#and now I probably will never get to move on from this place

[vynlrecord]

♡ is the light sleeper in the room with us?

At first when you’d asked Simon to move in with you, he seemed excited or well, as excited as Simon allowed himself to show. Yet as it got closer and closer, you weren't so sure.

“You probably won’t ever get a good night’s sleep again. I'll constantly be disrupting it.”

"I have nightmares and night terrors, I’ll probably scare you-"

“I’m such a light sleeper, everything wakes me up and puts me in a panic."

It was almost like he was trying to dissuade you from sticking to your decision, giving you an out in case he was too difficult for you, you knew exactly how his brain worked.

But you loved him, and nothing he was saying was making you change your mind, not even close to it.

You prepared anyway, looked up everything you could with how to handle certain night terrors, best things to say or not say, whether you should wake him up if he’s having a nightmare, everything.

Then the first night came, and you were ready to be woken up at 3am, maybe to Simon shouting or crying or something and you pictured all the things you’d do to calm him down, grab him some tea, maybe gentle reassurances as you wiped his tears, whatever it took. 

But none of that happened.

The first night, he slept the whole way through, completely undisturbed and you would know because ironically you were the one who didn’t sleep the first night. You'd stayed awake, worrying, wanting to make sure he was okay, checking for even a slight twitch or a face of anguish but, nothing.

And then a few days later, on an early Sunday morning, your neighbour had decided to mow the grass. It was unbearably loud and you'd sat up, internally screaming because who chooses 7am to cut grass on a Sunday?

And Simon? Well he was completely out.

You looked at him, wondering if he was pretending for a moment, giving him a little nudge. He'd shuffled a little in his sleep before letting out a few soft snores, it was like he was on another planet completely.

And it kept happening. He'd sleep through alarms, and not just one or two but enough in a row that you had to turn them off yourself and tell him to wake up. Phone calls too, slept through every call, no matter the ringtone, no matter how loud. Your cat's 4am zoomies? Not even a flinch.

You were so confused, he'd worried constantly before moving in about ruining your sleep and now it was like sleeping was second nature to him, which you wouldn't have questioned if not for the repeated warnings of how light of a sleeper he was.

It made no sense, Simon couldn't understand it either, but you were quite happy with it of course, and so was he. Whenever you thought about it for too long, it actually made you smile, there was something sweet about it to you.

Perhaps it was your apartment, the fact that the space was yours, maybe your presence was helping him, you'd even joke it was your cat's soothing company. Or maybe it was the soft sheets, in a bedroom that felt cosy. A proper homely space, one that Simon wasn't quite used to in his old place, all bare walls and no decoration, not even a comfortable mattress. He'd never bothered with anything except the bare minimum, a vast difference to now.

Whatever it was, he was actually sleeping, peacefully for once, he couldn't remember the last time he was able to say that.

But what Simon did know, was that he felt completely safe with you and seeing him like this was the most beautiful thing to you.

[sugary-strawberry-shortcake]

Blossom Reverse (Yandere Batfam x Neglected! Poison Ivy‘s Daughter! Reader)

Chapter 9

A/N: IT‘S FINALLY OUT!! no real interactions between batfam and y/n in this one butttt there are some revelations and thoughts 👀 I can‘t promise when I will publish the next chapter though🩷 as I said I’m a bit busy rn!! But when I’m back I will start the work 🥰 I will write Drabble though!! Also tell me your thoughts about this chapter!! I love reading all your reactions and comments 🥹 - poppy

The apartment smelled like damp walls and mildew that never quite left, no matter how many windows she opened or how much lemon cleaner she used. The floor creaked when she moved, and the pipes rattled every time the neighbor above her flushed their toilet—but it was hers.

Hers, in the loosest, most fragile sense of the word.

Rent was due in two days. She had $7 in her wallet. Her breakfast had been an expired protein bar she found in the bottom of her backpack, and dinner would probably be the rest of the rice she cooked yesterday.

But she was alive.

And most importantly—she was free.

The tiny kitchen was quiet as she knelt by the potted plants that lined the inside of her single window. They weren’t thriving, but they were trying—just like her. She sprayed their leaves with a light mist, humming softly under her breath, careful not to wake the baby next door or Gary upstairs.

Gary was the landlord. The one that gave her this place.

Old, grouchy, mostly harmless. He paid her to care for the flowers he sold in his rundown shop two blocks away. It wasn’t enough to live off of, but it was better than nothing. He didn’t ask questions either. Not about her name, age or family. Not about why she paid in cash. Not about why she always kept the hood of her coat pulled low when she ran errands.

It had been thirty-two days since she left the manor.

Thirty-two days since she’d lied to Alfred’s face.

Since she’d walked past the gates with her bag and never looked back.

Since she’d become someone else. Or at least tried to.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for the tiny case on her desk.

The contact lenses were cheap, but they worked. A flat, soft brown that covered the bright, unnatural green of her mother’s legacy. She blinked slowly as she put them in, fingers steady despite how often her stomach cramped from hunger or how the floor still spun when she stood too fast.

She had to blend in.

Be no one.

Be small.

Still, some nights—especially when the sun fell too fast or the wrong person looked at her too long—the fear returned. Heavy and loud in her chest. That someone had seen her. That someone had recognised her. That he had finally found out she was gone.

She didn’t know why she kept expecting the family to knock on her door. They hadn’t cared then. Why would they care now?

The apartment was still cold when the morning light slipped through the cracked blinds.

Y/N rubbed her arms and breathed into her palms, waiting for the kettle to hum. The gas burner made a clicking noise before catching. She moved carefully, not wanting to wake the baby next door. The walls were thin—like the ones in her memories.

She glanced toward her plants lining the windowsill. They were her secret. Hydrangeas blooming out of season. Tiny wildflowers that hadn’t existed in this hemisphere in decades. The old roses that Gary had given up on now sprawled over their pot, heavy and full of color.

“I must have a green thumb,” she’d said once, and Gary had barked a laugh and said, “Kid, if that’s a thumb, I want a whole hand of yours.”

She’d smiled.

She always smiled.

Even when it was thin. Even when it was shaking.

⸻

The fake ID in her wallet said Emilia Forenzi, age 18, born in Venice. She’d forged the name, the history, the accent. She wasn’t very good at faking the accent, but people didn’t really listen to it in this part of Gotham.

They saw a pretty girl with sweet eyes and perfect manners.

Not a Wayne.

Not Poison Ivy’s daughter.

Just her.

She tried to get a job last week at a diner near the outskirts. The man behind the counter said she looked too soft for waitressing in Gotham, but she’d promised to learn quickly. He hadn’t called her back.

Still, she kept looking.

She only made just enough with Gary’s shop and the flowers in the nearby park he quietly “claimed” as his own. He was gruff, but he gave her an extra five dollars the other day when he saw her feeding a stray cat half her dinner.

“Don’t starve for that flea-ball,” he’d said.

She had smiled, then handed the cat the last bit of her rice anyway.

____

The nightmares came every other night.

She didn’t scream anymore. She learned to bite her lip in the Manor. But her pillow was often damp by morning.

They weren’t always the same—sometimes it was the manor again, the long corridors and cold dinners and the silence when she tried to speak. Sometimes it was the moment it happened. When they looked too late. When they reached too slowly. When they mourned too little.

But more recently … more often… she dreamt of her mother.

It had been so long since she’d let herself remember Pamela Isley. Ivy.

Green eyes like hers. A lullaby voice. Warm hands and flowery perfume.

She hadn’t thought about her in years—not really. Not since Bruce took her in and no one ever said her name again. Not since she learned that “Poison Ivy is a criminal, not a mother.”

But now, alone in her silence, in her little room with its stolen furniture and secondhand blankets, Y/N wondered.

Where was she?

Was she still in Arkham?

Did she know that her daughter was dead once? That she lived again?

A part of her felt guilty for not trying to reach out.

Another part of her was too afraid.

Because even her mother might not want her.

_________________

Y/N’s POV

Y/N had no working television, but the city didn’t need one to scream at her.

It screamed through the streets. Through the rising hum of sirens. Through the headlines splattered across cracked newspaper boxes she passed on her walks.

“Vigilante Brutality Increases in Crime Alley.”

“Masked Assault in the Narrows: Third Criminal Hospitalized This Week.”

“Batarangs Found at Scene.”

Some nights, she swore she recognized the marks.

A broken window too clean. A blood trail that vanished before it reached the curb. A body left in the perfect shape of Jason’s rage. A rooftop cracked in the exact angle Dick once used to land his kicks. A cigarette packet crushed under a boot with too much calculation—Tim.

And the shadow that never missed a target—Bruce.

They were out there. All of them.

Stalking the night harder than they had in years.

And she still told herself:

It’s not for me.

It couldn’t be.

Because if it was, what would that even mean?

⸻

Gary had warned her. Again and again.

That the streets weren’t safe. That something was shifting in Gotham—something darker, tighter, more personal.

“Stay in after dusk,” he’d told her tonight, setting a paper bag of groceries on the table. “These days, Gotham’s bleeding from the inside out.”

She nodded sweetly. Smiled, even.

Then locked the door the second he left.

But she wasn’t afraid of the men in alleyways.

Not the thieves. Not the dealers. Not the hungry strangers who eyed her when she passed by.

She was afraid of the people whom she used to see as brothers.

Because if she ever saw them again—if she ever looked into those familiar eyes and saw that distant, practiced guilt or the too-late affection…

She didn’t trust herself not to cry.

Not to break.

Not to forgive them too easily.

And she couldn’t.

Not after everything.

Not again.

Damian’s POV

It had been twenty-nine days and eleven hours since Damian had last seen his sister.

Not that he was counting.

Not that he had a tally scratched into the underside of his desk.

Not that he stared at the empty seat beside him in every class like it was mocking him.

But he knew.

And it infuriated him.

The others said she’d vanished.

The others said she’d slipped past them all.

But she hadn’t slipped past him.

Not really.

She’d looked him in the eye that morning—after their fight.

After he’d grabbed her. Cornered her. Called her a liar.

“It’s nothing that will matter to you soon anyway.”

He hadn’t understood it then.

He did now.

She’d meant goodbye.

At school, her name still came up.

Y/N Wayne.

The girl who suddenly “returned to Italy.”

Back to her “supermodel mother”—at least, that’s what her friends claimed. It’s what she had told them.

They all bought it.

They called it romantic. Mysterious.

Like she’d left for a glamorous life.

But Damian knew better.

The softness in her eyes before she left wasn’t joy.

It was resignation.

He had tried—quietly at first.

Digging behind the scenes. Asking questions without being obvious.

Then, after a week, subtlety died.

He skipped class.

He hacked into school servers, city cameras, bus routes.

He threatened. Intimidated. Pressured.

He found Silas. Beat him within an inch of expulsion. Again.

And when the school didn’t act fast enough, he made them.

Silas was gone the next morning.

But it didn’t satisfy him, because Y/N wasn’t anywhere.

At night, Robin bled through Gotham.

Damian stalked rooftops not for criminals—but for a slip of movement that might be her.

He shattered kneecaps for a name. Broke ribs for a whisper.

Even the villains noticed.

“Robin’s gotten… personal again,” Harley had murmured after escaping a busted safehouse.

But nothing helped.

Each time he paused, high above the city in the bitter dark, he swore he could feel her.

Somewhere below.

Somewhere lonely.

And not calling for him.

He hated her for that.

He hated himself more.

She belonged to them. To him.

To the family. To the house. To his routine. His mornings. His world.

And now she was gone.

_____

Dick’s POV

He hadn’t been back to Bludhaven in three weeks.

The people were worried.

The criminals were thrilled.

But Dick didn’t care.

He told Bruce he wasn’t capable of “handling other lives” until he found the one life that actually mattered.

And no one argued.

Not anymore.

At first, he’d tried to believe it was all temporary.

That she had just… run off to prove a point.

That she’d come back, pouty but forgiving, with that innocent little laugh and into his arms held open like a truce.

But one month later—there were no illusions left.

His little flower was gone.

And something in him had gone cold.

The smile?

Gone.

The charm?

Buried.

Even Jason said it once—gruff and to the point:

“You look more like Bruce every damn day.”

And Dick hadn’t answered.

Because Dick wasn’t Bruce.

Bruce had forgotten her.

He had abandoned her.

But Dick had known. He’d seen.

He just didn’t act.

She used to leave notes.

Little drawings tucked into his gear bag when he’d visit.

He’d find doodles of himself and her—with giant goofy smiles—under his glove cases.

He hadn’t kept a single one.

He told himself he was busy.

She was a kid.

She’d grow out of it.

But now?

Now he was in her room every other day—just sitting, just looking.

Searching every inch of that now-empty drawer like it was a crime scene.

And maybe it was.

Because something had died in that room.

He’d found the old plush once.

The elephant one.

Alfred said she took it with her—so the one he found was a decoy.

“She knew someone would check,” Tim had whispered.

“She planned this.”

And that shattered Dick in a way fists never had.

She didn’t even trust them to miss her.

He walked the alleys at night.

Not as Nightwing.

Just as someone looking for a ghost in a little green sweater.

The one she wore all the time when she was younger—the one that matched the flowers she grew.

He used to call her his little flower.

She used to love that.

She even wrote it in one of those diary entries he found—buried in the box of discarded drawings they’d all ignored:

“I wish he would call me little flower again. I think I’d feel like he loves me if he did.”

Dick never cried. Not even when his parents died.

But when he read that—he’d just sat down right on the floor and shook.

“You were the soft one,” Jason had thrown at him last week.

“Where the hell were you when she needed you?”

He didn’t answer then either.

Because the truth was brutal:

He’d been smiling for everyone else.

Just not her.

Now he didn’t smile at all.

And when he caught anyone slacking on patrol, skipping a corner, missing a lead—he snapped.

“We are finding her.”

It wasn’t just a command.

It was a vow.

A curse.

And every night, when he sat in the shadows of her room, that vow echoed again and again like a prayer to a flower-shaped ghost:

“I’m gonna find you, Y/N”

“I don’t care what it takes.”

_____

Jason was never good at guilt.

He could shoot it in the face, bury it in the ground, drink it away.

But not this.

Not when the guilt had a name.

A voice.

A laugh.

A heartbeat he couldn’t find anymore.

Y/N.

Red Hood didn’t patrol anymore. He hunted.

He tore through the underworld like a rabid dog, taking names, putting bodies in the ER, slamming faces into pavement hard enough to shatter teeth. Criminals whispered about it. That something had snapped in the Red Hood. That he’d gone fully off-leash.

They were right.

Because she was gone.

And someone had to pay for it.

He blamed Bruce, obviously. Jason always blamed Bruce. For being cold. For being blind. For never knowing what to do with someone soft. For burying himself in work while she withered upstairs. How the hell do you forget your own daughter?

But blame was easy.

What wasn’t easy was looking at himself.

He remembered the first time she came up to him. Little thing. Barely past toddler years, wide-eyed and sticky with jam, calling him “Jayshu” in that babbling baby voice.

He didn’t say anything back.

He remembered her knocking on his door when he returned after dying — begging him to come down for cookies she made.

He told her to leave him the hell alone.

He remembered yelling. Something about Poison Ivy. Something about how she was just a seed of villainy waiting to sprout.

She cried.

And he did nothing.

She never stopped being sweet after that. She just stopped hoping.

God.

She’d always tried.

And now she was gone — not kidnapped, not taken. She left.

She left them.

Left him.

She was somewhere out there in Gotham. Cold, starving, maybe scared, and trying to make a life for herself with whatever pieces she thought she could carry.

Because they’d convinced her — all of them — that the mansion didn’t have room for her. That she was a footnote in her own damn home.

Jason swore if she was dead—

No.

She wasn’t dead.

She couldn’t be.

He refused to believe that.

He was going to find her.

If he had to burn down every alley, question every creep, put a bullet in every bastard that even looked at a girl wrong—

He was going to find his baby sister.

And this time, he wasn’t letting her go.

Not until she knew what she meant to him.

Even if he had to drag her home, kicking and crying and hating him.

Because hate was better than fear.

Hate meant she was alive.

And he could live with that.

——————
TIm’s POV

Tim hadn’t slept in thirty-two hours. His fingers trembled faintly over the keyboard, dark half-moons carved under bloodshot eyes, the whites gone dull with insomnia and stimulants. The walls of his room were drowned in screens, all reflecting her face — what little he could still find of it.

Her school file. Old pictures. Surveillance footage from Gotham Academy — months old. The last known digital remnants of Y/N Eloise Wayne.

But it wasn’t enough.

He’d run every facial match algorithm. Every public transport log. Hacked through every ID registration, health record, housing file under her legal name. And she was gone.

“She’s too smart,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his temple. “She lied. She planned. She’s not Y/N Eloise Wayne anymore.”

The revelation haunted him. It burned, rotted somewhere behind his ribs. She had vanished under his nose, wearing a false name like a cloak — and he hadn’t seen it coming.

He had gone through every file they owned on her. Every school note, every doctor visit, every written scrawl from her elementary notebooks. He replayed her school performance clips over and over, like decoding a cipher. Her smile made his chest cave in. The applause that followed felt like mockery now.

He didn’t even know her.

He thought he did.

Now, even the way she looked at him — polite, soft, cautious — seemed like a stranger’s ghost haunting his memory.

It was always her that tried. She came to him, not the other way around. He’d been too cold. Too preoccupied. Too… utilitarian. And now she was gone.

______

Bruce

Wayne Manor was silent.

It had been a tomb since the day she left.

Bruce sat in the cave beneath it, not the man in the suit but the shell. His cowl sat on the table beside a half-finished bottle of bourbon, the second one tonight. Or maybe the third. He didn’t count anymore. What was the point?

He hadn’t shaved. Hadn’t stepped into the office in days. Lucius had called. He didn’t answer. No one in the company knew why Bruce Wayne had vanished. But Gotham still had Batman.

Only, he wasn’t Batman anymore. He was something else now. Something starving.

At night he stalked the rooftops with animal focus. Interrogated criminals with bone-breaking efficiency. Asked questions. Searched every corner of the city. Every district. Every shadow. He didn’t rest. He didn’t breathe unless it was with her name in his mind.

His daughter. His daughter.

It repeated like a pulse in his ears.

It burned behind his eyes.

She was all he had left of Ivy — that mistake, that moment — but she had been more than that. From the instant he saw her, frail and bright-eyed, he knew. She wasn’t like any of them.

She was good.

And he’d abandoned her. Buried her behind patrol logs and briefing reports and other children. The guilt made him flinch from his own reflection. He wasn’t fit to be her father.

But he would bring her back. He would. He would find her, cradle her against his chest, and keep her. Lock the doors. Watch over her like a warden, not a parent. If that’s what it took.

Because the world wasn’t safe. And neither was he.

⸻

None of them spoke about the dreams.

Not Dick. Not Tim. Not Bruce. Not even Damien, who barely slept at all.

But each night they saw her.

Not the girl who vanished. Not the child who used to smile at them and draw them flowers.

No, in their dreams, she was older. Just a little. Sixteen, seventeen, maybe eighteen — and dying.

Sometimes she was bloodied. Sometimes drowned. Sometimes strangled. Her eyes always wide, always shocked, always alone.

They woke up breathless. Sometimes screaming. Always cold. Always guilty.

None of them could explain it.

She hadn’t died. Had she?

They told themselves it was the mind, punishing them for failing her. But something deeper twisted in their stomachs, something that whispered:

You weren’t just too late.

You were never there at all.

______

Tim

Tim hadn’t slept in forty-three hours.

His coffee was cold.

His shirt was wrinkled.

His hands trembled at the keyboard.

But he wasn’t stopping.

The Batcave was silent except for the hum of outdated servers and the sharp clack of his fingers moving too fast. The screens were filled with dead ends. Burned leads. Traffic cams from the docks. Street-side black markets. Pawn shop ledgers. None of them led to her.

Y/N Wayne.

Y/N Eloise Wayne.

Y/N Eloise Isley.

All versions. Dead files.

He stared at the access logs of the encrypted folder Alfred once backed up manually. The old section of the system not even connected to the current grid. Half of it was still mirrored from the pre-reset servers Bruce had shut down after the Joker War.

Tim was about to close it.

But then his cursor hovered over something.

CASE FILE_413-A — DECEASED: WAYNE, Y/N E.

He froze.

Click.

His breath caught.

The screen flickered to life with a full-color dossier.

A Bat-file.

Compiled. Stamped. Finalized.

Tim’s pupils dilated as the first image loaded.

It was a crime scene photo.

A girl — slender frame, (Y/S) skin, long tangled hair matted in blood — lay crumpled in a side alley.

Her body was twisted. There were vines curled around her hands like she had tried, in the end, to summon something. The file dated her death at age eighteen. The location: Gotham Lower East.

Another picture followed.

A toe tag. Her name.

Y/N Eloise Wayne.

Tim recoiled in the chair, the metal frame screeching against the floor.

He clutched the edge of the desk, knuckles white. The blood in his veins ran ice cold.

“No…”

The file was real.

Old. Buried.

Made by them.

There was Bruce’s signature. His own encrypted seal. A medical report from Leslie. Postmortem autopsy. She’d been stabbed. Multiple times. Lungs collapsed. Defensive wounds.

Motive listed: “Targeted for her parentage. Daughter of Poison Ivy. Daughter of Bruce Wayne.”

She died alone.

Tim’s stomach turned. Images blurred behind his lashes as his heart pounded in his throat. Then — faint, like an echo —

a memory.

her voice.

“It’s okay, Tim… I know you’re busy. Maybe next time…”

His hand clenched.

It made sense now. Her withdrawn smile. Her evasiveness. The way she flinched when someone used her name too sweetly. The edge of fear under her fake smiles. The lies about school. About friends.

She remembered.

“She knew,” he whispered. “Oh my god… she knew.”

Tim’s eyes scanned through the final page of the report.

A line written in someone’s hand. His own, maybe.

“We were too late.”

“She died thinking she wasn’t loved.”

“We never made it in time.”

He stood up fast, the chair clattering behind him.

No one else had seen this yet.

They didn’t know.

They couldn’t know.

But they would.

Tonight.

“They have to know,” Tim said, eyes still locked on the glowing screen. “We all failed her once. We don’t get to fail her again.”

____

The group chat pinged three times.

Then ten.

Then twenty.

❝ Everyone get to the Cave. Now. ❞

❝ I found something. ❞

❝ It’s about her. ❞

No one responded at first.

Damian left him on “Read.”

Dick ignored it.

Jason sent back a single skull emoji.

He should have expected these reactions since he has been sending the same sentence every day for the past few days.

So Tim lied.

❝ I know where she is. ❞

Within minutes, the Cave roared to life with engines and boots slamming against concrete.

Jason was the first to storm in, eyes bloodshot and helmet still on.

Damian followed, jaw clenched, already starting to bark—

“Where is she, Drake?! Where is my sister—”

Tim stood near the console, arms crossed.

“I lied.”

Jason lunged.

Fist in Tim’s collar. Slam. Back against the wall.

“You what—?!”

“I lied,” Tim repeated, voice low. “Because I had to get you all here. Because I found something.”

Bruce’s silhouette broke through the Cave entrance — suit half-on, stubble dark along his jaw, shadows under his eyes like bruises.

“Enough.”

Jason didn’t let go. Not yet.

“If this is another theory—”

“It’s not.”

Tim shoved Jason off. Hard.

The screen behind him lit up.

CASE FILE_413-A

Subject: Y/N Eloise Wayne

Status: DECEASED

Age: 18

COD: Homicide. Multiple stab wounds. Cause: Confirmed assassination.

Perpetrator: Unidentified rogue faction. Targeted for her parentage.

The room went still.

“What the hell is this,” Dick asked, already stepping closer.

Bruce’s breath hitched. Damian’s eyes narrowed. Jason froze.

“A fake?” Dick suggested.

Tim shook his head.

“Timestamped. Five years from now. This is from before. A different timeline.”

Damian scoffed. “You’re saying she died in the future?”

“She did die,” Tim said. “We all just forgot.”

They stared.

He opened the rest of the file. Images, recordings. Surveillance. Her body. Blood pooled in the alley. The report showed Bruce petitioned Zatanna and Constantine. There was a time ritual. Risky. Forbidden.

“You risked time to bring her back?” Jason muttered.

Bruce didn’t answer.

Tim’s voice cut in. Cold.

“We failed her once. She died alone. We didn’t protect her. Not any of us.”

Jason turned toward the screen. The photo flickered —

her eyes still open.

blood across her temple.

dirt under her nails like she fought to crawl away.

Damian took a step back. “No…”

“She knew,” Tim said. “That’s why she looked at us like that. Why she avoided us. She came back. And she remembered.”

No one moved.

The room was silent, suffocating beneath the cold glare of the screen where Y/N’s death flickered like an echo. The air clung to their lungs like ash — thick, bitter, and impossible to swallow. Damian had dropped to the floor, arms wrapped tight around himself, his head bowed low as if sheer will could reverse time. His lips moved soundlessly, whispering her name over and over, as if it was a prayer. As if saying it enough times would call her back.

Jason stood with his jaw clenched so tight it cracked. His eyes — wild and bloodshot — stayed locked on the image of her body. He didn’t look away, not even once. The blood. The dirt. The way she had died like a stranger in the street. He saw it every night in his head now, but nothing compared to seeing it in full color. The walls around his heart — already thin when it came to her — collapsed completely.

Dick had turned away. Not from shame, but from grief so raw it left his hands shaking. He dug his nails into his palms to stop the trembling. He wanted to scream. He wanted to tear the Cave apart and rebuild it out of something softer, something warmer — something that had room for little girls with flowers in their hands and letters in their drawers that he never read.

Tim stood with arms crossed, but his composure was an illusion. His voice was hollow. His shoulders slumped beneath the weight of knowing. He had chased every digital ghost in Gotham trying to find her — but this file was not just a clue. It was a memory clawing its way back. A record of a crime they all committed through silence, through neglect, through absence.

And Bruce… he hadn’t spoken since the image loaded. His breath had gone still. He looked at his daughter’s face on the screen — the girl he had summoned back into this world with rituals and desperation — and he saw her dying again. Just like before. All over again. She had called him “Daddy” in her last breath. He heard it in his sleep now.

They didn’t speak. Not for a long time. Each of them lost in the torment of the realization that this wasn’t just about a runaway child. It was about the daughter they failed — a second time. About the signs they missed. The eyes that begged them to remember.

They had dismissed her heartbreak. They had questioned her distance. They had shrugged off her quiet smiles as teenage moodiness. But now the pieces came together with devastating clarity.

She remembered. That’s why she changed. That’s why she ran. She remembered dying alone while they forgot her.

No one needed to say it out loud.

The mission had changed. This wasn’t about finding her anymore.

This was about getting her back before Gotham swallowed her whole again.

And this time —

none of them would let fate take her.

Taglist:

@justwannabecat

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@exactlynumberonekryptonite

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@runaaclou

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@lilyalone

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@justafank

[starlightkun]

soulbound ➺ j.sc [teaser]

➺ teaser word count: 1797 | full fic: 23.6k ➺ genre: two bodies one soul au, enemies to begrudging roomies to lovers, acquaintances of extreme inconvenience, fluff, humor, some hurt/comfort, there’s some moments with probably more horny energy than is warranted (sungchan and reader r always bickering/squaring up and sometimes it gets physical and everyone’s just like… uhm… that’s not how ppl fight y’all…), not actually a soulmate au bc even tho reader and sungchan technically do share a soul it’s not an inherently romantic thing in this world ➺ warnings: FLAWED CHARACTERS, reader and sungchan r both kinda mean to each other at the beginning (see first genre tag please) for sympathetic(?) but also not great reasons, reader does something knowing it will inflict physical pain on sungchan (i once again refer u to the first genre tag), descriptions of physical pain and injury, one scene with blood/needle/hospital depictions ➺ estimated release: saturday, july 5, 2025 3:00 p.m. eastern time

“I have a job interview tomorrow, by the way,” you stated from Sungchan’s passenger seat, eyes focused on the passing buildings. He had gone to the gym this morning—bright and fucking early as always—which meant that you unfortunately had to go as well, since his gym was just far enough away that if he went alone, the distance would start putting stress on your soul. Sometimes you walked on a treadmill, but usually you sat in a corner on your phone until he was done.

“First I’ve heard of it,” he snorted.

“It’s your day off, stop bitching.”

He rolled his eyes. “What time?”

“Two. You’ll have to dress professional.”

“Yeah, right. I’m not interviewing.”

“But if I have to have you walk in with me, you can’t look like a fucking slob,” you pointed out.

“I’ll just wait in the car. Where is it?”

“Inverness & Wildwood.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re not going.”

“Yes, I am,” you insisted.

“No, you’re fucking not,” he retorted. “It’s the next city over.”

“I haven’t interviewed yet, I don’t know if I’d even get it.”

Sungchan pulled into his driveway, putting the car in park but not turning it off as he shot you a withering look, pointing to the house in front of him. “Y/N, we still live with our parents because we couldn’t agree on a dorm or apartment complex to move into in college.”

“So you’re going to force me to live with my parents for the rest of our lives?” You asked incredulously.

“You can’t force me to move somewhere!”

“I’m sorry I have career aspirations past the part-time job we got in high school!”

“You don’t even have to come to my job, but you’re expecting me to fucking move for yours!”

“I didn’t say that!” You were seeing red now. “Don’t put words in my mouth!”

Sungchan, meanwhile, looked like he was about to rip his own hair out. “It’s in another city, how exactly do you expect to work there without me and also without us fucking dying?”

“This isn’t fucking fair!” You grabbed the door handle and got out of the car.

Sungchan turned the car off and got out too. “Tell me about it,” he muttered.

“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” You yelled, slammed the door shut, and stormed off towards your house.

“I know!” He called after you derisively.

Angry, hot tears burned your eyes and rolled down your cheeks as you fumbled to unlock your front door. You slammed that door shut too in your fury, ignoring your dad’s ‘good morning’ as you ran upstairs to your bedroom. This was so fucking unfair. Your whole life you were going to be stuck to a fucking underachiever who was apparently content with keeping the both of you living with your parents forever, never pursuing any dreams or aspirations beyond working at the place that you’d worked at since you were sixteen. What did you do to deserve this?

The car ride to the gym in the next morning was silent. You had your headphones in before you opened the car door, not even bothering to give Sungchan a ‘good morning’ or listen for if he said it to you. You stared out the passenger window with your arms crossed over your chest for the entire drive, wordlessly unbuckling and getting out once you arrived. After his workout, you followed him outside and got back in the car. Except he didn’t reverse out of the parking spot.

Finally, you looked over at Sungchan to find his eyes already on you, fixing you with an expecting look. He motioned for you to take an earbud out. Rolling your eyes, you did so, then waited for him to say whatever he wanted.

“Silent treatment?” He questioned, arching an eyebrow.

“It’s not like we’re friends,” you huffed, moving to put your earbud back in.

“Hey, wait,” he stopped you. “I’m sorry about your interview, alright?”

“Whatever, just forget about it.”

Sungchan buckled in and reversed out of the parking spot. “Isn’t there another firm like that in town? By the mall? You could see if they’re—”

“I said forget it, okay?” You snapped.

He held one of his hands up in surrender, and you put your earbud back in.

With one final adjustment of your blazer, you left your room, hurrying through your house. Your parents were at work, thankfully. You locked the front door behind you and walked right by your car parked out front. Sungchan’s was in his driveway, and you quickly turned down the sidewalk away from his house.

Halfway through your subway ride, you felt a twinge in your head, and grabbed the ibuprofen you had in your purse. You knocked back a couple tablets to keep the pain at bay. Your fingers drummed an anxious rhythm on your knee as you watched the electronic sign for your stop. You were on your feet before the doors opened, rushing out ahead of the other passengers.

A knot formed in your stomach when you emerged from the subway station into daylight, and not from nerves. You swallowed down the nausea, grabbing a ginger chew from your purse and continuing on.

Smiling at the older gentleman who held the door open for you on his way out of the building, you entered Inverness & Wildwood right as a sharp pain started up in your chest. You breathed through it, approaching the receptionist with a calm façade. You gave her your name and interview time, then followed her directions to the restroom that you had asked for.

After locking yourself in a stall, you rooted through your purse for the other pill bottle you had in there, for emergencies. Unfortunately, there was nothing to fully prevent soulsickness—aside from constantly being near Sungchan—but souLOXin could dull the symptoms for a little while. Shaking one of the red and black capsules out into your palm, you made a mental note to put in a refill later; you had less than a handful left. You swallowed it right as you got a text.

[sungchan 👎🍅: where are you?]

You turned your phone on silent and put it in your purse along with the pill bottle.

By the end of the interview, the pain in your abdomen had returned, and you gritted your teeth as you stood up to bow to the three interviewers and thanked them for the opportunity. One informed you they would let you know by the end of the week, and showed you to the elevator. As soon as the doors had closed and you were alone, you let out a groan, clutching your stomach and leaning against the wall for support. You composed yourself again when a ding! rang and you were let out into the lobby once more. Pressing on through your throbbing headache, you rushed down the sidewalks back to the subway, desperately taking another couple of ibuprofen tablets.

Standing on the platform waiting for the next train, you continued to take deep breaths, digging your nails into your clammy palms to distract yourself. Finally, it arrived, and you forced your way in as the doors were still opening. Dropping down into a seat, you let your head fall back against the window behind you and your eyes flutter shut.

Your guts finally started unwinding and the pounding in your head started dulling as you approached your stop. When the announcement was made, you got up, trudging off behind a few other passengers. Halfway back to your house, you were no longer nauseous, you just felt like you were getting over a bad cold—essentially, like shit.

Sungchan’s car wasn’t in the driveway, which you noted in the back of your mind as you walked into your own home and straight up to your bedroom. You eventually checked your phone after getting into your pajamas and crawling into bed.

Four missed calls from Sungchan and a dozen texts total.

[sungchan 👎🍅: y/n]

[sungchan 👎🍅: hello??? i can see your car]

Two calls in a row.

[sungchan 👎🍅: where the fuck are you]

[sungchan 👎🍅: don’t tell me you went to that fucking interview anyway]

Another call.

[sungchan 👎🍅: omfg y/n pick up]

[sungchan 👎🍅: im being so fucking fr rn pick up]

Another call.

[sungchan 👎🍅: im going to kill you if we die rn]

[sungchan 👎🍅: get the fuck back home right now im not kidding]

[sungchan 👎🍅: what the hell is wrong with you]

[sungchan 👎🍅: i just took my last poppys but if ur not back before it wears off im coming to get u idc]

Poppy—the nickname for souLOXin due to the coloring of the capsules. Sungchan always ran out first, the effects wearing off sooner for him than you for as long as the two of you had been taking it. According to the limited studies that had been done, there was some indication that men may metabolize it quicker than women, and of course the fact that he was a gym rat presumably did nothing to help in that department.

[sungchan 👎🍅: if u don’t call me in the next ten minutes im going]

[sungchan 👎🍅: ur the fucking worst that’s it im omw to inverness & wildwood. if u see this and ur somewhere else CALL ME]

He sent that last text six minutes ago. With a sigh, you reluctantly hit the phone icon next to his contact. The first ring didn’t even finish before he picked up.

“Where the fuck are you?” He demanded in lieu of a greeting.

“Home,” you deadpanned. “You can come back.”

“God, you are fucking impossible!” The sounds of screeching tires and car horns were audible in the background. “You went to the interview, didn’t you?”

You shrugged even though he couldn’t see it.

He must have taken your silence as a yes. “Fucking—Was it worth it? Huh?!”

“We lived, stop being so dramatic,” you scoffed. “Big tough guy can’t survive a little stomachache?”

“This time it was a stomachache. And what if I didn’t have any poppys?”

“That would’ve been your fault,” you snorted. “I’m not your mommy, you need to keep up on your own meds. Go get a refill since you’re already out.”

“They’re supposed to be for emergencies, Y/N, not when you want to just—”

Your phone buzzed in your hand, and you pulled it away from your ear to see that there was another call incoming. Just in time, too, you didn’t have it in you to get lectured by Sungchan right now.

“Sorry, I’m getting another call,” you interrupted whatever he was saying loudly, not even bothering to attempt to sound actually apologetic. “Bye!”

⤷ masterlist

TEASER TAGLIST

@annenakamura @bee-the-loser @dejundesign @lotties-readings @ppddpjdr @reiofsuns2001 @snowyseungs @tearinka @yoursyuno @yutasputa69 @winkeuu

[jigglyjeon]

all the things she said -> jjk (four)

summary: your second attempt at a social gathering is at an office party for the place your roommate works at; you come to a realisation about who your true friends are and things are starting to feel okay again— until you learn something you were never meant to find out about.

rating: R18+ MATURE, minors please do not interact

genre: roommate au, angst, fluff, smut

word count: 8.8k +

warnings/tags: some floof in the beginning <3 some angst at the end </3, this chapter was so intense to write, but it’s the climax and what you’ve all been waiting for lowk, the culprit pic leaker is revealed!, fighting, crying, blowjob, titty sucking, dry humping, soft!dom jk, missionary

notes: hi my loves! this series will end in the next chapter (: i’ve had a lot of fun writing it and appreciate the support and love i got from it, but i didn’t intend for this to be a long series. truthfully, i just started writing this as a small project to get my creative juices flowing again. thanks so much for reading all the things she said so far, gorgeous people! the final part will be out within the next week or so!!!

soundtrack: i want to be with you - chloe moriondo // all the things she said – poppy

⋆ ࣪.  masterlist  ˖ ࣪⭑ 

<- prev | finale ->

You had never been one for hiking.

Not until today, anyway. You lost your breath easily, especially with the number of steps you’ve had to walk up along this trail. Even with the beautiful scenery that was supposedly meant to make up for it, you can’t help but wish you were laying in your bed instead— you usually would be on a Saturday morning at 7:45.

But today you were spending time with your friends, or rather, Jungkook’s friends; you still haven’t spoken to Jia or Hanna since that disaster of a dinner Jungkook made you go to, you were sure to remind him how ungrateful you were about that. That was why you were here, it was, apparently, his way of making it up to you. You’re huffing and puffing, losing sight of Jungkook and Jimin who are way ahead of you. You don’t even have the power to call out to them loud enough for them to hear you. You stop, prop your ass against a rock and rest your hands on your knees.

You’re so positive that Jia and Hanna are probably doing something so much more fun today than dying.

You pull out your phone from the pocket of your tights, still catching your breath. You scroll through your messages, your socials— still nothing. You let out a pitiful breath, shoulders falling.

“Can you pick up the a pace a little bit, chicken legs?” Jimin calls out to you, when you look over at him with a sharp glare, Jungkook slaps the back of his hand against his chest. He lets out an ‘oof’, coughing dramatically and clutching at his chest. Jungkook points at you, then gives you a thumbs up, asking if you’re okay.

You flash him a tight smile, stretching your arms before you make your way toward them. You ignore the way Jimin whines about how slow you’re being, but Jungkook is quick to your aid, scolding him whenever he had something to complain about. You playfully bump into his side, and he throws an arm over your shoulder. 

“Oh, hell no.” Jimin exclaims from behind you. Jungkook makes sure to look over his shoulder right at him when he presses his lips against your temple; it’s casual and used to tease Jimin sure, but it makes you flustered all the same. “This is insufferable, and I don’t need this energy in my life right now.” He points between you both, sassily taking long strides forehead to move ahead of you and Jungkook. He hikes on ahead, leaving the two of you alone together.

On purpose.

Jungkook has since dropped his arm from your shoulder, and you hold your hands behind your back. When you look up at him and catch his eye, he huffs through his nose with a shy smile, and you chuckle nervously. 

“So, did I tell you about that office party?”

No, he hadn’t. You’re not sure he ever intended on it – telling you that is – but the tension was thick. You can see the slight panic growing in his eyes, they always grew bigger and glossier when he was feeling nervous, as he claws at a point of conversation to break the awkwardness in the air. He probably had assumed you were done with socialising after what had happened last time. 

You shake your head, chewing on your bottom lip as your fingers fiddle behind you. 

“Oh, well. It’s tomorrow night. I don’t even think I want to go, though.” He shrugs, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his shorts. He looks ahead at Jimin who runs into an unsuspecting stray branch, and he blinks at him when he starts pointing at it and scolding as if it were him. He slaps the branch away, thinking he’s got the last of it, but it rebounds and hits his back. Jungkook looks down at the bark beneath his feet, fighting off a laugh.

You’re too busy in your thoughts to notice anything that’s going on around you. All you can think about is the way your arms brush his every now and then, because you never can just walk straight and always at an angle. Jungkook smiles every time you bump him lightly.

“Ah. Why not?” You ask.

Jungkook shrugs. “It’ll probably be boring, they usually are.”

It’s only half a lie. Some of them are boring, but some of them have been the most interesting nights of his mid-twenties. He had always brought Taehyung as a guest, and he was always the most theatrical drunk. There was a point in the night all Jungkook wanted to do was sing karaoke, even when nobody was left nor were they indulging in it alongside him. And Jimin…well, Jimin was Jimin— drunk or not.

“I’d rather hang out with you.” He smiles at you.

You don’t return it, and his curled-up lips slightly falter when he can’t figure out your expression. You pucker your lips and nod slow. “Hm.”

“What if you go and I come with you?” You ask, and he blinks at you.

“Um”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“Sure. If you want that, dove.” He’s dumfounded; you can tell. You could tell by the way he dragged out his words, chose them carefully when it could dial back to that bad memory. Honestly, you didn’t know if you thought that was kind or if it was offensive. You didn’t need to be coddled, but Jungkook is trying his best and that wasn’t fair to expect him to read your mind. You know how much he cares about you.

“We better go, I’m worried Jimin is going to fight with more of the foliage if we leave him alone any longer.”

Back at the car, you lean against the boot, looking up at the sky as Jimin stands a few feet away, his arms crossed and foot tapping against the dirt. You’re waiting for Jungkook to come back from the restroom, and neither of you know what to talk about.

It wasn’t that you didn’t feel comfortable around Jimin. That hadn’t ever been the case with how easily he slotted you into ‘I’m gonna pick you apart verbally and call out all your wrong doings’ category – which according to Jungkook meant that he liked you –  it was more so the fact that he stared at you with narrowed eyes, glaring so sharply at you that you feel like the first layer of your skin was begging to shred off. Maybe it was the sun burning your face. You’re glad you’re adamant about your daily sunscreen application in this moment.

The sky wasn’t particularly that interesting, either. There’s like, no clouds up there— just a light blue abyss. It wasn’t all that exciting; the colour was nice maybe? Are you sweating?

“Stop ignoring me, I know you know that I’m looking at you.”

You squint when you pull your neck down, you rub the back of it because it’s kind of stiff from looking up for too long. “Hm?”

“Don’t act clueless,” Jimin raises a sharp brow, “It’s not gonna work on me.”

You groan, throwing your arms up in defeat. “What do you want from me?” You whine, stomping your foot dramatic, pouting like you’re having a temper tantrum akin to a toddler. His lip curls in a grimace at your attempt of being cute. Jungkook was buying this? He snorts at the thought of that.

“I just want to know if you plan on being serious.” He loosens his harshness with a shrug, letting his arms fall to his sides.

“With?” You lean back against the car again, resting your palms behind you.

“Like, are you serious about Jungkookie or are you not?”

Your entire body freezes and tightens, not expecting a weighted lecture from your roommate’s best friend about whether you are taking – whatever it is that’s going between you and Jungkook – seriously, at nine in the morning. “I would never do anything to hurt Jungkook.” You furrow your brows, kind of offended that Jimin would even insinuate that. “I care about him a lot.”

“Yeah, you do keep saying that.” He shifts his gaze, nodding in consideration. “So, then why were you with Taehyung the other day?”

“How do you know I was with Taehyung?” You push yourself off the car, crossing your arms with a lifted brow.

“Jungkook told me.”

Right. Jungkook.

He had seen you on the front steps the other day when Taehyung was dropping you off. There was something off about the whole interaction, and you haven’t spoken to Taehyung since. Granted, so much as happened within that time span— you had almost kissed Jungkook, for crying out loud.

And he didn’t even let you.

It was cruel. But you supposed you understood, for so long you hadn’t allowed yourself to indulge in feeling anything past a best friend for him. You couldn’t date someone while you were taking pictures for strangers, it was against your morals. That, and you weren’t exactly sure just how serious Jungkook would be about you. You liked the place you shared with him, but most of all you really cherished the friendship that had blossomed between you and him.

Maybe it was okay to explore something more, maybe he was the one for you. What was life if not to try new things even when you’re scared that might fall apart? Jungkook was good to you, and he always tried his best to be. It was clear in every word he said, and in every move he made. His actions always spoke volumes to you the most.

Perhaps you went out of your way to make him happy because you’ve felt the same.

Jungkook comes back before you can explain yourself to Jimin, that Taehyung was there for you when nobody gave you the time of day. He had only spent a few hours with you to help you feel better. It wasn’t anything weird, you didn’t have intentions with him or anything like that. He drops of Jimin and drives you back the apartment, the radio filling any spaces of quiet when your conversations ended naturally. He pinches your leg when he spots a yellow car, and you hit him a little too hard in retaliation, but he laughs so hard, it makes you smile.

He was right about joining them this morning— it did make you feel good.

Now that you’re let your feelings flow freely for the first time in a long time, all those small things you ignored before had hit your harder than ever. The two of you spend the rest of the day inside, and it was peaceful up until the late afternoon, just before dinner. He emerges out of his room; a towel is low on his waste and his shoulders are sprinkled with droplets of water he never got to dry off. His hair is wet, and the way he pushes it back when he enters the kitchen is lethal. His back faces you to open up the pantry, the muscles in his back subtly flexing and tensing as he rummages through. He’s done this so many times before.

Why did you feel so guilty looking at him now?

“I think I’m gonna make some kimchi fried rice.” He announces, and when he turns to face you, he just captures the way you shut your unhinged jaw. You look away as you start to blush. He smirks, “Careful, dove. Might catch a few flies.”

“That sounds fine.” You ignore his comment, pushing yourself up off the couch, scurrying toward your bedroom. “Gonna go study a little bit.” You mutter. He hums in acknowledgement as he moves around in the kitchen to make the both of you dinner. It’s all very normal, nothing seemingly out of the ordinary— to him, anyway.

In your room you’re staring at your laptop, struggling to bring yourself to gather your thoughts as they scatter around in your brain like strobe lights at a rave. Which only makes your head pound as a reminder of the habits you had in your early twenties, just prior to becoming Jungkook’s roommate. You couldn’t be further detached from that persona now, or that’s how you see it anyway. You use a lot of your old rave stuff to take pictures— well not anymore. “Ugh,” you slap your hands over your hot cheeks, trying to move on from the bad memories that continue to plague your mind. Somehow it always creeps its way back into there uninvited, even having deactivated and deleted your account ever since that dreadful dinner.

You do, however, plan to actually get some work done, you wanted to be a at least a little productive this weekend. You hated when the work piled up and you had it do it all at once, because then you’re grumpy and have no time to blow off some steam with your friends.

Your friends.

You wonder what they were doing this weekend. Do they miss you, too?

You shake the thought from your head, your fingers hovering over the keys, tapping against them mindlessly as you try for a decent way to start your essay. Usually you would spurt nonsense, add a couple of credible sources and fiddle with the end result once you’re done with it. In other words, it usually came easy to you, but you can’t even bring yourself to type even a word.

Not when you know Jungkook is cooking your dinner with a towel low on his waist. Did he even bother to pull on a pair of boxers? Your mind conjures up the image of him again, of you and him on the couch, but this time you wonder what would happen if he were just in his towel.

There you go, objectifying him again. You sigh, bowing your head with an annoyed groan. You haven’t been this fired up since you watched that re-run of 21 Jump Street at four in the morning when nothing else was on. And yes, you do mean the late 80’s television series that starred Johnny Depp. That was nearly a year ago now.

You had to admit it to yourself at least, that you were hard to get. You weren’t that easy to please, and a pretty face wasn’t enough to pique your interest. Not these days, not when you’re so focused on finishing school and kickstarting your career. You weren’t entirely aware of your surroundings, weren’t much of a people watcher when it came to strangers. It was more your thing to walk around with a pair of headphones and disappear from the world. When your friends used to point out someone was attractive when you were out in public, you would admit to them you hadn’t even noticed. 

You never did a double take at the cute guy behind you in line at the university coffee shop, and you didn’t prolong that eye contact with the guy sizing you up at the party. Whether it was because your heart was reserved for someone else is uncertain, because you’re so shut off to the idea of pursuing romance that you probably wouldn’t even notice if it was staring you in the face.

When you looked into Jungkook’s eyes that night, when you leaned in to feel his lips…it was one of the most intense feelings you had felt in a long time. Like you had finally taken off the glasses you’ve worn around him your entire friendship, the ones that never allowed you to look beyond just that— friendship.

You felt hypocritical checking him out now, when you never have before, because you knew how it felt to be objectified without your knowledge. Suddenly you understand what it’s like being on the other end of the stick. It was humbling, to say the least.

With a frown you shut your laptop, accepting that you just weren’t going to be getting anything done. Not when you were preoccupied, not when you really wanted to let off some steam. Instead, you stare at your door that’s slightly cracked open.

You wonder if you should get up and close it, but you put your laptop on your nightstand and flop back onto your bed. You pull your pillow over your face and scream into its softness, muting your frustration.  You stare at the ceiling, and your hands wander down your torso…

“Y/N? It’s done!” He calls, causing you spring up from your bed with a gasp.

You slide off your bed, clearing your throat. You tell yourself to act nonchalant, like you weren’t just about to touch yourself with your door open. You discover quickly that you’re not that great at it, because you’re as stiff as a rock when you waddle into the kitchen, avoiding looking at him entirely as you sit on your knees at the coffee table by the TV. Where you always ate. When he joins you, you learn that he has since thrown on clothes and you were grateful for that. You don’t think you would be able to handle it if he hadn’t.

He eyes you carefully when he places your bowl in front of you, staring down at the food. Your hands stay glued to your thighs; your smile is hollow, and the sound of your stomach grumbling breaks the silence first. He takes his first bite warily. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yep!” You chirp, looking up at him, but not really because your gaze moves straight past him. “Just waiting for you to kiss– eat! Waiting for you to eat first.”

Jungkook blinks at you, and there’s a grin that’s slowly tugging at the corners of his lips.

How the hell were you meant to bounce back from that?

You take the bowl in your hands, push a spoonful into your mouth. Your shoulders slump and you hold your bowl so close to your face it’s practically inside of it. You’ll chew for longer, you think, and maybe then you won’t say anything else humiliating. 

“Cute.” He laughs under his breath. He takes another bite, looking chirpy when he puts the bowl down on the table. He props his shoulders on the table, rubbing his hands together. “You still want to kiss me, huh?”

Your eyes could fall out of their sockets with how wide they had gotten at his words. How could he be so forward? Can’t he see how red you’ve gotten! How embarrassing that was? You don’t want to admit that your frustration is just a front; your heart races and you think your brows are tightened and scrunched together but they’re lowered, and your eyes are softer than you think they are as they stare at him. You part your lips, shutting them like a fish out of water, grasping for air.

Instead, you’re grasping on for your sanity because the way he’s so clearly flirting with you, purposefully pushing your buttons to make you look at him— well, it works.

Clearly.

Consider your buttons pushed.

“Jungkook,” you warn, narrowing your eyes at him. “Drop it right now.”

He sighs, leaning over the table, forefinger rests on your chin, tilting your face up slightly when his thumb swipes against the corner of your lip. His gaze, and his thumb alike, linger on you for longer than necessary. You watch him in anticipation, but also because your words are caught in your throat; you’re too flustered to throw another playful quip his way.

“Nah.” His features crinkle up playfully, removing his hand from you and leaning back on his spot. “I like it when you blush because of me.” He flashes the most heart-throbbing smile your way, and it doesn’t falter when he picks his bowl back up, taking another large bite of his food.

You roll your eyes, grumpily doing the same. “Thank you for dinner.” You grumble.

“It’s no biggie. I like taking care of you.”

He’s so casual about it, when he says things so sweet they’d make your teeth ache. Has he always been this way or was he relishing in the fact that you’re starting to admit that you like him too? Because you do. You do like him.

A lot more than you thought, because it makes you smile shyly into your spoon. Taking small peaks at each other as you finish off your dinner in comfortable silence.

When Sunday night rolls around, you’re rushing around your room, tearing your closet apart as you get ready for the work function you had invited yourself to yesterday morning. You didn’t go to any previous ones, only heard stories from Jungkook whenever he stumbled home a little bit drunk, or in the morning when you were making him soup to cure his hangover. They were hit or miss, but the key to these functions, according to Jungkook, was to get drunk either way.

You weren’t going to argue with that.

He walks toward your room, adjusting the silver watch on his wrist to check if you’re nearly done getting ready. He’s stopped in front of your door when he’s distracted by the sight of you, can you catch sight of him gawking shamelessly at you through the reflection in the mirror. You snort, turning around to face him.

“Is this okay?” You ponder, not fully sure about the basic little black skirt you’ve thrown on, your top matching in colour. The long sleeves flare out toward the ends adding a little more character to the outfit. “Is it too simple?”

You didn’t mean to match him, completely unaware he too had gone for an all-black appearance. Or maybe subconsciously you did? You knew it was the colour he gravitated toward the most. His black compression top accompanied his baggy black jeans, a chunky pair of boots peeking out from beneath the hem.

“You look good.” He settles for, fighting the desire to shower you with every positive comment under the sun. And the way your legs looked beneath those sheer black tights.

That was dangerous territory, and he thinks you know that.

Ever since knowing him each time you pulled out the mini dress/skirt and tights combo, he had always been particularly touchy with you, more than usual. Hand on your knee, arm over your lower back; he’d search for every decent way you claim you amongst other predatory gazes, silently claim you even though you had never been his.

But to everyone he knew…you had always been off limits. Silently praying for the day he could hold you close to him and make it known to everyone else, too.

He flashes a crooked smile, he takes a step toward you, slow. “We look good.”

You’re about to scold him about tracking his shoes around on your carpet, but he reaches down for your hand, taking your hand lightly in his. He lifts your arm above you. “Look at my girl.” He exhales sharply, making you giggle.

“It wasn’t my intention to match with you.” You smile brightly at him, teasingly pushing at his chest. You turn to face the mirror again, to touch up at your appearance, give yourself another look at your outfit but discover the way Jungkook is raking half-lidded eyes over the curvatures of your body. You bite your lip, pretending not to notice. “We do, though.” You admit as he steps closer, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“We look like a couple.”  He whispers against the shell of your ear, his breath warm and his voice sultry, the words sliding off his tongue smoothly. Wrapping his arms around you in a loose embrace. You tut in faux annoyance, pushing him off of you as you go to look for shoes to wear.

He sits at the edge of your bed, watching as you drop carefully to your knees, tugging your skirt down as to not flash him. He looks away anyway, his attempt at being chivalrous, he supposes. He rambles on, “I know I said we should take our time, but if you’re going to be looking like this all night…”

“I might just have to kiss you first.”

You freeze with a pair of doc martens in your grip. You scold him under your breath, scuttering out of your room as he strides after you, eyeing you off as you hop into your doc martens with a bit of struggle. He grabs the keys of the kitchen counter leading you out and toward the car, promising you that he won’t drink tonight so that you could have a little bit of fun and have a designated driver. It only made sense.

You and Jungkook are the last people to arrive – you never liked turning up too early – and are greeted by a multitude of cheers the moment familiar eyes spot you coming through the front doors. Before you can really react, Jimin is clapping Jungkook on his broad shoulders, dragging him over to the pool table, leaving you awkward standing by the front door.

“I’ll come find you later. Try to have some fun, dove!” He calls over the blaring music, leaving you on your lonesome.

Not for long though, because Jia and Hanna are waving you over the moment you spot them looking right at you. “Y/N!” Hanna waves you over, both her and Jia riddled with excited smiles. You’re wary when you walk toward them, your hands fiddling in front of you nervously. The moment you get close they both squeal with excitement, pulling you in for an unexpected group hug.

“It’s feels like it’s been forever!” Hanna pouts, looking at Jia.

“Yeah, we’re really sorry. We didn’t really react all that well, did we?” Jia chimes in, a guilty melding into her features.   

You think you’re having one of those light bulb moments. You’ve spent nearly half the month wanting this moment to happen. Wanting them to say sorry, that they should’ve been there for you when you needed them the most, that having them by your side would have made things easier. But in turn, you’re realising something; they were so quick to abandon you— judge you, even.

Especially when there were people who were on your side. You part your lips in a sharp inhale, exhaling calmly through your nose as you smile at them. “Thank you.” Is all you say.

A hand snaking around your lower back makes you gasp, but when you look up to see its Taehyung, you relax. “Hey, doll.”

“Hi” You grin back wider, excusing yourself from your friends, or perhaps the friends that used to be. All was forgiven, and that was all that mattered in that moment to you. You felt lighter now, your shoulders straighten up as Taehyung leads you away, and you sit on the couch in the living room.

“You and the posse back together again?” He teases, fiddling with the wrapper of a piece of gum, he offers you one, but you decline with a wave of your hands.

“I don’t know…” you sigh, leaning back, peaking over at them from the corner of your eye. They’re laughing and smiling together, doing that thing that they always did at parties; the thing that all three of you used to do. Analyse everyone in the room. You were simply part of the heads in the room, now, and for the first time in a while, you feel okay about that.

“You’re better off, I reckon.” He shrugs, casually throwing an arm along the back of the sofa behind you. “Better than them.”

“It’s not that,” you laugh humourlessly, “They lost faith in me, changed their perception of me without a second thought.” You nod, as if coming to terms with it for the first time. In a way, you are, and the more you sit with the idea of that the happier you are to let them go.

“I never changed my perception of you.” Taehyung moves his arm. From around you, placing his warm hand on your knee. He taps, leans over to look down at you with an even warmer smile.

You nod, “Exactly!”

From across the room Jimin is burning holes through your head into Taehyung’s skull. He can’t help but think the two of you look way too close for comfort, and that set him on fire.

He had to act fast when Jungkook frowned at him “What’s wrong?” He asks, going to turn around by Jimin aims his pool stick straight into Jungkook’s chest.

“It’s your turn– do you need a drink? I need a drink.” Jimin’s tone of voice raises higher with each word, and he speaks too fast for it all to seem normal. He ignores the younger boys strange glare, pushing him toward the table as he rushes off toward you and Taehyung. He scoffs, leans over the table and prepares to make his play.

He looms over you like a storm cloud. Taehyung moves his hand as if he’s touched a fire, rubbing the back of his head. You tilt your head, looking up at Taehyung’s line of sight.

“Jesus Christ,” your body jolts in surprise, clutching at your chest. “A simple ‘hello’ would have been nice.”

“I need to talk with you, like– now.” He seethes between his teeth, grabbing your arm and lifting you off the sofa. Taehyung just leans back cooly against the couch when you stutter confusedly, and you give Taehyung a look for help, but he instead leans back against the couch cooly with a shrug.

Jungkook is mid-conversation with his other co-workers, turning just as Jimin is halfway across the apartment, dragging you down the hallway with a scrunched up look on his face. Jungkook’s eyes follow them until they out of sight with a dent between his brows.

He doesn’t stop until he shuts the both of you in the bathroom, flickering on every switch on the wall to produce light in the briefly dark area. He turns on all the fans as well as the lights, it was a blessing in disguise because it was noisy and maybe it will distract from your voices. The music was also kind of loud, anyway. You stand stick straight, tense and awkward as you search Jimin’s face for answers, but he throws his head back and groans a little bit too loud.

“Um? Hello?” You raise a brow.

“I need to tell you something important, okay?” He finally says, “I should have told you sooner, I think, but I just thought things were going to resolve on their own and things we’re honestly looking better for you, for Jungkook too and–”

“You’re rambling, Jimin.” You furrow your brows, crossing your arms. “Spit it out.”

“Taehyung– Y/N, you should be really careful hanging around him. He–”

“Why? He what?” Your arms fall to your sides, and you take a step toward him. The blond parts his lips, then bites on his bottom lip, reluctant to tell you what he’s about to tell you. “Jimin!”

“It was him, that’s why!” He shouts, he huffs out a breath, “He bought those photos from you, and he leaked them on that Facebook group.”

You scoff, glaring at him in disbelief. You start to shake your head and back off. “No.”

“It’s true.” He sighs, running a hand through his golden locks. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you the minute I found out.”

You spit out a sob instead of the sour laugh you intend to come out of your mouth instead. You reach for the door, throwing it opens only to run into a hard chest.

You sniffle angrily, wiping at your nose as you look up to apologise, but the words don’t come out when you see that it’s Jungkook.

He doesn’t look at you, only stares daggers straight at Jimin. You look between them. Jungkook’s jaw tenses, pursing his lips as he nods slowly. Without a word, he turns on his heel, both you and Jimin calling after him as he storms back into the living room. The calls from you and his best friends are drowned out, ears ringing as he bee lines straight for Taehyung.

He’s leaning against the wall, a beer in his hand. He lifts his bottle in acknowledgement when he sees Jungkook coming toward him, only to be greeted with his tattooed, balled up fist. Square to his jaw. His drinks fall to the floor, shatters against the tiles. There’s a mixture of hollers and screaming when Taehyung stumbles back, tripping over his own feet onto the ground. Before he can react or defend himself, Jungkook pulls him back up by the shirt.

“You’re pathetic.”

He swings his hand back again, Taehyung staring straight into his friend’s eyes as he prepares for another hit.

Your soft hands grab at his bicep, halting his movement. “Baby,” your voice shakes. He freezes at the sound. “Let’s go home.”

He shoves Taehyung back, letting you drag him toward the door.

On the drive home, you soft sniffles are the only sounds that fill the car. Each time it hits his ears is like someone rubbing salt in the wound, and his knuckles grow white with his blaringly tight grip on the steering wheel. He swerves a little too sharply, and he drives a little bit too fast. You’re just glad he never got any alcohol in him. Although, you’re not sure him being angry and driving was any safer.

You do however make it home in one piece, but he stomps out of the car, opens your car door and slams it shut when you exit the car. His boots are loud and heavy with each step he takes, with purpose and conviction as he takes the elevator instead of the stairs. You follow him in, avoiding his eye. You’re just as angry as he was, if not angrier.

“Are you upset with me?” You whisper when you exit the elevator, and he fiddles with the keys as he unlocks the door to your shared apartment. He ignores you, kicks his shoes off and chucks the keys onto the coffee table. You shuffle after him, following him around like a lost puppy. “Jungkook?”

He knew Taehyung has been acting off. He didn’t deny Taehyung had always been a flirt, that much had always been true, he was suave with women, including yourself, but he found comfort in the fact you never gave him the time of day. Jungkook liked to think that it was because you ever only had eyes for him.

“I just can’t believe that fucking–”

You hush him, reaching for his arms. You soothe your palms over his biceps, drawing them up and down in hopes to help him relax. “Hey, look at me.”

He looks down at you with dark eyes, the rage slowly melting away when he watches your sad eyes find his. Your eyes flitter down to his pink lips then back up at his softening gaze.

Jungkook had always been your protector, since day one. There was nothing and no one that could stand between how much he cared about you— loved you. From the minute you stumbled into the apartment with a box too heavy for your wobbling arms, and he quickly took it from your struggling grip and offered to bring the rest of your things up for you. Told you that pretty girls shouldn’t be doing hard work.

Whenever you were too nice to end a conversation that you weren’t comfortable in, or had simply grown tired of, he was there to fabricate the lies that unwrapped you from the sticky web you had unintentionally stuck yourself within. Scolding you over a phone call or pretending he was kidnapping you just to scare your counterpart and give you something to laugh about later.

Because whenever you were laughing or smiling, Jungkook was happy. It had only been two years, it wasn’t that long, Jungkook had known Taehyung longer than that, yet the time didn’t seem to matter anymore.

When you know you love someone, you just loved them— and that was that.

Seven years of friendship with Taehyung, and he still stabbed him in the back. He wished he knew why, still wondering what the hell he was thinking hurting you like this. There was nothing you had ever done to him to make him hate you so much. Or maybe there was. His mind was too clouded to think about the ladder right now.

“You’re my girl, right Y/N?” He whispers, his own hand coming to rest on your waist. You hum, looking up at him with such an innocent look, as if your nails down drag lightly down his chest, over his nipples. He grunts, licking his lips.

“I could be your girl,” you sigh, your hands play with the hem of his black shirt. “If you want me to be.” Your hands dip beneath the fabric, feeling his hard abdomen beneath your fingers. “Will you take good care of me, Jungkook?” You ask, a teasing glint in your eye and a suggestive tone to your voice.

“Always take care of you, dove.” He breathes, his lips pressing into your hair. He inhales, his eyes shutting softly as you touch him slowly. You grow bold with your hands, dragging them down his abdomen and toward the belt of his jeans. You tug on it, making him stumble closer to you. “Careful.” He warns, fingers wrapping carefully around your wrist.

“You said I couldn’t kiss you.” You pout. “But you never said anything about sucking your dick.”

His grip loosens, drags gently up your arms as you take off his belt, letting it drop to the ground with a thud. You unbutton his jeans, and he watches your face carefully. “Y/N, are you sure you want to–”

You drop to your knees, making him swallow his words, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows thickly. You smile impishly up at him, bottom lip between your teeth as your palms push on his thighs, back him up, making him sit down on the couch behind him. He watches you with a lustful gaze, letting you pull down the zipper, and he lifts his hips to aid you when you tug the denim down his legs.

His hand reaches out for you, tucking your hair behind your ear while your fingers trace the outline of his hard cock beneath his boxers. It twitches impatiently against your couch, and you bite your tongue when you feel a moan lingering in the back of your throat. Jungkook breathes heavily before you, watching you with dark eyes when you tug down the grey material, letting his cock spring out from its confines, raising to your attention. Jungkook smirks, carding his fingers through your hair when he notes you admiring his thickness.

“S'big.” You mumble, both your hands wrapping carefully around his length. Jungkook hisses, sinking into the couch. His features contort with pleasure when you lean forward and dart your tongue out to flick the tip over the head of his cock.

“Yeah, baby? You like it?” He runs his tongue over his teeth, watching you drag your tongue along his thick length. You drag it back up, enclosing your lips over the bulbous tip. He nearly growls, the sound rumbles within the depths of his chest as he pulls your hair back over your shoulders, holding it up with one hand in a make-shift ponytail. “Baby, baby…” He chuckles dryly, throwing his head back and shutting his eyes. “Can’t believe I’ve got your pretty mouth on my cock.”

You moan, your fingers wrapped around the base as you slowly drag your lips over the top half, your tongue swirling around him, your spit pooling from your lips as you lightly suck. His fingers tighten in your hair, looking down at you, and when you look up at him through fluttered lashes he twitches in your grasp.

You remove one of your hands, rubbing his thigh as you lower your mouth, taking in more of him, as much as you can. “Y/N…” he warns but doesn’t argue when you remove your other hand, your nose hitting his pelvis.

He cries out your name again when he feels your throat contract around him. You gag slightly but still take your time dragging your mouth back up, sucking on the head of his length before doing it again. “You’re– fuck, dove.” He mutters incoherent words that you can only assume to be words of praise, blinking slowly at you as he places his free hand on top of the one you have on his thigh. He bites harshly on his lip with knitted brows as he lightly tugs you up and off his cock. “No more.” He pants, “C’mere.”

He helps you crawl up into his lap, pulling you up by your arms. Your legs are feeling weak and a little sore from being on your knees for a little too long, but when you throw your legs over each side of him and lower your hips onto his, you forget all about the soreness. His dick is angry and red, pressed against his shirt and waiting to feel your touch again.

“Always knew you’d have a pretty cock.” You admit your thoughts aloud, rounding your hips against his lap. “Felt so heavy on my tongue.”

He chuckles lowly, pulling off his shirt. He tosses it to the side, his hands roughly exploring your fully clothed body. He frowns, tugging on the end of your top. “Can I take it off? Wanna see you pretty girl.” When you nod, a little bit too enthusiastically, he peels it off your body as you hold your arms up so he can pull it over your arms and head. “Wanna see all of you.” He sighs.

He throws it in the same direction he threw his shirt and watches you gingerly as you slide the straps of your bra down your shoulders. Your eyes don’t break from his, and he watches your face closely, letting himself get lost in you. Reminding himself that this wasn’t a dream. You were really here, needing him— wanting him. His fingers dragging patiently up and down your back, and even when you drop your bra behind you after you unclasp it from the back, he still smiles at you, cupping your cheek.

“You’re beautiful, you know?” He whispers like if he spoke any louder, he might wake up. You might slip through his fingers, like all those maybe’s and almost’s he clung to before this moment. “Can’t believe you’re choosing me.”

“I’ve always chosen you Jungkook,” the moment feels melancholic, and there’s a twinge of guilt in your eye that he’s too glad that this moment is true to pinpoint. But you know it’s there, you feel it inside of you, because you set him aside in ways you didn’t even realise until you looked at him now. “I’m just…” you roll your eyes away in search for the right words, “Choosing you again.”

He laughs at that, and it’s only when it dies down that he looks down at your bare chest, he sucks in a breath, letting his hands climb your stomach, letting them rest just beneath the juncture of your breasts. He leans forward, and your eyes flutter shut when you feel his lips on your neck, swiping his tongue over your skin, lowering them dangerously close to where you want them.

You release a needy sigh when his thumb swipes over your nipple, stiffening under his brief touch. He kisses the tops of your breasts sweetly, then wraps his lips around your nipple and sucks harshly.

“Oh, Jung– ah!” you gasp, the sound is borderline pornographic as you grind into him. You shuffle up off his knee and higher up to lower yourself where his cock rests, the material of your panties rubbing against his erect member. He flicks quickly at your other nipple, making out with your other so messily that you shiver when he pulls his mouth away. The air feels cold against your wet tit and there’s a wild look in his eye when he meets your blissful gaze. You focus on rubbing yourself against him, and his hand climbs from your breast to wrap around your neck. You grind down hard on him and it makes him freeze, his fingers flexing around your throat. You halt your hips, blinking at him when he shuts his eyes with an annoyed groan.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You pout, your gentle hands rubbing at his chest. He’s eyes flicker to where your clothed cunt presses against his cock, then looks back up at you wordlessly.

You take the hint, swinging your leg over him and crashing back onto the pouch much to your dismay. He takes the moment to kick his boxers off where his jeans are sitting, and he clears his throat and waddles awkwardly down the hall.

You hold back a giggle, admiring his ass while he walks away. You puff, looking around the living room you knew so well, and you decided you’d rid yourself of your tights and skirts while you waited also. You lay back, spread your legs and play with the ends of your hair, huffing impatiently.

When he walked back in, he’s ripping the wrapper of the condom with his teeth, but he pauses for a second when he catches sight of you. He tongues at the inside of his cheek, a dry breath of amusement leaving his nose. He doesn’t waste much more time, he clambers onto the couch, knees on either side of you as he makes you watch him roll the condom onto his cock.

He hovers over you, body so close you can feel the heat of his skin radiating off of him. His face is inches from yours, and he flashes you the cheekiest smile you’ve ever seen. “I know I told you not to kiss me on this couch, but–” He presses his lips against yours in a sweet, chaste kiss. Your eyes shut immediately, and you lean up when his lips pull away from yours far too soon. “I’m about to fuck you on this couch.” He kisses you again, and your hands slide up his shoulders and rest at the nape of his neck. “It’s only fair you get to kiss me too, right?” He rests his forehead against yours, and when you laugh, shaking your head with amusement, he can’t help but pepper a few more kisses over your face and neck.

“Then fuck me, Kook.” You whine, “I’ve been waiting too long.”

He wants to make a snarky remark back, tell you that he’s been waiting even longer than you could ever imagine, but who is he to deny you when you’re begging him like that? He leans back, and you raise your hips when he spits roughly into his palm and tugs on his cock.

You mewl at the pretty sight of him fisting his length tightly, prepping himself for you. He hisses, pulling his brows together when he circles the tip of his cock around your entrance before pushing it past your hole. Your breaths come out quick in silent moans, relishing in the delicious stretch of his thick cock pushing its way inside your tight walls. He groans, praising you, reminding you just how good you are for him. He collapses on top of you when he fills you to the brim, kissing your shoulder as he lets you adjust.

It's sweet of him, and you don’t have the heart to tell him you want him to ruin you. You didn’t realise how much you needed this, needed him. Your legs wrap around his waist with a huff, and when your cunt squeezes him, he catches on, and he pulls out and slams right back into you. You cry out his name, grasp onto his arms that are holding himself up on the arm rest you’re resting your head upon.

“How do you like it, dove?” He whispers into your ear, teeth tugging at your lobe teasingly. ”You like it hard?” He repeats the harsh movement of his hips again, snapping against yours with a loud thwack. He watches your reaction, the way your eyes roll back at the dull stinging in your cunt. You savour that feeling, rolling your hips against him slowly. “Wanna be fucked like the little slutty tease that you are, hm?” He continues to pound into you, squeezing the thighs that tighten around his lower back as he picks up the pace.

Jungkook learns quickly, though he doesn’t expect it, that you aren’t a quiet fuck. No, you’re quite the opposite— the cries of his name, the whimpers and the moans with each piston of his hips, as he thrusts his cock into your sweet spot over and over is a telltale sign.

What Jungkook doesn’t know is that you usually are— quite a quiet fuck, that is.

“Fuck, you’re a noisy little thing, aren’t you?” He noses at your jaw, nipping at the skin as you wail for into his ear.

“You’re gonna make me cum!” You cry, palms pushing down on his back to bring him closer to you. His chest brushes against your hardened nipples, and you grind up to meet his rough thrusts. His jaw tenses when you start to flutter around him. “Oh, baby, oh Koo!”

“Cum then, all over my cock pretty girl.” He husks into your ear, and just as you’re about to announce that you’re cumming, he brings his lips onto yours, lets you moan into his mouth instead. You convulse beneath him, sighing into his kiss.

He drags his cock in and out of you slowly, allowing you to ride out your high. He’s so close. You hum, clenching around him, making him shudder. “Don’t stop, want you to cum too.” You tell him.  

He leans back, holding your hips as he fucks you slowly, admiring the way your tits bounce, your half-lidded stare and the way you bite on your finger provocatively. His features scrunch, head dropping as he uses your cunt, hips stuttering as he reaches his own release. “Y/N, fuck, baby…”

You wince when he pulls out of you, your once stretched now empty of the feeling of him inside of you. “I deprived myself of this? For two years?” You hide your reddened face in your hands, your comment eliciting a hearty laugh out of your roommate. He leans down again, tugging of your wrists to see your face.

“You’re crazy.” He teases, grinning widely at you, pressing his lips against yours. Letting them linger there as the feeling sets in. “I’ll bring you a towel.”

He disappears into the bathroom, and you let yourself have a moment to shut your eyes and rest. You can’t drop the dumb smile that’s beginning to hurt your cheeks, though. Even when the rest of your body is laxed— content.

On the coffee table, the buzz of a text peels your eyes open. You sit up, thinking it could be yours but only Jungkook’s phone sits there. You pick it up, opening your mouth to let him know he got a text, but when you see the name that pops up on his lockscreen, which is a picture of you and him making cross-eyes at the camera, you feel your heart sink into your stomach.

Jungkook returns with a wet cloth and dry towel, but when he catches on to the look on your face, he freezes on the spot. “Y/N, what is it? What’s wrong?”

You hold his phone up to him, showing him the missed text.

A text from none other than Yuri.

“Miss you too, big boy.” You stand up, shove his phone into his chest, and storm off into the bedroom, but not before you rip the towel from his grip to cover your body from him. You had just borne yourself vulnerable to him, shared your body with him.

Jungkook flinches when he hears your bedroom door slam closed. He doesn’t even move his phone from his chest, just grips onto it tighter than before as his heart pounds harshly in his chest.

You didn’t think your night was going to get any worse, not after you found out what Taehyung did.

But alas, it had, and it was the cherry on top of the cake— Jungkook hadn’t even bothered to end things with Yuri.

You try to ignore the tears forming in your eyes, angrily pulling your pyjamas from your closet, and throwing them onto your bed. You move toward the shower, hoping it was going to help flush out your thoughts. But the moment you step underneath the warm water, you can’t hold back the sobs that force their way out of your throat.

Jungkook can hear them clearly, taunting him through the walls of his room.

Neither of you can get any sleep that night.

©jigglyjeon 2025 all rights reserved

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[ccupcakqs]

— home is where the heart is ౨ৎ✧˚

warnings: established relationship, campfire pairing: max verstappen x female reader a/n: i've actually never gone camping (but i rlly want to go!)

the van rumbles softly beneath you, windows cracked to let in the crisp french air. out the passenger side, the hills roll in slow green waves, dotted with vineyards and sleepy villages where time moves like honey.

max drives with one hand on the wheel and the other curled around his paper cup of gas station coffee. his sunglasses are pushed up into his hair, letting the afternoon sun spill across his face.

you don’t say much.

you don’t have to.

it’s been three days since the season ended. three days since max handed off his last media obligation with a half-smile and grabbed your hand without a word. you’d thrown a duffel bag into the back of the van that night. no press, no team radio, no circuit noise. just the two of you, heading anywhere that wasn’t loud.

“do you think we’ll get lost again?” you ask, a little amused.

max hums. “probably. but if we do, it’ll be in france. that’s not the worst thing.”

he glances at you briefly, his thumb brushing yours over the center console. you smile and lean your head against the window, sliding your hand out beside you. fingers stretch wide, catching the breeze as you hum softly along with a song playing low on the radio.

max smiles at you. “you really like that one, huh?”

“can’t help it,” you say, voice warm and soft.

after a while, the road bends through a sleepy village. max slows and pulls into a gas station tucked between a bakery and a florist. the place smells like fresh bread and rain.

you hop out, stretching your limbs, bare feet on the cool grass. max fills the tank while you wander into the small shop. a few locals browse the shelves, quiet and calm.

a man near the counter glances at you, then at max’s van parked outside. recognition flickers in his eyes.

“aren’t you max verstappen?” he asks, voice low but sure.

you glance outside, cheeks warming with a mix of pride and protectiveness.

max turns, nodding politely. “yes, that’s me.”

the man grins. “nice to see you taking a break from the tracks.”

you smile, feeling the weight of the world soften just a little in this small moment.

max’s eyes find yours again, steady and grounding.

“ready to go?” he asks softly.

you nod, slipping your hand into his as you climb back into the van. the engine hums to life, and soon you’re back on the road, the world shrinking to just the two of you, the music, and the endless sky.

eventually, the road narrows to a gravel path that dips between two sloping hills. wildflowers grow in little patches along the edge, the sky above wide and clean. the gps gave up a while ago, but max doesn’t seem to mind.

when he parks, it’s in a small, sun-drenched clearing tucked behind a stone wall. it overlooks the valley below — a tapestry of fields and old farmhouses, the kind of place that smells like thyme and woodsmoke in the evenings.

he kills the engine.

and the silence is perfect.

“god,” you murmur, climbing out and stretching. “it’s beautiful.”

max rounds the van to stand beside you, eyes sweeping the landscape. “yeah. thought you’d like it.”

you let the quiet settle again. he unlocks the back of the van and starts pulling out a blanket, the little camping stove, a soft-sided cooler. you help him, shoes off now, grass cool beneath your feet.

it’s domestic. easy.

you’ve never seen him like this. not like monaco max or media-trained max or even championship-winning max. this max walks barefoot in the grass and doesn’t check his phone. he buys strawberries from roadside stalls and stops the van just to watch cows.

you sit shoulder to shoulder on the blanket while he heats water for coffee, both of you watching the sunlight slip lazily toward golden hour.

“do you ever miss it?” you ask.

he doesn’t need to ask what you mean.

“sometimes,” he admits. “but not right now.”

your pinkies brush where your hands rest between you. his stays.

“do you?” he asks, glancing at you.

you shake your head. “not when you’re like this.”

he smiles then, soft and private. the kind of smile he only gives you when it’s quiet like this, when no one else is looking.

later, you lie on the blanket while max tends to a tiny campfire he’s built with the patience of someone who needed something to do with his hands. he’s crouched in a hoodie, hoodie strings in his mouth, cheeks a little pink from the breeze.

you watch him tie back his hair with the elastic from your wrist. it’s domestic in a way you weren’t expecting.

“i brought marshmallows,” you offer.

he turns, eyes lighting up. “seriously?”

you hold up the bag, victorious. “and chocolate. and graham crackers. i'm not a rookie.”

max grins. “you’re perfect.”

you pretend not to hear that one. he doesn’t take it back.

when the fire is steady, you roast two marshmallows. his immediately catches fire. he swears under his breath and tries to blow it out, waving it like a torch.

“c’mere, caveman,” you laugh, taking the stick and salvaging what’s left. he’s pouting, so you feed him a full s’more, marshmallow dripping down his fingers.

“ten out of ten,” he says through a mouthful.

you make a second one and hold it up to your mouth, but he leans forward and kisses you instead. slow. warm. sticky from sugar. his palm slides over your jaw, the kiss turning into two, then three, until your fingers curl around the hem of his hoodie.

you pull back, a little breathless.

“that was mine,” you say.

he taps your bottom lip with his thumb. “you can have another.”

you do.

and then you’re in his lap, your legs tangled with his, the stars starting to peek through a deep blue sky. the fire crackles softly beside you. his arms are around your waist, your forehead resting against his.

he breathes you in like this is the only thing that’s ever calmed him down.

you murmur, “this doesn’t feel real.”

max kisses your temple. “it is.”

“but like… how is this our life?”

he just shrugs, voice low. “i think we earned it.”

you nod. then tuck your face into his neck, letting the warmth of his body and the smell of firewood lull you into something slow and safe.

“you’re gonna fall asleep on me,” he murmurs.

“maybe.”

he laughs, adjusting to hold you better. “okay. but i’m not carrying you all the way into the van.”

you hum. “liar.”

he kisses your hair.

and when you do fall asleep — finally, tangled up in him under a blanket that smells like the road — he does carry you in.

because he always does.

© ccupcakqs. all work written by me. DO NOT PLAGIARISE!

[stagtorccio]

please be rude

lottie matthews x gp!reader

request: x summary: Lottie's been off since the crash. You've got a running theory as to what's making her act out. rating: explicit, 18+ warnings: implied established relationship, porn with feelings, penetrative sex, girl penis reader (thanks anons), brat lottie renaissance, probably unsafe sex but it's fictional, (brief) fingering word count: 3.2k author's note: i know i know i know the header image is a season 3 screenshot but this takes place in season 1. in my head. please keep that in yours for maximum enjoyment <3

[AO3]

𓃢𓃦𐂂 ── .✦

You’re fairly certain Lottie Matthews has never gone untended for very long in her life. Not really, anyway.

Never a bruise left without a bandage. Never a craving unanswered, never a cut left to scab. Even now, stranded and filthy and mosquito-bitten, hair tangled as hell and half-starved most days like the rest of you, she carries herself like someone will look after her, sooner or later. 

Your hypothesis, your grand theory, is that this is why she’s been such a fucking asshole lately.

Sulking around the cabin. Picking fights that don’t need picking. Taking your things and then daring you to make her give them back, and when you do, she just laughs, utterly pleased with herself. 

At first, you’d chalked it up to stress. Called it cabin fever, as morbidly on-the-nose as it was. But the last time she teased you in front of everyone, she bit her lip the second you snapped back. 

It clicked then, sort of like kindling catching. That for some reason, she wants you angry. Wants your attention and doesn’t care how she gets it.

Today, it’s while you’re hauling water from the lake, arms slick with sweat, jaw tight from a full morning of silent effort. Van's helping you boil it in a dinky pot that never stays level, and Lottie— 

Well, Lottie isn’t being very helpful at all. 

She’s leaning on a stump nearby, legs crossed at the knee. When you mutter something about needing more hands and fewer onlookers, you hear the faintest scoff. You think you feel your eye twitch— which you thought, up until now, only happened in Saturday morning cartoons. 

“Careful, you’re spilling,” Lottie comments, mostly innocuous, but it irks you regardless.

“Maybe because I could use some help,” you snark back, setting the bucket down a little too forcefully. It sloshes onto your shoe like some sort of karmic deliverance. 

She does move to help you, eventually. With the same kind of theatrical sigh someone might use when they’re asked to actually do the thing they were trying to avoid. She crouches beside you, scoops up the handle of the next water bucket with a little more attitude than necessary.

The two of you walk in silence for a while.

The path down to the lake is worn now, familiar. Mud sun-hardened, branches cleared by the group’s repetition. Your boots crunch over dry pine needles and damp leaves, and behind you, you can hear Lottie’s steps following in sync. 

She keeps bumping into you, shoulder brushing yours, like she can’t quite figure out how much space she wants. She doesn’t apologize. You try not to snap.

The trees part near the bottom of the hill, and the lake stretches out in front of you, glassy and still in the midday heat, rimmed with cattails and buzzing crowds of mosquitoes.

You set the buckets down by the shore and roll up your sleeves. Lottie crouches nearby and watches you for a moment, arms looped loosely around her knees.

You feel her eyes flick toward you, then away, then back again.

Something in her still isn’t sitting right.

You glance over at her. The sunlight’s catching on her cheekbones, her collarbone, the sharp line of her shoulders under her tank top. Her mouth is set in that same stubborn pout it always falls into when she’s trying not to say something.

You want to ask what’s really going on. But you don’t. 

You just get up with your full bucket and start walking. Lottie follows suit. The trek back to the cabin is filled with more of that tense, sticky, unbearable silence. By the time you make it there, sweat is beading at your temples and the tension feels so tightly wound you’re sure one of you will explode soon. 

And then it happens. Lottie fumbles her bucket just as you both reach the fire, water surging toward the rim like it’s ready to escape and drench poor, unsuspecting Mari. 

“Careful—” you gasp, hand flying out to steady it instinctively. 

“I know,” she snaps, jerking it upright before you reach it.

You both freeze.

She sets the bucket down and backs away from it like it might bite her. You watch her jaw work, her breath come faster. She scrubs a hand down her face, agitated, then across the back of her neck like she can’t shake off the heat or the frustration or both.

“You okay?” you ask, tentative.

Lottie lets out a breath. “Fine. It’s fine.”

Her voice is brittle and fast. The kind of fine that’s meant to shut you up. The kind that means the exact opposite of fine.

You study her now. The stiff set of her shoulders, the way she won’t quite meet your eyes. Lottie, who never really hides anything, not well. Not from you.

You reach out. “C’mere,” you murmur, gesturing in some vague direction– anywhere away. 

She lifts her head, wary. “Why?”

You keep your voice low, eyes cutting to the rest of the girls, but they seem preoccupied.

“Because I want to actually talk about this.” 

Lottie hesitates. Long enough to pretend like she might say no. 

Then, she mutters a resigned, “Fine.” 

It’s a small victory. 

You take her deeper into the woods. Not far. Just out of sight of the others. Where the air is cooler, the sunlight slants differently, and there’s the illusion of privacy, at the least. 

Lottie leans against a tree, arms crossed. Still prickly. Still pretending this isn’t about anything in particular. 

“Lottie,” you say softly.

“I’m alright,” she replies, but she doesn’t sound sure. She just sounds like she’s trying to convince you– or maybe convince herself.

“But you’re not.”

She huffs. But she doesn’t deny it. Her eyes flick up, then away. 

Then, quietly, like a confession: “I don’t know. I’m… frustrated.”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

She exhales through her nose. “It’s like—" she starts, then falters. “Like my skin doesn’t fit right. Like something's too much. In here.”

She gently touches her fingers to her sternum, skimming the pads of them over the fabric of her top with a creased brow, as if she’s actualizing herself in real time.

“Everyone is… too close. And you—”

That catches you off guard. “Me?”

She licks her lips. Looks you dead in the eye, for once. 

“You make it worse.”

You flinch. Just a little, because fucking ouch. But she’s already stepping forward, shaking her head.

“Not like that,” she murmurs. “You just— we never have any time alone anymore—”

She cuts herself off again, jaw flexing, and that’s when you notice it. The flush creeping up her throat. Spreading across her cheeks, blooming high on her ears. Like she can’t believe she just said that out loud. Like maybe it wasn’t supposed to come out like that.

Hypothesis proven, you suppose.

You let the silence hang just long enough for her to get nervous, fidgety. Then:

“Lottie Matthews,” you murmur, a smile tugging at your lips, “are you telling me you’ve been a jackass because this whole time, you wanted me alone?”

She looks away, but she doesn’t step back. “I didn’t say it like that...”

“No,” you agree, “you didn’t. You’re just terrible at asking for what you want.”

She swallows. “I know.”

You step into her space, close enough that your fingers brush the hem of her shirt, just light enough to tease. 

“It’s okay,” you murmur, voice soft. “Maybe just… tell me next time?”

She looks at you like a deer in headlights, eyes huge, then grabs you by the collar and kisses you. 

It’s teeth and salt and heat, the kind of kiss that feels like a devouring. Like she’s been wanting to do it for days– which she probably has.

There's a moment where she pulls back, as if stunned by her own want.

"Sorry, I just—"

You shake your head.

"Don't be."

And then your back hits the tree. Her hands are in your hair. Yours are gripping her waist, guiding her forward, chasing the friction–

She lets out a surprised breath. So do you, because you’re goddamn embarrassed. It wasn’t supposed to happen this fast. You’ve barely kissed her and your body has already decided to betray you.

Lottie stills. Just for a second. Then shifts away just enough to throw a purposeful glance down to the straining fabric of your shorts, voice catching on a laugh.

“Oh,” she says, delighted. “Really?”

You want to melt into the tree. “Shut up.”

She grins. “No, no, I mean—” She rolls her hips just slightly, just to feel it again, and a shiver crawls up your spine. “It’s cute.”

Your hands flex at her waist. “Don’t call it cute...”

“Then what?” she murmurs, pressing closer again, her voice dropping. Her mouth brushes your jaw now, lips warm and teasing. “... Hot?”

You groan. “Lottie.”

“Sorry,” she laughs, breathless, surprised at herself once more.

You kiss her again. Harder, this time. Your hands thread into her hair and tug just enough to make her gasp. Her own are under your shirt now, fingers skating along your ribs. You’re both panting, sweating, giggling between kisses. 

You barely register the bark scraping your back, the dirt under you, the heat coiling low in your spine. All you feel is her. Her breath, her mouth, the soft drag of her body against yours as the rhythm builds.

She grinds down again, and this time, the sound you make is loud. Lottie exhales against your neck, half-laugh, half-gasp, and you can feel her smiling when she presses a kiss just beneath your jaw. Soft, warm, absolutely fucking maddening.

“Shit,” you whisper, “you’re— fuck.”

She hums, pleased, almost smug. But when she looks at you again, she’s flushed and bright-eyed, her lips kiss-bruised. 

Her fingers go to your belt. You freeze for just a second, startled, but she doesn’t stop. Doesn’t say anything. She just starts to undo it, slow, almost shy. Fumbling, her hands shaking.

You grab her wrist. Not to stop her. Just to ground yourself. Her eyes flick up to meet yours. Waiting for you to tell her yes or no.

You nod. Barely. That’s all she needs.

The buckle slips free. The button pops open. She lets out a breath like she’s been holding it for hours. Her hands slip lower, toying with the waist of your boxers. She hesitates, then curls her fingers underneath, knuckles grazing your stomach as she drags the fabric down.

You bite your lip. Your hips lift, helping her, or maybe just needing her. And then you’re bare to the air, flushed and embarrassingly hard against her palm. 

Lottie exhales through a grin, wide-eyed with something close to awe.

“God,” she murmurs, fingers curling loosely around you. Her voice is low, warm, like it’s a secret she’s thrilled to uncover. She gives you a gentle stroke and watches the way your mouth falls open.

You kiss her again, slower now, one hand skimming up under the back of her shirt, palm flattening against the warm curve of her spine. The other drifts down. Fingers brushing the band of her shorts. You tug at it once, a teasing little pull, then glance up at her, a wordless question.

She nods fast, maybe too fast, but you don’t move right away. You drag slow fingertips across her stomach, reveling in the way the muscles jump under your touch. When you slip your hand further down, brushing where she’s already wet, her whole body jolts forward. She buries her face in your shoulder to mask a noise suspiciously close to a whimper.

“Jesus,” you murmur, “you’ve been like this all day?”

She nods against your neck. “Could we just—”

“Yeah. We can.”

You hook your fingers in her shorts and ease them down over her thighs, her briefs coming with, damp and clinging, pulled past her knees in a rush. You're kissing her jaw as you go and she shudders, legs twitching when the air hits her.

You sit back just enough to look at her. Really look. Her cheeks are flushed deep, her lips kiss-swollen, her pupils so wide the brown of her eyes is almost gone.

“Don’t stare,” she murmurs, smiling even as she says it. “It’s embarrassing.”

“I’m not allowed to look?” you ask, grinning. “I thought you wanted my attention.”

That earns you a full-body blush. She laughs, breath hitching, and swats at your arm. You catch her hand and kiss her knuckles. 

“Come here.”

You guide her gently down, easing her back onto the pine-needle-soft earth. She giggles as her elbow sinks into a patch of moss, adjusting herself with one leg cocked, already open for you without thinking. Her hair fans wild beneath her, and her hands flutter, unsure of where to go— your shoulders, your chest, your hips— like she’s wanting all of you at once.

Her thighs part further to welcome you in, and your bodies fit in that fumbling way, hot skin to hot skin, breath to breath. There’s a beat of quiet where you both just look at each other, pressed close, trembling, grinning like fools.

“Okay,” Lottie breathes after a moment, a smile still curling her lips. “You can— if you want to, I mean. I’m ready.”

You nudge your nose against hers. “Yeah?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

So you press into her slowly. Carefully. The world narrows to the sound of her breath catching, her thighs tightening around you, her mouth falling open in a gasp. And when her eyes find yours again, wide and wet, you feel her everywhere.

You still, giving her a moment, your forehead pressed to hers. Her breath fans across your lips, fast and shallow. Her eyes flutter shut, then open again like she doesn’t want to miss a damn second of this.

“You okay?” you whisper.

She nods. “Yeah,” she breathes. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

You shift a little deeper and she exhales like the air got knocked out of her. That sound’s going to haunt you for a few days, surely. 

Her back arches just slightly, hips tilting to meet you. It’s messy, ungraceful, bodies slick with sweat and effort. But it works. By God, does it work. Your skin sticks where it touches hers: the inside of her knee brushing your waist, the curve of her calf against the back of your thigh. Her hands slide down your back, nails dragging lightly, coaxing out shivers.

Each movement is tentative at first. Then again. And again. Until it isn’t so shy anymore.

Lottie moans low in her throat– startled first, then thrilled. Her laughter catches somewhere inside it, and she hides her face in your neck.

“You feel so—” she starts, then gives up on words altogether. Just breathes and moves.

You match her pace, slow and careful, but the friction’s maddening. Every shift drives a little more sound from her. Every grind of hips has you biting your lip. Your hand slips between you and you find her clit with your thumb, slick and swollen and aching for attention. 

She jerks against you with a strangled gasp. “Oh, fuck.”

The idea of Lottie Matthews having such a filthy mouth makes you laugh out loud. You circle your fingers gently, teasing just the lightest pressure, and she whines, her whole body twitching.

“Good?” you murmur, fingers sliding a little firmer now, just enough to make her hips stutter.

She makes a high, breathless sound. “Yes,” she sighs. “Just— please don’t stop.”

You don’t. You angle your hand, thumb gliding to press in tighter circles as your hips meet hers again, deeper this time. She’s falling apart already, thighs shaking, nails digging into your shoulder.

“God,” she breathes, voice cracking. “You’re gonna make me—”

You kiss her, quieting her with your mouth, swallowing every gasp and curse. Her body tenses, then trembles, thighs locking around your hips, walls pulsing around you as she comes hard against your hand, against you.

The pull of it– that tight, dragging heat– breaks you. That rubber band inside you snaps. You let out a low groan as you spill into her, hips twitching once, twice, your hand still caught between you as the last aftershocks rip through you both.

For a moment, neither of you moves. Just breath and sweat and silence. Her head pressed to your shoulder, your cheek against her temple, both of you boneless and slick, hearts pounding in time. 

Lottie strokes a hand down your spine, slow and absent. Touch that’s not about sex, not anymore– just reassurance. She hums, soft and content. Muffled against your skin. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs eventually, voice still shaky.

You laugh. You can’t help it. It bubbles up, warm and stunned. “Of course.”

She spreads her legs to let you pull away, winces a little at the mess between you, then slumps back again with a whimpering giggle. “Gross.”

You hum in agreement, eyes fluttering shut as you rest against the tree. A breeze moves through the trees overhead. Sunlight filters down in sleepy patches. You hold her like that for a long time, damp and tangled and peaceful.

Lottie shifts, nuzzles her face into the crook of your neck with a small, satisfied sigh. “We should head back soon.”

You snort. “Oh, now you’re eager to do chores.”

She laughs, tired and light, the sound buzzing gently against your collarbone. “Just trying to avoid the gossip.”

You kiss her hair. “They’ll talk anyway.”

“True,” Lottie mumbles. “At least it was worth it.”

You both linger a moment longer, reluctant to move. The ground is uneven, your limbs are half-asleep, and your clothes are… in an unfortunate state. But there’s something soft here. Settled.

Eventually, Lottie sighs and pushes up on her elbows, grimacing as she pulls her underwear back into place. “Well. We’re disgusting.”

“Speak for yourself.”

She gives you a look— irritated yet fond— and reaches down to help you fix your belt with trembling fingers. Her hands linger at your waistband a touch too long. You don’t mind.

Once you’re both mostly decent, you gather your scattered minds and try not to think about how you’re going to walk back into camp looking freshly ruined.

You glance over as Lottie runs a hand through her hair, fails to tame it, and sighs like she’s given up entirely.

“I look like I got mauled by a bear,” she says dryly.

You grin. “Was the bear hot?”

“Mhm,” she hums, tilting her head like she’s remembering. “She was gorgeous.”

Your face warms immediately. Lottie sees it, of course she does, but pretends not to, biting her lip like she’s trying to hold back a smile. Seven different ways to call her an asshole come to mind, but before you can pick one, she leans in and kisses you again. Quick and sweet, just because she can.

Then, quieter, her voice muffled against your shoulder:

“You’re not still mad at me, right?”

You shake your head. “I wasn’t mad at you in the first place.”

She pulls back just enough to look at you, something soft in her eyes. Relief, maybe a touch of surprise. That smile blooms again, fuller this time. Uninhibited.

You reach for her hand. She takes it without hesitation. Together, you start the walk back through the trees, sore, sticky, still laughing, and already missing the moment.

[liliesonthego]

Knight in Shining Armor

Summary: Scared to walk home alone at night by yourself, you call the one person you know will come help you.

Pairing: Park Humin (Baku) X reader

Genre: fluff

Word count: 2.7k

Authors note: I suck at writing kissing so bare with me

—

Your hand hovered hesitantly over the call button next to Baku’s name. Gravity felt heavy resting against your thumb, willing it to drop to the screen, but your mind found the willpower to hold it up.

Was it really that serious? You knew Baku wouldn’t mind coming—in fact, he’d probably prefer it. But still, you hesitated.

You lifted your head to glance out the window of the convenience store, eyes glazing over the poorly lit street. Your heart lightly thudded again.

You had been walking home from the library late at night after a study session that left you so focused, you lost track of time. Once you realized it was 11:30 p.m., you quickly gathered your things into your bag and rushed out of the building.

When you were in a time crunch, there was a shortcut you liked to take. Yes, it was a little sketchy—you had to go through a few backroads and alleyways—but it usually saved you 20 minutes compared to taking the main road. Granted, whenever you took the shortcut, it was still light out.

Now, in the dark, you realized how many places there were where someone could be standing just out of sight. Corners you couldn’t see around, narrow passageways tucked between buildings, and long stretches where the streetlights flickered—or didn’t work at all. Every rustle behind a dumpster or shadow moving behind a fence made your pulse quicken.

You had taken refuge in a small convenience store managed by a kind old man, debating your next move. You had no doubt you could defend yourself against one person if anything were to happen, but the worst scenarios kept popping into your head. And lately, with all the Union drama, you were more than a little on edge.

So you should just call him, right? Was it silly to worry about inconveniencing him when your life could potentially be in danger? You could almost hear his voice in your head screaming at you to call him. So why did you hesitate?

With a deep sigh, you pushed your ego aside and pressed the call button.

It rang three times before Baku’s voice came booming out of the speaker, yelling your name.

“What are you doing awake at this time? Shouldn’t you be getting your beauty sleep?”

You rolled your eyes, already regretting your decision. “Hey, asshole, it’s only 11...” you trailed off, already regretting the call.

Distant laughter echoed through the phone. You frowned slightly.

“Are you with the guys?”

“Yeah, we’re at the school. Playing basketball,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Remember? We told you to come, but you said, ‘Yah, I have to study! Being around you guys is making my IQ go down! Dumbasses...’” he imitated in a cheesy high-pitched voice.

“YAH, I don’t talk like that.”

He ignored your complaints. “By the way, where are you?”

“About that...” You hesitated. Why was it so hard to ask for help? Were you being dramatic? This was literally Baku you were talking to. Why was it so hard to ask for help? Plus, he was at the school, which wasn’t that far from where you were now.

He could practically sense the anxiety through the phone. He stepped away from the court, voice dipping low and serious now.

“Hey. Just tell me. What is it?”

Well. It was now or never.

“Well, I was at the library studying and I accidentally lost track of time. And because it’s nighttime, I wanted to get home as soon as possible. So I took the shortcut to save time. But then I felt like someone was watching me. And it was so dark, I started getting creeped out. So I found this convenience store and—” you took a breath between your rambling. He whispered your name so gently.

Ah, fuck it.

“I’m scared. Can you come pick me up?”

He was already walking. “Send me your location right now. You should have called me from the library. And why would you take the shortcut at night? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one,” he scolded.

“Sorry.” He could practically hear the pout on your lips. “It’s okay, you don’t have to come if it’s too much—”

He instantly cut you off.

“YAH! Don’t be stupid. Just send me the location. I’ll be right there. Just stay put.”

Right before he hung up, you heard him yell out to the others, “Gotta go save a princess, guys!”

You regretted calling him instantly.

—

It took him 10 minutes to arrive at the convenience store, which was odd because the school was 20 minutes away according to maps. How he got there so quickly, you chose not to question.

As he entered the convenience store, he bowed deeply to the old man manning the counter and thanked him for keeping an eye on you. The old man smiled with a twinkle in his eye. Baku quickly turned to you. You were standing with your bag on your shoulders, hands clasped together in front of you, fingers twiddling nervously.

He placed his hands gently on your shoulders and softly asked, “Are you okay?”

You nodded at him with wide eyes and whispered, “I’m fine. Thank you for coming.”

He could tell you were embarrassed by the situation, especially now that the older man was observing the two of you. Unbeknownst to Baku, before he got there, the old man had asked if your boyfriend was on his way, to which you stuttered out that you were just friends.

The second you confirmed you were fine, Baku’s serious expression dropped, replaced by that familiar, smug grin.

“So,” he said, tilting his head, “is this the part where you kiss me and thank me for being your knight in shining armor?”

You blinked at him, expression flat. “Absolutely not.”

“Aww, come on,” he cooed mockingly, stepping closer. “You called me in the dead of night, trembling in fear, desperate for me to come save you. Feels pretty fairytale to me.”

“I was not trembling.”

“Right, right. And the ‘Baku, I’m scared, please come save me,’ wasn’t real either? You should hear yourself.”

You shoved his hands off your shoulders, face burning. “I should’ve called literally anyone else.”

“Yeah, good luck finding someone else who’d run to rescue you at 12 a.m.”

You stepped away from him, feet planted firmly on the ground. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he said smugly, reaching toward you.

“Don’t touch me,” you warned, stepping back.

He lunged anyway, grinning. “Come on, let your hero walk you home.”

You immediately started swatting at him—open-palmed slaps to his chest, shoulders, wherever you could reach—as he dodged your attacks.

“Hey—ow—what the hell are you, a cat?!”

“You deserved it!”

“I’m trying to help you!”

“This is not helping!”

The two of you scuffled in front of the snack aisle like unsupervised children, and the old man behind the counter let out a long, amused sigh.

“I told you I can walk myself—”

“Oh, forget it,” Baku muttered, and before you could react, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist. In one smooth motion, he lifted you off the ground and tossed you over his shoulder.

“Park Humin! Put me down!”

“Not a chance, princess.”

You flailed, fists pounding weakly at his back. “I swear to God—”

“Swear all you want,” he said, completely unfazed.

He turned to bow to the old man again—the picture of politeness despite the kicking girl slung over his shoulder.

“Thanks again, ahjussi. Appreciate you watching over my very violent, very stubborn friend.”

The old man chuckled, shaking his head. “She’s got fire. You’ll have your hands full.”

Baku smirked. “Yeah… I know.”

Outside, the cool night air hit your face as Baku carried you down the steps of the convenience store and into the street. You’d stopped struggling now, arms folded and cheek pressed stubbornly against his back.

He noticed immediately.

“Oh? Done throwing a tantrum?” he asked, cocking his head over his shoulder. “Are you gonna be good now?”

Your face immediately heated up at his words, and you scoffed loudly. “You started it.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He paused, then added with a grin, “So, are you gonna behave or am I keeping you like this the whole way home?”

You rolled your eyes and mumbled, “I’ll behave.”

“Swear it?”

“Yes, Baku,” you whined.

With exaggerated care, he lowered you to the ground, steadying you before letting go. You adjusted your bag, brushing off your clothes like he’d ruined your dignity forever.

Just as he was about to say something smug, you raised your hand suddenly—fast.

He instinctively flinched, shoulders tensing and head turning, hand coming up to shield his face.

You froze, hand hovering inches from his cheek… then slowly pulled back and smirked.

“Relax,” you said, already turning on your heel. “I'll get my revenge.”

Baku blinked after you, then scoffed, catching up with long strides. “Did I do anything though?”

“Yeah, you’re annoying.”

“Fair enough,” he grinned.

You walked beside him, dragging your feet a little as the adrenaline wore off. The weight of your backpack suddenly lifted, and you looked up to see Baku slinging it over his shoulder like it was nothing.

“Hey—” you started.

He shushed you instantly, and you rolled your eyes but didn’t argue.

A few moments of silence passed, your footsteps the only sound on the quiet street. Then he spoke, voice low and more sincere than usual.

“Thanks.”

You blinked up at him. “For what?”

“For calling me.”

You slowed a little, confused.

He shrugged, gaze fixed ahead. “It feels good, knowing you thought of me first. When something felt off. That I was the one you trusted to show up.”

You stared at him, caught off guard by the honesty. Your cheeks warmed, and you looked down quickly, trying to hide the blush creeping in. “But... shouldn’t I be thanking you?”

He glanced at you briefly. “No.”

“What?”

“I don’t expect gratitude from you,” he said simply. “This kind of thing—looking out for you—it’s the bare minimum. If you ever feel unsafe again, no matter the situation, you call me. Got it?”

You nodded slowly, still taken aback. “Got it.”

“Good,” he muttered, eyes forward again.

You looked ahead, eyes wide with shock.

How could he say things like that so easily? No, how dare he just make your heart beat and your face flush so easily? Were those regular things friends said to each other? Had he somehow found out that you harbored a small—no, tiny—minuscule-at-best crush on him? You had only told one person, and you were confident Sieun had kept that information to herself.

Gotak, however, would always tease you. “Yah, you guys fight like a married couple,” or, “You guys should kiss and make up already.” He technically didn’t know for sure if you liked Baku, but that little shit liked to piss you off regardless.

“Who’s a little shit?”

Your head whipped to the side to look at him.

“What do you mean?”

“You just said, ‘Aishh, that little shit.’”

“Did I say that out loud?”

He looked at you like you’d grown two heads.

“Oh, you’re actually starting to scare me now. Are you okay? Did you hit your head or something? Here—let me check it.”

You immediately ducked away, sidestepping him and picking up your pace.

“Stop being dramatic,” you muttered, walking ahead.

But you didn’t get far.

Baku reached out and grabbed your hand—not rough, but firm enough to stop you. Before you could protest, he tugged you gently into his side, your shoulder bumping against his.

“Stop trying to run off every time I get a little close,” he said, voice quieter now. “It’s starting to hurt my feelings.”

You blinked up at him, surprised by the softness buried under his usual sarcasm. This couldn’t be just friendly. Even you weren’t that oblivious.

“Hey, do you like me or something?” you asked, half joking, half serious.

“Yeah,” he said without hesitation. “I do.”

Your whole brain short-circuited.

“YAH!” you blurted, yanking your hand out of his and immediately smacking him in the chest with the side of your fist. “You can’t just say that!”

“Why not?!”

You kept swinging, light punches landing against his jacket. “Because—! You’re not supposed to be so straightforward! Who even does that?!”

He groaned dramatically and caught both your wrists in one smooth motion, holding them up between your bodies to stop your assault.

“Can you not hit me every time I’m being emotionally honest?!”

You squirmed in his grip, huffing. Now you were standing way too close, barely a breath of space between you.

“…Are you serious?” you asked, eyes narrowing a little. “Like actually serious?”

His voice was calm. “Of course I’m serious. Couldn’t you tell?”

Your heart stuttered. “But… do you know if I even like you?”

He smirked. “Yeah.”

Your eyes widened. “How?! I never said anything, and I’m literally always mean to you.”

He shrugged, still holding your wrists. “I like girls that are mean to me.”

You gawked at him. “You’re insane.”

Then you tried to hit him again.

He dodged, laughing, and twisted your arms gently behind your back, locking your hands in his like it was a game.

“Stop!” he laughed, eyes crinkling. “Ahh, you’re so cute when you’re mad.”

“Let me go!”

“Not until you admit it!”

“Admit what? That you’re insane?!”

“That you like me back.”

You stilled for a moment, glaring up at him.

He just stared back, waiting.

You sighed through your nose. Wasn’t this what you wanted, technically? Was there a point in resisting? It was mildly frustrating that he had the situation all figured out, but your heart leapt with joy under all the fake anger.

“…Fine.”

“Fine?”

You rolled your eyes. “I like you, okay?”

“Say it again,” he grinned.

“Let go of me first!”

“Say it properly.”

“Ugh, I like you, you idiot!”

His grin softened into something more serious.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you to admit that,” he said, voice low.

Your breath caught.

His gaze dropped from your eyes to your lips, lingering for a beat too long. The teasing was gone now, and his whole focus was on you. Still holding your hands behind your back with one hand, he raised the other, brushing his fingers gently along your cheek.

Your heart thudded so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

His face inched closer, his breath brushing against yours. He tilted his head slightly, eyes flicking back up to meet yours.

“Can I kiss you?”

You swallowed hard.

And nodded.

His face dipped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. You felt his hand shift against your cheek, the warmth of his palm grounding you as his lips brushed gently, almost hesitantly, against yours.

You leaned in, pressing your lips back to his. His lips were warm and soft, caressing yours with the slightest of movements. You could practically hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

When you both pulled apart, your eyes fluttered open to meet his.

Neither of you said anything at first.

You smiled up at him instead, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.

Your hands slipped from his grip, and before he could question it, you wrapped them around his neck and pulled him back in, kissing him again—this time with all the feeling you’d been holding back for what felt like forever.

He laughed softly against your mouth, and you giggled too, lips breaking apart just long enough to catch your breath before you kissed him again.

And again.

Goosebumps littered your body with the undeniable feeling of him.

Then you pulled back—just slightly—but he leaned forward instinctively, chasing the kiss.

He looked at you like you’d just broken his heart in the most unforgivable way.

He licked his lips. “Please, why’d you stop?” he asked, genuinely offended.

You smirked and reached up, gently booping his nose with your finger. “Because we’re still in the middle of the street.”

He blinked, then scoffed. “Yeah, but you feel safe with me, right?”

You smiled softly. “Yes, of course. You’re my knight in shining armor.”

He looked at you then like the words genuinely caught him off guard—like he didn’t expect you to say it after vehemently denying it earlier. His expression softened.

You leaned in and kissed him one more time, quick and sweet.

Then you grabbed his hand. “Come on.”

And you ran off down the street, tugging him behind you—your laughter echoing in the night.

And he followed, grinning like an idiot the whole way.

[prettyiwa]

2:41

Relationship: Sakura Haruka x Reader Content Tags: Light Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, New Relationship, Casual Affection, Profanity, Nightmare of a little more than canon-typical violence Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: This got longer than I thought it would.

It’s 02:41 when you call Sakura, well aware that there’s a good chance he won’t answer.

The phone rings three times and you’re ready to hang up, still unsure whether “call me whenever, for whatever” includes almost three in the morning following a nightmare. But he answers halfway through the final ring, voice saturated with so much sleep that it leaks from the speakers of your phone.

“Mm ‘ello?”

Guilt hits you like a truck, climbing up your throat so quickly you’re afraid you might choke. You got it, your confirmation that he’s okay, but your voice hitches when you say, “Sorry, I didn’t— I just wanted…”

There’s rustling on the other end, a huff of breath. Then he says your name, the sound of it coming off his breath, spoken with a layer of tenderness that isn’t quite there in the day. “S’m’thin’ wrong? What fuckin’ time—?”

“It’s almost three.”

His sigh comes through so clearly you could almost believe he’s sitting with you. “You okay? Y’ never call.” He’s sounding more coherent, though sleep still drips from his tongue like molasses, reluctant and slow to release him.

“It’s stupid. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”

“Shouldn’t I decide whether it’s stupid?” There’s more rustling and you imagine him sitting up now, blanket shucked to the side. What must he think of you right now? After a beat, he exhales, otherwise communicating that he’s not hanging up till he gets an answer.

You bite the inside of your cheek before saying, “I… had a nightmare. It’s—”

“If ya say it’s stupid again, I might come over there in the morning to—” His yawn interrupts his impending threat, the sound pulling out a yawn of your own. “I dunno. But ya won’t like it.” He waits a moment longer. “What happened?”

It lingers in the back of your mind, sticking to your psyche with the same persistence as a tick, poisoning you at the same time it bleeds you dry. Your fear, ever since you had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time during his last year at Furin.

“There was another brawl… Y’know… like the one from your first year?” The most he gives you is a grunt, a wordless confirmation of the memory. “And I… I guess I pissed off one of the main guys or something and so I started running. And then I finally reached you and I thought we were safe, but he found us with his friends. You should’ve been fine—you’d probably be fine if it happened in real life—but…”

“But I wasn’t.” There’s no judgment in the way he says it, no exasperation like you were expecting. Nothing to indicate that he, like you, thinks it’s stupid.

“But you weren’t. You just got… distracted, I guess. And I felt like I was frozen in place. You know, like those dreams where your limbs are too heavy to move and you’re stuck watching things unfold?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“There was just—” it grows hard to breathe all of a sudden, tears unexpectedly welling up behind your eyes until you blink, letting one go, “—so much blood.”

Your chest spasms with your inhale, making it shudder as you try to calm yourself. It’s fine. He’s alive and safe and talking to you on the phone. It’s not the first time he’s sat with you through an attack of yours, though certainly the first on the phone, and it takes you a bit to get out of your own head before you realize he’s doing something on the other line.

“Sakura?”

“‘M here.” Still, things rustle and it isn’t until you hear the familiar clinking of a belt buckle that you realize he’s getting dressed.

“What are you doing?”

The noises cease. “I… I’m comin’ over.” It sounds almost like he didn’t realize what he was doing, simply acting on impulse, but there’s the beginning of resolve to his voice that makes your skin tingle.

“Sakura, no. You don’t have—”

“I know I don’t have to. But you’re fuckin’ cryin’ over there and I—” He’s never been good at being idle while you cry, even when he knows the best thing he can do for you is to simply sit with you. “‘M coming over. It’s only gonna be ten minutes, so get… get ready for me, okay?”

“… Okay.” You can’t help the smile forms on your lips, a soft, delicate thing almost exclusively reserved for him, for the unintentionally tender moments he gives you.

“I-It’s… it’s fine if I come over, right?” And there he is, awake enough for his hesitation to rear its head and make him otherwise waver.

“You sounded so sure just a second ago.”

“Shut up. Just… It’s okay?”

“More than okay.” His relief is audible, broken up by more shuffling on the other line. “Can… Can we stay on the phone?”

Something muffles against the speaker, then there’s a shutting of a door. “Did ya think I was gonna hang up on you or somethin’?”

You laugh to yourself. “Maybe? I don’t know. You never tried coming over in the middle of the night before.”

“Yeah, and you never called before. It’s… whatever. Don’t hang up on me.”

Never could say no to him, but you suppose it’s a two-way street. Though the two of you don’t say anything else, your mind growing heavy now that you know he’s okay, the line remains open, the occasional breath telling you he’s still there. It isn’t even ten minutes later when he arrives, looking more awake than you feel.

Before guilt can begin to gnaw on your lungs again, his fist comes up, the side of it lightly bumping your forehead.

“Feel better?”

He lets you soak him in, studying him and comparing him to the image your mind conjured up. There are no bruises that decorate his knuckles, no cuts across his nose or above his brow, no swelling that distorts his face, blocking his eyes. You come forward and his arms lift before he flinches, freezing as he’s still prone to do. But he doesn’t push you away, nor does he complain when you wrap your arms around his center, fisting the fabric of his shirt.

He is warm and safe, the frantic beating of his heart beneath your touch reaffirming that he is very much alive.

“A lot better. Thank you.”

Sakura’s arms come down, his touch light at first, tightening as he grumbles, “Th-That’s what matters.”

It’s 3:23 when you two settle on your couch, talking about how quiet the world is at the hour, about the plans for the day, about nothing of importance. Sakura doesn’t react when you press into his side, sleep pulling at your tired mind, comfortable with him by your side. It’s about another hour before his heart calms enough that he’s able to join your slumber, arm wrapped around your shoulders, head coming to rest on yours.

[hsangel64]

secretly married

pairings: spencer agnew x fem!reader

synopsis: you and spencer eloped secretly and after months of keeping it a secret angela found certain pictures in your camera roll

warnings: just cute fluff!!

a/n: i have been wanting to write about spencer for awhile now and finally got around to it! taking a small break from tlou but will be trying to get some more out!

it had been 6 months since you and spencer had eloped and not told anyone, you both wanted to keep it a secret for the sake of fans and your own sanity. you guys had done good, making sure to keep it on the down low, you wore a bunch of rings everyday so you basically got away with wearing your wedding ring at work. everyone knew you two were together to begin with but you guys had never told anyone plans of marriage so you knew it would cause chaos.

spencer asked you to marry him on a random night, you two would take regular nightly walks just before dinner and this night was a little different. spencer had bought this ring for you, he carried it with him for just the right moment. that moment was now, sitting on a bench watching the sunset, hand in hand.

“i love our walks i really do.” you spoke up breaking the silence.

“i do too.” you both nodded at each other and continued to look around at your sightings. he moved to his left and felt that small box in his pocket and realized now is the most perfect time. you two were alone no one in sight, the sunset staring back at you while the birds chirped loudly around you. it was the perfect moment, so he quietly slipped his hand into his pocket to grab the small box and turned more towards you. he took your other hand into his and started his small speech.

“we have been together for over five years now, and its been the most amazing five years of my life. i wanted to tell you how much you’ve meant to me and how much i want to be with you until we’re old and gray.”

“where is this coming from?” you giggled at him as he continued on.

“i just love you so much and i wanted to let you know.” he paused for a moment and pulled out the ring box opening it to reveal a beautiful ring. you gasped and felt yourself tearing up as he continued with the phrase.

“will you marry me?” your hands were on your mouth shocked to see the sight in front of you. tears now fully falling down your face as you shook your head yes.

“yes yes oh my god spence!” he smiled at you all his worries and anxiety washing away, he placed the ring on your finger and let you inspect it.

“how’d you know this was the kind of ring i wanted?” amazed at his choice.

“its not like it was hard to find out, you have a pinterest board full of it.” you laughed at his joke and sighed looking back and forth from the ring and then to him. you pulled him into a soft kiss, basically molding together. pulling away you kept your head on his with your noses touching slightly.

“i love you so much.”

“and i love you even more.” he replied and shared another kiss with you.

after the sweet proposal you both decided you wanted something to yourselves before having something with everyone else. you both decided to do a cheesy elopement in vegas, renting a nice car, staying on the strip and going to one of the silly chapels with the elvis impersonator. it was just a week in vegas and of course you had to think of a way to both get out of work without it being weird. so you told them a lie and said your family wanted to invite you over for a week vacation, everyone ended up believing it and it seemed to work out in the moment.

the week had been absolutely amazing, spencer got you two a nice suit with one of those big heart tubs, you rented a nice car, and even had the cheesy elvis wedding. it was perfect really, the week was spent in the pool, gambling, drinking, anything you can think of in vegas you guys did it.

the wedding itself was just in the small chapel, elvis officiated it and you guys had a blast. having the wedding be just you two was probably the best decision you could have ever made. you had a nice dinner right after and then went back to the hotel, took a nice long bath together and watched some tv to wind down. you two cuddled the night away and woke up as husband and wife, it was a magical feeling really.

your legs are tangled together and spencer’s hand is wrapped around your torso almost as if he didn’t want to let go. the curtains had a small opening causing the sun to peak through the window, opening your eyes you adjust to the small peak of light and stretch your body out. you look over and spencer had his mouth open and hair in his face. you giggled at his sleeping appearance and moved the curls from his face. he moved slightly as you rubbed the side of his face with your thumb, opening his eyes he saw you smiling up at him.

“good morning my wife.”

“good morning my husband.” you giggled at his silly tone. you both laid there soaking up the honeymoon phase of it all.

coming back home was no issue, no one questioned the ring and went about their work days. that was until you and angela were sitting together at lunch and angela wanted to see if you had a picture you took of her from a bit ago and wanted to send it to herself. not realizing the shit ton of pictures you took from your elopement you gave your phone to angela to let her look through it.

as she is scrolling you hear her yell, “what the fuck!” thinking something was wrong you immediately went into action and asked if she was okay.

“am i okay? are you kidding me?”

“wha-what what’s happening…” her face turned into an angry frown as she turned the phone to you and showed you the pictures from the chapel.

“what the fuck is this.”

“okay i can explain-“

“spencer!!” you slumped down into your seat as you see your husband walk over from across the room.

“hey what’s-“ she shoves the phone in his face and his eyes go wide.

“ang look-“

“why on earth did you not tell anyone let alone me your BEST FRIEND.” you grabbed her hand and sat her back down.

“yes were married, yes we eloped. we wanted to give it some time before we told everyone…were also trying to plan some dinner parties so we could tell everyone but everyone’s schedules hasn’t been able to line up someone’s always doing something.” she sat for a second before responding.

“…did elvis officiate the wedding.”

“he did…” she threw her head back and groaned.

“i can’t believe i missed that.” she looked back at you and smiled, holding her arms out to pull you in for a hug.

“i am so happy for you guys i really am. im sorry for revealing your secret-“

“oh shush it’s okay, it was bound to happen.”

“wait where’s the ring!” you held up your hand and showed her the ring you’ve been wearing for months now.

“you’ve been wearing it this whole time?! i just thought you’d gotten a cool new ring.” you shook your head and she pulled you in for another hug.

“i hope you know that i am so glad to be the first one in the office to know. when are you guys going to tell everyone else?” you and spencer looked at each other and decided now might be the best time.

“actually now might be the best time…hey ang could you check to see if they’ll be done filming soon.?” she nodded quickly and ran over to the game set. you and spencer decided to take an old projector and set that up so you could show some of the pictures, placing seats in front of the blank wall for everyone to see.

angela came back and told you they would be done in 5, perfect! you guys got everything ready and angela got everyone gathered in the seats.

“im sure you all are wondering why you’re here…and why we have this projector-“ you and spencer looked at each other and you gave him the okay to continue.

“we have a very special announcement…” he said and let you pull up the wedding pictures, it was like time was stopped for a bit. you pulled up the picture and the room erupted in yelling and cheers. courtney was the first one to come up to you and gave you a big hug.

“oh my gosh! im so happy for you two!” you smiled at them and all the other girls came over and congratulated you. looking over at spencer you see shayne, trevor and tommy passing money around.

“what are you three up to?” they all looked up at you and laughed.

“we made a bet, and were giving shayne his money..”

“what was the bet?”

“the day you both asked for time off i made a joke before shooting with trevor and tommy that you guys were going to get married and just using your family as a cover up. so tommy said lets make a bet and both trevor and tommy said it was not likely but i kept to my word and i was right!”

“i can’t believe you bet on us!” you doubled down in laughter and smacked your hand on shayne’s shoulder. everyone went back to talking and asking you many questions.

“did elvis officiate the wedding?”

“can i see more photos?”

“what hotel did you guys stay at?”

“where did you get your dress?”

“let me see the ring!” all kinds of questions being thrown your way, but you couldn’t have asked for it any other way. the love emitting from your friends was the best thing you could have ever asked for, it truly felt amazing. you made your way back to spencer and his arm snaked around your back and kissed the side of your head.

“i love you.” smiling up at him, he responded back.

“i love you…more than you even know.”

———————————————————————————

taglist: @haebragi @queercrisis101

a/n: i hope you guys like this!! im starting some more spencer stuff so be on the lookout !! taglist and requests are open!!

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Bonding Exercise Part One

Robert Reynolds x Reader

Words: 3091

Summary: For some reason, someone thought it would be a good idea for you to all go camping together… big mistake. 

Notes: Oh look another imagine I had to split into two parts or else it was going to be way too long. Oops. I got this idea right before going to Yellowstone with my sisters and I couldn’t resist. This gives me classic Avengers Tower fic vibes and I am here for it. Let me know what you think! 

More Thunderbolts and Marvel: HERE

-

“The next person who breathes in my direction is never breathing again,” Ava snapped, glowering at the back row of seats through the rearview mirror.

Walker opened his mouth to speak–probably to point out that you and Bob were too focused on each other to be huffing on the back of her neck, but she turned her icy stare on him and he decided to sit quietly. Wise, considering he was the closest to her. 

Alexei drove, so Yelena claimed ‘daughter privilege’ to the front seat. Walker and Ava took the center row, leaving you and your boyfriend to squeeze into the back with all the supplies that didn’t fit in the trunk. 

Bucky did the smart thing and said he’d just take his motorcycle. You were definitely wishing you had chosen to ride separately right about now.

“No making out in the back of van!” Alexei called out, sending you a smirk.

Bob blushed. You buried your face in your hands. 

“I only kissed her a little bit,” Bob murmured, earning disgusted noises from Ava and Walker.

You rolled your eyes. “Are we almost there?”

“Very close according to my GPS,” Alexei said. His GPS was a map on the dashboard with liquids you didn’t want to identify staining the corners. “Two-ish hours.”

The crowd in the car collectively groaned. 

“Please tell me someone brought alcohol,” Ava said.

Everyone but Bob’s hands shot up. You leaned over, giving his hand a slight squeeze.

“I brought those fizzy drinks that you like,” you whispered. You’d found these non-alcoholic sparkling punch drinks that Bob had really liked. He brought your hand to his lips. Walker gagged.

“Can we ban them from sitting together for the rest of this stupid trip?”

“Just because your heart is dead, Walker, does not mean theirs has to be,” Yelena said. She flipped around in her seat. “Even if it is a little nauseating.” 

You were grateful no one mentioned that the two of you were the reason you were in this mess to begin with. For a long time, you and Bob kept your feelings for each other between yourselves. Things were complicated enough, and you didn’t want to deal with the possibility of Valentina turning you into some kind of super couple. The attention was bad enough. You wouldn’t drag Bob into that. 

Unfortunately, the team wasn’t overly thrilled to find out you’d been going behind their backs for nearly a year. 

You’d gone to a very small pizza place on Staten Island to celebrate another year of Sobriety for Bob, and Walker, Bucky, and Ava found you. Needless to say, it did not go well. 

With a very public blow-up now circulating about the New Avengers, Valentine said something needed to be done. Mel gave you two solutions: a spiritual bonding retreat or camping. The group unanimously decided. 

You understood why they thought it was a bad idea, Bucky especially. He’d been around long enough to know there was no such thing as a happy ending. But was it too much to ask for a happy middle? 

As if sensing where your mind had taken you, Bob moved his thumb back and forth against the back of your hand. 

“What if we get attacked by a bear?” Ava asked. “Do any of us actually have a clue what we’re doing?”

“We were taught how to survive in the wild in case we had to go on the run,” Yelena said. “I could skin a rabbit faster than anyone else.”

“I don’t want to skin a rabbit,” Bob said.

“We have plenty of food,” you assured him.

“I will fight off any bear that comes near Lena,” Alexei said, patting her on the shoulder. She grimaced and turned to the window.

“Why do you care?” Walker asked. “You can just materialize away from it.”

“Maybe the bear would be friendly.”

“Bears are not friendly, Bob.” Walker snapped. “They are killing machines.”

“I thought that’s what we were,” you muttered.

The rest of the ride was held in irritated silence, with the occasional anecdote from Aleix, which just made you more and more confused about his past. You listened, though, to every word. Every time one of them talked about where they came from, you wondered if your story was the same. Were you changed in some lab? Or were you put through a program like the Black Widows? All you knew was that you woke up one day in a clearing surrounded by a circle of bodies–a SWAT team–and you could control liquid. Including making human blood boil. The rest, who you were before that day, you couldn’t remember. All this power, all the pressure to be something great, and you didn’t even know your last name.

“Are you sure this is the road?” Yelena asked. She had the map spread over her lap, tracing her fingers over the lines that marked the paths. 

“I know exactly where we are going.” Alexei made an abrupt turn, launching you into Bob’s lap, and a case of tent spikes into your back. 

He grunted, taking a shoulder to the ribs. 

“Isn’t there supposed to be a lake?” 

“Who let him drive?” Walker exclaimed. 

Bob helped steady you back into the seat, sliding his arm behind you to both keep you steady against Alexei’s driving and to ease the anxiety building in his chest. 

He didn’t have fond memories of family trips. Or camping. Or anything involving other people in general.

“We are definitely in the wrong place,” Yelena said. “Just go to where I tell you.”

“Fine, fine.” Alexei whipped the car around. Bob had to hold onto Walker’s headrest so he wouldn’t slide into you. “I was taking the scenic route.”

“Buck is going to think we got attacked or something,” Bob snickered.

“I’m sure he’s thrilled to have the time away from us,” you said. 

Bob leaned in, whispering. “He needs his old man alone time.”

You snorted, which made Ava glower again. You both tried to hold your breath, which just made you laugh harder.

“That’s it.” Ava clicked her seat belt and started to climb over the seat, Walker, and you both tried to hold her back from tackling Bob.

-

Bucky, sure enough, was waiting at the campsite by the time Alexei found the right dirt road- after almost driving you all into a river. Bucky sat next to a perfectly made tent in front of a perfectly made fire, cooking a can of soup. He glanced up when the van skidded to a stop in front of him, frowning.

“The team is all together!” Alexei cheered. 

Bucky raised a brow. “You were supposed to be here three hours ago.”

“Yeah.” Walker climbed out of the car. “We know.”

Ava was next. Then you. Then Bob, who had a little red mark on his forehead where Ava flicked him. When he scrunched from the back seat, he took in the scene around you. Everywhere were tall trees with leaves that caught the sun like emeralds. Down a makeshift path of stones was a beach next to a crystal blue lake. Most of all, there was quiet unlike anything he’d ever known before. His whole life had been noise. It felt strange, almost unsettling, to take that away. But he was drawn to it anyway. 

You breathed in the smell of damp earth and were grateful it wasn’t trash on the street for once. Part of you wished the change would help you remember. Were you an outdoorsy kid? 

“Alright.” Yelena hopped down from the passenger seat. “Now, we set up.” 

Bucky slurped a spoonful of soup. “Done.”

“Yes, well, we have to decide who is sharing,” Yelena said. "There are only three more tents.” 

Alexei held up a hand. 

“No,” Yelena said.

He put his hand back down. 

“Bucky, Walker, you’ve known each other the longest,” Ava said.

“Only because we beat the shit out of each other a couple years ago. That shouldn’t count.” Walk said. “Why can’t you and Yelena share? Have a ‘girls night’ or whatever.”

“Do you think all women are just dying to have sleepovers with each other?” She fired back. 

“Bob and I will share,” you finally blurted.

The others went quiet. Bucky looked away. You hated how they all acted like your relationship was some taboo subject. The second it wasn't just something to joke about, they just wanted to pretend it wasn’t real. Like it was something they could all just forget about. 

Screw that. You knew what it was like to really forget.

Nudging Bob with your arm, you started for the trunk of the van. 

“Come on. We can set up by the lake.” You grabbed the biggest tent and set of spikes. 

Bob glanced at the others, then at you, then at the lake. It did look like a nice spot. He followed you through the small opening in the trees to a wide section of smooth gravel on the beach. 

Walker snagged his arm before he could step out of the brush. 

“I swear, if I have to listen to the two of you-” He inhaled sharply, “canoodling all night, I will kill you in your sleep. Got it?” 

“I don’t think I can actually-”

“Got it!” Walker just seemed so irritated, Bob decided to just nod. He hurried after you. 

“You okay?” You asked, spotting Walker’s retreating form.

“Yeah.” Bob’s brows furrowed. “I just don’t think I’ve ever heard a grown man say ‘canoodling’.” 

You snorted and rolled your eyes for the thousandth time since the trip started.

“That’s because Walker isn’t a grown man. He’s a twelve-year-old bully trapped in a super soldier’s body.” You placed the first tent spike and realized you forgot a hammer. “Little help?” 

Bob crouched down beside you and pressed the stake into the ground with ease, doing the same for each corner and on the sides. It was actually kind of fun, and when you were finished, the tent was sturdy and in place. Bob felt a flicker of accomplishment. It was something so normal and yet, it wasn’t anything he’d done before. Maybe this trip wouldn't be so bad after all.

“Hey.” Bob caught your hand, tugging you gently toward him. “I know they’re still kind of pissed at us, but I’m happy I get to be out here with you.” He smiled his sweet, crooked smile and kissed your cheek.

You leaned into him, relaxing for the first time since the fight with the others in front of that stupid pizza place. Between his presence and the quiet rush of waves from the lake, you could actually breathe again. 

“We should get back,” you said, reluctantly turning away. “The others will think we’re up to something scandalous.”

Bob hesitated. He pulled you closer to him, hugging you from behind so you were both facing the water. 

“Just a little longer,” he pleaded softly, pressing his lips to the nape of your neck. He snuggled into you the way he often did right before he fell asleep, taking you in as much as his senses let him. You smelled like fresh rain, your skin soft against his, your voice calming in his ears. He wanted to savor every second.

“Do you have extra tent spikes?” Yelena poked her head out from the trees. “Alexei managed to break all of his.”

“I’m sorry I’m too strong for little plastic pokey sticks!”

Your light laugh vibrated against Bob's chest. 

“We’ll be right there,” you said. 

Bob loosened his hold, and the two of you made your way back to the main camp.

“Oh no.” You muttered, finding you’d left behind complete and utter chaos. “You guys, we were gone for five minutes!” 

Before you sat two piles that might have been tents and a set of charred hot dogs next to the fire. Alexei was still trying to put the rods of his tent together and Walker was failing to give him instructions in any sort of calm, helpful manner whatsoever. Ava had gotten into the beers and was watching it all next to Bucky. All they needed was popcorn. 

You let your palm hit your forehead and slid your hand down your face. Bob just stood next to you, blinking.” 

“Do you think we should help them?” He whispered. 

You sighed and walked over to the first failed attempt at shelter. Using the same patience and method as before, you and Bob managed to put both up by the time Alexei fixed his. 

“You cheated,” he huffed. “He can fly.”

How that helped put a tent together, you weren't sure, but you decided not to argue anyway. You instead focused on getting yourself a drink. A strong one. You handed Bob one of his punches and he took it like a kid taking candy. 

“Thanks,” he muttered, taking a sip with a content smile. Bob watched you make a drink and sit in front of the fire, waiting a moment before joining you. He liked the way the flame made your eyes glow, how it warmed your skin, and flickered at the shadows around you. 

Bucky cleared his throat, making Bob jump. The old soldier raised a brow. Bob gave him a smile, tight lipped smile. 

“Did you, uh,” he took another sip for courage, “have a nice ride out here?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes like he was suspicious of the question. But after a second, he eased. 

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s good to get out of the city for once.”

“It’s so quiet,” Bob awed. “And it smells so good. I forgot how good trees smell, you know?”

Bucky glanced at him for a long while- not out of annoyance. Appreciation. He found a strange sense of comfort in seeing the kid so happy. 

“Yeah,” he said finally. “It’s nice.”

Bob took a breath. “So about the other day-”

“Nope.” Bucky shook his head briskly and stalked off.

Bob deflated a little and went to join you. 

You stared into the fire, trying to ignore the cold creeping into the air. Ever since you gained your powers, even the slightest chill sank down to your bones, like ice taking over your body. Maybe you were always like that. Maybe not.

“Are you cold?” Bob asked.

You hadn’t realized how much you started shivering.

“Oh! Here.” He jumped up to grab something from the van. He came back with a massive, fluffy blanket that he usually kept on his bed. “I brought this for you because you always forget and you’re always cold.” Bob wrapped it around your shoulders, letting his hands linger to rub warmth into your arms. “I hope that helps.”

“It’s perfect.” You tilted your head back to look at him. “Thank you.” 

He sat beside you. You tucked the blanket around him, too.

The others all gathered around the fire and for a while, it all felt weirdly… normal. Like you really were just a regular family on summer vacation. Alexei started telling another one of his stories and Yelena kept pointing out everything he got wrong, which made you all laugh. Bucky made everyone’s hot dogs because he was the only one who could manage not to burn them. Even Walker seemed to have a decent time. He heated a pot of coffee over the fire and poured you a cup.

“This’ll warm you up,” he said. His gaze darted between you and Bob. You hadn’t realized how much you were snuggled into him, still shivering. But Walker didn’t make any snide remarks or roll his eyes, he just held out the steaming mug.

You grasped it with both hands, letting it warm your palms. “Thanks.” 

He nodded and turned back to the conversation- something about new weapons from somewhere or something. 

“Ugh, I thought we came out here so we didn't have to talk about work,” Ava whined. Everyone paused. You each looked around the group. 

Bucky raised a brow. “What else are we going to talk about?”

Ava rested her chin on her hand, frowning. “You make us sound so pathetic.”

Another pause. The group collectively shrugged. 

“I watched a pretty cool movie on Netflix the other night while you guys were out,” Bob chimed in. “It was about–”

“She kinda has a point,” Walker interrupted. “None of us really has a life anymore.

“You say that like we had one before,” Yelena said. You could tell this wasn’t going to be a pleasant topic. 

“I did.” 

“Good for you, Walker,” she huffed. “Tell us another story of your time in the American military. We’re all dying to know.”

“I think that’s a little uncalled for-” Bob started, but was silenced again as their argument erupted. Ava jumped in. Bucky tried to get them to shut up, which roped him in, too.

“Are we going to do this every time?” You exclaimed over the commotion. “Rehash the same things like we’re all broken records of tragic backstories?”

It must have been the drive. Or maybe the situation in general. But Yelena was annoyed and wasn’t thinking. 

“It must be nice not to remember,” she fired back. As soon as she said it, a deadly quiet fell over all of you. Her eyes widened, processing what she’d done.

Bob tried to hold you closer, to remind you he was there, but you stood and walked away, letting the blanket fall around him. 

“Y/N, wait!” Yelena called. 

You disappeared into the dark and the trees. Overhead, thunder boomed. Bob and Yelena jumped to their feet. 

“Let her go,” Bucky said. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

Silence came again. 

Alexei let out a low, long breath, shaking his head. “I knew I should have brought he board games.”

Yelena sat back down, head in her hands, but Bob stayed. He wanted to run after you, but his feet wouldn't move. He couldn’t see you anymore. It made him nervous. It wasn’t as though this was the first time it had come up, but he knew each time that it did was another shot of ice through you. Another brick for you to build the wall around your heart. He just hoped this time he could do something to stop it. You were always there for him. He didn’t want you to get lost in the same shadows. 

“I’m making another drink,” Ava said. “Who wants–” Before she even finished, hands shot into the air, Bucky’s metal one glinting in the crackling light of the fire. 

[lucymmiller]

Moving In

The Millers move into their new house. 

----------

Pre/no-outbreak AU. Husband!Joel, Wife!Reader, and tiny Sarah. 

Tags: pure fluff, slice-of-life, domestic!joel, joel is absolutely smitten, established relationship, dirty jokes, profanity, no y/n, playful couple banter, kinda cheesy, can imagine show or game joel and sarah here, fluff, no reader description, sarah is reader’s kid, allusions to future pregnancy, fluff, did I mention fluff? 

Author’s Note: woohoo!!! first one-shot everrrr!!!! this idea came to me when I saw a commercial of a couple and their kid on a mattress on the floor, and i simply had to make it about joel miller. let me know what you guys think. my inbox is always open :) 

Word count: 1.4k

----------

“Alright, babygirl– we’re here.” 

Joel sighs, killing the engine of the janky moving truck before hopping out. He swings around to the other side of the cab, opening your door first, then Sarah’s. Here is your new house. 

You haul a sleepy Sarah into your arms, her bright eyes still heavy with the remnants of her backseat slumber. “Ready to see the house?” you whisper, just to her. 

Sarah nods, and the excited grin that graces her face makes your heart ache. 

Your husband fumbles with the new keys, the metal still well-polished and the key ring still vacant of any keychains. He grunts quietly as he pushes the door open. There isn’t a creak, no squeal either, not like the apartment you left for good this morning. Joel steps aside, letting you and Sarah occupy the space right next to him. 

All three of you are silent.

There’s something so refreshing about the new space. Something magical, almost. 

You stare at the newly renovated floor, then the freshly painted walls, then the intricate details of the fireplace in the middle of the living room wall. It hits you, really hits you, that this is your space now. More importantly, your space that you get to share with the people you love most. 

The silence is cut through by Sarah suddenly gasping. Instinctively, you and Joel both almost snap your necks looking at your kid, and when you do, she’s absolutely gleaming.

She squirms out of your arms, leaving you no time to protest as she runs over to a corner of the living room. There’s an old wooden box, probably left behind by the previous owners. Each panel of wood has winding engravings of butterflies and flowers, which would make a beautiful jewelry box, you think, but what gets Sarah excited about it is–

“It’s purple!”

She almost squeals, the sound reverberating off of the empty walls. She sits criss-cross in front of the box, taking it in her hands and flipping the top open. It’s bare inside, but it won’t be long until she fills it with everything her little heart desires.

You turn to look at Joel. He’s never looked so content before. 

His gaze lands on yours and his expression somehow softens even more. “Can you believe it? Place is ours.” He mutters in disbelief. 

“It’s perfect.” You reply. 

—-------

It takes you about an hour to haul everything in from the U-Haul.

“I refuse to believe that we had that much shit in our apartment.” You heave, eyebrows furrowed as you lean against the porch railing to rest. Joel shakes his head, hands on his hips like they always are when he’s being a little cocky. 

“And who thought it’d be a good idea to bring absolutely everything?” His eyes are wide in a pointed stare. Though he’s not showing his exhaustion, there’s sweat beading at his hairline that you narrow your eyes at. 

“Didn’t bring absolutely everything,” you retort, mocking the gentle lilt of his voice. “Only the necessities.”

“Mhm. ‘Cause your uh- empty candle jars are necessities?” 

“S’called upcycling, Miller.” 

He shakes his head as he takes a step forward, then another. He brings you into his arms, sweaty palms coming up to cup your face. 

“Drenched-” You croak out in protest, snatching his wrists and trying to twist away from him with little success. He chuckles, then, when he gets a hold of your face, he speaks low– “You talkin’ about you or me?” 

“You’re gross,” you shoot him a look, hiding your cheeky grin in his chest when he envelops you in his arms. Then, after a beat, you admit in a whisper– “both.”

—-------

“You really think my desk can fit through this?” You stare at the doorway of the spare room that was labelled an office space on the listing. The doorway is a little too narrow for your liking, and you definitely don’t want to have to ditch the desk you’ve called yours since before you even met Joel.

“We’ll figure it out, baby.” He reassures you with a loving hand on your lower back. 

“Just don’t want this room to be empty for too long. You know, I never really had any superstitions, but the one about empty rooms-”

“Don’t gotta be empty.” Joel interrupts.

“What do you mean?” You tilt your head, staring up at him. 

A bashful look comes across his face, his right hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “Last owners used it as a nursery for a while.” 

Your eyebrows shoot up and you take a step back, teasing. “Uh-huh? And that matters because?” 

Joel shrugs with a pout, turning away from you to run his fingers along the light green wallpaper. “We’ll figure it out.” 

He glances over his shoulder and sees you standing in the opposite corner with crossed arms and a shit-eating grin on your face. You echo his words. 

“We’ll figure it out.”

—-------

While you and Joel unpack the kitchenware you regretfully wrapped in what feels like a hundred layers of newspaper, Sarah unpacks her toys, gasping at each one as if she didn’t toss them in the box the day before. 

“Daddy, look- it’s Miss Ladybug!” Sarah lifts up a ladybug stuffed toy that Joel got her at the bug museum a couple of summers ago. She came up with the name for the spotted plushie on the drive back home. Joel looks up from a stack of plates with his eyebrows raised, feigning surprise. “Well would’ya look at that. Thought she flew outta the truck on the way here.” 

Sarah giggles in response, dragging Miss Ladybug with her as she sprints over to where you and Joel sit on the floor. 

“Careful, sweetheart- whole lot’a boxes you can trip over.” Joel coos, always protective. Sarah settles in your lap, a welcome disturbance amongst the ever-growing towers of ceramic in front of you. 

“Can we make a fort tonight? Please?” She squeezes at your arm, then points over to the bare mattress sitting in the middle of the living room, yet to be moved to you and Joel’s room. “That’s a good idea, actually.” You nod, looking over at your husband. “We bring enough blankets for that?” 

“Would be surprised if we didn’t.” He mutters, then holds in a laugh when you give him a look that’s equivalent to calling out his full legal name. 

Five big blankets and your old table lamp is all it takes to set up your sleeping situation for the night. 

Joel managed to pin a blanket to the window, securing the other end of it beneath some of the heavier boxes you had both brought in earlier. The makeshift, tent-like structure is wide enough to fit your mattress beneath it, bathing the fading white foam in the light of the setting sun. 

Sarah’s wedged between you and Joel, staring up at the floral pattern of the blanket shrouding the three of you. You’re staring at it too, until you feel a hand covering yours as it rests above Sarah’s head. You look over to see Joel’s eyes on you, quiet, admiring. 

“What?” You mouth. 

He smiles and simply shakes his head. He feels so peaceful, more than he has in a long damn time, he thinks. 

You smile back, glancing down to see Sarah’s eyes starting to get droopy with sleep. Joel’s fingers tangle with yours, rough skin against smooth. 

This shell of a home has yet to bear the same kinds of memories and the same shared laughter as your last. Its walls haven’t seen your best moments, your worst ones, not even the boring ones. 

But here, on the floor, on you and Joel’s mattress, your kid wedged between you two, in your empty living room, you know one thing–

You can’t wait to make this house into a home.

[steddieas-shegoes]

drama

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'selling the drama'

rated t | 769 words | no cw | tags: band manager steve, friendship, established steddie

also on ao3

🥱🥱🥱🥱🥱🥱🥱🥱🥱🥱🥱

Gareth rolls onto his stomach and sighs.

Jeff does the same.

Eddie, somehow, is the one who calls them out.

“Are you guys done being dramatic?”

Frankie rolls his eyes, smirking at what he already knows is going to become a dramatic soliloquy from one or both of them. Eddie’s almost certainly going to join in despite the fact he called them out on the dramatics.

“Sorry for being bored, Edward!” Gareth exclaims. “Sorry that we cannot find any entertainment on this tour bus. I’m sorry you have to put up with us in this phase of our lives. How dare we feel boredom in your presence. How dare we not know what we want to do while stuck on this dreaded twelve hour drive. How-”

“How about you all play cards?” Steve suggests with a lollipop hanging from his mouth. He’s trying to quit smoking and so far only lollipops seem to be a good replacement. His lips and tongue are constantly red or blue and Eddie is constantly distracted. “I’ll move.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Eddie says, pulling Steve into his lap. Steve offers him his lollipop, but Eddie just kisses his lips instead. No one blinks an eye. It’s not even close to the grossest thing they’ve done in front of them. Frankie’s actually pretty sure they’ve fucked on the couch while they were all watching a movie. “I don’t wanna play cards. We did that yesterday.”

“Today’s a new day,” Frankie says as he gets up to get their deck of cards. They are technically due for another campaign night, but Eddie’s having trouble with some of the plot development and refuses to move forward until he figures it out. “We could play war or hearts?”

“Children’s games,” Jeff sighs. “We aren’t children.”

“You’re acting like children,” Steve says what Frankie’s thinking.

He used to hate that he had so much in common with Steve, especially when he started dating Eddie and he was around all the time. They didn’t get along for months until Frankie got his heart broken in a city he’d never been to before and Steve was the only one who didn’t make fun of him for being upset. He brought him to a 24 hour diner after their show while everyone else went to their hotel and they talked about expectations on the road and for the future. Now they make it a weekly thing, whenever they’re in a city that has a diner they can go to reasonably unnoticed, they do.

“Last time we played war, Eddie almost threw Gareth off the bus,” Jeff says.

Which is true, and probably why they shouldn’t play that game while in motion.

“Go Fish?” Steve suggests, still sucking on the lollipop.

Eddie’s watching him, mouth open, eyes glazed over. Gareth smacks him in the face.

“Focus dude,” he says. “Can we place bets?”

“On Go Fish?” Frankie asks.

“To make it more fun.”

He shares a look with Steve. They both know this is a terrible idea, but if it will end the dramatics of their boredom, it might be worth it.

“Fine. No booze or girls.” Steve points at Gareth to emphasize. “And that includes whatever underwear gets left behind during your little sexual exploration phase.”

“Whatever,” Gareth rolls his eyes. “Bet $10 I win the first round in three turns.”

“I’ll bet $20 I win in two,” Jeff pipes in.

“I’ll bet use of the big bed for one night I win in three right before Gareth would’ve gone out,” Eddie says.

Steve slaps him. “Don’t offer our bed.”

“Two nights in the big bed!” Eddie ignores him.

Frankie shakes his head. “One pack of cigs and my signed Metallica poster says I win in four rounds and you all get mad enough to stop playing.”

Steve high-fives him.

Frankie doesn’t even smoke, never has, never will, but they’ll all be miserable if Steve doesn’t get to sleep in his bed. Now no one will want to beat him. He’ll grab a pack from Steve’s secret emergency stash.

They end up being distracted by more absurd bets for the next two hours. Steve eventually loses interest and goes to find another lollipop and take a nap because his job starts the moment they arrive at the venue.

Well, technically his job never really stops, which is why he’s never really bored.

Frankie watches him walk back to his bed, closing the curtain behind him. It won’t mask much of the noise, but he won’t have to witness the dramatic slap fight happening between Gareth and Eddie with his eyes.

[magicalqueennightmare]

Unbroken

John Walker x Reader

After a close call John is willing to take his time to prove how he feels about you

Follow up to Broken

The only noise in the room was the solid dripping of the iv and the steady beep of your heart rate monitor. The surgeons had told the team if they would have been just two minutes further out, you would’ve died in John’s arms. Yelena was to thank for you being alive. She took control of the jet, flying in ways even Bucky couldn’t. Ava and surprisingly Alexei were good in emergencies. They managed to get your bleeding stopped, packing the wounds tightly with gauze. 

Bucky’s job was to manage to pull John away from you for the med team to take you in. No one else was strong enough. “Don’t let her die Bucky” was all he’d managed to get out. You were in surgery for the better part of six hours. Sideline of this job, Valentina had a medical team on standby. It made for good publicity for one of her team to be gravely injured protecting the innocent. Hell the bitch probably had somehow pulled photos from somewhere of your body laying lifeless as the team worked to get you onto the jet.

Now, it was a waiting game. The surgery was a success. You’d be off your feet for weeks but should be fine as long as you could feel from the waist down. Your body responded to stimuli so that was promising. 

John sat in the corner of the room. He didn’t deserve the spot next to the bed. That was for Yelena or Ava. Two people, even with Ava’s harsh edges never made you doubt your place in their life or heart. “Please wake up. Hate me, scream at me. Get Belova and Ava to take turns kicking my ass. I don’t care baby just wake up” he whispered to you, eyes never leaving your face.

He just needed you to be ok. Needed to know you were ok. The door cracked open and Yelena walked in, the blonde holding him out a cup of coffee as she sipped on her own. He took it with no words being passed. She walked over and reclaimed the seat next to the bed. “Want to tell me what happened?” her voice was low, her eyes not even on him. 

“I broke her fucking heart, par for the course. John Walker broke something” he scoffed, eyes cast down at the floor. Yelena shook her head “I told her to not get involved with you, no offense” 

He lifted his eyes to see she was now looking at him. “None taken” he shrugged, taking a sip of the coffee. “Yelena?” when he used her first name, she raised an eyebrow “Yes?” “When she wakes up, you’ll make sure she’s ok. Won’t you?” 

“Of course” she replied and they both turned their attention back to you.

A little under eighteen hours passed with Yelena and Ava trading off but John never left the tiny plastic chair that creaked under his weight if he moved just right. Olivia called when Valentina plastered the photos of him carrying you across the news. He didn’t know what to expect. They’d talked over their son, visitation but over a teammate? He had no idea. “Is she ok?” her voice was soft, like it used to be when he’d have a bad nightmare or come back with blood staining his uniform. “The surgery was successful. They had to remove her spleen. Turned out her and Yelena are the same type so she gave her blood”

A silence fell between them before Olivia lightly called his name. When he made a sound of acknowledgement to let her know he was still on the call she said “It’s ok that you love her. I’m glad you were able to love again John” that was what broke him. 

Yelena found him sobbing into his hands. She hadn’t said a word. Just handed him more coffee. At times it was like Alexei was actually her father. They both turned to feeding people or giving them coffee. Some form of comfort that didn’t need words.

The two of them sat like that for a little while before you started to stir. Both of them were on their feet. When your eyes fluttered open, they focused on Yelena first “Lena” and a smile split her face “Hi” “What happened?” your voice was hoarse but that was to be expected. “You got shot saving a little girl. She survived by the way. We had to update her parents consistently because she thought she killed an avenger”

A light but pain filled laugh left you “Poor thing” John stood back, not sure if he should walk closer to leave. Your eyes finally moved from Yelena to land on him. “Why are you here?” “I was there when you went down” he replied and you slowly nodded “Well I’m fine” you cut your eyes back at Yelena and muttered “Please”

When Yelena locked eyes with him he nodded “Ok” he took one last look at you but you wouldn’t meet his eyes. At least you were awake. You were alive. “If she needs anything” he was speaking to Yelena but you answered “I won’t need anything from you”

The moment the door closed behind John, your tears started to fall. You were in pain and seeing him at your bedside like he cared worsened it. “Lena, why was he here?” you whispered and she shrugged “He hasn’t left malyshka” 

“Just guilt” you whispered, holding your side to shift in the bed to get comfortable. She watched you, moving to help before she met your eyes “I don’t even like Walker that much. Keep that in mind before I say or maybe it’s love” “He doesn’t love me. He’ll only love Olivia until the day he dies” you finally accepted that and the truth was you could’ve lived with him loving her in some way because duh they’d been together most of their adult lives. They had a son. You just couldn’t understand why he couldn’t even try to love you like you loved him.

Yelena must have seen the look in your eyes because she kissed your forehead “No more talk about Walker. Are you hungry? I’ll get you food”

You’d gotten released from the medical wing five days before. So far you hadn’t strayed from your floor. Ava, Yelena and Bob had frequented it. Even staying with you overnight. Bucky came and went during the day, even Alexei had managed to be allowed onto your floor.  You simply didn’t want to speak to John at all it seemed.

He watched as Bob headed onto the elevator, carrying stuff he knew was for you and finally couldn’t take it any longer. “Bob!” he called out, jogging onto the elevator behind him and Bob’s eyes got big “Walker, she uh… she doesn’t wanna see you” “I know. She won’t get mad at you. Yelena won’t either. I’ll take the heat” “Ok”

When the elevator stopped on your floor Yelena met it and her eyes narrowed when John stepped off “Why are you here?” “I just want to see how she’s doing. She hasn’t come into the common areas while I’ve been in them. Last time I laid eyes on her was when she woke up. Please?”

She sighed “Fine but if she tells me to throw you out, I am” “Fine by me. Throw me down the stairs for all I care as long as I see her first and I recover in two weeks to see my son” Yelena chuckled “At least your priorities are in line finally”

___________________

You were walking through the living area of your floor when Yelena walked in with Bob and John following her. “Hey Bob” you offered with a warm smile. He greeted you in kind. You cut your eyes at John “Hi?” he suddenly seemed nervous “Can I um..I just..” 

“Christ Walker! You’re a super soldier. She’s injured. She can’t do much damage” Yelena teased and nodded to Bob “Let’s get the food set up in the kitchen” you watched the two of them walk out then crossed your arms over your chest, the action pulling your stitches just a little “Why are you here?” “I wanted to see you” he answered so you nodded “You’ve seen me. Now leave”

You turned to follow Yelena and Bob but stopped when he whispered “I do love you” you spun around so fast a gasp of pain left you and you nearly buckled under it. You probably would’ve hit the floor had he not been so quick to make it to your side. He slipped one arm around your waist, helping you to the couch. You sank down into it, glaring at him “You don’t tell me that out of guilt. I don’t want it”

He nodded, pacing a bit as he muttered to himself and for a minute you were worried if this was some sort of ptsd episode. Even if he didn’t love you, you were friends and it could’ve triggered something with Lemar or the times he was in war. “John!” you called his name rather harshly and he froze “Yeah baby?” you didn’t even correct him on calling you baby. You just waved a hand “The pacing is making me dizzier than my meds” 

A slight smirk teased at his lips so he walked over, going to his knees in front of the couch and that sight made your eyes widen, a few too many memories flashing through your head “I love you. I have for a while. I was scared and stupid. When you told me you were late… it made me see a future… a future that I know I don’t deserve and that freaked me out… I said shit I shouldn’t have but then thinking I’d lost you? I am so sorry baby. I never wanted to hurt you. I’m not asking for forgiveness, I don’t deserve it. I just want you to know that I do love you”

You reached a hand out and let your fingers tease at the side of his face, his beard was getting to the point it needed to be trimmed. He almost seemed like he expected a strike, the gentle touch seemingly burning worse than a blow. He swallowed hard then leaned into your touch, blue eyes boring into yours “I love you sweetheart” he repeated and you nodded “So you’ve said”

He smiled sadly “You don’t believe me do you?” you shrugged “John, if you still love me when I’m healed. When you don’t feel guilty, then maybe we can talk” you leaned forward and pressed a feather light kiss on his lips. He was statue still when you pulled away and nodded slowly “I’m not going anywhere”  “Let’s see” you replied then motioned “Now, help me up” he stood and gently put his hands on your hips to help you to your feet. 

“Can I see you more?” he asked as he walked close to you to the kitchen. You shrugged “I guess that’s ok” and a smile slipped onto his face “Thank you” when you looked over your shoulder at him your heart flipped “Don’t break me John” “I won’t baby. I promise”

[bloggerspam]

ya'll didn't pray hard enough--i got my ass kicked by moving and couldnt update the fic. also! i have no computer now. It's packed away--i have a laptop i have to severely clean (digitally) but...

anyway---

===

Phantom, Jason is amused to recognize, is very much like a street cat who is very unused to affection.

He circles around his people like a little satellite, allows for people to give him gifts, but adamantly keeps his distance.

The second you look at him, he's aware of you and where you are relative to his position.

Maybe street cat is the wrong comparison to make—Jason's interacted with a lot of street cats, hard not to when you're in charge of Stay Central (the Alley's a dumpster fire and cats tend to like that, go figure) and you have a little demon of a brother who is determined to own a whole damn zoo or three by the time he's 17.

Street cats are aloof, unassuming, and though not always inherently threatening, have an aura about them that tells you to tread carefully.

Phantom is, at worst, a beaming puppy eager to talk and help and play.

(Nevermind, that Phantom can be the eldritch horror of your nightmares—as long as you haven't committed war crimes it isn't even in the realm of possibility.)

Street cats are never afraid to hiss and scratch at you if you so much as move a centimeter too close to their liking.

Phantom, when faced with even the slightest possibility of physical affection, freezes like a doe in headlights.

This is where Jason is at right now, employing all the street cat tricks in his pocket and shaking his errant thoughts about what animal Phantom actually is more reminiscent of.

He’s sitting right at the edge of Phantom’s little bubble, on a chair he dragged over himself and plopped down on to read his latest book, trying his damnedest not to smile—nevermind that Phantom can't even see it under Jason's helmet.

Somehow, he'll know. Jason suspects that perhaps it's something with the half-ghost's powers but has no proof.

Phantom is eyeing him, looking confused and distraught, probably wondering whether he should approach Jason, or stay where he is curled up with his ghost tail like a large pile of snake. The tip of his tail keeps flicking, as Phantom looks around the room before landing inevitably back on Jason.

Jason flips the page, seriously contemplating asking Zatanna for some books on Realms denizen behavior. There are so many god damn names to Phantom’s species, and so little literature that Jason’s been kind of flying it blind.

Whilst the stray cat treatment is working so far, he doesn’t want to push it and accidentally make some kind of faux pas.

The rest of the Outlaws are out fetching lunch and other such necessities for their upcoming mission, so it’s just the two of them in one of Jason’s safehouses.

Normally, Phantom would be yapping away on the couch as Jason either cleaned his weapons, read a book, or cooked across the room.

Sometimes, when Jason’s got things to say, Phantom will keep the stream going with questions as he float around the room, giving Jason space to pace or sit or even lay on the couch as he worked out his thoughts. 

Phantom’s good like that, Jason is noticing belatedly, again. 

But Jason supposes Phantom’s still wary that one encounter (the one that started it all), or unsure because Jason’s been summoning him alot nowadays.

Before, Phantom would visit once every couple of months or so. 

Today, it’s been Phantom’s fourth summoning in two months. 

Jason may or may not have tunnel vision—may or may not have explicitly searched out cults from all over, minor or major, just to have an excuse. 

Jason stretches, which causes Phantom’s tail to flick in surprise again, those glowing green eyes darting back and forth between the door and Jason’s whole body. 

The gaze rakes over him and it makes him tingle, so he purposefully takes his time. He gets up, placing the book on the coffee table with a bookmark to mark his place—it doesn’t matter anyway, he wasn’t even reading—and heads towards the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

“Want anything to drink?” Jason asks over his shoulder, making sure not to make eye contact or any sudden movements.

“...Water, please.” Phantom adjusts himself, clenching and unclenching his hands—no doubt only just realizing how stiff he’s been since Jason sat down. 

When Jason comes back, he hands Phantom the glass, making sure to linger his touch.

Phantom’s face flushes green, even as it contorts into more confusion.

Jason then twists his chair, the loud screeching of it being moved just a scant bit closer echoing loud in the room. He plops himself down, exchanging his glass of water for his book and sits back to read.

He’s 5 feet away now, right next to the opposite edge of the sofa Phantom is lounging on. 

At first, Phantom is stiff, still flushed and confused in his periphery.

But the longer time crawls on, the more he relaxes—his shoulders start to slump a little as he takes delicate sips of his water.

A moment later, Phantom reaches over towards the coffee table. Jason makes sure not to move a muscle, makes sure to say relaxed and entrenched in his so-called reading.

The halfa slowly lifts Jason’s cup with telekinesis, and slides a coaster under it before settling back on the sofa, a little more nestled in the middle of it. 

Just that scant bit closer to Jason.

Phantom, Jason is helpless to note, is too damn adorable for his own god damn good.

(Too damn endearing for Jason's own damn good.)

Dear Darcy...

Another AU borne from the HHD server--Touch-starved DoM with identity shenanigans. Follow here on AO3!

===

It isn't until well into their acquaintanceship that Jason notices something odd about Phantom.

That's not exactly true—Jason noticed it on their third mission together in a passing thought, but decided to not care about it on account of all the bullets and daggers being thrown at him and his team at the time.

Phantom is an ally, of sorts. A consult, perhaps, Jason doesn't really know.

It's hard to really say when they still don't really know what he does.

Though, again, that's not exactly true—Jason supposes it's more accurate to say they still don't really know what he can't do.

They go to him when the supernatural is involved, introduced to them via Zatanna when Jason expressed an adamant dislike of needing to ask JL Dark for anything (needing to ask Bruce for anything).

The ghost, a big name in the so called Realms world, is friendly and happy to help most of the time. He's a delight to work with in Jason's book, seeming to use his so-called ghost sense to read the room empathically—filling in the spaces when the quiet is too dark for the team, trailing behind silent as a shadow when even breathing is too loud, staying mostly out of the way and chiming in when necessary.

It helps that if shit hits the fan, Phantom can do something about it—it helps that that's the only time Phantom will ever butt in.

The Outlaws, Jason, is still to raw to handle playing nice, but Phantom makes it easy.

Phantom makes it effortless.

It makes Jason's gut roil in ways he's not sure how to deal with, beyond shooting it.

Either way, Jason, Red Hood, isn't supposed to be here in the Realms.

It's not that he's not allowed, per say, it's just that he wasn't exactly invited to this particular corner and Jason's a Bat, sure, but even he knows the supernatural have rules.

Jason was trying to summon Phantom for a quick mission, an in and out kind of deal that may or may not have had a cult involved in it that made Jason a little leery.

Except the summons was denied, which can happen sometimes when Phantom is busy.

Only instead of the circle simply going dark, like usual, Jason got pulled in instead.

So now he's here, in what he assumes to be Phantom's lair.

It's nice, the lair, if a little dark and mood-lighted. It has a dome-like structure, with stars and constellations all over like a planetarium. There's even one of those big ass telescopes peeking out the roof like one, though it seems to only point outwards towards the green of the Realms. Symbolic, or decorative in nature.

There's bookshelves of astrology and astronomy and all sorts of science and space related things littered throughout the shelves. Every now and then the stacks of books are interrupted with some kind of LEGO space creation, or a miniature of a rocket, or some of those weird weapons Phantom sometimes pulls out.

There's a work area, neat and messy at the same time, with a work table and a large toolbox drawer set. Metal detritus is piled neatly next to it, a project or two laid out under a heavy dark blue cloth on the table to keep it from getting dusty or be moved around if Jason has to guess.

In another area, there's living room-like space with a big monitor and beanbags and soft chairs surrounding it, typical of a college dorm room-esque gaming set up. Just beside it there's a large computer that hums softly, a picture of a female werewolf acting as a screensaver.

In yet another, there's a gathering of plants of many varieties growing this way and that. Jason spots a couple he recognizes from his run-ins with Pamela, and spots a copious amount of plants he doesn't recognize of this Earth. Ghost plants, he's assuming, from the glow of them.

There is even, curiously, one of those "at-home" basketball games that can fold away reminiscent of the ones you can see at the arcade with a couple miniature basketballs. Beside it, some kind of sleek mechanical looking surfboard rests against the wall in metallic reds and black with another toolbox set hidden just behind where it leans.

The kitchen area has a fridge that's absolutely covered in magnets from all over the world, a picture in crayon that is disconcertingly good pinned up here or there signed by someone named Ellie.

And then, of course, the main draw at the center of the room: a bed of sorts, stacked with pillows and blankets and assorted plushies of varying sizes.

Buried within is Phantom himself, huddled up in a nest of pillows and breathing heavy, angelic face flushed green the way a human would in fever. Jason, for the first time since meeting the halfa, truly wonders extensively how much the he isn't telling them.

Which brings Jason back to the odd thing.

Well, the odd thing that Jason is focusing on right now:

Phantom, contrary to his self-proclaimed ghostly nature, is very solid.

More than that, he's very, utterly, alive.

It's all the more apparent when Jason takes off one of his gloves to feel Phantom's forehead, the way Bruce would when Jason was Robin.

The way Jason wishes he could with his family.

Jason realizes, with the kind of starkness that comes from a photo flipbook of memories cascading through him, that he's never touched Phantom before. Not skin to skin or outside of a spar, and never like this.

He realizes, as the pocket book extends to not just him but his team-mates as well, that Phantom's never touched anyone before.

Always hovering just 6 feet away, like quarantine.

Like the depth of a grave.

Phantom is not quite hot to the touch, as Jason expects he would be. He had suspected a fever, of a sort. But he supposes it makes sense that a ghost would run cold, considering.

In the first place, Jason's not sure what possessed him to touch the ghost—he doesn't even have a baseline temperature to compare to so there's no real point.

He's not sure what possessed him to think this was okay, touching an ally like this without consent.

Not when his touch has never been welcomed, especially not when he's Red Hood.

He's just about to pull his hand away, careful not to wake the ghost, when Phantom starts to purr.

It rattles through him, like it's not used to being let out, as Phantom nuzzles at the tips of Jason's fingers.

As if Jason's touch was wanted, as if it comforts the ghost, as if Phantom wants nothing more.

As if this very hand didn't burn buildings to the ground, didn't shoot men into the fathoms, didn't carry bloody duffle bags, didn't fucking hurt hurt hurt.

Jason withdraws his hand carefully, gliding as gently as he can manage, breathing slow and deep.

He's been trained bloody enough to know pulling back in knee-jerk reaction can give things away.

He does not want Phantom to know he touched him.

Jason puts his glove back on, tight and unforgiving, and steps back.

He flexes his hand once, twice. Shakes it, before forcefully relaxing every muscle, trying to melt away the cold traces of Phantom's skin on his.

He clears his throat once, twice a little harsher, until Phantom mewls and blinks glowing green eyes up at him. His gaze is hazy with fever, soft like feathers, child-like in confusion.

And here, another odd thing Jason has not noticed until now:

When did Phantom's Lazarus green eyes become comforting?

When did Phantom's watery green eyes become forgiving?

[ganondoodle]

as funny as this scene is ... toby and the team are very good at combining humor and serious things (or rather, the humor works so well bc it has a solid base? idk words) the longer i think about it the 'worse' it gets

even with them trash talking each other constantly its so obvious that they still care (they share so many phrases and themes you cant even tell who got what from whom.. though i suppose its more likely spamton got them from Tenna .... but also he would have had to be there for quite a while to have so many similarities) even if its complicated- and like, spamton kind of sounds so genuinely happy here?? and the fact he (if you have the dealmaker) comes out of your inventory on his own here when Tenna talks to himself about being at his lowest and wishing him back (more or less) is kinda heartbreaking to me????? for all i know (cut me some slack its been a long time) we dont know why spamton never came back or left in the first place (and there is the thought of ... would he have even been able to come back given that they are all tied to physical objects and to get Tenna to safety later -if you dont let him die- susie literally has to carry him away) and even if its some sense of resentment or pride or shame or something that made him stay away/avoid him, NOW that you got him here and he hears and sees this he actually makes a move????????

for all that spamton is weird and kinda fucked up for unkown(?) reasons, treated badly (even if for good reason(??) i dont remember everything of the first chapters) and everything im just so?? he could have just stayed in your inventory like hes done before but he doesnt

but you also cant really blame Tenna for reacting the way he does here (and yes i do think he knew it was spamton and the overblown reaction was mostly trying to think of soemthing to do bc HOW would you handle this?? and also i do think he could be petty about it but also maybe overreacting ... i know how it feels to overreact in weird ways ahaha- just .. i get it but, dude, why q-q)- you were hiding and he was talking to himself and then spamton just freakinge appears in front of him like that (when Tennas desperate attempt to avoid being thrown away fails, no matter how far he went, when everything is falling apart, when its kinda .. too late) after who knows how long of silence, knowing literally nothing about where he went or why (yet he still kept the pipis.......)---

and then how spamton says hes never gonna do that again, while understandably so and very funny in the moment, im just so .... the one time he actually does seem to try to reconnect (?) with someone he seems to have actually genuinely cared about he gets rejected like that (for also understandable reasons aaaaah) and swears to never try that again ......................................................

blaming each other for their downfall but still caring and then fumbling the one chance they get to meet again im so .............................................. fine about it.

(and not to derail but why .... why is it so easy to let Tenna disappear or die ..............?? even if you do all the nice things if you dont go to the hub after church (if thats possible, i dont ...actually know), or dont give him to mettaton, toriel throws him out and once it rains and hes outside its like the last chance to get him to safety (and most people would probably avoid going there before the church bc you are told to go home when its raining and most would then check everything else first and end up in the church at night.. skipping out on finding him outside in the rain and after that he is just gone??? (i think?)- ALSO if you dont recruit enough/are nice enough Susie says she still went back and searched for him in the dark world (i love her so much) but couldnt find him and the other NPCs refused to help out.................. the boarded up tv room in the hub??? arhj my heart man q-q .......... and when you actually break him the broken TV just stays in the room????????? at least spamton can just chill in your inventory nfjksbfshfkjnfksl)

((also also ...i found it weird you dont get to see susie help him in the dark world or the sealing of the fountain there, i know its at the end of the chapter and sth happens with Kris and the shelter but ... i think thats the only time we havent seen the actual sealing?? and then she tells you what happened if you interact with the TV instead ... i do love the highly missable dialog of her telling you she found and patched Tenna up with the help of the other NPCs if you got them all recruited though.... qwq))

(sorry these thoughts have been spiraling around sicne i woke up today and i literally could not concentrate on work at all bc i kept ... thinking about it .... either way these all all just current incoherent thoughts im throwing around........ i hope we get to see Tenna again later on, though i kind of doubt that)

[corpscs]

you wanna be mad ⧗ yelena x new avenger f!reader

♡ minors and men dni , no use of y/n , wlw , enemies to lovers , amnesia trope , blood , injury , angst, yelena doesn’t understand how she feels , this was edited by my cat so ignore any spelling or grammar mistakes i will probably find them later , divider , images are from pinteret

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ masterlist , word count: 1.8k

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ part 1 ♡ part 2

bones’ now playing ▶︎ mad - reneé rapp

drip.

drip.

the sharp sound of the water cut through the silence. it helped you ground yourself. what was happening? where were you again? your thoughts were clouded. your body hurt and your face was wet, unknown to you at the time but from the past rain of the sprinklers and from your own blood.

you forced your eyes to open and adjust to the dark and the flickering yellow light on the far side of the room. next you forced your body to move, and tried to reach around for your baton or gun. whatever you could grab first. unfortunately that first thing was a body. the shock seemed to melt some of your consciousness back into place and you scrambled backwards hitting a concrete slab. as air rushed in and out of your lungs your ribs flared in pained protest. the ruble in front of you must have came from above. you squinted into the shadows above you but you couldn’t see much of anything. it was dark. probably nighttime.

you had zero idea where you were or how you got here. you vision tinted and you tried to wipe at your eye but found it swollen, and your hand came back covered in more blood. feeling your consciousness slipping again, you moved as fast as you could manage. pushing yourself between the shelving was the best your brain could do for structural stability and cover before you blacked back out.

ཐི⋆⚰︎⋆ཋྀ

“it’s already been 7 hours.” john said. “we have to start plan b.”

“plan b only works if plan a didn’t.” ava sat next to him. “and can we stop calling it that?”

john scoffed at her. “well we don’t know if plan a worked now do we?” walked muttered bitterly.

“shut the hell up.” yelena growled out. she didn’t need walker to point it out, she was already blaming herself for this. in a way it was sort of her fault. you didn’t miss your check in, yelena hung up the call.

yelena made a comment that launched into there of you bickering during mission start again. she was just trying to get under your skin. but you never called back within the minute and when she called you. no answer. a repeated no answer.

your last known location was a bust, so was the safe house.

you officially are mia. and yelena could only stew on how it was all her fault. she should have just answered instead of picking a fight like a child. but that’s just how you two were. oil and water.

after chasing a lead down they were able to pick up what you had most likely gotten involved in. the intel turned out to be on a domestic terrorist cell with an modified bio weapon intended some large event in texas. and it had already left new york. if you had a lead on it that meant you were also out of new york. or worse, dead. bucky was waiting on a contact to confirm the route.

“12 hour mark.” walker spoke looking at his phone. yelena was silent as she stared out the window. 12 hours of yelena brooding. 12 hours of blaming. 12 hours of thinking about everything that was happening to you.

you didn’t like solo missions. yelena knew you hated them. you hated being alone, you hated being left out. she remembers the double edged conversation from the last mission you were dispatched on together. where you said you hated being alone so much that you would rather be paired with her than be alone. and yelena had the fucking nerve to tell you she didn’t want you there at all.

now all she had to think about was never seeing you again.

your feud was stupid, it wasn’t even something on solid ground. you had met yelena through her natalia, then after the blip, after her sister’s death, you were suddenly something yelena couldn’t stomach.

the real reason yelena hated you was something that wasn’t even your fault, something you had no control over. you had stayed by natasha during the blip helping her keep shield running. yelena was jealous. jealous that you got the time with her sister that was unfairly ripped from her. and you seemed clueless as to why. your sadness turned to anger which only morphed into resentment.

you were an avenger and a friend to natasha and she cared for you, yelena knew that. she talked about you with a smile and told yelena that you two would get along. and now you were probably dead as well. something precious to natalia ruined by her.

ཐི⋆⚰︎⋆ཋྀ

13 hours hit. and finally at 15 hours and 37 minutes. bucky was rushing through the doors. yelena’s breath stalled as heart leapt into the back of her throat.

“got a location.” everyone was moving before his sentence was finished. yelena wanted to ask questions, but her guilt weighed them down. bucky might not even have them.

according to bucky’s contact, the brigade never made it to the second check in. the first set of route coordinates lead to an abandoned military station. the team followed the tire tracks to an old structure. “spread out.” bucky instructed. “keep quiet.”

ghost and john began to check the abandoned vehicles, yelena and bucky moved forward to the building. he called out your name through the cracked door. he used his vibranium arm to grip the metal and pull it open.

inside, the concrete of the top floor had came down and busted through the ground floor. “hey, watch the floor.” bucky warned. there were four guards dead to the left of the door at the top of where the metal staircase began.

yelena stepped forward to observe the hole the concrete had put in the floor. below was an even more gruesome scene. pieces of human remains and equipment scattered in between the chunks and slabs. yelena’s eyes locked onto a piece of your equipment in the hand of some fallen man. “bucky.” she pulled his attention to the baton.

bucky called your name again, getting no responses they made their way to the stairs stepping over the bodies. bucky clicked on his flashlight searching among the bodies and ruble. he watched yelena pick up your gear.

“this is her’s, she has to be here.” she paused. “if you come out, i promise to never make fun of your cooking again.”

“really? ”bucky let out a gruff.

“yes really, she is a good cook. it makes her very upset.” yelena said simply, continuing to look around.

bucky was skimming over the walls when his eyes caught on the small finger smear of blood. he scanned through again doubling back to where you had your hand in front of your face blocking your eyes from the harsh light of the flash.

ཐི⋆⚰︎⋆ཋྀ

amnesia. that’s what the med staff told bucky. most likely temporary with the head injury.

“how is she?” bob asked nervously. bucky sighed.

“just had to tell her that half the people she loves are dead or awol.” rubbed a hand down his face. “she’s doing really well.”

“so, she doesn’t know who we are?” ava concluded. bucky nodded.

“she barely knows me and she’s basing all her trust in me on her trust in steve. who i then had to tell her jumped back in time.” he sarcastically laughed, his eyes focusing on yelena. “have we all learned a lesson here?”

she looked at the wall ahead of her.

“i looked at her call logs.” she was still silent. “you ended the call.”

“i know.” she said.

“yelena.”

“i didn’t mean-“

“didn’t mean what? you didn’t mean to act like a child? now your team mate almost died and we’ve lost our intel because the girl who has it thinks it’s 2017.” he sighed.

“everyone get some sleep. we debrief tomorrow morning.”

yelena had hung around the med bay. she wanted to go in and see you, not that she knew what to say. you didn’t even know who she was right now. to you she was probably just the replacement black widow that nearly got you killed.

“the nurses said you were out here still.” yelena heard your tired voice. you were standing against the metal doorway holding an iv pole, three different drip bags connected to you. your left leg was in a brace, but you were standing on it anyways, putting your weight on the good leg. typical of you. there was a bandage on your forehead above your bruised eye. various tape and butterfly bandages scattered your exposed skin.

“yelena right?” she nodded still not saying anything. “i’m sorry, this must be weird.” your split lip curled into a smile. “james, er bucky explained the mission to me. and he said you were beating yourself up about it.”

the way he had phrased it made it seem like you would enjoy the knowledge, but it twisted a pit inside of your chest you didn’t like. “i don’t want you to feel bad about it. you only hung up on me, you didn’t drop a couple thousand tons of concrete on me. which ranks like the best worst thing that’s happened to me today i suppose.”

amnesia you was very kind. the guilt in yelena’s chest dank deeper

“i’m sorry, if i didn’t- “

“no sorry’s. we can play butterfly affect all night long if you want but it would still end absolutely nowhere.” yelena stayed silent.

“you should sleep.” you suggested with a smile.

“you can feel refreshed and guilty tomorrow morning.” yelena obeyed but didn’t sleep much. she had a nightmare about you in that ruble. you had narrowly avoided such a horrific death that would have been her cause. another death on her hands like that is something yelena couldn’t have lived with. she was up early the next morning, yelena went back to see you. with you your favorite breakfast and coffee.

“it’s early, you didn’t sleep much did you?” you asked from where you sat on the bed, tablet in hand. yelena shook her head. “me neither, just lost a decade and i wasn’t even blipped.” you giggled pushing the heel of your palm to your non bruised eye.

“you’re really not angry with me?” yelena asked you closing the door behind her. you shrugged. “if i stayed angry about anything that’s done and over with, especially now, my brain is going to melt. i’m just happy to be alive.” yelena sat the food and coffee on your table. “for me?” she nodded while you thanked her.

you sniffed the coffee quizzically. yelena then remembered this was probably different usual coffee than when you remember. “uh- it’s what you usually make.” she said before explaining your process. you hummed taking a small sip.

“this is so strange, but i’m patting myself on the back for this one.” you sat in silence and ate half the food before asking her the ugly question she had been waiting for.

“yelena, are we friends?”

𓉸 𝔯𝔢𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔰 - 𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔫 𓉸

masterlist ♡, bones