo algo importante."

You frowned and ignored his warning. Instead, you leaned in, your breasts squishing against the heavy muscle of his bicep, and reached down, stroking the outline of his cock that was straining his suit with your small hand.

"C'mon, Miggy. You're a workaholic." You coo playfully. "Just let me..."

He gripped your wrist when your hand went to his watch to disable his suit.

His eyes were sharp, annoyed. It sent a thrum of fear through your bloodstream as he curled his lip back, revealing his crooked, fanged teeth as he sneered at you.

"You want to annoy me? Fine." He reached out and gripped your hair, pulling your head back sharply, before his breath was hot in your ear.

"Pero recuerda que yo tengo el control."

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

You should have known.

God, but you never learn, do you? Every time you think he's going to do something you want, he does the opposite.

Just to reach you a lesson.

"Stop squirming." He huffed, reaching around you to type in notes on his holographic keyboard.

You whined, trying desperately to grind your hips down, to get his cock just a bit deeper inside of you, wanting so badly to have him just pin you to the desk and pound you until your eyes crossed.

But he kept you firmly secured in his lap. He wouldn't let you touch yourself, you had to keep your hands gripped at the arms of the desk chair that creaked under your combined weight.

He kept you from moving, his thick thighs parting your knees and keeping your legs spread open for him while he continued to work.

"Miggy!" You mewled. "Please! Sorry for bugging you, I just--"

He growled and reached between your legs, pinching your clit between his thumb and forefinger hard, a mix of pain and pleasure sparking up your spine and making your pussy flutter around the length of his cock that was currently splitting you open.

You make a sharp squeak as he snapped, "¿Qué acabo de hacer?"

He smacked your cunt that he was currently stuffed inside of, sending another wave of heat racing through you, more of your slick gushing around him to run down to his heavy balls and staining the expensive leather.

"I said keep quiet. I'm working."

He leaned in, his presence absolutely absorbing your frame, his scent swallowing you whole, threatening to devour you in one piece.

"This is what you wanted, no?" He sighed. "You wanted me inside this pretty little pussy. You got me. Now sit still."

You hiccuped softly. "Please. You know I wanted you to fuck me! Not like this..."

"Too bad, mi amor. I swear, if I had a dollar off every time I have to keep teaching you this lesson, I'd be a trillionare." He said to you, his voice a low threat.

"How many times do I have to do this before you learn patience? Hmm? A hundred? A thousand?"

You desperately roll your hips, feeling the tip of his rock brush against that gummy soft spot inside of you. "I--I just--"

He hisses, gritting his teeth as his fangs slot into their places. He brings his hand up to the lowest part your abdomen, and pressed down hard.

You all at once felt the air squeezed out of your lungs, your pussy greedily squeezing him, your heart pounding in your chest, sweat beading on your brow and sweet tears rolling down your cheeks.

"You're going to sit here and stay still while I work. And maybe--maybe--if you stay quiet and stop squirming, I'll give you what you want. Understood?"

You frantically nod your head and Miguel cruelly flicked your clit.

"That's it. Be a good little cocksleeve for me, eh, bebita?"

[saddingtonbear3]

Hadi and I have agreed that pinning his gofundme to my page would help his campaign; he hasn’t gotten a lot of traction and really needs it for his family’s survival.

https://www.gofundme.com/f/rebuilding-hope-for-manals-family-and-saving-them?attribution_id=sl:aaaf6080-91df-4dc6-85e2-50ef55e55dd1&utm_campaign=man_sharesheet_ft&utm_medium=customer&utm_source=copy_link

https://www.gofundme.com/f/rebuilding-hope-for-manals-family-and-saving-them?attribution_id=sl:aaaf6080-91df-4dc6-85e2-50ef55e55dd1&utm_campaign=man_sharesheet_ft&utm_medium=customer&utm_source=copy_link Hadi has been verified by Molly Shah. He has a wife, Manal, and a child, Ayla. Ayla has a disability that has delayed her ability to walk. She recently had surgery and requires careful monitoring and care. The family are Gazan refugees living in Egypt. Life in Egypt is extremely difficult for Gazans who have lost everything; the cost of living is very expensive and without identification papers they are unable to get employment. Hadi is also supporting family members back in Gaza. Please help them if you can!

I am adding @hildanasr ‘s fundraiser as well; she could really use our support.

https://gofund.me/abf98a0a Hilda is a teacher, and her husband is an engineer. She has sinus allergies, which make it difficult for her to breathe; she has to cook over an open fire, and it aggravates them. She lives in a tent with her large family. She is pregnant and is worried about safely carrying her child in these dangerous conditions. Please help them if you can!

I am adding my friend Britt’s fundraiser; their situation is incredibly urgent!!

Britt is a Black disabled nonbinary person who urgently needs help with housing. They were evicted and are currently homeless. They hope to raise enough money to relocate. Please help them with donations, shares, and support! Their pay links are: Kofi: ko-fi.com/brittany777 Venmo: @xoxobritt Cashapp: $Brittanyoxoxo Paypal: @BRITTOX

My friend Corvus needs help as well:

Posting for a friend who needs help. They are in the negatives right now and need to get on their feet. Anything helps.🩷 PayPal, Venmo, Chime (their spouse's)- Acuitee (PayPal is "acuitee")

Adding my friend Moustafa! https://chuffed.org/project/136098-help-hossam-and-his-family Hossam’s family has been verified by Molly Shah. They are struggling to survive under the harsh conditions of genocide, and Hossam’s father, Moustafa, has been ill for months. Please help them if you can!

[sunnydbeam]

What materials is Biohazard made of? I guess not everything resists radiation

Indeed! No material is totally resistant to radiation; it always depends on the amount of radiation and the exposure time.

Let me get a little nerdy

I clarify and repeat: I'm not an expert on the subject. I did research for this AU in general and thus determined the right materials for the construction of Biohazard. I may be wrong. But this is sci-fi, and some things are improbable but intentional, like Biohazard's melting rays!

Endoskeleton and joints: titanium alloys, stainless steel, and aluminum reinforced with carbon fiber.

Internal components:

Microchips and components: specifically designed to withstand high doses of radiation and encased in a dense layer of ceramic material within a tungsten protective box.

Sensors made with materials resistant to radiation and high temperatures. Integrated into the endoskeleton and protected by a dense covering material.

Actuators: electric or hydraulic motors made with corrosion- and wear-resistant materials. Located within the joints and protected by the endoskeleton.

Metallic lithium-Ion batteries specially designed to operate in extreme environments, housed in a tungsten protective box, away from sensitive components.

Cooling system: copper tubes and non-flammable, radiation-resistant cooling fluids integrated into the endoskeleton to dissipate heat generated by electronic components and shielding.

Protection systems:

Primary shielding: lead sheets and boron-based composite materials, 1.5 centimeters thick.

Secondary/Exterior shielding: tungsten sheets, 1 cm thick.

Biohazard has numerous limbs and components functioning as redundant systems. In the event of a failure, he can continue operating with backups.

He used to integrate cameras and sensors for remote monitoring and data collection. These are no longer operational.

Being made of very dense materials, he's extremely robust and heavy! You practically couldn't lift one of his arms if he were off!

He was very, very expensive to manufacture as well. The frustration was very great when the project "didn't work".