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neellscapsule · 16 days ago

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auntie . . . again?

summary | while you're not very much educated on different types of beings, you can understand the fragments of it. specially when the 'fragment' looks just like your brother with pieces of lex luthor on . . . him? it's such a good thing you have the widest heart! . . . and the meanest punches.

pairing | bruce wayne x kent!reader. platonic dick grayson x kent!reader, platonic superfam x kent!reader

warnings / tags | fluffy with conner, conner has DEEP feelings and he is very sad actually, reader beats the shit out of clark and puts him on his place. dick being literally the cutest cousin ever ; bruce and reader being the absolutely best parents and uncle & aunt ; mentions of miscarriage

word count | 5.6k

authors note | hi there!! english is not my first languaje so there might be some mistakes, or not, it can depend :)

this is part of the kent!batmom!reader series. this can be read as part 8. you'll the other parts on the masterlist.

taglist | @maolen @joonunivrs @c4ssi4-luv @fanfics4ever @inejskywalker @resting-confused-face @fionnalopez @stargirl9911 @idek101-01 @shqyou @mei-simp @serendippindots @sirlovel @aixaingela @pjmgojo @antixsocialx2 @nisarelle @realiliumfr @gojoswaterbottle @connnn @jjoppees @yall-imhere @sabrinasoppositee @nekotaetae @wendee-go @idiomaticpunk @fandomlover1235 @nommingonfood @omisotolongo @lortheswiftie @owihitmyhead @mosseetrees @c4xcocoa @qardasngan @radicalcannoliqueen

IT'S 2010. YOU'RE TWENTY-NINE NOW.

And you’re not quite sure how time passed so quickly.

You’d adopted Dick in 2004—he was just a kid, all limbs and attitude, soft eyes behind sharper words. He still has the attitude, still walks like he’s halfway to being grown, but now he’s fourteen, and his limbs are catching up with his confidence. He’s taller, stronger, smarter. He’s Robin. He’s your son.

You had thought, at one point, that there might be more. You and Bruce had tried. Quietly, gently, never too much pressure behind the idea, but it was there. The hope. The wondering. The soft way he would press his palm against your stomach as you both lay tangled in bed, hopeful in the dark.

The idea of a baby—a biological one—had curled into the corners of your life more than once. Enough for you to feel the possibility of it. To imagine the way Dick might coo over a baby sibling. The way Alfred would insist on taking full nursery charge. The way Bruce would hover with that grave protectiveness that made him who he was.

But for some reason—not even the best of Gotham's or Metropolis’s doctors could explain why—those pregnancies never lasted.

They were early, mercifully early. Nothing dramatic, nothing bloody. But they were real. Enough to make you lean into Bruce's chest and feel something missing, even if your arms were already full.

You’re not broken about it. Not truly. You're not even entirely sad. Just—dimmed. You love your life, love your family, and having only one child has never made it feel less full. Dick filled up the house the moment he walked into it. He gave Bruce a reason to come home. Gave Alfred a reason to complain about muddy boots in the hallway again. Gave you someone to pack snacks for and scold when he didn't text you back after patrol.

You’re content.

But some days, your hand drifts down to your stomach without realizing it. You think of what might've been and then go right back to kissing your son goodnight and running a company by morning. Life is complicated. But it's yours. And it’s good.

It only gets more complicated when “Young Justice” forms.

The League, in its infinite wisdom—or maybe just its fatigue—finally saw sense in letting their protégés organize. Maybe it was Batman’s influence. Maybe it was Wally and Dick getting caught in another warehouse full of arms dealers with no backup. Either way, a team was formed. Supervised. Trusted. Young, yes—but bright. Capable. Fiery.

Artemis, the sharp-eyed archer who never backs down from a challenge, trained by Green Arrow himself. Miss Martian, kind and powerful, ever-eager to understand humans. Aqualad, regal and calm, always the level head of the room. Kid Flash, fast-talking, faster-running, and endlessly loyal. And, of course, your son—Robin. The Boy Wonder. The strategist. The glue.

They’re growing up fast, all of them.

Roy Harper is around too, off and on, brooding when he thinks no one's watching, too cool for team briefings, but always ready to jump into a fight. It's a circus of youth, potential, and raw, sometimes reckless heart.

You know all of them. They come to the Manor sometimes, eat Alfred’s cooking, take over the den with movie nights and blanket forts and teleportation accidents that leave scorch marks on the carpet. They’re good kids. Brave ones.

You feed them often. Someone has to. The Tower has food, sure, but it’s not your food. You show up with Tupperwares when Bruce can’t, bring hot meals and warm hugs, scold them gently about eating enough protein or not overusing their powers. You're not their mom—but you're one, and sometimes, that’s close enough.

And then there’s Conner.

Superboy.

You first heard about him from Bruce. He came home one night after a JL meeting with a look you didn’t like—too still, too unreadable. You’d been folding laundry, sitting cross-legged on your shared bed while the Gotham skyline flickered outside the windows. He didn’t say anything for a minute, just started loosening his tie.

“Something happen?” you’d asked, tilting your head.

He glanced at you, then back down. “Cadmus created a clone.”

You blinked. “Okay . . . what kind of clone?”

“Half Lex Luthor. Half Clark.”

You sat up so fast your spine popped. “Excuse me?”

“Genetically engineered. Accelerated growth. He looks sixteen, but he’s only been alive for a few months. He broke out with the kids’ help. He’s with them now.”

You hadn’t even hesitated. “Where is he?”

Mount Justice, Bruce said. You were already putting on your boots.

And when you saw him for the first time—

It broke something inside your soul.

He was standing stiffly in the Watchtower, arms folded over a black shirt with that unmistakable red "S" blazing across his chest. Teenaged in appearance. Barely months old in life. Shoulders tense.

You’d frozen when you saw him. Not because you were scared—but because your heart twisted with the familiarity.

He looked too much like your brother. As if the universe was playing a joke. As if someone had taken Clark’s teenage body, pumped it with artificial life, and thrown in a splash of Lex Luthor’s spite just for fun. If Lex’s DNA was really in there, it sure didn’t look like it had done much fighting.

Wally whispered beside you, “He’s still adjusting.”

“Mmhmm,” you murmured.

“Conner,” Dick had said, “this is my mom.”

And oh, that had landed like a punch to the sternum. Because this wasn’t just about science or DNA or projects. This was your brother’s clone. Your brother’s son, in a way, if you squinted. And Clark . . . Clark wanted nothing to do with him.

He wanted nothing to do with the boy. Kept his distance. Said it wasn’t safe. That it wasn’t natural. That Conner was a product of manipulation. And maybe that was true. But standing there in the Watchtower, looking at a teenager who was barely months old, your gut told you something else.

You remembered Lex, too. Once. He used to come by the farm when you were young—brilliant, odd, already too intense for comfort. But he was nicer then. Genuinely fascinated with your brother. You were just a kid, but he always brought you books, weird ones. You’d sit under the porch and read them while he debated aliens with your dad.

How did it come to this? A clone made from two men—one you loved, one you feared—and left to fend for himself?

You never blamed your brother for much. But that? That you couldn’t stomach. Not with the way this boy—this Conner, as he eventually named himself—stood too quietly, shoulders braced for rejection.

You took one look at him and saw someone aching for kindness.

“Hi, sweetheart,” you said, stepping forward slowly. “I’m Y/N. And I’m really, really glad you’re here.”

He didn’t respond at first. Didn’t shake your hand. But his eyes softened a bit, just barely.

The next time you visited, you brought him cookies. The third time, a spare phone and a hoodie. By the fourth, he asked if you had any more of those peanut butter chocolate chip ones.

You were in.

You started showing up more often. Brought extra containers of food. Asked about his day. Teased him gently about his mop of hair. Taught him how to use a microwave properly (“No, Conner, foil goes out.”). You asked about his dreams, his favorite colors, if he liked dogs. He was awkward about it all, but you never stopped.

You were like his aunt, after all.

And Dick—bless him—adopted Conner like a stray puppy. Tugged him into games. Into late-night rooftop runs. Into movies with popcorn so over-buttered it was practically soup.

“Come live at the Manor,” Dick had said one night, sprawled across the Tower couch, his legs over Conner’s lap like he didn’t even realize. “Seriously. Me and Wally hang out there all the time. The cave is cool, but like . . . we got Wi-Fi that works, dude. And Alfred makes actual meals. Plus, my mom’ll let you take over the guest room if you just say the word. Right, mom?”

You looked up from the book you were reading.

“Of course,” you said. “I’ll even put fresh sheets on the bed. And if Alfred beats me to it, I’ll make him bake cookies as penance.”

Conner stared. And then, slowly, like dawn breaking over his face—

A smile.

You could’ve cried right then and there.

He moved in three days later.

Clark didn’t say much about it, but you knew he knew. Knew he was hurting. Conflicted. But he trusted you. Trusted Bruce. Trusted that you wouldn’t let the boy be hurt or manipulated or warped into something dark.

And you wouldn’t. You refused to let that be the end of the story.

You made space for Conner like you’d always meant to. Set a place for him at the table. Asked him to help you grocery shop. Sat with him on the porch when he had questions he didn’t know how to ask.

You taught him how to scramble eggs. You dragged him to the movies. You found him huddled in the garage once, overwhelmed by a memory he couldn’t place, and you sat beside him for two hours until he calmed down.

You kept calling him sweetheart.

Because he was.

You watched, over the months, as he began to soften around the edges. As he started calling Dick his brother. As he started calling you ma’am, and eventually, Y/N. Not Mom. Not yet. Maybe not ever. That was okay.

You never called him your son—not because you didn’t care, but because he had to figure out who he was first.

But you were his family. And he knew it.

Bruce, to his credit, didn’t say much. Just quietly set up a new training routine, measured Conner’s limits without judgment, and once, handed him a box of old workout shirts from the cave without a word. One of them had the bat-symbol stitched faintly into the back. Conner never wore it—but he kept it in his drawer.

At night, when the Manor quieted down, you’d lay between Bruce’s arms and ask him how he thought it was all going.

“Better than I expected,” he’d murmur against your temple. “You were right. About Conner.”

“You doubted me?”

“Never,” he’d say. “But I worried.”

You’d hum, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Worry all you want. Just don’t underestimate how badly this family needed a second fridge.”

He chuckled.

And in the room down the hall, your boys slept. Two of them now, different in every way, but still yours.

It starts quietly.

You hadn’t planned on seeing Clark that day. Certainly hadn’t planned on a fight.

It all begins with a dinner that doesn’t happen.

You had invited Clark weeks ago. Asked him nicely, over the phone, in that calm, measured tone you use whenever you don’t want to pick a fight. Told him that it was just a casual evening. That Bruce would be there, of course, and Dick, and that Conner had requested his presence personally.

Clark’s response had been noncommittal at best. “I’ll try,” he’d said. “It depends on League business.”

You didn’t argue. You knew what that meant. But you told Conner he’d come anyway.

Because the kid had asked with that look in his eyes—like maybe if Clark Kent just showed up once and looked at him without flinching, he’d start to feel real. Like maybe if Superman could offer him one sliver of approval, he could breathe easier.

So you set a place for him at the table. And Clark didn’t come. He didn’t even call.

You’d smiled through dinner. Laughed when Conner told a story about Kid Flash slipping on a sandwich. Made sure his plate was full, let him have extra dessert, and tucked an arm around his shoulders when he started getting quiet. Dick had tried too, bless him. Had nudged him into video games after, teased him about his terrible aim in Call of Duty, and then slept over in Conner’s room just to keep him company.

But you’d seen the slump in the kid’s shoulders. The way he poked at his food like it didn’t matter anymore. The way he brushed his hair down over his eyes when Bruce complimented his form in training the next day.

And something inside you cracked.

It’s two days later when you find Clark at the Watchtower, just after a mission. He’s still in uniform, cape hanging like judgment over his broad shoulders, face unreadable. He looks calm, detached. Like he doesn’t know—or worse, like he doesn’t care.

You’re not calm. Not even close.

“Hey,” you say, voice tight as you corner him near the main corridor. “You got a second?”

Clark turns to you, a touch surprised and his whole face softens. “Y/N. Yeah. Sure.”

And that—that—is what sets you off. That calm, familiar softness, like everything is fine. Like you're still that baby sister from Smallville, the one who ran barefoot through the fields and looked up to him like he hung the damn stars.

You look up at him, arms folded, heart pounding with a heat you haven’t allowed to boil over in years.

“Why didn’t you come?” you ask. Your voice isn’t loud. Not yet. It’s level. Almost gentle.

He sighs. Looks away, because only God knows he can't lie to your eyes, to your face. He can't look at you and not see his young, little sister, clinging to his arm.

“League business,” he says, like that’s all it takes.

“Clark,” you snap. “Don’t insult me.”

His jaw tightens. “It was complicated.”

You take a step forward.

“He asked for you. Specifically. He wanted you there. He set out your name card himself. Dick even—” Your voice breaks, and you swallow it back hard. “He just wanted you to show up. That’s all. Sit down. Say hello.”

Clark exhales through his nose. “Y/N, this isn’t that simple—”

“Yes, it is!” you explode, voice echoing down the corridor. “It is that simple, Clark! You just had to show up and be a person for two hours. Not Superman. Not the League’s golden boy. Just—my brother. His—his template, or whatever the hell you want to call it.”

“He’s a clone, Y/N.”

“He’s a boy.”

You take a step forward.

“Do you think he asked for this? To be pulled from a lab? To wake up as a teenager with no childhood, no memories, no parents? Do you think he wanted your face in the mirror, only to have you look at him like he’s a mistake?”

Clark winces.

You don’t stop.

“He is trying so hard,” you say. “He listens. He trains. He asks permission before everything he does. He follows you around the Tower like a shadow, just waiting for you to say something kind. And you can’t even look him in the eyes.”

“He’s dangerous.”

You laugh—sharply. Bitter.

“You’re dangerous, Clark. You. And yet Ma let you feed the cows and play with children and kiss Lois Lane. So what’s the difference? Because he’s part Luthor? Because his life didn’t start in Kansas?”

Clark’s jaw ticks. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is. It’s exactly that simple. That boy wants to be part of this family. He wants to be good. And every time you push him away, you tell him he can’t. That he’s something to be ashamed of. Something to fear. You do realize he already doesn’t sleep some nights because he’s terrified he’s going to snap, right? That he’s terrified of his own strength?”

Clark doesn’t respond. His silence is the final matchstick.

“You don’t get to do that,” you whisper, voice trembling. “You don’t get to be the symbol of hope and then treat a child like he’s an abomination.”

“He’s not a child,” Clark says, finally looking at you. “He’s a genetic experiment. I’m sorry that it hurts you, but I never asked to be a father—”

“You don’t get to say that,” you hiss. “You think Bruce asked to be a father? You think I asked to mourn pregnancies I’ll never get back? We didn’t have to choose Dick either, but we did. We chose. And now that boy is ours.”

Clark exhaled through his nose, slow and pained. “I just—he’s a weapon, Y/N. He was made to be used. You don’t know what Lex is capable of. You don’t know what could’ve been—what might still be in him. I’m not trying to be cruel. I’m trying to be careful.”

“Careful?” Your voice cracked. “He’s a child, Clark! You should be careful—with his heart. Because it’s already been stepped on every day of his existence. And you could be the one to fix that. You could help. You just… won’t.”

His jaw tensed. “You think I’m proud of that? You think this isn’t tearing me apart?”

“I think you’re being a coward.”

The words dropped like a bomb between you.

His shoulders drew up slowly. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“You’re right,” you said, stepping forward, chest heaving. “I don’t. I don’t know what it’s like to find out someone made a copy of me in a lab like I was some kind of science fair project. I don’t know what that would feel like. But I do know what it’s like to look at a scared kid who wants to do good and see my brother walk away from him. Over and over and over again.”

Clark was silent. You didn’t stop.

“I was there when he told Dick he didn’t think you’d ever talk to him. I was there when he asked if he should just change his name. If that would make it easier for you. I was there when he had a nightmare and came down to the kitchen at two a.m., shaking, and asked me if he was real. If he deserved to be real.”

You took another step. “You have two sons, Clark. Whether you wanted to or not. He’s yours. You don’t get to pick and choose when you’re his father. You don’t get to shame him for existing.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” Clark says quietly.

You slap him.

It’s hard. Open palm. Right across the cheek. His face jerks slightly to the side, but he doesn’t retaliate. He doesn’t even flinch. And it’s not enough.

So you do it again.

You hit him with your fists this time, landing one solid blow against his shoulder before you start pounding, your arms flying wildly against his chest, frustration boiling through you like lightning. You’re not doing damage. You know that. You could hit him with a crowbar and it wouldn’t bruise.

But you need to do something. You need him to feel it.

He just stands there, silent, unmoving, letting you unleash every ounce of heartbreak and rage into the space between you.

“You should love him!” you scream. “You should try! You should’ve come to the house, sat down, and pretended for five minutes that he was worth more than your pride! You know how hard he tries?! You know how scared he is to breathe wrong around you?!”

“Y/N,” Clark says, soft, pained. “Please.”

“I know it’s not easy for you,” you continue. “I know what Lex did. I know this whole situation makes your skin crawl. But he didn’t ask to be made, Clark. He didn’t ask to look like you. Or have your strength. He didn’t ask to wake up in a lab and be expected to know how to be human.”

Clark’s jaw is tight. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I think you forget it,” you spit.

“That’s not fair. I didn’t ask for this.”

“Neither did he.”

And you lose it.

You throw another punch. Then another. You slam your fists into his chest, his arms, his ribs, shouting. He doesn't fight back. He just takes it, jaw clenched, body locked still.

Behind you, there’s movement. Heavy footsteps. You barely register it before Bruce’s hands are on your waist, pulling you back, grounding you.

“Enough,” Bruce says, low and quiet, but firm. “That’s enough, Y/N.”

You’re breathing hard, fists still trembling at your sides. You don’t look at Clark. You can’t.

“He cried,” you whisper. “The night you didn’t come. He waited by the window. Said maybe you were flying in. Dick sat with him all night. They didn’t say it out loud, but I knew. And you—God, Clark, you couldn’t even call.”

Clark’s eyes are wide. Red-rimmed. He takes a step back. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t try.”

He doesn’t speak. He just looks at you. And for the first time in a long time—you don’t see your brother.

You see a man who ran.

Bruce gently guides you back, his body between you and Clark now. “Come on,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face. “You’ve said what needed to be said.”

The manor is quiet by the time you come home. The air feels still in the way only Wayne Manor manages after a storm — not a real one, not thunder and lightning, but a different kind. The kind that rips out of your chest and leaves you shaking.

You’re still trembling.

Your knuckles are raw. Split open in three places —one particularly bad gash still seeping lazily. Blood has dried down the creases of your fingers, and you can feel the dull throb of bruises forming beneath the skin. Your wrist hurts. Your shoulder does too. But none of that matters. Not now.

You didn’t break Clark’s nose. You didn’t black his eye. His skin was barely scratched.

But yours?

Your hands look like they were run through gravel.

Conner had stayed behind in the garden. Dick eventually coaxed him back in with a bowl of ice cream and a promise to let him pick the next co-op game. You couldn’t speak yet. Not without crying or screaming or collapsing. So you’d let Bruce tug you gently upstairs, wordlessly, like you were fragile glass, like you were something precious.

You’re sitting on the edge of the master bedroom bathtub now, palms up, as he kneels before you. It’s almost clinical, the way he goes about it. But only almost. His hands are practiced. Steady. He’s cleaned blood off skin a thousand times. But tonight, it’s different.

Tonight, it’s your blood.

His mouth is tight. His brow furrowed. And his silence feels louder than a scream.

You glance down. “Say it.”

He doesn’t stop swabbing at your knuckles. “Say what?”

“That I shouldn’t have hit him.”

Bruce doesn’t answer for a long moment. Just presses a warm, damp cloth over the largest gash. You hiss, and he finally looks up at you, jaw clenched.

“I’m not going to lie to you.”

“So you are going to say it.”

“I’m going to say,” he mutters, reaching for the antiseptic, “that part of me was ready to hold him down while you kept going.”

You blink.

He meets your eyes, and you see it — that flicker of something feral. Protective. Dark. Bruce Wayne doesn’t trust easily. Doesn’t love easily. But when he does? It consumes him. And you, you are the storm in the center of that fire.

He pours the disinfectant slowly over your hand. You bite down on your lip.

“But,” he adds, quiet now, “another part of me was watching you fall apart in real time. Watching the strongest person I know unravel. And that part?” He lifts your hand gently. “Is scared out of his goddamn mind.”

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“I know.”

There’s a beat. The air is thick with things unsaid.

Then Bruce lifts your bandaged hand to his lips, kisses your knuckles. One by one.

You close your eyes.

“I feel like I failed him,” you say, voice trembling. “I feel like I failed both of them.”

“You were. In a way. You thought about Conner. You thought about the way Clark’s silence is killing him in inches. You thought about protecting a kid who’s never had anyone lift a finger for him. That’s not irrational.”

“I just—he’s my brother. But Conner’s just a kid, Bruce. He’s a kid with no mother, no father, no birthday, no origin. He’s a product of someone else’s cruelty. And he tries so hard. He tries so hard to be good.”

“You didn’t fail him,” Bruce says again, firmer now. “You’re the only reason he knows what goodness is.”

You look at him, and there’s something raw in your expression. Something open.

Bruce’s eyes soften. He brushes a piece of hair from your face.

“You’re angry because you care,” he says. “You always have.”

“Doesn’t feel like enough,” you whisper.

“It is,” he murmurs. “It’s everything.”

You lean into him then, forehead resting against his, and his arms wrap around you like the world can’t touch you here. He holds you without words. Without reason. Just holds.

And for the first time since the fight—you breathe.

“He could understand him,” you say. “If he tried.”

“He’s scared.”

“So was I.”

He exhales through his nose, then presses a kiss to your temple. “That’s what makes you different.”

You pull back enough to look at him. “And what does that make me?”

He studies you. Really studies you. His hand slides up, cups your jaw. There’s blood on the start of your fingers. Your face is pale. You’re trembling again, just a little.

“My partner,” he says finally. “The mother of my son. And the woman who just punched the Man of Steel across half a hallway.”

You blink. “Did I really get that far?”

Bruce’s lips twitch. “He almost tripped over the transporter pad.”

You snort, and the sound makes something ease in your chest. Bruce watches the color return to your face like it’s the only thing that matters in the world.

You lean in and kiss him. Softly. The kind of kiss that says thank you. That says I’m sorry. That says I’ll always come home.

When you finally pull back, he rests his forehead against yours. “I wrapped your hand, but you’ll need to ice your wrist. Probably a hairline fracture. And I’m calling Leslie in the morning.”

You sigh. “She’s going to kill me.”

“She won’t.” His hand traces your spine slowly. “She’ll scold you. Then she’ll look at Clark and say ‘Good.’”

You laugh again. This time it doesn’t shake.

“Hey?” Dick’s voice floats through the wood. “Mom? Dad?”

Bruce leans back with a sigh. “What is it?”

“Ice cream’s melting, and Conner’s trying not to cry while watching reruns of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.”

You blink. “Wait, that show’s still airing?”

“It’s reruns,” Dick says, and you can hear the eye roll. “But it’s the episode with the kid who got a pool even though he can’t swim, and Conner said something about metaphors and then went suspiciously quiet. I’m not saying he’s crying, but I might be.”

You and Bruce glance at each other.

“Tell him I’ll be down in a minute,” you call.

“Ten bucks says he pretends he’s not waiting for you.”

You smile, slightly throwing your head back. “Stop betting around, Richard Grayson, and I really hope you and Wally aren't doing that anywhere else.”

Dick’s footsteps fade away with bad-hidden giggles.

Bruce helps you to your feet. Kisses your bandaged hand like it’s the most sacred thing he’s ever held. You reach for his jaw and brush your thumb along his cheek.

“Thank you,” you say.

“For what?”

“For not stopping me too soon.”

He smiles. Just barely. “I know better by now.”

The rain had stopped hours ago, but the city still wore the scent of petrichor like a second skin. Gotham always felt older at night — as if the ghosts of every brick and broken streetlight whispered louder after sundown. The rooftop was empty, quiet, save for the low hum of distant traffic and the occasional flap of damp fabric against wind.

Conner stood near the ledge, hoodie up, eyes forward. He didn’t look when he heard the shift of boots behind him — didn’t need to. He knew who it was by the weight of the silence alone.

Clark didn’t speak right away.

He just stood there, a few feet behind the boy who looked too much like him. Broad shoulders, dark hair, fists clenched like he didn’t know what else to do with his hands. They hadn’t been this close in months — maybe ever.

He looked human. Tired. Like a man who hadn’t slept in days.

Because he hadn’t.

“Conner,” he said quietly.

Nothing.

“I thought maybe… you wouldn’t come.”

The wind stirred the hem of Clark’s flannel. Conner’s jaw clenched, but he still didn’t move. His eyes were fixed out at the skyline — the pinks and purples bleeding into blue. Neon signs flickering alive in the distance.

“I almost didn’t,” the boy answered flatly. “Figured if I didn’t show, you’d understand how it feels.”

Clark winced. “I deserve that.”

Conner shrugged.

The man took a careful step forward.

“I was . . . scared,” he said. “Not of you. Of… of what you meant. What your existence meant.”

Conner didn’t look at him, but Clark kept going.

“When they told me there was a clone — that someone had used my DNA without my consent — I didn’t know how to react. And when I found out Luthor’s was mixed in… I panicked. I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to face it. That’s not your fault.”

There was a quiet bitterness in Conner’s voice. “But I paid for it anyway.”

“I was a coward,” he said, voice steady. “I’ve been one for a long time when it came to you.”

Conner’s brows twitched. He didn’t turn, but Clark saw the movement.

“I kept telling myself it was complicated,” Clark continued, “that I didn’t know how to look at you without seeing him. Without feeling like something had been stolen out of me and put in your bones without asking. But that wasn’t your fault. It never was.”

His hands curled loosely at his sides. There was a long pause. The only sound was the breeze catching against the old building’s antenna and the soft buzz of the city below.

“I hated myself,” Clark said at last, quieter, “for not being able to look at you the way you deserved to be looked at. Like a person. Like a kid. Like a son.”

That finally got him.

Conner’s shoulders went rigid, like someone had hooked a wire through his spine and pulled. He didn’t turn fully, just barely looked over, jaw still tight.

“You never wanted a son,” he said bitterly. “Especially not one with his eyes.”

Clark swallowed hard. “You’re right.”

Conner blinked, startled by the honesty.

“I didn’t want a son like that,” Clark said. “But I have one. You. And I didn’t fight for you. Not when I should’ve. Not when you needed me to.”

Conner stared at him for a long time. His face was so carefully still that it almost didn’t look real. Like he’d built a dam behind his expression and didn’t trust it to hold if he moved the wrong way.

“I don’t know what I am,” Conner muttered, eyes flickering away again. “I’m not him. I’m not you. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be.”

Clark took another step. Then another. He sat beside him, slow and unthreatening, close enough to feel the warmth from his shoulder.

“You’re you,” Clark said. “And I should’ve told you that the day you woke up. Should’ve told you every day since.”

Conner’s throat worked. His fists stayed balled on his knees.

There was another silence.

. . .

“Lois wants to meet you.”

That drew another look — a fast, sharp one. “What?”

“She does. She’s been asking about you for a long time. Wanted to come see you herself, but… I asked her to wait. Told her I needed to fix what I broke first.”

Conner didn’t speak. Just blinked a few times, looking down at his boots.

“She wants you to meet Jon too,” Clark added, gently. “He’s just a baby, but… he should know he has a big brother.”

Conner’s head jerked like he’d been stung. “I’m not— I’m not his brother. I’m not even—”

“You’re family,” Clark said. Firmly. “You always were.”

“I’m not human.”

“Neither am I.”

Conner shook his head. His voice came out sharp. “You don’t get it. You were born. You grew up. You had parents, and a house, and love. I was made in a lab.”

“You were made,” Clark said, “but that doesn’t mean you weren’t meant.”

The boy fell silent.

Clark let the words hang there for a moment, then reached into his jacket pocket. Pulled out a photo. Old. Faded. A little bent at the corners.

It was of the Kent farm. Ma and Pa, standing proud on the porch. Clark at seventeen, hair a mess, shirt too big. A girl — his aunt, you — was hanging off his arm, barefoot in the dirt, laughing at something off camera.

He handed it to him.

“That’s where I grew up,” he said. “That’s your family too.”

Conner took the picture slowly, gingerly, like it might vanish if he touched it too fast. He stared at it.

“They want to meet you,” Clark added. “Pa will love you. Ma too.”

Conner didn’t respond, but he didn’t need him to. Not right away. The way he looked at that photo was enough. His thumb brushed the edge once, reverent, then again. Like he couldn’t quite believe it was real.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” Clark said, after a long pause. “I’ll keep trying anyway. For as long as it takes.”

Conner let out a slow breath. His voice was quieter now. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Neither do I.”

More silence. Then, finally—Conner shifted. Just enough to lean his shoulder, lightly, into Clark’s. Barely there.

But Clark didn’t move away. He just leaned back.

“…Jon,” Conner said finally. “What’s he like?”

Clark smiled, a real one this time. “He’s small. Soft. He giggles when you make faces at him. Loves peanut butter. Lois sings to him every night.”

That undid something.

His breath shook.

“I want to meet him,” he said, voice breaking just a little. “Not because of you. Because of me. Because I think I need to.”

Clark nodded slowly. “I’d like that.”

They stood in silence again, but it was no longer cold or brittle. Just quiet. Safe. The city sighed around them. Somewhere below, a siren cried out, far and fading.

“…I’m still mad at you,” Conner muttered.

The man nodded. “That’s fair.”

“You’ve got a long way to go.”

“I’ll walk it,” Clark said. “Every step. If it means I get to be in your life.”

For the first time all night, Conner smiled. Barely. But it was real.

“…You’re gonna have to deal with Y/N,” he said.

Clark groaned. “I know.”

“And Bruce.”

Clark winced. “I know.”

“And Dick has electrified escrima sticks.”

“Yeah, I saw.”

“…And I punch harder than you think.”

Clark raised an eyebrow, smirking. “That one I believe.”

Conner huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh.

And for the first time, the rooftop felt warm.

#bruce wayne x reader #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #batmom reader #kent!batmom!reader #batboys x reader #bruce wayne x you #platonic dick grayson x reader #superfam x reader #platonic conner kent x reader #platonic clark kent x reader

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homo-house · 2 years ago

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hey uh so I haven't seen anyone talking about this here yet, but

the amazon river, like the biggest river in the fucking world, in the middle of the amazon fucking rainforest, is currently going through its worst drought since the records began 121 years ago

picture from Folha PE

there's a lot going on but I haven't seen much international buzz around this like there was when the forest was on fire (maybe because it's harder to shift the narrative to blame brazil exclusively as if the rest of the world didn't have fault in this) so I wanted to bring this to tumblr's attention

I don't know too many details as I live in the other side of the country and we are suffering from the exact opposite (at least three cyclones this year, honestly have stopped counting - it's unusual for us to get hit by even one - floods, landslides, we have a death toll, people are losing everything to the water), but like, I as a brazilian have literally never seen pictures of the river like this before. every single city in the amazonas state is in a state of emergency as of november 1st.

pictures by Adriano Liziero (ig: geopanoramas)

we are used to seeing images of rio negro and solimões, the two main amazon river affluents, in all their grandiose and beauty and seeing these pictures is really fucking chilling. some of our news outlets are saying the solimões has turned to a sand desert... can you imagine this watery sight turning into a desert in the span of a year?

while down south we are seeing amounts of rain and hailstorms the likes of which our infrastructure is simply not built to deal with, up north people who have built everything around the river are at a loss of what to do.

the houses there that are built to float are just on the ground, people who depend on fishing for a living have to walk kilometers to find any fish that are still alive at all, the biodiversity there is at risk, and on an economic level it's hard to grasp how people from the northern states are getting by at all - the main means of transport for ANYTHING in that region is via the river water. this will impact the region for months to come. it doesnt make a lot of sense to build a lot of roads bc it's just better to use the waterway system, everything is built around or floats on the river after all. and like, the water level is so incomprehensibly low the boats are just STUCK. people are having a hard time getting from one place to another - keep in mind the widest parts of the river are over 10 km apart!!

this shit is really serious and i am trying not to think about it because we have a different kind of problem to worry about down south but it's really terrifying when I stop to think about it. you already know the climate crisis is real and the effects are beyond preventable now (we're past global warming, get used to calling it "global boiling"). we'll be switching strategies to damage control from now on and like, this is what it's come to.

I don't like to be alarmist but it's hard not to be alarmed. I'm sorry that I can't end this post with very clear intructions on how people overseas can help, there really isn't much to do except hope the water level rises soon, maybe pray if you believe in something. in that regard we just have to keep pressing for change at a global level; local conditions only would not, COULD NOT be causing this - the amazon river is a CONTINENTAL body of water, it spans across multiple countries. so my advice is spread the word, let your representatives know that you're worried and you want change towards sustainability, degrowth and reduced carbon emissions, support your local NGOs, maybe join a cause, I don't know? I recommend reading on ecological and feminist economics though

however, I know you can help the affected riverine families by donating to organizations dedicated to helping the region. keep in mind a single US dollar, pound or euro is worth over 5x more in our currency so anything you donate at all will certainly help those affected.

FAS - Sustainable Amazon Fundation

Idesam - Sustainable Developent and Preservation Institute of Amazonas

Greenpeace Brasil - I know Greenpeace isn't the best but they're one of the few options I can think of that have a bridge to the international world and they are helping directly

There are a lot of other smaller/local NGOs but I'm not sure how you could donate to them from overseas, I'll leave some of them here anyway:

Projeto Gari

Caritás Brasileira

If you know any other organizations please link them, I'll be sure to reblog though my reach isn't a lot

thank you so much for reading this to the end, don't feel obligated to share but please do if you can! even if you just read up to here it means a lot to me that someone out there knows

also as an afterthought, I wanted to expand on why I think this hasn't made big news yet: because unlike the case of the 2020 forest fires, other countries have to hold themselves accountable when looking at this situation. while in 2020 it was easier to pretend the fires were all our fault and people were talking about taking the amazon away from us like they wouldn't do much worse. global superpowers have no more forests to speak of so I guess they've been eyeing what latin america still has. so like this bit of the post is just to say if you're thinking of saying anything of the sort, maybe think of what your own country has done to contribute to this instead of blaming brazil exclusively and saying the amazon should be protected by force or whatever

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neo-nomatrix · 2 years ago

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The Olive Theory

Luke Castellan x Reader

word count: 641

summary: Strawberries are your favorite thing in the whole world, luckily for you Luke seems to “hate them”

a/n: based on the olive theory from himym

@repostingmyfavs

There are two things you truly love in this world: Luke and Strawberries.

You often find yourself helping the Demeter and Dionysus kids in the strawberry fields, despite your actual job being at the infirmary. Miranda often scolded you for taking strawberries for yourself during the day, you didn’t mind though. The sweet yet tart berry was worth it.

Your obsession with the fruit grew even further. You begged the dryads for extra portions during dinner, pairing them with yogurt and melted chocolate. Your least favorite part was having to sacrifice the berry to your godly father. You debated giving something else to him but everyone at camp and above knew your love for them, there was no running from it.

Luke was well aware of your passion for strawberries. Going as far as joking that you love them more than him. You both aren’t quite sure if it’s a joke or not.

You sit at a picnic table near the Hermes cabin with luke. You had just sat down with Percy and three shortcakes for each of you. Luke leans over and presses a soft kiss against your temple as you sit down. Percy notices that you can barely acknowledge it since your focus is on the cake.

Both Luke and Percy stare at you in wonder as you eye the desert, they can’t seem to figure out why you haven’t eaten it yet. Impatient, you look over and luke with a wanting gaze.

“Oh- right,” he says understandingly.

Percy is clearly confused by the seemingly telepathic communication. His eyes dart between you and Luke, your gaze once again set on your plate. Luke picks off the strawberries from his cake and places them on your plate. As soon as the first two strawberries are there you start devouring the cake like a ravenous hyena. Percy starts to wonder if you’re even chewing. Luke starts to eat some of his until he stops halfway. He puts the remaining piece of cake on your plate for you. You eat it immediately as if it was there the whole time.

“Are you gonna have that?” You ask politely, eyeing a large, red strawberry on Percy’s plate.

His eyes shift down to where your gaze is settled, “No, go ahead.”

You smile and take it with your fork, biting into it quickly. Percy’s eyes shift back to Luke, who’s been staring at you since the moment you sat down. His face held a small smile as he admired you. You smiled as you licked the whipped cream off your fork.

“I think I'm gonna get another slice!” You exclaim happily, standing up and nearly skipping to where the dryads are.

Luke watches as you leave, eyes falling on your figure.

“I never realized she liked strawberries that much,” Percy said.

“Yeah, I'm kinda surprised she hasn’t turned into one yet,” he laughs quietly.

“I assume you don’t like them that much? I mean- you gave her all of yours and half of the cake,” Percy explains.

“Strawberries? no way, they’re great. But she loves them so much, and I'd do anything to make her happy,” Luke smiles as he nibbles on the remains of one of your eaten berries.

You come back with a widest smile on your face. You hold another cake alongside a cup of strawberries. You sit down, happily eating more of the cake and strawberries.

“Isn’t it so great that Luke doesn’t like them? I get them all to myself!” You say, beaming.

“Yeah,,, perfect,” Percy says slowly, remembering the new found information.

“Mhm; I’d give my girl all the strawberries in the world if I could,” Luke mumbles.

Luke has a single mission in life, making you happy. Even if that means giving up his favorite fruit for you. Your smile is worth much more than a simple strawberry.

#pjo series #luke castellan #luke pjo #luke castellan x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #luke castellan x you #luke pjo x reader #pjo x reader #pjo x you #pjo tv show #percy jackson x reader

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taylorman2274 · 1 year ago

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We Care About You (Part IV)

Your attempts to cater to their needs only leave them confused and concerned. However, just when you think of giving up, more barriers are broken.

Content Warning(s): Xiao Story Quest Spoilers; Liyue Archon Quest Act IV Spoilers

Notes: SAGAU; GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Previous || Next

Taglist: @silverstarred; @victoria1676; @angelofdarkness2; @areaderspov; @andromeda-gay; @ash1; @mercy-not-merci; @toodledoodl3; @jellyedkazoo; @namine123; @innuwu; @agaygothicmushroom;

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When Genshin finally finished loading, you found your player character back where you originally left them before you were forced unconscious; in the bustling streets of Chihu Rock. The first thing you noticed was the red exclamation marks over the Paimon Menu, Events Menu, and Battle Pass Menu. However, you saw these exclamation marks nearly every time you logged on to Genshin, so you weren't surprised.

What does surprise you is that so far, everything appears to be... normal.

The Traveler was currently doing one of their idle animations, the NPCs were all in their familiar spots, and the leaves were subtly floating to the ground...

You began to grow suspicious.

You moved the Traveler one step to the left, cutting off their idle animation. They moved as you expected. Then you moved them right. Then up. Then down.

You looked at their face. They were staring back at you with lifeless eyes.

"But they're not lifeless..." you commented.

Next, you opened up the preceding menus. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. Even Paimon was doing her usual shtick.

Finally, you turned the Traveler away from your gaze and had them walk a few steps forward. You had them perform their normal attack combo. No signs of restraint were noticeable.

"...I guess everything is as normal as possible," you noted. "I'll still do everything I promised myself I would do. I don't want to be deceived by false appearances."

You opened the party setup and began to remove everyone from your party aside from the Traveler. You had decided that since nobody specifically asked the Traveler to join them on their travels, you should only use the Traveler from now on. Sure, that may make things harder for you, but you were willing to take on the extra challenge if it meant that everybody was happy.

However, as much as you would prefer to avoid it, you knew that fighting enemies was inevitable. You were just going to need to be extra careful while fighting to make sure that the Traveler doesn't get hit.

"It's almost like I'm doing a no-hit challenge," you chuckled.

Lastly, you were going to take your time doing long quests such as Archon and Story quests. You figure that doing so many quests in a short amount of time would be tiring to the Traveler. Especially with how grueling some of them can be.

With that being said, you took the time to quickly organize the pages of notes on your side before setting off to the first commission of the day, conveniently in Liyue Harbor of all places.

...By walking, of course. Strictly walking while inside cities should be the norm from now on.

---------------------------------------------------------

The Traveler was nearly quivering in excitement.

The adrenaline rush that they got when they realized [Y/N] was back in Teyvat made them all hyper and focused. They were ready to do anything and everything with you. They wanted to sprint across the widest plains; climb atop the tallest mountains; and fight against the strongest enemies.

However, they have learned before that they need to be patient.

Over time, they have come to realize many patterns that you have while guiding them throughout Teyvat. One of these patterns was that you normally started working on the daily commissions first.

So they were a little surprised when the first thing you did was move them around, almost like you were testing to see if they would still follow your guidance.

"You don't have to worry about that, [Y/N]," they thought. "I'll always be here for you."

Not to worry though, [Y/N] went ahead and guided them to all the places where the commissions took place afterward. However, there were some things that they noticed while they were completing them.

The commissions involving the common folk and the time challenges went about the same way. It was the fighting commissions that had them asking questions.

What was the best way to describe it...? They still had no problem defeating the enemies, don't get them wrong, but they noticed that you seemed to be a little more... cautious?

Normally, [Y/N] would have them rush in and start swinging. Sure, this was reckless at times, and got themselves hit a couple of times, but that was honestly the fighting style that they were most accustomed to. However, this time they noticed that for whichever enemies they were fighting, they would focus on one at a time and balance an attack with a couple of dodges whenever their opponent attempted to strike back.

Furthermore, they also noticed that they were the only ones fighting. They know that [Y/N] is capable of guiding at most four people at once. So why were they only using them?

"Perhaps I can ask Paimon whenever [Y/N] leaves." they thought.

Not that they wanted you to leave, no no no. You had just come back to Teyvat after a whole week! They wanted to make up for lost time.

"If I counted right, that's all the commissions for today. Just got to visit Kathryne and then we can continue with our day. I wonder what we will get to do today. Are we gonna do some exploring? Fight amongst the ley lines? Meet up with old friends? I can't wait!"

They waited for their exchange with Kathryne to end so they could get back to your guidance. But suddenly, they began to feel themselves gaining control over their body.

...Wait.

... ... ...

Oh no...

...No...

No. No. No. No. NO! NO! NO! NO!

They know this feeling all too well. It was their least favorite part of the day.

...It was when you left Teyvat.

Just as their fears were confirmed, they gained control over their body again. Horrified, they quickly looked up at Celestia and prayed to the Archons that what was happening wasn't real.

Unfortunately, the light from Celestia came and went. [Y/N] was gone...

"Aww, already?" Paimon groaned, appearing out of thin air. "Paimon thought that [Y/N] would stay just a little bit longer."

The Traveler's eyes never left Celestia. They were holding on to the slim hope that the light would return. That [Y/N] would come right back and continue our adventures.

...But it never came.

"Hey, Traveler. Are you alright? You haven't moved in a while."

The Traveler finally took their eyes away from Celestia and sadly looked at Paimon. "I was so happy that [Y/N] came back. I was looking forward to spending all day with them. But in the end, they were only here for a few hours."

Paimon solemnly nodded. "Yeah, Paimon gets where you're coming from. But Paimon also says not to worry! It isn't often that [Y/N] leaves after completing the daily commissions. Maybe this is a one-time thing?"

The Traveler gave it some thought. They suppose that what Paimon is saying is true. There's no guarantee that this will happen again tomorrow.

Their mood picked up. "You're right, Paimon. Hopefully, we get to adventure with [Y/N] longer tomorrow."

Paimon smiled. "That's the spirit! Trust Paimon when she says that everything is going to be alright!"

---------------------------------------------------------

Time Skip

---------------------------------------------------------

...

... ...

... … …

...Three days...

It's been three days since [Y/N] first came back to Teyvat. They have since come back every day afterward.

...Three days...

It's been three days of completing commissions...

...And nothing else.

...Three days...

It's been three days since the Traveler realized that they were the only person [Y/N] used in their "adventure team".

They still remember how heartbroken Amber was when they met her.

"It wasn't something I did, was it?" she fretted with sorrowful eyes.

"Of course not!" they reassured, "You've done nothing wrong!"

However, they could tell that their words were not effective at uplifting the normally bright and cheerful outrider.

Now, [Y/N] was guiding them back to Kathryne again. Most likely the end of another day together.

... ... …

...No.

"I REFUSE!"

Going against [Y/N]'s guidance, they stopped in place. They were not going to let [Y/N] leave this time! They felt a couple of forceful nudges from [Y/N] but they were going to hold their ground for as long as it takes.

"No more commissions, [Y/N]. Let's go back to before. Explore Teyvat! Go fishing! Search for my sibling! Just don't leave again!"

...

... ...

... … …

...-hy?

..."Huh?"

"What di- ... -o wrong?"

"Is that...?" they wondered.

"I thought ... was doing ... -thing right?"

"[Y/N]?"

"I've done all the things that match their preferences. I've removed all the people who have jobs that prioritize their duties over adventuring; I've been careful while fighting enemies; I've even been spending as little time as possible to conserve their energy. So why are they still unhappy?

...So that's what has been the issue.

They wanted to tell you everything that was on their mind. But they couldn't bypass the restriction placed upon them.

This restriction in particular involved speaking freely towards [Y/N]. From what they understand, they are never able to say anything while being guided by [Y/N]. Instead, Paimon does most of the talking.

They still don't know much about it.

"...Maybe I'm not cut out for this after all. I should've known better..."

They didn't need to be told what that meant for the future.

After hearing that last sentence, they fought as hard as they could to break the speaking restriction, to tell [Y/N] something, anything, to stop them from leaving.

When they gained the slightest control over their body, they shouted: "[Y/N]! Wait! Don't leave!"

However, it didn't appear that they even heard them. Furthermore, they instantly felt a painful shock rush through their body. Punishment for breaking the rules.

The shock brought them to the ground, and they were in too much pain to notice the light from Celestia. And from what they had to guess, potentially for the last time.

"Traveler!" Paimon screamed, immediately floating down to nudge their body. "Quick! Get up! Get up! We've got to do something or else [Y/N] will be gone forever!"

Slowly but steadily, the Traveler brought themselves to their feet. They felt more defeated than ever. "It's too late, Paimon... I couldn't stop [Y/N] from leaving... It's all my fault."

Paimon was quick to shake her head. "Don't say that! You already know that we've never been able to talk with [Y/N] in the past."

"That still doesn't change the fact that [Y/N] is probably gone forever. They're never coming back."

Paimon frowned. She hadn't seen the Traveler like this since they met their sibling with Dainsleif. But as much as she wanted to cheer the Traveler up, she needed to find a way to reach [Y/N]. She quickly used all of her brain juice to come up with a solution.

"Paimon has an idea! Why don’t we ask Zhongli for help? He did assist us last time.”

The Traveler let out a weak, sad chuckle. “I doubt even Zhongli would know what to do in this scenario.”

---------------------------------------------------------

"I may know something we can do."

"Really?!" "You do?!" Both Paimon and the Traveler exclaimed respectively.

They really should stop doubting the capabilities of this man.

"I have no guarantee that this will work," explained Zhongli, "but I'm curious to see the results. I believe you two are familiar with the adepti art 'dream trawling'?"

"Mhm," Paimon nodded, "We were with Xiao when he had us perform it."

"I see. That will make things easier to understand," Zhongli remarked, closing his eyes. "If [Y/N] won't come to Teyvat anymore..."

His eyes opened, filled to the brim with determination. "We'll simply have to extend them an invitation."

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Author Side Notes: Sorry this took so long to get out. I was struggling with how I wanted to write this.

Additionally, I've felt like my writing is lacking with descriptors. I feel like I keep saying words like 'said', 'asked', and 'nodded' a lot, especially in the last chapter. I've gone back and edited as much of it as I could.

I want to do my best to write all of these characters so I feel pretty bad whenever I'm unable to properly describe a character's thoughts or emotions. Maybe it's something that I'll get better at as I continue writing.

#genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin self aware #sagau x reader #sagau #sagau genshin #platonic genshin x reader #platonic #gn reader #gender neutral reader #genshin impact

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worstgenerationloser · 5 months ago

Note

just a random thought but like sanji x reader on their wedding night🤭 I'll leave the creative writing to u

,, My Person. ''

Pairing... Sanji x GN! Reader

Summary... after a day full of festivities with your now husband Sanji, you two share your bed for the first time as a married couple.

Contains... wedding vows, fluff and slight nsfw, soft romantic moments, sanji shenanigans, undressing eachother to shower, kissing, and sanji freaking out over you.

A/N: he's such a cutie, i loved writing this! Happy birthday to this handsome man 💞

Casting a cool blue hue over the two of you, the moon congratulates you with the widest smile… Is what Sanji says, anyways. He hasn't been talking much since you two got back, and he seems a bit stiff, you think it's just him trying to keep all his blood in his nose. Sanji always had rushed to your side in the most dire moments, and he knew for a fact he would marry you eventually. He just can't believe it's actually happened— you looked so gorgeous in your wedding attire, he loved the adoring looks the crew gave you when he first announced your engagement together, how they all congratulated him and the fact that his eyes were stuck on none other than you every step of the way.

A breath of fresh air, what with everything he has had to endure. Sanji knows his love for you takes over his entire body and soul, he says his love for you is his entire reason for being— maybe you are a blessing bestowed upon him from the grand creator of this world? He says silly things like that so often, but he makes sure you know it. In the softly colored bedroom of the lodging you have chosen, there's a wondrous balcony onlooking the sea— which seems to have presented the purest blue coloring for your perfect day; everything seemed so grand, not in the sense that it's making up for a lack of sincerity in your union, but for representation of the grandest union of two lively souls.

The beauty of the balcony, venue, and sea weren't nearly as beautiful as Sanji. A face painted of pure joy and adoration with each glance he shot your way, but you noticed his fraying nerves when he grabbed your hand to place the ring onto your finger. His hands were so shaky, and silent tears cascaded down his flushed cheeks while his pure smile beamed straight to cast away any lingering shadows. His vows were so clear, though he was struggling not to cry anymore, how dare he taint the memory of your wedding in such a way? Tears borne from love didn't count if it was from you, but he hated crying in front of you.

“My most cherished lover, I will accept you in your entirety. Things will never be left unsaid, for my heart will speak aloud to you forevermore, not once will I forget myself for as long as I am bound to you; which will be as long as my heart, mind, and body will be left on this lovely earth. Even then, I must promise that our souls will never travel apart, because on this day, we are informing the sea, the sky, the stars, and the entirety of the universe that together we are. Smitten as I am with you, I will never overlook your character. Not only are you my love; you are a part of my life in every possible way. My companion in all things romance, my crew, my heart… I solemnly swear, most of all, that I will be proudly at your side, no matter what turbulence occurs in our long lives shared together.”

Franky was trying his best not to cry, meanwhile Brook was shaking in his seat, holding back jokes for the tender moment. Such sincere smiles gathered from your friends and those who have aided you along the way, but Sanji and you kept your gazes locked onto each other. It was like you could see the beat of his heart, and he could see the vows ready to be spoken in yours.

Being pirates, you can't have your marriage recognized by the government, but who needs those bastards to know you're in love anyways? Franky is ready to loudly announce it to anyone who looks at you or Sanji’s way, why do pirates care about what the government thinks? If two can love, then they can keep their passion private, or they may be free to soar it across the skies as they please. Sanji would proudly announce it to his fiercest enemies faces, you’re sure.

Sanji is still nervous. His heart is racing like he's supposed to rehearse a play all by himself whilst playing every single role there is— but he's just sitting next to you in bed. His blue eyes flicker over your features to commit them to his memory once again as if he hasn't memorized every mark and every dip and curve on your body, he needs to do something to stop such intense longing for what is already in his grasp. His hands, shaky yet warmer than ever, reach out to touch you; but Sanji balls his hand into a fist, bringing his knuckles to his mouth to sink his teeth into. Though he's next to you in bed, he feels like he's thousands of years away.

You're both still dressed in your clothes from the reception, matching the beautiful colors which soared across the ceilings at your venue. You should have been changed a bit ago, but you can't brush off the fact that Sanji is acting odd, when you see him nervously bite around his knuckle, you smile softly and begin to speak.

“Sanji, calm down…” Your own hand reaches out, tracing the back of his palm and easing his teeth away from his knuckles. Though his hand is loose from the clench of his jaw, his soft pink lips remain parted, and he looks like a lost puppy for a second. Well, it isn't all that different from the way he is when you're separated for longer than an hour or two. But besides when you were getting ready, he was there every step of the way. “It's improper of me to abandon my love on this important day.” Was his newest excuse for standing outside the door when you went to the bathroom.

“Oh… I apologize for… My distant mind. I swear I only think thoughts of us.” You watch him catch his bottom lip between his teeth, his posture loosening only ever so slightly.

“That's okay. Think whatever you want to, Sanji. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon…” Murmuring, you begin to pick up a soft smile as you move a little closer to where he is sitting atop the bed, your weights recognized as one on the firm mattress. Hands finding their way to his collar, they start to unbutton his dress shirt, your actions aren't entirely sexual in nature, surely many couples do that, but you would prefer to put his nerves back into the right places before Sanji starts to malfunction.

“Would a warm shower help? Or would you prefer a bath?” You watch as your proposal; In real time, allows a spark to return to Sanji’s eyes, but then you think maybe you moved too quickly when his eyes widen and his lips quiver as he looks you up and down.

“B-Bath… With… With- With you?”

Ah, your first mistake on your wedding night. Well, it's entirely your fault but it's comforting seeing him go back to his usual self. And again, he catches himself and prevents another nosebleed.

“Gah! No! My apologies, my dear, I… I meant to ask if you would like to bathe together… As a married couple. It's a common thing with modern couples, you see—” After his loud gasp, he begins to stammer and then pause when his brain processes his own words. Does he think he sounds creepy? His perverted nature has seemed sweet in nature to you as of lately, so maybe he's realized himself for once.

“M…Ma—... Married...”

Stiffer than a stone statue, Sanji’s body freezes entirely. It took longer than you feel comfortable admitting to just to get Sanji back to earth, while his shirt still remained halfway undone. How can you get him naked with his… eccentric personality, then? Do you bribe him like a dog chasing after a bone? Distract him? Ah, you should just drag him along with you before he gets on all fours or something. It's endearing sometimes you swear, but you're not sure how much everyone else believes that.

“Apologies. I can't fathom that I am with you… Ah, no— I can't believe we are married. Oh, I feel like a fool.”

Cupping his face in his hands and wallowing in utter despair at his slippery speech, he fails to realize that you are dragging him along with you in the direction of the bathroom door. When he removes his hands, he's greeted by the feeling of his belt being undone, making him pause. Not again, Sanji… And with gritted teeth, he masks himself, but his eyes twitch and his nostrils flare repeatedly, it's not like he's never been nude around you, he feels like it's even more significant considering you are officially forever.

When his pants drop, he politely steps out of them, kicking them to the side as his hands reach out for you to return the favor. It's been done before, he can do it again, but his hands hesitated as he awaited a confirmation.

“Yes, you may undress me.” Your voice is clearer inside the bathroom.

Breathing a sigh of relief, his hands start to reach for the fabric of your clothing, sliding it down your shoulders, the pads of his fingers slipping down each inch of skin newly exposed. It didn't feel as lewd as it was, standing half naked together. There weren't any shy giggles, no heavy panting, no hands dancing across each other's skin for any reason other than to shed clothing. It could take a turn once you two reach the shower, maybe you two would end up in a tangle of passionate limbs, but Sanji would prefer to love you somewhere more comfortable.

He respects you. Though he's dense at times, though he can be perverse and pathetic, it's all out of the love he has for you. He's vulnerable with you more than he ever knew, he sheds his skin and presents his back to you, he's not afraid to be less of a man if he cries near you. He doesn't worry you with tears of any sort, but at times he feels so lucky that his life has taken such a positive turn and allowed him to find people who love and care for him the same way his mother did. Would she be proud her boy found his true love?

Opening his heart, he lets you feel him. He lets you hold his hands, he lets you in the kitchen though he hates being disturbed— before you were his love, you were always the one for him. Not once did he view you as pure romance, you were a person, and you were his person.

Pss... you... you should comment and reblog👀

#black leg sanji x reader #sanji vinsmoke x reader #sanji x reader #sanji x you #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece imagines #xochitlwrites

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nimbusclan · 6 months ago

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Moon 5 Part 2

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Moonstar gasps awake, sitting up so fast she rams her head into the thick underside of a low-hanging branch that she and her brother had spent the night taking turns sleeping under. They’ve been doing that, taking turns – who knows what things are lurking out here in the dark, so far from home.

If they can't go back, does it still count as home?

“Ow…” Moonstar groans, a sharp throb pounding against her skull. What a way to start the morning.

Fogfreckle ducks his head underneath one of the branches, sweeping past the leaves to gaze curiously at his sister. He tilts his head questioningly, mouth open to ask what’s wrong, when the words die on his tongue and his eyes widen.

“Fogfreckle!” Moonstar mews excitedly, leaping to her paws. “You’ll never guess what happened!”

“Your– your forehead,” Fogfreckle croaks. “You… were visited by StarClan?”

“What about my forehead?” Moonstar asks, confused and distracted. She presses a paw against her head to see if perhaps she’s bleeding, but her paw doesn’t come away warm or wet. The rest of her brother’s words filter to her slowly through the dull throb of pain and the fog of the early hour. She pouts. “Yeah, Star– how did you guess so quick?”

“There’s– your forehead. You have a star. A leader’s star.”

Moonstar’s pout deepens. “Well. That kind of steals my thunder.”

“Moonpool, what happened?”

“Moonstar now, actually.” Moonstar grins. “StarClan visited me in my dreams and granted me my nine lives. Isn’t that crazy? I didn’t even have to– there was no–” Moonstar’s tongue can hardly keep up with everything that’s swirling in her brain, the experience of her leader’s ceremony playing back to her as if memory and not just dream. “NimbusClan lives on, Fogfreckle. In us, just like you said. We’re to lead NimbusClan into its new future.”

“‘We’?” Fogfreckle asks weakly, jaw slack with disbelief.

“Of course, ‘we’!” Moonstar laughs, bounding closer to her brother. She feels so full of life, coursing through her like the widest, wildest river. “I wouldn’t be here if not for you, you know that. Besides, what’s a leader without her deputy?”

“Deputy?” Fogfreckle repeats, dumbstruck.

“What are you, a raven?” Moonstar laughs. “Yes, deputy! As leader, I’m appointing you as deputy of NimbusClan, Fogfreckle.”

Fogfreckle swells with pride, pale chest fluffed out as he inhales a shaky breath. “I– yes, Moonstar. Thank you.”

“Don’t get all formal on me, now. You’re my brother first, deputy second.”

“So, we really are still a Clan.” He grins, then the expression fades from his face somewhat. His eyes take on an earnest shine. “Did you… I know you’re not supposed to talk about the ceremony, but… when you visited StarClan, did you… did you see our parents?”

Moonstar smiles gently, heart squeezing painfully in her chest. Dad had told her to tell Fogfreckle that their parents miss him, too, so surely StarClan won’t be displeased if she shares just that much? “Yes. I saw them. Mom and Dad. They told me to tell you they miss you.”

Fogfreckle hiccups, stepping close to push his head hard against Moonstar’s.

“I wish you could have seen them too,” She adds in a whisper, nuzzling into his dawn-warmed fur. The sun is just starting to crest the side of the mountain on its way up, crawling lazily into the sky. Greenleaf heat creeps on silent, soft paws across her pelt. It’ll be humid later, but for now, it’s pleasant.

“Maybe they’ll walk in my dreams one day, too.”

“I hope so.” Moonstar presses one more smile into his fur and then pulls back, squaring her shoulders in what she hopes is a leaderly fashion. It’s only her brother, but she may as well start getting used to playing the role. “Alright, deputy. What’s our first order of business?”

Fogfreckle grins. “How about breakfast? I could go for some eggs.”

“Perfect idea.”

Both cats stretch out their paws and take off, bounding up the mountain.

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#once again i am fussing about with the backgrounds #will i ever be satisfied?#tune in next moon to find out!#clangen #warrior cats #wc #waca #moonstar #fogfreckle #i like how a lot of these expressions turned out #moon 5 #nimbusmoon

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astrakim · 1 month ago

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Marked by the Stars

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

>Genre: Soulmate AU ・ Fantasy AU ・ Slow Burn ・ Angst with Comfort ・ Fluff ・ Romance ・ Lowkey Mutual Pining ・ Emotional Growth

>Summary: Jungwon is dying—and he doesn’t even know who touched him.

Y/N is falling apart too, unaware that her soulmate bond has been activated.

A golden bruise marks them both.

Now they must stay close to survive.

But every touch feels too good—and every glance feels like falling.

Is it just the bond keeping them alive? Or something deeper pulling them in?

>Warning: Soulmate dependency (life-threatening), Emotional vulnerability, Heavy skinship/romantic tension, Fluff, heavy angst, and slow-burn intimacy, Jungwon constantly questioning the bond. Cameo of TXT, mentions of dying. jealousy? Pretend the XO MV was shoot near a sea. Jungwon singing Too Close (yes, this is a warning)

Let me know if i have to add anything else!

>Word count: 13k Masterlist

Enjoy your read!

The van smelled faintly of worn leather seats, leftover snacks, and the warm aftershave that clung to the boys' stage clothes. The drive to the MV filming location wasn’t long, but it already felt like an eternity to Jungwon, whose heart hadn't calmed since he noticed there were only seven seats. Seven members. One staff. And Y/N. He didn’t think twice.

“Sit,” he said simply, tugging her toward him. Y/N blinked, looking around as if someone else was going to offer a better option. “There’s no—” “Just here,” Jungwon said again, this time his hand resting at her waist as he guided her right onto his lap. The whole van exploded. Ni-ki let out a low whistle.

“Jungwon-hyung, acting bold now, aren’t we?” Jay snickered. “Should I start recording this?” Sunghoon leaned over from the front seat with the widest grin. “You two should date already. For everyone's sanity.” Jungwon turned pink immediately but held firm. Y/N sat stiff, her hands tucked into her lap, trying not to shift too much in fear of making this moment any more intimate than it already was. But she could feel everything.

The rise and fall of his chest. The heat of his hand still resting lightly on her waist. The way their knees brushed with every little bump on the road. And that damn electric flutter. Each time her back leaned slightly into his chest, the bond buzzed between them — soft, golden static that made her fingers twitch and her ears burn. Was he feeling it too? She didn’t dare ask.

—

The MV location was a dream. A coastal village kissed with morning fog, stone paths winding through flower beds, and a house perched right on a cliff where the waves crashed like applause. The shoot for "XO" was meant to feel dreamy, close, cinematic — almost like a secret whispered into someone's ear. Y/N wandered off while the crew set up. She sat quietly, admiring the sea when a shadow loomed. “You good?” She turned.

Jungwon.

Hair styled up. Earring glinting. Dressed in soft neutral tones that made him look too good, honestly. She nodded. He hesitated.

“You look... calm here.”

“I like the sea,” she replied, curling her legs under her.

“I used to come to places like this with my mom when I was little.” He nodded quietly and sat beside her. Not touching. But close. It wasn’t long before staff called him back, but as he stood, he glanced back once. “We’ll talk later, yeah?” Y/N smiled softly. “Yeah.” Filming was a blur. The director asked you to act with Jungwon in the umbrella scenes. No wait scratch that… you were basically forced to play that girl… by Jungwon or the members? But since when did you agree to be dragged that way? Maybe you wanted to film that. Play the girl who Jungwon likes?

Even if it's just acting?

The filming was amazing. All slow movements, soft touches, hand gestures. The director encouraged skinship. Comfort. Leaning. Smiling like love. And Jungwon hated how easily it came.

Because it wasn’t just acting.

Each time his fingers grazed hers, his heart flipped. When her head rested near his shoulder during one shot, he forgot his lines. During a spin shot, his hand caught her waist instinctively. His brain short-circuited for the rest of the take. The members caught on. They teased relentlessly. By the time they wrapped, the sky had turned the color of honey and lavender.

Everyone was tired. The vans took them back to a seaside hotel. Y/N was given her own room. Right next to Jungwon’s. She took a long shower and changed into what she assumed were some of the comfy clothes noona staff had packed for her. A white shirt. Oversized. Comfortable. She padded out of the bathroom, toweling her hair dry. And nearly walked straight into Jungwon.

Jungwon had come to check if she needed dinner. That’s all. He didn’t expect to be greeted by the sight of her, skin still damp from the shower, hair dripping down her back in soft waves, and— his shirt. She was wearing his white training shirt. Not the backup one from the stylist. Not one of her own. His. The one he used to sleep in sometimes. The one with a slightly frayed collar and his soft scent still clinging to it. She looked up innocently. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was yours... noona just packed it in with the rest.” How the fuck do this noona always accidentally pack my clothes in her luggage?? He opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again.

“I— it’s fine. Looks... good. I mean! Not like— I just meant— it fits. Comfortably. You look... comfortable.” Y/N stared at him. He buried his face in his hands. “God. Kill me.” She giggled. Something in his chest fluttered like crazy. They ate takeout on the hotel balcony. Silence sitting comfortably between them as the stars blinked to life above. After a while, she leaned back in her chair, her voice soft.

“You sing beautifully, you know.” He blinked. “What?” “Earlier. During the shoot. When you hummed under your breath.” Jungwon cleared his throat. “It’s a habit.” She smiled. “Can you sing something now?” He hesitated. Then pulled out his phone. “Okay... one song. Then you sleep. We have early call time tomorrow.” He began to sing softly:

Too close

A distance that's too dangerous

You so bad, I gotta move back

I'm so greedy, I'm so into you

Y/N’s chest ached. Not from the bond. From something softer. Sadder. Tenderer. He looked at her as he sang the next line:

Too close… A distance that melts all my nerves

Your breath touches my skin I'm dizzy,

I'm so into you

She didn't even realize they’d moved closer. By the time the song ended, she was tucked beside him on the small hotel couch, her head resting lightly on his shoulder. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved away. When she yawned, he reached for the throw blanket and draped it over her shoulders. “Sleep,” he whispered. “I’ll stay here.” “Just for a while?” she murmured. He didn’t answer. Because she was already asleep. And his heart was thundering under the weight of everything unspoken. Later that night, Jungwon shifted slightly. The couch was small and uncomfortable, but he didn’t mind.

Y/N moved in her sleep, her cheek now pressing gently against his shoulder. Her hand brushed against his knee, and the bolt of that familiar golden warmth surged up his arm. He bit his lip. He should move. He should go. But he didn’t want to. Not yet. The night outside was quiet. Crickets hummed in the grass. The waves kept their rhythm. And in this tiny sliver of time, he let himself feel everything. Peace. Closeness. A strange, aching fondness. She was wearing his shirt. And it had never looked better. The morning came too quickly. Y/N woke up to sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains and the soft beat of footsteps outside their room. Her head rested on something solid and warm. Chest. She blinked. Jungwon. He was still asleep, one arm slung protectively around her shoulders, his cheek resting against the top of her head. Her heart thudded painfully at the sight. God, he was beautiful. She shifted carefully, trying not to wake him. Her body still felt light and strange, the bond humming gently, as if content. As if pleased. It was like this now. No longer an unbearable burn, but a steady warmth. His lashes fluttered. A soft inhale. His eyes opened— and then widened.

“Is someone hugging me?” he muttered sleepily, his voice gravelly and utterly confused. Y/N choked on a laugh. “Good morning to you too.” He groaned and buried his face in her hair.

-----

They had to return to the city later that afternoon, the MV wrap met with praise and high-fives from the staff. But the van ride back was quieter. Jungwon didn’t ask her to sit on his lap this time. He didn’t need to. She did it herself. He blinked at her, surprised, as she settled comfortably, her head leaning back on his shoulder.

“It’s just a short ride,” she said. “Right,” he mumbled, heart hammering wildly. And the moment their fingers laced under the blanket someone had tossed over their legs — soft, shy, secret — the spark returned. Golden. Warm. And so, so close to real.

_____

The van rumbled to a stop outside a small, cozy countryside restaurant nestled among thick greenery and low mountains. It was the kind of quiet place that felt separate from time, a good place to rest and let thoughts settle. The scent of freshly cooked rice and warm stew wafted in the air even before they stepped inside, and after hours of shooting and teasing tension, it was a welcome kind of peace.

Y/N and Jungwon ended up sitting side by side on the traditional floor seating, their legs tucked under the table. The others were scattered around the large table, bickering about who got the last dumpling and laughing at Heeseung’s lame jokes. But Jungwon’s world had narrowed into a small sliver—the soft line where his knee touched Y/N’s.

Their thighs were barely brushing, but even that featherlight contact was electric. Jungwon tried to focus on the stew in front of him, bringing a spoon to his lips, but every time her knee shifted, brushing his again, a jolt shot through him. The soulmate bond was glowing under his skin like golden threads set ablaze, and the taste of food mingled with the heady rush of comfort and desire and... something deeper. Something hot and terrifying and consuming.

He bit down on his bottom lip and shut his eyes for a moment. God, it was dizzying. He couldn’t stop the spiraling thoughts. If I feel like this from just our legs touching... what the hell will I feel when we... He shook his head, as if the act alone would snap the thought away. No, stop. Focus on your food. Not her thigh. Not her hand. Not her lips. Stop. But the bond was humming like a lullaby against his skin. He turned his head slightly to glance at Y/N. She was chewing slowly, gazing out the window, completely unaware of the chaos going on inside him. Her hair was tied loosely, a few strands escaping to brush her cheeks. Her lips parted slightly to blow on the hot broth. She looked soft. She looked like home. And Jungwon was doomed.

After lunch, the staff decided to let the boys rest for the remainder of the day. The MV shoot would continue tomorrow, and the skies had already started to cloud slightly. They returned to the nearby lodge, and while the other members scattered—some napping, others scrolling through their phones or playing games—Jungwon found himself wandering toward the garden outside with Y/N. Just the two of them. They sat under a wooden pavilion, a soft breeze playing with Y/N’s hair. She looked serene, knees pulled up to her chest, hands wrapped around them. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, voice quieter than usual. She tilted her head. “Nothing really. Everything, maybe. You?” He smiled. “Same. It’s weird, huh?” “What is?” “This,” he said, waving a vague hand between them. “Us. Soulmates. Bonding. It feels... surreal. Like it’s supposed to be destiny or whatever, but I still don’t know how to act around you.” Y/N smiled softly. “You’re doing fine, you know. I mean... I think we’re figuring it out together.” His gaze lingered on her profile for a few seconds too long. “Do you... feel it too?” he asked suddenly, voice hesitant. She turned to him. “Feel what?” “When we touch.” Y/N blinked. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed again. He chuckled, flustered. “You don’t have to say yes if it’s just me—” “No,” she interrupted, cheeks going pink. “I do. I mean—I do feel something. Like this... rush of something golden. It’s like warmth and happiness and... I don’t know. Fireworks?” Jungwon’s breath hitched slightly.

“Fireworks is a good word,” he murmured. A long silence settled between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was full of all the things they hadn’t said yet. “You know what the others call me?” Y/N asked suddenly. He raised a brow. “What?”

“The girl that makes Jungwon’s heart do weird things.” He groaned immediately, covering his face with both hands. “I’m going to kill them.” Y/N giggled. “It’s kinda cute.” He peeked at her through his fingers. “You think I’m cute?” Her eyes widened. “I didn’t say that—” “But you didn’t deny it.” She laughed, shoving him gently with her shoulder. The touch lingered longer than it needed to. They sat there for another hour, talking about everything and nothing. Childhood memories. Dreams. Favorite snacks. Jungwon asked her why she liked strawberry milk. She teased him about his obsession with scented candles. Every conversation felt easy, but underlined with a quiet sort of urgency—as if their hearts were finally learning to speak the same language. And Jungwon, still flustered and still figuring this out, realized something startling. He was starting to look forward to every time her knee touched his. Every time she laughed. Every time her voice softened when talking to him. He was starting to feel more than just golden pleasure and warmth. He was starting to fall.

—----------

The dorms were unusually quiet for a weekend afternoon, a rare slice of calm that felt too good to be true. Jungwon had somehow convinced the others to give him and Y/N space. Well, it wasn’t that difficult—Sunoo winked dramatically and dragged the rest of the boys out with promises of bubble tea and claw machine competitions. That left the two of them alone in the dorm, heartbeats loud in the silence. Jungwon leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping from a mug he didn’t need, just something to do with his hands. Y/N stood opposite him, pretending to read the label on a cereal box, the golden-bonded tension crackling in the air between them like summer lightning.

“So,” Jungwon began, his voice casual but his heart racing as if he’d run a marathon. “You always wear socks that don’t match?” Y/N looked down at her feet—one yellow sock, one pink. She flushed. “Yeah? It’s… kind of a thing.” He grinned. “You’re starting a trend.” Y/N huffed playfully, tossing a piece of cereal at him. “Are you flirting with me using socks?” “Maybe.” He tilted his head, smile growing. “Is it working?” God, she wanted to melt. The flutter in her chest was so sharp it almost hurt. The warmth from his voice, the way his fingers were gripping the mug tighter than necessary—she was hyper-aware of everything about him. “I don’t know,” she replied softly. “Try harder.” Jungwon blinked, then leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the counter. The distance between them shortened. His eyes were darker than usual, teasing, unreadable. “You’re cute when you challenge me.” “I’m not challenging you.” “Now you’re lying. You always do that thing with your fingers when you lie.” She stared. “How do you—?” “I notice,” he said simply, and Y/N could barely breathe. Every time their hands brushed—like when he handed her a glass of water, or when she passed him a spoon—it sent electric pulses through her skin. Not painful, not shocking, but warm. Tingly. Like goosebumps from a whisper. “You feel it too, right?” she asked suddenly, the words tumbling out before she could stop herself. “When we touch?” Jungwon’s gaze flickered to her hand, then back to her eyes. He stepped around the counter, his presence larger, closer. “All the time.” Her breath hitched.

“When you brushed past me earlier,” he continued, voice low, intimate, “my hand was tingling for five minutes. I thought I’d burned myself or something.” Y/N laughed, nervous and breathy. “It’s the bond.” “Is it?” She blinked. “What else could it be?” Jungwon tilted his head. “I don’t know. I think…” he stepped a little closer, his shoulder almost touching hers, “I think I’d be this drawn to you even without the bond.” Her heart stuttered. There it was. The flirt. The flirt era Jungwon had arrived. She looked away, cheeks heating up. “You say that like it’s normal.” “It’s not,” he admitted. “But nothing about you feels normal. Not in a bad way. More like… you’re really beautiful kind of weird.” Y/N covered her face with her hands. “Oh my God.” He laughed—soft, fond. “What? You told me to try harder.” “You’re doing too well,” she muttered behind her fingers. They ended up sitting on the couch, side by side, knees touching. Jungwon seemed to shift closer every few minutes until the heat of his thigh burned against hers. He said nothing about it, just acted like it was the most natural thing in the world. Maybe, in some twisted soulmate-coded way, it was. She dared a glance at his profile—soft jawline, the way his lashes kissed his cheeks when he blinked. She wondered what would happen if she leaned into him. If she'd explode. Or melt. Or both. “You’re staring,” he said, not looking at her. “You’re imagining things.” “I’m imagining a lot of things,” he said quietly. Y/N’s mouth went dry. “Like what?” “Like…” Jungwon finally looked at her. His eyes were so open, it made her dizzy.

“What it’d be like to just hold your hand without it feeling like my chest’s going to cave in.” She swallowed thickly. “Why not try?” He reached over slowly, interlacing their fingers. The golden heat immediately spread through both of them. Y/N gasped—like every nerve ending was on fire, but in the gentlest, warmest way possible. “It still feels like my chest’s going to cave in,” he said, smiling. “But it’s kind of nice now.” They sat like that for a long time. Quiet. Content. “You think we’ll ever get used to this?” she whispered. Jungwon shrugged. “I hope not.” And maybe, just maybe, neither of them wanted to. “I think I like this,” Y/N said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. He turned to her, brow raised. “What part?” “This part,” she said, turning her palm upward and brushing her fingers lightly over his. “Where we can just be close and talk about anything.” His throat bobbed. “Yeah,” he said, hoarsely. “Me too.” They didn’t need anything more. Not yet. Because this was already everything. Y/N had been at the dorms for a while now, and something about the way she moved through their shared spaces—confident, yet always careful not to disturb anyone—was starting to settle deep into Jungwon’s bones. She wasn’t loud. She wasn’t overly charming. But she was... easy to fall into. Like slipping under a warm blanket on a rainy day. And maybe that was the problem. Because Jungwon? He was slipping. Fast.

_____

“Did you just use my conditioner again?” he asked as Y/N walked into the kitchen, her hair damp and smelling distinctly like the exact product he’d claimed was off-limits. Y/N didn’t miss a beat. “Nope.” Jungwon stepped closer, inhaled exaggeratedly. “Then why do you smell like eucalyptus and betrayal?” She laughed, cheeks turning the lightest pink. “It was just a little. You have three bottles.” “It’s the principle.” “And what principle would that be?” she asked, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. Jungwon smiled lazily. “That if you keep smelling like that, I’ll get addicted.” Y/N blinked. Then blinked again. “I—what?” He leaned casually against the counter, arms folded across his chest. “You heard me.” Her heart wasn’t just fluttering. It was sprinting laps. “You can’t just say stuff like that,” she mumbled, reaching for a mug she didn’t need just to busy her hands. “I can if it’s true.” Their fingertips brushed when he passed her the kettle. That electric hum, now familiar but never any less intense, passed between them. Both stilled. Y/N’s grip tightened on the handle. “Still happens, huh?” he asked quietly, looking down at their hands. She nodded. “Yeah.” He tilted his head. “Is it the bond?” “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But I feel it. Every time.” Jungwon was quiet for a moment before he grinned again. “Do you think Jake would faint if I held your hand in front of him?” Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.” “Impossible to resist,” he said smoothly. She let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “You’ve been hanging around Heeseung too much.” “No, he’s subtle. I’m direct. There's a difference.” Y/N turned away before he could see her face fully erupt into crimson. Jungwon, ever the predator for reactions, followed after her. “You blush really easily,” he teased. “Stop noticing everything."

Impossible,” he said again. “You’re kind of hard not to notice.” Later that evening, they ended up on the couch again, like they always did. Side by side. Knees pressed together. Their bond was steady now, a warm thrum beneath their skin. Familiar. Calming. But with Jungwon in flirt-mode, calming was a relative concept.

“You ever notice,” he said after a while, tapping his fingers against his thigh, “that every time you smile at me, my brain sort of short circuits?” Y/N glanced at him. “You say that like you expect me to believe it.” He leaned his head against the backrest, looking at her sideways. “Why wouldn’t you?” “I don’t know,” she muttered. “Maybe because you’re an idol and you probably have fans fainting over your smile every day.” Jungwon laughed, and it was soft—unfiltered. “Yeah, well. They don’t live in my dorm. Or steal my conditioner. Or wear my hoodie when they’re cold.” Y/N tugged the edge of his hoodie tighter around herself. “It’s comfy.” “It’s unfair,” he said with a grin. “You look better in it than I do.” Silence settled between them again, but it was warm, full of words unsaid. Then Jungwon reached out, threading their fingers together again. The golden warmth rushed up her arm, spreading to her chest, her cheeks. Her lips parted involuntarily.

“You feel that?” he asked, voice lower now. She nodded slowly. “Good,” he whispered. “Because I’d really hate to be the only one losing my mind over a hand-hold.” Y/N turned her head and looked at him—really looked. The slope of his nose. The soft pink of his lips. The way his gaze didn’t waver. “I’m starting to think,” she said quietly, “that maybe it’s not just the bond.” He smiled. Not his teasing grin, but something gentler. More raw. “I was hoping you’d say that.” She didn’t pull away when his thumb traced small, lazy circles against her hand. And when he said, “You’re my favorite thing to come home to,” it was quiet enough that only she could hear. But loud enough that her heart swore it would never forget.

—

The schedule was lighter that week, and the company had decided it was the perfect time for some inter-group bonding. Jungwon had a prior commitment that afternoon, and Y/N found herself being ushered through the HYBE hallways by a staff noona who grinned mischievously the entire walk. “Why do I feel like you’re leading me to my doom?” Y/N asked. “You’ll be fine,” the noona sang. “Just... remember they’re playful. You’re Jungwon’s soulmate. You’re basically a celebrity now.” That did absolutely nothing to calm her nerves. When the door to the room opened, Y/N was met with cheerful chaos.

The members of TXT were sprawled across couches, some playing with snacks, others scrolling through phones. They all looked up at once. “Y/N!” Soobin stood first, smile wide and welcoming. “Finally, we meet the infamous soulmate.” “Infa—what?” she laughed nervously, stepping in with caution. Yeonjun grinned from his spot on the floor. “Jungwon never shuts up about you.” “No, he doesn’t!” she said, cheeks coloring. Beomgyu patted the seat beside him. “Come, sit. We have questions.” Taehyun lifted his phone. “This is purely for scientific research.” They all burst out laughing at her expression. “Okay, okay,” Hueningkai said gently.

“We just want to know. What’s it like? Being bonded with him?” Y/N sat down, heart doing that flutter thing it did anytime Jungwon’s name came up. “It’s... nice. He’s kind, and funny, and he really cares.” “But how does it feel?” Yeonjun pressed. “Physically, I mean. When you bond.” Y/N blinked. “Um.” Everyone leaned in. “Well,” she started slowly, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, “it’s like this warmth that spreads across your skin. Comforting and gentle. But also—” she paused, eyes darting to the floor, “—also kind of... intense?” Beomgyu raised a brow. “Intense how?” “It’s like—” She winced. “Okay, don’t make me say it. But it feels really good. Like really, really good. Sometimes too good.” The room exploded.

Beomgyu practically fell off the couch. “TOO GOOD?” Yeonjun’s eyes widened. “Girl. Are you telling us hand-holding is basically a full-on experience for you?” Y/N covered her face. “This is why I didn’t want to say anything!” Soobin chuckled, offering her a bottle of water. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with, uh, ten other people who are probably telling the rest of the building.”

“Great,” she muttered. “Just great.” Hueningkai smiled kindly. “But really, we’re glad you two are okay now. We heard it was rough in the beginning.” “Yeah,” she said, a little more seriously. “It was. But Jungwon’s been... incredible.” The group quieted for a second, sensing the shift.

“And you’re incredible too,” Taehyun said, nudging her lightly. “He’s lucky. He knows it too.” She smiled, eyes soft. “Thanks.” Yeonjun cleared his throat. “Anyway. Just letting you know—if things ever get too intense with Jungwon, Beomgyu has a cooling spray. He uses it for his ego but he’s willing to share.”

“HEY!” Beomgyu cried. Y/N laughed so hard her sides hurt. By the time Jungwon arrived later that evening, Y/N was comfortably wedged between Soobin and Taehyun, joking and snacking like she’d been part of the crew forever. “What did I miss?” he asked, stepping in. Yeonjun wiggled his eyebrows. “Nothing much. Just found out your soulmate thinks you’re very... intense.” Y/N choked on her juice. “I HATE YOU ALL.” Jungwon looked at her, then them, then back to her flushed face. And grinned. “Good to know.”

The walk back to the dorm was suspiciously quiet. Jungwon kept glancing at Y/N from the corner of his eye, the corners of his mouth twitching with restrained amusement. She knew he wanted to say something. Hell, he’d been holding it in since the moment they left the studio building and TXT waved goodbye with not-so-subtle winks and air kisses. Y/N grumbled, hugging her tote bag tighter. “Don’t say it.” He blinked innocently. “Say what?” “You know what.” He gave her the kind of smirk that was equal parts leader charm and soulmate smugness.

“You think I make you feel really, really good, huh?” Her entire body burned. “I hate you.” “No, you don’t,” he said brightly. “You literally said the opposite, just not in words.” Y/N stopped walking, burying her face in her hands. “They set me up. It was a trap.” “They just asked a question.” “They asked it with evil intent.” He chuckled, gently pulling her hands away from her face. “You know...” he leaned in slightly, his voice low and a bit teasing, “...you haven’t denied it.” She looked up at him, caught in that gaze. Something fluttered in her chest again—something soft and inconveniently fond. “You’re insufferable.” “Maybe,” he said, walking again. “But I’m also the guy who makes your knees weak with a thigh touch, apparently.” “WONIE!” she cried, smacking his arm as he burst into laughter.

Later that night, when they were lounging in the common room with their feet tangled on the couch and a low movie playing in the background, Jungwon passed her a soda without looking. “You were cute today.” Y/N blinked. “Huh?” “With the guys,” he said casually. “All flustered and blushy.” “I wasn’t blushy!” “You were blushier than usual.” “Jungwon.” “Y/N.” They locked eyes. He held her gaze just long enough to make her stomach twist. “Fine,” she muttered, sipping her drink. “Maybe a little.” He grinned. “Admit it, I’m your weakness.” “No, my bond is the weakness.” “But I am your bond.” “You’re so full of yourself.” “I’m full of you.” She spat out her soda. He choked laughing. “Okay, I admit that sounded better in my head.” Y/N was giggling now, pressing her hand to her face as she wheezed. “You’re an idiot.” “An idiot you’re bonded to for life.” Her smile softened, and he noticed. He always noticed. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “For life.” His teasing faded just a bit.

He reached over and lightly bumped his shoulder into hers. “We’ll figure it all out. Even if we’re a little slow.” She nodded. “As long as we do it together.” And they didn’t need the bond’s rush of warmth to feel that connection. It was already there.

It was comeback season. Enhypen had performances packed up. That’s why here we are in the waiting room. The waiting room buzzed with quiet tension, muffled conversations, and the rustling of wardrobe racks. Y/N sat tucked into the corner of a long grey couch, her phone resting in her hands, but her eyes weren’t really on it. Not when Jungwon was just across the room. He was seated in the makeup chair, his back facing her, posture tired yet still somehow regal, still somehow him.

The makeup artist hovered around him, close enough that her knee grazed his thigh with every step. Her hands worked delicately on Jungwon’s face, dabbing under his eyes, brushing powder against his cheeks. She laughed at something he said—too loud, too familiar. Y/N’s chest tightened. She hated this feeling. This foreign, aching coil in her gut. It was stupid. Irrational. She had no right to feel this way. But every time the stylist leaned forward, brushing a little too close to Jungwon’s mouth, Y/N’s fingers gripped the phone tighter. The bond between them wasn’t active right now. There was no golden warmth wrapping around her chest, no heady pull demanding touch. But this? This was all her. A very human kind of envy. She lowered her gaze, biting the inside of her cheek, trying to swallow it all down. It’s fine. It’s makeup. She’s doing her job. But the image stayed. Burned into her mind.

Later that evening, when they all returned to the dorms, the air between her and Jungwon had shifted. He felt it the second he took her hand to bond—her fingers were colder, slower to curl into his. She didn’t meet his eyes. He tried brushing it off at first, but every hour stretched the silence further. She didn’t laugh at Sunoo’s usual antics. She didn’t poke fun at Heeseung when he sang off-key. And when Jungwon reached for her hand again before dinner, she gave it willingly… but there was a wall behind her touch. He couldn’t take it anymore.

Once everyone had gone quiet for the night, Jungwon stood outside their room, fingers hovering near the door. He hesitated. Was he overthinking this? No. He knew her well enough now to know something was wrong. He knocked twice. She opened the door, wrapped in a hoodie, her hair slightly damp from a shower. Her eyes flickered up at him, tired.

“Can I come in?” She nodded wordlessly. He stepped in and closed the door behind him. The silence was heavy. Jungwon stood there, heart thudding. “Y/N,” he said softly, “Did I… do something?” Her eyes darted away. “You haven’t looked at me all day,” he continued. “You only talk when someone else does. You won’t meet my eyes when we bond. What did I do?” “Don't ignore me like this please tell me, did I do something wrong? hmm?”

The vulnerability in his voice broke something open in her. It was Jungwon. Not just the idol. Not just the boy she was bonded to. It was Jungwon, the one who looked at her like she meant the world. The one who held her hand like it steadied him. And he looked scared. She sat down on the edge of the bed and exhaled. “I was jealous,” she whispered. He blinked. “What?” She looked up, voice firmer this time. “I was jealous. Of the makeup artist.” His brows pulled together, confused. “She was really close to you,” Y/N said, eyes shining now. “Touching your face. Laughing with you like she’s always been there. And I— I know it’s her job. I know. But it didn’t stop me from feeling like I wanted to rip her away from you.” Jungwon stood there frozen, processing. Then he walked forward, kneeling in front of her slowly, his hands gently resting on her knees.

“You felt jealous?” he asked softly, voice tender. “Because of me?” Y/N’s face turned red. “Please don’t make fun of me.” “I’m not,” he whispered. “God, I’m not. I just— Y/N, I’ve spent every day wondering if I’m too much. If I’m a burden. This bond… it makes me so dependent on you. And now you’re telling me that you— you actually care that much?” Her hand trembled. “Of course I care. I didn’t ask for this bond either, but… but I chose to stay. I chose you, Jungwon.” He leaned forward, resting his forehead against her knee. The contact sent a shiver through both of them. The bond hummed between them, golden and gentle. “I thought you’d never feel the same way,” he admitted. “That it was just the bond making you stay close. I didn’t realize you were this far in already. Just like me.” Y/N reached forward, brushing his hair out of his face.

“I didn’t realize it either,” she said. “Until today. Until the thought of someone else touching you made my stomach twist.” He looked up, a small smile ghosting across his lips. “Say it again,” he whispered. “What?” “That you were jealous.” She huffed, pushing at his shoulder. “No.” “Please?” he teased, grin growing wider. “Just once more. For my heart.” She rolled her eyes, cheeks pink. “I was jealous. Happy now?” “Ecstatic.” “I didn’t think I’d ever hear you say that,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone. “Do you even know what that did to me?” Y/N stayed still, afraid the moment would vanish if she moved. Jungwon exhaled deeply, his forehead resting lightly against hers.

“You’re the only one in my life, Y/N.” Her breath hitched. “I don’t care who stands close to me. I don’t notice anyone else,” he whispered. “I can’t. Ever since I touched you that first time, it’s like my whole body knew before my heart caught up. It’s not just the bond. It’s you.” His voice cracked on the last syllable. “You walk into a room, and I forget what I was thinking. You touch my hand, and I don’t care if I can’t breathe. If I’m not looking at you, I’m looking forward to you. There’s no one else.” He pulled back just enough to look at her. “And if I ever made you feel less than the only one… I’m sorry. Because to me, you always have been.” Y/N’s eyes stung. Her hands lifted without thinking, fingertips tracing the soft curve of his jaw. “I didn’t want to feel this much,” she whispered. He chuckled — hoarse and honest. “Me either.”

They sat like that for a while, their laughter quiet but warm, fingers eventually finding each other again. And when they laid side by side that night, her head tucked beneath his chin, their hands linked between them, neither said anything more. Because sometimes, just breathing the same air as the person who steadies your soul is enough. And Jungwon? He never let go of her hand.—--The next morning crept in slowly, soft and warm, like the sun tiptoeing over the edges of their tightly drawn curtains. Y/N stirred first, blinking into the golden haze that filtered through the gaps. Her muscles ached a little from sleep, but she felt something else more powerful—calm. Not because the world had changed overnight, but because of the boy whose soft breathing still lingered in the silence. Jungwon was still fast asleep beside her, one arm draped loosely over his stomach, the other curled slightly toward where her hand had been the entire night. His fingers twitched in the space she had vacated, as if seeking something he'd rather not let go. Y/N smiled. Just a little. After all the vulnerability of last night, all the confessions, it felt different now. Not in a loud, dramatic way—but something steady and soft. Like turning the page of a book you didn’t want to finish but needed to keep reading.

By the time Jungwon woke, Y/N was sitting cross-legged on the hotel room couch, scrolling idly through her phone while sipping water. She looked up at the sound of him shifting. "Morning," he croaked, voice still thick with sleep. His hair was a mess, cheeks adorably puffed from sleep. Y/N laughed gently. "You look like a baby hedgehog." He squinted. "You calling me cute this early should be illegal." "You calling yourself cute by agreeing is worse," she shot back. He stood up and stretched, groaning, his hoodie riding up slightly to reveal a sliver of his stomach. Y/N quickly looked away, heat crawling up her neck. They had breakfast with the rest of the group at a cozy restaurant near the hotel.

Somehow, she and Jungwon ended up sitting side by side again, their knees brushing under the table. It wasn’t a big deal. Just a light press of skin. But for Jungwon—and Y/N too—it was overwhelming. The sensation shot through him like golden static, pleasure blooming from the point of contact and spreading like warm honey through his limbs. He blinked slowly, set his spoon down, and subtly shifted in his seat. Y/N noticed. "You okay?" she whispered. "Yeah," he breathed. But his face was flushed, his breaths a little too deep. What the hell is wrong with me? he thought. If this is what I feel when our knees touch, what will happen if we ever... He shook his head quickly. No. Not now. STOP THINKING ABOUT IT ALL THE TIMEEEE aishhhh!!!

Later that day, they were finally given free time. No filming. No rehearsals. Just the city, the sunlight, and themselves. Jungwon had already decided he wanted to spend the whole day with Y/N. They walked through a quiet part of town, trying pastries from street vendors, laughing at random jokes, and even daring to talk about embarrassing moments from their pasts. "I once tripped walking up the stairs during an award show," Jungwon confessed, covering his face. "I once called my professor 'mom' in front of my entire class," Y/N replied, and they both burst into laughter. She hadn’t realized how easily Jungwon could make her laugh. Or how quick he was with comebacks. Or how often he looked at her when she wasn’t watching. The bond required them to be close—but the closeness they were building now didn’t feel like a requirement. It felt like a choice. They found a small park bench hidden beneath a cherry blossom tree and sat down, letting the wind rustle between them.

The petals fell slowly, catching in Y/N’s hair. Jungwon reached out. He plucked a blossom gently from her strands, fingers brushing her temple. The fluttering in her chest was immediate. She turned her head slightly. "Thanks." He gave a small, lopsided smile. "You always look pretty with flowers." Y/N went still. Her heart thudded once, loud and clear. She tried to laugh it off, but it came out breathy. "You’re getting good at flirting." Jungwon grinned. "I’m practicing. Gotta impress my soulmate." Y/N looked away, cheeks glowing. And for a while, they just sat like that. Knees touching. Shoulders brushing. No expectations, no scripts. Just the warmth of two souls figuring out what they were becoming.

That night, after they returned to the hotel, something shifted. They were both in their pajamas—soft cotton and loose-fitting, comfortable. The night air was cool, the lights dimmed low in the shared suite. Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, brushing out her damp hair, and Jungwon, freshly showered, was trying to pretend he wasn’t watching her through the reflection in the mirror. The way her collar slipped down her shoulder. The curve of her neck. The delicate dip of her spine. His throat felt dry. When she looked up and caught his gaze through the mirror, he quickly looked away. "I, uh… was just wondering if you’re okay. You were quiet during the ride." "Just thinking," she said softly. "About... everything." He nodded. The silence stretched. And then she turned. "Jungwon? Do you ever feel it… stronger at night?" His heart stuttered. "The bond?" She nodded. "Yeah," he admitted. "Sometimes I think just looking at you is too much." Her lips parted, surprised by his honesty. The tension in the room grew thick and warm. He stepped closer. "Like now," he whispered. Their fingers brushed. That was all. But it sparked something deep in their chests. A longing neither of them could name. And though they didn't touch again that night, the air between them was charged with things unsaid. And understood all the same.

The next morning dawned with a strange, heavy warmth that clung to Y/N’s skin like fog. Even before opening her eyes, she could sense his presence—Jungwon. He was quiet, like always, but there was a charge in the air that hadn’t been there before. Their schedules were light today, only a brief rehearsal and some free time afterward. But ever since that night in the hotel, where her body had curled into his in unconscious surrender, things between them hadn’t gone back to normal.

They still held hands, still sat beside each other, but now every brush of their skin came with a slow burn that lingered far too long. In the dorm kitchen, Y/N reached for a glass just as Jungwon did, and their fingers touched. She froze. He didn’t pull away either. Their eyes locked. The silence throbbed. A pulse of something surged through her—soft, golden, then molten and sharp. She yanked her hand back, startled by the intensity, and the glass nearly fell. "Sorry," she mumbled. He chuckled, low and hoarse. "You always do that. Run." She glanced at him, confused. "Do what?"

"Pull away. Like you're scared to want this." Y/N opened her mouth, but nothing came out. What was there to say when he looked at her like that—like he could read her thoughts, like he knew exactly how she felt each time their skin met? "I'm not scared," she said quietly, though it sounded more like a question than an answer. He stepped closer, not touching her, but close enough for her body to start humming with anticipation.

"Then why do you always look at me like you want to kiss me, but won’t?" Her heart stumbled. She turned around, retreating to the table, hoping to cool her cheeks. The kitchen suddenly felt too warm, too quiet.

They rehearsed later that afternoon, and Y/N sat at the edge of the room, watching him move. Jungwon was in his element—precise, commanding, sweat dripping down his neck and soaking through his shirt. His shirt clung to him, exposing more than it covered. Y/N tried not to notice. She failed. He caught her staring. He smirked. When the rehearsal ended, he collapsed next to her, breathless, flushed, glowing. "Tired?" she asked. He leaned his head back, exposing the soft line of his throat. "Only a little. Could use a recharge, though." He reached for her hand. It was automatic now—the bonding. But this time, when their palms met, Y/N didn’t feel the usual warm thrum. She felt something deeper. Lower. Like her body was quietly craving more. She stiffened. He noticed.

"You felt that too," he whispered. She nodded. Neither of them said anything for a moment, both pretending to focus on their hands, but the heat blooming under their skin was impossible to ignore. It curled and tugged and wanted more.

That night, they watched a movie in the dorm’s common room, seated too close on the couch. The other members left halfway through, claiming sleep. Maybe on purpose. Jungwon didn’t speak. Neither did she. But when his thigh brushed hers, and he didn’t move it, neither did she. At one point, their pinkies touched. Y/N’s heart did a summersault. She could feel the warmth of his body next to hers, radiating into her skin. He smelled like soap and warmth and something distinctly him. She wasn’t sure when she had started memorizing that scent. A scene in the movie showed a couple kissing, passionately. Y/N shifted. Jungwon noticed. "You okay?" "Yeah," she said. Her voice sounded strange. She cleared her throat. "Just… hot." "Yeah," he murmured. "Me too." Silence stretched again. But this time, it wasn’t comfortable. It was electric. Dangerous. He didn’t look at her, but his fingers found hers on the couch. He laced them together. This was normal. This was required. But this time, when their hands met, a wave of golden pleasure rocked through her so hard that she gasped. Jungwon finally looked at her. His voice was low, eyes sharp.

"You feel it too. Don’t you?" She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His thumb brushed her knuckle. Then again. "Every time I touch you, it’s like my whole body remembers something it’s never known before." Her breath caught. Jungwon leaned closer, but didn’t kiss her. Instead, he tilted his head so his lips hovered near her ear. "It drives me crazy, Y/N. The way my skin reacts to you. The way just holding your hand makes me want more." She was frozen. Her brain was screaming, but her heart—it was leaping, racing, doing all sorts of wild things. "We can’t," she finally whispered. He leaned back, giving her space, but the look in his eyes—God, it burned. "I know." The movie ended. Neither of them moved. "Y/N," he said softly, "does it feel like this for everyone?" She shook her head. "No. Not like this." A pause. Then: "Then maybe... it’s not just the bond." Y/N didn’t respond. Not because she didn’t have an answer. But because the answer scared her. Her fingers still trembled faintly in his. Her mind was racing, but her body—her body felt suspended. Like if he moved even a centimeter closer, she would completely unravel. Jungwon leaned back against the couch, but his hand never left hers. He stayed still, looking up at the ceiling, trying to breathe evenly.

His heart felt like it was galloping in his chest, wild and reckless. And the bond? It pulsed between them, steady but burning low. Like a live wire buzzing just beneath their skin. Y/N finally whispered, “It’s not supposed to feel this good, right?” Jungwon’s jaw clenched. “No. I mean—it’s supposed to be strong. Intimate. Soul-deep. But this…?” He shook his head. “This is something else.” She turned to look at him. His profile was illuminated by the TV’s blue light. He looked older. More vulnerable. Like he was barely holding something back. “I think about it all the time,” she admitted, barely audible. “Not just the touch. But you. Your voice. Your eyes when you laugh. The way you look when you’re focused. I—I notice everything.” Jungwon’s gaze snapped to hers. The air between them sparked. It crackled. And still, they didn’t move. Still, they held back. “It’s getting harder,” he said after a long pause, his voice raw. “Not to want… more.” Y/N nodded. “I know.” “I don’t want to hurt you. Or make you feel like you have to—because of the bond.” “You’re not,” she said quickly. “I’m scared too. But not of you.” Jungwon’s breath hitched.

The silence returned, but now it carried weight. It felt like the edge of something. Something terrifyingly beautiful. A precipice they couldn’t quite step over yet. Eventually, Y/N stood. “I should go wash up.” Jungwon stayed seated, eyes following her until she disappeared down the hallway. Only then did he let his shoulders collapse forward, elbows on his knees, running a shaky hand through his hair. Maybe it wasn’t just the bond. Maybe it was her. All of her.

Later that night Y/N lay curled in her bed, staring at the ceiling. The apartment was silent except for the hum of the AC. She could still feel his hand in hers. Still hear the low timbre of his voice echoing through her bones. It wasn’t just touch. It wasn’t just proximity. It was how her chest tightened every time he looked at her like that—as if she was something he’d never be able to stop wanting. And if she was honest with herself… She didn’t want him to. There was a knock on her door. “Y/N?” Jungwon’s voice was soft. Careful. “Can I come in?” Her heart skipped. She got up and opened it. Jungwon stood there in a hoodie and sweatpants, barefoot, hair slightly messy from bed. He looked younger like this. But his eyes—they still burned. “I can’t sleep,” he admitted. “It’s loud in here.” She tilted her head. “Loud?” “In here,” he repeated, tapping his chest. “It won’t stop. The way it felt earlier. It keeps replaying.” She opened the door wider. “Come in.” He stepped inside. They didn’t touch this time. Didn’t even sit too close. But as they sat at the edge of her bed, both staring ahead at the closed curtains, the silence settled again—intimate in its own way. After a beat, Y/N whispered, “What would happen if we didn’t hold back?” Jungwon turned to her. “Are you asking what the bond would do? Or what I would?” She looked at him. “Both.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees again, but this time he faced her fully.

“The bond would pull us closer. I know that much. But me?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’d lose control. But not in a scary way. In a ‘I-would-treat-you-so-gently-it-would-break-me’ kind of way.” Y/N’s breath caught. “I’d memorize the way you breathe,” he continued, “how your hands tremble when I touch you, the exact sound you make when my lips brush your skin.” She was barely holding it together. “But I can wait,” he added. “I can wait forever if I have to. I just need you to know that you’re not imagining this. It’s real. It’s not just the bond.” She nodded slowly. The heat between them simmered. There was no kiss that night. No confessions. No more touches.

But the next morning, when they walked out of her room together, hands brushing—not even touching—the tether burned gold between them. Something had changed. They both felt it. And the first kiss? It would only be a matter of time.

Y/N sat on the edge of his bed, knees drawn up to her chest, her oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder. Jungwon leaned against the wall across from her, arms crossed, jaw clenched. The dim bedside lamp cast a warm glow on her cheeks, making her look even softer than usual. Neither of them spoke. They didn’t have to. The bond was already throbbing—subtle at first, then stronger. A slow ache. A pull under their ribs, like a string that had been stretched too tight. Jungwon could feel her heartbeat. It fluttered. Hesitated. Matched his. Then broke away again like it was afraid of being caught. Come closer, the bond whispered. He didn’t move. He couldn’t. Because if he did… he wasn’t sure what he’d do. They had touched earlier—just a casual brush of fingers when he handed her a drink. But that one second of skin-on-skin had nearly knocked him over.

A wave of golden heat had surged through him. Like warm honey poured through every vein. Like need. And she had flinched. Not in fear. But in… overwhelm. “Does it always feel this strong?” she had whispered, earlier that day. “Only when I want you this much,” he’d almost said. He didn’t. And now here they were. Tense. Breathless. Wanting. But not touching. That’s the problem, the bond growled now. You keep holding back. Jungwon ran a hand through his hair. He knew this wasn’t sustainable. The bond was evolving, growing deeper, hungrier. What had started as warm comfort had turned into burning friction. The kind that rubbed against their skin all day, making them restless. Snappy. Dizzy. And denying it only made it worse. It was like edging. Emotionally. Spiritually. Physically. He could feel her thigh resting against the mattress. Could feel the heat of her skin from several feet away. Every time she shifted, his pulse spiked. And she was feeling it too—he could tell. Y/N hadn’t looked at him properly all night. Her eyes kept flicking away. Her lip was between her teeth. Her breathing was shallow. It was torture. He finally spoke. Voice low. “You should sleep.” She nodded. But didn’t move. Then, after a beat: “Do you ever… feel like the bond is mad at us?” He swallowed. “I feel like it’s frustrated.” She looked up at him. “Why?” He hesitated. Then shrugged. “Because we keep acting like this is normal. Like we don’t… want it.”

The word dropped like a stone between them. Y/N didn’t respond. But her fingers tightened on the bedsheet. The bond surged. Touch her. Kiss her. Let go. He clenched his fists. But then she yawned. And he took the excuse to back away—muttering a soft, “Good night,” before slipping into the adjoining room and closing the door. He didn’t sleep. Neither did she. And the bond? It coiled in both of their chests like a storm waiting to burst. That was the real reason the performance the next day had been unbearable. Because neither of them had let themselves have what the bond was begging for: Proximity. Intimacy. Touch. Release.

It started as a whisper.

A soft, golden ache under Jungwon’s skin. A gentle tug at his chest when he thought of her, as if an invisible thread was being pulled tight around his heart.

At first, he’d told himself it was normal. The doctors had said so many times — the bond stabilizes, it calms down over time, you’ll adjust. He had believed them. Wanted to believe them. But what no one told him was that some bonds never "calm down." Some bonds grow wilder the longer they are denied.

And Jungwon had been denying himself.

Ever since that night when he almost kissed her — when they had watched that movie, when her small gasp had echoed in his ear, when her knuckles under his thumb had felt like a live wire — Jungwon had been holding back. He’d convinced himself it was for her. That he didn’t want to push her into something she wasn’t ready for. That if he gave in to this constant urge, he’d scare her away.

But it wasn’t just for her. It was also for him. Because the idea of surrendering, of completely losing himself in that connection, terrified him almost as much as he craved it.

So, he trained. He worked. He kept his touches minimal — hand holding, a shy brush of knees, fleeting contact at night when they slept back-to-back because neither could sleep without at least that much.

But the bond was never satisfied.

He could feel it every day now: the phantom warmth of her thigh against his, the ghost of her fingers on his neck. When she laughed with Jake in the kitchen, he felt a possessive ache so deep it almost made him dizzy. When she wore his shirt, oblivious to the way it swallowed her frame, he had to excuse himself to splash cold water on his face.

It was torture.

Delicious, dizzying torture.

And then the Japan schedule happened

.---

HYBE thought they were ready.

The company’s wellness team had monitored their vitals for weeks — heart rate, bond energy flux, cellular regeneration data. On paper, it looked stable. They had been able to spend a few hours apart before without a problem. They had gone on schedules in separate rooms for half-days.

They’ll be fine, the doctors had said. They’ll miss each other, but it won’t harm them.

Y/N had believed it too.

She had been offered a chance to visit her family during those four or five days — a rare opportunity after so long living in the dorm, after months of fusing her existence to Jungwon’s. She had been hesitant at first. But he’d encouraged her, with that gentle, leader-like smile of his.

"Go see them," Jungwon had whispered, thumb brushing over her knuckles in that way that always made her shiver. "I’ll be okay. Promise."

Liar.

---

The day he left for Japan, it already felt wrong.

At the airport, their hands were intertwined so tightly the manager had to pry them apart to get him through security. Y/N’s fingers were trembling.

"Text me," she whispered.

He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes squeezed shut, pulse erratic. "Always."

But the moment he turned to leave, he felt it — a sharp pang in his chest, like a needle slipping straight through his ribs. His breath hitched. He told himself it was nerves. The XO solo stage was huge — his first big solo performance at MAMA. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t just that.

Y/N watched him go, hand pressed flat over her own heart, as if trying to hold something inside. She tried to breathe normally. Tried to smile.

But as soon as he disappeared beyond the gate, she felt it too.

A hollow echo in her bones. Like someone had scooped her insides out and leftonly the thinnest golden thread behind.

---

In the hotel room in Japan, Jungwon sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his trembling hands.

It had been three hours since landing. Already, his fingers felt numb.

He kept replaying every touch in his head — the way her breath caught when he brushed her knuckles, the way her eyes fluttered closed when his knee bumped hers under the dinner table.

God, he missed her.

But he also felt her.

When she woke up the next morning and stretched lazily, he felt the warmth ripple down his spine. When she laughed with her friend over breakfast, he felt a flush climb up his own neck, even if he was alone in his room.

It was like she was inside him. Like every pulse of her blood was echoing through his own veins.

At first, he tried to channel it into rehearsal. He threw himself into each count, each turn, each breath, trying to sweat out the restless energy. But it wasn’t enough.

The more he pushed, the more the bond pushed back.

Back home, Y/N struggled too.

She tried to focus on her family — on the food she had missed, the hugs, the warmth. But every bite felt bland. Every conversation felt distant. Every moment without him felt like she was living underwater, her ears filled with cotton, her heart dragging painfully with each beat.

One night, she tried to sleep alone.

The moment her head hit the pillow, she felt it — an ache so sharp she curled in on herself, fingers clawing at the sheets. Her chest burned. Her throat went dry.

Jungwon…

The bond pulsed, desperate.

On the second night, she curled up on the living room couch, pretending she was leaning against him, hoping the phantom shape would be enough. It wasn’t.

In Japan, Jungwon was no better.

During dance practice, he collapsed mid-step, legs folding under him like paper.

The staff panicked. They called in the emergency med team.

His vitals were unstable — erratic heart rate, cold sweats, borderline shock symptoms. But when they asked if he needed to be rushed to a hospital, he refused.

"I’ll be fine," he gasped out, jaw clenched so hard he tasted blood. "Just… need her."

It wasn’t even about surviving the bond anymore. It was about surviving his own desire for her. His body, his soul — all of it was starving for her.

The next day, he texted her.

> "I miss you. It hurts."

"I feel you everywhere."

"Please come back soon."

Y/N’s hands shook around her phone. She typed, erased, typed again.

> "I feel you too. I want to come. I really do. But they said it’s okay… they said we can do this."

He didn’t reply after that.

Because he was slipping.

That night, he sat alone in his hotel room. The city lights blinked below him, pink and blue neon washing over his skin.

He pressed his palm to his chest, feeling the wild rhythm of his heart.

Every beat felt wrong. Off tempo. Too shallow.

When he closed his eyes, he saw her — the way she looked at him when he danced, the way her lips parted when he so much as rolled his hips. He felt her pulse, her ache, her restless, desperate need to be near him.

He could practically feel her thighs pressed together, the way her breath caught whenever he traced his finger down his own chest in the mirror.

He almost moaned aloud.

And that’s when he realized — the bond wasn’t stable.It was volatile. Starving. Begging to be fed, to be touched, to be accepted.And they had been denying it. Denying themselves.Jungwon barely slept that night.

He lay in bed, sweat cooling on his skin, every muscle aching. The hotel room was too quiet. The sheets too cold. And the bond—God, the bond was raging under his skin like a wildfire.

He could feel her tossing and turning miles away. Could feel her hand reaching for the empty side of her bed, her breath catching in the dark.

Every time she shivered, he felt it like a knife down his spine. Every time she clenched her fist, he felt his own fingers twitch, aching to hold her.

He tried breathing exercises. Tried to focus on the hum of the city beyond his window. But his mind kept drifting back to her.

The way she looked at him.The flush on her cheeks when his hand brushed hers.The softness in her eyes when she called his name, just above a whisper, like it was a prayer.And underneath it all—there was a hunger.

A craving so deep it felt like it was clawing at his ribs from the inside.

By morning, he looked like a ghost.When the manager knocked, Jungwon dragged himself to the door, head spinning.

"Hyung…" His voice cracked.

The manager’s face fell.

"You okay?"Jungwon forced a weak smile.

"Just… tired."

"You look like you’re about to collapse."He wanted to say I already did. But instead, he nodded and stepped back so they could enter.The stylist fussed over him while he sat on the edge of the bed, unblinking. They tried to chat—small jokes about the schedule, the afterparty, the new stage outfit—but he barely heard them.

All he heard was her.

I miss you… please come back… please…

It wasn’t her actual voice, but it might as well have been. The bond translated her longing into something louder than any words.When they pressed foundation onto his cheeks, he shivered.

Too cold.

Too clinical.

Not her.

----

During rehearsal at the MAMA venue, he nearly collapsed again.They caught him before he hit the floor.

"Hyung, please," he rasped, gripping the dance captain’s wrist like a lifeline.

"Please… I need… I can’t…"

They carried him backstage, gave him water, fanned his face.

But nothing helped.

Because he didn’t need water.He needed her.

The producers came rushing in, panicking.

"Do we cancel? We can’t cancel—he’s the center!"Jungwon heard their frantic voices through the fog.

His vision pulsed black at the edges.He felt her panic, too—far away, her fear like a tidal wave crashing into his chest. She knew something was wrong.And that only made it worse.He curled forward on the couch, sweat dripping from his hairline, breathing ragged.

"Let me perform," he gasped.

"Please—let me just… do it."

"But—""I can’t stop now. Let me at least feel her through this."They hesitated.

Finally, the stage director sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"If you think you can make it…"

"I can," he said. "I have to."

---

Back in her room, Y/N felt her heart lurch so violently she doubled over.She clawed at the sheets, trying to breathe.

Jungwon… Jungwon… please…

She called his phone. It rang and rang. No answer.She texted. No reply.

A thousand miles away, she felt him slipping, felt his blood pounding like a warning drum in her own ears.She had no way to get on a plane in time.

No way to reach him.All she could do was cling to the tether inside her—golden, frayed, burning.

---

Jungwon stood in the wings, head bowed.They zipped up his final stage jacket, fixed his in-ears. His fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to tear the whole outfit off.

Like he needed skin-to-skin contact so badly he was shaking.

The MC introduced him.

A thunder of screams.He stepped forward.One foot in front of the other.He felt her breath hitch in her throat.

Felt her knees go weak as if she might collapse.

His lips parted.

The beat began.

And the world dissolved.

So when Jungwon stepped onto the “XO” stage under the pink moon lighting and felt her watching him? The bond snapped the leash.

And nothing—not even choreography or professionalism—could stop the raw desire pulsing between them. He didn’t know how he was still standing. The moment he stepped on stage, his heartbeat wasn’t syncing to the beat of the music—it was syncing to her. Y/N.

Y/n she will be watching me through the screen. This performance is live.

He couldn’t see her, but he felt her—like a string threaded straight from his ribs to hers, tugging with every breath she took. And the bond? The bond was losing its goddamn mind. As the music started—deep, heavy bass vibrating through the floor—he felt her pulse spike.

A quick, surprised jolt of something electric shot through him. Desire. Longing. Need. His hand twitched by his side. He closed his eyes for a beat too long on the first count—already breathless, already dizzy. Because she was watching him. Feeling him. And through the bond, he could feel her feeling him. Her fascination. Her barely-contained thoughts. Her legs shifting, thighs clenching, mouth parting— Jungwon nearly missed a step. Focus.

You’ve done this routine a hundred times. But it didn’t matter. Because this wasn’t like rehearsal. This was for her. And the tether between them was burning golden in his chest, thrumming through his nerves like he was being touched from the inside out.

Every beat of the music was her heartbeat. Every sway of his hips was for her. When he brushed his hand down his chest in the choreo, he felt her chest stutter. When he tilted his head back, lips parted, he felt the jolt in her stomach like it was his own. God, she wanted him. And that thought? It destroyed him. He closed his eyes again during the second verse—just to catch his breath. Just to rein it in. But even that didn’t help. Behind his lids, all he saw was her. Pink moonlight behind her. Hands clenched in her lap. Eyes wide. Bottom lip trembling. Flushed. Wrecked. And he hadn't even touched her. If just dancing does this to her… what the hell will happen when I finally kiss her?

A dangerous shiver ran down his spine mid-routine. He almost groaned aloud at how good it felt—how addictive this tether was when she was overwhelmed by him.His body kept moving—hips grinding to the slow beat, shirt sticking to his chest with sweat—but his thoughts weren’t on the steps.They were on her thighs. Her breath. The way the air around her thickened with every roll of his body.She was aching.So was he.It was torture. Pure, sinful, soul-binding torture.And he loved it.By the time the final chorus hit, and he stood under the blush-tinted stage lights, shirt damp, body trembling, gaze sharp and hungry—Jungwon knew.He needed her.Not just for bonding. Not for the soulmate link. Not even just for comfort.He needed her breathless under him, voice shaking, fingers digging into his shoulders as he finally gave in.

> Touch me, Jungwon, her thoughts whispered through the bond.He almost moaned.

But the lights dropped before he could fall to his knees.And he exhaled. Sharp. Shaky. Done.When the performance ended, he stood still on stage.Panting.Heart thundering.Chest aching.Because if that was just a performance…What would happen when they finally gave in?When he got to feel all of her?He wasn’t sure he’d survive it.And he didn’t care.

When the final note crashed and the stage lights cut out, Jungwon stood frozen.Chest heaving.Vision blurry.Hands trembling so violently he could barely make a fist.The audience’s cheers sounded far away, like echoes in a cave.In his mind, there was only her.

Her pulse. Her scent. Her warmth.

A staff member rushed forward to drape a towel around his shoulders.But he flinched away violently, nearly falling backward."Don’t—!" he rasped.They froze.He stumbled offstage, every step labored. His entire body felt hollow, like someone had scooped out his insides and filled them with liquid gold that burned too hot.He reached the dressing room and collapsed onto the floor, knees crashing to the cold tiles.

"Y/N," he sobbed, forehead pressing into the towel.

"I can’t—please—"His nails dug into the floor, shoulders shaking.He felt her panic spike again.

Like her soul was screaming inside his.And for the first time since they bonded, Jungwon thought he might actually die.

------

In her bedroom, Y/N fell to her knees too.Tears blurred her vision. She clawed at her own chest, gasping.

She could see his stage in her mind’s eye—see him trembling, hear the roar of the crowd.

But all she could feel was his pain. His desperation. His hollow, breaking heart.

---

The manager came into the dressing room and saw Jungwon crumpled on the ground, half-conscious.

"Call her," he shouted to an assistant.

"Get her on a plane—now!"

"But she’s—"

"NOW!"

Another staffer grabbed Jungwon, shaking his shoulders.

"Stay awake, Jungwon! Stay with us!"His lips moved soundlessly.

Y/N…

---

A continent away, Y/N curled forward, rocking.She heard his voice. Not through a call. Not through a text.But through the bond, raw and unfiltered, echoing in her bones.

Please… come…

Her entire body convulsed with a shiver.

"I’m coming,"

she sobbed into her hands.

"I’m coming—just hold on!"

---

Jungwon’s eyes fluttered shut.His fingers twitched weakly against the floor.

Then nothing.

—

Jungwon’s limp body crumpled against the cold tile floor of the dressing room, his head lolling sideways, eyes barely open.A staff member dropped the oxygen tank in pure panic, hands shaking too violently to catch it.

Another was screaming into a phone, voice raw.

“WE NEED THE AMBULANCE NOW! HE’S NOT BREATHING RIGHT! PLEASE—”

A heavy, suffocating silence wrapped around him between the shouted instructions and the shrill beeps of the monitor.

But in that silence, he felt her.

Y/N.

He felt her terror flooding his veins, crashing against his own weak pulse like a wave against a crumbling cliff.Her fear was so loud he could barely think — so loud it swallowed everything else.

He wanted to reach for her.

To touch her one last time.

To tell her—It’s okay.

You don’t have to be scared.

I’m right here.

But his throat wouldn’t work. His lips wouldn’t move.The warmth in his fingers was gone first. Then his wrists. Then his arms.

Y/N…

His mind called out for her, over and over, like a child lost in the dark.

---

Across the ocean, Y/N stumbled through the airport corridor, vision spinning.Security guards shouted behind her, but all she could hear was her own heartbeat slamming in her ears — and his.

Every echo of his pain tore her open from the inside.It felt like a knife twisting deeper with every step.

Hold on. Please hold on. I’m coming. I’m coming.

Her suitcase crashed to the floor, forgotten. She pushed past uniformed guards, ignoring the hands grabbing at her arms.Nothing mattered except him.

---

Back in the dressing room, a medic jammed an oxygen mask over Jungwon’s face, barking orders that no one could hear through the chaos.His head lolled backwards, lips blue.A tear slipped from his lashes, streaking down the side of his pale cheek.

Y/N…

In his mind, he saw flashes — her laugh, her sleepy eyes in the morning, her small hands in his.He saw her sitting across from him, chewing her lip when she was nervous. He heard her humming while she folded his hoodie.And somewhere deep, deep in that flickering bond — he felt her final desperate thought slam into him like a tidal wave.

I can’t lose you. I can’t. I won’t survive without you.

---

He tried to inhale, but nothing came. His chest stuttered, then fell.The monitor screamed — a long, endless, shrill note.The medic’s hands flew to his chest, pressing down.

“COME ON! WAKE UP! BREATHE, DAMN IT!”

---

Y/N fell forward in the airport van, retching so violently her entire body shook.Her fingers clawed at her throat as though she could physically rip the pain out.A security officer tried to help her up, but she only screamed, voice raw and feral.

Don’t leave me. Don’t you dare leave me. Please, please, please…

---

The paramedics in the dressing room kept going.

“CLEAR!”

His body convulsed under the shock.

No pulse.

“AGAIN!”

Another violent jolt.

Still nothing.

A staff member fell to their knees, sobbing into their hands. Another turned away, sliding down the wall, face buried in trembling arms

.---

Y/N stumbled out of the van when it screeched to a stop at the venue.Her knees hit the concrete so hard she nearly collapsed fully.

But she didn’t stop.

She crawled, stumbled, pushed herself forward on pure adrenaline and grief.

Past the glass doors. Down the maze of sterile hallways. Through endless fluorescent lights.Her heart felt like it was being shredded from the inside out. Every nerve in her body screamed for him.Hold on.

Please… just one more minute…

---

Then she saw him.

Jungwon — lifeless on the floor.

The paramedics bent over him. The monitor blaring that horrible, endless beep.Her lungs emptied in a single, strangled sob

.---

“NO!” she shrieked, lurching forward.A security guard tried to hold her back, but she tore free, nails scraping across the floor as she crawled to him.She barely registered someone shouting, “LET HER THROUGH! SHE’S THE SOULMATE!”

She crashed beside him, her shaking hands hovering over his ashen face.

“Jungwon… please… wake up… I’m here, I’m here—”

She pressed her forehead to his, sobbing so hard her entire spine arched.Then she touched his face.And the bond roared back to life.A golden shock wave slammed into both of them so violently Jungwon’s back arched off the floor, mouth parting in a silent scream.The defibrillator beeped.

A pulse returned.

---

His eyelids fluttered open, hazy and glassy.His dry lips moved, forming her name like a fragile prayer.

“Y…N…”

She pressed her forehead harder against his, tears dripping onto his cheeks.

“Don’t go. Don’t you dare go. You promised. You promised you wouldn’t leave me—”

His hand, trembling like a dying star, found her wrist.He pulled weakly, just enough to keep her close.

“Never… leave… you…” he rasped, voice so broken it barely sounded human.

She let out a sob so deep it echoed against the walls.“I’m here. I’m right here. I won’t leave. I swear—”

---

The paramedics hovered, stunned, watching the golden glow pulse between them.A hush fell over the entire hallway.For a moment — just a moment — it looked like he might be okay.Then his eyes rolled back.

---

“Jungwon?!” she screamed, slapping his cheek lightly.His grip on her wrist loosened.The monitor beeped wildly, erratic and chaotic.His head fell to the side.His lips parted, a tiny final exhale slipping out.

The bond flickered — that warm, golden tether that had always felt like a heartbeat in her chest — and splintered into static.

---

She screamed again, an animal sound.A medic lunged forward.

“WE’RE LOSING HIM! MOVE!”

They started frantic compressions again.But Y/N just held his face in her hands, forehead still pressed to his.

“I love you. Please don’t leave me. Please. Please—”

Another shock ran through his chest.She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.Because in that final moment —

She felt it.

The last, fading flicker of him.

That warmth he always gave her.

The sunshine in his laugh.

The gentle weight of his hand.

Gone.

---

And that’s how they found him—

Jungwon.

Beloved leader.

Golden boy.

The heartbeat of a thousand people.

Lying motionless, a golden mark fading from his wrist.

A girl with her forehead pressed to his, screaming into the void.

That’s how they found him—

Dying.

Masterlist Part 1 Part 3

How was it? Do you want Part 3??

a/n: I was crying as fuck when i wrote this! Did I manage to make you cry? Plz tell me!!😭

200 likes for part 3!

Likes and rebloges are really appreciated!!

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#enhypen fanfiction #engene #enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen smut #please like and reblog #please like this #jungwon #jungwon fanfic #jungwon fluff #jungwon x reader #someone get me this jungwon

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garbinge · 1 year ago

Text

Welcome Home

Tyler Owens x F!Reader

Summary: After not being home for years, you come back and find yourself feeling everything that kept you from coming home to begin with. But that doesn’t stop you from calling an old friend and taking a trip down memory lane with him. Created a playlist that inspired a lot of these scenes, some even mention the songs briefly. Welcome Home Playlist. // Word Count: 5k

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Angst. Grief. Trauma. Dead Sibling. Talks of a break up, of drunk driving. No use of y/n. Mentions of having a sibling who has a name in this fic. Happy Ending. A/N: I… this was something that just poured out of me. I couldn’t stop until it was done. I can’t just simply write a one shot without giving reader so much background and backstory it becomes over 4k apparently LOL. Twisters Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

Being back home brought back up a lot for you. It’s why you hadn’t made any where home yet. The weight of the word was just as heavy as being back here. Your parents had gone out, taken the family to some line dancing event. It took plenty of convincing for them to leave without you, but eventually you and your sister gave them enough flack that they did. Now you sat alone on the large farmland on the back deck watching the sky turn pastel as the sun just began to set while your sister went inside to her room. After a couple minutes, you brought yourself inside, taking in all the things that never changed about home. The blankets, most of them were the same ones that you spent hiding under with your best friends when you watched scary movies. The furniture, the living room still had the same sets you’d make forts out of with your siblings. The pantry and fridge, your family was still an ingredient one so if you opened the fridge for a snack, you had to take the time to put something together instead of just grabbing and going. The pictures, there were new ones, ones that you and your sister both sent back home from your new lives away from here, but the old ones were in the same spots. Memories of building the back deck, going on vacations to Eureka Springs, high school graduations. This part of home was warm, it was welcoming, it was safe. As you entered your room, that’s where things got heavy. It hadn’t changed. There was no changing things into sewing rooms or storage. Everything was left untouched.

It felt the same as downstairs. Only difference was your sister had been blasting Leon Bridges loud enough that you could hear it on the entire second floor. But besides that, pretty much interchangeable with the first level feeling wise. The blankets, most of them were the same ones you spent tangled in with him. The furniture, the loveseat facing the large bay window was where you spent most nights looking out of your telescope with him, not looking at the stars but looking at the clouds in the sky. The drawer in your nightstand, one that you jokingly called the pantry that held tons of quick non perishable snacks you’d find yourself sharing with him and even your sister when she would knock on your connected door asking for something. The pictures, those memories of who was with you helping build the back deck, who drove you down to Eureka Springs that one summer, who graduated alongside you. Then there were the ones that only the young group of you had memory of. Sneaking out to the swimming holes late at night, cow tipping because you had to see if it was a real thing or not. It wasn’t, instead you ended up drunk in a field with him and your sister. The party where you got violently ill all over your shirt and he gave you his. That was the photo you were staring at now. You, with the widest grin on your face in the backseat of his red dodge RAM, his green button shirt, only done up halfway, your white bra peeking out from it, your right hand with your thumbs up right next to your face, your hair drenched because he and your sister thought the hose from whoever’s house would wash the smell and stain of vomit from it. Your sister was next to you, her hands covering her face as she laughed and in the right corner was a blown out blob from the flash. The only visible markings you could make out was the top of dirty blonde hair and the slight of a blue green eye, but the same thumbs up as yours just closer and blown out similar to his face. As you picked the frame up, another photo fell out from behind. You bent down to pick it up and you realized it was from the same night, it was you and him, someone had taken this picture from behind you both, probably your sister. His arm was around your shoulder, the green shirt still on your back and him just in a white t-shirt. He was pointing at something and you were mesmerized by it. While there was no way of telling what your face actually looked like from the photo, you knew you were because Tyler Owens always mesmerized you. Opening your dresser drawer to put the photo in was when you saw the same green shirt from that night folded under a couple old tank tops of yours.

You swore it still smelt like him, which was impossible, you most definitely washed it after your drunken night but again, home had a weird way of holding feelings captive in objects.

Without thinking, you draped the shirt on, leaving it unbuttoned, making your way over to the oval shaped full body mirror that was tucked in the corner of your room. One you had covered the frame with stickers and the stand with cardigans. As you stared at yourself in his shirt, you lifted your t-shirt to see not the same but the same color bra you had in the picture from all those years ago and you let out a chuckle and a head shake. As your body moved, so did the shirt, falling off your shoulder and without a second of hesitation, you plopped down on your bed, crisscrossed and searched your phone for his contact.

Two rings. You’d thought it’d be disconnected, voicemail at best. You thought you’d hear a more matured tone of his voice than you could remember, telling you to leave a message after the tone, but instead you heard him answer and he sounded exactly the same.

“Hey, storm girl.”

There it was. Suddenly you were 16 again, and if you didn’t have recollection of every terrible thing that had happened in the last handful of years it would’ve been easy to fall back to that. Sitting in the room you grew up in, in your high school love’s shirt, your sister blasting Leon Bridges throughout the house, and Tyler answering the phone speaking a nickname you hadn’t heard in forever.

“Didn’t think you’d pick up.” Bringing your knees to your chest, you rested your chin on them, again swearing that scent of him was still stained all over the shirt you still had casually draped over you.

You could tell he was smiling through the phone. In spite of it having been years, there were just some things that you’d always be able to tell about someone you knew so well, so intimately.

“Didn’t think you’d call.” His southern accent was so strong and it made you wonder if being away for all these years made you lose yours in a way that only he would notice.

“Just because I called you, doesn’t mean I miss you.”

“Oh, well of course not.”

And just like that, you were back in the teasing rhythm you always had with Tyler Owens.

“You were just on my mind.” You replied.

“Funny, I think I found you somewhere in mind recently too.”

You smiled, and you knew he could tell you were smiling. “I found that shirt you gave me after I puked at that house party our graduation night in my bedroom.”

“Asher Levi.” A laugh filled the speaker of the phone. “It was Asher Levi’s house party. I remember because a few of us took his jeans and created a zip line type of thing into his pool. I think that might’ve been what made you puke, that mixed with the drinking.”

“Levi’s levis.” You remembered it so clearly, it was definitely less of a zip line and more just a single monkey bar if you recalled correctly, but it was definitely possible you didn’t with how much you drank.

“Did you say in your bedroom?” Curiosity was littered all over his tone as he spoke.

“I did.” Your eyebrows raised like you were shocked by the statement too.

He was nodding, a nod that held so much emotion but he decided to answer with something a little more light hearted because he knew how hard it probably was for you to be where you were. “I thought I heard Leon Bridges in the background.”

You laughed at that, it was your sister’s thing, and he would’ve known that better than anyone else.

“Where are you right now?” You weren’t exactly sure what response you were expecting, but the one he gave definitely wasn’t it.

“A motel on the coast of Oklahoma.” He sounded so amused, like he knew his sentence was going to leave you wondering how to answer.

“Oh.” Was all you could come up with, your mind was jumping through all the reasons why Tyler Owens was at a motel right now, some good, some bad, some you wished you didn’t think of, some that led you even more intrigued than the statement itself did.

“How many scenarios just flashed through that pretty little head of yours?” He knew you too damn well.

“Wasn’t counting but probably at least 17.”

“Tell me one.” You couldn’t see it but he was kicking his feet up on a cooler as he sat back in a lawn chair.

“I’ll tell you three. First one, hooker.”

If he had a drink in his mouth, he would have spit it out, but instead just brought his feet down and sat up so he could let out a belly laugh. “A hooker?!”

“I don’t know, maybe your game went down over the years, Owens. I don’t judge. Sex work is work.”

“While I don’t judge either, I am not and was not with a prostitute.”

“I know.” You agreed with him. “My second one was a little more upsetting. I was worried you got uprooted.” You were referencing a tornado, something so common where you grew up.

“No, I’m not uprooted.” All joking tones were gone now as he reassured you. “What’s the third one you wanna share.”

“I think it’s the right one.”

“Well this I gotta hear.” There was that intrigue again.

“You’re chasin’ storms.” You knew him too damn well, too.

He opened his mouth in a smile, his tongue playing with the inside of his mouth knowing you were right on the money. “Ever since you left, I’ve been searchin’ for ‘em.”

“Took a break to ride a few bulls, though.” You showed your cards with that one.

“You’re cheating, you’ve looked me up.”

“To be fair, you showed up on my instagram news feed a while back, something like ‘all the motivational phrases from hot cowboy Tyler Owens as he preps for his bull riding competitions’.”

“Sounds about ri–wait so you don’t even follow me?” There was fake hurt coming through the phone towards you now. Realizing you were talking about a post from some news account, not even his own page.

“You don’t follow me! How can you be mad that I don’t follow you.”

“I follow you. I liked your last post. Surfing in Sayulita.” He had you there.

“You’re just looking at it right now.” There was actual defensiveness in your tone now. There was no way you didn’t realize Tyler Owens followed and liked your posts.

“I feel kind of offended. I feel like I’ve been in contact with you this whole time you know, like I’ve been a part of your life from a far while you’ve just cut me out cold.” His cowboy drawl was strong in that sentence and you felt embarrassed almost. It was a reminder of the guilt you felt but it wasn’t something you’d discuss on the phone, this was meant to be reconnecting, fun, that Tyler Owens banter everyone knew and loved. And he knew it because he was following it up with more fluff. “If it makes you feel better, my instagram is all PR, Youtube stuff. I got a finsta for my cool stuff.”

“Why do I picture you imitating the sunglasses emoji while you said that?” Your nostrils flared as you grinned.

“Because I did.”

Now it was your turn to let out a belly laugh.

“That’s probably why you didn’t realize it was me that was liking your posts.” He pulled his phone away from his ear and pulled up instagram to shoot you a DM. “There I just sent you a message so you can follow me back.”

You saw the sunglasses emoji pop up on your phone alongside CloudTy. A play on Cloud nine, the nickname you gave him. “Nice finsta name.”

“Yeaaaa, someone cool gave it to me a bunch of years ago and it just stuck.” He was leaning back in the lawn chair now and he realized he hadn’t lost the smile on his face since he picked up the phone.

“You want to pick me up?” You shocked yourself with the question and your boldness, but with how Tyler answered, that feeling of being 16 and in love again filled your heart.

“I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

And just like that, your favorite Leon Bridges song came on. Appropriately titled, Coming Home. Falling back on your bed, you wished this feeling was one you could have drowned in forever. There were only a few people in this world where you could pick up where you last left off, and the list was short. Your family was a handful of them, but the difference is you always picked up at the same memory. The one each one of you were stuck reliving when you all came together. The reason you were back home to begin with. Tyler on the other hand, you picked up where it felt safe, familiar and just freeing.

The door that led to your connected bathroom where your sister's room was to be found on the other side was opening and your head lifted up to see her one hand grasping the doorframe and the other still on the doorknob. “Uh, I think Tyler Owens just pulled into our driveway.” Her smile was hesitant and muddled as she waited for a reaction from you.

“Okay, thanks.” You were jumping up, not eagerly because you weren’t stupid enough to act that way in front of your sister and open up the 20 questions.

“Okay, sorry, I shouldn’t have worded it that way, why is Tyler Owens in our driveway?” She repeated her question in a different manner. It seemed like the 20 questions can opened up anyways.

“He’s picking me up.” Again, said so nonchalant to throw off any more questions you weren’t sure you really had the answers too. You began gathering your stuff and ignored the full out beaming look your sister had on her face as she followed you downstairs.

Opening the front door, your eyes fell on the same red dodge RAM he had in highschool, except now the truck was completely storm proofed. But you didn’t bother paying attention to the truck, your attention was on Tyler. His white cowboy hat matched his white t-shirt, his hand moved up to tip the hat down in a greeting and his smile was contagious.

“Okay, actually, I think my real question is, why is Tyler Owens in our driveway in a truck that looks like it belongs at a Monster Truck Rally?” You realized your sister was next to you and it broke your concentration.

“You coming with us?” You were adjusting your stuff as you asked, breaking eye contact with him as you tucked your phone into your pocket.

“No.” She answered quickly. “I’ll let you have your moment. Am I lying to mom and dad?”

Wow, you really were 16 again. “No.” Your face twisted up, why would you need to lie to your parents, you were an adult. That’s when you heard the muffle sounds of the Luke Combs song, the guitar strums, although muffled, were enough to get your attention back on Tyler who was nodding his head to the beat. Suddenly, every bad thing you ever did with Tyler was running through your brain on loop. “On second thought, yes.”

“God, for once I wish my life would present opportunities like this.” She mumbled under her breath as she wrapped her sweatshirt around her torso and ran up to the passenger window of Tyler’s truck. Shortly behind her you followed, hearing Tyler greet your sister and their quick conversation as she hung on the door through the open window, her feet on their tiptoes to reach.

“Nora.” He greeted her. “How goes it.”

“It goes.” She was looking around in his truck at all the modded technology.

“You comin’ with us?” Tyler wasn’t asking in annoyance, he was asking because you knew he genuinely wouldn’t care if she tagged along, the invite was always there.

“Nah, I’m running interference.”

That earned you a look now from Tyler, he greeted you first before anything though, your name falling off his tongue with that extra drawl that managed to send chills down your spine. “Interference, huh?”

“Every morally gray thing we’ve ever done flashed through my head and while I’m an adult, I think it’s better to fill my parents in on my whereabouts when I’m back.”

Tyler chuckled with a nod. “What you plannin’ on tellin’ ‘em Nor?” His head fell back and his wrist rested on the steering wheel as he asked the question.

“Could just say one of her girl friends took her to a party, maybe she went out to a last minute dinner with friends?” Your sister shrugged, it had been a while since she came up with a lie for you.

“Dinner with friends. I think that’s a good one, not too far from the truth.” Tyler was teasing now and as much as you enjoyed the banter, you weren’t going to stand there all night. Squeezing past your sister so you could grab the door handle, she backed up and let you climb in, not stepping back too far though. “Tell you what, Nor, why don’t you just tell your parents, I took your sister storm chasin’.” He shrugged with his tongue playfully sticking out as he joked.

“Be safe.” Your sister tapped the truck and started to head back inside. Suddenly, you didn’t feel 16 again, the butterflies of getting in your boyfriend's truck and the nerves of what was going to happen weren’t anywhere to be found. It was replaced with comfort and well, like the old feeling of being home.

“Windows down?” Tyler asked as you hit the country roads after a few turns to get off your parent’s property.

“Yea, windows down.” With your head out the window, the wind blew against your face. It was breezy but humid, you could see the clouds moving against the now pink sky as the sun continued to set. Even though home didn’t feel like home, this was as close to the feeling you had gotten in a while. Those Arkansas sunsets against the endless plains of land just brought you a feeling that felt like no other.

“How are things?” His eyes were on the road as he asked. No teasing, no show, no banter. Just a genuine question.

“I don’t know.” A genuine answer.

He let the silence comfortably move in, the sounds of the road filling the space instead.

“How about you?” It was a few minutes later when you asked him.

“They’re alright.”

The road noise continued the conversation again. The wind howling became your voice and the thunder in the distance was Tyler’s as he continued to drive through the roads you both traveled on so much as kids. Music was still playing in the background, Tyler always had a knack for choosing the perfect driving playlists for each car ride you’d ever taken together, all based on the adventure and this was no different.

“Why’d you come?” Your head was back in the car now, leaned against the headrest as you looked over at him.

“Why wouldn’t I have?” Still one hand on the wheel, while the other was hanging out his door catching the wind.

This conversation was going to be different from the one on the phone. The one on the phone was easy going, one that if you didn’t have the opportunity to see eachother it could’ve ended amicably and open to more down the road. This one was going to be facing all the things that couldn’t be said on the phone, only when you were sharing the same space. “We didn’t exactly leave things on the best terms.” Your head tilted slightly, like it was obvious why you were asking the original inquiry and he was still questioning it.

“You didn’t exactly leave on the best terms.” He was correcting you but it was done so gently, giving you grace in some of your worst moments.

“So you’re telling me you never held it against me? This entire time?” It was like you were begging to be punished for how you left things.

“Never.” There wasn’t any doubt in his voice, and Tyler wasn’t the type of person to say anything he didn’t mean.

“I don’t know how you do it.” WIth a deep breath you looked away from him and straight ahead on the road.

“What’s that?” He asked, again the witty responses were long gone, this was the Tyler you fell in love with, not that the wild jokester wasn’t lovable either. That’s what pulled you in, but this, the real tender moments where sharing things without really actually saying them straight out was understood by him and when you did have it in you to really explain how you felt, things felt sacred. That’s what made you wonder if you ever truly fell out of love with the man driving.

“Pretend like it never happened. I said awful things, Tyler. Awful things. And this whole time you’ve never held it against me? You’ve just–I don’t know what or how you do it.”

Now he got what your question was. How could he be happy to pick up the phone to your call, how could he fall right back into rhythm with you, offer to pick you up, how could he not remember that last night you saw him.

“We have so many great memories, one bad one isn’t going to just erase them all from my mind.” It was half an answer to your thoughts. “You were–” he stopped at that word, it felt weird referring to it in the past because if he was being honest, he still felt that way. “You are an important part of my life. We grew up together, you know.” There was another part answered. But you were waiting for that last bit. “I don’t pretend like it never happened. I could tell you exactly what you said, exactly what I felt when you said it, but it doesn’t change everything you said before, everything I felt before.”

That should’ve been enough for you. That should have melted you, and if you were in a romance movie, maybe it would’ve. But you weren’t, and as much as you wished you could accept that and drop it you couldn’t.

“I told you I couldn’t love you anymore.” You said it not to repeat the words, but to prove your point, and it broke you to even utter it out loud again.

“You told me you couldn’t love anything anymore.” He corrected you again, his knuckles white as his grip tightened on the wheel and the loosened as the memory replayed in his head. “And when I asked you, ‘even me?’, you said ‘even you’.”

The scene practically flashed in front of you like a slide projector. The rain, pouring down in your driveway, something that used to bring you so much joy, just added to the list of things ruined that day. Your tears mixed in with the drops of rain. Your black dress drenched, Tyler’s suit just as soaked. You were yelling, something you never did towards each other unless it was in a cheer of excitement. Granted, the rainfall was loud and your voices had to carry to be heard over it. As your eyes shut to get rid of the memory, you almost saw it clearer. The look on Tyler’s face when you said it. Like you had just gone inside his chest and ripped his heart out with your bare hands.

“I–” You didn’t even know what to say, the guilt of it all eating at you at this moment. “I said awful things.” You repeated the same sentence as earlier, hoping that was enough to get across your sorrow, even though he didn’t need any of it, he knew even before you called.

And so, he said what both of you were tiptoeing around. Not because he had to, you both knew why, you both knew the reason. But maybe talking about it or saying it outloud would do something about how you felt.

“You had just lost your brother.”

And there it was. Grief had a funny way of popping up. Especially the first stages of it. And when your older brother died, from driving drunk on the freeway, two nights after your graduation, everything felt tainted with his memory. It was too much for you to deal with on top of dealing with mourning. You decided to leave home the night before the funeral. And to really add to the shittiness of the funeral day, you decided to solidify it as the worst day possible by also making it the day you broke up with the guy you were in love with, alongside of the day you buried your brother and the day you left home.

“I lost everything.” Now it was your turn to correct him. Tyler wasn’t an asshole, he wasn’t going to say what you were thinking. How losing everything was on you, it could’ve just been one thing, one really awful thing but you had to go and make it worse. But that was just the thing. Tyler would never say that because he didn’t think it at all, you did.

“I like this song.” You leaned forward to turn the speaker up. “What’s it called?” “Aimless.”

You let out a snort. In your attempt to change the conversation, avoid the awkward and painful topic of this all, you managed to just end right back in the middle of it. “Kind of perfect.”

“I figured you hadn’t found home yet, noticed you were kind of all over the map.” The kindness of this man. Despite knowing exactly what you meant, he still was giving you the grace to talk about travel, and while it still was dancing around the point of what you meant, it was giving you an out if you didn’t want to take the bait. And while you wanted to take it, to avoid this uncomfortable feeling, you didn’t.

“Home has been hard to find since that day.”

Tyler nodded in agreement, understanding why it would be. “S’why I don’t hold any of that against you.”

And that’s when it really sunk in, Tyler got it. He had lost things too, knew how unpredictable the unravel of it all was. It didn’t make it right, it didn’t make it okay, but it made him see you. This entire time he saw you through the fog, while you were dead in the center of it, blind to it all.

“Where we headed?” The lightness in your tone was more a product of feeling less heavy than when you arrived home versus wanting to change the topic.

“You’ll see, Storm girl.” His smile grew back on his face, the same lightness you felt was traveling over to his side of the truck, too, it seemed. He was shifting too, his left hand moved to the wheel while his right leaned on the center console. Your eyes fell down on it, staring at it as he mindlessly tapped to the beat of the next song playing, one he clearly listened to a lot to know the bass beats. That’s when you really took in where you were, back in Tyler’s life, and him back in yours. Without thinking you brought your hand to his and intertwined your fingers in his. He didn’t even flinch, or take a look down, he just opened his palm and welcomed you back in. No judgment, no pushback, no hesitation. And then, he squeezed it. Four times. Like a beating heart. The gesture you’d do when you were 16 and weren’t able to say anything. At parties, in the midst of the crowd, when you’d jump off those swimming hole cliffs, at dinner with your parents, and now, when the conversation felt itself hard to be had or maybe even just finished.

It was then that you realized, he was driving up a mountain, the plains were fading in the rearview as he trekked up the trails. You knew exactly where he was taking you. Within minutes you were parking on an overlook ledge. The sky in its last stages of a sunset, the last chance to take a look at the cloud silhouettes, you could see the sunset on one side and the storm that was thundering on your way over on the other. It was your favorite spot to come and watch the storms brew years ago, sometimes the clouds would be low and dense enough to be gathered around the overlook. In fact some of them were currently, and you jumped out of the truck, looking up as the moisture was just an arms length away, moving towards the overlook where the view was a little clearer. Leaning forward against the rocks, you smiled and turned around to see you were alone in the dense cloud. In an instant your smile dropped until you heard Tyler’s voice.

“I see you, I’m comin’.”

He did see you. All along. When you were in the fog, he was always there.

When he pushed through the moisture, he grabbed your hand, then brought it with his own over your head and then rested it across your torso, his body coming up behind you and intertwined in a hug as you looked at the storms. His head ducked down and pressed a kiss to your temple before standing straight up and pushing you back against him so you could feel his chest vibrate as he spoke the two words that allowed you to realize maybe it was time.

“Welcome home.”

#Twisters #Twisters 2024 #Tyler Owens #Tyler Owens x Reader #Tyler Owens x You #Tyler Owens Fanfiction #Tyler Owens Twisters #Twisters Fanfiction #Twisters 2024 Fanfiction #my writing #garbinge

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bettystonewell · 2 months ago

Text

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 14

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 6.7k words

Chapter Warnings: pregnancy woes, anxiety, fluff, angst, poor Dean's out of his element again, nesting (I love the concept so damn much), nerf guns, pup gender reveal

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

“Oh.” Dean looked back at you, finding your eyes lit up and hopeful. He couldn’t help but smirk at the heightened interest in your scent.

“Oh?”

And your demeanour.

He gripped harder on the cushioned handle and pushed down again, feeling the layers of steel, rubber and plush padding sway beneath his fingers. “The suspension on this thing is awesome.”

“And?”

He shrugged. You were way too eager, hanging off his every word, and he needed to be tight-lipped.

“And…it might be handy.” Yeah. That would placate you while he thought this through.

Sure, this stroller had more going for it other than just being fire engine red in a sea of white, beige and black. Didn’t mean it was a good thing. The colour had drawn him to it, which meant others would be drawn, too.

Yes, he could pack a lot down the bottom of that basket. Even hide an angel blade somewhere in the handle there if he got his welder out. Engrave a devil’s trap into the chassis, but…no. No, no. You’d said you’d be able to take the pup out for walks when he wasn’t there, and he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to consider that.

Being there in that nursery store wasn’t something he’d considered either. When he’d said he wanted to take Baby out for a spin to break in the new tires and test his handy work after her incident with old Alice, he never intended you’d end up as far away from the bunker as you had.

Stupid him. He’d had plans for a simple drive. Get some groceries. Take you out to eat.

But then you’d seen that family in the diner while you were chowing down on his fries. He caught a whiff of jealousy in your scent as you saw that mom playing with her pup. The googly eyes at their fancy stroller, and Dean realised so far you’d bought nothing for your son, aside from the stuffy he’d chosen months ago.

So, what did he do?

Well, his dumbass suggested it was time you went to a store and looked at stuff for him. He was an awesome mate, after all, and he was excited - at first.

You’d buy a crib, a stroller. Maybe some essentials like wipes. A book or two. Blankets and pillows to build your nest with, which were all fine. Perfert. Wonderful. Until he stepped foot inside this joint and he was reminded why he’d tried sourcing as many of Baby’s needed parts online as he could.

Where to start? The music with its whiny drone and high-pitched piano? The mish-mash of colour, dominated by rainbows and construction truck yellow? The smell of snotty noses, diapers and Cheez Doodles? Had every kid pooped in here or was there something wrong with the plumbing?

Alright, a salvage yard would’ve had none of these things (might’ve stank a little), but the pup store had the upper hand for worst, simply on the fact you were there, amongst people he didn’t know.

He’d slung his arm over your shoulders and directed you around the other shoppers with the widest of gaps possible between you and them, following the signs to the wall of strollers on the left. You passed the conveniently located nesting section right by the cash registers on the way, of course. Full of all things fluff, including stuffed animals.

Dean may have glared at another alpha who got too close when you stopped. He may have sympathised with another who also found himself stuck while you and his omega eyed one fugly looking cushion, but he said nothing. Neither did the other guy. Though there was an eye roll when your scent peaked in full delight as you ran your fingers through the fur that could’ve passed for a muppet.

Oh god. His world was going to be full of Elmo and Cookie Monster, wasn’t it? Or that blue thing with the Australian accent he kept seeing as you walked by older pups sitting in the main part of their parents’ carts with eyes glued to their screens.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t for his little man. Nope. He’d watch Scooby and the gang. Maybe the Jetsons or the Flintstones, but there’d be none of this modern crap. Cartoons, not equipment. He could see the benefit of Wi-Fi connections and GPS.

He huffed. Tilted his head on the idea. That would definitely be handy, and his eyes travelled the length of the red stroller before him, up and down, side to side. Was there space? If he could make an EMF reader out of a Walkman, he could add a tracking device to the frame of this thing. It was big enough.

He rocked it. Pushed it back and forth under the large metal racking that housed it and then out into the otherwise empty aisle.

The wheels turned well. The front smaller ones spun around a full three-sixty and into some crumbs on the floor… Those at the back were big and thick. He touched the sole of his boot to the top of the right one and pressed hard against the rubber. Good pressure. Great shock absorption. The brake was a little flimsy, though.

“This one’s kind of expensive,” you said, taking the little swinging tag hanging off the bright red hood in your fingers and flipping it over for him to see.

Dean gawked with you at the numbers. How much? For something the kid was gonna grow out of in a year or two, this thing should’ve been made of gold and angel feathers. He stretched over the handle and pushed the padding of the seat down, and his chin into his neck.

He wouldn’t find it comfortable. Then again, his full-blown adult ass would crush the frame.

He turned back to the swell of your stomach, though. His little mango wouldn’t. Sammy never had either. He didn’t have one, being carried everywhere until he could walk from what Dean remembered.

Motel cribs and scratchy blankets that smelled like smoke - and not the good kind. A different room every other week in a shitty town, off the beaten track where they likely never returned to. That was their life. And he couldn’t even remember his mom’s nest because of it.

He’d once said he’d freak out over manicured lawns and an omega who greeted him with a “how was your day?” after some crappy office job. But this stroller with the little stitching and embossed cursive logo under his fingertips. You. The bunker, in its own way. It all represented a stability he could only ever dream of, and now, with the strong chance of it staring him in the face and in his grasp, he wanted it for his pup.

“Is this something you like?” he asked through another shrug and a slight dig of his toes into the cookie crumbs beneath him. Not sure which answer he was hoping for until it left your mouth.

“I mean. Maybe not so expensive,” you said, still holding the tag. Your face frowned as you read over the numbers again, and though you tried to hide it, he couldn’t miss the twinge of disappointment in your tone. “I’d rather get something…simpler. Especially if you’re not on board with us walking without you.”

Dean studied you a moment longer. It wasn’t safe, but he couldn’t deny you normalcy. He couldn’t deny you anything if your history was anything to go by, and the apple pie lifestyle was something you and the pup deserved.

“Maybe the red is a bit too conspicuous.” He pushed the stroller back under the rack, as if it were the real problem, and took a step over to the next one down the line.

The handle was just as soft. The suspension, sensitive, easy to move and lighter. “This is nice.”

At least, he thought. If someone had told him a year ago that he’d be standing here in this store with you, shopping for this stuff, he would’ve laughed in their face. Yet, here he was, and it was nice. And brand spanking new.

He brought it over to you and pulled you to stand in front of him, pushing his chest flush against the warmth of your back. He then leant over you, encompassed you and your bump between him and the display. His head, coming neck and neck with your own, nuzzling your mark, breathing it all in. The apple, the citrus. The odd sweetness of new plastic.

When your hands ran over the leather, he covered them with his own. Soft on soft. Soft under rough.

“You think you can imagine our little guy, all comfy in here?” he said into your ear.

When you hummed, he knew before you even spoke that you weren’t going to let him get away with it this time, but someone else said something first.

Dean had been so busy focusing on you, the stroller and trying to ignore the stench surrounding yours, he hadn’t noticed the approach.

Okay. He was overzealous on the safety front, too. He clearly had good reason to be, and his fingers gripped yours tight, squeezing your bones under the skin. Yeah, you were in a store. That didn’t mean his inner alpha wasn’t gauging anyone else as a threat, even if they worked there.

‘Too close,’ it snarled.

‘She’s a beta. Same as Donna,’ he said, and when he turned around, she was.

Yay high. A healthy dose of extra meat to her bones. If her red and white candy striped shirt was blue and donned a silver sheriff’s badge instead.

“Oh. Didn’t realise I snuck up on ya there,” she said in a voice way too cheery to be in a place like this, exactly as Sheriff Hanscum would have. “Can I help you folks choose a stroller?”

Before he could even decline, you jumped in, your thumbs gaining his attention with a squeeze of their own to loosen his grip. “We’re just trying to decide if we need one,” you said, and Dean lost a few feet off the top.

“Well, that comes down to preference.” Fake Donna nodded and approached with a casual step. Her open palms pointed to the handle, her eyes at him.

He could take a hint, and before anyone could lower his stature further, he pulled you with him to the side, keeping a hand on your waist at the ready.

“Some pups prefer to be worn, so you can get away with a carrier, especially when they’re younger, but if it’s a stroller you want, you can’t go wrong with this one.” Her foot pushed down on the brake.

“She’s sturdy.” She shook the frame.

‘Already done that.’ His tongue swept over his teeth.

“Great price too.” She patted the hood near the tag.

Well, he hadn’t looked at that, and he stretched out and grabbed it, flipping it over in his hands as you had done with the other. It was better, but he couldn’t help the deep inhale and the straightening of his spine.

“And as I said, comes with a travel system. Great for more cantankerous pups.”

Travel? Can…travelling? Dean handn’t wanted you walking without him. Screw travelling. There was no way the two of you were coming on cases with him, either. Of course, she didn’t know his ‘job,’ and thankfully, you were just as dumbfounded as he was judging by your scent.

You exchanged glances, his eyes wide, yours flitting between him and her; but when you opened your mouth to reply, she cut you off before you’d even formed a sound.

“Oh. Bless your cotton socks.” She clapped, making Dean flinch at the enthusiasm. He may have gripped you tighter. “Don’t worry. All first timers are clueless. Comes with the territory.” She chuckled, but Dean wasn’t laughing.

It was uncanny. Along with the missing badge, if you just swapped the stroller for a donut and a cup of coffee, that snort was Donna to a T.

Did she have a twin? A cousin? Was there a mirror around to check her eyes?

‘C’mon man, you’re getting paranoid.’

‘She snuck up on us,’ said his inner alpha as she got mighty close to you.

Dean soon realised he wasn’t leaving this place with just you and a stroller. Nope. With the way she was buttering you up like a sacrificial lamb with retail-speak and mentions of how you were glowing like you were old friends, you were walking out with the whole damn travel system. Maybe more.

“They’ll only stay in this for about six months, or until they can sit up, so you’d need to get both, not just the capsule,” she said. How convenient.

“Or you can get the bassinet attachment. It’s much more comfortable for their tiny tushies.” She was taking lines outta his book.

“But the capsule is probably the best choice. Don’t have to wake them if they fall asleep in the car.” Of course, it was the most expensive of the attachments, too.

“How far along are ya, hun?”

More like, how the hell did she do that? She’d pulled said capsule out and away from the frame in one fluid motion. The click, the only obvious sign something had gone down.

But then you answered. “Ah, nineteen weeks,” you said, and your smile filled your cheeks and eyes with a warmth he’d never forget.

Suddenly, he didn’t care how much the thing cost. He didn’t care if his pup was can…tan…whatever. You standing next to it, one hand tracing the cursive lettering on the handle, the other smoothing over your dress and highlighting the slight bump below it, had Dean captivated.

You made that stroller look good, and he could just picture you pushing your pup in there, all round with another one in your belly. Chuck. He couldn’t help but smirk. The apple pie life was looking mighty fine from where he was, and he closed in on the conversation, now eager to join.

“Do you know what you’re having?” Her eyes flicked to him with a sparkle, welcoming and friendly. She was actually enjoying talking to you.

“A boy.” He beat you to the punch. He took the capsule she’d picked up out of her hands, hovering it over the empty slot in the frame.

“Dean thinks it’s a boy.” Your gaze narrowed at him, and his tongue receded through a grin in retort, which she chuckled at.

“You’ll find out I’m right on Monday.”

And you would.

Just not before.

You were shown more of the store by fake Donna though, and soon that leather cushioned handle turned into the plastic rounded one of a shopping cart. A box with the stroller and its matching capsule inside that would transfer in and out of Baby once he got the right parts for her. Again.

But her candy stripe uniform had to leave you mid crib talk, having had a ‘clean up on aisle two’ kind of situation happen - right on her foot.

“Maybe for the first six weeks, he should stay with us,” Dean said. “Til you’re healed up.”

Okay, some might call researching how soon your mate could have sex after giving birth was a bit of a dick move. Yeah, no, that fit. It was exactly something Dick would do, and Dean felt guilty, even when most parts of him were curious about your healing. Whether he needed to call in a favour with heaven and get you on the mend faster. He couldn’t help if the condition of your vagina came up.

“I could set up my nest in whichever room we decide.” You were half statement, half question on that line. Your hand once again brushing over a store display.

The white wooden finish would get dusty in a place like the bunker. There had to be a reason the old geezers had chosen all dark furniture, and Dean wondered if he could also pull some strings and actually track down Mrs Butters.

“You don’t want your nest in our bed?” he said, unknowing he’d just set himself up.

“I wanna keep it free of monster guts and whiskey.” You narrowed your eyes at him and he pulled a grin from somewhere.

“I can’t help it if I miss ya when I’m gone.”

A brow raised, and he couldn’t help the husk that spiked his voice when he then said, “It was one time.” But though you smiled at his antics, the air surrounding you remained serious.

You were on the other side of the crib to him. Too far for his liking. It was harder to hear. You were closer to the front, seeming oblivious to the potential threat of the many other alphas, just as cautious as he was nearby.

Who knew if one of them would turn? He would if someone so much as looked at you the wrong way.

So he watched, helpless to appear collected from his distance as your fingers moved over the pattern of little ducks on the display mattress with an upturned lip. Your palm pressed into the springy foam, much like he’d done with the stroller. “Still have to decide about a nest birth or a hospital one.”

Hence the angels.

Dean clenched his jaw. You seemed wistful, and he wasn’t sure why.

The appointment was in four days, but the doc hadn’t given you a cut off date on anything. He’d just mentioned it last time, so you’d start thinking about it.

And he had.

It’d been on the back of his mind even before Doctor Cameron had brought it up. They couldn’t bring a doctor to the bunker if things went wrong, and your mom was out of the question even before he’d convinced you not to contact her.

He’d also convinced himself that the decision was yours, though he was hoping you’d choose the Pack Planning clinic. Cameron could be a smartass, but he trusted him to take care of you, especially when he knew he’d be useless.

Beating up Dick for hurting you was one thing. Dean, knowing he was indirectly responsible for causing you pain, was another.

“What do you think?” you asked, looking up when you realised he’d said nothing.

“You, ah, you’ve still got months to decide,” he tried. Hands darting from the cart to the pockets of his jeans. His bow legs pushed against the slats of the cribs side. The thing was sturdy.

“You mean we have.”

No. He really didn’t. Not an out loud one, at least. Opinions on taking the pup for a walk? Yeah, he had one on that. You’d just changed it with your doe eyes, and the help of fake Donna and her sales skills, but this? With his ‘I want you to be safe and in a hospital’ mindset? What if you misconstrued him to mean something else?

You were the strongest omega he knew. Granted, you could get emotional at the drop of a hat these days, which was exactly his point.

“I dunno, sweetheart. You’re the one who’s gotta do all the work. I just put him in ya.”

Your nose creased more in the middle as you circled around back to him. Your head, down and deep in thought, until you stood before him. Slid your hands in between the gap his arms formed next to his waist and gripped his hips. Played with the loops holding his belt as you brought yourself back up to search his gaze.

“You must have some input,” you said. “You get a choice, too.”

If he had a choice, he wouldn’t be in this predicament, but what to say? You were pushing it, and like the mention of hurting the pup in his argument for taking suppressants, he spoke a half truth and focused on his concerns. “I just want you both safe.”

“So do I,” you said. Bit your lip. “It’s why I’m kind of leaning towards the hospital.”

Halle-freaking-lujah. Though why you couldn’t have said that without giving him the third degree, he’d never know.

“Doctor Cameron did say I could bring some of my own nesting supplies closer to my due date. It won’t be a full nest, but there will be other omegas close by, and—”

“Hey.” Dean’s hands were up and out of his pockets, both palms caressing your cheeks. “You don’t have to convince me. I’m on board with that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, and pulled you in closer, inhaling your sweet scent. The chocolate and citrus swirling through it had him smirking.

He kissed your head first. Right on the crown. Fingers tracing little circles over your lower back, hips almost swaying, dancing, blocking out the noises and everyone else around you.

If it wasn’t for the gush of air that mimicked a cracker startling him from behind, he would’ve forgotten where he was. Lost in his own world.

His arms pulled tighter ‘round you and his head turned over his shoulder like a deer in headlights, finding a small boy holding a bright blue plastic gun, still pointed at him. A grin bigger than any of Dean’s plastered over his face.

“James!” a fellow customer screeched. “I’m so sorry,” she hissed in your direction before grabbing his hand and scooping something off the floor. “I told you not to shoot that thing inside.”

That thing was a Nerf Gun. Something Dean had never seen before, and damn straight, he went looking for it in the toy aisle the second he’d wrangled you and your shopping cart away from the cribs.

You’d purchase one another time when he could fit more in Baby’s trunk. The crib. Not the Eaglepoint RD-8 Blaster.

He bought four of them (and extra ammunition).

So what if they were for eight years and up? He’d just passed forty. He didn’t want to risk them not being around anymore when his pup came of age.

So what if he opened it to check it out and then waited up for Sam two nights later in the armchair on the landing? In. The. Dark. It was late, and the bunker had switched down into nighttime mode. The lights and buzz from the old machines below gave off just enough glow for him to see his target and keep him company.

It wasn’t his fault he got Eileen in the nose instead. Her and Sammy’s figures blended together as one, thanks to Sam’s giant Sasquatch physique.

“Hey. Woah. I’m sorry! Sammy didn’t say he was bringing anyone home?” He grit through his teeth and a head tilt, forgetting in the heat of the moment that the omega couldn’t hear him.

“Was I supposed to?” Sam scoffed. “How did you not scent her?” He’d raced to the light switch on the wall and turned it on for Eileen to see them, thus illuminating Dean’s bright red skin amongst the freckles. “I’m sorry,” he signed, before scowling at him. “You remember my brother?”

“Hey.” Dean waved his hand, Eaglepoint still in it, like the fool he felt, switching positions with them and scooting to the edge of the staircase. “I’m just gonna leave you two, to ah…see you in the morning.” He thumbed behind him. He’d find the foam bullet then, too.

“Goodnight,” Eileen said.

Sam was still giving him his best bitchface.

“Night.” He half bowed, spinning around to descend into the war room and further to room 11. He may have sniffed the air as he did, but it would appear neither Sam nor Eileen’s scents had changed.

When Dean had last left you, you’d bid him goodnight. A tender kiss. An ass grab. A gaze deep into those brilliant green eyes of his. You were tired, and even though you hadn’t had as big a day as others, you still found yourself ready for bed earlier than usual thanks to your changing body, among other things, keeping you up at night.

No, it wasn’t morning sickness. What little you’d experienced had subsided. Somehow lucky on that front. But things like leg cramps, not being able to get comfortable because of frequent bathroom visits and a bump that stuck out just enough to be in the road of lying on your stomach were causing you grief.

Now you didn’t want to sleep on your side or back. No. Tummy sleeping is what you craved, and the only craving so far.

You held that pee in as long as possible, disturbing Dean in the process when you caved and shuffled around the bed so as not to trip. Damn balance was already off centre, and as much as you insisted he stay, he still got up to walk with you down the hall or soothe the muscles cramped in your calf from the slightest movement.

And then you were excited. Anxious. All week. The nerves about deciding where and how you wanted to deliver frequenting your mind the most.

So even though you’d told Dean you were going to sleep, you hadn’t laid down at first.

No. You’d sat on the floor, legs crossed in front of you, a no longer neat pile of nesting supplies in front of them. They still lay scattered on the floor, and though it should’ve bothered you, they were a drop in the ocean compared to this feeling.

Trying to work out which items you’d take to the clinic seemed important two hours ago, even if they wouldn’t be joining you on the drive tomorrow.

What if Doctor Cameron showed you the birthing suites? Knowing what was here at home would surely help you plan.

Like Dean needed to be in control of all aspects in his life, you, at the very least, needed to be in control of this. You were an omega after all. Giving birth and nests and pup rearing were something you were meant to be good at, and being good at it required practice and planning.

There was a matter of scents and getting the balance just right on the pieces you’d chosen. As much as Dean hated the cushion with the blue fur, his reluctance when you’d added it to the cart at the store meant your omega wanted his musk all over it.

You’d picked it up, ran your fingers through each whispy strand. The little hairs tangled ‘round each of them, though bringing it up under your nose had been a mistake. It smelt wonderful, like talcum powder. But it tickled your nostrils and made your eyes water, too.

It’d be perfect under a nursing arm, though. Or resting behind your head, presuming Dean wasn’t there already.

Just another thing you needed to discuss at the appointment.

You’d leant back, arms stretching out behind you, your palms flat on the cool cement of the floor. But as you’d strained your neck to chase a glance at the clock, you could’ve sworn your stomach did something weird.

A flip? The kind you got after a small dip in the road or that one time you went on Space Mountain.

Nah.

Yeah?

Maybe.

You were twenty and two now, and you’d been waiting since week sixteen to feel them. You’d been waiting since your first.

But was that it? Would you feel it again? Because you hadn’t.

You’d sat on that floor longer than you cared to admit, waiting more, still and…patient. But when nothing seemed to come of it, you’d heaved a heavy sigh and butt-shuffled back to the bed, leaving that pile scattered. Disappointed, as you used the baseboard to prop yourself up into your non-nest.

It had to be your imagination. You were too eager because of tomorrow and the possibility of finding out. Yeah, that was it.

You’d switched off the closest light, screwing the rest. Snuggled under the blankets, lay on your back, then your side, then the other. The crisp sheets, no longer crisp, pulled and remained loose at the sides, twisted half off you in your feeble attempt to relax.

Only you’d moved back to your back. Wiggled your rear against the mattress. Felt a niggle in your middle. Like a single pop from a piece of popping candy or a throb from blood passing through your veins or Dean’s knot.

From then on out, you were still again, waiting under the low light of the usual lamp for more.

Five minutes. Ten minutes. Twelve.

You sighed. Nope. It wasn’t happening. Must’ve been your imagination, and you rolled over. Rubbed your head into the fluffy pillow. Pulled your top knee up and leant in on it. A compromise between side and tummy that’d worked the night before.

But there it was again. A pop, a flip, a throb. Like a little gas bubble deep within your womb…and… Holy shit. You couldn’t put it down to anything else. That was your pup. It had to be. Right there below Dean’s shirt, your skin. Your pup. Alive and healthy, heartbeat, and all.

You sat up, shoved the covers off. Your fingers moved from it to grip the faded black cotton and pull it up over your stomach to see it protruding over your mound and heels, tucked in and not quite under your rear. Your bump wasn’t large enough to cover your toes when you stood, but it stuck out further than your boobs, sitting or no. Soft and pudgy, though, depending on the angle, it was firmer like then.

“Hey there.” You smiled. A well of wet forming under your eyes. “You gonna do it again? ‘Cause I need to be sure before I tell your dad,” you whispered.

Was it wrong to poke them? Probably, but it was a little too late to question it.

Your index finger picked up and pushed the pad down close to your navel. Gentle, of course, but hard enough to make a nail shaped dent when you twisted it just right. You, ignoring all the information you’d read that said they couldn’t feel or hear you yet.

The experts knew nothing when your pup had the stock of an alpha as perceptive as Dean. It was the door in front of you that clicked with his head poking out from behind it soon after. His gaze alight in mischief turned to confusion when he saw you, your exposed stomach, and the mess of nesting supplies.

“You know, saying you’re tired is an excuse for sex, right?” He shut the door and ditched his new toy on the table in the corner. “Not setting up the floor is lava for your unsuspecting mate.”

“I was going through stuff for tomorrow,” you said in a huff as he toed off his boots. “Don’t you want to know why all this is hanging out?”

Even though your face was beaming. Dean still scanned the situation with a lick on the edge of his lip. He’d started undoing his belt and fly, but the process stalled as his brain geared up to fight or flight.

“Is this the real trap?” he asked.

“No. I can feel them.”

“Yeah?” His grin returned, and your head jiggled with excitement.

“He kicked?” And when you nodded again, it only grew wider.

“He-they’re moving,” you said, but Dean ignored the correction.

His bow legs darted around the unravelled blanket and the other, still folded with a bow. He then hopped over that cushion you’d decided he’d be sleeping on tonight and flopped onto the mattress next to you, spreading out like a partner in one of those fake family portraits would.

“My man. Something else to tell the doc, huh?” His arm cradled your swell, fitting snug as he leaned over and kissed your exposed skin first. “Hitting all them milestones. Making his momma crazy already?” His brows wagged as he stretched up to kiss you too before you could retort.

He’d had a whiskey. The smoky remnants on his tongue, just another reminder of something you couldn’t have, making you savour it, and him, all the more with a greedy foray of extra nips.

“So.” He indulged you again, keeping the tip of his nose on yours when he pulled back. “What’s it feel like?”

You had to think about that. The flip? The candy popping? The throb? He’d appreciate that.

Your palm slid over his thigh, close enough to his pelvis to bring the point home. “You know when your knot pops and there’s that pulse?”

“When I shoot my load?”

“Yeah. It’s like that, only stronger.”

He huffed. Part snicker. Eyes, half lidded and lecherous, joined the smirk and twitch of his head. “You mean you’re getting an orgasm in your stomach?”

“It’s not pleasurable.” Wait. That wasn’t right, either. Of course, it felt good.

This was your pup.

“I mean, when you feel your blood passing through your veins. I thought you’d get a kick out of the analogy.”

“Oh. I did.” He looked down at your hand still in his lap only to lift again, expression changing the scene as an actor would on stage. “Next question.”

You repeated the phrase.

His chin pointed towards the mess. “What’s with the nest? No offence, sweetheart, but even I could do a better job than that.”

Obviously, it wasn’t one. Half of it wasn’t even out of its packaging and the shape was all wrong. “I told you I was preparing for tomorrow.”

Tags still hung off the corners of the cushions you’d chosen. They’d be scratchy on your skin, let alone the delicate fuzz-lined completion of a newborn, and none of it washed yet. Nothing from a store was going anywhere near your precious pup unless you’d sanitised, then scented it.

“We’re taking all that?”

“No.” It was three blankets and a few more cushions. Didn’t even fill up half of Baby’s usable trunk. There’d been room with the stroller, its attachments, the Nerf guns and the multiple bags of extra foam ammo. “Not even half.”

How much leeway would you have delivering in a hospital? Rooms you’d seen visiting friends and family were probably about the same size as yours here in the bunker. But as much as the Pack Planning clinic tried to make their space warm and inviting for its patients, a clinic was still a clinic, and nothing like home.

The walls that could use a lick of fresh paint. Outdated furniture lining them collected dust you dusted every other day.

Dean’s scent.

Yours.

It was all a charm surrounding you that calmed and soothed like no other. It didn’t take an idiot to know that’s what you’d be needing most when the time came.

“I just want to go in knowing what I have so I can plan for the space,” you said, and Dean swallowed. Nodded.

“Alright.”

He sat up, whipped his phone out of his back pocket and dropped to the floor with a groan and a definite crack from overused bones.

“What’re you doing?” you asked, because him picking up and pointing the camera point blank at the unravelled blanket while obvious, hadn’t computed with your brain. Why hadn’t you thought of that?

“Getting rid of the trip hazard. There’s gonna be enough bumps in the night with Eileen here. Don’t need you makin’ more.”

Wait. “She’s here?” You picked yourself up and knee-walked to the edge of the bed. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I would’ve gone and—”

“Played host? I’m sure she’ll understand why you were sleeping. You can make up for it in the morning.”

Only you couldn’t, because both she and Sam were MIA when you left for Salina. Lost to the depths of his room. Thank god for Dean. With your mind occupied by your nest and your birthing plan, you weren’t too concerned about your territory.

You talked non stop to avoid all of it. Everything and nothing at the same time on the way. The weather. Potential names, Bobby, John and Henry. Dean even humoured you with girls’ ones like Mary and Charlie, while you avoided your moms on purpose. Thankful he had too when he listed every other female who’d been prominent in your lives. Grateful he didn’t bring up the night before or your need to pee.

Of course you couldn’t. Doctor Cameron needed a full bladder for the anatomy scan, and it was hell.

Well, not the actual one, but you doubted, very much, that he or Dean could hold on for as long as you had. All that pressure in your pelvis, aching like the throes of a heat. If Dean had cracked a joke, you’d have no hope.

Each press of the cool gel into your exposed stomach from the transducer, another jab closer to leakage. No wonder multiple pregnancies drove people with vaginas into incontinence. Your bladder, a punching bag for the doctor and your offspring, could only hold so much — oh shit.

The doc pushed the damn thing into your stomach for the umpteenth time on your left side, where you figured one of your ovaries to be. The blunt head dug into your flesh, firmer on account of the recline of the exam table. Your sensitive skin, wetter where you didn’t want wet to be...

“Have you taken the time to think about your options?” he asked, like he’d done nothing wrong. If it weren’t for his hands occupied by the ultrasound equipment and his keyboard, you’d have considered him bored. It was okay when you were the prodder.

“We’re leaning towards here,” you said. “Presuming there’s time?” Just another thing you wanted to discuss.

How long did it normally take? Movies made most births seem like your water broke and that was it. Pushing, grunting, groaning in your nest with loved ones, or on the way to the hospital, finding yourself stuck in the back of a car in a snowstorm on Christmas Eve.

No in between and never an estimate. No, ‘three hours later,’ or ten or twenty or thirty, and you had no one to ask how it felt or what to expect. Besides Cameron, a beta, presumably with the wrong bits.

Dean gave you a reaffirming nod. He was at full attention, in awe, and on edge. You could sense it in his scent.

He’d squeezed your hand in his. Brought your knuckles up to his lips when he’d heard the sharp exhale on yours with the last poke. “No problem with my Baby, sweetheart,” he said, clearly concerned by the drive itself.

Doctor Cameron nodded too as he typed in another measurement. “So long as things stay low risk and you’re happy to travel the distance.”

“Ah.” Dean cleared his throat. “Low risk?”

The doc lowered his head and looked at him and then at you, “All medical procedures come with risks.”

“Right, but, ah, what’s the risk the risk could be higher?” Dean’s feet shuffled beneath him, and this time it was the doc clearing his throat in response.

The pause didn’t help your nerves. That look in Doctor Cameron’s eye, typical. He chose his words carefully. So either there was a risk or it was unknown because you had little history to go on, and your guess was on the latter.

It had to be. The world just worked that way. It was Murphy’s law or some other guy you’d never heard of and theirs.

You didn’t know how long your mom had laboured with you. You didn’t know if she’d needed stitches or lost any blood. When you were asked to fill out that form at your first antenatal appointment with the doc, you couldn’t list any next of kin besides Dean, which was fine. He was your true mate, and you trusted him with every and all decisions if you were ever… incapacitated.

But it was nothing the doc could go off of now, and he didn’t say it. Not directly, at least. What he did, though, was far more valuable, albeit accidental, leaving you surprised, and Dean insufferable. His grin the widest you’d ever seen it, rosy cheeks of pride contrasting his brilliant green.

“Your mate is in fine health, Dean,” Cameron said. “And so is your son.”

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

And there we are! I was honestly really torn on what to give them, me being a boy mum wanted to live vicariously, but I know little boys too damn well, and it will be easier for me to do some timestamps in the future with the nerf guns this way.

I have a name in mind, but if you have an idea, I'd love to hear it! Just know I plan on avoiding Bobby and John.

Chapter 15 - Disappointment 30/05

“Why’re we getting this stuff again? They’re the ones cooking,” he grumbled as he leant over the cart, pushing it forward to let an elderly beta past.

This position was becoming more and more frequent, and he’d become rather skilled at navigating the metal cages. Gold medal material with the way he turned the damn thing. Whether that was good was still up for debate.

“It’s the least we can do,” you said, examining the mound of onions, a piece of vegetable at a time. Turning them over. Inspecting the flaky skin and differences in the colour underneath it. Weighing each piece with your hands.

“No. The least we can do is eat what they cook. You should be taking a load off.”

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @jollyhunter @zepskies

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ginnsbaker · 1 year ago

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fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (7/?)

Part summary: Six weeks later, Leigh decides to throw herself a birthday party.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6.600+ | Warnings : None | Author's Note: Just a reminder that this doesn't strictly follow canon events. Borrowed some elements from the actual birthday episode, but it's going to go very differently for us :) Enjoy!

Six weeks later

“Hey! Happy birthday, sweetheart!” Leigh’s mom calls out from the kitchen as Leigh hurries down the stairs. She runs straight into Amy’s arms, a ball of energy, drawing bewildered looks from her mom and sister. Ever since Matt died, they are used to Leigh either being too quiet or too snarky. Today, of all days, they were expecting her to be something else much worse. But it seems they're mistaken as Leigh turns to Jules, yanks her in close, and kisses her hair.

Jules and Amy share a look. To say this as an interesting development would be an understatement. It's her birthday—her first one without Matt, who had been at the heart of her celebrations for the last decade. They hope Leigh finds some happiness, truly, but these past several months have taught them to temper their expectations.

They keep their silent exchange to themselves, watching as Leigh picks up a croissant and takes a heart bite out of it, her face lit up with the widest smile. “Happy birthday,” Jules grins, pushing a small envelope towards Leigh. “Got something for you.”

“Thank you!” Leigh exclaims. She eagerly opens the envelope to find a bunch of homemade coupons, each promising some sort of favor from Jules, good for the next year. They range from “Will listen to your rants for 30 minutes, no interruptions” to “I will restart the book club you tried to get me and mom to do and actually read the books this time.”

Laughing, Leigh flips through them. “These are brilliant, Jules. Might have to use one today,” she says, already thinking about which one she'll cash in first. Then, she pulls Jules in a bear hug, as if it’s the most exquisite present she’s ever gotten in her lifetime.

“You okay?” Leigh asks when she notices Amy staring at her.

Jules gives their mom a warning look as Amy struggles to come up with a response. “Nothing, I just… I didn’t think you’d be doing quite so well today. That’s all.”

“I didn’t either but we all make choices and I’m choosing to have a great birthday. So, let’s do this thing!” Leigh says in a manner that Jules feels too over the top. Amy starts laying out the plans for the evening and Leigh has a blank look by the time she finishes running them through it.

“I think I want a party,” Leigh announces. It’s met with astonishment, as if it’s the last thing her family’s expecting to hear.

“You do?” Amy.

“A party?” Jules.

Leigh isn’t perturbed by their reactions. “I do. I want a party,” she confirms. She delights at the dumb look on their faces as she reiterates, “Tonight. I want a big party.”

“You’re not having a big party.”

Danny calls her up the minute he gets her Facebook invite. He's partly furious about receiving the invite through Facebook, given that they’re “kind of seeing each other”, and partly incredulous because he couldn’t believe she’s making plans on her birthday without considering the fact that they are “kind of seeing each other”.

Leigh, phone wedged between her shoulder and ear as she flips through a recipe book on her kitchen counter, rolls her eyes so hard she worries they might stick that way.

“Well, yes, Danny, that's exactly what I'm doing,” she fires back matter-of-factly.

Danny's frustration simmers on the other end of the line. He had already made plans, not bothering to consult Leigh because he assumed that their day would be spent together—privately, just the two of them.

“You didn’t think I’d have something planned?” he asks, more hurt than angry.

“Why would I think that?”

“Because we’re dating, Leigh,” he says, appalled that he needs to remind her. Leigh takes a second, biting her lip. Maybe it was a bit inconsiderate that she didn’t consider Danny when she impulsively decided she wanted a big celebration. But that flicker of guilt is short lived.

After all, she couldn’t remember the last time she’s actually excited for something, the last time she thought, I deserve to be happy.

“Yeah, well, I can still do what I want, Danny,” she retorts.

“Now you’re acting like a child,” he snaps.

Leigh feels a flash of anger, then something else—determination. “Maybe so. Come to the party or not, I don’t care. I'm going to have fun, Danny, with or without you.”

“Fine. Just don’t—”

Leigh doesn’t let him finish. With a press of a button, the call ends, his words cut off mid-sentence. Too often, she’s been criticized for not always following through with her declarations, but it's a different game when she's out to prove something.

Drew steps carefully around a minefield of clothes and makeup scattered on the floor to get to Leigh. She's curled up over her laptop, one leg propped on the chair, chin on her knee, in a posture that makes Drew wince. “For a fitness instructor, you're not exactly a poster child for back health,” he says, announcing himself to his best friend.

Leigh's head snaps up at Drew's voice, but instead of annoyance, a smirk quickly spreads across her face. “Good thing I'm not a fitness instructor anymore, then,” she says. Then she turns her attention back to her laptop as if he’s not there. Drew moves to sit on the edge of her bed, flops down on it like a ragdoll and stares at the cobwebs on the corners of the ceiling.

“I know what you’ve been doing, Leigh,” he says.

Leigh is unphased, keeps typing. Then, as if she’s just heard his remark, mutters a distracted, “What have I been doing?”

“Avoiding. You've been avoiding writing about anything that's even remotely related to love or grief,” Drew says.

This time, Leigh stops typing. She sighs, a long, drawn-out exhale that seems to carry the weight of the world. “I’m busy, Drew. This gig is eating up all my time.”

After leaving the Beautiful Beast, she took on a part-time job as a remote project manager. With Matt gone, she's left to deal with the debts they racked up together. She loved her studio job, really did, and wasn't fazed by the slim paycheck because it helped her mom out. Being surrounded by family has been a huge support (despite her occasional squabbles with Jules), but she knows she'll need to move out on her own again at some point. Ultimately, the pressing need for financial stability has pushed her to seek out better-paying opportunities.

Drew straightens up, leaning in with his elbows on his knees. “Bullshit.”

Leigh looks over her shoulder at him with mild irritation. “What do you want me to say, Drew?”

“You're meeting your weekly quota on other topics,” he points out. “Makes me wonder if bringing you back to the advice column was…premature.”

It sounds like a threat, but coming from him, she understands it as an early warning in case the senior editor begins to notice the issue. Leigh smiles thinly, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Why does it even matter which topics I choose to engage with? First off, I'm collaborating with other writers now; it's not entirely my show anymore. Secondly, I've been doing a good job—”

“A great job, actually.”

Leigh tilts her head, genuinely puzzled. “So, what's the problem?”

“They're expecting you to lead on those topics because you've lived through them. They're looking for more authenticity in the pieces,” Drew explains.

Leigh looks out the window, seemingly lost in thought, then shakes her head slightly. “What, you want me to write about how I started picking fights left and right after Matt died? Do you want me to detail my attempts at fixing his depression, as if it were as manageable as setting a broken bone?”

“You don’t have to delve into the most personal details.”

“It can’t be authentic if it’s not personal,” Leigh sneers.

“Just think about it, okay?” Drew presses, a little desperately.

Leigh chews on the inside of her cheek, mulling it over. There's a whole part of her story she hasn't even touched on with him—the string of one-night stands with Danny, the way she's snapped at anyone who dared to disagree with her in the past few weeks. She's been on edge, not really liking the person she's been, and the thought of putting that version of herself out there for everyone to see is nothing short of humiliating.

As a writer, she knows what to say, the same way a psychologist would know what to do even if they don’t need to have all sorts of human experience to help someone in every situation. But she also questions her right to preach behavior to others when she's far from having it all figured out herself. Regardless of her indecision, she knows Drew’s not going to drop it until she at least tells him she’ll consider.

“Fine,” she says, with a nod. “I'll sift through the inbox and tackle the ones I feel up to.”

“There you go, that's my girl,” Drew says, visibly relaxing. But then, a moment later, he feels a stab of guilt for showing up mostly because of work. It's been a while since they've hung out, their usual brunch dates falling through one after the other, and their daily chats have shriveled up to a few messages a week, with mostly just memes from Leigh that Drew hardly ever acknowledges. Eventually, Leigh just stopped sending them.

Drew fidgets, avoiding eye contact for a second before it dawns on him—he hasn't just been busy; he's been dodging Leigh on purpose ever since he popped the question to his partner. He was worried Leigh wouldn’t take the news well, considering the things she’s been going through. But if he’s being brutally honest with himself, a part of him just didn't want her grief to dampen his excitement. He was worried her sadness might dampen his spirits, and in a bid to preserve his own happiness, he’d left her out in the cold. He hadn't stopped to think that maybe he owed Leigh more than just her column.

“So, uh, how’s it going?” Drew asks cautiously.

“It’s going,” Leigh offers. Heartfelt talks aren't their thing, so Leigh decides to brush it off fast. “By the way, I'm throwing a birthday party for myself.” It comes out a bit more cheerfully than she feels.

“A party? That's great, Leigh!” Drew exclaims. “And hey, if you need help setting up or anything, just let me know.”

“Yeah,” she forces a smile, not as enthusiastic as she was about the idea at breakfast. “It's tonight, though. You're coming, right? And bring anyone fun you know.”

“Wow, OK,” Drew nods before his face morphs into a grin, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, is this where you're planning to hard launch your new relationship? At your party?”

Leigh’s eyes sharpen into slits. “You know about Danny?”

“Jules told me,” he says.

Rolling her eyes, Leigh retorts, “Let me guess, she told you so you'd join the haters club?”

“Nah,” Drew shrugs, his smile bright and sunny. “Danny's okay, I guess. If you're happy, I'm happy.”

She hasn’t been not happy lately. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, but it sure beats being on her own. So maybe she is—or at least, on her way.

“Thanks, Drew,” she murmurs thoughtfully.

Drew makes himself comfy, chin in hand, looking like he's all set for one of their marathon catch-ups. "So, how did you and Danny even start? Tell me everything."

Leigh's trunk is a one-can band, banging and clanging with every turn. Her groceries create a beat, something to fill in the lack of sound in her car. It’s how she drives these days—in utter silence. Before, she wouldn't even think of heading out without the perfect playlist, which often took her an extra five to fifteen minutes after settling into the driver's seat. But these days, as soon as the key is in the ignition, she twists it and takes off, not even waiting for the car to warm up.

Organizing a party by herself (with Jules' indispensable assistance, of course) and extending invites to her entire Facebook friends list has turned into quite the ruse. She's seasoned enough to temper her expectations—knowing well that not everyone who RSVP'd “yes” will show, and that some who didn't bother to RSVP might just surprise her by showing up. So, she's stocked up on as much food as her sedan can hold.

While Leigh's mind wanders to what snacks to whip up and what sauces to pair them with, she accidentally ends up on a lane that forces a left turn instead of going straight. This little misstep means she's got to take the scenic route home, which, by pure coincidence, takes her right past your clinic's street.

Her heartbeat quickens, though it shouldn't. There's no reason for it. She hasn't seen you in a month, not since the night she made a bold declaration on her bedroom door.

Leigh never planned on actually liking you as a person. Initially, her motive was purely to get a closer look, to dissect what it was about you that caught Matt's eye, what you possessed that she lacked. However, the answer to that mystery didn't remain elusive for long after spending a little time with you. You had this kindness about you, soft and easy, something Leigh’s always found just out of her reach. She prides herself on being decent enough but next to you, she feels a bit more like sandpaper to your silk.

Matt was like that too—gentle, easygoing. Leigh is well aware of her own rough edges, her sharp corners that don't quite align with Matt's smoother ones—and, by extension, yours. You and Matt had more in common than just interests; you both saw and reacted to the world in similar ways. Finding out that you and Matt were alike in important ways, in ways she wasn't, is something she's still learning to cope with.

As she nears your clinic, her eyes instinctively search it out, a habit she can't seem to break.

This time, her timing is impeccable; just as she glides by, you step outside with a puppy in your arms, licking your face all over. You catch sight of her car from a distance, and you couldn’t stop the surprise that flashes across your face. As she drives past, you give her a little wave, puppy still in tow. Leigh cracks a small smile, then throws on her aviators, maybe trying to hide a bit more than her eyes. She sneaks one last look in the rearview, catching you watching her car disappear down the street before you head back into the clinic.

As soon as she gets home and is safely out of the car, she opens her messages.

The last text you sent her says, “I'm sorry. I hope we can still be friends,” sent three days after the encounter in her bedroom. She didn't respond to it, and you didn't push any further or impose yourself on her.

She wishes she had at least reacted with a heart or sent a smiley face to your message. Maybe then, inviting you to her party tonight wouldn’t feel so awkward. Nevertheless, she manages to type out a quick invite and extends to you the courtesy of bringing a plus one, someone you believe would be good company.

Your response arrives within five seconds of her hitting send.

“Thank you, I'll be sure to drop by :)” - Y/N

Satisfied, Leigh sets her phone aside. Now, she can focus on making those Deviled eggs.

The dress she's pulled from Jules's closet is a bold choice: deep black with a plunging neckline and a hem that flirts with daring. It's sexy, but not quite Leigh's usual style—and that's exactly why she loves it. It clings to her in all the right places, promising a confidence that Leigh isn't entirely sure she feels. Her hair, which is normally pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail, hangs loose and wavy. She tops off her outfit with a slick of red lipstick and layers of dark eyeliner.

With about an hour to spare before her guests are due to arrive, Leigh decides it's the perfect time to follow through on a promise she made to Drew. She logs into the shared inbox of the advice column she co-manages with two other writers at Basically News. Leigh scrolls through the submissions, Drew’s words playing on repeat in her head. He had a point. Maybe people don't always need the right answers—answers she hardly uses herself. Perhaps what they really need is someone to affirm what they're already feeling, to say it's okay to follow their gut, to be themselves.

She reads an interesting entry from one EspressoEyes:

“Do you think it's too much for me to give a puppy to this woman I like? I'm not even sure she likes me back (or like me in general 😣), but it's her birthday, and I feel like a puppy could be exactly what she needs at this moment.”

Leigh reads the message, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. Personally, she muses, she'd welcome a puppy from just about anyone. But that's just her, especially with the rollercoaster of a year she's had—she's at a point where the gesture, no matter who it comes from, would be a welcome slice of joy.

Thinking it over, she starts replying, “A puppy is a big gesture—it can be an overwhelming gift for some. It might even be seen as too forward, especially in certain relationships.Yet, a gift is a gift. Sometimes, you need to just go for it, without apologies. If her feelings don't align, she'll let you know. She has to, because giving a puppy is essentially a love declaration, in case you hadn't realized. And who knows? She might feel the same about you. Just make sure she's actually up for the responsibility of a pet. They're for life, not just for birthdays.”

She signs off with her pen name—Gigi Herrel—a clever anagram of her name as it would have been had she taken Matt's last name in marriage: Leigh Greer. Though it never quite felt like her own. She only used it when she came back to Basically News in obeisance to his passing. Drew has granted her the autonomy to publish her responses without his oversight (“Just make sure your grammar is perfect,” he said), so Leigh doesn’t think twice before publishing her response.

Leigh moves on to browse through other submissions, this time, on those related to marriage and loss—the very subjects she promised Drew she would tackle. She’s been in those shoes, still feels like she's wearing them. With a deep breath, she clicks on one and dives right into it. Her first attempt at a response feels inadequate, prompting her to hit delete and start anew. This process repeats itself, one draft after another, until she has five versions sitting in front of her, none of which feel right. With a huff, she deletes them all.

Just then the doorbell rings, pulling her out of her advice-column vortex. Leigh glances around, momentarily disoriented. It takes her a moment to recall that there's a party happening downstairs, and she's meant to be enjoying herself.

She’s halfway down the stairs when Jules's eyes land on her. Leigh freezes, as if she’s been caught red-handed. “I…couldn’t find the coupon for borrowing your clothes.”

Jules just smirks and arches an eyebrow, taking in Leigh in her dress. “Oh please, as if I ever keep track. Besides, that was just gathering dust after my ‘slutty Halloween phase’ as you so lovingly called it.”

“Cool! Perfect!” Leigh says, ignoring the backhanded comment. Her focus immediately turns to the front door as another guest arrives. “Hey, Dad!” she calls out.

Leigh’s dad walks in with his partner, and she greets them with a warmth that's been rare these days. He hands her a large, beautifully wrapped box. Leigh grasps the gift with both hands, shaking it gently, much like a child on Christmas morning. She’s thanking them when an old friend from high school she hasn’t seen in forever walks through the door, a bottle of wine in hand. Her mom swoops in like a hawk, reminding everyone it's a dry party in support of Jules's sobriety, and the wine is swiftly traded for a mocktail.

For the next hour, the house fills up. Leigh finds herself out back, tending to snacks, when a small line of people forms to chat with her. They each ask if she’s doing okay, their condolences tucked neatly between cheerful birthday wishes. Leigh’s smiling, but it's so fake even she is not buying it, mentally blacklisting half of these people for next time.

Just when the parade of condolence callers is beginning to fray her patience, one of her actual favorite humans finally shows up, saving her mood from souring completely. Drew looks striking in a simple black polo shirt, so much so that it reminds Leigh of the time Matt got all jealous over him, until Leigh let him in on the secret that he plays for the other team.

He passes her a little envelope, his birthday offering—a gift card. Leigh’s barely expressed her thanks over the simple present when he jumps right into feedback on her latest advice column.

“Read your puppy counsel on my way here. It felt a bit... casual, don’t you think?”

Leigh smirks up at him, arms crossed, the gift card crinkling between her forearms. “Just say it's terrible advice if that's what you mean.”

Drew purses his lips before relenting. “Fine. It was terrible advice.”

“Expect more of that if I tackle the stuff I’ve been avoiding. Still think it’s a good idea?” Leigh says, nodding like it’s exactly what she wants to hear. Drew lets out a sigh, swiftly steering the conversation away before their playful banter escalates into a disagreement. With Leigh, he knows all too well that the edge of an argument is always closer than it seems.

“Anyway, happy birthday, again,” he says, trying to lighten the mood again. “Ryan's tied up with work stuff, totally wiped, but he did wish you a happy birthday.”

Leigh’s face hardens slightly at the mention of Ryan. She’s been harboring this nagging thought that Ryan dislikes her, a suspicion fueled by a criticism she once shared with Drew in confidence, suspecting Drew might have passed it along. Drew, seeing her expression change, doesn’t rush to correct her assumption.

“He hates me,” Leigh concludes before Drew can even get a word out.

“He doesn’t—”

“What I don’t understand is why you couldn’t have kept it between us?” she demands, feeling betrayed.

“Because Ryan’s my person. I tell him everything. That’s how being in a marriage works,” he says, but the moment he sees Leigh's face fall, he wishes he could retract those words.

Leigh bristles, her voice rising, “I know how being married works!”

She's livid, because that should go without saying. How dare he imply that she no longer knows, now that she's only half of a whole—her best friend, of all people.

Drew exhales coolly, as if trying to douse the proverbial fire between them. “Why does it seem like we're always either fighting or about to fight?” he wonders aloud.

Leigh’s anger softens into something more reflective, and she sighs, the fight draining out of her. “I don’t mean to...” She trails off, searching for the right words. “It’s like I’m always ready for a battle. I don’t know why. It’s like I’m expecting it, waiting for it, at the end of every day.”

Drew lets the moment breathe, waiting for both of them to deflate completely before tacitly reaching out behind Leigh for a snack. “These are great, by the way,” he says between bites, acting like they hadn’t just been at each other's throats.

Leigh tries to match Drew’s candidness, but inside, she’s reeling. It bothers her, this pattern they’ve fallen into—her temper flaring up, followed by a quick brush-off, as if these outbursts are merely now a part of who she is. She hates that she’s become predictable in her volatility, that her explosions are met with a shrug and a wait-out-the-clock mentality from those around her. She’s tired of it, tired of being seen as a ticking time bomb, her anger and hurt dismissed as just Leigh being Leigh, waiting for the reset button to be hit so the countdown can start all over again.

But it's her birthday, and she's brought these people together on a Tuesday night for fun. She didn't gather everyone just to tell them, once and for all, that they need to stop acting as if her husband just died.

So, she goes with the flow, laughing when it's her cue, even though deep down, she feels more alone in the crowd than ever.

With the absence of alcohol, the party winds down by 11 PM. Guests begin trickling out as early as 10, and by the time Leigh is bidding farewell to the last attendee, she's already donned an apron, ready to take on the mountain of dishes left behind.

Which is to say, showing up right now pretty much means you've missed the whole party.

Pulling up in front of Leigh's house, the night already deep into its quiet hours, you’re running on the adrenaline of the day's emergencies. Two cases back-to-back at the clinic, one of them diving straight into surgery, left you no choice but to push everything else to the side. Suzie, who was meant to join you as your plus one, ends up stuck back at work, tending to a recovering St. Bernard, so it's just you and the sleeping puppy on your lap now. For her sacrifice, you promise to take her out to a nice lunch one of these days.

The puppy starts wagging its tail in its sleep, and you look down with a smile at the little dreamer. The decision to give Leigh the puppy wasn't made lightly. You've been turning the idea in your mind for a while now. Initially, you didn't even realize her birthday was coming up, and the invitation to her party caught you off guard, especially considering the somewhat unresolved way things were left between you two weeks ago. The timing of her birthday, your rocky history, it all made you second-guess whether a puppy was a good idea. In search of a voice outside your own head, you turned to a favorite advice column you often read in your spare time. To your surprise, your submission was picked up by one of the columnists, and the response you got wasn't just advice; it was the push you needed. You were lucky to be able to catch their answer, just before you got home to change for Leigh’s birthday party.

Trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach, you give yourself a quick once-over in the rearview mirror and apply a fresh swipe of nude-colored lipstick. With one last look, you carefully step out of the car, the sleeping puppy nestled securely in your arms. The moment you move, it stirs, burrowing deeper into your armpit, seeking refuge from the light of the street lamps.

Everything's too quiet as you walk up to Leigh's house. You anticipated some noise, music or chatter—anything to indicate the party was in full swing. But there are none. Could you have missed the party? Or worse, did Leigh get the date wrong on her invite? Hesitantly, you press the doorbell, instantly regretting it, thinking you might be waking up the whole house.

Just as you're about to bail, the door swings open and it's Jules.

“Y/N!” Jules nearly trips over herself getting to you, eyes wide when she spots the furball you’re holding.

“Hi Jules,” you mutter sheepishly.

“Is that a…” she squeaks out, already reaching for a cuddle before you've even nodded. Jules is all over the puppy, who seems just as happy to be the center of attention. After a while, she looks up, a bit more composed but still glowing.

“I didn’t know Leigh invited you. Too bad, you just missed the party. But you should definitely come in and say hi to Leigh,” she says. You want nothing more than to see Leigh again, even if only for a brief moment, just to accomplish what you came here for and perhaps wish her a happy birthday. But with the party over and you potentially being the only guest, it feels like walking into a situation you don’t think you’re prepared enough for.

Then, as the puppy licks Jules' face off, she pauses and looks at you funny. It clicks for her—no collar, no leash, just you and this puppy who appear no more than two months old.

“Oh my gosh, is this for Leigh?” Jules gasps.

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. “I-If she wants him.”

Jules looks at you, then at the puppy, her smile blinding. “Well, I want him. But if she doesn’t, I’ll be more than happy to be his mommy.”

You laugh at her enthusiasm. Still feeling skittish, you ask, “Do you think it’s an appropriate gift for Leigh?”

“You're a vet. It's kind of on-brand for you,” Jules quips.

You laugh again. “Really?” you ask, kind of hoping for a more solid reassurance.

Jules considers it for a second, before saying, “I can at least assure you it’s not unwanted.”

Good enough, you think. Jules hands you back the puppy and then says, “She’s in the kitchen. Look, she’s not exactly in a good mood, but I think you should go for it anyway.”

That’s two people egging you to go ahead with your surprise. It must be a sign from the universe. You make up your mind for the final time. “Thanks, Jules,” you say.

“Anytime.”

You tread lightly, making sure your footsteps don’t give you away as you approach the kitchen. Leigh is at the sink, doing the dishes, clad in a black dress that skims her thighs, her feet bare against the cool kitchen tiles. Her shoulders are slumped, her movements laconic, as if her body is there, but her mind is miles elsewhere. The expanse of skin revealed by her hair tied up in a high ponytail captivates you, holding you back from announcing your presence. You allow yourself a moment to take her in, thinking this might be the only chance you get to really look at her like this.

You’re about to say “Hi”, when Leigh whirls around, startling you both. Leigh, not expecting anyone to be there, loses her grip on the plate she's holding, and it smashes loudly against the floor.

“Jesus!” Leigh’s scream summons Jules and her mom into the kitchen. Meanwhile, you are trying to do damage control—holding the puppy with one hand and attempting to gather the ceramic shards with the other as Leigh continues to stare at you in shock.

Amy, wrapped in her robe, looks from the mess on the floor to you and then to Leigh. “What’s going on here?”

Jules is unfazed, simply watches the entire scene from a corner of the room, smirking.

Your cheeks flush with shame, and you find yourself grateful to be still seated on the floor, your back turned away from Leigh's family.

“I’m so—” you start, but Leigh cuts you off.

“Okay, everyone just...calm down," Leigh says. She kneels down beside you, her hands joining yours in cleaning up the broken pieces.

“I'm heading to bed,” Jules says and then winks at you. “Happy to see you, Y/N!”

Amy wraps her robe more snugly around herself, then with a small, puzzled shake of her head, says, “Well, good night everyone. And happy birthday again, sweetheart,” before she walks down the hall and out of sight. Leigh gets to her feet, a slight nod of appreciation directed your way as she holds open a trash bag for you to deposit the ceramic shards. That’s when the puppy finally catches her attention.

“And who's this little guy?” she asks, a smile starting to play at the corners of her mouth.

You clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. He’s yours if you want him. Don’t worry about refusing, there’s someone lined up to take him in case you’re not—”

But Leigh’s already gently taking the puppy from your arms, instantly cradling and bouncing him as though he’s a tiny human baby. It’s a sight both funny and utterly endearing, and you can’t help but let out a soft chuckle, feeling your heart grow a size or two.

“Who wouldn't want him? He's perfect,” Leigh says, her eyes not leaving him as he nestles comfortably in her arms. Hearing those words, you feel a wave of relief wash over you. She doesn't find it odd; she's already falling for him.

“Happy birthday,” you tell her, and when she looks at you, her smile is so bright it could light up the whole night. Right there is everything you hoped for. All you really wanted was to see her happy.

“Thank you so much,” she murmurs, clutching the puppy tighter to her chest. Then, cocking her head to the side, she inquires, “What's his name?”

The grin on your lips can’t be helped, and you’re hoping she wouldn’t see just how much she’s having an effect on you. “I haven’t named him yet. He was always meant to be yours, Leigh,” you say.

Her smile just gets bigger as she gazes down at the little furball in her arms, and you think this is exactly how things were supposed to go down. It’s one of those rare moments where reality lines up perfectly with expectation.

“I think I’ll call him Logan.”

You and Leigh retire to the living room after she kindly offers to make you decaf. As you settle onto opposite ends of the couch, tucking your feet under you, Logan instinctively takes shelter in Leigh's lap, as if he already knows he belongs there.

“So…Why Logan?” you ask, after making a mental note of how Leigh makes her coffee: one cream, two sugars.

“Well,” Leigh says, her fingers gently stroking Logan’s deep chocolate fur, “he just looks like a little wolverine, doesn’t he? With that color and those defiant little eyes.”

The dots connect in a funny, unexpected sort of way. Leigh and comic books don't seem like the most likely pair.

“Ah, like the X-Men character. I didn’t know you were a comic book fan,” you say.

She laughs, a sound that’s light and free of any shadows. “Oh, I wasn’t. Not really. It was all Matt. He had this massive collection, and he was pretty obsessed. I guess some of it rubbed off on me after all.” The mention of Matt doesn’t bring clouds into her eyes like you expected. She talks about him like she’s looking at something distant but dear.

“Thought you were bailing on me tonight,” Leigh , almost casual but there’s this undercurrent, like she’s really saying she’s glad you didn’t.

“I’m sorry. I got stuck at the clinic longer than expected.” Leaving her waiting, especially today, was never part of the plan. Your work as a vet often means unpredictable hours, but you hadn't expected it to stretch so far into the evening.

“It’s okay, you didn’t miss much.”

Her casual dismissal makes you wonder, but not wanting to pry too much, you shift slightly, asking, “So, how did it go? Did you enjoy yourself at least?”

Leigh simply smiles and shrugs, an action that speaks volumes without giving much away. “This,” she nods down at Logan, “getting him from you, feels more like my birthday than anything else today.”

The conversation that follows is easy, skipping over the day-to-day stuff—nothing deep, but you're both there—really there—and it's nice. It feels like a fresh start, and you're deeply thankful for the second chance she's offering you. You promise yourself you won't mess it up this time.

But just as you’re both delving into more personal topics, someone rings the doorbell. Logan perks up, his head tilted, ears alert. Leigh gives you a look, as if saying she's not expecting anyone else to show up this late at night. She puts the puppy down on the floor and when she opens the door, it’s Danny, looking sorry for himself. He’s holding a bouquet of roses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. It seems as though he has the whole evening planned out in his head—apologize, crack open the wine, and maybe be invited to Leigh’s bedroom afterwards.

Danny’s eyes find you and his face falls a bit. He wasn’t expecting company, certainly not you. “Leigh, can we talk?” he asks, then looks pointedly at you. “Alone?”

Leigh looks torn for a moment, glancing your way as if she's not ready to let you out of her sight. She insists it'll just be a minute, but you can read the room. This is something they need to sort out without you playing third wheel.

“It’s all good, I'll head out,” you tell her though you're staring Danny down, making sure he knows it’s not because of him that you’re leaving. Leigh either misses the whole glare-off or decides to stay out of it. Logan tries to follow you as you make for the door. It’s hard leaving him behind, but you know he’ll be happy to have found his forever home. You kneel down, giving Logan a soft kiss on the head, promising him you’ll be back soon. And then you turn to Leigh, a question at the tip of your tongue but she already knows what you’re going to ask.

“You can see Logan anytime,” she says with a faint smile. “I might need your help with him sooner than you think.”

The moment you close the door behind you, Leigh's jaw sets in a firm line, bracing herself to confront Danny. Her main priority is to get Logan settled, so she decides that forgiving Danny might be the quickest way to send him on his way. But Danny’s focus now isn’t on apologies or making it up to her. He’s fixated on Logan, his brows knitting together in confusion and, curiously, a bit of annoyance.

“Who gave you that?” he asks Leigh as if he’s just referring to an inanimate object lying around the house. He sounds like he's almost accusing her of something, and Leigh's baffled.

“A friend gave him to me,” she says, nodding towards the door you've just walked out of. Danny's face twists up in an instant, like a storm cloud bursting. “A friend,” he repeats, and the way he says it, it’s clear he’s not just asking. He’s fuming with jealousy, and Leigh can’t wrap her head around why.

A gift is just a gift, right? Why would…

Oh.

Earlier, while she was reviewing submissions for the advice column, someone asked if giving a puppy as a birthday gift to someone they're interested in would be a good idea. She remembers how she happily encouraged them, telling them to go for it.

At this realization, Danny, the puppy, and everything else slide to the back burner. The only thing occupying her mind now is the deep, dark brown hue of your eyes, like rich espresso.

EspressoEyes. That's how the person behind the submission signed off. It's like a lightbulb moment, but softer—like waking up slow.

It's you.

Oh.

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

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kimkaelyn · 1 year ago

Text

Under the Festival Lights [s. todoroki]

→ summary: when a mission wraps up earlier than expected, you and shouto take advantage of the unexpected but welcomed free time to enjoy the local festival.

→ pairing: shouto todoroki x fem!reader

→ word count: 4.9k

→ warnings & tags: sfw, pro hero au, coworkers to lovers, female pronouns, usage of y/n, aged-up characters (early to mid-twenties), reader has a quirk (Heat Sight) and a hero name (Sunspot), brief appearance of child oc, reader down bad, sexual activity is hinted, Shouto may be ooc. | please kindly let me know if I missed any tags!

→ authors note: here is my contribution to the pretty boy summer collab hosted by the amazing @andypantsx3! ngl, writing this was pretty rough so I apologize if it is a little all over the place.

“Well, that was hard,” you mused sarcastically as you walked down the sidewalk, hands stuffed in your pockets. You paid no mind to the staggered gasps from the locals and indiscreetly raised phone cameras as you and your dual-haired companion made your way to the transportation terminal.

The two of you were dispatched to the island in response to a report of a foreign hiker who had fallen from a cliffside. The place he was in was too difficult for the local rescue team to reach, so they called for Pro Heroes to help—you and Shouto. Your Quirks were a good match for this mission; your Heat Sight could easily locate the hiker through his heat signature and Shouto’s Half-Cold Half-Hot could create a path to his location. You arrived at the island within an hour by catching a lift from a Coast Guard helicopter that was also responding to the call, however, when the two of you arrived, you were shocked yet relieved to find the hiker had managed to climb back up on his own. He was fine save for a few cuts and scratches.

“You are fortunate you didn’t sustain life-threatening injuries.” Shouto had advised the man as he was lifted into the helicopter to take him back to the mainland to be evaluated at a hospital, just to be safe.

Your companion hummed. “At least the man is safe.”

“Yeah,” you replied. “Paperwork’s gonna be a breeze.” You would never say it aloud, but part of you was a little disappointed you didn’t get to see the handsome Pro at work—albeit you would be working too so you wouldn’t have much time to check him out.

Shouto didn’t comment further as the two of you continued on your trek.

“Sunspot! Shouto!” a voice suddenly called out. You turned to find a boy who could be no more than seven years old staring up at you with stars in his eyes and smiling the widest grin you think you have ever seen.

“Awe, hi buddy!” you greeted with a smile, immediately squatting down to be at eye level with the boy. “How are you?” You felt your heart squeeze when he began to giggle under your attention. He made a grabbing motion with his hands and you had about five seconds to spread your arms before he ran into your chest. “Oh my, you’re so strong!” you exclaimed with a faux wheeze as you felt his small arms squeeze around your midsection. You gently wrapped your arms around his tiny body, tucking him under your chin.

“My deepest apologies!” a new voice said. You looked up to the young woman you assumed to be the boy’s mother, the matching hair and eye color a dead giveaway. “Yuki doesn’t quite understand personal boundaries yet.”

You smiled, trying to ease her worries. “It’s alright, ma’am,” you assured her. “He’s fine. I don’t mind.” Shouto crouched beside the two of you but you didn’t take your eyes off the boy in your arms. He was so little; you were afraid he would break if you applied any more pressure.

You glanced sideways at the dual-haired Hero next to you. He was staring at you and the boy with a content-like expression on his face.

“Is everything okay, kid?” he asked Yuki. The boy leaned back to see who addressed him, and his eyes widened when he realized it was Pro Hero Shouto who was speaking to him.

“Shouto!” the boy cried, untangling from your arms and flinging himself towards the Pro, who easily caught him just as you had. Your heart skipped a beat as you watched the boy snuggle into his chest, like a baby koala hanging onto its mother.

You heard the mother’s breath hitch at the sight. Me too, girl, you thought as your heart squeezed painfully at how adorable the sight of Shouto embracing the child in his safe hold was as he softly conversed with the boy. “What is your name?”

“Yuki Fukumoto.”

Shouto smiled—not a full teeth smile, just a closed-lip one—at the boy and inclined his head to him. “It is nice to meet you, Yuki. My name is Shouto Todoroki and I am a Pro Hero.”

Yuki giggled enthusiastically. “I know that!” he exclaimed with glee, happiness dripping from his figure like drops from the sun. Instead of you being Sunspot, he should be. “You one of the Tops!”

You hid your snicker behind a hand, basking in the dumbfounded look on Shouto’s face. “Really? Wow, you really do know your Pros, then.” You know he was merely indulging the child, but it still did things to your heart. The boy nodded in affirmation and snuggled deeper into Shouto’s chest.

“Are you here for the festival, Sunspot?” the boy's mother inquired, drawing your attention from the heart-attack-inducing scene before you.

“The festival?” you echoed, your brows turning downward with confusion. “No, ma’am. Shouto and I were dispatched here for a rescue operation but the man was successfully retrieved before we arrived.”

She nodded her understanding. “So that is what the Coast Guard chopper was for.” She muttered, briefly glancing over to Yuki and Shouto, who were discussing the latter’s apprehension of a wanted fugitive a few weeks back. She turned back to you with a smile. “Praise you Heroes for always rushing to the scene, no matter where it is! It must’ve been a bumpy ride.”

You bashfully returned her smile. “You mentioned there is a festival happening?”

“Oh, yes! The island’s annual summer festival is today.” She said, her demeanor brightening as she spoke. “It is a lovely event! Yuki and I were actually on our way there before we ran into you guys.”

“Really? Oh my gosh, ma’am, I am so sorry for holding you up!” you quickly apologized with a bow. You felt your face start to burn as anxiety and embarrassment rose within. You began to step towards Shouto with the intention of yanking him up by his collar and rushing the two of you out of there as fast as possible but the sound of Yuki’s mother’s laughter stopped you.

“Sunspot, I assure you it’s all right.” She raised a hand over her mouth, attempting to quell her laughter. “Besides, it isn’t often we have Pro Heroes on the island, so this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for Yuki to meet two of his favorite Heroes.”

Your eyebrow quirked. “Are we the first Heroes he has seen?” you inquired.

“Yes. In-person, at least.” Upon hearing that, you got an idea.

“Ma’am, I don’t want to keep you from your established plans any longer, but would it be all right if we took a quick picture with Yuki before you go?” Shouto directed his attention to the boy's mother at your question, who eagerly nodded her head. With a smile, you crouched in front of Yuki and your partner. “Yuki, would you like to take a photo with us?” At your question, a smile that could rival the sun took over his features once more as the three of you looked to the camera and posed.

“Thank you so much.” Yuki’s mother said, bowing deeply. “Yuki, dear, what do you say to the Heroes?” She prompted her son with a gentle hand on his back.

“Thank you!” the boy said, his eyes sparkling as he excitedly waved goodbye to you and Shouto as his mother led him away.

“He’s so cute!” you exclaimed to your partner as you watched the mother and son disappear around a street corner.

“He was,” Shouto agreed.

“Perhaps his mom will post the photo on social media and we can share it on our pages.” You smiled in excitement, silently hoping you would see the photo on your timeline tonight during your routine browsing while curled up in the warmth of your bed before you drifted off to dreamland.

Your dual-haired companion hummed in either agreement or acknowledgment, you couldn’t tell which. “We should be on our way to the airport now, Sunspot.” Shouto intoned matter of factly. “Our mission wrapped up over an hour ago. We wouldn’t want to keep the pilots waiting longer than necessary.” He said, referring to the pilots for your flight back to the mainland.

“No, we don’t,” you answered with a sigh. So much for checking out the Festival, you thought gloomily. “Alright, let’s go.”

“I’m sorry, but WHAT?!” you exclaimed, mouth open in disbelief.

The check-in desk attendant gave you a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and that’s when you felt the subtle annoyance radiating from her. “I’m sorry, but all outgoing flights, both on planes and helicopters, are grounded for the night due to a sudden and fast-developing storm system in the Bay.”

“What about the ferry?” Shouto asked. He was standing beside you, five times more level-headed than you were at the moment. “A ferry runs twice a day to and from the mainland.”

“You are correct, Shouto, about the scheduled ferry,” the attendant said, barely holding back the bite of her words. “But no boats are coming in either. The surf is too rough.” She eyed the two of you as she paused to take a sip of coffee. “With all due respect, no sane Captain would sail out in those conditions; Hero or not.” A smirk grew on her lips, her eyes lighting up as she continued. “If you are so desperate to return to the mainland by tonight, I suggest you two should contact your ‘friends’. Perhaps Endeavor or All Might can send somebody to pick you up.” That said, she harshly pulled down the window blinds, ending the conversation. The metallic clatter echoed ominously through the terminal lobby—emphasizing the finality of her actions and the reality of your situation.

The two of you stood there in shocked silence for a moment before Shouto released a heavy sigh and massaged his temples.

“Who spit in her coffee,” you grumbled under your breath as you crossed your arms. “That was such a low blow—what she said.” When your dual-haired companion didn’t immediately reply, you turned to check on him. He was staring off into space, a hand positioned on his chin as he seemingly pondered the next course of action for the two of you. If he was irked by the attendant’s comment about the ex-Flame Hero, he hid it well.

“Hey,” your soft, reassuring voice brought him out of his thoughts. You placed a hand on his bicep—shoving down the excited twist of your stomach when his muscles tensed and bulged under your touch. “I’m sorry this whole day hasn’t gone according to plan but we shouldn’t stress over it.” You smiled softly. “Let’s look at the bright side; we have some time to R&R! We can explore the island, taste the local cuisine—have some time to ourselves to be civilians instead of Pro Heroes.”

Shouto stared at you in what could almost be controlled bewilderment as he thought over your proposition. You caught a glimmer in his heterochromatic eyes and knew he had made a decision. “Okay,” he agreed with a nod. “What should we do?” he questioned. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, Yuki’s mom mentioned there’s a festival in town today and said that we should check it out before we leave.” You explained. “It’s been so long since I’ve attended a summer festival and I think this will be a nice way to spend the evening.” You smiled as you thought back to your youth when you would spend every summer up until middle school at your grandma’s. She had a large backyard garden where she would grow vegetables such as cucumbers, edamame, and tomatoes to sell at the community market and the town’s yearly end-of-the-season festival. You fondly remember helping her load the wagon with the produce and walking to the market every morning at sunrise. While your grandma was selling her vegetables, you would run up and down the festival grounds with a few local children, playing games and stuffing your tiny faces with kakigori, takoyaki, and whatever other sweets you could get your hands on.

Shouto’s voice brought you back to the present. “I have never been to a summer festival before.” He stated nonchalantly. “I would like to attend my first one with you tonight.”

Your eyes widened and you felt warmth rush to your face at his words. “O-okay,” you stuttered. “Awesome!” You clasped your hands together. “Let’s get going, then!”

Ten minutes later, you and Shouto were back walking around the streets of the quaint island town. Once again the locals and tourists gawked at the two of you as you made your way to the festival grounds, but no one approached. You and Shouto made small talk on your way, discussing the fast-approaching Hero Gala next month.

“I met with my designer last week, but for the life of me, I cannot decide what color I want to wear—let alone what dress!” you groused, hands wildly moving about as you explained your dilemma to your partner. “I am running out of time and that doesn’t aid in my decision-making. Deadlines just make me want to procrastinate more.”

Shouto hummed. “I wear the same suit with a different tie and undershirt,” he glanced at you. “Why do you not do the same with a dress?” His dry tone made him sound condescending to those who didn’t know the dual-haired Pro Hero as well as you do, but you knew he was making a genuine inquiry.

You laughed. “I guess I could do that, but we women are under different expectations than you men. If I were to do that, the press would call me lazy and unmotivated.” You shrugged. “Believe me, if the press's opinion didn’t matter so much in our line of work, I would wear whatever the hell I wanted to the Gala.”

The corners of your partner’s mouth tilted upwards at your statement, but it only lasted a moment. “If you are having difficulty choosing a color then perhaps you should wear the same color as me,” he suggested. “We can match.”

“Really?” you asked, taken aback. “Wouldn’t that be kinda weird?”

“I do not see how it could be seen as unusual for us to do so. We work at the same Agency and are partners.”

I can see the logic behind that, you thought. But people would think we are a couple. The two of you moved to the side to let an elderly couple walk by undisturbed. “Thank you,” the man tipped his hat. You smiled and nodded your head, watching as he and his wife continued on their way. You cleared your throat when you and Shouto were side-by-side again. “Well, what color are you wearing this year?”

“Blue,” he responded without pause. “I think this specific shade would look ravishing on you, Y/N. It will bring out the color of your eyes.”

“R-really?” you inquired, breath hitching. You were shocked by Shouto’s forwardness. Where did the reserved boy you had known go? Though you weren’t necessarily complaining. “You think so?”

The dual-haired boy nodded again. “I do.”

Before you could reply, the two of you rounded a corner and found yourselves at the festival grounds. Your attention was immediately snagged by the atmosphere; the sounds of children laughing as they ran around with their small kites and ribbons, the smell of takoyaki fresh off the griddle, and the taste of happiness in the air. Your brain was going into overdrive, rapidly taking in your surroundings.

There were so many different stalls and food being served that you didn’t know where to begin. As if the gods could sense your pause, suddenly the most mouthwatering scent hit your nostrils. You spun on your heel, searching for the source—there! The delicious scent emitted from a small stall, operated by a gentle-looking older man and tucked into the corner of the grounds almost out of sight. You quickly made your way over, forgetting Shouto in your haste.

As you approached, you caught sight of the source of the scent; choco-banana. You must’ve had the stars shining in your eyes as you gazed at the treats because the man chuckled when you caught his eye.

“Why, hello there, young miss.” He greeted. “Would you like some choco-banana?” He was already placing a couple on a plate before you could respond.

“Thank you,” you said as you took the offered plate. You reached a hand towards where your purse would usually be at your side and gasped when you felt nothing but air. Your eyes widened and your heart sank as you remembered you were still in your Hero costume and your purse was miles away back at the agency building. “I’m sorry, sir, but—”

You were interrupted by an arm appearing in front of you, money in hand. You blinked and turned to find Shouto standing there. “Is this enough for two plates, sir?” he asked.

The stall worker eagerly nodded. “Sir, this is more than enough. Just wait a second while I get your change.” Shouto’s raised hand stopped him.

“Keep the change.” He said, picking up his own plate of choco-banana—when did he get that?—and leading you away from the stand towards a group of picnic tables.

“Thank you, Shouto,” you said as you sat down. “That was very kind.”

Your dual-haired partner met your eye, his stare holding the same intensity as always. “There is no need to thank me,” he told you. “If I did not want to pay, I wouldn’t have.”

You gaped at him. “That’s not what I meant—” your words caught in your throat when you saw the corner of his mouth lift into a smile for the second time that day. This little—

“It’s okay, Y/N,” he reassured you. “This is my treat.”

You looked away, no longer able to hold that dreamy, intense gaze of his. “Fine,” you grumbled. “But let me pay next time.” He gave you a look that screamed ‘in your dreams’ but you let it drop for now.

The two of you finished your choco-banana in silence, contently observing your surroundings. You spotted a couple steal a kiss under the cover of darkness provided by an alleyway and watched as a group of children kicked a football around.

Shouto threw away your empty plate for you. When he returned, he asked; “Now what?”

Before you could respond, a loud shriek cut through the evening air. You and Shouto stiffened, immediately on high alert for an attack. Your hands clenched at your sides as you scanned the area for the source of the sound and any indication of an attack. You turned to face the alleyway where the couple were, but they were gone. You and Shouto were back-to-back, scanning the area when suddenly, the group of children who were playing football came rushing towards you, giggling loudly.

“Sunspot! Shouto!” a boy leading the charge hollered as they reached you; about seven to eight children. Where are their parents, you wondered. Shouto turned to stand at your side as the kids came to a stop.

“What is it?” he asked. “Is there danger nearby?” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his heterochromatic eyes narrow as he awaited a response.

A girl, no more than five, clasped her tiny hands together and stepped forward. She looked at the ground as she spoke, afraid to meet the eyes of two Pro Heroes. “We wan’ yous to play wit’ wus!” she announced.

You bent over, placing your hands on your knees, and looked at the children. “Were you guys the source of the scream we heard a few moments ago?” you softly inquired. The children looked at each other, silently exchanging words before nodding. “Why did you scream?” you questioned.

Another girl stepped forward. She had ribbons in her hair, holding the locks up in matching pigtails. “We wanted to get your attention.” She confessed, looking apologetic. “You didn’t look busy so we thought it would be okay if you guys played with us for a while.”

You sighed and glanced at your partner, gauging his expression before turning back to the children. Shouto addressed the children next. “That was not smart of you, children.” You gaped at him, not expecting him to be so blunt but at the same time, you weren’t surprised. This was Shouto, after all. “You should only scream when you are in danger. Do you understand?” The children nodded. “Now then, what game do you want to play?”

You quickly lost track of time as you and Shouto were dragged around the festival by the children, playing various stall games such as ring tosses and goldfish catching and playing football and catch with others. As the night went on, you had gathered a small army of the local children who followed your every move. You didn’t mind, used to the crowds that typically surrounded you when you went out in public wearing your Hero costume, but this was different—almost special in a way.

You were creating core memories for these children, and that fact warmed your heart. In the years following the War, everyone had worked hard to earn back the public’s faith in Heroes and you were witnessing the fruit of your labor right here in front of you.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had so much fun, running around carefree; as if nothing in the world mattered besides this moment. You almost envied the children for their carefreeness—their innocence—that hadn’t been upturned by the evils of the world. As you watched Shouto play a quick game of football with some of the boys—basking in the cheers and laughter of the youth—you silently vowed that you would do everything in your power, even at the cost of your life, to preserve these children’s innocence.

Eventually, the night got darker and your playful bliss had to come to an end. Parents began to call for their children, and one by one, they left after wrapping you and Shouto in the biggest hugs.

Eventually, only one child remained; the little girl with the pigtails, who you learned is named Mai. She looked up at you with bright, brown eyes full of curiosity and joy. “Are you staying for the fireworks?”

“Fireworks?” you inquired. “I did not know there were fireworks tonight.”

“Neither did I,” Shouto intoned, his voice low.

Mai smiled widely as if she just revealed the secret of the universe to you. “Mm-hmm!” she nodded. “At the end of every festival, fireworks are released into the air! They go BOOM!” She shot her hands outward, mimicking the exploding gunpowder. “It is my favorite part of the festivals! Do you like fireworks, Sunspot?”

You crouched, preferring to be at eye level of children when speaking to them. “Of course I do.” You told her. “Where do you go to watch the fireworks, hun? Do you have a favorite spot where you watch them from?”

“Yup!” she exclaimed, popping the ‘p’. “Usually we all gather on boats offshore to watch them, but we can’t do that because of the storm, so most people are just going to stay in the grounds and watch them. But—” She turned and pointed towards the outskirts of town, where a hill was just barely visible over the buildings. “I also like to go to the top of that hill and watch them!”

You observed the hill. It does look like the best spot if you want a good view, you thought.

“What is the best route to the hill, Miss Mai?” Shouto asked the girl.

Mai giggled, probably due to being asked a question by the No. 1 Hero, holding a hand to her mouth before she gave the two of you directions.

Shouto obtained a pastel blue lawn blanket from a vendor as the two of you made your way out of the festival grounds toward the hill. You picked a spot at the summit, away from others, and Shouto gracefully laid the blanket down where you had pointed. He waited for you to get situated before sitting down himself.

There was a gentle breeze blowing through the air. Down below, the cheers and excited mumblings from adults and children alike slowly filtered up to you and Shouto.

“This was great.” You suddenly announced after several minutes of silence. Shouto turned towards you, silently imploring you to elaborate. “Being able to spend this time with you as regular members of society enjoying a summer festival.” You gazed over to your partner, taking in his facial features—carefully blank, as usual, but there was a hint of something in his eyes but you couldn’t catch exactly what. Your breath hitched when you realized just how radiant he looked in the little light from the town that managed to reach him. “Thank you, Shouto.” For what, you are not sure, but it felt right at the moment.

He started at you for several moments, seemingly processing you and your words. As the minutes passed and his intense gaze remained fixated on you, the more anxious you got. Did I say the wrong thing, you wondered, stomach dropping. Was that the wrong thing to say?

You looked away, breaking the staring contest. “S-sorry.” You stuttered out, embarrassed.

“No.” Shouto suddenly said, surprising you. You hadn’t expected him to say anything, let alone that. You began to turn your head back towards him, but two fingers on your chin brought you eye-to-eye before you could yourself. You stared wide-eyed at the dual-haired man holding your chin. “Do not apologize, Y/N,” he said. “You have nothing to apologize for.” He leaned in. “In fact, I should be the one apologizing—for keeping things to myself.” He continued before you could question him. “I share your sentiments, Y/N. I feel the same way and more about tonight and this time I have shared with you.”

You gapped at him, unable to form words for a moment as you processed his words. Oh my gosh, is he confessing to me right now? “You do?” you eventually gasped out, voice nearly a whisper. This was happening so fast—

“I do,” Shouto confirmed. He inhaled as if in preparation for what he was going to say next. “I have thoroughly enjoyed every second I have spent with you since you became my partner several months ago. I was a fool to not properly identify the emotions I feel whenever I am with you—whenever I think of you—until tonight.” You had stopped breathing sometime during his speech, unable to take in air as you held onto every word that exited that beautiful mouth of his. His hands cupped your face, his eyes admiring every part of your features. “Please forgive me, love, for taking so long to confess, but I am here now, doing so.”

You felt like your heart was about to beat outside your chest as he spoke, mind fogging as you stared at his perfect, plump lips as they moved to form the words of his confession. The two of you stared at each other for several more moments. You mindlessly wondered if you were dreaming.

Shouto chuckled. He ran a hand through your hair, captivated by the way his hand moved through the locks. “You are not,” he softly told you. “This is real.” Your cheeks warmed when you realized you had asked that out loud. “Now, can I kiss you?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, you brought him in for a kiss. The moment your lips connected, a loud BOOM exploded in the sky accompanied by bright red and blue light. The two of you broke the kiss to look up, gazing at the fireworks. You smiled when you realized the two of you had just shared your first kiss, and you did indeed see fireworks when your lips touched. You turned back to Shouto, and by his smirk, you knew he had thought the same thing.

You laughed before bringing him into another kiss.

Fin.

BONUS SCENE:

You felt like you were on cloud nine as the two of you walked along the streets, hand in hand. There was no specific destination in mind; the two of you enjoying the other’s company and this time together. For several hours, the two of you forgot about your Pro Hero duties and the stress and demands of your careers. Neither of you agonized over the report you would have to draw up when you returned to the mainland. If there was a Heaven on Earth, this evening you shared with Shouto was it.

“Let’s purchase a room for the night.”

You hadn’t registered Shouto had spoken right away, too caught up in admiring the neon lights that lit up the front of some restaurants and bars. It took a total of five seconds for your brain to comprehend the words he had spoken, and when it did, the bliss you had felt since your kiss up on the hill came to a sudden, screeching halt as you froze in your tracks.

“W-what!??!!” you exclaimed with a shriek, whipping your head around to the dual-haired male. You rapidly blinked, ensuring you were still awake and not having some crazy dream. “W-why would we do th-that?”

Shouto gave you a puzzled look. “To sleep in, of course.” He stated, tone dead-serious and leaving no room for argument. “What other reason are there for staying in an inn for the night?”

You felt your cheeks heat with amusement and embarrassment as you chuckled nervously. “Never mind!” you chirped. “Let’s go find that room so we can get some sleep.”

You did not, in fact, get any sleep that night.

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