#she's happy and strong and out and thriving

[enticingmelanin]

Savor: A Modern Smoke x Annie Fanfic

Savor || Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Annie (modern au)

This is Part 1 of the Savor Series.

Rating: E for Erotic.

Warnings: TRIGGER WARNING!!! Implied miscarriage, NSFW, Smut, and Explicit Language. 18+ Only.

Word Count: 4k+

Summary: Annie is a master in the kitchen, curating every dish on her restaurant’s menu to leave diners lingering over every bite, craving more. But when a chance reunion with an old flame ignites dormant feelings, the heat shifts from the stove to something far more intimate. By the end of the night, it’s Annie who’s being savored...

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Chicago was alive and well on Saturday morning. The city buzzed with its usual rhythm—horns in the distance, heels clacking against pavement, the hiss of early buses. Sunlight spilled between high-rises like honey, catching the glint of Lake Michigan in the distance. The air was crisp, laced with the promise of spring, and downtown pulsed with movement.

And nestled in the heart of it all, in a quaint, Black-owned café, Annie was thriving.

The scent of rich espresso, caramel, cinnamon, and freshly baked pastries curled through the space like a warm embrace. Muffled conversations mingled in the air—first dates, business meetings, friends catching up—all blending into a sweet melody. Annie soaked it in. Her senses were alive in the best way, tuned to the sounds and smells she knew so well. This was her happy place and a reflection of her own success.

As a girl from a small town in Mississippi, this life once felt like a dream too far away. But here she was, head chef and owner of one of Chicago’s must-visit restaurants—Zariah's—beloved by locals and tourists alike. She wasn’t just living her dream—she was serving it.

With her caramel macchiato in hand—two pumps of brown sugar, just the way she liked it—she made her way toward the door, coat swinging behind her in haste. But the moment she pushed it open, she collided with something—or rather, someone—solid.

Her drink nearly spilled, but before gravity could do its worst, strong hands caught her by the waist and arm, steadying her with practiced ease.

"Lawd, I’m so sorry," she blurted, her Southern twang slipping out naturally.

"Nah, I oughta be apologizin’," came a deep, smooth baritone.

They both laughed—soft and surprised—and then her eyes lifted.

Deep, dark chocolate met something achingly familiar. Eyes she hadn’t seen in years, but had never quite forgotten. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Annie?” That voice—tinged with that familiar Mississippi drawl—pulled her further into the moment.

Her brows furrowed as recognition struck. “S-Smoke?” she said, disbelief and wonder laced in her voice.

“Sho is.” He stepped back slowly, taking her in with a smile that warmed the air between them. “Small world. Look at you.”

And look he did. His eyes roamed over her like a slow caress. Her full, 4C afro framed her face like a crown—coily, moisturized, and unapologetically bold. Her luminous skin, deep and glowing with melanin-rich warmth, glistened against the soft morning light. High cheekbones, full lips, and eyes that still carried secrets met him with equal intensity. Her open tan trench coat revealed a seafoam green maxi dress hugging her curves just right, its neckline generous to her bosom, its hem floating around matching heels that kissed the pavement.

She gave a soft, incredulous smile. “Me? Look at you. You ain’t aged a day.”

Elijah—Smoke—grinned. The years had been good to him. The boy she remembered had become a man forged in discipline and distance. His deep bronze skin was smooth and radiant, his jaw square and lined with a neatly groomed beard. His lips were full, his smile disarming, and his eyes—still sharp, still watchful—were just as she remembered. A light gray sweater hugged his muscular frame, and black slacks fit him like they’d been tailored with reverence.

Whatever life had done to him, it had carved him into something quietly powerful.

He chuckled low, the sound soaked in that Southern warmth. “Guess we both clean up real nice. How you been, girl?”

Annie grinned, her voice sliding in like sweet honey. “I’m good. Busy, but good. How ‘bout you?”

He tilted his head slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I can see that. Doin’ good. Still tryin’ to slow life down a little, but y’know how that goes.”

She nodded knowingly. “Oh, I do. Life don’t wait for nobody.”

“I don’t wanna keep you,” he added, though the regret in his tone said otherwise. “But we should catch up soon.”

Annie’s lips quirked with a spark of mischief. An idea bloomed like a flower in her mind. “Well, I gotta get to my restaurant to start preppin’. We’re booked up tonight, but if you come by after closin’, I can have some dishes set aside for you… if you’re free, of course.”

Smoke blinked, a little taken aback but clearly proud of the woman in front of him. “I’d be a fool to say no to your cookin’,” he said with a slow smirk.

They exchanged numbers quickly, fingers brushing as they handed off phones. It felt easy. Natural. Like no time had passed at all.

Their hug was short, but the kind that lingered after release. Familiar. Comfortable. Full of things unspoken.

“See you tonight, Smoke,” she murmured against his shoulder.

“Lookin’ forward to it.”

And as they turned to head in opposite directions, both couldn’t help but glance back.

A spark had been rekindled.

The night promised more than just food—it promised memories, and maybe even something new.

As the last satisfied stomachs exited the building, Annie was in the back of the kitchen preparing for Smoke’s arrival.

The clock struck ten and a jolt of nerves hit her square in the chest. Would he be impressed? Would he still like her cooking? These questions had never once crossed her mind before—until now. She never expected to be reconnected with her first love… and the father of their unborn child.

She paused, letting out a slow breath, shaking the thought away as she placed the last dash of cinnamon on a warm, golden slice of peach cobbler.

"Hey, Annie," came Jonathan’s voice through a crack in the heavy kitchen doors. "There’s a gentleman here for you. Elijah, I think."

A smile bloomed on her face instantly. "Thanks, Jon. Can you seat him at the booth closest to the kitchen? I’ll take care of him. Y’all have a great night—see ya Monday."

"You too, boss," he called back, as the kitchen doors swung shut behind him.

Annie turned to the oven, sliding dishes inside to keep warm before kicking off her worn kitchen flats and slipping into the seafoam heels from earlier. She pulled off her chef’s coat, revealing the same curve-hugging maxi dress beneath. Using her phone’s camera as a mirror, she checked her reflection—makeup intact, not a single coil of hair out of place, her deep, glowing skin kissed by the overhead lights. After a fresh swipe of pink-tinted gloss and a deep breath, she stepped out.

As she pushed through the swinging door, her eyes immediately met Elijah’s. He was already standing, his attention drawn to her like gravity. His smile was instant, bright and warm.

"Well don’t you look plucked straight outta GQ?" she teased as she walked toward him.

His presence was unshakable, the kind that didn’t need to raise its voice to demand a room's attention. He had changed into a tailored charcoal pinstripe suit that clung to his broad shoulders and tapered waist, he looked dapper. The subtle glint of a diamond stud in his ear caught the light just enough to remind you—he knew exactly who he was.

"Aye, had to match your beauty," he replied, drawing her into a soft embrace and planting a kiss on her cheek.

Butterflies hovered in her stomach at the simple gesture. "Thank you," she whispered.

They pulled apart slowly, the air charged, as he glanced around the restaurant with admiration. "This place looks incredible. You really doin’ it big, huh?"

Low jazz and smooth R&B swirled through the air from hidden speakers, a soft soundtrack to the calm night. The warm glow of ambient lighting danced across sweeping wooden waves that spread along the ceiling like a living sculpture. Plush velvet chairs in deep rust and charcoal hues hugged round tables dressed in white linen. Glass walls offered a peek into the open kitchen she loved so much. A soft, earthy aroma lingered in the air with a hint of rich vanilla. Dried pampas grass stood tall in artful arrangements, giving the space a luxurious charm.

She followed his gaze, pride welling in her chest. "I guess I am. Sometimes, I get so caught up in the hustle, I forget to take it all in. But I love what I do."

"Well, you’re gonna have to soak up some compliments tonight. ‘Cause I ain’t holdin’ back, especially once I taste this food."

She laughed gently, heart warming with his presence. "Speakin’ of, what can I get you to drink? I ain’t no bartender, but I can whip somethin’ up."

Smoke tilted his head in thought. "Surprise me."

With a nod, she turned and headed to the bar while he settled into the booth. The clinking of glass and the soft shuffle of bottles filled the air as she crafted their drinks. Moments later, she returned with two glasses.

"Now, I take you for a whiskey man, so... whiskey sour for you. And a cosmopolitan for me," she said, placing the drinks on the table with a wink.

He took a sip, nodding in approval. "Thank you, beautiful," he murmured, the praise warm on his tongue.

Annie smiled and excused herself again, disappearing into the kitchen. She emerged moments later, expertly balancing a tray with a steaming bowl of gumbo over rice, a side of collard greens, and a thick slice of honey-glazed cornbread. The aroma alone was enough to make mouths water.

She placed the meal in front of him with a flourish.

A low whistle escaped his lips. "I know this ain’t what I think it is."

Annie laughed and slid into the booth beside him. "Sure is. Mama’s gumbo recipe. Just added my own lil twist. Go on—tell me what ya think."

He looked at her for a beat, then took a spoonful, blowing gently before taking the bite. His eyes shut as the flavor hit his tongue. The broth was rich and complex, shrimp and chicken tender, sausage savory, the holy trinity of vegetables cooked to perfection.

"Annie..." he breathed, his voice dipped in nostalgia and pleasure. He took another bite, then chuckled with a shake of his head. "You just took me back in time. Your mama, God rest her soul, might’ve just been beat. You put your foot in that, girl."

She threw her head back in laughter, heart full. "Happy to hear it. I aim to please."

His satisfied hums and low moans of approval filled the space between them as he moved between spoonfuls and bites of cornbread and greens. Annie watched with pride and something else stirring deep in her chest.

They talked as he ate, falling into a rhythm so natural it felt like no time had passed at all. The air between them was warm and relaxed as the hum of R&B and jazz classics filled the atmosphere.

Annie sipped her cosmopolitan as she shared her journey. "After Mama passed four years ago, I moved in with Aunt Renee for a bit. Took some time to get my head right. Then one day, I just… went for it. Applied for a business loan, pitched my concept to anyone who’d listen, and somehow convinced a bank to believe in me. Been full nearly every night since opening."

Smoke’s brows rose with admiration. "That's real. I knew you always had that fire in you."

She smiled, a bit bashful under the glow of his praise. "I guess I got it honest. Mama didn’t raise no fool."

He chuckled and lifted his glass. "Cheers to her."

They clinked glasses, taking a quiet sip in her honor before he leaned back in the booth, his deep voice laced with pride. "I been up to some things, too. Did my time in the Army, got my bachelor’s in accounting after that. Then a master’s in business. I’m doin’ good—real good. But I came up to Chicago ‘cause I wanted more. Bigger. Better."

She tilted her head, curious. "So what’s next for Mr. Bigger and Better?"

He grinned. "Me, Stack, and Sammie are openin’ a jazz and cigar lounge out here."

Her face lit up. "Oh my God, that's great! Sammie still play?"

"Hell yeah," he said with a nod. "That boy’s gonna tear the house down. He’s been killin’ it at some local joints, but we want him to have his own permanent spot. It's a family thing. We’re namin’ it Pearline’s, after his girl."

Annie gasped, eyes wide. "What!? Him and Pearline got together?"

"Stuck like glue," Smoke said with a grin. "They’ll probably be next down the aisle. Stack and Mary just eloped last week—still off on their honeymoon, but they’ll be back soon."

She placed a hand to her chest, heart swelling. "Wow. I’m so happy for them. Look at Stack... all grown up and settlin’ down."

Smoke’s eyes lingered on her, his gaze deep and sincere. "Yeah... well, love’ll do that to you. Don’t matter how old or new it is. I should know."

A stillness crept between them, quiet but potent. Annie’s heart skipped at the weight of his words, at the truth hiding beneath them.

"Smoke—" she began softly, but he cut her off gently.

"I owe you an apology, Annie."

She shook her head slowly, her throat tight. "You don't have to—"

"But I do, darlin’." His voice was low and raw as he reached across the table and took her hands in his, thumbs brushing small, soothing circles against her skin. "I didn’t handle shit right. Losin’ our baby... it tore me up more than I ever let on. And instead of dealin’ with it with you, like I should’ve... I ran. I left you holdin’ all that pain on your own. You deserved better than that. Way better. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry."

Tears shimmered in his eyes, and Annie’s own spilled freely down her cheeks. She shook her head, her voice thick with emotion. "I know. I forgave you a long time ago. We were just... young. Dumb. In love. But we weren't ready."

She reached for a napkin, dabbing her cheeks. "As much as I wanted our baby, I know she’s in a better place and it wasn’t in vain. Look at what we’ve accomplished. Look at who we became."

Smoke wiped away a tear that escaped down his cheek, then reached out to gently brush her tears away, careful not to disturb her makeup.

"Zariah," he said softly. "You were so sure it was a girl."

She smiled through her tears. "I know it. And Mama shows her to me sometimes in my dreams. She’s got those deep Moore dimples... like her Daddy"

His soft laugh cracked into sobs, and Annie immediately leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him. His broad frame shook as he buried his face in her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her waist. She held him, hand rubbing the back of his head gently, her other arm anchored around his back. They wept together, years of grief and guilt finally released.

Annie had grieved their daughter long ago, honoring her memory by naming the restaurant after her. But seeing the pain Smoke still carried—still buried—fractured something in her chest. She hadn’t known how heavy it had been for him too.

After a long moment, they pulled apart and wiped each other’s tears. Annie took a deep breath, offering him a small smile. "We need a pick-me-up. I’ll be right back."

She disappeared into the kitchen. The cool blast of air from the fridge kissed her face as she retrieved the dessert she had set aside—a chilled banana puddin’ cheesecake. She grabbed her Mama’s peach cobbler, still warm from the oven and scooped a generous helping of ice cream and placed it beside the cobbler on a sleek black plate.

Moments later, she returned to the booth, setting the desserts down with the kind of pride only a Southern Black woman could wield when presenting sweets made with love.

Smoke’s eyes widened with delight. "And what do we have here?"

Annie sank into the booth beside him again, the soft lighting catching the gleam in her eyes. "Well, this is Mama’s peach cobbler and French vanilla ice cream, we make it in-house. And this beauty," she said, pointing to the other plate with a spoon, "is my banana puddin’ cheesecake. A customer favorite."

She handed him the spoon and raised a brow. "Here. Taste them. Really savor the flavors and tell me what you think."

He grinned and took a bite of the cobbler first. The moment it hit his tongue, he closed his eyes and let out a low, satisfied groan. "Lord have mercy..."

Annie laughed and squeezed her thighs together at the sound. "That good, huh?"

"Annie... you got magic in this crust."

She beamed. "Wait till you try the cheesecake."

He didn’t waste time. One bite and he leaned back with a stunned expression, spoon still in hand. "Now see, that’s witchcraft. I don’t know what you did to bananas and puddin', but they not supposed to taste that damn good."

Annie cackled, covering her mouth. "Boy, shut up!"

They laughed together, the sound full and rich. The weight between them had eased.

"Here," he said as he raised a spoonful of cheesecake to her lips. "Enjoy the fruits of your labor."

She smiled, lips parting slowly. She let him feed her, the creamy, sweet flavors melting across her tongue as the crunch of chessman cookies and bits of banana filled her mouth. She hummed in satisfaction. "I don't toot my own horn often, but toot toot!"

He chuckled and they shared another laugh, the sound buzzing warmly between them. Then his gaze dropped to her lips, lingering.

"You got a lil’..." he murmured, gesturing gently toward her mouth.

She swiped at the corner of her lips. "Gone?"

"Not quite," he murmured again, voice a gravelly whisper. He leaned in slowly, eyes locked with hers. Her breath caught as his lips pressed softly to her cheek, then kissed the corner of her mouth.

He hovered, his lips almost touching hers. "There... good as new," he whispered.

His lustful gaze, teasing tone, and the feel of his lips sent an ache between her thighs. A boldness sparked within her. Her hand moved slowly down the firm plane of his chest to the bulge hidden beneath his pants. She groped him through the fabric, feeling him hard and ready.

His breath hitched, and he bit his bottom lip, eyes dark with want.

"Your body remembers me," she whispered, and in a flash his lips crashed into hers.

Their kiss was urgent, their tongues dancing in a sensual waltz. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer, while she clutched at his back and neck, bodies pressed flush.

"Say it, Elijah," she breathed between kisses.

He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, unwavering. "I love you. And I missed you."

That familiar smirk tugged at his lips, but she met it with her own radiant smile. "I love you too," she said, voice full of truth.

Their lips met again, this time deeper, heavier, laced with the ache of years gone by. His mouth moved to her neck, trailing kisses that made her gasp. His hands found the hem of her dress, and she lifted her hips slightly to help him pull it up.

Graceful fingers slid her red lace thong to the side, meeting her wet, aching folds. A soft whimper escaped her lips, and Smoke smirked.

"And this pussy..." he murmured, sweeping up her slick slit to her clit, circling it with teasing precision, "remembers me. Don’t she, baby?"

Annie moaned, swallowing the spit that had gathered in her mouth. "Y-Yes," she stuttered, truth spilling from her lips. No one had ever made her feel the way Elijah "Smoke" Moore did. His touch was etched into her bones.

The pad of his fingers moved expertly over her clit, then slid down to her dripping hole. He pushed inside, fingering her with deliberate rhythm. Her back arched, chest jutting toward him, and Smoke couldn't resist. He tugged at the straps of her dress, and she hastily pulled the top down, shrugging off her bra.

A groan rumbled from his chest as her breasts came into view, his brow lifting with a mischievous glint.

His free hand reached for the cobbler, dipping his index into the melting vanilla ice cream and thick peach syrup. He swirled the mixture over her chocolate nipples, then sucked each one clean, lips hot and hungry.

Annie ground against his fingers, clutching his head to her chest. His soft lips and wicked tongue teased her peaks, each flick and suck sending electric jolts through her.

"Ooh, don’t stop," she moaned, voice shaky with need.

"Not plannin’ on it, baby," he murmured, moving to her other nipple, savoring the creamy sweetness as his tongue flicked the hardened bud.

Her pussy clenched around his fingers as his thumb rolled over her clit, fingers thrusting faster, deeper. A powerful climax was brewing in the pit of her stomach, her moans rising, filling the room with heat and want.

“Mhm, I feel it. Cum for me.” His voice was low—commanding, and just like that, her orgasm crashed through her. Her body shuddering, back arching, whimpers and cries spilling from her lips like a song only he could summon. The look on her face, full of ecstasy and release, was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen—even more breathtaking than when they were twenty and twenty-one.

Annie reached for him as he guided her down from the high, kissing him hungrily. When she stilled, he slipped his fingers from inside her, breaking the kiss just long enough to smear her essence on her lips. His mouth was on hers again in an instant, sucking the taste of her from both their lips. Their moans blended, savoring her flavor, their hunger reigniting.

Slowly, they broke apart. Smoke’s strong hands slid under her, scooting her to the edge of the booth. He rose, gaze never leaving hers, and laid her back. Her thong was slipped off completely, and he parted her thick thighs. Her puffy pussy glistened under the light, making him forget all about the desserts she'd made for him.

“Just as pretty n’ phat as I remember her,” he said, voice thick with desire. He watched her juices trail from her entrance, gliding down the curve of her ass.

Everything about him ignited her. Her body responded on instinct. She watched as he undressed slowly, leaving only his crisp shirt unbuttoned. Mocha skin stretched over taut abs and toned muscle, thighs powerful and promising. Between them, his long, girthy dick bobbed—tip slick with precum—reminding her exactly what kind of memory her body had been holding onto.

Her legs instinctively squeezed shut, trying to ease the aching throb.

But Smoke wasn’t having it.

“Mm-mm. Open those legs up, darlin’. I got business to handle,” he commanded, and she instantly parted them with a soft whine.

He eased to his knees, locking eyes with her as his lips hovered near her waxed cunt. “Just gotta get a quick taste from the source,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over her wet lips—then his tongue parted them, licking slowly up her slit.

“Uunh,” she moaned, chest rising and falling rapidly.

He groaned deep in his chest as he dove in, devouring her. His plush lips French kissed her folds with maddening slowness before latching onto her clit, sucking gently but firmly.

“S-Smoke, please... mmm, please fuck me,” she begged, her voice trembling with need.

His laugh was low and wicked.

After a few more torturous licks, he pulled away, leaving a thick trail of spit that mingled with her essence.

He paused to admire the view, stroking his thick length before placing it at her entrance and slowly easing inside. Their moans met midair as he leaned over her, kissing her deeply while his hips rolled in a slow pace. Her hands gripped his back, toes curling with each stroke.

“Fuuuck, you feel so good,” he groaned against her lips. Once she adjusted to his size, his thrusts grew faster. His mouth moved to her neck, ravishing it with hot kisses as he sank deep inside her.

“Ooh, Smoke...” Her mind was a blur of pleasure.

He sat back slightly, lifting her right leg and pushing it toward her chest, letting him reach new depths. Her mouth dropped open in a silent scream, eyes fluttering shut as he found her spot again and again.

“This my pussy, Annie? Hm?” he grunted.

Somewhere in the haze, his words reached her. “Yes, Daddy. Fuck, yes. Uuunh.”

He savored her moans, the way her body welcomed him—soft, warm, and perfect. He felt built for her, and she for him. They were high on each other.

“Look at me,” he demanded. “I want to see you when I make you cum.” His groans spilled out between thrusts. She struggled to keep her eyes open, but once their gazes locked, she couldn't look away.

Smoke glanced down briefly, watching their bodies meet. His shaft was coated with her arousal, the thick vein along the top pulsing with need. He enjoyed the bounce of her soft belly as he pounded into her, her toes stretching in her heels as pleasure overtook her.

Their eyes locked again, intensity thick between them, and when he hit her spot just right, his hand gripped her neck as her pussy clenched tightly around him.

“Let it go, baby. Mmm, cum for me,” he moaned.

And her body obeyed. She cried out his name as her orgasm took her under, one hand clutching the table, the other gripping his wrist. The feel of her coming undone around him triggered his release, and he spilled deep inside her, his head falling back as his groans joined hers.

His strokes slowed, riding the wave with her. Then he leaned down, kissing her softly. The kiss spoke for them both—how much they loved each other, how they were never letting go, how the future was theirs. She was his, and he was hers. No doubt about it.

And as they made love into the early hours of Sunday morning in Elijah’s bed, they didn’t just savor Annie’s cooking and each other—they healed.

To be continued...

Read the follow-up story here: Fire We Make

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Safe to say these two live in my head rent free. I hope you enjoyed my modern take on our favorite sinners. Leave a comment and tell me what you think. I'd love to hear from you. See ya in my next one! xoxo

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Taglist:

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[yumeka-sxf]

Today's new chapter reveals why Hemlock resents Yor so much: as I suspected, it's the fact that, from his perspective at least, she's "lost her edge" which made him angry to the point of wanting to wipe her out of Garden completely.

We haven't seen Yor do a Garden mission since the cruise arc, but we know from there that she definitely hasn't lost her edge. Even though she messed up a bit at first, it was only because she was trying to understand why she's continuing to fight as Thorn Princess. And once she realized what that reason was, a renewed strength welled up inside her that allowed her to overcome very strong adversity.

In this sense, having a family has actually made her stronger. Originally she was fighting solely to cleanse the country of "bad guys," and that reason hasn't gone away, it's only been amplified by her other reason for fighting, which is to create a peaceful world that her loved ones can thrive in.

Unfortunately, Hemlock interprets Yor's happiness about her family and lack of the "robotic" aura she used to exude, as a degradation for Thorn Princess.

He's also extremely resentful because he sacrificed so much to reach the level of skill he thought Thorn Princess had - isolating himself for who knows how long just to keep honing his assassination skills, despite suffering true loneliness.

And now he thinks Yor has thrown all her skills away because she'd rather be a housewife than an assassin. He not only sees this as a betrayal to Shopkeeper and Garden, but a slap in the face to someone like him who had to work so hard for skills that she's now seemingly tossing aside.

Hemlock also sees Yor's hesitance to fight him as a weakness, but I think it's an indication of how she stays true to her principle of only fighting "bad guys" she's ordered to fight by Shopkeeper (or anyone who threatens her loved ones or the innocent). It's hard to say if the past Yor that Hemlock admired would have immediately fought back, but regardless, he interprets this as just another sign of how she's lost her touch when it comes to being an assassin.

But once he decides to threaten her family, a threat to the people Yor desires to protect the most, that's more than enough to ignite the will to fight in her, even against a fellow Garden member. I've mentioned in past posts that Yor doesn't have many personal desires for herself, which is something that likely came about from her upbringing as a "mindless soldier" for Garden. She also tends not to fight back if she herself is being threatened, insulted, or berated, which again could stem from whatever was instilled in her from Garden. However, when others are being harmed, especially those most important to her, she doesn't hold back at all.

And fight she definitely does - in the end, Hemlock is brought to his knees just by the intense aura of Yor almost stabbing him.

This scene reminded me of how Fiona reacted after she lost the tennis match with Yor. Yor is quite good at devastating her rivals just by displaying her skills, she doesn't even have to injure them!

Another person Yor has left her mark on 😂

Even though the chapter ended on a lighter note, with Hemlock in total shock at his defeat, it's hard to say if he's had a total change of heart or not. Is he now going to accept that Yor is stronger than him despite her passion for her family, or will he continue to be hostile to her? We'll have to wait and see.

I'll end this post by pointing out the fact that in the Japanese version of the below panel, Hemlock uses the phrase "icha icha" when describing Yor's "making out," which is the same word that Anya uses whenever she says "Papa and Mama are flirting" 😅

[moonstruckme]

Your work has been a great source of joy and relief to me (at last after a day of shitty circumstance i get to thrive in my free time with your witing) and i just want to thank you for that...💗💗💗

But i do also wanna request a jealous reader to james or remus, I'm genuinely curious as to how they'll handle that and what will they do to satiate reader

Thank you, sweetheart! Love you <3

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 2.1k words

James looks especially sightly today, his brown skin gleaming in the sun and hair stuck slick to his forehead. He’s shirtless, which is always a treat, muscled abdomen sometimes distorted beneath the pool water and sometimes slipping above, inadvertently teasing, and his shoulders look especially strapping with Lily’s pale thighs seated atop them. 

You really like Lily. You’re quite disappointed in yourself, actually, for the hot flash of malice that goes through you when she burrows her manicured fingers in your boyfriend’s hair, laughing about losing her balance. James moves his grip from her knees up to her thighs, promising he’s got her. Something foul and warmish curdles in your gut. 

On the other side of the pool, Sirius and Remus advance like a totem pole with two wildly different faces, one menacing and the other reluctant. They’d asked if you wanted to play chicken, but getting pushed and shoved by Sirius isn’t your idea of a good time. You figured you’d be more content here, sitting on the edge of the pool with your feet kicking idly in the cool water, but now you can see how it does sort of look like a couples activity, Sirius atop Remus’ shoulders and Lily on James’. It’s no secret that James had pined after Lily for years. It was back in their school days, before you met him, but it’s been brought up a few times in a teasing way that’s made it clear to you that everyone knew how he felt about her. You wonder if Lily ever thinks about it. If she’s assured, consciously or not, that she could have him back at any time of her choosing. It’s not something you love to dwell upon. 

The pairs are fairly evenly matched. Sirius fights dirty, splashing water up at Lily and trying to unhook one of her knees from around James’ shoulder, but Remus can’t be bothered to participate and looks like he’d be just as happy to be pushed over and call it done. Lily, meanwhile, isn’t as creative a fighter and is only shoving at Sirius’ shoulders, but James provides a strong base. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of her legs, calling up encouragements and occasionally freeing a hand to pinch upwards at Sirius’ side. Sirius shrieks and swears at this, claiming that it’s against the rules. Eventually, Remus gets tired of supporting his boyfriend’s weight and feigns a fall back into the water. Sirius squawks as he goes down, and Lily and James cheer and high-five before he helps her dismount with far more grace. 

You clap and smile like a good girlfriend. James beams as he swims over to you. Sometimes looking at James’ smile at full capacity is a bit like looking at the sun, and you feel like you need some special glasses to gaze directly at it. This is one of those times. 

He takes your calf in his big hand and leans his cool cheek on your warm knee and makes you feel like the most special girl in the world, and you can’t stop thinking that Lily probably knows this exact feeling. 

You make extra sure to be nice to Lily on your way out later that evening, guilty and vexed with yourself for the way you’ve been thinking about her. James waves a friendly goodbye to the group as you both step outside. 

Instantly, his arm is around your shoulders, pulling you into his warmth. James was prepared for the nighttime chill, pulling a sweatshirt out of his bag as soon as the sun set, whereas you’re in a tank top and shorts that have grown damp from your swimsuit. You lean into him gratefully. 

“Did you have a good time today?” he asks.

“Mhm.” 

“Yeah?” He tilts his head a bit, looking down at your face. “You seemed a bit off.” 

You shrug. You should have expected James would notice. “I guess I just wished I’d participated more.” 

He makes a contemplative humming sound. “You don’t mean that you think people didn’t want you to participate, right? They love you, angel, you know that.” 

“No, I…” You want to say I know, but you’re worried you’ll sound conceited. You never usually second-guess yourself like this around James. You sort of hate it. “I just didn’t realize that if I said no to playing chicken, Lily was going to be your partner instead.” 

He’s quiet for a second. Something in your gut twists uneasily. 

“I thought you liked Lily.” 

“I do.” 

“Are you jealous?” 

“No.” 

You answer without thinking, because whatever you might be feeling right now, you are not a jealous person. You won’t be that kind of girlfriend. The breeze picks up, and goosebumps prickle down your arms, making you shiver.

“Are you cold?” James asks. 

You know he’s going to want to give you his sweatshirt, and you really can’t be taking things from him right now. “I’m alright.” 

“You know you’ve got nothing to worry about with Lily,” he tells you, thumb brushing softly over the skin of your bare shoulder. It should be reassuring, but suddenly you’re thinking about how this same hand looked so comfortable wrapped around Lily’s thigh. You step out from under his arm, crossing your arms as casually as you can against the chill. 

“I’m not worried,” you reply. 

James looks perplexed, and also a little dubious. The thought of him not believing you, even if you are lying, fills you with a burning indignation. 

“I just don’t see why you had to be touching her so much,” you say. “You could’ve looked a bit less eager.” 

He actually laughs at that, but the look on your face stops him quickly. “Sorry, but did you really think I looked eager?” he asks, a little smile still teasing the corners of his lips like you’re a child he has to talk down from a fit. “That’s just part of the game, sweetheart.” 

The way he says it, sweetheart, suddenly feels less affectionate and more like a placation. Condescending. Heat builds behind your eyes, and you realize with horror that you feel like you might actually cry. You’ve never felt so distant from James. Not even when you’d first started dating. 

You pick up your pace, staying ahead to keep him from seeing your face. “You didn’t have to touch her legs so much,” you huff. 

“I was keeping her from falling off!” he laughs, incredulous. 

You roll your eyes. James lengthens his stride to catch up to you. 

“So let me get this straight,” he says. He sounds more serious than before, which you thought you’d wanted but now you’re not so sure. Your heart trembles. “You wanted me to throw the whole game to just avoid touching my friend’s legs?” 

“She wasn’t always your friend,” you remind him. 

“Yes, she was.”

You don’t know how to respond to that. From a factual standpoint, he’s not wrong, but you know that Lily was more than that in James’ head for quite some time. He can’t boil it down to something so simple. 

The silence stretches out between you, ice-thin and just as cold. Then you shiver again, and James sets a hand on your shoulder. It’s only there for a second before he retracts it, as if unsure what he’s allowed. Your heart throbs. 

“You are cold,” he says, and his tone is doting teetering on the brink of accusatory. He grabs the hem of his sweatshirt. “Here, have—”

“I don’t want your sweatshirt,” you say sharply. 

James pauses. “Why not?” 

“I just don’t.” 

“Sweetheart, you’re cold.” 

“So what?” You cross your arms harder, trying to hide your trembling under the guise of general agitation. “That’s not what we’re talking about.” 

“What are we talking about?” he asks you. “How I let Lily sit on my shoulders as part of a game and now I’ll surely leave you for her?” 

Even as a joke, it stings. “Would you?”

“Of course not!” His hands spread out in front of him, helpless. “What do you want me to do? Should I just never be friends with another girl again?” 

“No, it’s not—it’s not that.” Your eyes burn. You’re frustrated with him for intentionally missing the point, and frustrated with yourself for needing his reassurance in the first place. “I just want to know that you’d pick me over her.” 

“I have!”

“You didn’t pick, James.” Your breathing is starting to sound ragged. The words taste acidic in your mouth. “She picked for you.” 

“Angel, that was ages ago.” James softens his voice, likely hearing the tears in yours. “I don’t see her that way anymore. She was right, we wouldn’t have worked together.” 

“But how can you know that?” Your voice breaks just as a harsh shiver goes through you, and you wrap your arms more tightly around yourself. 

“Alright, that’s enough.” You don’t have to turn around to hear that James has stopped walking behind you, his footsteps halting. Reluctantly, you slow in response but don’t turn around, waiting to see what he’s doing. “Come here.” When you don’t move, his voice hardens into a tone you don’t hear often. “Come here.” 

You turn around, more curious than anything, and James has taken his sweatshirt off. He tugs it over your head before you can say anything. 

“James!” you protest, squirming, but his hold is strong. He manages to wrestle one of your arms into a sleeve before he seems to decide that’s good enough and leaves you be. 

“Quit being so stubborn,” he says, still in that same tone. You stop trying to get the sweatshirt off, hands dropping to your sides. James has never been so stern with you before. You don’t quite know how to react. “You’re freezing, and your hair’s still wet. There’s no sense in suffering through it just because you want to have a row.” 

“I don’t want to,” you tell him, but your words sound petulant even to your own ears. 

“Then listen.” He takes your jaw in hand, setting his eyes on yours. “I do not want to be in a relationship with Lily. I thought I did once, but I don’t anymore.” He waits a second, making sure this sinks in, before his voice softens. “I’m going to be friends with girls. That’s just…that’s the way I’ve always been. But I’m with you because I’m happiest with you, and this isn’t going to work if you don’t trust me.” 

You nod, suddenly flooded with self loathing. A tear skids down your face when you blink. “I’m sorry. It’s not about…I do trust you, I promise. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.” 

“Honey,” James murmurs. The tear lands on his index finger, and his face pinches like it stings. “Listen, if I saw some guy with his hands all over you, I’d—”

“In a bathing suit,” you add tearfully. 

“With his hands all over you in a bathing suit,” he amends, “I’d probably be upset too. But you’ve got to tell me these things, you know? If you’d brought it up at the time, I could’ve told you I don’t feel that way about Lily and maybe you would’ve had a better afternoon.” 

“I didn’t want to be the jealous girlfriend,” you admit. “I really do like Lily, I didn’t mean to accuse either of you of anything.” 

“I think…I think some amount of jealousy has to be normal,” James says, brows bunched pensively even as his finger strokes at your cheek. “We’re each other’s, you know? It’s just letting it get in your head that’s the problem. If you’re thinking I’d pursue someone else while I’m with you, that doesn’t reflect very well on me.” 

You shake your head, leaning away from James’ hand to wipe your nose. “I don’t really. I know you’d be—you’d at least be nice about it. You’d tell me.” 

Pain etches itself into the indent between your boyfriend’s brows. He takes your face between both hands now, looking into your eyes determinedly. “I love you,” he says, bending to press a firm kiss between your brows. “Understand?” 

You wrap your arms around his middle, pushing past his face to tuck your head under his chin. “I love you too.” Your voice is ardent if a bit wobbly, tears that feel more like a reaction to a past fright than anything else still moving sluggishly down your face. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s forgiven, sweetheart.” James’ big palm comes to rest between your shaking shoulder blades, scrubbing up and down firmly. “Let’s get home, yeah?”

[astrobydalia]

Solar return observations

Virgo season is here which means my birthday is coming soon!!! I thought it would be fitting to share my first Solar Return observations with you. These are based on my experience, feel free to share yours!

Btw Ariel is my fave Disney princess I love her sm

work by astrobydalia

Fire rising in SR - these years were characterized for being SO SO chaotic and all over the place tbh. It was always a mix of good and bad things like damn I couldn't catch a break. So many rollecosters, STRESS, situations were I was at the edge of my seat, unpredictable and random stuff happening...

Air rising on SR - one word: fresh. Total opposite from fire risings. Air risings were years that felt so light and fresh! I felt like I was floating through the year in a good way! Just going with flow. And I've said this before the best most chill years where I've found myself thriving were Libra risings on SR (also venus in the 1st house)

Moon-Lilith conjunction in th SR - I felt like my life being sucked out of me and overall felt kinda unlucky that year. I felt so empty inside during this year it was insane. Also I was having mayor issues and conflicts with my mom

Chiron is in SR is a bit catastrophized imo. It can not only mean areas in your life that can "break" but also areas that could find healing or resolutions as well. Whenever I've seen the breaking or ending manifestation of this asteroid it was always from a place of reconsideration and healing rather destruction, like making peace with something. For example, Chiron in the 7th house could mean ending a relationship on good terms or unlearning unhealthy relationship patterns. On time I had Chiron in the 6th house and during that year I got a nice job after a long period of struggling to find a job. Of course it's nuanced and it can often be painful and disappointing process but I think people don't mention enough how Chiron is about finding relief as well

One time I read the SR for a client who had Pluto in the 6th house for that year and turns out she was planning to undergo surgery during that time for health reasons

Leo rising in SR - These years were TERRIBLE for some reason. Maybe it was due to Cancer 12th house but I was really struggling to find happiness and fulfillment in my life during these times

Cancer mars in the SR - So emotional!! Like truly it was years that were clouded by emotion. It was either due to family stuff, friends or relationships, but I was running on emotion all the time and I couldn't act on logic to save my life. However it's not like I was in my bed crying all day but rather these emotions were giving energy and motivation in some way. Somehow being emotional was always making be feel.... alive?

Moon in 12th house of SR - I was getting ready to move and separate from my family during this year

Taurus rising in SR - these years were surprisingly.... intense, specially with my relationships. A lot of patience, resisting and enduring. Every event that happened felt like I was going through a 10-year-long process and really had a strong impact in my life. Years were I reconsidered my priorities a lot and was really faced with what is it that I truly value

Uranus in the 1st house of SR - literally a few days prior to my bday I received shocking news that turned my entire year (and life) upside down so you can imagine how this energy played out. Life forcing changes on my life that I was not ready for but had to make it through one way or another

Virgo rising in SR - I started a new job!

Look at Part of Fortune and Vertex in your SR chart, these will be significant themes!

Capricorn rising in SR - I was.... borderline depressed here ngl. Those kind of years that never seem to end ever. I was receiving pressure from both my career life and my family life. Overall earth rising in the SR were years that felt very 'heavy' if that makes sense.

Juno in the 1st house of SR - these were years were I meant new people!!! I significantly enlarged my network

^Same thing with Venus/Libra/Vertex in the 7th house of SR. I didn't get into a relationships or had anything romantic going on, I met new people and made new friends in general. I also bought lots of new clothes and invested a lot in my image

Scorpio rising in SR -you know when you go through a very intense experience out of nowhere and then come out of it soon after like nothing happened and you're left feeling like "wtf was that for"? That's this.

Yod configuration in SR - very karmic life-changing and ground breaking events in my life. Before and after vibes

Moon in Capricorn in the SR - my girlboss era!!!! These were years were I began new professional opportunities like my first job or my first year in college

Moon in the 8th house of SR - you guessed it: trauma. I'm talking canon event kind of trauma. A family member died.

Vertex in the 8th house of SR - this was playing life on hard mode honestly. Not necessarily traumatic, but very complicated events and situations here that put you to the test

work by astrobydalia

[hwaslayer]

the space between us three (jyh) | ten.

⇢series masterlist | series playlist

⇢summary: while juggling the demands of life, yunho continues to do his best to raise his independent 11 yr old daughter, seora. throughout the years, they've built a strong foundation, an unbreakable bond— one that consists of late night talks and food runs, father/daughter dates, and sideline cheerleading at her basketball games. so when you unexpectedly come into their world, things shift. despite the uncertainty and the fear of stepping outside of their comfort zone, yunho and seora eventually learn how to open their hearts and learn how to rebuild a home where three can thrive together.

⇢pairing: single dad!yunho x f. reader

⇢genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, single dad au | fluff, angst, smut

⇢word count: 4.6k

⇢chapter content/warnings: cussing/mature language, hwa just hella unsure and causing problems lol, typical yunho x oc being cute af, making out, a lil bit of some dry humping, flashback scene of yunho taking seora to see her mom, crying, yunho opens up to seora about his relationship and it goes south

⇢a/n: the hongjoong fic is starting! you can find it here in case you missed it <33

"Hey." You pop into Noeul's cubicle, welcoming yourself into the free chair. "How's it going?" You're taking a break after the emails briefly stopped flooding in, checking in with your bestfriend. She seems better, but you know where her mind is still at.

"Hey cutie." She looks at you. "It's been alright. Dealing with some more internal issues, but nothing too bad." She chuckles. "Finally got a minute to breathe?"

"Mhm."

"Seeing your man later?"

"Mhm." You respond in a sing-song tone. "Can't wait. Miss him." 

"Cuties. Love you two."

"Have you talked to Seonghwa?" You ask, just to give her time to vent if needed.

"Nope."

"He didn't text you back?"

"Um, no. No he hasn't." She gives you a tiny, forced smile and it breaks your heart. "He's been ignoring me, actually. I saw him this morning on the way to the office, and I thought it was my window to talk to him."

"But? Did you guys make contact?"

"Yeah, but he literally popped out his phone and made a beeline for the entrance." She scoffs. "Yoori's also been majorly giving me the eye."

"Well."

⇢FLASHBACK

noeul: hey, can we talk?

hwa: sorry, not a good time. swamped today.

noeul: okay, so can't we talk after work?

hwa: can't.

noeul: seonghwa, really?

"Sorry." Seonghwa says as he slips into Yoori's office, her face unamused when he finds him tucking his phone into his pocket. "I just got caught up with something."

"Noeul, you mean?" She looks at his pocket and he lets out a heavy sigh.

"No. I was editing an article I need to get out before the end of the week."

"Right." Yoori looks at him over her computer. Seonghwa can tell she's still not happy. And although he doesn't blame her, he is getting tired of the attitude. Of her temper and being short with him. Of keeping within the same routine. He tried to make it up to her. Tried to make this different.

But in the end, it didn't feel so different and he doesn't want to continue if it'll keep heading down this route.

He does think about the fun he had with Noeul. He thinks about having more fun with her. He thinks about how maybe, Noeul would be different. A different kind of fun for him.

"I didn't come here to fight." Seonghwa sighs. "I wanted to ask if you wanted to go out to dinner tonight."

"Not really."

"Why not?"

"I don't really wanna be out tonight, especially after the day I've already had."

"I'm sorry, but what does that have to do with me taking you out to dinner? I'll pick you up and drop you off. Or, you can stay at mine if you want."

"Seriously Hwa. Not tonight. Can we raincheck?" He sighs again and nods defeatedly.

"Yeah sure."

"Is there anything else?" She asks him and he just shakes his head. Feeling like he wasted his time to see her. He was excited to see her and ask her out tonight.

But, that went down the drain.

And now, as he's heading back to his office, he's staring at the thread between him and Noeul. Wondering if he should text her and finally talk to her. He's starting to think that Noeul wasn't just that shiny new toy to him and that his heart hasn't truly belonged to Yoori all this time.

Maybe, he needs to break free if all they do is go in circles.

Circles he feels obligated to follow because Yoori is all he's known these past months.

⇢END

"I'm sorry." You brush her hair away from her face.

"Maybe I am just stupid."

"You're not. He's just.. not the right guy, and that's totally fine." You look at her, slightly frowning. "You'll find someone who is worthy of your love and will shower you with the love you deserve."

"I know, but why can't I let go of it? We literally made out at your birthday and that was it."

"Well, you had fun with him. You were with him for the majority of the night. He's attractive too, I can't lie." You shrug. "But, he also needs to really get his shit together, especially with the whole Yoori thing. You don't wanna be another part of that equation, and you don't deserve to." She sighs.

"I just gotta let it go. You're right. It makes no sense for me to hold onto this. He's with Yoori and there's no changing that."

"Quite frankly, I don't even know if Yoori has him." She looks at you, forehead crinkled. "Okay, sorry. Point is, he needs to get himself together and you deserve someone who is sure of you. They'll come along, no doubt."

"I hope so."

"My sweet Noeul." You throw your arm around her. "Come over sometime this week or weekend? We can have a girl's night. I'll tell Sian, too."

"I could use another shopping date. I need a new, cute but functional, everyday bag."

"Are we thinking luxury bag?"

"Maybe."

"Treat yourself! Let's do it." Noeul smiles. "There she is."

"Love you."

"Love you, too." Your phone dings, signaling a text from Yunho and another coworker about a project-related. order "Let me get back to work. I've gotta check on this order I placed for the team. They needed specific electrodes for this study and they said they'd have it by a specific time this week. Gotta make sure it's on track."

"Goodluck."

"Thank you. Text me if you need anything? Or come bother me if you have time." She nods.

With that, you text your coworker back as you head to the procurement facility to check on the status of their order. It's an elevator ride down to the basement, and luckily, there isn't a huge line or a lot of people crowding the area to pick up orders. You find your contact to get an update, relieved it should be delivered tomorrow and can be picked up before lunch time. You relay the info to your coworker as you head back upstairs to your desk, the emails and task items slowly building post-break.

yunho: can't wait to see you later pretty girl

you: excited 🥰 what's lunch?

yunho: surprise!

you: boooooo

yunho: don't give me that, cutie. it'll be worth it! 

yunho: gtg, gotta look into one of the systems slowing down

yunho: 😘

You set the phone down to get back to work, only to come back to it with another text from Yunho.

yunho: damn kiss me back at least??????

you: can you go?! 😂

you: 😘

You giggle to yourself, finishing up the other tasks that have made its way to you before lunch time comes around the corner. You get the usual text from Yunho letting you know he was heading to your meeting spot, so you grab your water bottle and head out. It's a bit chilly outside, causing you to wrap your jacket around you tightly— easily finding Yunho's tall figure ahead.

"Hi." You giggle when Yunho pulls you in for a tight hug and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"Missed you, pretty girl." He raises a cute bag up. "Made some kimbap with Seora last night."

"I missed you, too." Your eyes glow at the bag. "That's so sweet. Can't wait to eat 'em for lunch, I'm sure it's delicious." You smile, tiptoeing to give him a curt peck on the lips. You feel Yunho smile against the kiss, subtly biting his lip when you pull back.

"Can we get to the car? Now?"

"Yunho." You laugh, squealing when Yunho laces his hand with yours—rushing over to his car in the staff garage and dragging you along. He has long strides, so you're having to keep up 10x more than normal. "Yunho! You're a giant, I can't keep up!" He laughs when he decides to carry you and gets you into his car— immediately sliding into the driver's seat and reversing out of the spot. "Why are you rushing?!"

"Because we're on a time crunch and I just need my time with you. What do you mean why?" You snort. 

"Uh huh."

"I also just want you on my lap, is that so much to ask?" You let out a cute yell, making Yunho laugh even louder. He makes his way to the usual trail and lake, parking underneath the shade since the sun is out despite the chill. He pops open the large container, showing you the different kinds of kimbap they made. He hands you some chopsticks, allowing you to dig in first and give an honest review.

"Yum! This is so good, Yu." 

"Yeah? You aren't lying?" He looks at you, maintaining eye contact until you break first.

"Swear." You chuckle.

"Your mom and dad said it was good, too. I'll give credit to Seora for the idea and for planning out what kimbap we'd make."

"The girl's got taste!" You pop in another one, looking out at the lake ahead. There's a few people walking the trail, elderly couples holding onto each other as they take their time with their stroll or runners getting a workout in before it gets too late in the afternoon. Ducks are taking a dip in the lake, squirrels running up the trees. 

It's a nice reminder of life's little blessings.

"Hey." You turn in the passenger's seat, tucking your leg underneath the other to sit comfortably.

"Yeah, baby?"

"How was it? Did you take Seora to the cemetery?"

"Yeah." He smiles. "It was good. She was really happy."

"Did she get to decorate?"

"Lots."

⇢FLASHBACK

"What's that?" Yunho asks as he drives over to the cemetery, briefly glancing at Seora's lap when he gets a chance.

"You know how I got into crochet kits lately?"

"Yes, I'm reminded by the monthly subscription that goes through on my card." Seora laughs. "You're making good use of it."

"Yeah. I made one from the Hello Kitty line I got in. I made the Little Twinstars." Seora raises the two. "They're holding hands. I know they're siblings but I wanted it to be like.. me and mom."

"That's cute." Yunho smiles a bit.

"I also made this sushi and named it Oishi. It has a little slice of tamago on the top." Yunho laughs.

"You're just like your mom. Inspiring and creative." Seora smiles.

"Then, I made a drawing of our picture."

"It's beautiful."

"And a threaded bracelet."

"Wow, you really got to work." Seora shows her wrist and holds it near her father's by the wheel. 

"She can match us now."

"That's right." Yunho pulls into the cemetery and drives toward the columbarium. He parks near the front doors, letting out a sigh when he shuts off the car. "Ready to go, ace?"

"I am." She nods with a soft smile. Yunho quickly hops out to help Seora out of the passenger seat, shutting her door for her when she climbs out with all her things. Yunho walks alongside of her as they enter the quiet, still building. Seora holds onto her father's arm as they walk down the hall, Yunho leading her through the familiar path towards Eunha.

"Here." He brings her in front of her niche, looking down to see her reaction. She slowly steps forward, her hand touching the glass.

"Mom." She says quietly.

"Go ahead." Yunho hands her the key to unlock the little glass door. She takes it, slowly sliding the key into the lock before twisting it open. 

"Brought you some stuff that I made." She says quietly. Yunho watches with a smile on his face as Seora continues to explain to her mom what each item is and why she brought it. Once the decorations are settled to her liking inside, she lets out a sigh and drops her head. He hears her sniffling, her hand coming up to wipe her tears away.

"Ace?" He comes from behind, hands on her shoulders.

"I just miss her." Is all she says before she turns to dig her head into her father's chest. 

"Oh, ace." Yunho holds her close, gently rubbing her back as she continues to quietly cry— tears a sign of all the pain and sadness she harbored over the years. "I'm so sorry, babygirl." He whispers against the top of her head before placing a small kiss to the surface.

The days and nights of longing for a mother's love, a mother's touch. 

Yearning and needing.

All coming to surface.

"Can we sit here for a bit and talk about mom?"

"Of course."

"I remember some things."

"You do?" Seora nods. She remembers a few core memories from when she was small; they're all bits and pieces, fragments of the past when she wished she had all the puzzle pieces together to see the bigger picture. But, she remembers. She remembers pieces of her mom and that's what matters to her, that's what she'll hold onto tightly.

She remembers when she finally stopped whining and crying during swim class— finding the courage to join the other toddlers in the water to learn how to float and get used to the feeling. She remembers her mom encouraging her with her sweet tone, telling her she believed in her. She remembers the kiss to her forehead, feeling it against her skin like it was just yesterday.

And Yunho listens.

He chimes in with a few other stories from when she was a baby, the two of them giggling and in good spirits while sitting around Eunha. The hour goes by so quickly, it feels like 5 minutes to the two.

⇢END

"That's so sweet."

"Yeah, we spent about a good hour there. Gonna make it our weekend thing besides our little dates and her games."

"Cute." You smile. "You should." The both of you are sipping water, popping in some gum post-meal. "I'm glad you two had that time together and will keep it a part of your schedule."

"Yeah." Yunho leans his head back against the headrest, eyeing you up and down as much as he possibly can from his seat. "Come here, baby." He says lowly, subtly licking his lips.

"Hm?" You hum, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

"C'mere." He gives you a look, adjusting his seat back to make room for you.

"Babe, people might see us!" You say, even though you're already preparing to take your seat on your man's lap. 

"And I do not give a fuck." He laughs. "They can have a free show." He watches as you climb over, straddling his lap. "Besides, you're already here. Did you really have strong opinions about it in the first place?" He looks up at you as you trace his jaw with your thumb. He takes your hand in his, kissing your fingers, your knuckles.

"Maybe, maybe not." 

"Mm, tease, aren't you?" He smirks, lips edging towards yours. He licks his lips, hands gripping at your hips to keep you close. "Hm, pretty girl?" He whispers just as his lips graze yours, followed by a light, feathery kiss. You finally dip forward to lock him into a kiss.

It's soft at first. Sweet. 

Yunho's lips against yours feel perfect. Like it was molded to fit yours, to console you, to keep you safe;

Like it was made to love you.

Your hands fall to his cheeks, thumb pads grazing the surface, his jaw. The kiss deepens quick, tongues moving together in a slow dance. Yunho grip on your hips tightens, egging you to move on him. 

And you do just that.

Slowly, eagerly. With intent, meaning.

"Yunho." You breathe out, trapping him into another kiss just as he bites onto your bottom lip and tugs it back. 

"Yeah, baby?" He whispers, hand coming up behind your neck; fingers threading through your hair to keep you close. 

"Wish we could be home right now."

"Say the word and I'll take you home." You giggle against his lips, pecking him once more.

"You've gotta pick up Seora later."

"I can stop by yours before I do." He leans forward to continue kissing you like there's no tomorrow. "I plan to tell Seora tonight, by the way." You pause, hands still cupping his cheeks.

"A-are you sure, love?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" He rubs at the sides of your thighs, but you sit back— titling your head as you look at him.

"Maybe we should wait a bit more? You just took her to the cemetery to see her mom, Yu. She might need time."

"She'll be okay. I just.. I wanna tell her sooner than later. Or else, I'll feel like it's never the right time and that's unfair to you."

"Well, she's the one who matters the most."

"I promise she'll be fine. You trust me, right?"

"I do. It's not that. I'm just not sure how she'll react." It's true, you don't know how she'll react and that's what you're afraid of. You're afraid she'll take it the wrong way, you're afraid she'll never look past it. You're afraid she'll never accept this.

And if she doesn't, then it'll be something you'll have to accept.

Seora will always come first and you will never do anything to challenge that. To break her beautiful relationship with her father, to ruin her comfort zone.

"Either way, it's going to be an adjustment, but we'll make this work."

"Together?"

"Always." His eyes fall to your lips before he dips in for another sweet, long kiss. You giggle after awhile, breaking the kiss to look at your phone.

"Fuck. Maybe we should head back." You flash your phone at him, seeing there's only about 10 minutes left of break." Yunho sighs, groaning a bit.

"Fine."

"Grump." You joke as you climb back into the passenger's seat.

"No seriously, can I pop in before I pick up Seora?"

"Yunho." You pinch his arm. "And be late to pick her up? Absolutely not."

"Ah— okay." He pouts as he starts up the car and begins to head back toward the hospital. "Are you working from home any day this week?"

"Maybe." You laugh, and he wiggles his eyebrows. You swear Yunho is such a dork, but you fall for him more and more every day. 

"There's my invite." 

"You're too much." He slides his free hand into yours, kissing the surface.

"Just love my time with you, that's all." He smiles softly. Yunho looks at you, and he just feels love. He feels lucky to have found someone again who understands him, takes him for him and is willing to love him and all that he comes with. 

He doesn't want to lose that.

Even though he knows it'll be tough, he doesn't want to lose that.

The ride back to work is quiet besides the tiny kisses shared before hopping out to get back to your offices. You've got a few hours left in your workday, and for Yunho, it's a little longer in comparison with all the tickets he's helping the team with. He's also got a check-in meeting to finalize the plans for the new unit before he can wrap up and call it a day.

All in a day's work.

"Hey." He hears a familiar voice as he straps in his backpack and throws his hat on before heading out for the afternoon.

"What's up?" Yunho looks at Seonghwa with a small smile. "You look beat."

"I am." 

"Didn't you see Yoori earlier?" Seonghwa walk alongside of his bestfriend as they head out to the staff garage.

"Yeah. That didn't go all that well."

"Well, how do you expect her to act?" Seonghwa shrugs.

"I don't know, but quite frankly, I'm getting kinda tired of it."

"What?" Yunho snorts. "You wanted the casual, lowkey thing."

"Yeah, but things were kinda changing. Now, we barely even do anything. We don't go out, we don't have fun. Nothing. It's usually a quick outing to eat or else we stay at each other's places."

"Isn't that the point of lowkey and casual?" Yunho looks at him. "What's making you second guess? Noeul and the whole club thing?"

"Maybe?" Yunho shakes his head.

"Figure it out first. Don't get Noeul wrapped up in this even more if you aren't sure."

"I feel bad, I brushed her off earlier."

"Exactly, Hwa. Don't do that. Not only cause she's Y/N's friend, but you don't string someone along because you want a fun backup." Hwa sighs.

"It's not even just that."

"Then?" Yunho unlocks his car and tosses his backpack in the trunk.

"I don't know."

"Figure it out, my guy. Wouldn't hurt to get expedited shipping on that either. Someone's gonna end up real hurt if you aren't honest about what you want and need right now." Hwa sighs. "Can never be simple with you, can it?"

"Anyway. Did you see Y/N earlier?"

"Mhm. Of course." Yunho chuckles.

"Are you still planning to tell ace tonight about you two?"

"I think so, yeah. I kinda just wanna rip the bandaid off."

"Goodluck. I'm sure she'll be fine eventually. But, let me know how it goes."

"Deflecting." Yunho teases making Seonghwa roll his eyes as he starts to back away towards the direction of his car.

"Fuck off, alright? Tell ace I said hi." Yunho chuckles before sliding into his car and heading out to pick up his daughter and his tiny-but-not-so-tiny bestfriend. He parks in the school's lot, walking over to the gym to catch the tail end of practice. He watches as they run their last play of the evening, running a few minutes over time. Coach calls it, yelling out the play until the girls run it all the way through in perfection. Yunho nods, loving these moments when he can see his baby girl in action. He greets a few of other parents before watching Seora drag herself to the locker room to grab her things and head home. "Hey ace." Yunho says when he sees Seora dragging her huge duffle bag along. He laughs and takes it from her, slinging the strap over his shoulder. "How was practice?"

"God, awful. We ran so many of the plays just to get a feel for it for the next playoff game."

"That's good."

"Not good. My legs are beat." She looks up at him as she sips her water bottle. "What's dinner?"

"Was thinking we could just do kimchi-jjigae."

"Mm. Yum!" She says, throwing her backpack in the trunk once it's popped open. "Sounds good right about now."

"Yeah, doesn't it?" When the trek home begins, Seora starts to tell her father about her day and how much of a good day she had. None of her friends were out sick, and they got to watch movies in a couple of her classes. The more he hears her talk about her day, the more he feels the guilt building in the pit of his stomach.

Because he would be the reason that would change.

The reason why her day would ended on such a dramatic, life-changing note.

But, he keeps himself strong— keeps his decision firm because he knows he just has to do it. He looks at her and cherishes her smile and her laugh, hoping he could still see those same bright features once he lays it all out for her. For the future.

He hopes he doesn't lose his baby girl.

When they get home, they greet your parents through the kitchen window and more guilt settled into the pit of his stomach realizing that would be the next step.

You, handling your parents. Hoping they'd support you in this relationship.

Yunho kicks off his shoes and Seora races to the bathroom to shower and get comfy. He decides to get the kimchi-jjigae and rice going before washing up for the night and getting into some pajamas. By the time everything's finished, Seora is already sitting at the table watching her show while Yunho brings over the hot pot of kimchi-jjigae to the center of the table. He grabs their bowls to put some rice inside before setting them down next to the pot They say their grace before digging in, Yunho indulging in the show she has on. She explains the current plot, keeping her father up to date on all the drama that's happened so far. They talk about other shows and upcoming movies in between, Seora basically planning one of their dates as another movie date.

This time, at a different theater. One that has different themes in each theater room, and it switches out almost every month. 

Yunho just agrees, wanting to take Seora anywhere just so she could be happy and they can spend time together outside of the house. When dinner is done, Yunho and Seora clean up the dishes and close out the kitchen, but Seora finds it a good time to dig for some dessert to balance out the savory meal they've had.

Yunho also finds it a good time to just cut to the chase.

Let her know what's been going on.

"Ace."

"Hm?" She digs through the fridge.

"Can I talk to you for a sec?"

"If it's about me being head deep into the fridge to find dessert, I'm sorry dad, but I have no regrets." Yunho chuckles.

"No. Listen to me." She shuts the fridge emptyhanded.

"We need more desserts."

"Noted." Seora senses the shift in his tone. The dip.

"What is it, daddy?"

"I've... been seeing someone for awhile now."

"Like friends? I see my friends all the time?"

"No, dating. As in a relationship."

"Dating? Relationship?"

"Yeah." Yunho swallows the lump in his throat when he sees the smile on her face die and turn into a frown. Here it goes.

"Dating?" She repeats in utter disbelief. "So, what was the weekend all about?"

"What does the weekend have to do with what I'm telling you, baby girl?"

"Mom? Visiting her?" She scoffs. "Do you even remember Mom like that, or are you just replacing her with someone because it doesn't even matter anymore? Replacing her with someone who knows where the freaking juice is in the fridge—"

"Seora." Yunho furrows his brows. "Hey, stop that. You do not say that to me. I never said she was replacing your mom. I could never. I just wanted to tell you when the time felt right—" He falters. She stares back at him— expression unreadable at first, then her eyes flicker. "It isn't about forgetting her at all."

"It's about you. It's all about you!" Her tone raises. "You moved on. You moved on and didn't think I'd notice. You're clearly forgetting about her and moving on. You literally don't even care—"

"Seora, that's enough!" She scoffs again, rolling her eyes as she turns to head towards her room. "I thought you'd respond better than that."

"What do you expect me to say, dad? Congrats?!" She pauses and shakes her head. "Whatever. Have fun playing house with your new girlfriend."

"Seora!" She slams the door to her room, leaving Yunho dumbfounded in the living room. His jaw ticks, and he's not sure how to navigate this. Seora has never been this mad at Yunho and vice versa; sure, he's had to calmly discipline her before and correct mistakes, but they've never had this big of an argument.

Whenever they'd disagree, he knew it could easily be salvaged. They'd talk about it, Yunho would fix things patiently. They'd get back to the way they were. Seora would take her lessons to heart and wouldn't make the same mistake again because she'd never wanna disappoint her father, the most important man in her life. Her bestfriend.

Now, it doesn't feel so easily salvageable. Yunho has never seen her so mad. He's never felt this much anger and disappointment. He's not sure how long it'll take to blow over, or how they'd even move past this.

All he can do is sigh, running his hand through his hair before he mutters a short 'fuck' to himself. He cleans the living room and shuts off the lights for the night, sadly heading to bed when Seora doesn't come out for the rest of the evening. No goodnight's, no 'I love you's,' no hugs. And Yunho knows he shouldn't let them go to bed like this, but he knows she needs time. He needs time. He doesn't wanna make this worse, and he doesn't wanna do anything to hurt her more.

But, he expected this. He should've known. So, why doesn't he feel prepared at all? 

Where does he go from here?

"Hey babe." Yunho feels himself relax a bit as he settles into his sheets, letting out a small sigh. "You okay?"

"I don't know. Definitely did not go as planned." You feel your heart beating against your chest, anxiety slightly rising. Of course it didn't go well. You also expected it, so why don't you feel prepared at all? 

What a silly question to ask, Y/N.

"I'm sorry." You respond softly. "Maybe she really just needed time, Yu."

"I guess. Maybe it is my fault." He says defeatedly. "I don't think any other time would've been the right time, and I think she would've reacted this way regardless." He sighs. "But, part of me really hoped she'd be open to it. I don't know what to say to her, I don't know what to do. We've never been in an argument like this."

"Don't push her any further on this, okay? Let it settle and talk about it with her when things feel better."

"Yeah."

"We'll get through this, remember?"

"Mmyeah." He tries to be positive, but it's already killing him how upset Seora is. The silence on the phone is telling, and the silence is enough to scare you. It only makes you fear telling your mom even more, knowing she won't be supportive of it either.

You've talked about the possibilities, so why don't the both of you feel prepared?

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[i-loved-silly]

Hi! I don’t know if ur writing for gaslight district but I was wondering if I can request being married to Ken and what’ll it be like in his fambam

I need Ken to be my wife!! >U<

KEN X READER | MARRIED HEADCANONS

If you and Ken got to the point of being engaged then married (in whatever way things are done in Gaslight District) then you’re basically locked in forever.

Dates consist of him making a special dinner for two, having the privacy in one of the back rooms. Either that or out in the open, he still has the shop to look over afterall. He’ll request some slow, romantic songs from Breadhead on the piano , having him play in the background.

Speaking of, you two are sooo gross (says Mel and Mud) Average mafia couple who are in love with r eachother because you’re equally as crazy. Mel loves you too at this point! But she always points and gags when the two of you are being all “lovey dovey” You make it a habit of calling Ken the grossest petnames you can think of in front of Mel on purpose.

“I’m back! How was your day, my handsome, strong, scrumptiou—“

“Eughh! Gross…”

Breadhead loves you too! They were doing just fine but he’s sooo happy to have another member of the family. Absolutely treats you as another Ken, probably the first to have accepted you in the first place. If you go out anywhere to get supplies, help restock the butcher shop, or any of your personal goods, he’s right behind you. He’s your son now and your second personal body guard. Ken’s your first <3

Mud constantly teases you both until Ken knocks his head off. This got more common once you got married.

“Get a room, you rancids.”

“I’m surprised you can handle the shithead, no one else can without at least five shots.” All with a smirk on his face that’s about to get knocked clean off.

You end up getting pretty close with him, you look out for each other on missions just as much as with everyone else. Occasionally he’ll try to sneak some coins out if you’re handling the register, which you’ll promptly smack his hand away from. Ken is so proud.

Instead of JUST being Ken’s spouse, you’re glad to see his kids start to treat you like a parent. It’s so great, actually, to see that you truly belong. What really seals it in? You start going on family missions. They’re a mafia family, they don’t just let anyone join them. You’d have to be a very special spot to be there—which, you are.

As much as Ken is paranoid that something could happen to you, you’ve proven several times you can take care of yourself. Considering where you are, knowing how to protect yourself is kinda the main point! He loves seeing you in action despite the worry.

Plus it’s absolutely a thing for him to see you thrive. As much as you can, at least. Acting like the butcher shop is your home or at least second home, always standing near him so everyone knows you’re together, being absolutely merciless to whoever crosses the gang, yup, that’s his spouse. He’s not one to flaunt but oh does he want to. You do things to him <3

[cowboybeepboop]

I'm not too sure if you're still taking requests but I was wondering if you can do a Scott from twisters and a super shy reader one? Like it could be Scott is her boss or something and he notices that she's super timid and shy and takes care of her. It could be fluff or smut but mostly leaning towards smut lol

I absolutely love all your work and you are such a talented writer!

Pairing: Scott Miller x fem! Reader

Genre: Romantic smut with fluff at the end

Word count: 5 k

Warnings: a little bit of roughness, p in v sex, fingering, semi public sex

a/n: Omg, I’m actually so excited you requested this bc I’ve been thinking of writing something similar for a bit. I’m always happy to take requests as well 😝 Also thank you so much! I hope this lives up to what you were expecting <3

You’ve been working at a small publishing company for the past couple months. It’s all been great, aside from the *strange* interest your boss Mr. Miller has taken in you. He seems to thrive on pushing your boundaries and putting you in situations that you would usually try and avoid. But at least he doesn’t yell at you or get on your ass about every small detail like he does with the rest of his crew.

The office buzzed with the usual cacophony of clicking keyboards and hushed conversations, but your desk remained a bubble of relative calm. That was, until James, the office chatterbox, perched himself on the edge of your table, his elbow propping up a paperback novel and his legs swinging carelessly.

He had a way of invading personal spaces without so much as a knock. "Hey, could you just...?" he began, dangling a manuscript in the air expectantly. It was the third time that week he'd asked you to cover for him. His eyes sparkled with the hope that you’d once again take the bait.

Your heart sank, knowing you couldn't refuse him without causing a scene or damaging the precarious office dynamics. But before you could utter a word, Mr. Miller's sharp voice sliced through the air like a hot knife through butter. "James," he barked, his stern gaze sweeping over the room and landing on the manuscript in James' hand, "this is the third time I've caught you offloading your work. Do it yourself or face the consequences."

The room fell silent, and James, caught in the act, had the decency to look sheepish. He scurried away, muttering something about deadlines and coffee. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of gratitude towards Mr. Miller, despite his mysterious intentions.

Your eyes brightened as you smiled up at your boss, giving him a silent “thank you”. Mr. Miller's gruff expression did little to hide the smug satisfaction that briefly flashed across his face before he turned away, the tension in the room dissipating as swiftly as it had appeared.

He marched back to his office, the heavy door swinging shut behind him with a decisive thud. You watched him go, feeling a mix of relief and curiosity about the enigmatic man who had just come to your aid. The silence was broken by the resumption of whispers and the shuffling of papers, but your thoughts remained fixed on the peculiar exchange.

You chew on the cap of your pen as your mind continues to wander to your boss. The tall and buff man who never lets a single hair get out of place. You couldn't deny the undeniable attraction you felt towards Mr. Miller, despite his brusque demeanor. His piercing blue eyes, chiseled jawline, and the way his tailored suits hugged his broad shoulders had not gone unnoticed by the female staff, or anyone with a pulse for that matter.

Yet, his rough around the edges personality kept everyone at bay, except for you. The way he'd occasionally drop a curse word in the middle of a meeting or roll up his sleeves to reveal strong muscles was oddly charming. You found yourself eager to learn more about the man behind the stern facade, hoping that there was a softer, more approachable side to him that the office hadn't yet discovered.

As the lunch hour begins, Mr. Miller steps out of his office, his gaze sweeping over the bustling office. He spots you, diligently working at your desk, and saunters over. He leans against your cubicle, arms crossed, emanating a mix of authority and nonchalance. His eyes lock onto yours, a subtle smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“So,” he drawls, his gruff voice a contrast to the ambient office chatter, “busy day, huh?” Your gaze meets his.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You give him a soft smile before looking back at your computer screen, trying to ignore the way your heart rate picks up in his presence.

“Uh-huh.” He lets out a low, contemplative hum, his eyes studying you, making you feel almost exposed. His gaze lingers a beat longer than necessary before he glances away.

“You look... stressed,” he comments, his tone casual but his observation astute. He leans in just a bit closer than what would be considered appropriate for coworkers.

You gulp as you lean back in your seat, trying to create distance between the two of you. “I’m not stressed.” Your pitch becomes slightly higher as a soft flush paints your cheeks.

Mr. Miller notices your shift backwards and the subtle rise in your voice, his smirk growing as he pushes himself off the cubicle wall and stands tall over you. He towers over your sitting form, the intensity in his gaze increasing.

“You sure about that, sweetheart?” he drawls, the last word rolling off his tongue in that way that always makes your heart skip a beat.

“Uh, Mr. Miller?” Your voice cracks a little as you shoot out of your chair. “I’ve got to go grab some things from the storage room.” you mumble as you slide past him.

Scott watches as you dart out of your seat, his smirk still firmly in place. He allows you to brush past him, his eyes following your every step. He waits a beat, letting you gain a small lead, before he slowly starts to follow you, his footsteps nearly silent. His eyes never leave your form as he continues to walk a few feet behind, his hands shoved into his pockets.

You open the door to the storage closet, taking a deep breath as you walk inside. An annoyed sigh leaves your lips as you notice the stapler you need is on the top shelf. You stand on your tippy toes, which doesn’t get you close enough so you begin to jump, not noticing your boss standing against the closed door.

Mr. Miller stays back, silently leaning against the door as he watches you attempt to reach the stapler on the top shelf. A hint of amusement dances in his eyes and a slight smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. He remains quiet, a silent observer of your struggle.

He lets you jump for a few moments, enjoying the way your body rises up and down, before he finally makes a sound. “Need some help there, sweetheart?”

“Oh shit!” Your eyes widen as you turn around, startled by his voice. He chuckles, the sound low and rough, as you inadvertently collide with his chest. He leans down, reaching easily over you and plucks the stapler from the top shelf. His other hand lands on your hip to steady you, his grip firm but not unwelcome.

“You’re a bit jumpy, aren’t you?” he teases, his voice a low rumble. He looks down at you, his eyes glinting with amusement.

You clear your throat as your eyes fall to the floor. “I didn’t expect you to be in here,” you fix your skirt as you shift awkwardly.

Mr. Miller takes a step closer, closing the distance between the two of you, effectively trapping you between his body and the wall. He looks down at you, his eyes darkened with something you can’t quite place.

“You didn’t expect someone to walk into the storage closet?” he asks, his smirk turning into a small, sly smile. He raises the stapler in his hand, still grasping it just above your head, his forearm mere inches from your face.

“Well,” you look up at him, chewing on your bottom lip. “Everyone else went to lunch, so I didn’t expect anyone to come in…” your voice trails off as you glance past him at the closed door.

Mr. Miller notices your gaze flicker to the door, his smirk widening as he leans closer, his free hand bracing against the wall beside you, effectively caging you in.

“So you thought you’d be all alone in here, did you?” he drawls, his voice lower and more intimate, the scent of his cologne filling your nostrils. He shifts his foot, his legs now bracket yours, trapping you even more effectively.

“Mr. Miller?” You press your hand against his chest, pushing his body slightly. A dark blush paints your skin as you gaze up at him.

Scott feels your hand push against his chest, but he doesn't budge. Instead, he leans in closer, his body practically flush against yours. His eyes roam over you, taking in the way the blush colors your skin.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he responds, his voice a deep rumble. His hand on the wall moves to your waist, his fingers splaying out across the thin material of your blouse.

“What are.. are you doing?” You gulp as he pulls you closer to him. Scott lets out a low chuckle, his smirk still firmly in place. He continues to press you against the wall, his body almost enveloping you completely.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he drawls, his hand on your waist shifting slightly, his thumb starting to trace small, infuriating patterns across your hip bone.

You lean into his chest with a soft gasp at his touch. “This isn’t very, uh, professional…” you groan out as his hands trail over your skin.

Scott lets out another deep chuckle, his touch growing more purposeful as his hand continues its maddening journey across your skin. He can feel your body responding to his touch, your gasp of pleasure feeding his growing desire.

“Professional…” he echoes, his voice a low rumble in his throat. “It’s lunch break, sweetheart. There’s no one here but you and me.” He leans closer, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath hot against your skin. “And I don’t feel like being professional right now.”

Scott’s smirk turns into a full-fledged smile as he reads the clear invitation in your eyes. Before you can fully process his intentions, he pulls you into a passionate kiss, his hands sliding your skirt up as he does so. Your body responds instinctively, your arms wrapping around his neck as his lips claim yours.

His touch is surprisingly gentle, yet firm, leaving no room for doubt or denial. You can feel the heat from his palms as they graze the bare skin of your thighs, sending shivers down your spine. His kiss is demanding but not aggressive, a silent declaration of his desire that you find yourself unable to resist.

The sound of your breath mingling with his fills the small space as your hearts race in tandem, the line between professionalism and passion blurring like the ink on a freshly edited manuscript.

Mr. Miller's hand slides down further, slipping under the hem of your skirt and brushing against the silk of your panties. His touch sends a jolt of excitement through your body, making you squirm against the wall. He chuckles against your lips, feeling your wetness through the thin fabric.

His fingers trace the edge of your panties, teasing the sensitive skin before hooking them and sliding them down your thighs. His palm flattens against your bare mound, the heat of his hand sending a rush of pleasure through your core. You gasp into his mouth as he massages you, his thumb circling your clit with a masterful pressure that leaves you trembling and desperate for more.

The storage room suddenly feels much smaller as your world narrows to the feel of his body pressing against yours and the sensations he's coaxing from your body. Your thighs instinctively squeeze around his arm as he expertly works his thumb against your clit, his movements growing more insistent and deliberate.

His other hand moves to the small of your back, pressing you harder against the wall, his body pinning yours in place as his kiss deepens. His tongue delves into your mouth, mimicking the rhythm of his thumb, and you can't help but moan softly. The pressure builds within you, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as you feel the beginnings of an orgasm coil in your belly.

Your hands grasp his shoulders, nails digging in as you try to anchor yourself against the overwhelming sensations. The room is filled with the muffled sounds of your moans and his groans, the only music to the illicit dance of your bodies. His fingers continue to explore, slipping one inside of you, stretching and filling you with a delicious fullness that makes your knees weak.

Your hips buck against his hand, desperately seeking more friction as he whispers dirty words into your ear, his breath hot and heavy. The walls seem to close in around you, and all you can focus on is the exquisite torment he's inflicting, the promise of a climax that seems just out of reach.

You pull away from the kiss, moaning out his name. “Scott..” you bury your face in his neck. Mr. Miller's thumb continues its relentless circles around your clit, his hand curling into a fist as he feels your wetness soaking his fingers. His other hand squeezes your ass, pulling you even closer to his growing erection, which presses against your stomach.

He seems to enjoy the way you're responding to him, the way your body moves with his touch. His teeth graze your neck, eliciting a shiver that runs down your spine, as he whispers in your ear, "You're so fucking wet for me, aren't you?" His voice is thick with lust, his breath warm and heavy against your skin.

Your moans become louder, muffled by his mouth, as he brings you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. The storage room feels like it's spinning around you, your body a taut bowstring ready to snap. And just when you think you can't take it anymore, Mr. Miller's thumb presses down hard on your clit, and you shatter in his arms, your orgasm ripping through you like a wildfire, leaving you boneless and panting against the wall.

As the intensity of your climax subsides, Scott’s kisses turn tender, pressing against your cheeks and neck as he supports your trembling body. He gently sets you on your feet, his strong arms keeping you upright as your legs wobble like jelly.

With a satisfied smirk, he withdraws his hand from beneath your skirt and brings it to his mouth, licking his fingers clean with a wolfish gaze that sends another wave of heat through your core. His eyes never leave yours as he tastes you, savoring the sweetness of your arousal.

The intimacy of the moment is almost overwhelming, leaving you breathless and utterly exposed in the dingy office storage closet. You stand there, panting and flushed, unable to look away from the raw hunger in his gaze. The air around you feels thick with unspoken desire, the silence only broken by the distant hum of the office outside the door, a stark contrast to the passionate scene playing out in the shadowy confines of the room.

Your body feels alive, every nerve ending still singing from his touch, and your mind is racing with the implications of what just happened between you. His fingers move to pull the hem of your skirt down, fixing your clothes as he pulls away from you.

He runs a hand through his tousled hair, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his lips as his eyes roam over your disheveled form. The sight of you, leaning against the wall, looking utterly spent, fuels his inner dominance, his primal desire to possess and claim.

He takes a step back, putting some distance between you, but his gaze remains fixed on you like a predator studying its prey. He runs a hand along his jaw. "You taste even sweeter than I imagined," he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly.

Your skin turns a deep red as you cover your face in embarrassment. “We should probably go back to work now…” You mutter while trying to change the subject.

Scott lets out a throaty chuckle at your sudden change of topic, his gaze still locked onto every move you make. He can tell you’re feeling embarrassed, flustered by what just took place between you, and he can’t help but find it amusing and adorable.

He takes another step back and leans against the door, arms crossed over his chest now. "That’s the last thing on my mind right now," he responds with a smirk, his eyes raking over your body.

Your hand grasps his arm as you push him away gently. “Mr. Miller,” you bite your lip, “We *should* go get back to work before…” your voice trails off.

Scott’s smirk deepens as you push him gently, his eyes darkening with a mixture of desire and dominance. He doesn’t budge, his body tense and unyielding under your touch. His arms remain crossed over his chest, his muscles corded and taut.

"Before what, sweetheart?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble in his throat. He takes a step closer, invading your personal space again. "You want to act like nothing just happened in here?“

“No. That’s not what I meant,” your tone is soft as you gaze up at him. “But, we have to go back to work before anyone notices..”

Scott’s smirk softens, his expression gentling a bit as you gaze up at him. He can see the genuine concern in your eyes, and he understands the logical reason behind your words. It’s true that you can’t stay in this storage closet forever, not without the risk of someone discovering what just happened.

He uncrosses his arms and reaches out, taking your chin gently between his fingers. “You’re right,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing a lazy path along your lower lip. “We do need to go back eventually.”

Standing on your tippy toes you pull him into a gentle kiss. Your hand trailing down his muscular chest. Scott melts into the kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you flush against his body. He returns the kiss with equal gentle passion, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, seeking entrance.

His hands move over your body, pulling you even closer, his muscles tense and taut beneath your touch, as if he’s holding himself back from losing control.

When the kiss breaks, he rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he tries to regain his bearings. "We should really go back, sweetheart."

“Mhm..” you murmur, “We really should.” You step away with a sigh not willing to leave his embrace. Scott lets out a small huff of laughter at your reluctance to leave.

He understands the feeling, the desire to remain in this intimate bubble you’ve created together, away from the outside world. But he knows just as well as you do that it’s inevitable, you have to go back to work eventually.

"Come on," he says, his voice gruff but gentle. "Let’s get out of here, before we get ourselves into more trouble.” You follow close behind him groaning when you sit back down at your desk, your eyes following him as he returns to his office.

Scott returns to his office, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. He can feel your eyes on him as he walks away, and it takes everything in him to resist the urge to turn around and pull you back into that small storage closet.

He takes a seat behind his desk and lets out a deep breath, trying to focus on the paperwork in front of him, but his mind keeps wandering back to the taste of you and the feel of your body against his.

The rest of the work day drones on endlessly, your eyes constantly flicking between your boss and the clock. You spin in your chair while chewing on your pen again. As the day comes to an end, James finds his way back to your desk this time with a sweet smile as he grabs the back of your chair, turning you to face him.

James approaches your desk, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He gently grabs the back of your chair, spinning it around to face him.

"Hey there," he greets, his smile widening at the sight of you. "Got any plans for tonight?" You gaze up at him with an awkward smile.

“Uh, actually I need to stay late tonight..” you turn your attention back to your computer, fumbling with a few scattered papers on your desk.

James tilts his head as he watches you mess with the papers on your desk, a small frown creasing his forehead.

"Stay late?" he repeats, taking a small step closer to your desk. "Why do you need to stay late tonight?"

Just as you're trying to come up with a response to James' question, Scott's deep voice calls out from his office.

"Ms. Y/N, can I see you in here for a moment?" he calls out, sounding casual but firm. You hurry towards Scott's office, your heart pounding in your chest as you step through the door, Scott is seated behind his desk, papers spread out before him, but his eyes are fixed on you as you enter.

"Close the door," he instructs, his voice low and commanding. The door shuts with a soft click, enclosing you and Scott in the quiet solitude of his office. He watches you move towards him, his gaze intently fixed on you.

"Come here," he commands, beckoning you forward with a crook of his finger. You bite down on your lip as you walk to him, sitting on the desk in front of him.

As you perch yourself on the desk in front of him, Scott's hands come to rest on your thighs, his palms hot even through the fabric of your skirt. He leans back in his chair, his gaze roaming over your body, taking in every detail.

"We need to talk," he murmurs, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your thighs. Your feet hook into the arms of his chair as you pull him closer to you, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“Mhm, we need to talk.” You look at him with eyes full of desire. Scott's lips curl into a smirk as you pull him closer, his hands sliding up your thighs to rest on your waist. He lets you pull him in, his chair rolling easily as he comes to a stop right in between your legs.

Scott chuckles lowly at your brazen move, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of his lip. His hands slide up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher up your legs until they're resting on your hips.

He looks up at you with a dark, smoldering gaze, his hands squeezing your hips tightly. "Is this how we talk now, sweetheart?"

You pull him into a passionate kiss, Scott grins against your mouth, his hands sliding around to cup your ass as he kisses you back with a fervor that takes your breath away. He stands up from his chair, pressing you back against the desk as he deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth.

You wrap your legs around his body pulling him tight against you. Scott groans into the kiss, his body molded perfectly against yours. His hands grip your thighs, holding you in place as he rocks his hips into you, his hard length pressing against the thin fabric of your panties.

He breaks the kiss and moves to your neck, his teeth and tongue nipping and soothing the sensitive skin. "You have no idea how badly I've been wanting to do this all day," he whispers hoarsely.

“Show me how bad,” you moan out, your hands moving to his belt as you fumble with the buckle. Scott grins at your demand, watching as your shaky hands struggle with his belt.

"Impatient, are we?" he teases, his hands covering yours, aiding you in undoing his belt and the button of his pants.

He presses you back against the desk, pinning your hands above your head as his hips grind against yours, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this eager before, sweetheart."

“Scott I need you,” you moan quietly, “please.” Scott's smirk turns into a full-blown smile at your needy whimper, his eyes darkening with desire. He quickly pulls your panties aside, revealing your wet, swollen sex to his hungry gaze.

His own arousal is palpable, his cock straining against his briefs. With a swift motion, he releases himself and sheaths it with a condom he's had in his pocket, anticipation making his hands shake slightly. He lines himself up with your entrance and with one powerful thrust, he's inside you, filling you completely.

You gasp into his mouth as he starts to move, his strokes deep and measured, his hands holding you down on the desk as he takes you over and over again. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing through your body, making you arch into him, desperate for more.

The sound of your moans mingles with the rustle of paper and the slap of skin on skin, creating a symphony of passion that echoes through the otherwise silent office. The urgency in his movements grows, his hips slamming into yours with a rhythm that matches the racing of your heart.

You can feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your muscles tightening around him as you whisper his name like a prayer. His grip on your wrists tightens, his hips moving faster, more insistent. You know it won't be long before you both succumb to the overwhelming desire that's been building between you all day.

As the tension between you reaches a fever pitch, Scott's hips begin to move with an erratic rhythm, his breathing heavy and ragged against your neck. You can feel the head of his cock hitting that perfect spot deep within you, sending shudders of pleasure through your body with every stroke. His grip on your wrists tightens even more, his movements becoming more forceful as he nears his own climax.

Your eyes flutter closed as you lean back, arching your body into him, silently begging for more. His teeth graze your skin, his tongue tracing a wet path up to your ear, where he whispers a string of filthy words that only serve to stoke the fire burning within you.

You tighten your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, faster, the pressure building until it's almost unbearable. And then, with one final, powerful thrust, he groans deeply, his body tensing as he releases inside the condom. The wave of your own orgasm follows almost immediately, a powerful crescendo that leaves you gasping for air. Your bodies remain intertwined for a moment, both of you panting and trembling from the intensity of your shared release.

As the tremors of your shared climax subside, Scott pulls out of you gently, the feeling of emptiness making you whimper. He quickly disposes of the condom in a nearby trash bin, his movements swift and practiced, not wanting to break the spell that's woven around the two of you. He then presses soft, delicate kisses along your neck and collarbone, his breathing still heavy with desire.

Each kiss feels like a whispered promise of more to come, a silent apology for the roughness of his earlier touch. His hands glide over your body, smoothing out your rumpled clothes, his eyes never leaving yours. The air in the office is thick with the scent of sex and the unspoken understanding that everything has changed between you. You watch him, your heart racing, as he takes a step back, his gaze lingering on your swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

He helps you down from the desk, his hands lingering on your waist as you stand unsteadily on wobbly legs. He pulls his pants up, his eyes never leaving yours, as he tucks in his shirt and re-buckles his belt. With a soft smile, he leans in to kiss you, his hands moving to fix your skirt and panties. His touch is gentle, almost reverent, as he ensures you’re put back together properly.

You watch him, still dizzy from the passionate encounter, as he straightens his tie and runs a hand through his hair. The smell of sex lingers in the air, a potent reminder of what just transpired. He pulls you into his arms, pressing sweet kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, and finally your lips, his breath warm and comforting against your skin.

Scott wraps you in his arms, pressing gentle kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, finally your lips. You shiver slightly, still a bit flushed and breathless from the passionate encounter. "You alright, sweetheart?" he murmurs, his voice gruff yet gentle.

“Yes, more than alright.” A soft smile paints your lips as you press your face into his chest, breathing in his cologne.

Scott grins as you bury your face in his chest, his arms holding you close. He revels in the feel of your body against his, the warmth and softness of your skin.

"Good," he murmurs, running a soothing hand down your back. "Because I have a question for you." You hug his waist cuddling into his warm and muscular body.

“What is it?” You pull back a bit, looking up at him. Scott keeps you snug against him, enjoying the feel of your body cuddled into his. His arms tighten around you, reluctant to let you go just yet.

"I was wondering," he begins, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. "If you'd like to go out to dinner with me tonight?" You smile at him sweetly.

“I’d love to.” Scott's smile widens into a full-blown grin at your acceptance. He gently cups your chin with his thumb and forefinger, looking down at you with a gaze that holds a hint of possessive intent.

"Good," he says, his voice low and husky. "Because I can't stand the thought of letting you out of my sight for too long."

[multi-fandom-imagine]

To go with the latest Fred fic you wrote - them finding out they’re having triplets?

A/n: Fred deserved this life 👏

Fred Weasley had never known a love so consuming until he became a father. Hell he never thought he would even get a chance of this life after the Battle of Hogwarts.

But.

Standing over the cribs, watching his three tiny miracles sleep soundly, he still couldn’t believe it.

Three.

Three beautiful, perfect, red-haired babies.

His triplets.

His and your triplets.

Fred exhaled softly, his chest tightening with overwhelming love and awe. Their little faces were peaceful, their tiny hands occasionally twitching in sleep, their chests rising and falling in the most delicate rhythm.

As he reached down, gently brushing his knuckle over one of their soft little cheeks, a flood of memories came rushing back.

The day they found out had been—well—chaotic.

Fred had walked into St. Mungo’s with you, excited but nervous, absolutely ready to hear about his future child. His arm wrapped protectively around your waist. He watched as you sat down on the examination chair, watched as she applied jelly to your belly.

One child.

That’s what he’d been expecting. One. Singular. A baby.

Then, the Healer had smiled far too brightly as they examined the scan.

“Congratulations, you two! You’re having—”

A Pause.

Fred had felt his stomach drop at the pause. Why was there a pause? His smile faltering on his lips as he squeezed your hand.

The Healer had turned to you both, beaming.

“Triplets!”

Then Silence.

Fred’s brain short-circuited. A strangled sound escaping his lips.

You, who had been clutching his hand, froze completely.

Then....

“Sorry—what?” Fred had asked, blinking rapidly.

“Triplets!” the Healer repeated cheerfully, pointing at the image. “See? Three little heartbeats, all strong and healthy!” Her fingers pointing to each little blob on the screen.

Fred had made another strangled noise, his grip tightening on your hand. He could feel his knees almost buckle out from under him.

You, on the other hand, had just stared at the screen, your eyes comically wide.

“Fred,” you had whispered, your voice shockingly calm.

“Yes, love?”

“We are having three babies.”

Fred had nodded dumbly a little "hmmh" leaving his lips.

You had continued staring.

Then, suddenly, had burst into tears.

Fred had panicked instantly.

“Oh, bloody hell! love—are you okay?”

You had just nodded between sobs, gripping his hand so tightly his fingers had turned white.

“There’s three of them, Fred!” You had wailed, shaking slightly.

Fred had absolutely no idea if you were crying because you were happy, overwhelmed, or just spiraling into hormonal shock.

So naturally, he had done what any loving, supportive husband would do.

He had fainted.

Right there.

In the bloody Healer’s office.

Fred smirked to himself, watching the babies twitch in their sleep.

When he had woken up, flat on the Healer’s floor, you had been hovering over him, still crying but also laughing hysterically.

“You—you fainted?” she had choked out between sniffles.

Fred had blinked up at you, still woozy. “You cried first!”

You had snorted, wiping your eyes. “I was emotional!”

Fred had groaned, covering his face. “We are so doomed.”

And yet—here they were.

Surviving.

Thriving.

And most important of all.

Raising their three little miracles together.

Fred smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the forehead of his daughter, then his two sons.

He turned, glancing at you, who was curled up on the nearby chair, dozing lightly.

His heart swelled.

Reaching over, he brushed a stray curl from your face, his thumb tracing your cheek lovingly.

Then, looking back at their sleeping babies, he whispered, so softly it was barely audible—

“Best surprise of my life.”

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Their little sunshine p.2

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this Alex x reader x Lily, here's part 1 I hope you enjoy it :)

If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

China had a strange energy that weekend. The Williams motorhome, usually buzzing with last-minute preparations and lively conversations, felt heavier—tense. Maybe it was the unpredictable weather, maybe it was the pressure of another race weekend, but whatever it was, the atmosphere was stiff.

And, well, that just would not do.

Determined to lighten the mood, you swayed on your feet, humming an upbeat tune as you handed out small packets of electrolyte drinks to the crew.

"Happy body equals happy mind!" you chirped, pressing one into a mechanic’s palm.

No one laughed, but you caught a few tired smiles, which was something.

Spotting Alex leaning against the counter, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone, you made your way toward him, thinking maybe a little joke or a gentle shoulder squeeze could cheer him up. But just as you were about to reach him—

Your foot caught on absolutely nothing, and suddenly, gravity wasn’t your friend anymore.

"Oh—!"

Before you could even brace for impact, a pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist, steadying you just in time.

"Woah there, sunshine," Alex chuckled, holding you upright. "If you wanted attention, you could’ve just asked."

You pouted playfully, patting his chest as you straightened yourself. "You wish I was that dramatic."

"Mm, do I?" he teased, stepping back with an amused smirk. "Because from where I’m standing, that was pretty dramatic."

You gasped, clutching your heart. "Betrayal."

Alex just laughed, shaking his head. "Seriously though, you good?"

"Perfectly fine, thanks to my knight in shining fireproofs," you joked, before tilting your head. "But enough about me. How are you feeling? The race, your birthday coming up… any existential dread yet?"

Alex groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "Ugh, don’t remind me. I feel old."

You gasped again, but this time it was sincere. "Excuse me? Old? Alex, you’re literally in peak physical shape and thriving. That is not ‘old.’"

He raised an eyebrow. "Tell that to my back. I swear I woke up this morning and something just hurt for no reason."

You beamed, wiggling your fingers. "Sounds like you need to schedule a session with me. I guarantee my magic hands will fix everything."

Alex snorted. "Magic hands, huh?"

"Don’t act like you don’t love them," you teased, poking his shoulder.

He sighed dramatically. "Fine, fine. You win. I’ll book a session. Save me, oh great and powerful physio."

Just as you were about to make another joke, a familiar voice cut in.

"There’s my favorite ray of sunshine!"

Before you could turn, a pair of arms wrapped around you from behind, and you instantly recognized the warm, floral scent of Lily.

"Lily!" You spun around in her hug, squeezing her tightly. "Oh my God, you look amazing!"

She pulled back with a bright grin. "You’re so sweet! I was literally about to say the same thing about you!"

You twirled dramatically, showing off your outfit. "You like?"

"Love," she confirmed. Then, with a mischievous smile, she leaned in. "But you have to see Charles’ girlfriend, Alex. She went all out today."

Your eyes widened with interest. "Ooooh, really? Okay, I’m definitely checking it out on my break."

Lily clasped her hands together. "You know what? Let’s make a morning out of it. Breakfast together?"

You gasped happily. "Yes! A hundred times yes."

Alex groaned. "Great. Now I have to hear both of you hype each other up for an entire meal."

Lily patted his cheek. "Aw, babe. It’s okay to admit you love it."

He just sighed in defeat, shaking his head with a small, amused smile as the two of you giggled, already planning your breakfast date.

Even in the tension of a race weekend, with the weight of competition and expectations looming overhead, moments like these made everything lighter.

And you wouldn’t trade them for anything.

Just as you were about to slip away with Lily to find the infamous outfit of the day, a voice called from across the motorhome.

"¡Oye! Sunshine, get over here!"

Carlos.

You turned to see him stretching his arms over his head, already dressed in his team gear, waiting for you near the physio area with a raised brow.

"Your royal highness calls," you joked to Lily, earning a laugh before you made your way over to Carlos.

As always, your sessions with him were a mix of professionalism and chaos. Carlos was stubborn, sometimes too aware of his own body and reluctant to let you fix things that obviously needed fixing. But you knew how to handle him—distraction, humor, and a little tough love.

"Relax your shoulders," you reminded as you worked on a tight knot in his upper back.

"They are relaxed."

You scoffed. "Carlos, your shoulders are up to your ears right now."

He huffed but finally let them drop. "Fine."

As you finished up with Carlos, rolling your shoulders after working out the knots in his back, he let out a satisfied sigh.

"Okay, okay," he admitted, stretching his arms. "You are magic."

You grinned, hands on your hips. "Thank you! See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?"

Carlos smirked. "Debatable."

You gasped in mock offense. "Carlos!"

He laughed, standing up from the physio table. "You’re too easy to tease, Sunshine."

Shaking your head, you gathered your things and slung your bag over your shoulder. "Well, this ray of sunshine has places to be. Some people actually appreciate my magic hands."

"Tell Albono I said hi," Carlos called after you as you walked away.

You just flashed him a grin over your shoulder.

The paddock café was already buzzing with energy when you arrived, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mixing with the chatter of engineers, team personnel, and drivers grabbing a bite before the day truly got hectic.

Near the window, you spotted Alex and Lily sitting together, their table filled with fruit, croissants, and steaming mugs of coffee.

"Hey, there’s our sunshine," Alex greeted as you approached.

Without hesitation, you leaned down and wrapped both of them in a warm hug. Lily giggled, squeezing your waist in return, while Alex groaned dramatically.

"You guys started without me!" you pouted as you plopped down beside Lily.

"Technically, you were working," Alex pointed out, taking a sip of his coffee.

Lily leaned in conspiratorially. "We were just talking about his birthday."

You gasped, turning to Alex with wide eyes. "Oh? Big plans?"

Alex groaned, setting his mug down with exaggerated exhaustion. "No. No big plans. No plans at all, actually."

You clutched your heart dramatically. "No plans? Alex, that’s a crime!"

Lily huffed beside you, nudging him. "Right? I keep telling him he should at least do something, but he insists on ignoring his birthday." She suddenly turned to you, clasping your hands in hers. "He never listens to me, but he always listens to you. Please, Sunshine, work your magic!"

You blinked, looking between the two of them. Alex raised an eyebrow at you, as if daring you to try. Oh, this was a challenge now.

With a slow, deliberate breath, you turned your most dazzling smile on Alex. "You only turn 29 once," you started, your voice sweet but firm. "And the people who love you want to celebrate you. But…" you softened, watching the way his fingers traced the rim of his coffee cup. "I get that it can be overwhelming."

Alex’s eyes met yours for a moment before he exhaled. A small, appreciative smile tugged at his lips as he reached over and gave your hand a small squeeze.

"Fine," he said, rolling his eyes. "But only something small. Just close friends."

Lily gasped in delight. "Oh my God, thank you!"

She didn’t hesitate to kiss Alex on the mouth, then turned to you and placed a quick, affectionate kiss on your cheek.

"Okay, we need plans," she declared, already pulling out her phone.

Alex groaned. "I just agreed, and you’re already planning?"

You and Lily exchanged glances before responding in perfect unison.

"Yes."

Alex sighed, rubbing his temple like he regretted his decision. But the small smile on his face betrayed him.

Part 3

[strawberry-bubblef]

Zaunite reader x Heartslabyul

Request by anonymous: Maybe how about a headcanons with Yuu who is born and raised in Zaun? Most importantly how would cast reacts to Zaun's environment once Yuu trusts them enough to tell about it? (Or maybe cast would see for themselves somehow?)

Synopsis: You have always kept your past a secret, but as their relationships deepen, the truth about Zaun slowly unravels. A city of smog, struggle, and survival far from the world of NRC. How will their lover react to the harsh reality You once called home? And more importantly, can they bring comfort to the one who endured it all?

Gender neutral reader

Warnings: ⚠Mentions of poverty, crime, substance abuse (shimmer), survival struggles, and environmental pollution. The setting of Zaun includes themes of danger, societal disparity, and rough living conditions. Reader's past involves hardships, but the story focuses on comfort, understanding, and romance.⚠

Since you didn't specify her past,I'm just gonna assume that she's an orphan like 99% of the Zaunite cast.

Heartslabyul,Savanaclaw, Octavinelle,Scarabia Pomifiore, Ignihyde, Diasominia

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle never imagined life could be anything but orderly. His world had always been one of rules and discipline, of neatly trimmed rose bushes and perfectly arranged tea parties. The idea of chaos, of living without a clear structure to follow, was something he had never truly comprehended,until you.

When you first mentioned Zaun, it was almost in passing, like it was just another place on a map. But as your words lingered, as you spoke of the smog-choked streets, the towering factories that never stopped churning, and the ever-present desperation that filled the air, Riddle realized that Zaun was not just a place. It was a battlefield, a world that had shaped you in ways he couldn’t yet understand.

At first, he didn’t know how to respond. The thought of you, his beloved, having to fight for survival in a place where lawlessness reigned,it was almost too much to bear. He had spent so much of his life believing that rules were what kept people safe, that strict order was the key to happiness. But your existence, your very survival, was proof that life didn’t always work that way. He wanted to understand, to know what it truly meant to have grown up in a place so vastly different from what he knew.

So when the opportunity arose, when he found himself in Zaun with you leading the way, Riddle braced himself for the unknown. Yet, no amount of mental preparation could have truly readied him for what he saw. The moment you stepped into the city, you seemed to melt into the shadows, walking with a confidence that only someone who had lived here could possess. Riddle, however, was rigid beside you, his crimson eyes darting around at the unfamiliar sights. The streets were narrow and winding, the air thick with the scent of chemicals and burning metal. People moved quickly, their faces guarded, their steps calculated. He had never felt so out of place.

You turned back to him, your expression softening at the sight of his furrowed brow. “It’s overwhelming, isn’t it?” you murmured, taking his hand. Riddle’s fingers twitched at the contact, his grip tightening as if he feared losing you in the crowd.

“This… this place…” he struggled to find the words, his voice uncharacteristically unsteady. “It’s nothing like I imagined.” He had expected disorder, but this was something else entirely. It was a world that thrived on resilience, where people didn’t wait for permission to live.

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I know it’s a lot. But this is home, Riddle. Or at least, it was.”

He swallowed thickly, his heart twisting at the thought. The idea that you had once walked these streets as a child, vulnerable and unprotected, sent a sharp pang through his chest. He had spent so much of his life believing that rules were what made a person strong. But now, seeing you move with unwavering certainty through a world so unforgiving, he realized that strength wasn’t always about following rules,it was about surviving in spite of them.

That night, when you finally led him somewhere quieter, somewhere safer, Riddle couldn’t stop the thoughts that swirled in his mind. You had spoken of Zaun with such ease, but now that he had seen it, truly seen it, he understood that it had shaped you in ways he had yet to comprehend. He lay beside you, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought.

“You’re thinking too much again,” you whispered, rolling over to face him. Your fingers found their way into his hair, combing through the soft strands in slow, comforting motions. Riddle stiffened at first, but slowly, his body relaxed under your touch.

“I just… I don’t understand how you do it,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “How you lived through all of that… how you still smile, still love despite everything.”

You gave him a small, knowing smile. “Because I had to. Because I wanted to. And because, no matter how hard life was, I knew there was something worth fighting for.”

Riddle turned to face you fully, his gaze searching yours for answers he wasn’t sure he’d ever find. “I don’t want you to carry this alone,” he murmured, his voice filled with unspoken promises. “You don’t have to anymore.”

Your heart ached at the sincerity in his eyes. You had spent so much of your life fending for yourself, believing that no one could truly understand the weight of your past. But here he was, holding you as if you were something fragile yet infinitely precious.

A small smile tugged at your lips. “I know,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “I have you now.”

And for the first time in a long while, the weight of Zaun’s past didn’t feel so heavy. Because with Riddle by your side, you finally felt like you had a place to rest. A place where you were safe.

Where you were loved.

Ace Trappola

Ace had always known you were different. It wasn’t just the way you carried yourself or the way you spoke,it was the way your eyes scanned a room like you were always searching for exits, the way your body tensed at loud noises that others barely noticed. At first, he thought you were just cautious, maybe even a little paranoid. But when you finally told him where you were from, it all started to make sense.

Zaun. A city that sounded more like a warning than a home.

Ace had never really thought about what life was like outside of NRC, let alone outside of his own world. Sure, he’d heard of rough places, but nothing like the way you described Zaun. A city built underground, choking on its own fumes. A place where the weak got eaten alive and even the strong barely scraped by. The way you talked about it was almost casual, like it was just another fact about yourself. But Ace knew better,he saw the way your fingers tightened around your cup, the way your gaze flickered just slightly when you mentioned certain things.

At first, he tried to joke about it. “So, what, you were some kind of badass street punk or something?” He grinned, nudging your side. But when you didn’t immediately laugh, when you just gave him a small, tired smile, the weight of your words hit him in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

“…Wait, seriously?” His grin faltered. “You actually had to fight to survive?”

You leaned back, exhaling softly. “It’s not like I had a choice, Ace.”

That shut him up real quick.

For once, he didn’t have a witty remark. Didn’t have some teasing comment to throw at you. Because, damn. You’d really lived through all that? The thought made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

Ace didn’t like thinking about things too deeply,he was more of a ‘go with the flow’ kind of guy. But now, the more he looked at you, the more he realized just how much he didn’t know about you. Sure, he knew the now,the way you laughed at his dumb jokes, the way you rolled your eyes when he got too cocky, the way you somehow always managed to keep him in check without actually bossing him around. But the before? That was something he had never even thought to ask about.

And now that he knew… well, let’s just say it hit him harder than he expected.

So, when he somehow found himself standing in the middle of Zaun, courtesy of some magic mishap, he quickly realized that he was way out of his depth.

The first thing that hit him was the air,it was thick, heavy with the scent of oil, metal, and something acrid that made his throat burn. The sky above was murky, covered in a haze of smoke and neon lights. People moved fast, their faces set in hard expressions, their eyes scanning him like they were sizing him up. Ace wasn’t used to that. At NRC, he was usually the one throwing people off their game, always one step ahead with a smirk on his lips. But here? Here, he felt like fresh meat in a lion’s den.

“Okay. Yeah. This place is definitely sketchy,” he muttered under his breath.

You chuckled beside him. “Told you.”

He turned to you, ready to make some sarcastic remark, but the words died in his throat when he saw the way you stood,calm, confident, completely at ease in a place that made his skin crawl.

Ace had seen you fight before. He knew you could handle yourself. But watching you here, in your element, was something else entirely. You moved like you belonged, like you knew every dark alley and every hidden danger before they even appeared. And maybe you did.

That realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

You had grown up here. Survived here.

Shit.

Ace had always known you were strong, but now he was starting to understand just how strong.

That night, when you finally found a quiet place to rest, he was still trying to wrap his head around everything. He sat beside you, his usual carefree grin nowhere to be seen. Instead, he just… stared at you for a long moment, like he was seeing you for the first time.

“You good?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He huffed, leaning back on his hands. “I dunno. Kinda feel like an idiot for not asking about this sooner.”

You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”

Ace let out a breath, ruffling his hair. “I just… I never really thought about where you came from, y’know? I mean, I knew you had it rough, but actually seeing this place? It’s a whole different thing.” He glanced at you, his usual playfulness replaced by something quieter. “I guess I just feel kinda stupid for never realizing how much you’ve been through.”

Your expression softened. “You didn’t need to know all that to care about me, Ace.”

“Yeah, but—” He groaned, flopping back onto the makeshift bed. “Ugh, this sucks. You’re way cooler than me, you know that?”

You blinked before snorting. “Is that really what you’re taking from this?”

He turned his head to look at you, his grin returning, though it was softer this time. “I mean, yeah. Here I was thinking I was the troublemaker, but turns out my partner’s the real badass.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

He reached out, tugging you down beside him. You let out a small yelp as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his warmth. His usual teasing was still there, but there was something else too something real. His grip was just a little tighter, his touch lingering just a little longer.

“Hey,” he murmured, resting his chin atop your head. “For real, though. I don’t care where you came from. I don’t care how rough things used to be. You’re here now. With me. And I don’t plan on letting you go anytime soon.”

Your heart ached at the sincerity in his voice. You had never needed saving,Zaun had made sure of that. But knowing that someone wanted to stand beside you, wanted to stay no matter what… that was something else entirely.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself relax in his embrace. “I know.”

Ace smirked. “Good. ‘Cause I’d hate to go through all this emotional crap just for you to run off.”

You smacked his arm, and he laughed, pulling you closer. The neon lights of Zaun flickered outside, but for once, you didn’t feel trapped by them. Because in Ace’s arms, for the first time in a long while, you felt like you had something worth holding onto.

Something worth staying for.

Deuce Spade !

Deuce had always known you were tough. From the way your eyes sharpened in tense situations, it was clear that you had seen things most people hadn’t. But when you finally told him where you came from,Zaun everything clicked into place.

He listened intently as you explained what your home was like. The smog-choked streets, the neon signs flickering against metal buildings, the constant hum of machinery filling the air. You spoke about it with a mix of fondness and bitterness, your words laced with memories of struggle.

Deuce didn’t know what to say at first. He wasn’t good with words, and honestly, he wasn’t sure if anything he said would be enough. So he just held your hand, squeezing it tightly.

“…It sounds rough,” he finally murmured, his voice quieter than usual.

You chuckled, though there was no real humor in it. “That’s one way to put it.”

From that moment on, Deuce started paying more attention. The way you flinched ever so slightly at sudden loud noises, how your shoulders tensed when someone stood too close, how your instincts always seemed one step ahead of everyone else’s. It made his heart ache.

And then, by some twist of fate, he found himself in Zaun.

The first thing that hit him was the air. It was thick, heavy with the scent of oil and metal, making it hard to breathe. The streets were dimly lit, neon signs casting eerie glows over damp cobblestones. People moved fast, their eyes sharp and guarded, their hands always close to their pockets,ready to defend, ready to run.

Deuce felt out of place.

His uniform was too clean, his movements too stiff. He stuck out like a sore thumb, and he knew it. His fists clenched instinctively, the old delinquent in him screaming at him to be ready for anything.

Then he looked at you.

You stood beside him, completely at ease. You navigated the streets like you belonged,because you did. While Deuce felt overwhelmed, you looked… at home.

It hit him then.

You had grown up in this. In these streets, in this constant tension, in this world where survival meant being two steps ahead.

Deuce swallowed hard, his heart pounding.

He had always thought of himself as strong. But now, seeing where you had come from, he realized,you were the strong one.

That night, after finally finding a safe place to rest, he couldn’t stay quiet anymore. He sat beside you, his usual confident expression replaced with something more uncertain.

“…How did you do it?” he asked suddenly.

You raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

Deuce exhaled, ruffling his hair. “Survive here. Grow up here.” He turned to face you, his blue eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite place. “This place… it’s dangerous. It’s harsh. But you—” His jaw tightened. “You made it through all of this. How?”

You stared at him for a moment before giving a small shrug. “I had to.”

Deuce frowned. “That’s not an answer.”

You sighed, leaning back against the wall. “I fought. I stole when I had to. I ran when I couldn’t win. I learned to pick my battles.” You paused, glancing at him. “Same way you did, right?”

His breath caught.

Because you were right.

Deuce hadn’t grown up in a place like Zaun, but he knew what it was like to fight. To struggle. To feel like the world was stacked against him.

“…Yeah,” he admitted.

You smiled slightly. “Then you get it.”

Deuce was quiet for a long moment before he reached out, gently taking your hand in his. His grip was warm, steady,comforting.

“I don’t want you to go through that again,” he said softly.

You blinked. “Deuce—”

“I mean it.” He looked at you, his expression serious. “I know you don’t need me to protect you. You’re strong. You’ve always been strong. But…” He swallowed. “I still want to.”

Your chest ached at his words.

Because you knew. You had survived Zaun on your own, but now? Now, there was someone who wanted to stand beside you. Who wanted to shield you from a world that had already taken so much from you.

You leaned into him, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “You’re an idiot.”

Deuce chuckled, squeezing your hand. “Yeah. But I’m your idiot.”

You smiled, closing your eyes.

And for the first time in a long while, you felt safe.

Trey Clover !

Trey had always known that you were careful.

It was in the way you carried yourself calm, careful, always observing. You had this edge to you, this quiet awareness that never seemed to fade, even in the safety of Night Raven College. At first, he thought it was just your personality. But as he spent more time with you, he noticed the little things.

How you never sat with your back to a door.

How your steps were always light, controlled, ready to move in an instant.

How you scanned a room the second you entered, like you were mapping out exits.

Trey was patient. He never pushed, never pried. He just stayed close, letting you set the pace. And eventually, when you were ready, you told him.

You told him about Zaun.

About the smog-filled streets, the makeshift homes stacked on top of each other, the neon glow that never quite hid the darkness beneath. About the baron that ruled the alleys, the shimmer addicts slumped against walls, the fights that broke out over scraps of food.

You didn’t sugarcoat it.

Trey listened in silence, his usual gentle expression unreadable. And when you finished, he just exhaled slowly before pulling you into a hug.

“…That’s a lot,” he murmured.

You snorted against his chest. “Yeah.”

His arms tightened around you. “I can’t imagine what that was like. But I’m glad you’re here now.”

And he meant it.

But nothing could have prepared him for seeing it himself.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. You had no reason to go back. But somehow—through some twist of fate,Trey found himself standing in the middle of Zaun.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt completely out of place.

The air was thick, a strange metallic taste settling on his tongue. The streets were alive with movement, people rushing past, their gazes sharp and wary. The flickering neon lights cast eerie glows on cracked pavement, and every corner seemed to hide something dangerous.

He didn’t belong here.

He felt it in the way people looked at him,like he was a mark, someone too clean, too easy to take advantage of. Trey had been in rough neighborhoods before, but nothing like this.

Then he looked at you.

You moved through the streets effortlessly, slipping past people without a second thought. You didn’t hesitate, didn’t flinch. This was your home.

And suddenly, Trey saw you in a new light.

Not just as the person who teased him in the kitchen, who stole bites of his pastries when he wasn’t looking. But as someone who had survived in a place that chewed people up and spit them out.

His stomach twisted.

How many times had you gone to sleep hungry?

How many fights had you been in just to keep yourself safe?

How many nights had you wondered if you’d even see the morning?

Trey didn’t like thinking about it.

That night, when you finally found a place to rest, he sat beside you in silence. He hadn’t said much since you arrived, and you noticed.

“…You okay?” you asked.

Trey sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know.” He glanced around. “This place… it’s rough.”

You huffed. “Yeah. But it’s home.”

Trey looked at you, his green eyes softening. “I get that. I just…” His voice trailed off before he shook his head. “I wish you didn’t have to grow up like this.”

You blinked.

You had expected pity, maybe even discomfort. But Trey just sounded… sad.

You leaned against him, letting your head rest on his shoulder. “I didn’t have a choice,” you murmured.

“I know.” His voice was quiet. “But it still doesn’t sit right with me.”

For a while, neither of you spoke. Then Trey exhaled, a small smile playing on his lips. “Y’know, I bet the people here would love my pastries.”

You snorted. “They’d rob you before you even finished setting up a stall.”

“Then I’d just have to bake fast enough to keep up.” He nudged you gently. “Bet I could win them over with a good tart.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched. “You’re ridiculous.”

Trey chuckled. “Maybe. But if we’re ever back here again, I’m making you something sweet. No arguments.”

You tilted your head, watching him.

Even here, in a place that was so far from his world, he still found ways to make you feel warm. Safe. Loved.

You reached out, intertwining your fingers with his. “You’re too good for this place.”

He squeezed your hand. “Maybe. But I’d still follow you anywhere.”

Your chest ached at his words.

Zaun had never been kind to you. But with Trey beside you, it didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as alone as you thought.

Cater Diamond !

Cater had always known you were different.

Not in a bad way,if anything, it made you more interesting. There was something about you that drew him in, something sharp and unshaken, like you had already seen the worst life had to offer and come out standing.

And that was intriguing.

At first, he chalked it up to you being a little reserved, a little more observant than the average NRC student. But then, he started noticing things.

The way you never fully relaxed in crowded places.

The way you always positioned yourself near an exit.

The way your eyes flicked to people's hands before their faces, like you were checking for threats.

It wasn’t just street smarts. It was survival.

But Cater wasn’t one to pry. He just smiled, played along, made jokes to see if he could get you to laugh. And eventually, you let him in.

You told him about Zaun.

The undercity, the toxic air, the towering factories that never stopped running. The gangs that ran entire districts, the shimmer dens hidden in plain sight, the people who learned to fight young or didn’t last long.

Cater had been expecting something dark, but not this dark.

He didn’t interrupt, didn’t joke. He just listened, his usual playful expression giving way to something softer, more serious. And when you finally stopped talking, he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours.

“Whoa,” he murmured. “And I thought my home life was rough.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well. You get used to it.”

His fingers curled around yours, holding on tight. “Doesn’t mean you should’ve had to.”

And for once, you didn’t have a response.

But hearing about Zaun was one thing. Seeing it was another.

Cater had always prided himself on adapting to any situation, on blending in wherever he went. But here? Here, he did not belong.

The second you stepped into Zaun, it was like entering a different world. The air was heavy, thick with pollution, and the neon lights flickering overhead barely cut through the smog. The streets were damp, filled with the scent of oil, metal, and something chemical that made his head feel light.

It was overwhelming.

For once, Cater wasn’t sure how to act. He could feel the stares, the way people sized him up in an instant. It was the kind of attention he didn’t like,the kind that made his skin crawl.

Then he looked at you.

And you? You weren’t fazed at all.

You moved through the streets with practiced ease, dodging a broken pipe here, slipping past a group of people there. You didn’t hesitate, didn’t second-guess. This was home to you.

Cater had always thought of you as cool, but now? Now, he was just in awe.

At some point, he grabbed your wrist, holding on just tight enough to let you know he was there. He didn’t say anything, didn’t complain about the air or the way his head was starting to pound. He just followed you.

And when you finally stopped, finding a place where the two of you could breathe, he let out a breathless laugh.

“Okay, I definitely underestimated what you meant by ‘Zaun is rough.’”

You smirked, leaning against the wall. “Told you.”

Cater shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “No, like—this place is next level crazy.” He exhaled, glancing around. “And you grew up in this?”

“Yeah.”

“…Damn.” He whistled low, looking at you with something different in his gaze. It wasn’t pity, wasn’t discomfort. It was admiration.

Because damn, you were strong.

Cater wasn’t the sentimental type, but something about this made his heart twist. You had survived all this, built yourself up from this, and somehow, you were still here. Still standing, still fighting.

And yet, you had let him in. Let him see this side of you.

That meant something.

“…You know,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter, “you don’t have to handle everything alone anymore.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Cater—”

“I mean it.” He stepped closer, his usual grin softer now. “You’re a total badass, no doubt. But if you ever wanna lean on someone? I’m right here.”

Your chest ached.

You had spent your whole life relying on yourself, on your instincts, on your ability to survive. And now, here was Caterbright, unpredictable, carefree Cater,offering you something you never thought you’d have.

You swallowed hard before nudging him lightly. “You’re too soft for this place.”

He chuckled, bumping his forehead against yours. “Maybe. But I’d follow you anywhere, babe.”

And you believed him.

For the first time, Zaun didn’t feel so cold.

Because with Cater beside you, even the darkest streets felt a little brighter.

English is not my first language !

[redheadspark]

your character’s friend pulls your character aside around the midway point of your story and says “hey i like them” and then your main character is gripped with such a violent dread that that’s when they realize they’ve been in love the whole time

For Azriel

A/N - This is great! Thanks for requesting this, anon!

Fool

Summary - You weren't the only fool in love

Warnings - angst with a fluffy ending

You were clutching the wine glass in your hand so hard you were about to break the glass itself. 

Your focus was not on the party that was going on around you, nor were you paying attention to the guests in attendance.  The party was lovely, a great affair thrown by the High Lord and Lady themselves as a celebration and remembrance of the Battle of Hybern that happened 5 years ago.  High Lord Rhysand wanted to celebrate the brutal battle that ended in victory, wanting to remember the lives that were lost and the sacrifices made to save not just Velaris but all of the Pythian.  He made it a National Holiday in Velaris and Night Court, throughout the day there would be mourning but once the moon rose it would be a celebration. 

There was plenty to celebrate: Velaris thriving, the new marriage of Nesta and Cassian, Rhsyand and Feyre expecting their second child while their first child Nyx was the pride and joy in their home, Elaine and Lucien finally admitting their feelings for one another and they started courting.  You were glad for all your friends, they all came so far from where they started and they deserved to be happy in life.  

Yet you were trying to hide the impending doom that you were feeling as your eyes were across the room and locked into Azriel: the Shadowsinger and Spymaster of Night Court and the secret target of your affection.

Having a crush go someone as mysterious as Azriel was no easy task.  Being with friends with him was the easy part, he was a solid friend through and through.  You met him through Elaine, who was close to him when you arrived in Night Court after moving out of Day Court.  Azriel was kind enough to you, volunteering to show you around Velaris since you were lost within the massive but beautiful city.  You loved his company over time, since some peace and comfort in his advice and the stories he would tell you about his line of work.  

There was more to him than his cool demeanor and the shadows that seemed to always be there with him. He was thoughtful, remembering the small things that you mentioned to him that you liked.  He brought you fresh pastries to you when you were having a rough day one time in the winter, he took you to one of the newly constructed gardens since he knew you loved flowers and botanicals.  

It was hard to avoid the fact that you were developing a crush on him, but it was small and almost childish.  He snuck into the back of your mind, like the rolling mist that would come over the mountaintops above Velaris.  You constantly thought of how good he smelt when he would wear a certain cologne when the group went to Ritas, or how the light shined in his hazel eyes when he laughed at something Cassian would tell him.  Those small things were becoming more and more frequent for you.

And before you knew it and before you could stop it: you were in love.

Being in love with your friend seemed too good to be true, almost like a fever dream you would have.  To think of being in love with Azriel should not be an issue.  But it was, solely because you were dreading reality over fantasy.  You had no title, you weren’t a strong high fae.  Compared to the rest of the Inner Circle, you were simply ordinary. Not that you hated being ordinary, you loved your life and how it was simple and yet vibrant.

But you felt as though you would not be enough for someone as eccentric and compelling.

The only other person who knew of this was Mor, leave it to Rhysand’s cousin to discover your affection to her old flame.  She thought it was charming and quite cute, though you explained to her that it would never happen.

“Azriel is not as insane as people think he is,” She explained to you as you both were walking together one morning, you venting to her all that you were keeping inside and going to her for advice, “He holds his heart close and does not expose it to anyone.  I see how he chats with you, he enjoys your company and I know it brightens his day,”

“But that’s just me being his friend, he won’t see me as more than that,” You said in a grumble, though Mor lightly shoved your shoulder with hers as she got your attention.

“I’ve known him for centuries, and I know for a fact that whoever he shows affection and attention to, they are worthy and beyond of him.  And I know that’s you,”

But now you were seeing him chat with Gwyneth Berdara and they were laughing, as if they were old friends. Why was It making you bitter?  Gwyn was a great friend, so sweet and filled to the brim with optimism. You loved being her friend, but something was off in her talking to Azriel in such a way.  Did she too have a crush on him?  Did he like her?  Why was It feeling like you were about to step into a nightmare?

“So, instead of breaking one of Rhysand’s glasses since it was a wedding gift to Feyre, let’s release the glass shall we?” You turned to the left to see Nesta with a smirk on her face, then looking at the glass you were clutching and seeing that you still had the neck of the glass in a death grip.  Nesta chuckled as you loosened your grip, she then took the glass with her long fingers and patted your back.

“Jealousy does not suit you,” She hummed as you sighed, looking down at the maroon dress you were wearing for the party, “Though that dress does, and I think you look lovely,”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, Nesta wrapping her arm around yours to get you to look at her. Her kind and fierce beauty, her smile that seemed so sweet but could also be cruel, looked at you as if you were one of her sisters.

“Azriel does not know what he’s missing,” She explained, you grinning slightly, “If he doesn’t see how gorgeous you are both physically and intellectually, he’s a fool. Any fae would be lucky to have your heart,”

You tried not to cry, and all the mean thoughts you had moments before melted away as you gained softly at Nesta, “Thank you,”

She chuckled and patted your arm with her spare hand, “Anytime.  Now come on, let’s get a fresh glass and find my husband to talk about the latest gossip at the Illyrian camp.  He's been dying to tell me, and I think it'll lift your spirits.” 

You followed her willingly, thinking that it would be nice to be distracted. 

“So, when are you going to ask her on a date?”

“I haven’t found the right time.  I want it to be perfect,”

“If you want perfect, you both will be old and withering away by the time that happens,”

“Gwyn…”

“Come on, Az.  Ask Y/N, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“She doesn’t like me, not the same way I like her.”

“Am I hearing that the Shadowsinger is afraid?”

Azriel glared at Gwyn, who giggled as he then looked back in the direction where you were.  But you were walking off with Nesta, his heart aching as you were walking out of the room. Gywn simply smacked him on the shoulder, which made Azriel scowl at her as she pointed at him.

“You got it bad, and you need to gather some courage,” Gwyn stated.

Azriel sighed.  Yeah, he needed that courage.

The End.

[ghostlyfleur]

i very much love the idea of steve with a shy! girlfriend because he is SUCH a caretaker and loves to look after her. i feel like he is also casually dominant in their relationship - he always has a protective hand on her, speaks for her when she’s overwhelmed, knows her triggers… and god forbid anyone say anything about his girl. i just think he would thrive in a relationship where he feels as though he is protecting her and serving a “greater purpose” does that make sense?

makes total sense, love! i’m painfully shy, so i get it.

steve is such a protective person, he loves so hard and he cares so much, so as soon as you met him you gravitated towards his dominant, caring nature… the way he’s almost parental, how perceptive he is to your feelings, how accepting of your shyness he is— he finds it endearing really!

so you become friends fast and fall for each other faster, and steve is always looking for ways to make your life easier and happier and brighter, to shower you with love and attention, and it flusters you so badly! steve loves how giggly you get when he’s extra sweet to you, trying to hide your pretty face from him, and he lives to see you smile. he’s so in love. fully believes you two are soulmates.

your stevie dotes on you and spoils you the way he knows you like and peppers kisses all over you and is so affectionate, doesn’t allow you to doubt your relationship or his love for you for even a second, he orders for you because he knows that’s something that gives you anxiety, he viciously defends you if someone is rude, he helps you get out of your shell as much as you’re comfy with, always tells you how proud he is of you and praises you. stevie is just so happy that he finally found his person, and that you love/spoil/adore/appreciate him just as much as he does you, that you praise him and hold him and love on him just as much as he does you. you’re his perfect match, his favorite person in the whole world, his angel. you two are definitely both touch starved for the other — you because you’ve perhaps never had romantic validation before given how shy and reserved and introverted you are, and steve because he’s never had someone that truly loves and appreciates him and isn’t using him to pass the time or for sex — so you’re both clingy and touchy and so unbelievably happy to be together, y’know? like you truly found your perfect match and there’s no fear of coming on too strong or of showing too much affection or being too needy, you’re both just right for each other.

oh! and everyone in town knows you’re steve’s girl and that he’s totally whipped for his girl, anyone interested in him is so jealous of you because steve only has eyes for you and let’s be honest he’s the perfect boyfriend blueprint to you.

steve finally receiving the love he deserves from his shy! gf and the two being so good and perfect for each other 😌

[mermaidslabyrinth]

I'm a sucker for fairies so I had to ask. Sorry if I made you do any extra research you did not have time for

I'm just getting to know Enyd but I'll take a whack at it: Iele. From Romanian mythology.

Here's a brief rundown: They are faeries with great seductive power over men, with magic skills. The iele appear sometimes with bodies, at other times only as immaterial spirits. They are young and beautiful, voluptuous immortals, their frenzy causing delirium in onlookers, and with bad tempers, but not being necessarily evil. They resort to revenge only when they are provoked, offended. Beautiful voices which are used to enchant their listeners, just like the Sirens from ancient Greek mythology

oc asks: AU ABCs

Nysa Q. quiet. What would a quiet and peaceful life look like for your OC? Would they enjoy living a simple life or would they get bored?

Darren H. horror. Would your OC survive in a horror situation? What would their role be? How would they deal with being tossed in a horror scenario?

Eltyn W. werewolves (& vampires). Is your OC more of a vampire or a werewolf? How would they feel about being turned into a creature of the night? Would they be part of a clan, a pack, a coven?

Lymond Z. zootopia. What animal would your OC be if they were an anthropomorphic animal? Would your OC be a furry? What would their fursona be?

Maeby E. education. What would your OC be like in a high school and/or college AU? What would their major be? What would they teach if they were an educator?

Rilian M. multiverse. Are there any points in your OC's life where things could have gone differently? Where else might they have ended up? How would your OC react to crossing the multiverse and meeting another version of themself?

Mabel R. royalty au. How would your OC handle being royalty? If they're already royalty, how would they deal with being a commoner? What kind of royal would your character be?

Vhaenya I. intellectual property. Are there any popular series or franchises that your OC is well-suited for? Which 'verse(s) and what makes them so well-suited?

Enyd F. fey. What kind of fey or fairy creature would your OC be? Would they be in a spooky, intense fairy world or a playful, lighthearted fairy world?

Apologies but I could not pass up knowing an AU for each of your OCs.

No need to apologize! I haven’t made a masterlist yet so I’m honored and impressed that you remembered all of them. Thank you for the asks!

Nysa - Q. quiet. What would a quiet and peaceful life look like for your OC? Would they enjoy living a simple life or would they get bored?

A quiet and peaceful life would do her good, but she doesn’t want it, despite believing she does. It’s one of the reasons why she can’t work things out with Sandor, he bores her. She’s like Princess Carolyn where she says she needs a break from chaos but when there’s nothing to do, she’s freaking out. She loves drama, she loves feeling needed. Gee, I wonder where you get it from, Darren.

Darren - H. horror. Would your OC survive in a horror situation? What would their role be? How would they deal with being tossed in a horror scenario?

Darren would not survive in a horror situation, I can see him being the first to go and the rest of the soon-to-be victims literally shrug like “he kinda deserves it.” If he wasn’t the first to die, he would be the one complaining the whole time.

Eltyn - W. werewolves (& vampires). Is your OC more of a vampire or a werewolf? How would they feel about being turned into a creature of the night? Would they be part of a clan, a pack, a coven?

I don’t really care for werewolves, but he has werewolf vibes. I mentioned Eltyn being apart of the IWTV universe and I think being a vampire would be good for him, especially if he’s stuck in a college age. He can study whatever he wants and fakes a missing person report or murder for whatever identity he takes on and moves onto the next. Or he could start a career for a while and blame his summer islander genetics for his lack of aging.

Lymond - Z. zootopia. What animal would your OC be if they were an anthropomorphic animal? Would your OC be a furry? What would their fursona be?

I know nothing about the furry community, truth be told. But if he were to be an anthropomorphic animal, I think he would be a golden retriever or maybe a centaur? I don’t know, let me know your thoughts on this on.

Maeby - E. education. What would your OC be like in a high school and/or college AU? What would their major be? What would they teach if they were an educator?

Maeby would be a popular girl in school, but a nice popular girl. In her freshman years she got bullied for being Tywin Lannister’s daughter and being a rich girl but that eventually wore off. She definitely won Homecoming Queen or Prom Queen once. Overachiever. Cheerleader, president of Book Club, theater kid, etc. She got overwhelmed senior year and had a mental breakdown, went to a rehabilitation center for rich folks for a week and told everyone she visited Highgarden or someplace else.

I think Maeby would study art history or interior design in college. In the modern AU, she models for a little bit after high school but wants to sell art or design houses, host parties/events.

Mabel - R. royalty au. How would your OC handle being royalty? If they're already royalty, how would they deal with being a commoner? What kind of royal would your character be?

This is a tricky question, because Mabel is a bastard so would she technically be considered “royalty?” Or is this an AU where she isn’t a bastard and House Strong is on the Iron Throne?

Either way, I think Mabel would make a good princess. Maybe not the best queen, she’s one of the few people who take the smallfolk into consideration and have been in their shoes, but she’s prone to brainwashing and manipulation. Her best case scenario is being royalty, but not next in line for the throne, if that makes sense.

Rilian - M. multiverse. Are there any points in your OC's life where things could have gone differently? Where else might they have ended up? How would your OC react to crossing the multiverse and meeting another version of themself?

There’s multiple AU’s where Rilian is raised with Daemon instead of in the Vale, but their character remains intact for the most part. They could’ve given up their inheritance to the closest of kin. Or refused to marry and breed the minute they came of age, marrying Gwayne and being Team Green. Maybe even an AU where Rilian becomes Queen.

I think their reaction depends on which multiverse self Rilian comes across. They would just be freaked out and glad that things turn out good for them in other universes at the same time.

Vhaenya - I. intellectual property. Are there any popular series or franchises that your OC is well-suited for? Which 'verse(s) and what makes them so well-suited?

I don’t know if it counts at a franchise but Vhaenya would be amazing as a character on American Horror Story. Coven, Hotel, Apocalypse in particular.

Enyd - F. fey. What kind of fey or fairy creature would your OC be? Would they be in a spooky, intense fairy world or a playful, lighthearted fairy world?

I was today years old when I discovered there are different types of faes and fairies. I think Enyd would be a regular fairy? If you have any thoughts on this one too, let me know. She would definitely be apart of the spooky, intense fairy world.

[h4nj1sunggg]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓

pairing: 𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗮𝗻 han jisung x 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗽𝗼𝗼𝗹 lee minho x f!reader

content: rom-com, heroes and vigilant, love triangle into a poly relationship, delicate topics (su!cide, PTSD), mafia mentioned.

summary: You never forgot the antihero, Deadpool, for taking your father away from you. You never forgot the hero, Spider-Man, for saving your life from a suicide attempt. You forgive, but you never forget.

warnings: mentioning of guns and weapons, blood, reader has some PTSD, minho calls reader pet names. reader talks about her suicide thoughts so, if this trigger you do not read it, mafia mentioned.

words: 18.1k

  ᯓᡣ𐭩　  ( masterlist )  .

NSFW warnings: fingering (f receiving), nipple playing, double penetration, breeding kink. I think it's all.

There are two types of people in the world: those who support heroes and those who believe they only bring chaos to the city.

You don’t belong to either category. You don’t care about heroes. Your life in a tiny apartment in Manhattan has never changed because of them. Your small pizza restaurant in one of the quietest neighborhoods of New York hasn’t thrived thanks to them, either.

You’re just there, waiting for the big event in your life. Until then? You spend your time listening to cheap music from your dad’s old radio.

“Y/n, vieni qua, c’è gente!” Your father’s voice snaps you out of your daze. His strong Italian accent interrupts the music, and you pull your headphones off. The song still plays on your phone, but you don’t have time to stop it. You have to get back to work.

Your family runs a small business. Your father works in the kitchen—making pizzas with the authentic recipe from Italy. Your mother, on the other hand, prepares traditional desserts like tiramisù, panna cotta, and even gelato. Your grandmother spends the whole day in the same spot, wrapped in her purple shawl, glasses slipping down her nose, eyes fixed on a Hispanic soap opera while working on her puzzle book.

You work as a cashier, helping out when you're not at university. You got into a very expensive school, full of people who’ve been spoiled their entire lives. You, on the other hand, learned the meaning of money differently.

Your grandmother came to the U.S. when she had just turned 25. In one hand, she held a suitcase; in the other, her dreams. She learned English from scratch, juggling three part-time jobs, while your grandfather worked two more. It was a simple, chaotic, but happy life—until your grandfather passed away, leaving your father the small business they had built from the few pennies they had managed to save.

You’ve never really understood why your grandparents bought a place so far from Little Italy—closer to Times Square than the other famous Italian restaurants. Every time you ask your grandmother, she simply shrugs and says, “Your nonno was really stubborn.”

Your grandfather truly believed it was the best option—a small place for a sliced pizza business with an apartment included. It had just enough room for you and the rest of your family.

You know the place isn’t very successful. There are only a few regulars, just enough to scrape by and cover the end-of-month expenses. You also know you can’t ask for too much, and that your college grades must remain impeccable to keep your scholarship. Every day, you think about how lucky other people seem—not that you know their stories, but just hearing someone casually say during a lecture, “Let’s go to karaoke after this,” makes you jealous.

You’re not popular, and you’re definitely not rich. That’s cut down a lot of your social life—but not enough to leave you completely friendless.

As you step out the back of the restaurant and head to the cashier spot, you spot your best friend with a huge grin on her face, waving at you.

“Yo mama is fine as hell.”

You can’t help but laugh. Her obsession with milfs—and girls in general—always manages to lift your mood. Holding your stomach from laughing, you tease, and she laughs along with you.

“What are you looking for today?” you ask.

“Some girls to kiss. Wanna be the next one?”

Her cheeky pick-up lines never fail to make you smile. You start punching in the price for two slices of pizza.

“It’s three dollars.” She sighs dramatically as she pulls out her wallet from her expensive bag. “If I really have to.”

You chuckle as you grab the three banknotes from her hand. Her smile makes you smile. And for a moment, you’re truly happy. No worries. No thoughts. Just peace. For a single second, your life doesn’t feel as miserable as you usually think it is.

Until.

Until you hear screaming. Until you hear glass shattering. Until you see the terror on the faces of the people you love. You never imagined how quickly life could change—how everything could shift in just a matter of seconds. That is, until you see a figure in a dark red costume, weapons strapped to his back, and a gun in his hand.

You’re not a huge nerd, but even you recognize that costume. It belongs to only one person. Deadpool.

He’s not a hero. He’s not a villain. He defines himself to the police as a “cleaner of other people’s shit.” Basically, a hitman—one who doesn’t kill unless he’s forced to by whoever’s paying him.

And now, as you crouch behind the counter, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s about to explode, your hands shaking and your ears buzzing with the rush of blood… you pray. You pray he’s made a mistake. That he’s in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But he’s not. He’s pointing his gun toward the kitchen. Your blood feels like it stops flowing. A chill floods your body. The atmosphere is so heavy, so dark, you can only curl tighter under the counter, paralyzed with fear.

“No! Please!” Your mother’s voice jerks you back into reality. You rise from your hiding spot. Your best friend is helping your grandmother, who’s fallen from her chair. Your eyes burn with tears, but you fight them back. There’s no time for that now. Before you can even take a step toward the kitchen, a shotgun blasts through the air— Piercing the screams.

Silencing everything. You never thought silence could feel so terrifying. You run into the kitchen.

Your mother is on the floor, sobbing. Your father is moaning in pain, a chest wound bleeding out across the tiled floor. And there’s Deadpool—calmly wiping his gun with the towel your mother usually keeps folded neatly on the counter. The tears spill freely now, anger rising like a fire inside you.

“I didn’t kill him,” the antihero mutters, walking past you as if nothing just happened. His mask is lifted just enough to reveal his mouth as he chews on a slice of pizza. “Easy, blondie.”

The sound of police sirens begins to echo in the distance, growing louder as they approach the scene of chaos. It's only a matter of time—and you pray for every second. The floor is littered with shards of glass from the shattered windows. Chairs and tables are overturned. The TV your grandmother usually watches during the day lies face-down on the ground. Somehow, it's still working. The screen flickers with an image of news reporters gathered just outside your family’s restaurant. Without warning, Deadpool hurls one of his katanas across the room. It strikes the TV dead center, perfectly shattering the screen.

“Damn, I always hated reporters,” he mutters.

His voice is deep—so deep it sends a chill crawling up your spine. You instinctively take a step closer, but stop instantly. One of his guns is now aimed directly at your forehead.

You freeze. The chewing sound of his pizza is the only noise cutting through the room, aside from your dad’s pained groans and your mother’s quiet sobs. “Don’t step too close, blondie,” he warns. “You’ll get hurt trying to dance with evil.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he turns his head toward you. You’re frozen in place, barely able to get the words out. “Why did you do this?” you whisper. “Why us?”

Your voice shakes. He steps closer, too close for you to focus properly on his face. His cologne hits your senses—sharp, cold, almost metallic. “I just follow the work, sweet thing,” he replies flatly. “Grow up with that.”

His tone is harsh, and it makes you tremble from head to toe. Before you can catch a glimpse of his eyes, his mask drops again, covering the lower half of his face. His voice switches back to something oddly playful just as the police storm in, guns raised. The windows are blown open, letting the spring wind drift in and stir the dust on the floor.

That was the first time you ever met Deadpool.

-

Lee Minho feels like heavy rain. The kind of heavy rain that comes after a thunderstorm—summer rain that seeps into your bones, soaking your clothes until they cling to your skin, drenching your shoes, and plastering your hair to your neck. That kind of rain.

You don’t know if it’s because of his charm, or the fact that he never lets anyone get too close, but something about him draws you in. From your very first day at university, your eyes betrayed you by constantly seeking him out, lingering on his features. You don’t even know what his voice sounds like, or what color his eyes are. He’s the kind of guy you instinctively look for in a crowded, noisy room.

That copper-red hair, always poking out from under his hoodie, and that worn backpack slung over one shoulder—he walks the corridors like he doesn’t owe anyone a glance. He never makes eye contact. You don’t even understand why he goes to a place like this. It’s hard to imagine him as a spoiled rich kid. Maybe that’s part of the reason you find him so intriguing.

No one really knows how he affords a university like this one. The only thing you're certain of is that Minho doesn’t care about his grades—because he’s too smart to need to. He walks out of class when he’s bored, and the professors never stop him. He’s that genius—the one everyone accepts is on another level. No one ever beats him in tests or assignments. He always turns things in on time, always perfect. So perfect it’s almost annoying.

At least, that’s what you used to think.

Now, after your father was arrested, you can’t even sit through a lecture without your skin prickling at the sight of the windows—always waiting for them to shatter like they did that day. Your usual seat is right next to one of them, where your desk is still covered in little scribbled drawings. But not today.

Today, that seat is already taken—by Lee Minho.

You feel your cheeks flush. That’s your seat. Everyone knows it.

“Excuse me?” you ask, trying to sound as polite as possible. The boy is scribbling something in his notebook, eyes down, spinning a pen between his fingers. He doesn’t even glance up.

“Sorry, uh…?” Minho sighs. You’re still standing beside the desk, not moving away. He lets out a slow breath before finally turning his head toward you.

It’s the first time you see his eyes—dark brown. And suddenly, the image of heavy rain from that first day resurfaces. That’s exactly what his eyes look like.

Cold.

His voice cuts through the silence. “What?”

"That’s my spot," you say, pointing lightly at the desk where his things are already spread out. Minho doesn’t like moving around once he finds his place—it’s like he’s a cat, settling into his favorite angle of the room.

"No, it’s mine."

The entire conversation feels so childish that you almost can’t bring yourself to argue.

Your cheeks warm as his voice comes out firm, making you trip over your words. You turn on your heel and start to walk toward another table, part of you feeling a strange sense of relief. Your usual spot is right by the window, and being that close to one would make you panic. But of course, Minho doesn’t know that. Or at least, that’s what you think.

For the entire week, Minho took your spot. You didn’t know why, and he’s not the type to get close to anyone, so you couldn’t ask him. You just… accepted it. Who were you to tell him what to do?

Every morning—though you weren’t sure exactly when it started—you passed by to greet him, leaving a jug of juice that you bought from the vending machine. No one had ever approached him like this before. You knew you weren’t special, but you felt pleased when Minho smiled after about ten seconds of you leaving the juice on the table, his lips raising just at the corners. That little gesture made you feel good.

Then, the following Monday, Minho wasn’t there. He’s never late, which made you worry. Not that you were friends or anything more, but a situation had formed where you felt a duty to… understand, to know why he wasn’t there.

“Do you know where Minho is?” you murmured to your friends, who were engrossed in a conversation about the latest assignment that was hell on earth. You had your head in your hands, your eyes scanning the room for one person and one person only.

“Y/N, why are you so interested in him?”

Your expression is pure surprise as you look up at your friend. “Me? Uh, no reason.” You can’t lie when your cheeks are getting red just thinking about the man who has taken up residence in your mind.

“You keep asking about him today! And murmuring stuff, do you have a crush on him?”

Their sudden questions make you retreat into your thoughts. Is it really like that? You’re not sure; you’ve never named what you feel for Minho before. You just… let it happen. You can’t control your feelings.

You hear the door slam against the wall, shaking the windows. It makes you flinch.

Minho enters the room, and there’s a brief silence. No one says a word. His face is covered in wounds—split lip, cut above his eyebrow. You feel dizzy just looking at him.

“What do you have to look at?” he spits out, as if surprised that everyone is paying attention to him now. No one ever has before.

But he’s hurt, and you can’t stand it. You can’t stand seeing anyone hurt, especially someone you care about, even if you haven’t fully acknowledged that yet. You almost jump out of your seat, making a loud screeching sound as the chair drags across the floor, drawing everyone’s attention. Your friends murmur something to try and convince you to sit back down, but you can’t.

Your eyes are locked on him.

You see the surprise in his expression when you stand up for him, but he doesn’t move a muscle. He knows that you care, more than everyone else does. You walk toward him, the only sound in the room is the soft thudding of your shoes on the floor. Your mind keeps whispering: Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. You’ve never skipped a class. You’ve always been the perfect student. But… oh, screw it.

You grab Minho’s hand, and he hisses at the feeling of your skin against his. His hand feels almost burning hot, and his cheeks flush red, but he won’t admit it. He doesn’t pull away.

You walk out of the class, his eyes on you the whole time, and you feel so stupid right now.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he mumbles, tightening his grip on your hand, but not letting you go.

You take him to the nursing room, opening the door and guiding him to one of the beds. “Let me take a look,” you insist, but when you try to pull away, his hand stays firmly holding yours. Your breath catches in your throat as you try to steady yourself, his thumb brushing gently against your knuckles.

He lets you grab some bandages and disinfectant, and you start to carefully tend to the cut on his lip. You stand right in front of him, and he moves his thighs apart to give you more room. His hands continue to play with the edge of your skirt, making your whole body tremble.

You can’t stop yourself from crying at the sight of his injuries. Your hands touch his face with the utmost gentleness, surprising even him.

Minho chuckles, his eyes softening as he looks down at you. “Why are you crying, blondie?”

The nickname makes you chuckle, even as your cheeks flush. He’s not the first to call you that, but you wonder if he’s the last.

“Nothing. I… I don’t like it when people I care about get hurt,” you sniffle, and he stays silent, his face unreadable as always.

“What happened, if I can ask?” he finally says, his voice soft. For the first time, Minho seems genuinely interested in what you have to say, and you let your thoughts spill out.

“Two months ago, my dad’s business got attacked by a hero. He stabbed my father and then just left, letting him go with the police. Turns out, he had some sort of side business with drugs or something. I didn’t know, so I don’t feel totally okay these last couple weeks.”

Minho’s chuckle interrupts your words, and you look up at him, confused. His lips curl into a smile, showing his teeth.

“A hero? No hero would do that in such a cool way, princess,” he says, pausing, then noticing your confused expression. “I mean, it’s still horrible, but he took your father for a good reason. I wouldn’t call him a hero, though. Pff.”

Minho almost seems pissed off at the way you described Deadpool as a hero, and you can’t help but chuckle as you move his jaw gently to check for other cuts.

“You seem almost like a fan.”

“He sounds cool. Are you scared of him now?” His voice deepens, making shivers run down your spine. He stops you with his eyes, his hands slowly finding their way to the back of your thighs. “Are you scared, bunny?”

“I’m… not.”

“You sound like you are,” he smirks, and the way he says it makes your stomach do flips. He stands up, and you’re suddenly facing him, though your small height only reaches his chest. Minho walks slowly toward you, and you instinctively move backward until your back hits the wall.

You’re trapped.

“I’m not scared!” you mumble, squeezing your eyes shut slightly as he leans in, his face just inches from yours. His skin smells faintly like disinfectant. “Turned on then?”

His low giggle makes you whimper under his touch, because you know he’s right. He knows exactly what effect he has on you. He suddenly steps back, making you whine in frustration at the loss of contact.

“Why are you teasing me like that?” you ask, your voice trembling.

His laugh fills the room, making you blush. It’s the first time he doesn’t look like someone you should be scared of. He just looks like Minho.

“God, you’re damn cute, bun,” he chuckles.

After that, things between you and Minho changed. He started asking you out more frequently, texting you just to ask if you’d help him with assignments (though you knew it was really an excuse to talk to you). He was completely unaware that you knew his game, and it became so normal that you forgot about everything else when Minho was around. You felt… safe.

And, he started feeling safe too. He stopped hiding under his hood, his smile became bigger and more genuine—especially when you were around. He looked so different now.

He was still your heavy rain, but somehow, you saw him a little more clearly.

One day, as you walked down the hall after your last class, you felt two hands cover your eyes, and you jumped in surprise. Minho’s chuckle reached your ears, and you blushed under his touch as you gently grabbed his wrists to move his hands away.

“I got you again, bunny.”

“You always get me, Min,” you chuckled, walking alongside him as his arm draped over your shoulders, his smile just for you.

“Wanna grab some dinner together?” he asked.

You sighed, shaking your head. “Sorry, have to work with Mom.”

“Oh, you guys opened the Pizze—?” He stumbled over the words, unsure of how to pronounce it.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s Pizzeria, and yes, we did. It’s hard without my dad, but it’s the best we can do for now.”

Minho nodded, walking beside you, not letting you stray from his side. His phone buzzed, but you were more important right now.

“Okay then, I’ll help.”

“What?”

“H-E-L-P, is your Italian mind not working today?” he teased, pressing his finger against your forehead and moving you closer to his chest.

You missed the green light, so you stopped, and Minho leaned in closer, his arms wrapping around your shoulders. His phone buzzed again, and you could feel it against your back.

“Your phone,” you said, trying to move away from his warmth.

“I heard it the first time,” he mumbled, his chin resting on top of your head. The gesture made you blush. “Still don’t care about it.”

As you both started walking again, a car honked loudly, and you turned just in time to see a web stop it from crashing into you and Minho.

Minho moved you behind him, shielding you with his body. “Are you okay?” he whispered, holding your shoulders gently as his hands moved up to your cheeks.

Your heart raced as you nodded, still shocked by the sudden near-miss.

That was the first time you ever saw Spider-Man in your life.

Xoxoxo.

When you were a child, people always thought you could be a heroine.

You’re not sure why. Maybe it’s the way you always find a compromise between two sides, or the way you smile even when it hurts. You never really got it. Whether you had powers or not, the thought of sitting on the edge of a skyscraper, looking at the city as if it were yours, never seemed right.

Because New York was never yours.

You get up here, but it never feels like home. You like the view, but you never loved it. It’s the same as when you accept your fate and don’t try to go beyond it. You adapt easily—pretty much everywhere.

At university. At work. With your family. With your friends. Everywhere, it’s like you blend in, and sometimes, that’s good enough to survive. Because that’s how you are. You jump around, survive, and keep going.

At least that’s what you do.

You can’t imagine yourself as a hero. Not even an antihero or a villain, if that would interest anyone. You’re just... you. In your easy life that somehow turned chaotic, full of people trying to change it.

Like Han Jisung.

You’re walking down the hall, your mind scattered because this morning, after you left your house, Minho wasn’t there at the gate. He said he was sick, but he’s never sick. His immune system is practically immortal. But you didn’t ask questions. You just texted back with a light pout.

[ minho 07:50am ] too early to pout like that bunny.

His text makes you chuckle lightly. He knows you so well that he can picture you pouting like a baby because he’s not there with you. What you don’t know is that Deadpool is sitting on top of a skyscraper, swinging his legs over the edge with his phone in hand, watching you walk down the street. He knows exactly what you’re doing because he’s watching you from afar, but... you don’t know that.

And that breaks Minho’s heart a little, because he’s so scared of telling you who he really is. So, he decides to lie for your own good. If people who are against him knew that he cared about someone as much as he cares about you, that would put you in too much danger.

As you walk into the university, Minho sighs deeply, knowing that inside those walls, he can’t protect you like he should. It would be too crazy to follow you into the classes dressed in his costume; it would draw too much attention. Even though he likes the attention, he only wants your attention.

Minho stops when he hears a whistle from behind. He glances over his shoulder and instinctively reaches for his gun in the holster. “Hey, hey, go easy, Deady,” the voice behind him says, making him groan in annoyance. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”

Spider-Man walks up beside him with a toast in his mouth, the mask slightly raised as his blue electric costume catches the older man’s eye. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t care?”

Deadpool rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he notices his friend with a backpack. “So, you go to this university?”

“Good try, Deady, but I’ve gotta go,” Jisung says, faking a flattery with a smirk. He finishes his toast and pulls on his jacket before swinging away with his webs.

You’re walking down the hall, your headphones in, blasting noisy music that perfectly reflects your morning, when you realize that today marks exactly six months since your father was sent to jail.

Your mind feels blurry. You can’t figure out why he did it—why he started selling drugs right under your nose at the shop. You never noticed. You never noticed because his smile was always the same, and the money never increased enough to shock you. You never thought something like that could happen to you, to your mother, to your grandmother.

It’s hard to have a conversation with them now. Your eyes tear up, or your anger tries to cover the gentle tone you want to use with them. 

Something changed in you that day. It’s hard to say what, hard to explain why. It just happened. You started sneaking into your room through the window at night, almost like an uninvited guest in your own home. Your mother is always curled up on the couch, a blanket over her body as she tries to get a few hours of sleep between her two jobs. 

Your grandmother always stares at the little window in the living room.

She doesn’t do the crosswords anymore, and you’re too tired to fight about it. You’re too tired to keep doing the things that once felt normal. Slowly, you’re drowning in your thoughts, buried in a fog that you can’t shake off.

You’re so deep in your head that you don’t notice when you bump into someone. You quickly turn, almost tripping over your own feet. “God, are you okay?” you ask, your eyes wide with surprise.

Jisung immediately grabs your shoulders to steady himself, his face flushed with embarrassment and the adrenaline of the sudden movement. “Oh no, no, it’s alright,” he chuckles, offering you a smile. “You’re quite nimble for a clumsy girl, hm?”

“Am I?” You chuckle, feeling a little shy as you blush. His hands move away from your shoulders, and his posture relaxes, a moment of calm in the bustling hall. He recognizes you immediately. Even though he saves countless people during his workday, your face sticks in his memory like a bright, sunny day. He remembers the way you smiled at him that one time, right before he swung off into the night. It made him feel so alive, like his little secret was worth it. It’s not such a little secret, but he’s not quite confident about it yet.

“Yeah, yeah, you look like it,” he grins lightly, his eyes soft as he looks at you.

You try to catch a hint of awkwardness in his eyes, but his entire presence is so warm and friendly, it makes you feel like you should talk to him more than you’d planned. “Did we ever meet before?” you ask, curiosity lacing your voice.

Jisung shakes his head, blushing as he fights hard to keep his big secret hidden. He’s not great at lying, and his nerves are making it harder. “I don’t think so. But I’d definitely remember a pretty girl like you.”

Just then, you hear your best friend calling you from the end of the hall. You check the time—your class starts in exactly two minutes. “Well, I’m gonna see you around…?” you trail off, unsure.

“Jisung,” he responds softly, offering a light smile. He moves his hand closer to yours, and you hesitate for just a moment before quickly grasping it. “Call me Jisung.”

You give him a quick nod, feeling a flutter in your chest, and with one last smile, you turn to walk away, your steps quick as you hurry toward your class. “I’ll see you around, Jisung!” you call over your shoulder.

Later that night, you're sitting at the edge of the Manhattan Bridge, looking down at the city. 

Why does everything feel so small? You’re surrounded by the massive skyline of New York City, yet everything seems distant, as if none of it belongs to you. Your feet dangle off the edge, the cold breeze ruffling your hair as the city lights twinkle below. 

It’s beautiful, but somehow it doesn’t feel like yours. You wish you could find a way to make it feel like home.

You feel the city suffocating you, its weight pressing against your chest, wrapping around your neck, slowly squeezing, making you ache, making you want to escape. Escape from New York, escape from your father, escape from everything.

But at the same time, guilt claws at you. How could you even imagine leaving? Leaving your mother, your grandmother, Minho. You can’t picture your life without him in it. He’s become so embedded in your being, so close to your heart, that he’s the only emotion you can feel that doesn’t suffocate you. His voice, his touch, they make you feel safe, loved.

You blush at the thought of him, your heart racing. You shake your head lightly, sighing deeply. You don’t understand why you feel this way. You never minded his teasing or sarcastic comments. He was always there when you needed him—when your dad called from prison, when your grandma came home, when you had that horrible fight with your mother. He never judged you; he just gathered up the clothes on the floor, gave you a gentle smile, and said, “Let me clean you up.”

He was there. And right now, you just want to run away. You just want to hide, to escape into your feelings, to forget about the reality that hurts more than you can bear. A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you look down at the street below. The jump seems so easy, the only escape that might bring you relief.

“Hey, blondie,” a voice calls, snapping you out of your thoughts. A blue electric suit lands beside you, the figure settling next to you on the edge of the bridge. “You getting ready for a big jump?”

You squirm in surprise, your heart skipping a beat as you turn to face him. Spider-Man’s mask stares back at you. He sounds so casual, almost like he’s talking about something mundane, but the weight of his words makes your pulse quicken.

“I- maybe?” You stammer, unsure of what you’re really saying, but something about his presence calms you just a little.

His head tilts, and you can almost imagine the confused expression hidden beneath the mask. “Maybe? So I should stay here?”

You chuckle nervously, shaking your head. “No, I think, I think you can actually go.”

He falls silent for a moment, and you feel the tension in the air as you both stare at the city below. Then, in a low murmur, Spider-Man speaks again, his voice softer now. “Do you like the view?”

You let your gaze drift back down to the streets, the chaotic pulse of Manhattan. The endless motion of the people, the sounds of the city filling the air. The lights blur into the darkness.

“No,” you whisper, your voice tinged with bitterness. “I hate it.”

He doesn’t respond at first, the quiet hanging between you, and then, with a gentle sigh, Spider-Man speaks again, his tone full of something you can’t quite place. “It’s not the view that matters, you know. It’s what you do with it.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Instead, you just stare down, lost in the noise of the city, feeling like an outsider in a world that’s moving far too fast for you to catch up. “Do you?”

“Jeez, no,” he giggles, and that sound makes you turn in his direction. He’s still looking at you. “Really? But… you’re Spider-Man.”

You chuckle as his hand moves really close to your thigh, just in case you get too close to the edge and fall. “And? Can’t Spider-Man like the city he’s from?”

“No, I mean, you protect this city.” His voice is still laced with confusion, running through your thoughts. 

“Protecting the city and liking the city are two different things for me, sweetheart.”

You nod lightly, chuckling, because you can feel the meaning behind his words. It’s the same for you. You don’t like the city, but you’re still here. For your mother, your grandma, and maybe even Minho. You're starting to accept that, too.

“Can I show you something?” Spider-Man asks softly, almost like a whisper that's hard to hear. You turn your head to him and nod lightly, still confused.

Suddenly, you’re in his arms. Swinging through the city. You scream as you hold onto him, his arm wrapped around your waist. “Oh my god!”

“You’re a natural,” Jisung chuckles as he swings between the skyscrapers, his strong arm holding your waist as you try not to scream every time his webs drop you dead weight among the city lights.

“This is my favorite way to see the city.”

Looking down at the streets, your stomach drops. The beautiful view stretches out before your eyes. “Oddio... Oddio!” Every time you get flustered or scared, you end up speaking in Italian. Jisung laughs loudly when he hears your very loud scream.

“What was that, angel?” His voice is right against your ear, making you blush and feel butterflies all over your stomach. You should say something, but before you can, he gently sets you down right in front of your parents' little pizza place. You can feel that he doesn’t want to let you go, and his arm slowly moves away from your waist.

“Well, I... I should go.”

“Spider-Man, I... can I ask you a favor?”

He stops before he can move or step away from you, his eyes focused on you. You can tell by the movement of his mask that he’s happy. “Yes?”

Your eyes fill with determination. You want revenge. “Can you... go after Deadpool? He did... something to me and my family. We— I need revenge for that. I want him in jail.”

Xoxoxo.

Jisung’s body stiffens for a moment, his grip on the web shooter tightening, a slight pause in his usually confident demeanor. The words “revenge” and “Deadpool” sit heavily in the air between you, and for a split second, you see something in his movements shift, a hesitation he wasn’t expecting to feel.

“You want revenge…” His voice drops lower, more serious now. “I get it. I really do. But... it’s not as easy as you think. Deadpool’s not someone you can just throw in jail. He’s... complicated. And I’m not sure if you really want to get mixed up with him, trust me.”

Your heart sinks a little as you meet his gaze, but you refuse to back down.

“Why?” you ask, the anger and hurt barely kept in check. “What’s so complicated about him? He hurt my family—my father, my life.”

He runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “Because he’s not someone you can just punch out and walk away from. Deadpool’s... unpredictable. And he’s not afraid of anything, especially not jail.” 

His eyes soften, looking at you with a mix of pity and concern. “I don’t want you to make things worse for yourself. You’ve already been through so much. You deserve more than to become tangled in all of this.” The air between you both feels thick, like you’re standing at the edge of a cliff, one wrong move could send everything spiraling.

“But I need to do something,” you say, your voice trembling a bit. “I can’t just sit here while he... while my family is still paying for what he did.”

There’s a long pause. The city lights flicker in the background as the sound of traffic hums faintly in the distance. Finally, Jisung steps closer, his voice quieter now. “I can’t promise you that I can take down Deadpool, not the way you want me to. But... I’ll help. I’ll help you find a way, okay? You don’t have to carry this burden alone.”

You feel a mix of relief and tension wash over you. It’s not the answer you were hoping for, but it’s something. “Thank you,” you whisper, your heart still heavy, but somehow a little lighter.

He smiles, though there’s a sadness in his eyes you don’t miss. “I’ll be watching your back. You’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out.”

As he swings off into the night, you’re left standing there, more determined than ever. The weight of what you’re about to do hasn’t fully hit you yet. But with Jisung’s promise, it feels like a step toward taking control of your own fate—however dangerous it may be.

The quiet hum of the classroom buzzes around you as you sift through your notes, trying to focus. You barely hear your professor call out the next group project announcement until you feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn around, expecting to see your best friend, but instead, it's Minho, grinning like a cat with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Looks like you're stuck with me, huh?" he teases, leaning casually against the back of your chair.

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a questioning look. "Wait, what do you mean 'stuck with you'?"

Minho just shrugs, a smug grin spreading across his face. "The professor just assigned us all to groups. You and I are in the same one, lucky you."

You groan internally. You're always paired with Minho for projects, and while you do work well together, it usually means a whirlwind of sarcastic remarks and endless back-and-forth teasing. At least with Minho, you can sort of predict what he’ll do next, but what’s going to throw you off this time is that, somehow, Jisung is in the same group.

You glance over at him, seated in the row behind you. He’s got his headphones in, but his eyes are clearly already scanning the room. He makes brief eye contact with you, and his lips curl up into a friendly, almost too-casual smile. You can feel your heart skip a beat, your brain reminding you that this Jisung is just a normal guy, and nothing about him should make your chest tighten like that.

Minho notices, of course, and his smirk grows even wider. "Well, aren’t we lucky. The trio is complete."

You try to keep a straight face as you turn back to Minho. "Seriously? You’re telling me we’re working with Jisung on this? This is gonna be a disaster."

“Hey,” Minho says with a sly grin, “you know what they say about working with the best.” He murmurs with his hand that moves around your neck froom behind, tilting your head upward, his lips placing a soft peck against your forehead.

You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or serious, but at this point, it doesn’t matter. With Minho, you’ve learned to expect the unexpected. And with Jisung? Well, you’re still trying to figure out what to think about him. His smile always seems to catch you off guard, and there’s something about the way he talks to you that makes you feel like he’s both a stranger and someone you should know.

The professor calls out, “Alright, your group work begins today. Make sure you all meet up after class to discuss the project. I’ll see you all next week with your first ideas.”

You gather your things, watching as Jisung approaches your desk, a lazy walk that hides the subtle confidence in his stride. His casual smile never falters as he slides into the chair next to you, and you can feel the heat rise in your cheeks. Focus, Y/N. This is just a project, nothing more.

“Well, looks like it’s just the three of us, huh?” Jisung says lightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Let’s make it a fun one.”

You can feel Minho beside you rolling his eyes, but he can’t help the grin that tugs at the corners of his lips. “I’m sure this will be... interesting.”

The awkward silence stretches for a second, and you’re the first one to break it, trying to steer the group back on track. “So, uh, we should probably discuss the project.”

“Right,” Jisung says, leaning forward. “What’s the project about?”

You pull out the assignment paper, scanning the details for any indication of what kind of project it is. “It’s about urban development,” you say slowly, trying to piece it together. “We have to come up with an idea to improve the city's infrastructure. Maybe something with public spaces?”

Minho’s eyes gleam with an idea. “What about incorporating green spaces? Like rooftop gardens or more parks. It’d balance out the concrete jungle.”

You nod in agreement, but Jisung leans back in his chair, his hand resting on his chin thoughtfully. “That could work, but what if we went further? We could add eco-friendly transportation options. Maybe a system of public bikes, but with solar charging stations?”

“Solar charging stations?” Minho scoffs lightly. “You’re really thinking this through, huh?”

Jisung shrugs nonchalantly, his smile never leaving his face. “Gotta go big or go home. Plus, think about how cool it’d be to have a whole city powered by solar energy.”

You catch yourself smiling, despite yourself. Jisung’s enthusiasm is oddly contagious, and it’s hard not to get drawn into his excitement. You’re still trying to figure out why he makes your heart race, but for now, you can focus on the project.

“Alright,” you say, tapping the table to get their attention. “Let’s make sure we keep it realistic, though. We want to wow them, but we don’t want to bite off more than we can chew.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Minho mutters. “Realistic. You’re no fun, Y/n.”

But even with the teasing and the sarcastic remarks, you can tell that Minho is fully on board. The trio might be unconventional, but you can’t deny that it feels... right. Even if it’s chaotic, even if you don’t know where this project will take you, you can’t help but feel that something’s shifting.

The way Jisung looks at you sometimes. The way Minho’s teasing feels strangely affectionate. You wonder, for the briefest moment, if you’ve gotten yourself tangled in something bigger than just a group project.

You push the thought aside as you gather your things, ready to take the next step. 

It’s just a project... right?

It’s only been a few days since the project began, but already, Minho and Jisung are at each other’s throats. Every time they meet, it’s like they’re competing over who has the better idea, and you can’t help but roll your eyes as they try to outdo each other.

You’ve been here before—watching them argue over the smallest details, throwing passive-aggressive comments about each other’s suggestions. It’s a mess. But somehow, even amidst the chaos, you can tell they’re both passionate about it.

"Okay, let’s hear it," Jisung says, leaning forward with his arms crossed, giving Minho an expectant look. 

"You think adding more green space to the city is gonna solve everything?"

Minho doesn’t miss a beat, shaking his head. "No, I’m saying it’s a good start. You want your solar-charging bike stations to work, right? Well, people are gonna need a place to park those bikes, so why not give them green spaces to make the whole thing work?"

"You’re missing the bigger picture," Jisung counters. "How do you even plan to make the city’s infrastructure sustainable long term? You’re just throwing a few plants in there and calling it eco-friendly."

You sigh, rubbing your temples. You thought this was supposed to be a group project, but instead, you’ve been stuck in the middle of what feels like a never-ending battle.

“Guys, can we just—” you start, but you’re quickly cut off as Minho raises his voice a little too loudly. “Are you seriously doubting the impact of green spaces? People need a breath of fresh air in this city! They can’t live in a concrete jungle!”

“Oh, I’m not doubting it. But you're not thinking of the logistics. People are gonna need more than just a place to hang out. They need sustainable solutions! Bikes that can be charged while in use, not just a place to park them like some… park bench project!”

Their bickering intensifies, and you’re starting to get a headache. But it’s at that moment that the tension escalates in a way you weren’t expecting.

Minho, who had been pacing the room, pauses for a second, his eyes narrowing. “Wait, are you—are you seriously thinking we’re just going to throw a couple of solar panels on some bikes and call it a day? You’re acting like this is all just some random side project.”

Jisung’s face flushes a deep red, and you can see his jaw clenching. “What exactly are you implying?” he asks, his voice quiet but sharp, making the air around you seem tenser.

You watch the two of them, sensing the rising tension. The air feels thick, like it’s on the verge of snapping, and you’re starting to get a headache just from the silent battle of wills between them.

This project was supposed to be a team effort, but now it feels like a competition—one that you don’t have the energy to be part of.

“Okay, I’m gonna grab some food. You two can sort this out," you say, standing up quickly, eager to escape the mounting tension. You throw a glance over your shoulder at both of them, then exit the room before either can protest.

The door clicks shut behind you, leaving them alone.

The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by the sound of Jisung exhaling a frustrated breath.

Minho crosses his arms, clearly not ready to let it go. “I still don’t understand what your problem is with this. The whole point is—”

“The whole point?” Jisung interrupts, his voice rising just slightly, a sharp edge to his tone. “The whole point is sustainability, Minho. Something you obviously don’t care about if you think throwing in a couple of parks is gonna solve anything.”

Minho takes a step forward, his face a mixture of frustration and disbelief. “Oh, you mean like swinging from building to building, throwing out webs and calling it saving the city like that stupid spiderman guy?”

Jisung’s eyes narrow, and for a brief moment, a flicker of something dangerous passes through them.

"Don't talk like you understand anything about real responsibility," Jisung mutters under his breath, his grip tightening on the edge of the table.

Minho opens his mouth to respond, but before he can get a word out, Jisung, in a flash of irritation, shoots a web from his wrist. It zips across the room and lands directly over Minho’s mouth, completely covering it, rendering him silent.

Minho’s eyes widen in shock, but instead of fighting back, he stands frozen, his eyes locked on Jisung. The tension in the room shifts, no longer about the project, but the quiet understanding that passes between them.

Jisung pulls back the web, letting it retract with a flick of his wrist, but he keeps his gaze firm. “That’s better,” he says, his tone low. “Now, we can actually talk.”

Minho blinks a couple of times, his jaw clenched in silent frustration. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve, as if clearing away the remnants of the web.

“What about that Deadpool old man, huh?” Jisung finally says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, as if he’s just given up. "The city’s supposed ‘hero.’ A real pain in the ass.”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Jisung’s eyes widen at the slip, and the realization hits him like a punch to the gut.

“That’s... definitely something Deadpool would say,” Jisung mutters, his voice lowering as his brain races to catch up. He gives Minho a long look, then shakes his head, realizing it.

Minho rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Yeah, well. Guess you’re not the only one with secrets.”

Jisung’s expression softens for a moment, before he quickly changes the subject, looking at the door. “We can’t tell her.”

Minho looks back at Jisung, his face a mix of frustration and reluctant agreement. "Yeah, I know. She can't find out. Not yet. She's already too involved as it is."

Jisung nods, but there’s a part of him that’s still uneasy. He can’t quite shake the feeling that this is all about to spiral out of control.

"I don't want her to see us like this," Jisung mutters, running a hand through his hair. “We’ve gotta keep this normal, at least for her.”

“Yeah,” Minho agrees quietly. “She doesn’t deserve to be caught in all this mess. Not yet.”

Another long silence passes, the weight of their secret identities hanging over them like a shadow. They both know the stakes are higher than ever now, but for the moment, there’s nothing they can do but play along.

A few moments later, you return with some snacks, unaware of the tension that’s still hanging in the air. Both Minho and Jisung are back to their usual selves—trying their best to ignore the secret that they just shared between each other.

You walk in, trying to act casual, but even you can feel the weird vibe in the room. “Alright, I’m back,” you say, offering them both a smile as you sit down.

Minho and Jisung glance at each other before turning back to you, each of them hiding something behind their smiles.

“Everything okay?” you ask, trying to read the room.

“Yeah, fine,” Minho answers quickly, his voice too smooth. “Let’s get back to work, yeah?”

Jisung nods in agreement, though his eyes still flicker toward Minho, the unspoken understanding passing between them.

You sigh, relieved that the atmosphere has lightened, even if just a little. “Alright. Let’s finish this.”

As you dive back into the project, the two of them work silently next to you. But underneath the surface, the tension hasn’t gone away—not yet. The secrets they’re keeping from you feel heavier than before, and you can't shake the feeling that something's not right.

But for now, you’re all pretending things are normal. And in that moment, that’s all you can do.

The city hums around you as you walk down the busy street, your mind still preoccupied with the tension from earlier. The strange atmosphere between Jisung and Minho hasn't quite left you, but you try to shake it off, focusing instead on the project you need to finish. You're so wrapped up in your thoughts that you don't notice the figure lurking in the shadows until it’s too late.

A pair of rough hands grip your shoulders from behind, yanking you into an alleyway before you can even react. The world tilts as you struggle, trying to break free, but the stranger’s grip is ironclad. Your heart starts to race, panic rising in your chest.

"Hey, what do you—" you try to shout, but your voice is quickly smothered by the hand clamped over your mouth.

The man pulls you deeper into the alley, his breath hot and rancid against your ear. You kick and squirm, but it's no use. He's too strong. You feel the cold steel of a knife pressed against your side as he threatens in a low voice, “Quiet down, sweetheart. We’re just going for a little ride.”

Your breath quickens, panic flooding your veins as your mind races for a way out. But just as you're starting to lose hope, you hear the unmistakable sound of a webbing snap against the air.

“Let her go!” a voice shouts from above, clear and demanding. Your heart skips a beat. It's Spider-Man.

The kidnapper freezes, his eyes darting up to the rooftop above. Jisung, in full Spider-Man mode, swings down on a web with perfect timing, landing in a crouch right between you and your captor.

“Spider-Man, huh?” The kidnapper sneers, his grip tightening on your arm. “You think you can stop me?”

Jisung’s posture shifts, ready for action. “I don’t think, I know.”

Before the man can make another move, Spider-Man shoots a web directly at his hand, pulling the knife out of his grip with lightning speed. The man yells in frustration as he tries to retreat, but Spider-Man’s webbing quickly ensnares his feet, pinning him to the ground.

“Not so fast,” Jisung says, his voice steady, though there’s a flicker of anger beneath it. He’s clearly furious that someone dared to hurt you. “You’re not going anywhere.”

But before Jisung can deal with him, a loud crash rings through the alley. You turn just in time to see a figure in a blue and red suit landing with a heavy thud right next to you.

Deadpool.

“Sorry I’m late,” Minho—Deadpool—says, his voice muffled under the mask. He holds up a pair of handcuffs, looking at the struggling kidnapper. “I had to stop for tacos. You know, priorities.”

Jisung shoots him a look, his eyes wide behind his mask. “You’re—how did—what are you—” Deadpool shrugs, completely unfazed. “I’ve been around. Don’t worry about it.”

“Wait, you were the one who—?” You gasp, realization hitting you like a ton of bricks.

Minho grins beneath his mask. “Yeah, yeah. Deadpool, the guy who totally didn’t save you from getting kidnapped.”

You blink, feeling like the world is spinning. Your brain scrambles to process this new information, but the kidnapper—who is still struggling beneath Spider-Man’s grip—gives you no time to think.

Your pulse thunders in your ears as your eyes dart between the two masked figures—one holding your attacker with webbing, the other acting like this was all some twisted joke.

Your body tenses. “No,” you mutter, your voice trembling with disbelief. “No—I don't want your help.” You jerk away from Minho as he approaches. “Get away from me!”

“Y/n—” Jisung tries, but you take a step back, heart racing, chest heaving. “You don’t understand—”

“I don’t understand?!” you snap. 

“You’re Deadpool. You ruined my life. You turned my dad in without saying a word.” 

Minho flinches, and for a second, he doesn't speak. Then, slowly—deliberately—he reaches up and pulls off his mask. Your breath catches. His dark eyes meet yours, and they're not smug, not cocky, not playful.mThey're full of guilt.

So you see it, it’s Minho, your breath itches as you feel the world spinning under your feet, “You disappeared. You lied to me every day while pretending to be my friend—”

“I did it for the best,” he says quietly. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d hate me. But I couldn’t let him keep hurting people, Y/N. And I couldn’t watch you act like it wasn’t destroying you too.”

Your throat tightens, hot and raw. “You had no right.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I know.” A heavy silence hangs between you for a long moment—until Jisung steps forward. “Minho…” he murmurs, but Minho just glances at him.

“Don’t look at me like that, Spider-Boy. You’re next.” Jisung sighs and turns to you slowly. “Y/n... I didn’t want it to happen like this either.”

Your eyes narrow. “You knew?”

“No.” His voice breaks slightly. “I didn’t know he was Deadpool until a few days ago. But I knew I was keeping something from you too.” Then—without another word—he reaches for his mask and pulls it off.

Your breath stops. “Jisung…” His name falls from your lips like a broken prayer.

“I swear I was going to tell you. I didn’t want you to be caught in this. But then you asked me to go after Deadpool and—” he trails off, eyes flicking guiltily to Minho. “It got messy.” You stumble backward, shaking your head as you try to process everything. Two people you trusted. Two people who lied.

“You both… lied to me. Every day.”

Neither of them speaks. And that hurts the most.

Your eyes sting. “Get out of my way.”

“Y/n—” Minho begins.

“No. Both of you,” you say firmly, lifting your chin despite the tears beginning to fall. “I don’t care if you were trying to protect me. I didn’t ask you to. I asked for honesty.”

Then, stepping around them both, you walk away—heart pounding, steps shaky, mind spinning—leaving behind the only two people who ever made you feel safe… and the only two who just destroyed that trust in seconds.

The university halls are loud again. Midterms are creeping in, people are caffeinated beyond logic, and the world moves on—even when your heart feels like it slammed into a wall.

You walk in with your headphones on, eyes locked on the floor, clutching your backpack like it’s a shield. You know they’re both there. Jisung, sitting by the window like always. Minho, slouched in his seat with a frown that could burn holes in steel. You don’t look at either of them.

“Y/n—” Jisung’s voice is soft. Desperate.

You keep walking.

Minho straightens up. “Can we talk?” 

Nope. Not today.

You walk past them, not even flinching when your name is called again. You do, however, pause at the back of the classroom. Your usual spot is next to Jisung—but your eyes drift to the middle row. There's an empty seat… next to someone new.

He’s relaxed, arms crossed, hair tousled in a perfectly effortless way. His black hoodie is slightly oversized, and he’s scribbling something in a notebook like he doesn’t care if the world burns down outside. He looks… safe. But also like he knows things.

You clear your throat softly. “Hey. Is this seat taken?”

He looks up, slowly. His eyes flicker with something unreadable before he smiles—crooked and quiet. “It is now.” You sit.

From across the room, both Minho and Jisung are frozen. You don’t even need to look to know that they’re staring. You can feel it. The tension. The questions. The confusion.

But you don’t care. Because the guy next to you smells like mint and ink, and when he turns the page in his notebook, you catch a glimpse of your name written in the corner. Wait—what?

Your head turns. “Did you—?”

He smirks, not looking at you. “Guess I’ve heard about you.”

“Who—” you pause, suddenly cautious. “What’s your name?”

He finally looks at you again, eyes darker than before but not unfriendly. “Chan. Bang Chan.”

The rooftop is quiet, bathed in soft neon glow from the city below. Somewhere far off, a siren wails, but for now, there's nothing urgent. Just two masked vigilantes sitting on the edge, legs dangling like bored teenagers.

Deadpool tosses a half-eaten taco in the air and catches it with his mouth. “So. She’s sitting next to that guy now.”

Spider-Man, sitting stiffly beside him, doesn’t respond. “I mean, what’s his deal anyway?” Minho continues. “Bang Chan? That sounds like the name of someone who’s too hot to be real. Like, he was made in a lab.”

“You’re literally a mercenary with swords and sarcasm. You don’t get to judge names.” Jisung glares through his mask, but Minho just shrugs, chewing noisily.

“She ignored both of us,” Jisung finally mutters.

Minho scoffs. “Yeah. Because we lied to her. Multiple times.”

A gust of wind brushes over the rooftop. Jisung fiddles with his web-shooter. “I didn’t want to lie. I just… didn’t know how to tell her.”

“Well, now she’s sitting next to Bang Perfect Jawline Chan and pretending we don’t exist.”

“She’s allowed to do that,” Jisung sighs, then adds under his breath, “Still sucks though.”

A pause.

“Think he’s… like us?” Minho asks suddenly.

“What do you mean? Like, charming and emotionally unavailable?”

Minho shoots him a dry look. “I mean powered, dumbass.”

Before Jisung can respond, both of their comms beep sharply in their ears. Robbery in progress. Lower East Side. Minho groans. “Duty calls.”

Jisung’s already jumping off the roof. “Race you there.”

The warehouse is chaos. Smoke. Screams. Gunshots. Spider-Man swings low, yanking a rifle out of someone’s hand while Deadpool flips over a stack of crates, landing a punch that sends a guy flying.

“Watch your left!” Jisung yells.

“I have a left!” Minho shouts back, slicing through a metal bar like it’s butter.

They fall into rhythm. Their synergy unmatched. Like muscle memory. But even while fighting, their minds are elsewhere. “You think she actually likes him?” Jisung pants, throwing a web at a goon’s legs.

Minho ducks under a punch. “She laughed at something he said. I saw it. Like, really laughed.”

“Oh god. Not the laugh.”

“She doesn’t laugh like that at us.”

“Yeah, because we keep secrets and get her kidnapped.” They both pause for a second, catching their breath behind a pillar. A moment of silence. “…We’re idiots,” Jisung mutters.

“Yeah,” Minho agrees. “But I’m a sexy idiot in red leather, so.” Jisung groans. “God, why is that actually true?” Another round of thugs comes charging, and both of them spring into action—still processing heartbreak, betrayal, and the fact that Bang Chan might be better at math and emotions.

The late afternoon sun filters through the tall university windows, casting long golden streaks across the floor. You're sitting in your new usual seat, notebook open, doodles replacing actual notes. Next to you, Bang Chan leans back in his chair, effortlessly casual, one arm slung behind you on the backrest—not quite touching, but close enough to make your skin prickle.

“You’ve been quiet today,” he says, voice low and smooth, his eyes flickering over your expression.

You offer a half-smile. “Just tired.”

He doesn’t press. Doesn’t tease. Just nods slowly. “Yeah. It’s been a weird week.”

You glance sideways. “What do you mean?”

Chan taps his pen against the edge of your notebook. “I mean… masked guys crashing through warehouses. Unmarked cars around campus. You hanging out with those like it’s nothing.”

Your body stiffens. “I’m not hanging out with them.”

“Oh?” he says, eyebrows raised with mock surprise. “Could’ve fooled me. You seemed real close back in the alley the other night.”

Your jaw tightens. You hadn’t told anyone about that. Not in detail. “Were you there?”

He smiles—not innocent. Not threatening. Just… knowing. “I hear things,” he says smoothly. “People like me, we tend to be in the right place at the right time.”

“And what kind of person is that?” The look he gives you makes your stomach twist. “Someone who sees the bigger picture.”

You go still, your pen frozen mid-word. Chan leans in slightly, his voice just above a whisper. “You don’t have to choose the losing side, Y/n. You’re smarter than that. Stronger, too.”

You swallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do.” His smile drops, just for a second. “And when the time comes, I hope you remember who was honest with you.” Before you can respond, the professor walks in and the room shifts with movement. You stare forward, heart racing. Chan sits perfectly still beside you, flipping open his textbook like nothing happened.

But the air is heavy. Too heavy.

The wind whips gently at your coat as you climb the final ladder step onto the rooftop. The city glows below you, soft and buzzing with its usual rhythm—but tonight, it feels quieter. Like it’s waiting.

You shiver, even though the air isn’t that cold. You’re not sure if it’s nerves or instinct.

“Y/n?” Jisung’s voice comes first—his Spider-Man mask pulled halfway up his face, eyes wide with concern. Minho, still fully dressed as Deadpool, leans casually against the railing, but you can feel the tension radiating off him like heat.

“You okay?” Minho asks, dropping the casual act for once. “You said it was urgent.”

You take a breath. “It’s Chan.”

Both heads snap toward you immediately. “I think he’s—” You pause, rubbing your arms. “I think he knows something. About everything. About you guys. About me.”

Minho straightens. “What did he say?”

You explain everything—his tone, the things he mentioned, the weird feeling that clung to you long after the conversation ended. By the time you’re done, Jisung is pacing and Minho is practically vibrating with protective rage.

“He was trying to recruit you,” Minho mutters darkly. “Of course he was. I should’ve seen it.”

“I don’t understand why he’d come after me,” you say quietly.

“Because you’re important,” Jisung says instantly, almost without thinking. He stops pacing and looks at you, eyes soft. “To us.”

You look between them, suddenly overwhelmed by the way both their faces—masked or not—hold the same worry. Not frustration. Not disappointment. Just fear. For you. “I didn’t know who else to talk to,” you admit. “I can’t talk to anyone about this. Not my mom. Not even—myself, half the time.”

“You did the right thing,” Minho says, stepping forward. He places a gloved hand on your shoulder. “And next time he tries to talk to you alone, you tell us.”

Jisung’s jaw ticks. “Or better—don’t talk to him at all.”

“I can handle myself.”

“We know,” they say in unison.

You snort. “You two rehearsed that?” They glance at each other and both grin—just for a second, the tension breaks. Then Jisung’s expression hardens again. “We’ll keep an eye on him. Just… stay close, okay?”

Minho nods. “We’ve already lost you once. Not again.”

The smell of fresh pasta hits you the second you walk through the door. It's comforting, something that tethers you to the familiar—home. But tonight, the warmth of the restaurant doesn't comfort you the way it usually does. The tension has been thickening all day, ever since Chan walked in with that smile that somehow felt too practiced. Too knowing.

You find yourself sitting across from him again. The air is thick with the sound of clinking glasses and murmured conversations around you, but here, at this table, it feels like it’s just the two of you. Chan leans back in his chair, that same relaxed smile on his face as he swirls the wine in his glass. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

You arch an eyebrow, trying to keep your tone light. “About what?”

His smile deepens. “About you. And what you really want.”

The words sink in slower than you expect, and you feel your chest tighten. “What do you mean?”

Chan leans forward now, his voice dropping low, a velvet smoothness lacing every word. “I know your family’s situation. Your father’s... business deals. I know you’re struggling with all of it.” His eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes you shiver.“But I can help you, Aurora. We can help each other.” You frown, a cold chill running down your spine as his words swirl in your mind. 

The mafia. 

Your father. 

The dangerous world you tried to distance yourself from.

“I don’t need your help, Chan,” you say, your voice more defensive than you want it to be.

But Chan just smirks, unfazed. “I think you do. You think you can escape this? Leave it behind? But it’s in your blood, Aurora. You’re already in deeper than you realize.” You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off with a soft laugh.

“I’m not trying to pressure you, sweetheart,” he says, his voice almost too gentle. “I just want you to see the bigger picture. You don’t have to fight it. It’s just a matter of understanding the rules. Play the game, and it’ll be easier. For everyone.”

The weight of his words lingers in the air, like a noose tightening around your chest. You don’t want to admit it, but something about the way he speaks... sells you the idea. The idea that maybe, just maybe, you could stop running.

“Do you really think I’ll join you?” you ask quietly, your gaze shifting away from him.

Chan leans back again, his gaze never leaving you. “I think you already have.” He pauses, watching your face carefully. “But you just don’t realize it yet.”

You feel a sting of panic. The way he says it—it’s not a threat, but it’s a promise. A quiet, dangerous certainty.

“Chan, I—” You stop yourself, shaking your head as if to clear your thoughts. "I can't do this. I can't get involved in whatever game you're playing."

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he lifts his glass, swirling the wine again as he watches you carefully. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now. Just think about it. Think about what you really want. What you need.”

The smile he gives you next is laced with something darker, something you can’t place—but it feels like the weight of everything pressing in on you. You don’t know if it’s his words or something else that makes you feel so... uncertain. You don’t know what this is. What he wants from you. But you can feel it. The pull.

Later that night, you find yourself walking home in the quiet of the city, trying to shake the feeling of Chan's words clinging to your thoughts. The sound of your footsteps echoes against the empty streets, and for a moment, you almost forget about the weight you’ve been carrying. But then you hear a soft rustle in the alleyway beside you.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. You turn to look, but there’s nothing there. Just the darkness. You exhale, trying to calm your nerves. Just your imagination.

That’s when you hear it—a soft chuckle. And then, from the shadows, a figure steps out.

“Minho?” you gasp, already recognizing the red-and-black suit before you even see his face.

But he’s not Minho right now. It’s Deadpool. His mask is half on, and his eyes gleam behind the fabric.

“Are you out here alone, or did you decide to take up a side gig with the mafia?” Deadpool—Minho—teases, stepping closer with an amused smile.

You try to hide the uncertainty in your eyes, but you can feel his gaze drilling into you. “I—I’m fine,” you stammer, not sure if you're trying to convince him or yourself.

Deadpool’s expression shifts, the teasing smile fading just slightly. “Chan’s been getting under your skin, huh?”

You blink at him, surprised by the accuracy of his words. “What are you talking about?”

But Minho just sighs. “I don’t trust him, Y/n. He’s not just some businessman. His ties run deep—deeper than you think.”

You don’t know why, but hearing him say that does something to you. It feels like a warning. Maybe even the kind of warning you should have heard sooner. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” Minho says softly, stepping closer until you feel the heat of his body next to yours. “I care about you too much for that.”

And for the first time in a long while, you wonder if you really can escape the world Chan is offering. Or if Minho and Jisung are right. Maybe you’re already too far gone.

You, fully aware of the mafia's grip on the city and Chan’s role in it, feel a storm of conflicting emotions as you stand in front of him. You smile softly, masking your anxiety. Chan’s slick, charming demeanor never falters, the kind of person who could sell ice to an Eskimo. 

But today, he’s about to be his own downfall.

“So, what’s your proposal, Chan?” you ask coolly, playing the part of the interested, willing participant.

He leans forward, eyes gleaming with that familiar coldness.

“It’s simple, really. I can offer you everything. Power. Protection. A life of luxury. All you have to do is align yourself with the right side—my side.”You nod, pretending to consider it, all the while scanning the surroundings in your mind. The police are ready; the call has already been made. Chan continues to talk, oblivious to the trap you’ve carefully set.

“I’ve got deals lined up, Y/n. Big ones,” he continues. “I’m not just running the city from the shadows anymore. I’m taking over.”That’s when you see the moment. He’s letting his guard down, giving you the information you need. His pride, his arrogance—it's his biggest weakness.

"Right," you say, nodding again, trying to suppress the rising sense of triumph. "And how exactly do you plan to do that?"

Chan leans back, grinning, clearly thinking he’s already won you over. "You’ll see soon enough. But first, let’s seal the deal, shall we?" He offers you a handshake.

-

The tension between Jisung and Minho hangs thick in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife. The situation with you and Chan has pushed them both to the brink. 

They're angry—at themselves, at each other, at the world around them. Each word feels like a spark ready to ignite something much bigger. "You think you can do everything alone?" Jisung snaps, pacing, his voice full of frustration and something darker. His hands ball into fists, his knuckles white. 

"She doesn't need us to fight her battles! We should've been there! But you—" He points a shaking finger at Minho, the words bubbling up in his throat, "You never let me help her! You never let me—"

Minho’s mask tilts up slightly, his eyes blazing with a fire that mirrors Jisung's. He steps forward, voice low but simmering with anger. "I didn't let you help? Are you kidding me? I wanted to protect her just as much as you did!" His breath is heavy, the tension between them thickening with every word. "But we can't always be there! I... I care about you, Jisung. You’re not the only one who worries about your safety."

Jisung freezes. The words hit him like a sudden punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him. For a split second, his world slows, and his anger fades into something deeper, something he doesn’t want to admit.

He looks at Minho, standing there, eyes burning with concern—concern for him. The realization stirs something within him, something he can’t ignore.

“You care about my safety?” Jisung’s voice is strained, his own frustrations bubbling back to the surface. “How would you know what it’s like to be the one who’s always left behind? To watch her go off without us, to know you can’t protect her—” His chest heaves with the emotion coursing through him.

But Minho’s not listening to the words anymore. Without thinking, the distance between them disappears in a flash. He moves so fast, it’s almost like the world has stopped moving entirely. His hands grip the sides of Jisung’s face, pulling him in, and before Jisung can even protest, Minho presses his lips to his.

The kiss is nothing like either of them expected. It's rough, urgent—passionate, desperate. All the frustration, the fear, the pent-up emotion they’ve kept locked away explodes into the moment. Minho’s lips crash into Jisung’s, and it feels like everything they’ve been holding back, every word they never said, is poured into this single, searing contact.

Jisung, momentarily stunned, feels his whole body stiffen before he melts into it. His hands find Minho’s waist, pulling him closer, needing to feel the connection. His breath mingles with Minho’s, each movement of their lips speaking volumes—words left unsaid, frustrations turned into something else entirely.

Minho’s fingers tangle in Jisung’s hair, tugging him deeper into the kiss, his body pressing against his. The kiss is messy, raw, but it’s everything they’ve both been too afraid to express—until now. There’s no holding back, no room for hesitation. It’s the release of all the weight they’ve carried for each other, for you, for everything that’s been left unresolved between them.

When they finally pull away, breathless and wide-eyed, the silence feels different. The world has shifted in a way neither of them expected. Neither says anything at first. The heat between them lingers, crackling in the air. Minho’s voice is soft, almost uncertain, but the emotions behind it are clear. “I didn’t mean for it to be like this...”

Jisung, still recovering from the kiss, barely manages a laugh, but it’s lighter than anything he’s felt in a long time. “Yeah, me neither...”

The fight feels smaller now, the anger dissipating like fog in the morning sun. What was once heated and full of tension now hangs suspended between them—a new understanding, one that’s only just begun to take root.

You hesitate for just a second. You lock eyes with him, your hand moving to meet his, but this is it. This is the moment where you get him, where you shut him down.

As soon as your hands clasp, a familiar sound fills the air: sirens. Chan’s face drops, his smug confidence vanishing in an instant. Police officers rush in, and you step back, watching as Chan is cuffed.

“You... you tricked me?” Chan hisses, fury flashing in his eyes as he’s led away.

You stay composed, a small smirk playing at your lips. "Tricked you? maybe."

Before you can fully process the feeling of relief, a voice rings out from above. "Y/n?!"

Your heart races, and you whip your head up to see none other than Spider-Man (Jisung) swinging down from the rooftop. He lands softly beside you, his mask hiding the concern in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Jisung asks, but before you can respond, his eyes flick to the police officers. “What’s going on here?”

You, despite everything, try to keep your composure, and with a flicker of uncertainty in your chest, you meet Jisung’s gaze. You see the moment he realizes what happened.

"You... called the police?” he asks, his voice laced with disbelief. "You caught him... you—"

You nod, your voice calm. “Yeah. I did.”

For a second, you both just stare at each other, the weight of the moment sinking in. Jisung, still in his Spider-Man suit, stands in front of you, visibly tense, unsure of what to feel. But you can tell that his protective instincts are at war with his pride.

"Good job," he says finally, voice softer. "But you shouldn't have done it alone." You look at him, your heart twisting a little. You know it’s coming. You know he’s going to be upset, and you don’t want to hurt him—especially after everything that’s been happening. You open your mouth to speak, but the words get caught in your throat.

Before you can say anything, Deadpool appears, and he glances at the scene, his mouth curving into a grin under the mask. “Did you get him, blondie?” he teases, his voice light, but there’s an edge to it that you know too well.

You nod. "Yeah, it’s done."

Minho steps forward, looking between you and Jisung. There’s something in his eyes now, a quiet intensity. "You don’t need to do this alone, you know."

You swallow, your heart racing. You know they’re both trying to process this moment in their own ways, but all you want is to be honest with them. "I just... I couldn’t let him hurt anyone else. Not anymore."

The silence is thick, but it doesn’t feel heavy. It’s as if a weight has been lifted, but another one—much more personal—has settled in its place.

The city hums under the rooftop like a secret waiting to be heard. You’re sitting on the ledge, legs dangling, the wind teasing your hair. It’s late—too late for anyone sane to be out here—but the chaos inside you makes everything feel louder than the sirens below.

Jisung sits beside you, not too close. Not yet.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just watches the streetlights dance in your eyes. You’re the one who breaks the silence. “He told me… my dad had a deal with them. That’s why they’re watching me.”

Jisung’s hands clench. His jaw ticks. “Chan?”

You nod, eyes glazed. “I don’t know if he’s lying. I don’t even know who’s lying anymore.” There’s a stretch of silence, but it’s not cold. Jisung shifts closer, his knee brushing yours.

“I’d never lie to you,” he says softly. “Neither would Minho.”

You bite your lip, looking at him. “But you did hide things. Both of you.” He nods, guilt flickering in his gaze. “Because I thought I was protecting you. But now... I just want to be honest.” A pause. Then he reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear—his fingers brushing your cheek just a second too long.

“I care about you,” he whispers. “More than I should. And I know Minho does too.”

Your heart stutters. “I don’t want to choose,” you murmur.

“Maybe you don’t have to,” he says, almost breathless. You blink at him—surprised by his words, your lips parting as if to say something— And then the door creaks open.

Minho walks in. He stops mid-step. His gaze flicks from you to Jisung. His mask is off, and the mix of pain and jealousy in his eyes hits like a bullet. “Oh. I see,” he says dryly.

You stand, suddenly overwhelmed. “Minho—”

But he steps forward, dropping whatever sarcasm was building in his throat. “No. I shouldn’t have waited. I should’ve told you first.”

“Told me what?”

Minho walks right up to you, gaze steady. “That I love you.” The air splits in two. You forget how to breathe. Jisung rises behind you, stunned silent. “Hyung…”

But Minho doesn’t stop. “And I know he does too,” he adds, nodding toward Jisung. “So maybe… just maybe… we stop pretending that this is a triangle. Maybe we stop pretending it’s a fight.”

You stare at both of them—heart thundering, hands shaking. “And if it’s not a fight… what is it?” you whisper. 

Minho’s eyes soften, though there’s still that edge to him—something sharp in the way he moves toward you. It’s as if he wants to reach out, but there’s hesitation. Not because he doubts you, but because he’s afraid of the unknown. Afraid of the depth of what’s between the three of you.

Jisung, standing just slightly behind Minho, seems lost in his own thoughts for a moment. He’s always been the more open one, the one who wears his heart on his sleeve—but there’s something about this moment that has him hesitating too.

“It’s us,” Jisung finally says, his voice low and steady, as though he’s putting everything on the line. “If you want it to be.”

Your breath catches in your throat as his words sink in. The weight of them presses against your chest. It’s not just a simple statement—it’s an invitation, a promise, a vulnerability laid bare. You meet his gaze, searching for any sign of uncertainty, any sign of fear in his eyes. But all you see is something deeper, something raw and real.

Minho steps forward, his gaze intense, his expression unreadable. His fingers twitch at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you, and you feel the tension in the air shift. It’s like everything in the world has come down to this moment—the three of you, here, together.

“I think we’ve both been waiting for this,” Minho murmurs, his voice soft but firm. You can hear the weight of his words, the longing behind them, the way he’s been holding himself back for so long. “But it’s not just about us. It’s about you too.”

Your heart races as you try to steady your breathing. The room feels smaller, the walls closing in around you as the three of you stand there, caught in a moment that’s so heavy with meaning, it almost feels unreal.

There’s a flicker of something—something unspoken—between Minho and Jisung. It’s like they’re both reading the same page of an unwritten story, and they’re waiting for you to join them. It’s a moment of connection, of shared history, of desire that’s been simmering beneath the surface for so long, it’s impossible to ignore any longer.

And then, before you can say another word, Minho steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch your arm. The touch is light but filled with meaning, a simple contact that sends a shiver down your spine. His eyes soften as he looks at you, and for a moment, it’s like the whole world disappears.

You feel Jisung behind you, his presence a steady, comforting force. He doesn’t speak, but you can feel his gaze on you, on the way your heart races, the way you’re trembling slightly in the face of everything that’s happening. He’s waiting too—waiting for you to make the decision, to step into something new, something uncertain but full of possibility.

The tension in the air is palpable, like a storm about to break, and you can feel it in your chest. The three of you are standing on the edge of something, something you’re not sure you’re ready for, but can’t walk away from. You take a shaky breath, trying to steady your thoughts.

Minho leans in, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’ve got you, you know. In every way. If you want us.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you realize—you want them. Not in the way you thought you did before, but in a deeper, more honest way. This is no longer just about the tension or the heat between you. It’s about something more real, more fragile. It’s about letting go of the fear and the uncertainty and just letting yourself feel—truly feel—what it means to trust them, to be with them.

Jisung’s hand is on your back now, his touch warm and grounding, his presence comforting and steady. It’s all so overwhelming, so intense, that it almost feels like you’re floating. You look up at him, meeting his gaze, and see something soft and tender in his eyes.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” he murmurs, his voice full of understanding. “But when you’re ready…” Minho nods, his fingers brushing against your skin. The warmth of his touch is enough to melt the walls you’ve built up around yourself. He’s here. They’re both here.

The space between you and Minho feels like it’s shrinking, and before you can think twice, his hand gently cups your face, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. His eyes are soft, almost hesitant, but there’s a longing there, something raw. It’s not rushed. It’s tender. Minho leans in slowly, closing the distance between you, and for a moment, time seems to stop. You breathe in together, the quiet tension before the kiss almost unbearable.

And then, his lips are on yours—soft, warm, gentle at first, as if he’s giving you the chance to pull away. But you don’t. You let yourself fall into it, the moment feeling like it was always meant to be. He kisses you slowly, savoring the connection, the sweetness of the moment. It’s different from everything else that’s happened. It’s grounding. It’s real. You feel his other hand come up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as he deepens the kiss, just enough to make your heart race. You melt into him, your own hands finding his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palm.

When he pulls away, you’re left breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. He’s still close enough for you to feel his warmth, his breath, and you can see the emotion in his eyes, the vulnerability that he doesn’t often show.

Before you can say anything, you feel Jisung’s hand on your back, his touch like a silent promise. He doesn’t say anything either—he just pulls you toward him gently, pressing his forehead to yours for a brief moment, a silent question in his eyes.

Then, Jisung leans in, his lips brushing against yours, not as gently as Minho’s, but still soft—there’s an intensity to his kiss, something more urgent, more fiery. It’s like he’s trying to say everything that words can’t. His hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel the heat of him against your body.

You give in to the kiss, your lips moving with his, a rhythm that feels familiar already, even though it’s the first time. He tastes like something sweet, something all his own, and you lose yourself in it. The world outside seems to fade away as you sink into the kiss, your arms wrapping around him to keep him close.

When he pulls away, his eyes are darker, filled with something you can’t quite place, but you know it’s real. The air around you feels heavier now, charged with the weight of everything unspoken.

You can’t help the nervous, lighthearted laugh that escapes you as you look at both of them. Their gaze is so intense, so full of warmth, that it makes your heart flutter. “I think I need a moment to catch my breath,” you say, feeling your face heat up. “God, I need ten business days to recover.”

Their laughter fills the air, light and easy, but it’s enough to make your heart race. Minho chuckles and reaches out, brushing his fingers against your cheek in a surprisingly tender way. “I think we should go inside now,” he says, his voice teasing but filled with a softness that catches you off guard.

But Jisung’s eyebrow arches, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he smirks. “You dirty thinker.” His tone is playful, but the way he looks at you makes it clear he’s not letting that moment pass by without some kind of response.

You turn away, your heart hammering in your chest as you try to regain your composure. You didn’t expect things to escalate so quickly, but now, with both of them so close, everything feels different.

As you step toward the door, Minho and Jisung follow closely behind, their steps in sync. You can feel the weight of their eyes on you, their presence right behind you, and it only makes your heart beat faster. 

When you finally reach the door, you hesitate for just a second before opening it, but as soon as you do, you feel two warm hands gently grip your waist from behind, pulling you back against their bodies.

Jisung’s breath is warm against your ear as he whispers, “You don’t get away that easily.”

Minho, on the other hand, leans in, his lips brushing against the side of your neck. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but gasp, your skin tingling at the touch. His lips move lower, brushing against the sensitive skin just below your ear, and you can feel the pressure of his kiss intensifying, as if he’s trying to convey everything he feels in this single moment.

Jisung, not wanting to be left out, moves his lips to the other side of your neck, kissing and nibbling lightly, sending another wave of heat through your body. The way they both move in sync, each kiss sending jolts of pleasure and warmth to your core, makes it almost impossible to think straight. Their hands stay firmly at your waist, steadying you as they continue their gentle assault of kisses, their presence all-consuming.

Your body instinctively leans back into them, a soft sigh escaping your lips. The air around you feels charged with something electric, something undeniable. You can feel the weight of their affection—how much they want you, how much they care.

Jisung and Minho press in closer, their breaths hot against your skin. Your heart’s pounding so hard you swear they can hear it, a frantic little rhythm that matches the way your body trembles under their touch. 

Lips crashing and tongues tangling, before they guided you here—your bed looming like some unspoken promise in the dim light. Jisung’s on your left, his soft lips grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear, and oh God, it’s like he’s teasing you on purpose. 

His kisses are light at first, playful nips that make you squirm, but then he drags his tongue slow and wet along the curve of your neck, a low hum vibrating from his throat. “You taste so good,” he murmurs, voice all breathy and needy, like he’s losing himself in it. His hand slides up your arm, fingers digging in just enough to send a shiver racing down your spine. He’s got that switch energy—sweet one second, then hungry the next—and it’s messing with your head in the best way.

Minho, though—he’s something else entirely. 

He’s on your right, and where Jisung teases, Minho claims. His mouth latches onto the other side of your neck, firm and unrelenting, teeth scraping against your skin before he sucks hard enough to leave a mark. 

You gasp, your head tipping back without you even meaning to, giving him more room to work. 

“Stay still,” he growls low against your throat, and it’s not a request—it’s a command that sinks straight into your core, pooling heat between your thighs. His hand’s already on your waist, gripping tight, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there like he’s anchoring you in place. 

He pulls back just enough to smirk, his dark eyes glinting as he inspects the red bloom he’s left on your skin. “That’s better,” he says, voice smooth and dangerous, and you’re already melting under the weight of it.

Your shirt’s bunched up from their hands roaming, the cool air hitting your exposed stomach, and I can’t tell whose fingers are brushing there first—Jisung’s, light and curious, or Minho’s, deliberate and possessive. 

Either way, it’s too much and not enough all at once. 

Jisung’s lips move lower, kissing along your collarbone now, sloppy and eager, his breath hitching like he’s just as wrecked as you are. “Fuck, you’re so soft,” he whines, and there’s that switch again—he’s needy, almost begging, but then he bites down lightly, testing you and you let out a shaky little moan.

Minho’s not having that, though. His hand slides up to your jaw, turning your face toward him, and his lips hover just over yours, close enough that you can feel the heat of him. 

“Eyes on me,” he says, sharp and low, and you obey without thinking, your gaze locking with his. He doesn’t kiss you yet—just watches, like he’s savoring how flustered you’re getting, how your chest heaves with every ragged breath. 

Then Jisung’s tongue flicks over a sensitive spot on your neck, and you whimper, and Minho’s grip tightens. “You like that, don’t you?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly. “Tell me.”

“Y-yes,” You stammer, voice barely a whisper, and Jisung chuckles softly against your skin, the sound vibrating through me. 

They’re everywhere—Jisung’s messy kisses trailing lower, Minho’s control pinning you in place—and you’re dizzy with it, sinking deeper into whatever this is, your body begging for more.

Your room feels like it’s shrinking, the air heavy with the scent of sweat and something sweeter, maybe Jisung’s lingering cologne or Minho’s leather-and-gunpowder vibe clinging to him from some earlier chaos.

 You’re pinned between them, your pulse racing as their hands and mouths work you into a haze. The bed’s right there, mattress dipping slightly under your weight as they press you back, and you’re not sure how much longer your legs can hold you up with the way they’re unraveling you.

Jisung’s lips sliding from your collarbone down to the edge of your shirt, tugging at it with his teeth like he’s half-teasing, half-desperate. “Fuck, you’re driving me crazy,” he breathes, voice cracking with want, and his hands—those quick, clever hands—slip under the fabric, brushing your bare stomach. 

His touch is light at first, fingers dancing over your skin, but then he presses harder, palms flat and warm, and you feel the faintest tremble in them. He’s switching again—needy to bold—his mouth finding the curve of your chest, kissing through the thin material, a wet spot blooming where his tongue lingers. 

Your back hits the matress of your bed, you’re in ful display for them to play with.

“Can’t get enough of you,” he mumbles, and his teeth graze your skin, sending a jolt straight through you.

Minho’s not about to let Jisung have all the fun. He grabs your chin tighter, forcing your gaze back to him. “Don’t get distracted,”he says, voice low and dripping with that cocky authority, and then he’s kissing you—hard, messy, all tongue and teeth like he’s claiming every inch of your mouth. 

It’s overwhelming, the way he takes control, his other hand sliding down your side, hooking into the waistband of your pants. He pulls back just enough to smirk, breath hot against your lips. “You’re ours tonight,” he says, and there’s no question in it—just pure, filthy promise. His fingers dip lower, teasing the edge of your underwear, and your breath hitches, loud in the quiet room.

Jisung’s not backing off, though—he’s tugging your shirt up higher now, exposing more of you to the cool air, and his lips follow, kissing a sloppy trail up your ribs. “So fucking pretty,” he whines, and you feel his fingers flex against your skin, like he’s fighting the urge to just rip everything off. 

Your hips buck involuntarily, seeking more friction, but Minho just chuckles and pulls back, denying you.

"Someone's impatient," he murmurs, voice low and teasing. His breath ghosts over your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "Tell us what you want, blondie. Beg for it."

As you arch into their touches, Jisung and Minho's gazes lock over your shoulder. The air crackles with tension, and before you can say another word, their lips crash together in a heated, desperate kiss. 

Jisung's hands grip Minho's shirt, pulling him closer as Minho's fingers tangle in Jisung's hair. They're kissing like they're starving for each other, tongues tangling in a messy dance that mirrors the chaos of their touches on your body. 

You're between them, every hitch in their breaths, and it's pushing you closer to the edge. Jisung's free hand roams over your hip, squeezing possessively, while Minho's fingers finally slip beneath your underwear, teasing your wet heat. 

Your sharp gasp breaks through their heated kiss, and they pull apart, panting. Jisung's eyes are dark with desire as he watches Minho's fingers brush against your pussy lips.

"Fuck, she's so wet," Minho murmurs, his voice rough with want. He presses a finger inside you, slow and deliberate, curling it just right to make your legs tremble. Jisung leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "You like that, don't you? Being touched by both of us?"

His hand slides up your stomach, squeezing your breast through your bra, thumb brushing over your nipple. You can only whimper in response, overwhelmed by their touches, their words, the heat building inside you. “Oh fuck.”

Minho smirks at the view of you being so needy, “Yeah? Like it?”

You nods and he adds a second finger, pumping them in and out at a steady pace, his thumb circling your clit. Jisung's hand slips into your bra, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. They're working in sync, pushing you higher and higher, their touches sending jolts of pleasure through your body. 

“S-Shit please!”

You're writhing between them, your hips moving on their own, chasing the friction. Jisung captures your mouth in a messy kiss, swallowing your moans as Minho's fingers curl deeper, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur. 

"Come on, Y/N," Minho encourages, his voice a low growl. "Show us how much you love this. Come for us."

Their touches grow more urgent, more demanding, as their own desire reaches a boiling point. Jisung breaks the kiss, panting heavily, his hard length pressing insistently against your hip.

“Fuck, I need to be inside you," he growls, his fingers digging into your thigh. Minho's breath is hot against your neck, his hips grinding against your backside, his erection evident through his pants. 

"Now,Y/N," he commands, his fingers pausing their movements. "Tell us what you want. Beg for our cocks." They're both trembling with restraint, their patience wearing thin, waiting for you to give them the green light to take you completely.

Your head moves backward as you can barely contain your moans, you’re seeing the stars.  “Please.”

The single, desperate plea falls from your lips, and it's like a dam breaking.

Jisung's hands are shaking as he unbuttons his pants, pushing them down just enough to free his hard, leaking cock. 

Minho's not far behind, his zipper echoing loudly in the room as he pulls out his own thick length. Your pants and panties moves down with your shaky hands, your eyes half hidden.

They position themselves at your entrance, the heads of their cocks pressing against your soaked folds, one from behind, jisung in front of you, waiting for your signal.

"Say it again," Jisung urges, his voice strained. "Tell us you need us."

Minho's hand wraps around your throat, tilting your head back, his eyes boring into yours. "Beg for it, Y/N.Beg for us to fill you up."

Your whimpers echoes in their ears, “Please, please i need it...” Your whines, desperate and needy, push them over the edge. With a synchronized thrust, they bury themselves inside you, stretching you deliciously. 

Jisung's hands grip your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your skin as he sets a fast, hard pace. Minho's hand remains on your throat, his other arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you back onto his cock as he meets Jisung's thrusts. 

They're moving in perfect sync, their cocks rubbing against each other through the thin barrier, creating a delicious friction that has you seeing stars. "Fuck, you're so tight," Jisung pants, his hips snapping forward. 

"So perfect," Minho agrees, his lips brushing against your ear. They're consuming you, filling you completely, their bodies pressing you between the mattress and their hard muscles. The room fills with the sounds of their grunts, your moans, and the slick slap of skin on skin.

You clench around their thick length, you can’t last long. “Guys... g-guys i don’t...—” 

Your words trail off into a high-pitched whine as your orgasm crashes over you, your inner walls clamping down on their cocks. Jisung and Minho groan in unison, their thrusts growing erratic as they chase their own releases.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're squeezing us so hard," Jisung grits out, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. Minho's grip on your throat tightens slightly, his other hand snaking around to rub tight circles on your clit, prolonging your pleasure.

"Com’on, baby, milk our cocks," he encourages, his voice a low, dirty murmur in your ear. Their hips piston forward, driving into you with abandon, the bed shaking beneath you as they pound you through your orgasm and into another. 

The sensation is overwhelming, your body convulsing between theirs as they fill you with their hot cum, marking you inside and out.

As the final waves of your shared orgasm subside, Jisung and Minho collapse on either side of you, their bodies slick with sweat. They're breathing heavily, their chests heaving against your back and side. Jisung presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering on your skin.

"You okay?" he asks softly, his hand brushing your hair back from your forehead. Minho's arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer to him, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your stomach.

“That was... intense," he murmurs, a hint of a smile in his voice. You're sandwiched between them, their warmth enveloping you, their scents mingling with yours in a heady mix. The room is quiet except for the sound of your labored breaths and the occasional soft murmur from Jisung, still high from the passion.

You’re lying between Jisung and Minho, their arms still around you, and you’re trying to catch your breath—though, it feels like it’s still stuck somewhere in your chest. Every time your mind tries to process what just happened, your heart starts to beat faster, and your stomach does little flips, making it impossible to focus.

You shift a little, your body pressed against theirs, and it sends a jolt of warmth through your skin. The soft pressure of their arms around you makes you feel safe, and the intimacy of it all hits you in waves. This is really happening. You’re trying to act normal, but it’s impossible when you feel like you’re on fire from the inside out.

“Ugh, I don’t even know what to do with myself right now,” you mumble, your voice barely a whisper, but loud enough that both of them can hear. You let out a little giggle, not sure if you want to laugh or groan. “I just... I just had an intimate moment with Spider-Man and Deadpool—and I’m freaking out.”

Jisung chuckles softly, nuzzling the top of your head with his nose. “What’s wrong, angel? Not used to being surrounded by two heroes?”

Minho grunt, hitting jisung’s head with his hand slapping it lightly, making the younger whine, “I’m not such a ‘hero’ thing.”

You groan dramatically, burying your face in your pillow to hide your flushed cheeks. “I mean, yes! This is crazy! How do I even—” You cut yourself off, feeling like you can’t even form a coherent thought right now. “I mean... you two,” you manage, your words coming out in a tiny, whiny voice. “I... I can’t believe I just had an amazing time with you two.”

Minho shifts beside you, his hand brushing gently against your waist. His voice is low and soothing, but you can hear the teasing lilt in it. “You seemed to enjoy it, though. You kept asking for more.”

Your entire face flushes at his words, and you groan again, hiding your face in the pillow even harder. “Stop!” you whine, flailing your arms a little in frustration.  Minho chuckles, leaning in to press a light kiss to the top of your head. “You’re adorable when you’re all embarrassed like this. Don’t worry, though. We’re not going anywhere.”

Your heart flutters even more at that, and the gentle reassurance makes you want to curl up into them even further. What did I just get myself into? You’re overwhelmed, your mind still racing, but somehow in the best way possible.

“God, I feel like I need to take a moment to breathe,” you say, burying your face in the crook of Jisung’s arm. “I’m so dizzy. You two are so... intense.” You giggle again, trying to make light of the situation even though your body is tingling with heat. 

Minho hums lowly, his hand lightly caressing your back. “We’re not going to make you regret it, blondie. Trust me.” You sigh dramatically, still feeling the aftershocks of the intimacy. 

The weight of everything hangs in the air for a moment, and then you feel them both press a kiss to your forehead, making your heart flip once more. This is real. This is happening. You can’t deny it anymore.

“Don’t worry,” Jisung says softly, his voice tender now. “We’re here. Always.”

You close your eyes, smiling to yourself, feeling the warmth of their closeness. “Yeah,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I guess... I guess I’m lucky. I have Spider-Man and Deadpool here. With me.”

[linkyychan]

I had to draw one of my favourite scenes from ISYH, Ochako is such an amazing character and seeing her growth was so satisfying

Go read the fic on this link. It's by @firesign-18, i've finished reading the fic a few days ago and it was suuuuch a ride. I'll leave my thoughts below the read more 🥹

HI! if you're reading this..... i went a bit crazy reading this fic it was such an amazing work. If you haven't read it yet, don't read what I'm gonna write here.

I was recommended this fic months ago but I put it aside because there weren't that many chapters out yet and i just KNEW i needed a bunch of chapters out before starting it, cause i would have trouble not reading it all so fast after reading just the summary. That was a fantastic decision, it was so worth the wait.

I want to talk about it in sections so i can explain my thoughts properly :') There's so many aspects of the fic I loved and I wanna take the time to explain because I never really do it and this time I want to..

First the beginning and the little changes: We start off with our favourite, miserable Ochako (yay canon!), except this time it's even worse cause even less of her fight with himiko was recorded. I was kinda scared there but of course i shouldnt have doubted for a second. Anyway, Himiko is alive!! and the heroes got a way to salvage the footage of the tgck fight from Ochako's mind, so it gives her hope again :)

I wanna move forward a bit after Himiko is back because I wanted to talk about something I like to wonder a lot: how do you write a redemption arc for himiko toga post last war. I've read a bunch of fics with the same premise and I always love those who get a bunch of people to come together to help her achieve it. I love the UA involvement, as well as All Might, Miruko and Ochako of course. And the concepts of the strikes and conditions are very realistic, I liked seeing how we were gonna achieve Hero Himiko someday. All the process explained, I love when its this detailed!

I do wanna talk about another aspect before jumping into the tgck big stuff: OCs. I love OCs so much. There's Dr Ellie and the Spares who are the most important here. First Dr Ellie- whats not to like abotu her. She's been helping Himiko for a long time now, we grew to know her too, and she has a badass past, we were all gonna like her. Now the siblings: yeah i do think it's a big decision to make the villains OCs, and it really worked because they were so well developped. I went to a whole lot of emotions with them, from anger (*cough* chapter 43), through sadness and joy :') They were easy to sympathise with, and i just love how again, everyone decided the "save them" route. It really fit well with Himiko's story.

OKAY now tgck my beloved... i am so happy they got together-ish relatively fast because oh boy were they down for each other so bad. I love how it tackled their lives in relation to their future job as hero, this is a part I'm always curious to see. I really prefer when a future where Himiko is alive doesn't revolve 100% around Ochako. I want to see what she could do herself, grow with others and I think this fic accomplished this perfectly. I like that she's able to forgive herself and grow and imagine a future where she is thriving. Himiko means so much to me as a character and she was written beautifully. For Ochako, I love it soo much when she's strong and so skilled and she's pushing her limits. I loved exploring her grief and her hopes, then her struggles with selflessness vs trying to be a bit more selfish for a change. These two complement each other so well. That was such an amazing read, I'll probable have to read it again in a few weeks to relive it all.

Anyway I'm not sure who took the time to read all this, I don't usually do comments or something besides a few heart emotes here and there but for that fic, it was so good I just wanted to write something and now I've spent a long time writing :') It just hits all the boxes in tgck tropes for me so it was a blast to read!

(Also shout-out to possessive Ochako, i really love her being as crazy for himiko as himiko is for her....)

[nayaesworld]

The Beast in the Woods

Warnings: smut, supernatural!Terry

Word count: 3800+

Don’t let the wolf in through your back door…

Nature attracted Willow for as long as she could remember it enchanted her and she filled her time nurturing plants and animals alike. Some would say she spent way too much time surrounded by thick greenery and that’s why she couldn’t stand to be around people. But Willow just preferred her own company most times.

Buying a cottage smack dead in the middle of lush woods sounded like a nightmare to most, but this was prime real estate to Willow. Mornings were spent feeding the neighboring deer herd and wild bunnies that had taken a liken to her and her vegetable garden. After getting tired of trying to keep them from her garden, she had given in and just decided to share what she couldn’t eat, they had a beautiful balance out there and she was content with her little piece of paradise.

This morning was no different, she had awoken from her soft bed in a cheerful mood, an angel in her own right. Completing her morning routine she shook out her short curls and misted them lightly with a little water. This morning a light fog blanketed the woodlands and she pulled on her hiking boots and coat eager to rush out into it.

Expecting to open her large front door to hungry animals, she was shocked to find her front yard and small porch clear of any wildlife. Shrugging to herself she shoved her phone into her coat pocket and started her trek out to the pond a little ways past her cottage.

She loved to visit it because it was a great spot to take pictures and watch nature move around her. The air was fresh and dewy and she smiled up into it, soaking in the clean fresh country air. She thrived off it.

It didn’t take her long to see the pond up ahead and she began to quicken her pace, rushing to seat herself on a log a few feet from the water. And oddly enough when she sat there and waited, no deer rushed out to meet her, no bunnies nibbled at her boots, and no birds chirped from their high perches. Something felt off, it was eerily quiet in the usually loud and bustling woods. Willow felt out of place and oddly like a sitting duck, what had happened between yesterday and now? Sighing to herself she felt like what people said about her was true, if this is what her happiness depended on… was she broken? She admitted she wasn’t into what your typical twenty-three year old was into, but twenty somethings weren’t a monolith… they couldn’t possibly expect her to like something just because they did.

“Maybe I do need to go out and meet people… this is pathetic.” She mumbled to herself and tugged on her short curls, she didn’t wanna beat herself down over human companionship… not again. It had never gotten her anywhere before, but every now and again she truly did long for someone, someone to love and care for outside of her animals. A man? She laughed out loud this time. Would she know the first thing to do with a man? How to cater to him, feed him, pleasure him? God no, she had no such idea the first thing to do with a man,and maybe that’s why she’d never been with one.

Twisting her lips to the side, she decided she wouldn’t make this trip into the woods a depressing one. She would make the very best of it all.

He’d spent the last two weeks watching the little brown beauty flit and twirl effortlessly through the woods. It had been exactly two weeks since he caught a scent so strong and enticing in the wind, that he could only focus on one thing until he found her. Her scent had traveled for miles on the wind, over rivers and lakes and smacked him dead in the face. A sweet scent that reminded him of the honeysuckle that grew in large vines in the bushes, at first he fought to overcome the bloodlust but now he realized he had succumbed to it.

The constant stalking and eying had made him a student to her never changing routine. Each morning she would water her garden and feed the wild animals that gratefully took the easy food from her,each afternoon she would walk the trail to the pond, and she would end her day meditating on a mat in the middle of her flower garden.

Did she know that he’d been watching and waiting around to be fed by her? To feed from her, to soak in the very life force that pumped through her veins. He felt feral and out of his own body most times he was in close proximity of her, the beast inside grinding and gnawing at his mind.

Today was no different; her humming and singing through the woods had alerted him, he cocked his head towards the music coming from her mouth, listening and intrigued yet again. Wasn’t she afraid to be taken out here all alone? Hadn’t she known that she could be snatched and no one would ever find a trace? What was she trying to prove, he felt insulted by her lack of awareness, maybe she needed something to scare her into a sense of self preservation.

This night he knew he could no longer hold back, he felt the presence of the full moon before nightfall ever came, it compelled him to do two things, feed and fuck. Would she even survive something so animalistic as him, and would she accept him for who he truly was? Her love for all things furry and wild made him believe so, but he wouldn’t bet that her pretty little eyes would fill with terror and flee at what he truly was, the form he would take every full moon.

He didn’t have all day to get close to her, so he began to plan his attempt…

Dressed in a cream colored milkmaid dress Willow twirled from side to side, she felt pretty and ethereal. Her curly hair was pulled into a low ponytail and she left her short curly bangs to grace her forehead, slipping on her chocolate brown cowgirl boots she hurried out her back door and into her backyard to water her flowers.

Turning on her water hose she turned the nozzle a few times to her preferred setting and drenched her thirsty plants with water. Her sunflowers had wilted a little from her neglect, but she was hopeful they would perk right on up by tomorrow morning. Walking over and checking her rose bush, she snipped a few stems with her garden pliers and slipped them into her glass vase. These would look gorgeous in her kitchen window. She enjoyed the extended sunlight because on days like this she could water her flowers at 8 pm.

A twig snapping in the close distance snapped her from admiring her flowers, standing to her full height she waited for the deer to come to her… but they never did, instead to her horror she watched a man step out from the woods. Dropping the water hose from her hand she stood in shock, she stared out at him confused by his presence yet curious. Did she have new neighbors?

“Hello…umm are you lost?” Her chipper voice carried across the small meadow.

“Yess… and I’m hurt… I was attacked out in the woods and lost my phone. I’m bleeding and I need to call for help.” His deep voice touched her ear drums and rattled her head, it was so rich and she found herself wanting to hear him talk more.

“I.. umm.. I have a phone you could use, but you’d have to wait outside. Is that ok?” She wanted to help but she still was weary of strangers, no matter how handsome.

“Yes that’s fine with me….thank you.” She watched him walk closer and she stepped into her back door to grab her cell phone. When she made it back outside the size of the man smacked her in the face, even sitting on her bench he seemed to be just as tall as her standing up. The shirt that clung to his body was like a second skin, ready to rip to pieces at any sudden movement. His arms were huge and his bulging biceps were the same size as her head. Stepping closer to him she noticed the blood dripping from his side where a large gash had ripped into his shirt and skin.

“Oh my god… your side.. are you sure you should bleed out like this?” Her panicked questions came out in a blur, this was worse than she had imagined.

“No… I feel dizzy and hot. I need some water please… I feel like I might pass out.” The handsome stranger looked green in the face, like his life was fading away slowly and that he might not last long.

Willow couldn’t let this man die in her backyard. Throwing caution to the wind, she helped him off the bench and let him inside her home to her dining table.

Rushing to her medicine cabinet she pulled out gauze pads and peroxide along with a ointment to help clean the wound while it was patched up.

“I-I can help you ok…. Please don’t die on me…hello, sir can you hear me?” Raising his head from her dining table he put a thumbs up, and she breathed out heavily. Placing the first aid kit on her table she watched him lift his shirt, grimacing as the fabric and old blood stuck to the gash.

“I’m sorry if this hurts… but it’s all I have for something like this… are you ready?” Lifting his head he peered into her eyes and nodded his head. Uncapping the peroxide she quickly doused the wound, the fizzle of it drowned out by his loud groans. His fist balled up at his sides and she lightly placed her hand on his back.

Hurrying to douse it one more time for good measure she cleaned the debris and blood from the area and placed a large gauze over the area. Rushing to her fridge she grabbed two cold bottles of water and sat them in front of him. Uncapping the water she watched across the kitchen as he sucked down both bottles insanely fast. Could her day get any weirder?

It worked? The injured stranger ploy had really worked. He wasn’t too surprised though and enjoyed her tending to his self inflicted wound, her small warm hands felt like dancing fire on his skin, flickering and flitting as they pleased. Yet trying not to hurt him.

Her small frame was now across the kitchen as she carefully watched him, probably wishing she hadn’t let him into her home.

“Thank you… I imagine it wasn’t easy to let a stranger into your home… but I’m appreciative.” He let his voice drop and become soft, and he watched her form straighten up. A small smile gracing her perfect cherub face before she spoke.

“Umm…you are very welcome…are you from around here… you can still call someone if you need to?” Oh he would be doing no such thing, he was exactly where he needed to be; wanted to be. The lion oh so entranced with the lamb…

“Yess I’d still like to take that call if I can.” Placing her phone into his large hands he pretended to dial a number as he faked a phone call to a family member.

As he ended the fake call he glanced at the time in the corner of her screen… 10:30 pm.

He couldn’t hold it in anymore, felt it in his bones, felt it where she touched him. The full moon loomed over the cottage like a bat signal, and he watched her chest rise and fall with her breast. Her perky titties sitting up in her little milk maiden dress, he heard the pulse racing in her veins. Was she getting scared? She should be, you don’t talk to strangers and you certainly don’t let them into your home.

“So… is-is someone gonna come to pick you up…. If not that’s fine … I can drop you where you need to go?” She was growing suspicious of him; he even smelt a little fear mixed into the air. Was he sick to be turned on by this little doe’s fear, couldn’t he just walk away and spare her… no he had gone too far already to turn back.

“No one is coming to get me… and I don’t want you to drop me anywhere… I’m exactly where I need to be, sweetheart.” Grinning at her he could feel his canines begin to elongate and come to a point. Her eyes widened as she backed into the corner in her kitchen, he raised out of her kitchen chair and stalked towards her.

“Please don’t make this hard for me little doe… I’m here to bring you pleasure… and a little pain if you let me.” He took her face into his hands and sniffed the jet black curls on her head, filling his nose with the pomegranate scent from her favorite hair care line.

She smelled sweet from head to toe, a lamb walking into a lions den. She finally let her big chocolate orbs meet his and he watched the fear wash from her body, what had she seen in his eyes that caused a sudden change of heart… she couldn’t possibly feel for him what he felt for her.

“Please don’t hurt me….I don’t want you to hurt me… please be gentle.” Ahh so she was giving in, and she didn’t even know what to. She didn't know that she’d be devoured from the inside out and ravished. She took the first chance she could to lean up and press her lips to his, her little body felt electrical. Sparks flying from her hot skin, he growled and curled his large hand around her slim neck and hungry introduced her mouth to his tongue.

“Why are you giving yourself to me so eagerly… aren’t you afraid?” He watched as she shook her head no, she should be.

“No… I’ve waited for something like this for so long… why be scared? You won’t hurt me… right?” His intense ocean eyes squinted as they stared down at her, opening his mouth he revealed his long canines. Her dainty hand reached up with her pointer finger and touched his teeth in awe. As she began to retract her hand he captured it in his and sucked her finger into his hot mouth.

“Wha-what are you?” Her breath came out in shudders as he reached into the crook of her neck to nip into it.

“I’m a beast you’ll learn to love… or you’ll die trying.” Tugging her ponytail back he extended her neck further and ran his tongue along her jumping pulse, it was all he could hear right now outside of her little gasps. What did her blood taste like?

Slinging the little brown beauty over his shoulder he carried her down the hall to her bedroom. The room smelled of her, had a boho vibe and was filled with greenery. A true reflection of the little nature fairy he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into. She had long ago kicked off her boots and now only resided in her cream dress, brown eyes low with need.

“This is my first time… will you be gentle with me…I want this to be special.” She was cute, cute to assume gentle is what she’d achieve fucking with an animal. The news excited him and furthered his own obsession for her, could humans carry Lycan cubs… he was being irrational, hung up on the thought of never feeling loneliness again.

He pulled her up and watched her undress, all that was left… a pair of white cotton panties. Stripping out his own clothes he moved to hover above her and suckled her c cup breast into his mouth. His large tongue sucking her pebbled nipples into his mouth, her skin even tasted sweet… whatever homemade body cream she had whipped up; her skin the scent of mangoes. Moaning low in his ears he watched her writhe beneath him, thighs rubbing together to apply friction to her dripping pussy.

“Aht aht… let me work my way down to it lil mama… are you wet yet?” Still sucking on her breast he raked his hand down her body until they met the hem of her panties. Sliding his hands into her panties he felt the wet spot forming in the front and groaned. This wet little pussy was priming itself for him, and it had no idea what was in store. His finger rubbed up and down her wet lips, slowly reaching the little slit that poured liquid like a faucet.

“Please… put it in please I’m begging.” Her pants were music to his ears and he pushed his middle finger into her warm entrance and stroked slowly, listening to the squish get louder and louder. Her legs widened and he positioned her to sit with her back to his chest and pull her legs up to hers. He ordered her to kick off her panties and lay against him as he worked on adding his second finger.

“Ahh-hmm… please…pl- oh I want to cum… can I please” she squealed out at him and he sped his fingers up, smacking into her fat mound at a speed she couldn’t catch on too. Her breath rushed out of her breath quickly and before he knew it a clear coat of liquid coated his fingers. Pulling his fingers out he observed the liquid up close and placed it to his nose. His own personal drug, he was sure his eyes had crossed as he let the sticky fluid touch his tongue.

Moving from behind her he stood in front of her and grabbed her chin into his hand. “I want you to taste yourself… taste this sweet pussy.” She allowed his tongue to seize her mouth, and their tongues tangled in her mouth. He was changing again, his nail beds now long, dawning claws at the bed of them.

He stood again dick hung and swinging in front of her… it was now or never. He had to take this little doe and expose her to the reality of him. He couldn’t ignore the worried expression on her face if she tried.

“Listen to me, I can only make this gentle if you relax for me… if you seize up it will hurt… I need you to trust me and let me do this for you.”

“Ok… I’ll try.” Her voice came out low but his ears caught her words. Laying her down on her back he placed her legs on either side of his head and started to lead that fat head of his penis into her tight little hole. It was excruciating for him… the pressure her walls put on him made him eager to hold her down and pound her out… but he had to go slow and be patient for her. He lifted up and watched her face, it was scrunched up and her mouth laid wide open sucking in air slowly, sliding another few inches in he felt her hands rest at his hips to stop him.

“Just a little slower ... .please” and slow is what he gave her, pulling all the way out he started over. Eager to have her begging to be filled with ten inches of supernatural dick. The slow stroking opened up a small water park between them, her cunt now open and taking his heavier strokes.

Her bed shook and smacked into the wall loudly as he slammed down into her awaiting pussy. Pulling out he drug her body towards the edge of the bed and pressed her knees into her chest; continuing his assault on her good pussy he anchored himself to the floor and dipped his hips, knocking the Mario coins out of her. Reaching out to grab at his back she gasped for air, her face a mixture of confusion and ecstasy.

“Oh-ahh… please I feel something…. I have to pee please… oooweee.” This put his stroking into overdrive and he watched as a geyser erupted from between them.

Her spent body splayed out in front of him, he felt the effects of the full moon begin to fully change him. She watched in fear as his body contorted and twisted, skin ripping apart to make way for fur and claws. His already large ears thinned out and grew long on top of his head, his mouth elongating into a snout. The creature barely able to stand up fully in her bedroom watched her carefully, she was too afraid to move a muscle and offered herself up to the beast.

It moved towards her in a stalking manner and stroked the soft skin of her cheek. “Please don’t stop…. I still want more…. I don’t care if this is what you really are.”

He had waited to hear those words all night long, and indeed had no plans on stopping. Careful not to scratch her with his long claws he flipped Willow over and arched her back, sitting her ass as high up as he could get it. The beast growled as it reached down to lap at the wetness that still leaked from her, the long dick between his legs jumping having a mind of its own.

Leading his penis into her snug hole he lifted his head back and howled, the sound booming throughout her house and her brain, the strokes were hard and fast. The constant feeling of fur brushing against her body tickled her and made her pussy leak more into him. A small cut formed from where his claws had nicked her and he reached down and suckled at the blood.

“Ohhh fuck me… har-harder…. Yessss baby please.” She was lost in euphoria, clouded and claimed by the beast’s presence. He continued to pound into her alarmingly fast, reaching down to tug on her curls.

His hips began to falter and she felt her walls tugging on his dick, with a deep growl and a nip to her neck she felt him pumping his semen into her. His full body weight on her she could only lay there and succumb.

Willow awoke the next day feeling….freshly fucked. Her mind and body wrapped in a mini coma that she would gladly endure again and again. Turning around she stared down at the beautiful man in bed next to her…he had come into her life and quite literally rocked it.

“You never told me your name.” She pouted down at him and accepted a peck to her lips.

“I’m Terry… Terry Richmond.”

A/N: I am so insane for this😭it’s currently 3am my time and I just finished typing this up… it was a random thought at like 8pm and I was like woah wtf. Anywho I really hope yall like it🫶🏾

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @keyaho @kimuzostar @theereina @fakxmbj @uzumaki-rebellion @miyuhpapayuh @megamindsecretlair