#and it's still got at least three chapters to go

[deadpoetskin]

DADDY, YOU DUMMY — II

SYNOPSIS: One moment, Wayne Manor is calm. The next, there’s a toddler standing in the dining room with a Red Robin plush, and a very familiar pair of blue eyes.

None of Bruce’s sons have children. Only one of them is even in a relationship.

And that is most definitely not Timothy Jackson Drake PAIRINGS: Tim Drake x Fem! Reader, Original Female Character TAGS: Time Travel, Slow burn, Strangers to Lovers

🜼 :: had to cut it short again 'cause it was getting too long but at least this time there's mentions of the reader. i think by next chapter she'll finally have a scene

🜼 :: lemme know if you wanna be tagged for part three

At some point during the early hours, Tim had resorted to Google.

what do you feed a four-year-old for breakfast 

how to talk to a kid who thinks you’re their dad 

time travel psychological trauma in toddlers

The results weren’t helpful. A few parenting blogs, some clickbait titles, one academic article about multiverse theory, and a Buzzfeed quiz titled Which Justice League Member Should Babysit Your Kid? (He got J’onn.)

He clicked none of them.

So now he sat there, elbows on his knees, his cold coffee abandoned on the nightstand, staring into the quiet stretch of morning as if it might offer answers.

The rustle of sheets pulled Tim out of his thoughts.

He turned just in time to see Gia stir, shifting beneath the covers. Her tiny brows scrunched first, nose wrinkling like something in her dream hadn’t gone her way. Then her fingers tightened briefly around the Red Robin plush before her eyes fluttered open.

Sleep-heavy and glassy, they blinked once.

Then again.

Her gaze scanned the unfamiliar room. The heavy curtains, the warm Gotham morning light peeking through cracks in the blinds, the shelves lined with books and tech Tim hadn’t moved in years. She looked up—and her eyes landed on him.

“Daddy?” she mumbled, voice rough and soft from crying and sleep.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I’m here.”

He stood and moved to the edge of the bed and sat beside her, careful not to crowd her. Tim instinctively leaned forward just as she threw herself at him, arms flinging around his neck.

“Do you want some breakfast?”

She considered this, lips pursing. “Only if it’s not green.”

He blinked. “Green?”

“Uncle Dickie made me ‘healthy pancakes’ once and they were green and yucky.”

Tim almost laughed. Almost.

“No green pancakes,” he promised.

“Okay.” She nodded, decisive. Then, after a pause—“Do you have work with Grampa already? Can you stay for breakfast?”

“…Yeah. Of course, I can.”

Gia had never let go of him.

She clung like ivy, one arm still around his neck even as Tim carefully stood up and carried her down the hallway. Her Red Robin plush dangled from her hand, bumping softly against his shoulder as they moved.

The manor was quiet in the early morning hush. Pale sunlight slipped through the tall windows, catching dust motes and the edges of picture frames on the walls.

Tim padded barefoot into the kitchen, and to no one’s surprise, Alfred was already there.

A full spread had been laid out. Pancakes, eggs, fruit, toast—classic comfort fare. There was even a mug waiting for Tim on the counter, the exact way he liked it. No one had to ask.

Gia perked up the moment the smell hit her nose. Her head lifted from Tim’s shoulder.

“Is that pancakes?” she asked sleepily, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

Alfred turned just slightly, a faint warm smile. “Indeed it is, Miss Gia.”

“Yay,” she whispered, like it was a secret only she got to enjoy.

Tim eased her into a chair at the table, where a small plate already waited—cut-up pancakes in tidy triangles, syrup in a ramekin on the side. A glass of milk stood next to it.

She beamed. “Grandpa Alfred, you remembered!”

Tim blinked. Alfred, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “Of course I did.”

Gia immediately dug in, humming around a mouthful.

Tim didn’t sit right away. He lingered by the counter, fingers wrapped tight around his coffee mug, watching her like the universe might yank her away at any second.

She was so at home. So certain.

“Daddy, sit with me,” she said suddenly, patting the seat beside her with a syrup-sticky hand.

He moved like gravity had called him.

“Okay,” he said softly. “I’m here.”

Tim had just taken a sip of his new coffee—finally warm—when he heard it:

Bare feet on hardwood. Light, casual, familiar.

A moment later, Dick stepped into the kitchen.

Hair still damp from a shower, his shirt barely on, he looked every bit like someone who’d woken up early but hadn’t quite decided to start the day yet.

And then he saw them.

Tim, hunched slightly over his coffee, still sleep-rumpled. Gia, swinging her legs and eating pancake triangles with both hands. And Alfred, calmly refilling the syrup dish like this was the most normal morning in the world.

“…Whoa,” Dick said, voice low. “Okay. It’s real.”

Gia looked up, her eyes lighting up instantly. “Uncle Dickie!”

“Hey, peanut,” he said, recovering quickly as he moved to ruffle her hair. “You sleep okay?”

She nodded, mouth full. “Had dreams about waffles.”

“Those are the best dreams,” he agreed seriously, then glanced at Tim. “You holding up?”

Tim didn’t answer immediately.

He looked exhausted. Eyes shadowed, hair a mess, posture just slightly caved in—as if the weight of this tiny, syrup-sticky girl had collapsed every wall he’d spent years building.

“I’m still...processing,” Tim muttered.

Dick sat across from them and grabbed a piece of toast from a platter. “Processing’s good. Just means your brain hasn’t caught up to your heart yet.”

Tim raised a brow. “That was dangerously close to being profound.”

Dick grinned. “I contain multitudes.”

Gia reached across the table suddenly, poking Dick’s sleeve with her fork. “Uncle Dickie?”

“Yeah, munchkin?”

“Can you show me cartwheels later? Mommy says you do the best ones.”

Tim stilled. Dick hesitated for half a second—but only half.

“You bet,” he said brightly. “Only if I get a high five first.”

Gia offered one without hesitation, syrup and all.

Dick slapped it with a mock wince. “Sticky. I love it.”

She giggled, proud of herself.

Tim watched them, something unreadable in his eyes.

His fingers curled slowly around the handle of his coffee mug. She was smiling now, already bouncing in her seat, reaching for a piece of fruit with the same fork she’d used to poke her uncle.

She looked so comfortable. Like she belonged here. Like she’d always belonged.

And Tim couldn’t stop wondering what else she knew

Gia, as it turned out, had quite the memory for a toddler.

She chattered between bites, lips sticky with syrup and cheeks round with food, recounting moments with the ease of someone who had lived them a dozen times over.

By then, the others had already joined them—drawn in by the scent of coffee and warm food, or more likely, by sheer curiosity.

Jason came first, holding a motorcycle helmet in one hand. He took one look at Gia and deadpanned, “So the tiny intruder’s still here. Cool.” He poured himself coffee like this was completely normal.

Bruce sat silent at the head of the table, still nursing a half-drunk cup of coffee, his expression unreadable—but his eyes never strayed far from the child.

Cass, notably, had shown no shock at all. She’d walked into the dining room, looked once at the small girl confidently seated, nodded like that made perfect sense, and joined her at the table. She didn’t speak. But Gia beamed at her like she’d been waiting for her to show up. She leaned into Cass’s side with the kind of ease that didn’t need permission—like she already knew she’d be welcome there.

None of them interrupted. They just listened as Gia spoke

She talked like they’d all been there—like every story she shared belonged to them too. About a greenhouse with Uncle Dickie and Aunt Star where they got stuck in the gift shop because of a thunderstorm. About Uncle Jason teaching her to sneak cookies without letting Grandpa Alfred know and failing cause Alfred always knows. 

The stories didn’t stop.

“Mommy said I could wear the sparkly boots to the concert even though Daddy said they were too shiny but then she said ‘let her shine, Tim’ so I did and I was the sparkliest one there!”

She swung her legs, stabbed strawberries with her fork, and kept her little voice bubbling on, as if none of them were blinking at her like she was some impossible dream they'd collectively conjured overnight.

Tim stirred his coffee absentmindedly, not realizing he hadn’t taken a sip during the whole time she was telling her story.

Dick looked over. “You alright, Tim?”

Tim blinked.

He didn’t respond at first. Not when his brain was still catching up.

Because these weren’t just made-up stories or wishful dreams. They were specific. Detailed. Real. Things that hadn’t happened yet—but could. Things that felt possible in a terrifying, time-looped kind of way.

Every word she said felt like a pin pushing into his chest.

He wasn’t just in her stories—he was the center of them. The axis of a life he didn’t remember living. One where he was a father. A partner. Someone whole.

He was watching her—watching the ease with which she existed, how she claimed space with all the confidence of someone raised here. Not a hint of fear. No trace of uncertainty.

Just this boundless, messy, syrup-covered confidence that she was loved and known.

It was both comforting and terrifying.

“No,” he said honestly. “Not even a little.”

Gia kept going. “And one time, Auntie Cass gave me sparkly bandaids even though I wasn’t bleeding. And Uncle Dami said I was faking but I wasn’t!”

“Do you remember anything else?” Tim asked finally, voice low. Careful. He kept his tone light, like he was trying not to spook her.

Gia nodded, mouth full. Then, after a beat, she added, “Lots of stuff. Like when you tried to make breakfast but you almost set the kitchen on fire ‘cause Mommy distracted you by kissing your nose.”

Gia licked a smear of syrup from her thumb and cheerfully reached for another strawberry.

“And then,” she continued, swinging her legs, “Mommy said we could go to the Grampa’s party in Grampa’s big building after your work but only if I wore the green dress, ‘cause the purple one had peanut butter on it—”

She popped the berry into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully, oblivious to the silence that had settled over the room like mist.

Dick blinked slowly. “Grampa’s big building,” he repeated under his breath, shooting Bruce a look.

Gia didn’t notice. She swallowed and kept going. “And I said I wanted the sparkly shoes too, but Mommy said they were too loud and they’d go click-clack click-clack on the floors and Grampa would do the forehead rub thing—”

She demonstrated with both hands pressed to her tiny forehead, dragging down her face in a perfect mimic of Bruce Wayne’s frustration.

Bruce blinked. Jason outright wheezed, slapping a hand over his mouth.

Tim cleared his throat. “Grampa’s party?”

“Uh-huh! With all the people and the music and the sparkly lights! And I got to dance with Uncle Dickie, and Uncle Jay said I was better than him.”

Jason blinked. “Well, that tracks.”

“Hey—” Dick began indignantly, but Gia was already chattering again, fork waving midair.

Bruce hadn’t said a word. Not since he’d walked in and taken his seat at the head of the table—coffee cooling untouched in front of him. He’d been still, observing her the way one might observe a threat, or a miracle. With precision. With care. With silence.

Until now.

“Gia,” he said evenly.

The little girl looked up immediately, bright-eyed. “Yes, Grampa?”

Bruce didn’t flinch at the name. Didn’t correct her. He only leaned forward, lacing his fingers together in front of him.

“You said your mother brought you to my building before,” he began carefully. “What else do you remember about that night?”

Gia tilted her head, lips pursed in thought. “Umm… It was cold. Mommy made me wear tights, and I don’t like tights ‘cause they itch. But she wore her shiny earrings. The dangly ones! And her green dress with the flowers.”

The others exchanged glances—but none of them interrupted.

Bruce nodded once. “ Do you remember what your mommy looked like that night, sweetheart?”

“Oh. Yes!” Gia lit up again. “She was really pretty. Daddy hated it ‘cause he said too many people were gonna stare and he’d have to deal with it all night.”

She furrowed her brows, lips pursed as she thought hard—really hard—like the memory was tucked somewhere behind her eyes and she just had to reach the right corner to find it. Her fingers tapped lightly against the edge of her plate, forgotten syrup smudging her skin as she swung her legs under the table in slow, distracted arcs.

Everyone stayed quiet. Watching.

The little girl’s eyes lit up. “Oh! I have a picture!”

Tim sat up straighter. So did everyone else.

“It’s kind of crumply,” Gia went on, setting her fork down and scooting toward the edge of her seat, stubby legs reaching for the floor. “But I keep it in my bag ‘cause Mommy says memories are treasures, and this one is my favorite.”

Her eyes scanned the room like she expected her bag to just be sitting there waiting.

“Grandpa Alfred?” she asked, already halfway down, voice small but sure. “Do you know where my bag is? It's black and small and Mommy says I’m not ‘posed to lose it ‘cause it has important stuff.”

Tim was already pushing back his chair to help, but Alfred, ever composed, stepped forward with a slight bow of the head. “Of course, Miss Gia. I’ll retrieve it for you.”

He turned without delay, his steps measured and quiet, shoes barely making a sound against the manor floor. She nodded, satisfied, and hopped fully to the ground with a small thud, bare feet pattering against the cold kitchen tile as she followed him out toward the hallway.

The rest of the family remained at the table—still, silent, watching.

The air in the room had shifted—expectant, tense—not like before when everything had been speculation. This felt like proof was about to walk back into the room.

Tim sat forward, elbows on the table now, eyes fixed on the doorway where she'd gone. His heart was beating too loud in his ears.

“That’s it?” Jason muttered, almost disbelieving. “All we had to do to get proof was ask her what her mom looked like?”

Damian scoffed softly, a sharp exhale through his nose. “Tt.”

But it was Dick who responded, quieter, more serious than usual. “She ended up crying when Tim asked her last night,” he said, eyes not leaving the empty doorway where Gia and Alfred had disappeared. “She thought her dad forgot her mom. We couldn’t have asked her then.”

They fell into silence again.

And then—footsteps.

They heard her before they saw her—Gia’s voice chiming softly, like a skipping stone over still water.

“—I told you, I didn’t lose it! Mommy says I’m very responsible now.”

Alfred’s gentle hum of agreement followed, along with the quiet rustle of something being held close.

Alfred returned, and beside him, Gia clutched a small, black bag to her chest like it was sacred.

“I found it!” she announced.

Technically, Alfred had—but no one corrected her.

She marched over to Tim first, standing in front of him with wide, expectant eyes. “Wanna see it now?”

He nodded, kneeling again to her level like he had the day before. “Yeah, sweetheart. Show me.”

She unzipped it with both hands, rummaging with syrup-sticky fingers. Tiny fingers fished past a red crayon, a lollipop, a bunch of stickers, and—finally—carefully, reverently, she pulled out a folded piece of paper.

The edges were worn, the glossy paper soft from how many times it had been handled.

“I showed it to Uncle Bart too,” she added proudly. “He said it was cute, but he’s a weirdo.”

She held the picture out.

Tim’s hand hovered. He didn’t even breathe as he took it.

Jason craned to look over his shoulder. Damian leaned closer. Dick and Cass watched like the moment might crack reality in half.

Tim unfolded the picture.

And stopped breathing entirely.

The image was unmistakable:

Tim Drake, older—maybe late thirties—hair slightly longer, wearing casual clothes and soft laugh lines around his eyes. One hand rested around the waist of a woman. She had a blinding smile, radiant even in a still image, and was kissing Tim on the cheek while their daughter stood between them, holding both their hands.

They looked happy. Tangled up in each other in that easy, familiar way that only comes with years of shared mornings and missed bedtimes and long conversations after the house is quiet.

Gia looked up and smiled brightly. “See?” she said proudly. “That’s Mommy. That’s you, Daddy. That’s me.”

Then Bruce, his voice quieter than expected. “May I?”

Gia blinked up at him, then carefully handed it over. “You have to hold it nice,” she warned. “It’s special.”

Bruce took the paper with the same care he’d use for an ancient artifact.

“Mommy’s the coolest,” Gia nodded proudly, as if that were the most obvious truth in the world.

“She’s got, like, a billion fans. She writes songs and yells at the camera people when they take pictures of me.”

Having handed off her photo like it was a royal decree, she turned and padded back toward the table. She got as far as standing in front of her chair before pausing, then turned around and lifted her arms.

Still a little stunned, Tim blinked once, then pushed out of his chair and lifted her gently back into hers. She nestled back into the seat, grabbing her half-eaten pancake like nothing life-changing had just occurred.

Gia had finished breakfast by then—her plate mostly empty, a few strawberries taken from Dick’s still clutched in one hand. She was now tucked into the corner of the room near the window, utterly engrossed in a stack of napkins she was folding and tearing with focused precision. Cass sat beside her on the floor, legs crossed and relaxed, watching her with a serene calm that somehow soothed the toddler’s endless energy into something more careful, more quiet. Every so often, Cass handed her a new napkin. Gia would accept it with a thank you.

At the table, the picture sat in the center. The boys had unconsciously huddled around it now, shoulders nearly touching as they leaned in over the image. 

Bruce stood just behind them, arms crossed, watching in silence. His brows were furrowed, eyes sharp—not skeptical, not yet—but calculating. Gathering.

Dick gave a low whistle as he leaned in for a better look. “She’s certainly pretty.”

“She looks loud,” Jason added. “And sparkly. You’ve got a type.”

Tim didn’t even argue.

Damian, however, remained glaring at the photo like it personally offended him. “That still doesn’t tell us who she actually is. Do you recognize her?”

There was a pause. Then Tim, still staring at the image, nodded slowly.

“I know her,” Tim said quietly.

The words dropped into the room like a stone in still water.

Everyone turned to look at him.

“What?” Dick asked, blinking. “How—?”

Tim didn’t take his eyes off the photo. “I mean… I know of her,” he amended, his voice low and careful. “She looks older here. A little different, but—I’m sure it’s her.”

He leaned in slightly, studying the image again, as if confirming it for himself a second time.

“We met a couple years ago—briefly—at a Wayne Entertainment event in Metropolis. It was just a passing moment. Polite conversation, nothing else. I wouldn’t have remembered it now if not for—” he hesitated, then looked toward the corner where Gia was playing. “If not for her.”

Jason blinked. “She’s a celebrity?”

Tim nodded slowly. “Singer. Songwriter. Definitely has fans. She’s kind of a rising name these days. Not a global household name yet, but she’s rising fast. And… she’s talented. I remember that.”

He didn’t add what he was thinking—that she’d seemed kind. Grounded, even in a room full of power suits and flashing cameras.

“She was different than the rest of the crowd that night,” he murmured. “And now… this.”

“She kinda does look familiar,” Dick said, frowning as he leaned in for a better look. “Kori might have mentioned her once.

“She’s one of the performers scheduled for the Martha Wayne Foundation benefit concert next weekend,” Tim added. His voice was unreadable. “I remember reviewing the final list with Lucius.”

“Gia said her mom writes songs” Dick said slowly. “That tracks”

Jason leaned back in his chair, letting out a low whistle. “So let me get this straight—your mysterious maybe-future kid has a mom who’s a rising star that you only met once?”

Bruce spoke again, voice even. “I think by now it’s confirmed she’s from the future.”

Jason huffed. “Yeah, no kidding. Kid talks like she’s got a lifetime of memories, and none of 'em match our timeline.”

Dick exhaled. “Man, we really don’t get normal Tuesdays, do we?”

At the edge of the room, Gia giggled—still absorbed in her napkin-folding game with Cass, blissfully unaware of the small storm gathering around the table and the old photo that might just change everything.

ARCHIVE PART ONE | PART THREE

🜼 :: @tvnile @rainschnael @a-taken-url @federalprison78-4 @kopivm

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[jacksabbotts]

. ᵒ .༄ MECHANIC!JASON TODD x REPORTER!READER !  ࿔* ━━ ⋅⋆ ·˚ ༘ ┊͙ # 🧰 possible trigger warnings .' gotham level poverty, drug gangs, severe profanity  ‧ ⚙️ ‧ ━━ WC 2.4k

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⤷ ✵ ✧ . · * . · .  OIL AND HONEY ━━ pre-chapter one ⋆ ❦ ₊˚. ‧ summary in a city that chews up the weak and spits out the desperate, you’re barely hanging on—four jobs deep, one broken car away from losing it all. but when a last-ditch visit to gotham’s most notorious auto shop introduces you to the foul-mouthed, grease-stained mechanic behind the rumors, survival starts to feel a little less hopeless—and a hell of a lot more complicated.

gotham always woke up angry.

you woke up exhausted.

you weren’t born in gotham, but god, you fit right in.

it clung to your boots when you walked to work—filthy, cracked sidewalks chewing through your soles like broken teeth. it soaked into your clothes at night, when you stumbled home from your second shift, past burning trash cans and laughter that always sounded like a threat.

gotham didn’t care who you were. it didn’t care that your college degree was still warm from the printer, or that you’d traded four years of late nights and student loans for an unpaid internship at the gotham gazette.

no. gotham only cared if you survived. and some days, you weren’t sure you were doing that.

it was the kind of morning where your alarm didn’t go off, but the neighbor’s screaming match two floors below did. you rolled out of bed wearing yesterday’s sweatpants and a college hoodie you hadn’t had the heart to wash because, frankly, you were afraid it might disintegrate.

you lived in a fifth-floor walk-up where the heat hissed like an open wound and the water tasted like copper. your neighbors screamed more than they spoke.

the power flickered at least once a week.

and your car—your sad, rust-spotted, barely legal hunk of metal—wasn’t long for this world. but it got you to the gazette, to the diner where you waitressed part-time, to the houses where you walked angry chihuahuas for ten dollars an hour, and to the creaky apartments where single moms paid you in loose change and stale coffee to babysit their screaming kids.

that was the first shift. dog walking.

mostly pomeranians and one demon-possessed beagle that hated your soul on a molecular level. you let them drag you through the cracked sidewalks of the narrows, weaving between drug deals and corner store clerks sweeping glass off the pavement. you earned twenty bucks and a bite mark for your trouble.

the second part of your day, and the reason you had worked so hard for a degree. unpaid reporter intern at the gotham gazette.

your job consisted of coffee runs, obituary re-writes, and the occasional fluff piece when no one else could be bothered. you pitched crime beat stories daily, but the only thing your editor gave you was a dismissive wave and a warning.

"leave the big boys alone, sweetheart. last thing i need is a dead intern. and quit asking about that chop shop down in the narrows. even the cops stay outta there."

the chop shop. whispers said it was a gang front. a money-laundering pit with more bodies in the bay than oil changes. but part of you—maybe the part still clinging to idealism—wondered if there was more to it than that. gotham liked its rumors messy.

third shift : waitressing at o’malley’s pub, where the regulars knew your name but not your tips jar. you smiled through spilled beer, greasy hands grabbing your waist, and the sweet, sweet sound of the dishwasher breaking down mid-rush hour.

fourth shift (if you could call it that) was subtitling old noir films in your roach-infested apartment, the glow of your cracked laptop screen the only light you could afford to leave on. you didn’t even like noir. but they paid two bucks a minute and you were desperate.

four hours of sleep if the pipes didn’t bang all night. three if the neighbor’s new boyfriend got chatty.

rinse. repeat.

it wasn’t glamorous. hell, it wasn’t even stable. but it was yours. barely.

and then the car died. right there on a tuesday morning, choking out its last gasp in the middle of the narrows—three blocks from your building, six blocks from the gazette, and a lifetime away from anywhere you could actually afford a tow.

good samaritan? gotham didn’t believe in those. the fancy auto shop uptown? they’d charge you more than your rent and laugh in your face.

no.

you needed cheap. you needed fast. and you needed someone who wouldn’t ask if your credit card worked, because it didn’t.

so you made the only choice you could.

you put the car in neutral, shoved it to the side of the road, and walked three blocks south to the shop with the broken sign, the peeling paint, and the whispered reputation of being a gang front.

if the rumors were true, you figured, at least you'd get a story out of it. but really what choice did you have? gotham didn’t give second chances. not for free at least.

and if the mechanic inside was half as dangerous as the rumors claimed—well, maybe he’d understand what it meant to be stuck between broke and broken.

you hoisted your bag over your shoulder, wiped the grease off your fingers, and pushed the door open. the bell above the garage door jangled in response. you expected some grim-faced mobster.

instead, you got him.

grease-stained jeans, sharp jaw, and the kind of filthy mouth that would make your grandma faint on sight.

and oh god, he was hot.

the first thing ( you tell yourself that was the first ) you noticed was the smell—motor oil, gasoline, and something sharp, like burnt coffee and bad decisions.

the second thing ( that was really was the first thing ) was the man standing under the hood of a beat-up charger, cursing at it like it owed him rent.

“—fucking piece of shit, i swear to god, if you blow another goddamn gasket i’ll rip your engine out and feed it to the rats behind rossi’s deli, and they’ll choke on it because even they have fucking standards—”

he stopped. slowly lowered his wrench. squinted at you from across the bay, wiping his hands on a rag that looked like it had been through six wars and a custody battle.

and then he smirked. slow, crooked, lethal.

“you’re a long way from starbucks, sweetheart.” ( as if gotham even had a starbucks, honestly you wished. )

you crossed your arms, toeing the cracked concrete floor. “and you’re a long way from customer service training, but here we are.”

a low laugh, rough and warm, like whiskey over gravel. he tossed the rag aside and leaned back against the car, arms crossed over his chest—biceps flexing in that grease-stained t-shirt like it was personal.

“alright, what’s broken? and don’t say your spirit, i can’t fix that. already tried.”

you bit back a smile, against your better judgment. “car broke down on 6th. figured i’d roll the dice on the infamous narrows gang front garage. if you shoot me, i get hazard pay.”

his grin sharpened. “sweetheart, if i was running a gang front, you wouldn’t’ve made it past the curb.”

“comforting.”

“welcome to jay’s.” he jerked a thumb toward the peeling sign above the door that barely hung by its chain. “we fix cars, not reputations. leave your keys and your pride at the door.”

you hesitated. “how much?”

jason gave you a look like you’d just asked if water was wet. “dunno yet. depends how fucked your brakes are. and how much you make in a week.”

“i make nothing.”

he blinked. then, for the first time, softened just a little. “yeah.” he scratched the back of his neck, letting out a sigh through his nose. "figures."

jason slid his wrench back into the tool chest and waved you forward.

“park it in bay two. i’ll take a look. won’t cost you a thing unless somethin's wrong or you piss me off. in which case, add fifty bucks for emotional damage.”

you stared at him. he stared right back, waiting. and somehow, despite every warning bell in your head, your heart beat a little lighter “bay two it is.”

you parked the car where he pointed, the engine coughing like it was about to file a malpractice suit against you. the moment you killed the ignition, jay—or its actually jason, apparently—was already popping the hood, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a threat to the car’s entire bloodline.

“let’s see what kinda shitshow you dragged in today, sweetheart,” he grunted, propping the hood open. “if this thing doesn’t kill me by lunchtime, i’ll call it a win.”

you leaned back against the cracked concrete wall, arms crossed, letting your eyes wander. it wasn’t what you expected.

sure, it was rough—half the lights flickered like they were auditioning for a horror film, and the windows hadn’t been washed since the nixon administration—but there was something weirdly cozy about it. an old radio sat on the workbench, playing classic rock at a volume just loud enough to cover up the swearing. a half-eaten bag of chips shared space with a battered coffee thermos covered in sarcastic stickers. tools hung on the walls in neat, almost obsessive rows, their outlines sharp in faded marker. someone had once tried to sweep the floor—tried being the operative word—and there was an ancient couch in the corner that looked suspiciously like a napping spot.

this wasn’t a gang front.

his was... somebody’s home.

and the somebody in question was currently elbow-deep in your engine bay, muttering absolute poetry:

“fuckin’ hell, what is this wiring? christ on a goddamn dirt bike, were you aiming for vehicular manslaughter or did you just close your eyes and hope for the best? jesus tap-dancing shitfaced christ—these brake pads are so bald i could shine ‘em up and use them as mirrors.”

you bit back a laugh. “so... what you’re saying is it’s bad.”

he popped his head out from under the hood, grease streaked across his cheekbone like war paint, and gave you a flat look. “sweetheart, if i threw this thing off a cliff, it’d run better on the way down.”

you grinned despite yourself. “but you can fix it, right?”

a pause. he licked his teeth, considering. then he smirked again, sharp and sure.

“i’m not god, but i play a decent mechanic. give me a couple days, and i’ll get you back on the road without dying in a fiery explosion. can’t promise anything about your dignity, though.”

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“maybe three if your engine decides to be a bitch about it.” he said, voice casual, like he’d just told you it might rain this weekend.

you froze.

“wait, three days?”

“yeah, days.” he quirked an eyebrow at you, leaning back against the car like it owed him rent. “sweetheart, your transmission’s hanging on by duct tape and the lord’s mercy. you’re lucky it didn’t burst into flames halfway down 6th.”

your stomach dropped through the floor. “i—i can’t do days. i have work. multiple jobs. i can’t exactly use the city bus to move my way through gotham unless i wanna end up in a body bag.”

something flickered across his face. fast. gone before you could catch it. but it was there—an almost hesitant twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“look, i don’t care if you’re the goddamn mayor of gotham,” he said, but his voice had softened, just a little. “your car needs the work. you try driving it now, and you’re gonna end up wrapped around a lamppost. and guess what? they’ll still charge me for scraping your dumbass off the pavement.”

you bristled, embarrassment creeping up your neck. “i’m not asking for a miracle. i just—can’t afford to lose shifts. i have rent, i have bills, and that’s before gotham decides to screw me sideways again.”

jason scrubbed a hand through his hair, muttering something that sounded like, “fucking hell, why do i get all the strays,” before sighing hard enough to rattle the windows.

“alright, alright. jesus christ, stop looking at me like i just shot your dog.” he pushed off the car and gave you a long, unreadable look.

“i’ll put in extra hours. stay late. sleep under the damn lift if i have to. two days. if the parts come in fast. three if my supplier screws me over again, and if that happens, i’ll personally kick his nuts into orbit.”

you blinked, caught somewhere between touched and deeply confused. “you’d do that?”

he scoffed, turning away to grab another wrench. “don’t make it weird, sweetheart. just fixing the fucking car.”

but under the hood, where you couldn’t see, jason todd was cursing himself six ways to sunday. because what the hell was he doing? this was supposed to be simple. fix the car. take the money. move on. not lose sleep over some stubborn girl with big eyes and a death trap on wheels.

this guy. what the hell was his deal? grumpy. hot. competent. and absolutely unhinged. for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like gotham was trying to chew you up and spit you out.

you just felt . . . weirdly okay.

jason shut the hood with a clang, wiping his hands again on that rag he’d been abusing all afternoon. he jerked his chin toward the street, voice low but casual. “you need a ride or something? one of the guys can drop you. or me, if you’re feeling lucky.”

the smirk was lazy, effortless, like the offer didn’t mean anything. but underneath it, something tightened in his chest. you shook your head quickly, stuffing your hands in your jacket pockets. “no, i’m good. i’m only a few blocks over.”

he paused.

a few blocks over.

in this part of the narrows?

where the streetlights flickered half the night and the corner boys hustled anything that’d sell? where rent was low because life expectancy was lower?

something cold settled in his stomach.

you were living here. alone. walking home at night with no car, no backup, and no clue how many people in this neighborhood wouldn’t think twice about cornering someone like you.

and yet you said it so easily. like it was just normal. like you’d never known anything else.

he bit back the string of curses rising in his throat. “suit yourself.”

his voice came out rougher than he meant, but you didn’t seem to notice. you gave him a tired little smile, the kind that didn’t reach your eyes, and turned toward the door.

“see you in a couple days.” you slipped out into the fading daylight, hood up against the wind, steps steady even though the street outside could eat you alive.

jason stood there a long moment, staring after you, rag clenched tight in his fist. he knew this neighborhood. hell, he grew up in it. he knew exactly what kind of shit prowled these streets after dark.

and now you had become something personal.

🔖  .   @violetswritingg @timeofmadness @bmoplanet @littlelyssa69 @october-baby25 @saidinpassing @alldaysdreamers @timeofmadness @yoonshiiuii @sinnamon-bunn @oohyasumi @glasscurrents @deadbeatphobos @roysjason @vivieenee @gone-batty-fics @mei-simp @supertrxshwrites

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[enjakey]

Chapter 7- cheers to a new beginning

THE CERTAIN ROMANCE OF WINGS AND WAR

previous chapter | next chapter- coming soon

PAIRING: [DAD!JAKE SIM x FEM!READER]!MAFIA AU

TW/N: 7.7k - Mafia au | soulmates au | angel/devil wings au | childhood best friends au | frenemies au | I didn’t know I loved you until I lost you | eloping/running away | family friends au | found family au | cheating, blood, drugs, mentions of sex, alcohol, lots of cussing, mentions of murder, guns, therapy, trauma, abandoning children, adoption care, estranged families, physical abuse, anger issues, characters make terrible decisions, some characters have sexual relations but not romantic, mentions of a lot of fucking each other over (betrayal), can't trust anyone.

Chunks that are in italics are flashbacks.

SUMMARY: the wholesome, makeshift family of theirs settles into Santorini and the mundane schedules. The cafe becomes a restaurant, the family business runs in the backdrop. Y/N and Jake find a new footing in their relationship-everything seems perfect. It is, right?

No, it never is- threat is always looming.

SERIES MASTERLIST I MASTERLIST

Their morning routines never really changed- not fundamentally, at least. Just that, Jake and Sunghoon were part of the chaos now, folded seamlessly into the rhythm of the house like they’d always belonged there.

Niki still took Luna to school every morning. Only now, he’d rush back home to change into his ice-cream-shop uniform- a blindingly pink-and-yellow shirt with stripes like a circus tent, paired with matching trousers and a tiny apron that barely tied around his waist.

The first day he’d worn it home, he’d tried to sneak inside unnoticed, creeping through the door like a burglar. He’d barely made it three steps before Sunghoon and Jungwon burst out laughing so hard they collapsed against each other for support.

A week later, they’d all shown up at the ice cream shop just to torment him. They’d piled into a corner table, grinning as they ordered scoop after scoop of different flavors. Niki served them, face red, jaw clenched, eyes screaming murder as he dropped each wobbly scoop into their cups.

Luna, naturally, thought it was the best thing in the entire universe. She loved the candy-colored shop, loved that her uncle wore “funny clothes,” and especially loved that Niki got an employee discount that meant extra sprinkles on everything.

Jungwon, meanwhile, kept going to work as a chef at the same restaurant. He’d fall into bed each night exhausted but satisfied, smelling faintly of garlic and rosemary, complaining about rude customers but secretly thriving in the kitchen.

And he kept dating Athera- the mysterious girl none of them had met really yet. They only knew her by snippets- she had heterochromia, worked the same kitchen line as Jungwon, and was apparently the only person alive who could keep up with his sarcastic comebacks. Whenever Athera texted, Jungwon’s entire face softened.

But the house was getting too small.

There were mornings when Sunghoon or Y/N would emerge from the living room, hair sticking out in all directions, clutching their lower backs and wincing with every step as though they’d aged decades overnight. Jungwon would just raise an eyebrow and mutter, “rough night on the couch, huh?” and get a groan in response.

Other nights, Luna would decide the middle of the night was the perfect time to claim more territory. She’d shove Jake halfway off the bed with her tiny feet, leaving him sprawled on the floor while she snuggled closer to Y/N, thumb in her mouth and hair tangled over her face.

More than once, Jake had woken up flat on his back on the hardwood, blinking blearily at the ceiling and muttering curses under his breath while Luna giggled in her sleep.

It was hilarious, really. 

But it was also… chaos.

Some mornings, there was a traffic jam in the hallway as everyone tried to squeeze past each other getting dressed for work. Toothbrushes went missing, socks vanished and Niki nearly knocked over an entire shelf of glass cups while wrestling his ice cream shop uniform over his head.

And Jake and Y/N… were a bit obvious.

It started with small things, the kind you’d barely notice unless you were watching closely.

Like the way Y/N would be standing at the stove in the mornings, flipping pancakes for Luna’s lunchbox, and Jake would shuffle in half-awake, hair a mess, eyes still heavy with sleep. Without fail, he’d come right up beside her, slide an arm around her waist, and press a slow kiss to her hair.

Everyone else noticed- even Luna.

But no one said anything.

On the walk to school one morning, Luna had tugged at Niki’s hand and whispered, wide-eyed, “are daddy and auntie Y/N getting married so she can keep bossing him around forever?” and Niki, who was absolutely not equipped for this level of interrogation before eight in the morning, had immediately launched into a ramble about how gelato was made until she forgot the question entirely.

Jungwon and Sunghoon, meanwhile, exchanged silent looks like there was a live bomb ticking under the breakfast table.

Then there were the nights.

Some nights, Jake ended up sleeping in Y/N’s bed with Luna. Which sounded sweet in theory- until Luna, in her sleep, decided to stretch out sideways and kick Jake squarely in the ribs until he eventually gave up, grabbed his pillow, and lay down on the floor, muttering curses while Y/N tried not to laugh.

The beds were too small for three people. Everyone complained about it, but no one… actually did anything about it.

It was as though they were all tiptoeing around the edges of a conversation none of them wanted to be the first to start.

Until one morning.

Jake was standing in the hall, watching chaos unfold like a stage play.

Niki was running after Luna, who was shrieking with laughter and waving his bright pink and yellow ice cream shop hat over her head. Sunghoon was passed out on the couch, half-covered by a child-sized blanket, while Jungwon was crawling around on the floor, lifting cushions and muttering, “where the hell is my other shoe?”

Jake rubbed a hand over his jaw, sighed, and padded backward into the kitchen where Y/N was.

She stood at the counter, hair pinned up, flipping pancakes with calm precision despite the racket outside. He leaned back against the opposite counter, arms crossed, quietly watching the way the sunlight slanted across her cheek.

“So… this is how life is gonna be from now on?” He murmured finally, voice low and gentle, as though he was afraid to say it too loudly and make it disappear. His edges had softened here, in Santorini. Jake hardly ever raised his voice anymore, as if he was afraid of shattering whatever fragile peace they’d built. “Everyone seems to like it here.”

Y/N hummed, eyes still on the pancakes. “Yeah.”

“And you three are going to keep working these jobs… waitress, chef, ice cream scooper? In this tiny house?”

Y/N twisted slightly to look at him, spatula still in hand, a small smile playing over her lips. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Jake lifted a brow, a teasing spark lighting his tired eyes. “We own your café now, you know?” His voice dropped to a soft, coaxing drawl. “We could do something about it.”

“Like what?” She asked, folding a pancake onto the plate.

“If you’re not planning on leaving… might as well make it nice. Jungwon could shift his work here instead, run the kitchen. We’ll find Niki something that doesn’t involve him wearing that… uniform,” his grin grew sly. “And I’m pretty sure Luna would run the place better than any of us.”

Y/N snorted, shaking her head. “You and Sunghoon don’t want to go home?”

Jake tilted his head, the smile fading into something softer, more earnest. He reached over and touched the small of her back, light as a sponge. “Home is where you are, sweetheart,” then he swiped his lips against her- a fleeting kiss, almost gentle, too fast that Y/N had to question if it even happened.

And so… the café turned into a small restaurant.

One week they were talking about it over breakfast, and the next, they were all standing inside the bright, white-walled café, rolling up their sleeves and arguing about paint colors and where the tables should go.

Niki, to everyone’s surprise, became the manager. He actually took it seriously- ordering supplies, handling deliveries, fussing about scheduling and yelling at vendors on the phone. Sure, he still complained every day about “customer service bullshit” but somehow, he was good at it.

Sunghoon took over the finances. He sat behind the counter sometimes, glasses perched on his nose, sorting through ledgers and bills while he muttered under his breath about “profit margins” and “unnecessary expenses.” If you listened close, you’d hear him cursing out the cost of imported olive oil.

Jungwon, of course, was the chef.

He seemed to belong in the kitchen- flour on his cheeks, hair tied back, sleeves rolled up as he barked orders at anyone who dared step into his domain. He worked with quiet focus, creating menus scribbled in his tiny, precise handwriting, and sometimes disappeared into long rants about proper pasta water salinity.

Sunoo stayed on, loyal as ever, still behind the espresso machine. He liked to brag that he’d “survived the transition from café to restaurant,” and he made it his personal mission to perfect fancy coffee art for customers, even if Niki shouted at him to “stop wasting milk on hearts and flowers.”

Jake… drifted between roles.

Some days he helped Jungwon in the kitchen, chopping vegetables with precise, practiced ease. Other days, he helped Niki with deliveries or stood behind the counter, charming customers into ordering more desserts. Mostly, though, he hovered close to Y/N, keeping one hand on her back as though still worried she’d vanish if he let go.

And Y/N- she was everywhere.

She still waited tables, but she also helped Jungwon in the kitchen when the rush hit, or stood beside Sunghoon at the counter counting coins, or teased Niki into calming down when he was ready to murder an annoying supplier. She moved through the restaurant like she owned the place- because, in a way, she did.

Luna became their little mascot.

She had her own tiny apron with the restaurant’s name stitched on the front. She’d help Sunoo carry pastries to the tables, or sit beside Sunghoon pretending to do math. Sometimes she’d stand at the front door, greeting customers in her best Greek, which made people smile and leave bigger tips.

And, somewhere beneath all that flour and laughter, certain things hadn’t changed. Jake and Sunghoon still handled the family business on the side- the kind of business that required coded phone calls and encrypted messages, the kind that left shadows in their eyes. The restaurant had quietly become a perfect front for laundering money- cash flowing in, receipts always tidy, everything looking innocently legitimate to the outside world.

It was a strange balance, flipping from secret meetings in dark corners to folding napkins in the restaurant’s dining room. But somehow, it all fit together- this messy, patched-up family, trying to build a new life while still carrying the ghosts of the old one.

It wasn’t glamorous.

It was noisy, unpolished, and exhausting- long shifts, sore feet, dough smudged across cheeks and clothes.

But it was theirs. And they loved it.

“Hey, you wanna go get a beer?” Sunghoon nudged Jungwon’s arm with his elbow.

They were standing just outside the restaurant, metal shutters half-rolled down, the scent of garlic and olive oil still clinging to the night air.

Everyone else had already started drifting away- Niki trudging ahead, Luna half-asleep on his shoulder, while Jake and Y/N lingered behind him, fingers laced, heads bent close as they whispered to each other.

Jungwon glanced sideways at Sunghoon, brushing flour dust off his apron. “Now?”

“Yeah, now,” Sunghoon grinned, jerking his thumb down the street. “There’s that place by the harbor, remember? The one with the rusty sign and the old guy who sings sad Greek songs?”

Jungwon huffed a soft laugh. “You just wanna complain about your spreadsheets in peace.”

“Shut up,” Sunghoon said, rolling his eyes. “Come on, I know you drink from time to time. One beer. Maybe two. You look like you could use it.”

Jungwon gave the street ahead one more look- their family disappearing into the warm Santorini night- and shrugged out of his apron. “Yeah, okay.”

Sunghoon slung an arm around his shoulders as they started walking. “So, are you gonna tell me if this Athera girl’s actually real, or are you making her up so we’ll stop asking?”

Jungwon shoved him lightly, but there was a small, shy smile creeping up his face. “She’s real.”

“Mhm. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

They kept walking, footsteps echoing over the cobblestones, laughter carrying softly into the salt-laced breeze. Behind them, the lights of the restaurant flickered out, leaving the street bathed in silver moonlight.

By the time they reached the bar near the harbor, the island had settled into that hushed lull between late-night tourists and fishermen prepping for dawn. The salty breeze swept through the open-air terrace, rattling the rusted sign above them.

Sunghoon and Jungwon claimed a creaky wooden table at the edge, looking out at the harbor lights trembling on the water. The old bartender shuffled over, plunking two beers in front of them without even asking their order.

Sunghoon let out a slow breath, watching the foam of the beer settle. “You ever think… this wasn’t supposed to be our life?”

Jungwon didn’t look up. “Every day.”

Sunghoon chuckled humorlessly. “It’s fucking insane. Two years ago we were sneaking into nightclubs and threatening men twice our age with fake confidence and loaded guns. And now I’m out here arguing with fish vendors about receipts.”

“And I’m making lasagna for people who can’t pronounce my name,” Jungwon added, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “We peaked early. Imagine if David and Helen never adopted us.”

Sunghoon laughed into his bottle, took a slow sip. “No, but really. Sometimes I look at Jake and Luna and Y/N in that stupid too-small kitchen, and I think- how the fuck did we get here? Like, did we just… blink and suddenly become this weird makeshift family in Santorini?”

Jungwon leaned back in his chair, letting the sea breeze hit his face. “I think… we were always headed somewhere like this. We just didn’t know what it would look like.”

Sunghoon turned to him, raising a brow. “And Jake and Y/N? You saw that coming too?”

“I didn’t. But Niki did,” Jungwon said.

“Seriously? You know, Jake and I bet that Y/N and Niki would end up together a while back,” Sunghoon was surprised. “Jake and Y/N spent most of their lives arguing.”

“I know,” Jungwon nodded. “Niki asked me about it a while ago- right before we fled, actually. When Y/N first found out about Heeseung? He asked me if, back in the day, she’d been jealous of Emily. It sounded stupid.”

“It still does,” Sunghoon said. “No way she was jealous.”

“I don’t think she was,” Jungwon agreed. “But maybe this was inevitable. Think about it- they’ve been this way since we were kids. They know everything about each other, even when they hate it. Y/N can leave, Jake can ruin her life- but they still find their way back to each other.”

Sunghoon was quiet for a beat, staring at the foam in his glass. “Jake used to talk about her. A lot. Never said her name, but you could tell. And when they fought, it wrecked him. He didn’t say it out loud but… you know.”

“Yeah,” Jungwon murmured. “It’s only a matter of time before the wings sprout, right?”

Another pause.

“I think Jake’s been in love with her since he was sixteen,” Sunghoon muttered.

Jungwon smirked. “Try fourteen.”

“No way.”

“I was there. Think about it- when you were in middle school, just starting? Y/N was crying because we wouldn’t all be in the same schools anymore. Jake brought her a necklace to comfort her. She still has the necklace, you know? Wears it sometimes. Pretends it doesn’t exist other times.”

“Shit,” Sunghoon muttered, taking another long sip. “You think it’s gonna work out? After everything?”

Jungwon’s smile faded into something softer. “I don’t know if it’ll be easy. But I think… they’re the kind of people who’d keep choosing each other.”

Sunghoon was quiet again, nodding slowly. “It’s weird. I don’t even know what we’re doing anymore. None of this was part of the plan.”

“There was a plan?”

Sunghoon huffed a laugh. “Fair,” then he tilted his bottle toward Jungwon. “You know what I never figured out, though?”

“What?”

“That damn tattoo on Niki’s finger. The dove? I know it means something.”

Jungwon blinked, then cracked a grin. “Of course it means something. You really wanna know?”

Sunghoon leaned forward, eyes wide. “Yeah, what the hell is it?”

Jungwon scratched his jaw, sighing. “You remember that girl he really liked back in high school?”

Sunghoon frowned, searching his memory, then his eyes widened. “Wait… Sophie?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon said, tipping his bottle in confirmation. “It’s for her.”

“What?” Sunghoon choked a little on his drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “That boy has never had wings. Either he’s a fool or she’s never loved him back.”

Jungwon let out a humorless chuckle. “It’s complicated. When he loved her, she didn’t. And when she loved him… he didn’t. It’s like they’ve been ships passing each other for years.”

Sunghoon whistled low, shaking his head. “Shit. I didn’t know that about our baby brother.”

“Yeah, well,” Jungwon rolled his eyes. “Pretend like you don’t know. He’d kill me for telling you.”

Sunghoon let out a long breath, resting his elbows on the table as he stared at the bottle in his hand, the label peeling beneath his fingers.

“We’ve all been through it, huh?” He muttered, voice softer now. “Different ways. Different scars. Same ache though.”

Jungwon didn’t respond right away- just clinked the neck of his bottle gently against Sunghoon’s. “But we’re still here.”

“Somehow,” Sunghoon said with a tired smile.

They sat in silence for a while, the kind that didn’t demand to be filled. Just the hum of conversation from other tables, the distant sound of waves, and the low music from the bar’s speakers.

Eventually, Sunghoon pushed his empty bottle away and stood up, stretching his arms overhead. “Come on. Let’s go home before Niki falls asleep in the fridge or Luna burns a hole in the couch.”

Jungwon laughed as he stood, tossing a few crumpled euros on the table. “God forbid Luna makes us read another bedtime story in Greek.”

“Hey, that kid’s Greek’s better than ours.”

“She’s smarter than all of us combined.”

“Don’t remind me.”

When Jungwon and Sunghoon got home, the house was domestic with the kind of movement that had become oddly comforting. They stepped through the doorway, dropping grocery bags onto the hall table, and found the living room an absolute disaster.

Niki and Jake were sitting cross-legged on the floor, shoulders hunched forward, their heads nearly touching as they stared with intense concentration at a laptop perched on the coffee table. The tinny voice of a YouTuber droned instructions in the background- “fold the top corner down to meet the center crease…”

Scraps of brightly colored paper were scattered everywhere- reds, blues, greens crumpled into discarded lumps, some barely folded, others mangled beyond recognition. A pair of child-safe scissors and a glue stick lay forgotten between them like abandoned weapons after a battlefield defeat.

Luna sat beside them, picking at the dry skin on her lips, looking utterly uninterested in the task that was supposedly hers. Her tiny feet were tucked under her legs as she stared blankly at the mess in front of her, leaving Jake and Niki to fight her academic battles. Y/N sat perched on the couch above the scene, legs curled under her, one hand pressed over her mouth as if to stop herself from bursting into laughter. Her eyes shone with amusement, flicking between the chaos on the floor and the helpless looks on the two men’s faces.

She didn’t look this way a year ago- she looked happy, content, at ease.

“You’re doing her homework for her again?” Jungwon sighed, dropping his keys into the dish on the table.

Luna had a habit. 

She’d come home from school all smiles and sunshine, get swept up in games, beach walks, and long dinners at the restaurant and then, as the night was winding down, she’d suddenly remember she had a major project due the next morning. Which meant the entire household would get roped into a frantic, last-minute scramble, all hands on deck to save Luna’s academic record.

It took a village to raise this girl.

“What is it this time?” Sunghoon asked, toeing off his shoes before padding into the living room.

Jungwon and Sunghoon stayed back, choosing the couch instead of the paper-strewn mess on the floor. Luna instantly abandoned her spot by the laptop and scampered over to Sunghoon, climbing into his lap with the casual entitlement only children could pull off. She curled against him like a cat, tucking her head under his chin as though she’d been waiting for him to come home all day.

“Origami,” Niki grumbled, shoving the laptop a few inches away as though the video itself had personally offended him. His hair stuck up in weird angles from the number of times he’d raked his fingers through it, and he had a faint smear of pink glitter on his cheek, probably from some earlier failed craft attempt.

“Origami?” Sunghoon repeated, raising his brows. “And the pair of you couldn’t manage to even make one?”

Jake shot him a dark look, holding up a mangled piece of neon orange paper that might once have aspired to be a crane but now looked like a chewed wad of gum. “We’re trying, okay? The guy talks too fast. And Niki keeps skipping steps.”

“I’m not skipping steps, you just can’t keep up,” Niki shot back, exasperated. “He’s folding things faster than human hands are meant to move. He’s like a fucking ninja.”

“Stop swearing,” Y/N hissed.

“Sorry.”

Sunghoon stifled a snort of laughter, pressing his lips together as Luna poked at his cheek. “Hoonie, can you make a bunny?” She mumbled, voice small and hopeful.

Sunghoon blanched. “Uh…” He looked helplessly at Jungwon and Y/N, silently pleading for a rescue.

“Say yes,” Y/N whispered under her breath, grinning. “Or she’ll cry.”

Sunghoon exhaled sharply, rolling his eyes. “Fine. Give me the paper.”

Niki handed over a pristine square of bright blue paper with a mock ceremony. “Good luck. Godspeed.”

Sunghoon gave the sheet one wary look, then carefully folded a corner. A second later, he tore it straight down the middle.

A hush fell over the room as all eyes landed on the ripped paper in Sunghoon’s hands.

“Oops,” he said flatly.

Luna let out a dramatic sigh, slumping against his chest. “I’m doomed.”

Jake and Niki both burst into laughter, their shoulders shaking as Jake dropped the failed crane back onto the pile. Y/N finally lost her battle to keep a straight face, dissolving into giggles beside Jungwon.

Jungwon leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. “Honestly,” he said, shaking his head with a rueful smile, “I fold dumplings for a living. You’d think that’d translate.”

“It doesn’t,” Niki declared, waving another sheet of pink paper. “Okay, everybody move over. We’re starting again.”

And despite the frustration, the mess, and the absurdity of it all, it felt like the purest kind of normal- a strange, patched-together family huddled around the table, trying to save Luna’s homework one fold at a time.

Somehow (it was a recurring thing, actually) everyone was running late.

The small bathroom was fogged up from showers, doors creaking open and slamming shut as people darted in and out for toothbrushes, hair gel, missing socks. Luna’s voice echoed down the hall, wailing that she couldn’t find her glitter hair clip. Niki was swearing because he’d spilled coffee on his new shirt. Jungwon was half-dressed, rummaging through a laundry basket for his chef’s jacket.

In the middle of it all, Y/N stood in the bedroom, one foot braced on the bed as she tied the laces of her sneakers, her cell phone wedged precariously between her shoulder and her ear.

“I know, mom,” she said, voice pitched high with both affection and exasperation. “I know the house is small. I know there’s no storage. I know- yes, I’m eating enough-”

From the other end came the rapid-fire cadence of her mother’s voice, words barely distinguishable through the tinny phone speaker. Somewhere in the background, David’s deep rumble cut in-  stern but softer than it used to be.

Jake hovered in the doorway, watching her. His hair was damp, a towel looped around his neck. He quirked an eyebrow as Y/N juggled her phone and yanked a hoodie over her head.

“I’m trying to get ready for work,” Y/N hissed into the phone, exasperation flaring as she accidentally dropped it, fumbling to catch it before it hit the floor. “No, dad, we’re not coming home yet. No, really, we’re okay. Yes, Luna’s fine-”

Jake sighed. Without saying a word, he strode across the room, gently pried the phone from her fingers, and mouthed I’ve got it.

Y/N blinked at him, caught between gratitude and panic. “Jake-”

But he was already heading for the door, pressing the phone to his ear. “Hey mom, hey dad, hey Martin, hey Nayna. Good Morning. Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m taking care of her. You want the weather report from Santorini again?”

He disappeared into the hallway, voice dropping into a calm, steady cadence that somehow made the phone call sound less like an interrogation and more like a conversation.

It had become a tradition over the past year- these weekly family calls. 

A lifeline, in a way.

Every week, someone dialed in- Helen, with her worried fussing about whether Luna was getting enough sleep; David, gruff but obviously listening for any hint that Jake might be faltering; Y/N’s parents, their love threaded through every question even when they accidentally made her feel small and guilty. Apologies had been offered on both sides, sometimes awkward, sometimes tearful. 

Mends were slowly being made.

David was still angry. He tried not to show it, but it sat in his voice, a rough edge that sometimes caught on words.

Back then, before Jake and Sunghoon had tracked them down, Luna used to ask about her grandparents almost every day. She’d talk about Helen’s hair that smelled like lavender, or Martin who let her sit on his shoulders. Sometimes she’d ask about Aunt Chelsea too, though that name always made Y/N’s throat close up a little.

Y/N sank down onto the bed, one sneaker still untied, letting herself breathe for a second in the hush left behind by Jake’s absence. From down the hall, she could hear his voice, low and earnest, navigating questions about money, about Luna’s school, about the restaurant.

A smile tugged at her lips despite everything. She tied her shoe, stood, and headed out to join the chaos- because late or not, the restaurant wasn’t going to run itself.

“Where’s your backpack, Luna?” Y/N called, making her way to the hall.

“I dunno,” Luna chirped from her perch on the coffee table, swinging her feet. “Uncle Niki put it… somewhere.”

Niki threw his arms up. “I had it. Then I lost it. Don’t look at me like that.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and started lifting couch cushions, hunting for the elusive pink backpack.

From the kitchen doorway, Jake appeared again, phone pressed between shoulder and ear, mouthing I’m almost done at Y/N.

“Dad, tell Grandma I’m a big girl now and I don’t need new shoes every week,” Luna shouted, pointing at the phone.

“Yeah, Dad, tell Grandma she can buy me new shoes instead,” Niki chimed in, earning a glare from Y/N.

Jake held up a hand for silence, listening to David rant on the other end. “Yes, Dad. No, Dad. We’re not starving. No, we don’t need to move back-” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay. Love you, too.”

He finally hung up, exhaling like he’d been holding his breath for a year.

“Your dad wants to know why you’re still waitressing in a restaurant we own,” Jake muttered at Y/N.

“Because someone’s gotta keep Sunoo company,” Y/N shot back, pulling Luna’s backpack triumphantly from under a pile of jackets. “Found it!”

Luna squealed and darted forward, grabbing the bag.

“Oh my god, we’re gonna be late,” Y/N groaned. She pushed Luna toward Niki. “Go, go, go. School. And no, you cannot skip just because Niki says you’re his assistant.”

“Traitor,” Niki hissed at Luna as he scooped her up and slung the backpack over his shoulder. “Where are your shoes, now?”

Jake stepped up behind Y/N as the others started shuffling out the door, leaning in close to murmur, “you sure you want this circus every day for the rest of your life?”

“Absolutely,” Y/N tilted her head back to grin at him, eyes shining despite the bags under them. Jake chuckled, wrapped his hand around her waist like he always did and pressed his lips to her- lost in a serenity, lost in each other.

Then there was a knock on the door.

It came like a jolt- three sharp raps at the front door that didn’t belong to anyone they knew. Not Mr. Dimitris who always brought baked goods, not the landlord who knocked like he was breaking in, not a postman or local vendor. Just... a knock. 

Everyone froze.

Jake’s lips hovered an inch from Y/N’s hair, his brow tightening. Y/N pulled back slightly, her smile fading, eyes darting toward the door. Niki halted mid-motion, Luna still perched on his hip, and Jungwon and Sunghoon exchanged a look that screamed trouble.

This knock was crisp. Like it belonged to someone who knew exactly who was inside- and why they were knocking.

Niki lowered Luna gently to the floor, his entire posture shifting. His shoulders tensed, and something flickered across his eyes- a wary recognition. He moved toward the door as if drawn by invisible threads, each step hesitant. His fingers hovered over the knob, pausing a fraction too long.

Then, finally, he pulled the door open.

Sunlight poured into the little house in a blazing white flood. And there, standing against the glare like a ghost from another lifetime, was her.

She looked… older. A few faint lines had settled near her eyes, and her blonde hair was pulled back into a messy knot, wisps escaping around her cheeks. She wore a simple soft-blue shirt tucked into jeans, a canvas tote bag slung over one shoulder. But it was her eyes- brown, bright, soft- that made Niki go utterly still.

She blinked at him, swallowing hard. “Hi, Niki.”

He didn’t answer right away. He just stared, mouth slightly open, as if trying to reconcile the years and miles between then and now.

Finally, the word slipped out of him. Barely a whisper. 

“Sophie?”

The whole room seemed to hold its breath.

Jungwon stepped forward from where he’d been wrestling with Luna’s shoelaces, eyes squinting in confusion as he tried to place her face- it was her, definitely her. Sunghoon, shirtless and only halfway into a button-down, stopped dead in the hallway, a suspicious frown tightening his brow.

No one else really recognized her- but the look on Niki’s face said everything.

Y/N stepped closer, her voice gentle, cautious. “Aren’t you Sophie from school…?”

Niki blinked as if coming out of a trance. His arms dropped to his sides, fists curling and uncurling as though he didn’t know what to do with them. His chest heaved once before he forced words out.

“Yeah. That’s Sophie.”

Sophie shifted from foot to foot on the threshold, clutching the strap of her bag. Her eyes roamed the cluttered living room- the open cereal boxes, the faint scent of coffee, Luna’s little sneakers scattered near the doorway. She smiled faintly, bittersweet.

“I didn’t mean to just… show up like this,” she said softly. “I wasn’t even sure if I should. But… I had to see you.”

Jake, watching the exchange from a few feet back, spoke up, voice low but firm. “Niki, you never told us about her.”

“She’s not…” Niki’s voice cracked slightly, and he swallowed hard. “She doesn’t know anything. She wasn’t part of… any of that.”

“Then what is she doing here?” Sunghoon asked, his voice neither harsh nor kind- just careful, like he was measuring the weight of a threat.

“I don’t know,” Niki said, shaking his head minutely, eyes still locked on Sophie as if he were afraid she’d vanish if he blinked.

Sophie looked at him for a long moment, then turned her eyes briefly toward the others. “I’m here to help. Something’s… happened. And I thought… I should warn you.”

Silence thickened, pressing in around them like a held breath.

Jake exchanged a long look with Y/N, then gently ended the call still buzzing in his pocket- probably his parents again. Y/N reached out, squeezing Niki’s arm as she passed, a quiet gesture of solidarity. She started ushering Luna back toward her room, murmuring, “go find your other shoe, honey.”

Jungwon hovered close behind them, glancing back every few steps, still sizing Sophie up like a puzzle he couldn’t solve. Sunghoon remained planted near the hall entrance, arms folded tight over his chest.

Niki hadn’t moved.

He just stood there, breath ragged, staring at Sophie like she’d walked straight out of one of the darkest corners of his memory- and yet somehow still looked at him like he might be worth saving.

And that… terrified him more than anything.

“Come with us,” Jake said to Sophie. Not coldly, not warmly- just a measured calm, like he was holding a deck of cards he wasn’t ready to reveal yet.

Sophie nodded, her hands clutching the strap of her tote like it was the only thing anchoring her in place. She followed them out of the house and down the narrow cobbled street, past bright white walls and hanging vines of bougainvillea, past sleepy shopfronts and fishermen hauling in early morning nets. 

No one spoke.

At the restaurant, Sunghoon flipped the “closed” sign over on the glass door, locking it behind them. The little place was still warming up- chairs still stacked on tables, the soft smell of flour and oil lingering from the night before. A shaft of sunlight cut through the front window, casting long bars of light across the tiled floor. It was familiar. 

Safe. 

A contrast to the tension knotting in Niki’s chest.

“I’m gonna drop Luna at school,” he muttered, the words aimed more at Jake than anyone else. He didn’t wait for a response before he slipped out the door again, still slightly pale, still reeling.

Sophie stood quietly near the corner table. She didn’t sit until Y/N gestured toward the bench. Even then, she perched gingerly, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to be here.

Jake hovered near the espresso machine, arms folded across his chest, staring hard at the closed door Niki had disappeared through. His jaw worked as though he was chewing on a dozen unsaid words.

Sunghoon sidled up beside him, dragging out a stool and leaning his elbows on the counter. He kept his voice low, so it wouldn’t carry over to where Sophie sat fidgeting.

“Okay. So… are we thinking this is just some long-lost-lovers’ reunion? Or…” he tilted his head slightly, as if Jake could finish his sentence for him.

Jake let out a sharp breath, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t fucking know, Hoon.”

“Well, she’s either here to patch things up with Niki…” Sunghoon flicked his eyes subtly toward Sophie, who was now tracing a water stain on the table with her fingertip, lost in thought, “…or she’s here because something’s about to blow up in our faces.”

Jake didn’t answer. His eyes stayed locked on Sophie, as though searching for some sign of danger.

Sunghoon tapped the counter lightly. “You know, for a second, I thought maybe she just wanted closure or some dumb shit like that. Like, you know- hey, Niki, you broke my teenage heart, now let’s hug it out over baklava.”

Jake huffed a mirthless laugh. “Yeah. Well. That’d be too fucking easy for us, wouldn’t it?”

Sunghoon sobered, leaning closer. “You think it’s connected to Emily?”

Jake’s mouth twisted. “Feels like everything is, doesn't it?”

Sunghoon fell silent for a second. 

“You wanna tell Y/N to take Luna and run?”

Jake’s gaze snapped to him, sharp and immediate. “Don’t even fucking say that.”

“I’m just saying,” Sunghoon said gently, hands spread in a placating gesture. “If this goes sideways-”

“It’s not going sideways,” Jake cut him off, though there was something desperate in the way he said it. “We’re not running again. We just… found each other again. We just started putting shit back together.”

Sunghoon sighed, glancing toward the table where Sophie sat, shoulders hunched, eyes darting around the quiet restaurant. “Yeah, well. Something tells me she didn’t come all the way here just to ask how we’ve been.”

“Obviously.”

Before Sunghoon could reply, the door swung open, the bell jingling overhead as Niki slipped back in. He looked slightly less pale than before, but only a little.

“Luna’s at school,” he said tightly. His eyes flicked to Sophie. “Now… talk.”

Everyone gathered around her table as they took their seats, chairs scraping obnoxiously on the floor.

Sophie nodded slowly and looked up at all of them- at Niki, then Jake, then Y/N- like she needed to make sure they were really listening.

“A few months ago,” she began, her voice soft but clear, “two people approached me. Erwin and Louis.”

Jake’s posture went stiff. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

Sophie nodded. “I didn’t know them. But they knew me. They knew I used to be close with Niki. They said they were… trying to locate some people. You, to be specific.”

Niki’s jaw clenched.

“I didn’t tell them anything,” Sophie said quickly. “I swear. I didn’t even know where you’d gone. But they asked questions. Too many. About the old days. About people you knew. About who you might’ve trusted if you were on the run.”

Sunghoon swore under his breath.

Sophie nodded again. “They said… they wanted revenge. They weren’t subtle. They know you killed her. And they’re not letting it go.”

“I thought they wouldn’t come after us,” Jungwon said quietly. “Emily was the threat. She’s gone.”

“We killed one of their own,” Jake grunted. “Obviously they’re gonna come after us.”

Y/N was quiet, gripping the edge of the table so hard her knuckles turned white. “And you came all the way here to tell us this?”

Sophie looked down at her hands, then up again. “I didn’t know where else to go. But I knew you had a right to know they’re still looking. Still angry. Still... hunting.”

Niki’s voice cracked for the first time. “Why now?”

Sophie met his gaze, pain flickering in her eyes. “Because a week ago… I saw them again. They weren’t asking questions this time. They were making threats. Real ones. And if I didn’t come find you- if I didn’t at least warn you- I wouldn’t be able to live with it. I think your parents should be safe, they don’t want to waste their time with them but…”

Jake rubbed a hand down his face, the weight of the last year suddenly pressing heavier than ever. “So it’s not over.”

“No,” Sophie said quietly. “I guess not.”

The restaurant was dead silent. Outside, the Santorini breeze brushed against the windowpane. But inside, it felt like something sacred had just cracked- like their quiet life had been punctured by a past they could never fully run from.

Y/N finally spoke, voice low and hoarse. “What do they want?”

Sophie exhaled shakily. “They want you all dead. Especially whoever shot her.”

Jake’s hand reached instinctively for Y/N’s wrist under the table, fingers curling gently. She didn’t flinch. She just sat still, eyes staring at a crack in the tile, breathing shallow and tight.

“We’ll figure it out,” Jake said quietly, but there was a steel in his voice.

WHEN WE WERE KIDS

It was the end of summer, the last day before school would start up again, and the whole neighborhood had gathered for the annual street barbecue. The smell of grilled meat and sweet corn hung heavy in the warm air, mingling with the tang of soda and the sugary smoke of sparklers burning down to the wire.

Kids were everywhere- running races barefoot in the grass, tossing frisbees over the roofs of parked cars, shrieking when someone turned a hose on them. Parents sat clustered around fold-out tables, sipping beer or iced tea, chatting about work and shipments and whose kid was about to start at which new school.

In the middle of all the noise, Y/N sat alone on the curb, hugging her knees to her chest.

She was twelve, small for her age, wearing a pink sundress patterned with little white daisies. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon that kept slipping loose, and her eyes were red-rimmed from crying.

Jungwon and Niki hovered awkwardly a few feet away, glancing at each other as if silently arguing about who should go try and comfort her. But neither moved closer, cowed by the sheer force of Y/N’s misery.

She wasn’t even sobbing anymore. She was just silent, tears running down her cheeks as she stared at the ground, as though the cracks in the pavement were the most fascinating thing in the world.

Jake spotted her first from across the lawn, his arms still damp from the water fight he’d been waging with Jay and Sunghoon. He was fourteen, wearing board shorts and a faded T-shirt, hair flopping into his eyes. He’d just finished high-school orientation a few days ago, and there’d been something weirdly grown-up about it all- the new building, the lockers, the classes with names like “pre-algebra.”

He’d been excited. It was a bigger world waiting for him. But right now, none of that mattered.

He handed his water gun off to Jay, ignoring Sunghoon’s teasing “lover-boy” snicker, and made his way over to where Y/N was sitting.

“Hey,” he said softly, standing in front of her, shadow falling across her knees.

Y/N didn’t look up. She sniffed and rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her palm.

Jake crouched down until he was eye-level with her. He could see the tiny freckles scattered across her nose, the way her lashes clumped together from crying. “Hey,” he repeated gently. “Why’re you crying?”

She kept her face turned away. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah it does,” Jake insisted. “Tell me.”

Y/N sniffed again, voice wobbling. “Because you’re all leaving. You, Sunghoon, Jay… You’re going to high school. And I’m stuck here with Jungwon and Niki. It’s not fair.”

Jake blinked. For a second, he didn’t know what to say. He’d known she was upset about the school change, but he hadn’t realized how deeply it had sunk its claws into her.

He swallowed. “Hey. Look at me.”

Reluctantly, Y/N lifted her head. Her eyes were huge and wet, shining under the streetlights strung up between the trees. Jake felt something twist painfully in his chest.

“Just because we’re in different schools,” he said, as firmly as he could, “doesn’t mean we’re leaving you.”

“You’ll all forget about me,” Y/N mumbled. “You’ll make new friends. And then you’ll stop coming around.”

Jake let out a frustrated huff, scrubbing a hand through his wet hair. “Y/N. We’re not gonna forget you. You’re part of us.”

She didn’t look convinced.

Jake hesitated, then reached into the pocket of his swim trunks and pulled out something small, curled tight in his fist. He’d won it earlier that day from one of those claw machines at the gas station- a tiny silver heart-shaped pendant strung on a thin chain. It wasn’t expensive. It wasn’t even real silver. But it had felt important to him somehow, even when he’d been fishing it out of the machine, ignoring Jay yelling that he’d just wasted all his change.

He opened his hand and held it out to her.

“Here.”

Y/N blinked at it. “What’s that for?”

“So you don’t forget,” Jake said. He took her hand and dropped the necklace into her palm. “And so you remember that I’m not going anywhere. None of us are.”

Y/N stared at the necklace as if it was the most precious thing in the world. Her fingers closed around it, holding it so tightly her knuckles went white.

Jake ducked his head, suddenly shy. “You can wear it… if you want.”

Y/N threw her arms around him so fast he nearly fell over. She squeezed him so hard his ribs protested, her face buried against his neck.

“I’m still mad at you for leaving me behind,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

Jake let out a breathy laugh, hugging her back. “That’s okay. You can be mad. I’m still not going anywhere.”

Sunghoon and Jay finally wandered over, Jay rolling his eyes. “God, you two are dramatic.”

“Shut up,” Jake snapped over Y/N’s shoulder.

Niki and Jungwon approached cautiously, seeing that Y/N was no longer crying. Jungwon sat down beside her on the curb, draping an arm around her shoulders. “They’ll save us a spot at their table when we come to high school, isn’t that right, Hyung?”

Y/N lifted her chin, wiping her eyes. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Jake said.

“Yeah,” Jay sighed. “And besides, Jake’s too annoying to ever stop showing up at our house.”

Jake elbowed him in the side.

And for the first time that night, Y/N smiled. A wobbly, fragile smile- but a smile all the same. She unclasped the tiny necklace and fumbled to put it around her neck. It glittered under the string lights like something magical.

Jake grinned when he saw it on her. “Looks good on you.”

Even though Y/N still sniffled now and then, she stayed close to Jake the rest of the night. The fireworks went off overhead, splashes of red and gold and green, and her fingers kept straying to the tiny silver heart resting against her collarbone.

And at that age- just kids still, young and naïve- they didn’t realise how deep their families were tied. How their bloodlines twisted through history, tangled in secrets and debts and scars. How no matter how far they’d run from each other, no matter how many oceans or years tried to pull them apart, they’d always come back together.

[tgmsunmontue]

Won't let you be my Waterloo - 3/?

Hangster getting together fic set after TGM. Jake receives messages from Rooster meant for someone else and it opens some channels of communication. Shame they're still terrible at it. Fleshed out "wrong number" story from @caystar13star

Waterloo: a decisive or final defeat or setback.

CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

                Of course, he can’t just take off and live in Izaak and Izzy’s guest room for three months. Not least because he and Mav are doing a delicate dance of becoming reacquainted with one another, which is sort of nice while also a lot awkward, although watching Mav and Penny Benjamin do a similar type of dance is entertaining, and Amelia seems… normal. He doesn’t really have experience with teenage girls to have a metric to compare her to, but he does feel judged sometimes when she looks at him. It makes him think of Phoenix and he looks forward to introducing them.

                He wakes in the middle of most nights, heart pounding, breath coming in sharp breaths and he struggles to get back to sleep. Knows he’s going to have to talk to someone, suspects it’s because he’s got time now. Time to process what he’s just experienced. Survived. So for the first time in a long time he stays put, looks around him and decides he might as well try and do some work on the house. It needs it and it’s not like he can make it worse.

…            …            …

>>Did what you suggested and went and patted all the dogs at the shelter. Helped a little.

                He knows this isn’t meant for him, because he sure as hell hasn’t ever suggested that Bradshaw go and do such a thing. But attached to the message are about five photos of some cute dogs. Jake finds himself smiling, although he wonders why Bradshaw needed to go and do that and what he’s been saying to the person he intended this for. Jake isn’t stupid, knows Bradshaw is probably having nightmares. He is himself and he didn’t go through the experience of the SAMs and then getting shot down.

                So instead of messaging Rooster and telling him he’s got the wrong number again he simply finds himself on Rooster’s porch step again, frowning at the dry-rot and peeling paint, kicks at it absently and the urge to fix it is still there but it’s not his place, either literally or figuratively and he raps his knuckles on the door, waits. Knows Bradshaw has to be home because his bright blue monstrosity of a gas-guzzler is sitting in the drive like a beacon.

                “Hey.”

                “Hey. What are you doing here?”

                “Want me to leave?”

                “Would you actually?” Bradshaw asks with a scoff, pulling the door open wider.

                “Probably not.”

                “Yeah. Thought so. Might as well come in then.”

                Since their morning of shared chicken wings things have been… easier. Not easy, definitely not the level of comfort he relaxes into when he’s with Javy or at home with his family, but whatever tension was there previously has bled away and he supposes the whole life-saving has probably helped as well. Now there is an uneasy sense of something there and Jake’s not sure if it’s friendship or if that’s simply wishful thinking on his part. He follows Rooster through to the kitchen, gets a hand waved in the direction of a half-filled coffee pot and invited to help himself. He declines, then spies the small pots of sample paint and the quirks up an eyebrow.

                “Planning on doing some redecorating?”

                “Yeah… the whole place needs some desperate TLC.”

                “I mean… yeah. I wasn’t going to say anything.”

                “You feeling okay?” Bradshaw asks, and Jake is certain there’s a joke heading his way judging from the way Rooster’s lip is twitching. So easy to read.

                “Yeah. Why?”

                “Not like you not to say anything.”

                “Oh fuck off…” Jake mutters, flipping him the finger. “Are you planning on keeping it or selling it?”

                “Uh. Keeping it. Why?”

                “Well… if you were going to sell, then there wouldn’t be any point in me offering my help. I mean. Developers will just buy it and knock down the house. So no point spending time and money fixing things up. However if you want to live here… then there are some things I can help with.”

                “Really?”

                “Yeah, really. My dad is a carpenter and I was helping him from a young age. I can’t say I am looking forward to the paint job this place needs but stripping it off will be satisfying at least.”

                “You’re… you’re offering to help me fix it up?”

                “If you want the help…”

                “I… yeah. Yeah. Definitely. Please.”

…            …            …

                Other than learning his dad was a carpenter, Hangman hasn’t mentioned his family further and Bradley doesn’t want to ask, well aware of the fact that the topic can be a minefield. Hangman is going through his dismal collection of tools, muttering under his breath and Bradley feels helpless, but doesn’t know what else he can do. An engine he can work with, a house, not so much.

                “Did you enjoy petting the dogs Rooster?”

                The out-of-the-blue question makes him blink, not least because he didn’t tell anyone about that… except…

                “Did I send you a message again?” Bradley asks with a sigh, and if his eyesight wasn’t checked regularly he’d think he needed glasses. But it’s just his lack of attention, although he remembers them feeling tired and gritty the night he drank too much and shit, maybe he should get them checked properly.

                “Yep. Food pictures and cute dogs… I’m really suffering here Bradshaw.”

                “Yeah yeah, whatever. I’m sorry.”

                “It’s fine. Just… who is it you think you’re messaging?”

                “Oh. Izaak. He’s, uh, my best friend,” Bradley says, because saying brother wouldn’t be accurate regardless of how they feel about each other and how Bradley feels a part of the family.

                “Huh. Right beside Hangman in your phone then.”

                “Same when you were Jake.”

                Hangman startles at his words, turns round to stare at him.

                “You have me in your phone as Jake?”

                “Um. Not anymore? I changed it to Hangman, but then it still puts your contact right beside I either way. And to be honest, I’d rather be accidentally messaging you than Hondo…”

                “Uh… do I want to know why you have Hondo’s number?”

                Bradley definitely isn’t mentioning asking for it so he could put him in as a buffer between Hangman and Izaak, not that he did it anyway, because he’s up in the Bs under Bernie because he hasn’t bothered changing it.

                “He’s one of Mav’s best friends… or maybe just one of the few people Mav listens to. Or pretends to listen to…”

                “Sounds like Maverick. Anyway, you’ve got nothing we need. Going to need a trip to the hardware store. You’re paying.”

                Bradley splutters.

                “Why am I paying?”

                “Your house, your dime. You’re already getting my labor for free.”

                Bradley opens his mouth to argue and then snaps it shut, because actually, that seems more than fair. The temptation to make a quip about having to suffer through Hangman’s company, but he doesn’t want to rock the boat.

…            …            …

                Jake finds himself a tool belt and a few things he knows he’ll use again, like a good hammer that’s weighted just right and a decent measuring tape. He’s already thinking of ripping out the nails on the porch steps, lord that will be satisfying to fix. His actual tool belt is at his parents, but with them away he’d have to bother one of his siblings, and they’re all plenty busy without going on a goose chase for him.

                “You’re, uh, buying that?”

                “Well I’m not flying all the way to Texas to get my one.”

                “You… you have your own one?”

                “Yes Bradshaw, I have my own tool belt,” Jake says slowly, and he wonders what the hell is going on in Rooster’s brain right now to make him look like he’s currently been knocked on the head; remembers belatedly the man is still recovering. “You okay?”

                “Yeah… uh. How about I buy this one and you just use it? You are doing me a favor after all…”

                Jake shrugs, adds it to his cart but keeps hold of the hammer before Bradshaw rolls his eyes and grabs it from him. Ah well, he can have a surprise at the checkout. Then they go and get wood and he holds back all the jokes on the tip of his tongue, feels a little juvenile until he spies Rooster biting his lips to hold in a laugh. Then he’s talking to the hire team, organizing some saws and horses to support the wood. Bradshaw stands there and listens, silent.

                “You actually know about this stuff…” Bradshaw says as they make their way to the checkout and Jake nods.

                “Sure do,” Jake replies, doesn’t want to ask about Bradshaw’s upbringing, knows about his dad and Maverick so doubts it’s pretty. “Good thing you’ve got a truck. Let’s get back to your place and get to work.” Part of him expects Bradshaw to grumble, but instead he does as Jake instructs and helps load the wood and supplies into the back of his truck and Jake’s already thinking he’s going to need some gloves. He can get things measured up first though.

…            …            …

                “I keep sending Hangman messages I mean for you,” Bradley says to Izaak later, prodding at the piece of fish he has in the pan. “But I went to the shelter this morning, patted lots of puppies. It was good.”

                “Glad it helped, won’t tell Izzy you still haven’t sent her photos of puppies… actually, I was thinking of getting her one. Was there one that stood out?”

                “Fuck off, I’m not travelling across the country with a puppy…”

                “Not even for us?”

                “No.”

                “Where’s the love gone?”

                “Go to a shelter near you, even better, take Izzy and let her have some stress relief. I know the whole wedding planning is getting to her.”

                “I’m trying to help!”

                “I didn’t even say anything!”

                “Ugh. Sorry. Just getting defensive. Her mom is being…”

                “Challenging?” Bradley provides, because he’s met Izzy’s mom and he’s not quite sure how Izzy turned out so chilled out and relaxed if that was what she grew up with. Maybe that’s why she’s so relaxed though.

                “Yeah. Let’s go with that. But enough about my future mother-in-law… you’re still messaging boner-boy huh?”

                “Hangman…” Bradley corrects.

                “Hangman, Boner-boy… same thing.”

                “It’s really not,” Bradley says with a tired sigh. “Anyway, I’m not messaging him. Not on purpose.”

                “I think that’s your brain trying to tell you something…”

                “Fuck off, it is not.”

                “No, seriously, I think you should actually send him some messages. Open up those lines of communication. Actually have an adult conversation. I know you can.”

                “We actually spent the afternoon together. He’s going to help me do some work on the house. Apparently his dad was a carpenter… he definitely seems to know more than I do.”

                “Wait wait wait. Boner-boy has offered to help you work on the house? And you accepted?”

                Bradley bites his bottom lip, because yeah, he gets why Izaak is asking with such disbelief. He wasn’t ready to work on the house previously, it felt too emotionally charged. Now though, having nearly died? He wants to make it his, the same way it used to be his parents. As for Hangman’s presence…

                “Yeah well… I’m ready to make some changes and he’s free labor.”

                “Wow…” Izaak says, the word drawing out. “You feeling okay?”

                “He’s not as bad as he was…” Bradley says with a sigh, because of course he’s complained about Hangman to his best friend before. “Things happen. Things I can’t tell you about. But… we’re okay.”

                “Things happen? Like… is this in the same ballpark as you now talking to your dick of a godfather again?”

                “Yep. Things… happened. I’m talking to Mav. He told me that my mom didn’t want me to fly.”

                “Oh. Fuck… how are you coping with that news?”

                “Well… not great. But. It is what it is right? I’m not going to give up my career, and lots of kids go against their parents’ wishes…”

                “Most kids don’t have dead parents they can’t argue with,” Izaak says, and it’s this level of candour that Bradley has always appreciated. No avoidance. Sympathy but not pity. And in the case of Izaak the easy invitation to join him for every single family thing ever since the time they first met.

                “It’s fine. Your parents think I’m amazing.”

                Izaak sighs, because he knows Bradley is right. Despite everything there are somethings that Izaak’s parents just don’t get about Izaak, and Bradley is the weird golden child because he doesn’t have a complicated history with them, or feel their expectations on his shoulders like he knows Izaak does.

                “You are amazing. I don’t make a habit of having best friends who aren’t.”

                “Love you too. Izzy and I both. Your parents been okay? Not too overbearing?”

                Izaak sighs again and Bradley can imagine him standing there, rolling his shoulders as he stares out of a window.

                “Yeah. They’re fine. They want you to go to a suit place. They have people.”

                “Of course they do,” Bradley laughs. “Just ask you mom to send me the details and I’ll figure it out.”

                “Lucky you. Mom and Cheryl are going to be at my fitting,” Izaak says, and Bradley winces. The mother-in-law.

                “Yikes. Sorry man. Rather you than me.”

…            …            …

[artingstarvist]

Welp.

[every-sanji]

This is genuinely the best blog on tumblr. The premise is hilarious and commitment is fabulous

LMAO thank you!! I can't take the credit for the idea since I believe @everybrook is the OG for one piece every blogs (archive goes back to 2018 which is two whole years before this one, and also is completely caught up on the manga so posts are way more infrequent) and there were a few others that popped up around the same time I did in 2020, most notably @everynicorobin which is also caught up and reblogs fanart now between chapter releases (and also run by my cool mutual go give them a follow). I don't think most of the other ones from that era are still around or posting like I don't remember the last time the Franky blog updated, but it is a very funny premise and it takes a lot to keep these blogs going, so you have to have some sort of dedication to the bit to keep it going for more than a few months.

[mistyechoes]

deep and thorough sigh i suck at video games

[oh-meow-swirls]

how does the raft not capsize.

[pttucker]

After Kim Dokja disappeared, Han Sooyoung was busy appeasing the party members. "Shit, am I some type of babysitter?" Lee Gilyoung and Shin Yoosung were sitting blankly in their seats while Lee Hyunsung's huge body was crouched down in the middle of the children as he muttered something. Han Sooyoung sighed and pressed the party members "Hey! Everyone, wake up. This time, he went with Yoo Joonghyuk. Of course, it didn't work. "Dokja hyung… Dokja hyung again…" "I should've locked him up at that time…" Lee Jihye and Lee Seolhwa tried to soothe the children while Han Sooyoung was thinking about the problems she faced now. Kim Dokja and Yoo Joonghyuk were taken away so she had to take care of the preparations for the rest of the week. "Now is the real Han Sooyoung's Corporation…"

Dokja, your party is literally going to put one of those weird little toddler backpack leashes on you so you can't just dart off to who knows where. And then they're gonna give the other end to a pissed off Joonghyuk.

Or worse...

Heewon

YOU ARE LUCKY SHE'S STILL WITH URIEL RIGHT NOW BUT YOU ARE GONNA HEAR ABOUT IT WHEN SHE GETS BACK!

Look at poor Lee Hyunsung! Look at the children! You are giving them PTSD with all of your disappearing off to your potential doom!

Poor Han Sooyoung. She doesn't get paid enough for this.

Forget the stuff in his pockets, I vote that next time Dokja pulls a Dokja, Sooyoung gets to keep his coat.

[waifuoftomonori]

5/25 - Random Daily Paragraphs

The warmth of Tomonori’s palm resting between his horns stopped him. His breath caught. The next thing he knew, tears were gushing down his cheeks in hot streaky paths, shuddering with each frantic gasp. Tomonori tutted in sympathy, patting his head so gently, gentler than Taira had ever been or ever would be, inviting Shinra to close his eyes and bury his head in his hands and bawl like he never had before. “It’s all right,” Tomonori murmured.

~***~

“You— what? You made horns?” Shinra blurted out, bolting up straight.

[aparticularbandit]

i've also got about 600 words left in the second write for monday's chapter. and this is like. endgame chapters, we have hit endgame chapters, so it's like when i originally wrote them and just wanted to go go go go i want to do that with the second write, too.

...which means i probably won't be doing anymore of the april foolin' fics. sorry!

[iamasaddie]

AN HONEST MISTAKE

Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: swiping left and right on tinder, you think you match with Joel Miller, a handsome single dad in his late 30s. Feeling enamored and horny you decide to meet in person, only to be met with an almost completely different person. warnings: darkfic, dub-con eliments due to alcohol intoxication, gaslighting, very big age gap [Joel is 61], switching POVs, explicit sexual content. Some tags are not added to avoid spoilers, dm me if you need the full list. reader description: afab she/her, has hair long enough to be pulled; has boobs and ass; reader mid to late 20s-early 30s. word count: 6,2k

a/n: thank you for all of the excitement and interest you'd shown to this idea, i have been working on it for some time and i'm finally happy to show you part one. huge thanks to @arcanefox207 , Ally helped me to polish this chapter and shown me a lot of support which i truly appreciate <3 READ ON AO3

MASTERLIST | part 2

Dating wasn’t fun. It always felt like an inescapable chore for you, and you tried to avoid it at all costs. Hiding your face in your morning cup of tea when attacked by your mom’s questions, her voice distorted by poor video connection. Joking only to avoid the topic of boyfriends and girlfriends when your friend kept nagging you about it. Losing yourself in an unsatisfactory myriad of hands that belonged to faceless people when the nights got too cold for empty sheets.

You looked at your table, a small hand-made sign read “do better” in your own handwriting. And that was exactly what you were going to do. You were going to kill not two, but three birds with one stone, and that stone was going to be going on a date. A real, proper date, with excruciatingly predictable questions and awkward first touches. And you were going to have fun. 

On the fourth hour of swiping Tinder, you were a breath away from ghosting everyone you knew and hiding in the Peruvian Amazonia for the rest of your life. The few conversations that you managed to have quickly died out when the person you talked to learned what you were there for. A month ago you’d find a pretty face and invite them over to smoke and have some fun, but that wasn’t a great start for an actual relationship. No, your fuckgirl days were over, so you went back to swiping. 

And that was when you saw him.

Joel M., 39 Southern gentleman with a beautiful daughter. Work in construction, so I can build you a house. I am looking for a real connection, please, respect that.

God, he was handsome. Your mouth started salivating as you swiped through his pictures. He was broad, tall and had a tool in his hand. Not the one you immediately started wondering about, but it looked like at least he didn’t lie in his description. Feeling like a complete creep, you screenshotted his profile. If you weren’t a match, at least you’d have someone pretty to think about before going to bed tonight.

Gently, as if afraid, you swiped right. Your screen lit up, and so did your face, you gave a wide grin to your phone. “It’s a match!”

He was too good to be true. A gentleman, he didn’t lie there. Joel gave you the exact amount of attention to make you run towards your phone whenever it rang. It was definitely nothing like you expected. He was attentive, remembering what you said and when, never shied away from your questions, and on top of that he was devastatingly hot.

You heard a blip of a new message and unlocked your phone, a smile already plastered on your face like a Pavlovian reaction.

[Joel M.]: I was thinking, we seem to have a nice connection here, don’t we? [You]: I think so, too. A little unbelievable, but I am feeling hopeful. [Joel M.]: Unbelievable how?[You]: Unbelievable that no one snatched you up earlier. From where I am sitting, you look like a full package. [Joel M.]: Well, you’re sitting awfully far away, so I see how it looks like that. Why don’t we meet in person and find out if you still think the same, darlin? [You]: Joel, are you inviting me on a date? [Joel M.]: Only if you’re accepting. How about a dinner at my place? I am a pretty decent cook.

Your hand hovered above the screen. It wasn’t smart, going to a man’s place for your first date. He could be a creep, he could be a murderer… But then again, you could never brag about your self preservation instincts, sometimes you just thought with a little kitty purring between your legs. 

You tapped on his profile again, looking at the zoomed in picture of his face. His brown eyes looked sad, but kind. A half-smile tugged on his soft-looking lips. Just a few sprinkles of salt and pepper in his hair. Even if he turned out to be a creep, you’d never had such a handsome lay before, and you were planning to check all of his tools as soon as you could, you thought to yourself before typing your reply.

[You]: I’d love that. Send me the address?

You weren’t worried, not really. You never struggled with too low of self-esteem. You knew your strong suits, and you wore them like armor. The upcoming date sent a pleasant shiver down your back, anticipation made you giggle into the void of your lonely apartment. The closer the day came, the giddier you became.

So on the fateful night you had enough confidence to pick out the dress that was a bit uncomfortable but looked gorgeous on your body. You smacked some lipstick that complemented the shade of your skin, grabbed a small purse and a bottle of wine and winked at your reflection in the mirror. You looked good, you felt even better.

August kept tricking you with its weather, the days still suffocated you with heat while the nights were unpleasantly chilly. You hugged your naked shoulders and rubbed your skin in an attempt to warm up as you waited for your Uber to arrive. 

You got inside the white Honda Civic, the smell of cigarettes unpleasantly soaked into the seats so you opened up the window praying that it wouldn’t stink up your dress. The driver acknowledged you with a small grunt and a nod, you did the same, not willing to start a conversation. The estimated forty minutes dragged out and became an hour in the man’s GPS, of course you got stuck in traffic it was just your luck. And on your way to a literal dream man, no less. 

Your kitten heel kept tapping on the car floor, the annoyed-looking driver gave you a stern look in the rear view mirror that you completely ignored. You needed to warn Joel that you were going to be late, and it made you want to grind your teeth. You hated being late, be that a party, a dentist appointment or a walk in the park with a friend. It made you feel guilty, leaving your palms sticky with cold sweat. You clearly weren’t going to make a good first impression, and with the way you chewed your lip bloody, you might not even get a kiss. You looked at the picture of him you shamelessly saved to your camera roll. Out of the two of you, you were definitely winning the creep competition, while he was just a dream come true. 

You zoomed in on his face, your thumb caressed the pixels of his skin. There were smile lines around his lips, and you wondered what made him laugh so hard throughout his life that the remnants of the gesture permanently cut themself into his skin. Joel’s eyes were gleaming with youthful mischief, something you’d thought a person loses after having a child, but he clearly proved you wrong. Sun made his brown look like amber, adding to the overall handsomeness of the man. You imagined yourself next to him – yes, it was way too early, but you couldn’t keep your mind from wandering – he’d be taller, bigger than you, his strong hand on your lower back as you walk through the city. The eyes of men and women hungry to have what’s yours, but he’d only look at you. Yes, he was a bit older, but still young enough to have you on his arm without dealing with accusatory stares and venomous whispers behind your back.

A loud honking from the car behind you made you jump in your seat. The line of cars finally started moving and it brought a sense of relief to you. You had 20 more minutes, maybe you were still going to make it.

The sound of your heels kissing the pavement echoed like gunfire through the neighborhood. When your taxi left you at the needed address, you looked around. It wasn’t too late, the small houses still looked alive with yellow lights and muffled voices. You took a deep breath, straightened your back and looked in front of yourself, examining the location. 

From the outside, Joel’s house looked nice. Nothing too fancy, the white paint a bit chapped, but the porch looked recently freshened up. A sturdy looking rocking chair covered with a blanket and a pillow gave the place a cozy feeling. His lawn was perfectly trimmed, and you imagined watching him mow it from that same porch with an iced tea in your hand. He’d be sweaty and shirtless, you’d drag him inside to fuck before he finished even a third of the territory. You clenched your thighs, a small pool of wetness gathering in your thongs. You better keep that thought away or you’d jump the poor man’s bones before he had the chance to say hello.

You checked your phone, 8:27 PM. Not too late, even acceptable in some countries, you tried to cheer yourself on. You hoped he wasn’t as insane about being late as you were or here went your first date in years. Gently, you tapped on the wooden door, the sound of someone approaching from the other side made you squeeze the bottle neck harder.

When the door flew open, you stretched out the hand holding the wine and fired out an apology in the most comical way you could, your eyes tightly shut.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, the traffic was horrendous. I promise I am usually never late, ever.” When no reply followed, you opened your eyes, a smile still tugging on your lips as you took in the man in front of you. It was both Joel and not. With your hand still outstretched, your mouth dropped with a hundred different questions, but you only managed to ask one. “Joel?”

“Hello, darlin’.”

“Is this some kind of a joke? Are you his dad or something?”

The man in front of you was not in his late thirties, hell, he wasn’t even in his late forties! The Joel that was staring at you looked pretty old, mid-fifties at least, you thought to yourself. His hair was mostly salt, no pepper in sight. It was inches longer than in the picture, soft-looking, it curled at the bottom. He was as tall and broad as you imagined, and it did give a little pang to your core that you quickly shut off. His face was ridden in wrinkles, prominent crows feet near his eyes that were still sad, still brown. You had half a thought to turn around and order yourself an Uber home, but the bewildered look on his face made you stop where you were.

“Darlin’, I know what’s going through your head right now, because I promise I didn’t expect you to be this young either! It must’ve been Sarah, my baby girl. She set up this thing, said she was tired of seeing her old man sad an’ miserable. Guess she didn’t think I was mighty attractive anymore.” He says with a self-deprecating chuckle. “She just straight up told me today that a nice woman would come over for a dinner, said she’d be here too, and if I loved her I had better prepared my nicest shirt an’ all. Christ, what was that girl thinking?” 

You caught yourself feeling bad for the man, your heart clenching. He was still definitely handsome. His stomach was slightly more prominent and his was shirt hugging him tightly in the middle. His hand that tucked a little white strand of hair behind his ear matched his face in little sun spots, skin that had been kissed by the burning star for longer than you’d been alive. But he still got it, in a silver fox kind of way. Poor man, put into such an embarrassing situation by his own daughter. Being willingly childfree had never looked more appealing to you. 

“You came all the way here just to be disappointed, I can’t tell you how-“

“I’m not disappointed,” you interrupted him quickly and stepped forward, an unknown force drove your hand to squeeze his forearm in a reassuring gesture. His eyes dropped when your manicured nails dug into his ironed flannel. “Just surprised, but that’s not a bad thing. We both unknowingly catfished each other.”

“Catfish? Ain’t that a type of fish?” 

“No,” you laughed lightheartedly, the man was adorable. The cold breeze picked up, and you were reminded that you were still on the porch, if any neighbors were out they were definitely getting a fresh batch of gossip to discuss before sleep. “It’s when you… You know what, no matter, it’s not important.”

Joel looked hesitant, his jaw ticked and you noticed him look you up and down before swallowing hard. Was he blushing? 

“I want to make it up to you before you go. I made us a nice dinner when I thought you were umm… age appropriate,” Joel tightened his lips and gave you an apologetic smile. “It ain’t catfish, just a steak, but I swear on my mama, it’s good.”

Before you could respond, your stomach growled making the decision for you. Your hand jumped to it, fisting the material of your dress as if trying to silence the embarrassing sound.

“Well, I don’t see any harm in that,” you smiled, accepting Joel’s invitation. The man looked harmless and you didn’t want to leave him sad and miserable, it seemed like he felt guilty enough. “It was quite a long drive.” Maybe it all could become a funny story you both would tell your friends. Separately. 

He stepped aside and you waltzed inside his house. It was big enough to still be cozy without making you feel trapped. The warm light made everything look safe and homey, hardwood floor creaked gently under your footsteps. The door lock clicked behind you and you turned around.

Joel was looking at you, a more confident smile now stretching his lips. The soft lighting took a few years off his face, and once again you noted that the man aged like a fine wine. That reminded you of the bottle you were still tightly gripping in your hand, and you stretched it out to Joel for the second time that night. He accepted with a muttered ‘thank you’.

“Feel at home, sweetheart, I’ll just grab something real quick.” Joel pointed towards his kitchen, the space was open, luring you in with a mouth-watering smell. 

You felt awkward walking around a stranger’s house, but followed his instructions. 

You didn’t see the way his eyes lingered on the exposed skin of the back of your thighs, his tongue flicking over his lower lip in anticipation. 

He disappeared further into the hallway, and you made your way towards the dining table. 

Alone, you took the opportunity to study the place you were allowed in. Unfortunately, it wasn’t very unique, or maybe you were just a shitty detective. Joel’s kitchen that spilled out into a dining room was disappointingly ordinary. Walls painted a soft yellow; polished doors of wooden cupboards and kitchen cabinets that looked old but taken care of; a four-person dining table that was now set with a few plates, simple utensils, napkins and wine glasses. You narrowed your eyes trying to see the pictures that were stuck to the fridge with small butterfly magnets. Your long ride and empty stomach must’ve taken a toll on your eyesight so you could barely make out Joel in those. There was a picture of him with another man, and… You leaned over the table as if trying to get closer, to see better.

“You know, you can just come closer to the fridge.” Joel’s chuckle made you jump in your seat.

“Sorry, I was just,” the right explanation failed you, and you surrendered. “I was just being nosy.”

“Didn’t catch you going through my drawers, so no harm. Can’t really snoop if it’s out there to see, right?” Joel set the opened bottle of the wine you’d brought on the table and waved a bottle opener in his right hand. “Haven’t had wine in some time so had to go look for this guy,” he explained. 

“Whatever you made, it smells delicious,” you smiled at him. The sucking feeling in your stomach became uncomfortable, and you cursed at yourself internally for skipping lunch.

“Well then, let’s get some of it in you, shall we?”

Joel seemed way more relaxed, maybe your agreement to spend time with him made him feel less guilty for his daughter’s actions; or maybe it was the confidence of being a host. Either way, it looked good on him. 

You didn’t stop your eye from wandering over his frame while he looked away, putting food on your plates. His dark green shirt was snug around his broad shoulders, the soft-looking material translated the feeling of warmth and comfort you lacked in your dress. He had blue jeans on, and you felt your cheeks heat up when you noticed a firm ass hidden behind the rough fabric. Your hand left the table, and you tugged at your bottom lip absent-mindlessly. What was twenty more years? He turned around and since your eyes hadn't moved, you were now shamelessly staring at his crotch. The jeans did not hide much.

You snapped your face up immediately at Joel’s quiet cough. There was a barely hidden smirk on his face, so you decided that no harm was done. So what if you gave the man a quiet compliment? You’d been doing that for the last two weeks, even though apparently his daughter was the one responding to them. You could spare some flirting for the poor guy, he looked like he enjoyed a bit of your harmless attention.

He didn’t lie, he was a decent cook. The meat melted on your tongue and the wine you brought complimented it nicely. You didn’t notice the way your glass was always full, Joel’s stories from the past kept you too entranced.

Heat was creeping up your chest, settling in your cheeks and you moved the wine glass away. You could tolerate a full bottle without being visibly affected, not your proudest trick but it was what it was. Yet, now you felt like you’d emptied at least a couple of bottles on an empty stomach, even though the bottle on the table proved otherwise. You felt dizzy, but not in a bad way, just more relaxed than you were planning to be. Joel looked more handsome every minute, his syrupy thick voice lulled you into a trance-like headspace.

“Can’t lie, you look mighty pretty, darlin’. Had I been thirty years younger it’d be hard to keep my hands to myself.” 

Wine dimmed your instincts, so you just giggled. Joel’s eyes darkened as he tripped his gaze from your face to your bust, your breasts straining against the silk fabric of your dress. You noticed him looking and cleared your throat, tits jiggling slightly. 

“Forgive an old man, sweetheart?” There was nothing sorry about his tone, but it slipped your mind completely, your guard almost all the way down. “As I said, haven't had a pretty thing like you here in ages.”

You tried to study his face, your brain foggy as you struggled to figure him out. “You compliment like a man deep in the dating pool,” you smirked, “makes it hard to believe it’s all an accident. Maybe you actually lured me in here

intentionally?” You raised your eyebrows, but couldn’t handle your own silly accusation, breaking down in giggles.

“Don’t worry, darlin’, this old dog is all bark no bite.” His smile looked sincere, kind laughter leaving his wet lips and he gave you a wink.

“You’re not that old,” your voice dragged the words out like you wanted to convince yourself more than him. You felt hot all over and you weren’t sure if it was the result of the wine you drank.

“You’re too kind, sweetheart, no need to spare my feelings. My prime is long behind the horizon.”

“No, you’re actually very handsome,” you didn’t lie, anyone with a good working set of eyes would see his attractiveness, and you had two weeks to cement it in your brain. “You have a very nice smile, and your hands,” your eyes dropped on the table where a giant fist was curled around his fork. “A lot of women appreciate a good set of hands.”

“Learned to work with them pretty well, too.” Joel nodded and smirked. “Leaking faucets, clogged drainage. Can fix it all.”

In your mind that phrase sounded naughtier than you were sure the man intended it to, and you reprimanded yourself, feeling a different kind of heat rise from your belly. With one swift movement you’ve emptied what was left in your glass of wine, forgetting about your need to somehow get home after dinner. Joel only poured some more in your glass, smiling softly.

He learned the dance moves long ago. Pretty birds like you were comfortably predictable, and even though you oozed a different kind of odor, he knew exactly what to say. He watched you sip your wine with ease, his own glass barely touched on the table.

When the last piece of salad was cleaned off your plate, you felt a pleasant fullness in your belly. Your head was heavy in a sleepy kind of way, and you looked around, trying to find something to hold your attention on. Your eyes skimmed the living room, from where you were sitting you could see an old couch, in some spots it was now more beige than brown, its big cushions looked soft and the blue quilt draped over the back of it was calling your name.

There was a guitar leaning against one of the armrests and you moved your eyes back at Joel who was silently studying you.

“You play that?” You blindly pointed your thumb towards the strategically placed instrument and Joel curtly nodded.

“I pluck the strings, sometimes something bearable comes out.” He joked, the apples of his cheeks saturated with color and you reached your hand to take his

and gently squeezed it. Joel’s skin turned out to be warm and dry, the sensation of giving him such an innocent touch tingled on your fingertips.

“I noticed you tend to undersell yourself. Would you play something for me?” You didn’t want to leave yet, and your empty plate didn’t really leave you a reason to stay. You tilted your head to the right and gave Joel a sweet smile, hoping he’d succumb to your charm. He didn’t wait long before returning the soft gesture. Slowly, he got off his seat. His figure loomed above you for a quiet moment before he outstretched his palm.

“I’d never be able to refuse you,” he admitted. Your hand drowned in his and he tugged you up. You almost crushed into his broad chest, but to your own dismay he took a step back. Your insides throbbed, the smell of his cologne mixed with his own odor awoke every single receptor on your skin.

“Do you like old stuff?” 

“I’m still here,” you quipped and shrugged your shoulders innocently. Joel stopped, making sure you saw him roll his eyes in fake annoyance. He couldn’t contain the breathy laugh, though, so you knew he got your joke. 

You moved towards the couch, while Joel walked a step behind you, enjoying the view of your ass in a skin tight dress. The outline of your thongs was visible to him, and he smiled to himself, maybe you weren’t as innocent as you pretended to be. Joel bit the inside of his cheek to refrain from any comments.

His hand hugged the neck of the guitar confidently, while you made yourself comfortable on the couch.

“I think I know just the thing.”

Your eyes never left his fingers as he started to hum an unfamiliar melody.

His voice lulled you in, deep vibrations as he plucked the strings reverberated in your chest. You felt so warm inside, the heat that was pooling in the depth of your belly rose and touched your chest, neck, the tips of your fingers. The dress clung to your skin unpleasantly and for a moment you wished you could take it off. Was it so wrong?

Your eyes traced Joel’s face, the sharp angle of his nose, the tip of it twitching as he sang gently. His lips caressed the words with a tenderness of a lover and you wondered when was the last time they did the same to a woman. Your thighs tightened as your body already knew something your mind only danced around. You shifted in your seat, moving closer to Joel, letting your knees touch.His eyes found yours, a question burning in his browns. You shrugged your shoulders and gave him a small smile, he smiled back. The melody continued, his warm timbre embracing the words.

Maybe tomorrow, honey, Some place down the line, I’ll wake up older So much older, mama, I’ll wake up older, and I’ll just stop all my trying

Your fingers drew patterns on your dress, nails picking at the seam with nervousness. The fire in the center of you gave you confidence to follow through, and your hand ended up on Joel’s knee, slowly moving up until your pinky touched the wood of his guitar. The melody didn’t falter, but his voice did.

“Whatcha doin’, sweetheart?”

“It is a date, isn’t it?” The shreds of your confidence only allowed you to squeeze his thigh with a hint, yet your eyes looked anywhere but his face.

“You shouldn’t do something like that to an old man like me, will break my heart when you leave,” he sounded so painfully sad, it made your heart ache as bad as your pussy. You looked him in the eye then, god, he was so handsome. 

“What if I don’t leave?” You challenged him like a mouse challenging a lion. Joel shook his head, his hand gripping the guitar’s neck viciously.

“Stop playing with me, darlin’.”

“What if I’m not playing?”

You expected another sad plea, another crack in his voice. But instead, he put his guitar to the side and spread his legs wider than before. “Then prove it.” He husked out. “Prove that you know what you’re doing.”

There was no mistake in what he meant. His voice added a new depth into it, eyes glowed with something dark. Passion, you thought. Need. The one that was pushing you to your knees at that same moment. The one that numbed your skin when your bones hit the hardwood floor between his spread thighs. The one that guided your hands to his zipper before you could even steal a kiss off his tantalizing lips.

He was hot underneath his clothes, his skin was burning like he had a fever and you were almost too impatient to be gentle. Joel lifted his hips just enough to help you tug his jeans down, his grey cotton boxers followed. He watched you intently, and you watched his half-hard cock lay heavily on his full balls. They were hanging low, their size intimidating. But no more intimidating than the main course.

You weren’t offended that he wasn’t fully hard yet, still, Joel took you by the chin and made you look at him. “Sorry, darlin’, you’re the prettiest girl I’ve seen in a long time, but at my age, it’s just not enough anymore.”

You nodded, your mouth flooding with saliva at the thought of him growing under your tongue. He was thick, veiny, more veiny than the dicks you’d seen

before so you thought it was an age thing, however the vines surrounding his shaft only made you whimper harder, thighs squelching with your arousal. 

You leaned forward, inhaling full lungs of him. It was heady, strong, and made you dizzier than all the wine you drank. You reached your hand out with the intent of touching his cock, but Joel stopped you.

“Touch yourself.” For the first time you heard something dark in his melody. Commanding.

“What?” You were confused. Did he want you to just play with yourself? Because you were on the verge of bursting if he didn’t let you get closer to his cock.

“Put your little hand in your panties and slick it up with all the sweet juices that have been leaking out of you since the moment you saw me, darlin’.” Your mouth fell open, hand following his order under Joel’s dominant gaze. “Then you can wrap it around my dick, and prove to me that you really want this.”

It was so easy to just do what he said, without questioning the moral, the consequences. Your hand was wet with your arousal, pussy begging to keep it

there, to give some attention to your clit, but your mind was set on the man before you. 

He hissed when you wrapped your slick hand around his shaft and started jerking it slowly, feeling the girth of him thrum with growing desire. You looked at his cock, entranced. His shaft was shining with your own juices, a pink head became deeper in color as more blood rushed to his cock. You swiped your thumb over it, a tiny drop of precum glistening in his slit. 

“You’re doin’ such a good job, angel.” Joel’s hoarse voice was almost a whisper. You felt the steam coming from him, it made you sweat, your breath hitching. “Why don’t you put that mouth to use, hm, darlin’? You speak awful lot with it.”

It almost made you giggle, a plan forming in your head. Instead of letting his cock in the scorching wetness of your mouth, your head dropped lower. You

stuck your tongue out, lathering his heavy balls in your saliva. They were fuzzy, like a ripe peach, and you massaged them with the wet muscle. 

“Fuck, ain’t nothing angelic about you, huh?” Joel’s voice was barely recognizable, hungry and low it vibrated in your pussy. You opened your mouth wider, sucking his balls in turn. “That’s right, making me feel so good, sucking on my balls like that. Come on, baby, use your tongue.” 

You tried to alternate between licking and sucking on his ballsack, your spit drooling over your chin while you were panting like a rabid dog. The only thing that mocked your ladylikeness was your goddamn dress, and it was almost drenched in your own slick at this point. 

“Good girl, sucking on my balls like it’s what you came here for. Came here to make an old man cum? What a perverted little girl you are, sweetheart.” Your pussy tingled with your praise. The mouth on him made your head spin, like a newfound drug that affected only you he seeped under your skin making you pant and moan as you continued pleasuring him. Your hand jerked his thick cock in tandem with your mouth on his balls. Joel’s eyes never left you, as he continued praising you. “Mmhm, that’s good, drench ‘em, fuck you’re a dirty one.” 

You felt his hand at the back of your head as it pressed you harder into him, your nose was forced into his perineum and he almost humped your face with his groin. Your tongue hung out, and he managed to slide his balls across it before it almost went too low. The tip of your tongue almost touching his puckered hole covered in more hair. 

“Not today,” you heard him grumble before tugging you up. “Come on, darlin’, don’t make me waste a load.” He pushed on your cheeks with his hand, feeding you his cock in one movement. It was a lot to take, your teeth barely scraping his shaft, and you used your tongue to protect the underside. “Take it all, come on, darlin’, you’re the one who wanted it.”

Intoxication and arousal didn’t mix well, as you just moaned pathetically around him, letting him deeper in your throat. It bulged with the sheer size of his dick, you felt it, uncomfortable, but you couldn’t move, your body too heavy and tired. Instead, your hands found his wet balls, already tight and ready to blow every drop of cum he’d been saving for you. You tried to fit them in your hand, gently tugging at his sack to stimulate him further.

“Ready, sweetheart? I better not see you waste a drop.” His hips bucked, and your nose was pressed into the soft tuft of his grey pubes. Joel pressed your head into him harder as his hot load trickled down your throat. You tried to breathe through your nose, the lack of oxygen blackening your vision.

He pulled out seconds before you were ready to pass out.

“Gotta tap my leg or somethin’, sugar. I don’t need you dying with my cock still in your throat.” You chuckled, not sure why. Joel placed his hand on your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip, slippery with your saliva. His whisper sounded gentle, “God, you’re a mess. Beautiful.”

You didn’t trust your throat to work, so instead, you tried to get up on your trembling legs. Your pussy still screamed for release, so wet you could feel your arousal escaping your thongs and dripping down your leg. You hiked the skirt of your dress up, not an ounce of shame inside, and straddled Joel.

“Whoa, darlin’, slow down,” his hands dropped to your hips, keeping you in place. Your brows furrowed. He didn’t look like a man who’d let a lady down. “Why don’t we change our location?”

You didn’t get an opportunity to look around, your feet scrambling as he tugged you into a dark room. His pants were up, but undone, and you lost your heels somewhere along the way, your dress still hiked up like a common whore.

Everything was spinning, so when he dropped on the bed at first you thought he fell. His voice was navigating you through the darkness, but you could barely concentrate on it.

“Come here, angel, let this old man take care of your pretty pussy.” Joel smacked his lips, and guided you to climb on top of him, legs on each side of his body until your pussy hovered over his face.

“Panties,” you whimpered and heard an immediate crack of fabric ripping.

“Sorry, darlin’, can’t make you wait any longer,” his face pressed into the side of your thigh, sticky with your own juices, and you whimpered pathetically at the texture of his scruff scratching your sensitive skin. “Smell so good, fresh, like a new doll.”

You couldn’t understand what he meant, you didn’t even try to. When his lips latched onto your clit, your head tilted back and you let out a loud moan. Joel only moaned back, the sound penetrating your pussy alongside his tongue.

His hands gripped your asscheeks painfully, forcing you to grind on his face. His tongue slipped in your wet hole, and you felt yourself shaking on top of him, your legs giving out as he kept fucking you with his tongue. 

Joel growled in your skin, making you crawl to your orgasm faster and faster with every swipe of his tongue. 

The tip of his nose kept hitting your sensitive clit, as he pushed his tongue further and further in your fluttering hole. He kissed his way up, pinching your clit between his tightly clasped lips and sucked, punching a cry out of you with his raw vigor.

“Come on, sugar,” he commanded, “I feel her cryin’, give her what she wants.”

With doubled passion he flickered his tongue over your throbbing bud, and you felt sweat trickling down your neck and soaking into your dress as an orgasm rushed over you.

Your body felt powerless, and if not for Joel’s strong hands still holding you up, you’d have fallen back. But he kept you somewhat steady, lapping up all that your wasted body could give him until every swipe of his tongue started being painful and you had physically push his face away with trembling hands.

“Got too enthusiastic, my bad. Ain’t every day I get to drink from a fountain of youth.” Joel joked, helping you settle next to him in his bed.

Your tired body was half laying on top of him, fully drained yet still unexplainably insatiable. Forced by something deep in the pit of your belly, you dragged your nails over his soft stomach until you touched his soft cock again. Joel quickly stopped you, grabbing your wrist and bringing your hand to his chest. You felt the sparse hairs on his nipple tickle your palm. His heartbeat was hard, but steady.

“Sorry, angel, ain’t that young anymore.” He said, kissing the crown of your head. His fingers found their way into your hair and he tugged at it gently. “If you want me to fuck that pretty hole of yours, you’ll just have to agree to a second date.”

Your words were slurred, eyelids too heavy to keep them open. “Maybe I will, old man.” 

He chuckled, the grip of his fingers in your hair tightened as he looked in the distance. A couple of flickering street lamps visible from his window were providing minimum light in his room and a possessive smile creeped onto his lips as he listened to you snoring lightly into his chest.

You weren't the first mouse to get trapped so easily, but something told him you were special. He wasn't ready to discard you just yet.

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[tender-rosiey]

from me to you — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: this takes place in chapter 268, soo sort of spoilers ahead? also long live gojo satoru; gojo leaves you a letter 🙏

“y/n-sensei, there is a letter for you as well!”

that catches your attention, and you look up at the first years. you tilt your head slightly, and yuuji hands you an envelope.

you gently take it from him, and the first thing you notice is “wifey” written on it then the doodle of satoru with his blindfold on. you feel your throat tighten, and your hands shake slightly.

you let out a small breath then shakily open the letter.

hey, honey!!

it first reads.

I feel like there is still much I didn’t tell you in our last meeting, so here I, your beautiful and handsome husband, am writing them down.

you swallow lightly, and a small smile appears on your face as you imagine satoru saying that, then you continue to the next line.

first, I changed all your computer passwords to variations of “satoruisthebest” at one point. your confusion was so cute!!

you quirk an eyebrow at the admission, but when you rack your brain, you remember that one day when you couldn’t log into your computer.

what you vividly remember was satoru being sat beside you the whole time, and now that you think about it. he was smiling so widely the entire time, letting out small chuckles every now and then. oh, that sneaky man.

“satoru, I am telling you it’s broken!”

“sweetheart, we spent over 2000$ on that. if it broke, then we could easily sue the company,” he chuckled, arm wrapping around your shoulder and pulling you closer.

“2 year guaranteed top performance my ass!”

you smile at the memory. it was pretty satoru of him to do that. your eyes then move to continue reading.

second, there are times when I would tell megumi that you would be coming with me, then he would turn and leave me when he found out I was tricking him.

your eyes glance up at said boy who is sat across of you. he made it out alive, despite everything. he suffered so much, but he made it.

it makes you relieved, and you can imagine satoru being bloody proud of him and saying something along the lines of ‘you handed sukuna’s ass to him, very cool!’

no matter how much megumi had frowned and grimaced at satoru’s presence or antics. it rooted itself as something—safe and familiar.

you can’t count on your hands the times when you and satoru would visit the siblings, and nobody really said it, but these meetings did all of you a favor, a chance to kind of wind down. maybe act like death might actually not be looming tomorrow.

it feels like just yesterday when megumi would cling to you when he got really sad or nervous, after so much time spent getting comfortable with each other.

he grew up well, you think, eyes gliding to next.

third, I hid your uniform every two to three weeks, so you have to stay with me.

at that, your eyes widen a bit. satoru’s schedule was pretty packed, but he somehow managed to squeeze time for quality time between you two.

it tugged on your heartstrings, and you made sure he knew how much you appreciated it, not a single space on his face left without a kiss. however, finding out that he went out of his way to make you rest and stay.

satoru’s care really showed in his actions, and you feel like this is the biggest proof of it.

“satoru, have you seen my uniform?”

“nope! maybe, it is a sign to stay home today? you’ve been working so hard, wifey!”

you cupped his face, pulled him down to your height, and kisses his cheek, “you’ve been working harder, ‘toru. let me take off some of the load at least.”

“we could both stay!”

“you’re kidding, right?”

“I already told yaga; I miss you!”

you try to stop the reminiscing further and try to compose yourself before reading the rest.

fourth, I’m the one who kept adjusting the thermostat. I just wanted an excuse to cuddle.

a fond yet melancholy smile appears on your face. you kinda figured that one out. satoru’s favorite pastime was cuddling, so it’s no surprise that he would go out of his way to create the need for it even further.

add to that, once you went to get some green tea and saw him from the corner of your eye teleport to the thermostat, click something, then teleport back to bed.

you figured that the room being chilly that night was not an exception in the middle of july.

“babeeee, it’s so cold! let’s cuddle!”

“maybe the problem is with the thermostat?”

“I checked! I think cuddling is the best solution.”

you giggle as you recall the moment, one of many similar. your heart feels a bit lighter as you go through the letter. something satoru managed to always do even in person.

he would plaster sticky notes, get you trinkets, and even pull pranks on other just to see you smile. feeling more encouraged, you keep on reading the letter.

then you feel your chest constrict so tightly that you might just throw up.

fifth, I am really gonna fucking miss you.

you read the line over again, and you purse your lip in hopes of silencing any noise that may come out as you feel the lump in your throat return, even worse than before. your breathing starts getting more difficult.

your grip on the letter tightens, and you find yourself thinking back to the good times. memories of late nights spent in each other’s arms, thinking about everything and nothing at once.

hushed whispers of confessions and quiet giggles as you reminisced on your highschool days. tight hugs when recalling the sad moments and the departure of a certain someone.

“you know, y/n, I think we might just be made for each other,” he said one night. you hummed and looked him in the eyes.

“three am thoughts?”

“three am admissions,” he grins slightly, “I am made for you, and you’re made for me.”

you remember him pulling you closer and kissing your forehead, while you teased, “and what would you need little old me for, so much that I got made?”

he feigns thinking then closes his eyes, burying his face in your shoulder, “grounding me.”

I love you. I really do, but you should know that already, right?

your eyes drift down to the corner of the paper, and that is when you feel your tears start free-falling. there is drawn a chibi satoru besides a chibi you and between them is a heart.

the chibi satoru is giving yours a big smooch, while she laughs. you never thought that the day your jealousy burns would be because of drawings, and drawings of you and your own husband, nonetheless.

“but wow, gojo-sensei is shit at writing letters,” you hear nobara remark.

megumi responds with a small chuckle, “I am fine with mine.”

“what about you, y/n-sensei?—”

the trio becomes silent as you let out a sob. a watery smile makes its way up your face as you kiss the letter gently and murmur, “so shitty.”

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[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - TWO

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of possible pregnancy, of abortion, of pregnancy risks & death. self-loathing. chapter one ┆ chapter three ┆ chapter four

You lied.

You didn’t take the tests the next day.

Or the next. You couldn’t. Every time you picked up one of the stupid boxes, your heart would drop to the pits of hell and your hands would start sweating. You’d shove it back in the drawer like it could disappear if you just ignored it hard enough.

Once you knew, you knew. 

There was no more pretending as if nothing happened.

No more pretending like you didn't care that Rafe moved on like he didn’t just dump you, with no real closure and ran to the next girl he found. 

Fuck, why did he have to look so happy that night? He got to be carefree, living his perfect little life with her, and you were there, sitting on the bathroom floor, too scared to even pee on a stick.

What if it was positive? Then what? The thought of seeing his name pop up on your phone after you blocked him, or worse, hearing her voice if she picked up...you’d rather die. He didn't deserve to know.

He didn't deserve anything from you anymore.

You started googling abortion clinics before you even touched the tests. You could afford it. That wasn’t even the issue.

You had more money than you knew what to do with. Your inheritance was just sitting there. You could book a flight tomorrow, pay for whatever procedure, whatever it took—fly out of state, out of the country, if you had to. 

But that wasn’t the point. It has never been about the money. It was the overwhelming shame. The fear. The realization that Rafe might have left you, but he was still there, stuck in your head, in your body, in your fucking life. Even when he wasn’t.  

He didn’t have to worry about any of this. He was most likely out on the boat, not even thinking about you. Not thinking about what he did to you. 

And you— you were left with this. Sitting on a bathroom floor for hours a day, trying to figure out how you were supposed to make a decision that changed everything.

You started looking up clinics again, scrolling through the options, but your mind was barely even there. It was legal in North Carolina for now, but you read something about the 12-week ban they passed in June, and suddenly you were spiraling one more time, wondering how much time you even had. 

Could you wait? Could you put it off like you’d been putting off the tests, like if you waited long enough, maybe the problem would just... disappear? Shit, wouldn’t that be easier?

You heard that voice in your head, the one that sounded like your mom, at least what you remembered from watching old videos.

It was depressing how life didn’t let you hold tightly to your memories sometimes. She always reminded you of the kind of person you were supposed to be. The type of girl who had her shit together. The type of girl who didn’t get herself into situations like this, in the first place.

But instead, you were the girl who lost everything—the life you were supposed to have—and somehow, you’d still found a way to screw up what was left.

You kept scrolling like you couldn’t stop.

One page led to another, and soon you weren’t just looking up clinics—you were looking up everything. 

What happened during the procedure, how long it took, the side effects, the complications. You read horror stories about infections, about women who thought it was over and then bled for weeks, about people who changed their minds too late.

You even looked up what could happen if you didn’t get an abortion—what pregnancy could do to your body. And that was a whole other rabbit hole you didn’t need to go down. Your body changing, your hormones going insane. You thought about your boobs getting sore, your stomach stretching, the possibility of throwing up every morning, and it felt like your body was already betraying you. And then you read the serious stuff—gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, all these words you didn’t even know existed before that night. There was a minefield of things that could go wrong, things that would go wrong.

Complications. Risks. Dangers.

You read about women who almost died in labor. About miscarriages and stillbirths and the trauma of carrying a baby for months, only to lose it. You never even thought about that, how pregnancy wasn’t just this smooth, magical process people make it out to be. It was brutal. But you’d been the little sister, you never saw your mother go through it, or anyone for that matter.

Your younger cousin, Topper the bitching backstabber, had been born and raised in Los Angeles before he moved to Figure 8 when he was five. 

You were terrified—not just of being pregnant, but of what it meant to stay pregnant. Would your body even handle it? You’d always lived off coffee and takeout half the time. An unreasonable amount of parties. Too many drinks some nights.

You weren’t exactly the picture of health. What if you weren’t strong enough? What if something went wrong, and you ended up in a hospital bed, alone, because Rafe sure as fuck wouldn’t be there. It was just you.

For a second there, you thought you might pass out.

You’d thrown your phone across the room, it hit the wall with a thud, but it didn’t help. The anxiety was still there, vibrating under your skin, making you want to scream. You glanced at the bathroom drawer again, where the pregnancy tests were hidden like some cursed thing.

Maybe you should’ve just taken one.

Rip off the bandaid.

The stupid phone rang, like was having fun pissing you off, vibrating on the floor where you’d thrown it. You stared at it for a second, debating if you should even pick it up. You didn’t feel like dealing with anyone, especially not whoever was about to ask something from you.

But it kept ringing, and of course, it was a number you recognized—Lily, one of the coordinators from your dad’s foundation. Shit. You forgot about the gala. Again. The one that was happening in two freaking days, the one you haven’t even thought about preparing for.

You swiped to answer, “Yeah?”

“Hey, I didn’t want to bother you, but we need to go over the final details for the gala,” She greeted you, sounding way too perky for how you were feeling. “I really need your input on the seating arrangements, and the auction items, and—”

It hit you just how ironic this was. You were sitting here, freaking out about being possibly pregnant, scrolling through nightmare stories about abortion and pregnancy complications, while Lily was talking about a fundraiser for children’s health. Kids. It felt like some twisted repulsive joke the universe was playing on you.

You blinked back into the conversation, realizing she still talking, and you hadn’t said a word. “Uh, yeah, sorry. I’ve been busy. Can you just handle it?” you muttered, feeling guilty but not enough to actually deal with any of it.

“I’ve already taken care of most things,” she said carefully, “but we really need your approval on the final guest list and the speech. You’re the face of the foundation, after all.”

The face of the foundation. The legacy your dad left you. It was supposed to be this huge responsibility. And it was. You’d always taken it seriously. The one thing in your life you never ruined. But this year, you hadn’t written the speech yet. Jesus, you forgot it was even happening. And the guest list? No clue.

You rubbed your forehead, “I’ll look at it later. Just send it over.”

Lily hesitated again, probably sensing that something was off, you'd always been a control freak. “Okay, I’ll email it to you. Just let me know by tomorrow, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.”

You hung up before she could add anything else, staring at the ceiling. One more thing. One more responsibility piled on top of everything else. You were drowning in all these expectations—being the good daughter to dead parents, the responsible one, the perfect kook girl who was supposed to have everything. You were supposed to be the girl who had the trust fund, the perfect life, the foundation that helped kids in need.

You earned to be her.

Your phone buzzed again, this time with an email notification. You rolled your eyes, already knowing it was from Lily. She’d sent over the guest list, and you groaned, thinking you’d skim it, give it a half-assed glance, and send it back. But as you scrolled down the names, you stopped.

Rafe Cameron.

Of course, he was going to be there. Why wouldn’t he? His family had been involved in your dad’s foundation for years. It was like you couldn’t escape him.

The fucking nerve. To your gala. Your blood boiled instantly, your fingers gripping the phone so tight you almost cracked the screen.

Fuck him. 

If he thought he could just show up and rub his new life in your face, he had another thing coming. Without thinking twice, you deleted his name, erasing him like he didn’t even exist. And then, without checking another name, you sent the list back to Lily.

You didn’t give a shit if it was petty. You didn’t care if it wasn’t professional.

If Rafe wanted to play games, you’d ruin his life if you had to. He thought he could fuck you over, leave you with all this—leave you with nothing? No. You weren’t going to let him have that power.

Not over this. Not over you.

You were shaking now, but it almost felt good. Even if it was just a stupid guest list. Let him find out when he got there and there was no table for him. No seat. No fucking room. 

You still sat there staring at the screen with that stupid blinking cursor. The email from Lily sat open in front of you, and somewhere buried in the list of attachments was the speech. Blank.

Your speech—the one you were supposed to read at the gala in two days. The one you hadn’t even started writing.

This was always the hardest part. Writing it. Saying it. You used to cry every time. Standing in front of all those people, talking about your dad, your family, how the foundation was this beautiful way of keeping their memory alive. It was never just a speech—it was like ripping your heart out of your chest and letting everyone see it, year after year. It never got easier.

But Rafe, used to be there with you.

Every year. He’d sit with you while you struggled through every word, telling you it was okay to take your time, reminding you that you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to. And when the gala came, he was always by your side, standing just off stage, waiting for you after the speech was done. You’d run into his arms, and he’d whisper that you 'did great baby', holding you until the room stopped spinning so much.

You could still hear his voice in your head sometimes, 'you’re stronger than you think'.

That’s what he always said, even when you didn’t believe it. He’d hold you, kiss your forehead, and make you feel like it was true, like you really could get through it. He was always so sure of you. But this year? He wasn’t going to be there. He’d stop believing the lies he fed you. You were angry. You were seething. You were utterly alone.

You’d been avoiding this moment—writing.

This time around, it wasn’t just about the speech. It was about the fact that when you walked out of that stage, you wouldn’t have him waiting for you.

You’d step down into nothingness, with no one to catch you.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, but they wouldn’t move. What were you even supposed to say this year? How were you supposed to stand up in front of all those people and talk about love and family and legacy when yours was shattered?

You hated looking at yourself in the mirror, feeling like you’d lost every single piece of who you used to be.

Fuck the speech. Fuck the gala. Fuck Rafe Cameron and his stupid lies, his stupid smile, his stupid promises that he never kept.  

If he thought you were weak, if he thought he could break you, if he thought you were the same girl who used to cling to him like he was the only thing keeping you together—he was wrong.

You were going to do this without him.

You were going to stand up there and give that speech, no matter how much it hurt. And if it killed you, so be it. You’d still do it.

Because unlike him, you didn’t just walk away from the things that mattered. Even if it tore you apart. Even if it was killing you to keep pretending like you were fine. You weren’t fine. But you’d fake it. You’d fake it until the whole world believed it. 

You’d barely hit send on the email when your phone rang again, and this time it wasn’t Lily.

It was Topper. You hadn’t talked to him since that night—the night. The party where you’d found out, where you’d seen Rafe and Sofia together for the first time. Where you realized that everyone knew.

How he’d called Rafe over, like you needed him to fix it, like he was still yours to rely on.

“What?”

“Hey…” Topper’s voice was cautious, “I, uh, I wanted to call and apologize for the other night.”

You snorted, leaning your head back against the wall. “Yeah? For what part? For calling Rafe like his little bitch or for getting in front of my car when I was trying to leave?”

“I didn’t mean to fuck things up. I was just trying to stop you from doing something stupid.”

“Like what?” you snapped. “Leaving the party? Getting out of there before I had to watch him with her for one more second? Yeah, Top, real dumb of me.”

“You almost ran me over,” Topper shot back, his voice rising just a little, like he was offended you hadn’t mentioned that part. “Kinda felt like maybe you weren’t thinking straight.”

“You jumped in front of the car you fucking idiot. What the hell did you expect me to do? Slam on the brakes and listen to whatever bullshit you and Rafe had to say? Because trust me, ’m all out of patience for either of you.”

There was a sigh on the other end, the sound of him trying to not to lose his patentience, like he was the one in the right here. Typical Topper. Always wanting to smooth things over, play peacemaker between you and Rafe, like this was just another fight you’d get over.

He never really got it.

“Look,” Your cousin started, calmer this time, “I didn’t mean to call him. I just thought—”

“You always think calling him will fix things,” you cut in, “Like he’s the answer to every problem I have. He’s not. Not anymore.”

“I get that,” He added quickly, like he was afraid you’d hang up. “But I didn’t know what else to do! You were upset, and I thought maybe—”

“Maybe what? That he could swoop in and save the day?” You let out a bitter laugh. “He’s not your golden boy, Top. He doesn’t fix anything. He ruins things.”

Topper went quiet for a second, probably trying to figure out how to respond without setting you off on an angry rant again. “I get it,” he said finally, “You’re pissed at him. You have every right to be. But I didn’t call him to hurt you, okay? I was worried about you.”

You hated how genuine he sounded, hated that he meant well. He was a nuisance half of the time, sure, but he wasn’t malicious. He never was. He just had terrible judgment. 

“Next time, don’t,” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “I don’t need you playing little brother and calling him when things go wrong."

“I wasn’t trying to clean anything up,” Topper explained, a little defensive now. “I just didn’t want you driving like that. You were upset.”

You rolled your eyes. “Upset doesn’t mean I need you or Rafe deciding what’s best for me. I’m not a kid.”

“You’re not,” he agreed, “But you weren’t exactly in a great headspace, so yeah, I stopped you. I wasn’t gonna let you leave like that and end up in a ditch somewhere.”

It hurt like a bitch, because deep down, you knew Topper had a point.

You were having a meltdown, and he’d stepped in, like he always did when you went off the rails. That was the problem with him—he cared, even when you didn’t want him to. He was family, the only family you had left, and he was too loyal for his own good.

“You could’ve told me,” you confessed what had been upsetting you, your voice losing some of its initial attitude. “About them. Instead of letting me walk into that party blind.”

Topper sighed again, “I should’ve,” he admitted. “I didn’t want you to find out like that. But it wasn’t my place to say anything. And I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Your hand instinctively moved to cup your stomach. You didn’t even realize you were doing it at first, but the second your fingers touched your shirt, the earlier panic welled up inside you again. If he only knew how bad things were. How bad they could get. You yanked your hand away like you’d been burned, heart hammering against your ribs most painfully. There was no way you could even begin to explain what was going on inside your head—or your body.

Not to Topper. Not to anyone. If he knew, he’d freak and you didn’t need that right now.

You clenched your jaw, pushing yourself to focus on the conversation, on Topper still yammering on about apologies and guilt You shook your head, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. 

“Are you even listening?”

“Unfortunately,” You sounded apathetic even to yourself, fingers tapping against the phone, agitated. “Look, Top, I don’t have time for this right now. I’m busy.”

He sighed. “I know you’re pissed, okay? I get it. But the gala’s in, like, two days. You... you still going, right?”

“Of course I’m going,” you scowled, barely able to hide the bitterness in your voice. “I have to. It’s not like I can just dip out and pretend it’s not happening.”

Unlike some people, you thought, but you bit your tongue.

“Good, because I’ll be there too. And I—”

“Oh, joy,” you interrupted, “Another chance for you to babysit me and make sure I don’t make a scene? Can’t wait.”

“Jesus, I’m just trying to help!” Topper groaned. “I didn’t want to make things worse the other night. I—”

“Yeah. Whatever, I’ll see you at the gala.”

You hung up. You didn’t have the patience to deal with him right now. 

The day of the gala came faster than you thought it would.

It was like you blinked, and suddenly, you were standing in the middle of the venue, walking through final checks with Lily, nodding along as she rattled off details you barely absorbed.

The room was all glitz and glamour, with chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, and everything draped in the foundation’s signature gold and white. 

Crisp tablecloths. Flowers in perfect, elegant arrangements. Waiters in black-tie uniforms were circulating, making sure everything looked flawless. Flawless.

That word made you want to gag.

You moved through the space like a ghost, smiling at the right moments, giving half-hearted approvals when needed.  You didn’t care. People were running around, asking for your opinion on this or that. You’d stayed at the venue longer than planned, making sure everything was in order, but your mind was stuck in that floating-place. You wanted to burn the whole thing down, if you were being honest.

You should’ve called your doctor. Days ago. Hell, maybe weeks ago.

Making smart choices wasn’t your thing lately, was it?

When you finally slipped into the room where they’d set up your glam team, you just wanted to sleep. The room itself was a suite off to the side of the venue, a private space meant to make you feel like royalty.

A massive mirror ran across one wall, surrounded by soft, glowing lights. A table was set up with everything—hair tools, makeup brushes, palettes, serums. Bottles of champagne sat chilled in the corner, the condensation dripping down the glass, untouched. It was the kind of place you were supposed to feel special in.

Normally you did. But this year you were numb.

The stylist worked quietly on your hair, soft curls falling into place as she tugged and pinned each section with meticulous care. The makeup artist was dabbing foundation onto your skin, blending and contouring until you didn’t even recognize yourself in the mirror. The dress hung behind you, a shimmering white gown, custom-designed by Versace for the occasion.

You looked like you were stepping into one of those perfect, glamorous lives. But on the inside, you felt like you were going to lose it at any second. You nodded along, giving tight-lipped smiles when they complimented you, and then they finally left.

The room was dead silent now, just you and your reflection. You stood in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, the perfect curls, the glowy skin, the gown waiting behind you. It all felt wrong. It felt fake. You didn’t bear a resemblance to yourself.

You looked like the version of you that the world expected—the untouchable girl. A doll.

Your rifled through your bag for your phone, but instead, your fingers brushed something else. Cold, hard. 

You hadn’t even realized it was in there.

One of the pregnancy tests. You must’ve thrown it in without thinking earlier that morning when you were rushing out the door. You hadn’t even noticed it until now.

What the fuck were you doing?

You had a gala to host in less than an hour. People were going to be looking at you, waiting for you to give the speech, expecting you to hold everything together like always. And there you were, standing in a private dressing room, about to do something so monumentally stupid. Maybe it was the pressure of tonight, or maybe it was the anger you’d been shoving down for weeks, but suddenly, you didn’t care.

You were going to do it.

Without even thinking, you stormed into the bathroom. You were so fucking tired of avoiding this. Tired of pretending like everything was fine, like you were fine.

What the hell was fine about any of this? You tore open the box, hands trembling as you pulled out the test. The room was so quiet, you could hear every little sound—your breath still uneven, the rustle of your dress against the tiles, the click of the test cap as you flicked it off.

You sat down, staring at the stick in your hand. This was insane. You were insane. Who the fuck took a pregnancy test ten minutes before they’re supposed to host a charity gala? 

You couldn’t get a proper breath out as you waited, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might rip your chest open. You leaned against the sink, gripping the edge. Your stomach churned, the nausea rising again, and you had to close your eyes to stop the floor from spinning.

What if it was positive? What if it wasn’t?

You stared at the test, willing the result to appear, but it didn’t. Not yet. The little window stayed blank, as if taunting you, making you feel like you were losing your mind. You knew you had to wait longer. You weren’t stupid. You’d read those instructions a million times by now, but you hated waiting.

Hated not knowing.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the stupid little piece of plastic. Just one line or two. That was all it came down to. One fucking line or two, and your entire life would either fall apart or what? Be fine?

You glanced at the mirror, catching another glimpse of yourself, and it almost startled you—your eyes were wild. Desperate. They were the eyes of someone who was just about ready to do anything to get this over with. 

You tried to picture telling him again, but the idea alone made you sick. You thought of Sofia, of her perfect smile next to his, and bile rose in your throat. Your hands never stopped shaking. You wanted to run. You wanted to throw that thing in the garbage can and never stare at it again.

Your thoughts spun in circles, going nowhere, just making everything worse. The clock on your phone ticked louder and louder, and you knew—somewhere out there, everyone was getting ready. Guests were arriving. The gala would start soon, and they’d all be waiting for you. Watching you. Expecting you to be the poised, perfect version of yourself you’d spent your whole life pretending to be.

And you were in here, trying not to lose your fucking mind.

You peeked back at it. Still nothing.

No line. No answer.

It felt like you were suspended in time. You closed your eyes, gripping the sink harder, praying for it to end—something to happen, anything.

Then finally, you felt it in your chest—a heavy, sinking feeling, like the moment before a fall.

You opened your eyes. 

There it was.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige @rafebb @rafesbbyy @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron @serrendiipty @sunny1616

@yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog @psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[verdantchan]

Always You

Pairing: Best friend! Bangchan x Afab! Reader

Summary: It’s hard to enjoy a party when your best friend who you’ve been in love with for years turns up with his girlfriend…

Warnings: MDNI, dom!chan, sub!reader, possessive!chan, unprotected sex (don’t be like them) dirty talk, cum eating, multiple orgasms (f!rec) fingering (f!rec) mentions of mastubation, spitting (chan spits on it yk..) tummy bulge, creampie

Wc: 2.7k

a/n: did I write and edit it this in one sitting? yes I did,,, is this also my return to writing fics after 5 years bc I’m so attracted to chan idk what to do?? Also yes 🤪

‘‘Lixieee watch my drink, I nearly dropped it’’ You roll your eyes and smile at Felix as he practically jumps on you. His parties were always rowdy, especially when Jisung wormed his way into the planning. Colourful lights strewn around every pillar and doorway, countless bottles and cheesy red cups littering the granite countertops in the dorm kitchen, the air thick with smoke and the sickly sweet scent of liquor.

Part of you loved how committed the boys were to throwing the most stereotypical frat parties, the perfect way to unwind from the stress of uni life. You scan the room for that all too familiar face but find no sign of him, your shoulders dropping slightly, the disappointment in your chest too strong to ignore.

You and Chan had been best friends since you were 12, your parents pushing you together as an unlikely duo. You'd immediately become inseparable,spending every second with each other. People had always questioned your relationship, everyone thought you must be dating if you were so close, but you and Chan were just friends, at least that's what you convinced yourself it had to be.

You first started having feelings for Chan at 18, you were university freshmen starting the next big chapter of your lives together and you couldn't get him out of your head. His deep brown eyes that sparkled when he spoke about the things he loved, his soft curly black hair that you loved ruffling to annoy him and his dimples that became impossibly deep when he smiled. Being around him was both torture and comfort. Three years later and you were still completely in love with someone who views you as his best friend, nothing more. In other words, you're utterly fucked.

‘’Lix, have you seen Chan tonight? I thought he was coming’’  Felix still clinging to you in his tipsy state. His messy blonde hair slightly covering his eyes and freckle-dotted cheeks, a pink blush dusting his skin thanks to the many drinks he’d already knocked back.

‘’Nah not yet, he said he's coming later after his date’’ he slurs his words a little, all giggly and happy, not knowing the ache his words cause you. You hum in response, suddenly feeling less sociable than a few minutes ago.

‘’Ahhhhh speak of the devil’’ Felix laughs and nods toward the doorway, Chan's broad shoulders making it look tiny. His hand interlocked with hers, observing the room and briefly locking eyes with you before looking away.

Chan had been dating Euna for a few months, but it never got easier seeing them together. 

They'd met in one of your classes, Euna was sweet, pretty  and very popular with both the students and teachers. It hadn’t taken Chan too long to fall for her and spend less and less time with you. He swore nothing had changed between you two but you knew better. It wasn't long after they started dating that Chan began cancelling your plans because ‘Euna planned something’ or he ‘just couldn't make it that day’ You wanted to believe that it would all go back to the way it was soon enough but that day never came, Chan drifting further as time passed. 

You missed his smile, the way he would make you laugh, the way he would bring you your favourite food when you were tired or upset. You thought that maybe one day you would be together, that Chan would see you as more than just his best friend. Sometimes it felt like more between you two. 

He and Euna weave their way through the crowd, her trailing slightly behind, Chan looking back at her every so often with a smile, the sight of them making you nauseous though you wish it didn't. Chan lets go of her to pull Felix into a hug, Euna eyeing you awkwardly as the two of them catch up. Euna had never been rude to you, never made a snarky comment about you being friends with Chan, but she never really said much around you if you were honest. 

‘’Your dress is super pretty’’ you squeak out attempting to break the silence between you two, She offers up a small thank you and a tight smile and turns to Chan as he pulls her into his side, his attention now on the two of you instead of the tipsy blonde Aussie

 ‘’Hey y/n’’ Chan smiles as he lets go of Euna and pulls you into a quick side hug, letting go as quickly as he’d pulled you in, his soft musky scent filling your senses. The four of you make small talk, Chan's eyes catching your own as Felix rambles to Euna about his current pc build. The air starts to feel suffocating, his glances making you feel trapped. You quickly make an excuse to leave, Chan's smile faltering as you excuse yourself from their conversation and disappear into the crowd of bodies. 

It was impossible to think while Chan was standing there, his arms wrapped around Euna unapologetically. The jealousy burning more than the straight tequila sloshing around in your cup, you start to sway to the music begging yourself to forget about him and enjoy your night. You feel a pair of eyes follow your silhouette but you continue to drink and dance, the alcohol making its way through your system and drowning out every thought.

 You feel a figure behind you grabbing your hips and swaying with you, turning your head to see the blurred outline of Hyunjin, his hair in his eyes, a pair of red sunglasses perched on his nose. You let yourself melt into him, you'd always found him attractive anyway. You and Hyunjin move together perfectly, his smooth movements guiding your own as he whispers the lyrics to the song in your ear, his plump lips catching your skin slightly. You finally move your eyes to Chan still feeling someone watching you, secretly wishing it was him. You’re met with a sharp glare, his eyes never leaving you and Hyunjin, his jaw locked in annoyance, you roll your eyes at him and turn around to face Hyunjin winding your arms around his slender neck. 

You turn back to glance at Chan to find him charging your way, ripping you from your dance partner's embrace and towards the stairwell. 

‘’Chan what the fuck are you doing?’’ you yell, trying to wriggle your wrist from his strong grip as he pulls you upstairs and into one of the empty bedrooms.

‘’What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck are YOU doing y/n? Grinding all over Hyunjin like that’’

‘’We are not doing this right now, why does it have anything to do with you, Chan? Why do you even care?’’ venom coating your words, attempting to open the door and leave but being stopped short when he stands in the way, eyes burning into yours. Chan had never been like this with you, what had gotten into him?

‘’What? Are you suddenly into Hyunjin?? We both know he's not right for you y/n’’  his eyebrows knitted in annoyance.

‘’And how would you know what's best for me Chan? We hardly talk anymore!’’ you run your fingers through your hair, easing the tension building up behind your eyes. 

‘’Of course we still talk, you know i've been busy’’ he fires back, disregarding how much space really had built up between the two of you. 

’Give it up Chan and go back to Euna, what I do with Hyunjin has fuck all to do with you’’ you can't deal with the confusion, why is he acting like he's jealous of you and Hyunjin? Why does it matter to him? 

‘’’I’m your best friend y/n of course it has something to do with me, he's not right for you’’ 

‘’Oh my god get your head out of your ass chan, just like you said, you're my best friend not my boyfriend. You can date but I can't? I'm not gonna wait on you to notice me for the rest of my life’’ You turn your face away from him, your confidence and fire slipping as Chan studies you intensely, the room silent apart from your breathing. 

‘’My god you’re an idiot’’ Chan mumbles before grabbing your chin and smashing his lips onto yours, you melt into the kiss at first before snapping out of it and pushing him away

Chan what are you doing?’’ You feel dizzy as you maintain your balance, your hands still pressed against his toned chest. your lungs heaving in time with the thud of the music coming from below. 

‘’You really have no idea, do you? I’m fucking in love with you y/n, why do you think I even started dating Euna in the first place, I wanted to get over you, why else would I jump into a relationship with a girl I hardly knew??’’ The annoyance in his voice evident as he goes on, he runs his hand through his hair repeatedly,  messy waves falling in his face. 

You stare up at him stunned, your lips parted in surprise, he pulls you back in, his lips covering yours as he presses you into him with fervour. He deepens the kiss and walks you backwards, his hands pressing into your hips, his hold nothing like hyunjins. He pulls away his eyes searching yours for something, anything. 

“Tell me to stop, if you don't want this I’ll walk away” his voice is breathy and pained, evident that the last thing he wanted was for you to say now.

You've waited too long for this, for him to need you, touch you. You know it's wrong, his girlfriend just a floor below but you’ve wanted and waited too much to stop and walk away, you can deal with your moral shortcomings tomorrow. 

‘’Please, Chan’’ you whisper, desperate for him to touch you again, clenching your thighs together as heat pools in your lower stomach, your insides on fire for him. He watches how desperate you are for him, your answer clear.

‘’Fuck you’re perfect’’ you look at him pleadingly and he can't hold back anymore, he’d thought about you like this too many times to count, in dreams and when awake. When he can't sleep and he fucks his fist wishing it was you, how pretty your moans would sound as he rocked into you, how tight you'd be around him, how his cum would leak out of your fluttering hole. He was too far gone, a man possessed. 

You gasp as he pushes you back on the bed, his weight pressing you into the mattress perfectly, he licks and nips at your jaw, his hand finding your soaked underwear under your skirt, circling your puffy clit through the slick fabric. 

“You’re so wet for me baby, bet Hyunjin could never have this effect on you. Gonna fuck you so good you'll forget he exists’’ his words making you tingle, his fingers exactly where you need them.

‘’Only want you’’ Your voice comes out breathy and fucked out even though he’s barely touched you and it sends a rush of blood to Chan's already rock-solid cock, straining against the tight fabric of his black jeans.

He sinks two fingers into your tight pussy and you scream in pleasure and pain at the intrusion, his fingers so much thicker and longer than yours, the stretch taking your breath away 

‘’Yeah be a good girl and take my fingers in that tight little cunt, I know you can’’ The way he whispers as your pussy stretches around his fingers and wet squelches echo through the room has you throwing your head back, Chans other hand finding your tits as he stretches you out for him. You shake as he moves his fingers in and out of you, the stretch now dissolved into intense pleasure. He can tell you're close, your eyes closed in pleasure as you sigh out his name.

‘’cum for me pretty, cum around my fingers’’ You moan his name over and over as he rubs your soaking clit and plunges his fingers into your sopping hole,  your back arching in pleasure as he works you through your high. Shouting his name as you cum on his fingers. He pulls his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth and licking them clean. The sight alone already making you needy for more 

‘’Need you so bad baby, need to feel you milk my cock’’ he breathes out as he undoes his belt, desperate to be inside of you. You spread your sticky thighs, your glistening pussy on full display for him. His cock springs free from its confines, his pink tip leaking down onto the rest of his thick veiny length. It was no surprise he had the prettiest cock you'd ever seen. He gives it a few pumps, slapping your clit with his bulbous tip, and you moan in pleasure at the sting. 

‘’Take it, baby. Gonna stretch you out so good, gonna make you mine’’ his voice shaky as he presses into you, your pussy spasming around his hard length splitting you open, he slowly bottoms out with a moan stilling inside you. His cock making your stomach bulge with his size 

‘’Fuckfuckfuckkkk you're still so tight, such a perfect pussy’’ his words coming out more like a mantra, the feeling of you around him making him pussydrunk. He fucks in and out of you grabbing your thighs, spreading you wider for him, watching where you’re joined as he takes you. 

 ‘’talk to me baby girl, tell me how I make you feel’’ 

‘’Love it when you fuck me Channie, love your cock so much’’ your voice strained and whiny, writhing against the sheets as he sets a rough pace. He spits on your pussy, the liquid dripping down to where you meet, the sight only aiding his pleasure. 

‘’Bet you thought about this huh? Thought about how good it would feel when I ruin you, hmm baby? Bet you’d touch this little clit thinking about how good I would fuck you?’’ His thrusts become sloppy as he nears his orgasm, his fingers coming to circle your clit. Your moans getting louder as you get close for the second time.

‘’Cum with me baby, wanna cum in this pussy, fill you up with my cum’’ his thrusts getting more erratic and desperate as you orgasm together. You scream his name, your nails digging into his toned back muscles. Chan stills as he spurts his hot release into you, his cum painting your insides a milky white. He collapses onto you, his muscled chest pressed against your fucked out form, both of you breathing heavily. 

‘’Fuck you're mine, just mine’’ he whispers, his cock still inside you, both your release leaking out around his still hard dick.. 

‘’Yeah just yours, Channie’’ you breathe out dreamily, still coming down from your high  

You both lay like that for a while, Chan's face tucked into your neck, leaving gentle kisses, his cock stiffening again inside of you, the party coming to an end downstairs. Things had happened so fast you hadn't realised Chan brought you to his own room, the purple lights giving his skin a lilac hue. 

‘’Chan. What happens now?” You hesitate not wanting to ruin the moment, praying you didn't just fuck everything up with him with a simple question.

He sighs into your skin snuggling closer ‘’I meant it when I said you're mine y/n, Euna knows she and I are done, she knew I was in love with you. I want this, I want you’’ his voice soft and sleepy. 

Your heart nearly explodes, ‘’I love you too Chan, I want you too’’ you kiss him passionately, his tongue fighting yours for dominance, smiling into the kiss as he begins moving inside you again. It feels like a dream and you can't believe he's in love with you too, that he wants you like you want him. Now you have him you'll never let him go, you have always been his, even if he didn't know it. 

‘’It's always been you y/n’’

-ty for reading!! Alr working on more hehe

[a-b-riddle]

Part Three

Warning: If you don't like Taylor Swift, you're not gonna like this chapter that much, homie. But So Long, London is so fitting for this drabble series. (I guess a series since it's longer than a drabble at this point)

Can’t stop thinking about reader just trying to move on

You had to remind yourself several times not to check in with the guys. It had almost become second nature doing something big like this. But going to another country…

Not that they would care. You told yourself. It was for the best that way.

The expo went better than you expected. You didn’t believe that there would be a line out the door of eager readers wanting to read your book, but you got a decent amount. More than a few told you they couldn’t wait to read it. Several asking for photos and asking questions on any future books, a spin-off or even continuing the series.

When one a particular large group of girls your age asked for a group photo, you could have cried. They were had found each other in an online book club. You had given them your book several months ago. All copies signed with a note thanking them for taking the time to read what you had poured your heart into.

You had spent a large chunk of your free time talking to them. Bonding more so as women than over your book.

"Have you listened to Taylor's new album?"

It had only been out for two days and you had been able to avoid it like the plague. You didn't need to even listen to 'So Long, London' to know it would fucking gut you. So you would enjoy your time in the states. Save the listening experience for when you were packing up their stuff.

They had posted and tagged you before continuing on with the rest of the expo. You had reposted the photo to your own social media. Or at least one attached to the pen name you had crafted. You only had twelve thousand instagram followers, but it was something.

The first day was much like the second. You had attended several Q & A sessions with a panel of more experienced authors and managed to go to a few meet and greets. Before you knew it, it was time to pack up shop.

The agent the publishing house had assigned to you had stuck with you for most of the day. You were able to pick her brain a bit about new ideas for possible future plot lines and her thoughts. Overall, the trip was great.

Not only were you able to make great connections and take a lot back home with you to reference, but for a few days you forgot what waited for you back home. Or rather what wasn't waiting for you.

By the time your plane landed back in London you could barely hold yourself up. You left the expo, went straight to the hotel to shower, pack and head to the airport.

Your flight was delayed. Your luggage was taking forever to get onto the belt. It was only seven, but fuck if you weren’t ready to just call it a day. Tomorrow you would have to start again. Opening up the shop. Coming back to an empty flat. Maybe start gathering up the items the boys had left behind.

Should you give them in separate boxes or just one giant one and let them sort it out themselves? It was easy to discern whose sweatshirt and t-shirts belonged to who, but when it got to things like socks and chargers...

Yeah.

They could sort it themselves.

You could drop it off at Kyle's when you knew he would be at the gym. He was good at avoiding you anyway.

It wasn't until you stood in your apartment did it hit you.

You were alone.

For the first time in over a year you couldn't call one of them over to soothe that ache of loneliness.

For the first time in over a year, you had to relearn how to handle just being alone.

You usually showered at night. Washing away the grime of the day before settling into bed. But today was a new chapter. You woke up wanting to start it on a good note. Plus you went straight to bed after getting home so you still had a bit of airport funk on you.

It had been a week. One official since you had sent that text nailing the coffin shut. You had touched base with your friends who didn't bat an eye at you dating four men at once. They liked them, even if Simon scared them. You didn't give them the details of the breakup or the cause. You were pretty private in your problems and if you wanted relationship advice, you would seek an unbiased unopinion.

You had a good group of friends, but the moment you told them that you were well and truly heartbroken, they would insist the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Something you were nowhere near ready for.

So you needed to look like you had your shit together. You put on a dress that was feminine and, most importantly, comfy as fuck. An A-line floral frock paired with a light sweater and some white trainers. You knew a few of your friends would be stopping by for tea so you need to look like you were taking the separation well. Even if you were barely holding it together.

With makeup and perfume on, you started the early morning stroll to your shop.

You loved openings. Starting up the register and selecting the playlist for today. Picking out the essential oil to put in the diffuser even though you mostly stuck with a lavender and vanilla blend during the spring months.

For the morning you stuck with a Taylor Swift Instrumental playlist you had found initially for studying, but you liked the peaceful feeling it brought. Even when it covered the most gut wrenching songs.

You had started to collect the online orders that had accumulated over the last week. Sending out the e-mails alerting to your patrons that their orders were ready for pick up. Luckily you weren't set to receive a delivery until tomorrow.

It was eight and everything was set. Although not many people came to a bookstore at eight in the morning, it really didn't bother you opening up that early considering you were the only employee that was on the payroll. It gave you the possibility of making money, but mostly you spent the morning reading or writing.

You flipped the sign over from CLOSED to OPEN. Ready to start take on the day.

You had turned the kettle on in the back room when your friends had stopped by around lunch. You always said it was just tea, but you always had an array of snacks on standby for you all to munch on.

Meredith was complaining about what a dick the new client at the law firm was being. An absolute slime who had been married to his wife for almost twenty-five years before he decided to fuck his twenty-two year old assistant.

Tabitha didn't want to talk about work. To her, her career in tech was just a paycheck. She did what she needed to do and left when she was done.

You talked about the expo and how your book. Although neither of them really read, they had promised that they would read your book. You didn't hold your breath. They had reposted your posts as well as making ones of their owns in celebration of you. Words of praise about your dedication and hard work.

You realized that even though they couldn't give you the support you needed as readers, they supported you blindly. You could have written absolute garbage, but they would still support you.

You talked about how many people liked your book and wanted pictures and to sign their copies.

Then came the question you had been rehearsing since you had texted them a week ago. They both shared a look before Meredith finally asked.

"How are you holding up?" You gave a half-smile and a shrug. So perfectly rehearsed in your head you were ready to deliver your lies lines.

"I'm fine," you lied. "It was just fading so there isn't much of a difference, I guess." Not necessarily a lie. "We just wanted different things and were on different paths in life." Not a lie. "It's for the best." You weren't sure if that last one was a lie or not just yet.

They both shared a passing look before returning their gazes back to you. "You know you can come to us about this stuff." Tabitha's hand reached across the table, placing a hand on top of yours.

"It wasn't going to work out." You added. "Situations like that don't and I should have known better."

"A situation?" Meredith asked. "When have you ever called it a situation?"

"It always was one."

"I love you enough to call bullshit." She raised her eyebrow at you, crossing her arms over her chest. "You loved them and you need to stop pretending this is easy."

"You're a divorce lawyer, Mere," You reminded. "You see marriages fall apart every day."

"I do. I get to see from across the table how a woman is still willing to take her cheating arse of a husband back. So the fact that you went from on cloud nine with all of them to not even talking about the break up is concerning to say the least."

"Tabitha," you looked at your only ally left. "A little back up would be nice."

"I'm with her on this one." She confirmed. "You loved them. Not that I cared, but if you weren't talking about books or the shop, you were talking about them. What you did, where you went. How they fucked you."

"I think I'll miss that part the most." Mere sighed. "I lived vicariously through you."

"You know you could actually date people." Tabitha suggested.

"I'd rather live with chronic carpal tunnel than a man." You almost choked on your tea. If you were wearing pearls you would have used the comedic relief of clutching them to break the awkwardness of the current topic of conversation.

"That should be put on a t-shirt." You suggested

"I wouldn't mind it on a welcome mat to be honest." Tabitha added.

"But in all seriousness, cut this bullshit." Meredith gave you an sympathetic smile. "We're here. Good, bad and ugly."

You returned her smile. "I know."

You had closed up shop for the evening. Your lunch had gone longer than expected so now you were left doing the dishes and clean up during closing. You were setting the last cup on the drying rack when you heard the front door chime.

Shit.

You must have forgotten to lock the door when you turned the sign.

“I’m sorry!” You apologized, making your way out of the back break area and to the front of the store. “We’re-”

“Closed.” He said, locking the door behind him. “I saw the sign.”