#and I put those on repeat for another two years

[dem-obscure-imagines]

The Lighthouse Vol. 2

Bob Reynolds x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Note: Howdy. Finally finished it. I really love how this one turned out. Very domestic fluff, forced proximity type stuff. Bob is so very dear to me, so I hope you enjoy it. I will also be posting this to my Ao3 for easier navigation; right here.

Summary: After the battle with Thanos, getting dusted for five years followed directly by another battle with Thanos, you were more than content living in your small, small town on the coast of Maine, overlooked by a beautiful lighthouse. Your life was perfect, you thought. Quiet, sure, but perfect. Until Bucky Barnes showed up on your doorstep with Bob Reynolds in tow.

Warnings: canon-typical drug mention (Bob’s former drug use), mental health discussion (but nothing super super serious; Bob has depression and Bipolar), little bit of canon-typical violence as a treat, some swearing.

Word Count: 29k (Split into Two Volumes, Vol. 1 here)

Reader Is: Female (only mentioned a few times, I think, I tried to be vague-ish), late-twenties

The Reject Bin

Several thoughts rolled through your head the next morning as you ate your oatmeal. You watched Bob from across the table, shielded somewhat behind your laptop, your active WIP open on it. You’d scanned over your most recent words, but they felt like alphabet soup. It was clear you were both a little frazzled from the night before. Him moreso than you. And you had work in a few hours, so your mind was already planted behind that counter, more or less.

He was an adult. He’d be fine on his own.

But it was a long shift, and you didn’t want to leave him alone if he wasn’t. The last time he wasn’t, it had ended up on the news.

He yawned, rubbing his face. He looked pitiful. Deep, dark bags under his eyes. That usual kind spark absent as he stared at a bubble in the wallpaper. He blinked a few times. “You say something?”

You repeated your previous suggestion. “I said you should come to work with me.”

“Ha. Funny.” 

“No, I’m serious. It’ll be so dead today. We have a big, comfy couch in the lobby. I can send you into a movie if you want to sleep, and I can pour you free slushees all day.” You pitched. “You don’t look like you’re in the mood to be here all by yourself and it’s too late for me to call in.”

“You don’t have to rearrange your day for me. I’m okay.”

You knew he wasn’t, but you didn’t press. “Really, I…think it would be nice to have you there. But it’s your choice. I’m not going to force you. I can give you the tour, if you want. Show you the projector room and stuff.”

That hooked him a little. He gave himself a sniff. “Yeah, I’ll bite. Let me shower and stuff. You leave soon?”

“Nope, like an hour from now.”

“Cool. I’ll be right back.” He gave a tired grin and padded up the stairs.

You felt a little better, but you could tell he was struggling. You hoped you could turn it around, or at the very least, make it a little easier for him. You may be a healer, but there was no easy fix for the things he was carrying. Maybe you could make them a little lighter, though.

***

You straightened your nametag, leading Bob into the theater through the back entrance. He looked around at the boxes and boxes of soda syrup, the stack of kernel bags and so on. You hung your jacket on one of the hooks, and when you turned, he was standing over a tub full of poster tubes, the triangular boxes that the movie posters were shipped in.

“That’s the reject bin. You can take anything you want. No one called dibs on those.”

He nodded, giving them a gander, but coming to the realization very quickly that they were rejects for a reason. He perked up a bit, pulling one of the posters out of the bin. “I know this guy.”

You laughed, nodding. Bold red letters were etched across the bottom of it that read Vindicating John. “Yeah, John Walker? It’s one of those stupid conservative documentary movies defending him. Funded by people who are, um… mad about Sam being Cap now.”

“Ah. Racists.” He nodded, putting it back. He did end up taking a poster from a nature documentary about sea turtles, though, leaning it against the wall under your jacket.

You led him out behind the counter, motioning him to pass through the little swinging half-door at the edge of it, which he did, wandering further into the lobby. He walked out towards the marquee, eyes scanning along the showtimes.

Your manager, a college kid named Kennedy, perked up at the sight of him. “Oh, hey. Is this the houseguest?”

“Yeah, this is Bob. Bob, this is Kennedy. He’s gonna hang out here today. I figured that would be fine.”

“Oh yeah. Come on in. We’ve got fuck-all going on around here.”

Bob chuckled at that, giving a polite nod and a wave. “Thanks. I won’t be much trouble.”

Kennedy looked him over, eyes narrowing. “I recognize you from somewhere.”

Bob shrugged, Adam’s apple bobbing. He played with his hands, a little more nervous at the prospect of being recognized. You could see it in his eyes. “One of those faces, I guess.”

She chuckled and blew it off, settling behind the manager’s desk while you made sure everything was in order behind the counter. The tubs all stocked, lids and cups and so on. Bob sat on the couch, pulling a paperback out from his back pocket. A little one, Frankenstein. He must have gotten it from the bookstore after all.

With all that handled, you wandered over to the manager’s desk, leaning against it as you so often did when the lobby was devoid of customers.

“He’s cute.” Kennedy murmured, quiet enough that he couldn’t hear it over the sound of the popcorn machine making the first batch of popcorn of the day and the steady hum of the slushee machine.

You giggled, nodding. “He’s nice, too. Quiet, but really funny.”

“And you just met this guy?”

“Yeah, he’s a friend of a friend.” You explained, glancing over at him as he quietly read, turning the page every so often.

He looked exhausted. There were only a handful of customers for the first few hours, so he sat there unbothered for the most part, watching half-interested as people came in to buy gift cards and ask about showtimes. Bob closed his book and sat there, hands folded neatly in his lap, as he nodded off a little. You pouted, watching him doze. There was something so innocent about it. His sleepy little face, the frown that pulled at his lips. It made it very hard to believe he was the shadow man from the news. Almost everything about him did.

And yet, that glimpse you’d gotten last night…maybe it wasn’t completely…out of the question…

You walked over to the concession stand and printed off a ticket for one of the movies in the newer theater, the one with the big recliners, picking a seat for him in the back corner. You plucked the sample blanket from the sale display and poured him a slushee, pushing in the straw with care.

“Hey.” You put a hand on his shoulder, voice soft. The tiniest bit of light and warmth swirled between your palm and the fabric of his sweater, lending him just a morsel of your power.

He blinked awake, giving a bleary smile. “Hmm?”

“Come on. Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.” You nudged carefully, motioning for him to get up.

He stood, stretching his long limbs. He was always taller than you remembered him to be, the illusion of his smallness held together by the way he hunched when he stood, like his body had grown too fast and he was bigger than he was supposed to be.

Bob trailed behind you, up the hall to Theater 4. It was empty so far, the house lights still up. Maria Menounos welcomed you to Noovie, as she had so many times before. You guided him to the chair in the corner of the room and he plopped down, hands squishing the sizable armrests, measuring their cushiness. You slid the slushee into the cupholder and draped the blanket across his lap, tucking him in.

He frowned, tilting his head up at you. “I’m not a kid.”

“I know. But this is a bad day, huh?” You asked gently, expression empathetic, but not pitying.

He shrugged. Thought about it. Nodded. Frowned.  “Y-Yeah, it’s a bad one. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” You shook your head, meeting his eyes.

“That’s why you didn’t want to leave me home today? You were afraid I would…”

“No.” You cut him off before he could spiral. “I wasn’t afraid of anything. I just didn’t want you to be alone all day, feeling like this. I know being lonely makes it worse.”

He stared at you for a long time, seeing something there that he hadn’t before. That you knew. That you’d felt the things he was feeling. Had been inside.

He softened. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll be back in two and a half.”

***

You went back, as you’d promised, once the movie was over, broom and dustpan in hand. There had only been a grand total of five people in there, including Bob, so it didn’t take long to sweep up the smattering of popcorn on the floor.

He was snoring, leaned back in the chair, feet kicked up, mouth open. And if there wasn’t a horror movie queued up to play next, you would have left him there. You could tell he needed it. 

It was like he could feel you standing there, and woke with a shake, blinking up at you. Bob smiled a little, stretching like a cat. “Oh, hey. Good movie. What I saw, anyway.”

“Better?”

“Much better.” He agreed, fingers dug into the recliner button, sitting the seat back up.

You studied him, eyes scanning his form out of habit. A doctor’s eyes and a healer’s touch, Bucky used to say, usually followed by a quip of some kind to salve the vulnerability of it. He was bad with that. The sappy stuff. Especially without Steve around.

“I, uh…haven’t been sleeping super well lately, to be honest.” His eyes flitted across your features, measuring your reaction, and cutting it with a, “I’m fine, though, really. I…didn’t want to bother you.”

“Buddy, I have sleep powers.” You said. “I can knock you out, if you need me to. Put you out and go back to my room for the night.”

“Oh. Okay. I guess I didn’t realize the extent of it…I’ll keep that in mind.” He looked down at your broom and dustpan. “Well, where to next?”

“You don’t have to come with me. You’re not on the clock.”

“No, but you’re letting me stay with you rent-free.” He shrugged, standing up and gathering the blanket you’d left with him into a clump of blue fleece. “Least I could do is keep you company.”

***

After work, you and Bob hit a drive-thru. He seemed to be in better spirits, singing along to the songs on the radio, the window down, breeze flowing through his hair. You ate dinner together on the couch, watching sitcoms.

Idly, you worked on an embroidered hankie, adding the last few details you’d been putting off before finally adding it to your finished projects pile. You still had a lot of work to do before you’d be ready to move out, but you were getting there. Slowly but surely. Little by little.

Bob sat close to you on the couch that night. Not that you mentioned it, or were sure he was even conscious of doing it. His thigh pressed against yours, warmth seeping through his clothes onto you.

“It’s cute. Looks really good.” He complimented, watching your careful fingers tie the final knots. “More bees.”

“More bees.” You agreed, folding it up and handing it to him. “For your trinkets.”

“Thanks.” He chuckled. “Hey, uh, would you mind, um…doing your magic trick for me tonight? I could really use it.”

You nodded. “Yeah, of course. That’s what I’m here for.”

He wanted to say something more. Wanted to rebuttal that you were good for so much more than knocking him out. But he didn’t know how to articulate it without spilling his soul all over your nice clean carpet, so he didn’t. Instead, he went upstairs, changed into his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and then came back down to get you, ignoring the little voice on his shoulder, reminding him just how pathetic he was for needing your help for something as mundane as sleep.

***

You sat at the edge of the bed as Bob laid on his stomach, watching you as you glowed, your aura like the northern lights, stretched across the wall and ceiling. His eyes were soft and sparkling, lips parted as he gazed at you, sharp thoughts dulling slowly as your energy overpowered him.

His breaths slowed. Eyes drooped. Voice gave one last, weary protest before his head lolled onto the pillow, one careful, gentle hand playing with his hair.

And then he was out. Chest rumbling like thunder almost immediately as he crashlanded into what you hoped was a long and restful sleep.

You retreated to your own, walking through your night routine. Pajamas, cleanser, moisturizer, toothpaste, hair care. You pulled the cover aside, laid down, closed your eyes.

When you opened them you were flat on your back, ground hard beneath your head, snow fluttering down onto your face. You groaned, sitting up, pulling at the blanket that was now absent.

Headlights streamed through the trees. You shielded your face with a hand, lighting your palm, but not making more than a spark.

“(Y/N), please! He…He’s losing so much blood…”

You took a sharp breath and opened your eyes, heart pounding. The ground was a mattress again. The trees were gone. You were home, safe, in bed. And it was just a dream.

It was just a dream. It was just a dream. It was just a dream.

Dealbreaker

Waves crashed in the distance as you and Bob stood in your small, fenced-in yard. Birds chirped. Sparrows, mostly, but there was one little gray bird you couldn’t quite place, perched at the edge of your bird bath.

You carefully guided the clippers, trimming a branch of your lilac bush, shaking a few dead leaves out of it before handing it to Bob, adding it to the growing purple bouquet in his hands. The bush had been there long before you came to town. Towering, lush, and this time of year, very, very vibrant. You loved taking a little piece of it inside with you, inviting the smell into your home.

Bob watched a bumblebee buzz around the tulips, attention only pulled away when a pair of little girls on bikes rode by, their mother not far behind them.

“Hi, (Y/N)!”

You grinned, waving. “Hi, Sadie! Sydney! Careful around that corner!” You looked at Bob once they were out of earshot. “It’s uneven over there. I’ve healed a lot of scraped knees, living here.”

He tilted his head, grinning. “You just heal people out in the open here?”

“Yeah, they all know who I am. I’m just lucky they don’t make a big deal about it. They’re more likely to ask me for a cup of sugar here than they are to beg me for a miracle. But I help out when I can.”

He nodded, glancing down at the flowers. “Lavender?”

“Lilacs. I like the smell more. Little more subtle.”

“Lilacs.” He repeated. “Cool. Are these the ones you put on my hankie?”

“Yep. Those and the bees.”

He laughed, following you up the steps and back into the house. “Who could forget the bees?”

The task at hand today was your odds and ends. Board games, trinkets, toys, collectibles, all of it. Boxes and boxes of junk from your attic.

For obvious reasons, you’d been given a lot of Avengers action figures. You put most of them in the junk box, but Bob dug one out, a figure of you, made shortly after what had been dubbed the Infinity War, in your old uniform. Mostly black with light blue accents, a few rays of what was supposed to be light stretched across your little plastic chest. It was a confused design, to be sure. Shuri had wanted to make a new one for you, but hadn’t found time with all of her other projects.

“Why are you getting rid of this?”

“Because I have like two dozen of them.” You replied, pointing to the stack of figures. Falcon, Cap, Beacon, Beacon, Beacon, Falcon, Cap. The occasional Black Widow. Hulk. You didn’t have a figure of Sam in his Cap suit, but you were sure one would find you eventually. You never bought them; they always came to you.

“Can I have it?”

You laughed. “Yes.”

Bob slipped a few other things into his box. A deck of Uno cards, a Rubik’s cube, a tiny metal lighthouse statuette. He was very selective today, hands careful, eyes moreso, but he seemed to be in decent spirits. You hoped the sleep you’d given him had helped. Even then, you knew it was a Band-Aid on something that ran deeper. You were a healer, but not a therapist. You had a feeling Bob needed both.

You sorted things for a good few hours and offloaded a lot of it. The two of you loaded it into a wagon. The thrift shop was close enough that it would be stupid to haul it all over in the car, so you walked it over, up a block and down the street. It didn’t take long. The guys running the place thanked you, printed you a little slip for your tax write-off, and sent you on your way.

The day was young, so you took Bob to your favorite ice cream place in town for a little afternoon treat, walking home the long way with soft serve cones in hand.

“Nice little shop.” Bob commented, grinning, a dot of vanilla on the tip of his nose as he finished off his cone. Yours was following suit, whittled down to just the nub.

“Oh yeah. I love that place. I’ve been on so many shitty first dates there.”

He looked puzzled by that. “You’re telling me you’ve been dating around and no one’s scooped you up yet? Uhhhh, no pun intended,” he tacked on with an awkward laugh.

“I was on the apps for a while. Joined a few clubs. Bowling league, bar trivia and whatnot. Nothing stuck. The glowing thing is a dealbreaker for most normal people. It’s fine and well and good when I’m doing that stuff on the news, but when I get a little too excited and glow in a bowling alley parking lot…suddenly it loses its charm, I guess.”

“Mmm. Speaking from experience, I’m guessing.”

You shrugged. “Yeah.”

“They don’t get it, then. They…want the idea of you, but not the rest of it. You shouldn’t be afraid to shine. And they shouldn’t be afraid of you.” Bob’s words were deliberate. Clear-cut. Like he’d thought about this before.

You shouldn’t be afraid to shine.

It was good advice in general, but he meant it literally, in your case. You were a girl who glowed sometimes. Not always on purpose. Not always in a good and healthy way. More than anything, you needed someone who wasn’t going to dim your light; ideally, someone who didn’t make you feel bad for having it in the first place.

“What about you?” You asked softly. “You…on the dating scene? Before all this, I guess? The New York stuff.”

He huffed, shrugging. That ‘it’s fine’ look settled on his features again, so you braced for impact, ready to catch whatever it was he threw at you. “Actually, uh…I was on meth before all this. And then the…medical trial, then the Vault and now I’m here, so…no, pretty single.”

“Oh.” You nodded. Welp, there it was. That was why he’d had the shakes the week before, the sleep difficulties…he hadn’t been particularly agitated. He had his ups and downs, sure, but you were pretty sure they were from…something else. Again, healer, not therapist. “The Vault?”

“Long story.” He said with a chuckle, eyes scanning you, waiting for something else, some other question or flicker of anything across your face, but it never came. So instead, he asked, “You knew? About the meth?”

“Yeah. Well, no, not specifically. Bucky didn’t tell me anything. He’s got a real communication problem, but that is neither here nor there. That first night, you were shaking. I figured that was why. Didn’t know from what, exactly, but I could tell you were in withdrawal. Healer’s eyes and all that.”

He was quiet for a long moment, letting it sit. Quieter, “The whole time?”

You shrugged, eyes honest. “Yeah.”

You watched it settle in his eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He nodded, thinking it over. The whole time you’d known, and it hadn’t made a difference. “Thank you.”

“For what?” You rebuttaled.

“For…not looking at me like I’m a time bomb. For…” He shook his head. “All of it. So much. More than I can…” His eyes got glassy. “Y-Yeah, just for all of it. I…”

You stepped closer, arms wrapping around his frame with ease. Like you’d done it a hundred times. A million. You rested your ear against his heart, forehead anchored against his warm, warm skin. He faltered, standing there stiff, until he finally processed what was happening.

He held on tight, long arms wrapped around your shoulders as he trembled. You felt tears, but you didn’t say anything. Just held him. Traced circles on his back. You knew he’d needed it for far longer than he’d care to admit.

His lips pressed against your hairline. Not a kiss, just…there, as if the feeling would keep him from floating off into the Seaberg sunset. 

***

When you got back to the house, Bob went upstairs to put himself back together. Wipe his tears and change his clothes. The shower kicked on upstairs. Meanwhile, you went through the kitchen cabinets, picking a few things to bring with you. A few cups, your favorite fork. The rest of it could stay at the house, in case you and whatever team Bucky was scraping together needed a place to lay low.

You pulled down a few mugs you’d painted at the pottery place in town. You’d gone with Earlene and the tarot ladies on a handful of occasions. It was always a fun time, even if you never felt like the things you made there were masterpieces.

But the one in your hands was nice. A decently big mug, painted sky blue, big puffy clouds left in the middle, where the glaze had been absent. It was streaky at best. But the showstopper was the lighthouse you’d painted near the handle. White tower with a black top, like the one in town. There was a sailboat on the water, and on the bottom, a secret, hidden crab.

Bob wandered down later, hair damp. He looked around at the glasses you were wrapping for travel. Once he got close to the counter, you slid him the lighthouse mug.

“You want this one?”

“You don’t?”

“You mentioned you like tea, so…We can share custody of it, if you want. At the Tower.” You said, fingers brushing his as he reached for it. “Remember our time here.”

He breathed, eyes as soft as could be, peering down at you through his thick, dark lashes. His stormy blue irises caught in the light of the sun. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He shook his head, staring at his fingertips. “I-I don’t think I could forget if I wanted to.”

You were both being pulled in. You could feel it. Like gravity. But just before you could collide, you heard the visitor at the door.

“Meow.”

You chuckled, cheeks flushed, heart racing. Crossed the kitchen in quick steps and ducked behind the counter, scooping out some feed for him.

He meowed again, more insistent this time.

“I’m coming, old man! Hold your horses!”

“Rrow!”

Bob exhaled in what should have been relief, the loss of that feeling building, building, building in his gut. Instead, he just felt empty. Well, emptier. It was getting harder for him to feel empty when you were around.

It’s cute, you know. That voice rolled in like smoke. Icewater down his spine. That you think she’d ever feel the same. You’re the stray kitten that waits at the door. She’s never going to let you in…

sentry.mp4

Thunder boomed the next morning, loud and abrupt, cutting any plans you had of going back to sleep with a sharp and swift crack of lightning. And another boom, of course. It was about an hour before your alarm. You sighed, groaned, and then sat up, wandering downstairs in your pajamas, laptop tucked under your arm.

You got some cereal and sat down on the couch, opened your word processor and scrolled back down to the end of the document, reading over your last few paragraphs.

Bzzz-Bzzz.

You glanced down at your phone, skimming the text that flashed across the screen. It was Bucky. Three simple little words: Check your email.

Well, who were you to defy those orders?

You opened your email and scrolled through the typical spam, looking for the one from Bucky. You plugged in your headphones, seeing that it was a video file he’d sent you.

<sentry.mp4>

You clicked.

A large, modern space stretched across the screen. A room, you assumed must be in the tower. A clump of people walked out of the elevator, Bucky among them; you couldn’t place the rest. They talked with a woman you recognized as Valentina Allegra DeFontaine, a very annoying and evil-looking congresswoman. You did not like her vibe, never had.

You didn’t actually hear much. The audio was muffled. The video quality left something to be desired as well, the occasional visual glitch obscuring the footage.

You watched as a gilded, golden superhero walked down the stairs, posture stiff and confident, blond hair slicked back. You couldn’t see his face, but you watched as he fought the others. They launched attacks against him and he stood unflinching, throwing them around with ease. People you assumed were literal supersoldiers, assassins, and he threw them around like ragdolls. Telekinesis. Super-speed. Flight.

Your stomach sank as you watched him bend a vibranium shield like it was made of tinfoil, eyes widening as he tore Bucky’s metal arm off, using it to smack Bucky across the room. He got air time. Air time. The two-hundred-something pound supersoldier, swatted away like a toy. Your fingers shook, heart pounding as you watched them all scramble back into the elevator away from the guy in the cape.

The figure turned and you finally got a glimpse at his face. You paused. Zoomed, enhanced, stared. Stared some more. Blinked, even.

It was fucking Bob.

He looked so…so different. His posture, his expressions, his powers, his attitude as he approached Valentina. You watched as he grabbed her by the neck, pinning her against the wall, squeezing. You felt sick.

Finally, it stopped. He went limp. Collapsed on the floor in a heap of gold and blue. Valentina and a young woman you assumed was her assistant, left. Not long after, a deep, impossibly dark shadow bled like ink across his body. And as the darkness spread, the footage corrupted, video stopping.

You’d seen the rest on the news, you were sure.

You sat there for a long time, breaths short but impossibly heavy, ears ringing. That was Bob. Your Bob. Your houseguest. Your…friend. That blond, stoic thing was Bob.

You couldn’t believe it. It didn’t make any fucking sense.

Thunder rumbled. Lightning flashed, and when the light faded, there was a figure at the top of the stairs. You yelped, slamming the laptop shut.

Your fist shot up out of habit, lit with Level 6 light. Bright. On a scale of household flashlight to LED headlights on a pickup truck driving behind you at night…pretty close to the second one.

“Woah! Woah, hey, it’s just…j-just me.” Bob stammered, hand shielding his face.

You lowered your hand, studying him. The glow faded gradually, the warmth dispersing into the chilly living room.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. Y-you never have your headphones on.” He murmured, frowning as he studied you. “Everything…okay?”

“Fine!” You replied too quickly, flinching at your own volume. “Sorry. Fine. My…college friend sent me one of those stupid video game jumpscares. I’m fine.” You set your laptop on the table, getting up to get a glass of water. Or something. You just had to get away from it. “Don’t open that.”

“Oh. Okay.” He nodded, soft brown curls waving like a flag of surrender, hands clasped in front of him, sleeves draped down to cover the skin.

Your eyes lingered, but not in the way they usually did. There was some horror there now. You were sure he could feel it, and you felt bad about it, but you couldn’t help it. He was hiding a weapon under that unassuming sweater.

“Morning,” he said softly, head ducked down as though that would help catch your eyes easier.

You gave a labored smile. “Morning.”

***

Bob went upstairs for a bit to get away from the tension. You took a cold shower to cool off.

It’s just Bob. He doesn’t remember any of that. Bob is…Bob, he’s not gonna hurt you.

It only helped a little.

You pulled out your basket of crochet projects, stared at your stack of granny squares and gave a resigned sigh. Yeah, that would probably help. Focusing on something.

You grabbed the basket and went back down to the living room, settled on the couch again, organizing your yarn balls before setting to work. It was mindless after a while. Three double-crochets. Three double-crochets. Chain one. Three more double-crochets. The movement helped you calm down. Process. You hadn’t even realized you’d been stress-glowing until it dimmed, the storm having passed, thunder rumbling further in the distance.

Bob padded back down the stairs, lips pursed in a tiny, curious little :o

“Woah, you’ve got a whole pile of them! What are you making now?”

You smiled softly, looking him over. The hurricane in your stomach had calmed. He was just Bob again. The blond menace was pushed to the corner of your mind for the moment. This was Bob. Your friend. He would never hurt you. He would barely even touch you. 

“It’s gonna be a cardigan. Granny squares are great, because you just make a bunch and then sew them together when you’re done.”

He nodded, tentatively sitting on the couch, further than he usually did, legs crossed to make himself smaller. “It’s a cool hobby. Crochet. I feel like you can make so much with it.”

“You could make sweaters.” You suggested. “Since you seem to like wearing them so much, I mean.”

He hazarded a smile at that. “Would you teach me?”

You glanced at the clock. The day was shockingly young. You’d gotten up so early that it still wasn’t even noon yet. “Yeah, sure. Come over here.” You motioned him closer, smashing through the glass barrier between you.

Bob softened, looking relieved. You pulled an extra hook from your kit, showing him how to make a slip knot, chain, and then crochet into the chain. He was…very bad at it. But it was endearing. He sat directly beside you, still trying to get a read on you, on what had gone wrong that morning, on the thoughts that were still obviously swirling through your mind.

But as you laughed at his pathetic little noodle-looking crochet attempt, hands brushing against his as you showed him the motions again, those thoughts began to fade. It would be okay. You’d just had a weird morning. It was fine.

It was fine, right?

***

You sat on the floor in the living room that night in your pajamas, knees curled up towards your chest. You were glowing, but just a little. Contemplating everything while Bob took a shower. 

You weren’t afraid of the Winter Soldier. Even when Bucky had looked at you with no sliver of an idea who you were. Even while his vibranium hand was latched around your neck, holding you just far away enough that you couldn’t touch his skin to put him to sleep.

It had been scary. But you weren’t afraid of Bucky. Never had been.

You watched the Sentry video again. It seemed like Bob was talking to the others before the fight. There wasn’t audio, but his mouth was moving. And for a moment there, he still had those soft eyes. Like he was trying to talk them down before violence broke out. That insecure look on his face, like he was waiting for them to be proud of him. He wasn’t just a Bob-shaped shell. Some part of him was Bob. His ego, maybe. Well, not quite. You’d taken Intro to Psychology.

Bob was the Ego, the “true self”. Sentry was the Persona, the mask. And that left Void. Obviously, the Shadow. Not three separate people or three separate personalities, but Bob’s highs and lows magnified to the highest degree.

That made sense. That was what the super soldier serum did. It magnified. People were under the impression it turned people into perfect heroes, but…it had only done that because Steve Rogers was the best humanity had to offer. With someone like Bob—who was by no means bad, but…by no means perfect—well, it did what it did best. Put every problem he had under a microscope and tossed a pile of superpowers on top.

You lit a vanilla candle, got out some self care stuff. Bob padded back down the stairs, hair damp. He was standing small again, trying to shrink into himself, but you patted the floor in front of you and he walked over, plopping right down without hesitation. You pulled your hair our of the way with one of those skincare headbands and he did the same, copying your movements.

You handed him a small, foil package containing a skin mask. It was for hydration, to combat all the salty air. You also felt like he deserved to be pampered. You didn’t need the rest of the details to know things had been rough for him. People didn’t just turn towards the kind of drugs he had done for no reason.

You smoothed the mask across his face with gentle hands, molding it across his forehead, nose, cheeks, chin. After you put on your own, he gazed at you, tilting his head.

“My turn to ask the age-old question,” Bob said, dark blue eyes searching your features as best he could with the hydrated cotton layers between you now. Maybe he’d done it on purpose. A shield of sorts, in case this conversation didn’t unfold the way he expected it to. “Is today a bad one?”

“For me?” You asked.

He nodded, lips pressed together. “You’ve been…glowing a lot today. Does that happen when you’re stressed?”

Ah, so now it was time for him to therapize you. You couldn’t blame him. It was only fair, you supposed, that the healer finally got a taste of her own medicine. “Mmhmm. It, uh…yeah. Strong emotions. Happiness, anger, fear…stress.”

“Did I…do something wrong?” He wondered, so quiet it was like he was asking himself.

“No.” You shook your head quickly, voice certain. “No, you didn’t do anything. We’re good.”

He seemed unconvinced. “Alright.”

You took a breath, letting down a portion of your wall. “I’m serious. I get these…waves of…well, I don’t know what to call it other than anxiety, really. Today is not bad, but sometimes…It gets really bright. Really bright. Like, blinding people bright. Which is why…” You pointed out the window, towards the lighthouse, the guiding ray spinning, spinning, spinning.

“Have you ever had to…go up there?”

“Few times. When I first moved out here. Tony, uh…apparently during the blip, he had it retrofitted for me. Just in case. Barely spoke to the guy, but…he loved a project. I’m sure he got bored during those five years.” You sighed. “Didn’t even get to thank him for it.”

Bob peeled the facemask off so you could get a better look at his face. You took yours off too, rubbing the extra moisture in with your hands.

“That surprises me, I guess. I thought you had a really good handle on it.”

You shrugged. “We all have our flare-ups, you know. Nobody is perfect.”

He seemed comforted by that. Your imperfection. You hoped it made him feel less bad about leaning on you for help. And it must have, because he let you massage some energy into his muscles. Not that he was shaking this time; it seemed his seaside detox had been successful at least that much. But you could tell your energy helped him in other ways. Quieted that wicked little voice in the back of his head.

You could almost see it happen, that sharp edge in his gaze beginning to soften, sitting face to face on the floor, your glow bouncing off his features, a gentle breeze rustling his soft brown curls.

But maybe it wasn’t so much the energy you were loaning him as it was…this was just the way Bob looked at you now…

***

There was someone in the kitchen.

Your eyes opened. The ceiling fan spun idly, shadows swooping across the moonlit expanse.

You listened for a while, letting your eyes drift shut again until you heard a loud thud. Alright, that did it.

Exhausted, you hauled your legs over the side of the bed, sliding until your feet touched the hardwood. You padded down the hall, then down the stairs in your houseslippers, robe hugged around your shivering frame.

The rustling got louder. There was the very distinct sound of shattering glass.

“Bob?”

No answer. You lit your hand, casting shadows of the railing into the living room. One time, a raccoon had gotten in through your screen door when you’d left the back door open. And you were sure you’d closed it—you only make that mistake once—but maybe Bob had forgotten.

You got to the kitchen, and Bob was indeed standing there, hand shaking, outstretched towards the counter, where the shattered glass sat. The force of it…the distance between shards. It hadn’t been dropped. It had exploded. That put a little more urgency in your voice.

“Bob, are you okay?”

Eerily, he stood, unmoving, murmuring something to himself. You stepped closer, putting a hand on his shoulder, a little energy wafting from your palm to tug him back down.

He whipped around to look at you, gaze softening once he realized who you were. But you didn’t miss the clean, bright ring of gold around his iris before it faded. It sent a chill down your spine. He snapped out of it with a jolt, giving an earnest, if not somewhat frightened smile, looking down at the glass.

“Sorry, I…I just came down for some water and…”

“It’s okay.” You replied, shaking your head.

His eyes widened in something akin to horror when he saw the wreckage. The shards of glass blown across the counter, the floor. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” You reassured, voice steady. “It’s from the dollar store. I wasn’t attached to it. I’ve broken three just like that. We’ll sweep up the glass. Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, taking stock of himself. You looked him over, too, those healer’s eyes of yours doing one final sweep before deeming him uninjured. But knowing what you did now, he was probably bulletproof anyway. It was why he hadn’t had a mark when he’d burned himself making breakfast.

“I’ll sweep it up. You go back to bed.” He said, resigned. He was definitely coming back now, slipping into himself again the way you’d slid into your slippers upstairs. “Sorry for waking you.”

“Don’t be sorry. I just wanted to make sure a raccoon hadn’t broken in here again.”

He gave a slow, tired smile. “Again?”

“Long story. I’ll tell you tomorrow.” You promised, touching his sleeve for a moment before turning. “Let me know if you need me to put you to sleep, alright? Goodnight, Bob.”

He took a shaking breath, Adam’s apple bobbing as he watched you retreat up the stairs again. Bob waited until you were out of sight to let his face fall, that darkness settling onto his shoulder again like an old friend. “Night.”

Alec

The next morning, when you went down for breakfast, there was a note there that Bob had gone for a walk. You’d kinda felt that coming. He needed space and fresh air. You waited for him to come back before you left for work, but you knew he wouldn’t. That was the point. For one reason or another, he needed a break from you. And he was allowed to do that.

You left him a note in reply, short and sweet.

Text me if you need anything. <3

But the heart felt too…well, it didn’t feel right. You didn’t want to give him the wrong idea, especially when he was already feeling weird. You crumpled it up and threw it in the trash, trying again.

Text me if you need anything! :)

And you put a 20 dollar bill beside it, so he could get lunch or something.

Work was short, at the very least. Mercifully so. That didn’t save you an interaction with what you were sure must be the dumbest old woman on earth. That lead poisoning was no joke.

“I want half of a small.”

“Oh, so the value-size?”

“Yes, that one.”

You scooped the popcorn and handed it to her.

She frowned. “No, in the small bucket.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Oh. Okay.” You poured it into the small container and handed it over. Half of a small bucket of popcorn, just as she’d asked.

“What, are you not going to fill it up the rest of the way?!”

Obviously something had been lost in translation. But with that aside, you drove back home. Pulled into the parking lot. You were relieved to find Bob’s shoes in the doorway. Even more relieved to find him on the couch, playing Minecraft.

“Hey!” He smiled. “How was work?”

“I have to tell you about the dumbest lady on earth.” You said, kicking your shoes off. There was a little white paper bag sitting beside him on the couch. You recognized it. It was from the candy shop down the street. Well, good, he’d treated himself to something. It was so hard to get him to do that.

“And you have to tell me about that raccoon.”

“Right. That, too.” You chuckled, walking into the room and sitting on the other end of the couch, giving him your attention.

He pushed the bag towards you. “I didn’t know what flavors you liked, so I guessed.”

You reached into the bag, pulling out a sea salt and vanilla flavored one, swirled a rich teal color. “You guessed right.”

Bob gazed at you for a long moment, tilted his head, took a breath. He was standing at the ledge of something, hesitation etched deep into his stormy blue eyes. He paused the game, setting the controller aside.

“I’m sorry. For yesterday. I was in a weird mood and…I don’t want you to think…” He shook his head, swallowing something down. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

You sighed, shaking your head. Guilt tugged at your chest. An anchor. He still didn’t know about the video on your laptop. The one you’d watched half a dozen times now, analyzing, trying to get a handle on this…supposed most dangerous man in the world. With the evidence presented…you were finally starting to believe it.

“No, I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I was freaked out yesterday because…” There was no way around it. You had to come clean. “Bucky…sent me the footage from the Tower. The Sentry footage. I…was a little freaked out. But I’m over it now. I just…It kinda blindsided me and I needed some time to process it. I shouldn’t have let you see me like that.”

“Oh.” Bob nodded. Swallowed again. “I, uh…don’t really remember that. That day is all kinda…fuzzy still.”

“I know.”

“I just…I know I did it and…I can do that stuff, but…” His gaze fixed on his hands, examining them. Every knuckle, every nailbed, every vein. 

There was something in him that hadn’t been there months prior. Weeks prior, even. OXE had pumped him full of drugs—albeit different drugs than the ones he was already on—deemed him a failure, declared him dead, and left him in a box to rot. Worse, actually. They’d left him in a box to be incinerated. That much, he did remember. Everything after that got a little iffy.

He didn’t know what he was now, most of the time. And it was clear when you looked at him that you didn’t either.

“Bob?” You prodded gently.

“I don’t really have an excuse for it. Or an explanation. They wouldn’t show me the video.”

“You were blond.” You provided unhelpfully.

He chuckled. “I heard.”

“I’ve watched it back a few times. The bits at the beginning, before the fight. You seem like…you, in there. If it helps. Valentina was clearly manipulating you. She’s good at doing that. It…looked like you were just…trying to…” You shook your head. “It’s not my place to diagnose you.”

“No, say it.”

“You were just trying to prove yourself. As a hero.” You said, certain of it. “I’ve been hanging out with superheroes long enough to know that look. I’ve worn it myself. Shoulders straight, chest puffed out. Like it will distract people from how afraid I am. Sometimes it does, to be fair.”

He softened a little at that, like he’d been bracing for you to say worse. Looked down at his hands again. “Still feel like a stranger in my skin sometimes. I’m…clumsy. I used to get hurt a lot. I don’t even bruise anymore. And I…don’t know my strength. And I blew up a glass last night.”

You nodded at the confirmation. “Yeah, I thought so.”

“Before all this, I had no one. Which sucked, but…now, I…I guess I’m worried the people I do have are gonna get hurt.” A breath rolled out of him. Like a long, lazy wave, crashing on the shore. “I don’t blame you for being scared of me. I am, too.”

You shook your head. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.”

“I’m not.” Your heart pounded. Veins throbbed. Chest ached. But it wasn’t from fear, you were pretty sure.

“The other guy is worse. That, I did see videos of. It’s…all over the internet.” Bob’s eyes began to wander. “My hair, my body, but just…darkness. Hopelessness. Emptiness.”

The way Bob spoke about Void, you knew he was a little more familiar with him. “I get the feeling you’ve been fighting him for a while.”

Bob heaved a sigh, finger absently poking the joystick of his controller.

“It’s not your fault they gave your depression superpowers.” You murmured, words threaded with more understanding than you could tell him. “I know it’s…heavy. Even with superstrength. I’m not a miracle worker. But I am your friend. You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

A bitter chuckle. “People keep telling me that.”

“They mean it.” You were quick with the reply. Firm. You knew he could do this dance with you all day, but you needed him to know you were serious about this. You were serious about helping him.

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. He cracked a reluctant grin. “You’re wrong, though. You literally are a miracle worker. I’ve seen the edits.”

“There are edits of me???”

“Oh yeah. I’ll send you some later,” He promised with a smirk.

You could tell he was diffusing the tension with humor. Could clock it from a mile away. But you let him. You knew he was taking your words to heart, could see them swirling there behind those ocean eyes, churning like the waters just beyond your back deck.

***

A branch snapped under your foot. Another. You tripped into the snow, palms pressed into the hard, hard dirt. You weren’t sure how you got there. Or when. Or how long you’d been there. But you heard them screaming in the distance. Calling for you. Yelling your name.

You could help them now. You could control it.

You scraped yourself up, kept running, through the trees, toward the crash.

The hazards flashed like a beacon, drawing you in, right back to the scene of it. You’d been there so many times. So many times and none at all. And as soon as you planted your feet, knelt down at the site, you were right back in the woods again, running. Always running. Never getting there in time.

“(Y/N), please! He…he’s losing so much blood!”

You stopped running, arms hugged around the tree at the edge of the crash, breathing heavy. You watched the scene unfold from the outside, as opposed to the nightmare you’d been reliving since you were sixteen.

“I…I can’t! I’m trying, I…” She held out her hand, the younger you, a wisp of something crackling around her palm. It wouldn’t heal a papercut let alone the deep gash in Alec’s side.

Alec.

He was right there. Breathing shallow. Eyes closed. Fluttering, but…no, closed now. He slipped away and all you could do was watch, just like the first time. Powerless, despite the power in your veins.

And it looped. Over and over and over again.

You breathed, shook like the few remaining leaves on the trees. This wasn’t real. Wasn’t real. It had all happened before. It was over. Alec was gone. He…he’d been gone for years. You’d unpacked it over and over with half a dozen therapists. What had happened to Alec was awful…but it wasn’t your fault.

It was an accident. You’d had a panic attack. There was nothing you could have done to save him when you were losing blood, too.

A chill ran down your spine. Vision tracking forward like you were a camera on a dolly. And in the new depth, you spotted him. The Void.

You frowned. Pointed. “We are not doing this. Not tonight.”

And then you woke with a start, sucking in a greedy breath like you had been underwater. You sat up, walking down the hall. You knocked on Bob’s door, but there was no answer. You already knew why. Because Void was driving that ship right now, straight through Bob’s nightmares.

You opened the door, stepping inside. Footsteps impossibly slow and careful. Bob writhed in bed. Muttering softly, tossing over. It wasn’t gentle, so you had to be.

“Bob…”

You sat at the edge of his bed, reaching a hand out. You manifested your glow easily now, despite your racing heart. Gingerly, you rested your hand on his shoulder, using your power to give his subconscious a nudge.

He woke with a start, blinking up at you, a soft, knowing look in his eyes. Guilt laced deep, right to his bones.

“H-Hey.”

“You okay?”

He melted immediately. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I…I…”

“Hey, no.” You shook your head, keeping your voice reassuring. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” Bob argued, shaking his head. “My…Void broke into your subconscious. That’s not okay. I…I wasn’t supposed to see that.”

A sigh fell from your lips and you hung your head for a moment. Bob straightened up, pushing himself into a more upright position, back flat against the headboard, knees curling up. He wasn’t curled up all the way, but his arms crested his legs, big hands smoothing the fabric on his shins.

“What…happened? Um…with your friend?” Bob asked softly, pulling his sleeves down. It was dark in the room, the only light coming from you. Your anxious glow. “You don’t have to tell me if it’s too private, it just seems like…”

“No, it’s fine. We can talk about it.” You said, shaking your head. “When I, uh…when I was in high school, my friends and I got into a car crash. Bad one. It was winter. There was a deer. I hadn’t had my powers very long. I was having a panic attack and I was bleeding a lot. My friend Alec…I couldn’t heal him, and…” You lit your hand. Effortless. A flickering white flame, iridescent at the edges, like sunlight through glass, even at midnight. Just to prove to yourself that you could.

He stared at the light with the same awe of someone looking at a fishtank.

“If I’d practiced a little more, if I…had gotten to him a little faster, maybe I could have…”

Bob shook his head, reaching out to touch your hand. Just the edge of it, fingers curling around the base of your thumb. He was careful, like one wrong move would shatter you. And with the strength that hid beneath his skin, you could tell why. But you didn’t move. Frozen, like a butterfly had perched on your hand.

“No. That’s not your fault. You…you were just a kid.” He murmured, hand getting a little more comfortable against your own. You let the energy fall away, leaving just the two of you, soaked in moonlight. His hand slid further into yours, palm against palm. He was warm. A lot warmer than you’d expected, due to his choice of clothing. You figured he must be cold. But now that you knew he wasn’t…it would be hard to not just…bury yourself in it. His warmth. “You’re a healer, but you can’t save everyone.”

The words sat for a long moment. Heavy. Your therapist had said the same thing. You knew it was true, and yet, that didn’t quiet the voice on your shoulder. Not entirely. It never had. But it helped. He helped.

“You saved me, though.” He confessed, voice quiet. “I…really needed this trip. I…” He blushed, you were pretty sure, but…it was hard to tell in the dark. “I needed you, I think.”

And you could tell it was real. To him, it was real. A breath floated out of your mouth. “Bob…”

“I didn’t mean to get all deep, but…I meant it. I mean it. I think Void is so desperate to crack you open because he…he’s afraid of you. You’re…you’re the only one that gets him to shut the fuck up.”

You squeezed his hand, slid a little closer, wrapped your arms around his shoulders. His knees dropped, letting you in, arms curling gently around your waist, chin on your shoulder. You let one hand settle on the back of his head, and maybe it was the late hour, but you turned your head and pressed the tiniest kiss to his temple. Pretended not to hear him gasp in your ear when you did.

“I wish I had some explanation for you. I don’t know the exact science of it, but…”

“Doesn’t matter how it works. Just does.” Bob murmured, holding you tighter. His arms slotted easily under yours. Like he’d done it a hundred times. A million. “I don’t really think it’s science. I think it’s just you.”

“Mmm.” You hummed, pulling away to look at him. “You gonna be okay?”

His curls waved as he confirmed that he was, in fact, okay. “Fine. Sorry, again. Goodnight.”

“Night.” You repeated softly, giving his hand one last squeeze. Part of you ached, that last lingering moment, to stay. You wanted to stay, where it was warm. He was so warm. You could count the hugs you’d shared on one hand, but already, they were beginning to feel like home. Maybe more than this old house and its old, old bones. “No more apologies, though.”

Bob gave a shrug, a reluctant chuckle. “No promises.”

Right Here, With You

The main drag of town wasn’t terribly busy early in the morning. It felt lazy. The sun too golden. The air too sweet. Even the birds were in a good mood. Bob took you down the route he’d taken the day before, walking down the sidewalks like it was his town and not yours. Apparently this had been what he’d been up to while you were at work. Exploring. The smile on his face made you feel almost guilty that you’d have to leave in a few days.

There was that, too.

It felt at the same time like Bob had just gotten there, but also that he had been there forever. A staple in your life, and, apparently, the town now, as well. People waved at him as the two of you passed, and he waved back, smiling, asking how people were. One of your neighbors was taking their dog on a walk and Bob stooped down to pet it, the adorable little schnauzer wagging its tail.

It sniffed his hand thoroughly, licking it a few times. Bob smiled, petting it behind the ears, seeming to find the exact right spot. He seemed to be really good with animals. You wondered if having one would help him when you got back to the big city, give him something to take care of. Maybe you’d start with a goldfish or something, though.

You kept walking, pushed open the door of the antique store and guided him inside. Immediately, you were greeted with that beautiful musk of old things. Probably mold, if you were being honest. But there was something so nostalgic about it that you never cared. You weren’t even looking for anything in particular. Just looking. One last time.

It was a big store. Booths and booths of things from decades long gone. Records, porcelain dishes, doilies someone’s grandmother had made, DVDs, VHS tapes, board games that were undoubtedly missing a few pieces. Bob dug through a few tubs of old action figures. You lingered by a glass case of vintage games. In the big city, they would have been marked up as high as it goes, value inflated by the rarity of the cartriges inside. Here, it was fifty dollars for the lot. A blue Gameboy SP, Frogger, and a handful of Pokemon games.

Bob was behind you now, gazing down at it. “Man. I used to have one of those. It looked just like that. That color and everything.”

“Me too. A silver one. Think I still do, somewhere. In my room, maybe. In a drawer.” One of the areas of the house you’d been procrastinating packing up. You knew time with Bob was precious. You didn’t want to waste any of it.

“Sold mine.” He gave a bitter chuckle. A shrug. He was wearing that look on your face that told you exactly why he had sold it. You didn’t press further.

You brought the vendor over, pointed to the case. He got out his key, cut you a deal for $40, since it had been sitting there for a while and no one seemed to want it. Bob watched in something between gratefulness and horror as the transaction happened. Didn’t seem to know what to do with himself when you handed it to him outside the front door of the shop. Just like that. Hadn’t even hesitated.

He kept staring at it. The innocent little blue square. The plastic baggie full of games.

“You can borrow my charger. I’m sure we could order you another one. Or get one at a game store in the city.”

For once, he didn’t stiffen when you mentioned it. Leaving. Instead, he smiled, heart overfilled. You put a hand on his arm, but he decided very quickly that that wasn’t enough, and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. You reciprocated immediately, head tucked against his sweater. He did kiss your forehead this time, cheek resting there after the fact.

He didn’t protest. Didn’t say he didn’t deserve the affection or you or the Gameboy in the paper bag. He just let it happen. Just let you love him.

***

There were six bags of unused cookie mix in your cupboard. Six. And they expired in two months. Not that that stuff wasn’t good after the fact; it was mostly a dry mix, but still.

Bob was laying on the couch, playing his Gameboy. Pokemon Sapphire. You couldn’t help but smile. He pretty much hadn’t left that spot since you’d gotten home. Eventually, it would need to be charged, but for now, he just played in bliss.

You snatched two bags of chocolate chip, pulling a bowl out of the cupboard. The rest of it, you had. Eggs, butter, water. Bob wandered out to the kitchen not long after you set to work, your hair tied back, your sleeves rolled up. He rubbed at his eyes, looking over the sight curiously.

“Cookies?”

“Chocolate chip.”

“Can I help?” He asked.

You nodded, motioning to the bowl, all the ingredients set beside it. “If you wanna stir that all together, sure.” You pulled the melted butter out of the microwave, pouring it in. He carefully cracked the eggs, and added water, mixing it together. The parts of the mixing where you would struggle a bit, Bob powered through easily. That superstrength at work in the most mundane way.

With that done, you two started balling up the cookies, rolling them between your palms and setting them on the greased pan. Elbow to elbow, side by side. He kept glancing over at you, shoulders hunched a little, but his posture was much straighter than it had been the entire time he’d been there.

“What starter did you pick?”

“Mudkip. Thought about Torchic, but…I like the water types.”

“That’s fair.” You chuckled. “It depends, for me. Bulbasaur in Leaf Green, Chimchar in Diamond, Totodile in Soul Silver…”

“Little bit of everything. Pretty well-rounded.” Bob said with a chuckle, plopping another raw cookie onto the tray. “I like Turtwig a lot, though. Cute little guy. Turtles are cool.”

You remembered the poster he’d snagged from the reject bin. The sea turtles. You wondered if he felt like that. A turtle. Like he could just hide in his shell. The shell in question being those big sweaters that swallowed him whole.

“Turtles are cool.” You repeated. You were getting towards the end of the dough now. You gathered what was left onto two spoons, scraping the edges of the bowl. You handed one to him and then lowered the pans into the warm oven.

Bob nibbled on it curiously. “The dough is the best part. I know you’re not supposed to eat it, but…”

“No, I get it. In college, I used to buy packages of pre-made dough just to eat it. You do have to limit yourself, though. Every time I ate more than three of those little chunks, I’d get sick as hell.”

He laughed at that, holding up his spoon. “This is a safe amount, I take it?”

“Should be.” You grinned, hopping up onto the counter. You cleaned off your spoon before setting it in the sink. Bob grabbed the empty bowl, setting it there as well. He filled it with warm water and soap, setting his spoon right next to yours.

That left him close, aided by the boost the counter gave you. Daylight streamed through the kitchen blinds, making him look so gentle. He looked tired. Always did. But there was something else there, now. Something swirled deep in his gut, or maybe it was yours. His eyes flicked over to you and your heart jumped.

You could see it in your mind’s eye. Bob leaning closer, resting a hand on the counter beside your thigh. His body so warm you’d feel the heat through your clothes. He’d dip his head down, hair falling in his face. You’d reach up, brush it out of the way with the gentlest fingers. The gentlest touch. He was a streetlight and you were a moth. And you were sure he felt the exact opposite way. He looked at you like you were made of starlight and dreams. Something he wasn’t worthy of.

You’d prove it to him somehow. Over and over again, like a wave on the shore outside. Steadfast and unrelenting.

He stood there at the sink, gazing out the window at the lilac bush. Huffed a breath. Looked down at you. Smiled. His gaze flicked away, Adam’s apple bobbing. And for a moment there, you really did think he would lean in and kiss you, but he didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

You could practically see the little voice in the back of his head, harping on him for the feelings swirling around his heart.

He stepped away. That crackling static dissipated. You let out a slow, silent breath as he crossed the room to the calendar, eyes falling on that day, circled in pen. The day Bucky was supposed to come back for the two of you and whatever things you’d packed for the journey.

He stiffened a bit, shoulders falling. It was true, what they said. Nothing lasts forever. But Bob still felt greedy for wanting just a little more time.

***

That night, you slept soundly. No nightmares. For you, anyway. Just the sound of the waves in the distance, the hum of the air conditioner, the occasional buzz of the sump pump in the basement.

Knock-knock-knock.

It wasn’t a downstairs knock, it was an upstairs knock. You opened your eyes, inhaling a long breath, as though the air itself would wake you enough to get up. You pushed the blanket aside, walked over to the door, pulled it open.

Bob was already halfway back down the hall to his room when the hinges creaked. He turned, posture small and sheepish, hands fiddling with each other.

“You okay?”

He nodded. “Y-Yeah, I just…” His voice buckled, betraying him. Reconsidered. “No. I…sorry.”

“Hey, come on.” You opened your door a little wider, tilting your head back towards your bed.

He took a shaky breath, thinking about it for a moment before his feet began to move, one in front of the other, carrying him over the threshold of your room. He hadn’t been in there, you were pretty sure, which explained the long sweep he did of the space, eyes exploring every poster, trinket, book.

“It’s kind of a mess in here, sorry.”

He chuckled, shook his head, stood there until you sat, patting the mattress beside you. He sat lightly, like he was afraid of breaking it. He took another breath, letting it roll out. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

You laughed softly, waving it off. “Nonsense. What’s up?”

Another shrug, that ‘it’s fine’ face resurfacing. You braced for impact. “Just can’t…sleep. I…was wondering if I could…sleep in here. With you. But then I realized that was stupid, so I walked back up the hall.”

Oh. Well, that wasn’t so bad. “You can stay in here. That’s fine.”

He relaxed. “Okay. I’ll uh, go grab a blanket. I can sleep on the floor.”

You shook your head. “You don’t have to do that.”

It took a moment for the realization to bloom on his features, but once they did, he couldn’t keep that shy little smile off of his face. You pulled the covers back, climbing in first. He slipped one leg in, then the other, pulling the blanket back across the two of you.

You took in a breath, closing your eyes for a moment as you focused, leaning into that inner warmth, your guiding light. Your beacon. You glowed ever so softly, though it was mostly muffled beneath the blanket, motioned him closer, but he was one step ahead of you, climbing right on top, like he’d been waiting for it. Like since he’d gotten a taste of your energy, he’d been aching to feel it all over, all at once.

Bob sighed into your chest, his weight heavy and real and grounding on top of you. And warm. Oh, so warm.

You reached up and played with his hair, your other arm crossing his back, soothing circles into his tired muscles. He melted like a cat, just totally boneless on top of you.

A slow, lazy smile tugged at his lips, eyes half-lidded. “I hoped it would feel like this.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded as much as he could manage. “Yeah. You’re like a heating pad.”

You chuckled. “You’re one to talk.”

“Yeah I…run warm. Sorry.”

“No, it’s nice. This is nice.”

He didn’t reply to that, just thought for a long moment. You stared at the ceiling, your light dancing across the white expanse, casting shadows through the cobweb in the corner. “I, uh…had a nightmare. That’s why…”

You nodded, fingers working his scalp. “I figured. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. Well…kind of.” He sighed, feeling heavier suddenly. You cradled him more, pressing a kiss to his temple. That seemed to help, just a little bit. “Sometimes…I feel like the others…sent me here so they could figure out how to get rid of me. Get me out of the way for a while until they could figure it out. Telling me to look at the literal flowers until…”

Your heart sank like a rock. It sank further when he pulled away to look at you, your soft glow glistening in his glassy eyes. “Oh, Bob…”

“I’m indestructible. I know that.” A heavy sigh. “Believe me, I know that. But…”

“They didn’t. I know Bucky. He wouldn’t do that.” You reasoned, but it didn’t seem to help. You tried a different approach. “They…sent you here because I needed you.”

He scoffed.

“I mean it. I’ve…been tucked out here so long, away from it all. I hated it. The city, all the people, the knowing looks, grabbing hands, people who wanted the idea of me. I wanted the quiet. But after a while, that quiet just starts to eat at you from the inside. I didn’t realize how lonely I was until he dropped you off at my doorstep. There are still people I can help; but there are also still people who can help me. I think I lost sight of that.”

His eyebrows furrowed, a tear slipping down his cheek. You reached up and wiped it away with a gentle thumb. His lip trembled as he asked, “You think I’ve helped you?”

Your heart broke. “Of course you have. We’re going back to New York in a few days, but…I think some part of me will always live right here, with you.”

He choked on a sob. You pulled him closer, back down on top of you, combing through his hair with the utmost care and gentleness. Your glow got a little stronger. Not on purpose. Not enough to hurt. It just did that sometimes when you were feeling big feelings.

He buried his face in your neck, tears rolling down between your skin and his. You let him get it all out until he calmed, breathing slowing to normal again. And then slower than normal. He was out. Your invincible boy and his big, giant heart. You wished the world had been kinder to him. Gentler. You wished he wasn’t carrying such sadness behind those ocean eyes. 

Someday, his shadows would shrink and he’d learn to be at home in his skin again, but until then, you’d just have to continue to be his beacon in the storm, guiding him back to shore.

Radiant

It felt like a dream, waking up in his arms. But maybe it was because you had woken up there so many times in yours. This time, it was real. His breaths wafted across your skin, hair falling against the skin of your neck, nose pressed to your collarbone. One strong arm was coiled around your waist, the other was tucked somewhere beneath his broad frame. He took in a long breath, as though he could sense you waking beneath him, gorgeous blue eyes fluttering open in the daylight, framed by those irritatingly thick eyelashes.

His lips curled into a sleepy grin as he looked at you, not moving a muscle. “You glow in your sleep.”

You laughed, giving his side a loving pinch. “And did that impede your rest, Mr. Reynolds?”

“On the contrary, you make kind of a good nightlight.” He punctuated it with a long, impossibly soft kiss to your cheek. “But, uh…if we’re going to do this again, I might need to order a sleep mask.”

The way he said it was so simple. So obvious. Something that had caused you so much grief in your previous dating life was…an Amazon click for him. It put everything into a new perspective. If he wanted to, he would, as they said. Well, Bob absolutely wanted to. It gave the butterflies in your stomach something to gossip about, at the very least.

You cuddled for a while, getting accustomed to the feel of each other. It was clear now, that it very much was not just a healing arrangement anymore. What you were, exactly, hadn’t been articulated, but you couldn’t wait to find out.

He studied you, laid on his side, face to face on the pillows, his legs tangled with yours. “Were you and Bucky ever…uh…you know…?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No. Bucky is great, but he’s way too old for me. I don’t think he’s ever seen me as anything but his kid sister. I was pretty young when Sam roped me into all of this. Early twenties, but still.”

“Hmm.”

“Why? Did you think we were?”

“Not exactly. I just…I mean…” He chuckled, cheeks flushing. He reached a hand out, brushing your hair back with the utmost care, thumb warm as it skimmed your face. “You’re starlight. If I was the Winter Soldier, I would have melted. Especially if you quiet his shadows the way you quiet mine.”

Starlight. That one felt different. But you’d have to unpack that later. Probably when you were unpacking all of the literal boxes piling up around this place.

Eventually, Bob straightened up, lifted his sweatshirt a bit to scratch his stomach, just enough to give you a look at…what lie beneath.

Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Bob was ripped. This entire time, he’d been hiding the body of a Greek god with those oversized sweaters. He had an eight pack, easy. Granted, that was all you could see from the angle, but you could imagine the rest. You knew he hadn’t been working out since he’d been staying with you. It had been a lot of mac and cheese and fast food and laying on the couch watching movies, sprinkled with the occasional walk or home-cooked pasta dish. That damn supersoldier serum…

Bob’s eyes widened a hair, noticing the look on your face. He smoothed the shirt back down, snapping you back to reality, gave a shy little smile. Blushed. “Oh, uh, those, yeah. They’re new to me, too. I forget they’re there, sometimes.”

“Must be the, uh..supersoldier serum. Gives you killer, um…metabolism, I’ve heard…” You murmured, averting your eyes. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. The Sentry suit had been tight, from the footage you’d seen, but…you had managed to separate that Bob from the one in front of you so effectively that it was almost like a jumpscare. “Anywaysssss, um, I’m gonna go get breakfast started. Pancakes?”

He grinned, tilting his head as he admired your pajamas in the light of day, a cute little two-piece set with seagulls on the pants. “Pancakes sound good. With blueberries?”

“Yeah, I think the ones from the farmer’s market are still good.” You agreed, stretching out your tired limbs. Despite the supersoldier sleeping on top of you, you were…surprisingly well-rested. In fact, you were pretty sure it was the best sleep you’d gotten since Bob had showed up.

You padded down the stairs first, setting to work. Well, after you buried your face in the fridge and let out a strangled groan, directly at the orange juice container. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was Bob’s muscles. Even if you weren’t already head over heels for the guy, that surely would have been the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Pancakes. Pancakes. Think about the pancakes. You repeated, a stupid little mantra. That voice in the back of your head quipped that it was a good thing they weren’t waffles.

Once there was a stack of them sitting on the table, a few glasses of orange juice poured, Bob came downstairs, sitting opposite you at the table. He cut into his pancakes, taking a bite. You looked up to see if he liked them, and instead caught him staring at you, eyes sparkling, that shy smile firmly in place. His eyes flicked down to the table, but the smile didn’t go away.

He swallowed, cleared his throat. Smiled again.

You smiled too, which led to him giggling. Just a little. Shoulders shaking with the effort.

He licked the syrup from his lip. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” You replied, something akin to an inside joke bubbling up between you. Bucky would clock it immediately, you were sure, the thick string of affection tying the two of you together now. But maybe that had been part of his plan after all. Or maybe he really had just been truly desperate and deemed you a decent enough babysitter for the most dangerous man in the world.

“I, uh…” He thought for a moment. “I wanna take you to dinner tonight. There’s a little diner in town. It’s…It’s on me. Don’t bring your wallet.”

You smiled bigger, curious how he would make it work, but excited nonetheless. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I…I’ve kind of never done this before.” He admitted, fork stabbing into the top pancake in the stack, right into a gooey blueberry. “I mean…whatever this is. I just kind of assumed, ’cause we were…kissing eachother…and stuff, so…”

You reached across the table, taking his hand. “I would love to go on a date with you, Bob.”

His fingers curled around yours, squeezing. Warm, warm thumb crested over your knuckles. He repeated the words you’d said last week like he’d been waiting to all along. “It’s a date.”

***

You spent most of the day packing up your clothes, something you’d been putting off since you still needed to wear them. Bob went out for a bit, leaving instructions to be ready by six. You dug out something nice, a suitable pair of shoes, accessorized and did your makeup for probably the first time since he’d gotten there. Maybe the first time in months, if you were being honest.

And when six o’clock rolled around, there was a knock on the door.

You grinned despite yourself, walking over to answer it. Bob was standing there in a blue blazer covered in lighthouses, a periwinkle buttondown, black tie, and slacks. The jacket, you recognized. It had been Earlene’s husband’s before he died. Now, this was starting to make more sense.

In his hand, he gripped a clumsy little bouquet of lilacs and white roses. Perched inside them, an iridescent tarot card. The Knight of Cups. Alright, message received.

“W-wow…you look incredible.” He murmured, those curious eyes taking in every detail before him, committing it all to memory.

“So do you. The blue brings out your eyes.” You breathed, taking him in.

His hair was still done in floofy brown curls, tie knotted carefully at his throat. He peered out from behind them, fidgeting with the flowers. He was nervous.

“Hey, it’s just me.” You murmured softly, taking a step closer, reaching for his other hand.

He chuckled, gazing down at you. “I know, that’s…why I’m nervous. You’re like, the girl of my dreams.”

Your heart did a fucking backflip. You brought his hand to your lips, grazing his knuckles. “Let me get those in water, okay? You all ready?”

“I’m ready.” He nodded, stepping into the doorway while you put the flowers in a tall glass of water. When you turned back, he was reaching for your hand, a giddy look in his eyes. He looked even giddier when you slipped your hand into his.

Once you were in the parking lot of the diner, he ran around the front of the car to open your door for you, offering his hand, which you took immediately, letting him lead you inside one of your favorite spots in town, Marceline’s.

It was an old-fashioned place. Jukebox against the wall, checkered tile floor, hot rod red booths. The menu was all classic: burgers, fries and milkshakes, soda in glass bottles with swirly-striped straws. It was a little busier than you’d expected, all things considered, a good handful of regulars littered around. The hostess led you to a booth by the windows and Bob sat across from you, stars in his eyes.

There was a guy a few booths down in a ballcap, wearing his sunglasses inside. Odd, you thought. But you wrote it off.

You browsed the menu for a bit before placing the order with the waitress when she came around, wearing a vintage pink uniform with an apron and a big, angular collar. She had a cherry embroidered into the corner of it. 

The two of you ordered your entrees, a plate of fries to share, and some milkshakes. And when she left, Bob could not stop grinning at you.

“Your face is gonna get stuck like that.” You said with a smirk, watching as his cheeks flushed red.

He huffed, mock defensive. “I know, I just…I can’t remember the last time I was this…happy. In a good way and not…in a manic way, you know? I’m gonna wake up any second now, I’m sure.”

You shook your head, meeting his eyes. “We’re wide awake. But trust me, I can’t believe it, either.”

“I thought about…taking you to that ice cream place again. You know, after this. But you said you’d been on so many shitty dates there…seemed like bad vibes.”

You scrunched your nose. “Good call. Besides, the milkshakes are really good here anyway.”

“Maybe we could go stargazing? On the beach? I didn’t really check the weather, but I threw a blanket in the backseat earlier.”

“I like that idea.”

Dinner was good. Simple, but good. Classic, in a way. Your fingers brushed his when you reached into the fry basket. He savored his milkshake, really cherishing every moment. The two of you talked all the while, like old friends. Like he was your lifelong neighbor boy, not the stray Bucky had dropped off two weeks before.

You remembered the way Earlene talked about her husband, Roy. The man whose jacket Bob was wearing. He’d passed before you ever met her, but you could tell not a moment went by that she didn’t think of him.

“Oh, honey, I made Roy chase me for weeks before I let him take me out. But he was mine the moment I saw him. I think he knew that.”

You tried to pinpoint it. The moment Bob had become yours. But you knew it was when Bucky had stepped out of the way and Bob was standing there on your sidewalk, knuckles white around the handle of his suitcase, like a nervous kid at sleepaway camp.

“You still with me, (Y/N)?” Bob waved a hand in front of your face.

“Hmm? Sorry. Lost in thought.” You murmured, guiding your eyes right back to his. “You say something?”

He shook his head and let out a long sigh, floored. “God, you are so beautiful.”

Your heart raced, cheeks warm. And in the reflection of the window, in the corner of your eye, you watched yourself begin to glow a little. Almost imperceptibly. But you knew Bob picked up on it.

His smile stretched wider. “Love when you do that.”

You quirked an eyebrow, trying to neutralize it to no avail. “It’s a fun party trick, huh?”

He nodded in agreement immediately. “I’ll trade you, if you want. You can have all the strength and stuff and I’ll glow and make people sleepy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, offering your hand, which he playfully shook. “Deal.”

***

The air was crisp when you left the restaurant, joint hands swinging between you on the way back to the car, lovesick smiles on your faces. Bob walked to the driver’s side door with you, reaching to open it, but stopping halfway there, heart both in his throat and on his sleeve.

He was going to kiss you.

Bob wiped his palm on the fabric of his borrowed blazer, taking a step closer. Another. His foot landing between the two of yours. He swallowed, leaning closer, mouth hanging open while he thought, strategizing an approach. One large, warm hand settled on your waist.

“I, uh…I guess this is the part of the night where…” He exhaled nervously.

The guy in the ballcap crossed the parking lot. You paid him a little more attention this time. The way he circled like a shark, muttering into his phone.

“It’s okay if…you don’t want to, I just…” Bob mumbled, losing steam.

“It’s not that.” You shushed him, hands resting on his firm chest, your back up against the car. His arms crested your form out of what he could only describe as instinct. You glanced over Bob’s shoulder to where the guy had been, but he was gone now.

“What? What is it?”

“There was a guy in a baseball cap. I think he was following us.” You uttered, voice quiet and urgent, slipping into Undercover Avenger mode.

“A w-what? What guy?”

“I don’t know, I just—”

You were cut off by a quick and vengeful taser to the neck, debilitating you instantly.

“Get off of her!” Bob yelled. The guy tried to tase him as well, but it didn’t work. Bob stood there, staring at the guy, face twisted in confusion. On instinct, he reached up, using telekinesis to yoink the taser out of the guy’s hand, chucking it halfway across town.

You straightened up, body aglow. You shined a brilliant light directly into the guy’s face. Another one rounded the side of the car, with some powered-up weapon, emiting waves not unlike your own. It felt familiar, in a fucked-up way, sweeping rushes of artificial drowsiness washing over your body. Your knees buckled, and you gritted your teeth as your light was stripped away.

Obviously they were HYDRA and obviously they were there for Bob, but you were sure they’d take you as a consolation prize. Use you as leverage against Bucky or Sam or whoever was left.

Bob waded the space with a little trouble, the waves clearly affecting him, but eventually reached the gun and tore the thing right in half, to the horror of the agent holding it. He knocked him out of the way like he was an action figure.

You got to your feet, breathing heavy. You took stock of Bob, reaching up to touch his hot, hot skin, tilting his face down to get a better look. That gold ring around his irises glowed as he stared down at you, the look on his face somehow soft and threatening. Jaw clenched, muscles strung tight. He looked at you like he was trying to place you, but once he met your eyes, familiarity spread behind his gaze.

A dark van pulled into the lot and more agents filed out of it.

“I need you to stay with me, okay? I need you to control it.” You murmured, voice serious.

Bob nodded, the ring vanishing. He took off the jacket, chucking it into a bush for safety, since it was borrowed. Your light reflected off of his periwinkle buttondown as your glow returned, feet almost involuntarily rising off the pavement, poised like a dancer’s. He couldn’t help but smile. Catlike and enamored as he watched you lock in.

For their credit, the HYDRA agents tried. But they had severely underestimated the two of you. You blinded a guy in nightvision goggles, but that was just due to his own stupidity, really. You hovered, blasting them with bolts of burning energy. Bob stayed grounded, feet planted firmly in the parking lot, but the superstrength and telekinesis were more than enough to fight off any attacker that came his way. He had some natural fighting instincts. Obviously he did, if the Sentry videofile was to be believed. But you hadn’t been sure how much of that was Bob. Now you knew.

A helicopter chopped through the air over the ocean, the octopus-like hate symbol emblazoned on the side of it, shooting a hail of bullets that you blocked in an iridescent forcefield, shielding whatever onlookers hadn’t taken cover yet. Bob caught the strays, dropping them harmlessly to the parking lot with little metal clinks. The locals, bless their hearts, were too curious for their own good. Especially when something otherworldly started unfolding in their tiny little town.

The sight of the helicopter set you off, rage brewing in your belly as you rose higher into the air, trailing light like a comet. You were raising power levels. 8, 9, 10…if you were hooked up to the sensors the Wakandans had monitored you under, you were sure you would have wrecked the scale. The streetlight sparked, then exploded. Bob shielded the onlookers from the glass as he took out the few remaining ground attackers, popping their tires with his telekinesis. The air let out with a vicious hiss.

That’d show those snakes.

You balled your fist, letting the energy around it charge before you punched forward, blasting the helicopter. The tail spun as it fell out of control, crashing down into the ocean with a ginormous splash. An explosion, then silence.

You took a sharp breath, surfacing. You looked down at the parking lot, where the townsfolk that had gathered cheered. Slowly, you sank back down, one foot touching the cement, then the other. Immediately, Bob was there, a hand on your elbow, looking over you with care.

He exhaled a long, shaking breath, stars in his eyes. “You are radiant. That, wow…I’ve never seen anything so…I…you’re amazing. You’re amazing and I think I…well, I really…”

You planted a hand on his cheek, effectively hushing his stammering, the other steadying on his shirt. “This is the part of the night where I kiss you.”

“O-Okay.” He nodded enthusiastically, eyes fluttering shut, lips pursing in preparation. You couldn’t help but chuckle fondly as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. He melted against you, letting you lead him through a sweet, soft, sentimental kiss. When it was over, he kept chasing it, kissing you again, and again, and then, really, one last time, giggling to himself.

You hugged him tight, arms wound around his broad shoulders, holding him close. 

His cheek moved beneath your lips as he grinned, hugging you back, arms strong and stable. He murmured into your ear, tone carrying a joke right to you, like a leaf on the river. “This isn’t just because of the abs, right?”

You laughed loudly, shaking your head. You pulled back an inch, to meet his eyes. Noses brushed as you went in for one last kiss that he eagerly returned, humming into your mouth, lips a little more confident, albeit still clumsy. But he’d learn. You had all the time in the world for that.

He made sure to grab the lighthouse jacket from the bushes before you left, carefully dusting it off and folding it in his lap on the drive home. Suddenly, he wasn’t so afraid to go back to the city anymore. 

No matter what happened, he’d have you.

The Lighthouse

Your alarm was shrill the next morning, rousing you quickly and directly. You slapped the nightstand blindly before Bob reached over and used his telekinesis to turn it off. You took a breath, turning to face him. He was already looking at you, eyes soft with admiration.

“Morning, starlight.” He murmured, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

“Morning, Bob.” You replied, crawling closer to him.

He tugged you to his chest easily, chin resting against your head. He pressed a long, soft kiss there, at the edge of your face, strong arms winding tight around you. “Big day today.”

You gave a wry snort. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

You cuddled for a while longer, bargaining for time, kissing between whispered words before you managed to pry yourself not only from your mattress, but from him. Threw on some clothes, went down the stairs, and whipped together a quick breakfast before there was a knock on the door.

Bob pulled it open, wearing the same sweater he’d been wearing the day he arrived. The blue one that made him look so soft and small. He was standing a little straighter now, eyes a little brighter. His shadows hadn’t been banished completely, but he was shades lighter than you’d found him. The ocean air was good for that.

“Hey, guys!” You could hear the smile in his voice, even with your back turned as you plated up some eggs and panfried hashbrowns. “Come on in! (Y/N)’s just finishing up breakfast.”

Bucky led the group inside, giving a wave, vibranium hand glinting in the sunlight. Behind him was a short young woman with smoky eyes and short blonde hair and a mountain of a guy with a long gray beard. You’d seen them on the news, you were sure. Probably in the same newscast you’d seen Bob’s alter ego. So this was it. This was the team.

“(Y/N), this is Yelena and Alexei. They’re…Nat’s family.”

Your gaze softened immediately, looking them over. You’d heard a bit about Yelena. Not much, just pieces here and there. Natasha had kept her cards pretty close to her chest. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is ours! Beacon! I have seen you on the TV, doing the glowing and the shooting and the flying, it’s great!” Alexei greeted, offering a strong handshake and a hearty pat on the back.

Yelena was cradling Reginald in her arms, bouncing him like a baby, his orange tail flicking with content. She looked up at Bob, smiled softly. “You look good, Bob. How have you been, out here?”

Bob smiled back, eyes flicking to you and then back to her, cheeks flushing. “Great, yeah. I’m doing good. Bucky was right. She’s an expert.”

She looked at you, grinning. “I am keeping this cat, by the way.”

Bob shook his head, mouth falling open in protest, “Oh, that’s not…”

Bucky put a hand on your shoulder, looking proud. “Listen, thirteen days is not bad. I’m surprised you two lasted this long before winding up on the news. So, congrats. You almost made it two weeks.”

“Ha ha. Thank you very much, Congressman. First of all, not our fault HYDRA had boots on the ground out here. Second, no appearances of the other guy whatsoever.”

“Well…” Bob cut in, grimacing.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, eyes darting between the two of you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Right, so…technically, he showed up a little, but it seems like he’s kinda…relegated to Bob’s subconscious at the moment.”

Bucky waved a hand. “In English, please.”

“He only shows up in my dreams. And…other people’s dreams, also…”

“Huh. Makes…sense, I guess. We’ll have to look into that.” Bucky looked around at all the boxes you had piled up in the living room. “Anywho, you all packed up? We can start moving stuff while you two eat breakfast.”

“Yep. Everything in here is coming. Everything else is staying. Figured it would be a good safehouse, down the line.” You said, poking your eggs with a fork.

Bucky grinned, nodding. One of those slow grins that hit his eyes first, crinkling them at the edges. Maybe some part of him had expected you to back out. To decide to stay in this little sea town you called home. Maybe some part of you had, too. But every glance you threw Bob’s way just cemented it more. You needed him. Maybe more than he needed you. And that was worth chasing across the country let alone a few hundred miles to New York.

***

You cleaned and dried the dishes, putting them away. You closed the kitchen curtains, turned and walked back towards the living room. You could hear Yelena and Alexei bickering in the front yard, beyond the open door. All the boxes had been taken aside from Bob’s, filled with his odds and ends. The poster from the reject bin, the records he’d taken, a stack of books and a few DVDs, a Rubik’s Cube, and a little metal lighthouse.

Bob picked it up, holding it on his hip. He caught you reminiscing, soft gray cardigan pulled around yourself as you looked around the living room one last time. It was time.

He offered his hand and you took it, fingers slotting between his easily. He raised it to his mouth and kissed your knuckles, giving a soft, reassuring smile. You’d been coaxing him out of his comfort zone this whole time, now it was his turn.

“You ready?”

You nodded, eyes honest. Your heart ached, but…you were beginning to think it was in a good way. “Ready.”

“Cool.” He looked around the living room one last time, eyes sticking on the painting over the couch. “We’ll be back.”

He sounded so sure of it. You knew he was right. Part of your heart would always live in your sleepy little sea town. And now, part of it would always live with Bob.

“You’re right.”

“We better go quick, before Yelena changes her mind. It took me forever to talk her out of taking Reginald. But that little guy belongs here, exploring.”

The two of you walked outside, set Bob’s box in the back of your car, next to your laptop and other fragile bits.

“I am riding with you two.” Yelena announced, sliding into one of the back seats.

You glanced over to where Bucky and Alexei were climbing into the van they’d brought. Bucky saluted, gave an annoyed-looking expression, and pulled out of the driveway first.

In your own car, you adjusted the air conditioning, let Bob pick the music, and got the navigation going. Yelena poked around the stuff in the back seat, finding the snacks easily.

“Bob, do you want some? She’s got Doritos and stuff in here.” She murmured, the bags crinkling as she ruffled through them.

He chuckled. “Nah, I’m good. Maybe in a bit.”

“Suit yourself.”

You couldn’t help but grin at the familiarity, the bond you could already feel there. You hoped you’d be able to slip into the team as well. But all you needed to do to get confirmation of that was glance at the passenger seat, where despite your lack of obvious glow, Bob was still looking at you like you were made of starlight.

And as you rolled down the driveway, past the familiar streets and smalltown faces, getting farther and farther from familiarity, the last thing in view of this place you’d called home for so long…was the lighthouse.

Starlight

It had been two months since you’d arrived at what was now called the Watchtower. A pretentious name for Valentina’s New Avengers lineup, but that was the least of your concern. Her big thing was optics, so she hadn’t even balked when Bucky had presented you as an option for what she dubbed the “Bob Problem.”

You learned very quickly that you didn’t like her and just as quickly that you didn’t trust her, but you were quick to put her in her place when she first uttered that phrase around you.

“He’s not a problem. He needs support. And therapy. And meds. And quite possibly a cat. But you will treat him with respect or he and I are both gone and I know you need us more than we need you.”

She’d been impressed by that. “Well, Beacon, in that case, I’m glad to have you aboard, since you seem to have him all figured out.”

“Actually, let me stop you right there. I…was considering a new codename maybe.”

“A rebrand, I like it. What are you thinking?”

Your eyes wandered to Bob in his reading chair by the window before returning back to her. “How about Starlight?”

She grinned, the wheels turning behind her eyes. She could see the headlines now, you were sure. “How about it…”

The rest of the lineup was just Ava, who went by Ghost, a woman that could walk through walls, which was very cool, and…John Fucking Walker. You’d stared at him for a long time when you first encountered him, frozen in your tracks, frowning while Bucky chuckled across the kitchen.

“No. Are you serious?” You glanced back at him and then up at John again. “Ewww.”

John scoffed, offended immediately. “Hey!”

“No, that’s a valid ‘ew,’ John. She gets at least one of those.” Bucky muttered over his mug of black coffee. “Long story. I’ll tell you later.”

In your free time, you wrote again, inspiration more than sparked by your time with Bob. Every time you got stuck, all you had to do was let him read what you had so far, and he’d make suggestions. Even if they didn’t always work necessarily, they got the ball rolling again. And the Tower had ample space to do it. There were lots of quiet spots to tuck away in. Today you’d opted to work in one of the common areas, though, Bob sitting at the high-top table with you, fingers fiddling with yours.

Ava opened the dishwasher and groaned loudly before yelling, “Bucky! How many times do we have to tell you not to put it in there with dishes?!” She yanked his vibranium arm out, holding it aloft in the air.

You couldn’t help but chuckle a bit, shaking your head. Bob grinned too, eyes locked on you fondly. He was clumsily crocheting something next to you, stopping and holding it out to you.

“No, so how did this even happen?” He asked, pointing to a very messed-up loop.

“You stuck the hook through the strands of yarn. Just undo that one and try again. It’s tricky to not do that with that kind.” You advised, gently taking his hands in yours and unraveling the previous loop, helping him get back on track. “That’s what’s so nice about crochet. You can just undo it all and start over.”

He smiled, the words striking a bit deeper than he knew you meant to. But that was this whole thing, wasn’t it? You were his fresh start.

Bucky sauntered into the room, grabbing his arm and sticking it back on, rotating it back into place with force. “It just works, alright? It gets clean.”

“Not with the dishes! Run it by itself! Or better yet, buy yourself a dishwasher and put it in your room.”

“Now, now, everybody, I think we all need to take a deep breath.” Alexei said, trying to keep the peace. “Isn’t that nice? Big, deep breath. Ava, I see you are not taking the breath, just breathe in…”

Your phone rang, a goofy picture of Sam flashing across the lockscreen. Your eyebrows furrowed and you picked it up. “Hey, buddy. How have you been? It’s been a while?”

He chuckled, exhaling a sigh. “Yeah, I know it’s been a long time. I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch, I’ve just been so busy with…well, all kinds of stuff. But actually, speaking of that, I was wondering if you wanted to come get some coffee? Maybe meet up? I…well, maybe I shouldn’t lead with this, but I’m trying to get the Avengers off of the ground again. I’ve got this great new guy, Joaquin. I think you’d really like him. And we found this guy who has these alien rings, he’s super cool.”

“Sam—” 

���Listen, I know you’ve been out of the loop of all of this for a while. And if you wanna keep it that way, I understand. But my team could really use a healer, so…what do you say?”

You took a breath, pretending to mull it over, but your mind was made up. “Thank you for thinking of me, but…Bucky called me first, and…” You looked at Bob, who was absorbed in his yarn loops again, an earbud stuck in his ear. “They need me here. It’s not personal. I’m sorry. If there’s ever…an emergency, give me a call, but I’m planted here.”

A bitter chuckle. A resigned sigh. “No, I get it. Take care of yourself.”

And then he hung up.

“Who was that?” Bob asked, curious blue eyes peering over at you.

“Sam.” You replied, reaching for his hand, which he gladly turned over, fingers curling around yours.

The worry was imminent on his features already, just a little, in his eyes. Insecurity that you’d slip away as easily as he’d gotten you. “He wants you, huh?”

“I’m staying right here.” You reassured, squeezing his hand again. “I’m not here for Valentina. I’m not even really here for Bucky anymore. I’m here for you. Where you go, I go. Simple as that.”

He smiled softly at that, nodding. “Okay. Cool.”

“Package for Bob?” John walked into the room, chucking the thin little package onto the table in front of the two of you, where it landed with a thwop. “What even is that thing?”

Bob tore it open easily, pulling out what appeared to be a pretty high-quality sleep mask. “Oh, sweet. I was wondering when this would come in.”

“What, you got insomnia or something?” John asked.

“My girlfriend glows,” came his simple explanation, shrugging his shoulders. He had a giddy look on his face. All proud and lovesick in a way that made your heart churn.

You tried to fight the grin that broke out on your features, shaking your head with a flustered laugh.

“I sleep really well now, though. She knocks me right out.”

“Ew, Bob, we don’t need all the details of…whatever this is you two have going on.” John groaned, waving a jealous hand in your direction.

“Oh, shut up, Walker. Bob and (Y/N) are surprisingly tame in the PDA department. They could be like, way worse.” Yelena defended. “And it is very cute by the way, you two.”

“Yelena is right. There is something so…romantic about the boy with the shadow and the girl who glows.” Alexei gushed, very passionate. You’d never seen it that way, but…he wasn’t wrong.

Bob had his Void. Always would, you were sure. And you were the glowing girl. The Beacon, and now…his Starlight.

No matter what form he took, no matter what kind of day he was having, you would always be right there to remind him that there were people who loved him. People who valued him and wanted him around. 

He was the warmth in a cold room. Your Knight of Cups. You’d choose him every time, and you knew in a heartbeat, that he’d choose you, too, like a moth fluttering towards a streetlight. Doomed, maybe, but inevitable nonetheless. In every timeline, it would always be him.

You gave him a tender look, gave his side a loving pinch and settled up against him. A low chuckle floated out of his mouth and he kissed your forehead, large, warm hand smoothing down your back.

The rest of the team devolved into bickering about something else. Like siblings, truly. But you and Bob were just quiet, watching it all from the fringes, soaking in eachother’s warmth.

“I’m so glad you said yes. Still can’t believe this is real, sometimes. That I get to have something as nice as you, but…I’m not complaining.” Bob murmured, hands mapping you out, grounding himself.

“I’m all yours, Bob.” You pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips, eyes glimmering with a million words, but settling on just two, “Believe it.”

The End.

[ladymarvel27]

Pancake King | Carlos Sainz

dad!Carlos Sainz x mom!Reader

Description: Him making pancakes for your daughter.

f1 masterlist

You were coming back from the store because the syrup was out and your four-year-old daughter wanted pancakes.

“Here are your pancakes, Princess Cameli,” you heard Carlos’s voice as he placed a freshly cooked pancake on a plate in front of your daughter.

“Papa, they are ugly!” She pouts.

“They don’t always turn out pretty,” Carlos told Cameli. His laugh was hearty, but you could tell from his voice her bluntness amused him.

“How are you so bad at making pancakes? They look silly,” Cameli commented. Her small voice was high-pitched and sweet, but she still sounded insulting.

Carlos mock-gasped. “Is that the thanks I get for making pancakes on your demand?“

"They're ugly!" She repeated with more insistence as if to drive her point home.

"Hey! What would you do without me? I'm the pancake king," Carlos protested dramatically.

"Pancakes are supposed to be round and brown," Cameli argued, a stern expression on her cute little face, "but those are weird shapes!"

"They're unique," Carlos pointed out. "Just like you, princess."

Her little face still looked displeased, but she still laughed. "No, Papa! I'm not weird!"

You were watching the tiff between the two and decided to meddle, “Papa isn't calling you weird Cameli.”

"I'm not weird. I'm cute," she corrected, proudly putting her hands on her tiny hips.

“Yeah, and you're special. And you're special to Papa too that's why he is making pancakes for you.”

She beamed at this, displeased with the pancakes disappearing, and took another bite. "But they‘re still ugly."

You turned and lowly spoke to him, “It's so hard to convince her, Carlos.”

"Ugh, kids can be so picky," he said with exaggerated exhaustion, but her bluntness amused him.

“Okay, just try making a perfect one.”

"Hmmm, let me try, I may just be able to pull it off."

Carlos started preparing the batter again, and this time, he poured it into the pan in a careful circular motion, trying to form a perfectly round pancake.

After a few minutes, he flipped the pancake, revealing a beautifully golden brown round shape. He presented it to Cameli.

"Ta-da!" He announced with a flourish, a big smile on his face. "Is this up to your high standards, princess?"

Cameli studied the pancake closely, her little face serious as she examined it. Finally, she nodded her approval. "It's not ugly. It looks better now!"

“Now syrup?!” Cameli exclaimed in excitement.

Carlos laughed, nodding with amusement. "Yes, princess, you can have your syrup," he said, pouring a generous amount of syrup over the pancake.

Cameli's eyes widened with excitement as the sweet golden liquid drizzled over the pancake. She took a bite, a contented smile on her face. The sight of Cameli enjoying her breakfast brought a warm smile to Carlos's face. "See, it wasn't THAT hard to make a pretty pancake," he said jokingly, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“I know you can, you're our pancake king.”

He chuckled at your words and winked at you. "And don't you forget it," he said with a sly grin.

Taglist: @ice-man-goes-bwoah @itsjustvs4

Separators credit: @saradika @saradika-graphics

[marmotsomsierost]

you have had your squishy food. you have some left in your bowl.

yes, that bowl.

no i am not giving you more squishy food. you bolted 3/4 of the squishy food and then ignored your kibble in favor of excavating dog food from under the couch and eating it despite knowing that it swells up in your stomach and then the combo of too much squishy food and dog kibble means you horked it all up downstairs.

sierra ate it in the .4 milliseconds before i could get there.

then she rolled in it. now she stinks of cat foodgurgitation and zelda keeps trying to chew on her.

no.

you're 19 years old, old man. long past old enough to know better.

[depresseddepot]

this is a very unique fear but I'm worried they're going to take my full time position away and try to make me part time again

[jaysbaefie]

babysitter | pjs

synopsis: in which your reckless driving leads to you spending your summer babysitting your father’s business partners son.

genre: rich dad au

pairing: chaebol!jay x younger bratty!reader

warnings: 12 year age gap! reader is 23 and jay is 35, lots and lots of tension, bratty!reader, meandom!jay, possessive!jay, bickering, lots of cornering (like a lot), forced submission, spanking ass + pussy, dub-con in some instances, (oral f. rec), fingering, choking, manhandling, binding with belt, rough p in v (unprotected), forced confession of feelings, cum eating, lots of talk about age. i think that’s it ….

wc: 22.4k

a/n: holy fuck balls you guys. this was the longest piece i’ve written and i feel like ive lost my mind. i feel like a changed woman with all this plot and the minimal smut… like what happened. also wtf is a 1000 block limit…? i had to go back and merge paragraphs because tumblr has a limit apparently. so now, it’s just merged together which is so annoying. anyways, this is for those who voted for babysitter jay! stay tuned i plan on putting another pole out for the next fic. thank you for all the love on my fics <33 notes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated. enjoy :)))

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

 

you should've known something like this would happen. when your father instructed you to go to his office to pick up some papers for him, you had a gut feeling that something bad was going to happen.

it was your father's fault, really. if he hadn't called you in the middle of the day, nagging about how you needed to "grow up" and "take responsibility" and "learn a thing or two from your old man," you wouldn't have been so distracted. and if you hadn't been so distracted, you wouldn't have slammed your car straight into the back of someone else's.

a very expensive looking car at that.

your heart was still hammering against your ribs as you sat stiffly on the sidewalk, your car parked haphazardly next to the damaged luxury vehicle you had just rear-ended. you stumbled out of your car, not having the guts to walk up to the car you had absolutely demolished to talk to the owner.

people passing by casted you pitying glances, but none of them could possibly understand the deep, all-consuming regret swirling in your chest.

your father was going to kill you.

worse, the owner of the car was going to kill you.

"you've got to be fucking kidding me."

a deep voice cut through the sound of honking cars and murmuring pedestrians. you squeezed your eyes shut, already dreading the moment you'd have to turn around. but you had no choice, so with a slow inhale, you finally lifted your gaze.

oh fuck my life.

and immediately wanted to crawl into a hole.

"oh, you've really done it this time," you muttered under your breath, swallowing harshly as the man you recognized as jay park, your father's business partner, the ceo of a multimillion-dollar company, and the man whose car you just destroyed—stood in front of you.

looking absolutely livid.

jay was wearing a crisp black suit, but his jacket was slung over his arm, and the top buttons of his white dress shirt were undone. despite the clear annoyance twisting his sharp features, he still managed to look ridiculously handsome. infuriatingly handsome. disregarding your history with the man, you didn't know if you wanted to jump his bones or get on your knees and beg for forgiveness.

his dark eyes flickered from the dent in his car's bumper to where you sat on the sidewalk, one brow raising as realization dawned on him.

"you have got to be kidding me," he repeated, voice laced with disbelief. "of course it's you". his dark eyes narrowed down on your smaller frame, his mouth twisted in a scowl as he ran his hand through his thick black locks in frustration.

you scowled, crossing your arms. "what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

fuck his forgiveness.

jay let out a sharp laugh, rubbing a hand down his face. "it means i'm not even surprised. reckless, irresponsible, and spoiled? sounds exactly like you."

"let me guess? daddy's going to take care of this for you? typical," he sneers down at you.

your blood boiled, immediately getting up from the sidewalk so you could stalk up to him. "oh, please. don't act like you know me." he scoffed, leaning down slightly so that his face was closer to yours. "i don't need to know you. your reputation does all the talking, brat."

you clenched your jaw at the name.

he wasn't completely wrong, but you'd rather die than admit that.

jay exhaled heavily, moving back up and pulling out his phone. "i'm calling your father."

your eyes widened in panic. "wait! no, you don't have to do that—"

but it was too late. jay was already dialing, his expression unreadable as he brought the phone to his ear.

you felt like you were about to throw up.

you didn't hear the full conversation, but based on the way jay's jaw tightened and the glance he shot you, you could tell it wasn't going well. after a few more exchanges, he hung up, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

"so?" you asked hesitantly, already bracing yourself for the worst. jay crossed his arms, looking far too pleased with himself. "your father and i came to an agreement."

you narrowed your eyes. "what kind of agreement?"

jay smirked. "instead of paying for the damage, you're going to babysit my son as reparation."

you stared at him. blinked. "what?"

he checked his watch, clearly done with the conversation. "i'll send you the details later. don't be late." and just like that, he walked off, leaving you standing by the sidewalk, utterly speechless.

this could not be happening.

babysitting? you?

you groaned, letting your head drop back.

this was going to be a nightmare, and you needed to wake up.

you make your way to your car, your fists clenching as you mentally prepare yourself to talk to your father.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

"this is so unnecessary, dad."

your father scoffs half heartedly, "you made a mistake, this is the least you could do, __."

"why can't we pay for the repairs, this is completely unnecessary!" you exclaim, your perfectly maintained brows shooting up as you cross your arms—staring at your father with a pointed look.

"besides, he could get anyone who's actually good with children to babysit his kid," you add on with a huff.

he sighs, his eyes shutting in temporary defeat, "__," he says with a warning tone. "mr.park is being nice enough to not file a report and get points deducted from your licence and possibly have your permit suspended. the least you could do is babysit his son, it shows that you are remorseful for your actions. the kids well behaved and you only need to be there for a few hours." 

you roll your eyes, this was stupid. it's not like he even cared about the car, so what you crashed into it.

"fine, but just this once. this isn't going to be a reoccurring thing, right?" you hiss at the end, looking at your father with resentment when his face changes into one of relief.

"i may have mentioned that you're not taking classes in the summer, and that you're free throughout the week so we'll see..." he trails off, watching your expression morph into one of disbelief.

"are you ser—" you begin only for knocking at the door to interrupt your sentence. you whip your head around harshly, ready to verbally abuse whoever had dared to interrupt you. "come in."

the door opened slightly, a house maid peering her head between the crack. "mr.__, mr.kim is here," she informs timidly, catching onto the bad energy in the room.

your father smiles, "we'll be right down, thank you teresa."

you scowl at her, her eyes widening for a moment before she scurries off—shutting the door behind her.

"dad i—" he cuts you off, "—__, we will continue this conversation next time. mr.kim is waiting for us downstairs, you know what to do when mr.park contacts you, right?" his eyebrows furrowed as he stares at you with narrowed eyes.

you let out a frustrated sigh, "yes, dad."

"good, be on your best behaviour."

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

later that evening, you had sufficiently screamed into your pillow and considered packing your bags to flee the country. you were on the phone with one of your best friends, minho, who attempted to comfort you through your mental break down.

"you don't understand, minho. my life is ending," you wailed softly, pressing your face against your pillow—almost suffocating yourself.

minho rolls his eyes behind the screen, he was lucky you weren't on facetime or you'd have his neck.

"__, you're literally just babysitting for the man. you'll be fine."

"no, minho. you're still not getting it! it's the fact that i have to babysit for that asshole. i swear to god i've had beef with him for the last 4 years. he always has a stick up his ass," you ramble.

"are you sure you have beef with him? sounds one sided to me.." he trails off making you let out a gasp—offended at his words.

"you're supposed to be on my side, dick. whatever, i'll talk to you later. if i'm not dead," you whine dramatically.

minho scoffs, "yeah, yeah. love you, talk soon."

"love you too, bitch. bye."

you hang up the phone, staring mindlessly at your roof as you think about the events of today. jay wouldn't be so bad if he wasn't so uptight all the time. he was actually hot. really, hot.

you think back to the times where the two of you interacted, the fake polite nods you sent his ways and the way he tried to hide his dislike for you behind his charming smile whenever there were others around. the way he'd brush up against you whenever he walked by you, or how his voice deepened when he said your name.

you had noticed his gaze slide up and down your frame on multiple occasions, choosing to ignore it but secretly loving the way he looked like he hated you. however, all these moments get pushed aside when you remember all the times he was an absolute dick towards you.

jay had a way of making himself the most infuriating person on the planet—whether he did it on purpose or not. and judging by the smug way his lips always curled whenever he got under your skin, you knew it was always on purpose. he liked seeing you riled up, he liked it when you bit back at him.

the first time you met him, he completely ignored you. it was at some stupid business dinner your father had forced you to attend. while everyone exchanged pleasantries, jay didn't even acknowledge you. not a single glance. not even when you introduced yourself. instead, he sipped his whiskey, eyes trained on anything but you. it wasn't until you had walked past him that he finally said something.

"spoiled little princess, huh?"

you turned back, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "what did you just say to me?" this was the first time he had talked to you, and this is what he has to say?

he smirked over the rim of his glass. "nothing."

you scoffed, rolling your eyes in distaste before sauntering away. jay's eyes following every movement of your hips as you slowly get lost in the crowd.

he loved pointing out your mistakes.

when you got a flat tire outside your father's office, jay happened to be walking by. you were already frustrated, struggling with your phone to call for roadside assistance, when his voice rang out behind you.

"let me guess. you don't even know how to change a tire, do you?"

you scoffed, glaring at him. "do you?"

he chuckled, shaking his head. "of course i do. but i don't help people who look at me like they'd rather set me on fire."

he always had a comment about your attitude. "you pout too much."

you blinked, pausing mid-sip of your drink. "excuse me?"

jay leaned against the bar counter at yet another business event, swirling the ice in his glass as he looked at you with mild amusement. "you pout too much. like a brat who didn't get what she wanted."

you scoffed, setting your glass down with a little too much force. "maybe that's just my face."

he smirked, eyes flickering to your lips before meeting your gaze again. "yeah? then why do you only do it around me?"

it was safe to say that you hated him and overall wanted nothing to do with him or his kid.

you groan into your pillow, "why me," you whine. suddenly, your phone pings.

you received a text from an unknown number.

jay: 9 am sharp. don't be late. i don't tolerate irresponsibility.

you rolled your eyes so hard they nearly got stuck in the back of your head.

you: don't worry, i wouldn't dare disappoint you, your highness.

his reply came almost immediately.

jay: that's mr. park to you.

you: my deepest apologies, park jongseong.

he didn't respond after that.

dickwad.

you tossed your phone onto your bed, groaning into your hands.

this was going to be a very, very long summer.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

you were not a morning person, and your lack of sleep was not helping. so when your alarm blared at an ungodly hour, your first instinct was to throw your phone across the room and go back to sleep—but you couldn't. because you had a job to do.

a job that you weren't getting compensated for.

or, more accurately, a job you were being forced into doing. it was unpaid labor by your father.

"consider it a way to build character and experience," he had said to you, sipping his coffee without a shred of sympathy or remorse as you gaped at him.

"consider it a way to ruin my life," you had shot back, but it hadn't mattered.

so here you were, running on three hours of sleep and a whole lot of resentment, pulling up to jay park's house—a sleek, modern mansion that screamed wealth. the kind of wealth that made you roll your eyes but also, begrudgingly, admire just a little. the driveway alone could fit at least six cars, and the front door? massive, dark wood, and intimidating as hell.

jay displayed his wealth proudly, whereas your father preferred to keep himself grounded. you get out of the car, your father had insisted that the driver drop you off.

"we don't need you crashing into another one of mr.park's cars," he had said, ushering you out the door.

you rolled your eyes, begrudgingly agreeing, not because you agreed that you were a terrible driver. but because you were tired and didn't have it in you to argue with him and get your way.

"when shall i pick you up ma'am?" your driver asked you.

you think for a second, "i'll inform you when."

you sighed, running a hand through your hair before pressing the doorbell.

within seconds, the door swung open. revealing a rather, dare you say, scandalous looking jongseong.

his typically neatly slicked back hair was frazzled, strands of his dark locks picking onto his forehead. he was wearing a thin white dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the first few buttons of his shirt undone, a thin silver chain adorned on his neck and his exposed collar bone. his plump lips were pulled into a rather lazy smirk in contrast to his typical scowl that you were used to him greeting you with. his sharp gaze flickering over you like he was already unimpressed.

it was entirely unfair how good he looked this early in the morning.

his lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smirk but wasn't exactly friendly either.

"you're late."

your eyes narrowed, glancing at your phone. "it's 9:02."

jay raised a brow. "exactly."

your jaw clenched. two minutes. he was seriously acting like two damn minutes was a crime.

you forced a tight-lipped smile. "where's the kid?"

before jay could respond, a small figure peeked out from behind him—a little boy, no older than five, with round cheeks and big, curious eyes.

jay made a cute kid, you'll give him that. jay placed a hand on his head, his expression softening just slightly. "this is seojun. seojun, this is __. she's going to be taking care of you today."

he steps aside, allowing you into his home. you admire the interior, mouth opening in awe as you take off your shoes.

seojun blinked up at you before stepping forward, arms crossed in a stance far too judgmental for a five-year-old.

"do you know how to make pancakes?"

what happened to 'hello, how are you?'

you hesitated for a moment, looking up at jay in confusion only for him to give you a 'well, do you?' look. "uh... sure?"

seojun narrowed his eyes. "do you actually, or are you lying?" jay let out a soft chuckle, and you immediately shot him a glare.

"i can make pancakes," you insisted, then quickly added, "probably."

seojun sighed like a man three times his age, shaking his head. "we're doomed."

jay patted his son's head, lips twitching. "good luck," he says. he reaches for his trench coat and bag that were set neatly by the door on a cushioned bench.

your eyes widened. "wait, you're leaving?"

"that's usually how work goes."

"you could at least pretend to care about abandoning your child with a stranger." 

jay gave you a pointed look. "you crashed into my car. this is me pretending. and i have 911 on speed dial." you opened your mouth to argue but stopped when you felt a tiny hand grip your wrist.

"you're wasting time," seojun said seriously, already pulling you toward the kitchen. "if you burn my breakfast, i'm calling the cops."

jay smirked as you shot him one last glare before getting dragged away by his tiny, opinionated son.

ten minutes later, and you were already regretting everything. you stumbled around the kitchen blindly, allowing the spawn of satan to boss you around.

"that's too much flour."

"are you sure you cracked that egg right?"

"why does the batter look like that?"

"are you even qualified to be in a kitchen?"

you turned slowly to seojun, who was sitting on the counter with his arms crossed, watching your every move with a level of scrutiny that made you nervous. truth be told, you had never made pancakes. you were going off memory of what your housemaids had put into the batter when you asked for pancakes one morning—happening to pay attention to them cooking.

"do you wanna make the pancakes?" you asked, raising a brow—getting tired of his attitude and critiques.

"no," he said simply. "i just don't want to die eating them."

you exhaled sharply. "listen here, you little—"

"language," seojun cut in, and you swore you heard jay's smug influence in that tone.

you were never having kids.

ever.

despite his relentless judgment, you somehow managed to make edible pancakes. you plated them with a dramatic flourish, sliding one in front of seojun before grabbing a plate for yourself. he stared at it for a long moment before finally taking a bite. you held your breath.

"...not bad," he muttered.

you gasped, pressing a hand to your chest dramatically. "was that a compliment?"

he rolled his eyes. "don't get used to it."

little shit.

you smirked, finally digging into your own breakfast, only to be interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.

jay was home. already?

he stepped into the kitchen, shrugging off his coat, his eyes scanning the scene in front of him. the not-burnt pancakes. seojun eating without complaint. and much to his disappointment—you, still alive.

his brow lifted in shock, "huh."

you glared at him, "what?"

jay leaned against the counter, arms crossed, "i figured you'd give up by now."

you scoffed. "sorry to disappoint."

seojun swallowed his bite, glancing between the two of you before shaking his head. "you guys fight too much. i thought adults were mature."

jay smirked. "we don't fight."

you scoffed. "we absolutely do."

"no, you just get mad when i say things that are true."

your eye twitched. "i literally hate you."

"see? fighting," seojun interrupts.

"oh my god."

seojun groaned, dropping his fork. "i liked it better when you were just burning pancakes."

jay chuckled, grabbing a coffee mug from the cabinet. "get used to it, kid."

you narrowed your eyes at him. if you weren't being forced into this, you would have walked out already.

but you were being forced into this.

which meant you had no choice but to deal with jay fucking park.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

babysitting, as you had quickly come to realize, was hell.

seojun was a tiny dictator with far too many opinions for a five-year-old. after breakfast, he interrogated you about your ability to tie shoelaces, your knowledge of dinosaurs, and whether or not you knew how to build a proper lego tower.

you did not, apparently.

"how do you not know how to build legos," he exclaims, his tiny hands waving in the air dramatically as he watches you go through a mental break down.

"well, i'm sorry. i didn't play with legos as a kid, i played with barbie's."

seojun twists his face in disgust, "barbie's? that's for girls."

you look at him with a deadpan expression, "i'm a girl."

"oh."

"what do you even do all day?" he asks, hands on his hips as he watched you struggle to connect two lego pieces. "i exist," you grumbled, scowling at the colorful bricks in front of you. "isn't that enough?"

seojun sighed. "you need better life skills."

"oh, i'm sorry, i didn't realize i was signing up for a performance review."

"i'm just saying," he shrugged, "i expected more from someone who's supposed to be an adult."

this kid.

"i'm only 23," you grumble to yourself. you exhaled sharply, deciding to ignore his judgment as you tried again to build something that wouldn't collapse within seconds.

but then—the sound of the front door opening.

jay was home. again.

you weren't sure why this surprised you. maybe because most ceos didn't have time to just pop in and out of their mansions all day. you begin to wonder, what was the point of having you babysit his son if he wasn't going to fuck off?

seojun perked up at the sound, immediately abandoning you and your lego struggles to run toward the living room. you followed, stopping just before the hallway, eyes landing on jay.

he was pulling off his coat, dressed in a fitted dress shirt and slacks, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal his forearms.

his oh so veiny and thick forearms.

not that you were looking.

except you were. damn it.

"why are you back?" you asked, forcing yourself to look anywhere else.

jay glanced at you, expression unreadable. "this is my house." answering you as if you were stupid and unable to comprehend basic knowledge.

"you know what i meant. don't you have stuff to do?" he walked past you, ruffling seojun's hair before grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.

"had a meeting nearby," he said, twisting the cap off. "figured i'd check in."

"to make sure i haven't killed your son yet?"

jay smirked. "basically."

you rolled your eyes. "wow. the trust is overwhelming."

before jay could respond, seojun tugged at his sleeve.

"dad, she sucks at legos."

you gasped, glaring at the boy. "excuse me?"

jay chuckled, taking a sip of his water before glancing at you, "i can't say i'm surprised."

oh, that was it.

"you know what?" you huffed, hands on your hips. "if i suck so much, why don't you do it?"

jay's brow lifted. "you want me to build legos?"

"i want you to prove you're better," you challenged. "unless you're all talk, park."

seojun gasped dramatically. "she's challenging you, dad."

jay stared at you.

you stared back.

then, to your absolute horror, he smirked. "fine," he said, setting his water down. "let's play."

oh.

you immediately regretted this.

twenty minutes later, and you had never felt so humiliated in your life.

"how the hell—" you gaped at the fully functional lego castle jay had built. "this is rigged."

jay leaned back, completely smug. "some of us have talent."

you glared. "some of us have jobs that should keep them too busy for this. old man."

seojun, sitting beside his dad, was thrilled.

"you suck at this," he declared.

"okay, you don't have to rub it in," you muttered, feeling sad that the older man had beat you.

jay stood, dusting off his hands. "guess that settles it. you suck, i don't. end of discussion."

you groaned. "i hate you."

jay smirked. "i know."

seojun clapped. "yay! dad wins!"

you slumped onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling. you were never agreeing to anything ever again. jay checked his watch. "i have another meeting. try not to lose to a five-year-old while i'm gone."

you didn't even have the energy to glare at him. but you did flip him off.

jay just laughed, disappearing out of your sight.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

babysitting seojun had somehow turned into babysitting jay's goddamn ego.

he was infuriating.

it had been a full week since you started watching seojun, and in that time, jay had developed an annoying habit of randomly showing up at home between meetings, offering you nothing but sarcasm, smugness, and unsolicited criticism.

"you can't cook."

"your attention span is worse than my son's."

"what do you actually contribute to society?"

you had held your tongue, barely, choosing to channel your rage into rolling your eyes so hard it was a miracle they hadn't gotten stuck.

but today? oh, today you were done playing nice.

"__, can we please go to the park?"

the boy had asked you nicely and hadn't bullied you all day, so you said yes as a reward. seojun had wanted to go to the park, so you took him. simple. no issues.

until jay called.

"where are you?" his voice came through the speaker, low and sharp.

did the fucker have a tracker on his kid or something?

"out," you answered, watching seojun run toward the swings. a small smile makes its way on your face as you watch him giggle and make himself comfortable on the swing. he waves his hands around, trying to catch your attention.

"push me, noona!" he squeals. you grin, making your way to seojun.

"out where?" you almost forget he was on the phone.

"does it matter?" you roll your eyes with a huff.

"jesus, __." his frustration crackled through the line. "you're with my kid. tell me where you are."

you sighed. "we're at the park five minutes from your house. calm down, dad of the year."

there was a pause."stay there. i'm coming."

he hung up before you could argue.

okay then...

you huffed, shoving your phone into your pocket.

"jay's being dramatic again," you muttered to yourself, giving the little boy a push as he squeals and giggles to himself.

"he does that a lot," seojun said wisely.

even his son agrees.

when jay arrived, he looked pissed. tight jaw. furrowed brows. stiff shoulders. his hair was tousled and his shirt was ruffled slightly as he stalked his way up to you.

hot. 

not the point.

"you didn't tell me you were taking him out," he said, crossing his arms. his biceps bulged in his shirt, your mouth watering slightly before seojun's giggles break you out of your trance.

you mentally slap yourself for thirsting over the man. "because it wasn't a big deal," you shot back.

"it is when you're responsible for a five-year-old who isn't yours."

you groaned. "god, you're so controlling."

jay took a step closer. "and you're reckless."

"it's a park, not a battlefield."

"it's about responsibility, __." his voice dropped, tone edged with irritation. "but i wouldn't expect you to understand that."

you froze. "excuse me?"

jay tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. "you heard me."

oh, hell no.

you stepped closer, chin lifting defiantly. "what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

his gaze flickered over your face before settling on your eyes. "it means you're a little spoiled brat who doesn't know how to take care of herself let alone another person."

you scoffed. "oh, i'm sorry, are you my father now?"

"god, no," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "i don't have the patience for that. but if i was, trust me, you'd be put in your place a long time ago."

you pause, your mind blanking at his words. "then stop acting like you know me."

jay let out a dry laugh. "oh, i know you just fine."

"bullshit."

his brows raised. "you think i don't see it? the way you pout when things don't go your way? how you expect everything to be handed to you? the way you act like the world owes you something?"

your hands clenched at your sides. "you don't know a damn thing about me."

fuck you. he did know you.

jay leaned in, his breath warm against your face. "i know enough."

your heartbeat spiked. not from anger. not entirely.

because up close, jay was all heat and intensity, his cologne clouding your senses, his voice a slow drag down your spine. your lips parted, a sharp retort on the tip of your tongue—but then he smirked.

that arrogant, knowing smirk.

and just like that, the spell broke.

you shoved him back, ignoring the way his chest was way too solid under your hands. "get over yourself, park." his expression darkens at your touch, the heat of your palms against his chest making his body twitch.

jay barely budged from your shove. but his smirk did fade.

his jaw tensed. his fingers curled into fists.

"watch yourself, __," he murmured, his voice darker than before. "you're playing a dangerous game."

so why did it feel like he wanted you to keep playing?

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

your entire body was on fire.

standing in jay's kitchen, chest heaving, hands curled into fists at your sides, you couldn't decide whether you wanted to slap him or...

no. not that.

for the past eight hours, you had been subjected to jay's controlling and condescending attitude. the constant comments, the smug little smirks, the way he seemed to take way too much pleasure in watching you struggle. you had tried, really tried, to keep your cool. 

but now, standing in his sleek, modern kitchen, you were done.

"are you kidding me?" you scoffed, slamming the fridge shut. "you don't even have juice? what kind of psychopath only stocks sparkling water and black coffee?"

you were crashing out over some juice, for fucks sake.

jay barely looked up from his position, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his broad chest. "a grown man who doesn't drink sugar like a child?"

your eyes narrowed. "oh, fuck off."

his lips twitched. "watch your mouth, princess."

princess. you hated when he called you that. hated the way it sent a pulse of heat through you, how it made your stomach twist and your thighs clench. you turned to glare at him. "why are you even here? don't you have some billionaire meeting to attend?"

he shrugged. "i cleared my schedule."

"why?"

jay's smirk deepened. "because i don't trust you alone in my house."

your jaw dropped. "excuse me? i think i've proved myself trust worthy in the last few weeks."

he pushed off the counter, stepping closer, his gaze lazy and unimpressed. "you're reckless. irresponsible. spoiled."

it was always the same few adjectives that he used to describe you, it was starting to grow old. your nails dug into your palms. "and you're a control freak." he hummed, pretending to consider. "maybe. but at least i don't go around crashing into people's cars and then whining when there are consequences."

oh, fuck him.

your nostrils flared. "it was a tiny scratch!"

jay arched a brow. "a tiny scratch that cost six figures."

you gritted your teeth. "maybe if you didn't drive a car worth more than some people's houses—"

"maybe if you learned how to drive—"

your breath came short, your heart pounding in your ears as you held yourself back from launching yourself onto jay and tackling him to the ground.

"you're so fucking full of yourself," you seethed, eyes locked on his, fury bubbling under your skin. "you walk around like you own the whole damn world." jay smirked, taking another step forward, forcing you to lift your head to keep glaring at him. "maybe because i do." you let out a humorless laugh, crossing your arms which, unbeknownst to you, pushed up your chest under your tank top. "god, you're insufferable." 

jay swallowed a groan, he held in everything in him whenever you'd show up in your tiny shirts and skirts. giving a clear opportunity for  his gaze to wander down your form.

he wondered if you wore those things intentionally— if you’d bend down in front of him with purpose, and genuinely, he was starting to think so. all the times you'd brush up against him when wearing your little skirts — how you'd push up your chest when you'd cross your arms in frustration — it was slowly driving him insane.

his eyes flickered over your posture, his smirk deepening as he watched your chest rise and fall heavily. "and yet, you're still here."

"i didn’t have a choice!" you snapped. "if it were up to me, i wouldn't be within ten miles of you."

he hummed, looking entirely too amused. "funny, considering the way you're looking at me right now."

your jaw clenched as you glared at him, "and how am i looking at you exactly?" jay tilted his head, studying you like he knew your every thought, every single fucking move you made. like he could see right through you— the way your breath came a little quicker, the way your fists weren't just curled in anger but in restraint of jumping his bones.

his voice dropped, soft but teasing. "like you want me."

your stomach flipped violently.

"fuck you," you spat.

his smirk didn't waver. "say the word, princess."

your whole body burned.

you wanted to wipe that arrogant smirk off his face, to shove him away, to yell at him until you couldn’t. but you also wanted to have him bend you over in the kitchen right then and now.

you sucked in a sharp breath, shaking your head. "this is ridiculous." jay took another step forward, erasing the last bit of space between you. his chest nearly brushed yours, his scent clean, musky, and undeniably him—flooding your senses.

thank god, seojun was asleep.

you refused to back down. refused to be the first to move. you maintain eye contact, your eyes flickering to his lips occasionally making your breath stutter.

his voice dropped lower, rough around the edges. "tell me to stop."

you should.

but you didn't.

because deep down, you knew this had been building for years. every heated glance, every sharp-tongued remark, every little touch that lasted a second too long—it had all been leading to this very moment.

you liked pushing him.

you weren't stupid, you knew there was an age gap—and that's what was holding him back.

12 years.

you were 23, and jay was 35.

so what?

it wasn't like he was some old man. if anything, he was in his prime—successful, powerful, hot as fuck. he carried himself like a man who had already conquered the world and wasn't pressed about proving anything to anyone.

except, apparently, to you.

because you made him nervous.

you saw it. the way his jaw clenched whenever you got too close, the way his eyes lingered on your legs when you crossed them or how they glanced down at your chest, the way he gripped his glass just a little tighter whenever you threw some bratty comment his way.

you knew he wanted you.

so why was he still fighting it? you knew the answer before you even asked yourself.

it was the age gap. he thought it was a big deal. he thought it mattered, and that pissed you off.

because to you, it wasn't about age. it was about power.

jay hated that he wanted you. hated that you weren't intimidated by him. hated that you saw right through his self-control. that you saw the way he stiffened when you brushed past him, saw the way his eyes darkened when you tested his patience.

you liked seeing him unravel.

he acted like he was above it, like he was some mature, responsible man who didn't get affected by a girl like you.

but you knew better.

because every time you got too close, every time you laughed at his scolding—you could see his self control break.

jay's fingers brushed against your waist, testing his limits.

your breath stuttered.

his smirk widened, "what's wrong?" he murmured. "cat got your tongue?"

"noona? dad?"

jay immediately pulls back as if your touch suddenly burned him. he looks at you in shock, as if you had made the first move.

little seojun had woken up from his nap, now stumbling into the kitchen half asleep. he immediately makes his way to you when he sees you cornered into the kitchens counters. "noona, i'm hungry," he mumbles before he's reaching his arms out indicating that he wants you to pick him up. you swallow harshly, leaning down to carry him before you shoot jay a sharp glare.

"how'd you sleep, jun?" you ask the boy, rubbing his back as he slowly regains his energy.

jay watches the scene with a heavy heart, seeing you and seojun get along was endearing. he never expected to see his son get close to another woman this way, let alone you—not after his wife.

"good. what were you and dad doing?"

you immediately whip your head around to stare at jay who looked equally as shocked.

"uhm."

"i was just helping, __ with her uh...hair. it got stuck in her necklace," jay fibbed, nervous that his son would catch onto his lies. he mentally curses himself for making his son so smart.

seojun just nods, still half asleep. "__, hair is long. pretty."

you smile down at seojun who has his head leaned against your chest. it was a rare occurrence that the little boy wasn't on your ass and teasing you, so you basked in his innocent silence.

"well, i'll be going now," jay coughs out lamely, turning around and walking out of the kitchen.

you roll your eyes, "what does junnie want to eat?"

"grilled cheese!"

"grilled cheese it is."

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

the day had been long and draining, filled with the usual chaos of babysitting seojun.

"noona, you burnt this side."

"the waters too cold, you're going to turn me into a popsicle!"

"it's a shame that you're not improving on your lego skills."

you had spent most of your day absorbed in your own thoughts, determined to keep your distance from jay's constant, prickly presence. you didn't know what was going between the two of you, but the constant teasing and proximity was starting to affect you—and you did not like that. but nothing could have prepared you for the moment when you saw his car pull into the driveway again.

it was late in the afternoon, your mind occupied with tidying up the living room after seojun's afternoon nap when you heard footsteps approaching. you looked up just in time to see jay step through the front door—this time, accompanied by a woman whose presence sent an unfamiliar twist of jealousy and confusion through your chest.

she was striking: tall, elegantly dressed, her dark hair falling perfectly around her shoulders. for a split second, your mind raced with possibilities. was she just a friend? a casual companion? or something more? the answer was not provided—jay made no attempt to introduce her with any clarity. he simply walked past you with a polite nod, the woman silently following at his side—not acknowledging your presence.

the bitter taste of jealousy swarmed you, she was exactly what you'd think jay would go for in a woman. beautiful and sophisticated.

you forced a neutral expression as you went about your tasks, though inside you seethed. you couldn't help but notice the way jay's hand briefly brushed against hers, the soft laughter they exchanged in the hallway, as if they shared an intimacy that you weren't meant to be a part of. every detail stung, and you kept your face impassive, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you riled up.

the rest of the night passed in a haze of quiet tension. seojun remained asleep in his room, unaware of the storm brewing between you and jay. you moved through your duties with mechanical efficiency, silently cursing the timing of his unexpected guest. every time you caught a glimpse of jay glancing in her direction or sharing a private smile, a bitter mixture of jealousy and humiliation washed over you. you had no idea why you felt this way—jay was never yours, and you were only here to babysit his son. yet, every little detail of that moment lingered painfully in your mind.

you wondered if the woman was seojun's mother, they shared a resemblance of some kind. jay had never mentioned seojun's mother before, and you had never asked. all you knew was jay was a single parent and the mother of his child was simply not in the picture.

unable to bear the emotional turmoil, you decided to leave earlier than usual. you slipped out of the house quietly, leaving a brief note on the counter that simply read, "i'm done for today." the cool night air hit your face as you got into the car, your driver picking you up.

the next morning, you arrived at jay's house for your babysitting shift, your mood still dark and distant. as usual, jay greeted you at the door with his characteristic calm, yet something in his eyes held a note of confusion. "good morning, __," he said, his tone neutral. "i'm glad you're here."

oh, are you now?

you gave a curt nod and stepped inside without making eye contact. throughout the day, you kept your responses short and your distance intentional. jay tried several times to spark small talk, commenting on seojun's behavior, asking how your night was—but you offered nothing more than a hum and silent stubborn stares.

by late afternoon, the tension had grown almost unbearable. the usual spark that might have accompanied a playful banter was replaced by a wall of silence that left the air thick. finally, after seojun was settled in his room for a nap, jay approached you in the quiet of the kitchen.

the silence in the room was palpable as you stood there, hands on your hips, glaring at jay. his presence in the room felt overwhelming, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp, never leaving yours. you were getting under his skin, and you could feel it.

the problem was, you liked it.

"you've been so difficult all day," he muttered, his voice low, almost a growl. "what's your problem?"

you crossed your arms, taking an exaggerated step back, trying to assert some space between you and him. the way his eyes followed you made the hairs on your neck stand up, and you hated it. you hated the effect he had on you. you hated how badly you wanted him even though you knew you never could.

"my problem? you're the one being impossible! i didn't sign up for this. i'm not your babysitter," you snapped, fighting the urge to back down. "your son isn't even the issue. it's you."

actually, it's the woman you brought home yesterday.

he raised an eyebrow, a smug smirk forming on his lips. "me? you're the one acting like a spoiled brat. maybe you should learn some patience."

your fingers clenched at your sides. the way he spoke to you, like he was trying to control you, was beyond irritating. you took another step back, but jay didn't move. instead, he shifted, closing the distance between the two of you in one fluid motion, trapping you against the counter. his chest was a mere inch from yours, his presence suffocating. it humoured you that you two always ended up on the same position, jay closing in on you.

"i don't need a bratty attitude right now. i've had a long day, and the last thing i need is you making it worse," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but the edge to it sent a shiver down your spine.

"long day? you've been home all day! what's even the point of me being here if you're going to be up my ass," you hiss.

"__, enough," his tone low as he warned you.

your heart raced as you stared up at him. "what are you going to do about it, huh?" you shot back, not wanting to back down. you didn't know what it was about the situation. maybe it was the tension, how he made you feel when he was this close, or maybe it was just that damned smirk on his face.

jay's eyes darkened, a spark of something dangerous in them. "i think you need a reminder of who's in charge here."

your breath hitched, and you could feel the heat building between you, but you refused to give in. you had enough, you didn't need to deal with him. you pushed past him, walking toward the kitchen, only to feel a firm grip on your arm—strong, unyielding.

"don't walk away from me," jay growled, spinning you around to face him. you were so close now, you could feel the heat radiating off of his body.

his grip on your arm was firm and rough, but not rough enough to where it hurt. his knuckles turned white as he tries to hold himself back from pushing you against the nearest wall and have you at his mercy.

you glared up at him, your face flushed from the proximity and the argument, but you knew you weren't going to let him win. "you don't control me, jay," you said, trying to keep the defiance in your voice.

he smirked again, stepping closer so your arm was planted against his chest, forcing you to tilt your head just enough to meet his gaze. the air between you crackled with uncontrollable tension, keeping you on your toes for god knows how long. "you keep acting like this, and i'll make sure you know exactly who's in charge."

your breath caught. something shifted in the way he looked at you—a warning, a promise, a dare. the line between anger and attraction was blurring, and you weren't sure where one ended and the other began.

before you could respond, he stepped forward, backing you against the kitchen counter, again. his hand found the counter beside your hip, trapping you in place. his gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, his jaw tense.

"look at me," he said, voice low, almost a rasp. "if you want to keep pushing my buttons, go ahead. but i'll make sure you regret it."

your heart raced in your chest, your breath shallow, but you kept the same defiant expression. "you think you can scare me, jay?"

he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "i don't need to scare you, __. i just need to show you what happens when you push too far."

you stood there, rooted to the spot — your body trembling under the weight of his words,  the unbreakable tension that had emerged between you two. his fingers brushed against your arm, and for a moment, you could feel the undeniable pull. the fight between you was reaching a breaking point, and you didn't know which way it would go.

but for the first time, you weren't sure if you wanted to fight anymore.

the tension was unbearable, and in the silence that followed, jay's hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. your body responded before your mind could—his lips brushed against yours in the smallest of touches, enough to send your pulse skyrocketing. he pulled back just as quickly, a dangerous smirk on his lips. "you're lucky i don't have time for this right now," he muttered, his tone sharp, but there was something else beneath it—a flicker of something more intense. "but don't think for a second this is over."

with that, he stepped back, giving you space to breathe again. you were left standing there, caught between fury and something else you couldn't quite name. your heart was racing, your mind spinning, but you refused to let him see how much he affected you. you turned away, trying to steady your breath, but the tension between you two was getting overbearing. it wasn't over. you both knew that.

but one thing was for sure—you were both playing a dangerous game. and neither of you was ready to stop.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

the kitchen was quiet, the only sound being the slow, rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. you leaned your head against your hand, staring off into space and you rethink all of your life decisions.

you had spent more time at jay's home than your own for the last month—not that you minded. as much as you hated to admit, seojun had grown on you. what you hated was how you didn't get to enjoy your summer how you originally wished, with your friends—getting drunk and high, maybe dosing on random shit at some frat party.

minho had been blowing up your phone for the last few weeks, asking, no—begging to hang out.

"__, why have you left me?" he groaned dramatically into your ear when you finally picked up his calls.

you rolled your eyes, "i told you i was going to be trapped, but no, you didn't want to take me seriously."

"i didn't think that you'd have any days off. can you ask for one day off, please? i miss my best friend," he pleas. if you could see him right now, he'd most definitely be flashing puppy dog eyes at you.

you sighed, "fine, i'll try to ask jay. but if he says no and i get scolded, i swear to god.” you'd ask jay if you could have the weekend off when he got back home.

you sat perched on one of the barstools, one knee drawn up, the other foot lazily swinging. your fingers traced the rim of a glass of water you hadn't even taken a sip from. seojun had gone to bed over an hour ago, his tiny body curled up under his blankets, blissfully unaware that his father still wasn't home.

you, on the other hand, were all too aware.

your phone sat face-up on the counter beside you, dark and undisturbed. no messages. no missed calls. nothing.

jay was late. really late.

your brows knitted together in irritation. you weren't sure why you cared so much—it wasn't your problem if he wanted to stay out all night. you weren't his wife, his girlfriend, or even someone he owed an explanation to. you were just the babysitter, forced into the role by your father's guilt. but something about his absence, about the way he hadn't even bothered to check in, made irritation simmer beneath your skin.

your knee bounced impatiently as you stared at the front door, waiting.

then, finally—the sound of keys jingling.

the door swung open, and jay stepped inside, looking unfairly put together for someone who had clearly spent the night out. his dark button-up was slightly unbuttoned at the top, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal his forearms. his black dress pants hung low on his hips, and his hair—slightly tousled like he'd run his fingers through it. he looked so good it made your stomach twist in frustration.

he barely even looked at you at first. instead, he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he kicked off his shoes. it was only when he turned toward the kitchen that his eyes finally met yours.

he slowed to a stop.

you pretended not to notice the way his gaze flickered down, the momentary pause as his eyes dragged over your frame. you were only wearing a thin tank top and an old pair of shorts—the kind you only ever wore to bed, soft and barely covering your thighs. but the way jay's eyes darkened for just a split second, the way his jaw tensed, told you everything you needed to know.

he was flustered.

good.

he covered it quickly, masking whatever flicker of thoughts had just crossed his mind with that insufferable smirk of his.

"you're still up?" he asked, his voice as smooth as ever.

you rolled your eyes, shifting in your seat just enough to make the hem of your shorts ride up slightly. "obviously."

jay's gaze flickered downward again, just for a second. you caught it, and your lips twitched. "what, were you waiting for me?"

you scoffed, tilting your head. "don't flatter yourself. but since i'm responsible for your kid while you're off doing god knows what, yeah, i was expecting you to come home at a reasonable hour." jay exhaled sharply, finally stepping fully into the kitchen. he walked past you to the fridge, and you didn't miss the way his shoulders squared slightly—like he was trying to shake off whatever thoughts had just plagued his mind.

"seojun was fine, wasn't he?" he asked, grabbing a bottle of water and twisting the cap off.

"that's not the point," you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest. "the least you could do is let me know when you're coming home late. or is common courtesy too much to ask from a man like you?"

"plus, what's this sudden trust coming from? just a week ago you talked about how you had to monitor me because you didn't trust me to take care of seojun." jay let out a low chuckle, taking a slow sip of water before leaning back against the counter.

"jesus, you're dramatic," he muttered, shaking his head. "were you worried about me?" completely ignoring the other things you had said. 

you clenched your jaw. "no," you lied smoothly. "i just don't appreciate being left in the dark. i'm not some live-in nanny, jay. if i'm stuck here, i at least deserve to know when you're coming home. look at the time, it's 1am, what time do i even go home?” his tongue ran over his bottom lip as he tilted his head slightly. "you're acting like i abandoned you here with seojun."

"you might as well have."

jay exhaled through his nose, clearly annoyed now. "you really don't let shit go, do you?" you smiled sweetly. "not when it's my time being wasted."

he shook his head, muttering something under his breath. then, after a beat, he glanced back up at you, his gaze sharp and unreadable."or maybe," he said, voice slower, "this isn't about me coming home late at all."

your stomach twisted, but you refused to let your expression falter. jay took a step closer, arms crossing over his chest. "maybe this is about something else." you scoffed. "like what?" his lips twitched like he knew something you didn't. "like the other night," he murmured. your brows furrowed, but he didn't give you time to respond. 

"you're mad about the woman i brought home." your body tensed before you could stop it, and that slight reaction was all jay needed to confirm his suspicions. his smirk widened.

"i don't care who you bring home," you said quickly, hoping he wouldn't call you out on how unconvincing you sounded. "mm," jay hummed, unconvinced. "so if i told you that woman was mi-na, my sister, you wouldn't feel stupid for being jealous?"

you blinked. the irritation in your chest fizzled out for a moment, replaced by confusion. "your—your sister?" jay's grin widened. "yeah. my little sister. the one who came to visit for the weekend." your face burned. you had spent the past two days brooding over nothing.

but you refused to let him win.

"whatever," you muttered, crossing your arms again—the action causing your tits to spill out of from the top. "i wasn't jealous." his eyes immediately zero in on your chest, swallowing harshly before he lets out a chuckle—stepping closer. you could feel the warmth of his body now, his scent lingering in the space between you. "yeah?" he murmured, voice dipping. "then why are you blushing?"

"i'm not."

jay reached out, his fingers grazing the hem of your shorts before ghosting over your hip. his touch was barely there, but it made your breath hitch, "you sure?"

your heart pounded. your skin tingled where his fingers had been. but you refused to back down. "you're insufferable," you gritted out. jay smirked, his fingers teasing along your hip before pulling away just as quickly. "and yet, you're still here."

"forced to be here," you mutter under your breath, but jay heard it. your body was on fire, your skin still warm from where he had touched you. but you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a reaction. "i hate you," you muttered, turning away. jay only chuckled, voice rich with amusement. "whatever you say, princess."

you rolled your eyes at him, getting off of the barstool as you make your way to the living room to grab your belongings and change out of your clothes—preparing to go home. "wait. stay the night, it's late," he says coolly, his eyes racking down your frame as you bend down to grab your things.

your shorts had bunched over your ass, your legs on full display to his hungry eyes. jay mentally slaps himself for his gaze, but it continues to linger. you scoff, "and who's fault is that?" jay sighs, his brows furrowing, "quit being a brat. i'll get a room set up for you," and with that he walks away—setting his decision into stone.

as much as you wanted to argue, to remind him that you had your own place to go back to. jay had already walked off, leaving no room for discussion. "asshole," you muttered under your breath, but you still set your bag down on the couch with an annoyed sigh.

jay's house was big—too big for just him and seojun. it had that cold, modern look, with spotless marble floors and sleek furniture, the kind that felt more like a showroom than a home. you doubted he spent much time here outside of work and parenting, and somehow, that made it worse.

you waited a few minutes before deciding to move, begrudgingly heading toward the guest room he'd set up for you. it was next to his, with seojun just down the hall. as you stepped inside, you had to admit—he at least had good taste. the bed was huge, covered in soft gray sheets, and the room smelled faintly of clean linen.

but there was one problem.

the pillows sucked. they were flat and thin, one would think that someone as rich as jay had good quality pillows. with a dramatic huff, you rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling before finally giving in to your annoyance. you deserved at least one decent pillow if you were being forced to stay here. without much thought, you swung your legs off the bed and padded down the hall toward jay's room. the door was slightly ajar, and you didn't bother knocking—if he was going to boss you around all night, you had no problem returning the favor.

"hey, do you have—"

you stopped dead in your tracks, mouth suddenly dry.

jay was standing near his dresser, shirtless, his toned back facing you as he ruffled a towel through his damp hair. he must have just taken a shower because his skin still glistened slightly, water droplets trailing down the sharp lines of his shoulders and back. your eyes dipped lower, taking in the way his sweatpants hung low on his hips, revealing just enough of the defined v-line that disappeared beneath the waistband. you should've looked away. you should've turned around and walked out like you hadn't just shamelessly checked him out.

but you didn't.

instead, you stood there, gripping the doorframe a little too hard as heat crept up your neck. jay finally noticed your presence, turning slightly to glance over his shoulder. his dark eyes flickered with amusement as he caught the way you quickly averted your gaze.

"something you need?" his voice was deeper, rougher, probably from exhaustion, but it still sent an embarrassing shiver down your spine. you cleared your throat, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "i need another pillow." his lips twitched, and you hated the way his smirk made your stomach flip. "you barged into my room for a pillow?"

"it's not my fault the ones in the guest room suck," you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest. jay turned fully now, walking toward you with that lazy confidence that always managed to get under your skin. you took an instinctive step back, but he reached the doorway before you could fully escape, his tall frame now blocking your path.

"you always this demanding, or do you just save it for me?" he mused, tilting his head slightly as his eyes dragged over your face, down to the curve of your throat, lingering there a second too long. your breath caught, but you refused to let him have the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. "i wouldn't have to demand anything if you had done it right the first time."

jay let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "always got an attitude." you were about to snap back when you noticed his gaze flicker downward, his smirk faltering for just a second. it was quick, barely noticeable, but you caught it—the way his eyes lingered on your tank top. his eyes zeroed in on your chest, you had taken off your bra when you got into the room—your nipples poking out of the thin fabric.

you raised an eyebrow, a slow smirk tugging at your lips now. "something wrong?" jay's jaw ticked, and just like that, his expression was back to that unreadable mask. "go to bed, __." you should've listened. you should've taken the damn pillow he handed you and walked out. but the way his voice had dropped an octave, the way his fingers had brushed against yours when he passed it to you, sent a thrill through you that you weren't ready to let go of just yet.

so instead, you lingered.

"why? am i making you nervous?" you teased, tilting your head up at him, watching for any crack in his composure. jay let out a low breath, his hand gripping the doorframe as he leaned in just slightly. "trust me," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, "if you were making me nervous, you'd know." the air between you was heavy, thick with something unspoken, something that neither of you were willing to address just yet.

but it was there. and it wasn't going anywhere.

jay finally took a step back, running a hand through his still-damp hair before nodding toward the hall. "go to bed, __." this time, you listened. but as you walked back to your room, pillow in hand, you couldn't ignore the way your skin still burned from his gaze. and from the way he had looked at you, you knew you weren't the only one feeling it.

it was just a matter of time before one of your cracked.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

the sizzle of bacon filled the kitchen as you flipped another pancake onto the growing stack. you had seriously improved on your cooking skills in the last month you had been taking care of seojun. the pancakes were round, crispy and the perfect shade of golden brown.

the morning light streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a golden glow over the countertops. you had woken up early, deciding to make seojun's favorite breakfast before he got up.

but, apparently, you weren't the only one awake.

a warm presence appeared behind you, and before you could react, a large hand reached out toward the plate. without looking, you smacked it away. "ow," jay muttered, shaking his hand. "what the hell?"

"it's for seojun." you barely spared him a glance as you poured more pancake batter into the pan. jay let out a low, sleepy sigh, ruffling his already messy hair. his dark strands fell over his forehead, making him look effortlessly good despite just rolling out of bed. dressed in sweatpants and a fitted t-shirt, he leaned against the counter, watching you with a lazy gaze.

curse him for looking so good.

"so i don't get breakfast?" he asked, a small pout gracing his face. 

"nope," you said simply, reaching for another egg. he scoffed, pushing off the counter to stand beside you, crowding your space. "wow. what kind of babysitter are you? neglecting the person who actually pays you." you rolled your eyes. "oh, please. you don't pay me."

"you live in my house, eat my food, use my water." his voice was dripping with smugness. "sounds like payment to me." you narrowed your eyes at him. "your house? last i checked, my dad is the reason you even have half your company's assets."

jay just smirked, watching the way your brows furrowed in irritation. he loved getting under your skin. before you could throw another insult his way, you decided to change the subject. "anyway, i wanted to ask if i could have the weekend off. i wanna go out with my friends." jay, who had just taken a sip of his coffee, barely reacted. "fine."

you blinked. that was easy. too easy.

"minho's driving, so i don't have to worry about taking my car, that means no chance for accident. he's a pretty good driver, i actually learned how to drive from him," you added casually, turning back to the stove. jay froze. the silence was thick enough to make you glance over your shoulder. his expression had darkened. his grip on his coffee mug tightened.

"he?"

you frowned. "yeah. minho. my friend." jay set his mug down slowly, the sound of ceramic meeting marble eerily sharp. "no."

you turned fully to face him. "no?"

jay leaned against the counter, his posture too relaxed, too controlled. but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. "you're not going."

your brows shot up. "why not?" jay took another sip of his coffee, completely unfazed. "i need you here."

you scoffed. "for what?"

"seojun likes having you around."

"seojun will be fine for one weekend,” you retorted. jay tilted his head, pretending to think. "hmm. no, i don't think so." 

you let out an exasperated laugh. "you literally just said i could go." jay shrugged. "i changed my mind."

"bullshit," you snapped. jay's eyes flickered with something dangerous. "watch your mouth."

you rolled your eyes. "you're just mad because minho is a guy." jay didn't react at first. then, slowly, he placed his coffee cup down and took a step closer to you.

got him.

you refused to back away. "you don't know what you're talking about," he said, voice low, controlled. "don't i?" you shot back, all of sudden feeling smug. "it's not my fault you can't stand the idea of me spending time with another man." 

jay's jaw ticked. "this isn't about me."  you let out a humorless laugh. "sure it isn't." he stepped even closer, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet his gaze. the space between you was nonexistent, his body radiating heat.

"you think i care that much?" his voice was nearly a whisper now, but there was an edge to it. "you think i'm losing sleep over who you spend your time with?" you smirked. "seems like it."

you were right.

jay's fingers curled into fists at his sides. you could feel the restrained tension rolling off of him in waves. "you're not going," he said again, this time firmer. you crossed your arms. "and what if i do?"

jay exhaled through his nose, his patience running thin. "you won't," he said simply, his confidence making your skin prickle with irritation. "watch me," you challenged. jay's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smirk but wasn't amusement either. "you really wanna test me right now?" the way he said it sent a shiver down your spine, but you refused to show weakness.

"maybe i do," you whispered. jay's gaze dropped to your lips for the briefest second before he clenched his jaw and stepped back, running a hand through his hair. "fine," he muttered, grabbing his coffee. "do whatever the hell you want."

you frowned. that was... unexpected.

he turned on his heel and walked toward the living room. but then, just as he reached the doorway, he glanced over his shoulder. "but don't come crawling back when you realize no one else can handle you like i do."

and with that, he disappeared down the hall, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, fists clenched.

jay cursed at himself for wearing his feels on his sleeve. it felt wrong for him to feel the way he did about you. jay hated thinking about the numbers.

12 years. he was 12 years older than you. it shouldn't have mattered.

right?

jay had spent his whole life doing whatever the hell he wanted, without a single care for what people thought. he made decisions with confidence, stood by them, and never looked back. but with you? you made him hesitate.

you were 23. young, reckless, still figuring out life. and jay? he was 35, a father, a man who had seen and done everything—a man who should have known better. but fuck, he didn't feel old when he was around you.

you were a problem. not because you were immature. no, that wasn't it. you were sharp, stubborn as hell, constantly challenging him, constantly making him feel like he was the one being tested. but that was the problem.

you weren't a little girl with naive ideas about love and life. you were a grown woman, a dangerous woman, who looked at him like he was something worth teasing, something worth playing with.

and he let you. god, he let you.

you tested his patience like no one else. you talked back, you got under his skin, you pushed him to his limit. you walked around his house like you belonged there, like you belonged to him. in those tiny shorts and tight tops, throwing him looks you knew would drive him up the wall.

it wasn't just the way you looked. it was the way you knew. you knew exactly what you were doing to him, and jay hated himself for liking it. because he shouldn't want you.

he shouldn't want you the way he did—shouldn't think about you at night. he shouldn't imagine what it would be like to take what you clearly wanted to give him. he told himself, over and over, that it was just a stupid attraction. that it was nothing more than an itch he could ignore. he had to hold himself back from giving into your temptations every time he had you cornered, telling himself that it was wrong.

but his restraint was starting to fall weak. 

but then you'd bite your lip and roll your eyes at him. or you'd throw some snarky remark his way, just to get a reaction. or worse—you'd act like he wasn't a threat at all, like he was just some older guy who didn't intimidate you in the slightest.

it fucking killed him. because the truth was, the age gap only mattered when it worked against him. when it made him hesitate. when it made him question himself.

but when you smiled at him like that—when you pushed his buttons and made him feel like a man, not a father, not a boss, not some guy who should be acting his age.

he didn't give a fuck about the numbers. and he surely didn't give a fuck about some boy who thought he could have you, when you belonged here—with him.

this wasn't over. not by a long shot.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

you had been looking forward to this all week.

a night out. no responsibilities. no bratty five-year-old testing your patience. no jay fucking park. the music was loud, the bass thrumming through your body as you nursed your drink. the club was packed, neon lights flickering against a sea of bodies, and for once, you could finally breathe.

"so," minho drawled, draping an arm over your shoulders, "you gonna tell me why you've been checking your phone like a girl waiting for a text from her sneaky link?" you rolled your eyes, shoving his arm off. "i have not been checking my phone."

minho gave you a knowing look, sipping his beer. "uh-huh. so you're just casually looking down at your bag every five minutes? right." you huffed, taking a sip of your cocktail instead of responding. but then, as if on cue, your phone buzzed again.

you peeked at the screen.

jay (23 missed calls).

you turned the phone face down. minho whistled. "jesus. who the hell is blowing you up like that?" 

"no one important," you muttered. minho smirked. "sure. that's why you look like you're about to throw your phone across the club." 

"it's just—" you sighed, running a hand through your hair. "it's jay. he thinks he owns my time." minho raised an eyebrow. "the rich, single-dad jay?"

"the asshole jay," you corrected.

"so why don't you answer?"

"because i'm off tonight," you said, exasperated. "and whatever he wants can wait." minho chuckled. "damn. he must be real desperate if he's calling you this much."

you were about to brush it off, but then another buzz. you groaned. "i swear to god, if this man does not—"

but then you read the message.

jay: seojun has a fever. it's bad. he keeps asking for you.

your stomach dropped. "shit," you muttered, grabbing your bag.

minho frowned. "wait, seriously? you're actually going?" 

"it's not for him," you said quickly. "it's for seojun." minho sighed, grabbing your wrist before you could dart off. "you really think this isn't a setup?"

you hesitated.

minho's voice softened. "look, i don't know this dude. but if he's calling this much, and now suddenly the kid is sick on the one night you're not there? sounds sketchy as hell."

"minho," you sighed. "i don't have time for this." minho raised his hands in surrender. "fine, fine. but if he's lying, you owe me a drink."

"deal." you had practically sprinted out of the club, gotten into a cab, and rushed over in record time.

when you got to jay's house, you were pissed. the second you stepped inside, you knew something was off. the house was dimly lit, silent. too silent. you stormed down the hall toward seojun's room, but before you could even reach for the door the sound of clapping stops you.

slow, deliberate claps echoed behind you. you turned, and there he was. jay park, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, wearing a smirk that made your blood boil. "look who finally decided to show up."

your heart was still racing, the adrenaline from the panic you felt for seojun's health still surging through your veins. but now, it wasn't panic—it was anger. "what the hell is wrong with you?" his voice was low, rough, his grip firm around your wrist as he yanked you away from seojun's room and into his own—slamming the door shut behind you.

your heart pounded, still catching up to everything. rushing out of the party, speeding over here, the sickening worry that had settled in your gut the moment you saw his message about seojun. but now, standing here, looking at him, you soon realized. seojun wasn't sick.

the house was quiet, the lights dim. you peeked past jay, your brows furrowing. "where's seojun?"

"asleep," he said, his tone maddeningly casual. your eyes snapped back to his. "what?" jay didn't let go of your wrist, his grip tightening just slightly as he stepped closer. "he's asleep," he repeated, slower this time, like he was spelling it out for you.

the realization hit, sharp and cold. "you lied to me?" his jaw clenched. "what was i supposed to do, huh?" you yanked your arm back, glaring. "i don't know, maybe not fucking manipulate me?"

jay's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smirk, but held just enough arrogance to make you want to slap it off his face. "and if i didn't? you would've stayed out all night with him?" you exhaled sharply through your nose, shaking your head. "are you serious?" jay stepped forward, closing the space between you in an instant. your breath caught when your back hit the wall, his body mere inches from yours.

"tell me," he murmured, voice lower now, softer—but no less dangerous. "did he touch you?" your stomach flipped, heat rushing up your spine. "minho is my friend," you gritted out.

jay's hand lifted, fingers brushing against your chin. "did he touch you?" he asks again, his tone threatening. you turned your head away, jaw clenching. "you're insane." his fingers caught your chin, gently but firmly turning your face back to his. "i don't like repeating myself, sweetheart."

the pet name sent something electric through your veins. you hated that it did. "and i don't like being controlled," you shot back, voice sharp.

jay let out a quiet chuckle, dark and humorless. "funny, because you sure came running when i told you to." your face burned. you hated that he was right. his thumb brushed over your bottom lip, almost absentmindedly, like he was testing something. his eyes flickered down for a fraction of a second, then back up. you hated that even now, with how pissed you were, your body still reacted to him. the way he carried himself, the way he looked at you, the way his voice dipped just low enough to make your stomach flip. you shook your head, trying to push past him, but jay grabbed your wrist, pulling you back.

"let me go," you snapped. "or what?" his grip didn't tighten, but he didn't let go either. "you gonna run back to him?"

your brows furrowed. "what?" jay exhaled a short, humorless laugh. "minho," he bit out, like the name itself annoyed him. "you think i don't know where you were? at the club. surrounded by men. men that would eat you alive if you gave them the chance."

you glared. "you don't get to be mad about that." his eyes darkened. "the hell i don't." you tugged your arm back, finally breaking free. "you're not my fucking boyfriend, jay. i don't owe you anything."

his jaw ticked, but he didn't say anything. you scoffed. "god, this is ridiculous. i'm leaving." before you could take another step, jay moved. one second you were standing there, and the next, your back was against the wall, jay towering over you, his hands planted beside your head.

"you're not going anywhere," he murmured. your breath hitched. "you ran the second you thought seojun needed you," he said, voice lower now, rougher. "but what about when i need you, huh?"

your chest tightened. "you—" jay leaned in, his lips barely an inch from yours. "you think i don't see it?" your pulse pounded against your skin. "see what?" you respond, almost breathless. his hand lifted, fingers brushing over your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his, "how bad you want me."

your breath stuttered. "you can play your little games all you want, sweetheart," jay murmured. "but we both know where you belong." 

"you belong here," he murmured. "not out there, playing games with some guy who doesn't even know what to do with you." your breath hitched. "and you do?" jay didn't answer immediately. he just looked at you—really looked at you. his hand moved, sliding down the side of your neck, fingers grazing over your pulse point, feeling the rapid beat beneath his touch.

then, he leaned in, voice barely above a whisper. "you have no idea."

your breath hitched. he was so close now, his cologne wrapping around you, his body heat pressing into yours. you swallowed hard. "you don't own me, jay."

his jaw ticked. "maybe not." his gaze dropped, trailing down your frame. you were still in your club outfit—tight dress, heels, your skin still warm from the alcohol. his tongue darted out, running over his bottom lip. "but you still came running, didn't you?"

your pulse pounded in your ears, attempting to move out of his hold only for him to pin you down with his hips. "you're not leaving," he murmured, voice dangerously low. you lifted your chin defiantly. "watch me."

jay exhaled a sharp laugh, shaking his head. "you're so fucking difficult."

"because i don't let you control me?" you shot back. he tilted his head. "because you pretend you don't like it."

your stomach flipped. jay leaned in, so close his breath ghosted over your cheek. "you want me to let you go?" he asked, his tone deceptively soft.

your throat bobbed. his fingers traced the inside of your wrist, featherlight, sending shivers up your arm. "say the word," he whispered. "say you don't like it when i tell you what to do."

your heart hammered against your ribs. but you didn't say anything.

because you didn't want to lie.

jay smirked. "thought so." his thumb brushed against your jaw, tilting your chin up. your lips were inches apart. you were still angry. furious. but that fury burned into something else, something hotter, something more dangerous. you should leave. you should shove him away.

but you didn't move. neither did he.

and in that moment, you both knew. you weren't going anywhere.

his eyes narrow down to your lips, something switches in his gaze—almost as if he had finally had enough.

"fuck this," he mutters lowkey before he's crashing his lips onto yours. your eyes widen in surprise, feeling his lips mold onto your own as you stand frozen in shock. you feel jay run his hands down your side, situating themselves on your ass as he squeezes your fleshy mounds. you gasp into his mouth, jay seizing the opportunity to push his tongue into your mouth.

you moan when you feel jay grip your bare ass, lifting your short dress up to your hips—your arms wrapping around his neck as you push yourself up against him. "you think you can go see other men while you spend your days with me and my son?" he says against your lips, his grip on you getting rougher as pushes your dress up higher. you groan against him, "minho is my—" you try to explain only for a sharp smack to interrupt you.

he had spanked you.

your mouth drops open in shock, "what the f—" jay's hauling you up, your legs now wrapped around his waist as he pushes you down on his painfully hard cock. "i don't care who he is. you're not to be alone with another man," he says gruffly, dropping you down onto his bed.

you're flat against his soft linen sheets, legs now spread apart roughly by jay who stares down at you with a dark glint in his eyes. you glare up at him, breathless. "you can't tell me what to do." jay scoffs, leaning over you, one hand gripping your thigh as he spreads you open further. "the hell i can't," he murmurs, voice low and rough. "you think you can act like a brat, push me to my limit, and then run off to another man?"

"it's not like that," you argue, voice shaking, but he just smirks, eyes flickering down to where your dress is bunched up around your waist. "doesn't matter," he says, dragging a rough hand up your thigh. "you're mine. do you understand that?" you bite your lip, refusing to answer, which only makes jay angrier. he grips your chin, forcing you to look at him. "say it," he demands. "say you're mine."

you tilt your head defiantly. "make me." jay lets out a dark chuckle, his grip tightening. "oh, you don't want me to do that, sweetheart." he leans in, lips brushing against your ear. "because if i do, you won't be able to walk out of here, much less run to him."

"yeah right," you scoff, taking his threats lightly but your heart still stutters in your chest. his chest heaves up and down erratically, as if he was fighting himself from what he was about to do to you. his expression turning grim at his words yet his eyes sparking up in excitement. he finally had you where he wanted you, and not even god could pull him away.

he reaches to pull off his shirt, your mouth watering when you see his toned abdomen come into sight. jay took pride in his body, eating well and working out consistently to maintain himself throughout his years.

he grabs your hips roughly, a small squeal leaving your mouth when he drags you to the edge of the bed—your core connecting with his crotch. your legs wrap around his waist automatically while he kneels on the bed—looming over you. jay's hand grips your waist firmly as he stares down at you, his jaw tight with frustration. "you really don't listen, do you?"

you smirk up at him, still feeling defiant. "i listen just fine. i just don't take orders from you." his eyes darken at your words, and before you can react, his palm comes down sharply against your thigh. the sharp sting makes you yelp, your body jerking against the bed.

your mouth drops open in shock. "jay, what the—" another smack lands, this time on the curve of your ass, harder. your whole body tenses, the heat from his palm lingering. "you don't take orders from me?" jay scoffs, pushing your legs off of him before he's flipping you over and dragging you up so you're on your hands and knees—arching your back just the way he wants. "then why do you keep acting out just to get my attention?"

"i'm not—ah!" you gasp when another slap lands, harder than before, making your skin burn. jay leans over you, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "minho doesn't get to see you like this," he growls, his hand smoothing over the spot he just punished, before giving you another harsh slap.

smack!

smack!

smack!

your fingers clutch at the sheets as you let out a broken whimper. "you belong to me," he murmurs, his voice thick with possession. "and i'm going to make sure you never forget that." he looks down at the sight in front of him, just how he had always wanted you to end up. bent over for him, battling submission as he forces you into it. your behind was a bright red, your panties doing a poor job at hiding your soaked core.

"fuck," jay groans, his palm smoothing over the burning skin of your ass before landing another sharp slap. you jolt, gasping, but his grip on your waist keeps you from moving an inch. "such a fucking brat. but you love this, don't you?" you bite your lip, refusing to answer, but jay sees right through you. his fingers trail up your spine, sending shivers down your back. "you fight me, you push me, but at the end of the day—" he lands another slap, harder this time, making you cry out. "—you always end up right here."

his voice dips lower, rough with something dangerous. something raw. "you don't even realize what you do to me, do you?" he mutters, his lips brushing against your temple as he pulls you up against his chest. his breath is hot against your ear. "watching you play house with me and seojun. cooking breakfast, tucking him into bed, walking around my home like you belong here." his hands tighten on your hips, and you can feel how hard he is, pressing against you with no shame.

his lips graze your jaw. "you love it too, don't you?"

"jay—"

"shh." his grip slides up, fingers curling around your throat—not tight, just enough to remind you who's in control. "you act like you don't, but i see the way you are with him. how soft you get when you think no one's watching. how you look at me when i come home late and you're the first thing i see standing in my kitchen." he chuckles darkly, dragging his lips down your neck. "you play the role so fucking well, baby. the perfect little wife—except you're still a goddamn brat." his confession makes your breath hitch. you can feel it now, how deep this runs for him. how much he's wanted this—wanted you.

"you think i don't see the way you tease me?" jay murmurs against your skin, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. "walking around my house in those tiny fucking shorts, looking at me with those defiant little eyes, making me chase after you like some desperate idiot." his hand lands sharp smack on your thigh, and you let out a whimper before you can stop yourself. jay groans, gripping your throat even tighter. "fuck, i love that sound. love every little thing about you."

his words send a thrill through you, heat pooling low in your stomach. "i love this, baby," he murmurs, voice thick with hunger. "love your bratty little mouth. love putting you in your place. love how you fight me just so i can take you apart like this." he kisses the corner of your mouth, his grip firm, unrelenting. "and you love it too, don't you?" your breath is shaky, but you refuse to give in so easily. "i hate you," you whisper, even as your body melts against his. jay chuckles, dark and knowing. "you hate how much you love this."

"you're delusional."

his hands roam lower, his lips finding yours in a heated, possessive kiss. you're drowning in him, in the fire between you. and as much as you want to fight it, you already know—jay park always gets what he wants. and right now, what he wants is you. he grips your arms, a small whine escaping your mouth when he manhandles them behind you. he pushes you back down, "oh, princess. you're going to eat your own words."

you feel something wrap around your wrists, your eyes widening when you realize what he was doing. he had taken off his belt, wrapping the leather material around your arms to stop you from moving around. everything happens so quick, your pushed flat against your back with jay now face to face with your throbbing core. his fingers dug into the plush of your thigh, holding them back from closing. "look at you," he coos softly, looking at giant wet patch on your panties as you squirm in shame.

"fuck you," you spit weakly. he smirks, "we'll get to that, princess. we have all night." you mewl when you feel him lick up your covered slit, his tongue tracing up your cunt as he digs into your thighs. you buck your hips up, jay's laughter making you stop your actions. "so fucking needy. you must be so used to getting what you want, hm? my spoiled bratty princess," he hums.

you huff, "do it." he raises his eyebrows in faux confusion, "do what?"

you rolls your eyes, "take them off and eat my pussy."

his smug expression drops at your bratty words, "seems like you haven't learned anything from earlier." you open your mouth to retort only for a sharp pain between your legs to stop you. you squeal out in surprise, jay landed another strong smack to your centre. "it's okay, by the end of this i'll have you begging and crying. then you'll finally behave yourself."

your body jolts at the sharp sting between your legs, a breathy gasp slipping past your lips before you can stop it. jay tilts his head, watching you with dark amusement, his hands never loosening their grip on your thighs. "there she is," he murmurs, fingers tracing slow, teasing circles along your skin. "i was starting to think you'd never stop running your mouth." your wrists pull against the restraint of his belt, but it's useless—he's tied you up too well. the frustration bubbles in your chest, mixing with the unbearable heat pooling in your stomach.

"you're such an ass," you hiss, glaring up at him. jay only smirks, completely unfazed. "and yet, you're still here. still dripping for me." his fingers ghost over the soaked fabric of your panties, pressing down just enough to make you whimper. you try to twist away from his touch, refusing to give him the satisfaction, but jay isn't having it. he grips your hips firmly, keeping you in place, his strength making it clear that resistance is pointless.

"you keep fighting me like you have a choice," he scoffs, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. "but we both know how this ends, don't we, princess?" your breathing is ragged, your body betraying you as he drags his lips higher. your skin burns where he touches, and the worst part is—you want more. but you refuse to admit it.

"you're crazy," you bite out, even as your body shudders at his touch. jay chuckles, his breath hot against your core. "am i?" his fingers curl around the waistband of your panties, tugging them down at an agonizing pace. "because from where i'm sitting, you're the one desperate for me." the flimsy fabric landing on the floor as he situates himself right front of your leaking cunt. he pauses, eyes locking onto yours with a wicked glint. "and the best part? you know i'm right."

your lips part, a sharp retort on the tip of your tongue—but before you can say anything, jay moves, leaving you utterly speechless. his tongue comes down to run over your bare slit, moaning at the taste before he's yanking you down by your hips—nose buried into your cunt, you squeak at the sensation, his tongue gliding up at down your clenching hole as his nose nudges your clit with each movement.

"f-fuck, jay," you pant softly, your body writhing as you fight against his belt. jay grins against your pussy, his fingers digging into your thighs as he holds your legs back from completely suffocating him. his tongue moves slowly and skillfully, circling your clit before making its way down to your sopping hole.

he moans at your taste, not afraid of getting messy with his movements. he peers up, watching your head lull back as he begins to lick figure 8s on your clit repeatedly. your thighs tremble, your back arching off the bed as jay's tongue flicks over your swollen clit with torturous precision.

every swipe sends sparks shooting through your veins, your breath coming in ragged gasps. you tug uselessly against the belt binding your wrists, the leather only tightening the more you struggle. you whine at the almost painful sensation of being bound, his leather belt now digging into your wrists—slowly cutting of circulation. jay hums against your soaking cunt, the vibrations making you whimper. his grip on your thighs is ironclad, refusing to let you squirm away—not that you really wanted to.

you gasp when you feel his digits intrude your walls, a load moan escaping you before you could even hold yourself back. "fuck look at you, princess. you're sucking my fingers in so well," he groans, watching your cunt greedily take in his digits as he begins to roughly pound them in.

your mouth stays open in an 'o' shape as you move your hips in hopes of catching more of what he was offering. jay catches on to your movements, clicking his tongue as he looks at you smugly. "so desperate hm, princess? look at you, so fucking filthy." you whine at his words, "go fuck yours—" jay removes his fingers from your sopping cunt and smacks them down on your clit. "—oh fuck!" you sob out.

"you're going to learn to control that mouth, __. and here i was, being so gentle and kind with you. but clearly, bratty girls like you don't deserve such treatment," he tsks while teasingly rubbing your clit in small firm circles with his thumb. you scrounge your mind for an insult to throw at him before his actions take your breath.

literally.

jay moves quickly, suddenly his hand is wrapped around your throat and he's looking over your shaking and twitching body. he moves behind you, letting you lean against his strong chest as he spreads your thighs wide open—hooking his legs with your own, leaving you unable to squirm. he clamps down his hand firmly between your legs, cupping your cunt as you look up at him dumbfounded.

he gives you no answer, looking down at you with what you could only assume was pure deep dark desire. you moan out in pain, the stretch of his fingers making your eyes rolls back as jay leaves you no time to adjust. his begins to fuck three of his fingers into your cunt, his grip on your throat tightening.

"who knew you took things in you so well, hm? look at you, gushing all over my fingers," he murmurs darkly into your ear. his pace was ruthless, his palm smacking your clit with each thrust. you're a moaning mess, crying out everytime jay pushes into your gummy walls. jay had enough of the noise, moving his hand from your neck to stuff two fingers down your throat—gagging you.

you choke against his digits, looking up at him with bloodshot eyes. your makeup was smeared, your mascara running down your cheeks and your lipstick smudged around your mouth—yet jay thought you looked beautiful. he could see tears run down your cheeks and saliva running down his fingers and you struggled to contain yourself. "you close, princess? i can feel you clenching around me," he grins, curling his fingers in you in a 'come here' motion.

"m'close," you try to say only for it to come out as muffled sobs due to his fingers down your throat. he smirks against your skin, "so fucking greedy. come on princess, cum for me. cum all over my fingers," he murmurs in your ear, your eyes rolling back as you feel your body violently convulse at your high. jay looks at you in surprise.

you had squirted.

"holy shit, princess." he removes his fingers from your mouth, finally letting your aching jaw rest—his thumb still rubbing at your clit, helping you ride out your high. "do you know what you just did?" he asks, his hands grabbing at your waist before hes pulling off your dress completely. you lay against him, unable to comprehend anything after you came. when you don't respond he continues, "you just squirted, princess. that's not going to waste."

he moves you away from his chest, letting you lay back against the bed before he's between your parted thighs again. he doesn't give you a chance to recover before his tongue is licking up your slit, his hands gripping the plush of your thighs—holding them back from closing in on his head. "you taste so fucking good," he growls, lifting his head just enough to watch your face twist in painful pleasure. "all that attitude, and here you are, shaking for me like a good little slut." you slowly regain your sense of thought, still hazy from before—but not enough to stop you from acting out.

you bite your lip, glaring down at him through hooded and now swollen eyes. "fuck—you," you pant, but your words lose all their venom when he dips his tongue back inside you, curling just right against that sweet spot that makes your toes curl. jay chuckles darkly, the sound sending another jolt of heat straight to your core. "still talking shit?" he pulls back, smirking at the way your hips chase his mouth. "maybe i should just leave you here, all tied up and desperate. let you think about how badly you need me."

your stomach clenches at the thought, but you force yourself to let out a weak scoff. "like you could walk away." jay's eyes darken, his fingers trailing up to circle your clit, pressing just enough to make you gasp. "try me."

you don't get the chance to respond. in one fluid motion, jay flips you onto your stomach. his weight pins you down, his hard clothed cock pressing into the curve of your ass.

"you don't get to call the shots here," he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "not until i say you've earned it." you whine as he grinds against you, the friction maddening. "jay—"

"what?" his hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back. "use your words, princess. tell me what you want." you swallow hard, pride and desire warring inside you. but the way his fingers tighten in your hair, the way his cock pulses against your ass—it's too much.

"i want—fuck—i want you to fuck me," you finally admit, your voice shaking. "i'll fuck you when you stop being a brat and admit it." 

you whine, shaking your head in defiance. you had made it this far without admitting your feelings, what's a bit longer?

"say it."

you shake your head furiously, breath shaky as you glare up at him. "no." jay clicks his tongue, his grip on your waist tightening. "wrong answer, princess." you whimper, body trembling, but you still refuse to give in. you won't let him win—not like this. jay leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "you're so fucking stubborn. but you'll say it. we both know you will." your fingers curl into the sheets, your pride the only thing keeping you from giving him what he wants.

"fuck you," you grit out.

jay only laughs, shaking his head. "not until you tell me the truth." you squeeze your eyes shut, refusing to look at him. you can't. not when he's so close, not when his voice drips with that dangerous confidence that makes your heart race. he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "look at me." you do, reluctantly, your body burning under the weight of his stare.

his eyes darken. "you love this. you love me." you inhale sharply. "i—"

"say it," he commands. "say you love me, or you don't get my cock." your pride wars with your need, but jay is relentless. he watches you like he already knows he's won. you try to hold out, but his smirk deepens as he pulls away slightly, putting even more distance between you. your chest rises and falls rapidly. you can't take it anymore.

"i—" you hesitate, jaw clenching. jay waits, patient but smug. you hate him for this. you hate him for making you want him so badly.

"i love you," you finally gasp out, the words falling from your lips like a confession you've been holding in for too long. jay exhales, his smirk turning into something deeper, something real. "that's my girl," he murmurs, pressing a slow, possessive kiss to your lips.

you barely have time to recover before he pulls back, eyes locking onto yours with a dark promise. "now," he breathes, "let me show you just how much i love you too." in one swift motion, he flips you back over, his hands sliding under your thighs to hook your legs over his shoulders. he leans down, his lips brushing yours, so close you can taste yourself on his tongue.

"good girls get what they want," he murmurs, his hands pulling down his boxers. and then he's pushing inside you in one sharp thrust, stretching you, filling you, stealing the breath from your lungs. your back arches off the bed, a broken moan tearing from your throat as jay bottoms out inside you, his grip bruising on your hips. you cry out in pain and pleasure, the stretch of his cock making you dizzy as your walls flutter around him—struggling to adjust.

"mine," he growls, his voice rough with possession. and as he starts to move, hard and deep, you realize—you always have been. the years of back and fourth bickering, dirty glares and snarky comments. all of that, had led to this moment.

jay's hips snap forward, each brutal thrust driving the air from your lungs. his cock is relentless, pistoning into your slick cunt with a rhythm that leaves no inch of you untouched. the slap of skin against skin echoes in the room, mingling with your desperate whimpers as he fucks you into the mattress. your bound hands twist against the belt, the leather biting into your wrists, but the burn only feeds the fire coursing through you. jay's fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, his grip possessive, claiming—like he wants to leave bruises. like he wants you to remember this tomorrow when you try to walk away like you always do.

"f-fuck, jay—" his name spills from your lips, ragged and broken, as he drags his cock almost all the way out before slamming back in, the tip hitting that perfect spot deep inside that makes your vision blur. jay feels you clench around him, grunting as he fucks into you—making sure there was no inch of you that he hadn't touched.

one of his hands come down to grab at your tit, pinching your nipple almost painfully when you begin to close your eyes—making you whine. he leans down, his lips brushing yours in a mockery of tenderness. "what, baby? gonna come already?" his voice is rough, dripping with amusement. "you're so fucking tight around me. bet you're close, aren't you?"

you squeeze around him involuntarily, your walls fluttering as pleasure coils tighter in your belly. you don't answer, you can't. he's angling his hips just right, grinding against that swollen spot inside you with every thrust—your orgasm is right there, hovering just out of reach. jay growls, sensing it, and suddenly his thumb is on your clit, rubbing tight little circles that make your whole body jerk.

"come on," he demands, his breath hot against your ear. "cum on my cock like the greedy little spoiled slut you are." you shatter. your back arches off the bed, a scream tearing from your throat as pleasure explodes through you, white-hot and consuming. your cunt clamps down around jay's cock, milking him as waves of ecstasy crash over you. he doesn't stop.

jay fucks you through it, his thrusts turning erratic as he chases his own release. his fingers dig harder into your hips, the pain of your high coursing through you. "gonna fill you up," he snarls, his voice thick with need. "gonna pump you so fucking full of me, you'll drip with it." the filthy promise sends another shiver through you, your oversensitive body trembling beneath his. and then he's burying himself deep, his cock twitching as he spills inside you with a groan, his hips grinding against yours to make sure every last drop is where it belongs.

you pant beneath him, boneless and wrecked, the only sound in the room the ragged pull of your breaths. jay finally pulls out, his cum already leaking from your well-used cunt. he leans down, his lips brushing yours in a slow, filthy kiss. "now," he murmurs, his thumb swiping through the mess between your thighs before pushing it past your lips, "tell me again how you feel about me."

you suck his thumb clean, your eyes locked with his. and this time, you don't bother lying.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

you wake up to the warm morning light slipping past the curtains, painting soft lines across jay's sheets. your body aches, sore in places you didn't even know could ache. your throat dry from the sounds he pulled out of you the night before.

you blink slowly, adjusting to the light. the bed is cold beside you. jay is gone. you groan softly as you shift, the soreness between your thighs making it nearly impossible to move without wincing. "jesus christ," you mutter under your breath, rolling onto your side. your fingers instinctively brush the soft cotton clinging to your skin. it's a plain white t-shirt, oversized and hanging low on your frame. his scent clings to it, to you.

your legs dangle over the side of the bed, and you wince as you slowly stand. every step is careful, every movement a reminder of what he did to you—what you let him do. you spot your phone on the nightstand and grab it with shaky fingers. it lights up immediately.

minho (12 missed calls) dad (8 messages) dad (4 missed calls)

you sigh, heart sinking a little. it all comes rushing back—what you left behind last night. the party. the lie. jay's anger. and now... the aftermath. you pull your hair up loosely and make your way downstairs, your bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor. the house is eerily quiet. no tv, no kitchen sounds, no jay.

your heart sinks in your chest. your eyes dart around as you descend down the flight of stairs—no trace of him. the living room is spotless, the kitchen untouched. not even a half-drunk cup of coffee left behind.

your heart skips for a second.

did he leave?

you glance toward the hallway and peek your head into seojun's room. the little boy is still curled up under his blankets, breathing soft and steady. safe. peaceful. you step back out and stand in the middle of the quiet house, unsure of what to do with yourself. "where the hell did you go, jay..." you mutter, fingers tightening around your phone.

your thumb hovers over minho's name, but you can't bring yourself to call him. not yet. not when your body still carries evidence of last night. not when you still smell like jay. the silence around you is loud—too loud. and the way your mind spins with questions only makes it worse.

what did last night mean? 

why did he leave you alone like this?

is he even coming back?

you let out a soft sigh and head toward the kitchen, aimlessly grabbing a glass of water just to keep your hands busy. your reflection catches in the oven door—jay's shirt draped over your frame, legs bare, lips still a little swollen. you noticed that your face was clean and bare, jay had taken off your makeup last night.

well, whatever was left of it.

you look like you belong here. but for the first time. you're not sure if that's a good thing.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

the sound of the front door unlocking makes you flinch slightly as you're crouched down in the living room, gathering all of seojun's toys. jay walks in like he didn't flip your world upside down last night.

"hey," he says casually, shrugging off his coat and kicking off his shoes. his voice is easy—too easy. like nothing happened. like he didn't press every button you had until you broke, until you confessed things you'd been biting your tongue about for weeks. "morning," you mutter without looking up, trying to keep your expression neutral as you tug the lid of his toy basket open.

jay steps into the living room, eyes glancing over the scene— the living room now spotless as you sit on the floor with your legs folded awkwardly under you like you hadn't spent the entire night being ruined by the man. the same man who was now acting like your confession wasn't still echoing in his ears. your phone buzzes again beside you on the couch. minho's name flashes across the screen for the sixth time that morning. you finally texted him.

minho: hey u get there ok?

minho: heeelllloooo

minho: istg if ur getting dicked down rn

minho: U SO R

minho: OMGGG

minho: u slut

minho: call me after or ill acc burn ur house down

minho: u so owe me a drink

you: i'll call u later ..

minho: U BETTERR

your dad had also called twice. he was worried, demanding to know where you'd disappeared last night. you told him the lie you'd practiced in your head: i stayed over at minho's. i'm at work now.

jay gives you a glance then, brief and unreadable. "he still asleep?" he asks, nodding toward the stairs. you nod once, "should be up soon."

jay hums. he runs a hand through his hair, moving past you both to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. no acknowledgment. not of your night together. not of your confessions. not even the smallest smirk or sly comment he's usually so quick to throw your way. it stings more than you thought it would.

"so this is just nothing?" you say quietly.  you keep your voice low, tense. "you're really going to pretend nothing happened?" jay doesn't turn around. he twists the cap off the bottle, takes a sip. "didn't say that."

"then what are you doing?" you snap, standing. you're still in his clothes—his t-shirt drowning your frame and his sweatpants tied loose around your waist. "you spent all night dragging it out of me. making me say things i wasn't ready to admit, and now what? you ignore me?" jay finally turns, his jaw set, expression unreadable. "what did you expect?" he says flatly. "you think we can just pretend like that shit doesn't complicate everything?"

you blink, stung. "you complicated it. not me. you crossed the boundaries. not me." he takes a step toward you. "you think i didn't feel it too?" he snaps. "you think this is easy for me?"

"you sure act like it is." jay's breathing hard now, his eyes dark as they search your face. "i'm trying not to make things worse. you said what you said, and yeah, i heard you. but i don't know what the hell to do with it yet. it's not like i didn't tell you how i felt."

your throat feels tight, heart racing with hurt and frustration. "then maybe you shouldn't have forced it out of me." he doesn't respond right away. just stares, like he's trying to figure out whether to argue or admit you're right. you glance away, swallowing hard. "i meant what i said," you whisper, "and i hate that i did."

jay steps closer then, enough that you can feel the heat from his body. he's silent, watching you, torn between his own emotions. "...i didn't hate hearing it," he finally says, voice lower, softer. "but i can't pretend i know what to do with it either." you don't say anything, just cross your arms tighter over your chest.

it's quiet for a long moment. then jay murmurs, "but if it means anything... i don't want you with anyone else." your gaze snaps to his. "last night wasn't just sex," he says, voice rough. "and you damn well know it." you swallow around the lump in your throat, arms still crossed tight like it'll protect you from how exposed you feel. like it'll keep your heart from beating too loud.

"so... what now?" you ask, your voice quieter than before. more hesitant. "what are we supposed to do?" jay's eyes drop, his thumb tapping against the water bottle in his hand. he looks like he wants to pace but forces himself to stay still. "i don't know," he admits. "i've been trying to figure that out since last night."

you frown. "what's stopping you?" he exhales sharply. "everything. you're 23, i'm 35. your dad would kill me if he knew what happened last night." he glances up at you. "you were just a kid when i met you."

you flinch at that. "i'm not a kid now." "i know," he says quickly, his jaw clenching. "believe me, i know. last night proved that more than anything." you look away, chewing the inside of your cheek. "you think this is just a phase? that i'll grow out of it?" jay steps closer, his voice low. "no. i think that's what scares me the most."

you meet his gaze again, your heart thudding. "...was it ever just me?" you ask, needing to know, needing to hear it. "or am i just filling a space someone else left behind?" his expression hardens slightly, like the question caught him off guard.

"is this about her?" you push, barely whispering. "seojun's mom?" jay's face shifts, something bitter and tired flashing through his features. he looks away, jaw tight. "she left the second he was born." your eyes widen in shock, "what?" 

"she didn't want to be a mom," he says flatly. "we were never in love. it was a mistake. she got pregnant, and i told her i'd raise him. she agreed and walked out of the hospital with a suitcase and a plane ticket." you stare at him, stunned. he's never talked about her. never even hinted.

"so it's just been you," you murmur. he nods. "just me. for the last 5 years." you don't know what to say. you feel your chest ache for him—for the boy upstairs, for the man who's been carrying the weight of parenthood alone, pretending like it never crushed him.

"and then you," he says, voice quieter now. "you crash into my life, literally. and then suddenly you're here, and seojun loves you, and i—" he cuts himself off. you blink. "and you...?"

his eyes lock with yours, expression unreadable as he forces himself to swallow his words, "—and i don't know how to let myself want something that feels like it'll ruin everything." you step forward this time, closing the space between you. "what if it doesn't?" jay looks at you like he wants to believe it. like the hope hurts more than the fear. you reach up slowly, resting your hand against his chest. his heart's pounding under your palm. "you don't have to protect me from this," you whisper. "just... tell me what you want."

he looks at you, his voice hoarse. "i want you." you feel it in the way he says it—like it's been sitting on his tongue for days, weeks, maybe years. like it's the one thing he's been trying not to say. your breath catches. "then why are you acting like last night never happened?"

jay exhales, finally turning away from you—unable to look you in the eye. he runs a hand through his hair and mutters, "because i don't know how to be around you without wanting more." you bite the inside of your cheek, heart pounding. "you think i don't want more too?" his back is still to you, shoulders tense. "you don't understand what more looks like with me. it's not just cute dates and taking seojun to the park. it's complicated. it's messy."

you step toward him, slowly. "i'm not scared of messy." he finally turns around, eyes meeting yours again—and this time, it's all there. the frustration. the want. the guilt. the hunger. "i forced you to say it last night," he says quietly. "i made you admit you loved me just so i could hear it. do you know how fucked up that is?"

your chest tightens. "maybe. but it doesn't make it a lie." jay doesn't say anything. his eyes just search your face like he's trying to make sense of you. the silence stretches, so loud it feels like it might shatter between you when suddenly— "daddy? noona?" a sleepy voice calls from the stairs.

you both snap your heads toward the sound. seojun stands there in his pajamas, hair sticking up in every direction, clutching his stuffed lion. jay's face softens instantly. "hey, buddy."

you blink away the emotions clogging your throat, quickly moving toward the stairs. "come on," you say gently, crouching down to his level. "you want breakfast?"

he nods, rubbing his eyes. "pancakes." you laugh softly. "you always want pancakes."

as you lead him into the kitchen, you feel jay's eyes on you the whole time. there's so much unsaid between you both, but right now, you fall into routine—mixing batter, pouring it onto the hot pan, seojun sitting on the counter watching you with half-lidded eyes. it looked like a scene out of a movie, jay admires your relationship with his son based one the circumstances the two of you had bonded. seojun loves you, and as complicated as his feelings make things—jay loves you too.

jay joins eventually, helping slice fruit, moving around you like muscle memory. and then he brushes past you to grab a plate, and his hand lingers a second too long on your waist. your breath hitches.

you don't look at him. but you feel it.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

the house was finally quiet. seojun had gone down for his nap without a fuss, leaving you sprawled across the couch in jay's living room, phone pressed to your ear.

"okay, wait—start from the beginning," minho's voice crackled through your speaker. "did he take his shirt off or did you rip it off?" you rolled your eyes with a laugh. "neither! i wasn't some feral animal."

"please, you definitely were," he teased. "i know that tone in your voice. you're trying to act like it wasn't the hottest night of your life."

"shut up," you said, biting back a smile. "you're so annoying."

"you moaned his name, didn't you? tell me you did." he then pauses, clearing his throat as he prepares his best girly impression, "oh jay! jay right there." you roll your eyes, letting out a small laugh before glancing down at the little scratch marks on your thighs. "...maybe."

minho gasped like he'd just won the lottery. "i knew it! i need the full play-by-play. what was he like? slow and sensual? aggressive? did he say something like—'you're mine now, princess'?" he deepened his voice dramatically. you snorted. "why are you like this?"

"i live through your drama. and honestly? the hot single-dad boss fantasy? ten out of ten." you rolled your eyes again, but the smile stayed on your face. "you're insane."

"no, i'm just invested. i mean, your dad's going to lose his mind when he finds out you're hooking up with his business partner. this is better than any k-drama." you were mid-laugh when a throat cleared from the doorway.

you froze. you turned your head slowly to find jay standing there—back early from his meeting, suit jacket slung over his shoulder, eyes fixed on you with that unreadable expression he wore when he was annoyed... or worse, jealous. your heart dropped.

"i gotta go," you mumbled into the phone.

"why? what's—" you hung up before minho could finish. jay didn't say anything at first. he walked in slowly, setting his keys on the counter. his gaze stayed on you the entire time."minho, huh?" he said finally, his voice casual—but the edge was there, sharp and unmistakable. you shifted on the couch. "he's just a friend. you know that."

"yeah, i know," he said, but he didn't sound convinced. "didn't realize your 'just a friend' needed all the juicy details about what happens in my bed." you flushed. "you were eavesdropping?"

"i walked into my own house," he said coolly, raising an eyebrow. "and caught you giggling about our sex life." "we weren't giggling,” you murmur, embarrassed.  "sure," he said, stepping closer. "so you didn't tell him how good i made you feel? how you squirted all over the bed? how loud you got when i—"

"okay, stop," you cut in, face burning. "you're being jealous over nothing." he tilted his head. "maybe. or maybe i just don't like the idea of some boy thinking he's got a chance with you." you blinked in confusion, "minho doesn't—"

"he does," jay interrupted, stepping even closer. you crossed your arms, not backing down, "and what exactly are we, jay? we haven't talked about last night properly. what we did, what we are. so you suddenly get to be possessive now?" his jaw flexed. "i don't know."

that caught you off guard. "i don't know," he repeated, softer now. "i didn't plan for this to happen. i didn't plan for you. but now you're in my house, you're in my bed, and my son asks for you before he asks for me." you blinked, heart stuttering.

"i think about what this means," he said. "what your dad would say. how he'd probably try to kill me." you cracked a smile. "he would. slowly and painfully." jay didn't smile back, not finding amusement in having to deal with your father, "and what seojun would think... if he knew. if he understood."

your expression sobered. "i don't want to confuse him," jay said quietly. "he's already had to grow up without a real mother. your chest ached.

"so it's always been just me and him," jay continued. "and now... there's you." you looked at him, your voice gentle. "do you want me to be there?" his eyes met yours, something raw in them, "yeah," he said. "i do." your breath hitched.

"but this won't be easy," he said. "not with the age gap. not with your dad. not with the way i feel when some kid like minho calls you and makes you laugh like that." you stepped closer. "i'll deal with my dad, and you know minho is my friend." jay scoffs at the last bit. "and seojun?" you paused, a smile appearing on your face when jay mentions the little twerp, "he loves me."

jay softened, "he does." you looked up at him. "so maybe this can work. maybe we just take it one day at a time." he studied you, then nodded slowly. "one day at a time."

and just like that, you felt the air between you shift—something fragile and uncertain, but also real. jay reaches for your hand, the warmth of his fingers interlocking with your own. you sigh in content. "no more secrets," he said.

you nodded. "no more eavesdropping." he smirked. "we'll see."

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

"are you and appa married now?"

the question drops like a bomb in the middle of the warm living room. you freeze where you're kneeling, halfway through tying seojun's tiny sneaker. your eyes snap up to meet his, wide and innocent—but there's something suspiciously knowing behind them. he had a small grin on his face, looking at you mischievously. 

smart ass.

"what?" you blink, confused and shocked. "what makes you say that?"

"because appa never lets anyone touch his hair, not even me!" seojun says seriously, eyes narrowed like he's putting the clues together in his tiny head. "but you touched it yesterday and he didn't even yell. and you didn't yell at him either. you said 'thank you' when he brought you water."

"i always say thank you," you mumble, suddenly very interested in the velcro strap you're adjusting. you begin wondering if they make velcro sneakers for adults. "no you don't," he says bluntly. "you fight all the time. but now you smile. and he smiles too. and he puts his hand here when you walk." he pats the small of his back, mimicking jay's subtle touches. "so... are you his wife now?"

you sigh, resting your forehead lightly against his, "no, junnie. i'm not his wife."

"but do you love him?" your heart lurches. you swallow at his bluntness, "you ask a lot of questions for a 5 year old." he shrugs like an old man. "i'm smart. i know things."

you pull back, smiling softly at him, "yeah, you really do." just then, jay walks into the room, ruffling seojun's hair. "ready to go, bud?"

"appa," seojun turns to him seriously. "if she's not your wife yet, you better hurry. i want her to stay. she makes good pancakes." you look at the boy offended, gasping at his words, "so you only want me here for pancakes?" seojun grins in response, squealing when you attack him with tickles on his tummy.

jay glances at you—eyes dark, flickering with something unspoken and then he chuckles, low and affectionate. "working on it, buddy," he murmurs.

you roll your eyes, cheeks burning at his words "liar." jay smirks when he sees your face turn red, "brat."

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

jay gave you a quick pep talk before you left his home to finally see your father.

you chew at your lip nervously as you stand in front of your father's study door, your fingers twitching by your sides. he had texted earlier asking where you'd been the night before, and you lied—again. but you're not sure if he believed you this time. not when he knows how close you've gotten with jay. not when he's always been a little too observant for your liking. you take a deep breath, knock once, and step inside.

he looks up from his laptop, brow furrowed. "so. you're alive." you wince. "hi, dad."

he leans back in his chair, arms folding. "i'm guessing you didn't spend the night at minho's like you said." you hesitate. "no."

"then where?" you glance down, then back up. "jay's."

he doesn't respond at first. the silence thickens. "and?" he finally asks, voice tight. "is there something you want to tell me?" you swallow hard, fingers locking together. "we've... gotten close." his eyes narrow slightly at the term, repeating it with distaste, "close." 

"i care about him," you admit. "and seojun. it's not just... it's not a fling, dad. i know he's older, and i know he's your business partner, but—"

"23 and 35, sweetheart." his voice is low, clipped. "he has a child. responsibilities. baggage. you really think you're ready for all that?"

"i've already been dealing with it," you fire back, trying to stay calm. "i've been helping take care of seojun for months. i love that kid. and jay... he's—he's good to me. in his own grumpy way." your father scoffs. "grumpy is one word for it." you cross your arms. "you don't get to judge him. you've worked with him for years. you know he's not some asshole." he sighs, rubbing his temples. "i know. i know he's not. he's a good man. he's just... not who i pictured for you."

"me neither," you say quietly. he looks up at you again—less angry now, more tired. "does he make you happy?" you nod. "yeah. even when we fight. especially when we fight." he huffs out a reluctant laugh, knowing that jay at the very least was able to deal with his daughter's attitude,  "sounds like you two deserve each other."

"but that doesn't mean that i'm fully okay with this. i need to chat with mr.park as well, about this." you nod at his word, a small laugh escaping you as you watch your father struggle to contain his protectiveness.

a beat of silence passes. "just... be careful," he says finally. "this changes a lot of things."

"i know," you say softly. "but i think it's worth it." he nods once, slowly. "alright." and just like that, a line has been crossed. awkward tension still lingers in the air, but there's something softer now. something almost like acceptance.

you step forward to hug him, and after a beat, his arms wrap around you too. "just don't let him break your heart," he mutters.

you smile. "i'll break his first."

he groans. "god, you're still your mother's child."

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

it's been a few weeks since everything changed—since your father reluctantly accepted the relationship, since seojun's wide eyes and perceptive little voice called both you and jay out, and since you finally stopped pretending what was happening between you and jay was just physical. things had shifted. not abruptly, but with slow ease.

the mornings in jay's house were no longer just routine—they had rhythm. you're in the kitchen, barefoot and sleepy, stirring the oatmeal you promised seojun the night before. the little boy's perched on the counter next to you, legs swinging as he munches on an apple slice with a bag of gummy bears wound tightly in his palms—humming some made-up song under his breath.

"you gonna tell your dad i let you have gummy bears before breakfast?" you tease, bumping his knee with your hip. seojun giggles. "hmm... depends. will you make pancakes this weekend?"

"blackmail? wow, you really are his son."

"damn right," jay's voice cuts in from behind, gravelly and amused, his hair still damp from the shower. he's buttoning up his shirt slowly, eyes scanning the scene in front of him like it's his favorite sight in the world. his son and you in his kitchen, soft morning light catching the curve of your cheek, your voice warm and teasing. he lives for this now. these little domestic moments of peace. "don't tell me you're bribing my kid," he mutters, brushing a kiss against your temple as he grabs his coffee.

you roll your eyes, "he's blackmailing me and bribing implies i'm getting something out of it." jay smirks, "you get to wake up in my bed. that's gotta count for something." you shoot him a look, but your cheeks warm anyway. he never misses a chance to fluster you, and he knows exactly how to do it—especially when seojun's around and your only defense is a quiet huff and a shake of your head.

breakfast is chaotic in the way that all good families are. seojun accidentally knocks over his juice, you forget the toast in the oven, jay's tie somehow ends up in the butter dish, and yet... it all works. it's loud and messy and full of laughter.

later, after jay drops seojun off at school, it's just the two of you again. you're curled up on the couch with your laptop, trying to work as the summer was over and you no long had the pleasure of rotting around. you can feel his eyes on you from across the room. he's supposed to be reviewing contracts, but instead, he's watching you—his bratty, stubborn girl who somehow wormed her way into the quiet places of his life and made them glow.

"what?" you ask, not looking up. he shrugs. "nothing. just thinking." you lift a brow, "dangerous."

"about how you were made for this," he adds quietly. "for me. for him. for all of this. even though the beginning of our relationship revolved around constant bickering.” you scoff, half touched, half embarrassed. "so dramatic." but he doesn't deny it. just leans back, arms crossed, eyes soft. "tell me i'm wrong."

you don't. not because you can't, but because for once—you don't want to.

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

[captainadwen]

Damian Wayne vs the World

Sixteen year old Damian Wayne is on the hunt for a younger sibling. Being more discerning than Bruce 'child collector' Wayne, Damian's firm criteria for Batman's latest adoption problem includes but is not limited to: black haired, blue-eyed, tolerable humor, not evil, and most importantly - younger than Damian.

Lucky for him, fourteen year old newbie vigilante Danny Fenton is the perfect fit. Now, to fulfill his end of their deal, Damian must defeat the evil government organization hunting Danny in order to gain a baby brother.

Or, @livinghalfway your post made my brain go !! but in such a different way I figured it was better to make a separate post, hope you don't mind/enjoy still

~~

Damian Wayne re-entered Tim Drake's life like a gnat revealing itself in a closed bedroom space. Tim was in t-shirt and a boxers, maneuvering ramen into his mouth with one hand and scribbling out an epiphany on a murder case with another, when Damian's demonic dulcet voice echoed down from the ceiling. "Drake," said Damian, judgemental, "You live like this?"

Tim nearly choked on his ramen, because the day Damian doesn't attempt to murder him - however doubtfully accidental this incident might be - is the day Darkseid decides to be friends with the Justice League. "Fucking knock," Tim coughed out. "And get out. No one invited you in."

"Put better traps if you don't want me here," said Damian, dropping from the ceiling where he'd crawled in on wall-clamps.

"This is my apartment," said Tim. "It's called courtesy."

Damian sniffed. He padded around to Tim's desk and frowns at his cases, then said, with no further lead up, "I need your assistance."

"No," said Tim.

"You did not even listen to my request."

"Don't need to," said Tim. "Answer's still no. Door is that way. Bye."

"Father says mutually assisting each other is beneficial," said Damian.

"Father," said Tim sarcastically, "blamed me for you exploding a glitter bomb in the batcave two weeks ago."

"That is your fault for not being able to provide evidence to the contrary in an appropriately efficient manner," said Damian. He squinted down at Tim. "And he apologized. Eventually."

"I would not have glittered the batcomputer," said Tim. "Do you know how much of a pain in the ass it is to backup those servers? No, because you don't like tech work, you just profit off it."

"Blaming me for Father's mistake," said Damian, "Most mature of you. But we must put our differences aside. I have selected a new family member and I need you to dismantle a government organization."

That drew Tim up short. He blinked down at his ramen as though it might explain Damian's words to him, but the ramen remained disappointingly uninformative. "Repeat that," said Tim, gesturing with his chopsticks. "Slower, and with more detail."

Damian pulled out his phone and sent him an email. Silence surrounded them in the brief moment it took Tim to set aside his chopsticks and open the email. The subject line was titled 'New Baby Brother', which birthed all sorts of horrifying nightmares of Damian Part 2: Demon Child Boogaloo. The teen in the inserted picture, however, was reassuringly not in possession of Damian's bone structure.

He did have black hair and blue eyes. "Who am I looking at?" asked Tim.

"Daniel Fenton," said Damian. "He is fourteen years old, enjoys puns, and has recently awakened 'ghost powers' that allow him to transform into the vigilante Phantom to fight other ghosts."

"Is he also an orphan with a tragic backstory?"

"No," said Damian, and Tim relaxed. "But that will not be an issue. We can share custody if they cannot be removed from the picture."

"Jesus H, kid."

"I am joking, of course," said Damian blandly. "Murder is wrong."

"Ha ha," said Tim. "If he has parents already he's not joining our menagerie."

"He will," said Damian, with a smug upwards tilt of his lips. "He and I have a deal."

"So you're coercing him in addition to stalking him. Anything else you want to share with the class?"

Damian considered this query with a serious frown, which was how Tim knew this was not a flight of fancy or a very early midlife crisis (although with their lifestyle and Damian already having died before...).

"He has," said Damian after a moment, "a rogue that calls himself 'The Master of all Technology' and is a technopath." This was clearly meant to be of interest to Tim, and not to be a stereotype, but it kind of was.

"Great." Tim turned his attention back to the email the demon child sent him. He scanned through it quickly. There was apparently a secret and evil government organization dedicated to the investigation and extermination of 'ghosts' and other paranormal creatures in the world. Their latest efforts were focused on the town of Amity Park, Illinois, which was 'infested with ectoplasmic pests'. Their words, not Damian's. (It was specified in the email.)

"Okay," Tim drummed his fingers against his desk. "Before I help you defeat this secret evil government organization so that," he opened the email attachment with a contract on it and squinted at the legalese, "this poor newbie teen you've harassed into signing this joins the family in exchange."

"I did not harass him," Damian huffed. "It was a gentleman's agreement."

"Does he know that?"

"I am not a politician, Drake. I thoroughly explained the terms and legalities before presenting any contract. Now ask your question."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because," said Damian, tone implying 'you are stupid and haven't noticed something obvious, idiot'. "Father has begun saying he misses the noise around the manor and looking wistfully at old pictures."

"We still live there though?" said Tim. Damian looked flatly at him. "Sometimes."

"If you lived there frequently enough," said Damian, "you would already know Father is having...empty nest syndrome." Damian sounded disgusted. "I refuse to tolerate whatever inadequate and incompetent child he will find."

"So instead you found an incompetent and inadequate child for him?"

"Don't be stupid, Drake," said Damian. "I would not have chosen someone inadequate. Daniel is merely lacking formal training. Father can rectify this. It will keep him occupied for at least the next two to four years, which gives me enough time to find another black-haired, blue-eyed, tolerable child I approve of to be his successor and my second younger sibling." Damian paused. "Or until one of you procreates and gives him a grandchild."

"You're really serious about this," Tim whispered in horrified awe.

"I am serious about everything I do," said Damian. "Now, you will help me defeat this evil government organization so that our new sibling joins us."

"Okay," said Tim, but his mind snagged on a minor, throwaway detail, so utterly in odds with Damian 'Demonic Jealous Child' Al Ghul it surely came from another person - "Did you just call this kid your successor?"

[thewritetofreespeech]

Invincible x Reader

cw: f!superhero reader, pregnant reader, repeat: very pregnant reader, heterosexual sex, pregnant sex, fingering, slight body dysmorphia language, general fluff & cuteness

wc: 2K

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

“And in other news, catastrophe came to downtown when an apartment building caught fire earlier this afternoon. Luckily, Invincible was on site to help subdue the blaze along with local fire & rescue teams. Thanks to the efforts of our local heroes and superhero, no one was seriously injured. Now over to Susan Storm for the weather…”

You sigh as you turn off the TV and stare into the blank screen. You wish you were out there. Saving the city with everyone else instead of cooped up here. “Don’t forget, I’m pretty cool too.” You mutter at your round, very pregnant stomach.

It wasn’t like your pregnancy was ‘unplanned’. You and Mark had talked about having a family just….not right now. With everything going on, and the two of you only just getting married, you thought this was a kick-the-can-down-the-road conversation for another day. Apparently, the universe had other plans, and all of a sudden you were pregnant with your first child.

Again, not a huge issue. Though not totally planned it was a happy surprise. Mark was ecstatic. Picking you up and spinning you around in the air when he heard the news. The only ‘problem’ was being pregnant didn’t really go together with superhero work. Once everyone found out, you were put on restrictive duty. Then when you started showing you were basically shunted away like one of those women in a period drama you had been reading these past few weeks with nothing to do. It was humiliating, and annoying.

“I’m home!”

You crane your head back as far as it would go over the couch to see Mark fly in. In his casual clothes, all smiles, and a to-go bag in hand. “I got you your favorite!”

“Awww! Thanks!” It warmed your heart to know he was thinking about you. Even with everything he had going on. “Like I need more snacks though. I’m already big as a house.”

“Nah. Don’t say that. You’re beautiful.” Mark insisted. Leaning in to give you a kiss before he sat on the couch beside you. Draping your legs across his lap. “How was your day?”

“Fine. This.” You told him as you gestured towards the couch. This heavily pregnant with the baby due soon, you basically picked a spot to sink into and that was that for the day. “Rudy gave me some schematics that he said he needed some help, but I think he’s just placating me.”

Mark chuckled. “I don’t think Rudy has that in him. He probably just wants you to feel like your still part of the team.”

“Oh yeah. Look out it’s ‘Beached Whale Girl’.” You sigh and flop your head back against the couch. “Being pregnant sucks.”

“Come on. It’s not that bad.”

You lift your head up to glare at Mark. “Heard about your daring rescue today downtown.”

“Oh? That? Yeah, I was just in the neighborhood. Not a big deal.”

“At least you get to do something. I’m just stuck here all day, bored out of my mind and doing Rudy’s paperwork.”

“I can think of something we can do.” Mark’s hand rubbed against your calf. “If you’re still bored.”

You arch a brow at Mark. Taking in his bashful smile and suggestive look. “Seriously?”

“You said you were super horny recently.” You wouldn’t put it that way but, yes, you had been. Obviously being a woman you had no idea what it was like to be a teenage boy going through puberty, but you had to assume that it was something like this. Constantly thinking about sex or rubbing up against things to get some friction off. Shit…what if you had a boy. Was this going to be your life in 12-15 years? “If you don’t want to that’s fine. We can watch a movie too.”

“I didn’t say that.” You told Mark. “It’s just…do you want to?”

“I mean yeah. Who doesn’t want to have sex with a hottie?” Oh shit…seems that ‘teenage brain’ last a bit longer that 12-15 years. God help you.

“You’re not like grossed out?” Though it was probably all in your head, it felt like you were ever expanding at this point. You felt five times bigger than you did last week when the two of you had sex, so maybe the appeal wasn’t there anymore. Plus you hadn’t showered yet today.

Mark just scoffed with a smile as he leaned over the couch to kiss you. “Don’t say that. You’re beautiful.”

His lips connect with yours and you instantly let Mark in. He smelled like soap. So, he must have showered before he came home, and yet there was still a lingering scent of smoke in his hair from the fire earlier. Musky and dangerous.

You moan softly into the kiss and adjust as much as you could to lay comfortably on the couch and let Mark lay on top of you between your legs. His hands bracing on either side of you on the soft material to not crush you or the baby.

“Do you want to move to the bedroom?” You ask Mark when the two of you finally broke apart from kissing. “Not sure how much more this old couch could take.”

The couch was fine. You were just being self-conscious on your current size. Maybe Mark sensed this, or perhaps it was just his usual chivalrous nature, but he just grinned, got off the couch, and then lifted you in his arms with ease. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

He gave you another peck and then flew off to the bedroom to lay you down on the bed. Looking up at Mark you could see an almost overwhelming look of love and devotion on his face. It made your insides tingle.

“It’s not fair you get to wear the same clothes through all this.” You ‘scold’ as Mark divested himself of his pull over and pants while you were struggling to take off your top that was once your comfy shirt turned fitted tee.

Mark just laughed. “Tell you what. Next time, I’ll put on 20 pounds too so we’ll both look the same.”

You arch your brow at the comment of ‘next time’ but do not have a chance to ask as Mark slid up across the bed to kiss you again. You moan loudly this time into the kiss. No longer distracted with falling off the couch and feeling completely safe in Mark’s arms.

His hands run over your body. Lightly callused from fighting and work. The sensation making you shutter. One hand slid up to your breast and palmed it in his hand. The touch caused you to moan obscenely loud. Your breasts had been incredibly sensitive the past few days, and sore with the new weight on them. Having them touched, getting the weight off your chest even just a little, felt amazing.

“That feel good baby?” Mark asked. Voice hot & heavy as he kissed the corners of your mouth and jaw.

You let out a helpless little, “yeaahh…” and arch your back to press your chest into his hand further for more attention.

Mark slid down, kissing your neck along the way, to press his lips along the sides of your swollen breasts. Soft and gentle. Like butterfly kisses almost. While he worked on your breasts you felt another hand touch your thigh and slide up. Your legs immediately part for him. Almost whimpering for his touch as you waited for his fingers to make contact. “Mark please….”

Your hero of course doesn’t leave you hanging. His fingers make quick work of the boy shorts you had been wearing around the house. Where they went and what happened to them you didn’t really care. All you cared about was Mark touching you and when you finally felt his fingers against your apex your back nearly bowed. “Oh my God…!”

At your persistent cry, Mark’s fingers became more insistent. Usually, he would work up to two fingers inside you, but with how needy you were being and how wet & open your pussy was, he must have felt confident to just go ahead. Burying them inside you while his thumb rubbed your clit. ���Fuck babe. You’re so wet…feel like you’re gonna swallow my hand.”

“Mmmm….Mark…!” You just moan. Indeed feeling your walls tighten around his fingers with urgency. “Put your dick in me!”

“That’s no way for a mother to talk.” He teased as he pulled his fingers out of you.

You whimper in your mind at the loss but still have the sense to glare playfully at him and tell him, “Mother fucker.”

Mark laughed and God how you loved that sound. You hoped your kid got his laugh. He scooted back on his knees and used what juices he had collected on his hand to lube up his cock. “Can you roll over for me?”

The request left you a little confused, but you do as he said. “There. Right there. That’s perfect.” He said as you moved to lay on your side and Mark came up behind you to spoon before sticking a pillow under your stomach. “I read that this will be a little easier on your back this time and help with the pressure.”

“You read?” You repeated, looking over your shoulder at Mark, who blushed and kind of sheepishly shrugged. God how you loved this man. If you could get pregnant twice right now you would. “Well, let’s put your research to work.”

Mark gave a little groan and leaned over to kiss you while you craned your neck back. He moved your leg up and slid his dick between your thighs. You moan into Mark’s mouth as you felt the head of his cock bump against your entrance and then slide past. The hard lines of him frottaging against your pussy and getting slick. “Mmmm…Mark…Please….”

He pulled back again and properly slipped his cock inside you. It goes in easy but you still gasp as you finally got what you wanted. “Oh fuck..!” Mark held your leg back as he thrust into you. Slow and shallow. You grip the sheets with your hands tight. Moaning and panting while Mark fucked you from behind. “It feels so good….”

“You feel so good…” Mark groaned back. Panting against your ear. The hard lines of his chest pressed against your back.

His teeth nip at your ear and you shutter. “D-Don’t…!”

“Why? Are you gonna cum baby?” He did it again as he teased you, his hand sliding down from your thigh holding your leg to your juicy center. Fingers finding your clit and rubbing it, making quick work of you to orgasm.

“M-Mark!” You sputter as you convulse around him. White noise filling your ears as stars dance behind your eyes.

You come back just in time to hear Mark cum too, a tale-tell low grunt, and his hips slowed with his cock buried inside you. The two of you laid there for a moment, sweaty and spent, before Mark kissed your shoulder and pulled back. “How was that?”

“You have to ask?” You tease him. Then roll over to your other side, with some effort, to cuddle your husband. “Amazing. And, yes, the pillow really helped.” Mark grinned and kissed your nose with pride.

Below, you felt the baby kick in your stomach. Seeming to realize that its disturbance was now over, and they had some things to say about it. “Yeah, yeah…” You coo at them as you rub your belly. “I need a shower. Or a bath.” That would probably calm them down. “Do you think my takeout is still good?”

“I can heat it up for you while you take your bath.” Mark offered.

You grin and lean up to kiss him. “You are just too good to me.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? You make it easy.”

Mark then got up to start the tub for you before reheating your food. You sat there, contented. Some day soon you would return to taking care of the world’s problems and fighting crime. But, for now, it was nice to be the one taken care of.

[evilmenenjoyer]

City of Love

Pairing: The Salesman x fem!Reader

Summary: Months after winning the Squid Games, you receive an unwanted visit from the man who's been haunting you since the very beginning.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: smut (minors dni), drinking, sex in a public place, some murderous thoughts. Don't be fooled by the title, it's very much not a fluffy romantic fic lol.

*

The City of Love.

At least, that's what everyone calls it. It felt like the place to be after all the horrors you had endured in the past year – horrors you don't dare to say a word about to another soul. Friends and acquaintances have told you about how great it is, how beautiful, how magical. About how just a few days here will heal any woes in your heart.

Of course, it didn't work. Now you're just depressed in Paris.

It's not all bad. The Eiffel tower looks just as pretty as it does in pictures, especially late at night when it lights up and sparkles. The historic architecture and cobblestone streets are a nice break from the modern buildings you're used to from Seoul, so different it almost erases the memories sometimes. Never for too long. Just when you think you're slipping back into something resembling normalcy, they return in your nightmares in the shape of blood, pink jumpsuits and children’s games.

This afternoon, it takes the shape of a ghost – a tall, handsome man, whose face you’ve only ever seen in dreams and in the subway lines of Seoul.

All color drains from your face in a matter of seconds, all that pink winter flush.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He smiles, like you're an old friend. It nearly throws you off your balance by how natural it looks, like he's not forcing it.

“Beautiful city, isn't it? Especially at this time of the year.”

This can't be happening. The whole reason you left South Korea was to put distance between yourself and those horrific games, and all the people associated with them. To just run into one right here, in a different continent, mere months after your victory; it makes you feel like you're about to pass out.

You stand up from your seat and walk right out of the patisserie, leaving your ridiculously overpriced hot chocolate nearly untouched on the table.

You knew, somehow, that he would follow you, but you still prayed he wouldn’t. That it had been your imagination, or the PTSD, or anything other than the Salesman himself crossing paths with you in Paris.

“I expected a warmer welcome,” a voice behind you says, making you pause your stroll down the street. Fortunately – or maybe unfortunately – you still haven’t completely lost track of what's real and what's not, and you can tell that voice is real, clear as day. He’s real and here and that terrifies you to your very core.

Turning around to face him, you hate how he still looks every bit as infuriatingly handsome as he did the first time you saw him.

“What are you doing here?” you repeat, your voice shaky and not nearly as incisive ad you’d like it to be.

“Visiting,” he replies. He turns to gaze at the scenery around you. In your hurry to get away from him, you didn't even realize you ended up at the Pont Neuf, the old bridge crossing the Seine River. Dusk settles around the two of you, the purple-ish color of the sky reflected on the river, almost too pretty for this situation. “Like I said, France is quite nice during the winter.”

You scoff. “You expect me to believe it's just a big coincidence that you and I ended up in the same place, five thousand miles away from home, at the same time?”

“Small world, isn't it?”

“I’m serious. I did everything you people wanted. I beat the games, I took the money and I kept my mouth shut. You were supposed to leave me the fuck alone.”

“Did what we wanted?” Something in his smile changes, shifts from warmth to something more sinister. “We never forced you to do anything. Remember that. You brought whatever happened on yourself.”

Cold air rushes over you, drawing a shiver out of you. It's not snowing yet, but it start might soon. It's hard to remember you were once excited for it.

He reaches out, ignoring the warnings in your eyes as he runs a finger over the smooth fabric of your scarf, then wraps it around your neck one more time. It’s almost a tender gesture, if he was someone else entirely. It should have you flinching, or slapping his hand away. Instead, it only makes you freeze in your spot.

“Yves Saint Laurent,” he notes. “I see you’ve been making good use of that money.”

It doesn't sound accusatory, but it feels like it anyway. Even after months, it still feels wrong to use the money, despite all the literal blood, sweat and tears it took to get it. Like you should be gathering it all in a pile and setting fire to it in protest. But what would that change? Why shouldn't you be allowed to use it to build a new life for yourself?

So you stayed in five star hotels. So you bought a few more pairs of Louboutin shoes than necessary. Therapy was out of the question, so this was the next best thing you could come up with for the time being. Best-case scenario, a therapist would think you're a nutcase. Worst case, they’d turn you in to the authorities for confessing to multiple murders you had committed at the Squid Games. You didn’t want to take the risk.

“I thought that was the idea,” you say. The Salesman’s hands are still on the fabric, merely touching it, but that doesn't stop your mind from picturing him gripping it, pulling on it until you suffocate in the garment you bought as some empty, mediocre sign of victory.

“It suits you.” He lets his hands fall with no damage to your throat or to your respiratory system. “Much better than those knock-offs you used to wear.”

It disturbs you that he even remembers that. As far as you know, you were only one of the hundreds of people who had played ddakji with him at the subway station. You remembered every second of it, replayed it in your mind over and over again, but there was nothing particularly memorable about you back then. You lost most rounds. You hoped against hope that he would ask you out, even after your cheek was red and stinging.

That was a different version of you. One that smiled more, even with all the hardships in your life. One that was too naive to realize she was selling her soul to the devil from that very first game of ddakji.

“Since the city brought us together,” the Salesman says, “I’d like to buy you a drink.”

It would be impossible to keep the surprise from your face if you’d tried. Those are words you would've loved to hear all those months ago, and now that he says them, you can barely draw enough air into your lungs to tell him to fuck off.

“Why? So you can kill me the second we’re off the street?”

He chuckles, like he finds your confusion amusing. “Why would I do that?”

“Isn't that why you're here?” Why else would it be, after all? Maybe it's part of their sick games; to give one person the illusion of victory, let them enjoy the money for a few months, then go after them and kill them. Or worse, pull them back in.

“If I wanted to kill you, I could do it anywhere.”

You suppose there's no arguing with that, but you're not sure if it makes you feel better. Good news: you're still breathing. Bad news: you're still breathing only until he allows you to.

“You still didn't tell me why you came after me, then,” you point out.

“Let's have a drink, and I’ll tell you.”

You must be insane for even considering this. The naive girl that had first seen him in the subway, coming home late at night from work, would be enthusiastically urging you to go. You’re supposed to know better than her.

“One drink,” you say. “Then you go home and never contact me again.”

His smile widens. “I know a nice place.”

*

He brings you to a piano bar just a few blocks away from the bridge. It's a fancy place, the kind that makes you feel underdressed even in your designer clothes. He blends right in – not only because of the sleek, tailored suit, but because of his demeanor, the natural elegance with which he carries himself.

Not for the first time, you wonder if he was born into wealth, or if he was ever like you. Someone who had to claw his way out of poverty. You can't picture it, but there's so much you don't know about him. It's what makes him so scary and confusing to you, but also so damn intriguing.

He orders for you before you have the chance to open your mouth. Dom Pérignon, two glasses. You raise your eyebrows once the waiter walks away.

“Are we celebrating something?”

“Your victory.”

The response makes your stomach drop. “I don't want to celebrate that.” Not with anyone, but especially not with him.

He gives a small shrug. “Just a special occasion, then.”

The dimmed, warm lights of the bar make the place feel so intimate, almost romantic in a sense. You don't know what to make of it, so you force yourself to look away from him, even when you can still feel his stare unflinching on you. Luckily, the waiter shows up just in time, pouring you both glasses of the bubbly drink and leaving the bottle in a bucket on the table.

You turn back to the Salesman, glaring at him. “I said one drink, not one bottle.”

“You never specified,” he replies, fake innocence in his eyes. “Gives us more time to catch up. Maybe even play a game, for old time’s sake.”

The mere mention of a game makes you want to run away, to lock yourself in the restroom and refuse to come out. It has to be intentional; he has to know what kinds of things would be running through your head, after everything you’d gone through. You take a long gulp of the champagne, nearly done with the entire glass in one go. You can't let him get to you like this. You do your best to look unbothered.

“Do you walk around with ddakji tiles everywhere?” you ask. “Just in case you find someone who wants to play?”

That earns a soft laugh out of him. “No, not ddakji.”

He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out what looks like a standard deck of cards.

“Have you ever played blackjack?”

You have, but hesitation is written all over your features. “What if I don't want to play?”

“Do you think I’d force you?” he asks, like you're a fool for even thinking so. “Like I said, you were never forced to do anything. It's your choice.” He sips his own champagne in a much classier, more contained way than you. Like he's happy to draw this out for hours, rather than wanting this night to be over as soon as possible. “But you’ve beaten much harder games before. This should be nothing for our big victor, right?”

There's a challenge in his voice, in his eyes. You should know better than to fall for it. So why is there a part of you that still feels like you have a point to prove? That feels like, with a little bit of luck and skill, you can finally beat this man at his own game?

“Fine.” You cross your arms over the table. “Let’s do this.”

Pleased with your answer, he shuffles the cards in his hands. You watch him, almost as mesmerized as you’d been watching him play ddakji at the subway station. It's so hard not to get lost in it, but you refuse to look away in shyness and hesitation again, keeping your eyes on him as you sip the rest of the champagne in your glass.

He refills it before placing four cards on the table: two facing upwards for you, one face-down and one face-up for himself, the dealer.

The rules are simple: your cards all together need to get as close to 21 without going over. Whichever one of you gets the closest wins the round. You have a nine and a four, totaling thirteen. The Salesman has a five, and a card that's invisible for you. 

“Hit me,” you say, figuring your odds can't be too bad.

He places one more card to your pile: a seven. Twenty in total. Your heart speeds up inside your chest, already triumphant even before the end.

He reveals all his cards to you: the five you’ve already seen, a nine, and a three. Seventeen. Your smile widens, relief washing over you like you’d just escaped a near-death experience. You don't think beating a game, no matter the kind, will ever not feel like this again.

“Not bad,” he compliments. He reaches into another pocket for his wallet, drawing a hundred euro note and pushing it towards you on the table.

You just stare at it with an eyebrow raised, baffled and, frankly, a bit offended. With the tip of your index finger, you push the bill back to him.

“Do you really think I still need your money?”

“It's just symbolic,” he argues, but still tucks the money back into his wallet. “Of course, we can bet on other things too, if you’d prefer.”

“What kind of things?”

“Whatever you want. You won.”

“Whatever I want?” A grin stretches across your lips as you lean forward on the table. “Like a dare?”

He leans forward as well, like he wants to meet you in the middle. His eyes never leave yours. “Like a dare.”

You wonder just how far he’d take this game, if he would do something outrageous or serious just because you told him to. Maybe not. But even this is the kind of power that you never, ever imagined you would have over this man.

“Okay. Let me see your wallet.”

He hands it over without a fight. You rummage through all of it, ignoring all the cash and instead looking for something else, anything personal. But there's nothing. No family photos, no old receipts, not even a condom tucked inside one of the pockets. At last you find his ID license, the name Park Ha-Joon listed beside a smiling picture of him that looks so normal you almost want to laugh.

“It's not your real name, is it?”

He smiles. “Smart girl.”

“It was worth a shot.” You close the wallet and hand it back to him.

He shuffles the cards, hands them over again. Seven and six. You tap the cards in a sign for him to hit you with one more.

“Do you really want to know why I came to see you?”

Your eyes snap in his direction, not even looking at the new card that’s placed in front of you. 

“I thought you’d be one of the first to die in a place like that.” He looks focused on the game as he talks, “When I found out you were the winner, I wanted to see it for myself.”

Your throat tightens, making it hard to draw in my next breath. You look around yourself, as if trying to make sure you're really here and not at that disturbing colorful scenario, or at the bunk beds in the dorm. Still the piano bar. Warm lights, soft chatter of conversation, piano notes ringing through the air. The mental image of that place still doesn't vanish from your mind.

“See what, exactly?” you ask, even though you know it would be better not to.  

“If you truly earned it, or if you’re just one more piece of trash who got lucky, like all the others before you.”

Your hand must twitch, an involuntary movement you're not even aware of, and the Salesman places another card to your pile. You look down at it in horror, realizing all the cards together total to twenty-three.

“I didn't say hit me,” you protest.

“You tapped. You know that's the sign.” He looks over the cards again, as if just noticing the source of your distress instead of directly causing it. “Too bad.”

It's not fair, and you both know it, but you doubt pointing it out will make a difference. You bite your tongue around any words as well as the lump that's formed in your throat, tears trying to rush to the surface. Your gaze meets his and holds it.

“Are you going to slap me?”

He’s still for a moment, considering it. It's one thing to hit you in the face in a mostly-empty subway station late at night, and another entirely to do it in this sophisticated bar, with all these people around as witnesses. Still, you don't doubt that he would do it. You hold yourself back from flinching when his hand comes out, bracing yourself for the impact.

It never comes. Instead, his hands merely cup your cheeks, tilting your face to face him fully. He looks at you like he's studying you, his expression unreadable.

“Not now. I want something else,” he says. “A round of shots.”

His grip on your face is firm, but he runs the pad of his thumb over the curve of your cheekbone, like wiping away a teardrop that never fell. A gesture that can only be described as affectionate, and it's messing with your head way more than the slaps on the face did.

You nod.

He holds on for just a second too long before he lets you go. He orders the shots to the waiter – you pay no attention to the brand, or even the type of booze –, and you don't say another word until after they're placed in front of you on the table, small glasses so clean they gleam under the light.

“I crawled my way out of that hell,” you tell him. “You have no idea what I had to do to survive. You don't get to sit here and tell me I didn't fucking earn it.”

He looks more amused than anything. “To kill for necessity, anyone can do. It doesn't make you as special as you think it does.” He nods towards the shot on the table, reaching for his own. “Drink.”

You count one, two, three in your head before throwing the shot back, unable to suppress a grimace when the drink comes down your throat like liquid fire.

“Why do you wanna get me drunk so bad?”

He empties his shot glass as well. “Drinking together ensures none of us has an advantage.” He picks up the deck of cards again, before you ever have the chance to tell him you’ve had enough of this game. The words die down in your throat.

One more round. Your cards add up to seventeen.

It’s too risky to ask for one more card; anything higher than four would mean an instant loss. Only then you notice the sweat under your palms, the rush in your ears overpowering the piano music in the background. You force yourself to take a deep breath, to remember that your life is not on the line anymore and losing doesn't mean certain death, even though it feels like it.

He reveals his cards. Eighteen.

“Fuck.”

He seems pleased with himself, accessing you as you brace yourself for whatever he has in mind for you now.

“Come a little closer,” he orders.

You frown, but you find yourself obeying without much questioning, getting up from your chair to slide to the seat next to him on the booth.

He pours you both more Dom Pérignon, and this time he doesn't have to tell you to drink. You focus on the way the bubbles dance inside your mouth, if only to have something to distract yourself from his proximity, from the faint smell of his cologne or from the fact he still hasn't told you what he wants from you for losing this round

His hand lands on your thigh.

You jump in surprise, and his hand tightens its grip there, digging into your skin and keeping you in your seat. Your eyes widen and search for his, a question clear in them.

With his free hand, the Salesman pushes the cards in your direction. “You’ll be the dealer now,” he says, “and for each time you lose, I get to keep my hands on you for one more round.”

Say no, you tell yourself. Say something. A better, stronger woman would throw the champagne in the glass on his face and walk right out of this bar. Instead, you find yourself still as a statue, a sudden rush of warmth overflowing your senses – first, it rises to your face, coloring your cheeks red, then it travels lower to the pit of your stomach and down right into the space between your legs.

You can’t even tell if it’s the alcohol, spreading through your bloodstream and bringing a buzzing sensation to your head that’s not all unpleasant, or the fact you haven’t been touched like this in what feels like forever, or simply the man sitting next to you. How many times had you fantasized about this, until you realized that he was the catalyst of your ruin?

Maybe even a few times after that.

You take the deck of cards. He grins like he knew you would, like a master pleased with a dog following his command. You want to wipe that look off his face, but you can barely concentrate enough to properly shuffle the cards.

If you felt like you were fighting for your life before, it’s nothing compared to right now. The hand doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as twitch until the very final moments of the round, when you realize the two of you are tied. A fingertip slides up the fabric of your stockings until it stops at your knee, your skin erupting in goosebumps following the movement. Your heart beats so hard inside your chest you can barely hear the chatter of people around you as the bar fills in with people.

You lose the next round, and the next, and the one after that. You can’t even tell if you’re doing it on purpose anymore.

With each passing minute that you don’t push him away, that you allow him to test and cross your boundaries, he gets more daring, drawing shapes in the perimeter of your leg and curling into your inner thigh. Your chest rises with a breath that comes tumbling out, the sound of it way too close to a whimper for your liking.

You can tell he notices it instantly, observant and apparently fluent in your body language like he’s spent years of his life studying it. He takes the opportunity to let his hand wander under your skirt, to the spots it hadn’t covered yet.

That’s enough. You need to win this next round.

It’s like, for once, God listens to your prayers. Your cards add up to an even, perfect twenty-one to his nineteen.

He retrieves his hand as if on cue. You thought you would be gasping in relief, but what comes out instead is a pitiful, almost desperate don’t.

He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t as in stop?” he asks. “Or as in don’t stop?”

Your body answers the question for him before your mind can even process what happened, grabbing his hand and pulling it to the spot where it was. Your skin comes ablaze the second he touches you again, like his touch is charged with electricity.

“Did you know,” you can feel his breath so close to you when he speaks, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “that you were the first person who ever challenged me to play ddakji at the subway? Usually it’s the other way around. Nobody but you ever made the first move.”

It’s hard to concentrate on his words like this, with his body leaning into yours and his hand that still touches you under the table and– whoa, that is not your thigh. The solid press against your core makes your whole body twitch, but you don’t jerk away. You try to focus on the memory.

“I didn’t give a fuck about the game,” you reveal. “I just wanted you to notice me.”

“I know.” He draws small, precise circles over you. “Do you ever think about how I would’ve left you alone otherwise?”

Of course you do, more than you would ever admit. But having him confirm it hurts. It’s bad enough to know you’re the one who caused all the trauma you’ve been through since meeting him, that you could’ve just carried on with your life, shitty as it as, if only you weren’t a foolish girl with a crush on a stranger. But to be in his arms right now, your head falling over his shoulder and your lips releasing a tiny whimper; it just makes it all the more fucked up.

“Was it worth it?”

The smile on your lips is devoid of any humor. “Never.”

“Let me prove to you that it was.”

Just like that, everything stops. He scoots away from you in the booth and stands up, bringing all the heat with him aside from the faint lingering warmth on your face. He leaves a few bills over the table, enough for the entire tab, and walks away.

He doesn’t head towards the front door, instead making his way to the opposite direction. You watch him, confused, for a few moments before you trail after him, past the kitchen and the restrooms until you see the red glow of an exit sign.

A chilly breeze rushes over you the second you step outside, and you expect to see him walking into the dark narrow street. But he’s waiting for you, leaning against the brick wall behind him. He raises his eyebrows in that same condescending way he’s done all night, daring you to make the next move.

You don’t hesitate for even a second longer. You grab a fistful of his impeccable suit jacket and pull him closer, crashing your lips together.

From the start, it’s not sweet or gentle. He digs his fingers into your hips hard enough to bruise, wasting no time before he lifts you up into the air and pins you against the wall. You gasp into his mouth, parting your lips and practically begging his tongue inside. Your legs part almost in unison, allowing him to settle between them and effectively trap you, his larger frame blocking any exit.

As if you would dream to get away.

In one swift movement, he reaches between your legs and rips at the fabric of your stockings, the sound echoing through the empty street. You’re already making quick work of his belt; or trying to, frustrated by your lack of mobility from his position. He doesn’t seem willing to let you go, so he does it himself instead, pulling his pants down just enough to free himself from the confines of his underwear.

You’ve soaked through your panties in whatever time it took to play all those rounds of blackjack. It felt like it was drawn-out for hours, but you know it couldn’t have been more than just a few minutes. He moans when he feels it, before he even pushes into you – a heavenly, otherworldly sound, one you want to hear again and again. You push your hips towards him, feeling yourself throb when he rubs his length over you, burning hot where skin meets even though everything around you is cold. He rewards you with another sound that you drink right in as you deepen the kiss, happy to never have your lips separate from each other ever again.

He pushes the fabric of your panties to the side and thrusts into you without a warning, drawing a strangled, sharp gasp from you. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to the invasion, setting up a punishing pace that pushes you against the wall hard with every thrust. You claw at his back, losing the ability to form coherent thoughts, helpless to stop it as he all but consumes you like this is his last chance to.

“Ah– fuck,” you have to break away from his lips to attempt to draw in some air, your breaths and sounds interrupted by the rhythmic, vicious snaps of his hips into yours. He takes the opportunity to tilt his head and follow the line of your jaw with his lips, to mouth kisses and graze his teeth over your throat.

Hands find their way under pieces of clothing, trying to cling to as much bare skin as they can. He does most of the work, still holding you up in the air with the help of the wall (you curl your toes just to test the waters, the ones on the foot closest to the ground, and they barely touch the pavement), bouncing you on his cock however he sees fit, and it’s embarrassing how close you are already just from this.

“Fuck, baby, that’s so good.”

It’s intoxicating how vocal he is, all the grunts and moans he breathes into your neck, how it rips more sounds out of you than you would usually make. The street is completely silent save for the two of you, not another soul in sight. You could kill him right here and he would never see it coming. Gut him with the knife tucked away in your purse, leave him on the pavement gasping for his last breath. Who would catch you? You have enough money to run to yet another country, to give yourself a new identity and reinvent yourself as many times as you want.

The purse is on the floor where you’d carelessly let it fall, out of reach. Still you run your hands down over his bottom, feeling for any guns or weapons he may have tucked into the back of his waistband, or hidden in his pockets. There’s nothing, but you don’t have a lot of time to be disappointed about it before you’re coming with a high-pitched, broken shout, like your orgasm has taken you by surprise. He holds you up, squeezing you against the wall for support, the only thing stopping you from falling straight to the floor.

The Salesman follows right after, a stream of goods and fucks and your name falling from his lips as he spills deep into you. You wish you had it in you to be offended, to tell him off for it. But all you can think about is how much you wish you knew his name so you could shout it, gasp it, whisper it, for as long as he keeps holding you this tight.

[yourlocalbreadenthusiast]

Kindly take a break from scrolling to read this, it's important.

Take your time to grieve and come to terms with the election results, but once you've done that, it's time to get to work. We have two months. And a lot to do in that time. We have to prepare, to be ready.

Be careful about what you post or say online. Anything potentially incriminating should be avoided. Threatening language, even if clearly a joke, can be used against you.

Know someone who's trans? Someone who's had an abortion? Someone who's LGBTQIA+? Someone who's an immigrant? Someone who attends protests? Someone who's disabled? Someone who might in any way be at risk due to laws being put into place? No you don't.

Move away from social media platforms and browsers that require you to use your real identity or input a large amount of personal information. Now's a good time to find alternate means of communicating online. Tails, Element, Tor, Mastodon, Firefox, and Lemmy are all decent options.

Find a community. Someone you can talk to, either online or in real life, that you'll have reliable contact with. We need to try and create a network, but one that's as anonymous as possible.

Start scrubbing your trail as much as possible. Get rid of old accounts that can still be traced to you but are no longer used, delete personal data off the internet. There are websites out there that will freely remove your data from the internet, but be careful about which one you use, make sure it's safe and legitimate first.

Change any usernames that you can that contain any personal information. Names, birthdays, anything.

Plan B has a four year shelf life. Stock up, but don't take more than you you'll need. We don't want a COVID repeat where everyone buys an excessive amount of things and leaves none for everybody else.

There are doctors that will sterilize you, if that's the way you want to go.

Stop using online period trackers right now. Delete all data from it if possible first, then delete the app itself. If you must, write it down, but in a subtle manner and on something you keep at home. Don't label it, just put the dates. If you're really worried, discard older records and only keep the most recent few, and label the dates as other random events, like "go to mall" or "chicken salad for dinner this night"

Get your vaccines now.

Save money.

Archive. We have to start collecting records, media, data, books, and articles now. On racism, on fascism, on homophobia, on gender, on self-reliance, on survival, on safe travels routes, on equality, on justice, on anything that may be useful and/or censored soon. We can't let them erase it.

Collect those online resources. Bookmark them, copy files into your storage, Screenshot pages. Create a decentralized library where everyone is working to be part of a whole, storing what they can individually and sharing it between one another. Again, be careful about doing this.

Second-hand bookstores are your best friend. Books are usually very cheap in them, and they often have a decent stock. See what you can find.

When buying ANYTHING I have mentioned above, or anything else that maybe put you in danger, try to use cash to reduce your spending trail.

Check your car information online, many newer models can be remotely tracked.

Turn your phone completely off if you may be at risk due to your location and current activities. Turning off your GPS also helps.

Take note of where you are. Who are your friends? Who's a safe person? Where can you go besides your own home that you know you'll be safe? Establish these connections now.

Who around you is not safe? Who and where do you need to avoid? Do you need to move? If you cannot afford moving but need to, there are fundraisers that can help you. If even that is not an option, at least try to make sure your home is secure. Have someone who can help you. Have a fallback safe place.

And finally, I want anyone with resources to put them in the replies. Flood it with useful links, information, tips, anything. We're in this together. Do not panic. Organize.

EDIT: Please be civil in the replies.

[indecisivemuch]

Lovesick & Lovelorn

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: You thought that Luke Castellan, your best friend, did not reciprocate your feelings for him. To cope, you wrote letters addressed to him and kept them in a box. What happens when one of your sisters finds it? Inspired by 'To All the Boys I've Loved Before' (fluff, best friends to lovers; you thought it was unreciprocated feelings, happy ending).

Note: Ahh, I'm so happy the show got renewed for season 2.

Word count: 3.3k

You were deeply convinced your fate was tied to one with eternal lovelorn. 

Three years ago, you arrived at Camp Half-Blood and settled into the Hermes cabin before you were claimed by your Godly parent. It was there that you met Luke Castellan - one of your soon-to-be best friends. Though, you knew you were doomed from your first glance into his eyes. Then came his friendly smile and an offer of a handshake, where his hand engulfed yours.

At first, you thought that silly little crush would dissipate. But over time, as you became close friends with the Hermes cabin counselor, you were almost convinced he was faultless. You seemed to adore every little thing about him. Along with the fondness that grew in your heart was also self-pity. At one point, even looking at him hurt because you knew he did not return your feelings.

Hence, the letters.

In between your memories of Luke were letters you wrote throughout those years just to cope with the unreciprocated feeling. It was painful, but what else could you do? You truly believed confessing would put your friendship at risk. Neither did you feel like dealing with the heartache of a rejection. So you never uttered any of your feelings to him, continuing to imprint it on lined papers instead.

You scowled as the pen you were using ran out of ink, leaving the latest edition of unspoken words unfinished. Wordlessly, you fold the incomplete letter into an envelope and shove it into the turquoise box you bought while returning from a quest once. You neatly put the box under your bed.

“Y/N, it’s time to head out,” one of your sisters repeated. Two minutes ago, people were starting to leave, so those on cleaning duties could clean up your cabin. Since you were mid-writing, you hastily asked for a few more seconds. Now, you were the only one left besides two of your sisters.

“Yes, sorry,” you quickly muttered, exiting the cabin and almost immediately bumped into Luke. “Hey, what are you doing here?” you asked.

“I’m here for you. I thought we should hang out,” Luke answered ever so casually. Yet, your heart swelled at the thought that he was there for you. Before you could reply, you two were interrupted by another camper, who told you that one of your other best friends needed you and that it was an emergency.

“I’m so sorry, we’re gonna have to take a rain check on that hangout,” you informed Luke. You slowly started walking backward and away from him. “I’ll see you later, though?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Come find me whenever you’re done, yeah?” Luke requested, hoping to spend time with you later. His soft look made you pause mid-step, almost as if your foot had been cemented to the stones beneath. You nodded absentmindedly before snapping out of that state to comfort your friend.

After two hours of listening to your friend and comforting them, you finally left their cabin to search for Luke, who previously told you to find him after. However, around half an hour later, you slowly gave up at the thought of doing so, feeling almost defeated.

As you turned to head back to your cabin, you spotted the Hermes counselor exiting his. You called out his name, watching his back stiffen before he turned to you. You ignored the odd behavior and recalled, “I’m free now if you’re down to hang out.”

“I’m so sorry, but I’m really busy right now.”

“Uhm, well, I guess I’ll just meet you at our spot whenever you’re done then?” you suggested. You and Luke fell into a routine of star-gazing every night.

Laying under the dark sky that painted your whole horizon often made you feel small. But something about that was so calming, especially considering most of the time, you were suffocated by the weight and duties of being a Demigod. You wondered if it was the moment or if it was Luke’ presence that aided your momentary peace.

“I really, really can’t tonight, I have a lot of things to do.”

“Oh… that’s okay. I’ll see you around?” you replied, watching as Luke fidgeted and gulped while attempting to look normal. It was futile, really, because being best friends meant you could sense when the slightest thing was even off. He nodded, and you retreated to your cabin with thoughts swirling in your head.

Then came the next few torturous and confusing days. For the last two years, Luke would always approach you - almost daily, and vice versa. Being best friends with Luke has been wonderful. Every day together felt like a blessing.

Now, it seemed almost like he was avoiding you. He would find a new excuse whenever you approached. He wouldn’t even look in your direction. Yesterday, you made eye contact with him, and he turned away abruptly, facing his back towards you.

You had enough after day three. You went to your cabin after dinner and reached under your bed with one hand. You did not want to, but this would perhaps be your first-ever letter of anguish about Luke Castellan.

The box…where is the box?

You peered under your bed, mouth hanging open when your eyes could not spot it either. You looked up and around, hoping maybe you had misplaced it somewhere, even though part of you knew you had put it under your bed. You have always done so.

“Hey, have you seen a turquoise box?” you asked your sister as she walked by.

“Oh, the rectangle one, about this big?” your sister reconfirmed, using her hand to show you the size she indicated.

“Yes, that one.”

“Oh, I gave it to Luke.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I was cleaning the cabin three days ago, accidentally knocked it over and saw letters addressed to him. He was right by the door, so I thought maybe I should just deliver them to him.”

Blood drained from your face, and your heart plummeted. Anything else your sister seemed to be talking about started sounding like murmurs, and you could not focus on a word she was saying. Your worst nightmare seemed to have arrived. Somehow, your friendship with him had ended without you knowing. No wonder he has been avoiding you these past few days. He has read them all.

“I need to go,” you quickly muttered, storming out of your cabin. You could feel your body slightly shaking from the panic. No amount of Demigod training had prepared you for moments like these. Then you saw Luke walking over you…with the box in his hands. You took a deep breath and practically forced your voice box to work.

“Listen, Luke—”

“I didn’t think you’d buy birthday gifts that early, Y/N,” he interrupted.

“What?” you questioned and observed the sweet smile gracing his Adonis-like face.

“This?” he gestured to the box. “Your sister gave it to me and said it was from you. Though I thought I should give it back ‘cause it’s not my birthday yet, you might have wanted to give it to me yourself.”

“Oh…” it was the only thing you could utter as it dawned on you what he had perceived the situation as. “Wait, so you haven’t opened it?” you clarified.

“Nope.”

“...So we’re ok?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?” your mouth hung slightly agape at his words. As you scrunch your eyebrows, you could see how his fingers fidget somewhat, almost as if he could tell you would bring his odd behavior up.

“You’ve been acting really odd the last few days, Luke. It had me worried. I thought I did something wrong. It seems like you were avoiding me.”

“I was just really busy with counselor duties,” he dismissed it. However, something about it made you a bit hesitant to believe his words. You did it anyway, nevertheless. You blamed it on your stupid heart.

“Yeah, but—” you stopped, not wanting to stir anything. “Ok then, I’m going to put this away, but I’ll see you later, yeah? Maybe we can finally not rain check again?” You hated how hopeful you sounded. You’re glad that the sun had set a few minutes ago, blessing you with enough degree of darkness to hide your facial expressions from being as evident as they would be in daylight.

“Of course, I’ll see you later, Y/N,” despite the dark and only dim lights from nearby, you noticed there was something different about him. Luke was wearing a nervous smile, almost sheepish like a schoolboy. There was a glimmer of amazement in his eyes like he was in disbelief. Though it was definitely overpowered by a glaring degree of warmth. He was looking at you like all those writers have written down in the books you have read before - something along the lines of adoration and love.

You shook those thoughts away again, refusing to somehow fool yourself into believing he could reciprocate those feelings.

“Yeah, see you,” you muttered, hand gripping tightly on the box as you took it from his hold. As soon as you reached your cabin, you opened the box to peer inside. You immediately sighed in relief upon seeing the copious amount of letters with your handwriting on them, all with Luke’s name on the front.

However, your eyes landed on one unfamiliar one. It had your name on it, written in a familiar wonky handwriting that you have always found endearing.

You sat on your bed, taking the letter out delicately, almost in disbelief. Then, dread overtook any other emotion. Was this Luke’s way of letting you down easy? By pretending to not have read any of your letters and rejecting you through the form that you express your love to him? — you had to physically shake your head at that thought.

You took the letter out of its envelope and started reading: 

‘Dear Y/N,

This is probably the 40th time I tried writing this letter. It feels impossible to try and convey everything onto one piece of paper.

You deserve someone to at least view you as their muse rather than always being the writer. 

Hence why, for the past few days, I had to physically drag myself away from you every time you tried approaching me because I knew if I didn’t, I would just end up spilling my feelings out right then. I knew if I even looked at you, I would have just abandoned this letter idea and run to you. You should have seen me yesterday. When we made eye contact, I had to turn away from you because having the knowledge of you liking me back was enough to knock all the air out of my lungs. I was a flustered mess from just that eye contact.

I doubt my words could rival what you have written about me. You once wrote how it hurts to love someone this much and to always be the poet but never the poem. Well, I’d like to thank you for making me your poems. However, now it is your turn. Allow me to be your poet.

You occupy my mind like it’s your castle. If I had to name everything I love about you, this letter would never end. But for starters, here are some of the first times:

The first time Chiron introduced you to the Hermes cabin, I could not take my eyes off you. Chris had to nudge me away. Just from that alone, a part of me knew I was in trouble. I think I came to the conclusion that I did not want to hold anybody else’s hand after just shaking yours.

2.5 years back during a campfire in June, even when the fire had died and the air grew cold, our voices still filled the air. Conversations just flow when I am with you. I remember never wanting that moment to end. Then you started talking about constellations and told me about the ones above us. Right there and then was the first time I had the urge to kiss you, and to show you that I was just as obsessed with you as you were with stars.

The first time I realized I was in love with you was while coming back from a quest 2 years ago. I remember feeling so numb coming back. The world almost seemed monotone, and I wondered for a second, what if I had made one wrong move? Just as I returned to camp, you bolted and hugged me. Somehow, it felt like I had just taken my first bit of fresh air after drowning for so long. I vividly recall shutting my eyes as I hugged you back because I felt like I was finally home. I remember never wanting to be away or out of your hold as others approached and rushed to get me into the infirmary for checkups.

It was only when I was lying on the infirmary bed that it hit me like a train that lost control. A large proportion of why I fought so hard was to come back to you. You’re my best friend, Y/N, and my place of solace and peace. Then came the realization that I was in love with you. I remember everybody else’s voice drowning out as I focused on that thought. It was strangely calming, as if my heart had known all along but was waiting for my head to catch up. Then I remember just smiling as I looked at the ceiling, unafraid of the new feeling.

Last year, the day we went on a quest together lapsed with Valentine’s Day. Every moment felt extra sweet. Us sitting on the train, staring outside the window together like a couple going on a trip. My mind savoured the small things like you falling asleep on my shoulder with my coat around you and us holding hands as we walked through the crowd to not get lost among couples - which I like to imagine that others had thought we were one as well. It was the first time I allowed myself to pretend this is how it would feel like if you were mine and how our lives together would be if we were not Demigods.

I thought for sure you would have realized something by the way I was staring and acting around you that I was irrevocably in love with you. After reading your letters, I realized that you did see it. But you refused to believe that I could ever be in love with you. Well, I hope my letters will reverse all your doubts, because Y/N, it is so easy to fall in love with you. 

In fact, the world I built up in my head during last year’s quest had consumed my thoughts enough to make me frown at the idea of returning to camp, where it would not just be the two of us anymore. Loving you has never been something I was afraid of. Loving you has been an honour every single day, even if you never knew of it. 

It’s also somewhat funny that I was heavily lovesick while you were lovelorn. But I promise, Y/N, that from this second on, I intend to make you know that you are loved and that I am so deeply in love with you.

Again, I never intended for you to wait for three days, but I ended up throwing away every letter I started because I felt like none had suffice. I didn’t want to mess it up and give you something less than you deserved. I wanted to do something nice for you. I promise I’ll make it up for those three days if you allow me to. But one chance is all I need.

If you are willing to give me that chance, you know where to find me.

Sincerely,

Luke Castellan’

Upon reading his last words, you immediately left your cabin with the letter in hand. You jogged to the spot where the two of you would always meet to stargaze together. Almost instantly, you saw his tall figure under the moonlight. As if he could sense your presence, the Hermes boy turned around and gave you a sweet smile.

“You meant it?” you asked as you raised the letter up, slowly approaching him.

“Every single word, including all the unspoken ones I intend on telling you from now on,” the way he said it felt like he was swearing it on his own heart. “In fact, I would have written more down, but I knew I was keeping you waiting for too long,” he explained as you stopped right before him.

Something about this moment felt cathartic. Three years of dancing around unspoken words and yearning led to this moment. Luke grabbed your hand and rubbed his thumb over your knuckle. You peered up at him, and it was then that you finally accepted what his looks meant: he was in love with you, and there was no doubt about that. There was no more denial on your end that Luke Castellan was enamored with you.

“Will you let me be your poet, Y/N?” he breathlessly referenced the words you and him had both previously written like he had been waiting for this for a lifetime.

“Of course,” you answered almost without hesitation, watching his eyes soften even more, if possible.

“Is it ok if I ask you another question?” he asked again, his other hand caressing your cheek.

“Yeah?” Your face flushed as you saw his brown eyes dart to your lips.

“Can I kiss you?”

This time, you didn’t say anything. You’ve written down way too many words in the past three years. You decided actions would speak louder in this case. So you pulled Luke down by his camp necklace, hands gripping the beads on it as you tiptoed up to reach his lips. 

Luke physically melted as he brought one hand to your waist to hold you up as he leaned down from the height difference. Everything Luke had imagined before could not match the kiss he was finally sharing with you - the kiss that seemed to seal his lips into a spell that would forever leave them unable to belong to anyone else. It felt like heaven and hell combined because he knew that this was going to ruin him forever, and every second he spent with his eyes shut would be one where he had this feeling and moment sown behind his eyelids. 

You had the same line of thoughts. The wait was long, but you felt like it was worth it. Under the stars, you may feel small. But standing there next to Luke, you finally realize it doesn’t matter. Because he was holding you like you were the only thing that mattered.

You were his sun, moon, and everything in between - no constellations could ever measure to you.

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

masterlist

Join my Luke Castellan taglist

taglist: @nininehaaa @perseus-jackass @tanifsblog @bubbly0 @hinata7346

[salemlunaa]

STOP PUTTING THE VOID ON A FUCKING PEDESTAL ༄

Shifting consciousness is all the void is

That’s all the void is, folks. That’s it, a deep meditation state that allows you to shift consciousness to another reality, a reality that existed the second you thought about it. All you do is alter the physical plane, aka the infamous 3d. The void allowing you to alter the laws of the 3d may sound scary and huge but it’s not. You’re just shifting awareness, aka consciousness

If you guys put walking on this much of a pedestal, a lot more of you would need crutches and wheelchairs claiming that:

“I just can’t do it, i tried and got symptoms of beginning to walk but i fell at the last second”

If you guys put breathing, yes fucking breathing on this much of a pedestal then a lot of you would need ventilators, asthma pumps, you name it. I can seriously see some of you saying that:

“I tried everything but just can’t manage to breathe”

A lot more of you would need glasses if you guys made seeing this big spectacle like you do with the void:

“nothing works for me i just CANT see”

excluding those who genuinely can’t do these things, do you realise how dumb this sounds? now look at the void this way, you don’t need to try, just be.

And why have i used these things as an example? because the void is as easy as these things and as natural as these things, it was natural to us, IS natural to us and society forced us into unlearning these things, but let me tell you the void is just shifting consciousness and you can get to do that by just inducing yourself in a deep meditative state, the same way you may do breathing exercises if youre nervous about something.

Thats it that’s all. And it will take you seconds once you master it, once you do this, I SWEAR, I BET EVERYTHING I HAVE that you will be kicking yourself mentally because it was much easier than you made it out to be, you spent a year, a year and a half, two years or even three building up to something that took you seconds.

Here’s the only method you need and i don’t need any “but”s if you have a subconscious mind, which yes, yes you do, then this “method” shouldn’t be a problem for you. at all:

1. Focus on your breathing

2. Repeating “I AM” wether it be in your head or outloud

3. Either visualise yourself as faceless and formless OR shift your awareness outside of your body

and that’s it you’re done you’ve shifted.

you were born to do this, shifting awareness is a basic ability you were born with, not a talent to perfect, not a skill to be “good/bad at”. It’s a basic human ability.

So stfu about how you can’t do it, you can do it, you have done it. 🦧💋

[xazse]

Hello z! Just wanted to say your writing is so yummy and keeps me and the rest of your followers so full😋 BTW! More puppy girl hybrid?? (P.s this is my first request 🙂‍↕️❤️)

PT 2 OF MY MOST RECENT PUPPYGIRL!HYBRID FIC FOR THOSE WHO ASKED!!

PT1 HERE

Notes: IM SO HAPPY IM UR FIRST REQUESTEE! I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS!! And I’m super glad you enjoy my writing it really means a lot<33

Warnings: Hybrid!Gojo + fem!reader + PuppyHybrid!Reader + smut + small Drabble + not proofread + brat!reader + little bit of sub!Satoru + nipple!teasing + slight crying + overstimulation + mean!Suguru + exhibition

People who asked to be tagged: @qmsvpx @sugurubabe @shokosbunny @rinsluhvr @fuyuji-ii @mashtura @wisteriaflowersss @kickenkricken @rinsluhvr @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni I hope you guys enjoy!

WolfHybrid!Gojo who really can’t take all the teasing you’ve been putting him through. After the first incident Suguru made it 100 percent clear to you specifically that you are to not touch Satoru like that again, who knows what will happen if he’s not around. He’s not scared Satoru will hurt you but he should be eased into the world of pleasure not immediately made to cum on himself his first day in what is now his home.

Suguru scolds you bad, telling you how disappointed he is, how you know better! He knows how needy hybrids get especially your species but the toys he supplies for you should be more than enough. All you did in retaliation was make it a goal to ruin Satoru… poor thing why is he the victim in all of this? And yet he doesn’t even know.

You ignore Suguru’s rule when it’s just you and Satoru in the house.

You make an effort to rub yourself all over his body while wearing the thinnest layer of clothing, when he’s laying on the couch facing the ceiling you’ll come lifting his shirt up and licking all over his chest, even sucking on his nipples as extra stimulation. You love his reactions, everything makes him fully hard and his loud moans fill the empty living room. He can’t process what to do with this pleasure besides grabbing and fondling his cock until he’s finishing in his pants again.

It doesn’t take long for him to be hard all over again, and for you to repeat the process. If he asks if you can help him feel like that again you’ll force him to rub your ears for a good five minutes.

WolfHybrid!Gojo who gets to feel what it’s like being balls deep in your cunt, when you sink your nice ass to meet his pelvis, the poor wolf is fucking gone, he’s never felt something so tight around his cock, he’s never felt anything around his cock! Your plush walls squeeze him so good that he’s having a hard time forming sentences let alone words, all that’s slipping from his pretty slippery pink lips are moans, moans that emphasize how his balls are tightening and he’s cumming deep inside you.

You’re quick to start bouncing so cutely on him, your floppy ears bouncing along with you. Your toys don’t compare to Satoru’s thick cock, how has a woman never felt something like this? You can feel the twitching of his veins as he gets it up once again. You peek at his face to find the wolfman ruined, drool seeps from the corners of his lips and tears are decorating his lash lines.

When you finally cum, it’s a damn mess, the mixture of you two sit where you meet and seep out. The pleasure in the moment doesn’t have you thinking of what Suguru will do to you, doesn’t matter what he will do to the both of you, all you can think of is grinding down on Satoru’s cock for another orgasm.

Bonus!

Suguru is fucking furious, he was mad the first time but he let it slide since it simple curiosity on both sides. The simple curiosity has gone too far, you don’t fucking listen. Since the moment he had welcomed you into his home a few years back he’s had a hard time getting you to listen to directions.

He doesn’t hear you out when he drags you and Satoru to the bedroom, in fact he tells the both of you to keep going. You find yourselves shy under his eye and insist that you’ve both learned your lesson from his lecture earlier. He wasn’t really lecturing Satoru since he doesn’t know the rules as well as you do but this is a great learning moment.

He ignores you, ignores how you’re using the sweet eyes with him, he’s dead serious.

You’re quick to obey and incite a small kiss with Satoru, that turns into a full on make-out with Suguru watching intently.

The rest of the night is filled with moans and groans of complaints, Suguru had told Satoru to let any lewd feelings he had all on you, Satoru does not hold back at all, he fucks his thick cock into your sensitive walls over and over, the mess from earlier helps as to not hurt you so it’s so easy for him to slide back and forth. Satoru found himself ecstatic at the start but when he finds his cock overstimulated and his balls hurting from the painful pleasure he’s not feeling the same, but he for some reason won’t stop his hips from moving, he loves the feeling of having you cum around him nonstop, he loves Suguru watching him so intently, everything mixed together.

Your clit is so slippery that it’s hard to pinpoint where you should be rubbing, everytime you stop Suguru is quick to snap at you to keep going, this is what you wanted correct? He makes sure to ask that out loud, you’re so fucking adorable with the way you nod in his direction, he knows you have a few more in you.

[domxmarvel]

I’d let you guess 

Masterlist

Pairing: Billie eilish x Female!Reader

'Y/N likes boys but she knows I’d hit it'

Billie had changed the lyrics during one of her shows,you were her friend for years and despite you being straight you were shipped together. The lyric change was all over social media,the clip of her singing it was going viral. The next show she repeated it again,she would do that at every show with a smirk on her face. She never said anything to you about it directly,but it was clear she hoped you’d say something back. And you wouldn't just take it,you joined her as a surprise guest for her next show. Singing with her until that line. At this point everyone was going off, the fans screaming and yelling, her own heart was pounding out of her own chest. She looked right at you,biting her lip.

"Y/N likes boys but she knows I’d hit it" she smirked at you as she sang those words. You lifted your own mic.

"Billie knows I'm straight but she knows I'd let her hit" The crowd gasped and went silent for a second as you said that,but swiftly went crazy while Billie slowly turned to look at you with her mouth open. As the song ended, the two of you walked off of the stage and she quickly pushed you up against a wall out of eye sight from everyone. You froze up,not expecting her to do this. She smirked and put her hand up against the wall next to your head

“What was that back there?” she said in a low voice.

"What? You can't keep saying that about me and not expect me to stay quiet"

“Well I didn’t think you’d be so confident about saying that” she said while keeping a smirk on her face as she looked at you.

"Well you surprised me when you said it first,so I figured now we're even"

“I guess we are,” she said as she moved even closer to you, barely any space apart now. “But I have to admit, I really liked it when you said that” she said as she got closer to your ear, her breath faintly hitting your ear. This was far from over and both of you knew it.

It only took a few hours before the moment had gone viral,with various people talking about it,re-posting it with different captions.

”Billie trying to hint at Y/N. it’s obvious the two have something going on off stage”

”How Billie kept biting her lip throughout the song. She obviously knew what she was doing”

"Y/N coming out as bisexual by saying that is the best thing I’ve ever seen"

"Y/N definitely has to be bisexual after she said that" But people were quick to point out that you never actually came out and maybe to not jump to conclusions. 

“It’s probably all just a publicity stunt”

“Just because they were standing close on stage doesn’t mean that they’re in love”

“I doubt Y/N is bisexual,she’s just Billie’s friend”

“Guys maybe we shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions, they’re just best friends” Shows continued and Billie kept using the line about you,changing it up very slightly. 

"Y/N is straight but everyone knows she’d switch teams for me"

"Y/N likes boys but knows I’m much better"

"Y/N is straight but I know she secretly wants me"

"Y/N likes boys but I think I could change that" The changes only drove the ship further,it was all everyone was talking about, some comments saying you were 100% dating and that you were in fact gay, some saying that it’s all for attention, and some just saying that they ship it. You decided to join her for the last four shows. She changed the line ever so slightly every time,tonight it was.

"Y/N is straight but everyone knows it won't last" she sang with a smirk on her face, her hand gripping the microphone tightly.

"Billie knows I like boys,but she does it better" The whole crowd erupted in yelling and screaming after you said that, the look on Billie’s face was almost unreadable but she seemed impressed at that line. The next night it was another line.

"Y/N likes men, but she knows I do it best” she said with a smirk on her face

"Billie thinks I'm straight but I'd sit on that face" You knew this one was a bit further that the rest but you were getting close to the end of the tour so you amped it up. The crowd went absolutely insane when you said that and the look on Billie’s face showed that she was shocked and amazed, her cheeks were also a bit redder than usual. And that line caused quite a stir all over the internet. 

"Y/N IS 100% BI, NO ONE CAN TELL ME OTHERWISE"

"I CAN'T EVEN TELL IF THEY'RE DATING OR NOT AT THIS POINT, THAT LINE WAS SO DIRTY"

"THAT LINE REALLY JUST CHANGED EVERYTHING"

"I have no idea if Y/N is straight anymore, that line changed everything"

"Oh my god that line literally almost killed me"

"SHE REALLY SAID THAT IN FRONT OF MILLIONS OF PEOPLE-"

"Guys she literally said she'd sit on Billie's face!!"

"SHE LEGITIMATELY SAID THAT ON STAGE IN FRONT OF THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE AND BILLIE'S FACE WAS RED"

Even Billie had to say something about that line,after the show she found you backstage and said to you.

"I really liked that line from you" she said as she smirked at you

"Figured you would,amping it up for the last three shows" There were two more shows.

"Well it definitely worked" she said while smirking, her cheeks still a bit pink from the line. "I’ll probably have to top that for the next show" And the next show her line was.

"Y/N likes boys but wants me more" she sang out, her eyes looking right at you.

"Billie thinks I like boys but knows I'd let her hit til the sunrise" Billie’s face went bright red and her hand gripping the microphone was white as a ghost,her knuckles gripping it tight. You put your arm on her side,pulling her in to whisper. "How about one more?"

"Y-yeah" she whispers back, her cheeks going darker if that was even possible. "Y/N likes men but wants me more" she sang, her confidence showing.

"Billie knows I'm straight but I'd let her hit,front and back" The crowd absolutely lost it after that line, she could barely hear herself from all the yelling and screaming, her gaze not leaving yours as you smirked at her. She surprisingly went again.

"Y/N likes boys but she wants me more" she sang more confidently, not daring to look away from you.

"Billie thinks I like boys,but I prefer her hands around my throat" you smirked,knowing it would rile up the crowd which it did. The crowd absolutely went insane, screaming, squealing, yelling your names, and the look on her face was an obvious mix of shock and admiration. "Billie thinks I'm straight,but I'd let her pick my underwear" you referenced it back to the actual song. The crowd was literally losing it as you said that, the look on her face was a mix of shock and almost disbelief, but there was something else in her eyes and you could tell that she was enjoying this just as much as you were.

"Y/n like men but she'd be all mine" she sang, her gaze not leaving yours as she smirked at you.

"Billie thinks I like men but I'd let her take me any time" 

As usual the lines were quickly going viral,the comments flooding in. People commented,mostly about the back and forth between you. The lines you had said driving them crazy.

"The 'Billie thinks I'm straight,but I'd let her pick my underwear' is absolutely crazy"

"Guys 'front and back' front and back???"

"She said she'd let Billie 'hit till the sunrise' she's definitely not straight"

"Y/N's lines😭😭"

"They said it so many times."

"They added multiple lines,I'm so jealous of everyone at that show" 

Everyone was also wondering what the last one would be,what could possibly top this. The last show arrived and every second was spent waiting for that critical moment. The crowd was filled with excitement and anticipation, waiting for the two of you to take the stage, eager to see what would happen during the last show. Billie smirked,confident that she had something good.

"Y/N likes boys but she'd rather have me" she said while winking at you.

"Billie thinks I'm straight,no I'm not" you said louder,it wasn't the dirty line she was used to but you had just come out on stage. "Billie knows I'm not straight but I'm all hers" You looked at Billie,seeing if she wanted to do a back and forth like the previous show. She looked right back at you, the smirk on her face growing as she nodded, signaling that she wanted to do a back and forth once again

"Y/N likes men, but she's mine tonight" she sang, the line making many in the crowed start to freak out, the back and forth between the two of you becoming a huge hit with the fans

"Billie knows I like women,but I'm her girl"

"Y/N knows I'm better, but she loves the chase" She sang, her confidence only increasing with each word, her cheeks still slightly red as she looked at you

"Billie knows I want it,want it all day all night" Billie's cheeks had gone deeper red and she looked at you, she knew she had to think of something even more insane to top that. 

"Y/N wants me, but I want her even more" She sang out, biting her lip as she finished the line, knowing many fans would lose it, and they did. You knew your last line would be a bigger reveal than when you came out a few minutes ago,it would change things. Reveal things you kept hidden,things you were ready to finally tell. 

"Billie knows I like women,but I love her" Billie simply stood there in shock, frozen in place as she stared at you, her cheeks now completely red. The whole crowd went dead silent after you sang that, you could hear a pin drop for a few seconds before the crowd erupted in cheers. She stood there in shock, her brain completely unable to process what you had just said. She knew it would change everything, her feelings and yours, but that's what she wanted, and she had a feeling that you wanted it too. You moved closer to her,leaning to whisper. "I love you" She looked up at you,wide eyes until she finally spoke.

"I love you too,but I’m so making you pay for those lines”

“Looking forward to it” 

[auroralwriting]

home

spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

spencer gets shot, and you don't know who you need to forgive: him, or yourself.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: no use of y/n, spencer gets shot, season 9, blood and violence, criminal minds type violence, negative self thoughts, angsty but it turns fluffy, spencer's drug addiction is discussed, best friends to lovers

The ringing in your ears overwhelmed you. Shots were firing all around, and you didn't know what to do. You'd never been in a shoot-out before, and you felt panicked.

Spencer was beside you, hidden behind the car door as he fired some shots. You watched as an officer in front of you was shot.

You knew it was the worst idea to go out there, but the man could be alive. Your legs moved before you realized it, and you were attempting to drag the officer's body. Spencer and Alex both yelled for you, running out to grab you. Right as Alex grabbed your arm, Spencer pushed you closer to her, which was very out of character for him.

It was then you heard another bullet rip through skin.

The sound that came from Spencer was one you couldn't quite describe, but could never forget. Immediately, you noticed the blood seeping from his neck of all places.

"Spencer!" Your voice was broken and loud as you yelled, grabbing onto him. Derek made a jump, helping you and Alex move him behind the car again.

"No, no," Alex muttered, putting pressure on Spencer's neck. "Look at me, okay? Don't close your eyes,"

You sat behind her, shaking your head as tears freely flowed down your cheeks. "Oh my god, oh my god," You repeated, shock flooding your system.

"Ethan, look at me! Ethan!"

For a moment, you didn't realize who Blake was talking to, until you saw Spencer's shut eyes. "Spencer, Spencer wake up." You crawled over, shaking his shoulder. "Please, I need you, I need you with me forever. You're my best-- Alex, why is there so much blood?"

You helped Alex stop the bleeding, but it was so much. After what felt like years, the paramedics arrived. You and Alex fought to ride with him, and somehow, they let both of you. The woman held you to her side as she urged you to look away, but the sight of Spencer's dying body never left your eyes. Were you even blinking? Breathing? It didn't feel like it.

Spencer was rushed to surgery immediately. You didn't even get to say goodbye when you and Alex were sent to the waiting room. The two of you didn't speak for a while, until an hour or so later.

"Who's Ethan?"

Alex turned to you, "Ethan was my son."

"He passed?" You asked.

"When he was nine. I begged him to look at me." Alex bit her lip as you squeezed your eyes shut. "I don't know if I can do this anymore."

You reached for her hand, which she took. "I don't blame you." You admitted, looking over to her with teary eyes. "Do what your heart tells you to, Alex. Don't let us determine what you're happy doing."

Alex gave your hand a squeeze as the silence took over once more as you waited. Penelope sent word that she was on her way, and you hoped it would be soon. Her cheerful demeanor was what you needed.

Finally, the doctor came to tell you Spencer had narrowly avoided death. You felt a breath release, one you didn't know you were holding. The man lead you both to Spencer's room.

Your first thought was about how peaceful he looked. Then, the panic set in when you saw the IV in his arm. "What medications will he be given?" You quickly asked before the doctor could leave the room.

The doctor listed a couple of medications when one caught your attention, "...Gabapentin, Hydromorphone--"

"Stop, what are those? Opioids?" You questioned.

"Uh, yes. Both are in the dilaudid family--"

You shook your head, "He can't have those. He had a drug addiction to dilaudid. Give him something else."

The doctor gave you a hesitant look, "Agent, those are what we recommend--"

"I don't give a damn, what else can you give him?" You demanded, crossing your arms.

"Uh, Morphine would be the most basic and cover the most ground." The doctor sheepishly responded.

With an exasperated look, you said, "Then write that down. That's what he'll be getting. Monitor the doses, too. I don't want to risk a relapse. If you have any questions, I'm his second emergency contact. First is Aaron Hotchner, he can attest--"

"It's really alright, miss." The doctor said, slowly stepping back. "We took note. I'll see to it that it is followed."

The doctor left and Alex chuckled, "You scared him."

"Good," You replied, sitting down next to Spencer. Alex took the other side as you carefully took his hand. "It's my fault, you know."

Alex's brows furrowed, "What?"

"It's my fault he got shot." You repeated, pinching the bridge of your nose tightly as you squeezed your eyes shut. "I was to his right. He pushed me out of the way. My head is just where his shoulder is, and he bent down to push me. It was meant to be a headshot, Alex."

Softly, Alex grabbed your hand across Spencer's body. "Sweetheart, that doesn't make it your fault. You couldn't have controlled Spencer's actions."

With a sniffle, you tearfully looked up to Alex. "Alex, please be with him when he wakes up. He's my best friend, and I failed him. I- I just can't."

Alex wanted to argue you, to tell you that you were exactly what Spencer needed when he woke up, but she also took into account your needs, too. "Alright," she sighed. "But please, come back after to see him, alright?"

"Yeah," You nodded, biting your lip.

Remembering the moment Spencer got shot was like it was from another lifetime, even if it was just from a few mere hours ago. You remembered exactly what you did, but looking back, it felt like you replayed every moment you'd ever had with the genius. Every lingering touch, every time he made your heart swirl. You would've never gotten to kiss him, or tell him you liked him. It was too much for your heart to bare.

Penelope showed up later on, setting up some Doctor Who action figures for Spencer to see when he woke up. The sight of it made you sick. Knowing he would need to see something good when he opened his eyes was too much, too soon. You excused yourself, leaving the room in a hurry as you left the hospital.

For a while, you sat in the black SUV provided by the police. You just needed space, air to breathe. After some calming breaths, you decided to get Spencer some flowers to cheer up his dull room.

The florist was only fifteen minutes away, so that's where you headed. When you walked in, the woman behind the counter noticed who you were. Small towns talk.

"I don't know anything," She said with a sigh, "You'll find better luck--" Her voice paused when she saw the look in your eyes. "You ain't here to question me, are you?"

You cleared your throat, "My uh, partner-- teammate, he got shot. I wanted to just get him flowers, I guess. Maybe this is too weird," You'd muttered the last part to yourself, turning around to leave.

"No! No, wait." The woman called as you turned back around. "You like this teammate of yours?"

You nodded, "Yeah."

"You like him more than that?" She raised a brow.

With a hot face, you nodded. "I do."

"I always know. I got just the thing for you, sweetie. Just give me five minutes to prepare it." The woman rushed into the back, and you hesitantly took a seat in a small chair. After those five minutes, she came back out with a gorgeous pink floral arrangement. "Put this together especially for you."

Reaching for your wallet, you mustered the best smile you could. "Thank you so much. How much do I owe you?"

"No charge, sweetie." The woman held her hand up in denial. "You work a hard job. I'm a mother, I know the look of love and heartbreak on a young woman's face. You tell him how you feel, alright? That's the charge."

Your eyes watered as you took the flowers from her. "Thank you, ma'am. You're too kind."

"Says the girl getting the boy she loves flowers after he got hurt." The lady smiled back.

After driving back to the hospital, you hit the fourth floor button and took the grueling trip up. You realized you'd left your phone in the room. Hopefully nothing too important happened.

As you walked up to Spencer's room, you heard his voice, but it was filled with panic. "Garcia, he has a gun!"

Your body moved before your brain as you ran in, grabbing the first person you didn't know. The male nurse, who you assumed was not a nurse, threw you back against the wall as you took note of the gun in the back of his belt. You reached for it, but felt the bottom of it crash into your forehead. He'd gotten it before you had. As you fell to the floor, you heard Penelope shout for help when you saw Spencer's bag, the one that had his gun.

Right as the unsub turned around, you grabbed it and shot him right in the chest. He fell to the floor as you realized you'd been clutching the flowers. Laying down, you let them fall out of your grasp as Derek appeared, grabbing the unsub.

"Oh, my ray of sunshine!" Penelope yelled as she helped you up "You're bleeding! Let's get you a nurse- a real one."

As she pulled you out of the room, you'd just caught a glance at Spencer who was watching you leave with an unreadable expression on his face.

You sucked in a sharp breath of pain as the nurse finished stitching up your forehead. A good sized gash was left from the bottom of the gun, and your shoulder was already developing a bruise on the blade. “Sweets, are you sure you’re okay?” Penelope carefully asked, squeezing your hand as the nurse grabbed the rest of her tools and left you both alone in the small waiting area.

“Yeah, Pen. I’ll be okay.” You nodded. Playing with your fingers, you cleared your throat. “How’s Spencer?”

“He’s okay. Up and talking, the Morphine is doing him well. He’s not in too much pain.” Penelope replied, giving your hand another squeeze. “He was thankful it was Morphine.”

With a nod, you continued, “Was Alex with him when he woke up?”

“We both were,” Penelope bit her lip, “but he still asked for you.”

“I just couldn’t be there,” A sigh escaped your lips as you rubbed a hand over your cheek. “It should’ve—”

Penelope raised her eyebrows, “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. It shouldn’t have been anybody. This is not your fault, I won’t let you believe it.”

A throb emitted from your forehead, “When do we leave? I just want to go home.”

“Spencer’s being airlifted there. We leave right when he does, in about thirty minutes. JJ packed all your things and brought them to the jet for you.” Penelope softly smiled. You made a mental note to thank JJ for doing that for you. “You know you’re going to have to talk to him, right?”

“I don’t want to think about it, Pen.” You shook your head as much as the pain would allow. “I just want to go to sleep.”

Penelope nodded softly, taking your hand and guiding you to the car to go to the jet.

Two days later, and you were still at home in your apartment. Your forehead only got worst with a huge bruise around the stitches. That wasn’t to mention the pain radiating from your left shoulder, either. You felt so bad for not seeing Spencer while he was awake in the hospital, but even now, the thought made you sick to your stomach. Seeing him in pain, in the hospital gown, the beeping of the machines, it was all just too much to bear. It was worse knowing that should’ve been you.

You were sat in your sofa, a half-melted bag of peas on your forehead when you heard the doorbell ring. Slowly, you got up off the couch-- much to your dismay-- and approached the door, reaching for the knob and twisting it.

Spencer standing outside the door, holding a similar flower arrangement to the one you'd gotten him, was not what you expected.

"Reid," You softly said, his last name feeling odd on your tongue. He was never Reid to you. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see how you were doing. Morgan, uh, told me you got knocked around pretty good." Spencer eyed your forehead, making you feel like a tiny specimen under a microscope. You allowed your hair to fall over it, covering the large, disgusting mark.

Biting your lip, you nodded. "I'm alright." After a moment, you came to your senses, "Uh, come on in. Sorry if it's messy."

"I think I'll live," Spencer chuckled, making your blood run cold at his words. You lead him inside, and even if he'd been in your apartment a numerous amount of times, it felt different now.

Spencer sat on the other end of your sofa. You pressed yourself to the arm, giving plenty of space between the both of you. "Are you in pain?"

"No, not really." Spencer hummed as he pondered your question. "But swallowing sometimes feels different."

"Ah," You casually replied as you went to pick at your nails. You stopped yourself-- don't give Spencer any of your tells. "I'm glad you're okay."

"I wish you would've came to see me sooner." Spencer admitted. "I missed you. I thought you would've been there when I woke up."

Guilt crept into your gut as you replied, "I was out getting you flowers."

"For three hours?"

Spencer's comment clocked you. "Spencer," You rubbed your neck, head slinging down to stare at your lap. "I couldn't be there."

"Why?" Spencer breathlessly asked, his eyes pleading for an answer.

He felt so alone when he opened his eyes and you weren't there. Sure, Alex and Penelope both were, but he was searching for you the whole time. You were his rock, you had been for the last three years. Sure, at first he took a while to warm up to you. Two months, twenty-three days, seventeen hours, and sixteen minutes, to be precise. The moment you both connected, however, it was like you and Spencer were attached at the hip. You had always been there for him. Why weren't you there for him now? It tore down Spencer to know you weren't there, but he was also concerned for your well-being as well.

"That shot was meant for me, Spencer." Your voice was cold as you spoke, a small quiver when you said it was for yourself. "We both know that would've been a headshot."

"You're mad that I saved your life?" Spencer didn't want to become angry, but he did feel frustrated at your lack of understanding.

You huffed, standing up quickly, "I'm mad that you hurt yourself for me, Spencer! You almost died, what would I have done if you died?"

"Says you," Spencer retorted, a small look of bewilderment on his face. "I couldn't live with myself if you died."

The air was thick in the room as you paced while Spencer watched. "Oh, so getting yourself shot was the answer. You scared Alex half to death, and I've never seen Derek cry before this! Don't even mention JJ going dead silent on us."

"Is this about them, or is this about us?" Spencer questioned, crossing his arms.

"This is about-- agh!" As you threw your arms out in distress, pain radiated through your shoulder blade. Your face scrunched in pain as Spencer quickly jolted to your side.

He softly took your arm, "Hey, hey. Let's just sit down, okay? Do you need more ice? Or, a better ice pack?" Spencer helped you sit down, and he grabbed your ankles to pop them up on the small ottoman in front of the couch.

"Better one would be nice," you muttered. "M' still mad at you."

"That's okay," Spencer's voice became more distant as he walked into your kitchen. "I guess I'd be mad, too. If I was in your situation, I mean."

You hummed, "Damn right."

Spencer chuckled as he made his way back into the living room. He gently pushed your hair out of your face, cringing at the huge bruise. You held onto the ice bag as he helped you sit forward. He could see the bruise that made its way up from your shoulder blade. It fell just above the hemline of your shirt, and the mere size made him sigh softly. "He really got you, huh?"

"He was Derek sized," you chuckled bitterly. "Plus, I was trying to save your flowers."

"Well, the vase was broken, but I kept the flowers." Spencer softly laughed beside you.

Your eyes twinkled as you looked to him, "You did?"

"Of course I did," Spencer nodded, "It was the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"Wow," Your tone was joking as you continued, "That's a really low bar. Gotta raise it, somehow."

Spencer softly took your hand in his. Every time he touched you, it reminded you of how much he trusted and cared for you; so much so that he allowed physical intimacy with you.

"I couldn't see you like that," You whispered, just loud enough for Spencer to hear. "It hurt me so much, to know I couldn't help you more. I-I couldn't- I-"

Shushes softly spewed from Spencer's mouth. "Hey, it's okay." He soothed, rubbing circles over your knuckles with his thumb. "I'm not mad at you. I was just sad you weren't there, but I understand."

"I can't live without you, Spencer Reid." You admitted, locking eyes with him.

Spencer softly spoke your name, and you noticed how his eyes flicked from your eyes, to your lips, and back to your eyes. "I can't live without you, either." Spencer echoed, another hand softly meeting your cheek. "Please tell me if I'm reading this wrong."

"You're not," you whispered. "promise."

You both sat there for a moment, reeling in each other's presences, your life forces. Finally, the tension got to be too strong. You leaned yourself closer to Spencer, ghosting your lips over his slightly-chapped ones. You gave him a moment to back out, to tell you that you read it wrong--

and he kissed you.

It wasn't a hard, fiery kiss. It was one that was soft, sweet, like a shining body of water, or the sound of laughter. His lips molded into yours like a missing puzzle piece. Spencer's hands moved to hold your face so strongly, yet so gentle like he was afraid to drop one of Rossi's expensive china pieces.

As you pulled back, Spencer's breath softly hit your face, a peppermint smell softly brushing your lips. "Is that why you were so upset?" Spencer breathlessly asked.

"Yeah," you nodded, "I think so."

"You think?" Spencer half-smiled.

"I think so." You pondered for a moment. "Wanna prove me right?"

Spencer chuckled, pushing his nose to nose your own. "More than anything."

Your lips collided again, but you pulled back with confusion. “How did you know I liked you?”

“Pink flowers,” Spencer scratched the back of his neck, “They’re known for symbolizing crushes, romantic feelings. Your whole arrangement was all pink tulips, roses, carnations.” You eyed Spencer’s for you— it was all pink. “I guess your florist knew better than you did.”

You chuckled, “I guess she did. I like yours, too.” Spencer’s eyes fell to his bouquet and he blushed. “Oh, don’t get shy on me now, kiss me again you sweet genius boy.”

Spencer smiled, happily leaning in for another kiss.

It was then you realized why you were so upset before; you couldn't lose your home.

[meowdei]

for you, i’d do it all again — ft. alhaitham

the story of how you replace the acting grand sage as the permanent one. alternatively: three times alhaitham wanted to say i love you and one time he finally does

before you read: 6.2k word count ; fem reader ; friends to lovers ; former bimarstan nurse to grand sage reader (girlboss hours) ; reader is ambiguous but from the desert ; themes of prejudice against desert folks ; lovesick alhaitham ; nahida appearance (she’s very sweet) ; mentions of blood and injuries ; reader sits on his lap ; fingering ; semi public sex/office sex (the door is locked) ; slight hand jobs ; unprotected vaginal sex ; pulling out ; soft linguist alhaitham :(

His head is pounding. Hard.

Alhaitham fights mercenaries often—far too many of them are easy to run into deep into the desert. They tend to get territorial over ruins, too, not too keen on rainforest folk. Their teeth always grit, and their eyes always glare at him like he’s more than just an intruder.

He supposes he is.

For far too long, the desert population of Sumeru has been an afterthought. For far too long, they’ve fought tooth and nail for an opportunity—any opportunity. The desert ruins and their secrets are the few things that they have, the few things that they can cling to. The ruins are one of the rare things that are theirs to control.

Alhaitham doesn’t blame them for being hostile when he approaches. They scoff bitterly when he offers up his Akademiya-approved stamp on a paper to be there.

Get out, they grit, in their mother tongue.

It’s a language Alhaitham recognizes. Something entirely different from anything people speak in the rainforest. People in the city. But he knows what they say—he learned this particular tongue some years ago from a book in his father’s collection. This version is vaguely different, though, something of a dialect, he assumes.

I don’t mean harm, he says quietly, hand held up in surrender.

They pause. One of them, the leader, he deduces, steps up and chuckles.

“Fancy fer a little ‘ol scholar, ain’t ya?” He asks gruffly, “so ya know ta speak a few other languages. So what?”

His grammar is slightly off, Alhaitham notes. He must have picked up what he knows from traveling to and from Caravan Rivat. It’s impressive, Alhaitham thinks.

Only a sharp mind could pick up a language so easily just from hearing bits and pieces in a bustling place like the trading hub between the two borders. He imagines with proper education, this man could put even him to shame with how easily he picks up new tongues.

“I mean no harm,” he repeats. “I’m just here to explore these ruins for research.”

The words seem to do little to ease their minds. Instead, they draw their swords, and just like that, he prepares himself for another grueling fight.

As usual, Alhaitham wins in the end. Not without a good few hits landed on him, though—this particular bunch was a rough fight even for him. The blunt head of a sword handle hitting his head is particularly rough, hence why he lays in the bimarstan, eyes closed as he holds an ice pack to his temple.

“You don’t have to fight every person who picks one with your first,” you chastise, rolling bandages around his bicep where a small gash is littered on his skin.

He grunts, fighting through every pounding thump in his skull as he says hoarsely, “I don’t particularly have a choice. It’s either fight back or be killed.”

“You could always seduce them,” you tease, giggling when he opens a weary eye and gives you an unimpressed stare.

“I have my doubts about that plan,” he says dryly.

“They don’t mean any harm,” you hum quietly, tossing away the dirtied rags you’d used to clean his blood. “The desert folks aren’t exactly the happiest with Akademiya ones, you know.”

“I’d appreciate it if such grievances didn’t have to end with knife fights,” he says tiredly.

Alhaitham, no matter how bloodied or bruised he could show up to you in the hospital, finds that you always have a soft spot for those of the desert. It makes sense, he supposes, seeing as you come from there yourself—still, he’d really appreciate it if you could acknowledge that he’s been a victim of unwarranted violence.

It’s not that he particularly blames them for their actions. Researchers are quite pushy—too pushy, in fact. They take up room in villages they’re unwelcome in often times. They build institutions they’re not permitted to build. They claim ownership of ruins that aren’t theirs to claim.

Researchers like Alhaitham, who intend to observe and do nothing else, aren’t trusted, regardless of their intentions. The mercenaries have taken to force if that’s what it requires to keep the desert rightfully theirs.

“Akademiya-approved exploration permits mean little to them,” you shrug, “the only person I’m sure they’d make an exception for is Cyno—only because he’s one of them. But a lot of people have much to say about him too for leaving nowadays, anyway.”

“How would you know?”

“My mother writes to me,” you say, wrapping up the bandage around his bicep before pulling away. He misses the heat of your fingertips almost instantly, fighting back the urge to grab at your retreating hands.

“Lord Kusanali sent me,” he says quietly. “She…she was looking for something.”

You don’t press for more, thankfully. His vagueness is enough to tell you he probably can’t share much of what he was sent for, and you don’t seem offended even the slightest.

Alhaitham appreciates that. Not many of his friends (if he can call most of them that, anyway) are ever too pleased by his curt, dry answers. Perhaps Cyno is the exception, but the General Mahamatra is equally as curt as the scribe on most days. Kaveh is too nosey for his own good, Dehya is just as pushy for details, and the traveler wouldn’t be so bad if not for that irritating little pixie friend that floats by her head, always demanding for more information.

You never ask for more, though. He likes that about you.

He likes a lot about you. Alhaitham, as emotionally stunted as most people assume him to be, is aware of most of his feelings. Perhaps expressing them is a different story, but recognizing them for what they are is an easy enough step.

He knows early on that he’s deeply enamored by you. Later, he’s not too shocked to come to the realization he’s in love with you, either.

He comes close to saying it sometimes. It’s a dangerous, slippery slope to tread—sometimes whispering I love you feels as natural as saying thank you when you patch him up.

Probably because he says it so many times in his head.

I love you, he says in his mind when you laugh.

I love you, he thinks, when you worry over him.

I love you, he realizes, when you attach yourself to his side and accompany him to Puspa Cafe.

“Speaking of the Archon,” you perk up, excitedly putting away the medical equipment in a rush as you turn to him and add, “did you hear? Sumeru is finally expanding the Akademiya’s education to the desert!”

Alhaitham wants to tell you he’s one of the first to know. He was part of the operation that resolved conflicts and led to this evolvement, after all, but he doesn’t tell you that.

Instead, he nods and smiles softly at you. “I did, yes.”

“It’s wonderful,” you beam excitedly, “I’ve always felt guilty for leaving the desert. Not too many get the opportunities I had—it’ll be wonderful if the children there are granted the same ones, don’t you think?”

I love you, he wants to say when you’re so happy and thrilled by changes he had a hand in.

Pride swells itself into his chest at the look on your face. Alhaitham doesn’t help people for this sense of pride or self-fulfillment—it’s simply the right thing to do, and the course of action that leads to less catastrophe.

The lesser the catastrophe, the easier his life will be.

But for once, he’s proud to have done something for the greater good if it means painting a smile on your face like that.

“It’s great news, yes,” he confirms.

“You’ll have to tell me how you and the others pulled off such a grand scheme sometime,” you say casually, fighting off a knowing smile when he shoots his head up to look at you.

He groans at the sharp pain in his head at the action, rubbing his temple as you laugh.

“How—how did you—”

“I may be out of the loop, but I’m not clueless,” you snort.

You hand him a pill and a glass of water, making him stare up at you before he mumbles, “they’ve asked me to be acting grand sage. Just for the time being.”

“Will you accept?”

He swallows the pill down with a long sip of water before handing you the half-empty glass. With a slow nod, he sighs, “I don’t have too many options on this matter.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re more than capable, Haitham.”

I love you, he thinks, when you make it so apparent that you believe him like you breathe. So easy, so natural. So involuntary.

—————

Alhaitham is tired of being the acting grand sage. He doesn’t mind stepping up and doing something for the sake of his nation—especially when he’s one of the only seemingly capable individuals, too.

Lesser Lord Kusanali requests him to temporarily take the role until she finds someone suitable to take his place. Alhaitham is not one to put his faith blindly into divinity—he doesn’t care much for the divine as it is.

But Sumeru’s archon is one who loves her people. He can admire that much.

So, with a slightly mournful goodbye to his free time, he accepts.

“I’m tired of paperwork,” he grumbles. You giggle, earning a more sour look from him. “Glad you’re amused.”

“Sorry,” you clasp a hand over your mouth as you apologize through your fit of laughter, “it’s just funny to hear from the scribe of all people that paperwork is the main trouble of grand sage duty.”

“It’s an entirely separate realm of paperwork,” he scoffs. “It’s quite tiring.”

Alhaitham, on a normal day, would not accept an offer to stargaze in place of going home, taking a hot shower, and going to bed. Not before reading a few chapters of his book, of course, but that’s beside the point.

It’s a little different when the offer comes from you, though. If it’s you, he has a hard time declining. You don’t seem to notice that yet, which is a good sign, but it leaves him a bit painfully aware of just how much control you hold over his mind.

“I’d love to be grand sage one day,” you sigh, looking up at the stars as you admire them.

They’re not as nice here as they are in the desert, you’d told him one night. In the city, the lights make the stars hard to see. In the rainforest, the thick layer of leaves from the trees makes them nearly disappear. In the desert, however, where there’s nothing to block out the darkness and the fluorescence of the stars, you can see them clearly.

He grunts, hand itching to run a finger over your cheek as he stares at the shadow of your lashes against the swell of them.

“You would?” He raises a brow.

“Yeah,” you nod, humming as you let out a soft exhale. “It’s about time we get a grand sage that doesn’t just care about the rainforest, don’t you think?”

“It’s not easy work,” he responds flatly, “being a sage.”

“So?” You turn to him with furrowed brows, “I don’t mind.”

“Having the power isn’t as great as you might think.”

“I don’t want to be grand sage for the power,” you say through a clipped tone, glancing at him from the corner of your eyes, “I want to be sage for the opportunity to make a decision. Not a lot of desert folks have that chance, you know.”

Alhaitham is silent.

Not many people can say they’ve left him with no retort or smart comment to throw back. It’s easy, he thinks, for someone like him to think of Akademiya work as a chore. So many rules and regulations to remember, so many demands people make that he has to keep up with. Request after request. Proposal after proposal. Decision after decision. This type of work seems like too much trouble than he can be bothered with.

Not for you, though. Someone like you has never had a chance to find a chore out of a job you’ve never been granted. Someone like you would never complain over an opportunity you’ve always dreamed of.

He’s quiet for a while longer before he finally murmurs, “you’d make an excellent grand sage. Better than me.”

“You think so?” You beam instantly—he’d chuckle at how easily a little praise brightens your earlier mood, but he’s too busy eyeing the dimple at the corner of your mouth. He aches to trace it with his thumb.

“Yes,” he says simply, “the Akademiya is extending opportunities and developments into the desert. You’d make an appropriate individual to oversee that.”

“Maybe one day,” you whisper, “for now, as long as we get some books for the kids out there, I’ll be happy.”

He loves you, he thinks. He loves you and your kindness, and your ambitions, and your dreams. They’re crystal clear, always so tangible, even if they used to be so far out of reach. He doesn’t think he’s ever had that.

When was the last time he dared to let himself dream? He’s never had any long-term goals that really mattered.

Graduate.

Get a stable job.

Live a peaceful life.

His goals have always been so dull compared to yours. Important things to achieve, nonetheless, but nothing worth remembering.

I love you, he wants to say.

Instead, he mumbles, “there are six libraries approved for construction as of now across a few villages.”

“Did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Approve of them. As grand sage.”

He doesn’t look over to meet your eyes; just nods before swallowing thickly as you grin. You reach over and give his hand a tight squeeze.

The words bubble up his throat once more before dying down from another heavy swallow.

—————

Lesser Lord Kusanali thinks it to be a great idea to allow people to apply to be grand sage instead of appointing someone. Something about getting to see the enthusiasm of the Akademiya and its scholars! as she says.

Alhaitham thinks it’s silly. Naturally, many people apply just for the ambitions of a high paying and largely powerful position. He couldn’t be bothered to glance through most of the applications. He declines half of them as they come—he recognizes enough names to know that none of these individuals have a place in the mechanics of running a nation.

Still, Lesser Lord Kusanali is hopeful. She’s certain there will be a promising applicant who can be relied on to carry the responsibility of leading a nation and its government on deft shoulders.

The only good thing about this system, however, is that Alhaitham gets to make his own suggestion for someone to take his place from the pool of applicants, seeing as he is, of course, the current grand sage. This means he can suggest you through your application—unsurprisingly, you do apply.

The Dendro Archon offers him this as a means of a truce.

He sifts through applications, and she considers his suggestion. It’s a fair trade, he thinks—especially because he can reject everyone who’s not you.

The only trouble is that he has to formally submit his proposal to the sages, too. Should all six approve of his recommendation, Lord Kusanali will accept his decision without any further action.

Should even one decline, you are to meet with the Archon herself alongside Alhaitham so he can defend his position.

That’s a problem—Alhaitham knows you won’t be too pleased to know your position was achieved through his influence, and even more, he doesn’t exactly want to explain all the reasons he admires you in front of not just you but the Archon herself.

He’d rather let a couple of mercenaries in the desert draw their blades on him again than go through that humiliating exchange.

For their own sakes, Alhaitham hopes the sages have accepted his proposition.

And then he sees it—your name on the paper. He stills, carefully plucking out the page and glazing his eyes over the words over and over again before he quickly stands and leaves his office.

“Grand sage Alhaitham, there’s a formal request submitted here for—”

“Not now,” he walks through the doors of the Akademiya in long strides, leaving the poor man to follow after him as best as he can.

“B-but it’s rather important—”

“Leave it on my desk for my return. I’ll look then.”

“It’s rather urgent, you see. We must—”

“I said not now.” He halts to a stop, eyeing the man with deadly, narrowed eyes as his voice comes out in something just short of a growl.

Alhaitham is known across the Akademiya for being dry. Blunt. Painfully stripped of any and all emotion. This sudden show of not just emotion, but pure rage has the man stunned to stiffness as he nods tensely and quickly walks away. He lets out a fuming sigh as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Three out of six sages have declined.

Three. Out of six.

Alhaitham knows that at least two of them have made their decisions simply based on the fact that you come from the desert. He’s never been more certain of something in his life—the sages have yet to all be replaced themselves, and there are two that still remain from the original appointees from Azar himself.

There is no denying Azar’s distaste for those of the desert, and Alhaitham is certain the sages he once appointed years ago would be no different. How else would he hold onto such power all these years if they did not share similar views?

There’s a burning, unsettling rage simmering in his ribcage, pounding into his heart and pumping adrenaline into his veins.

With the power granted to him by the Dendro Archon herself, he’ll take matters into his own hands. (And no, this doesn’t mean his power as the grand sage. This means the much more powerful authority he holds as a vision wielder. A power that none of the sages seem to have acquired yet).

—————

“Lord Kusanali,” Alhaitham greets, bowing slightly as he walks up, noting as you fidget when he joins you to stand in front of the Archon herself. “You’ve summoned me?”

“Grand sage Alhaitham—”

“Acting grand sage—ow,” he hisses, glancing at you as you elbow him.

“Don’t correct the Archon,” you scold quietly. “Apologies, Lady Kusanali. Alhaitham tends to be…stubborn.”

The Archon smiles—it’s hard to think that someone as small and innocent-looking is meant to be the embodiment of wisdom. Divinity that is all-knowing.

Does she know that Alhaitham has made his decision solely based on his heart alone and nothing else? Sure, he thinks you’re very capable for the job—more capable than himself, in fact. And as much as he dislikes this position, Alhaitham will not deny that he does it quite well.

But this decision is based on his feelings. Not his logic. Something he doesn’t do often—if ever at all.

“The scribe and all of the sages have confirmed you to be a suitable candidate for the grand sage of Sumeru,” Lesser Lord Kusanali begins, “as such, I’ve summoned you both here to discuss this possibility.”

“I…oh,” you breathe, voice practically an inaudible gasp. “Me?”

You turn to Alhaitham, as if the idea of him accepting your application seems as something unlikely. He itches to poke your forehead and reprimand you for doubting yourself.

As thought she knows, like she can read his mind, Lord Kusanali eyes him with what almost seems like an amused stare.

“You’re very capable,” he nods, ignoring the Archon’s gaze, “your answers in the application, as well as your ideas, have merit to them. It would be wise for the benefit of all of Sumeru to put them into action.”

“All six of the sages? Approved of me?”

Something bitter bubbles in his chest at the sound of pure shock in your voice.

“Well,” the Dendro Archon hums, “interestingly enough, three of the six sages have decided to resign—it seems we have our work cut out for us to replace them, too. As it stands, we only have three sages—all three have approved of your application.”

“Looks like I’ll be demoting you of your job,” you glance over at Alhaitham. He smiles slightly, humming as he pulls out a book and opens it to his marked spot.

“My pay will remain the same, so I have no complaints. I much prefer the simplicity of the scribe’s role.”

“Oh, I don’t plan on making the scribe’s job too easy once I’m in office,” you tease.

I love you, he thinks, as you sit in awed shock, still processing your achievement.

Alhaitham is almost certain the Archon’s mouth twitches into a slightly wider grin as soon as the words materialize in his head, aching to exist between his lips as well.

———————

Sumeru, the nation of wisdom, is a land where the people are proud of who they are. It’s a nation rich in culture and heritage. There are so many traditions, that Alhaitham himself could never hope to learn of them all from his many, many books on history.

Still, in its surplus of years of being a proud, standing nation, it has never thrived like this before.

You are the answer to this recent development. Many older scholars in the Akademiya are unhappy with your presence at first. Slowly, one by one, they are relieved of their duties by the Dendro Archon herself.

Not many people give you trouble after that.

The first order of business you handle is allowing the Akademiya to grant new students. A good number of desert children and adults have been offered places to study here—more in the last few weeks than there have been in the last few decades. The children are bright, too. You’ve taken to scouting the most brilliant of minds. 

A number of them have even disproven the theses and dissertations of seasoned scholars regarding studies of desert ruins. (Alhaitham finds this slightly amusing, as do you. The irony is not lost on most that the same people who have been treated as lesser for decades have contributed more in just a few short weeks than some at the Akademiya have in years. The two of you have shared a good few laughs over the shame that one too many scholars must be facing right now).

Alhaitham has happily returned to being the scribe (with an added pay raise, of course). He’s back to his much smaller, much quieter office that is less akin to the door being knocked on (or being burst open) and intruding on his peace.

Except today. 

Today, the door is burst open in the middle of him examining files, making him look up unimpressed with an unsavory insult ready on his tongue. He quickly bites it back when he realizes it’s you. 

“Scribe,” you say simply.

“Grand sage,” he responds, raising a brow.

“A word, please,” you shuffle in, closing the door behind you before clicking it locked. If his eyebrow could raise any higher, it would—you’ve never needed to lock him in his own office to have a word with him before, no matter how private the matter. 

“Yes?” He asks smoothly, leaning back in his chair. 

“I’ve been looking to appoint new sages for the three we are missing,” you begin carefully. He stiffens slightly at the topics—he’s sure it doesn’t go unnoticed by you. It seems to be the confirmation you need. “I’ve heard a funny rumor.”

“And what would that be?” He shuffles his papers to seem uncaring, not meeting your eyes. “I don’t typically partake in Akademiya gossip. It’s a waste of my time.”

“Well this particular rumor is interesting—it might interest even you. There’s word that someone of a dendro vision user from the Akademiya has threatened the former sages to leave their positions. There is worry such events could repeat amongst potential candidates.”

“Interesting,” he says plainly as he nods. 

“There aren’t many dendro vision users I know of here,” you sigh. “Haitham, I’m not dense. I earned this position by having the approval of the only three remaining sages. After the other three quit. It wouldn’t take a particularly genius individual to assume what took place here.”

He swallows, taking a slow breath before he quietly murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

You furrow your brows. “What are you apologizing for?”

“You’re upset, are you not?” Alhaitham blinks at you in confusion. It’s one of the rare times you get to see him unsure, so unlike the usual know-it-all self he always is. “That I interfered with your application?”

“I’m upset,” you confirm, stepping closer as you inspect him. He feels oddly seen under your gaze. “But not because you interfered. Because that was risky—you shouldn’t go that far for me, Haitham. Why in the gods’ names would you attempt such a ridiculous thing?”

It’s easy, he thinks. Because he loves you. Enough that it’s easy to risk his career and credibility at this institution if it means he can help your dreams become something more than just dreams. He’s come so close to saying it so many times—this time, it falls from his lips before he can stop himself.

He’s not so sure he wants to stop himself anymore. You should know—even if you don’t feel the same, even if you do, you should know.

“Because I love you,” he murmurs. “I’d go even further for you. I can’t help it.”

Your eyes soften. They don't widen in shock or recoil in distaste. Instead, they well with glossy, wet tears that alarm him slightly as he sits up straighter. You let out a light, watery laugh before he can apologize for unintentionally upsetting you with his confession.

“Oh, you fool,” you shake your head, “only you would sooner risk your entire livelihood before you simply admit your feelings.”

“I—”

He’s silenced by the touch of your palm on his cheek. Any words he’d like to say get cut off from his tongue. (He has none, really—as embarrassing as that is to admit for someone of linguist such as himself.) 

“Haitham,” you say gently.

“Yeah?” He croaks.

“Don’t risk your reputation for me again.”

“I don’t know if I can promise that,” he mumbles, grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer. You follow his tug, carefully seating yourself on his lap before you frown, opening your mouth to protest—but he cuts you off before you can. “But, lucky for me, the grand sage has a soft spot for the scribe. I think that’ll be helpful for any predicaments I might find myself in.”

“Are you saying you want to have the grand sage use her power for corrupted reasons?” You gasp, making him grin as he chuckles. “And after all the trouble you went through to overthrow a corrupt government, too.”

“Is it really corrupt if it’s the only two logical individuals of the nation? I’d say it’s simply an executive decision.”

“That’s not how that works,” you giggle fondly. And then you’re kissing him—Alhaitham has wondered how your lips would feel many times before, but he’s never been fully prepared to truly know. They’re softer, warmer, gentler than he imagined. “I love you too, by the way,” you murmur as you pull away for a moment.

That confession makes him desperately close the gap again, tugging you closer on his lap as he kisses you harder. Deeper. Alhaitham has always admired your goals, your dreams and ambitions. He realizes that maybe he has never given himself enough credit until now. 

His goals, his dreams and ambitions, have always been you. There has never been a more beautiful dream, he thinks—nothing is worthy of comparing to you. He thinks, by default, that makes his ambitions admirable, too. 

“Those sages could not know wisdom, talent, nor brilliance even if the Archon herself presented it before them. Otherwise,” he kisses down your neck, “otherwise they’d have understood it was you. They would have approved of your application. I did this nation yet another favor by ridding the Akademiya of them.”

“I suppose all of Sumeru owes you twice, then,” you hum, breathlessly gasping as he sucks lightly on your skin, right over your pulse point. 

Your hands travel to untuck his shirt from his pants, letting them wander under the fabric to feel over the hard planes of his abs. They’re as defined as they look through the skin-tight shirt he always wears. He groans into your neck as your touch sears into him, just as you gasp when his fingers slip past your waistband and tug down slightly. 

He stops before he can expose anything, however, pausing through a labored breath as he murmurs, “can I?”

“Yes,” you plead, lifting your hips slightly so he can pull the fabric down your thighs, your panties following before he pulls you back down to be seated on his lap. Your fingers tug at his hair when his fingers prod at your entrance. An exchange of sorts—a touch for a touch. 

You whine when his thumb circles your clit as his middle and ring fingers pump into your tight cunt, burying past your folds and finding a sensitive, spongy spot in your walls that makes you bite your lips and stifle a sob. 

“Well,” he says amusedly, “I suppose neither of us are very good models for grand sages if this is the sort of activity we partake in while in office.”

“It’s your fault,” you pant, rocking your hips to meet his fingers as they thrust into you, searching for more, for a deeper, harder pace. 

“Oh?” He laughs, a low chuckle that he sears into your skin with a kiss, working his way up your jaw, “I wasn’t the one who locked the door when I came in. I wonder if you had motives of your own when you came in.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Haitham,” you huff, “I just didn’t want someone to walk in when I yelled at you. I was doing your ego a favor.”

“Do my ego one more favor and cum for me,” he murmurs, pulling you into a kiss as you whine into his mouth and shiver. Your belly erupts with a warmth of pleasure, snapping the coil that sends shockwaves through your whole body. An ache that was building in your core seems to have reached the tipping point, making you quiver on his lap as you shatter from his touch.

He groans, just from the squeeze of your walls around his fingers alone—only Archons know how much he’s itching to feel you on his cock. (He hopes Lesser Lord Kusanali’s seemingly all-knowing wisdom doesn’t extend to this. Sometimes, it feels like she can read his mind—he sincerely hopes she doesn’t have the ability to read just what goes on in his head when he thinks of you.)

He’s hard—it almost hurts from just how much so. You’re kind enough to reach over and slowly work him free from the confinements, letting his erection breathe from the strain of his pants. He tries not to let out a shaky breath when you slowly trace a vein along the underside and study his cock. 

“It’s pretty,” you murmur, “you’re so pretty, Haitham.”

“Stop,” he pleads hoarsely, blush dusting over his cheeks, “don’t stare.”

“Shy?” You giggle, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “C’mon, baby. It’s just me.”

And oh—he could cum from just that affectionate drawl of that pet name and that lingering sweet touch. He twitches in your delicate hold, making you hum in approval before you slowly stroke him, fist gliding up and down the thick girth of him. 

“F-fuck,” he hisses, bumping his forehead against yours gently. 

Finally, when your eyes meet, and you both seem to understand just what the other wants without an exchange of words, you lift your hips slightly, guiding him to your entrance. His hands settle on your waist, slowly helping you sink down on his length as you both gasp at the way he intrudes into your sweet, dripping cunt. 

You’re as tight as he is deep—it makes for a good connection. You squeeze around him the same way he rubs against you. Everything about both of your bodies joining feels like it’s meant to be this way. Him in you and you around him. 

“Fuck me, Haitham,” you whisper, cradling his face in your hands by his jaw. You feel it clench under your palms as he stifles a groan at your words.

“As you wish,” he murmurs. 

The first thrust of his hips upwards makes you collapse against his chest. The second makes you whimper as you cling to his muscled body. By the third and fourth, you’ve adjusted enough that you can slowly roll your own hips to match his rhythm and meet his pace. It makes him sink in even deeper, hit the right spots, and drag along every ridge. 

“S-so big,” you marvel, moaning as the fat tip of his cock brushes against that sweet, sensitive spot in your walls. “You fit me so well, Haitham.”

“And you take me so well,” he groans back, “so tight and wet. What if they’re looking for you right now? I wouldn’t be surprised if they were—imagine how surprised they’d be if they knew the grand sage was falling apart on the scribe’s cock. What would they say?”

“They’d think the scribe has some nerve distracting such an important figure for the nation,” you huff, biting your lip and whining his name when he sends a particularly sharp thrust into your walls. 

He chuckles, panting as he kisses your forehead. “Then I suppose it will be our secret. For the sake of peace.”

“Good idea,” you giggle breathlessly, pulling him into a passionate kiss. 

His hips drill into you, bullying his thick length into your tight cunt—splitting you open on him like you’re his to spread. You are. And he’s yours to have, too, as you pull on his hair and bring him closer, hands wandering over his body as you feel every tight, defined muscle. 

You breathe his name. He breathes yours. Somewhere in the mix, your thumb brushes over his nipples from under his shirt, and his finds your clit to rub teasing circles over. 

“I-I’ll cum,” you admit first, “again, Haitham.”

“Go ahead,” he groans, letting out a soft whine when you squeeze around him at the sound of his low, pleasure-hazed voice. “Cum for me, again. Cum around me so I can feel you this time.”

So you do, giving him what he wants. How could you not when he’s gone to such lengths to make sure you’ve gotten everything you want? You spasm around his throbbing length, squeezing around him and making it harder and harder to roll his hips and fuck into you. 

“Haitham,” you whine, a quiet, high-pitched sound that makes his eyes flutter shut, and his mouth hang open as he lets out a low moan. The sounds you make could be enough to send him over the edge. The soft “I love you,” that you whisper is what ends up really doing it, though.

He quickly grabs your hips, roughly lifting you up before he wraps his fist around his cock and strokes himself, pumping his aching length as thick, hot ropes of cum leak from his tip and drip onto your thighs. He groans, strangled and low, as he makes an effort not to be too loud. 

Your lips map along his jaw and cheeks, kissing soothingly as your fingers stroke through his sweaty hair, helping him work himself through his orgasm as he fucks his own fist. “F-fuck—I…I love you, too. I love you. I’ve always loved you.” 

He can’t stop saying it now that he finally can. So many times, the words have almost escaped from the safety of his mouth. So many times, he’s risked them out in the open air. Now that he knows it’s safe, he wants the words to permanently reside between your bodies, in the atmosphere between you and him, in the middle ground where your skin is separated from his. 

If there is space between the two of you, he only wants it to exist to house all the words he never had the nerve to say to you. All the words he’ll admit to you now. 

“I love you, too,” you whisper, “so much. So, so much, Haitham.”

He pants as he calms down, uncaring of the mess for now. With his good hand, he grabs your hand, lacing his fingers with yours before he pulls them both up. His lips press a delicate kiss to the back of your hand. You melt over him. 

“There is no brilliance like you, neither in the rainforest nor desert. I have searched everywhere.” 

Your eyes tear up, a breathy, watery laugh dancing from your wobbly lips as you whisper, “you’re incredibly cheesy for a Haravatat scholar, you know.”

He laughs brightly into your shoulder as he buries into the crook of your neck. 

I love you. He’s always wanted to say it. It feels good to finally be able to. Alhaitham will never take for granted the chance he now gets to say it as often as he wants. 

I would like my man who’s not really my man to defend my honor by threatening violence using power granted to him by divinity on a random Tuesday. That would be nice.

[dreamwavesexploringreality]

BETWEEN BRUSHES AND GLOSS:

Chishiya x Reader

Requested: Chishiya finally lets Reader put a little makeup on him.

WARNING: Flirty energy...

-----

"Again with Kuina?" Chishiya asked when the woman stepped onto the rooftop where he had been hanging out for the last thirty minutes.

"Yeah, sorry about that. We started talking, and one thing led to another, and I lost track of time… Have you been waiting long?" Y/N replied as she sat down next to him, looking up at the sky. The sun had started to set, casting the sky in shades of red and orange.

"What’s this?" Chishiya asked, brushing his thumb lightly over her lower lip, wiping off some of the lipstick.

"Oh, it’s lipstick. Kuina found it the last time she went out… I don’t love the color, but I guess there’s not much to choose from in Borderlands," she laughed, pulling his hand away. "Honestly, this color would look better on you than on me. You know, with your hair and skin tone…"

"Y/N…" he warned. It wasn’t the first time she’d suggested putting makeup on him, and even though he’d said no plenty of times, she always seemed to bring it up.

"Okay, okay," she laughed, dropping the subject and leaning her head on his shoulder. "Sorry I’m late," she whispered.

"It’s fine," he replied.

They stayed on the rooftop, watching the last of the sunlight fade away and the stars start to appear, like little beams of hope piercing the darkness, momentarily chasing away all the pain and suffering in the world. When the pool lights flickered on and the noise of people began to echo from below, the couple left.

Kuina liked pretty things—makeup, clothes, and, apparently, stressing out her white-haired friend, who had recently become a little touchy about the subject of his girlfriend.

"Y/N told me she’d love to walk down a runway someday, did you know that? With how clumsy she is, she’d probably trip."

Chishiya didn’t know that, but he wasn’t about to admit it. Kuina seemed to know more about Y/N in the past few days than he’d learned over the years of being together.

"She also told me she’d like to see how you look with some eyeliner… Would it kill you to let her have that little pleasure?"

He did know that.

"You two are obsessed with makeup."

"No, I’m obsessed with makeup, and Y/N’s obsessed with you with makeup," Kuina laughed.

Chishiya rolled his eyes inwardly, keeping his stoic exterior.

"I’m back!" Y/N suddenly burst in, swinging a small cylindrical bottle. "Found the gloss we lost. Turns out it was under the bed and… oh, what are you doing here?" She stopped dead when she saw Chishiya sitting behind Kuina’s desk.

"I had nothing to do," he said, repeating the phrase he’d forced himself to say until it sounded believable.

"Oh, okay! Sit down, Kuina, I wanna start with those eyeshadows you brought the other day." Chishiya tried to ignore the knot forming in his stomach as the girl walked past him, completely ignoring his presence, her bright, sparkling gaze directed only at Kuina. Was that jealousy he was feeling?

"Wow, you’re really good at this!" Kuina said after a while, admiring her reflection in a small hand mirror.

"Well, it helps that my model is so gorgeous," Y/N joked, winking at the other woman and pushing her chin up.

Chishiya’s eyes darkened, and he cleared his throat. Was that what they did when he wasn’t around? Had he been letting his girlfriend flirt openly with Kuina, who clearly loved playing along?

"Is something wrong?" Y/N asked, catching his gaze.

"Nothing. I didn’t know you were such a pro at makeup now," he said, a slight edge of mockery in his voice, trying to hide his frustration.

"She really is an artist, isn’t she? Perfect," Kuina chimed in, standing up to pick Y/N up in her arms. The girl immediately wrapped her legs around her waist and spun in the air, giggling.

Chishiya stood up from his chair, feeling a fire burning inside him, and with exaggerated indifference, he decided to stop the scene.

"So is this an exclusive club, or can anyone join?" he asked, hands in his pockets, trying to ignore the tension in his body.

"Are you serious?" Kuina asked, lowering Y/N to the ground carefully, her eyes glinting mischievously.

He ignored her and focused solely on his girlfriend.

"Are you gonna do my makeup too, or do I have to sit here and watch?"

"Do you really want me to do your makeup?" Y/N asked, her surprise clear.

"If it means you won’t hog all your time with her…" he muttered under his breath.

Y/N laughed when she realized his real intentions.

"Alright, sit down, lover boy, let’s see what I can do," she said, taking her wrist out of her pocket and leading him to the bed.

Chishiya let himself flop down with a sigh, which broke off when Y/N climbed onto his lap, her legs folded beside his hips. As usual, he wrapped his arms around her waist in a way that felt way too intimate, especially with Kuina still in the room.

"Let’s see… Kuina, pass me the eyeliner," Y/N said, as though she noticed the tension in Chishiya’s body.

Kuina was stunned by Y/N’s boldness and couldn’t help but laugh at the surprised look on Chishiya’s face. It wasn’t easy to catch the guy off guard.

"Here you go, makeup master," Kuina said, handing her the eyeliner with an exaggerated bow.

"Thanks… Relax, Chishiya," Y/N said, giving him a light squeeze on the shoulder. "Or do you not trust me?" she joked.

Chishiya didn’t answer. Well, not with words anyway. He shot her a look that could kill, but he didn’t move when she leaned in to start her work.

The process was meticulous, carefully applying fine lines, enduring Chishiya’s constant gaze burning into her. When she met his eyes again, she could’ve sworn she saw a small blush spread across his cheeks. When it came time for the gloss, though, she lost her rhythm, captivated by those slightly parted lips, now glistening with a subtle shine that caught the light, making her catch her breath. She didn’t miss the mischievous smile he flashed, fully aware of how she was reacting. She tugged at his chin, pushing his head up in a ridiculous attempt to pretend she was admiring her work.

"Anything else?" Chishiya asked, his voice low and full of layers, pulling himself out of her grip. He looked at her intensely and tightened his hold on her hips.

"No, I’m done," she said, trying to calm the nervousness growing inside her.

One way or another, Chishiya always managed to take control of every situation. Even this one—with her sitting on his lap, brush and gloss in hand—he took charge with nothing but a smile and a look full of promise.

"You’re not gonna see yourself reflected in her eyes no matter how hard you try, Chishiya," Kuina said, breaking the tension between the couple, who were still staring at each other. "Here," she handed him a mirror.

Chishiya took it, flashing a smile without taking his eyes off Y/N. When he finally looked at his reflection, he had to admit he liked what he saw: the eyeliner accentuated his already sharp features, and the gloss added a subtle volume to his lips.

"It’s fine," he said finally.

"Just fine? Admit it, Chishiya, you love it," Y/N teased, adding a little more gloss to his cheek.

He grumbled under his breath but didn’t pull away.

"Bold fashion would look good on you too," she said, drawing patterns on his face with the new product, starting to laugh when he began pinching her sides, tickling her.

"And here’s where I… say goodbye," Kuina said, though her voice was drowned out by their laughter filling the room.

When the door clicked shut, Chishiya stayed still for a moment, watching her. The sound of Y/N’s laughter lingered in the room, like a melody that soothed him. In that moment, he realized he’d let her do his makeup as many times as she wanted, be her test subject, or anything else she needed—just so that her attention, her laughter, and that spark in her eyes were all for him, and him alone.

© 2024 [@dreamwavesexploringreality]

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I'm back! 😊

I hope you enjoyed it! It was so much fun writing something a little different from what we usually see with the character, but I tried to keep him true to himself.

Let me know what you think! ✨