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choikanghuening · 6 months ago

Text

Inside Scoop (or simply “If U Seek Amy”)

now playing: If U Seek Amy — Britney Spears

synopsis: You, a shy journalist, meet Yeonjun, a very successful idol, for an exclusive interview, uncovering unexpected truths about him—and yourself. Curiosity sparks connection, leading you both to explore unspoken desires and hidden sides, blurring the line between personal and professional.

pairing: idol!softdom!yeonjun x afab!journalist!sub!reader

trope: secret relationship (sorta?)/hidden wild side (is this a trope? if not, i just made this up anyways)

genre: fluff (kinda?), smut (mdni)

wc: 13k (again, i got carried away)

warnings: not proofread, use of ropes (shibari), fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), slight anal oral play aka greek kiss (f receiving), protected sex, lots of praising. lmk if i forgot anything (i prob did)

elle speaks: english is not my first language, so sorry for any typos and mistakes. also im too distracted, so i probably repeated lots of words. i'll correct it later. feedbacks/reblogs/likes are appreciated.

elle speaks²: happy belated birthday to my queen britney bitch! also i've never tried shibari (i don't even think id like it tbh), so forgive me if it's inaccurate.

fic below the cut

The alarm buzzed relentlessly, shattering the fragile grip of restless sleep. You groaned, silencing it with a swipe and collapsing back onto the pillow. The morning stretched ahead like a challenge waiting to be conquered.

Freshly graduated and navigating life as a rookie journalist, you felt like a tightrope walker without a safety net. University had been a world of structure and clear expectations; now, the real world seemed like a labyrinth of unspoken rules and unrelenting demands. Every assignment felt like a silent test, every step an uphill climb.

Your cramped apartment mirrored your current state—a mix of ambition and uncertainty. A single bed with a crumpled gray duvet dominated the room, while your desk sagged under the weight of old textbooks, a laptop, and an overfilled pen cup. The beige walls offered no inspiration, but this space was yours, a testament to your quiet determination.

In the kitchen, sunlight filtered through the blinds, painting the room in soft gold. The silence was a small mercy, letting you gather your thoughts. You weren’t one to seek the spotlight, preferring to observe from the edges. Yet, you had always been persistent—someone who thrived in preparation. Your love for journalism wasn’t about fame; it was about uncovering truths and amplifying stories that mattered.

But doubt had crept in lately. Sitting on the edge of your bed, coffee in hand, you wondered if you had the grit to succeed. Your editor seemed to think so—or perhaps he simply wanted to see if you’d sink or swim. The folder on your desk, bearing the sleek logo of your publication, carried your next big test: Interview Yeonjun of Tomorrow x Together.

The name alone was enough to make your stomach flip. A global sensation with a face plastered across billboards and screens, he was known for his effortless confidence and disarming charm. Why your editor thought this assignment suited a shy, untested journalist, you couldn’t say. Perhaps it was your calm demeanor, or maybe he’d overheard you muttering about wanting “real assignments” after another fluff piece. Regardless, here you were, tasked with peeling back the layers of someone who seemed untouchable.

That night, you immersed yourself in research. Yeonjun’s public persona was magnetic—cheeky interviews, teasing smiles, and playful energy that left fans swooning. But beneath the surface, he was an enigma—a man who charmed the world but revealed little of himself.

The next morning, as your car pulled up to a towering glass building in the heart of the city, nerves churned in your stomach. The penthouse suite was as sleek and modern as its occupant, perched high above the bustling streets below. You took a steady breath, gripping your notebook and bag like lifelines.

The elevator glided silently upward, its polished interior reflecting your tense expression. Your thoughts traveled back to him, the main dancer and lead rapper of one of the most famous K-pop groups of the time. His image was polished to perfection, but standing outside the penthouse door, you felt like discovering if there was more underneath the surface.

Shifting your weight nervously, you rang the doorbell.

The door swung open, and there he was—Yeonjun, dressed in an oversized white shirt and loose sweatpants. His slightly tousled hair suggested he hadn’t bothered to style it, a stark contrast to the polished idol you had expected. The casual image caught you off guard, and you blinked, trying to reconcile it with the superstar plastered across billboards.

He was even more handsome and taller in person.

“Hi, you must be YN,” he said warmly, stepping aside to let you in. His voice was soft yet carried a casual confidence that made your stomach twist nervously. “Come in.”

“Thank you,” you managed, clutching your notebook and recorder as if they were shields.

Stepping inside, you were greeted by the soft scent of sandalwood, mingling with the distant hum of the city outside. The penthouse was a mix of modern elegance and understated charm. Floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the space in golden light, while a record player was on the floor, next to the couch, and scattered papers on the coffee table revealed a chaotic blend of handwritten notes and sheet music. The only overt sign of his superstar status was the display of gleaming awards on a nearby shelf.

“Don’t mind the mess; I was working on a little something. Can I get you something to drink? Water? Coffee?” he asked, nodding toward the sleek kitchen behind him.

“Water would be great,” you replied, your voice wavering slightly.

Moments later, he returned with a glass, setting it gently on the table in front of you before sinking into the couch opposite. He folded his legs under him, exuding an ease that felt more like a college student lounging at home than a global icon.

You placed your recorder on the table between you, its small red light blinking as it started recording. Yeonjun’s eyes briefly flickered to it, then back to you, a hint of curiosity in his gaze. “So,” he said, his lips curling into a playful grin, “what do you want to know?”

You straightened, determined to set the tone. “Let’s start with something simple. What inspired your group’s latest album?”

He tilted his head, considering the question, his eyes glinting with a spark of mischief. “Ah, the music icebreaker, classic,” he teased, though his tone shifted to something deeper, more sincere. “We wanted this album to feel real—like we were showing the side of us people don’t usually see. It’s about saying the things we don’t always get to say. A glimpse behind the curtain.”

You caught the weight in his words but chose to stick to the task at hand. “Do you feel personally connected to all the tracks?”

“Absolutely,” he said, his voice softening as he leaned forward just slightly, eyes locked on yours. “Some hit closer to home than others. There’s one track that feels like… a conversation with myself. A reminder to stay grounded when everything feels chaotic.”

His honesty made you pause, the faintest touch of vulnerability making you want to ask more. “Does the group ever find it overwhelming to stay in the spotlight?”

The playfulness in his smile dimmed, replaced by a flicker of sincerity. “More than people realize,” he admitted, fingers brushing absently over the ring on his hand. “But that’s part of the job. We’ve learned to rely on each other during those moments—it’s easier when you’re not carrying it alone.”

Before the silence could settle, you pivoted. “How does that pressure affect your creative process? Is it a group effort, or does inspiration come to you individually?”

Yeonjun leaned back, the smile returning to his lips. “It’s definitely a group effort. Sometimes one of us will have a lyric or melody that sparks everything, and other times, we just bounce ideas off each other until something clicks. We try to make sure every track ties into the bigger vision for the album.”

“That makes sense,” you said, jotting notes, though the dynamic in the room felt more intense now. You took a sip of water and watched him, the way his fingers drummed lightly against his leg as he thought.

“What about writer’s block? Do you guys ever hit a wall?”

“All the time,” he said, with a grin that felt refreshingly unguarded. “When that happens, we take a break. Everyone has their own way of resetting—whether it’s taking a walk, watching a movie, or just hanging out together. For me, I go to the studio and play around with random sounds until something clicks. Creativity works best when you’re not forcing it.”

His relaxed candor steadied your nerves. “This album feels so personal. How do you, as a group, decide what to share and what to keep private?”

“It’s tricky,” he said, a hint of hesitation in his voice. “We want the music to be honest, but there are parts of ourselves we need to protect. Usually, if a song feels like it could resonate with our fans or help someone else, we’re more willing to share it.”

“That’s a thoughtful way to approach it,” you said, genuinely impressed. “Your performances, on the other hand, always seem larger-than-life. How does the group prepare for shows like that?”

“Practice—and coffee. So much coffee,” he quipped, earning a laugh from you. “But really, it’s about mindset. Once we’re on stage, we leave everything else behind and give it everything we’ve got. We want every performance to feel unforgettable.”

“Do you still get nervous?” you asked, the curiosity in your voice slipping out.

“Every single time,” he said with a sheepish grin. “But that’s a good thing—it means you care. The trick is turning that nervous energy into excitement.”

The sincerity in his voice resonated with you. “What’s been your group’s most memorable performance?”

His face brightened, his eyes dancing with the memory. “That’s a tough one,” he said, words quickening. “But there was this show in Tokyo. The crowd was unbelievable—they sang every word, even the Korean ones. It felt like we were all connected, like we were sharing something bigger than just music. None of us will ever forget it.”

“Sounds incredible,” you said, though you couldn’t quite mask the awe in your voice.

“It was,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours, voice carrying the weight of the memory. For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, a charge in the air.

You glanced up, catching him watching you with a subtle smile, as if he already knew the next question. “If it’s all right, I’d like to ask about your childhood. What was it like growing up, before you began this journey as an idol?”

Yeonjun’s fingers brushed over the table, a small gesture that spoke of thoughtfulness. He leaned back, the moment stretching as he seemed to search for the right words. The small, almost imperceptible shift of his gaze made your heart flutter unexpectedly, and you looked down quickly, hiding the smile tugging at your lips.

“Well, I grew up in a pretty loving family,” he began, a small smile pulling at his lips, eyes distant for a heartbeat before finding yours. “My parents were always supportive, but like most parents, they had their concerns. They wanted me to have a stable, secure future—something predictable. So when I told them I wanted to become an idol… let’s just say it wasn’t exactly what they had in mind.”

You nodded, your eyes softening as you sensed the weight behind his words. The warmth in his voice, the subtle way he seemed to lean in, made the air feel thicker between you. “How did they react? Were they hesitant at first?”

“Yeah, definitely,” he said with a chuckle. “They didn’t outright say no, but I could tell they were worried. The industry isn’t easy, and they were afraid of what it might mean for me—long hours, constant scrutiny, and so much uncertainty. But once they saw how serious I was, they started to come around. I think they just wanted to make sure I was doing what I loved.”

“It sounds like they cared deeply,” you said, your voice a touch softer now. The subtle way his eyes softened as he spoke made your pulse quicken. “That kind of concern only comes from love.”

“Yeah,” he said, a touch of vulnerability slipping through. “They’ve always been my biggest supporters, even now. They still remind me to take care of myself, which is… something I’m still learning to do,” he added with a wry smile that tugged at the corner of your lips.

You noticed the sincerity in his voice, the depth of gratitude, and a hint of longing. The silence stretched a moment longer than it needed to, the energy between you both alive with something unspoken. “Do you think their support made a difference in your journey—helped you through the tough moments?”

His gaze drifted for a moment, a wistful look crossing his face. “Absolutely. There were times early on when it felt impossible—when everything seemed to be going wrong. But knowing they believed in me, even when I doubted myself, gave me the strength to keep going. It wasn’t just their words; it was the way they stood by me, no matter what.”

You offered a small smile, your pen pausing midair, your eyes meeting his. “That kind of unconditional support is rare. It sounds like it helped you stay grounded.”

“It did,” he said, a touch of reverence in his voice. The way he leaned forward slightly and the intensity of his gaze made your breath catch. “Even now, they remind me that success isn’t just about the achievements—it’s about staying true to who I am. That’s what keeps me balanced, especially in an industry that can pull you in so many directions.”

You cleared your throat, flipping to the next page of your notebook. The faint crinkle of the paper grounded you, a moment of normalcy in the charged atmosphere. As you glanced up, you caught the faint curve of Yeonjun’s lips—a mix of patience and quiet curiosity, as though he was as intrigued by your next question as you were by his potential answer.

“You’ve already talked about your fans,” you began, pen poised to capture his response. “About how important they are to you. But fame… it’s a double-edged sword, isn’t it? What’s the hardest part of being in the spotlight all the time?”

Yeonjun leaned back in his chair, his movements deliberate, his gaze sharpening as the playful glint in his eyes dimmed. The moment lingered, his eyes meeting yours with a challenge that seemed to invite you in yet also hold you at a distance. “I think it’s the way people think they know you just because they see your face everywhere,” he said slowly, his voice measured. “Like, you’re not allowed to have bad days because those moments are just as public as the good ones. Every reaction, every expression—it’s all fair game.”

You nodded, jotting down a note while letting his words settle. The way he leaned forward, the subtle tension in his jaw—it was as if he was trying to find balance, a line between his public persona and the man in front of you now. There was a vulnerability in his tone, a glimpse of something unguarded beneath the practiced confidence. “How do you protect your private life, then?” you asked, your voice quieter, as though trying not to disrupt the fragile honesty of the moment.

Yeonjun chuckled softly, tilting his head in a way that made it hard to tell if he was teasing or deflecting. “Carefully,” he replied, his smile widening just enough to be disarming, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The space between you felt charged, as if his words had left an echo.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. “Care to elaborate?”

His smile lingered, but his gaze shifted inward, distant for a beat. “Let’s just say I’ve learned how to keep certain parts of myself… off the record,” he said, his voice steady but layered with meaning. The unspoken connection between you both tightened, and for a moment, you both seemed to hold your breath.

The room seemed to quiet further as you found yourself asking, almost without thinking, “Does that ever feel lonely?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, landing heavier than you’d intended.

Yeonjun’s eyes flickered, his smile fading as his expression softened. The easy warmth he carried moments ago gave way to something quieter, more contemplative. “Sometimes,” he admitted, his voice gentle but unflinching. “But it’s not all bad. It’s just part of the trade-off.”

The candor in his tone struck a chord, pulling you deeper into the moment. For a second, the boundary between interviewer and subject blurred, your eyes locked in a shared understanding that needed no words. You hesitated, the air charged with unspoken recognition, the kind that reached beyond the interview.

Not wanting to linger too long, you shifted your gaze to your notebook, flipping to the next page. The small movement helped clear the heat that had settled between you. “It must be a tough balance to maintain,” you said softly, your voice more reflective now.

“It is,” he said, leaning forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. There was a flicker of something in his expression—a quiet determination, resilience tempered by experience. His voice dropped, intimate as he spoke. “But it’s worth it. For them,” he added, his tone softening as he spoke of his fans, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. And yet, as he looked back at you, there was a moment where his expression shifted, the warmth giving way to a silent question only the two of you seemed to share.

The shift in his voice when he mentioned his fans caught your attention. There was a sincerity there, a deep appreciation that felt personal. You found yourself watching him for a moment, captivated by the ease with which he spoke about the people who’d supported him. And then, the faintest smile played on his lips, as if he knew exactly what he was doing.

“They mean that much to you,” you said, though it was more of a statement than a question.

“They do,” he confirmed, his voice warm, the look in his eyes intense. “At the end of the day, they’re the reason we keep going—the reason all the hard moments are worth it.”

The moment lingered, and you felt the weight of his honesty settle between you. Before you could respond, he leaned back, his tone lighter now, playfully cutting through the intensity. “So, what’s the next question?”

You blinked, startled back to the present, and quickly flipped through your notebook. “Right, um, let’s see,” you murmured, trying to regain your footing. But even as you spoke, your thoughts lingered on his words, on the quiet strength he carried beneath the polished surface.

You shifted in your seat, your voice softening as you asked, “Do you think about the future much? What do you see for yourself and for the group in the years to come?”

Yeonjun’s smile dimmed, a hint of both hope and uncertainty crossing his features. “I think about it a lot,” he said. “I want to keep growing, both as an artist and a person. And for the group… I hope we can keep doing this as long as we can. Whatever happens, we’ll always have each other.”

The weight of his words settled in the space between you. Your fingers brushed the edge of your notebook, but for a moment, you were focused solely on him. The way his eyes lingered on yours seemed to hold a question, a hint of what was unsaid. You could almost feel the pulse of his thoughts in the silence.

Adjusting your notepad, you asked, “With the level of fame you’ve reached, I imagine the criticism can be overwhelming. How do you handle it? Does it ever get to you?”

Yeonjun’s expression shifted, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. The confidence he exuded was evident, yet there was honesty in the way he met your gaze, a glimmer of vulnerability behind the playful mask.

“Of course it gets to me,” he said. “It’s impossible not to feel the sting of harsh words. But I’ve learned to separate what matters from what doesn’t. Constructive criticism helps me grow; negativity meant just to hurt? I try to let that slide.”

You felt a surge of admiration for his candidness. “That takes strength,” you said, your voice taking on a softer tone. His eyes held yours for a moment longer than necessary, a fleeting connection that sent a shiver down your spine. The space between you felt charged, the air thick with something that neither of you named.

“Does your group help with that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, but it hung in the air with an intensity that made your heart skip.Yeonjun’s eyes warmed, and he nodded. “Absolutely. We share stories and remind each other why we’re doing this. We face everything together, and that keeps us grounded.” The smile he gave you then was not just for the interview; it was something deeper, almost knowing, and for a heartbeat, it seemed like he was waiting for your response.

The conversation felt more intimate now, the boundaries between interviewer and subject blurring. You hesitated, allowing the silence to deepen before clearing your throat. “If you could go back and give your younger self one piece of advice, what would it be?”

His expression turned reflective, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something softer. “I’d tell him to be kinder to himself,” he said. “To not be so hard on himself when things didn’t go perfectly. It’s easy to get lost in trying to meet everyone’s expectations, but the only person you need to prove yourself to is you.”

The simplicity of his advice resonated. You could almost feel the weight of his words settle between you both. “That’s good advice,” you said softly. “I think a lot of people could use that reminder.” You held his gaze, your pulse quickening when he nodded, a shadow of seriousness in his eyes that spoke volumes.

Yeonjun’s smile was bittersweet. “It’s hard to follow sometimes. The pressure can be overwhelming. But that’s why I remember what really matters—my family, my group, and the moments that make all this worth it.”

The room seemed to shrink, the outside world fading. “What keeps you grounded beyond the group? What reminds you of who you are?” you asked, the question more personal than you intended.

“My family, definitely,” he said, a gentle warmth in his voice. “And my friends. They remind me that I’m still just Yeonjun—not Yeonjun, the idol. Just me.” There was an honesty there, raw and almost startling, and you could feel the weight of it settle between you.

You nodded, the sincerity in his words seeping into your own heart. “That’s important,” you said. “It’s easy to lose sight of that.”

“It is,” he said, a shadow of seriousness in his eyes. The way he leaned forward, the subtle intensity of his gaze—it felt like the air itself was holding its breath. “The noise can drown you out. But that’s why I hold onto them. They help me breathe.”

You took a breath, letting his words linger. “Do you ever wish for more moments where you can just… be? No lights, no cameras, just you?”

His lips twitched upward, the hint of a smile, before a sigh broke the moment. “All the time. I miss the little things—sitting on the porch at home, having breakfast with my family, or spending a lazy afternoon with friends. No schedules, no expectations.”

The picture he painted was so vivid it almost felt tangible. “Those moments are rare, aren’t they?” you said, the statement holding more weight than intended.

“They are,” he agreed. “But they remind me why I’m doing this. Why it’s worth it. And they remind me to keep going, even when it’s tough.” His eyes held yours, and the silence stretched, a thousand words passing between you without a sound.

The quiet was almost comforting now, like a secret shared. “You’re doing more than just pushing forward,” you said, almost in a whisper. “You’re making it worth it.”

Yeonjun blinked, his eyes catching something in your expression before he responded with a genuine smile. “Thanks,” he said, the warmth in his voice grounding the moment. The intensity of the exchange lingered, a question hanging in the air.

You nodded, the boundary between you both feeling almost nonexistent. “And that’s what people see in you, beyond the fame.”

Yeonjun’s smile widened, his eyes softening in a way that made your heart twist. “That’s good to hear. It’s the little things that matter.”

“Exactly,” you said, a small laugh escaping. For a moment, it felt like the interview had become something more—a genuine conversation, two people understanding each other. The air felt lighter, but the tension remained, now mingled with a curious, unspoken promise.

“Alright,” you said, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “One last question, then.”

“Make it a good one,” he teased, but the playful challenge in his eyes belied the deeper warmth that flickered beneath.

You hesitated for just a moment, pen poised over the page, then found the courage to ask, “If you weren’t doing this—being an idol, being in the spotlight—what do you think you’d be doing instead?”

The smirk faded as Yeonjun’s gaze grew distant, the playful expression shifting to something more reflective. “I think I’d be doing something creative—maybe working in design or music production. Something behind the scenes. But I wouldn’t change this for anything. It’s not just what I do; it’s part of who I am now.”

His words resonated, echoing in a way that left you speechless for too long. You blinked, hoping he wouldn’t notice your flustered silence.

“That’s a beautiful way to word it,” you said, finally finding your voice.

“Thanks,” he replied, eyes glancing at yours with that familiar warmth a little more real, a little more than just an interview.

The interview had gone better than you’d hoped. Yeonjun’s thoughtful answers and disarming smile had melted away your initial nerves, and you’d even managed to ask some of your tougher questions without stumbling. Still, the way his dark eyes lingered on you during the conversation left a subtle flutter in your chest.

You took a breath, tapping to stop the recorder before you. The soft click was a small, final punctuation to the hour-long conversation. Silence stretched between you, heavy with unsaid words and unacknowledged tension. The air seemed to thrum with something new, something electric that hadn't been there before.

Yeonjun’s smile softened, his eyes warm as they settled on you. “I know I’m supposed to be the one answering questions, but…” His voice dropped to a more intimate tone. “I’m curious about you. What made you want to become a journalist?”

You blink, caught off guard by the question. Your cheeks flushed, a warm rush of embarrassment that you couldn’t quite suppress. The faint scent of coffee and city air seemed to mingle with the space between you, grounding you at the moment. “Um, well, I guess I’ve always been fascinated by stories and by the people behind them. I wanted to tell those stories, connect with people, and share their truths,” you said, your voice softer than you intended.

Yeonjun leaned forward, the casual demeanor he’d carried through the interview shifting. His gaze felt more focused now, searching, like he was studying the way the light hit your face or the way you tugged at the edge of your notebook. A tiny, knowing smile curved his lips, and your pulse quickened at the intensity of it. “And you’re doing it well,” he said, a note of sincerity that made your heart skip.

You swallowed hard, your fingers fidgeting with the recorder in your hand—the tiny, telltale sign of your nerves. The space around you seemed to shrink, each passing second drawing you closer. “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you,” you whispered, surprised by how much his praise impacted you.

His eyes softened even more, and for a moment, the space between you seemed to shrink. You weren’t sure who leaned in first—your body moving on its own or his subtle shift—but suddenly the air felt charged, a current passing between you that was undeniable.

Yeonjun broke the silence with a slight chuckle, reaching for the recorder. His fingers brushed yours as he took it from your hand, the touch lingering just a moment too long, as if he were savoring it. You felt the warmth of his skin against yours, the unexpected contact sending a jolt through your veins. He clicked it off and placed it on the table, eyes returning to yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

“You’ve got a good instinct for this job, you know?” He said, his voice low and close, like a secret being shared only between the two of you. “You ask the right questions; listen with purpose.”

The compliment sent a thrill down your spine, but it also made your chest tighten with something unspoken, something more. Your heart pounded in your chest as you realized how close he was, and how the space between you now carried a weight that was both electrifying and unsettling. The silence that followed seemed to stretch forever, only broken by the quiet hum of the city outside. The moment felt delicate, fragile enough to shatter if either of you spoke or moved too suddenly.

Before you could respond, his eyes met yours again, the smile now real, the kind that made your breath catch. The boundaries between interviewer and subject had melted away, leaving just two people caught in a moment that felt impossibly fleeting yet deeply significant.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice a touch softer as you started gathering your things. Your heart drummed in your chest, the remnants of the charged silence from earlier making your hands tremble ever so slightly. With your notebook tucked under your arm, you stood to leave, your eyes catching his for a brief moment that seemed to stretch longer than it should have.

The way his smile lingered, warm and genuine, sent a shiver down your spine. You shifted uncomfortably, feeling the flush rising in your cheeks as the air between you seemed to hum with unspoken tension. The conversation had left you breathless, and now that it was over, the realization of how close you’d come to losing control of your nerves made you lightheaded. “Thank you again for your time,” you said, your voice steady despite the faint tremor of adrenaline still coursing through you.

Yeonjun smiled, his eyes soft and sincere, as he walked you to the door. “Anytime. You made it easy.”

Your pulse quickened as he stepped closer, the distance between you reduced to mere inches. You blink, searching for something to steady yourself, but your thoughts were scattered. Your stomach did a little somersault, and you pressed your lips together, the need to escape the moment becoming undeniable.

“Actually, would it be alright if I used your bathroom before I go?” You managed to ask, the question tumbling out before you could stop it. The slight quiver in your voice betrayed the anxious tightness in your chest, and you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“Of course,” he said, the warmth in his voice grounding the moment, but only just. He gestured down the hall, the slight tilt of his head inviting you to pass. “First door on the left.”

As you moved past him, the brush of his presence sent a subtle shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too. The heat still pooled in your cheeks, a mix of nerves and something else you couldn’t quite name, pulling at you with every step. You nodded, trying to regain composure as you walked down the hallway, the quiet hum of the apartment settling around you, a stark contrast to the pulse still hammering in your chest.

The bathroom was simple and clean, but it gave you a moment to catch your breath and collect your scattered thoughts. You splashed cold water on your face, the sudden shock sharpening your senses, but when you looked up at your reflection, you couldn't help the small, unsteady smile that curved your lips. You were a mess of emotions, but that was nothing new.

After washing your hands, you stepped back into the hallway, the soft click of the bathroom door echoing in the silence. Your fingers brushed against the edge of the wall, grounding yourself as you took a steady breath. But then something caught your eye. At the far end of the hallway, a door was slightly ajar, a faint golden glow spilling through the crack and illuminating the darkened space.

The warm light beckoned, drawing you forward, and your curiosity edged out the nervous tension still coiled inside you. You hesitated for a moment, the silence stretching as you debated whether to investigate or turn back. The idea of what might be on the other side quickened your heartbeat, and you felt that same pull—the one that had been there since the first moment he looked at you.

You shouldn’t. It’s not your business. But curiosity gnawed at you, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you found yourself moving closer and stepping inside.

The room inside was unlike anything you’d seen before. Velvet curtains, deep crimson with subtle, swirling patterns, framed the windows, their fabric heavy and luxurious, casting the space in soft, almost hypnotic shadows. The air was thick, scented with something both musky and faintly sweet, a scent that seemed to pulse with the silence.

A king-size bed, draped in deep, rich sheets that matched the curtains, stood against one wall, the dark fabric inviting yet intimidating, as if the bed itself were a part of the room's mystery. At the foot of the bed, a black leather chair sat slightly to the side, its polished surface gleaming under the soft glow of the ambient light. The chair’s structure was sleek and imposing, the lines bold and uncompromising, as if daring you to sit and confront whatever was waiting.

Chains hung neatly coiled on the walls, their metallic sheen catching the dim light with a glint that made your pulse quicken. They were arranged with unsettling precision, each link meticulously placed, their weight a reminder of power and restraint. On a nearby table, a leather choker with intricate silver details lay next to a pair of gleaming handcuffs, the polished metal catching the light like a whisper of danger. The silver detailing on the choker was exquisite, delicate etchings that could have belonged to jewelry, yet their placement spoke of a purpose beyond beauty. A drawer slightly ajar revealed red ropes, their texture sturdy and inviting in a way that was both thrilling and intimidating.

You inhaled sharply, the breath catching painfully in your chest as your eyes darted from one object to the next, trying to process what you were seeing. Your heart raced, a frantic thud that reverberated in your ears, and every nerve in your body was on edge. The room felt charged, as if you’d stumbled into a hidden part of Yeonjun’s world, a secret that shifted everything you thought you knew about him.

The silence, once comforting, now seemed like an oppressive force, pressing in around you, urging you to move or speak but leaving you frozen, caught between curiosity and the surge of apprehension coiling in your stomach. The question of whether you were meant to be here settled in the back of your mind, mingling with the realization that you were standing in a space that seemed to hold a truth too heavy to ignore.

“Curiosity killed the cat, don’t you know?” The voice startled you, low and steady, cutting through the thick silence. You spun around, breath caught in your throat, face flushed as your eyes met Yeonjun’s. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. There was no anger in his expression—just a knowing amusement that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your heart pounded louder—a mixture of embarrassment and something else that made your pulse quicken. The moment stretched, filled with a tension so thick it was palpable.

“I didn’t mean to,” you stammered, embarrassment coloring your cheeks.

“Didn’t mean to what?” He teased, his voice warm but sharp. “Peek into something you weren’t ready for?”

“Well… yeah.” You let out a nervous laugh, breathless and entirely flustered.

Yeonjun’s smirk widened, eyes flicking to the objects scattered around the room before settling back on you, a glint of something unreadable in his expression. “Seems you’ve found yourself in a place where curiosity comes with consequences.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and loaded, an unspoken challenge you couldn’t quite ignore.

Yeonjun stepped into the room, the door closing behind him with a soft click. The movement sent a wave of unease rippling through you, but your heart pounded with something else too—an undeniable intrigue. The space between you narrowed, charged with an electric tension that made it hard to breathe.

You swallowed hard, searching for words, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I—I didn’t expect… this.”

He leaned closer, his presence commanding without being imposing. “Most people don’t,” he said, eyes glinting with playful confidence. “That’s what makes it fun.”

You looked away, unable to hold his gaze as your heart hammered in your chest. The room felt alive, heavy with energy. You wanted to retreat, but something kept you rooted in place, drawn to the charge between you.

Yeonjun tilted his head slightly, the teasing grin still playing on his lips. “You’re flustered,” he said, his tone laced with quiet amusement. It wasn’t a question—it was a statement, deliberate and knowing. His gaze softened, though an unmistakable edge lingered in his expression, making your chest tighten. “Have you never seen something like this before?”

“I—I’m not—” you began, but the words faltered, your voice catching in your throat.

He chuckled, the sound warm and low, sending shivers down your spine as he stepped closer, closing the gap between you. “Not innocent? No, I don’t think you are,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something softer, more intimate. The words rolled over you like a caress. “And that makes you interesting.”

Your breath hitched, caught between the sting of embarrassment and the thrill of exhilaration. Despite yourself, you couldn’t look away. His presence was magnetic, pulling you in even as your thoughts scrambled for clarity.

“So, I assume you’re curious,” he said, his voice a velvety whisper, the corners of his lips twitching with a smile. His eyes flicked toward the neatly coiled ropes on the dresser before settling back on you. “That’s dangerous, you know.”

The suggestion of danger in his tone made your pulse quicken, your apprehension melting into a spark of intrigue. Swallowing hard, you met his gaze with as much steadiness as you could muster. “I know,” you admitted, the words barely audible but charged with intent. You took a tentative step closer, testing boundaries you hadn’t realized you wanted to cross.

His eyes darkened, the mischief in them tempered by something deeper—something that felt like a dare wrapped in a promise. He leaned in, his breath ghosting against your skin, and whispered, “Good.”

The silence that followed was thick; the air between you charged with anticipation. Neither of you moved, locked in an unspoken challenge, a silent negotiation of trust and desire. Your gaze flitted across the room again, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. You weren’t shocked exactly, but the unexpected intimacy of it all left you off balance.

Yeonjun, on the other hand, seemed calm, though there was a flicker of something beneath his composed exterior. Nervousness? Or was it simply the anticipation of seeing how far you were willing to go?

“What is this room, exactly?” you asked, your voice breaking the silence. You gestured vaguely at the surrounding objects, trying to focus on something tangible.

He hesitated, his expression thoughtful, as though choosing his words carefully. “It's a part of me,” he said finally, his voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. “Something I don’t show to the cameras or the fans. This isn’t an act. It’s just who I am when the world isn’t watching.”

His honesty caught you off guard, stripping away some of your apprehension. You glanced around again, curiosity bubbling to the surface. “Do you ever feel… judged for this?” you asked softly.

“Sometimes,” he admitted, a faint shadow crossing his face. “But I’ve learned something important: the right people don’t judge. They try to understand.”

Before you could respond, his fingers brushed your arm, the gentleness of his touch making your breath hitch.

“Want to know what’s behind this side of me?” He asked, his voice low and steady, the question hovering in the air like a challenge.

You nodded, your voice lost somewhere between your heart and throat. There was no hesitation now. Whatever lay on the other side of this moment, you were ready to discover.

“Here’s an exclusive for you,” Yeonjun said, his voice a low hum that seemed to wrap around you. “Being in the spotlight can be exhausting. Sometimes, I need to recharge in… unconventional ways.”

You held his gaze, the weight of his words settling over you. Tonight, there was something different about him—raw, unguarded, and undeniably seductive.

“And this… side of yours,” you asked cautiously, your words careful but curious. “Why hide it?”

His lips curled into a wry smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Because people love putting others on pedestals. It makes it easier to tear them down when they don’t fit the mold. I’m not interested in being anyone’s martyr.” His gaze softened, though the intensity in his eyes remained. “Besides, in this industry, everything boils down to reputation, doesn’t it?”

You nodded slowly. “And our society is too moralistic,” you said, your voice steady despite the thoughts swirling in your mind.

A flicker of approval crossed his face. “Exactly. They preach morality, but it’s all a façade. Behind closed doors, people crave the dirty, the forbidden—the things they’d never admit to wanting. And when someone like me doesn’t hide it perfectly? They crucify us. Not because they don’t want it, but because we dared to show them what they won’t acknowledge in themselves.”

His voice was sharper now, but the edge softened as he leaned back against the couch. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “It’s easier to handle criticism for being ‘too reserved’ than to survive the backlash for being real. The truth isn’t what they want—it’s what they think they know. But under the covers, behind the scenes? That’s where I have my fun. With people no one would ever suspect. Because if they knew…” He chuckled darkly. “It’d be scandalous.”

Your thoughts spun, trying to reconcile the candidness of his words with the polished image the world saw. You’d always known that idols lived complicated lives, but hearing him say it so plainly felt like a glimpse into an entirely different reality.

“People love me, hate me, say whatever they want about me, but it doesn’t matter,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “Because in the end, boys and girls, they all want the same thing—they just won’t admit it.”

“And what’s that?” You asked softly, your voice lowering instinctively, as if speaking louder might shatter the moment.

“To spend the night with me,” he replied, the words slipping from his lips so effortlessly it felt like an undeniable truth. His tone was teasing, but his eyes held something deeper, something more sincere. “And sometimes, I give them what they want.”

Your breath caught, the air between you growing heavier. His lips, plump and inviting, hovered tantalizingly close, sending a spark of curiosity and something else—something bolder—racing through you.

“And what about you?” You asked, your voice trembling with unfamiliar courage. “What do you want?”

Yeonjun tilted his head slightly, his eyes gleaming with amusement and something darker. “I want the experience,” he said, his voice dropping lower, smoother. “The connection. There’s something intoxicating about guiding someone—helping them uncover parts of themselves they didn’t even know existed.”

His words settled over you like a challenge, stirring something within you that had long been buried beneath layers of caution and control. You thought of your life—carefully managed, predictable, restrained—and the sharp contrast of his world made your pulse quicken.

“And you’re comfortable sharing this with me?” You asked, your tone softer now, as though testing the fragile trust between you.

“Believe it or not, I am,” he said, his gaze steady and unyielding. “There’s something about you, YN. You’re disciplined and careful, but I think you understand discretion. I can see it in the way you carry yourself. And maybe…” His voice dropped even lower. “Maybe I think you’ve been looking for something, even if you don’t know what it is yet.”

His words struck a chord deep within you, unearthing truths you hadn’t yet admitted to yourself. The weight of keeping things hidden, the temptation of stepping into the unknown—it all felt so close now, so tangible.

Your eyes drifted to his lips, drawn to their softness, their proximity. The air between you felt electric, alive. “What if I wanted… to see more?” you whispered, surprised at your own boldness.

Yeonjun’s eyes darkened, the playful glint replaced by something far more intense. His hand found your waist, his touch deliberate and slow, giving you the space to pull away. But you didn’t.

“Then I’d be happy to show you,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

The space between you vanished as his lips found yours, tender yet all-consuming. The kiss wasn’t rushed but deliberate, an exploration that spoke of unspoken emotions. His hand rested on your waist, his fingers splaying wide as though anchoring you to the moment.

Your hand moved instinctively, settling against his chest, where the steady beat of his heart echoed your own. It was grounding—a reminder that this was real, that the pull between you wasn’t just in your imagination.

When he pulled back, his eyes met yours, a playful glint tinged with something deeper. “You okay?” he asked, his voice light but laced with genuine care.

You nodded, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Yeah. Just… didn’t expect this when I came to interview you.”

A mischievous smile curved his lips, and his hand brushed your cheek, the soft graze of his fingers sending a shiver through you. “I liked surprising you,” he murmured, his tone warm and teasing, coaxing a soft laugh from you.

He took your hands gently in his, tracing the lines of your palms as if studying them. His touch was deliberate and grounding, and you found yourself relaxing under his gaze. But a flicker of hesitation crossed his face, and he stepped back slightly, his expression thoughtful.

“Maybe we should stop,” he said softly, regret shading his tone. “Before it gets too far.” His eyes searched for yours, watching for the faintest sign of doubt.

“Maybe,” you replied, your breath uneven. But the uncertainty you’d felt moments ago was gone, replaced by a quiet resolve. “Or maybe… we should see where this goes.”

His brow arched slightly, his lips tugging into a smile that was equal parts amusement and intrigue. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper. “I’m not very good at holding back.”

“Me neither,” you admitted, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your chest. “That’s why I want to explore—with you.”

Your words hung in the air, heavy with intent, and then you leaned in, closing the distance again. This time, your kiss was bold and unrestrained, a reflection of the newfound courage surging within you.

When he pulled back, his eyes were darker, more intense, and his breathing was shallow. “Are you ready for more?” he asked, his voice a mix of challenge and promise.

You met his gaze, your heart racing, and nodded. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the whirlwind inside you.

His smile softened, warm and reassuring, before his lips brushed against yours again. This kiss was slower, deeper, as though he were savoring the moment before the tension gave way to something else. His mouth moved to the curve of your neck, and the gentle press of his lips left you breathless.

“Yeonjun,” you whispered, his name escaping your lips unbidden.

“Don’t think,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough yet tender. “Just feel.”

And you did. The world outside seemed to disappear at that moment—no expectations, no consequences—just the heat of his touch and the tension that had been building between you since the moment you met.

“All my life, I’ve been careful, reserved,” you admitted softly, your voice trembling but gaining confidence. “But with you, I feel like I can… experiment.”

Yeonjun’s gaze softened, and his thumb traced your cheek with the same gentleness you were starting to associate with him. “You don’t need to wear a mask here,” he said quietly. “I won’t judge you for anything.”

The weight of his words settled between you, breaking down walls you hadn’t even realized you’d built. For the first time, you felt unguarded, free.

Your gaze flickered to the ropes, curiosity sparking, and then back to him. “Could we… experiment together?” The words came out stronger than you expected—not just a question but an invitation.

His eyes darkened with something unreadable, the tension thick between you. He leaned in again, his lips brushing yours softly, a promise rather than a demand. When he pulled back, his voice was low and raw.

“We can,” he murmured. “But are you sure?”

A small smile played on your lips as you nodded, breathless but in resolve. “I’m sure,” you said softly, the certainty in your voice surprising even you. “Even though I don’t know what to do…”

His hand cupped your face, his touch steady and comforting. “I’ll guide you,” he said, his tone full of reassurance. “We’re in this together.”

His lips found yours again, slow and deliberate, unraveling the last threads of restraint you’d been clinging to. His touch, his presence—it wasn’t just physical. It was an invitation to step into the unknown, a promise of discovery, and the start of something entirely new.

Yeonjun’s fingers tightened gently around your waist, grounding you both at the moment and anchoring you in the trust and connection that had quietly blossomed between you. Your body responded eagerly, the lines between curiosity and desire dissolving into a heady mix you no longer wanted to resist. The tension between you deepened as your hands found their way to him, feeling the electric warmth of his body, the soft shared gasps between kisses, and the synchronized pounding of your hearts.

“Can I take your clothes off?” He asked, his voice soft but charged, the question hanging between you like a delicate thread.

You met his gaze, searching for reassurance and finding it in the sincerity of his eyes. A promise lingered there, unspoken but undeniable. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice breathless yet steady.

With deliberate care, he unbuttoned your blouse, the fabric parting slowly to reveal your skin. The cool air kissed your exposed collarbone, a sharp contrast to the warmth pooling in your chest. His touch was gentle, each movement deliberate, as though asking for permission even as it invited you to let go.

The soft press of his chest against yours, the heat of his body so close, made your breath hitch. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, the simple words carrying a weight that wrapped around you, grounding you in the vulnerability of the moment.

As he unclasped your bra, your heart thrummed in your chest, caught between exhilaration and nervous energy. His gaze was reverent, his expression a mixture of awe and care that made your pulse race.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your hands finding their way to his arms, fingers brushing against the strength and warmth beneath his shirt. He drew you closer, his mouth tracing a slow path along the curve of your shoulder. Each kiss felt like both a question and an answer, a dance of trust and discovery.

The air between you crackled with an electric, tentative heat. The room seemed to shrink, the outside world falling away until only the two of you remained, the rhythm of your heartbeat filling the silence.

He leaned forward, his forehead resting gently against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the stillness. “I want you to feel safe with me,” he whispered, his voice low and steady.

When he reached the waistband of your pants, his fingers worked carefully, unbuttoning them with the same patience that marked every touch. The fabric slipped away, leaving you exposed in a way that felt both thrilling and daunting.

As he removed your panties, a wave of shyness swept over you, the vulnerability settling like a weight in your chest. Sensing the sudden shift, Yeonjun paused, his hands moving to your arms. His thumbs brushed soothing circles over your skin, his touch steady and reassuring.

He leaned in, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to your lips. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice threaded with genuine concern, his eyes searching yours.

“Yes,” you whispered, though the word wavered with the mix of emotions swirling within you. “I’m just… overwhelmed.”

Your cheeks burned as the words left your lips, the admission startling but freeing. You weren’t used to speaking so openly, even to yourself, but something about him made honesty feel easy, even natural.

His thumb continued its slow, soothing circles along your back, a touch that was both calming and igniting all at once. “It’s okay,” he said softly, his voice like a balm. “We don’t have to rush anything.”

At that moment, the tension in your body began to ease, replaced by a quiet anticipation, a trust that made the unfamiliar feel exciting instead of frightening.

Yeonjun’s hands moved with precise care, the rope slipping through his fingers like silk. You sat at the edge of the bed, watching his movements as he guided your arms behind you. The texture of the rope was warm and slightly coarse against your skin, each loop wrapping snugly but never uncomfortably.

“I’ll start slowly,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. As the first knot tightened around your wrists, you felt a faint tug, the sensation firm but oddly grounding. He adjusted the tension, his fingers brushing your skin with a gentleness that made your breath hitch.

“How does that feel?” he asked, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“Good,” you replied, the word coming out softer than you intended. The rope pressed just enough to make you aware of it, sending subtle shivers through your skin.

He continued, each knot deliberate and rhythmic, the soft rustle of the rope filling the quiet room. When he moved to your chest, the ropes crisscrossed in intricate patterns, framing your body in a way that felt both unfamiliar and mesmerizing. His knuckles brushed against your collarbone as he worked, the heat of his touch lingering even after he moved on.

“This part might feel a little tighter,” he said, his tone calm as he secured another knot. The ropes hugged your torso, firm but never biting, as though they were designed to hold you without restricting. You shifted slightly, testing their hold, and the friction sent a faint, thrilling pulse through you.

His movements were unhurried, almost methodical, as if tying each knot required his full focus. The brush of his fingers along your shoulders and arms left trails of warmth, contrasting with the cool air of the room. When he worked his way to your thighs, his fingers grazed the sensitive skin there, sending goosebumps racing along your legs. The ropes framed your body in delicate patterns, accentuating rather than obscuring.

“Stand up”. He requested and you obeyed. As he stepped back, you saw him glance at the mirror behind you, his gaze reflecting a quiet intensity. “Take a look,” he said, gesturing toward your reflection.

Your eyes moved hesitantly to the mirror, taking in the intricate design adorning your body. The symmetry of the knots and the way they framed your curves left you breathless. The ropes didn’t feel like restraints—they felt like an extension of yourself, like art on your skin.

Yeonjun’s reflection met yours in the mirror, his gaze steady but admiring. “How does it feel?” he asked, his voice soft, his eyes never leaving yours in the glass.

You shifted slightly, the ropes shifting with you. “It's… different,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “But not in a bad way.”

“Great,” he said, stepping closer until his reflection loomed behind yours. His hand brushed your shoulder lightly, his touch grounding. “You look stunning like this.”

Your chest rose with a sharp inhale at his words, the weight of his gaze in the mirror both reassuring and electrifying. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the room thick with unspoken tension. The ropes tightened ever so slightly as you adjusted, sending another faint shiver through your skin. The sensation was strange, yes, but it carried with it an unexpected sense of freedom—a release from control you hadn’t known you were holding onto.

Yeonjun’s fingers found your chin, tilting your head just enough for your eyes to meet his reflection. His expression was unreadable, but the intensity in his gaze left no room for doubt: this moment was for you, and he was here to hold it steady.

The tension between you deepened, the air thickening as if the world itself were holding its breath, waiting for what came next. Then, he started placing soft, deliberate kisses across your body, each one sending shivers down your spine and warming you from within. Your heart pounded, its rhythm echoing in your ears like an unspoken confession. Each breath was shallow, hitching as Yeonjun’s lips brushed your skin—a warm touch that set electricity coursing through your nerves.

His eyes never broke contact through the mirror, making you press your thighs together, seeking some relief. His foxy eyes made you feel so wet, and you couldn’t control yourself. Not only that, you felt your body burning. It was a sensation unlike anything you’d known before—a slow unraveling of everything you thought you understood about yourself. His touch was erotic and reverent, sparking something raw and untamed within you. The shyness, the walls you’d built so carefully, crumbled under his unwavering gaze.

“You’ve never let yourself feel like this before, have you?” His voice was soft, observant, cutting through the noise in your mind as he guided you to the chair.

You shook your head, fingers tightening on the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself in the simple touch. “I didn’t know I could. It’s… new. I can’t say I’m that bold in bed.”

Yeonjun’s eyes met yours, dark and knowing, with a glint of something deeper. “You’re incredible,” he whispered, making you sit on the chair with your legs as open as possible. “You’re uncovering parts of yourself that have been waiting for the right moment.”

His words pressed against old insecurities, but there was no fear—only warmth. For once, you didn’t feel judged or diminished. You felt seen, cherished, and the feeling both terrified and thrilled you.

Yeonjun leaned down, his lips pressing softly to the curve of your collarbone, a gentle kiss that sent a warm shiver down your spine. The sensation of his mouth on your skin, tender and reverent, made your breath catch, a delicate gasp slipping from your lips. His hands moved slowly, tracing the contours of your body tied by the ropes, each touch deliberate, memorizing the feel of you. His caress was both soothing and electrifying.

He trailed kisses down the line of your shoulder, pausing to let his lips linger, the heat of his breath leaving a warm, tantalizing trail. Your chest rose and fell, each press of his lips reminding you that you’re not just desired but cherished. The way his eyes searched yours, holding a look so profound, made you feel as if he’s seeing every hidden part of you.

“You’re so responsive” He stated, his lips brushing against your skin.

Yeonjun’s kisses moved lower, brushing the curve of your breasts. You felt as if you’re glowing under his touch, an intoxicating warmth spreading through you. The way he paused, savoring each moment, deepened the sensation, making you feel worshiped in a way that transcends the physical. It wasn’t just the touch; it was the way he was making you feel seen, cherished, as though you were the only person in the world.

When his tongue finally touched your right nipple, you arched your back and whimpered softly. He began sucking, but his gaze never left your face, observing your every reaction. He soon turned to the other, and you bit your lips, trying not to make any noises.

“Let yourself feel this,” he whispers, his voice heavy and filled with something deep, something only you are allowed to see. Your skin is alive, a canvas for him to paint with his hands and tongue; each kiss is a declaration that you are desired, beyond the limits of words.

You didn't fight, allowing yourself to be completely immersed in the sensation—the way his tongue worked with such care, sucking your tits and kindling a spark that made you shudder. His lips found their way back to yours, a consuming kiss that left you breathless and yearning. With him, you felt revered, every part of you held in reverence, and your entire being cherished as a secret treasure. And for the first time in your life, you allowed yourself to feel that you were deserving of it.

Yeonjun broke the kiss and kneeled before you. His hot tongue drew irregular designs on your lower stomach. He then smirked as he looked at your glistening pussy.

“Can I taste you?” He asked only for formality and laughed softly when you gladly nodded, enabling him to approach. He softly slipped a finger in your hole, caressing lightly, causing you to squirm.

“You're so wet, and I've barely started.” His eyes widened, and he grinned, enjoying your willingness to give yourself to him. He pressed his finger inside you, making you moan.

“So tight,” he muttered, focusing on your reactions and how you felt while clutching his finger. “I need to prepare you for me, okay?”

You only nodded, gasping for oxygen as he started wiggling his finger. He stroked your clit with the tip of his nose and quickly began licking it. You tossed your head back and reflexively thrust your hips forward, allowing him greater access to you.

He had his eyes closed, squeezing your thighs, utterly absorbed in your taste. But he wanted, no, needed more. He abruptly stopped what he was doing and got up. You didn't have time to think before he grabbed you and threw you in the bed, face crushed against the mattress, ass up. He positioned his face in your cunt and began licking and sucking with increased ferocity. You could only sigh and roll your eyes, unable to regulate your breathing.

Not wanting to stop surprising you, his hands grabbed your butt and opened the cheeks as much as possible. Then his tongue reached your butthole, licking with desire.

“Yeonjun!” You shrieked with delight, having never felt anything like it.

“Shh, let me make you feel good,” he whispered as he returned to your hole, giving you an unprecedented pleasure.

His finger swiftly returned to your pussy, thrusting again. You couldn't stop moaning, and for a moment, you were relieved he lived in a penthouse. If this happened in your small flat, your neighbors would know what the two of you were doing, since you couldn't stop screaming in pleasure. After a while, he paused. He quickly removed his clothes and took a condom from the drawer.

“I need to feel you right now,” he whispered, stroking himself. The sight was breathtaking: his long and veiny cock, with its pink tip sticky with pre-cum, made you bite your lips. He was completely stunning.

Yeonjun quickly opened the condom with his teeth and slipped it onto his erection. He positioned himself at your entrance, massaging your buttocks. “Are you ready, YN?” He asked with his voice low.

“I am” You gave him permission, and he slowly invaded you, closing his eyes as he felt your tightness and warmth around him. Both of you sighed heavily as you adjusted to each other. He began thrusting after you had relaxed, while holding you by your hips. The position wasn't very comfortable, but the pleasure was unmatched.

“How are you this hot?” He questioned, increasing his pace. “You're delicious”

“I could ask you the same,” you mumbled, feeling his cock striking your cervix.

You two had entirely surrendered to each other's bodies, heat, and heavy breathing. It was a new experience for you, but Yeonjun couldn't recall the last time a partner made him feel so free and alive. It's as if you were made for him.

“More,” you pleaded, impatiently.

“Yeah?” He asked, thrusting quickly and bending in to get closer to you. You were unable to respond properly, moaning aloud.

“My cock is stuffing you so good you forgot all the words, Miss Journalist?” He teased, and you nodded shamelessly, causing him to giggle.

Your knees began to weaken and your legs to shake, causing your gaps to become more irregular and frequent.

“Yeonjun, I'm getting close,” you said, feeling a knot in your lower stomach.

“Let go, doll.” He grabbed your hands and said, “Cum on my cock.”

You reached your orgasm, moaning loudly, as per his command. He couldn't contain himself as you clenched around him, flooding his condom with his own release.

He pulled away from you and lay at your side, breathing heavily. You collapsed on the bed, your heart thumping like a drum. You chuckled together as you peered into each other's eyes.

“That was intense,” he said.

“It's a way to word it.” You grinned, fatigued.

Yeonjun got out of bed, discarded the used condom, and grabbed a towel to clean you both up. After that, he went for a pair of scissors and carefully cut the ropes around your body; his motions were as delicate and methodical as when he bound you, and his fingers grazed your skin with the same tenderness. The warmth of his touch caused a shiver down your spine.

“You okay?” Yeonjun asked, his voice low and tentative as he lay beside you. His gaze searched for yours with quiet concern.

“Yeah,” you answered, stretching your arms with a small, content smile. “Better than okay.”

His lips curved into a soft smile, warm and knowing. Gently, he brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch light yet intentional. “I’m glad,” he murmured, relief softening his voice. His thumb traced the line of your jaw, sending a wave of warmth through you.

The room seemed to pause as you held his gaze, the trust between you deepening. “I didn’t expect this,” you admitted, your voice steady but vulnerable. “I didn’t know this could be so good.”

His expression shifted, his eyes darkening with a mix of intensity and pride. “That’s all I wanted,” he said softly. “To show you it’s okay to just be… you.”

You nodded, a faint smile tugging at your lips. The silence between you felt alive, filled with unspoken understanding. Leaning your head against his shoulder, you breathed in his familiar scent—grounding yet intoxicating. “It’s like I can finally just let go of all control and allow me to be cared.”

Yeonjun met your eyes, his gaze unwavering. “You deserve to experience that,” he said, his tone gentle but certain.

A quiet sense of belonging settled over you, the tension of earlier replaced by something lighter, more meaningful. His thumb brushed your jaw again, his touch lingering. “Promise me,” he said, a teasing smile forming, “you’ll hold onto this.”

“I promise,” you said, your voice carrying a rare certainty.

“And how do you feel now?” he asked, his voice soft but steady, the care in his tone grounding you.

You smiled, warmth spreading through your chest. “Like I’m finally starting to live,” you replied, your voice strong despite the emotion behind it.

His expression softened, a quiet pride glowing in his eyes. “That’s all that matters.”

The vulnerability lingered between you, not heavy but reassuring. Yeonjun’s wild confidence was tempered by the quiet depth in his gaze. “You’re easy to talk to,” you admitted, surprised by how easily the words came.

He chuckled, warm and inviting. “And here I thought I was intimidating.”

“Well,” you teased, a playful grin forming, “I was… until I wasn’t.”

His eyes glinted with mischief, and your chest tightened—not with nerves, but with something warmer, brighter.

As you moved to stand, he handed you a glass of water, his eyes holding yours with quiet intensity. “So,” he said, his tone lighter now, “what’s next for you, Miss Journalist?”

A playful spark lit your eyes as you smiled. “Not sure, but I can assure you this isn’t making it into the article.”

Yeonjun smirked, leaning casually against the wall. “No? That’s a shame. I thought we were writing a bestseller here.”

“Oh, trust me,” you replied, laughing, your cheeks warming, “this stays between us.”

“Good.” His smirk deepened, more confident now. “Some things are better left unseen. Or unpublished.”

You nodded softly, though your pulse quickened at the weight of his words. “Honestly, I don’t think people would believe me anyway,” you said without even thinking.

“They’d believe it,” he countered, his voice smooth and teasing, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “After all, I am the flirty one, right?”

“And my research was accurate,” you shot back, the tension easing into playful warmth.

“Glad to know I live up to expectations,” he quipped, his laughter breaking the moment’s stillness.

For a brief second, humor gave way to something deeper in his gaze. He reached for an envelope on the nearby table and held it out with deliberate care. “Before you go,” he said, his voice quieter now.

You took it, already knowing what it was. “An NDA,” you said, glancing briefly at the envelope before meeting his eyes again.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he said earnestly. “It’s just…”

“You’re protecting yourself,” you finished, nodding. “I understand. Moments like these are rare. They’re worth protecting.”

His lips curled into a faint smile. “Exactly. This isn’t about doubting you, YN. It’s about making sure we both have the space to keep this… ours.”

You signed without hesitation, handing the envelope back with a quiet smile.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice heavy with gratitude. “I know it’s not romantic, but…”

“But it’s necessary,” you interrupted gently. “Your world’s different, Yeonjun. I respect that.”

The tension melted from his posture as he offered you a rare, unguarded look of warmth. “Not everyone would,” he said quietly. “That means more than you know.”

The room settled into a comfortable silence; the weight of the moment replaced with mutual understanding. Whatever this was—it mattered.

After he insisted you eat something and take a shower with him—which led to another round against the cold tiles of his bathroom—you were ready to leave. You glanced toward the door, then back at him, your nervousness evident in the soft set of your expression. “I guess I should get going,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, shy and uncertain.

Yeonjun watched you with a gentle smile, his gaze unwavering as he leaned back on the couch, eyes locked on yours as you stood by the door. The playful energy of earlier had shifted into something deeper, something more real.

“I’m glad you came by tonight,” Yeonjun said, his voice low and thoughtful. “I wasn’t sure what to expect… but I’m glad we did this. All of it.”

You nodded, your gaze wandering downward as your fingertips unconsciously touched your notebook. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “I didn't expect any of it, but… I'm really glad, too.”

Silence fell between you, the weight of the moment heavy in the room. You hesitated in the doorway, undecided on whether to leave or stay a little longer. Yeonjun shifted, sitting up straighter, with a new level of intent in his eyes.

“You know,” he added slowly, softly but directly, “I hope this isn't the last time I see you.”

Your breath caught, and you swallowed, your fingers still trembling as you fiddled with the hem of your sleeve. You wanted to say something, but shyness kept you quiet.

Yeonjun, sensing your hesitancy, stood and walked toward you, commanding the space between you. When he got to you, he hesitated, eyes meeting yours, waiting for a sign, an invitation.

“I don't want this to be a one-time thing,” he said with sincerity. “Would you… let me have your contact?”

Your heart skipped a beat as the warmth of his invitation sank into your chest. You nodded, feeling a little more assured but still moved by his candor. He handed you his phone, and you typed in your number, making sure not to make it feel weird.

Yeonjun watched you with a familiar, patient smile, allowing you to take your time. When you were finished, you handed him your phone, and he smoothly typed his number.

“Thank you,” he said softly, holding your gaze longer than necessary. His eyes were warm and deeper than casual flirtation. “I'll text you soon, okay?”

You nodded, a shy smile brushing your lips. “I'll be waiting.”

Yeonjun stepped back slightly, giving you space but not breaking the connection. “Take care, YN,” he said, his voice gentle.

“You too, Yeonjun,” you replied, your voice steady, the nerves from before showing up again.

A brief, charged silence stretched between you, and the world outside appeared to pause. The moment felt frozen in time.

As you turned to leave, a force dragged you back—an unspoken tension that lingered, heavy with everything that had been spoken. Yeonjun approached before you could go inside the door. His fingers brushed against the back of your hand, sending a shudder through you.

You looked up, heart hammering, eyes locked on his. Without saying anything, he leaned in, his kiss cautious at first, as if to test the waters. But as it became deeper, it became tender and private, a perfect reflection of the emotions you'd been experiencing all evening.

It was a gentle kiss that felt like an agreement, a pledge that this wasn't the end. When you pulled away, breathless, Yeonjun smiled sweetly, his hand staying on your waist for an extra moment.

“YN.”

You looked up, meeting his gaze for the last time that night.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” he said, his smirk faint but teasing. “But satisfaction? That’s a different story.”

You laughed, a soft sound that made his eyes brighten, and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

“And some secrets are worth keeping,” you continued, your words lighthearted yet full of substance.

“See you soon, YN,” he said.

You nodded, your cheeks heated, and your heart was full. “See you soon, Yeonjun.”

As you stepped out into the cold night, you reached for your car and drove away. You opened the windows, allowing yourself to experience the fresh air, with a faint trace of rain and the warmth of the moment you had just shared. You took a deep breath and smiled, feeling good for the first time in a long time.

The glow of your laptop screencast soft shadows across the room. You sat at your small desk, fingers poised over the keyboard. The blinking cursor stared back at you, waiting for words you couldn’t quite find.

How could you distill everything about Choi Yeonjun into a neat, polished article? The magnetic idol, the playful charmer, the man with a wild edge hidden behind disarming smiles—how much of him could you put into words without revealing too much?

Your fingers hovered, hesitant, before you began typing:

“Choi Yeonjun is as fascinating as the music he produces. Underneath the polished stage presence and unmistakable charisma is an artist whose passion goes beyond the surface. He has an unquestionable ability to attract people not only via his art, but also through his intense presence.”

You took a break and read the words again. They appeared to be rather accurate. Carefully built, with meticulous distance.

However, your thoughts have betrayed you. You remembered how his stare lingered, warm and unwavering, and how his voice softened as he whispered truths he seldom revealed. You remembered his calm vulnerability with you and how you felt in those moments, as if you had entered a world no one else could see.

Your lips twisted into a slight, secret smile.

You continued typing:

“To meet Yeonjun is to encounter a complexity that is both intriguing and elusive. While the public knows him as a star, there is a depth to him that feels deliberately guarded, a mystery left unsolved. Perhaps that’s the real charm—some things are meant to remain unseen.”

Your hands remained still above the keys. It was professional but ambiguous. Just enough to suggest his depth without giving too much away. You closed your laptop and leaned back in your chair with a quiet sigh. The essay was finished, but your thoughts remained on him—his touch, his words, his serene assurance.

“Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction? That’s a different story.” he had said, his voice laced with instigation, which you truly adored.

Your cheeks warmed at the memory, and you pressed your fingers lightly to your lips, as if to capture the remnants of his kiss.

The world would read about Choi Yeonjun, the idol. But the man? He was yours to remember.

elle speaks³: not my best work bc this last few weeks have been tough 😮‍💨 im definitely not okay lol. anyways, hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading ♡

disclaimer: this is a fanfiction created by me. the characters of TOMORROW X TOGETHER and the song mentioned are used for creative purposes only. this story is not affiliated with BigHit Entertainment or TXT, and all content is fictional and does not reflect reality. the song “If U Seek Amy” is owned by its creators and used here without profit.

#tomorrow x together #txt #yeonjun #choi yeonjun #txt yeonjun #txt fic #txt fanfic #txt smut #inside scoop #if u seek amy #yeonjun smut #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun x y/n #txt x y/n #txt x reader #elle writes

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burntsaltsblog · 10 months ago

Text

tw: mentions of blood, mdni

Chapter Three

"We gotta to take her to the hospital."

"You know we can't do that."

"We can because she's fuckin' dying!"

My body felt like it was floating before my focus settled on a steady throb of pain in my lower stomach.

"Butcher, she's not dying. Her pulse is strong, and since I stitched her up, she hasn't bled whatsoever."

"Then, why the hell ain't she wakin' up?"

"Because she's exhausted. She lost a great amount of blood and wore herself out trying to fucking wrestle you in the van."

Blood.

That word caught my attention. I remembered blood and lots of it as it painted Butcher's knuckles a deep red.

"If she's not up in thirty minutes, I'm takin' her to the emergency room, end of story."

"Butcher, you, and I, and fucking Jesus Christ himself, know that if we step one foot into any medical facility, we will be taken into custody. It's not worth the risk."

"She is. She's worth the risk.

It was quiet for either a few minutes or a few hours. Both timeframes felt the same in my hazy state.

A long sigh broke the spell, followed by more dialogue. "Jo is ok, I promise you. Now, I need to grab the bag of fluids that I left in my room. While I'm gone, don't you dare think about running off with her. I am the only medical professional she needs right now."

Footsteps trailed off as my eyes slowly blinked open to take in my surroundings. I was in the basement of the pawn shop, on the couch that I was still convinced had bed bugs.

"Mornin', sunshine."

The Cockney accent drew my attention, and I looked up at Butcher's tired face. His hazel eyes bored into mine, and memories from earlier flooded my brain.

"Here ya' go," Butcher said, offering me a glass of water.

Upon attempting to sit up and accept the drink, I gasped as my abdomen screamed in pain.

"Woah, there. It's a little soon for you to be up and at 'em, doll. Here, lemme help ya'," Butcher said gently as he laid me back down on the couch and eased a hand under my head, propping it up so I could drink.

Grateful, I eagerly gulped the water, finishing the whole glass in mere seconds and earning a chuckle from Butcher.

"There, ya' go. Down the hatch."

He slowly lowered my head back on my pillow and placed the empty glass on the coffee table behind him before turning back to face me, studying my face in great detail.

"You gave us a right scare there, love."

"At least I know you guys care," I shrugged. "Now, when I do actually drop dead, I'll be expecting a funeral with the works—fireworks, I mean. See if you can get Celine Dion, too. I heard she's available."

I expected another laugh from Billy, but instead, he looked more solemn than ever. His eyes trailed down to where my shirt, a clean one without blood, rode up on my stomach, showing the gauze that MM had wrapped me in.

"I thought I had lost ya'," He mumbled.

It was quiet between us due to the fact that I didn't know how to react to Butcher's surprising words.

"I guess I can relate to the feeling," I finally said as my face hardened. "Since you left me for three months with no goodbye. I thought you were dead."

Butcher bowed his head, "Jo, you have no idea how much I fuckin' regret leaving ya'. But I had no other choice."

"You always have a choice, Butcher." My voice grew louder as my emotions rose in powerful waves. "And you didn't leave me. You fucking abandoned me!"

He cupped my face, but I turned my head, rejecting the physical affection. "Don't," I whispered. "It's too late. You can't just walk back in here and act like nothing happened. Like you didn't fuck me, and then throw me away like garbage the next day."

Butcher's nostrils flared as he rose to his impressive height, towering over me. "Now, listen here-"

"Ok, I'm breaking this up," MM called, reentering the room. "Jo is very weak right now, and I cannot allow her to undergo any extra stress."

"I'm not weak," I quipped back, whipping my head to gaze at MM as he leaned over the back of the couch.

Unconvinced, he asked, "Really? Let me see you try and stand up then."

When I didn't move to rise from the sofa, MM shook his head. "You need fluids and rest. Luckily, neither is hard to obtain." He held up a bag of fluids before hanging it on an IV stand next to him.

"Now," he continued, doling out commands. "Close your eyes and go to sleep. I'll check your stitches in a couple of hours."

"But I'm not tired," I argued.

"The bags under your eyes say otherwise."

"Well, this couch is uncomfortable," I grumbled. "It hurts my back."

"Alright, we'll get you to your room then," MM sighed.

Before I could stop him, Butcher scooped me up into his arms, and I protested loudly. "Hey, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Oi, shut your pie hole," he whispered harshly, fanning the side of my face with his breath that stank of whiskey and dominance. "I'm takin' care of you whether ya' like it or not."

I fought an internal battle before closing my lips and fixing my eyes into narrow slits.

"Good girl."

Air was quickly expelled from my lungs as I exhaled, willing myself not to rub my legs together as an ache settled between them.

But it was no use. Butcher knew the effect he had on me, and from the corner of my eye, I could see a smirk plastered on his face as he carried me to my room, full of arrogance after winning our little quarrel.

"Dontcha worry, darlin'. When you're on your feet again, you can beat me up for being the bad man that I am."

I didn't respond because I refused to be baited into another argument with Butcher. Instead, I kept a pout in place and stared straight ahead, thinking of all the ways that I could cause him physical harm. After all, he had just given me permission to, and it was proving to be quite invigorating.

"And maybe when you're all done, you'll fancy bending over and lettin' me enjoy a meal or two. Because if my memory serves me, you seemed to enjoy it last time."

"Well, the last time was the only time," I curtly informed him as Butcher gently dropped me down on my bed. I inwardly chastised myself for falling for his trap when he flashed his crazy eyes above me.

"Mhm, that's what they all say."

"Well, I mean it," I snapped, pulling my blanket up to my chin as if it would shield me from Butcher's snarky words.

"Sure ya' do," Butcher said condescendingly as he patted me on the head before leaving the room.

I was relieved to be out of his company and was disappointed when he returned, the IV stand with the bag of fluids still hanging from it in tow and other needed supplies grasped in his hand. I watched as he prepared the IV tubing before he sat down on the edge of my bed and huffed, "Give me your arm."

"Why can't MM do it?" I sulked.

"Because I'm doin' it," he replied in a matter-of-fact manner.

I grumbled under my breath, clearly displeased. As I reluctantly drew my arm from under the blanket's coverage, Butcher looked at me with a bushy brow raised. "What? You don't think I'm a suitable nurse?"

"Well, your bedside manners leave much to be desired."

"That's funny. All my other patients think I'm perfectly charmin', especially the older ladies. I didn't know I appealed to nans so much," he snickered, running a calloused finger over my arm, searching for an appropriate vein.

"I'm surprised you appeal to anyone."

"I guess ya' should be questionin' your own taste then, eh?"

"Believe me, I am."

Butcher didn't reply as he wrapped a small piece of fabric around my bicep, creating a makeshift tourniquet.

"Don't look, ok, doll?" he instructed, swiping a cotton ball covered in rubbing alcohol over my arm. My nose wrinkled at the strong smell, and I coughed.

"I don't need an IV," I said, trying to negotiate at the last minute. "I'll drink lots of water. Even that gross electrolyte shit MM buys."

"I don't think that's gonna to cut it, sweetheart," he stated, sliding the needle inside of the small catheter.

I bit my lip, trying to resign myself to my fate but failing miserably.

"M'not gonna hurt ya', ok? Just look at the ceilin' so you don't maul me to death."

"It's not like you wouldn't deserve it."

Butcher closed his eyes as I began to tread on his nerves. "Princess, you outta think before you speak that way to someone who's holdin' a very sharp object inches from you, yeah?"

"But you won't hurt me. You just said so yourself."

"Doesn't mean I'm not tempted."

I rolled my eyes and held my breath as I followed Butcher's wishes and looked at the ceiling. I winced slightly when I felt the needle initially enter my arm, but Butcher gently ran his free hand over my shoulder, distracting me.

"Atta girl," he breathed. "You're doin' so good."

My body trembled as I floated down from my last orgasm. I was vaguely aware of Butcher as he pulled me to lay on his chest, both of us panting.

"Y'alright, sweetheart?"

I could barely reply as my eyelids fluttered open and closed. My mind was full of various thoughts, but none of them made sense as my head floated somewhere above the rest of my body.

"Look at me, doll," Butcher said, running a hand through my hair. "Lemme see them pretty eyes."

I mustered all of my strength to peel my eyes open as I looked up at Billy with a lazy smile on my face.

"There she is. Atta girl," Butcher whispered. "You did so good for me."

Even in my delirious state, I keened under his praise, and Butcher chuckled at my reaction.

"My beautiful girl," he murmured as I nuzzled into his neck, nodding off in the arms of someone I loved.

Yes, I loved Billy Butcher.

He just didn't know it yet.

I held my breath as I forced myself to count the questionable yellow spots on the ceiling and not get lost in yet another memory of Butcher pretending to cherish me. I had just reached the twelfth discolored splotch when Butcher sat back and said, "All done, love."

I looked down at my arm and furrowed my brows in confusion when I saw the catheter fully inserted with some tape to keep it in place. Aside from the initial insertion, I hadn't felt the rest of the procedure.

"Told ya' it wouldn't hurt," Butcher said proudly, crossing his arms over his broad chest, reading my thoughts, which were clearly displayed on my face.

"I guess you're not the worst nurse in the world," I relented.

Butcher's mouth curled up at the side, and I knew my meager compliment had inflated his already oversized ego.

"Well, ain't that sweet of you to say. But don't tell MM, alright? He prides himself on his medical skills."

Butcher delicately adjusted my blanket, pulling it tighter and tucking me in for the night. "Now you have a little lie-down, love. And dontcha let those manky bedbugs bite."

"Are you going to read me a bedtime story while you're at it?" I inquired.

"The only stories I like to tell aren't appropriate for bedtime," Butcher whispered, winking at me.

He headed for the open doorway before turning around at the last second. "Oh, and if ya' need help countin' sheep, just give me a shout. I'll be on the other side of the wall."

I nodded before curling up on my side, trying not to tug too hard on my IV as the door creaked shut, signaling that I was alone. The light from the living room drifted under the doorway, providing a makeshift nightlight and illuminating the small, dingy room.

Sleep came surprisingly soon, and I drifted off, dreaming of Billy's heartbeat under my ear as he held me in his arms.

༺༻

It felt like only minutes later when I woke up due to the sensation of someone's hands on my stomach, and I flinched as my eyes flew open.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," MM apologized. "I was just checking your stitches," he explained as he pulled the bandage back over my abdomen and quickly did the same with my shirt and blanket.

"How does it look?" I asked hesitantly as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

"So far, it's holding. But it wasn't my best work with Frenchie going ninety miles an hour and you...evading my help," he sighed.

"Sorry about that," I mumbled sheepishly.

"Hey, don't worry about it, kid. We all have something we're scared of. If I were being held down against my will while someone coughed in my face, I'd have done everything I could to knock their fucking teeth out."

My smile was small as I nodded in gratitude. "What time is it?" I inquired, wondering what day it was as well.

"Noon."

"Noon?" My eyes grew wide as I ran a hand through my matted hair. "Fuck, I must've slept for almost nine hours." Which was rare. These days, I was lucky if I slept for two hours consecutively with the anxiety that ran through my veins and the threats that loomed over our heads.

"Ten, actually. I told you your body needed rest."

I was preparing a comeback when my stomach grumbled loudly, interrupting the conversation.

MM rose to his feet. "By the sound of it, it seems you might want some breakfast. Frenchie made you a get-well gift in the form of French toast. Are you interested?" he asked, and my ears perked up at the offer.

"Sounds really good, actually."

He nodded, patting my shoulder. "Ok. Butcher will be in to help you up."

I groaned loudly, and MM couldn't help but laugh. "Sorry, kid, but Butcher made us all swear not to touch you. I was only granted special permission on the basis that it was purely medical so I could check your stitches."

"He's being ridiculous," I scowled.

MM regarded me knowingly. "I think I'd probably call it something else."

I rolled my eyes, and MM laughed again as he exited my room, leaving the door open.

I barely had time to prepare myself for Butcher's imposing presence when he glided through the uninhibited doorway with a cheery greeting on his tongue.

"Rise and shine, my love. How are we feelin' this mornin?" His accent was especially thick as he wasted no time in raking my blanket back.

I yanked the fuzzy material back over myself, glaring up at the Brit, but he just retaliated by gripping the blanket in one of his paw-like hands and tossing it across the small room.

I eyed the pile of fabric I was unable to retrieve due to my current injury and whined, "Don't leave it on the floor. I just washed it." But I was soon distracted by the chair that sat in the corner facing my bed. I didn't remember seeing that yesterday.

"Who's chair is that?" I asked, pivoting the conversation.

"Mine," Butcher replied as he carefully pulled my IV out and wheeled the IV stand out of the way. "You'll have to forgive me for bringin' my chair in, but I haven't figured out how to sleep standin' up yet."

"You slept in here last night?"

"Well, I don't have bloody x-ray vision, so how else was I s'pposed to keep an eye on you, eh?"

"Did it ever occur to you that not checking on me at all was a viable option?"

"Not in my book," he responded sharply before changing the subject. "Now, let's getcha up. According to MM, you're fancyin' some of Frenchie's cookin'."

Butcher slid an arm under my lower back and slowly pulled me into a sitting position.

"Easy does it, love," he said as I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed through the discomfort. "You got it."

I swung my legs over the side of the bed so my feet rested on the floor, and I braced my palms on my thighs, trying to steady myself.

"Take your time, ok? I don't need ya' rippin' your stitches under my watch," he advised as he laced our hands together and pulled until I was standing on my own two feet. My vision blacked out for a second as the blood rushed from my head down to the rest of my body, and I teetered forward, falling into Butcher's muscular chest.

"I've got ya' sweetheart," he assured me as he held my unstable frame against him.

I pulled back when my vision returned, and I looked up into Butcher's attentive face. "I'm dizzy," I mumbled.

"S'ok. MM said that's normal," he assured me softly, tucking my tangled hair behind my ear.

I wanted to chastise myself for enjoying Butcher's tenderness, but I simply didn't have the energy as I nodded, trying to turn toward the door.

"Do ya' think you can walk?" he asked, resting a protective hand on my back. I'm more than happy to carry you."

"I don't need a chauffeur. I'm perfectly capable of walking," I said, stumbling forward a few steps. I was determined to do something on my own after being coddled for the past twenty-four hours.

Butcher didn't reply, but he didn't remove his hand either in the event that I should fall again. That only increased the pressure I felt to walk faster and show him I was strong enough to move about without any help.

I finally made it out into the open area of the basement and was greeted by everyone. Hughie, Kimiko, and MM wore encouraging smiles as Frenchie placed a tall plate of French toast topped with whipped cream on the coffee table.

"Pour toi, Mademoiselles," Frenchie announced, and I thanked him profusely.

Under Butcher's watchful eye, I eased myself down on the couch, and he quickly followed suit. He placed a supportive arm around my shoulders, and I would've made a snarky comment about him being clingy, but his arm was the only thing keeping me upright at the moment, so I kept my mouth shut.

Butcher placed my breakfast in my lap and whispered in my ear, "Do ya' need me to cut it for you, princess?"

I used all my energy to elbow him in his side, and he breathed out a laugh before addressing the room. "Alright you twats. Let's have a little chin wag about tonight."

My head shot up in confusion as I chewed the first bite of my French toast. The wonderful medley of sugar and cinnamon coated my tongue. However, I couldn't focus on Frenchie's superb culinary skills when the group began discussing a mission to which I was not privy.

"Ok, so after a little bit of trouble due to a very annoying firewall, I was able to hack their systems, and I found a blueprint of the building, so we'll be able to locate her office quicker than just going in blindly," Hughie said, squatting next to the coffee table and spreading out the blueprint that he had just spoken of.

"Who's office?" I interrupted.

Hughie looked confusedly at Butcher, who had remained silent beside me. "You didn't tell her?"

"Tell me what?" I asked skeptically, turning my head to look at Butcher, and he sighed.

"We're breakin' into Raynor's office to have a look around before the CIA cleans it out. Word on the street is that they're doin' it tomorrow, so we've gotta go tonight."

"And you decided this without me?" I asked incredulously.

"You were knocked out, love. Was I s'pposed to wake ya' up in the middle of the night? You're always moaning about how ya' need your beauty sleep."

"Well, that wouldn't have been difficult considering you were two feet away watching me like a fucking peeping tom," I snapped before glaring at the rest of the room. "I'm coming with you."

"No," Butcher said sternly. "You aren't goin' anywhere."

"Yes, I am," I pressed.

I felt Butcher's fingers tighten around my shoulder. "Let's talk about this later, yeah?" he suggested.

"Talk about what later? The mission that I was unaware of or the fact that you won't fucking leave me alone?"

I should've seen it coming, but I was still thrown off when Butcher suddenly stood from the sofa, leaving me to crumple against it without his support. He then stomped to the other side of the basement, only stopping when he reached the corner and sneered at me. "Is this better?"

"Expanetuily," I bit back, clutching my abdomen as it tensed up under the new strain as I stood as well, not finished with what I had to say on the matter. I thought I was holding up well until MM swore, rushing to my side and forcing me to sit back down.

Bemewsed by his behavior, I tried to question him, but when he pulled up my shirt, I saw blood seeping through the gauze, and my heart plummeted.

I had ripped my stitches.

"Hughie, go into my room. On my desk, you will find some supplies. Bring them to me," MM instructed as he made quick work of pulling back the now-damp gauze.

"Fuck, it's worse than what I thought," he sighed. "Nice going, Butcher," he said, throwing a dirty look over his shoulder at his boss, who had remained standing in the corner.

The dig forced Butcher into action as he footed it over to us. "Fuck you. Clearly, I didn't do it on bloody purpose."

"Just get out," MM barked as he accepted the supplies from Hughie.

"No, I'm stayin'," Butcher argued obstinantely.

MM pinched the bridge of his nose. "Butcher, Jo is clearly upset by you being here. So stop being a stubborn motherfucker and get the fuck out."

Butcher's gaze fell on me as lines formed between his thick brows in concern. I knew he was waiting for me to beg him to stay, but I wouldn't do it. His comfort was something I craved like a drug, and it was about time I got clean. Plus, I couldn't deny the sick urge I had to hurt him, to push him away like he did to me when he left for three months.

"Fine," Butcher uttered slowly when I remained silent, "I'll let you other cunts dry this one's tears when she's fuckin' beside herself over a goddamn needle and a little bit of blood."

He pivoted around and swept up the stairs. Seconds later, the old building shook as Butcher forcefully slammed the door.

It was quiet after Butcher's dramatic exit, and MM shook his head, running a needle through a lighter. The deja vu I felt was painfully prominent.

"You ready to try this again, kid?"

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thatfriendlyanon · 3 months ago

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Title: From The Nest Fandom: The Deep Green Author: @thatfriendlyanon Content Warning: Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Major Character Death Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Hopeful Ending Some Context: the previous test subject mentioned is Icarus :> transcription under the readmore

From The Nest A Deep Green Short Story

Once upon a time, a tall tower stood in the middle of a forest. The townspeople had no need to go near it, but since you could see it in the distance over the treetops, they would tell stories about it in the evenings when the hearth was warm. Rumors from longer ago said a cloister of monks lived there, so that is what the townspeople agreed to believe. The Brothers of the Tower gave smiles and coins to the townspeople when they came into the village to buy goods. They were quiet and kept to themselves. Everyone holds some suspicion for those who live apart, of course, but these brothers harmed no one so the townspeople had nothing for which to complain. Besides, the townspeople enjoyed the coins. Their warm hearths and fireside stories kept their imaginations occupied. Besides, no one likes a person who pries.

I. You are a test subject. You are the second try. You do not have a voice, you do not have a body, you do not have a name.

II. You wake up and commit a sin of omission. You ascend the stairs and commit a sin of omission. Your brothers are warm and amiable and kind. They pass you their laughter like a cup for you to share. If you keep your eyes on their faces, you do not need to watch the work of their hands. If you keep your feet off the landing, you do not need to step in the blood pooling under the door.

III. You want them to stop. You want them to stop. You want them to stop.

IV. You take a sip of the cup they pass and commit a sin of omission. You swallow their fellowship and commit a sin of omission. You take a breath and commit a sin of omission. You go to bed and commit a sin of omission. You wake up to confess and repent and commit more.

V. Do not fight. Do not resist. Keep your eyes shut and make no sound if you want them to touch you as little as possible, if you want them to do their work and leave. Fighting makes it worse. You know this. You know this. Keep your eyes shut. The backs of your eyelids turn golden from their candles, like the sun at dusk when it squeezes a single slice of light through the bricks where a window used to be. Keep your eyes shut. It hurts less if you pretend you’re dreaming. You know this. The gold of your eyelids shifts as their candles flicker. Do not fight. Do not make a sound. Keep your eyes shut. Keep playing make-believe.

There was something strange, once, the townspeople admitted. One day, a great bird flew over the town, straight from the forest and headed towards the sun. It looked like both a bird and a girl, as her dress flapped like a flag in the wind. But of course, it was high and the sun was bright and one’s imagination is a strange thing. Of course it was just a bird. Of course the tower in the forest was still standing, still harmless, still simply some peculiar people’s home.

VI. Nothing has been the same since she escaped. Before, you could convince yourself this was excusable, simply for the greater good. You made her favorite food and conducted tests with a steady hand. Your brothers used coaxing to win her over, to soothe her fears. And you joined them, of course, because she was a beautiful specimen. So much promise, so much wonder at what could come from your discoveries. That’s what the Watcher said, what the Welcomer assured you when you first arrived with your talents to give. The world could become a better place. She would forgive you, of course, once all was achieved.

VII. There was another, before you. Maybe that is why your room has bricks where a window used to be, why they always lock the door behind them when they come four times a day. They do not speak her name, but when you overhear their mutterings, you know she was here. Someone older than you. Braver, maybe. Stronger, definitely. Someone strong enough to leave.

VIII. The new one is different. And the brothers are different too. Their patience is short and their hands are violent. Gone is affection as a tool for compliance. They use fists and threats instead. But each sin of omission lodges itself in your throat until you are gagging on your meals and waking up halfway through the night unable to swallow, unable to breathe.

So you begin your tiny acts of resistance.

IX. One of the brothers is kinder than the rest. He waits for the others to finish their tests, stands in the corner with his clipboard and brown hair tinged orange by the sunbeam through the brickwork, and approaches you only when the others clean their needles and leave. You keep your eyes shut, you do not move, you wait for the cold and the pain and the fear. But he does not have any needles, only a clipboard and a pencil and a roll of bandages in his pocket. They are soft and white and smell like warm air in spring. When he wraps them around your arms and shoulders, he doesn’t say a word. His hands are gentle and take their time. He picks up all the feathers you’ve shed and puts them in his pocket. You wonder if, by hiding in there with the gauze and the pencil, they will start to smell like spring too.

X. When did this one get so young? When did she get so small, so silent, so utterly expressionless as the brothers’ tests grew more and more severe? You try to tell them she needs sunlight, she needs blankets, that she is still partly human after all. But the brothers start eyeing you differently. The cup of fellowship they pass from lip to lip begins to skip your own. They talk more often when you are walking away than when you are sitting beside them. And when you enter, their whispered words die away.

You do not mind their dwindling friendship, to be honest. Less conversations means your sins of omission are fewer and farther between. Your pencil on the clipboard and the gauze in your pocket push the sins away too. The feathers in your pocket smell like pus, and the subject’s––the child’s––room smells like it too, rank and thick and spoiling. So you keep the bandages always at the ready, and begin slipping vials of disinfectant from the storage cases when the other brothers are too busy whispering behind your back to see.

The children of the town swapped their own stories as they played in the streets and just beyond the outskirts. The older ones spun tales of torture and bone-eating men. The younger ones whispered about a girl with long hair and an unloving mother, like they had read in their bedtime storybooks with the painted illustrations. All of them obeyed their parents: do not go into the woods, do not go near the tower. It was always best to stay away from strangers, just to be safe. So they stayed on the paths near their houses, only strayed to the very edge of the woods just to collect acorns and get a better view of the tower’s turrets. They would always run home before curiosity could grip on too strong.

XI. He brings more gauze, and sweet-tasting tablets that melt on your tongue. His hands continue to stay gentle, even when you struggle to move your wings when he asks. He hums under his breath as he works. He sings you lullabies when you clamp your eyelids shut, when he touches the sores along your back and your muscles shudder in response. He tells you about the sun and the seasons and the sky. His voice falls over you like a blanket, coarse but comforting, thin but weighty enough to keep you warm.

XII. You wash her wings and clean the pus out from between the coverts and massage her spasming muscles. You keep bringing fresh bandages for the infected wounds. The other brothers mutter that you’re wasting your time. They call her TS2 as if that will distance themselves from the danger of attachment. They don’t know the name you’ve given her. They don’t know the number of feathers scattered across the floor. They don’t even know the color of her eyes.

XIII. Your wings have grown heavier and clumsy. When the brothers come to conduct their experiments, you try to obey their commands, but the muscles of your shoulders don’t want to follow your mind’s orders. It takes so much effort to lift your wings from the stone floor, to spread them out at their full span. You obey and keep your eyes shut and wait for them to leave.

XIV. The brothers’ whispers are louder than whispers now. They note missing ointments when they restock the shelves. You do not stop your acts of resistance. You wait for the Watcher to take notice; you dread the moment he will.

XV. The brothers come more often now. You can’t open your eyes even if you wanted to. Your eyelids are too heavy. The black of their backs is better than the golden light the brothers bring. They pull at your wings when you can’t lift them yourself. They bring more needles, more cold liquid pushed into your bloodstream, more sputtering candles that keep dragging you back from the darkness that holds you when they’re gone.

XVI. Suddenly you realize you’re running out of time. Either you break your sacred pacts and stop it all for good, or she dies. Another failed experiment, discarded as a third is begun. The Watcher requests an audience with you. The Waiter and the Welcomer are there as well. They know. They know. You’re running out of time.

The parents of the town tell their children not to ask questions. The parents do not ask questions either, when the brothers come to the market to buy more glass bottles and sell soft down-pillows in return. The townspeople trade reams of paper for sharpened quill pens. They smile at the brothers. They go back to their own homes. They do not ask questions. No one likes a person who pries.

XVII. You are so tired. Hands shake you awake and you know you should obey, should respond, quickly before they resort to more than just shaking, but you are so tired.

XVIII. She is thin enough to scoop up in your arms without effort. When did she grow so light, so small? Her wings crumple in on themselves, fold in unnatural directions as you hold her against your chest. You nestle your face into her red-tinged hair for just a moment––more than you should spare––to whisper an apology and a reassurance and a promise, though her shut eyes and blank expression make you wonder if she can even hear.

XIX. Your wings ache, but you barely notice. The soft blanket of his voice wraps around your tired, muffled mind. You haven’t opened your eyes in a long time.

XX. The Watcher is coming. The brothers have called him, you know, because you hear their shouts far below. The sound of boots on stairs curls upwards like smoke.

You know the distance from the stairwell to the exit. You know how many steps there are between you and the brothers, you and the exit, you and the floor. If you can get down to the supply-room, you know what items could easily go up in flame.

XXI. I need you, little one. I’m sorry, but I need you, just for one thing. It’s his voice, pressed against your ear but still so far away. I know you can do it. I know you’re strong.

XXII. Your hands shake as you help her unfold her wings. You know, you know, you’ve run out of time. She is so small, so pale, but despite it all, the tests have been working. When stretched out wide, her wings are almost twice her size, jet black with streaks of orange along the secondaries. You rub the muscles. You smooth out the feathers. You tuck her head under your chin and clutch her body to your chest. You look down the center of the spiral staircase. You jump.

XXIII. A sudden wind hits your face. It pushes against your back and tosses your tangled hair in the air like a flickering candle’s flame. You’re falling and you might be terrified if you could manage to feel something but the wind shoves itself against the undersides of your wings as if it wants to stop your fall. His heartbeat pounds in your ears. He tells you to be strong for just a moment longer, to keep your wings spread as wide as you can, so you do your best to obey.

XXIV. It is far from graceful, but your bones do not shatter when you reach the stone floor far below. You hastily help her close her wings against her shaking sides. Her eyes are open now, but they just stare over your shoulder, flitting and unfocused. The brothers are halfway up the stairs. It will take them four minutes to turn around and run back down. It will take you two minutes to make it to the supply room, break the bottles of steroids and sedatives, and toss a candle on the liquid to set it ablaze. It will take her three minutes to make it out the door.

XXV. He is telling you something, your face cupped in his hands, though your mind is too cloudy to hear. You can’t keep your eyes on his face, can’t keep your eyes on anything without having it go all blurry and faint. He gives you a hug. And then he shoves you, hard.

XXVI. Go, go, go. Go until you can’t run anymore. Follow the sun. Follow the sun until you find the town. They’ll help you. I love you, Skye. Now go. The brothers are one minute from the base of the stairs. You curse the Watcher and the Waiter and the Welcomer in the same breath that you pray to Something for her to be kept safe. The exit is closed but not locked, you know from the way evening sunlight spills from the crack in the door. So you push her as hard as you can in its direction before you run to the bottles on the wall.

XXVII. You stumble into the door and your weight swings it open, where daylight crashes over you like a wave and leaves you blind. The sun is the warmest thing in the world, warmer than his voice or the blankets he gave you or the candles he lit when he collected all your feathers from the floor. You keep stumbling forward––blackness and sunspots dance across your eyes like the candles used to dance across your eyelids. Only your eyes are wide open this time as you keep stumbling, scrambling, running, like he told you to do.

XXVIII. You fling a match into the pool of drugs and broken glass. She’s made it beyond the door. The brothers are thirty seconds away, slipping on the spill, reaching for you and screaming. You shut your eyes as the match makes contact and your world explodes.

Once upon a time, a tower collapsed in the middle of a forest. Stone crumbled and wooden stairs burst into flames. There must have been an accident, the townspeople murmured among themselves, what a shame. While they were still swapping rumors, a child emerged from the woods, hazel eyes wide and staring. The plain shift-dress she wore was stained with dirt and blood. But the strangest thing was the wings that sprouted from her back, trailing along behind her as she stumbled into the street. She looked at the townspeople and they looked at her, their eyes nearly as wide as her own, until hers slid shut and she fell like a shot bird to the ground.

XIX. When you finally wake, you are lying on a small cot in a thatch-roofed room. A woman leans over you. The cloth on your forehead feels almost as soft as the bandages he used to use. Hello there. Her voice sounds nothing like his, except for the way it creeps up gently to your ears like it doesn’t want to intrude. Don’t worry. You’re safe now. You’re going to be okay.

#elle writes #the deep green #tdg content #skye & brother marcus #sorry the images are slightly grainy !!! idk why tumblr does that but if you click/tap on them they should be easier to read #i was just really stubborn about wanting to keep the formatting i used so this was the only way to do that (using images instead of #uploading it to ao3 or something; bc it wouldn't do the adjustable margins)#idk if people remember that little writing piece i was losing my mind over a few weeks ago #making characters completely my own and writing a Story for the first time in....years i think #well this is it :DD #cw abuse #cw child abuse #cw physical abuse #from the nest

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afriendofblahaj · 1 month ago

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YURI UPDATE THE THIRD

Previous Next

Tw: Violence, some child abuse

This is my first attempt at writing anything not for a class or application, so please be nice, but I would love any feedback, positive or negative on my writing, id like to improve.

If you would like to be added to the tag list just ask! Ill be posting progress as i write it, and then posting the finished story when i am done, so if you'd like to read it all at once and avoid spoilers, the story is under the cut, and ill make a post once its complete.

Sienna stumbled to her feet and dropped the trowel into the dirt. Her father, still happy about how fast she finished with digging the holes for his new plants, excitedly announced that this would mean she would have more time for the ring today, and her heart slammed to the bottom of her chest, feeling like a weight more dense than any metal. She knew she had a bit of time before she had to leave for the ring, but extra time there is something she dreaded. Sienna slowly shuffled forward, grunting in vague agreement, and moved inside to wash the dirt from the garden off her hands and face. As she stood at the sink, letting the water run over her fingers, her head fell forward, and tears slid gently down her cheeks. She knew what was coming, and she didn’t like it one bit, but the alternative was much, much worse. She slowly rubbed her fingers together, scrubbing the dirt from her skin, and watching the dirty water swirl down the drain, feeling like a small part of whatever soul she had left was sliding down with it. She splashed the water on her face, then carefully wrapped the padded bandages her parents kept for her around her hands and wrists, adjusting it so the padding was over her knuckles, and tied it off on the outside of her hands. Confirming she could still make a fist, and that the bandages didn’t impede her movement in any way, she shrugged her shoulders and lifted her head, wiping the tears off her face and shrugging back her shoulders to stand tall. The downtrodden and depressed look on her face slid off, to be replaced with one of solid steel. No emotion was left behind her eyes except anger and rage at her parents for what was about to come. Sienna calmly steeled herself, then walked out the door into the sunlight.

The walk to the ring was fairly uneventful, but Sienna didn’t know that, she was completely withdrawn into herself the entire time, stumbling forward one foot at a time, noises around her muffled as if her head was underwater. Every sensation on her skin was amplified tenfold, prick felt like a stab, every touch like she was being grabbed. She noticed after a few seconds that she wasn't breathing, and she forced her jaw to relax, as she slowly inhaled and exhaled. She forced herself to focus on breathing all the way to the ring, before walking inside and taking her place on the mat. She allowed herself to enjoy the warmup exercises a bit, they were quite similar to her morning routine, and Sienna chose to focus on the energy they gave her. She lined up with the rest of the participants and did the stretches, feeling her muscles loosen as she tilted to one side in unison with everyone else, her fingers brushing her toes. As everyone scattered to individual places in the low ceilinged hut, Sienna ran in place until it hurt to breathe, then dropped to the floor and did push ups until her arms turned to jelly. Sitting up, she crossed her legs, closed her eyes, and set her hands palms up on her knees. Forcing the air from her lungs, she slowly inhaled, then let her mind wander as she exhaled. Suddenly, she was sitting in the same way, but she felt the sun on her face and grass gently brushing against her legs. Sienna gently opened her eyes to find herself sitting in the middle of the grassy field, with beautiful white clouds drifting lazily across a brilliant blue sky. Small animals scurried through the grass, mostly rodents and lizards, but a few birds hopped about, and one gently jumped onto her crossed legs. Running a finger gently down its back, a single tear leaked from her eye as she felt the golden rays of the sun warm her skin. Sienna noticed the grass part slightly near her feet, and a small red squirrel crept out from the blades, slowly approaching her. She stayed very still, waiting for it to calmly climb on her too, when a shrill whistle blasted through the air, and the last thing Sienna saw as the world faded around her was the squirrel running in fright from her, the fear on its tiny face burned into her brain.

Her eyes fluttered open for real, and she saw the head of the club standing above everyone, silver whistle in hand. The whistle indicated that fights were starting soon, and Sienna climbed to her feet, shaking the cobwebs from her brain, a scowl on her face. There were only two arenas in the building and at least a dozen people warming up, and so she knew she’d have some time before she actually needed to fight. Since the trainers would come to prep them a few minutes before their fights, Sienna moved to the back of the room, and squared up against a thick canvas bag filled with sand that was hanging from chains. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then exhaled, opening her eyes and jabbing out with her right hand, slamming her closed knuckles into the canvas. The bag rippled and pushed away from her slightly as she followed through with the impact, shifting her hips to put her weight into the bag. Her knuckles stung as they always did on the first strike of the day despite the padding she had wrapped around them, but she shook it as she withdrew, rolling back into a ready position again. She bounced a few times on her feet before striking again, this time with her left hand, following it quickly with her right, hitting the bag twice in under half a second. Without taking time to rest, she hopped backwards, shifted, then hit again, this time right-left-right-right. She dropped back, giving the bag time to settle before unleashing another flurry of attacks. As people moved around her, time slowed as she watched her hands reach out in slow motion, the bag rippling slowly at each jab. When her arms were properly warmed up and obeying her commands, she turned her hips under her to face the bag at an angle, and lined up kicks on the canvas. Sienna delivered the blows with practiced efficiency, bringing her waist around to deliver maximum power from one foot as she rotated on the other, landing gracefully each time. Soon, when she landed a particularly well delivered kick her heart sank as she felt a tap on her shoulder. Time suddenly snapped back, her breathing quickened, and her vision closed in as sounds swam around her. She followed the trainer to the area behind ring 2 where she was given a once over to check for major pre-existing injuries (mostly for scoring purposes in the event of a tie, many of the trainers didn’t even try to pretend it was about the safety of those involved) before they gave her a thumbs up and pushed her towards the ropes at the edge of the ring.

She pulled herself up and stood in the corner, looking over at her opponent, an elf who was a head taller and a year younger than her. The elf was gently moving his arms back and forth, as if punching in his mind, and Sienna studied the pattern with care, knowing it could mean the difference between a hit knocking her out and one leaving a bruise on her forearm. She was careful to move slowly and deliberately forward to the center where she shook the elf's hand, then bowed as the referee split them apart. She turned to face him, her face cold steel. She had a reputation she never wanted at this place, but it did inspire fear in their eyes when she locked onto others, and everyone dreaded being in the ring with her. Sienna bounced on her feet, keeping her arms loose and in a low ready position as she eyed down her opponent. Despite knowing people ostensibly joined by choice, Sienna could not bring herself to hit someone who hadn’t hit her, and this was well known throughout the ring, adding to her reputation. The fear of being forced to strike one of the best fighters before anything would happen caused even experience fighters to tremble and quake. Many more experienced fighters who had sparred with her before knew to take the first shot fast, getting over the fear and starting the fight before Sienna could settle into a rhythm, but this young elf had just moved up from the lower level, winning fights from his size alone, and wasn't ready to face her (a fact the trainers knew, they deliberately placed him with her when determining matchups) bouncing back and forth himself as he sized her up. She could see the fear in his eyes and just kept her face passive as she watched his mind go a mile a minute through his eyes, the thoughts telegraphing for anyone to read. Finally, she saw him snap, and throw an easily predictable left hook towards her head. Sidestepping it, she threw a jab at his gut which passed his raised hands and connected, the noise sickening to Sienna as her heart dropped in pain at his grunt. She spun around him and fell back into her ready position, waiting for him to make a move again. This time, he pushed forward, but she knew from watching him before the match he was going to feign high then strike low, so she leaned back slightly to avoid the high punch, then let his right hand hit her arm at an angle, sending the punch past her and pulling him off balance. The elf fell to the floor wincing, and despite not being directly responsible for hurting him this time, Sienna still felt guilt flash across her brain. He shakily pulled himself to his feet again, trying to square up one more time, but Sienna threw a single punch, her brain screaming at her how wrong it was, landing a blow to his face and knocking him out.

(some of the lines breaks are just because tumblr doesn't like long text, sorry if it interrupts the flow)

Tag List:

@alicethethreshershark @useless-transbian @shark-tranny @theasexualagent @bikindashyandreadytocry @toppettehat @twohundredfiftynine @spaghettihell @thesillytransgirlnova @lostshulkerbox @a-quiet-banshee

#Elle writes #Yuri!!!#dnd oc #Yuri Update #tw violence #tw child abuse

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callsignspark · 1 year ago

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change your ticket home

a top gun maverick AU

pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Sherrie McHone (fem!OC)

summary: After a successful business trip on the West Coast, two Wells Corporation engineers have problems getting back home. Thank god for Bradley Bradshaw, a man who is determined to make their hours waiting in the terminal as enjoyable as possible. And if he and his pretty travel companion (and colleague) get closer along the way? Well that’s just a bonus.

warnings: difficulties of being a woman in a male-dominated field, minor misogyny from coworkers, yearning, pining, Bradley being an absolute sweetheart, it's vaguely alluded to but Sherrie is named after the Steve Perry song, American Airlines bashing bc this fic is based on a real and horrible experience I had a few years ago. and yes, the title is from the one direction song.

word count: 9.8k | masterlist

note: happy saturday! this has been in the works for almost a year and I'm so thrilled to finally be sharing it! this is dedicated to @gretagerwigsmuse, who gave so many wonderful ideas and has continually been a cheerleader for this fic. happy birthday!

Friday, July 15, 2016 | 06:36 AM PST | San Diego, CA

“If I fake a heart attack, we can get out of this meeting, right?”

She looks over at Bradley sprawled in the uncomfortable café chair in his navy suit, his arm slung over the back of her chair. He’s down to just his crisp, white button-up, jacket, and tie abandoned within the first ten minutes of the call.

“Suck it up, we’re almost done.” She rolls her eyes. “And Martin knows you’re a supremely healthy thirty-two-year-old, so no, I don’t think that will work.”

“Sherrie…” His whine is cut off by her hand covering his mouth as she unmutes her microphone and mentally praises his decision to sit so close to her. Not having to pull out both laptops was just an additional perk on top of her ability to silence him.

“That’s correct, Sean. We got them to agree to a small batch trail run for the connectors. We’ll be working together on running them through environmental testing before committing to a full contract.”

“And why are they agreeing to that? Because frankly, it makes no sense to me why they would want to do that.”

Bradley straightens up, his eyes narrowing at the Teams box showing the older man’s initials. “Well, Sean, as Sherrie explained before. Harris hasn’t produced connectors like this before, and they’re interested in the test results, specifically the shock data. So they agreed to take on half the burden so they can use the information for their own use. If this works how we think it will, this will be a huge boost for their business, even if the patent is shared.”

She looks at him, half admonishment and half appreciation, always a little bit amazed when he had her back, no matter how many times he had done it. “The contracts team is drawing up the final agreements and negotiating with their team next week, so best case scenario is we have reports with usable data by the end of the summer. Worst case, it’ll drift into the middle of Q1.”

“That’s great work you guys did out there, thank you. Alright, I think that covers everything we had to talk about today. McHone, Bradshaw - have a safe flight back, and everyone have a good weekend!” Martin ends the call before anyone can add anything.

Bradley laughs. “God, he’s just as sick of Sean as I am. I can’t wait until he retires.”

“He’s not that bad; you’re just grumpy because you had to dress up for the staff meeting, and then Martin said cameras off today.”

“I am upset about that! I will be logging yet another suggestion that we should have casual Fridays and casual travel policy. But I’m more upset because he talks down to you all the time! Like you haven’t been carrying this department on your back since we started ten years ago!”

“Carrying is an exaggeration, Bradley.” She looks up from where she’s putting her laptop away. “I think you have time to change into something comfy before we board.”

“American Airlines Flight 2307 from San Diego to Charlotte, Boarding Group A can now board.”

“Or not.” She giggles as he groans, reaching over to pull her other air pod out of his ear. “Come on, it’s a long flight; you can sleep on the plane. Just be thankful you’re not wearing an underwire bra and heels.”

“I don’t know how you do that.” He mutters, shooing her away when she tries to pick up her carry-on, throwing it over his shoulder alongside his own.

“I don’t either. I’m going to get a massage when we get back to Boston.”

“Ohhh, a massage sounds nice.” He subtly sticks his elbow out for her grab, which she gratefully does, letting his tall frame guide her to their gate. “You know you didn’t have to wear heels, right?”

“You should shut up while I’m still thankful you yelled at Sean for me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Sherrie leans her head on his arm as they wait in the priority boarding line, one of the perks of traveling on the company’s dime. Normally, she would worry about being more professional while carrying her work bag that had the Wells Corporation logo embroidered on it, but she can’t bring herself to care. Yesterday’s meetings ran late, and the following client dinner had kept them out until almost midnight. After packing, going to bed late, and having to get up at 3:30AM to get to the airport, she was exhausted.

She takes her bag before they scan their tickets, not fighting when he grabs it again on their walk down the jet bridge.

“Where are you sitting again?”

“I’m in 16C.” She snorts at Bradley’s pout. “What? You knew we weren’t going to be sitting together.”

“But I’m going to be bored all the way back in 21D by myself.”

“Bud, you’re going to fall asleep in the first 30 minutes like you always do, and then I would be stuck for the next four hours with you leaning and drooling on me.”

Bradley whips his head around, “That is a baseless accusation. I do not drool!”

“You 100% definitely do drool, I’ve seen it.” Her smirk widens when his attempt to fight back is cut off by the flight attendants greeting them.

He ushers Sherrie on first, politely nodding to the flight crew before following her down the aisle, ducking down to whisper. “I do not drool.”

“You absolutely do drool. You also snore.”

She can feel eyes on them as they shuffle down the aisle, making eye contact with an older woman who raises her eyebrows in appreciation at the hunk of a man behind her.

This happens everywhere they go.

Bradley is such a gentleman, always opening doors and carrying her bags, that people never believe the two are just friends and coworkers. She’s had complete strangers fight with her when she says there’s nothing between them. Unable to accept that it’s just platonic.

As much as she wishes it could be more.

After years of learning all the little details of each other, she knows they would be good together. Their decade-long friendship allowing her to thoroughly analyze how well their personalities would mesh. They share the same beliefs and have the same interests; they even have overlapping friend groups. They’re made for each other.

On paper.

In reality, it will never happen.

She won’t let it.

“Is this good here?” Bradley’s question interrupts her weekly internal spiral; his big brown eyes blink at her over his shoulder as he puts her bag into the overhead compartment.

“That’s fine. Can you grab my water bottle out of the side pocket?

“Here ya go, ma’am. I’ll meet you by the water foundation when we land, okay?”

She nods, smiling as he hustles back to his seat to avoid a family almost flattening him in their haste to get to their assigned seats.

Her seat neighbors haven’t arrived yet, so Sherrie sits down without bothering to buckle, tucking her work bag under the row in front of her after pulling out her plane kit. Her pencil case from college that she’s repurposed to hold her headphones, phone charger, gum, hand sanitizer, and a few other small necessities.

Her phone buzzes as she’s storing her water bottle and the little bag away in the pocket of the seat in front of her.

Bradley is woken up by his seat neighbor hitting his arm as he reaches to grab a drink, nodding at the guy’s apologetic face before trying to get comfortable again. Alan talked way too much at dinner last night, and it was a struggle to stay awake during the project manager’s third round of gushing over how brilliant and profitable Sherrie’s proposal would be for both companies.

“Sir? This is for you, do you want it?” The muffled question is accompanied by someone shaking his shoulder. He peels open his eyes to see the flight attendant holding out two packets of Biscoff cookies.

His face must be confused enough for the short woman to take pity on him. “Your friend up there said these are your favorite and asked me to give hers to you.”

His heart warms up, taking the treats and saying thank you. He enjoys the cookies, washing them down with the ginger ale he also got, thinking about how well Sherrie knows him. He forces himself to wait for them to finish snack service before he gets up to use the restroom.

“Thank you.” Bradley revels in the way Sherrie jumps when he pops her headphone out, purposefully brushing his lips against her ear. “Hmmm, you were right, your seatmate is cute.”

She glares up at him, a smile threatening to break through. “Isn’t he? He fell asleep five minutes after take off, just like you.”

“Yet, another baseless accusation!”

“I heard you snoring.”

“You shouldn’t lie in front of small children.”

“His mom said he’s seven months old; I don’t think we have to be concerned about teaching him to lie while he’s still in a car seat.”

“Probably shouldn’t chance it, though. Say I don’t snore.”

“You just said I shouldn’t lie. Should probably go to the bathroom before you start holding up traffic.” She puts her headphone back in, wiggling her fingers at him before going back to reading on her phone.

It gives him the strangest sense of déjà vu.

Tuesday, March 25, 2005 | 10:43 AM EST | Charlottesville, VA

“…and he said you had already-” Bradley cuts himself off, realizing she can’t hear him. He chuckles; he should have known better than to just walk up and start talking.

He doesn’t know Sherrie McHone very well. They had taken all the freshman intro to engineering requirements together, and this year their classes had split into their chosen disciplines. His mechanical, hers electrical. But he knows her well enough to know that she can pretty much only be found without her headphones during class.

He remembers the first time they spoke last semester after he accidentally walked right into her. He had told Danny it’s because she’s so much shorter than him, but it’s really because he wasn't paying attention.

Sherrie had only taken one earpiece out to make sure he was okay before continuing onto her class, seamlessly weaving between upperclassmen as she shoved her headphone back in.

“Sherrie?” No response.

He lets out a tiny huff and checks his watch. Normally, he wouldn’t care that she’s clueless to his existence even as he’s right beside her, but he’s got a class soon, and he’s still two buildings away. So he does the only thing he can.

He pops her headphones out and steps back for fear of getting smacked.

Her head whips up, narrowing in on him freakishly fast. “What the fuck, Bradshaw?”

He’s surprised to learn that she knows his name.

“Sorry, Sherrie! I’ve been trying to talk to you for like five minutes, and you somehow haven’t noticed, but I’ve got class in 15 minutes, so I needed to get your attention.”

“Oh…” Her green eyes widen in surprise, the apples of her cheeks turning a light pink. “Sorry about that. What did you need? Wait. How did you find me?”

A fair question.

“Khondker told me where you sit.” He partially fibs.

All semester he had been watching her disappear after EE221, the one class they shared. It had taken him a while, but he was pretty sure he had found her secret study nook in the electrical engineering wing of the building. Their TA had only confirmed Bradley’s theory of where he could find his fellow sophomore.

“I don’t understand this last section we’ve been learning, and Khondker said you had already finished the homework and could help me. So could you?”

“He didn’t help you?” Sherrie raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

“He tried.” Bradley scratches the back of his head, remembering how frustrated the patient man had been after his third attempt at explaining. “I just really don’t understand circuit loops. And he thought having a classmate explain it to me would make it stick. That or he was just so sick of me, he’s pawning me off.”

He watches her think, her pencil rapidly tapping against her notebook, making him nervous.

“I don’t want to be rude, but if you don’t understand current loops, I’m not sure how much help I can be. I understand the material, but I’m not a miracle worker.”

Her bluntness makes him smile. “I’m not expecting miracles, just help with the homework. If you have time.”

“Okay, just as long as you don’t get your hopes up too much.” She grabs a bright pink notebook and opens it up. “So, I’m usually free-”

“I don't want to interrupt, but I do have to get to class, so could we figure out a time later today?”

“Sure, I’ll be here until my class at four. Feel free to sit down if I’m not here; it just means I’m grabbing food.” He nods, backing away. “Wait! Bradley! Go down this hall and out the side door. You’ll be like halfway there already.”

“Awesome, thanks!” He starts to jog down the hallway, looking back to see her putting her headphones back in. Waving back when she smiles and wiggles her fingers at him before going back to her homework.

Friday, July 15, 2016 | 3:16 PM EST | Charlotte, NC

“Our flight got delayed, and I’m hungry.”

Sherrie jumps, not expecting Bradley to get that close to her face three seconds after she exited the bathroom.

“Okay, I could eat. Where do you wan-”

“Auntie Anne’s.”

He’s walking away before she can even process what he said. She allows herself one second to appreciate the way he looks, walking through the concourse - navy slacks fitting his legs perfectly and all their bags thrown over his broad shoulders - before she’s clicking along after him.

“Bradshaw!” He freezes and turns, almost taking a lanky teenager out with her backpack. “Oh my god, Bradley! Be careful! You almost took that kid’s head off.”

His smile is sheepish as she shuffles them over to the wall. “I did not do that on purpose.”

She giggles and takes her backpack from his shoulder. “Yeah, I kinda figured. But you should have seen his face. His life flashed before his eyes. All sixteen years.”

“I can carry that Sherrie.”

“That’s okay, I got it. No! Bradley!”

He ignores her, smiling at her frustrated little stomp when he hands over her tan, cross-body purse out of her work bag. “You just carry that and make sure I don’t take out any toddlers or old ladies.”

“How am I supposed to do that if I’m ahead of you?” She snarks as he steers them toward the food stands.

“You’re smart; I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Bradley laughs when she mocks him under her breath. “I can hear you, smartass.”

“You were meant to, Bradley.”

His heart flutters at the teasing wink she sends over her shoulder. It’s been twelve years since they became friends, and he still feels like that 20-year-old kid who was nervous to talk to the pretty red-headed girl he had a crush on.

He can feel eyes on them as her heels catch people’s attention, and he finds himself glaring at men who are shamelessly staring. Her shoes aren’t loud as they click along on the tile floor, but it’s hard to ignore the beautiful woman striding along in business casual.

It happens everywhere they go.

Sherrie has always been beautiful and painfully unaware of her effect on men. It never matters where they are - at work, the rare baseball game he forces her to attend, happy hour with their friends from school - she always catches attention. It doesn’t bother him because she never reciprocates, and he’s always the one to give her a ride back to her apartment.

Even if he wishes it was their apartment they were going to.

He’s watched her change over the last decade, seen her grow as a person. He’s risen through the ranks with her professionally, the two of them matching each other step for step with each promotion and raise. He’s publicly assured her that her hair still looks good as it’s deepened color with age, now less red and more auburn. He’s privately appreciated the way her body has changed, softer and curvier than when they were kids. Her wide hips are a frequent star in his daydreams.

It's the only place where they’ll ever be in a relationship.

He knows they’d be perfect together. Old friends who know each other so well they don’t even have to talk to communicate sometimes. Whose attitudes fit together like puzzle pieces, perfectly in sync with each other. He knows it won’t happen. Can’t happen.

“Grab us a table, and I’ll get the food.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t fight her about paying, knowing this will be covered under their per diem. “Don’t forget my-”

“You’re frozen lemonade, I know!”

Bradley rolls his eyes at the hand that waves over her shoulder, settling their bags at a table and keeping an eye on Sherrie while sending an update to Mav.

His thumbs hover over the keyboard. He wants to tell his uncle the whole situation - that he’s not afraid to flirt with Sherrie.

“Everything okay?”

Bradley looks up to find her eyebrows furrowed as she sets a tray down.

“All good. Just sending my family an update that we’re delayed.”

She nods, sitting in the chair across from him. “Here’s your mini pretzel dogs, with mustard and a frozen lemonade. This is my pretzel nuggets, cheese sauce, and Diet Coke. Oh! And I got us these cinnamon sugar pretzels to share!”

“Thank you for remembering the mustard.”

“Bradley, when have I ever forgotten the mustard? Here, take some napkins.”

He shoves an entire mini pretzel dog in his mouth in lieu of answering her question, which they both know the answer to. Never. She has never forgotten his love for pretzels with mustard.

They eat in comfortable silence, the way only two friends can, occasionally dunking into each other's sauces as they scroll through their phones.

“Hey, how is your da- oh Bradley! You got mustard on your shirt!” His head snaps down to his shirt, groaning when he sees the yellow blob on his white button-up.

“Fuck! This is new, too!”

Sherrie dives into her bag, muttering about a stain stick, a triumphant noise escaping when she comes up successful. Scooting closer to him, she’s hit with a wave of nostalgia as she helps him clean his shirt.

Friday, April 6, 2007 | 10:12 PM EST | Charlottesville, VA

“You should’ve been gone, knowing how I made you feel!”

Sherrie’s head pops up from the lab reports she’s grading.

“And I should've been gone, after all your words of steel!”

She knows that voice.

“Oh, I must've been a dreamer! And I must've been someone else!”

She knows that voice very well.

“And we should've been over!”

She rushes for the front door, hoping and praying that the idiot she’s become close friends with this year isn’t actually outside her townhouse.

“Oh! Sherrie, our love holds on! Holds on!”

She whips the door open and, sure enough, drunkenly singing to her neighbor's house is Bradley Bradshaw.

“Bradley!” She hisses at him, ignoring the flutters in her stomach when he points his big, goofy grin towards her and not the tulips the soccer girls next door planted in front of their bay window. “What are you doing? It’s 10 PM!”

“You didn’t come.”

“First man to ever care about that.” She mutters, snorting at her joke.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing. What are you doing here?”

His puppy dog eyes are vicious, and she has the urge to slap her hand over her eyes so she doesn’t succumb to their power. “You didn’t come to the party!”

Sherrie sighs, she thought he might be disappointed she didn’t come to the annual Sigma Chi Easter Bash, but she never thought he would actually notice her absence. Or that it would result in a drunken serenade.

“Bradley, I told you I had a lot of grading and might not make it tonight.” She gently reminds him, stifling a laugh when he trips over his own feet while standing still. “You okay?”

“I have to pee. Can I come in?”

She’s pretty sure he’s just making excuses but lets him in any way; she doesn’t need to deal with him getting a public indecency charge on top of everything else. “Shoes off, Bradshaw. Bathroom is right here; I’ll be in the dining room.”

“Yes, ma’am!” He sloppily salutes her, losing his balance and thunking against the wall, one shoe still on.

Sherrie just blinks at him before returning to her spot at the dining room table, holding in the laugh threatening to escape. She settles in her chair, focusing on the mediocre reports her students had turned in.

“I washed my hands!” Bradley’s abrupt entrance startles her. “Can we have a snack? I’m hungry?

She watches in amusement as he shuffles to her fridge, riffling through the shelves before opening the freezer and gasping.

“I love pretzels. Can we make these? Please?”

The box of pretzels belongs to her roommate, but she’s not strong enough to deny Bradley’s big brown eyes two times in a row so she makes a mental note to buy Amna a new box the next time she goes to the store. “Yeah, we can. But no touching the oven when you’re drunk. Go sit down.”

“I’m not drunk!” He argues even as he follows her directions, plopping himself at the table and nosily leafing through her done pile. “Wow, lots of red here.”

“Bradley! Don’t look at those!”

“Why not?”

“Would you want some random student looking through your homework?”

His rebuttal gets cut off by the oven beeping, announcing it’s up to temp. After she pops the tray in the oven, she turns and catches him appreciating the pj shorts riding up her shapely legs.

“What?” Her head cocks in confusion.

“Nothin'… cute shorts.”

“Thank you.” He watches in fascination as she snips at him even while her cheeks turn pink. “It’s almost like I was dressed for comfort and not planning on being interrupted.”

“But you’re glad I’m here, right?”

“I’ve had worse company on a Friday night.” She nudges him out of her chair. “While those are baking, go find something to watch, and I’m going to finish grading this report.”

“Such a responsible TA.”

Pride fills his chest as Sherrie snorts at his joke and goes back to work. They’ve officially been friends since last year, but he still tries his hardest to make her laugh. She's always so busy and stressed, and she does the cutest little snort-laugh when he catches her off guard.

He puts on a random movie, just grabbing a VHS case with the Disney logo on the side, before plopping on the couch. “Is there a reason you have so many kids movies?”

“Those are Jayla’s, she collects them.” Sherrie answers, never looking up from the table. “What did you choose?”

“It’s a surprise!”

“You don’t remember, huh?”

“Nope! I’ll be quiet now.”

She hums a thank you in his direction, and Bradley keeps his promise, watching her work and staying quiet until the timer goes off. His chin hooked on the back of the couch; he follows her movement through the kitchen as she pulls the pretzels out and transfers them to a plate.

“Can I have mustard, please?”

“Sure can.” Sherrie smiles at his dopey smile as she makes her way to the couch. “Here, take these, then we can eat.”

He gulps down the painkillers she drops in his hand, chugging the rest of the apple juice after they’re gone, smiling when she absentmindedly praises him for listening. He shoves a bite of pretzel in his mouth and mashes the play button, and is pleasantly surprised to find A Bug’s Life was the mystery choice.

“I love this movie,” he garbles through a pretzel. “I love how Flick wins over the princess just by getting a chance to show off his true self.”

“That was shockingly wise for the drunk man sprawled on my couch.”

Bradley thanks her, already a bit more sober but not enough to pick up on her teasing. “So, why didn’t you come? Grading really couldn’t wait?”

“It probably could have, but I’m not a partier, Bradley. You know that.” She dips a piece of pretzel in the mustard. “Besides, I really didn’t think you would notice I wasn’t there, Mr. Popular.”

“You’re the only person I invited; of course, I noticed when you didn’t show up.”

“Really? No one else? Why?”

“I know it’s almost finals, but I wanted to hang out without any books in front of us; that’s all we do lately. Study. Plus, you’ve been extra stressed about something that you don’t want to talk about, and I just wanted you to relax since you won’t talk to me about whatever is bothering you.”

“That’s sweet of you, Bradley. It’s not that I don’t want to tell you; it’s just that my family has been…” She waves a hand through the air, a deep sigh escaping. “It’s complicated. I’m trying not to think about it too much.”

“Well, I’m here if you do want to talk.”

“Thanks bud. How about you? How’re your parents?” She takes one last chunk before nudging the plate in his direction and settling back into the corner.

“Mom is good; she’s close to being considered cancer-free. I think we’re gonna throw a party when she gets there.”

“That’s awesome, Bradley! I’m glad she’s doing so well. How’s your dad?”

“Mav isn’t my dad.”

A record scratch plays in Sherrie’s head as she freezes. She knows she’s heard Bradley talk about his dad, and she’d seen photos of his parents the one time she had visited his frat house last year. He had specifically pointed the photo out, telling her it was his parents. She had even been next to him when he was on the phone when he said “dad” to the person on the other end.

“My dad died when I was three. Mav is- was his best friend. I call him dad sometimes because he’s the closest thing I’ve got.”

Sherrie feels her heart break as Bradley sniffles and sadly shoves a mustard-covered pretzel in his mouth, unshed tears clumping his eyelashes. She’s never seen her friend like this before; she’s experienced many other emotions - frustration, joy, confusion - but the pain creasing his brow is new.

Comforting crying people has never been her forte, but instinctively - almost like they moved without her permission - Sherrie’s fingers run over his hair. Gently stroking the sun-streaked waves as a few tears escape down his cheeks and she scoots closer, letting her body press into his side and hoping the proximity helps.

“I’m sorry for crying on you.” He quietly apologizes after a few minutes of tears.

“S’okay. Family can be hard sometimes.”

“Complicated.”

“That too.” She hums, not moving as he swipes at his eyes and leans against her more, his head resting on her shoulder in a slouched position that can’t be comfortable.

“I love Mav; he’s my dad in all the ways it matters. It just sucks that my actual dad won’t be here for graduation. Like, I know he’s missed so much of my life already, but something about him missing college graduation is worse than everything else. It’s just so unfair; I barely remember him, but I just- I just miss him so much, Sherrie.”

Her heart cracks in half at the whispered confession. She can’t even imagine the pain of losing a parent at such a young age. The inability to remember one of the people responsible for giving you life, all memories fuzzy and most built from second-hand recollections of those who can remember. So she says the one thing she would want to hear.

“Tell me about him.”

Sherrie knows she said the right thing when his red-rimmed eyes brighten, and he immediately launches into a beloved story detailing his father’s love of pranks. She listens dutifully — laughing at the right moments and asking questions when Bradley gets carried away, forgetting that she doesn’t know all the people in his story — and feels her heart warm more and more. She’s always liked Bradley, probably more than she should, but it’s hard not to like him. He’s considerate, smart, and funny, not to mention handsome.

Thankfully, before she gets lost in thoughts of broad shoulders and strong jawlines, a big glob of mustard drops on Bradley’s t-shirt, abruptly cutting him off. The two stare in silence at the yellow condiment sitting on the black cotton shirt, somehow surprised at its appearance, before breaking down into giggles.

“C’mon Bradshaw,” Sherrie grabs his hand, pulling him off the couch. “I have a Tide pen we can use on that mess.”

Bradley follows her up the stairs and into the bathroom, teasing Sherrie about the way her tongue pokes out when she focuses. She takes the gentle taunts, grateful he’s focusing on that and not on her pink cheeks or the way her eyes keep darting to his toned stomach. She’s not sure it was completely necessary for him to strip his shirt off, but she won’t be complaining.

“Well,” A few minutes later, she interrupts his rambling story about a slip and slide. Or she thinks that’s what it’s about; she missed the first part. “I think this is as good as I can get it.”

“That’s okay; it’s not like it’s new or anything. Thanks, Sherrie.”

She steadfastly ignores the pounding heart in her chest as miles of golden skin gets covered back up, trying to not feel too disappointed by its disappearance.

Friday, July 15, 2016 | 3:56 PM EST | Charlotte, NC

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” Bradley complains a bit too loudly, ears going hot when several pairs of eyes curiously dart toward him, but his focus doesn’t stay on that for very long when he catches the face Sherrie makes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!”

He squints suspiciously as she avoids eye contact. He usually takes her at her word and doesn’t push, but the frown pulling down the corners of her pink lips sets off bells in his head. “Sherrie, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Bradley. I’m fine.”

He grumbles at her lack of response but settles again in the spot they had claimed after finishing their snack. The gate was still packed, but they had found a prime location with outlets; the only downside was having to sit on the floor, something that is getting harder the older they get.

Bradley scans the area, trying to scout out some open chairs for them to grab, while Sherrie goes back to the movie they’ve been watching on his phone. His eyes drop away from the chairs in surprise when she scoots closer and leans on his shoulder. It’s not uncommon for them to sit close like this at home in Boston, sides pressed together, but she makes a point to be professional when they’re on travel.

“Hey,” he gently nudges her side, concern rising when she doesn’t lift her head, choosing to tilt her neck back, looking up at him with tired eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Panic grips his chest when tears start forming, clouding her green eyes. “Sherrie?! What’s wrong?”

“We were supposed to be halfway home by now, and I’m so uncomfortable. I’m sorry, Bradley, I’m just so tired.” She whimpers, hiding against his bicep.

It hits him like a glass of cold water. Of course, she’s uncomfortable. She’s been walking around in heels and her pantsuit since 4AM California time after getting maybe three hours of sleep. His suit and shoes are comfortable and easily wearable for twelve-plus hours, not to mention the jacket and tie that were ditched sometime after the mustard incident.

“Oh, Sherrie, it’s okay. Let’s go change, yeah? Then we’ll find a quieter place so you can close your eyes and maybe get some sleep.”

“But the policy…”

Bradley resists the urge to roll his eyes at her insistence on rule-following. “In the nicest way possible, Sher, fuck the policy. You’re uncomfortable, and I care about that way more than I could ever care about a stupid, archaic policy.”

He stands, unplugging their phones and gathering their bags on his shoulder before turning to his best friend, who is still on the floor. “C’mon, we’re putting comfy clothes on.”

“But Bradley-”

“No arguing.” He interrupts, helping her off the ground and directing them back towards the restrooms. “We’re not going to sit in our suits for god knows how much longer.”

“But Bradley, I don’t have anything to change into. We had such a packed schedule I didn’t bother to bring normal clothes.” He ignores the thumping of his heart when her hand grabs his forearm, warm fingers slipping under the edge of the rolled-up sleeve as she tugs to slow his pace. At that information, he slides them out of the flow of traffic and over to the wall, Bradley pressing her against one of the columns lining the concourse atrium.

“You don’t have any regular clothes? What about your pajamas?”

“I have a pair of leggings because I was going to do a training run in the gym last night, but that’s it. I can’t wear my pjs because… well, they’re not appropriate for public.”

“Your leggings are clean, though, right?” He asks, ignoring the thoughts of what non-public appropriate pajamas might look like.

“Well, yeah, dinner went so late I barely had time to sleep before we had to be up. I guess I could buy a shirt at one of the SmartShop- what are you doing?”

Bradley peers up from his knees, where he had started digging in his bag. “I’m grabbing one of my shirts for you. Would you prefer a t-shirt or a sweatshirt? Actually, you’re definitely gonna get cold, sweatshirt for you.”

He pulls the worn, gray crew neck out, shaking it out before handing it over.

“You still have this?” The disbelief in her voice makes him laugh.

“Of course, I still have that! Relay was always my favorite event of the year. And that year was my favorite one.”

As the philanthropy chair of Sigma Chi, part of his job was to sign the brothers up for volunteer events and fundraisers. With his mom’s diagnosis, he ensured their schedule included the campus’ annual Relay for Life event, pouring as many resources as he could into the fundraiser that directly helped advance cancer research.

“Wait, but why was junior year your favorite?” She asks, brushing her fingers over the cracked, screen-printed logo.

“Because that’s the reason we became friends, Sher.”

Surprised green eyes meet sincere brown eyes, a thousand words said in the silence of their stares, both remembering the lead-up to that day in April so many years ago.

Bradley’s eyes widen in panic as everyone at the gate starts moving as a herd. They had finally found seats to relax in after changing, the group of passengers waiting with them shrinking as time went on. And now, with only ten minutes until boarding, their gate has changed again.

“Sherrie, wake up!” He feels bad shaking the snoozing woman off, but they have to move with the group to make it to the new part of Terminal A in time for their flight. “C’mon, honey, they changed the gate again — we gotta go!”

“What are you- again?! Shit!” She wipes the bleariness from her eyes, slinging her bags over her shoulder and grabbing the hand he holds out.

The two coworkers, along with fifty of their fellow passengers who have stuck this out, speed walk down the first branch of the terminal. The entire group picking up the pace when turning the corner towards the second branch where the new gate lives. By the time they hit the second branch, everyone is practically running — time ticking down to boarding — no one wanting to miss this flight.

As if the blob of Flight 1121 passengers racing toward the end of the terminal didn’t garner attention from other gates, the entire terminal is staring by the time they reach gate A28, and several people start yelling in frustration.

“This is unbelievable!” An older gentleman’s unhappiness is interrupted by three simultaneous updates pinging everyone’s phones.

Bradley’s head drops back in disbelief, wrapping his arm around Sherrie when her head thunks against his chest. He doesn’t even get a chance to comfort her before the gate agents are making announcements about getting people on other flights, providing hotel rooms, and the vouchers that will be shared.

“Again, we apologize, but if you have flexible travel plans, we ask that you please go to the end of the line so those with time constraints can be taken care of first. Thank you for your cooperation, folks!”

“Well, that’s us, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Sherrie blows air out of her lips, a mischievous smile taking over her face. “Hey, at least this means extra per diem money.”

Bradley laughs as they move to the back of the squiggly line that’s forming, letting her take the bags so he can step away to call to update their supervisor and then his pet sitter. It only takes a few rings for his boss to pick up. “Bradshaw! What’s up? You okay?”

“Hey Martin, all good. Just wanted to let you know that our flight has gotten supremely delayed. We won’t be home until tomorrow morning sometime.”

“Jesus, do you guys need anything?”

“Nah, we’re good. The airline is putting us up in a hotel for the night and giving vouchers for a bunch of stuff. Just called to let you know and for a heads up on the expense report.”

“Well, that is the most important part!” Martin’s honking laugh makes Bradley chuckle as he glances to check on Sherrie’s progress in line. “How’s Sherrie? She good?”

“Yeah, she’s good. She’s holding our spot in line for getting new tickets and stuff.” And it looks like she’s made friends already, he silently adds, smiling at her interacting with the elderly couple in front of her.

“Good. Alright then, I’ll see you on Monday, but let me know if you guys need anything. And hey! If you two end up in the same hotel room — remember what I said on your first day!”

The line goes dead, and so does Bradley’s smile, his stomach churning like it does every time he remembers his first day at the Wells Corporation.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007 | 11:15 AM EST | Boston, MA

“Will you calm down?”

“I can’t, Bradley. What if no one likes me? What if I fuck up?!” She hisses, working to appear calm as they wait for their supervisor to show up, but failing.

“First of all, we’re starting together, so you have at least one person that likes you. And you’re great, everyone will like you. Second, there will be mistakes, but we just graduated — they’re not going to let us do anything alone because we don’t know anything yet.”

Sherrie nods, tucking her hands under her legs and trying to breathe. Bradley’s words are encouraging, but he doesn’t know how difficult her internship was last summer. The older engineers she shadowed treated her like a glorified coffee girl and secretary. Even when she had pointed out a mistake they all had missed, there was no change — just the addition of making her type their reports to see if she could catch something the non-engineer tech writers would miss.

This is a brand new company, but misogyny wasn’t unique to Waite Green Construction. Every woman has to work twice as hard to prove her worth and intellect, no matter her age or experience. She’s just hoping her onboarding mentor will be the only other woman in the department; it would be the perfect way to gain a professional mentor once she’s out of the probation period.

“Good morning, kids! How was orientation?” Mr. Teresi walks into the conference room.

Bradley shakes his hand first, “It was good, sir. Nice to see you again.”

“Good to hear! Learn lots of new things.”

“Yes, I think we can be considered experts on trade secrets now.” Sherrie jokes, focusing on making sure her handshake is firm but not too firm.

“Wonderful. So, I’m guessing you two have been introduced, but just in case you haven’t. Bradley, this is Sherrie McHone; she’s an electrical engineer. And Sherrie, this is Bradley Bradshaw, a mechanical engineer.”

“We actually went to school together, sir.”

“We’re friends,” Bradley adds, the two of them exchanging small smiles.

“Oh, great! Well, that makes things easier getting started. Now let’s go over my plan for the two of you, and then we’ll get lunch, my treat for your first day.”

Their supervisor talks for half an hour, going over things they’ll need to be trained in and their first assignments. By the time he’s done, several notebook pages have been filled and highlighted with things that need to be looked up.

“Alright!” The older engineer claps, rubbing his hands together. “I’m sure your brains are overloaded with information, so go drop your things at your desks, and we’ll head to lunch.”

The recent graduates gather their notes and head for the door, quietly talking about a training they’ll be attending next week when he stops them. “One more thing, guys. They never mention it during R&D orientation, but I feel it’s necessary to mention it to new people. Here at Wells, there isn’t a fraternization policy among non-management coworkers or between any employees in different divisions. But we are a fairly small department, so keep in mind who you interact with and what impacts that may have at work.”

Sherrie feels the blood drain from her already pale face as her brand new supervisor stares at her the entire time he speaks, ignoring Bradley completely. She’s going to be sick. Less than four hours into the first professional role of her career, and it’s already happening.

This is the moment it starts, she thinks, her heart pounding in her throat as she robotically nods. It’s never the men that get these warnings. It’s always the women. Always us. Always me.

“I don’t care about that. But there are some people who will, even though they shouldn’t. And I want you guys to have the best experience here you possibly can. You’re both extremely bright, and I’m excited about your futures. I don’t want you to get bogged down by the opinions of others. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” They answer in unison before filing out of the conference room.

“Sherrie, don’t worry about that. He’s just-”

“Trust me, Bradley. I know exactly what he was saying. I’m going to use the restroom, and then I’ll meet you guys at the elevator.”

“Sherrie…”

But she ignores her friend, shrugging her purse over her shoulder and keeping her face neutral as she heads for the single-stall ladies’ room. Fighting to hold the tears back until she’s inside for fear of being perceived as emotional. A quality no woman can afford to have in a professional setting.

Friday, July 15, 2016 | 8:05 PM EST | Charlotte, NC

“Hey, everything? Martin says hi.”

“We’re good! This is Mr. and Mrs. Ludden; they’re going to visit their newest granddaughter. How’re Sophie and Louis?” Bradley smiles at the excited way she introduces them, putting a steadying hand on her back when she bounces up on her toes.

“Oh, congrats! They’re good; Marie can watch’em one more day, problem.”

“Good, we’ll have to get her a thank you present for the short notice.”

“You didn’t tell us you guys had kids!”

Bradley and Sherrie freeze in place, eyes widening in surprise at the older woman’s words.

“Oh- uh- we-” Sherrie giggles awkwardly. “Sophie and Louis are our cats; we don’t have kids.”

“I’m so sorry!” Mrs. Ludden gasps, hand covering her mouth in shock while her husband groans her name.

“Louise, how many times do we have to do this before you stop making assumptions?”

“It’s okay, innocent mistake,” Bradley assures them.

“Well, they’re such a cute couple. I just thought they would have adorable children, too!”

“Actually… we’re not…”

“Oh, lord. Let me guess. You’re not dating. You’re just friends.”

“Coworkers too, but we were friends first.” Sherrie suppresses a laugh when the older gentleman rubs a hand over his eyes in exasperation.

“Don’t even start, Clayton!”

“I wasn’t going to, dear.”

Bradley can’t help the laugh that escapes at the comfortable ribbing they give each other; it reminds him of his friendship with Sherrie. The easy way they tease, never going too far.

“Would you two like to join us after we get rebooked?” Bradley asks. “We’re going to use our food vouchers tonight to grab dinner before we head to whatever hotel they put us up in.”

The four adults move through the line, chatting about small things and comparing pictures of grandkids and cats. It’s a nice way to spend the time, especially when they get to share judging looks when a woman throws a tantrum and yells at the gate agent. But soon enough, they’re walking back to the main concourse and deciding what food to get.

“No, stop. You just sit here with the bags, and I’ll grab the food.” Bradley gently pushes Sherrie back into her chair, rolling his eyes as he talks over her protests. “I know. You want mac and cheese, Diet Coke, and whatever pulled pork flavor looks best.”

“He’s sweet,” Louise says, watching the two men make their way over to the BBQ place.

“He’s annoying.” Which makes her companion laugh. “Yes, he’s very sweet. I’m lucky to be such good friends with him.”

“Can I ask why the two of you aren’t together? He even knows what food to bring you.”

“It’s just never been like that between us. We’ve always just been friends. And he’s annoyingly smart, so he always remembers what I order.” Sherrie half smiles, pushing down the pain in her chest at the harmless curiosity, watching Bradley laugh at something Clayton says as she remembers the first time he remembered one of her favorites.

Saturday, March 4, 2006 | 1:34 PM EST | Charlottesville, VA

“Thanks for meeting me on a Saturday, Bradshaw. It’s just such a busy semester.”

“No problem. You know you can call me Bradley, right?”

“Oh, sorry. Do you not like being called Bradshaw?” Sherrie blinks when a bottle of Diet Coke and a small bag of Skittles is set on the table in front of her. “What’s this?”

“Your favorite snack.”

“Right… but why?”

“Because you have that about 50% of the time when we meet up to work on this project. Now, I finished transcribing the interview with Commander Buck last night. Did you want to- Sherrie?”

She shifts her focus from the food to the boy across from her in the study nook they’ve claimed as theirs for the semester. “Why do you remember my favorite snack?”

“Because we’re friends?” Brown eyes look into hers, equally confused.

“We’re friends?”

“I hope so; otherwise, this is gonna get awkward when you hug me in a minute.”

“Why am I going to hug you?!”

Bradley laughs at her flabbergasted expression, but it doesn’t hurt her feelings like it does when other people laugh at her. Something about the tone of the laugh makes it feel like he’s laughing at her, but rather with her, and she just doesn’t know the joke yet.

“Because as team captain, I am happy to announce to the Relay Chair that Sigma Chi has officially raised $5,000 thanks to your idea.”

“Bradley, that’s incredible!” She doesn’t feel silly when she bounces around the table to hug his neck, rocking them back and forth in excitement.

“Well, if you think that’s good - let me show you what we’re anticipating to raise this month…”

Friday, July 15, 2016 | 10:12 PM EST | Charlotte, NC

“I just don’t understand how we’re having such bad luck!”

Sherrie rolls her eyes as he unlocks the door. “Bradley, breathe. You’re being very dramatic right now.”

“How is “we’re out of rooms” a legitimate reason for the hotel to give? Not that I mind sharing with you, but like how is that possible? The airline specifically works with them to book rooms for things like this! And the airline! That gate agent who wanted to book us to fly into Hartford and then drive the rest of the way to Boston! That's insane!”

“I don’t know, the Bradley flying into Bradley joke was pretty funny.” She mutters, clicking the lights on as she checks the cleanliness of the room.

“It wasn’t.” Bradley pouts, flopping onto the bed closest to the door. “Do you want to shower first?”

“No, go ahead, but I’m going to wash my face first so I can do a face mask. I’m so dry from the airport air.” He listens to the sounds of water running and the quiet humming as she carefully applies the drenched sheet to her skin. “All yours!”

“Thanks, Sher. I won’t be long.”

He showers quickly but takes extra time cleaning his teeth, his mouth feeling gross after the long travel day. When he comes out, he’s surprised at how cozy the room feels. With only one lamp on, the air conditioning set low to keep the fan running, and an old movie on the TV, it almost feels like they could be at home in his living room. They silently move around each other, Sherrie heading to the bathroom with a pile of things while Bradley organizes his things for the morning, wanting to get as much rest as possible before their early alarm.

He scrolls through emails and texts while he waits for her to shower, turning the television off since he knows there’s a small chance of either of them making it five minutes after they kill the lights. He's updating Mav on tomorrow’s travel plans when Sherrie comes out of the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a towel. Bradley sees her packing things out of the corner of his eye, not fully paying attention until he plugs his phone in.

“That’s what you wear to bed?”

“Bradley!” He laughs at how she jumps, her hands coming down to cover her shorts.

“What? They’re cute! Very pink.”

Her face goes as pink as the pajama set she’s wearing. “Stop making fun of me!”

“I’m not! You know, I love strawberries.” He can’t help the way his eyes roam up and down her body, admiring from the spaghetti straps on her smooth shoulders to the scalloped edge of her shorts. “I see why you didn’t want to change into those at the airport.”

“Oh my god…” She huffs, climbing into her own queen bed and stuffing herself under the sheets. “You set an alarm, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. Want me to turn the light off?”

“Please. God, this day cannot be over soon enough.”

He chuckles and turns the lamp off, listening to her shuffle around in the sheets as she gets comfortable. It’s quiet for a few minutes, and he can hear her breathing leveling out, but he can’t keep quiet; the conversation at the airport running through his mind.

“Sher?” It takes a second, but she quietly hums in response. “We have to talk about it again.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Sherrie-”

“No, Bradley. We talked about this two weeks ago. Nothing has changed since then.”

“Yes, things have changed since then. You interviewed for that principal engineer position. Which if you get-”

“I’m not going to get it. They’re going to pick Trevor.”

“They’re going to pick you. You’re the best person for the job!”

“That’s not how it works, and you know it.”

He’s silent, the crushing weight on his chest feeling heavier when he hears her sniffle.

“Oh, Sherrie…” He slips out of his bed and into hers, wrapping the woman he loves in his arms. He lets her cry, knowing she’s frustrated and exhausted, only speaking up again when she’s calmed down. “I’m sorry, honey.”

“No, I’m sorry, Bradley. It’s not fair that we’ve been dancing around this for so many years, and I keep saying no. You deserve someone who isn’t afraid to be with you. Not a coward like me.”

“You’re not a coward; you’re one of the bravest people I know, Sherrie Anne McHone. I know how critical people are of women, in this field especially. And I love you, so I don’t mind waiting until we’re in a position that you’re confident won’t jeopardize your career. So, we’ll wait to hear about the job, and once you hear that you’ve gotten it, I’m treating you to the nicest dinner in Boston.”

“Bradley, we don’t know-”

“I know we don’t know. But think about how it would be if it does. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

“But what about-”

“Doesn’t matter, honey.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say.” Sherrie mumbles, cuddling further into his side, making it clear that he wasn’t allowed to leave.

“I know, but it doesn’t matter, whatever it is — we’ll figure it out.”

Saturday, July 16, 2016 | 10:32 AM EST | Somewhere over Virginia

“She’ll take a ginger ale; thank you so much.” Bradley balances his apple juice, the two packets of Biscoff cookies, and the bubbling soda he got for Sherrie. The smiling flight attendant moves past their row as he turns to his row companion.

They’re finally on their way home after waking up to more delay announcements. The additional time meant there was time to get coffee and some fruit from the hotel before their taxi back to the airport arrived, and the Luddens had even stopped to chat for a second at the gate, excited that they had gotten bumped up to first class since the flight was nearly empty.

All things considered, it had been a good morning even though Sherrie was insisting on working during the flight. Bradley is sure it’s an attempt to ignore their talk from last night, not wanting to dwell on the emotional moment when things are still so up in the air.

He looks over at the woman he’s known since he was eighteen, overwhelmed for a moment by how little things have changed since the first time he ever noticed her. Bradley fondly watches as she furiously types, hunched over her laptop with headphones, playing what he knows is eighties hair bands.

Her nose wrinkles in frustration, and suddenly it’s 2003 again, and he’s trying to get the attention of the red-haired girl whose table has the only empty chair left, something he desperately needs since this book can’t leave the library. He’s unable to get her attention and resorts to knocking on the table, heart skipping a beat when the prettiest green eyes he’s ever seen blink up at him. Bradley gestures at the empty chair, silently asking if he can sit, and is grateful when she nods because her smile is making his knees wobble. For the next hour, he tries to take notes for his paper, but he keeps getting distracted by the beautiful girl across from him. Bradley isn’t sure if he’s upset or happy when she packs up her stuff and leaves, giving him a little wave when she notices him watching her.

That had been thirteen years ago, and her intense focus still distracts him, but he’s not afraid to interrupt her this time. Fingers rub her arm that is covered in his sweatshirt again, but this time, he knows it smells like her shampoo instead of his cologne. Her smile still sends his heart skipping when she looks up at him, her pretty eyes widening in joy when she catches sight of the red snack packaging and the plastic cup holding her second favorite soda.

“Thank you!” She whispers, leaning across the empty middle seat in their row to kiss his cheek. “Oh, and we should go out to lunch when we get back! I want to try that new noodle place that opened in Southie.”

He just smiles when she immediately gets back to work; cheek puffed out from the cookie she stuffed in her mouth.

Maybe she’s not avoiding our talk from last night.

Thursday, August 11, 2017 | 2:15 PM EST | Boston, MA

“You got a minute?” Bradley knocks on the edge of her cubicle. It may be a different floor of their building, but all of the office space is the same dated stuff from decades ago.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“First of all…” He ducks down and presses a swift kiss to her plush mouth, still trying to make up for all those years he couldn’t. “And don’t say anything because I already checked before I did because I wanted to kiss my girl.”

He chuckles at the pink spots that shine on her cheeks. It’s been a year since Sherrie snagged the promotion, and they officially became an item, but she still turns a little red whenever he says something sweet.

“Second, you are all packed, right?”

“Yes, why?”

“I was gonna swing by the apartment and get our bags so we can head straight to the airport after work.”

“You took the afternoon off? Why?”

Bradley was expecting this question and smoothly fibs. “I worked the hours out with Martin for this week so I could run a few last-minute errands. Do you want me to grab snacks?”

“Okay, Mr. Secrets. When you’re at home, could you water the ivy? I forgot this morning, and I don’t want it to die while we’re gone.”

“Of course! Need me to do anything else?”

Sherrie hums, staring at the ceiling as she thinks. “One more kiss?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Bradley happily complies with her request.

“Okay, now you have to go. I have to finish prepping for this meeting where I get to yell at Sean.”

“That’s my girl. I’ll pick you up later. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Have fun with your mysterious errands.” Sherrie teases, and Bradley smirks back, knowing how much she would be freaking out if he knew what he would be doing while she professionally reamed out their least favorite colleague.

“Thanks, honey. Text me if you think of something.” Sherrie waves over her shoulder, already zoned back into her work.

Bradley doesn’t dare look at his buzzing phone until he’s safely on the elevator, pleased to see confirmation texts from their hotel and the airline. Would it be cheesy to quietly propose in the airport that was a catalyst in their relationship? Maybe, but he knew Sherrie would love it. He’s just hoping the TSA didn’t call out the ring that would be hiding in his carry-on.

#deltasupremacy I also want to give a special thanks to @sometimesanalice, who gave so much encouragement through the texts despite having no idea what I was writing - you're the best! tagged some friends and most those who interacted with the original announcement post for this fic all those months ago!

tagging: @gretagerwigsmuse @sometimesanalice @laracrofted @theharddeck @hangmanbrainrot @hangmanssunnies @thesewordsareallihavetogive @princessphilly @katieshook02 @atarmychick007 @kmc1989 @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @misfitpeach @luckyladycreator2 @scarlettwidow19 @mini-bee-bee @midnightstarqueen @shamelessghostwagonwobbler

divider credit

#top gun maverick fic #top gun fic #bradley bradshaw fic #rooster fic #top gun maverick au #top gun maverick imagine #top gun au #top gun imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw imagine #rooster imagine #elle writes

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pyromaniacbibliophile · 8 months ago

Text

Bricktober day 5- Hands

(@lesmis-prompts)

Can you guess who's who?

__________________

Calloused hands, firm and strong

Not the sort of hands you’d expect from a mayor

Hands torn from work and knuckles bruised from fights

Of course, merely custom for an Inspector

__________________

Hands soft, unmarred by toil

His first fight ripped his hands to pieces

Slender hands used to digging and planting

Never defenceless, not with her father

Hands showing the marks of many battles

She’s had to fight from the age of eight

_____________________

A leader’s hands, patterned with bruises

He had to learn quickly when he left

Hands stained with paint, nails bitten down

Wrists marked with thin white scars

_____________________

Hands always covered in ink stains from writing

The planner, rarely any time to clean his hands

Hands adorned with flower rings and painted nails

Still marked from fights, he’s not weak by any standard

______________________

Hands twisted nervously, pulse point memorised

Hands ready to help and heal, trained only by practice

Hands covered in notes and doodles

Notes of law and drawings of evidence

Small hands, often blemished with paper cuts

Hands that can punch better than either of her boys

_____________________________

#les mis #les amis #bricktober #lesmisoctober24 #valvert #mariposette #enjoltaire #combeferre x jehan #jbm #Elle writes

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superheroboybnd · 5 months ago

Note

i just noted the mary/pandora tag on your fic... saintcurse my beloved

omg wait THAT'S THEIR SHIP NAME???!!!

amazing. 10/10. mwah.

i love them both, and planning on them being my little fashion designers in ttwd(ff) <3

(also your moodboard for them is absolutely stunning xo)

#ttwd(ff)#elle writes #marauders #mary macdonald #pandora lovegood #pandora rosier

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idk-ask-me-yesterday · 5 months ago

Note

Can you make Anthony Lockwood where the reader is a spirit who suddenly appear inside on their house and only Lucy can see her and Lockwood and George don't know about and actually the reader is Lockwood girlfriend who is in coma and Lucy tell them about the reader and Lockwood just found out that reader is with him all the time and help the reader to go back to her body.i am sorry about my English but I hope you can make it

Haunted pt.1

Summary: A day Lucy believed would be completely uneventful proved to be anything but when she found her room inhabited by another. A girl her age, who doesn't look quite right?

Puppets: Anthony lockwood x f!reader

Word count: 2,962

Warnings: none

Elle yaps: im so sorry about how long this took me, all the Christmas stuff happened and i got food poisoning right after :/ ive made this a multiple part-er to get me back into the groove of writing, hope you don't mind!

Slightly proofread. No use of Y/N

Lucy began her day following her usual morning routine: she would gently stir from sleep as sunlight filtered through her curtains, take her time getting dressed in her favorite comfortable clothes, and make her way downstairs to enjoy a leisurely breakfast accompanied by a steaming cup of her preferred morning tea. With the entire week moving at an unusually slow pace, her schedule was remarkably empty of pressing commitments or urgent tasks. To make productive use of her free time, she made the decision to engage in some much-needed combat practice, descending the stairs to the basement where she could focus on honing her skills with her new rapier. The day had been progressing in an entirely unremarkable fashion, perhaps even verging on monotonous—that was, until the moment she pushed open the door to her bedroom and found herself face-to-face with an unfamiliar girl who was inexplicably standing in the middle of her bedroom.

Lucy froze in place, her heart pounding as she wrestled with an immediate dilemma - should she attempt to engage the mysterious intruder in conversation, or should she call out for Lockwood and George to come to her aid? Her mind raced through these options as she stood motionless in the doorway. The unexpected visitor appeared to be a young woman approximately Lucy's own age, with a peculiar familiarity about her that lucy simply couldn't place her finger on. When the strange girl finally pivoted to face Lucy directly, her expression displayed an almost amusing mixture of surprise and bewilderment, as though she herself hadn't expected to be perceived by anyone in the room, let alone its rightful occupant.

When the strange girl finally spoke, her voice emerged as a delicate whisper that cracked and wavered, betraying a profound disuse that suggested she hadn't engaged in conversation for an extraordinarily long time. The words that escaped her lips carried both uncertainty and astonishment as she asked, her tone tinged with equal parts hope and disbelief, "You can see me?"

Lucy's breath caught in her throat at the raw vulnerability that resonated through the girl's trembling question. The desperate yearning for connection and recognition in her voice stirred something deep within Lucy's chest, a mixture of compassion and unease that she couldn't quite shake. There was something profoundly unsettling about the way the stranger seemed to flicker and waver in the gentle morning light streaming through the windows, as if she weren't quite solid - her edges appearing to blur and shift with each subtle movement, like a reflection in disturbed water. The sight sent an involuntary shiver down Lucy's spine, despite the warmth of the sun-filled room.

Drawing upon her years of training and experience with the supernatural, Lucy's instincts kicked in, and she found herself automatically reaching for the salt-bomb secured at her belt. Yet something made her hesitate - perhaps it was the raw emotion in the girl's voice, or the way she seemed more lost than malevolent. With practiced caution, Lucy took a single step forward, her voice steady as she replied, "Yes, I can see you. Who are you, and why are you in my room?"

"Your... your room?" the girl asked softly, her voice trembling with a mixture of confusion and what seemed like deep emotional pain, as if the very concept of the space belonging to someone else caused her genuine distress. The words appeared to catch in her throat, and her expression shifted to one of profound disorientation, as if struggling to reconcile some internal conflict that Lucy couldn't quite understand.

Her gaze wandered deliberately across every corner of the room, lingering on each piece of furniture and decoration with an expression of deep, haunting recognition. Her eyes traced the patterns of shadows and light as if following the ghostly outlines of memories, each object in the space seeming to hold fragments of a past life that danced just beyond her grasp. The dresser, the window seat, the old wooden floorboards - every element appeared to evoke some profound emotional response that she struggled to fully comprehend or articulate. When she finally found her voice again, it emerged as barely more than a tremulous whisper, heavy with the weight of lost time and faded memories, "This... this used to be my room. before."

Lucy's mind raced frantically as she processed this extraordinary revelation, her years of rigorous training as a professional agent engaging in an internal struggle with the unexpected and powerful wave of sympathy that suddenly washed over her. The weight of her professional experience urged caution and skepticism, while her emotional instincts responded to the raw authenticity of the moment. The girl's words carried such profound and unmistakable loss, such genuine confusion and yearning, that it seemed almost impossible to dismiss them as mere spectral manipulation or supernatural deception. The depth of emotion in her voice, the way she connected with the space - it all spoke to something far more complex than typical ghostly behavior. Still, Lucy maintained her cautious stance, her fingers hovering near her equipment, knowing all too well from countless encounters and bitter experience how even the most seemingly innocent supernatural encounters could transform into dangerous situations in the blink of an eye. Years of training had taught her that appearances could be deceiving, and that compassion, while admirable, needed to be tempered with vigilance.

Suddenly, a powerful realization struck Lucy like a bolt of lightning, illuminating the mysterious connection that had been nagging at the edges of her consciousness. The strange girl's features, though ethereal and faded now, matched perfectly with an image that had been burned into Lucy's memory from months ago. "I know who you are," Lucy breathed out, her voice barely above a whisper, "You're the girl from Lockwood's photograph." The memory surfaced with crystal clarity - during one of the rare occasions when Lucy had ventured into Lockwood's private bedroom, rushing to wake him for an early morning case, her attention had been caught by a photograph prominently displayed on his nightstand. It was an intimate glimpse into what seemed like another lifetime - the same girl who now stood before her as a spectral presence, but in the photograph she had been vibrantly alive, her face lit up with an infectious smile that suggested complete freedom from worry or care. The contrast between that captured moment of joy and the current apparition before her was stark and heartbreaking.

In the photograph, she had been standing in this very room, though it had looked quite different then - filled with the vibrant touches of her own personality and life. Lucy found herself wondering about the story behind this mysterious girl's connection to Lockwood, and what tragic circumstances had led to her current spectral state. The weight of these questions hung heavy in the air between them as Lucy carefully considered her next move.

The girl's ghostly form seemed to flicker more intensely now, as if the recognition of her connection to Lockwood had disturbed something deep within her spectral essence. Lucy noticed how the temperature in the room had dropped significantly, and she could see her own breath forming small clouds in the increasingly chilly air. With growing concern, she observed how the ghost's previously lost expression was slowly transforming into something more focused and intense, though whether this change signaled danger or breakthrough remained unclear.

"We were on a case together, Anthony and I," the ghost began, her voice carrying traces of both nostalgia and deep sadness. "Most of the details are lost to me now, like scattered fragments of a dream that slip away upon waking. But there's one moment that remains crystal clear in my memory - that terrible sensation of emptiness as I plummeted from the third story window. I can still feel the cold night air rushing past me, hear the whistle of the wind in my ears, and experience that endless moment of suspended time before..." The ghost's voice trailed off as she sighed softly, the weight of the memory seeming to make her form flicker and fade slightly.

"You're not like any other ghost I've encountered before," Lucy whispered thoughtfully, her voice carrying a mixture of professional assessment and genuine wonder. The words emerged slowly and deliberately as she carefully considered the unique nature of this particular spectral visitor. Unlike the typically aggressive or disoriented spirits she regularly encountered in her line of work, this apparition displayed a remarkable level of self-awareness and emotional complexity. Her coherence and depth of memory seemed to defy everything Lucy had learned about ghost behavior during her years as an agent. The ghost's ability to maintain such a clear sense of identity and to articulate her experiences with such vivid detail was unprecedented in Lucy's extensive experience dealing with supernatural entities. This wasn't the confused, echoing presence of a typical ghost, but something far more intricate and thought-provoking - a revelation that both fascinated and unsettled Lucy as she continued to observe the apparition before her.

"The doctors told Anthony I'm not actually dead, though being in this state certainly makes it feel that way," the girl explained, her voice carrying a mix of confusion and resignation. "They say I'm trapped in some kind of coma, suspended between life and death. The strangest part is that I have no idea where my physical body is being kept - which hospital, which room, or even which city. I just drift here, anchored to this place by memories, while my body lies somewhere unknown, neither fully alive nor truly dead."

Lucy found herself grappling with the profound implications of this extraordinary revelation, her mind racing to reconcile this unprecedented situation with her extensive training and experience. The very concept of someone existing in this mysterious intermediate state - neither fully present in the world of the living nor completely crossed over into death - fundamentally challenged every principle and understanding she had developed about ghosts and the supernatural realm. This wasn't just another haunting or spiritual manifestation; it represented an entirely new category of paranormal phenomenon that defied conventional classification. As she carefully processed this information, weighing its significance against her years of accumulated knowledge, a determined glint appeared in her eye, accompanied by a surge of professional curiosity and human compassion. The unique circumstances of this case presented both an intellectual puzzle and a moral imperative - perhaps, she thought with growing conviction, there existed a way to help this lost soul navigate back to her physical form, to bridge the inexplicable gap between her spectral presence and her dormant body.

Lucy's gaze drifted to the window where the afternoon sun was streaming in, and a plan began to take shape in her mind. If there was even the slightest chance of tracking down this girl's physical body and reuniting her consciousness with it, Lucy knew she had to try. After all, this was precisely the kind of unique challenge that Lockwood & Co. had built their reputation on - taking on the cases that others deemed impossible or incomprehensible.

With renewed determination, Lucy rose from her contemplative position by the window and strode purposefully toward her desk, her footsteps echoing softly against the wooden floorboards. She pulled out her leather-bound notebook from the top drawer, its worn edges testament to countless previous investigations, and settled into her chair with practiced efficiency. Opening to a fresh page, she began methodically jotting down everything she knew about the mysterious girl's case - physical descriptions, temporal details, emotional observations, and possible connections to Lockwood's past - determined to piece together this unprecedented supernatural puzzle. The familiar scratch of pen against paper filled the room as she worked, her hand moving swiftly across the pages as she documented every potentially relevant detail, from the ghost's unusual level of awareness to the peculiar circumstances of her suspended state between life and death. From her position near the bedroom door, the ghost watched Lucy's focused efforts with a complex mixture of emotions playing across her translucent features - curiosity about this methodical approach to her situation, cautious hope that this determined young agent might actually be able to help her, and a touching vulnerability that seemed to make her spectral form flicker in response to each new line of notes being written.

Suddenly, the ghost girl inhaled sharply, the sound cutting through the comfortable silence that had settled over the room like a delicate veil. Her ethereal form seemed to flicker more intensely than before, and a look of urgent distress crossed her translucent features. "I need to go," she announced with unexpected urgency, her voice carrying notes of both reluctance and necessity. The words seemed to echo slightly in the still air of the bedroom, hanging between them with an almost tangible weight that spoke of unfinished business and untold stories.

Lucy felt an inexplicable tug at her heart as she watched the spectral form begin to fade, her form dissolving like morning mist in sunlight. The sight stirred a complex mixture of emotions within her - professional curiosity intermingled with a deeply personal concern for this unusual spirit who had shared such intimate revelations. "Wait," she called out softly, her carefully maintained professional demeanor momentarily giving way to genuine concern and an almost desperate desire to maintain this extraordinary connection, "Will you come back?"

The ghost's response floated through the air like autumn leaves on a gentle breeze, carried on the last wisps of her fading presence. Her voice, though barely more substantial than a whisper, held an unmistakable note of certainty and what might have been affection: "I always do." The words seemed to linger in the air even as their speaker disappeared entirely, leaving behind only the faintest trace of supernatural energy that made the hairs on Lucy's arms stand on end.

Not a moment after the spectral figure had completely faded from view, the sharp sound of knuckles against wood broke through the lingering atmosphere of otherworldly encounter. A familiar voice called through her bedroom door, tinged with unmistakable concern: "Luce? you alright in there? i heard you talking"

Lucy's heart skipped a beat at the sound of Lockwood's voice, her mind still whirling with the implications of the extraordinary encounter she'd just experienced. Her pulse quickened as she considered the weight of what had just transpired in this very room - a paranormal encounter unlike any she'd documented in her years as an agent. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she glanced around the now-empty room, noting how quickly it had returned to its normal temperature, as if the supernatural presence had never been there at all. The familiar furnishings and mundane shadows seemed almost surreal after such an otherworldly interaction. She knew she would have to make a decision, one that carried significant consequences for both her professional relationships and personal loyalties: whether to share this incredible discovery with her colleagues immediately, potentially disrupting the delicate dynamics of their team, or keep it to herself until she better understood the mysterious girl's connection to Lockwood and the profound implications it might have for everyone involved.

Her hand hovered uncertainly over the doorknob, fingers trembling slightly as she felt Lockwood's continued presence on the other side of the door, patiently waiting for her response. The weight of this extraordinary secret pressed heavily against her chest, creating an almost physical sensation of pressure that made it difficult to breathe normally. This moment of decision challenged her long-held commitment to complete transparency with her closest friend and colleague, a principle that had been a cornerstone of their professional relationship and personal bond. Her mind raced through potential consequences, imagining various scenarios of revelation and concealment, each path seeming to branch into countless possible outcomes. After what felt like an eternity of internal struggle, though it was merely moments, she made her decision - a choice that carried with it the heavy knowledge that whatever path she chose would fundamentally and irrevocably alter the delicate balance of trust, understanding, and unspoken expectations that had defined their relationship since the beginning of their partnership.

Taking a steadying breath, Lucy called out with carefully measured casualness, "Everything's fine - just talking to myself while working through some case notes." The response felt hollow in her throat, the weight of concealment already settling uncomfortably in her chest. As she finally turned the doorknob, Lucy silently promised herself that she would find the right moment to share this discovery - but only after she had gathered more information about this mysterious connection between the ghost and her closest friend.

Her fingers traced absently over the leather cover of her notebook as she settled onto her bed, mind churning with questions about the extraordinary encounter. The weight of this new secret felt both exhilarating and burdensome, like a delicate glass orb she needed to protect. Through her window, she could see the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across Portland Row, marking the beginning of what she knew would be a long night of careful contemplation and strategic planning.

She ended up staying awake through the entire night, moving quietly down to the kitchen after everyone else had retired to their beds. In the dim light of the kitchen, she meticulously poured over her detailed notes, occasionally reaching for comfort in the form of shortbread biscuits from the tin (admittedly helping herself to far more than just one or two). The hours slipped by unnoticed as she remained absorbed in her work, her tea growing cold beside her as she scribbled additional observations in the margins of her journal. However, this extended late-night research session proved to be an unfortunate decision - she was startled awake by the sharp sound of shattering porcelain, only to find Lockwood standing above her with her journal clasped firmly in his hands, fragments of her fallen teacup scattered across the kitchen floor.

#anthony lockwood x reader #elle writes #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #lockwood and co

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2manyfandoms2count · 1 year ago

Text

Message in a Bottle

Happy Valentine's Day! I'm a little late to the @theerasfestlovesquareversion party, but here's my submission ❤ Special thanks to @miabrown007 for beta-ing!

Happy reading!

Read on AO3

---

Marinette sat at her desk, one foot tucked under her, thoughtfully clicking her pen as she tried to organise a message.

Her thoughts, which went a thousand miles an hour on a slow day, had come to a freeze about twenty four hours prior, when she’d seen – and heard – Adrien’s lips pronounce three little words she’d only ever dreamed of hearing from him. It was just her luck that they were tuned out by warning beep s, and followed by the Startrain doors clicking shut, as in slow motion, without her being able to do anything to stop them.

A part of her had screamed, urging her to chase after the moving vehicle, but her body had remained standing still on the platform, completely and utterly stunned.

She still wasn’t entirely sure how she’d gotten back to her parents’ bakery. How she’d gotten to bed, fallen asleep.

All she knew, as she’d awoken in the morning, was that she knew something she didn’t before, and felt a sense of clarity regarding what she needed to do – but that was when her mind had woken up, too.

And thus the calm before the storm had ended, her mind suddenly swept by a force faster than the wind, dispersing any coherence in her head, scattering words like autumn leaves, before they even got a chance to associate with each other.

She slammed her head on the table, hoping it would help reset her brain; unfortunately it only brought on a throbbing pain. She winced as she rubbed the budding bump on her forehead.

“Screw it,” she mumbled, finally putting her pen to paper.

Dear Adrien,

My feelings since you’ve left have been all over the place, but it’s kind of frightening how happy the three little words you said as the doors of the Startrain closed, made me. They’ve been all I’ve been able to think about (which you know better than anyone might not be the best thing right now – but in a good way! I wouldn’t want you to take them back for the world. Unless you want to. Which would definitely not be a problem, of course. Although maybe just a little. But I’d get over it, I promise).

Marinette’s hand hovered over the page. She was rambling – which could be fine when she talked, but felt pretty stupid to her in written form. This wasn’t her diary. She couldn’t afford to have a stream of consciousness run on her page; maybe Adrien would read it, and think she was crazy, rip up the letter, throw it in the fire, and she’d never, ever, hear from him again. And then what?

If anything, the reason he’d gone to London in the first place, to get away from the press following Hawkmoth’s (his father’s!) defeat, so he could focus on the latter’s upcoming trial, was enough to justify a clear and concise message. She didn’t want to burden him with her feelings when he surely had infinitely more serious things to think about.

“Marinette, it can be just a first draft, you know.” Tikki’s soothing words snapped her out of her spiral.

She looked up at the small divinity, who smiled encouragingly. She nodded, then turned her attention back to her words, biting the end of her pen as she reread them.

Little did she know that Adrien, a small body of water away, was doing exactly the same thing…

—

Dear Marinette,

I’m so sorry I panicked. I didn’t mean to say I like you . Partly, because it’s a little embarrassing that I blurted it out like that – but mostly, because I like you doesn’t even begin to cover how I feel about you. I just saw you, your freckles (the ones I thought I knew like the back of my hand – but that couldn’t be true now, could it? Else I would’ve realised who you were sooner), your smile, and the way you looked at me, and suddenly I got cold feet, and that was the extent of what my tangled brain could produce.

Adrien spun in Félix’s desk chair, assessing what he’d written thus far. It was a good start, he supposed. His life had been turned upside down by the cataclysmic revelation that Hawkmoth was, in fact, his father, and arguably even more so by the fact that Ladybug was Marinette – he was allowed a certain amount of disorganisation.

Although he’d obviously been surprised by the former fact, he had to admit that, retrospectively, it did make sense. He even felt stupid for not figuring it out sooner – or, rather, for figuring it out back when Hawkmoth’s powers were still fairly limited, and the damage done (both physical and psychological) was only a fraction of what would happen next, but being too much in denial of the kind of person his father was, and therefore falling for his tricks.

But his father had grown cockier with his powers, sloppier. His desperation sent him in a slow, downward spiral, hijacking his every thought, eating away at him until one day, he’d stumbled out of what Adrien would later discover was his lair, straight into his atelier, holding his head in his hands – still clad in the purple suit that made most of Paris tremble.

Adrien had stood frozen in the doorway, at first not comprehending what he was seeing. Then, as his father – Paris’ most wanted villain – finally noticed him, the cogs in his brain had whirred again, and he’d made a dash for his room, knowing fully well what he needed to do.

Plagg had to go. Whatever happened next, he couldn’t end up in his father’s hands.

He’d sent his best friend and his ring away just before the iron curtains had come down on his room’s windows. Just before the tears came streaming down his cheeks, as he cowered in a wardrobe, completely and utterly alone.

Until Marinette’s rescue mission, that is.

Her being Ladybug, had come as both a complete surprise and an obvious conclusion to a mystery he’d done his best not to uncover since the day he’d first met his Lady. Adrien had obviously dreamed of figuring out who hid under his partner’s spotted mask, daring to ask every so often on the off chance that maybe she’d reconsidered her stance on the matter. But never, in his wildest dreams, had he ever made the conscious link between the two girls who brightened up his life.

(Not that he remembered, anyway.)

Her plan had been so ingenious that he hadn’t clocked what was going on at first. He’d heard his father go on a rampage around the mansion in his search for him, half begging Adrien to listen to his explanations, half threatening him; and then there was silence as the doorbell cut through his words, and echoed through the house, once. Twice, insistent.

The silence was loud for a second, followed by footsteps running down the hallway. Gabriel opening the door. Voices, cordial at first, although Adrien couldn’t quite make the words out. He wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened, what Marinette had said, but somehow, she’d been invited in.

“Adrien?” His father’s tone was completely normal as he’d knocked on his door. “Adrien, your friend Marinette is here to see you. She saw the security system go off and came to check if everything was alright.”

“I know how you feel about closed spaces,” Marinette had chimed in. Adrien had slowly crawled out of his hiding spot and made his way towards his room’s door, frowning, trying to remember when he’d told her about his fear. “It’s almost as bad as one of our friend’s fear of running out of cheese,” she’d added as he’d opened the door, turned towards Gabriel.

Adrien had stared at her blankly.

“Another one of our friends is worse about sweets, though,” Marinette had continued seemingly breezily, but Adrien had noticed the insistant glance she’d thrown him. “You should see her in January, she can’t get enough galette.”

Gabriel had chuckled politely, his shoulders tenser than usual, tearing Adrien’s focus off of Marinette’s words. “Well, as you can see, Adrien is very well, no need to worry. Now, if you don’t mind, I have an important matter to discuss with my son.”

Adrien had felt his blood run cold as his father’s fingers dug into his shoulder, which, from Marinette’s perspective, he assumed probably looked like a recreation of the painting looming over the grand staircase.

“Oh, of course, I’ll probably leave you to it, then,” Marinette had looked down, and fidgeted with her ring.

Adrien had been torn between screaming out for her to make a run for it, to get as far as she could from the mansion and his father, somewhere safe, and begging her to take him with her. But something about her gesture had caught his attention.

Marinette didn’t wear a ring. And this wasn’t an Alliance ring, which he’d seen spread among his peers like wildfire. They didn’t have a common friend who loved galette. Or camembert.

The only person he knew who loved camembert was…

He’d caught Marinette’s eyes, hoping she could read the question in his eyes. The way she’d nodded back, very slowly, led him to think she had.

Swiftly, he’d turned around before his father could move, and grabbed the brooch he’d suspected lay beneath his scarf, tossing it to Marinette (Ladybug!), who’d caught it just as she called for her transformation. She’d grabbed his hand before jumping over the balustrade, almost dislocating his shoulder in the process (a small price to pay to get away, really).

Adrien had heard his father swear after them, his footsteps rushing down, but he didn’t get very far. Ladybug opened the mansion’s door, and what seemed to be the entire Parisian police force rushed in, tackling him to the ground.

Just thinking about it again gave Adrien palpitations. He took a deep breath and got out of the chair, deciding to take a small break from writing. He owed Marinette so much.

—

Anyway, I know it’s only been a couple of days, but I haven’t had any news from you, and I feel like I’m going crazy. Realistically, I know that I like you, combined with our double… friendship, I guess?, must mean that I’m not just any friend to you, but I can’t help but wonder why you’re so silent. I guess I haven’t really been in touch either, even before your departure, but there’s just been so much going on with the trial… I don’t want to bother you, but you should know I’m here if you ever need to talk. Kwami, I wish we could talk right now. Even if I like the idea of sending you a letter, since there’s less chance of things getting lost in nerves.

Because I love you, Adrien. I’ve been trying to tell you for so long, but it never felt like it was the right time nor place to say it. I think I know why, now.

Marinette put her pen down and rubbed her face with her hands. The more she thought about it, the more everything made sense. All this time, she’d felt as if she’d been missing a piece of a puzzle, which threw all her confessions slightly off kilter – as it turned out, her feeling had been justified.

What a shame the moment everything fell down like pieces into place had to be when Adrien had to leave.

She shook her head. It was only temporary. She sat back in her chair with a sigh, looking out of her window. It was getting late; Notre Dame’s façade was illuminated, casting a comforting glow in the night. She wondered if Adrien’s view was as pretty as hers, and what he was up to. She didn’t dare bet he was thinking about her, but she hoped he did.

Do what you will with this information, she scribbled under her confession, sighing. I’m here if you need to talk, about anything you want. The weather, the upcoming trial, how you’re doing in London, how annoying I can imagine Félix being, what everyone in the class is up to, physics… You name it! I just really want to hear your voice again, especially your laugh.

You deserve to laugh, Adrien. So, so much. And I hope this letter brings at least a smile to your lips.

—

“Kid, you should be careful where you put your letters, I almost used it as a napkin for my extra mature pont l’évêque ,” Plagg yawned.

“It wouldn’t matter much if you did,” Adrien sighed.

“Yes, I read it, you’re not sure you’ll send it, blablabla,” Plagg mimicked, holding up the piece of paper.

“Hey! That was supposed to be private!” Adrien snatched it from his flippers with a huff.

“It would be a shame, you know. It’s just the kind of thing Pigtails would love to receive.” Plagg shrugged.

“You think?” Adrien asked, his voice suddenly hopeful.

“Trust me, Adrien, I know. ”

Adrien couldn’t help the wide smile that spread on his lips at the thought. He went through his latest addition to the letter.

You know, I feel like my neurons are a little less scrambled now, but Aunt Amélie is keeping me busy on this side of the Channel (I’m really discovering London, though, which is nice – I’d never been to Brixton, Camden or Hampstead Heath, but they’re great places to explore! I’d like to take you there someday, if you’ll allow me), and on the rare occasions I can sit down, which is generally late at night, I have to try and focus to go through the mess we’re going to be faced with. To tell you the truth, I much prefer sitting here writing to you, even though I don’t even know if I’ll ever even send you this letter.

I keep thinking about the next time I’ll see you. I really want to run back to Paris, to you; I almost did, back on the train. I’m sure there would’ve been a way to stop it in its tracks, but in a way, I’m glad I didn’t. Even if there’s nothing I would’ve liked more than staying with you, putting a little distance between me and my father was quite welcome. If only there’d been a way for you to be with me…

Sometimes, I think about calling you, but I’m always afraid that it’ll be a bad time, what with the UK being an hour behind you and all.

He picked up his pen and added:

I hope you’re okay and that you know that I miss you and our hangouts, both in school and on the rooftops. I can’t wait to see you again, my Lady, whatever the circumstances. A small part of me hopes that it’ll be before the trial, or that we’ll get to be alone together for a bit afterwards. You and me against the world, and everything.

(And maybe some of your dad’s chouquettes.)

Lots of love, and hope to hear from you soon,

Your Adrien

“There,” Adrien announced to no one in particular as he sealed his envelope. “I really hope you’re right, Plagg.”

—

Anyway. I won’t hold you up any longer, but I just thought you should know how I feel. I’ll see you at the trial, at the latest – please don’t love London so much that you won’t come back…

Forever yours,

Marinette

Marinette dotted the i in her signature with a heart, and decided against re-reading the whole letter. Instead, she took out an envelope, neatly folded the page in three, and slid it inside. She wrote out Adrien’s name on the front of it, along with the Fathoms’ address, stuck a stamp at the top, and indicated her return address at the back.

Then, she picked up her bag, and prepared to go to Alya’s. She’d post the letter on her way there; it would distract her from the wait that inevitably came with snail mail.

She hoped her letter wouldn’t get drowned in the mass of mail Adrien surely received.

Now, all she had to do was wait.

—

A week later, coming back from school, Marinette found a letter on her desk, and recognised the address’ calligraphy instantly. She all but tore the envelope open, her heart rate accelerating and a smile spreading wider and wider on her lips as her eyes progressed through the message.

The date at the top told her that Adrien had written to her before reading her letter, but one thing was for sure: they were on the same page.

She placed the sheet back on her desk when she was done, feeling giddier than ever, and reached for her phone – it started ringing in her hands, Adrien’s face lighting up the screen. She almost dropped it in surprise.

“Hi,” Adrien’s voice breathed on the other end of the line.

“Hi,” she repeated, feeling herself blush. “How are–”

“I got your letter,” he blurted quickly, cutting her off.

“I got yours, too.” She gently ran her fingers down the paper on her desk.

“Good, good.” He chuckled awkwardly. “Hey, I know this is a strange request, but would you mind going up to your balcony for a second?” he blurted quickly, cutting her off.

“Um, okay.” Marinette frowned a little, but still made her way up. Maybe it was a question of connection.

She swiftly pulled herself out of her skylight, and froze.

Her balcony was covered in red roses: they were entangled in the wrought-iron, stood in vases on the floor, in a petal path leading straight to… Astrochat, sheepishly holding a single red rose. He hung up the phone.

“I love you too, Marinette,” he said.

Tears welled up in Marinette’s eyes as she threw herself into his arms, hugging him as tightly as she could.

“Don’t worry about me not coming back, I’ll always stay,” he whispered in her hair.

Marinette looked up at him, feeling like her heart might burst out of her chest.

“Glad to hear that, silly cat,” she said with a smile, standing on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his.

One of his arms wrapped around her waist while his other hand softly cupped her face as he deepened the kiss. Fireworks erupted in Marinette’s stomach. She wished time would stand still to let her savour this moment forever.

Although her wish wasn’t granted, knowing that Adrien returned her feelings and would come back to her did make their parting a little easier.

“You know, I don’t know what the future holds for us, my Lady,” Astrochat said as he was about to leave, gently taking her hands in his, “but one thing I do know is, if you’ll allow it, I’m never letting go of you, of us. Not if I can help it.” He brought her hands to his lips, his eyes boring into hers.

“I’ll hold you to that.” Marinette answered, pink dusting her cheeks.

“I bet you will.” He winked. “See you soon, my love.”

He kissed her again, gently, longingly, and then slid his visor shut and took off.

Marinette wistfully watched him fly away, her chin propped up on her arms, leaning on her bannister.

She truly was the lucky one.

#honestly this event was so fun #and now i have a bunch of fics that fit both of my hyperfixations waiting for me #post exams is going to be litttt #miraculous ladybug #taylor swift #miraculous fanfiction #miraculous fanfic #ml fic #prpr #adrienette #canon divergence #adrinette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain-cheng #they're in love your honour #and they have one (1) braincell #elle writes

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choikanghuening · 6 months ago

Text

In Your Hands (or simply “Hypnotize U”)

now playing: Hypnotize U - N.E.R.D.

synopsis: After a stressful day, you come home to find your husband, Taehyun, ready to comfort you in a deeply intimate way. What begins as a simple act of care turns into a transformative experience, deepening your connection and trust. Through a night of tenderness, love, and passion, the two of you rediscover each other, allowing your bond to grow stronger and more profound.

pairing: husband!taehyun x afab!reader

trope: established relationship/happy marriage

genre: fluff, smut (mdni)

wc: 6k

warnings: yoni massage, fingering (f receiving), unprotected sex (don't do this y'all), very very soft and romantic sex, lots of praising and petnames (baby, princess, doll). lmk if i forgot anything (i prob did)

elle speaks²: this is somewhat inspired by my irl relationship (minus the massage part -at least not yet), i tried to make it cute and emotional, hope i succeeded. also i've never received a yoni massage (yet), so forgive me if it's inaccurate.

elle speaks³: i'm not gonna elaborate, but taehyun would definetly do something like this, i don't make the rules.

fic below the cut

Your shoulders sagged with exhaustion as you stepped inside your house, your shoes hitting the floor with a soft clatter, as though shedding the weight of the day could be as simple as that. Every inch of you felt heavy—physically and mentally, the strain of the day pressing down on your skin like a burdensome cloak. But as soon as you moved further into the house, something shifted. A soft, comforting aroma wrapped around you, mingling with the warm, flickering glow of candlelight in the living room.

You stopped in your tracks, taken aback by the peaceful contrast. The world outside had felt chaotic and relentless, but here, in this quiet space, a serene calmness enveloped you, pulling you in.

From the kitchen, the gentle hum of Taehyun's voice reached you, the rhythmic clink of utensils blending seamlessly with the atmosphere. His presence was grounding, like an anchor in the storm. When he turned and saw you, his expression softened, concern flickering in his gaze as he moved toward you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, his voice steady. “Are you alright?”

For a moment, the words escaped you. You felt heavy, your body bruised from the demands of the day, your mind a swirl of thoughts—but instead of speaking it all aloud, you simply leaned against the door frame and let out a tired breath. “Tae, I’m just so tired,” you whispered.

Without hesitation, Taehyun closed the distance between you, wrapping you in his arms. His embrace was peaceful, like a balm, his kindness seeping into you with every second. You rested your head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart offering you a sense of calm, grounding you.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice low and soft. “You’re with me now.”

He held you a moment longer, as if trying to absorb the weight of the world that had settled on your shoulders. His gentle hand on your back felt like a promise—a quiet promise that, no matter what, you weren’t alone.

“Thank you, Tae,” you whispered into his chest.

He chuckled softly, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. “Don’t mention it, princess. I’m always here,” he said, his voice laced with sincerity. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

Dinner was simple, but its comfort was unmatched—Taehyun’s signature chicken stew, every bite filled with the kind of love only he could infuse into a meal. As you ate, his quiet focus didn’t go unnoticed. He’d glance over at you often, his sweet smiles a silent promise that you were being taken care of. There was a stillness in the way he moved, as though everything he did was for you, giving you the space to just be.

After dinner, as you lingered over dessert, Taehyun moved to clear the dishes. His movements were unhurried, with a calm that filled the air around you, helping to settle a deeper sense of peace within.

“Stay here for a minute,” he said, returning from the kitchen. The subtle intensity in his voice made you pause. “I’ve got something for you. Just trust me, okay?”

Your curiosity piqued; you raised an eyebrow, though a haze of exhaustion still clouded your mind. “What is it?”

He gave you a knowing smile, one that held no secrets—only quiet promises. “You’ll see. Just wait here.”

Settling onto the couch, you let yourself sink into its soft embrace, the flickering candlelight casting playful shadows on the walls. While your body began to relax, your mind still held onto the faint echoes of the day.

Moments later, Taehyun's voice floated toward you, calm and soothing, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Babe, come here,” he called gently, his tone warm and inviting. “I’ve run you a bath. All you have to do is undress and let go.”

The simplicity of his words stirred something deep within you—an unspoken oath of comfort that was impossible to resist. A soft scent reached your senses, guiding you toward the bathroom.

When you stepped inside, the sight before you stole your breath. The water shimmered beneath the mild lighting, gentle bubbles breaking the surface in slow, rhythmic swirls. The air was heavy with the calming fragrance of lavender and roses, and for a moment, you simply stood there, allowing the serene aura to envelop you like a tender embrace.

Taehyun moved toward you, his smile affectionate, his eyes carrying a depth that spoke of something far more than just fondness. “Go on,” he encouraged softly, his voice both gentle and reassuring. “This is all for you. I’ll give you some space.” He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before stepping back, retreating to the bedroom, leaving you alone with the serenity he had carefully crafted for you.

A blush spread across your cheeks as you undress, the sweetness of the moment settling around you. When you finally sank into the bath, the warmth of the water embraced you like a lover’s touch, relaxing your muscles and erasing the day’s tension as though it had never been there.

Leaning back, you closed your eyes, allowing the water to cradle you in its gentle rhythm. The scent mingled with faint hints of musk, creating an atmosphere that felt both grounding and indulgent. The soft hum of music filled the air, its delicate notes weaving a cocoon of peace that slowly dissolved the thoughts still lingering in your mind. Every detail, from the flickering candles to the enduring scent of the flowers, was a proof of Taehyun's thoughtfulness. He knew exactly what you needed before you even realized it. A warmth bloomed in your chest as you exhaled, feeling the tension melt away, completely surrendering to the tranquility of the moment.

When you finally emerged from the bath, the amenity clung to your skin like a prolonged memory of the peace you’d just experienced. Wrapping yourself in a plush towel, you padded down the hallway, heading to your bedroom.

When you get there, the mood surrounds you like a dream made real. Soft golden light from low lamps and the flicker of scented candles painted the space with a warmth that felt almost tangible. The faint melody of a distant song drifted through the air, weaving its way around you, both calming and electrifying at once. The bed, with its silky sheets, beckoned you—the invitation to comfort and something deeper, more intimate.

Taehyun stood near the bed, adjusting the last of the candles with a quiet focus. When the sound of your footsteps reached him, he turned to you, his gaze meeting yours with a fondness that seemed to melt the space between you. A small, knowing smile curved his lips, and at that moment, the weight of the world seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you in this private heaven.

“Where did all this come from?” You asked, your voice soft, laced with awe.

He stepped toward you, each movement unhurried, appreciating the moment. His fingers brushed a damp strand of hair from your face; the tender touch was almost reverent. “I wanted to do something special for our anniversary, but... I thought you needed this even more tonight,” he murmured, his voice a warm, honeyed melody that eased your frayed nerves.

The sincerity in his words wrapped around you like a comforting hug, a swell of emotion tightening your throat. Tears threatened at the corners of your eyes, but his gentle touch anchored you in the present moment. His fingers brushed the edge of your towel, a soft contact that sent a shiver of anticipation across your spine.

“Leave the towel,” he whispered, his voice low yet commanding. His eyes locked onto yours, an intensity that reassured you and drew you in. “Lay down on your stomach. Let me take care of you.”

You hesitated for just a moment, then, as if tethered by his quiet confidence, let the towel slip from your body, letting it fall across the chair nearby. Taehyun’s hands found yours, guiding you to the bed with your fingers entwined. The cool silk of the sheets met your delicate skin as you stretched out on the bed, the sensation drawing a faint, contented sigh from your lips.

“Close your eyes,” he demanded, his voice sending a ripple of sensation down your body. “Trust me.”

You nodded, surrendering to him as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Imagine this…” Taehyun started, his voice low and seductive. “You’re on a beach. Completely lost. Nothing around you but the ocean and the breeze that you’re feeling with more intensity because you have no clothes on, just like now.

“Sounds like freedom... and maybe a little trouble.” Your smile deepened.

“Maybe,” a chuckle escaped him, and he continued. “No inhibitions, nothing to hide. You’re just... there. Bare, vulnerable, but not afraid.”

“And then what?” You asked, playing along.

“Help arrives. Someone pulls up, offers you a ride.” Taehyun’s voice dropped, sultry and heavy with quiet intensity. “Do you take it?”

“That depends. Who’s offering?” You replied, curiosity piqued.

“Someone who knows exactly where to take you.” He let the implication hang in the air.

“That’s a lot of trust. What if they take me somewhere I don’t want to go?” You teased, your voice soft but daring.

“Then you’ll have to trust that they’ll take care of you. That they’ll make sure you never feel lost again,” Taehyun stated, his words full of something you loved.

Your heart skipped as his words sank in. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” A small laugh escaped you.

“Only for you,” Taehyun replied, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

You opened your eyes curiously to find him grabbing a bottle of aromatic oil off the bedside table.

“What are you doing?” You asked, your interest stirred by the deliberate care in his movements. “What’s this for?”

“A special type of tantric massage,” he said, a playful smile tugging at his lips, his big eyes glinting with a touch of mystery. “It’s called yoni.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that,” you said, eyes wide with uncertainty.

“It’s about connection, grounding, and awakening your sacred feminine,” he explained, voice soft and reverent. “It’s different, but it’ll help you feel more in tune with yourself—your strength, your power, your essence.”

“What do you mean by that?” You asked, a mix of anticipation and curiosity coloring your tone.

“It’s a way to release, to surrender to the present, to trust completely in the moment,” he clarified, his voice calm yet carrying an undertone of something deeper.

“I don’t think I get it,” you confessed, a shy smile forming.

He chuckled softly, the sound warm-hearted and intimate. “You will,” he told you simply, his big eyes glimmering with quiet confidence.

Kneeling beside you, Taehyun opened the bottle with his fingers, the cap releasing a faint, demulcent scent. The sweet smell filled the air, delicate and calming. He warmed a small amount of oil between his hands and pressed them gently to your shoulders. The heat of his touch spread through your skin; the sensation was so relaxing; it felt like liquid calm flowing through you.

His movements were firm yet gentle as he spread the oil on your skin, calming you almost instantly. “This isn't just a massage,” he murmured, his voice gentle. “It's my way of showing you how much I adore every part of you.”

His hands moved with purpose, starting at your neck and working down your shoulders. The tension you’d been holding onto seemed to melt away beneath his meticulous touch. The hot oil only made his movements softer, each stroke easing your muscles into a state of tranquility.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered as he continued pressing into the right spots, taking away the remnants of the day’s stress. “I want you to feel how much I appreciate you.”

When his hands reached your lower back, you couldn't help but gasp, the sensation of his fingers kneading sending a wave of relief through you. The mellowness spread through your body, grounding you but also stirring something deeper.

With deliberate care, his hands moved lower, brushing along your thighs. Each rub had a purpose—a careful balance of comfort and spark. Your body relaxed even further under his touch, but there was a quiet tension too—one that wasn’t just physical.

“Relax, love,” he murmured, as if feeling the same, his voice calm. “Tonight is yours.”

Your focus was narrowing to the rhythm of his hands. His touch was like a promise—a vow without words, each movement speaking more than anything he could say. As his hands moved to the curve of your hips, you instinctively arched toward him, drawn by his touch.

“Taehyun…” His name escaped you, soft and almost vulnerable.

The way he lightly grabbed you, savoring the moment, made you feel more cherished than you could explain. His hands never rushed, always thoughtful and deliberate, guiding you deeper into relaxation.

Leaning closer, his breath reached your ear, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Let it all go, baby. I’ve got you.”

His words grounded you, as much a promise as the gentle caress of his hands. Every stroke seemed to strip away layers of unspoken burden, leaving only the quiet certainty that you were safe, adored, and completely present with him.

When his hands reach your lower back again, you let out a soft, unguarded moan. You couldn’t help it; the relief he was giving you was undeniable. Your body surrendered to him completely, and he responded with a quiet “Shh,” his voice both reassuring and gentle.

His hands worked methodically, moving outward before returning to center, each motion pulling you deeper into the state of bliss he’d created. As he moved lower, brushing the curve of your hips, you felt a familiar heat rise within you. The moment held a charge, yet the intimacy of it kept you grounded.

When he shifted down to your legs, he gently took your foot in his hands, the cool oil against your skin making your toes curl before his thumbs pressed into the tender arch, coaxing a low hum from you.

“You’re amazing at this,” you murmured, your voice thick with gratitude and relaxation.

He chuckled softly, moving to your other foot. “You deserve to be taken care of,” he said, his voice warm and resolute. “This is just one of the ways I’ll show you.”

Every muscle in your body seemed to relax; your senses heightened with each stroke of his hands. When he moved up your thighs, the warmth in your chest spread further, and you bit your lip, trying to hold back the sensations his touch stirred.

The moment felt charged but also peaceful—a delicate balance of connection and intimacy. Taehyun worked with meticulous care, each motion dissolving layers of tension you hadn’t even realized were there. His fingertips moved in small, deliberate circles, easing knots you’d grown used to carrying. “Let me take this from you,” he murmured, his tone quiet yet determined.

When his hands brushed the sensitive curve of your ass, you tensed instinctively, but Taehyun paused, leaning forward, his murmur against your ear. “You’re so beautiful when you let yourself relax,” he whispered, his voice a balsamic presence. “Trust me. Let’s go. I’m here.”

With a soft exhalation, you released the last of your hesitation, feeling yourself melt under his thoughtful touch. The air between you felt electric, yet everything remained restful. In that space, there were only the two of you—the outside world stopped to exist.

“I need you to turn around now, babe,” he requested, his voice gentle yet commanding.

His hands guided you lightly as you shifted onto your back, his touch steady, ensuring you were comfortable. “You’re really testing my self-control, you know that?” Taehyun murmured with a playful tone, making you smile.

Starting at your sides, his hands moved with intention, slowly easing the tension in your body. “You’re so tense,” he said, his tone almost tender. “Let’s get loose tonight, princess.”

The rhythm of his touch was slow and steady, each movement helping you relax, the quiet music in the background grounding the moment. His hands slid over your boobs, grabbing gently. He traces your nipples with his fingers, which hardened them. “Your body responds to my touch so perfectly,” he murmured quietly.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he said, a teasing lilt in his voice as his palms slid lower. “It’s not fair, really.” His tone was light, but there was something deeper in his words that made your heart flutter.

His hands moved with care, brushing over your rib cage. He paused for a moment, watching you with a look that muted his teasing. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he added with a small laugh, his voice hearty.

“I mean it,” he said, a grin in his voice. “You’ve got me hooked.”

A soft laugh escaped you, and you felt the last of the tension leave your body under his touch.

Leaning closer, his breath brushed again over your ear, and his voice dropped to a mumble. “And you’re so sexy like this.” He said, and his hands moved lower, gliding over your hips with a consistent rhythm that felt both comforting and reassuring.

His fingers graze lightly against the sensitive skin of your pelvis, the rising temperature keeping you in the present moment. Your breath caught—not from unease, but from the quiet intensity of being so fully cared for, as if every touch carried unspoken words. Cautiously, he opened your legs and positioned himself between them, sitting on his knees. He traced your groin with an almost annoying calm touch, noticing the texture of your skin.

“Please, Tae.” You let out an anxious groan.

“Calm down, sweetie; I want to make you feel good.” He replied as his fingers started to brush your outer labia.

You squeezed your eyes, inhaling deeply as warmth spread through your body. The air felt charged, as if it too held its breath in a shared moment of stillness, where only tenderness lingered, undisturbed by the world outside.

“Do you know how strong you are?” Taehyun asked delicately; his voice was barely louder than a whisper but filled with conviction, while placing his fingers on your inner labia. His movements were full of precision, firm but gentle, as though ensuring every motion honored your trust. “You amaze me—not just by what you do, but by who you are, you know?”

You exhaled deeply, your body yielding to his care. The faint scent of the oils mixed with the erotism of the moment created an almost sacred environment. Your legs shifted slightly, a subtle adjustment that made his touch even more fluid and precise.

“You are beautiful, doll.” He started massaging your clit after he finally reached it.

“Baby!” You opened your eyes wide and moaned with joy.

“It's all right, sweetie; let me make you feel good.” He stroked you just right, which sent a shiver through your whole body. You tried to hold back your sounds, but the way he touched you made it impossible.

“Oh, Tae…” You whimpered, and he grinned, his gaze never leaving your face, studying every shift in your expression, knowing exactly what to do and how to make you melt.

He would pause whenever he sensed you were nearing your climax, slowing his movements just enough to keep you hanging on the edge. His hands traced along your hips, his voice low and tempting. “Breathe, my love.” A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Let’s slow down for a moment. I want to enjoy this with you a little longer.”

Your breathing evened out as you followed his rhythm, the continuous pulse of his touch grounding you. His hands moved in a gentle but firm way as his fingertips traced dim, comforting patterns along your thighs. Every motion seemed designed to quiet down, to ease, and to draw out the sensation without rushing it.

After that, his fingers returned to your sweet spot, his touch unwavering and focused. Each movement was delicate and intentional, with the right amount of pressure, as if he understood exactly what you needed. And he knew, after all, he was a very observant husband.

“So good, Tae,” you whispered, your eyes closed.

“I want you to feel wonderful, princess.” He winked and placed a soft kiss on your lips.

He watched you intently, adjusting his rhythm to match your reactions, making sure each movement was giving you pleasure. With every careful touch, the tension melted away, leaving only the warmth of the moment.

When you started to have spasms all over your body, Taehyun boldly moved his index finger toward your hole, extremely soaked at this point, and positioned the tip there. He chuckled softly as your pussy practically sucked his finger due to your extreme arousal.

“So eager, doll,” he murmured as he finally placed his finger at your g-spot and skillfully massaged it while continuing to stroke your clit. You were set on fire by this simple gesture, and you increased your moans.

“Yes, love. You’re so beautiful like this.” Taehyun whispered.

“Taehyun,” you murmured, your voice soft, quivering with emotion you couldn’t quite define. You were rolling your eyes, groaning uncontrollably, and the heat was nearly unbearable. Your breathing grew erratic, with soft sounds spilling from your lips more frequently.

He leaned in, his voice enticing against your ear. “I’m here,” he murmured, his voice steady and filled with unwavering affection. “I’ve got you. Always.” With a tender smile, he pressed a kiss to your stomach, his touch heartening and reassuring. “Let go, darling,” he encouraged, his words a quiet command wrapped in care.

With a shuddering exhale and a moan that was almost a yell, you released vigorously, the tension unraveling in a powerful wave that left you trembling. It wasn’t just physical; it felt deeper, as though a weight you hadn’t even realized you were carrying had finally lifted. In its place was an overwhelming sense of freedom, a lightness that filled every part of you, leaving you unburdened, exposed, yet cradled in a space of absolute care and understanding.

With a big smile on his face, Taehyun moved a lock of hair away from your face. With a tone of calm appreciation, he muttered, “I'm so proud of you, baby.” He stopped and laid his hands lightly on your thighs. “You're safe. Slow down and take a deep breath. I’ve got you.”

When you opened your eyes, his gaze was on you, filled with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. There was a reverence in his eyes, an understanding that reached beyond the physical.

Your voice was filled with astonishment in addition to appreciation as you whispered, “Thank you.” The words flowed out of you smoothly as a tiny smile crept over your lips.

As he ran his fingers down your arm, his eyes glinted with amusement. “You don't need to thank me.” His tone was light but sincere as he taunted, “You know, my favorite job is making you cum.”

“I'm lucky that you're very capable of that.” You declared, letting out a little chuckle.

“Feeling better?” Taehyun asked, his voice low and tender as he lay beside you, his gaze concentrated on you. A small, knowing smile played on his lips as his fingers traced little circles on your skin.

You nodded, letting your eyes fall shut, your body melting into the comfort of his touch. “A lot better,” you murmured, your voice faint and content.

“You’re amazing, you know,” he said, the quiet sincerity in his words making your heart skip a beat. “Even when you don’t see it, I do.”

Your smile expanded as you turned to face him and felt his fingers lightly entwined with yours. The bond between you felt natural and unbreakable in the silence—a sliver of peace in a world that seemed to vanish for the time being. Your eyes met his, and you let out a satisfied gasp.

“You’re unbelievable,” you whispered, amazement lacing your voice. “I didn’t know it was possible to feel this... all.”

“That’s the goal, isn’t it?” He teased, his tone mischievous but underpinned with sincerity.

“But how did you learn this? And what do you know about the sacred feminine?” You questioned, interest piqued, your voice carrying a mix of intrigue and wonder.

“I might have read something on Google,” he confessed, a small grin breaking across his lips, and you laughed. A boyish shrug accompanied his next words. “And I might’ve picked up a few tricks from some online tutorials. Turns out, you really can learn anything on the internet.”

With an arched brow and a vivacious twinkle in your eyes, you turned over onto your side and faced him directly. “You're way too good at this.” You teased, though the admiration was more than evident.

Taehyun mirrored your expression, his lips quirking into a grin. His hand rested lightly on your hip, his thumb tracing gentle, idle patterns that sent waves of comfort through you. “What can I say?” he replied, his voice teasing. “I’m a man of many talents.”

“Clearly,” you shot back with a joyous roll of your eyes, though your gaze softened as it locked with his. “But now I’m dying to know—how long have you been holding out on me?”

Taehyun’s smile deepened, and he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper against your lips. “I wasn’t holding out,” he murmured, his tone laced with quiet intensity. “I was just waiting for the perfect moment to show you.”

Your breath caught at the significance of his words, your heart skipping as you searched for his gaze. “And tonight, was the perfect moment?” you asked softly, your voice betraying the vulnerability stirred by his care.

His eyes didn’t waver, steady and filled with an unspoken emotion that felt unmistakable. “Tonight, you needed it,” he replied, his voice a weak, intimate rumble. “And I wanted to give you exactly what you deserve.”

The anticipation between you both grew, charged with the energy of the raw fragility of the moment. Taehyun’s dark and deep eyes held yours with a certainty that made your chest swell and your pulse quicken. His thumb traced the curve of your waist, and you felt the gentle friction—a touch that spoke of devotion and a quiet, fierce affection.

“And what happens now, Tae?” You asked, the question laced with desire.

“Whatever you want to happen, babe.” He replied, a smile playing on his lips that made your heart stutter.

“I want you.” You whispered, your voice dropping to a husky murmur. In one smooth motion, Taehyun rolled so he was on top of you, his body pressing into yours.

“Yeah?” He leaned in, lips brushing your ear, sending a wave of warmth cascading down your neck. His voice was low and seductive, and you nodded, heart in your throat, your fingers finding their way to the hem of his shirt.

As he allowed the shirt to slide up and over his head, showcasing his toned and sculpted abs and chest, Taehyun's eyes never left yours. He shuddered a little when you touched his warm skin, and you could feel the thick, powerful muscles in his back tensing beneath your palm.

“Now you relax, baby,” you said, your voice thick with desire. “Let me take care of you now.”

Your fingers traced the waistband of his pants, fingers dipping into the soft fabric as you began to pull them down. He inhaled deeply, like he was trying to control himself, his eyes meeting yours again as if seeking reassurance, and you nodded, pressing a sweet kiss to his shoulder before sliding them down. His skin was burning beneath your touch, a perfect contrast to the cool of the air conditioner in the room that you couldn’t even remember at the moment since it seemed like the two of you were on fire.

“I’m yours,” he whispered, the words raw, vulnerable, and heavy in the quiet of the room. The moment stretched out between you, thick and electric. There was no rush, only the steady beat of your hearts, the silent acknowledgment of what was happening.

You finally reached the hem of his underwear, pulling it down slowly, as if savoring every fleeting moment. Your hand encased him, feeling the heat and hardness of his cock beneath your fingers, like a steel bar wrapped in velvet. A wave of desire spread through you, deeper than any physical sensation. His breathing grew heavier, and his eyes locked onto yours, reflecting raw trust and something profound—a silent acknowledgment of the bond that tethered your souls. You started pumping his length, which made him hiss and groan.

“Baby…” With a moan, he took your hand off his aching shaft. He glared at you as he placed his dick into the opening of your pussy. “Can I…”

“Yes, please.” Your voice was low, thick with longing. “I need you, all of you.”

With no more words, he invaded you, feeling your heat envelop him. You both sighed, as if you were finally completing the last piece of a puzzle. As he began to move, you wrapped your hands around him, pressing gentle kisses to his lips and cheeks. He let his body sink into yours, movements perfectly synchronized, an unspoken dance of trust and passion.

“You’re so perfect for me,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Pussy so good, make me go crazy.”

Every touch and look contributed as evidence of the link that was carefully cultivated between you. He moved with you, slow and methodical, and your hands entangled themselves in his hair, drawing him closer.

“I don’t ever want to be without you,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

“You never will be,” you mouthed back, holding him tighter, as if to seal that promise. “I’m yours, always.”

You knew without a doubt that what you shared was more than passion—it was the connection of twin flames, a force that resonated deep within you, transcending the physical and reaching into the divine.

A shared breath, a touch that conveyed affection, passion, and trust, and the hum of the air surrounded you both. His hands moved over your flesh, tracing and exploring the lines and curves that he loved so much.

“Every part of you is my home,” he told you as he locked his eyes with yours. His voice was unwavering in its straightforwardness, and your body responded eagerly.

“And you’re mine,” you whispered, your voice trembling with devotion. “I found my forever in you.”

He leaned down, lips brushing yours, teasing and tender, before deepening the kiss. Breaking it, Taehyun’s hands found yours, fingers interlacing as he pressed them against the mattress beside your head, anchoring you to the moment. His lips found yours again, this time more fervent, a clash of yearning and tenderness, and you surrendered to it, letting yourself be enveloped by him.

“I love you,” he whispered, as if saying it was as vital as his next breath.

“I love you, too,” you replied, and for a moment those three words made the time stop, you two inside of a bubble of passion.

The rhythm of his thrusting increased instinctively, and as you both gave in to the emotion that engulfed you, words escaped your lips.

"Tae...” you mumbled, a tightening in your lower stomach signaling the climax approaching.

“I know, baby. Me too,” he responded, his voice deep and steady, as if reading your mind. “Let’s go together.”

With a few more thrusts, the orgasm overtook you, and he soon followed, painting your walls white. You both exhaled loud gasps that were mingling in the space between your breaths. The shivers that racked your body only deepened the urgency of a kiss, which you gave him, a desperate claim to the moment that felt like it would last forever.

He took his dick out of your pussy while panting loudly, then fell onto the bed with his eyes closed in exhaustion. You paused to regain air to your lungs, your quivering fingers reaching out and grazing his face before following the sharp line of his jaw. His breath hitched at your touch, and you felt him soften, his presence drawing closer. Your hand slid to the nape of his neck, pulling him in until your foreheads touched, and you gave him a quick peck on the lips. The moment was heavy with unspoken emotion, the charge between you impossible to ignore.

“You always make me feel whole,” you muttered, closing your eyes as you lay on his chest, your voice barely audible.

He wrapped his arms around you, hands resting on your waist. His fingers skimmed your skin, memorizing every curve.

“That’s because I see you.” His gaze softened, and his voice dropped to a husky murmur that seemed to vibrate through you. “Every part of you. And tonight, I needed you to feel it—just how much you mean to me.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and as you opened your eyes to meet his, you saw it—something deeper than lust. Love, pure and unwavering, shone in his gaze.

"Taehyun...” you whispered, your voice trembling under the weight of the moment. “You always know exactly what I need.”

His smile was soft, unassuming, the charming dimple appearing for a fleeting moment. “That’s because I’m yours,” he said, voice sure and stable. “And you’re mine.”

“And I wouldn’t want it any other way,” you stated, savoring the feel of his skin, the tenderness of his breath, and the way your bodies fit perfectly together.

“I’ll always find you, YN.” Taehyun whispered, his voice low and intimate. “I made a vow on our wedding day, and I intend to keep it for the rest of my life.”

“And I’m so glad we’re building our life together,” you said, caressing his chest.

“No matter where you are or how you feel, I'm here forever,” he spoke, a playful glint in his eyes. “If I’m not beside you, I’ll probably be inside you, though.”

You laughed, a hearty sound that made his smile widen, and gave him a soft bite on his shoulder. The world seemed to stand still, cradling the two of you in its quiet embrace. Candlelight flickered across his face as he cupped your cheeks, his thumb brushing over your skin with tender deliberation.

“You are the best thing that ever happened to me,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “You make me feel at peace when life is pure chaos.”

“YN,” he began softly, his voice raw with sincerity. “You don’t know how much you mean to me. Watching you carry so much on your own... I just want to ease that burden. I want you to feel loved and cared for—every single day.”

Tears welled in your eyes, the weight of his sincerity settling deep within you. You placed your hands over his, holding him steady. “Taehyun, you already do. Just being with you... it’s everything I need.”

His dimpled smile returned as he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. “You deserve the world, YN. And if I can give even a piece of that to you, then I’m doing something right.”

Your lips curved into a soft smile as a single tear slipped down your cheek. “You’re more than I could’ve ever asked for,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

The moment stretched, quiet and intimate, a shared breath of peace and promise. When Taehyun kissed you again, it wasn’t just passion—it was love, woven into every deliberate movement.

“I love you,” you whispered, the glow of the candles reflecting in his adoring eyes.

“I love you more,” he replied, voice soft and playful.

You laughed gently, shaking your head. “Let’s not start that game. We’ll be here all night.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what I want,” he teased, brushing his lips over yours in a featherlight kiss.

As the music faded into silence, you nestled into the warmth of his embrace, knowing that no matter what the world outside held, you had everything you needed right here.

elle speaks⁴: these two, im crying 😭😭😭 they're so cute. i wish you all can experience a love so beautiful and strong like theirs. hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading ♡

disclaimer: this is a fanfiction created by me. the characters of TOMORROW X TOGETHER and the song mentioned are used for creative purposes only. this story is not affiliated with BigHit Entertainment or TXT, and all content is fictional and does not reflect reality. the song “Hypnotize U” is owned by its creators and used here without profit.

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burntsaltsblog · 7 months ago

Text

tw: death and blood

Chapter Eight

"Stay here," Butcher instructed sternly as he hastily pulled on his clothes and checked that his gun was fully loaded.

"No," I argued, rising from the bed to slip on my jeans that had been previously abandoned on the floor.

Butcher whipped around to face me, his brown eyes blazing. "Jo, I swear to god, if ya try to follow me, I will handcuff you to the bedpost."

"I'd like to see you try," I challenged, crossing my arms.

Butcher pinched the bridge of his nose before crossing the room in a few long strides and placing his hands on my shoulders.

"What did I tell ya earlier?" He shook me gently.

My brows creased in confusion. "Billy, what are you talking about?"

"Blimey, petal, what did I tell ya earlier? What did we talk about?"

"Uh, I don't know." I shook my head as I wracked my brain for Butcher's words from earlier that night. "Our future? The fucking house in the country? How you want me to have your babies-"

"Exactly," Butcher cut in, his voice earnest as he gazed at me intently. "Why, on God's greenest and bloodiest earth, would I send the future mother of my children into a possibly perilous situation?"

I opened and closed my mouth several times as I tried to summon different angles from which to dispute his point of view.

"No, love. You ain’t fightin’ this. Now, are ya gonna be a good girl and lock yourself in the bathroom, or am I gonna need to get out the cuffs and do this the hard way?"

I knew Butcher's threat was legitimate. Not too long ago, he’d nicked a pair of handcuffs off a cop and kept them should he need them in a hostage situation.

"Fine," I grumbled, having to restrain myself from giving him both middle fingers as I pivoted toward the bathroom.

"You'll be gettin’ a reward later, princess," Butcher declared as he followed me on my heels.

"Yeah, whatever." I glared as we stood on opposite sides of the bathroom threshold.

Butcher couldn't hide his amusement from my displeasure. "Dontcha pout, doll, or your mouth will stay like that," he teased, tracing my frown with his finger, but that only made it deepen as my eyes narrowed at him.

"Fuck off and find out what the noise was so I don't have to play stow away all day long," I snapped, shutting and locking the door in his face.

I could hear his continuous snickering on the other side of the wood as he exited the room, no doubt shutting the door behind him.

I paced the length of the small washroom, swearing at Butcher as I spoke to myself to pass the time. Who knew agreeing to be that British asshole's girlfriend meant that I'd be running from danger instead of embracing it head-on as I'd always done since joining The Boys.

There wasn't a clock in the bathroom, so I had no way of calculating how long Butcher had been gone. But after what felt like an eternity, I heard someone burst through the bedroom door as Butcher’s voice rang out, and his fist pounded on the bathroom door.

"Open up, doll. We gotta go!"

"What are you talking about? What's going on?" I panicked as I unlocked the door and swiftly swung it open.

"No time for a fuckin’ Q&A, sweetheart," Butcher said gruffly, taking me by the arm and hauling me back into the bedroom. "Pack your shite."

I watched in perplexity as Butcher yanked open his drawer of the white wood dresser and haphazardly bunched his clothes in his fists, hurling them into his duffel bag.

After tossing in his extra guns and a few hand grenades on top of his clothes, he zipped the bag shut before turning to look at me, surprised and clearly distressed due to the fact that I was just standing there, observing him and not packing like he had instructed me to do.

“Oi, what the hell are ya waitin’ for? The second comin’ of Christ? We’ve gotta get the fuck outta here.”

“I’m not moving a single muscle until you tell me why,” I asserted ardently.

Butcher breathed out a laborious breath before retrieving my bag from under the bed, opening up another drawer of the dresser—the one filled with all of my belongings, and dumping the entirety of its contents into my bag.

“We’ve been burned,” he informed me before striding into the bathroom, returning momentarily with our hygiene products, most of them being mine.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I grabbed my moisturizer, toothpaste, and mouthwash from Butcher, taking over the packing process. “How could we have been burned again? We haven’t gone outside in weeks. I’ve barely even looked out the window.”

“How should I know?” Snapped Butcher, slamming both dresser drawers shut.

“Ok, Butcher, walk me through what happened down there. How do you know we’ve actually been burned again?”

Butcher marched the length of our room, making sure nothing was left behind before he faced me, looking somber.

“Ed’s dead.”

All the blood drained from my face as I looked at Butcher in shock.” What are you talking about?”

“I found him in his chair behind the front desk. His back was facin’ the door, so he didn’t know they was aimed at him.”

“That what was aimed at him?” I asked shakily, not entirely sure that I wanted to know the answer.

“The lasers.”

My stomach dropped, and I fought the bile that rose in my throat. “Do you think it was Homelander?”

“If It wasn't the blonde cunt, then it was somebody else with the same vile mutation.”

My breaths shortened as Butcher continued. “But I guess that our favorite bloody bimbo has found us, and that’s exactly why we have to get the fuck outta here.”

I nodded, wiping away a stray tear that cascaded down my face. I swung my bag over my shoulder, and Butcher quickly did the same. We walked towards the bedroom door before I stopped short, dread filling me. “Wait. How do we know the psycho isn’t still here?”

“I searched every room after I found Ed.”

I bit my lip as my nerves simmered just under my skin.

“That doesn’t mean he’s not here. We might find him levitating over the roof when we get outside,” I muttered as I threw open the door, but not before pulling out my pocket knife, freshly polished and sharpened for a fight.

“Well, that’s why we have these, aye?” Butcher referred to my knife and the gun that he held steadily in his hand.

“It’s not like they’ll do much damage.”

We shared an uneasy silence, but I was convinced it wasn’t because Butcher was purposefully ignoring me but more like he was purely focused on sweeping the hallway and eliminating the idea of a potential threat.

“Get behind me,” Butcher demanded.

“You’re the one who implied Homelander wasn’t even here anymore, so I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“I don’t give a flyin’ fuck whether or not the stupid twat is here—you should still let me go first,” Butcher insisted as I beat him to the staircase, descending the single flight ahead of him.

I heard his displeased rumblings was about to make a snide comment to shut him up, but every snarky word I had died on my tongue when I caught sight of Ed behind his desk.

As Butcher had said, he was sitting down, facing away from the door, and the hole in his throat, courtesy of Homelander’s lasers, was evident.

“Come on, love. We got to go,” Butcher urged me impatiently, placing an arm around my shoulders as he tried to guide me out the door.

“We need to bury him,” I said, trying to walk over to Ed’s lifeless motionless body. But Butcher’s grip tightened, holding me back.

“No, sweetheart, we don’t got time. Homelander could be blowin’ this place to bits any moment.”

I finally struggled out of Butcher’s clutch and ran behind the front desk, walking around Ed’s chair until I was in front of him.

I shoved my knife in my back pocket and clenched my fists. My nails dug into the palms of my hands, and I welcomed the blood that trickled down my wrists. It was a much-needed distraction from the lifeless look in Ed’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

My voice was hoarse, but I forced the words out anyway.

“You were so kind to us. And this is how we repaid you.”

We weren’t the ones to sear a hole in his neck, but we had drawn Homelander here. So, as inadvertent as it was, we were still responsible, and the guilt was all-consuming, rocking me to my core.

I knelt on my knees, and I reached to grasp one of Ed’s hands. It was still warm.

“It’s all our fault, and I’m so sorry we weren’t here to protect you. Because that’s what you deserved. You deserved to have us take care of you after you spent so much of your time taking care of us.”

My shoulders shook, and I could no longer hold in the sobs that clawed their way out of my mouth. Boots thumped on the floor behind me before I felt Butcher's warm embrace as he lifted me to stand, murmuring in my ear.

“Hey, I’ve got ya. It’s ok, I’ve got ya.”

My legs felt unusually weak, and I was grateful Butcher was there. If it weren’t for him, I would’ve collapsed on the floor by now as grief and self-reproach infiltrated my body.

“I’m sorry, petal. I know you’re upset, but the longer we stay here, the longer we put our own lives at risk.”

With shaking hands, I wiped my tears and mumbled “Ok” so Butcher would know I’d heard him. But I had one more thing I had to do before we left. If we couldn’t bury him, I needed to make sure someone else would.

I stumbled to the desk behind Ed’ slumped form and reached for the small landline he’d kept there. I dialed 911, and put the phone to my ear, listening to the steady ring.

“What the bloody hell are ya doin’?” Butcher growled as he tried to wrench the phone from me.

I swatted his hand away and cleared my throat as someone answered.

“911. What is your emergency?”

I lowered my voice and prayed the person on the other end of the call was competent enough to catch everything I said as I quickly spoke.

“I need to report a death. 306, Webster Rd. Haverhill, New Hampshire.”

I pressed the End button, cutting off the connection, and avoided looking at both Ed and Butcher as I readjusted the bag on my shoulder and headed for the door.

“Let’s go.”

The late November air stung my face, and I felt Butcher’s all-encompassing presence right behind me, no doubt mentally cursing me for not allowing him the chance to venture outside first.

I retrieved my knife and held it firmly as my eyes raced over the side street on which the small bed and breakfast sat. The ground was coated in a thick layer of snow thanks to the blizzard from earlier in the evening, and there was a sense of peace that floated around this part of Haverfield. If only the other residents knew of the horror that had ensued inside this picturesque bed-and-breakfast.

After determining that no supes were lurking in the shadows, I inched down the narrow sidewalk, and that’s when my eyes landed on Butcher’s old Cadillac. To the naked eye, the vehicle looked untouched, but that wasn’t enough to convince me.

“Stay here,” Butcher barked, already passing me on his way to the car, not giving me a chance to rebuke his command.

I scowled, but it didn’t hinder my ability to be alert as I watched every single one of Butcher’s movements as he trudged through the dense snow.

With his gun at the ready, the safety lock having been already flicked off, Butcher peered through each window, circling the vehicle as if it was a ticking time bomb. But knowing Homelander, it very well could be.

Butcher pulled his keys from the pocket of his trench coat and unlocked his Cadillac before easing the door open. He ducked his head inside and then settled the rest of his body in the driver’s seat.

I was about to call out with the intention of warning him not to start the car, but I was too late, and the engine roared to life. The headlights blinded me, and I threw an arm over my face to protect my eyes.

“Come on then, love. We don’t got all night.”

Unsure, I tip-toed through the snow and reached the passenger side, hesitantly opening the door.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” I asked, untrusting of the vehicle that could’ve easily been tampered with.

“Yes, doll. M’sure.”

“But what if it explodes while we’re both inside? For all we know, Homelander could be behind a tree somewhere, waiting to press the button.”

Butcher opened his mouth to respond, but both of our attentions were pulled towards a siren that wailed in the distance.

“Marvelous, that’s the authorities.” Butcher groaned before rolling his eyes. “Look, love, unless you wanna be caught at the scene of a crime, then ya better climb in.”

I eyed Butcher as l gnawed on my lower lip, feeling the dry skin rip away.

“I promise you, it’s safe. I’d never put ya in harm’s way.”

I still wasn’t convinced, and my neck craned over the roof of the Cadillac as I caught sight of the unmistakable red of a police cruiser’s cherry.

“Fuck me,” Butcher swore, having enough of my reluctance, and tugged me into the car without a thought of my feelings.

“Butcher-“

“Shut your trap. I just saved us both from bein’ taken into custody for a murder that we didn’t commit.”

With some difficulty due to the road that had yet to be shoveled, Butcher put the car in reverse and backed out before turning the wheel and zooming forward down the street.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, they’re gonna pass us,” Butcher noted as the police car sped down the opposite side of the street.

I leaned forward, but Butcher placed a hand on my head, gruffly pushing me down.

“Oi, scoot your bum down, or else they’ll see ya.”

I whined in protest but didn’t fight him and stayed tucked down in the seat. The scarlet lights flashed aggressively, filling the otherwise dark Cadillac. The bright hue danced over Butcher’s face, but he stayed stoically staring forward, apart from when he glanced in the review mirror to watch the car as it was now behind us.

“They’re pullin’ into the Inn.”

“Good. They’ll take care of Ed.”

“That’s what you think. In reality, they’ll open an investigation for a murder they’ll never be able to solve.”

I furrowed my brows as I sat up straighter. “Well, what was I supposed to do, huh? Just leave him there to rot? He deserves better, and you know that. Besides, he mentioned having a great-niece who lives in Idaho, so this way, he’ll be laid to rest by family.”

Butcher sighed, shaking his head as he slammed his foot down on the gas, throwing me against the dashboard as we sped through a yellow light and entered one of the main roads in town.

“For fuck’s sake, put on your seatbelt,” Butcher scolded me, reaching across my body to draw the protective material across my chest.

“I can do it myself,” I complained, yanking the seatbelt from him and latching it at the bottom of my seat. “Where are we going anyway?”

“Wherever the highway takes us, doll.”

“How terribly specific of you.”

Butcher snorted, not bothering to use his turn signal as he turned onto the first highway entrance ramp he found. “We’re going to Canada, alright? The best thing to do right now is hide out with MM and Hughie.”

“Do you plan on whipping up some fake passports so we can get across the heavily secured border?” I asked skeptically.

“Actually, I already have ‘em right here.” Butcher patted the breast pocket of his earthy green Hawaiian shirt.

My face must have been full of surprise because Butcher chuckled, placing a hand on my thigh, squeezing gently. “You should start trustin’ Daddy more, love. He’ll always take care of his girl.”

I was about to spread my legs, inviting Butcher to move his hand up to a more desirable location, but then his phone rang, and he pulled his hand away to shove it into his pocket, quickly retrieving the device.

“Speak of the devil,” Butcher said before answering the phone. “MM, how lovely to hear from ya. As a matter of fact, we was gonna come visit-“

Butcher was cut off, and I didn’t miss his slight intake of air as he listened to MM chatter on the other end of the line.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Butcher swerved the vehicle, taking us over the small chunk of grass onto the other side of the freeway while the tires squeaked in protest.

“Butcher, I don’t think you’re supposed to do that,” I warned as we rocked back and forth, going over the soft terrain. One hand was braced against the window, and the other squeezed Butcher’s bicep, both in fear and anguish.

“Hold on to your tits, love,” Butcher announced as the car plopped down onto placement, and he ignored every speeding sign known to mankind, going close to 90 miles per hour.

“Yeah, ok,” Butcher said as he resumed his intense conversation with MM. “Yep, I agree. We’re headed there now. Oh, us? We’re fine. Cool as cucumbers we are.”

“Butcher, what’s going on?” I asked, worried. But he disregarded my question.

“Do whatever you have to do to get across the bloody border, aye? Nuke every single guard there is. All that matters is getting you and Hughie back to the city so we can finish this once and for all.”

With that, Butcher hung up and tossed his phone into the backseat.

“Billy, what the fuck is going on?” I asked again, with more urgency.

“Turns out, they’ve all been burned as well. Even Frenchie and Kimiko.”

Butcher’s voice rose as he cursed several times, hitting the steering wheel and making the car swerve into another lane.

I yelped as I grabbed the wheel myself to steady the car, my heart racing at Butcher’s outburst.

“Christ, I’m sorry, darlin’. M’sorry. Didn’t mean to lose me temper like that,” Butcher apologized, drastically slowing down until the Cadillac was going a reasonable 65 miles per hour.

“It’s fine,” I mumbled, peeling my hand off of the wheel as Butcher regained control of himself and the car.

Butcher’s eyes bounced between my face and the road ahead as he continued his apology, dwelling on his loss of temper. “I really didn’t mean to do it, doll.”

“Yeah, I know, I know.” I waved my hand dismissively.

I didn’t speak again until the feeling of Butcher staring at the side of my head became too much.

“Honestly, Butcher, it’s fine. I promise. Besides, it’s not like you’ve never gotten angry before.”

“But that’s just it,” Butcher replied, despair lacing his voice. “I don’t wanna get angry no more. I don’t wanna be known as some manky wanker who loses his shite at the drop of a hat or drowns his sorrows in whiskey.”

Butcher slowed the car even more so he could look at me.

“I wanna be someone who is deservin’ of you. When we go out together, I don’t want ya to be ashamed to be seen with me.”

“Butcher, where is all of this coming from?” I inquired, concerned as I shuffled in my seat to better look at him. “Why on earth would you ever think I’d be ashamed for people to see us together?”

When Butcher didn’t respond and instead plastered his eyes on the yellow and white lines ahead, I resumed talking in an effort to convince him of his delusions.

“Butcher, I love you, ok? I would be proud to be seen with you. In fact, all I want is to go out with you and watch every girl as they glare at me with jealousy because they know you’re mine.”

Butcher kept up his silence, but I didn’t blame him. He wasn’t very good with expressing his emotions, and after everything he’d shared with me lately, including in this conversation, I knew he had reached his limit on disclosing his feelings.

But in his own way of accepting my declaration, he placed his hand back on my leg, and I placed my hand over his, running across the prominent veins that I loved so much.

I turned on the radio, and the speakers roared to life— producing a song that felt a little too relatable at the moment: Living on a Prayer by Jon Bon Jovi.

The irony was too intense, and I was thankful when the melody changed, transitioning into Piano Man by Billy Joel. A smile crossed my face as the familiar sound of the harmonica filled the air, reminding me of my closest friend, Hughie.

It felt like an eternity since I last saw him, and I was anxious to end the streak. I desperately needed someone to talk to about everything, and Hughie was always so willing to listen and offer advice that he hoped was helpful.

“So, where exactly in the city are we meeting?” I ventured, hoping to get a little bit of information about our destination.

“Don’t know yet, but MM said that since Frenchie is the closest, he’ll be the one to scope some places out.”

I made a simple noise of acknowledgment before focusing on Billy Joel’s voice as I leaned my head against the headrest, staring at the dark pavement that was illuminated by Butcher’s headlights.

According to my phone, it was almost three in the morning, and I couldn’t ignore the intense Deja vu I felt. It was only a few weeks ago that Butcher and I had jumped in the car and headed to an unknown location in the middle of the night.

“Everythin’ will be ok,” Butcher pledged quietly.

“I know.”

I let my eyes shut, falling into a light sleep as the wind blew outside the window, and I hoped that whatever safe house Frenchie found this time wasn’t below a pawn shop.

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