#for these three days i need to lock in on studying

[elliespassagerprincess]

hii i love your writing SO much <3 could you write nsfw hcs of professor ellie where reader is insecure about her postpartum body? and how ellie would react and all that? tysm babe!

Headcannons: professor!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

professor ellie masterlist

warning: NSFW content! MDNI 18+

☆ Ellie has always been obsessed with your body — long before the pregnancies. She treats you like a subject of study, a poem in flesh.

☆ She’d spend hours worshipping you with her mouth, soft kisses to your stomach and thighs, whispering things like, “No metaphor could ever hold you.”

☆ Ellie had a ritual before bed: kissing your belly three times — once for you, once for your future, and once for herself. She said it was selfish, but necessary.

☆ When you got pregnant with Aurora, Ellie’s obsession only grew. She became more reverent, more possessive. “You’re carrying both of us,” she’d mutter against your skin.

☆ She was especially obsessed with your breasts. The way they changed. The way you’d cup them self-consciously, and she’d replace your hands with hers. “Don’t hide them from me,” she whispered once, lips brushing a nipple.

☆ After you gave birth, you didn’t want her to touch you the same way anymore. The sexiness you felt before — the desire — vanished.

☆ You hated the way your stomach looked. Hated how tender and saggy it felt. You flinched when Ellie reached for you under your shirt.

☆ Ellie noticed quickly, though she didn’t say anything at first. She just started memorizing the new map of your body in silence.

☆ She once got on her knees to kiss your stretch marks, but you moved away. “Don’t,” you said, almost harsh.

☆ That night, she cried in the bathroom. Quietly. Because she didn’t want you to hear how broken she felt for not being able to comfort you.

☆ You stopped letting her eat you out with the lights on. Then with the lights off. Then, not at all.

☆ Ellie went from practically addicted to your taste to starving. Not physically — emotionally. She missed the part of you that allowed her in.

☆ Once, she whispered, “I miss being close to you,” and you replied, “I’m still here,” but you didn’t meet her eyes.

☆ She studies you like literature. The way you change clothes. The way you keep your back turned. The pauses in your sentences when she says “beautiful.”

☆ She writes: “Reader tucks herself into silence. A woman who once let me in now folds herself like a letter never meant to be opened.”

☆ She quotes Toni Morrison during pillow talk: “Love is never any better than the lover.” She tells you she’s learning to love you better — in all the ways you need now.

☆ When you cry in her arms after a long day of mom-ing, she rubs your back and murmurs academic nonsense: “You are the arc of every heroine’s journey — not ruined, rewritten.”

☆ The birth of Arnold leaves you feeling even worse — heavier, more stretched. You can’t imagine being naked in front of Ellie ever again.

☆ You wear nursing bras to bed. You keep the bathroom door locked. Even showers feel like shame now.

☆ You stop initiating sex altogether. Ellie doesn’t push. But she notices every night you turn away, every sigh you try to swallow.

☆ She hears the way you talk to yourself in the mirror. “Ugly,” “used up,” “gross.” It guts her.

☆ One day, she pulls you into her lap fully clothed and cups your face. “Please stop talking about my favorite body like that.”

☆ Ellie starts buying you lingerie. But not lacy, revealing things. Soft, expensive, comforting things — silk and warmth and earth tones. “This one’s the color of your thighs when you blush,” she says, voice low.

☆ She makes it a rule: no more hiding. Not from her. If you change, she wants to be there. If you cry, she’ll hold you through it.

☆ One night, Ellie makes love to you slowly, under the blankets. You’re still in a nursing bra. She worships every inch she’s allowed to touch. “Let me earn the rest.”

☆ When she finally slides her hand down your panties again, you gasp and cry at the same time. She kisses your tears as you come.

☆ Afterwards, she whispers, “You’re mine, in every shape. In every stage. And I will never stop wanting you.”

☆ Ellie takes her time. She tells you she wants to learn your body again. Like a new language. “Every scar. Every dip. Every sigh — I want to read you until I memorize it all again.”

☆ She uses her mouth like a pen. You let her go down on you for the first time in months — only under the covers.

☆ She kisses your soft thighs first, whispering, “These carried our children. These make me feral.”

☆ She eats you like it’s an essay she wants to get an A+ on — deliberate, obsessive, unhurried. Her fingers gripping your hips like she’s grounding herself.

☆ When you finally come, she doesn’t move. She just stays there, lips trembling against your inner thigh, whispering, “Thank you. Thank you for letting me.”

☆ You sob in her arms after. She kisses your eyelids and says, “Let’s do this slowly. One night, one light, one layer at a time.”

☆ Ellie writes you a poem. Not a good one, but a raw one. You find it folded inside your nursing bra drawer.

☆ She whispers literary lines during sex: “I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.” You laugh, and cry, and kiss her harder.

☆ You let her take Polaroids of you — just shoulders and curves. No face. She keeps them in her journal, like talismans.

☆ One day, you ask her to take one with your full body. You say, “I want to see what you see.”

☆ She frames it. Not in your house — but in her university office. Her students think it’s abstract art. She knows better.

☆ You start having sex with the lights on dim. Then brighter. Then fully.

☆ You ride Ellie one night and cry when she won’t stop looking at you. “Why are you staring?”

☆ She answers: “Because you’re so fucking beautiful I’m afraid to blink.”

☆ Ellie becomes obsessed with your belly. She kisses it between orgasms. “This is where they came from. This is where I came from.”

☆ You let her use a mirror during sex one night. It’s overwhelming — but she keeps kissing your shoulder. “Look at how I love you,” she says, moving inside you.

☆ After, she cradles your face and whispers, “This isn’t sex. This is resurrection.”

☆ Ellie never rushes. Postpartum or not, she treats your body like a library she’s not finished reading. Sex begins with her eyes, tracing every new curve with gratitude. She wants to make you slow down and see what she sees.

☆ She always asks, “Can I see you?” — never demands it. The room is softly lit, but when you shake your head, she just nods and kisses your covered shoulder, working with whatever you give.

☆ Her oral fixation deepens after each baby. It’s like she gets more addicted to the idea of devoting herself to your body — especially the parts you try to hide. She’ll stay between your thighs for hours if you let her, mumbling, “This is my favorite place to be.”

☆ Ellie doesn’t let you say anything negative about your body during sex. She’ll stop, tilt her head, and say softly, “Say something real instead. Say you made me a daughter. Say you made me a son. Say you let me have a forever.”

☆ She gently pins your wrists above your head and kisses each stretch mark like a vow. “You stretched for love,” she whispers between every one. “Let me stretch you for pleasure.”

☆ Ellie sometimes coaxes you out of the baggy shirt or the blanket by undressing herself first. She lies back completely bare and says, “Now we’re both soft. Now come let me in.”

☆ If you try to cover your belly during sex, she kisses your hands and says, “Leave it. I want to feel what made them.” And she means it. She needs to feel it.

☆ Her favorite position postpartum becomes one where she can be under you — eating you out slowly with both hands gripping your hips, letting your softness weigh over her. She moans into you like it’s prayer.

☆ Ellie gets more vocal the more insecure you are. She praises you obsessively. “So fucking gorgeous. So warm. So full. I love your thighs, I love your belly, I love the way you drip when I talk to you like this.”

☆ If the lights are off, she’ll light one dim candle and hold it near your waistline as she trails kisses across your stomach. “I’m gonna learn every line like I teach sonnets. Over and over, until it’s sacred.”

☆ She never initiates penetration until you beg for it. The build-up is always about you. “I want you to ask for me. Not because you feel sexy — but because you trust me to hold you while you fall apart.”

☆ When you flinch from her tongue on your scars, she only presses harder — with reverence. “This is where you tore for them. This is where I love you hardest.”

☆ Sometimes she makes you ride her strap with a mirror behind you — not to humiliate, but to show you what she sees: flushed cheeks, soft belly, your hand around her throat. “Tell me you’re ugly now. I dare you.”

☆ Ellie groans like she’s in pain when you cum. Not from dominance — but from desperation. “That’s my girl. My body. My fucking heaven.”

☆ Her oral fixation turns obsessive during ovulation or breastfeeding phases. She says your taste changes — becomes sweeter, richer — and she wants to study every drop.

☆ Ellie doesn’t like when you apologize for being "loose" after birth. She’ll murmur, “It’s not loose. It’s made to take me. Just me. No one else gets this.”

☆ She kisses your breasts with pure awe after nursing. Even if they leak. Especially if they leak. She moans when you gasp, wraps her lips around your nipple, and whispers, “Still feeding them. Still feeding me.”

☆ She loves when you’re sore from motherhood. If your thighs ache, she’ll massage them with her tongue. If your back hurts, she’ll rub it while fingering you from behind slowly — whispering, “You give so much. Let me take over.”

☆ Ellie’s aftercare is half erotic. She traces the wetness down your thighs and says, “Proof you still want. Proof you’re still mine. That didn’t go anywhere.”

☆ She fucks you slow. Even with the strap, it’s like worship — not just sex. Her forehead stays against yours the whole time, whispering how good you feel, how much she missed you, how this part of you never left.

☆ When you're riding her, Ellie gently grabs your hips and holds you in place as she thrusts up with the strap. “Don’t run from what’s yours. You deserve to feel full.”

☆ She sometimes cries when you let her take you fully in the light. She doesn’t even hide it. “I missed you. I missed all of you. I never want to fuck with the lights off again.”

☆ She always starts by eating you out — slow, wet, tongue curling into you while her hand cups your belly, gently grounding you. “Don’t hide from me. Let me taste the parts you’re scared of.”

☆ Ellie teases your stretch marks with her tongue, dragging it over every curve like she's tracing poetry. “You are literature. You are lineage. Let me read.”

☆ She praises you like a professor giving a thesis defense. “Exquisite form. Provocative structure. Flawless conclusion.” She grins when you call her a nerd with tears in your eyes.

☆ Sometimes she teases you by saying she’ll write her next syllabus about you — “Unit 1: the architecture of your thighs. Unit 2: your cunt. Final exam: making you scream my name.”

☆ Ellie sometimes lays between your legs with her hands flat against your stomach and just breathes there, lips ghosting over your folds. “This is the most sacred text I’ll ever study.”

☆ If you try to brush her off when you're bloated, she tightens her grip around your waist and murmurs, “You think this turns me off? No, baby. This makes me feral.”

☆ She’s not rough — but she is unrelenting. Once you let her in, she doesn’t stop until your body breaks open with pleasure. “Let it go. Let it all go. I’ve got you.”

☆ Every orgasm Ellie gives you is earned with worship. It ends with her on her knees, flushed and wrecked, pressing kisses to your swollen thighs, whispering, “That’s my love. That’s the mother of my children. That’s my woman.”

☆ Aurora calls your stretch marks “mommy’s tiger stripes.” Ellie tears up every time she hears it.

☆ Arnold falls asleep on your chest after breastfeeding, and Ellie snaps a picture — the first one you don’t delete.

☆ Ellie keeps it in her office, tucked behind a book called The Motherhood Manifesto.

☆ Aurora starts drawing you as a superhero with big hips and wide arms. You blush. Ellie grins.

☆ Ellie publishes a paper on the literary absence of maternal beauty — and how academia erases softness. She uses quotes from your life. You’re anonymous. But you cry reading it anyway.

She writes: “If the canon cannot hold softness, then I’ll rewrite the canon with my hands.”

☆ You finally ask her to write something about your sex life. A private essay. She does. And you make love on the same desk she types it on.

☆ One quote haunts you: “Her belly, soft and divine, is the altar at which I worship. Each orgasm a prayer. Each moan a vow.”

☆ You catch yourself smiling naked one day. You don’t hate what you see. Ellie catches you. Walks over. Kisses your reflection.

“Told you,” she whispers, “You’d fall for her again.”

☆ The next time you ride her, you keep the lights on bright. She almost cries under you.

☆ “You’re not just back,” she says. “You’re reborn.”

☆ You write her a letter, finally. “Thank you for not letting me vanish.”

☆ Ellie keeps it in her wallet. Reads it on days when the world feels cruel.

☆ She builds a new bookshelf — and the base is engraved with: “Built by the hands that held our children.”

☆ She kisses your hands during foreplay now, every time. “These gave life. These take mine every time you touch me.”

☆ She tells you the shape of your hips haunts her when she’s teaching.

☆ She whispers how your weight on top of her makes her feel safe.

☆ She begs for you now — not just sexually, but spiritually.

☆ She wants a third baby, but only if you do. “I could spend my life memorizing your changes.”

☆ You say yes. Not because you’re perfect. But because you feel loved.

☆ When you make love after the decision, she touches you like she’s already thanking you for the future.

☆ And this time, when she says “You’re everything” — you believe her.

[moongoopy]

im so lazy dude ugh and so horny all the time its concerning and it wastes my time especially when i have to do something ┐⁠(⁠ ⁠˘⁠_⁠˘⁠)⁠┌

also i just love being late and write so late into the night and it hurts my brain whenever it gets cold and dizzy (writing at night is so comfy tho)

[sosa2imagines]

Are you mine?

Warnings- Angst, Steve and Bucky are idiots.

Being in love with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes felt like living in a dream.

A dream so perfect, so utterly untouchable, that even the ghosts of the past couldn’t tarnish it. The three of you had fought wars together, bled together, and survived against impossible odds. You trusted them with your life and, more importantly, with your heart.

Steve, ever the protector, held your hand through the nightmares, his voice a quiet promise in the dark. Bucky, all sharp wit and unspoken devotion, pressed kisses into your hair when he thought you weren’t paying attention. They made you feel safe, like nothing in the world could shake the foundation of what you had.

You belonged to them, and they belonged to you.

The compound had always been your sanctuary, a place where the weight of being an assassin and an Avenger didn’t feel so heavy.

Missions were brutal, but coming home to them made it worth it. Your mornings were tangled limbs and soft murmurs, their warmth pulling you from restless sleep. Your nights were laughter and whispered confessions, hands intertwined beneath the sheets.

Everything was fine, until she arrived.

A trainee named Cassidy.

Sent to the compound for a few days of “intense training” with the Avengers. Young, eager at least, that’s what Fury had said. But from the moment she walked through the doors, it was clear training was the last thing on her mind.

You caught the way her eyes lingered on Steve's broad shoulders, the way she smiled just a little too sweetly when Bucky grunted in response to something she said. You noticed the way she conveniently positioned herself between them whenever she could, the way her touch lingered just a second too long.

It was nothing. Just admiration, maybe even hero worship. You told yourself that, again and again. Steve and Bucky were yours. They loved you.

And yet… doubt had a way of creeping in, even where trust once lived.

For the first time in a long time, you felt something unfamiliar in your own home.

Unease.

You weren’t the jealous type, you had no reason to be, not when Steve and Bucky had given you every reassurance, every reason to trust them. And you did trust them. You trusted them blindly.

But can you trust the world?

Trust didn’t stop the ache in your chest when you saw Cassidy wedged between them on the couch, laughing at something Bucky said. It didn’t stop the sting when Steve placed a comforting hand on her back, so absentmindedly, so effortlessly, like it was second nature.

Like it was something he used to do for you.

You stood frozen in the doorway, fingers tightening around the edge of your jacket. That was your spot. That had always been your spot. Between them. Their arms around you. Their warmth surrounding you.

Now?

Now Cassidy sat there, twirling a lock of her hair, giggling, her body angled towards them like she belonged. And Steve and Bucky?

They didn’t even notice you standing there.

“You’re imagining things, Y/n.” Natasha leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping her coffee as she watched you pick at your food. She didn’t say it dismissively, but there was caution in her voice. Careful, Y/n. Don’t spiral.

“I’m not...” Your voice was hollow. You pushed your plate away and exhaled shakily. “She’s always there, Nat. Always with them. Always touching them...” You swallowed hard, shame burning in your throat. “I feel like… like I don’t exist anymore.”

Natasha sighed, setting her cup down. “Come on. You know Steve and Bucky. They’d never…”

“I know they wouldn’t.” Your fingers curled into fists. “But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

Natasha studied you, eyes softer now. “Talk to them, then.”

You nodded. You would. Of course, you would.

But deep down, you were terrified they wouldn’t see it, because they never seemed to see you anymore, ever since Cassidy came.

At first, it was small things.

A conversation cut short because Cassidy had a question. A training session where she suddenly needed Bucky to correct her stance, his hands on her wrists, her waist. A mission debrief where she sat beside Steve, too close, her voice too soft.

Then the canceled plans started.

“I’m sorry, Doll, but we promised we’d show Cassidy the training simulations today.”

“I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart. I swear.”

“We’ll take you out tomorrow, okay?”

Tomorrow never came.

And suddenly, your nights felt emptier. You’d wake up reaching for them, only to find cold sheets where they should have been. You weren’t sure what hurt more.

The loneliness or the fact that they didn’t even realize you were lonely.

They were still yours, weren’t they?

Then why did it feel like you were losing them?

It had been days, days since you had a proper conversation with either of them. Days since they held you like they used to. The only time you got them was at night, in bed.

And yet, there she was again, always there, standing too close to Steve as he poured coffee in the kitchen. Bucky leaned against the counter, smirking at something she said, arms crossed over his chest.

“God, Steve, I still don’t know how you carry that shield around all day.” Cassidy reached out, brushing her fingers over his bicep. “Guess it helps that you’re, like, all muscle.”

Steve laughed, shaking his head. “Occupational hazard, I guess.”

“What about you, Bucky?” She turned to him, eyes bright. “I mean, that metal arm has to be heavy, right? Can I?”

“Nah, sweetheart, it’s lighter than it looks.” Bucky smirked, flexing his vibranium fingers.

Sweetheart.

Your stomach dropped, that was your name. He called you that. Not her.

Your blood ran cold as Cassidy laughed, playfully nudging Bucky’s arm. Steve smiled, amused. Not once did they notice you standing there. Not once did they feel the air shift, the way your entire world was starting to crumble.

That night, you laid in bed alone. Again.

Because, Steve and Bucky had been in the common room with Cassidy, and you couldn’t take it anymore. So you had left.

You curled into yourself, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the sob from escaping.

They were just being nice. Right?

They didn’t see what you saw. Didn’t feel what you felt. Didn’t see how much it was killing you. Right?

And you were too afraid to ask the question burning inside you, “What if they don’t miss me like I miss them?”

You didn’t know how long you had been sitting all alone in the common room.

The compound was quiet, save for the faint hum of the ventilation system. You sat curled up on the couch in the dark, staring at nothing, arms wrapped around yourself as if that could hold you together. The weight in your chest felt heavier than usual, pressing down, suffocating.

You had spent the entire day alone. Again.

They hadn’t noticed. Again.

The cushion beside you dipped, and you didn’t need to look to know who it was. Natasha.

“You’re doing that thing again…” she murmured.

You blinked. “What thing?”

“Shutting down.”

You inhaled sharply, dropping your gaze to your lap.

Natasha sighed, shifting to face you. “Sweets, talk to me.”

Natasha always called you that name, and her reason was you were the only sweet person in her life.

You shook your head. “There’s nothing to say.”

“Bullshit.” She reached out, squeezing your knee. “I see you, you know. The way you’re fading. The way you barely eat. The way you don’t sleep until you’re too exhausted to fight it anymore.”

You swallowed hard, fingers gripping the fabric of your pants.

“They love you, Sweets.” Natasha’s voice was gentle but firm. “This… whatever this is, it’s temporary. They’ll see what’s happening.”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “No, they won’t…” Your throat burned as you whispered, “They don’t see me anymore, Nat.”

Silence.

Natasha shifted closer, resting her forearm on the back of the couch. “We survived worse, you and me. Remember?”

You knew where she was leading the conversation, but you didn’t care.

“I wish I could remember.” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Natasha frowned. “Remember what?”

You exhaled shakily, gaze unfocused. “How they trained us. How they made us feel nothing.”

Natasha tensed. “Don’t do that,” she warned. “Don’t go there.”

You lifted your head to meet her eyes. “Why not? It would be easier.” Your voice cracked. “I wouldn’t have to feel like this. Wouldn’t have to wake up reaching for them only to remember I don’t exist to them anymore.”

Natasha’s grip tightened on your knee. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” Your smile was hollow. “They canceled our date today, Nat. Again. I was supposed to spend the evening with them. Instead, I spent it watching Cassidy laugh at Bucky’s jokes and touch Steve’s arm and…” You sucked in a shaky breath, voice barely above a whisper. “And they let her.”

Natasha’s expression darkened, but she said nothing.

You turned your gaze back to the floor. “I just… I don’t want to feel this anymore.”

She was quiet for a long time before she whispered, “You’re not in the Red Room anymore, Sweets. You have them. You have me.”

You nodded. But the ache in your chest remained, because deep down, you weren’t sure if you still had them at all.

The bed felt massive. You lay curled up on one side, facing away from the door, the covers pulled tightly around you. The scent of Steve and Bucky still lingered on the sheets, but it brought no comfort.

Then the mattress dipped.

First on one side, then the other. Warm bodies slid in beside you, their familiar presence surrounding you.

“Doll?” Steve’s voice was soft, hesitant.

Bucky shifted behind you, his arm resting loosely around your waist. “We’re sorry about earlier, sweetheart.”

Your throat burned.

“We’ll make it up to you,” Steve added quickly. “We’ve got a whole day planned for you tomorrow. Just the three of us. No interruptions, promise.”

Tomorrow.

You closed your eyes.

They had said that last time.

And the time before that.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, willing yourself to stay silent.

Bucky pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Come on, talk to us, Doll. We know you’re mad.”

Mad.

Was that what they thought this was? Your lips parted, but no words came out. Because what was the point? Tomorrow would come, and it would be the same.

Cassidy would be there.

Steve and Bucky wouldn’t notice.

And you? You would be alone again. A tear slipped down your cheek, but you kept your eyes closed. If you stayed quiet, maybe they wouldn’t hear how badly you were breaking.

Morning passed in a blur.

You moved through training sessions on autopilot, barely speaking, barely feeling. Natasha watched you carefully, her sharp gaze catching every falter, every moment you hesitated before leaving the gym. You knew she wanted to say something, but you weren’t sure if you had it in you to listen.

So you just kept going.

Kept pretending.

Kept waiting for Steve and Bucky to remember.

And then they did. Or so you thought.

“Doll, come on! Movie night’s all set up!”

Bucky’s voice rang through the hall as you made your way toward the common room, a flicker of hope stirring in your chest.

They remembered. They finally remembered.

For the first time in days, your heart didn’t feel so heavy. You ran your fingers through your hair, exhaling softly as you reached the doorway, ready to sink into the warmth of your boys.

And then you saw her.

Cassidy.

Sitting between them.

Again.

Your body locked up, breath catching in your throat. She was curled up comfortably, her legs tucked beneath her as she laughed at something Bucky whispered in her ear. Steve sat relaxed beside her, arm draped over the back of the couch, so damn close, so damn easy, like she belonged there.

Like she belonged with them.

You forced yourself to speak, though your voice barely carried. “What is she doing here?”

Steve turned, smiling at you. That easy, oblivious smile that used to make your heart race.

Now?

It made you feel sick.

“She didn’t know it was just meant to be us,” he said lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “And we didn’t wanna be rude, so…”

You didn’t hear the rest, your ears were ringing.

They didn’t want to be rude to her. You stared at them. At her. And then you swallowed down every emotion clawing its way up your throat. “Enjoy the movie.”

That was all you said before turning on your heel and walking away.

They didn’t call after you.

Didn’t chase you.

Didn’t even notice the way your hands were trembling as you pushed open the door.

The tears came before you even reached the elevator, but you didn’t stop walking, didn’t wipe them away, didn’t care if anyone saw.

Not that they would. No one ever did.

You should have gone to your room. You should have buried yourself under the covers and let the ache consume you in silence.

But the walls were closing in too fast.

So instead, you climbed, up the emergency stairwell, up to the roof, where the air was sharp and cold, where the wind bit at your damp cheeks, where no one could see you break.

Your hands gripped the ledge as you sucked in deep, desperate breaths.

They had remembered and it still hadn’t mattered.

A hollow laugh escaped your lips, bitter and broken. You should have known, you should have known it would end up like this.

You closed your eyes, head tilting back as the city lights blurred beneath the weight of your tears.

You had never felt more alone.

By the time you came down from the roof, your tears had dried, but the weight in your chest remained, suffocating and unrelenting.

You stepped into the hallway, head down, steps quick, just wanting to reach your room, just wanting to breathe without feeling like you were drowning.

But the moment you turned the corner, you froze.

Steve.

Bucky.

And her.

They were standing there, talking, laughing.

Cassidy’s hand was on Bucky’s arm, her body tilted toward him in that way she always did, like she was drawn to him. Steve stood beside them, relaxed, like the world wasn’t crumbling around you.

Like they hadn’t just broken your heart a little more.

Their laughter died down when they saw you.

You knew they noticed your red, swollen eyes. Knew they saw the way your shoulders tensed, the way your fists clenched at your sides.

But they didn’t say anything.

Didn’t ask if you were okay.

Didn’t ask where the hell you had gone.

No, Steve just frowned slightly, like he was trying to piece something together. Like you were some puzzle he couldn’t quite solve.

You didn’t give him the chance, you walked past them without a word, without a glance.

Without acknowledging them at all.

And still, still they didn’t stop you.

The compound doors slammed shut behind you as you ran, your feet pounded against the pavement, muscles burning, lungs heaving, but you didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow down, didn’t care where you were going, as long as it was away.

Away from the suffocating silence, away from them, away from her.

You pushed yourself harder, faster, as if you could outrun the pain clawing at your chest, the unbearable ache of being unseen by the two people who were supposed to know you best.

They had always seen you, hadn’t they? Then why did it feel like you were fading? Why did it feel like you were already gone?

You were so lost in your own head, so consumed by the roaring in your ears, that you didn’t hear the footsteps behind you until a firm hand grabbed your arm, yanking you to a stop.

“Enough.”

Natasha.

You blinked at her, breathing hard, vision blurring. But she didn’t let go. Didn’t loosen her grip. She just stared at you, her green eyes filled with something sharp, something dangerous.

Something like determination.

“I let this go on for too long,” she muttered. “That’s on me.”

You swallowed hard, chest still rising and falling in ragged breaths. “Nat…”

“No.” Her voice was steel. “You’re not doing this. You’re not running until your body gives out just because they’re too damn blind to see what’s happening.”

Your throat tightened. “I don’t know what to do...”

She sighed, her hand loosening slightly but not letting go. “Then let me do something.”

Your breath hitched, but you believed in her.

Natasha had always been your anchor, your constant. You had survived hell together. She knew you better than anyone, sometimes even better than Steve and Bucky.

So when she said those words, when she looked at you like that, like she was done watching you suffer, something inside you cracked.

You swallowed hard, voice barely a whisper, “Okay.”

You hadn’t spoken much since that night, since the roof. Since Natasha found you and promised to do something.

You weren’t sure what you had expected, but you hadn’t expected him.

You sat on the rooftop again, legs pulled to your chest, arms wrapped around your knees. The city stretched out before you, endless and glowing, but all you saw was the emptiness.

The way you had been fading, the way they had let you, the way it still hurt.

You exhaled shakily, trying to push it all down, trying to keep yourself from breaking again.

“Bub.”

Your breath caught, your heart stopped, that voice.

Rough. Low. Familiar.

A voice that belonged to only one person.

You turned slowly, the cold air biting at your tear-streaked face and there he was.

Logan.

Your brother.

Standing there, broad and tense, his sharp eyes scanning you with a fury you hadn’t seen in a long time, his jaw clenched.

SNIKT.

The sound of his claws unsheathing was sharp, deadly, cutting through the silence like a blade to the heart.

His eyes darkened, fists trembling, rage radiating from his very being.

“Who?”

It was just one word, just one syllable, but it carried the weight of a storm. You swallowed hard, dropping your gaze.

Logan stepped closer, his boots heavy against the rooftop, his presence overwhelming.

“Who did this to you, Bub?” His voice was lower now, dangerous. “Tell me. I’ll gut ‘em.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Logan...”

“Look at me.”

You did and the moment his eyes met yours, whatever restraint he had left snapped.

“Those sons of bitches!” he snarled, pacing now, breathing ragged. His claws flexed, his shoulders heaved, pure, unfiltered rage pouring from him. “You’re telling me those two idiots, our idiots did this? Made you feel like this?”

You couldn’t answer.

Didn’t have to, because your silence was enough.

Logan let out a rough, guttural growl, his fists clenching so tightly that his knuckles went white despite the metal already tearing through his skin.

“I’ll kill ‘em.”

“No, you won’t.” Natasha’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and unwavering.

You turned just in time to see her step onto the rooftop, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

“Why the hell not?” Logan snapped. “They hurt her.”

“I know,” Natasha said evenly. “That’s why she’s leaving.”

Your breath hitched, “What?”

Natasha walked toward you, gaze softening as she reached out and brushed her knuckles against your cheek. “Pack a bag, Sweets. You’re going with Logan.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Logan’s brows furrowed. “Wait, you’re actually letting me take her?”

“She needs to get away from here,” Natasha murmured, eyes never leaving yours. “From them.”

You stared at her, then at Logan, your throat tightening so painfully you thought it might close entirely.

“Tasha…”

“No arguments,” she said softly but firmly. “You’re not okay. And I won’t stand here and watch you disappear.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek.

You felt Logan’s heavy hand settle on your shoulder, grounding you, steadying you.

“C’mon, Bub,” he murmured, voice softer now, almost pleading. “Let’s go.”

You hesitated, not because you didn’t want to leave.

But because leaving meant giving up. Leaving meant accepting that they had chosen her, that they had chosen everyone but you.

But maybe... maybe they had already made that choice a long time ago.

You inhaled sharply and nodded.

And this time, you didn’t look back.

Part 2

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[bloomiize]

perv/gooner!jake is gross and he's gotten even worse

part one two three

perv!jake finally asks for your instagram when you're paired up for a project. It’s not like he doesn’t already know it by heart. Not like he hasn’t jerked off to every single one of your posts. Not like he wasn’t drooling over that innocent little selfie you posted last night. He just wants you to know he exists now. And you happily exchange Instagrams with him like it’s nothing.

perv!jake tells his roommate everything. He asks for advice on how to get closer to you, more specifically, how he could get his dick wet.

"She sounds hot. If you ever wanna recreate that hentai scene, let me know." Jake and his roommate have always joked around about sex, but this time it felt real. Too real. His dick is already begging to be touched at the thought of fucking you, he doesn't mind if he isn't the only one.

perv!jake made an effort to get to know you. Your favourite colour, the way you like your coffee, the songs you hum when you're zoning out. He also knows how you always tug your skirt down when you think it’s ridden up too high, not high enough in his opinion. How you're so naive to just bend over without thinking, right in front of him. He knows you prefer lacy panties over thongs, soft and girly, the kind he imagines peeling off you with his teeth. He’s memorized you. Every inch. Every habit. Every sound you make.

perv!jake likes how close you two are now. You always invite him over to study, to work on the project like good classmates. And yeah, maybe he’s looked through your drawers when you’re in the kitchen. Maybe he’s taken a not-so-innocent glance at your laundry basket, eyes locked on the crumpled pair of panties sitting right on top.

He’s thought about it.

Pocketing a bra, a pair of panties, hell—even a sock. Just something. Anything that smells like you. Feels like you. Something he can wrap around his fist while he jerks off to the thought of your soft little voice saying his name.

It’s disgusting. He knows that. Still doesn’t stop him.

perv!jake can never make it halfway through the door without his dick twitching. Can you really blame him, though? You’re always wearing a tiny tank top, no bra, and he can see everything. Your shorts, if you can even call them that, barely cover your ass, riding up with every step you take. Jake nearly cums in his pants right then and there.

perv!jake helps you solve a complicated problem, and you light up like he’s the smartest boy in the world. As a sign of your appreciation, you hug him, tight, soft, your tits pressing right up against his chest like it's nothing.

And he moans.

Quiet. Slips out before he can even think. You don’t seem to notice. You just keep smiling, thanking him like you can't feel something hard pressed against you. His dick’s already leaking, he can feel it.

He clears his throat, cheeks red. “I- uh, I’m not really feeling the best. I think I’m gonna head out early.”

You pout, sweet and worried, and offer to get him some water, maybe let him lie down, hoping he'll stay a bit longer. But he’s already opening the door.

Because he needs to get home. Now. He’s seconds from cumming in his pants, and he knows once he’s alone he’s gonna jerk it to the feeling of your tits against him—again and again until he’s lightheaded and shaking.

gooner!jake cant stop thinking about you, or more specifically, your tits. Its hard not to when they're so perfect. Soft, warm, and pushed against him when you hugged. He swears you did it on purpose, not that he minds. He can't stop fucking the panties he took from your apartment a few days ago when you had him over, surely you didn't notice they went missing. They're dirty and sticky from his fluids but he can't stop, he wont stop. Jake's not proud of it but this is the closest he's getting to fucking your perfect pussy.

gooner!jake got a call from you in the middle of edging himself for the third time tonight.

"Hey! Did you make it home okay? You left in a hurry and you said you weren't feeling well..." Your voice rings through his head. He's gripping his dick tighter now, still moving his hand up and down. He can't just cum immediently to the sound of your voice, that would be so embarrassing. He has to last longer for you.

"Y-yeah I made it home fine. T-thanks" Jake's holding back moans. It's disgusting how even when he's on the phone he won't stop. He cock is throbbing in agony, he's been edging himself non stop and he so desperately wants to cum, to feel you, to fill you up.

"You don't sound sound okay Jakey, you should've just stayed. I would've taken care of you." You say it so innocently that Jake loses it. He lets out a groan and thrusts his hips violently into his hand. Jake knows your panties are ruined by him but it doesn't stop him from shoving it into his mouth, pretending he's tasting your sweet cunt against his dirty tongue

How could you just say that so casually? Calling him Jakey? Saying you would've taken care of him?

You have no idea what you do to him.

"f-f-fuck y/n. I want you so fucking b-bad." It slips out of Jake's mouth before he realizes it.

"Walking around with those t-tiny shorts. I should've just be-bent you over." His brain is practically gone at this point, all he cares about is cumming. His eyes are rolling to the back of his head while his hand moves furiously. He's moaning loudly enough that you could hear him through the phone. He doesn't care anymore; he wants to be gross for you, if you'd let him.

"I'm go-gonna cum, fu-fuck!" His hips sputtered into his fist and thick, hot ropes of cum sprayed all over his phone. He's oversentive from edging himself nonstop, brain completely empty and dick still hard.

gooner!jake realizes that you were still on the phone, you didn't hang up. Before he can apologize, your small voice comes out,

a whimper.

Are you... are you touching yourself to him right now?

from bloomiize: tysm for reading the first part!! I honestly wasn’t expecting anyone to ask for a part 2, let alone enjoy my writing 😭 I was super nervous posting >< but your support means everything!! lmk if you wanna be added to the taglist for part 3 !!

taglist (OMG I HAVE A TAGLIST?!?! if you commented on part 1 I tagged you, lmk if you wanna be removed! ^^)

@femmefqtqle @seobinghard @maysshade @dark-moon-light02 @jjongsies @nikismyprincesses @iaaespa @heeseungsbm @shy9-29

[yoiisa]

It is possible to write with Blue Lock Bys (Yukimiya, Reo, Rin, Michael, Shidou and Isagi) with a s/o who has high libido. Please😫😈

of course darling hehe (⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝)

all characters aged up (20+)! Tags: pwp ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ), dirty talk, unprotected sex, p in v, begging, thigh humping (yukimiya), lingerie kink (reo), fingering (rin), oral sex f! receiving (kaiser), car sex, slight degredation (shidou), and body worship (isagi), please proceed with caution as this is smutty!!

➜ yukimiya kenyu would be such a tease with you, but like, in a knowing way ➜ like he'd pretend to jump at the opportunity to sate your appetite, but actions speak louder than words, and he would tease you by continuously putting sex off until you're actually dying for it ➜ he wants you begging for it, because then he can finally take care of you fully, caring for your every need with intense diligence ➜ he's very particular about enjoying every little detail about you, so by teasing you and drawing out your need so much, he thinks it helps him experience everything more intensely ➜ and it most certainly ensures you feel everything more intensely

"Kenyu, please~" you whine as you sit on his lap. "Please..." "What is it baby? he coos softly. It's sarcastic, you know, but still the rumble of his voice is something, and you're so desperate right now you'll take something over nothing any day of the week. Your hips begin to rub against his thighs in an unconscious effort for friction. Your eyes close as you rest your head on his shoulder. A small sigh of relief escapes your lips as Yukimiya allows the ministrations, and a tiny smile pulls at your mouth. At least there's this. Something over nothing, remember that- "Baby, I told you, at the end of this chapter, I'll-" Yukimiya's hand moves to you ass, gripping it tightly, trying to still your hips. "Kenyu, you said that three chapters ago!" your voice is high pitched and almost manic as a particularly sharp sensation of pleasure echoes through your body. You fist his shirt and nuzzle into the crook of his neck. "Mmmmm- please Ken, I . . . I can't take this anymore~" With a sigh, he closes his book. He sets it off to the side and wraps his arms around you, pulling you tighter against him. You begin kissing at his neck and jaw, your tongue darting out to taste his skin. You feel like you're floating, everything about Yukimiya furthering how deep you spiral into a sweet needy mess for him. "Okay, come on," he says sweetly, kissing your temple. "I'll give you exactly what you need my sweet baby." You can only preen at the idea that you're finally getting what you want as he lifts you bridal style from the couch and kicks the bedroom door closed behind you two with his heel.

➜ oh reo mikage my king ➜ i think reo's favorite hobby when it comes to people he cares about is spoiling them rotten, so if you have a high drive, he's all for it, 100% ➜ if you come calling, he'll drop everything for you. ➜ also, bonus! in my mind, this man has a thing for lingerie, so you better fucking believe that this man has an entire section of your closet just dedicated to different sets. ➜ maroon, black, lavender, navy blue, gold, in silk, satin, lace, and whatever else your mind can conjure up. If you can think it, he has probably bought it and fucked you in it ➜ after all, he has the time and the resources, and he's nothing if not generous, so why not make the most of it?

Reo ran his hand over his face, then threading his fingers through his hair. The hour was wearing on him, he could feel the ache settling into his bones. He stands and walks to a chaise in his study, pouring a drink for himself and sipping it. However, he barely gets two sips down his throat before the glass is being forced away from his lips. His eyes widen and he looks down to see you, with your fingers gently pushing at the rim of his glass. You're dressed in a lavender silk robe, the fabric hanging loosely over a peak of lace hugging your skin. His pupils enlarge as he takes in the teasing glimpse and you laugh softly at his expression. "I . . . thought you might be stressed," you say, taking the glass from him and setting it on a table next to the chaise. "I wanted to come help." He's silent for a moment, before a smirk tugging at his lips. A soft blush paints his cheeks and he cups your face lovingly in his hands. "Is that the only reason?" You pout and wrap your arms around his neck, giggling softly. "Hmmm . . . no~" And that's how you end up on the chaise, your legs bent over his shoulder. Your panties are pulled to the side, and your bra is still on, but your robe has been tossed somewhere far behind the two of you. Reo hovers above you, dragging moans and cries of pleasure from your mouth with each deep thrust into you. He's intoxicating, and you can't seem to get enough of him. And as you stare deep into his eyes, you know he feels the same. As you reach your peak for the third time that night, your eyes flutter closed, your back arches, and he welcomes it with a sharp inhale of his own and a kiss pressed against the hollow of your throat.

➜ i feel like rin itoshi's drive isn't the highest thing in the world ➜ like, he enjoys sex and he with you he really enjoys it, but it's never been his priority in the relationship ➜ also I feel like between soccer practices and other responsibilities he gets tired pretty easily ➜ that being said, he does still want to help you out whenever you get needy, so when he's too spent to use his cock, he resorts to his next best thing ➜ or in my opinion, my fav thing about him: his fingers

"Rin!" you gasp, clinging to his body like a madman. His fingers delve deftly inside of you, curling at all the right angles, and sending sparks of pure bliss throughout your lower body. When your hips give a particularly harsh buck, he tsks and grabs your ass with his free hand. "Stop moving so much," he growls. The deep cadence of his voice sends another thrill of pleasure in you and you nuzzle your head deep into neck. "Sorry, 't just feels so good," you mewl. "I love it so much . . . ah~!" A smirk appears on Rin's face, but just as quickly as it comes it vanishes. He licks his lips as he stares down at your disheveled appearance. Your hair is disheveled, and your bare from the waist down. You're not wearing a bra, so he can see the outlines of your chest as it heaves beneath your shirt, which hangs loosely over your frame. When you pull back from his neck, the look in your eyes almost makes him finish right then and there. They glisten with tears of pleasure, and are lidded. He can see the pleasure you're feeling etched into every line of your iris, and love is mixed within that. He feels a tight pull in his chest and he can't help himself from leaning down and catching your lips in his. His tongue immediately delves into your mouth, exploring your mouth. You moan softly into his mouth and he sighs. His fingers don't let up at all, continuing to tease and prod and touch every crevice it can reach. You start to writhe in his arms, but he holds fast, keeping you still. You have no choice but to succumb to his assault on your core. Rin kisses you as you finish on his hand, groaning as you go all sweet and pliant in his hands. When he pulls back, you slump against him like a rag doll and he huffs out a hoarse laugh. As you regain your bearings, he lifts his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean.

➜ michael kaiser operates entirely on his own schedule, so to be honest, if he's not in the mood, you're kinda screwed ➜ but if he is in the mood, YOU are in for it ➜ all his want and desire make your neediness seem like nothing ➜ also, kaiser's got some good ass stamina, so if you set him off, you better pray your drive doesn't fizzle out because this man is getting his fill of you ➜ whether it's on his tongue or on his dick

You squeal as your boyfriend practically chucks you onto the bed. You look over your shoulder and your heart stops beating after you catch a glimpse of the sheer delight on his face. His smile is cocky and powerful and is so goddam sexy. You match his smile and flip onto your back, pushing yourself up on your forearms as Kaiser practically crawls on top of you. Kisses on your mouth turn to kisses on your neck, which turns into kisses along your chest, then your stomach, and before you know it, he's shirtless, you're naked, and his kissing the inside of your thighs. Your hands thread through his hair and he stares up at you, his blue eyes lidded and wanton. His tongue is gentle at first, testing the waters of your arousal, but soon he's lapping at you like a madman. His tongue works wonders on your core, leaving you fully satisfied but still achy for more at the same time. You know it doesn't make any sense, but the "Please" and the "More" still drip from your mouth even as he's delivering everything you've been craving since morning. And he is well aware of the effect he's having on you. You can feel his mouth twist into a smirk against you and it only drives you crazier. Your hands tug at his hair and he hisses, sending sweet vibrations through your core. Your whimpers and moans continue to build in pitch and volume, before finally, you're exploding on his tongue with a sharp call of his name. When Kaiser pulls back, he takes in your mussed appearance with a heat in his eyes and a smirk on his lips. His lips and chin glisten with your fluids. He licks his lips as he settles his hips in between your thighs and gives a sharp grind. "Don't give out on me just yet liebe," he coos. "I'm not done with you yet."

➜ shidou ryusei matches your freak the best on this whole list I think ➜ he will be down for whatever and whenever you want, but also . . . wherever you want ➜ shidou lives for the thrill of life, and chases the high of something new and exciting, so if you're high sex drive comes with promises of that, sign him the fuck up!

"Ryu!" you cry out as he yanks on your hair. The two of you have climbed into the backseat of the car. You're pressed up against the leather of the seats, with his chest flush against yours. You squeal and a slutty smile etches itself onto your face as he licks your neck. "Ryu~ ah . . . oh my god- slow down-ah." "Slow down, huh?" Shidou growls, his lips pulling into a smug smile. "Why~? You were just begging for it a few minutes ago." "I-I know, but- holy shit, you- ah!" You didn't even know it was possible for someone to fuck like this, but here he was. One hand perched on the roof of the car, the other holding the dip of your waist. His face moves from your neck to between the shoulder blades, and he litters kisses there, and sucks bruises down your spine. He travels back up to your shoulder and nips at the skin there, his hips never faltering once in their rhythm. "God I love this little body of yours so much," Shidou whispers hotly against the curve of your ear. "Every single time I see you, fuck, you don't even know how hard you make me." "Mmmmmm," your head tilts back, resting on his shoulder. "I think I do," you whine. "Yeah, can you feel it babygirl? It's all hard and deep inside of you isn't it?" he laughs, the sound sharp and hoarse in your ear. To anyone else, it might be grating, but all it's serving to do right is bridge you closer and closer to the edge. "Fuck! Ryuseiii, I'm gonna- uh! Wait- I, I-!" your eyes go cross and your body shakes with violent tremors. You bite down on your lip to try and keep quiet, but Shidou presses his hand to your lips, prying them open. "Come on now, lemme hear those sweet, sweet- fucking I'm gonna come too. Oh, fuck, fuck, yes. Fuck!" The two of you lean into one another, sweat slicking your bodies as you reach your peak together.

➜ my babygirl isagi yoichi is the easiest to get seduced by you ➜ i had this idea for a fic a long time ago where he comes home and your really needy and it was this whole ovulation type thing, but basically the point boils down to, if you want it isagi will give it ➜ in my mind, he's the most flexible to appeal to whatever type of sex you want, whether it be hard and rough or soft and loving ➜ as we all know he's super adaptable and that carries over during sex, so yay to anyone who's dating him!

Sunlight filters in through the window, the early morning glow giving everything a soft halo to it, including you. You and Isagi are laying on your sides, your chest pressed against his and your leg tossed across his hips. One of your arms are wrapped around his neck and the other trapped between your bodies, your hand intwined with his. A soft blush paints your cheeks and his, and you stare into Isagi's deep blue eyes through your lashes. His strokes are deep and send soft whimpers flowing from your lips. Each whisper of his name only sends Isagi down a path for more, more, more. "Pretty," you whisper, "you look so pretty like this Yoichi, mmm!" He huffs out a dry laugh and shakes his head. Compared to how you look right now- flushed cheeks, dilated eyes, plump lips ready for kissing- he can't imagine how he could even compare to your beauty. You clench down around him and he groans. "You feel so good," he sighs, closing his eyes. His hand squeezes yours and he leans in to nuzzle his nose against yours. "Even this early in the morning . . . how do you always feel so good?" You giggle softly, the sound dissolving into a moan. "Mmmm . . . Yoichi, I love you . . . I love you so much- mmph!" He cuts you off with a firm kiss. He can feel himself getting closer and closer to the end and an embarrassing threatens to escape his lips. For the sake of his dignity, this is the best move. His tongue brushes against yours, and your quick to return his kiss with just as much fervor. He finishes before you, but that's okay. As he says while your panting from the kiss, "It's still early. We have enough time for two- maybe three rounds. Are you okay to keep going?" All you can do is nod, and he continues earnestly, flipping you onto your back and ensuring this time you finish.

a/n: this was a beast to write, especially Shidou. Although I appreciate his freak, I fear I cannot match it as well as I would like lol, so I had to really brainstorm with his to make sure they all didn't just sound the same (˶˃⤙˂˶)

[writesvani]

dear me | 07

lawyer! jeonjungkook x privatechef! reader

SUMMARY: Once upon a time, Jungkook and you were everything. Best friends who shared every moment, every secret—except one: you were in love with him. But life changed. High school ended, real life began, and slowly, you drifted apart, the distance between you growing too wide to cross.

The end. Except it isn't.

One day, after a long day at work, you open your email to find a message from 13 years ago—written by your younger self. A letter you’d forgotten, sent by a service you paid to remind you of your youth, your love for him. As the emails keep on coming and you keep reading, the flood of memories hits you, and you realize something heartbreaking: you never stopped loving him.

But now, it’s too late. Jungkook is about to marry someone else. Or is he?

estranged childhood best friends-to-friends-to-lovers?

TRIGGER WARNINGS: passive aggression, sibling conflict, jealousy, unresolved romantic tension, emotional cheating implications, verbal conflict, guilt, crying, emotional vulnerability, judgmental behavior, family tension, awkward confrontations, protective sibling behavior, uncomfortable family dynamics, past relationship trauma

comment here for Dear Me taglist;

SERIES M. LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter

wc: 6,5k // date: 18th of April

CHAPTER SEVEN — The Family Games: May the Pettiest Win; happy reading my gummies...

AN: hi there babies! so here she is, my baby. my fav dear me chapter so far. i reread it like 10 times because it was genuinely so funny to me. this had me giggling, kicking my feet, and also slightly fearing for everyone’s safety. anyways, the note goal for this one is 400 notes, because y'all reached 350 too soon and i cannot upload every 4 days i swear. i'm one mental breakdown and three espressos away from vanishing into thin air.

so yeah. reblog, like, comment and i'm dropping chap 8. pressure me. threaten me nicely. send digital hugs and chaotic energy.

also, we're meeting y/n's family! what do you think about them? who would you let adopt you and who would you block IRL? who’s your favorite dear me character so far? please do say, i'm nosy and need validation like a cat needs to knock things off a table.

“You told Y/n about us moving back?”

Jungkook’s voice cuts through the quiet hum of the TV. He takes a slow sip of his coffee, eyes trained on Nina. His tone is calm—too calm. The kind of calm that isn’t real. The kind that stretches thin and tightens just before it snaps.

He leans back, resting his elbows on the table, cocking his head slightly, like he's studying her.

Nina doesn’t flinch. She matches his energy with practiced ease, raising her green smoothie to her lips.

“Yeah,” she replies simply, “like days ago.”

She doesn’t look at him when she says it. Her gaze stays locked on the TV screen where a dramatic monologue from Grey’s Anatomy echoes faintly through the room. But she isn’t really watching. Just pretending.

Jungkook blinks once. Twice. “Why, though? I told you I didn’t tell her yet.”

“It must’ve slipped out, Kook,” Nina says with a small shrug, brushing imaginary lint off her pajama pants. “Don’t overthink everything.”

But her fingers grip the glass a little tighter. And he notices.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, stepping closer to her with a softness that feels practiced—familiar.

His hand finds her shoulder, thumb brushing over the cotton of her shirt, before he dips down and presses a kiss to the side of her forehead.

“I just wanted to be the one to break the news,” he groans, dragging the words out like a kid sulking over spilled cereal.

Nina snorts, giving him a playful side-eye. “Don’t be a lil whiny baby.”

Still, her lips twitch into a smile. She doesn’t fight it. Can’t.

Jungkook grins at her reaction, pleased, and nuzzles into her neck. His warmth folds over her like a heavy blanket, grounding her in the comfort of routine.

Meredith Grey’s voice fills the room, talking about life and death and love and choices, and it blends into the background of the morning like white noise.

They don’t talk about you again.

They just sit. Side by side. Pretending it’s all simple. Pretending the little cracks in the routine don’t matter.

And after that—coffee drained, smoothies gone, hearts still humming—they leave for work. Like always.

As soon as Jungkook steps out of the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him, the breath he’d been holding finally escapes his lungs in one long, drawn-out sigh. It’s almost embarrassing how heavy it feels. Like it’s been sitting in his chest for days instead of minutes. He doesn’t even really know why he was holding it in. Maybe because he didn’t want to start a fight. Maybe because he didn’t want Nina to feel bad, or maybe—just maybe—because he’s tired of pretending things don’t sting when they do.

Because the truth is, he’s pissed. No use sugarcoating it. Nina shouldn’t have told you. It wasn’t hers to say. Not like that. Not through a random DM while he was asleep and she was wide awake, scrolling Instagram and replying to selfies. The conversation wasn’t supposed to happen that way. Not with emojis and half-truths and polite replies. It was supposed to come from him. A real talk. The kind you deserved. The kind he’d been avoiding.

But despite all that, he can’t bring himself to be truly mad at Nina. Not fully. Not when she didn’t mean any harm by it. Not when, in her own way, she was just trying to share something important with someone who used to matter to her, too. Because you did. You still do. To both of them. That’s the part that messes with him the most. She had every right to say something�� and he had every chance to do it before her. But he didn’t. And now he’s left cleaning up a mess he made for himself.

By the time he slides into the driver’s seat, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel, his thoughts are a tangled mess. The sun is too bright, his head is too loud, and everything feels just slightly off. His phone connects to the Bluetooth system automatically, the screen flickering to life. Your name is right there. Sitting in his favorites. Familiar. Comforting. Complicated.

Without giving himself a second to hesitate, to back out, to make another excuse—he taps your name. He calls you.

“Heyyy,” you drawl out, voice muffled slightly like the phone’s wedged between your ear and shoulder. In the background, something clatters—probably a pan, possibly your soul. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” Jungkook says, a little smile tugging at his lips even though he’s stuck in traffic and deeply aware he hasn’t had enough coffee yet. “You at work?”

“No, I’m cooking a five-star meal for Gordon Ramsay in the middle of a battlefield. Yes, I’m at work. What about you?”

“Driving. Headed in now.”

“Dang, don’t die before that hearing you’ve got today,” you say, tone deadpan. “It’d be real awkward if my criminal defense attorney suddenly got yeeted off the highway and left me to rot in jail. Like, how selfish. I’d literally kill you myself again if you were my lawyer.”

He snorts. “Wow. I die and your first concern is you?”

“My concern is your client. Or possibly me if I ever need your services. You’re not special. It’s called survival of the fittest. I’m not made for prison, Jungkook. Do I look like I can win a fight over toilet paper?”

“That’s a horrifying image.”

“Exactly. Stay alive. For both our sakes.”

“You’re terrifying,” he mutters, grinning.

“And yet, you called me.”

“Well, I’m starting to regret that right now,” he smirks into the phone, shifting gears with a lazy hand.

“Oh no. No no no,” you gasp dramatically, like a soap opera star. “You just broke my heart.”

“Did I?” he teases, clearly enjoying himself.

“Yeah,” you say, voice tight with fake emotion. “Like—I’m literally seasoning the duck I’m making with tears. This is heartbreak cuisine. Ms. Kim’s about to eat sorrow on a plate.”

Jungkook laughs. “Tell her it’s my fault. Maybe she’ll take pity on you and finally give you Fridays off.”

“Unlikely. She feeds off human misery. Yours especially.”

“Good. I’m glad someone appreciates me.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’d love to appreciate you if she got to meet you,” you sing-song into the phone, already picturing the way Ms. Kim would size Jungkook up like a five-star meal.

Jungkook makes a noise of confusion. “Isn’t she like... fifty years old? If I remember correctly.”

“Yeah, so?” you laugh, setting down a pan. “The woman likes chicken. Likes ‘em a little younger. Possibly taken. She says she’s kinky like that.”

He groans, dramatic as ever. “How do you know all of this?”

“She’s fifty, lonely, and loves to overshare while I’m chopping carrots. I’m basically her therapist.”

“Damn. Does she have a husband? Or kids?”

“She’s divorced,” you sigh, opening the fridge with your elbow. “But I think she really loved her husband.”

“What happened?”

“He cheated. With a 25-year-old model.”

Jungkook goes silent for a beat. “What the fuck?”

“I know, right? Rich people are weirdos. They collect luxury pens and ruin marriages for fun,” you say, voice light. “She has two kids though. A son and a daughter. But they live in different states.”

“Bet they don’t even call.”

“They do call,” you say, “they visit too. It’s just that she needs someone to share her sex fantasies with 24/7, and unfortunately, that someone is me.”

“You don’t sound like you’re complaining too much.”

“Let’s not mention this ever again,” you mumble, your voice softening, “but I do kinda… have a soft spot for her. She practically raised me since I was nineteen. I’ve been working for her for years already.”

Jungkook swallows hard, one hand tightening around the wheel. He’s quiet for a second.

Because yeah—he might have watched you grow from a little kid into a teenager, seen your life unfold in chapters. But Ms. Kim? She watched you step into your adulthood. Into yourself. She saw the version of you he never fully got to meet.

And it stings, just a little.

He’s kind of jealous of her—for being there, for seeing it. For getting that privilege. But it’s the good kind of jealousy, the kind that makes his chest warm and heavy all at once.

“You really love that woman, huh?” Jungkook teases, his voice all light and teasing.

“Ugh, don’t put it like that,” you groan, even as a laugh slips out of you. But Jungkook is already full-on cackling on the other end.

Yeah, okay—you do kinda love her. Scratch that, you absolutely love her. Almost like a second mom. But that doesn’t mean he needs to say it out loud like that. Makes your cheeks burn. You’re not the kind of person to throw the L word around so easily. At least not about your boss.

“So,” you say, shifting the conversation before your heart has the chance to betray you, “When are you guys coming back exactly?”

“We’re packing right now,” he says, a bit of excitement in his voice. “We’ll officially be back in three weeks.”

“Dang, can’t believe you didn’t tell me earlier,” you say, lighthearted. You're joking—he knows that. But there’s a thread woven into your tone, something quiet and just a little heavy. And Jungkook feels it. Hears it. But he doesn’t dare tug on it.

“Yeah, well, like I said last time, I was just waiting for everything to settle. For plans to work out just like I wanted. Sorry you had to hear it from Nina,” he mumbles, a bit sheepish now.

“Don’t apologize, Kook,” you rush to say, too quickly. “I’m glad I know about it. Doesn’t matter who told me.”

But it does. And you both know it.

“I feel so bad now,” Jungkook groans, dragging the words out like he wants you to pity him.

You snort. “Well, as you should, bestie. Clearly Nina loves me more than you do. She tells me everything.”

“Oh, we’re keeping score now?” he asks, dramatic disbelief in his voice. “Didn’t know I was in a polyamorous triangle where I’m losing to my own girlfriend for the affection of my best friend.”

“Fiancée,” you correct, too quickly.

“Huh?”

“You said girlfriend,” you hum, a little too amused. “She’s your fiancée, remember? Ring on the finger, lifetime commitment, all that jazz.”

“Right, right—fuck,” he mutters, and there’s a pause. “Still new to this engaged life.”

You don’t say anything, but the silence is heavy. Almost mocking. Like you’re both pretending that stumble didn’t feel like more than a slip. Like it didn’t hit some nerve you’ve been keeping buried since the day Nina showed you that engagement video.

“Damn dude, don’t sound that excited,” you tease, mocking his tone, “you’re gonna make me wish I could find a guy and get married just to outdo your enthusiasm.”

“Ugh, I am excited,” he groans, but it’s more of a sigh than anything else. “It’s just… different. One moment you’re dating someone and the next, you’re planning a whole future life together. Like—boom. Mortgages. Guest lists. Forever.”

There’s a beat before your voice comes in, softer now, cautious. “Kook…” You say his name like it’s sacred. “Are you second-guessing your decision?”

“No! No, I’m not,” he rushes to say, a little too quickly. “It’s not that. It’s just… I feel like we all grew up too fast. Like one day we were joking about skipping class and now we’re—” he pauses, like the words are caught in his throat, “—we’re here. All serious and shit.”

You take a deep breath. “Yeah, well… we couldn’t stay kids forever.”

“I know.” His voice is quiet now, almost a whisper. “I wish we could, though.”

“Don’t dwell on it too much,” you say in your best therapist voice. “Everyone’s bound to grow up. Look at all of us.”

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asks, suspicious.

“I mean… we’re, like, accidentally functioning adults with actual jobs. You’re a big-shot lawyer who probably says ‘objection’ in your sleep, Nina is out there cutting people open for a living like it’s casual, Yoongi publishes books and complains like it’s a full-time personality trait, and I—” you dramatically pause, “make meals for a rich lady in a midlife crisis who pays me like I’m coding the fucking Matrix.”

“Mhm. We’re definitely thriving,” Jungkook says, deadpan.

“And you and Nina? You’ve basically unlocked the ‘I have my life together’ achievement. Career, love, future wedding registry at IKEA or whatever. Meanwhile, I have a graveyard of failed situationships and dudes who think foreplay is vaguely tapping my knee.”

Jungkook wheezes. “Not the ghost of horny idiots past.”

“Oh yeah. I’ve become a certified sex coach by force. Call me Sensei of the G-spot. Or even a teacher of love."

“Jesus—why does that sound like the title of a cursed, low-budget porn?”

“Because it is, and I starred in it emotionally. And let me tell you—this one guy, Taehyung? If bad decisions were Olympic sports, I’d be bringing home the gold. But he could’ve made solid amateur content. 4K, no cap.”

“I’m actually begging you to stop,” Jungkook laughs. “My brain is trying to leave my body.”

“Too late. The images are already in there. Let them haunt you.”

“So that guy,” Jungkook adds, voice laced with something just slightly too casual, “Taehyung… Were you serious with him or what? Is he the one Nina mentioned?”

“God, no,” you snort. “Taehyung and I were strictly ‘I’m bored, let’s ruin our lives a little’ energy. We still hook up occasionally,” you add with a giggle, the clinking of dishes behind you making it sound even more nonchalant. “The guy Nina meant was Chris. I mean is Chris—man’s still breathing, unfortunately.”

Jungkook hums, trying not to sound too intrigued. “What happened with you and, uh, Chris?”

“Our relationship turned into an instruction manual—confusing, repetitive, and missing emotional screws,” you deadpan. “I mean, I love routines. I love brushing my teeth at the same time every day, watching trash TV on Tuesdays, organizing my spice rack alphabetically. But a routine in a romantic relationship? Bleh.”

He chuckles. “So, what, you just mutually… dipped?”

“We fell out of love. I’ve said it before, but yeah. It was like watching a candle slowly die but you’re too lazy to blow it out. But we’re mature adults now,” you add mockingly, “We wave when we see each other. Very civilized. Very grown-up. Sometimes I even pretend I don’t want to shove him into traffic.”

“Ah, true love’s final form.”

“And Taehyung?” Jungkook asks, trying not to sound too curious.

“UGH,” you groan dramatically, “it feels so weird talking to you about my sex life.”

And yeah, Jungkook feels it too. It is kind of weird. You guys only recently started talking again—like really talking—and now you’re casually breaking into the “so here’s who’s making me see stars” category of conversation. It’s awkward. But like… the good kind. The kind that cracks the ice instead of making you want to drown under it.

“But anyway,” you go on with a sigh, “he’s the only guy I can safely say knows how to do me good. Like, freak level: matched. Energy: dangerous. Results: mind-blowing.”

Jungkook coughs, nearly choking on air.

“Relax,” you laugh, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “I see him sometimes. Mostly during the weekends. Like, Friday nights are for insane sex, Saturday mornings are for pancakes. We keep it simple.”

“Wow,” Jungkook mutters, eyebrows raised as he stares at the road. “I didn’t know you scheduled your hookups like dentist appointments.”

“Kook, I’m organized,” you shoot back. “Just because I’m getting railed doesn’t mean I don’t believe in time management.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “I forgot how unfiltered you are.”

“Oh please,” you snort. “I was always like this. You just forgot because you became all lawyery and respectable or whatever. Mr. Courtroom with a fiancée and matching mugs.”

“Excuse you,” he gasps. “Those mugs were a gift. And I am still plenty fun. I’m fun as hell.”

“You’re fun like… brunch with your mom fun.”

“Wow,” he says, mock-offended. “That’s low. Take it back.”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, “you’re more like tequila number three and bad decisions’ kind of fun. Happy?”

“Much better,” he says. “Though, I’m still stuck on the fact that you’ve got a certified weekend dick schedule. Like—is there a Google Calendar involved?”

You hum thoughtfully. “No, but there is a color-coded notes app. Taehyung’s under red. Red means danger.”

“Red means dick apparently.”

You snort, almost dropping the phone. “Do you want me to start naming the colors or should I save you from a stroke?”

“Oh my god, please don’t. I already know too much. Red is Taehyung, green is probably some yoga instructor who reads your aura while hitting it from the back—”

“Just because I’m getting railed by Taehyung doesn’t mean I can’t have some visual stimulation somewhere else,” you say casually, and Jungkook nearly chokes on his own breath.

“I—wait, what?”

You laugh, the sound way too smug. “Lucas, the guy from yoga? I’m not hooking up with him. I just like to watch. Like, respectfully. From downward dog.”

Jungkook groans. “Oh my god, you’re that person.”

“What person?”

“The ‘I go to yoga to spiritually connect with my body but also stare at the hot guy doing warrior pose’ person.”

You hum, unapologetic. “Exactly. He plays the flute after class. Sometimes shirtless. Who am I to disrespect the art?”

“I hate that I can literally see this man in my head. Like, did he step out of a fantasy novel? Does he braid herbs into his man bun?”

“He does, actually. Lavender. Once jasmine.”

Jungkook wheezes. “I swear to god, you’re collecting red flags like it’s a Pokémon game.”

“Oh, Lucas isn’t a red flag. He’s like… a green flag dipped in glitter. He doesn’t talk much. Probably doesn’t even know I exist.”

“Right, so you go to yoga, spiritually align your chakras, and ogle a flute-playing fairy man while pretending you’re invisible?”

You grin. “In short: yes.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

There’s a soft lull after that. Not awkward, just full of something unsaid. Something sitting between the jokes and the teasing.

So you change the subject before it gets too real.

“Anyway. Back to your love life, fiancé man. Tell me, do you and Nina also bond over herbal teas and chakra alignment?”

“Only if tequila counts as herbal tea.”

“Oh, you’re still fun. I take it back.”

“Sooo, is it spicy?” you ask, far too invested for your own good. You should be subtle. Keep it cool. Mysterious. Before you accidentally make it weird. But hey—he started it.

“We make love,” Jungkook says, all serious.

“Okay… and?” you press, already raising an eyebrow.

“What do you mean, and?”

“You make love—and what else? C’mon, give me something. A little spice. A sprinkle of freak.”

“Not all sex needs dirty details,” he says, half-defensive. “Sometimes it’s just… needing each other. Worshiping each other.”

You pause, blink. “Okay, cool cool. So you choke her and spank her at the same time.”

Jungkook chokes on air. “You said that, not me.”

“Damn,” you grin. “Didn’t know Mr. Worship-The-Queen had it in him.”

“Stop.”

“You stop. You’re the one who brought up the emotional part, I’m just trying to balance the chakras.”

He groans. “I should’ve just said missionary and moved on.”

“Missionary with eye contact?”

“Goodbye.”

“You didn’t deny it though!” you shout through laughter. “Jungkook, do you whisper poetry during sex? Tell me you at least moan her name like a dramatic movie scene.”

“Literally why are you like this?” he laughs, and yet… he doesn’t hang up.

“Sooo, missionary with eye contact, huh?” you tease, words laced with just the right amount of smug. You can’t help it. You do tease. And thank god this is a phone call, because if Jungkook could see your face right now? Disaster. You’re not cool. Your cheeks are heating up, your mind just shoved a not-so-holy image of him doing… that—and yeah, you’re definitely spiraling.

Your brain: please do not go there.

Your hormones: too late.

“Ugh, you’re at it again…” he groans, but there’s no heat behind it. “But yeah, I like eye contact. I like the intimacy during sex. Is it so bad a man prefers sex with feelings instead of cold, empty thrusting?” You can practically hear the eye roll.

“Hey, no shame in that,” you say, clearing your throat way too loudly. “Who doesn’t like a little romance with their raunch?”

“Do you?” he asks suddenly.

Weird question. Like… really weird. Why are you even having this conversation? He’s in traffic, you’re at work. And yet… here you are. Having this talk, of all things.

“I mean, yeah,” you reply, trying to sound casual, as if your entire nervous system isn’t short-circuiting. “If I have feelings for the person, absolutely. If I don’t… I enjoy a little emotionless, hardcore chaos on the side.”

“As you already mentioned,” he says, dry as hell.

You snort. “Listen, I’m just being honest. Emotional sex is great. But sometimes you just want to get absolutely wrecked by someone you’ll never text again.”

“…Are you okay?”

“Emotionally? No. Physically? Always.”

“I hate how much that makes sense.”

“You love it. Admit it.”

He sighs. “You’re lucky I’m not swerving into traffic right now.”

“Kook?” you say, your voice a little softer now.

“Yeah?” he replies, equally soft.

“I think Ms. Kim’s back. I hear her keys jingling like she’s trying to unlock a safe full of state secrets.”

He chuckles. “You gotta go play personal chef slash therapist slash accidental sex confidante?”

You groan. “Unfortunately, yes. The woman probably has a fresh batch of trauma and a craving for duck.”

“Well, bon appétit to both of you.”

You snort. “You’re insane.”

“Okay teacher of love, we’ll talk later?”

“Of course. Try not to crash the car thinking about missionary with eye contact.”

“Please—my therapist says I need fewer intrusive thoughts, not more.”

“Then stop calling me while you drive, dumbass.”

“Touché.”

You hang up smiling like an idiot.

The next three weeks pass in the blink of an eye.

Jungkook and Nina are officially back in Cape May, and to celebrate both love and their return to the city, the Jeons decide to host a get-together dinner. A cozy, intimate thing. Just the people who matter.

They’ve both transferred their jobs too—same careers, different zip codes. It’s a homecoming in more ways than one.

The guest list is lined up with the closest circle: the Jeons, naturally (minus Mr. Jeon, who was thankfully disowned when Jungkook’s parents divorced—no one’s mad about that), Yoongi and Nina’s parents, and your family. That includes your mom, dad, two sisters, and your brother—yes, the whole crew.

When you step through the doors of the Jeon residence, you’re instantly hit with warmth—figuratively and literally. The first people you see are Jungkook’s mom and his brother.

Jungkook’s mom wastes no time. She engulfs you in a hug that could probably fix global warming, ruffles your hair like you’re still ten, and says, “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, I swear to God.” You laugh, cheeks burning, and mutter something that sounds like a thank you but could also be interpreted as a dying bird sound.

Off to the side, you spot your younger brother dapping up Jungkook’s brother like they haven’t missed a beat. It makes you smile—generational friendships like that don’t come easy.

Then comes Yoongi and Nina’s mom, and she practically bolts toward you like you’re a soldier coming home from war. She’s all over you—kisses, pinches, emotional declarations.

You side-eye the rest of the room for help, but everyone’s too busy exchanging hellos and catching up. The whole vibe is wholesome. Loud. Slightly crazy. The good kind.

“Mom, don’t strangle her,” Yoongi mutters, visibly embarrassed.

“I love her too much to kill her,” she replies dramatically, clutching her chest like a telenovela star.

“Let her say hello to the rest of us!” Yoongi calls out from behind his mom, looking mildly horrified as she squeezes you like a favorite plushie. You’re halfway convinced you heard your spine pop.

“Fine,” she huffs, releasing you with the flair of a comedy character. “But only because I need a drink. Loving people is exhausting.”

You stumble your way into Yoongi’s arms, and he kisses your cheek with a long-suffering sigh. “Thank God you’re here,” he murmurs, eyes darting around like he’s being hunted. “The moms already asked me when I’m getting married. Twice.”

“Great,” you deadpan. “So I’m next in line for interrogation.”

“Yup. You’re my human shield now. I owe you big time.”

Then Nina swoops in with her usual sunshine energy. “Oh my god, look at you matching with your siblings. Did you plan that? That’s so aesthetic of you!”

“No, no—it was totally an accident—”

“Mm, sure,” she sings, clearly enjoying this. “It’s giving family portrait realness. I approve.”

And then he’s there.

Jungkook.

Jeon Freaking Jungkook in a crisp button-down and that soft smirk that’s always two seconds away from a joke or a disaster.

He leans in and kisses your cheek. No hug. No extra second. Just a quick “hello” kiss, like you didn’t once teach him how to do laundry without shrinking his sweaters.

“Wow,” you say, smiling. “So formal.”

“I’m a changed man,” he replies smoothly. “One kiss per childhood friend. No refunds.”

You raise a brow. “Guess I’ll bill you for emotional damage later.”

“Add it to my tab.”

It’s funny. It's casual. It's the kind of greeting that says we've known each other forever—but also maybe we don’t know each other like we used to.

And all around you, chaos reigns—Nina’s dad is already halfway into a wine rant about sulfites, your little brother is plotting world domination with Jungkook’s brother over the grill, and Yoongi’s mom is trying to sneak you another hug like a ninja in heels.

It’s loud. It’s family.

And it feels like home.

You’re deep in conversation with Yoongi and your little sisters, Vicky and Leah, when Nina and Jungkook approach. Nina’s sipping something fizzy, her smile looking real enough—until you notice how tightly she’s gripping the glass. Jungkook looks like he’s walking into a landmine.

“Look at the happy couple,” Vicky chirps, her voice sugary sweet and fake as hell. Her smile could kill a man.

“Hey, little ones,” Jungkook greets, aiming a warm smile at both your sisters.

Leah beams. “Hi, Jungkook!”

Vicky just raises a brow and crosses her arms. “So,” she starts, eyes never leaving his, “you and my sister are suddenly friends again, huh?”

Jungkook stiffens. “Yeah. We’re… reconnecting.”

“Girl, why?” Vicky asks, snapping her gaze to you. “Did we forget how fast he dropped you like a bad habit when he got boo’d up?”

“Vicky,” Leah whispers, panicked.

“What? I’m being real. That’s more than most people here can say.” Vicky waves her hand vaguely in Nina’s direction. “Yoongi agrees with me.”

Yoongi backs away like she just lit a match. “I’m Switzerland.”

Nina finally chimes in, trying for calm. “With all due respect, I wasn’t the reason they stopped talking—”

“With all due respect,” Vicky cuts her off, mimicking her voice in an exaggerated, high-pitched tone, “I don’t remember asking for a single syllable of your input.”

You close your eyes. Jungkook coughs awkwardly.

“Look,” Nina says, surprisingly still composed, “I get that you’re protective. I really do. But you weren’t there. You don’t know what happened.”

Vicky scoffs. “You’re right—I wasn’t there. But you know what I was? A witness to my sister crying over a dude who forgot how phones work. And then you, magically glued to his side the whole time, never once told her anything.”

“It wasn’t my place—”

“Oh please,” Vicky rolls her eyes. “You think being someone’s girlfriend, soon to be wife—whatever gives you immunity? News flash, Nina: girlfriends don’t erase friendships. People do that themselves.”

Now Nina’s smile is gone.

“You don’t know everything, Vicky.”

“And yet I know enough to know that the math ain’t mathing. If it smells like betrayal and walks like betrayal—guess what?”

“Vicky,” you mutter.

“What? I’m the drama? At least I’m honest drama.”

Yoongi claps slowly. “God, I missed this.”

“Shut up, Yoongi,” you and Vicky say in unison.

“Wow,” Jungkook mumbles under his breath, “this reunion is going great.”

“This reunion was going great until you and Miss Perfect decided to crash the vibe,” Vicky hisses, eyes locked on Jungkook.

“Why do you hate me so fucking much?” Jungkook shoots back. “Y/n and I already talked. We’re good.”

“I don’t care about your little heart-to-heart,” Vicky snaps. “You know what? Let’s ask Yoongi. Because despite what he says, he is not Switzerland.”

All eyes turn to Yoongi.

He exhales like someone just asked him to defuse a bomb. “Look… I honestly think both of you were at fault for the fallout. And maybe… maybe it should’ve stayed like that.”

Nina blinks. “Wait, are you not going to defend me?”

“I’m not picking sides,” Yoongi says, calm but blunt. “And, yeah, Jungkook and Y/n did drift when you two got together.”

“Exactly!” Vicky nearly cheers, but Yoongi holds up a hand.

“But,” he adds firmly, “that happens. People naturally spend more time with their partners when they’re in a relationship. That doesn’t make anyone evil.”

“Yeah, but it’s still partly Nina’s fault,” Vicky presses.

“No, it isn’t,” Yoongi’s jaw tenses as he steps forward slightly, eyes sharp now. “You don’t get to throw blame at my sister and expect me to nod along. She didn’t pull some villain move. The distance? It was on both of them.” He points, first at Jungkook, then at you.

There’s silence.

Thick, awkward silence.

And right then, your parents approach the group, laughing about something they heard in the kitchen, oblivious to the nuclear vibes in the room.

Everyone quickly plasters on fake smiles.

But the tension hangs heavy, clinging to the air like smoke.

And the way Vicky glares at Jungkook and Nina as they walk off doesn’t go unnoticed. Not by you. Not by Yoongi.

And definitely not by Jungkook.

Leah tries not to meddle in drama. She really does.

She’s always the one who sees the best in people—stays quiet during arguments, lets the storm pass while she remains the calm in the center of it all.

But when she walks into Jungkook’s brother’s room, just looking for her jacket, and finds Nina hunched over on the edge of the bed, silent tears streaking her face—something in Leah cracks.

“Hey,” she says softly, freezes mid-step.

Nina straightens, quickly wiping her face with the sleeve of her sweater. “Hey,” she lets out with a shaky laugh. “Caught me in my Oscars audition.”

Leah walks closer, slow and deliberate, as if afraid to startle her. She sits down beside Nina gently, their knees barely touching.

“Are you okay?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Nina shrugs. “Do you hate me?” Her voice is small. Fragile. Almost childlike.

“What? No,” Leah says quickly, hand already rubbing soothing circles across Nina’s back. “Of course not.”

Nina gives a bitter smile, still looking at the floor. “Vicky thinks I’m some kind of devil sent to destroy lifelong friendships… and I just—I don’t get it. You girls used to like me. When you were kids, I was like the cool older friend. What changed?”

Leah doesn’t answer right away. She threads their fingers together and gives Nina’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“Vicky is just… Vicky,” she finally says. “She’s always been too protective. She doesn’t know how to admit when we mess up. It’s easier for her to blame someone else, especially someone outside the family.”

Nina stays quiet.

Leah exhales, continuing softly, “But trust me—none of us actually blame you. Not really. Not even Vicky. She acts like it, yeah, but deep down? She knows the truth. She knows what happened between you and Jungkook and Y/n… it’s just life. Sometimes things fall apart. No villains. Just… timing and feelings and miscommunication.”

Nina nods, her eyes brimming again.

“You inspired me, you know?” Leah says. “I chose medicine because of you. You made me want to be smart like you.”

Nina lets out a wet chuckle, blinking fast. “I’m sorry I made things weird,” she murmurs.

“You didn’t,” Leah says simply. “You just fell in love with him.”

Meanwhile, in the living room, Vicky is livid.

You're sitting between your mom and Jungkook, laughing at something he just said—some stupid inside joke from middle school, probably—and she’s watching the scene like it’s a horror movie she can’t look away from.

She swears your eyes are sparkling.

She’s had enough.

With the speed and precision of someone on a mission, Vicky swoops in, plopping down on the couch beside you like a warning shot.

“Stop laughing at his jokes,” she hisses into your ear, her tone low but sharp. “You look like you’re giving him heart eyes.”

You blink, caught completely off guard. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you hiss back, cheeks flushing.

“Me? Nothing. You? You damn well know.” Her voice is still a whisper, but the intensity behind it is blaring.

You gulp.

She’s talking about that night. Years ago.

The one where you were a little too drunk and a little too sad, and in a moment of weakness, you let it slip—how in love you used to be with Jungkook. How part of you never really got over it.

And now Vicky, with her elephant memory and protective little sister instincts, is here to make sure history doesn’t repeat itself—or worse, that you don’t humiliate yourself again.

You open your mouth, ready to retort, to tell her to back off, that you’re fine, that it’s been years—but your mom’s voice shakes the room.

“Vicky! Let’s go and help Mrs. Jeon in the kitchen!”

Vicky rises like a soldier summoned by duty, but not before turning back to you and sending a look—a very loud don’t-do-anything-stupid look.

Then both of them are gone, and you’re left sitting there with Jungkook again.

Alone.

And unfortunately for your sanity, he’s still grinning at you like he never broke your heart.

“I never really got the chance to apologize for Vicky’s little… performance earlier,” you say, scratching the back of your head, eyes flickering anywhere but him. “I’m really sorry, Kook. I’ll talk to Nina too. She didn’t deserve that.”

Jungkook shakes his head, a small, tired smile on his lips. “There’s no need to apologize. I get it—Vicky’s got her version of the story. And I know how she is.” He lets out a breath through his nose. “I just wish she didn’t hate me so much. She used to really look up to me.”

You nod slowly, the corner of your mouth pulling into a bittersweet smile. “Yeah… she really did. You were her role model back then. You were everyone’s favorite.”

He chuckles softly at that, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I think,” you continue gently, “when we stopped being close, it wasn’t just me who lost you. She lost you too. And for her, that felt like betrayal—like abandonment.” You glance up at him. “She doesn’t know how to grieve things quietly. So she gets loud instead.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I never thought about it like that.”

“Well… you were her hero,” you say with a small laugh. “Still might be. Deep, deep down under the layers of rage and sarcasm.”

That earns you a real smile from him—soft, sad, but real.

“You really think so?”

“I know so,” you say, meeting his gaze. “She doesn’t waste that much energy hating someone unless she loved them first.”

“Hmmm, I’ll keep that in mind,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Who knows, maybe she’ll stop hating me one day.”

“Whew, hold up, soldier,” you smirk, elbow nudging his arm gently. “Let’s not get too ambitious. Baby steps.”

He lets out a real laugh, low and familiar. It rolls out of him so easily, it makes something settle in your chest. The tension thins. The air between you shifts back into something softer. Normal. Familiar.

“So…” he leans into the couch cushions a bit more, his arm brushing yours for a second too long. “Are you excited I’m back?”

You glance at him, a smile playing on your lips. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “I am.”

He smiles at that. Like he was hoping you’d say it. He’s thinking about something—hesitating—his eyes flickering to your face and then away like he’s trying to piece something together in his head.

“Do you wanna, I don’t know… do something tomorrow? Just the two of us. Like before?”

You raise a brow. “What, like sneak into The House and get drunk listening to The Smiths in your mom’s basement again?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no. But I was thinking more Smiths and The House—less drinking. I start work the day after tomorrow, and I really don’t want to show up hungover.”

You bite back a smile, pretending to mull it over. “Okay, sure. Fine. Whatever you want, Mr. Responsible Adult.”

“Awesome.” His grin is soft. A little crooked.

Your eyes meet. And for a second, it’s calm. Not uncomfortable, not awkward. Just calm.

And in that quiet, something passes between you. Unspoken. Personal. A flicker of an old bond that never really went away.

The moment is soft, humming with something you can’t quite name. Like standing at the edge of a sentence that hasn't been spoken yet. Jungkook looks at you like he wants to say something—like he’s about to reach across the space between you, bridge the gap, touch you, hug you.

And then—

Plop.

Mrs. Min drops herself between the two of you on the couch like it’s musical chairs and she won. She lets out a delighted little laugh, already turning to you with a conspiratorial glint in her eye.

“So, sweetheart, when are you going to give my son a real chance?”

You blink. “What?”

She winks. “C’mon, you know what I’m saying.”

Your brows knit, confusion crawling all over your face as she leans in closer.

“You knowww,” she whispers, dramatically, as if you're filming a soap opera together, “Yoongi. You two would make the most adorable couple. Honestly? Way better than Jungkook and Nina—don’t tell Nina I said that.”

You burst into awkward laughter, trying to mask the what is even happening expression you’re wearing. “We’re just friends, Mrs. Min.”

She waves a hand like she’s brushing away nonsense. “Friends get married aaaaaall the time. It’s your time now. I'm telling you, the wedding would be so stylish.”

You scramble to change the subject—anything to steer away from the you + Yoongi fantasy Mrs. Min is clearly crafting like a Pinterest board in her head.

But as you turn slightly, eyes catching on Jungkook, something shifts.

His smile is gone.

Jaw set.

Fingers curled tightly around the glass in his hand, knuckles almost white. He’s looking at you, but the expression on his face—it’s not the same as before. It's guarded. Searching. Like there’s something behind his eyes that he doesn’t want you to see.

Like he knows something you don’t.

A truth he’s holding onto, too tightly.

And the look he gives you—it swallows you whole.

taglist: @lovingkoalaface @santiiagopopegarcia @jadaocon1 @asyr97 @gukieater @themwordsblog @whatevevrerr @amarawayne @tititania @guwol @reallygenerouskoala @bgfdcvbnjk @kyljjk @whoa-jo @taekritimin123 @minimoninini @upo1313 @polnaraffsrack @tatzzz-25 @orphicepiphany @coletaehyung @bjoriis @epiphany-n @kimyishin @eegyo @dearmyfavoritepeople-bts @parkinglot-nights @mar-lo-pap @evrsncenewyork @jjeonjjk7 @minghaosimp @cerulean1riz @anumita-2007 @vantelover1306 @vynmin @nadzzzblog @jnghs @lachimolalajeon @joonwater @choijay-07 @notsevenwithyou @mononoaware16 @sky-23s-world @auroresce @sadgirlroo @arcadiaem

[bugboi01]

Not again

yandere batfam x trans masc reader

Inspired by @nikovraskol crack baby! (You should totally go read that too)

Summary: After being killed in a robbery gone wrong, you wake up in your younger self's body.

You shot awake, grasping at your chest as the echoes of pain tingled under your skin like electric shocks. You looked around in confusion. Weren't you just at the store? Scratch that. When was the last time your room was pink? Flashes of memories flitted across your scattered mind. You... you were at the store. You remember there being a robbery and a gun being involved. Was it the robber or the cashier who pulled the gun? Did you pass out or something?

You slid out of bed, head pounding as you stumble your way through getting dressed. Everything felt off. A book missing from your desk, clothes you thought you donated sitting neatly in your dresser, and the absence of any personality decorating your walls. You didn't put it together until you saw yourself in the cracked full-length mirror attached to your door. Correction: You saw yourself from two years ago in the mirror.

"What the fuck." There were no other words to describe the situation you had found yourself in. The fragmented memories suddenly make more sense, disjointed parts of a puzzle coming together. You died. Or rather, you were going to die? A soft sigh escaped your lips as you stared at your reflection, disphoria rising in the back of your throat like bile. You had forgotten what you looked like with long hair. Everything about your appearance only made the cacophony of emotions settling inside you at your revelation grow ever stronger and more violent.

A choked sob fell from your mouth despite your best attempts to keep quiet. You suddenly couldn't stand to see yourself, eyes zeroing in on the pair of scissors on your desk. You didn't register that you had picked up the scissors until the first lock of hair drifted to the ground with a deafening snip. Every cut made the weight in your shoulders just a bit lighter until you didn't have any hair below your ears. You looked... better. The style was choppy and haphazard, but it made you feel a bit better about your appearance.

You looked down at the mess of hair, leaving your room to grab a broom to clean it. While you walked, you thought about what to do next. This was a second chance, you supposed. A chance to live your life in a way you had been too scared to before. You were seventeen at the moment, eighteen in a little less than half a year. That was still quite a bit away for your plans. Lost in thought as you were, you failed to notice the person in front of you until you collided into a large body.

"Watch where you're..." A familiar voice snapped before trailing off. Looking up, you spotted Jason's bright blue-green eyes studying you intensely.

"Sorry," you replied flatly, feeling far too drained to care all that much.

"What happened to your hair?"

"Cut it."

"I can see that, princess. Why'd you give yourself a haircut?"

"Don't call me princess."

Jason seemed taken aback by the harshness in your voice. He frowned, eyes studying you with more intensity than before. It felt like thousands of ants crawling along your skin, burrowing inside until they reached your heart and began chewing away at the organ. You turned your head away, unable to stand the feeling any longer.

"Do you know where the broom is?" You asked, trying to change the conversation.

"What?"

"The broom. Actually never mind. I'll just ask Alfred." With those parting words, you brushed past Jason despite him calling out to you. You had better things to deal with than fighting with your brother. You thought back to the first time you met Jason. He was a scrawny little thing the same size as you despite being two years older. That didn't last long once he got a proper three meals of Alfred's cooking per day. He was a sweet kid who didn't mind hanging out with you. He seemed in need of you just as much as you needed him. It made you wonder what happened after he died and came back. He was distant with you but tried to hold his temper when you were around. Well, now you had something in common besides having the Batman for a father. Perhaps that would make the sweet boy who used to look at you with all the love he could hold in his small, fragile body come back.

You didn't bump into anyone else on your way to find the broom, thank the stars. It took longer than you would have liked, though. Seriously, how many closets does one house need? Surely, there weren't that many servants around at a time before Alfred. Satisfied, you make the trek back to your room. Maybe you should ask about moving rooms to one closer to the first floor? Well, that was a conversation for another day. You shut the closet door, only to come face to face with Alfred. Ah, hell.

"Oh, um..." You trailed off, unsure how to talk to the older man. Sure, he was kind enough when you first arrived, but it had been years since you last remembered truly interacting with him besides the occasional small talk or him handing you your lunch for the day. His eyes studied your new hair and baggy shirt carefully before he rested a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"Shall I inform the others of this development, young Master?" Alfred asked, plucking the broom from your fingers despite your protests. "And it would please me greatly if you allowed me to touch up your hair."

You could only nod in response to the butler's question and barely concealed demand. Was this why everyone else liked Alfred so much? His ability to know what to say and do to make your longing for affection and acceptance ease away? You found yourself being led to a bathroom where Alfred had you sit on a chair while he made your impromptu haircut less sloppy and more deliberate looking. You looked in the mirror while he worked. You liked what you saw.

[kandlewick]

everyone awoke to malleus defeated. except for you meant to be read as platonic malleyuu but can be read as romantic.

Malleus could hardly breathe. every inhale felt like it was too small, like the air surrounding him was too thin. His lungs were empty, barren, and dry. And then he would exhale. a shaky breath. It rattled his bones and burned in his chest. As if nothing but flames raged in his insides. Before him laid a friend, a betrayed comrade, someone who put too much trust in the wrong people. You. You were asleep there, in a bed of thorns and roses, nestled deep and safe. Each petal cradled your cheek like a picture frame and you were a work of art. It all felt so clinical, so far away that Malleus could hardly tear his eyes away from your sleeping form. while constricted by vines to your familiar bed in ramshackle, no thorns pierced your skin. you knew no pain lying there. only dreams. It hardly felt real.

Malleus had made a mistake. He knew he had as soon as the blot began pouring from behind his tongue. but he couldn't stop it. the delirium. it poured out of him like a cracked glass of sand. In those fleeting moments, nothing had mattered more to him. The blot retched every single negative emotion out of his soul, bearing it for the world to bear witness to. And he was ashamed.

but you and the others had succeeded against him, saving all of your classmates and himself from the curse of eternal slumber. One by one, they all began awakening. Eyelids fluttering in the new morning sun. He awoke to the sound of laughter and cheers while he laid there on the broken floor, alone and empty and so so cold. Quietly, Malleus raised his head to thank? Curse? The Ramshackle prefect that laid beside him.

only, you remained there. asleep. too far gone and too far deep for anyone to reach out to. it was like your soul and body were separated, torn asunder. the only sign of life was your chest moving up and down from the breath that filled your lungs. At the moment, Malleus thought perhaps you were simply exhausted, with the heavy bags under your eyes and the pale complexion dusting your cheeks. Like the others, he thought that you only needed more rest. But days passed and there were still no signs of life behind those closed eyes. The teachers talked amongst themselves, unwilling or perhaps unable to offer any sort of explanation. There were talks about asking for assistance from other bodies but they were quick to be shot down. It seemed like nobody knew what to do with you. Or… your body. 

Nobody took it well.

Malleus in particular had ceased his studies, locking himself away in your room in Ramshackle. Ace and Deuce would appear on occasion, Grim in tow, but the three were quick to make themselves scarce once Malleus made it clear he was not leaving your bedside. He sat there for hours, uncaring of the passing of time as night became morning and dawn became dusk. What were mere days to a nigh immortal fae. If this was his curse, to watch the one human who befriended him and suffered for it waste away from his own folly, then so be it. Every morning, like clockwork, he sat there. Unflinching. Unmoving. Like a gargoyle. His eyes were empty and red, long dried from tears but he couldn’t drag himself away from you - he refused to even think of calling you a corpse. 

This day was like any other. He sat there beside you, his hands in his lap, the book he had foolishly planned to humor to read had been cast aside long forgotten, but for some reason the sight of you there pricked at his heart more than before. His voice came out quiet, weak from disuse, but he made an effort all the same. 

“My child of man.” he croaked, his tone heavy with shame and sadness, “I will not ask you for forgiveness.”

He took a shaky breath. Hesitantly, he reached out with a weak hand and clasped your own. The thorns around you pricked him and drew blood, but he paid no mind to it. He felt nothing. Numb. Malleus choked back tears as he pulled your hands close to his chest and against his still beating heart. He lowered his head in agony as he confessed like a convict at death’s door. “What I have done to you is unforgivable.”

He held you to him. Like if he held onto you tight enough, you wouldn’t fall even more to pieces. “You were my first true friend, my closest companion. The only one who treated me as if I was an equal…” He bit back a sob as he tried to cradle his face between his hands, desperate for your touch to once again warm his bones. But there was nothing. Only the cold. “And now I’ve lost you.”

“And not a day shall pass in the centuries that I am cursed to live will I ever forget your smile.” Then with an almost reverent touch, the prince brought your hand to his lips and pressed a delicate kiss to the back of your hand. His lips stayed there, the taste of salt and skin filling his tongue, but he made no effort to move while he cried.

So far gone was he that he never noticed the batting of eyelashes, the furrowed brows, or the intake of breath. So far gone that it wasn’t until he felt your hand, tiny and weak, press against his dark hair, did he lift his head.

“Good morning, Hornton.”

[bucketbueckers]

HEY GOAT! so ik you have finals rn so just ignore this until ur done BUT i have a long (as usual) paige x reader request for you this time👅 for some backround paige and reader went to uconn together and have been dating for a bit like 3 years and they both get drafted by the wings (reader being 12th pick) and they are super excited whatever. OKAY SO basically reader is like the first person in her family to graduate college and it was really important for her to be there in person and walk with her family watching but she didn’t expect to be drafted in the first round let alone so far away. so she goes to ask the head of whatever at dallas if she can go to her graduation and they say prolly not so she gets super upset and paige decides to plan something with the team and flys her parents out and stuff like that one video with mika and the storm last year. ykwimmm like something super fluffy and just a littttlleee bit angsty.

-⬇️

LOVE IS THE WAY

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: language, 1% angst (like there's more fat content in some milk than there is angst in this story), unfathomable plot

wc: 5.4k

synopsis: As a first generation college student, graduation meant everything to you and your family. Your entire high school career was spent studying through the night, devoting yourself to academics, extracurriculars, and basketball, and reminding yourself that college was the goal. But basketball was your passion – your home away from test prep and the rigor of your courses, and the athletic scholarship from UConn saved your life in more ways than one. When you’re drafted 12th overall alongside your girlfriend of three years, it devastates you to find out that you wouldn’t be able to make it back to campus in time to walk across the stage. Luckily for you, Paige was more than willing to move mountains just to see you smile.

notes: HAPPY GAMEDAY CHAT (i deleted twitter this morning in honor of it) and HAPPY PB5 HOOPS DAY!!!! everyone lock in. this is generational. but real talk, as a first gen student, this request actually means the world to me 🤞 hoping i did this justice for u ⬇️ and i cannot thank u enough for these banger requests 😛 as alwaysss lmk what we're thinking and i hope y'all enjoy 🫶

Basketball wasn’t always the goal.

Anyone who sees you might not believe that at first glance. Your game is clinical – smooth, effortless. Your jump shot is perfect, technical in a way analysts have described as academically precise. You play like you were destined for the professional leagues, like you dribbled a basketball for the first time at three years old instead of in the sixth grade.

Growing up, you didn’t have a lot. Your parents weren’t well off but they worked hard to give you a good life. You excelled in school, got exceptional grades, and by eight you knew you would do anything to get into college after touring the local university on a field trip. Your parents weren’t able to go to college, coming from families where they had to prioritize working. College, while impossible for them, became something that was within reach for you. College – an education – was the goal.

When you first started middle school, you knew you needed an outlet, something more than your grades and wit. You tried a few things. Art, while pretty, wasn’t for you. You were a little too restless for it, too much of a perfectionist to fully appreciate the abstract. You briefly considered band but your parents had to make the decision for you when they looked at the cost to rent an instrument from the school.

Sports was your last option. You liked the discipline, the structure, and how you could get all of your energy out. You showed up to softball tryouts, but again – the price tag attached to the glove, the cleats, and the gear was too much. It was the same story for soccer. You arrived at basketball tryouts, not really having much of an interest in it, but figuring you could suck it up if there was any option you could play.

As soon as you picked up the ball for the first time, dribbling it a little clumsily around your body, and following the coach’s instructions on how to shoot it, it was like something ignited in you. You put a little too much spin on the ball and it clanked off the rim, but you knew you could perfect it with a few more shots.

So you tried again. And again. And again. Until you finally sunk the shot from the three point line. That was satisfying.

“It’s not a lot,” you remember Coach Kerrigan telling your parents – clearly in what he thought was a hushed tone of voice. “Just $50 for the entire season. It covers the uniform and tournament fees.”

Your parents had paused, clearly contemplating – and selfishly, you’d hoped they’d give just this once. You had done everything right. You kept your grades up, your room clean, and you’d exhausted all other options.

“I don’t know,” your dad admitted. Your heart sunk to your stomach.

Even years later, you recall the weight of your coach’s stare, how his eyes traced the arc of the basketball as it left your hands. The accompanying swish of the net, how you chased after the rebound, settling in to shoot again. “She has so much potential,” he’d said. “I’ve never seen anything like her.”

Your parents remained silent. You shot the ball, hoping, praying that just this once – you could try to find who you were outside of academics. Then, Coach Kerrigan spoke up. “Actually, I think we’ve got a little extra funding this year. So if you’d let her play…you don’t have to worry about anything.”

Your parents let you play. It took you years to realize the girl’s basketball team at your middle school hadn’t actually gotten any extra funding and that Coach Kerrigan paid the season fee out of his own pocket. And the next season’s. And when the high school coach approached you during your eighth grade year and asked if you’d be willing to give varsity a shot, Coach Kerrigan paid for that one, too.

High school basketball is where you truly flourished. It was a simple agreement with your parents – you could continue playing ball as long as you didn’t put college on the backburner. You pointed out that if you got recruited, you would be on scholarship and you truly didn’t have to worry about money anymore. Your parents believed in you. They’d seen what you were capable of, but when you grow up with so little, it’s hard to lose that worry that it could all slip away if you weren’t careful.

You upheld your end of the bargain. You kept your grades up, enrolled in AP courses, joined student government to round out your application. High achieving student. Honored athlete, Team USA gold medalist averaging 26.4 points a season and improving. Student body president. With a resume like that, you were sure you had a solid chance, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t keep working.

Geno Auriemma showed up to one of your games in sophomore year. So did Dawn Staley and several other college basketball coaches. Coach Auriemma kept showing up, though. After an electric win against a conference opponent, he’d pulled you aside and glanced at you like he was unimpressed, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes that reminded you of Coach Kerrigan’s unwavering confidence. Then, Coach Auriemma said, “You play like you’ve got something to prove.”

It wasn’t unkind. Just an observation. Your face was slick with sweat, your feet hurt, and you had a paper due for AP Lang that night. Your teammates were celebrating the win, but your job was far from finished. Isn’t that how it always is, though? Having to work a little extra harder now so you wouldn’t have to in the future. Sacrificing every day to prove to your parents that everything they poured into basketball wasn’t for nothing. Success was hard, exhausting, but God did it taste good.

Simply, you responded, “Don’t we all?”

Coach Auriemma paused. A slow smile spread across his face. He wished you a goodnight.

In junior year, you committed officially to UConn. Full ride athletic scholarship. Your mother cried and your father grinned proudly when the three of you got off the phone with Coach Auriemma.

Being a Husky didn’t mean you could rest easy. The draft was competitive and there was so much talent in the country. This time, there was no “agreement” between you and your parents. You were an adult, but they did have one simple request to get a degree in something versatile. A just in case.

So here you were – a biology major and student athlete. When you weren’t in lab, you were in practice. When you weren’t in practice, you were studying for calculus. And when you weren’t studying for calculus, you were a little busy falling in love with the sophomore point guard from Minnesota who made you realize that there’s a little more to life than ball and school. You had plenty of room for her – for Paige Bueckers – even though you didn’t make it official until your sophomore year at UConn.

It was her junior season. She’d suffered an ACL tear in August, right before classes started. It was a huge blow for morale – she was the heart and soul of the team, the leader on and off the court. But you were the glue who held everything together. Coach shifted you into a more traditional point guard role. You brought a quiet efficiency to the court and confident play-calling. You weren’t there to replace her. That wasn’t possible.

The feelings between the two of you had been growing since your freshman season although neither of you acted on anything. You were close friends but her injury, somehow, pushed you even closer. She texted you reminders to eat when she knew you had a gap in your schedule. You warmed up her heating pad and let her choose the movie on the nights you gave up the textbooks to stay in with her. You and Paige worked so well together and it became harder and harder to deny what you felt for her.

But when she kissed you for “good luck” before the first game of the season? You dropped a casual 23 points with 11 assists to take home the win and made her ask you out for real after the press conference.

That year, the early Sweet 16 exit in the NCAA tournament stung. So did the Final Four exit in your junior year. Paige was staying for a fifth year and you knew that the both of you had one more chance to reel it in for the last time.

And you did. Your senior season was hard but you loved (almost) every second of it anyways. When Azzi was cleared to return from injury. When Aubrey and Carol did, too. When Paige and Azzi tested every bit of your patience by spraining their knees at different parts of the season. When you lost to USC, Notre Dame, and Tennessee but blew out South Carolina – twice, once in the regular season and the second when it mattered the most. When your teammates had your back, unconditionally, just as you had theirs.

Your name started creeping into the mock draft predictions. Third round. Then second. Then first. You were hard to place – nobody could ever agree on whether or not you were a Sun, a Sky, or a Mystic. The only thing that was guaranteed was the fact your girlfriend would be a Wing and you’d cheer her on from wherever the draft took you.

Getting invited to the draft was a different feeling entirely. You had a shot. You were going to be selected, and for once, you truly allowed yourself to reflect – through thick and thin, for worse or for better, you’d made it here. Not just to the draft, but you made it through college, too, which had seemed so out of the picture. Everything your parents had ever sacrificed for you, you’d be able to give it back with interest. You got your degree, your education. You have your career in basketball. You have Paige. That was more than enough for you.

You flew your parents out for the draft in New York. They were ecstatic for you, nearly in tears when you showed them your dress for the first time – styled by Brittany Hampton, of course, because Paige was so keen on matching. It was made of a dark, lace material that glimmered under the lighting in the room, the bodice fitting you just right, and the skirt billowing out around your ankles, cut at the side to reveal one of your legs.

Paige nearly fell out the moment she saw you. You weren’t any better, either. Your eyes lingered (she was wearing her hair down – you might have fallen in love for a second time if you weren’t so drawn to the way her suit sparkled, too) while her hands traveled, linking her fingers at the small of your back and pulling you in. “You’re unreal,” she’d murmured as you wrapped your arms around her neck, smoothing out some of the baby hairs at her nape.

You just grinned, self-satisfied at her obvious speechlessness. Knowing you couldn’t ruin your makeup without your respective teams losing their mind, you press your temple to hers, relishing in the closeness before you’d be pulled away for interviews and to sit at your separate tables. “I could pinch you, if you’d like,” you offered. “Just to make sure you’re not dreaming.”

“Hands to yourself, aight?” she grumbled. “Sum’ about that biology degree makes you evil.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” you cooed softly. “Like at all.”

Paige just squeezed you around your waist, not saying much else, and the two of you made your way to the draft venue. Interviews were quick – pictures, not so much, especially when your entire team was in attendance to watch you, Paige, Aubrey, and Kaitlyn get drafted. You and Paige go your separate ways after the photo on the draft stage. She had a second outfit and you had to find your family – which leads you to now.

Your parents, CD, and Coach Kerrigan are waiting for you and you hug each of them one by one, although you linger on Coach Kerrigan. He doesn’t say much other than a “Proud of you, kid,” and you don’t either – not trusting yourself to speak without breaking down. You’re not sure if he knows the kind of impact he made on your life by welcoming you onto his team when he did, but he grins at you like he understands it just the same.

When Paige makes her way through the crowd, having changed into her second outfit, you almost fall out again. Somehow, you manage to keep it together, even as your jaw hangs slack in near awe while you’re examining the rings on her fingers, the fact that this suit sparkles too, and the devastating lack of an undershirt that has you ready to give up on the draft completely so you can run a few laps around the block to control yourself.

Obviously, she’s the first pick overall. She hugs everyone at her table before finding you and your family. You tell her that you love her and that you’re proud of you. She winks at you and asks you to keep an extra draft hat for her.

The next few picks go by agonizingly slow. You don’t think it should take this long for teams to settle on their next pick and the way the cameras linger on you makes your skin prickle. The Sky have the two picks late in the first round followed by the Wings with the last first round selection. When Hailey Van Lith is taken at #11, you deflate a little, thinking you’ve fallen to the second round. Truly – it’s not the end of the world. It just means you’d have to fight a little harder for a roster spot. That’s a challenge you’d be willing to take head on.

But when the commissioner steps up to the podium again to announce the 12th pick in the draft, you freeze when it’s your name that is called. You, to the Dallas Wings, the same organization that selected Paige only moments ago. Stunned, you hug everyone at your table, then your girlfriend’s family, before making your way up to pose with the Wings jersey. You’re only half-listening to the interview with Holly Rowe, too concerned about making it to the back for media and seeing Paige.

When you finally do, Paige’s expression is one of disbelief and awe and you fall into each other with breathless giggles. Your hat jostles from the force of her body against yours, but she reaches up to steady it, her hands cupping your jaw as she looks at you with something like wonder. Her eyes are the most disarming shade of blue you think you’ve ever seen – and this right here, this feeling of contentment, of knowing that you get to live out your professional dreams with your girlfriend? You want to live in it forever.

“Guess you didn’t need to save an extra hat for me,” she comments coyly.

You laugh, not even bothering with a response as you grab her face and kiss her. Paige sinks into you like you’re the only thing she’s ever been sure about. For a moment, you think that may be true. In a world full of ACL injuries, of never really knowing if you’ll be able to make it unless you work for it, the relationship the two of you have is something steady. Constant. You’ll always have space for each other, just like you’ll always know that loving each other is the easiest part of living.

After the draft, you and Paige don’t immediately fly out to Dallas. You have a final exam or two, shared victory tours and talk show appearances, rallies and loose ends to tie up. You’re booked and busy until the very last minute. Packing is difficult – you’re not quite sure how you’re supposed to fit the last four years of your life into a box and tape it shut. You just have to remind yourself that you’re not closing this door. Maybe you leave it cracked, because you’re not the type of person to abandon your past in search of your future.

But you do come across your graduation gown while you’re packing away your closet. It’s neatly ironed, ready for the big day – May 10th. There’s something about that day that gives you pause, so you pull out your phone to scan the email sent to you by the Wings front office. Your first preseason game was on May 2nd against the Aces.

The second preseason game? May 10th. In Dallas.

Your face falls. Your phone screen goes dark from disuse while you stare in silent disbelief at your graduation gown.

Basketball wasn’t always the goal.

It was a reprieve before it was your passion before it was the best part of your life. You didn’t know if you’d be able to play in middle school, didn’t think you’d get recruited to the best basketball college fresh out of high school. You didn’t know if you’d win a national championship or meet some of your best friends ever. You didn’t know that you’d get drafted.

College was the goal. The goal was beating the odds, of getting a degree and an experience that your family wasn’t lucky enough to put time away for. The goal was succeeding despite every barrier and obstacle that made it difficult for you. The goal was walking across the stage after four years, officially becoming a college graduate, making your family – and yourself – proud, to be able to say that you did. And, sure, walking across the stage doesn’t take away the fact that you did the time. That you excelled. That you sacrificed so much to be a student athlete and a STEM major. Whether or not you walk across that stage has no impact on whether or not you get the degree in the mail certifying that you did everything you wanted to and got something special out of it.

But walking across that stage was a physical reminder that you refused to quit – that you held out hope even when you missed out on so many opportunities because you lacked things out of your control. It’s a reminder for you, for your parents and your family who would fill the stands, a reminder that this is possibly the most important thing you’ve ever done in your life. No one would ever understand it if they haven’t lived it.

You knew you were stuck between a rock and a hard place. You couldn’t miss graduation – you didn’t want to. You knew that you couldn’t miss the preseason game, either. Not if you wanted to keep your roster spot. Not if you wanted to prove you had more determination than the other hopeful rookies on the team. Not if you wanted to prove you were an invaluable piece to the Dallas Wings roster. The most devastating part of the situation is that you truly don’t have a choice at all.

You’re still when Paige walks in, her voice startling you. “Hey, baby. You got another roll of tape? I completely fucked up and used like, half of it on one box, but it just wouldn’t shut–” She falters, her gaze meeting yours when she realizes that you’re barely listening and you’re staring catatonically. “You okay? What’s going on?”

“Graduation is May 10th,” you tell her, and she nods – because she’d had that date saved in her calendar the moment you submitted the documentation stating that you had all requirements and would be participating in the ceremony. “And so is our second preseason game.”

Paige’s body softens with regret and understanding all at once. You swear you see something curiously like guilt as if it’s her fault at all. Like she feels bad that she got the opportunity to graduate and walk across the stage when that was the one thing you’d set out to do with your life.

She doesn’t say anything. She just wraps her arms around you, letting you sink into her embrace while you try not to fall apart. Paige knows how important this is to you.

“I don’t think I can miss the game,” you confess, not having to look up to know Paige is listening as you rest your chin on her shoulder. “Not when I’m competing for a roster spot with Aziaha and Madison and JJ and everyone who’s not you, Arike, Ty, Dijonai, NaLyssa–” Your voice breaks, and you inhale sharply, feeling the familiar sting of tears. Paige runs a soothing hand down your back, comforting you enough to keep talking. “But my parents were supposed to see me walk.”

“They will, okay?” she murmurs, like she’s never been more confident than anything in her life. “It’s not over. You’re you. You wouldn’t make it this far just to give up now. Have you called Curt?”

“Well, I was a little busy having a mental breakdown before you walked in complaining about tape, so no, I did not call Curt,” you say dramatically.

“I’m so sorry I interrupted your spiraling,” Paige deadpans, which makes you laugh a little. She gives you one more squeeze before you extract yourself from her body, turning your phone on again as you take a seat on your bed. She follows suit as you scroll through your contacts for Curt’s number.

The line rings for a few moments. Paige, as if sensing your nerves, rests her hand over your knee for encouragement before Curt’s voice clicks through, greeting you. You remember your manners before you explain the situation to him. Graduation on May 10th. Preseason game too. Can I please miss the game so I can walk the stage and not crash the fuck out? You don’t say all of that – you use your professional voice, but the sentiment is the same.

Curt doesn’t respond for a moment. And when he doesn’t, you already have your answer. You deflate as he says, not unkindly, but clearly remorseful, “I’m sorry, I don’t think you’ll be able to miss it. The coaching staff needs you there for evaluation and your contract–”

You stop listening when he starts talking about contracts and roster spots and how he’s really sorry, but he just can’t make an exception right now. You can tell he genuinely feels terrible that it’s happened this way, but the league is competitive. You need to be there if you want to play basketball in May. Knowing doesn’t make the feeling go away, though, so you thank him for his time when he’s done explaining it to you and you hang up.

Paige doesn’t make you say anything, already reaching for your phone and turning it off. She pulls you into her arms again, her mood dampened as she murmurs an apology in your ear, pressing a consoling kiss to the crown of your head.

It does make you feel a little bit better, and maybe, one day, you won’t feel as bitter and as disappointed about missing your graduation as you are now, but you just can’t push the hurt to the side.

You let Paige hold you for a little longer, her hands rubbing soothing circles on your back as you curl up against her, your head tucked into her neck.

But she’s quiet – maybe a little too quiet, and you wholeheartedly miss the expression of sheer determination on her face like she’s plotting something that you’ll never know about until the time comes.

The move to Dallas goes better than expected. You and Paige lease an apartment not too far away from the facilities, but decently away from the bustle of the city. You spend a huge chunk of your time between Target and Costco and building furniture together – Paige has always been handy although a little…creative, when it comes to the instruction manuals, so you have to force her to follow them exactly. The last thing you want is your coffee table crumbling.

Between practice, shopping, and getting used to being in a completely different city, you hardly have the time to think too hard about how you have to miss graduation. You try to let yourself be happy, too. The Wings vets are incredibly kind and helpful, although they love to tease you and Paige, which is probably something you should have known was going to happen as soon as Cathy called your name at the draft. Despite the ache of missing Storrs, your teammates, and what you still consider home, you can see yourself loving it in Dallas, too. You can see the Wings becoming your family, too.

The first preseason game goes as well as it could have. Not wanting to risk injury, neither the Wings nor the Aces do anything too crazy, just wanting to get the rookies acclimated to playing professional basketball. Your coach runs different rotations, evaluating how everyone plays. It’s sad to know that by the beginning of the regular season, a few of your new teammates will be waived, even if you have to work extra hard just to make sure it’s not you.

Ultimately, the Aces take the win. Losing wasn’t something that you were used to in Connecticut, so you try not to take it to heart. You sleep on Paige’s shoulder the entire flight back to Dallas, blissfully unaware of the plans she’s making on her phone.

A few days after the first preseason game, you’re making your way through the tunnel in the Wings facility to get ready for another grueling day of practice. Before you can enter the locker room, Paige catches your wrist at the door, taking your bag gingerly as you stare at her in confusion.

“Do you trust me?” she asks you in a tone of voice that is screaming Don’t trust me!

“Under most circumstances, yes,” you respond. “What–”

“Wait here,” she says softly. “And close your eyes, please.” You sigh, but you do as she asks, even placing your hands over your eyes for good measure. You hear shuffling inside of the locker room before she comes out again. “Keep ‘em closed, but hold out your arms.”

You do, and she helps you into what feels like a large coat. You hear the sound of a zipper and then she’s carefully fitting a hat over your head. “You comfy?” she checks in.

“Just hoping my girlfriend didn’t team up with the vets for some weird rookie hazing ritual,” you mutter, listening to her laugh.

“Something a little better than that, I promise,” Paige swears. She links her fingers with yours, giving you a gentle squeeze. “Don’t open your eyes. Just follow me.”

You let her lead you through the facility, hoping that she remembers she’s an athlete with coordination and that she doesn’t run you into a wall accidentally. Before you know it, she comes to a stop, and nervously, she says, her voice echoing, “Okay. Open your eyes.”

When you do, your breath catches in your throat. You’re dressed in your cap and gown and you’re in the practice gym, but what truly captures your attention is the makeshift stage that’s been assembled at the center of the court. There’s a podium, where one of the coordinators from UConn’s Department of Biology stands – you’d worked with her a lot when it came to your academics since you were always booked and busy with class, studying, practice, and games. Your entire team sits in neat little rows in front of the stage dressed in their practice jerseys, but most of all, your parents are front and center, too.

“Paige,” you whisper, your voice catching, and she takes your hands in hers.

“Surprise!” she says, her tone soft. Despite yourself, you give a watery laugh, trying not to cry in front of everyone. “You weren’t able to go back to Storrs to walk across the stage. So…I pulled some strings and brought Storrs to you.” You take the scene in again, your heart full. You lock eyes with Arike, who’s holding a laptop. She lifts it slightly to show you the Zoom call she’s on. The screen is full of your teammates – KK, Morgan, Ice, Sarah – and you can hear their cheers through the computer speakers.

“Dr. Snyder agreed to speak and present your diploma,” Paige continues. “And I flew out your parents for the weekend.” She lowers her voice, ensuring that only you can hear her. Your lip trembles, the love you feel for your girlfriend almost overwhelming. “I know this means a lot to you. Graduating. I’m sorry we couldn’t be in Storrs to do this, but…you deserve to be honored. You deserve to do this.” Her eyes shine a little brighter, the affection almost stifling. “I love you, and I’m so proud of you. I hope you like it.”

“Like it?” you echo, disbelief lacing your tone as you laugh again. “Paige, I love this.” Her features relax a little, her grin widening as she pulls you into a tight hug. “This means everything to me.”

“Then let’s graduate.”

You pull away and your teammates, coaching staff, and trainers all clap for you as you make your way to the lone seat reserved for you in front of everyone else. You grin a little, shaking your head as Dr. Snyder steps up to the podium fully, taking her job incredibly seriously. She clears her throat.

“Esteemed graduate, friends, family, teammates old and new,” she begins, winking at you, and you let your smile grow without a care in the world. “We’re gathered here today to celebrate an extremely special individual who was unable to make it back to Storrs to receive her degree. But unconventional does not mean undeserving, and I certainly can’t name one other student who deserves this more than she does.

“I’ve guided many students in my career,” Dr. Snyder continues. “None of them are ever the same, yet she stands a caliber above the rest. She juggled a rigorous course load, a taxing athletic schedule, and she did this for four years with determination, wit, and unyielding perseverance. She has made such a profound impact on our university, on the basketball program, as well as in the lives of many people around her. I am proud to have advised her, but even more proud to stand here today to see her achieve her dreams. On behalf of everyone at the University of Connecticut, we are so excited to see you write this next chapter of your life.”

If there weren’t tears in your eyes during Dr. Snyder’s speech, then there are when she reaches for the degree cover and says your name. It feels like getting drafted all over again – but it’s even better than being drafted, because this has been your dream longer than basketball has been a reality. It was difficult, and most days it felt damn near impossible, but you did it.

You rise to the raucous applause in the gym, a beaming smile on your face as you make your way to the stage. Before you reach for your hard-earned degree, you give Dr. Snyder a crushing hug, thanking her profusely. Together, you hold onto your degree, smiling for the pictures that your parents, Paige, and the Dallas Wings media team take all at once. Even Arike is angling the computer towards you and you can vaguely hear KK over the computer screaming, “Screenshot it!” – which makes you laugh, because you know they’d have your back. Always.

You step down, degree in hand, and Paige grins at you with that soft, cheeky, scrunchy look of hers. You roll your eyes, the tears surging forward again and you wrap your arms around her tightly, burying your face in her neck and letting it all out. And when your parents step forward, too, wrapping the both of you in a large, crushing hug, you weren’t too sure how you were supposed to keep it together at all.

Graduation wasn’t how you thought it would be, but the knowledge that your family got to see you walk across the stage means everything to you.

You’ve accomplished one dream, and now, it’s time for the next.

[asterafroditis]

Hello! Nice to meet you, your whole aesthetic is very beautiful, would you mind like writing with dorm leaders ( if you want to add others you may.) with reader being forgetful? I have severe bad memory problems and can only remember doing stuff if I make an action or a noise to remember me doing it. I have this problem a lot of having to repeat or check things multiple time cause I forgot if I did it or not. Like she or they can remember names and like very very specific details ( about the form leaders) but when given a task or like told something it just INSTANLY gets forgotten.

𐔌 . ⋮ memory markers .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆ Housewardens x forgetful gn! reader

𓏵 1266 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, they/them pronouns used (only in Kalim's part, if I recall correctly), fluff, not proofread but here we go!

Whew, finally finished with this, hopefully I got your request right (-"-;) feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

At first, Riddle finds your forgetfulness deeply frustrating. He’s meticulous with schedules and rules, and you forgetting assignments or dorm responsibilities—even moments after being told—makes him visibly stiffen.

"You just said you’d feed the hedgehogs, and yet they’re still waiting!" he’d scold, hands on his hips.

But the moment you look at him, repeating softly, “Hedgehogs, clap twice,” and then actually do it—clap, clap—before dashing off to complete the task, he freezes. “...You made that noise to remember?” you nod, and he grows quiet.

Over time, he adapts. He reminds you with structure: written lists, color-coded planners, short mnemonics—he even helps you develop rhythm games to trigger memory.

He still grumbles when things slip your mind, but he also notices how well you remember him. His favorite tea. His favorite tart recipe. That tiny twitch in his brow when he’s about to get angry. It humbles him.

“You always remember the details that matter,” he says once, softer than usual. “Even if the little things fall through.”

─────────────────────────

Leona plays it off like he doesn’t care when you forget things, shrugging and sighing with a “Tch. Figures.” But it’s clear he notices.

You’ll get up three times during a study session to check if you locked the door. The fourth time, he mutters, “It’s locked. I watched you do it.”

Eventually, he gets used to your system. When you start humming a low tune while writing something down, he raises an eyebrow. “That your memory trick?”

“Mhm.”

“Huh,” he grunts, but after that, he whistles the same tune whenever he reminds you of something; low and lazy, just like you do it.

He never baby-talks or coddles. If anything, he lets you figure things out, but always keeps an eye on you—especially when others get impatient. “If you got a problem with it,” he growls at a classmate once, “you try remembering five things at once without a system.”

He pretends not to care. But he always waits when you retrace your steps, always double-checks for you if you’re too tired.

“You remember what I like in my sandwich,” he mutters one day. “Guess you’re not totally hopeless.”

─────────────────────────

Azul is fascinated by your memory quirk. At first, he offers solutions like contracts for detailed memory aids—which you politely decline—but then becomes genuinely curious.

“You associate action with recall? That’s... intriguing.”

He starts observing you like a scholar. He doesn’t mock your forgetfulness, but he’ll raise an eyebrow when you repeat things out loud.

“I need to water the plants. Knock on wood,” you say—and then knock twice on the desk.

“Hm,” he muses, “So auditory-tactile pairing improves retention for you. Fascinating.”

Soon, he’s suggesting systems you hadn’t thought of—like memory charms based on your sound triggers, or organizing things visually with little charms you can tap. And while he might chuckle when you forget the same instruction for the third time, he never grows impatient.

“You remember the exact temperature I like for tea, and which cufflink I always forget. That’s more than most,” he’ll admit, adjusting his glasses.

And when you ask nervously if he finds your forgetfulness annoying, he says, “Not at all. You remember what counts.”

─────────────────────────

Kalim never gets frustrated—ever. If anything, your memory quirk becomes something he finds endearing.

“You forgot already? That’s okay! Let’s try again—wanna turn it into a song?”

He enthusiastically supports your sound-action system, helping you make memory dances and claps. If you repeat a task twice, he does it with you: “Double-checking buddies!” he laughs.

Jamil’s the one who sighs in the background, but Kalim is always cheerfully defending you: “They’re trying their best!”

You once mention, “I remember your birthday and your fifth favorite fruit, but I can’t remember what I had for lunch.”

Kalim beams. “That’s because you care about me! That’s way more important than lunch!”

He starts setting reminders to remind you of things, and even gives you little chimes to wear on your wrist that jingle when you move—because you once told him sound helps. “See? This way you remember to write things down!”

He never makes you feel less-than. “Everyone has their way of doing things,” he says brightly. “And I think your way is amazing!”

─────────────────────────

Vil is patient—but he will call you out. “Didn’t I tell you to moisturize your hands before handling those herbs?” he says with a sigh.

“I forgot. I—uh—tap my fingers three times now to remember.” Tap-tap-tap.

He raises an eyebrow. “If it works, then fine.”

He’s not dismissive, just exacting. He respects discipline, and once he realizes you’re working with your brain and not just making excuses, he starts helping refine your methods.

“Tap once for self-care tasks, twice for homework. Use different scents to jog memory—lavender for study, citrus for chores,” he advises.

He won’t sugarcoat when you mess up, but he notices how you never forget his advice on posture, or which side of his face he prefers to be photographed from. That earns you a fond smile.

“You may forget your lunch, but you never forget the little things that make people feel seen. That’s its own kind of brilliance.”

─────────────────────────

Idia is probably the most understanding of all. He gets it immediately.

“Oh! Like… executive dysfunction? Memory loops? Yeah, yeah—I do that too sometimes, especially IRL stuff. I set alarms for literally everything.”

You bond over your shared need for weird memory hacks. He programs Ortho to gently remind you of important things with little beeps, and even creates a digital “noise journal” where you can log your clicks/taps/claps.

“You can’t remember if you brushed your teeth? Easy fix. Record a five-second vid of yourself. Timestamped. Boom.”

He’s not great with face-to-face praise, but in private, he mumbles things like, “You always remember my routine of building and checking my character stats… that’s, uh, actually kinda sweet.”

He finds your memory quirks strangely comforting, like a familiar bug in a system you’ve both learned to navigate.

“People think it’s weird, but I think it’s just… like having different RAM.”

And when you panic over forgetting something again, he just gives a thumbs up from behind his laptop. “You got this. I believe in your noise-clicking wizardry.”

─────────────────────────

Malleus finds your memory struggles curious—but not bothersome. He’s lived for centuries, watched mortals forget everything.

When you ask the same question twice in five minutes, he doesn’t even blink. “Ah, repetition for retention. A wise method,” he says sincerely.

He listens carefully when you explain your sound-action system. “So a snap means you’ve done it, and a tap means it needs doing?” he confirms, nodding slowly.

He helps without condescension. Sometimes when you trail off or panic over forgetting, he quietly hums the sound you use to remember.

Snap, snap. “You mentioned you’d done the task already,” he says, a small smile in his voice.

When you confess how forgetful you feel, how ashamed you get, he tilts his head. “Yet you remember the way I admire gargoyles in the moonlight, and the cadence of my lullaby in Valley of Thorns. You remember things that others would never notice.”

He considers that the highest form of care.

“If your mind works differently, that does not make it flawed. Only unique. And I am most fond of unique things.”

[kxsagi]

Rin, with a nice and cute girlfriend would be so funny tho

Rin usually wears monotonous clothes right? Like he never wears anything colorful, and they're mostly black, grey, white or a little bit of turquoise but tHAT'S BESIDES THE POINT

Then all of a sudden he comes to practice with cute keychains on his bag, a matching one with his girlfriend or even finds him with bow hair clips on his hair that pushes his bangs off his face since she said “it covers his handsome face."

And they meet her and they're so surprised that she's the total opposite of Rin, she's nice and cheerful, always smiling unlike her boyfriend who looks at everyone like they had committed a crime against him (that being them breathing in the same air as him)

Asking her why she's dating Rin then she just simply answered, "Oh, he's nice and sweet to me. He's such a good boyfriend honestly!" then they'd be like nICE, WHICH PART? WHEN AND HOW?

i should be reviewing for my upcoming exam this week and here i am thinking about blue lock boys, i have problems.

— 🪻

“𝐠𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐲 𝐱 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞”

a/n: you're so real for thinking about blue lock boys instead of your studies bc that's also me i fear

but good luck on your exam! for working so hard in school, i hope i can make your day better and life a little less stressful! ❣️

rin was never one for color.

if his clothes had a soul, they'd be a monochrome masterpiece: black shirts, grey pants, white sneakers, maybe a touch of turquoise if he was feeling wild. but that was beside the point. everyone knew him for his quiet demeanor, his "resting bitch face," as his teammates liked to call it, and his constant air of "everyone is suspicious until proven otherwise." 

then one fateful day, rin showed up to practice different. his usual bag was still there, of course, but now it had little keychains hanging from it – three, to be exact. one was a tiny panda, another a glittery star, and the third was a matching keychain, his rocket keychain, paired with one you, his girlfriend, gave him. and wait, was that a hair clip in his hair? a bow clip? what the heck was going on? 

his teammates blinked at him, and some even choked on their water. "rin?" chigiri asked, eyes squinting. "what's... what's happening with your bag? and your hair?" 

rin tugged at the clip awkwardly, looking a bit out of his depth. "uh, it's nothing." but you had told him he needed to wear it. "it covers your handsome face," you'd said. so of course he did. for you. 

a couple of minutes later, everyone was gathered around in the locker room, and there you were – his girlfriend. if rin was the human embodiment of a cloud on a bad day, you were a sunshine explosion. bright, cheerful, always smiling, like you'd just woken up and realized it was your birthday every day. they stared at you, completely stunned. 

“wait, this is your girlfriend?” reo asked, unable to hide the shock. 

rin rolled his eyes. “yeah, yeah, stop staring.” 

you just giggled. “he's always so serious, huh? but i love him! he's the best, nicest boyfriend ever!" 

they all exchanged confused looks. "nice? nice?" bachira gasped. "which part? when? how??" 

"oh, you know," you waved them off like it was no big deal. "he’s sweet, he buys me flowers. and he listens when i talk about my day. he’s a total softie." 

his teammates froze, trying to process this. rin? a softie? the same rin who scowled at the vending machine for taking his last dollar? 

“he’s nice when he wants to be,” you added, smiling at him. 

rin was already blushing, awkwardly fiddling with his shirt as if it could swallow him whole. "okay, enough," he muttered, crossing his arms. 

“come on, rin! you can’t fool them,” you teased, giving him a light nudge. “you always pick the perfect movie for our movie nights. remember the time you watched that cheesy rom-com just to make me laugh?" 

rin groaned. "it was for you." 

they all stared at him like he’d just announced he was secretly a superhero. a superhero. 

“okay, okay,” isagi said slowly, “we get it. you’re, like, a secret softie. the world is full of surprises.” 

rin sighed and adjusted his bow clip, silently questioning all his life choices. he swore if anyone took a picture, he was going to have a meltdown. but deep down, he couldn’t help the tiny smile tugging at his lips. 

you had a way of making the world seem a little less grey. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[ladysharmaa]

Swim

bridgerton family x sis!reader

summary: when the youngest Bridgerton is playing in the garden with her siblings, she falls into the lake, not knowing how to swim. Realizing the accident, her older brother runs to save her

requested: yes

warnings: drowning

It was a hot day in the countryside, the heat almost unbearable and most of the animals seeking shelter in the shadows. The Bridgerton family was at Aubrey Hall, however the younger ones were dissatisfied with how the day was going. Daphne was away with her husband, Benedict had locked himself in the art room, consumed by a burst of inspiration, and Colin was still traveling through Europe. Eloise was visiting Penelope, and Lady Bridgerton was engaged in a lively chat with the other ladies of the parish.

"Anthony!" Y/n called out for the only brother left. However, she was also unlucky when she saw him hunched over paperwork in his study, his brow furrowed in frustration.

The youngest Bridgerton sighed in annoyence, everyone was busy except her three older siblings. However, their mother had forbidden them to go out and play in the garden without the surveillance of any family member, keeping them dry all day reading until they got tired of lying on the sofa, vanning themselves.

"Y/n! How many times do I have to say that you can't walk into my office like that?! It’s not proper." Anthony scolded her, he was also frustrated with the work that was piling up, the heat and his youngest siblings who couldn't seem to stop bothering him.

“The door was open…” Y/n muttered, only to earn a sharp glare. “I’m sorry, brother. But Hyacinth, Gregory, Francesca, and I are so bored. It’s unbearable indoors, and we want to play outside.”

The older man ran his hand over his forehead, taking a deep breath to control his impatience and not take it out on his little sister. The truth was that the heat wasn't helping for his patience.

“You know what?” he said, exhaling sharply, “Go. Go play outside. Just don’t disturb me again.”

"But mother said—”

"You'll be fine." Anthony waved a hand in the air, dismissing what the girl was going to say, his attention already focused on the documents. "Just don't get too close to the lake and if you need anything, fetch for a maid."

"Are you sure?" Y/n questioned hesitantly, knowing these weren't the rules Violet imposed.

"Off you go." the Viscount muttered, motioning for her to leave and close the door.

“Of course, brother.” she left in silence, closing the door.

She returned to her younger siblings with a bright smile, though a flicker of uncertainty lingered. "We can go!" she announced, and their faces lit up. The four of them dashed to the garden, their laughter ringing out as they burst into the open air.

The garden was Y/n’s favorite place, a haven of color and life. The vibrant flowers—roses, tulips, and daisies—lined the pathways, their sweet fragrance mingling with the warm summer breeze. A fountain bubbled gently at the center, its soothing trickle blending with the cheerful quacks of ducks paddling in the nearby lake. Towering trees offered patches of welcome shade, their leaves rustling softly as if whispering secrets to the wind.

Gregory raced to the fountain and splashed water at his sisters, eliciting squeals of surprise. The girls retaliated, sparking a playful water fight. The cool droplets against their skin brought much-needed relief from the sweltering heat, and their laughter echoed across the garden.

Hyacinth soon grabbed a small ball, and the group shifted to a lively game of catch. When Gregory threw the ball to Y/n, she was momentarily distracted by a pair of butterflies flitting gracefully nearby. The ball slipped through her fingers and rolled into the lake.

“Oh, no!” Y/n exclaimed, spinning around to face her siblings. “Anthony said the lake was off limits!”

“That was your fault, Y/n!” Gregory shot back, folding his arms. “You were distracted! Just go get the ball. Nothing will happen, and we can keep playing.”

Hyacinth frowned, tugging at Y/n’s arm nervously. “Be careful,” she whispered, glancing anxiously at the shimmering water. Francesca stood silently, her face a mix of worry and curiosity.

Y/n hesitated, looking between her siblings and the ball floating just a little too far from the edge of the lake. “Alright,” she finally said, though her voice trembled slightly. “I’ll get it, but don’t tell Anthony or Mama.”

She carefully made her way to the edge of the lake, the grass beneath her feet slippery and damp. The ball bobbed lazily on the water’s surface, taunting her. Stretching out her arm, she leaned forward as much as she could without stepping into the water.

“Just a little more…” Y/n muttered to herself, her fingertips brushing the edge of the ball. But the ground beneath her shifted suddenly, and with a startled yelp, she lost her balance. Her arms flailed as she tumbled forward, plunging into the cold water with a loud splash.

“Y/n!” Hyacinth screamed, her hands flying to her mouth as she watched her sister vanish beneath the surface.

“Y/n! Get up! Stop playing around!” Gregory shouted, his voice wavering as panic set in.

But Y/n wasn’t playing. The moment she hit the water, she remembered she didn’t know how to swim. Her brothers were always making the promise they would teach her how to swim, but they were always busy.

The weight of her wet dress dragged her down, and she struggled desperately to keep her head above the surface. Her hair was in front of her eyes, which was only adding to her panic. Her siblings were screaming behind her, but she couldn't do anything. She gasped, swallowing water instead of air, her arms thrashing uselessly.

“I-I can’t—help!” Y/n choked, her voice barely audible over the splashing.

Francesca started crying, while Hyacinth grabbed Gregory’s arm. “Do something, Gregory!” she pleaded, her voice high-pitched and trembling. "Help her!"

“I—I don’t know what to do!” Gregory stammered, his face pale as he watched his sister struggle. “We need Anthony!”

The three of them began screaming at the top of their lungs. “Anthony! Anthony! Help!”

Inside the house, Anthony sat at his desk, brow furrowed as he tried to focus on his work. But the distant sound of frantic shouting made him freeze. His siblings’ voices pierced through the thick walls of Aubrey Hall, each cry laced with panic.

“Anthony! Help! Y/n, swim, please!”

He was on his feet in an instant, the paperwork long forgotten. His hands were trembling and he was having trouble taking a breath in. Memories of his father dying were playing in his brain. He couldn't lose his younger sister, he wouldn't survive. He believed no one in the family would. Y/n was a ray of sunshine, she had the power of making him smile even in his darkest days.

Racing out of his study, he bolted through the house and into the garden. The sight that met him stopped his heart for a moment—Y/n floundering in the lake, her siblings screaming helplessly at the edge.

“Y/n!” Anthony roared, sprinting toward the water.

Without hesitation, he dove in, the cool shock of the water biting against his skin. His powerful strokes cut through the lake as he reached her, wrapping one arm securely around her chest to keep her head above water. “I’ve got you, Y/n! You’re safe!” he gasped, pulling her toward the shore.

Y/n coughed and sputtered, clinging tightly to Anthony’s arm as he hauled her out of the water and onto the grass. She collapsed onto her side, shivering and coughing up all the water trapped in her lungs.

“Y/n!” Hyacinth sobbed, rushing forward to kneel beside her. Gregory and Francesca hovered close, their faces streaked with tears.

Anthony knelt next to his youngest sister, his hands gently brushing the wet hair from her face. “What were you thinking?” he demanded, though his voice cracked with a mix of anger and fear. “I told you to stay away from the lake!”

“I-I’m sorry,” Y/n whispered, her voice trembling as tears streamed down her cheeks. “I was just trying to get the ball…”

“Forget the ball!” Anthony snapped, though the harshness of his words softened as he saw the guilt in her eyes. He sighed heavily, pulling her into a protective embrace despite her soaked clothes. “You scared me half to death, Y/n. Don’t ever do that again.”

“I won’t,” she murmured, burying her face in his shoulder. “I promise.”

Anthony held her tightly for a moment longer before pulling back and looking at the other three. “And you lot,” he said, fixing them with a stern glare, “should have come to me the second something went wrong. You don’t handle things like this on your own, understood?”

“Yes, Anthony,” Gregory muttered, his head bowed.

“I’m sorry, Anthony,” Hyacinth sniffled.

“Let’s get you all inside,” Anthony said, scooping Y/n into his arms. “Y/n needs to change out of these wet clothes, and all of you need to stay out of trouble. And don’t think this means I’m letting any of you off the hook when I tell Mother about this.”

The siblings exchanged nervous glances but said nothing. For now, they were just relieved Y/n was safe.

"And go get Benedict for me, please," Anthony sighed, tightening his protective hold on Y/n, who rested her head against his chest. Just like she used to when she was a baby, seeking comfort and safety in her older brother’s arms.

The Bridgerton siblings immediately sprang into action, not wanting to further anger their eldest brother. Gregory and Hyacinth bolted toward Benedict’s art room, their small footsteps echoing through the halls. Meanwhile, Anthony called for the maids, handing Y/n over gently and instructing them to draw her a warm bath and help her change into fresh clothes. Once she was seen to, he retreated to his room to rid himself of his soaked garments.

Later, Y/n was tucked into her bed, warm and safe, her cheeks flushed pink from the warmth of the bath. She had drifted off to sleep, her breathing soft and steady. Anthony sat in a chair beside her bed, his elbow resting on his knee as he leaned forward, his eyes locked on her small, peaceful frame. Every slight rise and fall of her chest reassured him she was still there, still breathing.

Beside him, Benedict sat in quiet solidarity, his hand supporting his chin as he watched his older brother wrestle with his thoughts.

“I thought we were going to lose her,” Anthony whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “She was screaming, Benedict. She was drowning, and I didn’t know if I’d reach her in time.” His jaw tightened, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “All because none of us had the bloody sense to teach her how to swim.”

“It’s not your fault, Anthony,” Benedict said softly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “She’s okay now. You saved her.”

Anthony shook his head, his eyes never leaving Y/n. “She asked me to let them go outside. I said yes because I was frustrated she was interrupting me. I didn’t think, Benedict. I didn’t think about the lake or the rules or how dangerous it was. I let her go because it was easier for me, and I put her in danger. That’s on me. I was irresponsible.”

Benedict’s hand squeezed his shoulder, grounding him. “You made a mistake, Anthony. But don’t forget, when it mattered most, you were there. You pulled her out of the water and you’re here now, making sure she’s safe. That’s what being the eldest means. You can’t be perfect all the time.”

Anthony let out a heavy sigh, leaning back in the chair. “I don’t have the luxury of mistakes. Not when it comes to them. Not when it comes to Y/n. I should’ve been better.”

Benedict paused for a moment before leaning forward, his tone shifting to something lighter, more familiar. “You know, Anthony, this might be the first time I’ve ever seen you admit to not being perfect. I’m almost proud of you.”

Despite himself, Anthony let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Not the time for jokes, Benedict.”

“Come on,” Benedict smirked, “you’ve been brooding for hours. She’s going to wake up and see that same grumpy expression, and then we’ll have a whole new mess to deal with.”

Anthony gave him a sidelong glance, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward slightly. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Benedict leaned back, feigning a look of triumph. “I’ve been told.”

A small, sleepy voice interrupted their exchange. “Anthony? Benedict?”

Both men snapped their attention to Y/n, who was stirring in her bed. Anthony leaned forward immediately, brushing a hand over her forehead. “I’m here, Y/n. How are you feeling?”

Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at him with a mix of guilt and relief. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

Anthony’s heart clenched. “You don’t need to apologize, sweetheart. I’m the one who’s sorry. I should’ve been paying more attention.”

“You saved me,” she said softly, her small hand reaching out to grab his. “Thank you.”

Anthony squeezed her hand gently, his voice thick with emotion. “Always, Y/n. Always.”

Benedict leaned in, his tone playful. “And just so you know, next time you want to cause this much chaos, at least let me finish my painting first.”

Y/n let out a small, tired giggle, and Anthony finally allowed himself to relax. His little sister was safe, and he would make sure it always stayed that way.

[biteyoubiteme]

am/pm

fem!reader x bangchan 

synopsis: you start your new job at a book cafe and start falling for your coworker. 

warnings: 🔞!!! friends to lovers ?, praise, nipple play, oral (f!rec) multiple orgasms (f!rec), protected and unprotected sex (be safe pls they tried), creampie, use of the name baby, she/her, brat!reader kinda, whiny chan, choking (m!rec), spitting, cum eating, alcohol use, slight overstim (f!rec), prob forgot some sorry

wc: 7.4k big oops lol kinda lost the plot

 an: breaking the norm from my regularly scheduled yeonkai post lol feedback is appreciated :)) not proof read sorry! [m.list]

you were nervous for your first day of work, worrying teeth leaving your lips red and sore. when you applied you thought it would be easy money, slow shifts where you could study at the register, the coffee shop attached giving you one free drink a shift. it was perfect but your anxiety was eating at you the entire walk to the bookstore. even the location was perfect, three minutes on your bike, a few more to walk. you didn’t even need to pick up new clothes, your usual attire fully excitable as long as you had your nametag visible. 

the store won't open for another hour but you need to come in early to go over the basics. Your boss told you that although he wasn't going to be there his best employee would show you the ropes. When you get to the building the door is locked and you have to knock on the glass to try and get someone's attention but you can't see anyone from where you are. When someone does notice you you're pacing the sidewalk picking at your nail polish. “so sorry about that i forgot you were coming in early today,” the accented voice mutters, the ding of the bell making you turn around. 

“It's okay,” you nod after a second. The man before you smiles, dimples and teeth on display, devastating enough to take someone out with a single glance. He holds the door open with his palm spread wide, still standing in the doorway so that when you pass you have to brush against his chest with your shoulder. 

“I'm Chan, I work at the cafe most days now but I was told you would be working the store register and stocking?” 

“Yes that's right,” you nod, taking in the small store, the dark hardwood floors creaking underfoot as you move further in. You had loved the store since your freshman year of college. The cafe at night was one of the only places that sold caffeine until late, the warm ambient lighting making it cozy. Even now with the morning light pouring in through the floor to ceiling glass windows, it was comforting, the smell of the freshly brewing pots of coffee waking you up. 

“Great, I worked that job for a while so I should be the best help with setting you up,” Chan pulls the door closed behind you, locking back up. He moves around you waving to follow after him to the back room. To get there we have to weave through the stands of books laid out on tables and stacked on shelves and you feel in over your head looking at all the inventory. “for the most part it's mostly register work. When we get a new release it goes out on the front tables and then the old ones get pushed back to the shelves. nothing too major. I'm sure once you get a hang of it you will be very bored,” 

“It's okay I brought homework,” you say, lifting your tote at your side. 

“ahh, good idea. and if you get bored of homework you could come mess with me at the cafe, I'm always trying to come up with new drinks although I've been told by the other baristas that I'm not very good at that,” he chuckles deep in his throat before turning a corner and pushing open another door. “break room and the cubbies for your stuff. I haven't had anything stolen but if you're worried the front has enough space under the counter for your bag or even if you want to have easy access to your books that's fine too,” he gestures at a desk in the corner, “you clock in and out there, I'm sure you were told how to set up your checks to be deposited?” 

“Yes,” you nod trying to pay attention to all the information. 

“Okay great so let's get your name tag I think it's…oh here! there you go,” he passes you the little magnetic tag for you to put on. you glance at his name tag, the koala sticker faded but still cute. “Then let's see the register and go over that before we open the store, it's a Monday so we are usually really slow so during your shift we can walk around and go over the sections but the computer will tell you where to find most any book here. there is also a map taped to the counter to help customers so you can see that to help you,” 

“got it, thank you,” you follow Chan out and the rest of the hour goes by with him cracking jokes and pointing out what shelves hold what books. When it was time for the doors to be unlocked it was anticlimactic because you only went back to having no one in the shop but the two of you. chan sitting on the stool behind his register for the cafe and you sitting on yours directly across the room. Chan had a book propped up to pass the time and you got started on your homework. your nerves are now officially gone with how calm it was going. 

Even when customers did come in, you breezed through it, Chan's watchful eye not prying but comforting enough to know he would swoop in and help if it was ever necessary. 

When another slow lull came and there were no customers Chan called across the short distance to ask you your coffee order, “I may be bad at coming up with new drinks but that doesn't mean I don't make mean drinks to begin with,” that dimpled smile hitting you right in the stomach. 

“surprise me I'm okay with anything when it's free,” 

“best perk about the job,” he agrees, turning to make you your drink. When he is done he brings it over to the register a small grin on his face as he passes the warm drink over. “go on try it,”

you take a sip humming your approval, “Oh wow that's really good,”  there was no lid on the paper cup to show off his latte art, the heart feathering out to where your lipstick stain hugs the rim. you wipe at the corner of your mouth catching the stray foam on your thumb and licking it off. 

chan is stuck watching your every move, all day he's been finding it hard to concentrate on anything he's doing. he was trying to play it cool even after your introduction, but he was caught the moment you turned around when he opened the door, your perfume making him want to lean in when you brushed past him. It didn't help that he was right across from you all day, the perfect seat for him to make sure you weren't struggling although that was an excuse because he knew how easy the job was he just wanted to watch you. 

Now you're basically moaning over something he made and he feels bad for having any thoughts about you. then you swipe at your lip, thumb in your mouth, how is he supposed to think about anything else? 

“cinnamon and apple?” you ask your gaze so attentive. 

“warm and cozy,” Chan smiles watching as you take another sip that hum caught right in the back of your throat and he wishes he could swallow the sound himself. but the jingling of the bell by the door jolts him back to reality. “let me get back,” 

“Thank you!” you call after him while the customers make their way through the shelves. Chan waves your words away,“Anytime,” 

later when both of your replacements come in for their shift Chan helps show you how to clock out and where you can find your schedule. “looks like we have morning shifts together,” he comments, “I'll have to give you my number so when you get to the door I can let you in,” it's an excuse really he could leave the door unlocked after he gets in, no one ever tries to come in that early anyways most of their customers come to study after class. 

“sure that works perfectly,” you smile unlocking your phone and passing it over, he does the same and you type your number in for him. 

“best barista?” you laugh when you see the name he plugged in. 

“Seungmin might not like that but who cares,” he chuckles, “best AM barista might be better,” 

you both walk out together and you notice you're headed in the same direction, “do you live over on Sixth?” 

“yeah, do you?” 

“the first apartment building on the corner,” 

“Me too!” The two of you were a few steps away from each other and Chan took the opportunity to catch up. “official walking buddies now? can't change fate,” 

“yeah okay,” you laugh, falling into step next to him. 

“The boss said you were in school, the campus right up the road?” 

“yeah, I have a lab at five actually,” 

“The shop is the perfect job for you then, my classes are also kinda late in the day so I get it,” he ruffled his hair and pushed back the strands from his forehead only to have them fall right back into place. The two of you make comfortable conversation until you make it to the lobby of your apartment building, Chan holding the door open for you before you press the elevator button. 

when you two make it into the elevator you ask him, “What floor?” as you press your own button. 

The space is small and he leans over to see the button panel, body heat, and his colleague filling the space. and you didn't mind it at all, he smelled like a mix of baked goods and sandalwood. “looks like we live on the same floor,” he chuckles, pulling back to stand straight. both of you are silent eyes trained ahead as you mutter, “Small world I guess,” 

“Very,” he nods, chewing on the corner of his bottom lip. When the elevator dings and opens you wave goodbye as you both move down the opposite halls. He was about three doors down and when he got his key in he looked up with a smile waving before walking in. When you close the door to your apartment you lean against the door letting out the longestsigh you could muster. of course, your hot coworker shares your schedule and lives right down the hall. of fucking course. 

-

The following morning you're tugging on your coat, pulling the door closed and your tote bag keeps sliding down your shoulder. You're muttering profanities quite enough as you try to get the key into the lock when you don't hear Chan approach. you flinch so hard you think your heart stopped. “You scared me!” and Chan's giggling reached out for your tote bag pulling it from the crook of your arm where it kept falling. 

“I'm sorry I thought you heard me say good morning,” he slings your bag over your shoulder as you finally lock the door.“I was running a bit late so I thought why not just wait anyways since we are headed to the same place?” he's a little shy as he says it following you to the elevator, “although I know that defeats the purpose of giving you my number but you know thought that counts and everything right?” he's rambling his grip on the tote bag strap turning white-knuckled, his free hands at the back of his neck messing with his hair. 

“That works perfectly with me and I can carry my own bag,” the elevator dings as you say it and Chan shakes his head stepping in before you holding his hand out so the doors stay open. 

“I don't know how you carry this thing around its like a bag of rocks it's so heavy,” 

“textbooks,” you correct, leaning over him to press the lobby button. “although you're right I should get a better bag to carry them around but that one is so cute,” you run your fingers over the design that made you buy the tote in the first place, “everything is worth the struggle as long as its cute,” 

“agreed,” Chan nods, watching your fingers run up and down the fabric, your nails painted the prettiest shade of blue and he has to swallow to push away his thoughts of you wrapping your hand around him. but the image won't fade so he shakes his head trying to think of all the things he needs to do to set up for the day. 

He holds the door open for you the same way he had your first day, letting you brush past him only this time he's following you to clock in watching your hips sway in your skirt all the way to the break room. and when the day starts to go by he tries not to look your way as you press your pen to your lips every once in a while jotting down notes in the margins on sticky notes. watching you smile up at customers and helping them. 

chan brings you a coffee halfway through your shift when it is slow, this time it is sweet with caramel, “oh wow definitely best AM barista material,” you nod licking the whipped cream from your top lip. he flushes a deep red chuckling, “its nothing,” but he was starting to realize he would learn any drink combo to hear that hum over and over again. 

and when you're walking home together you laugh at his dad jokes making his heart flutter, he already can't wait until tomorrow to see you. 

-

You've been working at the store for about a month, and your routine is always the same. Chan waits by the elevator for you to walk, he makes you a new drink halfway through your shift, walks you back and you do it all over the next day. you realize it's the best part of your day and when you have the day off you're stuck wondering what Chan's doing, if he's wondering the same thing about you. it's late on one of your off days when he texts you, do you smell that or is that just my side of the hallway? and you know exactly what he's talking about. 

someone was cooking dinner in their apartment and the savory smell was wafting through from under the door making you hungry. 

definitely smelling something good if that's what you're asking

I think it's the people in front of me. Would it be wrong to show up with a bowl and ask for some?

not if you ask really really nicely I'm sure they will cough some up 

no, I'm too shy if they reject me I won't be able to ever leave my place again 

I'll bring my own bowl they can't turn away both of us if we beg 

seriously tho are you hungry because I'm starving and Seungmin texted me the cafe specials menu 

You're sure Chan would be able to hear you squeal all the way in his apartment. It wasn't a full-on offer out but it was close enough and your fragile little heart was consumed with its crush on Chan. he had you kicking your feet like a school girl and you couldn't help but smile. 

The best PM barista does make a mean sandwich 

be ready in 5? 

if he didn't hear you before the whole floor definitely did now. you jumped up from your couch to get ready. Maybe it was nothing, just two friends, coworkers, even going out, to your place of work, for a casual dinner. only you could tell yourself that all you wanted but it didn't stop your excitement. sure you saw Chan nearly every day but not usually when you weren't already scheduled to see each other. only once when you were both crossing paths in the lobby and that didn't count because you were late to class and rushing and he was with a friend, but that didn't stop the butterflies you felt when he gave you a wave and smile as you passed. 

You were ready in five minutes pulling your door closed to find Chan leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, a dark jean jacket over a hoodie, his jeans fitting him just right. “ready?” he asked, pulling himself up to his full height. 

“yup,” it's a squeak as you say it, your cheeks colored in embarrassment. He was wearing a beanie with his ears peeking out from under the fabric. When you stepped outside you realized how cool it was outside, your thin sweater doing you no good. 

Chan holds the door open for you to lead the way, your arms crossed before you feel the heavy weight of his jean jacket slung on your shoulders. “You look a little cold there,” he smiles and you push your arms through the warm sleeves. it smells like him without the coffee scent usually following him after a shift. 

“thank you,” your fists wrapping around the oversized sleeves. 

When you make it to the cafe it's filled with light chatter, the golden glow from the lamps making the hardwood look shiny as you both stand in line for the cafe. your other coworkers behind the counters joking around as they make drinks and call out orders. You have gotten to know most of them when you have an occasional late shift but not as well as you got to know Chan. That was mainly because you two didn't have many customers in the morning time and you could talk even across the store without worrying about someone listening or scolding us. The night shifts were busy and most of the time a little loud. 

When you make it to the counter seungmin's warm smile greets you, “I know you,” he points but you can't miss the way his gaze falls to the jacket you're wearing and back to Chan his eyebrows raising but he doesn't ask. 

“We are here because I heard Chan's trying to come for your title of best barista,” 

“he can't make a coffee to save his life,” 

“Hey! I make excellent coffee,” 

“Because I taught you,” the smug smile on Seungmin's face made his cheeks round. “what can I get you two?” 

You both order reaching for your bag when you feel Chan's hand in the pocket of the jacket you are wearing. He is standing behind you, one hand on your arm and the other wrapped around to pull his wallet from where it's at your hip. “I got it,” he mumbles so close to your ear you almost shiver. “you can get it next time,” 

you give a slow nod trying to catch your breath before Seungmin asks, “Hey are you two coming out with us tomorrow night? they opened this new club downtown we wanted to go try,” 

“oh I don't know,” you shrug and Chan adds, “I'll go if you go,” he looks almost hopeful for you to say yes. 

“Well then sure why not? we can Uber there together,” 

“perfect i'll let the guys know,” Seungmin hands over the receipt with your order number, “should be out in a few,” 

“Thank you,” you and Chan say together, moving to the other side of the counter to wait for your things. When they come out Chan takes the tray and when you think he's going to turn to one of the empty tables he keeps going over to the bookstore side. you follow after him as he weaves his way to the break room. 

“kinda loud out there,” he says, setting the tray down on the little table they have set up. 

“Definitely different from how we usually see the store in the morning,” you agree, pulling out a chair to sit. The break room wasn't like most other breakrooms you had been to in other jobs. this one was set up like a cozy office, the building was old and well-kept enough to make every space look cozy. the lamp in the corner of the room giving the warm glow the others made in the cafe. you take a sip of your fruity drink not picking out a coffee this late when you didn't need the aid for an all-night study session. “now this is really good,” you say nodding down at your straw. 

“new menu item I haven't tried yet,” Chan sips his drink, an iced tea. “this one's good too, try it,” he slides his glass across the table toward you. 

Chan watches you take your sip from his drink, the hum he loves showing itself for the second time tonight. “good?” 

“Amazing, here try mine,” and so he does, nodding in approval. 

the two of you chat not even noticing how late it's getting by the time you're done and taking the tray back out to the cafe. most of the building is cleared of people, seungmin wiping down the counters when you leave. It's noticeably colder outside and you wrap your arms around yourself happy to have chan’s jacket for warmth or you would have had a cold the next morning for sure. Neither of you asked if this was in fact a real date or something between friends. you don't even notice that you have taken his jacket back to your apartment until you're changing for bed and realize you never took it off. 

-

The next morning when you leave for work you pass it back to Chan who smiles as he takes it back. “Thank you for that last night,” you say waving your hand as if you could cut through your embarrassment. Why was it that crushes made you feel like everything you did was so awkward? you were returning a jacket for crying out loud. It was totally normal, especially between friends but you couldn't help but blush. 

for the rest of the day, you two fall into your routine. Towards the end of your shift, a customer knocks over a display of books and you assure them you will pick them up once you're done checking them out, and it's no problem at all. Once they leave you bend to get the books picked up and Chan can't look away. you're wearing a skirt, the simple black panties you're wearing flashing him every once in a while as you reach over. He doesn't even notice he's overfilled the coffee cup in front of him until the coffee splashes down to his shoes. “oh fuck,” he mutters catching your attention as you restack the books. hes red from his cheeks to his ears as he wipes up the mess. but as he pushes the black rag around he can only think about you bending over, the fabric of your underwear hugging your skin dimpling the flesh of your ass. now he's over-wiping the counter thinking about it, so lost in thought he doesn't notice you come up to stand right at the till. “guess we both are having messy days,” your voice pulling him from his thoughts and he stammers over his words, “y-yeah messy,” 

but the word only fuels him, if anything was to be messy it needed to be you, he wanted too badly to make a mess of you. 

“I just saw the next shift workers walk in. Are you ready to head out?” 

“yes yes let me just put a lid on this, do you want anything to go?” 

“No, I'm good I don't need all that caffeine before heading out for drinks tonight,” Chan had forgotten about that but now he was thinking about what you were going to wear, about what it would be like going anywhere else besides work and the apartment building with you. 

When it's time to leave for drinks that night you text Chan you're ready and you book the Uber to come pick you two up.when you lock the door to your place and turn around to find Chan there you could have fallen to your knees at how downright edible he looked. those slouchy jeans showing a thin strip of the elastic to his underwear, the black tank hugging him in all the best places under his leather jacket. you wanted to hook your finger in the loop of his jeans and tug him to you and never let him go, link him to you like he was a keychain you couldn't remove easily. and his eyes were tracing up your bare legs, over the short ruffled shorts you wore, your own tank hugging you giving you the best cleavage. Chan's blush was so contradictory to his outfit and it made him so much cuter, eyes jumping to yours to not make it obvious that he was checking you out just as much as you were checking him out. “cars out front,” you say brushing past him. 

at the club, Chan could not stop watching you. 

you were sitting in the booth next to him and seungmin, lips around the straw of the drink in your hands, paying all your attention to Felix talking about a customer who gave him a hard time. 

“he just kept asking for a blue book over and over and I could not tell you how many blue books I pulled off the shelves for him,” your giggle was more intoxicating than anything in that room. 

“Did you find it?” 

“no! he walked out on me and to this day I question if he was just fucking with me or not,” 

The rest of the group was finally showing up and the booth was only so big. Chan rested his arm behind your head scooting until his leg was flush against yours so that the rest of them could fit comfortably. He hated how jealous he was feeling as you paid everyone more attention than he was getting. and when Hyunjin asked you to dance he could have ground his teeth to dust. “sure!” your drink is empty in front of you. 

you were in the middle of the booth and Hyunjin was on the end so he stood making room for the others to move but they didn't hear the request over the sound of the music. “Just jump over,” seungmin laughed but you followed his suggestion like it was the best idea, mostly because you were a little tipsy and needed to be out of the booth after being squashed in it for over an hour. you brought your knees up to your chest before putting your hands on Chan's shoulder to push yourself up to stand on the seat. As if you were a beacon all of them turned to watch you if they weren't listening before they would be now. Chan's hand reached out to your thigh to steady you, the warmth of his palm sinking right to your stomach. there were only two people besides you to jump over and both of them leaned back as Hyunjin reached his hands out to help you. you laughed as you jumped over, hyunjin's hands on your waist helping you most of the way but the second Chan's hand was gone you wanted it back. 

Hyunjin pulled you to the dance floor keeping you within the eye line of the table. the bodies of everyone pushing you and Hyunjin together until you were completely pressed with your back to his front. “Want to make Chan jealous?” his mouth pressed into your ear so that you could hear him over the music. 

“What?” hyunjin's hand slid over your waist right where your tank top met the top of your shorts. 

“We have a bet going that he won't last two songs until he's dragging you away from me,” Hyunjin guides your hips to grind against him and your eyes flicker to find Chan's gaze burning into you two. if looks could kill Hyunjin would be six feet deep. 

“he won't fall for it,” you shake your head but not for wanting to see if it actually would work. 

“want in? or do you not like him like that? because he sure as hell likes you like that I mean look at him,” and you do, the rim of his glass pressed to his bottom lip, eyes devouring you as Hyunjin's hand slips your tank up revealing a thin strip of skin. he's still with his arm slung over your empty seat, the rise and fall of his chest showing off his pecks. you raise one arm reaching behind you to tug on Hyunjin's hair and Chan follows the movement, jaw tight as he sets his glass down.  

“how much if he doesn't last one song?” 

“a lot more than if he doesn't last two,” Hyunjin chuckles and maybe it is the drinks talking but you nod, “Add me in, I'll Take that bet,” your free hand covers one of Hyunjin dragging it up your ribs as you let him guide your hips against his. 

it doesn't take long for Chan to leave the booth at all. 

Chan does not know what comes over him as he watches you with Hyunjin only that he needs to be the one touching you if anyone at all is to be doing any touching at all. Hyunjin lets you go with no question, slapping Chan on the back before making his way back to the booth. you honestly can't believe it worked as well as it did, the way that Chan didn't even last half a song let alone two. “I didn't know you felt that way about me,” your smile teases as Chan grabs your waist and pulls you into his chest as if he can erase the feeling of hyunjin on your skin. 

“Seriously? The heavy staring hasn't been enough because I thought my cover was blown the first day,” his smile is lazy, the drinks hitting him in just the right way. 

“first day? not just because your friends set you up?” 

“nope,” his hands slide down the curve of your ass until they are cupping you, tugging your body even closer to him, he's hard in his jeans, the bulge digging into your stomach. “they definitely didn't need to try hard at all, not when I want you this bad already,” 

your hands slide up his chest and round to the back of his neck, “Maybe I'm a little oblivious and I need you to tell me in great detail that you like me or I might not be privy to believing you at all,” the way that you're looking at each other is consuming, so much so that you don't realize him dipping closer until his nose is brushing against yours. eyes fluttering shut you tilt your head ready for his kiss when he stops right as they barely brush, “if you needed me to praise you all you needed to do was ask,” 

“Isn't that exactly what I was doing?” you nudge your nose against his trying to reach his lips as he pulls away grinning wide, dimples on display. 

“I guess you could say that,” one of his hands slid up your back to hold the base of your skull. 

“You're teasing me,” your pout made Chan want to kiss you even more. 

“I think they have another bet going that I can't last one song before dragging you out of here and I'm pretty sure once I get my mouth any closer to you they will be right and I'll lose out on $100,” Chan can feel you laugh against his chest, the rumble in your chest drawing him closer. 

“What makes you think I'm leaving with you?” You're taunting him now, fingers running through his hair as he squeezes your ass hard enough to make your pussy lips open. 

“We drove here together,” he states and you fuck with him a bit more, “but I heard Hyunjin has a car I can catch a ride in,” 

Chan can't stand the sound of anyone else's name coming out of your mouth when he's this hard when you're pressed so close to him. he finally kisses you, soft lips tasting like tangy alcohol. he wants to channel the last month into this kiss, every want and glance. he can hear his friends cheering from the table but he couldn't care less not when you're here. 

when you pull away you're breathless, “do you still win if I drag you out of here?” 

Chan can't form words before you pull him after you, your hand fisted into his top. his tongue pressed to his cheek, his grin so wide no one could miss it even if they tried. when you walk past the table you point at them, “You own me!”  

but they are all forgotten the second you're out in the cold air. you shiver, pulling out your phone to order an Uber and Chan slings his jacket over your shoulders just like the night before. The leather is warm and soft against your skin and he wraps his arms around your hands sliding past the jacket and wrapping around you. his bare arms rippling and you could bite him with how good he looks flexing right now. you don't even care that he could be getting cold when this is the view. 

Chan is all over you once you climb into the Uber, “safety first,” he mutters into your mouth before he pulls your seatbelt around you to buckle. You could laugh at how cautious he is but the seatbelt doesn't stop him from trying to pull you close enough to almost be in his lap, his mouth leaving open-mouthed kisses down your neck and to your chest. never in your life have you ever spoken in an Uber let alone almost strip in the backseat but if Chan had asked you would have. and when you're in the elevator you almost forget to press what floor you're trying to make it to, chan asks if you want to go to your place or his, and your response is you pulling his keys from his front pocket fingers brushing his straining cock making him whine in your ear. “Yours,” you say into your kiss, pressing the keys to his chest before he's dragging you to his door fumbling with the key ring. 

Chan pushes his jacket from your shoulders once the door is closed and locked behind him. your hands jolt out to grab both his biceps and he stops in his tracks, “do we need to slow down?” the pure concern on his face is enough to make your knees weak, “we can stop if it's too much,” you will kindly choke on him for being so worried. 

“no, I want you to fuck me I just really wanted to see sturdy the handles ill be holding will be when you're in me,” your nails dig into his arms and he gives a soft whine. 

“You're so fucking perfect,” it's a groan into your mouth as he wraps himself back around you walking you backward towards the bedroom. he slaps the lights on before you make contact with the bed. he breaks the kiss letting you sit, the comforter soft against your bare legs. chan gets to his knees in front of you tugging off your boots, kissing the inside of your knee, and sending a bolt right to your center. “How many times do you think I can make you cum?” He asks pulling off your socks before kissing up your thigh. He runs his hands up your calves before grabbing the back of your knees and spreading your legs. 

“I don't know you might have to try really hard to get me there once,” he scoffs before nipping your inner thigh with his teeth, your knees instantly try to close but he shakes his head. 

“Maybe we start our own bet, I get you to come at least three times and then you owe me another date,” 

“Another one? could you remind me of the first time?” 

“I haven't fucked you hard enough to forget simple things yet baby,” he stands tugging his tank top off by pulling the back of the collar. your mouth is dry at the sight of him leaning back on your hands to take him in. Those jeans are low on his hips as he toes out of his shoes, “take your top off,” he nods, popping the button of his jeans. 

you follow your orders, you're braless, nipples already hard and aching for attention. “You listen so well,” he tugs the zipper of his jeans down but doesn't pull his pants down. Instead, he leans over you, kissing you down your neck until he makes it to your tits, sucking one nipple between his teeth and rolling the other one between his fingers. you open your legs to him, your shorts are too tight all of a sudden, too hot. lacing your fingers in his hair you throw your head back as he gives your nipple a tug with his teeth before switching to the neglected side. you moan rolling your hips into his clothed bulge and he sinks deeper into the cradle of your hips. “the prettiest girl making the prettiest sounds,” you whimper at his words knowing you are completely soaked. 

chan pulls away letting you lay out on the mattress before he hooks his fingers in your shorts and panties tugging them down your legs. he moans at the sight of you laid out before him, he tugs one of your legs to the side to reveal more of you to him, glistening under the lights. never has he been so excited to devour someone and that's just what he does, not waiting before his mouth is on you. he groans against your clit the vibration making your knees weak, “you taste as good as you look,” he wraps his arms under and around your thighs to spread you wide before diving back in. 

your hands twist in his duvet, your orgasm building faster than it ever has before. your back arching off the bed before you start riding his face so close to the edge that you don't expect his fingers until they are pressed right against the gummy spot inside you and you’re seeing spots as you cum. Chan is licking you clean as you ride out your high before he stands fingers in his mouth watching your legs twitch. “That was one,” a cocky grin present as he moves around to the nightstand to pull out a condom. 

you sit up on your elbows watching him strip, thick veiny cock hitting his stomach. He climbs up on the bed resting against the pillows and headboard before rolling the condom on. “if your legs still work I'd love it if you gave me a ride,”

“and if they don't?” you ask watching him spit into his hand before grabbing himself and tugging loosely. 

“I'll sit here and finish by myself but wouldn't it be so much fun to watch me disappearing into you?” you can feel yourself flutter at the thought. pulling yourself up and crawling up the bed to chan he grabs your hips to help steady yourself as you straddle him. you sink your hips down letting your wetness coat the condom, Chan's head is thrown back as he whines, “Please don't tease me,” his thumbs digging in hard enough to bruise your waist like a belt. 

“Whiny baby,” you coo, pressing a kiss over his pulse, the rapid beating so similar to your own as you reach down between you two to guide him to your entrance. Chan is gasping when you sink onto him, slowly inching down and rising every few strokes before you're finally stretched enough to sink fully seated on him. his tight stomach fluttering under your hands as you use him as leverage to rise again. you can feel him so deep he's kissing your womb, right in your throat.“god you're so fucking warm, just fucking right,” he moans half-lidded eyes watching where your bodies meet, you'regoing too slow for him and he flicks his hips up to watch himself disappear in the sweetest cunt he's ever had. 

“you're so big,” you whimper reaching for one of his hands to press into your pelvis, the added pressure makes your head fall forward in a moan, “you feel so good,” 

“Choke me please,” he moans head on the pillows as he plants his heels to get more leverage to thrust into you, “please,” the whimper he lets out nearly sends you over the edge. you use one of your hands to wrap around his throat, the vein pulsing under the tips of your fingers. “harder baby I can take it,” you nod at his words increasing the pressure you have on him, his eyes fluttering shut as he snaps his hips up into you. He keeps his hand pressed to your pelvis and he can feel each thrust meet the heel of his palm. your knees planted firmly against the mattress he lets go of your hip to press his thumb into your clit. you cry out as he keeps up his brutal pace rubbing your clit in circles and driving you over the edge. you can't even move as he pulls out not wanting to cum at the feel of you squeezing him just yet. your hand still around his neck as you come down from your high, breathing labored. 

“That was two,” he smirks when you sit up, twitching when your clit brushed his thigh. “onto three,” he wraps his arms around you flipping you over so that you're now laying where he had been. he pushes your legs up so that your shins are against his chest. he can't help himself, he's not even in you and he's trying to rut against your legs, his whines and moans sounding almost pained. “please I need to feel you, all of you,” he begs, “I promise ill pull out I just want to feel you,” his breathy pleas pressed right into your ear, hair sticking to your sweaty cheeks. You're holding onto his shoulders nodding without thinking twice because you need to feel him so bad. He reaches down to roll the condom back off not caring anymore about anything but being in you as deep as possible. As close as possible.  

you cry out when he sinks back in, so much warmer and thicker than before, every ridge in his cock fitting perfectly with you. your hands slip down to his biceps nails digging back in as you hold on as Chan snaps his hips forward moaning deep enough that you feel the rumble in his stomach pressed against your legs. 

chan is fucking you so hard the headboard is hitting the wall, he's pounding in over and over that your toes are curling. Then he sinks his hips finding a new angle until he's hitting your gummy spot, your head falls back and he presses his open mouth to your neck moaning against your skin the feeling singing all the way to your teeth. “I needed to feel you, I needed to feel that you're mine,” his words are choppy as he keeps up his pace. “you feel so fucking right,” he pulls back enough to push your legs a bit wider and he's back to his pace, your back arching into him. You're full of electricity, every nerve humming as he rocks back and forth. you can feel him twitch inside you and Chan knows he wouldn't be able to pull out even if he tried. 

he fully seats himself in you as he cums, thick hot ropes of it filling you up. his moan is so loud in your ear and the feeling of his release triggers your third orgasm, your cry half scream as you follow right after him. 

Chan's never cum so much in his life, his hips moving lazily as you flutter around his cock taking everything he has to offer. when he pulls out a trail of your mixed fluids follows, so much so that it makes a puddle on the duvet under you. Chan runs his finger through the cream rubbing it up your clit and back down to your entrance before he leans over and licks you clean. “Chan!” your knees are shaking, tears threatening to spill as he pulls himself back up pressing his mouth to yours and letting some of the cum he's collected spill onto your tongue. he kisses away the saltiness before pulling back, to gaze down on you, “that was three, looks like you owe me one more date,”

[timmydraker]

Thinking about Vampire Tim AU and him saving Bruce via turning.

None of the Drakes are actually Vampires, at least not permanently. It was a very strange instance that occurred out of pure chance and coincidence.

A pregnant Janet Drake in a foreign country having a run in with a starving vampire rouge that bite her just a few days before she gave birth.

Instead of the curse spreading to her, the labour of her child pushed and the spreading of lifeform spread to her baby as it was born. The child looked healthy, had no inhuman features, and they assumed her being so sick was simply the fact she was about to give birth.

Tim doesn’t realise what he is for a while purely because his parents are vegan and, until he was seven and had some beef from a classmates lunch, hadn’t had any blood enter his mouth.

Having to teach himself everything, Tim learned to manage both his hunger and abilities as quickly as he could. He studied history and mythos and did several test to figure out the limits to what he needed and could do.

He learnt that he could heal via blood, that he could go without air for days, and that his hearing was normal though his sense of smell was enough to distinguish blood types.

He learn that he could go two weeks without blood before it became a problem, but if he pushed it past three weeks he would start to experience literally decay.

Tim disconcerted his saving grace was that the hunger wasn’t as uncontrollable as people made it out to be in movies and books. At most, it was just like normal human hunger or thirst, and he was aware there was a huge variable in him being raised rather poorly.

He keeps it hidden for years, but then when he’s nineteen Bruce dies.

Not Batman, Bruce.

They got in a car crash of all things, the other drive running after they drove them off the road on the extremely rare instance that Alfred wasn’t driving.

Tim watched the tree branch in his foster father’s chest for several minutes as he thought about his options. Bruce was dead upon impact, gone with only the last wisps of life hanging to him.

Bruce was a father.

Batman was needed.

Even though it would out what he was, Tim forced his several sharp teeth out, all needle sharp and long enough his jaw had to unhinge slightly, and bit into his own wrist. The fangs, an inch long each, dug into his skin painfully before moving to dig into each of Bruce’s wrist and then finally his neck.

Tim smeared the blood into all three wounds and then squeezed as much as he could into Bruce’s mouth.

He had no idea how he knew what to do, trusting the instinct the curse seemed to just… give him.

When Bruce begins to breath again, Clark finally shows up. It’s been a total of eleven minutes and Tim only realises that the other took so long because he had been off planet, yet he is grateful because if he had been there…

Tim instructs Clark on how to cover up the scene, removing the cars and getting Bruce to the cave.

Dick is freaking out, worrying over his brothers ripped clothes and Bruce’s clear injuries, but Tim is quiet.

He takes Bruce’s medical cot and leads them both into a containment cell and then seals it, implementing his own lock as well as one of Bruce’s so no one can open it. He can hear someone banging on the glass a few times but he ignores it to stand over his father’s side and wait for him to wake up.

Naturally, when the older man does he’s panicked and screening Tim’s name.

Tim smiles at him sadly before taking hold of his hand, which Bruce immediately process as wrong.

“Why aren’t I dead?”

Smile growing sadder before fading to an almost formal look, Tim squeezed his hand before pulling away.

“I know you’ve had your suspicions and I thank you for trusting me regardless, but you are right. I’m not human Bruce, and now… you aren’t either.”

He lets the worlds settle for just a moment before continuing, knowing the other will want all the information he can. They’re both so similar in that way.

“I was born a vampire, I will always be a vampire. I will explain that all to you soon, but what you need to know is this: you do not need to drink human blood, you will not loose control over your thirst if you allow me to train you, and yes I had no choice. Gotham needs Batman and I-… I need my father. I will not apologise for my selfishness, but I am sorry you have to be like me.”

Bruce is quiet but he doesn’t move to kick Tim out, nor does he shout at him or cry in betrayal.

He’s surprised, but not more than Tim had ever seen before.

It’s almost an hour of silence between them before Bruce speaks again, “You… you are actually nineteen?”

Tim scoffs and Bruce glares, which makes Tim smile more, “I am. My body will age until around twenty five, at least that’s my hypothesis. If you are turned you stay the age you were, but I was born.”

Bruce nods and after a moment reaches out for his son’s hand.

Another silence before he squeezes it, “Have you told the others about… this change?”

Tim winces, “I tried to keep us separated because I knew you would worry for hurting someone, but I knew Damian would break in if he couldn’t listen so…”

“Ah. Understood.”

Then, in another rare instance that Tim thought he wouldn’t see for at least another few years, Bruce opens his arms to him for a hug.

Naturally, Tim crumbles into his father’s arms and sobs louder than a war drum.

Bruce kisses his head and holds him tight, a vampire embrace.

[bunny-1111]

Eyes dont miss - Theo Nott x reader

Description: When you try to hide your anxiety from your observant boyfriend Theodore, it comes in crashing on you in the middle of the night, and you can't run from it any longer.

TW: anxiety attack

Word count: 1.3k

Fluff, unedited

...

There was little that Theodore missed.

In his eyes, he carried a loaded gun.

Ammo full of meticulous attention to detail.

He had you studied, fluent in you as if you were a language, the twitches in your eyes a verb, the tone in your voice an adjective.

You thought you hid yourself well, well enough to go unnoticed.

But he watched, even when you insisted on being ok.

He was demanding, a trait both good and bad, his stern demeanour insisting on answers, meeting your same stubborn answer, you were okay. Liar.

When it came to you, Theodore wouldn't allow himself to leave the slightest detail unscathed.

He watched and observed as you drew on your arms during class.

How you picked at the skin around your nails under the table of the great hall during dinner, your twitching hands fiddling as if your fingers depended on it.

How would you chew the gums at the side of your mouth

How he felt your fingers claw a little deeper into his shoulder when he suggested you both turn in for bed.

To Theodore, these things were concerning, though, when he would approach and accuse you of being undeniably going through it, you would deny, deny, deny.

Until you both hit the worst of it, in a cold winter night when you couldn't run away from it anymore. In the still and quiet hour of three am, you pant, in a hot sweat, string in a nightmare until Theo woke, immediately halting you up much to your fright.

As you sat up, the heavy rise and fall of your chest began to set him off too, his own breath hitched watching you fall apart for reasons above him.

His heavy hand polished up and down your back, he meant to be gentle, but he couldn't stop his mind to remember to be tender.

"What's going on" his voice echos through your ears

"Why are you yelling?!" you scream, your hands glued to your head, you wanted to rip your hair out there and then.

"What? Darling, talk to me," he quietly softly. He wasn't yelling, though to you. To you, his voice boomed with volume; just focus, you reminded yourself, come on idiot, stop this, stop it, focus, focus, focus.

Your hands fall in front of your face as you dig your nails into your skin time and time over.

When Theodore's hands take hold of your own, realise the almost bloody palms spread out, lacing his palms into yours.

"Feel my hand, hear my voice, c'mon" he whispered out.

His words cut through the fog like a lifeline, grounding you in their gentleness. Your head spun, reality blurred at the edges, but the steady warmth of his hands kept you tethered.

"Look at me," Theo urged softly, voice barely a murmur, as if afraid to startle you. He didn’t pull you out of the moment harshly, didn’t demand you shake it off. No, he anchored you, the pad of his thumb brushing along the back of your knuckles, each slow pass soothing, steadying.

He kept as much distance as he could, as if you were roadkill like he was gently aiding you off the road.

"Feel that, love?" he whispered, his dark eyes locked on yours with an intensity that was grounding in its calmness. "That’s me. I’m right here. I’ve got you."

You nodded, though the tremor in your hands betrayed you. Theo’s gaze remained unwavering, watching every flicker in your expression, the tiny cracks forming in your armour. You felt his hand drift to your cheek, warm and solid, the weight of it reassuring.

"I—" you started, words tangling in your throat, the shame of it making you flinch. The anxiety had been building for days, creeping up on you like a shadow. You'd convinced yourself you could manage, that you didn't need anyone, but Teddy wouldn't have that.

You weren't clueless. You brushed off his attempts of interrogation, but at this point, you were defenceless.

“You don’t have to explain it all, you know,” he murmured, his voice carrying the hint of a smile, as if he already understood without needing your words. "Just breathe. With me."

He guided you, slow and rhythmic, his own breathing soft and even. You mirrored him, matching his inhales and exhales, feeling the wild storm inside begin to quiet.

“Better?” he asked after a moment, not rushing, just waiting for you. His hand didn’t leave yours, fingers laced like he wouldn’t dare let go. And somehow, that small gesture made you feel safer than you’d felt in days.

You nodded again, feeling your heartbeat slow, the panic that had gripped you loosening, dissolving under his patient watch.

“Theo…” your voice broke a little, shaky and raw, but he just shook his head, his lips quirking up in that way that made you feel seen. Not judged. Not pitied. Just seen.

“Don’t worry about it,” he whispered, brushing a stray tear from your cheek with the back of his hand. “I’ll always be here, yeah? I've got eyes on you. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

And in that moment, you knew he meant it.

Theo's gaze softened even further, though his grip on your hand remained firm, grounding. The quiet between you both was filled with his silent assurances, a warmth that felt like a promise of safety. Your heart felt exposed, raw, but under Theo’s watchful eyes, vulnerability didn’t feel like a weakness. It felt like trust.

He shifted closer, closing the small gap between you, his knees brushing against yours as he sat across from you on the bed. “This… whatever it is you’re carrying,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “you don’t have to carry it alone.”

You hesitated, your mind flickering back to the countless times you’d brushed off his concern with a casual smile or a quick change of subject. You’d thought you were sparing him, protecting him from the weight of it all. But Theo was persistent, as if each little gesture you’d thought went unnoticed only made him more determined to understand.

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, bringing you back from the haze of your thoughts. “You don’t have to be okay all the time, you know?” His voice was calm, unwavering. “Not with me. I’d rather have your truth than your silence.”

A shiver ran down your spine, the walls you’d built up crumbling in the quiet of his words. Slowly, almost hesitantly, you nodded, feeling a strange sort of relief wash over you, like a weight finally lifted.

"I… I didn’t want you to worry,” you whispered, your voice so soft it almost felt like a confession. “Didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle it.”

Theo tilted his head, an understanding smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Love, if handling it means suffering alone, I’d rather you not handle it at all.” His tone was gentle, but the conviction in his words was unyielding. "You’re not alone in this. Not anymore.”

The sincerity in his voice sent a sense of warmth through your chest, leaving you feeling exposed yet comforted in a way you hadn’t felt in so long. Slowly, he reached up, his hand brushing the hair back from your face, his touch feather-light but grounding.

You took a shaky breath, letting yourself lean into his touch, allowing the weight of the moment to settle. For the first time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, it was okay to not be okay. Because Theo wasn’t going anywhere. And for him, your honesty mattered more than anything you could hide.

The panic and the anxiety might not be going anytime soon, but you knew neither was Theo.

“Thank you,” you breathed, the words barely audible, but Theo heard. He always did. He listened, and watched and understood, he loved with all his senses. He never missed.

...

A/N, my darlings, I'm back writing again. Requests are open, and if any of you suffer from anxiety, my inbox is always a safe place for you to come and talk about it, or anything in general.

Peace and love,

B.

[brbsoulnomming]

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 1

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

---

Steve's parents always locked their hearts in a safe in his dad's study at night.

For as long as Steve can remember, he watched them do it, pulling their hearts out of their chests and tucking them away in the safe in an easy, practiced motion - like a dance, like something they did without even thinking about it.

He liked it, liked watching them move in unison. It made him daydream about his own partner in the future, how they could move in sync with each other, anticipating each other's every movement and not having to say a thing to know what the other wanted.

Even his parents’ hearts were similar. They were both the same pale pink, bisected with only a few silver scars, and though they didn't quite beat in unison, it was close enough that Steve's young eyes didn't notice the difference. 

“One day,” his dad always said. “When you're old enough, your heart will go in here, too. When you're trained to be separated from it, when you're grown up.”

Steve wanted to be grown up more than anything.

But his heart never looked like theirs. Even when he got old enough to pull it out of his chest, to first show it to his beaming parents, it was a deep, unblemished red.

A kid's heart, his dad called it.

“It's not a bad thing!” his dad was quick to say. “You're young, Steven, you should have a kid's heart. Go be a kid.”

He ushered him out to play with Tommy and Carol, pleased as punch when the three of them came home to get snacks.

“You've made the right friends, Steven, my boy,” his dad said one day, while Steve was in his study, watching him take his heart out of the safe and tuck it into his chest. “Tommy's not bright, but he'll do what you say, and Carol looks like she'll be taking after her mother. Find yourself a girl who fits in, and you've got the makings of the next generation.”

Steve didn't really understand what that meant, but he liked his father's approval, and Carol and Tommy were the best friends he could ever imagine, so he guessed it didn't really matter.

—

The first time his parents leave for more than just one night, Steve protests.

He grabs onto his dad's slacks, his mother's skirts, and refuses to let go.

“Steven,” his mother hisses, a warning clear in her voice.

“Little tyke loves us so much,” his father says to his business partner, who’s waiting in the front hall. There's something in his voice that Steve's never heard before, something in his eyes that makes a chill go up his spine. “Give us a minute to say goodbye.”

His parents argue in his father's study. Steve hasn't been allowed in, so he doesn't know what they're saying, but he can hear the tone, knows it's angry. 

He's not sure what he did wrong, but it must be something, so when the door opens he flinches. 

Mom doesn't look happy, but she doesn't look unhappy, either, and Dad looks pleased, so he guesses it must not be something too bad.

“Come on, Steven, my boy,” his dad says, ushering him into the study. “I think it's time we trusted you with something.”

Steve perks up, eagerly following his dad into the office and over to the safe.

“Now, you know we lock our hearts in here every night to keep them safe,” his dad says.

Steve nods. “One day mine will be in there too.”

“That's right!” His dad is smiling again, but there's still something lurking in his eyes that makes Steve nervous. “But it's not just at night. We keep them here when we go away, too, and we need someone to stay here to keep them safe.”

The idea of being trusted with something so important outweighs the lingering nerves, and Steve lights up. “Me?”

“Of course! You're our son, Steven, the best of both of us! Who else would we trust with it?”

They still leave him alone, after that, more and more often, but Steve doesn't mind.

They trust him, and he's not going to let them down.

—

Steve doesn't really like keeping his heart in his chest. It's okay, for a while, but the longer it stays the more it feels like it's trapped - like his chest is too tight and he can't breathe, like he's more alone than he's ever been.

He doesn't think hearts were meant to be locked away, but his parents tell him different, so he listens.

They're just trying to keep him safe, after all, trying to make sure he's smart and strong and doesn't get hurt. 

—

"Ugh," Carol groans. "I'm so tired of my mom asking to see my heart at the end of the day. Like, I'm in middle school now, I don't need her checking if my feelings have been hurt."

"Mine still does it, too," Tommy grumbles. "Dad keeps telling her to knock it off at least."

Steve can't remember the last time his parents wanted to see his heart. 

"Mine leaves me alone now," he brags, because it feels like he should, even if his heart clenches painfully. 

"You're so lucky," Carol says wistfully.

"Already king of the castle, huh?" Tommy asks, jostling him with his elbow.

Steve snorts. "Yeah? If I'm king, what does that make you two? Prince and princess?"

Carol wrinkles her nose. "Prince and princess are for babies," she says. "We're not kids anymore." 

"What are we, then?" Tommy asks.

"Duke and Duchess," she says decisively. "I've read about them, they're like the second commands. The king's advisors."

"Yeah," Tommy says, bobbing his head. "We're like the royal court. The three of us can take on anything."

"Hearts out," Steve says. "That's what my dad says you have to do when you're entering into an agreement."

Carol and Tommy obey immediately, holding their hearts out in the middle of the little triangle they make. Steve holds his out with theirs. All three of them are a vibrant red, plump and solid - Steve's is a little deeper, a little fuller, than both of theirs, but he figures that's okay.

He's the leader, it should be different. 

"Now what?" Carol asks.

Okay, so, Steve doesn't exactly know. Still, he can guess, based on what his dad has mentioned about his business partners, and he confidently says, "Now we make sure all of us are worth dealing with. Liar's hearts are black, and people with hearts too broken to function are full of holes and scars, and hearts with no color can't be trusted."

The three of them inspect each other's hearts closely, then nod at each other. 

"We need to touch them, too," Carol says. "My mom says that's what you do with people you trust."

Steve isn't sure about that, but he figures it can't hurt, so they rotate hearts - Steve's to Tommy, Tommy's to Carol, Carol's to Steve, and then around in a circle until Steve's holding his own heart again.

It did hurt, a little. But it didn't feel bad, just a little scary.

It's okay, though, because it's Tommy and Carol. His Duke and Duchess, the royal court.

They'd never hurt him. 

—

"Hey Mom?" Steve asks the next time she's home when he gets done with school. "Do you want to see my heart?"

"What for?" she asks, a hint of confusion in her voice that doesn't show anywhere on her perfectly made up face. "Has it changed?"

Steve's shoulders droop a little bit. He set himself up for this one. "No," he admits reluctantly. 

She hums softly, more a vague acknowledgement than anything else, and goes back to pinning her hair up.

His mom and dad must be going out somewhere tonight. 

"Can I see yours?" he asks, wanting - something. He knows they'll lock their hearts away for him to protect before they leave, knows how much it means that they trust him with that, but sometimes he just wants to see them.

"Of course, darling," she says absently, pulling it out with a practiced motion and setting it on the vanity in front of him. 

It's still exactly the same as the last time he saw it. Steve glances over at her, but she isn't even looking at him. He bites his lip, then reaches out to touch it, his hand resting gently on top of it. 

His mom flinches, just the tiniest bit, but doesn't tell him to take his hand away. 

Steve frowns. "Does that hurt?"

"It always hurts when someone touches your heart, Steven," she replies. "That's why you need to keep it in your chest, why you need to be careful about who you let close to it."

He considers that. "But you let me touch it anyway."

"Of course," his mom says. "You're my Steven."

He likes the words, and if he were a little younger, he thinks they might fill him with warmth, make his heart flush even redder. But he's old enough now to recognize that tone - the same tone she uses when he hears her on the phone with one of her friends or one of her clients, and she thinks they're being stupid.

Steve isn't stupid. 

He pulls his hand away.

If his mom's heart hurts every time he touches it, then he won't reach for it anymore.

—

Steve is in eighth grade when they learn that people can't travel far from their hearts without suffering any ill effects.

Tommy's watched Steve's parents put their hearts in their safe and leave for dinner out while he was staying over, and he laughs when their teacher tells them that.

"Something funny, Tommy?" Mr. Clarke asks.

"Well, sure," Tommy says. "It's just that isn't true, right Steve?"

"Right," Steve agrees earnestly, eager to show off his knowledge on the subject. "Or it's not always true. Some people can go miles away from theirs, I've seen it."

He says people, and not my parents, because he knows better than to drop personal information like that in the middle of class. 

Mr. Clarke had been frowning at Tommy's laughter, but something about Steve's eagerness makes him smile. 

"You have?" Mr. Clarke asks. "Tell me more."

Aware that everyone's attention is on him now, Steve makes sure to slouch casually - he can't look too invested. "Well, they didn't just leave their hearts out in the open and unguarded. They left them with someone they trust to protect them."

Mr. Clarke's smile grows, his eyes lighting up a bit in excitement. "Ah! You found the loophole. Steve's right," he says to the rest of the class, making Steve preen just a little bit. "Heart exchanges! People can travel much further from their hearts if they're safely tucked away in the chest of someone else. They can even survive things that might have been fatal, if their heart was in their own chest."

He gives a little chuckle. "There's even anecdotes of things like soldiers leaving their hearts with their fiances as they go off to war, knowing they'll be kept safe. Romantic, if unlikely. There's been no conclusive evidence of someone able to survive such a distance from their heart for so long, even with the loophole."

Steve frowns. His parents have been gone weeks at a time, leaving their hearts safe with him. 

"What about if it's locked away in a safe, and guarded?" Steve asks. "I know - I mean, someone told me that would work."

Mr. Clarke frowns a little. "Even more unlikely, I'm afraid. There's some studies that have shown people can train themselves to go further and further from their hearts, but still not without ill effects." 

Kevin sneers. "Well it sounds like someone is a liar."

Steve bristles. 

Kevin Carson is the worst.

He's a bully. Both in the way that his dad taught him the word - the kids who are too stupid to realize that brute force will only get you so far in life - and in the way that makes Steve's stomach turn a little, choosing to pick on people who can't fight back. 

The last two years at Hawkins Middle, he'd have never gone after Steve. But Kevin wanted to be basketball captain, and Steve got it instead, and now Kevin's been dogging him every chance he gets.

It's starting to get really annoying. 

Before Steve can say anything, though, Mr. Clarke's moved over to Kevin's desk, frown deepening.

“You know better than that, Mr. Carson,” Mr. Clarke says, in his disappointed voice. “We don't ridicule anyone's curiosity journey in this class.”

Kevin scowls, but he mutters out an apology. Mr Clarke watches him for a moment longer before nodding, moving back to the front of the class to continue.

"Teacher's pet," Kevin hisses at him, loud enough for the others nearby to hear but not Mr. Clarke.

Steve's never really understood why that was a bad thing - why wouldn't you want your teacher to like you? - but he knows it is, so he grimaces.

"I just listen to Coach better than you," Steve replies. "Must be why I'm captain this year."

Kevin's expression shifts into confusion. "What?"

"You don't keep your grades up, and you're on the bench for the rest of the year." Steve shrugs, leaning back so he can show how pointless this conversation is - and open it up even more for others to hear. "Aren't you looking at an F in Mr. Clarke's class? Maybe you should have more enthusiasm for your curiosity journey."

—

Tommy punches Kevin at lunch that afternoon.

Someone starts shouting, "Fight, fight, fight!" and Steve and Carol look at each other, realize they can't find Tommy, and immediately go where the crowd has gathered. 

It parts easily as Steve and Carol push through to the center, where Tommy and Kevin are squared off warily against each other. Steve tugs at Tommy's arm, and Carol shoots Kevin a look as she helps herd Tommy off to the side.

“What happened?” Steve asks Tommy, voice low and urgent. 

“Kevin was trying to rally some of the team against you,” Tommy spits out. “Said that they should get you around back, teach you a lesson about the way things are supposed to work.”

Steve's stomach twists. It's not surprising from Kevin, but the rest of the guys are his friends.

“Did they agree?” Carol asks sharply, eyes flashing.

“No,” Tommy says. “They told him to shut up. But Kevin was going on about how you're not captain material.”

Okay.

Okay, that's better, Steve can handle that. Kevin's persuasive, but Steve can be, too, and Steve hasn't been picking fights that make the team have to run drills when Coach gets pissed at them.

He leans away, pivoting back to face the group.

“Seriously, Carson, again?” Steve demands, not bothering to hide how irritated he sounds. "You remember Coach has a zero tolerance policy for starting fights, right?" 

"I didn't start anything, he punched me first!" Kevin says.

"That's not what I heard," Steve says conversationally. "I heard you talking to the other guys, trying to get them to jump me while my back was turned. Didn't know you were a coward, Carson. You got something to say to me? Why don't you say it to my face?"

Kevin draws himself up and gets in Steve's face, and Steve hears Tommy curse and start to move forward, but Steve holds up a hand. 

Steve's not scared of Kevin, and he doesn't want Tommy to get in any more trouble. He juts his chin out, tipping his head to the side so he can look down at Kevin - Steve and Tommy started their growth spurts early, and it's only by an inch or two, but they're the tallest guys here right now. 

"You gonna hit me, Kev?" Steve says softly. 

"Maybe I will," Kevin says. "Maybe it's the only way to put you in your place. Your daddy gets you out of everything, but he can't get you out of a black eye, can he?"

Steve's not sure where anyone gets the idea that his dad gets him out of anything. His dad barely knows what's going on with his life - but he guesses he doesn't really have to, guesses it's more about his dad's reputation than anything else. 

Still, it turns his irritation into anger, and just a little bit of hurt, and Steve finds himself smiling.

"Black eyes fade, Carson. You know what doesn't?" He leans in, lowers his voice a little. "How's <lyour dad gonna react when you get kicked off the team, huh? Yeah, we all know he was a high school star - it's all he ever was - what do you think he's gonna say when you can't even be that?" 

Kevin looks like he's a second away from shoving Steve, and for a moment, Steve thinks - yeah, go ahead, come on. The stuff he's saying? Steve deserves to get shoved. 

But Kevin doesn't.

Steve pitches his voice back louder. "Starting fights at school and flunking science? Not looking good for you to play at all the rest of the year, Carson. And anyone who's not playing now can kiss their spot on the high school team goodbye."

"Yeah?" Kevin asks. "Who's going to go blabbing to Coach?"

Steve shrugs, giving a disappointed sigh. "I don't like it, but it's my duty as captain to tell Coach when someone isn't being a team player." 

It probably isn't. Technically, Steve isn't even officially the captain - their coach just wanted them to be prepared for what it's going to be like in high school, and the players all voted Steve as their unofficial captain. 

But he knows that Coach will appreciate that Steve is taking it seriously, if he does tell him about anyone affecting the rest of the team.

"What are you even pissed at me for?" Steve asks. 

It's a genuine question - he actually does want to know - but it comes out sarcastic, and he can't backtrack it. 

"Passing science? Not letting you walk all over me in Mr. Clarke's class?" he adds. "Or are you just trying to get the rest of the team to be a bully like you? You want to get them in trouble, too?"

Carol hip checks him, and - yeah, okay, he sees her point, he needs to end this before Kevin has a chance to spin things back in his favor. 

"You're not worth my time," Steve says with a sneer.

There's a beat of silence.

"Didn't you hear him?" Carol asks. "You're dismissed."

Kevin tries to pull a sneer, but with his split lip it looks more like a snarl. "Who died and made Steve Harrington king?"

Carol examines her nails, the picture of boredom. "Your spot on the high school basketball team, apparently."

“Give it up, Kevin!” someone calls out.

“Come on, man, I'm sick of having to stay late at practice because of you, can't you just chill out?” Mark Jefferson bitches.

There's a chorus of agreement, and Steve watches Kevin's face as he realizes he's not going to get any backup here. Anger flickers briefly in his expression before he rolls his eyes, huffs out “Whatever,” and stomps off.

Now that there's not going to be a fight, everyone else disperses, leaving Steve alone with Tommy and Carol.

"You need to tell me and Carol before you hit someone again, okay?" Steve says seriously. "Let us handle it first."

"Yeah," Carol agrees. "You'll get in trouble if you do it all the time - you have to only do it when someone really deserves it. When we tell you."

Steve doesn't want Tommy to hit anyone, no matter what, but he guesses Carol's right. 

He'll just have to keep an eye on them.

–

When he's home, he goes straight to his dad's study and stares at the safe.

He knows the code, but part of him doesn't want to open it up. If they lied to him about this - what else have they lied to him about? Did they think he was stupid, did they not care if he ever figured it out? 

But he knows he has to, so he opens it up, and stares at what's inside.

Nothing.

Of course his parents didn't leave their hearts with him to watch over, and he feels like an idiot for having ever fallen for it. 

Something in his heart cracks, but he ruthlessly ignores it, slamming the safe door shut again.

He doesn't care, he tells himself.

His dad's an asshole anyway.

–

Nancy Wheeler is the first person to truly hold his heart in her hands, without it hurting the slightest bit.

It makes it even worse when she calls him bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, and he feels his heart crack so deep he's not sure it will ever heal.

-----

Part 2