#I THINK I SAID ... more than I should’ve but....

[hoe4hotchner]

I know you are probably so tired of this but I NEED more smoker Hotch, I do know why but the pure thought of Aaron Hotchner smoking just does something to me, I also wanted to say thank you so much for all that you do for the Aaron hotchner fan base and even the criminal minds fandom ❤️

Bad habits | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader | WC: 0.7k | CW: Smoking cigarettes

A/N: I'm never tired of getting requests (cause let's be honest smoker!hotch is too hot for his own good) Thank you so much for the kind words. It means a lot to hear. 💕💕💕

The first time you caught Aaron smoking, it was in his garage, out of all places. He leaned against the back wall, one foot propped up against the wall, a lit cigarette dangling between his fingers. The faint glow from the overhead bulb cast shadows across his face, highlighting the tension etched into his features.

For a moment, you just stood there, frozen in the doorway, watching. This was Aaron Hotchner, your steadfast, composed partner. The man who was usually all discipline, who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders without ever letting it show. And yet, here he was, indulging in what could only be described as a private ritual.

You crossed your arms and leaned against the doorframe, breaking the silence. “I didn’t take you for a smoker.”

Aaron turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours. His expression didn’t shift much, but you could tell you’d caught him off guard. The hand holding the cigarette hovered near his side like he wasn’t sure whether to hide it or finish it.

“It’s... occasional,” he said after a pause, his voice gravelly, almost sheepish. “Stress, mostly.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping further into the garage. “Stress? Really? You expect me to believe this is a spur-of-the-moment thing?”

The faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “You think I have a habit?”

“Oh, I know you do,” you shot back, your tone teasing. “You’ve clearly done this before. What, do you sneak out here after bad cases? After long nights at work?” You'd meant it as a joke, but deep down, you knew that some of it probably held truth to it.

He exhaled a thin stream of smoke, the tendrils curling lazily. “Something like that.”

You moved closer, the faint scent of smoke mixed with the familiar aroma of the garage. It should’ve been off-putting, but there was something about the way the cigarette looked in his hand that made your pulse quicken.

“You know, it’s terrible for you,” you said, tilting your head as you studied him.

His lips quirked into a smile, closing his eyes for a split second, more amusement than apology. “So I’ve heard.”

For a moment, the two of you stood there in silence. You couldn’t stop watching him — the way his fingers held the cigarette, the way his jaw tightened as he brought it to his lips, and the way the soft glow of the embers lit his face up with each inhale.

It shouldn’t have been attractive. But it was.

“You’re staring,” Aaron said, breaking the spell.

You blinked, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Am not.”

“You are,” he replied. He held the cigarette out to you, his eyes studying your reaction. “Want to try?”

You frowned, narrowing your eyes. “Is this how you justify it? Getting me to join in so you feel less guilty?”

His smirk deepened, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of mischief in his gaze. “Maybe.”

Your lips twitched as you took the cigarette from his hand, your fingers brushing against his. The contact was brief but electric, and you had to steel yourself against the flutter it sent through your chest.

The cigarette felt foreign between your fingers, and you glanced at Aaron for guidance. He stepped closer, his presence steady and grounding.

“Breathe in slowly,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth. “Not too deep. It’ll burn if you’re not used to it.”

You followed his instructions, the taste sharp and smoky as it filled your lungs. It wasn’t pleasant — not really — but the way Aaron watched you, his gaze steady and just a little amused, made the moment strangely intimate.

When you exhaled, you handed the cigarette back to him, coughing slightly. “That’s disgusting.”

Aaron chuckled softly. “I didn’t say it was enjoyable.”

“Then why do it?” you asked, crossing your arms.

He took one last drag, his eyes distant for a moment before killing the cigarette in the ashtray on the table next to him. “Because sometimes,” he said, his voice quieter now, “it’s the only thing that helps.”

Your heart twisted at the admission. He didn’t have to say what it was — you knew fully well what he meant, and you admired him for taking on that burden.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his hand. “You know you don’t have to carry everything alone, right?”

“I know.”

And maybe he did. But as he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss to your temple, you made a silent vow to remind him as often as he needed.

[obxsummer]

i still need you // ghost of you

pairing: jj maybank x routledge!reader

summary: late night conversations turn ugly, jj sets off on an adventure with his dad, and an SOS text leads to a life stopping moment for john b.

warnings: nothing you haven’t seen in obx before

navigation -- series masterlist

ask me anything or support me via a ko-fi

--

JJ Maybank loved you. 

If everything else in the world was suddenly a lie, that statement would remain true. JJ Maybank loved you so much, he swore it was the only thing he was good at. 

He never realized how valuable it was to have someone so in tune with his every motion, his every thought and reaction. You were always there no matter what was going on, and you always knew how to handle it.

He was trying. He was trying really hard to give you that same effort, that same love and attention you gave him every time, but he had to admit that he was struggling. What was supposed to be a simple trip to the bathroom was slowly turning into the worst conversation of his life, and as he watched your walls crash in front of him, he didn’t know what to do.

“Are you pregnant?”

The question had you flying out of the hammock and back into the bedroom before you could even get a word out. JJ was standing in the bathroom doorway, Sarah’s capped pregnancy test in his hand. Your heart fell to your ass and you just stared at him.

“Babe?”

You shook your head, tears forming faster than you wished when you realized you’d been so unfair to him. “JJ, I gotta talk to you.”

“Are you pregnant?” He repeated the question much quieter, his tone still soft and careful as he approached. 

You shook your head again. “No. It’s not mine.”

JJ nodded, his gaze dropping to the two lines on the test as he stared at it. “Then…?”

“Sarah’s.”

There was a sense of relief that overtook him, but part of him was also sad. Starting a family with you is something JJ had been hesitant about, especially with his own paternal history. He didn’t know if he could fix the curse of his dad’s behavior. Both of his so called fathers' behavior, actually. 

“Would… Would you-”

“I can’t have kids.”

JJ blinked and looked up at you. “Huh?”

You crossed your arms over your chest protectively. “Because of everything… with- with Rafe. They said there’s…it’s not impossible but it’s extremely high risk and unlikely.” 

When he was silent, you knew this was a dealbreaker. You should’ve told him, given him a chance to run before he put a ring on your finger and gave all this effort to you.

“I know I should’ve told you, so if…if you want this back, it’s okay. I don’t blame you if you wanna act like this never happened, but I’m sorry and-”

“Shut up.” The command sent you silent as you stopped pulling the ring from your finger, eyes going wide in shock. JJ shook his head in disbelief and you were somehow so terrified of what he was going to say. This could very well be the end of everything you’d been through all because you couldn’t be honest with him. 

“You… you think I would leave you? Over this?” JJ’s emotions were getting the best of him now and he couldn’t pull his gaze from your teary one. “I have your initials inked into my skin. Do you really think I would do that?”

You shrugged. “I’m not… I’m just giving you an out. Incase you want it.”

“Why would I ever want that?” He was much louder now and you almost took a step back before reminding yourself that this was JJ, your JJ. “Why would I ever leave you over something you can’t control? Sweetheart, I love you more than anything. If you wanted kids, fine, we would have them. But if you didn’t, or you couldn’t, that’s okay. I’m not willing to risk losing you over some annoying ass toddler that messes up all my shit for a handful of years.”

He pointed the small pink stick in your direction, his own eyes wet as his frustration carried into his tone. You knew it wasn’t directed at your actions, rather the way your head had been handling everything, but it still felt weird. “Don’t you ever, and I mean ever hide something like this from me just because your head is telling you, I don’t want you. Because-”

The door slammed open at the worst opportunity possible, both you and JJ turning to see Sarah and John B looking back. You gasped at them, knowing everything probably looked and sounded so wrong. “Oh, fuck.”

“It’s mine!” Sarah practically yelled, running forward to grab the test from JJ’s hand as she stood in front of him at her full height. “It’s mine, okay? And drop the fucking tone with her, JJ. You have no idea what she’s been through and-”

“Hey, it’s-” John B held a hand in front of you when you went to intercept Sarah. JJ’s eyes were wide at the words coming out of the girl’s mouth but he didn’t argue back with her. 

“Sarah, he didn’t-” 

She turned to hold a finger to you before continuing to lay into JJ. “If you so much as think about saying another nasty word to her, I’ll cut your dick off in your sleep. I swear to God, JJ, you have-”

“He wasn’t doing anything!” You blurted out when her threat became a little too realistic for your liking. “We were talking, okay and-”

“He was yelling-”

“Because I was being selfish!” You snapped at John B, frustration and emotion boiling over. “I should’ve told him everything a while ago, and I didn’t. This is on me, okay? Leave him alone.”

Three sets of eyes watched you carefully as you laid the most vulnerable pieces of you out for them to see. 

“It’s my fault,” You nearly broke there, a breathy hiccup escaping as you tried to keep it calm. “I don’t want the pity. I don’t need it. I should’ve fought back against him, tried to defend myself more but I-”

John B shook his head, his voice breaking as he whispered your name. 

You ignored him and looked straight at JJ. “He ruined the best thing I could ever give you. You deserved the chance to correct all the things your dad did to you, the things he put you through. All I wanted was to give you everything you never had, to be everything you never had because you deserve that and so much more. And I let Rafe Cameron of all people ruin me… I’m ruined for you.”

You felt like you were witnessing a slow motion car crash. All of your nightmares had consisted of one thing: losing. Losing JJ, losing your friends, losing yourself. You felt like it was coming to life in front of you.

“I can’t do this.”

Stabbing you in the heart would’ve hurt less than JJ’s statement, but you had to accept it. You gave him an out and he was taking it. Part of you wanted him to blame you because it would at least give you some confirmation on what he was thinking. All you could do was nod and look at the floor. You’d finally done it, you’d manage to push away the one person who knew you inside and out and you only had yourself to blame.

“I can’t sit here and let you think a single word of that is true.” JJ pulled at his hair. God, you looked so broken in front of him and he couldn’t believe this whole night was turning in this direction. He crossed the room to hold your face in his hands, heart breaking at the tears on your cheeks and the way you shivered from his touch.  “I’ve told you time and time again that you’re everything to me. I don’t give a flying fuck if you walked out of that whole nightmare with one eyeball and four fingers on one hand. You walked out and you’re still here. That’s what matters. You are and you will continue to be my entire world. I told you tonight, and I will continue to tell you every single day if that’s what you need.” 

“And you’re the furthest thing from ruined.” Sarah reminded you that she was in the room, John B crying behind her as they watched the scene from a small distance. “God, you’re literally perfect. A great boyfriend, a great brother, amazing friends. You’re so kind and selfless, and you’re so dedicated to each and every one of us in ways that nobody else is. I give you one look and you’re already on the same wavelength as me without a word. I’m not going to stand here and watch the future godmother and favorite aunt of my child think so negatively about herself when she is easily one of the best things in each of our lives.”

JJ was there to catch you when you sobbed, your whole body nearly collapsing in relief that he knew everything now, that you weren’t carrying what felt like the weight of the world on your shoulders. 

“I suck at sappy shit, everyone c’mere.” John B managed to pull a laugh out of the group, the four of you hugging each other tightly in the middle of your bedroom like the world around didn’t exist. Sarah, John B, and JJ had seen the worst pieces of you and still loved you unconditionally. It was time to get out of your head and embrace it, no matter how much you wanted to hide away. 

“Now that that’s over with… you’re fucking pregnant?!”

--

The chaos of the night finally settled down enough after JJ expressed his excitement for John B and Sarah. He didn’t hesitate to guide you to bed shortly after, mumble apologies being shared that tonight didn’t go differently, but you reassured him you had forever to celebrate it. Sarah eventually curled up next to you, the two of you in a fitful sleep for as long as you could while the boys stayed up to keep an eye on Groff.

Sarah was scrolling on her phone when you woke up a few hours later. She looked over her case to smile at you as you groaned loudly and stretched. 

“Are you and John B actually going to apply for a marriage license?” Your voice was raspy as you spoke, your eyes meeting hers as you shifted on your side to look at her.

She dropped her phone to the comforter. “I think so, unless he changed his mind from yesterday. That was the plan.”

You nodded, a small smile growing on your face. “Are you nervous?”

Sarah let out a breathy laugh. “Hardly. I just can’t believe all the shit that happened in the last 24 hours.”

The two of you conversed for a few moments longer before climbing out of bed to get ready for the day. While Sarah busied herself finding a cute white dress (one of her own, this time), you quickly changed and did your morning routine before settling in to help her curl her hair.

“Ready?” You asked as she slipped her shoes on and turned off the light. She nodded, grabbing your hand to pull you down the stairs. Cleo was eating a sandwich in the kitchen and looked up as you entered.

“Don’t tell me I’m losing another one today?” Her eyebrow raised in curiosity as Sarah practically skipped outside.

“We have to share the same last name for a little bit, right?” You winked in her direction, the pieces falling together before she shook her head jokingly.

JJ, Pope, and John B were already outside, apparently packing the Twinkie to head to Larissa’s grave with Groff. Your brother was literally pacing a path into the grass, his head snapping up as Sarah stepped off the porch with a tiny squeal.

“Let’s make this quick,” JJ was oblivious to the couple next to you and rubbed at his face to wake himself up. 

You hid your smile behind your hand as John B and Sarah stared at each other for a moment, both of them red in the face as she finally reached your brother’s side.

“Hey, we’re gonna get out of your hair, actually,” John B’s voice was so absentminded as he kept his eyes on Sarah, completely disregarding JJ’s confused look. He pointed in your general direction as he took her hand. “Love you, see you in a few. Don’t do anything stupid.”

You shifted into your fiancé’s shoulder, his arm falling around you as he took in the duo for the first time this morning. Pope gave you a confused glance to which you just held up your left hand and pointed to the ring on your finger. He nodded, much easier to communicate wordlessly with than JJ would be. 

“I, uh, okay?” JJ’s confusion made you laugh as Sarah and John B disappeared around the side of the house without a word, small talk being shared between the two of them as they made their way down the dock. He turned to look at you and clocked the smile on your face. “Something to share with the class?”

You shook your head, pushing up on your toes to kiss him. “Not in the slightest. You ready to go?”

JJ glanced between the Twinkie and the porch where Groff was getting to his feet. “How about you stay here with the girls and Pope? I… this is my mom. I feel like it should be personal, you know?”

You glared at him. “What did John B say?”

The way he took a step back already told you the answer. “No, nothing. Nothing, I just think I should give this a shot, on my own, you know?”

“JJ, I swear-”

He grabbed your shoulders carefully. “I love you. And if shit goes south, I can’t risk having you in danger with me not being able to help. So, please. Stay here, with them, and I’ll be back. Okay?”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” You admitted quietly, your hand grabbing on his wrist. You weren’t so convinced by his reasoning and with Groff giving you weird vibes, you really didn’t like this idea. “Be careful? I know he’s supposedly your dad and all but…”

JJ nodded in understanding, his eyes catching on someone behind you. “Told you I’ll always come home to you, and I mean it. Love you, sweet girl.”

He kissed you softly, hand slipping from your shoulder to hold your neck gently. You hummed in satisfaction, your fingers grabbing his flannel to pull him slightly closer. 

“Alright, lovebirds.” Groff’s voice ruined your goodbye as he stopped next to you. Pulling away from JJ, you gave the man a sharp glare, unamused by his comments and whatever assumed power he thought he had over JJ. 

Rolling your eyes, you gave JJ one more kiss. “Love you, please be careful.” 

You stepped away from him to head back inside, but an unfamiliar hand landed on your shoulder, stopping your retreat. You turned back to Groff, looking at him expectantly. He cleared his throat and removed his hand, pointing down at the ring on your finger. “I…um. I always wanted a daughter, Larissa did too. I’m glad you’ll be joining our family one day.”

The disgust on your face was very evident as you stared back at him, forcing a nod. “Yeah, considering you gave away your own son, I’m finding that hard to believe.”

Groff gave you a short nod before turning to climb into the Twinkie’s passenger seat as JJ slammed the door of the driver’s side. You shook your head as the van started and drove away, the sinking feeling in your stomach building with each passing moment. 

“You feel the same way I do about this?” Pope asked as he joined your side, the two of you watching the van disappear out on the road.

You sighed, “We shouldn’t have let him go alone. That man is the biggest manipulator if I’ve ever seen one.” 

“Now all we can do is wait and hope he comes back, preferably without that pathetic excuse for a man.”

--

While JJ busied himself adventuring with his dad, Pope and Cleo went out to grab gas for the boats with the remainder of the five grand down payment Wes Genrette had given. You and Kiara busied yourselves trying to get some items together for the potential trip to Morocco (if it happened) but mostly trying to downsize to what could be taken to Ward’s rental condo. The property was left in Sarah’s name, thankfully away from Rose’s evil claws, so your group could try to wiggle in as best as possible, but the three bedroom condo was no match for your family of seven, and soon to be a baby.

“I’m gonna grab supplies and shit from outside,” You said with a huff, brushing the sweat from your forehead. “Be right back.”

Kie was head first in making sandwiches and food to take along, so you dipped out of the room by yourself. The wind was refreshing, blowing across your skin as the two of you headed into the store area to collect your items. 

You grabbed a handful of first aid items, shoving them in your worn backpack with as much organization as you could muster. 

Humming along to the music on your phone, you moved fluidly to grab random supplies from the walls, figuring the store wouldn’t need them much anyway considering the property wasn’t yours soon.

Something moved in your peripheral and you turned to see the Twinkie parked outside again. A small frown formed on your face; you didn’t think JJ and Groff would be back that quick. Walking out, you glanced to catch sight of the blond boy but came up short. 

“Babe?” You called out, heading toward the driver side in case they were still talking inside. Except, they weren’t. Nobody was inside, actually. “JJ?”

You spun on your heels in hopes of him popping out, but still no sight of him. Setting your course to the house in hopes that he’d be there instead, you were met with Chandler Groff popping out of the side door in what looked like a hurry.

Stopping, you crossed your arms and glared at him. “Can I help you?”

He had the tube containing the scroll in his hand, and motioned toward it. “Uh, hi. I uh, I just came to grab the scroll to make sure it’s not just the artifact from the mausoleum.”

His rushed tone told you there was more to the story but you nodded. “Mhmm, um. Where’s JJ?”

“Oh, he stayed behind at the family plot. He sent me to retrieve this. I thought I’d give him some time alone, you know?” He took a few steps toward you, that you immediately repeated in the opposite direction to put some distance back. Any further and you’d be against the Twinkie and out of options.

You dug your fingers into your arm. “He certainly got his lying skills from Luke because I don’t believe you in the slightest.”

Groff laughed but you could tell it was forced. “Well, you hardly know me, of course you aren’t going to believe me. You can ask your friend in there… uh Kiara is it? She seemed fine with the idea.”

“Oh so you won’t mind if I just call him, then?” You reached into your pocket where your phone was still playing music.

“Yeah, yeah you should. You should call him. He’ll confirm. Go ahead.”

Your back hit the metal of the van as Groff continued to push into your space. You glanced down, swiping for the FaceID to activate and unlock before completely bypassing checking JJ’s location and instead pressing the lock buttom twice. Times like these you really thanked Sarah for helping you set up the shortcuts she did.

All it took was that one split second before Groff’s hands were shoving you and your head collided with the window of the Twinkie, glass shattering from the impact. Your phone slipped from your hands and you gasped, knees giving out as you grabbed your head in pain.

“Kie!” The scream tore through your throat but was cut off as Groff grabbed your throat and yanked you off the ground. 

Panic set in instantly, all of your senses blurring as images of Rafe flashed in front of you. You struggled to get air in your lungs and gasped, hands shoving and feet kicking like it would do you any good.

One last hit to your head, and the sweet dark relief took over.

Then silence.

--

You weren’t sure if you were awake.

There had been moments like this in the past when you were at the Camerons’, so blissed and drugged out that you couldn’t tell the difference from reality or hallucinations. Like a sensory tank, there was no light or noise. Just you and your racing thoughts and the loud thump of your heart in your ears.

Here you were, all over again. No sense of where you were, what had happened, or who was around. You could barely breathe and the hefty duct tape on your mouth stole your inability to speak. The sharp bite of pain when you tried to move was thanks to zip ties that were too tight, and you realized how utterly stuck you were.

The tears came first, followed by the hyperventilating. You tried running through the methods they taught you in therapy, the counting, the timed breathing. JJ’s voice was echoing in your head to keep your airways open and not clench your hands but JJ wasn’t here, you couldn’t move, and one of your main airways was not an option.

An attempted cry left your body, but you doubted anyone could hear it. It was so muffled and quiet that it might as well have been a whisper in a concert arena. 

You were going to die. You were going to die here, alone, with nothing but the thoughts in your head to keep you company. You hoped Kiara was okay. Hoped that none of your friends would be the ones to find you, if they even could. 

The tears were unstoppable now, small sobs escaping as you tried to pull air in your lungs but it was getting harder. It felt like someone’s hand squeezing around your throat.

Tighter, tighter, tighter.

Gone.

--

Kiara was a stranger to what it felt like being knocked unconscious. Hell, the closest she’s ever gotten was because of Pope nearly concussing her with an ore a couple of weeks ago. It was never from being punched in the head and colliding with the table.

The headache was killer, enough to send her vision swaying but she forced herself to her feet. “Ah, fuck.” Her fingers poked the area where the pain was radiating, but no blood came back so she considered that a good sign. 

“Kie!” 

John B’s scream was not a good one, and it was enough to get her moving out of the house to see him sprinting across the yard with Pope, Cleo, and Sarah close behind. 

“What’s happening?” Her voice was much quieter than she expected as the all moved toward her. Pope’s hands were gentle as they hovered her face, taking in the bruising on her cheek.

“What happened to you?” Cleo asked, wincing at the injury.

Kiara shook her head, “I can’t… just give me a second.”

“Where is she?” John B asked, eyes scanning the entire ground. He was on the verge of screaming or crying, or shit maybe he needed to throw up. “The SOS text came from her phone, fro-from the shortcut, where is she?”

“John B!” Sarah picked up the device in question that was resting in the grass near the van, the music still playing from it loud enough that she could hear.

The sight of your case made his heart drop. “Shit, stay here. Check the house,” He directed toward Pope and Cleo, practically sprinting toward Sarah.

“It seems fine,” She commented, “Music still on and everything. Maybe she did it accidentally?”

Except, John B wasn’t looking at the phone in Sarah’s hand. His eyes were locked on the nearly shattered window behind her head, a window that hadn’t been fucked up before. Sarah noticed his silence and looked over her shoulder, the broken glass answer enough that no you didn’t do this accidentally.

John B yelled your name again, nothing following his call, so he took off running into the shop with hopes that maybe you would be there. If Kiara was in the house, chances were, you weren’t.

Except the shop was empty, besides your backpack resting on the counter with various shit scattered around it.

“Is she in here?” Sarah asked as she ran up behind John B, her eyes scanning the room for any sight of you. “John B?”

“What the fuck?” You brother tugged at his hair and moved to where your bag was sitting as he tried to look for any clue, anything, that would tell him where you were. “No, no, no. We can’t do this again. I-I.. I told her I’d never let something like this happen, what if-”

“John B, John B, hey!” Sarah grabbed his face as gently as possibly. “Do not lose your shit. Not right now. She needs you, okay?”

His hands were fucking shaking and suddenly, this was too scary for him. Something had happened, and now you were missing.

“Look, look. I’ll get you a water and we can see if Kie remembers anything okay? It’s probably a miscommunication and-” Sarah turned toward the red Coca-Cola cooler that usually housed the ice for cold drinks and stopped short at the screw driver wrenched between one of the closures. “Did you lock this?”

John B pulled his hand from his face to look at what she was referring to. “What? No, we never…”

Sarah ripped the screwdriver out in a second, flipping the latch to unlock the lid so she could pry it open. “John B!”

The Routledge boy jumped forward to look and nearly threw up his breakfast. “Move, move!”

Reaching down, he grabbed ahold of your unmoving body, your skin so pale and cold that he didn’t know what to do. His knees hit the ground hard as he laid you down, hands moving to shake you. “Wake up, hey. Wake up!”

Sarah called your name, her touch gentle as she pulled the duct tape off your mouth, but you still didn’t move. “John B, she’s not breathing!”

“Pope, help!” 

Like a series of deja vu, John B’s hands went to your chest to push down harshly, the rhythmic movement too familiar for comfort. Sarah had been in this same position under his hands before, a gunshot wound to her hip and barely enough blood to keep her alive. John B never wanted to do this again, and he sure as shit never wanted to do it to you.

“Pinch her nose, and breathe in her mouth,” He gasped out in an attempt to keep the sobs at bay. “Pope!”

Sarah followed the directions, pinching your nose and opening your mouth to push air back into your lungs. She was shaking, barely able to see through her tears. 

A series of footsteps came seconds later, and Pope swore his whole world stopped at the sight ahead of him. You, his practically adopted sister, lying still on the floor as John B attempted CPR. Kiara nearly screamed, and Cleo stood in shock as Pope flung forward to take over the compressions with more confidence and precision.

“Go, again,” He directed to Sarah as John B tumbled back against the counter in shock. Pope started his compressions again, keeping his count outloud. 

Kiara stumbled to your brother’s side, wrapping her arms around him as they stared on, horrified. Cleo moved to grab scissors, her careful movement cutting the zip ties from your ankles as Pope continued to put pressure on your chest.

And then you coughed. 

And Pope fell into a fit of tears. Removing his hands from your chest, he fell back on his ass in what felt like exhaustion. 

“Aye! You okay?” Cleo was trying to keep a level head but the way her heart was pounding against her chest told her otherwise. She’d never been so close to losing someone, not like this. She carefully snipped the remaining ziptie and your hands instantly reached for Sarah, who cried into your hair and helped you sit up.

Despite your wishes, you couldn’t get your voice to work and opted for nodding instead. Your throat ached and your head felt like it was going to shatter into pieces, and you were so, so cold.

“Holy shit,” Pope choked out as he watched you blink and your own chest move air into your body. Your head was reeling at all of their concern and voices so you closed your eyes and continued to focus on just evening out the flow of air. 

John B ripped himself out of Kiara’s arms and next to Sarah the second he got a grasp on what the fuck just happened. “Hey, hi. You’re okay. It’s okay now.”

You reached out to grab John B’s hand, squeezing enough to let him know you could hear him and were responsive. Sarah’s warmth left your side a moment after and John B easily took her place, his arms cradling you against him like you were a small child as he cried into your hair. 

Wrapping your arms around him, you blinked your eyes open to see Pope sitting in front of you with Cleo rubbing his shoulder soothingly, Kie leaning against his side. He quickly brushed the tears from his cheeks but it already told you everything. 

You mouthed a thank you and cuddled in closer to John B’s chest, opting to just breathe breathe breathe.

You weren’t sure what the fuck had just happened, but it seemed like your friends were about to have one crazy ass story to tell. 

-- 

John B did not let you out of his sight. 

After carrying you back to the house and directing Sarah to help you into your warmest sweatshirt and sweatpants, he looked to Kiara for answers.

The girl’s brainfog had thankfully cleared and she was about to recount Groff showing up, claiming he and JJ found the lens and needed the scroll. When Kiara asked where her friend was, Groff knocked her out, which meant her intercepted you next.

Nobody wanted to ask questions, but the SOS text on their phone screens was hard to pull their eyes off of.

When everyone had phones replaced following El Dorado, Sarah had made sure to set up a shortcut that sent an SOS text with a location to the group chat in case of an emergency. She hoped it would never be used, but she was so thankful you thought quick enough to use it in this situation. She didn’t even want to think about what would happen if not.

“Here.” She handed you an warm cup of tea with honey in hopes that it would help soothe the soreness in your throat but the handprint outside on your skin told her otherwise. After helping you crawl under the covers, she sent a quick text to John B that you were settled before the group came tumbling in. 

Your brother instantly threw himself next to you near the top of the best, shifting so you could lean against him and he could keep a hand on your arm at all times. Kiara took your other side, sitting crisscross as she held an ice pack to her head. 

“Y’all are dramatic,” Your voice was practically gone as you joked with them before taking another sip of your tea.

“And you sound like you smoke six packs a day,” Cleo chimed back with a teasing smile on her face. “Save your voice, girly. We got you.”

You gave her a weak smile.

The next twenty minutes consisted of everyone sharing what the fuck had happened in the past few hours. Pope and Cleo nearly got wiped out by Kelce which caused them to collide with Sarah and John B who had been running from Topper and Ruthie. Kiara took a gnarly blow to the head like you did, and JJ was still absent from the group.

Splendid. 

“So, what? Groff left with the map and lens and JJ’s still with him?” Pope recounted as he started to pace the floor. 

Your calls to JJ had been ignored and considering he didn’t show up with the SOS text, you were really worried Groff had gotten to him. Your fingers moved across the screen to pull up his location again and you dropped it on the center of the bed so your friends could see his location pinging from the middle of the ocean.

Turning to John B, you tried to communicate with your hands that you all needed to leave, but he was unamused. “No, no. You’re not leaving this room, let alone this house any time soon. You hear me? Grounded.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed your phone from the comforter to open your notes app and type away. 

Then you guys need to go. If something happens to him and I’m the reason you didn’t go, I’ll never forgive myself. 

You shoved the device in John B’s direction, watching as he skimmed the words before shaking his head slightly. Annoyed by his silence, you moved it over so Sarah could read it instead.

“She’s got a point, John B. We need to go.”

John B took a look around the room, everyone’s expressions matching Sarah’s as they read the message on your phone. He hated this, the thought of pulling you out of a safe space after he just nearly broke your ribs from the force of his own hands because you weren’t breathing.

“Fine, fine,” He admitted defeat when even Cleo nudged her head in the direction of the water. “Go get your shit. I need to talk to this one first.”

Your eyes were going to get stuck in the back of your head if you rolled them again so you just sighed and flopped against the pillows as everyone scattered. Sarah patted your knee through the covers, reassuring she’d grab your backpack and everything before slipping out the door, leaving you with your brother.

You quickly typed on your phone as John B watched you.

I’m not arguing with you via notes app, bro.

He laughed and leaned down to kiss your forehead. “Don’t wanna argue. Just um…” He let out a breath, tears filling his eyes faster than he intended. “You really scared me, out there. And I don’t like the idea of you getting thrown back into danger, but the idea of leaving you here is even worse. So I need you… I really need you to promise me something.”

John B shifted to sit where you could see him easier and not strain your neck looking up at him. He grabbed the phone from your hand and let it fall, taking both of your palms into his. “I need you to promise me that you’ll stick with Sarah. And you won’t go throwing yourself in front of anyone if it comes to it. You… you both mean way too much for me to lose you to a stupid fucking treasure hunt. Okay?”

You squeezed his hands and nodded, because it’s really all you could do. So you did.

And now, you needed to find JJ… but nothing was ever that simple for you all, was it?

--

a/n: did i redeem myself??? also john b is not over what just happened and i think another crashout is coming

navigation -- series masterlist

ask me anything or support me via a ko-fi

[deepspacenova]

BEAUTY VERSUS BEAST

1000 words. Banter. Tension. Hurt/comfort. AU (not as much anymore, I guess).

Note: Had this ready to go and then our actual beast Sylus was announced so let’s just roll with it xx

"Ow. That hurts," he bites out, the lines of his forearms tensing against the pressure of her palm.

Rolling her eyes, she dips the blood-soaked cloth in water and wrings it out before gliding it over the same spot.

“Stop, I said that hurts.” Sylus snarls, yanking his arm from her grasp.

“Well maybe if you’d stop jerking your arm around it wouldn’t hurt so much,” she fires back.

Swiping her hair from her eyes, she ignores his warning growl, grabbing his arm back and holding it toward the icy white light filtering through the velvet curtains.

“You should’ve listened when I said not to go in there.” He repeats, the words grating like stones against each other. But there's something... softer beneath them.

As if she hadn’t heard him the first three times. She snaps, “Well maybe you should’ve listened to me, instead of unleashing your damn temper.”

She’s locked in a silent battle, anger and confusion and... gratitude swirling together like the snowflakes outside. She still can’t believe he’d saved her like that — so viciously, so single-mindedly.

“But, um—“ she trails off. She looks down, blowing another piece of hair from her face as she presses the cloth down once again.

There’s a sudden warmth against her cheek, brushing the offending strand from her face and tucking it away behind her ear. The care of the motion was entirely at odds with the sharpness of his tone moments ago.

The shell of her ear is traced by what could only be the heated pad of a finger for just a heartbeat longer than necessary before it vanishes, leaving cool air in its absence.

She looks up, eyes wide just as Sylus snatches his hand back. A faint pink tint deepens on his cheeks and he clears his throat.

“Thank you. For saving me.”

“Don’t mention it, kitten.”

Her lips part, a retort forming, but the words catch in her throat. The nickname lingers between them, heavy and electric, sending a flush crawling up her neck. She should roll her eyes again but instead, she finds herself holding his gaze.

“I really wish you’d stop calling me that,” she mutters, her beating heart pounding away the biting tone she’d intended.

His lips tipped up, eyes flicking to the heat she could feel spreading across her cheeks. “Why’s that?”

“Because it’s ridiculous,” she sighs, focusing back on the wound, though her hand hesitates mid-movement. “I’m not some— some pet, Sylus.”

“No, you’re not a pet.” He lowers down, the sudden proximity capturing her next inhale. He'd been sitting in his chair, forearm resting on the arm for her ministrations, but now his elbows are on his knees, and the faint scent of leather and smoke cloud her senses. “But you’re fierce. And beautiful. And mine.”

Her hand stills completely, the cloth slipping from her fingers and into the bowl with a soft plop. She looks up at him, her heart thundering against her ribs. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I?” he asked, his expression softening. He reaches out again, more confident this time, his knuckle brushing her cheek. “You don’t see it, do you? The way you throw yourself into danger without thinking."

His knuckle traces the curve of her jaw. "The fire in your eyes when you’re yelling at me."

"The way you make me feel like I’d burn the world down to keep you safe.” The knuckle comes to rest below her bottom lip.

“Sylus…” Her words get lost in the breath, leaving her lungs in a shaky exhale.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he reassures, her pulse thundering in her ears as his words wrap around her, thick and heavy. His gaze dips to her lips. “But if you want me to stop, you’d better say something now.”

She swallows hard, the air between them thick and meaningful and loud in the absence of her words.

His hand slides to the back of her neck with a firm, almost possessive grip. His thumb brushes against her skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “Good."

Before she could reply — or protest, though she isn’t sure she wants to — he closes the distance, the space between them vanishing with a tension that feels like the air before a lightning strike.

The kiss isn’t soft or tentative; it's raw, consuming. A declaration as much as it's an action. His mouth claims hers with a fervor that leaves no room for doubt, his hand fisting in her hair to hold her exactly where he wants her. The warmth of his body radiates against hers, his uninjured arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her up onto the chair, erasing what little space had remained.

She gasps against his mouth and he takes advantage, deepening the kiss with an urgency that matches hers. His teeth graze her bottom lip, a teasing nip that makes her muscles loosen and she has to lace her fingers into his hair to make her remember he's hurt.

“Mine,” he breathes against her lips, his voice a husky growl.

Her mind spins, her heart racing as she tried to push back the swirl of emotions overwhelming her. But when her hands grip his shoulders, instead of pushing him away, she pulls him closer, matching his intensity with a fierceness of her own.

For a moment, nothing else exists — just the warmth of his touch, the softness of his lips, and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, she isn’t as alone as she thought.

[iichfilwypj]

but daddy, i love him! | percy jackson

ღ book! percy jackson x daughter of zeus! reader ღ warnings: pregnancy mention, sex implications :) i did this long ago so it sucks! ღ wc: 825

Sitting at the table and staring intently at the wood, she was still trying to adjust her dress so it wouldn’t slip over her shoulders, having not gotten the chance to fasten it properly. 

Just seconds ago, she couldn’t think about anything other than the feeling of his body close to hers, their lips pressed together and the heat of the room; now, she could only think about how to prevent her father from throwing a lightning bolt at Percy.

Next to her, Percy looked just as uneasy; he fidgeted nervously as her father gripped about how irresponsible and foolish they’d been. His eyes kept darting to the floor, to the walls, anywhere but at Zeus, who was ranting furiously. 

“Do you even know what you’re doing? For Gods’ sake, you’re so young! You could get… you know what!”

Zeus paced back and forth across the room, his eyes darting around like a predator circling its prey as his hands were planted on his hips. She turned to Percy, rolling her eyes with an exaggerated flair, and then bit her lip, exhausted by the endless cycle of this conversation. 

It was always the same, for God’s sake. She had heard it a thousand times: his disapproval, his anger, his worry. Nothing was ever different, and somehow, it always ended the same way.

“Seriously, you don’t want to have…” He paused for a second to point at Percy, his look of disgust so exaggerated that the boy couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “…his kids.”

“And what if I do? What if I do want to have his kids?” She fired back without hesitation, her words cutting through the heated atmosphere like a blade. "What if I am having his babies?”

The room was so quiet now that the sound of a pin dropping would have been deafening.

Percy looked horrified, his wide eyes locked on her as he tapped her leg anxiously, trying to process what she had just said. Not that he wasn’t flattered; honestly, in his far-off, very far-off, future plans, having kids with her was definitely on the list. 

But this? Oh, no. This was how he was going to die. Zeus would absolutely kill him with his bare hands, no question about it.

She barely held in her laugh as her father’s face turned crimson. His jaw dropped, his lips parted into a grimace of pure disgust, and his eyebrows arched in an almost comical way.

She quickly covered her face with her hand to keep from bursting out laughing. “No, I’m not, but you should’ve seen your face!”

But Zeus was already consumed by rage. As thunder growled like an angry beast in the sky and the rain began to pour, he stormed toward the door, his anger crackling in the air around him. Without a second thought, he yanked the door open with a violent motion.

He pointed at Percy, who quickly jumped to his feet to explain himself. “Sir, I-”

“Get out of my house, now! I told her it was a bad idea, but no, she insisted on being with you! Stay away from her!” 

And he had no choice but to leave, like a stray dog being kicked to the streets. 

She felt torn, unsure of what to do next. Disobeying her father was the last thing she wanted,  but her heart was telling her to run after Percy. Zeus’s endless ranting grew louder, but they only became more distant.

Percy loved her, and she loved him –what else mattered?

Through the window, she saw Percy approach the gates, his body language defeated, head hanging low as he opened the small door. Her chest tightened as she  turned back to her father, offering a brief sideways smile, as if to apologize for what she was about to do.

Under his glare, she stood up from her chair, defying him.

“I'm sorry, daddy. I love him!”

“¡Don't even think-!” 

But she was already sprinting toward the open door, running outside and disregarding the shouting.

The rain struck her nearly naked body, her unbuttoned dress almost slipping from her shoulders, and her hair becoming drenched. She cried out his name, hoping he’d turn and notice her.

And he did, of course. 

He turned with a smile, one that had been on his face since he left the house; it was obvious, they had already talked about what to do if this situation came up. Standing with arms crossed was not an option.

Their bodies collided, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her up and spinning her through the air. 

“What took you too long?” He said with a grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement. 

“Sorry, just a little problem.” She replied, her tone light, her smile wide, feeling like nothing else in the world mattered except this moment between them.

Her father’s angry shouts, filled with condemnation and disbelief, rang in her ears as he yelled that they were out of their minds and that nothing they were doing could be accepted. But none of it mattered anymore. 

As they shared a kiss, sweet and drenched by the rain, everything else faded away. 

Yes, maybe they were crazy. But it was for love.

HI SORRY i have some heavy homework because i only have one week of school left!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! fiesta fiesta y si alguien tiene ideas para el remerón AYUDA NO SÉ QUE HACER!

[rosemariiaa]

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 02, 𝘽𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙨

“Some things are better left unsaid.”

rosie’s note: hi :), sooo don’t yell at me y’all know i’m sensitive, but yes apologies this was supposed to come out wayyy sooner but i’ve had a lot going on with my personal life i barely had time to write but luckily i finished this up! ik almost people were confused on the cliffhanger so i hope i explained it well in this chapter :) happy reading lovelies 💌

pairing: Paige x Azzi

themes: hurt/comfort, guilt, angst

enjoy!!!

march 21, 2014

The cursor blinked at me, expectant. Judging.

Her name sat on the tip of my tongue. Not the one she introduced herself with, not the nickname she had tossed at me under the swing set like it was armor. Her real name. The one she’d trusted me with just days before everything shattered.

I hovered over the keyboard. How many times had I visited this account in the past two months? More than I could count. The anonymity she clung to should have been enough to keep me from connecting the dots. But the username—UnicornPuppy35—was a clue I couldn’t ignore, not after that rainy night, not after the slippers and the shirt that practically screamed it.

Azzi.

The realization should have made me stop, made me put down my phone and walk away. She didn’t know it was me. She didn’t know I was the one lurking, soaking up every word she wrote, piecing together her sadness, her anger, her loneliness. And she couldn’t find out—not like this.

If she did… God, if she ever found out, I wasn’t sure what would happen. She’d hate me more than she already did, and I couldn’t stand to see that look on her face again.

I leaned back in my chair, running a hand over my face. The memory of her tears still burned, sharp as glass.

flashback ⤑ february 13, 2013

The rain came down hard that night, the kind of downpour that soaked through your skin and left you raw.

I didn’t know why I left the house. Maybe it was the yelling, or maybe it was the silence that followed. Either way, I ended up at the park. The swings creaked under the weight of the wind, and the only other person there was huddled on one, head bowed as rain dripped from her curls and onto her bright pink unicorn shirt.

I almost walked away. She looked like she wanted to be alone, and honestly, so did I. But something stopped me—a tilt of her head, maybe, or the way her shoulders shuddered even as she sat still.

“Hey,” I said, stepping closer. The ground squelched under my shoes.

She looked up, startled. Her eyes, wide and brown, met my baby blues for half a second before darting away. “What do you want?”

I hesitated, shrugging. “Nothing. Just… didn’t think anyone else would be out here.”

Her laugh was bitter, like she didn’t believe me. She didn’t say anything else, just looked back down at her feet, the tips of her sneakers brushing the muddy ground.

I should’ve walked away. Instead, I sat on the swing next to her.

Over the next two weeks, those nights at the park became a ritual. When the lights in our houses went out, we met under the cover of darkness, sharing pieces of ourselves with kind of fully unraveling almost everything.

She told me about the girl at school—the one who dunked her head in the toilet and called her the f-slur. Her voice cracked when she said it, and my chest ached with something I didn’t quite understand.

“She’s just a bitch,” I said, reaching out without thinking. My hand landed on her shoulder, the fabric of her hoodie rough and wet under my palm. “You didn’t deserve that.”

She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t look at me either. “It’s not just her,” she muttered. “It’s… everyone.”

The night Azzi told me about the girl at school, something in her broke. Her voice cracked, a sharp edge slicing through the usual monotone she used when talking about her day.

“I didn’t even do anything,” she said, hugging her knees to her chest. Her breath came out in shivers, her curls dripping rainwater down her back. “She just—she said I was looking at her skirt, and the next thing I know, I’m—”

Her voice wavered, and she stopped. She didn’t have to finish. I could picture it: the cold porcelain, the laughter, the humiliation.

“She has to be insecure or something,” I said quickly, fumbling for the right words. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Azzi. She’s just taking her misery out on you.”

Azzi didn’t look convinced. Her lip trembled, and she pressed her face into her knees, hiding the tears I knew were falling.

I sat there, helpless. I wasn’t good at this—comforting people, saying the right thing. But I didn’t want her to feel alone.

“You wanna egg her house?” I joked, my voice soft. “Or, I don’t know, slash her parents tires?”

She huffed a wet laugh, the sound muffled by her hoodie. “She’d probably call the cops.”

“She’s a snitch, too?” I gasped dramatically, hoping to coax another laugh out of her. “That’s it. We’re definitely egging her house.”

Azzi peeked up at me, her eyes red and puffy but lighter somehow. “You’re stupid,” she said, but there was a ghost of a smile on her face.

——-

A few nights later, that’s when things fell apart.

I was at the park first, waiting for Azzi, when a group of girls from my neighborhood showed up. I didn’t know them well, but they were loud and funny in that kind of way that made you want to laugh along just to fit in.

We were sitting on the picnic table, their chatter filling the silence, when one of them asked, “Hey, Paige, why do you always hang out with that girl?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Who?”

“You know, that Azzi girl,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Nobody hangs out with her.”

My stomach twisted. “Why not?”

The girl snorted. “Her mom’s, like, weird. Always with a new boyfriend or whatever. It’s embarrassing. She’s just a weirdo and looks weird.”

My jaw tightened. Before I could respond, another girl chimed in, laughing. “And her hair! It’s like, doesn’t she know what a brush is?”

The table erupted in laughter, but I couldn’t bring myself to join in. I glanced at the path leading to the swings, my heart sinking.

“Paige,” a voice said behind me.

I froze.

Azzi stood there, her face pale and her eyes glassy with unshed tears. Her mouth opened, then closed, and she shook her head, stepping back as if I’d physically struck her.

“Azzi, wait—” I started, scrambling off the table, but she was already turning away.

“Don’t,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “Just… don’t.”

I ran after her, catching her arm as she reached the edge of the park. “Azzi, I wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t what?” she snapped, whirling around. Her eyes were brimming with tears, her voice rising in anger. “Wasn’t laughing at me? Wasn’t sitting there while they trashed me?”

“I didn’t say anything!” I protested, my chest tight.

“That’s the problem!” she shouted, her voice breaking. “You just sat there, Paige. You didn’t even try to stop them, you let them say those things.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words stuck in my throat.

“Forget it,” she muttered, yanking her arm free. She wiped at her face angrily, her curls sticking to her cheeks. “I should’ve known better.”

“Azzi, come on,” I pleaded, my voice softer now. “It’s not like that—”

“What’s it like, then?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. “Because from where I’m standing, it’s pretty clear. I just don’t understand after all those nights I cried to you P.. how could you?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. By the time I found the words, she was already gone.

present day 2014

It’s been weeks since Azzi and I started talking online, just the two of us, anonymously. We’ve gotten comfortable—well, as comfortable as we can with the fake names and hidden identities. I try not to think about the lies I’m keeping from her, but I know deep down it’s the only way I can stay connected to her. She has to trust me, or she’ll leave. And I can’t handle that. Not again.

It’s the last day of school, and I’m practically buzzing with excitement as I head to the bus. I can’t wait to get home, and send Azzi a message—anything really. I don’t care if it’s about her puppy or the weather or something ridiculous. I just want to talk to her.

I find a seat on the bus and pull out my phone. As the bus rumbles on, I open up Blogspot. I scroll through the messages Azzi and I exchanged earlier, just before school started. I can’t help but laugh at the part where she told me her dog, Stewie, peed in her shoe. That image—her tiny, brown wiener dog peeing in her brand new sneakers—was so perfectly her. Her humor, her frustration, her charm.

I giggle, but then it hits me. The guilt. It crashes over me, sudden and sharp, like a wave I didn’t see coming. My thumb freezes over the screen, hovering over the keyboard. I look at the conversation, at the funny banter we shared this morning, and my chest tightens. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her.

If she knew who I really was, if she knew the truth about why I was pretending to be someone else… she would never look at me the same way again. She’d leave me. She would never trust me again.

I feel the tightness in my chest grow, and I look out the window, trying to distract myself. But it’s no use. The guilt is like a weight on my shoulders, pressing down harder the longer I sit with it. Every word I’ve typed to Azzi, every moment I’ve shared with her—it’s all a lie. And I hate myself for it.

But I can’t stop. I can’t let her go again. It pained me the first time…it won’t happen again.

I stare at the phone in my hand, biting my lip. What if she finds out? What if she figures it out before I can come clean?

What if? What if? What if?

The thought is too much. I set the phone down on my lap, staring out the window, hoping the weight in my chest will ease.

A few minutes later, my phone vibrates in my lap. A new message.

unicornpuppy35: p, i just got home and stewie’s tryna eat my shoelace again. i swear this dog’s scheming.

I smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. My thumb hovers over the screen again. I want to reply, want to send something funny, something comforting, but all I can think about is how this isn’t real. None of it is real.

boogers_p: obviously. stewie’s prolly like, “shoelaces are phase one. world domination’s next.”

unicornpuppy35: no fr, this little dude really thinks he runs the place.

boogers_p: i mean… does he not? u literally pay rent in shoelaces and snacks.

unicornpuppy35: and socks. don’t forget the socks. he got one of mine this morning smh.

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh too loud as I typed back.

boogers_p: rip to the sock. gone but not forgotten.

The typing bubble popped up and disappeared a few times before finally settling on:

unicornpuppy35: ur so ridiculous, p. u know that?

boogers_p: i’ve heard rumors.

I paused, smirking at the screen. Then, a thought hit me, and her fingers flew over the keyboard.

boogers_p: ok, real question. what’s stewie short for? or did u just look at him and go, “yup, that’s a stewie”?

There was a pause before Azzi’s response came through.

unicornpuppy35: named him after breanna stewart.

I blinked at the screen, my smile softening. Of course she did.

boogers_p: oh damn, respect. stewie’s a legend fr but no surprise you chose her.

unicornpuppy35: p, language. and duhh, hence the name.

boogers_p: my bad my bad, but u really said, “lemme name my dog after greatness.” iconic move, puppy.

I knew the nickname would get to her. It always did. The reply came fast.

unicornpuppy35: stop calling me that!!!

boogers_p: nah. it fits too good. also, it’s cute. like u.

Shit. There was a long pause before I saw the typing bubble flicker again.

unicornpuppy35: u really know how to get on my nerves, huh?

boogers_p: talent, tbh.

Azzi’s response came slower this time:

unicornpuppy35: sometimes i wonder why i even talk to u.

Paige snorted, her thumbs moving fast.

boogers_p: cuz i’m funny. and charming. and u lowkey love me. just admit it.

The reply took a moment.

unicornpuppy35: …maybe stewie loves u. that’s as close as ur getting.

I barked out a laugh, the sound drawing a curious glance from the kid across the aisle.

boogers_p: i’ll take it. tell stewie i’m his #1 fan.

unicornpuppy35: he’ll probably steal another shoelace to celebrate.

boogers_p: a king. truly.

I stared at the screen for a second longer, my chest feeling warm and tight in a way I couldn’t even describe.

unicornpuppy35: u good, peanut? u seem kinda off lately.

My fingers hesitated over the keyboard, my mouth forming into a small smile at my nickname. Azzi always asked. I didn’t know how she managed to carry so much and still notice the little things about me. God.

boogers_p: yeah, i’m straight. just tired, you know?

unicornpuppy35: don’t let it get to u p. me and stewie got ur back.

Paige swallowed the lump in her throat, her reply coming slower this time.

boogers_p: thanks, puppy. u and stewie the real mvps fr.

Pup- I mean Azzi’s reply was just a string of eye-roll emojis, but I could picture the grin on her face. I wish I could just see it for myself.

boogers_p: love u too.

So much.

I send the message, knowing I can’t keep lying forever. But for now, I’ll hold on.

——-

Paige walked into her room, shutting the door with a quiet click, as if any louder might let her thoughts escape into the world. Tossing her bag into the corner, she kicked off her shoes and peeled off her clothes, leaving a trail toward the bathroom. The hot water scalded her pale skin, but she barely noticed, the familiar ache in her chest louder than the pounding spray.

When she came out, dressed in an oversized T-shirt, her damp hair sticking to her neck, she flopped onto her bed. She should sleep. She needed sleep. But instead, her hand reached for the scrapbook tucked under her nightstand.

Opening it, her heart clenched as she stared at the first photo—Azzi on the swing set, caught mid-laugh, her curls bouncing wildly as she leaned over, her dimple deepening with every giggle. Paige could still hear the sound of it, bright and free, almost as if Azzi were right there in the room with her.

The second photo wasn’t much better. Her and Azzi at the diner for her 15th birthday, Azzi’s arm slung around hers like it belonged there. Paige could almost feel the ghost of Azzi’s touch, the warmth of her hand on her arm, the way Azzi’s voice would soften when she scolded her for cussing too much.

She flipped the page closed before she started crying again. It didn’t help.

Her fingers brush over the closed scrapbook, tracing its edges. She knows it’s pathetic to feel this way, to let herself get so tangled up in someone who probably doesn’t even think about her anymore. It’s dumb, she knows that. But it doesn’t change the way her heart clenches at the thought of Azzi laughing somewhere else, with someone else, as if Paige never mattered.

Because the truth is, she’s never felt this way about anyone before. Not like this. Not about their friendship, or whatever it used to be. Friendship doesn’t even seem like the right word anymore. It feels too small, too simple for something that made her feel whole in a way nothing else ever has.

Will you miss me, Azzi? Paige swallows hard, her jaw tightening as tears blur her vision again. Will you miss what we had? Because I do. I miss you so much it hurts. It fucking hurts.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes closing as the words spilled from her heart. God I think I’d miss you even if we never met.

Paige dragged a hand over her face, trying to will the tears back, but they came anyway, hot and relentless. She clutched the scrapbook tighter to her chest. I miss you. Every day. Every second of every day. I miss you so much it’s pathetic.

She let out a shaky laugh that turned into a sob halfway through. “It’s so dumb,” she muttered, shaking her head. But no matter how many times she said it, it didn’t make it any less true. It’s the realest thing she’s ever felt.

Because no one had ever made her feel like Azzi did. Not before, not since. She wasn’t sure anyone ever would.

She wipes at her face, but the tears won’t stop. Because no matter how much she misses Azzi, Paige knows it’s her fault she’s gone. She clings to the scrapbook, the pictures inside the only pieces of Azzi she has left. And as much as it hurts, she knows she deserves this. Every ache, every tear, every lonely second.

Because she let her go. And that’s something she can never take back.

——-

Azzi sat quietly in the backseat, her hands clammy as she rubbed them over her shorts, trying to calm the nerves that had been with her all morning. Her brothers had hyped her up about making the team, calling her the coach’s “princess,” but it didn’t help. She was still terrified. What if she didn’t make it? What if she wasn’t good enough?

She whispered to Stewie, who was in her lap, his small body a source of comfort. “What if I don’t make the team, huh? I know it’s stupid, but it keeps running through my mind… what if I mess up?”

Her mom glanced back at her from the front seat, a soft smile on her face. “You’ll do fine, Azzi. You always do.”

But Azzi couldn’t shake the unease, the thoughts spinning in her head as the car pulled into the gym parking lot. Her stomach twisted into knots, and her heart raced in anticipation. They arrived early, her mom wanting to meet the coaches first, so Azzi was the first one there.

She stepped out of the car, still trying to calm her breathing. As her mom led her inside, Azzi forced herself to smile and greet the coaches, though her mind was a hundred miles away. She excused herself once the introductions were made, eager to find the locker room and settle in before tryouts started.

The gym was empty when she walked in, the silence amplifying her every step. She meandered down the hall, her fingers grazing the walls as she took in the pictures of past players, their smiles frozen in time. She felt her nerves rise again, the pressure of what was to come weighing on her.

But as she rounded a corner, her body collided with something—or rather, someone.

“Sorry!” Azzi blurted, quickly stepping back. But when she looked up, her breath caught. There, standing in front of her, was Paige. She froze, heart pounding in her chest. Her mind screamed for her to move, to say something, anything, but her body just wouldn’t cooperate.

Paige stood there too, her mouth slightly open in disbelief, her eyes wide. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Then, almost as if the world had shifted, Paige finally spoke her name.

“Azzi?” she whispered.

Azzi’s stomach churned, but she couldn’t stop staring at her. How? How could she be here? How had she found her, of all places? This wasn’t supposed to happen, not here, not now. Not ever.

But Paige was looking at her like she hadn’t missed a beat, like the time apart hadn’t meant anything. Azzi could see the recognition in her eyes, the same as she felt in her chest.

It was instant. Her face was older now, sharper, but it was still her. Those blue eyes. The way she stood. Even the slight tilt of her head when she was unsure of herself. Azzi hadn’t expected it to hit her this hard.

A year ago, she swore she’d move on. Swore that she’d forget what Paige meant to her. But now, standing here, all she felt was the sharp twist of memory and the burn of anger.

How could she not recognize her? Paige had been the first person to make her feel seen, to make her feel like she mattered. But she had also been the first person to hurt her more than anyone else had. Azzi couldn’t forget that. Not the way she laughed with her, not the way she’d come after her with apologies she could never quite believe.

Azzi had convinced herself she was past it. Past Paige. But now, here she was, staring at her as if nothing had changed. It was too much, too fast. Does she really think I’ve forgotten?

Paige stepped forward, her movements tentative, unsure. Azzi almost wanted to take a step back, to run, but she couldn’t move. She stood there, feeling the weight of everything that had happened between them pressing in on her.

“Azzi,” Paige said softly, her voice almost hesitant.

Azzi blinked, her heart racing. She forced herself to act like she didn’t know her, even though everything inside her screamed that she did. “Sorry,” Azzi said, her voice steady despite the tightness in her chest. “Do I know you?”

——-

rosie’s note: well..yeah!

taglist ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

@thaatdigitaldiary @pattyshome @sierrale8ne @lupinqs @ohbueckers @imaginespazzi @pazzilover101 @makethemhoesmad @d3arapril @pboogerswbb @kmoneymartini @mrsarnold @absolutelydreadful @authentic-girl03 @melpthatsme

[writingfics-passingtime]

Bucky and queen song

Waving Your Banner

This drabble is part of JJ’s Mixtape - a mini series based on my followers’ favourite songs and characters. You can read more of them here!

Song Prompt: We Will Rock You - Queen

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (flirtatious, no pronouns used)

Word Count: ~1300

CW: swearing, some flirting, suggestive jokes, a bit of tickling

minors dni: this work does not contain smut, but does contain a flirtatious/suggestive interaction between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

Note: Thanks, anon! My initial note-to-self from when you first sent this was, verbatim, "okay but dodgeball would be fucken hilarious with we will rock you" - so we've gone with an Avengers training game vibe with this one

The woods hummed with tension, broken by the occasional crack of a branch or the muffled thud of boots. The Avengers had turned what should’ve been a simple training game into an all-out war, and your team was desperate to gain the upper hand. Somewhere ahead, in the shadow of the tree-line, stood the final obstacle: Bucky Barnes, silent, brooding, and lethal, guarding his team’s flag, the White Wolf circling his den.

You crouched beside Sam behind a cluster of bushes, your pulse steady but sharp as you surveyed the terrain. Bucky was right where you expected him, leaning casually against a tree just outside the flag's perimeter. He looked calm, detached even, but you knew better. The slightest flicker of movement would set him in motion, and if he was after you, there’d be no escaping. Flag perimeters were a no-fly-zone, so you and Sam would have to take it on foot.

“Alright,” Sam said, breaking the silence. “We need a plan. And by we, I mean you, because I’m not getting anywhere near the Winter Soldier.”

You shot him an incredulous look. “You’re faster than me.”

“He’s a wall. A brick wall with trust issues and superhuman reflexes.”

You sighed, pressing your back against the thick trunk of a tree. “Then we need a distraction. Something that’ll actually make him move.”

Sam raised a brow. “Oh, yeah? What’s your genius plan?”

“You,” you said, giving him a pointed look. “You could bait him. Taunt him. Goad him into leaving his post.”

“And get steamrolled by the murder machine? Hard pass.” He scoffed. "Besides, you’re obviously better bait.”

The heat rushed to your face immediately. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on,” Sam teased, his grin widening. “You’ve got that whole… thing going on.”

“What thing?”

He waved a hand vaguely at you. “You know. The whole ‘badass with a secret soft side’ thing. He’ll eat it up. Hell, I think the whole team’s noticed the way he looks at you.”

You glared at him. “You’re out of your damn mind.”

“He does,” Sam interrupted, revelling in your reaction. “Come on, you could probably get him to do whatever you wanted. Just say something like, ‘Oh, Bucky, is that a vibranium arm or are you just happy to see m-”

You shoved him into the bush.

Sam tried to silence his little grunts as he pulled himself out, yanking the twigs from his armour plates. “Fine. You wanna argue about this all day, or should we win?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Just send in Redwing.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

The plan was simple enough: Redwing would create a distraction in a bush behind Bucky, luring him away from the flag, giving you and Sam time to move in and grab it. You moved carefully, keeping low as you crept through the underbrush. The tension in the air was electric, every rustle of leaves amplified by your own awareness of how close Bucky was.

But, true to form, Sam couldn’t resist screwing with you.

As you crept closer to the clearing, Redwing darted toward you and made a ruckus in the bush partially shielding you from view. It was more than enough to give you away, and before you could even curse Sam’s name, you heard it - the unmistakable sound of boots crunching leaves, closing in fast.

Your head whipped around just in time to see Bucky moving toward you with the kind of speed that made your heart stutter. His expression was sharp, predatory, and - gods help you - just a little amused.

“Shit,” you muttered, bolting from your hiding spot.

“Running won’t help you,” Bucky called after you, his voice dark and smooth, laced with amusement.

You didn’t bother responding, too focused on dodging tree trunks and low-hanging branches. But it didn’t matter how fast you ran; he was faster. In seconds, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you clean off your feet.

“Gotcha,” he murmured, his voice low in your ear.

“Not yet, you don’t,” you growled, twisting sharply in his grip.

You elbowed him in the side, breaking free for a split second, but he was faster. He blocked your next move, his vibranium hand catching your wrist and spinning you around. You didn’t go down without a fight, aiming a kick at his shin and struggling against his hold, refusing to make it easy for him.

“Feisty,” he muttered, almost admiringly, his grip tightening as you wrestled.

You managed to get one arm free, landing a half-decent shove against his chest. He staggered back slightly but recovered in less than an instant, his smirk returning, sharper than before.

“Alright,” he said, his voice edged with amusement, “you wanna play rough? Let’s play rough.”

Before you could react, he was on you, trapping you between his body and the wide trunk of a tree. His fingers darted to your ribs, pressing against your sides with infuriating precision.

You jolted, a startled laugh bursting out before you could stop it. “What the fu- hey! No, that’s cheating!”

“Cheating?” he echoed, his grin widening as he tickled you again, this time catching your waist. “You’re the one trying to fight dirty.”

You squirmed, trying to slap his hands away, but the tickling was relentless, and your traitorous laughter left you weak, your arms useless.

“No! I- dammit, Barnes!”

Seizing the moment, he stepped back, grabbed both your wrists and yanked you against him, hauling you effortlessly over his shoulder. You kicked your legs in protest, but his grip was unyielding, his hand steady against the backs of your thighs.

“Put me down!” you demanded, pounding your fists against his unfairly muscled back.

“Not until you’re in jail,” he said, his voice low and smooth, the vibration of it sending a shiver through you.

“This is cruel and unusual punishment,” you grumbled, your cheeks burning as you felt his arm tighten around your thighs.

He chuckled, the sound warm and agonising. “Unusual, maybe. But I’d say you’re enjoying it.”

“Barnes!” you snapped, squirming harder.

His laughter deepened, and he carried you with an ease that was both infuriating and maddeningly attractive. When he finally stopped, he set you down just outside the jail, his hands lingering at your waist.

“Let me go,” you said, though the bite in your tone had softened.

He stepped closer, his body a looming presence as his eyes bore into yours. “Say please.”

You scowled, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Didn’t think so,” he said, his smirk widening as he stepped forward, forcing you to step back - straight into the jail’s boundary.

You glared at him, your chest heaving as he stood just inches away, his gaze dark and intent. “Happy now?”

“Not yet,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp, “but close.”

Before you could fire back, Sam’s triumphant whoop echoed through the trees. You turned just in time to see him flying above your team's base with Bucky's team's flag, waving it over his head like a trophy.

Bucky groaned, his head falling back briefly before he levelled a sharp glare at you. “Distraction,” he muttered under his breath with a shake of his head, the word practically dripping with accusation.

Your lips curved into a coy smile despite yourself.

“You’re too damn good at it,” he said, his tone darker now, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary before he turned and stalked off.

Flushed, you called after him. "This isn't over, Barnes!"

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine, turning to face you as he walked backwards towards his next mission. "Not by a long shot."

[n0vazsq]

Immortal | Hector Fort x Reader

pairing . . . hector fort x gf!reader

summary . . . Taking care of sick Hector was ....something, especially when he admits that he's not used to it

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 1.2k+

warnings . . . sick hector </3

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . i was thinking of myself nearly dead while i was sick so this is accurate yk yk <33 the coil thing was a physics spring extension refrence LMAO

taglist . . . @barcapix (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

. . . Hector wasn’t one to admit weakness. Even as the slight shivers wrecked his body and his voice felt scratchy, he insisted it was just a cold. No big deal. But when his legs almost gave out from underneath him during training, you weren’t buying it.

You saw it coming. He’d been quieter than usual all morning, his focus slipping like sand through clenched fingers. His face, normally flushed with energy, was pale, eyes shadowed with tiredness.

Every movement looked like it took double the effort, as if he were wading through quicksand. Still, he pushed through drills, ignoring the sweat dripping down his face; not from exertion, but fever.

You’d been through it before, often being the one who caught whatever cold or virus was going around. Hector had taken care of you more times than you could count. Bringing you tea when you couldn’t get out of bed, forcing you to rest even when you fought it, making sure you didn’t try to push through things when you were running a fever.

You’d always felt guilty for relying on him so much, but he never seemed to mind. It was like he had a sixth sense when it came to taking care of you.

Now, the tables had turned.

When his knees wobbled and his balance faltered during a simple pass, you caught his arm, steadying him before he could hit the ground.

"You’re done for the day," you said firmly, staring into his glassy eyes.

He shot you a glare, more pout than protest. "I’m fine."

"No, you’re stubborn, not fine," you replied, not letting go. His skin was burning under your touch, like a fire barely contained. "Come on. You’re not staying out here."

He grumbled something incomprehensible under his breath, too exhausted to argue properly. You half dragged, half walked him back to the locker room, then down the quiet hall to his room. His steps were sluggish, his breathing shallow, each one a struggle like climbing a mountain. He leaned on you more than he probably realized.

Once inside, you guided him to sit on the edge of his bed. Before he could protest, you grabbed the nearest blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders. He tried to pull away, but even that took too much effort. He looked at you with soft, tired eyes, eyes that usually sparked with trouble or determination. Now, they were just worn.

"Don’t look at me like that," you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"Like what?" he muttered, voice hoarse.

“Like you’re miserable.”

A weak laugh escaped him, more of a breath than a sound. "I’m not… miserable."

"No," you agreed, sitting down beside him. "Just bad at taking care of yourself."

He leaned back against the headboard, eyes half closed, as if the weight of the world rested on his eyelids. "Didn’t want to skip training.”

"You should’ve. You’re not going to impress anyone by collapsing on the field. You act like you're immortal."

His lips twitched into a small, almost invisible smirk. "Maybe I was trying to impress you."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help but feel your heart beat faster and warmth spread through your chest, like the first rays of sunlight after a storm. "You’ve already done that. Now let me take care of you, for once."

He didn’t argue this time. The silence stretched, comfortable and heavy with unspoken words. You pressed the back of your hand to his forehead. "Hector, you’re burning."

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch without meaning to. "It’ll pass."

You stood up, rummaging through his small stash of supplies. "You need water and something for the fever."

He barely reacted, too worn down by whatever virus had taken control. You found a bottle of water and some medicine, sitting back beside him. "Here. Drink."

He took the bottle without protest, sipping slowly. His hands trembled slightly, so you held them, steadying it for him.

"Thanks," he mumbled, voice softer now.

You watched him carefully. His usual walls were down, stripped away by exhaustion and fever. His eyes were dim, like a candle fighting against the wind, the warmth they once held barely a flicker now. He was vulnerable in a way you’d never seen before, and it hit you just how much he trusted you to see him like this.

"You don’t have to thank me," you said gently. "That’s what I'm here are for."

For a moment, there was silence. Then, in a voice almost too quiet to hear, he whispered, "I’m not… used to this."

"Being sick?"

"No. Letting someone… help."

Your heart clenched. You knew Hector was stubborn, but hearing him say it hit different. He was always the one others leaned on, never the other way around. Seeing him like this, letting himself lean on you, felt like something sacred.

"You don’t always have to be the strong one," you said softly. "It’s okay to need someone."

He didn’t respond, but his eyes met yours, something unspoken passing between you. Gratitude. Trust. Maybe something deeper.

You stayed with him as the afternoon wore on. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner and his occasional, raspy coughs. You talked about everything and anything. Training issues, favorite matches, old stories that made him smile, even if just a little.

At some point, he drifted off, his head resting against your shoulder. His breathing evened out, the tension in his body easing, like a tightly coiled spring finally releasing. You stayed still, not wanting to wake him, even as your arm started to go numb.

As the room settled into a peaceful quiet, you couldn’t help but feel a shift in the air. You watched him for a moment, his exhaustion still evident, but there was something else, something unspoken between the two of you.

You leaned in slightly, your breath catching for a moment as you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering just a little longer than you expected.

"I love you," you whispered, voice barely a breath against his skin.

His eyes fluttered open for a moment, meeting yours with something unreadable. You felt your heart race, unsure if he’d heard you or if the fever had made him too drowsy to respond. But before you could pull away, he reached up, his hand gently touching your cheek, his fingers warm despite the coldness of his fever.

"I love you too," he said, his voice quiet but sincere, like a promise in the stillness of the room. Then, with a soft exhale, he closed his eyes again, the weight of sleep finally taking over.

You smiled faintly, admiring his sleeping face. And then you couldn't help but brush your fingers through his hair, exhaling slightly. Hector leaned into your touch, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

Slowly, you shifted and kissed his temple, then rested your head on top of his. His hand found yours, even when he was asleep, as if it was reflex. You squeezed it once, reassuring him that you were still there.

When he woke up a while later, he looked better, still tired, but more himself. "You stayed?"

"Of course I did."

He looked at you for a long moment, something soft and unguarded in his gaze. "Thank you."

And this time, you knew he didn’t just mean for the water or the blanket.

He meant for being there. For seeing him. For staying. For loving him like no one else did.

[whipped-for-kpop-fics]

Naive - L.C

💡Who: Lee Chan (Seventeen) x female reader 💡What: Best friends to ??? Angst. Thriller. Soft moments. Dark themes (please check warnings). 18+ 💡Word count: 11.5k 💡Warnings: Profanity. Stalking. Nonconsensual voyeurism. Nonconsensual photos. Cheating. Major injury (Not Chan or reader). Mentions of a car accident. Mentions of sexual harassment. Mentions of panic attacks and almost panic attacks. No smut, but suggestive content, some dirty talk and mentions of sexual acts. Very morally dark character. Drugging. Kidnapping. Restraints. Chan calls reader angel a lot (mostly because I don’t wanna use y/n), and baby in the second half.

Summary: Breakups are always painful, but at least you have your best friend by your side to make everything better. Right?

Minors do NOT interact, which means reblogging and/or commenting on this story. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio.

-2024 Masterlist-

A/N- I know nothing about flower meanings, it all came straight from Wikipedia so don't blame me for inaccurate meanings, it's just a fic.

“It’s okay, he’s in the past, he’s not worth your tears,” your best friend soothes as you cry into his chest for the third night in a row.

“I-I should’ve li-listened to you,” you sob, gripping his t-shirt tighter and curling up smaller.

“It doesn’t matter now; what matters is you ended it and never have to deal with that asshole again.”

“A-asshole is too kind.”

Chan chuckles and tilts his head against the top of your head yet says nothing more and simply continues to hold you until you run out of tears for your cheating, pervert of an ex-boyfriend. Proving once again that Lee Chan is the only man you can ever trust to be good and honest.

Over a year ago, you met Lee Chan while in the gardening section of the bookstore. It was a cliché romcom moment where you both reached for the same book and your hands met before your eyes did. He smiled at you with a soft little chuckle and said something like “guess we both want to know what Victorian people thought flowers meant”, which somehow led to you both buying a copy of the book on the Victorian language of flowers to take to the nearby coffee shop with the intention of reading side by side. Though very little reading happened, and you found yourself sitting there with Chan for hours; laughing and talking as if you’ve known one another for years. It was like he was made to be the other half of you, designed with only you in mind.

At first, you thought maybe it was true; that Chan was your romantic soulmate. But you were seeing someone else at the time and pushed the thought of Chan being anything but platonic entirely out of your mind.

It’s a year and multiple failed relationships later, while you’re out shopping on a rare day off, that something changes.

“What do you think of this one?” Chan asks, drawing your attention to where he’s a few racks away donned in the black, leather biker jacket he just found on the men’s sale rack.

“Oh,” you murmur, suddenly hit with the realisation that your best friend is ridiculously attractive.

It’s not that you’ve ever thought Chan is ugly; in fact, you first paid attention to him in the bookstore past a glance because of how handsome he is. But that was over a year ago and your thoughts have never moved on from considering him the same kind of beautiful as you would a piece of art that you see in a store, yet easily move on past without looking back.

Yet now, you’ve noticed and suddenly can’t draw your eyes away from him.

“Hello?” Chan laughs, waving his arms to bring you back to reality when you do nothing more than stare at him for almost a full minute. “You alright? Getting hungry?” He pouts at you teasingly. “Does the baby need num nums?”

“I hate it when you say that” you remind and stick your middle finger up at him, making him laugh while you turn back to the sale rack you had been looking through.

“I know, why do you think I say it?” He cackles and bounces over to prod you and gain your attention back. “You didn’t say what you think? Do I look sexy?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you while posing in the jacket. “Should I get it?”

“Yeah,” you answer with a nod after taking his body in once more and turning away.

“Was that yes to getting it, or that I look sexy?” He murmurs from suddenly behind you with his mouth right by your ear. You jolt in surprise having not heard him approach, then turn to whack his arm while he cracks up laughing. “You think I’m sexyyy!” He sings loudly, just to annoy you.

“Why are we best friends again?”

“I took pity on you and your bad taste in men.” He definitely deserves the hit this time, even if he’s right.

Ever since you’ve known Chan, you’ve had nothing but terrible luck with picking men to date. You always think they’re okay at first, but then the red flags start popping up and begin waving manically in the hot air spewing from their mouths.

You really thought you had run out of bad luck and finally picked a good one with your ex. He was kind and endlessly attractive; a hard worker, yet always made time for fun and relaxation; and his parents loved you.

It lasted a whole seven months before you found another woman’s underwear in his car, and you realised you should’ve listened to Chan’s gut feeling about Kyle from the start. Finding a stack of polaroids of various women getting changed when you were emptying his apartment of your belongings that same night only made the heartache worse. Not only did he cheat on you, but he also likes to take photos of unsuspecting women through windows and cracked doors.

Upon turning your back on him three weeks ago, you decided to give up on men and always listen to Chan’s gut instincts from now on.

You don’t need a boyfriend; you just need your best friend.

Just when you’re about to leave your apartment building to meet with Chan for lunch one day, you come face to face with your ex. He looks, frankly put, like shit. He used to be so well put together, never to an obsessive degree but he was always well rested and tidy, but now he looks like he hasn’t slept or eaten in at least two days with his hair sticking up a little as if he’s been running his hands through it repeatedly. He’s still wearing nice clothes, but they’re creased, and his shoes aren’t even properly tied.

“What are you doing here?” You hiss while glaring at the man and trying to step past him, but he gets in your path with his hands held up placatingly; he even doesn’t attempt to touch you or get in your personal space.

Vaguely, you think how weird it is of him to respect that boundary yet have polaroids of you half naked in the changing room at your gym. A completely separate gym to the one he frequents too, which somehow makes it even worse; that he went so far out of his way to take the photos you never consented to.

“I just want to talk to you, please? Just a few minutes and I’ll go, and you’ll never see me again,” he pleads. The genuine desperation in his eyes makes you relent and nod. “Can we go somewhere a little less public? I’m not asking to go somewhere isolated, just not the middle of the building lobby.”

Again, you relent and move to the side of the lobby out of the light foot traffic; still perfectly in sight of others yet far enough away to have a private conversation.

“Thank you,” he breathes out gratefully and relaxes a little as you lean one shoulder against the wall with your arms crossed over your chest.

“What is it? I’m going to be late to meet Chan.”

“Right, how is he?”

“Good, it’s Chan. He’s always good.” The words are a little pointed, designed to hurt, and the way his features flinch at the jab sends a little surge of satisfaction into you. Though there’s something in you aching at that same hurt in his eyes; it looks too real.

“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” he agrees softly, and you hum. “So uh, I just…I can’t stop thinking about what happened.”

“Cheating on me or taking photos of women without their consent?” You question, glaring again at the reminder of why you want nothing to do with this man before you. This pathetic, sad eyed, mess of a man.

It’s funny how far he’s fallen in so little time. Strange how a man who cheated on you in the backseat of the same car he often pulled you into with shared giggles, can break so much at being called out on his misdeeds.

You really thought he would just move on to the next conquest and forget all about you for good, just like he did while with the other woman. Or women. You never asked how many there were.

Yet the man before you doesn’t seem to have moved on at all.

“I didn’t do either of those things,” he repeats the words he had said to you a little over a month ago. You didn’t believe him then; you were so full of anger and betrayal as you tried to cradle the pieces of your shattered heart and hoped he hadn’t stolen any of the pieces leaving you unable to stitch it back together again.

Now that you’ve let go of most of your anger and Chan has helped you in putting the pieces back together to the point that your heart is almost whole and healing, you can see through the pain and tears and notice that this man in front of you looks genuine. He’s looking at you without any attempt to look aside or shrink away. He isn’t hiding.

“I found underwear in your car Kyle,” you point out, holding your ground even if you suddenly realise that something here doesn’t feel right. “And those photos in your apartment.”

“I know, I know, and I’ve been trying to figure out how the fuck they got there because it wasn’t me.”

“You live alone and don’t share your car.”

“I know!” He exclaims, hands flying up in frustration, though it doesn’t feel like it’s aimed at you, especially as he steps back to make certain that he doesn’t accidentally hit you. Kyle’s always been considerate like that; always made sure to give you a wide berth when he flung his arms around in play or frustration. But that doesn’t mean he can’t be a cheating pervert. A man can be against physically harming his partner and still betray their trust so deeply.

“Then only you could’ve put them there.”

“No, no, I didn’t though,” he steps closer while lifting his hands between you, though he brings them to his own chest instead of touching you. “Look me in the eye and tell me I have ever done a thing to make you think I would cheat on you or take photos without consent. I never even asked you for pictures; you were the one who offered and asked if you could send me pictures months into our relationship.”

The thing is, he’s right. Although you did have sex regularly and he would send you dirty texts when he was in the mood, Kyle never asked for nudes. You had to be the one to bring it up and ask if he was against that kind of thing.

Now that he brings it up, you can vividly recall him telling you that does enjoy nudes and would certainly enjoy seeing photos of you like that, but he also knows how dangerous they can be to send and receive because of hacking, losing phones or breaking up. He had been so genuine about it and triple checked that you were comfortable with it entirely before giving you consent to send him photos whenever you wanted.

“You had those polaroids, you didn’t need me to send you any,” you reason in a mumble. You don’t even know if you believe what you’re saying at this point, or if you’re just trying to explain the behaviour away. Something isn’t sitting right in you.

“Why would I want polaroids of random women I don’t even know when I have you?” He asks, eyes silently begging you to understand.

“There were photos of me too,” you answer.

“What?” He frowns confusedly. “I didn’t see those, just the top ones before you took them all away.”

“You know I was in there, at the gym changing rooms.”

“I’ve never been anywhere near your gym!” He puts his face in his hands. “I don’t understand what the fuck is going on. I swear I have never been to your gym.” He looks at you imploringly as his hands drop. “And you know I keep my car clean, there’s no way I would’ve failed to notice that underwear; so if I did cheat on you, do you really think I’d miss the evidence and leave them somewhere you’d see them?”

You open your mouth to retort automatically, only to realise there isn’t a single word ready to roll off your tongue. He’s making far too much sense and that doesn’t make sense.

He cheated on you. He’s a pervert who takes photos of unsuspecting women in vulnerable situations. He’s a terrible person.

At least, you thought he was.

Maybe Chan is right and you’re just naïve when faced with a handsome man giving you big puppy dog eyes.

“I need to go,” you decide after a few long moments of trying to form some kind of reaction other than staring at him with furrowed brows. “Chan’s waiting.”

“Right,” Kyle lets out a disappointed sigh, yet nods resignedly and steps back as if giving you space to leave. He hadn’t been in your way in the first place but it’s a silent sign that he won’t try to stop you. “I guess I can’t say anything else to convince you that I didn’t do those things, and I never would. I…I wanted to marry you, you know?”

“What?” You whisper in shock, eyebrows lifting as your eyes turn wide. “Marry me?”

“Yeah,” he lets out a soft, humourless laugh and runs one hand through his hair while looking aside, a shy flush creeping onto his neck and ears. “I was in love with you.”

“You were?”

“Yeah, well, no, actually, that’s a lie.” He looks at you and catches the way your face falls into a frown hearing him admitting to lying to your face like that. “I’m still so fucking in love with you that I can’t function properly knowing you hate me. I’m not asking you to come back to me; I know that won’t happen. I’m just…asking you to really think about it, about us, and me. I never lied to you, never showed you a false me. You know me better than anyone else. Do you really believe I did those things?”

“What took you so long?” Chan pouts at you when you sit down in your usual seat opposite him at your usual table in your usual café. “Angel?”

“Uh, so Kyle was at my apartment,” you inform, picking up your mug that’s been waiting for you for ten minutes already thanks to Chan always ordering for you both. Usually you arrive minutes before your food and drinks arrive, but today you’re late for the first time.

“What?” Chan’s face drops so drastically it throws you off for a second. You’ve never seen such a dark expression on him; you’ve never seen him so entirely void of any light. He doesn’t look like your best friend. “Your apartment? Did he force himself in? Did he hurt you?”

“No, no, I meant the lobby and no, he’s never hurt me. He wouldn’t do that.”

“He cheated on you, took fucking creeper shots of you in your gym and you think he’s above putting his hands on you?” He scoffs, shaking his head a little and pushes the salt across the table to you. You hadn’t asked for it, but you will before you start eating.

He’s always doing thoughtful little things like that for you, but you’ve never really noticed it until the last weeks. Silently noticing what you need and giving it to you with a smile.

But he’s not smiling now. He looks concerned now, rounded eyes locked on you and head tilted down a little as he frowns, almost looking at you through his eyelashes. “I don’t want to be mean or anything, but he fooled you before, angel, he’s clearly trying to do it again. I don’t know what he said to you, but you’ve got that lost look you get when you don’t know what to do.”

“He made good points, Channie,” you reply as you salt your fries before putting the shaker down. Chan doesn’t even look at it past a quick glance before sliding it back to its home out of the way.

“What good points could he have for cheating on you?”

“He said he didn’t do it-” Chan sighs heavily, cutting you off.

“Angel, he said that before, remember? Why do you suddenly believe that piece of shit?”

“Because…he looked honest.”

Chan stares at you for a moment before he sighs and reaches over to hold your hands. “I say this with all the love in me, but you’re not the best judge of character, angel. You’re naïve, innocent. I love that you see the good in the world and everyone, really, I fucking love it; it’s really sweet and cute. But it’s going to get you hurt all over again if you let him fool you like this.”

You look down at your hands in Chan’s, then back up at his face. His gaze is entirely open; big eyes and soft, naturally pouting lips. Your heart skips a beat.

You look away while nodding in understanding, silently telling him that you’re listening to him as you free your hands so that you can pick up your fork.

“Good, I really don’t want to see you hurt again like that. It broke my heart,” Chan says, relaxing as he picks up his own fork to stab too many fries onto the prongs, which he then points at you. “If you break my heart again like that, I’m stealing your TV.”

“My TV?” You sputter in surprise before laughing. Chan grins around the too many fries in his mouth and nods. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me though,” he sings around his mouthful while stabbing more fries.

Even with the view of his partially chewed food in his mouth, you can’t really deny it.

“No! Stop it!” You giggle while trying to block Chan from entering your kitchen behind you. “It’s not ready!”

“Just tell me what you’re doing!” He replies, laughing along with you as he tries to dart around you.

“Not yet! Just wait, you impatient shit!”

“No!” He wraps his arms around your waist to pull you away from the doorway and spin you both, so his back is to the kitchen now instead of yours. “Ha!”

“No!” You gasp and reach out, grabbing fistfuls of his t-shirt and in a panic, you yank him closer harshly, unintentionally making him stumble into you.

“Shit, are you okay?” He worries once you’re both steady and he’s holding your upper arms to nudge you back just enough that he can look at your face. You’re frowning, though he can only see your furrowed eyebrows thanks to your hand being over most of the bottom half of your face to cup your nose as his shoulder had collided with it. “Oh, did I hurt you?”

“Asshole,” you murmur while nodding, even if it doesn’t hurt that much; you just honestly like being doted on by your best friend to the extent that you are willing to play up minor injuries to gain his gentle touch and attention.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he apologises, frowning at you as he carefully tugs your hand down. “Let Doctor Channie see.”

“You’d be a terrible doctor,” you reply, moving your hand down to let him cup your face so that he can tilt your head into the light coming in through the windows and see your features better.

“What? I’d be great!” He defends, pouting at you offendedly.

“You thought the uvula is what you pee from.”

“It’s not my fault!” He blushes a little at the reminder of his innocent mix up. “Nobody told me that dangly thing isn’t tonsils! And the pee pipe thingy starts with a U too!”

“Urethra.”

“Exactly, they’re so similar! They should name them differently. Anyway, that doesn’t mean anything, I’d still be a good doctor.”

“Yeah, until you try to catheter someone’s throat.” His expression turns unimpressed, and you can’t help but giggle. He rolls his eyes as his lips turn up into a smile.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmurs, turning his attention back to your slightly red nose.

“Mm, so what’s the verdict doc?” You tease, poking at his stomach and trying not to focus on the physical reminder that your best friend has abs under his baggy clothes.

“I think you’ll be okay with the right treatment.”

“And what treatment is that?”

“The best thing for a boo-boo,” he replies seriously, and then visibly nearly breaks into a laugh at the almost glare you land on him. “What?”

“I’m not a baby.”

“Yes you are. My baby,” he coos and taps his thumbs to your cheeks. You hope he doesn’t see or feel the way they warm at his words. “I specialise in baby angels, I know this.”

“You’re seriously ridiculous.”

“Mm, so, are you consenting to Doctor Channie’s effective boo-boo treatment?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “You haven’t told me what it is yet.”

“You know what the treatment for a boo-boo is, angel,” he chuckles and tilts forward to press a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “Like that.”

“I didn’t consent to that treatment, I can sue you,” you mumble, trying to distract from the growing pink on your cheeks. Chan’s eyes glide over your features, lips turning up into a soft smile. “Stop smiling at me like that!” You whine, slapping his waist so gently that it can’t even be classed at a slap, more like you’re just putting your hands on his waist with a little force.

“But you’re so fucking cute,” he reasons, smiling wider. “My cute baby,” he murmurs lowly and brushes his nose against yours gently. Your breath hitches at the tender action while your fingers curl reflexively to loosely grip his t-shirt. “Do I have consent to administer treatment, angel?” He whispers, lips so close to yours that you can almost feel them moving as he talks.

“I…” Just as you start to nod, your phone starts to ring in the kitchen, making you jump in surprise and jolt away from Chan in a natural reaction to the unexpected noise. “I should get that.”

“Right,” Chan mutters, dropping his arms to his side with a disappointed frown as he watches you scoot around him to enter the kitchen.

When you pick up your phone from the counter, you’re more than just a little surprised to see your ex’s mother calling you.

You haven’t heard from her since the breakup when she messaged you to say that she doesn’t know what happened, but she hopes that you and her can still be friends as she values you so highly. You hadn’t responded then; you hadn’t wanted to interact with anyone who you knew through him, even if you had regret ghosting her afterwards because she genuinely is such a lovely woman who always treated you lovingly.

Still, even with the period of no contact between you, you pick your phone up to answer the call. “Hello?”

“O-oh thank goodness,” the still familiar voice sobs in relief.

“Auntie? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Kyle, there-there’s been an accident.”

Just over an hour after receiving the call, you’re tucked up in between Kyle’s parents on the couch of the private room with their arms around you, both of them crying for their son as you do your best to comfort them while feeling numb yourself. You’re too in shock at the sight of the heavily injured man laid unconscious on the bed to process it.

When you had arrived with Chan right behind you, the pair had just about managed to tell you through their tears that Kyle had been driving to work that morning when another vehicle had violently run him off of the road.

It had been on such a quiet road so early that nobody else was around; no witnesses to give details of the other car, nor to run to his aide or call for help. By the time someone found the wreck in the ditch, it had been long enough that too much damage had been done.

And now, even after hours of surgery, there’s no knowing if Kyle will make it through the night, let alone wake up again. There’s only waiting.

So, you wait.

“They’ll call if there’s any sign,” Chan reminds as he helps you out of your jacket. “You spent two days by his side, angel, there’s nothing more you can do for him. He’s not your responsibility or person to care for anymore. His parents and sister are there, and they promised to call you.”

“I know,” you reply, moving woodenly as Chan leads you through your apartment to the kitchen with his hand in yours to keep you moving.

He flicks on the light and falls still at the sight of the mess you left on the counter from leaving so quickly three evenings ago to get to the hospital. He never learned what you had been refusing to let him see until now. “Cake,” he murmurs, noticing the half decorated cake on the counter, surrounded by all the items you had been using to decorate it.

“For your new job,” you reply with a shrug. “It’s no good now. Sorry, I’ll buy you a replacement tomorrow.”

“No, no, you don’t have to. Just knowing is enough for me,” Chan assures, turning to bring you in to hold against his chest where you melt against him with an exhale. “I appreciate the thought and effort you went to, angel; that means more than a store bought cake ever could.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t finish it.”

“It’s not your fault. Let’s order something for dinner and while it’s on its way, I’ll clean this up while you go shower.”

“Do I smell?” You mumble against his shoulder.

“Like sadness,” he retorts with a joking edge to his sombre tone that makes you jab your fingers into his waist in scold. He yelps and contorts away from your fingers without releasing his arms from around you. “And meanness.”

“Meanness,” you repeat, scoffing a short laugh and leaning back from his shoulder to look at him.

“Yes. It’s mean to take advantage of my weak spots.”

“You do it to me all the time.”

“Yes, but you’re the nice one, my angel,” he coos, pinching your cheek before he lets you go to nudge you out of the kitchen while you try to recall just when it got so normal for Chan to call you his.

Since becoming best friends with Chan, it’s not unusual at all to return home and find him in your apartment as if he owns the place. Honestly, you genuinely think he spends more time in your apartment than his own, especially the past couple months. The couch is practically his bed at this point.

What is very unusual however, is to arrive home to find the door slightly open and hear another voice talking with Chan from inside your apartment.

“Chan?” You call in a cautious, soft voice as you nudge the door open and peer around it.

“Hi, angel, welcome home,” Chan greets, smiling at you and motioning you to join him opposite the two uniformed police officers standing and talking to him in the entrance hall.

“What’s going on, Channie?” You ask as you stand at his side and cling to his hand while remaining just a little behind him and away from the officers. They’re both taller than you and Chan, with one of them being thick with muscle and rather intimidating. Though when he smiles at you in polite greeting, most of the fear melts away.

“This is Officer Choi Seungcheol and Officer Chwe Hansol, they’re here to talk to you about Kyle,” Chan explains, motioning to each man in turn.

“Is there news on who ran him off the road?” You ask, looking at the two men with hope in your eyes and chest. It’s been over a week since the incident and there hasn’t been any more information about who put Kyle into such a devastating condition.

The last you heard, they had managed to get sight of a damaged SUV in the general vicinity from CCTV a handful of roads away, but the plates turned out to be stolen from another car across the country over a year ago and the windows were blacked out so there’s no way to tell who was driving the car. Whoever it was clearly knows the streets well enough that they escaped the CCTV quickly and the vehicle hasn’t shown up since. Nor has one matching the description been scrapped or sent to be fixed.

“That’s not our department,” the intimidating officer, Seungcheol, replies while giving you another gentle little smile. “I’m afraid we’re from the sexual crimes division, ma’am.”

“Sexual crimes?” You whisper in shock. “Wh-what?”

“We’ve received reports that Kyle has sexually harassed and stalked multiple women over the past year.”

“No, he-he wouldn’t-” you argue, shaking your head as your hands start to tremble ever so slightly, so you hold onto Chan’s hand tighter with both of yours to try and cease the shuddering movements. “You’re wrong.”

“I understand that it’s hard to hear these things about someone you thought you knew, but we have to follow up every lead we have to get all the information we need to press charges.”

“He’s in a hospital bed!” You baulk and let out an incredulous laugh. “You want to charge a man who might not even wake up? What kind of a person are you?!”

“It’s not our choice, ma’am. We’re just doing our jobs and trying to get justice for the victims.”

“I’m not having any part in this. I have nothing to say to you. He never did a thing wrong to me. Get out,” you insist, pointing to the door. “I’m not going to let you bring these accusations into my home without proof.”

“We have proof,” the other officer speaks up, earning a slightly disapproving look from his partner, but he isn’t stopped. “We saw proof ourselves; photos of women taken from outside of windows and other positions that clearly show a lack of consent. And a hidden, digital diary alluding to the acts that match up with statements we received from victims.”

“Photos?” You repeat disbelievingly.

“Yes ma’am, and I’m afraid you were in some. Based on the angle and quality, we believe the photos were taken from a roof into what we can only assume is your own bedroom.”

“My bedroom?”

“Yes ma’am. May we see your room and take photos for comparative purposes?”

“My bedroom…” You can only repeat, too in shock to do anything else as you stare dumbly at the two uniformed men in front of you.

“I think she needs a moment,” Chan says while putting his arm around you to support your gradually weakening body.

“Of course, we’ll wait right here,” Seungcheol agrees in a gentle tone and nods understandingly.

Chan carefully takes you to the living room to sit you on the couch and kneels in front of you. “Baby, breathe, come on,” he encourages softly as he holds your face. “You’re going to have a panic attack if you don’t copy me, come on.” He starts to take exaggerated breaths; big inhale, hold, slow exhale.

You blink at him unseeingly for a few of his breaths before your eyes drop to his mouth and you naturally copy the man who has helped you level your breathing more times than you can count the past year.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he praises. “A few more for me, you can do a few more for your Channie, right?” You nod so he smiles and takes a handful more deep, steadying breaths, each of which you obediently copy. “Good, well done.” He leans forward and kisses your head. “I’ll deal with the cops, okay? You just sit here and let your Channie handle it all. You just relax, angel.”

There isn’t a single part of you that wants to face the officers and their accusations again, so you simply nod and let Chan tuck a blanket around you as you curl up against the back of the sofa, before he turns on the TV just loud enough that when he goes back into the hall to talk to the two men, you can’t make out their low murmuring voices.

Throughout the remainder of the visit from the two officers, you don’t move, just sit staring blankly at the cushions in front of you as your mind whirls.

You don’t know what to believe. When Kyle had visited you that day, you really did believe him. Even now, there’s a part of you that struggles to believe the sincerity in his eyes and voice to be nothing more than a clever act to fool you. He has never laid a hand on you, never forced you to do anything or kicked up a fuss if you rejected his advances. Kyle was good.

Or maybe not.

If the police aren’t lying to you, then they have proof; more photos, even though you took the ones you found that time and burned them all, and witness accounts, or well, victim’s statements would be the correct term.

You know it’s possible to spend your entire life with a person and never truly know them, but you truly had thought that you knew Kyle. You had been so close to falling in love with him; that’s why it had hurt so much. You truly had believed that one day, you’d fall mutually in love with him, with a good man, and have a happy life together.

But all this; the accusations, the proof you had found yourself even if you still struggle to accept it at face value, it just goes to show that you never really know a person.

“They’re gone,” Chan’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. You turn your head to watch him cross the living room to sit at your side and invite himself under the blanket. He puts his left arm on the back of the couch in a silent offer that you readily accept, shuffling closer to tuck up under his arm and settle when it’s around you securely.

“Was it my room?” You ask, not really sure if you want to know the answer. But you need to.

Chan lets out a breath that sounds like a reluctant sigh. It’s almost answer enough, yet you need to hear it. “Yeah, angel, it looks like it was your room. They took photos and are going to go to the roof of the motel opposite to take a photo from there to see if it matches. I’ve given them my number to keep me updated and so they contact me if they need to, not you. I told them about the photos you found too and that you burned them so no-one else can have them.”

“Should-should I have reported him then?” You wonder, suddenly worried that you had potentially endangered women by not stepping up.

“Maybe,” he replies in a way that you just know means he thinks you should’ve, but he doesn’t want to upset you.

You curl up smaller and turn your face into his shoulder to let the familiar, soothing scent of his cologne and laundry detergent ease you.

Chan tilts his head on top of yours and holds you that bit tighter. “At least he can’t hurt anyone else anymore.”

The words are supposed to be comforting, but they don’t comfort you at all.

The news comes only a few days later.

It didn’t take long to gather evidence to support the accusations against Kyle. The warrant for his home turned up the photos and a hidden memory stick containing a written diary with documents matching dates of some of the statements, though many more entries without a woman to match to the words. The police just had to confirm the evidence and talk to some people before moving forward with it, like they did with you and Chan.

If it wasn’t for Kyle’s condition, the case would’ve been closed only two days after the police visited you, and he would’ve been sent off to prison. As it is, the man still hasn’t woken and the doctors aren’t confident that he ever will, so he can’t really be held accountable for his actions.

When Chan tells you the news, you feel bad that for the first time, you’re glad that Kyle is unconscious and likely to never wake up; at least this way, he won’t have to face the accusations which a part of you still can’t believe are true.

What you are finally letting yourself believe though, are all the times Chan called you naïve.

“Delivery for the cutest baby angel to have ever existed,” comes the greeting from behind the massive bouquet of flowers almost shoved in your face the very moment you open the front door of your apartment to see who has been insistently ringing the bell.

“That is an obscene amount of flowers,” you murmur while eyeing the bouquet.

It lowers and your best friend’s head appears as he pouts at you cutely. “Don’t you want it?”

“Gimmie,” you encourage, making grabby hands. Chan grins and hands you the bouquet, which is literally three times bigger than your head, before stepping into the apartment while you wander off, happily admiring and sniffing the multitude of flowers.

It’s not unusual for Chan to bring you flowers at all; rather, it’s unusual for your home to not have flowers gifted to you from your best friend. Even if he can’t visit you he sends you flowers at least weekly, and the ones he sends tend to always be more extravagant as if he’s making up for not giving them to you in person.

Every single bouquet is always handpicked by Chan; he always chooses which flowers to give you, not based on their colour or scent but for the meaning.

One of the things that helped you and Chan bond when you first met was your shared love of flowers and their meanings. You both know the meanings of a vast array of flowers, and he always includes yellow roses in his bouquet to symbolise your friendship.

Today is no different; there is an abundance of yellow roses in the bouquet, but there are a mixture of other flowers often in yellow themes, as it seems rather common for yellow flowers to symbolise friendship and happiness.

But sometimes there’s other colours; a little pop of pink tulips to show he cares, white carnations with a cheeky wink as he calls you baby angel, fragrant lavender to remind you of his loyalty to your friendship. Every bouquet is carefully crafted as a message; to tell you that Chan is your best friend and will always be there to love and support you.

And today, right there amongst the usual flowers, a handful of light pink roses.

You run through your mental list of flower meanings. Pink roses tend to mean grace, dark pink for gratitude and light pink has a few meanings just like many flowers. Many of the flowers Chan gives you have multiple meanings, but when put together the bouquets he gives you all mean the same thing. However, light pink roses aren’t used to symbolise friendship, innocence, or care. They mean youth, energy, passion, desire. None of those really blend with the rest of the bouquet’s meaning and it throws you for a loop.

“Did they put in the wrong flower?” You ask, pointing to the light pink roses as you look over at Chan puzzled. He walks over to peer at the bouquet and where you’re motioning, before shaking his head. “But they don’t mean friendship,” you mumble confusedly and look at the flowers again as you try to decipher their reasoning.

Chan doesn’t say a word, just leans his left hip against the counter, left palm on the surface and right hand fiddling with the unused belt loop on your jeans as he waits.

“Wait!” You turn to face him while pointing an accusing finger at him. “Is this you calling me a baby again? Light pink roses for youth?”

Chan chuckles and shakes his head, sliding two of his fingers into the loop now you’re facing one another and letting his palm settle against your hip. “No, it’s not that, though that’s a good one, I should’ve thought of that.”

“Then what?” You tilt your head a little, pouting naturally with your innocent confusion.

“You know. I know you know this one, angel,” he encourages and tugs you closer.

“Joy of life?” You offer, too used to him leading you around and being physically affectionate to really register how close he has you, or how his thumb is gradually tugging at your t-shirt where it’s tucked into your jeans.

“No.”

“Well it’s certainly not energy, you always say I lack energy. Or are you trying to like, manifest energy for me?”

“No, but once again, that’s good, I’ll make you a manifestation bouquet one day soon.”

“Then what? I’m confused, Chan.”

“Want me to tell you?” You nod in confirmation. “What if I show you?”

“What?”

He smirks a little, then pushes off of the counter and cups your jaw with his left hand. “Should I tell you, or show you, baby?” He murmurs, voice pitching low in a way that sends shivers up and down your spine. He leans in closer, brushing his nose against your cheek and nose in a teasing manner, but he doesn’t do anything more. “Well?”

It takes a few seconds for you to react; your heart is racing with anticipation, and you need to swallow a few times. He pulls back and notices your gaze slide down to his lips. “Show me,” you say in a voice so soft and shy it’s practically a whisper.

Chan doesn’t need to be told twice; he darts forward to slot his lips against yours for the first time. There’s no hesitance in his movements, no gentle teasing and dancing as he eases you into it; he kisses you passionately from the first moment, guiding your head to tilt in the perfect angle to deepen the kiss to a filthy degree when he coaxes your mouth open only seconds after his lips touch yours.

You never expected this from Chan; never imagined he’d kiss in such a manner that you feel like he’s consuming your heart and soul in the best of ways. He’s only been kissing you for a few seconds, yet your knees are weak, and you have to cling to him to keep yourself upright.

The moment your hand grips the back of his neck, Chan groans in pleased approval against your mouth and pins you roughly against the counter; his hips pressed against yours and his right hand giving up being subtle about his wants as he yanks your t-shirt out of the waistband of your jeans so that he can slide his hand underneath and run his palm against your bare skin.

Of course, a kiss that passionate can’t go on for too long, you especially need to catch your breath as you hadn’t been prepared at all for the intensity and keep forgetting to breathe as your lips and tongue move with his.

Though when you press against his chest and turn your head aside slightly to try and catch your breath, Chan doesn’t stop kissing you, he just relocates his focus, leaving a trail of hot, open mouthed kisses over your jaw and down your neck.

“Wanted you for so fucking long, angel,” he admits, voice thick with arousal and sounding unfairly in breath even if his chest is heaving too. He drags his teeth over the crook of your neck making you gasp and grip him tighter. “Driving me crazy, ‘m so hard. Can I have you? Can I take you to bed and drown in your pussy? Fuck you so hard I owe you a new bed?”

“Fuck,” you breathe out and grab a handful of his hair to drag him back up. His eyes are so hooded that you’re not certain he’s even looking at you. He looks so far gone and it does dangerous things to you. “Y-you do so much for me, Chan.”

“What?” He blinks away some of the lust dazing him to peer at you confusedly, and a little offended and the out of place comment. “What are you talking about all of a sudden? I’m trying to take you to bed, and you say that? You can just say no, not do some weird speech.”

“I’m not doing that,” you assure and move your left hand off of his shoulder, down his torso and under his oversized t-shirt to find the button of his jeans. He looks down in surprise, then back up at you with desire flooding back into his expression and eyes as you skilfully get his jeans open. Neither of you care that they immediately drop to the floor around his ankles with the jangle of his keys in his pocket, as you get your hand in his boxers. “Let me do this for you.”

“Fuck, yeah, yeah, whatever you want angel,” he approves before leaning in to seal your lips back together.

After your tryst in the kitchen, which lead to half of the bouquet getting destroyed when Chan bent you over the counter chest first into the flowers, sex is suddenly on the table for the two of you. Often literally. It seems as if that encounter opened the floodgates of a year of repressed desire from Chan and alerted you to the fact that his passion is more than just a little reciprocated.

Of course, you’ve known for a while now that you’re attracted to Chan; ever since the realisation that day in the store thanks to the leather jacket, which he is often prancing around in, especially since he’s realised how much you like him in it. Sometimes he’ll even turn up at your apartment, open the zip of his jacket and reveal that he’s wearing nothing but your marks underneath, leading to you pinning him to the closest surface to expand on the collection.

What you hadn’t known is just how deep your attraction runs. That at some point within you, the lust starts to morph and before it reaches your chest, it turns to a love which squeezes your heart a little every time he slows down to press a soft kiss to your lips, or you find him looking at you with eyes sparkling with adoration.  

You never imagined that you would fall for your best friend, yet here you are, weeks into your relationship turning sexual, and falling asleep naked in his arms more often than not while not wanting the morning to come because you know he’ll leave before you’re awake so that he can go home and get ready for work.

There’s a part of you that has, on more than one occasion, almost blurted out that he should just bring his work clothes over; you’ve already made space in the wardrobe to hang his shirts and space in the drawer for his trousers. But you don’t.

As much as you’ve come to understand and accept that the love you feel for Chan is no longer purely platonic, you aren’t ready to move on from your ex. There’s still a piece of your heart in Kyle’s hands, even if they are limp in his hospital bed and your heart should’ve been released back to you months ago.

You’ve tried to move on; you thought it would’ve happened naturally thanks to your recently developed feelings for your best friend and the regular sessions of getting fucked dumb into various surfaces by the man.

Still, Kyle remains, and you don’t understand why your heart won’t let you love Chan entirely.

You hope that Chan is happy with this; that he’s content to spend spare moments between your usual hangouts and your thighs. You don’t want to have to tell him that you’re not over Kyle; you know that Chan doesn’t like the man. Although he never voices his displeasure in you still visiting the Kyle in the hospital, you can always see it in his eyes when you leave and how he fucks you that bit harder when you return.

Hope, it seems, is still stubbornly stuck in the bottom of the box, and has no place in the real world, especially not yours.

“You have a key,” you point out flatly when you open the door having expected the takeout you’ve ordered for dinner for yourself and Chan, yet find the man himself on the other side of the door with his hands behind his back and still wearing his work clothes. “What’re you hiding? Please tell me it’s dinner; I thought you’re the delivery man you know?”

“It’s not dinner,” he chuckles, then brings his hands around to reveal this week’s bouquet. Tulips; red, yellow, and orange. Love.

“Chan…” you trail off, not sure what to say and expression downturned when you look up at him. You can practically see the moment you break his heart.

“Oh, I guess I misread this,” he smiles embarrassed and awkward, even with the pain evident in his eyes. “I thought that you might return my feelings finally, but I guess not.”

“You’re not wrong,” you confess softly. “I just…I’m not over Kyle.”

“What?” His features scrunch in bewilderment. “You’re not over the man who would be arrested for sexual harassment and stalking right now if not in a coma? Am I hearing that right?”

“I still can’t connect that to the man I knew.”

“He really fucked with your head, didn’t he?” His arms lower defeatedly.

“No, he didn’t. He was just…good to me.”

“He cheated on you, angel, he wrote about it in his diary and other women have said as much too. What’s it going to take for you to accept that and move on?”

“I-I don’t know, Chan. I’m sorry but I just can’t do that. I’ve tried to get over him, but it hasn’t happened.”

“Well…I’m not going anywhere,” he declares and steps forward to offer the bouquet. “You may not be able to love me and be with me the way I want, but I still love you, with everything in me and I’ll be here for you all the same.”

“Won’t that hurt you?”

“Baby,” he chuckles and tenderly cups your cheek in one hand, the other still holding the tulips you’ve yet to accept. “I’ve loved you since the moment I first laid my eyes on you; I’ve been by your side through all of the assholes you gave your time to, even if they didn’t deserve it. This one will pass too.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“It will,” a flash of determination appears in his eyes as he smiles at you. “You’ll be mine soon enough, I promise you that, angel.”

At first, you had been cautious with Chan after his confession. You don’t want to hurt him and make him suffer at your side, so you pulled back on the affection and stopped the sexual aspect of your relationship entirely. Chan hadn’t been very happy and pouted at you when you turned him down the first time, but he didn’t push it and accepted it. Though he still reaches out to pull you close to hold and well, you don’t really want to quit him truthfully, so you let that happen.

After a few weeks, it’s as if the month of mind-blowing sex never happened and you and Chan are back to being nothing more than best friends. He keeps to his word and remains by your side as he always has, with no pushing or attempts to get you to reconsider and accept his love wholeheartedly.

Maybe that’s why one day when you’re laid side by side on a picnic blanket looking up at the stars with the snacks and drinks, which Chan supplied for the stargazing session, contently settling in your belly, you look at him and for the first time, you don’t feel as if your heart is missing a single piece.

“What?” Chan asks, side eyeing you amusedly when you’ve been staring at him instead of the sky for a few seconds too long. “Are you about to tell me that the stars in the sky don’t sparkle as bright as the stars in my eyes?”

“Where do you even come up with this stuff?” You laugh and nudge him playfully before sitting up. “Whoa,” you murmur when your head spins, eyes slamming closed and hands flying out to try and balance yourself.

“Angel, what’s wrong?” Chan’s hands are on you in seconds as he sits up to support you.

“M wobbly,” you slur, trying to look at him as your hands grip him tight. “Channie,” you start to panic as the dizziness doesn’t subside at all, if anything it feels like it’s getting worse as he starts to multiply before your eyes. “S-something’s wrong.”

“Shh, it’s okay, Channie’s got you, lay down angel, Channie’s got you,” he soothes, gently laying you back down on the blanket and propping himself up on his right elbow as his left hand cups your cheek. “You’ll feel better soon; just close your eyes and let your Channie look after you.”

“Chan…” You’re finding it harder and harder to move your body with every second. It feels as if your muscles are turning to sludge and bones rubber. You try to lift your arm from where it flopped to your stomach when he laid you down, yet you can’t lift it.

Chan watches the panic fill your eyes and strokes his hand over your head, then back to your cheek again. “You’re okay, my love, I’ll never let anything happen to you. Your Channie will always look after you.”

You can’t even open your mouth to respond. A choked sound leaves your parted lips as your vision starts blurring darkly around the edges.

“I will do whatever I need to, to make sure that nobody can ever hurt you again, my angel,” his voice is taking on a strange otherworldly quality, fading in and out every other syllable.

It feels as if you’re becoming one with the ground under you. It’s still hard against your back, yet it feels as if you’re melting into it, like every point of contact is rapidly ceasing to exist as you fight to keep your eyes open.

“Close your eyes, baby,” Chan’s warped voice meets you. He says something else, but a buzzing appears, overlapping his muffled words until the high pitched sound is all you can hear.

You feel something touch your forehead and brush down gently, forcing your eyes closed. You don’t have the strength to open them again.

It’s pitch black, only the ringing for company until suddenly, it leaves.

There’s barely time to register the pure silence before your consciousness melts into the ground to join the rest of you.

Everything comes back to you all at once.

Your body jerks awake as your eyes fly open. The soft, natural light around you is too bright on your sore eyes and the gentle sound of the birds outside singing their morning song pierces your sensitive ears. Instinctively, you close your eyes and lift your hands with the intention of pressing your palms to your ears to block out the noise, but something stops you from raising your hands more than a few inches.

Panicked, your eyes open and look down to find thick, padded straps around your wrists and buckled in place with a chain connecting each to the wooden frame of the bed under you. You tug, but they don’t give. You try to move your legs, but your ankles are bound in the same way; even if you don’t look at them to check, you just know you’d see the same binds there.

“Breathe,” the voice is familiar, is the one that you’re so used to listening to that you find yourself listening and taking some deep, stabilising breaths without even thinking about it. “Good girl.”

After a few seconds, you realise that Chan is in the room; the strange room where you’re cuffed to a strange bed. You have no idea where you are; the walls look wooden and it smells kind of musty, like it hasn’t been used in a while, but the familiar scent of Chan’s laundry detergent meets your nose from the soft, clean pillow under your head when you turn your head to try and find the man.

He’s sitting in a rickety old rocking chair near the closed door of the small room.

There’s nothing else in the room; no curtains on the window on the wall, which the right side of the bed is pushed against; the window is cracked open, letting in fresh air but even from where you’re laid, you can see bars on the outside. There’s a bulb hanging from the centre of the ceiling emitting a redundant, soft orange glow. And nothing else.

Just you, the bed, the chair, and the man you thought was your best friend looking at you as he gently rocks back and forth, back and forth, the chair creaking with every movement.

For tense moments, minutes maybe, you just stare at Chan in horror. This is not the man you’ve spent the past almost two years side by side with. This is not the man you had been seconds away from telling that you finally loved him with everything in you.

Your Chan is beautiful inside and out; with bright eyes always shining with mirth and adoration when they find you, and a smile that could weaken the toughest of hearts. He was love and happiness. Your love. Your happiness. You don’t know where that’s gone.

This Chan terrifies you. His face is flat, no smile, no sparkle in his eyes. He’s looking at you with an expression so dark and haunting; something similar to the way he looked when you told him that Kyle turned up at your apartment building all those months ago in the café, yet somehow so much worse.

For the first time since meeting Lee Chan, you look at him and you want to be as far away as possible, and then further. This isn’t a man you want to be near. Yet, you’re left without a choice.

“Wha-what’s going on, Chan?” You stammer.

“This is your fault, you know,” he informs matter-of-factly. “If you had just said yes to me that day, if you hadn’t held onto that fucking asshole, then this would’ve never happened. We could be at home, in bed; I could be buried deep in your pussy and filling you with cum again and again until you’re round with my baby. We could’ve been happy; had our family, gotten married,” he huffs a dry laugh and abruptly stops rocking. “We could’ve had the perfect fucking family, baby! We could’ve been perfect. But no! You had to cling to that asshole!” He gets to his feet, flinging his arms up in the air as his lips start to split into a disbelieving smile.

He doesn’t even seem to notice that you flinch and try to move further away from him as he steps closer. He seems entirely caught up in his own monologue as he starts to pace the short length of the room to your left.

“I’ve done everything I can to win you over! I studied you for fucking months before showing myself to you. Changed my hair, changed my style, even changed my fucking interests to suit your tastes!” He wheels around and stalks closer to put his right hand on the headboard above you while he stares down at you with eyes wide. “I fucking hate flowers, you know? Hate those stupid fucking things, yet I read every fucking book I could find to learn about them. Learned how to grow them from tiny little seeds all for you,” he points at you. “And what thanks do I get?” He laughs and pushes away from the bed to turn and take a few steps away. “Nothing! Okay, no, no, that’s not fair to you,” he concedes.

Chan turns to face you with his hands and features settled so suddenly into something so placating that you wonder if you had imagined the unhinged mess he was seconds ago.

“I got to taste that pretty little pussy and feel it around my cock, your mouth too. Fuck, baby, I could’ve held out longer if you hadn’t ended that but you, you little cock tease, had to give me a taste of heaven and rip it away from me.” He tuts disapprovingly and gives you an exaggerated pout. “You’ve really broken my heart, you know?”

“Th-then let me go and you never ha-have to see me again,” you try to reason, but he laughs; a full, loud, rolling laugh while leaning over with his hands on his knees as if you’ve told the best joke he’s ever heard.

“Oh, angel!” He exclaims as he straightens up, clapping his hands amusedly. “That’s good, really good. You’re so funny, baby, it’s one of the things I love most about you. You’ve always made me laugh.”

For a few seconds, he looks at you so tenderly that he looks like your Chan again; the Chan you fell in love with, the Chan you wish you had realised was a trick from the start. It makes sense that he always called you naïve when he knows from experience how easy it is to fool you.

“You’re mine now, ‘till death do us part and all that. Sorry I don’t have a ring for you, I’ve never been one for accessories.” He lifts his bare hands to wiggle them at you.

It’s only now that you realise he isn’t wearing a single piece of jewellery, something you thought wasn’t possible for your Chan. His clothes aren’t baggy and hiding his form, and hair no longer shaggy and in his eyes. He’s wearing blue jeans like usual, but these ones are straight legged and show off his thick thighs and ass; his plain white fitted t-shirt is tucked into his jeans neatly, showcasing his slim waist and strong upper body; with his hair neatly styled back in a casual, yet neat, manner. You’ve never seen him like this; he looks older this way, less playful.

It's another reminder that he’s not your Chan. He never truly was.

“I wish it didn’t come to this; you know?” He comments while walking over to sit on the edge of the bed by your waist and brush the back of his fingers over your cheek, entirely ignoring the way you flinch away from this touch, even if it is painfully tender. “You’re so beautiful; I’ve wanted you from the moment I first laid eyes on you, even if you never saw me.” He sighs dramatically and gets up to stand beside the bed. “Even back then you looked anywhere but me. It’s funny though,” he muses, pacing a little as his lips start to lift and bring back that manic smile he earlier wore.

It scares the shit out of you.

“You never once questioned your bad luck,” he quotes your own words with a mocking tone, trying not to laugh as he does so. “Or how it only appeared once I came into your life. You really are fucking naïve, baby.”

“What did you do?” You whisper, horrified at the realisation that Chan had been the reason that all of your relationships have failed.

Now that you think about it, he had always warned you away from them all for some reason; some kind of claim of a bad feeling, a rumour, seeing them kissing another woman. You never questioned how he always had something to say about every single man you showed interest in, or seemed to know things he shouldn’t really know. You put too much trust in the man from day one and now it’s come back to bite you in the ass.

“Whatever I needed to. It was all so easy too, like you wanted a reason to leave them all. I really thought it was because you wanted me,” he laughs darkly and pins an equally as dark look on you as his smile drops. “And then Kyle came along. Fucking Kyle. Perfect Kyle with his clean record and respect and giant, squishy heart. Well, it’s extra squishy now I pushed him off the road,” he laughs, eyes lighting with twisted delight.

“No,” you choke out. “You- no- you didn’t- tell me you didn’t do that to him, Chan,” you plead desperately.

Chan laughs and walks over to lean over you again, his left hand braced against the headboard and the other playing with the strands of your hair on the pillow beside your head. “If only you had believed me. If you hadn’t let him talk to you that day; if you had just kicked him out and come right to me like you were supposed to, it would’ve never happened, angel. You had me right there waiting for you and you picked that asshole and now guess what?” He looks at you with a bright, manic smile, eyes wide and shining with mirth you wish doesn’t exist. “He’s never fucking waking up, baby!” He beams, looking so proud of himself. “I made sure of that!”

You feel sick to your stomach.

It must show on your face because Chan’s own falls and he frowns at you. “Don’t look at me like that. This isn’t my fault.” He scoffs and backs up from the bed as that terrifyingly haunting look returns to his features. “I didn’t think I’d have to go this far; I thought you’d accept all those rumours and evidence I spent so much time, money, and effort planting. I bribed and blackmailed so many people the past months. Got the asshole fucking convicted and you still refuse to pick me.”

Chan sighs heavily, as if it really does pain him, before he pivots and walks to the door to open it, though he turns just enough to look back at you.

“I can’t tell if you’re too smart to believe all that or fucking stupid to still want to be by his side after all the accusations. Maybe he did brainwash your naïve little self.”

He stares at you for an unnervingly long moment as if he’s trying to figure you out and wondering what exactly Kyle did to earn your loyalty, and how exactly he can mimic it to make you his.

“Oh well,” he decides with a shrug, making you jolt at his sudden voice. “Not that it matters anymore because I’m not letting you leave here. If you’re not going to be mine on your own terms, we’re doing it my way.”

He closes the door after him, and you break with the sound of the lock clicking into place.

Tears roll down your cheeks and temples, soaking the soft pillow under your head as sobs tear from your chest. You keep tugging at the binds holding you down, yet they don’t budge.

You’re stuck here.

Even if you somehow escape your binds, there are bars on the window and a lock securing the thick wooden door.

You’re stuck here. For good.

Forever.

Stuck with the man you had trusted to look after you, to be by your side for a long time. You just never expected it to be like this. You as his prisoner; his little plaything to do with as he pleases until he gets bored of you and then… you don’t even want to think about it.

The sun slowly rises higher and higher into the sky and finally, you stop pulling at your binds, stop crying; out of energy and tears with your whole body hurting, yet nothing in comparison to the pain in your heart where it’s stomped into the wooden floorboards and covered in Chan’s footprints.

You dread the moment he returns. Dread having to live your life like this.

But you know you don’t have a choice. You’re his now, to do with as he pleases. You no longer have a choice in how your life goes.

The click of the lock disengaging sends fear racing through your tired body, adrenaline pumping, yet there’s still nothing you can do as Chan steps into the room with a tray in his hands and a smile on his face.

“Hi baby, it’s time for food! I made your favourite.”

As you watch him approach wearing that same cute smile that first drew you to him, all you can do is curse yourself for being so fucking naïve.

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @tusswrites

[sitepathos]

Hello, I’m the one that asked about the ability to see footage of the kidnapping. Do you think the megamycete could show them/transform into what y/n looked like in what were supposed to be his final moments in the cavern? If the family does not have visual representation of their neglect in the form of the footage could they get it from the megamycete?

I’ve had plenty of people ask about how the bats would react to seeing the Megamycete mimic Y/N after being beat up by the kidnappers and one or two people asking about how Jason would feel since he and Y/N are basically the same, so I thought I’d combine the Bats’ reaction plus Jason’s thoughts on this situation. Hope this makes a lot of people happy!

As the Megamycete talks to this group of misfits, informing them on how it and you had come to be joined, an idea enters its mind and it struggles to keep a smirk from appearing on its face.

They claim to feel bad for how they treated you for over ten years, so why not add to their guilt by showing them what became of you that horrible night?

A feeling of pity surges through its consciousness. Those feelings of pain were so fresh in your mind when it connected to you. Prior to meeting you, all those its roots embraced had long since passed away, their memories and experiences a mere shadow of their former selves. It was only with you that it knew what true pain could be, both physically and mental.

If there is a hell, the Megamycete sincerely hopes those three common thugs are burning in it.

While those three are no longer here for it to inflict misery upon, your “family” is right here and ripe for psychological warfare.

“Do you remember what you said that night,” it says as it closes the gap between it and Bruce, shifting its physical form.

It revels in the look of horror in Bruce’s face as he realizes what it now looks like. The Megamycete took the form of you right now, but now it resembles what you looked like that night you were tossed into its cavern like trash, complete with your torn, disheveled uniform to grievous wounds, even the angles of its limbs resembling those of your that night.

“You said that they did not have your son and that all your children were home with you.” It grabs the pitiful excuse of a man by the collar and pulls him closer so he can see the bullet wound and near-lifeless eyes that adorned your face. “You made it clear you did not see him as family.”

Bruce Wayne has the decency to look horrified, but it does not bring the Megamycete the joy it thought it would; instead, it only serves to make it angrier at the man.

He had no idea what you had to endure that horrible night. You were beaten to near-death and then disposed of like you were garbage and not a person and he has the nerve to claim to be your father.

It releases the man and faces the others.

“This is what became of him after that call,” it says, motioning to itself. “The leader beat him with a lead pipe before shooting him in the head like an animal in retaliation of the humiliation you gave him during that call. How can you claim to be his family when you are responsible for this?”

They are all horrified, but that does little to make the Megamycete feel better. In fact, it only adds fuel to its hatred towards these people.

“Do you know what his final thoughts were while he struggled with the pain and misery? He wished for death.”

The collective sigh they release echoes through the cave.

Bruce thought he’d failed you in every way possible, but this has opened his eyes to a new low he didn’t know he’d sunken to.

You never should’ve been walking around Gotham in the first place, even in broad daylight, the city’s practically a minefield. You were relying on Alfred for rides when he should’ve bought you your first car when you turned sixteen so you that you’d always have a reliable way of getting around.

Hell, he would’ve been more than happy to drive you around himself (something he should’ve been doing since you moved in).

The fact that you thought him so unreliable that you would rather brave the dangers of Crime Alley instead of calling him is nothing less depressing.

And when you finally decided to call on him to help, probably the first time you;d ever done that, and he makes it abundantly clear he didn’t see you as one of his children. He couldn’t even be bothered to listen to the whole phone call so he could track down three random men calling him for a ransom.

And to see how you were treated after that, by being beaten like an animal and shot in the head?

He failed you his firstborn, his baby boy.

Maybe he never should’ve been a father after all…

This isn’t the first time he’s failed one of his children (and probably won’t be the last), but this is definitely one of his worst failures.

“Y/N… I’m so sorry…”

Dick is fighting back tears at the sight of you bloody and beaten, your limbs twisted at angles that definitely look like they hurt.

He’s always prided himself on being the best big brother possible, always carving out time for his little brothers and sisters. No matter how busy he was juggling both Gotham and Blüdhaven, he’d always come running when one of his siblings called out for help.

But this is proof he’s not fit to be your big brother. Because if he was, he would’ve rushed out to find you, beat those three thugs to a pulp, and carried you back to the manor in his arms and never let you out of his sight again.

But no, you weren’t even an afterthought to him.

He knew that you lived in the manor, but he never stopped and thought how you were adapting to life in Gotham (he had no idea you were from Nevada before Alfred told him), nor did he even ask how you were doing after losing your mom.

He just assumed somebody had to be taking care of you, but he didn’t know Alfred was basically responsible for everything they shouldve been doing.

Everything he should’ve been doing.

Now this… thing is inside you, doing who knows what and he’s not there to help you, his baby bird.

As Jason looks upon the condition the recreation of you that night, he’s taken back to that night with Joker.

How many times had you been hit with that lead pipe to look like that?

As much as he was hit with that fucking crowbar?

More?

Shit, he’s accused Bruce of replacing him with Tim and he goes and does he the exact same thing with you!

Jason’s always thought of himself as Batman’s greatest failure, but he was actually yours. He knows Bruce is incapable of caring for himself, let alone children, but he was too blinded by his own vendetta to see you were suffering just like him.

Christ, he really is a failure.

Shit, if he had just a tiny bot of integrity, he would’ve gone out, killed those three fuckers, and taken you to one of his safe houses.

Hell, if he had just a tiny bit of integrity, he would’ve taken you out of that damn mansion when he met you and taken you with him where you’d have a somewhat normal life.

But no, he had to go and take his anger for Bruce out on you, a poor kid who lost his mom and dragged to live with an emotionally constipated vigilante, and couldn’t see that you were suffering just like him.

He really is a failure.

Tim takes note of the injuries, committing every detail to memory that will no doubt haunt him when he actually tries to sleep.

He’s always prided himself on knowing everything that goes on around him (there’s no such thing as privacy in this family), but he had no idea that you had a job, let alone had to rely on Alfred to bring you to and from your job.

Hell, he hasn’t given you a second thought since he met you.

He can still remember what it felt like being greeted by an empty house because his parents thought going to some fancy party or an overseas dig site. He’d never wish that kind of loneliness on anyone.

But he did. He wished it on you.

He took love and attention that could’ve gone to you and he couldn’t even be bothered to give you any of his attention.

When he first met you, he was surprised to hear that Bruce Wayne had a biological son, but saw nothing worth his attention. You obviously weren’t trained to be a Robin and there was nothing mysterious about you to warrant him into digging into your past.

You obviously came from outside of Gotham, raised by your mother, and now you were living in Wayne Manor because something happened to her. Pretty open and shut.

But there was more to you and he was too stupid to see it.

He could’ve been there for you, like a good brother, but no, he had to go and do to you what his parents did to him.

He’ll make it up to you.

As soon as he finds a way to get this mold out of you, he’ll spend every waking moment of every day finding out everything about you.

Steph is mortified by what you look like.

For the first time in her life, she actually has nothing to say.

She’s been told that her mouth is going to get her in trouble one day, but she never thought she’d get someone else into trouble.

She can remember mocking that guy who called them and she wonders how many hits you got because she had to go and open her mouth and say something smart.

It was bad enough that she ignored you just like them, but she had to go and say something to piss off your kidnapper and get you in trouble.

God, she really is the worst.

Cass takes in your injuries.

Your attacker was clearly guided by his anger, striking you in random areas to take his anger out and cause you pain.

She winces at the thought of you being hit by some common thug like you were some misbehaving dog.

You lacked their training, notably their resilience to torture, so you had to experience pain unlike any other you’ve experienced before.

She thought she had managed to shed her background as a living weapon and knew how to care for a family, but you were proof she would never be free of her upbringing.

If she couldn’t care for someone like you, how can she care for the rest of her family?

There are only a few times in Damian’s life that he feels like he’s failed and every time he vows to never fail again.

In the League of Assassins, failure is unacceptable and he learned to avoid it before he could talk.

Prior to coming to Gotham, he could count his failures on one hand and not use all his fingers.

But hearing you be taken from under their noses by some common thugs and beaten within an inch of your life is definitely a failure.

A massive failure. Possibly his biggest failure in his entire life.

You are his brother.

Granted you’re his older brother, but his training made him more capable of protecting you than anyone else.

But he didn’t.

He was too focused on proving himself superior to all others he never thought to see you were an opportunity for him to know something else other than combat and training and missions.

He could’ve known what it was like to be close to someone else he shares blood with. To let his guard down around another person and know unconditional love.

If he had done that when he first met you, then he would’ve known you were missing that day and made those lowlifes who thought they had the right to put their hands on their betters rue the day their mothers brought them into this world.

But no, even with his perfect memory, he forgot all about you and mocked your kidnappers just like the rest of his family.

And you paid the price for it.

To say Alfred is mortified is an understatement.

He had misgivings about being gone for so long and leaving you without proper support, but had he known something like this would’ve happened, he wouldn’t have left your side let alone the country.

It he did. And this is the result.

You were left at the mercy of criminals and when you reached out for help, this is what happened.

His poor boy…

The pain you went through…

And to wish for death at the end of it…

He never should’ve left you.

He never should’ve left…

[sourveggies]

Alrighty! Time for my yap session!

cracks brain open like an egg

🧠🥚

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷︶꒷꒥꒷˚꒷︶

꒷꒥꒷˚

It’s really easy not being creepy. Like, really easy. In fact, it’s easy as pie; shouldn’t even have to try kind of easy. Immoral (pedo, incest, grooming, SA, etc.) fantasy addicts never fail to disappoint. It’s useless expecting the bare minimum from those who don’t even reach that low bar to begin with. It’s also insanely stupid when they argue that “antis are meanies!” (p.s. why is “anti” even a term? It’s called being a normal person with common sense and a working moral compass). And? You don’t think those with darkness inside their soul don’t have more to prove in their moral character by using “politeness”? Because bad people neeever use flattery, deflection and politeness as a front, totally.

“It’s not illegal!” Again: And? Legality doesn’t always = morality. I’m arguing that they’re gross people, not about the current legal system.

And yes, fiction does say, affect and indicate something about reality. Should’ve already been common sense in the first place, but if not, unsurprisingly, it’s literally been confirmed in my college Psychology classes. The brain doesn’t always have as strong differentiation as people think. You can get conditioned (and already are in many ways), you WILL have subconscious associations, etc.

I dare argue, it’s also an insult and plain false to fiction/fantasy to try to downplay its impact on people’s emotions and psychology. Why do we cry when our favorite character dies? Because in that moment, it’s real to us. With all the above being said, I’ve concluded that topics like these aren’t just “silly shipping discourse!”, “purity culture” and “moral brownie points”. I believe people who engage in this sort of behavior, does reflect something about themselves. Their ideal, fantasy escape world involves abuse, which truly shows who they are. Lastly, it doesn’t make them “good” because they don’t act on it. Does it make them better than the ones who do? Yes. Does it excuse their actions and take away from their immorality? No.

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷︶꒷꒥꒷˚꒷︶

꒷꒥꒷˚

˚

with all due respect for proshippers, which is none, you disgust me. you're so obsessed with shipping incest it's like you think the only thing that makes a good plot is siblings swapping spit. i wouldn't trust you with human decency. and let's talk about that teacher x student romance, that's just sad, bro. like, seriously, do you not know the difference between romance and actual fucked up shit? you're the kind of person who thinks a minor x adult relationship is just "forbidden love" when it's really just a predator grooming their victim. you actively sexualize things that have happened to real people, things that have traumatized people and things that have changed their lives. you actively justify sexualizing children, sexualizing rape, sexualizing non-con. you're disgusting and i would be disappointed if i could ever birth a child like you. go get a life that doesn't revolve around supporting abusive dynamics and predatory behavior. nobody wants to be associated with you. just remember, while you're out here being a proshipper, the rest of us are actually respecting people who know the meaning of consent and respect. it doesn't MATTER if you think fiction has no effect on real life. it's so horrible that you think your pedophilia fanfics and abusive ships have no impact on anyone. do you know how many people you will hurt by going out there, writing some fanfic that tells them that everything that happened to them was okay and right? that there's a group of people that think what happened to them was hot? that if they put their story out there, there's a chance that you may sexualize them or justify their abuser? that they should've enjoyed it? fuck you. fuck every proshipper that tries to justify themselves with 'whimsy' or 'just fun.' fuck you.

[callmeagardengnome]

𓆩 bless me 𓆪 - chapter 10

w.c - 2.9k

pairings - demon!ateez ot8 x receptionist! fem! reader

genre - demon au, hint of royal au, possible yandere themes (?), romance, slow burn

synopsis: as hell's receptionist, you only wished to talk shit and stay out of trouble. yet, you happened to be the one that the two social clans in hell start fighting for.

c.w - nothing! (i hope)

not proofread!

previous / next

masterlist

You were pretty sure that Yunho had given you terrible directions to find San. The hallways of the Palace were endless and you were absolutely, positively lost. He clearly overestimated your abilities to navigate this confusing place.

“Left at the vase, right at the statue.. or was it the other way around?” you muttered to yourself, stumbling into another identical corridor. “This doesn’t feel right.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. You were supposed to find San so that he could ‘supervise’ you as you mapped out the farms of Hell, but you couldn’t find him no matter how hard you tried.

Suddenly, you heard the sounds of things crashing followed by muffled voices. You hesitated for a moment before walking over to the noise which seemed to come from a room with a set of double doors that were slightly opened.

“Yeosang, if you swing it like that you’re going to break your wrist,” a familiar voice scolded.

“I know how to hold a staff, Wooyoung,” someone calmly rebutted.

“Do you, though? Because last time-”

“Both of you, stop. Just focus,” a third voice cut in.

You carefully nudged the door open, and the scene inside was more than enough to make you freeze in place.

Wooyoung was in the middle of dramatically demonstrating some sparring move with a wooden staff while Yeosang watched him with a deadpan look, the same weapon in hand. Jongho stood nearby, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

Just as you were about to pinch yourself, thinking it was a dream, a figure suddenly approached you.

“Receptionist!” Wooyoung’s voice rang out the second he spotted you. His staff hit the floor as he sprinted towards you, arms wide open.

“Wha-” you managed to cough out before he enveloped you in a hug.

“You’re here!” he exclaimed, squeezing you tightly.

“Wooyoung, how-” you gasped, patting his back violently in an attempt to free yourself.

He finally let you go, grinning. “Did you miss me?”

You stared at him, still trying to process what you were seeing. “W-what are you doing here? And what are you wearing?”

Purple horns stuck out of his head - and it wasn’t just Wooyoung. Yeosang and Jongho had them too, standing tall from their dark hair.

Yeosang walked towards you, the sparring staff resting against his shoulder. “We’re working here now,” he said with a small smile.

“Working? Here? At the Palace?” your eyes widened.

“Surprise,” Jongho said, dragging out the word.

You glanced over your shoulder, checking if this was some cruel prank that the Royals were playing on you. “No one told me about this..”

“It was pretty last minute,” Wooyoung shrugged. “And Yunho probably didn’t want you to faint at the sight of me.”

“You’re annoying,” you said instantly, earning a gasp from him.

“We didn’t expect to see you so soon,” Yeosang tilted his head.

Jongho nodded, crossing his arms. “It’s good that you’re here, though. San told us that things have been.. strange.”

You tilted your head. “Strange how?”

Before anyone could answer, Wooyoung threw an arm around your shoulders, dragging you further into the room. “Enough about that. How are you? Did you miss us? Or did you miss me only? It’s okay to be honest. You know, I started-”

“I should’ve stayed lost,” you muttered, though a smile tugged at your lips. “How’s Mingi? Is he okay?”

Wooyoung blinked, then stepped back looking offended. “We’re all standing right here and you’re worried about him?”

You opened your mouth to explain yourself, but he waved you off. “He’s fine, he’s just recovering,” Wooyoung’s eyes softened slightly. “Don’t worry about him.”

“Good,” you nodded, relieved. “I was worried.”

Just then, Wooyoung clapped his hands loudly as if he just remembered something. “Ah yes, Yunho told me something.”

You raised an eyebrow, prompting him to continue. “He said that you needed training. When was the last time you fought?”

“Uhh-”

“Doesn’t matter, we need to be prepared for all situations,” Wooyoung said as he pointed to someone. “Which is why I’m making you train with Jongho.”

Your eyes shifted to Jongho, whose broad, intimidating stance made your stomach flip. “Yeah, no thanks. I can already see that he's strong.”

Jongho’s eyes widened, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks as he quickly turned away - trying to look more interested in the training equipment.

Wooyoung smirked. “Are you scared?”

You glared at him. “No, I just don’t want to break a bone.”

“You’re a Walker, I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Wooyoung said with a grin.

Wooyoung practically shoved you toward Jongho, who looked a little flustered but quickly composed himself. He handed you a sparring staff, his hand brushing yours briefly.

“I can go easy,” Jongho said, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t you dare,” you shot back, earning a small, approving smile from him.

The sparring started slow, Jongho reminding you of the basic stances and moves. He was patient and detailed, correcting your grip and posture gently. It wasn’t long before the two of you began to exchange strikes, the pace quickening as the spar dragged on.

For a moment, you almost had him - your staff swung low, aiming for his side. But unfortunately, with how long the spar had been going on, your movements were sloppy. Jongho predicted this, stepping aside and disarming you with a swift move.

Your staff fell and you stumbled forward. But before you hit the ground, Jongho managed to catch you - not by your arm, but by gripping to the back of your shirt.

You dangled for a second, completely stunned, before he effortlessly lifted you back onto your feet as though you weighed nothing.

“How..” you said in shock as he set you down.

Jongho wiped his hands on his training pants before extending it toward you. “Good job, you almost got me,” he said.

“Yeah..” You stared at his hand, still out of breath. “Good job to you too,” you mumbled, shaking his hand weakly before heading towards the bench at the side of the room.

You plopped down, rubbing the back of your neck. “What is he made of?”

Yeosang, seated beside you, handed you a towel. “Bricks, probably.”

Across the room, Wooyoung waltzed over to Jongho. “Very impressive catch,” he grinned.

Jongho rolled his eyes, picking up the discarded staff. “You’re next,” he said, his voice dry.

“I’ll make this quick,” Wooyoung smirked, twirling the staff.

You watched the two Halas spar, Jongho’s calculated moves going against Wooyoung’s extra but impressive strikes.

“You’re not sparring?” you asked Yeosang.

“I don’t have the stamina for close combat,” he admitted with a nervous smile. “I only ever do it when Wooyoung forces me.”

You nodded slowly, looking at the scene infront of you. “How do you fight then?”

“Long-distance weapons..” he said, slightly embarrassed.

“Oh, that’s cool!” you turned to him, intrigued. “Like bows?”

“Yes, that exactly,” Yeonsang’s eyes lit up. “Everyone thinks that I use crossbows- but bows are way better. They’re so versatile and you have actual control over the shot. Crossbows are so bulky and hard to reload.. with a bow, you can-”

He stopped abruptly, his face flushing a little. “Sorry, I got carried away.”

“Don’t apologise, I wanted to hear more.” You raised an eyebrow. “I like bows, just never got around to using them.”

Yeosang tilted his head, studying you for a moment.

“Do you think you can teach me how to use one?” you asked, surprising him further.

Yeosang blinked, clearly taken aback before nodding with a smile. “Of course.”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⊹₊ִ ࣪𖤐๋࣭ ⭑⊹₊ 𖥔.

The sounds of clashing weapons and grunts filled the training hall as you sat on the bench, trying to reserve the little energy you had after sparring with Jongho. Yeosang was eventually called to join the others when Wooyoung yelled something along the lines of ‘Come here and help me fight this brick wall!’

You watched as the three of them trained, a quiet thud of footsteps pulling you from your thoughts. You turned to see San walking up, his sharp features soft as he observed his friends.

You waved at him, in which he nodded in return before settling onto the bench you were sitting on. The silence between you stretched - not entirely uncomfortable but it was definitely awkward.

You let out a sigh. It had been so long since you’ve had an actual chance to sit and do nothing that it actually felt weird. You bit the inside of your cheek, watching as Yeosang and Wooyoung laid down on the floor in exhaustion as Jongho stood over them, fixing his attire.

Finally, you turned to San, deciding to break the silence. “You were saying something yesterday..” you spoke, your voice hesitant.

San blinked. “Oh yeah,” he said, turning to face you fully. His hands fidgeted slightly as he added, “Uh- you’re not involved with the King or anything, right..?”

You frowned. “No? I wouldn’t be doing all of this if I were.”

“Just making sure,” San seemed to relax a little, though his fidgeting didn’t stop. “Yunho keeps saying that he’s ‘neutral’, but he’s still doing a lot for us.”

You snorted. “He’s probably in denial that he’s helping Halas.”

San chuckled softly, nodding. “Maybe..” his smile faded as he remembered something, his voice dropping slightly. “Oh right, the King.”

He kept his eyes on the trio sparring in the distance as he continued. “You remember how he, uh- whispered something to me? During the whole ‘general welcoming’ thing?”

You nodded, your eyebrows furrowing. “Yeah, what about it?”

San drummed his fingers on the bench before muttering, “He said that I'd be dead if I talked to you.”

“What?” you said, shifting away from him almost immediately. “Then why are you talking to me?”

He gave a shrug, his lips twitching into a small smile when he saw your reaction. “You asked a question so I had to answer.”

You stared at him, your eyes wide. “San, you could be dead tomorrow. If he’s willing to kill his own demons, you are not an exception.”

“It’s a petty request,” San replied seriously, facing you once more. “I’m not going to avoid talking to someone because the King is possessive.. or whatever his deal is.”

You opened your mouth to argue but paused as you were unsure of what to say. His words were reckless but oddly reassuring. You leaned back further into the bench, shaking your head with a sigh.

“Just.. don’t get yourself killed. Please,” you said, extremely concerned.

San smirked faintly, his eyes drifting back to his friends. “I won’t.”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⊹₊ִ ࣪𖤐๋࣭ ⭑⊹₊ 𖥔.

Light from the high windows filtered into the small, forgotten corner of the Palace, casting shadows over the table where you and Yunho sat. The worn wood barely had enough space to hold the map you were working on. The corner was clearly meant as a ‘rest stop’ and not a working area.

Opposite you was Yunho, quietly scribbling in his notepad. The soft scratch of his pen filled the silence, besides the occasional rustle of paper.

You let out a soft sigh, your pencil hovering over the parchment as your thoughts raced. Your mind kept circling back, time and time again to Mingi. Sure, Wooyoung said that he was fine, but that wasn’t enough to calm you down.

“Are you alright?” Yunho asked suddenly.

You gave him a quick nod without looking up. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

There was a pause. “I would appreciate it if you were honest,” Yunho replied, his voice firm but gentle.

Your pencil froze mid-stroke. Slowly, you looked up. The way his eyes searched yours made you feel exposed. After a moment, you sighed and leaned back into your chair.

“I..” you began quietly. “I’m just worried about Mingi..”

Yunho’s eye twitched. “Ah.. really..” he said, a little too controlled. The grip on his pen tightened and the wood under his feet creaked under the pressure he gave out.

The run-down corner fell back into a silence. Yunho eventually began to scribble into his notepad once more, albeit slowly, and you picked up your pencil again, forcing yourself to focus on the map. Though, the lines were blurring together, your thoughts still on Mingi.

“If you’re really worried,” Yunho said, breaking the silence again, his voice quieter this time. “I can bring him here.”

“Really?” your head shot up, eyes wide.

Yunho set his pen down and leaned forward, his elbows now resting on the table. This brought his face closer to yours, close enough for you to see the faint scar cut across his nose, the sharp line of his jaw and the way his hair framed his face.

“I can sneak him in,” he continued calmly. “And hide him with his troops in the chambers.”

Your breath got caught in your throat. “You.. you’d do that?”

“Of course,” Yunho smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “If it makes you happy.”

You stared at him, shocked. It took a moment for you to process what he was offering - and when you did, the words escaped you before you could stop them.

“It does..”

A beat of silence passed between the two of you. Without hesitation, you leaned over the table and wrapped your arms around him in a quick hug. It was brief, a little awkward given that there was a table acting as a barrier, but it was enough.

Yunho froze, his body stiff. For a moment, it seemed like he didn’t know what to do. When you pulled back, his stunned face made you stifle a laugh.

“Thank you,” you said softly, sitting back in your seat.

Yunho cleared his throat, quickly recovering. He smiled, the tips of his ears turning into a pale red. “Anything for you.”

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⊹₊ִ ࣪𖤐๋࣭ ⭑⊹₊ 𖥔.

Hongjoong strolled through the dimly lit corridor, his steps light and silent. He paused mid-stride when he caught the sight of something unusual at the far end of the hallway.

You and Yunho were seated at a random small table, maps and papers spread out before you. What caught his attention though, wasn’t the work - but the way you leaned in, reaching across to give Yunho a hug.

Hongjoong’s brows knit together, his eyes narrowing as he took in the interaction. He immediately made his way towards the two of you, his boots now clicking against the marble floor.

“Doing your work?” his voice sliced through the peace and quiet like a blade.

Both you and Yunho jolted in surprise, your heads snapping in unison. Yunho, visibly nervous, straightened his back and dusted his clothes off.

“Yes,” you said quickly, holding up your pencil.

“Hm,” Hongjoong’s eyes lingered on you before shifting to Yunho, his face unreadable. “Where’s Seonghwa? Or the new General? Weren’t they assigned to supervise you?”

“Well..” you hesitated.

Earlier that day

“He’s starting to worry me,” you said, clutching your map and supplies tighter.

“Why would Seonghwa even be in a place like this?” San asked, glancing at the sparse greenery outside a passing window.

You and San had been wandering through the maze-like Palace for ages, trying to find a certain Eternal so that you could continue with your work. After several wrong turns and a lot of aimless searching, you finally spotted Seonghwa in the garden.

He was seated on a stone bench under the ‘shade’ of a decaying tree. His eyes were distant, his fingers absentmindedly brushing over the thorns of a wilted rose.

You cleared your throat loudly.

“What do you want,” he asked gruffly, barely looking at you.

You raised the map and papers in your hands. “You’re supposed to supervise me.”

Seonghwa scoffed. It seemed like he was about to say something harsh, but as his sharp eyes met yours, his face shifted ever so slightly before he looked away.

“I’m sure you can handle yourself,” he muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t bother me with these things.”

He stood up abruptly, brushing past you and San without another word. You exchanged a confused look with San, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Uh-” you began awkwardly. “You can go back to your friends.. I guess.”

Back to Now

You straightened your back as you addressed Hongjoong. “I couldn’t find either of them so I asked Yunho to supervise me instead.”

Hongjoong’s eyes shifted between the two of you. “...Is that so?”

There was an uneasy and uncomfortable silence. Yunho, catching the change in Hongjoong’s tone, quietly slid his notepad into the inside pocket of his blazer.

Hongjoong’s lips curled into an ingenuine smile as he looked at Yunho. “I think we need to have a chat”

Yunho stiffened, but he nodded reluctantly. When you met his gaze, his eyes swirled with worry and worst of all - fear.

You were unsure of whether you should intervene or pretend that this was a perfectly normal interaction between the two Eternals. Before you could even do anything, Hongjoong turned his attention back to you briefly.

“Carry on with your work,” he said smoothly before gesturing for Yunho to follow him down the corridor.

Yunho glanced at you once again before rising from his seat. As they disappeared around the corner, the faint sound of Hongjoong’s voice echoed back to you.

“Yunho, there are some boundaries I think you’ve forgotten..”

hope you enjoyed this (tho its a shorter chapter). remember to like and repost <3

series taglist [OPEN] - @binchanluvrr @hiddlestandom @avantalem @hecateslittlewitchling @iara-ya @thunderous-wolf @jaerisdiction @mallielovssyou @syzygyweeb @dime29 @marsofeight @doitforbangchan @shotaswife @soulphoenix1618 @justalittlegirl27 @minakooo @nqyzhuo @symmieangela

[nightlyrequiem]

there's this tiktok audio that's like "say im doing too much and you'll never see me doing a thing again in your life" which feels so valeria to me like i think this woman is so dramatic but acts like she isn't. she is also one of those ppl who can't let shit go and will bring it up until the day she dies.

"remember that time you fell asleep and forgot to call me"

"that was two years ago.."

"oh really? felt like yesterday to me"

it takes her 29393838 years to get over arguments (even though SHE started 99% of them) and yk she lacks accountability so she'll always bring up what you said instead of the hundreds of insults she said

"hand you the remote? no. remember when you called me a crazy bitch who makes up things in her head. yeah, grab it your goddamn self"

"and you told me to die"

"only because you called me a crazy bitch"

(the crazy bitch comment came way after the die comment but okay)

-😚

Homegirl doesn’t realize she’s dramatic either. I think it’s because she just feel things more intensely than usual and it makes it hard for her to act normal about it. Even if it’s something tiny like your tone being off. Suddenly you don’t love her so she starts distancing herself and acting all cold and it’s YOUR job to figure out what happened. God forbid she try to communicate with you 😒

You’re so right though, this woman can’t let anything go. I don’t think she’s even being manipulative or mean about it she just genuinely can’t fully get over things. You’re right about the accountability thing too.

Cognitive dissonance is her best friend. Shes usually in the wrong but she’ll find small ways to justify it. She started fight because you came home late even though you had a genuine reason? Well you should’ve told her before hand, you know she has trust issues.

The thing about insults is she’s always WORSE! She can’t let go and she doesn’t back down. If you don’t leave first you’d legitimately spend the entire day or night fighting. She’s not afraid to say things she know will hurt you 😖

She’s probably too far gone for therapy but that’s okay bc she’s Valeria

[bb8banner]

Mr. Perfectly Fine (Drabble)

“Do you seriously think he’s doing okay? Did we witness the same scene or are you drunker than I am?” Hissed Lucy.

“He seemed perfectly content walking away with whoever the fuck that was.” Retorted Buck through gritted teeth.

Granted, his vision was blurry and it was too hot in the bar. It was all too much. The music was too loud and he’d definitely drank a little more than he’d planned. Maybe a lot more. Eddie was moving next week. Eddie who was facedown back at the booth, probably falling asleep with his pitcher of beer half drained by now.

Tommy left with some random blonde. Tommy wasn’t his anymore. Hadn’t been for 3 months.

It had been a bad call, the perfect end to an already shitty week. Then tonight, he’d run into Tommy, Lucy and the blonde at the popular first responders bar after shift, not under the best of circumstances, but what difference did it make. Tommy was visibly drunk, stumbling out of the bar with the blonde holding him up, laughing on the way out the door. Probably didn’t even notice Buck glaring the whole time, nauseous and pissed off.

Lucy had come up to him then, and their argument had sprung out of nowhere.

“That was my brother. A total riot, but very straight. I saw you staring, not very subtle Buckley.”

“Should’ve left with them then, or what? You planning on coming on to me again?” That came out sharper than necessary, he and Lucy were cool right? At least they had been up until three months ago.

Lucy stared daggers into his eyes.

“Go fuck yourself, honestly. You of all people should know what it’s like. You have Eddie, I have him. I’m always going to look after him, and for the record I think you’re both idiots. He’s hurting. Bad. I know he was the one to pull the plug, I know he fucked up. But you don’t get to judge him, okay? That’s my job. If he wants to get drunk and blow off steam, he can. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here either right?”

“Why are you still here? If you care so much why not go with him. I don’t understand why you’re still talking to me.”

“I’m here with someone, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to her.”

Lucy turned the corner, making her way towards the back of the bar, away from Buck. Away from the answers he was desperate for.

“Wait.” He said as he made a grab for her arm.

“Wait. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. Just… please. What do you mean he’s not doing okay?”

[notiddygothgf]

16. Right Here

★ pairings: aki hayakawa x fem reader

★ ❝ I want a divorce. ❞

★ c.w.: drinking, mentions of domestic violence

★ a/n: hello my dumplings. i'm FINALLY on thanksgiving break. im so grateful for you all! So grateful, in fact, that i wanted to show you all just how much ily with a new chapter. sorry i left y'all hanging for so long! you know i hate to be that way lmfao. the plot is thickeningggggg!! i hope you all love this one! please comment and vote and interact with me, i love u all so dearly. muah! enjoy!

★ w.c: .4.5k

shameless ; chapter index

The words felt like concrete falling off of your tongue – simultaneously good and bad. On one hand, you felt lighter, freer now that the words had been said. On the other… 

You were fucking terrified of your husband.

A second ticked by as the color drained from his face. Then another. Then another.

Then, slowly, like he couldn’t believe a word you had just said, he licked his lips, asking, “What… the hell are you talking about right now?”

Hold your ground. You had been waiting years to say the words. So why did it feel like your mouth was stuffed full of cotton when you tried to protest?

“Is it the fighting?” He asked.

You shook your head, “No. No, it’s more than just the fighting, Tanimoto. I’m tired– tired of you treating me like shit all of the fucking time,” You paused to take a deep, trembling breath. You wondered briefly if Aki could hear you, submerged in a deep slumber only a couple of feet away. “I’m a person with– with rights and… I won’t– I’m not going to keep living like this.”

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, repeating yourself – albeit much more quietly, “I want a divorce.”

Divorce. Why did it sound so wrong?

He looked as if he felt the same way. Thin lips pulled into a tight scowl, brows furrowed, eyes wide, he opened his mouth – but before the words could come out, the door slid open. 

It was Himeno, sporting a warm smile and her signature eyepatch – with a bored-looking Denji in tow. When she recognized you, her eyes lit up. Denji did not appear to share the same sentiment, muttering, “Are we interrupting somethin’?”

Yes.

“No,” You smiled instead. This is my way out. Turning to your husband, you put on a bright smile – the same one you always wore when you played the part of “loving wife”. “He was just about to leave, actually. Right?”

The tension in the room thickened like fog, heavy and unyielding. Your husband stood there, silent and unmoving, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, like a man reeling in a snapping leash, he smoothed his features.

“Right,” he said, his tone unnervingly calm.

He dipped his head in a polite bow, but as he straightened, he leaned in close—too close. His breath was warm against your ear, his voice a quiet blade. “We’re talking about this later,” he muttered, the promise heavy with an unspoken threat.

Then he turned and walked out, his footsteps fading into the hall.

The moment the door closed behind him, your shoulders sagged, and you let out a shaky sigh of relief. For the first time in what felt like hours, you could breathe again. He’s gone.

Why do I feel so light?

The hospital room was sterile and quiet now, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioning and the soft beep of the monitor beside Aki’s bed. The fluorescent lights overhead cast everything in a washed-out, almost dreamlike hue. It felt cold despite the layers of blankets draped over him, and you found yourself wrapping your arms around your torso, trying to ward off the chill.  

Aki lay there, pale and unmoving, his face finally free of its usual sharp tension. It should’ve been a relief to see him at peace, but all you could think about was how hard he’d pushed himself to get here. Did you hear that, Aki? you wondered. I finally said it.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Denji’s voice breaking the stillness. “What was that all about?” he asked, his wide eyes darting to the door your husband had walked out of moments earlier. “Did you guys finally break up or somethin’?”  

“Denji,” Himeno snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through steel. She perched on the arm of the couch across from you, her gaze flicking between you and Aki. “Read the room, for god’s sake.”  

“What? I’m just asking,” Denji muttered, sinking into a chair next to Aki’s bedside with his arms crossed.

You forced a laugh, though it came out thin and hollow. “It’s… a long story. We can talk about it later.”  

Himeno studied you for a moment, her sharp eyes softening. “Okay,” she said quietly. “But we’re circling back to this.” Then she sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “You missed one hell of a day today.”

Denji’s mood shifted instantly, his grin wide and boyish. “Oh, yeah! It was crazy! You should’ve seen me—I was slicing through mini-devils left and right!”  

“The only thing that was crazy was you,” Himeno corrected, rolling her eyes. “Don’t let him fool you. He was flailing around like a maniac half the time.”  

“Who gives a shit how I did it? What matters is that I did it,” Denji shot back, leaning forward. “Tell her about the big one! The giant… uh… whatever it was!”  

“The Lunch Devil,” Himeno said grimly, crossing her arms. “It was huge—took out half a block before we even got close. Looked like something out of a nightmare, with all those teeth and—”  

“And it kept spitting out smaller devils!” Denji interrupted, his arms flailing for emphasis. “But they weren’t even small. More like dog-sized. They were everywhere. It was like—like—”  

“Like an infestation,” Himeno finished dryly. “The thing wasn’t just attacking. It was setting up shop, spreading itself across the area. We had to cut through all the smaller ones just to get a shot at the main body.”  

Denji beamed. “But I got the kill shot! I jumped right onto its ugly face and went – BAM! Chainsaws everywhere!” He mimed slashing wildly, complete with exaggerated sound effects. 

You couldn’t help but smile faintly at his enthusiasm. “Sounds like it was a mess.”  

“That’s an understatement,” Himeno said, her voice dropping. “We lost four people out there. It could’ve been worse, honestly. The thing was stronger than we expected. And smarter.”  

Denji’s grin faltered slightly. “Yeah… those guys didn’t stand a chance. It was like the devil knew exactly how to mess with us.”  

Himeno nodded, her expression grim. “It was baiting us, drawing us into traps. It knew how to split us up, how to isolate the weaker ones. And once we were scattered…” Her gaze drifted to Aki, and her shoulders slumped. 

“He’s alright, at least,” you murmured, your eyes following hers. “Always the hero.”  

“Yeah, and now look at him,” Himeno said, her voice softening. “He’s lucky he’s not in worse shape.”  

You glanced at Aki again, his face pale against the crisp white of the hospital pillow. He looked fragile in a way that unsettled you. How many more times can he do this before he breaks completely? 

Denji shifted in his seat, breaking your train of thought. “It wasn’t all bad, though, right? I mean, we got the thing in the end.”  

“We did,” Himeno said, though her voice lacked conviction. “But at what cost?”  

The room fell into a heavy silence. You watched Aki’s chest rise and fall with each slow, steady breath, as if anchoring yourself to the rhythm.  

You broke the silence with a quiet murmur of, “Can I… talk to you, Himeno?”

After a moment, Himeno turned to you, her expression softening. “‘Course.”

Denji groaned, throwing his head back. 

“Go grab a snack or something,” Himeno said, waving him off. “We’ll be back in a minute.”  

“Fine, whatever,” Denji muttered, dragging himself out of the chair. His footsteps stomped down the hall, growing fainter with each step.  

You motioned for Himeno to follow you a few steps away from Aki’s bedside. The hum of the air conditioning seemed louder now, filling the space as you struggled to find the right words.  

“So,” Himeno began, crossing her arms. “What’s going on? Is this about earlier?”  

You hesitated, your hands twisting together nervously. Finally, you took a deep breath and said it. “Himeno, I told him I want a divorce.”  

Her eyes widened, her jaw dropping slightly. “Wait—what? When did this happen?”  

“Just now,” you admitted, your voice quiet. “It’s been building up for a while, but… I finally said it.”  

Himeno stared at you, clearly floored. “Holy crap. I mean, good for you, but… wow. What did he say? Did he—was that why he was acting so weird?”  

“He didn’t take it well,” you said with a weak laugh. “But I didn’t expect him to.”  

Himeno shook her head, still processing. “You’ve been dealing with all that, and then you walk into this mess… Damn. You really can’t catch a break.”  

You shrugged, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “I wanted to ask you if I could possibly stay the night. I’m dreading going back to the hotel. He told me he wants to talk more about it, but I don’t know.”

Himeno smiled, and she placed a hand on your shoulder. “Of course you can. We’ll talk more later. No more questions, for now.”  

“Thank you,” you said quietly, the knot in your chest loosening just a little.  

The two of you turned to Aki, silently watching the rise and fall of his chest, as if that would bring him back.

“For what it’s worth,” Himeno added, her voice gentle, “I think you’re doing the right thing.”  

The corner of your mouth lifted in a weak smile. For the first time in a while, you believed it too.  

Himeno’s apartment looked exactly like the way you had expected it to look. It was clean, save for a few cases of beer here and there. An open kitchenette – not entirely unlike Aki’s – and a sliding door that led to a balcony. It seemed a little big for just one person. 

And, in the middle of it all, you were hunched over a stool at her kitchen island, swirling an empty can of beer around on a coaster. Himeno was opening the takeout bag (Chinese, as per her request), setting little containers onto the counter while you watched her work. She had long since changed out of her Public Safety uniform, having showered and swapped the suffocating suit and tie for a cami top and some gray sleep shorts. She lent you one of her tee shirts and a pair of shorts to wear for the evening. You hadn’t exactly had time to pack.

(You didn’t want to think about going back to the hotel room to retrieve your luggage).

“Steamed Dumplings and White Rice,” She hummed, setting two large cartons down in front of you, along with a pair of cheap bamboo chopsticks – the kind the restaurants gave you for free. She placed two cartons of her own in front of you. Leaning over the table so she could be eye-to-eye. “You want another beer?”

“God, yes,” You sighed. 

With an airy laugh, she tugged the refrigerator open and produced two more cans of that wonderful substance that made you feel a little lighter. One for you and one for her.

She popped the cap on her bottle, taking a swig. “So,” She sighed. “Divorce. That’s a serious word. Tell me how it happened.”

“It just kinda… slipped out, I ‘dunno,” You glanced down at your meal, suddenly feeling a lot less keen about eating it. Still, Himeno had treated you to food – something she didn’t have to do. So, feeling obligated to do so, you popped open the carton of rice and the carton of dumplings and dug in. “It’s not that I didn’t mean it though. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. He treats me like shit.”

“I hear ‘ya,” She hummed in response. She popped a piece of chicken into her mouth. “I remember you saying you were thinkin’ about it. What broke the camel’s back?”

Tell her the truth.

You bit the inside of your cheek, finally speaking up about what you had been holding back for so long, “He hit me, Himeno. He’s been getting more and more violent with me.”

Your friend’s eye grew to the size of a saucer. Still, there was something akin to sympathy behind it, and she remained silent.

“I told him about us… About me and Aki,” You added. Already, you could feel the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “I told him I’d been having an affair, and that we love each other.”

Her lips parted. A moment later, she stuffed a wad of rice between them, and then washed it down with a gulp of beer. “Shit, girl.”

“It had to happen at some point,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “After everything that happened today, I just couldn’t take it anymore. So I came clean.”

“Is that why you started the divorce?” she asked gently.

You nodded, gripping the edge of the counter. “He gave me an ultimatum,” you said bitterly. “Told me to leave Aki. Said if I ever wanted to keep my life in Kyoto, I had to cut ties with him completely.”

“And you said no?”

“Of course I did,” you said firmly, though the memory of his threats still made your stomach churn. “I was scared at first—terrified, really. But then I thought about it. Really thought about it. And I realized… I’d rather die than live without Aki.” You shook your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “We’re in love.”

Himeno’s expression softened, a genuine smile breaking through. “I can see that,” she said. “And I really am glad. He needs someone like you in his life. Someone who cares the way you do.”

“You think so?” you asked, your voice tentative.

“I know so,” she said confidently. “I’ve never seen anyone make that boy show as much emotion as you have in such a short time. That’s a talent, chica.” She pointed a chopstick at you before taking another bite. “You did the right thing.”

“I can only hope,” you murmured, the knot in your chest loosening slightly. You took another sip of beer, letting the alcohol ease the lingering tension. “But enough about me. How have you been holding up?”

Himeno shrugged, a playful smile returning to her lips. “I’ve been good. Been obsessed with this soap opera lately. Would you be up to finishing it with me?”

You laughed, the sound lighter than you’d expected. “Fuck yeah.”

“Great,” she said, pushing off the counter and heading for the TV. She crouched on the floor, rummaging through a small stack of DVDs. “No more talk about divorce tonight. The only relationship drama you need to worry about is the drama between Aika and Satoshi.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Who the hell are Aika and Satoshi?”

She grinned, sliding a disc into the player. “You’re about to find out.”

As the screen flickered to life, you leaned back in your stool, letting the warmth of the moment wash over you. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to relax, even if just for a little while. For a moment, things felt like they were the way they had been nearly a decade earlier – just you and Himeno against the world.

When you got the call the next morning at 5 AM that Aki had woken up (and, yes, you had slept with your phone right next to your head), you lept off of the couch and threw one of Himeno’s sweaters on – deciding you would tell her later. You called a taxi only a minute later and, within ten minutes, you were out the door.

Now, walking the halls with your heart pounding in your chest, you couldn’t have felt more awake. A name badge on your chest and your heart in your hands, you tried to remember what room the nurse had told you to find him in. Was it 104? 105? 

Who knows. The only thing on your mind right then was the words ‘He’s alive. He’s okay.’ on repeat.

In fact, you continued to repeat those words like a mantra right up until you reached the room at the very end of the stale hallway, secluded from the rest of the hospital rooms on that floor. Room 105.

It was his room. It had to be.

So, with your heartbeat racing a mile a minute, you knocked twice. A moment passed, some fabric shifted on the other side of the door – and you wondered for a moment if you even had the right room. But, then, clear as day, you heard that damned voice.

“Come in.”

It was him. 

He’s okay, you thought. He’s okay. He’s okay. He’s okay.

And, obeying his order, you opened the door, peeking your head in. There he was, sitting upright in his hospital bed, hair down and a little messy, donning nothing but a blue hospital gown. His heartbeat was beeping steadily on the monitor next to his bed – a beep-beep sound that soothed you, reminded you that this was all real. 

The moment he saw you, his eyes widened. That stoic ‘Captain’ look melted away from his face in a moment’s width, tired gaze softening, as it softened into something much more familiar. (In contrast, the heart rate on the monitor kicked up a few notches – something you couldn’t help but revel in).

“Hey, troublemaker,” He grinned.

And, suddenly, you couldn’t care less about where you were or what you were wearing. You closed the door behind you, practically running towards Aki’s bed and grabbing him by the hand. It felt so good to feel him – his warmth, his liveliness after a whole day of radio silence.

But, before you could reply, his arms were around your waist, tugging you into bed with him until your chest was pressed up against his, legs dangling in the air.

“Aki–” You laughed breathlessly, scrambling for footing before eventually succumbing to him. You climbed further onto the bed (even though you knew you shouldn’t) and collapsed on top of him. 

He brought his arms even tighter around you, like a protective jacket, and groaned into your hair, “Missed you so fuckin’ much.”

The two of you stayed there for a moment – bodies smushed together like lovestruck teenagers, feet dangling in the air – lying chest-to-chest.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “I’d kiss you, but I’m thirsty as hell and I’m, like, 90 percent sure they didn’t brush my teeth.”

You smiled up at him, up at his pretty face – smiled so hard your eyes crinkled at the corners. Then, you cupped his face, uttering, “I don’t give a shit. Come here,” and brought him in for a long awaited kiss. It was everything you had imagined and so much more. It was passionate, it was longing, it was love. He breathed color right back into your lungs, filled you with the will you had lacked.

You deepened the kiss, tangling a hand in his hair and–

The steady beeping of his heart monitor picked up to a much quicker pace. You parted from him quickly, worried you had set something off in your haste to make sure he knew how much you missed him. The screen looked normal – and the heart rate slowed back to a normal pace after you spent a moment catching your breath.

“Sorry,” He chuckled. “Got excited.”

With a laugh, you slid off of him. “Are you hurt? How do you feel?”

He groaned, laying his pretty head back against the pillow, “Like hell. Better, now that you’re here, though. Anything happen while I was asleep?”

“I told my husband about us,” you said softly, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

Aki stiffened. You could practically feel his muscles tense, his whole body going rigid. He leaned back slightly, his tired eyes searching yours. “When?” he asked, his voice measured, but the subtle edge of anxiety was unmistakable.

You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat. “Yesterday. Right here at your bedside, actually.”

His brows furrowed as he shifted to sit up straighter, ignoring the wince that flickered across his face. “What happened when you told him?” 

Your gaze dropped to the blanket pooled around his waist, and you took a steadying breath. “Well… he asked first,” you began. “After that wall blew in, and I thought I was gonna lose you…” Your voice cracked, and you pressed your lips together to steady it. “I was a mess, Aki. I stayed with you until help came. Made sure they got you to the hospital.” 

Aki’s hand moved to your knee, his thumb tracing soothing circles as he watched you intently. His silence was patient, but it only made the confession harder. 

“He came in later that day,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “After I was discharged. He asked if there was something going on between us.”

“And?” Aki’s voice was low, steady, but the way his hand tightened around yours betrayed the tension he was trying to hide.

You met his eyes, your own brimming with tears. “I told him yes. I told him I was having an affair.”

A sharp exhale escaped him, and he ran a hand through his already-messy hair, his eyes darting to the ceiling as he processed your words. “Shit,” he muttered, shaking his head. “How’d he react?”

A humorless laugh slipped out, your shoulders shaking with the weight of it. “Not well, obviously,” you said. “First thing he did was hit me.”

Aki froze, his gaze snapping back to you. The warmth in his eyes was replaced by a fiery anger that made your chest tighten. Still, ever the great listener, he said nothing, sitting up in his bed.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “And then he told me…” Your voice wavered, and you forced a shaky laugh, trying to keep the tears at bay. “He thinks I can go on living without you. He told me I need to stop seeing you.”

Aki shifted slowly, the sharp inhale of his breath telling you that even this small movement caused him pain. He sat up in the hospital bed, his arms pulling you closer, and before you could protest about him overexerting himself, he buried his face into the crook of your neck. The warmth of his breath against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and the tension in his body melted away as he held you like you were his lifeline.  

“No, we can’t,” he murmured, his voice muffled but resolute. His arms tightened around you, his nose brushing against your collarbone. “We can’t.” 

“I know,” you whispered, your hands finding their way to his hair. You cradled the back of his head, your fingers threading gently through the soft strands as you pressed a kiss to the crown of it. He smelled like antiseptic and something distinctly him, something grounding and familiar that made your heart ache. “I’d rather die.” 

The weight of those words hung between you, the truth of them sinking deeper than either of you wanted to admit. Aki didn’t reply, just held you a little tighter, his shoulders trembling faintly under your hands. For a moment, you stayed like that, the two of you lost in the fragile stillness of the room, the sound of his heartbeat monitor the only thing grounding you in reality.  

You broke the silence, your voice trembling as you spoke. “I’m scared, Aki. I’m frightened. I don’t know what— I don’t know what he’s capable of.”

His hold on you shifted slightly, his arms loosening just enough for him to pull back and meet your gaze. His eyes, sharp and soft all at once, searched for yours. There was a flicker of guilt there—guilt for not being able to protect you from everything. 

“Don’t be scared,” he said, his voice low and firm, yet laced with an aching tenderness. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing gently against your cheeks as he leaned in closer. “You’ve got me, now. I’ll keep you safe. Promise.”  

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to speak. “You won’t be much help like this,” you managed, nodding toward the IV in his arm and the fresh bandages peeking out from under the hospital gown. “Plus… I crashed at Himeno’s last night. I can’t run away from him forever.”

For the first time since the conversation began, Aki’s lips curved into a faint grin, one that you could feel as his nose brushed against your neck again. “I’m supposed to be discharged today,” he murmured, his voice teasing but gentle. His arms slid around your waist again, pulling you flush against him. “Come stay with me.”

"Then don't," he whispered, his breath warm against your lips. He tasted like cigarette smoke, beer and mint gum – a flavor so utterly addicting that you couldn't seem to get enough of it. "Don't think. Let me take you back to your room."

You hesitated, the reality of the situation hitting you. This was crossing a line, a line you couldn't uncross. But as you looked into his eyes, saw the same turmoil reflected back at you, you felt your resolve crumble. 

You were tired of pretending.

"Okay," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rain. It was a final, resigned acceptance, the last nail in the coffin of your restraint.

“Aki…” you started, but he cut you off with a soft hum. “I have all of my shit at the hotel.”

“We can buy more,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.  

You bit your lip, shaking your head slightly. “There’s that get-together later this week,” you began, your voice trailing off as you considered the fallout, the logistics, the mess of it all.  

Aki’s hand left your waist, his fingers brushing against your cheek and coaxing you to look at him. His touch was light, almost hesitant, but the intensity in his gaze left no doubt about how serious he was. “You’ll be with me,” he said softly. “I won’t let him hurt you.” His thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone as his other hand slid back to your waist. “Stop worrying about him. Come home with me.”

The words hit you like a memory, a flash of that first night when you’d whispered something so similar to him. The thought made your throat tighten, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words to respond. Your mind raced through the implications, the risks, the dangers—but when you looked into his eyes, all of that faded into the background.

“I can’t live without you, Aki,” you whispered, your voice cracking as the weight of the truth settled over you.  

He nodded slowly, his hand sliding back to the nape of your neck as he pressed his forehead to yours. “You don’t have to,” he murmured. “I’m right here.”

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, and you melted into his embrace, letting the steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his arms remind you of what mattered most. 

He’s right here.

a/n: She held her ground.... I WANTED TO END IT ON A HAPPY NOTE after the way i left yall hanging last time lolllllll. the plot will be getting thicka and thicka and the drama will be getting juicier from here on out. stay tuned for that! (Also, this is the longest fanfic ive ever written officially LMFAOAO idk how i thought this shit was gonna be a short story....) anyway!! stay safe, i hope you are all having a wonderful sangsgibing if you celebrate. mama loves yall xxx

credits: UNKOWN ATM. I found the cover pic on pinterest unfortch. If you know the artist, please let me know, so I can credit them properly for their work!!! This is NOT MY BEAUTIFUL DRAWINGGG. I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

taglist: @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @acethebrave , @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505

wanna join the taglist? | shameless ; chapter index

[milla-frenchy]

So happy to read them again 😍😍

You lay on the couch, the blanket Joel brought you tucked snugly beneath your chin, feeling the comforting weight of it. The soft fabric smells faintly like him—like the dust and leather of the ranch, with a hint of something deeper you can't quite place. Your body aches from the injury, a constant reminder of your fragility, but the blanket is a small luxury, an oasis of warmth amid the discomfort.

This is so beautiful and vivid 😍😍

There’s something reassuring about having everything within arm's reach, a reminder that you still have some control, some autonomy, even if your body doesn’t quite feel like your own right now.

I loved all of this. Reading her emotions, feeling them. Poor baby 😥

"What’s her name?" you ask gently, your voice soft but steady. You’re careful, wanting to open the door without forcing him through it.

omg this is beautiful. I love how careful she is

"Named after my grandmother. She is—" His voice catches, the present tense faltering mid-sentence like a misstep on uneven ground. "She was a special kid."

I didn't plan to have my heart broken on a wednesday afternoon after work oh nooooo 😥😥😥

"S’been tough," he admits, his voice low, almost a murmur. "But you find a way to keep goin’. Life doesn’t stop, even when you wish it would."

And this?! This hurts so much, and, it's so true...

When he finally releases your hand, moving his arm slightly,  the warmth of his skin lingers, a quiet reminder of the moment you’ve shared. "Thank you darlin’," he says again, his voice steady but soft. There’s something in his eyes now—something lighter, as if the act of sharing, of being heard, has eased the weight he carries, if only a little. "Means more than you know."

❤️❤️❤️ I love this so much

And then he’s gone. You stare at the ceiling, your heart heavy with regret, the words you wish you’d said echoing in your mind. "Stay. Please stay." But you didn’t. Instead, you let him walk away, the distance between you growing not just physically but emotionally.

Why didn't youuuuuuuu 😭😭😭

"I... I don’t know how to do this," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Letting someone—letting you—"    "You don’t have to know," he says quietly. "You just gotta let me in."  

omg what? 😍😍😍 Odiiiiii you have me on an emotional roller coaster what are you doing to meeeeeeee

“Should’ve just stayed downstairs, fuck sakes,” he mutters to himself.

uuuuuh you're really trying to kill me here

Joel steps closer, his fists clenched at his sides. “You think this is about you bein’ a burden? Dammit, I don’t care about that! I care about you not gettin’ yourself killed because you’re too damn stubborn to listen!”

I ALWAYS love when Joel tells someone they're stubborn. I always cackle, cause LOOK WHO'S TALKING, SIR 😂😂😂

“I’ve been where you are,” he says, his voice low. “I’ve lost too much. And I’m not gonna lose anyone else... not like this.”

Damn. Speechless. Odi if I catch you!!! (I'm gonna send you a lot of gifs to take revenge 😌😏)

Howdy Honey II. Beautiful Mess

Series Masterlist * Masterlist * Wordcount 6.6K

Summary: Joel grapples with his frustration and fear after you push him away

Warnings: the fluff before the smut! Some angst and mentions of loss

Notes: Thank you for the long wait for this chapter. Getting back into it with these two has been so much fun! I am very excited for the next chapter heheh. I can foresee three more chapters, which I will hopefully have out at a decent pace. Ty @evolnoomym for reading this over ♏️🌙

You

The first rays of morning light filter through the gauzy curtains, casting a warm glow across the living room. The ranch outside is waking up, the sounds of hooves and rustling hay mingling with the birds' early songs, but inside, there is a stillness. The air is cool, soft, and peaceful before the day fully begins. You lay on the couch, the blanket Joel brought you tucked snugly beneath your chin, feeling the comforting weight of it. The soft fabric smells faintly like him—like the dust and leather of the ranch, with a hint of something deeper you can't quite place. Your body aches from the injury, a constant reminder of your fragility, but the blanket is a small luxury, an oasis of warmth amid the discomfort.

The potted plant in the corner catches your eye as its leaves flutter in the breeze coming through the open window. The subtle movement is a welcome distraction, drawing your focus away from the twinges of pain in your side, from the dull ache that’s become your constant companion. It's not the worst pain you’ve felt in your life, but right now, in the stillness of the room, it feels like the only thing that matters. You wish you were in your own bed, in the comfort of your familiar space. You can almost picture it—your room upstairs, the soft quilts, the shelves filled with books you've collected over the years. But the reality of your situation makes that impossible. The mere thought of climbing the stairs sends another sharp wave of pain through your body, reminding you that independence is a luxury right now, not a reality. You’ve always been fiercely independent—too proud, maybe, to admit when you need help. The idea of relying on Joel, especially now, when every moment around him seems to stir something inside you, feels almost too much to bear. When you were healthy, those stairs were nothing. You could run up them without thinking twice, bounding up two steps at a time. Now, the idea of even attempting it is enough to make your chest tighten, a reminder that things have changed. You can’t ignore it.

Joel has offered more than once to carry you up to your room, insisting that you’d be more comfortable in your own bed. But each time, you've turned him down. It’s not because you don’t trust him. You know he’s kind, that he genuinely wants to help, but the thought of him lifting you, of feeling his strong arms around you... it stirs something in you—something complicated. It's not just physical pain you need to recover from. There’s a tangle of emotions you can't unravel yet, especially not with Joel so close. Instead, you remain on the couch in the living room, finding comfort in its familiar layout. The space is small, but it feels like everything you need is within reach. The kitchen is just a few steps away, and the thought of being able to grab something to eat or drink without too much effort is a small but significant source of relief. You don't have to ask anyone for help every time you need something. The books and movies you've scattered around the room are close enough that you can slip into another world with little more than a turn of your hand. There’s something reassuring about having everything within arm's reach, a reminder that you still have some control, some autonomy, even if your body doesn’t quite feel like your own right now.

But perhaps the most comforting part of this setup is Joel—always nearby. You know he’s there, moving around the ranch just out of sight, yet still within earshot. You can hear the faint sounds of him tending to the animals, the creak of the barn doors, the rustle of hay and boots on the dirt. It's not quite company, but it's enough. If something were to go wrong—if the pain in your side flared up again or you needed assistance in a way you couldn’t manage—Joel would be there in an instant. The thought of him close by, ready to step in, is both a comfort and a quiet reminder of how much you rely on him these days. You tell yourself that you don’t need him, but there's an undeniable warmth that settles in your chest knowing he’s just a room away. Still, the idea of needing help from him, especially in such a vulnerable state, stirs something deeper in you. Something that makes your heart flutter unexpectedly, a feeling that you can’t quite define. It’s easier this way—on the couch, within your little bubble of semi-independence, where your emotions can stay tucked away, just like the soft blanket Joel brought you.

You glance over at the cover of one of his daughter’s western novels, the title catching your eye. There's something about it that piques your curiosity, stirring questions you hadn’t meant to ask. Who is she, this daughter of his? Was she older? And then, the question that sits uncomfortably in your mind: Is Joel married—or was he? You’ve never seen a wedding band on his finger, never heard him speak about a wife. The mystery about him lingers, unresolved. You know you should be resting, but your mind refuses to settle. You shift slightly, adjusting the blanket as you try to distract yourself. Your eyes drift back to the book on the table—a well-worn copy of Lonesome Dove, its spine cracked and pages dog-eared. Something about the worn edges calls to you. It's a link to the world you grew up in, a reminder of the ranch life, of the toughness and independence that runs through your veins. You never could quite leave the ranch, even when you tried. You reach for the book, your fingers brushing against the paper's texture, the act of holding it feeling almost like coming home. You open the cover to the first page, the familiar scent of ink and aged paper filling your senses. As you dive into the world of Gus McCrae and Woodrow Call, the stories of cowboys and cattle drives pull you in. You’re captivated by Gus and Woodrow—two men bound by their pasts but so different in their approach to life.

As you read, you find yourself identifying with Lorena Wood, Gus's girlfriend. Her fight for her place in the world, her refusal to let others define her, resonates with you deeply. The scene where she insists on joining the cattle drive despite the objections of the men speaks to something inside you. The words, “I ain’t afraid of a little hard work,” echo in your mind, a mantra of defiance that you wish you could adopt fully. You can’t be weak. You won’t be.

"Dreamin’ is free, Lorena," Gus says to her, his voice a mix of wisdom and weariness. "It don’t cost nothin' extra to dream good dreams."

The words settle over you, and for a moment, you close your eyes. You think of Joel—his gruffness, his strength, the way he moves through the ranch with a quiet intensity. He’s always there, a steady presence in your life. You can’t help but wonder what kind of man he was before, what dreams he once had, what kind of life he led. Your thoughts drift, pulled back into the story before you can get too lost in them. The sun climbs higher in the sky, its light streaming through the windows, warm now, settling into the room. You glance at the book beside you and set it aside with a small sense of pride. You've made it through several chapters without letting your mind wander too much.

Your side aches more now from sitting too long, and you know it’s time to try standing. It’s been too long since you felt any sense of control over your own body. You push the blanket back, and slowly, you swing your legs over the side of the couch. The room tilts slightly as you plant your feet on the floor, and you take a steadying breath, trying to ignore the sharp twinge in your side. You hate this. Hate feeling weak. Hate needing help. But you can’t let that stop you. You refuse to let it define you. You're determined to regain some independence, to show Joel that you're not just some fragile thing that needs constant watching over.

You push yourself up, wincing as another wave of pain stabs through your ribs. The movement is slow, deliberate. Each step feels like an accomplishment, even as the pain pulses beneath the surface. You make it to the kitchen, though you're panting by the time you reach the counter. You grip it for support, feeling the cool edge beneath your fingertips. The simple act of pouring yourself a glass of water feels like a triumph.

Then you hear the creak of the front door. You don’t have to look to know it’s Joel. The sound of his boots on the floor, the low murmur of his voice as he moves about the ranch—it's all so familiar now. You hear him pause, then step into the kitchen. His eyes widen when he sees you standing there, gripping the counter like it’s your lifeline.

"Well, look at you," he says, a note of surprise and admiration in his voice. "You're up and about."

You offer him a small, self-conscious smile, glad he’s not rushing to fuss over you. "I thought it was time," you say softly, setting the glass of water down with careful movements. "I can't just lie on the couch all day."

Joel chuckles, his gaze sweeping over you with that same intensity that sends a warm flutter through your chest. He steps closer, cautious. "Reckon not," he agrees, voice low. His eyes linger on you, and you can't tell if it's concern or something else. "But don’t go pushin’ yourself too hard now."

"I’m fine," you insist, a little too quickly. "But you look like you’ve been at it all morning. Would you like something to drink?" You try to sound casual, but the offer feels like an excuse to keep him there, a way to ease the tension building between you.

"S’alright, I can get it," he says, but his voice is strained, tired. He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, a visible sign of the work he's been doing.

Before he can protest, you start toward the fridge. "Shut up," you say with a teasing smile. "I got it. Iced tea, right?"

He chuckles softly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "That’d be perfect, darlin’."

The fridge door opens with a soft creak, and you pour the tea, the cool liquid filling the glass with a satisfying sound. The simple act requires more focus than it should, but you take your time, savoring the moment of normalcy. You hand him the glass, your fingers brushing his ever so briefly. The touch is light, fleeting, but it sends an unexpected jolt through you, a spark that neither of you can ignore. For a moment, you both stand there, neither of you speaking, as if waiting for something to break the silence. His gaze flickers to the floor, then back to you, and he clears his throat, taking a small step back.

"Thanks," he says, his voice steady but low, and his eyes meet yours briefly before he raises the glass in a small salute. He drinks deeply, closing his eyes as the cool tea washes over him.

"You're welcome," you reply, your voice quieter than usual. You busy yourself with straightening up the kitchen, your hands shaking slightly as you try to ground yourself in the mundane. But even in the simple act of tidying, you can feel his gaze on you, the weight of it making you feel exposed in a way you can't quite understand.

"You’ve found some use for the blanket and books, I see," Joel says, his voice soft, but you catch the hint of something more in it, something like pride.

"They've been a good distraction," you answer, a little more casually than you feel. "I'm curious about your daughter’s books. She’s got good taste."

At the mention of his daughter, Joel’s face softens, a wistful look crossing his features. "She always did love a good story," he says, his voice quiet, distant. "Used to read to her every night when she was little. We'd get lost in all sorts of adventures together.”

The conversation takes a quiet but significant turn, pulling you both into uncharted emotional territory. You sense it the moment Joel’s expression softens at your question, his guarded demeanor cracking just enough to let a sliver of vulnerability through. It feels fragile, like holding a bird in your hands, its rapid heartbeat thrumming beneath your fingers. You tread carefully, hoping not to press too hard but unwilling to let the moment pass unacknowledged. "What’s her name?" you ask gently, your voice soft but steady. You’re careful, wanting to open the door without forcing him through it.

He hesitates for just a breath before answering, his lips curving into a small, wistful smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Sarah," he says, his voice tinged with warmth and something deeper—something bittersweet. "Named after my grandmother. She is—" His voice catches, the present tense faltering mid-sentence like a misstep on uneven ground. "She was a special kid."

The weight of that single word, was, hangs in the air between you like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples of meaning outward. It cuts through the small warmth his smile brought, replacing it with a heaviness that settles deep in your chest. Your heart clenches, the realization landing like a blow. You try to keep your voice steady, though your stomach twists. "Was?" you venture cautiously, the single syllable feeling heavier than it should.

Joel’s expression shifts immediately—his jaw tightening, his eyes narrowing just slightly as if bracing for an impact. You see the pain flash through him, raw and unguarded, before he wrestles it back under control. For a moment, you think he won’t answer, that he’ll shut you out completely. But then he takes a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the effort, and when he speaks, his voice is quiet and steady, though it trembles at the edges. "Sarah passed away a few years back." The words are spoken simply, but their weight is unmistakable, each syllable heavy with grief he’s learned to carry in silence.

The room feels smaller suddenly, the air thinner. You struggle to find something to say, some way to acknowledge the enormity of what he’s shared without reducing it to a hollow platitude. "Joel, I’m so sorry," you finally manage, your voice barely above a whisper. The sincerity in your words is palpable, your own troubles momentarily forgotten in the face of his loss.

Joel nods, his gaze distant, focused on something you can’t see. He doesn’t brush off your condolences or wave them away as you might have expected. Instead, he accepts them with a quiet grace that’s heartbreaking in its simplicity. "S’been tough," he admits, his voice low, almost a murmur. "But you find a way to keep goin’. Life doesn’t stop, even when you wish it would."

His words linger in the air, stark and unvarnished, and you feel the ache in them like a bruise pressed too hard. There’s no bitterness in his tone, no anger—just a quiet resignation, a weariness that feels like it’s etched into his very being. You wonder how often he’s spoken these words, if at all, or if he’s kept them locked away until now. Your gaze drifts to his hands—strong, calloused, and steady even now, despite the weight he carries. You reach out before you can think better of it, your fingers brushing against his forearm in a gesture that feels both small and monumental. "I can’t imagine," you say softly, your words feeling inadequate but heartfelt. "I’m sorry you had to go through that."

Joel looks down at your hand, his gaze lingering there for a moment before he lifts his eyes to meet yours. There’s something in his expression that makes your breath catch—a flicker of gratitude, of recognition, and something else you can’t quite name. "Thank you," he says simply, his voice rough but sincere. He shifts slightly, covering your hand with his own. The warmth of his touch is startling, grounding, and you’re acutely aware of how solid he feels, how present. "For listening," he continues, his voice softening. "I don’t... I don’t talk about Sarah much. It’s hard, you know?" His eyes hold yours, and you see the weight of the years he’s carried this pain, the quiet strength it’s taken to keep moving forward.

You nod, unable to look away. "I think you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for," you say quietly, the words slipping out before you can second-guess them. "Just... holding onto her memory like that. Letting her still be a part of you."

His brow furrows slightly, his gaze searching yours as if he’s trying to decide whether to accept your words. "Don’t feel strong most days," he admits after a pause, his voice so low you almost miss it. "Just feel tired."

The honesty in his words makes your chest tighten, and you press your hand against his arm just a little more firmly, as if to anchor him. "Maybe that’s what strength is," you offer, your voice soft but unwavering. "Getting up every day, even when it feels impossible. Carrying her with you, even when it hurts."

Joel doesn’t respond immediately, but you see something shift in his expression—something almost imperceptible but deeply significant. He exhales slowly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction, and when he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than before. "Maybe," he murmurs, the word more of a concession than a conviction.For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The silence is heavy but not uncomfortable, filled with the weight of everything left unsaid. You let it linger, sensing that Joel needs this space, this moment of quiet connection. When he finally releases your hand, moving his arm slightly,  the warmth of his skin lingers, a quiet reminder of the moment you’ve shared. "Thank you darlin’," he says again, his voice steady but soft. There’s something in his eyes now—something lighter, as if the act of sharing, of being heard, has eased the weight he carries, if only a little. "Means more than you know."

—-------

As you prepare to settle onto the couch for the night, the creak of the wooden floor under Joel’s boots pulls your attention. Before you can process what’s happening, he’s beside you, scooping you into his arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The warmth of his hands against you and the solid strength of his hold leave you momentarily breathless.

"What are you doing?" you protest weakly, though your body betrays you by instinctively wrapping an arm around his shoulders for balance.

He doesn’t stop moving, his tone gruff but resolute. "Takin’ you to your room. You’ll be more comfortable there, and it’s about time you used it again." You start to protest again, murmuring something about being too heavy, but he only huffs. "You think this is the first time I’ve carried someone? You’re fine. Quit fussin’."

Before you know it, he’s carrying you up the stairs, each step steady and sure despite the burden you’re sure you must be. The faint scent of leather and woodsmoke clings to him, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. When he reaches the top, the hallway stretches ahead, dimly lit and quiet except for the faint creak of the floorboards beneath his boots.

Your bedroom door creaks as he nudges it open with his foot. The room feels foreign, almost untouched since your injuries—a time capsule of your life before everything fell apart. Joel sets you down on the bed with a gentleness that belies his rough exterior, his hands lingering briefly to ensure you’re steady before he pulls away.

"There," he says, adjusting the covers around you with meticulous care that makes your chest ache. "Now you get some rest. I’ll be right downstairs if you need anything."

You watch him turn, the broad slope of his shoulders framed by the faint hallway light. A sudden unease wells up in your chest, irrational and overwhelming. The thought of being alone in this room, in this moment, feels unbearable. The words leave your lips before you can stop them.

"Joel, wait."

He stops in the doorway, his silhouette pausing against the light. "What is it, darlin’?" His voice is calm, but there’s an edge of concern beneath it.

Your fingers grip the edge of the blanket as you force yourself to speak. "Could you... stay? Just for a little while. Until I fall asleep."

For a moment, he’s quiet, the furrow of his brow barely visible in the shadows. He looks at you like he’s weighing something heavy, something he’s not sure he can carry. But then he nods, his voice softer when he speaks. "Yeah. I can do that."

He grabs a chair from the corner of the room, pulling it close to the bed and settling into it with a quiet sigh. The room feels smaller now, his presence filling the space in a way that should be comforting, and yet... you feel the weight of it pressing against you.

Joel sits silently, his hands resting on his knees, the flickering light from the bedside lamp casting deep shadows across his face. His gaze flicks toward you occasionally, careful and guarded, as if afraid to linger too long. You watch him through half-closed eyes, noting the subtle lines etched into his features—lines of exhaustion, loss, and something else you can’t quite place. There’s a tension in his posture, a quiet restraint that makes your chest tighten.

"Joel," you say softly, the quiet sound of his name pulling his gaze to yours. He raises an eyebrow, waiting, but the words you wanted to say catch in your throat. What could you even say? Thank him for his kindness? For caring when you’d tried so hard to convince yourself you didn’t need it. Instead, you settle on something you instantly regret. "You don’t have to stay, you know. I’ll be fine."

His expression shifts, the corners of his mouth tightening ever so slightly. For a moment, he doesn’t respond, but when he does, his voice is quieter, almost unreadable. "If that’s what you want."

You open your mouth to correct yourself, to say something that might soften the blow, but the words don’t come. Joel stands, his movements slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to change your mind. You don’t.

"Goodnight, then," he says, his tone even, though there’s a weight behind the words that you can’t ignore. Joel stands, the chair groaning slightly as he pushes it back. He doesn’t move hurriedly, but there’s a deliberateness in his movements that makes your chest tighten. The air between you feels heavier, laced with something unspoken, something you’re not ready to name. And then he’s gone. You stare at the ceiling, your heart heavy with regret, the words you wish you’d said echoing in your mind.

"Stay. Please stay."

But you didn’t. Instead, you let him walk away, the distance between you growing not just physically but emotionally. The warmth of his presence lingers faintly, like the scent of his leather and woodsmoke, but it isn’t enough to fill the void. The ache in your ribs pales in comparison to the one in your chest. You lay there, staring at the ceiling, what was this feeling that had taken root inside you? It wasn’t just gratitude anymore—it was something else, something harder to define. You’d always prided yourself on not needing anyone, but Joel had a way of making that wall crumble, brick by brick. It was confusing. Maybe you were reading too much into it. Or maybe... maybe you were just afraid to hope again. But the way he’d left, the quiet disappointment in his eyes—it made you feel small, stupid even. What were you so afraid of? You hated yourself for pushing him away when all he’d ever done was try to be there for you. But it was too late now. The door was closed, and so, it seemed, was he.

The room is dark, save for the faint glow of the moonlight spilling in through the curtains. You hadn’t noticed Joel still standing there, silent as a shadow. He lingers by the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the dim light. He’s watching you, his brow furrowed, torn between staying and leaving.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” he mutters, more to himself than you.

You turn your head slightly, startled. You thought he'd left. His gaze meets yours for a moment, but the weight of it is too much to hold. You look away, biting the inside of your cheek. “I’m fine,” you say, your voice tight and unconvincing.

Joel lets out a low scoff, shaking his head. “Fine,” he repeats bitterly. “That your favorite word or somethin’?” His boots barely make a sound as he crosses the room, sitting back down on the chair beside your bed. His presence is overwhelming, filling the small space like a storm cloud about to break. You feel the heat of him, as you try to keep your breathing steady. “I know what you're doin',” he says quietly, his tone softer now. “Pushin' me away. But you don’t have to.”

You close your eyes, willing the tears to stay put. His words are gentle, but they cut deep, peeling back the layers you worked so hard to hide behind. You struggle for words, your breath uneven. "I... I don’t know how to do this," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Letting someone—letting you—"  

 "You don’t have to know," he says quietly. "You just gotta let me in."  

His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it now, like he's fighting against his own limits, his patience fraying. You want to reach for him, to let yourself lean into him, but the weight of your own walls is too heavy. You want to let go, but something inside you holds you back, paralyzes you with fear. Fear of what letting him in might mean. Your throat tightens as you try to form the words, but nothing comes. His gaze sharpens, but he doesn’t push you—he waits. The tension hangs thick in the air, heavy with unspoken thoughts. But the longer he waits, the more it seems like he’s losing the battle inside himself.

You finally meet his eyes again, but it’s like something’s shifted. There’s still care there, but it’s mixed with frustration, something raw and real. He stands, his movements slow but resolute. "You can’t keep doing this," he says, his voice low but intense. "I can’t keep doing this. You want me to stay, and then... then you push me away.”

His words strike you like a physical blow, the sting of truth cutting through the silence. You don’t know what to say, your heart pounding in your chest, but nothing feels right. The space between you is growing, and you’re helpless to stop it.

The chair scrapes against the floor as he moves it back, the sound harsh in the heavy silence. His words strike you like a physical blow, the sting of truth cutting through the silence. You don’t know what to say, your heart pounding in your chest, but nothing feels right. The space between you is growing, and you’re helpless to stop it. 

He moves toward the door, the floor creaking beneath his boots, and you want to scream—to tell him to stay, to tell him you’re not fine, but the words are lodged in your throat, like you’re choking on your own fear.

You sit up in bed, your breath shallow, but you don’t call out. You don’t stop him.

Joel pauses at the doorway, his back to you. For a long moment, it seems like he might turn around, like he might say something else, something to bridge the gap between you. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, his shoulders stiff, his head slightly bowed as though he’s already made his peace with walking away.

Finally, his voice breaks the silence. "You need anything, you holler. I’ll hear ya."

And then the door clicks softly shut behind him.

You sit there, staring at the empty space where he was, the weight of his words still pressing down on you. Your fingers curl around the blanket, but it offers no comfort. Your mind races, a mess of emotions, regret, and frustration. You want to call him back, but it feels like it’s too late.

The room is silent once more, and the emptiness is suffocating. You close your eyes, your chest aching, and for the first time in a long while, you realize how alone you truly are..

Joel

The soft glow of the kitchen light spills across the empty room as Joel leans against the counter, nursing a cup of coffee he doesn’t really want or need at this hour. He stares into the dark liquid, his thoughts elsewhere, running over the events of the evening like a song stuck on repeat.

He shouldn’t feel disappointed. You’d made it clear you didn’t want him there, and he respected that. Hell, he’d been in your shoes before—pushing people away because it felt safer. He couldn’t blame you for it. But that didn’t make the sting of it any easier to shake.

Joel sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. He’d seen the hesitation in your eyes, the conflict. He’d wanted to tell you it was okay, that he’d wait as long as you needed. But the truth was, he wasn’t sure how long he could wait. Every moment he spent with you, every quiet exchange and fleeting touch—it all felt like it was building toward something he wasn’t sure either of you were ready for. "Should’ve known better," he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible over the hum of the fridge. But even as he says it, he knows he’d do it all over again—because for you, he would wait.

The coffee in Joel’s mug has gone cold by the time he finally pushes himself off the counter and trudges to the living room. He sits heavily on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees as he stares at the darkened television screen. Sleep isn’t coming—not after the way the evening ended.

He rubs a hand down his face, trying to shake off the frustration welling in his chest. It wasn’t your fault, not really. Joel knows that better than anyone. But the way you’d looked at him, the way you’d pulled back, it felt like a door slamming shut in his face. Like he was stupid for even hoping.

“Should’ve just stayed downstairs, fuck sakes,��� he mutters to himself. He knows better than to get too close, to expect anything. It’s not fair to you, not when you’ve got enough to deal with. And yet, here he is, hoping like a damn fool.

The faint creak of the floor above reminds him you’re still there, probably lying awake just like he is. Joel shakes his head, dragging a heavy quilt over himself as he stretches out on the couch. Tomorrow, he decides, he’ll keep his distance. Let you come to him if you want.

But the hollow ache in his chest says that might never happen.

—

The next morning the shutting of the door pulls Joel from a restless sleep. He stretches, his back protesting the hours spent on the couch, and grumbles as he sits up. The smell of coffee drifts through the house, but it’s faint—like someone turned the pot off before it finished brewing. Joel frowns. He knows you’re still stiff from your injuries, and the thought of you moving around too much sets him on edge. He stands, rubbing a hand over his face, and heads toward the kitchen.

The sight of the empty space only deepens his unease. The coffee pot is half-full, a mug sitting beside it untouched. He glances out the window, his gut twisting when he spots you trudging toward the barn, determination in every step.

“What the hell are you doin’ now?” he mutters, already grabbing his jacket as he steps outside.

The morning air bites at his skin, but Joel barely notices as he closes the distance to the barn. By the time he reaches the open doors, you’re already climbing onto the tractor, one hand on the seat and the other gripping the wheel.

“Hey!” Joel’s voice echoes sharply in the quiet.

You freeze, your head whipping around to face him. “What?” you ask, your voice defensive, though there’s a flicker of guilt in your eyes.

Joel’s chest tightens, but he doesn’t let it show. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

Your brow furrows, and you straighten your shoulders, your stubbornness flaring to life. “I’m trying to help. You’ve been doing everything, and I thought—”

“You thought wrong.” His tone is sharper than he intends, but the sight of you on the tractor—the very image of Sarah in her last moments—sends a cold wave of fear crashing over him.

You bristle at his words, swinging your legs over the side of the tractor to face him fully. “Excuse me? I’m not a kid, Joel. I can handle this.”

“No, you can’t,” he snaps, his voice louder now. “You don’t even know how to work that damn thing, and you’re in no shape to be tryin’!”

Your eyes narrow, hurt flashing across your face before you mask it with anger. “I’m just trying to pull my weight, Joel. I’m not some burden you have to carry! And yes I can fucking drive the tractor.”

Joel steps closer, his fists clenched at his sides. “You think this is about you bein’ a burden? Dammit, I don’t care about that! I care about you not gettin’ yourself killed because you’re too damn stubborn to listen!”

The words hang in the air, heavy and sharp. Joel’s breathing is uneven, his chest rising and falling as he fights to keep the memories at bay. Sarah’s laughter, the hum of the tractor’s engine, the sickening sound of it tipping over—it’s all there, clawing at the edges of his mind.

But he doesn’t tell you. He can’t.

Instead, he swallows hard and steps back, his jaw tightening. “Just… don’t do this,” he says, his voice quieter but no less firm.

You stare at him, confusion and hurt written all over your face. “Why are you acting like this?” you ask, your tone softer now, but Joel shakes his head.

Joel’s chest tightens, and the fight in his voice only deepens. “Doesn’t matter,” he mutters, but you’re not about to let him brush this off.

“Why the hell not?” You step off the tractor, your foot hitting the ground with a thud, your breath a sharp inhale from the pain and ragged in the cold air. “You’re acting like I’m a damn liability—like I can’t handle myself. You think I want to sit around doing nothing while you work yourself to the bone?”

Joel shakes his head, his eyes dark with frustration. “That ain’t it, and you know it. You think I want to be overprotective? You think I don’t see you fightin’ through every goddamn thing just to prove you’re not weak? I get it, alright? But this—this isn’t the way to do it.”

“You don’t get it,” you snap back, your voice growing more desperate. “I don’t need your pity, Joel. I don’t need you to hold my hand or protect me like I’m some fragile thing you have to save. I’m fine. I can do this.”

“You’re not fine!” Joel’s voice cracks, his patience running thin, and the raw emotion behind it makes you pause, your anger faltering for just a second. He steps closer to you, his face inches away. “You’re not fine, and I’m not gonna sit here and watch you hurt yourself just because you’re too damn proud to accept help.”

Your ribs ache as you take a step back, your hands trembling at your sides. His words, his proximity—they feel like they’re suffocating you, pulling you into a place you don’t want to go. But you can’t stop yourself. “I don’t need help,” you mutter, though the words come out unconvincing, jagged.

Joel’s gaze softens, and for a brief moment, it’s like you’re both standing in some kind of fragile truce. But it doesn’t last. The distance between you, emotional and physical, feels too heavy to bear, and Joel moves in again. His voice is quieter now, but there’s a deep, aching sincerity in it. “I don’t want you to need help. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

You swallow hard, your chest tightening with something you don’t know how to name. It’s the space between your stubbornness and his care, the tension of wanting to push him away but knowing deep down that you can’t. You want to break, to let go, but you won’t—can’t—show him how much you’re falling apart.

You both stand there in the cold, the world around you feeling distant, like it’s no longer real. And then, before you can stop yourself, you say something that takes both of you by surprise. “Why do you care so damn much?” Your voice cracks as you finally let the wall down, the question raw and vulnerable.

Joel’s eyes darken, his breath catching at the depth of the question. He looks at you, really looks at you, and there’s a long silence that stretches between you, thick with everything unspoken. Then, his lips curl slightly, the ghost of a sad smile on his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“I’ve been where you are,” he says, his voice low. “I’ve lost too much. And I’m not gonna lose anyone else... not like this.”

You don’t know what to say to that. For a moment, your anger falters, replaced with something deeper, something you can’t hide anymore.

Before you realize what’s happening, you’re the one reaching for him, your good hand finding his shirt, pulling him toward you. He hesitates for a second—his body tense, unsure—but then he moves, just like you knew he would. The kiss is sudden, urgent, and the world tilts with it. Your ribs protest, but you don’t care. His hands cradle your face, his lips pressing against yours, rough but soft, like he’s trying to steady himself just as much as you are.

Your heart races in your chest, the ache in your ribs fading as the heat of him seeps into your skin. For a brief, fleeting moment, everything else stops. The fight, the stubbornness, the fear—it all disappears in the space between your mouths. It’s like he’s holding you together, like you’re finally letting him do the one thing he’s been begging you for - to let him in.

When you break away, it’s slow, your breath ragged, but neither of you moves far. You’re still close—too close—and yet, somehow, it feels right. Joel’s forehead rests against yours, his breath warm on your skin. He doesn’t speak at first, just keeps you there, close enough to feel the weight of his every breath. Finally, he whispers, his voice hoarse. “You’re not alone, you know that?”

You nod, the words too hard to say, but the truth of them sits heavy between you. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you believe it.

Taglist @akah565 @anoverwhelmingdin @brittmb115 @hannah9921 @maried01

@mermaidgirl30 @red-red-rogue @wintersquirrel

[may--hawk]

now sleeps the swan

A very happy read-your-smut-around-your-extended-family season to all those who celebrate!

And for those who don't, may I suggest some Ancient Greek wingsmut?

Summary:

“Oi,” says Crowley. “Angel. Remember you owe me that favor?” “Oh, do I? I must do. Dear me, I seem to forget, sometimes.” Before the arrangement, there were favors. Which is how Aziraphale finds himself at a Greek crossroads just before midnight making a crossroads deal on Crowley’s behalf. Trouble is, he’s not the only one at the crossroads. A goddess is there, and she’s got a deal in mind of her own… Featuring dreams, deals, wing-grooming, and summer in Athens.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 15,114

Before the Arrangement, there were favors.

It had started back when they had both been cramped on that awful boat for so terribly long, in excess of four months, and tempers were fraying, not helped by the fact that they were short on food, Noah’s sons having dumped some of the feed - that they had been instructed specifically by an angel to bring - in favor of more casks of wine. Regrettably, the animals couldn’t drink the wine, and so the animals and humans were getting terrifically testy, big surges of wrath and avarice making Aziraphale itchy under his robes. 1 He should’ve never suffered the demon to stay on the boat, he’d thought. It was clear all these sins were his fault.2 Still, the demon had come in useful. Aziraphale had been complaining to Crowley one afternoon about his appointed task, which was to take the form of a bird and fly for leagues and leagues and leagues until he’d found land for the humans - “which,” he’d said, “it’s not so much that I mind the flying, haven’t flown since, oh, think the last time was the War," and at Crowley’s slight stiffness, he’d continued, hurriedly, “It’s just Gabriel couldn’t tell me exactly where the land was, and how long I’d have to fly. He just told me to have faith and I would find it.” Aziraphale looked at the waters all around them, higher even than the mountains. They’d been risen by Her wrath halfway up to the sky. The sun, he swore, felt hotter up here. It was cold at night, too, and more than one night he’d spotted Crowley down in the hold with the animals for warmth. “It’s just that I don’t see any land. Do you?” At Crowley’s head shake, he leaned in, very close, and said, nearly in his ear. “If you ask me, I don’t think Gabriel actually knows.”

The corner of Crowley’s mouth twitched.

“And then,” said Aziraphale, settling back, “there’s the wings. What this humidity will do to the pinions, I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Tell you what,” said Crowley, unfolding himself from the deck - and Aziraphale put a hand to his eyes because Crowley stood up against the sun, a long tall thing like a tree, something secure in all this water. “I’ll go out, look around, see if I see anything. I’ll fly back and let you know, you can take all the credit.”

Aziraphale’s stomach swooped. The boat must’ve pitched. These infernal waves, he thought, and then remembered they weren’t infernal, after all. All those people, he thought. He saw Crowley’s face. You can’t kill kids. “You’d do that?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shrugged. “Been wanting to stretch my wings anyway.”

Continue reading on AO3.

@goodomensafterdark !