#subject 2 x reader

[mimi-cee-genshin]

Until You're Convinced - Subject Two x f!reader

Summary: Albedo is struck on Dragonspine and asks Subject Two to get help. But when he runs into you, your warmth causes him to fall for you. He knows your relationship can't last; you've mistaken him for Albedo. Yet, he continues to desire to be by your side, even if the one you long for isn't him.

Other Info: Subject Two/Fake Albedo/ Rubedo x f!reader, Albedo x reader (one-sided); fluff and angst with happy ending; 1.0k; lightly edited

Notes: Felt like sharing what's basically the outline of my Subject Two idea here. I don't think I have time to write this one even those I love this idea. Maybe one day.

*****

You have a crush on Albedo and you see him frantically running around Mondstadt looking for someone. You wonder what's wrong with him. He's actually Subject Two and he's looking for Lumine for help because Albedo is in trouble. He's currently in a sort of hibernation mode in Dragonspine so he won't lose control and destroy Mondstadt in the process.

When Subject Two comes back after finding Lumine, you offer him a meal and a rest after his long search. He's touched by your smile and the care that you give him – before he remembers he needs to pretend to be Albedo.

Your insecurities eat away at your insides. You think that Albedo is in love with Lumine because of how much he sought after her, and with a heavy heart, you admit to (Fake) Albedo that you're in love with him.

After that day, Subject Two runs into you often at the restaurant while he's working with Lumine and some of the Knights to help Albedo. You're still kind and friendly with him, but despite his aloof and slightly cynical personality, he can empathize with your unrequited love for Albedo because of his own unrequited familial love.

He often wants to see you because you radiate a warmth that he never experienced. Yet he knows you treat him this way because you think he's Albedo. As a result, he continues to act kind and friendly like Albedo would.

One day, you tell him you're going on vacation and plan to take a trip to Liyue. Surprisingly, Subject Two asks to come with you. (He tells himself it's not out of character for Albedo to ask this.)

You chat with him as you stroll through the streets of Liyue and you buy little souvenirs for people back in Mondstadt. You ask him when is his birthday, and he tells you he doesn't know, forgetting that he's supposed to be Albedo. You decide you can celebrate his birthday today and buy him a red scarf.

He's surprised you thought to give him a present. But because you misinterpret of his reaction, you ask if you shouldn't give it to him because he likes Lumine. Subject Two recalls how much Albedo talked about you and wouldn't be surprised if Albedo did love you back. He tells you that he likes you too.

From that day on, your relationship with each other grows. He gives you a necklace on your birthday in return for the scarf and you bring him along on your days off to wherever your feet would take you.

But Subject Two continues to deny the fact that he isn't really Albedo. He had pretended to be Albedo before, so why take his identity like he did before?

However, it had been years since he created that cryo whopper flower and he began to have a good relationship with Albedo after that. In fact, Albedo was the one who told Subject Two to pretend to be him while he was locked away on Dragonspine. He didn't want people like Klee to worry. Yet, Subject Two wanted to continue to be by your side, causing the turmoil inside his heart.

Lumine comes to Subject Two, telling him they've found a solution for Albedo. Knowing he can't continue with his relationship with you, he tells you that he needs to break up with you because soon he's going to forget everything that happened with you. You urge him to explain himself but he can't bear to tell you the truth that he wasn't Albedo. You were in love with Albedo, not him.

He disappears on you, telling you to forget him and you are left in despair. When Albedo returns to Mondstadt, he really doesn't know anything that happened between the two of you. But it's too hard for you to pretend as if those times together never existed.

Several months later, Subject Two is at Albedo's camp in Dragonspine. He's been hiding out in the mountain ever since. It's where he always lived anyway.

He opens the trunk full of his belongings, sees the red scarf you gave him and wraps it around his neck. You walk up from behind him and he stuffs the scarf in the trunk and closes it.

You say you recognize him and he admits it's true. He has met you once as Subject Two but he didn't really talk to you.

You say you wanted to see him, but he says you barely knew him. In a sense, it was true you never knew him. He pretended to be Albedo the whole time without showing his true personality. You tell him that you can start to get to know him now. He brushes you off and tells you to do whatever you want.

Little by little, you come to visit him on Dragonspine. And little by little, Subject Two would slip up on things he's not supposed to know about you until you finally tell him, "Albedo, never lost his memory, did he?"

He snaps at you and pretends he doesn't know what you're talking about. But he sees that you're wearing the necklace he gave you, hoping the Albedo you knew would come back. You ask him again if it was him, if he was the one you spent all that time with.

You tell him of all the things you missed about him and it dawns on him that you listed things related to his personality and not Albedo's. More and more of his personality slipped through the more he spent time with you and he didn't even notice.

At this point, Subject Two is still in denial that you'd still choose him over Albedo. "Then why is it that, after only meeting you a few times, I only think about you? You won't leave my mind," you tell him.

He finally gives up and tells you all about who he is. That he was a failed experiment. That he had tried to kill Albedo before. That Albedo was stuck in Mondstadt and asked him to take on his identity.

He doesn't know how to take all of this in. He doesn't understand why you'd want him over Albedo. So you tell him you'll stay by his side until he's convinced that you really do love him.

*****

I hope you liked this even if it's not a full fic like I usually do. Please check out my other fics if you enjoyed this one. :)

#genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #genshin angst #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact angst #subject two #subject 2 #subject two x reader #subject 2 x reader #rubedo #rubedo x reader #fake albedo #susbedo #why does he have so many names #'why does he have so many names' bedo #fake albedo x reader #susbedo x reader #albedo #albedo x reader #albedo kreideprinz #genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #dorian #dorian x reader

[bunny-rambles]

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Handle with care.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

characters; Rubedo (Subject 2, also known as Dorian but I refer to him as Ruby), gn reader

cw/tw; mentions of injuries, very fluffy, comfort, there’s a kitten, mutual pining, let me know if I missed anything

word count; 3.4k

notes; wow this is the longest thing I’ve ever written, but it’s been a while and this should’ve really been updated a lot longer ago so I hope this makes up for it <33 It’s tooth-rotting fluff because he deserves it and I love him. I will most likely make a part 3 to this so let me know if you want to be tagged in the next work.

Part one here; “Made with love.”

Please reblog if you like this!!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s raining.

Why was it always raining, whenever you weren’t here?

A crash of thunder made the blonde pause in his pacing around the room, his eyes shifting to look towards the window at the miserable display of weather. You were supposed to be back by now, what was the hold up? Why weren’t you back? Were you in danger? The thought made his chest tighten with an unfamiliar, uncomfortable emotion. He wasn’t quite sure what it was called, even though you had already tried to explain it to him. Emotions were difficult to grasp, but not impossible to understand. Or feel, unfortunately. Exploring new ways to feel the world around you was an exhausting task, especially when those emotions weren’t exactly positive.

He remembers the first time he experienced relief while he was with you. When he finally opened up about who he was, or what he was, to be exact. Instead of the reaction he was expecting, instead of the bitter sting of rejection he had grown so used to feeling, he was accepted. For once in his sordid life, he was welcomed with open arms. Not because he was Albedo, not because he was a successful experiment, but just because he was him. Ruby- your precious gem. Even though the feeling of having that heavy weight being lifted off of his shoulders was euphoric, the vast amount of new sensations was too much for him to handle. He remembered how his throat constricted with each desperate gasp of air, how his eyes filled with so much water his vision began to blur, how it felt like he was drowning in oxygen. But he also remembers the comforting feeling of your arms wrapped around his trembling body, and the new-found warmth blooming in his chest that replaced the unbearable tension. How he wishes he could feel that now.

The doors lock starts to click and he swears he’s never moved faster in his life.

“Sorry I’m l-“ You were cut off by a hand ungracefully pulling you into the house, and straight into his chest.

“You’re not hurt?” He asks hastily, hands beginning to roam around your body as he pulls away to get a proper look at you. You shake your head, but he’s not convinced. Especially since one of your hands seems to be obscured from his view. You’re drenched - shivering, cold to the touch, but other than that…

“Good. You’re not injured.”

“Did I make you worry?” You asked quietly, eyes trained on his face. Ever the enigma, you couldn’t tell what he was feeling, not until he told you directly. It was silent for a moment before he nodded his head hesitantly.

“I think so.” He confirms, but his eyes aren’t on you anymore. Instead, he’s focused on the squirming movements that were coming from inside of your thick coat. He flinched when he heard a high pitched cry, his gaze immediately flitting back up to you.

“I thought you said you were fine.”

“I am, but…” He heard it again, this time louder, and it definitely wasn’t coming from you.

“Ruby… Don’t freak out.”

“Freak out?” He questioned, raising an eyebrow. Ah right, you hadn’t taught him that phrase yet.

“Um… Don’t panic. Better?” He nodded, and with that you moved your coat off your hand slowly. In your palm was a small, squirming lump of soaked fur. It cried out once more, head raising up to look around its surroundings.

“What is this… Creature?”

“It’s a kitten. I found it on the way home, that’s why I was late.” The so-called ‘kitten’ squeaked, alerting him of its presence. It was tiny, trembling from head to toe, how it even survived was a miracle itself. Stiffly, he reached his hand out to take it from your own, holding its minuscule body in his grasp. He turned it around, looking at it from every angle as it continued to mewl.

“I thought we could… Keep it here.”

“Why?”

“Because it doesn’t have a home, and it’s cold outside… And it reminded me of you.”

His head raised to look at you for a moment, shock painted on his pale face for just a second before he looked back down at the small animal. “It’s your home… It’s your choice.”

Surprised, you stepped forward towards the pair. “Really? You don’t mind?”

Your friend shook his head slowly, taking another step closer to you so there wasn’t much space between the two of you. “It would be cruel to dispose of it, would it not?”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face when you heard those words. How much he had grown, to admit that action was cruel, when just a month ago when you had met him, he would’ve thought the complete opposite. He didn’t seem to notice you grinning from ear to ear at him, his glacial eyes glued to the squirming heap in his hand. He seemed to be a little lost in thought, or lost on what to do.

“It’s shivering.” He mumbled after a moment, walking away from you and grabbing a nearby towel, wrapping it around its tiny body. You knew he was trying to help, but the poor thing looked like it was drowning in the fabric, squealing as Ruby tried to dry it with the thick cloth.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Your hands slid on top of his to try to guide his movements. “Gentle…”

His eyes followed your hands, his own being manipulated entirely by your tender movements - all he was doing now was holding the animal as it was pampered and dried by you. Wordlessly, he placed the kitten in your hands carefully so you didn’t drop it and disappeared out of the room. You were a little confused, wondering if maybe he was frustrated with the new arrival or the task of keeping it warm, but your questions were answered when you saw another towel in his hands. He stepped behind you while you were busy, making you raise an eyebrow. “What are you-“ You were cut off by having your face covered with the cloth before it was swiftly moved away.

“You’re wet too.” He answered simply, his hands massaging your head with the towel and drying the top of your head. It was subtle, but you could feel that his movements were a lot more gentle with you, almost mimicking what you were doing to the wet lump of fur in your hand. It was soothing, you almost toppled into him from the expert way he was making the tension seep out of your body - you nearly did, had it not been for the hand on the back of your shoulder steadying you when he realised you were losing your balance.

You weren’t sure how long you had been there when he started moving to the ends of your hair instead, making sure the droplets of water didn’t drip down from the tips and then stopping his drying altogether. “Thank you…” You breathed out, offering a tired smile to your friend who was now by your side. He merely nodded, eyes now back on the mewling baby. He held his hand out carefully, silently offering to take it from your grasp. “Are you sure? It’s already dry and I-“

“You need to change out of your clothes or you’ll get sick. I also suggest a warm shower. ” He did have a point, and you had been stuck in them for a while now. But what if he wasn’t sure what to do while you were gone? What if it was injured or it overwhelmed him if it started squealing again?

“I’ll be fine, you don’t have to worry.” Ah, it seemed like you weren’t exactly a blank canvas like him when it came to trying to conceal your emotions. As he had put it once, you were like an open book, but a book he still had interest in, with each chapter still drawing him in no matter how many times he has read the same passage.

“…Please come get me if you need me.” Finally, you relented, and he offered you a nod in reply as you gave him the kitten. After leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as a thank you, you retreated out of the room and straight into the bathroom to change.

If only you had stuck around to see how he stood there with a dumbfounded expression, frozen in place as his artificial blood rushes to his cheeks. He raised one hand slowly, tracing where your lips had been, the contact still burning his skin. That feeling again - the fluttering in his stomach, the speeding of his heart, the tingling in his fingertips. What was this emotion again? One too complicated to fixate on, so he simply dismissed it after a few moments, waiting until he had calmed down to make his next move.

“What do I do with you then?” He mumbled to himself, looking down at the (now) quiet creature, staring back at him with wide, silent eyes. When his head tilted slightly, the kitten mimicked the motion, blinking slowly up at him. Curious, he again tilted his head, this time to the other side. Again, it followed suit. He shook his head, eyes moving away from the tiny fur ball and around the room. After subconsciously worrying himself sick about you, he was feeling drained.

All he wanted to do was cuddle up to you, something you had done once when he couldn’t sleep and now it had become a part of your daily routine. But unfortunately, you weren’t here at the moment, and the blanket he had wrapped around himself once he sat himself down on the couch felt too big for just one person. He released a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, his shoulders sagging as he melted into the comforting warmth of the fabric. He would’ve much preferred you being here with him, with your head resting against his torso, as his hands carded through your hair. Or his favourite, when his ear was pressed up against your chest so he could listen to the thumping of your heart. He couldn’t quite explain it, the sound was the one thing that gave him the utmost comfort - perhaps it was because it was the most damning proof that you actually existed, that he wasn’t just delusional from being deprived of affection and care. He wasn’t on that mountain, alone. He was with you, and really that was all that mattered to him, even if he didn’t show it very often.

He had almost forgotten about the kitten at this point, until it started crawling its way up his chest, nudging at his cheek to snap him out of his thoughts. He hummed questioningly, raising his head from where it had rested on his palm, staring down at the purring little thing. Does that mean it was happy? You liked it when he ran his fingers through your hair, especially after a long, stressful day. Maybe if he… Reaching out his hand, he carefully ran his fingertips over the top of the feline’s head, raising an eyebrow when his hand was bumped against in response. The strange noise coming from such a small body was only growing louder, and he hoped that it really did mean it was happy. Well, he wasn’t getting scratched up or bit, so it was safe to assume he was correct. When the little one curled up on top of his thighs- thigh, actually, as it could barely fit on both - a strange feeling began to settle in his chest. A permanent weight felt like it had been lifted, and he could finally feel the fluttering in his torso. You had once described this phenomenon as ‘butterflies’. Ah, yes, he summarises. He was happy.

But now he was also feeling a new sensation, a familiar one at that. He could feel his droopy eyes begin to slide shut on their own, and the need to sleep overtook his senses. Still, he didn’t want to disturb the newest member of the family by lying down. With the lightest touch, (you had mentioned it once, you described it as ‘featherlike’ when he ran his fingers traced intricate patterns on your back) he carefully lifted it off of his lap while he laid himself down, and set the small lump on his stomach. He released a breath when he didn’t feel it stir. And now, finally, his eyes could close and he could just… Sleep.

-

“Ruby! Are you hungry?” You called out from your bedroom after you finally changed into some comfortable clothes, feeling refreshed after a much needed shower. When you heard no response, you weren’t exactly surprised - he wasn’t really one to shout. Instead, he waited for you to come to him, face to face so he didn’t need to raise his voice. He was quiet in general, silent almost. Sometimes you forgot he was even here, until he curiously poked his head out of his room if he heard you were busy and asked if you needed any help.

He was getting better, sometimes he even initiated conversations. ‘How was your day?’ ‘Would you like me to start dinner?’ And then your personal (and his) favourite, ‘Would you like a hug?’. For someone he didn’t understand emotions, he was an expert at giving comfort when it was really needed. The way he would take you into his arms, how he would say such sweet phrases to you that would make you melt against his warmth, how he would hold you for as long as you needed him to - you would happily label him a professional at it. After a while, you sadly came to the realisation that perhaps he was giving you what he himself craved back when he was alone on that desolate mountain. You were quick in returning the favour whenever you felt like he needed it, which seemed to be quite often. You didn’t have a clue how much it meant to him, how he felt like he didn’t deserve it so he didn’t ask often, but you knew. You knew.

With a tired hum, you stepped out of your room and made your way to the living room, expecting to see the blonde having a staring competition with the kitten. He does that a lot. And when he stares, you know he was confused, his thoughts so loud you swore you could almost hear them. And then he would act on whatever answer he thought was best. Even though he was smart, most of the time he would get it wrong. You couldn’t help but find it cute when his entire body deflated and a pout began to form on his lips. All it took was some encouraging words from you and a demonstration on what to actually do and he was fine again. There were other times, however, when he would cower away from you if you reached out to touch, repeatedly calling himself a failure for not being able to do such simple tasks. It was a little more difficult to get him to calm down if he got worked up into that state, but thankfully, it didn’t happen nearly as often as it used to.

Instead, you walked in on something… Rather unexpected. Ruby, so still you could almost mistake him for a porcelain doll, and the small feline you had rescued, fast asleep together on the couch. You almost didn’t want to move in fear of disturbing them, together in their own little world of dreams. But you could see the both of them beginning to shiver, and suddenly you remembered there was a storm raging outside. Trying your best not to disturb the sleeping beauties, you carefully grabbed the nearest blanket and draped it over both of them, making sure the young creature's head wasn’t covered so it could breathe. You froze when you heard a quiet groan, but relaxed when your friend hadn’t seemed to wake up, only shifting to be more comfortable.

“Sleep well…” A whispered, hush voice whispered in his ear before he felt the gentle press of lips against his cold cheek.

-

“Are we not keeping it?” The blonde questioned, looking to where the kitten resided on his shoulder. After you woke him up the next day and fed him breakfast (Pancakes, one of his favourites), you brought up that you weren’t sure where to start looking for a home for the little one. All you earned was a confused look - from the both of them - and that question.

“Well…” You began, frowning as you thought. You weren’t exactly equipped to have a cat, you didn't have any food or toys, and neither of you knew the first thing about taking care of one. You thought it was the smarter choice to give it to someone who did know those things. You weren’t expecting them to get so attached… “I don’t know… Are we really capable of looking after a pet?”

It was silent for a moment, and you thought maybe you had gotten through to him, until he spoke up. “I can learn.” His voice was quiet, and he was avoiding your eyes now. He never asked for anything he wanted , not even when you asked what he wanted to eat - you had to learn his favourites just from his reactions alone. This was the closest he had come to expressing that he finally wanted something. And who were to deny such an innocent request?

You let out a heavy sigh, making your way towards the pair and running your fingers through the animal's fur gently. “Would you be happier if I let it stay with us?” He nodded his head slowly, still not meeting your gaze. “Then… I see no harm in keeping it. It is adorable, after all.” You giggled, smiling brightly when his head raised to meet your face. He nodded again, but you could tell from the way his eyes lit up that he was incredibly happy. “So… What do you want to call it?”

“I don’t… I’ve never named anything.” He shrugged. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, what things are important to you?”

“… You.” He mumbled quietly, and your ears burned from such a sweet, honest answer. You coughed quietly, hiding your surprise before snapping yourself out of it.

“Ah- Yes- right- you’re important to me too…” You rushed, laughing nervously before clearing your throat once more. “Apart from me, what things do you like…? Your favourite things? Start from there.” Again, there was another silence, this time even longer. And for once you could see the frustration forming on his face as he tried to think. He was lost. “Hm… I named you after a gem. So what’s your favourite colour?” Perhaps this would’ve been an easier question.

“I like blue…”

“Perfect! How about Sapphire then?” You suggested with a grin, watching as he thought for a moment.

“Sapphire…” He spoke in his smooth voice, closing his eyes as he let the sound of the name linger in the air. “I… Like it.” He confirmed, looking back up at you.

“Ruby and Sapphire… It sounds like I’m collecting precious things, it suits you both very well!”

“I’m precious?” He asked quietly, looking utterly (and adorably) confused. Sweet thing.

“Of course you are. And you always will be, to me.” You responded earnestly, resting a hand on top of his cheek, your thumb caressing the soft skin underneath. Another silence, as he stared in your eyes in awe and bewilderment. He could feel that fluttery feeling again… and heat rising to his cheeks. Was this normal? You caught yourself before you could lean forward to seal the space between you, pulling away abruptly with a nervous smile. “Ah… Well… I’ll go out now to look for the things we need.”

“Can I…?” He asked quietly, reaching for one of your hands. “Excuse me… Can we come with you?” No way was he going to leave his new friend in the house alone. The smile that spread across your face was infectious, since he could feel the edges of his lips beginning to curl up.

“Yes, you can.” You weren’t letting go of either of these precious gems any time soon.

#rubedo x reader #albedo x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #imposter albedo #subject 2 #subject 2 x reader #subject 2 x yn #genshin x gn reader #genshin x you #Rubedo #susbedo #primordial albedo #genshin x yn #rubedo x you #Genshin fluff #Genshin angst #subject two x reader #imposter albedo x reader

[herrscherrofyatta]

Golden Hour Masterlist

✧ Pairing: Albedo x Gn reader

✧ cw: fluff, a bit of angst here and there

✧ summary: leaving Sumeru to start your life over in Mondstadt, you live every day to the fullest with the freedom given with albedo

✧ a/n: it's now Albedo time, Tighnari's part is done and you find it here! You can find any future chapters of this series under the tag #✧Golden Hour series

0. a new beginning

1. familiar faces

2. around the campfire

tba....

Masterlist

Taglist (open)

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #albedo x y/n #albedo x you #genshin albedo #albedo imagines #albedo x reader #albedo #tighnari #collei #genshin amber #jean gunnhildr #diluc #genshin klee #subject 2 #venti #lumine #✧Golden Hour series

[anoomf]

MILK?

Request: Scaramouche and Subject 2 boob sucking

AN: Thank you for requesting this! I'm so sorry that this is so late but please enjoy. Also, I wasn't sure if you wanted just regular boob sucking or lactation so I just did lactation but if you want just normal boob sucking then lmk

TW: lactation, nipple biting, afab reader, reader drinks a lactation potion (Subject 2), ooc

SCARAMOUCHE

I doubt that Scaramouche would even know what lactation is. After all, it's not like he experienced it. He was brought into Teyvat through... different means. Which is why you're here to help him!

When you first got into a relationship, things like sexual needs or intimate moments were not something that was touched up upon. If you wanted or needed anything, you would have to be the first to bring it up. A change would be nice though. You wanted to see him want something too not just to indulge in whatever you wanted. Which is why you had the brilliant idea to let me drink from you. You could loose a lot of the weight off your chest and he could find something to enjoy. It was a total win win.

"Hey, Scaramouche, what do you think about my boobs? Do you want a taste of what's inside of them? Do you like them? Do you hate them?" You didn't even let the poor boy answer before pulling his head down to your chest.

It's not something that he would willingly admit, but he was always rather enamored with your breasts. They always looked to be holding a heavy weight inside of them. He already knew about the milk, he had seen your shirt get wet one night around your nipples but decided not to say anything. He had often caught himself sneaking quick glances at your chest whenever you turned your head away.

"What's the point of me doing such a thing? I'm a puppet, drinking and eating are not necessary."

"Not necessary doesn't mean not able. You're not slick with those little side glances you always give me when I turn away." Of course you had known about the glances. How could you not? His stare was too intense to not notice. "So will you keep denying everything or can we get started."

What was he supposed to do in this situation. He wanted this more than anything yet it felt so wrong. What if he ended up hurting you? Or what if he bit you where he wasn't supposed to?

While Scaramouche was thinking of all go the things that could go wrong, you were pulling down your shirt. Good thing the shirt was stretchy so it could roll down to your stomach easily, along with your bra. He was quickly brought out of his trance when he heard your bra strap snap against your skin.

He was no longer face to face with a shirt. This was the real thing. The thing he had been craving for so long. He stuttered for a moment before moving his head close to your breast, latching on to your nipple. He didn't immediately start drinking though. He took his sweet time swirling his tongue around the areola as well as biting the tip of your nipple every so often.

After what seemed like hours, he finally started sucking. He was definitely not expert at this. You could sense some hesitation in his sucks but it's not like it didn't feel good. It didn't take long for his hesitation to break though. Instead if doing short sucks, he started taking stronger and longer sucks. His head tilted to the left a bit, giving you the perfect view of his adams apple bobbing up and down with each swallow.

After he finished with one breast, he moved to the next one, repeating the same torturous teasing process before sucking your boob for everything it's worth.

Your plan definitely worked much better than you thought it would. Don't be surprised if this starts to become a regular occurrence.

SUBJECT 2

Just like Scaramouche, Subject 2 was brought to Teyvat through different means. He was made in a lab and he was already a "grown up" from the day he was created.

After Albedo discarded him, he was left by himself in Dragonspine to freeze. Well that was until he met you. You were venturing from Liyue to Mondstat and decided to take a little detour through Dragonspine. It wasn't long into your journey through the icy land that you noticed a in the snow. He was a boy with blonde hair and he wore a white coat with black leggings. He was staring at something across a broken bridge. Did he want to get across? Being the person that you are, you decided to help the handsome boy.

"Do you need help?" You said, as you walked over to him. "Um, hello? Do you need help getting across the bridge?" You repeated. Yet despite your attempts at getting him to speak, he merely looked at the shadow from the lab on the other side.

But that was almost two years ago. Now, your relationship was no longer one of silence and it no longer felt one sided. The two of you were actually happy. Despite being in a relationship for nearly two years, neither of you had ever brought up anything related to the topic of sex. Subject 2 wasn't made with hormones like a normal human, so it was reasonable for him to not understand the point of sex.

Even though he may not understand it to its fullest extent, that doesn't mean he's not interested in it. Hearing you try and explain sex to him was enough to get him interested. If there was one thing Albedo did do for him, its give him a similar talent in alchemy.

Milk, sweet flower, mint, slime, wolf hook juice, lavender melon, and sugar all in one. It sounds disgusting, but, it didn't smell too bad.

"Try some. Don't worry though, if anything goes wrong, I can create an antidote." You trusted him just as much as he trusted you. So, you took the potion out of his hands and drank the whole thing in one gulp. You just wanted to get it over with. While it may have smelt alright, the taste made you want to vomit. The feeling of sickness was quickly replaced by one of warmth.

Your face felt warm as well as your breasts. No, not warm. More like wet. You quickly looked down to see your white shirt stick to your bra and skin. Subject 2 quickly walked to your side and felt around your boobs, especially the nipples.

"Interesting reaction. I read about this in my book. Apparently this is called lactation. It mostly occurs in pregnant woman, but it seems that my potion might have caused an imbalance in your chest and caused you to leak. If you'd allow me to, I'd like to indulge in some of your milk. It would be valuable for my, uh, research."

In a normal situation you probably would have blushed and got shy yet this was completely different. Your whole body started to feel warm. It didn't matter what way, you just needed some relief. You nodded your head and quickly ripped through the buttons of your shirt before unclasping your bra and throwing it somewhere in the room.

Despite Dragonspine being one of the coldest places in Teyvat, not even the cold could cool you off. Subject 2 wasted no time and quickly attached himself to your nipple. The moment he started sucking, warm milk entered his mouth. It tasted sweeter than regular milk and had a hazelnut aftertaste to it. He most certainly can't say that he hated it.

The stimulation that your boobs were receiving was starting to calm down your body a bit. You no longer felt warm, and your chest felt much lighter. After Subject 2 finished sucking on your right breast, he went to move to the left yet there was no milk in that one.

"Perhaps the potion ran out. Here, have some more," he said before tipping the liquid into your mouth.

He would definitely have to write this down and remember it. Maybe next time he'll try to change the flavor, maybe chocolate, or strawberry?

#lactation #subject 2 #fake albedo #scaramouche #scara x reader #fake albedo x reader #x reader #boobsucking #lactationkink #afab reader

[elliebean714]

Hi! I'm new to ypur blog, but I noticed that you write for certain Bioshock characters- Would it be alright if I asked for some random Atlas fluff, or a cute fluff request with subject delta where he mistakes a female citizen in rapture as a little sister bc of her height and is all 'MUST PROTECT MY BABY' around her?

Thanks so much! Feel free to dm me/send a request to my inbox.

UGGGHHHH I WISH BOTH WERE AN OPTION??? THANK YOU SM FOR REQUESTING BIOSHOCK??? I LOVE YOU FOR THAT???💖💕💘💞💗💘💓 went with delta tho cus bioshock 2 is my favourite of the three+delta is my favourite protagonist, not that the competition was sparse yk? Faceless white guy, awful white guy or father of the decade? Yeah easy choice. Luv em all tho xx kinda diverged from the request a bit hope that's kay♡

I'm Just Short

Subject Delta X Short!F!Reader

Fluff

During-Game

Fire crackled in red barrels and water leaked from the ceilings, occasionally Dr Lambs creepy voice would boom over the screechy intercom.

You were running, being chased by Lambs splicers for rescuing a little sister, almost out of bullets.

Heart pounding in your chest, feeling the ice of the rapture floor against your cut, sore, almost bare feet from how torn and old your shoes were. You ducked behind some cover as more splicers began searching for you. They had you pinned down.

After a few moments of contemplating your options, you hear something heavy thumping around, gunshots, fire, and a Big Daddy's groan.

Oh shit.

Adding a Big Daddy to your list of problems, her options dwindled down significantly. You were not going to even think about trying to kill that thing, you were far too low on ammo and supplies. Not to mention how weak you were, even just against one splicer.

You had to run. He had distracted the splicers chasing you, no-one would notice you disappear. Taking a quick look up you saw the amount of splicers was already down to two or three. You looked for a good, fast path out of there.

Once you found an easily accessible route, you sprinted for it as fast as your legs could carry you. Then you heard the thumping behind you, like the big daddy was running after you.

Panicking, you ran into a room and began barricading the door with anything heavy you could move and searching every nook and cranny as fast as you could for supplies, you were lucky enough to find a first aid kit and a couple of shotgun shells, but nowhere near enough to help with fighting a Big Daddy.

The footsteps get louder and louder as you duck into a corner, hoping the lack of light in the room would make you harder to detect if he managed to get in.

And he did. After a quick push, he easily entered the room and, to your horror, made a beeline right for you. You prepared yourself for the worst, shocked to see him only leave his hand out for you to take.

Unsure of what was happening but with no other options you shakily took his hand. Surprised by his gentle nature when all he did was help you stand. After ensuring you were not injured he picked you up and placed you on his back, like you were a Little Sister.

Before you could protest he was on the move, after a few minutes he dropped you off at a corpse and began laying traps down like he was preparing for something. Confused, you just looted the corpse and stared up at him once you were done. He look down at you like he was waiting for something.

"What? You want me to get Adam from it? I'm not a Little Sister, and I don't have a needle so I couldn't even if I wanted to." You told him, becoming increasingly agitated by his confusion.

When he saw that you weren't harvesting any Adam, he just lifed you up and put you on his back again. This time carrying you towards a Little Sister vent.

Before setting you down he lays his hand over your forehead, like he's rescuing a Little Sister. Once he's done he sets you down safely beside it then stands back like he's waiting for you to climb inside.

"I can't fit, you idiot. I'm not a kid. I'm just short." You tell him.

But he only stares at you patiently. You just sigh and mumble something about him being an idiot then try to fit into the vent. Although you shockingly actually fit through the vent.

"Uggh. What the hell." You grumble before deciding to climb the rest of the way through.

What I Write~

Games

TWD

Dano

Requests Always Open 🌊

~Elliebean714

♤♡◇♧☆♧◇♡♤♡◇♧☆♧◇♡♤♡◇♧☆

#bioshock x reader #bioshock #bioshock 2 x reader #bioshock 2 #subject delta x reader #subject delta

[chezzywezzy]

Yandere Big Daddy (4/4)

Word count ; 4.6k

*Edited.

My Big Daddy and I committed outrageous crimes and were responsible for not only the people who funded my work, but the workers themselves. It was safe to say, I was no longer employed.

But it didn’t matter. Rapture was falling to pieces and fast. Apparently Ryan had been killed by a splice, so we’d already lost the ‘mayor’ of the sea city. Everyone was trying to flee, but because the black market routes had been shut down, it was in vein. And it was a blessing in disguise, because people were more focused on saving themselves than tracking down the person who was somewhat responsible for all this.

I knew what I had did. It was probably wrong, but in reality, everyone in this damned city was just as cruel and selfish as I was. Those elites? They pushed themselves to the top. My former coworkers? They were just as fine with experimenting on other human beings. The Big Daddies? They were programmed to be monsters.

The only ones who didn’t deserve this was those poor Little Sisters, of whom I had failed.

But that didn’t matter; what mattered was surviving with Martín. 

After we fled the lab, carnage wrecking the path we went through, I knew to go home first. But not for long; only to load up on food, oxygen, and clean water. Then, we left to hide away in an abandoned market stall. I could tell from the bodies inside that the splices had cleared it out. The market had already experienced a wave, so I knew eventually scavengers would try and break into the tiny store. However, I kept it shut and I had my Big Daddy to protect me.

But I could only wait so much. I knew that resources would grow scarcer with time, and even if Rapture citizens dying outside kept me safe from the splices, it was only a matter of time before everyone was dead and the splices would only have me to hunt down.

So, as I finished up the last of my stale bread, I resigned myself.

I motioned Martín closer. “Martín,” I called. “Come.” He obediently towered behind me and I peered up at him. He placed his hand on my head, crouching down slightly. “We have to go. I know how we’ll be able to do so. Ryan… he always managed to go to the surface himself to fetch employees. When we first arrived wit Rapture, I helped him install a port for his personal submarine. Because Ryan is already dead, he couldn’t have stolen it. So, it will be ours now.

“And I promise to you, Martín, when we reach the surface, I will give you the best life I can. I know what I did was wrong. You should feel flattered, really; I’ve never cared so much about another creature. But perhaps that is because you��re no longer human.” I chuckled dryly. “Regardless, you will have to do your best to protect me. I’ll try to find a gun, but there’s no guarantee that there’s any that aren’t rusted and broken.”

He let out a whale noise. From a distance, I heard another whale call. But I knew that indicated a dangerous mutation of a Big Daddy, which was probably protecting a Little Sister. It was good to steer clear of those, even if they were once intended to be protectors of us.

Martín was rather disagreeable for a Big Daddy. It must’ve been a malfunction in the system. He was never able to communicate well with its brethren.

That didn’t matter, though. Martín was perfect for me and my needs, so that’s what mattered.

After cleaning up, I began packing up my things. The plan was to go through the back alleys of the marketplace until I reached the lab’s back entrance. If the door was still locked somehow, despite the collapse of most of Rapture’s technology, I could just ask my Big Daddy to drill through it. After that, I’d take a shortcut through the surgery room to Ryan’s office and take the secret passage to the underground submarine port. From there, it’d all be smooth sailing.

I opened the door after moving the shelve barricades out of the way. When I opened the door, the back alley was desolate. I had a stolen spear at the ready, although I knew most of the potential damage toward splices would be administered by Martín.

I emerged into the main lobby. The ocean was visible from through the glass ceiling. The chandelier had previously crashed and shattered agains the lobby floor, so I chose my steps carefully. When I was near the center, I peered ump at the second floor. The entire marketplace was deserted, except for some Little Sisters running around and Big Daddies loyally trailing behind. It was the first time I had so carefully seen my sketched-out Big Daddy designs at work so closely. When designing them, I gave each a humanoid name. 

I saw a Rosie with one little girl, and a Rumbler with another. They looked incredible in action. S docile yet ready to attack at the switch of a button. I mentally patted my own back from my genius work.

I began ascending the stairs. My Bouncer Big Daddy stomped behind me. I made sure to keep my pace slow enough for him to follow closely. Over the months of progress, I had adjusted my walking speed for him.

When I reached the second floor, we were able to pass through with ease. Only two splices attacked us. I even got a few focused hits on one of them. However, I knew not to remain long because splices often hoarded with their species, which indicated others were certainly around.

I wish I had thought through making the Bouncer prototype lighter on his feet. I made a mistake making the suit so large and clunky and slow to walk in. But at that time, there weren’t nearly as many splices as there were now.

I exited the market, putting on my wetsuit and oxygen tank. My flippers were difficult to walk in the last final steps, but when we both stepped into the ocean, I floated over the stone, manmade steps with ease. At least my Big Daddy could swim easily.

“Martín,” I spoke, although the oxygen mask muffled my speech. “We need to get to the lab quickly. Can you take me?”

He let out a whale noise, his hand encircling the majority of my waist. It pulled me to his chest, to which I wrapped my arms around its large helmet. With that, I heard the Bouncer’s feet eject and the jet I installed before it all went to shit started up.

The city was deserted. Rapture was always quiet, and I used to appreciate that. But now, it was just eerie. As we swam down the streets, my heart mourned for the destroyed structures. We passed over the crumbled bridge that used to connect to tall skyscrapers. Entire buildings had collapsed, having been scratched down by the splices.

I felt bad for my involvement. But I refused to take the blame for creating a city that was doomed to fall. The leader was weak, and with that weakness, he conjured just as weak of a city. But I was not. Call me what you want, but I was not weak. Not like all the other vermin that once crawled the city.

Martín eventually slowed. We stopped at the front steps of the lab. The entire front glass door that opened the visitor center was burst down, so water still flooded the entire inner body as we entered the lobby. I would’ve thought that splices would be crawling all over the area, and yet they were not. I presumed that they were either hoarding deeper within the lab or had completely taken over my former workplace.

As we entered through the door through the lab, the door being unscathed, I became on edge. I took off my flippers and stowed them in my bag. There was no water throughout the interior of the lab. That meant that the lab still had some functionality. And that was a surefire sign that some of my coworkers were still fending the ADAM monsters off.

As we walked down the hall, the lights occasionally flashing from motion detectors, I felt despair. I strolled down where the stage one for Big Daddy creation, the once impenetrable glass cells, were. Most were shattered and some held corpses of Big Daddies that had failed to fulfill their duty and fight off splices. I noticed that as I passed through the final door that led into the surgery room, a functioning camera trailed after my figure.

My heart thudded in my chest. The surgery room was completely pitch black. I feared for the worst, ready to fend off a hoard of splices as I reached for the light switch.

However, I wasn’t prepared for the sight in front of me when the light flickered on.

Doctor Steinman stood in the center of the room, operating on the corpse of a naked woman. He was dismembering her face, playing with some of her flesh in his gloved hands. He immediately noticed me, but I saw his eyes. His eyes, dark and piercing, were that of a madman. That much was sure.

He suddenly sloppily smeared the flesh on his tongue, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. He then clasped his hands together. “Y/n L/n! And here I thought I’d never see you again. How are you doing?” he squealed maniacally.

Shivers rolled down my spine, and I took a step further into the room. “…I’m alive. And it appears that you are as well. Me and Martín were just passing through, so I won’t disturb you for much longer.”

He hummed thoughtfully, suddenly wagging his finger at me. Without fear, he began approaching. Out of the corner of my eye, the Big Daddy’s light became yellow. “You know what you need? A make-over. I promise I’ll treat you well. A make-over can ease the pain. After all, nothing is more important than beauty,” he ranted. “Don’t you agree, Y/n? Conjuring the most beautiful person has been my goal ever since I was born on this Earth. And you may be a critically acclaimed genius, but you’ve got your goals wrong. Whatcha-ma-call-its, your robot creations, are missing out critically on one thing - they must be beautiful. Who cares about strength or agility? I know that is why you had me fired. We have a fundamental difference in our moral and belief system. And for that, I forgive you. But don’t you think you owe me for robbing me of all my resources?”

He stopped but a few feet away, an impish, evil grin present on his rugged face. He barely blinked, watching me with interest.

“I would step back and stop moving, if I were you,” I warned with a threatening undertone. “Martín here is designed to kill anyone who moves at all near me. So, believe me, you will find it impossible to get your filthy, skank hands on me, Steinman. You can simply let me pass through and your life will be spared.”

He quirked a brow, analyzing me with suspicion. “Oh, I know. I’ve very much heard of Martín Baudelaire’s ambitious endeavors. I’m not a total shut-in, you know. I was just making polite small talk, don’t you agree? I know you are not a conversationalist, but I thought you’d at least feel pity for robbing me of my life.”

“You seem to be coping just fine,” I replied through gritting teeth. “Now step away. I have no time to waste.”

“On the contrary,” he giggled. “You have all the time in the world now. Why not stick around for a cup of tea? It’s not as though you have anything better to do. I’m surprised you have yet to abandon your workaholic ways, even with a subservient creature that bends to your every whim.”

I took a step toward him. With widened eyes, he took a step back. I took another step forward, my glare resting on his shocked expression. After a few steps, he caved, skittering away into the corner. He crouched into the floor with his head in his hands. I heard him muttering nonsense as he had seemingly forgotten of my existence. 

I sighed loudly and continued on my path. Once again, I noticed the camera following me as I exited through the door.

I opened out into another hallway with a wooden interior. I followed it until I reached Ryan’s office. There was the entire door missing. In fact, the entire wall had crippled in the shape of a Bouncer Big Daddy. My heart stopped, and I wondered if someone had stolen the submarine from me.

In fact, the wood floorboards were cracked as I retraced the steps to the secret tunnel. When I reached where the shelf that covered up the entrance was, the shelf was cracked. I didn’t even have to enter the code, as I could enter with ease through the hole.

I had Martín following close behind me. In fact, before I completely descended the path to the dock, I easily decided to order the Big Daddy to carry me. It cradled me in his arms as he continued the journey for me. My mind was conjuring the worst. The idea that I would never escape Rapture and I’d die alone because I knew I would outlive Martín and he would degrade from constant attacks.

But when we pulled up the the metal room, I was met with another sight. Standing in front of the pod was Yi Suchong. And covering every wall of the room was Bouncer Big Daddies. However, each had a more dangerous weapon attached to their arm in replacement of the drills. Anything from guns, spears… Things that were equipped to kill a human.

My blood ran cold as I finally met Suchong’s stare. His eyes twinkled with delight and he clapped his hands.

“I knew that you would be alive out there somewhere. With such a loyal companion, how could you not be?”

“How did you know about this place?” I seethed, wrapping my arms around Martín’s neck. His helmet turned yellow, having detected my distress and the movements of the man in front of us only a few yards away. 

“Well, when you have all the time in the world to conquer every inch of this lab like I’ve always wanted, you stumble upon little secrets like this,” he chuckled arrogantly. “And I was so very tempted to take my creations here with me and escape in the submarine. But then I thought about how badly I wanted to see you dead first, your hope stripped away from you piece by piece. Would you kindly applaud for me?”

My mind went blank as I followed obediently. When I completed the action, my brain connected the dots. “How?” I croaked.

He covered his face with his hands and broke into a fit of manic laughter. When he calms himself a minute later, he feigned wiping tears from his eyes. “Oh, how delightful it is to finally hear your voice with fear lacing it,” he hissed. “It’s all over for you, L/n. You reap what you sow. And you’re going to die from the very creations that your - I will give credit where credit is due - brilliant mind. Would you kindly explain how you feel right now?”

“I’m afraid,” I spewed. “So very scared of you. I’m scared to die. I’m scared to face the consequences for the actions I already know I’ve done wrong.”

My fury returned to me after obediently expressing my thoughts. My cheeks reddened with embarrassment and I had never hated my former coworker more. Why, I never truly hated him in the first place until now. I simply saw him as he was; incompetent and worthless.

“The only reason you care to do this is because you know how I treated you is what you deserve, Suchong. You are worthless and incompetent. You can’t do shit. I should have fired you completely while I had the chance —“

“Ah, ah, ah,” he teased in a light tone. “For someone so terrified of death, you seem desperate to have it happen sooner.”

“No. I am just reminding you of the truth. So if and when I die, I hope you know that my corpse does not give you worth. Martín, let me down.”

The humanoid machine set me on my feet. I saw his eyes flickering between red and yellow.

“Well, I do have to thank you partially,” he hummed. “You were right when you said I would condition the Big Daddies to treat me the same way your Martín babies you. But, with that said —“

“Martín,” I shrieked, interrupting the manic man,” Attack! Protect me at all costs! Kill Doctor Yi Suchong!”

The man was caught off guard as the Big Daddy rushed toward him at a speed I had never seen before. With widened eyes, I watched the scene, backing myself into the wall. While running at the hollering man, the other Big Daddies lit up red and began to race at Martín.

Yi Suchong did not last long. His body was drilled into repeatedly and eventually discarded as a pile of rubble flesh. However, that was not what was important. Another Big Daddy stabbed its spear into the helmet. It didn’t do much individually, but with the amount of Big Daddies swarming him, it was inevitable that the Big Daddy was discarded to the floor.

My heart jumped to my throat and I screamed, hugging my body tightly.

Martín managed to get to his feat once more, attacked a pair of Big Daddies with spears. The drill dented right into one of them, tearing a hole in the metal and causing a malfunction. One Big Daddy down, and about a dozen more to go.

Each time Martín was downed, another puncture was given. But he always got up, taking them down one by one. But, with terror, I realized that one and only one of the Big Daddies was equipped with the drill still. And, with Martín focused primarily on the easy kills, the Big Daddy was rapidly approaching with its whirring drill.

I wanted to find the words, but I couldn’t. My Big Daddy had successfully destroyed all but that one. And as my Big Daddy attempted to turn, the drill entered his arm. Martín let out a wail as he was sent flying into the wall. I permanently had my hand clasped over my mouth as I watched the scene. A part of me wanted so badly to intervene, and…

The Bouncer stomped toward my Big Daddy, which was attempting to recover, despite having lost an arm. Blood spewed from the wound and it let out moans of pain. My heart hurt and all I could think was that it was the end of me and Martín.

And yet, my feet started moving. My grip on my spear tightened. As the Big Daddy’s drill hovered over his chest, I found the courage to jump on its back, causing it to wave wildly. I successfully stole its attention, but I was then tossed into the wall. The Big Daddy’s attention was solely on me now as it stalked toward me. My body quaked and I was ready to throw the spear at the helmet glass as an attempt to save my hide, but I knew the glass was impenetrable by even bullets.

Because I had made the glass to be that way.

And as the drill was about to penetrate my flesh, a drill suddenly struck through the Big Daddy’s chest. The chunk of metal flew out and hit the wall above me, and as Martín’s drill slowed, so did the Big Daddy’s. The light diminished from the Big Daddy’s helmet and it slumped to the ground, dead.

But I had no time to react. My attention was glued to my Big Daddy, who was letting out continuous yowls of agony. Blood continued to spew from wound and it slumped to the ground as well. The light turned green, but then began to flicker with darkness.

I upped the helmet’s glass, tears sprouting to my eyes. “W - wait, Martín, you can’t die on me! I still need you! I still need to - to fulfill my promise to you!” I sobbed, guilt consuming my entire being.

The whale noises began to go quiet. With one last flicker and one last moan, he was out like a light.

But I jumped into action. I couldn’t let him die. He wasn’t my Big Daddy, he was my human. The closest thing I had ever conjured as a best friend. I could only send once glance to the submarine, open and tempting. But I knew what my decision was.

I could not carry the entire lump of metal with me. I… had to unscrew it. I had to do the surgery here. 

I tightened the grip on the spear. I knew what I had to do.

I ran down the hall, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I burst into the lab once more. I didn’t give Steinman the slightest chance at defending himself. I pierced his back with the spear several times, tears stinging my eyes. But I was focused. I knew what I had to do.

I then propped him over the surgery table, having shoved the naked woman’s corpse off. I grabbed the saw that he so very favored and began sawing at his arm. It popped off with ease after a satisfying crack.

I then emptied out my entire backpack. My actions were panicked and quick as I grabbed everything I could possible need. A screwdriver, blood stoppers, morphines, bandages. All of it went into the bag. And when I had finally loaded up, I grabbed the bleeding arm and raced down the hallways once more.

When I returned to Martín’s corpse, I noted that the bleeding had stopped. But, after realizing what I had done to Steinman, I noted that the connection to the arm and Martín’s body could not be replicated and I had killed the man for nought.

I began vigorously unscrewing the diving suit. I carefully cut all of the wires penetrating his body, spilling all sorts of liquids over me, whether blood or stale urine. I continued the procedure, so focused and distraught that I could barely register what I was doing.

Until, I stopped. And I looked at him once more. Martín Baudelaire… he was still under the diving suit. And he was here, right in front of me.

I had bandaged his arms and inserted more blood into his body. Although losing an arm was a lot to lose, I hoped not too much blood had escaped. I had also bandaged his limbs, unclosing the ones in the back of the skull. And though I knew I could not fix his eyes ever again without repeating the process of reverting him to Big Daddy form, I had wrapped a cloth around them to stop the bleeding.

My body ached and so did my heart. When… had I softened so? I did not owe it to the man in front of me. The human in front of me. He was at my disposal for my experiments. And yet, I could not take even a step away from his body. I was worshipping his soul from his toes to his broken skull. The man… had bewitched me because I knew he did not deserve it.

And I knew that if the monster I had made died in front of me, so would I, whether from heartbreak or suicide, I did not care.

Because I was more of a monster than he had ever been. He was but a human from the beginning, while I had always been the monster.

As more tears escaped my eyes, I lay on the ground and pressed my head to his chest. Hope blossomed within me as I became vaguely aware of the slow but definite heartbeats. I was no woman of god, but I prayed. I prayed like no other that my Martín would return to me.

~~~

With a tired sigh, I exited the car, having just pulled up to the garage. When I stepped out, I took my briefcase. And although I hated my job, a menial office job that I used to cover the bills because I never again wanted to touch the subject I was so dearly passionate about, I had to do it for us. I refused to be worthless like that Yi Suchong had been.

I walked to the front door and unlocked it. The house was small and quaint, but cute and homely. I kicked my shoes off once inside and hung up my suit coat on the rack. My eyes felt weary and although they could not keep anymore open, I knew I should be grateful to even have them.

And when I entered the living room, my heart warmed at the sight if him. Disfigured and dysfunctional, but alive. And that is what was important to me.

“Martín, I’m home,” I greeted.

His head turned to me. And although his eyes were cascaded with the blindfold that served as a permanent bandage, his ears worked well. And though he was missing an arm, he rose to his feet anyways, following the sound of my voice.

I made my way over to him and turned off the television. While I was at work, I left it on for him so he wouldn’t feel alone. Little by little, his humanity was returning. When I could, I taught him English in attempt to remove the whale conditioning, and leaving the television on probably also helped.

I wrapped my arms around his waist eventually. His hand twitched and found my back. He squeezed. I knew that moving was difficult for him without the Big Daddy diving suit, but I knew it would be better this way. He deserved better.

“Give me a kiss,” I finally hummed, tilting my head up. 

His neck twitched and he obediently listened. He pressed his lips to mine hungrily, as though recognizing the human aspect of the affection.

And although a part of me yearned for the control and protection the former Big Daddy had offered, I owed it to everything I had ever done wrong. I especially owed it to Martín.

“Aren’t you glad to be here with me, Martín? I told you that we’d escape together. And although… we have no child currently,” my hand drifted down to my stomach, rubbing it gently as I took his hand with me,” we will soon. Do you understand?”

His entire body tensed. He understood. I beamed with pride as his lips twitched into a slight attempted smile. He remembered how to smile and I could not be happier. He let out a groan. But it no longer sounded as that of a whale. It sounded human, especially without the filter he used to adorn. Little by little, he was becoming Martín again.

And it was in the knick of time, because soon he would be a father.

#yandere #x reader #x y/n #self insert #yandere horror #horror #horror games #yandere bioshock #bioshock game #bioshock #subject delta #bioshock 2 #bioshock rapture #bioshock x reader #yandere big daddy #big daddy x reader #big daddy #big daddy bioshock

[1644s]

looks like the next few fics will be mafia based, sorry y’all

#r.text #enforcer!Lando and spare to the dynasty!charles are in the current WIP lineup #and then I have 2 Lando and Charles ideas that are essentially the same so we’ll see who wins out #maybe I’ll do both if I’m feeling crazyyyyy #also I’m a slow writer who floats between WIPs constantly so this is subject to change #the long fic I have in my head for max x reader x Charles…rotating you guys in my mind

[moonjxsung]

Lost in Translation

Copyright Ⓒ 2023 by Moonjxsung

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.

Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader

W/c: 26.5k

Warnings: accidental nudity, hospital visit, mention of masturbation, use of pet names, breast/nipple play, clitoral stimulation, unprotected sex, bulge kink, sexual asphyxiation, breeding kink, creampie, oral sex (male receiving), brief mention of pregnancy

Synopsis: The older brother of the boy you babysit is an enigma, in every sense of the word- and you’re determined to figure him out.

[this work was based off a request by @antoniorhinothethird - thank you for requesting!]

18+. Mdni!

•

The idea of babysitting isn’t some brilliant proposal you conjured up in a day- but it’s not exactly a choice, either. The idea isn’t even yours, in fact, the advertisements you published on the colorful inquiry site at your mother’s behest. But “college courses are virtual these days” and “you’ll be a mother at some point in your life,” according to her. So two months into the semester, you’ll now spend the majority of your time in a new place you’ll call home, just 30 minutes out at the Lee Household.

The Lee household is considerably larger than you’d originally anticipated it to be, spanning a sizable amount of grassland and standing nobly tall at 2 stories high. The exterior of the flashy home is surrounded by paved gravel driveways, lining the neat rows of bushels and vines that surround the off-white architectural build. Giant glass windows reflect sunlight in nearly every room of the house, with the exception of the dimly-lit library on the second floor, which flaunts colossal cherry wooden bookshelves that line the walls and cover most of the smaller windows.

“Joon is usually very mellow in the daytime,” Mrs. Lee tells you as she walks you through a tour of the garden. “You’ll only have to worry about his feeding schedules, which I’ve already written and posted on the refrigerator.”

She pivots in front of you, stopping for a moment and gesturing to the stone fountain by the rose bushes. “Do you like it? It was a gift from my husband. When he’s not running the furniture business, he works in restoration a lot. This was his first project.”

“Wow,” you say, your lips parted at the sight of the koi fish and the cascading waterfall from its lips. “It’s very beautiful.”

Mrs. Lee smiles at you in response, turning on her heel and continuing to the iron gates in the front.

“Do you have any other questions?” She asks, clasping her hands together and shooting you a saccharine smile. She’s intimating, not because of her personality, which you quickly clock as rather warm and inviting. But rather, because she’s so elegant, her navy silk dress perfectly complementing the chunky pearl earrings she wears, making her look like a character from an old film. You’re not sure you’ve ever crossed paths with such an interesting woman before.

“I think that covers everything,” you say finally, giving her a small bow. “I’ll be sure to provide updates throughout the day.”

“Oh, no need,” she says quickly. “Unless it’s an emergency, l know you’ll have your hands full doing your work while watching Joon. Feel free to just give us a little summary when we’re home for the evening.”

She shoots you a little wink when she finishes speaking, clasping her hands together again and smiling down at you.

“We’ll see you tomorrow for your first day!” She exclaims warmly, opening gate doors as you make your exit out of the garden. When you begin down the paved road, Mrs. Lee suddenly gasps, calling out to you again in a frantic manner.

“Oh! Y/n, wait please!” She calls, pulling the skirt of her dress up to her ankles to jog over to where you’re standing.

“My other son will be home from school in the afternoon tomorrow. Don’t be alarmed if you hear him moving about the house. He’ll just keep to himself.”

You ponder the words for a moment, a little frustrated when you realize there will be two kids in the household instead of one, like she’d previously mentioned. But you just nod and smile at her, seeing yourself out of the driveway once again and beginning the journey back home to prepare for your first day here tomorrow.

*

This castle-at-end-of-the-road is eerily quiet when no one’s home, a once lively sight of rose bushes and marble statues appearing like something out of a horror movie when you’re by yourself. At every corner you turn, your brain runs rampant with paranoia, placing shadowy figures and silhouettes of people where there are none- except for when you’re in the presence of Joon.

At just a year old, Joon is considered one of the cutest ages, only being able to babble incoherent noises and flail his little hands around when he wants something. His closet is full of matching neutral tones, per his mother’s styling, and his sparse black hair is combed neatly to one side.

Mrs. Lee is right about him- he doesn’t cry. Nor does he ever make a fuss, really. He simply sits quietly, in the comfort of his crib, or his high chair, and he curiously peers at the world around him. You’re certain he’s taken a liking to you already, judging at how he smiles when you spoon-feed him mashed carrots and mimic airplane noises. And he only cries briefly once in the day, stopping almost immediately when you put him down for his nap.

This may be an easier gig than you thought.

While Joon naps, you take the opportunity to get some work done in the library, settling comfortably on the velvet armchair in the corner and running through a few of your online class assignments for the week.

Although you’ll be babysitting here for the next few weeks, you’re also completing your final year at university this year, your last semester being completely remote. Which gives you time to take on the babysitting task as a side hustle, and hopefully save enough money to travel a bit after university like you’ve always dreamt of.

At half past noon, Joon is still peacefully asleep in his crib where you’ve left him, the ambient sound of waves echoing softly from his baby monitor as little snores emit from his curled lips. He looks like an angel when he sleeps, and you can’t help but feel your heart swell to twice its size at the sight of him.

The gentle breeze of the October wind travels through the open windows of the library, sending chills up your spine when you sit down to work again. You get up from where you’re sitting on the armchair to latch the windows shut, making sure to lock them, before turning around to take your seat again- quickly startled by the figure standing in the doorway.

“Jesus,” you yelp, one hand clutching your chest in fear as you nearly drop your laptop.

The figure- or man, rather, says nothing, scanning the room like he’s searching for something, before turning on his heel and exiting the room once again.

He’s tall, with a slim yet muscular build, honey tanned skin complementing his chocolate brown tresses. He’s also dressed rather casually in a pair of light-wash jeans and a black top, a black leather jacket thrown over his broad shoulders and left unzipped.

“Sorry, did you need something?” You call out, perplexed by his demeanor. You can’t remember if the Lees warned you of potential visitors, but you’re suddenly panicked for Joon, remembering you left his door open.

“Nope,” the man calls out over his shoulder, not turning around to face you. And then you see it- a black backpack, slung over one shoulder and seemingly filled to the brim with textbooks.

Their other son.

This must be the son Mrs. Lee warned you would be making appearances in the afternoon. But you had assumed him to be much younger, especially considering he’s definitely old enough to be watching over his own brother.

Before you can gather your thoughts to introduce yourself, he’s gone again, disappearing down the hall the same way he so mysteriously appeared. And you wonder, briefly, how he can be so much colder than his own mother.

*

The first day of your new job is a success. When Mrs. Lee returns home for the evening, she pays you in cash, true to her traditional style, and sends you home with a tin of shortbread cookies as another ‘thank you’, though she’s already voiced it a million times. But the second day is rougher than the first, reminding you of why babysitting isn’t always an easy task despite what it may seem.

Joon is particularly antsy today, flailing his arms around when you try to spoon feed him and whining relentlessly when you pick him up. He needs several diaper changes in just your first few hours of working, and when you finally do get him clean, he’s a crying, screaming mess.

Fortunately, he still goes down for his nap at noon, which means you have a narrow window of time to complete your work for the day and get freshened up. The windows in the library are propped wide open again, a cold breeze coming through as you settle in your new favorite spot and open your laptop.

There are a myriad of assignments to complete today, and you’re briefly panicked that you won’t be able to complete the necessary few pieces if Joon suddenly wakes again. But still, you try, skimming through textbooks and typing away as much as you can to make steady progress. And at the hour mark, Joon begins to cry. Rather he wails, loudly, from the other room, startling you when you’re already in deep concentration working through a practice quiz.

You make your way down the hallway and to the right, where Joon’s room is, approaching the crib and catching a glimpse of his anguished state. His face is a robust shade of red as he wails loudly, bubbles of saliva forming at his nostrils and his eyes squeezed shut. You guide him out of the crib and into the safety of your arms, shushing him gently and rocking him back and forth the way Mrs. Lee taught you. And Joon calms instantly, hiccuping through tears as he locks his gaze on yours and fists at strands of your hair.

“That’s okay,” you coo at him, grazing your finger along his chin and cleaning some of the drool that dribbles from the corners of his lips. “I’m here. Look at you! You’re okay,” you continue, giggling at him when his quivering lips pull into a small smile. He softens in your arms, smiling and babbling with hushed sounds, clutching tightly on strands of your hair as you balance him in your arms.

“You want to come do some work?” You ask, nodding your head as if to coax an answer out of him. “That’s a good baby, huh? Let’s go do some work.”

And you travel back to the library with Joon in your arms, giving him gentle pats on his back as you hoist him tighter into your embrace and balance your laptop with one arm.

When you’re starting on your last task of the evening, you’re interrupted again today by Mrs. Lee’s eldest son, who pokes his head in the doorway and observes as you coo down at Joon’s sleeping figure while working on your computer with one hand.

“Do you want me to take him?” You hear from the doorway, and you crane your neck to look where he’s standing, his hands shoved in his pockets and his backpack slung lazily over one arm.

“I’m okay,” you respond, typing out a word with one hand. He furrows his eyebrows at your failed attempt, approaching you and reaching out his arms to take Joon from your embrace.

“You can’t work like this,” he says, as he peacefully transfers Joon to his own arms. “He won’t wake up if I put him back, I promise.”

“Thanks,” you reply, taking note of his features now that he’s at a closer proximity to you for the first time. He has large round eyes, and long eyelashes that make even you jealous. His nose bridge is sharp and straight, and when he chuckles softly at Joon, you notice his skewed front teeth, ones that make his smile seem sweeter- softer.

As he begins out the doorway, you try to think of what to say to him, not wanting to have another awkward run-in with him like your last one. But nothing comes to mind that won’t be just as awkward as the encounter itself, and you settle on painful silence once again.

As you unlock your laptop, continuing on to your last assignment, you hear the faint noise of Mrs. Lee’s elder son putting Joon back to sleep.

Except he sounds different than he has during your two previous encounters. He’s laughing, babbling, even cooing at Joon as he puts him back to sleep. And though you really shouldn’t intrude, you make your way to the doorway again, where you peer down the hall to listen in on the endearing noises he makes.

“Are you sleepy?” He asks, his voice two octaves higher than usual. “Let’s sleep now, okay? No, you can’t have my shirt. That’s mine, remember? Let’s have good dreams now. I love you!”

You hear Joon giggling from the end of the corridor and you smile to yourself, wholly moved by the tender little moment he shares with his baby brother. He might not be his full-time caregiver, but he certainly knows what he’s doing. As you stay pondering his behavior for a moment, you don’t even notice when he exits the room again, turning to watch you standing around the doorway. Your ear is still leaned into the corridor, clearly having listened in on the private moment.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, straightening your posture, a wave of embarrassment quickly washing over you. “I was making sure Joon got to bed okay.”

He just nods once, looking you over briefly before meeting your gaze again.

“Minho,” he then practically mutters, averting your gaze as he waits for you to speak.

It’s his name, you realize, barely even having registered what he said to you. He’s telling you his name.

“Y/n,” you respond quickly, giving him a small bow and smiling nervously.

And Minho says nothing, pivoting on his heel to exit the corridor and disappear all over again.

*

For two weeks, your job runs smoothly, no glaring problems or hangups. Joon remains fond of you, obedient at mealtimes and when he’s put to bed. And the system of completing your college coursework goes smoothly, being able to get through several assignments a day while Joon takes his afternoon nap. If anything, you might be more productive than you were before this job, despite balancing it between university.

It’s an overcast Tuesday afternoon, and you’ve spent most of your day working in Joon’s nursery on the rocking chair next to his crib. He’s been a little fussy today, but you find that he calms down a little at the repetitive clicking noises of your laptop keyboard. Once you’ve confirmed he’s asleep, little snores emitting from his lips, you gather your belongings and sneak away to the library again. Only this time, it’s not vacant.

Minho sits in your usual spot today, his legs propped up on the footrest in front of him and a book in his lap. He doesn’t even notice you in the doorway, strands of hair hanging loosely in front of his face as he scans the page of his book. He also looks significantly more casual than other days you’ve seen him around, wearing a plain black t-shirt and gray sweats, a pair of round wireframe glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

He feels your gaze on him, shuffling about suddenly and closing his book.

“Sorry,” Minho says. “I was just… reading.”

He realizes how awkward he sounds, verbally conveying his actions to you like this, but he’s too caught off guard to form a more coherent string of words.

“It’s okay,” you say politely, setting your bag down on the floor and occupying the chair across from him.

“What book?” You ask, cocking your head at the small red novel he clutches in his lap.

“Hm? Oh, uh… it’s Love and Limerence. By Dorothy Tennov.”

You nod in response, studying the cherub painted on the cover, wielding a bow and arrow.

“Big romance fan?”

“No,” Minho says, chuckling at your words. “It’s a required read for my class.”

“How neat,” you reply. “What class requires romance novels these days?”

“My philosophy course,” Minho says, running the pads of his fingers over the raised text on the cover. “The psychology of emotion.”

“PHIL 105,” you say, knowing very well the course he speaks of.

“Yeah- you’ve taken it?”

“No, but I had a friend who did in freshman year. I’m in my last semester now- my remaining classes are virtual, though.”

“It’s my last semester, too,” Minho says with a little smile, fiddling with the lobe of his ear as he talks.

“Well best of luck to you in the final stretch,” you reply, shooting him a small smile back. “I hope it all goes smoothly.”

Minho gives a half nod, and then furrows his eyebrows together, like he’s just remembered something.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he says suddenly, sitting up and gathering his belongings.

“Oh, I really don’t mind-”

“Catch you later,” He interrupts with a nervous tone, almost jogging out of the library and back down the corridor.

And just like the first day you met him, you maintain the same idea of him- he’s such an enigma. Appearing in and out of the household, not one to voice his thoughts or his opinions, no eagerness to know the stranger sitting in his house watching over his baby brother. But somehow, like the rest of the household, you can’t help but have a lingering curiosity for Minho, too.

*

“My husband and I might be late getting back today,” Mrs. Lee says one morning as you feed Joon his breakfast. His tongue dodges the plastic spoon, dribbling mashed food out from the corners of his lips and laughing when you go to dab his face clean with a napkin.

“That’s alright,” you reply, loading up the spoon with more food. “I can wait until you’ve arrived.”

“You will?” Mrs. Lee asks, a kind of sparkle in her eyes as she speaks. “That would mean the world to us. It’s just that my husband has an auction to attend today. And sometimes these events run longer than they’re meant to.”

“No problem at all,” you say, smiling at her as you turn your attention back to Joon. “Joon and I will just hang out a little longer today. Isn’t that right?”

He babbles something in response, a string of saliva trailing from his lips, and Mrs. Lee laughs at the sight.

“He’s really taken a liking to you!”

As she fixes Joon’s hair, Minho enters the kitchen, dressed for the day with his backpack already slung over his shoulder.

“Minho,” his mother says in a scolding tone. “No gum for breakfast. Have a fruit.”

“Can’t,” he replies curtly. “My philosophy exam is today.”

“What does that have to do with depriving yourself of food?”

“It’s bad luck to eat before an exam,” Minho retorts, coming around the granite island to kiss her on the cheek. “Besides,” Minho continues. “I’m ditching my second class, so I’ll be home a little earlier.”

When he turns around, his gaze meets yours, and he instantly stiffens.

His gaze turns cold again, his hands shoving in his jacket pockets as he says nothing to you. He just bows, once, and then turns to exit like he’s suddenly in some rush.

“Bye,” he calls out, and you’re not even sure who he’s addressing it to at this point.

“I should get going, too,” Mrs. Lee says to you. “I’ll call you when we leave the event tonight. And please, feel free to make yourself comfortable after Joon gets put to bed. There’s cash on the table if you want to order something for dinner, and extra blankets are in the upstairs closet if you get sleepy.”

“Thank you,” you say to Mrs. Lee as she gathers her car keys and handbag. And the house is quiet again when you’re all alone, with the exception of Joon’s heavy breathing as he stares at you curiously.

“It’s like a mansion here,” you say to your best friend as you balance Joon in your arms and crane your neck on your shoulder to hold the phone against your ear. “Mrs. Lee is so nice. I thought she’d be stuck up or something, but she’s like a second mother.”

“You hit the jackpot,” your friend voices on the other end of the line. “Any idea how long they need you around?”

“Not sure,” you reply, wiping the granite counter with a rag as you finish up the dishes. “Probably until their son is done with the semester.”

“Son?” She says excitedly. “Is he cute?”

“Please,” you echo, rolling your eyes. “His looks mean nothing considering he doesn’t say a word.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. He just doesn’t talk. We go to the same university and it’s like pulling teeth trying to figure out something as simple as what his major is. I think he despises having me around.”

“I mean, to be fair, I wouldn’t love someone in my space 24/7. It’s probably a territorial thing.”

“He’s not a cat,” you respond, laughing lightly. “He’s a grown man. I just get the feeling he doesn’t like me.”

“Well I highly doubt that,” she says, and you can hear her shuffling about on her end of the line.

“Hey, I have to go,” she chimes in. “But I’ll talk to you later. Good luck with baby Joon and the cat man.”

“Thanks,” you reply, chuckling to yourself.

As you hang up the phone, you turn around to gather the last of the dishes, stopping in your tracks when you’re met with Minho himself.

He’s standing in the kitchen, popping a bubble of gum with his teeth, his gaze locked coldly on yours as he observes the place.

That’s right- he did say he would be home a bit earlier after his exam today. Was he standing there for the entirety of your conversation? You can’t recall how long the phone call lasted, or even the specifics of what you said. But you do know it certainly wasn’t good.

“Hi,” you say nervously, scanning his expression for a hint of what he’s thinking. But he provides you none, kicking off his boots and making his way up the stairs again.

The guilt is still eating away at you two hours later- Minho hasn’t descended the staircase once since the incident, and you can hardly focus on your school work at the thought of what he’s thinking of you.

Here you are, complaining about him seeming “cold” or “off”- the whole time you’re the one talking about him behind his back and stirring up drama. If he hated you before, he definitely despises you now. And if he's as close with his mother as he seemed this morning, you could be out of a job by tomorrow.

In reluctant steps, you ascend the wooden staircase, clutching a small mug of coffee and a stack of buttered toast. You remember Minho saying he’d have breakfast after his exam, a task he wasn’t able to complete due to your impolite conversation earlier. And while you’re not even sure he’s going to give you the time of day anymore, it’s worth a shot to try.

At the top of the staircase, you realize you’re unsure of which room even belongs to Minho. There are rows of doors down the corridor, which you peer into, looking for any sign of him.

A closet, another closet, the laundry room… it feels like a futile task at this point- not to mention, the sinking feeling that you’re intruding, poking into every room in the house like this.

But at the end of the hallway, just across the staircase from Joon’s room, lies one more closed door you haven’t tried yet, and you’re sure this one has to be his.

With a deep breath, you balance the mug of coffee on the plate you’re carrying, bringing your free hand up to knock, just once.

No answer.

You pause for a moment, debating whether to just leave and drop the idea of an apology altogether. But you don’t, instead forcing yourself to knock once more this time, a little harder than the first.

And after muffled sounds of shuffling about, the door finally opens again, Minho standing with a confused expression on his face. He has a pair of earphones in, one side pulled out to hear you, his glasses sat on his face and a number of textbooks on the bed behind him.

“Is Joon okay?” He asks, looking down the hall in panic as you meet his gaze.

“What? Oh! Yes, he’s fine. He’s sleeping.”

“Oh. What are you…”

“I… made you some breakfast. I know you didn’t have any before your exam this morning. And no, gum isn’t a breakfast food.” You chuckle lightly as you hold the items out to him, and Minho looks down at them, blinking a few times before speaking.

“Oh. Uh, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s no problem. Should I leave them with you?”

“Oh, you can put them on the desk over there,” Minho replies, and it’s then that you notice his hands are full with papers. He steps aside to let you in, gesturing to the desk with a piece of paper, and you oblige, clearing the space of a few scattered items and setting down his breakfast.

When you turn around to look at the place, your lips part in awe at the sight of the grandiosity of it. Minho’s room has bigger windows than any of the others you’ve seen, concave around a crescent-shaped seating area that boasts tall ceilings and large glass windows. There are books lining the floors, the desk space and even the window sills, many of them left bookmarked or lying open where they sit.

His giant wooden bed frame is almost hidden behind a hanging curtain, and his desk is nearly inhabitable at the amount of university paraphernalia that lives on its surface.

“Wow,” you say, craning your neck to look around the room. “It’s really nice in here.”

“Thanks,” Minho says awkwardly, toying with a loose hem on his pants.

“You really like reading,” you comment, taking note of the books he has lying around. When you say this, Minho seems to stiffen a bit, shutting some of the books and lining them on their spines along his shelves.

“Yeah,” he mutters, dropping a few books and kicking them away from him.

You nod at him, pursing your lips, well aware that you’re in the midst of yet another awkward interaction with him, but wanting to fulfill the reason you came up here all the same.

“Listen,” you begin. “I wanted to apologize. I don’t know how much you heard of that, but I assume it was enough to be hurt by it. And you’re justified in being hurt. It was totally uncalled for of me to say those things- and sure, you might be a quiet person. But that doesn’t make it okay for me to go around airing it out like it’s my business. In fact I shouldn’t even be on my phone on the job. I’m here to watch your brother, and I get paid for that service, and it’s completely unprofessional-”

“It’s cool,” Minho says, an unchanging expression on his face.

“Oh, um… I mean, if you want to fire me I totally understand.”

Minho chuckles softly, and then shakes his head. “I’m not going to fire you. I am quiet. It’s cool. Really.”

“I mean, I totally get that-”

“Unless you want to be fired?” He inquires with a half-smile, and you chuckle softly in response.

“I really don’t. I love watching your brother.”

“Good,” he replies. “Then we’re all good.”

And although you want to say something else to him, you don’t, feeling as though you should be satisfied with the state of the conversation. You apologized, he forgave you, and you haven’t lost your job. And he’s still quiet, but that’s just who he is.

When Joon wakes from his afternoon nap, it’s nearly 3pm. He’s a crying mess when he’s up again, flailing his arms around to beg for a bottle, which you promptly prepare for him after a diaper change.

With Joon in your arms, you get some chores around the house finished, including vacuuming the rugs, dusting off the furniture and tidying Joon’s toys that are usually scattered about his nursery.

Doing chores wasn’t an agreement between you and Mrs. Lee- in fact, she usually urges you to focus on your schoolwork and take breaks when you’re not caring for Joon. But you want to, feeling compelled to take care of the space as much as you care for Joon. Although tensions are still somewhat present between you and Minho, the Lee household feels comfortable to you by this point, almost like a second home now.

After chores, the library calls out to you again, evening beginning to fall over the neighborhood and painting the sky with vibrant hues of an autumnal sunset.

The windows are still rolled open from earlier, and your velvet couch looks particularly inviting at this hour, beams of sunset setting it aglow and luring you to choose a book from the cherry wood shelves around you.

So you do, selecting a children’s book about animals, comfortably sprawling out on the chair with Joon in your arms. He eyes the book curiously, spreading his short, chubby fingers over the cover and tapping repeatedly, as if asking you to read to him.

And you do, setting the book on your knee to angle the pages toward him, as you begin to vocalize the choppy sentences to him.

“A is for apple, hanging from a tree,” you say, caressing his stubby fingers as he pouts in focus. “B is for buzzing bumblebee.”

Joon’s lips curl into a smile, making his best attempt to clap as you point out the colorful images to him.

“C is for crab, walking in the sand… D is for dolphin, swimming toward the land!”

Joon laughs hysterically now, clapping his little hands and rocking back and forth in your lap. You laugh, too, at his darling reaction, and give him a little kiss on the head as he fiddles with the cover of the book.

It’s moments like this that reaffirm the notion for you that this job was the right idea, after all. You’re inexplicably happy alongside him like this, seeing the world through his eyes and rediscovering things you would otherwise take for granted, like silly picture books or doing chores with him in your arms. You feel so protective of him, eager to make his mom proud and provide a safe, nurturing environment for him as his babysitter- not because you’re paid to do it, but because he now holds a special place in your heart.

The sound of someone clearing their throat startles you from the doorway, and you look up to find Minho standing there, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

“Did you… want something to eat? I was going to order takeout, unless you wanted something else.”

“Sure,” you reply, propping Joon up a little closer to your chest. “Anything’s fine with me.”

“I’ll get Chinese, then,” Minho says nodding. He averts your gaze a little, but you can tell he’s just a little awkward when he’s face-to-face with you like this. And perhaps your best friend is right- perhaps it’s not unusual of him to feel territorial over his household. After all, you are here almost every hour of the day, making yourself comfortable in almost every room, tending to the chores here and eating food from their kitchen. You suppose you would be irritated at the thought of it, too.

As Minho leaves to place an order, you take Joon back to the nursery, where you gently put him to sleep for the evening and program his baby monitor to play calm ocean noises again. It’s like clockwork- he’s out like a light, and the minute he leaves your arms, you’re exhausted, too. The stress of watching over him while balancing your school work might finally be getting to you now- you’re undoubtedly tired, your limbs aching from sauntering about this big house all day with Joon in your arms. And although you’re on a good track, you can hardly remember which assignment pertains to each of your classes these days.

When Minho returns almost an hour later, he holds a thin plastic bag in hand, his other one clutching a fistful of cutlery and two plates. He gives you a small nod when he enters the library, and you put away your laptop to join him on the floor in front of the coffee table.

For a moment, he says nothing as he prepares a plate for you, sliding a cup of wonton soup toward you and dividing portions of chow mein and tofu with wooden chopsticks.

You watch as he breaks a spring roll in half, holding both sides up and comparing to make sure they’re even.

“You’re very precise,” you say with a soft laugh, and a breathy chuckle emits from his lips, too.

“I’m trying to make sure it’s even.”

“However you cut it is fine,” you respond, pleasantly surprised at how polite he is.

When he’s finished dividing your portions, he slides a plate to you, setting a plastic fork down on the napkin beside you and ushering to the food.

“Enjoy,” he says, shooting you a small smile.

And the two of you eat in silence, the room quiet, aside from the sounds of slurping soup present between you two. Although it’s quiet, it feels comfortable, having him keep you company like this. It’s a change of pace from your usual days babysitting in the Lee household.

“How is your school work?” Minho interrupts your thoughts, and you’re momentarily taken aback by him initiating the conversation first.

“It’s good,” you respond, poking at the vegetables on your plate with a chopstick. “It’s on my own time, so I mostly just have to make sure I’m staying on track. But I’m finding it easy to get through despite watching Joon in the daytime.”

Minho nods in response, keeping his gaze set on the bowl of soup in front of him.

“How did your exam go?” you ask, and Minho cocks his head a little. “I got full marks,” he responds after a moment of silence.

“That’s great! I guess you were right about skipping breakfast having something to do with your academic success, then.”

And Minho laughs for the first time- not a chuckle or a giggle, but a laugh, holding one hand up to his mouth as he does. His laugh is gentle and melodic, filling the room around him with its sound, and you can’t help but laugh, too.

“I suppose,” he responds. “I also go nowhere without those philosophy books, so I have them memorized like the back of my hand.”

“Philosophy major?” you voice back, and Minho nods.

“So Love and Limerence is like second nature to you at this point.”

Minho gets a little awkward at this, his smile fading a little as he pokes around his chow mein. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “You could say that.”

And fearing you’ve somehow offended him, you change the subject again.

“Well I’m a business major,” you chime in. “So we don’t get interesting reads at all. And I’m not lugging around a six-pound textbook about returns on investments in my backpack.”

He laughs again, and you feel satisfied at the motion. Making him laugh feels like an exciting feat, like you’ve succeeded at something after trying so hard to. And considering how hard you’ve been trying to break down his walls these days, maybe it is an exciting feat, getting to know the stranger you’ve been sharing a home with for one month now.

“Business is a great field,” Minho says, slurping down the remainder of his soup. “Your parents must be really proud of the direction you’re headed.”

You shrug in response. “They’re indifferent. I don’t have a great relationship with them. They mostly just want me out of their hair once I graduate.”

“You have any post-college plans?” Minho inquires.

“I finished an internship before this whole babysitting gig, actually. I want to travel a bit after graduation, and then I’ll really settle down for the whole 9-5 working life.”

“Where are you hoping to travel to?”

There’s a glint in Minho’s eyes as he presses you for answers, like he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say. It makes you feel all warm inside- not many people usually care what you’re up to these days, your family trying their hardest to send you away to work another job and your most of your friends having drifted apart when you began university. Even the friends you do have are more distant these days, considering their classes are still in person, and you don’t have a need to be back on campus anymore. It’s a bit of a lonely life you lead, so being here beside Minho feels different, but pleasant.

“I’m not sure,” you say with a smile. “I’m not really sure where I belong yet.”

“Hey, I don’t know where I belong, either,” Minho echoes. “So that makes two of us.”

When the two of you are finished with dinner, Minho takes your plates downstairs, despite you offering, and you’re briefly left alone in the library. It’s much later than usual now, nearing 9:00, when you’re usually home by 7. The house also has a different vibe to it this hour, many of the rooms feeling much dimmer despite the same lamps being on, and the corridors feeling much quieter and more haunting. You feel a wave of sleepiness wash over you, and though you don’t want to be asleep when Mrs. Lee arrives, you can’t help but shut your eyes for a few minutes. You can still make out the shape of the bookshelves behind your heavy eyelashes, trying your best not to close your eyes completely, but your mind has already wandered off to slumber, and inevitably, your body follows shortly after.

You’re somewhere between sleep and consciousness when you feel Minho enter the room once again, looming over you like he wants to ask you something. But he says nothing- instead, he unfolds a knit blanket above you, sprawling it out over your legs and pulling it up to your torso. And you hadn’t realized how cold you were before he did, because you’re almost instantly with a wave of warmth and comfort over your listless body.

It feels almost uncharacteristic or Minho to carry out an action this polite- but as he takes his seat across from you, watching as you doze off peacefully, you think he may finally be coming around to you.

*

“I’m ditching my second class again today,” Minho announces the next morning at breakfast. He doesn’t eat much, you notice, as he bites into a single apple and hoists his backpack further up his shoulders.

“I’ll be home a bit earlier,” he then continues, eyeing you a little, and you give him a little nod.

“Then help with lunch,” Mrs. Lee says, gathering her own briefcase for work. “Y/n shouldn’t do it all by herself when you’re here.”

“Oh, it’s no worry at all,” you quickly chime in, not wanting to be the reason Minho refutes his mother’s words. “It’s what I’m here to do, after all.”

“No worries,” Minho says back to you. “I’ll be home around noon and we can prepare something together.”

For some reason, your heart flutters a little at the implication of doing something alongside Minho- something so planned and seemingly intimate. You normally just take the days as they come, so having a commitment hanging over your head like this is a little nerve-racking. And in all your worrying, you don’t respond to Minho, realizing only as he’s exiting the house with his apple in hand.

“I might be late again today,” Mrs. Lee turns to you, snapping you out of your trance. “But Minho can stay for the remainder of the time. I’ll still pay you the full amount like I did yesterday-”

“I’m happy to stay again,” you reply to her. “Like I said, it’s what I’m here to do.”

She smiles in return, clasping her hands and gesturing to the food on the table.

“I can’t get Minho to eat for the life of me, but help yourself to whatever you’d like. And thank you again, for staying.”

You’re reading to Joon in the living room when Minho arrives home from school. He kicks off his shoes dramatically, tossing his bag on the floor and breathing out a heavy sigh while you thumb through the pages of a new picture book.

“Hi,” Minho says first, his expression remaining stoic and unchanging.

“Hey,” you reply, hoisting Joon a little further up in your arms. “How was school?”

“Terrible,” he responds, making his way around the granite island to collect another apple.

“Why’s that?”

“Professor Kim,” he says curtly, polishing the apple on his button down shirt before taking a generous bite. “A three hour lecture on a Friday really wasn’t a smart choice. ”

You chuckle a little to yourself, adjusting your position on the floor and trying to balance Joon in your embrace. Minho takes notice of your struggle, abandoning his apple on the counter to come take Joon from your arms.

“Thanks,” you say, dusting off your legs as you stand again. “I’m going to get started on something for Joon to eat if you want to wait around. Unless you’re sticking to this exclusively-apple diet.”

Minho chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “I’ll help. We don’t have much prepared right now and I really need to go grocery shopping.” He secures Joon in his high chair, cocking his head toward the fridge.

“Could you just grab his orange juice? It should be the blue bottle on the right.”

And you comply with his request, promptly locating the blue sippy cup and handing it to Minho.

“Thank you,” he says, setting it down on the white tray in front of Joon and twisting it open. “This should be enough to hold him off until we can whip something up with the few ingredients we have. I want to do something with those sweet potatoes, they’re reaching the end of their time.”

Joon is a little fussy as he reaches for his sippy cup, flailing his arms around and sliding the cup across the tray to the edge. The cap seems to loosen as he does, tilting dangerously to one side.

“I got it,” you say to Minho, as you approach Joon. You retrieve the cup from the edge of the tray, twisting off the cap again to secure it properly. And as you do, Joon lets out a particularly loud yelp, knocking his hand toward you and letting the bottle fall off the tray entirely.

As you realize what’s happening, you bring two hands up to push it away from you, but you’re too late- the entirety of the bottle’s contents are spilt onto your shirt, completely soaking you and dripping onto the floor with loud, wet noises.

Minho doesn’t see what happened, but he turns around at the sound of your loud gasp, his eyes widening at the sight of you. Even your hair’s gotten wet, stringy pieces falling into your face, damp with the tangy scent of orange juice and dripping down your shirt. His mind races with guilty thoughts, feeling as though he should have stayed watching Joon, being the one to have been caught in the crossfire of his tantrum instead. Joon’s always fussy before meals- he knows this very well. As his mind races with the urgency to grab a towel, a rag- something, his eyes graze to your t-shirt, and he practically freezes.

Your thin white t-shirt is soaked like the rest of you, painting a clear outline of your black bra as the cold contents drip down your chest and torso. The see-through fabric sticks to your body like a cellophane wrapping, outlining every inch of you, every curve and every raised goosebump as you shudder at the sensation. Minho’s eyes remain locked on your dampened breasts for an embarrassing amount of time, taking careful note of the way your hardened nipples practically protrude through the thin white fabric, almost appearing increasingly noticeable with every passing second. The delicate curves of your stomach are accentuated with your skin-tight shirt, even your navel now visible.

A shake of your hands finally snaps him out of his trance, and you wrap your arms around yourself in a futile effort to cover yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you utter to him, at a loss for words at the notion of being so exposed to him. And Minho is quick to shake his head, now scrambling for a towel.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, pulling a towel off the oven handle and sliding it to you. “Here, use this and I’ll go get a larger towel from upstairs and a change of clothes.”

You want to deny the offer, feeling shameful for having already intruded this much on the Lee household and still needing more from them. But as you look down at your t-shirt, you know you don’t have a choice, the fabric now feeling cold and uncomfortable as it sticks to your flesh.

“Thanks,” you say to him, giving a small nod and not moving your hands from your chest.

And Minho retreats upstairs quickly, trying his best to avert his gaze as you remain in the kitchen.

As Joon babbles incoherently next to you, you can’t help but feel stupid, a sense of shame and embarrassment replacing the excitement you had to be preparing lunch alongside Minho for the afternoon. You’re in disbelief he’s practically seen you half naked like this, and you feel inadequate at not being able to stop Joon from committing the incident in the first place. As you run your hands up and down the raised goosebumps on your arms, you do your best to hold back tears, hoping Minho won’t think less of you for being caught in such a humiliating accident.

Minho is gone for a little while, and you blot at the wet patches on your shirt as you wait, Joon now laughing at your messy state. You can’t help but laugh a little, too, admittedly amused at what a disaster the afternoon has been- and you haven’t even begun the cooking part of it yet.

When he returns, he tosses you a large white bath towel and a gray t-shirt, still keeping his gaze on the floor instead of on yours.

“Here,” he says simply, his veiny arm scratching the back of his head. “I can also get a sweater if you’re cold.”

As you observe the t-shirt, you realize it’s one of his, not one of Mrs. Lee’s. For some reason, you’d assumed Minho would opt for a woman’s clothes as your change, but the t-shirt has clearly been pulled from his closet, and you blush a little at the idea of wearing his clothes.

“This is fine,” you reply, wrapping the bath towel around your body and excusing yourself to the bathroom.

You peel the sticky clothes off your body, crumpling them into a pile and changing into Minho’s t-shirt. It’s a bit large on you, but it’s much more comfortable, hanging loosely off your body and covering every bit of you that was previously exposed. His shirt smells like him, too, a pleasant scent of laundry detergent and his musky cologne.

When you exit the bathroom, you gesture to the change of clothes, your wet crumpled clothes balled in your hand. “I kinda look like you now,” you say, and Minho chuckles.

“You can keep it,” he responds, giving you another once-over and nodding shyly. “It looks better on you, anyway.”

He holds his hand out to you for the wet clothes, which he kindly takes from you to put in the wash. As he does, you go to the fridge to retrieve more orange juice for Joon- except there is none. You desperately search for milk, orange juice- any form of a snack that will keep him busy until his mealtime. But the kitchen is void of anything he can consume, and you begin to panic a little, knowing Joon hasn’t eaten in a good while now.

“That was the last of his orange juice,” you say to Minho when he returns. “And there’s not much else for him to snack on.”

Minho searches the kitchen too, digging through cabinets and moving around jars in the fridge to check for expiration dates. But he quickly realizes you’re right- the fridge is even more sparse than he’d assumed it to be.

“I guess we’ll have to make a trip to the store, then. How do you feel about strapping him into a car seat?”

“I’ve never done it,” you reply nervously.

“I can show you,” Minho says, grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter and spinning them around his index finger. “We can do it together.”

*

The nearest grocery store is just 20 minutes out from the Lee household. Minho drives a fancy black SUV, and he guides you through how to strap Joon into his car seat, which you carry out with no issues. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually on the center console as you chat with him about your university courses. For the first time, you notice how Minho seems much more comfortable around you now, cracking jokes occasionally and smiling at your stories about your afternoons alone with Joon. When Joon chimes in from the back seat with his excited babbling, you and Minho babble equally in response, sharing laughter at the ridiculous exchanges among the three of you.

You opt to carry Joon inside the grocery store while Minho walks alongside you, checking off a list he routinely uses to stock up on all of Joon’s favorite foods. And the atmosphere around you is homely, instilling the same sense of comfort in you as your afternoons alone with Joon. One that reminds you why you’re doing this job in the first place- you feel respected here, like your efforts don’t go unnoticed, and like you belong. It fills the lonely void inside of you with the sounds of Joon’s laughter, Minho’s tales of his classes and the trivial tasks of grocery store runs and learning to maneuver a baby car seat.

“I think that’s it,” Minho says as he checks the list one last time. “Milk, juice, bread…” he reads the items one by one again, and then nods affirmatively when he’s ensured they’re in the basket.

“That’s it,” he repeats, shooting you a small smile. “Let’s go pay.”

An older cashier gestures you to her lane at the registers, beginning to scan your items as Minho places them down on the conveyor belt. And then she gives a little wave to Joon, who curiously stares back at her.

“What a beautiful baby,” she says, pausing from scanning with a jar of mashed carrots in her hand.

Joon smiles in response, a trickle of drool escaping his lips.

“And what a beautiful family,” she continues, looking back and forth between you and Minho. “It’s not easy being young parents, but I can tell the two of you are doing a fine job at it.”

“Oh,” you say, chuckling lightly. “We’re not-”

“Thank you,” Minho interrupts, placing an arm around your waist and pulling you a little closer to him.

“We don’t get told that very often.”

You almost freeze at the contact, butterflies erupting in your stomach as he keeps his hand on the small of your back. This woman thinks the two of you are a couple- and worse, Minho is playing along with it. You can’t figure out why he’d entertain such a blatant lie, but you don’t interrupt him either, curious to see where he’s taking this little bit.

“People can be so unfair,” the cashier replies, shaking her head. “As long as the child is cared for, your status shouldn’t matter.”

“Exactly,” Minho replies, throwing his hand in the air like she’s making a point that pertains to him. “You know, when we got married, everyone told us it would never work. And now look at us- our child just turned 1 and we’re already making plans for a second honeymoon.”

“That’s amazing!” The woman says, clasping her hand over her heart like she’s touched by the bogus story.

“It is, isn’t it honey?” Minho says, turning to you.

Thoughts swirl your mind about this performance he’s putting on, but you’re undoubtedly entertained by the whole thing, stifling laughter as you nod in response.

“It is amazing,” you say finally. “We eloped and had a shotgun wedding- booked it to Italy right after and now we’re thinking of taking the little one to Paris for a real ceremony.”

The older woman removes her glasses now, wiping her eyes and shaking her head in disbelief. You can’t help but feel bad for her, seeing how easily she’s falling for your blatant lies, but Minho shows no remorse, grinning ear to ear and keeping his hand on the small of your back.

“Well I’ll tell you what,” the woman says, putting her glasses back on and shifting her eyes around the store.

“Since you guys just made my day, I’m going to provide you with our senior discount. It’s not everyday I see a young couple so beautiful raising such a darling little child.”

“Oh, you really don’t-” you start to say, and Minho interrupts you before you can finish.

“That would mean the world to us,” he says in an exaggerated voice, giving the cashier a little bow. “It would help us out a ton.”

You want to protest, to slap Minho in his pretty little face and ask what the hell he thinks he’s doing lying for a discount like this, but you’re afraid the cashier will see right through your whole stunt and reprimand both of you. So you just nod and let Minho take the lead again.

“Thank you,” you echo back to her,” holding Joon’s stubby little fingers as the woman types a lengthy code into the computer.

And Minho smiles at you, shooting you a little wink as he gathers boxes of cereal and jars of food in his arms.

“What was that?” You practically yell as you exit the store, balancing Joon in one arm and a bag of groceries in another. “You totally lied to her.”

“I didn’t lie,” Minho says. “I told her a different reality.”

“That is literally what a lie is,” you echo back to him, securing Joon in his car seat and lining grocery bags on the floor. Minho slides into the driver's seat again, putting his keys in the ignition but not yet starting the car as he waits for you to get in, too.

“I mean, that was like a 10% discount,” you continue, huffing frustratedly as you wait for him to speak. “How is that worth telling someone a whole list of lies?”

“You know, there’s this really cool theory called the anthropic principle,” Minho begins, looking straight ahead through the windshield. “Suggests the existence of a multitude of universes.”

“What?”

“So,” he continues. “Philosophically speaking, maybe in one of those we're married, and we have a child, and our honeymoon was in Italy.”

You stay quiet for a moment, pondering his words, completely unsure of if he’s flirting with you or teasing you right now.

“And maybe,” he chimes in again. “In one of them, we robbed the store and killed the cashier. And in another, we don’t even know each other.”

“What are you getting at?” You say, narrowing your eyes in confusion.

“It’s not lying,” Minho says with a smile as he finally starts up the car. “We just told her about a different reality.”

“So it’s lying,” you say with a smile, unable to hold back the giggle that escapes your lips.

“A little,” he finally says. “But it was fun, right?”

And you start to say no, but you can’t get the words out, aware you’ll be lying twice today if you do.

Minho takes your silence as confirmation, a grin plastered on his face as he rests one arm behind your headrest to pull out of the parking lot. And you can’t help but smile, too, the spontaneous thrill of lying to the cashier admittedly being some of the most fun you’ve had all week. And the conclusion stands- Minho’s a little odd. But he’s great company.

*

Mrs. Lee is late again tonight, the second hand on the clock ticking in slow intervals as it nears 10pm. You yawn for the umpteenth time tonight, exhausted from having done so much today, wanting nothing more than to sleep in the comfort of your own bed at home and mentally recharge for another day of this tomorrow. But you’ve promised to wait for her, always eager to wait it out until the last second, because Mrs. Lee always expresses her sincerest gratitude when you wait for her.

“Sorry, she’s really late today,” Minho says as he lowers the volume on the television. You completed a few more chores around the house after dinner while Minho powered through his schoolwork, putting Joon to bed before settling on the sofa and watching old cartoon reruns. Now you’ve been in and out of sleep for the better part of an hour, Minho remaining close by watching infomercials again, peering at your tired figure and feeling guilty that you’ve been here so long.

“It’s okay,” you reply quietly, letting out another yawn. You cross your arms over yourself, still dressed comfortably in Minho’s t-shirt, and do your best to keep your gaze on the television.

Tonight Minho is stuck on an infomercial for artificial plants, the dull narration lulling you to sleep even further as he checks the time on his watch and glances nervously at the front door.

Minho cranes his neck at your figure again, not missing the way gray bags hang heavy below your eyes, your lashes half-lidded as you feign sleep and force your gaze onto the infomercial.

“Don’t you have an early exam tomorrow?” You say to Minho, another yawn escaping your lips as you speak. “Don’t wait up on my account. You should get some sleep.”

Minho shuts off the television, standing up from where he’s sitting and dusting off his pants.

“I’ll take you home,” he announces, fishing around on the table for his car keys.

“It’s okay,” you reply, not wanting to inconvenience him anymore than you already have today. “I can walk to the bus stop.”

“You’re not walking,” Minho retorts, scoffing as you sit up and rub your tired eyes with the back of your hand. “It’s pitch black outside.”

“It’s fine,” you say, gathering your book bag and rushing to put your shoes on. It’s a race between the two of you now, Minho scrambling to locate his car keys while you get ready to leave for the evening.

“It’s really not a problem- where are my keys?” Minho mutters to himself, patting the pockets on his jacket and rearranging stacks of papers on the coffee table.

“I’m fine, really.”

“No, I’ll drive you,” Minho says, still tossing aside the mess he’s made to locate his keys.

“I’ll walk,” you reiterate again, and Minho finally exhales frustratedly.

“Then I’ll walk with you,” he finally announces, ditching the car keys altogether and stopping to look at you. He looks tired, too, evident bags under his eyes and his hair tousled from running his hands through it frustratedly.

“Minho, I really don’t want to burden you-”

“It’s not a burden.”

As he speaks, you hear Joon’s baby monitor alerting you that he’s awake for the evening, wailing loudly when he realizes that he’s alone. It’s perfect timing, too, Minho already having planned to wake him up so he can walk you back.

“Wait here,” Minho says to you as he begins toward the stairs. “I’ll get his harness.”

The dim street lights illuminate the dark paved roads, a crisp chill in the air as you walk alongside Minho with your hands in your pockets.

Joon sits comfortably in his harness against Minho’s chest, curiously taking in the atmosphere around him as you walk in silence to your bus stop. It’s not a long walk, only 20 minutes from Minho’s, but you feel admittedly much safer with Minho by your side, his and Joon’s presence feeling homely even at this hour. For nearly the entirety of the walk, the two of you say nothing, too tired to engage in conversation, but still comfortable in the presence of each other, and not needing to say anything. Joon babbles saliva every now and then, Minho bringing a finger up to wipe his chin, and the only other sounds are that of crickets and the gentle sway of the trees.

“This is me,” you say to Minho when you reach the familiar blue bench of your stop.

You sit on one side of the bench, slinging your book bag over beside you and crossing your legs. And to your surprise, Minho occupies the other side, one hand resting gently on the back of Joon’s head while the other pats his back gently.

“You don’t have to wait,” you tell Minho quickly, and he just shakes his head silently in response.

The silence between you remains, Joon toying with the collar of Minho’s shirt as you wait for the bus. There’s so much you want to ask Minho, so much you still want to find out from him. You’re well aware that you haven’t quite figured him out yet, but you’re undoubtedly sure that he is a nice guy, after all. From lending you his t-shirt, waiting up for you on late nights, even walking you to your bus stop and waiting for the bus with you. You think briefly back to his little joke at the grocery store, smiling to yourself when you remember he’d chosen to pretend you were a married couple for no other reason than to make you laugh after having had such a rough day. And his innate fascination with looking at everything through a philosophical lens, the passion for his favorite subject so robustly present wherever he goes.

“What’s that theory again?” You ask Minho as your thoughts verbalize amidst the silence.

“Hm?”

“The one about the universe.”

“The anthropic principle?” He questions, and you hum in response.

“Yeah, that one. Do you think there are like, a million versions of us right now, just…sitting here?”

“Sure,” Minho replies. “But the conditions would have to be just right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the theory states that conditions have to be just right for us to coexist in the universe we’re in right now. It’s sort of like a coincidence that this one evolved so that we could thrive in it. So there might be other versions of us, just not as definitive. We might be rocks, or bugs. Or maybe there’s a more advanced version, where we’re still on our honeymoon in Italy.”

“Or the one where we killed that cashier,” you chime in.

“Exactly,” Minho replies, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You ponder his words for a moment.

“Do they all follow the same timeline?” You ask him.

“What do you mean?”

“Do they all last forever? What if we got divorced? Would we part ways in every universe?”

Minho stays quiet for a moment, thinking back to the philosophical theories tucked in the back of his mind.

“I don’t know,” he finally replies. “I’d like to think some versions have a happy ending, but maybe some of them don’t.”

As silence falls over you again, your bus finally turns the corner, making its way down the street toward your stop.

“That’s me,” you say, getting up and gathering your belongings again.

Minho stands up, too, saying nothing as the bus finally halts in front of you, the brakes screeching to a stop with the loud exhaust of the doors as they open.

“Thanks,” you say to Minho before getting on. “For walking me.”

“It’s no problem,” he replies, shooting you a tired smile.

Minho watches as you board the bus, taking your seat toward the back. He scans the aisles momentarily, making sure you’re sat somewhere safe, away from anyone he might deem sketchy at this hour. And when he feels confident you’ll make it home okay, he brings Joon’s hand up in front of him, giving you a little wave as he watches you smile back through the tinted windows, sending him off with a wave back.

*

From then on, things shift between the two of you. Minho is a constant, always offering to walk you home on late nights to engage in discussions about your university work or his favorite theories. When he’s home early from his classes, the two of you enjoy cooking for Joon together, making trips to the grocery store where the cashiers are now fully convinced you’re a married couple. On late nights, the two of you often engage in lighthearted philosophical debates while you wait for Mrs. Lee to get home for the evening. When he’s walking you home for the night, doing homework alongside you or just passing by, Minho indulges you in all his favorite philosophical questions, and you entertain them, using the opportunity to get a better glimpse into his mind and how he thinks.

It’s exactly this that tears down Minho’s walls, you find- he, in all his philosophically-educated glory, sharing his perspective while you poke holes in his arguments and reach a conclusion together. Sometimes you’ll reach a stalemate, the argument fizzling out with no clear answer. And sometimes he can change your mind almost instantly, the arguments leaving his lips like second nature, always quick to persuade you in the opposite direction and provide clear reasoning. He’s very skilled at his work, and you quickly realize why he’s so passionate about philosophy in the first place.

It’s not something Minho’s used to yet- having a companion like this, one who actually cares about anything he has to say. Someone to come home to, somebody to bask in the simplicities of life with and affirm that he’s not completely incapable of making real human connections. And admittedly, maybe he loves playing house with you, coming home to your home-cooked meals and caring for the baby together.

Maybe this version of the universe deems you a babysitter, and he, just an outcast. But sometimes Minho swears he can see different versions where you’re so much more than that to each other.

In late November, you take your first week off, leaving on a small family trip to a city just a few hours out to go see extended family.

You tell Minho of your little excursion the week prior, and he pretends to be disheartened, but you know deep down he must be relieved to have some space to himself again. Of course you’re not able to watch Joon, and Mrs. Lee has a friend watch him in your absence, but you’re surprised at how much you miss the Lee household when you’re not there. The trip to the city is filled with repetitive questions from family about your major, your internship, your potential salary in an entry-level position and general university questions. And yet all you catch yourself thinking about is Joon, and Mrs. Lee and especially Minho.

You wonder what he’s doing in the comfort of his grand room all by himself, surrounded by books and tall windows. Minho once told you that he can go a whole day without talking when he’s not having philosophical debates with you over coffee. You wonder if he’s talked today, or if he attended his classes or how his exam on Tuesday went. Thoughts of him plague your mind every waking second- whether Minho would like a certain food, if Minho would agree with this statement, even what the people around you would think if you dragged him along and played house with him like you do back home. In this version of the universe, maybe he’s reading a book or watching a movie, but in another, he could be right here, telling his string of lies to your extended family.

On the last day of your family vacation, you find yourself in an old bookstore, and all you can think about is Minho. He’d love it here, you think, grazing your fingertips along the old cracked spines and yellowing pages. And as you scan through the philosophy section, several of the books already piquing your interest, you spot it.

The small familiar crimson book, just barely larger than your hand, delicate to the touch and painted with the same Cupid depiction as the one you know so well. A first edition copy of Dorothy Tennov’s Love and Limerence. You can’t help but smile to yourself, scanning the book’s contents briefly before closing it again and bringing it up to the counter. It’s not like you’re trying to worsen this little developing crush you have on Minho, but he seems to be everywhere you go- and candidly, you just want to have him figured out.

*

When you return to the Lee household from your vacation, the atmosphere is calm, sunbeams shining through the large glass windows and illuminating the house with a romantic glow. Joon eats his breakfast well, downing his orange juice and causing you little trouble throughout the day. And Minho arrives just after 3, his backpack slung over his shoulder and a book in hand.

Your heart beats erratically to see him again, trying your best to avert his gaze as he enters through the front door and kicks off his shoes. When he makes his way through the kitchen, you attempt to look busy, wiping down the counters with a kitchen rag and balancing Joon in your arms.

“Hi,” Minho says, a little shyly as you keep your eyesight on the granite counter below you.

“Hey,” you respond, pretending like you hadn’t noticed him enter the room, when in reality, you’ve been well aware of his arrival since he parked his car out front.

“How was your trip?” Minho asks, setting down his backpack and loosening the collar of his sweater.

He’s dressed for the chilly weather outside, a simple black knit sweater paired with blue jeans.

“It was good,” you reply, folding the rag with one hand and setting it aside. “I kinda missed it here.”

Minho smiles at you nervously, toying with the hem of his sweater as he hears you speak.

“It was pretty quiet without you here. I think Joon missed you.”

“Did he?” You question excitedly, poking at Joon with your finger and cooing at him. “Is that right? You missed me?” And Joon giggles excitedly, smiling between the two of you.

When the room falls quiet again, Minho clears his throat like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, instead keeping his gaze fixed on yours. The room is teeming with awkward tension between the two of you, two hearts clouded in desire to act on this conflicting emotion of fleeting lust and a mutual understanding of each other, but neither one of you say anything, letting it die with your silence and circle your minds aimlessly again.

“I got you something,” you say suddenly, and Minho’s heart quickens a little.

“Me?” He questions, pointing to himself as if you need clarity of who he speaks of.

“Yes, you. It’s in my bag upstairs.”

And you begin your ascent to the staircase, motioning for Minho to follow you as you bring Joon with you.

“Close your eyes,” you tell Minho when you‘ve entered the library again.

“Should I be scared?” He asks, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

“Close them!” You exclaim, and he finally puts his hands out in front of him, shutting his eyes, a big grin plastered on his face. You place the book in Minho’s palms gently, making sure to position it so that the cover is facing him properly.

“Now open.”

When Minho opens his eyes again, he doesn’t even need to read the words before knowing what it is. He’s immediately familiar with the first edition of Dorothy Tennov’s Love and Limerence he holds in his hands, uniquely characterized by the contrasting art style to his, and the much older, yellowing pages.

“My book,” Minho says, biting his lip as he holds back a bigger smile, one that will most definitely point to the incriminating fact that he’s smitten.

“Your book,” you echo, leaning on the wall across from him. “It’s a first edition. The bookkeeper said they’re pretty rare to come by.”

“You didn’t have to-”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, fixing Joon’s hair and averting Minho’s gaze. You’re afraid if you make eye contact with him, this whole nonchalant front will crumble down in front of you, because you’re embarrassingly smitten with him, too.

“Thank you,” Minho says, thumbing the raised gold-foiled cover outline of Cupid. “I’ll go put it with the rest of them.”

And he disappears down the corridor, his book tucked in the endeared clutch of his hands.

While Minho adds his book to the rest of his collection, you put Joon down for his nap, gently placing him on the soft blanket in his crib and adjusting the baby monitor. He blinks up at you a few times, his lips pulling into a shaky smile as his lashes finally flutter shut and a wave of sleepiness washes over him. You exit the room quietly, closing the door just halfway like you always do, and then make your way down the corridor to Minho’s room. The door is left ajar, but you hear him shuffling about, and you enter after giving a gentle knock.

Minho seems startled at this, jumping up from where he’s standing, in front of his bookshelf with Love and Limerence held open in the palms of his hands. He shuts it quickly, shoving it on the top with another stack of books, and then almost shields his bookshelf as he turns to face you.

“I didn't hear you come in,” he says, nervously shifting his eyes to more stacks of books on his window sill and nightstand.

“I put Joon down for his nap,” you reply, cocking an eyebrow as he stands there awkwardly. “Is… everything okay?”

“Yes,” he says quickly, blinking nervously when he sees you peer over his torso at the bookshelf.

“Where’d you put it?”

“Can’t remember,” Minho says, a breathy chuckle emitting from his lips as he tries his best to avoid talking about it. But you catch on- and you’re certainly not going to let him evade the subject.

“What are you hiding?” You finally ask, eyeing him with a small smile. Minho’s face drops a little, sighing once as he steps aside and grants you full visibility of his bookshelf. There’s nothing out of the ordinary- books of all colors and sizes lined neatly on the shelves, some of them left open or bookmarked. A good amount of them appear to be philosophy books, which doesn’t come as a surprise to you.

“It’s just your books,” you say flatly, and Minho scratches the back of his head before he speaks again.

“Love and Limerence isn’t a required read for university.” He says in a low voice.

“Oh,” you reply, unsure of why it should really matter to you.

“None of them are,” he continues. “It’s just my personal… collection. Of romance novels.”

And then you finally understand.

Minho- the stoic, otherwise quiet being, in all his philosophical studiousness and awkwardness, is a sucker for romance. Once the cogs begin turning in your head, they don’t stop, everything about him now making a little more sense to you. Why he stays locked up in his little tower all day reading book after book, why he’s so hopeful when he speaks of the human condition and of love, why he loves taking care of people so much. He’s just a big softie underneath it all.

“There’s nothing weird about that,” you chime in. “In fact, it’s really cool.”

“Yeah right,” he retorts.

“I’m dead serious. I’ve never met someone with so many copies of Thorns and Roses before.”

Minho shakes his head, moving to sit on his bed with his palms tucked under his legs. His gaze remains locked on the floor, an expression of shame still visible on his face. And when you see him exhale deeply, like he’s been nervously holding his breath all this time, you feel bad for him. If there’s anything you’ve learned about him since meeting him, it’s that he’s really a bit of a dork. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him look so vulnerable before.

“Which one’s your favorite?” You ask, skimming your finger along the neat row of spines.

He shrugs. “Pride and Prejudice, maybe. But these days it’s Love and Limerence.”

Minho’s voice is trembling, just above a whisper as he reads off his list of favorite novels to you. And you chuckle softly in reply, pulling the little red book out of its respective home on the shelf and tossing it to him.

“Read me your favorite passage.”

He furrows his brows a little, like he thinks you might be making fun of him. But when you take a seat next to him on the bed, wide-eyed and gesturing to the book in his hands, he realizes you’re genuinely asking him to.

“Go on,” you say, gesturing to the book once more.

Minho opens the book to the middle, flipping through yellowing pages with small font. Most of the pages are littered generously with blue sticky notes, Minho’s messy handwriting annotating all his favorite passages. When he finds the page he’s searching for, he eyes you cautiously, as if waiting for permission to begin reading. And with a deep breath, he begins, his voice shaking a little as he finds his footing.

“Now by these presents let me assure you that you are not only in my heart, but my veins, this morning. I turn from you half abashed--yet you haunt me, and some look, word or touch thrills through my whole frame--yes, at the very moment when I am labouring to think of something, if not somebody else.”

At the last words, his gaze meets yours again, eyelashes trembling as he waits for your reaction. He waits for you to laugh, or to dismiss the words, or leave altogether. But you just stare back at him, your heart beating erratically at the poetry he utters, completely in awe with him.

He feels otherworldly at this distance, this intricate fascination with love and human connection. The way his brown tresses fall loosely in front of his big eyes as he speaks, his plump lips pulling into a nervous smile to reveal the row of skewed teeth you find a home in every time. He’s like the passage reads- thrilling your whole frame, consuming you whole and filling your mind with thoughts of him, and his poetry and his kind demeanor. You find yourself a little closer to him, your eyes darting to his lips and then back to his curious eyes, fantasies of him running rampant in your mind.

And Minho keeps his gaze locked on yours, too, leaning in a little closer to you, the book closing on its own as his hand slips away from holding it open and onto the bed beside you. The implications are there, the atmosphere around you heavy with desire and uncertainty, and just as you wield the courage to bring your lips a little closer to his, you’re promptly interrupted.

“Minho-ah!” A voice calls from downstairs. You quickly clock it as Mrs. Lee’s, who must be home early from work.

“I’m home early!” She calls again, confirming your theory, her footsteps getting louder as she makes her way up the stairs.

You sit up promptly, smoothing down your shirt and standing to bow when Mrs. Lee pokes her head in the doorway. Minho stands up too, making the whole situation look unbearably obvious, and you pray she can’t tell what’s going on between the two of you.

“Y/n,” she says with a warm smile. “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you I would be home a little earlier today. Joon has a doctor’s appointment.”

“No worries at all!” You voice back, bowing again as she smiles. “I was actually going to leave early today. I have a bit of a headache.”

“Oh, do you want a cup of tea?” She asks, heavy concern present in her voice.

“No thanks, I think I just need some sleep.”

You turn to Minho, who’s standing with his hands in his pockets, looking a little disappointed as you give him a small bow.

“Take care,” you say to him, pivoting to head back to the library and gather your things.

Minho hears his mom see you out of the front door, chatting briefly with you about your trip and sending you off with a little wave.

He shuts his bedroom door and locks it, sprawling out on the duvet of his bed and running his hands over the book still beside him.

He’s not sure what happened- whether you were about to kiss him, or whether it was just wishful thinking. But every way he interprets the encounter, Minho swears he can feel your yearning for him, too. Is he crazy to think you might feel the same? Maybe he, too, finds it laboring to think of something- if not, someone else, besides you.

*

Joon is a particularly picky eater in afternoons, making a big fuss of foods he usually devours in the mornings and evenings. He skillfully dodges every spoon, every bite and feigns his interest in even his favorite snacks and desserts. And while you’re usually patient with him, today you’re frustrated, having mentally scolded yourself several times since yesterday’s events.

A part of you wants to ditch all of this, reminding yourself that you’re here to work a job, not lust after the son of the person who hired you. But the other part of you can’t help but imagine how things would be different if you just let yourself fall gracefully into him- he’s so much more than a fleeting thought to you. You want to understand him, having challenged yourself to figuring him out from the moment you came across him. But maybe you want him to understand you, too. You want him to understand that you feel at home whenever he’s around, his philosophical discussions and this game of house you play making you feel like you belong here. You want him to understand that although you know he feels like an outcast, none of his odd quirks matter to you when he’s reading his favorite love stories across from you in the library, catching glimpses of you when he thinks you’re not looking. And that maybe this universe conditioned itself just right so that you took up this job and crossed paths- and that has to mean something bigger.

There’s nothing different about the afternoon following yesterday’s, except for you spending a considerable amount of time on your hair and makeup, the anticipation bubbling inside you at the idea of seeing Minho again. You have no definitive plan, no script of how it’s going to go when he arrives from school. But you also know there’s something in your throat that wants so desperately to get out, and you won’t let it. As Joon toys with the cereal in his bowl, he looks up at you with big, curious eyes, and you wonder what he’s thinking, if anything. He doesn't know anything beyond the simple tasks of eating and sleeping, living with the comfortable knowledge that he’s being cared for. And although it seems much easier, you can’t help but sympathize. What a gift it is to feel- what a gift it is to carry emotions so deeply they eat away at you like this.

You’re infatuated with Minho- that fact stands true. And whether or not it benefits you to do anything about it, you’re determined to do something with all of this feeling, lest it slips through your fingers like he almost did.

You don’t hear Minho come home when he does, busy in the garden tending to Mrs. Lee’s plants when the usual alert of his car pulling into the driveway passes you by. So when he wanders the corridors searching everywhere for you, you don’t take notice.

Minho’s desperate, hoping to ask you to stay just a little bit longer tonight, having also had the epiphany that he’s completely fallen for you, too. And what he hopes to do with it, he’s unsure- but he does know that every romance novel on his shelf would refute the idea of letting this feeling dissipate. Kiss her, tell her, do something. Anything.

He strides down the halls with purpose and vigor, a nervous smile pulling at his face at the thought of seeing you again. It’s all he’s thought about today, having had just two hours of sleep as he sorted out what to say to you. And while he’s not well-versed in the practice of confessing his love, he feels his whole life has been devoted to the very purpose of being here and finding you. The debates you share, midnight walks to the bus stop, the book- he’d be a fool not to reciprocate what you yearn for. And when he doesn’t find you, Minho feels the familiar pit of worry form in his stomach. He’s not accounted for a change of plans, or even what might happen if you reject his admission. He wants to believe so badly that the answer is yes, risking everything just to say something.

20 minutes after he’s been home, Minho receives a phone call, answering in a rush while he checks the upstairs rooms for you.

“Hello?”

“It’s Sujin from class,” the phone at the other end says plainly. “I’m here for our project.”

And Minho freezes, remembering very well that he has a project due very soon, and his partner is here tonight to work on it with him. He sighs heavily into the line at the change in plans, knowing he’ll have to bottle his emotions another day and act on them tomorrow when he can get you alone.

“Oh, right,” Minho responds, making his way to the stairs and jogging down them. “The door should be unlocked.”

He stuffs his phone in his back pocket, making his way to the door to meet Sujin, and as he passes the sliding door to the backyard, he finally sees you. Knelt on the ground in a white sundress, your hands tainted with soil as you tend to the tomato plants and hum to yourself. Minho smiles at the sight of you, the urge to tell you right now stronger than ever. But before he can call out to you, Sujin���s already made her way inside, peering curiously around the place and clutching her purse in hand.

“Wow,” she says, chuckling lightly. “You didn’t tell me you were rich.”

Minho scratches the back of his head awkwardly as she grazes a marble sculpture with her fingers. His eyes remain on you through the glass door, transfixed by the way you tuck your hair behind your ears and pat your dress as you stand up again. Sujin takes note of Minho’s evident distraction, briefly glancing out the window and back to him.

“Where are we working?” She asks, pursing her lips together.

“We can work upstairs,” Minho explains, as you finally make your way inside.

At first you’re confused at the sight, Minho looming over a girl much prettier than you, her long hair styled neatly over one shoulder and a matching formal two-piece hugging her curves beautifully. And then as you see her begin up the stairs in the direction of Minho’s room, you finally understand.

Of course there’s another woman.

Of course there was a catch to all of this, because why else would things condition themselves so perfectly that you’d win him over?

And suddenly everything feels pointless- confessing to him, feeling any ounce of emotion regarding all of this, even working this job. He has a girlfriend, and she’s much prettier than you are. And he's trailing behind her after giving you a shy nod, likely embarrassed at the fact that you’ll be here tending to his household while he fucks her in his upstairs bedroom.

You can’t help but think that perhaps something got lost in translation, because Minho evidently never liked you, and unless this version of the universe magically conditions to work in your favor just once, it’s going to remain that way.

*

When the tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes, they don’t stop. You can’t feed Joon without hiccuping through a hot rush of tears that fall from your cheeks onto his tray below him. Joon seems to sense something is wrong, pausing the task of dodging his food to observe the way your face contorts as you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. And when you do stop to look at him, all you can see is Minho, his eyes and lips resembling exactly that of his elder brother’s.

The chores feel like a futile task now, and you let them sit there for the remainder of the evening you’re working for. In fact, the only thing you do complete is the task of getting Joon to bed when the sun begins to set, marching carefully upstairs to not interrupt Minho’s time with his girlfriend. And the word makes you sick, to think that he’s been stringing you along all while having a girlfriend- a fact he so conveniently left out.

Joon goes down without a fuss, and when he’s finally asleep, you escape the confines of the second story to lock yourself in the downstairs living room and complete your school work. How much of that is spent crying instead, you can’t quite remember.

It’s just after 9 when Sujin leaves for the evening, but you’re not awake to take notice when she does. You wake to the familiar sound of infomercials playing quietly on the television in front of you, Minho sitting on the floor in front of the sofa you occupy. His head hangs as he holds a book in his lap, probably some cheesy romance he projects onto him and his girlfriend, and his thin wireframe glasses rest on the bridge of his nose.

The dull narration on the television advertises jewelry tonight, and you let out a sigh as you feel your swollen eyes adjust to the bright screen in front of you. At this, Minho turns around, giving you a sheepish smile as you try to shut your eyes again. But it’s too late- he’s already seen you awake for the evening.

“Hi,” Minho says for the first time today, bookmarking his page and lowering the volume on the television. “She’s late again today, but I saved you some takeout.”

“I’m not hungry,” you reply quickly, sitting up and reaching for your bag. “In fact, I need to go home.”

“Oh, sure,” Minho replies, a little hurt at your rushed tone. “I can walk you-”

“No need,” you say to him, pulling on your sneakers and doing everything in your power to avert his gaze. He furrows his brows a little, knowing you never reject his offers to walk you home.

“Is everything-”

“Fine. I just need to get home,” you reiterate, finally sitting down and smoothing down your wrinkled dress.

Every part of him is annoying you right now, your mind teeming with the reminder that you’ve been wasting your time trying to know him better while he’s been entertaining a whole girlfriend these past few months.

“Y/n, wait,” Minho calls, still intent on telling you tonight, while the feelings remain stronger than ever. But you’ve already crossed the room to the front door, where you avert his gaze so he won’t see you begin to cry again.

“Bye,” you call to him, not even looking back before you’re turning the knob and seeing yourself out. “Tell Mrs. Lee it was an emergency.”

And he wants to ask if it was, but he can’t, staring at your rushed figure jogging down the street as you distance yourself from him before he can string you along any further.

*

Thus begins the game of avoidance.

It starts through keeping your conversations with Minho as short as possible, not engaging him when he tells you about theories he’s studied this week or what his days on campus were like. When he asks about your day, you give him one-word responses, muttering a simple “fine” before turning your attention to Joon again.

When Minho asks to go to the grocery store, you pretend you have a headache- for three days straight. So he makes the trips solo, balancing bags on one arm and telling you about how the cashiers have begun to ask where his pretend wife’s been. You give him no reaction, nodding as you feed Joon his dinner and glance at the clock for the umpteeth time, desperate to get away from him.

And the mystery woman remains, marching into the Lee household in afternoons like she owns the place, already having memorized the path to Minho’s room as she makes her way up the stairs and doesn’t acknowledge you. She’s beautiful everyday that she’s here, short skirts and long ponytails you can’t seem to look away from. And she’s even more hypnotic when she’s in the presence of Minho, the two of them as a couple certainly a sight for sore eyes. If they were a married couple, you’d reckon they'd be much more distinguished than you and Minho would.

“Do you want a coffee?” Minho peers into the library one night to ask you. You keep your gaze locked on the computer in front of you, trying your best to keep your guard up as he waits for a response.

“No, thank you,” you say coldly, continuing to work on your essay.

When he realizes you’re not going to say anything else, Minho enters the room reluctantly, his hands shoved in his pockets as he leans against the doorframe and gives you a once-over. You say nothing, still, holding back your emotions so as not to cause a scene. And Minho can tell something’s wrong in the way that you shift your eyes to him briefly and shake your head as if scolding yourself for doing so.

“Did I do something?” Minho finally asks, his voice a little shaky.

“No,” you say quickly, skimming the same sentence on your laptop screen over and over again.

“Are you… sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

He fiddles with a loose thread in the pocket of his pants, keeping his gaze on the floor and thinking about your differing behavior toward him the past week.

“We just haven’t talked much. And you never really leave here anymore. I wanted to make sure I didn’t overstep any boundaries-”

“Overstep?” You interrupt, scanning your eyes over the screen of your computer. “There’s nothing to overstep. I get paid to watch your brother, not hang out with you.”

You feel guilty the minute the words leave your mouth, but you feel even worse knowing he’s just been stringing you along with a girlfriend this whole time. The atmosphere feels akin to when you first met him, awkward and cold, and with tensions high like this, you don’t feel at home in the Lee household anymore.

“Sorry,” Minho says, nodding. “You’re right. I guess I’m overstepping by asking.”

You only look up at him when he leaves, his shoulders sagging as he leaves you alone once again- only this time, you have a feeling he’s going to stop making an attempt to rekindle things anymore.

And you’re right- Minho stops trying entirely. There are no more offers to walk you home, no philosophical debates over coffee or grocery store trips where you act as a married couple. You’re still covered in knit blankets when you fall asleep accidentally on the couch, but Minho doesn’t stick around watching his infomercials to wait up for you anymore. And he still saves you his takeout when he orders, but he leaves it neatly packaged for you in the fridge instead of bringing it up to you like he used to.

You’ve gone from a mutual infatuation for each other to complete strangers once again. The house feels lonely and cold like it once did, your only real human interaction occurring in the few minutes you have with Mrs. Lee at the start and end of the day.

Minho doesn’t talk to you at all, locking himself away in his room like he did when you first started caring for Joon. And when you see him in passing at late hours of the night, he looks indifferent, sagging his shoulders as he averts your gaze with a book in hand and disappears down the corridors again. At some point, you begin to see his girlfriend less- in fact, his stoic composure makes you wonder if something’s happened between them. But as time goes on, you start to realize this is less about his girlfriend- and more about you.

What a gift it is to feel- but also what a curse. To let something consume you so entirely you can barely breathe without it. It’s laboring to think of anything else, of anyone else besides Minho and what he means to you. And as you replay your last interaction in your head for the nth time this evening, you think back to the day you started here. You knew the fundamentals of caring for a baby, having trained just enough to land a job doing it. All you wanted was to be liked by Mrs. Lee, and by baby Joon- and by extension, Minho. This household quickly became someplace you felt like you actually belonged in. But your purpose here has completely diverted from its original path, having prioritized Minho’s complexities and his feelings toward you above what you were hired here to do. You’ve experienced a roller coaster of emotions trying to understand him, and just when you thought you’d cracked him, you realized his heart belongs to someone else. So with the comfortable knowledge in mind that perhaps the universe isn’t, in fact, conditioned for you to mean anything more to him than just a babysitter, you understand it’s time to stop forcing any other version of it.

*

There’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary two weeks into your avoidance of Minho.

You still haven’t talked, he still keeps his distance and you get paid to perform the job you’re here to do. But one afternoon before Minho’s even home from school, Joon refuses to eat. It starts with a tantrum he throws at breakfast time, which you consider typical as he knocks his cereal onto the floor and waves his hands around restlessly. You can only spoon feed him a couple spoons of yogurt before he’s put down for his afternoon nap. And when you wake him for his post-nap meal, he’s just as fussy. He seems to be bothered by something, crying loudly as you offer him different snacks and try your best to calm him down. But nothing seems to work, and when he begins refusing his bottles late into the afternoon, you start to panic.

Mrs. Lee isn’t home for a few hours, you’re unsure of when Minho gets home and you don’t have any way of getting to a hospital right now. The guilt and the fear eat away at you as Joon cries loudly, his face turning a bright shade of red as snot dribbles from his nose onto his shirt. He must be hungry, and clearly uncomfortable by something, only you’re entirely unsure what. His pacifier doesn’t calm him, nor does his favorite stuffed animal or his favorite television program. When his crying reaches the 10-minute mark, you feel hopeless, well prepared to drag him onto the bus to the nearest hospital yourself, fully convinced you’re going to lose your job. And as you begin to cry, too, the front door opens, Minho walking in with his backpack clutched casually in one hand and his car keys in the other. His girlfriend is with him this time, her head hanging as she uses her phone, completely oblivious to the atmosphere around her.

“Minho,” you call helplessly from the kitchen, and his head snaps instantly to look at you. Your eyes are nearly bloodshot from crying, your sleeves drenched in tears from wiping your eyes and your voice shaky as you speak. It’s the first time you’ve said his name in weeks, you realize, feeling your heart race as you call for him.

“What happened?” Minho asks when he turns the corner, throwing off his backpack and approaching a very fussy Joon.

“He won’t eat,” you reply through hiccups, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your sweater again. “I’ve tried everything. He won’t stop crying.”

Minho takes Joon in his arms, rocking him gently back and forth, to no avail; Joon starts crying even harder now, dribbling snot onto Minho’s sweatshirt and hitting his chest repeatedly.

“I’ll have to take him to the clinic,” Minho says in a rushed tone, fishing his car keys out of his pocket and making his way toward the door.

His girlfriend finally turns the corner into the kitchen, putting down her cellphone and huffing frustratedly.

“What’s going on?”

“Sorry,” Minho replies, shoving past her with Joon in his arms. “I have to go. We can work on our project another time.”

Your heart drops at the words- project. Project, as in a project for his university. With a classmate.

You want to cry more now, for being so stupidly angry with him over nothing, but you still have to help Minho take Joon to the clinic. Sujin doesn’t protest, quick to exit without so much as a goodbye as Minho scrambles to fetch Joon’s car seat.

“I’ll get him in the car seat,” you say, pulling your sneakers on as he balances Joon in his arms.

“You’re coming?”

“Of course I’m coming,” you scoff, already taking Joon from his arms and ushering him outside. “Go start the car.”

*

“Lee?” A nurse calls, holding a clipboard close to her chest as she scans the waiting room.

You and Minho both stand up, Minho balancing Joon in his arms as the nurse gestures you to the door.

“Please, follow me.”

Both of you walk side-by-side down the corridor as she double-checks papers on her clipboard, making a sharp right and leading you into a private room.

Minho sets Joon down on the examination table, holding his arms to steady him, and you stand beside him as you wait for the doctor.

“She’s just reviewing the results,” the nurse says, referring to the x-rays Joon took earlier. “She’ll be in shortly to discuss them.”

Minho nods silently as the nurse leaves the room, leaving the two of you alone once again. You say nothing, unsure of how to break the awkward silence as Minho wipes a string of drool from Joon’s mouth and avoids eye contact with you.

You feel awkward, embarrassed and so, so stupid, for having treated Minho like absolute scum because you assumed the worst of him. It breaks you to see him avert your gaze like this, treating you the same way he did when you first crossed paths. He has his guard completely up again, and you’re not sure he’s ever going to let it down around you. As you lose yourself in doubtful thoughts, the door opens, Joon’s doctor sauntering inside and wiping her hands with the strong scent of hand sanitizer.

“Hi there,” she says cheerfully, giving you both a warm smile. “Are we here for baby Joon today?”

“Yes,” you both say in unison, and she laughs a little.

“You two are very synced. They say it happens in the first year of marriage.”

“We’re not married,” Minho chimes in quickly, and you turn to look at him, feeling a pit in your stomach all over again.

“No?” She questions. “My apologies. Is mom here today?”

“I’m just his babysitter,” you say quietly. “This is his brother.”

“I see,” the doctor says, eyeing you both. “Well you may notice I’m fairly calm, and that’s because there’s no terrible news I have to share. Baby Joon is just suffering from a little mucus buildup. He’s probably feeling the impaction, and the discomfort has caused a loss of appetite.”

You feel a weight off your shoulders instantly, relieved that this isn’t a more serious matter. He’s going to be fine, you think to yourself. He’s going to be his normal self as soon as this is over.

“… Just be sure to use a syringe to drain the mucus a couple times per day, and make sure he gets plenty of sleep.”

As the doctor writes Joon a prescription for his saline syringe, you catch Minho’s gaze briefly, shooting him a relieved look. He gives you a small nod in response, as if to say he’s glad you came along. And he is, he just can’t say it out loud.

*

“I think he’s finally sleeping,” Minho says, patting Joon’s back gently as he stands up from his chair. The two of you have been sat in the library for nearly two hours since getting back home, in complete silence as you read your books and wait for Joon to fall asleep. You take breaks every now and then to drain Joon’s mucus, alternating roles between holding his face still and using the syringe on him. And when he’s finally comfortable again, he dozes back off to sleep, little snores escaping his lips.

Minho leaves the room to put Joon to bed, and while he’s gone, you take the opportunity to pack your stuff and prepare to leave for the night. You feel guilty, not having said much to Minho this evening, especially with the newfound knowledge that this mystery woman was just a partner for his project. But you’re not sure what to say, well aware that he’s probably already decided you hate him, and there’s not much else you can do to fix things.

“He’s down,” Minho says as he re-enters the library.

“That’s good,” you reply with a solemn smile, packing your laptop in your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“I should get going.”

“Do you… need me to walk you?” Minho asks a little shyly, and although the offer is tempting, you shake your head no.

“I’ll be fine. It’s really not as unsafe as you’d think.”

Minho just nods, understanding that you still don’t want to be close to him. And he gives you a little bow, before he exits the room and makes his way up the stairs to his own.

As you begin to leave, an object left on the chair across from you catches your eye.

It’s Minho’s book- the first edition copy of Love and Limerence you gifted him. You take the small book in your hands, scanning its contents briefly and examining the pages. He’s already annotated several of them, despite having read the book numerous times now, and you can’t help but smile at his scribbled notes circling all his favorite quotes and underlining them twice. You know it’s valuable to him, despite coming from somebody he probably despises right now, but you decide to take it up to him anyway, not wanting him to lose it.

When you’re outside his door, you give a small knock as it’s left ajar, and Minho hums in response.

You enter quietly, holding the book out to him and shooting him a small smile.

“You left this downstairs,” you say, and Minho reaches for it quickly, embarrassed you might’ve seen some of his annotations.

“Thanks,” he replies, setting it back on his bookshelf of romance novels.

He takes a seat on the edge of his bed, patting the spot next to him, and you join him at a comfortable distance as he keeps his gaze on the hardwood floor.

For a moment, no one says anything. And then he sighs deeply, before finally speaking.

“I’m sorry. If I made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” you’re quick to reply.

“I clearly did,” Minho retorts. “And I know I’m quiet, and I kind of shut myself off from the rest of the world. But I never meant for it to affect you.”

“It didn’t affect me,” you reiterate.

He scoffs lightly in response.

“Why won’t you just say it? You haven’t talked to me in weeks. You don’t even look at me. I clearly did something to push you away.”

You don’t reply immediately, pondering what to say. And ultimately, you let your emotions speak for themselves.

“I was jealous.”

“Of what?”

“Of the girl. The one who’s been here almost every night.”

“Sujin?”

“Look, I don’t know, okay? I don’t know who she is or what she is to you-”

“My project partner,” Minho interrupts. “One who hates my guts.”

“Project partner,” you continue. “It doesn’t matter who she is- I like you, Minho,” you finally emphasize, turning to meet his gaze. His lips are parted in shock, his eyebrows furrowed as he hears you speak.

“I’m fucking infatuated with you, and it drives me crazy. I can’t go on vacation without seeing you in the books at the stores, I can’t sleep at night without your stupid theories replaying in my head. And I jump to the worst possible conclusions when you’re even near another girl. I’m going crazy trying to be liked by you- trying to look at everything through the lens of your romance theories or your book quotes, or whatever. But it’s so scary to like someone this much.”

Minho says nothing for a minute, collecting his thoughts as you let go of the breath you’ve been holding. He’s not used to people liking him- let alone being this intrigued by him. And especially when it’s in the form of reciprocation, from the one person he’s infatuated with, too.

“Why is it scary?” Minho questions, facing you now, his eyes darting briefly over your lips and then back up to your worried gaze.

“Because I’m here for a job. I’m not supposed to be feeling all this. You’re not supposed to be part of this.”

“How do you know that?” Minho retorts, leaning in a little closer to you now.

“I just…”

“You’re allowed to feel, y/n. You’re allowed to want this.”

And before you can protest his words, his lips are on yours, kissing you passionately like he’s pacifying the arguments before they can come to fruition. Your heart beats erratically in your chest, your mind racing with a million thoughts about what you’re doing, and what this whole thing even implies, but you shut them out with the rest of your concerns, pressing your thighs together as he brings two hands to your face and cups your chin gently. His lips work against yours so beautifully, so effortlessly, like the two of you have done this several times before. And maybe you have, in all his alternate universe theories- on your honeymoon, on the run from the police- right here in the comfort of his grand bedroom, his hands snaking up to pull off your cardigan as you tug desperately at the fabric of his t-shirt. Minho says nothing between passionate kisses, afraid if he talks you might realize what’s happening and leave. But you won’t leave, especially not when you’ve been dreaming of this, too.

When your cardigan is off, Minho moves a little closer to you on the bed, letting one hand guide itself onto your waist and trace the gentle curve of your body there. He’s delicate with his movements, careful not to startle you with his touches, but he’s also admittedly thought about this for weeks. The thought of you confessing was never something that crossed his mind- he was so sure he’d driven you away after that night. Never in his wildest fantasies had Minho considered the possibility that you were this smitten with him, too. But he did have thoughts of your lips on his, thoughts of your hands intertwined with his and ungodly visions of you under him, right here in his bed. Visions of his mouth on your breasts after you’d accidentally exposed yourself to him in the kitchen and he was forced to give attention to the massive erection that grew in his pants. And after you’d gifted him his favorite book, attentive to the details he’d indulged you in which he never otherwise shared with people, visions of making love to you ran rampant in his mind, filling you up over and over again with remnants of him as a form of saying I’m infatuated with you, too.

Minho’s kisses become needier as your words replay in his head, darting his tongue out to dance against yours with the sounds of exchanging saliva present between your plump, eager lips. He pushes you back gently so that you’re now lying on his pillow, the angle so intimate, the view of his room from here like something you’re not supposed to see. The ceilings appear even larger when you’re flat against his bed, the curtains that drape over his bedpost seemingly miles high.

Minho’s kisses trail down to your neck now, eagerly peppering your flesh in wet kisses as your hands reach up to tangle in his hair, holding him closer to you and letting him graze his lips wherever he desires. You can’t help but feel guilty having him all over you like this when you remember how you’ve treated him these past couple months- criticizing his tendencies to be quiet, intruding on his space and pushing him away because of a girl you’d assumed to be his girlfriend. But you also know most of it has been because you want him to mean more to you- perhaps you’ve just been trying to change things so that in this version of the universe, he’s not just an enigma to you. You want all of this- his lips on yours, his body pressed into you and to give yourself completely to him.

“Just so we’re clear,” Minho says suddenly, pulling away from you to hold eye contact with you. “I’m crazy about you, too. I really like you.”

And you can’t help but smile back in response, pulling him in again to press his lips on yours. He smiles into the kiss, too, satisfied you’re both on the same page. And although your now eager movements imply something more is about to happen, you don’t have to verbalize anything, his fingers snaking up your shirt serving as answer enough.

“Is this okay?” Minho asks, grazing your flesh with his big hands as he toys with the hem of your shirt.

You nod in response, sitting up a little and completing the task of pulling it off over your head and discarding it beside you. You waste no time on your bra, either, reaching around to unclasp it and rid yourself of the fabric without him having to ask. His eyes widen again at the sight, having remembered every curve of your body since that incident in the kitchen. But now in front of him again, he feels his cock swell in his pants, desperate to act on the urge. In nimble movements, his hand cups the mound of your breast, kneading it gently and sighing at the sensation of your soft skin against his. His mouth finds yours again, indulging you in a slow, passionate kiss, and then he trails down until he meets his hand at the mound of your breast, pressing a chaste kiss to your flesh before finally latching his lips around your nipple.

He starts with gentle kisses while your nipple rests between his lips, a string of saliva dribbling down to coat your hardened bud. And then he takes it between his lips with more force, beginning a gentle sucking motion as he gives your other nipple attention with his free hand, circling the tip with his thumb in tender movements.

You sigh beneath him, the sensation sending a shiver up your core, your nipples hardening even more in his touch, now eager for him to give your soaking core some attention. But he takes his time stimulating you, moving to your other breast to take your nipple in his mouth and leave a trail of saliva. Your body shivers when the cool air grazes your wet nipples as he pulls away, and he meets your lips again to kiss you passionately.

While he kisses you, your hands now toy with the hem of his shirt too, signifying for him to take it off. And Minho reciprocates with a little nod, finally pulling his shirt over his head and revealing his bare chest to you. It’s a marvelous sight to see more of his honey-tanned skin, his toned muscles and his broad pectorals practically begging for you to touch them. And just above his stomach, a horizontal pale pink scar, one that he eyes momentarily and then gives you a shy shrug.

You run your fingers along the scar briefly, tracing it in its entirety and bringing your hand up to caress his face.

“I didn’t think I could be any more attracted to you,” you say to him sheepishly, tracing the scar again. “You look like the poetry you’re so obsessed with.”

Minho feels an involuntary smile pulling at his face as he leans in to kiss you again, this time intent on giving himself fully to you the way you deserve.

Your kisses both grow hungrier, needier, as your bodies tangle into each other, and Minho loops a finger into the hem of your panties, tugging them down so that he has access to your sopping cunt. As your hands tangle further into his soft brown hair, his finger traces down the length of your stomach, dipping into every curve and over every inch of flesh he only got a brief sight of. And when he finds your mound, you arch up into him, parting your legs slightly to give him access. Minho doesn’t waste another second, attaching the pads of his fingers to your clit and working you in circular motions as he kisses you. Little gasps escape your mouth as he does, breathing heavily into his kisses and grinding your core closer to him as he quickens his pace, smearing your arousal around your aching clit and circling two fingers around to massage you gently. His cock is now fully erect against his abdomen, prodding into your upper thigh as he trails his kisses down your neck again, but he’s patient, forgiving with his movements, eager to pleasure you first.

As his kisses graze your neck, you tug his boxers over his cock, pulling them down so you’re equal parts undressed. Minho winces a little at the sensation, a bead of precum already dripping down the head of his cock, and you feel yourself clench around nothing at just the sight of him hard for you.

When he takes note of your anticipation, he glances down at his own erection, locking his gaze with yours again as if to confirm again that this is okay. You nod in response, reaching your hands around to loop them behind his neck and pull him a little closer. And then your gaze falls to his cock again, waiting for him to make the next move.

The two of you say nothing as Minho’s hand finds the base of his cock, pumping himself gently before leaning in to kiss you. He lets himself hover closer over you, until his cock is kissing your entrance in the same gentle, wet movements as your lips. You lift your leg up slightly to grant him access, and then in gentle movements as your eyes remain shut, you feel him push his tip inside of you, stretching you out around his girth and causing you to gasp. He’s bigger than you anticipated, even the dripping arousal of your cunt having trouble taking him wholly. But he brings his fingers down to your clit again, massaging you slowly to ease the pain. And it works, your body relaxing around him as he pulls back a little and thrusts in again, this time pushing further until he’s completely bottomed out inside of you. You let out a fervent moan at the sensation, his cock pulsating inside of you as he holds it there, feeling every inch of you clench around him and take him so well now. And then with a gentle kiss to your lips, he begins to move, his hips pulling back slowly to thrust back inside of you.

You feel so full of him, having him exactly as you’d always imagined him- circling your thoughts, hovering over you and finally inside of you, his cock brushing against your cervix so delicately with every thrust. Your labored breaths become one as you pant into each other’s mouths with overwhelming pleasure. Minho steadies himself with one hand on the mattress beside you, quickening his pace a little as he feels his cock twitch inside of you in response to a particularly pornographic moan of yours.

“Fuck,” he breathes, shutting his eyes as he continues to slip in and out of your soaking cunt. “You’re so full of me, aren’t you?”

He brings his lips to your neck again, nibbling the flesh between his teeth and letting it bruise as you moan beneath him.

“I’ve thought about you everyday,” you respond, angling his lips to yours again as he fucks you. “I’ve thought about this so many times.”

“Yeah?” Minho says with a satisfied smile, working circles back onto your clit.

“Yes,” you breathe back, toying with his hair as your arms wrap around his neck. “I wanted you to fuck me like the characters in your romance novels.”

Minho feels his cock twitch again, wincing and slowing his pace so as not to finish just yet.

“I can’t help it,” you whimper underneath him. “I think about you all the time. I think about you fucking me all the time.”

Minho intertwines his hand with yours, pressing it down on your abdomen and letting yourself feel when his bulge fills you up at every thrust, the motion visible beneath your palms.

“Feel that, baby?” He asks between kisses to your drooly lips. “Feel how good I fuck you? Is this what you imagined?”

You gasp at the sensation once you feel it, the bulge of his cock protruding against your palm with every pump inside of you. You nod breathlessly, almost unable to reply to his words now.

“I imagined it, too,” he says, picking up his pace now. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to bend you over the couch and fuck you right there the moment I met you.”

He groans a little as you clench around him and moan in response.

“Minho,” you say breathlessly, not missing the way his cock twitches inside of you once again. “Will you finish inside of me?”

He pauses for a moment, scanning your expression for a sign of whether or not you’re being serious.

“Please,” you beg, as if reading his thoughts. “I’m on birth control. Just want to feel your seed inside of me.”

He shuts his eyes briefly as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in a little closer.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Minho asks, locking his gaze on yours again. “I want to, but I want you to be sure about it.”

“I’m sure,” you say quickly, the last syllable hitching in the back of your throat as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. “Please, just wanna feel you fill me up.”

He thrusts harder into you now, the room teeming with the squelching noises of your pussy taking him so effortlessly.

“You like it when we play house like this, huh?” He says, wrapping a hand gently around your throat. “You like imagining me as your husband, don’t you? Fucking you like we’re married?”

And it doesn’t take you more than a second to think before you’re nodding desperately at his words. You do love it, this sense of belonging when you’re in the Lee household. But you also get aroused at this second life you lead alongside him, caring for the baby like it’s one of yours and being fucked by Minho when no one else is around to hear your lewd moans.

“Yes,” you reply, your response muffled by his grasp on your throat. “You make such a good dad.”

“We’d make such good parents,” he emphasizes, kissing you breathlessly. “What do you say I fuck a baby into you and we find out for real?”

You feel yourself contract around his girth at the words, not having considered it seriously, but turned on at the idea of carrying a child just for him.

“Is that what you want?” Minho asks, nearing his orgasm as he thrusts even faster into you now, panting into your mouth above you.

“Yes,” you reply with a whimper. “Want you to fill me up so bad.”

“Yeah?” He cuts you off, pressing your abdomen harder with his hand. “I’m gonna cum, baby. Want you to feel it.”

Your senses hone in on the feeling of your palm over his bulge, pulsating rhythmically as he nears his orgasm.

“I’m cumming, fuck, I’m gonna finish,” Minho says, shutting his eyes in pleasure as he moves at his fastest pace now, his grip around your throat holding you steady as you lose yourself underneath him. He’s never finished inside someone before, but he has no intention of pulling out now, the conversation of impregnating you sending him over the edge as he reaches the cusp of his release.

You contract around his breathlessly now, eager to take his load, never having taken someone’s either, but desperate for Minho to be your first.

And with a few more harsh thrusts, Minho’s cock twitches once inside of you, finally letting out a generous load of his cum inside of you, the gush of his release filling you up so fully, the warm sensation of his milky white release thrusting deep inside of your pussy as he fucks the rest into you.

He feels his head spin, his eyes shutting instinctively at the sensation as he lets go fully inside of you, no urgency to pull out or stave off his release like he usually has to. And it takes a while before he’s begun to soften again, the knowledge of giving you his cum almost rousing him again and lengthening the period of his release inside of you. Minho already knows he’s going to be addicted to finishing inside of you from here on out- and he doesn’t want it any other way.

The warm feeling is all it takes for you to finish in mere seconds, contracting around him as he fucks you through his orgasm, your release mixing with his and dribbling down the side of your thighs as he begins to slow down. Minho doesn’t pull out immediately, instead caressing your face to gauge your reaction as he softens inside of you.

“Was it okay?” Minho queries, tucking sweaty strands of hair behind your ears and loosening his grasp on your throat.

“It was more than okay,” you say breathlessly, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he smiles down at you. “I feel so full of you.”

Minho kisses you sweetly, rubbing his thumb along your hand soothingly as he pulls out of you, a string of his cum connecting to you still and dribbling onto the sheets as he rolls over to lay on his side.

For a moment, the two of you say nothing, your chests rising and falling as you catch your breath and ponder the day’s events. It’s not what you expected was going to happen when you saw yourself up to his room again, but it is what you’d hoped would happen eventually. And the atmosphere feels much lighter around you now, completely void of the lingering sexual and emotional tension that’s plagued you for so long.

“Minho?” you say quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Philosophically speaking, how many versions of us do you think are lying next to each other like this, right now?”

Minho thinks over your words for a moment, and then he chuckles lightly.

“Well if the universe was conditioned right, I’d hope for an infinite amount. But considering how long it took us to get here in this version, I’d say just one.”

And he sits up, leaning in for another kiss as two fingers tuck his arousal further into you, holding his release inside of your still-sensitive body.

*

“Have some bacon, honey,” Mrs. Lee says to you as she scrambles to get her things together for the day. “I made a lot, so help yourself.”

“Thanks,” you reply, strapping Joon into his high chair and smoothing down your skirt.

Ever since that evening, you and Minho have been inseparable. The two of you wait until Mrs. Lee is gone for the morning, desperately grabbing at each other and giggling between kisses until Minho has to leave for his classes. And when he returns, it’s much of the same, the two of you helping put Joon down for his afternoon nap before escaping up to his bedroom and making love until Joon wakes again.

Minho is completely and utterly obsessed with you, the same way you are with him, but you both know this game of house you play can’t go on forever. Mostly because you feel the guilt eating away at you day by day, every waking minute you’re tending to your duties as a babysitter or conversing with Mrs. Lee. It’s hard to be in the same room as Minho when she’s around, the urge to just confess even more present when she attempts to facilitate conversation between the two of you and you’re forced to act like he’s still a mystery.

But you have him more figured out than you ever have before, memorizing the freckles on his body like the back of your hand, reciting his favorite quotes like prayers and replaying the melodic giggles that escape his lips. You don’t want to be apart from him, but the point still stands- it’s scary to like someone this much. He consumes you more than he ever has before, filling every waking second of your life with remnants of him. You love when he reads romantic philosophical theories to you, or when he cooks you and Joon dinner after a long day. But you feel guilty when you’re alone with Joon again, hoping he can’t somehow tell that you’re only thinking of his brother when you’re preparing his bottles or feeding him. You hope Mrs. Lee doesn’t notice when your hair is a little too tousled to have just been from a nap, or the time you had to cross your legs to keep Minho’s release inside of you when the two of you had finished just in time for her to make it home. It’s selfish, and it’s unfair. And with no sign of this fling stopping anytime soon, you don’t see any other option to be fit.

“I’m leaving,” Mrs. Lee finally says, grabbing her car keys off the kitchen table and pulling her heels on. “Make sure to get Joon his medicine!”

The two of you watch as she shuts the front door behind her, and then you wait until her car starts, holding your breath as she pulls out of the driveway and begins down the street in what feels like an agonizing amount of time.

The minute she’s gone, Minho turns to you again, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you lean back against the counter.

“Morning,” he says with a shy smile. He wastes no time leaning in for a romantic kiss, which you reciprocate, wrapping your arms around his neck and smiling into him.

When he pulls away, the two of you say nothing, holding each other in a comfortable embrace as he rubs little circles into the small of your back.

“I guess it’s just mom and dad home right now,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your neck. “I’ll ditch class right now if you want me to fill you up again.”

And his offer is tempting as he presses his erection into you, working more kisses down the nape of your neck and trailing his hands up your skirt.

“No,” you finally say, pushing him away and collecting your thoughts. “You need to get to class. I have a lot of stuff to do. I’m working, in case you forgot.”

“Okay, okay,” Minho says, holding his hands up in surrender. “I digress.”

He pulls back to caress your face with a visible smirk as your eyes graze his thighs, so beautifully sculpted under the fabric of his jeans. You’re not sure you’ve ever been so sinfully tempted by somebody before, like Eve to the apple, like a moth to a flame- he’s intoxicating, but you know you shouldn’t be indulging this while you’re here to fulfill your role as a babysitter.

“You should go,” you say to him, swallowing nervously as his hands trace the outline of your lips.

“Yeah,” Minho replies, a hint of disappointment present in his voice.

And without another word, he gathers his car keys off the table, sending you off with a little wave as he disappears for the day.

You may have Minho mostly figured out now- his fascination with romance and philosophy, his soft interior under the stoic exterior he presents everyone else with, his astounding levels of emotional intelligence and unwavering kindness for the people he loves. But now that things have become a little more complicated between the two of you, you fear all of this will come to an end as fortuitously as it all began.

The reality is, this isn’t one of Minho’s romance novels- you’re both real people, with emotions and convictions and reservations. And though you want this fleeting thing to last forever, you’re well aware that things don’t work that way, especially when you’re just a babysitter at the end of it all. Sure, Minho sees you as much more than that- but you were hired to be here in the Lee household, paid to fulfill your role here, and once this comes to an end, your relationship with Minho likely will, too.

… and thus, the decision to quit your job isn’t one you take lightly. It succeeds hours of thinking, weighing your options and planning out exactly what you’re going to tell Mrs. Lee when she asks why you’re leaving so suddenly. You want to do another internship, you decide on telling her, hoping she doesn’t poke enough holes to get the truth out of you- “I think far too much about your eldest son and it’s eating me alive.”

*

All day long, you try your best to shut Minho out of your thoughts, focusing on your online courses and caring for Joon like you used to. But it feels futile, this task of pretending things are the way they used to be. They’re not- you’re sneaking behind Mrs. Lee’s back and hooking up with her eldest son. When all’s said and done, you’ll be right back in your own home, with your parents desperate to send you elsewhere once again, and your own life to tend to. This double life you romanticize isn’t real, nor is it attainable anymore.

Your phone call with Mrs. Lee to announce your decision doesn’t set anything in stone yet, her words urging you to speak with her later this week when she has some free time. But you know once you do speak with her, you’ll only have a few evenings left with Minho until this is all over. And you don’t have the heart to tell him just yet, but if things go anything the way they did when you first brought it up to him, you know he’s going to be heartbroken.

When Minho arrives home that evening, he can already sense something is wrong. You’re sat in the garden, where you typically don’t go, your legs crossed neatly over one of the sunlounger chairs as you let your thoughts consume you. Mrs. Lee’s koi fish fountain stands nobly in front of you, a robust stream of water trickling from its lips and into the concrete bowl below. You’re mesmerized by it as you always are, the steady sound of water coupled with the birds chirping in the sunny greenery around you as peaceful as ever.

“Hey,” Minho says, sliding open the screen door and stepping outside to meet you.

“Hi,” you reply, holding a hand up over you to shield your eyes from the sun. You’d forgotten how divine he looked today, his white button up now folded up at the sleeves and exposing his veiny forearms to you.

“How was your day?” Minho asks, pressing a small kiss to your temple as he occupies the spot beside you and stares at the fountain.

“Okay,” you respond, though you’re lying through your teeth. “Joon went down about an hour ago.”

Minho nods, and then he furrows his brows together as he speaks again.

“Why are you out here?”

You shrug in response, keeping short with your words as he pushes you for answers. And you want to tell him it’s because you made the most painful decision to call Mrs. Lee and forfeit all of this, but you know it’ll only hurt more, so you divert from the truth.

“It was stuffy inside,” you voice back, shooting him a small smile.

Minho seems to relax beside you, his shoulders sagging a little as he takes notice of your calm demeanor. He doesn’t have reason to believe anything’s wrong, judging by the way you converse so casually.

“You want me to cook you something?” Minho asks, placing his palm up next to you, and you let your hand intertwine with his.

“Will you read to me?” You ask, eager to indulge in your favorite activity alongside him.

“I can read to you,” Minho echoes back, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of your hand. “Which book?”

You’re both in the cozy atmosphere of the library later that evening, Minho sat on his favorite velvet armchair as you occupy a spot in his lap with his arms wrapped around you. The book is positioned in front of him so you can both see, his fingers holding open the thin pages as the poetry leaves his lips, pausing in between lines to press kisses to the crook of your neck when he’s reminded of you in his favorite characters.

And you hold back tears in the moment, wanting so badly to tell Minho that you’ll be letting go of all of this, running back to the monotony of your old life, one where Minho doesn’t exist and you don’t have to balance the complicated feelings of liking someone to this degree. But you bite back your words, careful not to ruin the intimate moment you share while he loves you in an ignorant state of bliss.

“The pleasures of love are always in proportion to the fear,” Minho begins a new chapter, grazing your neck with his lips.

He trails a bit lower to graze your shoulder now, pressing a small trail of kisses as he pauses his reading. You giggle softly in response, feeling his fingers find the strap of your tank top to pull it down your shoulder so he can pepper kisses there, too.

“Minho,” you say softly, writhing in his embrace as he tickles every inch of your skin with his kisses, now shutting the book and setting it on the arm of the chair.

“Can’t help it,” Minho responds, shutting his eyes as he snakes his hands up the back of your tank top. “You look so beautiful right now.”

As you adjust in his lap, you can feel he’s now rock-hard in his jeans below you, his thighs flexing underneath you as he wraps two hands around your waist and runs them up and down your sides. You take the hint, turning around in his lap to face him, and let your arms wrap around his neck to steady yourself.

“What are you thinking about?” Minho asks, bringing his lips to yours as he feels his hardened cock graze against the fabric of his jeans, eager to pleasure you.

You want to express your fears, your doubts, to tell him the truth about what you spoke about on the phone with Mrs. Lee earlier today. But you can’t, not when he looks so tantalizing in front of you like this, his bulge perfectly outlined in his tight jeans and his veiny arms flexing below the fabric of his collared button-up. You’ve been roused for him since he left in the morning, his offer swirling your mind coupled with his appearance, like something out of a wet dream.

“You,” you voice back, whimpering pathetically into another kiss and rocking your hips gently over him so that he’s practically whimpering for you, too.

Neither of you have to say much, knowing already where the evening is headed, as you unzip his pants and palm his erection through the fabric of his boxers. Minho watches as you slide off his lap, dropping to your knees in front of him and tugging the fabric of his jeans. He complies with your urges, pulling them down to his knees and freeing his erection from his boxers, exhaling deeply as the cool breeze of the room grazes his leaking tip.

Without a second to waste, you take him in your mouth, letting your saliva coat his shaft as you kiss his tip tenderly and then guide him down your throat, the base of his cock just barely meeting your lips as you struggle to take him fully. Minho groans at the contact, bucking his hips off the chair to guide himself further into you, feeling his cock twitch when you gag a little at the contact. You stay like that for a good while, bobbing your head in rhythmic motions up and down his hardened length, your saliva allowing you to graze his shaft with ease.

Minho’s thighs contract desperately below him, trying his best to stave off the orgasm he’s been longing for since the moment he saw you this morning. His hands find your hair, pulling your locks into a makeshift ponytail and gasping as you take him a bit deeper now, pulling back again to pepper the tip of his wettened cock in drooly kisses.

“Fuck,” Minho breathes out, clutching the arm of the chair so desperately. “Baby, stop, I don’t want to finish yet,”

And you release him with a gentle pop, knowing exactly what it is he wants so badly. You never deny it, sitting back up again to position yourself over his cock you intertwine his hands with yours. He uses one hand to tug your panties to the side, and then in one swift motion, you guide his cock inside of you, sliding down the slick of his length and bottoming out with ease. You take him so well now, always able to adjust to his girth instantly as your cunt is always dripping in anticipation when he’s near.

Minho’s hand moves to push your tank top up, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking harshly as you begin to bounce on him with gentle movements. The room fills with sounds of panting, sucking and desperate moans as his cock fills you fully with every thrust, brushing against your cervix as he moves to your other nipple and kneads your breast desperately.

“What was that quote again?” You ask in labored breaths as he comes back up to kiss your lips.

“The pleasures of love,” he begins, breathlessly working his lips against yours as you clench around his length. “Are always in proportion to the fear.”

Minho feels his cock twitch inside of you, always nearing his finish much faster when you make him recite all his favorite quotes and book excerpts to you.

Except this one speaks much louder to you, directly aligning with your present-day emotions, circling your mind relentlessly as he fills you. Maybe this is what his book speaks of- the pleasures of love, being filled so fully and lovingly by Minho, two pieces of one whole like you’re both made for this, to make love into the late hours of the night while he recites poetry to you.

And all of this in proportion to the fear- this constant fear that he’s just a fleeting entity, that you’re both naive to play house like this and pretend it’s anything more. The fear present while you’re sneaking behind Mrs. Lee’s back, letting him fuck you like he’s married to you and indulge you in all of his deepest secrets, as though you’re the only one allowed to know him this intimately.

The love and fear and indeed in proportion to one another- you love him as much as you’re afraid of loving him.

“I love you,” you say suddenly, bringing him in for another kiss before he can respond. But the way his kisses work against yours, hungry and passionate, there’s not a hint of reluctance in his response when he pulls away to speak again.

“I love you,” Minho breathes back, working his kisses against yours as his cock pulsates inside of you, desperate for release. “And I hope every version of the universe is conditioned for us to be right here.”

You smile into him, slowing your movements as you feel him contract inside of you, and then his thighs flex as he finally finishes inside of you, shooting hot white ropes of his cum into your still-clenching cunt, his release already beginning to dribble back down his length as he feels you slow down over him.

You bring a hand between the two of you, gathering his cum on the pads of your fingers to circle your clit in gentle movements, stimulating yourself to your release, too, as you contract desperately around him and breathe labored kisses back into his mouth. Your juices mix with his as you catch your breath, keeping him inside of you as your chest rises and falls with gentle movements. But the two of you say nothing, pressing your lips together to indulge in more passionate kisses for the few minutes you have left before Mrs. Lee makes it home for the evening.

*

The garden is particularly beautiful the next afternoon, teeming with the sounds of birds chirping and trees swaying in the gentle autumn breeze. Mrs. Lee let you know she’d be home a little earlier to have a chat about your decision to leave, and when Joon is put down for his afternoon nap, you receive the call that she’s in the garden waiting for you. You enter hesitantly, worried Minho might catch you and question what you’re doing out here. But he’s not home from school yet, you remind yourself, glancing around the tall grass and neat rows of potted plants for Mrs. Lee.

“Y/n!” A voice calls from one of the patio chairs. “Come, sit!”

Mrs. Lee sits with her back facing you, a large white sun hat atop her neatly styled hair and complementing her matching white jumpsuit. Her gaze remains locked on the koi fountain you’re always transfixed by, too.

“Hi Mrs. Lee,” you say, giving her a small bow as you take the seat next to her. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

She nods with a smile. “So good to see you when we have a little more time. I’m sorry I’m always such a mess in the mornings.”

You shake your head quickly, brushing off her words. “Not at all! It’s always nice to greet the family before I start my day.”

She just smiles in response, turning to nod at you, and then she turns back to the fountain.

“I was a little surprised when you called the other day. I hope things are going okay.”

“They are,” you interrupt quickly. “They absolutely are. Joon is so pleasant, and the job is great. I really love it here.”

“I hope everything at home is okay,” she moves on to say, and you quickly reassure her.

“Yes, everything is fine! Everyone is doing great.”

“I understand,” Mrs. Lee says, eyeing the ground before turning to face you now. “You’ve done so much for us, I’d be lying if I said I’m not going to miss having you around here in the mornings.”

You shoot her a sympathetic look, feeling a pit form in your stomach, too. You feel the same, probably tenfold, at the idea of leaving behind the household you’ve called home for so many days.

“I’m going to miss it here, too.”

“And I know Joon is going to be heartbroken,” Mrs. Lee says with a chuckle.

You chuckle too, giving her an understanding nod.

She pauses briefly, furrowing her brows together, before continuing her speech.

“You’re such a bright young woman, and I know you’re destined to do amazing things. If there’s a way I can help in this transition, please don’t hesitate to let me know, okay?”

You nod at her words, and watch as she smooths down her top before standing up. She seems to wait for a moment, as if hoping for you to say something, and when you don’t, she begins to make her way back inside.

“Well, I’ll let you go for the evening. Thank you again, for everything. And you have my phone number if-”

“Mrs. Lee?” You call out suddenly, catching her before she can get much further. She turns around at the worry present in your voice, her face shifting into that of concern.

Without having to voice anything else, Mrs. Lee sits down again, waiting for you to continue. But you can’t, your heart beating wildly in your chest at the thought of even bringing up the topic of Minho. I’m in love with your son, you want to say to her. I’m so in love with Minho and I hope you understand I don’t have a choice but to leave this all behind me.

“You know,” Mrs. Lee interrupts your thoughts, breaking the silence that fills the air. “This koi fountain was my first gift from Mr. Lee.”

You nod at her, remembering when she introduced it to you on your first day here.

“We weren’t married yet. It was his first restoration project, and my dad hated him. So he had a lot of trouble getting it over to me.”

You chuckle lightly, amused at her story which seems to calm you down a little.

“Luckily his parents adored me,” she continues. “And they offered to house it in their backyard until we married. For the 15 years we dated, my koi fish lived in their garden. And when we did marry, they rented a big truck to help haul it over. It was such a project! But it’s my favorite part of the garden.”

You shoot her a saccharine smile, well endeared at the way she speaks of Mr. Lee. You can tell she’s in love with him, even this many years later.

“Sometimes I wondered why they would do something so nice for me. But as I grew closer to them, I learned not to question what was meant for me. They loved me, as did Mr. Lee. And I wasn’t going to run from any of that, no matter what I felt I deserved.”

Your head snaps in her direction at her last words, realizing how they apply to you. But she doesn’t know about Minho- at least not to your knowledge, or Minho’s. She gives you a sheepish smile as you furrow your brows, and then she takes your hand in hers, giving it a little squeeze.

“I hope you won't run from what you deserve, either.”

You nod a little bit at her words, finally understanding the weight of them, and then you look back at her with a confused expression.

“Mrs. Lee, are you talking about…”

“Minho?” She finally says, with a warm smile. She takes your other hand in hers, too, tilting her face to yours so that she’s making proper eye contact as she speaks.

“I had wondered why he was so happy these days. Minho’s always been a bit of an outcast. But I haven’t seen this spark in him since he started his obsession with all those romance novels and philosophy studies of his.”

You chuckle lightly, a weight off your shoulders as she finally speaks of what circles your mind so heavily.

“But how did you…”

“I knew it when I saw it,” she says. “I knew it, because he had the same look in his eyes as when I met his father.”

You feel your heart swell in your chest, your shoulders relaxing as she continues to speak.

“He speaks of you like poetry,” she tells you. “And for that alone, I’m thankful for you. Now what you choose to do is your decision- but I hope you know you will always have a home here with us. Not just as a babysitter, but as family.”

When Mrs. Lee finishes her speech, she gives your hands a little squeeze, smiling at you and back at the koi fish fountain. It feels much more sentimental to you even now, the beautiful waterfall that cascades serving as a reminder of its permanent restoration rooted in the infatuation Mr. Lee had for Mrs. Lee. And watching it stand so beautifully like it did all those years ago, you’re reminded that love can be a lasting thing, no matter the circumstances. The universe can condition itself to make things last, affirming the philosophical notions Minho’s always told you. And that perhaps you do deserve this, a sense of belonging here in the Lee household, right here alongside Mrs. Lee and Minho, and even baby Joon.

As you watch the fountain together, the sound of the sliding door makes itself known behind you, and you turn around to find Minho entering the garden, baby Joon sitting comfortably in his arms as he makes his way over.

“Hi,” Minho says, coming around to give Mrs. Lee a kiss on her cheek. “What’s going on here?”

He looks visibly worried, his eyes darting back and forth between you and Mrs. Lee, as if to silently ask you what she’s told you.

But Mrs. Lee just smiles at him, as she gets up from where she’s sitting and smooths down her jumpsuit.

“We were just having a girl chat. I’ll leave you two alone.”

And she disappears behind the screen door again, shooting you a little wink as she does, her anecdote circling your mind, still.

“What happened?” Minho asks, settling down next to you and balancing baby Joon on his knee. Joon fists at the fabric of his shirt, babbling incoherently as you smile down at him.

“Nothing,” you say, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. You refrain from saying anything about leaving, not wanting to interrupt the tender moment you share with Minho and Joon in the sunlight of the garden.

“You have a really cool mom,” you settle on saying, smiling at Minho as he chuckles softly in response.

*

The afternoon sun beams through the glass windows of the library as you lie comfortably in Minho’s lap, his book positioned in front of you as he presses a small kiss to the back of your hand before turning the page.

Outside, the birds chirp songs of early spring, the steady stream of Mrs. Lee’s koi fountain audible as you peer down at the garden.

Mr. and Mrs. Lee sit in the tall grass, fiddling with a box of tools as Mr. Lee repairs a new project for Mrs. Lee. This one’s a much larger fountain, one he’d told you would take several months, perhaps even years. But Mrs. Lee sits beside him, relishing in stories of his restoration process and laughing with him as he works. You can’t help but smile at the sight, her stories about him playing in your mind whenever you catch a glimpse of them together.

“Do you think they could be us in another universe?” You ask Minho, turning to face him as he peers out the window, too.

“I hope so,” he says with a smile.

You settle closer to him in his lap, pressing a small kiss to his hand as he continues reading.

“And think not that you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.”

At his words, you hear baby Joon cry out, having woken from his afternoon nap.

“I’ll get him,” Minho says, shutting the book and setting it aside to go tend to the baby.

And as you peer back out the window, the sound of Mr. and Mrs. Lee’s laughter filling your ears, baby Joon’s voice calling to you, Minho’s philosophy book perched on the chair beside you and the sun beams shining their light through the windows, you know that this is belonging, this is love.

#stray kids #skz smut #Lee Minho #Lee know #stray kids hard hours #Lee know smut #lee know scenarios #skz x reader #skz hard hours #stray kids x you #skz #fanfic #request #requests open #Spotify

[kitkatscabinet]

Don't feed him he'll come back (3)

Simon riley x neighbour reader

summary: The ghost that lives in your apartment block is a solitary man, people tend to stay out of his way, giving him a wide berth. You can't help but think he seems a little bit lonely, cue pestering him with bad jokes and food.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: making out, alcohol consumption.

Part 1 here, Part 2 here.

You start the next day riding the high of the previous night. You feel ridiculous, you’ve had relationships before, had been in love before, but the butterflies that stir in your gut whenever you so much as think of Simon put anything you’ve ever felt to shame.

It’s a little pathetic, you haven’t even kissed him. Not to mention you’ve no idea how he even feels about you. Simon’s an incredibly difficult man to read, where you wore your heart on your sleeve, Simon kept his cards incredibly close to his chest. You knew he at least held some affection for you, otherwise he’d never tolerate you dragging him from his apartment into yours. Something that feels dangerously like hope swells in your chest when you remember how tenderly he’d tucked you in and you desperately tried to stamp it out.   

Casting your mind back, you attempt to pinpoint exactly where along the path you’d fallen so thoroughly and irrevocably in love with the mysterious neighbour that scared the shit out of so many tenants. Was it when you’d first seen his face? 

No that wasn’t it, although, Simon was one of the most stunning men you’d ever seen. You’d been speechless when he’d revealed his face, something you’d been teased for relentlessly, his cocky smirk appearing in the subject of your dreams. 

It had to have been before that though, because even if Simon was the ugliest man alive, you’d still love him. 

Perhaps it had been when he’d first sat down across from you at the small kitchen counter, large bulk and dark clothing incredibly out of place against the backdrop of your colourful and plushie-filled apartment. It was the first time you’d ever seen him nervous, or rather the first time you could tell he was. But for all that he initially seemed out of place, seeing him in the sanctity of your home made your heart sing with affection. 

(Though a part of you acknowledges that your heart has belonged to Simon Riley from the moment he laughed at one of your stupid jokes, it just took a while for your brain to catch up to what your heart already knew.)

You’d never meant to fall in love with the neighbour who’d reeked of loneliness, loneliness that you’d unfortunately recognised and silently vowed to do your best to alleviate. You’d never intended for your feelings to bloom and grow into a garden that now centred around Simon Riley.  

But they had. They had and no matter what you did you knew they weren’t likely to be stomped out any time soon. 

Knocking on his door that night you try to douse the disappointment that fills you when he doesn’t answer. It wasn’t often that Simon was called away so abruptly that he didn’t even have time to let you know but it still happened occasionally. Sending him a swift text you wish him a safe deployment and sign it off with a new joke you think he’d appreciate. 

The days pass much the same. You wake, think about Simon, send him a text and continue about your day. Although you're used to the radio silence it’s like the acknowledgement of your feelings makes the worry and restlessness ten times worse. 

When the three-month mark hits with no indication that Simon has even seen your texts, your worry starts to turn into an all-encompassing panic. More than once you’d been so distracted that you’d made a mistake at work, earning the concern of your coworkers and friends as you were unusually out of it. 

You want to reassure him but you can’t even reassure yourself. What if he was dead? Would you ever even find out? You weren’t family, there would be no obligation to let you, a random stranger, know. Is this how you were doomed to spend the rest of your life, wondering what had happened to your beloved Simon?

Another two months pass and you’re nothing short of a nervous wreck, your dreams and waking thoughts filled with awful scenarios of Simon being tortured, dying or dead. You can’t sleep, can’t even bring yourself to cook, because it reminds you so painfully of him. 

The perpetual state of simply not knowing starts to become too much to bear and you’re on the brink of doing something truly desperate when you run into your landlord. You’re on good terms but he’d not exactly someone you’d ever gone out of your way to speak to. Now, however, you were practically tripping over yourself to catch his attention, not even bothering with small talk. “Have you heard anything from Simon?”

The man’s confusion is palpable and it takes a few minutes of stilted and baffled conversation before he discerns who you’re asking after. “Ah, the man with the mask,” he gestured towards his face, “he terminated his lease a few weeks ago, odd really, still had half a year left.” The conversation may have continued for a little longer but you didn’t hear, your responses filtering through on autopilot. 

The soft material of your quilt against the bare skin of your arms, signifying your return to the safety of your bed, is what finally snaps you from your dazed stupor. All of the frantic worry, concern, fear morphing into an apoplectic level of sheer fury. Because Simon was apparently fine. Not only was he fucking fine, he was doing the one thing you’d never thought him possible of, ignoring you. 

He was fucking ghosting you. 

They say there are five stages of grief. You’ve completely skipped over denial and are stuck on anger, bargaining and acceptance won’t happen and you refuse to let yourself be depressed. Thus, anger it is, and boy is there months of pent-up rage. 

Work becomes central to your life, the only thing stopping you from completely crashing and burning, Icarus falling from grace, punishment for falling too hard and too fast for what was unattainable. 

You work yourself to the bone just so you can sleep at night without the visage of brown eyes and soft ashy curls infringing on the corners of your consciousness. It’s not sustainable, you know it, your friends know it and your boss knows it. You must look destroyed too because you don’t think your boss has ever encouraged someone to take a break in her entire history working for the company. 

It only takes one day of rest before the anger-fueled agitation thrumming through your veins has you pacing relentlessly, your nails are chewed down to stubs and you think you may actually hurt someone if you don’t do something. It’s a bit of a Hail Mary, you know, but you still let out a scream of irritation when none of your friends are free to get blind on a weekday for an impromptu night out. Still, it’s a minor setback and one that your agitation-fueled self won’t be put off by. 

Your room is a mess, clothes strewn out all over your bed and floor as you try to find the sluttiest thing you own. Bingbong meows discontentedly as you shove him off a pile of your tops and you simply scowl at the little fat fuck that usually brought you so much joy. However, you do give him goodbye kisses when you finally amble out of your front door and call an Uber.

To your dismay, the man driving you is chatty, even when you give short, terse answers that could not be more clearly a screaming invitation to leave you the fuck alone. He throws you hungry looks in the rearview mirror that makes you want to pull your skin off. You may have dressed to get attention but not from this kind of creep. The car barely rolls to a stop before you jump out, booking it double time to get yourself double parked with some drinks. 

You’ve sequestered yourself at the edge of the bar counter, away from the crowd but still close enough to call for drinks on demand. It’s about five drinks in, sculled far too fast for you to keep up properly when you sense a man slide into the seat next to you. Dark hair, blue eyes, devilish grin and when he opens his mouth a delicious Scottish accent flows out. The complete opposite of Simon. 

Perfect. 

“Buy you a drink?” You were never one to turn down free drinks, especially not from handsome men, not even when your heart still screamed for Simon. Firmly pushing down all thoughts of puppy brown eyes you flash your own version of a flirty smirk, turning to face the man so your knees brush his. 

The conversation flows so naturally that for those few moments suspended in time, you really do forget about Simon. It’s clear that both of you are simply searching for some carnal relief and that knowledge helps you to release your last few inhibitions. Just when you contemplate sliding off the stool and leading him away to a dark corner to have your way he slips up and mentions his team. 

“Team?” You croak, a mixture of disbelief and dread building. 

“Aye, me taskforce. Am in the military.” He must see the way the corners of your mouth are now downturned, your left eye twitching slightly as your mind once again flits toward the blond man who had stolen and then shattered your heart. “Bad experience with a military lad?” There’s no hostility in his tone, just genuine intrigue and you allow yourself to relax once more, focusing intently on his baby blues. 

“Two actually” you snort exasperatedly, chest panging a little at the thought of your deceased brother. Swallowing, you regained your nerve, stepping between his spread legs and loosely swung your arms around his neck. “Best not make it a third yeah?” you whispered against his lips, liquid confidence flowing in your veins after far too many cocktails. 

A moan reverberates in your chest, caught by Johnny’s, he’d told you to call him Johnny, tongue as his warm hands pulled you to sit on one of his thighs. The muscled flesh grinding upwards and causing you to yelp, your hands grabbing onto his shoulders to stabilise yourself. Somewhere the logical part of your mind, the part dulled dangerously by spirits, is screaming that you’re still very much in public but the heartbroken and horny part wins out as you continue to make out with the Scottish stranger built like a god. 

His mouth attaches itself to your neck and your eyelids flutter shut as your hands move to tangle in his hair, tugging harshly to ground yourself from the onslaught of sensations Johnny’s providing your pent-up body with. 

Just as one of his palms slips below your shirt you’re suddenly being ripped off the man with a surprising gentleness that you don’t have much time to ponder on before you’re shrieking as you watch Johnny get punched in the jaw. 

The alcohol has thoroughly distorted your vision and the dim lighting doesn’t help but the fire in your veins is doused with icy despair as you quickly recognise the large bulk of the man who’d just laid out poor Johnny. The tattoos covering his arm and that goddamn skull mask were simply unmistakable. 

“Simon!” Your shrill voice is joined by Johnny’s own pained and confused groan as all three of you struggle to assess what’s just happened. 

“Wait, Johnny?” Simon sounded equally as confused, though his chest was still heaving in… anger?

“You know each other?” You cross your arms defensively, drunk brain trying to catch up on the turn of events. You refuse to look at Simon, instead staring at Johnny as he pulls himself up and you wait for an explanation. 

“Teammates” Johnny spits out a little blood and you can’t help the somewhat hysterical laugh that bubbles forth. 

Teammates. 

What were the fucking odds? Of all the attractive men and women frequenting this specific bar you almost shack up with one of Simon’s presumably closest friends. The evil vindictive part of you screams to go through with it anyway, though given Johnny’s sudden wariness and dawning horror as he connects some sort of mental dots you doubt that would be happening. 

Huffing, you turned from the two men and gathered your belongings as quickly as possible, hoping to make a hasty escape in the confusion. Hoping to escape before Simon could see you cry. 

Whatever deities existed seemingly weren’t on board with your plans and your attempt to skirt around Simon is instantly thwarted as he firmly but gently grabs your bicep. 

“Let me go,” you curse the way your voice wavers traitorously even through gritted teeth and you wince when you realise you can’t even bring yourself to say your name. Simon remains silent and if anything his grip even tightens a little, as if he were afraid you would slip through his fingers into nothingness. Incredibly audacious of him considering what he’d put you through these last few months. 

“Simon lad, I’m sorry, I dinnae ken they were-” Simon cuts off Johnny’s apology with a wave and curt nod that’s very clearly dismissive. Johnny, the traitorous bastard that he is, simply smiles, bids you farewell and then leaves you to deal with the brute that broke your heart. 

Stubbornly you refuse to face him, even when his gruff voice begs you multiple times. Evidently, Simon gets tired of your refusal and forces your eyes to focus on his with a forceful, guiding hand on your chin. Equal parts dismay, arousal and anger wage war in your body at the action and you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste the metallic rust of blood. 

The silence is damning and though his grip loosens it remains cupping your chin and sliding up to caress your cheek. He’s wearing that stupid skull balaclava and as such you can only see his eyes. Those godforsaken pools of weariness and tenderness that threaten to pull you in until you drown in them. His thumb gently caresses your lip, still swollen from Johnny’s machinations and you force yourself to speak, to display your hurt before he somehow worms his way back into your good graces. 

“What? What could you possibly want from me Simon? Haven’t you done enough?” There’s a vulnerability, a defeatedness in your voice that you hadn't meant to let slip but the man catches it, you know he does. Because though you hate to admit it, at this point, even after months apart, you think Simon might know you better than you know yourself. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s a pathetic notion and when he doesn’t elaborate it causes you to finally wrench away. You barely make it over the threshold of the exit when suddenly Simon is there once more, crowding into your space with the desperation of a man starved. His arms wrap around you like a vice, trapping your back against his chest. 

“Please.” His voice is a hoarse whisper carried away by the wind, just for your ears. “Please, I know I fucked up, please just let me explain.” His body shakes a little against you and you stand there in the cool night air fighting an internal battle. Simon Riley hurt you. 

Hurt you far greater than any man or woman had ever managed. 

And yet. And yet. 

You still loved him so much it burned. 

“Ok.” Your voice is croaky, reedlike and thin as your mouth moves without your brain’s permission. 

“Ok?” Simon’s head darts up from where it had been resting against you, voice watery and full of childlike hope that you find yourself nodding. 

“Ok. But you only get one chance.” Simon all but goes boneless against you, apologies and thanks spilling past his lips like wildfire but you interrupt him before he could go too far. “Not here, my apartment,” you don’t particularly want him in your space, but you can’t do this in public either, “until then just… don’t speak.” Your voice cracks towards the end but neither of you acknowledges it, standing in strained silence as you wait for your ride home. 

Simon’s eyes burn holes in the side of your head but once again you refuse to look at him, staring out the window into the darkness of the cityscape as you try to mentally prepare for what’s about to come.

Tags: @innercollectivecomputer @cooliofango @pertinentpostmortem @ghostslillady @domaniquessidehoe2 @ilovehyperfixating @pauphs @skotchi @bunnyreaper @tokusho @ohworm-writes @penismonkey @daisychainsinknots @taman-a @guess-whos-now-a-mood @leclercdream @justarandommom @iwannabealocalcryptid @dd122004dd @actuallyhiswife @alexisv15 @perfectus-in-morte @waves-against-a-cliff @fog-sama @juvenillia

#x reader #cod mw x reader #simon riley x reader #kat’s writing #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #ghost cod

[bunny-rambles]

Hello!

Since requests are open at the moment, I'd like to request something with Rubedo and a reader who isn't as openly nice at least in their tone of voice? Like they have a bad case of resting bitch face, they're generally a little grumpy no matter what and their harsh tone can make them sound like they're angry even when they're not which makes it difficult for Ruby to read them properly. As such this leaves him constantly tense and stressed out because he constantly assumes he's on thin ice (poor boy's getting serious PTSD flashbacks to Gold) and it isn't until he has a full blown panic attack or breakdown that they realize the issue and start making an effort to change so he feels safer? They also helped him through the panic attack.

Reading your Rubedo fic has ignited smth in me and I am loving it!

🐈‍⬛-anon, naming myself because I love your writing and will definitely come back for more so might as well.

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“Smile for me.”

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characters; Rubedo, gn reader

cw/tw; minor mentions of injuries, graphic mention of panic attacks, Rubedo is kinda traumatised by Gold, moody reader, crying

word count; 2K

notes; for 🐈‍⬛ anon, I was so inspired when I got this request bc that sounds exactly like me, I’m so bad expressing emotion and I seem moody or angry but I’m not at all - sorry if this isn’t what you expected !! Let me know if you like it <33

Please reblog if you like this!!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You were… Difficult to understand.

Even when receiving gifts, you would always bluntly mumble a ‘thanks’ before putting the present away, no matter who the person was. It was only when he caught you staring warmly at said gift when you thought no one was looking that he realised that maybe you weren’t so cold hearted as he once thought. In fact, he knew deep down he was right. Why else would you have taken him in when he had nowhere else to go?

You showed your affection through doing things when they weren’t asked of you, or making him food if he seemed troubled. You weren’t the kind to have a big smile on their face and wrap their arms around him, telling him how much you appreciate him. He knew most of the time, it was nothing personal. He hadn’t exactly figured out why you act this way. Emotional walls, or just a difficulty to express emotion all together? He wasn’t sure, and perhaps he never would be.

You felt distant even when you were right next to him, with that same cold stare of indifference and that frigid attitude. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve guessed you wielded an icy vision. Even when the two of you were alone, you always seemed so… He didn’t even know how to describe it. Stony faced, hands crossed over your chest like you were impatient for him to just stop talking whenever he conversed with you. But when he stopped, you urged with that monotone voice of yours to keep going, to continue his ramblings about whatever interested him so much. Even with such a piercing gaze, there was a hidden softness, a quiet sweetness to you.

Once he had tried to bring it up to you, only for you to shut down when did so. Ah, so you were definitely aware of it, and when your arms tensed around yourself, he knew that perhaps it was a sore spot. He had hurriedly apologised, telling you that there wasn’t anything wrong with you, something you would tell him when he you thought he was asleep - when in the serenity of the night, you would pour your heart out to him - still with that unchanging voice of yours, but the words you spoke were more than enough for him. He didn’t want you to change, he liked you for you - but sometimes, there were days he just couldn’t handle it, and that went unsaid.

There were days that he would look at you and he wouldn’t see you anymore. Instead, he would see a flash of blonde, a permanent scowl, the same impatient body language. And those were the days he would avoid you like the plague. Even when you called for him that dinner was ready, he didn’t show his face. Those days would hurt you both, and the cracks in his hopeful mindset would only worsen. Those days were few and far between, and those were the only days you would show some form of emotion on your face. Your brows furrowed and your lips downturned even more than the usual frown you had. It was far from the smile he dreamt of on your face, but he cherished it just as much. Of course you weren’t /her/, you were you - a statue of ice with a heart of gold. He saw it every day in the small things you would do for him. You brushed his hair if he seemed tired, listened for hours about whatever was on his mind, helped him with anything that he needed. You would do anything for him, he need only ask. (He heard that once while your hand threaded through his golden locks when you thought he had been long gone in slumber). When he remembered that, he would be fine, and you two would go back to how you always were.

Today was different.

It was no secret that the commissions you took on were starting to get more and more difficult. You were a skilled fighter, that was for sure, but some of the things you were taking on weren’t one person jobs. Although not much had changed from most people's perspective, you were tired. When you came home, you usually had the decency to try to make small talk with the blonde living with you, but now it seemed you didn’t have the energy to even manage that.

And when you did talk?

Neither of you had ever argued, but because of how irritable you had become, you didn’t try to soften the hardness of your tone, the cold words pouring out of your mouth. Thankfully, it was never directed at him, instead he only heard it being directed to whoever commissioned you - but something about the way you spoke set him on edge. He knew if he looked at you, he wouldn’t be in this comfortable home you had made for each other, but instead a merciless terrain of snow.

He stayed away from you to avoid that.

But when you shoved the door open, stalking in with frustration practically dripping off of you, he couldn’t just leave you alone in that state - even if he knew how it would end. Your footing was a little off now that he really looked, your clothes all torn and dirty. It didn’t take a genius to realise the commission had not gone well.

He winced with each thudding footstep you took, the book in his hands falling out of his unsteady grasp. No. You did not need him to fall apart just because you reminded him of her. Instead, he tried his best to calm himself before making his way over to where you were in the kitchen.

“Do you need any help?” He asked quietly when he saw you rummaging around in the cabinet, no doubt looking for the first aid kit.

“No.”

“You should sit down-“

“I don’t need any help. Go away.” There was that wall again. No matter how many times he tried, you just wouldn’t take it down for him.

“Y/N-“

“Just leave me alone.” You bit out, one of your fists clenching around the bandage you had managed to find. He swallowed quietly, retracting his hovering hands he was about to place on your shoulders to get you to move.

“Okay.” He whispered, before turning and leaving to go to his room. He shut the door quietly, back pressed up against it before he slid down it with his head in his hands. Jumbled memories of ice cold stares, of cutting words and vague threats of abandonment filled his mind. But instead of his great and all powerful master… It was you. Glowering at him from a high height, sneering at him as he cowered underneath you.

“Why did I ever take you in? I should’ve left you where I found you.“

No. Please. He tried to speak but the words wouldn’t come out, almost like someone had clamped down their hand on his throat and was squeezing him for everything that he was worth.

“I no longer have any use for you. You should go back to that mountain and stop bothering me. I don’t need you.”

I can do better! Please! Don’t leave me!

But still no words left his mouth, even when he saw your back begin to walk away in the darkness.

“Y/N!” He finally managed to choke out, raising a trembling hand to your fading figure.

Suddenly the door he was leaning on burst open, falling into something unsteady than the solid surface of the wood. And then his back was being pulled into something soft, warmth encasing him like a spring breeze on a summer's day. There was something gentle pressing against his heaving chest, telling him to breathe. Shakily, he inhaled.

“One more.” He swore he could hear that voice tremble. It sounded so familiar… Again, he did so. His vision began to clear.

Two arms were wrapped tightly around him, his back against someone’s chest - he could feel the rapid heartbeat against him. Your face was buried in his shoulder, your legs on either side of his cowering body, caging him into the comfort of your embrace. He called out your name, and your face sprung up from where it was hidden. Were those… Tear tracks?

“You were crying… And calling for me…” You explained quietly, but your voice sounded tougher than it usually did. Was this real?

He carefully lifted one of his hands up to one of your arms and squeezed gently, mesmerised when your grip on him only tightened. He didn’t have a response to what you said, still trying to process what exactly just happened. He thought you just left, and now you were holding him?

“Sorry…” He apologised after a moment, and your arms fell limply to your sides, letting him go so he could stand up while you did too.

“Come to the kitchen. I made your favourite...” You turned around to leave, and blindly, he followed.

True to your word, there were not just one of his favourites, but almost all of them. How long had he been in there exactly, for you to make all of this - just for him? It was your way of apologising for what happened.

You knew he was just trying to help you, but you were embarrassed and angry at the state you had come home in. Nothing had gone right that day, and even one of your commissioners had screamed in your face when you failed their task. You just wanted to be alone in your misery, not drag him into it. Instead, you felt like you did the opposite.

“Why…” You began, and his head slowly turned to you. You were barely holding it together. “Why were you crying?” Your bottom lip trembled, your hands trembling at your sides. Slowly, he took one in his own, running his thumb across your bruised knuckles. Instead of giving you an answer, he interlaced your fingers together.

“Don’t leave me.”

You let out a shaky gasp before the tears you held back for him began to roll down your cheeks, dripping from your jaw. Without hesitation, you pulled him to your chest, wrapping your arms around him tightly. He could hear you mumble apologies while one of your hands ran through his soft, golden locks. He shushed you quietly, as his own arms wrapped around you comfortingly. This was the first time he had ever seen you cry, seen so much emotion from you. Perhaps it was wrong of him, but his lips curled up into a small smile.

“I’ll never leave you. I promise.”

After you both had calmed down and indulged yourselves in the meals you had painstakingly made so they were perfect for him, he finally told you what was wrong. It hurt to hear the honesty, but it was needed if either of you two didn’t want a repeat of what happened. He left out the part where the panic attacks weren’t uncommon if you were in a particularly bad mood, just to save you some heartache that you were already feeling after everything that had been said.

“I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll try and be better.”

“Just don’t change who you are. I like you, because you’re you. But I can’t lie to you, I would love to see you smile. Just once.” He admitted, staring down at your interlocked hands. Neither one of you had made a move to pull away from it, so they had been like that for some time. He heard a heavy sigh from you, your head hanging low for a moment before it raised. His breath hitched at the sight.

You, cheeks reddened from the previous crying, eyes swollen from rubbing at them - with a small, shy smile on your lips. It was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen in his life.

“Okay. I’ll smile more for you.”

#albedo x reader #imposter albedo x reader #subject two x reader #rubedo x reader #dorian x reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x gn reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin x yn #🐈‍⬛ anon #rubedo x you #rubedo x yn #rubedo x gn reader #imposter albedo #rubedo #subject 2 #susbedo #primordial albedo

[hoshigray]

𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐃𝐨𝐦 | ryōmen sukuna

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: totally not writing this to compensate for the fact I haven't posted the Gojo fic yet, hahaha–sorry...Anywhooo, happy jjk Thursday, a lil something for the sukuna devotees~☆ okay, i go suffer irl now, && ty for 3.7k, loves, mwah!

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: true form! Sukuna x afab! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - double penetration (he got 2 dicks) - cowgirl dp position - scratching - cervix fucking - choking - clitoral play (pinch) - tiny praise - he lets you ride him, but still in control (it's Sukuna, cmon now) - pet names (brat, human, pet) - mention of tears and drool.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.2k

When it comes to dominance, Ryōmen Sukuna knows he radiates that role. As long as there’s air in his lungs, he’ll ensure that dominance never leaves his side. Anything outside of that is practically unfathomable to the King of Curses. He expects everyone to kneel before him and turn his way. Anything that happens outside of that will be dealt with expeditiously. 

His aura is suffocating to those around him, humans and curses alike. Every step this large, brawlic creature takes in his path must be noticed within three seconds max. Bowed heads of his subjects meet the ground he walks on — he expects nothing less than that. The smell of fear suffocates them, yet it fuels him. It’s what subjects him from everything and everyone else; that’s what he wants. 

Sukuna is a dominant man in every aspect. And you are not subtracted from this at all. You may be the thing that he sees precious value in and holds you up on a pedestal higher than all — for him to look at and him alone. 

So, when it comes to you, Sukuna is the dominant role, in and outside his chambers…However, on the rare days he lets you be confident and take control, he lies on his back on the futon with a devilish grin. “Don’t disappoint me, brat.”

Here you are, straddling on top of the four-armed creature, with both the tips of his cock harboring inside your holes before you gradually descend. Your body trembles as it takes every inch of the girth limbs, feeling full despite not reaching halfway down the bases. You use slow breaths to keep you steady, your hands on his stomach where the large tongue teasingly licks your wrists. 

You’re allowed ten seconds to adjust to his lengths merged with your body, and that’s it. Any more than that and Sukuna’ll wrap this up himself, wasting this opportunity to show what you’re made of. He’s immensely impatient, and you know this as a fact. So, with a few breaths, you start moving your hips and propel yourself in up and down motions. 

The overwhelming feeling of both his cocks bullying your insides is efficient to have you teeter off sanity, the tips grazing the gummy walls of your cunt and anus. With trenched brows and chewed lips, you try to find a rhythm that satisfies the both of you — more so him than you, even if you’re in a position centric to you. “Ahhhh, hahhhh, ‘kuna…You feel ‘o good…Mmmmh…”

“Hmph, you think I’m lying here to satisfy yourself, human? Mmmph…“ Sukuna grunts at the way you sway your hips around, his dicks contracted by your holes perfectly. Good, you’re doing what you’re supposed to. He brings two of his hands to your wrists to keep them on him while the other two rest on your hips. “Shit, pick up the pace, pet. Show me you really want me.” 

You do as you’re told for your sake, your ass increasing the speed of your motions. Hushed pants become louder and louder when the cock in your chasm brushes your cervix with precision. The jabs get more and more accurate, and tears well up in your eyes from the contact with your tender canal. 

And Sukuna watches you with all fours of his eyes, taking in the entire image of you becoming a mess on top of him. He can see the drool from the corner of your lip stream down, and he knows you want to wipe that down, not wanting the King of Curses to see such indecencies. However, he absolutely doesn’t care. If anything, it amuses him. Your nails digging into his pecs, your stomach trying to shy away from the tongue from his abdomen every time he teases it with licks, and the tears rolling down your cute cheeks. It all makes him snicker, and a flame inside him ignites a carnal feeling he’ll indulge in later on. 

Your tempo dials up, grinding your hips down, making him purr. Not moan — purr. You can feel it vibrate within his body through the tip of your fingers. Your body jolts when your clit brushes up against his pelvis. Oh, that felt so good, holy shit. You lean your body down and grind it more; the electrifying sensations from the motion deepen your haze. “Ahhnn, ohhooo—Nnngh!!”

“You only attend to yourself in front of me, huh?” Suddenly, Sukuna brings a large hand to your neck, his thumb, fore, and middle thinner big enough to wrap your neck and clog your breathing. The action has your anus and cunt clench around him desperately. And he sneers. “Dare cum before me, and you’ll be lucky to be alive when I’m through with you tonight.” 

That is no threat to be taken kindly — even if you are his little dove, you are no fool to disregard the orders from the King of Curses himself. You’re quick to deescalate the tension, controlling the speed and angles of his cocks to churn your insides further. The constant pokes to your cervix prompt you to keep going — your wails fill the space of his traditional-style chambers when Sukuna’s dark nails pinch and pierce the skin of your hips. The constriction around your neck turns your erotic bliss into high stakes, and your mission now is to bring the behemoth below you to climax. You take the reins be damned; you do as you’re told when you’re told, no matter what. 

More purrs and groans from Sukuna result in your appeasement, throwing his head back to the pillow with eyes sewn shut to concentrate on both your holes. The tighter you clench on his cocks, the more his orgasm climbs up. “Hnngh!! Fuck…Take it, brat.” He grips your hips as he bucks to your leaky entrances, his balls smacking up to the sweaty skin of your ass. It takes you aback, your screams only making him rut harsher into you for his dicks to explode their loads into you. White, milky jizz fill your velvety texture and spill down to the hilt of his nether limbs. 

Sukuna finally removes his hand from your throat — your silent permission to chase your own high as he experiences his. Thank God, because yours hits you in seconds when the hand he removed travels down to your clit to pinch, and you come instantly. The fluttering agitation from your puckered chasms clamping around his pulsing girths has him his, and your shaky arms do what they can to keep you upright despite your climax. 

He watches your trembling figure during the fleeting moments of his climax – his intense red eyes examine you like a piece of art. And when your orbs finally open to look at his, he greets you with another wicked chortle. “That’s a good pet,” he brings one finger to attend to the tears from your eye. And you smile at him with breathless satisfaction.

Sukuna is always and forever will be a dominant man. But on those rare occasions when he allows you to take the reins, he expects nothing but a good job. If so, he’s not opposed to having the change again.

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2023 – header edit made by me + dividers from @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

#𝑯𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ 𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔: 𝑺𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔 #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen x you #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen smut #sukuna fanfic #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk imagines #jjk fics

[lunasfics]

Found Family

summary: In which Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent engage in a custody battle over a clone created from both their DNA, or, in which you get saved from a lab and gain two new families who would move mountains for you.

pairing: Bat Family x f! Reader, Supers x f! Reader

word count: 8.2k

preview

a/n: hello! IT'S FINALLY OUT WOOHOO, it's a bit long but i had a lot of fun writing it. certain characters may be a bit ooc so i do apologize as i'm still getting my footing on how to characterize certain people. let me know what you think! constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated (just pls don't be mean lol)! i left a somewhat open-ish ending because i wanna make this into a series/universe, and will start taking requests for drabbles in this universe, depending on how this is received! - luna :)

reblogs are appreciated!

“I’m in. Robin, what’s your status?” Bruce spoke into the earpiece, swiftly moving through the shadows of the lab. It was a simple mission: get into the lab Lex Luthor had created under Gotham City, collect intel needed to take down said lab, and leave. Unfortunately, it’s never really that simple, is it? 

“I’m in, making my way through the west wing, cover is still intact,” Damian muttered back. 

“Good. Nightwing?” 

“Just entered the center lab, heading down to the bottom level now, haven't been spotted,” Dick said, making his way down the steps, careful to remain silent. 

“Good. Remember the objective. In and Out.” Bruce muttered as he continued, searching for the locked file cabinet he was looking for. 

“Files located. Ready for extraction” Damian said quietly through the intercom. 

“I’ve made it to the bottom level. Requesting immediate backup, there's something here you guys need to see” Dick’s voice echoed through the earpiece, “They’ve made another clone.” 

Bruce stopped what he was doing, silently making his way down the hall towards the staircase Dick took around a half hour before, “I'm on my way. Damian?”

“Heading there now. Files are downloaded.” 

Upon arriving at the lower level, Dick bypasses security to let them in, making sure to reactivate the lock behind them, “Look.”

He gestured to the incubation tube not far from them, inside of it stood a young woman, who looked no older than 20, wearing a black skin-tight suit, a familiar “S” symbol adorning her chest, only it was the center of another symbol, the bat symbol, with bat ears at the top and bat wings on either side of it, a dark burgundy color with gold lining along the edges. The plaque below the tube read: 

Attempt 1: G6B24 

Specimen 1: Superman (Identity: Unknown)

Specimen 2: Batman (Identity: Unknown) 

Status: Failed - Shows excessive signs of emotional intelligence (unfit for purpose), Subject is not invulnerable, Lacks thermal vision

‘Emotional Intelligence’ you must have shown hesitation, a moral compass. 

“Father… what are we going to do?” Damian asked, he was at a loss, part of him felt slightly threatened, if you were taken in, he would no longer be the only child related to Bruce by DNA, and you were older, stronger— perhaps you would take his place, the place he’d finally felt he truly belonged; however he remained silent, his past self likely would have attempted to argue against your rescue, but he’d grown, he knew deep down you deserved a chance at this life just as much as he did. 

Bruce looked up at your unconscious figure, at a loss for words, you were his daughter, intentional or not, there was a part of him in you, he only hoped that part wouldn't screw you over for life. As surprised as he was, he had an obligation to you the same way he did with Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Steph, Barbara, Duke, Damian, and every other vigilante he had taken under his wing.

His Batman instincts kicked in very quickly though, immediately refocusing himself, reading through the files, in an attempt to prepare himself for any possible scenario, he turned to Dick. 

“Find all the DNA samples they have belonging to both me and Superman, we’re taking them,” he said, making sure to not hyper-focus on the thoughts flooding his mind. 

“We’re not just leaving her here, are we? The plaque says ‘failed’. Who knows what could happen to her?” Dick said, he was frustrated.

Conner had gotten a chance to build a life for himself. You deserved one too, the mere thought of Bruce wanting to leave you there angered him. 

“She’s coming with us. Damian, watch the door, Dick, find the samples," Bruce said gruffly, moving to the tube, bypassing the database to open it, without setting off any system safeguards. He reached into his utility belt and pulled out his shard of kryptonite, just in case it was needed to neutralize you. 

The tube opened slowly, a swoosh sound filling the air as the cold fog escaped the tube, spilling into the air, your eyes fluttering open as you looked around, your eyes focusing on him.

You flew at him, full speed, pushing him against the wall with a thud, knocking the wind out of him, your eyes boring into his, glowing red, just as you were about to terminate him with your heat vision, he uttered the safe word he had seen in your file. 

“Blue Pineapple” he grunted out, the red in your eyes fading away instantly, as you stared at him with wide eyes. You backed away slowly, lowering yourself to the floor. Your eyes fixed on him once again.

You recognized him from your programming, the man whose combat skills were engraved into your mind.

“Batman?” 

Dick and Damian rushed over, making sure Bruce was okay. He was fine.

Dick turned to you, holding out his hand, “Come with me. We need to get you out of here, you aren’t safe here.” 

You stared at him, your eyes narrowing, “Why should I trust you?” 

Dick sighed, Those damn Wayne genetics, he kept his hand extended to you, “Because we’re helping you escape, if you come with us, you can meet Superman, be a hero just like him and Batman, you could actually see the world” he promised. 

"I know what the world looks like." you stated bluntly.

He sighed, his hand not wavering, "But have you ever experienced it? Let us show you what that's like. You can have a life."

You thought for a moment, before letting out a small grunt, nodding at him and taking his hand, allowing them to lead you out of the lab grounds seemingly undetected. 

When you stepped out, you stopped, eyes completely transfixed on the brilliant night sky. Blends of blues and purples and grays danced together to make the beautiful endless abyss above you. You knew every color there was. You knew everything, but at the same time you really didn't. You stared up at the stars, you knew how they came to be, you knew every scientific explanation there was yet seeing them… it made you feel a way you couldn’t explain.

They led you to the batmobile, situating you in the back seat with Damian, starting the drive to the Batcave. Bruce dialed Clark’s number into the keypad, it rang twice before he picked up. 

“Hello?” 

“Meet me in the Batcave. It’s urgent. Bring Conner.”

“What’s going o-”

He hung up. 

Dick covered his mouth to hide his snicker, “So, Bruce, you and Clark have an official love child now, right? What will Lois think?” he feigned concern, placing the back of his hand over his forehead, committing to the drama, “Oh, how scandalous, I mean really, the shame! I can already see the headlines ‘Billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne turned common whore after breaking up happy metropolis family’” 

Damian covered his laugh with a cough.

You looked at the three of them, utterly confused, still processing what was going on. 

Bruce huffed, shooting them both a glare, “Dick, be mature.” 

Dick smiled, “I can't help myself, just wait til Jason finds out.” He smiled in excitement, as they pulled into the side entrance of the Batcave. 

Bruce let out a deep, tired sigh.

Clark sat in silence in the Batcave, Conner standing to his left, his eyes wide as he stared at you, possessing some features belonging to both he and Bruce, and other features that seemed to be entirely your own.

You stared back, that same stoic nature radiating off of you that radiates off the Batman, however, he noted the defensive look in your eyes, one so similar to the one he saw in Conner when he first met him. He eyed your suit, noting the familiar “S” symbol, only it was a burgundy color, a rather interesting combination of the Batman and Superman emblems, and he was utterly confused.

He looked over at Bruce, still in his bat suit, his cowl pulled off, “Bruce, what the hell is going on?” 

“I had to call you here because Luthor decided to create another clone. I did the DNA test, Clark, she’s a combination of both our DNA” Bruce looked at him, Dick and Damian standing to his right. It was silent for a moment, you felt like a guinea pig, the way they all stared at you. It made you angry. 

Conner was the first to speak, stepping forward before opening his mouth, choosing his words carefully, “What’s your name?” 

You responded immediately, it felt automatic. “Experiment attempt number one. Code G6B24. I was made to be the future killer of the Batman and the Kriptonian.” 

He nodded slowly, “I’m a clone too, and Clark took me in— well, he took me in eventually— that’s besides the point. He showed me how to become my own person, we can help you do that too.”

You looked at him, eyes softening ever so slightly, but you kept your guard up like your Batman programming taught you to. “I was made to be a killer, if I don’t do what I was made to do, what am I worth?” you said quietly, voice unwavering.

Damian watched you, your words striking him in a way he hadn't expected them to, he understood what you were saying all too well. 

Bruce decided to speak up next, “You were created, it’s not your fault what their intentions were when they did so. What you become from here on out is your choice.” 

You stayed silent, eyes darting around the room—What is this feeling? Vulnerability? You knew it by definition, like you did most other feelings, but feeling them… it was different. 

Dick noted the way you seemed overwhelmed, he approached you slowly, pulling up two chairs, motioning for you to sit, you chose to remain standing until he sat down first. 

“You know, we trust you, we want to figure out a way for you to become the best you can be. On your terms” he said, offering you a small smile. 

You looked around, the others nodded in agreement, “I was made to be only the best parts of you” you said, your gaze focusing on Clark and Bruce, they both put their best qualities forward to help others, how could you use those same qualities to destroy that?

“I… don’t want to be a killer. They said I was too… human. I thought I’d failed them.” 

Damian decided to step forward, “You didn’t fail anyone, you are meant for greater things. You haven't killed anyone, you can choose your path. If the path you choose is the Robin mantle... I am willing to work with that.” 

At this, the other men in the room turned to look at him, Clark and Conner were slack-jawed, this was the same kid who fought Tim tooth and nail over this mantle. The same mantle he was just… willing to give you? 

Meanwhile Dick had a proud smile on his face, you thought you saw a small tear in his eye.

Bruce’s face seemed unreadable, however, you took notice of the way the corners of his lips turned up for a split second. before reverting back to their natural state. 

You weren’t sure what to say, again, you knew what this mantle was, by definition. The reality was you had no sense of what it meant, the weight it carried. And you knew that.

“Thank you, but I feel like that title isn’t mine to take. I think I need to… become something that's true to who I am, whatever that may be.”  

Bruce looked at you, the corner of his lip barely twitching up into a smile, a smile so subtle that only someone of your… background would notice, an attempt of his towards getting you more comfortable, “We should start with a name.” 

You looked at Conner, he gave you an encouraging smile. 

“Like I chose Conner, so now I’m Conner Kent,” he said with a small shrug, “You can choose whatever you want.” 

“I see,” you thought for a moment, “I like Y/n.” 

Clark smiled, standing up and clapping his hands together, “Great! Y/n Kent, has a nice ring to it.” 

“Wayne.” 

He turned towards Bruce, eyes narrowing slightly, “Kent.”

“Wayne.”

This time Conner spoke, “Kent.”

The three men stared at each other, arms crossed mirroring each-other’s glares. 

Dick cut in, “How about Grayson?”

“No.” came their simultaneous response. 

Dick frowned, slumping in the seat next to yours, “Jeez.” 

Damian spoke next, “I suppose Al Ghul is off the table…” 

Dick snorted, breaking out into a fit of laughter, you grinned softly at the sounds of his laughter, it reminded you of a windshield wiper. 

Conner sighed, “Fine, what about Wayne-Kent?”

Bruce huffed, “I suppose.”

Clark nodded, the smile returning to his face as he turned to you, “Y/n Wayne-Kent”

You nodded, “I like it.” 

Dick could help but laugh from beside you, “It's like I'm watching reality tv. Love me some baby mama drama.”

Clark opened his mouth to speak and closed it, before sighing and looking at Bruce, who just pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Conner chuckled at the sight, turning to Damian, who’s lip quirked up in amusement. 

Bruce looked up, his attention directed towards you, “Y/n, you can stay here for the night, I’ve asked Alfred to set up a room for you. Clark, Conner, come by tomorrow with Lois and Jon, I’ve called the others to come by as well, we’ll get everything situated tomorrow. For now, get some rest.” 

Everyone nodded, Clark and Conner heading to the exit of the cave, Damian, Dick and Bruce leading you to the room that was prepared for you. 

Dick brought you a sweater and some sweatpants to change into, closing the door with a soft, “Goodnight, kiddo.” 

You changed in silence, slowly getting under the covers and drifting off to sleep, marking the start of your new life. Tomorrow would be an interesting day. 

You woke up the next morning, to a soft knock on the door, your super hearing picking it up better than you would have liked. You opened the door, revealing an older man you hadn’t seen before. He smiled softly, giving you an instantaneous sense of comfort you couldn’t explain. 

“Hello Miss Y/n. My name is Alfred, I am the butler,” he greeted you, handing you a folded set of clothes, “Master Kent chose these for you, however if they are not to your liking, do let me know.” 

“They’re fine…Thank you.”

He smiled warmly, the kind old man giving you a nod, “Once you've changed, do come down, I’ve prepared breakfast. The other members of the family will arrive soon to meet you.” 

You gave him a short nod, he smiled again, your demeanor reminding him of the young Bruce he’d looked after all those years ago. He shut your door softly before retreating down the staircase, leaving you in your room to change. 

You picked up the small note that rested at the top of the pile, reading it over. 

Comfortable, Practical, and cool. Hope you like it. - Conner

You looked down at the neatly folded clothes, unfolding a black long sleeve turtleneck shirt, the material was thick but breathable, you slipped it on with ease, the foreign material soft against your skin, you appreciated that it didn’t suffocate you. 

You reached for the pants next, dark gray cargo pants, these were thicker, and the had an overwhelming amount of pockets. You slipped them on before slipping on the boots that were at the bottom of the stack and exiting the room, going down the staircase. 

Upon entering the dining room, you were met with Bruce sitting at the head of the table, reading the paper calmly eating his pancakes, to his right sat Dick chatting excitedly to the boy next to him, who smiled at him as he listened, he was a slender boy with black hair who looked a bit younger than Dick. Then there was Alred, calmly enjoying his breakfast. Finally there was Damian on the other side of Bruce, leaving an empty seat between Damian and Alred. You sat down, the pale boy noticing you first. 

Bruce looked up, “Tim, this is Y/n.” 

“Hello.” You sat up awkwardly. One thing you never learned was how to navigate social interactions.

He studied you for a moment, offering you a small smile, “I’m Tim.” 

You gave a nod, returning his smile with a smaller one of your own. 

“She knows, by the way.” Dick chimed in.

His eyes widened, was that why you were there? 

“How?” 

All eyes are on you. You opened your mouth to speak but Damian spoke first. 

“She’s a clone. Father will explain everything when everyone else arrives so as to not waste time, until then, hold on to your childish curiosity. I’d like to enjoy my breakfast.” 

Dick nodded, “She was literally made for this shit.”

“Watch your language Master Dick, it is deplorable to speak in such a way at the table, much less in the presence of a lady.” 

Dick blushed, “Sorry Alfred.” 

Bruce simply gave a nod. 

Tim slumped back in his seat, wanting to ask you questions about your abilities, your earliest memories, who were you a clone of, how your programming worked, the boy was itching to know it all. 

Breakfast passed by relatively quickly after that, you weren’t bombarded with questions, much to your relief. Alfred kindly asked you how you slept to which you replied that you slept well. The sound of casual conversation and glassware scraping together filling the room. You enjoyed observing the atmosphere.

Clark and Conner were the first to arrive at the manor, greeting you happily, with them was a woman and a younger boy, who immediately went to sit by Damian. 

Clark brought them over to you, the woman smiled warmly at you. It made you feel safe. 

She held your hand in hers, “My name is Lois,” her voice was kind, genuine. You noted how she carried herself. Strong, secure, honest. 

Clark was quick to bring Jon over, excited to introduce him, “This is my son, Jon.”

“Hi!”  he beamed at you, you smiled, he was cute. Cheerful as he smiled brightly at you. 

“Hello, my name is Y/n.” you greeted the two, who smiled at you.

Conner was the next to approach, “Did you like the clothes? I picked them out cause it was all I used to wear, but who knows, you may want something more… fashionable.”

You smiled softly, “They're nice, thank you.”

“On that note actually,” Clark said, “I was thinking we can take you shopping later, Bruce and I can pay.” 

Bruce deadpanned, “That’s a joke, right?” 

He smiled, “Of course, you’re paying for everything.”

“Sounds about right.” 

Chatter filled the room not long after, Jon and Damian catching up on the couch while Conner and Tim started a conversation of their own. 

The next people to arrive were three young women, blonde, brunette, and red hair. They had arrived together.

The blonde spoke first, “Why'd you call us here Bruce? We had planned for brunch.” She bitterly narrowed her eyes at him, the brunette behind her giving a short nod of agreement.

Bruce sighed, “We’re waiting on Jason. He’s late.” 

“As always.” The redhead said with a sigh, though you could see she wasn't actually upset.  

The blonde girl turned to you first smiling, “I’m Stephanie, but call me Steph. I’m assuming you’ll be joining our vigilante posse.” She seemed funny, and kind, like she truly cared for those around her. 

“Somewhat, I don’t really know. I’m Y/n.” You said bluntly.

“Pretty name.” She smiled, gesturing to the red haired woman behind her, “This is Barbara, but she's really just Babs.” She then gestured to the brunette, “That’s Cass. She’s lovely.” 

You looked at them and nodded, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Barbara smiled warmly at you, “You too, I’m so glad there’ll be another girl around, we can always use more company.” She smiled at you so kindly, despite having only just met you. Her voice was sweet, like honey. 

Cass smiled softly at you, “Come to brunch with us later. Or, lunch, now since Jason is holding us up.” 

You nodded your lip quirking up into a small smile, “I’d enjoy that.” 

Truthfully, you didn't know what the fuck brunch was. But she said lunch and that you knew. You'd find out about brunch later.

Then, as if on cue, the man in question arrived, walking through the door, slipping off his brown jacket and tossing it on the couch. He was tall, with a stocky frame, jet black hair with a white streak on the front. 

“This better be good.” 

Tim mumbled, “Finally” 

“Miss me Timmy?” 

“Quite the contrary.”

The one called Jason laughed before giving him a small nudge, to which Tim swatted his hand away. 

His eyes fixed on you, then on Bruce. 

“Dude, seriously? Another one? You have a problem man. You’d think you would’ve stopped after me.” 

Bruce stood up, “Jason, sit down. Now that you’re all here I wanted to introduce you to Y/n. She’s a clone, made from both mine, and Clark’s DNA.” 

“Holy shit, man.” 

“Jason, will you shut up?” 

“Never.” 

“As I was saying, she’ll be here in the manor for the time being, I’ll be training her and assessing her combat technique.” 

“Hold on,” Clark interjected, “She should come with us, she needs to get the hang of her powers.” 

“Clark, I have a state of the art training area in the cave.” 

“So? We’re supers, all we need is an open field.” 

“We need to assess her combat skills, and also assess the extent of her powers. She isn’t invulnerable. We need to prioritize getting to the bottom of that.” 

Clark huffed but nodded, understanding the full extent of your abilities was vital in actually training you. 

“It’s like I’m watching a custody battle.” muttered Steph, Barbara laughing quietly beside her. 

“Wait- So Y/n is basically if you and Clark had a baby?” Tim gawked at them, his eyes shifting from Bruce to Clark, to you. When his eyes landed on you, he fired questions like he was on a time limit. 

“How do Bruce’s genetics affect your abilities? Are you immune to kryptonite and invulnerable? How does your thermal vision work? Enhanced strength? Can you fly? Can you fly as fast as Superman? Do you have combat training? How do y-” 

Conner smacked a hand over his mouth, leading him back to his seat, “Lets try not to overwhelm her with the questions.” He chuckled. 

Tim nodded, looking up at you, “Sorry, Y/n.” 

“That’s okay. To answer your questions, his genetics don’t necessarily have a huge impact on any of my abilities, I was created with every available video of Batman fighting embedded into my mind, and the combat skills were engraved in my memory, I should be able to replicate his fighting style to a tee. I’m not invulnerable, but in theory, the stealth I was programmed with allows me to stay agile enough that I shouldn’t often get hurt. I don't have thermal vision, but I do have laser vision, enhanced strength, and flight, although I haven’t tested how fast I actually can fly. And like I said, my combat training is essentially the combat footage uploaded into my mind.” 

Tim had nodded, eyes trained on yours in complete interest as you answered each question, occasionally jotting something down on the notes app of his phone. 

Lois narrowed her eyes slightly at both Bruce and Clark, “I do hope you’re factoring in giving her the opportunity to build an actual social life. Maybe get her enrolled in school.” 

“She has doctorate-level information on several different topics stored into her mind, as well as fluency in 8 languages. I think she’ll be fine, Lois,” Bruce replied. 

She rolled her eyes, “Okay, so school’s not necessary, what about building a social life for herself? That’s important.” 

“There’s Young Justice,” Conner said, “I figured she’d join.” 

Tim nodded in agreement, “I can help her get situated.” 

“Where will I stay?” you asked, you didn’t particularly enjoy how they were all discussing you as if you weren't there, but there honestly wasn’t much you could do. 

“You can stay at the manor, or you can stay with the team, but it'd be best if you lived here in the Manor.” Bruce replied.

“Why isn’t Metropolis an option?” Clark muttered. 

“Because it’s more practical to have her here in Gotham, living with Tim will make it easier to adjust to the team.” 

“I want time with her, Bruce.” 

“You’ll get it. We’ll have her assessed, then three times a week she’ll train and get a hold of her powers with you.” 

Clark nodded, satisfied with that answer. 

Lois spoke again, turning to you, “Y/n, how does that sound to you?” 

You blinked. “It sounds fine. My super hearing allows me to hear every conversation proficiently.”

She chuckled softly, “It’s a figure of speech sweetheart, I meant if you’re okay with everything that was said, you’ve been a bit quiet.”

You felt your face grow hot, “Oh. Yeah, I’m okay with it.”

Clark gave you a fond smile. 

Bruce looked at you and smiled softly, a barely noticeable one, but a smile nonetheless. 

The bulk of the conversation was over. The people in the room falling into easy conversation with one another, you look around, not sure what to do. That is until Jason approaches you, a kind smile on his face. 

“Hey Y/n, I’m Jason, I’ll be honest, you probably won't see me too often cause I can barely stand being around Bruce, but… if he’s ever a dick, call me and I’ll either punch him for you and take you somewhere he’s not.” he grinned, “Or both.” 

You laughed softly, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

He nodded, “I’ll be raiding the kitchen, but if anyone asks, I left.” He shoots you a grin before slipping away. 

It’s not long after that when Jon approaches you, Damian by his side, he shoots you a toothy grin, “So, you’re like, my sister now, right?” 

You’re not sure how to respond, but you feel a puddle of warmth pooling in your heart, it’s nice. You smile at him softly, “I suppose so.” 

He grins, “And that would also make you Damian’s sister. right?”

“I suppose so.” 

“See Damian, we’re blood brothers by extension.” 

“Jon, that is the most imbecilic logic I’ve ever encountered. Just because Y/n is both my blood and yours doesn’t mean–” 

“Blood brothers!” He had shouted cheerfully, before walking away and over to Lois to inform her of the good news. 

Damian sighed, though you took notice of the soft smile that flashed across his face, you concluded that he cared for him. 

A lot of people in this family– Bruce’s family specifically, tend to hide affection, despite the fact that it is apparent to you that they feel it. You decide not to focus on it, people are complicated. 

You chat a bit with various people in the room, Lois telling you that you’re always welcome to visit whenever you’d like, Barbara talking to you about how her work as Oracle, Steph telling you all about the other vigilantes you’ll probably end up crossing paths with. Tim and Conner sat by you, telling you all about the team and the people you’ll meet once all your training is done. 

Slowly, people start to leave, you saw Jason slip out the front door first, sending you a wink. Dick left not long after, needing to return to his responsibilities in Bludhaven, making sure to tell you you’re always welcome to visit him over there. Then Clark left with Lois, Jon, and Conner, leaving the residents of the manor plus, Cass, Steph and Barbara.

Damian and Tim had retreated to their rooms, while Alfred busied himself with household chores, Bruce stood up, approaching you before saying, “Did you still want to go shopping? You’ll need training clothes.” 

You nodded, “Yes, please.” 

Steph perked up, rushing towards the two of you, “Oh, we have to come.” 

“Steph, you go shopping every week. With my card.”

Barbara chimed in, “It’s not about that Bruce, you have a terrible fashion sense. We can’t let you impose that onto Y/n.”

Cass nodded in agreement. 

“We’re just buying training clothes.” 

“She can’t wear training clothes in her daily life,” Steph rolled her eyes, “She needs a wardrobe.” 

You smiled, “I would like a wardrobe.” 

“See?”

Bruce sighed but nodded, “Let's go then.”

Steph cheered while Barbara and Cass high-fived behind her, it was an amusing site. 

When you arrived at the mall, Steph immediately linked arms with you, dragging you around to her favorite stores, paying no mind to your super strength potentially being able to accidentally break her arm. It caught you off guard, not only the physical display of affection, but the trust.

Again, you felt that soft puddle of warmth pool in your chest. You could get used to that. 

You had gotten to know Barbara and Cass fairly well during the trip as well, Barbara was sweet, she and Steph made you laugh more than you thought you could. Cass and you got along well too, she picked out the clothes you liked the most, always nodding in approval when you would try anything on, a soft smile on her face. The three of them opened their group up to you so quickly, it had surprised you, you felt that with their company you were better able to navigate finding yourself. 

The four of you hadn’t paid much mind to Bruce trailing behind you as you went from store to store, not that he minded. He held a fond smile as he observed the four of you giggling, talking, and having a good time.

He knew his focus on training was important, but he also knew Lois was right (not that he’d admit that to anyone), you needed a social life too. And he knew your heightened emotional intelligence would surely allow you to obtain that, you just needed to blossom, and allow yourself to break free of the restraints you put on yourself. 

He’d lost count of how many times he had swiped his card that day, at some point he had decided to just start waiting by the front, once you guys were ready, he’d walk over, swipe his card, and you guys would move on to the next shop. He wouldn't say this to anyone, but he enjoyed doing things like this, taking care of the people he cares about. 

The last store you had gone to was WayneTech, it was Bruce’s idea. You needed a phone in order to keep everyone’s contacts. So they brought you there where you got the latest model of their cell phone line, it was sleek and thin. You picked out a case and you got a screen protector. Bruce had told you that once you got to the Batcave he’d input league contacts, safety features, as well as league-level security settings. 

By the end of the trip it was early in the evening, Bruce had his arms absolutely filled with shopping bags, and what he couldn’t carry was carried by you and Steph. The five of you stepped out into the parking lot, the sun setting, casting a deep orange hue on the parking lot. You took in the image in front of you, you didn’t know suns could set so beautifully.

The ride home was nice, the car was filled with the soft chatter of the four of you, Bruce didn’t feel the need to listen in. The soft music playing on the stereo as a background was a nice addition to the atmosphere. 

When you’d arrived at the manor, the girls had bid you goodbye, but not before making sure they had your number to add you to their group chat. You were warned by Steph that Cass’s meme game could not be beat. You were slightly confused but nodded, a happy smile on your face. They each gave you a hug before getting in their cars and heading off. 

The walk into the manor was silent, but not awkward, mainly the two of you taking armfuls of bags up to your room.

As he shut the door, Bruce turned to you, “It’s not too late, if you want, we could start out on some training.” 

You nodded, going into your room to change, “I’ll be down there in a bit.” 

He nodded, walking away to change as well. 

You entered the Batcave shortly after, comfortable in your black sweatpants, and a black long sleeve athletic shirt. Now, having a better opportunity to take it all in, it was massive. You looked to your left to see Damian sparring with Tim in one of the further training areas. You walked over to Bruce, he gave you a small smile, leading you to the second training area by Tim and Damian, who by now had stopped sparring, in favor of observing your skill. 

“You can replicate my fighting style to a tee, right?”

You nodded.

“Let’s see it.” 

You charged first, making sure to suppress your strength, your movements swift and calculated, landing a fast right kick to his abdomen. He sidestepped, landing a swift punch to your side. You kept attempting attacks on eachother, each one dodging the other flawlessly.

Tim and Damian watched in awe as the two of you gracefully moved, as if you were dancing. This went on for several minutes, until you attempted a fast left kick to his side, which he caught, using as leverage to flip you over on your back.

Your limbs ached, you looked up at him, “How did you do that?”

He held a hand out to help you up, “I’m not as fast with my left kicks as I am with my right ones. My weaknesses are your weaknesses.”

You nodded. Made sense. 

“You have good technique, and you replicate my fighting perfectly, but that’s all it is. A replication. You need to make it your own. Adapt it in accordance with your abilities, you can’t do that now because Clark hasn’t trained you, but in time you will.” 

You nodded, your chest swelling with pride at his compliment, you knew after your training with Clark you would be able to better adjust your fighting style.

Damian walked over to you, “Y/n. I’d like to spar, you’ve proven to be a worthy opponent.” 

You nodded, it would be good to spar with someone with a different fighting style. Tim sat down to the side, perfectly content with just observing for now, like earlier, he occasionally jotted down some notes on his phone. You decided you didn’t mind it. It was endearing. 

This time, Damian charged first, landing a swift right kick to your ribs, you turned and landed a hard kick to his chest, sending him back, before he flipped and caught himself, running towards you again. His smaller frame provided him with an advantage as he jumped onto your shoulders, before he could land his blow, you flipped your body, sending him to the floor, landing on his back with a thud. You crouched over him, extending your hand.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” he took your hand, getting up to his feet, you gave him a soft smile, which he returned, giving you a nod of approval. He, like Bruce, didn’t often use his words, but you were able to discern their intentions just fine. 

Bruce then led you to a machine he had in the cave, where it analyzed your genetics in comparison to Clark’s, he had determined you were missing the genetic composition that happened to be the main source of invulnerability, therefore the reason you were the way you were. You are unfortunately still weak when exposed to kryptonite. 

You were tired by the end of the night. You felt you had bonded with Damian, he had asked you to spar with him another time, to which you agreed.

The next day, Bruce had sent you over to Smallville, where Clark had decided on training you, ‘A good old fashioned open field’ were his exact words.

He made sure to send you wearing your original suit, not knowing how fast you would be flying, just in case, only you didn’t like it, so you opted to wear some sweats over the suit. 

And there you were, floating about 300 feet in the air with him, as he explained the basics of flying. 

“You want to create your own leverage, using your flight, you should be able to do this.” He bent one leg, tilting to the right as he effortlessly glided in that direction, he repeated the action only now going in the opposite direction. 

You nodded, imitating his movements, gliding from side to side before stopping and looking at him. He smiled brightly at you, “You’re doing great, kid. There was never a point where you didn’t have powers, so this should be easy. Now, we’ll test your speed.” 

You nodded, “How are we doing that?”

He pulled out a stopwatch, “I’m going to wait here while you fly to Gotham and back. You know the route?” 

You nodded. 

“Okay… and…. Go!”

You immediately shot forward, a slightly bumpy start but your body adapted immediately, you felt the wind whip through your hair, and a smile spread across your face as you made a U-turn around Gotham, making it back to Clark in seconds. 

“2.6 seconds. That’s good.” He smiled at you. 

You went on like that for the next few hours, him giving you encouraging words of advice, and you gained better control over your abilities, him providing you with tips he learned over the years. For that last hour, Jon and Conner joined the two of you, the four of you eventually just playing air tag until Martha and Lois called you in for dinner. 

They insisted you stay for dinner, and you had no mind to refuse, spending time with them was nice. Jon insisted he sat next to you at dinner, excitedly talking your ear off about whatever he’d gotten to that day, and sharing his favorite stories about Damian with you. He acts like he doesn't like people, but he’s got a soft spot for a lot of us, were his exact words. You honestly completely agreed, you smiled at him as he continued talking. 

That day you’d gotten to know Martha and Jonanthan Kent, who insisted you called them Ma and Pa. They instantly coddled you as if they’d known you since birth, though, in a way, that is technically the case. 

They didn't let you leave empty handed, sending you off with tupper-ware filled with leftovers, cookies and pie. You thanked them for their hospitality and headed back to the manor. 

The next few months were mainly doing morning and evening training with Bruce, occasionally Dick would stop by to train with you, always telling you he was proud of your improvement, which never failed to make you glow just a little brighter with pride. He’d begun a tradition where he would treat you to a burger after training, or whatever it was you were craving. He said that it was his goal to get you to try every fast food joint in Gotham, deciding that it was just an essential part of living there. You quickly decided you hated fast food, but never said anything because that wasn’t at all what mattered to you, what mattered to you was the bond you were creating with your older brother. 

Your relationship with Bruce wasn’t perfect. There were times you saw how focused he was on his mission, neglecting the feelings of those around him, he could be an asshole. And with you still navigating your emotions, you’d get angry and yell, and so would he. If you saw him brushing off Damian, or Tim, one look at the crestfallen expressions on their faces was enough to get you angry. You shouldn’t have been surprised, truthfully, you weren’t. You were too similar. You were just fortunate enough to be surrounded by people early on who could convince you to let them in. 

Regardless of the imperfections between you and Bruce, you knew he cared. He always showed it with the small smile he’d give you as he held up two tickets to the movie you had wanted to see. Or in the way he’d lure everyone into the living room with snacks for a movie night. Or how he’d try his best to always express to you that you were doing well. That you were enough, and that you deserved to be there. 

You’d grown closer with Tim, too, always willing to help him with his assignments (not that he often needed it, but on the rare occasions his sleep deprived self couldn’t wrap his head around a problem). You’d often go to him when you needed help figuring something out on your phone, to which he would offer a simple solution you hadn’t seen before.

Tim was kind, he showed he cared for you by fixing things, when you cracked your screen protector by accidentally tapping it too hard, he made you a new one that could withstand the force of a bullet. He learned to confide in you over time, telling you about Bernard, expressing his worries to you about whether or not he’s good enough. You’d always tell him he was more than good enough. 

Damian had taken to calling you ‘sister’, often challenging and teasing you when he could, you’d developed a relationship where he’d go to you for company. You’d sit in the garden and take in the life around you, while he sat a few feet away and drew it.

Once, he drew you while you weren’t looking, when he finished, he handed it to you without a word and walked away. In the bottom right corner you read ‘Y/n Wayne-Kent’ in neat handwriting, just below that, ‘sister’. That was the first time he’d used that word for you. Your heart swelled. 

You continued seeing Steph, Barbara, and Cass, regularly having lunch with them and talking with them on the phone. Barbara, or as you now called her, Babs, was always there to guide you when you needed it, she’d often send you small gifts from time to time, like jewelry that reminded her of you.

Cass and you would often find the most peaceful company in each other. She would listen to you talk about all the things you'd been learning, telling you about her own experience adjusting to a new life.

Steph and you bonded over poorly written hallmark movies, she always giggled madly when you would point out plot inconsistencies, wearing the most confused expression she had ever seen on a person, you didn’t understand why at first, you would just state facts, but you always enjoyed the time with her. She always says you guys should start a podcast, and you always agree. You hope she never asks you what a podcast is... because you genuinely didn't know.

True to his word, you didn’t see Jason often, but there were a few instances  where you felt particularly suffocated by Bruce’s training that you took him up on his offer to take you somewhere he wasn’t. Those moments were... nice. Every time, he would bring food, and take you to his apartment, where you talked about books and he introduced you to some of his favorite movies. You didn’t know why he and Bruce didn’t get along, but you chose not to pry.

Alfred had taken a liking to you instantly, he enjoyed giving you etiquette lessons, and would bake all kinds of scones and cookies for you to try. His humor was at times very dry and sarcastic, which never failed to make you laugh. He taught you how to bake once, finding you were exceptionally good at it, ‘Miss Y/n, I think we’ve found your natural talent’. You hadn’t expected to be good at it, but Alfred said you were phenomenal. 

You’d also train with Clark 3 times a week, getting even closer with the Kents, integrating yourself in both families. It was interesting being part of two very different families. But you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Clark had shown you a lot about your powers, but it was never just training. It had become a necessity for the two of you to fly to some famous landmark and have lunch together, before flying back to Smallville for more training.

Clark was constantly trying his best for you, he still had his regrets from his initial relationship with Conner, and although he was forgiven and their relationship was rebuilt, he knew he lost time. And he absolutely refused to repeat that and hurt someone else who didn’t deserve it. 

You always stayed for dinner, you found that you could never say no to Jon, the one time you tried was awful, you felt so bad that you went back the next day and took him shopping. With Bruce's card, duh.

Jon was stuck to you like glue whenever you were over. He always insisted on sitting by you and talking to you about whatever he’d been up to. He flew around with you a lot, you guys would play games that he taught you how to play. Your favorite moments were when he and Damian would allow you in to watch them play video games because ‘How do you not know how to play video games? That’s just wrong. We’ll teach you.’

Conner had spent more and more time with you as well, telling you about a lot of social cues, the importance of boundaries, etc. He was determined to help you adjust in every way he could, he shared his experiences with you when he first started working in teams. You learned a lot from him, he was very affectionate with you, but in that awkward-older-brother way. He’d give you a soft pat on the back and a smile, he knew you’d do just fine. 

Lois became your role model, you truly admired her. She was strong, outspoken, confident. She helped you not be afraid of forming your own opinions and voicing them. One time she saw you yell at Bruce over something he’d done, and all she could do was smile proudly.

These people whose lives you just appeared in one day, very quickly became your family. Every day you were reminded of how lucky you were to have come to care for them as much as you do. Bonding with them was nice, and you very quickly understood the appeal of having family.

These are people who care for you unconditionally, simply because they want to. Because every moment that they spend with you, they choose to.

And just like that, you were ready to meet the team. You had learned to combine your combat skills with your powers, if you need to, you can fight in mid air. You’d learned to incorporate your abilities into your technique to enhance your own personal style. And it felt amazing.

You knew every possible way to deliver an effective, non-lethal blow.  Of course, you needed a suit. Bruce offered to enhance the one you had worn the day they rescued you, but you wanted a new one. To you, that suit represented what you were created to be, and that is not who you are. You wanted something true to yourself, and he understood and wholeheartedly supported you. Damian helped you make a sketch, and together you’d designed the perfect representation of you. And you became Eclipse. The alignment of two heroes, though unintentional, created a whole new hero. You.

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#bruce wayne #clark kent #batfam #dick grayson #damian wayne #jason todd #tim drake #conner kent #batfam x reader #supers x reader #superfam #superbat #superman #batman #lois lane #clark kent x reader #bruce wayne x reader #platonic #x reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #x y/n #clone! reader #kon kent #damian wayne x reader #stephanie brown #barbara gordon #cassandra cain #young justice #project cadmus

[pellucid-constellations]

Of Oblivious Minds (3)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: You're positive Azriel is in love with Elain. It seems so obvious. But Cassian is laughing at you and suddenly nothing makes quite so much sense anymore.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: Azriel's POV (it's a warning here), angst

a/n: I am blown away by all of you and your support!! I really love writing for this fandom omg. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy ♡ Let me know what you think!! I'll get the next update up soon!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

~~

Azriel was losing his ever-loving mind. 

A few weeks ago, everything was fine. Not optimal, but fine. 

He knew his mate, and that was more than could be said for most of Prythian. But even more than that, he could love her from afar. He could make small remarks and catch the smiles they would elicit. He could send his shadows after her on her walks home, protecting her even though she had the entire Inner Circle looking out for her wellbeing. He could buy the ridiculously expensive pastries she loved and stock the kitchens with them, listening for the small gasps she let out each time she found them.

He could talk to you, listen to you, love you in his small ways, even if it wasn’t the ways in which he longed for. 

Because it wasn’t the right time yet. You hadn’t felt the bond for yourself. 

So, yes—admittedly, Azriel had not been in the most optimal position with you. But it was leaps and bounds better than the purgatory you were subjecting him to now. 

He mulled over his current reality as he sat opposite to you at the dining table. He had had to snag the seat from Mor, ripping the chair from her hand in an uncharacteristic show of aggression, and you hadn’t so much as looked up from your plate. He would’ve rather fought for the seats beside you, but Rhys and Cassian had been sitting before he even entered the room. So now he fought for your eyes and was too far away to offer any lingering, accidental touches. 

Not that you would reciprocate either. 

You were avoiding him, and Azriel was at his wit's end trying to decipher why. 

His shadows had relayed dismal reports, only whispering the words sad and alone and contemplative into his ears each morning. He could have guessed as much, if the display of emotions he had tried to comfort you through all those days ago told him anything. 

But Gods, did they really tell him nothing, because you hadn’t spoken to him since. 

“—that is certainly something to consider. Y/n, would you be open to the job?” 

“Hm?” you hummed, and Azriel watched as your eyes flickered over to Rhys in one abrupt movement. “Sorry, what?” 

Rhys raised a brow lined with humor, and Azriel realized he hadn’t been listening to the conversation either. “Helion has extended an invitation to the Night Court—for diplomatic relations and all. It’s mostly a weekend stay for show, but he has quite an extensive library. Feyre and I went last time so it would only be fair if—” 

“Yes,” you nodded, the most emotion Azriel had seen on your face in days blooming into a joyous array. “Of course, I would love to go. Are you kidding?” 

Rhys chuckled. “I figured. Helion has been quite eager to get you to come as well. Seemed like the perfect time.” 

Azriel didn’t miss the way the High Lord’s eyes shone with something other than mirth as he looked closer at the scholar… as he inspected your facade the same way Azriel had been for the past week. 

“When can I leave?” 

Something in Azriel scratched to a halt. “She’s to go alone?” 

Feyre offered the spymaster a soft smile from the other side of the table. “If she wishes. Helion’s invitation was open-ended.” 

“Take the vacation, I say,” Mor piped in, wine glass raised in a solitary toast. 

“Or… you could take me,” Cassian grinned beside you, jostling you in a playful grip. 

You sent a scoff his way. “Aren’t you banned?” 

“No, actually. I’m banned from Summer Court, which is completely unrelated.” 

A short laugh trickled from your lips. It wasn’t a full one, not like the ones Azriel was so used to—the ones he basked in—but it was a laugh, nonetheless.

He felt the way his eyes seemed to follow the crescendo of it, his blinks in time with the sweet sound. 

He committed it to memory. 

“Right, well let’s keep you away from neighboring courts as much as possible so we can avoid a repeat of that, okay?” 

Something like a grin fought at the side of Azriel’s mouth at your quip. 

Cassian prattled on. Something about unjust rules or ridiculous high lords—Azriel wasn’t paying attention. He was too caught up in you and the way you were so close to meeting his gaze. 

“Perhaps she shouldn’t go alone,” Azriel spoke up, interrupting his brother’s spiel. You still didn’t look at him, instead turning to catch Rhys’s response. 

“Azriel, I can assure you this is a safe visit,” Rhys offered. He knew. Everyone seemed to know but you. “It’s hardly even business. It’s more of a vacation. I’ve been shoving century-old relics in her face for the past few months. She deserves time to herself, don’t you think?” 

His High Lord was speaking in code. A terrible, frustrating code that really meant, “give her some distance.” 

Azriel had had enough of distance. 

He nodded his head all the same. 

And then, despite all odds, you looked at him. 

You looked at him and it was as if the air had been knocked from his lungs. As if he had been wrung out and stretched thin and every bone in his body forced him to sit up straighter. You were looking at him and Azriel couldn’t conceptualize the way the spectrum in his chest moved so quickly from utter relief to the brink of desolation. 

Because you looked at him as if you were broken. A sad—such a sad—smile graced your face, one he had never had the displeasure of seeing before, and he wanted to wipe it away. He wanted to kiss it from your face with soft touches and reassuring whispers and that was startling for Azriel because he usually kept his overwhelming urge to kiss you at bay. 

“I’ll bring you back a souvenir,” is all you said. Such simple words to accompany an expression that sent him reeling. 

“Thank you,” he replied, with the most sincerity he could muster. 

And then he held your gaze as it became downcast. He craned his neck to catch every last second of your eyes as they turned back down to the table.

It was hours later that Azriel found himself in the townhouse, boots creating an indent in the office carpet. Rhys sat just feet away from him, leaning back against the desk, waiting for the Shadowsinger to erupt. 

“I would like for you to position your spies further into Autumn. I know you have a few that have integrated into the court, but I need more intel on Eris and his plans.” 

“Of course.” 

“You can take out any currently residing in Day. Just for the next week or so. With y/n going, she can report any happenings.” 

A muscle in Azriel’s jaw jumped. “Would that be wise?” 

Rhys stared back at his brother, expression giving nothing away. “Why wouldn’t it be? Do you not trust y/n’s word?” 

Azriel’s wings were taut against his back. In truth, he hadn’t felt relaxed in days. With you leaving, that tension would surely pull him into thin compliance. 

“Obviously I trust her word, Rhysand.” 

“Rhysand? What have I done to earn your grievance?” the High Lord asked, crossing his arms over his chest, still the perfect picture of calm. 

Azriel was a juxtaposition before him as he clenched his hands and replied, “You already know.” 

“Do I know? I’m not sure you’ve been clear or honest with anyone. Y/n especially.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Rhys bent at the elbow and rubbed a restless hand across his jaw. Azriel ignored the movement in favor of holding eye contact with the High Lord. Azriel was being stubborn, he knew that, but there was no other way to be. 

He needed to be consistent and reliable. He needed to be a pillar for his family to lean on, and you were part of that. He wasn’t going to take that away from you—to be selfish and call upon a mating bond you hadn't even been made aware of yet. 

He wasn’t going to squander your friendship in the hopes of something more. 

There was a chance, no matter how much the prospect pained him to consider, that you wouldn’t want the bond. You had never hinted at wanting more with the spymaster, so there was no telling how you might react to the cauldron blessing you with a union. You could reject it, and with it would go your friendship. 

Just the thought sent ice through Azriel’s veins. 

Truth be told, he had never shown you many signs either. When the bond snapped months ago, it had taken time for Azriel to come to terms with the truth. He had ruminated on it amidst many sleepless nights, watched you from a new perspective over many dinners, and contemplated the path that had led him to you. 

And then he had regretted. Cauldron had he regretted. 

The feeling still lingered, a reminder of each woman he had taken to his bed before you. All of the fae that had meant nothing, and even the ones that had boarded on something, he wished he could do away with.

Because you had been privy to them all. He knew you had witnessed a few late-night trysts, and even worse, that you had watched him pine after Mor for a century. It all seemed so frivolous now; it all paled in comparison to you. 

And the absolute worst part of it all is that he knew. 

He knew how easy it would be to fall in love with you from the start, so he pretended not to notice. 

He threw himself into impractical longing and meaningless lovers and he pretended that it didn’t hurt to look at you. 

The bond had only cemented his foolishness. 

He hardly had a chance with you by the time it snapped. 

“Late night then, Az?” 

You had teased him over breakfast just days before the bond had snapped for him, a small smile on your face as you lounged at the table early in the morning. At the time, Azriel had bit the inside of his cheek and reeled in his snarkiness. He had avoided your gaze, avoided the robe that barely covered your nightgown, and made himself toast in silence. He had already coaxed the blonde fae out of his bed, and he hadn’t needed a reminder of the woman he had been imagining all throughout the night. 

Because that had been something else he opted to ignore—that he pictured you, imagined you, at all times. 

It snapped three days later. He had been accompanying you through Velaris. “Shopping for fun,” you had said, “and I hate to go alone.”

The only thing Azriel had taken home that day was a gaping hole in his chest and the knowledge that lying to himself had brought him nothing but pain. 

The months following were different. 

Everything was different. 

But for you, he had come to the grim realization, nothing was different at all. He was still Azriel, your friend Azriel, who was secretive and private and cared from afar. You still pictured him as a man who chose his lovers based on convenience and quick practicality even though he hadn’t so much as looked at another woman since your emotions began flowing through his chest. 

Gods, your emotions. They were so positive, so addicting, he could sit back and live his days through you until the end of time. You had so much unrestricted joy coursing through you—so much curiosity and delight. Part of Azriel dreaded the day you did recognize the bond; it would dim the connection to you.

That day in the library had been the first time the bond had chafed against his lungs. He had felt the earthquake beneath his feet and thought nothing of it, but then your fear punctured his being and he had run so fast his wings ached. 

And then you started having nightmares, ones he couldn’t fix, and Azriel began to feel like he was losing you. Like the bond was withering and eroding within him and you along with it. 

“How long, Azriel?” Rhys’s voice cut through the air with a harshness. 

The shadowsinger breathed through his nose, jaw tight. 

“Tell me. Tell me how long you’re going to keep this up for.” 

“You don’t understand, Rhys,” came Azriel’s low reply. “None of you do.” 

The High Lord scoffed. “Right, because I had it so easy with Feyre. Az, mates are complicated—” 

“Don’t,” Azriel breathed. A dangerous shakiness accompanied the word.

“Explain it to me. Help me to understand how—” 

“There was nothing for you to lose!” The rise of the shadowsinger’s voice sent Rhys into silence. “There was nothing! You hadn’t known Feyre for three centuries—hadn’t known what it was like to see her cry over worthless males or laugh until she was doubled over. You didn’t have time to memorize the sound of her voice or understand how it felt to lose that small piece of her. Because she won’t even talk to me anymore and—” 

Azriel cut himself off, moving for the first time since he entered office. He paced, the motion of his feet doing little to dispel the tension from the air or from his body. Azriel tugged a hand through his hair, his shadows following the aggressive pull and weaving through the strands. 

“How long?” Rhys asked again, but this time, Azriel knew that he was asking a different question. One that even he himself had avoided answering. 

The shadowsinger paused. His next words were tainted and his voice cracked. 

“I think forever.”

Part 4

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfic #acotar fanfiction #azriel #azriel angst

[chezzywezzy]

Yandere Big Daddy (1/4)

Word count ; 4.0k

*Edited.

*Dedicated to @sweetpotato-97.

Andrew Ryan slammed his hands into the wooden table. “The splices are destroying all of our hard work. Ms. Tenenbaum can only do so much to preserve the little sisters! All of you must get off your lazy arses and come up with a solution to this.”

Silence fell over the board room. Nobody was able to meet the man’s furious gaze. Sitting across from me was Dr. Gilbert Alexander, who was just as baffled by the situation. We were partners in this expedition to mine ADAM and gather more resources for Rapture, but with the surplus of splices showing up because of it, we were brainstorming how to fight back.

The little sisters were helpless in the situation. Human soldiers weren’t obedient enough to serve as a solution either.

There had to be a way to graft human strength and the little sister’s obedience into one. Perhaps a… Big Daddy for the little sisters.

I flipped a page on my notebook and began scribbling furiously. I felt everyone’s gaze watch me with intrigue, but I did not yield. I first drew a compare and contrast of the two species. I then pondered Dr. Yi Suchong’s abilities as a psychologist. Often, he ranted about conditioning, and that would most likely serve as a large part in the potential protector.

“Dr. L/n. What are you so frivolously writing about?”

I clicked my tongue in annoyance. “Shut up. I’m thinking.”

I heard his disdained sigh, but most of my coworkers were used to my rudeness. It was never my intention to be mean or cold; I just hated when people disrupted my thought processes.

Going back to the clipboard, I wrote the word ‘VOLUNTEERS’ in bold letters and circled it. I paused a moment. Humans were mammals. With what I was conjuring, I wanted it so that humans were mammals but not so much humans. 

Rapture was deep within the ocean; perhaps conditioning them to forget their own speech and communicate via whale noises would serve them well in the environment. Satisfied, I drew a line from the ‘VOLUNTEERS’ and wrote ‘STEP 1 : ANIMAL (WHALE?) NOISES’.

Humans were physically vulnerable to the splicers. They would need some sort of armor that aided them in their ocean exploration but also had a fighting function. Perhaps… a drill. That would help mine ADAM, too.

I sloppily drew what my mind envisioned. A diver suit, except one hand was replaced with a functioning drill. The diver head would be large and communication would serve through that. There would be some sort of speaker while there could be colorful lights to indicate mood changes and aggression.

I thought back to my days on land, where there were street lights. Those colors would do quite nicely.

I felt someone hovering behind me. Most likely my boss, Mr. Ryan. But I paid him no heed.

I would also have to graft the human skin in with the diver suit so that the suit would function properly. As a skilled surgeon, even I was unsure of how to do the procedure thus far. But this was a brainstorming session, so I didn’t have to fill every hole quite yet.

All of my thoughts were wishful thinking, but after that, Yi Suchong would help me further by conducting conditioning with the ‘Big Daddies’ with their designated little sisters.

“Done,” I suddenly announced.

Mr. Ryan’s arm reached over my shoulder and snatched my clipboard. I leaned against the chair with a satisfied smirk, observing as he read my notes. I noticed his eyebrows raise in surprise; like usual, he had that look of ‘why didn’t I think of that myself?’ 

All of my coworkers were staring at me. As though I was going to explain it to their small, insane heads. I would, maybe, but only after receiving the green light form my boss.

“This is… brilliant. Genius. This is exactly what we need,” he announced. “L/n, a raise is due for you. Immediately. Besides that, we have no time to waste. Dr. Suchong, your job is to collect ‘volunteers’ from mental asylums and prisoners. Further details will be given when Dr. L/n and I plan further and the rest of you are needed. Meeting dismissed. L/n, come with me to discuss further.”

I rose from my seat, snatching the clipboard back. I collected my things and shoved them in my bag. Dr. Alexander and Ms. Tenenbaum bid me a farewell, but I ignored them, incredibly zoned in on the possibilities of the Big Daddy. ‘Big Daddy’ was the name I was drawn to. It made sense but was also rather catchy.

I followed Mr. Ryan out. We walked down the checkerboard floors until we arrived at the end of the hall. He opened the door to his office for me. He closed the door behind him and we sat across from each other. I placed my clipboard on the desk and flattened my uniform.

He slid the clipboard closer to him. With a pen, he pointed to ‘STEP 1 : ANIMAL (WHALE?) NOISES’ “Explain the thought process. Why this? Why not immediate grafting?”

“It’s unsafe to not condition the volunteers first. They would fight back because they are still in the mindset of being a human. Sound is one of the easiest ways to condition something. Even I know of Pavlov and his dog. But, when they have transformed, they’ll also need a form of communication with one another. That made me immediately think of whales, which are also mammals. Plus… Rapture’s in the ocean. It makes sense for camouflage.”

He nodded along. “Genius. I could not have chosen a better scientist to bring to Rapture. Now… how would the drill be used?”

“With chemical or physical cues. Although I don’t have the details down, I’m thinking that the light will go red and signal the brain to signal the arm to start drilling.”

“That makes sense. But… is that engineeringly possible, is the question.”

I shook my head and sat back in my chair. “Are you doubting me, Ryan?”

He chuckled, also sitting back in his seat. “I suppose you’re right. If your beautiful mind can think this up, you can engineer it. I’m assuming you’ll be assigning most of this work to Dr. Alexander, Steinman, and Suchong?”

“Yes. I want to be able to monitor the situation. Although they aren’t as capable and intelligent, they’re good workers,” I conceded. “In the meantime, I must be going.” I rose to my feet.

“But I haven’t dismissed you. We’re not done talking.”

“I’m dismissing myself. We’re done talking. I must rent a submarine at once to fetch authentic whale calls and also begin engineering the suits.”

“You’re my best worker, L/n. Go right ahead. Report in on how things are going as soon as you return from the expedition.”

“That’s your prerogative. I have better things to do than reporting to you, boss,” I replied playfully, opening the office door. 

He bid me a good-bye, but I didn’t reply. I knew he found it amusing, as I could hear him laughing from outside the door.

But I didn’t care what he found entertaining. I had work to do.

~~~

“Conditioning isn’t going as planned,” Suchong nervously informed. “Not only have most of the volunteers been resistant to remaining in the diving suits, they’re resistant to the vocal conditioning. Some of our volunteers have already bashed their heads in and have committed suicide.”

As we strolled down the lab, I observed the individual cells. They had sound-proof glass walls and inside in the corner was a speaker out of reach. Suchong’s point became obvious and I walked past several cells where blood was splattered agains the glass and a collapsed diving suit was hardly visible. As we walked past, there was an individual currently attempting to bash their head in.

With sudden alarm, I motioned to the volunteer. “Stop them this instant!”

Soldiers, hearing my demand, rushed down the corridor. I unlocked the door for them in the meanwhile. I dashed into the room and pressed the off button for the echoing whale noises. The speaker fell deaf, but the volunteer continued trying to kill themselves. Glass was sprawled across the ground, and when the guard pulled the volunteer away, there was blood dripping down the wall.

I stepped in front of the volunteer. I noticed that it was a man. He had stubble that had consumed most of his jaw and neck, and his face was thinning. His skin was an unhealthy pale yellow and he had darkness under his eyes. Despite his zombie-like appearance, he still had enough energy to spit blood at my face spitefully.

I didn’t flinch. Instead, I let it drop to the ground as I took a tissue out to wipe it away. “How unfortunate. Guards, Suchong, come along.”

I began marching out of the room. Despite the man’s attempt to escape, He was dragged against his will. We marched into the private lab where Steinman did most of work. Blood was splattered agains the table from another one of his unsuccessful surgeries. But, regardless, I had the man strapped to the table, despite his screams of agony.

I grabbed a syringe and unscrewed the diving helmet. I then inserted the syringe into his neck and anesthetized him. Once the man was passed out, I sternly turned my attention to the guards. “All of you should be preventing this from happening. I demand that you begin instating handcuffs to their bed so that this doesn’t happen again.” I eyed the various blood stains on their uniforms. “Also… call a janitor for Christ’s sake! Now, get the hell out of here instead of wasting more time!” I boomed.

Shakily, the guards did as told and left me and Suchong by ourselves. I let out a sigh, rubbing my forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I was trying to get the situation under control —“

“Lies! You were scared to receive the consequences of your failure,” I snapped. “Regardless, though, I have no time to be reprimanding a failure of a man like you.”

He was shaking in his boots. I liked that. I like having power over my coworkers. I liked knowing I could treat them however I wanted without consequences because I was second only to Ryan himself. I grabbed a damp cloth and began wiping the unconscious volunteer’s forehead.

“How convincing of an actor are you, Suchong?”

“An - an actor? Well, I’m a psychologist for a reason —“

“A failing one. At the bare minimum you can feign pity, can you not?”

“Y - yes, I suppose I can…”

“Good. Now, bring this man’s information. Clearly, animalistic conditioning still needs its human traits.”

“May I ask —“

“No. His information. Now.”

Suchong scurried out of the lab with his tail behind his legs. I smirked, but inevitably began unseating the man. I pulled it off from his feet and dragged the heavy metal suit to the corner. I planned to personally fix it.

A few minutes later, Suchong returned with a clipboard. I snatched it from him, reading its contents

NAME : Martín Baudelaire

ETHNICITY : French

AGE : 27

BIRTH DATE : August 3rd

OCCUPATION : Asylum Seeker

All the rest was absolutely useless. I stared Suchong down. “Look at me.” He reluctantly did, so scared out of his boots that he struggled to maintain eye contact. “What we are going to do is use what you psychologists call manipulation.

“We have to ease them into it. The volunteers are scared. Unsure. Desperate for freedom. Your job is to befriend them and pretend that you’re against this whole institution and you’re working for their freedom. But in order to do so, they have to ‘pretend’ to be progressing in the grafting. They’ll be under our control before they know it. They’ll be much more susceptible to the conditioning if they think they need to do it.”

He nodded. “I’m not sure why I didn’t think of that sooner…”

“It’s because you’re an idiot, Suchong. And that’s why I, in order to prevent as much failure as possible, will be closely working with this man -“ I scanned the clipboard once more. “ Martín Baudelaire. Asylum seeker and… feisty French man.”

He stared at me expectantly when I fell silent. I tilted my head and eyed him up and down. “Well?” I suddenly shouted. “Get to it before I fire you, you worthless bum!”

“Would you kindly stop talking to me that way?” he finally snapped, his fists balling up in anger.

“I’ll stop scolding you when you start being competent, Suchong! You’re the one who let our precious volunteers kill themselves while you just sat on the sidelines eating popcorn! Take some responsibility, you twat!”

“Stop acting like you’re better than me. Stop pretending that you have power. You can’t do shit —“

“Oh, yeah? So you’re telling me that if I sauntered into Ryan’s office and informed him that your sector of your volunteers that you were in charge of had volunteers killing themselves left and right with no solution for the past week without telling anyone, Ryan wouldn’t fire you on the spot?” I seethed, stepping toward him and jutting my finger against his lab-coated chest.

He was left speechless. He knew I was right, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“I’m being fucking forgiving. Now get your sorry are out of here and be productive. Do your fucking job, Suchong.”

He bowed his head. “…Fine.”

He turned on his heel and exited the laboratory. My glare followed him, but the moment he left, my anger dissipated into a defined annoyance. “…Bloody idiots. The whole lot of them. I swear, I have to do everything myself around here.”

I wandered back over to Mr. Baudelaire. I stripped him of his clothes and wiped away all of the blood, stench, and dried pee. For the time being, I realized that I would have to insert a pocket for urination; alas, for the first time, I had overlooked something. But it’s not like anyone else on staff remembered that human beings urinate. And besides, even I wasn’t perfect.

Afterwards, I prepared a dish of food and drinks. It was simple, as the splices had infiltrated most of Rapture’s food supply, and the rest was hoarded by the first class. I found it a tad annoying, since at the end of the day, I was working my ass off for Rapture to be, first and foremost, sustainable, but every business cycle had its crashes.

I checked my watch. I hadn’t used a large dosage, so he should be waking up in a minute. In the meanwhile, I bandaged his face wounds and prepared to be a manipulative liar for the sake of science. I conjured up as guilty of an expression as I could, pawing at his various bruises. I almost did feel bad. I knew more than most people how fragile the human flesh was.

He began to stir under my touch. My fingers ghosted over his locked up wrist. This volunteer was too thin; it made me make a mental note to scold Suchong and Alexander about feeding the volunteers more regularly. God forgive the subjects starve before completing even the first stage of transition.

“Wh…” he groaned.

I pulled away, ready to put on a show.

His eyes fluttered open. I had to say, the man was rather handsome. If we met under any other circumstances, I would have offered to buy him a drink. What, with his sharp jawline and charming stubble…

“You.”

I was brought back to reality, blinking, and meeting his furious glare. I cleared my throat. “I hope you are feeling better. I… hate seeing what they’re doing here, really,” I started.

His eyes flashed with surprise. But, his fury quickly returned, and he tried spitting at my face. But due to the incline of the chair, it only dribbled over his chin. I sighed, grabbing a tissue from my pocket to wipe it. “Fuck you,” he said with a very thick French accent. “If you hate what they’re doing, you would not be here.”

I frowned. “You’re wrong, actually. I’m being forced to work here. They’re holding my child hostage.”

“Hos…tage?”

“It means that they’re keeping me here, just like you,” I spoke slowly, enunciating my words.

His entire expression changed to a soft, sympathetic frown. “How… do I know you are not liar?”

I bit my lip. Struck with an idea, I pulled up my sleeve, revealing my many childhood scars. “They hurt me and my child. I promise… I do not want to be here.”

He licked his lips, and that’s when I realized I shouldn’t be laying it on too thick. I had to reinforce my words with kindness. I reached over to the tin table and held out a glass of water. His eyes were trained to the glass thirstily. I held it to his parched lips and slowly let him down the entire glass. I took the glass away, even though his lips followed in hope of soaking up every last drop.

“Do you want more?”

“Non… Why am I here?”

I gulped, casting my gaze away. “Well, you are in Rapture. A city in the ocean. Under the ocean are plants and energy called ADAM. There are also monsters made of ADAM. You are here to save the city from the monsters by becoming a ‘Big Daddy.’ Your job will be to protect little girls filled with ADAM from the monsters. It is a good cause, but bad people are the rulers.”

He nodded, understanding. “Is your… child filled with ADAM?”

“Yes. Maybe, if you live long enough, you will meet her,” I heaved. I grabbed a cracker and pushed it to his lips. He chomped down eagerly, not needing to ask for me to know he wanted more. I was aware that what they were being fed during stage one was raw fish and barnicals, just like real whales do; this was originally strategized by me, as it helps with adapting to life outside of Rapture and in the ocean. “I… have taken you here. Because I want to help you and everyone be free.”

His eyes widened, and tears glided down his cheeks. Gently, I wiped them away, sending him a reassuring smile. God damn, I was a good actor. I just made a grown man cry. “How?”

“I hate to say this… but you will have to fake it and listen. Only by fake-becoming stage one, speaking only with whale sounds, will you get the chance to be free. When they see you have become good they will take you deep in Rapture, where I can help set you and others free.”

“Thank you. But what about your child?”

“I… am not sure. I will try and escape with her when I set you free. We can go together.”

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. “Merci.”

“De rien,” I replied cheekily.

His eyes widened, and he began to shake his hands excitedly. “Pouvez-vous Parker Français?”

“Oui. Un peu.” I went over to his suit. “I will leave you here for a while. I must fix your suit. The assholes did not make a place to pee.”

He nodded eagerly. “…Merci.”

I sent him one last smile as I pulled his suit over to the door. “De rien, Martín.”

~~~

Alexander, Suchong, and I strolled down the hallway. Even over the course of the week, under my strict supervision, suicides have been minimized and the lab cells were far cleaner. The volunteers under scrutiny were also calmer. I had a feeling that Suchong had a ‘thank you for being so genius’ bubbling in his throat, as the use of manipulation had greatly depleted any rebellious actions.

Alexander was intently staring at the charts on his clipboard. “There’s progress. The majority of the volunteers have already been caught mimicking the whale noises, and there’s a spike in imitation during meal times. Guards have also reported less screaming and overall disruptions.”

“Are there any notable outliers?” I inquired, clasping my hands together behind my back, shoes clacking against the floor.

He flipped over his pages. “Oh - yes, actually. First is a MeiLi Lü, who was actually one of the patients who attempted suicide. I know there’s one other… Ah, yes, Martín Baudelaire. If I recall, he’s the volunteer that you’ve personally taken under your wing?”

A smirk threatened to befall my features. “Yes. I’m not surprised. The volunteer was rather receptive toward me. This, boys, is how you get work done.”

Alexander chuckled, but I could feel Suchong staring me down angrily. I feigned innocence, clicking my tongue as I glanced over those in the cells.

“Oh - now that I see it, yes… You might want to check up on Mr. Baudelaire. Over the last day or so, there has been no reported whale imitations.”

I nodded. "Precisely what I came here to do. Also, I want to make a change to the exposure.” They were silent, waiting for me to go on. “Instead of custom whale noises, I want the speakers to be hooked up to the one on their right. That way, they are in fact, conditioning one another. That way, in the future, the they have achieved their Big Daddy form, they will recognize their coworkers easily.”

I stopped in front of Baudelaire’s chamber. I peered at the two men expectantly over my shoulder. “Well? Chop chop. I want this to be instated by the hour. Understood?”

“Y - yes ma’am,” Suchong squeaked, clearly fearing for whether I lost my temper. 

Alexander gave him a peculiar stare while nodding. “Genius as always, L/n. We’ll get right to it. Good-bye.”

I turned away and took my key out of my pocket. I noticed that the volunteer rose to his feet. Even through the sound-proof glass, I could hear him bellowing out mimicked whale noises. I unlocked the door and entered. I forced an exhalation as I approached the soon-to-be Big Daddy.

“Martín. There is something I must tell you.”

He halted his whale noises expectantly. “Quelle absurdité?” his muffled voice answered.

“They are going to start recording inside here,” I fibbed, knowing damn well we already have been since the beginning. “It means I cannot talk to you anymore without being strange and getting in trouble.”

Even within the large metal diving suit, his shoulders slouched, causing a creak of the metal nuggets. “Lorsque?”

“In under an hour,” I said, bowing my head. With a groan of metal, he raised the metal arm and sympathetically patted my head. The metal arm trailed past my head to my arms, where he came to a screeching halt. 

“C’est bon. Je te… fais confiance.”

As badly as I wanted to grin pridefully for successfully persuading my volunteer, I instead let my body sink deeper in feigned despair. Of course he trusted me. How could he not? I had come up with such a sad lie that nobody, not even a man who didn’t quite grasp English perfectly, could see through it. 

“Promise…”

“Yes?” I looked up, meeting the foggy black glass of the diver helmet. 

“Vous me libérerez. N’oubliez pas. We will… be free, you and me.”

I smiled, tilting my head, and letting my hand reside on his large metal one. “Of course, Martín Baudelaire. Je n’oublierai pas.” I disturbed the moment, stepping away and checking my watch. “I have to go. I cannot look strange. I will come see you soon. But remember, become the whale.”

The big metal helmet nodded, and he imitated the noises, just for me. I felt a sick satisfaction from his thoughtless obedience. This was going a lot better than I could have ever anticipated. 

Martín Baudelaire, you were going to be my first successful Big Daddy.

#yandere #x reader #x y/n #self insert #yandere bioshock #bioshock #bioshock x reader #bioshock rapture #bioshock game #frank fontaine #subject delta #eleanor lamb #jack wynand #bioshock 1 #bioshock 2 #yandere big daddy #big daddy x reader #big daddy

[rosyblooom]

not so perfect strangers | ln4 smau

PAIRING: lando norris x private fem!reader SUMMARY: after getting completely splashed by a passing car, y/n throws all 'stranger danger' warnings out the window and hitches a ride home.

Instagram

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption: OMFG THIS CAR JUST SPLASHED ME NOW I'M SOAKED😭😭😭 couldn't even see the driver ughh ]

[ caption: it's been almost 1 hr and i still look like a wet rat🙃 soo guess who's hitching a ride? (if i don't update within 2 hrs CALL THE POLICE PLS) ]

[ tagged: yourbestfriend, yourfriend + more ]

Instagram

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption: no need to worry anymore, your girl made it back home🙂‍↕️ ]

[ tagged: yourbestfriend, yourfriend + more ]

Instagram

yourusername

liked by yourbestfriend, landonorris, yourfriend and 68 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername "stranger danger" but not this one !! 🙂‍↕️

view all 22 comments

yourfriend girl what- is this who I think it is???

yourusername 🤭🤭

yourbestfriend UHM DINNER TOOO????

yourusername messaging u rn girly🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

landonorris Again soon?👀

yourusername again tmrw? landonorris Again tomorrow. yourbestfriend what. the. fuck.

yourfriend pretty girl <33

(liked by author)

landonorris posted to his story!

[ caption: Day 2 ]

[ tagged: yourusername ]

Twitter

Instagram

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption 1: mixing friend groups >>> ] [ caption 2: another day, another slay 🙂‍↕️ ]

[ tagged: landonorris, yourbestfriend, yourfriend + more ]

Tiktok

A couple days later...

yourusername posted to her close friends!

[ caption 1: lol ] [ caption 2: bye ]

Instagram

yourusername posted to her close friends!

[ caption 1: this is awkward ahaha... how about we all just forget about my silly goofy little story FOREVER AGO pretty please😁 ]

[ tagged: landonorris ]

story replies:

yourbestfriend "he's dead to me"🤡🤡

yourusername pfft tomato tomato right ahaha 😁

yourfriend folding after only 5 days is clown shit lmfao

yourfriend LMAOOO where did all that energy go??

yourusername new phone who dis😀

yourfriend Y/N STAND TF UP OMFG???

yourusername b-but pretty flowers🥺 yourfriend a lost cause I see...

yourfriend I spy with my little eye a whole damn circus!

yourfriend so real tbh

yourusername i knew you'd get me babe 🙂‍↕️

[ ... ]

yourusername posted to her close friends!

[ caption: STOP EATING ME UP IN THE REPLIES OMFG?? PLS FRIENDS I'M JUST A GIRLLL ]

A few months later...

Instagram

f1gossipofficial

liked by username, username, username, and 13,007 others

f1gossipofficial According to this picture sent to us by a fan in China, it seems Lando Norris has brought Y/N along with him for the upcoming Grand Prix.

The duo has been the subject of rumours and sightings together for a while now. Could this weekend finally mark the debut of a new wag?

They certainly appear close in the photo! 👀

view all 845 comments

username just fell to my knees in walmart🧎‍♂️

username aw that picture is so cuteee i already love them together <33

username i feel like she's stuck up tbh cause i've been requesting to follow her for almost a month now and nothing. like girl you're not that important please😒

username uhmm...you're a weirdo username lmaooo how about you go live your life then if she isn't that important what💀

username I saw them too!! I asked for a pic with lando and she was super sweet and took it for us :)

username aw that makes me happy to hear username she did the same for me in monaco 🫶

username she gives bad vibes...

username y'all say that about everyone omg stfu

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption 1: entering my lucky charm era hmm?👀 ] [ caption 2: AHHH P2 OMFG!!!! SO PROUD OF U LAN ❤️ ❤️ (you're welcome also 😌) ]

[ tagged: landonorris ]

lando.jpg

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo, martingarrix, and 501,883 others

lando.jpg 🇨🇳

view all 3,097 comments

username rip lando's single era 😞💔

username crying and throwing up fr

yourusername ❤️

(liked by author)

username day 593 of begging you to make your insta public🥹 username with the way y'all treated Luisa I doubt that will happen username who tf is y'all?🤨

username P2 LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOO

username ik everyone's been hating but I actually like that y/n's super private bc it shows she's with him for the right reasons :)

username right she seems genuine 🫶

username so proud of you lando 🧡🧡

username LAST PIC SHOULD BE MEEE

1:22 ───────ㅇ───── 2:22

#f1 smau #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #f1 imagine #ln4 x you #lando norris smau #lando norris x female reader #lando x y/n #lando x you #lando norris fanfic #smau #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagine #f1 instagram au #fanfic #f1 fic #lando x reader #ln4 fic #f1 scenario #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #lando norris one shot #formula 1 x you