#content warning for panic attack

[elithesia-autem-danguarde]

Chapters: 17/30 Fandom: Pokemon Legends: Arceus (Video Game), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Black & White | Pokemon Black and White Versions, Pocket Monsters: Black 2 & White 2 | Pokemon Black 2 & White 2 Versions Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Kudari | Emmet & Nobori | Ingo, Kudari | Emmet & Shou | Akari, Nobori | Ingo & Shou | Akari, Nobori | Ingo & Tsubaki | Melli, Kudari | Emmet & Tsubaki | Melli, Nobori | Ingo & Queen Ohnyula | Lady Sneasler, Kudari | Emmet & Hisuian Zoroark Characters: Nobori | Ingo, Kudari | Emmet, Shou | Akari, Seki | Adaman, Kai | Irida, Volo (Pokemon), Yone | Mai (Pokemon Legends: Arceus), Tsubaki | Melli, Hinatsu | Arezu, Susuki | Iscan, Wasabi | Sabi (Pokemon), Kikui | Lian (Pokemon Legends: Arceus), Yuugao | Calaba, Garana | Palina, Hamarenge | Gaeric, Teru | Rei, Perilla | Zisu, Shimaboshi | Cyllene, Original Female Character(s), Kamitsure | Elesa, Shaga | Drayden, Taro | Lacey Additional Tags: Legends Arceus AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Living in Hisui, emmet in hisui, warden emmet, Ingo Emmet and Akari all connecting, Friendship, Misunderstandings, I mean like LOTS of misunderstandings, poor communication kills, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Ingo really hating his amnesia, Eventual Happy Ending, Brotherly Love, Post-Canon, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, No real shipping in this fic, The Unova characters don't appear until like the last three chapters, But I'm tagging them anyway because they're still important, actions have consequences, This fic is as long as it is because no one knows how to communicate properly, Emotions, Big Sister Elesa, Uncle Drayden, Ingo Emmet and Akari are all autistic, Hikari | Dawn and Shou | Akari are Different People, Siblings, The Ride Pokemon are Considered Nobles Summary:

The Pearl Clan witnesses Ingo mourning the memories he just can't seem to recall. The Diamond Clan witnesses Emmet concealing the past that he fears would alienate him. Both groups are aware that something is suspicious, but don't know how to approach it when considering all of the other strange things currently occurring within Hisui and the interests of their individual clans.

Akari forms separate bonds with both brothers as she investigates who they are and what they mean to each other, but will it be too late to bring them back together after months of secrecy and poor communication? Or can Ingo and Emmet's brotherly bond endure even through hardships beyond what they ever could have imagined before?

[shebecamethesun]

The Spaces in Between part 41

(part 40 here)

[queenie-ofthe-void]

The Babysitter Chronicles - Hopper

Steve POV 5+1 (immediately follows s2) || wc: 4.6k || cws: check tags || full fic ao3

Henderson || Mayfield pt 1 / Mayfield pt 2 || Sinclair || Wheeler || Byers || +1 Hopper

Can be read as a standalone

~~~

It’s Friday night at the Harrington house, which means it’s movie night. Even though this week is Dustin’s turn to pick, Steve can hear the kids arguing all the way from the kitchen. He’s in the middle of prepping snacks and drinks, just waiting on the pizza, when the doorbell rings. 

The arguing stops, and he can hear footsteps running towards the front door.

“Hey,” Steve shouts just as Mike and Max round the corner. “What did I tell you guys about answering the goddamn door?”

“But we know who it is,” Mike argues. “It’s the goddamned pizza man.”

“Language!” Max shouts it the same time Steve does, and he looks over to see her smirking with her hands on her hips. She obnoxiously runs a hand through her hair, pinches the bridge of her nose, and looks up at him. Of course he’s stood the same way.

He rolls his eyes, which only spurs her on as she laughs, running around the corner out of sight before he can bitch her out.

These kids will be the end of him.

The doorbell rings again and again and again.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve sighs, “I’m coming!”

Instead of the pizza man, he opens the door to Police Chief Jim Hopper. Fully uniformed, he stands stiff as a statue, arms crossed and mustache twitching in irritation. The cruiser sits running in the driveway and he’s looming on the front stoop staring him down like every other time he’s busted one of King Steve’s parties.

Anxiety floods his veins as he racks his brain for why the chief is here. He’s not throwing a party. The kids are noisy, sure, but not loud enough to bother the neighbors. He hasn’t drank since his fight with Billy.

Shit.

“Hop. I mean, Chief,” Steve stumbles, panic bubbling in his lungs. “Sir, I swear it was just to help with the pain.”

The Chief drops his arms, one hand moving to pinch his nose while he props the other on his hip. God this is worse than he thought. He hears Max cackle behind him, and he turns to find her watching them from behind the corner of the wall. Having absolutely no idea what she’s on about, he waves her away before Hopper gets even more irritated.

“No really,” Steve pleads, turning back to face Hopper and the consequences of his actions. “I just needed something to help me sleep! Munson said it would help with migraines too so I thought–”

“Munson?” He stares at Steve, eyebrows crinkling in confused frustration. “Why are you buying off him? More importantly, how do you even know he sells? You know what, no, nevermind don’t answer that. Didn’t you get meds from the hospital?”

Steve quickly glances away, shifting his weight as he tries to come up with a response.

“Dammit kid,” Hopper yells. “You told me you were going to go to the hospital.”

“Yeah, I know. I know I did but–”

He catches a brief rustling of fabric behind the Chief that he hadn’t noticed before. Leaning around the left side, Hopper steps out of the way to reveal a young girl with large, brown eyes and curly brown hair. She’s bundled up in an oversized flannel coat over what Steve thinks is another too-large flannel shirt. Actually, most of her clothes look a few sizes too big.

Steve’s never really met El before. They didn’t talk after she saved them all from the demodogs, and she was in-and-out of consciousness when Hopper brought her back after closing the gate. Things had been so chaotic, he’d made a point to go unnoticed as everyone trickled back into the Byers’ house, standing off to the side and out of the way.

For a girl who’s saved the world, she’s more shy than he expected. He smiles and bends over to meet her at eye-level. When she smiles back, he waves at her. She copies him again and giggles, hiding her face behind Hopper’s jacket.

The Chief’s heavy, drawn out sigh pulls Steve’s focus again. He scrubs his hands over his face, like he’s trying to wipe this moment from his memory. 

“Look, kid, I need a favor. Can we come in?”

Steve shows them down the hall and into the TV room where the boys greet her with enthusiastic hugs. He flicks his eyes over to Max, now sitting alone on the couch. She’s watching the boys flit around their friend with a slight frown on her face, but as Steve moves to make introductions, Will plops down next to her. He drops an armful of colored pencils and sketch pads on the table in front of them, and a small smile skates across her face.

Hopefully he can count on Lucas to remember not everyone knows El. If not, Steve will make sure to introduce everyone and ease the tension later.

Hopper leans against the kitchen counter, ankles crossed and arms braced behind him. He fixes Steve with a tense glare which has the boy self-consciously wrapping his arms around his torso, shrinking in on himself. Steve’s never had great relationships with adults or any type of authority. Hopper’s gruff and intimidating, doesn’t put up with bullshit, and he’s a cop for christ’s sake. 

They stare at each other uncomfortably for what feels like hours before Hopper sighs, hard and heavy. “I don’t even know where to start with you, kid.”

Steve flinches, can’t help it after a decade of hearing similar statements from his father, usually followed up by a lecture on how he’s not good enough in some way or another. 

Hopper, like Joyce, catches the movement faster than Steve can recover. “Shit, kid, that’s not–” he sighs again, “I’m not good at this kind of thing. Something that she likes to point out all the time.” A fond smile crosses Hopper’s face as he points a thumb behind him towards the living room.

He doesn’t know what to say to that, unsure what he’s even talking about,  so Steve waits for whatever lecture is barreling his way. Even with the Chief’s smile, he can’t relax.

“Why didn’t you go to the hospital, Steve?” Hopper asks, disappointed. “I asked if you’d go, and you said you would. So why didn’t you.”

“I got the stitches,” Steve snaps, hackles rising in defense, “does it matter where they came from?”

“You lied to me.” Hopper’s voice is rising. “I checked with the nurses, and they didn’t have any intake paperwork under your name.” He’s switched back to detective mode, and Steve feels himself being backed into a wall.

“That’s– that’s illegal, or something. Right? Like–” Steve stumbles his words when he catches Hopper roll his eyes– “you can’t look up my medical stuff.”

The Chief scoffs and bites back, clearly annoyed. “I’ve known over half of the ER nurses for longer than you’ve been alive. So if I ask after one of my own kids, I’m gonna get some goddamn answers.”

It feels like a hit to the head all over again, leaving Steve dazed. His mouth hangs open around words he can’t articulate, and he doesn’t know what to say. 

He’s never thought of Hop as anyone other than the Chief of Police and one of the only two adults in this damn town who know about the Upside Down.

So how’s Steve supposed to respond when Hopper calls him one of my kids? It rings in his head, settles hot behind his eyes. The Chief must notice, because he raises a hand and makes a move toward Steve that sets his heart into a panic. He fumbles for a response before something crazy happens, like getting a hug from an actual, male adult, or god-forbid crying in front of said adult.

“I drove out to Munson’s to buy some pre-rolls. He said if I paid extra his uncle could stitch me up because he was in the army and knows how to do that kind of stuff.” Steve’s rushing to fill the silence, the words tumbling over one another. “I already tried doing it myself–”

“Jesus christ, kid,” Hopper interrupts, muttering under his breath.

“– and I knew it would scar anyways but I couldn’t go to a hospital because they’d call my parents so I paid him a hundred and then Mr. Munson wouldn’t let me leave so they let me stay overnight on the couch.” Steve’s winded by the time he’s done, and sucks in a large breath to keep himself together. Judging by the red splotches on Hopper’s face, he might be feeling the same.

It had been one hell of a night, at least from the bits and pieces Steve actually remembers. The trailer was small and cozy, the space heater lulling him into a post-adrenaline haze. Even though the stitches were painful, Mr. Munson’s hands had been deft, his smile gentle, but his eyes guarded and wary. 

Steve can’t blame him. Most people know the Harrington’s, and it’s not past Steve for him to realize why Mr. Munson would be hesitant to invite him into their home, especially when he was beaten to a pulp. 

But he refused to let Steve go home to an empty house, said it was too dangerous to sleep alone. Munson let out a shriek weirdly reminiscent of Dustin when Wayne refused payment, although Steve still managed to sneak him a twenty for the weed and a few painkillers.

“Wayne’s a good man,” Hopper says. “Guess I’ll owe him one next time I catch his damned nephew out at the quarry again.” He chuckles fondly, eyes fixed on a memory Steve can’t see. But after a moment, Hopper’s back to grilling him. “Joyce mentioned something you said, your folks being gone a lot.”

Even though it’d only been less than a week since he knocked on the Byers’ front door, he’s still surprised she remembers his slip up. It didn’t register as important in the grand scheme of things. At least not in the face of Ms. Byers coming to terms with Will spending time with him.

“They’re home often enough.” Steve's familiar line rolls easy off his tongue. Still, he can’t stop from crossing his arms over his chest as he moves his gaze to the side, pretending his grocery list on the fridge is the most interesting thing in the room. He licks over the small scab leftover on his lip, the only remaining physical evidence of his life’s biggest failure.

“Really?” Hopper says. It’s not a question, so Steve doesn’t answer. “Then tell me where they are, right now. Or the last time you talked to them in person.”

Steve snaps his mouth closed, about to tell the Chief he’d actually talked to his mother on the phone yesterday. She’d called to inform him they’d moved money into his checking account for groceries and cleaning supplies, the house is surely a mess. He’s not actually sure where they are, or if they’re even in the country.

“They’re in Chicago,” Steve lies. Hopper’s already shaking his head.

“No, kid, they’re not.” A rock falls in the pit of Steve’s stomach, dread creeping up the back of his neck as Hopper pushes on. “I got your dad’s secretary's number from the Mayor. They’ve been in New York for three weeks, and they’re headed to Toronto tomorrow for another week and a half.”

“You called them?” Steve practically shouts. He shoots a glance towards the kitchen door. The muted sound of the kids’ arguing filters in from the living room, and it seems they haven’t noticed his outburst. 

Heat’s building behind his eyes, a wet sheen blurring his vision. The scab on his lip is starting to peel again, and he can’t stop the nervous tapping of his foot on the spotless tile floor.

But Hopper’s already clocked Steve’s cresting panic before he can shove the fear back in the box. The Chief holds up his hands, and Steve wonders if he looks like a spooked animal. 

“I didn’t mention you, or what happened. All I said was I needed some legal advice, and wanted to know when they’d be back in town.” Hopper’s tone is quiet, his words measured and slow. His eyes are wide, nervous.

Steve hesitates before looking up at him. “So?” He knows his voice is small, like a sad, pathetic child’s voice. Because even though he knows it doesn’t matter, he’s compelled to ask like he always used to. He wonders if there’ll always be some part of him who waits for a knock on the front door.

He hopes not.

When Hopper only responds with a shake of his head, mouth pinched into a firm line, Steve freezes, body tense. He tilts his head back fruitlessly as the tears drip down his cheeks. Steve presses the palms of his hands into his eyes hard enough to see stars, but it’s still no use. 

It doesn’t help. His lip starts to wobble even as he chews it bloody. There’s a rock lodged in the back of his throat, and his body heaves with a shameful sob that breaks the dam open.

He falls into a crouch on the ground, balanced on the balls of his feet. Hidden from the doorway behind the kitchen counter, he drops his head in his hands. If he can’t will himself to stop, Steve can at least hide himself away, hope Hopper’s uncomfortable enough he just leaves and they can both pretend this never happened.

But instead Steve feels warm, heavy arms sling around his back. He’s being pulled forward and slightly sideways, when his face hits the rough polyester scratch of the Chief’s uniform as he tucks Steve into his side. 

Hopper should be yelling at him to man up, to get it together, to live up to the Harrington name. He should feel embarrassed, ashamed. 

Instead, it’s a paternal warmth Steve’s never experienced. Hopper shushes Steve like a child, tells him over and over that he’s ok, everything’s going to be ok. Except Steve knows that that isn’t true, not always.

“The kids almost died, and it was my fault.” His voice is wet and his words are soaked together through the clog in his throat.

“Steve,” Hopper cuts in, but Steve plows over him like he hadn’t said anything.

“What if Max hadn’t stopped him, and he’d killed Lucas?” Steve’s shaking, gasping for breath. “I should’ve fought him off, thrown him off me when he pinned me to the ground.” He can faintly hear Hopper telling him to breathe, but he sounds so far away and Steve’s lungs are collapsing and his heart is pounding, pounding, pounding. 

He’s vomiting words he’s tried so hard to keep locked away, spilling them all over the kitchen floor for everyone to see how sick and fucked up Steve Harrington really is when no one’s looking. “Billy smiled when I hit him, screamed like it was fun when he smashed that plate on my head. He just kept hitting me and hitting me and hitting me. And– and it hurt. Everything hurt.”

“Steve,” Hop whispers into the top of his head. It’s scary, how soft it feels.

“Hop, I– ” Steve chokes, forcing the confession out of his chest with all the strength he’s got left– “I think I almost died.”

The gruff man doesn’t say anything. His large hand moves to cradle the back of Steve’s head as he continues to fall apart in his overly large arms. Hop’s stomach is squishy like a pillow, but Steve can still hear the guy’s strong, steady heartbeat from where his head is laid on his chest.

Steve hones in on the sound, matches his breathing to the pulse until he’s calmed. Exhausted, he moves to pull away, and Hop finally lets him. When they stand up, Steve notices Hop’s eyes are wet, although his cheeks are dry.

Hopper opens and closes his mouth a few times before dragging his hands down his face. He sniffles, loud and gross like a man who’s not used to being around people. It’s a little disgusting, and Steve can’t help but scoff at the sound. Hopper peaks out at him over the edges of his fingers where they drag down his eyes. 

The doorbell chimes throughout the house, and the shuffling of scattered feet break out from the living room. Before Steve can turn away, the kitchen door swings open.

It’s El, slowly exploring the kitchen with curious eyes before settling on the men across the kitchen. She tilts her head to the side, examining Steve like she’s carefully cataloguing his blotchy cheeks, the snot still clinging to the tip of his nose, his mussed up hair and labored breaths. 

She moves towards him, preparing to say something, when Mike shouts from the foyer, “nevermind, El, we found the money on the table” yet she doesn’t make a move to rejoin them. She’s still staring at Steve, still moving closer. 

Hopper’s watching her carefully but doesn’t say anything, so Steve doesn’t do anything. He’s trapped in her big, brown eyes, and maybe that’s one of her super powers, putting people in a trance by being too adorable.

“You’re sad, Steve,” she asks, a lilt in her slightly monotone voice.

He clears his throat. “Yes. Yeah, I am.” Steve drags his sleeve across his face so hard that it reddens.

El’s smile is gentle, but without a trace of pity or teasing, like he’d get from the other kids. Well, except maybe Will.

She reaches out to grab his hand and says, like she’s repeating a mantra that’s told to her over and over, “everyone gets sad sometimes, and that’s ok” and Steve does his best not to cry again. He squeezes her tiny hand in his, and she squeezes back.

“El, honey,” Hopper says, sniffling again like he’s sucking a noodle up through his nose. El scrunches her nose and visibly shutters at the noise. When she catches Steve’s matchin expression, they break out into a fit of giggles. Hopper only rolls his eyes at them. “Can you keep the kids busy so they don’t come in here?”

She nods.

“Without telling them why,” Steve pleads.

Her eyebrows pinch together, lips puckered into a frown. “But friends don’t lie.”

“Sometimes it’s to keep someone safe,” Hopper answers her unspoken question.

El tilts her head again, this time to the other side as she considers his argument. Steve’s compelled to defend himself, he doesn’t need to be kept safe from the kids. But he also doesn’t want to listen to their incessant teasing, so he keeps his objections to himself.

She looks over her shoulder towards the noise, shouting now about where to find paper plates and napkins. Mike’s bitching can be heard above the rest, and Steve catches El rolling her eyes. “Sometimes they are mouth-breathers too.”

Steve’s not sure what that means, but Hopper barks out a laugh and she giggles like she said a swear word. But she squeezes his hand again and leaves. 

It’s official, the girls are his favorites.

“Alright kid, listen up, because I’ve got a deal for you.” Hopper looks completely unphased, like the last ten minutes never happened. Steve can still feel the heat splotched on his neck and cheeks, the burn in the back of his throat. He doesn’t think he’ll forget this for a long time.

“I thought you needed a favor?”

“Yeah, well, now it’s an ultimatum. And you’re going to take it.”

Steve scoffs, amused at the surety of Hopper’s tone and the glint in his eye. The man must be waiting for him to respond, but Steve just raises his eyebrow. Hopper lets out an unflattering snort, but takes the hint to continue.

He appreciates the change in tone, thinks maybe Hopper did it on purpose. Like he was just as anxious and awkward as Steve felt. But now, back on familiar ground, Steve’s lighter than he’s felt in months.

“You’re going to babysit El.” Hopper says it like it’s a fact, like Steve’s already agreed to it. Like it’s not a big deal to have someone like El out in the general public when none of them are even entirely sure she’s safe in Hawkins.

Steve knew the moment he left the Munson’s trailer, fresh as a bruised peach with swollen stitches in his forehead, that he was going to put himself in charge of the kids. Planned on going to Dustin’s the very next day to talk with Claudia about it.

He’d strategized and planned each parent down to the details– other than Mike, which was a bit of a disaster. Some of them took more convincing than others, but in the end they’d all given him a chance to prove himself capable. It’s everything Steve’s hoped for.

But he’d never even considered El. Not because he doesn’t know her, even though it’s true. Steve didn’t really know Will either, yet that didn’t stop Steve from including the kid in his plans.

No he just never thought to ask after El because he thought it was, like, illegal. She’s more than just an awkward pre-teen girl. She’s a superhero, she’s on the run, she doesn’t go to school, barely sees the Party. Steve just assumed El was off limits.

She doesn’t need protection… does she?

A hard hand clasped on his shoulder breaks Steve’s daze.

“If the last year has taught me anything, Steve, is that she deserves to live her life around people that care about her. El needs her friends– even goddamned Wheeler.” Hopper huffs, rolls his eyes and, yeah, Steve can empathize. Mike is exhausting. “But she’s just a kid, and I need to leave her with someone I can trust. Some place where I know she’s safe and will be protected at all costs.”

Steve feels vibrations begin to rack through his body again. He can’t bear to cry a second time, can’t handle having to explain to Hop that he’s going to have to find someone else to fit all of those criteria. Because clearly the man wasn’t listening when Steve explained how he almost died failing to save the kids. But before he can argue, Hopper cuts him off.

“I know what you’re thinking, Steve. You protected those kids the best you could, better than anyone else in your situation would’ve been able. You put yourself between them and death more than once that night. That’s not something everyone’s got in them, kid. That’s something special– and it’s exactly what El needs. What I need.”

“I mean, of course. I’d love– thank you.” Hop shakes his head, again cutting Steve off mid-blabber.

“The ultimatum, kid, remember?” He waits until Steve nods before he explains himself. “The deal is, if you’re watching her for me, then you’re going to let me watch out for you too.”

That brings Steve to a halt. His brow pinches together as he puzzles out what exactly Hop means by watching out for him too. He just said he trusts Steve enough to watch El, but now it sounds almost as if he’s backtracking.

“Jesus I can hear the gears in your head cranking away, Harrington.” Hopper drops his other hand on Steve’s shoulder. He’s being held in place by two massive mitts on his shoulders and he can’t figure out if the weight is a comfort or a prison.

“I don’t get it,” Steve says, shaking his head.

The Chief exhales rough through his nose, and hangs his head. Anxiety sparks through Steve again until Hop shakes him lightly.

“If El’s going to be hanging around here, that means sometimes I’m going to be hanging around here, and you’re going to let me,” Hopper says with a small smirk on his face. “You’re going to let me bring groceries over and cook dinner while you do your homework. You’re going to come by the cabin every once in a while to watch the basketball game. You’re also going to tell me when your parents call or when they’re in town”

Steve knows there’s more to Hopper’s torturously long list of conditions, but he doesn’t want to hear it. The Chief’s grip is a firm hold as he tries to break loose. “Look, Chief, I don’t need someone–”

“And!” Hopper shouts, a manic grin spreads across his face. It’s such a stark contrast to the man’s normal scowl it stops Steve in his tracks. Hopper’s expression is wild, like he’s enjoying Steve’s feeble attempts at defending himself. “Holidays are a requirement, Harrington. Hot cocoa, old Christmas movies, decorating the tree. New Year’s Eve. Birthdays. All of it.”

Steve’s at a loss for words. He knows what this is, can spot a shakedown when he sees one. Except this doesn’t feel hostile, not like when his dad always threatened to take the car away if Steve didn’t medal in swimming or score during a game. This is uncomfortable, but– nice? 

A lot like how this entire conversation has been.

“Umm,” Steve tries, “I can’t leave–”

“Don’t argue with me, Steve.”

“Can I bring Max?” Steve asks as Hopper stares at him. “To the holidays, and stuff. I’ll do it if I can bring Max too.”

Hopper’s manic grin fades into a more genuine smile as he stands upright. He pulls Steve into another hug before releasing him to ruffle his hair. Steve squawks, immediately mortified at how Dustin-esque it sounds. 

“Of course you can bring Max.”

They make their way back to the living room and sure enough, the pizza is already almost gone. Scraps of crust and dirty napkins litter the floor. The coffee table is a mess of colored pencils, crayons, sketch pads, and pencils. 

He’s worried it’s still awkward between the kids, and hopes El’s ok with Hopper leaving her here for a few hours. She still doesn’t know Steve, doesn’t know Will or Max either. But when he notices the Party, his anxieties melt from his shoulders. He can’t help the smile that crinkles his eyes at the sight of them

Will’s sitting facing the group, drawing a giant purple dragon with a small castle off in the distance. Steve notices each kid has a sketchpad. Some are rather good, close to matching Will’s– Lucas and Max– while others could use some work– Dusin, El, and Mike.

But they’re laughing as Max draws a comically large skateboard under her green dragon. El’s sat between her and Mike, eyes wide and intense as Max promises to show off her skateboard the next time she sees her. 

He hears the soft click of the front door behind him, and the rumbling of Hopper’s truck as it pulls out of the driveway. Dustin catches sight of him, practically scrambles to his feet as he drags Steve into the living room, yanking him down in the open spot next to him and thrusts a sketchpad in Steve’s hands.

Lucas hands him a plate with two pieces of pepperoni he saved just for Steve, and Dustin helps him catch up before Will shows them how to draw a knight. El finds Steve a yellow colored pencil when he can’t find one. Max crawls to sit next to him and smacks Mike on the back of the head when he says Steve’s castle looks haunted, little wisps of chimney smoke mistaken for ghosts.

It’s nothing. 

It’s just a seventeen year old boy, sitting in the middle of a gaggle of kids, coloring and eating pizza and making each other laugh. Settled and relaxed in a way he never expected after the horrors from the past year. And he knows, without a doubt, he’d do it all over again if it meant he’d end up right here.  It’d be nothing to most people but it’s everything to Steve, because for the first time in his life, he’s well and truly happy.

[hermitsdump]

art by @winterrbluess inspired this <3

bf sukuna x disabled reader sickfic: (unspecified gender/appearance) reader has a bad POTS day (they also have ptsd but no specified trauma)

relationship: established, living together, aro/ace

au: real world, no curses, no jjk lore, no spoilers

word count: 3.4k (one shot, completed)

song rec:

panic attack fits too but this is even better <3

is a heavy heart too much to hold?

Sukuna followed through your shared apartment, lilac pj pants slung across his hips. they looked too good on him. his thick, pink hair messily touseled, even soft to your eyes. it wasn't fair. even now, out of sight you could see it, Sukuna too close behind you, the fabric of your clothing brushing against his legs as you walk through the clear kitchen space.

he stops, allowing space between you. his voice asking for clarity, what's wrong. you can't focus on the words, vision a washed-out blur, suddenly too bright to see.

is it really a panic attack, that invisible proximity enough to set you off? after all this time of thinking they no longer happened? and with him? the safest person in the world, who'd bare his fangs to protect you on instinct.

maybe some things never finish healing, do they?

you take in the color of the floor, a light wood smeared with sunlight cast diagonally from the far windows. it feels cold against your cheek. he must have caught you before colliding with it, consciousness fading out.

Sukuna checks your body, facedown to spare you from choking on your own potential vomit. breath unobstructed, pulse hammering. it wasn't an issue of histamine, but some psychological trigger.

you were fine, more or less. not feverish to the touch, and though your own feelings on that may differ, they were worthless. you felt feverish, on average, probably every day. maybe 3 separate episodes, maybe 3 days without one. it didn't seem to mean anything. that bothered sukuna – there were no thorough coincidences in this world. everything the product of cause and effect. together you'd been able to narrow down the bulk of it, but even the foods that usually triggered this didn't always. poor homeostasis to blame, maybe, but not if he could help it.

rolling you back onto his arms, your boyfriend stands from where he knelt beside you, carrying your horizontal form back to bed. that one bulky plushie under your ankles to hold them up before drawing the covers over you.

Sukuna checks your pulse periodically, out of habit more than anything. you had often been checking it with that obnoxious monitor, bulky and heavy and easily slipping. its own thin strap had broken the plastic, so it didn't even have a lanyard to hang from (it would have been fixed, if it were worthy of that). not registering your finger half the time and the other half, its numbers on display so bright it was like squinting at the sun just to read 4 predictable digits.

you had been skeptical at first, but even with his fingers just on your wrist, monitor definitely hidden from his line of sight, the numbers matched. when you had a reading to compare his to, anyway. sometimes it was dug out just for oxygen level curiosity, but sukuna swore he could read it too. you struggled not to believe him at that point.

Sukuna sits beside the bed, hand laying on yours and fingertips easily in reach of your wrist. a couple of books stacked on the desk, one open in his hand, reading glasses resting on his nose. he was always removing the dust jackets, never to be seen again. turning the page on a mysteriously blank, dark green hard-cover now, glancing over your face each time.

there was nothing remarkable until you interrupted his mid-sentence, quiet sounds of struggling to breathe. Sukuna's phone already unlocked with the flashlight on, checking your airway, still nothing in it. what would there be, some bug he failed to detect before it crawled far into your nose? you roll to your side, cheek against the pillow and mouth still wide open. after using it for a few breaths, they seemed to clear up. choking on nothing in your sleep just to worry him.

Sukuna wouldn't bring this up, probably, only if it mattered. if you wanted to know. he had a strong feeling that you didn't. or at best, didn't care at all. so long as there wasn't some creeping condition, undiagnosed sleep disorder or something like that, it didn't have to concern you. Just an emotional prod, a bundle of straws on the camel's back. the camel had enough to carry. everyone sounds weird in their sleep sometimes.

you blink awake slowly, eyes seeming to roll and only half-open. something wet and cold on the pillow. fingertips brushing against your own drool? maybe that does happen in real life, but you? thankfully it's just a small patch of damp fabric. gross all the same. your other hand leaves Sukuna's, rubbing against your face while your just-closed mouth tries to patch itself with saliva.

“Here.” Sukuna squeezes your hand before helping you sit up, handing over your water bottle, cap already flipped up. when you have it, he's already tying the compress around your head, an attempt to ward off what's become known as the Consciousness Headache. halfway through the day you'd be tearing the fabric off, but until then you'd be shoving frozen pads into it periodically. Soft circles of thick fabric dampened in the sink before returning to the freezer door.

you drink enough to let your dry throat recover before trying to hold a conversation. you'd be nauseous either way, there was nothing to lose and you needed to drink more than average anyway. it was such a pain clawing for hydration.

“want to tell me what happened?” his voice is softer than usual, asking for answers and offering you an out.

you're already laying back down on your side, holding his hand to trace the pointed black nails. they were always perfectly smooth, the motion calming you down as they slide across the pad of your thumb.

“breathe.” like a dragon's command rough and deep, but you can hear the care in it just the same.

you try to measure out even breaths, though even lying down you were always dizzy. the dense plushie nudging at your feet until you put them back onto it, hold your hands upright over your chest like a zombie with second thoughts on climbing out of the grave, as if that could fix you. maybe some of the blood would find its way back to your heart and brain. maybe it was lost or vaporizing, consumed by some thirsty undetected curse.

your illness just didn't sound real. even the name was funny. pots. like a rabbit from a children's story, or something else just as trivial.

and what went wrong earlier didn't sound real, either, too stupid to even bother being said. that the safest person in the world to you, in some lighthearted attempt to show that he was there with you, keeping you safe from the goddamn floor or hard edges of the counters or your idiot self–

“I know you're prone to fainting. it was more than that.”

yeah. you keep watching his long nails, as if looking down would hide glassy eyes from someone as observant as him.

and now the nausea was hitting, something like spit pooling in your stomach, such an unsettling feeling that you still weren't used to though it happened for hours every day and all you could do was distract your mind with something else.

Sukuna sighs, leading you to subconsciously match your breath with his.

you were trying. to piece together the reasons yourself, to fit a specific trigger into coherent words.

“Do you need space?” he deadpans, voice even quieter now.

you shake your head, more like rolling it against the flat pillow. “...maybe.” just a whisper. you don't want space, but somehow that was it, wasn't it?

Sukuna frowns at the mixed signals, the way your hand tightened around his so clumsily that you're just holding a single finger like a lifeline. how the inside of your weak hand feels ticklish, maybe even itchy, soft and wrong almost like static but still impossible to explain. it was unpleasant but with you since you were a child waking up in the morning. it had to be a universal experience.

your eyes dart back and forth, staring beyond the room. “from behind. when I'm upright.”

that made sense. the hypervigilance thrashing when someone, anyone, is out of view, is touching you, when you're at your most vulnerable. laying back on him wouldn't have this effect, it would be on your own terms anyway.

Sukuna nods, understanding hypervigilance all too well, most likely more than you ever would. hypervigilance to blame or thank for the uncanny way he observed everything, barely an effort taken to analyze so thoroughly with a bored or even blank face. even when it looked like not a thought in his head, it was like he already knew everything.

you pull yourself up to drink more water. it was all stupid, wasn't it? your brain and your body (which made your brain stupid by withholding its goddamn blood, brain fog blurring out any benefit you might have earned through trauma response) and the way it was threatening to lose all the water you gave it through your eye sockets.

he opens a bottle on the desk, placing two small pills into your hand. salt capsules, like a peace offering to beg your body into retaining some water. you were sick of the taste, sick of shaking salt into every drink, sick of the repetitive motion and how so much of consistently doing anything or avoiding anything could never make this go away. the best days seemed to be based on luck and nothing else. maybe the weather in part.

your head is fully throbbing now, heart seeming to replace your skull and not have enough space to beat there unless forcing nerves out of place.

you lean your head forward, already subconsciously expecting it to be caught, forehead pressing into sukuna's palm though you can't feel the folds on his skin through the layer of fabric holding yours together.

“think you can actually get something to eat this time?”

and yeah, that's what you had been to the kitchen for anyway.

Sukuna still in those soft lilac pants, making you feel normal by not wearing Outside style clothing at home. not wearing anything else except for now, that boring black blanket draped over his bare shoulders.

glasses folded together on top of the book he was reading. probably a medical journal or history of botany or ancient Mesopotamian poetry, if you had to guess.

you slide out of bed, slowly standing up. shivering for some reason, though you don't feel… are you hot? there is some cold too, but it's on top of the hot… it's nothing new but it's still frustrating that you just can't make sense of even an observation, not to mention its fuckass explanation.

Sukuna wraps the blanket around your shoulders now, warm from the heat of his back, one consistent thing in your lives.

there's a minute, maybe several if you're lucky, before the doubling (or at times, tripling) heart rate starts to make your legs give out. you know better than to fight that, to let them be the first thing to give, bent knees your savior (or harm reductionist). that reflex hadn't caught on earlier, a flash of your body nearly parallel to the floor and falling, uncannily straight, and that had to be a false memory or out-of-body experience if you could see it.

Sukuna's arm wraps around your back, rubbing up and down the blanket, walking side by side with you held close. the rollator he'd been sitting on might have made things easier, to lean on it yourself or use it as a chair and let him push you. but inside the house, you were clawing to feel normal, to pretend that you didn't need to depend on help for every little step.

it was pathetic, or so he'd called it before. Who cares? if it's better, just use it. that gives you more autonomy, anyway.

and he was right. using it inside the house since you didn't seem to, and he sincerely seemed to like it.

he made it look good, natural, like everything was meant to be this way.

you would grow up someday, knowing fully consciously and subconsciously that his ideas were right and none of your bullshit internalized shame held any weight.

maybe the tremors were growing because you hadn't eaten enough today. that had to be a part of it.

you collapse into a kitchen chair, knees going weak just in time, but too fast to look natural. somehow Sukuna's judgement would never hurt you. maybe because he didn't judge, just observing and pointing things out. they were based in truth, and that made all the difference.

the table is your saving grace, this chair not having armrests on the sides to prevent falling. the wall in your mind was becoming flexible. it would be more comfortable to use your mobility device. the seat was softer. it could carry things for you.

it just felt vulnerable, to yourself if no one else. to admit weakness was to be in danger. even if the thing compensated for what you were missing, it showed on obvious display. and that scared you.

with Sukuna, it was fine. the way he pushed you in public felt like a guardian angel, or maybe your head was too hazy that day and it all felt like a dream. maybe you shouldn't have gone outside like that at all, only ending up there because he took you out, an accessible and quiet “hiking” trail overlooking the lake, the foggy mountains just across leaning down over the forest canopy. he'd stop to pick up flowers, calling them by scientific name, twisting them into matching crowns.

then catching fish, handing you a rod (even if it conveniently fit in the cane holder), and cooking them right there.

yeah, the rollator had benefits, even without him with you.

but he could fight. he could glare. he had this untouchable aura, striking fear or admiration or something in between wherever he went. and you were just… a person, on a good day.

you're still lost in your thoughts, face on the table when Sukuna's hand strokes the back of yours. he's easily in your field of vision, pulling the fabric away from your forehead just enough to slip in one of those soft icy pads you kept in the freezer. maybe he could see a patch of skin already red from the table.

“why–” you start before the whisper dies.

Sukuna hums in question, food laid out.

“why do you stay?”

“because I like to,” he answers directly, but squints down as if you aren't making sense.

“I don't do anything for you,” you mutter, stabbing into something to eat before he can scold you instead of making sense of what he said.

“you do.” he sits down to eat 3x as much as you. it must be nice to feel full, satisfied. something more than a bit less bad, probably. though he also needed so much more to feed the muscle mass you could never build.

“no, you,” you breathe, realizing that the taste and the warmth is soulful. even if you can't manage so much of it.

“what, is this a competition to you?” Sukuna looks at you over his plate. by the words alone, you would have frowned, not wanting to hear how it ends. but the corners of your mouth fall upward at the face anyone else would call a death glare. to you it was endearing.

because you get it. you understood him, something no one else seemed to get (which frustrated the hell out of you. he was so direct yet chronically misinterpreted, they were all lucky you didn't have the strength or stamina to fight). it was mutual, then.

you really did see each other, it wasn't all one-sided. Sukuna noticed what was wrong and what you needed so easily. you always felt honored to listen to him, even muttering aloud the epic of gilgamesh while annotating in the margins. you both went nonverbal at times or maybe it was often, but hardly even noticed when all it took to communicate was a glance. to read or to say whatever.

and really that was what mattered, that couldn't be easily replaced or cast aside. truly, you enjoyed discerning each other. not for manipulation. you didn't even try to decode him, it was like the light streaming through your eyes and showing the room around you, or like breathing in the scent of spring flowers. it was just there and you knew it was because…

being with him was easy. you’d just assumed that for him, it was hard.

But he loved the challenge, anyway. physically, mentally, artistically, he was always reaching for some personal record or building another technique.

well, not always. mostly he liked to lounge around, content with a comfortable silence.

that was one thing you were good at. speaking was tiring, and low-stimuli was the typical ideal. but that was also mutual…

there had been this fear, an idea in the back of your mind that you were some pet project. something for him to fix before tossing aside and moving on from like a junkyard bike.

But you were human to him, you were a whole person and one that he craved the company of just as much.

“I'm not holding you back?” you ask, baring your eyes to read his.

“back from what?” sukuna laughs, stealing the abandoned remains on your plate.

it's annoying to feel your brow furrow. isn't there something he wants to do, but can't without you?

“don't think too hard, I was serious,” he clarifies, taking your dishes to the sink.

there had to be more challenging hikes he'd prefer, views that couldn't be reached by someone like you. though if he wanted to, he could probably make up for that, finding a way to complete it together, breaking a light sweat and drying it on a sleeveless shirt. he might carry you through it all, if you wanted to be there.

and his studio was maybe not technically attached to the house, separated by a patch of woods, but it still let him work from home. to avoid the public as much as possible, no commutes or traffic or crowds of small-minded people. he was very selective with who was let into the space, and even then there were boundaries, private property and no trespassing signs posted down the winding road, an ominous threat in the air.

your home secure and really a sacred place, safe for just the two of you and your closest of friends. which was only Uraume at this point… yours falling out of contact when you finally gave up on keeping the friendship alive by yourself. it wasn't like you were contagious, just a stain on the “work (to a miserable life and early death) or die” zeitgeist. or maybe boring because you didn't want to drink or be in high-stress environments. in the end, you didn't miss them either. you had some semblance of peace at last.

even if some days, like today, tears would threaten to brim over every hour at just how independent you weren't, at how endless the pain, at how it really is chronic, isn't it?

and you've known and accepted this long ago, but sometimes it hits like a wall all over again. some sick cycle that you always think was on its last episode before.

Sukuna lowers himself below your eye level, asking if you want to do anything in the remaining hours before he goes to work. by which time you were always worn out, needing some horizontal brainless phone-in-bed time.

“can I use it?” you whisper, all too aware that even crawling to the bedroom could take the better part of an hour.

Sukuna's eyes are blank, searching for the answer in yours.

“or you?” you joke, laying your arms around your shoulders.

it sinks in for him then, what you were asking for. and you can feel it seep into you how much he enjoys to carry you around, fully conscious and asking for it. the sudden height difference is staggering, but not so disorienting because you're less upright here, the warmth of his neck and texture of his cotton candy sunset hair…

“so? where are we going?”

[monadocyclone]

getting real sick of people using "dead dove" as a catchall phrase for "trigger warning uhhhh something"

this usage has also infected rp server promo posts.

[elifalvey]

4:26 AM. June 30th, 2023. Providence Peak Memorial Hospital.

Elijah wakes up uncomfortable and sweating.

The first thing that he feels — outside of frustration, since this is at least the third time tonight that he's woken up this way — is a throbbing ache in the back of his neck, and he reaches his left palm over his right shoulder to rub the area in hopes of alleviating some pressure.

Stupid fucking hospital chairs.

He groans quietly as he adjusts, moves his head to search for his phone that he left on the small table within arms reach. A giant, bold 4:26AM stares back at him as he finds it and unlocks the screen, along with a recent photograph of Aslihan and Alex in the sunroom back home, taken probably no more than three weeks before they came here that he set as his wallpaper immediately upon taking it.

He stares at the combination groggily for a long second, like all of his thoughts are still buffering and getting used to his new state of consciousness, and he takes a deep breath.

One that immediately feels as though it gets sucked back into his body as a wave of adrenaline washes over him, and he practically jumps up out of the seat before he can fully register what exactly he's doing. He takes a half-step towards Aslihan's bedside, sees her sleeping there, and stops in his tracks.

Thank God.

Relief. He gives breathing another go, and although it's considerably more successful than his attempt before, it's still shaky and full of leftover uncertainty.

Why wouldn't she be there? He thinks. Don't be a fucking idiot.

He doesn't make any effort to move closer to her bed, nor does he make any to stumble backwards to the makeshift bed of his own — he just stands there, in limbo, feeling uncomfortable and sweaty and a little bit ridiculous now. His eyes, momentarily focused on the rise and fall of her chest, drift to the monitors slightly above her head. He squints as if he can read the numbers, as if he knows what any of them really mean in relation to the health of his girlfriend or his baby.

They're alright, he tries to convince himself. Nothing is wrong.

"Just go sit down," he mumbles softly, like it's a thought that slips past the filter in his head. Despite his own reassurances, though, he can't bring himself to listen — he can't move, can't stop staring, can't convince himself that Aslihan won't disappear from thin air the second he turns around.

A different machine from the hallway faintly beeps in the distance, effectively startling him as he jerks a little in place.

"Fuck off."

Obviously, it doesn't listen. It beeps once more.

Stupid fucking hospital.

Breathing still isn't doing all that much for him, and ironically, he wonders if a cigarette will help — not that it has in the past two weeks that they've been here, when this exact scenario of on-and-off-panic-and-sleeping has become something of a routine for him under the moonlight, but he figures it's worth a shot (he says that frequently).

Finally, he moves in a middle direction. Not towards Aslihan's bed, or towards the chair, but towards the table to grab the pack of American Spirits he left there beside his phone. He gets as far as the doorway before he stops mid-movement again. He can feel a similar sort of adrenaline from before building up in the pit of his stomach, like anticipation, like when something bad's not quite happened yet but you're expecting a tornado to touch ground at any moment. He tries to ignore it, but for the second time, he finds that he can't move.

A drop of sweat falls from his forehead, cascading down his temple, and he wipes it away with an annoyed huff and turns around.

You can leave, he thinks. You've left before, you can leave again.

The rational part of his brain is clearly working overtime to compensate for the lack of cooperation from his body, but it's proven to not be enough to overpower him as a whole; a sinister, unwanted part of him chimes in.

What if she's gone when you come back? What if you leave, and she's not there?

He swallows air, feels another bead of sweat, and decides.

No, I can't leave.

Dark hues settle on Aslihan, and she hasn't moved an inch, hasn't even rustled underneath the thin blankets covering her, but he imagines his worst fears all too vividly. He imagines leaving, even if only for a minute, and returning to an empty hospital room. No, no. He imagines leaving, even if only for a minute, and returning to a room filled with nurses and doctors and beeping machines and so much yelling he doesn't know how to digest it all. He imagines her being here, physically, yet being gone at the same time.

The longer he stares, the more her silhouette morphs in his mind.

Her petite frame turns shorter, more muscular, and long, dark locks get traded for messier, looser curls. Brown eyes somehow become darker, almost black, and her skin looks rougher too — Elijah's looking frantically, still frozen, trying to make some sense of this.

The faint beeping that came from outside the hall gets louder, and more frequent, like the frantic sound of medical equipment that popped into his mind without warning before. It gets louder. And louder. And louder. The silhouette only becomes more detailed — the vague outline of a man becomes more personalized; he can see a crooked smile, and a splotchy birthmark, and a thin, pale scar just above a bushy eyebrow.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Harrison.

Elijah realizes that he's seeing Harrison in the place of Aslihan, sprawled across the drab hospital bed, attached to wires and machines and Jesus fucking Christ, why the hell is he sweating so goddamn much? Everything is so horribly clammy, and he reaches down to grab a giant fistful of his shirt. It scrunches between his fingers but he gains little relief from the motion, and the next time the sinister devil chimes in his mind it sounds a bit too much like him.

Don't leave.

There's a damp sensation — not just on his temple, but all over his face — and he's unsure if it's sweat, or tears, or an overwhelming mixture of both. His chest feels much, much heavier than it did just a few seconds ago and once again, before he even registers what the hell he's doing, he all but leaps in the direction of the chair across the room. He settles as far away from the doorway as possible, distress looming over him, as his knee bounces in agitation. He sits there for awhile, just tapping his foot on the tile, rubbing his palms against his legs, forgetting every single breathing exercise that he's ever been taught in his life, with his eyes trained to the bed only a few feet away.

I'm not leaving, I'm not leaving, I'm not fucking leaving —

"Is everything alright, Mr. Falvey?"

His attention snaps up to land on the door and he sees the young, sweet nurse standing at the threshold. He can't remember her name — Melanie? Tiffany? Kelly? — but he recognizes her face, having seen her more times than he can count with how much he's been awake at night. She has a smile etched into her face, innocent and unsuspecting of the chaos rattling against the cage within him. Her words are genuine, he can tell, and he almost feels guilty upon the realization that he can't exactly answer right away.

Glancing from her, back to the bed again, he notices that the silhouette looks more normal. More like Aslihan. More like she's actually in front of him, and not some sort of transformed manifestation of the fears he's been holding onto for years. It looks like she's sleeping. There. She hasn't gone away.

"Early morning, isn't it?" she speaks as the silence ticks on.

His attention snaps once more, but instead of silence, he nods.

"Y-Yeah, mhm," he interrupts himself with a cough, momentarily forgetful of his sleeping girlfriend. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. All good. T-Thank — yeah, thank you. Uh —" he squints to try and see the badge attached to her scrubs, but his eyes feel puffy and his vision is slightly blurry and he gives up way too easily. He nods again, like a final thought, and forces a smile to stretch on his lips. It must look horrendous given the state of him, but he can't bring himself to care. If she's suspicious of his answer, he can't see that very well either.

"Alright. If you need anything, just let us know."

With that, she turns on her heel and exits into the hallway, hopefully to check on some other patient's room somewhere, and Elijah . . . sighs.

He's not too confident that he can stand without an unreliable wobble to his legs at this point, so he just sinks further into the chair he previously placed himself in. He feels better — not good, or calm, or normal by any means, but better in that he's not actively hallucinating the figure of his dead best friend anymore. So there's that.

From the window behind him, he can hear birds chirping, the tiny creatures settled into the branches that nearly brush up against the glass. Soft sunlight slowly trickles in through the curtains. He has no idea how much time has passed since he woke up in the first place, but there's no shot that he's going back to sleep any time soon. He knows that much.

"Stupid fucking hospitals," he grumbles, arms crossed over his chest. The back of his head thwacks against the wood of the chair as he throws the weight of it back, unable to even muster a whine of pain as the ache returns in the back of his neck.

As it turns out, therapy might not be the biggest waste of his time after all.

[artficlly]

lessons in lovemaking

marvel au bucky x blackwidow!reader You and Bucky Barnes go undercover as a married couple, but when a fake kiss gets too real, he unexpectedly finishes in his pants—leaving you both stunned.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, dry humping, grinding, soft dom vibes reader, soft sub vibes bucky, bucky is touch starved, premature ejaculation, reader has dubious methods of emotional control, vague mentions of previous sa, ex black widow reader, mentions of red room, very consensual, safe words, kissing, panic attacks, bucky barnes needs a hug, if you squint, there's some plot, fluff, angst, mentions of past violence, death and war, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8.4k

A/N: hey guys, i'm a woman possessed. i've had so much motivation to write recently, so here is a quick one-shot. i'm sure this concept has been done before but i just couldn't stop thinking about touch starved bucky :( ! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist | series masterlist

You never would’ve agreed to this mission had you known Barnes was going to be this squeamish. You’d seen the man slit throats without a sound, drop bodies with cold efficiency, and unload an entire chamber of bullets without so much as flinching. He hadn’t even blinked when aliens from outer-fucking-space rained hell upon Earth. But holding your hand? Letting his fingers brush your waist? Anything a devoted ‘husband’ ought to do? The super soldier looked like he’d rather swallow glass. He couldn’t even meet your gaze, for god’s sake.

What the hell had Fury been thinking?

You had to yank him away before anyone noticed the strained—Help me, I’m being held hostage by this incredibly attractive, incredibly capable woman who, might I add, is supposedly my wife—look on his face.

This gala, a weeklong jerkfest for the wealthy and villainous, was meant to be a stroll in the park. Your bread and butter, even if the Red Room had been... regrettable and against your consent, it had taught you an array of useful skills. Yet Barnes was ruining it, turning what should have been a simple infiltration into a goddamn babysitting job. The plan was airtight: pose as a glamorous Russian couple, collect incriminating evidence, and dip at the end of the week. Except Barnes wasn’t holding up his end of the deal. Instead of charming your way through the crowd, you were covering for his stiff, awkward pauses and the fact that he looked less like a besotted husband and more like a man being forced at gunpoint to stand beside you.

By some miracle, you managed to drag him away to one of the empty floors, a tucked-away space littered with stacks of unused tables and chairs. He was wound tight—shoulders squared, jaw clenched, eyes flicking across the dimly lit room like he was expecting death itself to emerge from the shadows. You didn’t bother with subtlety. Tearing the small recording device from between your tits, you fumbled with the button until the tiny red light blinked off. Whoever ended up reviewing the footage later wouldn’t need to hear the verbal onslaught you were about to unleash. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” you hissed, keeping your voice low, though the sheer force of your frustration was enough to strip paint off the walls.

Barnes clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring as he refused to meet your eye. It reminded you of a scolded dog, all pouty and pathetic. You might’ve found it cute under different circumstances. “You’re making this incredibly fucking difficult.”

“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal—”

“Because it’s our cover, Barnes.” you snapped, incredulous. “We’re supposed to be married, not some fucking timid virgin couple. PDA makes people uncomfortable; they look away, and we have less eye on us to, I don’t know—do our fucking job?”

Barnes looked down at his clenched fists, swallowing hard. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. The dangling diamond earrings you had hanging from each lobe tinkled slightly, and you ran a hand through your perfectly styled hair, resisting the urge to throttle him.

“You’re unbelievable. Fury should’ve just sent me alone—” you muttered, but the words barely left your lips before your eyes caught movement.

A group. Heading straight for you. Purposeful.

“Fuck.”

With haste, you tucked the small recording device back into your cleavage. Barnes noticed immediately, clocking your distress. His brows knit together, hand twitched toward the hidden knife tucked into his suit jacket.

“No.” You scolded. Catching his wrist, you guided it elsewhere—your hips. He stiffened instantly, making a noise of protest, but you kept him locked in place, pressing in until your chests brushed. Too close. Not close enough.

“Play along,” you murmured. “Kiss me. Now.”

“Wha—” His breath hitched, barely enough time to form a response before you rose onto your toes and sealed your mouth over his.

Barnes froze. Stiff beneath your touch, lips rigid like you’d just planted one on a slab of granite. He still tasted like toothpaste—spearmint—and the faint trace of his aftershave clung to his skin. If you’d been trying to salvage some believability, some small thread of natural chemistry, it was impossible now. It was like kissing a statue.

An aftershave-scented stone statue.

The passing group chuckled, one of them murmuring, amused, “Ah, young love.”

Maybe it was the murmured chuckles of the passing guests, or maybe Barnes had finally remembered how to act, because his grip on your hips suddenly tightened, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress with unexpected force. The silk pulled taut against your skin, trapping heat between you, and then—

A sound.

Low. Strangled. A rasping, utterly pathetic groan against your lips.

You barely had time to register it before something else stole your attention. In the tight press of your bodies, you felt it—hard, insistent, pressing against your pelvis.

Oh.

The realisation sent a flicker of shock through you, but you schooled your expression, keeping your face composed as you lingered just a second longer—just enough to ensure your audience was convinced. Then, finally, you pulled back.

Barnes didn’t move.

For a moment, he just stared, pupils wide and unfocused, a blissed-out haze dulling the sharp blue of his eyes. But then, like a lightning strike, awareness snapped back into him. Horror overtook his dazed expression, his breath hitching as he seemed to realise—

Did he just—?

You both looked down at the same time.

And there it was.

The medium grey of his suit pants betrayed him entirely, darkening at the crotch with an unmistakable wet patch.

You gaped, lips parting in stunned silence. No fucking way.

Barnes didn’t wait for a reaction. With the sheer force of a man fleeing for his life, he ripped himself from your grasp and marched away, stiff-backed and utterly silent, leaving you standing there, speechless.

—

It had been twenty minutes, and Barnes still hadn’t left the goddamn bathroom.

It had taken you all of thirty seconds to track him down, but the moment you found the door, it was locked. Of course it was. You twisted the handle, rattling it in frustration, then resorted to pounding your fist against the heavy wood—subtly, of course, but with enough force that he knew you weren’t going anywhere.

“Barnes.” You hissed his name through gritted teeth, pressing closer to the door. Nothing. Not a shuffle. Not a breath. Absolute fucking silence.

You exhaled sharply, trying to keep your expression neutral as a pair of guests passed by, casting you a curious glance. Yeah, you knew exactly how this looked—lipstick smudged, breath uneven, standing outside a locked men’s bathroom like a woman scorned. You must’ve looked thoroughly debauched.

Your pulse hammered in your throat. This was insane. A simple, fake kiss had made him short-circuit so hard that he fucking came in his pants? Twenty minutes ago, he looked repulsed by the mere idea of touching you, and now he was hiding away like some panicked virgin?

You let out a long, slow groan, dropping your forehead against the door.

“Barnes,” you muttered, knocking again—your patience wearing thinner by the second. “Open the damn door.”

Silence.

You straightened, glaring at the wood as if you could will it into splintering apart.

“Barnes, I have been patient.” You gritted your teeth, knocking harder. “If you don’t open this door in the next five seconds, I will break in.”

Silence.

Motherfucker.

"Alright, I’m coming in," you announced, your voice low but firm.

You cast a quick glance over your shoulder, ensuring no one was watching, before slipping a bobby pin from your hair. Years of practice made the process effortless; your fingers worked quickly, blindly, jamming the pin into the lock and feeling for the mechanism. A few precise twists, a satisfying click, and—

"Make sure you're decent, Barnes—"

The words were halfway out of your mouth when you pushed the door open, but whatever half-hearted joke you'd meant to make withered before it even reached your tongue.

Barnes was not decent.

Not in the way you’d expected.

He sat hunched on the closed toilet lid, head in his hands, his entire body drawn in tight like he was trying to fold in on himself. His knee bounced erratically, the rapid motion almost violent in its rhythm. He had ripped off his suit pants, leaving himself in nothing but his boxers, his bare thighs tense, twitching. His fingers dug into his hair, gripping at the strands like he wanted to rip them out, and when his bloodshot eyes flicked up to you—

You felt your stomach drop.

Panic. Raw, unfiltered, choking panic.

Tears welled along his lash line, his chest rising and falling in uneven, barely contained pants. He looked like a man caught in a cage, seconds from tearing himself apart just to escape it.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, and stepped in, shutting the door softly behind you before flipping the lock.

"Hey, Barnes…” Your voice was hesitant, softer than before.

He shook his head, eyes fixed firmly on the floor, his hands trembling as he dragged them down his face.

“I don’t—” His voice cracked, breaking on the words. "I don’t want you in—"

You moved before he could finish, lowering yourself to the cool bathroom tiles in front of him, as if making yourself smaller would make you any less intimidating.

"Hey," you murmured, tone careful but steady. "Look at me."

“No.” It came out sharp, like a whip, a defence mechanism honed over decades. His entire body went rigid, his breathing ragged.

“Barnes, you need to breathe.”

Your voice was steady, firm without being harsh, each syllable carefully measured as you crept forward on the cold tile floor. The dress, the dirt—none of it mattered. It wasn’t your dress, anyway. Tony Stark could foot the bill for a replacement if this one got ruined, all this fancy wear was on his dime.

“In through the nose,” you instructed, voice softer now. “Out through the mouth.”

By some miracle, Barnes listened.

He sucked in a ragged breath, chest expanding beneath his half-unbuttoned dress shirt, and then exhaled through parted lips. It was shaky, uneven, but it was something. You watched in silence, waiting. His limbs still trembled, his fingers clenching and unclenching against his thighs, but the worst of the violent, full-body tremors had eased.

“There you go,” you murmured, voice barely above a breath. “Keep breathing, just like that. You’re doing so well.”

Slowly, you inched forward, shifting across the tiles until you sat in front of his knees. His skin was warm, radiating heat even through the thin fabric of his boxers.

“Barnes,” you hesitated, watching his face carefully. “Can I touch you?”

His whole body tensed.

“What?” His eyes darted up, sharp and startled, as if the very question had knocked the breath from his lungs.

“Is it okay,” you rephrased, slower this time, gentler, “if I touch you?”

Barnes hesitated. His gaze flickered away, jaw clenching like he was at war with himself. But then, after a long, tense beat, he gave a small, stiff nod.

You inhaled, steadying yourself. Then, with slow, deliberate care, you reached out and cradled his face between your hands.

The moment your fingers touched his skin, he flinched.

Not violently. Not like he was afraid of you. But enough that you felt it—felt the way his muscles coiled beneath your fingertips, the way his throat bobbed in a hard swallow. The cool metal of your fake wedding ring grazed his cheek, and his breath hitched, like he had just been burned.

“Keep breathing,” you reminded him, voice low and steady. “Nice and slow.”

Barnes obeyed, dragging in another breath, and you felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. The hard lines of his face softened just slightly as he leaned into your touch, nuzzling—actually nuzzling—against your palms.

“There you go,” you murmured, your thumb stroking in slow circles over his cheek. “Look at me.”

His eyelids flickered, resisting for a moment, but then those storm-blue eyes finally met yours. He looked exhausted. Frayed at the edges. But grounded, at least. Present.

“Tell me one thing you can smell right now.”

Barnes blinked. A hint of confusion crossed his face. “Smell?”

“Yes, smell.” You nodded, keeping your voice soft, coaxing. “Just one thing. Keep breathing and tell me.”

He hesitated but then took a deliberate inhale through his nose, his bouncing knee slowing. “I guess… whatever shitty fucking chemicals they use to clean this place.”

A quiet laugh left you, your thumb tracing a swirling pattern along his cheekbone. “Good. You’re doing good, Barnes. Now, tell me two things you can feel.”

His breathing had steadied, his inhales and exhales falling into rhythm with yours. For the first time since you’d walked in, he wasn’t shaking as badly.

“This suit jacket,” he muttered after a pause. His metal fingers twitched against the fabric at his arm. “It’s too fuckin’ tight. They always are with my arm—”

His breath stuttered, his body tensing again. Immediately, you leaned in, close enough for him to feel your warmth. “Just breathe, remember? You’re doing so well. One more thing you can feel.”

Barnes swallowed thickly. His gaze flickered down, just briefly, before settling back on your face. 

“You,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “I can feel you. Touching my face.”

“Good.” You nodded, thumb gliding over his cheek again. “Are you okay with that?”

“Yes.” He exhaled, and for the first time, it wasn’t shaky. “It feels… it feels nice.”

Something in your chest clenched at the confession, but you pushed it aside. You smiled at him, soft and small, and kept going. “Now, three things you can see.”

Barnes’ eyes scanned over your face, searching.

“You,” he said, still quiet, still certain. His gaze lingered on your mouth. “Your lipstick is smudged.”

"Two more," you breathed, keeping your voice calm and steady, resisting the urge to comment on why your lipstick was smudged in the first place. No need to remind him of that right now.

Barnes' gaze flickered across the small, dimly lit restroom. His body had almost fully relaxed now, his mind preoccupied with the task you'd given him.

"Uh…" He scanned the space, brows furrowing in concentration. "The awful wallpaper… and the sink, I guess?"

You nodded approvingly, finally withdrawing your hands as you eased back onto your knees. The cold tiles bit through the fabric of your dress, but you barely noticed.

"Well done," you murmured. "Now, how about we keep breathing and get you sorted, huh?"

At that, Barnes stiffened slightly. The panic that had been receding just moments ago flickered in his eyes again, his hands twitching where they rested on his thighs.

You reached out, grounding him with a gentle touch to his knee. Your voice softened even further. "I’m going to turn around and face the door. I need you to clean yourself up—use the sink, use the soap."

His throat bobbed. "But my—my boxers, they’ll get all wet—"

"There’s a dryer on the wall, see it?" You tilted your head toward the small, dingy dryer meant for hands. "Use it to dry them. Then get dressed, and we’ll head back to the hotel early, okay? Order some shitty takeaway, watch bad TV. Just forget about all this for tonight. How does that sound?"

Barnes blinked as if thrown by the simplicity of the offer. His mouth parted, closed, then opened again, his voice small. "Yeah. Okay."

"Good." You flashed him a reassuring smile before pressing your palms against the sink, pushing yourself to your feet with a small wobble in your heels. "I’ll be right here. Just let me know if you need anything. Keep breathing, alright? Everything’s okay."

Turning, you crossed your arms over your chest and faced the door, giving him the privacy he needed. You tried not to listen too closely. Tried not to glance at the mirror reflecting the scene behind you.

The rustle of clothing filled the quiet, then the tap sputtered to life. You leant your forehead against the cool wood of the door, closing your eyes as you focused on the steady stream of water, the faint squeak of the soap pump, and then the soft sloshing and scrubbing of fabric.

The sound of fabric wringing out echoed softly against the tiled walls, followed by the steady hum of the hand dryer sputtering to life. You kept your forehead against the door, listening as Barnes manoeuvred through the motions, drying his boxers first, then his suit pants. The wet fabric slapped lightly against the metal dryer as he held it up, shifting awkwardly as he worked.

You didn’t rush him. Didn’t make a sound. Just stayed where you were, giving him time.

Eventually, the rustling stopped. A sharp inhale, then the familiar slide of fabric as he pulled his clothes back on. The quiet click of a belt buckle being fastened. The creak of leather shoes shifting against tile.

Then—

Barnes cleared his throat.

You turned.

He stood stiffly, suit now back in place, though the fabric still carried faint traces of dampness. His jacket was slightly askew, his tie loosened just enough to be noticeable. You took a slow step toward him, scanning him up and down with a careful eye. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move—just stood there, watching you warily, as if expecting a comment.

You didn’t give him one.

Instead, you reached up, grasping the edges of his tie. He stiffened but let you work, your fingers smoothing the silk fabric, tightening it properly against his collar. His pulse thrummed beneath your fingertips as you brushed against his throat, and though he remained still, you caught the way his breath hitched slightly at the contact.

“There,” you murmured, satisfied.

You turned towards the mirror, angling yourself slightly to the side. Your reflection was a mess—lipstick smudged, hair slightly dishevelled. You sighed, wetting your thumb with your tongue before dabbing at the edges of the stain, then reached into your clutch to pull out a small tube of lipstick.

Barnes hadn’t moved.

You could feel him behind you, his body heat pressing against your back in the cramped space. His gaze was heavy, following your movements as you leaned closer to the mirror, carefully reapplying the pigment to your lips. You didn’t look at him. You just smoothed the colour in place, pressed your lips together, then capped the tube and tucked it back into your bag.

Finally, you met his eyes in the mirror.

“Ready to go?” you asked.

There was a pause. A hesitation. His jaw clenched for half a second before he gave the smallest of nods. “…Yeah.”

You turned fully, flashing him a small, knowing smile before reaching for his arm. He didn’t resist when you looped yours through his, guiding him towards the door. With an easy tug, you led him forward, your heels clicking softly against the marble floors. His arm remained tense beneath your touch, but he didn’t pull away. Didn’t let go.

You glanced at him briefly, lips twitching into a small smirk. “C’mon, sergeant. Let’s get out of here.”

Barnes exhaled through his nose, shaking his head ever so slightly. But when you reached the bottom of the stairs, he followed without question, letting you steer him towards the exit, away from the crowded room—away from prying eyes.

—

A small, muffled whine stirred you from sleep. You blinked groggily, rolling onto your side as the cool sheets tangled around your legs. The plush hotel mattress dipped beneath you as you buried your face into the pillow, willing yourself back into slumber.

A low, panting groan cut through the silence, soft at first, then growing in volume. Your brows knit together, heart thrumming uneasily. Something about the sound was… strange. It wasn’t just a groan—it was strained, needy. Erotic.

Your eyes snapped open.

The room was cloaked in darkness, save for the dim red dot of the fire alarm and the faint reflection of the turned-off TV. You remained frozen for a few beats, your ears straining to catch the noise again. It came, louder this time—a choked whimper thick with desperation.

Was someone in the room? Adrenaline slammed into your veins as you rolled off the bed in one swift motion, bare feet hitting the floor without a sound. You had heard stories of creeps breaking into hotel rooms, preying on women while they slept. Had one made the mistake of picking yours?

Another sound. Low, breathy, utterly wrecked.

Your hand darted to the bedside table, fingers curling around the hilt of a knife, its leather grip smooth beneath your palm. Not even yours, Barnes’—

Barnes.

Your breath caught as your gaze snapped towards the couch, knife slipping from your grip and landing on the carpet with a soft thud.

There, bathed in shadows, was the writhing mass of the super soldier. His blankets lay discarded on the floor as though he’d tossed them off in his sleep. The two of you had agreed to take turns—one in the bed, the other on the couch—to keep up appearances. A stupid arrangement, courtesy of Fury and Stark’s meddling.

You flicked on the bedside lamp. The warm light spilt over the room, casting soft amber hues onto Barnes’ form. His face was twisted in torment, and his lips parted around quiet, breathless whimpers. Sweat clung to his skin, catching the glow of the lamp and highlighting the sharp lines of his body. His metal arm whirred faintly as he twitched, fingers flexing against the cushions.

Your stomach dropped when your eyes drifted lower. He was shirtless, his broad chest rising and falling erratically. The thin fabric of his boxers did little to hide the evidence of his dream—more than half-hard beneath the cotton. Was he really that big?

The realisation hit like a freight train.

He was having a sex dream.

Jesus.

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry. You should’ve looked away, should’ve given him privacy. But then his hand twitched, drifting downward—

“Barnes.” Your voice was sharp, cutting through the haze like a blade.

He jolted awake, body seizing as his eyes snapped open. For a moment, he was utterly lost, chest heaving, pupils blown wide with confusion. Then his gaze landed on you—standing there in your thin nightgown, face unreadable.

His eyes flickered downward.

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath, panic flickering across his face as he yanked a pillow over his lap, shifting awkwardly as if that would somehow erase what had just happened. A string of curses left his lips, voice still wrecked with sleep.

You tilted your head, studying him. His expression wavered, part shame, part something else, something raw and vulnerable. You exhaled slowly, pressing your fingers into your temples. There was a pattern here. A man whose body wasn’t his own, whose skin felt foreign, whose touch-starved existence had left him unravelling at the seams.

What in God's name was Fury thinking sending him on a mission like this—or did Fury not know? How could he not? That one-eyed bastard had a habit of knowing everything. Hell, he probably knew the colour of your underwear before you even picked it out for the day, the all-seeing prick.

“H.Y.D.R.A really did a number on you, didn’t they?” you muttered.

Bucky flinched. The words struck deep, sinking into something fragile beneath the surface. He didn’t say a word, just recoiled, fingers gripping the pillow so tightly his knuckles turned white. A moment later, he was scrambling off the couch, making a beeline for the bathroom.

“Barnes, we’re not doing this again. Let’s just talk—”

The door slammed.

Then, the soft click of the lock.

You exhaled through your nose, arms crossing over your chest as you stared at the wooden barrier now separating you. Asshole. You knew you should’ve been more sympathetic. Should’ve handled it differently. But after a long, exhausting day, dealing with Bucky Barnes’ second puberty was not on your list of priorities.

You stepped closer, pressing a palm against the door; your voice quieter now. “I know how you’re feeling.”

Silence.

You could picture him inside, hunched over on the edge of the bathtub, fists clenched, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. “I understand what it’s like to be in a body that doesn’t feel like your own.”

A pause. No response.

“It must be hard,” you continued softly. “Not knowing who you are. Not recognising yourself anymore. And then... feeling things you don’t understand.”

Another pause. This one stretched longer.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of trying to navigate that.” The silence that followed was heavier than before. You didn’t push, didn’t say anything else. Just rested your forehead against the doorframe, waiting. 

You had spent the better part of your life under the Red Room’s control, under Dreykov’s control. Every breath you took, every move you made, had been dictated by someone else. Orders given. Orders followed. It was all you had ever known. And then, one day, it was gone. Just like that.

You remembered the moment with eerie clarity: standing in the open air, staring out at the horizon, the sunset bleeding colour into a sky that suddenly felt too vast. The question had gnawed at you, quiet but insistent. What comes next? Who comes next? Because you didn’t know. You didn’t know who you were beyond a weapon, beyond a machine engineered for death and seduction. Two decades of programming, of conditioning, of being nothing more than an asset to be wielded and discarded at will. And then, without warning, you were handed something you were told was freedom.

But what did freedom mean when you didn’t exist?

There were no real records of your birth, no true identity to reclaim. The Red Room had scrubbed that away long ago, erasing every trace of the girl you had once been. No family. No home. No belongings that weren’t issued to you by those who had owned you. And yet, you were expected to smile—to accept this newfound autonomy without question, to embrace the illusion of a life you had no blueprint for.

But how could you, when you weren’t sure if the body you inhabited was even your own?

So even if Barnes thought you were bluffing and just trying to relate for the sake of kindness, he was wrong. Because you understood.

Terrifyingly well.

The difference was that you had refused to let it consume you. You had forced those feelings into the farthest corners of your mind, locking them away where they couldn’t touch you. Because if you let yourself linger on them for too long.

“Go back to sleep.” Bucky’s voice finally broke the silence, muffled through the bathroom door.

You sucked on your teeth, exhaling sharply through your nose. “Yeah, not happening.”

“I know the others give you crap about not dating, but you don’t have to let them pressure you,” you continued, keeping your tone light. “You don’t have to force yourself into a role that makes you uncomfortable. It takes time.”

“Back in the day..." His voice was quieter this time, tinged with something that almost sounded like regret. “I used to be a real flirt.”

A humourless smirk ghosted across your lips. You could picture it, all smooth charm and effortless confidence. The kind of man who could wink at a girl across a dance floor and have her swooning in seconds. But that wasn’t the man behind this door. That man had been stripped away, piece by piece. 

“I just don’t know anymore,” he admitted, voice raw. Your chest tightened. You could almost hear him weighing his words, picking them apart, and deciding how much of himself he was willing to give away.

“When I was the Winter Soldier... they made me do things.”

A slow, twisting knot formed in your stomach.

“It’s all… fractured in my mind,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “Scattered. Broken.”

You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply.

“I’m sorry,” you said, and you meant it. “I understand that. More than anyone. The Red Room… they didn’t just use us for assassinations and espionage.”

There. You had said it. Pulled a piece of yourself from the grave and placed it between you.

For the first time, the door cracked open.

Bucky stood there, dishevelled and breathless, still only in his boxers. A faint sheen of sweat clung to his skin, catching the dim hotel light, while his metal arm twitched slightly at his side. His hair was a mess—damp and curling at the ends, sticking to his forehead. His chest rose and fell unevenly, as if he hadn’t quite caught his breath, muscles taut beneath the weight of exhaustion.

“Why are you being kind to me?” he asked suddenly. His voice was rough, tinged with suspicion, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

You tilted your head, studying him.

“Because you’re hurting,” you said simply. “And obviously, you haven’t fully processed any of this.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Without another word, he turned and stalked past you, out of the cramped bathroom and into the main space of the hotel room. You followed at a slower pace, arms crossed as you watched him sink onto the couch, scrubbing a hand down his face. He was hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, his metal fingers tapping restless patterns against his flesh palm. His body had settled now, no longer betraying him with signs of arousal. That part of the moment had passed, but the turmoil in his head remained.

With a quiet sigh, you slid down to the floor, settling against the base of the bed across from him. Your legs stretched out in front of you, arms loose at your sides as you let the silence settle between you. 

“Have you spoken to Steve about this?” you asked after a moment, voice soft but firm. “Sam?”

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head. “God, no.”

“Why?”

“I dunno,” he muttered, fingers threading through his damp hair. “It’s just... awkward. I feel like a fuckin’ schoolboy.”

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “I could teach you.”

His eyes snapped to you, wary. “What?”

“I could teach you,” you repeated, voice steady. “How to make love. Fuck. How to gain control over your life again. You’re just sensitive; you need a bit of exposure therapy.”

Bucky’s expression darkened, jaw clenching. “Why the hell would you do that?”

You exhaled slowly, gaze drifting to the patterned carpet beneath you. “Do you know how many men I’ve fucked and not felt a thing?” you said quietly, barely above a whisper. 

“I wasn’t just an assassin or a spy. Not like Natasha or Yelena. I was a swallow, Barnes. A honeytrap.” His expression flickered, eyes scanning your face as if searching for something, some hint of insincerity.

You swallowed, pushing forward. “It’s why Fury sent me on this mission with you. This is all I’ve ever known.”

Bucky’s breath hitched slightly, his hands curling into fists against his thighs. “Fury knows what they did to you, and he still continues to—”

“I agreed to it,” you cut in, your tone clipped, controlled. “He just wanted our sham marriage to be believable. He wasn’t asking me to fuck you, just to perform. That’s what I do. Perform.”

Bucky huffed a bitter laugh, shaking his head. 

“Look, I don’t know you,” he muttered, voice low, rough. “I don’t want your baggage, or for you to fuck me out of pity or... I don’t know, self-sabotage.”

The words hit like a slap, sharper than you expected. You recoiled—actually flinched—before you could stop yourself. It wasn’t just what he said, it was the venom in it, the way he threw it at you like a blade meant to wound. And damn it, it did.

Bucky saw it, too. The way your shoulders stiffened, the flicker of something raw crossing your face before you forced it away. His breath hitched slightly, fingers twitching at his side, but he didn’t take it back. Didn’t soften the blow. Maybe he regretted it, maybe he didn’t, but either way, the damage was done.

Your expression hardened like cooling steel, every crack that had formed between you quickly sealing shut, any semblance of vulnerability buried beneath layers of carefully placed armour. It was instinct—second nature, really. You’d spent years perfecting the art of locking yourself away, of making sure no one could reach the parts of you that still bled. You’d built it, brick by fucking brick, until you were fully encased, isolated from anything that might harm you. 

Bucky wasn’t the first to speak to you like that. Wouldn’t be the last.

You swallowed down the sting, inhaled slow and deep through your nose, and then let it out in a steady breath. When you spoke again, your voice was quiet, devoid of emotion, a perfect imitation of indifference. “It was just an offer.”

Nothing more. Nothing less.

You held his gaze for a second longer, searching for something, anything, that might suggest he regretted it. But Bucky just stared back, face unreadable, jaw tight. Then, without another word, he turned away, stretching out on the couch with his back to you.

Fine. Message received.

—

The rest of the week had been nothing short of torturous. After the argument, the air between you and Bucky had turned to ice. The two of you barely spoke. Not outside of necessity, not outside of the roles you had to play. At the gala, he did what was required—he held you close, leant into your touch when needed, murmured sweet nothings in your ear to sell the lie. But you felt the restraint in him, the hesitance in the way he brushed a thumb over your knuckles, the barely-there tremors in his fingers when he smoothed a hand over your waist. It wasn’t as if he was walking on hot coals anymore, but there was still that same, underlying hesitation.

Back at the hotel, the silence stretched long and unbearable. Shower, eat, sleep—repeat. Conversations were reduced to one-word exchanges, curt and impersonal. At least by morning, this miserable charade would be over. You’d gathered the intel you needed at the gala, and in a few hours, you’d be free of this place. Free of this suffocating, awkward tension. Free from Bucky’s constant, looming presence. 

God, the man had a staring problem.

You had noticed it before, how he always seemed lost in thought, his gaze heavy with some unreachable burden. You had assumed it was just brooding, the kind of silent, empty-headed angst that men like him fell victim to. But now you realised—he wasn’t staring through you. He was staring at you.

You saw it when you dressed for the gala, slipping into silken dresses and heels, when you pinned your hair into elegant styles, when you traced the lines of your lips with lipstick, perfecting the illusion. You’d catch his reflection in the mirror, eyes fixed on you, dark and unreadable.

Once, he had been so caught up in his daze that he nearly left without putting on his suit jacket. You had to press it into his hands, dragging him out of whatever spell he was under. He had taken it stiffly, mumbling a quiet ‘thanks’ but the heat in his face was unmistakable.

And now, as you sat cross-legged on the bed in a loose nightgown, the fabric riding high on your thighs, the same damn stare was drilling into the side of your face.

The TV flickered before you, an incoherent blur of colours and sound. You weren’t even sure it was in English. It didn’t matter. You weren’t watching it anyway. You were too focused on not focusing on Bucky, who stared at the side of your face like he intended to burn a hole through the flesh.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, running your thumb over your knee. The sheets were soft, the mattress more forgiving than the couch you’d been forced to sleep on last night. At least tonight was your turn back on the bed, though ideally, you’d be back in your own apartment by now, wrapped in high-thread-count luxury courtesy of Tony Stark’s absurd wealth.

God, you missed Egyptian cotton.

Bucky was still staring at you. You couldn’t help it, annoyance, filthy and venomous came pouring out of your mouth before you could stop it. “What? Is there something on my face?”

Bucky startled, his whole body tensing as if you had physically struck him.

“Nothing—” he stammered.

You arched a brow, unimpressed.

“No. There’s obviously something you want to say.” You shifted on the bed, your frustration mounting. “Go on, spit it out.”

He hesitated, his jaw working like he was biting down on whatever words were lodged in his throat.

You didn’t let up. “You sure had a lot to say earlier in the week. What, do you want to dig the knife in further? You might as well just call me a whore while you’re at it—”

“I’m sorry.” Bucky cut over you, his head dipping. You paused, momentarily stunned. He was doing that thing again, where he looked like a scolded dog. Adorable, but not the fucking time.“I shouldn’t have said that, it was inconsiderate of me, especially after... after all you’ve done.”

You frowned. “You don’t owe me anything, Barnes.” The words left your lips quieter this time, but still firm. 

“I snapped at you. And I shouldn’t have.” he admitted. His voice was low, restrained.

You let out a slow breath, pressing your fingers to your temple.

“It’s okay. I understand,” you said, a little softer. “I haven’t exactly been… the kindest either.”

A bitter chuckle escaped him, his fingers twitching against his knee. Then, after a long pause, he asked, “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Act like everything is okay. Like it’s normal.” His voice was strained, like he wasn’t even sure if he believed in what he was asking.

You let out a short, almost nervous laugh. “I’m probably not the best person to ask about this—”

“But you get it, right?” He looked at you now, something almost desperate in his gaze. “To not know… who or what you are? Sometimes I… I just want to be normal again.”

You frown deeply, weighing his words carefully. You understood his sentiment, but you knew it was futile. There had never been anything normal about your life—not anything you could remember, at least. The Red Room had seen to that. Your earliest memories were of drills, of ballet, of suffocating discipline, and of the erasure of self. Even now, you weren’t normal; you were an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D for fucks sake, a woman barely pardoned of her crimes, existing in a liminal space. The world's governments couldn’t quite confirm you existed. You were a ghost, a fucking shadow of a person. 

“I don’t think people like us get to be normal,” you said finally, choosing your words carefully.

His expression twisted slightly, like he had already known that answer but had hoped for something different.

“But I think,” you continued, “it would serve you a world of good if you let people in. Steve… Sam. You don’t have to face this all alone—Natasha, Yelena, and I look to each other all the time to process it all and patch together the missing pieces. There’s no shame in it.”

Bucky’s face creased, his body drawing in on itself slightly. You moved before he could shrink further, slipping off the bed and kneeling before him. 

“It’s okay,” you reassured, voice steady. “Just tell me... what is it you need right now?”

His lips parted slightly, then pressed into a thin line. He fidgeted, his fingers clenching and unclenching as if struggling to force out something that had been sitting at the edge of his tongue all week.

Finally, he exhaled, jaw tight.

“I want to take you up on your offer.”

You tilted your head. “My offer?”

Bucky swallowed, eyes flickering to the floor before darting back to you. His voice was hesitant, low—like he was worried some invisible presence might have overheard. “Lessons. Lessons in… love-making. I want to be able to look at a girl without... you know. This fucking week has been torture seeing you—”

He cut himself off, warmth flooding to his cheeks. A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it—light, amused, genuine.

Bucky stiffened, eyes widening slightly, horror flashing across his face as if he thought you were mocking him.

You shook your head quickly, reaching out to place a hand on his knee.

“Of course,” you murmured, smiling. “Thought you’d never ask.”

—

“Is this okay?” you asked softly as you swung your leg over, settling onto Bucky’s lap. The mattress dipped beneath you both, the quiet creak of the hotel bed the only sound between you for a moment. He sat beneath you, legs slightly spread, his hands hovering uncertainly at his sides. You dug your knees into the bed on either side of his thighs, anchoring yourself against him.

His breath hitched, sharp and uneven. “Yes,” he murmured, though there was a noticeable tremor in his voice, like he was still convincing himself.

“Just breathe,” you encouraged, smoothing your hands over his broad shoulders. His muscles were tense beneath your fingertips, wound tight like coiled steel. He swallowed hard.

“What’s worrying you?” You asked gently. “Is there something I can do to make this more comfortable for you?”

Bucky shook his head, a shuddering breath leaving him as his hands finally found purchase on your hips. His grip was hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to hold you. “No,” he said, his voice rough. 

“This is great, I—” He cut himself off, pressing his lips together in frustration.

You tilted your head, studying him, before offering a reassuring smile. Your fingers kneaded into his shoulders in slow, soothing motions, attempting to melt away some of the tension knotted there. “Talk to me,” you coaxed.

His gaze flickered downward, shame creeping into his expression. “I just… don’t want to embarrass myself. Again.”

Your heart clenched at his vulnerability, but you refused to let him linger in self-doubt. Instead, you leant in, your lips curling in a playful smile. 

“You’re cute when you say things like that,” you teased, running your tongue over your lower lip before continuing. “Don’t worry about any of that. Just stay here, in this moment, with me.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he obeyed, focusing on the warmth of your body pressed against his. Slowly, his grip tightened on your hips, fingers kneading into the flesh more firmly this time. His thumbs traced cautious circles against the fabric of your clothing, testing. You let your hands drift from his shoulders down to his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“Now,” you murmured, keeping your tone soft but steady, “if you get overwhelmed, or if you need to stop, what do you say?”

“Stop,” Bucky answered without hesitation.

“Good,” you praised, smiling warmly. “And if you can’t speak? If the words won’t come?”

His fingers flexed on your hip before he squeezed in a deliberate rhythm—three distinct beats. You nodded in approval. “Perfect.”

His blue eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching. 

“What about you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more earnest. “If you want to stop?”

You demonstrated by tapping three times against his chest, just over his heart.

“I’ll do the same thing,” you assured him. “Just like we discussed.”

For a moment, he just breathed. His lashes fluttered as he exhaled a slow, measured breath, his hands steadying against you. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he whispered, “I’m… I’m ready. I think.”

You smiled, fingers tracing a soft, reassuring path along his jaw. 

“Okay. I thought we’d start with kissing, since you seem worried about it. Nice and simple, no pressure,” you murmured, your voice low and reassuring as your fingertips ghosted along his jawline. Bucky swallowed thickly, his adam’s apple bobbing as he leaned into your palm without thinking, nuzzling it like a touch-starved thing. His blue eyes, dark as the ocean in a brewing storm, flickered with something hesitant, something fragile.

“I’m sure you kissed plenty of girls back in the day,” you teased, lips curling as you brushed your thumb over the sharp edge of his cheekbone.

“Oh yeah,” he exhaled, the words dipped in self-deprecation, “until Steve became… well, the Steve he is now. None of the girls spared me a second glance after that.”

You let out a soft laugh, breathy and genuine, and felt the way his body tensed beneath you at the sensation. It was funny how a man who could tear through steel and strike terror into the hearts of the world’s deadliest enemies could turn so shy at something as simple as your laughter.

“You know…” he hesitated, voice quieter now. “You were my first kiss since… well, everything.”

Your teasing grin faltered slightly. You tilted your head, gaze flicking between his eyes and his lips, close enough now that you could feel the steady heat radiating from his skin. 

“Well,” you murmured, the ghost of a smirk curling your lips as you shifted closer, “now I’ll be your second too.”

And then you kissed him.

It was slow at first, a testing press of your lips against his, feather-light and coaxing. Bucky inhaled sharply through his nose, his breath hitching as though he was bracing for impact. But when you didn’t pull away, when you lingered just a little longer, he melted into you—hesitant at first, but eager.

His hands, large and trembling slightly, hesitated at your waist before gripping your thighs as if he wasn’t sure whether to hold you or let you slip away. The warmth of his palms bled through the thin fabric of your nightgown, spreading across your skin like wildfire.

You deepened your kiss, tilting your head to slot your lips more firmly against his, and a quiet sound rumbled in his chest—halfway between a sigh and a groan. Encouraged, you shifted, rocking your hips, the new position pressing your bodies flush together.

Bucky tensed beneath you, fingers digging into your flesh instinctively as you settled against him. His own hips bucked in response, and you could already feel him growing hard against your inner thigh. He pulled back slightly, panting, his lips swollen.

“Am I doing… okay?” he asked, his voice rough.

You smiled, smoothing a hand through his dark hair, tugging him gently forward again. 

“More than okay,” you whispered against his lips before capturing them once more.

This time, he kissed you back without hesitation. His hands gripped your hips, anchoring himself to you as he parted his lips, following your lead. You swept your tongue into his mouth, slow and purposeful, teasing along his lower lip before deepening it. A groan rumbled in his chest, muffled against your mouth.

You rolled your hips, grinding against him with a slow, deliberate rhythm, savouring the way his breath hitched and stuttered beneath you. Even through the layers of clothing, you could feel him—hard, straining, likely aching for more. His fingers dug into your skin, a bruising grip that only added to the heat blooming in your core.

You pulled away from his lips, shifting your attention lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, down his neck. You could feel his pulse hammering beneath your lips, quick and erratic. He tipped his head back, surrendering himself to your touch, a quiet curse slipping from his mouth as you sucked at the sensitive skin below his ear.

“You’re doing so well,” you hummed against his skin, your voice warm and indulgent, laced with soft praise. His body trembled beneath you as he bucked his hips up to meet yours, desperate for more friction, more of you. You rewarded him with a soft, breathy moan, letting him know just how much you enjoyed this too.

“I—” He tried to form words, but they crumbled before they left his lips.

The tension in his body coiled tighter and tighter, like a bowstring pulled taut, ready to snap. His hands clutched at you, grounding himself in the sensation, like the overwhelming pleasure was building too fast for him to control. His breath came in short, needy gasps, his hips stuttering as he lost the rhythm.

“I’m gonna—” His voice broke, his head tilting forward as his entire body tensed beneath you. A strangled moan escaped him, deep and wrecked, as he came undone. His grip on your hips tightened, his thighs trembling slightly beneath yours as his climax overtook him. His body fell back against the sheets, a soft exhale leaving his lips as the last waves of pleasure wracked through him.

You perched above him, still straddling his hips. For a moment, he just lay there, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to catch his breath. His eyes were half-lidded, dazed, and his lips parted as if he had more to say but couldn’t quite form the words.

“I didn’t mean to finish so early—” he started, his voice hoarse, cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and lingering pleasure. Leaning over, you flipped your hair to one side as your face hovered over his. You silenced him with a lingering kiss, slow and reassuring. He groaned softly into your mouth, still sensitive but already melting into the warmth of your lips. When you pulled away, his shoulders had loosened, the rigid tension gone from his body.

“You did so well,” you murmured, brushing your fingers through his hair. “How do you feel?”

“Good.” 

You grinned, sliding off him and stretching languidly before settling back onto the bed. You exhaled, content. Bucky turned his head to look at you, still slightly frozen in place, as if unsure what to do next. His brows furrowed slightly. “What… what about you? Don’t you want to…?”

You snorted. “That doesn’t matter. This was about you, not me.”

He hesitated, clearly still unused to receiving something without feeling obligated to return it. “But I feel bad leaving you—”

“I’m fine, trust me.” You hummed, closing your eyes as you nestled into the warmth of his arm. “We have a long way to go before you need to be thinking about that.”

Bucky went quiet. You could feel his gaze lingering on you, unreadable.

For a moment, you weren’t sure if he would say anything at all. But then, after a beat of silence, you felt him shift beside you. A hesitant hand—warm and slightly calloused—ghosted over your arm before settling on your waist, drawing you in closer.

“…Thank you,” he murmured at last.

PART TWO

[be-xkyy]

𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑁𝑎𝑔𝑎

Warning: sexual content, aphrodisiac, breeding kink, eggs, kidnapped, biting (twice), possessive, dirty talk, two cocks, big cocks, calls you "human" and "little human".

Tagging list: @kthehoeforfictionalmen ★ @dreamlessnight ★ @riawrld ★ @darkuni63 ★

Divider credits: @cafekitsune ★ @bernardsbendystraws ★

Masterlist

Yandere Naga who used to live in the forest like a king (no. not really) until he was captured and brought to a nature reserve.

Yandere Naga who doesn't like humans at all, always lets out threatening hisses and tries to attack the caretakers who enter his territory to leave him food or clean up his messes.

Yandere Naga who had already planned creative ways to get rid of his new caretaker (just like he did with the last ones) but what he doesn't expect is that it would be such a cute and delicious thing.

Yandere Naga who stares at you when you enter his territory to clean the place and leave him food, he narrows his yellow eyes, his pupils contract into thin slits and sticks out his forked tongue to taste the air —your smell... you smell delicioussss... like a mate...

Yandere Naga who from that day on stares at you every time you enter his territory lying on his rock, his eyes follow all your movements, he acts docile around you without hissing at you or trying to attack you, which causes the other caretakers to congratulate you for achieving the impossible, for making him adapt to you so quickly...

Yandere Naga who manages to identify at what moment you have your fertile cycles and creates a plan to make you his partner and mother of his offspring, he only needs to catch you off guard when you enter his cage for your daily chores, he must act when the other caretakers are not around.

Yandere Naga who can execute his plan with relative ease thanks to the fact that he became more "tame" that made everyone around lower their guard including you, one day when you enter his cage to clean he slides towards you quickly and wraps his tail around you tightly sliding quickly into the interior of his cave.

He drops you onto a nest made of branches, leaves and what look like old blankets, a clear attempt to make the place more comfortable, without giving you time to analyze what's happening he slides towards you, getting between your legs, his scales brushing the fabric of your pants and he sticks out his forked tongue sniffing the air before speaking.

"Your delicious rubber... like ripe fruit, I want to take a good bite out of you..."

"Wait! Wait! You can't do this! The other caretakers will notice that I'm not there, they'll come looking for me and when they find me they'll take me outside, they'll punish you if you do anything to me!"

Your voice tries to be firm but it's clearly shaky, he looks at you with his yellow eyes that narrow a little at your words, he hisses leaning over you until his face is right in front of yours, your breaths mix and he stares into your eyes without blinking, his words make your blood run cold.

"I will kill anyone who dares to come here to try to take you away from me. I will crush them until their bones break and their eyes pop out of their sockets, you are mine human~"

He hisses softly when your warm hands rest on his cold chest trying to push him away from you in a panic, he smiles at your fighting attitude and although I wish I could see more of that attitude unfortunately you are right that the other caretakers will start looking for you when they notice your absence so he must be fast, he grabs your head firmly tilting your neck to the side he opens his mouth and leans down sinking his sharp fangs into your soft neck making you let out a moan, he uses the aphrodisiac in his venom to make me more submissive and to make your body go crazy.

"What did you do..? Are you going to kill me..?"

"What?! Kill you?! Of course not! It's an aphrodisiac, it won't kill you, it will just make your body loosen up so it can receive my cocks, silly human~"

He smiles playfully as his venom quickly takes effect, he can feel your body heat skyrocketing, he sticks out his forked tongue which writhes as he smells your excitement permeating the air in the cave, he sees you writhing beneath him clearly uncomfortable and in pain from the effect of the aphrodisiac, he coos at you as he proceeds to quickly remove that ugly and rough uniform you're wearing and does the same with your underwear, his eyes studying your flushed naked body.

"Such a pretty human~ you smell so fertile I can't wait to lay my eggs inside you~"

"It hurts... please–"

He smiles as you can only whimper shakily, he rubs your dripping cunt his slender fingers tracing circles on your wet bud delighting in the way you shudder and your breathing becomes more labored, willing to not waste any more valuable time his scales seem to part and two terrifyingly large cocks reveal themselves making you shudder despite your daze but he chuckles as he takes one of his cocks in his hand bringing it closer to your swollen cunt.

"Don't be afraid human, your body was made to receive my cocks, you will enjoy it~"

He lets out a deep hiss as he slides his fat cock into your pussy, fascinated by the warmth of your insides that embraces him deliciously. You, on the other hand, are left breathless as you feel his cock stretching your poor walls as far as it will go, making its way into your channel, and the sensation is a confusing mix of pain and pleasure that makes you want to cry. He hits bottom and you feel his cock deep inside your uterus while his other cock rests on your stomach, staining it with precum.

"You feel so warm human~ I've never felt anything like this with any woman of my kind, I knew you and I were destined~"

He hisses and without giving you time to think he starts to thrust into you over and over again he pulls out his cock leaving just the tip inside before thrusting into your pussy again with a hard thrust, the sound of his thrusts and your moans fill the cave echoing off the walls, your pussy squirts on his cock and you feel dizzy at the delicious sensation his cock gives you, his scales scrape your thighs but that only adds to the overwhelming pleasure, his cock hits your cervix over and over again without slowing down or showing mercy, you're reaching the top when suddenly he stops making you let out a pitiful moan but he silences you with a playful hiss.

"Don't worry human you'll reach your climax~ but first I have to fit both of my cocks inside you~"

He laughs as you just let out a pathetic "uh..?" too fucked out to think, he pulls his cock out of your tight pussy leaving just the tip before guiding his other cock inside, both of his members slowly entering your pussy making you arch your back and let out a high pitched cry, you feel as if an arm is being shoved into your battered pussy, he senses your discomfort so he begins to rub tight circles on your mound trying to relax you, when he bottoms out your eyes roll back in your head, he takes a moment before he begins to slowly move as your walls squeeze him so hard.

"You're too tight on me— I'll give you some more of my venom to relax you human, that'll help us out a lot"

He wastes no time in leaning down to your neck biting just above the mark of his other bite, he injects you with a larger amount of aphrodisiac poison than before which causes the effect to be instantaneous, he feels your walls loosen little by little and your juices begin to drip making a mess and then you can't help but smile as he begins to move again, his cocks ram into you mercilessly he grabs your hips to hold you better while he listens to the high pitched moans that escape from your open mouth the erotic sight makes him move faster.

"That's it~ you take me so well little human~ keep it up~"

He praises you even though he's not sure you're listening to anything he's saying, he still keeps moving non-stop admiring the bulge that forms in your stomach every time he thrusts into you, his heads hitting your bruised cervix over and over again feeling himself getting closer to the limit he can feel you getting closer too by the way your pussy tightens on his cocks, he can feel your walls throbbing and a few seconds later you cum your juices dripping down wetting his cocks and scales, your pussy tightens him like a vice which takes him to the limit he gives you a few erratic thrusts until he cums inside you deep inside your pussy.

"Yessss~ very good little human~ take my eggs!~ keep my offspring inside this womb and give me beautiful children~"

Your nails dig into his arms when you feel something round the size of a tennis ball slide from one of his cocks into your uterus that stretches painfully to receive it, eggs. You sob when another egg follows the same path and another, another, another. You lose count of how many eggs he lays inside you, you can't do anything but receive them, when he finishes laying eggs his other cock fills you with sperm, you stay like that for a while when he pulls out you are sore, tired and uncomfortably full, your belly is so big it seems like you are nine months pregnant, he wipes the tears from your cheeks and kisses your lips looking into your eyes.

"Don't cry little human, you did very well I'm very proud of you. I put all my eggs in your womb and fertilized them I'm sure all of them will gestate without any problem... in a few months you'll be a mother, but for now sleep little human, I'll be here when you wake up~"

Exhausted and unable to do anything else you obey, you close your eyes and let Morpheus' arms wrap around you, he watches with adoration as your chest rises and falls gently, he decides to lie down next to you, he pulls you to his firm chest and wraps his tail around you protectively enjoying your body heat, the tip of his tail caresses your swollen belly and he murmurs in a dark voice.

"I will protect you and our young with my life, I will kill anyone who tries to take you away from me or tries to hurt any of you, it's a promise my little human~♡."

[friedaaaaaaargh]

Damn, this is so correct. I honestly keep drafting satirical scripts of my experiences so far that I one day want someone to perform, because honestly, I’m already a shell of a person that I was, and it’s not the actual ‘academics’ that have caused it! :)

[lyrefromthesea]

Please can I request pre-relationship hashira x hashira!reader, where they are sparing together and it becomes a bit suggestive 💙💙

Male pillars x reader - Sparing with benefits

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu , reader, Gyomei x reader

content warning: suggestiveness

Tengen:

"you could just give up, there's no chance you could win against my flamboyant self!" he taunted, running around the courtyard with you.

you had been fighting for ten minutes and there was still no end in sight. you weren't a bad fighter, you've been promoted as a hashira some time ago, but Tengen was at advantage right now.

he was faster than you. he had been saving himself from your attacks by avoiding them every time. the smirk on his face only spurred you on more, wanting to win this fight and show him that you were a good fighter.

however, when you raised your bamboo sword for an attack and he turned around to dodge it, you felt yourself trip on a root. it had been sticking out of the ground, making you fall over.

surprised by what has happened, Tengen lost his own halt and fell backwards, landing in a sitting position. you felt yourself fall onto him, at least partly.

when you checked your surroundings, you found your head on his lap. your cheek pressed against his groin. meeting his gaze, you could see his cocky smirk.

"it was an accident! i didn't mean to.." you said, wanting to stand up instantly. this would definitely look wrong from an outsider's perspective.

when you tried to stand up, you felt his hand tangle in your hair, pressing your cheek a bit more against his groin, only satisfied when you felt the bulge against your skin.

"just so you know, my wives had always found you cute enough for this.." he teased, his eyes staying on your widened eyes.

you pushed away, running away from his grip and off the training field.

Obanai:

he was proud of you for becoming a hashira. when he took you in as his tsuguko, he wasn't sure if he made the right decision, but he was sure now.

you were able to follow his movements, dodge his attacks and even make some of your own. your elegance captivated him and he found himself admiring your fighting style.

perhaps he had been diving in his thoughts too much, because when his attention was finally back on you, he was already on the ground.

your legs were on either side of him, straddling his body. heterochromic eyes were staring deeply into yours, surprised by the sudden turn of events.

"i win, Obanai." you said, looking down at the man. your hands were resting on his chest, leaning forward slightly.

his heartbeat was increasing under your hands, cheeks flushing. it wasn't the first time he noticed how beautiful you were, but your allure only increased like this.

"you.. you do.." he muttered, not being able to turn his eyes away from you. yet again, neither were you. you leaned down further, remaining with your faces only a few inches apart.

it would've been so easy to kiss him right now. however, feeling your hips rub against his groin, he couldn't stop his body from reacting, his hands gripping your waist.

"[name], g- get down.."

Rengoku:

"flame breathing. third form: blazing universe!" he called out, his bamboo sword coming at you with immense speed. you barely managed to block his attack - meaning you didn't do it.

your body flew a few feet away, landing on the ground. with a quiet grunt, you turned onto your back. "i give up.." you sighed.

however, there was no audible reaction from Rengoku. turning your head towards him, you wanted to know what's wrong, only to see his wide eyes staring.

he shook his head, running towards you and kneeling down. "are.. are you okay?" he asked, seeing you nod. he didn't respond, as if he knew something you didn't.

"just tell me, Rengoku!" you pleaded, feeling yourself enter a state of panic. did you lose a leg? it wasn't like him to behave this way.

he moved his hand closer, placing his hand against the side of your stomach. your eyes widened, looking down at yourself, staring at your torn uniform.

not only the right side of your shirt, but also the entirety of your right pant leg was missing. you instantly sat up, trying to cover up.

"i didn't know, i will-" you tried excusing yourself, but fell silent when he squeezed your waist slightly, attention moving back to him.

"i'll bring you back." he answered, taking off his haori and pulling it over your form. it didn't help covering your leg, but at least your upper body looked a bit more presentable.

he scooped you into his arms, both your legs around his waist. you rested your chin on his shoulder, wishing to disappear. the whole situation was embarrassing, and even worse, you had felt warm when he touched your skin unhindered.

his hand held you up by your thighs, his grip on your right thigh a bit stronger. you could feel his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your leg, glancing up at him.

"you.. you're really soft." he quietly said, not able to hide his red face from you.

perhaps the whole situations had it's advantages.

Sanemi:

"stop running! just admit defeat!" he shouted after you, determined to get this fight over with. the only problem: you were extremely fast. you managed to dodge his attacks every time.

"never!" you answered, seeing him try to attack again. you were ready to dodge his bamboo sword, but were shocked to see him drop it mid-attack.

his hand shot towards you instead, quite literally knocking you down with his harsh hit. your back made contact with the ground, Sanemi tackling you down immediately.

"i win." he said, smirking at your defeated form. you tried freeing yourself, not able to push up with his hand on your neck.

"i didn't give up yet." you huffed out, feeling him squeezing your throat lightly - he was warning you. only that his warning didn't work as intended.

a quiet whimper escaped your lips, your cheeks flushing in embarrassment. he had heard the sound, you knew it.

"oh? didn't know you were into the rough treatment." he smirked - teased. your reaction was immediate, pressing your knee up and right against his crotch.

he groaned, letting go of you. he clearly hadn't expected you to do that, especially not after you pushed him away and freed yourself.

"didn't know you were into that, Shinazugawa."

"you-"

naturally, another fight started right after.

Giyuu:

how did this happen? thirty minutes of fighting just for your bamboo sword to be kicked to the side by him. he had been too fast for you, leaving you unable to react.

your back was pressed against the wall, wide eyes staring into his. he had caged you between the wall and his body, his form towering over you.

ocean eyes were deeply staring into yours, his hand pressing against the wall behind you. he couldn't tear his gaze away from your body, not when you were presented right in front of him.

"you lost." he stated, as if it wasn't obvious to the both of you. his eyes narrowed, his other hand moving towards you.

"if this had been a fight with a demon, you would've died." he said, making you feel like prey under his eyes. he placed his hand on your chin, thumb nearly grazing your lips.

"don't lose focus." he uttered, but his eyes had long broken their contact with yours. he was watching your lips instead, as if he was debating on a kiss.

"i wont." you answered breathlessly, getting his attention back on you. he let go of your chin, stepping away and picking up your sword.

"let's try it out." he taunted, neither of you really focusing on winning or losing now.

Gyomei:

this fight was unfair to begin with. without a doubt, you were one of the strongest swordsman in the corps. you've served as a hashira for three years now, but no one could win against Gyomei.

naturally, you admitted defeat when he threw you over half the lake, immediately asking whether you're fine or not.

your head broke through the water, gasping for air. the water was freezing cold, but you told him you're fine.

he still made the effort to help you out of the water, drenching his own clothes in the freezing liquid.

"are you sure you're okay?" he asked, big tears already rolling down his face again. you avoided your eyes from his form, not trying to appear inappropriate.

"i'm fine." you answered, looking at your own body. both of your clothes were quite see-through, giving you a greedy sight of his muscles and abs.

looking down at yourself, your clothes weren't any better. you thought of yourself as lucky, not wanting to live with the shame of letting him see so much of your body.

"come, it's freezing in here." he told you, pulling you into his arms and out of the water as he made his way out of it.

what you didn't know, was how his fingers could feel everything that you were seeing. your clothes stuck to your skin, not leaving much room for imagination.

he stepped out of the water, but instead of letting you down, his head tilted towards yours, foreheads nearly touching.

his hands squeezed your body, millions of thoughts running through his head. "you're.." he said, but he stopped, not wanting to do something he might regret later.

"you're still wet, we should get some dry clothes.." he told you instead, putting you down again, his hand sliding against your curves for a moment.

you watched him walk forward, your lips parted. was it wrong that you had hoped for him to continue?

[hyper-fixates]

Time After Time

Logan Howlett/Wolverine x AFAB!reader (no pronouns/gendered language).

Explicit content (18+)

Word count: 15.2k never let me near him again

Tags/warnings: age-gap due to logan’s mutation (reader’s age not specified), mutant!reader, unprotected sex, teasing, friends to lovers, explicit language, dry humping, storm cameos, fluff, domesticity, the claws come out when he’s close (👁️👁️), detailed descriptions & scenes of nightmares/trauma/PTSD/panic attacks, one (1) ass smack, alcohol consumption, vomiting, biting/marking, angst, soft!logan, creampie, groping/touching, use of “baby” once, aftercare, yearning (kindly let me know if anything was missed!).

Summary: 4 times you end up in Logan’s bed, and the 1 time he does something about it.

Notes: this falls somewhere in between “which could mean nothing” and “we can fix each other” 🫡 (written with a mix of X1 & X2 logan!)

Your heart, despite always being alive and beating, sometimes wakes up before you.

You can feel it before your eyes even have a chance to open. It jolts your sleep-ridden body and collapses your lungs without giving your brain a chance to fight against it. Muscles and limbs feel lifeless and detached from your body, shaking from the sleep that your heart knows wasn’t completely dreamless.

You kick the blankets off of yourself and sit up in a panic, trying to regain some control of your sudden erratic breaths while bringing a lethargic hand to your heaving chest in hopes to ground yourself. It never works.

Maybe your ribs are shrinking and squeezing your lungs, making you delirious from the lack of oxygen, but you know that’s not the case. Your heart feels like it’s being squeezed and broken into a million tiny pieces.

No part of your body feels real, yet you keep your hand on your chest as firmly as you can, trying to focus on controlling the pounding of your heart that’s working so hard with each beat that it hurts. 

“Fuck. Fuck,” you choke out, feeling the tears finally breach and roll down your cheeks as your nervous system catches up to what’s happening.

 Panic. It’s all panic.

You can’t do anything but sit there and let the tears hit the freshly-washed fitted sheet on your bed. So you let it happen. Nothing can stop it.

Trauma is such a fickle thing. One moment you’re fine, and then the next, your heart is screaming at you and forcing your body to process something at 4 a.m. on a random Friday when all you wanted was some goddamn sleep.

There is no choice. Your mind doesn’t give you one.

The tremors subside slowly after a few minutes, giving you the feeling back to your arms and legs, albeit minimal.

You slide to sit at the edge of your bed, resting an elbow on your thigh and setting your chin into your palm with a defeated, yet shaky, huff. 

You look to your window and see that the sun hasn’t even started to rise yet. You’ll be up for the rest of the foreseeable morning, but there’s not much to do so early besides wander aimlessly and think…then think some more. 

You’re confident the professor isn’t even awake at this hour, which says enough about your state. You would typically go visit Storm for some comfort, but she’s been gone fuck-knows-where with Hank and Scott until Sunday at the latest. Thanks, Charles.

A questionable, and probably manic, decision comes to mind. One that’s only two doors down, one over from Storm.

Your impulsive feet make up your mind for you. The cold hardwood floor shocking you further into consciousness as if your heart didn’t do a good enough job.

You tiptoe a couple steps down the hall, forcing yourself to turn and face the large wooden door when you reach it. You just stand there staring at it, unknocking, analyzing the wood grains, suddenly very interested in what type of wood it is and what stain was used to—

“Uh. Are you okay?”

You refocus your eyes onto the man now standing in front of you in the doorway, adorning a barely-zipped school hoodie and black sweats.

“Huh?” You blink a few times, disoriented.

Logan quirks a brow, looking you up and down cautiously. “Are you okay?” He asks again, offering a look of concern—or maybe confusion—that you haven’t seen often. A look that’s never needed to be directed towards you.

You come back to yourself. “But—I…didn’t knock,” you respond, looking equally as confused as him as you point to the door. 

He leans against the edge of the door, face softening. “I could smell you before you passed Storm’s room,” he clarifies, a hint of reluctance in his tone. Oh. 

You feel like a child who has just gained awareness, all too conscious of your situation.

“You’re…awake?” Is all you manage despite probably needing to say much more than that to explain just why exactly you’re standing outside Logan’s room at 4 a.m.

“So are you,” he counters with a curious look. “So let me ask again. Are you okay?” He locks his eyes on yours, probably in hopes to understand why the fuck you’re outside his room at 4 a.m.

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” you say, and it’s the truth. 

You should probably be embarrassed. You show up at Logan’s door unannounced, dressed in a flimsy shirt and matching sweats—thanks, Charles—that can’t fully hide the remaining quivers throughout your body.

Logan pulls his lips together at your admission. You can almost see the wheels turning in his head trying to figure you out.

“Can’t sleep?” He questions, but he knows he’s right.

“Yeah.” You don’t know why you’re making it Logan’s problem, though. Sure, he happens to be awake, but maybe this is all too personal to push on the guy who’s seemingly all pride and no solicitude most of the time.

It’s not that he’s not a good, nice guy, but you don’t know how you would define your relationship, or lack of.

You know each other well enough from existing in the same space over the past couple months, being part of the same “team”, but it’s nothing to call a close friendship like you and Storm. He’s a bit of a rare species in the mansion, not really lingering around.

He cocks his head in a half shrug, the soft points in his hair broken by sleep shake gently with the movement.

“I don’t think I can help you,” he says wearily. “I’m no better. Clearly.” He gestures between you, drawing attention to the fact that you’re both awake. The helpless cannot help the helpless.

“Oh—no, I’m not looking for help. I think I’m beyond that at this point,” you laugh but stop yourself short when Logan doesn’t follow. Tough crowd.

“I, uh, don’t actually know what I’m looking for,” you offer.

You knit your brows together in thought, still wondering why the fuck you’re here. Comfort? Entertainment? Some other unknown third thing?

“I’m not really used to Storm being gone for so long,” you admit. “I just feel…all over the place, I guess.”

Logan considers your vulnerability for a beat, eyes flicking to yours. “I can hear you sometimes,” he says, a knowing—almost sympathetic—look on his face. “We have the same problem.”

You go cold, any expression you had on your face sliding away. You wish the floor could swallow you right now. You know things have been getting worse recently, but you didn’t think anyone could hear that fact. Maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise from someone who could smell you from down the hallway.

He steps back, pulling his door open further. An invitation.

You don’t move right away. Could this be a false awakening? You’re not sure what you expected when you came to his door, but you also didn’t expect him to open it without you knocking, so you have to suspend disbelief for now. You figured he’d offer a few words of advice and dismiss you, or maybe even tell you to fuck off, but he opened his door wider for you. But you didn’t exactly think any of it through in the first place anyway.

You force your feet to carry you into Logan’s room. It’s not much different from yours; scarce belongings, minimal decor, a small work desk, brown curtains that are drawn back, and a bed. 

“Were you, uh…sleeping before I came?” You sit on the unmade bed, nothing noticeably different from it compared to yours.

He shuts the door quietly, moving to the small desk across the room and filing some scattered papers together neatly.

“Trying to,” he says, keeping his gaze on the desk.

Fucking duh. “Sorry if I disturbed you,” you wince to yourself. 

You see him briefly shake his head at your unnecessary apology. “I had to get up anyway.” His voice is still gravelly from sleep.

It feels like you’re invading his space. But he invited you in. How many others have had the opportunity to be in here? Probably too many. There’s nothing to make this special.

“I’m fucking exhausted,” you sigh, flopping back on his bed defeated. Simply overwhelmed with the uncontrollable repercussions of your mutation.

“Try to sleep. If you want,” he offers, moving to the edge of the bed. “It’s easier said than done, but I have to meet with Charles in an hour.” It’s gruff, but he’s sincere.  

Maybe the professor is awake after all.

You roll your head to the side to look at him. Was he really offering for you to stay in his bed?

“Oh, wow…uh, sure.” It comes off as more of a question, but he quirks his brows in acknowledgment, turning back to the desk and collecting a handful of other miscellaneous papers.

“I have to head downstairs and take care of some things. Stay as long as you need,” he says, zipping his sweater the rest of the way up. Thank God in heaven.

A shy “thanks” is all you manage as you situate yourself on the bed.

Is this fucking weird? You could name a handful of others in the mansion right this second that would kill without hesitation to be where you are. They’d probably kill you specifically to get it. It’s not much of a secret that Logan is the subject of almost all students’ desires. He knows it, too. 

“See you later,” he adds, his lips forming the slightest hint of a caring smile as he sees himself out. You throw one back before the door clicks shut.

Should you be offended that he didn’t stay? That he left so quickly? No, no, he can’t. He couldn’t. Charles is expecting him. The timing is just horrid. But now you’re just…alone…in Logan’s room, expected to sleep because of a random act of kindness in his heart.

Lying in his bed instead of yours is an odd sensation. The sheets and mattress are exactly the same, the pillows are just as fluffy, yet it feels unalike. 

You flop your head on his pillow, tugging the blankets up to your chin. Your fingers graze something by your hip as you settle in, making you push the blanket back down. Leaning over, you see three puncture marks in the mattress, fraying the bedsheet material into feather-soft strands around the deep holes.

Your eyes widen, remembering his words before he invited you in: “We have the same problem.”

Part of your heart fractures for the second time today. Your eyes cross over to the other side of you, seeing a matching set of holes just below the pillow. It’s suddenly easy to understand why no one besides him has been seen coming and going from this room in a while. One day, things just seemed to change. 

Maybe his act of kindness was an act of mercy. Trauma will always find you, and it will make sure you feel it until you either destroy it or it destroys you.

Even the Wolverine isn’t an exception. 

━━━━ ● ━━━━

The gold liquid is gone from the glass as quickly as it was poured.

Your throat clenches and protests the swallow as you try to suppress the urge to gag. You gently set the shot glass back on the counter, watching Storm chase with a piece of lime that does nothing to help the puckered face she makes from the tequila. 

“No more, no more. I can’t.” Your arms anchor you to the counter to stop yourself from swaying too much.

Storm nods, still fighting off the sourness with furrowed brows and a scrunched nose. You giggle at her when she quickly screws the cap back on the bottle, sliding it out of reach.

“You’re a bad influence,” she scolds as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“No—I’m under the influence,” you counter, a playful smile on your lips. “There’s a difference. You still have your own free will.”

Storm rolls her eyes so hard you only see the whites of them. “We have training tomorrow,” she slurs. “Charles will not be happy if we show up half-conscious.” She rounds the counter to you, grabbing your shoulders for stability, and you do the same.

“He’ll be lucky if we show up at all,” you mumble. 

The dim kitchen lighting embraces the two of you, the rest of the mansion blanketed in darkness with everyone fast asleep—like you both should be.

You close your eyes with a roll of your neck, more giggles falling through your lips as you clumsily grab onto Storm and rock and sway together for a moment, the alcohol quickly catching up to your motor skills. It feels like you’re spinning through time and space, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel fucking euphoric. At this rate, neither of you will be able to make it back to your rooms.

“Am I interrupting something?”

You lose a bit of your balance as you try to find the resonant voice, eyes shooting open. Storm unintentionally startles and stumbles away from you, white hair also jumping from the excitement.

You grab onto the counter again, sucking in a deep breath. “Fuck, don’t do that,” you growl through your teeth, a hand on your chest as you try to calm yourself.

“Don’t do what? Come to the shared kitchen to grab a drink?” Logan huffs a laugh, an amused smile creeps to his lips as he takes in your drunk and shaken state from the entryway.

“Doesn’t anyone sleep in this place?” He mumbles to himself.

“And with that, I’m done for the night,” Storm chuckles, fixing her hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her eyes lock intensely on yours, index finger firmly poking the middle of your chest to make her point for you to show up to training very clear.

“See you, Logan,” she dismisses, stumbling as she passes him.

Logan shakes his head, still smiling. He steps to the fridge, opening the double doors and plucking a bottle of soda from the bottom shelf. No alcohol is readily available in the communal fridge because, after all, you’re all in a school full of kids, so Storm had to get creative; Scott will be missing a rather large bottle from the now not-so-secret stash in his room.

As the alcohol continues to settle in you, you feel more and more lightheaded as it brings you to a new level of euphoria again. You only know this because watching Logan pop the cap of his drink with mindless ease feels a little more exciting than it would be if you were sober. But you’re not sober, and that’s the problem.

“Not gonna follow Storm?” He asks, taking a generous sip from the bottle as he casually places his free hand on the counter to lean on across from you.

A tight smile forms, mostly to yourself. “I don’t think I can make it down the hall,” you laugh in embarrassment. Maybe that last shot was one too many, and it’s not even fully done working its magic yet.

Logan raises a brow. “Want some help?” There’s no judgement in his tone like you expect. Then again, you don’t know what the fuck to expect from him.

Your already half-closed eyes, blurry and unfocused, meet his hazel ones in interest. Another favour?

It’s been two weeks since he let you sleep off the nightmares in his bed. Two weeks since you learned he’s burdened with them, too. You traced the holes in the mattress over and over before you eventually fell asleep, wondering what—or who—could have hurt him so badly. He plays it off cool; you wouldn’t suspect anything from talking to him. The same could probably be said about you.

“I didn’t know wolverine’s were chivalrous,” you tease.

The yellow hue of the lights dance over the quaffed points in his hair, making them appear sharper than usual. You would never admit it, especially to him, but you adore them. They give him an absurd amount of character that you’d expect a guy like him to not care about. 

You’re not exactly complaining about the fitting grey tank-top he has on either.

“Not overly,” he plays along, taking another mouthful of the fizzy drink. “I like to think I’m special,” he says quieter.

“Maybe you are,” you say as you try and straighten yourself to see if you can stand unassisted.

The world tilts as you stand to your full height, eyes rolling into your head from the wave of dizziness. “Wow, okay,” you say to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut to stop the spinning. How many shots did you have again?

A warm hand presses between your shoulders. “Woah, nice and easy. Nice and easy.” Logan appears by your side to steady you, other hand grabbing your elbow to pull you straight. You wobble in his grip, letting him guide your useless, alcohol-ridden body.

His hand on your back rubs a few small, comforting circles as you work to regain your bearings. He watches your expressions intently, looking for the right moment to get you moving back to your room safe and sound.

Your arm crosses over your body out of instinct to grab the hand he has on your elbow for extra support.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He seems to ask you that a lot.

You lean into him, your shoulder to his chest, and you can feel the blackout creeping up on you like humidity from a thunderstorm—it’s usually too late to do anything once you notice it. 

“I drank a lot,” you laugh deeply, rolling your head onto his shoulder to look up at him.

He looks so much more delicate under the ambient lights—his usual defined features have shifted and melted him into someone that doesn’t look like they should be a feared animal out in the world.

Logan all but cradles you, that same look of concern crossing his features from the night you went to his door. The only difference is that you’ve had a generous amount of tequila—and are currently being kept alert by the hot touch of his hands. That’s new.

“Can you walk?” He holds your squinty eye contact, probably searching for any signs of a coherent thought behind the blissful expression on your face. “Or will I have to carry you?” He muses, a hint of a smile crosses his lips as his hand moves up to gently rub over your shoulders. 

Drunk you likes the sound of anything relating to Logan keeping his hands on you right now. You wonder what sober you would think.

“I’m not gonna tell you no, but it feels like I’m floating in a bubble that won’t stop spinning,” you hum as you let the sensation consume your senses. “I might fly away.” You dip your head back off of his shoulder in amusement as you laugh again. 

“Yeah, you’re fucked up,” he mumbles lovingly. Just like anyone else who’s concerned for your well-being would. 

“Hey, kitty cat—I’m perfectly buzzed,” you emphasize the teasing nickname, narrowing your eyes at him sternly as you bring your gaze back to his in defence.

“‘Kitty cat’? Really?” He snorts. “I think you’re past your bedtime by three drinks,” he remarks back with equal levity.

“Then take me to bed if you’re so concerned,” you sigh dramatically, going limp in his arms to make your point. 

Truthfully, you’re probably past your bedtime by five shots. But he doesn’t need to know that. You just know that you can’t control your limbs like you were able to ten minutes ago.

“Maybe I will.” You don’t see it, but he does his quick little eye roll that you’ve seen pointed towards Scott too many times. 

He slides the hand on your elbow down to the backs of your knees, pulling you up off the floor and into his chest as you fall into the arm that was rubbing your back. 

Oh, so it’s gonna be like that. 

An excited—or maybe shocked—noise escapes your mouth as he adjusts you in his arms. You extend your right arm up and over his shoulder to hug his neck and keep yourself stable.

The trip to your room isn’t one that should take long, but each sway from Logan’s steps goes straight to your stomach in waves of queasiness. It feels like forever before you feel him bend awkwardly to turn your doorknob.

You’re fighting to keep yourself conscious the entire time, not wanting to regret missing the feeling of being in his arms.

The room is only lit by the silver moonlight creeping through the window. It’s hard to distinguish anything through your bleary eyes besides Logan’s look of determination to get you in your bed.

He leans down, shuffling you out of his arms and onto the mattress as swiftly as possible. The care of it all pokes at your heart. 

He silently goes around each corner of the bed adjusting the blankets. It may be dark, but the moonlight highlights the peaks of his shoulders as he moves. Your eyes might be involuntarily half-shut, but that doesn’t stop you from staring.

You’re now probably no better than every other mutant in this school.

“Logan,” you start before you can fully process the foolish thing you’re about to say next.

He rounds the bed back to the side you’re huddled on, looking down on you. “Yeah?” The subtle jingle of his dog tag pierces the quiet that’s lingering in the room.

You part your lips to speak but the words die in your throat. They’re replaced by a flood of saliva that has you sitting up at a speed that shouldn’t be possible for someone as intoxicated as you. You cover your mouth with your hand, feeling your stomach churning and finally rejecting the tequila. 

You suddenly feel very awake.

“Hey, hey.” Logan squats down in front of you with his already permanently-furrowed brows pinched closer together than you’ve ever seen before, a hand coming to your shoulder in concern. “What—”

“Bathroom,” you mumble through your palm, eyes rolling shut at the nausea. 

He doesn’t say another word. He pulls you to your feet by your arms, walking behind you fiercely with his hands gripping your shoulders to guide you to the small bathroom across the room.  

You push the door open, falling to your knees in the darkness over the toilet as the mistakes from the night expel themselves from your body through rounds of coughing and gagging. He lingers in the doorway, keeping an eye on you but still giving you privacy.

“Fuck,” you cough, resting your warm forehead on your hand as you slump against the toilet. That definitely sobered you up fast.

Exhaustion hits you like a truck. “Logan…” you croak from your crumpled position on the tile floor. 

He steps in, bending down again to reach your height. You can barely make out the shadow of him in the fading moonlight.

“Just…help me back to bed,” you groan, reaching for his arm as you use the toilet seat to push yourself the rest of the way up. You stumble against him as you try to make it back through the doorway.

He guides you to the bed the same way he did to the bathroom—steering you from behind.

“I’m gonna get you some water,” he says as you settle back into bed, head hitting the pillow with a quiet thud. “Even though you did this to yourself.”

“Fuck off,” you groan.

You close your eyes, hearing his footsteps fade back toward the bathroom. You hear the tap run for a couple seconds before he’s next to you again, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Drink. All of it,” he says firmly, holding the cup out to you.

You sit back up slowly, no doubt lethargic, an unimpressed look on your face that earns you a raised brow that tells you there’s no room to object.

You finish the cup in four mouthfuls, handing it back to him. “Thanks.”

You fall back onto the pillow, no longer feeling like you’re travelling through space and time.

The clothes you’re in are close enough to pyjamas. There’s no sense in undressing in front of Logan, especially with what you were about to say to him before you were rudely interrupted by the consequences of your own actions.

He returns the cup to the bathroom and you pull the blanket over your waist as you hopefully settle in for the rest of the night. You owe him big time for this. The thought of just how exactly you’ll manage that fills you with anxiety.

You turn on your side, fingers sliding over the mattress with the movement. They graze familiar strands of feather-soft fabric by the pillow.

This is Logan’s room. Are you just that drunk that you couldn’t tell the difference when he brought you in? Or are your rooms just that similar to each other?

You dip a finger in one of the three holes, hearing the bathroom door click shut as Logan makes his way back. 

“Why am I in your bed?” You see him rustling through some drawers of clothing by the small desk, but he stops when you finish your question.

“You can’t take care of yourself tonight,” he says. “You’re too drunk.” He pulls the grey tank-top off, stuffing it in one of the drawers and shutting it.

You sit up at that, head still foggy and tipsy, watching him move to the foot of the bed across from you. You try to focus your eyes on anything but his bare chest and the dark hair that adorns it and trails down past the waistband of his sweats. His hair is somehow even more wild from mindlessly pulling the tank-top over his head.

“Ah. I was gonna ask you to stay anyway,” you reveal, almost whispering the bold confession.

You were planning to ask before the tequila decided to make another appearance, but maybe doing it this way isn’t so bad either. He did all the heavy-lifting.

A modest, tight-lipped smile graces his lips. “I think you still have some tequila to sleep off.”

Whether or not you still have some shots in your system, what you feel and want right now is real. It’s not influenced by anything besides some mild andronitis created by the fact that you share a common struggle.

“Is it…safe? To share a bed?” The most coherent thought you’ve had all night makes him stiffen from your sudden nervous tone. Your body could easily replace the mattress and become a new home for the deep punctures. 

Your eyelids have been fighting against being pulled shut by alcohol-induced drowsiness, yet your eyes are wider than they’ve been all night in this moment.

You’re sat right in the middle of the bed and Logan comes around to the right, sitting on the edge of the mattress to come down to your level.

“You’re just gonna have to trust me.” His eyes are imploring and apologetic all at once. He understands the prospect of even having you here in the first place.

You nod, sliding over to the left to give him more room. 

Logan wouldn’t put you in harms way, you reason with yourself. He wouldn’t risk potentially killing someone, especially a fellow mutant, if he wasn’t absolutely sure of his mental state. But you also don’t really know his demons.

You roll onto your right side, tugging the blanket up to your chin in comfort. “Why haven’t you been given a new mattress?” You ask as he turns to face you in the same position, his half of the blanket resting at his hip.

The bed dips significantly on his side, almost encouraging you to roll over against him.

“Forgot to ask,” he says quietly, running his right hand through his hair to push the shorter strands off his forehead.

From his tone you can decipher that he actually means “can’t be bothered.” It’s a devastating thing to imagine just how many he goes through, anyway. He probably doesn’t see the point in replacing something that will inevitably have the same fate as the others.

There has to be less than an arms length between you two. It’s a surreal situation to be in considering what you thought you knew about him. A recluse. Standoffish. Maybe it’s all a fluke and the alcohol is severely fucking with your perception of what’s actually happening.

“Thanks for everything,” you whisper as if someone else will overhear.

“Get some sleep,” he insists, rolling onto his back. You do the same.

You stare at the blank ceiling for a while, noticing the exact moment Logan falls asleep; his breathing grows slow and his body runs even hotter than before. 

You think about how he could wake at any moment, claws accidentally sliding right through your stomach from a nightmare or two. You imagine all the others that have been in your position—if they felt scared, if they even knew. 

He asked you to trust him, and that should be enough. 

There is a body full of secrets and hurt sleeping undisturbed next to you with the ability to withstand and regenerate from any physical injury, yet there’s something that hasn’t allowed the same to be done for his mind. 

━━━━

The bright amber sun hits your closed eyes through the window, making you roll your head away onto the other side of the cool pillow.

You want more sleep. Your head feels like a bag of bricks and your body feels like it got beat with them.

You stretch a leg out, gently grazing something solid with your foot. Your eyes shoot open, the night coming back to you as you drift into consciousness. Logan. 

You shoot up, bouncing a little from the momentum.

Logan startles next to you, clearly interrupted from a deep sleep. “What the fuck…” he groans, rubbing a hand over his face, not seeming interested in making a move to sit up with you.

“What time is it?” Your eyes bounce around the room looking for a clock.

He grunts, reaching for a watch on the nightstand. “Seven-forty.”

You needed to be in the Danger Room for 7 o’clock.

“Fuck!” You rip the blanket off, almost tripping as you run to the bathroom.

Logan also wants to roll back over and go back to sleep, but he knows he won’t be able to. He doesn’t work like that. So he just lays there, listening to you swear and make a mess of his bathroom as the clattering of fuck-knows-what fills the room. 

The surprise of how well he slept makes him feel uneasy. Although it definitely wasn’t eight hours, it was uninterrupted. He doesn’t want to credit that to you, though. He wants to believe that he’s getting better overall, and maybe he is, so he can’t offer you any flattery in his mind.

Another distant “fuck” escapes the bathroom, pulling him out of his thoughts. You exit a few minutes later, as refreshed and presentable as you could get yourself, and the sight of Logan still in bed makes something in you ache for another moment of feeling him care and tend to you. Maybe that’s your hangover talking.

“Thanks again. I’ll see you around,” you say hurriedly, offering an apologetic smile as you turn the doorknob to leave.

“Good luck with Charles.” It’s a genuine advisory. Fuck. You’ll be so incredibly lucky if he doesn’t give you more than a stern lecture in front of everyone.

You take a deep breath in and slip out of Logan’s room. There’s not a single cut, mark, or scratch on you, just like he promised.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“I was told it’ll take a day to fix,” Storm explains with a shrug. “You’ll have to find somewhere or someone to room with until tomorrow. Jean already offered to have me stay with her.” A contrite look passes over her face.

You stand outside your rooms, staring in at the remnants of the mess caused by two terrakinetic kids fucking around in the courtyard when they weren’t supposed to be. They somehow managed to throw, or launch, sizeable tree branches right through each of your windows. Of course it wasn’t on purpose, but the Danger Room exists for a reason—to avoid mishaps like this. 

Shards of glass and fragments of wood splatter your floors. The branches are hanging half-way out both of your windows, caught on the window sills and bobbing in the evening summer wind. The kids are extremely fortunate that neither of you were in your rooms when it happened.

“It’s fine. It’s just one night,” you sigh, rubbing your eyes in frustration. You don’t love how quickly your mind picks out who to go to. It’s already nearing 11 p.m., so you have to work fast. 

Storm squeezes your shoulder in comfort. “The living room is always free,” she suggests with a remorseful smile.

But you don’t want the living room. Stiff couches mixed with students clamouring and passing by at the crack of dawn isn’t exactly a recipe for a good nights rest. As if you usually get one, anyway.

“Not a fucking chance,” you laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you say again, dismissing her worries. You wish her goodnight when she steps by you to head towards Jean’s room at the very end of the hall.

You glare at the mess in your room, not daring to step in. The amount of shattered glass everywhere makes the floor look like a body of water from the reflections of the pale moonlight bouncing and refracting off of the jagged shards.

“Fuck,” you spit through your teeth, solely to yourself.

Not even a full week after Logan saw you at your worst, you’re going to go back and ask for the left side of his bed. Shameless.

You don’t have much of a choice; you’re not comfortable having it be anyone else. It’s only because Logan saw you at your worst that you feel he’s the most logical choice. Already having shared a bed with him this week may also have some weight in your decision.  

You take the few self-assured steps to his room, once again standing in front of his door. This time you feel more confident in approaching the Wolverine in his den.

You knock three times, the piercing sound echoing through the hall.

“You start to miss me or what?” A bare chest enters your view. You note the dog tag hanging from his neck again before you find his unyielding gaze full of ambiguity, wondering why you’re here. Again.

You blink at him slowly in hilarity. “Ha, funny. Can I stay with you tonight?” You ask flatly, not thrilled with the situation, but not completely displeased with being here now. “My window—”

“I know what happened,” he interrupts. “Figured you’d go for the couch in the living room.” He looks at you more pointedly with teasing suspicion. 

“I think you know no one would ever willingly choose to sleep out there,” you reason, running a hand over your face in both shame and defeat.

He makes a face that tells you “touché” and you smirk in satisfaction. “If you don’t mind giving up half of your bed again, I would really appreciate it. I promise I’m not trying to make this a habit,” you sigh. Spending the night in Logan’s bed three times in the past month has to be a record for anyone recently. 

“I don’t think it would be a bad habit,” he argues. Oh. “C’mon.” He gives a jerk of his head to allow you in, his tufts of his hair bristling with the quick movement.

“Thanks,” you squeak. He wants you here? 

He shuts the door behind you, following you to the bed that’s clearly already had him in it. The blanket rests in waves on the mattress that remind you of just how human Logan is despite his reputation and image.

“Do you have an early morning?” You ask, slipping under the blanket.

“No. Charles was feeling nice for once,” he raises his tone sarcastically to rag on Charles’ judgement, which has clearly been a much needed one before now.

“Not an early bird?” You roll onto your right side like last time, facing him as he settles on his back with a deep breath. The bed sinks in again where he lays, your body wanting to give in to the laws of gravity and fall into him.

“Fuck no,” he laughs lightly, eyes crinkling around the corners. It’s self-deprecating, but it’s still a genuine laugh. The condescension from it lingers in the air, all directed at himself in a way that tells you he’s thinking about how inconceivably fucked up he is.

The last time he had a decent sleep was when you were drunk in his bed a few days ago.

“People like us don’t usually get the pleasure of a full eight hours,” he notes, sliding his gaze to yours for a fraction of a second.

He props an arm behind his head, the other resting on his chest and idly twisting the dog tag between his fingers. You watch the thin piece of steel slide and flip easily, the chain tinkling with every movement.

People like us.

“You mean mutants,” you state. You see his jaw tense in what little light there is from the half-moon tonight.

You see his brows pull together. “Yeah.” He has a point.

You think about the mutants you know, how they all have some horrific story about their gifts or family, or both. How they either were shamed by society or experimented on like rats. 

The scenarios are endless. If you can think of it, some mutant has probably lived it.

Your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach. You and Logan are not isolated or special cases, but you’ve already shared a moment of vulnerability with him when you came to his door all those weeks ago seeking solace for the same thing he fights with: the inescapable ability of remembering.

You pull the blanket tighter against you. “I don’t think you’ll hurt me.” 

He turns his head to you, confusion written on his face. “What?” He stops toying with the dog tag.

“Your claws. I trust you.” You didn’t feel like you were in immediate danger that first night, but you want to reassure him anyway. Or maybe you’re reassuring yourself. 

He hasn’t had to say a single word for you to know his nightmares trigger something instinctive and combative that’s been hardwired into his DNA. In this case, it’s his claws needing to find a home in his mattresses, where another body could potentially lay one night. Like yours is right now.

You noticed the lack of holes in this mattress when you first got to the bed. Maybe you mentioning them last time was enough for him to finally request a new one.

Logan knows he shouldn’t make promises he doesn’t know he’ll be able to keep, but he wants to keep you here tonight, so he improvises. He abandons the dog tag between his fingers completely, turning onto his side and reaching to find your hand under the blanket. You meet him halfway, sliding your fingers between his as your palms lay flat on the bed.

A smile tugs at your lips for a moment. He watches your interlinked fingers, observing the size difference, wondering if he really just did that—and why. 

You assume it’s his way of saying “thank you” for your trust when you probably shouldn’t be putting that much into him.

“Does it hurt?” You whisper, pulling your fingers out from his just enough to caress the divets between his knuckles that conceal the claws.

He knows what you’re asking. “Every time.” He softly pushes his fingers back into yours, squeezing a little. 

There’s a deadly stillness in the room despite his window being cracked. You both know you’re one in the same in a way, and that’s a connection that Logan hasn’t let himself experience. Not everyone likes looking in a mirror.

To be truly seen by someone, wholly, without judgement or fear, is what he deserves. 

“What are you?” He asks, rubbing his index finger back and forth along the top of your hand. “Telekinetic? Psychic?” His curious voice grows quiet, hazel eyes fascinated with you and your lack of a physical mutation, at least nothing that he can see.

It never occurred to you that he didn’t know your mutation, or that you’ve never told him. It was never needed, but it seems unfair that you know about his when he wasn’t the one who told you.

“Ha, close.” Your eyes twinkle as you notice how intently he’s listening. “Psychometric,” you correct, watching his forehead crease.

“Sounds like math,” he quips, readjusting his head on the pillow. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat he’s putting off.

You laugh quietly. “No, it’s extrasensory perception. It lets me see the history of any object or person I touch, but only if I accept the energy,” you explain.

You watch his eyes narrow and you know what he’s thinking, so you quickly interject as he begins to pull his hand out from yours. “I need to touch a pulse point to be able to see anything,” you reassure, feeling his fingers slide back against yours. “The heart remembers everything,” you clarify.

The catch? The person’s memories and past stay with you after you see them. It’s become hard to distinguish what memories are yours or someone else’s. They all become intertwined. Good or bad, violent or gentle. You see it all, and then it’s part of you. Forever.

“I haven’t looked. I promise.” 

“Good. You don’t need to see that shit,” he huffs, eyes wandering over your face. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for, but he’s a little startled for the first time in a while.

“I’m sure I’ve seen it all,” you state. It’s probably not far off from the truth. Your gift came when you were all too young, and plenty of time has passed since then for you to rack up this amount of damage from near-strangers and their lives.

“No, you haven’t.” A sure expression passes over him, shaking his head as best as he can against the pillow. 

“Then I’ll count myself lucky,” you say softly. You have no idea what Logan has experienced, but his demeanor makes you want to stay curious. Not everything needs to be known, and you’re definitely not entitled to it.

A faint smile appears on his lips, then it’s gone just as quick. “Get some sleep,” he rasps. He turns onto his back and his hand abandons yours. 

It’s a complete repeat of last time.

Something twinges in your heart, and you don’t like it. What exactly had you expected from Logan? He’s just doing you a courtesy by letting you stay here for the night. Nothing more. And that’s what you should expect: nothing.

The hum of crickets outside eventually lulls you into a dead sleep. It’s heavy and deep, not a single muscle twitching in your body. Logan breathes steadily next to you, a hand on his chest as the occasional snore fills the air.

From above you two might look like you’re transient, only here in this moment for a short time. And, realistically, you are. 

━━━━

Logan was no where to be seen by the time you woke up, and you made quick work to get out of his room. It always feel wrong to be in someone’s space when they aren’t there.

Just like Storm said, the windows in your rooms were fixed the next day. It looks as though nothing even happened.

“Thank fuck,” you mumble to yourself as you step back into your room.

If you ever have to spend another night in Logan’s bed, you might as well wear a shirt that says “yes, we’re fucking!”, even if it isn’t true. You could deny it all you want, but it won’t stop what students would say. Nothing gets past them, even if it’s behind a closed door.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“Are you fucking Logan?”

You almost swallow your tongue. “Sorry?” Your brows shoot up in surprise, eyes round in disbelief.

“Are you guys sleeping together?” Storm casually asks as she flicks through the T.V. channels, glancing over to you from her spot on the couch.

You’re sat comfortably in an arm chair, suddenly no longer caring what channel she decides on. “Why would you think that?” Technically you were sleeping together, but not like that. It may never happen again, no matter how badly you want it to.

“Things travel fast around here,” she deflects with a cheeky smile. “And, you know, Logan is…Logan.” She shrugs.

You don’t even know what to say to that. Is there a right or wrong answer?

“It wasn’t like that,” you grumble. “He was doing me a favour. As a friend.” It hasn’t even been a full day since he let you stay with him while pieces of your window laid on your floor, and people are already convinced you’re fucking. 

You haven’t even managed a chaste kiss, despite how much as you want to, never mind his dick being balls deep in you.

“Right.” She emphasizes the word, not convinced. Or just pushing your buttons because she can. 

You roll your eyes. “If anything was happening, you’d be the first to know,” you point out. 

She looks back over to you. “I know,” she says with another, more sincere, smile. “You two would be cute, though.” 

You give her some side-eye, not quite sure if you disagree entirely with that statement. Whatever happens, happens. Logan is not something you can control or influence. He does what—and who—he wants, when he wants. 

━━━━

A bolt of lightening strikes you. You gasp, then release a choked cry, eyes flying open as you claw at your chest in terror.

Your throat tightens and you break out in a cold sweat as you sit up. The soft blanket around you feels constricting. Sporadic and short breaths make you heave as your body registers the horrors in your subconscious. 

There was never any lighting. That’s just what the pain feels like.

The muscles in your shoulders and neck tense from your panicked state as your heart struggles to keep a normal rhythm. You yank the blanket off, feeling weak from fear and the onset of tremors. Your whole body gives up on itself as you sob through broken exhales. Your legs have gone cold, lungs shrinking inch by inch with every passing minute. 

You crawl to the edge of your bed, wanting to just get out and leave—the blanket. The bed. The room. Most of all, you want to escape your own mind.

You sink onto the floor when a foot touches the ground, and you realize walking isn’t in the cards right now. You’re shaking too badly to be able to physically move. All your strength is gone, robbed by your memories.

Balmy tears paint your face in determination, making sure no part of you is left untouched by this spell.

You screw your eyes shut, tears still slipping out with ease anyway. Leaning your back against the bed-frame, you curl into yourself and wrap your arms around your knees on the chilled hardwood.

You try to focus on your breathing to at least slow your heart down to a pace that doesn’t hurt.

Wounded cries rip their way out of you, interrupting the breaths you try to steady. A hand touches your arm and you yelp like an injured dog, flailing at the contact as your arms swing out from around your knees in shock.

“Hey, hey, it’s me. It’s me.” Strong hands quickly wrap around each of your wrists to stop your arms from thrashing.

You try to focus your eyes, blurred and stinging from tears, on the person kneeling closely in front of you.

“L-Logan…” you whisper, balling your fists to try and expel the shakes.

He looks like someone who shouldn’t be able to be concerned about another person, yet the look on his face scares you. Brows pinched together in worry, eyes frantic, lips parted from heavy breaths. All because of you.

“It’s just me,” he hushes your cries. His thumbs stroke the undersides of your wrists tenderly, no doubt feeling your racing pulse. 

You feel disoriented. “Wh…how…” 

“I heard you,” he explains, watching you process everything. He drops your wrists when some recognition passes over your face.

“What do you need?” He follows your gaze as it wanders around the room, trying to keep you from spiralling further.

You look at him for a moment. He’s got his white tank-top on, the black sweats, and an intense need to help you written all over him. Fresh tears burn your cheeks as you come back into reality.

“I want it to fucking stop,” you weep, head falling into your hands in shame.

You don’t want him to see you like this, even though it’s a commonality between you two. It’s too intimate. You’d take him seeing you blackout drunk everyday of the year over this.

Then you do remember that it has stopped. Each time in Logan’s bed. There was silence. Peace. For the whole night. For both of you.

“Tell me what you need,” he says firmly, angling his head down to keep your eyes on him, desperately wanting an answer.

“You.” You suck in an agonizing breath to try and collect yourself.

He doesn’t flinch like you expect him to. If anything, his eyes become more pensive, clearly considering something. Then he shakes his head in wariness.

“C’mon. Let’s get you out of here,” he breathes, voice barely above a whisper. The only sound echoing in the room is your wobbly breathes, your body jerking with each one as you enter the aftermath and begin to go slack.

An arm slides behind your back, his hand grabbing ahold of your side while he pulls your legs over his other arm, picking you up off the floor.

He cradles you against him just like he did when you were drunk, carrying you out of your room.

He left your door open when he came in, and you hope no students heard or saw anything. He tilts to grab the doorknob, shutting it without a sound.

You wipe and rub at your eyes as Logan takes a few steps down the hall, quickly getting to where he needs to go when you feel him lean for his doorknob.

You’re sure a few rogue, leftover tears fall onto his shirt before he manages to sit on his bed lightly, you still curled tightly in his arms. 

His hand pushes on your back for you to sit upright on his lap. “Face me,” he encourages, holding onto your sides as you twist around, bending your legs to slide over his thighs and straddle him loosely. 

You look down at him, he looks up at you, feeling the quivers in your body dissipate as you melt further into his lap. A fondness crosses over both of your tired faces. He rests his arms over your thighs, warm hands linking behind your back as you do the same around his neck. 

It’s nothing provocative or seductive. All you can feel is the care and concern rolling off of him in suffocating waves. He wants you to feel safe, and if that means overrunning your senses with his presence, then that’s what he’ll do.

“Got anything to say?” He murmurs, the fallen strands of hair around the edges of his forehead bristle with each move of his head. The rest of his hair fails to fully resemble the cat-like ears he had earlier in the day. 

What does he want to hear? 

You let your head hang a little, your nose almost brushing his. “I have nothing to say,” you assert, fidgeting with the chain of his dog tag at the nape of his neck. 

You don’t necessarily feel embarrassed about him seeing you in such a helpless state, but you don’t want to simply unload your shit on him. So, in turn, you have nothing to say.

“Bullshit.” He almost rolls his eyes. There’s no real threat of him forcing you to say anything behind it. He won’t pry, but he doesn’t believe you.

An offended look overcomes your face, and you almost pull away. You don’t want to feel the humiliation of elaborating on just why exactly you said you needed him in this moment out of everything else. 

“I just…” You roll your lips together in thought, measuring the words you could say but won’t. “Want to sleep. Here,” you sigh. “I don’t wanna go back.” You deflate in his arms, voice wobbly. 

It’s already who-knows what time, and you need to pacify your wired nervous system; Logan simply holding you has already helped with that more than you want to admit.

His mouth quirks up briefly at that. “What happened to not wanting to make that a habit?” His eyes soften as his arms retract from around your sides, letting you slip easily onto his bed from his lap in a moment of calm, or relief.

Habit, if not resisted, soon becomes necessity.

“Special circumstances,” you reason, already pulling the blanket over you while he keeps his place at the edge of the bed, observing you with amusement.

“Seems like you get into those a lot,” he notes, pushing himself off the mattress.

He steps around to the other side—his designated spot—and slips the tank-top off, letting it drop to the floor. You’re not trying to be a freak, but you watch the whole thing.

The flex of his arms and shoulders are out of your mind as fast as they entered as you watch him hook his thumbs in the waistband of his sweats and pull them downright in front of you, not even turning around or to the side to try and conceal himself.

Your eyes widen, then you reel in your thoughts before they get lost at sea. No one who is sane fucking sleeps in sweatpants. Duh.

But didn’t he the last two times? It’s hard for you to remember, but you’d certainly recall if you were face-to-face with the outline of his di—

“It’s rude to stare, y’know.” Logan pulls his lips together, interrupting your thoughts. You try to not eyeball the bulge too hard, but it basically looked at you first. 

The snug briefs do little to hide anything. They hide nothing, actually.

You almost scoff, but the playfulness in his tone tells you he couldn’t give a shit. He probably likes it anyway. From what you know, he definitely does.

“Oh, yeah, like you’ve ever cared about modesty,” you throw back, averting your gaze to the ceiling anyway.

It’s not that he runs around the mansion naked, but he definitely isn’t shy about what he looks like or against showing some skin. You’ve seen and heard enough over the past few months.

You hear a stifled chuckle as he joins you under the blanket without a retort. He knows you’re right. He’s just glad you’re a little lively and alert.

“Will you be okay for the rest of the night?” He brings both hands behind his head on the pillow, propping himself up a little.

“I should be fine,” you say confidently. “The challenge will be getting back to sleep.” You laugh in exasperation. 

It’s always hard to calm down and get back to a place of tranquility after everything has settled with your mind. You’re pumped full of adrenaline and there’s not much that can curb something that persistent flowing through your body.

You haven’t found anything to help with it. Yet. 

“There’s not many people that’ll understand what you go through,” he starts, voice rough with fatigue. “But I do.”

You look to him, sliding an arm under your pillow as you turn on your side. “How do you…help it.” You’re not sure if you phrased that right. It feels crude to reduce something so complex to the likes of a common cold that has an array of over-the-counter solutions. 

“You don’t. It just has to run its course.” He looks to you, wanting to see your reaction. 

It wasn’t meant to be hurtful or insensitive, but he’s not going to lie to you and say that things can only get better and that the worst is over. Especially for mutants, that’s not always true.

Although you don’t know what Logan lives with every day and sleeps with every night, you do know that his capacity for empathy is still intact. Here you are in his bed after all, seeing and indulging in a side of him that many never will. 

You sigh lightly. “We’re quite the pair.” 

A comfortable half-smirk slips over his lips. “I think we’re just fucked up insomniacs,” he suggests with a breathy exhale that’s close enough to a laugh.

You wish you could slide a thumb over the pulse in his wrist and see what’s haunting him, just to understand what happened to the Wolverine, but you’ve learned that doing so usually isn’t worth the price you’ll pay after. If what’s in his head is horrific enough to cause him to go through a couple mattresses a month, then it won’t do you any good either.

“I sleep pretty good with you,” you offer, seeing how he raises a brow in doubt almost instantly.

He sleeps well with you, too. It kind of rattled him when he noticed a pattern of uninterrupted nights and you being by his side. Not a single mattress ruined on those nights.

“Try not to knee me in the stomach tonight,” he deflects with ease. He takes his hands out from behind his head, sliding his left arm under the pillow as he turns over onto his side and closes his eyes. Facing you.

You mentally smack yourself. Multiple times. You didn’t think you drifted that much when you slept. 

“No promises,” you mutter. You catch a small shake of his head before you let yourself join him in unconsciousness as you mirror each others lonely bodies.

━━━━

Your eyes ache—to open, to move, to touch. Enough crying will do that to you.Your eyelids are heavy, but there’s something else weighing down on you. 

A tired groan crawls from your throat as you try to place yourself for a moment. The morning sun is just beginning to shine too brightly for your liking, and you squish your face deeper into the pillow.

You’re still tipsy with sleep, lying flat on your stomach, but there’s something dense and hot resting over your back. 

You prop yourself up on your forearms, giving yourself a minute to wake up. You twist your hips around to sit yourself up, feeling the thing on your back slide down to your waist. 

The blanket pools around your hips, and you feel a hand reflexively squeeze over the meat of your hip in disapproval of your moving. Something in you clenches at the sensation of something invading the area with ease. A spot reserved for intimacy.

Your head quirks to your right, seeing Logan on his stomach with his right arm thrown over your midsection. 

You blink in surprise, staring at his sleeping body. His hair is sticking up every which way, his head half-off the pillow, his side of the blanket not even covering the curve of his ass anymore. It’s endearing to see the Wolverine in such a normal, human state.

But if someone were to walk in, it would look like you two spent the whole night fucking. A lot. That wakes you up a little more.

You peek over at the nightstand behind him and see the time blinking on his watch. It’s already 8 a.m. 

You rest a hand over his shoulder to gently guide his arm off of you, but you stop yourself. Instead, you lightly trace your fingers down his shoulders and upper back a couple times, occasionally scratching softly over the ridges of muscle.

A shiver quickly rolls through his upper body, but your touch doesn’t fully wake him. He knows it’s just you.

It’s the least you can do for him as a thanks for recovering your broken body from the floor of your room and bringing you here when he didn’t necessarily have to.

It almost feels like instinct to offer comforting gestures to him. There’s something inside you that just pulls to him. You want to be the one that can give him comfort and help him put himself back together. 

You want to be the only one.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

There’s a shadow that’s been following you around the mansion. 

As soon as you stepped out of Logan’s room that morning a few days ago, it started. 

This shadow likes to be nosy about what you’re doing. This shadow likes to be in your space. This shadow wants to be in your space. And he is.

No one has seen Logan out around the mansion this much, including you, and that’s how you noticed he’s basically been attached to your hip ever since he decided your back was a comfortable armrest. 

He’s always just there, like a stray cat begging for food or affection. There to entertain you, banter with you, indulge you, in any way he can, including now as you trail back inside the mansion well behind Storm from an evening walkabout in the garden.

“No smoking in the courtyard,” you sing as you pass him carelessly, not even offering a glance to him in interest. 

You like playing this game. Whatever it is. Constantly poking and prodding at each other to see what you can do to get the other to break in some way, no matter how slight. 

Your heart flutters and flips every time; maybe from the thrill of it all, maybe from the arousal you get from the tension. You hope he feels everything, too.

He turns his head to watch you cross into the entryway. “Blow me,” he throws back playfully through a thick puff of smoke, leaning against the brick wall with a cigar pinched between two fingers.

You suppress a chuckle, keeping your unwavering pace. “Yeah, you wish!” You yell over your shoulder. You know he hears you. He wouldn’t let himself miss it.

Logan smirks and shakes his head in amusement, always impressed with your quick rebuttals that occasionally tent his jeans. He takes one last drag out of spite before following your footsteps inside. 

You have become, by definition, friends…in a way. Even if you sorely cross the line into other territory more often than not. Sexual innuendos and friendly flirting can only go on for so long before the underlying intentions and meaning reflects real desires. 

It’s evolved into more than just borrowing his bed a couple times or helping each other out. It’s surpassed the fear of whatever habit you were afraid of forming from doing so. It’s become a dependency to get that adrenaline high from simply riling each other up.

You have an assumption that if you were to end up in Logan’s bed again, somehow, there will be a point of no return that you’ll be faced with. There aren’t many more excuses that can be used for explaining to yourselves why you’re together in bed before you have to recognize the truth.

That platonic line is being stretched too thin, and you’re not sure how much farther it can go.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“How’ve you been sleeping?”

“Fine. You?”

“Could be better.” Logan hides his smirk, but you can hear it in his voice.

You narrow your eyes skeptically as he fishes around in the fruit bowl sitting in the middle of the kitchen island.

“How so?” You ask. Your legs swing leisurely as you sit upon the chilled countertop on his left, idly waiting for Storm to show up and go with you to training.

A smug, tight-lipped grin flashes across his face, a green apple rolling around in his palms before he puts it back. “You could be there,” he provokes, his eyes bright.

It’s your turn to raise a brow at him, but you can’t stop your smile. “Oh?”

He turns to you, tenderly grabbing the tops of your thighs and parting them slightly to stand between your legs.

This isn’t the first time he’s done this, and he knows it rouses you in all the right ways. But, neither of you will do anything about it. Not even a brief kiss.

“Come on,” he goads, planting his hands down next to your hips, bringing himself in closer as he bears his weight on his arms. “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.” He sways his head side to side to emphasize his point.

Fuck. That’s good. 

That may be exactly what you did for him, but it’s now a figure of speech for something else entirely. It’s almost impossible to argue against either way, as if you want to. This is what you’ve been patiently waiting for. 

You put your hands over his as you lean back a little to put some distance between you. “How sweet,” you hum.

His eyes flick from yours to your lips one too many times before you continue. “You start to miss me?” You tease as you lean forward again, echoing what he said to you the night your window got smashed in.

“Smart-ass,” he mutters as you laugh quietly. The tips of your noses barely graze each other as he steps in closer again. You’re almost at the same height like this. 

“Save me the left side,” you advise, bringing your hands to his shoulders as you fondle his white t-shirt between your fingers. You’re so close, and he’s already so warm against you just like this.

“Always do.”

━━━━

You want to rip your heart out of your chest from how hard it’s pounding against your ribs. It’s almost throwing you forward with each heavy beat.

Three resounding knocks fill the hallway as you shuffle on your feet, waiting for Logan to open the door.

It feels like you’re doing something bad. Something parents would warn their kids against. Something greatly envied.

Everything inside you feels on fire. Your thoughts, desires, anxiety, all jumbling together into one distorted state of mind and body.

“Ah, welcome back.” His sarcastic tone makes your face go hot. A satisfied smirk crosses his lips as he runs a hand through his shaggy, unstyled hair. 

You shake your head, pursing your lips. “Knock it off.” You gently shove at his bare chest. Misbehaviour already. But are you really surprised?

Logan grabs your wrist, delicately guiding you into his room. “You enjoy it,” he says lowly, quickly shutting the door as soon as you’re in. 

“Maybe,” you hum in response, pulling away from his grasp and seeking out your side of the bed. Logan follows closely behind, giving your ass a light smack in encouragement before he cuts away to his side while you jolt in shock, a stunned look on your face as you whip your head around to him across the bed.

“Oh, really?” You scoff. He’s biting back a smile, not moving until he knows what you’ll do next. He’s never gone that far before.

“I’m sorry, that was rude—how can I make it up to you?” He almost chokes on a laugh, pulling his dog tag back and forth along the chain while he considers you.

This Logan is very different from the one you were met with the first night he let you in his space. This one is attentive and exuberant, yet he hasn’t given you much up until this point right now. You’ve gotten way too comfortable with him without even doing anything to you. 

In this moment, he isn’t the brooding, animalistic Wolverine many see him as. He’s just Logan—for you. 

You watch him carefully, easing yourself onto the bed. “Get in the fucking bed,” you slap his side of the mattress with a thump of your palm. “And do what you promised earlier,” you stare pointedly at him.

He owes you that “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” favour he decided to pull out to get you here. 

“Mm, alright, alright,” he surrenders, a look of amusement still on his face as he kneels onto the bed. “I thought of a pretty good idea for it,” he says softly, crawling to sit next to you on top of the blanket as the bed-frame creaks with the added weight.

Your shoulders almost brush against each other. You shift, turning your body fully toward him. “Oh? Wh—woah!”

You squeal when his strong hands latch onto your sides, lifting you just enough to pull you over his legs to plant you on his lap. He leans back against the headboard, pulling on your thighs so you straddle him tightly. 

He looks devilish when you catch his gaze again, and you know what’s coming. What’s been coming. Your hands find their places on his shoulders, warm and taut, as his hands hold your hips. 

The bond between you will culminate tonight. It will be wrapped in a blanket and trapped between two alike souls that lie heart-to-heart in the dead of night. It will be perpetual.

The heat of him between your legs makes you restless. It’s just you, him, and the darkness in the quiet room you’ve become too familiar with.

“Logan…” you trail off bashfully when you feel something firm through his sweats poke against your cunt. It clearly doesn’t take much to excite him.

“Hm?” He takes you in for a split second, hands running from your hips up to your chest leisurely with a sharp inhale, not yet completely bothered by the fact that you have a shirt on. 

You suck in a shaky breath when your hips accidentally shift over his bulge from his hands pushing and pulling over you.

“What’s the idea?” Your voice wavers.

You know what it is. He knows that. You just want to hear him say it and fill the silence.

“Something I’ve wanted for a while,” he murmurs, eyes hyper-focused on you. 

Your fingers dance their way to the sides of his neck, brushing along the supple skin while you feel muscles and tendons flex with every slight movement. You subtly press the pad of your index finger against the pulse point right under his jaw, just to ground yourself and truly feel that Logan is there in front of you. 

His pulse is steady but hard, much like yours, and the prickle of energy festering against the finger almost makes it go numb from not accepting it into your body. 

“Show me, then.” You smile sweetly, leaning in closer while you tilt his head up with the hand under his jaw, your finger slipping from his pulse and caressing over the dense, coarse hair along his cheek.

Your noses bump while your lips part in anticipation. His eyes flutter as he falls into you and frantically claims your mouth in an unbreakable kiss.

The first kiss. Nothing could tear him from you in this moment.

Your hands cradle his cheeks, keeping him from pulling off too far. His hands scratch and paw at your back, trying to find a way to somehow get you closer against him.

It’s all a little messy, your lips mostly just mashing together without any rhyme or reason, but neither of you care. You only care about how electrifying it feels to finally have Logan and feel how perfectly connected you are together after all these nights. You go together like a key and its lock.

“Logan,” you pant when his mouth releases yours for a fraction of a breath. The seconds between kisses dwindle the more you take from each other.

Your thighs tense as he pulls half an inch away just to reconnect more crazed as his lips lock over your bottom one aimlessly. Something deep inside you trembles and aches.

He grunts, accidentally sucking the tip of your tongue briefly before slotting his lips back over yours in an apology. “Hold on,” he mumbles in a rush against your parted lips. He knows what you’re asking—or trying to ask. He snakes an arm up along your spine and wraps the other around your waist.

Then the world is tilting.

He drops you on your back on the bed from his lap, hovering over you as he distracts you with harsh but pleasing kisses and wet bites along your neck, settling his hips heavily between your thighs. You squirm and feel how bolts of arousal are making your cunt pulse involuntarily. 

Logan groans. “Fuck—I can smell it. I smell you.” He slowly grinds his hips into yours almost reflexively. He squeezes his eyes shut, and you tip your chin up to press a chaste kiss to his slick lips. 

“Taste…if you want to,” you propose, lightly scratching up and down his shoulders and arms, only enough to leave faint red lines for a couple seconds.

Logan’s eyes almost roll into the back of his head before he gives it a small shake, a conflicted look overtaking his face. “Of course I fucking want to, but—fuck—next time. I promise.” He swallows whatever you were going to say with a deep kiss that has you nearly shaking when he sucks on your bottom lip. 

“Let’s just take things easy,” he says roughly, bearing his weight on his left arm while he tries to get your sleep shorts and underwear off.

A promise of a next time makes your brain go fuzzy like static.

“I’ll hold you to it, then,” you resolve, lifting your hips as much as you can for him to lean back and pull away to wrestle your clothes the rest of the way down your legs, discarding them just as quickly.

“I hope you will,” he breathes through a small laugh as he shuffles on his knees. He doesn’t want to completely overwhelm you and scare you off, he just wants to enjoy you in a simple way that won’t entirely ruin you for tomorrow.

He doesn’t know what you can or cannot handle, but he’s going to find out.

The fresh air in the room brushes cooly against your wet cunt. It’s a nice contrast to how fiery your whole body feels, but Logan feels even warmer than you somehow. Maybe wolverine’s just run hot.

His sweats have ridden down his hips from his desperate grinding against you, and the dangerous cut of his v-line grows more and more narrow as the waistband teases the reveal of what’s underneath.

You watch him—palming his dick once as your knees sway side-to-side in waiting. His thumbs hook under the stretchy fabric, working what remains of his clothes down his sturdy thighs.

“It’s rude to stare.” He pops a brow, a smug, arrogant grin quirking his lips.

You push yourself to sit up, considerably shorter than him in this position as he stands on his knees, and walk two fingers up his toned stomach to his chest, avoiding the hard cock between you. 

He looks at you with curiosity until your hand grabs his dog tag in a fist, pulling it towards you. “Then stop showing me your dick,” you say as he leans in to your pulling a little to not have the chain break away.

You knew the night Logan dropped his pants in front of you and let you eye-up his bulge would come back to haunt you. But it’s alluring. Big. Curves a little to the left, barely noticeable. A respectable amount of hair decorates the space between his bellybutton and the base of his cock.

He gives in to the tension on the chain, falling back to the mattress with you and trapping you between his arms as his cock rests heavy on your clit.

“How about I find somewhere to put it?” His smile pushes a whole new wave of arousal from you.

“It would be a damn shame if you didn’t,” you say against his mouth, giving your hips a roll just to tease him before hugging his waist tightly with your knees.

“Good.” He gives you a strong kiss with a small grunt, running his hands over your sides under your shirt. The movement pushes it up, up, up, until you have no choice but to stretch your arms out above you and let him slide it off between more thoughtless kisses, leaving you entirely bare.

He lets you breathe for a moment, dipping his head to bite and suck marks along your collarbones messily. You squeeze around his hips harder, trying to get him to give you something other than his scratchy cheeks rubbing against your skin and the chilled steel of the dog tag dragging over your chest.

The tip of his cock falls and catches over your clit when he moves lower, licking and sucking over your chest like a starved animal finding food for the first time in a week. You gasp from the mixed sensations.

“C’mon, kitty cat, you can do all this while inside m-me,” you say breathily, fingers digging into his shoulders to stop yourself from trembling too much. 

Logan bites over a nipple before pulling himself back up to look at you. “Is that a promise?” He says lowly, that stupid smirk gracing his face again.

“Try it and find out,” you demand, enjoying the sting of the deeper bites blooming on your torso.

He purses his lips, shifting his weight back onto his knees to grab ahold of his cock to angle and guide it in.

“Hm, guess no lube is needed,” he muses when he gets a look at your cunt, sparing you a glance through his lashes.

You roll your eyes shut when your whole body lights up red-hot. “Jesus fucking Christ, Logan,” you slap a hand over your eyes as you grimace. You don’t want to be that aware of your naked self right now.

He suppresses whatever expression was about to cross his face when his cock notches itself between your soaked folds, teasing your hole with the blunt tip. His brows pinch together and you forget the embarrassment from his crude remark.

But he leaves his cock like that, on the precipice of sliding the rest of the way in with a snap of his hips. Instead, he carefully uncurls his upper body to crawl his way back up to you while holding his hips deathly still.

“Alright, stay with me,” he whispers against your neck when you moan, pressing a tender kiss to your rabid pulse in reassurance. 

“O-okay,” you sigh, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the roots while the other squeezes around his arm as best as it can. You’re not even really sure what he’s saying.  

He kisses up your cheek and over to your lips again. You try to keep up with his quick mouth, licking and sucking whatever part you can get ahold of, but you’ve become lost in the feeling of him all over you. 

He’s in your mouth, on your chest, against your stomach, nudging your cunt. Everywhere.

He slips his tongue over yours, securing your lips together at the same time he pushes his cock in halfway. Now you understand what he was saying. 

The lightheadedness from being filled, even just a bit, almost makes you lose yourself. The stretch makes your stomach drop, your legs shake, and your mouth fall open with a whine. 

“A-ah—fuck. Fuck, Logan,” you whimper, fisting his hair with both hands to stop yourself from falling apart.

He groans, either at the grip you have on his hair or how good your cunt feels already, and runs a hand up your left thigh in comfort as you squeeze around his hips tighter to draw him in. 

“Just a bit more,” he soothes, trying to resist the urge to slide into you in one fell swoop. It would be so easy to just let his hips fall into yours and fill your cunt.

Another heated kiss, another few inches. He works his cock into you the rest of the way with ease. You guess the lube thing wasn’t really a joke. His hungry, needy kisses may have also helped with that.

You choke on your gasps, not wanting to get too loud, and Logan does the same. He tries to muffle both of your moans with his mouth, attempting to form complete kisses, but it just turns into you panting against each other as he finally bottoms out, hitting his end. 

Your legs relax around his waist as he deftly rocks his hips in small thrusts to get you familiar with his size, his small grunts filling the air each time you swallow him whole.

You let out a deep breath, dropping your hands back to his tense shoulders. He lines your jaw with soft kisses, fisting the blanket in his hands beside your head.

“Fuck. Already feels too good,” he moans, pressing into you harder and unintentionally rubbing himself over your tender clit.

You smile, squirming while he works down your neck again. “Best of luck,” you huff, amused at the fact that he might not last as long as he wants to.

He brings his face back to yours, a completely blissful expression controlling his features, but there’s still some mischief in his hazel eyes. “Oh? Yeah?”

You hold each other’s gaze, both equally dazed and overwhelmed, and he draws his hips back and pushes into your wet cunt with a complete, strong thrust. The sound of his pelvis hitting against the backs of your thighs makes him laugh in pleasure and satisfaction when you instantly roll your eyes and head back.

Your cunt quivers, gripping him tight, and then it’s Logan’s turn to lose composure. He drops his head to your chest, managing a few deep breaths as he slowly pulls out halfway just to push right back into you, over and over. 

It’s a pace that isn’t quite pure, mindless fucking, but it’s also not somewhere near earnest love-making. It’s something that feels specifically curated for you. Something that feels measured and sincere. 

The strength of his thighs hitting against yours pushes you up the mattress a few inches, and you don’t know whether to gasp or moan. He reaches somewhere deep inside you, and you know he can feel that, too.

A helpless groan slips through Logan’s lips. “Where have you fucking been, huh?” He muses through shaky breaths, the determined plunge of his cock hitting something that makes your muscles tense throughout your body. 

Your fingers tangle in the hair at the base of his neck, keeping him close. “Two doors down,” you giggle, understanding that’s not quite what he was asking.

“Fucking smart-ass,” he grumbles, silencing any further rebuttals with a wet kiss. You don’t think you could manage much more of a conversation even if you wanted to.

The silence is quickly filled with obscene sounds that only seem to leave you wetter and Logan throbbing. You can hear your bodies connecting through your gasping for air and his choked moans, and you can feel the mess you’re making all over him. It’s smeared along the inside of your thighs from how deep he’s been hitting. The squelching only seems to make him fuck into you harder.

Something inside you starts to grow tight and wind up in your core, making you repeatedly clench around him while his cock strokes all the right spots inside you as he makes sure he’s fucking himself in to the base. He doesn’t deprive you of anything. 

He drops his head to your neck, wedging his face in to latch onto the spot right where your neck starts to slope into your shoulder. The dense muscle there gives him something to basically chew on, sinking his teeth in as deep as he can without drawing blood.

“H-hah, Logan,” you whine, tilting your head into the side of his and squirming from the pleasant sting.

You feel his arm move beside you, then you hear the sound of tearing fabric as he gives a particularly brutal snap of his hips, followed by a deep groan against your skin.

You can barely form any thoughts, but you can guess what just happened. If he pulled his hand back, three long, slim holes would probably be where his knuckles are right now.

“Fu-uck, Logan, you just got t-this mattress,” you laugh a little, your words choppy from how hard he’s driving into you now.

He draws back from your neck, seeing your half-lidded eyes trying to focus on him. “Can’t always control it,” he reasons, giving you two short, fleeting kisses as you hear his claws retract from the innocent mattress. 

You see the double-edged sword. You can guess that that’s the same explanation he would probably use for the nightmares. It can go either way, and now you’ve seen both sides.

“It’s okay,” you say in a hushed tone. You cradle his face, and he rests his forehead against yours. “Keep going…keep going,” you coax, face scrunching from your nearing orgasm.

You can feel it in your toes, your stomach, your shoulders—you’re tightening up everywhere, and he can undoubtedly feel it in your cunt as you pulse around him. It grips him just right for a couple seconds before relaxing completely and leaving him to chase for more.

“Keep squeezing me like that and you’ll get whatever you want,” he offers, fighting to maintain his steady pace for both your sakes.

You almost whine, knowing whatever your body does is beyond your control at this point.

“Just—inside.” You can’t even string together a full sentence anymore, but the urgency and stress on the last word makes Logan’s ears perk up.

He presses a soft kiss to your clammy forehead in acknowledgment, the muscles in his arms straining and flexing as he grabs ahold of his own orgasm after a particularly inviting flutter of your walls.

You’re both walking the line, teetering on the edge of utter euphoria, and you know nothing will be the same after. You don’t want it to be. You hope it isn’t.

He reaches an arm back, sliding his hand up your thigh again and slotting it behind the bend in your knee. He pushes forward—only slightly—bringing your leg closer to your stomach to stretch you open for him.

His cock brushes over something new. Something that makes you bite your tongue. The angle lets him fit perfectly against you, not hindered by the flesh of your thigh stopping his hips.

You want to cry from how good it all feels. You want to be suspended in this feeling forever. You want Logan to—

“Focus, baby. Focus on me,” he coos, bringing you back to reality. He holds the side of your head with his other hand affectionately. “Come on…come on, I know you’re almost there,” he encourages with a quick kiss that goes straight to your stomach.

The burn in your thigh from the stretch can’t overpower the sparks of your orgasm, and Logan just fanned the flames with a few little words.

You come with a broken sob, convulsing around his cock while he fucks you through it, submitting to his own orgasm only seconds after with deep, shaky breaths as he empties himself inside your cunt.

He doesn’t pull out or pull away. He relaxes on top of you, sweaty and sticky with cum, and he places the barest whisper of a kiss on your chin, your parted lips, your nose, and then your forehead. 

Your ears ring from your orgasm, eyes still slightly out of focus. Your body trembles from your muscles finally releasing the tension they’ve been caught up in. 

You desperately suck in air, trying to calm your pounding heart, and you just lie there and let Logan walk your body through a cool-down. Soft kisses. Soft touches. Soft looks. Between sweat, cum, and whatever else.

He rocks a little on his knees, weak from his release, and carefully pulls out of you with a huff as he caresses your stomach and thighs appreciatively to wind you down. You get a good look at him. Not a scratch. His hair tells a story, though—one where he’s completely possessed by bliss. 

You probably look like you survived an animal attack.

“Are we even?” Logan says through a kiss against your stomach.

A mindless laugh crawls from your throat, caught up in the feeling of his hands rubbing circles over your hips. “I think I still owe you,” you argue, resting your hands over his as they travel smoothly up your side.

You’ll find a way to make everything up to him. Including the sex. The scale is now tipping to his side too much. All the nights spent in his bed, what he’s done for you, what you’ve done for each other, may just be immeasurable, but that won’t stop you from finding a way to get him back for it all. 

“We’ll figure it out,” he mumbles, snaking back up your body and pressing himself against you. Face-to-face. Chest-to-chest. 

You mindfully run your hands over the sides of his head, trying to tame his hair and style it back to how it was earlier in the night. It doesn’t work. He enjoys it anyway.

“Do I have the pleasure of staying here tonight?” You ask rhetorically, enjoying the warmth of him on top of you against the brisk air creeping in from the cracked window.

Logan blinks. “You can stay every night.” 

A loving smile springs over your face. This may be the beginning of the end to your troubles and worries.  

You—maybe foolishly—trust him. You trust that he won’t accidentally bury his claws in your side during the night, but you’ve had impressive luck with that up until this point. The only thing you can do now is continue to push that luck.

Healing isn’t linear, and you can’t expect someone to fix you, but everyone finds their thing at some point. 

You slither your hand down to his neck, index finger grazing over his pulse again. You feel the energy biting against you.

Your lips graze over his, tempting him to give you a slow, deep kiss. “Can I have the left side?” Rhetorical, again.

Logan chuckles against your mouth. “Always.”

[starmapz]

what you know - r. sukuna [college au]

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. mutual pining. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic (attacks). mentions of difficulty eating. vomit. legal drama (likely with inaccuracies). tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ taglist ; OPEN. please comment here if you would like to be tagged. age MUST be easily visible on your blog. if you've already requested to be on the taglist, i've got you <3

❦ words ; 350k+? estimated.

main masterlist || ao3 || wattpad || playlist

⋆ ch1 || fallen angel ⋆ ch2 || prom queen ⋆ ch3 || grade a(sshole) ⋆ ch4 || served ⋆ ch5 || hero ⋆ ch6 || intoxicated ⋆ ch7 || yuletide ⋆ ch8 || hysteria ⋆ ch9 || (ex) friends ⋆ ch10 || miscalculation ⋆ ch11 || scars ⋆ ch12 || too sweet ⋆ ch13 || tribulations ⋆ ch14 || trials ⋆ ch15 || aftermath ⋆ ch16 || sleepless nights ⋆ ch17 || ghosts - coming soon! ⋆ ch18 || crash - coming soon! ⋆ ch19 || coming soon!

⋆ husband!wyk!sukuna headcanons

⫘ sukuna appearance hc ⫘ series art ⫘ ⫘ fanart tag ⫘ music tag ⫘ ask tag ⫘

writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight. do not repost, translate, or copy.

[skippingseaglass]

hey wait yeah you get it. can somebody find me that crocodile comic somebody drew? the one where the art style gets so simplified that you stop being able to tell that its a living creature and not an abstract figure? i feel like that's relevant right now

I'm going to try and say this in the nicest way possible: you are not the only person with problems, and the people who look at your art are not obligated to have to see your, frankly, very uncomfortable venting. The "this is like coming into someone's house" argument doesn't work in a situation like this, because at the end of the day we are strangers. We don't know each other and at this rate we won't be friends, either. It's your house that you're inviting STRANGERS to.

what is happening here. can I please post what I want to in peace

[kysstar]

SWEETHEART | KIM HONG JOONG

pairing: kim hongjoong x fem!reader

synopsis: you’re a skilled pickpocket who unknowingly steals from hongjoong, the ruthless mafia leader. the next thing you know, you’re dragged into the mafia world.

genre: mafia au, cat-and-mouse, reluctant alliance.

warnings: blood-shed, violence, panic attack, kissing, cliche stuff like yk the dress and heels thing (forgive me)

word count: 16.4k

[series masterlist]

—The crowd moves like a river, thick with tourists and businessmen, all too absorbed in their own lives to notice you. Perfect. You slip through the bodies with practiced ease, brushing against a man in a suit just lightly enough to slip your fingers into his coat pocket. Your touch is quick, ghostlike. By the time he takes another step, his wallet is yours.

You don’t stop walking. Rule number one: never stop. Casually, you slip the wallet into your jacket and veer into a side alley. Only then do you let yourself exhale. Flipping it open, you scan the contents—credit cards, an ID, a few hundred in cash. Easy. Routine.

The thrill is always the same, a sharp rush that hums under your skin.

But you’re not done.

You step back onto the main street, eyes scanning for the next mark. That’s when you spot him.

A man stands near a sleek black car, phone pressed to his ear. His suit isn’t just expensive—it’s power wrapped in fabric. The kind of power that turns heads, that makes people step out of the way without thinking. His dark eyes flicker up, sharp and unreadable, before dismissing everything around him. He’s focused on the call.

A passing group provides perfect cover. You slip in close, your shoulder barely brushing his as your fingers work. The weight of the wallet slides into your palm so smoothly it almost feels too easy. Your heart pounds, but your face remains impassive as you keep walking, melting into the sea of people.

It takes fifteen minutes before you check your prize.

You’re perched on the steps of an old building, half-hidden in the shadows, when you pull out the wallet. It’s heavier than most. Your fingers flip it open, expecting cash, cards—maybe something extra.

What you find instead makes your blood run cold.

Black leather. Minimalist. Inside, an ID stares back at you. The name is one you’ve only ever heard in hushed whispers, in stories told between thieves who knew better than to try their luck.

Kim Hongjoong.

You don’t need to read the rest. Your fingers are already shaking. The emblem on the card is enough—a symbol of the underworld, of power beyond money. A name that commands fear.

You just stole from the most dangerous man in the city.

Your pulse is hammering now, cold dread settling in your stomach like a stone. You’re good—one of the best—but even you know there are lines you don’t cross. Kim Hongjoong isn’t just another rich bastard flashing wealth like a target on his back. He’s the kind of man who has people dragged off the streets for less than this.

And you just made yourself his problem.

Your first instinct is to return it. Just slip back through the crowd, drop it at his feet, walk away before he even notices. It wouldn’t undo what you did, but maybe—just maybe—it’d buy you a few extra seconds of life.

Before you could turn around and fix your mistake, you hear footsteps. Not the usual aimless shuffle of the street.

"She must’ve gone this way."

A voice, low and sharp, cutting through the noise of the city.

"Spread out. Don’t let her slip past."

"Hyung said not to make a mess. Just get her."

They’re already looking for you. Your pulse spiked, your body moving before your mind could catch up. Without hesitation, you tossed the wallet onto a rusted barrel near the alley’s entrance and bolted.

Your feet hit the ground hard as you sprinted down the alley, boots skidding slightly against the damp pavement. A pipe jutted out from the wall ahead—low enough to grab. Without breaking stride, you jumped, gripping it tight, muscles straining as you hoisted yourself up. You swung over, landing on a fire escape, the metal groaning under your weight.

A second later, footsteps thundered into the alley you’d just been in.

"Fuck—where did she go?"

"Check the sides. She couldn't have—"

"Up there!"

Shit.

You climbed the fire escape two steps at a time, your breath coming in sharp exhales. The city stretched out before you as you reached the roof, neon lights bleeding into the night sky. No time to admire the view. You took off, your legs burning as you sprinted across the rooftop.

Behind you, the sound of pursuit. Metal rattling. Footsteps heavy against concrete. They were following. You could hear their curses, the way they moved with precision.

You leaped to the next building without hesitation. The drop between them was sharp, an alley yawning below, but you barely felt it. Your hands hit the edge, fingers scraping as you pulled yourself up. The moment your feet touched the rooftop, you ran again, weaving between rusted vents and old signs, each movement instinctual, each decision made in the space of a heartbeat.

Another gap ahead. Wider this time. You forced your legs to push harder, faster. The city blurred, wind cutting against your skin as you jumped.

Your foot barely caught the ledge. You scrambled, fingers digging into the rough surface.

"She's over there!"

Damn it. They were still behind you. But you had distance. You could still make it—

A gunshot rang out.

Your body reacted before your mind did, dropping low just as a bullet sparked against the metal vent beside you. They weren’t aiming to kill. Not yet. A warning shot. A reminder that you were running out of time.

You had to get off the rooftops. Fast.

You spotted a lower building to your left, a stack of crates leading down. Without a second thought, you veered off course, sliding down the side, your boots landing hard against the wood before jumping to the next level. The moment you hit the ground, you took off into the maze of alleyways.

The streets twisted and turned, shadows stretching long under flickering streetlights. You weaved through them, ducking behind dumpsters, slipping between narrow gaps between buildings. The sound of pursuit never faded. Heavy footsteps. Low voices barking orders. They weren’t giving up.

You turned a sharp corner, only to halt. A figure stood in your path.

The dim light barely illuminated him, but you saw the way he stood—calm, patient. Not out of breath like you were. He had been waiting for you.

Dyed red hair, catching the faint glow of the streetlamp. You couldn’t see his face in the shadows, but it didn’t matter. The way he held himself told you everything you needed to know. He worked for him.

Your body reacted before you could think. You spun on your heel, ready to bolt in the other direction—

But then another figure emerged from the darkness.

He was tall, dark hair tousled from the chase, sharp eyes burning with something dangerous. His presence was heavier, more imposing, like a wall of sheer force. The way he carried himself was different—broader shoulders, longer strides. Even standing still, he looked like he was hunting.

Your instincts screamed at you to move, to fight, to do anything but stand there like a deer caught in headlights. You turned sharply, ready to try your luck past the first man, but the second you stepped forward—

Something struck the side of your head, and the world tilted. Your vision blurred, the edges darkening. You barely registered the way your knees buckled, the sensation of the cold pavement meeting your skin. The last thing you heard was the sound of footsteps drawing closer, then darkness.

—The first thing you felt was the ache. A deep, pulsing pain at the side of your head, radiating down your neck. The second thing you felt was cold—metal biting into your wrists, the sharp edge of a chair digging into your back.

You blinked. The world came back in pieces. Dim lighting. A concrete room. A single table in front of you, sleek and empty except for a glass of water placed just within reach. Your hands—chained. Thick metal cuffs locked around your wrists, fastened to the table.

Panic clawed at your chest, but you forced it down.

Then, the door creaks open. Slow, deliberate footsteps echoed through the room. You knew who it was before you even looked up.

Kim Hongjoong.

He walked in like he owned the air in the room, like the walls themselves bent to his presence. Sharp suit, rings glinting under the dim light. He didn’t sit right away. Instead, he leaned against the table, tilting his head slightly as he studied you.

"You gave my men a bit of a workout," he said casually.

You didn’t answer. He sighed, almost amused, and finally lowered himself into the chair across from you. He moved slowly—not out of laziness, but control. Like a man who knew he had all the time in the world.

"You know who I am," he continued, tapping his fingers against the table. "That makes this easier. Saves me the trouble of introductions."

He exhaled through his nose, noticing you were quiet, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Smart. You’re not talking. That’s good. Means you’re thinking."

Your fingers curled slightly against the cuffs, but you didn’t break eye contact. Don’t let him see weakness. Don’t give him anything.

Hongjoong leaned forward. The scent of expensive cologne and something darker—gunpowder, blood, smoke—lingered around him.

"You stole from me," he said. "You ran. You made my men chase you. So tell me—why shouldn’t I put a bullet in your head right now?"

He said it so easily. Like he was asking what was for dinner. Like your life was just another business decision.

When you didn’t answer, he hummed lightly, dragging his fingers across the table. A small, absent-minded movement, as if he were thinking of a hundred different ways to break you.

"You’re not dead yet," he continued, tilting his head slightly. "That means I see value in you."

You forced yourself to hold his gaze. "And if I don’t want to be of value to you?"

A slow smile spread across his lips. "Then you’ll be of value to the bottom of the Han River."

A chill ran down your spine. There was no malice in his voice. No anger. He meant every word.

Hongjoong exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "I’ll give you some advice," he said. "People who sit in that chair? The ones who talk too much usually end up screaming. The ones who talk too little?" He tilted his head. "Well. They usually don’t get a second chance."

His fingers tapped against the metal cuff on your wrist. "But you?" His voice dropped lower, softer.. "You’re different, aren’t you?"

He let the words settle, watching you. Then, he leaned back, exhaling like this was all just mildly inconvenient for him. "So. Let’s get to the point."

"You’re good," he said. "Too good to waste. That little stunt you pulled? Impressive. Cost me time, men, resources." He shook his head slightly, clicking his tongue. "Which means you owe me."

You have two choices," he continued, completely unfazed. "You work for me."

He smirked. "Or I put you in the ground."

The words hung in the air, heavy, suffocating. You barely heard the faint drip of water somewhere in the distance.

"And before you think about the third option," he added, smiling slightly, "let me remind you. No one gets away from me. You run? I’ll find you. You fight? You won’t win."

You swallowed, fingers flexing slightly against the cuffs. His eyes darkened, amusement flickering into something colder.

"I don’t need an answer now," he murmured, standing up. "I’ll let you think about it."

He moved to the door, pausing just long enough to glance back over his shoulder.

"But don’t take too long, sweetheart."

And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the cold, empty room—with the weight of your own inevitable decision.

You stared at the metal cuffs around your wrists, the skin beneath them raw from how tightly they were fastened. The cold from the table seeped into your bones, and despite how still you were sitting, your pulse hadn’t slowed since Hongjoong walked out that door.

There were no cameras you could see, but you weren’t stupid enough to think they’d leave you completely unwatched. They were waiting. Letting you stew in your own thoughts. Letting you understand exactly how trapped you were.

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to think, to plan.

Escaping was impossible.

You didn’t know where you were, didn’t know how many people were guarding the place, didn’t even know if you were still in the same part of the city. Even if by some miracle you managed to slip out, Hongjoong made it painfully clear—you wouldn’t get away.

He had an army. Resources. Eyes everywhere.

And you?

You had bruises, a throbbing headache, and a death sentence hanging over your head.

You could try running anyway. Disappear. Change your name. Burn your fingerprints off if you had to. But men like Hongjoong? They didn’t forget. Didn’t forgive. They would hunt you down, and when they find you—because they would—it wouldn’t be pretty.

Which left two options.

Option one. You refused. You died. Simple.

Option two? You worked for him.

Got tangled in the very world you spent your whole life avoiding.

The underworld didn’t let people walk away. The only way out was a body bag. Once you were in, you belonged to them. No freedom. No future. Just the slow, inevitable march toward a violent end.

You didn’t want to die. Not today, at least.

And that meant—

The door opened again.

Hongjoong stepped back into the room, looking exactly the same—untouched, unfazed, as if the last conversation had been nothing more than a casual business deal.

He sighed, stretching slightly as he sat back down across from you. "I was hoping you’d try to run," he mused. "Would’ve been fun to chase you again."

You didn’t rise to the bait. His lips twitched, amused. "Nothing? You’re no fun, sweetheart."

The word was drenched in sarcasm, and yet the way it rolled off his tongue made your skin prickle.

He leaned forward, resting his elbow against the table. "Have you made up your mind, or are we going to sit here all night?"

Your throat felt dry. Your fingers curled against the cuffs, nails pressing into your palms.

You knew what you had to say. You just hated saying it.

You swallowed once, then forced yourself to give a small nod.

He smiled. "Smart girl."

He stood, moving around the table, and you tensed instinctively as he reached for the cuffs. The metal clicked, and just like that, you were free.

Hongjoong stepped back, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Welcome to the family, darling,"

—The meeting room was too fancy.

Dark oak table, expensive leather chairs, dim lighting that cast long shadows along the walls. It wasn’t what you expected from a place run by men who could kill without blinking. It looked more like a CEO’s office than a mafia hideout.

But the tension? The tension gave it away.

You could feel it the moment you stepped inside. Eight men sat around the table, and the moment they saw you, everything shifted.

Seonghwa leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his sharp eyes flicking over you like he was trying to read something between the lines. San and Wooyoung, sitting side by side, exchanged looks before Wooyoung smirked and muttered something under his breath. Yunho was drumming his fingers against the table absently, but his eyes weren’t relaxed.

Mingi, the one who knocked you out, was watching you with an unreadable look, while Jongho’s gaze was sharp, suspicious. He wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he didn’t trust you.

And then there was Yeosang. Sitting off to the side, legs crossed, scrolling through an iPad like he couldn’t care less if you lived or died.

Hongjoong strolled past you, heading straight for the head of the table. "Relax, boys," he said casually. "If I thought she was a threat, she’d already be dead."

"She’s still a thief," Jongho muttered, arms crossed. "I don’t trust her."

"Same," San added, though his tone was more amused than serious. "What’s stopping her from running the second we let her out?"

"Us," Hongjoong said simply.

You didn’t miss the way a few of them smirked at that.

Right. Running wasn’t an option.

Hongjoong settled into his chair, fingers tapping against the table. "I want to see what she’s really capable of," he said. "A test, if you will."

"The casino job," he continued, glancing around at the others. "She’ll do it alone."

The reaction was immediate. Wooyoung laughed. "You’re joking."

"You can’t be serious," Jongho muttered, eyes narrowing.

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Yunho just exhaled, shaking his head slightly.

"She’ll have backup," Hongjoong said smoothly. "We’ll be watching. But I want to see how she handles herself."

Yeosang didn’t even look up from his iPad. "If she screws up, I’m not covering for her."

"I don’t expect you to," Hongjoong replied, unimpressed.

You crossed your arms, trying to ignore the way they were talking about you like you weren’t even there.

"What exactly do you want me to do?" you finally asked.

Hongjoong’s lips curled into a smirk. "Steal something for me."

Of course.

"A casino in the city has something I want. A small USB drive—valuable information on it." He leaned forward slightly. "It’s kept in a private security room, heavily guarded. But I have a feeling you’ll figure something out."

"Try to pull anything," he added, "and you won’t make it out of the casino’s parking lot. Understood, sweetheart?"

You exhaled through your nose. "Crystal clear."

—The inside of the van was dimly lit, the glow from multiple screens casting an eerie blue hue over the space. You sat in one of the chairs, back straight, fingers tapping idly against your thigh as Yeosang secured an earpiece for you.

"Try not to break it," he said handing it to you.

Behind you, Yeosang settled back into his seat, eyes flicking over the monitors like he couldn’t be less interested in what was happening in real life. Meanwhile, Hongjoong stood near the front, buttoning up his suit jacket, adjusting the cuffs like he wasn’t about to send you straight into the lion’s den.

"Listen carefully," he said, his voice smooth but firm. "For you to get inside the security room, you’ll need a passkey." He met your gaze, eyes sharp. "Only the personal bodyguard of the casino’s owner, Seojun, carries one. That means you’ll need to wait for Seojun to arrive—then get close enough to his guard to lift it."

"Once you have it, you’ll head to Seojun’s private office. The drive will be in his safe—somewhere behind the bar shelf. We don’t know the code, but we do know he’s a cocky bastard who keeps it written somewhere in the room."

Hongjoong straightened his tie. "Get the drive. Get out. Simple."

You scoffed. "Not as simple as you make it sound."

He smirked. "No. But I trust you’ll manage, sweetheart."

You exhaled, shifting slightly in your seat. The black dress they’d given you clung to your skin, sleek and elegant—perfect for a casino setting. Terrible for escaping.

"If you expect me to run in this," you muttered, tugging at the fabric slightly, "you should’ve given me a proper dress."

Hongjoong chuckled. "I think you'll manage, darling."

Easy for him to say.

A small beep echoed through the van as Yeosang pressed something on his tablet. "Alright, we’ve got eyes inside," he said lazily. "Seojun isn’t here yet, but the others are already in position."

Hongjoong nodded, then turned to you. "Time to go."

You took one last deep breath before stepping out of the van.

The casino loomed ahead—bright lights, luxury cars pulling up to the entrance, security stationed at every door. You slipped in smoothly, moving with the kind of ease that only came from experience. The moment you crossed the threshold, the noise hit—laughter, the chime of slot machines, the low murmur of expensive deals being made.

Mingi and Yunho near the bar, pretending to be absorbed in their drinks. Wooyoung at a poker table, laughing too loudly at something San had said. Jongho standing near the entrance, arms crossed, watching.

You were in. Now, all you had to do was get the job done.

—You had been winning.

That was the real tragedy here.

The game wasn’t even interesting anymore, but the rush of flipping the right card, the glint of irritation in the dealer’s eyes—it was fun. And you were raking in chips like you were born for this.

Then, just as you were about to go all in, Hongjoong’s voice crackled in your ear.

"Seojun just arrived. You’re up, sweetheart."

You sighed, tapping your fingers against the pile of chips in front of you. "Damn shame. I was on a roll."

The dealer looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to play your turn. You flashed him a lazy smile. No use getting greedy.

With calculated ease, you leaned back in your chair, letting your eyes drift toward the entrance.

Seojun strolled inside like he owned the place—which, technically, he did. A sharp navy-blue suit, rings glinting under the casino lights, an arrogant smirk plastered across his face. But your attention wasn’t on him.

It was on the man walking beside him.

Broad shoulders. Black suit. Cold expression. The personal bodyguard. And more importantly, the passkey clipped discreetly to his belt.

Simple in design, barely noticeable if you weren’t looking for it. But you were.

"Try not to drool," Wooyoung’s voice cut in through the earpiece, amused.

You didn’t miss a beat. "Try not to cry when I outdo you, pretty boy."

Mingi’s low chuckle hummed through the comms. Wooyoung scoffed. "Yeah, yeah, just hurry up and do your thing."

You smirked, but your attention stayed on your target.

Seojun was already moving toward the VIP section, his guard following like a shadow. You pushed back from the table, grabbing your winnings, and made your way toward the bar instead.

The moment Seojun stopped to greet another guest, you moved.

One of the waitresses passed by, carrying a tray of expensive cocktails. You bumped into her—just slightly—just enough to send one of the glasses tipping. She gasped, catching it before it spilled completely, but the motion sent her staggering right into the bodyguard.

A sharp inhale as cold liquid spilled down his sleeve. He turned, annoyed, swiping at his jacket as the waitress flustered out apologies.

You moved then. A step forward. A brush of fingers. The passkey slipped free from his belt and into your sleeve in less than two seconds.

A slow smirk tugged at your lips. "Passkey secured," you murmured under your breath, already making your way toward the back.

"Show-off," Wooyoung muttered.

—The office was too clean. Rich mahogany desk, sleek leather chairs, an expensive globe that definitely had some hidden contraption inside. But your focus wasn’t on any of that. Your focus was on the safe.

It was exactly where Hongjoong said it would be—behind the bar shelf. A high-tech model, sleek steel, keypad glowing in the dim light. You crouched in front of it, exhaling slowly.

"Alright," you muttered to yourself, scanning the room. "If I were an arrogant bastard, where would I hide my secrets?"

You started with the desk—flipping through papers, checking drawers. Then the liquor shelf—bottles arranged in obnoxiously perfect symmetry. Nothing

You clenched your jaw, heart pounding a little faster. You didn’t have time for this.

"Hurry it up," Hongjoong’s voice crackled in your ear.

"Yeah, I totally wasn’t planning on taking my time and sipping some whiskey while I’m at it," you snapped back. You could hear Wooyoung laughing in the background.

Then, just as frustration was starting to creep in, your eyes landed on a small, glass plaque on the desk.

Seojun’s name, etched in gold. You picked it up, flipping it over and there it was. A small, handwritten note, barely noticeable.

7482.

You grinned. Idiot.

Moving quickly, you punched in the numbers, the safe letting out a soft click as it unlocked. You pulled it open, snatching the small USB drive from inside.

Done. Easy.

Then, Footsteps. Right outside the door.

Your stomach dropped. "Shit," you whispered.

"What?" Hongjoong’s voice came sharp through the earpiece.

"You said the guards weren’t supposed to check this floor for another two hours."

A groan. "They weren’t."

"Then tell me why they’re right outside the damn door?"

Then Jongho’s voice, cursing. "Where the hell is Mingi?"

Seonghwa gritted his teeth, "Gambling."

You almost choked. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Are we even surprised?" Wooyoung said, voice dripping with amusement. "I told you not to bring him to the casino. He always gets distracted."

"Shut up and get her out of there," Yunho muttered.

You weren’t listening anymore. The voices outside were getting closer.

Your eyes darted across the room, searching—anything. And then—

A window.

You ran towards it, pushing it open, cold air immediately slamming against your skin. The city lights stretched out below, cars honking, the distant murmur of life continuing completely unaware that you were about to risk breaking your neck.

Clutching the USB drive in one hand, you gripped the edge of the window, stepping onto the thin ledge. The wind was brutal, cutting through the fabric of your dress. Your heels scraped against the ledge as you tried to steady yourself—you stumbled, catching yourself at the last second.

A series of very creative curses spilled from your lips.

Yunho scoffed. "Never heard anyone swear this much before."

San’s voice, slightly amused. "Where are you?"

You took a shaky breath, gripping the pillar beside you as your balance wavered.

"One step away from death."

—The team was already waiting by the van, gathered in a loose semicircle under the dim glow of the streetlights. The tension was thick, but not because they were worried. But because they were arguing.

"I told you—don’t bring Mingi to the casino."

"Okay, but in my defense—"

"There is no defense!" Seonghwa snapped, arms crossed, looking dangerously close to smacking Mingi upside the head. "You were supposed to be watching for security! Not—not placing bets on a damn poker table!"

Mingi shrugged, completely unbothered. "I was winning."

"You—!" Seonghwa inhaled sharply, turning away like he needed a moment to pray for patience.

Wooyoung, meanwhile, was losing it. Laughing so hard he had to lean against Yunho for support. "You were right, hyung. This is why we don’t bring him here."

"Like watching a child," Jongho muttered, shaking his head.

Yeosang, who had been silently scrolling through his iPad the entire time, finally looked up. "Where is she?"

"Maybe she sold us," San suggested, only half-joking.

Jongho scoffed. "Or maybe she got caught."

"Or maybe she died," Wooyoung added, grinning like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Jongho tilted his head, considering. "Honestly, I’d prefer that over the first option."

"Wow, thanks," came a hoarse voice from behind them.

All eight of them turned in perfect sync.

There you were, leaning heavily against a metal pipe, completely disheveled. Hair a mess, dress wrinkled, breathing like you just ran a marathon.

Hongjoong blinked. "What the hell happened to you?"

You glared, lifting your hand. The USB drive dangled between your fingers. "I got the damn drive," you said, voice dry. "And almost died in the process, by the way. In case anyone cares."

"Nope," Jongho said immediately.

"Not really," Wooyoung added, smirking.

You rolled your eyes, shoving the drive into Hongjoong’s hand. "Next time, if you’re gonna send me on a mission, don’t let the walking skyscraper near a poker table."

"Hey," Mingi muttered. "It was a good game."

Hongjoong turned the USB over between his fingers, watching the way the dim light reflected off its smooth surface. He looked too pleased with himself, like he was holding a winning card no one else had seen.

You were still catching your breath when he finally spoke. "You know," he mused, voice casual, "this drive is useless."

Your heartbeat, still erratic from your near-death stunt, stumbled. "What?"

Hongjoong smirked, tapping the USB against his palm. "There’s nothing in it. It was a test."

Your body stiffened, exhaustion momentarily forgotten. A test? Your fingers curled at your sides as you processed.

The impossible ease of this mission. The predictable guard patterns. The fact that Hongjoong never seemed remotely concerned, even when you almost got caught.

"You’re telling me," you said slowly, voice colder than before, "that I just risked my life… for a test?"

Hongjoong gave a small tilt of his head, eyes gleaming with amusement. "The casino belongs to us. Seojun works for me."

You felt stupid. A slow, creeping anger slithered into your chest. How did you not see it? It made sense. Too much sense.

"Don’t look so shocked," Yeosang muttered from behind his iPad, not even bothering to look up. "It was necessary."

"Yeah," Wooyoung chimed in, arms crossed, grinning. "We had to make sure you wouldn’t run or sell us out the second you got the chance."

Jongho let out a short laugh. "Would’ve been funny if she tried, though."

San shook his head, smirking. "Nah. She’s not that dumb."

"You sure?" Yunho teased. "She did almost break her neck back there."

A sharp, burning frustration coiled in your stomach. You wanted to lash out, to snap something reckless—but you bit down on your tongue.

They were still the men who kidnapped you.

But at the same time… you couldn’t exactly blame them. It was smart. If you had been in their position, you might’ve done the same thing.

"You all suck," you muttered, narrowing your eyes.

Wooyoung grinned. "On the bright side, you’re not dead."

You inhaled slowly, forcing yourself to calm down.

"You got anything else planned for me?" you asked, voice clipped.

Hongjoong just smirked, slipping the USB into his pocket. "We’ll see."

With those two words, the conversation was over. The others started piling into the van, still amused by your reaction. You, on the other hand, were doing your best not to show just how embarrassed you were.

Without a word, you headed straight for the first seat—the one nearest to the door but furthest from them.

The van was huge, almost a mini-bus, with rows of seats stretching all the way to the back where the seven men sprawled comfortably. Too comfortably. Meanwhile, you sank into your seat, arms crossed, staring out the window like it personally offended you.

The van started moving.

Streetlights blurred past as you glared outside, jaw clenched. You still couldn’t believe it.

A damn test.

Every risk, every second of near-death, the whole mission—just one elaborate way to see if you’d run. And the worst part? It made sense. You were angry at them, but you were even angrier at yourself for not seeing it sooner.

A small scoff broke your thoughts.

You turned slightly—just enough to see Hongjoong leaning over the seat beside you, arms folded against the backrest, smirking.

"You look pissed," he mused.

"You don’t say," you muttered.

He chuckled, but instead of replying, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out.

Antiseptic cream.

You blinked at it before realizing—your palms. You hadn’t even noticed, but the skin was scraped raw, a painful souvenir from your little stunt on the pipes.

You hesitated, but then snatched the tube from him without a word.

Hongjoong didn’t move. Just stayed there, watching as you carefully applied the cream, the slight sting making you wince.

Finally, he spoke. "You handled yourself well tonight."

You scoffed. "Yeah, because I love almost dying for no reason."

Hongjoong hummed, clearly amused. "Don’t be so dramatic, sweetheart."

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

Instead, you finished applying the cream, shoving the cap back on a little too aggressively before tossing it back to him. He caught it easily, rolling it between his fingers.

Just when you thought he was finally going to leave you alone, you saw him shrug off his suit jacket.

You barely had time to process it before he threw it at you. You blinked, staring down at the expensive black fabric now draped over your lap.

"You’re shivering," he said simply, pushing himself off the seat.

"I’m—" You stopped. Okay, fine. Maybe you were cold. The dress you were given was meant to look nice, not keep you warm.

Still, you rolled your eyes. "What, suddenly feeling generous?"

Hongjoong just smirked. "Don’t get used to it."

And with that, he turned, heading back to the others.

You exhaled, glancing down at the jacket in your hands. It smelled like cologne and gunpowder.

For a second, you considered leaving it there. But then you sighed and pulled it on, letting the warmth sink into your skin.

—The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the silence.

For a split second, you forgot where you were. The bed beneath you was too soft, the air too still, the faint scent of expensive cologne and leather lingering in the sheets. Your eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the dim morning light filtering through the heavy curtains. The room was unfamiliar—but not in a way that made you panic.

Right. Hongjoong had given you a room.

Now that you were technically part of the team, you weren’t stuck in a cell anymore. The room wasn’t extravagant, but compared to some of the places you’d slept in before—abandoned buildings, dirty motel rooms, street corners when things got bad—it was more than enough. A clean bed, fresh clothes, a door that locked from the inside. That was already more than you ever had.

But your moment of peace didn’t last long.

A loud knock on the door made your body jolt into high alert, your instincts snapping back into place. Before you could even sit up properly, the door swung open.

"Wake up," a voice said flatly.

You blinked. Yeosang stood in the doorway, looking as unbothered as ever, one hand gripping an iPad, the other resting against the doorframe. His expression was unreadable, sharp eyes scanning you like he was making sure you were still alive.

"Excuse me?" you muttered, voice rough from sleep.

He raised an eyebrow. "Hongjoong says to meet him at the practice arena. I’m just the messenger."

You frowned, trying to push yourself up, still groggy. "The practice what now?"

Yeosang sighed, clearly already over this conversation. "Training grounds, whatever you want to call it. Get up. He’s waiting."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked off, not bothering to make sure you followed..

You groaned, running a hand through your hair before dragging yourself out of bed. If you had any hope of keeping up with these people, you couldn’t afford to waste time.

Fifteen minutes later, you found yourself stepping into what could only be described as a personal fight club.

The underground practice arena was bigger than you expected—high ceilings, concrete walls, various training equipment scattered throughout. A boxing ring sat in the center, but what caught your attention was the man standing near the weights, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted the wraps on his hands.

Hongjoong.

He wasn’t in his usual expensive suits today. Instead, he wore a loose black tank top and sweatpants, his toned arms on full display. He looked relaxed.

His gaze flicked up when he heard you approach, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Took you long enough."

You folded your arms, giving him a look. "I wasn’t exactly expecting an early morning brawl."

He chuckled, motioning for you to step closer. "You’re going to need to learn how to fight properly. Pickpocketing and running won’t always save you."

You huffed but stepped forward anyway. "I do know how to fight."

"Sure," Hongjoong mused, tilting his head. "But I want to see it for myself."

He gestured toward the ring, and you sighed, stepping inside. The second you did, the atmosphere shifted. It was just the two of you now.

"You think you can take me?" he asked, rolling his shoulders.

You smirked. "I think I can surprise you."

"Then try."

Your feet barely made a sound as you closed the distance, aiming straight for his ribs with a sharp jab. But Hongjoong wasn’t just fast—he was anticipating you. He sidestepped smoothly, barely shifting his weight before he was behind you.

"Too slow," he muttered.

You spun around, adjusting your stance. Fine. If speed wouldn’t work, you’d try something else.

This time, you faked a punch, using the momentum to aim a kick at his side instead. It almost landed—but Hongjoong caught your ankle with ease, his grip firm but not crushing.

"Clever," he mused, tilting his head. "But predictable."

He shoved your leg away, throwing you off balance. You barely caught yourself before hitting the mat, breath coming a little faster now. But you weren’t done.

Your fist shot toward his jaw, only for him to duck effortlessly, his body moving like he had all the time in the world. And then—before you could react—his foot hooked behind your ankle, and your world tilted.

A sharp thud echoed as your back hit the mat.

You barely had time to process before Hongjoong was on top of you, pinning you down with one knee pressing against your thigh, hands gripping your wrists. His face hovered dangerously close, eyes glinting with something between amusement and control.

"Not bad," he murmured. "But not good enough."

You swallowed hard, refusing to look away. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

He smirked, clearly enjoying this.

"You rely too much on speed," he continued, voice unhurried, as if he wasn’t holding you down effortlessly. "And instinct. It works on amateurs. But against someone trained?" His grip tightened slightly before he let go. "It’ll get you killed."

The second he released you, you rolled onto your feet, muscles aching from the fall. You expected him to gloat, but instead, he simply dusted off his hands, tilting his head slightly.

"You want to learn?"

You hesitated for only a second before giving a small nod.

"Good."

He grabbed your wrist, yanking you forward. You barely had time to react before your chest nearly collided with his, breath hitching at the sudden proximity. His grip was firm, but not crushing. Guiding. Before you could flinch away, he spun you around, pressing your back to his chest, his arms looping over yours in a controlled lock.

"Lesson one," he murmured, his breath ghosting against your ear. "Control."

Your muscles tensed on instinct. His hold wasn’t painful, but you couldn’t move. Every shift of your body pressed you further against him, the heat of his skin impossibly close through the thin fabric of your clothes.

"Getting caught in a hold like this means you’re already losing."

You swallowed hard, fingers twitching at your sides.

"Now," he continued, voice almost amused, "let’s see if you can get out."

You clenched your jaw, shifting your weight, trying to maneuver an escape. But Hongjoong’s grip was calculated—his arms tightening just enough whenever you tried to break free.

"Struggling won’t work," he murmured, his lips close enough that you felt every syllable. "Use their hold against them."

Instead of fighting his grip head-on, you shifted your stance, leaning into him rather than away. It was enough to make his weight shift, just barely—and in that split second, you twisted, slipping out of his grasp.

You stumbled back, chest rising and falling as you turned to face him.

Hongjoong just smirked. "Better."

You barely had time to catch your breath before he moved again.

This time, he came at you directly, his palm pressing against your shoulder to push you off balance. You caught yourself before falling, swiping at his legs in retaliation—but he jumped back smoothly, anticipating you again.

"Too slow," he taunted.

Your frustration flared, and you lunged again—only for him to catch your wrist mid-motion.

Before you knew it, he had twisted your arm behind your back, pressing you forward until your chest nearly touched the mat. His hand rested just above your hip, keeping you trapped in place, while the other held your arm firmly in position.

"You're fast," he murmured, low, almost mocking. "But you let yourself get frustrated. That’s a weakness."

You glared at the floor, lips parting slightly as you exhaled sharply through your nose. He was right. And that irritated you even more.

But before you could retaliate, Hongjoong suddenly let go. The second his grip loosened, you spun around—expecting him to step back.

He didn’t and you were suddenly too close. Your chest almost brushed his as you stopped abruptly, your breath catching in the tight space between you. His dark eyes locked onto yours, sharp and unreadable.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke.

Hongjoong wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t laughing. He was just watching you, his gaze dark and steady, his breathing even. He was close. Too close. The weight of his body was warm, grounding, a sharp contrast to the chill of the gym air against your sweat-damp skin. Every small movement made you aware of just how little space there was between you.

You weren’t sure how long you stood like that—seconds, maybe longer.

"Get some rest," he murmured, stepping back. "We’ll try again tomorrow."

—The night was quiet—too quiet. Missions like these never went as planned, but tonight, something felt off from the start.

You stood with the others in the shadows of an abandoned warehouse, the air thick with gasoline and metal. The plan was simple: retrieve a shipment that belonged to them but had been stolen by a rival gang. Get in, grab it, and get out. No unnecessary bloodshed.

At least, that’s what you thought.

"Keep your comms open," Hongjoong murmured, adjusting the sleeves of his black jacket as he surveyed the surroundings. His voice was calm, but you’d been around him long enough to recognize when he was on edge.

Seonghwa was the first to move, his steps silent as he disappeared into the shadows. Yeosang stood beside you, scrolling through something on his damn iPad, completely unbothered. Jongho checked his gun, casting you a skeptical glance.

"Try not to mess this up, darling," Wooyoung teased through the earpiece, earning himself a smack from San.

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the hidden blade strapped to your thigh. You didn’t need weapons. Your hands were fast enough. But something told you tonight might be different.

Then, just as Yunho signaled that the coast was clear, everything went to hell.

Gunfire. Loud, sharp, and too close.

"Fucking hell," Mingi cursed, diving behind a stack of crates as bullets rained down on you. The rival gang had been waiting. You had walked straight into a trap.

"Get down!" Hongjoong barked, shoving you behind a metal container as more bullets whizzed past. The others were already fighting back—Jongho and Seonghwa taking out enemies one by one with brutal efficiency.

You could handle yourself in a fight. You had to. Years of surviving on the streets made you quick on your feet, a ghost when you needed to be. You weaved through the chaos, using your knife to disable anyone who got too close.

But then you saw him.

A man—one of the rival gang members—cornering Yunho, gun raised. You moved before you thought.

You ran, tackling the man before he could pull the trigger. The impact sent both of you crashing to the ground. Your knife was against his throat in an instant.

The man’s eyes were wide, terrified. His breathing was ragged, a silent plea forming on his lips. Kill him. That’s what Hongjoong would expect. That’s what everyone would expect.

But you couldn’t.

Your grip faltered. The hesitation lasted a second too long.

Pain exploded in your side as the man’s fist collided with your ribs, knocking the air out of your lungs. You stumbled, hand flying to your waist—he had a knife. You barely had time to react before he was on you again, and suddenly, you weren’t the one in control anymore.

A gunshot rang out. You flinched, but the bullet wasn’t meant for you.

The man collapsed, a clean shot to his skull. Hongjoong stood behind him, gun still raised.

Your chest heaved as you stared at the body, your mind racing.

Hongjoong’s jaw was tight as he grabbed your wrist, yanking you to your feet. His grip was bruising, fingers digging into your skin as he dragged you away from the fight.

"Move," he snapped, shoving you toward the exit.

The others were still fighting, but Hongjoong didn’t care. His priority was getting you the hell out of there.

The second you were inside the van, you ripped your wrist from his grip.

"What the fuck was that?" you spat, eyes burning with anger. The rest of the boys filed in behind you, panting, bruised, but alive. Wooyoung took the driver's seat, starting the engine.

Hongjoong turned to you, and for the first time since you met him, he looked furious.

"You hesitated," he said, voice dangerously low.

"I’m not a fucking killer," you snapped back, still breathing hard.

Hongjoong let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "You think this is a joke?"

"I think you knew exactly what I was before you forced me into this mess," you shot back. "I’m a thief. I don’t kill people."

"You almost died," he growled, stepping closer. "Because you hesitated."

"It’s my problem," you hissed.

He was in front of you now, too close, his eyes dark with something unreadable.

"You," he said, voice like a blade against your throat, "are my problem."

"You don’t get to choose which parts of this life you accept," he continued, voice softer now but no less threatening. "If you’re with us, you do what’s necessary. Or you die."

You clenched your jaw. "I won’t cross that line."

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. Then, he chuckled—not amused, but something else.

"Then you better get faster, sweetheart," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your skin. "Because next time, I might not be there to save you."

—The second the van stopped, you shoved the door open and jumped out first, ignoring the weight of their stares burning into your back. You could still feel Hongjoong’s words curling around your throat like a noose. You’re my problem.

No, I’m your damn thief.

Your boots hit the pavement harder than necessary as you stormed inside the building. The hallway was dim, only a few overhead lights buzzing faintly, casting long shadows against the walls. You barely registered the familiar space—just another reminder that you were here now. Trapped.

You reached your room, pushing the door open with too much force, and slammed it shut behind you.

Your breath was still ragged as you sat down on the bed, palms pressing into your thighs. The adrenaline was wearing off now, leaving behind the weight of what had just happened.

You swallowed hard, fingers gripping the sheets as you tried to steady yourself. But no matter how many deep breaths you took, it didn’t erase the fact that you had frozen. That in this world, hesitation got you killed.

Somewhere in the distance, a door slammed shut.

Hongjoong.

Probably in his office, brooding like the dramatic bastard he was. You weren’t surprised. He was pissed, and for once, so were you.

A knock at your door snapped you out of your thoughts.

You didn’t answer. You weren’t in the mood. Didn’t matter. The door creaked open anyway.

Yunho.

Unlike the others, he didn’t lean against the frame with a smirk or crack a joke to lighten the mood. He simply walked in, calm and steady, shutting the door behind him before crossing the room and leaning against the dresser.

"You okay?"

You scoffed. "Do I look okay?"

Yunho didn’t react to the bite in your tone. He just crossed his arms, watching you for a moment before sighing.

"You’re lucky to be alive."

You let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, thanks to Hongjoong’s great aim."

Yunho tilted his head slightly, as if debating what to say next. Then, he pushed off the dresser and sat down beside you on the bed.

"You know he cares about you, right?"

You rolled your eyes. "He cares that he’d lose his best thief."

Yunho huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. "Maybe. But that’s not all."

Silence stretched between you. You refused to look at him, eyes trained on the floor, on your hands—anything but the truth in his words.

Yunho sighed again, running a hand through his hair. "Look. I get it. I know what it’s like, the first time you hesitate." He paused. "The first time you have to make that choice."

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the fabric of your pants.

"I don’t want to make that choice."

Yunho let that sit for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. "You will."

You turned to look at him now, finally meeting his eyes.

"Because if you don’t," he continued, "you won’t survive here."

The words sat heavy in your chest.

"Just… think about it," Yunho murmured, standing up.

He walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "You’re good at what you do," he said, turning back to you. "But Hongjoong won’t always be there to save you."

Then, without another word, he left.

You sat there for a long time, staring at the closed door, feeling the weight of everything settle on your shoulders.

—The room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the desk lamp casting sharp shadows against the walls. A half-empty glass of whiskey sat beside Hongjoong’s hand, his fingers tapping against the polished wood in a slow, irritated rhythm. His jacket was discarded over the chair, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he leaned back, jaw clenched.

Seonghwa stood near the door, arms crossed. Unlike the others, he didn’t hesitate before speaking. "You’re being too hard on her."

Hongjoong exhaled through his nose, not even looking up. "No, I’m being realistic."

"You’re being an ass."

That finally made Hongjoong glance up. His dark eyes glinted under the light, amusement flickering for a second before fading just as fast. "She hesitated, Hwa. Almost got herself killed. Almost got us killed."

Seonghwa sighed, stepping further into the room. "She’s not a killer, Joong. She’s a thief."

"And thieves who hesitate get caught. Or worse." Hongjoong’s voice was sharp, the words laced with frustration. He picked up his glass, swirling the amber liquid before taking a slow sip. "She needs to learn."

"She is learning." Seonghwa’s voice was firm, unyielding. "But you don’t train someone by throwing them into the deep end and getting mad when they drown."

Hongjoong didn’t respond right away, but the way his fingers gripped the glass just a little tighter didn’t go unnoticed.

"She’s not ready," Seonghwa continued, softer this time. "You and I both know that."

Hongjoong sighed, tilting his head back slightly, eyes closing for a moment before he finally set the glass down with a dull clink. "And what? I go easy on her?" He scoffed. "That’ll get her killed even faster."

"She’s strong."

"She’s stubborn."

Seonghwa gave him a pointed look. "So are you."

Hongjoong let out a dry chuckle, rubbing his temple. "She pisses me off."

Seonghwa smirked slightly. "Because she doesn’t bend to your will?"

Hongjoong opened his mouth, then shut it, glaring at the floor like it personally offended him.

Seonghwa sighed, finally taking a seat across from him. His voice was quieter now. "You saw what happened today. She couldn’t do it. And I don’t think it was just fear. That’s not who she is."

"And that’s exactly why she won’t survive here," Hongjoong muttered.

Seonghwa tilted his head. "Or maybe that’s why she will."

Hongjoong let those words hang between them, the weight of them settling in his chest. He didn’t respond, just reached for his glass again, taking another slow sip.

Seonghwa stood up. "Just… ease up a little." Hongjoong didn’t look at him.

"Why do you care so much?" Seonghwa pressed.

"I care about all of you." His voice was firm, immediate.

Seonghwa scoffed, shaking his head. "That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it." He took a step forward, eyes locking onto Hongjoong’s. "You don’t react like this with any of us. When one of us messes up, you get mad, sure, but not like this."

Hongjoong’s hands clenched at his sides, his shoulders squared, his expression unreadable.

Seonghwa took that as his cue to leave. But just as he reached the door, Hongjoong spoke again, voice quieter this time. "She needs to understand that hesitation is the difference between life and death."

Seonghwa glanced over his shoulder. "She will." A small pause. "But don’t push her to the point she stops trusting us altogether."

Then, without another word, he walked out, leaving Hongjoong alone with his thoughts.

—The knock on your door was sharp, deliberate—the kind that didn’t wait for an invitation. You barely had time to roll over in bed and groan before the door swung open, revealing Hongjoong standing in the doorway, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but you could still feel the weight of last night’s argument lingering between you.

"Get up," he said flatly.

You buried your face in your pillow. "Go away."

"You’re not getting a choice in this, sweetheart."

Your muscles tensed. You hated that nickname. It was never sweet—always mocking, always sarcastic. You sat up with a scowl, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "What do you want?"

Hongjoong leaned against the doorframe, the dim morning light casting shadows across his face. "If you refuse to kill, fine," he said. "But you need to learn how to shoot."

You frowned. "I have a knife."

His brow arched. "And if someone has a gun?"

You clenched your jaw. You hated that he had a point.

"Five minutes," he said before turning on his heel and walking off. Like he already knew you’d follow.

The shooting range was at the edge of the compound, hidden beneath an old warehouse that looked abandoned from the outside but was anything but. The space smelled of gunpowder and metal, the walls lined with various weapons. Hongjoong stood beside the table, checking the ammo in the pistol before sliding the magazine into place with a practiced ease.

You stood stiffly beside him, arms crossed, still annoyed that he’d dragged you here.

He handed you the gun, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. "You ever shot before?"

You snorted. "Do I look like someone who’s shot before?"

His lips twitched. "No. But it’d be nice if you surprised me for once."

You rolled your eyes and took the gun, but the second you raised it, he let out a sharp exhale.

"Wrong," he muttered. Then, before you could react, he was behind you.

You stiffened as his hands settled over yours, guiding your grip. He was warm—too warm. His voice was low near your ear, calm but firm.

"Loosen your shoulders," he said. His fingers ran along your arms, adjusting your stance. "You’re too stiff. You won’t hit shit like that."

Your jaw tightened, but you followed his lead. "Feet apart," he continued, nudging your foot slightly with his. "Bend your knees a little."

You exhaled slowly, adjusting yourself.

Hongjoong hummed in approval, his hands lingering a second too long before he finally stepped back. "Better," he said. "Now aim."

You lifted the gun again, trying to focus on the target ahead, but the weight of his stare was distracting.

"Relax your grip," he murmured. You adjusted your hold.

"Pull the trigger gently. Don’t jerk it."

You inhaled, bracing yourself before squeezing the trigger. The shot rang out, echoing through the range.

You missed. You groaned, lowering the gun.

Hongjoong clicked his tongue, stepping forward again. Too close again. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, adjusting your aim. You could feel his breath against your cheek.

Your eyes flickered to his, only to realize he was already looking at you.

The space between you was barely there, his hand still over yours. The world outside the shooting range felt like it didn’t exist. For a split second, neither of you spoke.

Then, just as quickly as it happened, Hongjoong cleared his throat and stepped back. "Try again," he said, voice carefully neutral.

You swallowed, gripping the gun a little tighter.

The shot rang out. This time, you hit the target.

Hongjoong smirked. "See? You might not be useless after all."

You glared at him. "Careful. I’m armed now."

He chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned against the table. "You’re still a long way from being dangerous, sweetheart."

You scowled. But when you turned back to the target, your hands weren’t shaking anymore.

—The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. You sat at the far end of the long conference table, arms crossed, staring at the blueprint of a luxurious penthouse sprawled across the surface. Another mission. Another mess you were being dragged into. The rest of the team was already gathered, some leaning against the walls, others sitting lazily in their chairs.

Hongjoong stood at the head of the table, sleeves rolled up, rings glinting under the low lighting. "We need the ledger," he started, tapping his finger against the blueprint. "It’s in Kang Jisoo’s private office. Second floor, past security, locked behind a biometric safe."

You frowned. "That sounds impossible."

"It is," Yeosang muttered, scrolling through his tablet like he couldn’t be bothered to be here. "Which is why you two are going in as his guests."

You blinked. "Who’s ‘you two’?"

Hongjoong didn’t even look up. "You and me."

"Wait, wait, wait," Wooyoung cut in, barely holding back a grin. "You’re telling me she and Hongjoong are going undercover as a couple?"

Your stomach twisted. "No way."

"You don’t have a choice," Hongjoong said smoothly, finally looking up at you. "Kang Jisoo only trusts couples. He has a soft spot for rich, in-love guests with money to burn. Any solo operatives would immediately raise suspicion."

San whistled, leaning back in his chair. "This is gonna be fun."

You ignored him, focusing on Hongjoong. "There has to be another way."

"There isn’t."

You gritted your teeth, heart pounding in frustration. This was the worst idea imaginable. You barely trusted Hongjoong, and now you were supposed to pretend to be some lovestruck couple?

Wooyoung nudged Seonghwa. "Oh, this is gonna be hilarious."

Seonghwa shot him a warning look. "Stay focused."

Ignoring the others, Hongjoong pushed a sleek black envelope across the table toward you. "Inside are the details. Our identities, our backstory, and everything Kang Jisoo needs to believe we’re the real deal."

You hesitated before picking it up. Your new name was printed neatly on the first page. Below it, in elegant cursive—‘Spouse: Kim Hongjoong.’

You wanted to burn it.

"How long do we have before we go in?" you asked tightly.

"Three days," Jongho said, arms crossed as he leaned against the table. "Enough time to get your story straight and make sure neither of you slip up."

You exhaled through your nose. "This is a terrible idea."

Hongjoong smirked. "It’s an effective one."

Across the room, Yunho sighed. "Try not to kill each other before the mission starts, yeah?"

No promises.

—You sat stiffly on the couch, flipping through the file in your hands for what felt like the hundredth time. Across from you, Hongjoong lounged in an armchair, legs crossed, looking completely at ease. Of course he was. He wasn’t the one about to get grilled like a schoolkid cramming for an exam.

The others were scattered around the room, some leaning against the walls, others perched on furniture, all of them way too excited about this.

"Alright, lovebirds," Wooyoung grinned, spinning a pen between his fingers. "Let’s see how believable this marriage is."

You groaned. "This is ridiculous."

"Ridiculous would be getting caught because you don’t know your own husband’s birthday," Yeosang muttered, still scrolling through his tablet.

You scowled at him, then flipped to the section labeled ‘Personal Details’. You were supposed to be married to Hongjoong for three years. Met at a gallery in Paris. He proposed on a yacht. All the details were laid out, but they felt foreign—like wearing someone else’s skin.

"Let’s start easy," Yunho said. "What’s your anniversary?"

You glanced down at the file. "April 14th."

Hongjoong hummed. "Good. Where did we go for our honeymoon?"

"Maldives," you answered smoothly.

Jongho leaned forward. "What’s his favorite drink?"

You paused. Shit. You had skimmed that part, assuming it wouldn’t come up.

Seonghwa sighed. "If you don’t even know that, how are you supposed to convince Kang Jisoo that you’re in love?"

You clenched your jaw, taking a wild guess. "Whiskey?"

"Wrong," Hongjoong said, tilting his head. "Negroni."

You glared at him. "Who even drinks that?"

"I do," he said smugly.

Wooyoung snorted. "This is gonna be a disaster."

"Alright," Seonghwa finally cut in, probably to save you from having a mental breakdown. "We should wrap this up. But you two need to get better at this. You slip up once, and the whole operation goes to hell."

"You memorized everything already, didn’t you?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at Hongjoong.

He merely smirked, tapping his temple. "I don’t like losing."

You swore under your breath. This was going to be a long mission.

—The morning of the mission, you were rudely awakened by a sharp knock on your door. You groaned, turning over in bed, pretending you hadn’t heard it. Maybe if you ignored it long enough, whoever it was would go away.

No such luck.

A second later, the door creaked open, and Seonghwa’s voice cut through the quiet. “Get up.”

You cracked open an eye to glare at him, only to groan again when you saw the bundle in his arms. A neatly folded, expensive-looking gown draped over his forearm.

“Oh, hell no.” You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “I am not wearing that.”

Seonghwa raised an unimpressed brow, stepping further into the room. “You’re infiltrating a high-profile event as Hongjoong’s fiancée. What did you expect? Jeans and a hoodie?”

“That would be ideal.”

Seonghwa sighed, tossing the dress onto the bed beside you. “You have twenty minutes to get ready.”

You scowled. “And if I don’t?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Then I’ll let Wooyoung come in here and dress you himself.”

You visibly shuddered at the thought. Wooyoung was many things—loud, irritating, way too smug for his own good—but above all, he was shameless. The last thing you needed was for him to burst into your room, waving around a curling iron and critiquing your ‘lack of class.’

“Fine,” you muttered, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. “But if I break an ankle in this thing, I’m haunting all of you.”

Seonghwa just smirked. “I’d like to see you try.”

The dress Seonghwa had given you was beautiful, sure—but it was also ridiculously difficult to put on. The deep emerald silk hugged your body perfectly, the slit high enough to allow movement but still elegant. The problem? The damn zipper.

You had been wrestling with it for the past five minutes, twisting your arms at unnatural angles, but it wouldn’t budge past the middle of your back. And, of course, in a house full of trained mafia members, none of them were exactly the kind of people you’d casually ask for help zipping up a dress.

You let out a sigh, debating if you could maybe just leave it halfway up when the door suddenly swung open without warning.

"You're taking forever," Hongjoong's voice came lazily as he stepped in, fixing his sleeve. "The car's ready, and—"

He stopped mid-sentence. You froze too, your bare back exposed to him as you stood in front of the mirror. Your hands instinctively gripped the front of the dress as if that would help, your breath catching in your throat.

His gaze locked onto yours through the reflection, his movements stilling completely. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

His tie matched your dress. You noticed it then, how the color blended perfectly, how intentional it felt.

Hongjoong’s jaw tightened slightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. His hands, usually so confident and sure, were unmoving at his sides.

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. "Zip me up?"

For the first time, he hesitated. Then, as if snapping himself out of it, he stepped forward. His approach was slow, almost cautious. The heat of his presence behind you made your spine stiffen, every nerve hyperaware of how close he was.

His fingers brushed your shoulder lightly as he reached forward, gathering your hair and sweeping it over one side. His touch was gentle—so unlike the Hongjoong you were used to. No calculated moves, no teasing smirk. Just a quiet, deliberate action.

You shivered, though you weren’t sure if it was from the chill or the sudden proximity.

He caught that. His lips quirked up for just a second before he reached for the zipper.

His knuckles skimmed against your spine as he pulled it up, the touch feather-light but enough to send an unfamiliar heat crawling up your neck. You kept your gaze locked onto the mirror, watching as his eyes followed the path of the zipper, his face unreadable.

When he reached the top, he didn’t step away immediately. His fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary before he finally let go.

"You’re done," he murmured, voice lower than usual.

You released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Hongjoong met your eyes in the mirror again, something unreadable flickering behind his usual sharp gaze. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and walked out, leaving you standing there, heart hammering in your chest.

—The van was gone. Instead, a sleek black car sat waiting in the driveway, its polished surface gleaming under the dim streetlights. Hongjoong stood beside it, leaning against the passenger door, one hand tucked into his pocket while the other toyed absentmindedly with his cufflinks.

"You take longer than I expected," he mused as you approached, opening the car door for you.

You didn't respond, still reeling from the moment in the room just minutes ago. Instead, you slid into the passenger seat, smoothing the fabric of your dress as you adjusted yourself. Hongjoong walked around to the driver's side, settling in with a practiced ease before starting the car.

The engine purred to life, and with a smooth motion, he pulled out onto the road.

The silence stretched between you, tense and unspoken. You kept your gaze fixed on the window, watching the city blur past in streaks of neon lights and dark alleys. The entire drive had an eerie stillness to it—something about being in a car alone with Hongjoong made the air feel heavier, charged in a way you couldn’t explain.

After a few minutes, he finally broke the silence. "Nervous?" His voice was casual, but there was an edge to it.

You turned to look at him, expression neutral. "Should I be?"

He let out a quiet chuckle, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. "You tell me."

You rolled your eyes and went back to staring outside. The drive stretched on, the atmosphere shifting between charged silence and occasional glances from Hongjoong that you pretended not to notice.

At a red light, he leaned back in his seat, tilting his head toward you. "This is your first mission as part of the team. And your first time playing the role of my lover." His lips curled into a smirk. "Try not to look so disgusted by the idea."

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "I’d rather not think about it at all."

His smirk deepened. "You're a terrible liar."

You didn’t have a response to that, mostly because he wasn’t wrong. The idea of pretending to be his lover wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but admitting that was out of the question.

The car slowed as you approached the mansion’s long, winding driveway, the wrought-iron gates parting as if they had been expecting you. You took a deep breath, straightening your posture as the reality of the mission settled in.

"Just follow my lead," Hongjoong murmured, his voice lower now, more serious. "And don’t forget—we’re supposed to be madly in love."

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "I’ll try not to die from the excitement."

He just chuckled under his breath, pulling the car up to the grand entrance. "Welcome to the show, sweetheart."

The mansion loomed ahead, bathed in golden light that spilled from the massive chandeliers inside. The grand entrance was framed by towering marble pillars, and beyond the open doors, the warm glow of crystal chandeliers reflected off polished floors.

Couples dressed in the finest attire flowed effortlessly into the event, their laughter and hushed conversations blending into the soft melody of a live orchestra. The scent of expensive perfume and aged whiskey filled the air, wrapping around you like a second skin.

The second the car came to a stop, a valet stepped forward, bowing slightly before Hongjoong flicked the keys in his direction. "Don’t scratch it," he said smoothly, barely sparing the man a glance. The valet nodded, quickly taking the car and pulling away.

As you stepped out, the cool night air hit you, making you shiver slightly. The dress Seonghwa had picked was stunning, but practical? Not in the slightest. The slit ran high, teasing too much with each step, and the fabric clung in all the right ways, but the biting chill didn’t care about aesthetics.

Hongjoong rounded the car and came to stand beside you, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves before extending his arm. "Shall we?"

You hesitated for half a second before slipping your hand into the crook of his arm, fingers grazing the smooth fabric of his suit jacket. It was meant to be a simple gesture, something natural for a couple walking into an event like this. But the second your hand settled, he pulled you closer—so close you stumbled, your heel catching on the stone pavement.

Before you could react, Hongjoong steadied you with a firm grip, his other hand coming up to press lightly against your waist. Your noses nearly brushed, his breath warm against your skin as he leaned in ever so slightly.

"It has to look real," he whispered, his lips barely moving.

Your breath hitched, and for a second, neither of you moved. His eyes flickered over your face, sharp and unreadable, but something about the way he held you there made the world blur around you. The murmuring voices, the distant clinking of champagne glasses—it all faded.

You forced yourself to exhale, nodding slightly. "Right. Real."

His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but close. Then, with a final squeeze to your waist, he pulled away just enough to lead you forward.

Hongjoong’s grip on your arm remained steady, guiding you through the sea of people with practiced ease. He belonged here—he moved like someone who knew he was untouchable, every step controlled, every glance carrying weight.

You, on the other hand, were hyper-aware of everything. The way the air buzzed with hidden agendas. The way eyes lingered a second too long. And most importantly, the way Hongjoong's fingers pressed lightly against your waist, keeping you grounded in a room full of sharks.

"You’re doing fine," he murmured near your ear, his voice low enough that no one else could hear. "Just smile, sweetheart. Pretend you like me a little."

You let out a breathy scoff, tilting your head up at him just slightly. "That’s pushing it."

He only chuckled, his lips curving into that infuriating smirk. "Fake it better, then."

Before you could roll your eyes, before you could even think of a sharp response, his arm slid away from yours—only to wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The movement was smooth, natural, as if he had done it a thousand times before. And maybe he had, just not with you.

Your breath hitched for a fraction of a second, and you knew he noticed. Of course, he did. His fingers pressed lightly into the fabric of your dress, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin. He was claiming you in the most effortless way, a silent announcement to the room that you were his for the night. His date, his partner, his distraction—whatever story they wanted to believe, Hongjoong was letting them.

The shift in attention was immediate. People who had been subtly watching before were now openly glancing in your direction, curious murmurs hidden behind crystal champagne flutes. Some eyes lingered with interest, others with suspicion.

"Relax," Hongjoong murmured, his voice a soft hum against your ear. "You’re supposed to enjoy this."

Enjoy? The sheer audacity of him. But you knew better than to stiffen under the weight of so many watchful eyes. So, you did what you had to. You leaned in, just slightly, tilting your head toward him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"You're having way too much fun with this," you whispered back, your voice light, teasing, the way you imagined a woman in love would sound.

His thumb brushed against your waist, a barely-there touch, but enough to make your skin prickle. "If you’re going to play a role, sweetheart, you might as well play it well."

You smiled, a slow, knowing smile, tilting your chin up to look at him as if he had just whispered something sweet and not borderline condescending. The act was seamless, almost effortless, but it was still just that—an act.

"Lucky for you, I always play my roles well."

The words were meant to be smug, but Hongjoong only grinned, the kind of grin that said, we’ll see about that.

Hongjoong chuckled, amused, before taking a slow sip of his own drink. His eyes scanned the room, and you followed his gaze, recognizing the moment his expression sharpened ever so slightly. A man, mid-fifties, sharply dressed in a navy suit, was making his way toward you both.

Kang Jisoo. The owner of the estate. The man you were here to steal from.

Your fingers instinctively tightened around the delicate glass in your hand, but you kept your expression relaxed, the same way Hongjoong did. His grip around your waist subtly shifted, his fingers pressing slightly firmer against your hip, almost like a silent command to stay still, stay calm.

"Captain," Jisoo greeted, his tone light, casual, but there was a sharpness in his eyes that said he didn’t trust easily. He looked at you next, his gaze dragging over you like he was trying to figure something out.

Hongjoong smiled easily, a practiced smirk that barely reached his eyes. "Jisoo, I was wondering when you’d find me."

Jisoo let out a small chuckle, but his eyes never left yours. "And who’s this?"

"This," Hongjoong said smoothly, "is my darling."

You barely had a second to react before he turned toward you, his arm still securely wrapped around you as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. The touch was fleeting, but his breath lingered near your skin, warm, steady. A silent warning. Play along.

You exhaled slowly, schooling your features into something softer, something lovestruck, and turned your gaze to Jisoo. "I’ve heard a lot about you, Kang Jisoo," you said, voice smooth, perfectly polite. "My husband speaks highly of you."

Jisoo hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Is that so?" His tone was mild, but you could see the gears turning in his head. Suspicion.

Your pulse quickened, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you took a risk. One that might make or break the illusion.

You turned to Hongjoong, resting your hand lightly against his chest, your fingers grazing the fabric of his suit. Then, before you could second-guess it, you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

It was brief, barely a touch, but when you pulled back, you caught the flicker of surprise in Hongjoong’s usually unreadable eyes.

Jisoo watched closely, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Hongjoong, to his credit, recovered fast. His grip on you tightened slightly, his hand sliding up your waist to rest just beneath your ribs. His smirk returned, this time more genuine.

Jisoo studied the two of you for a moment longer before nodding slowly, as if deciding to let it go. "Well, I hope you both enjoy the evening."

Hongjoong gave a short nod. "We will."

Jisoo walked away, but even as he disappeared into the crowd, you could feel the tension in Hongjoong’s posture. You glanced up at him, searching his expression.

"You didn’t have to do that," he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

You tilted your head slightly, feigning innocence. "Do what?"

His smirk returned, but this time, it was slower, more calculated. "You’ll pay for that later, sweetheart."

—The grand ballroom was alive with the hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the soft melody of a string quartet. But your mind was elsewhere—focused on the second-floor office, hidden past layers of security and surveillance.

Hongjoong’s fingers barely brushed yours as he subtly tugged you toward the far end of the room, away from the main crowd. It was seamless, the way he maneuvered you both, weaving through guests like this was just another stroll at a gala.

As you neared the hallway leading toward the restricted area, his voice was low in your ear. “Cameras shift every ten seconds. We take the blind spot and move when the waiter passes. Act natural.”

You nodded slightly, fingers brushing the stem of your glass. Just two lovers sneaking off for a moment alone. Nothing suspicious.

The moment the waiter moved past, you both stepped into the hallway, slipping behind a curtain leading to the back corridors. The noise of the party dulled instantly, replaced by the soft hum of the security system.

"Left," Hongjoong whispered, leading the way down the hall. The lights here were dimmer, meant only for staff, but it worked in your favor.

The door to Jisoo’s private office was at the end of the hall, a sleek black panel with a biometric scanner. Hongjoong pulled out a small device from his jacket, attaching it to the scanner’s side. A small light flickered red, working its magic to bypass the system.

“You always this prepared?” you murmured, glancing at him.

His lips twitched. “You have no idea, sweetheart.”

A soft beep signaled the override, and the lock clicked open. Hongjoong pushed the door inward, stepping inside first, scanning the room before letting you follow.

The office was pristine—dark wood, leather, and a massive window overlooking the estate. But your focus was on the safe built into the wall behind the desk.

“Time’s ticking,” Hongjoong muttered, already moving toward it.

You kneeled, fingers brushing over the keypad. Biometric lock. You knew this already. That was why Hongjoong had procured a fingerprint mold beforehand. He handed it to you silently, eyes scanning the door as you pressed the gel-like material onto the scanner.

For a second, nothing happened. Then, the lock clicked open.

You exhaled, reaching in for the file, fingers closing around the thick folder. Just as you turned to Hongjoong—

Footsteps.

Your head snapped up. Hongjoong’s gaze darkened, sharp and alert. The hallway outside. Close. Too close.

Hongjoong grabbed your wrist and yanked you toward the corner of the room, where a barely-there gap between the bookshelf and the wall created the smallest possible hiding space. Before you could protest, he pulled you in, pressing both of you into the tight space.

You froze, barely daring to breathe. Hongjoong’s body was flush against yours, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm while your own heart pounded wildly. His arm curled around your waist, anchoring you against him, his fingers pressing firmly into the small of your back.

A flashlight beam swept across the room.

Hongjoong’s other hand moved—slow, deliberate. His fingertips ghosted over your lips, a silent command to stay quiet.

Your breathing hitched, eyes flickering up to meet his. Even in the dim light, you could see the sharp angles of his face, the way his gaze locked onto yours, unwavering. His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but he didn't.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The only sound was the soft hum of the security radio crackling from the guard outside.

Then, the light receded. The door shut again.

You swallowed, suddenly acutely aware of how close you still were. Hongjoong’s fingers hadn’t moved from your waist. His breath was warm against your cheek, his hand still lightly brushing your lips.

Slowly, you reached up, wrapping your fingers around his wrist, gently pulling his hand away.

“We should go,” you whispered.

His eyes lingered on yours for a second longer before he finally stepped back, exhaling softly. “Yeah.”

You turned, pushing down whatever lingering feeling had settled in your chest, and crept toward the door. The hallway was clear now, the guards seemingly moving along with their patrol. You exhaled slowly, trying to steady your nerves.

But as soon as you both stepped out, the sharp click of a safety being turned off made your blood run cold.

“Move, and I shoot.”

A guard stood at the far end of the hall, gun raised, finger hovering over the trigger. His eyes flickered between you and Hongjoong, narrowing with suspicion.

“Hands up,” he ordered.

Hongjoong, always smooth, barely even hesitated before lifting his hands slightly, his expression one of careful indifference. You followed suit, though your mind was already racing.

Hongjoong’s voice was eerily calm when he spoke. “Let’s not do anything rash. You don’t want to shoot. We don’t want to die. Let’s just talk—”

“Shut up.” The guard stepped forward, grip tightening around the gun. “I know who you are.”

Shit.

Hongjoong shifted slightly, positioning himself in front of you just the tiniest bit. The guard noticed. His lips curled.

“She’s important, huh?” he mused, taking another step closer. His gun tilted slightly, no longer pointed at Hongjoong’s chest but at yours. “I bet the boss would love to have a chat with her.”

You stiffened seeing Hongjoong’s jaw clenched. In the second that the guard’s attention was more on you, Hongjoong moved.

A sharp step forward, a twist of his wrist—his hand slammed into the guard’s arm, knocking the gun downward just as the trigger was pulled. A deafening crack echoed through the hallway as the bullet buried itself into the floor.

Then all hell broke loose.

Hongjoong was fast, but the guard was strong. They struggled, limbs tangling as Hongjoong fought for control of the weapon. Another shot fired into the ceiling. The sound was so loud in the enclosed space that your ears rang.

Your mind screamed at you to move, to do something—

But then it happened. The guard got the upper hand, twisting Hongjoong’s arm back with a sickening force. Hongjoong let out a sharp, pained grunt, his knees nearly buckling. The gun was turning, tilting—pointed right at him.

Before you could think, your fingers curled around the knife strapped to your thigh. One step forward. A swift, desperate movement. The blade slid between his ribs with no resistance.

The guard froze. His mouth opened—silent, stunned. Then, with a ragged exhale, he crumpled to the floor.

Dead.

The knife was still clutched in your trembling fingers, warm and slick. Blood coated your hands, thick and dark, staining your skin. It dripped onto the floor, pooling beneath the man who just seconds ago had been alive.

Hongjoong turned to you, rubbing his wrist, wincing slightly. But the moment he saw your expression—saw the way you were shaking, your eyes wide, horrified—he stepped closer.

“Hey—”

“I—I killed him.” Your voice was barely a whisper, strangled.

Hongjoong reached for you, but you stumbled back. Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps. Too fast. The walls felt like they were closing in. The blood—it was everywhere. On your fingers, under your nails. You couldn’t breathe.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” Hongjoong said, his tone gentler now, softer. He grabbed your wrist, firm but careful. “Breathe.”

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, heart slamming against your ribs. You couldn’t stop looking at the body.

“I didn’t—I don’t—I don’t kill people,” you choked out.

“I know.” His voice was steady, unwavering. “You had to. It was him or us.”

You shook your head, still gasping, still shaking. “I—I can’t—”

Hongjoong cursed under his breath, then did the only thing he could think of—he grabbed both sides of your face, forcing you to look at him.

“Breathe,” he ordered. “Focus on me.”

His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, grounding you. His touch was warm, real. Not cold like the body behind you. His gaze was sharp, but not unkind.

“Listen to my voice,” he murmured. “You’re okay. You’re here. With me.”

You tried to match your breathing to his, tried to drown out the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Slowly, the panic ebbed, just enough for your vision to clear, for your lungs to expand again.

Hongjoong let out a breath of his own, relieved, but his hands didn’t move from your face. “We have to go,” he said. “Now.”

You nodded weakly, still unsteady.

He let go, stepping back only to pull off his jacket. He grabbed one of your hands, rubbing the blood off with the sleeve before slipping the coat over your shoulders, covering the rest of it.

“You’re okay,” he said again, quieter this time.

You didn’t believe it.

But you let him pull you away.

—Hongjoong didn’t waste a second. The moment you were steady enough to move, he grabbed your wrist and led you away from the body, his grip firm but not rough. His pace was quick, urgent, his eyes flickering around the hallway to make sure no one else had heard the gunshots or the fight. The mansion was still alive with music and laughter, but it wouldn’t be long before someone noticed the missing guard.

You barely processed anything as he guided you down the stairs, through the corridors, and out the side entrance. Your mind was still reeling, stuck on the image of the blood on your hands, the weight of the knife, the feeling of it piercing flesh.

Hongjoong’s voice cut through your spiraling thoughts. “We’re almost there.”

The sleek black car sat at the far end of the driveway, out of the main view of the entrance. He didn’t let go of you, only releasing your wrist for a second to yank open the back door and toss the stolen file onto the seat. Then he turned back to you, his eyes flicking down, assessing.

“Get in,” he said, softer than before.

You didn’t argue, slipping into the passenger seat on autopilot. The moment the door shut, Hongjoong rounded the car, climbing in behind the wheel. Without hesitation, he started the engine, maneuvering out of the driveway with practiced ease, keeping his movements smooth, natural—like nothing had happened.

The mansion disappeared into the night behind you, but you barely noticed.

Your hands were still shaking. They rested on your knees, but the tremors wouldn’t stop, even as you tried to clench them into fists.

Hongjoong noticed immediately. His eyes flicked toward you before returning to the road, but then, without a word, his right hand reached over, covering yours. His palm was warm, steady, a grounding contrast to your trembling fingers.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the soft hum of the tires against the road, the occasional streetlight casting fleeting glows into the car.

“You did what you had to do,” he finally murmured, thumb absently brushing against your knuckles. “You saved me.”

Your throat felt tight, like something heavy was lodged there, something impossible to swallow. You didn’t respond, just stared at the way his fingers curled over yours, keeping you tethered.

Hongjoong sighed, rubbing his thumb in slow circles, as if coaxing you out of your daze. “You’re gonna be okay.”

You weren’t sure if you believed him. The weight of what you had done sat heavy in your chest, suffocating, pressing down on your ribs like a vice. Your hands were still stained, phantom blood lingering even after Hongjoong had wiped them clean with a cloth he found in the car. The scent of it clung to your skin, metallic and sickly sweet.

You didn’t even realize when the mansion came into view. The headlights cut through the dark, illuminating the grand entrance as the car rolled to a smooth stop.

The moment the engine shut off, you reached for the door, pushing it open with shaking fingers. You just needed to get inside—to your room. To scrub your hands raw, to tear off the dress that now felt suffocating against your skin, to forget the feeling of the knife plunging into flesh.

As the mansion doors swung open, you barely registered the group waiting inside. The others were all there—standing in the living room, their faces unreadable. Some looked concerned, others wary. Their postures stiffened when they saw you, their eyes flicking between you and Hongjoong, as if trying to gauge the situation.

Seonghwa was the first to rise fully from his seat, brows furrowing as he stepped forward. "What happened—"

You stormed past them, heels clicking sharply against the marble floors, the weight of Hongjoong’s jacket slipping off one shoulder. The room felt too bright, too open. You needed to get out of there.

Hongjoong didn’t stop you. But you could feel his eyes on your back as you disappeared down the hall.

—The door slammed shut behind you, rattling in its frame. You barely noticed. Your fingers trembled as you reached behind you, dragging the zipper of the dress down with jerky, uneven movements. It slipped off your shoulders, pooling at your feet in a heap of expensive fabric. You stepped out of it, barely feeling the cold air against your skin, barely feeling anything at all.

The bathroom was silent except for your shallow breathing as you turned the shower knob, watching as water cascaded down, steam curling into the air. You stepped under it without hesitation, letting the scorching heat sting your skin, letting it scald away the remnants of tonight.

Blood.

It wasn’t there anymore—you had scrubbed it off in the car, had wiped it away—but you could still see it, feel it, seeping into your skin, under your nails, staining you in a way you weren’t sure would ever fade. Your chest felt tight, the memory flashing behind your eyes like a cruel replay. The blade sinking in, the way his body jerked, the sound—God, the sound.

You pressed your forehead against the tiled wall, eyes squeezing shut. You weren’t supposed to do that. That wasn’t who you were. You were a thief, not a murderer. But when you saw him coming for Hongjoong, when you saw the gun raised, the look in his eyes, you hadn’t thought. You had just… moved.

You saved him.

It hit you all at once, the truth settling in like a weight pressing on your chest. If you hadn’t acted, Hongjoong would have been the one on the floor. Not breathing. Not alive.

You inhaled shakily, letting the realization crash over you.

You killed someone.

But you saved him.

The water poured over you, washing away everything but the one thing you couldn’t shake.

The fact that, if you had to, you would do it again.

—Hongjoong had been thinking about your reaction the whole drive back. He had seen fear before—lived in it, caused it—but the way it had taken over your face tonight, the way your hands had shaken, the way your breath had come out in sharp, broken gasps, was different. It wasn’t fear of dying. It wasn’t fear of pain. It was fear of what you had done. Of yourself.

You didn’t belong in his world.

The thought sat heavy in his chest, unwanted, undeniable. He had always known it—always known you were different, that you weren’t built for this life the way he and the others were. But seeing it tonight, seeing the horror in your eyes as you looked down at your own hands, had made something twist inside him.

He didn’t like it.

You looked better when you were scowling at him, rolling your eyes, throwing some sarcastic remark his way. You looked better when you were annoyed, when you were pushing back, when you weren’t afraid of him or anything else. But tonight, you had looked small. Shaken. Quiet.

And Hongjoong hated that.

With a sigh, he found himself outside your door, hesitating for only a second before knocking.

No response. He knocked again, a little firmer this time. When there was still no answer, he opened the door, stepping inside carefully.

You were sitting on the bed, your legs pulled up slightly, hair damp and clinging to your skin. Your face was still flushed from the heat of the shower, but your eyes… your eyes looked hollow. Distant.

Hongjoong exhaled softly, leaning against the doorframe.

He really, really didn’t like seeing you like this.

For the first time in weeks, Hongjoong felt something close to regret settle in his chest. He had done this to you. He had taken you from whatever life you had, dragged you into this world, forced you to play a game you never signed up for. And for weeks, he had justified it—told himself you’d be fine, that you were strong, that you were smart. That you’d adapt.

But tonight had proved what he had been denying since the day he forced you into this life.

You weren’t meant to be here.

You weren’t a killer.

You weren’t like him.

Hongjoong had seen you fight, had seen you steal, had seen you navigate situations with quick thinking and sharp words. But he had never seen you with blood on your hands. He had never seen your face shatter the way it did tonight, never seen you look so lost, so utterly destroyed by what you had done. And he had been the one to put you in that position.

He forced a breath out, running a hand through his hair. “You should go.”

Your head snapped up, eyes wide, brows furrowing. “What?”

“You should leave,” he repeated, his voice quieter this time. “Go back to your life. Before all of this.”

You stared at him like he had lost his mind. “Are you serious?”

Hongjoong’s jaw clenched. “Dead serious.”

You exhaled sharply, standing up so fast the bed creaked beneath you. “So that’s it? You just decide I don’t belong here, and suddenly I have to go?”

His expression hardened. “You don’t belong here.”

“Oh, really?” You scoffed, crossing your arms. “That’s funny, considering you didn’t seem to give a shit about that when you kidnapped me.”

His stomach twisted. He didn’t have a defense for that.

You took a step closer, your voice rising. “You forced me into this. You made me a part of this world. And now that I actually did something that saved your life, you decide it’s too much for me?”

His eyes snapped to yours. “You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“But I did,” you shot back. “And I would do it again.”

Something in his chest cracked. Hongjoong shook his head, looking away. “This isn’t you. You’re not like us. You—”

“Stop telling me what I am and what I’m not,” you interrupted, stepping even closer. “I don’t care if I’m not like you. I don’t care if I don’t belong here. You don’t get to make this choice for me.”

Hongjoong let out a humorless laugh. “You think this is a choice? You think you can just keep pretending this won’t change you?” His voice rose, frustration bleeding through. “You killed someone tonight.”

“I know what I did,” you snapped, your voice breaking slightly.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “And I don’t want you to have to do it again.”

And then you whispered, “Why do you care so much?” He froze. You stared at him, searching his face. “Why does it matter so much to you?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, something desperate flashing in his eyes. He looked away, breathing heavily.

“Hongjoong,” you said quietly.

His entire body tensed. It was the first time you had ever said his name. No sarcasm, no mocking tone. Just his name. And it undid him completely.

His head snapped up, eyes locking onto yours. He swallowed hard, chest rising and falling rapidly, like he was trying to hold something back.

But then you asked again, softer this time. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because I fucking love you!”

The words ripped out of him, raw and unfiltered, as if they had been clawing at his throat for weeks, waiting to escape.

Your breath hitched, your eyes widening. Hongjoong’s own expression was wild—like he couldn’t believe he had said it either. But he didn’t take it back. He just stared at you, breathing hard, waiting for you to say something, to do anything.

You reached for him, hands trembling slightly as they cupped his face. He stiffened at first, but then melted into your touch, his lips parting slightly.

“You’re an idiot,” you whispered, voice breaking. “But I would do it again. For you.”

His hands came up, covering yours, his eyes dark and unreadable. “You shouldn’t have to.”

“But I would.”

Hongjoong exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against yours. And then, in the silence, in the lingering tension of everything that had been said, you kissed him.

Hongjoong groaned softly against your lips, his hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping tight, anchoring yourself to the moment.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he pressed one last lingering kiss against your lips before murmuring,

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

taglist : : @callmeagardengnome @serinebsblog @vtyb23 @choisanchwego @monsta-x-jagi @kyunlov @lcvejjoong @blueginz @lunaryoongie @yeon103 @spenceatiny18 @darlingz99 @matchahintonagar @ateezswonderland

© kysstar

[asxgard]

Heartbeat | [1/3]

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x pregnant wife!doctor!f!reader

| Next

Summary: You get called in to assist with the mass casualty event on your day off and you’re grateful to be there when your husband finally breaks.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: episode 13 hurt a lot so I wrote this to cope. Likely will write more specific stuff after I’ve fully processed.

Word Count: 4.4k+

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content

Warnings: age gap (16ish years, I have a problem okay? The age gap trope feeds me), established relationship/marriage, hospital/medical inaccuracies, hurt/comfort, panic attack, foul language, angst (it’s who I am), gore/gun violence (Pittfest), vague details from ep. 11-13, pet names (baby, my love), non-graphic shower scene, fluff at the end because we deserve it after that episode???

not beta read

You had met Dr. Robinavitch when you started in the ED as an attending. While your love blossomed slowly, it bloomed into so much more than you were expecting. It had been a bit of a whirlwind, from dating secretly to Dana and Jack finding out only a month after, to getting engaged just a year later.

You had done what you could to keep it from the hospital administration, but the time came where you got married and paperwork needed to be filed. You kept your maiden name to ensure there was no confusion, plus it added to your privacy. Everyone you worked with knew you were married, just not to each other, but it was more of an open secret to some of the nurses and other attendings.

Gloria nearly moved you to a different department. She tried separating you by shifts, maybe hoping you would leave and find work in a different hospital. Michael was technically your boss, after all. In her reports, however, she found that when you two were on shift together, it was seamless. Like you two operated on a frequency that no one else was even aware of.

Despite the bumps in the road, and Michael’s aversion for talking about his feelings, you made it work. Some shifts could be frustrating, and that sometimes got carried home, but you respected each other immensely. Michael was not keen on letting such a good thing in his life go that easily, and eventually opened up about Adamson and the toll the pandemic had taken on him.

After that hurdle, everything else was easy. Eventually, you decided to grow your family, and you got pregnant not even five months later.

—

On the fourth year anniversary of Adamson’s death, you were surprised to find Michael preparing for a shift.

“Didn’t you take off?” You asked, watching him dress into his scrubs.

“Yeah,” he said, not looking at you. “Peterson had a family thing, and I know they’re short staffed.”

You frowned, “You could’ve asked me.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” He said, turning to look at you and his heart swelled at the sight. “I don’t want you to cancel your appointment.”

You sat on that for a moment. For as busy as you both were, Michael had made time for every appointment you had after finding out you were pregnant.

“I know, I know. I promise I won’t miss the next one.”

That satisfied you. For all Michael was, someone to break his promise was not one of them.

“I was hoping to find out the gender today,” you said with a tiny smile. “But a little anticipation never hurt anyone.”

He looked grateful at your words, moving to kiss you. He tasted like mint, holding your head so gently in his hands. Your hands moved to his chest, wanting to hold him against you, but you released him.

“Jake know yet?”

He smiled, “Yeah. He asked to take his girlfriend instead.”

You raised an eyebrow and grinned, “Oh?”

You and Jake had gotten close slowly, him being like a step-son to Michael, but now you loved the kid.

“If you need anything, just call, alright?”

He nodded, grabbing his coffee, giving you one last lingering kiss before heading out the door.

—

Your day was mildly uneventful, taking your time with a handful of chores before sitting out on the balcony to have lunch. Your OB appointment had gone well, and you got a recording of the heartbeat, knowing Michael might need to hear it after his shift.

As time moved, you missed that Michael had not been able to be there with you. You missed his touch and his presence beside you. Dinner came with a takeout box of your latest craving, before your phone rang.

Jack Abbot’s name flashed on your screen. You still worked a few shifts with him from time-to-time, but Michael had you mostly scheduled for days, with him.

“Hey,” you said when you answered.

“Did you hear?”

“That’s so specific, Jack,” you said, opening the fridge to scan your snack options.

“There was a shooting at Pittfest, unknown number of casualties. Closest trauma center is PTMC.”

Your heart stuttered to a stop, “What?”

“Heard it on the scanner. You’ll likely get an alert that it’s all hands on deck, but I wanted to give you a heads up before traffic got too bad.”

Despite not being super close with Jack, you were still friends and you knew he had your back. While you hated being treated with careful hands at work now that you were pregnant, part of you still appreciated the gesture of it. It was like something unspoken had happened between Michael and Jack months ago, both of them moving to take the more combative patients whenever you were around.

“Shit, Jack.” You breathed out, rushing into your bedroom to grab your scrubs. “Fuck, Jake is at Pittfest. Let me try to reach him.” You fumbled through your drawers, taking a deep breath through your nose. “I’ll be in. See you soon.”

“Drive safe!” He said before the call disconnected.

After changing, you moved to grab a few odd snacks and water bottles, stuffing them into your lunch bag, along with your cell phone charger. Who knew how long this was going to take, or if Michael had had the chance at any point today to eat. He hadn’t texted or called, but that was not uncommon. The Pitt never made it easy, which was why you were grateful that you worked most of your shifts with your husband.

You tried reaching Jake, leaving a voicemail and a text message before reaching out to his mother. You briefly explained the situation and asked for an update as soon as she heard anything, before you promised the same.

When you got into your car, you took a deep breath to steady your heart before beginning your way to PTMC.

Michael called you, your phone ringing through the car’s Bluetooth.

“Hey, don’t have much time, but I need you.” He told you, his voice quiet but full of so much emotion.

“I’m already on my way. Abbot called ten minutes ago. Tried calling out to Jake, too, he didn’t answer. Told his mom to reach out to either of us if she heard anything.” You said in a rush, coming to a stop at a light. Almost there.

He let out a breath that almost sounded like relief.

“I’ll see you in a few minutes, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The mass alert came through your phone as soon as he hung up. Thank fuck for Jack.

You made it into the parking garage, waving at the security guard now posted at the entrance. You sat in your car for just a minute to get your bearings, knowing tonight was going to be a shitshow.

As you entered the Emergency Department, you saw patients leaving, escorted by nurses and admin staff — and you moved quickly into the back. It was a circus, but you spotted Michael and Jack and beelined for them.

Michael’s brown eyes caught you as you approached and his face relaxed, though his shoulders were still tense. Dana was beside them, and her usual quip of “Oh I get Dr. R squared today?” did not fall from her lips, but she was sporting a black eye. You looked at her in alarm, but she waved it off.

“Just another happy customer.” She said, but you only frowned at her.

Michael spoke next, introducing you, and then quickly running down the new faces to you: Dr. Mel King, an R2, Dennis Whittaker, an M4, Victoria Javadi, an M3, and Dr. Trinity Santos, an intern. You tried to remember their names, but knew you would not likely remember them in the chaos.

You went to quickly put your stuff down, and when you turned around, Michael was standing there. To everyone else, he appeared neutral, controlled, normal. To you? He was wearing his shift all over his face and you could see plainly that it had not been a good one.

“This is going to be stressful, I should’ve let you stay home—”

While you appreciated his concern, you would have come anyway. “I promise, if I get too stressed out, I’ll let myself take a few minutes. But you have me. What can I do to help?”

“I need you in pink zone.” He told you, moving right back to business. “You’ll be with McKay and Javadi, and incoming night shift. But I need you at the head of it.”

“You got it.” You said, honored he was trusting you to run point on your zone.

—

While the victims did not stop coming, you found yourself moving mostly on instinct. Assessing, treating, moving along — trying to do your best to teach when you came across any of the new faces. You flitted into red zone when there was a particularly bad patient and then moved to triage so Dr. Shen could take a quick bathroom break.

When you assisted Michael, you moved together like a well oiled machine — and despite the tragedy, it came to you both naturally. You only barely registered the tension between Michael and Dr. Frank Langdon — a senior resident, and someone Michael had taken under his wing. You would have to remember to ask about it.

Time moved by in a blur, but you were painfully aware of every minute, every patient that came under your care. All the blood, all the death, all the tragedy.

It only got worse when Jake arrived, thought were thankful he was alive. He was asking about his girlfriend when you approached.

“Jake?” You got his attention as you began to take in his appearance. Jesus Christ, he was covered in blood.

“It’s mostly her blood,” he told you blankly, eyes moving around the room at the carnage. “It’s mostly her blood.”

You called for a wheelchair, your gaze searching for Michael. He was working on a patient, giving CPR from the look of it, the patient blocked from your view by the charge desk.

“Take a seat, Jake.” You told him softly, gently touching his shoulder. “Let me take a look at you, yeah?”

He sat down, his head swiveling around to locate his girlfriend. “I think—I think I got hit in the leg.”

You nodded, moving him into the yellow zone so you could bandage him up. You were not related and there were no official familial ties, so there were no problems of ethics — at least that was what you told yourself.

He moved to stand, and you pushed his shoulder back down.

“Let me assess you and then I promise I’ll go check on your girlfriend, okay?”

Jake nodded numbly and moved onto the gurney so you could look at his leg. His injury was not as bad as you had feared, and while you knew he would need stitches, you made do with some bandages for the time being.

“What’s her name?” You asked, trying to bring his attention back to you.

“Leah,” he told you, voice heavy with emotion. “I need to see her.”

While you did not understand the full panic he was experiencing, you knew Leah was in good hands.

“She’s with Robby, Jake. Leah is getting the best care.”

He was still not looking at you, and you got him set up with an IV antibiotic drip.

“Jake? Jake, can you call your mom for me? Cell service might not be great right now, but can you try? She’s worried about you.”

He took that information in slowly, before nodding.

The call did not go through, but you made him promise to keep trying while you assured him you were going to check on his girlfriend.

By the time you reached Michael, he was calling time of death and your heart constricted. You wanted to scream. By the look in his eyes, you can see he wanted to as well. You could feel Jack’s gaze on you and when you turned, he simply shook his head at you. You easily translated that to ‘your husband is not doing good’.

“I couldn’t save her.” Michael whispered, and only you caught it.

You gave his hand a subtle squeeze.

Jack was there then, reading the situation perfectly, “No one could have saved her. Maybe if this was a normal day, but it tore right through her heart. There was not much we could do.”

Fuck, you thought, she’s so young. You hoped she did not suffer.

Michael moved to find Jake and you followed him, but he stopped you.

“Can you take over for me in red so I can let Jake know?”

Every part of you screamed to go with him, but you nodded, turning to step back into pace with the work. You tried to push away your emotions, packaging them away to deal with later, but compartmentalizing was tough. You felt guilty for never meeting this girl, someone Jake had so obviously cared a lot about.

You attempted to get lost in the work, but you caught sight of Michael wheeling Jake out of Peds — the current place they have been putting the deceased — and the look on your husband’s face made your heart plummet. He had moved back into the room, leaving Jake just outside and you quickly gestured to a passing nurse to get him back to yellow.

The security guard did not make any comment when you walked into Peds, and you were devastated at what you found. Aside from the deceased, the number of them slowly ticking upwards, it was the sight of Michael on the floor in tears that truly struck you.

After ripping the curtain closed behind you, to block the view into the hall, and give you both just a small amount of privacy, you moved back toward Michael. It had been a long time since you had seen him like this. He had broken down when he told you about Adamson and the weight of his choice, and once he had even broken down after a particularly bad argument, but nothing like this.

“Baby, baby, hey,” you crouched down beside him, but you did not move to touch him.

His breath caught in his throat, but his sobs continued, hyperventilating with his arms pulled across his bent knees.

“Michael,” you tried, a name you had never called him when within the walls of the hospital.

His watery gaze met yours for just a moment, before his eyes were back in his lap, face scrunched. His ears were red, as well as his face, with red rimmed eyes that broke something in you.

“Michael.” You stressed again, moving so your hands hovered just above his arms. “Can you look at me?”

“I—I—I couldn’t—fuck—I didn’t save her.” His breaths came in short bursts, in in in out, in in out, tears coming down his face, his cheeks red.

You found yourself at a loss on how to help him — you knew none of his thoughts were rational at the moment, and anguish rushed through your veins, feeling so helpless. So useless.

An odd idea struck you, and you pulled out your phone before you could doubt yourself. You flipped through a few of your apps before settling on the one you had used to record your baby’s heartbeat.

“Can you take a deep breath with me?” You asked gently. You took a deep breath in through your nose and then out through your mouth.

You didn’t give him time to respond before you were pressing play on the recording. The sound of it filled the room with something other than Michael’s panic, and he quieted just enough to listen to it.

“That’s our baby.” You told him, though the sound of it was obvious enough, racing steadily like hoof beats.

His eyes found yours, and while he was still breathing quickly, he seemed to have returned to the reality around you, rather than stuck in his head. Relief took a bit of the weight from your shoulders.

“Can you breathe with me?” You asked again, finally touching his arm.

His hand found yours immediately and squeezed, but he nodded. You took a few more deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth, watching as he mirrored you.

Aside from the quick beats of your baby’s heart, the deep breaths you both took filled the room. You desperately tried to ignore the dead around you, trying to solely focus on the man in front of you. When the recording came to a stop, Michael’s hand twitched toward your phone.

“Can you play it again?”

You nodded, pressing play and handing him your phone. The fast heartbeat filled the space again, and he cradled your phone like it was a lifeline. Maybe it was.

“Very active today.” You told him. “Wouldn’t sit still.”

A ghost of a smile passed over his lips, but it was gone in a moment.

“I have a video file that they sent me from today, but I didn’t want to look at it without you. Figured if either of us looked long enough, we’d be able to tell the gender ourselves.”

“Can we?” He asked, looking at you with tears still in his eyes.

You smiled, moving to sit next to him. You did not know how long the moment was going to last — sooner or later, someone was going to come looking for either of you. You tried to ignore it, trying to center yourself in this moment with Michael, forgetting about the outside world for just a moment.

Clicking on the video you had saved, you both sat quietly watching your baby move. Michael grabbed your hand in his and held it close to his chest. This was only going to be a bandaid, but any distraction was a welcomed one in that moment.

“They’re healthy. Measured 6.6 inches, 11 ounces.” You rattled off, moving your other hand to his head and running your nails along his scalp and through his hair. Any time in the past that he had had a panic attack in your company, you found that at the tail end of it, he enjoyed the feeling of your hands on him. Like it was grounding.

Michael’s hyperventilating had fully stopped, though a handful of tears still slipped through. His face was still scrunched in pain, but he watched the video attentively.

“You did all you could, my love,” you whispered. “No one could have saved her. Not even if it was all of us and just her. I’m so sorry.”

“Jake—”

You hushed him, “Jake is still in shock. He’s grieving. Whatever he said to you, he didn't mean it.”

“No, no, he does. I didn’t save her. I told him I would. I told him.”

You brought your lips to his temple, closing your eyes and willing no tears to come. You couldn’t, not now.

Michael tapped on the video again, watching as your baby moved, kicking against your womb like it was their job.

“It’s not your fault.” You told him, moving across the floor until you met his gaze. “I would never lie to you, you know that. I promise. If anyone could have saved her, it would have been you.”

His face scrunched again like he was going to cry.

You held him in your arms, squeezing him tight to your chest, hoping perhaps the more you squeezed, the more he would believe you.

You held his face in your hands, and willed him to look at you. “I love you so much, Michael. This was not your fault. Blame the shooter, they caused this whole thing. Jake will see that eventually, you haven’t lost him.”

Brown eyes held steady on yours, searching them with a gaze that nearly made you shy away. But you hold strong, wiping away the tears on his cheeks with your thumbs.

“Robby! Robby!” Dana’s voice came through the curtain, before it was pushed aside.

Dana only blinked at the sight of you, you knelt in front of your husband, both of your faces twisted and pained.

You found your voice, “Just two minutes, Dana. Please.”

She only nodded, closing the curtain again and disappearing.

“I can’t promise the rest of this is going to be any easier, but,” You paused. “Fuck it, if you want to leave, we can blame me right now. Say I have high blood pressure and you want to make sure I get home safe. I don’t care. Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

You remembered all the times he covered for you when your morning sickness made you late, or when he had taken time away from the hectic flow to talk you through a bad case, or a death. When he shouldered the weight of an abrasive family member or aggressive patient, even before you were married. The times he let you leave early when you were having a bad day, or encouraged you to take breaks even when he didn’t.

“Let me try to take care of you right now. Please. Whatever you need.”

Michael took a long breath, rubbing his eyes. “Let me just splash some water on my face. After…stay by my side?”

“Done. If you need a minute, tell me to take a break and come with me. I can shoulder that right now.”

You did not say it because you thought he was weak, but simply because you felt you had the capacity to bear the brunt of the remainder of this shift. People knew he was going to worry about you regardless of the situation, so him ‘checking in’ would not phase them.

“Michael,” you started as you both moved to stand, him offering a hand to help you, “You’ve always been so great with Jake, just give him some time.” You paused, “You’re going to be an amazing father to our child.”

Tears flooded his eyes again and you felt like you had just made it worse while trying to make it better.

“You’re the best thing to ever happen to me. How on earth did I—”

You cupped his cheek and hushed him again, bringing his face to yours until your foreheads touched. “I’m the lucky one.”

He kissed you softly, before bringing you into a hug, careful of your growing bump.

When you parted, he took one last deep breath before facing the chaos that awaited you both out in the ED. You knew the heavier parts of your conversation were going to have to be shelved until you got home.

Michael moved toward the closest bathroom and you rushed back to red zone. There were no words to exchange with Jack, but with a knowing glance at him, he seemed to understand.

“Robby’s moving me to red. Bilal’s got pink covered.” You told him, referencing the night attending.

Abbot only nodded.

When Michael returned only a minute later, you watched him — had you not known him that well, you might not have been able to guess what had just transpired. You were thankful no one else in the hospital knew him as well as you did.

You got back to work, busying your hands to try to stop your mind from worrying too much. Whatever he had done in the bathroom, he had clearly thrown his panic attack into a bag and stuffed it deep inside his mind. It made your heart ache, but you would help him unpack it once you were both in the safety of your home.

Michael still made sound decisions, and not once did you feel the need to question his judgement. Jack was steadfast with you both, and you were grateful for him.

—

It was 10pm by the time the dust began to settle and the situation finally simmered to a more controllable level. You were beat and you had only been there a few hours, Michael encouraging you to take a seat and have some water while he checked on a handful of things. You took that moment to find Jake — who now had been stitched up and was with his mom.

“I’m so sorry, Jake. I really wish I could have met her.”

He nodded numbly, “You would’ve really liked her.”

A sad smile formed on your lips, “I’m sure I would have.”

You wanted to tell him to go easy on Robby, but the words did not form on your tongue. It was still too soon, and while you did not want Jake to blame him, you knew it wasn’t the time or place.

You parted from them sadly, before going to check on the med students and finally finding Michael with Jack.

It was a half hour later that you both finally left, Michael following you silently to your car. You were still digesting it all, wondering how the hell you were even going to begin processing it.

At home, you both quickly discarded your scrubs to the floor and made your way to the bathroom. It went unsaid that you both needed to wash this shift off, more so mentally than physically, but being clean would certainly make you feel better.

It was amazing how well you had learned to read each other, and you held onto him under the warm water for a long moment. He kissed the side of your head before grabbing the soap, sudsing up his hands and gently cleaning your skin. You relished in the feeling of him.

Once you rinsed off, you returned the favor. You moved your hands over his arms, his chest and then his back. You added a kiss here and there, knowing he enjoyed your touch just as much. He held your belly in his hands, eyes faraway again — but you brought your hand to his face to get his attention.

You kissed him, holding onto him and trying to translate all the things you felt into it. He returned the kiss and you felt yourself sigh in contentment.

It was quiet, but cathartic.

You both dried off, and changed before collapsing into your bed, Michael immediately pulling you close. You rested your head on his chest to listen to the calming sound of his heart.

Moving off his chest, you pulled him close to you and let him rest his head on you, his hand going to your belly. His breathing was slow and controlled, but you knew his mind was racing. You held him tight, your fingers going to his hair.

“I’d like to talk about today.” You said. “Not right now. Maybe not even tomorrow, or this week. But eventually.”

He was quiet, fingers absentmindedly drawing shapes on your stomach. “We can do that.”

“I’m here when you’re ready.” You told him.

He moved to press his lips to yours, peppering your face with kisses, before bringing you back to his chest. He held you for a long time and you did not even dare let go.

“I saw what it was.” He said.

“Oh?” You questioned against his chest, leaning your head back to look at him.

“Our baby.”

“Well don’t leave me in suspense.”

He grinned and kissed you deeply. Truth was, it didn’t matter. And as you held each other, you knew it was all going to be okay.

[ Next ]

All Dr. Robby Content: @cherriready

I need to give him a hug

[johnnysuhbmarine]

Too Good to be Fake

Pairing: Jaemin x reader Description: If there was one thing Na Jaemin was known for, it was being a fuckboy with no interest in commitment. If there was one thing you knew him for, it was being your best friend…and long-time crush. When his group of guy friends gets tired of the roster Jaemin seems to be running through, they propose a deal - they’d each give him $100 if he could settle down with one girl for at least three months. But that was easy money to Jaemin. After all, he could just fake-date you. Content warnings: swearing, talk about sex, mentions/consumption of alcohol, a panic attack (not the reader), one punch gets thrown, reader has a somewhat bad relationship with her parents, their obliviousness to the other’s feelings makes you want to slam your head against a wall, some angst but it’s mainly through unaddressed fluff. Please let me know if I’ve missed anything. Word count: 31,947 A/n: I didn’t know I could write this much, but after making my smau, I was ITCHING for written work ahahahhahahahaha. Please enjoy, though who am I to tell you what to do…as always, feedback would be greatly appreciated. I love you :) also because I must tag @fullsunstrawberry in everything I do...here you go - I love you the mostest!

The semester was in full swing for just over a month, and Haechan was already tired of the amount of girls Jaemin had brought over to their apartment. The first two years of university cemented Jaemin’s image as resident fuckboy, but no one cared about the fact that they couldn’t keep him for more than a night because he was hot enough to make the one night worth it. Similarly, Jaemin couldn’t care less about being labeled a fuckboy - at the end of the day, all it meant was that he was able to get his dick wet with no added pressure from the expectation to ever commit; the concept seemed like heaven to him.

However, the start of junior year had his best friends thinking it was time for a change. As Jaemin sat down in one of their usual cafés for lunch, all eyes were on him. “Alright, Jaemin, we figure you’ve had your fun for the past two years now,” Chenle said with a gleam in his eyes. 

“Too much fun…” Haechan adds under his breath.

Jaemin looked around at the group with furrowed brows. “Whatever is going on, can we stop it and just have our coffee and sandwiches like normal? Why am I being targeted for the amount of fun I’m having? You’ve all had your fair share of fun, too.” 

Jeno let out a small laugh at Jaemin’s defense. “Yeah, but we aren’t nicknamed the campus fuckboy. Plus, we’ve all been in actual relationships during our time in college.” 

Jaemin’s face drops, no longer interested at all in the conversation they were clearly wanting to have. “I could be in a relationship if I wanted to be, I just don’t want to,” he’s quick to mutter in reply. 

“Why not?” Renjun asks, raising his eyebrows in wait.

Jaemin lets out a scoff. “All that love and commitment is stupid. You guys put so much effort into your previous relationships and yet, we’re all currently sitting at this table single. There’s no one who makes me want to even try being in a relationship. Why would I want to risk wasting all that effort on someone?”

His six best friends eyed each other around the table, either not buying it or not caring. “Look man,” Mark starts, getting Jaemin to turn his attention over to him. “Regardless of how you feel about love, Haechan is tired of listening to you and whatever girl you bring home that night…and he’s especially tired of it always being a different girl to walk in on him while he’s singing in the kitchen making breakfast. So, to maybe help him out, and also to test your ability because honestly, I don’t know if any of us think you’re capable…in the nicest way possible, of course. We wanna propose a bet- or a deal is probably the better word for it.” Jaemin shoots his gaze over to the rest of them, but no one bore a look of amusement, they were all curiously locked in. “If you can get a girlfriend and settle down for at least three months, we’ll give you $600.”

Well originally, Jaemin had no interest in any part of this, but if everything worked out the way his brain was planning it, that $600 could potentially be easy cash…not to mention a lot of it.

“I’m in,” he pipes up immediately, truthfully stunning his best friends at the table. Nevertheless, they all shake on it, and then Jaemin only has one thing to do…after finishing his coffee and sandwich, of course.

One day later, you get a text from Jaemin. Free to catch up today? Your cheeks blush warmly at the message. It wasn’t anything special, but after being glued to each other’s sides during high school, college saw you and Jaemin having considerably less time for each other; so it was always nice to see you were still a thought in his mind because truly, you missed your best friend like no other. 

Free to catch up everyday :)) You respond, and Jaemin’s reply comes instantaneously.

Perfect ;) meet you at the café in two hours

You check the clock before mapping out how you would spend all your time in between now and then, quickly deciding most of it should be directed towards making yourself look presentable, seeing as you’ve done nothing but rot in bed all morning.

Fast forward two hours and you were already sitting at one of the café tables when the bell rang as Jaemin walked through the door. He scans the inside before his eyes find you and he lights up. “Hi, best friend!” He says overenthusiastically as he pulls out the chair across from you. You furrow your brows at his tone, not to mention his usage of ‘best friend,’ when you think you remember Jaemin calling you that only once before when you were both still in high school, and had since never labeled you like that again - not that it was an incorrect label, but one that he typically didn’t make a huge deal about unless…

“Oh, god,” you start sarcastically. “What mess did you get yourself into now?”

“Hey!” Jaemin shoots back in mock hurt, moving a hand over his heart as if you’ve just shot him. You let out a light laugh, rolling your eyes.

“Sorry, Jaem, please continue.”

He immediately ducks his head to face his lap, his tone bearing a fraction of the force it previously had. “Okay so, I got myself into a mess.” You can’t help the genuine laugh that escapes you as you shake your head. Jaemin whips his head up to face you in response, but as you manage to stop your laughter, all you can do is meet his gaze with a softness in your eyes that perfectly balanced the playful smirk on your lips.

“I’ve missed you a lot, you know,” you respond, and Jaemin rolls his lips inward to try and stop the smile as he directs his gaze somewhere off to the side. 

“Yeah, hoping you’re still thinking that after I explain,” he replies hesitantly, and your face falls in an instant.

“You got me into a mess?!” You ask in disbelief, and Jaemin lets out a light sigh.

“Not yet, but that’s kind of the goal,” he answers, scrunching up his facial features as he waits for your reprimanding. Though it never comes, and instead, you speak plainly through a sigh.

“An explanation needs to come out of your mouth in three, two-”

Jaemin curls himself into a ball as best he can while sitting in the café chair, wanting some kind of physical defense before explaining himself in a rush. “I need us to fake date for three months so can you please please please be my fake girlfriend?” When he doesn’t get coffee thrown at him, he takes a moment to unfurl himself and look over at you again, his gaze met with your indifferent expression. 

“Why?” You ask neutrally, and it seems to finally hit Jaemin that you were still the same sane, comforting presence you always had been, even if the two of you hadn’t properly hung out in over a year. He settles more decidedly into his chair, though he still frames his words through a lens of embarrassment, figuring that might be the best way to get you to agree - if you knew he knew he was stupid.

“$600 and to prove something to my friends,” he replies, his words light but his demeanor dead serious.

“And why me?” You toss back, causing Jaemin to roll his eyes as he throws his gaze off to the side again with a scoff. 

“Cause every other girl I know has a crush on me and it’d make this very weird. I’m not trying to actually be in a relationship. That’s the last thing I want.” His words this time are firm enough to match his demeanor, and it has you taking a sip of your coffee to fight back the awkwardness you would’ve otherwise choked on. 

“...Right,” you say in agreement, because out of all the times you could come clean about your huge crush on your best friend, right after he tells you that he doesn’t want a relationship is probably the worst time to do so. 

“So?” Jaemin inquires hopefully, snapping you out of your thoughts. You flick your gaze up to him before immediately darting it back to your coffee on the table, one of your hands messing with the straw absentmindedly. Then you give in, because you suck at saying ‘no’ to your best friend.

“...Fine, but then we’re making a contract,” you say plainly, swirling the ice around in your americano. Jaemin lets out something like a laugh, shaking his head.

“Y/n, you’re taking this so seriously-” He starts, but you whip your head back up to him in an instant, cutting him off with sincerity. 

“They’ll see right through it if we don’t,” you state, and you watch Jaemin’s adam's apple bob up and down in his throat as he swallows awkwardly. 

He shakes out of it before putting his hands up in defeat. “Okay, whatever. Go ahead,” he replies, disinterested. You roll your eyes, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen from your backpack. Then you get to writing, because you were gonna need to set some intense boundaries if you were hoping to make it out of this alive. 

“Alright, I think this should be good for right now,” you say after a few minutes, sliding the piece of paper his way. He takes one glance at it before letting out a laugh and directing his gaze back to you with raised brows.

“‘No kissing?’ I don’t mean to alarm you, but that’s actually the quickest way for them to see right through it,” he quips. You run your fingers through your hair awkwardly as you dodge his gaze, finally nodding your head with a sigh. 

“Okay fine, we can change it. No kissing unless they bring it up or get suspicious. Good?” You ask, finally looking up at him again. He lets an amused smile paint its way across his lips as he stares at you across the table.

“Ha, we’ll keep it for now,” he agrees before turning his attention back to the paper and looking over the next thing you wrote. “‘No weird nicknames?’” He reads, popping his head back up to look at you for clarification. You roll your eyes, slightly embarrassed. 

“Yeah, like sugar, pumpkin, honey, buttercup, sweetie, sweetheart, cutie pie, baby, babe, darling-” You’re cut off by a genuine laugh from Jaemin, helping you realize you’ve missed the sound of it a lot, and not at all helping the awkward situation you’ve gotten yourself into. 

“Okay, you’re just naming every pet name imaginable,” he counters as though you were crazy. 

You roll your lips inward, hesitating on how to respond before opting with a near-whisper. “I don’t like them,” you admit quietly, and Jaemin’s demeanor falls from playful to understanding. He opens his mouth to reply but closes it again before any words get out, instead taking another moment to think. 

“They’re gonna expect me to call you something,” he finally says, speaking as though it were an apology. 

You sigh, knowing he wasn’t lying. Idly messing with your hands, you reply quietly. “...are they gonna expect me to call you something, too?” You ask, and Jaemin contemplates with a sorry nod.

“Yeah, probably. Look, you can call me whatever you’re comfortable with, and if that’s just ‘Jaem,’ that’s fine.”

A more lenient answer than you were expecting, you shoot your head up to look back at him again, though your brows slightly furrow as you address the part he didn’t. “What about you?”

Jaemin lets out a soft sigh. “How about I just limit my usage of pet names, and I won’t call you anything food-related,” he suggests lightly, figuring those nicknames having made up your first seven examples meant you hated them the most. You roll your eyes but a smile crosses your face regardless because he was right, after all…and caring enough to actually realize that.

“I can live with that,” you relent, and a big grin comes back onto Jaemin’s face at the progress. He moves his attention back towards the contract, but immediately is whipping his gaze back to you in hurt. 

“Why can’t I be the one to break it off?” He pouts, and you have half a mind to laugh, but you know he’s serious. 

“If you date me for exactly three months and then break up with me, no matter how believable we make it, they’re either going to know it was set up or they’re going to assume you learned nothing and probably not give you the money,” you explain, and Jaemin’s pout turns into an impressed nod.

“You have a point…” He breathes out, causing you to smirk.

“I know.” 

He bites on his bottom lip, deep in thought before turning back to you again. “We probably shouldn’t date for exactly three months then, either,” he adds, and you flash your eyebrows in recognition.

“That’s also true,” you say before putting together a calendar in your head. “Well, if today’s September 27th, three months is December 27th, so…we could have New Year’s Eve be our last night together?” You suggest awkwardly. Though, when you look back up towards Jaemin, he’s putting your timeline together with a nod.

“Works for me,” he cedes, scribbling your end date somewhere off to the side before continuing to scan down the list. His next question comes with the very last bullet point on the contract. “‘Come home with me for Christmas dinner?’” He reads before looking up at you in confusion. You shake your head with a laugh.

“Well, you didn’t think I’d do this for nothing in return, did you?”

Jaemin flashes his eyebrows in acknowledgement. “Okay…so why Christmas dinner?” He asks, and you drop your gaze back to your coffee. 

“My family keeps riding my ass about not having a boyfriend. If you come back with me and pretend to be my boyfriend there, too, then even when we end things, they’ll at least be off my case for a while,” you admit, embarrassment tainting your voice before you rush to make the request sound more appealing. “And it’s not actual Christmas dinner! It’s that first weekend after finals week. You remember the big dinner we always had with other family friends and all that,” you drag off with an awkward laugh.

“Okay,” Jaemin agrees immediately, and you look back up at him in shock.

“Really? You’re agreeing to that?” You question, but he just shrugs his shoulders. 

“Y/n, you’re getting me $600, the least I can do is one dinner with your family. Besides, they’re practically my second set of parents. I’m pretty sure I had at least a hundred dinners with them during high school,” he jokes, and the tension in your shoulders falls. You guys were really doing this…all of this. The two of you left the café and parted ways soon after agreeing to the terms of the contract, Jaemin feeling $600 richer already with how easy this was going to be.

Jaemin picked you up from class on the first day you would be meeting his friends, five days after the two of you signed your contract to fake-date. He greets you with an easy smile outside of your classroom door. “Hey, you ready?” He asks, and you send a nervous smile back up at him. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” you reply with a laugh. He flashes his eyebrows in acknowledgement, feeling much the same way seeing as this was probably the least conventional thing he’s ever done. 

He leads you outside and towards the guys’ regular lunch spot at one of the tables set up in the campus commons. Jaemin had told his friends beforehand that he had gone and gotten himself a girlfriend and thus, to start the three month timer, and they were the ones who begged him to bring you to one of the lunches so they could meet you, and now here you were - walking casually towards the lunch table with Jaemin…too casually, Chenle noticed, because you weren’t even holding hands. He keeps quiet, but lets an easy smirk come across his face as you and Jaemin sit down next to each other. 

“Alright, guys,” Jaemin starts as the rest of the friend group pins their full attention on you. “This is y/n. My girlfriend,” he says with a smile. The label sends ice through your veins. You could not believe Na Jaemin was introducing you as his girlfriend…it didn’t matter that the label was fake, the words sounded real coming out of his mouth. You turn your head to look at him, as if to get some kind of confirmation that it really was Jaemin next to you, calling you his girlfriend. By the time your gaze reaches him, he’s already looking over at you with a cheesy grin, nudging your side playfully with his arm and getting you to relax a little. 

The guys go around introducing themselves, but as they make their full way around the table, Jeno immediately speaks up.

“So, how did the two of you get together?” He asks curiously. A valid question, which is why the guys all lean forward in interest, because of course they would be dying to know how their fuckboy best friend got an actual girlfriend rather than a hookup. It was a horrible question though, because it was one you forgot would ever come up, and you had no game plan to go about answering this. Though, it seemed all you had to worry about was keeping your eyes from going wide, because Jaemin did have a game plan for this, and he answered smoothly.

“I just asked her out,” he says with a shrug. “It’s always been so easy with y/n, I take it for granted most of the time. Every time I’m with her, I’m reminded that it takes no effort to breathe, that I’m standing on solid ground. We met up for coffee the other day and she said she missed me and I-” He falters for a moment, and you finally bring your gaze up from your lap to face Jaemin, just to see him shake his head as if he were breaking himself out of a nostalgia trip. “I wanted to hear that again and again,” he finally says seriously, and you can’t stop the smile from reaching your face. “So, though now it just sounds embarrassing saying it out loud, I straight up asked her to be my girlfriend right after that,” he adds through a laugh. “I had been waiting for the butterflies that everyone always talks about, but the fact that I’ve never really felt that with her just made me more sure I wanna be with her - there’s no discomfort or anxiety,” he says, and with your head ducked back in to face your lap, you miss it when he turns to look at you softly. “She’s just always felt like home.” 

Jaemin’s answer seems to have done its job in convincing everyone, and it definitely did its job in reminding you that you were in deep trouble. Though, as the rest of the guys take in Jaemin’s words with an impressed nod, Mark tries to fill in his holes. “Wait, how long have you known each other?” He asks, which was another valid question seeing as Jaemin talked about you with history even though you had never met his friend group before.

“We’ve been friends since high school,” Jaemin says coolly, though this time, you’re the one to nudge him with a laugh.

“Best friends,” you add teasingly, and Jaemin chuckles as he looks over at your figure before nodding his head.

“Yeah, best friends,” he agrees fondly. “But, I’ve liked her for a while now,” he says, turning back towards the group as his face falls and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I just- obviously have the image that I do and I never wanted to get her tied up in it. She deserves more than being labeled as some fuckboy’s latest infatuation,” he says, and as you furrow your brows at him, he just shakes his head, moving on with a light smile. “Though, obviously, I saw her last week and couldn’t help it anymore.”

Sorry smiles cross most of the guys’ faces - they were no help when it came to keeping labels away from Jaemin, and he was sure putting on a convincing show, making it almost seem like it was their fault the two of you hadn’t already gotten together. 

Haechan swings his gaze over to you with raised eyebrows, shifting gears to try and not to let the dampened mood actually settle in. “And you? How long have you liked him?” He asks, and you have to stop the laugh from leaving your system. Instead, you just shake your head fondly.

“Forever,” you answer truthfully, turning to face Jaemin before immediately pulling your gaze back down to your lap in embarrassment. “Any girl will tell you, it’s impossible not to fall for Na Jaemin.” At this, all the guys roll their eyes, but Jaemin just turns to study you softly, biting on his bottom lip in contemplation as he tries to sort out whether any part of your statement was true or if you were just really good at acting.

However, with the rumbling of Jisung’s stomach, he quickly discards the topic of you and Jaemin, deciding that after all the intro questions were out of the way, food was much more interesting. The guys laugh along as Jisung rips through his paper bag lunch, but it does its job in getting them to focus on their own food in front of them, too. 

Casual conversation occurred over lunch, and you were pleasantly surprised to find it wasn’t awkward at all. Not that you were expecting the guys to be awkward with each other, but you typically weren’t great at meeting new people; and now you were meeting six of them at once, somehow fitting right in, your occasional remarks causing the whole table to laugh - something you’d have to pat yourself on the back for later. The only disturbance comes from Chenle, who had begun leaning way back from the table, carefully balancing his weight on the bench as he seems to examine the ground by your feet. 

The entire friend group eventually catches on to his antics, turning their attention towards him with raised eyebrows. “What are you doing?” Renjun finally asks, the question coming out as though he thought Chenle were crazy…which probably wasn’t too far from his actual stance on the matter.

Chenle shakes his head, pulling himself back into a normal sitting position as he locks his gaze onto you and Jaemin. “Don’t most couples have a hand placed on the other’s thigh or something while sitting? Why are you guys like- a foot away from each other?” He asks plainly. Your face drops and your eyes widen.

“We are not a foot away from each other,” you remark firmly, but then Jisung peaks beneath the table as well, pulling back up with a shrug.

“Uh, you kinda are,” he says, causing Jaemin to roll his eyes.

“Didn’t think you guys were big pda enthusiasts,” he says, trying to laugh it off, but Chenle is relentless.

“Have you kissed yet?” He asks immediately, and you almost choke.

“What?!” You return in shock, but Chenle looks between the two of you with uninterested brows.

“You’ve liked each other for forever and you’re this awkward?” He shoots back in a taunt. You sigh, collecting yourself because you knew what you were about to have to do. 

“You’re right, Jaem,” you say, pulling his attention your way as you place a hand on his cheek and smile in disbelief. “Your friends are annoying,” you continue, and then you lean in and kiss your best friend and long time crush. 

Admittedly, you’ve imagined this moment more times than you could count, but none of those fantasies could have prepared you for what it actually felt like to kiss Na Jaemin. His lips were perfect, he was perfect, and you knew that already but now you felt it. You remind yourself of where you’re at, why you’re kissing him in the first place, and bring yourself to pull back after the one soft kiss, trying your best to make it seem as though that alone didn’t cause you to lose your breath.

As the two of you pull away from each other, Jaemin’s gaze locks on you, running over every inch of your face with an unreadable look in his eyes to contrast the softest of smiles on his lips. “Yeah, angel, they are,” he says through an exhale, and as your face goes completely pink, his smile eases into a familiar smirk. “But if you kiss me every time they piss you off, I might have to have them stick around.” 

You roll your eyes, nudging him in the side again as you focus on the playful banter and not on the fact that Jaemin just rewired your brain chemistry with one ‘angel.’ “Whatever, we both know I kiss you all the time anyways,” you tease, but as you try to shift away again, Jaemin catches your hand in his and looks at you as if you were crazy.

“No, I kiss you all the time,” he rushes to correct, and though you whip your head back to face him in offense, your eyes instantly soften upon contact, a tight smile playing at both of your features instead.

Your only thought was to kiss him again, and you’re thankful when Chenle cuts off any chance of that happening. “What is going on?” He asks in disgust, causing Renjun to laugh and shake his head.

“Hey, you were the one jumping their asses for their lack of public romance. This is your fault.” 

With the conclusion of lunch, Jaemin kept you company on the walk back to your dorm. As soon as you’re out of sight from the rest of the guys, you let out a heavy sigh and accompanying drop of your shoulders. “Well, there goes rule number one…” You say in defeat. If you couldn’t even follow the first rule during your first outing as a ‘couple,’ the rest of these three months were not going to bode well for you. 

Instead of matching your demeanor, Jaemin takes offense. “What, no! We changed rule number one to no kissing unless they brought it up or were suspicious, and they both, brought it up and were suspicious,” he claims firmly, but the playful tone underlying his words makes it so that all you can do is let out a small, wry laugh.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” you say with a shake of your head, though the smile has made its reappearance on your face. Next to you, Jaemin stops walking, pausing for a moment as he stares at the pavement beneath your feet. As soon as you notice his absence at your side, you turn back around to face him and his small grimace.

“Thank you, by the way,” he says gently, and any remaining tension you were carrying falls away; because any time Jaemin fell softer, you were reminded of how you’d do anything for your best friend. “I don’t know if I really thanked you for letting me talk you into this. I know it’s stupid, but it’s nice to have them attacking me for whether or not I’ve kissed you rather than attacking me for my body count,” he finishes, and it feels as though all your joints had immediately locked up again. 

Jaemin’s title as the campus fuckboy was not lost on you, but talking about anything close to relationships was never a strong suit for you guys; and with him quickly finding his place within a new friend group here at college, it meant you were even less in the know of his whereabouts on any given day. The last thing you were expecting was for Jaemin to keep you updated on who he just fucked, but the entire realm of conversation was always so unreachable for you two. You knew nothing of what the campus fuckboy was truly getting up to; there was sometimes talk in your class when a girl would come in beaming as she told her friends she managed to spend a night with Jaemin, but instances like that were all you got informed by, and you never dared pry deeper into those overheard conversations. 

Sometimes your jealousy would damn near kill you - all these girls boasting about the fact that they had spent a night with Jaemin…you wanted to turn around half the time and tell them to forget about one night because you’ve spent countless days with him; that your entire high school career was covered in his handprints and bright smile which you were sure was laced with drugs - a smile you knew he wasn’t throwing around in the bedroom. 

You never did snap, though, because it was easier to keep your ‘best friend’ label with Jaemin under the radar at college, unless you wished for tens upon hundreds of girls to line up in front of you and ask your advice on how to win his heart. Jokes on them, you were still figuring that out, yourself.

“What is your body count?” You ask with a hesitant swallow, your curiosity getting the better of you now that he’s finally brought it up. 

Jaemin shoots his head up to face you but instantly dodges your eye contact again. For the first time since you’ve met him, he looks genuinely embarrassed. “Another time, y/n,” he says in soft dismissal.

You swallow harshly, in disbelief at what you were about to tell him, but as much as it would sting, it would keep your own feelings at a very needed bay. “If you still want to have sex, you can. I don’t mean to force you into celibacy. Just make sure it’s at the girl’s house so Haechan doesn’t find out,” you say lowly, and Jaemin immediately makes wide eye contact with you.

“Really?” He asks in something like shock. You act as though it’s no big thing, and you’re sure it probably shouldn’t be, anyways.

“Yeah,” you respond with a shrug.

Jaemin takes in your words with a contemplative head nod, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth before his eyes light up in alert, finding another caveat to address. “What do we do if the girl starts talking about the fact that she hooked up with me?” He asks seriously, but you’ve finally found humor in the situation, shaking your head as though there were hardly a need for the question. 

“Jaem, just about every girl wants to sleep with you, or at least make it seem like she did…a random girl claiming to have hooked up with you one day is just going to sound like she’s desperate for attention. No one’s gonna take it seriously,” you say with a playful roll of your eyes. Absolutely nothing you said was wrong, and with a deep breath, Jaemin seems to accept that fact.

As he exhales, he resumes his continuation on the walk back to your dorm, a light nod of his head accompanying his next words. “Okay. Thank you-” His casual start is broken as he turns his head back over to you at his side in question. “Are you gonna be okay? Are you gonna like- hook up- uh…with other guys?” He asks curiously. All you can do is laugh at him.

“Casual hookups aren’t my thing and no way am I getting an actual boyfriend while we’re doing this, but of course I’ll be okay. I’m pretty sure your sex drive is at least ten times greater than mine. I can handle three months,” you reply lightly, and seemingly all of Jaemin’s worries about this new implementation fade away - it seemed perfectly doable without getting caught. 

As you get to your dorm entrance, you and Jaemin turn to fully face each other. “Thanks again for today. I think we got them somewhat convinced,” he says through a small laugh, and you flash your eyebrows in acknowledgement. 

“No reason to thank me for that - you did most of the talking,” you rebuttal playfully. 

Jaemin’s laugh turns into a knowing smirk. “You were the one who kissed me,” he teases, and you shake your head, but a wide grin spreads across your lips, regardless.

“It's not my fault that they both, brought it up and were suspicious,” you remind him, putting your hands up in defense. Jaemin takes a moment to laugh again before settling into a more fond look that was reminiscent of your high school days.

“We’re gonna have to start hanging out more again since they think we’re dating, but even before all that, I think it’d make me happy if we started hanging out more again just cause I’ve missed you…and I know it’s my fault we haven’t talked as often! I got a friend group of guys and an- agenda…with girls, and as such, my entire college career up to now has unfolded in that way. But I miss you because you’ve always been my friend, not because of some agenda or fake-dating scheme.”

“Mmmmmm, best friend,” you correct with a sure smirk, making Jaemin drop his head with a laugh of defeat.

“Yeah, best friend,” he cedes, and your smirk turns into a soft smile. 

“I never do anything, so just text me when you wanna hang. I’ll be there.” 

He looks back up at you with a small grin and a nod. “Same goes for you,” he replies. Then, all that was left was saying ‘goodbye’ in a much more awkward way than usual, before you went back up to your room to decompress from whatever the hell just happened. 

It was a week after that first lunch when you were alone and bored in your dorm. None of the guys mentioned anything about having plans for the weekend while at lunch, which you had begun to join in on every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. So, although you just saw him, you figured Jaemin wouldn’t have anything better to do than hang out with you some more today. You shoot your gaze over to the clock, agreeing there was more than enough time left in the day to make a hang out worth it, and then grabbing your phone to text Jaemin.

Hey, I’m bored. Wanna do something? You send, and Jaemin’s reply is instantaneous.

With a girl rn

For a text that’s letting you know he’s following your directions, it hurts more than you thought it would to read. You know it’s for the best that this be your reality. Jaemin had been your best friend for so long now, the last thing you wanted was to ruin that with your feelings; and while fake-dating wasn’t helping, this reality-check definitely did. He’s not just your best friend anymore, he’s the campus’ heartthrob…the campus’ fuckboy. It was the entire reason behind the bet his friends made in the first place - a circumstance like this was only expected. So, you’d have to forget about the hollow feeling in your stomach right now and instead support your best friend in a best friend way, cause no matter how many times in the next three months he’s destined to call you ‘angel’ or look over at you softly every time you talk in the group, ‘best friends’ is all you are to each other. Oh, look at you go! I figure I’m your alibi, so I guess I’ll stay in for the rest of the night so there’s no possibility of one of your friends seeing me

His reply this time took about thirty minutes to get to you, and even his last text didn’t prepare you for the brick wall that faced you with this one. Thanks 

Jaemin isn’t selfish, Jaemin is busy. It’s the mantra you kept repeating to yourself, because you know he’s not selfish; and while you were expecting a reply more aligned with an apology for forcing your Friday night to be spent indoors and alone, taking the time to text that out probably was not something Jaemin could manage while another girl was surely sucking him off. 

The next Thursday, it’s Jaemin’s idea to hang out after classes. The two of you decided to chill at your place so that you didn’t have to constantly pretend around Haechan, should he be in their apartment. As you swing the door open to Jaemin’s presence, he looks at you with a big grin on his face. “Hey, angel,” he says, patting the top of your head as he walks into your dorm. You track his figure deeper into the living area, looking at him quizzically because the whole purpose of him being here was that he didn’t have to call you ‘angel.’ 

You just shake your head with a smile as he plops down on your couch. “Hey, Jaem.” 

He looks up at you with innocent eyes. “What did you want to do tonight?” He asks, and you shrug your shoulders with a laugh.

“You’re the one who wanted to come over; my plan was to do homework.” Your answer has Jaemin’s face falling, and you watch as he gets up from the couch and immediately walks out the door, leaving you completely dumbfounded. You didn’t think homework was that repulsive to him. Though, moments later, there’s another knock on your door, and you answer it to be met with Jaemin again, this time his own backpack slung across his shoulders. “Wha-?” You question with a laugh of disbelief.

Jaemin sends a smirk your way before once again walking past you and towards the couch, immediately unzipping his backpack and placing its contents on the coffee table. “Homework,” he says casually, looking up at you with raised brows and a smirk. “Best friend, fake girlfriend, study buddy…you get all the fun labels,” he teases, causing you to shake your head before relenting and joining him at the coffee table. 

It was an incredibly normal night. After the two of you finished up the last of your assignments - though getting distracted every five or so minutes with stupid jokes, complaints of coursework, or a sudden remembering of a story that needed telling did not help push things along, the two of you watched a movie. You ended up making hot cocoa, because the privilege of thermostats meant that it wasn’t a crazy option, regardless of the outside temperature, and then sat on the recliner, Jaemin taking up considerably more space on the couch in response. 

The two of you had always been good movie watchers with each other. You both liked to enjoy movies in the same way - the lights off, no talking, no distractions from phones…even if it was a movie you had seen a hundred times. The two of you took movie nights seriously, mainly because with each other, you could. At least, you had yet to find anyone else who would sit and watch Coraline with you and not take a break to say something about how they find it creepy or flatout don’t like the movie when it’s not even halfway over. Though, Jaemin always happily watched, saving his only comments (typically about how “they just don’t make movies like that anymore”) for the credits. 

Just like that, it was like a night from high school, and it ended much the same way - a side hug with Jaemin and his promises of getting home safe, though it was you rather than your mother that he was making that promise to now. 

Walking back into his apartment, Jaemin immediately catches the attention of Haechan, currently making late night ramen in the kitchen. “Did you just get back from y/n’s?” He asks, pulling his attention away from the stove to turn his head towards Jaemin.

“Yeah,” Jaemin answers casually as he makes his trek through the front space and towards his room, only getting distracted when Haechan speaks up again with a playful lilt and a matching smirk on his face.

“Good night?” He asks, causing Jaemin to furrow his brows before realizing what Haechan was actually getting at. 

“What-? Oh, shut up,” he dismisses. Turning back around to face Haechan revealed him to be completely distracted from his ramen - his back now leaning against the countertop as his casual crossed arms added to the tease in his raised eyebrow. Jaemin rolls his eyes at the antics, especially considering Haechan was the main reason this whole deal was made in the first place - because he was tired of Jaemin having sex. “We didn’t have sex. We did normal couple things,” he states confidently before turning around again to actually make his way inside his room and behind his closed bedroom door. 

This meant Jaemin missed the way Haechan’s playful brows furrowed in confusion, his face falling flatter as he spoke through a soft exhale. “What?” Any more time he could have had to actually question it was overridden with the need to tend to his now boiling over ramen; so Jaemin got off easy the rest of the night. 

Haechan was not as forgiving the next time he saw the guys at Monday lunch, though. With you still nowhere to be seen and Jaemin in his line of sight ordering food, he addresses everything in a more serious tone than any of the guys were expecting. 

“Does anyone else find it odd that they haven’t had sex yet?”

Eyes go wide at the rest of the table. “They haven’t?!” Jeno practically shouts before immediately getting embarrassed and making himself as small as possible. Haechan just shakes his head.

“They haven’t even spent the night at each other’s places yet. He always comes back home after hanging out with her and it’s always just him.”

“Maybe they’re taking it slow,” Mark replies with a shrug, but all eyes lock on him with ample skepticism. 

“Does ‘slow’ seem like a Jaemin thing?” Haechan rebuttals. “I mean, come on. We’re talking about the guy who’s notorious for getting his dick wet at any available opportunity.”

“So, we think they don't really like each other? They’re faking it?” Renjun asks with pursed contemplative lips. 

Haechan’s the one to shrug this time in mystery. “$600 is a hefty amount. He’d do anything he can for that, including but not limited to getting a fake girlfriend and lying to us,” he states more firmly, but that’s as Jaemin joins the table; his brows furrowed and mouth hanging slightly open as he looked around at the guys in something like disgust.

“What in the world did I just walk in on? Y/n is not my fake girlfriend. The deal money is nice but I’m at least honorable about these things,” he argues, and immediately all the guys whip their gazes towards him, varying expressions on their faces as Jisung speaks up in genuine question.

“Why haven’t you slept with her yet?” The seriousness of the question and the sheer interest in the rest of the guys’ faces gets Jaemin to roll his eyes.

“You guys are atrocious, you know that?” He says in place of an answer. 

Chenle raises his brows. “The question remains,” he taunts with a smirk.

Jaemin looks him dead in the eyes as he responds. “She means more to me than that.”

“Means more to you than that?” Jeno reflects back with a laugh. “Jaemin, are you forgetting your love language?” This is the first thing you can pick up as you finally get to the table after questions from your classmates held you for more minutes than should be allowed. Regardless, you immediately jump right into conversation.

“Love language?” You echo with a smile. “There’s something I’m knowledgeable about. How’s my words of affirmation boy doing?” You continue, all your attention directed towards Jaemin as you shed your backpack from your body.

He looks up at you still standing by his side, eyes soft and speaking through a small smile. “Better now that you’re here,” he answers, and you don’t stop the bashful smile from coming across your face as you finally get situated sitting down next to him. The gentle moment is broken, though, with Jeno asking a question in total shock.

“Words of affirmation??” He begs for clarification, and the rest of the guys lean in at the table some more in apparent interest. You look at them all as though there was some joke you weren’t getting. 

“Yes? What did you think it was?” You question back, and they respond in almost perfect unison.

“Physical touch.”

You can’t stop the small laugh from leaving your system as you look back at all of them seriously. “Jaemin’s good at showing love through physical touch, no doubt, but words of affirmation is by far his favorite way to receive love, it’s not even a question. And sure, part of that is how he smiles like an idiot whenever I tell him he’s the most handsome guy on the planet - which is stupid because ‘handsome’ honestly doesn’t even begin to describe it…” You trail off awkwardly before shooting your head back up to face everyone. 

“But have you ever seen him receive a compliment that has nothing to do with his body or looks? The way his eyes light up like something just clicked for him? I mean, he’s so many more things before he’s physically attractive, and all he was waiting for was someone to recognize that. Every time we meet up after class and I say something like ‘I’ve been longing to be in your presence all day,’ or ‘thanks for bringing me more happiness than I’ve ever known,’ he’s practically on the verge of tears every time. It’s why when I told him I missed him that one day, all he could think to do was ask me to be his girlfriend. He’s been waiting to be missed on a level that had nothing to do with his body. He’s been waiting to be affirmed in a way that isn’t physical.”

That seemed to get everyone else at the table to shut up, swallowing awkwardly as they instead turned their attention to their food. You let out a small sigh of relief as you dig into your own sandwich, but Jaemin doesn’t think he can even take one bite anymore; a weird feeling in his stomach and his mind going a million miles an hour. When he does pick up his sandwich, it’s not because he’s finally convinced he can keep it down, but because not eating now would be incredibly suspicious to everyone…including you. 

Jaemin walked you back to your dorm after lunch, something that became typical since it wasn’t always possible to pick you up from class for lunch. You were walking in comfortable silence; in fact, an element of awkwardness was only introduced once Jaemin spoke up with a strange sort of cough and hesitant words. “I didn’t know I was a words of affirmation guy,” he finally says after a couple of minutes. 

With the two of you out of sightline and earshot of the others, you let your actions and reactions express more naturally. So, you paused completely, making him eventually stop and look over his shoulder at you in question. “Oh…really?!” You say in light shock before shaking your head and resuming your pace so you could catch back up to him and continue casually. “I mean, maybe you’re not then, but just from what I know-”

You’re cut off with a small laugh from Jaemin as he shakes his head softly, matching his contemplative tone. “No, I think you’re right. Everything you said I- I think you’re right.” He says it as though he were almost embarrassed by the fact, and you decide that’s the last thing you’re gonna allow him to feel in this situation.

“Oh, well, would you like me to affirm you more often then?” You ask seriously. “We aren’t exactly meeting up after class everyday and I’m not exactly telling you I’ve been waiting for that very moment, but I can.”

Jaemin is quick to dismiss the idea. “No, it’s okay. No use doing that when this whole thing is fake. I mean, rule number three or something is that everything is immediately dropped when we’re in private,” he tries to play off with a laugh, and as you finally reach the entrance to your dorm, you turn around to face him solemnly. 

“Jaem, that’s not me putting on an act. You do know I love spending time with you, right? And-” You shake your head, frustrated with yourself that this is something you obviously didn’t do a good job of communicating earlier. “Take us out of this whole situation thing,” you command, finding your footing in what you’re wanting to say. “Just- as friends. I love spending time with you. I want you in my life forever, yeah?” You finish softly, and when you look back up at Jaemin, he’s quick to break eye contact. 

“Yeah.”

The next few weeks saw to it that you and Jaemin were hanging out more than ever. What you saw as insane luck meant that every time you texted asking if he could hang out, he was never ‘with a girl’ at the time; and Jaemin was texting you and being the one to make plans at a far greater rate than you were, anyways. Instantly, your relationship reflected that during your time in high school - the only difference was that sometimes in the midst of trying to pretend you didn’t have the hugest crush on your best friend, you were also having to pretend you did have the hugest crush on your best friend. 

Hang outs were still mainly at your place so that the two of you never had to worry about Haechan, though sometimes you’d purposely have a night in at Jaemin’s to keep Haechan convinced. This was not one of those times. Instead, you opened your door to Jaemin as you have for the past three Friday’s now, which the two of you decided would be ‘date night’ in everyone else’s eyes while really, you’d just keep a low profile and do whatever you wanted. Due to schedules, you always had an hour for homework before you’d be met with Jaemin’s presence, and he was right on time today. “Hey, Jaem!” You greet with a smile as you swing the door open and step back to allow him inside.

“Hey angel,” he replies casually, because calling you ‘angel’ was now a very typical occurrence, regardless of who was around to hear it. He flashes a smile in your direction, but instead of beelining for the couch like normal, he stops to stand kind of awkwardly in front of you before continuing hesitantly. “Mark is having a Halloween party if that’s something you’re interested in…we could go together. I know parties aren’t really your thing.” He speaks as though it were an apology, and all you can do is chuckle at his antics.

“Don’t worry about that. I am your fake girlfriend, aren’t I?” You tease in reply, and Jaemin raises his eyebrows as though he didn’t know where you were going with this.

“...Yes,” he draws out slowly, and you just shake your head at him fondly.

“So, if you’re going, then I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you answer sincerely, and though you’d never be able to convince yourself of it, you made Jaemin blush - just the tiniest bit. 

He lets out something like a sigh of relief before nodding his head in acknowledgement. “Okay, I’ll tell Mark we’re going, then,” he says happily, and then suddenly it’s right back to routine as he heads for the couch to chill before the two of you could decide what all you actually wanted to do that day. 

The next time you saw Jaemin was two days later when he asked if you wanted to accompany him to the store. It was all light and casual conversation as you strolled through the aisles, most of the time pointing at random items and saying ‘you’ to try and see who could get the other to laugh more. The bit promptly ended when you pointed at a Scrub Daddy to relate Jaemin to, but he instead teased you endlessly for using an item with “daddy” in the name. The only thing to veer his topic of conversation away from that was when you passed the aisle that had been repurposed into Halloween decorations and costumes, making him stop in his tracks.

“Have you decided on a costume for the party yet?” He asks curiously, and you turn back around to face him and redirect your path to peruse the Halloween aisle, touching random bits of costumes before dropping them back to the rack with a shake of your head. 

“Well, I was gonna go as an angel since that’s kind of what you call me now, but if we do it as a couple’s costume, then you’d end up as the devil or a demon or whatever, and I don’t love the idea of that. So…would you wanna go as Team Rocket instead?” You ask in return. Jaemin swallows awkwardly as he takes in everything you just said, but he can’t take too long to explore the slightly comforting feeling brought on by you saying the idea of him as a devil wasn’t your favorite…because that wouldn’t be very ‘I don’t care what anyone else thinks’ of him. Instead, he resorts back to a familiar tease, an eyebrow raised as a playful smirk crossed his lips.

“Who said I wanted to do a couple’s costume?” He shoots back and your face immediately goes red as you scramble for words.

“Oh! You don’t- I was just- it’s not-” You’re cut off with a warm laugh from Jaemin.

“Breathe, angel, I was just messing with you,” he reassures with a shake of his head.

“Maybe you would make a good demon,” you deadpan in return, and Jaemin’s eyes light with fire as his jaw drops.

“Hey!”

“Just messing with you, Jaem,” you banter back, and Jaemin bites on the inside of his cheek to stop a wide grin from making an appearance at your behavior. 

“I’m fine going as Team Rocket, as long as I get to be James,” he says with a mock seriousness, effectively getting you to smile as you roll your eyes.

“Well, I wasn’t going to suggest you be Jessie,” you assure in the same manner, and Jaemin nods his head, seemingly content with the plan before another question comes to mind. 

“Are we dying our hair?” He asks, and this time he’s actually serious. You think about it for a second before giving into the idea with a contemplative nod.

“We can get the spray that lasts up until you wash it,” you suggest, and with a nod from Jaemin, your Halloween costumes were set - all you had to do was make them. 

Fast forward a week and the only thing left to do was iron on the ‘R’ decal on Jaemin’s top, which was exactly what you were doing in his apartment as he took the time to spray blue in his hair. You look up from the heat press as Jaemin walks out of the bathroom. “Huh,” you let out involuntarily, and if you were any less close with Jaemin, you would’ve been embarrassed beyond words. However, he just looks at you with furrowed brows and a curious grin.

“What?” He asks, and you shrug your shoulders as though it were nothing big.

“You look good with blue hair,” you answer, trying your best to be casual about it.

Jaemin’s curious grin had turned into a shiteating one. “Oh, yeah?” He digs, trying to get under your skin; though, you thwart the attempt immediately, instead responding with nonchalance - the exact opposite of what he was reaching for. 

“Well, no more than normal,” you reply, and Jaemin’s brows raise impossibly.

“Now, what does that mean?” He asks playfully, but you just shake your head.

“You’re the fuckboy, Jaemin. You know what I’m getting at.” With that, your attention was back on the iron as it beeped and let you know his shirt was ready. You pull it out from under the heat and turn it around so Jaemin could see the final product, and with a nod of approval, he grabs it from your hands and heads back to the bathroom.

“Looks great, angel,” he finally says, studying his appearance in the mirror before walking back out to the living area. You just drop your head as you feel your face heat up at the compliment. 

“I’ll uh- go get ready,” you say quietly, and then you grab your own costume and hair spray before trading places with him in the bathroom. 

Jaemin doesn’t hide his small smile as he watches you walk back out to the living area in your matching costume with him, and you try your best to pin your focus anywhere other than his soft gaze. “Um- drinking at parties isn’t really my thing so- I can drive us back here afterwards. You can drink however much you want,” you get out awkwardly before moving to sit down next to him on the couch.

Jaemin chuckles lightly in response to your behavior. “Are you sure?” 

You nod your head profusely. “Of course. You enjoy parties a lot. I don’t want you to change an aspect of it just because I’m there, too. So, however much you normally drink…go for it.” 

Jaemin studies your figure with ample doubt covering his features. “I don’t know. Me drinking while knowing I have a ride home typically means I turn into too much to handle,” he jokes, but any form of negative self-talk from him always grounds you, and you’re quick to refute it.

“Not for me,” you say, turning your head to make eye contact with him. “Never for me.” Your soft reassurance has Jaemin simply staring at you, and you quickly turn your head back to face your lap as you overthink every little embarrassing thing you’ve already done tonight. On the other hand, Jaemin didn’t even think twice before leaning over to place a kiss on your cheek. 

Your cheeks puff out with a smile in immediate response to the contact, but as you lift your gaze back up to face Jaemin, your attention is caught by Haechan, who had just walked out of his room in costume - a vampire costume that was already iconic and he hadn’t even done anything yet.

Your soft smile turns into a full-on grin as you address him. “Woah, Hyuck. You look great!” You say with a laugh, and Jaemin whips his head around to face his roommate just to fall into his own bout of laughter.

“Oh, fuck off,” Haechan replies with a playful roll of his eyes as he walks towards the door. “Are you two gonna head out soon?” He asks more seriously, and Jaemin gives a light nod.

“Yeah, we won’t be too far behind you. Y/n just isn’t a huge fan of parties, so we opted for fashionably late rather than fashionably early.” 

Haechan flashes his eyebrows up in acknowledgement before turning back from the front door to face the two of you again. “Alright. Don’t violate the couch too much in the meantime. It’s my favorite couch,” he banters, and this time it’s you and Jaemin to roll your eyes.

“You fuck off,” you say through a grin, and Haechan drops his head with a loud laugh before bringing his gaze back to the two of you with a soft smile.

“I’ll see you guys soon,” he says happily, and with that, he’s out the door.  

It was about thirty minutes later when you and Jaemin entered the party house hand-in-hand. As soon as you got in, you realized your friend group was a lot more popular than you ever thought, because seemingly everyone you went to school with was here. For parties already feeling overwhelming, parties where you could hardly move without bumping into someone were even more so. Though, in the midst of the blaring music, a hundred different conversations, and all the dancing, your attention is turned to your interlocked hand with Jaemin as he gently rubs his thumb across the back of your hand.

You shoot your gaze up at him just to see he’s already staring back down at you softly. Unlike you, he looked completely at home in the party scene, though you figure one can’t truly get labeled a fuckboy without being so. That’s also why you assume he was able to tell you were already uncomfortable from the second you stepped inside. 

Hardly a few feet from the entrance, he leans down to you at his side, speaking slowly in your ear so you could make it out from the rest of the noise. “We’ll stay only as long as you want, okay? If you wanna turn back around right now, we can.”

You shake your head minimally, turning to face him and realizing that action placed your lips dangerously close together. You roll them inwards in hesitation before shifting your gaze to his own. “I’m not going to make you leave super early. You like parties.”

A smirk plays on Jaemin’s lips as he raises an eyebrow at you. “I like you more,” he replies playfully. 

You dart your gaze off to the side, ripping your hand away from his in the process. “I’m fine. Let’s just go find our friends.” You take a step out from the entryway but quickly notice Jaemin isn’t following. You whip your head around to face him just to see his hand outstretched for you again.

“If we’re going to go find our friends, your hand better be in mine,” he quips, causing you to roll your eyes before obliging and lacing your fingers back together. He gives your hand a light squeeze as he flashes you a wide smile and drags you to where he already saw Haechan, Jeno, and Renjun. 

“Hey, you guys look great!” Jeno says with a bright smile as the two of you join their circle. Jaemin finally slides his hand out of yours to instead place it on the small of your back. Despite yourself, a small smile comes onto your face, not at Jeno’s words, but at Jaemin’s touch, and you relax a bit more against his hand.

Jaemin is the one to actually respond as the other two guys turn their attention to the both of you as well. “Thanks! My incredible, beautiful girlfriend made the costumes,” he says, tossing his gaze over to you at his side. You roll your eyes at him, but your smile grows. 

“Making it is not the same as making it look good. You did that all on your own,” you shoot back earnestly. The three guys in front of you throw on a look of disgust, as if they weren’t the ones telling Jaemin he needed a girlfriend. Jaemin just looks over at you with a soft gleam in his eyes, his mouth straining as he tries to conceal a smile. He opts to just kiss you on the cheek instead, then reaching for your far shoulder and pulling you his way. He snakes his arms around you to keep you there in a hug from behind, his thumb gently rubbing up and down your waist. The five of you stood in a circle just talking for at least an hour. Occasionally, one of them would leave to grab drinks for the group, though you were sure to just stick to water the entire night as everyone around you became a comfortable state of tipsy. 

Eventually, Jaemin unwound his arms from your figure, causing you to turn your head and look up at him in question. He lets an easy smile paint his lips. “I’m just running to the bathroom real quick. I’ll come find you again in a few.”

You nod your head, and your eyes follow Jaemin for as long as they could before he became completely indistinguishable from the rest of the crowd. You turn your attention back to Renjun, Jeno, and Haechan. “I’m gonna go find Mark,” you start with an awkward laugh. “I don’t know if he even knows Jaemin and I are here.” The three of them nod at you, Renjun racking his foggy brain for where he thinks he last saw him. You nod, thanking them for their company so far, and then heading off towards the kitchen under the guidance of Renjun’s memory. 

When Jaemin steps out of the bathroom, he almost immediately runs into the body of another guy. Opening his mouth to apologize, the guest beats him to words.

“Jaemin, nice costume,” he says, and Jaemin loses his tension at the compliment.

“Oh, thank you-” He starts, but is quickly cut off again by the stranger.

“You got another one of your hoes to match with tomorrow?” He slurs with a smile, throwing an arm around Jaemin’s shoulder.

Jaemin’s eyes widen as he snakes out under the touch, guiding their hand back down to their side. “Uh, no, y/n’s my girlfriend. It’s just her and we’re just out for tonight,” he replies, turning his gaze away from the man to instead scan the crowd and try to lay eyes back on you.

“Ha! Good one,” the guy laughs out, and Jaemin snaps his gaze back to him in confusion.

“Good one?” He echoes back in question, but with a hard slap on his back that Jaemin thinks was meant to be playful, his conversation partner quickly leaves. Jaemin stands there for a moment puzzled, but he tries to shake out of the uncomfortable feeling as he directs his gaze back to the big crowd, looking for where you may have wandered off to once he sees you’re no longer with the previous group.

He quickly realizes he wouldn’t be able to find you by standing in one place, so he picks up his feet and starts weaving through the crowd again. When he feels a hand on his back, he assumes it’s you, and he whips around towards the figure. His face quickly drops when he realizes it isn’t you, and suddenly he’s extremely conscious of how everyone’s been touching him tonight. 

“Such a shame your costume shows so little skin,” the girl says with a small pout and a fake innocence in her eyes. Jaemin tries to take a step back, just to bump into more people dancing and forcing him back into close proximity. He swallows hard, accepting the fact that he was having to engage in this conversation now.

“My girlfriend picked it out,” he says firmly, and the girl in front of him just tilts her head to the side, now rubbing a hand up and down his arm.

“Well, she’s ruining the fun,” she replies, something like pity in her eyes as she looks at Jaemin. He furrows his brows, his breath getting heavier as the air seems to get thinner. 

“Um, I- I think I’m still fun without showing skin,” Jaemin fumbles out, and the girl just laughs, finally letting her hand drop from his arm as her doe-eyed expression turns mean.

“You’d like to believe that,” she says, shaking her head and walking off.

Jaemin stared after her in a weird mix of hurt and confusion that he hadn’t ever felt before. “What?” He asks in defeat, but there was no one there to give him any clarification. 

He desperately starts looking around for you again. If he could just get back to you, if he could just slip his hand into yours, he was sure the heavy weight that’s found its way onto his chest would disappear. He was shaking, he didn’t know when he had started shaking, but it seemed to take the place of his breathing, and now he was worried about whether or not he would even have time to find you before he suffocated. Almost all the effort he was placing into finding you was now being placed into holding back his tears. Everything was too loud, he couldn’t hear his own thoughts, couldn’t hear his voice if he spoke aloud, suddenly not sure if he was even getting any words out when he opened his mouth, which only worried him more because he was dying and he couldn’t tell anyone. 

Holding your hand, it was the only positive thought he could seem to cling to, the only thing keeping him from collapsing to the floor in a ball - he had to find you, he wanted to hold your hand. He thinks it’s a miracle that his feet are able to start moving again, especially when someone definitely put 50 lb weights in his shoes without him knowing. 

He finally lays eyes on you, now in the kitchen talking with Mark, Chenle, and Jisung. Though you were maybe ten feet away, it might as well have been miles, as another hand gets placed on his chest from a random girl in front of him. “James, let me know if you get bored of Jessie later. I can give you a good time,” she says with a smirk, and Jaemin feels like he’s going to throw up; though he can’t quite tell if that was because of her words or the whirlwind of the past three minutes. In fact, if he knew just how badly he was shaking, he would’ve questioned how she didn’t feel it when she placed her hand on his chest. 

He shakes his head as quickly as he could without getting too dizzy to continue his trek towards you. “No, I quite like Jessie,” he says through hiccups, not sure when the first stray tear made its way down his cheek. He pushes past the girl without giving her time to respond and make him feel worse. All he wanted was you, and when he finally got close enough to place his shaky hand in yours, all he could manage were whispered words that he prayed would reach you, or at least leave his mouth at all. 

“Please don’t leave me.”

Still in conversation with Mark, Chenle, and Jisung, you don’t turn too much attention to Jaemin slightly behind you as you settle your hand into his touch, but that’s when you feel how badly he’s shaking. “Jaem, are you okay?” You ask at your side, though your eyes remained trained on Chenle as he told the least dramatic story in the most dramatic way.

“There’s a lot of people here,” Jaemin whimpers out, the answer confusing enough to pull your focus away from Chenle. 

“I know-” You start, your gaze following from your interlocked hands up his arm and to his face, but that’s when you actually see the state he’s in and your face instantly falls into worry. A steady stream of tears cascaded down his cheeks, his eyes tightly shut to block out the extra stimulation, only opening them to look at you before promptly getting embarrassed and turning away. You immediately squeeze his hand a little tighter in your hold, getting him to train his eyes back on you. You pick up your words as he does so, careful to hide your immense worry in your tone and instead speaking softly for him. “Hey…let’s get you to a quieter room, okay?”

Jaemin nods his head minimally, able to let out a choked response. “Okay.” You take no extra time in telling the others that you were going to have to get filled in on the story later. Instead, you just make sure your grip on Jaemin’s hand is enough to not lose him while navigating through the crowd as you immediately lead him upstairs and into an empty room. 

“Talk to me, what’s going on?” You say, closing the door and turning on a soft lamp light before you whip back around to watch Jaemin pace the entire floor, his fingers running frantically through his hair. 

“I don’t know. Everyone keeps talking to me and touching me and everything is so loud and my head hurts and it’s so hot I’m sweating and dizzy and freaking out-” He spoke all at once, and you knew the last thing he needed was to run out of breath while explaining. You jump to cut him off, still trying your best to make your voice as calming as possible for him.

“Hey…it’s gonna be okay. Can you sit down for me?” The second you said it, Jaemin was on the floor, his heavy breaths visibly not making it to his whole body. Your eyes soften some more as you look at him. It didn’t take a genius to tell you he’s never been in this situation before, and all he knew to do was trust you. You let out a soft sigh as you move closer to him. “I know you said you’re hot and sweaty and overwhelmed with touch, but is it okay if I hug you?”

“Please.” The word comes out weak, riddled with enough tears to make you break. You sit down behind him, placing your legs out along his own outstretched ones as you gently hug him from behind.  

“You can close your eyes, just focus on my voice. You’re gonna be okay,” you state with confidence, rubbing a thumb gently up and down his side. Jaemin is quick to refute, shaking his head with an intensity you wish he wouldn’t right now.

“No, y/n, it feels like I’m dying,” he says, fear covering every aspect of his voice. You let out a soft sigh.

“You’re not dying, you’re panicking.” This, too, he refuses to accept. His response comes out as firm as it could through tears.

“I don’t panic. I’m the cool guy. I’m not panicking, I’m dying.”

Despite yourself, a small laugh escapes you through an exhale, and you hug Jaemin to you extra tight. “Baby, no matter how cool you are, there’s not a person in the world completely immune to panic attacks.”

Jaemin stills for a moment, the sudden switch confusing you before he speaks and confuses you even more. “I thought you didn’t like that word,” he says, wiping his face of tears and then placing his hands on your own arms around his torso. 

You furrow your eyebrows, though with him in front of you, there was no point. “What word?” You ask. Surely he wasn’t talking about the word ‘panic attack’ but racking your brain, there was nothing else you said that wasn’t just a normal word.

“You don’t know you said it,” he says curiously, a small sniffle coming from his figure as he tries his own attempt at a light laugh. 

“What are you talking about, Jaem?” You question again. At this point, you were sure one of you was going crazy, and you really were banking on it not being you. Though, Jaemin just dismisses the subject, and with you sitting behind him, you missed the small smile that now covered his features.

“Nothing, please just continue holding me like this,” he begs softly, and you nod your head, squeezing him tighter for a second.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reply seriously, and there you and Jaemin sat for at least another ten minutes; the only noise to break the silence was his occasional cries as he still tried to rid himself of tears and calm down completely. 

When you couldn’t remember his last sniffle, you start to rub your thumb up and down a portion of his waist, disrupting the physical stillness before you spoke and disrupted the silence.

“I wanna get you some water soon,” you say gently, but any attempt to move from your position was shot down as Jaemin quickly fumbled to grab your arms and press them firmly back down across his torso, his body beginning to shake again at the idea of you getting up.

“No! Don’t leave! Please,” he chokes out, and almost all of the progress you thought he made in the past few minutes was erased.

You sigh, and refusing to think about the fact that you were practically breaking your own rule, you lean forward to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m staying right next to you, Jaem,” you start, and you watch as he basically forces his breathing to get back to normal at your words…or at least tries to. “Do you want me to call Jeno and get him to bring up water for you, or do you want to follow me down to the kitchen, grab a water bottle, and leave?”  

Jaemin thinks for a moment before dropping his head in what you assume was shame, which was the last thing he needed to be feeling. “I- can we leave?”

You squeeze your arms around his body once more in acknowledgement. “Yeah, come on,” you reply, and the two of you slowly make your way off the floor and into a standing position. As you let go of his waist, you immediately grab his hand in yours, looking up at Jaemin for confirmation that this was what he wanted to do. He stared back down at you with a teary smile and nod, and with that, you led him out of the bedroom and back downstairs. 

Thankfully, Mark, Chenle, and Jisung were still in the kitchen, meaning you had to cover no extra ground to fill Mark in on your departure. 

“Hey, I’m gonna take Jaemin home,” you say, turning to face Mark after grabbing a water bottle from the fridge he was standing next to.

Mark furrows his brows. “Everything okay?” He asks, knowing Jaemin wasn’t one to leave parties early, nor was he one to have tear streaks painted across his face.

You try to smile but it comes out more as a grimace. “Yeah, he’s just a little overwhelmed today. Thank you for inviting us, though. It was a blast.” 

Mark nods his head in understanding. “Thanks for coming. Are you driving?”

“Yeah,” you reply, and Mark forces some sobriety back in his system.

“You haven’t had anything to drink, have you?” He asks in worry, and you let a grateful smile paint your face as you respond.

“No, I’m okay.”

Mark nods before taking another sip of his own drink. “Okay. Be safe. I’ll see you guys soon.” You reciprocate his nod in acknowledgement and then immediately lead Jaemin towards the front door and back to the car.

You make sure he’s all taken care of in the passenger seat before you start messing with the controls in the driver’s seat to move it to where you could actually drive. You make a mental note to apologize about changing the position of his seat and mirrors tomorrow after everything’s calmed down, but as you start driving, Jaemin is the one to beat you to an apology. 

“I’m sorry,” he says weakly, and you risk a quick glance over at him with furrowed brows.

“Huh, why?”

Jaemin fiddles with his fingers in his lap, unable to look anywhere else because of his embarrassment. “For making you leave the party. You were having fun,” he answers softly, and despite your best efforts, a small laugh escapes you.

“Jaem, I was having fun because all we did was hang around with our group of friends. I don’t care for parties in and of themselves, you know that. Truthfully, I’d rather just be with you right now,” you say, and as you pull up to a stop sign, you look back over at him again. Defeat riddled his features as he spits out a response.

“But I’m just crying.” He speaks those words as though he were mad at himself for it, and you don’t understand how your best friend came to believe that he always had to be some perfectly presented guy.

You let out a sigh before turning your attention back to the road. “It doesn’t change the fact that I like spending time with you. Besides, you’d be crazy to think I’d rather be anywhere else right now when you’ve got me so worried about you.” When the only response from Jaemin is another sob he tries to cover up, you frown. “I’m not mad at you for making us leave the party early, and I’m not mad at you for crying,” you add on, and Jaemin finally lifts his head to look over at you in his driver’s seat. He seems to scan your figure up and down, processing your words and the fact that you were actually taking care of him right now. He sniffles once more before abruptly turning his focus back to his lap, and the car ride is silent the rest of the way to his apartment. 

As soon as Jaemin gets into his own room, he already looks a thousand times better; the tension in his shoulders finally falls and his breathing gets more regular. You scavenge around his apartment for anything he may need during the night and next morning, because outside of his panic attack, he was still tipsy, too. 

With a fresh water bottle and ibuprofen set on his night stand, you bid Jaemin goodnight, running a hand gently through his hair as he laid down in bed. However, before you can fully turn around and leave, Jaemin catches the hand you just had in his hair. In shock, you whip back around, just to be met with wide pleading eyes.

“Please stay,” he says softly, and your breath hitches for a moment before you resume your cool, or at least try to.

“Jaemin-” You start, your tone already giving way to your refusal. Though, Jaemin cuts you off in an instant, his grip on you getting slightly tighter.

“You said you wouldn’t leave me,” he shoots back, and his voice is already shaky again from the sudden raise in volume of his claim.

You sigh, trying to slowly snake your hand out of his grip as you reply. “Yeah, but I was kind of meaning that for while we were still at the party, not…now, when you’re going to sleep.”

He refuses to let you out of his hold, and he pulls you even closer to the end of the bed. “What if Haechan comes back?” He starts, trying his best to talk normally. “He’d be really confused as to why you didn’t stay over after the night I had.”

Despite yourself, you let out a small laugh. “There’s no shot Haechan makes it back tonight or is sober enough to think about anything but getting in bed himself. You’re just saying that to try and convince me.”

He finally lets his grip on you drop as he lets out a heavy breath bordering on the dividing line between defeat and hope. “Is it working?” He asks, and though you were finally free from his grasp, able to just say a final goodnight and leave to head back to your place, you don’t. Instead, you drop your head, speaking so softly you’re not sure Jaemin would even be able to hear.

“I want the side next to the wall.” 

With your gaze facing the floor, you couldn’t see the sudden warm glow behind Jaemin’s eyes as he pulled back the comforter on that side and pulled his legs up so you could crawl over by the foot of the bed, neither of you saying another word as you do. 

Jaemin didn’t know why he was so captivated by watching you fall asleep in his bed. The two of you must’ve been at least a full foot away from each other, as you immediately made sure to press up against the wall and make yourself as small as you could. That was fine by Jaemin. He wasn’t asking for the two of you to cuddle in the first place - this was still a fake relationship after all, and he was very much aware of that. In fact, that truth was probably more plaguing than ever at the front of his mind. Now instead of a reminder that he had to pretend to date you, it was a reminder that this was ending in two months. Jaemin’s tipsy brain couldn’t put together what the sinking feeling in his chest meant at the realization of that. So, he pushed it away, and just looked over at you sleeping peacefully right up against the wall. He didn’t need to have his arms around you - knowing you were next to him was enough, and for the first time that night since the party started, he was completely at peace.

When you wake up and realize you were more comfortable than usual in your bed, you open your eyes and figure out that it’s because you’re not in your bed. In fact, you’re hardly resting against a bed at all. Instead, one of your arms is lazily thrown over your best friend’s waist as your head rested comfortably, incredibly too comfortably, on his chest. The discovery that your legs were some kind of interlaced didn’t make things any better, and the full realization that you were practically on top of Jaemin had you jolt. This, of course, didn’t do anything but wake him up. With your head now propped up on his chest, you watch as he slowly peeks open one of his eyes, exhaustion still written over all his features. However, the second his gaze lands on you, he shoots open both eyes. Embarrassment quickly floods your being as you address everything. “Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

You’re cut off with a light chuckle and softly spoken words from Jaemin. “You’re okay.” Regardless of his response, you can’t shake the embarrassment. Jaemin’s arms fall from around your body as you try to get up, and that’s when you realize both of his arms were wrapped around you in the first place. You push the thought to the back of your head, turning to get off of his bed completely. 

You’re stopped by his hand grabbing yours. You quickly turn your attention back to Jaemin, who still had yet to move any part of his body but his arms as he looks at you softly, pleading. “Can we go back to sleep?”

You swallow awkwardly, your throat now suddenly dry. You dart your eyes around his room before sighing and just landing your gaze back on him. “Um, do you still need me here for that?” You ask genuinely. Jaemin breaks eye contact this time, as he just looks down at your two hands still holding onto each other. He gives a slow nod of his head, humming a little. 

You bite your lip to stop a smile from coming onto your face. It wasn’t often that you got to see your best friend looking as gentle and small as he did now. Jaemin, with the larger than life personality just wanting to stay in bed with you, it was hard to say ‘no.’ So, you don’t. “Okay.” Though when you move to resume your position back by the wall, he chuckles a bit and uses your still interlocked hands to pull you back onto him. 

The next two days after you woke up on top of Jaemin (again) were filled with an awkward period of zero contact between the two of you. You couldn’t blame him for not responding to your text to hang out the day after. You were both really good at never crossing lines back in high school, but Halloween put a blur on every single one…and it didn’t help that he was tipsy that night, too. Outside of whatever rules in your contract were broken, you were sure Jaemin was also just embarrassed to no end. 

There was a lot of pressure on him to be this man with no emotions; his label as a fuckboy meant people typically started and stopped all their thoughts about him at the sexual level, and he did his best to live up to their many expectations in that department, neglecting all the other parts of his being that needed tending to. Vulnerability was not a Jaemin specialty, largely because it’s never what anyone was looking for from him; and anything that lessened his sex appeal, and thus meant he couldn’t make a call and immediately have any girl he wanted, was a possibility he sought to avoid. 

You didn’t necessarily mind the no-contact, though. Your heart was doing flips and spins in Jaemin’s presence on Halloween, and you had to give yourself a cool-down period before seeing him so that you could act normal around him again - whatever it was that ‘normal’ looked like when you were having to convince a group of friends that you liked your best friend while convincing your best friend you didn’t actually like him. 

Jaemin made up an excuse for your absence at Monday’s lunch, but on Tuesday he finally messaged you again and asked you out for ice cream, which you of course said ‘yes’ to. He meets you at the entrance to your dorm and smiles at you with something like a sigh of relief when you smile back at him; though, with his messy hair, thick-framed glasses, and a hoodie adorning his figure, it was hard to do anything but smile - he looked criminally boyfriend. 

“Hey, I’m- sorry…for it being weird these past few days,” he gets out somewhat awkwardly as you start on your walk towards the best ice cream parlor by campus. 

You shake your head with a small laugh. “It’s okay. You’ve been going through it recently,” you joke, and Jaemin licks his lips before bringing himself to laugh as well. 

“Thanks for uh- putting up with me on Halloween.” He speaks as though the words were bitter on his tongue. “I’m sorry about forcing you to spend the night.” 

You let out a sigh. You wanted to stop and force him to see the sincerity in your eyes as you told him that you weren’t ‘putting up with him,’ but you knew you needed to keep this moment more casual so he wouldn’t find these vulnerable bits overwhelming and consequently shut down. So instead, you just keep walking with a small shake of your head.

“You don’t have to apologize for that. You just had a panic attack - if I didn’t spend the night, I wouldn’t have gotten any sleep. I would’ve stayed up all night worried about you. It was better that I was with you.” 

Jaemin lets something like a grimace cross his features as he responds with a wry laugh. “You care about me a lot,” he points out, making you look up at him by your side with raised brows.

“Of course I do. You’re my best friend,” you say seriously, and Jaemin looks down to meet your gaze, giving away the distant look in his eyes.

“Ha, fair,” he begins. “I care about you a lot, too.” As he continues, he drops his head to face his feet. “But I don’t think I’d know how to take care of you while you’re having a panic attack,” he admits regrettably, but all you can do is give a soft smile.

“I’m not expecting you to. All I ask is that you let me be there for you again if you have another one…and that you stop being so embarrassed about showing emotions,” you tack on, causing Jaemin to laugh a bit in defeat.

“Okay, angel, but only with you. I have a hot guy persona to keep up in the real world,” he says through a smile, but you shake your head.

“You’re hot, regardless,” you deadpan, and Jaemin’s face lights up as he nudges you in the side playfully.

“Well, look at that! You sweet talker. Maybe I’ll pay for your ice cream today,” he banters, and soon the two of you are in shared laughter as you elbow him back. 

“Whatever. I’m 80% sure you were gonna pay for my ice cream even before that.”

“80%?” He echos, bringing a hand up to his chest as though he’s been shot. “Such little faith,” he tuts, shaking his head and making you roll your eyes playfully.

“Am I supposed to have more faith in a fuckboy than that?” You tease, and Jaemin’s face falls into a mock seriousness, holding open the door to the ice cream parlor for you as he looks at your figure with raised eyebrows. 

“No, you’re supposed to have more faith in your best friend than that,” he says as you pass through the door, and you look back at him to share matching small smiles.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I have nothing but faith in you,” you reply as he, too, fully steps inside and lets the door swing closed behind him. The proximity has you looking almost directly up at him as he stares down at you in much the same manner; playful gleams in your eyes and fond smiles adorning your faces. At once, he nods his head towards the counter behind you.

“Go order, angel. It’s on me today.” 

You scrunch your face up at him with a big grin. “Thanks, handsome.” Then you promptly turn around and head towards where the cashier was waiting to take your order, not even taking one chance to look back and see how red Jaemin’s face had gotten in response. 

Jaemin knew it was coming, that was the funny thing. He just wasn’t expecting the disconnect between his head and his heart to be remedied all at once; but looking at you standing in line and pointing at what flavor you wanted, he had never wanted to do this with anyone else, but he really really wanted it with you, today and every day after that.

Sitting down and actually eating ice cream included the most normal of conversations between you and Jaemin. He wasn’t your best friend for nothing - the two of you could talk forever and never run out of things to say or comfort and joy to find in each other’s presence. As such, when you finished your ice cream cones and left the parlor, interaction flowed as it always had while he walked you back to your dorm…meaning the two of you looked like just best friends; close enough on the sidewalk to hear each other but far enough apart so that there was no possibility of accidentally grazing the back of each other’s hands or anything. You were hardly conscious of it, elated at the fact that you and Jaemin were so close and consistent again after the past few years, but Jaemin could practically only focus on the distance between the two of you.

You had basically just stepped foot back on actual campus when Jaemin abruptly stopped, grabbing your wrist and turning you towards him as he spoke in a rush.

“My friends are looking, kiss me,” he says in something close to a panic, and so you immediately oblige, pressing up on your tiptoes to kiss him firmly. You place your hands on his chest to steady yourself as you break away, catching your breath - something that Jaemin always seemed to make you lose - as you turn your head around to look at the surrounding area.

“Where are they?” You ask through a light pant, turning back to Jaemin once you checked and double checked but caught no sign of his friends. 

Jaemin licks his lips hesitantly, shaking his head. “They must have left already,” he says through an exhale, and you take a deep breath, finally allowing yourself to step away from Jaemin’s body as you face the ground, trying to regain your footing from the whiplash it felt you just went through. Jaemin lets out an awkward cough before speaking up again. “We should probably hold hands all the time when we’re in public, though. I’m pretty sure Chenle’s the only suspicious one still out of the friend group, but it’d throw anyone off if we’re dating and not holding hands. And if there’s one thing I learned from the Halloween party, it’s that people don’t know we’re dating, and that should probably change so it doesn’t just look like an act put on for the friend group…or Chenle’s never gonna believe it.” 

He wasn’t wrong, and you knew that - you knew that before all of this even started. Rule number three was that the act is immediately dropped in private, but that came with the other side of things being that you had to put on an act while in public, regardless of who was around to witness it. 

You nod your head slowly. “Yeah, okay,” you cede, and Jaemin’s hand immediately finds yours, the warmth from the contact making you realize how chilled your bones currently were. There was no more hiding it from girls in your classes now - you were Jaemin’s girlfriend to the general public, not just to his six best friends. You needed these next two months to pass by quickly, because with the promise of Jaemin’s hand being in yours more than ever, you were sure your chances of survival just decreased dramatically. 

That Friday, your date night was replaced with a night in at Jaemin’s apartment. As soon as he shot you a text saying he was home from class, you made your way over to his place. He opened the door with the bright smile he typically revealed just for you, stepping back to let you inside with a fond, “hey angel.” 

You step inside with a smile and small greeting in reply. “What do you wanna do today?” You ask, turning around to face him once you realize you were aimlessly crossing the span of his apartment for no reason. Already preparing for the question, Jaemin moves his hand from behind his back to reveal a thick blu-ray case in his grip.

“Harry Potter movie marathon?” He asks with a smirk.

You look back at him with raised eyebrows and a small grin of your own. “You know I can’t say ‘no’ to Harry Potter at any point in the Fall or Winter seasons,” you reply, and Jaemin’s eyes find a new glow behind them.

“That and Gilmore Girls; though I’m much more in the mood for Harry Potter because if we started rewatching Gilmore Girls now, we’d have to get through all those episodes with that floppy-haired jerk and really, Jess is so much better,” he adds on seriously, and all you can do is laugh. 

“Hey, Dean is at least better than Logan,” you respond, and Jaemin lets out an actual groan.

“Please don’t get me started on Logan…can we instead get started on Harry Potter?” He asks again, waving the disc case around invitingly and causing you to laugh some more as you walk towards the couch. 

“Just waiting on you,” you answer as you plop down on the couch, making Jaemin roll his eyes playfully before turning around to set everything up on the TV. As the familiar soundtrack fills the room, Jaemin places himself next to you like normal, handing you a blanket to make the cozy night-in complete. 

Two hours later, as Jaemin got up to switch out the discs from The Sorcerer’s Stone to The Chamber of Secrets, you got up for a bathroom break, and when the two of you sat back down, there was maybe an inch less space between you both than previously. Not much else changed. That is, until not even ten minutes into the second movie. You catch in your peripheral as Jaemin moves his hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. You don’t think anything of it until that arm doesn’t come back down to his side, but instead wraps around the back of your shoulders.

“Is Haechan here?” You ask lightly, trying to talk over the sound of your breath hitching. Haechan’s room was closest to the bathroom, and you don’t remember any sign of life coming from nearby while you were in there, but nothing else explained this, because this was not normal between the two of you. 

“No,” Jaemin answers shortly, and all you can do is swallow hesitantly as you fight for words again.

“Then why is your arm around my shoulder?” You ask, trying to make it sound as though your words were a playful tease and not a desperate question. 

Jaemin looks over at you with raised eyebrows and a playful smirk. “Because what if he comes back?” He replies casually, and you try to roll your eyes in much the same manner, as though his arm around your shoulder wasn’t single-handedly making your heart rate spike. He was right, anyway - if Haechan came back, it would be weird for the two of you to be sitting any other way.

It was during Prisoner of Azkaban when Haechan inevitably walked into the apartment. Busy with locking the door behind him, he was caught off guard when locking eyes with the two of you as he turned back around. Though, all at once, his gaze softened as he looked between you, Jaemin, and the television. “Hey guys,” he says warmly, and you mentally high-five yourself not only for the fact that you and Jaemin seemed to have truly won Haechan over, but also that you had won Haechan over; the main reason this bet was even made was because Haechan couldn’t stand whatever girl it was that Jaemin had over, but here he was, excited to see you cuddled into Jaemin on the couch, and that win was not lost on you. 

“Hey,” Jaemin replied with a smile. “We’re watching Harry Potter if you want to join,” he continues, but Haechan shakes his head at the extended invite as he moves to grab something from the mess that was the kitchen counter.

“Tempting, but- I’m all good. I’m about to head back out, actually. Mark and I are gonna hit a few bars and try to unwind from this bullshit week,” he says with a weak laugh. You and Jaemin flash your eyebrows in acknowledgement. 

“Let me know if you need a ride back home. We’ll swing by to grab you and Mark, or- I will, at least, depending on what time it ends up being. Regardless, be safe. I enjoy having you as a roommate,” Jaemin says, his tone turning more playful with every word. 

Haechan rolls his eyes with a smile. “Yeah, yeah. I won’t drink and drive. We all know I’m smarter than that,” he says, but when he makes eye contact with you and Jaemin again, he meets your wide-eyed stares of doubt, causing him to shake his head with a more hearty laugh. “You guys suck,” he says with a smile. “I’ll keep you updated throughout the night. It was nice seeing you, y/n,” he continues seriously, beginning to fiddle with the front door lock on his exit.

“You, too,” you reply genuinely, and with one more nod and wave goodbye, he was out the door. It wasn’t even five seconds later when Jaemin’s arm detaches itself from your shoulder, instead finding comfort at his side again. He didn’t pay any mind to it, his attention pinned solely on the movie. You do your best to not show any physical reaction to the absence of his touch, especially when you were the one giving him a hard time for it in the first place. You’re almost shocked by how well Jaemin is able to turn it on and off, though you figure the real problem was how poorly you were able to do the same. Jaemin was just doing his part, exactly as he said he would. 

Your heart had to stop looking for hidden meaning to every touch, every “angel,” because he was your best friend and crush, but you were his best friend and fake-girlfriend. Unbeknownst to you, Jaemin ran through the same spiel in reverse inside his own head, figuring if he kept his arm around you now with the promise of Haechan being gone, you would surely catch onto the fact that he craved your touch more than typical of best friends - which was exactly what you both were going back to at the start of the new year.

It was the first Tuesday after you and Jaemin agreed to ramp up your public dating facade, and you were already the center of attention as you walked into class at 11:00. You tell yourself no one’s gaze locked onto you as you opened the door for class - that you were making it up; but at least some percent of that story was false, because as you sit in your chair and start pulling out your notebook for class, your name gets called from the seat diagonal to you. “Y/n, rumor has it that you and Jaemin are actually dating,” this girl, Hana, says. You knew she was looking for a response, so you don’t give her one, instead focusing on your pen mindlessly rolling between your fingers. 

“You? With a guy like him?” She continues, adding more bite and disbelief to each word. You keep your gaze focused in front of you, jaw tightening as you try to hide more robust reactions. That is, until she continues. “You can’t be that good in bed.” Your fist clenches as you whip your head towards her; furrowed, taunting eyebrows matching the fire in her eyes and the smirk on her lips, the rest of her friend group snickering behind her. You have the patience for none of it - you were not going to sit here and take this.

“Actually,” you begin, your kind tone dripping in sarcasm. “I know this is something you don’t have experience with, so bear with me, but Jaemin genuinely likes me as a person and so I didn’t have to win him over with just my skills in bed. Yeah! He actually wants to hold my hand and tell me pretty things and I’m just so sorry that he never had the desire to do any of that with the likes of you!” You give her one last look before shrugging a bit, even your fake smile completely ridden from your face. “Actually, I’m not sorry at all.”

Hana looks mortified, her friend group in the surrounding desks all watching the exchange now with wide eyes. You don’t even think any of them saw it coming when Hana got up from her seat and lunged towards you, swinging at your face. “You bitch!” She yells at you, her fist making contact with the area around your eye. You wince slightly but you refused to give her the satisfaction of a bigger reaction - you’d leave that for when you were alone. You move your hand up to touch the area, making sure none of her rings caught your skin and drew blood, but when your fingers came back clean, you just move your gaze back to her in disinterest.

“Are you done now?” You ask monotonously. You catch her fist clench again in your peripheral and prepare yourself for another hit because seemingly none of the other students were concerned with stopping the exchange. However, your professor finally walks in before Hana can even get another word out, and instead she’s told to take her seat as you swing back to face the front of the room in your own chair. The throbbing that half of your face was currently experiencing would have to wait an hour and twenty minutes to be addressed, you weren’t letting her win.

Thankfully, that was your last of two classes for the day, so you were able to head back to your dorm directly after. You throw your backpack down in the entryway and immediately head for your bathroom to assess the damages. “Fuck,” you whisper under your breath. The hour and a half was enough time for a proper bruise to start forming, and it wasn’t necessarily the prettiest of black eyes. You move a hand up to touch the area again, this time just the light pressure already putting you in horrid pain. With a defeated groan, you leave the bathroom and dig through your freezer for an ice pack to hold up to the area instead. 

Settling yourself down on the couch, you decide the last thing you need is for Jaemin to see you like this. With a sigh, you open your phone and pull up your texts with him. Hey, just a heads up, I don’t have a lot of time to hang this week or make it to friend group lunches.  

Jaemin’s reply is almost instantaneous. Is everything okay?

You frown at the message. You hated lying to your best friend, but explaining what was up would defeat the whole purpose of saying you couldn’t hang out anyways. Yep! You reply instead, thankful when Jaemin didn’t press any further. You’d give yourself a week to heal, and then you were sure makeup would be able to cover what little would be left of the bruising by then.

Those plans didn’t even last twenty-four hours. There was a knock on your door after classes on Wednesday and you figured it was your RA here to remind you not to leave your windows open while out at class with the chances of snow ever increasing. Though, when you lazily throw your door open, it’s your best friend on the other side. Your eyes go wide and you immediately move a hand up to cover the left half of your face where your black eye was still very much at its peak. “Jaemin, what are you doing here?!” You ask in a rush, but he doesn’t match your demeanor at all.

Instead, he shrugs, a light smile painting his lips. “I missed you, angel-” He answers as he brings a hand up to your wrist and gently guides your own hand down away from your face…and that’s when his energy completely flips, eyes going wide as he rushes to place a hand on your cheek and assess the damage himself. “Oh my god, what happened to you?!” He asks in a panic. You shake your head adamantly, trying to move his hand away from your face as you reply with a serious bite.

“Nothing, it’s fine,” you reply dismissively, and Jaemin’s eyebrows furrow as he scans your entire face.

“Is this why you said you couldn’t hang out?” He asks, almost mad if you had to put an emotion on it.

You shake your head, dropping your gaze to face the floor. “Jaem, don’t worry about it-” You start indifferently, but he cuts you off with enough emotion for the both of you. 

“What happened?” He questions again, this time his tone much firmer than any of his previous questions. His gaze bore into you, and you knew there wasn’t any getting out of this. You let out an annoyed sigh, shrugging like it was nothing as you go to reply.

“This girl in my class found out we were dating, and apparently that pissed her off because she didn’t think I deserved you or I was taking her spot and all that. And I snapped back so she punched me,” you finally answer, and Jaemin’s body language immediately softens as he looks over you once more with a frown and wide eyes.

“Y/n…” You don’t want to deal with his sorry tone. Instead, you move to meet his gaze again as you shake your head, the frustrated tears in your eyes rather revealing themself in your fractured tone.

“Please just sleep with her, Jaem. Tell her we broke up or something and then sleep with her. Or pretend you’re cheating on me with her…she’d love that, and no one would believe her if she said so, so we keep our cover,” you suggest in a rush, and Jaemin looks at you as though you just committed murder.

“No. Absolutely not,” he replies instantly.

“Jaem-” You start through a defeated exhale, but hearing you out was currently the last thing on Jaemin’s mind.

“I’m not fucking sleeping with someone who hurt you,” he states with force, and you don’t know why this is such a big deal to him, not when the solution was this simple.

“I would just rather have her satisfied and dealt with,” you respond hollowly, and Jaemin actually lets out a laugh.

“Oh, I’ll be sure to deal with her, don’t worry.” His angry promise makes you sigh, and all you can do is respond in defeat.

“Jaem-” You begin, and you’re not given any time to decide how you want to continue as he cuts you off. Passion still courses through Jaemin’s body as he shakes his head, taking a break from clenching his jaw to speak again.

“She should know better than to lay a hand on my girl,” he argues, and now you absolutely know you need to get him to calm down.

“I’m not really your girl,” you state plainly, and if you weren’t already feeling deflated, you sure did now as you admitted that. Jaemin seems to react to your statement in much the same way, his features softening for a moment as he looked at you again, bringing a hand up to run through his hair in frustration; though this time, the frustration was aimed towards himself. 

“I- I know. I’m sorry, I never should have asked you to do this for me. I was so selfish, goddammit,” he rambles under his breath absentmindedly as he begins to pace back and forth. You shake your head softly, reaching out to catch Jaemin’s wrist and force his movements to still.

“It’s fine, handsome,” you state firmly, and you watch as a million emotions run over Jaemin’s face, him just sucking on his bottom lip in hesitation. The hand that was previously caught in your grip comes up to cup your cheek again, his thumb lightly grazing your bruise as he studies you with a sad look on his face. 

“No, angel,” he begins with a sigh. “It’s really not.” 

You falter under his soft gaze and sure words, shaking your head as you fumble for words of your own. “It will be fine, then. Just let me lay low for a bit. I probably won’t be at lunch on Friday…I don’t necessarily need your friends seeing me beat up like this,” you try and laugh off.

Jaemin looks at you quizzically. “They wouldn’t-” He begins, but you cut him off with pleading eyes.

“Jaem, please,” you counter, and he just nods his head solemnly. 

“Okay.” He lets out a breath before darting his gaze around from you to the rest of the living area, locking eyes with your backpack and giving him a reason to stay in your presence for a bit longer. “Can we do homework together?” He asks, and you lightly sigh as you nod your head, guiding his hand down from your cheek so you could instead head towards the couch and set everything up on the coffee table for the two of you. 

Your main distraction from homework came in the form of whatever was on the television. Jaemin’s main distraction came in the form of you; he could hardly finish one part of an assignment without turning his head to look over at you, chewing on his bottom lip as he studied you softly, then whipping his gaze back to his laptop before you could ever feel his eyes on you. It was the least productive he's ever been.

Friday was the next time you saw Jaemin, when he came over as per usual for your ‘date nights.’ However, with you missing the friend group lunch for the second time this week, he immediately greeted you with a related request. “Hey, the guys miss you. They wanted to know if you were down for a movie night tomorrow,” he says casually as he closes the door behind him. 

You turn to face him with a straight face. “Jaem, my black eye isn’t going to be-” You watch as Jaemin rolls his lips inward and dodges your eye contact, and all you can do is let out a heavy sigh. “You told them, didn’t you?” You ask instead, and Jaemin’s hidden lips reappear to form a weak don’t-be-mad grin. That is, until he meets your eyes again and lets out his own sigh, shrugging his shoulders as he resets his facial expression to something more casual again.

“They wanted to know where you were,” he says in defense. You watch as the memory of lunch replays behind his eyes and he tilts his head slightly as he looks at you with an anticipatory cringe in how you were going to respond as he continues. “…and now they’re all pissed and want to be there to make you feel better, too,” he finishes with a dorky smile, as though his full set of teeth would fix everything. Unfortunately, he was right about that, and all you can manage is a huff of laughter as you shake your head. 

“Oh my. Sure, we can have a movie night,” you give in with a smile, and Jaemin lights up before pulling out his phone to text the group that the plans for tomorrow are a go. Then, your Friday night with Jaemin consisted of a large pizza, red wine, and board games. 

That Saturday night, Jaemin came to pick you up and take you back to his apartment where the movie night was being held, insisting that Haechan could hold down fort as he came to pick you up…and that no boyfriend would let his girlfriend drive herself over to his place when he had a perfectly good truck and an excuse to kiss you under the porch light before joining all the guys; you told him he was an idiot, but he met that with a kiss on your cheek, claiming that you were the idiot for not taking a free kiss under the porch light with the Na Jaemin…a low blow considering the reason behind your bruising eye. 

When you step inside his apartment, the rest of the guys silence mid-conversation, instead turning all of their attention to you. Their shoulders drop as your black eye comes into the light. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks as you turn into Jaemin’s chest, and he wraps his arms around you lightly with a warm laugh, kissing the top of your head before turning his attention to his friends. “I’m pretty sure you guys promised me you would be chill about this if she came over,” he states playfully, causing the rest of them to drop their heads with a small laugh of their own.

“Our fault for caring about her,” Jeno banters back, and all you can do is sigh and pull away from Jaemin’s chest, facing the rest of the group again. He was right, not about it being their fault, but for the fact that their frowns just meant they cared about you, and it wasn’t like you didn’t feel the same way towards them - you’d frown, too if one of them walked in battered and bruised. 

You roll your eyes playfully with a mellow shake of your head. “It’s fine. I’m fine,” you assure, turning your gaze to Jaemin before tossing your head side to side with a small smirk. “Besides, I’d say Jaem’s worth a punch or two.” The guys in front of you laugh but Jaemin furrows his brows.

“Or two?” He echoes worriedly, making you turn to him again with a soft, sure gaze. 

“One,” you promise him and watch as a bit of relief washes over his figure, nodding his head as he takes it in. 

“Um, you guys wanna watch Transformers?” Jisung speaks up awkwardly, shattering whatever tension you and Jaemin just created and instead making everyone chuckle. 

Mark whips his head over to Jisung. “I thought we were watching Spider-Man…?” He adds sulkily. Jisung’s jaw drops, because apparently he had been looking forward to a Transformers marathon nonstop since the plans were made; but Chenle cuts off any chance of a response from him, instead just shaking his head rapidly.

“It doesn’t matter. Just choose anything before they take the pause in activity to make out,” he says as though he were horrified by the possibility, and Renjun lets out a sure laugh as he places a hand on Chenle’s shoulder.

“Still traumatized by the pda you asked for at that first lunch?” He asks, and Chenle looks at him with wide eyes.

“Can you blame me? So, they’re in a relationship…that’s great. Slightly cringe, but whatever. You know what’s not cringe? Spider-Man.”

“The Transformers!” Jisung corrects adamantly, getting everyone to laugh again.

“Sure, the Transformers,” Chenle agrees automatically, and Haechan rolls his eyes with a soft smile as he moves to set up the TV. 

The eight of you got situated before another beat could pass. Mark on the recliner, Chenle and Jisung on the small couch, and then you, Jaemin, Jeno, Haechan, and Renjun taking up the big couch in the middle of the room. You cuddled easily into Jaemin as he threw an arm around your shoulder, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on the side of your arm. 

For the group of you typically being a mess of chaos when you were all together, the eight of you somehow all followed the same unspoken rules when it came to movie night. There was no talking and, surprisingly, no one distracted by their phone. However, the peace of the perfect movie night was broken maybe twenty minutes into the first movie, when a chill ran through your body and the resulting shiver didn’t go unnoticed. “Do you want a blanket, y/n?” Mark asks softly. All at once, the guys whipped their heads towards him, furrowed brows adding to their glares at his disruption. That is, until it registers for them what Mark just asked, and all their gazes soften as they draw their attention to you in wait for your answer, Haechan pausing the movie entirely. 

You let out a laugh under your breath, shaking your head at Mark with a grateful smile. “No, I’m okay,” you say quickly, trying to get everyone’s focus back on the movie because one shiver was not enough reason for concern. The guys all flash their eyebrows at your answer, immediately accepting it as they turn their attention back to the movie. 

It isn’t long though before you shiver again, and while your attempt to cover it up was stellar, it wasn’t enough to get past the man holding you in his arms. Jaemin leans down so his lips are by your ear. “Go put on one of my hoodies,” he whispers slowly.

You shake your head minimally in response, eyes still trained on the Transformers. “I’m okay-” Your whispered words are cut off when the movie pauses, and you whip your head over to face Jaemin now, remote in hand and raised brows as he stares back at you seriously. A chorus of complaints erupt from the rest of the guys but Jaemin is only focused on you, and you can’t do anything but let out a light sigh. “Are you sure?” You ask, and Jaemin’s brows go from raised to furrowed.

“Am I sure? Of course I’m sure. You’re my girlfriend. Please go dig through my closet and wear my clothes,” he replies firmly, nodding his head now in the direction of his bedroom. You dodge any further eye contact with him as you instead slip out of his arms and towards his room. You don’t spend too much time in there, more than aware that they were all still waiting on you before unpausing the movie. You throw on the first hoodie you see, trying to ignore how much it smelled like him - how comforting it was to be wrapped in that scent. 

You put on a straight face as you walk back out to the living room, though you begin to think it was unnecessary considering their reactions, or- Jaemin’s, at least. He immediately broke from the idle chatter he was having with Jeno as he instead locked his gaze on you, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. You fall shy under his gaze, looking around at the rest of the guys to see if you missed something before accepting the fact that it was just Jaemin who had the answers. “What?” You ask hesitantly, and it forces Jaemin to snap back to reality and collect himself.

He lets out something of a defeated laugh, shaking his head as he concludes his look up and down your body. “You should’ve been swimming in my hoodies for the past two months already,” he answers seriously, and suddenly your cheeks are on fire. You hide your face in your hands and the rest of the guys let fond grins paint their face at the interaction between the two of you. That was the first time it truly hit all of them that they were each about to lose $100 soon. Though it was hard for them to even be mad about it, because in everyone’s eyes but your own, Jaemin was whipped, and that was all they ever wanted for their best friend. 

The group got through three movies before everyone started fading, eyelids feeling heavier by the minute. Renjun was the one to turn the lamp on at the side table beside him, putting everyone on the same page as they all got up from their seats and started getting ready to leave. Chenle is the first to say his goodbyes and head for the door, but as he places his hand on the knob, he whips back around. “Oh, wait!” He starts, louder than any of you were prepared for as you stare back at him in question. He shakes his head, the volume of his voice apparently even getting to him, but then he looks back at you all seriously. “I’m having my big New Year’s Eve party again. You’re all invited, obviously. I don’t know anyone’s plans after finals week, so I figured I’d just tell you now before we’re all in different places - if you wind up back at NCIT by December 31st, I’d love to have you, and if you wind up back at NCIT even earlier than that, please please please please please-” 

“Chenle,” you all cut him off in unison, and he gives an awkward laugh.

“Please consider helping set up,” he says flusteredly. You all let out fond chuckles as you nod your head at the boy, and he lets a wide smile grace his features before finally opening the door and leaving with a soft ‘thank you.’ 

Dropping you off at your dorm, Jaemin fumbles for words before you can even open the door back to your place, and you turn around to pin all your attention on him instead as he speaks up awkwardly. “Uh- about Chenle’s party…”

“Yes, I’ll go. We said that would be our last day together so we might as well be…together,” you say, and Jaemin nods his head slowly. 

“Okay; and for next weekend…?” He leaves the question at that and that’s when you realize you truly hadn’t given him much to plan with yet. You shake your head with a small laugh. 

“We’ll leave Saturday morning for my parents’ house. I have finals up until Friday anyways. The big dinner you have to be there for is Saturday night, so you can do whatever you would like with your break after that.” 

Jaemin processes the information with a distant expression before pulling it into a smile. “Alright, angel. Good luck with finals next week. I’ll be ready to go Saturday morning,” he says happily, and all you can do is match his smile.

“Good luck on your finals, too-” You start, but as you move to wrap him in one last hug, you catch sight of the hoodie covering your arms and jump back. “Oh! I’m still wearing your hoodie. Sorry-” You speak in a rush as you work to try and slip out of it, but Jaemin shakes his head.

“Don’t worry. Keep it,” he responds seriously, making you whip your head up at him and causing him to laugh. “It would be really suspicious if I came back home with the hoodie that I just said you looked cute in, and I’m not taking any chances with us so close to the three month mark now. Just don’t lose it…it’s my favorite hoodie.” 

You let out a flustered laugh. “Well, are you sure you don’t want it back, then? Haechan is probably asleep already-” You reason as you start pulling one arm out of the hoodie again. 

“Just keep it,” he cuts you off with a warm chuckle before continuing more somberly. “Our three months are almost up. I’ll get it back in no time.” If the words were bitter on his tongue, you didn’t notice. You were too preoccupied trying to neutralize your own emotions at the notion of this all ending soon. 

You’re scared your voice would betray you if you opened your mouth again to speak, so instead you just nod your head, finally wrapping him in that goodbye hug and then turning to let yourself into your dorm. 

Finals week somehow went by in a flash, and you’re scared to add up how many hours of it you spent in Jaemin’s hoodie. Though, the atypical schedule meant that you didn’t really have to worry about that - you only ever ran into Jaemin on campus for friend group lunches, and those were canceled this week since half of you would be in the middle of finals during the usual span of time; so, Jaemin never had to find out that you were practically living in the very same hoodie you had tried so hard to give back originally. 

Come Saturday morning, that hoodie was packed with all of your other clothes in your suitcase, currently in the trunk of your car as you drive over to pick Jaemin up before heading to your house. He places his luggage next to yours before opening the passenger door and sliding in. “Hey, angel! Ready to pull all this off for your parents, too?” He asks with a devious smirk. You roll your eyes, trying to buy into the playfulness to forget about the dread filling your system at the idea of heading back home right now.

“Ready as I’ll ever be. Thank you again for agreeing to this,” you say seriously, and Jaemin looks at you as though you were crazy.

“Of course I’d agree to do this. Do you realize how much you’re doing for me?” He banters back, effectively getting you to laugh a bit as the tension in your shoulders drops. “Besides,” he continues more thoughtfully. “It’ll be nice to see our hometown again.” His words are much more mellow this time, and you look over at him with a sad grimace before shifting into drive and actually getting out on the road. 

As soon as Jaemin went to college, his family moved to Jeju Island, and for as often as the two of you talked about traveling there one day, it was much less exciting of an idea when it was already Jaemin’s home base and it’d just be you traveling to visit him. Even outside of that, you knew he missed the city - moving away from everything you know is only nice if it’s your choice, and moving to Jeju was definitely not his choice. 

It’s not like his relationship with his parents was impacted, though. He understood, and was very appreciative of the fact that they held out on the move until he graduated high school. Truly, if they were wanting to move, this was the time to do it. He’d graduate college and get his own place wherever he wanted; it’s just that now his place to go back to was Jeju rather than Seoul.

On the other hand, your family stayed put in the same house from childhood, but your relationship had gone through rough waters since you started college; something not even Jaemin knew, and now you were wondering how oblivious you could keep him of your current home-situation.

The verdict was ‘not very long.’ As soon as the two of you walked in your front door, your parents seemed shocked to be laying eyes on Jaemin with you. You push past them and towards your bedroom to put your stuff down, sending just a meek ‘hi’ their way. Jaemin watched you disappear with ample confusion, but his face quickly straightened up into a smile as he greeted your parents with hugs and gratitude for having him over. 

Your mom pulls back from the hug with a look of disbelief, shaking her head solemnly. “Jaemin, it’s wonderful to see you. I apologize for not having a space set up for you to stay. To be honest, when y/n said she was bringing a guest home, the last thing we were expecting was for it to be a guy,” she laughs off, and Jaemin’s eyebrows immediately furrow. Your own muscles tighten as you move to close your bedroom door, deciding that was already enough for you to hear. 

“Why?” Jaemin asks in return, trying to match the laugh from your mom, though his was half-hearted at best. 

Your mom shrugs it off like it’s nothing new. “Well, you know our y/n…doesn't exactly have a lot going for her-” 

“Y/n’s gorgeous, actually,” Jaemin cuts off with force, now taking a full step back from your mom and causing her hand to drop from where it was still at his forearm. “And sure, she has her guard up most of the time but that doesn’t change the fact that once she’s comfortable enough to be herself, she’s incredibly easy to love,” he continues, brows furrowed as he makes sure to get his point across. 

Your mom passes her gaze from Jaemin to her husband, taking a moment to exchange strange smiles with him before turning back to Jaemin. “Sorry, I seem to have offended you. I didn’t know you cared about my daughter that much.” She speaks every word as though she’s only half serious, and all it does is frustrate Jaemin even more. 

“Of course I care about her but that’s not even the point. You shouldn’t be saying that about your child and you used to know that, cause you never said anything like that when we were growing up. So, I don’t know what changed but I can tell you it wasn’t the worth of your daughter.” Setting all your stuff down, you open your bedroom door enough to catch his last sentence and immediately let out a heavy sigh, knowing you had to go out there and do something.

“Jaem?” You start, walking back out from the hallway. His face instantly changes from disgust to warmth as he snaps his head in your direction.

“Yeah, angel?” 

You nod your head back towards where you just came from. “My room is still the same one it’s always been. Since we’re apparently bunking together, if you want to go put your stuff in there so you’re not carrying it around throughout the house, you know where to go,” you say casually, trying to make it seem as though the sleeping arrangements were all you caught of his conversation with your mom.

Jaemin nods with a tight smile. “Alright, I’ll be back in a second,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head as he passes you in his walk to your room and you take his place with your parents in the living room. You and your mom both watch as your dad looks between the two of you before immediately leaving to go outside, shaking his head as he does so and leaving just you, your mom, and the suffocating tension in the room.

You drop your head to face the floor and your mom is the first one to speak. “I didn’t know he liked you,” she says plainly, eyes darting towards the room Jaemin was currently in before landing on you again, your head now whipped up to face her with raised brows.

“Didn’t know he liked me or didn’t think I was capable of having him like me?” You ask in return, and your mom falters for a moment.

“Y/n…” She starts, but you shake your head.

“Am I good enough now? Is this enough for you? That I brought an attractive guy home who cares about me? Are you even the tiniest bit proud of me now?” The fire in your eyes soon matches that of your mother’s, her disproving gaze that you knew so well baring into you.

“Y/n, that’s not fair and you know that,” she counters, her voice raising with every word.

Your jaw drops as you look at her in disbelief. “What’s not fair is you judging me by the man I do or do not have to hold my hand at any given time.” You’re thankful when the words come out firm; you’ve never stood up to her like this, and when your mom studies you with intensity, it’s as though she doesn’t know the woman in front of her this time. 

“Well,” she breathes out, bringing her gaze back to your own. “Being with him has apparently given you some confidence…or a voice, at least.” Her tone borders between indifference and slight disgust, and all you can do is shake your head, unsure of how your relationship with your mom ever turned into this.

“I refuse to believe that you find an issue in the fact that he makes me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world,” you say in almost a plea for her to tell you it’s not true, but she never does; instead, it’s just Jaemin’s breath hitching in the hallway that he tries to cover up so you wouldn’t know he was listening. When neither you nor your mom turn your heads towards him, he realizes he was still under the radar. So, he prepares himself to walk back into the living room as though he just got done putting everything away in yours.

When he gets back by your side, he lightly kisses your temple, turning to face your mom as he sneaks a hand to rest on the small of your back; your mom stares at the physical contact and you think her eye actually twitches. Jaemin opens his mouth to start casual conversation back up but your mom cuts him off before he can even begin. “Your father and I are going out for the day. We will be back to cook dinner,” she states, and your eyebrows furrow immediately.

“You haven’t seen Jaemin in years and you’re just gonna leave right when he gets here?” You ask in shock, and your mom glares back at you.

“Dinner,” she replies sharply, and then she’s out the door. 

Jaemin’s hand on your back begins to rub lightly up and down, and as you turn to bury your face in his chest, he wraps you in a full hug. “I’m sorry,” you mumble out, and Jaemin shakes his head. With one hand, he lightly guides your chin up so that you make eye contact with him, a soft smile on his face as he looks down at you. 

“Nothing to be sorry for, angel. It’s all okay. How about we just watch TV or something, go outside maybe…what’s gonna destress you?” He asks, his hand that was underneath your chin maneuvering to instead caress your cheek. 

You shrug, doing your best to dodge eye contact as you reply. “Anything in your presence,” you say seriously, missing the way warmth just reached every corner of Jaemin’s being at your words. 

“Okay,” he responds surely, and that’s how you found yourself walking the streets of your hometown, hand-in-hand with Na Jaemin. You visited his old house, the old playground, anywhere you could before the cold air finally caught up to you and you had to retreat back inside for some hot chocolate and more Harry Potter from your last unfinished rewatch session. 

Jaemin never brought up the obvious tension between you and your mom, something you were thankful for, but it also left you feeling guilty because you knew it was on his mind - the equation of where things went wrong between you and your mom after he left Seoul was continuously being worked out behind his eyes. When you explained this part of the fake-dating contract, he wasn’t expecting for your parents to actually be on your ass about not dating anyone, but stepping into this house was like a minefield, and any conversation around the topic turned into an explosion.

He wasn’t gonna make you talk about it though, you obviously weren’t ready to. Instead, he just wrapped his arms around you as best he could, making sure you and your cocoa were always kept warm throughout the duration of your latest movie marathon. 

Surprising you, when it was finally dinnertime, the atmosphere was lighter by the tiniest bit. Your parents were engaging with Jaemin, at least, and the presence of other long-time family friends put you at ease, too, because you knew a big fiasco is the last thing your parents would allow to happen in front of others. 

“Are you staying with us all of break?” Your mom asks as she puts her fork down and places all of her attention on Jaemin. He gives a sorry grin in return as he shakes his head.

“No,” he begins, and your face immediately drops, forcing you to take another bite so it’s less noticeable. “I was thinking I would surprise my parents. I haven’t seen them since the summer, and I figure that means it’s time to fly out and see them again,” he continues with a light laugh. “Though, when y/n asked me to come back with her for this dinner, I- well,” he drags off, taking a moment to turn and face you at his side, a fond smirk on his lips before he turns his head back to face his lap before you can notice. “I realize I’ve gotten incredibly bad at saying ‘no’ to her,” he finishes, his own light chuckle following his words.

Gazes soften all around the table as they listen to Jaemin, but you can’t bring your head up to look at him, sure the look in your eyes would give away how desperately you were wishing for those words to be real.

Your dad is the one to pick up the conversation again. “Well, we’ll be sad to see you go so soon, but it’s sure been a pleasure having you fill our house again,” he says with a tight nod that Jaemin reflects back to him, slightly softer in his perfect Jaemin way. 

That night, you and Jaemin went to bed before the rest of the adults did, but they had the advantage of alcohol to keep them occupied, and while that option was technically open to you and Jaemin, you both decided it would probably be best to stay under the label of ‘innocent youth’ with your parents and family friends.

You walk back into your bedroom after washing your face and putting on pajamas to see Jaemin already laying down. You trace his outline underneath the covers and sigh when you realize how little room was left in your full size bed. You slip under the covers and begin to turn on your side so you could take up the smallest space possible, but Jaemin evidently has other plans as he reaches over and pulls you so that you’re laying against his chest. “What are you doing?” You ask, propping your head up on his chest as you stare at him in confusion. 

He looks back at you as though there were no need for the question, his smirk playing lazily against his lips. “If you’re going to end up on top of me anyways, I’d rather just hold you there,” he replies, and all at once you’re vividly reminded of Halloween night. You don’t argue back, instead just rolling your eyes and resting your head back against his chest as you try to hide most of the blush on your cheeks. 

Jaemin idly draws shapes on your back as he watches you fall asleep on him. He swallows awkwardly, remembering what your mother said about you…what you said to your mother, and a kind of frustration fills his chest. He listens for any signal that you were still awake, and when he finds none, he presses the lightest kiss to the top of your head. “You’re so beautiful, y/n,” he whispers. His mortification comes when he feels you tense under his hold.

“You don’t have to pretend when it’s just us, you know,” you whisper back, and his heart breaks in his chest. His tone is firm as he replies, because if you were going to be awake to hear him say that, he might as well get his point across. 

“Some stuff I never had to pretend for. Some stuff is just a fact.”

You let out a heavy sigh, flipping which way your head was facing on his chest before speaking softly. “Go to bed, Jaemin,” you say, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with the feeling of defeat that arose knowing you don’t believe him. He thinks about saying more but he figures now is not the time for it…that in your friendship, it may not ever be the time for it. So, he lets out his own light sigh, his grip around you going slightly tighter as he gets to work on actually falling asleep. 

The next day, all you really had time for was breakfast before you had to drive Jaemin to the airport. As you pull up to the curb for departures, Jaemin doesn’t even think twice before leaning over the center console to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “Thank you for dropping me off,” he says sincerely amidst the rustling of him gathering his bags from various spaces of your car. You laugh as you open your own door, sliding around to the back of your car to pop the trunk and grab his suitcase.

“I’m coming inside with you, you know?” You tease lightly, missing the way Jaemin’s eyes soften at the care before he quickly vetoes your carrying of his luggage and rips his suitcase from your grip, causing you to laugh some more as you turn to face him now at your side. “But, of course, it was no problem,” you say genuinely, stepping inside the airport with him and too quickly facing the security checkpoint where you’d finally have to split. “Have a safe flight,” you continue, and with each word he’s now taking a step further than you dare to. “Tell your family I said ‘hi.’” 

Jaemin looks over his shoulder to smile back at you. “I will,” he promises firmly with a matching nod, and you throw a grin and final wave his way as he turns back to actually face where he was walking towards the entrance for security. As soon as you’re out of his line of sight, you allow your face to drop slightly alongside your gaze, letting out a light sigh at the feeling of him walking away from you. However, your attention is caught by the increasingly loud sound of heavy footsteps. You shift your gaze back in front of you to see Jaemin had changed his path and was instead heading straight for you again. 

“Jaemin-?” You question, but you’re cut off the second he gets close to you because he wastes no time in dropping his bags, cupping your cheek with his hand, and pressing a sure kiss to your lips. You melted right into it, something you would have to kick yourself for later, but at the present moment, all you could think about was his soft lips still lingering against yours.

“I’ll see you in a week, okay?” He says in a near-whisper. His words weren’t so much a statement as they were a reassurance, like he needed you to know that all you had to bear without him was a single week, like he intended to never leave you again once he came back. All you can do is swallow awkwardly, nodding as you look up at him through your lashes. 

“Yeah.” 

Jaemin’s gaze roamed over your entire figure as best it could with the two of you still in close proximity. You wanted to press up on your tiptoes and kiss him again for the hell of it, or maybe for the comfort of it, but Jaemin is the one to take action first, simply running his thumb gently across your cheek with a small smile before immediately turning to grab his bags and actually make his way through the security checkpoint. All you can do is stand and watch helplessly as he walks away from you. You’d see him in a week, sure, but then it’d be New Years before you knew it and all of this would slip right out of your hands…it practically already had. 

You were back at NCIT before Christmas, trading in family-time for time with Chenle, who was the only other one of your friends on campus for most of that duration. He tried to pretend that he needed to meet up with you to talk about plans for his New Year’s Eve party, but most of it was just excuses to hang out when he got lonely. One by one, the guys all made their way back to NCIT, Jaemin being the last to do so, coming in on the evening flight December 26th. 

You had brought Chenle with you to go pick him up, mainly because Chenle begged you to let him tag along. The two of you stood at the baggage claim for maybe fifteen minutes, Jaemin’s hoodie adorning your figure and providing you with comfort amidst Chenle’s constant nagging that you guys should have brought a sign saying that Jaemin was coming back from prison or something else more embarrassing. 

The baggage claim carousel had already begun spinning for Jaemin’s flight, and eventually even Chenle stops talking to instead join you in a frown as the two of you search for Jaemin. The verdict was that he must have just been the last person off the plane, because around five minutes later, you catch sight of his figure. “There he is- what’s he doing?” You ask confused as you look at Jaemin speed in your direction.

“Running towards you,” Chenle answers as if it were the most casual occurrence ever. He tosses his gaze over to you with raised eyebrows before continuing. “And I think you should probably start running towards him unless you’re prepared to catch his weight, cause I’m pretty sure he’s ready to jump on you.” 

Your eyes go wide at his words as you shake your head. “God, having a lunatic boyfriend is a lot of work,” you respond, feigning exhaustion. Chenle throws his arms up in defense.

“Hey, you chose him, not me,” he quips, making you smile before realizing you really had to start on your run towards him, because of all the things you were prepared for, catching Jaemin’s weight was not one of them.

You take off from where you and Chenle were standing, running up and meeting Jaemin somewhere in the middle as he lets go of his carry-on and puts his arms out for you. “Jaem!” You exclaim, jumping into his arms and wrapping around him like a koala.

“Angel!” He replies just as enthusiastically; hugging you tightly and spinning around once with the momentum.

“Chenle’s here so you have to kiss me,” you whisper in a rush, cupping his cheek with your hand as Jaemin steadies himself again.

He lets out a genuine laugh, catching your gaze with the brightest of smiles in his eyes. “Well, I wasn’t gonna run all this way towards you for nothing,” he says surely. Then he presses his lips to yours, and the resulting warmth in your body should’ve made the snow outside impossible. 

Jaemin breaks away from you when he feels a tug on his shirt sleeve, and the two of you turn to make eye contact with Chenle. “You’re being cringe now, can you please take me home?” He asks plainly, making you and Jaemin laugh as he puts you down on the solid ground again, slipping his hand in yours as the next best option. Then, after making sure Jaemin had all of his things, the three of you were on the road back to NCIT.  

The next day, Jaemin and the guys went out for lunch, one you weren’t invited to because it was one you “couldn’t know about.” Sitting around the table in a perfect reflection of the start of the semester, the guys around Jaemin all wore a mixture of looks on their faces, ranging from impressed to sulky…though that last one was only Chenle, who despite having the most money in the group, hated giving it out. 

Mark is the one to finally address the reason they were all there. “Well, you did it. I’m sure we don’t need to be the ones to tell you that you’ve been dating y/n for three whole months now,” he says with a light laugh. Jaemin can’t bring himself to join in on the smiles and playfulness around the table.

“I can’t believe it’s been three months already,” he says hollowly, but both his tone and the distant look in his eyes go unnoticed by his friends, their tunnel vision on their childish bet covering over Jaemin’s anguish at winning. 

“Here’s your $600,” Haechan says after having collected everyone’s shares from around the table. “Can't wait to have a new PS5 in our apartment,” he quips, but Jaemin whips his head up at him, grabbing the $600 from his hands defensively. 

“I’m not spending it on a PS5…” He begins, dragging off as the fire dies from his tone and he returns to a contemplative state of being. “I’m gonna buy y/n something nice.”

Gasps are heard from quite literally everyone else at the table, all of them looking at Jaemin with wide eyes. “Really?” Jeno asks in disbelief, and Jaemin makes passing eye contact with all of his friends, giving them all odd looks for being so caught off guard.

“Yes, really. She’s the best thing to ever happen to me, and I don’t know how to give her the world, but I can at least get her the best that $600 will buy,” he explains surely, and the rest of the guys all exchange glances with each other before turning back to him, Renjun being the one to take a jab this time through a hesitant laugh.

“Are we still talking to Na Jaemin?” He asks, making the rest of the guys laugh as well. Jaemin just lets out a sigh, finally able to find a bit of humor as well as he shakes his head, tucking the money away and turning the afternoon into a regular lunch hang out. 

Two days later, you get a call from Jaemin sometime after dinner.

“Angel?” He says softly once you pick up, his tone making you smile on the other end.

“Yeah, handsome?” You respond warmly. 

“Wanna go on a drive?” Jaemin asks, giving away no hints as to his current state of emotions, and your eyebrows furrow as you pry more.

“No destination?” You ask, and Jaemin shakes his head, not that you were able to see it anyways. His response is sharp.

“No.”

“Everything okay?” You question, the warmth in your tone turning into concern.

“Yeah,” Jaemin responds immediately. You let a beat pass in silence and it’s enough for Jaemin to want to fill it again on his own. “Just want some more time with you,” he explains shyly, and you let out a small breath of laughter as you oblige. 

“Let me get my shoes on.”

“I’ll be there to pick you up in five,” he replies firmly before immediately hanging up. 

True to his word, it only took five minutes before you’re opening the door to Jaemin. “Hey,” he says as soon as you make eye contact, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your cheek.

“Hey,” you reply, your face hurting as you try not to smile too widely at his actions. Jaemin wouldn’t have noticed if you did, though, because he immediately turns to face the floor sheepishly. 

“Sorry if you were in the middle of something,” he finally says, making you furrow your brows at him - this wasn’t a Jaemin you were used to.

“Nothing that couldn’t wait,” you assure him before prying some more. “What’s up?”

Jaemin pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as he shakes his head hesitantly. “Nothing. It’s just our last few days together. Figured we could hang out before you go off and get an actual boyfriend and I-” You watch as he fumbles for words, eventually giving up with a shrug as he finally makes eye contact with you again. “Go back to doing whatever it is I do.”

His answer doesn’t relieve you of any worry, and you move a hand up to cup his cheek as you tilt your head in study of him. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

Jaemin nods his head slightly against your hand, a fond smile at your touch replacing the distant expression he previously held. “There’s just a lot on my mind. Nothing for you to worry about. Just wanted to hang out with you and kind of escape it all for a bit,” he explains casually, eventually bringing both hands up to guide your own back down from his face, idly playing with your fingers as he asks his next question. “Do you still like cloud watching?”

“You know I do,” you reply with a laugh, and Jaemin finally bares his teeth as he smiles back at you. He checks to make sure you actually did put your shoes on already before switching his grip so that he was just holding your hand as he walked the two of you to his truck.

You ended up at one of those nature parks, where the fields are preserved for fields-sake rather than playgrounds. The two of you got out and made your way around to the tailgate of his truck and you register that he already had blankets and pillows in the back, completely reminiscent of high school. 

You both sat in silence for a while, staring up at the sky and giving yourselves a chance to be at peace, at least somewhere away from the false sense of urgency that always seemed to be around. Eventually, you move your gaze from the clouds above to where your arms were wrapped around your knees, debating with yourself before finally breaking the silence.

“Jaem?” You call softly, and he turns all of his attention towards you.

“Yeah, angel?” He replies in much the same manner. You dart your tongue out to lick your lips, anything you could do to prolong your question - which you were currently thinking should’ve lost in your inner debate.

You finally let out a sigh, still focused in front of you as you talk. “You know you’re much more than the image you’ve picked up around campus, right?” 

Jaemin’s face immediately whips back to the front so there would be no chance of making eye contact with you. “Um…” He begins, but that was the only word he could come up with before forfeiting with an awkward swallow. You know that means it’s up to you to continue.

“I know that day I first met your friend group, you had to make up a ton of stuff on how we got together and everything, but I don’t know if you were necessarily lying when you were talking about how I deserve better than getting tied into your fuckboy image. I just- wanna make sure you know, in case that has ever been your thought process for anyone you’ve had a crush on, that there’s so many more sides to you than that. An image is an image, okay? Don’t let it get to you.” Your courage is built with every word and you finally turn to face Jaemin as you continue softly, surely. “They don’t know you like I do.”

Jaemin’s lips part with a heavy exhale before he rolls them inwards in hesitation. “Do you mean it?” He finally asks, and there’s just a trace of sadness riddling his voice.

“Of course I do,” you say firmly, and Jaemin takes in your answer with a slow nod.

“It’s been hard. I-” He grimaces before letting out an awkward laugh. “Oh, this is kind of weird to talk about with you,” he continues, making you laugh, too as the atmosphere lightens.

“Whatever,” you say, rolling your eyes playfully. “It’s me.”

Surprisingly, that seemed to do it, because the tension in Jaemin’s shoulders falls as he lets out a light sigh and finally finds his words for what seemed to be the first time that night. “I used to not care. If they wanted to label me as a fuckboy, that was fine. Truthfully, if I was getting my dick wet, I was good-” He cuts himself off at the sound of a slightly louder exhale than normal from you, and he whips his head your way with a pout. “Don’t laugh, I’m being vulnerable.”

You stare back at him with a fond smile on your face and raised brows. “I’m not laughing,” you assure, and Jaemin turns to face his knees again as he accepts your denial of the claim without a fight. Then he starts back up with his explanation, his tone heavy and contemplative.

“Lately though, I’ve just been thinking I want so much more out of life. But, I spent so long under the fuckboy label I didn’t know if I would ever be able to break free from it, if I could ever be more.”

Your gaze on him softens but your eyebrows furrow; there was something so weird about knowing he’s never viewed himself in the way you do. “Na Jaemin, you’ve always been more,” you respond firmly. The lightest of exhales escapes as laughter from Jaemin, and he lets a weak smile play at his lips before responding. 

“And you’ve always felt like home…” He says, matching your tone as he finally turns to look at you again. “That’s another thing I wasn’t lying about that day.” 

You immediately dodge eye contact, knowing it’d reveal to him in milliseconds your real emotions towards all of this…towards him. Probably against your better judgement as well, you lean into him at your side, resting your head against his shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I’ve had a nice three months with you,” you say, your own weak grin making an appearance.

“Yeah,” he agrees, wrapping his arm around you casually. “It hasn’t been too bad, has it?”

There it was, the reason you needed to snap out of it, because for Jaemin, it just wasn’t ‘too bad,’ and meanwhile you’ve been over the moon these past three months. You’d come to your senses eventually - remember that ‘breaking up’ was the plan all along, that the last thing Jaemin wanted was to be in an actual relationship, and that you were going to have to be as okay with that as ever. However, for now, you figured you’d just lean into him a bit more while you still can. 

The next day saw all eight of you at Chenle’s place, helping him decorate and prepare for the big party, and then it was New Year’s Eve. Only you and Jaemin knew that it was your last night together before the ‘break up;’ and neither of you knew that the other didn’t want it to ever end, meaning when you placed Jaemin’s hoodie in his backseat as a way to return it before the party, you didn’t know the idea of giving it back nauseated him possibly more than it did you. As such, the air was tense and awkward between the two of you, trying to keep hidden how devastated you knew you were going to be at the end of the night, and too dumb to realize the best thing you could do is talk about it. 

Hand-in-hand with Jaemin, the two of you join the rest of your friend group, already standing around in a circle somewhere on the outskirts of the set up dance floor. They greet the two of you with bright smiles, none of them plagued with the knowledge that their favorite relationship was ending tonight. However, with the eight of you chatting about anything imaginable, the night became incredibly casual, despite the overwhelming amount of people flooding in around you all.

Eventually, the group divides up, deciding a range of different activities sounded best for the time being. You ended up with Chenle and Jisung, the three of you indulging in the indoor s’mores kit that was set up. Jaemin never moved from where the big group of you originally were. Instead, he let the crowd all pass around him as he stayed focused on you, gaze aimed in your direction with a fond smile as he watched you interact with his friends.

The only thing to break him from his staring is when Mark taps him on the shoulder and hands him a cup of water. “Man, I hope you know you’ve turned into a completely different person,” he says as he does so, making Jaemin furrow his brows in question; though Mark shakes his head as though it were no big thing. “You got this glow about you that scares me, and the look in your eyes when you’re staring at her…I didn’t think I’d ever see that from you - you know, being so against relationships and everything,” he ends with a light laugh.

Jaemin drops his head, his own laugh escaping his lips. “It’s just what happens when you’ve found your person, I guess,” he replies seriously. “I mean, to me?” He begins, finally looking up at Mark in sincerity before throwing his gaze your way. “For her?” He shakes his head, his smile turning into a dumb grin on his face as he finally admits to what’s been on his mind for three months. “Everything’s worth it. All the risk, all the effort, I’d do anything for her.” He looks your way once more before his gaze turns distant and he lets a grimace slip across his features. “It just took being with her to make me realize…I want to believe in love,” he finally says, meeting Mark’s eyes once again. 

Mark’s smile was painted widely across his face, though he stared at his best friend in something like disbelief. “Want to believe it? Jaemin, you’re in it,” he says firmly, and Jaemin immediately lets his gaze fall to his feet as he lets out a heavy sigh.

“It’s less scary than I thought it’d be,” he finally says, and Mark’s smile turns fond as he gets a glimpse at how his best friend operates. He puts on his best voice of comfort as he replies.

“You said it yourself, it’s what happens when you’ve found your person. You should tell her,” he says, tossing his head in your direction casually, but Jaemin’s muscles tense up.

“No, I can’t,” he says in a rush, and Mark lets out a laugh.

“From the one who says he isn’t scared,” he teases, but Jaemin shakes his head - it wasn’t that.

“I- it’s a weird situation,” he says, letting out a huff with his bad explanation. “I can’t tell her. Not tonight, anyways…she won’t want to hear that from me,” he concludes, dragging off miserably. Mark’s face completely flips as he stares at Jaemin quizzically. 

“But- she looks at you the same way, you know?” He says surely, but Jaemin shakes his head again.

“No, that’s just how she looks at me. Even when we were in high school.” He takes a moment to pause, tongue darting out to wet his suddenly dry lips before continuing with conviction. “No, she doesn’t love me. Not like this,” he says, and then he’s walking away, leaving a very confused Mark standing there with parted lips.

“...I thought she’s liked you since high school,” he says under his breath now that he knew there was no way Jaemin would hear anyways. He looks between you and Jaemin before shaking his head - the last thing he needed on New Year’s Eve was to engage in overthinking.

You had just broken away from where you were talking with Chenle and Jisung to instead make your way over to the punch table. Grabbing yourself a glass, when arms wrap around you in a hug from behind, you know the only person it could be. “Hey, handsome,” you say with a smile, turning your head to the side to try and lay eyes on him.

“Hi, angel,” Jaemin replies, taking the opportunity to place a small kiss on your cheek before continuing. “Are we kissing at midnight or are we ending things before then? I’m not sure if you want to start the new year with me or not.” His tone borders on defeat, and you turn around in his arms to stare at him with raised eyebrows and a playful smirk.

“I’ll be your new year's kiss if you’ll be mine,” you reply, and Jaemin lets out a small chuckle. “Besides,” you continue more seriously. “Ending this doesn’t mean you aren’t still my best friend. You’ll be a part of my new year no matter what. We can kiss and just pretend that was our way to say ‘bye’ to dating, cause you know, I guess it will be.” For a moment that you always knew was coming, admitting its near occurrence now felt like you just had the wind knocked out of you. Jaemin just stares down at you with a wide grin, nodding his head along to your words in approval. 

“Alright best friend, then I’ll make sure to find you again before midnight,” he replies, the entire thing making you swallow awkwardly as you nod your head back at him slightly.

“Yeah…” You respond in something like a whisper, and with one light kiss on your forehead, Jaemin vanishes again into the crowd. 

The rest of the New Years party was a blast, no doubt, but the knowledge of what was coming, or more so ending, plagued your thoughts and eventually you just needed to slip away from the rest of the noise. You ended up on the balcony attached to some random bedroom, the cool air something of a relief for your current state.

The only pull back into reality was when the ever-present loudness turned into synchronized cheers, and you catch as the entire party starts counting down from fifteen seconds. You whip around to start on your rushed journey back inside, realizing you never told Jaemin where you would be; but as you turn, you make eye contact with him, just stepping onto the balcony himself, an easy smile crossing his features. “No need to rush. I told you I’d find you before midnight,” he says with a light laugh, and you drop your head with a small exhale as your own form of laughter. “Ready to say ‘bye’ to all this pretending?” He asks, stepping up to where he was directly in front of you.

No. “Yep,” you respond with the best fake smile you could. You already made it this far with no problems, you refused to let it slip that your heart was fully in this right when it was about to end. 

Jaemin matched your smile, and as the crowd’s counting reached the ‘3, 2, 1,’ his hand came up to find its favorite spot at your cheek again. Then he leaned in and kissed you right as the party erupted with cheers of ‘Happy New Year.’ 

Your hands gripped tightly at his shirt, keeping you steady and keeping him close to you; though he wasn’t necessarily going anywhere with one hand cupping your cheek and the other placed firmly on your waist. Unlike any of your other kisses, this one…lingered. The two of you kept steady pace with each other, you gently sucking on his bottom lip and figuring for as long as he’d let this go on, you would take it for all it was worth, trying to pretend you could ever kiss him enough for a lifetime. 

When you think he’s breaking away, you’re instead met with the feeling of his tongue running across your top lip, asking for permission - permission all too easily granted by you as you open your mouth to let him explore. Your New Year's kiss turned into a greedy make out session, which was probably the last thing you were expecting, but you couldn’t take the time to question it because you were too busy drowning in his taste. You loved the taste of Jaemin on your tongue, and his own soft moan - which he tried so desperately to cover up but that you still very much heard, let you know he was currently feeling the same way; and you’d mark that down as a tiny win in the midst of the huge loss you were about to incur. 

Against your better judgement, you finally break away when you truly couldn’t breathe anymore, and Jaemin rests his forehead against yours. The air was just filled with the sound of panting as the two of you tried to catch your breaths. You swallow awkwardly once you do, taking a small step back as you process what just happened, Jaemin’s hand running down your body until you were no longer in reach. “You’re awfully good at ‘goodbye,’” you say in between breaths.

Jaemin immediately dodges your gaze, facing somewhere off to the side as his adam's apple bobs up and down. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” he responds quietly, to the point where you were practically just reading his lips, and then he’s gone, leaving you alone on the balcony to deal with your flooding emotions on your own…not that you could do so in his presence anyways. 

You hated that it hurt this much - that a goodbye you knew was coming still seemed to blindside you. You had allowed your heart to indulge in his every romantic gesture, and while on the surface you knew they meant nothing, you held onto hope in some deep dark corner of your heart that maybe it wasn’t all just pretend; and yet here you were, grouped in with the vast category of girls he’s said ‘goodbye’ to in the way he knew all too well. You were his best friend but you were no one special, and you didn’t expect the resurgence of a fact that you already knew to affect you as much as it did - to make it feel as though you had been hollowed out, bones chilled from the empty space your soul used to occupy. 

You and Jaemin weren’t in contact the entire first day of the new year, though you couldn’t complain because talking to him right away was not something you figured your heart could handle. Instead, you went to work out at the gym and run errands and all those other things people do when they’re single and making a point to say they’re okay with that. To be fair, it kind of worked. Not that you were okay with whatever you and Jaemin had gotten yourselves into coming to an end, but that day of productivity and endorphin-inducing activity helped you ground yourself - these past three months were you helping out your best friend, that was all it was ever supposed to be. 

The next day was far less productive, but you were still functioning like normal. The only disruption from your typical daily routine came with a phone call from Haechan. As soon as you pick up, he starts speaking.

“Why did you go and break Jaemin’s heart all of the sudden?” He asks angrily.

You furrow your brows, though it wasn’t like he could see it anyways. “What do you mean? The breakup was mutual,” you counter in confusion, and Haechan lets out an actual ‘HA’ in disbelief before he replies with animosity.

“I need to know what the hell your definition of ‘mutual’ is because Jaemin hasn’t stopped crying for the past twenty-four hours.” 

You think he’s kidding, like this is one last stupid test of whether your relationship ever added up - but you shake the idea away, he already got the money, it was a week past three months, there wasn’t anything for you to mess up now, the story you’ve been telling would work as it always had. “Crying? What? We both agreed we worked better as friends,” you reply instantly, confusion adequately painting your voice. 

Haechan cannot believe his ears, and he makes sure to let you know so. For as much as you were confused, he didn’t understand why you were acting this way, ten fold. “No, I don’t believe you at all now. He wouldn’t agree on that. I don’t know how Jaemin talked to you, but he talked about you as though he’s never held anyone’s hand before until he held yours. Y/n, it was like you were the one to put every star in his night sky, I swear there’s no way this breakup was mutual.” Your whole world stops and you go speechless on the other end. Haechan was being dead serious, or else he wouldn’t be angry, he wouldn’t be pushing the subject. His words turn over and over again in your head. Jaemin talked about you, evidently when you weren’t around. You were fake-dating and yet Jaemin went out of his way to speak of you fondly to his friends. Jaemin, who never saw the point of getting romantically attached like that, doing more than what was needed in expressing his feelings about you. You push down the feeling of nausea and instead let out a deep sigh.

“I’ll be over in five minutes,” you say quietly, and then you hang up the phone before ever getting a reply from Haechan.

You race over to their apartment, and before you could even knock, Haechan is swinging the door open for you. The two of you make eye contact and about a million emotions pass between you, but it was easiest to pick up on the uncertainty. Haechan opens his mouth as if he’s about to bombard you with questions, or maybe yell at you again…you weren’t sure, but instead he just lets out a breath, nodding his head back in the direction of Jaemin’s room with a soft, “in there.” 

You throw a thankful smile his way, not that you were necessarily guessing at where Jaemin could be, but you were very grateful he was letting you off so easily. Even by looking at Haechan, you could tell Jaemin had truly been crying for the past twenty-four hours…Haechan looked exhausted. 

You lightly tap on the door of Jaemin’s room before entering, breath hitching as you lay eyes on his figure, curled up in a ball and clad in his favorite hoodie that you had given back - the hoodie he now knew you had lived in for the past few weeks because he already caught your own scent on it. Tears raced down his face, and he immediately turned away from you to hide them as he squeaked out choked words.

“Please go away,” he says, and reality hits you all at once. It wasn’t like you thought Haechan was lying, but now you truly had to face the fact that you were the cause of Jaemin’s tears; he wanted you to go away. 

“Jaemin, I’m not going anywhere,” you say softly, shaking your head to emphasize the point. Though, as you do so, your gaze catches onto a gift bag on his dresser, a label with your name written on it in his stupid perfect handwriting. 

You walk up to it, swallowing hesitantly as you turn your attention from the bag to Jaemin and back again. “What is this?” You finally ask. Jaemin shoots his gaze your way, not having previously realized what had caught your intrigue.

“Please don’t-” He rushes to say, but in the pause, you had already pulled out a diamond necklace, holding it gently between your shaking hands. You shake your head, eyes wide and jaw dropped as you’re unable to form a coherent thought. You turn back around to face him, your gaze darting every which way because you’re not sure you can confidently hold eye contact with him.

“Jaemin, what-? Why is this in a gift bag labeled for me-? When did you-?”

He cuts you off, visibly annoyed. “It’s what I used the bet money on. Now please go away,” he demands more firmly, but you wouldn’t be able to follow through on it even if you wanted to, because as you process his words, you lose the ability to move. 

“You spent the $600 on this?” You ask in disbelief, turning your attention fully towards him to try and find any cue that he was lying. “On me?” 

Jaemin turns his head to the side, and you watch as his adam’s apple bobs up and down with an awkward swallow. When he finally answers, his voice has lost its tension, his words instead coming out as though he were ashamed. “$700,” he corrects. “I didn’t want it to feel like I was just gifting you something from the guys.”

You think you’ve gone crazy, or maybe Jaemin has, but all you can do is stare at him in disbelief. “I-”

He quickly finds his fire again, apparently having had enough embarrassment for a lifetime in those few seconds. “Please leave,” he spits out. He dares look up to make eye contact with you before immediately regretting his decision and staring back down at his bed again, wiping more stray tears from his eyes as he fumbles out his next words. “You can take the necklace if you want but just- please leave.”

“Jaem-” You say softly before he can cut you off.

“What?!” He quips, though when he shoots his gaze back to you in irritation, he realizes you’re no longer standing at his dresser, but sitting at the edge of his bed with him. Your fingers barren of the necklace, you instead occupy one hand by placing it on top of his own.

“You could’ve told me you fell for me, too,” you say seriously, and Jaemin stops breathing for a moment as he looks up at you with wide teary eyes.

“Too?” He echoes weakly, and all you can do is give a tight smile, moving a hand up to wipe under his eyes as you try to hold back your own tears.

“I refuse to believe I played off my huge crush on you since high school that well.” You reply with a hoarse laugh.

Jaemin finally recovers his ability to breathe as he lets out a heavy exhale. “You like me?” He asks through tears, and you finally break, having to wipe your own stupid tears off your face before nodding at him with an embarrassed smile.

“I always have. Why do you think I made all those stupid rules to try and make sure we acted like a couple as little as possible?” A bittersweet laugh gets caught in your throat as you think back on it. “If I had to listen to you call me cute names all the time, I wouldn’t have survived knowing it was eventually going to end,” you continue seriously.

Jaemin’s finally able to let out a bashful smile and sorry laugh. “...I called you cute names all the time anyways.”

You nod your head with a fond smile. “I know.”

“I couldn’t help it,” he explains as more tears rush down his face, though this time, they’re at least sliding down next to an embarrassed grin. 

You look at him with playful raised eyebrows. “Just like how you couldn’t help it when you kissed me every time you saw me? Or looked over at me super fondly?”

Jaemin softens as his eyes trace over your figure, the distant look in his gaze letting you know his mind was rather preoccupied with reliving the past three months. “Exactly like that,” he says lowly, and you let out a breath, forcing your gaze away from Jaemin as you instead focus on the way your fingers were idly fidgeting with each other.

“God, Jaem. I’m sorry. I should’ve realized-” You speak apologetically but Jaemin cuts you off again.

“No, I should’ve communicated. Well…” He lets another soft laugh leave his system, the tears finally drying on his face as he works towards fully collecting himself. “I should’ve communicated when you knew I was serious.”

You smile at his words, shaking your head again as you relive every moment of the fake relationship. “I didn’t even know you had time to catch feelings for me,” you begin with something like wonder in your tone. “I mean- weren’t you still hooking up with-”

When Jaemin cuts you off this time, it’s with the most flustered of cheeks and the weakest of laughs. “Um, about that…the very first girl I hooked up with after we added that rule-” He shakes his head with a small smile as he corrects himself. “Well, I say that…she was also the last girl I hooked up with.” Your eyebrows furrow slightly as you process the information, but Jaemin doesn’t give you much time to do so before throwing in another wrench. “I uh- accidentally moaned your name.”

Your head whips in his direction, your wide eyes straining against your dropped jaw. “Jaemin! You did not!”

“Why would I make that up?!” He quips back with a hearty laugh. You move a hand over your gaping mouth, unsure at what exactly you were supposed to do with this news. You shake your head in disbelief.

“Oh my god, what did she do?” You ask, curiosity dripping from your voice. Jaemin bites on the inside of his cheek before giving in again with a light sigh.

“Well, we immediately stopped because we were both mortified, I think. She said something about how I obviously had to go figure some things out, to which I agreed, but for different reasons than she thought…” He drags off a bit but instead just shakes his head and goes in a different direction. “I practically begged her not to say anything about it, but she laughed and said I was crazy if I thought she was going to tell that story and humiliate herself,” he finishes with a small chuckle, and you just stare at him with no less shock than before.

“I can’t believe this,” you manage to get out playfully. 

Jaemin flashes his eyebrows in acknowledgement before his eyes light up and he rushes through more words. “Oh! The best part is, a week or so later, she saw us holding hands in public and texted me saying that she’s rooting for us,” he recalls with a shiteating grin. 

“Stop!” You get out, the idea of it damn near killing you. Though, before you can end up dying of laughter with Jaemin, another piece of information fits itself into the puzzle and you come back to your senses in seriousness.

“Wait wait wait,” you begin, focusing your gaze fully on Jaemin again. “So, you’ve been celibate for like…three months now?” You ask in shock. Jaemin isn’t even the tiniest bit regretful as he responds with a shrug, his sincere gaze meeting your own.

“I only wanted you. Wasn’t going to waste mine or anyone else’s time pretending any different.”

Your gaze softens immediately as a fond smile plays against your features. “Jaem…” You aren’t necessarily sure where you were going from there, but Jaemin picks it up anyways with a small shake of his head; his own weak smile making an appearance again as he recounts those first few moments.

“You kissed me that first day and I assumed I was fucked,” he explains casually. “Everything felt like it changed, and not because it was affection but because it was you.” His cheeks puff out again with a bigger grin as he continues. “Then I had that slip up and I knew I was fucked. Couldn’t get you out of my head for even a moment. It was starting to drive me crazy how much I wanted to make you happy.”

His eyes meet yours again as he finishes, and you search them for answers you knew you would have to ask for. “A good crazy?” You question hesitantly, but Jaemin is quick to shut down any worries.

“The best,” he assures, moving his hands so that he could interlace them with yours. He moves his gaze from your physical contact back up to your face before continuing seriously. “I love you, y/n.” 

You swallow hard, trying to not let any more tears run down your face, albeit happy tears weren’t so bad. You squeeze his hands in yours as you nod your head. “I love you, too.”

“Can we date for real?” He immediately asks, his wide pleading eyes making you chuckle.

“It’s been ‘for real’ for a while now,” you say warmly, but Jaemin shakes his head, not having it. 

“Yeah, but we’re currently broken up if you don’t remember. The entire reason you’re over here is because I couldn’t stop bawling my eyes out…which was the worst feeling in the world, by the way,” he banters back with a weak laugh. You let a grimace cross your face before pulling it into a fond smile. 

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll never break up with you again,” you assure him softly. Jaemin doesn’t hide his wide smile as he shifts himself so he can easily lean in and kiss you softly, resting his forehead against your own as he pulls back to smile against your lips.

“I’m holding you to it, angel.”