#was there a point to this post? not really i just felt like it

[eu-nicola]

johnny storm x reader

english isn't my first language (warning: ¿?) (words: 5,2k)

summary: a young and charming scientist temporarily joins the team to help in a dimensional investigation. He gets along very well with you... too well for Johnny's taste.

The Baxter Tower was never truly silent, but that morning, the air felt different.

Something more than the elevator engines and the flickering screens in the labs. Something… new.

You didn’t realize it until you saw him: tall, slim but with good posture, dark slightly tousled hair, thick-rimmed glasses that didn’t hide his curious, bright eyes. He looked like he had walked straight out of a movie about eccentric geniuses, with the charming detail that he didn’t seem to know how good he looked.

“You’re just in time,” Reed said as you walked in. “I want to introduce you to someone. This is Dr. Callum Hart. We invited him to collaborate on the research regarding the dimensional residue post-cosmic collision.”

“A pleasure,” Callum said with a smile, extending his hand.

His handshake was firm, warm. Not arrogant, not overly eager, right in that perfect middle point of someone who really knows how to deal with people.

“I’m…” you started, but he cut you off with a crooked smile.

“I know. They’ve told me about you. Reed doesn’t stop talking about your intuition with the monitoring system, and Sue says you’re the only one who doesn’t let Johnny always get his way. Pretty impressive.”

You laughed, a little surprised. Not because they talked about you, but because of how he said it. As if he already knew you.

“Well, if you manage to survive a full day here without Johnny challenging you, I’ll be impressed too.”

“Challenge accepted, then,” he said with a half-smile, and something in his tone, half-joking, half-intrigued, made you glance down for a second. Were you… blushing?

Reed, completely unaware of the quiet tension forming, turned to his monitors, talking about unstable readings and unfiltered data. Callum stayed beside you, observing everything closely until Reed asked him to set up in the east wing of the lab.

“Want me to show you around?” you offered. Not out of obligation, but because, honestly, you wanted to.

“Are you going to make sure I don’t get lost or accidentally blow something up?”

“Something like that,” you replied with a side smile.

You walked through the hallways in silence for a few seconds. Callum was taking everything in attentively, like every wire told a story. You could tell he was someone who enjoyed the details, he asked smart questions, but without the pretentious air many scientists had. When he spoke, he did it with a mix of confidence and genuine enthusiasm that felt… refreshing.

“So, how did you end up here?” he asked, stopping in front of one of the windows that looked out onto the city.

“Chemical accident, superpowers, secret identity. The usual,” you joked, and he let out a low, warm, sincere laugh.

“I knew you were interesting, but that confirms my suspicions.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. Since when did you let yourself be charmed so easily by a guy in a lab coat?

After showing him his new workspace and helping him sync his console to the central lab network, Callum looked at you with a mix of gratitude and curiosity.

“Thanks for the tour. Are you always this nice to strangers?”

“Only the ones who don’t try to steal alien tech or burn down the cafeteria… twice.”

“Well, then I’ll make sure to keep my record clean. And, if you’re up for it, maybe you could help me make sense of these dimensional readings tomorrow. I’d really like to know how you interpret them.”

You nodded, though you couldn’t help but feel that familiar, annoying tingle at the back of your neck… like someone was watching you.

And sure enough, when you turned toward the hallway door, you saw him.

Leaning casually against the frame, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, and an expression that screamed: Really?

Johnny.

And by the way he was looking at you, you knew the peace wouldn’t last long.

You straightened slightly.

“Well, well,” Johnny finally said, in that voice of his that somehow managed to sound both irritating and charming at the same time. “Giving private tours now? Is that part of the welcome package, or just for the special ones?”

Callum looked up, slightly confused. You, on the other hand, didn’t need any translation for what Johnny was implying.

“Johnny,” you said, not bothering to hide the irritation in your tone. “This is Dr. Hart. He’s helping with the dimensional energy experiment.”

“Right, the dimensional energy experiment…” Johnny repeated with feigned interest, slowly walking toward you. “Nothing says ‘serious science’ like laughing in hushed tones in a hallway. I already feel safer.”

“I’m sure my presence will be useful,” Callum said, still trying to be polite. “Though I see sarcasm is also a constant here.”

Johnny let out a dry laugh, like that somehow counted as a win.

“Only when I pick up… weird vibes. You know, like when someone new shows up and gets a little too comfortable, a little too fast.”

“Weird vibes?” you repeated, crossing your arms.

Johnny shrugged theatrically.

“Sorry, nothing personal. Just struck me as odd how certain people,” he said, looking directly at you, “stop answering my calls, but magically find time to stroll around with cool scientists who sound like romance novel characters.”

“Are you jealous, Storm?” you asked, your voice laced with a smooth, dangerous kind of irony.

“Me? Jealous?” he laughed, raising his hands. “Nah. I’m just observing. Like a good team member. Aren’t we supposed to keep an eye on anomalies?”

“You’re insufferable,” you said with an incredulous laugh, shaking your head. “You literally came in here just to say nonsense.”

“Nonsense? I’m protecting the Tower’s ecosystem! Who knows if the newbie didn’t show up with some hidden agenda?”

Callum, clearly feeling awkward but still maintaining his polite composure, took a step back, giving you space to decide whether you wanted to keep entertaining this nonsense… or put an end to it.

And honestly, you thought about it for a second. But looking at Johnny, so ridiculously smug, with that expression that said this annoys me more than I’m willing to admit, made the choice pretty easy.

“You know what? I don’t have time for this pointless conversation,” you said, giving Callum’s console a light pat. “See you later, Dr. Hart.”

“Of course. Anytime,” he replied with a sincere smile that only made Johnny scowl deeper.

Without looking back, you walked past Johnny down the hallway, dodging his attempt to stop you with a “Seriously, you’re leaving like that?” You didn’t answer. You didn’t give him the satisfaction. You just kept walking.

You heard him let out an exaggerated sigh behind you, like the whole world was punishing him for something that clearly wasn’t his fault.

Around the corner, Sue was sitting on one of the couches in the common area, Franklin asleep in her lap. When she saw you approach, she looked up and smiled.

“What did you do this time?” she asked quietly, not needing the details.

“Nothing,” you said, flopping down beside her with a sigh. “Just had a very… Johnny Storm conversation.”

Sue nodded with that older sister expression that had seen the same scene far too many times.

“And how did it go with the new guy?”

“Charming. Smart. Polite.”

“That’s going to drive him crazy.”

“It already started,” you muttered, and both of you laughed softly, careful not to wake Franklin.

At the end of the hallway, still out of your sight, Johnny remained standing, staring at the spot where you had disappeared, his frown deep, and his annoyance not quite hidden beneath any of his usual jokes.

The next day

The lab smelled like fresh coffee and overheated plastic from the screens. It was exactly 9:00 a.m., and you were already in front of the central monitor, checking the energy flows that still showed interference after the collision with the dimensional breach.

But you weren’t alone for long.

“Good morning,” said a soft, familiar voice beside you.

Callum.

He had faint dark circles under his eyes and was holding two cups of coffee.

“I thought you might like your coffee black,” he said, offering you one of the cups. “If not, I can try a different formula tomorrow.”

“This is perfect, thank you,” you smiled, taking it.

He leaned next to you, eyes on the data on the screen with a serious but relaxed expression, the kind of focus that didn’t feel tense, just curious. Throughout the morning, you exchanged ideas, he asked you questions, and you tossed a few back at him. Sometimes you debated minor theoretical interpretations, but without any bad energy, like a mental game you both enjoyed more for the company than the outcome.

“So, what do you do when you’re not saving the world with the team?” he asked as you loaded a new simulation.

“Sleep a lot. Read books that have nothing to do with science,” you said without thinking, and it made him laugh.

“Incredible. A normal person. Didn’t expect that in the Baxter Tower.”

“And you? Do you have a life outside the lab?”

“I used to. Now I’m trying to remember what that was like.”

You glanced at him. There was something vulnerable in his response, and also a kind of honesty you hadn’t expected. Just when you were about to say something, you heard the unmistakable sound of boots on the metal floor. Heavy. Rhythmic.

And without even looking, you knew who it was.

“Oh, look,” Johnny said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes as he approached. “How interesting. You and Doctor Bond, once again deep in quantum conspiracy.”

Callum let out a short, awkward laugh. He wasn’t dumb, he’d picked up on the tension, the look Johnny gave your coffee cup, and the way his eyes locked onto you like he was waiting for you to say something. Anything.

“Storm,” Callum said with a polite nod. “We were just discussing the oscillating behavior of dimensional residues. Your field readings helped quite a bit.”

“Ah, yes. My scientific contribution of the year: not exploding. Thanks for the recognition,” Johnny replied, hands in his pockets. “But I don’t want to interrupt the… intellectual synergy.”

He didn’t move, but he didn’t need to. His gaze said it all, he was measuring every gesture, every laugh, every inch of closeness.

“You’re not interrupting,” you said at last, your voice calm, without even looking at him.

And that, maybe, bothered him more than any direct response.

“Well, if you need anything involving fire, destruction, or charisma, you know where to find me,” Johnny added, turning to leave. But right before stepping out of the lab, he stopped at the door without turning back. “Oh, and you, Sue’s looking for you.”

“I’ll go in a bit,” you said, not moving.

“No, she said now. She has to leave, and Franklin only falls asleep with you.”

That actually made you smile.

“All right,” you said to Callum as you stood up. “I’ll leave you alone with the residues.”

“I’ll try not to let them explode while you’re gone,” he joked, and that made Johnny make a faint sound in his throat, barely noticeable, but loaded with intent.

You left the lab just behind him.

Johnny didn’t say anything at first. He walked a few steps ahead of you, not even trying to hide his discomfort. The tension in his back, the loaded silence… everything screamed annoyed.

“Are you going to say something, or just keep chewing on drama in silence?” you asked in your driest tone.

“Say something?” Johnny shrugged without looking at you. “Nah. I’m just surprised how quickly certain people click with others. Especially if they have doctorates and… shiny eyes.”

You looked at him in disbelief. Shiny eyes?

“You’re acting like a child.”

“And you’re acting like you don’t notice.”

“Notice what?”

Johnny stopped. He turned to face you, his eyes blazing, not literally, but almost.

“That I don’t like seeing you with him.”

You froze. The confession was so abrupt that you needed a second to process it. He held your gaze, no sarcasm this time, no smile.

But you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction. Not yet.

“I have more important things to discuss with Sue,” you finally said, and left him standing in the middle of the hallway, no response, no comeback, nothing.

You didn’t look back when the elevator doors closed. But you could feel it, his silence echoing off the walls.

Later that same day, the sky was clear, painted with those warm tones that filtered between New York’s skyscrapers at sunset. You’d just finished helping Sue and, after making sure everything was calm, you were planning to head back to your room and forget about everything for a few hours.

But Callum was waiting in the hallway, no lab coat, just a light jacket and a soft smile.

“Want to get some fresh air?” he asked, like it was no big deal. “The city looks amazing at this hour. Also, I need real coffee. Reed only buys that horrible flavored kind.”

You blinked, a little surprised. But you also realized you needed it, a breath, a pause.

“Okay,” you smiled. “But only if coffee isn’t the only hidden agenda.”

“Maybe I also wanted company for ice cream and to make fun of street art,” he said with a shrug. “But you can pretend you didn’t notice.”

The city was alive, as always, but at that hour it felt gentler. Callum walked beside you at a relaxed pace, not talking constantly, but always attentive. There was no need to fill the silence with forced conversation, sometimes he’d just point something out: a badly translated sign, a graffiti with an absurd scientific reference, a cat perched in a window, and that was enough to make you laugh.

You ended up at a small ice cream shop tucked between two old buildings. The owner greeted you like you were old friends and offered samples of several flavors before you decided.

“Mint chip or sea salt dulce de leche?” you asked, hesitating over the tiny spoons.

“Always dulce de leche. Mint should only exist in mouthwash.”

You burst out laughing. It was the kind of absurd opinion said so seriously that you couldn’t help but laugh.

You walked with your ice cream down a quiet street. Callum told you stories from other labs, failed experiments, coworkers who forgot microwaves weren’t for reheating biological samples, a researcher who almost created life accidentally in a coffee maker. You told him about the time Franklin, just by being there, accidentally altered the gravity system and made the entire living room float for ten minutes. Even Ben was in the air.

“I think I really needed this,” you confessed at one point, as you both sat on a bench under the shade of a tree.

“Fresh air? Ice cream?”

“No. Being with someone I don’t have to stay on guard around all the time. Who isn’t waiting for me to react, explode, or play along. Just… talk. Be.”

Callum looked at you gently, as if he understood more than he said.

“Me too,” he replied honestly.

The sun had almost completely set, and the city lights were starting to flicker on. He didn’t try to touch you, didn’t push any gesture. He just stayed there, beside you, as if simply sharing that moment was enough.

And for the first time in days, you didn’t think about Johnny. You didn’t wonder what he was doing, if he was upset, or if he was still waiting for you to come find him.

On the walk back, Callum offered to walk you to the Tower door. When you arrived, there was no kiss, no intense farewell. Just a knowing smile.

“Tomorrow, another coffee. And maybe more ice cream, if Reed doesn’t blow anything up.”

“Only if I get to pick the flavor this time,” you said, stepping inside.

Callum lingered at the entrance for a few seconds before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

And you went up to the Tower without looking back.

From Johnny’s point of view

The city from the rooftop of the Baxter Tower had always looked to Johnny like a board of lights, vibrant, unpredictable, easy to admire but impossible to fully understand. He liked coming up there to think… though he rarely did any serious thinking.

But that night, he couldn’t do anything else.

The breeze ruffled his hair, and the metal railing was warm under his hands. The sky was already dark, and the car lights below looked like moving snakes.

That’s when he saw you.

You were crossing the street in front of the Tower. You had that glow in your eyes, that barely-there smile on your lips. Like you were happy.

And he knew, knew, it wasn’t because of him.

Johnny narrowed his eyes, jaw tight. He saw Callum walk away. You’d been with him. And from the looks of it, you’d had a good time.

It twisted something in his stomach.

He leaned back against the railing again, arms crossed, waiting for you to come up. He didn’t know exactly what he wanted to say. Something biting. Something to get a reaction. Something that didn’t sound like jealousy, even though it was.

He found you in the main level hallway. You had already changed clothes, your hair slightly tousled from the wind, and you still had that calm look in your eyes that, to Johnny, felt like a provocation.

“Well, look who’s back,” he said, his tone dripping with thinly disguised sarcasm. “How was the romantic little tour of the city? Did you kiss under the lights or saving that for date number two?”

You stopped, turning slowly to face him. Your eyes locked onto his without blinking.

“Are you hoping I’ll say it was awful? That I was bored? Because no. I had a great time. We talked, we had ice cream, we laughed. It was peaceful. Something you clearly don’t know how to do.”

Johnny smiled, but it wasn’t his real smile. It was the kind he used when something hurt and he didn’t want to show it.

“Didn’t know geniuses with degrees could be charming too. Amazing, right?”

“Yeah. Amazing. Especially hearing that from you, when half of your charming exes are still chasing after you every time you step outside.”

He opened his mouth… but didn’t find a comeback right away.

“What was the last one called? Kara? Keira? The one who showed up on a motorcycle and ended up breaking a window with a flowerpot?” you went on, crossing your arms. “But of course, I’m the one with bad taste for going on a walk with someone who doesn’t implode the moment they’re not the center of attention.”

Johnny frowned. For a second, he looked hurt. But he swallowed it quickly and turned it into defiance.

“I’m not upset you’re going out with someone,” he said, his voice lower and rougher. “I’m upset it’s not with me.”

That threw you off for a moment. Not so much because of the words, but because of the way he said them. No sarcasm. No smug grin.

Just you and him. No masks.

But you weren’t ready to give him the upper hand so easily.

“It’s not my fault you only know how to come close when you feel threatened,” you said, lowering your voice too. “And the worst part is you don’t even know what you want. You only react when there’s someone else in the picture. Because if I were alone, you’d still be playing pretend, ignoring me. Right?”

Johnny swallowed hard, looking off to the side.

“I’m not pretending.”

“Then prove it,” you said bluntly.

Silence.

A suspended moment.

And then you simply turned around, walking toward the rest wing without looking back.

And he stayed there, in the middle of the hallway, staring at the spot where you’d disappeared.

Two weeks later

The east wing lab was quieter than usual. Most of the team was busy elsewhere, and you had stayed behind with Callum, going over the energy logs from the last simulation. He stood slightly hunched over the screen, while you held a tablet with the synchronized data. He wore a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair slightly tousled, and a focused expression. But when he looked at you, that seriousness disappeared like someone had flipped a switch.

“Are you sure this graph is right?” he asked, pointing at an odd fluctuation. “Looks like the energy spiked right when you activated the stabilization field.”

“Yeah, that was intentional. I changed the activation timing to test a theory. And it worked,” you said, raising the tablet with a satisfied smile.

Callum looked at you like you’d just won a medal.

“I knew it. You’re brilliant.”

You laughed, lowering your gaze like it didn’t affect you but it did. It had been a long time since anyone looked at you like that.

He didn’t flirt constantly. Not like Johnny. 

Callum was… subtle, he listened, he paid attention to what you were passionate about. And you hadn’t needed to wear any armor with him.

“Hungry?” he asked, saving the data on his tablet. “I heard they opened a new ice cream shop near the Tower with the weirdest flavors. You up for trying ‘mandarin and lavender’?”

“Only if you try ‘spicy chocolate with pistachio’,” you joked.

Callum smiled. “Challenge accepted.”

You both left the lab laughing, chatting about nonsense. In the hallway, you passed by the gym, and through a crack in the door you saw Johnny training. He was alone, throwing fire at a reinforced wall, headphones on, every move brimming with brutal tension. He was sweating, moving like a bottled storm, and for a moment, that familiar knot returned to your stomach.

But you didn’t stop.

Callum didn’t seem to notice or if he did, he didn’t say anything. And you didn’t look back.

That night, after the ice cream (a strange mix of flavors and lots of laughter), you walked back together. It wasn’t cold, but there was a pleasant breeze.

When you reached the Tower lobby, he stopped in front of you.

“I’m really glad we ended up working on this project together,” he said in a soft, almost shy voice. “In a place as intense as this, you’re… kind of a calm haven.”

You looked at him for a second, surprised by the honesty of his words. You felt your heart tighten a bit because you knew he was willing to take a step forward, but he also respected your pace. He was just there. Constant.

“Thank you, Callum. I’m glad you’re here too.”

He nodded, smiled… and didn’t try to kiss you.

He just wished you good night and left.

And you went up to your room feeling calm.

Not giddy to the point of bursting, not confused. Just calm.

Meanwhile, in the north wing’s common room, Johnny was sitting on the couch with the TV on, but not watching it. The sound was just background noise. On his lap, his phone displayed an unanswered message from one of his “fun exes,” and he had completely ignored it. Because, honestly, he no longer felt like pretending that any of that helped.

He had seen you laughing with Callum. He’d heard you mention his name in a conversation with Sue and that last talk with you kept looping in his mind like a damn sentence.

The change had been almost imperceptible at first.

Johnny stopped showing up at group meals. Stopped floating down the hallways with that usual confident swagger and the sparking ego that filled every room, he wasn’t at the gym, you didn’t run into him in the elevator and when you casually asked if anyone had seen him, the answers were always the same:

“He’s busy,”

“He’s taking some time,”

“He’s acting kinda weird, huh?”

But no one gave it much thought. Because it was Johnny Storm, always so unpredictable, so volatile. Except you did notice. Because you knew he could be a lot of things, but disappearing wasn’t one of them. Johnny was the kind of guy who lit up even when he wasn’t supposed to, the guy who made himself seen, who interrupted with a crooked smile and out-of-place comments. And now… nothing.

It was the silence that unsettled you the most.

Most of your days were spent between the lab and outings with Callum, there was something simple and comforting about his presence. Sometimes you shared lunch on the terrace, other times walks through the park near the Tower, or you’d just talk in the common room late at night when the building felt asleep.

Still, in the quietest moments, in that breath before sleep, in that minute looking out the window, or riding the elevator down alone, something pricked at your chest. A restlessness that wouldn’t die: Where was Johnny?

You’d promised yourself not to get tangled up again. Not to let him play with your emotions like a lighter near a fuse. But…

When did you start caring this much?

When did it start hurting not to see him?

When did your chest tighten every time you hoped to bump into him… and didn’t?

You didn’t say it out loud, didn’t show it.

Didn’t even fully admit it to yourself but with each day that passed without him, the weight in your chest grew deeper, like something in the very balance of the place was wrong.

Johnny Storm didn’t hide. Johnny Storm didn’t dim.

And you, no matter who else was by your side, no matter how much you tried to move on, knew that part of you still orbited around him.

A stubborn, impulsive, headstrong part that remembered everything that drove you mad and also everything no one else seemed to notice: his quiet way of caring, the way he listened when you least expected it.

You didn’t know exactly what had happened to him these past weeks but you knew something was wrong.

That night, the Baxter Tower was quiet. The city sky was a deep blue, almost black, and the lights on the upper floor flickered as if they knew you weren’t going to sleep just yet. You couldn’t, something in you pushed you to walk aimlessly down the halls, until you saw it:

A half-open door. The only one on that floor you hadn’t entered in weeks.

Johnny’s room.

You stopped, hesitated but then heard something: a soft song, barely audible, leaking from a pair of loosely connected headphones.

You stepped closer, hesitant. Knocked lightly on the wood. Nothing. Knocked again. Silence.

You peeked your head in, cautiously.

He was sitting at the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at some invisible point in front of him. He was wearing a wrinkled t-shirt, his hair messy, and his expression more lifeless than you had ever seen. The guy who used to burn at the slightest spark now looked completely drained.

“Johnny?” you said softly.

He flinched slightly, removing the headphones. Looked at you. It took him a second to register you were there.

“What is it?” he asked curtly, not bothering to sound polite.

You stayed in the doorway. Unsure.

“Nothing. It’s just… I haven’t seen you in days.”

Johnny looked away.

“I’ve been busy.”

Your eyebrow shot up immediately.

“Busy?” you repeated, arms crossed. “Too busy to disappear completely? Too busy to ignore me for two weeks after bothering me, provoking me, confusing me…?”

He looked at you again, eyes burning, not with fire, but with bottled-up frustration.

“And now it bothers you that I’m gone?”

“Yes!” you answered without thinking. “Because I don’t get what you’re doing! First, you chase me, drop all these comments, get in my head, give me all these mixed signals,

and now that Callum shows up, you vanish. What the hell, Johnny? You’re not my boyfriend!”

The silence thickened, but he didn’t look away.

“But I want to be.”

The words were direct, raw, no jokes

and your breath froze.

“What…?”

Johnny stood up slowly, walked toward you, like each step was deliberate, like he hesitated right up to the last moment. He didn’t get too close, but close enough that you could feel that familiar warmth of his that always seemed to wrap around him, even when he wasn’t trying.

“I don’t know when it happened. I don’t know why the hell it was so hard to admit. But I know it now,” he said, with a rough sigh. “It bothers me. It kills me to see you with him. I can’t help it. I see you smiling with Callum, and I can’t stop thinking that I never made you smile like that. And that breaks me.”

Your lips parted, but you didn’t know what to say.

You didn’t know how to explain that he broke you too. That no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, nothing, and no one, compared to the way he made you feel.

Alive. On the verge of bursting.

Then Johnny took another step, and before you could even think, he kissed you.

It was a kiss filled with everything that hadn’t been said, not sweet or clumsy, but firm, desperate, almost painful, a kiss that spoke of sleepless nights, badly swallowed jealousy, of feelings that had burned inside for weeks.

And you kissed him back.

Because you couldn’t not cause the world could collapse that night, and you’d still choose that moment. His mouth. His madness.

When he pulled back, he breathed deeply, like standing was suddenly hard.

“I don’t want to be your friend,” he murmured, unable to tear his eyes from yours. “I don’t want to be the guy who watches from afar, who congratulates you for choosing someone else. I swear I tried… but I can’t.”

His words were sincere. Painful. Beautiful.

And the way he looked at you, like you were everything he’d ever wanted and lost at the same time, shattered you.

You didn’t say anything. You just looked at him.

And for the first time in weeks, everything you felt for him was right there, no longer hiding.

[headdinthewall]

LIKE OR LOVE IT? ── a.buttle ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : you get a new haircut & set of nails and alfie really loves it notes : got a few edits of AB on my fyp earlier and it inspired me to write this coz it’s been in my inbox for a while content : established relationship ,, size & humiliation & dumbification kink (if u squint) ,, lots of making out ,, overstimulation ,, unprotected sex ,, sensitive!reader

taglist : @italianclarke

─────── YOU CAME BOUNDING into the grotto with the biggest grin on your face. You’d come back from the hairdressers and nail salon absolutely elated with how both had turned out. Your hair felt light and fluffy on your head, the layers coming out perfectly, really accentuating all of your features to the best of their ability. You put your keys on the table, your fresh nails tapping away on your phone as you posted an Instagram story for the appreciation.

yourusername

✏️ thank you so much hairsalon for doing my hair!! styled it so it was super cute and chic ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა

You could hear Alfie rambling away in his studio, declaring to yourself that he was streaming. You hummed to yourself, slipping into the room with a gleeful smile.

“Hi Alf!” You grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing his cheek repeatedly.

“Y’alright, girl?” He fought back a grin as his chat flooded with messages.

comments 💬

userone gimpy perm boy is blushing

usertwo look at this angel girl and then he’s just … there

userthree damn bro is living the life

userfour what did bro do to deserve the life of radiance and peace 😭🙏🏼

You sat yourself in his lap, straddling him and showing off your hair to the stream, “Guys, look! I got my hair done, isn’t it cute?”

comments 💬

userfive stunning girl x

usersix she’s all rainbows and butterflies i love it

userseven forget alfie i want her

usereight your birds fit mate

usernine let us have a round with her

Luckily, Alfie clocked the comment before you did, as your head was still turned.

“Mods, kick ‘em, fucking weirdo.”

“What?” You pouted, turning around. “What did they say?”

“Don’t worry about it, angel.” He hummed, adjusting you so you were sat sideways, him badically cradling you.

“I don’t know where to look.” You giggled, “Here?” You pointed to the camera, “Or here?” You pointed to the screen showing yourself.

“I’m looking at you but you can look anywhere you want.” He flirted smoothly, making you roll your eyes sarcastically. “Chat, was that rizz?”

“Stop it, Alfie.” You snorted, shaking your head. “Do you like my hair? Oh, and my nails.” You shoved your hands in his face.

He held your fingers while looking at them, “I like ‘em. Your hair? Fuckin’ hell, I love it.” He tucked some behind your ears.

You lowered your voice so that the mic wouldn’t pick it up, “You love it? Or do you love it, love it?” You smirked.

“I love it, love it.” He smirked back, kissing you softly before pulling back.

You frowned, pouting dramatically.

“I’m streaming, I’m not gonna tongue-fuck you on stream.” He laughed, slapping your thighs rhythmically.

“I don’t care.” You mumbled, rubbing your thighs together.

You could feel him hardening beneath you, see the gleam in his eyes. Knowing that he wanted you made you want him ten times more than usual.

He sighed, lifting his arm as a way of saying ‘come on then’. You grinned, shifting so you were back to straddling him and pressing your lips to his. The viewers couldn’t see anything because your head was methodically in the way, but you couldn’t promise that the mic wasn’t picking anything up.

When you pulled off, he said, “Happy now?”

You shook your head, shifting your hips in a way that subtly dragged your crotch along his, signalling what you wanted.

Alfie peered over your shoulder, swiftly ending the stream and shutting his pc off. He tugged you out of the office and into your shared bedroom, which was bland apart from a few vintage trinkets you had collected and he had let you keep on different surface tops.

He laid you on the bed, crawling on top of you. He reconnected your lips as he situated himself between your legs. Your knees were bent and legs open wide to accommodate the size of him.

You loved it.

You loved how big he was. How rough he was.

It was just so attractive. The way he could effortless manhandle you with just one hand. The way his hand encased your throat while the other cupped your sex, forcing you to rut against him to ‘prove’ you really needed him.

His tongue slid past your lips whilst his fingers danced up your sides, goosebumps forming on your skin as he unbuttoned the black cardigan-style shirt you were wearing. He groaned at the sight of you, bare-chested beneath the shirt he had bought you.

Kisses were laid down the column of your throat and your chest. He sucked deep hickeys into the swell of your breast, displaying his desperation for you.

All the while, your fresh hair was splayed out beneath you, harsh pants leaving your mouth as you felt a familiar slickness between your legs.

His mouth encased one nipple, making your breath hitch, but his thumb and forefinger tweaking the other was the cherry on top. Soft whimpers left your mouth, a desperate need to shut your legs and gain relief filled you, but you couldn’t.

You couldn’t because Alfie’s ridiculously large frame was in the way.

You ran your nails through his hair, scratching his scalp and causing a groan to reverberate from the back of his throat.

He lifted his mouth off of your tit, placing sloppy kisses all the way back up to your lips, where he engulfed them into another heated kiss.

You were so focused on the feeling of his tongue in your mouth that you didn’t even notice that he’d popped the button on your shorts and his hand has dipped below the waistband of your shorts and underwear.

You nearly cried in relief when his middle finger grazed your clit, flicking over it teasingly.

“A-Alf, please—“ You whispered, fingers digging into the meat of his bicep.

“Please what, angel? You come back with perfect hair, perfect nails, perfect smile, I gotta know how to make my girl feel as perfect as she looks.” Alfie teased, playing it off like he was caring for you.

“Touch me more.” You huffed out, cheeks inflamed from embarrassment.

“Like this?” His finger was firm against you, rubbing in tight circles.

Your face immediately contorted, eyebrows furrowing and lips parting into that ‘O’ shape he found ever so attractive. You nodded quickly, back arching.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” He chuckled as his fingers dipped lower, taking your wetness and spreading it all over your folds.

You blushed even more, feeling a little humiliated, but you couldn’t help yourself as you clenched around nothing.

When he slid two fingers into you, you let out a moan. When he started thrusting them while curling at the same time, you dragged your nails down his back. When the heel of his palm smacked your clit simultaneously with the movements of his fingers, you were trembling and tensing.

The knot in your stomach appeared, tightening and tightening. Your gasps became high-pitched and whiny and you tried to sit up onto your forearms, but Alfie only pressed his chest further into yours, keeping you pinned to the mattress as you came with a crying moan.

His fingers pulled away, only to remove the remaining clothing you had on. Again, part of you was a little humiliated at being the only naked one, but the other part of you quite enjoyed feeling like this.

Once you had got your breath back, you kissed him again, softly, slightly uncoordinatedly, your brain still hazy from your orgasm.

His palm covered your entire pussy, and he would gently lift it before coming down harshly. Your body jolted slightly at every contact until it stilled. His hand stayed over you, occasionally grazing if you shifted just right.

“Go on.” He grunted, a string of saliva connecting your lips, “You can get off humping my pillows, you can get off humping my hand.”

You blushed furiously as he referenced a video you had sent him. You were just a girl being a girl, sending your sexy, loving boyfriend a video of you getting off on his pillow while he was away for a shoot.

You swallowed thickly, reaching down and moving his hand so it was in the right position before rolling your hips up into it. Your eyes fluttered shut as a breathy moan escaped your lips at the friction.

After a while, you were getting slightly frustrated. It wasn’t working. It felt good, but he kept moving his hand on purpose to frustrate you.

“Alfie.” You mumbled, “It’s not working.”

“It’s not? Hm? Need me to do everything for you?” He cooed condescendingly.

His fingers dragged through your folds before adding pressure to your clit, moving in tight, firm motions.

Your feet shuffled along the comforter, unable to rest still as your body trembled with the intensity of an upcoming orgasm. You tugged his shirt up and off so you had direct contact to his skin, being free to rake your nails up and down his back, leaving scratches marks that would last for a couple of days before you replaced them with new ones.

Alfie unbuckled his cargos, pushing them down and off along with his boxers. When your orgasm hit, he slid into you, immediately feeling the tightness of your walls clamping down on his cock while you twitched and writhed.

“Oh my God!” You sobbed, legs trying to clamp shut as it was all so overwhelming.

“You can take it. Atta girl.” Alfie groaned while thrusting slowly and deliberately, making sure you felt every groove and every vein of his cock dragging along your walls.

“Alf— I can’t.” Your hips stuttered and your chest shuddered with heavy breaths, fingers squeezing the bedsheets so tightly that your knuckles went white.

“Yes you can.” He said, leaving no room for argument as he placed a rough hand on your chest, forcing you to lay flat as his fingers pinched and rolled your nipples while his other hand pinned your inner thigh to the mattress.

His eyes were cemented to the vulgar sight of his cock sinking into your glistening pussy. He loved starting slow while you were on your back, reminding himself of how your needy hole looked stretched around him, desperately sucking him back in.

When he picked up the pace, your toes curled up to the point of nearing on painful, eyes squeezed shut as you whined and moaned uncontrollably.

Alfie’s hand snakes around from your chest to the back of your head, fisting your hair and pulling your head up.

“Fuck, cant get enough of your hair, angel.” He cursed lowly, pressed his forehead to yours. “Look at me. Open your eyes.”

You managed to do as he said, glistening eyes staring up at his. His pace was quick and punishing, but his eyes were filled with endearment and warmth, a look that read ‘tap out if you need to’.

You pulled him down by the shoulders, kissing him to muffle your sounds. He panted against your lips from the exertion, the languid sound of your hips slamming together, that lewd plap plap plap noise, filled the room.

“Ah- Ah- Ah-“ You heaved out breaths and moans as your abdomen tightened once more.

It was borderline unbearable, and you were completely unable to stay stationary. Alfie laid a harsh slap on your clit before stimulating it again.

You let out broken cries as your fingers tingled and your nails stained his back with red lines and welts. Your legs trembled and shook as he pulled out, his fingers still moving against you. Your thighs clamped around his hand, squeezing relentlessly as you came for a third and final time.

You hadn’t even noticed that he’d finished onto your stomach. You were too busy staring up at the ceiling with a dazed, fucked-out expression as your muscles twitched with the aftershocks.

He used his shirt to clean himself and you, dragging the fabric along you in light caresses as to not overstimulate you even more than he already had. You whimpered, heavy hand shooting out to clamp around his wrist.

“It’s alright, girl, just cleaning you up.” Alfie hummed in reassurance before throwing his shirt into the washing basket and crawling back into bed beside you.

“Are you okay?” He asked sincerely, holding your cheeks in his hand, eyes observing your not-all-there expression. “Do you need water?”

You shook your head, still panting as you curled up into his side, head dropping onto his chest. “Let me sleep it off.” You slurred.

He nodded, arm draped over your back, fingers doodling little shapes along your spine. He laid soft, cautious kisses to your parting and hairline, not wanting to frustrate you but also wanting to comfort and love you while you cooled down.

“Your hair’s beautiful.” He whispered.

“You ruined it.” You joked.

He shrugged in response, “Worth it.”

[alwayssassydreamer]

Under Your Skin Part 1

A/N: thanks Ann(on) for requesting "a fic where Shanks and Beckman fall in love with the same marine officer? I don't really mind if you make it a poly relationship or if you choose one of them as love interests for the reader. Nsfw and FReader" I'm gonna be honest this has gotten a little put of hand and longer than intended so I decided to split it into two parts, this one is the "sweet" part no smut in there the other well that's where the nsfw stuff is happening.

Part 2 | Part 3 (not yet posted)

Word count >4200

Plot: you were a Marine officer who regularly ran into Shanks and Beckman having to endure their relentless flirting and teasing that slowly started chipping away your resistance and made you forget about your duty

Warnings: flirting, shanks and beck being relentless, no smut yet, implications of masturbation (nothing describe) MDNI ⚠️🔞

Characters: Shanks x FMarineReader x Beckman

Why did it have to be you?

Why did you have to end up in that damn battle months ago, stationed beside a Vice Admiral, guns drawn, your pulse loud in your ears as you faced off against the infamous Red Hair Pirates?

You were trained for this. You had faced pirates before, stared down executions and smoke and blood. But nothing could’ve prepared you for the way Shanks had looked at you, amused, intrigued, eyes shining like the sea under moonlight, even with your weapon pointed right at his heart.

What you didn’t see was Beckman behind you. His rifle was leveled to the base of your skull before you could breathe.

You remembered his voice. Low, gravelly. Calm like a death sentence.

“Don’t move, sweetheart.”

You should’ve died. But Shanks held up his hand and grinned like this was all foreplay, like you were a welcome surprise in the chaos.

“Easy, Beck. I think she likes me.”

You surrendered because apparently you didn’t plan on dying but also, because something about the look they gave you wasn’t entirely murderous. It was amused. Curious even.

And shameless.

You tried to forget about them.

You filed your report. You moved on to other assignments. But then the Red Hair Pirates docked in another Marine-controlled port a month later, supposedly a diplomatic visit. You had been sent to observe. And there they were.

Shanks winked at you across a smoky tavern table. Beckman didn’t smile as outwardly as Shanks but you caught the small twitch at the corner of his mouth and his eyes oh they lingered. They remembered you. And they didn’t just remember you, they were interested, dangerously so.

“Look who it is,” Shanks said, leaning close over your drink. “Marine sweetheart. Back to cuff me again, or just looking for an excuse to see me?”

You hated how warm your face got. You hated the way Beckman was watching you, like a man measuring his next move, like a fuse slowly burning toward something inevitable.

And it didn’t stop there.

Every few months, they’d show up again, like a storm you couldn’t predict but always felt in your bones.

Once, Shanks approached you during a festival on an Island, he held out his hand and smirked in that  annoyingly charming way at you. 

“Come on. You're too stiff, you should loosen up and I'm a smooth dancer”

You didn’t get to tell him to get lost before his hand grabbed yours and pulled you closer. 

Beckman was watching from a few steps away, half-smirking as Shanks spinned you far too close. His hand stayed at your waist longer than necessary. His mouth brushed near your ear and you couldn't believe how tight a man with just one arm could hold you

“You sure you’re on the right side, pretty thing? You look like someone who could use a little trouble.”

You just glared at him as Shanks chuckled and kept moving you both.

“You know, Marines usually aren’t this good at dancing. Or are you making exceptions… just for me?”

“Oh shut up” you grunted and squirmed out of his grip leaving angrily.

Another time, you ended up in a standoff again, different harbor, different skirmish but instead of bullets, Beckman handed you a cigarette mid-firefight.

“You aiming to kill us again, or just looking for a reason to talk?”

And the worst part?

You didn’t know anymore.

You were a Marine. You had rules. A sense of duty. But they kept showing up in your dreams, Shanks’ lazy hand on your waist, that teasing voice in your ear and Beckman, lingering eyes, hot skin, the kind of man who’d drag his thumb along your lips just to shut you up and make you listen.

They weren’t just dangerous. They were patient. They were interested. And they were starting to wear you down.

They didn’t try to seduce you the same way.

Shanks was firelight and laughter, reckless grins and the kind of teasing that made you want to smack him and kiss him. He had no shame about the way he looked at you like he had already pictured you in his bed, tangled up in his sheets, and was just waiting for the right opportunity to make it happen.

Beckman was a different problem.

He didn’t flirt the way other men did. He didn’t need to.

He’d lean against a railing, arms folded, cigarette between his lips, and watch you like you were already his like he was just waiting for you to catch up and realize it.

It started small.

The way Shanks always gravitated toward your side during ceasefire talks or tense negotiations, despite the disapproving looks from your fellow Marines. You told yourself it was coincidence. He told you it wasn’t.

“You smell better than the rest of them,” he said once, nose crinkling playfully as he leaned closer. “Like a flower field and self-restraint.”

“You’re delusional,” you muttered.

“Maybe. But you still haven’t walked away, have you?”

He winked.

And damn it, you hadn’t.

Beckman didn’t talk much. But when he did?

It was trouble.

You found yourself alone with him once, waiting on a neutral dock for a delayed meeting. The sky was pale, the sea still. He was leaning on a crate beside you, smoking, arms loose at his sides like the world didn’t concern him.

“Shanks thinks you’re gonna fall for him,” he said without looking at you.

“He’s got a long wait,” you replied jaw tensing.

Beckman glanced over, slow and sharp. That look? That look made your spine straighten.

“He’s not wrong,” he said, low. “But he’s not the only one you should be worried about.”

He flicked ash off the side of the dock. Didn’t elaborate.

Didn’t have to but when he leaned closer his breath hot against your ear his scent driving you insane you felt the heat low in your stomach again and he didn't even do or say anything else.

It was eating at you how they tormented you, slowly and ruthlessly with justvtheir natural charm, a few well placed words and the breath of a touch.

Shanks was all about momentum.

He used your tension like a game, a string he could pull at whenever he liked.

Once, during a Marine-monitored festival, he brushed behind you in the crowd (you still had no idea how he got there without anyone noticing)

“You always look like you’re about to arrest me. It’s kind of hot,” he murmured leaning in.

“Maybe I should.”

“If it gets your hands on me? I won’t complain.”

He pulled away before you could reply, red hair vanishing into the lights, leaving your skin prickled and your heart kicking hard in your chest.

Beckman on the other hand was patient.

He didn’t make moves. He created space and waited for you to step into it.

When Shanks riled you up, Beckman was the one who grounded it with a lazy glance, a confident smirk, a brush of fingers along your wrist like it wasn’t a big deal. But it was.

You once ran into him outside an outpost bar alone.

“What are you doing here?” you asked cautiously.

“Looking for you.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“Didn’t ask if you were.”

He stepped closer, not enough to crowd you just enough to remind you how big he was. How warm. How solid.

“I don’t chase,” he said quietly. “But I don’t walk away from what I want either.”

He didn’t touch you.

But he let the silence stretch.

Let you feel the heat under his calm.

And when he finally walked away, it took your knees a few seconds to stop trembling.

You were trained for interrogation, infiltration, diplomacy under pressure.

But nothing in your manual prepared you for this.

Not the Yonko with a smile like sunrise, a smile that could melt steal and hands that hovered just shy of your skin.

Not the first mate who didn’t even have to touch you to make you feel like you already belonged to him, who could unravel you with nothing more than a look not even needing words.

And the worst part?

You weren’t sure which one you wanted more.

Or if maybe the real problem was that you wanted them both.

It was supposed to be a routine patrol.

The sun was hot on the cobblestones, the air heavy with salt and chatter as townspeople moved about their day. You were half-focused, half-bored until you rounded a corner and heard his voice.

Beckman.

Low and composed, that signature calm bleeding into every syllable.

You slowed and glanced over.

There he was, standing with a handful of young men, rookies probably, giving what looked like an impromptu lesson in hand-to-hand combat. And standing beside him, grinning like a bastard and chewing on a piece of fruit, was Shanks.

Great.

Your pulse kicked up, but you kept your expression flat as you approached, arms crossed.

“What the hell are you two doing?”

Shanks turned toward you like he’d been waiting.

“Teaching, sweetheart. You’re welcome.”

“This isn’t your jurisdiction.”

“Neither is my heart, but you’ve got that too,” he said with a wink.

You ignored him, mostly, and glared at Beckman. He barely looked up.

“These kids asked how to disarm someone,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Figured I’d show them how it’s done in case they ever need to defend themselves.”

His tone was casual. Dismissive, even.

But you caught it the twitch at the corner of his mouth, the glint in his eyes. He was baiting you.

You should’ve walked away.

You meant to walk away.

But instead you scoffed, stepped closer, and muttered, “Fine. Show me.”

Shanks let out a low whistle behind you.

“Brave,” he said. “Or stupid. Could go either way.”

Beckman looked at you fully now, gaze sweeping down your frame like he was assessing a weapon. His body didn’t move but the shift in his energy hit like a ripple of heat.

“You sure?”

“I’m not some rookie,” you snapped. “Try me.”

There it was again that ghost of a smirk. You didn’t realize what you had just agreed to until he stepped forward, slow and deliberate, and turned his body to the side.

“Come at me.”

You hesitated and he didn't even blink.

And now the rookies were watching.

So you went for it.

You struck, controlled, not reckless, aiming for a classic hold-and-twist. But before your fingers even reached their mark, his arm caught yours mid-air. The next second, your back hit his chest, wrists trapped in his grip and a strong, solid arm around your waist pressing you close against him and your breath hitched. 

The hold wasn't painful but damn did you feel helpless and something else.

“Shit—”

“Relax,” he murmured near your ear.

His breath was warm. His body was solid. His arm flexed just enough to remind you of his strength without showing it off.

The rookies murmured in awe and Shanks chuckled.

“Damn,” the redhead drawled. “Didn’t even put up a fight. You really are soft on us.”

You twisted, trying to wriggle out of Beckman’s grip but he just adjusted his hold smoothly, bringing your wrists up higher, arching your back just slightly, your heart betrayed you by slamming against your ribs all while Shanks watched with his chin in his palm, laughing under his breath.

“You two look good together like that,” he teased and you cursed him.

You squirmed in Beckman’s grip trying desperately to break free heat pooling between your legs but he wasn't letting you go.

“This,” he said to the rookies, as if your body was nothing more than a tool for teaching, “is where most people mess up. They try to overpower instead of redirect.”

His fingers brushed over your hips as he spoke, caressing, tormenting and utterly supposed to drive you mad and it definitely worked.

Your mouth had gone dry.

You were not aroused. Nope definitely not. No you were not—

“Careful,” Shanks added lightly, tilting his head. “She’s about to start liking it.”

“She already does,” Beckman said quietly.

And you felt it, the heat behind those words. Low, certain and dangerous.

Then, just as casually as it began, he let you go.

Your body snapped forward as he released the tension, and you stepped away instinctively, chest heaving, face hot.

“Class dismissed,” Beckman said, already turning away.

Shanks followed with a wolfish grin.

“You ever wanna practice that again,” he murmured as he passed, “I volunteer as tribute.”

You stood there, breath caught in your throat, fists clenched at your sides as you watched them disappear around the corner with the rookies trailing behind in starry-eyed awe.

And for the first time in a long time, you wondered if you were completely, utterly screwed.

You stormed off and onto your ship, the marines there looking at your flushed form but neither commented on it they had become used to this side of you though no one truly knew why you looked like this. 

A few days later the ship had docked on neutral ground, technically, a port town that didn’t fly Marine colors or pirate flags. You knew that there was a nice quiet bar and you sure as hell needed that and a few drinks. You’d come here alone, no patrol and no orders. Just a few hours to breathe, to drown the buzzing in your head in something strong and bitter.

Each encounter with Shanks and Beckman sharpened the edges. You had tried to pretend otherwise. You told yourself it was a game, pirates playing at charm, trying to get under your skin. You weren’t falling for it.

But you hadn’t stopped thinking about them either.

Shanks, always crowding your space with that infuriating smile, voice dripping flirtation like honey over a blade. And Beckman, that deep, patient drawl that turned harmless words into something intimate, something that lived under your skin long after he walked away.

You were on your second drink when the stool beside you scraped back.

“Sweetheart.”

You didn’t need to look.

Shanks dropped into the seat next to you with the lazy arrogance of a man who had never been told no or didn’t care when he had. He leaned on the bar like he owned it, red hair framing his face, eyes bright with mischief. His hand brushed your wrist, slow and deliberate.

“Back to arrest me again?” he asked, voice low and teasing. “Or just thirsty?”

“Neither,” you said flatly, not turning. “I’m here to be left alone.”

He let out a soft, disbelieving hum. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Another shape moved on your other side, slower, heavier. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Beckman.

He lit a cigarette with the same lack of urgency he used for everything, took a slow dragand exhaled smoke in a lazy plume.

“You keep saying that,” he murmured, “but here you are. In this very bar. Again.”

You finally glanced at him.

His smirk wasn’t wide like Shanks’. It was small. Dangerous. The kind of smile that made your thighs clench without warning.

“Makes a man wonder.”

Your jaw tightened.

“It’s a free port,” you snapped. “I didn’t come here for either of you.”

“Mm,” Shanks said, clearly not buying it. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping. “That why you wore that little number? All done up in your off-duty coat and skirt like you want someone to peel it off?”

You rolled your eyes. “You think everything’s about you.”

“Not everything,” he said. “Just the things that matter.”

Beckman chuckled quietly beside you. “She’s flustered.”

“Am not,” you bit out.

“Sweetheart,” Beckman said around his cigarette, eyes glinting under the low lights, “you haven’t touched your drink since we sat down. Either you’re scared it’ll go to your head, or you’re already there.”

That got under your skin.

You downed the rest of the drink in one go, slammed the glass back on the bar, and turned toward them.

“What do you want?”

Shanks tilted his head, looking almost innocent. “What makes you think it’s about what we want?”

Beckman leaned in just slightly, the smoke curling between you.

“We’re just enjoying the company,” he said, voice soft enough to make your skin crawl in the best way. “Watching you lie to yourself. It’s entertaining.”

You swallowed hard.

It was getting hot, too hot. Not from the tavern, not from the drink. From them. Their heat was deliberate. A coordinated ambush. One teasing, one slow and lethal.

Shanks grinned, sensing your pulse.

“You know what I think?” he asked, his fingers drumming lazily on the bar. “I think you came here hoping we’d be here. Because if we weren’t…” He leaned in closer, voice all silk and heat. “You’d feel worse.”

You stood up sharply, your stool scraping back with a harsh noise.

But they didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Just watched.

Beckman blew out another line of smoke, eyes half-lidded, unreadable.

“See you next time,” he said.

Shanks smiled wide. “Don’t wait too long, sweetheart. You’ll miss us.”

You walked out into the night, heart pounding, heat crawling up your neck like a curse.

And god help you, you already did.

You tried to avoid them after that night.

Tried being the key word.

You buried yourself in work, in drills, in paperwork you didn’t need to do, tried hiding in your office because everything else, every encounter with them, felt like your composure unraveling one heartbeat at a time.

And they let you pretend.

For a few days.

Until the trap closed again, one charming grin, one calculated step at a time.

Beckman found you first.

Alone, late, half-off-duty, still in uniform but with your coat undone, tired, frustrated, and achingly tense. You were standing on the docks, watching the ships roll in under a gray sky when you felt him behind you.

Didn’t hear him, just felt him. That quiet, charged presence.

“You’ve been busy,” he said, voice low.

You didn’t turn around.

“Trying to do my job.”

“Is that what you call running?”

You did turn at that, sharp and angry. “Excuse me?”

He didn’t look fazed. Of course he didn’t he never did.

“You came to that tavern alone, knowing we’d be there. You didn’t leave because you weren’t interested.” He stepped closer. “You left because you were.”

Your throat tightened.

“What exactly do you want from me, Beckman?”

He looked at you, eyes unreadable but far from empty.

“Nothing,” he said. “Not until you start being honest with yourself.”

Then he brushed past you just a light graze of his hand across your hip as he walked away, leaving your skin burning.

Shanks on the other hand wasn’t so subtle.

You ran into him the next day, outside a market stall, bold as ever. He had a bottle of wine tucked under his arm and two glasses in hand.

“You owe me a drink,” he said.

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“Didn’t say it was a debt, sweetheart. Just figured if I’m living in your head rent-free, you could at least offer a toast.”

You hated how easily he made you laugh. How fast he turned irritation into breathless tension.

He stepped close, too close, offering you one of the glasses.

“One drink. You don’t even have to talk. Just let me look at you.”

“You already do that.”

“Yeah, but it’s more fun when you let me.”

You didn’t take the glass.

But you didn’t move away either.

His eyes flicked to your lips. “Next time,” he said, voice rougher now, “you won’t say no.”

And you knew he was right as you walked away heart betraying how much he got to you.

But it got worse because then they both showed up.

You weren’t expecting it, at least not so fast. Not when you were already cracking under the pressure of one of them.

But they came to you at the tavern again.

Shanks slid into the empty chair beside you with a smirk.

Beckman leaned against the wall behind your seat, silent, unreadable.

And suddenly you were boxed in.

Surrounded.

Pinned.

“You’ve been distant,” Shanks murmured. “You sick, sweetheart? Or just thinking too hard?”

“Maybe she’s realizing something,” Beckman said calmly behind you. “Hard to stay objective when the enemy knows you better so good.”

You stood too fast, your chair scraping the floor. You muttered something about needing air.

Neither of them followed.

But they didn’t have to.

The heat clung to you as you walked.

The worst part? The truth of it.

You didn’t want one of them, you didn’t want to choose, hell you fucking wanted both of them.

You wanted Shanks’ fire and Beckman’s shadow, wanted the way they looked at you like they could peel you open with a glance, like they were waiting for the day you'd finally stop pretending.

And you didn’t know how much longer you could pretend because now they occupied your dreams every night you dreamt of their hands and lips on you of how good it would feel having them both. 

But again you were a marine and they were purates and you, goahyou shouldn't think about them like this, dream about them, fucking touch yourself thinking of them. 

And you should have known it wouldn’t end quietly.

You turned the corner near your temporary lodgings late that night after you went for a walk to clear your mind, boots soft on worn stone, heart beginning to settle when a familiar voice stopped you cold.

“There she is.”

Shanks.

You groaned under your breath, already turning to leave.

“Nope. Not tonight.”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and smooth as molasses. He followed with that swaggering gait that made your pulse stutter, that easy grin that looked too damn pleased to see you. “You’re always running. Starting to think you like it when we chase.”

You turned fast, jaw tight. “I’m not in the mood.”

He held up his hands in mock innocence. “Sure you are. You just don’t want to admit it.”

You tried to get away but another shape moved in, slower.

Beckman.

He took position on your other flank like he belonged there. Lit cigarette. Unreadable eyes. A wall of calm heat.

Nowhere to go.

“Evenin,” he said smoothly.

“Oh, come on—”

“We could follow you up there, you know,” Shanks offered, jerking his chin toward your door with a devilish grin. “Keep you company.”

You stared at him, jaw clenched. “That supposed to be a threat or an offer?”

“You’d know the difference by now,” Beckman murmured behind you.

Your skin bristled.

They were too close and god it was too much.

Shanks stepped forward, not touching but close enough to tilt his head and look at you like you were already saying yes.

“You’ve been pretending this whole time,” he said softly. “That you don’t want us. That you can keep this professional.” His smile faded, just a little. “But you can’t even look at me without biting your lip.”

That was not true you were not— ah fuck it you were biting your lip.

Damn him.

“You don’t want one of us. That’s why you haven’t picked,” he said, voice quieter than Shanks’, rougher.

You felt like the breath just left your lungs and the heat creep up your neck

They knew, of course they knew.

You’d been so careful, so composed but they were pirates. Predators. Experts in pressure and patience. They had waited, watched, learned you.

“So stop pretending, we don't mind sharing” Shanks said. “Let us in. Let it happen.”

“Or we’ll keep chasing,” Beckman added. “And you’ll keep letting us.”

Your hands were trembling at your sides. Did he just seriously say that they didn't mind sharing. Oh god that was bad. That was so…..fucking hot.

You looked at Shanks, at that fire in his eyes all teasing heat and reckless promise.

You looked at Beckman, the calm certainty in his stare, a promise of possession, slow and steady and inevitable.

And god help you did you want the two of them right there, especially after it became clear they didn’t mind having you between them. 

Fuck the heat became unbearable the images of your dreams, you between them, their hands all over your body, their lips claiming you flashing before you and making everything worse right now. The chaos and the control. The way they saw you, knew you, unpeeled you without ever truly laying a hand on you.

You backed up toward your door because you needed to get away before you were doing something reckless.

They didn’t follow, at least not yet.

“Get some sleep,” Beckman called after you, voice quieter now. “You’re gonna need it.”

Shanks just smiled as you fumbled with your keys, pulse loud in your ears.

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”

You shut the door behind you with shaking hands and leaned against it, biting your lip and running one hand through your hair.

You didn’t sleep that night though, not much. 

You burned and the two of them kept occupying your mind. The fire under your skin and the way thinking of them caused your thighs to clench together because god how you wanted them.

......to be continued

[minniesfiles]

ALWAYS YOU

After being stood up and leaving you heartbroken, Hansol spirals with guilt while you shut down into silence. Desperate to fix what he ruined, he confronts the damage he caused and fights to earn back your trust and love.

❧ PAIRING; hansol x reader

❧ GENRE; angst, hurt/comfort

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; established relationship, arguments, tears, reader is kind of stubborn, Hansol in an idiot, swearing, happy ending, lots of tears and kisses, maybe quite dramatic (LOL)

❧ WORDCOUNT; 12.1k

[ part of the Silent Treatment series ]

𐚁₊⊹

▎27 NOVEMBER 2021

You were known to have the patience of a saint. It was an almost uncanny ability you had to stay calm in situations that would push most people past their limits. Some admired you for it, even envied you.

“I could never hold my tongue like that,” or “I’d have snapped ages ago” they’d say.

But others didn’t see it as a strength though. They said you were too lenient, or too soft. They’d say how it allowed people to walk all over you and mistake your tolerance for weakness.

And maybe, sometimes, they were right.

There were moments when you looked back on situations and questioned your silence. You would wonder if your refusal to speak out had cost you something. Respect, peace of mind or justice. You would pride yourself on not reacting impulsively and staying level-headed when emotions ran high. You told yourself that staying silent was strength and not cowardice.

But deep down, there were times you wished you had the confidence to just say what you were thinking. Perhaps not out of anger, but out of self-respect. You weren’t looking to lash out, you just wanted to be heard.

There was never really a middle ground in how people saw you. But the truth is, you lived in that gray area. You tried to be kind without being small, and tolerant without being invisible.

And today was your breaking point.

Angry tears welled in your eyes as you stared at your phone for what felt like the hundredth time. Still nothing from your boyfriend. There were no messages or any missed calls, let alone an excuse as to why he still didn’t show up yet. Just the same empty lock screen that mocked your patience.

Hansol promised to take you out for a fancy dinner at the Lotte Tower, a proper date you were both too busy to have for weeks. You even made the effort of dressing up for it. You did your hair just right, applied light make-up and sprayed the perfume he once said he liked. But now, an hour passed, and you were still sitting alone at the table he claimed to have reserved.

You felt so ridiculous.

The waiters approached your table several times and each gentle interruption only deepened the pit in your stomach. They asked politely if you’d like something to drink, perhaps a small starter while you waited. But you would smile tightly each time and shake your head while repeating the same line, “I’ll wait until my boyfriend arrives.”

That was only if he came.

It felt more like a lie each time you said it. A part of you held on to the hope that he’d walk in, flustered and apologetic. But with every minute that passed by, that hope thinned into bitterness.

The staff tried to hide their sympathy, but you saw it anyway. The last thing you wanted was anyone’s pity.

Not only were you overwhelmed with embarrassment, but the sting hurt deeper knowing it was your own boyfriend who left you hanging. While other couples around you enjoyed their meals together and how happily they laughed amongst themselves, you couldn’t help but feel like a complete fool who still waited for someone that wasn’t even going to come.

And if the night didn’t humiliate you enough, you opened Instagram. Just to distract yourself. And that was when you clicked on Hailey’s story, Hansol’s best friend. It was posted five minutes ago.

It was a photo of your boyfriend who was fast asleep on Hailey’s unmistakable pink sofa, body curled slightly and one arm wrapped around a purple whale plushie. His hair was a mess and his mouth was slightly open, completely at peace.

But what really hit you wasn’t the image itself. It was the caption. “Supposed to be looking after me but I’m looking after him instead,” followed by a deadpan, unamused emoji. Like it was some kind of joke. Like you weren’t sitting in a restaurant across town, checking the door every five minutes, still half-believing he might walk in with an excuse.

Instead, he was passed out at her house. It wasn’t even the lack of decency from him to let you know he couldn’t make it that stung the most. It was how casual it all seemed to them.

To say you were absolutely livid would be a gross understatement.

You weren’t just angry, you were shaking with it. It was a white-hot rage bubbling just beneath your skin that was ready to explode within you.

Your jaw was clenched so tightly it hurt, and your heart pounded against your ribs like it was trying to escape. Every breath you took felt shallow, that made your chest tight with disbelief. You were boiling down to the core, like a volcano seconds from erupting.

It blurred your vision and made your ears ring.

Your hand gripped your phone with so much force, it was a miracle the screen didn’t shatter right there in your palm. You swore you heard a small crack, but perhaps it was the plastic or glass protesting under the pressure of your clenched fingers. But you didn’t loosen your grip. You couldn’t. Because letting go felt too much like surrender, and right now, you were clinging to any scrap of control you had left.

The tears that were brimming in your eyes finally came flooding down. You tried to blink them away, but it was no use. They kept spilling over, trailing down your cheeks in silence. And you didn’t even bother wiping them. You didn’t care at this point. You just let them fall. You just let the whole damn restaurant see. What did it matter now?

Your eyes were still stuck on the photo. And her caption…the smug nonchalance of it was enough to make your blood run colder than the North Pole. She knew. She had to know. And if she didn’t, then maybe that made it worse.

Your body was trembling. Every limb of yours was buzzing with energy that had nowhere to go. You felt like you could scream, throw the table across the room, or smash your phone right into the tiled floor.

But you didn’t. You just sat there, paralysed, like a statue made of nothing but anger and heartbreak.

Everything around you became a blur. It all faded into background noise, meaningless against the storm inside you. You were breaking, right there in public, and yet the world just kept turning.

You were furious. But more than that, you were hurt. Deeply and irreparably hurt.

So what do you do now? Honestly, you had no idea.

Your brain was still catching up to everything your heart had just been dragged through. But your body moved on its own, like it was acting on instinct. There was no plan, no thought. Just motion.

You reached into your purse with shaky fingers, pulled out a few bills, and placed them on the table beside your untouched mocktail.

It wasn’t much, but it felt like the least you could do. It was a silent gesture to thank and apologise to the staff for the time you’d taken up sitting there alone waiting for someone who never came.

Without a word, you pushed the chair back and stood. Your legs felt numb and heavy, but you forced them to move. You didn’t look at anyone. You didn’t owe anyone an explanation. All you could do was storm out, heart thudding in your chest like a war drum.

The atmosphere in the elevator felt suffocating as it descended, and the mirrors reflected the tear-streaked version of you that you didn’t want to see. You simply stared straight ahead, refusing to blink.

Then, as the doors slid open and you stepped into the lobby, your phone buzzed with a notification. The sound shot through you like a jolt. Part of you hoped that it was Hansol, but it wasn’t, it was your older brother Joshua.

[JOSH]:

Are you done with your little date? Mum’s bugging me to get her tangerines but I’m too lazy to go out now😴

The message lit up your screen as you walked through the quiet lobby. You stared at the notification for a few seconds, and the absurdity of it made your lips twitch. Despite the ache sitting heavy in your chest, you broke into a small, crooked smile through the tears still clinging to your lashes.

Your mother and her eternal obsession with tangerines. No matter the season, no matter the day, she somehow always needed more. It was ridiculous. But comforting in her sense.

[YOU]:

Got stood up. But I’ll pick some up on my way👍tell mum to tolerate her cravings for a bit lol.

You hit send before you could think twice about how blunt it sounded. And the reply from your brother came almost instantly.

[Josh]:

???

[Josh]:

What do you mean you got stood up?

You stared at the screen. The question felt like salt in a raw wound. Reading his name again hurt more than you expected. You could practically hear the disbelief in Joshua’s voice, like he couldn’t even begin to process the idea.

And honestly? You couldn’t either.

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard. You thought about explaining. But it all was too much. You didn’t want to relive it, not right now. You didn’t want to see the pity, or the anger, or the judgment — not even from your brother.

So instead, you just turned off your phone and shoved it deep into your coat pocket. Maybe silence felt easier than trying to explain heartbreak.

╴╴╴╴╴

You regretted not bringing your car. Deeply. At the time, it seemed like the better option. You thought you’d have Hansol to drop you home. But now, walking alone in the cold with swollen eyes and a heart that felt like it had been wrung out, it was painfully clear that you miscalculated.

It wasn’t that you didn’t have options. You could’ve taken the bus, hopped on the subway, or even called a taxi. But the idea of crying in a crowded space full of strangers while your eyes burned and your chest ached? You couldn't do it. You didn’t want sympathetic looks or awkward glances. You didn’t want to be seen at all.

You didn’t trust yourself to hold it together. Not when every second of silence from Hansol felt like another shove deeper into the hollow pit growing in your stomach.

There was still not a single message. Not one missed call. Not even a lame excuse.

You stood outside a brightly lit convenience store as you held the weight of a full bag of tangerines which was dragging at your arm. Your fingers were freezing around the plastic handles, but you didn’t care.

With a sigh, you fumbled for your phone again and dialed Joshua’s number. You knew he didn’t want to come out.

He’d said as much earlier, “too lazy” and too comfortable, typical Joshua. But you were going to make him come anyway. He didn’t get a choice. Not tonight.

After a few rings, he finally answered.

“Can you pick me up?” you asked tiredly and almost bluntly, not even giving him a chance to greet you first.

There was a beat of silence on the other end before your brother spoke up.

“Hey, are you okay?”

You could hear the worry in his voice, and it cracked something in you.

You bit down on your lip, hard, before answering. “Yeah, I just…I don’t know Joshua,” you said, your voice starting to waver despite your efforts to stay composed.

There was another pause. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head, and him grabbing his keys already.

“Can you please come and get me?” you whispered, softer this time. Less demand, more desperation.

“I’m coming,” he said firmly. “Where are you right now?” he then asked.

You shared your live location with him and he muttered a hum before ending the call. And for the first time that night, you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

You knew he didn’t want to come out, and on normal days you wouldn’t have bothered him. But right now, there was no one else in the world you needed more than your brother.

Growing up, you and Joshua had always been close. Closer than most siblings, even. Even as kids, you stuck to each other like glue. While other siblings grew apart or bickered over everything all the time, the two of you built your own little world. He was your best friend, and above all, he was your safe place.

Joshua always knew how sensitive you were. He knew despite how tolerant you were, you’d easily get hurt and how deeply you felt things. And while some people might have dismissed that as weakness, he never did. If anything, it made him more protective of you. He knew the world wasn’t kind to people with soft hearts. So he became your shield.

He became some sort of your silent, stubborn bodyguard who would take on the world if it meant keeping you from crying.

You used to tease him about it. Told him he was too overbearing, that he needed to chill out and stop treating you like you were five. He’d just smirk and say, “You’ll thank me one day.” And truthfully, you always did.

Even when he annoyed you, when he pushed your buttons just for fun or gave you dumb nicknames you swore you hated, you never once doubted that he’d be there when it mattered. No matter how big or small the problem was, you could always run to him. He never made you feel like a burden.

And in this moment, with your heart aching and your hands full of tangerines, you were more grateful than ever to have a brother like him in your life.

╴╴╴╴╴

You hadn’t even realised Joshua had arrived until he was suddenly in front of you, gently shaking your shoulder. Not only had the cold numbed your senses, but your mind was too fogged to register anything clearly. You jolted slightly at the contact, eyes wide with confusion until they finally focused and landed on your brother.

“Hi,” he said softly, a little breathless. But the small smile he attempted didn’t last as his face fell. He took in the sight of you and his brows knitted together.

Your eyes were red-rimmed and glossy, cheeks streaked with dried tears, but what stood out the most too him was the lack of spark that usually lived in your eyes. They were simply hollow.

Joshua’s chest tightened as panic crept in. Your breathing was shallow and too quick. Your eyes were wide and glassy, brimming with fresh tears that threatened to spill over.

You looked like a balloon stretched too tight and ready to burst.

“Bubba, what’s wrong?” he asked as his hands moved up to cradle your face gently. His thumbs hovered under your eyes like he could stop the tears before they fell, but it was already too late.

Just the sound of that nickname that only he called you hit you like a wrecking ball. And it was just enough to break you completely.

A choked sob tore from your throat as you collapsed into his chest. His arms were open before you even reached him, wrapping around you and catching everything you couldn’t hold together anymore.

Joshua’s heart pounded hard beneath your cheek as he pulled you close, his hand rubbing circles on your back. You gripped his hoodie like your life depended on it as tears soaked into the fabric almost instantly.

“Hey, hey hey,” he murmured, rocking you gently.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you, okay?”

But your cries only grew louder and heavier.

“Is this about Hansol?” he asked. Though his voice was still soft, the way his jaw was tightening ever so slightly spoke another story.

You didn’t answer him. You just cried harder as your sobs violently shook your whole body.

“I just want to go home,” you choked out between sobs.

Joshua pulled you into a tighter hug and held you like he could somehow absorb the pain radiating from your body. He rested his chin lightly on top of your head and gently rocked you side to side.

“Shh, it’s okay. We’re going home now,” he murmured into your hair low and soothingly, almost fatherly. His hand rubbed slow circles on your back, like he used to do when you were a kid waking up from the nightmares you had.

Though he didn’t need the full story, at least not yet, he knew enough.

The past few days didn’t feel right. You hadn’t been yourself. You smiled less and conversations were shorter. Joshua noticed how you started spacing out more often, zoning out during family dinners or giving half-hearted responses when he cracked jokes.

You were still there, but the dimmed version of yourself, like a light on low battery.

He had a gut feeling Hansol had something to do with it, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions. Now, standing here with you crying your eyes out in his arms, he wished he had trusted that instinct sooner.

He felt guilty. He wished he had asked more questions, pressed you harder when you told him everything was “fine.” He should’ve protected you before you reached this point. Because seeing you like this right now lit something violent inside him.

╴╴╴╴╴

When Joshua finally pulled into the driveway, the sky had long since darkened. He looked to his right and found you fast asleep in the passenger seat with your head tilted awkwardly against the window. The position looked anything but comfortable, yet you didn’t stir.

Joshua’s heart ached as he took in the dried streaks of tears on your cheeks, clear that you cried yourself to sleep in silence.

He didn’t miss the way you’d shut down during the drive home and how you gave no responses, not even small nods or mumbled agreements. He tried to talk, or at least distract you with light conversation with jokes that usually earned at least a small smile. But you gave him nothing this time.

He knew you didn’t mean it. You just wanted to be left alone, and so he did. But not really, because he was still there, watching every tremble in your breath and every clench of your fingers. He was still there as he silently stayed present even when you needed distance.

With a soft sigh, Joshua parked the car and turned off the engine. The sudden quiet that followed was too loud. He sat there for a moment, just looking at you. Then, without a word, he unbuckled his seatbelt before stepping out and walking around to your side.

He opened the door and carefully unbuckled your seatbelt before sliding his arms under your knees and back. Unironically, he felt like his seven-year-old self again holding you in his arms for the first time when you were born. He lifted you and held you gently as if you were made of glass. Your body relaxed into his hold, head resting against his shoulder.

He shut the car door with a soft kick before heading to the house. And as if timed perfectly, the front door opened.

Your mother stood there with her expression instantly shifting to concern at the sight of you in Joshua’s arms. “Is she okay?” she asked, eyes locked on your sleeping face.

Joshua let out another sigh. “I don’t think so. She had a long night” he answered tiredly.

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t want to dump everything on her, especially when you weren’t awake to speak for yourself. All she needed to know was that you were safe, and he had you.

“I’m just going to let her rest for now,” he added, stepping past her and making his way upstairs.

He brought you into your room and gently lowered you onto the bed, careful not to jostle you. But barely moved regardless. He took off your shoes, then your coat which he folded neatly to the side.

He crouched down beside the bed and reached out, brushing your hair from your face. His thumb lingered at your temple for a moment. Then, with a tenderness that said more than words ever could, he leaned forward and placed a light kiss on your forehead.

As he straightened up, he looked at you for a long moment. You looked peaceful, but the mark that was left by the pain you carried was still there.

“If Hansol did something,” he thought, jaw tightening, “I swear I’m going to rip his head off” he silently promised.

After making sure you were tucked in comfortably, Joshua gently pulled your blanket up to your shoulders. He stood there for a second longer, just watching you sleep.

With a quiet exhale, he turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him with care. As it clicked softly, he sighed, again.

Heading back downstairs, he slipped his shoes back on and stripped outside again. The cold outside nipped at his skin, but he ignored it as he made his way back to the car. He opened the door and grabbed your small shoulder bag, along with the now slightly squashed plastic bag filled with tangerines you got for your mother.

There were a series of vibrations coming from your bag that made Joshua freeze, then frown. One vibration. Then another. And another. The sharp buzzing continued almost nonstop.

He unzipped the bag and pulled the phone out. Joshua cursed under his breath for remembering your phone’s password to unlock it, but he promised himself it wasn’t snooping. He had to make sure nothing was wrong.

The screen lit up with message after message from one name only.

Hansol.

His frown deepened. There were fifteen missed calls and tons of messages, some that were still coming through as he watched.

[Hansol]:

Baby!

[Hansol]:

Please answer me

[Hansol]:

Fuck, I’m so sorry I completely forgot. I know how bad that sounds, but please let me explain

[Hansol]:

Hailey sprained her ankle at work. She called me crying, saying she couldn’t walk or get a ride, and she didn’t know who else to call. So I left to go get her

[Hansol]:

She was in a lot of pain, and I couldn’t just leave her there so I took her to the doctors. I had to get her meds and ice packs and whatnot before helping her get back to her apartment

[Hansol]:

I know I should’ve messaged you. I should’ve called you right away. I just got caught up making sure she was okay and I didn’t check the time until it was already too late

[Hansol]:

Baby, I know what this looks like. I know how it feels. And I know I’ve let you down before, but I didn’t do this on purpose. I didn’t forget about you because I didn’t care. I was just trying to help my best friend in pain

[Hansol]:

But I swear to you, I wasn’t ignoring you

[Hansol]:

I know I told you this time would be different. That I would make more time for. And I wanted to, I swear I did

Joshua saw another incoming call flash across the screen with Hansol’s name lighting up yet again. He stared at it for a moment with his jaw clenched as his thumb hovering over the answer button. He really fought to answer it and curse him out, but he didn’t want to act out of instinct. So, instead, he pressed decline.

But that only led to more messages to flood in. One after another. Clearly Hansol wasn’t letting up. He was frantic at this point.

[Hansol]:

Shit, baby, listen. I know you saw Hailey’s Instagram story, but I promise it’s not what you think

[Hansol]:

It’s nothing like what you’re probably imagining right now. Please don’t overthink it

I

[Hansol]:

I swear

Joshua’s frown deepened. A low breath escaped his nose. What the hell is he talking about now? He hadn’t seen any story. But the way Hansol rushed to mention it, defend it even, somehow made him rile up even more.

Curious, and now increasingly irritated, Joshua unlocked your phone again and opened your Instagram. And a few taps later, he clicked on Hailey’s story.

Joshua stared at the screen as he tried to process what he was seeing. His lips curled into a slow, humorless scoff. He shook his head in absolute disbelief.

The audacity.

You were sitting in a restaurant, alone, trying not to cry in front of strangers. Meanwhile, your boyfriend was passed out at another woman’s place like he couldn’t be bothered to show up for you.

Before he could even react further, more messages came in.

[Hansol]:

I don’t know when I fell asleep. I didn’t mean to forget, I swear

[Hansol]:

Are you still at the restaurant? Just tell me and I’ll come right now. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Five if I speed. Please

[Hansol]:

Or if you already went home, just text me so I know you’re safe. I’m begging you baby

[Hansol]:

I’m so fucking sorry

[Hansol]:

Please pick up the phone baby. Just talk to me

Joshua watched as the screen lit up again with another incoming call. But he didn’t answer. He just stared at it with a dark expression. His thumb hovered for half a second before he declined it once more, and put the phone back in your bag.

The sheer nerve. The desperation wasn’t what got to him, it was the timing. The panic only came after the damage was done. After you’d already shut down. After your brother had to come find you and carry you home.

Joshua slammed his car door shut and made his way back inside the house. With his jaw locked so tight, he could feel his pulse thumping in his neck.

Joshua knew, deep down, that this was a personal matter between you and your boyfriend. Something that should be handled between the two of you. He didn’t want to cross boundaries or get too involved in something he didn’t fully understand. That simply wasn’t his style, and he certainly wasn’t overbearing. He respected your independence.

But after today, especially after the way you completely broke down in his arms, Joshua couldn’t keep pretending like everything was fine when it wasn’t.

It was damn near impossible to hold himself back. He didn’t want to sit on the sidelines anymore. He needed answers. He needed to know what the hell was happening to you and why the sister he knew was suddenly closing herself up.

╴╴╴╴╴

The moment Hansol blinked awake from what he thought would be a ‘short nap’, his eyes drifted lazily to the clock. Until the time hit him like a punch to the chest. His eyes widened in shock, practically bulging from their sockets as the time sank in.

It was the realisation that it was two hours past the time he was supposed to meet you which made his heart stop.

His body reacted before his brain could even catch up. He bolted upright so fast that the plushie in his arms fell to the floor. His mind scrambled in complete chaos as he reached for his phone, which he nearly dropped in his haste.

The screen lit up with five unread messages and two missed calls, all from you, two hours ago.

“Fuck,” he cursed, as guilt hit him like a truck.

He remembered. Of course he did. He remembered every word of the argument, the conversation afterwards where he promised he wouldn’t mess this one up this time.

But somehow he had.

And now he didn’t know how to fix it this time.

▎25 NOVEMBER 2021 — two days ago

“What could have been so important this time that you had to cancel on me again, Hansol?” you snapped.

You weren’t usually the one to raise your voice or start fights. You were patient and understanding. Maybe a little too understanding.

This was the fifth broken promise in two weeks. The times you got ready for something he planned, you’d sit and wait until your phone lit up with another last-minute excuse.

And this time, you were done pretending it didn’t rile you up.

Hansol blinked, already on the defensive. “Babe, you know I’m not doing this on purpose. It’s just that Hailey—”

You cut him off instantly with a scoff, head shaking like you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. But deep down, you did. You expected it. Of course it was Hailey.

“Hailey this, Hailey that,” you snarled as your eyes narrowed. “It’s always her.”

Hansol flinched a little at your tone, but you kept going. The anger that had been simmering under the surface was breaking through.

“When does she ever not need you? It’s comical how she always seems to need something when you’re with me. Does she not have any other fucking friends besides you? Huh?”

You took a breath, but it didn’t cool the fire.

“Why do you always jump to her side over every little thing? Is she really that helpless? Is she that dumb and incapable of doing anything on her own, Hansol?”

You couldn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. This wasn’t you, because you weren’t the type to talk about people like that.

You didn’t even realise how harsh the words were until they already came out. They sounded bitter and personal. And maybe they were. Because you weren’t just angry at Hailey. You were angry at your own boyfriend for putting her before you. Again.

Hansol didn’t respond right away, but when he did, his voice was just as sharp as yours.

“She’s my best friend, Y/n,” he snapped back. “I’ve known her for years. Of course I’m going to be there for her if she needs me.”

“I know that!” you couldn’t help but raise your voice as the frustration boiled over.

“And I’ve always respected the fact that you guys are close. I know you’ve known her longer than me. I know she’s important to you.”

Hansol opened his mouth to speak, but you kept going.

“And trust me, the last thing I’ve ever wanted to do is come between you and your friendship with her” you said.

“But what about me?” The question itself was small, but held so much weight.

“What about me, Hansol?” you repeated, quieter this time as your voice trembled. The sting behind your eyes was impossible to ignore now as tears threatened to fall.

You hated arguing with him, but it had been weeks since you were being sidelined or brushed off. All over someone who you could guarantee could take care of herself without needing your boyfriend all the time.

“What if I need you just as much as she does?” you asked, your voice cracking as the tears finally escaped.

“Why is it that her needs always come before mine? Why can’t you choose me just once instead of her?”

Hansol stood there, frozen. He looked at you with a mix of confusion and worry, but he didn’t speak. His silence only hurt more.

You took a shaky breath and tried to compose yourself even as everything inside you wanted to scream. He looked at you like he didn’t understand, and that made your heart sink.

“Y/n…” he finally said, hesitantly stepping towards you.

“Where is this coming from?” he asked with a calm but cautious tone, like he was trying not to set you off further.

You broke eye contact and looked down. You didn’t even know where to begin. How do you explain the slow burn of feeling like a second choice? How do you measure all the little moments where you smiled and swallowed your disappointment just to keep the peace?

“I just…” you trailed off.

“I just want to feel like I matter to you the way she does.”

“But you do matter to me baby” he tried to assure you.

You looked back up at him, with a mocking smile. The ache in your chest was too big to hide.

“I know I do. But I’m getting tired Hansol” you whispered. “I’m tired of being treated like I’m always second place.”

“Call me jealous. Call me insecure. I don’t care anymore,” you continued, blinking back the rest of your tears.

“But I’m your girlfriend for god’s sake. I should feel like your girlfriend” your voice broke completely then.

“I get that she’s your best friend. I get it. And I get that you care about her. But there’s a line, Hansol. There has to be a line, right?”

You then let out a shaky breath.

“And when I have to fight for your attention, when I have to constantly wonder if I’m even a priority to you, that’s not a relationship. That’s loneliness with a title.”

Hansol’s heart dropped. It was like the floor beneath him gave way and he was free-falling. Your words replayed in his head on a loop, and the more they sank in, the heavier the guilt became.

He realised that he didn’t just hurt you by accident, he neglected you without even thinking. And that realisation alone made his stomach turn.

He couldn’t believe this was all brewing inside you. That you felt so alone and pushed aside for so long. And he didn’t notice. Or worse, he already noticed little things but brushed them off thinking you’d be fine.

He thought your love was unshakable enough to withstand being constantly sidelined. But how stupidly and utterly wrong he was.

He exhaled a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling too fast as he took a step forward and gently took your hands in his. Your fingers were cold and shaking slightly in his grasp.

He hated that. He hated that he made you feel this way.

He pulled you closer until your chest rested lightly against his. You didn’t resist, but you didn’t lean in either. You just stood there quietly sniffling while your eyes cast to the floor.

His hands moved slowly, almost hesitantly, up to cup your face. His thumbs brushed along your cheeks, catching the fresh tears rolling down your skin. Your lips were quivering and your jaw was tight, like you were still trying to hold back everything that wanted to break free.

“Baby,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Please look at me.”

You sniffled again, and your eyes flickered up to meet his.

“I didn’t know,” he said softly, barely above a whisper.

“I didn’t know you felt this way. And I hate that I had to hear it like this, for it to reach this point and for me to finally listen.”

He paused and drew in a breath to steady himself, but it didn’t help. “I thought I was being good to you. I thought you knew how much I loved you. But love isn’t just words, is it? It’s what I do. And I haven’t been showing it. Not in the way you deserve.”

You closed your eyes, biting down hard on your lip.

“I kept running to Hailey because I told myself she needed help. Because I thought you’d understand. And every time I did, I told myself you were okay and that you’d wait. That you knew how important you were to me. But I wasn’t showing you. I was showing you the opposite.”

His voice wavered. “I made you feel second. And that’s the last thing you ever should’ve felt.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out. Your throat felt constricted.

“I’m so sorry baby” Hansol whispered as his forehead lowered until it touched yours.

“I’m sorry I made you feel small. I’m sorry I made you feel like your feelings didn’t matter. I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t my priority. Because trust me baby, you are. You always have been, and I was just too blind to prove it.”

A tear rolled down his cheek now, but he didn’t care.

“I’ll do better, I promise” he said, and pulled you just a little closer.

“I love you.”

Hansol stared at his phone and the endless row of his unanswered messages and ignored calls. He stared down at it like it might suddenly light up with your name. The dozen attempts to reach out to you were simply left up in the air.

There was not a single read receipt. Not even the little “typing…” bubble that always gave him a sliver of hope when you both argued in the past.

And that was what scared him the most.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging it back in frustration before gripping the back of his neck. His skin was clammy and his heartbeat was a deafening thud in his ears. The anxiety gripping his chest was unlike anything he ever felt before. It wasn’t stress. It wasn’t him being overdramatic.

This was fear. Total, haunting fear.

Because this wasn’t like you. You weren’t the type to shut him out. Sure, you’d argue and get upset. But you were never the type to just disappear into silence without at least letting him know you needed time.

You’d always give him some sort of a signal or reassurance that as angry or hurt as you might be, you hadn't walked away completely.

But this time, there was nothing. Not a single word.

And this complete void scared the hell out of him.

What if something had happened? What if you were too hurt to want anything to do with him anymore?

He couldn’t sit still as these thoughts ran wild in his head.

Hansol shot up from the couch and grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair with more force than necessary. His movements were quick and clumsy as he tried to hurry. He barely even noticed Hailey watching him from the living room with confusion written all over her face.

She furrowed her brows. “Hansol? Where are you going? Why are you so— what’s going on?”

“I don’t have time to explain. I have to go,” he said firmly, not even sparing her a glance as he shoved his feet into his shoes.

“Is this about—” she started again, but he cut her off.

“Just— take care, okay?” he said over his shoulder while already halfway to the front door.

He grabbed his car keys off the counter and flung the door open before dashing out.

He didn’t mean to be cold or dismissive, really, but at that moment, there was only one thing, one person, on his mind.

You.

Everything else blurred into background noise. Because if there was even the slightest chance that you were hurting alone, especially because of him, he wasn’t going to waste another second standing still.

He just hoped he wasn’t already too late.

╴╴╴╴╴

Hansol didn’t know if he parked the car straight, if it was even on the driveway, or if he left the engine running. He didn’t care. None of it mattered compared to the mess in his head. What mattered was finding you and fixing things somehow.

He already knew you wouldn’t be at your shared apartment. That would’ve been too easy, because you never stayed there when you were upset, especially not after a blow-up. He knew your patterns too well, when things went south, you always ran to your brother. Joshua was your safe place. Hansol had banked on that instinct.

He slammed the car door shut hard enough to rattle the windows and jogged across the dark, quiet street to your house. All the lights were off, but it didn’t stop him. His fingers hovered over his phone, itching to text you again, but instead, he rang the doorbell.

Once. Nothing.

Twice. Still nothing.

On the third ring, a hallway light turned on. Hansol felt his stomach tighten. The front door swung open with force, revealing Joshua, shirt rumpled, hair a mess and eyes blazing with fury.

“What the fuck do you want Hansol?” he growled. Hansol’s mouth went dry, and swallowed the thick lump in his throat.

“Is Y/n here? I need to see her,” he said quickly, his voice cracking at the end.

Joshua’s expression didn’t change. If anything, it grew colder. His body stiffened like he was preparing for a fight, but instead of throwing a punch out of instinct, he let out a humorless laugh.

“If she is, what makes you think I’ll let you meet her?” he said, every word laced with venom.

Hansol opened his mouth but nothing came out. If Joshua knew even half of what happened, he was screwed. Completely screwed. Seeing you would be next to impossible with your brother standing in the way like a wall of fire.

“Go home Hansol,” Joshua snapped, stepping forward.

“Before I break your fucking nose. After the shit you pulled? You think I’ll let you anywhere near my sister? You’re not even gonna breathe in her direction.”

Hansol stood frozen. His heart was thundering, while guilt ate him alive. He had no plan nor backup. Only one truth, that he needed to see you. But Joshua already made it clear.

He wasn’t getting through that door.

At this point, all Hansol could do was beg. He looked like a mess with his hair disheveled, eyes red and guilt sitting heavy in his chest like bricks. He dropped his head, fists clenched at his sides and jaw tight with frustration. Whatever pride he had shattered the moment he saw Joshua’s face.

He wasn’t here to win a fight, he was here to fight for you.

“I didn’t do it on purpose, okay?” he said almost urgently, finally lifting his eyes to meet Joshua’s glare.

“I’m already beating myself up over this. I know I couldn’t keep my promise to her, and yeah, that wrecks me. But I didn’t flake on her just to hurt her. I was helping my friend out. And I…I lost track of the time. That’s it,” Hansol explained while his voice cracked slightly.

He then paused with his chest heaving.

He took a shaky breath and added, “you know how much I love her—”

Joshua didn’t let him finish. “Yeah, clearly,” he snapped, voice dripping with sarcasm.

The words stung more than they should have, but Hansol bit down his anger and cursed under his breath. Getting defensive wouldn’t help now. Not when he was already on thin ice.

“I just…I just want her to know I didn’t mean to keep her waiting,” he said, his voice growing smaller with every word.

“I want to apologise. She deserves that. She deserves the truth, not this tension and silence between us. I hate that I hurt her, even by accident.”

He looked at Joshua again, but this time there was no fire in his eyes. Just defeat.

“I won’t be able to sleep tonight knowing she probably hates me. I need to explain, even if she doesn’t forgive me,” he whispered. “I need to talk to her. I need her to know she still means everything to me.”

His voice cracked as he finished, barely able to breathe through the tight knot in his throat. “I don’t want to lose her, Joshua. Please. I don’t want to lose her.”

Joshua stood in silence. His anger wasn’t completely gone, but it was slowly simmering down into something else. He stared at Hansol, who looked like he was unraveling at the seams.

Joshua hated how familiar it felt. He hated that he could see the sincerity in Hansol’s misery. The guy looked wrecked. And as much as Joshua wanted to keep holding on to the fury, to slam the door in his face and make him pay, something in him hesitated. Because it was clear now, Hansol wasn’t here to make excuses. He was here to bleed if that’s what it took to make things right.

Joshua let out a long breath. His hand gripped the edge of the door tighter as he stared at the ground. And when he finally looked up again, his eyes met Hansol’s, and for a moment neither of them spoke.

Then Joshua huffed, eyes narrowing. “She’s sleeping right now, come back tomorrow” he said firmly.

Hansol opened his mouth, but Joshua held up his hand. “Don’t push it,” he warned.

He took a step back to leave just enough space to breathe. The tension didn’t disappear, just changed shape.

“But I’m telling you this now. I can’t promise anything, Hansol,” Joshua said. “You showing up, saying sorry, hoping to fix things, that’s not up to me. Whatever happens next, it’s Y/n’s call. Hundred percent. If she tells me she never wants to see you again, then that’s it. You’ll have to live with that.”

He paused as his voice dropped lower.

“And I’ll stand by her no matter what she decides. Because she has every right to be upset. Every right to not forgive you. You hurt her.”

Joshua took one last glance at Hansol, at the guilt and desperation, before gently closing the door between them.

▎28 NOVEMBER 2021

It was nine in the morning, and Hansol barely managed three hours of restless and broken sleep. The rest of the night was a torture as he tossed and turned in his bed that he normally shared with you, mind plagued with guilt.

He tried to come up with something, anything, that might fix the damage he caused. But every option felt futile. He knew words alone weren’t going to cut it this time. There was no perfect apology, and no grand gesture could undo what he did.

Hansol knew he fucked up badly, and there was no right way to fix things other than to fall at your feet and cry for forgiveness. Because losing you would be the end of his world, and didn’t want that.

Reaching over to check his phone again, Hansol stared at the screen for the millionth time, hoping that somehow this time he’d see a new notification, or at least a sign that you read his messages.

But every single text he sent sat unopened.

He let out a sharp breath and tossed the phone onto the mattress beside him, before burying his face in his hands. His palms dragged down over his face, then up into his hair, gripping the roots in frustration. His jaw clenched as he cursed under his breath. He didn’t know what to do. He never felt this lost before.

Suddenly, his phone lit up and began ringing. His heart leapt into his throat as he scrambled to get it thinking you had finally responded.

But to his disappointment, the screen read Hailey’s name instead. And he deflated instantly.

Nevertheless, he swiped to answer as he exhaled a long sigh while dragging a tired hand across his face.

“Hey,” he croaked out, voice rough from the lack of sleep. He pressed two fingers to his temple as he tried to ease the tension building in his skull.

“Hey, are you okay? You didn’t seem alright last night when you left,” Hailey’s worried voice came through the line.

Even though Hailey had been his best friend for years, Hansol wasn’t in the right headspace to talk to her about his relationship issues. Not when his thoughts were consumed by you. Maybe he was embarrassed to tell her that he messed up again. Maybe he didn’t want to tell her that she was part of the reason why this was happening. Or maybe he just didn’t want her to know every detail of his relationship with you.

He knew she meant well, and that she was only calling because she cared. But her voice, her questions, even her concern, it all just felt like noise to him. All he could focus on was the silence from your end. It was too loud. And the longer the silence stretched, the more it chipped away at him.

All Hansol needed was a sign from you. Even a simple “okay” would’ve been enough to give some sort of relief.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Something urgent came up. Sorry I left you like that,” Hansol apologised as he rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t mean to be so abrupt last night, but his heart was pounding too hard, and his thoughts were spiraling too fast to explain anything clearly.

“Is your ankle okay now?” he asked.

“It’s swollen and bruised pretty badly now compared to yesterday. But I’ve been keeping it elevated and putting on an ice pack,” Hailey replied with a subtle tinge of frustration in her voice.

“I see,” he mumbled. His mind was clearly elsewhere with the way his tone sounded so distant. There was a beat of silence before Hailey hummed in response, perhaps she sensed that his attention wasn’t fully with her.

“You think you can come over later on or when you’re free? I still need a bit of help getting around. Plus I’m really bored,” she added.

Hansol paused. Any other time, he might’ve said yes without hesitation. But not right now. He just wasn’t in the mood to meet anyone besides you. “I can’t today Hailey,” he told her, which caught her a little off guard.

“Oh. Do you have plans with Y/n or something?” she asked, sounding curious, but not surprised.

Hansol hesitated.

How could he explain that it wasn’t exactly “plans” he had with you, but rather a desperate and half-formed mission to salvage what was left of your relationship? That he was losing sleep trying to figure out how to fix what he broke? That your silence was driving him insane?

“Well…kind of,” he finally said.

There was another pause. Hailey didn’t press any further because maybe she sensed the shift in his tone, or maybe she understood more than he realised.

“I’m sorry,” Hansol muttered quietly, almost ashamed to say it out loud.

He swallowed hard before continuing. “Your parents are in town, right? I’m sure they can help out if you really need them. I just…” he trailed off.

He clenched his eyes shut as he inhaled deeply. “I messed up really badly, Hailey. And I’m trying to fix it.”

Hansol didn’t offer more. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to lie, but he also didn’t have the strength to dig through the mess he made just to explain it all over again. This was all he could manage, and he hoped it would be enough.

Hailey, thankfully, seemed to understand. “It’s okay,” she said, not pressing further. “I hope it works out.”

“I hope so too” he whispered to himself.

They both exchanged brief goodbyes, and Hansol ended the call before letting out a shaky breath. He tossed the phone onto the bed and sat there in silence.

His eyes lifted towards the mirror across the room, and grimaced at the sight of himself. His hair was disheveled, eyes were sunken from the lack of sleep, and he was still in the same wrinkled clothes from yesterday. He looked as wrecked as he felt.

A bitter laugh escaped him.

And no matter how pathetic he looked, he was going to make it right.

Somehow.

▎2 DECEMBER 2021

The first day or two without hearing from you, Hansol tried to stay calm. He told himself you just needed space and time to breathe. And he wanted to respect that, he truly did, but silence didn’t mean his heart wasn’t screaming in regret. It didn’t mean he wasn’t fighting the urge to show up at your door and fall to his knees.

So, instead, he did what he could from the distance. He texted. He called. Even knowing full well you were likely with your family, he still desperately hoped that you would answer.

But every time he tried to call, his calls would go straight to voicemail. Every time he texted, his messages remained unread. It was killing him. Every time his phone buzzed from notifications that weren't from you, it added another brick to the weight on his chest.

Still, Hansol held onto hope that you were seeing them. Maybe you were reading them from your notification center. Unless, of course, you had muted him. And the thought itself made him nauseous.

By the third day, he was falling apart.

The apartment was a mess. Takeaway boxes were littered on the counter, his clothes were still in a heap from three nights ago, and the lights stayed dim because he couldn’t find the energy to turn them on. He hadn’t left the apartment since. He barely ate and barely slept. His eyes were puffy from crying. It was something he hadn’t done in years, but now did in quiet gasps as he stared blankly at his phone screen, waiting and hoping.

Joshua wasn’t being much of a good help either. He couldn’t even offer him a sliver of peace. Every time Hansol asked about you, whether it was how you were doing or even something as simple as “Did she eat today?”, Joshua would deflect.

“She’s fine.” “She’s resting.” “I don’t know, man.” Every vague excuse was like a slap in the face. Hansol knew Joshua was doing it on purpose and that he was trying to shield you from more hurt. And to be fair, part of him didn’t blame him. But it didn’t make it any less painful.

The longer he went without hearing your voice, seeing your face, or knowing whether or not you were okay, the more it drove him toward the edge. His sanity felt like it was hanging by a single fraying thread. And that thread was you.

He couldn’t keep doing this. Not another day. Not another hour. He was going to see you one way or another.

He didn’t care if he had to wait outside your house for hours, in the rain or during the night. He didn’t care if your brother tried to shut the door in his face or if you refused to say a word. He just needed to see you. He needed to know you were still there and that you hadn’t walked away from him forever.

Because if you had, he didn’t know what he’d do.

All Hansol knew was that he wasn’t going to spend another night pacing around his apartment like a ghost and haunted by what-ifs and regrets. He was going to find you, and he wasn’t leaving until he did.

╴╴╴╴╴

“Y/n, you can’t keep silent and lock yourself away like this forever. It’s getting ridiculous now,” Joshua said with a firm voice as he stormed into your bedroom without knocking. His frustration was evident in the way his footsteps seemed heavy.

“Get your ass up and talk it out with him. I’m getting tired of all this.”

You flinched under the blanket at his tone, not because it was harsh, but because it awakened the very thing you were trying to avoid, and that was facing Hansol. Joshua stood at the foot of your bed with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He wasn’t angry at you, he was exhausted from watching his baby sister spiral day after day.

Joshua wasn’t just irritated. He was heartbroken for you. For Hansol, too, though he never said it aloud. He was pissed at Hansol for making you cry, rightfully, but the truth was, the silence stretched on too long. You and Hansol were both barely functioning, and Joshua had enough.

He saw how Hansol had been trying, really trying. He could see the effort he was putting to get a hold of you though he physically kept his distance to give you space. And every time Joshua gave him a vague answer, he could somehow sense Hansol’s anguish from the other. It was almost too much to bear.

Joshua let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair.

“I get that you’re hurt. But you can’t stay like this, Y/n. This zombie version of you? It’s not you. And it’s not helping at all, and you know it” he said.

“I’m not ready to,” you whispered, voice muffled as you tugged your blanket up to your eyes.

Joshua had no patience left for that. He strode over and yanked the blanket clean off you, forcing you to curl up tighter into yourself. You didn’t look at him, you couldn’t. The tears were already pricking the corners of your eyes.

“Then when?” he asked with a voice much sharper this time. “Seriously, when? Next week? Next month? Never?”

You stayed quiet.

His voice softened, but his next words hit you harder. “You know, if you’re this affected by what happened that night, why don’t you just spare yourself and break up with him?”

Your breath hitched as you shot your head up, shocked. The suggestion felt like a smack in the face. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Joshua continued.

“You love him, right? But this silence and shutting down, it’s hurting both of you. You’re not healing. You’re just avoiding it which doesn’t help with anything.”

You stared at him as pain swirled in your chest. “It’s not that simple,” you looked away from him.

“I know,” he said much gentler now. “But neither is loving someone. Neither is fighting for a relationship that clearly means everything to you.”

He sat down on the edge of your bed and looked at you with soft eyes. “I’m not saying forgive him right now, nor to forget what happened. But you need to face it. Talk to him. Scream at him if you need to. Just stop letting this eat you alive.”

Silence settled between you both for a long moment. You inhaled shakily, finally allowing your tears to trail silently down your cheeks.

“I don’t know what to say to him,” you admitted.

“Then start with that,” Joshua said simply. “Start with ‘I don’t know what to say.’ That’s something.”

And maybe it was.

Just then, a series of loud, abrupt knocks pounded against the front door, sharp and jarring enough to make you flinch. You shot up from your bed as your heart began to race, eyes wide as they darted toward your bedroom door. Nobody ever knocked like that, not even your angry mother when you wouldn’t open the door while having your headphones in. Given the door bell, people would’ve pressed it.

But this sounded urgent and desperate. And there was only one person you could think of who’d knock like that.

The thought of alone made your pulse quicken. Your stomach twisted as conflicting emotions battled inside you. No matter how hurt and furious you were, your heart still ached for him. Even now, after everything, it still yearned to hear his voice.

“I’ll see who that is,” Joshua said. You barely nodded as he was already moving toward the hallway.

Joshua hadn’t even fully opened the door when Hansol barged past him without a word. The younger’s breathing was heavy. His eyes were red and swollen, the bags under them were visibly dark with exhaustion. His lips were chapped, and he looked like he didn’t sleep in days. Because he didn’t.

Joshua blinked. He was stunned for half a second, before he sighed and stepped aside. He didn’t ask questions, nor did he try to stop him. It wasn’t his place anymore. He already tried everything, from comforting you to yelling at you. Even playing messenger between two people who were clearly miserable without each other. But this was out of his hands now.

With a quiet grunt, Joshua shut the door and walked away, heading to the living room and flipping on the television. He didn’t even check what channel was playing. He just needed the noise as a distraction.

This was something the two of you needed to deal with alone like grown adults. Face to face with no interruptions, and no more hiding.

And so, Joshua left the hallway silent behind him, leaving Hansol standing just a few steps away from your door with heart in his throat.

When he finally reached your bedroom, the door was wide open, thanks to Joshua who didn’t even bother closing it behind him. But either way, it left nothing between you and the person you’d been avoiding for days.

When he was suddenly in front of you, you froze completely. Your heart slammed hard against your ribs as your eyes landed on him. You didn’t know what to expect when this moment came, but it sure wasn’t this.

He stood there, his breathing ragged, fists clenched by his side and jaw locked in a way that made the muscles ripple beneath his skin. His shoulders were stiff, like he was struggling holding himself together.

Hansol looked absolutely beaten. His clothes were the same ones from that night, wrinkled and worn. His lips were trembling despite how hard he was trying to stay strong.

And you? You could barely breathe.

Seeing him like that shattered something in you. Because this wasn’t the Hansol you knew. The Hansol you knew never shattered, he was the anchor when storms hit. But now, he looked like he was barely hanging on. He looked like he was seconds away from falling apart.

Your throat constricted as the tears welling up in your eyes blurred your vision. You wanted to say something, but your lips parted and nothing came out.

“Hansol” you finally whispered as you slowly rose to your feet.

But you didn’t get to say more. In an instant, Hansol leaped forward, catching you off guard. He cupped your face roughly and before you could process it, his lips crashed into yours.

The kiss was intense that left you breathless. It wasn’t soft like how he’d always kiss you, but rather blunt and frantic. It was like he had been drowning and you were the air he needed to breathe again. He kissed you like he was starving of your touch and love. It was messy and heated, but so full of love.

You stumbled backward, but his arm shot out and wrapped around your waist to steady you. He didn’t let go, not even for a second. You stood frozen for a moment, feeling overwhelmed.

And then, your eyes fluttered shut as you kissed him back. Hard.

Your hands grasped his shirt tightly. You could feel his tears trailing down his cheeks, mixing with your own. His soft whimper against your lips shattered your heart all over again. He was crying.

Choi Hansol was actually crying.

You never saw him like this, not once. And now that you did, you wished you never pushed him to the edge like this. But more than that, you hated that he was suffering alone without you hearing him out.

You felt the way he poured everything into that kiss. The fear, the guilt, the longing, the love. It was all there, right between the quivering of his lips and the way his body pressed desperately against yours.

Without a word, you reached up to cradle his face in your hands and brushed his tear-streaked cheeks with your thumbs. He broke the kiss for a split second, and rested his forehead against yours as he tried to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry,” Hansol whimpered.

“I’m so sorry baby” he kissed you again, but this time it was slower and more fragile. You felt the kiss grow more saltier the more tears streamed down his face, and your heart couldn’t take much more.

“I’m such a fucking idiot, I know,” he mumbled breathlessly against your lips.

“I don’t even know what the hell I was thinking all those times I left you hanging. I don’t know what was going through my head when I chose to be there for someone else, when you were the one who needed me the most.”

He let out a sob that vibrated against your chest as he buried his face against your shoulder. You didn’t speak. All you could do was hold him closer with your fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt as his guilt poured out of him.

Hansol pulled away slightly, just enough to cup your face again. His thumbs gently stroked the apples of your cheeks as his red and glossy eyes locked with yours.

“You’re right,” he said. “You’re my girlfriend, for fuck’s sake. And you should feel like you are. You shouldn’t ever have to fight for my attention, or feel like you’re competing with anyone else.”

You watched the torment ripple through his expression. Every word looked like it cost him to say, but he meant them all. He needed you to know he was owning it.

“You didn’t deserve to feel like you were second,” he continued with his shaky voice. “You didn’t deserve to sit there wondering why I couldn’t show up for you the way I always did for someone else. And I hate that I made you feel that way. I hate that I didn’t see it sooner.”

You slowly brought your hands to his face, brushing your thumbs over the trails of tears on his cheeks. He leaned into your touch like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

“I— I know I try to be a good friend to Hailey,” he admitted, “but I should’ve set boundaries. Because you were right. She does have other people around her, people she can turn to besides me. I just— I guess I kept telling myself I was helping, not realising how much I was hurting you in the process.”

He shook his head. “Maybe that’s a talk I need to have with her too.”

He took another breath, but it got caught in his throat. “I just—” he paused, swallowing hard.

“I’m so sorry I made you feel like this. Even though it was never my intention, I still made you feel like a second choice. And I fucking hate myself for it.”

He dropped his hands from your face, only to wrap them around yours, the ones still resting on his cheeks. He squeezed them tightly.

“You know I love you, right?” he whispered, his voice breaking again. “That I never, ever meant to hurt you? Not on purpose. I love you more than I know how to say. So please, please give me a chance to make it right. I can’t keep going through this silence. It’s killing me baby. I swear it’s fucking killing me.”

And this time, his knees buckled as he sank to the floor, pulling you down with him.

You felt like your heart had been ripped out of your chest and crushed right in front of you. The sight of Hansol sobbing this much into your embrace was something you never thought you would witness.

You instinctively held onto him tightly like a mother cradling a child through a nightmare as the two of you slowly sank to the floor. In all the years you had known Hansol, this raw display of vulnerability was something completely foreign to you. He was always the strong one, and the rock for everyone else. Especially for you.

So to see him fall apart like this scared you.

“H-Hey, shhh,” you whispered, gently rubbing his back in slow and soothing circles. You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, another, then another.

“It’s okay, I forgive you, honey. Please stop crying,” you murmured as you were desperate to calm him down.

You tried to gently pull back to coax him into lifting his head and looking at you, but he only buried himself deeper into your chest. He kept his face hidden like he was ashamed to even be seen by you.

“Can you look at me?” you whispered, your voice cracking. But Hansol shook his head against you.

“Hansol-ie, baby, please look at me,” you said again more tenderly as you pulled out the name only his mother and you ever called him so endearingly.

And that finally did it. His body shifted as he slowly pulled himself up. He looked at you, tiredly yet with so much love and intensity.

Without a word, your hands found their way to his face. You cupped his cheeks as you brushed your thumbs gently over the wet trails. He leaned into your palms, closing his eyes and letting out a long, shaky breath.

“I’m sorry too,” you said.

Hansol opened his eyes slowly, brows furrowing in confusion. “Why are you sorry?” he asked, reaching out to hold your hands in his.

You offered him a small, halfhearted smile. “I guess I was being childish with how I acted. I shut down instead of talking to you. I pushed you away instead of letting you in.”

Hansol immediately shook his head. “No. You had every right to be upset. I was the one who broke my promise,” he said firmly, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand.

“It was all on me, not on you my love.”

He reached up to tuck a few stray strands of hair behind your ear. “Don’t blame yourself for reacting to the pain I caused.”

You swallowed hard, leaning into his touch. “But I should’ve at least told you I needed time. I shouldn’t have left you guessing like that.”

“Maybe,” he replied softly. “But I should’ve never put you in a position where you had to choose between silence or feeling like a second choice. You deserve so much better than that.”

Your eyes welled again, but this time from the overwhelming tenderness between you both.

But then you giggled softly. “I guess we’re both childish in our own ways,” you said, brushing a tear from your cheek with the back of your hand.

“Me, a stubborn and sensitive girl who shuts down instead of talking. And you, a loser, lovesick boy who’ll chase his girl no matter what.”

Hansol let out a soft laugh and he tilted his head. “And I love that beautiful, stubborn, and sensitive girl so much,” he whispered, “that I promised myself I’d chase her for her in every lifetime. No matter where, no matter when.”

Then, leaning in, he placed a gentle peck on your lips. Your smile paused, lips quivering as you tried to fight off another wave of tears. You stared into his eyes, “God, I really don’t deserve you” you whispered.

The words tumbled out of your mouth from the guilt and ache that still lingered in your chest. You pressed your lips against his again, hoping he could feel everything you didn’t know how to say.

But Hansol shook his head gently, pulling back just far enough to look you in the eyes. “No,” he said with conviction.

“It’s me who doesn’t deserve you.”

He reached up to cradle your face in both hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slipped free. “If it were anyone else, they would’ve kicked my ass to the curb already and never looked back. But you?” he paused, his voice cracking, “You still gave me a chance. Even after everything. And I swear, I’m never taking that for granted again.”

“I promise, and I truly mean it this time,” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours, “I will never make you feel like that again.”

You let out a shaky breath. You’d never been so vulnerable like this with each other. It was so messy and so emotional.

“I hate that we hurt each other,” you whispered.

“I do too,” he said. “But if we’re going to hurt, I’d rather hurt with you than be without you.”

You rested your forehead against his, eyes closed and hands tangled in the fabric of his shirt. “We’re such a mess, aren’t we?” you chuckled through your tears.

“Yeah,” Hansol breathed, “but we’re our mess.”

You smiled softly and slowly wrapped your arms around his neck. The moment your body met his, a deep sigh left your lips as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

Your voice came out muffled, “I love you,” you whispered against his hot skin, your lips brushing his collarbone.

Hansol let out a shaky exhale. He immediately snaked his arms around your waist and pulled you closer. He closed his eyes as you breathed you in.

“I love you too baby. More than I can ever express,” he murmured into your ear, before tenderly kissing the top of your head.

“I’ll never hurt you again,” he whispered as he pressed his forehead against yours. “God, I’d rather die before I ever do.”

“I don’t care what it takes. I’ll spend every day proving to you.”

a/n; it’s finally here!! please reblog if you like it🫶🏽

[tequiilasunriise]

OMGOGMGOGMGOG WAITTT YOURE COOKING YOURE COOKING!!!!!

Zoey taking Mira’s “There is no we, Zoey. I don’t get to have a family” as a lashing out breakup. Losing Rumi already crushed Zoey beyond measure- but her partner angrily snapping at her and saying she doesn’t see them as together? That there is no WE? Mira with a hard line in her shoulders storming away from Zoey and leaving her alone, the weight of the promise ring burning and heavy from where it sat in her jacket’s inside pocket and pressed against her heart? OHHHH MANNN THE DEVASTATIONNNN!!!

Mira walked away from Zoey so easily, without a lick of hesitation- is she really that easy to walk away from?

Was- was everything she and Mira had together so meaningless Mira didn’t even bother to look back?

Is this really happening, is Zoey really going to be left all alone just like that?

Of course she is, because she’s too much, and not enough.

“If the Honmoon turning gold means it’s going to last forever, then I want our relationship to be just like that…” and now the Honmoon was broken beyond repair. And now they were broken beyond repair. The world is ending for everyone else- but for Zoey? Her world has already ended, because her world said, “There is no we, Zoey.”

On godddd can y’all imagine the post-movie Zoemira heart to heart??? Mira deeply apologizing for lashing out at Zoey, yes it was largely influenced by Gwi-ma’s shame manipulation but still, and then Zoey’s choking up. Her voice is cracking with rising sobs as she admits how she took what Mira said as Mira breaking up with her, about how watching Mira walk away felt like the floor suddenly shattered under her and swallowed her whole, and and and, “It was- it was so hard to even breathe, Mira. It just- that was it. We were over. Rumi was gone, and then to lose you too like, like that? It- I- it felt like dying. You w-weren’t coming back, a-an-and I was dying.”

Your honor where’s the extensive hurt/comfort post-canon scene of Mira near launching herself at Zoey and hugging her so, SO impossibly tight and Zoey scrabbling to dig her fingers into the soft fabric of Mira’s clothes and cling onto her like her life depends on it? Mira frantically spouting a thousand apologies for fucking up and hurting Zoey so insanely badly, tears streaming from her own squeezed shut eyes and she can’t even bring herself to beg for forgiveness because in what world would she ever be good enough to receive it??? Mira doesn’t beg for something that would make her sick in the stomach to receive (trading the shame Gwi-Ma gave her of “you don’t get to have a family” with her own self-inflicted guilt of “you don’t get to be forgiven”), instead she apologies over and over again, each “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry” punctuated with an equally hoarse and heartfelt, “I love you, I love you Zoey, I love you so, so much” because she needs her to know. If nothing else, Mira needs Zoey to know that she is loved. Zoey is so deeply and desperately loved- beyond measure, beyond language, to the point where Mira can’t ever hope to find the words to express it properly but please, god please, you need to know how much I love you.

I hurt you and I’m sorry, I���m so fucking sorry, but I didn’t mean it.

There is a we, Zoey, and I love you.

Please believe me.

Please.

And Zoey can’t even say anything back because she’s got her head buried into the crook of Mira’s neck and sobbing away all the heartache and fear she felt that night as well as the lingering doubt she’s been grappling with during the hiatus. Yes, she’s happier than she’s ever been now that Rumi is truly herself nowadays and fully letting her and Mira in, and yet. And yet, despite the whole hopeful future ahead of her, Zoey couldn’t help but wonder, and worry, and pick at her thoughts like a scab. Zoey loves Mira, and she trusts her, or at least she wants to. But after that fateful night, Zoey’s been unsure whether or not Gwi-Ma made Mira say those awful words, or he simply amplified what was already there hiding under the surface. The idea that Mira has been secretly harboring, “There is no we, Zoey” this whole time until Gwi-Ma shook it out of her, well, it’s like a knife twisting her heart with a blade sharper than any she’s fought with.

But here? In Mira’s room, in Mira’s arms? She hears what Mira’s saying- “I love you, I’m sorry, I love you so much, I’m so, so sorry, please please please-“ and.

And she believes her.

Zoey’s voice is wrecked, her entire body heaving with each intense sob, and she nods, because she believes her.

They're wearing promise rings, your honor

In Korea, there's a tradition where couples will exchange promise rings- known simply as couples rings- on the 100th day of the relationship to signify their deep commitment to each other. These rings are oftentimes worn on the right ring finger, as opposed to the left, in order to avoid confusion for a wedding band while still maintaining a very significant weight + meaning.

Notice how Zoemira are wearing matching gold rings. On the same finger. The right ring finger, to be exact. Hm. And with NO other accessories. Hmm. Even though we have seen them accessorize with multiple rings before. Hmmmm!

I'm just saying, the animators made a choice and I am noticing said choice. I will now be imagining one million scenarios revolving around Zoemira promise rings, walk with me here.

One of them shyly proposing with a golden ring on the 100th day of being together, "If the Honmoon turning golds means it's going to last forever, then I want our relationship to be just like that..." and then the other rushes to grab her own box with her own golden ring and, laughing with tears in her eyes, offers up the ring with a choked up, "I was thinking the same thing."

Zoemira being very, very, VERY careful when taking off their respective rings and tucking them safely with their clothes when they go to the bathhouse together. When they're done bathing, it's the very first thing they check on and immediately slip back onto their finger before putting on any clothes.

They can't wear their promise rings during shows, public Huntrix outings like fan signings, etc etc lest they catch heated speculation from observant fans and paparazzi alike (dating is a hugeeee no-go for idols unfortunately), but that doesn't mean they don't have them on their person at all times if they can help it. Secured into inside pockets of their clothes, long stringed necklaces that stay underneath their tops, so on and so forth. I like to think, despite it being the easiest solution to avoid rumors and speculation, they choose to forgo wearing their rings on a different finger. These specific rings have a very specific symbolism- it's either gonna be on their ring finger or no finger. And if it's not gonna be on a finger, then they're still going to have it on their person in some way because unless absolutely necessary you best believe they're never taking those rings off.

^^^^Which is why they like to wear 'em when out in public when disguised!! Yay they can properly wear their promise rings and not get fleck for it!!! Like yes hold on Rumi we’re gonna go to the tonic doctor but we gotta get blinged up first. These matching rings are SUPER vital to the disguises and it’s INCREDIBLY important they’re worn properly ie on our ring fingers specifically. Don’t look too deeply into it (yeah I’m of the boat Rumi never realized Zoemira were already together pre-canon, to be fair girly had a lot on her plate to deal with) (she’s also never noticed their flirting attempts to get her to be their third but that’s neither here nor there).

Give me disguised!Zoey grabbing disguised!Mira by the hand to drag her through a busy and crowded marketplace, speed yapping through the one million lyric ideas she's recently come up with while mindlessly rubbing Mira's promise ring with her thumb, and in turn Mira intently listening and hoping her girlfriend doesn't let go of her hand anytime soon.

Give me Zoemira pinky promises featuring the promise rings. Oftentimes, Zoey will playfully challenge Mira with a, "Oh yeah? Pinky promise?" and stick out her pinky. Mira would then hook her own pinky with Zoey's and reply, "I promise" before rotating her own hand and in turn rotating Zoey's hand (since their pinkies are still hooked together), and as she's bowing her head and titling it a little not unlike the MOST dashing and charming she/her prince to ever grace this Earth, Mira maintains flirty eye contact with Zoey as she presses a sincere kiss to her beloved's promise ring as if giving a seal of approval punctuating how serious she is about keeping her word. It doesn't matter if this is the tenth or hundredth time Mira has pulled this move on her (Zoey has her make pinky promises often, what can she say she's just a silly little guy), the rapper's heart still bursts with warm, fluttery affection every single time. The way she'd giggle as Mira pulls back and shifts her hand so that their fingers are intertwined, oh yeah girly is SWOONING (and on god I can not blame her. Mira Huntrix is the high fashion prince charming she/her boyfriend. God bless handsome femmes).

Give me any and ALL content related to Zoemira promise rings because I got the typa greedy hunger talked about in the bible.

If you made it this far, thank you for coming to my TedTalk. I will now scream and cry in a corner now.

[narcissistshandler]

Shoot, you're open requests!! I have been reading the lookism fic on your blog and I really really want to request a fic on your blog!!

So excited..., May i req sub johan seong with dom reader doing dog and master roleplay, like the reader put red collar and leash to johan.. 👉👈 and eugh maybe reader pointing out the bulge on johan stomach.

Okay, that's all. Thank you for consider writing this, heres a flowers for you 🐯🫸💐!!

　⸸ .ᐟ M Y   F A V O R I T E   P E T

[ PAIRING ] male reader x johan seong/yohan seong (lookism) [ CONTENT ] johan only needs his collar and your dick inside him to stop thinking, give him his ears and tail, please [ TAGS ] amab!reader, top!dom!reader, bottom!sub!johan, pet play, owner x pet, collaring, butt plug, puppy!johan, anal sex, breath play, dirty talk, pet names, belly bulge, Johan has anxiety (because I said so), Johan's vision problem mentioned

[ A / N ] I love pathetic little pet Johan. thank you for the flowers ray. (also, slightly changing the aesthetic of the posts, bc I can)

"I knew this color would suit you. Red brings out your eyes," you compliment, fingers leaving behind a streak of heat on his skin, above where the leather band tightens around his throat.

Johan feels the tightness with every breath. He tries to reach for the collar, something in his head telling him he's going to choke, but you pull his hand away before he can make contact. "No, puppy. You are not allowed to touch your collar."

The cold of the floor against his knees creeps up his naked body. Goosebumps cover his skin.

Johan looks at you, where you tower over him, powerful, unreachable. Slightly blurred too, in the vision of his left eye. By this point Johan had learned to stop rubbing his eye, knowing it would do no good and he hated the look on your face whenever you saw him do it again.

It was one of those days.

"But I..." He begins, hands clasping his knees. There are bruises turning color on his skin from the last fight. His vision seems worse today. He's going to suffocate.

You silence him instantly, Johan feels the embarrassment tighten around his throat along with the weight of the collar at your choice of words. "Dogs don't talk. We've already talked about that, haven't we?"

Of course, Johan knew dogs couldn't talk; that was one of the reasons he'd agreed to this act. He didn't want to have to talk or think. But the restlessness in his stomach still made him want to stutter nonsensically, to say something, anything. There was a part of him that wanted to fight, to surrender, to whine to you — he was a mess of feelings.

A lost puppy.

"You understood?"

Johan nods.

"Puppy?" You pull on the leash.

He then understands the order and obeys: "Woof."

"Good. Good boy."

It's humbling, how easily he bows to you with a simple gesture. A snap of your fingers, a point down. On hands and knees. Like a well-trained dog, he's obeying, pushing his butt up in the air, and looking back at you expectantly. Did I do it right? Can you tell me?

"Just like that, such a smart pet," you say and Johan's chest swells with pride.

Your hands fall to his buttocks, caressing, soothing the goosebumps. He feels himself tighten at the attention, tensing around the little plug that fills him, barely enough to do anything but keep him smooth and taut. "I'm going to take this out of you now," you warn before starting to pull the plug out. Johan is suddenly empty, and a needy sound escapes his throat before he can stop it. A whimper.

"Shh shh," you hush, your warm thumb finding the relaxed, smooth edge. "You were a good pup, weren't you? Obedient little thing, carrying your plug around all day without trying to take it off, just waiting for your owner to come home. Look at that cute hole, all red and stretched, barely closing."

Johan's ears burned, but he could only rock back against your hand. After feeling the silicone filling his ass all day, the emptiness now felt wrong. He had been good to you all day, knowing that when he got home he could just be your little dog.

"What do you want, pet? Can you tell me?"

Johan fights the instinct to fall into a messy begging, remembering that good dogs don't talk. Instead, he barks, trying to convey his need as he rocks his hips from side to side, like a bitch in heat trying to entice you to fuck him. "Woof arf woof woof."

Please owner, I need your cock.

It's pathetic.

But with his face against the cold floor, fluffy ears falling from his brown hair, and your commanding presence kneeling behind him, all Johan could feel was the growing need, his hole opening and closing, so, so close to begging.

"My sweet pup," you murmur, hands closing around his slim waist, thick cock brushing against his entrance. Johan bites his lower lip, pushing it back. Disobedient. But you don't punish him, just laugh, enjoying his latent desperation.

An owner as complacent as cruel you were.

"My perfect bitch." You're sinking into him then, inch after inch filling his empty insides. Johan feels the penetration into every vertebra of his spine. His thighs tremble. Even without needing to look, he feels you making space inside him, rearranging his insides to the point where he can barely breathe. Impossible deep inside. The mere thought makes him gasp.

You dragged a reverent hand over Johan's trembling abdomen, tracing the outline of you beneath the skin. The unmistakeable bulge where your cock stretched him obscenely wide. "Look at my good pup, so full you’re showing it." Then you pull back, before going back inside, casually pounding him, gradually increasing the pace, knowing exactly how to fuck him raw. Hand still there, feeling where your cock pushes inside him.

You're everywhere — inside him, against his back, legs against his thighs, hands all over his body, pulling on the leash, squeezing the visible bulge in his stomach every time you move.

He was never as full as when you filled him.

Johan doesn't realize he's drifted away from reality until your voice teases in his ear, one of your hands patting the side of his hip. As if calming down an animal. "You're drooling all over the floor, does it feel so good to finally be put in your place? My pretty puppy's belly so stretched for his owner it's made him soft and mindless, hasn’t it?"

He nods, or tries to.

His body no longer obeys, surrendered to the oppression of being completely filled, the firm weight of the leather around his neck, your hands on him.

Then you rock your hips. Your balls slap against his ass and your cock pushes in deep. There's not enough lube to soften the invasion and he feels the burn, the hot friction of your cock sinking through the tightness. In, out. In, out. In, in, in.

Johan is not only drooling on the floor, but also leaking copious amounts of pre-cum. His body is on fire. Hips shaking violently as he tries to keep the heat in his stomach under control.

Then he hears you spit before your cock comes back in, just a little wetter and slicker and he groans like a filthy mutt, loudly, eyes rolling back in his skull.

He knows, and so do you, that he could come that easily, just from your words and the collar around his neck, pulling until it cuts off his oxygen. Your member threatening to reach his lungs. It's scary, letting someone have that much power over him. But Johan doesn't fight or try to touch himself; you'll take care of him, always have. All he wanted was to be good for you, orgasm was a bonus, not the goal.

"You’re panting like you’re in heat. So stuffed, you can’t even whimper right," you murmur, the chain vibrating as you wrap it further around your fingers and pull. "Gotta take good care of my bitch, right? Breed well so she doesn't go looking for another dick. I'll be sure to fill you up good today."

Johan has forgotten how to speak, but he's still your good puppy, and as such, he barks at you, grunts; hoarse, confused, foolish. Yes. Yes. Please. A needy, disgusting little pet, and still your only and one favorite.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Would you rewrite Book 7? If so, what would you change?

I would absolutely rewrite it; over 2/3 of book 7 (basically most stuff after escaping from Lilia’s dream ~part 100ish) felt like a complete waste of my time.

I’ve actually already talked about what I would like to change about book 7 in another post, as I’ve been critiquing 7 for months now 💦 You can read my points here, though please be warned that it’s not super detailed (like, you don’t find individual breakdowns of what each character’s dream could have been).

Something specific I’d add to my rewrite is I want Twst to specifically address a point that is brought up by Ortho MULTIPLE times in book 7 but is never addressed in the ending: the supposed danger of the dreamers' bodies atrophying from lack of food and water while sleeping. Ortho says this before he makes contact with S.T.Y.X. (7-46) and then mentions it again as a possibility all the way in ACE'S dream (7-248 to 7-251), and Trey brings it up too. What is the point of dangling this over our heads like it's something to be legitimately worried if book 7's conclusion NEVER touches upon this? Is it true or is it not? If it isn’t, why not confirm it? If it is left as a real possibility then it just makes Malleus seem really stupid. You’ve mentioned time stopping magic + everything being under Malleus’s control before so why bother with the threat of atrophy at all??? It just feels to me like Twst set something up and failed to fully commit to it.

A newer thing I wanted to tweak (after reflecting on it a bit more) is Sebek’s character growth. Nightmare set me up with the expectation that he would one day become disillusioned with Malleus and then learn to accept his flaws + love him anyway in spite of that, WITHOUT ignoring or denying the fact that Malleus is flawed. Yet… I feel that book 7 did not deliver in that regard. Sebek begins to question Malleus’s goodness, yes. He joins forces with us to wake everyone and fights against OB!Malleus. He wants, with all his heart, to save his liege.

But??? Sebek is still basically glazing Malleus as late the last second of book 7, still telling people off for not doing the same as he does (in Ace’s dream), etc. Ortho does ask him would he be this gun-ho about saving the world if it wasn’t Malleus being painted as the “bad guy” here, and this gives Sebek pause—but the thing is, it’s NEVER committed to. We don’t see Sebek being hesitant about Malleus at all. He barely seems to need time to process that his master has overblotted, barely needs convincing to help us out. And by the end of it all, he hasn’t reflected on Malleus’s flaws or his relationship with Malleus much at all. I’m not expecting Sebek to have a complete arc by the end of book 7, but I find it so odd that I didn’t see him actively struggling with his convictions that much when you think this guy’s whole worldview would be shattered?? And he’d be trying so hard to pick the pieces back up and try to assemble them into something he understands. Like, where’s the part where the veil over his eyes lifts and he has to come to the hard realization that Malleus isn’t infallible… that he can be selfish and arrogant and make mistakes, that he, too, is human, and not a god? It feels like Sebek leaped all the way to acceptance already without the tough work that comes in the middle or even thinking about Malleus’s shortcomings.

Book 7 just has repeated issues with setting up a lot but not following through in a satisfactory way, or overloading us with information that they choose to do nothing meaningful with despite the hefty length of the book 😔 Again, it’s a HUGE time waster.

[alltimecharlo]

Heyyy! So i’m a bit new here and I’ve noticed that Will is nicknamed kibble or puppy in fics sometimes, do you happen to know how or why those started? And i love your writing so much i have been using them as rewards to motivate myself to work on my thesis <33333

hello!! thank you, and sooo glad you're here to join us 😁<3

there's some exciting times ahead and everything we learn about these two is truly just so insane and intriuging! case in point...

will's REAL LIFE nickname on the sharks actually is 'puppy'/'kibble' 🐶🩵

it truly sounds like some fanfic bs, I KNOW. but yes, his teammates were really out here dubbing their bright-eyed rookie 'puppy' and 'kibble' in his first year... where to even start??

we first heard of this all in this tweet from sheng peng that actually reports it being 'little puppy', which is even more insane, no? he later corrected himself that is is actually just 'puppy'.

this article finally gave us some great background as to why exactly... the nickname was originated by sharks defenseman jake walman and it's apparently a reference to a lyric in luh tyler and bossman dlow's song '2 Slippery':

“She don’t want no puppy, she want a big dog,”

“Him and I just kind of like vibe with this one song,” Walman said, stressing “Puppy” is just a reference to Smith’s youth and nothing more, no NSFW meaning.

the clarification the nickname has no nsfw meaning... pls 😭😭 i don't think anyone was presuming that from the get-go but okay!

“Soon he’ll be a big dog. That night he was a big dog, but most of the time, he’s a puppy.” “It’s definitely his vibe. His song.”

the 'night' in question was the night will scored his first nhl goal eight games in to his career. he'd been struggling a bit so the team were very happy for him to get his first goal! will and jake celebrated together! they also got the win against chicago too :)

i really do love the sentiment behind his nickname tbh tho! will's aspiring to become one of the nhl 'big dogs' eventually, but for now, as a rookie and esp in comparison to the vets, he's just a puppy who has 'big dog' moments! 🐶

another reason why he adopted this nickname early on in the season is because there's another 'smitty' on the sharks - 'givani smith'! he mentions it at the start of this tiktok :)

with 'smitty' being will's usual nickname but this being kind of taken already by an older guy, i'm sure the sharks were looking for anything that stuck to rename him lol because according to will it was getting confusing!

“We have two Smitty’s too, so I probably need a new name anyway,” Smith said, referring to himself and Givani Smith. “Pre-season, when [head coach Ryan Warsofsky] said Smitty’s line, we were like looking around.”

the nickname then reportedly developed from 'puppy' into 'kibble'.

The San Jose Sharks super-prospect was also called “Kibble” after Saturday’s morning skate, on the eve of their match-up against the Vancouver Canucks.

the exact origin behind this variation is unclear, there is the obvious association of course (dogs eat kibble) - but perhaps the nsfw connotations from the original song lyric, and the fact jake felt the need to over-explain this to sheng, swayed the change lol!

after all, in this sharks nickname tiktok from the start of the season, will does say 'kibble' and not 'puppy'! so it's entirely plausible the 'puppy' element was dropped quite quickly actually as we haven't heard a lot about it since!👀

some additional factors that may have fed into his nickname include the fact that will lovessss dogs! <3 he's had a couple family ones and has a post up dedicated to his first one that passed on his insta still :(

will and mack are also constantly playing sewer/basketball before games and bounding around like puppies, lol, so will certainly doesn't help himself!!🐶🩵

[lavenderangell]

Thinking of Giving Up?

A lot of people think manifesting is hard. And honestly, in the beginning it is. It feels like you're fighting against everything you've known, believed, and lived through. The thing that made me keep going is this:

I refused to give up.

I refused to live in a world where we're told to accept circumstances that break our hearts. Where we’re expected to just cope with pain, struggle and lack, as if that’s all life has to offer.

I’ve gone back and forth about whether or not I should even share this. I’m a private person, and I’ve never really liked opening up about the hard parts of my life but maybe someone needs to hear this. Maybe there's someone out there on the verge of giving up and this will encourage them to keep going.

For me, it was financial instability. My family struggled with money after my father lost his job. He had to sell his car to make ends meet. I know what it feels like to worry about where your next meal will come from. To feel ashamed and afraid. At one point, my parents hadn’t paid rent in over 6 months. Every single day I woke up thinking, "Is today the day we get evicted?"

And eventually… that day came.

We had to move to a much smaller house and because I'm the oldest, I had to give up having a room of my own. I slept in the living room. Every night, I would lie there surrounded by silence, pretending it didn’t break my heart. There were nights I cried quietly in the dark, wondering if this was all a waste of time. I doubted the law. I doubted myself. I thought, "Maybe this doesn’t work and I’m deluding myself." I felt like I was drowning in hopelessness, watching life go by while I stayed stuck.

Something in me refused to give up. I persisted, it wasn't easy, but giving up meant continuing to live a life that crushed me. It meant accepting defeat and I couldn't do that.

So I kept going. I assumed that my parents were wealthy, even when the fridge was empty. I imagined a better life, even when we were surviving on handouts.

Then, out of nowhere, my mom found out her father had left her a huge area of land. She sold it. The first thing my parents did was pay the money they owed the former landlord. After, they bought 2 cars and invested in real estate. And they still had money left over.

My dad, who had been unemployed for three years, finally got the job he had been hoping for.

We were once evicted.

Now my parents own an apartment complex and they're already planning on buying another.

You can’t convince me that this was just a coincidence.

So I ask you this, with all the love in my heart:

Are you willing to accept what they told you life has to be?

Or will you keep going, even when it’s hard?

Even when it hurts.

Even when your heart is tired and your eyes are heavy from crying. Because the moment you stop accepting less, life stops giving you less.

Accept that you already have what you want and persist.

This girl walked through shadows with tears in her eyes. She cradled hope like a fragile flame, even when the world gave her nothing but cold winds. Manifesting, she realised, was never about chasing. It was about becoming. She remembered the ancient truth that reality is soft clay in her hands, and with each quiet assumption, she shaped a life worthy of the divinity within her. She is no longer waiting. She is creating, endlessly, effortlessly.

......

I was going through my drafts when I saw this post and felt a nudge to share it. If it reaches even one person who needs it right now, then it’s done its job.

[jiaelune]

୨୧ 📽 <Until You Love Yourself> | HIT THE ROAD EP14

𖹭.ᐟ SYNOPSIS: As a Seventeen member, it is undeniable that Jia had to fight for herself in order to debut as the only woman in the group and succeed in her career. She's faced enormous challenges off-camera throughout the years, but the truth spills as she describes the challenging fights and overwhelming events she went through before and after her debut.

WARNINGS: Self-deprecation, mentions of depression, cyberbullying, hate comments, hiatus, fainting, mental and physical exhaustion, perfectionism, overworking, hyperventilation, trauma (bullying) . Mainly proofread but there might be mistakes . © jiaelune on tumblr . 2025

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

TIMELINE: May 2020

A/N: heyhey! i've been so excited to post this and other writing works, so i hope this post does well. honorable mention to tumblr for not making my links work whenever i link my masterlist/other posts🥰 biggest fuck you to tumblr, thank you.

⤷ 𖹭.ᐟ masterlist . (📎) . hit the road: jia

“I always think of you before I fall asleep. The words you said, the way you looked. The things we laughed about, the silent moments we shared. And when I dream, I'll dream of you. Because it's about you; it's always about you.”

Through hardships and unbearable challenges, Jia has been the soothing sea for the rest of the members. A gentle tide they could float on, silently guided by her supportive and comforting presence. Her altruism was undeniable, and her love overflowed through her actions and kindhearted words.

She's a shoulder they can rely on whenever they need it, always open to listen and understand their emotions. Yet, she rarely opens up to them, labeling her emotions as a "burden" and "distractions" from her professional career. In the face of her fans, in the face of her haters, she knew she'd never be human. She'd never be treated as one, nor seen as one.

Being in front of cameras 24/7 was exhausting. She needed to perform in front of an audience for most of her life without a break. Any signs of exhaustion, unhappiness, or even one moment without a bright smile on her face could cause a grand dispute online. She smiled at all times and pushed her feelings underground to maintain a stable idol image.

"I'm just... tired. It gets tiring at some point, and I've already reached past my limit," Jia confessed, sitting cross-legged on a couch with her hands clasped together as she talked to the camera recording her conversation. "No matter how much you push your emotions away from you, they always come back like an overwhelming storm."

She doesn't like to be labeled as perfect. She hates it. The term traps her inside a cage and surrounds her with unachievable expectations from her fans and staff. The word itself carries a weight too heavy for Jia to handle.

"And I guess that's why I almost collapsed," she continues, referring to a specific Ode To You tour concert. "Wonwoo and I had been really tired before the concert. He was gasping for air on stage and hyperventilating. In addition, I stayed up late practicing and singing the night prior to our concert."

"I strained my voice so much that I felt lightheaded. The stress, the worry, the concern, and the pile of idol work waiting for me were too much to bear. I just couldn't take it anymore. Yet, I kept performing. I fainted after the concert ended. I had a sore throat, my muscles twitched and hurt, and I had such a terrible headache I felt like vomiting every five seconds."

The members were backstage after a sweat-drenching concert, fanning themselves with their clothes and chugging down entire bottles of water to compensate for the energy lost for over two hours.

Then suddenly, an alarming incident occurred. As Jia was stepping down the stage, feeling lightheaded and nauseous, she collapsed and fell into the arms of the staff members who were ready to catch her.

"What's going on?!" Seungcheol, the ever protective and caring leader, immediately showed up to the scene once he was informed of the events. "Where's Jia?!"

The staff rushed to aid Jia and provided her with the necessary care. Her eyes were half-open, her breath heavy and quick, her body exhausted from the nonstop dancing and singing.

Her collapse was to be expected. During that time, she'd been pushing herself as far as she could. In addition, she'd been sick a few days prior. But in order to continue the tour flawlessly, Jia shoved her concerns aside and ignored the clear signs of her body's sickness.

Jia fidgeted with her fingers and thought of a way to voice her feelings, "I just... I think that, at that time, I felt like I was falling behind. I'd been sick a few days before, but I didn't stop. My dance was slower than the rest, my voice was more strained, and I felt like I wasn't giving enough."

"I was like, I trained for this, so I think that's what drove me to push myself to my limits," she admitted. "It's frustrating. The choreography is shaped for them, the dance moves are made with a boy group in mind, and sometimes I just... I can't do it. It irks me so much. It frustrates me so much it makes me want to cry. I don't mean to criticize Hoshi's work in any way, but it just... It's hard for me."

Jia is a dazzling dancer on stage, with a strong stage presence that allures fans to her striking performance. However, success doesn't come with challenges. More often than not, she finds herself in the dance practice room late at night to deliver a flawless dance on stage. From risky, sharp moves that require exhausting physical training to tiring vocal exercises, Jia wants to be on par with the rest of the members.

During her hiatus in the Pretty U era, Jia visited the practice room to watch the Seventeen members sometimes and silently cheer them on, offering her presence despite being mentally and physically unwell. Yet, when she watched them become better and improve more than she ever did, she couldn't help the irritating jealousy, envy, and frustration bubbling up in her chest.

Instead of healing herself, her frustration became unbearable, and she felt the need to reach their level. She felt as if she wasn't enough, that the hate comments were correct, that she wasn't fit to be a member of Seventeen. She herself wasn't worthy of that because all she did was slow them down.

The cyberbullying left her traumatized along with a bad habit of pushing herself to the limit. It repeated in the Ode To You tour, hence her exhaustion and collapse. She sang until her vocal chords stung. She danced until her muscles were sore, and she performed until her heart's palpitations were too quick and her ragged breath became painfully unbearable.

"I'm not used to talking my feelings with others openly. I think this is actually the first time I shared so much about how I feel to my fans," Jia sniffled and wiped the corner her eyes with the tip of her fingers, careful not to smudge her makeup as tears quickly formed in her eyes. "I'm used to having others rely on me, so when it's actually my time to speak about myself, it gets... awkward."

"I always try to be a good role model for the others, so I tend to prioritize their needs over mine. I actually like doing that — it gives me a distraction from my own problems," Jia chuckled awkwardly, not sure how to explain herself properly. "I just... I guess I'm just that kind of person. Not sure who I learned it from."

She is always the spotlight of the group, whether because of love or hate isn't important. Her name is easily found in many articles. From scandals to announcements, from hate comments to praise; she is always the topic. She could never live peacefully because there would always be someone commenting about her.

The Ode To You tour had been a difficult experience for all of the members, and Jia was no exclusion. Despite labeling her feelings as unimportant, the members strongly believed she was just as relevant as them. In the end, they weren't just idols or performers — they were human, and all of them needed to let their feelings out one way or another.

To them, no one is irrelevant. No matter how much Jia brings herself down, the members will subconsciously prove her otherwise. From small gestures like checking on her health or asking if she felt unwell, to powerful comforting moments in which they'd remain silent in an emotional group hug, they prove to her that she is just as important as the rest. Without her, Seventeen would not feel like home.

"You ready?" Minghao asked Jia a few minutes before the performance team went up on stage. Hoshi placed his hand on her shoulders and patted them affectionately while Jun prepared himself to perform.

"I am," Jia smiled and offered Minghao a bottle of water. "It's important to stay hydrated. I can tell you're nervous. We've done this many times before, but if you're feeling out of it, make sure to tell us — and this goes for everyone else."

Minghao shook his head and handed Jia the water bottle, "You need it more than me. I don't want you to faint again. We don't want you to faint again. Dino, Wonwoo, S.coups, Jeonghan, and you have been enough."

Jun nodded and agreed with Minghao, "Let's take care of each other and avoid any more injuries, okay?"

Fortunately, the performance was a success. The cheers from the fans, the encouragement, and the dazzling lights of the stage made her feel alive. She forgot about everything for a moment. Suddenly, the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders.

At that moment, she realized she was born to perform. Born to be with Seventeen. Born to be on the stage, smiling and laughing while having the best time of her life. Being on stage makes her feel alive, loved, and cared for. There is no way to describe the beautiful warmth in her chest after hearing the loud chants of her fans and the beautiful view of the ocean of lightsticks lighting up the venue with a mesmerizing hue of blue.

"It's stressful, but it's beautiful," said Jia. "The members are always there by my side. They make me realize that I'm worthy of being in this group, and I am just as valued as the others are. I don't know why it took me so long to realize this, but Seventeen without any of the members isn't a team. We all belong here, with each other, and I couldn't have asked for more."

She could feel her eyes well up with tears threatening to spill at any second. It took so long for her to understand that she's loved, and now that she understands the impact of her presence alone, she can't help but feel emotional.

The staff handed her a tissue and she wiped her tears, but she couldn't control herself for long. She covered her face with the tissue in her hands, let her head fall low, and allowed her hair to fall over her face. It was impossible not to cry when she was surrounded by so much love.

She never saw her true potential, but everyone else did. It is thanks to them that she stayed. It is thanks to them that she recovered from her depression. It is thanks to them and their irritating comfort that persuaded her to chase her dreams. If it weren't for them, she would've given up a long time ago.

When she was at her lowest, when she was at her best, during arguments, and reconciliations. In her embarrassing moments to her proudest achievements, someone was always there, watching. The mutual fondness always lingered. They've been together for so many years that arguments could never last longer than a day.

They make her feel human. They know her, they see her, they understand her. Not through the camera lenses, but with their real eyes. They see her true self in a way no one else does.

"I'm so grateful," she sobbed, an emotional smile spreading on her lips. "I want to be enough. I want to do better. I want my fans to look at me and say I'm a person worth looking up to. I want to be a better person so when I become old I can look back at myself and be proud of everything I accomplished."

Her presence will leave a lasting impression in the K-pop world. Her kind soul will not be left unseen. Once the end arrives, once the good times end, her name will be carved in the music history along with the rest of Seventeen.

Beneath the mask of perfection, underneath the facade of a performer, lies a little girl with a dream. The spark in her eyes shines brightly as she hears the cheers from the crowd. That's a part of Jia that never changed at all. The passion for music never left. It always lingered close to her like a heartwarming comfort that tells her that her efforts were worth it. She is worth it. She made it. She deserves it.

Her path is a journey that is not over yet. There will be challenges along the way, but what she knows is that everyone will be by her side if she ever needs support and that she shouldn't feel ashamed for reaching her limits.

She is not perfect. She is not the ideal idol. She is a human. A beautiful human with flaws and imperfections she needs to learn to love. Every part of her is unique. Each impurity tells a part of her story that only those who are able to see the true beauty of them will understand.

"I want to go on stage again," Jia wiped her remaining tears and smiled wide enough to reach her gentle eyes. "I want to go on stage again and perform. I want to make the most of my life and live every day in a way I won't regret. I love making music. I love singing. I love dancing, and I hope I can keep on doing what I love until I die."

For her, Seventeen is enough. She is eternally grateful for the love and opportunities she received throughout the years. Her strong devotion to her career and resilience to hate comments prove her worthy of her position and a good role model.

"And I've come so far and achieved so much... So, instead of saying sorry for all the times I couldn't keep up with the rest, instead of apologizing for all of my mistakes, I'll say thank you. To my fans, who stayed with me during my worst. To my members, who watched me grow and improve in this beautiful journey. And to everyone who didn't give up believing in me and supported me every step of the way."

Music is therapy. She hopes that one day, she'll be the reason someone wants to be better. She wants to be an inspiration, a good role model, and a person worth loving.

And one day, she'll love herself as much as others do.

[quibbs126]

Something that I think about is that D-16 in Transformers One, had he had better circumstances after the Sentinel reveal, probably could have avoided his fate. Because like, his fall wasn’t him showing his true sinister colors as soon as he got power, he wasn’t evil, he was just reacting badly to a horrible situation and his newfound strength was the only thing he felt he could rely on. I mean, by the end he did some pretty bad things, but it’s not like he was always this way

Like the way he reacts to the situation is honestly something I could see being plausible for an Autobot in another series to go through, them reacting in a similar manner. I feel like it’d work in Prime, if it isn’t similar to how characters have acted in that show already. But in other series, that Autobot would have trusted friends, probably a wiser mentor figure, if not just Optimus himself, to try and help them deal with this rage and vengeance and not lose themselves in it, and the people who’d encourage them to give into their anger would be the Decepticons, their enemy and people they know just want to use it to defeat them easier. So like, that Autobot would eventually be able to see the error of their ways and stop before they reach the point of no return

But D-16 doesn’t really have that. His friends are in the exact same boat as him, and none of them know how to deal with a situation like this, or how to help him, since they’re preoccupied with their own reactions. And Alpha Trion isn’t able to act as a mentor because he’s gone like, 5 minutes later, best he could do was tell them the truth about Sentinel and give them T-cogs. And the only other older, more experienced people the group meet are the High Guard, who’ve all gone a bit crazy and only reinforce and encourage D’s new aggressive and violent behavior. But they’re also fighting for the same goals as the quartet and are some of the only help they can get, so it can’t be like the Decepticons (yet) where they can just immediately disregard anything they say to do with this anger D-16 feels

I can’t really fault D’s friends for their failing here, since like I said, they’re all dealing with the situation and no one knows how to handle it, and I can’t really blame Alpha Trion for Sentinel’s lackeys finding their location and him having to stay behind to let the younger bots go. I can blame the High Guard since they’re older and should probably know better, and I feel like if the group never met them things wouldn’t have gotten as far as they did, but they also aren’t the only factor here

I don’t know, I’ve just been thinking about it. In another life, if D had better support, his turn to evil could likely have been avoided

[herrscherofinsanity]

Poison Lips Pt. 2

Mean Girls AU

Fluff? Probably not.

Yu Jimin (Karina) x fem!reader

Word count: 3.1k

Part one!

Had to split this into two parts because of how long it turned out to be... oops.

TW: Mention of self harm.

______________________

It was lunchtime when Jimin’s phone buzzed.

She stared at the screen, her blood running cold.

A notification from PoisonLipz.

The account had posted.

The caption was simple, almost too simple. The words, though? Explosive.

@PoisonLipz

“The Siren we never talk about.

Jimin. The girl who replaced y/n. The one who played the game so well, she forgot to play her part.

What happens when you play too long? You get greedy. You get stupid.

And now, here’s the truth:

Jimin was never supposed to be here. She wasn’t supposed to win. But she did. And now, here she is—still wearing y/n’s crown. And guess what? She wants it all.

You really think she wasn’t involved in y/n’s downfall?

Guess who’s been feeding me everything all along.

The crown was always y/n’s. But Jimin?

She’s just a pretty face, trying to play a queen.

Enjoy your reign while it lasts, princess.”

Jimin’s heart stopped.

She looked up from her phone, her face pale, and felt every single pair of eyes on her. The whispers started immediately.

“Did you see that?”

“No way, right?”

“She didn’t even—what?”

She couldn’t breathe. Not from fear. Not from shame. Just from the weight of the truth sinking in.

Her mind raced. The lies. The manipulations. Calla had played her.

It was all falling apart.

Jimin shot up from her seat, ignoring the laughter and pointing fingers. She ran out of the cafeteria, desperate to escape. Where would she go?

y/n’s face flashed in her mind—y/n’s smile, y/n’s quiet, calculating gaze. She had known.

y/n knew what was coming. She’d seen the game play out before. And now, Jimin was no better than her.

The hallway felt like it was closing in on her. Jimin’s heart pounded as she pushed through the crowd, but the voices surrounded her. Her phone buzzed again, but she didn’t look at it. The whispers grew louder. People were staring. Judging. Laughing.

Jimin locked herself in the nearest restroom, pacing, her thoughts spiraling. Her hands shook as she slid down to the cold floor, her back against the door.

How had it happened?

How had she fallen so far?

She thought of the kiss. Of y/n’s vulnerability. Of everything they’d shared. She had tried to convince herself it was all a game, but it wasn’t. It was real. y/n had let her in. And she had betrayed her.

And now, y/n had exposed her, like she always knew she would.

Jimin’s phone buzzed again. It was Renée.

Where are you? We need to talk. Calla’s gone too far. They’re saying you’re involved in everything. y/n’s right there, watching us.

Jimin felt her stomach twist. y/n. She was the one who had set this all in motion. She had allowed this to happen. And now, Jimin was paying the price for her mistakes.

The door to the bathroom slammed open.

Celeste and Renée rushed in, both looking frantic.

“What the hell, Jimin?” Celeste snapped. “What the hell?”

“I didn’t know it was going to happen,” Jimin whispered, her voice breaking. “I didn’t—”

“You didn’t?” Renée interrupted, disbelief in her tone. “You’ve been so busy playing the victim, you didn’t even see it coming? Calla exposed you—she’s been feeding PoisonLipz all this time! You were the one who helped her.”

Jimin shook her head desperately. “I didn’t! I swear—”

Renée’s face hardened. “You’re lying, Jimin. We all are. But this—this is too much.”

Celeste looked at Jimin with disgust. “You’re just like y/n, aren’t you? You took her throne and wanted it all, but it was never yours to begin with.”

“Don’t say that,” Jimin said, choking on her words. “Please, don’t say that.”

“I think she needs to hear it,” Celeste muttered, almost to herself.

Jimin was already feeling the weight of the school turning against her. Every whispered conversation was about her. The stares. The laughter. The phone cameras. People were snapping pictures, posting them to social media.

And the worst part?

y/n was watching. She was there, at the center of it all.

Jimin stumbled out of the bathroom, her legs shaking. She didn’t know where to go anymore.

And then she saw it.

y/n, standing just beyond the crowd. She was watching Jimin—her eyes calculating, cold, satisfied.

Jimin froze, feeling like her heart had been ripped out. y/n wasn’t angry. She wasn’t fighting. She was just… watching.

“y/n,” Jimin whispered, but the blonde didn’t move.

Jimin’s breath hitched, but she didn’t know how to fix this. She didn’t know how to make it right.

y/n, with a tilt of her head, finally spoke.

“You played the game. You got greedy.”

Jimin felt tears sting her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “Please,” she begged. “Please, y/n.”

y/n’s smile was cold. “You think I’m going to fix this for you?” she asked, her voice icy. “You think I’m going to come to your rescue? That’s not how this works.”

Jimin collapsed to her knees, her chest tight with pain. “I didn’t mean it. I never wanted any of this.”

y/n’s eyes softened just slightly, but the bitterness was still there. “You’ve got what you wanted. But it comes at a price. And now, you’ll learn how high the cost is.”

The girl turned and walked away, her back straight, her head held high. She didn’t look back.

-----

The day after the post was unleashed, the school felt like a warzone. Students were divided, cliques splintering. Some supported Jimin, others mocked her. Some whispered that she had always been the one pulling the strings, that she had manipulated everyone into thinking she was just a sweet girl from Korea who had “no idea what she was getting into.”

But then, there were the ones who knew better. They remembered how y/n had once been the queen of their high school world. They remembered the power she wielded—how she could bring you to your knees with just a look, a whisper. And now they saw the exact same thing in Jimin, and they were terrified of her.

But none of that mattered now. Because it wasn’t about Jimin anymore. It was about y/n.

By lunchtime, Celeste and Renée were already at y/n’s doorstep. They knocked repeatedly, but there was no answer.

“Please, y/n,” Celeste begged, her voice shaking. “You have to understand—we never meant for it to go this far.”

Renée was just as frantic, her hands trembling as she clutched her phone. “We didn’t know what Calla was going to do. You have to know—we’re not like her. We didn’t want this. We want you back.”

y/n didn’t open the door. She didn’t need to.

She knew what they were saying. She knew what they were pleading for.

And yet, y/n stayed silent, cold, behind her locked door. She had seen everything. The Sirens had betrayed her—Jimin had betrayed her. They didn’t get to ask for forgiveness now.

Meanwhile, Calla had gone underground. She’d known exactly what she was doing when she posted that content, and now that the dust had settled, she was nowhere to be found.

Jimin knew she had to confront Calla—she couldn’t let her get away with this. Not when Calla was the real puppet master behind everything. But the problem was, Calla had completely disappeared.

It wasn’t just that she was avoiding everyone; she had covered her tracks. PoisonLipz had gone dark. No posts. No updates. Nothing.

Jimin’s frustration grew with each passing hour. She couldn’t believe how easily Calla had played her, how she had let the girl pull the strings. She couldn’t focus on anything other than the burning desire to fix things.

Jimin’s phone buzzed again. She didn’t even have to check to know who it was. It was Renée, sending her the same message as before:

We can’t fix this without y/n. You need to make it right.

Jimin clenched her jaw. She had to make it right.

She couldn’t go back in time and undo everything. She couldn’t change what had happened. But one thing she knew for sure was that she was going to try.

y/n needed to know that Jimin was sorry—that she understood how badly she had hurt her.

Later that afternoon, Jimin found herself standing outside y/n’s house. The air was cool, and the sky was heavy with the weight of what was about to happen.

Jimin wasn’t sure if y/n would even listen. After everything, would she even care? But Jimin had to try. She couldn’t go on like this, feeling like something was missing.

y/n opened the door before Jimin had a chance to knock. She stood there, looking as beautiful and untouchable as always. But there was something different about her now. Something colder.

“You came,” y/n said, her voice flat.

Jimin swallowed. “I need to talk to you, y/n. Please.”

The blonde didn’t respond right away. She just looked at Jimin, her gaze unreadable.

Finally, she stepped aside, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

They sat in y/n’s living room, a space that used to be a sanctuary. Now, it felt more like a battleground.

The younger girl didn’t speak at first. She just watched Jimin, her expression guarded. Jimin felt like a stranger in the place that used to feel like home.

“I’m so sorry,” Jimin said, her voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never wanted this. I didn’t see what I was doing until it was too late.”

y/n’s eyes softened, but only for a moment. “You played the game, Jimin, and you were good at it. You took everything that was mine.”

Jimin’s heart clenched. “I didn’t know. I didn’t understand. I just… I just wanted to be someone who was worthy of you.”

y/n blinked, her gaze flickering with something Jimin couldn’t quite place. “And now? What are you now, Jimin? You’re the girl who stole the crown and lost herself in the process. You’re the one who thought she could play me and win.”

Jimin reached out, her voice desperate. “I don’t care about the crown anymore. I just want you. Please, y/n. Please forgive me.”

For a long moment, the other girl didn’t respond. She just stared at Jimin, her eyes betraying nothing.

But then, slowly, y/n leaned in. She closed the distance between them, her voice quiet but steady. “You can’t just undo what’s been done, Jimin. You can’t just walk back into my life like nothing happened.”

Jimin nodded, tears threatening to spill. “I know. But I’m not giving up. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right. Just please… don’t leave me.”

y/n paused, the silence stretching between them. And for the first time since everything had fallen apart, she reached out and gently cupped Jimin’s cheek.

“You and those other losers better be ready. We’re doing things my way from now on.”

Jimin’s breath hitched as she closed her eyes, relief flooding her chest. It wasn’t a promise, but it was a start. And that was enough.

-----

At exactly 12:01 PM, students' phones lit up all across campus. Notifications from PoisonLipz, the gossip account that had haunted everyone for months, buzzed with a new update.

It didn’t mention y/n.

It didn’t mention Jimin.

It only had one name in bold:

@PoisonLipz:

“Calla.”

Not the villain. Not the mastermind. Not the mean girl.

Just a scared little girl who once tried to kill herself in a motel two towns over because she wasn’t enough for her own mother.

Just a girl who spent her entire sophomore year in therapy, begging someone to tell her she was worth something.

Just a girl who cried to her best friend at 3am because she couldn’t understand why everyone loved y/n more.

That same best friend who sat with her in silence.

That same best friend who held her hand in the hospital.

That same best friend who told her she mattered.

And now? That best friend is done protecting her.

You climbed the ladder Calla, but you forgot who let you climb it in the first place.

You tried to humiliate her.

You tried to be her.

But now?

You’re just the girl who lost her crown and her mask in the same day.

Silence fell over the lunchroom like a slap. No one breathed. No one moved.

Calla was seated near the center, mid-bite into a strawberry she now choked on. Her eyes darted around wildly. Every screen. Every table. The post was everywhere.

“No,” she whispered, face turning ghost-white. “No, no, no…”

The table around her backed away slowly—her supporters, her shadows, her pawns. One by one, they lowered their phones and stared at her with wide eyes.

You spent a year in therapy?

That was about you?

y/n was the best friend?

The realization hit like a slap: Calla had made an enemy out of the only person who ever loved her when no one else would. And now? y/n was done being ‘merciful’.

Calla stumbled to her feet, knocking over her chair, her hands trembling.

“WHO POSTED THAT?” she shouted. “WHO GAVE THEM THAT?!”

But she knew the answer.

She knew.

Her breath caught when her eyes found y/n across the room.

y/n was standing casually near the doors, her arms crossed, phone in hand. Calm. Composed. Untouchable. Her expression was unreadable… until she gave a slow, deliberate smile. The kind you only wear when you’ve just watched someone break.

Calla didn’t make it to the courtyard. She ran—past classrooms, past gawking students, past teachers who didn’t know what to say. She ran to the east stairwell, the one no one used anymore, and locked herself in.

Her breathing was erratic, panic clawing at her lungs.

This secret wasn’t petty. This wasn’t about who kissed who at a party or who lied about being a virgin.

This was her. The real her. The broken, terrified, unlovable version of herself she tried to bury.

And y/n had just dragged her into the light.

Calla sank to the floor, shaking.

Tears poured down her cheeks. And all she could hear was y/n’s voice echoing in her head, from years ago, way before she became a Siren:

"I love you, even when you hate yourself."

That voice was gone now. That girl was gone.

y/n y/l/n was unrecognizable, and she had finally destroyed her.

Meanwhile…

y/n walked out of the lunchroom like a queen returning to her palace. Celeste and Renée flanked her again, heads held high.

Jimin followed a few steps behind, quiet but loyal.

y/n said nothing at first. But when the hallway cleared and they were alone, she turned just enough to glance over her shoulder at Jimin.

“She’ll never come back from that,” she said flatly. “She doesn’t deserve to.”

Jimin looked down, heart heavy. “You didn’t have to go that far.”

y/n’s gaze sharpened. “Yes, I did. She posted about my sister.”

Jimin didn’t argue. Because she knew the pain of that betrayal, too. She had caused it once.

“I just hope…” Jimin said softly, “that one day you’ll forgive me.”

y/n looked away.

And said nothing.

-----

A Few Weeks Later

The halls had quieted. The chaos that had once ruled the school faded into whispers, glances, and subtle power plays. But the throne? The throne was filled again.

y/n y/l/n sat at the center table in the courtyard, a perfect picture of control—silken navy blazer draped over her shoulders, sunglasses perched on her nose, iced coffee in hand. The Sirens flanked her, still stunning, still untouchable, but quieter now. Calmer. Meaner only when they had to be.

And at y/n’s right hand—just slightly behind her, like it had been decided long ago—was Jimin.

Gone were the innocent smiles. Jimin had been forged in fire. And she wore the scars in the way she carried herself now. Elegant. Careful. A touch more dangerous. She still had to earn the blonde’s full trust again, and y/n reminded her of that in a thousand tiny ways every day.

“Are you still mad at me?” Jimin had asked once, curled beside y/n on her bedroom floor, a soft blanket over their legs.

The younger one had turned to her slowly, pretending to think. “Still? No. Mad? Maybe. In love with the drama of making you beg for forgiveness every morning? Absolutely.”

And Jimin, already leaning in, had kissed her anyway.

Calla was a name no one said out loud anymore. If anyone asked, they’d say she transferred. Moved away. Vanished. Some whispered that she’d been completely dismantled by y/n y/l/n and would never recover. Others weren’t even sure she’d ever existed.

The blonde never spoke her name again. Not once.

She had deleted the final PoisonLipz post herself, a soft mercy. But she never said she regretted it.

Jimin had asked, once, in a low voice as they sat outside the old science building.

“Do you ever think you went too far?”

y/n had sipped her drink, staring at the fountain just beyond the window. Then, without blinking, she answered:

“No. I think I waited too long.”

Celeste and Renée were still loyal. Still sharp-tongued and beautifully dressed. But the cruelty they once wielded so recklessly had dulled at the edges. They’d seen how far things could go. Their leader didn’t demand violence the way she once had. Now she demanded precision. Restraint. Power in silence.

“It’s more fun this way,” she’d said with a wink, glossing her lips as Jimin leaned against her locker. “We don’t have to lift a finger. People bow just because we’re in the room.”

Jimin had smirked. “Including me?”

y/n didn’t look at her. “You’re not people, babe. You’re mine.”

It was late in the day, almost golden hour. The quad buzzed with gentle background noise—laughter, feet hitting pavement, someone blasting music from their speaker. The year was winding down. Senior year, their last together.

y/n sat under their usual tree, fingers idly scrolling through her phone. She looked up as Jimin approached, hands in her jacket pockets, eyes soft.

“You’re late,” she said coolly.

Jimin grinned, dropping to sit beside her. “You love me late. It gives you something to complain about.”

The blonde snorted. “You’re confusing annoyance with affection again.”

“Mm. You keep kissing me, so I don’t think I am.”

A beat. y/n glanced at her, and for the first time all day, she smiled. Truly smiled.

“You’re still not off the hook, by the way.”

“I know.”

“I’m still going to punish you.”

“I hope so.”

y/n rolled her eyes and leaned in, lips brushing Jimin’s like a secret. They kissed slow, quiet, like they had all the time in the world. When they pulled apart, Jimin rested her forehead against y/n’s, whispering:

“So… what now, your highness?”

y/n looked out at her kingdom—her school, her legacy, the little empire she’d built from ashes and venom and charm.

She exhaled softly.

“Now?” she said. “Now we rule.”

______________________

This was way too long, oh god.

[markkiatocafe]

serenade

( ͡•. •. ͡ ) . . . synop: apparently, all you needed was a little heart break to finally push you both to admit your feelings.

𖠚 warnings: mild swearing (“ass”), reader is honestly a lil toxic 🤔, mentions of eating (a sandwich and a slushy)!!!!!!!, they kiss at the end but it’s nothing rlly graphic at all, cliche ending (yeah yeah ik)

𖠚 pairing: fem!reader x childhoodbestfriend!mark ft. jaemin of nct dream (mutual friend of reader & mark), minnie of i-dle (mark’s ex girlfriend)

𖠚 w.c: 2,527

𖠚 a/n: happy mark day :3

you and mark had been friends since the start. bruised up knees, muddy shoes, melting popsicles and shared soda cans that were long forgotten on the window sill. you could recall the days you spent with him better than you could any other part of your childhood, honestly, and that wasn’t really a bad thing, in your view.

blissful days in the summer sun and cozy nights cuddled up under blankets, your fun together didn’t fade away when you reached your teens. you couldn’t be more grateful to have a friend like him, a friend that would stick around through the worst of the worst and the best of the best. even when waves crashed together, mark was the kind of friend that would always surf along.

your best friend was a writer, a very gifted one, too. he had a way with words, even though when he did get a good line, it was usually unintentional. in your mind, he was destined to be a poet, or at least an author or writer of some kind.

you didn’t only dote on him, though.

mark had his flaws, of course, as anyone did. as his best friend, you felt you had some authority to say you knew them pretty well. first, he was a bit of a perfectionist. rather, a bit was an understatement. even now, in college, he would stay up far into the mornings to write things. you always offered to help, but he was also stubborn. he would always protest, so much to the point where you didn’t even try some days.

still, you helped as much as you could. of course you did, that’s what best friends do, right?

there was something, someone, i should say, that changed your view on your relationship with mark, kinda recently, too.

you didn’t want to admit it, but mark’s new girlfriend had your stomach churning in a way you wouldn’t exactly describe positively.

her name was minnie, and she was… something. if you were being honest, you hadn’t even actually met her yet, you didn’t really want to, but she already gave you a bad vibe.

first, she was always finding ways to avoid her and mark’s dates. not that this was any of your business, but, you were his best friend to be fair, you picked up on small things. quite often now, he would show up at your door with a half-smile that was obviously quite forced, asking if he could hang out since minnie was “busy.”

it just seemed fishy. was a girl really that busy? so busy that she missed her dates with her boyfriend 3 times in one week?

second, whenever he’d post about her on insta or such, she would never comment. was that a little far fetched of you? it might’ve been, but that didn’t make it any less weird.

still, as long as mark was happy, you should’ve been happy, right? right???

it was just… hard. it was selfish, you knew that, and that’s why you tried not to think about it too hard, but on the occasion that she did come to the dates, you couldn’t help but feel… replaced, of some sorts.

it felt like you were the sun of his world for so long, but suddenly, for some reason, he had become a lot more interested in the moon lately.

you might’ve been a little dramatic, well, maybe a lot dramatic. you just couldn’t help it! were you supposed to act normal about your best friend that you may or may not have been kind of in love with for 10 years getting into relationship?

“you know, you being into mark isn’t that surprising,” jaemin said thoughtfully as he patted the face mask you gave him onto his face. you furrowed your eyebrows, and, you would never admit it, but you felt a little bit of warmth tickling your cheeks. “don’t act like you knew,” you scoffed, rubbing your spf into your skin.

jaemin shook his head. “i’m not saying i knew, but i had a suspicion,” he pointed out casually, as if he wasn’t daring you to put your heart on your shoulder right now, “you’re never as subtle about your feelings as you think you are, yn.”

you rolled your eyes, shifting on your bed to face him like that would make your point more clear. “you’re only saying that with hindsight, stop it, nana.”

jaemin let out a quiet laugh, pushing your hair behind your ear. “whatever you wanna believe,” he shrugged, “have you said anything to mark about it?”

you quickly shook your head, the pure idea of telling him making your stomach hurt more than it does when you see him with her. “no, and i don’t plan on it.”

jaemin nodded, eyes slightly wide, he definitely got the point.

one thing you would admit is that your mind was focused on mark’s relationship too much. why was it any of your business? you had your own life, your own job, your own love life (although it was pretty empty), he wasn’t your everything. at least, he shouldn’t have been. you were both adults now. yeah, you were still best friends, but friendships weren’t the same as you grew older.

friendships fizzled out, and if they didn’t fizzle out, life often got in the way of a lot of chances to hang out or spend time together, anyways.

so, you decided to push it aside. bottle up the feeling and try to forget about it. was that healthy? no, definitely not, but you had a movie night planned with mark today and you weren’t about to let the fact that he had a girlfriend get in the way of you enjoying your time.

you were humming softly to yourself as the popcorn popped in the microwave in front of you. mark had just walked in, kicking off his shoes by the door and hanging up his jacket like he owned the place. he might’ve not owned the place, but, oh, boy did he live in your mind rent free right now.

“yo! the popcorn already smells good,” he commented, his voice bringing a warmth that settled into your chest and then curled around it so tight it turned almost suffocating. a silent, unintentional reminder that those warm moments you spent together when you were kids were now going to be spent with another girl for the long foreseen future.

still, you put on a smile, nodding and leaning back against your kitchen island, arms crossed, looking at him over your shoulder. “it’s almost done.” you replied. mark let out a sigh, walking beside you and leaning back against the kitchen island with you.

you looked him up and down, that little bit of jealousy already felt about 100x more amplified with him actually right next to you, the reality of the situation settling in. you looked back over to the microwave, trying to make sure you don’t crack. “how’ve you been?” you asked, your eyes trained on the spinning popcorn

“i’ve been better, life’s been kicking me in the ass lately, i can’t find a job anywhere,” he replied. only now you noticed the tiredness in his tone behind the warmth. “no ones really… checked in on me lately, thanks, yn.”

you didn’t wanna be mean, obviously not, he was being so kind and was obviously not doing well, but bottling up your feelings proved to make things slip through sometimes without context. “shouldn’t minnie be your shoulder to cry on or something?” you asked, your voice sarcastic. the immediate regret kicked in, your face scrunching in disgust at your own words. eugh. that was dirty.

he glanced between you and the microwave before his eyes finally landed on you, obviously confused. “what?”

you really didn’t want to reinforce the nasty intention behind your comment, but you were too deep in your hole, now. “like, your girlfriend? shouldn’t she be the one all over you right now? comforting you?”

mark shrugged, eyes flickering to the floor in maybe… embarrassment? it was hard to read his expression. “i guess so, we’re not in the best place.”

now, that filled you with a mix of sympathy and slight happiness you knew you shouldn’t have felt. oh..? you turned to face him, tilting your head, your curiosity getting the best of you. “really? do you wanna… like, vent about it? i’m here for you. always, really,” you offered, your voice gentle and sweet, even though you knew you weren’t feeling as sweet on the inside right now.

mark’s eyes met yours, a vulnerability behind them you knew you didn’t have the right to be trusted with right now. he shook his head half heartedly, looking back forward. “i mean… she’s just been super distant. like, oddly distant. to the point where it makes you wonder, if you get what i mean.”

you nodded along as he spoke, trying to be as understanding as possible, even with the feeling that was bubbling up in your throat. “i know what you mean. has she… been with anyone else in specific a lot?” you questioned, not accusingly, at least, you tried not to sound accusing.

he shrugged, eyes darting around the room like he had something of his own that he didn’t want to admit. he shifted his weight on his feet, tongue wetting his bottom lip. “one person,” he started, a slight crack in his voice. “one of her best friends. i don’t wanna be, like, a ‘possessive jealous boyfriend,’ or anything, but it’s just hard notto, man.” he paused to take a breath, recollecting himself.

he’s really passionate about this, you observed. almost like he’s been holding it in, like me.

“then we had this huge fight about it, and now… she doesn’t want to talk to me. the last she said was that we need a break from each other.” his eyes finally met yours. “do you want me to be honest, mark?” you asked, to which he nodded.

“i think… maybe you’re not meant for each other,” you said, holding back a lot of words right now. you didn’t want to be seen as doing this because of the whole being-in-love-with-him thing, but because you cared about him. you cared about him being in a healthy relationship. “not that there’s anything wrong with either of you, but relationships are kinda like puzzles. if your pieces don’t fit, you can’t really do anything about it.”

“yeah, you’re probably right…,” he sighed, sitting up and walking to your living room, sitting down on the couch.

that was pretty much where the conversation on that ended. you really didn’t want to stiffen up the vibe anymore than you already had, so you were happy to let it go.

thankfully, it wasn’t long until you saw him again. you were sitting out on a picnic blanket, the sun warming your skin as you bit into a sandwich you made for yourself prior to even planning on coming here.

was it a little pathetic to have a solo picnic date? probably. but it would be extremely hard to invite one of your guy friends here without the fear of them making it romantic in some kind of way, and all your girl friends were busy. so, here you sat, zoning out as you stared at the little river that traced around your local park.

it was peaceful. not a lot of people, fairly secluded, and shined on by the summery sunshine. though, your peace was interrupted (to be fair, you weren’t complaining) by the sound of an all-too-familiar voice.

“yn,” he spoke, hesitant, “i got your favorite.” when you turned to face him, your eyes met with his dreamy brown ones that you could get lost in any day.

you glanced down at his hand as he reached it towards you, offering… a slushy. neon blue, definitely filled with food coloring and a lot of sugar, but he wasn’t lying. that had been your favorite slushy since you were little, the blue raspberry flavor that made your heart feel like it was full and your body feel a little less burnt in the summertime. you smiled, a grateful glint in your eyes and a noticeable pink on your cheeks as you reached up, not taking the slushy from his hand, but pulling him down with you.

“thank you,” you said gratefully as mark plopped down, finally taking the slushy from him. you took a sip of it, swallowing and raising an eyebrow suspiciously. “how’d you even know where i was??”

he shrugged, running his fingers through his hair. “you left your location on,” he explained simply, receiving a small “oh” from you. “i actually wanted to come and talk to you about something. about… us.”

and that’s when your heart dropped to your butt. “us”??? there was so many possibilities that could mean. potential friendship breakup, maybe even friends to lovers? you had no idea, but you nodded, slowly. “o…kay...,” you agree.

he smiled slightly at that, your confusion. his smile was a little saddened, the heartbreak in his eyes was all too obvious, it was like it was covered in only a transparent mist of amusement. “it’s nothing bad, i promise,” he said as if he could read your mind, offering his pinky. you took it.

“so.. what about us?” you asked, letting go of his pinky, slushy still in your other hand.

“well, first of all, me and minnie broke up.”

“oh… i’m so sorry about that.”

he shook his head. “you have nothing to be sorry for. it was inevitable. i mean, catching her making out with her best friend was definitely a dealbreaker…”

your eyes widened, leaning back a little. “what??” yeah, you got kind of a bad vibe from her, but you weren’t expecting that.

“yeah, but that’s not really what i’m here to tell you.”

you raised an eyebrow, mouthing, “go on.” he turned to face you, fully, taking the slushy out of your hand and leaning it against your picnic basket, holding both of your hands in his. “you see, with my whole thing with minnie ending, i think i finally… i figured out how i feel about you. and it’s definitely more than something friendly.”

you didn’t know how to react. was this really happening? were you dreaming right now?? were you going crazy??? you felt like you were. but, no, his hands holding yours was too grounding to be fake. his voice was too genuine, too tender to be a facade. this was actually happening.

“we don’t have to start anything too serious. and, i totally understand if you don’t feel the same way. i just… this whole thing with minnie, it feels like it’s given me some kind of clarity, i gue-“

your hands cupped his cheeks, lips crashing into his before he could finish his sentence. you were never the particularly patient one. when you pulled back, you were met with the face of an absolutely flabbergasted mark.

“you know, you’re really cute when you ramble.” you said, laughing warmly.

and the rest was history. 

[leiascully]

Fic: All Awash With Angels 2/17 (MSR, T)

Cover art by @rosenkranz-does-things (commission them or buy prints of their work including this one!)

Scully and Mulder go undercover as a couple to investigate a rash of mysterious deaths in a remote Alaskan village to which there are no witnesses. (This work is complete; chapters will be posted on Fridays; a smutty epilogue will be posted separately.)

75 k words to be posted in 17 chapters + epilogue; T for flirting, mild blood/gore/violence (canon-typical), and uncoworkerly thoughts; the late Season 1 baby agents undercover married slow burn only-one-bed fic cryptic cryptid monster of the week I always wanted to write (read on AO3)

I heap blessings upon my betas @calimanc and @enoughslices <3

Chapter 1

+ + + +

They walked back to their cottage. It wasn’t even a hike, really, just gentle slopes and the creaking planks of the boardwalk. It was warm enough that Scully stripped out of her sweatshirt, tying the arms around her neck so she’d still have easy access to her weapon. The idea of needing a weapon or even bear spray felt laughable as they walked through the green grass, but Scully was certain they’d be glad of it at some point. There was much more territory to the area called Halibut Cove, though the majority of the buildings were huddled around the boardwalks and docks. They’d get in some hiking later.

She scanned the meadow as they walked, alert for any flash of color that might be tattered clothing, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. A breeze rustled the trees in the distance. The grasses dipped and waved. There was no stench of death in the air, just salt and crushed grass. In ten minutes or so, they were back at the edge of the boardwalk, among the cluster of buildings, and a few minutes after that, they were back at the green cottage half-hidden in the foliage.

Dinner was soup heated up on the cooktop and eaten at the counter built into the half-wall. There was barely enough room for the two of them to sit on the bench; Mulder’s thigh kept bumping Scully’s. After dinner, Mulder washed their two bowls, two spoons, and saucepan while Scully brought in wood for the stove from the rack behind the cottage. It wasn’t particularly cold, but she wanted to be prepared. There was psychological comfort in knowing they had it if they needed it. Besides, evening temperatures could drop into the 40s.

“Want to walk down to the showers?” Mulder suggested and Scully found that yes, she very much did. That morning felt like it had been three days ago. Suddenly her skin felt grimy from the travel and her hair stuck to her neck. They collected their shower things and pajamas to change into, rolling them into the provided towels. Scully took her gun just in case, though it felt strange to carry it in one hand with the bundle of her clothes tucked under the other arm.

It was a short walk to the gallery where Grace had gotten the key. Their sandals flapped on the boardwalk, a summer sound. They took advantage of the indoor plumbing to shower and use the bathroom and walked back through the soft evening air. It felt silly to be outside in pajamas. The sun was still high enough to be visible over the mountains across the bay, though it wasn’t as bright as it had been. Scully had wrapped her wet hair in her towel and it made her head heavy as she scanned automatically back and forth. But there was nothing suspicious. Little birds twittered in the trees. An eagle circled overhead.

“I think we’re safe for tonight,” Mulder said.

“Why do you say that?” she said as they climbed back to the little green cottage, Scully leading up the narrow staircase.

“Just a hunch,” he said.

“Hmm,” she said. “I guess I’ve wagered my life on your hunches before.”

“You’re still alive as far as I can tell,” he said, close behind her as she unlocked the cottage door. It seemed silly to lock it when they hadn’t seen another person, but there was a reason the villagers had all disappeared, even if they hadn’t discovered it yet.

“As far as you can tell,” she teased, stepping inside. She put her weapon on the counter. Mulder laid his beside it and tossed his clothes and towel through the arch onto the couch.

“If you’re undead, you have to tell me,” he said. “Otherwise, it’s entrapment.”

“Then how am I supposed to lure you into my lair?” she joked, gesturing at the single room of their refuge.

“I’m pretty lured,” he said. “All my stuff is here. If you did have wicked intentions, I’d be at your mercy.”

Scully shot a glance at him, but it seemed to be an innocuous comment. It was only in her mind that there were flashes of undressing him, tasting his clean skin, straddling him so that he really was at her mercy. She tried not to have these thoughts, since he clearly didn’t share them, but sometimes they filtered up through the professional veneer she’d installed in her mind. She sat on the edge of the bed and unwrapped the towel from her head, using the less-wet sections to squeeze the rest of the water from her hair. She’d gone through this routine before with Mulder in the room, but he’d always had his own space to withdraw to. Now, there was only the kitchen, where he was poking at the wood stove.

“Should we make a fire?”

“Smoke might attract attention,” Scully said.

“Could be a good thing,” Mulder said. “Point out we’re here. Warn off whatever might be waiting for us.”

“Whatever it is already took down close to fifty people,” Scully pointed out. “Or at least relocated them. I don’t think two more are going to be much of a deterrent.”

Mulder rose from his crouch and struck a heroic pose. “They haven’t faced down these two people.”

Scully snorted. She dug in her bag for a comb and combed through her damp hair. “I assume we’re as edible as anyone else, if it eats people.”

Mulder came and sat on the sofa, watching her work through the tangles. “Working on the theory that our perpetrator is some kind of animal, I don’t think it eats people in the traditional way. We haven’t found any evidence of predation. The victims might have been turned into demons, but demons should have bodies.”

“No corpses,” Scully said thoughtfully. “No scat.”

“I’m not ruling out the possibility of a traditional predator,” Mulder said, “but that’s a lot of protein to choke down with nothing to show for it. If we find some kind of nest or cache, we’ll probably discover a lot of remains.”

“That would be less eerie,” Scully said. “As it is, they’ve just vanished.”

“Yeah.” Mulder stood, easing around the edge of the bed to rattle around in the kitchen area, his nervous energy constrained by the smallness of the space. “Usually we have more to go on. Unusual bite marks. Trails of slime. A blurry photograph.”

“No strange fingerprints to dust for,” Scully agreed. She tucked her comb back into the pocket of her duffel bag. She hadn’t brought a hair dryer to rural Alaska, and if they didn’t build a fire, there wasn’t a good way to dry it. It was going to tangle all over again. She started to braid it back, her hands awkward behind her head. She was out of practice.

“I can do that,” Mulder said.

“What?” She paused, accidentally releasing one of her strands of hair. The braid started to slide apart. “Dammit.”

“I can braid your hair,” he said.

“Oh,” she said. “Okay.”

He sat behind her on the bed, one leg tucked up and the other stretched out beside her. His fingers combed through her hair, smoothing it, and then he picked up three locks from the crown of her head. The rhythm of the twisting strands was soothing. Mulder’s touch was firm, but he didn’t pull her hair painfully. His big hands made short work of a neat French braid. He squeezed her shoulders when he was done.

“There you go.”

“Thanks,” she said, turning to face him. He smiled at her. She was acutely aware they were sitting on a bed. Their cover story about the honeymoon lingered in her mind.

“I’m sure you’d do the same for me,” he said. “If the occasion arose.”

“If you ever need your wet hair braided for bed, I’m your girl,” she promised.

“That’s a relief,” he said in a low voice. For a moment she thought he was looking at her lips. She shifted, accidentally brushing his knee, and he shook his head a little, smiling, and moved away.

“Never did that for my previous partners,” he said, standing up.

“I guess that makes me special,” she said.

“You’re definitely special,” he said. He went back to the kitchen, leaning over the sink to gaze into the night. The sun had made it behind the mountains; everything was shadowy, twilight stretching across the landscape. Scully watched him peer into the trees for a minute. He seemed occupied, so she shifted up the bed, retrieving the book she’d brought with her. The English Patient wasn’t the newest release, but she hadn’t had time to read it yet. She’d read the file until she’d nearly memorized it. She needed to relax. She turned on the lamp beside the bed and turned to the first page.

A few pages later, Mulder straightened up. He turned off the overhead light. “We should get some sleep.”

“I can keep watch,” Scully offered, but he shook his head.

“I think if it’s still out there, it’s not aware of us yet. This hasn’t been a fruitful hunting ground lately. It wouldn’t have much reason to return.” He looked at her, his mouth turned up at the corner. “I might take you up on that tomorrow, though.”

He went to the couch and moved his bags onto the floor.

“I’ll take the couch,” she said. “You’re too tall.”

“I can scrunch,” he said. “Or….” He lifted the cushions. “Ah.” He pulled at the handle underneath, unfolding the small couch into a proportionally small bed. There was so little room that he had to press up against the bench by the counter to get it unfolded all the way. The end of the mattress was flush against the bed, turning most of the space into one L-shaped cushion.

“Mulder, no,” she said.

“Not Jon?” he said, his eyes twinkling at her.

She rolled her eyes. “There’s nobody else in probably a three-mile radius at least, which we weren’t sure about before. But fine. Jon. No.”

“I can fit,” he said, though he eyed it dubiously.

“Do you see sheets or blankets for it?” she asked. “I don’t, and there’s not anywhere for them to hide. I’m not letting you sleep on a bare mattress. We can share the bed.”

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he said.

“I’ll be more uncomfortable if I have to get up to use the outhouse in the middle of the night and I can’t get out of bed because you’re right there,” she said.

“Fair point,” he said. He folded the little bed back into a sofa and replaced the cushions. “Maybe we should make one last outhouse run. I’ll watch your back.”

Scully put her book on the side table. “Smart thinking.” She hesitated. “Do you think there’s toilet paper?”

Mulder flinched. “I think I saw a roll of paper towels in the kitchen.”

The outhouse was less than ideal, but not the worst toilet Scully had ever used. There was a roll of toilet paper, though it was a little damp from the humidity, wavy around its cardboard core. She didn’t have to use the paper towel tucked into her pajama pocket. She stood outside while Mulder took care of business, but there was nothing moving in the night besides the wind. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance. At least the lingering light didn’t seem to prevent it from hunting.

Mulder emerged, looking relieved, and they returned to the cottage to wash their hands and brush their teeth. It was strange to perform these little hygiene rituals side by side with Mulder, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It felt like summer camp. Scully drew the curtains over the windows, dimming the room from twilight to night, while Mulder locked the door. Scully moved her weapon to the bedside table, just in case. After that, they climbed into bed on their opposite sides, carefully not touching.

“Alaska’s a lot nicer in the summer,” Mulder said. He was lying on his side, facing her.

“So far,” Scully agreed. She settled deeper into the pillow. She could smell Mulder’s minty toothpaste as he breathed.

“See you in the morning, unless we get turned into vampire demons,” he said.

“You know just what to say to a girl,” Scully said. She turned her back on him and closed her eyes. He chuckled softly.

Scully thought it would take her a while to fall asleep, but the cool air and the soft night noises of the wild landscape around them soothed her. She woke up once in the night with a start and strained to hear whatever had woken her, but there was nothing, only Mulder’s quiet breath. It was cool in the cottage and she was glad to have his warmth next to her. She settled back down and tucked the blanket over her shoulder.

When she woke again to the sound of her travel alarm clock, she was tucked under Mulder’s chin, her arm draped over his waist. His arm was heavy on her hip. For a moment she lay there, breathing in the scent of Irish Spring that rose from his skin. There was something so soothing about the warmth of him, the weight of him next to her. She rationed out the time she allowed herself: just one more breath, and one more after that, before she had to face the day. Her alarm clock was still beeping. How he hadn’t woken was a mystery. She untangled herself carefully as he blinked awake. She was out of the bed entirely by the time he stretched and yawned.

“I don’t know about you, but I slept like a log,” he said. “Must be all that fresh air.”

“Mm,” she said. “I woke up once or twice.”

“Something go bump in the night?”

“I’m not sure.” She looked away from the bed. Mulder, frowsy and smiling among the rumpled covers, was a different beast than the daytime Mulder she knew from the office. She’d seen him sleeping before. Somehow the context had shifted, when they’d shared the bed. She wanted to crawl back in next to him with a cup of coffee and forget the case. But that would require making coffee, which she needed to do anyway. She padded into the kitchen and put a saucepan of water on to boil while she brushed her teeth. Mulder was up and about by the time she had spit.

“Outhouse run?” he suggested.

She nodded and jammed her feet into her flipflops. She always packed a pair for the shower; it was just unusual that she had to venture outdoors in them. The sun had clearly been up for some time, but the morning air was misty, caressing her face. It smelled so fresh outside, except for the vague funk of the outhouse, which clearly hadn’t been used much recently. She filled her lungs, trying to clear the memory of soap from her nose.

By the time they got back and washed up, the water was boiling. She measured coffee into a mug, tipping the steaming water in on top and stirring it up while her toast toasted. She smeared her toast liberally with peanut butter and added creamer to her coffee. Mulder shambled in to brush his teeth and prepare his own breakfast. He squinted at the instant coffee and added an extra spoonful to his cup. They ate at the counter again, on the bench that nearly abutted the bed when it wasn’t tucked underneath the edge. Mulder had made the bed, Scully noticed. It was a considerate touch.

“We should search the east side of the village today,” Scully said. She sipped her coffee. It was awful, but at least it was hot.

Mulder nodded. “I think you’re right. Better to see what there is in the accessible areas before we go hiking into the woods.”

Scully sighed. “It’s hard not to feel this would be easier to solve if people were murdered in their homes.”

“Side effect of the job.” Mulder took a swallow of coffee. “At least we’re in this to solve their murder, not sell the story to a tabloid.” He drained his cup and eyed it with distaste. “Think we could ransack the coffee shop for some better beans?”

“I guess no one will miss it,” Scully murmured. “But we should do it on the way back so there’s less to carry.”

“The veneer of civilization is quick to crack,” Mulder said.

“It’s awful,” Scully said plaintively, holding up her cup. Mulder chuckled and she laughed too.

“I can step out if you want to get dressed,” he offered.

“Oh,” Scully said. It hadn’t occurred to her that she’d be changing in front of him. The showers had stalls, some notion of privacy, and the cottage they’d originally rented hadn’t been this small. “No, that’s silly. Just turn your back.”

He nodded. “You turn yours too.”

“I think that’s how it works,” she teased. But it was sweet, that he was feeling shy. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t seen each other in their underwear before. Just a few days after they’d met, she’d shown up in his motel room in her bra and panties, begging him to examine her strange nodules, and he’d had to strip out of his smoke-contaminated clothes during the case with the pyromaniac, all the way down to his black silk boxers. But it felt different, after waking up together.

She changed quickly, pulling on her thick socks before she took off her pajama pants, dragging her jeans up at record speed. She put on her bra under her pajama top, pulling off her top and tugging on a t-shirt in almost the same move like she was back in middle school gym class.

She hesitated, almost fully dressed. Her boots were by the door. She didn’t want to surprise Mulder at an inopportune moment.

“Ready?” she asked, looking at the wall.

“Ready,” he said.

There was nowhere to sit to put her boots on. She went outside to the chair on the combination porch and walkway that wrapped around the cottage. The seat of the chair was dewy; it left her jeans damp. She kept catching glimpses of the ring on her finger as it caught the light. It was startling and familiar, a strange sensation. When she came back in, Mulder was in the kitchen in his sock feet making sandwiches, wrapping them up in paper towels.

“There’s a chair outside,” she said. “A good place to put your boots on.” She went to her backpack and dug out the sunscreen, applying it to her face and arms. She retrieved a couple of bottles of water for each of them, tucking them into their bags. Her knife was in her pocket again. Her weapon sat easily at her hip. Mulder passed her a sandwich. She pulled out an evidence bag and sealed her sandwich inside it. Mulder looked at her, his mouth quirked.

“What?” she said defensively.

“Evidence?”

“I’ll wash it and re-use it,” she said. “We haven’t found any evidence so far. I’ve got at least fifteen bags in here.” He just looked at her with amusement. “Fine, give me your sandwich, at least we won’t waste two of them.” He handed her his sandwich and she put them both in the evidence bag and tucked the bag into her backpack.

Mulder put his boots on while Scully finished packing her backpack. She spritzed them both with bug spray and locked the cottage. They set off the other way down the boardwalk, checking the buildings on the way. Some of them showed signs of having been occupied, but none of them had any evidence people had been there in the past few weeks. Most of them weren’t even locked. The front door of the coffee shop was, so they left it for later. It was a sweet little building, like an old cabin, painted red. The windows of all the businesses were so much smaller than the ones Scully was used to in DC. It kept the heat in, she supposed.

The welcome mat at the threshold of the fine art gallery, which was a different building than the gallery where they’d showered, contained a fine dark grit. Mulder photographed it from several angles. Scully carefully shook it onto a flyer advertising an art show and funneled it into an evidence bag, labeling it with a permanent marker.

“Don’t mix that up with lunch,” Mulder advised sagely.

“I won’t,” Scully said. “You know, it reminds me of that ash we found in the forest on our first case. It’s a similar texture.”

“Forest-obsessed aliens twice in two years?” he said. “What are the odds?”

“I’m not saying that’s what it is,” Scully objected. “Just that at first glance, the substance appears similar.”

“Something to keep in mind.” Mulder scanned the boardwalk, which was as empty as ever. “Let’s keep going.”

“I’d also like to point out this substance is not in the forest,” Scully said as they went along. “Just sort of adjacent to some of it. Equally adjacent to the water, in fact.”

“Vampire angel sharks,” Mulder suggested. “There are sharks here, you know.”

She shot him a look.

“A bridge too far, huh?” he asked.

“Let’s just focus on crossing this one,” she said, motioning toward the narrow spit connecting the chunk of land they were on to the eastern side of Halibut Cove.

“More of a causeway,” Mulder mused. “No water under that bridge.”

“The water might come nearly up to the road at high tide,” Scully said, although road was a generous term for the path they walked. The bay wasn’t full, but it was definitely filling, waves slapping at the cliffs that served as a shoreline here. Scully worried briefly that Grace had tied the boat with too short a line, that they'd be stranded when the water fell. She peered back toward the boardwalk and realized the dock there was constructed in a way that let it rise and fall with the tides. Of course it was.

Once again, she’d been inventing problems for herself that someone else had already solved. If she’d thought about it, she would have known better. Of course the residents here were equipped to deal with the tides. She’d do well to remember that other people had their own expertise. She and Mulder were the ones out of their own environment.

They passed a few docks on the way that were outside of what looked like private residences and looked much less adaptable than the main dock. Swimming certainly didn’t sound feasible, and exploring the beach at low tide would be fraught if they got caught somewhere with no egress. She said as much to Mulder.

Mulder nodded. “Plenty to watch for around here, somehow, despite the complete lack of people.”

They searched ten or fifteen houses before they stopped for lunch. The buildings were easy to investigate, mostly small enough to be heated by wood stoves in case of power failure. Some of them weren’t even electrified. Some of them were clearly inhabited year-round; others were clearly intended to house tourists; all of them were empty. A few had gardens, most likely the source of the strawberries and rhubarb the coffee shop had made into scones.

Most of the houses were unlocked. The others yielded their secrets easily to Mulder's lockpicks, or the extra key Scully found stashed in an obvious place. There was nothing inside any of the houses but the ordinary detritus of living. They found the dust outside a few other buildings, and once on the road. Scully had started to think of it with a capital letter, the Dust. Mulder took pictures as she sealed samples in evidence bags. It was a familiar process.

They washed their hands in the sink at the last house, then shrugged at each other and sat down at the dining table to eat. It didn’t seem like the house’s occupants would be returning to interrupt their meal. The sandwiches were dry. They hadn’t gotten mayonnaise or mustard. There was something grade school-ish about eating just bread and turkey and cheese, sitting at someone else’s table, sipping lukewarm water from plastic bottles.

“We should have gotten some fruit or something,” Mulder said. “Red apples. Little bags of chips. Really reproduce that field trip experience.”

“Next time we’re in Homer,” Scully told him. “We should probably spend a day there soon. I want to dig through the local newspaper archives, maybe speak to someone at the hospital.”

“Tomorrow?” Mulder said. “I predict the rest of the village is going to be more of the same.”

“Tomorrow,” Scully agreed. “Maybe we can get some kind of table of the tides.”

“That’s why you’re the brains of this operation, Willa,” he said.

“Oh?” she said. “And what are you, Jon?”

“The beauty,” he said, batting his eyes at her.

“Uh huh,” she said skeptically.

“You married me for some reason,” he said. “I doubt it was my winning personality.”

“Jon could be the life of the party,” Scully suggested.

“I’m not sure I’m that good an actor,” he teased.

She tipped her head, looking at him. “Thanks for playing along. It’s my first time undercover and I’m finding it hard to shift my thinking.”

He leaned back in his chair. “In what way?”

“Playing the part,” she said. “Imagining myself as a married woman on her honeymoon.” She hesitated. “Pretending to be a different kind of partners.”

He nodded slowly. “Think we should play it up a little next time we’re around people?”

“Maybe,” she said. “I don’t know if I’m doing a great job.”

“Seems like you’re doing fine to me,” he said. “Married in the streets. Professional in the sheets.”

She remembered the whiff of Irish Spring. That hadn’t been entirely professional. But Mulder had done all this before. Maybe not as a married man, but Mulder had told a story before to further his investigation. She could do the same.

“Funny,” she said. “Back at the Bureau, the last thing I’d want is to be romantically associated with you. Out here, it’s part of the job.”

“The last thing, huh?” Mulder said. “Sorry about the cover story.” He sat forward. She could see the muscle tightening in his jaw, a sign of distress.

“You know what I mean,” she said hastily.

“Do I?” He swigged his water.

“Mulder,” she said, “you have to know there are certain ideas about a woman in the FBI. Certain stereotypes.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. “Certain expectations. Especially when a woman suddenly moves from one area of the Bureau to another, if it’s seen as a promotion of sorts, say from the classroom to field work.”

He stared at her. “People think you slept your way to the basement?”

She shrugged.

He laughed, but it wasn’t an amused sound. “Next time, we can go undercover as cousins. Unless we go to Alabama, no one will suspect a thing.”

She put her hand on his arm. “That’s not what I meant.” He looked at her. “I don’t mind pretending to be married to you. I just don’t know if I’m good at it.”

He relaxed a little. “You’re fine. Feel free to cling to me if you need to, though.”

“It doesn’t bother me that people think we’re… entangled,” she said. “Especially for this case. It’s a good cover story. It gives us access. As for the Bureau, if there’s anything I’ve learned in our time working together, it’s that people will believe whatever they want to believe. You and I know the truth, and we conduct ourselves appropriately. That’s what matters.”

“You’re a better person than I am,” he said, and finally smiled at her. “Willa. Next time we’ll talk through our undercover identities together.”

She smiled back and folded the evidence bag that had held their sandwiches, tucking it into a separate pocket of her backpack. “You up for a romantic honeymoon hike, Jon?”

“Does it involve ransacking local houses for evidence of mysterious crimes?” he asked, brushing crumbs off the table and tipping them into the trashcan, as if it mattered.

“Why, it’s your lucky day,” she said.

He grinned and pulled out the packet of Red Vines they’d bought at the gas station. She snagged one as he extricated his own.

“Ready?” he said.

“As I’ll ever be,” she told him.

Notes:

Yes, Mulder was definitely awake while the alarm clock was going off; yes, the evidence bag was clean and unused; yes, there was a brief 1992 truther moment; finally, my apologies to the fine people of Alabama (but only the fine people).

[zepskies]

BREAKING POINT - Part 3

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Reader Summary: Russell made you a promise, but “getting out” of government contract work is even more difficult than he thought it would be. Is he willing to put the past aside, or is this going to be your breaking point?

AN: Finally we're coming back to this series! lol I don't know how many of you have been wanting more of Breaking Point and the ESC-verse, but I really wanted to finish this for you guys — and for me! 😘💚

Posted on Patreon: 7/20/2025

Word Count: 5.9K

Tags/Warnings: PTSD/trauma, descriptions of violence, heavy angst, but also a lot of hurt/comfort, fluff

⌖ Series Masterlist

Part 3: Aftershocks

There the house sat, by all appearances unscathed. As you slowly made your way up the driveway, you tried to make sure your steps fell on the wide, white stones instead of the smaller pebbles in between. Your balance wasn’t totally steady just yet.

Your gaze flit over each window at the front of the little beige house. They looked untouched, but too clean. New, just like Russell promised. Dory walked ahead of you while he guided you from behind. His left hand closed around yours while his right came to rest, gentle but secure, along your waist.

“Okay, small step,” he said.

“I remember,” you dryly replied, but you did steel yourself as you stepped up onto the red-brick porch. You winced when the movement jostled the stitches on your left side, just below your ribs.

You steadied yourself on the door frame while Dory unlocked the door itself. Your right arm, still broken, was bent at an angle and carefully tucked against your body. Your steps were small, measured, but you managed to cross the threshold and the transition between red brick to hardwood floors. The foyer gave you a panoramic view of the kitchen to the right, the living room to the left.

Terror scenes flashed in your mind against your will, overlaying the reality you saw in front of you with brutality. Your chest tightened; your steps became rooted where you stood.

You cringed at the sound of Russell shutting the door behind him, reminiscent of a gunshot tearing through your memory.

Where there had been glass shattered and blood staining the floor, there was now spotless wood. Your coffee table wasn’t here anymore, along with your couch that was made into a collage of stuffing and frayed threads. A new L-shaped sectional replaced it in mushroom beige, with some dark green cushions.

You felt Russell at your back, once again steadying you while your heart beat out a warning in your chest.

“You like it?” Russell asked. “D helped me pick it out.”

Dory sent her brother some stiff side-eye, but for you, she had an encouraging smile—the kind that tried to hide her sadness and guilt.

“From your favorite store,” she supplied.

You bit your lip. “It’s beautiful, but looks expensive. You didn’t have to…”

“But you like it?” Russell said. You could hear the hope in his voice as he held you by your hips. Your pinched expression evened out into a smile. You turned to look at him over your shoulder.

“Yeah, it’s really nice. Thanks, you guys.”

“Okay, good. That’s all that matters,” he said, his lips twitching upward. “You want to test it out, or you just wanna get into bed?”

You sighed. “Bed, I think. I’m tired.”

You practiced your walking in the hospital, but this had still been a lot of movement for one day. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, wanting more than anything to banish the well of anxiety creeping up your spine, into your chest, and constricting your throat like a phantom hand.

You tried to block it all out—what it felt like to be dragged out of the guest bathroom by your hair, then by your neck. The man had worn a mask, so all you saw of his face were a pair of dark brown eyes. He towered over you, demanding to know where you’d hidden Ashton Shaw’s belongings.

“Where the fuck is it, sweetheart?”

The words choked out of you. “What? I don’t know—”

“Oh, you know damn well. Dory Shaw just gave you something that didn’t belong to you. Where is it?”

The cost of your silence was the man’s resigned sigh. He threw you to the ground, glass biting into your arm. He kicked you once, hard in the ribs. A cry forced itself from your lips, and you contorted in on yourself like crumpled paper.

As you now stood in the middle of your clean, beautiful living room, the rest of it tumbled through your mind in vivid, sharp clashes of color, no matter how much you’d willed yourself not to go there.

Turns out, trauma didn’t give a fuck about what you promised yourself. 

“Hey,” Russell’s voice finally reached you, quiet but firm near your ear. A gentle squeeze on your waist, his thumb brushing your spine. “You with me?”

It took you a moment to calm your uneven breaths, but you gave a slight nod. You forced yourself to walk, to keep moving past the ugly tableau still at play in the living room, albeit from the corner of your eye.

Dory had to turn away from that ashen, haunted look on your face. Hiding her tears, she went into the kitchen to unload some groceries she bought to stock your fridge. Meanwhile, Russell helped you into the bedroom.

“Charlie’s gonna swing by later after work, have dinner with us,” he said.

You nodded. “Yeah, he texted me this morning.”

“He wanted to be there when they discharged you, but he’s all out of PTO.”

“It’s okay. Feel like I’m Beyonce or something. Got myself a whole posse,” you joked. You were trying—desperately trying to sound like yourself. To be yourself.

Russell’s demeanor lightened with a smile. He guided you to sit on the edge of the bed before he helped you lie back in a comfortable position, or at least, the most comfortable it was going to get for you.

“That’s right. You’re getting the star treatment, sweetheart. Anything you want, you get,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “So that being said, you hungry? I can whip us up some sandwiches, or maybe some Panera-type action, soup and sandwich. Or we can get real wild and order a pizza, Chinese, Buffalo Wild Wings—whatever your heart desires.”

You almost smiled, but you didn’t quite make it there. A great, shuddering wave of emotion nearly overwhelmed you, crashing against the well of anxiety that threatened to rise up and choke you. The sting of tears stung your eyes red and glassy.

Russell’s good humor fell into concern. He sat on the edge of the bed next to you and grabbed your hand.

“You know what I want?” you asked thickly.

“What’s that?”

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, where even now, you could still feel that phantom hand squeezing. You sniffled, grabbing onto the front of his shirt.

“Want you to hold me,” you confessed.

Russell’s heart clenched tight, almost painful, like jagged nails trying to tear the mottled thing out of his chest while it was still beating. The corner of his mouth quirked sadly. He leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“That, I can do,” he said.

It was careful work, but he pulled back the covers and slipped in beside you. He helped you lay down with him, his tattooed arm wrapping gently around your waist. You rested your cheek against his chest. A tear sliding down from the corner of your eye and disappeared into the gray fabric of his shirt.

The hardest part was over…or at least, you hoped so.

Days later, your house still didn’t quite feel like home. But you were trying.

Frankly, it was taking all of your energy to get out of bed after you’d slept most of the day away, and not entirely because of physical pain.

You felt like the strength in your body had left you. Sometimes it was all you could do to take a few steps from your bedroom to the bathroom, brush your teeth, splash your face with one fistful of water (thanks to the cast on your arm), or drink a cup of coffee. By the time you did those things, Russell had typically finished eating his lunch and started working, his stern brows drawn into a line while he stared hard at his laptop.

He always stopped what he was doing when he heard you stirring in the bedroom though. He made you “breakfast,” helped you shower, get your clothes on, and treated the worst of the cuts that still littered your arms with antibiotic ointment. He not only did all those things without you asking, but he reminded you of when to do them.

For you, it felt like an unspoken reminder that you needed to start taking care of yourself. To that end, the first thing you did was take care of your job. You had called Dr. Goldstein to arrange for another history professor to finish out your semester course load. You were satisfied to know that for once, he had to do some of your work by taking on two of your upper level classes on Ancient Greece. There was only three weeks left of spring semester anyways, which meant you would have the entire summer to recover in peace.

You knew you shouldn’t rely on Russell for everything just because “you had time,” but…it was just too damn hard.

You’d always been a driven person. Your parents’ deaths—a car accident when you were just fourteen years old—had left you and your brother with the burden of survivor’s guilt, among other things. You had to grow the hell up in a way that most teenagers couldn’t fathom until they were old enough to (legally) get plastered in bars…and sometimes not even then. You had to learn how to survive, physically, mentally, and emotionally, long before you turned 18.

Somehow, that iron will had withered and died in you. 

Russell saw the difference. You weren’t showing much anger or frustration. That he could’ve understood, but you didn’t seem to have much energy for anything, barely enough to eat.

He was worried as hell, and trying not to show it.

When he heated up some chicken tortilla soup for lunch, you didn’t show much interest. Granted, that could’ve been about his cooking. In his defense, he’d found some vegetables, opened up a couple cans of beans, cut up a packet of chicken, and threw it all in a big pot of other ingredients according to the recipe he found online. It didn’t smell the way it did when you made it, but hey, he was no Gordon Ramsay. Russell grew up on canned tuna and stews from wild game.

“Need more salt?” Russell asked. He swallowed down a spoonful of soup, tilted his head in contemplation at the flavor. “Eh, could use more…everything. My bad.”

Your lips twitched at a smile. “No, it’s good. It’s just that my stomach’s a little off. I have this headache too, probably from oversleeping.”

You rubbed at your forehead. It also looked like your arm was bothering you. You kept flexing your fingers, shifting your shoulder and your right arm, as if you could somehow weasel it out of the uncomfortable cast. It hung awkwardly bent at your side while you tried to eat.

“Did you take your meds this morning?” Russell asked.

“Yeah,” you replied, but your brows furrowed. “Uh, I think so.” 

“You think so? How many?”

“The usual. Two…”

Your uncertainty made Russell frown. He shrugged and wiped his mouth before getting to his feet.

“All right, where’s the bottle? I’ll count ‘em up,” he asked.

“Uhh, should be in the bathroom. Medicine cabinet.”

Russell went to look, but he didn’t find what he was looking for there. He eventually found the little orange prescription bottle of 800MG ibuprofen tablets between the bedsheets, peeking out from underneath your pillow. He counted how many you were prescribed versus how many you’d taken so far this week. He discovered that you took four more than you were supposed to.

He heaved a breath.

He returned to the kitchen table and showed you the bottle. You were down to six pills, when you should have ten.

“Look, it’s not a huge deal. Not like this is a narcotic, but have you been hurting more than usual?” he asked.

You looked confused. “No, not really. I could’ve sworn I just took two…”

Russell considered you for a moment. You weren’t the addict in the family, and lying didn’t come easy to you. He believed you.

“It’s okay. You probably just forgot when you took ‘em,” he said. He set down the bottle on the kitchen counter. Though he made a mental note to put an alarm on his phone for your daily doses, and he was going to keep a close eye on your pain meds from now on. Now he had to be worried about your memory on top of everything else. But was it just a result of the physical trauma you went through, or was this another symptom of the wounds that might not heal?

With that thought just digging into a proverbial wound of his own, he tried to distract himself. He opened the fridge and whistled lowly at its emptiness.

“All right, looks like I’m gonna need to step out for a bit.” He shut the fridge and meant to leave the kitchen to grab his wallet. First, he squeezed your shoulder where you sat. “I’ll be back.”

You grabbed onto his hand fast, a tendril of panic shooting through your eyes.

“Where’re you going?” you asked.

Russell paused. Your reaction took him by surprise, but he tried not to let it show. He squeezed your hand.

“Just need to make a grocery run. Plus, figure out what to do for dinner.”

“We can just order in.”

“Well, sure, but we need a lot more than just dinner, sweetheart. We ran out of eggs this morning, milk, coffee, a little something to fix my sweet tooth—”

“Okay, I’ll go with you.” You were already sliding your chair back, trying to push yourself away from the table and onto your feet. Russell steadied you with guiding hands on your arms, but he frowned.

“You sure you’re ready for that?” he asked. His gaze roamed over your face, every cut and yellowing bruise that still spanned from left cheek to brow. If you went out with him like this, people were going to think he was the one who did it to you.

“It’s only been a few days,” he said, rubbing your arms. “Why don’t you just stay here and chill, watch a movie. I’ll be back in an hour, tops. I promise.”

He leaned in to kiss to your cheek, but you wrapped your arms the best you could around his waist and clung to him with desperation. Tears sprung into your eyes and clouded your vision as you shook your head, then buried your face in his chest.

“Please.” The word burst out of you in a raw, broken, almost manic plea. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me here.”

Russell held you in his arms. Despite his widening eyes, he buried most of his surprise and concern under calm reassurance.

“O-Okay, sweetheart. Just calm down for me. Don’t worry, it’s all right.” After a little while of him rubbing your back, holding you securely, your weeping turned to soft sniffles. “Would it help if Dory came over and stayed with you for a bit? She’s at work right now, but after she gets off maybe. It’d give me a chance to get what we need.”

You shook your head. Another sniffle. “’S not safe.”

Russell’s heart shattered all over again. Just sweep the little fragments under the dining table at this point. Better yet, into the street. That was where they belonged, where he belonged. Dust in the fucking wind.

Russell cupped the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair. He breathed a soft sigh and kissed the unmarred side of your head.

“Okay. I hear you, baby. We’ll figure something out,” he said. Your fingers curled tighter in the back of his shirt. He continued to rub your back and try to soothe you until your tears ran out. Eventually you let him lead you to the living room, to your favorite corner of the new couch. He settled you in with extra pillows and a soft throw blanket to cover you from shoulders to toes.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, wiping your face. Russell frowned.

“Hey,” he said, drawing your shiny gaze. He settled a gentle hand on the side of your head. “No need for that, okay? How you’re feeling now is…it’s understandable. But you’re gonna get better. We’re gonna work on it, right?”

Slowly, you nodded. He brushed a thumb tenderly against your temple.

“But listen to me,” he said. “I’m not leaving you again, not like I did last time. Ain’t no where I’d rather be than right here. You get me?”

Another tear drew a familiar hot path down your cheek, but again, you nodded.

Russell didn’t want to leave you like this. He moved over and slid in behind you on the couch, where he wrapped an arm around your waist and gently caging you in against his chest. It not only calmed you down, but gave you the sense of security you needed to fall asleep while Legally Blonde played on the TV. The screen was just noise and colors to Russell as his thoughts turned and tumbled into one another like ocean waves during riptide.

Your recovery might be a longer road than he thought. He knew you were shaken, that you’d gone through hell, but he didn’t realize just how much. How deeply you were scarred.

There was one thing that wasn’t debatable in his mind.

When he found Adam, there wouldn’t be much of anything left afterward to identify the body.

Dory arrived a few hours later, promptly at 5:00 p.m. You were napping again in the bedroom, so Dory didn’t stray far from the front door. Russell gave her a shopping list and his credit card. She reviewed the former with an expression that seemed begrudgingly impressed.

“Wow. Strawberries, bananas, broccoli, eggs, Greek yogurt. Someone’s learning,” she said. He didn’t miss the edge of sarcasm.

He nodded, taking the subtle jab. “Thanks for doing this. I’ve been meaning to go over and check on you.”

“No need. I’m fine,” Dory said, cutting a dismissive hand. “Not that I mind doing this, but I could hang out with her here while you go to the store. I’ll even run that load of laundry for you guys.”

Russell caught the perceptive glint in her eyes. Dad’s eyes. She was testing his half-baked excuse on the phone.

“All right, I just…didn’t feel comfortable leaving her. It’s too soon,” he said.

“I understand,” she replied, after a beat. “But why do I get the feeling there’s something else to it?”

Damn. She always was the clever one. He let out a deep breath, carding his fingers through his hair.

“Russell,” Dory pressed.

“She’s having a hard time, okay?” he said, annoyance beginning to lace his tone. It was hard to escape the critical set of his little sister’s gaze. “She’s scared to be alone in the house.”

“You mean she’s terrified,” Dory said. “Because her house became the site of a fucking shootout. Because your friend beat her within an inch of her life.”

Her voice became laden with emotion at the thought. Tears made her eyes glassy. She covered her trembling mouth for a moment. Russell grasped her shoulder, both a gentle squeeze of comfort and another form of apology. He was grateful when she didn’t pull away this time.

“I’m going to find him,” he promised. Instead of looking relieved, she glared at him. 

“No, you’re not,” she snapped. “Never pursue revenge. Isn’t that what Dad used to say?”

“You’re quoting Dad at me now?”

“Well, you know what, he might’ve been a paranoid bastard, but not everything he said was wrong.” 

Russell huffed, crossing his arms.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me,” she said tersely. “The more you dig, the higher the risk. You can’t play with her life like that again!”

Russell bristled at that accusation. Frustration boiled under his skin. “I’m trying to protect her!”

“You better,” she said. Her teeth sunk into her lower lip. “She doesn’t deserve all this.”

“I know. Believe me, I…” He swiped a hand over his mouth, an anxious tick of his, Dory had noticed. “I’m looking out for both of you when I say, I need to find Adam.”

Dory wasn’t convinced, and they both knew it. She wasn’t convinced that he had this under control. She was more afraid for you than she was for herself. At least she had a good memory when it came to her training. In the years since, she had followed it up with jujitsu, kickboxing classes, and a membership at the gun range.

“You know, I’ve supported you guys from the beginning. I love you, and I get that you didn’t intend for this to happen. I do. But she…she’s the only person in my life outside of our family who knows everything, who understands me. She’s my only real friend,” Dory said. Her blue-eyed gaze on her brother was firm and filled with tears. “If you fuck this up again, I’ll never forgive you.”

She yanked open the front door with his grocery list and credit card shoved into her purse.

There Russell was left standing under the oppressive, spine-crushing weight of too many mistakes. 

Russell heard his sister’s warning, loud and painfully clear, but there were some things she wasn’t seeing. Letting a snake escape into the tall grass didn’t mean it wouldn’t bite you in the ass later. No, the only surefire solution was fishing it out and crushing its conniving bastard head under his boot.  

He had spent the last couple of weeks focused on taking care of you, but also on finding Adam Brody. Russell’s other contacts at Horizon wouldn’t answer his calls. It also might make even more trouble for himself if he shook down that tree. He highly doubted Adam worked for Horizon directly anyway—more like a partner, or even a subsidiary of his true employer.

So really, Russell felt there was only one other person he could call who might be able to find a loose thread that didn’t carry so much risk.

“What do you think?” Russell asked, as he held his cell phone up to his ear. He shifted in his swivel chair, tapping somewhat antsy fingers on his desk. His office had become his base of operations. He never kept the door closed, in case you needed him, but for this conversation it was only open a crack.

Doug blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, man. I’m just having a hard time believing it. How’s she doing?”

“Hmm. Well, it’s slow going but she’s uh, healing up,” Russell said.

It was more or less the truth. Your bruises were starting to fade, your pain easing up, which made you less dependent on painkillers. You were still sleeping a lot though. Still occasionally forgetting things. Still afraid of going outside of the house without him. Still afraid to be alone.

“Yeah. It’s a process,” Doug replied. “Not just the physical. The mental too.”

A snort. Russell uncapped a beer. “That’s ironic, coming from you.”

“Heh. Well, uh, don’t laugh, but I’ve been in therapy for a few months.”

Russell nearly choked on his beer. “Seriously? What, you smoke a little weed and have a kid, all of a sudden you’re in fucking therapy?”

“All right, Mr. Judgy Judge,” Doug chuckled. “I’m not gonna lie, it fucking sucks. Especially those first few weeks…but I don’t know. Tracy and I get along better. I sleep a little better. Feel like I can actually, you know, be present for my son.”

Russell hummed, acknowledging and contemplating.

“You know, we all did what we fucking had to do,” Doug said, “but with Adam…yeah. He could be joking and busting balls one minute, and a fucking steel trap the next. Kinda like you.”

Russell’s brows popped, but he nodded ruefully. “I guess we do have that in common.”

“Still hard to believe he’d turn on you like this. We went through some real shit together.”

“Yeah, well, something tells me that steel trap held a lot we didn’t know about.” Russell gulped down more of his beer, craving something stronger. “What else do you remember about the guy? Because for the life of me, I can’t piece together much about his background.”

“If I remember right, he said he was from Connecticut. That his family had money in real estate, or some shit, but his dad cut him off when he flunked out of college, forced him into the army.”

“All right, so pretty standard chip on his shoulder. If that’s true,” said Russell.

“Fair point. Who doesn’t have daddy issues nowadays?” Doug remarked with a chuckle. “I remember though. He complained about his dad being a corporate dickbag. How he didn’t mind if the army made him something else, long as it meant he didn’t become that guy.” 

Russell had a moment of contemplation. Doug seemed to remember more about the guy than he did, but now some of that was starting to ring a bell. Namely the “corporate dickbag” dad.

“You know, I’ve looked up ‘Adam Brody’ in every civil database I’ve got access to, and not one match. Not even an Instagram profile. Can’t find a last known address. Can’t find his family. If the Brody name was that successful in the business world, you’d think I’d have found at least a hospital wing named after ‘em.”

“So he lied about coming from money,” Doug reasoned. “You can’t lie to the army about your name. Too many background checks.”

“Could be,” Russell nodded. “But a bigger question is what’s his relationship with Horizon, and what happened to him after our last tour. After Nicaragua.” 

Doug quieted then, releasing a heavy sigh.

“He took the brunt of that fallout, and then…nothing. I don’t hear from him for six months,” Russell continued.

That had been an odd time in his life. 

…All right, call it a low point.

His own discharge from the army had the bitter taste of that last mission. Formally, he was never charged with misconduct. By the military’s standards, the fault hadn’t been on Russell or his team. But the sting had remained all the same. After the paperwork was all filled and filed, he was then faced with that existential question.

What the fuck now?

After he thought he might just saw off his own hand while bored shitless on a construction job, he got a call from Adam, saying he had a good gig going and wanted someone he could trust for a contract. 

Government adjacent, was how he pitched it.

“Let’s go back to what happened last month. What was it that he said exactly?” Doug asked.

Russell heaved a sigh, but he recounted that night to the best of his ability. How he had to break into your house, expecting to encounter some shady black ops agent, and instead found Adam.

“No,” he replied. “That gig was just our way of keeping an eye on you.”

Russell blinked, a new layer of shock rattling down his spine.

“What, Horizon wanted to keep tabs on me?" he said. "Before I fucking joined up?” 

Adam didn’t answer him, but there was more there in his silence than his slimy words could’ve spoken. He slowly leaned over and grabbed up an old white shoebox from where it was placed on the arm of the couch. 

“I’m here for this,” he said. There seemed to be real conflict in his eyes when he looked back at his friend, a man who once was his brother in the deepest of fucking trenches. “Look, Russ, I had a job to do and I did it. It’s really all just business.”

Russell’s eyes narrowed with cold fire.

“It’s never just business, you stupid fuck.”

“I just, uh…I didn’t recognize him, man,” Russell said. “He looked conflicted, sure. But not for hurting her. For turning on me. I mean, just business? That’s some fucking sociopathic shit.”

“But why’d he do it so messy?” Doug pointed out. “He could’ve come up to the house by himself, knocked on the door, introduced himself as your friend. She would’ve let him right in.”

Somehow that hadn’t occurred to Russell before. His head tilted, brows furrowing in thought.

“You’ve got a point. Why’d he make it a goddamn show?” he said. “Ran a higher risk of a neighbor calling the cops, being spotted, the whole nine yards. And how bad he beat her…it’s like he wanted to make it harder to cover up.”

That fell between the men for a long beat. The line was quiet, but their minds weren’t.

“Maybe they have something on him,” Doug said. “Or maybe, he just likes the job more than we thought.”

Russell shook his head. The remnants of anger slithered under his skin, weaving into his insides like a weed laying its roots.

“Well, that’s for me to find out,” he said.

“Oh, no. Don’t tell me you’re gonna try to do this by yourself.”

“Look, I appreciate you being a sounding board, but I know you’re out of the game. I’m not trying to get you pulled back into some bullshit.”

“Hey, you look. The truth is the truth, and I’m glad I know it, even if it’s…” Doug sighed. “Watch your back, Russ. If you get yourself into a tight spot, you needa call me.”

“All right, I appreciate that, Dougie.”

“Though I’d appreciate you not calling me that.” 

Russell smirked. “Well, that’s just too late. Ain’t it, Dougie Doug? Give Tracey and the little man a kiss for me.”

“You mean my newborn who’s screaming down the hall right now? Yeah, I’ll relay the message.”

Russell eventually hung up with his friend, wearing half a smile on his face. He’d gotten no closer to finding Adam, but at least he knew that Doug was good. Better than good. 

After finishing his beer, Russell left his office and went to check on you. Your eyes were closing while watching TV in the living room, but you forced yourself to wake up more fully when Russell came into view. 

“Ready to go to bed?” he asked.

“Yeah, that’s probably best,” you agreed, nodding and stretching with both arms as well as you could do with one of them still trapped in a cast. He helped you stand, and you ended up wrapping your good arm around his neck and leaning against him in half an embrace. He held you to him, his hands spanning your lower back.

“Who were you talking to?” you asked.

“You heard that, huh?”

You rose a brow.

“It was Doug,” Russell replied. “His boy’s got a set of lungs on him. Nearly blew out my eardrums.”

“Hmm, sounds about right for a new baby,” you said.  

Catching the small smile on your face, he began to contemplate something he hadn’t before as he held a light hand on the small of your back, all the way to the bedroom.

“You like kids?” he asked.

You peered over your shoulder at him. Another smile grew on your lips.

“Maybe. Do you?” you said.

His lips twitched upward. “Maybe. I mean…sure. They’re all right.”

You snorted a laugh—something he hadn’t heard for a hot minute. You sat on the edge of the bed and peered up at him.

“Kids, huh? Is that something you think about?” you asked.

“Not…uh, not really,” he admitted. He crossed his arms, shoulders shifting somewhat uncomfortably. But his gaze on you softened a little. “It could be.”

You nodded, a warm blush rising in your cheeks, along with your smile.

“Okay, we can put a pin in that one for the near future,” you said. Though you tugged him down by his arm, gesturing for him to sit beside you. “First, I’ve gotta ask you something.”

Russell’s brows drew together. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Look, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop…exactly, but I did hear some of your conversation with Doug.”

Russell blew out a breath, shaking his head. He had a feeling he knew what was coming.

“Are you trying to go after Adam?” you asked. At his request, you’d stopped saying his friend.

It took him a moment to gather his thoughts, to figure out how he was going to have this conversation with you.

“Look, I don’t wanna lie to you—”

“But you don’t want to tell me the truth, either,” you surmised.

You saw that you were proved correct in the way he hesitated. He reached over and stroked your cheek. His thumb traced underneath your eye, where the worst of internal bleeding had made its mark in angry bruising. Now, the skin was almost healed.

“I can’t just let it go,” he said. 

“And what if you get hurt?” you argued. “What if you…”

“I know what I’m doing. And this time, I’ve got both eyes wide open.”

“That may be,” you said. Tears fill your eyes as you grabbed onto his wrist. “But I told you, I’m selfish. I just can’t lose anyone else, Russ. Especially not because of me.”

He frowned. “Sweetheart, even if something did happen to me, and pardon the cliché, but that’s a big fucking if…it wouldn’t be because of you.”

He could see he wasn’t convincing you, but he still dried your cheeks and kissed your forehead.

“You don’t have to worry about that, okay?” he said.

“If you’re going to keep looking for Adam, then yes, I do.”

Russell took in a deep breath. He didn’t know what to say to you that wouldn’t upset you. And if you don’t got anything good to say…

“You promised you wouldn’t leave,” you said. There was vulnerability laced in your words, but your voice was steadier, stronger than it had been when it came to this. “Not for that kind of work. You can claim it’s different this time, and maybe it is, because it’s personal. But it’s still taking your life into your hands and damning the consequences.”

His frustration sparked, a well of upset rising in his chest. “You’re asking too much of me now.”

“Yeah, well, I think I have the right,” you shot back. 

A flash of hurt and fresh guilt ran through his eyes, tensing up his frame. You softened, reaching out to grab his hand. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you said, even though you both knew that you had. You did. “I’m sorry.”

 He shook his head, squeezing your hand. Yeah, that had stung, but it was a wound he felt he deserved.

“This is the way I need to protect you,” he said. “By making sure he can never come at us again. Him, and whoever he works for.”

You gave him a measured look.

“Russell. You know that whoever that is, they’re probably tied to your father’s work, and whatever it was that got him killed. I thought you were done with all that too.”

Russell couldn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say to make you understand. Although, if he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to acknowledge that you had a point either. He could say he didn’t care about solving Ashton’s murder. A good part of Russell really did believe that too. He had certainly meant it when he said it to Colter. But if it leads me to Adam…

“Every action has a consequence,” you reminded.

“Yeah,” he said. “So does every inaction.”

AN: 🥲 Yep, lots of angst in this chapter. Sorry about that! lol There's a little more to come, but a lot of healing too.~ But first, how do you think Russ is handling all this? He's kind of caught between his girl and his sister right now. 😅

Next Time:

He woke with a sharp intake of breath. He was lying on his back, his shirt sticking to his dewy skin while his chest rose and fell harshly. Fuck. He rose a hand to his brow and rubbed at his eyes.

You stirred beside him from where you slept on your stomach, blinking awake with a frown. You reached out to rub his arm.

“Y’okay?” you said groggily. The room was still dark but beginning to lighten with the dawn rising behind the closed curtains.

He nodded in wordless answer. He cleared his throat past the gravel of sleep.

“It’s been a while since you’ve had a nightmare,” you said.

Sure, since the ones you’ve known about, he thought, but he squeezed your hand when it moved across his chest. 

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[slutforpringles]

https://www.tumblr.com/slutforpringles/790857289359818752/did-you-see-that-hrner-liked-daniels-alaskan

I was a journalist for years up until last month. Never specialised in sports coverage but did a bit of it and worked closely with one fairly prominent sports journo quite a lot. So heard some interesting off the record stuff. Seeing the other post, I thought I might share.

I heard a lot about how Marko was allegedly cozying back up to Mark Mateschitz to try and get rid of Horner, and Daniel was seen as a problem because he was being mentored for a leadership role.

Allegedly Daniel was seen as a block for Lawson’s advancement despite warnings Lawson wouldn’t be able to handle the car or the pressure. I also heard Horner wanted to flush Lawson entirely and focus on Hadjar and Lindblad, and that he wanted Daniel in the seat for at least a couple of years and in an ongoing role as a mentor for young drivers.

As you said we may never hear the truth. The more extreme end of what I heard involved serious threats being made by serious people. The opposite end was all egos and power plays, or just a plain old fuck up.

I don’t know how accurate any of this is, but all of this came from at least two separate sources who’d been reliable previously. But for what it’s worth, the one thing I never heard was that Horner was the one who wanted Daniel gone. My sports journo colleague even asked a couple of them what they thought of that and they dismissed it completely. So I have no idea.

Oooh this is interesting, thank you for sharing!!

The Daniel being mentored for a leadership role is new info I hadn't heard before, and I can see why the Austrian camp might have felt like it was another person not in their camp, and that was more closely allied with the british racing team side of Red Bull they're now actively trying to take power back from. It definitely intersects really interestingly with how Marko has been pushing the Vettel leadership role for the last little while. Also think Daniel's relationship with CAA can't be ignored in any of this given how much more involved they'd become at Red Bull under Horner.

The Lawson stuff also kind of tracks because there seemed to be conflicting information about him and his talent/prospects depending on which camp was giving info. And honestly when you look at how Hadjar is doing now and how they've been speaking about Lindblad, you can't say Horner didn't have a point (can't believe I'm writing that in 2025).

God I hope somebody with access writes a book about all the goings on behind the scenes. (cough cough Daniel cough cough)