#googles authors. uh oh!

[wainswright]

Following are a few excerpts of books I have on my shelves, chosen at random. Apologies for typos, this is just a quick comparison point for a discussion I was having in regards to a certain style of description in books, instead of the simple/clean/sensible style that a lot of books also use (I think this is modern popular style? Even in lit fic). No claims towards quality of the book overall, just thinking about prose. I also got this down before I realized the post was specifically about white americans in literary fiction in the current year as an active style, (thought it was about the prevelance of the style in general, so it's various genres and nationalities, probably) but just for fun, @genderfluid-dynamics is this the kind of style you were thinking of?

x

Cloud Atlas, David Mitchell Beyond the Indian hamlet, upon a forlorn strand, I happened on a trail fo recent footprints. Through rotting kelp, sea cocao-nuts and bamboo, the tracks led me to their maker, a White man, his trowzers and Pea-jacket rolled up, sporting a kempt beard and an outsized Beaver, shoveling and sifting the cindery sand with a teaspoon so intently that he noticed me only after I had hailed him from ten yards away. Thus it was, I made the acquaintance of Dr. Henry Goose, surgeon to the London nobility. His nationality as no surprise. If there be any eyrie so desolate, or isle so remote, that one may there resort unchallenged by an Englishman, 'tis not down on any map I ever saw. Had the doctor misplaced anything on that dismal shore? Could I render assistance? Dr. Goose shook his head, knotted loose his 'kerchief and displayed its contents with clear pride. "Teeth, sir, are the enameled grails of the quest in hand. In days gone by this Arcadian strand was a cannibals' banqueting hall, yes, where the strong engorged themselves on the weak. The teeth, they spat out, as you or I would expel cherry stones. But these base molars, sir, shall be transmuted to gold and how? An artisan of Piccadilly who fashions denture sets for the nobility pays handomely for human gnashers. Do you know the price a quarter pound will earn, sir?

I confessed I did not. "Nor shall I enlighten you, sir, for 'tis a professional secret!" He tapped his nose. "Mr. Ewing, are you acquainted with Marchioness Grace of Mayfair? No? The better for you, for she is a corpse in petticoats. Five years have passed since this harridan besmirched my name, yes, with imputations that resulted in my being black-balled from Society." Dr. Goose looked out to sea. "My peregrinations began in that dark hour."

x

Winter's Tale, Mark Helprin

The horse could not do without Manhattan. It drew him like a magnet, like a vacuum, like oats, or a mare, or an open, never-ending, tree-lined road. He came off the bridge ramp and stopped short. A thousand streets lay before him, silent but for the sound of the gemlike wind. Driven with snow, white, and empty, they were a maze for his delight as the newly arisen wind whistled across still untouched drifts and rills. He passed empty theaters, counting-houses, and forested wharves where the snow-lined spars looked like long black groves of pine. He passed dark factories and deserted parks, and rows of little houses where wood just fired filled the air with sweet reassurance. He passed the frightening common cellars full of ragpickers and men without limbs. The door of a market bar was flung open momentarily for a torrent of boiling water that splashed all overthe street in a cloud of steam. He passed (and shied from) dead men lying in the round ragged coffins of their own frozen bodies. Sleds and wagons began to radiate from the markets, alive with the pul of their stocky dray horses, racing up the main streets, ringing bells. But he kept away from the markets, because there it was noontime even at dawn, and he followed the silent tributaries of the main streets, passing the exposed steelwork of buildings in the intermission of feverish construction. And he was seldom out of sight of the new bridges, which had married beautiful womanly Brooklyn to her rich uncle, Manhattan; had put the city's hand out to the country; and were the end of the past because they spanned not only distance and deep water but dreams and time.

x

Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh

When I reached C Company lines, which were at the top of the hill, I paused and looked back at the camp, just coming into full view below me through the grey mist of early morning. We were leaving that day. When we marched in, three months before, the place was under snow; now the first leaves of spring were unfolding. I had reflected then that, whatever scenes of desolation lay ahead of us, I never feared one more brutal than this, and I reflected now that it had no single happy memory for me.

Here love had died between me and the army.

Here the tram lines ended, so that men returning fuddled from Gladgow could doze in their seats until roused by the conductress at their journey's end. There was some way to go from the tram-stop to the camp gates; a quarter of a mile in which they could button their blouses and straighten their caps before passing the guard room, a quarter of a mile in which concrete gave place to grass at the road's edge. This was the extreme limit of the city, a fringe of drift-wood above the high-water mark. Here the close, homogenous territory of housing estates and cinemas ended adn teh hinterland began.

The camp stood where, until quite lately, had been pasture and ploughland; the farm-house still stood in a fold of the hill and had served us for battalion offices; ivy still supported part of what had once been the walls o fa fruit gardn; half an acre of mutilated old trees behind the wash-houses survived of an orchard. The place had been marked for destruction before the army came to it. Had there been another year of peace, there would have been no famrhouse, no wall, no apple trees. Already half a mile of concrete road lay between bare clay banks, and on either side a chequer of open ditches showed where the municipal contractors had designed a system of drainage. Another year of peace would have made the place part of the neighbouring suburb. Now the huts where we had wintered waited their turn for destruction.

Over the way, the subject of much ironical comment, half hidden even in winter by its embosoming trees, lay the municipal lunatic asylum, whose cast-iron railings and noble gates put our rough wire to shame. We could watch the madmen, on clement days, sauntering and skipping among the trim gravel walks and pleasantly planted lawns; happy collaborationists who had given up the unequal struggle, all doubts resolved, all duty done, the undisputed heirs-at-law of a century of progress, enjoying the heritage at their ease. As we marched past the men used to shout greetings to them through the railings-- "Keep a bed warm for me, chum. I shan't be long"-- but Hooper, my newest-joined platoon commander, grudged them their life of privilege: "Hitler would put them in a gas chamber," he said; "I reckon we can learn a thing or two from him."

Here, when we marched in at mid-winter, I brought a company of strong and hopeful men; word had gone round among them, as we moved from the moors to this dockland area, that we were at last in transit for the Middle East. As the days passed and we began clearing the snow and levelling a parade ground, I saw their disappointment change to resignation. They snuffed the smell of the fried-fish shops and cocked their ears to familiar, peace-time sounds of the works' siren and the dance-hall band. On off-days they slouched now at street comers and sidled away at the approach of an officer for fear that, by saluting, they would lose face with their new mistresses. In the company office there was a crop of minor charges and requests for compassionate leave; while it was still half-fight, day began with the whine of the malingerer and the glum face and fixed eye of the man with a grievance.

And I, who by every precept should have put heart into them - how could I help them, who could so little help myself.? Here the colonel under whom we had formed, was promoted out of our sight and succeeded by a younger and less lovable man, cross-posted from another regiment. There were few left in the mess now of the batch of volunteers who trained together at the outbreak of war; one way and another they were nearly all gone - some had been invalided out, some promoted to other battalions, some posted to staff jobs, some had volunteered for special service, one had got himself killed on the field firing range, one had been court-martialled - and their places were taken by conscripts; the wireless played incessantly in the ante-room nowadays and much beer was drunk before dinner; it was not as it had been.

Here at the age of thirty-nine I began to be old. I felt stiff and weary in the evenings and reluctant to go out of camp; I developed proprietary claims to certain chairs and newspapers; I regularly drank three glasses of gin before dinner, never more or less, and -went to bed immediately after the nine o'clock news. I was always awake and fretful an hour before reveille.

Here -my last love died - There was nothing remarkable in the manner of its death. One day, not long before 'this last day in camp, as I lay awake before reveille, in the Nissen hut, gazing into the complete blackness, amid the deep breathing and muttering of the four other occupants, turning over in my mind what I had to do that day - had I put in the names of two corporals for the weapon-training course? Should I again have the largest number of men overstaying their leave in the batch due back that day? Could I trust Hooper to take the candidates class out map-reading? - as I lay in that dark hour, I was aghast to realize that something within me, long sickening, had quietly died, and felt as a husband might feel, who, in the fourth year of his marriage, suddenly knew that he had no longer any desire, or tenderness, or esteem, for a once-beloved wife; no pleasure in her company, no wish to please, no curiosity about anything she might ever do or say or think; no hope of setting things right, no self-reproach for the disaster. I knew it all, the whole drab compass of marital disillusion; we had been through it together, the Army and I, from the first importunate courtship until now, when nothing remained to us except the chill bonds of law and duty and custom. I had played every scene in the domestic tragedy, had found the early tiffs become more frequent, the tears less affecting, the reconciliations less sweet, till they engendered a mood of aloofness and cool criticism, and the growing conviction that it was not myself but the loved one who was at fault. I caught the false notes in her voice and learned to listen for them apprehensively; I recognized the blank, resentful stare of incomprehension in her eyes, and the selfish, hard set of the comers of her mouth. I learned her, as one must learn a woman one has kept house with, day in, day out, for three and a half years; I learned her slatternly ways, the routine and mechanism of her charm her jealousy and self-seeking and her nervous trick with the fingers when she was lying. She was stripped of all enchantment now and I knew her for an uncongenial stranger to whom I had bound myself indissolubly in a moment of folly.

So, on this morning of our move, I was entirely indifferent to our destination. I would go on with my job, but I could bring to it nothing more than acquiescence. Our orders were to entrain at 0915 hours at a nearby siding, taking in the haversack the unexpired portion of the day's ration; that was all I needed to know. The company second-in-command had gone on with a small advance party. Company stores had been packed the day before. Hooper had been detailed to inspect the lines. The company was parading at 0730 hours with their kit-bags piled before the huts. There had been many such moves since the wildly exhilarating morning in 1940 when we had erroneously believed ourselves destined for the defence of Calais. Three or four times a year since then we had changed our location; this time our new commanding officer was making an unusual display of 'security' and had even put us to the trouble of removing all distinguishing badges from our uniforms and transport. It was 'valuable training in active service conditions', he said. 'If I find any of these female camp followers waiting for us the other end, I'll know there's been a leakage.'

x

I really like the above author's writing. There's a rare precision in this that strikes right on rhythm.

I revise my rec about a Hundred Years of Solitude, the prose falls back into the more modern back and forth dialogue style and worksmanlike description of action. It does has a similar feel in approach (description of people) as Bleak House like The Scarlet Pimpernel does, but it doesn't have that quality that Bleak House has of "every line of dialogue is a play" in the narrative tone of faintly ironic lecture.

There were some classic russian authors that seemed to do that tone, (i think there are genuinely countless imitators of this that do it in an annoying way,) though. ex: Mikhail bulgakov, The Master and Margarita. You'll probably like that, if you like the feeling of immersion and cleverness that comes from doing this style well. I wonder how modern russian lit is? I should go look.

Steinbeck has a different tone, but he has a skill with description and exposition that has a similar feel of satisfaction in reading. Cannery Row, maybe?

The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins also does this very well- but it's more focused on people than an omniscient viewpoint. As follows:

x It was the last day of July. The long hot summer was drawing to a close; and we, the weary pilgrims of the London pavement, were beginning to think of the cloud-shadows on the corn-fields, and the autumn breezes on the sea-shore.

For my own poor part, the fading summer left me out of health, out of spirits, and, if the truth must be told, out of money as well. During the past year I had not managed my professional resources as carefully as usual; and my extravagance now limited me to the prospect of spending the autumn economically between my mother's cottage at Hampstead and my own chambers in town.

The evening, I remember, was still and cloudy; the London air was at its heaviest; the distant hum of the street-traffic was at its faintest; the small pulse of the life within me, and the great heart of the city around me, seemed to be sinking in unison, languidly and more languidly, with the sinking sun. I roused myself from the book which I was dreaming over rather than reading, and left my chambers to meet the cool night air in the suburbs. It was one of the two evenings in every week which I was accustomed to spend with my mother and my sister. So I turned my steps northward in the direction of Hampstead.

Events which I have yet to relate make it necessary to mention in this place that my father had been dead some years at the period of which I am now writing; and that my sister Sarah and I were the sole survivors of a family of five children. My father was a drawing-master before me. His exertions had made him highly successful in his profession; and his affectionate anxiety to provide for the future of those who were dependent on his labours had impelled him, from the time of his marriage, to devote to the insuring of his life a much larger portion of his income than most men consider it necessary to set aside for that purpose. Thanks to his admirable prudence and self-denial my mother and sister were left, after his death, as independent of the world as they had been during his lifetime. I succeeded to his connection, and had every reason to feel grateful for the prospect that awaited me at my starting in life.

The quiet twilight was still trembling on the topmost ridges of the heath; and the view of London below me had sunk into a black gulf in the shadow of the cloudy night, when I stood before the gate of my mother's cottage. I had hardly rung the bell before the house door was opened violently; my worthy Italian friend, Professor Pesca, appeared in the servant's place; and darted out joyously to receive me, with a shrill foreign parody on an English cheer.

On his own account, and, I must be allowed to add, on mine also, the Professor merits the honour of a formal introduction. Accident has made him the starting-point of the strange family story which it is the purpose of these pages to unfold.

I had first become acquainted with my Italian friend by meeting him at certain great houses where he taught his own language and I taught drawing. All I then knew of the history of his life was, that he had once held a situation in the University of Padua; that he had left Italy for political reasons (the nature of which he uniformly declined to mention to any one); and that he had been for many years respectably established in London as a teacher of languages.

x

[scarletwinterxx]

the archer - choi seungcheol imagine

helllloo ~ short backstory as to why this is titled 'the archer', i was omw home one day and the line "Who could ever leave me, darling But who could stay?" just stuck. i hope when you read this one, it will make sense😅 oh and yea we have a cute shy cheol for this one sksksks

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(photos not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You’ve heard the crying before but tonight, it’s relentless. For nearly an hour now, it’s been Soojin’s voice echoing through your studio, softening only to rise again like a wave you can’t block out with pillows or music.

You lie there, eyes on the ceiling, heart pacing with a mixture of concern and hesitation. It’s not your place. You barely know him—Choi Seungcheol, your next-door neighbor with the quiet eyes and tired smile. You’ve exchanged the occasional nod in the hallway, a few polite words in the elevator. He moved in six months ago, shortly after the baby was born. Alone.

But something about the way the cries go unanswered tonight makes you swing your legs out of bed and pad toward your door. You don’t think too hard as you knock. It takes a moment before he opens it. 

“I’m sorry,” he starts, already looking apologetic. “She—she won’t calm down. I’ve tried everything.”

“May I?” you ask, surprising even yourself.

He blinks at you, caught off guard. But when you extend your hands, he hesitates only a second before handing her over.

She’s warm and trembling, but you sway gently, instinctively, and hum something low under your breath. an old tune from a drama your mother used to love. Soojin’s cries hiccup, then soften. Within a minute, she’s quiet against your shoulder.

You glance up.

Seungcheol is staring at you like he’s witnessing a miracle.

“Uh—wha—how?”

You glance at him, one eyebrow raised as you continue to gently sway with Soojin nestled against your shoulder, her tiny fists tucked under her chin now. 

Seungcheol looks like someone just handed him the answer to a test he didn’t study for.

“I… I swear I tried everything,” he says, running a hand through his hair, which sticks out at odd angles like he’s been yanking at it all night. “Bottle, diaper, bouncing, singing—I even googled ‘is my baby possessed’ at one point.”

“That must’ve given you comforting results,” you say, adjusting your hold slightly as Soojin lets out a soft sigh. “Any luck with the holy water?”

“Didn’t get that far. I was about to throw salt at her, though.”

You laugh. You haven’t laughed like that in a while, and from the way his expression shifts, neither has he.

“Okay, but seriously,” he says, crossing his arms loosely over his chest as he leans against the doorway. “What did you do? Are you some kind of baby whisperer? Do you own a magic shoulder?”

“She probably just likes that I don’t smell like desperation and instant noodles,” you tease, nodding at the small mountain of convenience store trash on the kitchen counter behind him.

Seungcheol groans and presses his palms over his face. “That’s so valid. You’re right. I reek of ‘guy barely holding it together.’”

“You said it, not me.”

Soojin shifts in your arms but doesn’t wake. You lower yourself gently onto the couch, adjusting your hold.

Seungcheol watches, awe still etched into every line of his face. “She never calms down like that with me,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “She usually screams like I’ve offended her ancestors.”

“I don’t even know your name.”

You blink. Right. You’ve lived next door for months and this is your first real conversation. You tell him your name.

He repeats it, softly, like he’s testing the sound. “Well. I owe you. Like… a lot. If I had knees left I’d be bowing right now.”

“Save the bowing for when she starts teething,” you murmur, eyes on the baby now curled like a bean in your arms.

He laughs, and it’s warm and real, like it hasn’t been heard in his apartment for a long time.

“So,” he says after a moment, still watching you like he can’t quite believe it. “Do you do this for all your neighbors or am I just lucky?”

You glance at him over Soojin’s soft head. “Only the ones who google ‘possessed baby’ at 3 a.m.”

“Damn,” he grins. “That narrows it down.”

“She probably felt you freaking out,” you say, keeping your voice low so you don’t wake the now peacefully sleeping Soojin. “Babies are weirdly psychic like that. You panic, they panic harder. It’s like emotional Wi-Fi.”

Seungcheol squints at you. “You’re telling me this tiny human was mirroring my mental breakdown?”

You nod. “Pretty much.”

He drags a hand down his face. “Well, that makes me feel both seen and judged by someone who can't even sit up by herself.”

“She is very advanced,” you say with mock seriousness. “Clearly an empath.”

He huffs a soft laugh and flops into the armchair across from you, legs sprawled, head tilted back. “You have one too?”

You glance down at Soojin, then back at him. “A baby? No. I just like them. And—lucky me—they like me back.”

He lifts his head and raises a brow. “That’s not fair. I made her. She should like me.”

“Maybe she’s still bitter about the eviction from the womb.”

He lets out a half-laugh, half-groan, like he’s not sure whether to be offended or impressed. “I’m never going to win an argument in this house, am I?”

“Not with her from the looks of it”

He tilts his head, giving you a look that’s part amused, part grateful. “Seriously, though… thank you. I didn’t realize how close I was to completely losing it tonight.”

You shrug, glancing down at Soojin’s soft lashes against her cheeks. “It’s okay. Everyone has their limit. Even sleep-deprived single dads who try to summon baby-calming magic via YouTube.”

He groans again. “Ugh, please don’t remind me.”

“No promises.”

Seungcheol smiles—really smiles this time. “Well… if you ever want to visit your favorite fan again…”

You glance up at him. “Are you saying I have visitation rights?”

“With Soojin? Definitely. With me… maybe. I’m still evaluating.”

“Rude.”

“Fair.”

You don’t say anything at first. Just watch him watching her.

Then, softly, “She looks just like you.”

His eyes flick to you.

You nod, gentle. “Same nose. Same shape of her eyes when she squints. I saw it the moment you opened the door.”

Seungcheol huffs a quiet laugh, the sound laced with disbelief. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, smiling down at Soojin. “It’s a good face to grow into.”

He exhales, some of that pressure inside him loosening, like you handed him a valve to let the fear out slow. He rubs the back of his neck, looks down at the floor, then at his daughter again.

“I’m scared all the time,” he admits. He doesn't know why he's telling you this but it's too late to stop, “Like—I love her so much it physically hurts, but I keep wondering if that’s enough. If loving her this much makes up for everything I can’t give her yet.”

“You’re here,” you say. “You’re trying. You’re sleep-deprived, semi-malnourished, and your apartment smells like baby wipes and cold coffee. But you’re here. That already makes you better than a lot of people.”

“Also,” you add, “she fell asleep in like, two minutes. I’m pretty sure that means she’s happy and safe. Or she’s secretly plotting. Either way, you’re doing okay.”

“Thanks,” he says. “For everything tonight.”

You shrug one shoulder. “What are neighbors for, right?”

=

A knock at your door isn't unusual. Packages, random hallway noise, maybe the building ajumma making her rounds with gossip and kimchi. But this one is too soft to be a delivery guy and too polite to be a kid. You pause your Netflix episode and head over, peeking through the peephole.

It’s Seungcheol.

You open the door and he’s standing there in jeans, a hoodie zipped halfway up, one strap of Soojin’s diaper bag slipping off his shoulder. He looks a little frazzled, hair tousled like he ran his hand through it too many times.

“Hey,” he says, a little breathless. “Sorry, are you busy?”

You glance behind him. Soojin is in his arms, blinking like she just woke up from a nap and hasn’t decided whether the world deserves her attention yet.

“Not really,” you say, brows raised. “Everything okay?”

He nods, shifting Soojin to his other arm. “Yeah—yeah, I just—look, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t really quick, but I have to run down to the ward office to drop off some paperwork. It’s boring, annoying, and they hate when babies scream through it.”

You smirk. “So you’re abandoning your child to avoid judgement.”

“Exactly,” he deadpans. “And you’re the only person she doesn’t seem to think is a demon in disguise.”

You hold out your hands automatically, and he hesitates just long enough to look guilty before gently placing Soojin in your arms. She blinks up at you like, Oh, it’s you. Okay, this is fine, then promptly grabs a fistful of your shirt.

“I’ll be gone maybe thirty, forty minutes tops,” he says, already half-turning like he doesn’t trust himself not to second-guess this. “I swear, if she cries, I owe you—like—coffee for a month. Or five years. Whatever’s fair.”

“She’ll be fine,” you assure him, bouncing her a little as she starts to hum her sleepy protest song. “Go do your boring adult things. We’ll be here, judging your outfit.”

He looks down at himself, frowns. “What’s wrong with my hoodie?”

“It’s giving ‘college sophomore in finals week.’”

He looks personally wounded. “Wow. Harsh from someone wearing pajama pants.”

“Bold of you to assume these are pajamas and not my formal lounging attire.”

He grins, then presses his palms together in a dramatic bow. “Gamsahamnida. You are a lifesaver.”

“Go, Seungcheol,” you say with mock severity, like you're kicking him out of your own house. “Before I charge you babysitting rates.”

“Noted,” he says, already backing down the hallway. “If she starts crying, play her that weird folk song you hummed the other night. She apparently likes that.”

You snort. “It’s not weird. It’s vintage. Now go.”

He disappears down the hallway, mumbling something about government forms and how adulthood is a scam. You close the door, look down at Soojin.

About an hour after Seungcheol left, someone knocked on your door again.

“She’s out,” you said.

Seungcheol blinks “Out?”

“Like a light,” you said, stepping aside to let him in. “Didn’t even fight it. Just conked out mid-conversation with her carrot.”

He entered cautiously, peering over at the couch where Soojin lay snoozing like an angel, one sock halfway off her foot. His whole body went still for a second, like even his breathing slowed down.

“No way,” he muttered. “She never naps this easily. I have to do a whole routine. Like, bouncing, swaying, bribery, gentle pleading—”

You held up a hand. “To be fair, I did sing her an exclusive remix of ‘Arirang’ with some freestyle humming in between. It was Grammy-worthy.”

Seungcheol leaned down slightly, adjusting Soojin’s sock with that instinctive tenderness he probably didn’t even notice he had anymore. 

“You’re doing okay, you know,” you said quietly.

He looked at you, startled.

“I mean it,” you added. “You always look like you’re bracing for a storm, but… she’s happy. You’re doing okay.”

He swallowed, his throat bobbing. “I never know if I am.”

“You are.”

He nodded slowly, then straightened up, brushing a hand through his hair. “Okay. Um. Thank you. Really. I owe you, like… a year’s supply of coffee or something.”

You grinned. “How about you start with dinner next time?”

He paused. Not in surprise but like he was waiting to make sure you really said what he thought you said.

“Dinner?” he repeated.

You leaned against the doorframe, casual. “Yeah. You bring the baby, I’ll bring dessert. Seems fair.”

“Deal,” he said.

“Why don’t we let her sleep?” you say, voice soft. “You want coffee?”

His head snaps toward you like you just offered him oxygen. “God, yes.”

You stifle a laugh. “Come on.”

You move to the kitchen and start pulling mugs from the shelf. Behind you, he hovers awkwardly for a second before cautiously lowering himself onto one of the kitchen chairs like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to sit down in someone else’s life yet.

You hand him a mug, fingers brushing his. “Cream and sugar?”

He stares at you for a second too long.

“Huh? Oh—yeah. Just a little.”

You smirk as you fix it the way he asked, then slide it across the counter. “Look at you. Saying ‘just a little’ like you didn’t pour half the sugar jar into your coffee the other morning.”

He narrows his eyes over the rim of the mug. “I was sleep-deprived. I needed moral support in powdered form.”

You sit across from him with your own cup, resting your chin in your palm. “And here I thought you were this composed, competent, remote-working professional.”

He scoffs. ��I am composed and competent. Most of the time. Except before 8 a.m. Or when Soojin decides sleep is for the weak.”

“So… most days,” you tease.

He shakes his head, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. One that doesn’t look so tired now. You sip your coffee and let the quiet stretch a little, comfortable and warm.

“Thanks again,” he says after a moment. “For today. For—whatever magic you’ve got going on. I still don’t get it.”

You shrug. “She’s easy to love.”

There’s something in his face that flickers at that. like he’s trying not to show how much those words hit. His thumb taps against the side of the mug.

“She really is,” he says. “But… sometimes I forget that it’s okay to enjoy it. I’m so busy trying to keep up with everything, I think I forget to stop and—feel it.”

You lean back slightly, studying him. “Well. You’ve got backup now. Whether you want it or not.”

He settles more into the chair, like your words gave him permission to breathe a little deeper. The mug cradled in his hands, still warm, anchors him in the moment.

You glance toward the living room, then back at him. “You always wanted to be a dad?”

He hums, considering. “Yeah. I think so. Not like—I didn’t grow up dreaming of diaper bags and formula,” he says with a faint smile, “but… I always liked the idea. Being someone’s safe place.”

Your heart stirs a little at that. You hadn’t expected such a soft answer.

“And now that you are?” you ask, gently.

He exhales a laugh, tilting his head. “It’s like I got dropped in the middle of the ocean with floaties and a smile and they were like, ‘Good luck!’” He pauses, then adds, “But then she looks at me like I’m her entire world and suddenly I don’t mind drowning a little.”

You smile into your mug. “That’s… weirdly poetic for someone who wears socks with mismatched cartoon characters.”

He looks scandalized. “You noticed that?”

“Hard not to when you wore Pororo and Iron Man.”

“Okay, but hear me out. Laundry day.”

“Sure,” you nod solemnly. “Blame the system.”

“What about you?” he asks after a moment. “No kids of your own, but you’re, like, terrifyingly good at it.”

You shrug, swirling your coffee. “I’ve always liked being around them. Babysat a lot. Volunteered at a daycare during uni. There’s something honest about babies, you know? They don’t pretend. If they like you, they like you. If they don’t, you know immediately.”

He grins. “So what you’re saying is, Soojin’s got good taste.”

“Exceptionally,” you deadpan. “Especially considering her father pairs Iron Man with penguins.”

You both laugh again, soft and low so you don’t wake the sleeping queen in the next room. 

“You know,” he says, almost shy, “I didn’t expect any of this. The neighbor thing. You, being... kind.”

You quirk a brow. “Kind? Is that what we’re calling basic human decency now?”

He gives you a look. “It’s different. Most people don’t know what to do with single dads. They either pity you or overstep.”

You nod, thoughtful. “I’m not here to fix anything. I just... like her. And you’re not exactly awful either.”

He chuckles. “High praise.”

You finish your coffee and set the mug down with a soft clink. “Besides, I figure anyone who handles a teething crisis without crying deserves at least a neighbor who makes decent coffee.”

“This is decent?” he teases, lifting his mug. “That’s all I get?”

You smirk. “I’m keeping ‘great’ in my back pocket. You have to earn it.”

He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, and smiles in that quiet, melting way he’s got. “Challenge accepted.”

=

It’s been a few days, but the rhythm is already familiar.

You’re coming home later than usual. Just as you hang up and juggle your keys, you hear it again. soft giggling, baby babble, and the unmistakable click of a stroller wheel bumping over the hallway tile.

You glance back and there they are. Seungcheol in a black cap and hoodie, pushing the stroller like he’s trying to look inconspicuous but failing because Soojin is loudly babbling and flapping her arms like she’s the mayor on parade.

“Caught you,” you say, smiling.

Seungcheol grins sheepishly. “We were trying to sneak back in.”

“Oh yeah? How’d that go for you?”

He peers down at Soojin, who grins up at you like she just told a great joke. “She’s terrible at stealth.”

Soojin kicks her feet in response and lets out a very enthusiastic raspberry.

He unlocks his door, gesturing you over. “You wanna come in? She’ll never forgive me if you don’t.”

You grin. “I could be convinced.”

A few minutes later, your groceries are in the fridge, and you’re sitting on his living room floor, legs crossed, feeding Soojin tiny bits of cut-up apple. She’s babbling nonsense and trying to grab the bowl, grinning like this is the best part of her day.

Seungcheol leans against the counter, arms crossed, just watching.

“She’s been in a mood lately,” he says. “But you walk in, and she turns into a cartoon sunflower.”

You glance over your shoulder. “She just knows good vibes.”

He smiles quietly. “You’ve got this… thing. With her. I don’t even know what to call it.”

“Charm,” you say matter-of-factly.

He snorts. “Dangerous charm.”

Seungcheol walks over, drops to the floor beside you, close enough that your knees brush. You both look down at Soojin, who is now focused on trying to fit her whole fist in her mouth.

“I never thought…” he starts, then stops, fidgeting with a baby spoon. “I mean, before she was born, I didn’t know if I’d be doing this alone. I had no idea how to be good at it and I’m still scared. All the time. Like if I mess up once, it’s over. For both of us.”

You reach out, brush your fingers gently against Soojin’s soft little hand.

“She’s happy,” you say. “She’s healthy. She feels loved. That means you’re already doing the most important part right.”

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “Not just for this. For… showing up. For her. For me.”

You hold his gaze for a beat. “You don’t have to thank me. I like being here.”

He lets out a breath. “Yeah. Me too.”

He watches Soojin for a while, her small hands grasping at the last apple slice like it’s a national treasure. There’s a little silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just soft, shared air.

Then, without you asking, his voice comes low, careful.

“Her mom… left after she was born.”

You don’t move. You just listen.

“She—uh, she told me she wasn’t ready. For any of it. And I guess I knew. Deep down. We were already drifting, and then the pregnancy—it just pushed everything to the surface.”

He looks down at his hands, thumb rubbing at a small mark on his knee.

“I tried to hold things together for a while. Bought the crib. Took the classes. Thought maybe if I showed her I could do it, she’d change her mind. But after Soojin was born… it was just me.”

You feel something tighten in your chest.

“I signed the papers. Named her. She wasn’t even there. No message. No goodbye.” He pauses, blinking a little too fast. “And I didn’t know if I was angry or just… numb.”

He exhales slowly, the sound more of a release than a sigh.

“It’s weird. People always say they can’t imagine doing it alone. But you don’t really get the choice. You just… do it. You wake up. You feed her. You change her. You learn what each cry means. You hold her even when you’re falling apart. And the worst part is that sometimes I wonder if I’m enough. If one parent can really make up for the absence of another. If she’s gonna grow up and ask where her mom is and… and I’ll have to tell her.”

You reach over without thinking and gently lay your hand on his. He flinches slightly, not because he’s startled—but because it’s been a long time since someone touched him like that. Quietly. Kindly.

“You are enough,” you say, voice steady but soft. “She doesn’t need perfect. She needs you. And she’s got you.”

His eyes meet yours. There’s a shine there he doesn’t bother to hide this time.

Soojin lets out a tiny burp and promptly faceplants into her own lap, startling herself into a squeaky hiccup. You both look at her, then at each other—and laugh.

And just like that, the heaviness lifts. Not completely. But enough.

Enough to let the warmth back in.

Seungcheol leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. His voice, when he speaks again, is quieter than before. Like he’s afraid saying it too loud might make it more real.

“I just don’t want her to grow up thinking she wasn’t wanted.”

You look at him, and something in your chest aches. He’s not just talking about Soojin now. He’s talking about himself too. About the fear that all his love won’t be enough to drown out the silence someone else left behind.

“She won’t,” you say softly, certain. “Not with you. Not with the way you look at her like she’s your whole world. Not with the way you know the exact rhythm that calms her down. Or the way you whisper to her when you think no one’s listening.”

He gives you a shaky little smile, eyes shining, jaw tight like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“She’ll know she was wanted,” you say again, firmer now. “Because you show her. Every single day.”

He nods slowly, like he's trying to believe you. Trying to let that truth settle somewhere in the spaces guilt has lived too long.

“When she was a newborn, she hated the crib. I used to hold her all the time even when my arms ached, her little cries broke me. It still does”

You smile, imagining a newborn Soojin and a sleep deprived Seungcheol, “Yeah well cribs don’t have a heartbeat, yours probably calmed her down”

And that statement stirs something in him. Seungcheol turns to you, something breaking open in his expression. Not sadness, exactly. Just… gratitude. Raw and unguarded.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You squeeze his hand gently. “Anytime.”

=

It’s a slow, golden Saturday. You’ve got no plans today no errands, no calls, no responsibilities. Just you, your comfy clothes, and the peace of a rare free weekend. Meanwhile, right next door, Seungcheol is pacing his living room barefoot in a plain tee and gray joggers, Soojin perched in her bouncer like a tiny queen on a throne. 

He stops mid-pace, turns to her.

“Okay. Hear me out,” he says, pointing a spoon in her general direction. “We should go ask her.”

Soojin gurgles and kicks one leg.

“But like—not in a weird way,” he adds quickly, eyes wide like he’s already spiraling. “Just casually. Like, ‘Hey, what’s up, you doing anything? Wanna hang out with this delightful six-month-old and her semi-stressed dad?’ Totally normal.”

Soojin lets out a fart noise with her mouth and slaps the penguin.

“Exactly. See, you get it.”

He rubs the back of his neck and glances toward the door.

“But what if she’s got plans?” he mutters. “Like… what if she’s one of those mysterious types who secretly has a jam-packed social calendar. What if she’s got a date. A tall, charming, emotionally available—ugh. No, nope, not thinking about that.”

He turns back to Soojin, hands on hips.

“Okay, but what if she’s just chilling in there with snacks and no idea what to do with her Saturday? What if she wants someone to knock?”

Soojin makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a cough-sneeze-laugh hybrid and flings her penguin across the room.

“That’s a yes?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

She kicks both feet at once and squeals.

Seungcheol sighs dramatically. “Fine. If this crashes and burns, you’re going to daycare on Monday in mismatched socks out of spite.”

He walks to the mirror, runs a hand through his hair, then turns to Soojin. “Do I look casual? Like, ‘Hey, I just came over on instinct and not because I’ve been rehearsing what to say for the past fifteen minutes’ casual?”

Soojin lets out a loud raspberry, very pleased with herself.

He points at her. “Don’t sass me. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Finally, he scoops her up—socks and all—grabs a burp cloth (because he’s not a total amateur), and heads for the door.

“I swear, if she’s got company over and I walk in holding you like a prop, we’re moving apartments.”

Soojin gnaws on his collar, utterly unfazed. He sighs, shifts her in his arms, and knocks. Twice. Light. Hesitant.

Then waits.

And you, from the other side, put your book down, already smiling because somehow, you knew it would be them.

Seungcheol is standing there, Soojin on his hip with one sock off and the other one half-on, clinging to his collar like she owns the place. 

“Hey,” he says. Voice a touch too casual. “We were just… y’know. Wondering if you were around.”

“I am around,” you say, stepping aside. “And I see I’ve been summoned by royalty.”

“She insisted,” Seungcheol says, shifting her with a grin. “Practically bullied me into coming over.”

You raise a brow. “Ah. So this was her idea, huh?”

“Yeah. She’s the boss. I’m just the driver.”

Soojin lets out a burble and grabs your sleeve with sticky fingers like she’s making a legal claim.

“Well,” you say, gently taking her from his arms, “I’m honored to be chosen by her highness.”

You cradle her easily, bouncing her on your hip. “She smells like she’s recently made some… decisions,” you add, scrunching your nose playfully.

Seungcheol’s eyes go wide. “Oh no, did she—? Wait, really?”

You laugh. “Relax, she’s clean. I’m just messing with you.”

He exhales, clearly relieved. “Okay. Good. Because I forgot to bring the emergency diaper and I was not about to make a dramatic exit.”

You nod solemnly. “Wise. Nothing ruins a cool entrance like a diaper blowout.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway… I was just thinking, if you’re not busy today, maybe we could hang out? Or just… sit around and pretend we’re doing something productive?”

You smirk. “That sounds like exactly what I had planned.”

You motion toward your living room. “Come in. She can help me finish this coffee I forgot about an hour ago, and you can tell me what you’ve been pacing about for the last thirty minutes.”

He steps inside, mock offended. “Okay, how did you know I was pacing?”

You grin. “I didn’t but now I do”

A little while later, after Soojin had taken a tour of every object on your coffee table and spent a solid five minutes drooling purposefully on your shoulder, Seungcheol stands up with a stretch.

“I should probably grab her stuff—she’s gonna get hungry soon, and I didn’t bring anything except a bib and blind optimism.”

You snort. “Go. We’ll hold down the fort.”

He’s only gone for maybe five minutes before he reappears, slightly out of breath, carrying a small insulated bag and what looks like a pink spoon in his mouth.

“Sorry,” he mumbles around the spoon before pulling it free. “She has this weird sixth sense about when I try to move fast and immediately decides to throw a crisis.”

You take the bag from him as he plops onto your floor with a sigh, Soojin perking up at the sound of the zipper being undone like she knows exactly what’s coming.

Seungcheol pulls out a small container of baby food and holds it up like it’s radioactive. “Just a warning. She hates this. Like, we’ve had full negotiations over a spoonful of this stuff.”

You laugh, settling on the rug with Soojin in front of you. “What is it?”

“Sweet potato banana something? It smells… unsettling.”

He hands you the spoon and the little jar like he’s surrendering it. “She usually swats it away. Or looks at me like I’ve betrayed her.”

You scoop a small amount onto the spoon, raising an eyebrow at Soojin. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got, tiny critic.”

She blinks at you, eyes curious. You gently offer the spoon—and without hesitation, she opens her mouth and eats it. Chews. Swallows. And then opens her mouth again.

You glance at Seungcheol. “Um. That didn’t seem like a struggle.”

He looks absolutely gobsmacked. “What—wait—she ate it? Just like that?”

You nod, offering her another spoonful. She chomps happily.

Seungcheol stares, eyes wide. “Are you some kind of baby whisperer? What is going on?”

You shrug, trying not to laugh. “Maybe I just have really good snack energy.”

Seungcheol leans back against your couch, watching the scene like it’s defying all natural laws. “I swear, when I try, it’s like feeding a tiny, angry gremlin who knows martial arts.”

He watches you feed her another bite and he doesn't say anything at first but his face softens. Something gentle settles in his chest. And quietly, just to himself, he thinks, Maybe we needed her in our lives more than I realized.

Soojin is fully invested now—tiny mouth open, little hands waving in excited anticipation every time you bring the spoon near. At one point, she grabs at your wrist with surprising determination, trying to pull the food toward her faster, making a high-pitched whine that’s half-demand, half-excitement.

“She’s got a strong grip,” you laugh, letting her catch your fingers as you scoop up another bite. “She means business.”

He puts a hand dramatically over his heart. “Betrayed,” he says, deadpan. “By my own blood.”

“She didn’t even hesitate!” he says, sitting up straighter to look at Soojin like she’s done something treasonous. “All that effort I’ve put in—singing songs, dancing like a clown, inventing entire operas just to get her to eat half a spoon. And here she is, practically writing you a love letter for mashed bananas.”

Soojin responds by making a delighted little grunt and reaching for the spoon again with both fists.

You grin. “Don’t take it personally. Some of us just have snack-based chemistry.”

Seungcheol slumps theatrically against the couch. “This is how it starts. First the food. Then she’ll want you to read her bedtime stories. Then I’ll be voted off the island.”

You gently guide the spoon back into Soojin’s mouth, chuckling. “She’s just expanding her circle. You’re still the main character, Dad.”

“Barely,” he mutters, though there’s no real pout to it. He’s smiling—watching his daughter giggle and eat and look up at you like you hung the moon.

And yeah. He’s a little dramatic. But he’s also never been more relieved to be outshone.

It hits him. Not like a big, dramatic realization but like a slow, quiet bloom in the back of his mind, impossible to ignore. You laugh again, brushing a bit of puree off her chin, and Soojin squeals in response, delighted.

It’s almost daunting, how easy you are with her. How completely she adores you. How at home the two of you look like this.

And he tries—really tries—not to read too much into it.

But part of his brain… the part that’s been whispering louder every day lately… it won’t stop.

It’s saying: This is what it could look like. This is what it could feel like.

And it terrifies him.

Not because it’s bad but because it’s good. Because for the first time since Soojin was born, he’s seeing a picture he didn’t even let himself hope for.

A picture with someone in it.

Someone who isn’t just passing by in the hallway anymore. Someone who holds his daughter like she’s something precious. Someone who might be holding him too, in ways he hasn’t dared to admit.

You glance over your shoulder and catch him staring.

“Everything okay?” you ask, tone light.

He clears his throat, straightens a little too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, just… zoning out.”

You smile, not pressing. “Don’t worry. Happens to the best of us.”

You’re wiping Soojin’s hands with a wet tissue, cooing at her like you’ve got all the time in the world, even though she keeps squirming and trying to eat the wipe instead. You’ve got that calm, unbothered rhythm to your movements, like nothing this baby could do would surprise or overwhelm you. Like she’s yours.

You glance over. “You good?”

He clears his throat. “Yeah. Just thinking…”

Finally, he exhales. “The weather’s… really nice today.”

You nod slowly, smiling. “That it is.”

He looks at you a little longer, then finally goes, “Do you… wanna grab lunch? Like, out? I mean—if you don’t have plans. Which, if you do, that’s totally fine, I just thought it's too bad to waste a good day”

“I don’t have plans,” you interrupt gently, amused. “Lunch sounds good.”

“Yeah?” His eyes brighten a little.

“Yeah,” you say again, bouncing Soojin a bit. “And I think our third wheel here is already dressed for the occasion.”

Soojin squeals like she agrees wholeheartedly, flapping her arms and narrowly missing your chin.

A few minutes later, you’re all out the door. The spring air feels fresh on your face, the streets buzzing with quiet weekend energy. You walk side by side, Soojin tucked against Seungcheol in her little carrier, her head bobbing gently as he walks. 

Every now and then she lets out a content sigh or babble, and he automatically adjusts the shade over her face, so used to moving with her now it’s like second nature.

And then he speaks, a little hesitant.

“I’m not, uh…” He clears his throat. “I’m not stepping on anyone’s toes, right?”

You glance at him, brows slightly lifted.

“No jealous boyfriend about to appear out of nowhere and beat me with a stroller or something?”

You burst out laughing. “Wow. That was oddly specific.”

“I’ve seen things,” he deadpans. “This is Seoul.”

You shake your head, still smiling. “No boyfriend. No jealous ex. No one waiting in the wings.”

He hums, eyes on the sidewalk ahead. “Okay. Just had to check.”

You glance at him again, slower this time. “Why? You nervous?”

“A little,” he admits, hand resting instinctively on Soojin’s back. “You… You’ve been really kind. And easy to talk to. And Soojin loves you, obviously. I didn’t want to assume anything. Or make you uncomfortable.”

You look ahead, thoughtful, before replying softly, “You didn’t assume anything. You asked.”

He meets your eyes then, like he wasn’t expecting you to say it that way. And maybe he didn’t know how much he needed to hear that.

The place Seungcheol picks is tucked on a quiet street corner—one of those old-school Korean restaurants with handwritten menu signs taped to the walls, it’s cozy, worn in a way that feels like a warm hug.

The owner, a sprightly woman in her late sixties with cropped hair and a floral apron, greets you all with a wide smile as you step in.

“Omo, what a cutie!” she says, eyes immediately landing on Soojin nestled in Seungcheol’s carrier. “Look at those cheeks. Aigoo, she’s a living doll!”

Soojin blinks at her, wide-eyed and curious, then lets out a delighted sound that has the woman absolutely beaming.

She waves you toward a table by the window, already reaching for menus. “Sit, sit! This one’s good with the sunlight for the baby.”

You thank her, and Seungcheol gently shifts Soojin out of the carrier and into his lap while you take the seat across from them. The owner returns with water and leans slightly closer, eyes dancing between the three of you. Then she claps her hands once.

“Aigoo—what a beautiful family.”

You pause mid-sip. Seungcheol blinks.

“Oh—uh—” he starts, fumbling a little.

“We’re not—” you add, just as quickly.

But the owner just waves you both off with a cheeky grin, already scribbling something on her notepad. “Ah, I see, I see,” she says, in the tone of someone who does not see but is choosing delusion. “No need to be shy. Young parents these days, so stylish. Such a pretty mama and a handsome papa. And this baby—so healthy!”

Soojin gurgles right on cue, smacking the table with glee. Seungcheol opens his mouth again, clearly gearing up to correct her.

But then you just smile and say, “Thank you.”

The owner beams. “I’ll bring you something nice, service. For the baby, okay? Don’t worry, it’s all soft. Very gentle for little tummies.”

And just like that, she disappears into the kitchen.

Seungcheol looks down at Soojin, who is currently grabbing for the side of his sleeve with one hand and trying to eat the air with her mouth slightly open.

He chuckles. “Well. That happened.”

You lean back. “She meant well.”

“Sure. Though now we’re officially a stylish young couple with a baby.”

“Hey, I’ll take ‘stylish.’”

Then, quieter: “You handled that well.”

You smile, reaching across the table to nudge Soojin’s tiny hand. “I don’t mind being mistaken for your family.”

His eyes catch yours for a moment. And he doesn't say anything right away.

But the silence between you?

It feels like an answer he isn’t quite ready to say out loud.

The table fills slowly with food—banchan dishes placed with practiced ease, two bubbling pots of jjigae, warm bowls of rice. 

“She really thinks we’re a thing,” Seungcheol says under his breath, amused, as the woman disappears again behind the swinging kitchen door.

You lift your spoon and glance up. “You sound like you mind.”

He pauses, opens his mouth, closes it. “No,” he says after a second. “Not really.”

You nod, smile into your rice, and don’t push.

Soojin sits in her little portable chair between you, supported by pillows and mostly fascinated by a plastic spoon she’s been chewing on for ten straight minutes. Occasionally, she lets out a delighted squawk, causing you or Seungcheol to look over instinctively, like clockwork. He wipes her chin. You fix the corner of her bib. Neither of you comment on how easily it all flows.

“So,” you say between bites, “what does stylish dad do when he’s not being mistaken for my husband?”

Seungcheol chuckles. “Work. Meetings. More work. And then about sixteen loads of laundry.”

“Ah, a man of many hats.”

“Too many. I swear, I didn’t even own this many burp cloths before she was born. I don’t know where they come from. They multiply.”

You laugh, “Like gremlins?”

“Exactly. Feed them formula after midnight and bam twelve more burp cloths in the drawer.”

You both burst into quiet laughter while Soojin slaps the table enthusiastically, completely unaware of the comedy unfolding around her.

He doesn’t date. Hasn’t even thought about dating. He’s a single dad with enough on his plate to feed a small village. But sitting here, with you across the table and Soojin babbling between you like she belongs to both of you—it feels suspiciously close to something he used to want.

Something he wasn’t sure he’d get.

When lunch wraps up, the owner insists on taking a photo of “the beautiful family.”

You start to protest, but Seungcheol just laughs and waves you into the frame. You lean in beside him without hesitation, Soojin in his arms, her head flopping slightly against your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Click.

And just like that, there’s a photo of the three of you now.

Later, he won’t be able to stop looking at it.

=

You juggle your keys, your takeout bag, you hadn’t planned to stop by anywhere but the moment they handed you an extra set of banchan and grilled fish at the restaurant, something tugged at you.

Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was… him.

You pause in front of Seungcheol’s door, free hand raised to knock. You think you hear faint music something mellow, like a playlist for winding down.

You knock twice. Then the door opens.

Seungcheol blinks at you, hair slightly mussed like he’s run a hand through it more than once. 

“Hey,” you say, lifting the bag. “I accidentally ended up with enough food for two. Felt like a waste to eat alone.”

“She’s still with the sitter,” he says, stepping back to let you in. “I had some work I needed to wrap up tonight.”

“Oh,” you say, kicking off your shoes and stepping in. “So it’s just you?”

He smirks faintly. “Just me.”

“Well,” you grin, “lucky me.”

He lets out a soft, honest laugh at that and you both settle at his small dining table, where he quickly clears a stack of papers and a nearly empty coffee mug to make room.

You open the containers and start unpacking, setting up the rice, the kimchi, the fish, the spicy radish.

“You didn’t have to,” he says.

“I wanted to.” You glance up at him. 

He watches you move the plates around like it’s your table too—like this isn’t the first time. Like it won’t be the last. The food steams gently between you, the air filling with the familiar comfort of grilled sesame and garlic.

You glance at him. “You okay? You look like you’ve been thinking too much again.”

He leans back slightly in his chair. “Yeah. I just…” He rubs the back of his neck. “It’s quiet without her. That’s all.”

“Lonely kind of quiet?” you ask, soft.

He nods slowly. “Yeah. That kind.”

You don’t say anything for a moment. You just pick up your chopsticks and slide one of the containers closer to him.

“Well,” you say gently, “for tonight, you don’t have to eat in the quiet.”

He looks at you like you’ve said something bigger than what you meant—something that echoes a little too close to a wish he hadn’t allowed himself to name yet.

But instead of running from it, he says, “Then stay a while?”

You nod. “I’d like that.”

And as the night eases in around you both, laughter slipping through conversations, the space between you doesn’t feel quite so quiet anymore.

The food dwindles slowly, not because you’re eating slow but because the conversation keeps veering—sideways, up, spiraling through nonsense. 

You learn that Seungcheol is deeply opinionated about how jjigae should be spiced, and that he once accidentally deleted an entire quarterly report because Soojin spit up on his keyboard mid-call.

You nearly choke on rice at that one.

“She projectiled,” he says, completely deadpan, “like something out of an exorcism.”

“Why do I feel like you weren’t this funny when we passed in the hallway before?” you tease.

“Because I wasn’t,” he admits, sheepishly. “I think I was trying not to fall asleep standing up.”

It’s adorable, the way he trips over his own words. Like he’s still not used to speaking freely, like he’s trying to find a version of himself that doesn’t second-guess everything he says around you.

You pretend not to notice his ears tint pink.

Eventually, when the table’s cluttered with empty containers and chopsticks, you help him clean up. He tries to wave you off—“You’re the guest, you don’t have to—”

“I’m not leaving you with this war zone.”

Somehow it turns into a dance of bumping elbows and nearly dropping the dish soap. He’s holding a wet bowl when your hand accidentally brushes his under the faucet.

He freezes. Just a second. But you catch it.

“I don’t bite,” you murmur with a teasing smile.

“Y-yeah,” he says, eyes flicking away like the faucet is suddenly fascinating. “I know.”

When the last bowl is drying on the rack, you both end up just… standing there. Side by side. Not saying much.

He glances at the clock. “It’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” you say, but you don’t move right away.

He shifts his weight, rubs the back of his neck again. “Thanks. For coming over. For the food. And just… being around.”

You look up at him, eyebrows raised in gentle teasing. “Why do you always sound like you’re giving an acceptance speech when you say nice things?”

“I—” He laughs, low and helpless. “I’m rusty, okay? I haven’t had adult conversations that didn’t involve pacifiers in like, months.”

You smile. “You’re doing fine.”

You step out into the hallway, then turn, glancing at him again.

“You know,” you say, “if you’re free tomorrow… you could come over for dinner. Just you. I mean unless you’ll miss the spit-up too much.”

That earns a real laugh. A shy, surprised one.

“I’ll try to survive,” he says, his hand braced against the doorframe, like he’s not sure if he should lean in or keep his distance.

You grin, backing away. “Then it’s a date.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Wait, is it—?”

But the door’s already closing behind you. He stands there for a good thirty seconds, blinking at the wood grain.

“…A date?” he mutters to himself.

Then smiles, just a little.

Definitely doomed.

The next day Seungcheol adjusts Soojin’s little headband as they walk up to the sitter’s door, her soft babbling filling the air between them.

“Okay, I know we’ve been over this,” he says, one arm holding her close, the other fumbling for the doorbell, “but let me just say for the record—she was the one who said this is a date”

Soojin blows a raspberry.

“Exactly,” he nods. “You get it.”

“It’s just dinner. Two adults. Eating. No pressure. Just… food. With a neighbor. Who laughs at my jokes. And smells really nice. And always has that soft, glowy thing going on with you that kind of makes my brain forget how breathing works sometimes.”

Soojin lets out a coo and smacks her tiny hand on his chest.

“I know,” he sighs. “I sound like an idiot. You don’t have to rub it in.”

The door opens and the sitter beams, reaching for Soojin with practiced ease. She goes willingly—of course she does—and Seungcheol hesitates for half a second before letting go.

“Be good, okay?” he tells her, brushing a kiss to her temple. “And if I don’t make it back, tell her it was the grilled mackerel that got me.”

The sitter chuckles. “You’re being dramatic again, Mr. Choi.”

But even as he walks away, trying to play it cool, he’s hyperaware of everything.

He groans softly. “I should’ve brought Soojin. She’s a good buffer.”

But it’s too late now. 

He adjusts his collar one last time. Then knocks. This time, he's the one holding his breath.

You open the door with that familiar easy smile. Your hair’s tied back in that half-messy way that makes you look both totally relaxed and somehow unfairly gorgeous. 

Seungcheol forgets what planet he’s on for a second.

“Hey,” you say, stepping aside to let him in. “You’re just in time. I was about to taste test and pretend I knew what I was doing.”

He walks in like a man trying not to trip over his own shoelaces. “You cook and downplay your skills? What don’t you do?”

You raise a brow as you shut the door behind him. “Flatter people at the door like a drama lead.”

He clears his throat and tries to sound normal. “So… Soojin said she’d cover for me if I don’t survive this.”

“Oh yeah?” You glance over your shoulder. “And what does survival entail exactly? You afraid I’m gonna poison you?”

“No, I’m afraid I’ll like it too much and then embarrass myself asking for seconds before the rice is even done.”

You snort. “Wow. That’s dramatic.”

“I know. I was practicing in the mirror earlier.”

You pause at that, turn to face him, spoon still in hand. “Wait, what?”

He freezes. Blinks. Regrets everything.

“I mean—not seriously, I wasn’t like—practicing lines or anything. I just—I was…” He trails off and finally throws his hands in the air with a sheepish laugh. “You know what? Yeah. Mirror. Full speech. There was pacing involved. It wasn’t my finest hour.”

You break into a laugh that makes him feel like he just passed some kind of secret test. “Well, now I have to impress you. I can’t let that rehearsal go to waste.”

He watches you lift the lid off a pot, steam rising in fragrant clouds, and swears the apartment smells like something from his childhood—warm, familiar, comforting.

“You okay?” you ask, looking at him again, voice softer now.

“Yeah,” he says, hands shoved in his pockets, that same shy smile tugging at his lips. “This is… nice.”

You tilt your head. “It’s just dinner.”

You turn back to the stove, giving the stew one last stir, but your smile doesn’t fade and Seungcheol sees it. He sees how the corner of your mouth twitches like you’re trying not to grin. Like maybe he’s not the only one feeling this.

“You want to try it?” you ask, ladling a bit into a small bowl. “I need an honest review.”

“Sure, but if I say it’s good, you’ll think I’m just trying to impress you.”

“You are trying to impress me,” you say without missing a beat.

He freezes halfway to the bowl and laughs, quietly. “Wow. Okay. You’re terrifying.”

You hand him a spoon. “Eat, coward.”

He takes the spoon, eyes still on you as he tries it. Then closes his eyes. Groans. “Okay. Okay, see—now I can’t be cool about this. This is actual comfort food. Like, soul-restoring, existential-clarity food.”

You raise a brow. “Is this the speech you practiced in the mirror?”

He points the spoon at you. “You wish it was this polished.”

You both laugh again, that easy rhythm building between you like it’s always been there, waiting.

As you finish prepping, he helps without asking. Dinner is soft and familiar. Seungcheol tells you about the time Soojin tried to eat a remote control with the most serious face he’s ever seen. 

When everything’s finally done and the dishes are stacked neatly in the sink, you both end up on the couch without really saying anything about it. You sit with your legs tucked under you. He leans back, elbows on his knees. Close. Not too close.

“I had fun,” you say first, voice quiet now, softer under the buzz of the kitchen light.

He nods. “Me too.”

Then a pause. Not awkward. Not rushed. He turns his head toward you slowly, like even this moment is something he doesn’t want to break by moving too fast.

“I wasn’t really expecting tonight to feel like this,” he admits.

You look over. “Like what?”

He shrugs, but his voice is warm. “Like the part of the day I didn’t know I was waiting for.”

“You’re kind of a softie, huh?”

He groans and drops his head into his hands. “Don’t call me out like this.”

You laugh. “Too late.”

And when he lifts his head again, there’s color on his cheeks, that same bashful smile tugging at his lips—but this time, it stays. For a while, you don’t talk. You just sit. Close. Quiet. Like neither of you is quite ready for the night to end.

“So… uh,” he starts, clearing his throat once, then twice. “Soojin and I… we’re—uh—we were gonna go to the aquarium. This weekend.”

You raise your brows, curious. “Yeah?”

He nods. Doesn’t look at you. Just at his sleeve. “Yeah. Just… thought it’d be good. For her. Well—for me too. Kind of our first, like, out-out trip, y’know? Outside the baby bag radius.”

You smile, head tilting. “That’s really cute.”

He lets out a breath of a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks. Yeah. So…”

He trails off. You wait. Then he blurts it all in one go: “If you wanted to come too I mean I thought maybe you’d like it but it’s totally fine if you’re busy or if you hate fish or—”

“Seungcheol.”

He stops. Freezes like he’s been caught in a lie. You’re smiling again. That calm, steady kind that says you’ve got all the time in the world to wait out his nervous spiral.

You lean forward slightly. “I’d love to come.”

His eyes snap up to yours, wide like he wasn’t expecting that answer to be real.

“Yeah?” he says, voice too hopeful, too soft.

“Yeah,” you say, easy. “I mean, how could I say no to Soojin? She’s clearly the boss.”

He laughs, the tension finally breaking a little in his shoulders. “She is. Completely. I’ve accepted it.”

“Good,” you grin. “So… Saturday?”

“Yeah. Saturday.” He looks like he’s mentally adding that to five different lists. “Cool. Cool, cool cool…”

You squint. “You’re going to overthink this the whole week, aren’t you?”

“Only absolutely,” he says without missing a beat.

But he’s smiling. Really smiling now. And for the first time in a long while, it feels like things might actually be moving toward something better than just figuring it out day by day.

Saturday comes. You're locking your door when you hear the soft wheels of a stroller squeaking down the hallway. You turn just in time to see Seungcheol pushing Soojin toward you. Her little legs are kicking excitedly, hands flailing the second she sees you.

“She’s been doing that since we left the apartment,” Seungcheol says, breathless like he jogged here, “which is either a good sign or she thinks you have snacks again.”

You laugh, crouching to greet her. “Hi, boss lady. Ready for some fishy business?”

Soojin squeals like she understood every word.

Seungcheol grins at the both of you, adjusting the strap on the diaper bag. 

“You look nice,” you say as you stand.

He straightens. “Thanks. You too.”

Then he immediately adds, “I mean, you always do, but—uh—not that I’ve been paying attention like in a weird way, just—you know, normal neighbor-level noticing.”

You snort and start walking. “You rehearsed this too?”

“Absolutely,” he mutters.

The ride is full of soft Soojin giggles and your laughter overlapping with his quiet commentary. She grabs your fingers like they belong to her now, and when Seungcheol tries to reclaim her attention with a pacifier, she practically bats it away in protest.

By the time you get to the aquarium, it’s late morning and the crowds are still manageable. The moment you step inside Soojin goes completely still in her stroller as the first tank glows to life with swirls of orange fish. Her mouth falls open.

“Oh no,” Seungcheol whispers. “She’s about to have a spiritual awakening.”

The two of you take turns pushing the stroller, stopping often so Soojin can smack her little hands against the glass. At one point, a stingray glides by, and she lets out a tiny gasp so dramatic that a passing toddler actually applauds.

Seungcheol leans down next to her. “That’s right, baby girl. Get your nature documentary moment.”

You can’t stop laughing. “She needs her own voiceover.”

He shrugs, then adopts a deep narrator voice. “Here, the wild Soojin discovers her first sea cucumber. She is—”

“Absolutely unimpressed,” you finish, pointing at Soojin’s deadpan expression.

Lunch is simple convenience store kimbap on a bench outside, the stroller parked beside you, Soojin chewing on a toy like it wronged her in a past life. Seungcheol offers you half of his triangle kimbap without a second thought. You don’t even hesitate to take it.

“This was really nice,” you say after a moment. “I mean it. Thanks for inviting me.”

He glances at you, then at Soojin, then quickly away again. “Yeah. I—uh. I’m glad you came.”

After lunch, with the sun warm and steady above, you glance down at Soojin in her stroller. She’s got her tiny fists outstretched like she’s summoning someone, and that someone is clearly you.

You kneel beside her with a soft smile. “You wanna see the fish up close, huh?”

She squeals, arms waving dramatically now, little feet kicking like this is the most urgent request in the world.

Seungcheol stands nearby, halfway through packing up the leftover wrappers into a bag. “You don’t have to, she gets heavy—”

You’re already scooping her up, one arm cradled under her legs, the other behind her back like it’s second nature. “I think I can manage a very powerful six-month-old.”

Back inside, Soojin’s wide-eyed and alert, tiny hands reaching for the glass every time something colorful swims by. You walk slowly, giving her time at every tank, while Seungcheol trails beside you, hands occasionally brushing yours as you both lean in close to point something out to her.

The three of you moved deeper into the aquarium, into a quieter exhibit tucked in a corner where the lights were lower and the tanks stretched high like glass walls, casting slow, rippling reflections across the floor. 

You let out a quiet, awed, “Oh—look at that,” and without thinking, your hand reached out.

You grabbed his hand. The free one. Your fingers wrapped around his instinctively, tugging gently as you stepped closer to the tank, pointing upward toward the shimmering dance above you.

“Look how they move all at once—like they’re connected,” you said, voice soft.

It took a second. A full second before you realized your fingers were still around his. Still holding him. Still warm and unhurried. Your eyes flicked down—then up—to see him already looking at you, his face unreadable for a beat too long. Not surprised, exactly. Not alarmed.

Just still.

You opened your mouth to say something—maybe apologize, maybe pull away—but then he shifted his hand.

Not to let go.

His fingers curled around yours. Gentle, a little unsure, but steady. And when your gaze met his again, there was a quietness there. Something real. Something that settled between you both, subtle but unmistakable.

Soojin shifted slightly in his arms, murmuring a half-asleep sound, and he gave her a gentle bounce as his thumb brushed against the side of your hand.

Neither of you said anything more. Not because there was nothing to say, but because for the first time words didn’t seem necessary at all.

The next few days blurred into something soft.

It started with small things.

You’d stopped knocking when you came over. Seungcheol had said once, “Just come in,” and you had. 

One afternoon, you were helping fold laundry on his couch. Soojin was on the floor, busy gnawing on a teether, occasionally babbling up at you like she was chiming in. You tossed a baby sock at Seungcheol’s face. He caught it mid-air, mock-offended.

“That’s assault,” he said, tone flat but lips twitching.

“You missed a fold,” you replied, pointing at a tiny shirt he’d lazily half-folded.

“Why do baby clothes even need folding? They’re this big,” he said, holding up a onesie with both hands, then tossing it dramatically into the basket.

You laughed, and the sound made him glance over. You were grinning, hair falling a little into your face, and something about the sight made his heart do a slow, inconvenient flip.

You didn’t notice it Or maybe you did.

Another night, you both ended up cooking dinner together. His kitchen now seemingly half-stocked with things you liked. It wasn’t planned. You were there, Soojin was asleep early, and somehow your hands were brushing while reaching for the same spice jar. Again.

He paused when your fingers touched. You didn’t move either.

Then you looked at him and said, softly, “You always hesitate.”

His brows lifted slightly. “Hesitate?”

You leaned in just a little, eyes steady. “Like when you’re about to say something but stop yourself.”

He went very still. Then looked away, mumbling, “I don’t wanna mess this up.”

You didn’t push. Just smiled, gentle. “You’re not.”

Later that night, you were on the couch again. Soojin had fallen asleep in your arms mid-bottle, and you didn’t want to move her, so Seungcheol had passed you a blanket, then sat beside you again without a word.

His arm brushed yours. You didn’t move away.

In fact, you leaned into it.

And he let his shoulder rest against yours, hesitant at first. Then, gradually, comfortably, as the silence stretched and the tension thickened like a thread being pulled tighter.

Neither of you spoke.

Because maybe that silence said everything.

Because maybe you both already knew.

The living room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the kitchen light left on behind you. Soojin was curled up against your chest, utterly knocked out, her soft breaths rising and falling with yours. 

Seungcheol was beside you, not quite touching but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him. His hand was on the back of the couch, just behind your head, and every now and then, his knee would brush yours.

You chuckled quietly, so soft you felt it more than heard it.

He turned his head. “What?”

You looked at him, and your smile deepened, eyes amused. “You’re too easy to fluster.”

His lips parted like he had something to say but nothing came out. His brows lifted slightly, cheeks dusted pink in the low light.

“I am not,” he muttered, clearly flustered.

You let out another quiet laugh. “You so are.”

He shook his head, a hand running through his hair. “You’re the one who says things like that and then looks at me like… like that.”

“Like what?” you asked, tilting your head.

He groaned under his breath. “Like you’re not even trying to kill me but somehow you are.”

You paused.

And then, softer, your voice barely above a whisper, “You don’t know how my heart literally jumps when I see you.”

The words settled between you, unhurried, delicate but powerful.

Seungcheol’s eyes met yours.

There was a beat.

Then another.

He opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed. “You can’t just say stuff like that,” he said, voice low and uneven.

“I can’t?” you teased gently, lips twitching.

“Not when we’re like this,” he said, nodding slightly to Soojin nestled on your chest. “And it’s late. And you’re… here. And you say something like that.”

Eventually, you leaned your head back against the couch cushion, still holding Soojin close, and murmured, “Maybe it’s okay, though.”

Seungcheol turned to you slowly. “What is?”

You glanced at him. A tiny, knowing smile on your lips. “Letting it happen.”

The next morning, you found a coffee waiting for you outside your door. A simple sticky note pressed to the lid with his messy handwriting: 

Thought you might need this. You always look too good to be that tired. - SC

You grinned the whole time you drank it.

One evening, you were helping him put Soojin to bed, your voice low and soft as you read aloud from a worn picture book. Seungcheol leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, watching.

Later, in the kitchen, as the night settled into quiet again, you rinsed out Soojin’s bottle while he dried dishes beside you. Your shoulders brushed once. Then again.

And this time, he reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You paused, looked at him, caught that flash of hesitation in his eyes, like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you like that.

“You’re getting bold, Choi Seungcheol,” you teased gently.

His lips quirked. “Trying,” he admitted, cheeks pink. “Is it working?”

You set the bottle down, turned slightly to face him. “It’s cute,” you said, voice soft. “You’re cute.”

And just like that, the boldness flickered. His eyes widened a bit, and he ducked his head with a huff of embarrassed laughter. “Ah, don’t say it like that. I’m gonna combust.”

You stepped closer, your hand brushing his.

He didn’t pull away.

Instead, his fingers slipped between yours still a little shy, but deliberate now. Steady.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” you said, tilting your head. “You’re kind of the highlight of my day.”

He looked at you then. Really looked.

And smiled that slow, sincere smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Yeah?” he said softly.

“Yeah.”

You just looked at him, heart stuttering, and then leaned in without a word, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He blinked. The tips of his ears flushed red. “You—okay. That’s fine. Cool. Totally fine.”

“You’re flustered again,” you teased, grinning.

“You kissed me!”

“Not even on the mouth.”

“You kissed me,” he repeated, dazed but smiling.

And then, because it was him, he cleared his throat and offered his cheek again.

“…Just in case it was a fluke,” he muttered.

So you kissed him again longer this time. And he didn’t say a word after but his hand found yours, and he didn’t let go this time. You smiled, the kind of smile that crept all the way into your eyes and without a word, you stepped in and wrapped your arms around him.

You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, steady and strong—but a little fast. Like yours.

“I’m not very good at this,” he murmured, voice low near your ear.

You hugged him tighter, your cheek resting against his collarbone. “You’re doing better than you think.”

His voice came quieter this time, barely above a whisper, “I really like you.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your smile still there, softer now. “I know.”

His brows lifted, surprised. “You do?”

You nodded. “I really like you too, you know.”

His mouth opened a little like he was ready to say something but then he just smiled. He leaned in, forehead pressing gently to yours. “I think I’m gonna keep falling for you,” he whispered.

“Good,” you whispered back.

=

The apartment was quiet again, warm in the late afternoon light filtering through the sheer curtains. 

Seungcheol was in the kitchen, rinsing out Soojin’s sippy cup and tossing a few snack wrappers into the bin. He didn’t even really need to clean, he just needed to do something because otherwise his heart might start sprinting again just from thinking about how easily you laughed earlier.

When he stepped out to check on you two, a dish towel still slung over his shoulder, he froze.

There you were.

Curled into the corner of the couch, Soojin nestled securely in your arms, her tiny hand fisted in your shirt, both of you deep in sleep.

Your head had tipped slightly to the side, mouth parted, hair a little tousled from the nap. Soojin was using you like a personal pillow, her cheek pressed to your chest, completely still except for the slow rise and fall of her breathing.

And just like that—like a switch flipping in his chest—Seungcheol knew.

It wasn’t a crush.  It wasn’t just appreciation. He wasn’t just touched that you loved his daughter.

He was in it. In deep.

There was something terrifying and sacred about the way the two people he cared about most looked so safe with each other. About how he didn’t want this to be a moment—he wanted it to be a life.

Eventually, he moved quietly, grabbing the folded blanket from the armrest and gently draping it over the two of you.

You stirred slightly, shifting, and your eyes fluttered halfway open. You looked up at him blearily, smile lazy and content.

“Hey,” you whispered, voice scratchy with sleep.

“Hey,” he said just as softly.

You didn’t even move to get up, just adjusted your arms around Soojin and let your eyes fall shut again, trusting him to take care of whatever needed doing.

Later that evening, Seungcheol stood just outside a convenience store, phone pressed to his ear, one hand buried in his coat pocket as he stared out at the quiet street. The light above him buzzed faintly, the sky overhead dimming into early night.

“Hyung?” came Jihoon’s voice on the other end. “You okay?”

“I need to drink,” Seungcheol said flatly.

There was a beat of silence.

“…Like, now?”

“Now,” he confirmed.

“Did something happen?” That was Soonyoung chiming in now, voice already laced with concern and that slightly chaotic energy Seungcheol expected.

“I left Soojin with the sitter. Just come meet me. That fried chicken place near the station.”

Another silence.

Then Wonwoo’s voice, casual but amused: “You sound like you’re about to confess to a crime.”

“I might as well have,” Seungcheol muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Ten minutes later, the guys showed up, filing into the booth around him. Beers clinked onto the table. Chicken arrived. And then the staring started.

Seungcheol just slumped in the booth, arms crossed, beer untouched.

“…Okay, spill it,” Jihoon said. “You didn’t call us out here just to eat.”

Seungcheol looked at them, defeated. “I think I’m in love.”

Soonyoung nearly choked on a fry. “Wait—what?”

“With your neighbor?” Wonwoo asked, already grinning.

“She fell asleep on my couch holding Soojin like—like it was nothing. Like she’s always been there. Like we’re…” He groaned and dropped his head into his hands. “I am so done.”

The table fell into chaotic laughter.

“I knew something was up!” Soonyoung exclaimed. “You’ve been all weird and fluttery for weeks!”

“I haven’t been fluttery,” Seungcheol mumbled.

“Bro, you giggled last time she texted you,” Jihoon deadpanned.

“Okay, maybe I giggled—”

“This is good, though, right?” Wonwoo leaned forward. “I mean… she’s great with Soojin. You like her. She likes you.”

“That’s the thing,” Seungcheol said, staring at the beer bottle. “It’s too easy. Too good. I keep waiting to mess it up. Or for her to realize I come with a lot more chaos than most people want.”

“But she already sees that,” Jihoon pointed out. “And she hasn’t gone anywhere.”

Seungcheol paused. Thought about you, smiling sleepily at him from his couch just hours ago.

“…Yeah,” he said quietly. “She hasn’t.”

“But like—what if it doesn’t work? I mean, she’s—she’s calm and smart and funny and actually sleeps more than three hours a night. And I’m over here talking to my ten-month-old about whether I’m embarrassing myself!”

“Didn’t you just say it was good?” Soonyoung blinked.

“I did, but that was ten minutes ago when I was delusional and riding the high of a nap scene from a drama,” Seungcheol groaned. “Now I’m thinking about the reality of it.”

He shoved a piece of chicken into his mouth like that would fix it, then talked around it.

“I mean, look at me. I’ve got formula in half my clothes, I haven’t gone on a proper date in more than a year, and my idea of romance is asking someone if they want to share baby wipes. That’s not attractive. That’s functional despair.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. “Functional despair sounds like a great band name.”

“I’m being serious,” Seungcheol said, waving his chopsticks. “She deserves someone who’s not already drowning in dad mode. Someone who doesn’t have to pause kisses to check if the baby monitor blinked.”

“So don’t kiss near the baby monitor?” Jihoon offered unhelpfully, popping a fry in his mouth.

Seungcheol ignored him and ran a hand through his hair, “What if I fall harder and then she decides she can’t do this? Or worse, what if Soojin gets attached and then she leaves? That’ll wreck both of us.”

“Or,” Wonwoo said slowly, “she stays. Because she already cares. You’re kind of freaking out about something that hasn’t even started.”

“I’m pre-freaking,” Seungcheol corrected. “It’s like damage control but emotional.”

Soonyoung stared at him. “Do you even hear yourself?”

“Yes,” Seungcheol said dramatically. “And I don’t like it.”

“You’re so gone it’s almost poetic,” Jihoon muttered.

Seungcheol groaned and dropped his forehead to the table. “I hate how much I like her.”

And underneath all their laughter, the teasing and snark, none of them missed the truth in his voice.

Wonwoo leaned back, one eyebrow raised. “Do you though?”

Seungcheol lifted his head slowly, hair slightly flattened from where it had been pressed. “Do I what?”

“Hate how much you like her.”

Seungcheol sighed, finally leaning back in the booth. “No,” he muttered. “I don’t. That’s the problem.”

Jihoon smirked. “You poor sap.”

Soonyoung grinned. “Wait until she actually kisses you. Your brain’s going to short circuit.”

“If she kisses me,” Seungcheol stressed. “I’m still not even sure I’m not imagining half of this. What if I’m misreading things? What if she’s just naturally sweet and I’ve been out of the game so long I’m confusing basic kindness with affection?”

“Okay first of all,” Jihoon said, “you’re not imagining it. Remember when you said she called Soojin her girl once. Like, ‘where’s my girl?’ You don’t ‘my girl’ someone else’s baby unless you’re all in.”

“Exactly,” Wonwoo said, raising his glass. “You're not doomed. You're just deeply, ridiculously smitten. Congratulations.”

Seungcheol let out a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and picked up his beer.

“Yeah,” he said, staring at the glass. “I really, really am.”

He stood there, keys in hand, swaying just slightly not from alcohol, really, but from overthinking. The hallway was quiet, dim, the kind of silence that made every thought echo a little louder in his head.

His fingers hovered over your door, not quite ready to knock.

He sighed and leaned his shoulder against the frame, muttering to himself, “She’s probably asleep. Or busy. Or—”

Click.

The door swung open, and there you were, hair a little tousled like you'd just gotten comfortable, holding a half-full mug and blinking in surprise.

“Oh—hey,” you said, a little smile tugging at your lips. “Were you about to knock?”

Seungcheol froze like you’d caught him sneaking candy from a jar. “I—uh. Maybe. I wasn’t sure if—uh—hi.”

You leaned on the frame too, mirroring his posture. “Hi.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but your eyes. “I didn’t mean to be weird. I was just… standing. Near your door. For no suspicious reason.”

“Completely normal,” you deadpanned, but the soft laugh in your voice made his shoulders relax.

“I was with the guys,” he explained. “Had a drink. Nothing wild. No one danced on tables.”

“Disappointed in you, honestly,” you teased, stepping back slightly. “You wanna come in?”

He blinked. “Really?”

You tilted your head. “Well, you were already loitering. Might as well make it official.”

You glanced over your shoulder as you set your mug down on the table. “You good?”

He blinked, then cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just… wasn’t expecting you to open the door right when I was about to have a full internal crisis.”

You smirked, settling onto the couch. “Timing’s always been my thing.”

“You ever feel like your brain’s just… racing ahead of everything else?”

You gave a soft laugh. “Constantly. That’s why I eat snacks in bed. Brings balance.”

He chuckled, head dropping for a second before he glanced at you. “I think I’m just…” He hesitated. “Scared.”

Your voice was quiet. “Of me?”

“No. God, no.” His answer came quickly, eyes wide. “Of… how easy it is. With you. And how fast that happened. It’s not bad. It’s just... surprising. And kind of terrifying.”

You leaned back, watching him gently, your voice softer now. “You don’t have to rush anything.”

He looked at you like that was the first thing he needed to hear all week.

“I know,” he said. “I just… I want to get it right. With you. With her.”

“You already are,” you said simply. “Even when you’re awkward and rambling.”

He groaned and flopped back against the couch. “Don’t remind me.”

You smiled, looking at him. “It’s charming.”

He turned his head toward you. His voice was quieter. “You think?”

You nodded. “I do.”

And maybe it was the way the room felt warm or how the night wrapped around the moment so gently but he looked at you for a long beat, his eyes a little softer, his heart a little louder. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to.

You didn’t say anything either. Just leaned over, slow and easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He went still for a moment when your head gently rested against his shoulder, but then you felt it the subtle shift of him relaxing, his shoulder settling just a little deeper into the couch so you’d be more comfortable. Like his body had made space without him thinking about it.

His arm lifted awkwardly at first, like he wasn’t sure where to put it, before it curved around your back, warm and tentative. You heard him breathe in, soft and shaky.

“This okay?” he asked quietly, the words brushing the top of your hair.

You nodded, your voice just as low. “Yeah.”

Silence fell again, but it wasn’t awkward this time. It was gentle. Companionable.

Eventually, he whispered, half-laughing under his breath, “This is really dangerous.”

You tilted your head slightly to look up at him. “Why?”

His eyes were on the ceiling, a crooked smile forming. “Because I could get used to this.”

You shifted just slightly so you could look up at him, your cheek still resting against his shoulder. “You know,” you said softly, “you’re allowed to feel things. To want things. You can be more than Soojin’s dad.”

His gaze dropped to you slowly, like the weight of your words took time to settle. His eyes searched your face, but he didn’t speak, not yet.

You reached up, brushing your fingers gently over the crease between his brows. “You’re still Seungcheol.”

And it wasn’t until right then that he realized how much he needed to hear that. How long he’d been carrying this version of himself, carefully trimmed down to the essentials: provider, protector, father. As if there wasn’t space for anything more. As if it was selfish to even hope for it.

But here you were. Not asking for anything. Not expecting him to be perfect. Just… seeing him.

“I forgot,” he said finally, his voice a little rough. “I didn’t mean to, but I did.”

“You’ve been doing the hard stuff,” you murmured. “You’ve been strong for her. But you don’t have to lose you in the process.”

His arm tightened around you slightly, his thumb brushing against your side in small, grounding circles. He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t need to. The way he looked at you said everything.

“I didn’t think I’d get this again,” he said after a long silence. “This kind of quiet. This kind of—someone.”

You looked up at him again, your voice barely above a whisper. “You didn’t lose your chance, Seungcheol.”

He glanced down at you, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to believe it.

“I think you’re kind of incredible,” you added, smiling just a little. “Even when you’re running off to buy emergency baby food or panicking in the hallway at midnight.”

A small, surprised laugh slipped from him, his eyes crinkling. “You remember that?”

You bumped your shoulder into him lightly. “You muttered a full monologue out there.”

He shook his head with a bashful smile. “I was trying to psych myself out of it.”

“Did it work?”

He looked at you again. Really looked. His gaze softened.

“No,” he said quietly. “Not even close.”

“I don’t know what this is yet,” he said, his voice unsure but honest. “But I know I don’t want to run from it.”

You smiled, leaning your head back on his shoulder. “Good. Because I wasn’t planning on letting you.”

He chuckled under his breath, his head tilting down to rest against yours again.

And just like that, the silence returned—but this time, it held something new. Something neither of you said aloud yet, but both of you felt.

The beginning of something.

=

It’s another random day, the three of you just lounging around. 

Soojin was curled between you, triumphant and snug, and Seungcheol was pretending to pout, eyes narrowed at her while trying not to smile. His arm was still behind you, his body warm and close, and for a second you looked at him

And then, almost without thinking, you leaned in.

A soft kiss. half on his cheek, half on the corner of his lips.

He froze. You pulled back slowly, your smile still there but quieter now, a little uncertain. And then he turned his head toward you, just enough that your faces were closer again, but not quite touching.

“You missed,” he said, voice low, a little breathless.

You raised a brow, trying to play it cool even as your pulse fluttered. “Did I?”

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to your lips for just a second. “A little.”

Soojin, completely oblivious, let out a content sigh in your arms and stuffed her fingers into her mouth.

You looked at him, at the way his usually calm eyes were dancing with something nervous and bold all at once. And then you leaned in again closer this time, a heartbeat away—

Only for Soojin to let out the loudest hiccup of her life and slap a drool-covered hand to your chin.

You and Seungcheol both burst out laughing.

“Okay,” you said, grinning as you wiped your face. “She’s really committed to cockblocking you.”

Seungcheol laughed so hard he had to cover his mouth. “She’s ten months old and already has better timing than I ever will.”

But even after the moment passed, even with Soojin demanding your attention again, he kept glancing at you from the corner of his eye—like the space you almost closed still lingered in his chest.

You were finishing the last of the dishes, sleeves rolled up, humming under your breath when you felt the shift in the room. You didn’t need to turn around—you could sense him. That quiet energy of his when he wasn’t quite sure how to act, like he was rehearsing what to say even as he approached.

Then, arms slid around your waist.

You smiled before he even said anything.

“Hey,” Seungcheol murmured against your shoulder, his voice low, a little too casual.

You grinned, rinsing the last plate. “Hey yourself.”

His hold tightened, not too much, just enough to feel the beat of your pulse and make you pause. His chin rested on your shoulder, breath warm against your neck.

“You do this now every time I’m doing dishes?” you teased, flicking water off your fingers. “Getting cozy so you don’t have to help?”

“I like the view,” he muttered.

You turned your head toward him with an amused look. “Of the sink?”

“Of you at the sink,” he said, then groaned quietly like he hated himself for how that came out. “That sounded better in my head.”

You laughed, setting down the towel and turning in his arms, your hands still a little damp as they rested against his chest. “You’re really bad at this, huh?”

“I am,” he admitted, no hesitation, ears slightly pink. “Like, embarrassingly bad.”

“I kinda like it,” you said with a soft smile. “It’s… endearing.”

“Yeah?” He tilted his head slightly, watching you. “Endearing enough that I don’t need to pretend I came out here for water or something?”

You squinted at him. “You came out here to flirt.”

“I really thought I was being subtle.”

“You were about as subtle as Soojin when she wants to be picked up.”

He let out a breathy laugh. “Wow. Harsh.”

“But accurate,” you teased, poking his chest gently.

There was a beat then, quiet and close. His hands were still on your waist, yours resting between his ribs and shoulders. The kitchen was soft around you, dim and warm, the sound of the hallway clock ticking faintly in the background.

And suddenly the air changed.

Seungcheol swallowed. “I’ve… kind of wanted to do this for a while now.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Help with the dishes?”

He huffed a laugh, nervous and fond all at once. “God, you’re really not gonna let me have this moment easy, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

Then he leaned in. Tentative, close enough for your breath to catch but still watching your face like he was giving you every chance to pull away. You didn’t.

Your hands slid around his neck instead, fingers curling into the hair at his nape. “Okay,” you whispered, “I’ll let you have this moment.”

He smiled. Soft, real, and just a little shaky.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t perfect. His nose bumped yours a little, and your teeth almost clacked from the way you both smiled halfway through it. But it was warm and real and his hands tightened just slightly like he was anchoring himself there with you.

When you finally pulled back, he rested his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering shut.

“Worth the bad lines?” he asked.

“Definitely,” you whispered, cheeks flushed.

And from the hallway, as if on cue, Soojin let out a sleepy little squeak in her crib.

You both laughed quietly.

“Guess that’s our timer,” you said, leaning into him again.

He kissed your temple, still holding you like he wasn’t quite ready to let go. “She’s gonna be so mad she missed that.”

=

It was an ordinary morning. Soojin was babbling her usual string of soft sounds while sitting on the floor between you and Seungcheol.

You were handing her one of her favorite toys, grinning as she smacked it against her chubby thigh in excitement. She was bouncing, babbling, making nonsense sounds and grabbing at your sleeve like she always did when—

“Mama.”

It was soft. Clear. Unmistakable.

You froze mid-reach. So did Seungcheol, his mug halfway to his mouth.

The silence that followed was almost comical. Soojin just blinked up at you like she hadn’t just shattered the entire room into stillness.

You slowly turned your head to look at Seungcheol. He was already looking at you, eyes wide.

“Did she—” you started.

He nodded, eyes even wider now. “She said—”

“Mama,” Soojin chirped again, reaching for your hand with her gummy grin.

You blinked fast, a wave of emotion flooding your chest so quickly it knocked the breath out of you. “Oh my god.”

Seungcheol was already moving, crawling closer to the two of you, completely abandoning his coffee. “Wait—say it again, Soojin. What was that?”

But she just giggled now, slapping your arm with baby enthusiasm, still beaming. “Mama!”

You laughed, a sound caught between a sob and sheer disbelief, hugging her instinctively to your chest. “I swear I didn’t teach her that. I didn’t—”

“I know,” Seungcheol said, staring at you both like the world had just shifted. “She just… she chose it.”

“She called you mama.”

You looked up at him, cheeks warm, eyes a little wet. “She did.”

He leaned in and kissed the top of Soojin’s head, then your temple. His voice was barely a whisper, like it was only meant for the space between the three of you.

“She knows who loves her.”

Your eyes welled up so fast it surprised even you. You blinked hard, trying to breathe through it, but the moment, it cracked something open.

Seungcheol’s head snapped up, alarm flashing across his face. “Wait—are you crying? Are those—are you okay? Was it too much? I mean, she just—she just said it out of nowhere, I didn’t mean for—"

You let out a watery laugh, shaking your head as you held Soojin closer. She patted your cheek, like she could sense it. “No—no, it’s not that, it’s just—” you looked up at him, your voice catching in your throat. “Do I deserve that? Is that okay with you?”

His breath caught. His mouth parted, like the words couldn’t come fast enough.

“Hey,” he said, moving closer on his knees, gently reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You didn’t take her from anyone. She chose you. She’s been choosing you.”

You swallowed hard, but the tears still fell, quiet and honest. “I’m not her mom…”

“You love her like one,” he whispered. “She feels that”

You stared at him, breath shaky.

“I didn’t know if it was okay,” you murmured, “to feel this much.”

He leaned forward, forehead touching yours. “It’s more than okay.”

Soojin squirmed in your arms, reaching one tiny hand up to grab a piece of your hair and yanking gently. You both laughed, eyes still wet. And then Seungcheol pressed a kiss to your cheek, soft and sure.

“Welcome to the family, mama.”

You were crouched on the floor, gathering up Soojin’s toys and it hit you all at once. The memory, bright and clear, of her smiling up at you with those shining eyes, her chubby hands reaching out as she said it.

Mama.

The quiet shuffle of feet made you look up. Seungcheol stood at the edge of the room, eyes wide with concern, a half-folded blanket still in his hands.

“Hey—” he said gently, moving to crouch in front of you. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You shook your head, wiping at your cheeks, the words barely able to form. “I don’t know. I just—” you swallowed, voice cracking. “She looked at me like that. She smiled and she called me mama like I’ve always been that for her and I—”

He moved closer, hands bracing on your arms as if to ground you.

You took a deep breath and looked at him, tears still spilling. “How can I even love someone this much? She’s not even mine, but I feel it—I feel like she is. Every part of her. And then I think…” Your voice wobbled harder. “I think, how could anyone not want that? How could her mother not want her? Not love her?”

Seungcheol’s expression folded not in shock, not in discomfort but in something raw and full of understanding. He pulled you forward, wrapping his arms around you tight, pressing your face against his shoulder as you cried.

“I ask myself that all the time,” he murmured. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand it. But I’m grateful—” he held you tighter—“so damn grateful that she has you. That she loves you.”

You clutched his shirt in your fists, letting yourself cry into him, letting the weight of all of it — the love, the ache, the wonder of being chosen — pass through you.

“I don’t want to mess this up,” you whispered.

“You won’t,” he said softly. “You already gave her what no one else did.”

You pulled back a little, eyes still glassy. “What’s that?”

He smiled gently. “Your whole heart.”

“I don’t want her to grow up ever thinking she doesn’t have enough love,” you said, voice raw and breaking. “She doesn’t deserve that. She deserves so much more.”

Seungcheol’s arms tightened around you, his breath catching like your words had punched straight through his chest.

“She won’t,” he said firmly, his voice a little hoarse now too. “Not with you in her life. Not with us.”

You pulled back, just enough to look up at him, your face still streaked with tears. “What if one day she wonders why her mom left? What if I can’t—what if I’m not enough to cover up that kind of ache?”

His hands cupped your cheeks, thumbs brushing the tears away with the gentlest touch. “You being here doesn’t erase what happened,” he said. “But it gives her something else to remember. Something better. She’s gonna grow up knowing that she was wanted so badly that even the people who didn’t have to stay… did.”

Your breath hitched.

“I didn’t mean to love her like this,” you admitted. “I didn’t expect to. But now I can’t imagine not.”

“She doesn’t know anything else but love when you’re around,” he said quietly. “You’ve already changed her whole world. Mine too.”

You closed your eyes, more tears slipping free, but they didn’t feel heavy now. They felt… full.

“I’m so glad she has you,” he whispered. “I’m so glad I do too.”

And there, in that quiet room filled with baby toys and love you didn’t see coming, you nodded and leaned into him, holding on like the two of you — all three of you — were exactly where you were meant to be.

=

He was just coming out of the other room, towel slung around his shoulders, when he heard your voice. Not loud. Not laughing. Not teasing like it usually was when you played with Soojin. 

This was quieter—gentler.

He padded closer to the bedroom doorway, peeking in without making a sound. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor in one of his old sweatshirts, Soojin nestled between your knees, her little arms lifted as you struggled to get her tiny hand through the sleeve of her onesie.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” you whispered, a fond smile on your lips as you smoothed the fabric over her back. “Look at you, almost dressed all by yourself. You’re so smart.”

Soojin babbled in response, wiggling slightly as if trying to help.

“You are,” you told her softly, brushing a kiss to her cheek. “So smart, and brave, and kind. And everyone who meets you is going to see that, because you shine. You know that? You shine.”

He stilled, towel forgotten in his hand. Something tugged hard in his chest. You laughed a little when Soojin blew a spit bubble in reply, unbothered, like she understood every word you said.

“And you’ve got the strongest little heart,” you continued, guiding her chubby feet into her leggings. “You’ve been through more than most, haven’t you, sweetheart? But you keep going. You keep smiling. And you’re so, so loved.”

You paused for a second, your fingers slowing.

“By your dad,” you whispered, kissing her forehead. “By me.”

Soojin squealed, flapping her arms with glee, and you grinned, lifting her up in a little bounce. “Yeah? You know it, huh?”

Seungcheol leaned against the doorframe before he could stop himself, heart in his throat, eyes on you like he couldn’t believe this was real. You glanced over, surprised, but your smile didn’t falter.

“Hey,” you said, lifting Soojin a little higher. “We’re dressed. Tell Daddy we got dressed like champs.”

He laughed “I heard.”

You tilted your head. “Too much?”

He shook his head. “Not even close.”

And in that moment, watching you cradle his daughter like she was the whole world and speak to her like every word mattered, Seungcheol realized something else. 

You weren’t just part of his life now. You were helping build it.

You were still laughing softly with Soojin, brushing her wispy hair back and blowing a gentle raspberry to her cheek, when he said it.

“I love you.”

Your hand paused midair.

The room stilled not tense, but full. Full of everything that had been building for weeks in glances, in soft touches, in the way you carried his daughter like she was a part of you, too.

You looked up slowly, lips parted slightly, eyes wide with something between surprise and breathless warmth. “What?”

He stepped forward, leaving the towel forgotten on the hallway floor. His voice was calmer than he expected, his hands at his sides, heart pounding—but steady.

“I love you,” he repeated. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to say it just now. I was going to… I don’t know. Plan it better, maybe.”

You blinked, standing up with Soojin still in your arms, her head now resting lazily on your shoulder like she was sensing something important.

“But then I heard you,” he went on, his voice rough around the edges. “The way you talk to her. The way you love her. And I just—there was no way I could keep it in.”

You stared at him for a beat longer, as if trying to decide if this was real, if you were allowed to feel everything you were suddenly feeling.

Then your mouth curved into the softest smile, and your eyes glistened.

“You’re really bad at planning, huh?”

He let out a breath of a laugh, stepping closer. “Terrible. But I meant it.”

You nodded, hugging Soojin a little tighter between you. “I know.”

He tilted his head, suddenly unsure again. “You know?”

Your smile deepened as you stepped close enough to press your forehead to his, Soojin squished gently between your chests. “Of course I know.”

Then, quieter, your lips brushing his:

“And I love you, too.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for months.

You felt it — the way his shoulders dropped, the quiet shudder of relief through his body, how his hands finally moved to hold your waist, steady like he was anchoring himself to the moment. You didn’t pull away. If anything, you leaned in closer, letting Soojin nestle in between you both like she belonged there — because she did.

He let out a breathless laugh, rubbing one hand gently up your back. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

You smiled against his jaw. “You let me in. That’s enough.”

Soojin shifted in your arms with a sleepy little whimper, and both of you instinctively rocked slightly, a quiet rhythm the two of you had already fallen into like it was second nature.

Seungcheol watched you the curve of your smile, the softness in your eyes, the way your arms curled protectively around Soojin like you were born to love her.

And now, him too.

He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I want you to stay.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, eyebrows raised slightly. “Today?”

He shook his head, a little crooked smile tugging at his lips.

“No,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “I mean… in our life. Always.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, full and aching and warm.

You whispered, “Okay.”

And when he leaned down this time — with Soojin smooshed between you both, giggling now, tiny hands batting at your chins — you tilted up to meet him halfway, a soft, sure kiss shared right there in the center of your little world.

Messy, imperfect, beautiful.

Yours.

=

It was the day before Soojin’s first birthday, and the apartment was a gentle mess of soft pinks, pastel streamers, and tiny decorations waiting to be set up. 

Later that evening, after Soojin had gone down for the night, the apartment was unusually quiet. The living room still held the remnants of earlier chaos. You were at the table, folding the last few napkins.

You caught him staring.

“What?”

He gave a guilty little smile. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

“That’s always dangerous.”

He laughed under his breath. “True.”

“Thinking about what?”

He hesitated, then came to sit across from you, elbows resting on the table, hands clasped. “Just… tomorrow. Her first birthday. It feels like a milestone for her, but also… for me.”

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hands. “I think it is. You kept her alive, loved, and growing for a whole year. You did amazing.”

“She made it easy. And you…” he trailed off, gaze softening. “You came in and filled in every space I didn’t know was empty.”

Your heart squeezed at that.

“You know,” he said after a beat, “I used to count down every hour until bedtime. Just so I could breathe for a second. And now—now I look forward to the mornings because I get to see her smile. And I get to see you.”

You smiled gently, voice quiet. “Cheol…”

“I mean it,” he said, sitting up a bit straighter. “You changed everything.”

You reached across the table, resting your hand over his. He turned his palm to meet yours, fingers lacing instinctively, like they’d always meant to do that.

Then he squeezed your hand. “Wanna stay over again tonight? Just us. Before the chaos of tomorrow.”

You smiled softly. “Only if you make me your famous midnight ramen.”

He grinned. “Deal.”

He stood, pulling you up with him by your joined hands. You laughed as he tugged you close, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.

Later, you found yourselves curled on the couch, sharing a blanket, your legs tangled, a bowl of instant ramen balanced between you. You took turns feeding each other, whispering quiet jokes and memories from the past few months, letting the soft light from the kitchen be the only thing illuminating the moment.

And neither of you said it, but it was clear. This, it wasn’t fleeting. It was growing roots.

Right here, in the warmth of laughter and late-night ramen, on the eve of a little girl’s first birthday.

You're both lying in bed, the lights dimmed to a soft glow, the sheets pulled up to your waists. Soojin was asleep in her room, the baby monitor quiet on the nightstand. Seungcheol was on his side, facing you, one arm tucked under his pillow, the other resting just barely on your waist.

You’d been talking about her birthday party tomorrow, about whether the cake would survive the trip from the bakery, about how she was probably going to end up covered in icing before the day was done. 

You’d laughed, light and sleepy, and then the room had gone quiet. Not awkward—just still.

And you’d gone quiet too.

He noticed it almost instantly.

“Hey,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles along your arm. “Where’d you go just now?”

You blinked out of your thoughts, glancing at him. “Nowhere.”

He raised a brow, giving you a look.

You exhaled a soft laugh. “Okay… not nowhere.”

He waited, eyes patient, a quiet comfort in the dark.

“I was just thinking,” you said, your voice low, barely more than a whisper. “How fast everything changed. How we went from being strangers in the hallway to…” You trailed off, gesturing softly between you and him.

“To this,” he said.

You nodded. “And how it doesn’t feel scary. I thought it would. But it doesn’t.”

He smiled, eyes still on you. “I thought it would too. I tried really hard to keep things from going too far, honestly.”

You gave a playful scoff. “Wow. Thanks.”

He laughed quietly. “I mean because I was scared. Because I thought maybe it was too much to hope for. That someone could just… walk into our lives and fit so perfectly. Be exactly what I didn’t know I needed.”

“I still get scared,” he admitted. “But every time you’re here, or she reaches for you, or you say her name like it’s the most beautiful thing in the world… I stop doubting for a little bit.”

You shifted closer, pressing your forehead to his. “Then I’ll just have to keep doing all of that. So you don’t forget.”

His hand found yours under the blanket, fingers curling around yours gently.

“Okay,” he said, voice low. “Deal.”

He never said it outright again after the first time, “I love you”, but he didn’t need to. 

It lived in every small thing he did. In the way he made your tea just the way you liked. In the way he gave you the first bite of everything. In how he never missed a chance to touch you — hand on your back, brushing your fingers, tucking your hair behind your ear.

And you — you loved them back so fiercely it scared you sometimes.

“She’s so loved,” you whispered

“She is,” he said, almost like a vow.

You looked at him — this man who had doubted everything once, wondered if he could be a good father, a good partner, someone worth staying for. Now he says things like vows he'll keep for the rest of his life.

“I was so scared,” he murmured, voice low. “That I’d mess her up. That I’d never get it right.”

You reached for his hand. “You did everything right, Cheol. Everything.”

A long pause.

Then, softly, with a small laugh in his voice, he asked, “So… same time next year for birthday number two?”

You smiled, leaned up to kiss him — gentle, reassuring. “Already thinking what theme we should do next”

Right here, right now he doesn't even remember all those who left, everything he once lost. Now, all he can think of is what he has, wha he gained ever since he met you.

Wrapped in each other, the past behind and the future so very close, it felt like the beginning of everything good. Of everything true.

[endzithefangirl]

"I'm gong to put 'being a WAG' on my CV"

Authors note: Here's a little Max Verstappen x TechCEO!Reader. Bet you didn't see that comng. Anyway, got the idea for this a few days ago, and I guess my love of Italian food made me finish this

Summary: Max's new relatioship causes a social media stir, but the new couple couldn't care less whilst in Italy.

Warnings: English isn't my first language, no use of Y/N, female reader, famous reader

Word count: 2k

You understood it, to a degree. Max had just broken off a three-year-long relationship right before summer break, and now suddenly he was spending the summer with you. Now you’re at the paddock... No wonder people thought there was some crossover.

The truth? You two met last New Year's at a party for some sporting event. You, being one of the sponsors for your country's national sports committee, were invited, and Max... well, Max was Max Verstappen. You hit it off, exchanged numbers, showed him around your company a few times, and took him to all of your favorite restaurants in NYC. But you knew he had a girlfriend; everyone knew. And he was taking care of her kid too.

That breakup was hard on him. He had stopped loving her, but he couldn't just kick a woman and her kid out of his house. Max waited for them to have a huge fight, and then they just... broke up. And to your surprise, he was in New York the next day, saying that he needed someone to talk to. Bullshit. You knew he liked you. Otherwise, he wouldn't have come all the way here 'just to talk.'

But here you were, in Italy, spending time with him before Monza. You were currently typing away on your phone, trying to make peace in the finance department. Max glanced up from his phone every so often, stealing peeks at you while grinning.

He had never quite been so into someone like you. You were smart, funny, talented, pretty, and on top of all that - you were also rich. But you were also the most challenging girl to flirt with Max had ever met.

"You look like you could use a break," he said, after watching you tap away at your work laptop for a few minutes.

"Probably. What's the point of having interns if they don't do anything?"

"Then you should consider hiring me; I'm pretty good at helping out," Max teased, looking up from his phone and sending you a cheeky smile. He loved a woman who was in power, who knew what she was doing, and he could tell you were used to being the boss. "Come on, take a break. You know you deserve it," Max encouraged, resting his hand on top of yours to stop you from working some more.

"I guess I could eat…" You say, closing your laptop. "I saw on Google Maps that there’s a nice pizza place down the road. We can go if you’re hungry.”

Max smiled and nodded. “Yes, I’m starving; let’s go,” he said, reaching for the car keys.

“No, it’s okay, let’s walk,” you stop him. He turned towards you, slightly confused. Usually, women would give anything to drive around with Max Verstappen. Maybe that’s just what makes you special.

The two of you walked out of the hotel, your bodyguard Lenny standing outside the door. The tall, muscular man just nodded as the two of you entered the elevator. Max found it funny that you preferred Lenny guard your stuff more than you. Especially the laptop. He sometimes wondered what you kept in there...

“Is Pierre gonna be at the race?” you asked as you exited the building, breaking the silence.

Max’s head snapped towards you, and he raised his brow. “Uh, yes, of course he is… Why?”

“Because I want to see Kika.”

“Oh, so she’s your secret F1 crush, eh?” Max said, relaxing.

You laughed. “Pierre is a solid seven with a better haircut. Kika is a twelve on a bad day.”

As you got to the bigger streets, you started to understand why Max drove everywhere. Unlike you, who were a chiller and niche celebrity, despite being incredibly rich, Max was a real superstar. Your short walk to the pizza shop became a fan meet and greet, with people coming up to you every three seconds and asking for photos.

“Is this your girlfriend?” one of the people asking for a picture asked. As you finished taking the photo, you noticed Max’s slightly flustered face as he heard the question. He stumbled, but you answered with a simple “Yeah.”

As you arrived at the restaurant, you noticed that Max was staring at you. He seemed… surprised. You laughed at his facial expression. The sound of your laugh calmed him instantly, his heartbeat beginning to return to normal. Max cursed himself in his head; he was better than this. He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Is it something I said?"

Max ran a hand through his hair, feeling his cheeks heating up slightly. "No, no... Not really," he reassured you, trying to sound casual. "I was just... thinking."

"Okay, well I'm thinking about the food. I think a Vesuvius sounds great right now."

Max chuckled and quickly glanced down at the menu to hide his embarrassment. "Vesuvius? What the hell is a Vesuvius?" he asked, though his eyes scanned down the menu, searching for it.

"It's a type of pizza," you teased. "It's been like three minutes; have you not even skimmed the menu?"

Max fidgeted under your gaze, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks again. "What?" he asked with a nervous chuckle. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You tell me. Why are you staring?" Max shook his head, glancing up at you questioningly. He had no idea what you were thinking about. "No... What are you thinking about?" he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

"There are pots from 4000 years ago found in ancient Egypt that are made out of an incredibly difficult to manage material and are cut to such perfection that they balance on their round bottom."

Max's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He was expecting something totally different. Something that had at least a little bit to do with him. He chuckled, still somewhat surprised as he studied your face. "Where did that come from?" he asked incredulously.

"The Egyptians. They were like, cooking pots and stuff. Royal cooking pots probably, but still," you teased.

Max chuckled again, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're thinking about cooking pots, and here I am, just trying to figure out what I did to make you say that we're together so casually."

"What do you mean? Are we not together?"

"Well, of course we're together," Max said, his voice taking on a more serious tone now. He glanced around the restaurant briefly, making sure no one was listening in on their conversation. "I just... I didn't expect you to say it so casually," he said, his eyes meeting yours again.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't know we were keeping it a secret. I mean, I was at the paddock and all last time, and I took days off work to come to this race—"

Max shook his head, realizing you completely misunderstood what he was saying. "No, no, it's not that... I just..." he began, struggling to find the right words. He took a deep breath, his fingers fidgeting in his lap. "It's just... you're so casual about it... and I'm... a bit too flustered for my own good," he admitted, a tinge of embarrassment in his voice.

You softened up a bit. "Oh, okay, I get it. It was just a bit too shocking for you... Yeah, sorry."

Max felt his heartbeat a little faster when you softened, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, it was a bit... unexpected for me," he chuckled, feeling somewhat silly for being so flustered. "But it's fine, honestly."

"Do you think my stomach is gonna have space for gelato later? There's a really good gelateria; I can see it from the window... They make the ones with the macarons..."

Max chuckled, loving how you were so excited about the gelato. "Well, based on the amount of pizza you usually eat," he teased, a smirk on his face. "I'd say you're probably fine."

"No, they put the macarons on the gelato."

"On the gelato?" Max repeated, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"I've never heard of such a thing," he said, leaning forward to get a better look out the window at the gelateria you were talking about. "Well, in that case," he said with a grin, "we're definitely going there for dessert."

After eating so much that your belts barely held, you came back to the hotel, Lenny greeting you at the door as usual. Max's stomach was stuffed to the brim, but he was in such a good mood from the good food and even better company, he didn't even care. He walked back into the hotel together with you, his hand still holding yours. Lenny greeted the two of you as usual, but Max couldn't help but notice the way Lenny looked at you, like he was analyzing you.

"All good, Len. You go to your room for the night," you said to Lenny. He nodded, smiled at the both of you, and then went off. Max watched as Lenny walked off, then turned to you, a small frown on his face.

"He was looking at you funny," he said, a protective edge to his voice.

"He thinks it's funny. That I'm dating a Formula 1 driver."

"What's so funny about that?" he protested, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. "He just... I don't know, he's a big fan of yours I don't think he's processed it yet". Max's frown relaxed as you explained it, his ego immediately soothed a bit. Of course he was a big fan of his, who wasn't?

"Oh, so he's a big fan?" he teased, a hint of pride and cockiness in his voice.

You take your shoes off and lay on the bed, your stomach bloated from all the good food "Yeah. Talk to him a bit, I think it'll make him happy" You let out groan as you move "I hate you Italy. You has so much good food... I love it though"

Max chuckled, watching as you dramatically threw yourself onto the bed, your stomach protesting the amount of food you just had. "You're such a drama queen sometimes," he teased, grinning as he took off his shoes as well and joined you on the bed. He lays down beside you, running a hand over your bloated stomach. "You'll be fine," he said, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Oh, you know what I saw on TikTok?"

Max raised an eyebrow in curiosity, his hand now resting on your stomach. He didn't typically pay too much attention to TikTok, but he was more than happy to listen to you.

"What did you see?" he asked, turning his head to look at you.

"Well first of all, I'm a WAG now. Thank you for that, I will be putting that on my CV. But second, they liked that I was wearing Red Bull merch. I thought they wouldn't like it, but they did"

Max chuckled as you spoke, amused by how casually you mentioned being a WAG, and how seriously you were taking the fact that you were wearing Red Bull merchandise. "Well, of course they liked it," he said with a smirk. "You were wearing the merch of the best team out there."

He gave you a smug look, his hand moving up and tracing a lazy pattern on your stomach. "Not to mention the merch of the best driver out there."

[thanksbutno98]

MIA

John Price x girlfriend!reader OC

Summary: Your boyfriend John Price goes MIA on his latest deployment.

Warnings: Sexual themes, Violence, PTSD, injury.

Authors note: A huge thank you to @somebodyelse-yk for editing this fic for me! They are the reason this is being posted because I haven’t had any time to edit! The formatting might be off because it had to be written on google docs.

——————

Creaky floors, fogged bathroom mirror and a cool draft you weren’t sure where it came from. Looking from your blurry reflection of messy hair and smudged makeup you glanced down at your bright powder blue painted toes. You wiggled them and pondered about what color you should paint them next; your lover always liked this color blue on you. A tiny smirk spread across your mouth as you brought your toothbrush to your lips. You could hear him speaking.

“How long?” Your voice was muffled around your toothbrush.

You and your long time boyfriend, John Price had been chatting in the dim light of your apartment. It was early morning, 4 am to be exact. John and you had just gotten home from camping before he was deployed in two weeks. He lovingly told you it was one of the best nights he had ever spent with you and you felt the same.

Usually you stayed the entire next day to fish, swim, and kick a football around. It was different today. You needed to be at your flat, having to let the maintenance guy in to fix the stove since the pilot light kept going out.

“Said about three months. So pretty short, considering.” John was now behind you, putting back his own toothbrush. He had just used it by the kitchen sink to give you some space. It was a tiny bathroom and John took up a lot of space. He used the opportunity of putting his toothbrush away to press himself up against your back and wrap his arms around your shoulders. Bowing his head he nuzzled his stubbled face against your cheek and left a kiss there.

“Gonna have to live up these two weeks. Fatten you up and suck you dry.” The cheeky joke made John snort out a laugh not expecting such crass humor from you.

“I’ll take you up on the “sucking me dry” part.” Palming your breasts John was now glued to your back with wandering hands and his crotch pressed firmly against your ass.

Before John could get his hands under your top, a loud knock sounded on the front door. You shared a curious look, surprised maintenance was here so early and then John quickly disappeared from the bathroom. He always told you to make sure he was home when the maintenance guy stopped by. John said he had wandering eyes and didn’t trust him around you. You saw it as John’s overprotective side but you did like having him around to help, since you could be naïve at times.

Peaking your head out of the bathroom, you could see John, shirtless and in sweatpants talking to someone. The words were hushed, as if you weren’t supposed to hear. So you creeped up slowly, trying to listen in. Your fingers curled around the hem of your tank top, a sinking feeling filling your stomach.

“Yes sir, you have to report to base immediately.” You heard an unfamiliar voice talking with John.

That was all you caught before you stepped into view behind him and the stranger's lips snapped shut. He was a young man with dirty blonde hair and a handsome freckled face. His wide brown eyes flickered down to your tiny shorts and then up to your eyes.

“Oh, uh. Lieutenant, I didn’t realize you had uh- a-“ The sergeant began to sputter.

You watched John stiffen. You didn’t notice the accompanying sergeants wandering eyes but your boyfriend sure did. You tried to ask John what was going on but he shushed you. His thick eyebrows raised, lips parted, while giving you an expecting look, as if you could tell what was on his mind. And you could. John wanted you to scurry away, out of sight, out of mind, so he was able to handle whatever was going on.

“Go on, I’ll chat with you in a moment.” John guided you back towards the bedroom and shooed you away, with an unseen pat to your bottom. You heard him snap for the two men to keep their eyes at a respectful level. Then their chatter went back to hushed and almost inaudible.

You were at a loss for words and mindlessly listened. The mumbling between the men stopped and was followed by the clicking sound of the flats front door shutting. Sitting on the edge of your bed waiting, John was in your shared bedroom not too long after. You silently watched him strip down to his boxers in what felt like seconds and was pulling on his camouflage cargo pants, a green fitted t-shirt and his military button up shirt. His thick fingers worked to fasten each button as he spoke and he checked himself in the mirror to make sure everything was nice and neat. You couldn’t find your tongue but it became obvious what was going on.

John was leaving.

“I’m sorry darling, but I’m needed now.” John walked right past you as he spoke. Grabbing his duffle bag from under the bed, he began to methodically and speedily pack his belongings.

“Wait, they can do that? Show up out of the blue and whisk you away?” You watched, stunned, as John seamlessly moved around the bedroom.

His faded bag with his last name embroidered on it filled with shirts, trousers, socks, underwear, and toiletries. John’s diligence infected you for a second and you were up, grabbing the chapstick he liked, then his dog tags.

“Yeah, they can.” John shrugged, nodding at you in thanks as he slipped his dog tags over his head and around his neck. He then took the chapstick and shoved it in his toiletries bag.

“But I don’t want you to go.” It came out as a whisper, lacking the confidence you normally possessed.

“I don’t have a choice. So neither do you.” As John spoke he waved around the Polaroid picture of you two he had stuck between the wood and glass of your dresser's mirror. It was taken a few months ago on a fishing trip. It made your blood pump faster seeing how he tucked the photo into his chest pocket of his fatigues. Like it could stop a bullet if it so found its way there.

“Don’t be like that.” You complained not liking how John had become so serious.

“I love you. I’ll be safe and all the rest. Now, you’ve got to let me leave.” Taking your face between his calloused hand John kissed your forehead once, then your cheek, then laid three kisses to your lips. The last one was much longer than the first two pecks. It told you he loved you.

“Please be safe and-“ You cut yourself off at the sight of John’s eyebrow quirking at you.

“-and all the rest.” You sighed.

You didn’t like not being able to give him all your well wishes and ask him to be smart and come home to you in one piece. There were so many other things you usually said - but there was no time for that now.

You hugged John tight, kissed him deeply and told him you’d be waiting for him when he returned. In typical John fashion, he slipped you some tongue on that kiss and grabbed your ass during the hug.

“I’ll be back sooner than you know. I’m gonna cash in you sucking me dry when I get back.” With a final wink and slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder, John was off.

His hips swayed confidently and he shut the door behind him so softly it made his departure feel fake. That he would turn around in a minute or two, crawl into bed beside you and sleep until noon like you two had planned.

——————

It was a bright Saturday morning by yourself in your flat. You had your music going, windows open, hair tied back and wore a tight grey tank top with no bra and a pair of teal cotton shorts. It was the same outfit you had on when John left.You loved wearing it since he loved these tiny shorts and the way your nipples could be seen through the sheer fabric. Breakfast was cooking on the stove while you danced around with a piece of toast. John would be home tomorrow so you were enjoying the last day of strutting around like this without being groped and serenaded. You were hoping he’d bring out his guitar and play it for you. It had been awhile since he had done that.

A loud knock startled you, causing you to lightly shriek and almost choke on your toast. You quickly turned down your music and tossed your half eaten toast on your plate. Opening the door, you weren’t sure who would be here. You were half expecting your friends to charge into your flat and drag you out to have some fun. They knew how John’s return always consumed you and you’d go missing for a week or two - wrapped up in young love.

With a bright smile and a cute pose, you threw up a peace sign, expecting your best friend Lena to jump on you and wrap her legs around you. You two would squeal and she would eat half your breakfast as your other friend raided your cupboards. You would all watch Trash TV while they smoked in your living room and you planned what pub you would go to tonight. Soon you all would be raiding your closet, doing makeup, taking shots, and Lena would make sure to take pictures with your Polaroid.

Striking your cute pose, you realized it wasn’t your friends. On the other side were two soldiers staring at you stoney faced.

You felt like an idiot. It was mortifying to answer your door like this, when there could only be one reason for the military to be at your door.

This was a gut punch.

There was a painful twist in your stomach that made you feel like you might be sick. It was always so embarrassing, when being under tremendous stress, you emptied your guts.

Your world came to a screeching halt. A breath left your body and the room went cold. It felt like somebody dimmed the summer sun and flooded your veins with ice. This was your worst nightmare. John had been killed, you just knew it. You didn’t cry, you didn’t scream, your deepest fear came blurting out of your mouth instead.

“Please tell me he didn’t suffer, that he wasn’t in any pain.” Saying that was like getting hit by a Mack-Truck.

Because you didn’t want John to be gone, but if he was, you wanted him to not have suffered and to have gone easy. He deserved to rest easy because he had already been through enough trauma for one lifetime.

“Ma’am, take a deep breath.” One of the soldiers stepped forward as if you were hysterical. His hand came to touch your shoulder but he hesitated for a second.

That’s when you noticed you were hyperventilating. Stepping back into your flat you stumbled and found one of the kitchen chairs. Sitting down you tried to gather yourself but you were becoming lightheaded.

“Ma’am, we don’t know where he is. He’s missing. That doesn’t mean he’s dead.” The soldier said it like it would comfort you as he entered your flat, knelt down and placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Oh, so he’s most likely a prisoner of war or his body has been dumped somewhere we’ll never find or it’s been blown to pieces.” You snapped back. The words were like acid on your tongue. In your grief you spoke in a way you couldn’t imagine and said something you wished would never happen.

“He’s left instructions if anything is to happen. We weren’t sure if he communicated these to you since you’re not married.” The other soldier spoke.

Picking your head up from your hands you gave him a look of utter confusion.

“What do you mean? Does his mom know?” You asked, feeling flooded and overwhelmed. The sturdiness of the floor seemed to wobble beneath your bare feet as your world started to crash down on you.

“Normally a soldier’s family members are the ones to be notified first, but for him it was you. We will be heading to his mother’s after this. Lieutenant Price has also given you all medical rights so if he is found and incapacitated you will be the one making his medical decisions.” The man kneeling in front of you informed you.

“What am I supposed to do until he’s found?”

“Pray.”

——————

You weren’t sure how to function with the news John was “Missing in Action”.

Getting out of bed became harder and you found yourself watching the news whenever you could. Food lost its flavor, alcohol lost its punch, but what came as the biggest blow - music forgot its tune. It reminded you of when you were young and how you used to drag your finger against your mother’s records while she did her makeup. How the dark tacky vinyl would whine and warp under your touch and chipped painted nail. But now you had no control of the way it sounded. Now, in your mind you imagined John’s finger dragging against your records. Only his was limp and lifeless, leaving a broken tune for you to carry.

Life carried on, out of beat. You still needed to go grocery shopping, pay bills, do the dishes, take the trash out, go to work, all while carrying the pain of the unknown. No one ever talked about that. How grief didn’t make everyday life go away. That it carried on like it had somewhere to be.

Life felt like dust. Something that settled over its surroundings. It collected, leaving imprints behind when you picked up a forgotten book. The shapes of things you once used regularly would leave rings of dust behind. Soft, fuzzy, annoying little tufts that collected with your hair. You said you would pick it up, but you never did. It was a strange game you started to play with yourself. How thick will the dust settle? How thick? How thick will it be when you find out John’s gone? Actually gone, not just missing? Hopefully, it will be thick enough to smother you and allow you to die alongside him.

At first it was the kettle. That was a thin layer of dust on your stove top. John did always love his early morning tea with a few too many biscuits. He would double tap his mug with a spoon and promise to start having a proper breakfast soon. Soon hardly came.

Now, soon never came. But the dust still did.

In the darkness of your room you could see the outline of John - left in the dust that had settled. Somehow, being gone for so long, the shape of him had never left. He still filled the empty space in your bed, the seat across from yours at the kitchen table, the space that hovered behind you, where he would settle and wrap his arms around you. But. He was nothing more than dust. The memory of him, carrying no more weight - than dust.

Sometimes in the early morning, right before the sun began to rise, you sat on your fire escape, where dust couldn’t gather, smoking, and pretending John was home and still asleep. You would shiver in the crisp air, wrapped up in his hoodie and mull over what to do for breakfast. Would it be biscuits again? Or maybe you should finally learn how to cook a proper breakfast? Maybe he wanted eggs and toast or would suggest going out to eat.

The fantasy had gone so far that each morning you made two cups of tea and left John’s at his seat at the kitchen table, only for it to be replaced the following morning when you made him a fresh cup that he would never drink. It was the only spot that never collected dust.

The days bled into one another and soon March had turned into June.

On the first of June you received the phone call you had been holding your breath for. It came in from an unknown number while you sat on your fire escape, gazing at the stars in the night sky with a cigarette to your lips.

“If you’re selling something I’m not interested.” You spoke plainly, feeling as numb as you did the day you found out John was missing. Telemarketers' calls annoyed you but sometimes the sound of another person helped you not feel so desperately alone.

“Ma’am, this is Sergeant Holloway. We’ve found Lieutenant Price and he’s being airlifted to your local hospital. Please get ready and pack a small bag. we will have a car on the way to come get you in the next hour or two.” The sergeant spoke.

“Yes. Are you okay?”

“He’s alive?”

“He’s alive.” You whispered fearing that if you spoke too loud, you would somehow be John’s undoing.

“Yes, but we need you at the hospital to make medical decisions for him. I’m sorry to say- but it is serious, ma’am.” Once you were off the phone you were up and feeling like your nerves had been fried.

John’s voice echoed through your flat telling you to stay calm. You spoke to him, although he wasn’t there and promised you would make sure he was okay.

You showered, packed a bag, and sat on the stoop of your apartment building in under a half hour. There was nothing else you could manage to do, other than wait out by the curb so you didn’t waste even a second. Each car that passed and splashed through puddles, you wondered if it was your ride. A few passersby made similar jokes asking if you were waiting for the school bus. You ignored them and gripped the straps of your backpack tighter and counted the minutes until you were finally picked up.

——————

Thick auburn chest hair covered in bandages with splotches of brown marks. Burnt coffee, bleach and coughing that echoed down the halls became your everyday. John was battered, beaten, almost unrecognizable. The state of him was so horrific, you ended up rushing to the bathroom in his room to be sick. He was laid up in his hospital bed, left leg bandaged, and the rest of him covered in dark bruises. John had bandages wrapped around his chest, arms and right leg. Some were from burn wounds, while others were stitches that were healing from being sliced by, what you were told, different sized blades. His face was swollen around the cheek bones from being beaten bloody.

The staff quickly realized visiting hours didn’t apply to you. You slept in the chair by John’s bed, collecting dust. You only left when you needed to go home to shower and even then you were right back at the hospital with coffee in hand. The surgery for John’s leg continued to be pushed back day after day. Somehow in all the madness, he had pneumonia of all things, leaving him to recover from that in order to have his surgery.

John’s siblings brought you meals to eat and without them you probably would’ve starved. Even John’s mom, who disliked you greatly, didn’t make a dig or give you trouble. She called everyday she couldn’t be there to check on John. There was even a moment where she hugged you, more like clung to you and thanked you for loving him so much.

John had moments where his eyes fluttered open, icy blues visible for seconds, he would groan in pain but there was no point where he was truly conscious. You were told it was from the severe case of pneumonia and sedation for pain management.

You saw John’s injuries and the horrific state he was in when you first walked into the hospital room. Somehow your mind could never remember it. When you weren’t looking at him, somehow you pictured him in a t-shirt and sweatpants laid out in a hospital bed. Then when you saw him bandaged all over his bare chest and arms, leg elevated, stitches running across his left hip, burn marks on his feet - it faded. Like it was nothing in your mind. You could not comprehend the extent of his injuries when you didn’t have your eyes on him. And that was the main reason why you refused to leave.

It was unspoken but John’s entire family allowed you to be his caretaker and they responded by trying to take care of you. Maybe they realized that you weren’t going to leave his side. That there was a reason John left you as his medical proxy.

In the time that passed, what happened to John came to light. He had been held in a prison of war. When you were informed he had been tortured for information that he didn’t give, there was this odd pang in your chest. One that told you, John was far more admirable than you could ever be and could endure horrors worse than you could conjure up in your imagination. If you dwelled on what happened for too long, you would wind up getting sick so you kept your mind busy. It was also apparent he wasn’t alone in what he faced, another soldier had been there. Knowing that made you relieved that John wasn’t all by himself but then you would feel disgusting for thinking that way. No one deserved to join in on such atrocities for the sake of John not being lonely.

Tonight felt like any other night in John’s hospital room. Only, he had finally had his surgery. From what you were told it all went well and he would hopefully wake up soon. Time ticked by in the steady rhythm of the hospital monitors whirring and beeping. Hearing John was alive and in stable condition helped lull you to sleep. So you curled up in the uncomfortable hospital chair and closed your eyes, the setting sun warming the room in an orange glow.

“You look beautiful.” The raspy tone you dreamt of felt so real, it sounded distant.

“Darling?” This time John sounded as if he were right in front of you and your eyes fluttered open to see him looking back at you.

It was dark now with only a dim light casting dark shadows across the hospital room. John’s blue eyes were tired yet relieved. You didn’t know it but he too had thought he was dreaming when he first saw you by his side. The girl of his dreams, love of his life, his world, was here in the flesh. You had been what kept him sane - you saved his life and you didn’t even know it. So when John awoke to see who he had been picturing during the worst of his experiences, he wanted you to crawl under his skin, sink your teeth into him and not let go.

“You’re awake.” You spoke softly.

The way your heavy eyes fluttered at him, with your messy hair and chapped lips almost made John’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Those bright eyes were his saving grace and at the same time the death of him. Either way looking into those bright eyes he loved so dearly he would die a happy man knowing you loved him.

It felt like you dropped 50 pounds in that single moment. Nothing compared to those icy blue eyes staring back at you. You laughed in disbelief and then smiled hurt. You had feared you and John may never get to gaze into each other’s eyes again.

“I love you. Why do I feel so fuzzy?” John coughed after he spoke. Without thinking you reached toward and scratched his overgrown beard that reached over an inch off his chin.

“I love you too, here have some water. You’re probably high from all the medication.” You helped John drink from the straw. His Adam's apples dipped and binged as he gulped down the water. He then scrunched his nose and shook his head in disapproval.

“Fuck water, I want whiskey and a wank. You can help me with that, right? Promised to suck me dry, if memory serves.” John hadn’t been awake for long but was already flirting with you.

John was even shocked by the words that flowed from his lips. There was something about you that evoked him to be charming, pleasing, soft with you. Even in the roughest state he had experienced, you drew that out of him. Brought out his flirtation in the darkest of moments, love in loveless times, hope when he had felt so hopeless.

“Don’t be cheeky, you’ve only been conscious for sixty seconds.” There you were, sweet, loving, his everything. John, although high, knew you had to be tired at the very least. He had no idea of the turmoil that ran through your veins. In his drugged out mind, he was convinced you would be nothing but happy to see him.

“Fuuuuck, everything hurts.” John groaned. His good hand ran through his hair and he went wide eyed at how long it was. It was at least an inch longer than he allowed it to get at its longest. John looked at you and tugged his hair.

“Think I need a trim?” John tugged at his hair then his beard.

“Beard looks nice. Definitely need some off the top.” You couldn’t help but fall into his charming nature and joke back.

Kissing his burning forehead you quickly made your way to the nurses station. Your skin was hot, yet you felt cold from the adrenaline. The nurses seemed happy for you, after all you’d become friends with them over the weeks.

Your eyes barely worked but you could hear the way your flip flops clapped against the tiled floor. In fact that sound would sear into your memory. You couldn’t wear flip flops without thinking of hospital rooms and John laid up in pain. They would always evoke this memory for the rest of your days.

“Lieutenant Price, welcome to the land of the living.” The nurse on duty smiled warmly. She had dark brown hair pulled back in a bright yellow clip. Her scrubs were teal and she had a kind expression on her tan features.

“We aren’t at a military hospital, why do you sound military?” John stared at her with his teeth bared.

It was clear to you he was in pain. John in pain was a rare sight. You had seen him in different states of recovery through your entire relationship. But this was a completely different type of pain, if he wasn’t on pain killers you knew he’d be screaming in pain.

“My husband’s in the military too. Captain Devereau, if you’ve heard the name. I’m going to give you some more medication to dull the pain.” The nurse then broke out a syringe of something from her pocket and administered it.

“Is that being logged?” You asked out of curiosity. She looked at you as if to tell you to shut up and your lips clamped shut.

In that moment you realized John was not going to feel an ounce of pain while a military wife was around. She knew better than you and you would not challenge that. In fact you took it as a moment of learning that in this moment, maybe, personal judgment outweighed protocol. You knew John would agree with that.

“So I better be on my best behavior.” By John’s tone you were suspecting he wasn’t a fan of the nurse's husband. Yet there was a hint of admiration. In fact it was the way you knew John hoped people spoke about him. With a little bit of fear but an undying respect.

“Whoa.” John's breath hitched and you watched his pupils dilate.

You knew John never dabbled in drugs, even as a teen. So whenever he was given pain killers he usually asked for a half dose or cut his pills in half. John being high usually turned him into a menace. His tight lips became loose, hands became grabby, and he shamelessly would stare at your tits. The last time he was on strong pain killers after knee surgery he asked you for a strip tease in front of his brothers. They got a good laugh out of it while you were mortified.

“What’d you give him?” Running your finger through John’s thick overgrown hair you looked at the nurse. You felt his finger drawing hearts on your inner wrist but ignored it.

“OxyContin. From what my husband has said, you’re not one for following rules but a ‘tough bastard who even the devil can’t catch’. But that’s why your wife here will be caring for you.” Nurse Devereau smiled at you sweetly and you felt a hot flush light up your cheeks.

“She’s not my wife. . . yet.” John sounded drunk as he spoke and pointed his finger in the nurse's face.

“Yet?” Your head snapped back to look at John. He looked like a caveman with his chest hair out, hair so long it was almost a mullet, and beard so long it began to curl.

“We about to have a proposal?” The nurse laughed. Looked at you with the sweetest expression like she knew something you didn’t.

“Still trying to figure out her ring size without her noticing.” John was slurring and chuckling to himself.

“Seriously?” You then blurted out your ring size and John shook his head, then put his finger over his lips as if it were a secret.

“Darling, I’m high off my ass. Can you get me something that’s not water.” John’s hands were grabbing at anything. You started to laugh and stood out of his reach.

“Yeah, Diet Coke work?” You smiled so brightly John and you forgot it was the dead of night. It felt like it was just you two here. You felt as high as him; both high off love. Off missing the other, dreaming of each other, loving each other.

“Whiskey.” John practically ordered playfully. It was the same way when you joked around in your flat. When things were normal.

“I’m getting you a coke.” The fondness you spoke to John with made the blood in your veins run hot. You felt giddy. What happened to him hadn’t reared its head due to the drugs and you wanted to ride it out for as long as possible.

“You can’t have alcohol.” The nurse chuckled at John as she checked his vitals and set him up for fluids.

Leaving John with a kiss, his lips were chapped but the sensation took over your mind. You quickly went to get him something to drink while tasting the taste John left behind. Looking at the option in the vending machine you noticed the Diet Coke and regular coke were both sold out. The mundane action of picking John out a different soda seemed to be the final crack in your resolve. It made you shatter like glass.

With your eyes closed you rested your forehead against the cool window of the vending machine - you swore you heard it splinter. The creaking, crackle of glass about to shatter whining in your ears until it gave way in one clean shatter of your broken and choked sob.

You cried painfully with your forehead pressed against the sturdy glass.

You cried until you felt your chest about to give out. It was the type of cry where your nose runs wildly and you sputter like a child. You cried until you heard the shuffle of feet coming down the hall and snapping you back into focus. Wiping your swollen eyes, then the spittle from the vending machine glass, you quickly pressed the button for a Dr. Pepper. You didn’t want John to see you emotional. You didn’t know what he had been through but the last thing he needed was to worry about you.

The shuffle of feet became louder and you noticed a few male nurses running down the hall. You got out of their way and let them hurry along and then quickly walked to John’s hospital room with the ice cold soda in hand.

It was chaos when you entered John’s room. Yelling, orders, medicine being administered. You watched John’s limbs flying like he was being tortured and strapped down. His leg that had just had surgery on moving around like he was healthy. It made you wonder how hard he fought off the abuse he endured. Once in there the male nurses were strapping down John’s hands and fastening them to the plastic railing of his bed.

John, in his injured state, looked to be fighting for his life.

That wasn’t your John. That was a deeply wounded man, with damage far deeper and any physical injury.

In shock you watched the male nurses struggle to get John under control.

“JOHN!” You yelled.

In a haze the soda you bought fell to the floor and you walked up to John like no one was in the room.

The shouts for you to step away, and give the nurses room fell on deaf ears. Someone tried to grab your wrist but you pushed them off and came close to the man everyone else was afraid of. Stroking your fingers through John’s hair you said the only thing you could think of.

“It’s alright. I’m right here. No one’s going to hurt you, while I’m right here, John. I promise.” Somehow the softness in which you spoke broke through to John at the volume a cannon could go off.

John’s eyes darted around looking for you, until they met yours. He looked exhausted. Then the pain set in, an emotional kind that didn’t compare to his injuries. John’s head lulled to the side and fell into your chest, his arms came up and clung on to you in hopes to keep him tethered to earth.

“Thank god, you’re real and not just in my head anymore.” John sounded desperate as he breathed you in. He shoved his face into your chest, using your breasts as a soft place to lay his head, and a few seconds later he was slumped against you.

“He’s already asleep?” You were perplexed seeing John passed out in his bed.

You watched as his wrists were strapped into restraints.

“We had to sedate him.”

“What happened?” You asked.

“He tried to attack the doctor.”

“He didn’t mean to. Clearly something happened to him. He’s not a dangerous person-“ The doctor cut you off before you could finish defending John.

“It’s okay. We will get someone in here to help him. PTSD can be normal in soldiers, especially ones who’ve been held as prisoners of war.”

“PTSD? How do I help him with that?” You asked.

——————

“How the hell are you going to get him up and down the stairs without a lift?” Harrison, John's oldest brother, sounded perplexed and you didn’t have an answer. The two of you were walking to John’s hospital room.

“I really don’t know. But I have to figure it out by tomorrow when he’s discharged.” You shrugged more interested in getting to John than having a try in this conversation.

Your dad had offered to have you and John stay with him since there was an elevator in his gilding unlike yours. You didn’t want John’s family to feel as if they were imposing. You knew them and how they would be uncomfortable with John being taken care of by anyone who wasn’t family. But you and your dad knew better than anyone, family meant the people who love you are more than just blood. Your mom taught you that.

“Until he’s more stable you two should stay with me, alright? I’ve got a spare room and I’m on the first floor.” Harrison wrapped his arm around you and squeezed you close. You returned the side hug with a small laugh.

“I don’t want to impose and you know how John feels about charity.” You said it as an excuse already knowing your plan of action.

“Fuck what John feels. It’s not even charity, he's my baby brother. You’ll both be staying with me until he’s fit to go up to and down stairs on his own. I changed his diapers, I can house him now. . . Let me help him.” Harrison stopped right outside John’s room. There was a deep sorrow in his eyes. One that told you even though John was the love of your life, sibling love can’t be compared with in certain ways.

“Don’t let him hear you calling him a baby.” Your head fell and you swallowed the lump in your throat. Reaching out you took Harrison’s hand.

“We’ll help him. Together.” You nodded at Harrison.

“Considering you have to wipe his ass-“ He laughed and shook your hand away to wipe the tears from your eyes.

“Harrison, I mean it. John’s gone through enough and I know you two take the piss out of one another like it’s your goddamn job but it’s not happening while I’m around. You fuck with him you’ll be dealing with me.” You laughed and started to cry. Wiping your eyes you laughed breathlessly.

“John better hurry up and marry you, you’re already part of the family.” Harrison joked and you nodded knowingly.

“Let’s get him healthy before we get on his case about that. But I expect you to put in a good word for me.” You were blushing and rushing into John’s room to get the conversation to stop.

“Don’t you worry. My money’s on you two having your first kid within the first year of being married.” Harrison chuckled.

“No chance in hell!” You laughed and smiled brightly seeing John lying in his hospital bed looking healthier. He was sitting up straight, a paper coffee cup to his lips and a tray of food half eaten in front of him.

“Johnny boy!” Harrison bellowed as he walked into his brother’s room.

John reacted viscerally. It took you blinking once to miss the cheap paper coffee cup to go flying across the room and hit Harrison square on the chin. You gasped and he shrieked at the burning liquid. It instantly caused you to panic and do damage control. You grabbed the cup and started to mop up the liquid off the floor with a nearby pillow case.

“Don’t clean it up! Help me!” Harrison snapped at you.

“Don’t fucking speak to her that way.” John was wild eyed and trying to get up from his hospital bed.

You dashed over to him, hands pressing on his bare chest and pushing him into the thin mattress. John didn't push hard against you, he didn’t fight you at all. It had become apparent John would never barrel through you and you worked better than any restraint could. It had also come to light that John was extremely reactive towards men entering his hospital room when he wasn’t expecting it. He hadn’t seen a psychologist yet but you knew it was PTSD.

“Shhh, shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay.” You whispered, running your finger through John’s hair and tilting his head so he would look up at only you.

Harrison paused for a brief moment watching how his brother calmed in your hands. The anger left John as quick as it came and was now replaced by bitter sobs as he began to cry into your chest. As you held John you were beginning to realize his physical injuries would be easier for him to heal from than the mental wounds that had been left behind.

~~~~~tag list~~~~~

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[winter-soldier-buck]

heart by heart ♡ b.b

pt. 1... sort of. this is the official pt. 1. you can read the intro to this series here :).

pairing: thunderbolts!bucky barnes x singlemom!fem!reader

warning: different parts of bucky's mcu timeline, google-translated words that aren't english, use of y/n, yearning

word count: 3.4k

author's note: ahhhhh y'all made me so emo with how much you loved the intro i posted for this fic that i couldn't not get to writing the official first part. again, please let me know what you think! also, side note, i didn't realize my option to send asks was turned off, but it's on now! <3

series masterlist

Bucharest, Romania - Late 2015

“Salut,” you greeted the street vendor with a smile as you skimmed over the fresh produce they were selling. After a week of living in Bucharest, you were finally stocking up on some much-needed groceries after spending a lot more money on takeout than you’d like to admit. However, part of why you delayed shopping was that speaking Romanian was not your forte. “Douǎ, uh, uhhhh…”

The woman at the stand raised her eyebrow at you in curiosity, but also amusement at how you were struggling.

You didn’t even notice how entertained she was as you held up two fingers to indicate that was the quantity you wanted to get.

“Douǎ,” you repeated as you stared at the produce again, trying to remember the correct word for what you wanted to purchase. Unfortunately, you were hopeless in the matter.“Um, tomatoes? Please. Oh! I mean, vă rog.”

The woman blinked at you with an unreadable expression.

“Castravete?” She asked and pointed to the cucumbers that lay next to the tomatoes.

“No! Uh, nu. Îmi pare rǎu.”

You didn’t really know what you were apologizing for, but it felt like the right thing to do. It wasn’t the woman’s fault you weren’t fluent in a different language.

Frustrated with yourself, you huffed and then pointed towards the tomatoes.

“Ceapă?” The woman asked as she pointed to the onions on the other side of the tomatoes.

“No. Well, actually, yes, I need that too, but-.”

You knew that you were rambling in English and that the poor woman probably didn’t understand a thing you were saying, making you feel even more stupid. However, before you could make a bigger fool of yourself, a voice spoke up from behind you.

“Două roșii, Nadia,” a man said, making you turn around to look at him. He was dressed casually in a grey zip-up sweater and jeans paired with a black ball cap that did nothing to hide his longish brown hair. That and the stubble of his growing beard really added to the whole rugged aura he exuded. “Fii amabil.”

“Americani,” the woman tsked, snapping your attention back to her as she gathered two tomatoes and an onion to put in a paper bag.

You blinked in confusion.

“Wait,” you started, then glanced between the man and the woman. “You two know each other?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m Nadia’s favourite customer,” the man said, then smiled as he moved his captivating blue-eyed gaze back to you. You would’ve been lying if you tried convincing yourself that you didn’t think he was attractive. “I’ve come to her stand enough times to know she understands English just fine and is giving you a hard time because you’re not from here. Right, Nadia?”

“It is fun,” Nadia replied with a shrug, her accent thick. “American, yes?”

“Yeah,” you replied, smiling as she handed you the bag of produce.

“Him too. He pay.”

“Oh, no, I can pay.”

You went to reach for your wallet, but the man was already handing her a bunch of coins.

“Thank you, Nadia, have a nice day,” he said charmingly, then looked back at you. “Hey, I’m Bucky.”

He extended his right hand for you to shake, but you just glanced down at it, wondering why he was wearing leather gloves on both hands, then back to him before raising an eyebrow.

“Bucky?” You asked skeptically.

“Yup.”

You held his gaze for a moment, then cracked a smile as you shook his hand.

“Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” Bucky replied, returning the smile. He observed you for another moment as you dropped each other’s hands, but before he could say anything else, another patron excused themselves around him to go up to Nadia. “Maybe we should get out of the way.”

“Good idea,” you agreed, stepping aside and muttering a quick thank you to Nadia before you and Bucky started walking away together. “Uh, thank you for that, by the way. I can pay you back for the groceries.”

“Don’t worry about it. I overheard you struggling to communicate, and I’ve seen Nadia mess with quite a few tourists for entertainment. Thought I’d step in.”

“Well, I appreciate it.”

Silence fell between the two of you as you continued walking, but luckily, Bucky didn’t let it become awkward.

“So, what brings you to Bucharest?” He asked, glancing at you curiously. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t know yet,” you told him honestly, feeling comfortable enough to do so. “Life after university wasn’t what I wanted it to be. I worked a corporate office job that I hated and had nothing to do with what I studied. I was miserable. So, I worked my ass off for a couple of years while living in my aunt’s basement so I could save up enough money to take a year off and travel. I landed in Zürich four months ago and have been all over the continent since. Sometimes I’m in cities for days. In other places, I’m there for weeks. I found a place to stay here in Bucharest for a month with the option to extend longer. Figured it would be a good central point for me to have while I looked into visiting more Eastern European countries.”

Bucky nodded in understanding.

“Fair enough. What did you study?”

“Architecture. Exploring Europe has been great for reigniting that passion.”

“Europe would definitely be good for that,” he agreed.

“What about you?” You asked. “What brought you here?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away, and when you looked up at him again, he seemed to be deeply considering his next words.

“I also needed a break from home,” he explained. “Gotta figure out a few things for myself, and this seemed like a good place to do it.”

You hummed in agreement.

“It’s refreshing being somewhere no one knows your name. Or face.”

“Precisely.”

The two of you were approaching a busy road, and you soon realized that you’d probably have to go your separate ways so you could return to the apartment you were staying in.

“Well, Bucky, I’m glad I learned your name,” you started as you slowed your walking. “As amazing as these last few months travelling have been, it’s been lonely, and you seem like a good person to know. Thank you again for today.”

“Of course,” Bucky responded while the two of you came to a stop at a crosswalk. “It was nice meeting you, Y/N.”

“It was nice to meet you, too. But I should get going. This produce isn’t going to make itself into a meal.”

Bucky chuckled.

“No, I guess it won’t. Bye, Y/N. Get home safe.”

“I will. Thanks, Bucky.”

With that, you smiled and turned to walk away. However, you only made it a few steps before Bucky spoke up again.

“Y/N, wait,” he called after you, making you turn to face him again and look at him questioningly. “You’re right, it can get lonely here alone. And, uh, well, if you ever want some company… I’ll be around.”

You didn’t respond right away, but couldn’t help the amused smirk tugging at your lips as he awkwardly glanced at the ground, seemingly regretting not letting you just walk away.

“Was that your attempt at asking me out?” You teased.

Bucky laughed too.

“It sounded better in my head, to be honest. But, yeah, I guess it was.”

You couldn’t stop smiling, but with the look on Bucky’s face, he seemed a little anxious about what you were going to say. Did he really think you were going to turn him down?

“I like that idea. Meet me back here tonight at eight?”

“It’s a date,” Bucky said, grinning again.

“Not a date,” you corrected, still chuckling. “We’re acquaintances.”

“Oh, for sure. Practically strangers.”

“Well, yes. I did just meet you at a street market in Romania, after all. If my father heard this was how I was making friends in Europe, he’d have an aneurysm.”

Bucky wholeheartedly laughed at that.

“Rightfully so,” he stated. “But I’m glad I get to be an exception. I’ll see you later, Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Bucky.”

~*~

New York City, USA - Late 2027

You were late.

Not overly late, you’d only left your apartment 10 minutes later than you intended to. But, given the situation you were getting yourself into, tardiness only added to your anxiety about it all.

You impatiently waited for a gap in traffic to cross the street at an intersection, growing more irritated at the characteristically excessive NYC traffic. After about seven more cars passed by, you were fed up with waiting and stepped off the curb to rush across during a risky gap between vehicles.

“Sorry,” you yelled as an approaching taxi laid on the horn, but you weren’t really sorry. No, you had bigger things to worry about than aggressive drivers.

The coffee shop you were headed for came into view, and you were hit with an intense wave of deja vu. It’d been over three years since you last stepped foot in the place, and the man responsible for you not wanting to return there was inside waiting for you.

Your mind screamed at you to turn around and go home, that this meeting wasn’t worth it. Yet, your feet kept moving you forward, and soon enough, you were walking through the door.

The coffee shop was exactly the way you remembered it. Everything from the rush hour lineup, the sound of beans being ground into a fine coffee and the smell of the shop’s signature pastries all felt so familiar, almost like you were never away for as long as you were.

Out of habit, your gaze moved to the table tucked in the back left corner furthest away from the counter. Your table. The only one that wasn’t constantly interrupted by someone walking by and allowed enough solace from the hectic environment to have a proper conversation with another person.

At that table sat Bucky Barnes with his eyes already locked on you.

“Fuck me,” you muttered under your breath, regretting every decision you ever made that led you to this point. Still, you swallowed your pride and made way toward the Winter Soldier.

Once Bucky realized you were approaching, he stood to greet you, but not without almost knocking the table over in the process.

“Shit,” he grumbled, but played it off coolly as he steadied the table with his hands, which was when you notice the metal one being covered by a glove. “Y/N, hi.”

“Hi,” you responded awkwardly, feeling way more anxious all of a sudden. “Um, I’ll just go order my coffee, then I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, I, uh, I ordered it already. Iced coffee, right? Even though it’s cold out.”

Your stare fell to the table where two coffees indeed sat, one cold, one hot, and you wondered how you missed that when Bucky almost knocked them onto the ground.

“Yeah, thank you.”

The two of you sat down across from each other in silence, each taking a sip of your drinks. You didn’t know what to say, so you glanced around the coffee shop again, but felt Bucky’s gaze on you the entire time. Once you looked back at him, he spoke again.

“How’ve you been?” He asked.

“Fine,” you replied, then took another sip of your iced coffee before exhaling. “Listen, Bucky, I really can’t do the whole small talk thing. Not with you. Why am I here? How did you and what made you want to find me?”

Bucky held your gaze for a moment, then took a nervous breath.

“It’s a long story.”

“Good thing I have time.”

“Right,” Bucky started. “I just don’t know where to begin. Well, getting your number was harder than I anticipated, actually. I had to use one of my connections for that.”

“I see,” you hummed in understanding. “Had to be a good one because I made sure it wouldn’t be easy for anyone to find me. Was it one of your congress connections that you were able to pull some strings to get my info, or Sam?”

“… Sam.”

“Of course.”

Bucky nodded.

“As for why I called you, that’s a bit more complex. I, uh, well, I’m kind of part of a new team of sorts.”

“I saw that,” you told him. “With Nat’s sister… and John Walker of all fucking people. Anyways, I hear they’re calling you guys the New Avengers.”

“Yeah, and Sam is pissed,” he stated. “I was lucky he gave me your number. However, I do owe him one now.”

“Which he’ll never let you forget.”

“Ever. But that’s beside the point. There was a reason I called you.”

You looked at him expectantly, but he was silent for a moment.

“Tell me, Buck. Please.”

Bucky sighed deeply, but seemed ready to lay everything out.

“How the New Avengers formed was because of an event,” he explained. “Bob, who is part of our group, uh, well, he kind of engulfed all of Manhattan in a massive darkness—the Void. During it, people’s souls were consumed by an emptiness that made them relive the worst aspects of their past. I went into the Void to try to figure out how to get rid of it.”

“I was in it too,” you whispered.

“You were?” Bucky asked, shock evident on his features as you nodded. “I didn’t think you were still here. Well, until Sam told me you were.”

“I never left New York. I’ve been living here since we last saw each other, apart from being away for a few months three years ago, and was in Manhattan when that… darkness took over.”

“So you know what it was like.”

“I do,” you explained, shaking your head. “It wasn’t fun. But, I am sorry you had to relive your darkest parts, too, Bucky. I know how hard you’ve worked to move on from that.”

“What do you mean? I have a great past,” he teased, making you smile. There was the Bucky you knew so well.

“In what world, Barnes?”

“Not this one.”

Both of you laughed, then fell into a comfortable silence. It was natural, which made you feel a lot of things.

“You were part of what I saw in the Void, Y/N,” Bucky continued. “Part of what really got to me.”

“Bucky-.”

“I mean it. Seeing you and not being able to do anything, I had nightmares about it for days. I’m really sorry, I don’t have it in me to expand on what I saw right this moment, but I hated it. And I haven’t stopped thinking about you since. I just- I needed to hear your voice. The last thing I was expecting from that phone call was to learn that-.”

“That I have a daughter,” you finished for him, taking a second to use your sweater sleeve to wipe away the tears that welled in your eyes during his spiel.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, nodding.

You exhaled again.

“I guess I owe you some explanation on that.”

“I can’t beat around the bush on this, Y/N, I gotta know. Is she mine?”

Taking a deep breath and trying to blink back the tears that were already spilling, you nodded.

“Of course she is, Bucky,” you stated, voice cracking in a sob.

“Holy fuck,” Bucky said quietly, not being able to hide his surprise, but also, genuine relief.

You shook your head again, still trying to stop the tears.

“I haven’t been with anyone else. I’ve tried because I was so, so angry at you. But, I didn’t even attempt talking to another man romantically until almost a year after I gave birth. It was always you, Bucky. It was never a wonder who her father was.”

Bucky stared at you like you were the only person in the world as he hung onto every word you said.

“Wow, I-,” he started, but cut himself off. “You were pregnant when I left.”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I found out I was expecting about three weeks after you left. I was terrified, but you saw to it that I wouldn’t be able to find you, either. I wanted to tell you, but the only information I managed to scrounge up was that you were missing therapy sessions while off in the Czech Republic doing god knows what. Then I was mad and didn’t want you to know. I didn’t think it was fair that you got to remove yourself completely from my life, when I stayed haunted by you leaving what we had. It was impossible to move on because everything came back to you.”

“Y/N, I’m so sorry you’ve gone through this alone. If I had known I would’ve-.”

“You would’ve what, Bucky? Stayed?”

He took a minute to respond, taken aback by your harsh tone, then looked downwards, as if he was ashamed to meet your gaze.

“I don’t know,” he admitted honestly, making you scoff. “Y/N, leaving and staying away wasn’t easy for me to do.”

“Really?” You challenged. “Because you did a damn good job at it.”

“Because my fear of something bad happening to you was and still is very real. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if someone hurt you again as a way to get to me.”

That shut you up real quick.

“Even now,” Bucky continued. “Meeting here, I’m looking at everyone in this place, paranoid, because I will always have a target on my back no matter what, and that extends to you. The thought of you being used as collateral scares the shit out of me. But I can’t stay away from you, Y/N. Especially now with-.”

“The fact that we have a daughter,” you whispered.

“Exactly. The safest thing for you and her would be for me to stay away, I know that, and me being part of the New Avengers puts you both at even more risk, but she’s my daughter. I gotta know her.”

Seeing Bucky get so emotional as he spoke made you emotional too, and by then, you knew there was no point in trying to hide it as another sob left your mouth.

“You will,” you promised. “She deserves to know her dad. I may still be pissed at you and hesitant to let you back into my life in any extent, but she’s your daughter too. And she’s fucking amazing. I would never intentionally keep her away from you now that you know and want to be part of her life. I’m not evil. But, Bucky, you have to be in or out. You can’t just disappear on her like you did me. I refuse to put her through waiting and wondering if you were ever going to come back.”

Silence fell between the two of you again, but you knew that it was in mutual understanding and agreement.

“Y/N,” Bucky said after a few moments had passed. “I am undoubtedly and wholeheartedly in.”

“Good. You’d be really missing out if you weren’t.”

“I already hate that I’ve missed so much, but I can’t wait to meet her. However, I do think we need to take this slowly.”

“Absolutely,” you agreed. “She and I both have to be ready for that meeting to happen, which won’t be today.”

“For sure,” Bucky replied. “Hopefully soon, though.”

“It’ll probably be sooner than I’m ready for, but for her, I’m willing to make it work. That being said, I should get going so I can go home to her.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you for talking with me, Y/N.”

Both you and Bucky stood up from the table and had an awkward moment of almost going in for a hug, but ultimately didn’t. After muttering quick goodbyes and discussing how you’d be in touch, you slung your bag over your shoulder before heading on your way.

However, you only made it a few steps before Bucky called after you.

“Y/N, before you go,” he said as you turned to face him again. “Can I ask you one more thing?”

“Go for it,” you responded, having no idea what he could be about to ask.

“What’s her name?”

Bucky was smiling as he asked, and despite you still feeling a type of way about his sudden reemergence in your life, you smiled too.

“Penelope Rebecca Barnes.”

taglist (thank you so much angels for your comments): @avengersfan25, @wonwoosthetic, @xprloki, @ordelixx, @cherrypieyourface, @xhazzz, @avafaustus, @lovely-seb <3

[a-simple-gaywitch]

A Healing Light

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: When Aaron Hotchner's little sister comes running into the BAU, Spencer doesn't expect her to take up such a large part of his heart

Warnings: referenced/heavily implied domestic violence, referenced child abuse, PTSD, other canon-typical violence

Word Count: 9413

Author's Note: my life has been a total shitshow lately so here’s a fic I made to cope. Disclaimer, all of my knowledge of medical education comes from TV shows and brief Googling. Also I could easily write a part 2 to this I have so many ideas with this concept

“Nothing can dim the light that shines from within.” ~Maya Angelou

~

When Spencer heard the BAU’s glass doors open, he looked up to see a young woman rushing in. She was dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and long pants, unusual for the warm weather the northeast was currently experiencing. 

“Ma’am, can I help you?” one of the agents asked, reaching a hand out towards her. Spencer saw her flinch back a bit. 

“I-I need to see Aaron Hotchner,” she said, her voice shaking. 

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but-”

“(Y/N)?” Hotch said, stepping out of his office. 

“Aaron!” The woman ran over and wrapped her arms around Hotch in a tight hug. Aaron hugged her back. 

“Not that I’m not happy to see you, but-” Aaron froze as he took in your face. Makeup was caked on and there were obvious tear tracks cutting through concealer on your cheeks. Your mascara was also severely smudged under your eyes. Aaron brushed his thumb across your cheekbone, revealing a large, dark bruise. “(Y/N), what happened?”

“He showed up at the restaurant, Aaron. He showed up while I was at work. I-I’m just lucky Lucy saw him in the parking lot from the hostess stand. I ran to the back and Joey gave me the keys to his truck, told me to go somewhere safe, so I came here.”

Hotch looked over at the team, who were not-so-sneakily eavesdropping. “Let’s go talk in my office.” He gently led you through the door and pulled his blinds shut. 

Meanwhile, the team, minus Gideon, gathered in the bullpen. 

“Who was that?”

“His sister,” explained Derek.

“I didn’t know Hotch had a sister,” Garcia said.

“Oh, yeah. Sean and (Y/N) are both younger. I only met (Y/N) one other time.”

“She definitely looks more like Sean than Hotch.” 

“Wonder where they get their looks from, mom or dad?” Emily chimed in. 

Spencer’s eyes drifted to the windows of Hotch’s office, where shadows were moving around. “Guys,” he said, nodding toward the opening office door. The team scattered back to their respective desks, Garcia perching herself on Emily’s. 

“Garcia!” Hotch called. 

“Sir!” She scrambled off the desk. 

“I need you to find everything you can on Nathaniel Walker. Credit card purchases, social media posts, everything. And if he comes even 50 miles from the city, you tell me immediately. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” she said, grabbing one of Emily’s sticky notes and jotting down the name before slipping off to her office. 

“Anderson!” He called. The blond man popped his head up from his desk. Hotch held up an envelope. “Take this to the DA. Tell her it’s a rush order from Agent Hotchner.”

“Yes, sir!” Anderson took the envelope and scurried off. 

“Reid, take (Y/N) to the cafeteria. Make sure she gets something to eat.” Hotch rested his hand on your shoulder. “I have to go call Haley, let her know what’s going on.”

“Oh. Uh, o-okay,” you said. 

“Go with Spencer, get something to eat,” he said, his voice soft in a way the team rarely heard. “I’ll come get you when I’m ready to go, okay?”

You nodded and walked over to the man indicated as Spencer. You followed him through the glass doors and onto the elevator. 

“So,” Spencer said, trying to break the awkward silence that had settled around you, “I heard you work in a restaurant?”

“Oh, yeah. Just to work my way through med school. Sean pulled some strings and got me a waitressing gig in Boston.”

“Medical school? Which one? Emerson? Suffolk?”

“Northeastern, actually,” you said. Spencer saw a hint of a smile on your face. “I have one semester left.”

The elevator doors opened to the cafeteria. Spencer gestured for you to go first. “So, uh, what are you planning to specialize in?”

“I want to go into Pediatric Oncology,” you said. 

“Wow, that’s-”

“Ambitious? Crazy? Unattainable? Believe me, I’ve heard it all,” you said with a dry laugh. “Mostly from Nate,” you muttered.

“Actually, I was going to say that’s amazing.” The two of you slipped into the cafeteria line. “So, last semester. You have a residency program picked out?”

You cleared your throat. “So, uh, what’s good to eat here? Aaron’s always complaining about the cafeteria’s food.”

~

Aaron sat at his desk, rubbing his temples. He’d just gotten off the phone with Haley. He sighed when there was a knock at his door. He looked up to see Gideon standing in the doorway. 

“You okay?” he asked. 

Aaron shook his head. “I’m about ready to drive up to Boston and give (Y/N)’s no-good piece of shit boyfriend a piece of my mind.”

“Hotch.”

He looked up. “She’s my baby sister, Jason. The bastard beat her to hell and back, and I wasn’t there to stop him.” 

Jason sat in the chair across the desk. “Aaron, she’s an adult, she can make her own choices. And she chose to drive hours to come see you for help. The best thing you can do right now is help her through the aftermath. Did you call Sean?”

“Not yet. I just got off the phone with Haley. She agrees, (Y/N) should stay with us until this is all settled. I just sent an emergency protective order to DA Martinez. Garcia’s watching Nate’s movements, making sure he doesn’t track her down.” He sighed. “I don’t know what else to do. I mean, when it’s a case we’re working it all seems so simple, so obvious. But when it’s your own family…”

“I get it,” Jason said. “Look, why don’t you head home. Take a day or two, help (Y/N) get settled. If there’s anything major, I’ll call you.”

~

“Did you know that in the late 19th century, a surgeon named Robert Liston  was responsible for a 300% mortality rate in a single surgery?” Spencer asked as the two of you picked at the food in front of you. 

“Oh, that was only one of the crazy things Liston did,” you laughed. “The man was crazy egotistical. To be fair, he was considered the best surgeon in the world at the time.” You took one of the fries in front of you. “I mean, he cut off a man’s balls on accident, but he’s still legendary.”

Spencer couldn’t stop the laugh that erupted from him. When he saw Hotch walking over, he cleared his throat. “Sir.”

“Reid,” Hotch said with a nod. “(Y/N), you ready to go?”

“Sure. It was nice talking to you, Spencer,” you said. 

“You, too.” As you walked away, Spencer felt the butterflies in his stomach finally start to settle. 

~ 

The drive home was mostly silent. You knew Aaron was thinking, and you were coming down from the adrenaline rush. You felt your eyes drooping as you rested your head against the cool window. The radio played softly in the background. Aaron knew any real conversations about what happened would have to wait until you rested.

As the two of you pulled into the driveway,  Haley came running out, baby Jack on her hip. You and Aaron climbed out of the car. 

“Oh, (Y/N)!” She gave you the best one-armed hug she could. “Aaron told me everything. Come on, let’s get you settled in.”

You were steered towards the house when the realization fully hit you like a freight train.

“I only have my purse. I don’t have any of my stuff.” Your breath started coming in heavy puffs. 

“(Y/N). (Y/N), look at me,” Aaron said, his hands heavy on your shoulders. “Breathe. Follow me. Deep breath in, count to five, deep breath out.” He coached your breathing back to normal, continuing to model deep breathing. When you were breathing normally again, he said, “I called Sean. He’s driving to Boston to clear out your apartment. He’ll bring your car down with him. And for now, we have plenty. If there’s something you need, we’ll get it, okay?”

You nodded, tears falling again. “Okay.” 

You walked into your brother’s house and were immediately met with the warm smell of Haley’s cooking. Even though you didn’t visit often, you always enjoyed Haley’s home cooked meals. 

“I made a roast. I hope that’s okay,” Haley said as she set Jack down in his pack-n-play. 

“That sounds lovely, Hales.”

After dinner, Haley ushered you upstairs and led you to the spare room. 

“This is your room for as long as you need,” Haley said. “I put some fresh towels and some soap in the bathroom for you. Help yourself if you need anything, okay? Our house is your house.”

~

It didn’t take you long at all to fall asleep. You’d taken a nice, long shower and Haley had given you a pair of extremely comfortable pajamas to sleep in.

You ended up sleeping for nearly 20 hours. When you did wake up, it was to the sounds of Aaron and Haley arguing. You followed their voices toward the home office. As you got closer, you were able to make out their words.

“She’s your sister, Aaron!” Haley hissed. “She needs your help!”

“And the team needs my help, too!” Aaron shot back. 

“So they’re more important than family?”

You cleared your throat and they spun around. “Sorry to eavesdrop,” you said, “but I don’t want to be a point of contention. If Aaron needs to leave for work, it’s okay. Really. I need to call the university and handle stuff with them anyway.”

“See? She doesn’t need me,” he said. “And we’re only going to Philadelphia.”

Haley sighed and rubbed her temples. “Fine. Go. We’ll be here. Like always.”

“You’re the best,” Aaron said, giving her a quick kiss and grabbing his bag. “Love you.” He kissed your forehead. “Love you too.” He practically ran out of the house. Haley glared out the window. If looks could kill…

~

You sighed, looking up at the ceiling in your new temporary bedroom. Your phone was on speaker, playing mildly annoying music from where it rested on your bed. 

Haley popped her head in, a basket of laundry in her arms. “That music’s been playing for like half an hour.”

You groaned. “I know. I’ve been on hold with the dean’s office.”

Haley clucked her tongue. “Unacceptable.” She walked over to the house phone sitting on your side table and dialed. When whoever was on the other end picked up, she said, “Julia, hi, it’s Haley. Tell your husband to get off his ass and call me on his work phone. Why? Because my sister-in-law has been on hold with Dean Wilkins for almost an hour. Yes, I know, she’s horrible.” Haley laughed. “Yeah, yeah, you’re so right.” She laughed again. “Okay, thank you Jules. I’ll see you at the next fundraiser. Okay, bye.” She turned to you. “My sorority sister is married to the president of the university. He’ll be calling us soon.”

As if on cue, the phone began to ring. 

“I’ll leave you to it. Holler if you need anything.”

The call went better than you were expecting. After explaining the situation, the president practically bent over backwards to find a solution for you. 

“Let me put in some calls. You might be able to finish up down there.” Was what he had said. 

When that call was finally over, you sat staring at your phone for a while. You knew you needed to call the restaurant, let everyone know you’re okay. But for some reason, that was the call you had been dreading. 

With a couple deep breaths, you picked up the phone and dialed. 

“Park View Bistro, this is Lucy. Dining in or carry-out?”

“Hey, Luce, it’s me.”

She gasped. “Guys, it’s (Y/N)!”

“Are you okay?”

“Where are you?”

“Are you safe?”

You heard your coworkers chime in. You couldn’t fight the smile crossing your face. 

“I’m okay, I’m safe,” you said. “I’m at my brother’s.”

“Which brother?” Tad, one of the busboys, asked. “New York or FBI?”

You rolled your eyes but laughed. “FBI.”

The response was a chorus of “that’s good” and “smart choice” and other positive comments. 

“Well, we gave you a bit of a head start,” Lucy said. “I called the police. They, um. They found a gun on him.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. “Oh.”

“Are you okay?”

You cleared your throat. “Yeah. Yeah, fine. Is Jerry there?”

“Right here,” you heard your manager’s voice. 

“So, kind of obvious, but yesterday was kinda my last day. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” he said. “Just stay safe, okay? Don’t be afraid to reach out if you need anything, though.”

~ 

You were laying on the living room couch, flipping through the flashcards you kept in your purse. Jack was happily playing in his playpen and Haley was grabbing a quick shower. 

“Peripheral nervous system,” you muttered to yourself. “the sensory and motor neurons that connect the central nervous system to the rest of the body. Voluntary movement of skeletal-“

Before you could finish your thought, the doorbell rang. 

“I got it!” You called up to Haley. “Sean!”

Your brother scooped you up in a hug. When he set you down, he gripped your shoulders and looked over your face. “How are you doing? And don’t bullshit me. I know you’re not fine.”

Your chin started to wobble and your eyes started to sting. You started crying yet again, for what felt like the millionth time in 24 hours. Sean pulled you into another tight hug. 

When you finally calmed down, Sean asked, “Where’s Aaron?”

With a sniffle and wiping your eyes, you said, “On a case.”

Sean rolled his eyes. “Of course he is.” He walked over to his car and opened the trunk. “I grabbed some essentials. Your landlord was very understanding. He said he’ll send your stuff down, free of charge.”

“What? Why-why would he do that?”

“Because you’re a ray of goddamn sunshine,” he said. “You charm everyone you meet. You have a whole army of people ready to hunt down one man on your behalf. Everyone loves you, (Y/N).”

~

You were staring at the pile of envelopes on your bed. Sean had brought your mail in the boxes. He was helping you unpack them before heading back to New York.

“What’s up?” Sean asked, noticing your staring. “Did those letters personally offend you or something?”

“They’re internship offers,” you said. 

“(Y/N), that’s great! There’s like seven letters here!”

“Mmh.”

Sean’s brows furrowed. “What’s going on?” He gestured for you to sit with him on the bed. “This is all you’ve wanted since you were, what, seven years old? Why aren’t you more excited about this?”

You sat silently for a few moments, chewing on your lip. “Did you know that only 30% of interns make it through their residency?”

“What? (Y/N), what are you talking about?”

“What if I’m part of the 70%?” you whispered. “What if I fail out? What if I can’t do it?”

“Nate really messed you up, didn’t he? (Y/N), when people ask me about my family, you know what I say? Well, firstly, I say that my brother’s a jackass but we love him anyway.” You couldn’t help but chuckle. “But then I say that my little sister is a genius. She’s going to be the one to cure cancer. She’s so smart and talented, and works so hard. I couldn’t be prouder of her.”

“Well, you’re wrong.”

“(Y/N)-“

“I’m not your little sister, I’m your twin, dickhead,” you said with a smile. 

~

“Why did you wait so long to open these?” Haley asked. “There are some really good offers in this pile. 

You chewed the skin around your thumb. “Nate. He wanted me to stay in Boston. I didn’t get an offer from Boston. He didn’t understand how internships work so he got mad. That, um, that’s actually what set him off this last time.”

“Oh, honey,” Haley said, pulling you into a hug.

Hours later, Haley said, “So, we’ve narrowed your choices down to Johns Hopkins Medicine-Sibley Memorial Hospital and George Washington University.”

Your leg was bouncing and you were chewing the skin around your thumb. “I don’t know. I mean, the peds department at any Hopkins hospital is world-class. But the research department at George Washington produces some of the most cutting-edge advancements. You rubbed your face with both your hands. 

“Hello?” came Aaron’s voice from the kitchen. “I’m home!”

“Living room!” Haley called. She turned to look at you. “Well, you want to help kids with cancer, right? Which place is going to allow you to do that the most?”

“What are we doing in here? Hey, Sean.”

Sean nodded toward Aaron as Haley explained, “Helping (Y/N/N) decide where she’s gonna intern in July. We’re down to two hospitals.”

Aaron looked at the letters on the table. “George Washington University and Johns Hopkins?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I can’t decide.”

He looked over the letters. “George Washington pays more. Go with them.”

Sean scoffed as Haley said, “Aaron!”

“What? It’s practical.”

“It’s not that easy, Aaron,” you said. “I need to think about how they can propel my future. Which one’s gonna offer me the better education.” 

“Okay, how about this,” Sean offered. “Close your eyes, no thinking, random questions.”

“Sean, that doesn’t work here,” you said. “Yeah, it’s a fun game for easy choices when we were kids, but-”

“What about a pro-con list?” Aaron suggested. “I’ll get paper, we’ll write it out.”

You scoffed. “You sound like Dad.”

“Hey!” He gently punched your arm with a huffed laugh. “Uncalled for.”

In the end, after hours of debating, you decided on Hopkins. It was a short train away from the house, and it was going to help you get where you wanted to go better than the university hospital. And simply making that decision lifted a huge weight you didn’t even realize was sitting on your chest. 

~ 

Penelope rushed down the hallway from her office to the bullpen. 

“Hey-“ Morgan’s greeting was promptly ignored as she raced up the steps to Hotch’s office, “-babygirl.”

She knocked hurriedly on the door. 

“Come in!”

“Sir,” Penelope panted out, clutching her tablet to her chest. 

“Garcia? What’s wrong?” 

“You told me to tell you if any of Nathaniel Walker’s information changed. Well, his credit cards show he stopped at a gun shop in Maryland and he just got gas in Baltimore.” Hotch’s stomach dropped when she continued, “It looks like he’s heading for here.”

“Thank you, Garcia,” Hotch said, doing his best to hide is panic. “You can go.” He reached for his phone and dialed. 

“Hello?”

“(Y/N), where are you? Please tell me you’re at the house.”

“Um, no,” you said. “Haley and I are at the mall. Why?”

“Don’t- don’t worry about it. Just, stay there, okay?”

“Aaron, what’s going on?” you demanded.

He sighed and said, “Might as well tell you. Nathaniel is looking for you.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry. I have someone tracking his car. And, you have a protective order which means police have to intervene if he comes within 50 feet of you. Besides, it looks like he’s coming here first.”

“Is he really stupid enough to show up to a federal building?” Haley asked. The two of you had taken a bench in the mall, and you’d put Aaron on speakerphone. 

“He’s stupid enough to follow (Y/N). I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“What-what do we do if he finds us here?” you asked. 

“He won’t,” Haley assured you. 

“He doesn’t know where the house is. Go home, it’s the safest place right now.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Haley said. “Besides, Jack is starting to get cranky.”

When you got back to the house, you sat by the phone, staring, waiting for it to ring. What if he attacked Aaron? What if Aaron attacked him? He may be horrible to you, and you were definitely broken up, but a part of you still loved him. After all, you were together for over three years. You’d even discussed marriage with him. 

Finally, after what felt like years, the phone rang. You scrambled to pick it up. 

“Aaron?”

“Hey.” He was panting on the other end of the line. 

“What happened?

“Well, you won’t have to worry about him anymore.” 

“What? Is he-“

“He’s alive,” your brother said. “Probably wishing he was dead, though. He probably has some broken ribs and he definitely has a concussion. He’s also facing up to 20 years in federal prison.”

“What happened?” 

“Do you really want to know?” You heard him mutter “thank you” to someone in the office. 

You chewed your lip. “I guess not.”

~ 

July came much faster than you were expecting. Maybe that was because your spring was so busy - testifying in court about Nate, finishing your last few tests, and 

“Okay, what do we think?” You asked Haley, slowly spinning with your arms held out. “Too casual? Or too formal?”

“No, it looks nice,” Haley assured you. “Professional without being too stuffy. And your makeup is lovely.”

“Why are you bothering?” Aaron asked. “Aren’t you just going to change into scrubs anyway?”

You sighed with an eye-roll as Haley said, “Aaron!”

“What?”

“It’s about making a first impression,” you said. “I’m going to be working here for at least 5 years, I need to start on the right foot.” You straightened out the blouse you had chosen. “Besides, they’re making us sit in a bunch of meetings for most of the morning, I won’t get my scrubs until later.” You took a deep breath before slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Today’s the day.”

~ 

It didn’t take long for you to make friends at the hospital. You clicked well with a few of the other interns in your class: Austin, Syd, and Ella. By some miracle, you were all scheduled off at the same time, after a long and grueling day. Syd suggested going to the bar down the street, and you all thought it sounded like a good idea.

“What are you guys drinking?” Syd asked, shouldering her way to the bar. “I’m thinking we start with a round of shots.” She started pointing around your small group. “Shots? Shots? Shots?”

You laughed. “Sure. Set me up. Ella?”

“I’m down.”

“Well, if we’re all doing it…” Austin joked. 

“Awesome! Four tequilas,” she said when she flagged down the bartender.

Before you knew it, you and your friends were loosened up and laughing around a table. 

“No way, you were totally ready to jump over Ness to scrub in,” Austin laughed. “I have never met anyone more competitive.”

“Ah, well, when you grow up with two brothers and a father who uses love and affection as a reward for achievement, you learn to fight for everything.” You took a sip from your run and coke before noticing the table went silent. “What?”

Syd cleared her throat. “Nothing. Did, uh, did any of you sit in the gallery for that transplant?”

“Oh, yeah, so cool,” Ella said. “Kidney transplant on a 5-month-old.”

Austin finished the rest of his drink. “Anyone want to dance?”

“I’ll go,” Syd offered, standing up with him. “There’s some cute guys on the floor. Ella?”

“Sure. How ‘bout you, (Y/N/N)?”

“No thanks,” you said. “I am gonna get a water, though.” After you flagged down the bartender for your drink, you felt someone step up beside you. 

“Looks like residency is treating you well.”

Your head whipped around. “Dr. Reid?”

“Spencer. Please, just Spencer.”

You smiled at him as the bartender placed your drink in front of you. “Is the whole team here?”

“Most of them.” He nodded over toward the dance floor where Morgan was clearly flirting with your girls. “Gideon and Hotch chose to go home. JJ and Garcia are over at our table with Emily.” He was about to say something else when his phone started ringing. “Damn.”

You chuckled. “Isn’t that how it always goes?” 

He smiled and you felt your stomach flutter in a way it hadn’t in years. Your eyes followed him as he met back up with Derek and the girls. 

“I’m telling you, he’s married!”

“Wouldn’t he have a ring if he were married, Syd?”

“No, he would take it off. Besides, what other reason can you think of for a guy suddenly needing to leave after getting a text?”

“You guys talking about Derek?” You asked.

“Wait, how’d you know his name? We didn’t tell you!” Ella said. 

“He works with my brother. They just got called for a case.”

“Ha! He’s not married, Syd! Take that!” Ella said. She turned to you. “You think he’ll call?”

“Probably,” you shrugged. 

“Wait,” Austin said. “You’ve known this guy for how long, and you’re not showing any interest in Mr. Muscles? What’s wrong with him?”

You scoffed. “Nothing’s wrong with him. He’s just… not my type.”

Austin crossed his arms over his chest. “Really? Adonis isn’t your type?”

You shrugged in response. 

“Okay, so what is your type?” Syd asked. 

Your eyes were still tracking Spencer where the team was gathered. “Tall and lanky,” you said. “Kinda nerdy and dorky. Someone with a heart of gold.”

~ 

You were at the library, pouring over a stack of books. The intern exam was coming up quicker than you thought, and you were trying to be as prepared as possible. You marked down some notes before shifting back to the book. 

“Little light reading?” someone asked. 

You looked up, prepared to tell the person off, but the words died on your tongue when a familiar mop of brown hair and hazel eyes came into your line of sight. “Dr. Reid!” Your cheeks flushed and you mentally cursed yourself. “It’s uh, it’s good to see you.”

“You too.” He ran a hand through his hair. “So, is this your idea of a fun night off?”

You laughed and bookmarked the page you were on. “Kind of,” you said. “Intern exams are in 8 weeks so it’s cram time.”

Spencer hummed. “You want a study-buddy?” he offered.

“Dr. Reid-”

“Oh, Spencer, please. Just Spencer.”

You cleared your throat. “I don’t want to take up your night off.”

He scoffed as he slid into the seat across from you. “I didn’t have any plans. I was gonna check out some books and hide myself away in my apartment. This is definitely an upgrade.” 

You smiled and ducked your head to hide your ever-flushed cheeks. 

“Mind if I take a look?” he asked, gesturing toward your notebook. 

“Oh! Um, sure.” You slid it across from him. “My resident wrote down some practice questions for me and I’ve been drilling the answers.”

After looking through your notes, he said, “So, just out of curiosity, why pediatric oncology?”

You took in a big breath. “I’ve known a lot of people who’ve suffered from cancer. My dad, my grandmother. But the one that affected me the most was my best friend’s baby sister.” Your eyes started to glaze over as you thought back. 

“Sophia lived two streets away from us. We spent just about every day together. When we were four, her mom got pregnant. Lindsey was born severely underweight and had a bunch of health issues from the beginning. She was barely four pounds. Because her parents were practically living in the hospital, my mom let Sophia stay with us. It was actually pretty fun for a bit. It was like we were sisters. And, you know, having two brothers, all you really want is a sister. But then they took us to meet Lindsey. It was rough. She was so small and so pale, hooked up to so many machines. I remember there was this light shining on her. I didn’t know then but it was for her bilirubin level. They didn’t know what was wrong so they were trying everything in the book. But after months of testing and testing and testing, they finally diagnosed her. Leukemia.

You wiped at your eyes. “We didn’t really know what that meant, of course. But we knew our parents were really upset about it.” You took a shuddering breath. “They tried everything. Chemo, surgeries, different radiation treatments. But nothing helped. We lost Lindsey before her second birthday.”

“I’m sure that was really hard for your families. It sounds like you were really close.”

“Yeah. We were. That was really my first real experience with death. And I just remember thinking, this is a brand new person. Why would the universe let her get this horrible, horrible disease? And why does no one know how to stop it? Well, anyway, that was when I decided I wanted to be a doctor and find a cure. For Lindsey and the McDermott’s.”

“So you’ve known what you wanted to do since you were six?” Spencer asked, his admiration for you growing.

You shrugged. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“The only other person I’ve known who’s known what they wanted to do since they were that age is well… me.”

“Seems like we have a lot in common then,” you said with a smile.

You had a great time studying with Spencer. He had some great memorizing techniques, and he knew when you needed a break from cramming before you did. He made the time fly by, to the point the librarians had to kick you out so they could close.

You and Spencer were laughing together as you walked to the metro station. 

“Wait, so Sean thought zebras were fake until high school? How is that even possible?” Spencer laughed. 

“Well, it’s not like our dad ever took us to the zoo,” you said. “His idea of a fun family outing was making us sit in the gallery of a courtroom watching him prance like a peacock.”

“At least yours didn’t leave you to take care of your chronically ill mother before you hit puberty,” Spencer said. He then bit his tongue. He barely knew you, why was he compelled to tell you something so personal?

“Hey, fellow member of the Shitty Dads Club, high five!” You held up your hand and laughed as Spencer tentatively clapped your hand. Spencer felt the knot that formed unfurl. “Tonight was fun,” you said as you got to your platform.

“It was. I, uh, I had a good time.”

“Well. This is my train. See you around?”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely! Oh, uh, let me know how you do on the exam.”

“Sure. Yeah, I definitely will.”

~

Aaron was on the plane with the team when his phone started ringing. “Hello?”

“I passed!” you yelled down the line. “Actually, I didn’t just pass, I got it perfect!”

“Hey, that’s awesome!” He turned to the rest of the plane. “(Y/N) passed her intern exam!”

“Hey!”

“Alright!”

“Good for her!”

“Okay, that was it,” you said. “I have to get back to work.” You whooped, “I passed!”

Aaron laughed. “Okay, I’ll see you when we get back.”

“Oh, okay, bye!”

~

Spencer was distracted. Usually on the plane to a new case, he was pouring over the file. But this time, he was staring out the window, lost in thought. 

“Alright, Pretty Boy,” Morgan said, plopping down next to him. “What’s on your mind?”

“Hmm?” Spencer snapped away from the window. “Oh, hey, Morgan.”

“What’s going on with you?”

“What? Nothing.” He looked around the plane, briefly making eye contact with Hotch. “No-nothing’s going on.”

Morgan looked at him for a moment. “Fine. Don’t tell me now. But I’m not dropping this, kid. I’ll find out what’s got you all distracted. I’m bringing this up again.”

Unfortunately, Morgan didn’t get a chance to bring it up again until much later. The case went off the rails faster and harder than anyone could have expected, with both Spencer and JJ disappearing. As the case continued to unfold, the team knew Tobias Hankle wasn’t going to come in easy. 

The team fought, and fought hard. They stayed awake for over 24 hours trying to rescue Reid. Finally, finally, the team succeeded. After what felt like hours of debating, Hotch convinced Reid to go to the hospital to be examined. 

“This is ridiculous,” Spencer said from the ER gurney. “I’m fine.”

“Kid, you’re not fine,” Morgan said. “You were held captive for two days and tortured. Let the damn doctors examine you.”

He sighed and flopped himself back on the bed. 

Derek leaned closer to the bed. “So, can we finally talk about this girl you got on your mind?”

Spencer’s head snapped over to him. “You-”

“You really thought I wouldn’t piece it together? C’mon, kid, we’re profilers. So, who is she?”

Spencer glanced around before finally admitting, “(Y/N).”

“Wait, wait, as in-”

“Hotch’s sister. Yeah. We, uh, I ran into her at the library a few nights ago, and we had a good time. Did you know she skipped two grades? Second and tenth. And she was valedictorian at her undergrad.” Spencer smiled up at the ceiling. “And she’s funny. She made me laugh so hard I couldn’t breathe.” He grew quiet. He whispered, “Thinking of her helped me get through it. Her smile, her laugh. When I thought about just giving up, I thought about how she lights up the room. She gave me hope.”

~

You were having a terrible day. You’d woken up late, meaning you nearly missed morning rounds. Then, you got stuck doing scut work for being late. Then, while you were working on some papers, you knocked your coffee all over the file and yourself. 

“Hate this damn day,” you muttered, grabbing the box of tissues nearby to mop up the papers. “God fuckin-”

“Well,” Ella drawled, sidling up to the counter, “I have something that might cheer you up.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“There’s a very handsome professor guy asking for you,” she said. “Says he wants to talk to you.”

You looked up from the desk, prepared to yell at whoever was interrupting your already terrible day. Whatever vitriol you were about to spill died when you saw who Ella was talking about. 

“Spencer!” You jumped up, completely forgetting about the coffee seeping into your scrubs. You ran around the desk. “Aaron told me what happened in Georgia, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, no, I-I’m okay. I, uh, wanted to talk to you, though.”

“Sure. What’s-what’s going on?”

“Actually,” ‘he said, dropping his voice to a whisper, “can we talk somewhere private?”

“Oh! Sure.” You led him to a nearby exam room that was empty. “So, what’s up?” He was looking everywhere but at your face. “Spencer?”

He took a deep breath. “Look, I had a really great time with you at the library. I loved getting to know you and-and I would love to get to know you better.”

You started smiling. “Spencer Reid, are you asking me out?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I am. Or, well, at least I’m trying. I’ve never really been good at this kind of stuff.”

You were smiling so hard your cheeks were starting to hurt. “Well, I’d love to go on a date with you,” you said. “And I promise, I won’t be wearing coffee-soaked scrubs.”

Spencer laughed and said, “Well, I still think you look great. You always do.” Your cheeks felt like they were on fire as Spencer gazed at you. “So, uh, I know you have a crazy schedule. Are you free Friday at 7?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I actually get done at 6. Meet here?”

“Absolutely,” Spencer said. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you then.”

“Bye.”

Your day went a lot better after that.

~

It was almost 3 in the morning when you got to the door. Your heels were in one hand, and you tried to quietly unlock the back door with the keys in your other hand. You winced as the door squeaked open and you started tiptoeing across the kitchen floor. You were halfway to the stairs when the light flicked on. 

“Shit!” you hissed.

Aaron was sat at the kitchen counter. “So, you want to tell me where you’ve been all night?” he asked.

You cleared your throat. “I plead the fifth.” Aaron looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “Look, I’m an adult, I don’t need to tell you where I was or who I was with! I’m not in high school anymore, Aaron. And you’re not Dad.”

“So you were on a date.”

“Maybe.”

“With who?”

“Not telling.”

“(Y/N)-”

“Look, I get that you’re looking out for me, I do. But I’m not a teenager, and you’re not my legal guardian anymore. You have to let me live my life. Make my own mistakes”

“(Y/N), this is your first date since Nathaniel-”

“That you know of.”

“-are you really so surprised I’m worried about you?”

You sighed and sat down next to him. “No, I’m not surprised. But I really like this guy,” you said. “I don’t want you scaring him off by going all Scary Big Brother on him. If it helps, I know you’ll like him.” Aaron just hummed in response. You leaned your head on his shoulder and the two of you sat in silence for a bit. “For the record,” you said, “I’m glad you’re not Dad. You care more than he ever did.” 

~

Spencer hummed happily as he added sugar to his morning coffee. His phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket, smiling at the message on the screen. 

“So, I take it the big date went well,” Morgan said, walking up next to Spencer and pulling his own cup out of the cabinet. 

Spencer hid his smile with his mug as he took a sip of his coffee. 

“Wait, wait, did I hear the word date in relation to Reid?” Emily asked. 

“You sure did. Pretty Boy’s got game. So, is there a second date in your future?”

“Possibly.” Spencer felt his face flushing and he took another sip of coffee to hide it.

“So, what’s the name of this girl that’s got you all starry-eyed?” Emily asked as they walked back to their desks. 

“I think I’m gonna keep that to myself for a little longer,” Spencer said, his eyes tracking Hotch as he walked from Gideon’s office to his own. 

“Okay, well, if you won’t tell us her name, can you at least tell us where you took her?”

“Well, we started at an escape room, like Morgan suggested, but we beat it way too quickly. They said we set a new record.”

“Wow. How long?”

“Five minutes. Then, since we couldn’t make any reservations, we just walked around the city, seeing what looked interesting. We found a bar hosting a trivia night. And then we just spent the rest of the night… talking. We just sat there, getting to know each other. It was- it was actually really nice.”

“Sounds like all that worrying was for nothing,” Morgan said. 

“Well, not for nothing,” he said. “There’s still that big elephant in the room.”

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Emily asked. “Morgan knows who it is?”

“Well, yeah. He’s the one that convinced me to ask her out.”

“And it’s more like the elephant in the big office,” Morgan quipped. “You’re gonna have to tell him eventually.”

“And we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. But for now, she doesn’t want to tell him and I’m certainly not going to be the one to tell him.”

“Reid, please tell me you’re not seeing a married woman.”

“What? No! Emily, no!”

“Let’s just say she has a pretty protective family,” Morgan said. “Someone who’s known to flip his lid if his family is hurt.”

“Wait a second…” Emily took in how Spencer was avoiding eye contact and Morgan’s eyes flicked between him and Hotch’s office with a smirk. She gasped. “No way!”

~

“So, how’d date night go?” Syd asked the next day at work. 

“It was great. Until Aaron caught me sneaking back into the house.”

She barked out a laugh. “What are you, 15?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want, Abbot,” you joked as you lined up for your morning rounds.

“So, is he taking you out again?”

“Yeah, next Wednesday. We’re going to see a show at the Kennedy Center.”

“Ooh, which one?”

“Abbot, Hotchner!” your resident snapped. “Something you’d like to share with the group?”

You cleared your throat. “No, ma’am. Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

“It better not, or you’ll be buried to your eyes in scut. Now, who’d like to present?”

~

“You sure you’re ready to do this?” Spencer asked you. The two of you had been together for four months, and had decided to make things official by telling your family. 

You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, besides, I think he already knows and he’s just waiting to hear it from me.” You took a deep breath and unlocked the door. “Aaron? Haley?”

“Kitchen!”

You motioned for Spencer to wait as you walked in the room. “I, uh, I have someone I want you to meet,” you said. “Or, well, you’ll see. Uh, I want to introduce my boyfriend. Spencer.”

You motioned for him to come into the room and you gripped his hand. He gave yours a squeeze in reassurance.

Aaron smiled. “I was wondering when you’d finally admit it.”

~

Date nights with Spencer were probably your favorite nights. The two of you had decided to have a night in rather than go out. Dinner was simple: just pasta with some frozen garlic bread. Neither of you was a very talented cook. 

You were helping clean up, putting dishes back in the cabinets, when a plate slipped from your hand and smashed on the floor. 

Suddenly, you were back in Boston with Nate. He was yelling, cursing at you, and you were just standing there. 

You jumped when an arm landed on your shoulder. You cried out and scrunched in on yourself, expecting Nate’s harsh slap. 

Instead, you were met with Spencer’s concerned eyes and soft, “(Y/N)?”

You snapped yourself out of it. “You know, I-I just remembered, I have an early shift tomorrow. I-I should probably go,” you stuttered out before grabbing your purse off the counter and rushing from the apartment. 

“(Y/N)-”

The next day in the office, Spencer went to Hotch’s office. He sat down in the chair across from his desk and said, “(Y/N) made it home last night, right?”

Hotch looked up. “What’s going on? What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Spencer sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. She, uh, she dropped a plate and it broke. Then she just stood there, staring at it. I wasn’t thinking and touched and she freaked out. She got all defensive, her breath started racing and she rushed out of my apartment. She claimed she had to work but I know she has off today.”

Hotch frowned. “She had a flashback.”

“I think so. I want to fix it but I don’t know how,” he admitted. “I mean, what am I supposed to say? I promise I’m not like your psycho ex, I care more about you and your safety than a piece of porcelain?”

“Well, I would leave out the psycho ex part,” Hotch said, giving Spencer a small smile. “But sincerely, give her a little bit of time.”

“She seemed really distressed, Hotch.”

He sat for a moment before saying, “Okay.” He picked up his phone and dialed. “Hey. I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I need a favor. It’s for (Y/N).”

You were sitting on the living room couch, bundled in a blanket. You were staring absently at the blank TV, your mind filled with what felt like static. When you heard keys in the door, you jumped. You let out a sigh when you saw Haley’s familiar blonde head peak in the door. 

“(Y/N)? Hey.” She walked over and sat on the coffee table in front of you. “You okay?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Do I look okay?”

Haley gave you one of her sympathetic smiles before saying, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You found you did. So you told her everything. “It was like I was right back there,” you said. “I was back in that Boston apartment and Nate was breaking things and throwing things because I wasn’t doing what he wanted.” Tears were running down your face. 

“Oh, sweetie,” Haley said, moving to the couch to pull you into a hug. “I’m so sorry. But you know, you weren’t back there. You were with Spencer, one of the most gentle, caring men I know.”

“I know, I know. Logically, I know that. Logically, I know Spencer wouldn’t hurt me. But in that moment, I couldn’t think logically. I was back in fight or flight.” 

After a few days, you decided to sit with Spencer and talk it out. You explained where your head was, and Spencer assured you the episode didn’t scare him away; he was in it for the long haul with you.

~

“You ever notice how we’re always at my place?” Spencer asked, breaking away from where the two of you were making out on his couch. 

“What?” You brushed some hair out of your face. 

“Not that I mind,” Spencer rushed out. “I mean, I-I get it. You’re still living with Hotch, he’s my boss, it’s awkward.”

“Yeah? Spence, where are you going with this?”

“You spend most of your nights here anyway. I think my closet is more your clothes than mine-”

“Spencer.” You gripped his hand. 

“Right, right. I’m rambling.” He cleared his throat. “Um, I was thinking. What if- what if you moved in here? With me?”

Rather than a verbal answer, you tackled him down on the couch, kissing him again.

When you finally broke away, Spencer laughed, “I take it that was a yes?”

“Of course it’s a yes! I love you.” You froze. That was the first time either of you had said those words. A knot of panic was starting to form in your chest.

Spencer must have noticed because he gently took your hands. “Hey, hey, breathe. You’re okay.” He kissed your forehead. “I love you, too.”

~

You groaned as you unlocked the door. “You would not believe the day I had,” you said, kicking your shoes off by the door. Your boyfriend looked up from where he was reading a book on the couch.

“First, the coffee machine in the lounge was busted. Then, I was put in the ER which, you know, fine, whatever. But this group of drunk college girls come in because their friend passed out and we had to pump her stomach. Normal Friday night, right? Well, as we’re taking care of this girl, one of her friends vomits all over me. But, before I can go change my scrubs, an emergency trauma comes in. Apparently, this guy collects Civil War memorabilia and he and his buddy thought it would be fun to play with the musket. So this guy has a bayonet stuck in his abdomen and a bullet wound that’s stuffed with a sock that had clearly been worn recently so we have to worry about infection on top of him bleeding out. All over me, by the way. Then, finally, I get a chance to change my scrubs because they need me in L&D. So I’m helping with this geriatric pregnancy, which by the way is a term I hate, and the mom starts coding. So we’re rushing, trying to get a crash cart, prepared to resuscitate, and then we see the DNR order on the chart. At least the baby was healthy. And nearly 9 pounds.”

You huffed and plopped onto the couch. Spencer pulled your legs up into his lap. “I’m sorry, baby. Hey, you know what might cheer you up? Morgan got yelled at by the accountant for kicking down an unlocked door on our last case. And Penelope totally embarrassed herself answering the phone.”

You snorted a laugh. “Course she did.”

“Oh, and she invited us on a double-date with her and Kevin. Movie night. It might help you destress a bit. Take your mind off that chief resident decision I know you’re constantly thinking about. Which, by the way, you’re gonna get. You’re perfect for the job, they’d be crazy to pass you over for this.” He lifted your hand up and kissed the back of it.

~

Spencer was right, they’d chosen you as chief resident. And you loved it. It was stressful and difficult, but it was what you’d been waiting for. It came with unexpected challenges, like when an emergency trauma came through the ICU. 

You were on your way to check on the unconscious man when you noticed a crowd gathered in front of the room. 

“What is this?” You asked, pushing your way through the crowd of mostly interns and first-year residents. “Out of the way. Move.” When you finally made your way into the room, you saw a familiar group talking to the intern sent to check vitals. “Agents.”

Your brother was standing next to the bed, and you noticed handcuffs around both the patient’s hands. You pursed your lips before turning to the gathered crowd. “I know you all have somewhere to be. Go!” Finally, you turned back to the team. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

“When will Mr. Holsten be awake?” Aaron asked. “Your intern here didn’t seem to have an answer for us.”

You raised your eyebrows at him. “First of all, don’t talk about my intern in that way. Dr. Lester has only been here a few weeks, the new class just started. Secondly, we can’t say for certain. He had significant trauma, so he’s pretty heavily sedated at the moment and-“

“Can you wake him? We have some questions he needs to answer.”

“No, we cannot wake him, Agent Hotchner. Waking him could prove detrimental to his healing. Over the course of his treatment we will start to decrease the medications, but we will not forcibly wake him.”

“You don’t understand, Dr. Hotchner, this man killed-“

You held up your hand. “Right now, at this moment, I don’t care who he killed. He could have slaughtered a convent full of nuns and I would not provide less than adequate care. Within these walls, he is just a patient in need of medical attention. I refuse to violate my Hippocratic oath for your investigation. So, you have two options. One, let us care for him as our team seems fit and you can ask all your questions after he wakes up. Or two, you leave this hospital and wait for him to be discharged. The choice is yours.”

As you stared down with your brother, the team could clearly see the family resemblance. It was in your eyes, in the stubbornness you both exhibited. 

Finally, Aaron took a step back. “Fine. Call us the second he wakes up. But the cuffs stay on unless absolutely necessary.”

“Deal.”

~

It was a rare night when you and Spencer were both home, at a normal time, and at the same time. You’d had a nice dinner together and were laying in bed. Spencer was reading a book while you were working on a report for the research grant team. 

“(Y/N)?”

“Hmm?”

“We should go to Vegas,” he said. “To see my mom.”

You froze. “You want me to meet your mom?”

“Well, yeah.” He set his book on the side table and turned to face you. “I’ve already told Mom all about you. She loves you already and she hasn’t even met you. She’s been doing really really well on this medication and I really want the two most important people in my life to meet each other.” He took your hand and squeezed it. 

You gave him a small smile. “Okay.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, might as well get the hard part over with, right?” You took a deep breath. “I have to meet her sooner or later, why not make it sooner?”

The next day at work, you were telling your friends about the conversation. 

“So it looks like I’ll be cashing in some of my PTO.”

“You’re really going to meet his mom?” Syd asked. “That’s, like, practically a step away from getting married. You sure you’re ready for that?”

“Definitely not,” you said. “From what Spence has told me, she’s, like, Superwoman. She was this awesome English professor for years and raised Spencer on her own after his dad left.”

“So you’re totally intimidated,” Ella said. 

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Hey look on the bright side,” Austin chimed in. “At least he doesn’t have to meet your parents.”

You laughed. “Yeah, just one of the many reasons I’m glad my father’s under the ground. Think I would have wanted my mom to meet him, though.”

~ 

The end of your residency was quickly approaching. Offers for fellowship positions were starting to come in, meaning your class had to finalize their specialties with the head of the program. 

“Dr. Hotchner,” the director of the program said, looking over your file, “you’ve shown much interest in pediatric oncology. Are you sure that’s the specialty you want?” 

“Absolutely.”

He set the file down. “You do know that specialty’s not easy? Not from a technical perspective, but from the very nature of who your patients are and what they’re facing.”

“I know, sir.���

“You show great promise as a trauma surgeon. Are you sure-”

“Sir, with all due respect,” you said, scooting the chair closer to the desk and straightening up in the chair, “I’ve wanted this job since I was a child. I know what I’m getting into. This is not something I’ve decided on a whim.”

He sighed. “Alright. In that case, I should let you know, I received a call from the chief over at St. Jude’s. They wish to extend a fellowship offer to you, of course with the condition that you pass your board certification.”

~

That night, Spencer came home to find you pacing and muttering to yourself. 

“(Y/N)?”

“Good, you’re home,” you said. “I, uh, I need to talk to you.”

Spencer’s brows furrowed in concern. “Okay?” He sat down on the couch with you. “(Y/N), what’s going on?” You were fidgety, looking everywhere but at Spencer. “(Y/N)?”

Finally, you took a deep breath and said, “I got some big news today. I, uh, I got a fellowship offer from St. Jude.”

“What? (Y/N), that’s fantastic! That’s, like, your dream to work there.” He took in how distressed you seem. “What’s wrong?”

“Spencer, fellowships are three years long. I’d be living in Memphis for three years. I don’t know if I want to live that far apart from you for that long.”

“So you’re torn between your professional dream and me.” He turned his body to face you. “(Y/N), I wouldn’t want you to hold yourself back from your goals because of me.” After a few moments of silence, Spencer said, “I could go with you.”

“What?”

“Yeah! There’s an FBI office in Memphis, I could transfer there,” he said. “If you’re turning this down because of me-”

“Spence, it’s not just because of you,” you said. “I love working at this hospital. I love the team I work with, and I feel like I can learn just as much from Hopkins as I can from St. Jude. Plus, Aaron and Jack are here. I can’t leave them after they just lost Haley. And you can’t leave the team here. They’re your family.” You gripped his hand in yours. “I promise, I thought this through. It’s all I’ve done all day.”

After the end of your conversation, Spencer spent some time thinking. He impulsively offered to uproot his life so that you could follow your dream. Never did he think he would be the kind of person to do that. He thought back to six years ago, when you first walked through the doors of the BAU. If only he knew then how absolutely head over heels he was for you, While you were on the phone with your brother, telling him about your decision, he decided he needed to call Penelope. 

He needed help picking out a ring.

[leclercloml]

Enchanted to meet you | CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x singer!reader

Summary: everyone's favourite swiftie is finally off the market, but who's that lucky guy?

Genre: SMAU

warnings: google translated french, grammar mistakes, incorrect time line to match the story line

Author's note: i reached the picture limitation so I'll do a part 2 of this as soon as I can and I'm still not very good at this, and I'm completely out of ideas, so please bare it 🫶🏻

fc: Gracie Abrams

yourinstagram

liked by oliviarodrigo, taylorswift and 23,45,873 others

yourinstagram uh-oh, I'm fallin' in love.

view comments

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⤷username lmaaaoo Olivia knowing who's y/n love intrest is and conan going crazy over it is my new favourite thing

username whoever is her new boyfriend and if he's reading this, sweetheart sleep with one eye open

Twitter

Instagram

charles_leclerc

milan, italy

liked by yourinstagram, joris_trouche and 67,45,745 others

charles_leclerc what a beautiful show, love the songs, love the performance, thank you so much for inviting me to this beautiful event.

tagged: yourinstagram

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yourinstagram I'm glad you had fun

⤷carlossainz55 he really did he won't stop humming "where do we go now"

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username okay guys here me out, first y/n posting her pictures with caption "uh-oh I'm falling in love" which is a lyrics from Taylor Swift song called labyrinth and basically confirming she's in love and probably dating someone and then Olivia officially confirming it by commenting "I think I know who it is" and then Charles out of blue arriving at y/n concert which by looking at caption it seems like he was invited and the 2nd slide, he was in front row and the picture look way too "girlfriend" and charles is also single and so is y/n, so maybe...MAYBE Charles might be y/n new boyfriend?

⤷username ma'am the delusion is crazy

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yourinstagram added to story

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Twitter

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f1

liked by scuderiaferrari , yourinstagram and 45,673,459 others

f1 CHARLES LECLERC IS THE WINNER OF 2023 ITALIAN GRAND PRIX! 🏆❤️

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scuderiaferrari that's how we win a home race 💚🤍❤️

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⤷scuderiaferrari on it 🫡

charles_leclerc

liked by yourinstagram, carlossainz55 and 45,274,523 others

charles_leclerc what a win! 1-2 brought it home for all of the tifosi's out there! And also congratulations to Carlos on P2! That's how we win it and also thanks to all of the fans, team and my lucky charm! Forza Ferrari Sempre 💚🤍❤️

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carlossainz55 congratulations on the win mate ❤️!

⤷charles_leclerc thanks mate! congratulations on the podium!

yourinstagram SO SO SO PROUD OF YOU AND CARLOS!

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liked by charles_leclerc and yourinstagram

username the ONLY driver to beat RedBull this year! @/yourinstagram please come to all of the races from now on 🙏

⤷yourinstagram I'll try my best 🤍

⤷username AHHHHHH!!!

PS: this is sooooo rushed I'm so sorry, I'll do a part 2 as soon as I can! Please give feedbacks 🫶🏻

Part 2!!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Monster, Inc. 4

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss is an asshole, you know this. But what happens when he turns his wrath upon you? (plus!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, this reader is known as Missie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

After a quick Google and a few reviews, you decide on a brand. You pick a box off the shelf. It should do the job as long as you apply it properly. You’re not so worried about yourself. 

Something drops along the edge of your vision and you peek over. A man walks away ignorant of the card left behind. You hurry to scoop it up. 

“Excuse me, sir, you dropped--” You click to a stop in your heels as he faces you. You smile as he mirrors your expression. “Peter!?” 

“Hey, Missie.” His brown eyes beam back at you. “What are the odds?” 

“It’s been so long. Um...” you look down at the card then wiggle it at him. “You dropped this.” 

“Oh, uh, thanks.” 

He accepts the card with a dimple in his cheek. You look at it and realise it’s nothing special. Just a loyalty card from Roasters. It is a great shop. 

“Haven’t heard from you since the paper. You said you’d keep in touch.” He shifts his stance so another customer can squeeze by. 

“Yeah, uh, I meant to. I’ve been really cruddy at keeping up. Work is so busy and--” 

“What’s that for?” He quickly redirects as he points at the box in your hands. “You dye your hair? Wouldn’t guess it.” 

“Oh, no it’s for... my boss,” you giggle. 

“Your boss. Right. I’m sorry, what exactly do you do now?” 

“I’m a PA. My boss is just demanding. That’s all. But it’s good pay and it keeps me on my toes.” 

“Ah, I left the paper too. Started my own photography business.” He explains. 

“I saw that on Insta! I follow you. Your stuff is so good.” 

“You follow me but you don’t message,” he crosses his arms. 

“I’m sorry,” you pout. You rattle the box in your hands. You don’t want to be abrupt but you really can’t keep Mr. Hansen waiting too long and you still need to grab shampoo. 

“We should catch up. How about dinner? What are you doing tonight?” Peter asks. 

“Oh, er, nothing.” 

“Great. How about Zak’s? That old sandwich shop near the paper. I remember your fave; the spicy italian with extra pickles.” He grins triumphantly. 

“Sure, that sounds awesome. Just... send me a message, okay? I gotta get back to my boss.” 

“Sure, don’t let her work you too hard,” he steps out of your way. 

“He,” you correct him. “It’s not hard work, just a lot.” 

You sweep down the aisle and grab a clarifying shampoo on your way to the checkout. Even just a few minutes is too long for Mr. Hansen and in his state, you don’t expect him to be any calmer. All you can hope for is that the remover works out. 

Back at the office, you measure your dread. It won’t be that bad. You can fix this. Maybe. You grabbed some dye too, hoping maybe you might be able to even everything out after. 

You drop your purse on your desk and flit over to Mr. Hansen’s office. You knock and hear him groaning from inside. As you enter, he’s bent over his lap, holding his head. He sits up so fast his chair teeters. He faces your chirpy greeting. 

“Mr. Hansen,” you sing, “I got everything we need.” 

“Why the fuck are you so cheery?” 

As you look at him, like really look at him, you find it hard not to laugh. He really does look awful. He’s not exactly your type but he isn’t too bad most days. The black dye just washes him out. He looks like Dracula if he was in a 70s adult flick. 

“So, we need to wash your hair. I figured we can use your sink. I even grabbed a towel.” 

“You think of everything, don’t you?” He hisses. 

“Sir, I think we can fix your hair.” 

He scowls and stands. He shakes his head and slinks to the en suite bathroom. You follow with the bag of goodies. He looms with arms crossed as you put it on the counter and unpack. 

“You can put the towel around your collar to keep the remover from dripping. Tuck it in to--” 

Before you can finish, his shirt is half unbuttoned. You turn to unbox the remover and peel the seal of the bottle as you quiet. Whatever’s easier, you suppose. He hangs his shirt on the back of the door and comes back to you. You get a glimpse of his chest hair in the mirror. 

“Alright, erm, bend over the sink and we need to wash your hair. How about you put the towel over your eyes--” 

“I can handle it.” He snatches the towel and folders it over his forehead and eyes. He bends over the sink. His broad shoulders strain as his muscles tighten. “Don’t fuck up my hair.” 

You want to tell him you don’t think it can get worse but you know better. You take one of the paper cups from the stack and crank on the faucet.  You feel the temperature before you fill the cup and carefully pour it over his head. You wet all the strands and squirt shampoo onto his hair. You lather it up, scratching his scalp with your nails. 

“Mmmph,” he purrs as your work away. You smile. He’s a bit like a cat. Cranky but manageable. 

You rinse his hair methodically. You make sure not to get any near his face as you use your hand to redirect the water. When you finish, you help him cover his hair with the towel. 

You roll in his chair from the office and have him sit. You rub the moisture of his hair with the towel and drape it around his shoulders. You pull the gloves on and mix up the remover in the bottle then take the comb out of the box. You go to Mr. Hansen as he sits, looking despondent. 

“It fucking reeks,” he wrinkles his nose at the odour. 

“I did warn you but once we rinse it out, you’ll be good as new.” You comb his hair back, then forward, and pull out a thin section. You slather it on precisely as you work through the strands. 

As you pay close attention to your task, you feel the tension ease from him. When you get through the longer pieces on the top of his head, you push the back again. You use your gloved fingers to do his sides, rubbing in the remover on the buzzed stubble. As you do, he closes his eyes and leans into your touch. 

Well, it’s better than him being angry. This might be the most relaxed you’ve ever seen Mr. Hansen. 

[tinyshyteacup]

Tw: Cussing, author might be butchering Spanish

A:N: I do not understand this culture, heavy use of google, if anything is offensive or incorrect, please let me know so I can adjust -T.S.T.

Spare Parts - Part 1

The heat in Santo Padre was stifling, the sun beating down on the cracked pavement as you walked, your expression tense with confusion.

The streets all looked the same—dusty, sun-bleached buildings with hand-painted signs, some in Spanish, some faded beyond recognition.

You had been walking in circles for the past twenty minutes, clutching your phone that refused to load a map, growing more and more frustrated.

"Fuck you, stupid roaming wifi fucker" you cursed into to your phone, like threats would actually help your situation.

You weren’t exactly dressed for wandering—your light-colored clothing made you stick out against the earth-toned backdrop of the town.

You stood near a corner, glancing around, hoping to see someone who looked approachable enough to help.

That was when you heard them before you saw them—three men walking together, laughing, their voices carrying down the street.

A shorter man was in the middle, his cap turned around on his mop of curls, his vest hanging open over a t-shirt. His arms were inked, cigarette dangling from his lips as he nudged a tall man with cropped hair beside him.

The third was a bearded man the bore a resemblance to the second man he was saying something under his breath, shaking his head with a grin.

The three of them walked like they owned the town—casual, unbothered, dangerous in a way you didn’t quite recognize yet.

Coco spotted you first. His sharp brown eyes flicked over you, immediately noting the way you stood—a little lost, a little unsure. You were definitely not from around here.

“Damn,” he muttered, exhaling smoke. “Who let a little muñeca wander around Santo Padre by herself?”

EZ followed his gaze. “Shit, she looks lost.”

Angel just smirked. “She looks like a whole-ass tourist.”

Coco, however, was already stepping forward. “Yo, mamita,” he called, his tone as lazy as ever. “You need help, or you just sightseeing?”

You turned at the sound, relief washing over you at the sight of someone actually talking to you. “Oh! Um—yeah, I think I’m lost.”

Coco’s lips twitched. “You think?”

His accent was thick, his voice teasing, but you were too focused on trying to explain yourself to notice. “My phone won’t load the map, and I don’t know where I am. I’m looking for—” You trailed off, struggling to pronounce the name of the street.

Coco made a low sound in his throat, amusement flickering across his face. “Yeah, you’re real lost, huh?” He tilted his head, watching you. “Where you from, muñeca?”

You hesitated. “Uh… Aotearoa?”

EZ raised a brow, while Angel huffed a small laugh, but Coco just frowned slightly, processing. “Aotea—what?”

He squinted, as if that would help him place the accent. He could tell it wasn’t British, but beyond that, he was blank.

“That’s a long way from home, chiquita.” He leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing playfully. “You runnin’ from somethin’? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, Santo Padre ain't exactly the place to get lost.”

You shook your head quickly. “No! No, I just—”

“Damn. That’s a shame,” he muttered. “Could’ve had fun helpin’ you hide.”

You blinked at him, completely missing the way his lips curled as he waited for a reaction.

You just nodded, earnest and unaware. “I’d really appreciate some directions.”

EZ choked on a laugh, and Angel outright snorted. Coco rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, alright, let’s see,” he drawled, shifting his cigarette to the other side of his mouth as he gestured lazily. “Go straight down that way, past the panadería—"

You frowned slightly. “The what?”

Coco sighed dramatically, turning to EZ and Angel. “She don’t speak Spanish?”

Angel grinned. “Not a word.”

EZ smirked. “You gonna be okay, bro?”

Coco ignored them, turning back to you, his voice slower, exaggerated as he pointed again. “The bakery, mami. Then take a left, keep goin’ ‘til you see the liquor store. After that, you’ll wanna take a—”

He paused, giving you a long, assessing look. “You write directions down, or you just gonna get lost again, bonita?”

You straightened, indignant. “I’m not—”

“You’re totally gonna get lost again,” Coco finished, amused.

You huffed slightly, looking away, and Coco felt an unexpected tug of something warm in his chest.

You were short enough that he could probably pick you up with one arm—and despite your irritation, you had this softness about you. A kind of wide-eyed curiosity that wasn’t put on, wasn’t fake.

And that? That was rare as hell in Santo Padre.

Angel nudged him, smirking. “Damn, bro, you slippin’? Usually, girls at least notice when you’re flirting.”

Coco exhaled slowly, flicking his cigarette away. “Man, shut the fuck up.”

EZ chuckled. “That hurt a little, huh?”

Coco shook his head, brushing it off. “Nah. She’s cute. Dumb as hell for wanderin’ around alone, but cute.” He glanced back at you, smirking. “You ever get lost again, chiquita, you ask for Coco, yeah? I’ll make sure you don’t get snatched up.”

You didn’t fully understand the weight behind his words, but you nodded anyway. “Thank you, Coco.”

He grinned. “De nada, muñeca.”

As you turned to leave, Angel and EZ watched Coco closely.

“You really gonna let her walk off like that?” Angel teased.

Coco exhaled, eyes still lingering on your retreating form.

No idea what kind of shit she’s in the middle of.

He grinned lazily, masking whatever that feeling was in his chest. “What, you think I should offer to hold her hand next time Boy Scout?”

EZ shook his head, laughing.

Coco scoffed, but didn’t argue. Instead, he watched as you disappeared down the street, the heat settling heavy around him.

By the time you found your hotel, your nerves had settled, but the day’s events still clung to you. You hadn’t meant to wander so far from your destination, and despite Coco’s playful jabs about you being lost, you knew he had a point.

This wasn’t a place you wanted to be roaming alone.

The hotel receptionist was polite enough when you asked about dinner, listing a few options nearby.

Some were clearly meant for tourists, she pointed you toward a small spot just a couple of blocks away—nothing fancy, but 'authentic'.

You thanked her and headed out, the night air cooling the heat of the day. The streets felt different after sundown—quieter, yet somehow more alive, shadows stretching long under the streetlights.

You pulled your cardigan a little tighter around you, focusing on the directions you’d been given.

And then—

“Damn, muñeca, you really out here tempting fate tonight, huh?”

Your stomach dipped at the familiar voice, and when you turned, Coco was there—leaning lazily against the wall just outside a liquor store, one boot kicked up behind him.

The glow of his cigarette lit up his face in brief flickers, casting shadows under his sharp cheekbones.

His kutte hung open, revealing the faded band tee underneath, and his tattoos looked darker in the dim light.

He took a slow drag, exhaling smoke before giving you a once-over. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon, chiquita. You followin’ me?”

You blinked. “I—what? No, I’m just going to get dinner.”

Coco smirked. “Yeah? That why you look like a lost little rabbit again?”

Your lips parted, ready to argue, but you hesitated, realizing he wasn’t wrong. You hadn’t exactly walked these streets with confidence.

Coco exhaled again, shaking his head. “Damn, you lucky as hell, you know that?”

You frowned. “Lucky?”

He flicked his cigarette away, straightening. “Yeah, lucky it was us that saw you first. Santo Padre ain’t Disneyland, mamita. You look like you don’t even know when you’re bein’ watched.”

Your stomach twisted at that, but Coco just grinned, as if he hadn’t just dropped that unsettling fact on you.

He stepped closer, tilting his head. “So where’s this place you’re headed?”

You told him the name, and Coco let out a low hum of approval. “Alright, you got taste. That place is solid.”

You hesitated. “Do you… eat there a lot?”

Coco chuckled. “Nah. I usually eat at the clubhouse. But…” He smirked. “Thinkin’ maybe I should come with you, make sure you don’t end up sittin’ in some random alley tryin’ to read a menu.”

You rolled your eyes, but Coco just laughed.

He turned, starting to walk. “C’mon, chiquita. If I let you wander off alone again, EZ and Angel’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

You hesitated, but something about his confidence made it easy to follow. He didn’t ask if you wanted him to come—he just decided.

And for some reason, you didn’t mind.

The restaurant was small, cozy, with low lighting and a handful of locals sitting at worn wooden tables. The air smelled like grilled meat, warm spices, and something rich simmering on the stove.

You followed Coco inside, feeling slightly self-conscious under the gazes of a few patrons. You weren’t exactly dressed up, but something about being here, made you feel even more like a tourist.

Coco, however, looked completely at ease. He guided you toward a table near the back, sinking into a chair with the kind of lazy confidence that made it clear—he belonged anywhere he decided to sit.

You hesitated before sitting across from him, glancing at the menu.

Coco watched you for a moment, then sighed dramatically. “Tell me somethin’, muñeca—what exactly do you eat?”

You frowned. “What?”

“You vegetarian, vegan, some kinda gluten-free shit?”

You blinked. “Vegetarian, actually.”

Coco groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Of course you are.”

Your brows furrowed. “Is that a problem?”

“Nah, nah,” he muttered. “Just means I gotta make sure you don’t order somethin’ that’s gonna make you cry later.” He leaned back, waving down the waiter. “Let me handle it, bonita. You trust me?”

You hesitated. "You kill me ... I haunt you, deal?"

Coco looked like the kind of man you shouldn’t trust.

Coco grinned, rattling off an order in Spanish before glancing back at you, watching the way your eyes followed his words, your expression unreadable.

“What’s that look for, chiquita?”

You shrugged. “I just—don’t know what you ordered.”

He smirked. “Guess you’ll find out, huh?”

You gave him a dry look, but before you could say anything, the waiter walked away.

Coco leaned forward, forearms resting on the table. “So. You gonna tell me what you’re doin’ in Santo Padre, or you just gonna let me keep guessin’?”

You hesitated. “I’m just… traveling.”

Coco snorted. “Yeah? This the kinda place you travel to?”

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He studied you, expression unreadable. “Just means girls like you don’t usually end up in towns like this on accident.”

Your stomach twisted at his words. “Girls like me?”

Coco’s lips twitched. “You know what I mean, mamita. Pretty as hell, but got no fuckin’ idea what kinda people you’re sittin’ next to.”

You stiffened slightly, unsure if that was a compliment or a warning.

Coco just watched you, something unreadable in his eyes. Then—

“Relax, chiquita.” His voice softened, just a little. “Ain’t nobody gonna mess with you while I’m here.”

You weren’t sure if that should make you feel better.

But it kinda did.

Coco didn’t even try to hide his amusement when he saw you eyeing your plate like it might bite you. Arms folded across his chest, he leaned back in his chair, head tilting as he watched you poke cautiously at the food.

“Damn, muñeca,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Ain’t like I just fed you somethin’ I scraped off the street.”

You shot him a look. “I don’t know what this is.”

Coco smirked. “Yeah? And? You think I’m tryna poison you or somethin’?”

You hesitated. “Maybe, you got that look"

He barked out a laugh, sharp and genuine, before rubbing a hand over his face. “Shit, chiquita, that’s cold.”

You lifted a brow. “You did refuse to tell me what it was.”

Coco rolled his eyes, nudging your plate with a finger. “It’s chile relleno, bonita. Ain’t gonna kill you. Just eat.”

You still looked doubtful, but, after another moment of hesitation, you took a careful bite. The flavors hit all at once—spiced but not overwhelming, rich, with a depth you hadn’t expected.

Coco watched your expression change, smirking as you chewed.

“Aha,” he said, pointing at you. “See? That’s the face of someone realizin’ they ain’t been set up.”

You swallowed. “ok... ok ... It’s… actually good.”

Coco groaned, throwing his head back. “Actually good, she says. Dios mío, the disrespect.”

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile. “Fine. It’s really good.”

Coco grinned. “There she is.”

Still, your suspicion lingered as you took another bite. “What if you only picked this because you knew it wouldn’t be bad?”

Coco smirked. “You sayin’ I got some kinda master plan, chiquita?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Maybe.”

Coco clicked his tongue. “Damn, and here I thought we were buildin’ trust.”

You shot him a look, but he was already focused on his own food, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

Despite your initial wariness, you actually enjoyed the meal. But what really caught your attention was the horchata.

Coco noticed the second you took your first sip.

Your eyes widened slightly, your lips parting just enough to let out a quiet, surprised hum. The drink was smooth, sweet, spiced with cinnamon, and cold in a way that was instantly refreshing. You hadn’t expected it to be this good.

Coco raised a brow. “Damn, mamita, you drinkin’ that like it’s holy water.”

You lowered the glass slightly, swallowing. “This is amazing.”

Coco chuckled. “Yeah?”

You nodded, taking another sip. “Why don’t more people talk about this?”

Coco smirked. “’Cause white people be too busy hypin’ up pumpkin spice.”

You nearly choked. “Coco!”

He grinned. “What? Tell me I’m wrong.”

"Fuckin' hate pumpkin spice, you don’t put sweet shit on vegetables" You huffed, before going back to your drink.

Coco watched as you took slow, appreciative sips, your expression softening after your outburst.

For some reason, that sight settled something in him.

He propped his chin on his hand, watching you. “Damn, chiquita, you really this easy to please?”

You frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

He gestured lazily toward your glass. “You act like you just had the best shit in the world. Over horchata.”

You tilted your head. “I just appreciate good things when I find them.”

Coco went quiet for a second, something unreadable passing through his expression.

Then—he smirked. “That so, muñeca?”

You nodded, completely unaware of the weight behind his words.

Coco just huffed, shaking his head. “Mierda,” he muttered under his breath, taking a sip of his own drink.

You didn’t catch the way he watched you after that.

Coco wasn’t even trying to hide his smirk as he watched you wrestle with the crumpled bills in your hand. You had this little crease between your brows, lips pursed in concentration as you tried to make sense of the unfamiliar currency.

It was too fucking cute.

Leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, Coco tilted his head. “Damn, muñeca, you tryna solve a math problem or pay for dinner?”

You shot him a look, still frowning at the bills. “It’s confusing.”

Coco let out a low chuckle, reaching for his cigarette. “What’s confusing about it?”

You sighed. “They’re all the same fucking color.”

Coco blinked, then snorted. “What?”

You waved the money slightly. “Your money. It all looks the same. In Aotearoa, our notes are different colors for different values. This is just… green and more green.”

Coco laughed, shaking his head. “Damn, y’all got Monopoly money over there.”

You huffed, refocusing on the bills. “I just need to figure out how much this is…”

Coco watched as you carefully counted the notes, muttering under your breath. He could have helped, but watching you struggle with something so simple was too entertaining.

“Shit, chiquita,” he teased. “They really don’t teach y’all how to count?”

You glared at him. “I can count just fine. American money is just dumb.”

Coco smirked, tapping ash from his cigarette. “Sure, bonita. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Eventually, you managed to hand over the correct amount, though the relieved little sigh you let out after made it clear how much effort that had taken.

Coco shook his head, still grinning. “Next time, just let me pay, mamita. That was painful to watch.”

You frowned. “I can pay for my own food.”

Coco chuckled, exhaling smoke. “Yeah, I saw that. You made it real hard for George Washington, muñeca.”

You groaned. “Shut up"

Coco just laughed harder.

You took another sip of horchata, sighing in appreciation. Coco watched, smirking, as you leaned back in your seat, fingers lazily tracing the rim of the glass.

“This is still the best thing I’ve ever had,” you murmured.

Coco smirked. “Damn, chiquita, you tryna make me jealous?”

You blinked. “What?”

Coco chuckled. “You keep makin’ that face every time you drink it. Lookin’ like you in love.”

You rolled your eyes, taking another sip. “It’s just really good.”

Coco smirked, flicking his lighter open and shut. “Yeah, yeah. What’s next? You gonna move to Santo Padre just for the horchata?”

You hummed, considering. “Maybe…” Then, after a pause, your expression shifted slightly. “Hey, Coco?”

He raised a brow. “What’s up, muñeca?”

You tapped a finger against your glass. “Do you think this would taste good with vodka?”

Coco stared at you.

Then slowly leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Hold up. Say that again.”

You tilted your head. “Horchata. Vodka. Can that be a thing?”

Coco shook his head, a slow grin creeping onto his face. “Damn, chiquita, you tryna start a revolution?”

You frowned. “No? I just think it might taste good.”

Coco let out a low whistle, looking you over like he was seeing you in a whole new light. “Look at you, bonita, tryna get creative.”

You shrugged. “I just like experimenting.”

Coco smirked, reaching for his own glass. “Shit, I respect it. But if we do this, you know we gotta test it properly, right?”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

Coco chuckled. “I mean, muñeca, you can’t just guess if it’s good. We gotta try it. For science.”

Your lips twitched. “For science?”

Coco nodded solemnly. “For science.”

You exhaled a laugh. “Okay, fine. But if it’s bad, you’re drinking it.”

Coco grinned. “Damn right I am. No way I’m lettin’ my little chiquita waste good alcohol.”

You blinked. “Oi ... enough of that 'my' shit”

Coco chuckled. “whatever you say, chiquita"

You had no idea how fast that nickname was going to stick.

[lovelycreativecrafts]

Secret Reveal | Miles x Female Reader

Word Cout: 1,165

Synopsis: Miles's girlfriend finds out his identity.

Warnings: Panic Attack

Author Notes: My Requests are now OPEN!! Feel free to send me some. I would love that. There is one Spanish phrase in this short story. I used Google Translate for it so it may be inaccurate. If you liked the short fanfic, please like, reblog, and comment your thoughts. I hope you all have a blessed day.

Spanish Words:

Mi Amor = My Love

I knocked on the front door and I waited for someone to answer. The door opened and I smiled at Miles’s mother. 

“Oh, come on in Miles told me that you guys were doing movie night today.” Miles’s mother opened the door further and I entered. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Morales.” 

“Of course. Miles isn’t home yet but you can wait in his room if you would like. You already know where it’s at right?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” I headed toward Miles’s room in the back. 

Me and Miles have been dating for a short while. So, I was a little surprised when he asked to do a movie night with me at his house. Does that mean he wants me to spend the night at his place?  

I stopped in front of Miles's room door. Maybe, he has something planned? I sighed. I shouldn’t overthink it. 

I placed my hand on the doorknob and opened the door. My eyes widened as they made contact with the famous Spider-Man. Spider-Man stood there frozen while his hands were inside of Miles’s drawer. My heart raced inside my chest and I quickly took in a breath but before I could scream, Spider-Man shot his webs at me and the door. He closed the door and pulled me against his chest. He quickly wrapped one of his arms around me and pressed his hand against my mouth. 

“Shhh, please don’t scream. I promise it’s not what it looks like.” Spider-Man whispered. 

I pushed against his chest as I tried to get out of his grip. Why is he holding me like this? I continued to struggle against him but his hold only got tighter. 

“Hey, I promise I’ll let you go. If you promise not to scream, okay?” 

His voice sounds familiar. Spider-Man looked into my eyes and I quickly nodded. 

He slowly removed his hand away from my mouth and unwrapped his arm around my waist. I took a step back and wrapped my arms around myself. 

“What are you doing in my boyfriend’s room?” I looked up at Spider-Man.

Spider-Man’s eyes widened, “Well-uh-you know-um-That’s classified information.” 

I frowned. Why would he be searching in Miles’s drawers? Did something happen to him?

I glanced down at my hands as they began to shake. My heart also began to beat faster than before. It’s not happening again, is it? No, I’m just still shaken up by Spider-Man’s appearance. 

“Right, so-uh I’m going to go. I’ll see you around.” Spider-Man opened the window but before he could leave, I quickly grabbed his wrist. 

“Wait, what’s going on?”

“I told that’s classi-”

“Did something happen to him?” My chest began to tighten 

“There’s nothing to worry about.” 

I tried to take in deep breaths but they came out shaky, “You say that but you were here for a reason right? Where is he? Is he hurt somewhere?” 

“Look, I’m sure you’ll find your answers once I leave.” 

My heart dropped, “Is . . . Is he dead?” 

“What?!” 

I brought my hand toward my chest as it began to squeeze tighter, and my breathing became uneven. My eyes began to burn and Spider-Man quickly moved away from the door and faced me. 

“Hey, calm down.” He placed his hands on my shoulders. “You need to control your breathing.” 

I looked toward the ground as tears blurred my vision. Is Miles really gone? What will I do? How will I tell his parents? 

Spider-Man continued to talk to me but his words fell on death's ears. The only person that could help me out of this state was Miles. I am nothing without him. I am a burden. I don’t even know why he likes me. 

Spider-Man removed his hands from my shoulders and placed them on the sides of my face. He quickly tilted my head up and my eyes widened. 

“Miles?” I questioned. My ears began to open up as I saw Miles standing in front of me in Spider-Man’s costume. 

“Yes. It’s me. I’m here and perfectly fine. I promise.” Miles reassured. 

“But-,” My voice caught in my throat as I continued to hyperventilate. 

“Shh, it’s okay.” Miles removed one of his hands away from my face. He gently took one of my hands and placed it on his stomach. 

“Just breathe, okay.” Miles took in a deep breath. 

His stomach expanded underneath the palm of my hand and I tried to follow. 

Miles’s thumb caressed my cheek as he stared into my eyes, “You’re doing great, mi amor.” 

After a short while, the tightness in my chest began to release and I regained control over my breathing. I walked closer to Miles, wrapped my arms around his waist, and placed my head into his chest. 

“Thank you,” I whispered. 

Miles chuckled, “You don’t have to thank me. It’s what I’m supposed to do.” Miles wrapped his arms around me. 

“So you’re Spider-Man?” 

Miles stiffened, “Yeah . . . how do you feel about that?” 

“I’m not really sure yet but at the moment I’m . . . relieved.”

Miles relaxed and tightened his arms around me, “Then at the moment, I’m glad.” 

My mind traveled to my earlier thoughts, “Miles, am I a burden to you?” 

Miles quickly pulled slightly away and looked down at me, “What? Of course not. Why would you ask that?” 

I looked off to the side, “It’s just that you’re constantly helping me with my school work, my passions, and even now with my . . . constant personal problems. But I do nothing to help you. I’m like a leech constantly taking blood.”

“You know, you shouldn’t think of yourself like that. You also do a lot for me too. You may not do things for me physically but you do emotionally. You constantly remind me of who I am, reassure me when I have doubts, and are my biggest supporter.” 

I looked back up at him, “But what about when you had to reveal your secret because of my issues? If I weren’t crazy then none of this would’ve happened.”

“I’ve been wanting to tell you my secret the moment I confessed to you. It was eating away at me for a long time now. It may not have been revealed the way I wanted it to but I’m now glad it’s a weight lifted off of my shoulders.” 

“But I’m-,” Miles cut me off by placing his forehead onto mine. 

“You’re my girlfriend. And as your boyfriend, I’m not going to allow you to say any more negative things about yourself especially when they're not true. I didn’t fall for you just because you’re pretty or because you’ll help me with school or being Spider-Man but I fell for you because you complete me. You’re like my home, my anchor, mi amor. You could never be a burden because you constantly fill me with love.” 

Heat crawled up my cheeks as Miles’s eyes seemed to sparkle as he revealed his feelings to me. I opened my mouth, “I . . . I love you too, Miles.” 

[audreyscribes]

Ω PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS: 🦉 ATHENA: Goddess of Wisdom & Reason, of Strategy & Warfare, Crafts & Arts 🧠

author's note: I had a sudden idea about writing some headcanons Camp Halfblood demigods being claimed and what it's like for each respective god and cabin, followed by a small blurb afterwards. Thank you for reading and please like and reblog! The order is not in order of the cabin numbers. [PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS MASTERLIST]

When you get claimed, it's after a moment of brilliance. You could be giving someone an insightful observation, successfully mediating two opposing forces, creating your own invention, or when you successfully performed a maneuver. You’ve shown your intellect and Athena claims you at that moment. 

The Athena cabin cheers for you and welcomes you in. 

You look in awe at the architectural structure of your cabin. You can tell the foundation and the base of the cabin was structured like the rest of the other cabins, but over the years, it was elevated. 

You’re shown where you’ll be sleeping but as you set up, you immediately clock in how everything is placed. All the bunks are pushed to the side, row by row and then there are desks lining along the same way with dual tables, and there are the rows of books and a workshop further in the back. You see inventions being made, architectural models, and more. 

Among the children of Athena, you slowly figure out which intellectual you lean more towards: Educated (developing theories and plans), Productive (philosophy, literary criticism, sociology, law, medicine, etc), or an Artistic (literature, music, painting, sculpture, etc). Whichever you are or of those you find yourself in, you’re in good company. 

If you want to bounce off ideas of someone, there’s no shortage of siblings to have a sound board of. 

Whatever craft you find yourself in, you’re immediately put into consultation and you find yourself either being asked to get an input on or seeking input from others. 

Fortunately and unfortunately, since demigods aren’t allowed to use the internet, your cabin is the next best option for Google. 

Spider repellents everywhere. There’s not a single dust bunny in sight, not even in the corners or behind the unseen books. Aside from the piling books, scrolls, and tools (and the few coffee cups), the Athena cabin is the cleanest cabin after the Apollo cabin. 

When there was a spider somehow, you witness everyone scream and grab several torches before incinerating the arachnid into nothingness. 

That or an overly complicated set up of a machine to destroy that one spider. Then you find out that there’s a lot of contraptions that they’ve built for one, very specific, function.

You just had pulled off an emergency strategy maneuver during the Capture the Flag. It was a close call with the new camper but you couldn’t mistake them for not being a child of Ares. They were a monster on the field and you had to make sure at least get some upper hand. 

You managed to take out half of the other team’s numbers, using the layout of the forest and its terrain to your advantage, and your eyes noticing the body language of your opponent. 

You still lost because the new camper, who has the undeniable glow of Ares on them, demolished through your forces, but it wasn’t half-bad since the casualty was the same on both sides. 

“You’re fast on your feet. A bit foolish, but it was a nice maneuver.”

You jumped at the voice and turned to it, seeing a blonde girl with gray eyes. You knew her, Annabeth Chase, daughter of Athena. 

“Oh, uh, yeah” you said lamely, dusting yourself off as an attempt to keep your hands from shaking. “I figured at that point, we could at least make it fair or we just lose really badly.” 

Annabeth nodded, as she smiled. “I guess, there’s plenty of time to hone your intelligence with us.”

“Wait what?”

Annabeth gestured up your head and you looked to see the glowing image of an owl over your head. You made a “oh” and looked owl-eyed at your new sister as she held out her hand. 

“Welcome to the Athena cabin, I’m Annabeth Chase. Cabin Leader and your new half-sibling.”

[golby-moon]

oh uh back with more content unfortunately as I make fanart for my own fic because I'm supremely uncool and very cringe. also I wanted to make mermaid!cas content after finally watching the movie Luca last night which I'm still not normal about I just really love things where a character hides the fact that they're a creature of some sort okay gdfkhjg

behold my horrible attempt at cursive which I never actually learned how to do. this angle is also extremely weird and Cas was supposed to have one hand to his face looking kinda curious but it just looks like he's dabbing and that's all my brain can focus on now :|||

gonna be honest I didn't reread the fic this art is made for and haven't glanced at the fic in about a year so some of the stuff didn't line up with what I wrote, namely where Cas was hooked. in the fic I actually had him hooked in the cheek and not the tail but I didn't remember that or reread the fic until well after the line art was done so uh yeah the fic was changed so now Cas got scratched on the cheek but was hooked in the tailfin instead. the perks of being both the author and artist ig. at least Dean and Cas came out kinda okay here

all I can think about when I look at this is that Cas looks anemic but let's pretend he's supposed to be streamlined to better glide through the water or something and not that I failed at anatomy. beyond that I did try something extremely different with the shading and backgrounds in the art I did for this fic (experimented purely because it's my own fic so there's no author to disappoint lool) but yeah tell me what you guys think since it's pretty different even if it might not be immediately obvious. it's just using different brushes rather than the same kinda flat colors I always do which means less immediate consistency across the art pieces but idk that's not always a bad thing really

the fic this is made for is called "Hooked on You" from the depths on my google drive

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65990482

(05/28/25)

[cieloclercs]

Eternal life

Oscar piastri x russian figure skater

the ice queen — oscar piastri

pairing. oscar piastri x russian figure skater!reader

face claim. alina zagitova

warnings. swearing, google translate russian (im sorry), look guys i know the winter olympics were last year but for the sake of this they’re this year ok ?? 🙏 i used pictures from oscar’s sprint podium in spa for singaore (which obviously isn’t accurate plz overlook it hehe)

author’s note. hello anon! i hope you enjoy this, sorry it took so long ❤️

requests are still open for my 1k event! send something in if you’d like <3

liked by oscarpiastri and 76,264 others

yourusername swipe for a fail 🥴

view all comments…

yourfriend1 pleased to announce i got said fail on video ☺️

yourusername if you ever show that to anyone i’ll smother you in your sleep.

yourfriend1 wow 😃

yourfriend2 i feel like one of those aesthetic skater pinterest girls in the second picture

yourusername we definitely pulled off the pinterest girlie vibes 👍👍

yourcoach очень продуктивная сессия! 👍 / very productive session !

yourusername я знаю точно 😃 / i know right

username yourcoach i’m sensing some sarcasm 🤔

username no shit sherlock 🙄

username MY FAV TRIO IS BACKKKK

username girllll are you competing at the winter olympics ?? i won’t take no for an answer btw you better be there. 🔪

yourusername in that case yes !!! 😀

username olympic champion 🔜

yourusername 😉

username hold up what’s oscar doing here? 🤨

username who tf is oscar

username oscar piastri, he’s a formula 1 driver for mclaren

username and he’s lurking in MY WIFE’S likes?? get tf out of here he drives cars in circles for a living 😭😭

username can you blame him tho y/n’s this total badass skating GODDESS and he’s just a silly little aussie like ofc he’s infatuated with her 😒😒😒

username guys all he did was like her post no need to create an entire backstory out of it 😭 they’re both highly successful sportspeople so they probably just mix in the same circles from time to time 🤷‍♀️

username boo you’re ruining my fun 🙄

username МОЯ ЛЕДЯНАЯ КОРОЛЕВА 🩵 / MY ICE QUEEN

username word on the street is oscar’s liking this girlie’s post 🤔🤔 now i just have to figure out who she is 😃

username girl u can’t be serious 😭

username how do u not know who y/n is are you living under a rock

username no?? should i know who she is?? 😭

username erm YES

username i simultaneously love and hate how this oscar dude has liked ONE y/n post and suddenly all the f1 fangirls have appeared 😭 go find a hobby plz i beg you x

username jokes on you, stalking potentially new f1 wags IS our hobby

username that’s quite possibly the saddest thing i’ve ever read

username as both an f1 and a skating fan, OSCAR GIRLIES I BEG YOU PLEASE DONT DRAG Y/N INTO THIS IK HOW CRAZY Y’ALL CAN GET

username babe what are they gonna do 😭 she’s y/n y/l/n she has like universal immunity from haters lol

username you’re clearly not an f1 fan and it SHOWS 😭😭

username sweetie i’ve watched the f1 girlies single handedly DESTROY relationships do not underestimate them

username ^^ does anyone know if they’re being dramatic or not??

username long-time f1 fan here !! trust me, they’re not.

liked by yourusername and 23,815 others

oscarpiastri Ready to shine in Singapore 🇸🇬🤩

view all comments…

username LET’S GOOO OSCAR

username podium loading…

username i’ve got £50 riding on you getting a podium don’t let me down 💪💪

username so this is oscar piastri… 🤨

username uh oh the skater girls have arrived 😨

username *y/n girls

username no one gets into y/n’s inner circle without our approval first 🤭

username and you called US sad 😭

username how the fuck is this guy expecting to be able to pull a queen like y/n 😭😭

username seriously he looks so silly 🥴

username guys he only liked her post they probably don’t even know each other 🙄 stop making drama out of nothing jeez

username yikes someone sounds jealous…

username he looks goofy, next please 😒

yourfriend1 literally what i said smh

username PHAHAHA WHAT

username girl 😭

username i hate to break it to you oscar, the y/n girls are never going to accept you x

username yeah sorry babe, you’re just not worthy of our ice queen 😘

username the way y/n’s literally a thousand leagues above him 😔😔 the pain of being a badass bitch 🥲

username BACK OFF FROM MY WIFE Y/N YOU DONT DESERVE HER

username y’all are crazy what 😭

username imagine thinking THIS GUY stands a chance with the hottest woman alive and future olympic champion 😭😭 i’d be so embarrassed 😭

username he looks like a capybara tf

username STOP PHAHAHHA WHY DO I SEE IT

username lmao if y/n and oscar ever do end up dating he’s not going to live this down 😭

landonorris oscarpiastri since when did you become enemy number 1 to the ice skating community

oscarpiastri 🤷‍♀️

username LANDO OH MY GOD 😭

username PHAHAHHAA HE KNOWS THEY BOTH KNOW

username poor oscar getting dragged by the most intense fandom on earth 😭

yourusername 🧡

oscarpiastri 😊👑

username WOAH WOAH WOAH

username THEYRE INTERACTING OMG EVERYONE STAY CALM

username EXCUSE ME THE CROWN EMOJI?? HES ACKNOWLEDGING THE QUEEN AS HE SHOULD

username no.

username this can’t be happening

username oscarpiastri LEAVE MY WIFE ALONE BITCH 🤺🤺

username y/n you’ve just made everything so much worse 😭

yourusername

replies:

oscarpiastri cute cap, where’d you get it?

↳ yourusername this weird australian guy gave it to me. idk i would have preferred a number 4 🤷‍♀️

↳ oscarpiastri you sure? i heard number 81’s the favourite for a podium this week 😏

↳ yourusername we’ll see 🙃

liked by yourusername and 50,367 others

oscarpiastri First ever F1 podium 🧡 Let’s keep them coming 😉

view all comments…

username YES OSCARRRRR

username my driver 🧡🫶

username LEGEND 🇦🇺🇦🇺🇦🇺

landonorris congrats mate! the extra motivation did you some good 😉

oscarpiastri it sure did :)

username excuse me? 🤨

username lando. what do u know.

username i bet this has something to do with y/n

username girl bffr 🙄

username LANDO I JUST WANNA TALK (tell me what u know rn.) 🔫🔫

mclaren Doing us proud 🥹🧡

*oscarpiastri liked this comment

username best rookie since hamilton button >>>

*liked by yourusername and 5,217 others

carlitosalcarazz Congratulations, amigo! 😁

oscarpiastri Thanks mate! 😊😊

username AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE

username the y/n girlies have been real quiet so far 🤨

username they’re finally realising oscar isn’t just some nobody 😭

username he might not be a nobody but one podium still doesn’t make him good enough 🥰

username y’all are psycho i swear 😭

yourfriend1 ok maybeee he’s not that bad 🙄🙄

*yourusername liked this comment

username omg the y/f/n seal of approval ??? ITS HAPPENING

username calm down nothing’s happened yet 😭 as far as we know they’re not even friends lmao let alone dating

username girl did you even see y/n’s story she was literally in the mclaren garage repping oscar’s merch 😭😭

yourusername incredible 🧡

oscarpiastri Thank you for your support today 🧡 Hope you liked the cap 😊

username wait hold on a second OSCAR GAVE HER THAT CAP???

username HES GIVING HER HIS MERCH NOW??

username oh they DEFINITELY into each other 😏

username oscar’s such a simp oh my god she turns up to one race and he’s giving her his merch 😭😭 what a dork

username i mean it’s y/n y/l/n can you blame him 🤷‍♀️

username i fear we’ve lost her y/n nation 😔

username as much as it pains me to say it i think you might be right 🥲

username i just can’t believe we’ve lost her to a guy who drives in circles for a living 🙄

username doesn’t y/n skate in circles? the shade works both ways honey 😚

liked by oscarpiastri and 90,712 others

yourusername thank you for having me mclaren 🥰 and congratulations to oscarpiastri on your first f1 podium !! i had a blast 🧡🧡

view all comments…

mclaren Glad to have you on board, champ 🧡 See you again soon 😉

*yourusername liked this comment

landonorris you do know oscar’s not the only mclaren driver right 😃

yourusername the only mclaren driver with a podium this week though 🙃

oscarpiastri Thank you Y/N 😊🧡

yourusername 🫶

comments on this post have been limited.

months later…

oscarpiastri

replies:

landonorris ice queen? 🤨

↳ oscarpiastri of course

↳ landonorris simp.

yourusername

replies:

oscarpiastri ouch ☹️

↳ yourusername just telling you what you need to hear, babe ☺️

liked by oscarpiastri and 112,678 others

yourusername олимпийский чемпион! после стольких лет упорной работы я не могу поверить, что эта мечта наконец-то осуществилась 🥹 я хочу поблагодарить многих людей, которые помогли мне достичь этого: моего тренера, моих товарищей по команде, мою семью. я бы не справилась без каждого из вас! 🤍

olympic champion! after all the years of hard work, i can’t believe this dream has finally come true 🥹 there are so many people i want to thank for helping me get to this point: my coach, my teammates, my family. i couldn’t have done this without any of you! 🤍

i also want to thank my boyfriend and number one supporter oscarpiastri for putting up with me these last few months of prep 😭 i don’t know what i would have done without you 🥹 love you baby ❤️

…

oscarpiastri congratulations, my love 🩷 i’m so proud of you 😘

yourusername 💗💗

comments on this post have been limited.

[helloalycia]

𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 [𝐓𝐖𝐎] — 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐑

summary: after Jackie decides to volunteer with you at your mum's fundraiser, you wonder why she's so inquisitive about your friendship with another girl.

warning/s: none.

author's note: okay so for this one i just googled a random place in new jersey for a school (if anyone happens to recognise it haha). But yeah, only a few people reading this one but still hope you like it! 🥰

one / three / masterlist / wattpad

"Raising money for better mental health services, would really appreciate you coming along!" I said as I handed out some flyers by the school entrance. "There's gonna be food and games and all sorts! Free entry!"

On the whole, a lot of students were taking the flyers. Of course, there were the few that outright ignored me or some jocks that took the piss, but overall reception was good. Besides, I was only doing my part to help my mum out, who managed this mental health charity in our town and needed me to spread the word some more about a fundraising event she was hosting next week.

As I continued to hand out flyers, Jackie happened to walk out next, amidst the huddle of students, and accepted the flyer with a grin. She stepped to the side to raise an eyebrow at me inquisitively.

"Ooh, what are you doing?" she asked, eyes scanning the flyer in her hand.

I continued to hand them out whilst speaking to her, soon realising students would just accept anything you held out to them. "Just trying to spread the word about this event at the community centre. My mum thought it would help if I handed these out at school."

She nodded, intrigued, before she looked up at me. "Nice. Are you going?"

"Yep. I got roped into helping out, but I don't mind."

At this, her smile grew. "And are you looking for volunteers?"

I studied her suspiciously. "I suppose so... why?"

She rolled her eyes like it was obvious, which I guess it was. "Because I'd love to help out, duh!"

I blinked, surprised. "Oh, well... yeah. That would be super helpful actually."

"Awesome," she said, tilting her head to flash me a smile. "Share the details tomorrow?"

"Sure thing."

Her eyes sparkled in the light, though with a hint of her usual Jackie mystery. "I'll catch you later, Y/N."

And with that, she was gone. Such a strange girl.

When the day of the event finally arrived, I was helping my mum out in the morning, making sure all the stalls were set up and the vendors had everything they needed. There was supposed to be a good turnout, considering my mum had done a lot of promotion for it, so I expected it to be busy today.

Just on time, Jackie arrived and found me talking to my mum at the front of the hall. When I spotted her, I smiled and waved her over.

"Hey, thanks for coming," I greeted, giving her a quick hug.

"Thanks for having me," she said cheerfully, before looking to my mum with a bright smile and putting out her hand. "You must be Y/N's sister!"

I internally facepalmed as my mum began to blush at Jackie's compliment. Talk about sucking up.

"Her mother," my mum corrected, shaking her hand. "You can call me Y/M/N. I take it you're Jackie?"

"Oh, how silly of me!" Jackie played into it, and I watched with a questioning smile. "You just look so young! I can see where Y/N gets her looks from. It's lovely to meet you, Y/M/N. Yes, I'm Jackie."

"Well, Jackie, thanks a lot for volunteering today," my mum said appreciatively. "We have a few others helping out too, all wearing one of these." She handed her a lanyard. "We just need some extra hands to watch over things, help out anyone who needs it. Y/N will help out if you need it."

"Sounds good to me," Jackie quipped with a nod. "The place looks great already. You really set all this up yourself?"

Again, my mum was easily swayed by Jackie's words. "I had help, but yes. Glad you like it." Then her pager vibrated and she checked it before saying, "Sorry, girls, I'm needed elsewhere. Y/N, you alright helping Jackie?"

"Uh-huh."

"Great," she said, hugging me sideways and offering Jackie a smile. "See you around, sweetie."

"And you, Y/M/N," Jackie replied with a grin, watching her walk away.

I stared at her with both disbelief and amusement, and she looked back to me with an innocent smile.

"What?"

I raised my eyebrows, trying not to laugh. "What are you doing?"

With a dead serious look in her eyes, she said, "Well, I'm not not flirting with your mum."

I furrowed my brows with a slacken jaw, and she began to laugh at my expression.

"I'm impressing your mum, idiot," she clarified, pulling on her lanyard. "Isn't it obvious?"

"I can see that, but why?" I asked, as she pulled out her compact mirror to check her makeup.

"Why not?" she retorted, winking at me playfully before returning her gaze to her mirror.

I sighed, knowing I'd never understand the way Jackie's brain worked, but also ignored the way my insides fluttered at her wink. Stupid pretty girls and their stupid faces.

After Jackie was finishing beautifying herself, I showed her around the hall and introduced her to some of the people volunteering their time, as well as the vendors and small businesses offering their services. Naturally, she got along with everyone, giving her best impression and no doubt wanting to impress my mum some more. For what reason, I wasn't sure, since there was literally nothing my mum could give her except maybe a good reference for her college application. Either way, I was both concerned and amused for her.

Slowly but surely, the public started to arrive and the hall was soon packed with residents of the community. Music was playing in all corners of the hall, everyone was taking part in some games, donating money wherever they could and buying whatever food they wanted. It was actually a lovely sight to see and I didn't mind helping out when I saw how excited my mum was about it all.

I left Jackie at intervals, the two of us helping out where ever we could, and myself taking some photos for my mum whenever I found the chance. Soon, I was at the charity's stall, assisting some of the volunteers with handing out flyers as a few of them went on their lunch break.

"Y/N, hey!"

I looked up when I heard my name, spotting the daughter of someone my mum worked with, Olivia. We were friendly whenever we saw each other at events like these, but she attended a different school in the area, so I didn't see her much.

"Hey, Liv," I greeted her with a smile when she stopped before me. "How are you?"

"I'm good," she returned my smile. "It's good to see you. It's sweet of you to help out your mum like this."

"Eh, I don't mind," I said with a shrug. "How are you liking it anyway? Been here long?"

She looked around, impressed. "It's a lot more cooler than I thought it would be. Your mum really pulled out all the stops."

"Yeah, it's called trying to appeal to the youth," I joked, making her laugh.

"It worked," she agreed, before studying my face. "You look really nice. Did you do something different with your hair?"

I touched my ponytail instinctively. "No? I guess it was shorter when I last saw you."

She nodded, eyes flickering between mine. "Yeah, I think that's it. Well, you suit it long. Looks really pretty."

Surprised at her compliment, but flattered nonetheless, I smiled with embarrassment and avoided her exceptionally good eye contact. "Thanks."

She chuckled at my reaction. "Cute."

Clearly not expecting this outright flirting today, I held out a flyer to change the subject. "You want one?"

Suppressing the urge to laugh, she accepted the flyer, her fingers brushing mine and only managing to increase the warmth on my cheeks.

"Got a ton of these at home from my mum," she pointed out, making me wince with embarrassment. "But happy to have it."

"Right. Obviously."

She laughed again and I smiled awkwardly, wondering why the hell I was being so weird. I guess it was just so unexpected, and I didn't even know Olivia was into girls. She was lovely, pretty too, but I was caught off guard.

"There you are," I heard Jackie's voice, and then she appeared very closely beside me, an unreadable expression on her face. As if realising Olivia was stood right there, she said, "Oh, hello."

Before I could introduce the two, Olivia seemed to recognise her and studied her curiously.

"Wait, I know you," she started, trying to work it out, before it hit her. "You're Jackie Taylor, captain of the Yellowjackets, right?"

I'd forgotten that the Yellowjackets had played Olivia's school's soccer team many times.

Jackie nodded, looking uncharacteristically disinterested. "Uh-huh."

Olivia, whether she chose to ignore it or didn't notice, smiled politely and looked between us. "Wow, I didn't know you were both friends."

"Well, we are," Jackie said bluntly, and I glanced sideways at her, wondering why she was suddenly so bitter. "Who are you, sorry?"

"Oh, how rude of me," Olivia said, paying no mind to her attitude. "I'm Olivia."

"Olivia is the daughter of one of my mum's colleagues," I explained to Jackie, hoping she'd lose her random irritation. "She goes to East Rutherford High."

Jackie nodded, eyes not leaving Olivia, and I began to grow uncomfortable in the awkward and unnecessary tension that had formed. 

Olivia seemed to feel the same as she smiled awkwardly and looked to me. "Well, it was nice seeing you, Y/N."

"You too," I said with an apologetic smile. "Have fun today."

She nodded uncomfortably and left, leaving a very jealous Jackie stood next to me. What she was jealous at was beyond me, considering she'd never known Olivia existed until now.

"You okay?" I asked, nudging her in the side to regain her attention.

Jackie looked back to me, losing her mood. "Huh? Oh, yeah. All fine here."

I quirked a brow, trying to read her expression, but she was very good at not letting me know what she was thinking.

"Right, well, what did you need?" I asked, deciding to just leave it. It wasn't like they'd meet again, was it?

"Oh, erm, someone at the entrance needed a hand and said only you'd know what to do," she remembered.

"Okay, I'll go check," I said, before looking around then handing her the pile of flyers in my hand. "You got this until Jerry comes back from his break?"

She accepted the flyers with ease. "Aye aye, captain."

I rolled my eyes, a ghost of a smile on my lips, before heading to the front of the hall. Jackie could be so weird sometimes.

Not long later, I was taking some photos of residents chatting with vendors and owners of different stalls, knowing my mum would want to use them for promotional material in the future.

"So, if you're taking all these photos of everybody else," Jackie's voice suddenly rang out from behind me, making me stop what I was doing, "who's taking them of the volunteers?"

I turned to look at her smug expression and said, "I got some of you earlier, darling, no need to worry."

She scoffed playfully, and strangely enough, her cheeks were growing pink. "That's not what I meant, idiot." I quirked a brow and she continued, "You're supposed to be in them too."

Realising what she meant, I shook my head. "Oh, no, it's fine, I–"

But she ignored me as she was already beginning to remove the camera strap from around my neck, her fingers brushing my skin and giving me goosebumps. "Just show me what to do and I've got this covered."

"Jackie, really, it's–"

She silenced me with a single stare and I had no choice but to let her, knowing she wouldn't give up if I didn't.

"Okay," I reluctantly agreed, before trying to think where to begin. "Erm..."

She wasn't really listening, having accepted long before that she'd get what she wanted, and was already looking around for something. Finally, she grabbed my hand and said, "Over here. I'm gonna take one with the cupcakes."

We stopped before a cupcake stand and she motioned towards it.

"Pretend you're serving someone," she said, when I stared at her with confusion.

I stifled a laugh. "Or I could actually serve someone?"

She considered it before hiding a smile, and she looked really pretty doing it. "That works too."

Laughing properly, I sorted out the settings on my camera before letting her take a few photos of me serving some people. It was weird, since I was never the subject of a photo, especially when it was Jackie Taylor perceiving me on the other side of the camera. But after a few takes, Jackie approached me and removed the camera from her neck.

"All done?" I asked, secretly hoping the answer was yes, but she shook her head.

"We've gotta have one together," she said like it was obvious, and before I could protest, she was already stopping a passer-by, asking them if they could take it.

"Jackie–"

She shushed me before smiling with amusement and wrapping an arm around my shoulder. "Smile for the nice lady, Y/N."

I swallowed hard, unable to think straight when I smelt her floral perfume lingering in the air. Did she always smell this nice?

"Say cheese!" the lady who was taking the photo said.

Snapping back into reality, I rested my hand on Jackie's waist before smiling. The lady took a few, which probably featured variations of my same awkward smile and Jackie's picture-perfect one. Finally, Jackie let go of me to thank the lady, and I could suddenly breathe again, trying not to overthink that whole encounter. Again, just stupid pretty girls and their stupid pretty perfumes.

"You better show me those," Jackie said with a chuckle, handing me back my camera.

I exhaled, smiling a little. "I will."

Not long after I ate a quick lunch, Y/BF/N dropped by with her parents to show their support. After they did their round of the hall, Y/BF/N found me again, laughing.

"What?" I asked, wondering what she found so funny.

"Nothing. It's just– Jackie's really laying it on thick with you, huh?"

At this, I raised my brows in agreement. "Right? You've noticed it too? I'm not imagining it?!"

"Definitely not," she said between laughter. "Pretty sure she's becoming obsessed with you. I've seen her find you like a million times. And I'm pretty sure she keeps buttering your mum up."

Glad I wasn't going crazy, I nodded in agreement.

"What did you do? She's either planning to murder you or marry you."

"Hilarious," I said, unamused, and she kept laughing.

"As long as she's not fighting for my place as your bestie, she can do what she wants," she said with a grin, before hugging me. "Look, I gotta go. I have babysitting and my parents are having a date night."

"It's all good, thanks for stopping by anyway," I said with a smile. "Tell your mum and dad thanks too. See you later, Y/BF/N."

As she walked away, I thought about what she said, and was unable to let it leave my head as the day went on. She's either planning to murder you or marry you. Clearly the first option was out of the question, but Jackie couldn't like me, could she? She was straight, as far as I knew, and I was certain this was just an unlikely friendship. Right?

Quite literally when I thought the day couldn't get any stranger, the rest of the Yellowjackets team decided to show up, finding both Jackie and I at the front counter. I was surprised, whereas Jackie greeted them all with a hug.

"This looks sick," Van said as she looked around. "Oh my god, is that a bouncy house?!"

"It's for the kids, but–"

Before I could finish, she was already legging it to the other side of the hall, making Taissa groan but follow after her.

"What are you guys doing here?" I asked, before correcting, "I mean, I'm glad to see you all, but I don't think the flyers at school worked that well."

Shauna chuckled and nodded to the blonde beside me. "Jackie invited us."

"More people means more money for charity, right?" Jackie said when I looked to her.

"I– yeah," I answered, not really having a retort. It was very kind of her.

The Yellowjackets stayed for a little while, actually earning a lot of attention since many people from school and their parents recognised the award-winning soccer team. It worked in our favour, as we seemed to be getting a lot more money with everyone being encouraged by them to spend more. I couldn't exactly tell you why, but I knew we had Jackie to thank.

When the event finally ended and everybody left, the hall was a mess and I was already dreading cleaning up, but at least my mum looked ecstatic as she approached Jackie and I.

"You girls did great work today," she said to us both with a bright smile. "And Jackie, thank you for inviting your soccer team! I don't know why I forgot that you were the captain. Explains so much!"

"Of course, happy to help," Jackie returned with a grin.

"I don't want to keep you any longer," my mum told her. "Thanks again for volunteering."

"It was really fun," Jackie said, and she didn't seem to be lying or exaggerating.

"Looks good on your college application too," my mum added knowingly, making Jackie chuckle.

"I didn't do it for that," she said earnestly, glancing at me.  "Thanks though. And I don't mind staying, honestly."

"It's all good, Jackie, really," I said to her, not wanting her to feel obliged. "It's a lot to clean."

"Won't be if there's more of us," she retorted, and I was seriously questioning why she was being so helpful and kind. Not that she usually wasn't, but why to me?

"Okay, well, I guess you girls can start with cleaning the tables once the vendors are packed up," my mum said, pleased. "Thanks again."

So, as my mum went to collect all the money together and some of the other volunteers were brushing up the rubbish, Jackie and I got to wiping down all the tables and binning anything that wasn't needed.

"Today was really fun," Jackie said as we worked.

"I heard," I said in a teasing voice, referencing what she said to my mum not long ago.

She rolled her eyes but smiled. "No, I mean it. I had a good time today."

"You gave up your weekend for it, so I'm glad," I said jokingly, but it made her laugh nonetheless, and it made me smile.

We were halfway done with cleaning up, working in a comfortable silence, until she spoke up again.

"That girl earlier. Do you like her?"

I raised my eyebrows as I glanced up at her, but she wasn't looking at me, instead focusing on throwing some rubbish in the bag in her hand.

"Olivia?" I asked, though I knew it was her.

Jackie nodded, and as I tried to think of an answer, she continued in a knowing voice, "She was flirting, you know."

"What?"

"The girl, Olivia," she said with a clenched jaw, still refusing to meet my eyes. "It was textbook flirting. The playing with her hair, blinking a lot. She likes you."

"I didn't even realise," I admitted, and she began to laugh, surprising me yet again. I swear I couldn't keep up.

"God, you're oblivious," she noticed, finally looking at me.

"It seems so."

She stared at me, eyes boring into mine, smile hidden.

"No, I don't like her," I answered her initial question.

She tilted her head curiously. "Why? She not pretty?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "What?"

She kept on going though. "Not your type?"

Despite how amusing it was to witness this side of Jackie, I played along. "She's pretty, yes, but my type? I don't know. But I don't like her like that."

She pursed her lips. "Hmm." As her attention returned to her cleaning, I thought the conversation would end there, but then she asked, "So, what is your type?"

A chuckle was begging to escape my lips. "Why does it matter?"

She shrugged, not very amused, and mumbled, "Just tryna make conversation..."

I was very curious now, eyes taking in her suddenly shy demeanour, as if a switch had just been flipped. A smile fell on my lips as I cleared my throat, wiping the table again.

"Someone who's got a pretty smile," I answered honestly. "Kind eyes."

She hummed nonchalantly.

"I don't know," I said after a moment, shrugging. "I'm hoping I'll just know when I meet someone who's 'my type'."

She nodded, kneeling down to tie the rubbish bag.

"Why? What's your type, Miss Taylor?"

She looked up in thought, biting her lip, and I forced myself to look away when I caught myself staring.

"I thought it was Jeff, but now I'm not so sure either," she said truthfully, making me snort with amusement.

"Yeah, maybe not," I agreed, before stacking the chairs.

"I guess someone who's easy to talk to," she thought aloud, before jokingly adding, "Like you."

My cheeks began to heat up at the compliment and I grew unusually flustered at the insinuation, and then she began to get flustered too, attempting to backtrack.

"Well, I mean, obviously not you," she said, stumbling a little bit, "but you know."

I nodded, smiling with embarrassment as I looked the other way. How did we even end up talking about this?

After Jackie and I cleaned up all we could, my mum insisted we leave and thanked us for our help. And knowing Jackie, I knew she didn't have a ride home, so naturally, I was it.

As I was driving, I noticed her using the visor mirror to put lipgloss on. I pursed my lips, containing my smile, before asking, "So, do you not wanna get your license ever?"

"I have it," she said with a shrug, before popping her lips satisfactorily in the mirror.

I glanced at her with a quirked brow. "Surely you can afford a car?"

"Sure, but I was born to be a passenger princess," she said, and I started to laugh at how serious she was. "Besides," she added, "I like the ride, don't you?"

"What, the ride with me?" I teased, and she nodded like it was obvious, so I just had to play along. "Sure, it's the best part of the day. I always look forward to driving Jackie home from places."

She grinned. "Knew it."

I stifled my smile with great difficulty, but she was already laughing, unable to play the part for much longer. And as I glanced at her between driving, her laughter brightening up the space instantly and making my heart flutter, I wondered if maybe girls with pretty laughs were my type.

The next morning at school, I was getting some books out my locker when I felt someone bump me from the side. It was Jackie in all her glory, wearing her varsity jacket and leaning against the lockers with a smile on her face.

"Good morning," she said cheerily.

"Morning," I said, closing my locker and facing her. "How're you feeling? Tired from yesterday?"

"Surprisingly, no," she answered. "But I was thinking about how much money your mum raised. D'you know yet?"

"Not yet," I said, touched she actually cared. "My mum's still counting everything. I'll let you know when."

"Oh, awesome," she said with a smile. "And the photos? When will they be done? Don't think I've forgotten."

I gave her a knowing look. "I'll be developing them today. Should be done after school."

"I've got soccer practice after school, so maybe I can see them after," she suggested hopefully. "When will you be done?"

"About an hour? Maybe a little longer?"

The bell rang, interrupting our conversation, and she straightened up before saying, "Cool. You alright to meet me at the locker room five thirty-ish?"

"Yeah, sounds good," I confirmed, and she flashed me a smile before heading to class.

My day went by as usual and then I went straight to photography class after school to finish developing my rolls of film. It was my favourite part of shooting, aside from the actual shooting, because I finally got to see how all the photos turned out.

This time, there were some I was pretty proud of and I knew my mum would love for her promotional stuff. I then got to the ones Jackie took and smiled to myself, reminding myself to compliment her on how she had the makings of a photographer. After these, I reached the ones of Jackie and I together, remembering how frozen I became from the mere scent of her perfume.

Jackie Taylor was never somebody I'd thought of like that before. Sure, I'd seen her around and chatted with her enough to determine she was lovely, pretty and quite the catch, but I'd never personally felt anything towards her that was romantic. But ever since we'd been hanging out more lately, I was growing confused.

And yesterday, the way she was acting? All weird and jealous? I was sure she was flirting, but she was always flirty with everyone.

But Y/BF/N had noticed too, so I wasn't going crazy. But why? She liked guys. But maybe she liked me too?

I groaned, moving onto the next photos, glad it wasn't another one of Jackie. She was infiltrating my thoughts and it was making me feel all weird inside. The last thing I wanted was to fall for Jackie Taylor. I was sure it would destroy me.

Once I finally had all the photographs done, it had just hit half five and I went straight to the girls' locker room to meet the captain herself. Only, when I got there, nobody was there and I figured practice had ran over, so I waited a little longer.

A few minutes later, I heard voices from down the hall and stood up as the team were chatting, heading for the locker room.

"Oh, hey, Y/N!" Lottie greeted when she saw me, before pointing over her shoulder. "Jackie's coming."

"Thanks," I said with a smile.

The girls greeted me as they walked past, entering the locker room, then Jackie was the last one to run by, red-faced, dishevelled and sweaty.

"Sorry," she breathed out. "Practice ran over and I had to help coach with something and–"

"Hey, relax," I said with a chuckle, cutting her off. "It's fine."

"Give me ten minutes?" she asked hopefully. "I just need to shower."

"Sure," I agreed, and she sighed with relief. "You're going home with Shauna, right? My car is in the lot. I can meet you there?"

She nodded, relaxing. "Yeah. Thanks, Y/N."

I waved as she went into the locker room before going straight to my car in the parking lot, getting comfy because a ten minute shower for Jackie definitely meant longer. And I was proven correct when twenty minutes later, as I was reading my book to pass time, she suddenly knocked on the driver's seat window, startling me.

"Sorry!" she said, her voice muffled on the other side of the glass.

"It's okay," I said, sitting up and stepping out the car. And then I looked at her and tried not to get distracted by how beautiful she looked because she wasn't wearing makeup and I'd never seen her without it before. Clearing my throat, I said, "How was practice?"

"Good, thanks," she breathed out with a smile, before nodding encouragingly. "So? The pictures?"

I swallowed hard, jumping into action. "Right, the pictures! One sec."

Reaching into my car, I grabbed my bag and pulled the photos out in a folder, giving her the spares I'd printed for her. She looked through them with a soft smile, the ones of her and I and also the ones she'd taken herself, and I found myself distracted by the constellation of freckles dusting her nose.

"These are great, I'm not so bad," she joked, before looking up and bringing me back to reality. "I love the ones of us. Can I keep these?"

I nodded. "Yeah, of course. Those are for you. You did good."

Her eyes sparkled excitedly. "It was a great day. I'd love to help out with something like it again if I can."

"I'll let you know if anything comes up," I promised.

She nodded with satisfaction before glancing at the photos again. "Thanks. I should go now. Shauna's waiting."

I hummed as she turned to leave, not planning to say anything, but the words kind of slipped out. "Hey, Jackie?"

She paused, glancing at me. "Yeah?"

My eyes moved from the freckles on her nose to the patient smile on her lips, then landed on her bright hazel eyes, looking green in the sunlight. "You look pretty without makeup."

Taken aback, she blinked before smiling nervously. That cute pink blush tinged her cheeks and she nodded quickly. "Er, thanks."

I began to smile as she left, surprised but also a little pleased with myself that I could have that effect on her.

[worlds-worst-ships]

Do you ship it? ((C*nt of the month edition) trying not to get banned)

Hi Matt! Since I know comedians these days love googling themselves and finding things about them that piss them off so they can whinge on stage about it, I have something to show you. Here's a list of people in history with disabilities who made more of an impact on the world than you could possibly imagine;

1: Michael Bisping, professional MMA fighter, had multiple fights at the highest level on the trot with an impressive win ratio with a missing eye, unbeknownst to anyone but him (would love to see you make fun of him)

2: Albert Einstein, most famed and celebrated professor of the 20th century, was on the autistic spectrum. Gave more to the world in a year than you did in your life.

3: Tim Burton, among the most famous directors, producers and animators in history, revolutionizing goth culture in his long career, is also autistic. He put in far more work than standing on stage and being a dick.

4: Stephen Hawking. Even an idiot like you knows this one. I'll leave it at that.

5: Hellen Keller, was literally deaf and blind for most of her life and was still a famous author. So whats your excuse for writing such shit, tasteless jokes?

6: Zack Gottsagen, an actor with down syndrome, became the first actor with down syndrome to present an Oscar.

7: Stevie Wonder. I imagine even he could see how utterly insufferable modern comedians are.

Nooooow then, lemme guess, "yOu'Re jUsT a PiSsEd oFf TrAnS pErSoN gEtTiNg OFfEnDeD" lemme tell everyone something about myself.

I'm not trans.

I'm straight.

I have no physical disabilities whatsoever.

I actually don't get along with a lot of lgbt people because they're, guess what, PEOPLE, very few of whom I get along with anyway. Its never once been to do with their identities or rights, but purely because, as is the case with every demographic, most of the ones I've met are pricks.

"BuT ThEy GEt OFfEnDeD-" yes, when you deliberately scroll twitter looking for offended lgbt people, you tend to stumble across them. Wouldn't ya know it?

Anyways. Comedy is dog shit. Getting up on stage and deliberately being edgy because you've lived no sort of life away from people who you know you'll offend is not talent. Its something a 14 year old with an inferiority complex would do. Thanks for being another nail in the coffin of actual, watchable comedy.

Oh yeah, and if you want an example on how to actually joke about domestic violence, cross-reference the name "Wilbur" on my blog. See, its funny when you're making fun of the abuser and the fact that they do these things, but not when you mock a victim and make fun of them for having these things happen to them. Never once do I mention his victims, its purely making fun of him and the sheer absurdity of his behavior in the scope of who he is. And we're on Tumblr, literally the symbol of people getting offended, and never once have I gotten backlash for those jokes, so you, as a man with a Netflix special, have no excuse for such lacking creativity.

One last thing, for my readers... anyone wanna bet some petty cash that a woman or three from his past are gonna come out with a few tasty bits of drama about ol' Matty boy, if you know what I mean?

[choccatto]

Oh! Oh! I'm curious if you don't mind answering! :D

Is there any alien stage fics you like? Like any IvanTill fic recs?

hiii ! ❤️

Uh short answer, the whole IvanTill tag on AO3 😂❤️

But if I had to pick some favorites!!:

And They Were Roomates by k3azuha

First live by akitsukun

Palette by akitsukun

They're so in love, your honour by Chatfics_for_life

Midnight Kiss by Chatfics_for_life

Rincón de cosas IvanTill by Nekitsu_Kuroi15 (it's in spanish but it's read really well with google translate!)

nothing left for you, try and go outside by rock_with_googly_eyes Show You Who My Sweetheart's Never Met by rock_with_googly_eyes must be lonely, loving someone by rock_with_googly_eyes

Falling Stars by Pr0cyOn_lotor

Peonies as Red as Blood by MCuserthrowaway

Beach Episode by euxeris

Choking Red by Peckabee

Brewing by orphan_account

i was enchanted to meet you. by eriii_lian

our melody lines overlap. by eriii_lian

no matter how many times i tried to block it, the noises were still there. by 7allen4

i promise that the ending always stays the same by diastrophic

ALWAYS THE FOOL by diastrophic

Acrophobia: The intense fear of heights by MCuserthrowaway

'Alien Stage' Cast Break Down Fan Thories | Vanity Fair by sisilim

i just wanted to do that by moonpiesarah

I would recommend checking out the authors too, since they have more ivantill/alnst fics as well, again, I just didn't want to copy paste the whole tag 😂