#SHE TRUSTS HIM WITH THE ONE THING SHE LOVES MOST IN THE WORLD

[yogirl-willow]

The Crimson Pact | Part 3

Characterizations | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

SoulBond!AU

Pairings: Yandere!Saja Boys x F!Reader

Synopsis: You were never supposed to remember them.

Four hundred years ago, a pact was made—a blood-soaked bond tying five demons to one human soul: yours.

They’ve waited lifetimes for your reincarnation, cursed with obsession, tethered by fate.

And now that you’ve returned?

They’ll burn the world before they let you go again.

Warnings: Soul bond with the Saja Boys, Yandere themes!, obsessive behavior / possessiveness, romantic psychological tension, mentions of implied past death / reincarnation, intense emotional fixation, yearning, dark romance, comfort and control, hurt/comfort (if you squint)

A/N: Reading all your comments and reblogs always makes me smile! This part is a bit longer than the rest. I wanted to focus on building her trust and relationship with the boys, so there will be much more interactions and intimacy than the previous parts. I hope you all enjoy!

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The Saja boys are all demons.

They are wrath and ruin. Jealousy and death.

And yet, before her, they kneel.

Because she is the Heart. Because her soul is what keeps them from unraveling into true monsters. Because they were bound by her love and her curse.

They don’t just crave her—they depend on her. Without her presence, their minds deteriorate. Their bodies decay. Their hunger becomes unbearable.

Only Y/N’s touch tames the demon inside.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

Part 3:

If You Stay

You don’t remember falling asleep. But you remember waking up.

The guest room is dim, wrapped in soft shadows, the silk sheets pulled up to your chin. The faint scent of rain and cedar lingers in the air—Jinu, you think distantly. It clings to your skin like a memory. One you shouldn’t have.

You must’ve fallen asleep after your talk with the boys in the afternoon. You’d admit, that did take a toll on you, and you were still feeling quite unwell from yesterday’s events. Hangovers don't just go away in a few hours. One of the boys must’ve carried you in here.

You sit up slowly. Your headache from earlier is gone. But something inside still hums. A weight behind your ribs. A tugging sensation that pulses faintly… toward them.

You still had too many questions you needed answers to. They said they were demons, so why are they here? They didn’t look like demons. They were sinfully beautiful, so you assume that definitely plays a part in it. Why did they sell their souls to Gwi Ma? Who was this Gwi Ma? Who were you to each of them in your past life? Just how many past lives have you had exactly? 

And most importantly, if they were demons hundreds of years old, why in the flying fuck are they in a K-pop idol group?

There’s a knock at the door, ceasing your thoughts. You freeze. But it doesn’t open.

“Y/N?” It’s Romance’s voice, low and careful. “Dinner’s ready. If you’re hungry.”

You don’t answer right away.

Not because you don’t want to. But because you’re afraid of what it means that you do. Still—you follow the sound.

The dining room is too elegant for six people. The table could seat twelve, But only one side is set—six seats arranged close together. The lighting is warm, soft. As if they’d planned for comfort. For your nerves.

The boys are already seated. But they all rise the moment they see you. Romance is the first to move, pulling out your chair with a slow, exaggerated flourish. “Right here, angel.”

You meet his eyes and you feel the pull again. He’s looking at you with the most tender expression. Like you’re the most precious thing in the world to him. 

And you were.

Plates are filled before you can ask. Abby gently sets a bowl of soup in front of you—your favorite kind. You don’t remember telling them that. You’re not even sure you remember liking it until the smell hits you. Baby places a glass of water before you and you suck in a nervous breath as you feel a light kiss on the crown of your head. 

You’d never been treated like this before. Cherished. Not even by your own family. It was so foreign, you doubted it could be real. 

But as you gazed at each and every one of them, you could see it in their faces. The quiet relief. The tenderness. Their want to do these things for you. It was a feeling you had to get used to.

You didn’t touch the food right away. You just stared down at the dark wooden table, the linen napkin folded too neatly on your lap, and the spoon resting next to a bowl that smelled like home. If home had five soul-bound demons who watched you breathe.

Jinu watches carefully from across the table. He hasn’t touched his food.

“Eat,” he says quietly. “You’ll need your strength.”

You hesitate.

Romance spoke next. “If you’re waiting for poison, don’t worry. We only do that to each other.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. It was too much. All of it. You took a small sip. And then another. And the warmth spread to places in you that hadn’t been warm in months. You sighed, strangely feeling so much more at ease.

Romance leans closer. His voice is honey and hooks. “You’re still not feeling well during the day, right?”

You nod. Slowly. 

“That’s the bond,” Jinu says. “It’s active. But unstable.”

“The further you are from us,” Abby adds, “the worse it’ll get.”

“I’ve been alone for years,” you mutter, fingers tightening around your spoon. “I’ll be fine.”

“No,” Baby says from the end of the table. Quiet. Sharp. “You won’t.” You flinch at his tone. But it doesn’t feel cruel—just true.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Romance sets his fork down and places his chin in his palm, eyes glittering in the candlelight. “You’re not a prisoner, you know.”

Your brow furrows.

He smiles. “We’re not keeping you here. But…we did have this place built for you.”

Your eyes snapped to him. "What do you mean you had it built for me?"

Romance’s smile was soft. Too soft. "Darling, this whole place was bought and designed for you. For when we found you. We just live in it."

You blink.

Had they been waiting for you that long? You hadn’t really thought about it before. The logistics of their story hadn’t fully registered. 

“You’d have your own space,” Jinu says softly, ever the diplomat. “A guest room. With a lock, if that makes you feel safer.”

Abby immediately frowns. “Why can’t she just stay in her room-room?” he grumbles, arms crossed. “It’s closer to mine.”

Your brows knit together. “Wait. My room?”

Romance’s smile is slow and feline, like he’s been waiting for that moment. “Of course. We had it ready since… well. A while.”

You blink. That didn’t answer your question.

Jinu doesn’t flinch. “Because that room doesn’t have a lock.”

Abby scowls, muttering something under his breath. Romance hums beside you. “Wouldn’t want one anyway.”

You whirl on him. “What was that?”

He holds up both hands in mock surrender, grinning like the devil. “Just saying. But okay, okay—guest room with a lock. For now.”

There’s a silence. Then Mystery murmurs almost too quietly: “…We’d break it if we had to.”

Your stomach twists. They’re joking. You hope they’re joking.

“You wouldn’t be alone,” Mystery pipes again. He’s seated closest to you, his plate untouched. His eyes never leave your hands. He wanted to grasp them. Feel your warmth. Feel your hands massage his hair just as you used to in your past life. He swallowed.

You press your lips together. It’s not that you don’t believe them. It’s that you do. And that terrifies you.

Romance watches the doubt dance across your face. He leans forward, just enough that you’re forced to look at him.

“You don’t have to say yes forever,” he says, voice low and intimate. “Just… stay. For now. Let your body heal. Let the bond stabilize. You don’t even have to talk to us. We’ll keep our distance if that’s what you want.”

At least that’s what she’ll think. Romance thinks to himself. With these guys? Yeah right.

You don’t speak. His voice softens. “You’ve been carrying this alone for so long, haven’t you? You’re getting sick. Dizzy. Faint.”

Your throat tightens.

“You’re tired. You’re having headaches. And we’re the only ones who can ease it. You feel that. So why are you still punishing yourself?”

You try to deny it. To push the tears back. But his words hit something raw. And real.

“I’m not trying to punish myself,” you whisper. “I just… I didn’t ask for this.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “But that doesn’t mean we’ll let you suffer for it.”

"You’ll be safe," Abby added gruffly. "No one touches you here. No one even gets close."

The silence that follows is thick. Your breathing is shallow. Their words registering. Was it really so bad? Letting them care for you? Being here with them. Having them treat you like you’ve never been treated before? 

Why were you still fighting it? There was so much you didn’t know, but as of this moment, you did know one thing. That they loved you in your past life. And love you still. Did that count? They yearn for you, and have been for lifetimes. And you knew deep in your heart you were starting to feel the same. Was that really so bad? 

To let them in? 

They were strangers, but they weren’t. They claim to be yours, so why do you keep questioning it? 

Then, slowly—almost in spite of yourself—you nod. “Just… a little while,” you say. “Until I feel better.”

You don’t see the look they share. The way Jinu’s shoulders finally lower. The flicker of possessive triumph behind Romance’s lashes. Or the way Mystery exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the moment you left him last.

You don’t see any of it. But you feel it. The shift. The settling. Something ancient and invisible clicks into place behind your ribs. And you don’t fight it anymore.

The bond sighs.

They insist on collecting your things that night. “We’ll go,” Abby says immediately. “You stay. Rest.”

“No, I—” You start, but Jinu raises a hand. “You’re still weak. If the bond flares while you’re alone, it could be dangerous. Let us.”

You glance between them—five men who could tear the world apart for you—and for once, it feels less like a threat and more like a promise.

“…Okay,” you say quietly. “Just—don’t touch my underwear drawer.”

Romance smirks. “No promises.”

“Romance,” Jinu snaps.

Mystery growls.

You sigh. I guess you did need underwear. “Fine. Just… don’t be creepy.”

Abby winks. “We’ll be fast. Promise.”

As they move, as doors open and shoes slip on, you stay behind with Baby, the silent protector watching your every move. But for some reason, it doesn’t scare you now. 

He approaches you, eyes intense and never as wary as the others. Like he’d never be sorry for having you and taking what’s rightfully his. He was silent, but intentional. 

He walks you to your room and you shiver as you feel his large hand on your lower back. He holds the door open for you before briefly muttering a faint “Goodnight, sweetheart” and closing the door shut. And for the first time in weeks… You don’t feel sick.

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You sit on the same dining table for breakfast. Jinu had made you some toast sandwiches. The boys looked chirpy. Looks like someone’s in a good mood…

It was still so surreal to them how you were here- having breakfast with them. The very thought of this domestic life with you, caring for you, providing for you like partners almost made them purr in ecstasy. 

You were still in Jinu’s hoodie despite all your clothes laying in messy duffle bags, sleeves swallowing your hands, hair slightly damp from a quick shower. It took much restraint from Jinu to not pull you in his arms the moment you walked out of your room.

His hoodie looked right on you. Like it had always belonged there—like you had always belonged there. You didn’t realize it, but every thread of that oversized fabric clung to you like a memory, like a claim. It smelled like him, and that alone made something feral claw beneath his skin.

His jaw tightened as you crossed the room, bare legs brushing against soft fabric. You moved so carelessly, so trusting, not realizing you were walking a tightrope over a thousand years of obsession. Of agony. Of aching need.

You didn’t know he used to dream about this. That centuries ago, he’d wake from nightmares of you slipping through his fingers only to whisper your name into the night. He had waited lifetimes to see you like this again.

And now? Now, you were right there—wrapped in his scent, in his clothes, in his world—but still unsure if you belonged.

He smiled softly as you reached for a mug, but his hands twitched at his sides. He wanted to cage you to his chest, press his lips to your neck, and whisper, “This time, I’ll never let you die.”

He would never let you go again.

They were all quiet around you, letting you eat in peace. It should’ve been normal. It wasn’t.

"Are you going to work today?" Mystery asked, tilting his head.

"...Yes?"

"We don’t think you should go," Jinu said plainly.

You nearly choked on your toast. Say what now? "I have bills."

"You could quit," Romance offered. "Stay here. Rest. Sketch. Paint. Sleep."

You looked at him like he’d grown a second head. Sure, the offer sounded nice—dreamy, even. But it was the kind of nice that belonged in fairytales. People didn’t just quit their jobs and live off vibes and good intentions. In this economy?

You waited for the punchline… but it never came. They were all staring at you—completely serious. Like quitting your job was the obvious solution. Like it was the answer to every problem you’d ever had.

"What would I even do? Just exist as your little house pet?"

Mystery looked hopeful. Abby smiled. You sighed. "No way. I’m not freeloading."

"You could be our assistant," Abby grinned. "Take notes. Carry snacks. Pet Mystery when he gets upset."

"Not happening."

They let it go.

But Romance’s eyes gleamed. Like he was already planning a way to make it so. 

After breakfast, you went to your room to change into your work clothes. Stepping out and closing the door firmly, you make your way to the kitchen where Jinu hands you another toast claiming you needed another ‘energy boost’ for the day. You take it in thanks and drown out his last ditch effort to convince you to quit, waving him off with a cute smile that shut him up. You make your way to the entrance and stop in your tracks. Abby, leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself for 8:30 in the morning. His sweatshirt hung loose over his frame, hood drawn up, but there was no hiding that build. Or that face. Or the smirk that crept up the moment he saw you in your work clothes.

"Hello there, sweetheart," he drawled.

You froze, mid-bite, a piece of toast tragically dangling from your mouth. "...If this is another attempt to get me to quit my job, you can turn right back around."

Abby grinned like the smug menace he was. “Sadly, no. I’ve accepted your tragic refusal of our generous sugar-demon lifestyle.”

He leaned against the doorframe, hands in his hoodie pocket like this was totally normal. “So instead, I’ll be escorting my darling little starshine to work today.”

You blinked. “I’m sorry—your what now?”

“My darling. Little. Starshine,” he repeated, grinning wider with each word.

You deadpan, a blush of pink rising to your cheeks. “Try that again and I’ll call HR.”

He laughed. “Okay, okay. I’m walking you to work. Orders from the Bond Gods. Or Jinu. Same thing, really.”

“You all really expect me to be escorted to work?”

“Yes,” he says simply. “You’re still weak. The bond’s healing you, but slowly. We won’t let you go alone again. Not when you’re like this.”

You hesitate. He steps closer, but not too close. “Let us keep you safe. Just for today.”

“…Fine,” you mutter.

“And tomorrow…”

“Really?”

“And the day after that…”

“Okay, I get it. Fine. But you have to hide.”

He blinks. “Hide?”

“I’m not walking next to Abby from the Saja boys. I’ll be the talk of the entire district. They’ll probably think I’m kidnapped.”

He snorts. “Technically…”

“Abby.”

“Fine, fine.” He pulls his hood lower. “But I draw the line at hiding my abs.”

You roll your eyes. “Just… be normal. Please.”

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Even in a hoodie and mask, he doesn’t look normal. He looks like a movie star trying not to be recognized—and failing. Your coworkers notice him immediately.

“Y/N…” one of the baristas whispers as you clock in. “Who. Is. That.” 

You pretend not to hear.

Another coworker giggles. “Is he your boyfriend? Oh my god, did you meet him at the club?”

“No!” you say too quickly.

“But he didn’t come inside with us… where did you meet him then?”

You force a laugh. “He’s just a friend. He’s helping me out since I’ve been sick.” 

They seem to buy it—until someone brings up the guy from the other night.

“Hey, what happened to Jae? He said he’d walk you home, but we never heard from him. Did he ghost or something?”

You freeze.

“I, um… ran into someone else before he could. Didn’t see him after that.”

You stare hard at the pastry tray, pretending to adjust the layout. But inside, your stomach twists. What did happen to him?

You’d ask the boys later. …If you wanted the truth. Though, you’re not quite sure if you really do. 

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Your shift drags on longer than usual. Not because of work.

Because of him.

Baby sits at the back corner, hoodie pulled low, sipping a black coffee he hasn’t touched in twenty minutes. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just watches. Your coworkers whisper, asking if he was an idol or something because he looked too handsome to be just a normal customer. You cringed at that.

It hasn’t really registered until now just how insane it was, really. You were now co-living with one of the rising pop-groups in the country. You almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. 

You try to focus. But you can feel his eyes. Not just looking—possessing. Guarding. Burning. Everytime you talked to a customer (particularly male) you could feel his eyes harden, glaring holes into whoever it was that talked to you. 

One of them tapped you on the shoulder to get your attention, asking with an “excuse me” if he could get some hot sauce with his order. Baby nearly jumped out of his seat if it weren’t for your warning glare. 

You approach the brooding demon, flipping open your notepad. “You’re not subtle, you know.”

He doesn’t smile. “They shouldn’t look at you.”

Your heart thumps. “It’s a customer’s job to look…and order…and ask...”

“They shouldn’t talk, either. Nor should they ever touch.”

You try not to smile. “You’re terrifying.”

His eyes flick up. Dark. Hungry. “Good.”

You bring him a refill anyway. “Behave.”

He doesn’t.

He waits outside when your shift ends, hands in pockets. Doesn’t say a word as you fall into step beside him. The air between you buzzes. You glance over. “Why do you look like someone kicked your favorite pet?”

He doesn’t answer. You poke him in the side. “Baby.”

His jaw flexes. Fighting his control to pull you in closer as people walked by. “I don’t like them talking to you.”

You sigh. “We’ve been over this. It’s my job.”

“You don’t need it.”

“I do.”

“You have us.”

“That’s not a job.”

“You could quit. Let us take care of you.”

“No.”

He frowns, lips twitching down.

“You’re pouting.”

He looks at you, expression unreadable. You reach out, amused, and gently press his cheek. Something shifts. He grabs your hand—fast but gentle—and kisses your knuckles. 

The world slows.

“You’re mine,” he whispers. “Even if you don’t remember. Even if you never say it.” His eyes hold you in place. Burning. Certain. There’s no hesitation in his voice. No tremble. Just absolute conviction—like he wasn’t stating a hope, but a law of the universe. 

Baby steps closer, the streetlights casting silver on his sharp features. His gaze drops to your lips like he’s already imagining how they’d feel crushed beneath his.

“You don’t have to love me back yet,” he says, voice low and velvet-dark. “But don’t ever think I’ll stop. Even if you don’t want us to take care of you. I’ll keep pushing.”

Your stomach flips. You hate how warm your skin feels. How part of you leans toward him without meaning to. How his scent—like storm-wet pine and danger—makes your fingers twitch with a need you can’t name. His hand lifts to your face, gentle despite the fire in his eyes, knuckles brushing your cheek like you might vanish if he touched too hard.

“If anyone else touches you again,” he adds softly, “I don’t care if they’re your customer. They won’t have hands left to touch with.”

You don’t answer.

But your heart races all the way home.

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After dinner, the boys were gathered on the second floor of the apartment. They had turned it into a studio to practice their choreo for performances. You could hear their music and their footsteps as they danced to the beat. 

You padded around the apartment to explore in the meantime. The apartment was massive. You didn’t realize how massive until you started walking. Every hallway turned into a gallery. Every room had windows tall enough to drown in. You passed a music room, a library, a room full of costumes and stage lights. You had no idea such penthouses existed in the city. But then again, they were demons who’d been in existence for hundreds of years. Who knows how much money they got.

On the kitchen counter, you found a sketchbook. Yours. But filled with things you didn’t remember drawing. Five faces. A moonlit shrine. A shattered sword. You still hadn’t gotten used to drawing what you figured were memories from your past lives. This was evidence in itself that they were telling the truth. You decide not to fight it anymore.

On the dresser, you find an earring. No pair. You picked it up and your chest twisted, it felt a bit familiar.

In the lounge, a scarf folded neatly on a velvet chair. You held it to your face and inhaled. A scent you couldn’t name, but the fabric felt soft. Again, familiar. 

You didn’t know whether to scream or cry. It was like finding single pieces of a gigantic puzzle. You were sure these things meant something to one of them. You’d ask, in time. 

After their practice was over, the boys found you sat in the livingroom. You were reading the book Romance had given you which made him smile. They greeted you one by one, some went off to shower, some to the kitchen for a snack. 

It was Jinu who sat next to you. 

“How’s the choreo going?” you ask, eyes never leaving the page. 

“Good. How’s the book?” He nodded. He knew how badly Romance had wanted to give that to you. 

“Good.” You looked up to softly smile at him. You were halfway through the story. The characters blurred together—tragic lovers separated by fate, drawn to one another through time. A story too close to your own.

Jinu looked at the book title with a gaze you couldn’t recognize. Like he was debating on something he wanted to say. 

“Did you want to hear another story?” 

That piqued your interest. You slowly shut the book, placing it down on the couch as a sign for him to continue. Jinu didn’t look at you. His gaze remained downcast. There was a moment of silence before he spoke. 

“I wasn’t always someone people bowed to.”

You looked up at him. The air around him seemed to change—heavier, stiller. Like his shadow was longer than it had been a second ago.

“I was born in a fishing village by the bay,” he said. “Back when the tides still carried salt and prayers.” 

“My mother was a seamstress. My sister was eight years younger. We were poor. Poor enough to boil weeds and pretend it was soup.”

Your breath caught. His eyes seemed distant. Far away as he recalled his life four hundred years ago. 

“The only thing we owned of value was a bipa. My mother’s. She taught me how to play it before her hands got too swollen to hold the strings.” His eyes went distant, haunted. “I played in the markets for coins. It was never enough.”

He paused, jaw tight. “Then one night, I heard a voice.”

“Gwi Ma offered me everything. Fame. Gold. Silk sheets and stages carved from jade. And I said yes.”

You stared at him. He finally met your eyes—and this time, the pain there was real.

“I left,” he whispered. “Without a word. My mother. My sister. I never even turned around. I don’t know if they lived another week.”

You released a breath as you felt your heart fracture at his words.

“I just… ran. Into the palace. Into adoration. And never looked back.”

He exhaled, eyes heavy with guilt. “The crowds worshipped me. I performed for kings and their consorts. They called me divine. The courtiers fought for my smile. And it still wasn’t enough.”

“I didn’t deserve peace,” he said, voice brittle. “But then I saw you.” His voice softened—fragile like old silk.

“You were a maid. You had ink on your fingers and a habit of humming while sweeping the floors. You didn’t bow. You didn’t flatter. You rolled your eyes at me.”

Your chest tightened. So that’s who you were in your past life when you first met him.

“And when I asked you why… you said I looked lonely.”

A pause.

“I fell in love with you the moment you looked at me like I was a boy. Not a god.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “But I made you weak. I brought you too close. It was impossible for someone like you, so pure of heart, to exist in that palace. I should’ve known there would be vipers waiting to strike.”

You didn’t interrupt. You couldn’t.

“There was a concubine who used to love watching me play. She’d call upon me to her chambers for performances. Pay a hefty sum for an appearance in her parties. She saw you and I in one of the pavilions and she didn’t like it.” A look of anguish flashed on Jinu’s face. “I knew it was only a matter of time before someone found out. I wasn’t a fool. I knew the women of the palace liked me for more than just my voice.” His fists tightened on his lap. 

“She poisoned your tea. I found you in the gardens…you…you were still smiling.”

He blinked once. Just once. “You died in my arms. And I didn’t even know how to mourn.”

You stared at him, tears pricking your eyes. You wished so hard to remember. To recall who he was back then. Something, anything, so you could share a memory with him.

“I went back to Gwi Ma. I begged. I offered everything again.” He swallowed. “That’s when the pact began. He told me… if I could bind other demons to your soul, tether you tightly enough, you’d return.” His eyes flicked to yours. He was trembling.

“So I did. I found them. One by one. I gave up pieces of myself to forge the bond. Even if I had to share you, I- I was willing to do anything to have you back. I waited lifetimes. We all did.”

He reached out now, slowly, like you might disappear. “And now you’re here.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But your body leaned toward his—drawn like a string was being pulled behind your ribs. He exhaled shakily. “I still don’t know what happened to them. My mother. My sister. I never went back.”

You reached for his hand. Fingers brushing his wrist. It was the gentlest thing you’d ever done. Jinu held onto your touch like a lifeline as the pain of his memories came rushing back.

“I think… they’d forgive you,” you whispered. He laughed softly. Bitter. Grateful. “I don’t.”

And somehow that made you want to forgive him more. You let him pull you closer. Let your head fall beneath his chin, chest pressed lightly to his side. He held you like you might break. Like he didn’t deserve to hold you at all. This was the closest he’s ever been to you since first seeing you in that square. His heart constricted. 

“I won’t make the same mistake again,” he murmured. You felt the words against your scalp. “I will never leave you. Even if it kills me.”

You tilted your head up—slow, searching. His lips hovered a breath away. The look in his eyes was agonizing: pure want, reverence, restraint. He was begging without words.

And maybe you wanted to say yes. Maybe you wanted to close that distance.

But something in you hesitated. The memory of danger still ghosting your ribs. The smell of blood. The crackle of old fire. You shouldn’t want this. He was a demon.

But then again—

He was yours.

Jinu didn’t move. Not really. But his eyes…God, his eyes were starving.

Like a man who hadn’t eaten in centuries and now sat trembling before the one thing he was never allowed to touch. His fingers flexed once on his thigh, like he was holding himself back from grabbing you. From yanking you into his arms and claiming what had always been his.

His lips parted—his breath shallow. “I shouldn’t,” he whispered, voice ragged. “Not yet.”

That almost did it.

Not yet.

Not no.

He wasn’t denying that he wanted to. Only that he was trying—failing—not to. You felt something pulse low in your spine. The bond again. Soft and hot, like a wire coiling tighter. Tighter.

You leaned closer. Not much. Just enough for your shoulder to brush his chest. His breath hitched.

“Y/N…” he warned. Or maybe it was a plea. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

But you did. You knew exactly.

Your hand grazed his chest—over fabric, over his heart. It beat like a war drum under your palm. And he—this ancient thing with a voice like honey and a soul soaked in sin—shook under your touch.

“You waited for me,” you said softly. “Across lifetimes.”

He gave a shaky laugh. “Every night. Every fucking century.”

“And now I’m here,” you whispered.

“And now you’re here.”

He reached up—finally—like a man about to touch something sacred. Fingers grazing your cheek so gently it made you ache. You didn’t flinch this time. You leaned into it. And when he cradled your face in his hands, it wasn’t just touch.

It was claim.

The bond lit up like a match to kerosene—searing, seeping through every crack in your soul like molten gold. You gasped. So did he. His forehead pressed against yours, and for a moment, the whole world narrowed to this.

Him. You. Breath tangled. Thread pulled tight. Two hearts beating like one. 

His voice broke against your mouth.

“I loved you. Before I even knew what love meant. I loved you in that garden. In that palace. In every life you bled through. I loved you while you died in my arms. And I love you now.”

Tears slowly gathered in the corner of your eyes at his confession. Your chest tightening with every word he uttered. Let all reason be damned. Nothing in the world could be more true right now, more real, than this.

Your lips brushed his when you exhaled. You didn’t mean to. You were just breathing—but it was enough.

It shattered him.

He kissed you like he was starving. Like this was his first meal in centuries. Like his immortality had meant nothing without this.

The kiss wasn’t soft. It was ruinous. Possessive. His mouth moved against yours like he’d memorized it across time—hungry, reverent, desperate. Like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

And you…

You kissed him back.

Because some part of you remembered. The garden. The incense. The ache of his name in your mouth before it was ever spoken.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer. His hand slid to your waist. He groaned low in his throat when you pressed into him, fire threading under your skin, a live wire finally connected.

The kiss slowed. Deepened.

When he finally pulled back, barely an inch, his eyes were wild.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “You always were.”

And in that moment, you didn’t deny it.

Not this time.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The kiss hadn’t been loud.

Barely a sigh. A whisper of fabric. The faint rustle of limbs and emotion finally giving in.

But they felt it.

From different corners of the apartment, the bond trembled like a shared heartbeat. A hush fell over the rooms like snowfall. Every boy froze.

Abby paused in the hallway with his forehead pressed to the doorframe, eyes shut.

Romance stood motionless in the kitchen, hands tight around the edge of the marble counter, breath held like a confession.

Mystery curled beneath his bedsheets, face half-buried in the sleeve of your old hoodie, his claws twitching against the mattress.

Baby sat in the far window seat of the lounge, unmoving, eyes half-lidded, expression unreadable—except for the slight twitch of his jaw.

They knew. They didn’t need to see it. They felt it through the bond—the hum, the spark, the slow unfurling of something sacred.

You kissed Jinu.

And something ancient and knotted in all of them unclenched. Not jealousy. Not really. It wasn’t rage or bitterness that stirred in their chests.

It was relief.

Because Jinu deserved this.

He had waited the longest. He had suffered the most. He had built the very foundation of the Crimson Pact with trembling hands and bloodied knees, driven by the memory of your lifeless body in his arms. He had found them. Bound them. Led them.

And now…He had finally been given a sliver of what he lost.

Abby exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. His hand closed into a fist against the doorframe. “Good for you, hyung,” he whispered.

Romance closed his eyes and tilted his head to the ceiling, the corner of his mouth lifting into a quiet, almost reverent smile. “Took him fucking long enough.”

Mystery blinked slowly, purring low in his throat. “She’s starting to remember,” he murmured into the blankets. “She’s letting herself feel it.”

And Baby… Baby didn’t move. But in his eyes, a hunger lit up. Not the kind that devoured. The kind that waited. That watched from the shadows with claws pressed to his ribs.

It would be his turn soon. He could wait. He’d waited before. But not much longer.

Across the apartment, the bond shimmered—warmer now. Alive in a way it hadn’t been in lifetimes. Each of them felt it. Not just the connection, but the hope.

She’s letting us in. She’s starting to fall again. Their hands twitched. Hearts pounded. Mouths parted with breathless need. And beneath it all, one singular thought pulsed through the Crimson Pact:

Soon, it’ll be me.

Not out of competition. Not to steal the moment. But because you belonged to all of them. And in every life, one by one… you had.

Jinu had always kissed you first.

But he would not be the last. TO BE CONTINUED

───────── ༺🜃༻ ───────── A/N: Huaaah I died inside writing this chapter! I hope you guys enjoyed this one. The next chapter follows the same theme of relationship building and we'll get to see more intimate moments and backstories of the other boys! Let me know your thoughts in the comments and feel free to Reblog and Like this chapter if you enjoyed it! Till next time! Willa x.

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[elysixns]

Chrysos Heirs as Romance Tropes !

Content: GN!Reader, (mostly) fluff

🌹 Note: I am not well versed in romance as a genre, so forgive me if some sections are a bit wonky! I ended up watching several romcoms for inspiration, lol

Aglaea

Meet-Cute & Strangers to Lovers

I think that Aglaea is someone who struggles to get closer to others because of her reputation. The other Chrysos Heirs know that she's a loving person, often to the point of being meddlesome, but to those who do not walk the path of fated sacrifice? To them, Aglaea is both as beautiful as she is inhuman.

Because of this, I believe that the most fitting romance trope for her would be the kind of trope in which the other person 1.) realizes that Lady Goldweaver is in fact not as scary as rumors make her out to be, and 2.) decides that they want to spend as much time as they can learning more about her.

A meet cute at the marmoreal market is the perfect place for Aglaea to stumble into her future spouse by complete accident. Perhaps they're short on cash for a gift they want to buy for a loved one, so she decides to buy it for them; maybe they fumble a sentence and trip over their words in front of her, and Aglaea finds herself endeared enough to tease them a little more.

Whatever the case, they catch her eye (or she catches theirs!), and she decides to get to know them better after that. :3

Phainon

Friends to Lovers & Mutual pining

Phainon isn't stupid, but he also isn't very bright when it comes to others feelings– Or maybe it's more accurate to say that he chooses not to read too much into what others do or say, because he doesn't want to psychoanalyze them or misinterpret their intentions.

The kind of love that can potentially blossom between dear friends is the perfect romance for Phai, because he's someone who takes quite a bit to put 100% of his trust into someone, and because he feels more confident in being able to accurately guess what his friends are thinking.

It doesn't matter one way or the other if Phainon's potential love interest is more soft spoken or outgoing, or if they show their love via kindness or competition; once Phainon's decided to trust them implicitly, it's as if he can read their very thoughts through their eyes alone.

After that happens, it's only a matter of time before Phainon prepares to confess either through a sparring competition or through a stupidly over-the-top romantic picnic on one of the many rooftops in Okhema.

Castorice

First Love & Opposites Attract

Cas has spent most of her life in shadows; not out of fear of the light, but out of fear that she'd somehow manage to extinguish it just by existing. Because of this, she's never really entertained the idea of romance to begin with; Cas could barely allow herself to daydream about friendship as a young girl, she couldn't bear to taint romantic love with her fantasies as well.

For this reason, I believe that first love + opposites attract are definitely the tropes for her. Meeting someone more boisterous and passionate than her would give Cas the courage she needs to actively seek joy in others and in herself (something that she never thought she could do to begin with).

If her love interest could manage to break down the walls that Cas has built over the course of a thousand years, then she will absolutely take her chance and confess to them (looming prophecy and eternal loneliness be damned).

Falling in love is almost always terrifying (doubly so for Castorice), but realizing that someone in the world actually feels that way about her would do wonders for her self-esteem and confidence.

Mydeimos

Power Couple & Star-Crossed Lovers

Mydei is someone who gives as much of himself as possible for others safety, so I believe he'd benefit from a relationship in which his partner were his equal on that front; someone who, like him, is willing to (and has proven to) risk their life for the things they want to protect; someone who sticks to their ideals and doesn't back down (especially when those ideals are challenged), is the kind of person that Mydei would end up being drawn to the most.

Despite fate dictating that Mydei and his love interest won't be together for much longer, he deigns to be selfish just this once, if only to find a moment of security and companionship in someone that truly loves him.

In the end, even if it's only a temporary safe haven, it's one that I think Mydei would manage to bask in nonetheless. Is it cruel on his part to indulge in romance after fate has penned such a tragic finale for him? Maybe, but it's not like his love interest is ignorant to the risk either. Whatever happens, the two of them have already made peace with the fact that they'll both burn for their choices.

Anaxagoras

Miscommunication & One-Sided Pining

OKAY!! Hear me out, I just think this one would be really funny. Imagine for a moment a scholar who decided to sit in on one of Anaxa's lectures out of sheer curiosity. His prosing speeches are almost indecipherable to them, so whenever he addresses these rambles directly to them, they simply stay silent and listen to him speak (just like me fr).

Anaxa, ever the egoist, initially takes this silence as a lack of interest, and point blank tells this scholar to stop coming to his lectures. It isn't until after Anaxa saves them during the attack on the Grove that the scholar finally confesses: they do care about Anaxa's research (because they care about HIM), they're just fucking stupid!!! And they need him to dumb down what he's talking about!

I believe that since Anaxa is such a benevolent and patient teacher, he would end up giving the scholar a second chance at proving themself to him. If anyone were to ask why he did that, Anaxa would be silent for several moments whilst coming up with some kind of excuse because he doesn't actually have an answer.

(It's the way their eyes light up when he finally gets through to them and the way they look at him when they think he doesn't notice. How interesting it is to see them smile like that.)

Cipher

Rivals to Lovers & Forced Proximity

Thievery comes easy to the Chrysos Heir whom has the blessing of Zagreus, and in all her years (of which there are many), she has never had competition in being the absolute best at deceiving others. Until one day, word reaches Okhema of a mortal who has managed to swindle almost every noble family still standing out of over half their coin!

In any other context, Cipher would've looked the other way and shrugged off such a blatant challenge for her crown (and she really did try to at first). Until one day, a certain gift that sweet Castorice was making gets swiped, and it isn't Cipher's doing this time!

The little game of cat and mouse (hah) that ensues after comes to a head when Cipher and her love interest RIVAL end up trapped in a half collapsed ruin near the outskirts of Castrum Kremnos, where, rather than fighting (or perhaps in the midst of it), the two end up getting to know more about each other whilst awaiting rescue.

Cipher ends up realizing that her love interest is way too fun to kill or best, and since she so loves to play games, she deigns to allow them to keep thieving alongside her.

[codfxrn-blog]

MIDNIGHT DRAFT; CALVIN EVANS

Author's Note: I hope you enjoy it. I’m sorry if there’s anything wrong with the story—English is not my first language, so I apologize for that.

The first time they saw each other, he didn’t even lift his head from the microscope.

She’d been waiting at the lab door for twenty minutes, holding a wrinkled folder and biting the inside of her cheek so she wouldn’t leave.

When she finally cleared her throat, Calvin Evans barely turned his gaze slightly.

“And who are you?” he asked, curtly.

“They assigned me to you. For the research. I’m your temporary assistant.” She tried to sound firm, but the word *assistant* caught in her tongue.

Calvin turned all the way around, just to look her up and down as if he were examining a sample he had no interest in keeping.

“Do you have any experience?” he asked, bluntly.

“Some,” she replied, clenching her jaw.

“Some?” he repeated, letting out a dry laugh. He turned back toward the workbench and pointed at a pile of tubes and bottles. “Sort that. And don’t mix them, please. I don’t need another problem today.”

She opened her mouth to protest but held back. She took a deep breath. Stepped closer to the bench, flipped through the labels, picked up one of the tubes, and accidentally brushed against a flask that wobbled dangerously near the edge

.“Careful,” he snapped, without turning around. “If you’re going to be here, try not to break anything.”

“Relax,” she said, swallowing her anger. “I didn’t come to wreck the lab.”

He let out a low snort, like he doubted that. Like he was sure she’d do exactly that at any moment.

“Do you at least know the difference between a reagent and a solvent?” he asked, not joking in the slightest.

She glared at him, but he didn’t even flinch. Not a blink. He looked made of stone, with an endless patience he saved only for bottles, never for people.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Evans,” she spat his last name out like it burned her tongue. “I won’t touch anything without your permission.”

Calvin simply returned to the microscope, as if she had ceased to exist.

As she arranged the bottles with tense hands, she felt the heat in her body mixing with anger.

And she knew, without a doubt, that she wouldn’t stand him. Not a minute longer than necessary.

The third night working together began like all the others: awkward silence, steps bumping into each other, words that felt like darts. She arrived with a cup of cold coffee because she didn’t dare use the lab’s coffeemaker, which according to Calvin, had its own ecosystem.

“That again?” he asked, pointing at her cup. His brow furrowed, as it always did whenever he spoke to her.

“Yes, problem?” she shot back, not lifting her eyes from the bottles she was labeling.

“Besides tasting like poison, yes.” Calvin dropped a folder on the table, too close to her arm. The thud startled her. “I need you to review these transcripts. By hand. I don’t trust the machine.”

“What machine?” She raised an eyebrow, exasperated. “You know there’s a faster way to do this?”

“I prefer to check everything myself,” he said, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. He looked at her with those cold blue eyes, like she was part of the furniture. “If you don’t want to, I can do it myself. But you’ll have to wait twice as long for my corrections.”

She grabbed the folder, fighting the urge to throw it back at him.

“Don’t worry. I love wasting hours correcting numbers that are already fine.”

Calvin stepped away, started weighing samples without saying another word. The silence stretched so long it made her neck ache. To top it off, he was humming under his breath, as if he didn’t even notice she was there.

But after a while, she noticed something strange: her cup of coffee had gone empty. And when she looked again, there was another one. Warm. Steaming. Much better.

She turned to look at Calvin. He was still checking formulas, pretending to be absorbed. As if that cup hadn’t appeared next to her notebook like magic.

“What’s this?” she asked, holding it cautiously.

“Had some left over,” he replied, without lifting his gaze.

“Left over?”

“Drink it or toss it,” he said, a bit softer this time. And for the first time, it didn’t sound like an order, but like permission clumsily disguised.

She stood still, feeling the warmth of the cup in her hands. She sat on her stool, opened the folder, and as she corrected the numbers Calvin insisted on checking by hand, she took a sip. Tastes good, she thought.

Too good to be from the machine.

From the corner of her eye, she watched him. Still pretending not to care, though his shoulders seemed less tense. And for a moment—just one—she felt that maybe behind all that wall of perfection there was someone not so impossible to endure.

It was past midnight when she realized she couldn’t feel her fingers. She’d spent hours typing notes, papers spread all over the workbench. Calvin was across the lab, writing something on a whiteboard, absorbed, as always.

They’d argued a couple of hours earlier over a wrongly transcribed formula. Sharp words, glances that hurt more than yelling. And then silence. Each in their own corner.

Suddenly, a dull thud snapped her out of her thoughts. She turned and saw Calvin sitting on the floor by an open shelf, surrounded by neatly lined-up bottles. He had a notebook on his knees and a pencil tucked behind his ear. When he noticed her looking, he snorted.

“What?” he asked, without lifting his head.

“Nothing,” she replied, rubbing her eyes. “Thought you’d fallen asleep down there.”

Calvin looked at her for a second, weighing whether it was worth answering. Finally, he sighed.

“You could come help me.” He said it like it cost him something. Like it hurt to say.She arched an eyebrow.

“Help you? I thought I was only in the way.”

Calvin pressed his lips together, uncomfortable. He tapped the notebook with the pencil.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it plenty of times.”

He let out a laugh so brief it almost sounded like a sneeze. Then moved aside a bit, patting the floor next to him.

She hesitated but slid over until she sat beside him. Touched the cold floor, looked at the row of bottles lined up like little soldiers. Calvin handed her one.

“Here. Just pass me the ones with blue labels.” She obeyed silently. “And please, stop calling me Mr. Evans. Just Calvin.”

She nodded slightly, giving him a subtle smile, but every time her fingers brushed his, she felt a ridiculous tingle. She ignored it. Or tried to.

A few minutes later, their knees were barely touching, like they’d silently agreed to a contact neither dared to break. Calvin spoke in a low voice, explaining why each bottle had to be in an exact order. She didn’t understand half of it, but nodded anyway. And found herself wishing he wouldn’t stop talking.

“Why do you always do this alone?” she asked suddenly. “Don’t you ever think you could trust someone?”

Calvin blinked. Lowered his gaze to his hands.

“It’s not about trust,” he said, after a long silence. “It’s just… if something goes wrong, I’d rather it be my fault.”

She looked at him, feeling the initial anger melting into something warm, confusing.

“Not everything goes wrong,” she whispered. “And it’s not always someone’s fault.”

Calvin lifted his gaze. And for the first time since they’d met, there was no judgment in his eyes. Just a tiredness that seemed to be asking for permission to let go.

“You’re wrong,” he said, barely audible. But it didn’t sound like a reproach.

She felt the urge to brush his hand but didn’t dare. Instead, she moved a bit closer, until their arms touched. Calvin didn’t move away.

“You could stop doing it alone,” she insisted. “You could let me stay.”

For a second, the whole lab seemed to hold its breath. Calvin swallowed, opened his mouth to say something, but only let out a sigh.

“Alright,” he finally said, so softly she almost didn’t hear. “Stay.”

Two more weeks had passed since they sat on the floor, lining up bottles that no longer mattered as much as before. Since then, something had changed. They didn’t talk about it. They didn’t name it. But it was there. In every brush of shoulders, in every cup of coffee he left near her notebook, in every glance that lingered a second too long.

That night it was raining. The lab looked like a lit-up fish tank, with raindrops beating against the windows. She was alone for a moment, checking some samples. Calvin was in the other room, looking for a reagent that always disappeared when they needed it most.

When he came back, she was sitting on the stool, holding a flask dripping onto her fingers.

“I told you not to open it without gloves,” Calvin said, setting the flask on the table. His voice was softer than usual, almost worried. “Did you burn yourself?”

She shook her head, but he was already coming closer, holding her hand as if it were made of glass. He examined it under the dim light. Her fingertips were damp, a little red.

“It’s nothing,” she murmured, her voice catching when she noticed how close his face was.

“It’s nothing…” Calvin repeated, but without letting go. He was looking at her like he’d forgotten everything else existed. “You always say that.”

She felt a slight tremor in her jaw. She’d gone from hating him to understanding him, from understanding to glancing at him, from glancing to lying awake thinking of his voice murmuring impossible theories.

“Because I don’t want you to worry about me,” she whispered.

Calvin raised his eyes. He had a furrowed brow, but now it wasn’t out of anger. It was something more fragile. Something that seemed painful to accept.

“Too late,” he said. His thumb brushed the base of her fingers slowly, as if he didn’t know where to stop. “I already do.”

She laughed softly, more out of nerves than amusement. She felt a slight tug in her throat.

“Don’t start,” she murmured. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asked, his voice barely breaking.

“Like you want to…” She didn’t finish the sentence. Heat rose in her chest, flushing her cheeks. “Like you want something you shouldn’t.”

Calvin swallowed hard. His hands trembled a little as he held hers. And then he did it. He took a step. He erased the little space left between them. His breath mingled with hers.

“I don’t want to want it,” he said, his voice so hoarse it was barely a whisper. “But I want it anyway.”

She closed her eyes when she felt his forehead touch hers. The whole lab seemed to shrink, to quiet down. There was no rain outside anymore, no unsolved formulas, no grudging insults between clenched teeth. Just that: the certainty that they had reached this point fighting the inevitable.

When Calvin kissed her — clumsy, almost afraid she’d break in his arms — she clung to his white lab coat, feeling the trembling running down her back. It tasted like hot coffee and everything she didn’t understand about chemistry. Like everything she did understand about him.

There was no rush. No anger. No distance. Just the sound of the rain, the table behind banging her hip when Calvin lifted her just enough to bring her closer. A kiss that started slow, uncertain, and ended breaking them in two.

When they pulled apart, just for a second, he looked at her as if seeing her up close hurt a little.

“Tell me you don’t regret this,” he asked, his voice shattered.She let out a laugh that trembled on her lips.

“Shut up,” she murmured before kissing him again. “And keep going.”

And that night, when there was nothing left to say, she accepted that hating him cost her more than giving up. That losing was easier than continuing to fight. And that he, with his eyes lowered, had already surrendered first.

[princesssunderworld]

Also thinking…

If you and Pope had a baby. When he wasn’t home he would have cameras set up throughout the house.

He would watch pretty much all day. Not just for any safety reasons (although that is what he would tell himself.). It’s because he is obsessed with watching you be the mother to his child.

He is obsessed with watching you take care of the baby you created together, your little baby girl.

How naturally motherhood comes to you.

Listening to you sing to your her, watching you feed her, watching you play with her. Watching you take on the housewife role while the baby slept.

Keeping your house clean, respecting his OCD style of cleanliness. He had doubts before that it annoyed you. But with watching he sees you have no problems and respect his way of doing things. You love him, of course you do.

But is ABSOLUTE favorite thing to watch, is when you are in the rocking chair, singing to her and you fall asleep with your baby girl on your chest doing skin to skin. It’s the most beautiful thing he has seen.

He is obsessed with watching. It’s not sexual in any way. It’s the trust and the love he has for you both of you and the trust and love he knows you have for him.

He even catches you telling her how good of a daddy she has.

He thinks you dont know about the cameras, but you do. You figured it out after the third time he rushed home while you were having a stressful day with the baby. He saw you crying while she cried and hated seeing you stressed. He was home within 10 minutes. He took over so you could sleep. He made you camomile tea and promised he would be home more. You reassured him that he was home plenty, that if he was doing a job he made sure to spend as little amount as possible with his brothers. You tell him how much you appreciate that he is the one who gets up in the middle of the nights to take care of your little girl.

You don’t tell him you know about the cameras, because you love them too. The feeling of having him watching over you and taking care of you even when he is not home. It’s comforting to you.

Yeah, most people find your obsessions with each other weird. But the only thing that matters to you is that you love each other and have each other and trust each other.

Don’t even get me started on how much he watches when your little girl becomes a toddler. You make sure her first worlds are “dada”

Ugh I can go on.

(Sorry this is self indulgent. I was bombarded with legally becoming the primary guardian of my brother’s twin 7 week old twins and his girlfriend’s five year old son. So the thought of a man helping me out is such a fantasy right now.) family drama am I right?

[formulafanfics13]

Another day, another name - Toto Wolff 🔥

Masterlist || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8

The Oxford house always felt too pristine to her. Not sterile, just designed. Purposeful. Expensive.

But tonight, something about it felt warm. Like it had softened. The curtains were drawn, the fire was on, and her favourite blanket was draped over her knees. The one she claimed during her first week staying here. A ridiculous cashmere thing that cost more than her camera. And her lenses. Combined.

She was curled sideways on the sofa, her legs stretched out over Toto’s lap, her belly rounding between them like a secret they were too full of joy to keep. Toto sat relaxed. His glasses low on his nose. One hand cradling the underside of her thigh, the other absently resting on the swell of her bump. Every so often, when the baby kicked, his fingers would move, stroking gently, calmly, like he was already trying to soothe it back to sleep.

In front of them, on the coffee table, were three pages of handwritten notes. Baby Names.

Some circled. Some scratched out. One of them, “Wolfgang” — had been written by Kimi a few days ago, then violently defaced by her with an angry Sharpie.

They’d been going back and forth for hours. “Italian,” she said again, stubborn. “It has to be Italian.”

“Why?” he asked, smirking.

“Because I carried it. I built it. I made it from scratch. By hand.”

Toto laughed under his breath, rubbing slow circles into her shin. “So you want a name that ends in a vowel and can’t be spelt by anyone English?”

“Correct.”

“Then we’re not naming the baby Giuseppe.”

She scoffed. “Giuseppe is classic.”

“Giuseppe is 95 and runs a butcher.”

“Fine. What about Luca?”

Toto paused. Thought about it. Nodded slowly. “Luca’s nice.”

“Or Sofia?”

“Strong. But soft. I like that.”

She picked up the list and flipped to the second page. There were Austrian names too. Some family ones. A few that Toto liked just because they felt solid.

“What about Anselm?” he asked, smirking.

She grimaced. “That sounds like a 14th century monk.”

“It’s my grandfather’s name.”

She blinked. “Oh.”

“Who was a 14th century monk.”

She threw a pillow at him. He caught it, laughing. They went quiet for a minute. The fire cracked softly. Her hand found his on her belly. Guided it back to where the baby had just kicked again.

Toto looked down, softened instantly. Then said, gently, “You can choose.”

She looked up. Brows raised.

He shrugged. “The name. I mean it. If there’s one you love, really love, that’s it. I trust you.”

“You’re really letting me win this one?”

He smiled. “It’s not winning. It’s ours.”

She stared at him. The man who ran empires. Who could shut down billion-dollar negotiations with one look. Now sitting on a couch in soft trousers and a half-unbuttoned shirt, letting her prop swollen feet on him, stroking her bump like it was spun glass.

She’d never loved him more. “Okay,” she whispered. “Then Luca if it’s a boy. Sofia if it’s a girl.”

Toto leaned down and kissed the side of her belly. “Luca or Sofia,” he murmured. Then, lower, to the baby. “Whichever you are, mama picked your name. You’ll thank her later.”

She choked on a breath. “Mama?”

He kissed her again. This time on the lips. Then settled back against the couch, dragging her closer until she was folded into his side like they’d been built to fit.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you more,” he replied.

* 

It started like most bad ideas: with George.

“I’m just saying,” he’d said to Toto over breakfast, “if she’s out with Carmen all day, this is your chance.”

Toto didn’t even look up from his espresso. “My chance for what?”

“To finish the nursery.”

“She said she wants to paint it with me.”

“Yeah, but it’s been four weeks and the only thing in that room is a fucking rocking chair and an empty box labelled ‘bunny-themed mobile’.”

Toto sipped slowly. “I’ve been busy.”

“You run Mercedes, not the world.”

Kimi walked in mid-bite of a protein bar and dropped into a kitchen chair. “I vote we do it. You’re all unbearable when bored.”

George clapped. “Yes! Thank you!”

Lewis, who came over to catch up with his old team and had been quiet until that point, raised a brow from the far end of the kitchen island. “What exactly is the plan?”

“Simple,” George said, as if this weren’t spiralling already. “We build the crib. Paint the walls. Put the baby stuff together. And when she gets back, boom. Surprise nursery. Happy hormones. Happy Toto.”

Toto rubbed his jaw, eyes flicking to the ceiling. Above them, the future baby’s room sat waiting. Untouched. Empty. Full of potential. And yeah, maybe this was the right time. “Alright,” he said finally. “But we do it properly. No mess. No shortcuts.”

George beamed. Kimi groaned. Lewis was already askng Charles to come over to help.

Charles arrived 20 minutes later in a Ferrari hoodie and Crocs. “What the fuck is going on?” he asked, stepping into the foyer like he’d been summoned to an exorcism.

“Nursery build,” Kimi muttered.

“Who’s pregnant?”

Toto walked past with a tool kit. “She’s pregnant. Not announced it yet”

“Oh. Shit. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“…Why am I here?”

George handed him an IKEA instruction manual. “Because you owe me for Monza.”

Within an hour, chaos had set in. George was in charge of the crib. Which was a mistake. Because he’d decided that the best way to start was by ignoring every single part of the instructions and relying solely on “engineering instinct.”

Lewis took one look at the paint situation, four different swatches of warm neutrals and two pastel greens, and declared he was taking full creative control. Toto approved it. Kimi, however, looked like he was about to strangle someone. “You can’t paint a baby’s room beige,” Kimi argued, arms folded.

“It’s not beige,” Lewis replied coolly. “It’s sand oat cream.”

“It’s fucking brown.”

Toto, holding a power drill and praying for silence, cut in: “The paint is fine.”

Kimi raised both brows. “You’re letting Hamilton design your baby’s first room?”

“Better him than you, who wanted to decorate it in ‘Formula 1 Red’.”

“That was a joke, Toto.”

“No it wasn’t.”

“…Okay, maybe it wasn’t.”

Meanwhile, Charles had been assigned the mobile. A gentle, forest-themed hanging structure with wooden animals and clouds. He looked at it like it was a ticking bomb. “I think this squirrel is missing an eye.”

“It’s rustic,” Toto muttered.

“It’s terrifying.”

George, from across the room, shouted: “If this crib collapses when the baby’s in it, it’s on Mercedes, not me!”

Kimi, without looking up, called back: “Don’t worry, you’ve built cars that collapse easier.”

Three hours in, sweat dripping, paint drying, and the crib somehow standing upright, the nursery started to take shape.

The walls were soft-toned. The cot was pressed under the window where the light came in strongest. A cloud lamp hung overhead. A soft grey nursing chair was placed in the corner next to a side table already holding folded muslins, pacifiers, and a tiny plush rabbit.

Toto stood in the doorway, arms crossed. His eyes scanned the room. His home. The future. He didn’t say much.

But George walked past him and whispered, “You’re welcome.”

Toto nodded. “Thank you.”

Kimi threw himself onto the nursing chair. “I want a baby now.”

Lewis smirked, “Get a girlfriend first.”

Kimi pulled a face, “Disgusting.”

Charles handed over the finished mobile. “Looks like a squirrel cult but it’s hanging, so we’re calling it a win.”

Half an hour later, Carmen texted George: Heading back soon!

Toto turned to the group and clapped his hands once. “Alright. Clean up. Now. And not like the Silverstone hospitality room. Properly.”

Kimi groaned. George rolled his eyes. Charles asked if they were getting pizza after. Lewis opened a window for fresh air, then leaned against the frame and smiled. Because yeah, it was ready.

And for once, there wasn’t a press conference, a podium, or a race strategy in sight. Just a cot. A colour palette. And a life they’d all somehow helped build.

She didn’t clock anything immediately. The hallway looked normal. The kitchen didn’t smell like burnt plastic or paint fumes. Toto opened the door like always, kissed her cheek like always, helped her out of her coat like always.

But his hand lingered just slightly at the small of her back. And when she asked how was your day, he smiled like a man sitting on a bombshell.

“I’ve been productive,” he said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Come upstairs.”

She paused.

“Upstairs?”

“Yes.”

“Toto.”

“Just trust me.”

Carmen, walking behind them with her phone half-tucked into her bag, whispered, “He’s got that face.” They walked the stairs slowly, her hand grazing the railing, her bump heavy under the cotton of her dress, her breath catching the closer they got to the room.

Toto wouldn’t. He wouldn’t go against her and—

He opened the nursery door. And her heart exploded. There they were. All of them.

George, leaning against the crib with a smug smirk. Lewis, perched coolly on the windowsill, arms folded, soft grin. Charles sitting cross-legged on the floor playing with the damn mobile like a child. And Kimi.

Kimi. In the rocking chair. Casually bouncing one knee like he lived there.

The room was warm with soft light, full of clean lines and calming paint and her entire fucking future. She stepped in, blinking, one hand pressed lightly to her belly like she needed to check the baby had seen this too.

And Toto, her absolute bastard of a fiancé, just stood behind her like he hadn’t orchestrated a fucking nursery heist behind her back.

“You-” she turned, eyes shining. “You did all of this?”

He shrugged. “George bullied me into it.”

“Excuse me,” George piped up. “This was a team effort.”

“By team effort he means I did the mobile,” Charles said, holding up a cloud like it was a hostage.

Lewis stood. “We couldn’t let you come home to an unfinished room.”

“And I-” Kimi started.

But she didn’t wait. She launched herself forward. As fast as eight months pregnant would allow. Straight into Kimi’s lap. He oofed dramatically but didn’t stop her. Just wrapped both arms around her like he always had, like he always would.

Her head buried in his shoulder, she whispered, “You’re a good brother.”

Kimi squeezed her tighter. “You’re an annoying sister.”

“Love you too.”

“You’re sitting on my bladder.”

“Don’t care.”

George, filming all of this from the corner, said loudly, “This is going on the Mercedes TikTok whether you like it or not.”

“George-”

“I’ll use a sad Taylor Swift song, I swear to God.”

Carmen leaned over to Toto. “They’re so lucky.”

Toto, who had eyes only for her as she melted into her brother’s arms, nodded slowly.

“I know.”

[antithetical-bolter]

Out Of The Woods

Chapter 1

Shoutout to @antisocialfiore for helping me with the title!! This is my first fic I’ve posted to tumblr so any tips on how to keep chapters organized and whatnot would be lovely. Hang in there while I figure it out lmao. Chapter 2 is written and will be posted shortly <3

5.0k words | Seasoned ER nurse Iris McDowell finds herself pregnant after a one night stand with Robby, who is predictably handling things very poorly.

Warnings: unplanned pregnancy, discussion of abortions, excessive use of the word fuck, commas, and em dashes.

Tag list: @antisocialfiore @snowflames-world @eviemonroeer

Page dividers by: @cafekitsune

Next

Iris

Well, shit.

That is most definitely two pink lines.

On three different tests. Iris Elizabeth McDowell, you fucking idiot.

Just my fucking luck, that getting tipsy and fucking the very hot and very emotionally unavailable attending would result in a god damn pregnancy. I’d been blissfully ignorant the last 3 weeks - my periods have never been all that regular but as soon as the nausea and the sore boobs hit I knew it was time to face the music. And sure enough, the music was telling me that I was pregnant. With Michael Robinavitch’s baby.

Robby, who has barely made eye contact with me past what was required for patient care since it happened. Robby, who let it slip at the bar that he had been interested in me for months now. Robby, who I was unfortunately in love with. Had been for an embarrassingly long time now - so him up and leaving the morning after the best sex of my life triggered a full blown crisis. Almost a decade of pining, all for one (admittedly spectacular) night. The whole debacle had me briefly considering finding a new ER to work at, but I decided I wouldn’t let a man dictate my life. Even if it was that man.

Do I want to keep it? I think so? Should I want to keep it? Probably not.

It’s not like I’m some young new grad nurse who doesn’t have a career. I’ve been an ER nurse for more than ten years now, working at the Pitt for all but the first two. I’m damn good at my job, so much so that I occasionally fill in for the charge nurses, and I have a great support system. But the thought of having to tell Robby that I’m carrying his child? Genuinely makes me want to puke. Again.

I have money, a 2 bedroom condo, a regular enough schedule that daycare wouldn’t be an issue. But do I really want to be a single mom? Put my body through the fucking wild ride that is pregnancy? Oh god. Pregnancy scrubs? The absolute worst. Not to mention actually giving birth.

Thankfully, the universe has seen fit to give me a single win in all this, and I have the next 4 days off to figure out how to be normal at work again. First order of business - call my OB. A brief phone call later, I have an appointment for 9:45. Just over two hours from now.

Fuck, I could really use my mom right now. Not like we were ever super close, with her living on the west coast and me getting the fuck out of my tiny ass hometown right after high school, but I’d like the option to call her and freak out. Both her and my dad were killed in a car accident just over three years ago, and somehow this scenario had never crossed my mind. I have an older brother who lives back home in Washington, but we have very different works views and I highly doubt he would be a good source of familial support. Cue the tears - but they feel cathartic. A release I desperately need right now.

My therapist is going to lose her ever-loving mind. A quick look on her patient portal reveals that she has an opening this afternoon, so I guess that makes 2 wins from the universe for me today. I’ll take what I can get.

I am very picky about my medical providers. Working in the field myself means I have seen some shit doctors, and I just flat out refuse to put my care in the hands of someone I don’t trust. My OB is the best of the best, and she’s really earning her copay right now.

The transvaginal ultrasound was quick, confirming that I definitely have something cooking in there. The tech asked if I wanted to hear the heartbeat - but I said no. I’m right at the six week mark so a heartbeat can be heard at this point but I am not ready for that just yet. Not until I decide what I want to do. My OB, bless her, ran me through all of my options. She knows I know them, I’m an ER nurse after all, but it’s like all my schooling and experience fell out of my brain the second the stick(s) turned pink.

She encouraged me to take my time making a decision, since I have a few weeks to make a choice either way. We went through what it would look like to keep, terminate, and adopt. Having all the information laid out in front of me makes me feel both better and far, far worse.

She also tells me that no matter what the father wants, this is my choice. That I should lean on my people, and find someone I trust to tell. That if I do decide to terminate, I need to have someone with me after I take the medications to make sure everything progresses as it should.

I leave the appointment armed with 4 different pamphlets and 3 sonogram images that I have yet to look at.

Therapy is significantly harder. Erica, bless her, has been my therapist since I moved to Pittsburgh for college when I was 18. She knows me far too well - immediately clocks that it must be hard to be dealing with all of this without my mom’s support, which triggers a crying spell. Once I’ve recovered from that we move on to how I’m going to tell Robby.

“I don’t know, Erica. He’s barely looked at me since we slept together, I can count the non-patient related words he’s said to me since then on one hand and none of them were particularly nice.” That man needs therapy more than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s an incredible doctor and great to his friends, but ever since he fucked up his relationship with Collins so badly that she left the state he’s been especially moody.

“How do you think he’s going to react to this?”

“Not particularly well. He’ll freak out, not speak to me for a few days, and then inevitably come back around and say that he’ll help me with whatever I choose. I know that if I decide to keep it that he would help, but that it would be out of obligation and that is not what I want. I would never keep him away from his kid but I can almost guarantee that I would be eternally fucked up over it.” Erica nods thoughtfully, taking a pause to formulate a reply that won’t send me over the edge.

“Maybe you should start by telling someone else, then. Maybe Samira, or Dana? Someone who will support you unconditionally without any emotional baggage taking up space in the back seat. They could help you decide what to say when you tell him, and support you if it goes as poorly as you think it will.” She gives me a very pointed look before continuing. “Also, and really think about this before brushing it off, maybe this conversation between you and Robby will help you both. A push that requires communication where there is a gap right now.”

“I - I, ugh. I just really, really don’t want to have to do this with him. He really hurt me when he just up and fucking ghosted me. Especially because he spent the whole night prior telling me that he’s been wanting to kiss me for months, and a whole bunch of other shit that he clearly didn’t mean.” He doesn’t seem like the type to spout bullshit to get a woman into bed with him, but I really cannot come up with another reason for him to be acting this way.

“It’s fair and reasonable for you to be scared. And if he screws this up, you have my blessing to tell him to fuck off. But no matter what you choose, you will be okay. It might suck for a while, but you will come out the other side.” The unspoken words are loud - that I will be okay but that it’s going to take a while for me to get there.

“I know you’re right but it’s hard to see right now.” Pretty much impossible, actually.

“That’s okay, I’m here to remind you. Your homework this week is to tell someone you trust.” Sad that I don’t consider the father someone I trust, but he definitely is not making that list right now.

“I’m going to call Dana literally as soon as we hang up - Samira’s working right now.” She nods in response, flashes me what I’m sure is supposed to be a reassuring smile but it just doesn’t land. We schedule an appointment for next week and then we hang up. I give myself 10 minutes to spiral before I pick up the phone and call Dana.

Dana picks up her phone on the third ring.

“Hey, kid! Where are ya?” I can hear the sounds of what is likely a bar or restaurant in the background and belatedly realize that there’s ER social plans today - most of day shift is gathered at the sports bar near the hospital to watch the first Penguins game of the regular season. Hockey is one of the few sports I will watch voluntarily, and I definitely told Dana I would try and make it out tonight.

“Shit, Dana. I totally spaced, had a bit of a personal crisis. Can I call you later? When you aren’t surrounded by our coworkers?” I hear a booming laugh in the background and immediately place it as Robby’s. Because of course he’s there. “Can you just, uh - text me when you leave the bar?”

“Hold up, Iris, wait. Are you okay?” Her voice changes, drops lower and sounds muffled. Like she’s covering her mouth while she speaks in an effort to afford me some privacy. She knows something happened between Robby and I, and has had a front row seat to whatever the fuck is going on right now so she’s sensitive to the fact that I might not want him knowing about said personal crisis. Little does she fucking know that he’s going to be quite privy to the details when I’m no longe actively in a state of crisis.

“I mean, okay is not really the word I would use but I’m safe and not currently in any physical danger.” Very much not okay, but I don’t want to make her change her plans for me. It’s so rare that we’re all able to see each other outside the Pitt and I know she values this time with her friends.

“Iris, honey. What’s wrong?” I don’t answer, but I do start to cry. My best efforts at keeping my sobs quiet are unsuccessful. “Oh fuck, you know what, never mind, I’m just gonna come over. Hang tight, okay?” I hear the screech of a chair as she presumably scoots back and stands up. Her voice is quieter as she speaks next, having moved the phone so she can talk to whoever else is at the table. “Change of plans, guys. I have to go. Enjoy the game and I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

The crying has not slowed in the thirty seconds it takes her to get outside.

“Dana, really, I appreciate it but you can stay and finish the game. I can wait.” I must not convince her, because she laughs at me. Fairly so, given that my words are very much broken up by sobs.

“Absolutely not. I’m on my way, I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

She arrives in eight.

I’m waiting by the door, and open it before she has a chance to knock. I’m still crying - no longer sobbing, but a pretty steady stream of tears track their way down my cheeks. I see the question forming on her lips but I beat her to it and hold out my three positive tests for her to see.

“Are we happy? Shopping? Making an appointment at the clinic?” Classic Dana - no big reaction, just thoughtful statements of action. Unfortunately I don’t know what I want.

“I don’t know yet. Took the tests early this morning and was able to get in last minute to see OB to confirm it. I’m just about 6 weeks along and I have no fucking clue what I want to do.” She closes the door behind her and immediately pulls me into a tight hug. Rubs my back with one hand and runs the other through my hair, tells me that it’s okay to not know what I want and that she’s here for me no matter what. Does not ask me who the father is. Unfortunately that is the biggest piece to this puzzle and I know I need to tell her.

We move to my couch and she makes me drink some water before continuing to fill her in. I decide it’s best to just fucking do it - no preamble and no backstory.

“Robby’s the father.” That stops her in her tracks for a second. Her eyes go wide and I can tell she’s working extremely hard to keep her own emotions under wraps.

“Well, shit. So that ‘thing’ that happened between you guys in September was sex?” I nod. “And, let me hazard a guess here, he freaked the fuck out and now he’s unable to act normal around you.” I nod again.

“That about sums it up. He left before I woke up and any effort I made to talk to him about it ended with him getting snippy and walking away from me. My texts went unanswered so I just stopped trying.”

“What an asshole - I’m so sorry, Iris.” She leans over to pull me into another hug. “Are you going to tell him?”

“I mean I kinda have to, don’t I? Would be a real dick move of me to not tell him about this. Even if he doesn’t deserve me speaking to him ever again.”

“I think that depends on what you decide you want to do. If you want to keep it, then yeah you’re gonna have to tell him. But if you don’t, then we go to the clinic this week and he remains none the wiser. Either choice is okay, whatever you decide to do will be the right decision for you.” I take a deep breath, enjoying having her here to support me.

“See that’s the thing, my first instinct is that I want to keep it. I’ve always thought that I could go either way on having kids, but now that it’s staring me in the face I can’t imagine not going through with it.” Saying it out loud all but confirms my decision - this is happening. I’m going to have a baby. And I’m going to have to tell Robby.

“Then that’s what will happen. I’ve got your back through all of it, and if you want me to hide upstairs while you tell Robby I can do that. I’ll even chase him out if he acts a fool.” She’s serious, and I love her for that.

“Might not be a terrible idea. The last thing I want is for him to be involved purely out of obligation.” I debate stopping there, not divulging the depths of my (extremely unadvised) feelings for him, but I’ve already gone this far so what’s the harm in spilling the whole story. “I’m like, stupidly in love with that man. Have been for a long time, and I was happy to have it kinda live in the background of my life up until recently. He approached me at that party we had for Jesse and we hit it off, and he was really sweet. Told me that he’s been wanting to kiss me for months and that he hasn’t been able to get me out of his head. We each had a few drinks, but I wasn’t drunk. A little tipsy for sure, but sober enough to consent and be smart about it. We even used a fucking condom! Then he was gone when I woke up and you’ve seen how he’s been since then.” She grimaces a little before responding.

“Yeah, he’s been in rare Robby form. Very broody. But, Iris, I really think he meant what he told you. Handled it terribly for sure, but he’s so thoroughly fucked up in the past that his ex literally left the state. He’s probably just trying to protect you in his own, very fucked up way.” I laugh and try to wipe away the tears staining my face, but they just keep coming.

“Well he’s doing a terrible job. Is it crazy of me to make him go to therapy before I let him really be involved? Is that, like, blackmailing?” The last thing I want out of all this is for my kid to be hurt in the same way - their dad hot and cold, unable to really make a commitment to be present in their life.

“Maybe a bit, but I fully support you in that. I actually think that’s plenty reasonable, and if he gives you pushback then he’ll hear about it from me.” So quick to jump in and support me, even when the problem is one of her best and longest friends. “If it makes you feel any better, the second I said your name at the bar earlier he looked like he was two seconds away from taking my phone and checking on you himself.” A mirthful laugh escapes me at that - it does not make me feel better.

“Then blackmail it is. Now, how the fuck am I supposed to have this conversation with him when I can’t even get him to say three consecutive words to me that aren’t directly work related?”

We spend the next hour brainstorming, and by the time she leaves I feel better. I have a loose plan, my tear ducts have long since run dry, and I no longer feel like I’m about to majorly fuck my whole life up.

I make myself a list before I go to sleep - things I need to buy for first trimester health, food I should avoid, and symptoms I’ve been experiencing so I can be as informed as possible.

My list exhausts me (that, and the tiny human I’m currently forming) and I fall into a blissful, dreamless sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

I spend the next few days making more lists. Baby names, furniture, birth plans. If there’s a relevant list to be made - it’s currently up on my fridge.

My first day back at work since The Event (TM) is fine, I guess. Dana greets me with a hug and a quiet check in, and while this isn’t that out of the ordinary it is unusual that she pulls me off the floor to do it. I feel Robby’s eyes track us as we walk back in from the ambulance bay, especially when we get closer and Dana does not smell like she’s just come back from a smoke break.

I treat Robby to his own taste of the silent treatment. No niceties, no attempts at small talk. Strictly patient care and work related conversations, and honestly conversations is a generous word. Terse exchanges is more accurate. Not even a polite smile in his direction. I don’t let it get in the way of my job, and if I do say so myself I really knock it out of the park nursing wise. Even escaping to the bathroom a few times per shift to puke doesn’t get in the way of my determination to keep up my ‘everything is fine’ facade.

Three shifts pass in this manner, three shifts where I can feel him fucking watching me like he knows something is up. Thirty-six hours of me sitting on the biggest fucking secret I’ve ever kept when all I really want to do is yell “Hey, fuckface! You ghosted me and it sucked, and I’m fucking angry about. By the way, I’m pregnant with your child. Get some god damn therapy if you’d like to be involved!” And then walk out, middle fingers up, leaving him to stand with the aftermath of his actions.

But, unfortunately, I am a professional adult so I don’t do that. I do heavily fantasize about it though.

Samira notices that something is up right away, but she is also on a long stretch of shifts so we agree to hang out when our work weeks are both done. We meet for breakfast (at 8pm) at the closest Denny’s and she spits out her coffee when I tell her that not only did I sleep with Robby, but that there’s going to be literal life long consequences for it come early June.

“Oh my god. I would ask if you’re okay, but I think I can answer that myself. When are you going to tell him?” I shrug as I finish my bite of French toast.

“Great question. He’s been fucking frosty with me lately and it doesn’t have me feeling very generous towards him. I know he deserves to know but god the thought of that conversation makes me want to punch a wall.” Another bite of toast. “I know that a few weeks after we slept together was the anniversary of Pitt Fest and Adamson’s death, but the way he’s been treating me does not make me want to tell him. It makes me want to be spiteful and keep it from him until the last possible second, so he can be as blindsided as I feel right now. Very immature of me and I won’t do that but it’s nice to entertain it for a bit.”

“He’s clearly fumbling the bag pretty hard right now, but you and I both know he’s going to do the right thing.”

“I know, and that’s almost worse. If he’s going to be all emotionally constipated while attempting to be present I am going to lose my shit. Dana said she thinks I am well within my rights to threaten him with therapy, so I think that’s my game plan.”

“That’s - that’s actually a great idea. If anything will get that man into therapy it’s the threat of potentially fucking up his child’s life.” She chuckles a bit. “Can I tell Jack? I will obviously swear him to secrecy but it might be nice to have him in your corner.”

“Please do - but if he tells Robby before I do I will kill him.”

“And I will help you hide the body. Also, he’s picking me up from this meal so if you’d like to fill him in yourself you’re about to have your window.” Like she summoned him, Jack Abbot walks in the door. He immediately finds Samira and she waves him over.

I decide that I do not have another long, emotional story in me and just spit it out.

“Hi, Jack.” He looks at me a little weird, we’re friendly at work but I don’t think I’ve ever called him by his first name before. “Welcome to the party, you’re about to hear some very classified information so prepare yourself.” He stares at me, a little stunned, but I just keep on talking. “I’m pregnant and keeping it. Robby’s the father, but I haven’t told him yet.” His jaw drops open, and he has to open and close it a few times before actual words come out.

“Uhhh, wow. Fuck. Are you, uhm, are you going to tell him?”

“I mean, yeah. Not sure when or how, but yeah. What’s your opinion on me using this as an opportunity to threaten him into therapy?” This gets a loud, genuine laugh from him.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea. You want my therapists number? I’ve given it to him multiple times but he’s clearly never used it.” Abbot doesn’t wait for me to answer, just pulls a card out of his wallet and hands it to me. “Are you doing okay? Managing symptoms alright?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks. Freaking the fuck out, but okay.” With that, I decide I’ve had enough social interaction for the day. “Now that all that’s out of the way, I’m going to head home. Samira, love you, thanks for the support, and Jack I’m a little sorry to drag you into all this but thankful that you’re here anyway.” I leave them at that, dropping enough cash to cover my meal and all but running to my car so I can have my next meltdown in peace.

I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I let another two full weeks pass before I even consider telling Robby. Erica, Dana, and Samira are all on my case a little bit but ultimately don’t push me too hard. My OB and therapist have both been informed that I’ve decided to continue the pregnancy, and the appropriate follow up appointments have been scheduled.

It takes an extra long session with Erica, complete with roll play and multiple outcomes of the conversation for me to feel even slightly ready to broach the subject with him. We decide that I’ll attempt to talk to him after our next shift together, a rare night where neither of us have to be in the next morning.

Dana knows, and as she leaves out the ambulance bay doors she shoots me a very encouraging thumbs up and a ‘call me!’ While I wait for him to leave. I don’t have to wait much longer. 10 minutes pass before I see him walk out, backpack slung over his shoulders and thick winter jacket thrown on like it’s armor. He doesn’t turn his head to look at me as he passes.

I parked at the very end of the lot today, hoping to use my car as an excuse to follow him for a bit. As we approach my green Honda CRV, I know it’s time to bite the bullet.

“Hey, uh, Robby? Can we talk for a sec?” He pauses, takes an AirPod out, and turns to face me. He looks like shit. Tired, like he hasn’t had a good sleep in weeks. I feel mean for thinking it, but I’m glad he’s getting just as much (little?) rest as I am.

“I’ve got somewhere to be, Iris. Now’s not a good time.” He may be facing me, but he’s not really looking at me. Fucking infuriating.

“It won’t take long, please. It’s kinda important.” Fuck him for making me plead to have a conversation - this is starting to feel a little humiliating. I can feel the tears forming and threatening to spill out, but he isn’t looking at me so he doesn’t see them.

“Not now. There isn’t really anything for us to talk about. I have to go, I’ll see you later.” And with that, he’s got his AirPod back in and is walking away. Fucking dick. The hot sting of rejection sits heavy in my chest, and I have to take a few minutes before I feel steady enough to drive home.

I work myself up pretty well on the way home, moving from shame to anger. I kick my shoes off in the entryway and slam my bag down, feeling like I need to scream. I decide a run will suffice and quickly change into my running gear. As I slip on my shoes and grab my running belt I decide there’s something I need to do first, and pull my phone out to send the riskiest text I’ve ever sent.

Iris (7:58pm)

Hi, asshole. I have been working up the nerve to talk to you for weeks, but since I apparently don’t deserve even five minutes of your time I guess this is how you’re going to find out.

I attach a picture of the tests and hit send, and then immediately send a follow up.

Iris (7:59pm)

Before you have the fucking audacity to ask, yes it’s yours and I’ll be keeping it.

I immediately put my phone on do not disturb and start my watch so I can track my run. I hit the pavement with a vengeance. My feet feel heavy beneath me, and it takes me longer than usual to feel warmed up enough to really run. I blast my angriest playlist, and run until I no longer feel like murdering the father of my unborn child.

I hit my favorite smoothie place on my way home, and call Dana as I walk and warm down.

“So I told him.” She gasps. “But, uh, over text. I tried to talk to him as he left but he blew me off and I was just so fucking angry and maybe jumped the gun a little, but it’s done now. I went for a run as soon as I got home, I’m walking back to my place as we speak.”

“How are you feeling about it, hon?”

“Terrified. Have not checked to see if he’s responded. Maybe a little elated? But like, in a manic way so maybe that’s not a good thing.” Dana laughs and reassures me.

“It’s alright, kid. That’s a big step you just took and you tried to do it in person, so fuck it. You want me to come over?” She asks, just as I turn the corner onto my street. My heart all but stops as I see an unfortunately familiar suburban parked in front of my house, and my breathing stops with it when I see that the man himself is sitting on my front steps.

“Oh fuck.”

“He’s at your house, isn’t he?” She’s far too smart for her own good, or maybe she just knows him too well.

“Yup.” God dammit, past Iris. Did you really have to send those texts?

“I can still come over if you want.” Seriously considering taking her up on that.

“No, I’ll handle him. But, maybe later? If and when I need to cry about this?”

“I’ll be waiting by the phone. You’ve got this, kid. Give him hell.”

[rav1377]

In The Dark

In The Dark Masterlist

adoptivebrother!Simon x adoptedsister!reader

tw:DARK FIC, DEAD DOVE, DNE, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED NOW. this is dark, includes fauxcest and sibling relationships. smut, unprotected, soft Simon, etc etc, please please PLEASE don’t read if you’re not comfortable with this content. READER AND SIMON ARE NOT MINORS, THEY ARE 18, THEY LIVE WIH JOHN.

the floor was cold. the pads of your feet chilled by the touch. but the blanket wrapped around you wore off the cool chill in the air. John, your adoptive dad, liked the house cold. said it helped him sleep, helped his hurting joints. he’d taken you from a group home when you were 16, choosing you. you, who regarded yourself as insignificant or not needed. he still chose you. of course you’d met the man before he’d adopted you. gotten to know him. you trusted him now, and in many ways, he was your father. no, not your flesh and blood, but he was the one that had the other end of that fatherly bond. you’d quickly learned that he already had two other children. both adopted. Johnny and Kyle. Kyle had been with him the longest, since he was 6, and Johnny since he was 13. you were the newest addition to the little pack. Kyle was three years older than you, Johnny only one. you’d been scared that they wouldn’t like you, or that they would ignore you, mistreat you, deem you unworthy of love from their family. but that hadn’t happened. Kyle merely hugged you on that first day you came in, shocking your system to its core. Johnny had been next, telling some joke as he gave you a side hug. John had chuckled from his place by the door. introduced them as his boys. his sons. and from that moment on, you were his daughter. the boys had treated you like their little sister, quick to protect and fight for you, but just as quick to tease you. you belonged in the family now. then, a year later, things had changed, and your world shifted once more.

Kyle was away at college now, already in his second year. Johnny had just left as well, a freshmen in the new university a city over. you were 17, and home with John most days. until he’d sat you down, bringing in his serious tone. John was adopting another person. another teenager. like you. but this one had been troubled, had scars that ran deep. wounds that John wouldn’t reveal to you, saying that they were his stories to tell. and you didn’t have a say in the matter. it had been done. the foster home the boy was at couldn’t keep him anymore, said the others were scared of him. so John swooped in, playing at savior. his name was Simon. Simon Riley.

the first few weeks were rough, to say the least. Simon wouldn’t talk to John or you, would merely through glances, glares, and other looks when he thought you weren’t looking. still, John was counting on you. needed you to welcome him in. help him be at home here, for however long that was. Simon would turn 18 in a year, days after you would. a year in this house. with him.

——————————————————————————————————

with you. Simon was supposed to spend a year in this house. with you. you’d done your best to welcome him, but that was hard to do when Simon couldn’t even look at you for long. not without heat rushing to his face, a pink blush on his cheeks. you treated him like no one else had, not even his own family. he remembered his mother, some days. you had the same soft tone as she did when you talked. like you were skiddish and always testing the waters of the world around you. he remembered his brother on other days. you had the same joy in your laughter like he did when they weren’t hiding from their dad. other days, Simoj Riley remembered his father. the large hand that came down on him so many times. the belts used across his arms and shoulders. the nicks from pocket knives on his forearms. the cigarette burns on his skin. but you weren’t anything like his father. neither was John. but he still couldn’t trust you. the two of you weren’t anything to him. just some people he had to stay with until he could leave. for good. but the days still went on, and Simon was still a man whose heart did soften. lost the jagged edges of it when your fingers danced across his as you both reached for the pepper one night. became smooth when you smiled at him, trying to tell a joke. melted when you blushed after he said you looked nice one day.

Simon knows he’s messed up for this. letting himself weasel his way into your family. pushing himself where he doesn’t belong. for loving you the way he does. you were supposed to be his sister. but he couldn’t bring himself to see you that way. yet he locked and bottle up his feelings deep inside him to hide it. putting on a cold exterior and harsh glare that always took the place of the goofy smile he wanted so badly to share with you. John merely thought he was still being guarded. the older man often tried to talk with the blond, getting him to open up slowly. John knew the man and what he’d gone through, but it was incomparable when it came from Simons own lips. he’d still cared for him, even with the stories that came with the scarred face and skin. Simon trustedJohn, ever so slowly. let him into his bubble, into his life. and with him, he brought you. letting you sit next Simon at dinner. letting you near him in positions where Simon had no choice. positions where John would watch with keen eyes, seeing how Simon tried to hide from your gaze. and the man chalked it up to being scared to trust you, just like he was scared to trust John. figured the two of you needed time to work it out, to bond with another. so one day, he announced that he was leaving town for the weekend, going to visit Johnny at university. you two would stay alone with he was gone.

——————————————————————————————————

you were frustrated to say the least. Simon seemed to hate you, didn’t want anything to do with you. glared at you and couldn’t seem to even look at your face most days without turning away. and it frustrated you. that despite the fact Simon didn’t like you, you still liked him. liked the way he made his toast, jelly first then butter. liked the way his strong form walked through the kitchen late at night. liked how his eyes took in each detail of each room every time he entered. like how he held himself. Simon wasn’t an ugly man either. you had to admit there was a part of you that was attracted, almost drawn and trapped in, to him. but he didn’t seem drawn to you. no, he deemed you unworthy of a hello or good morning most days. that’s why you dreaded spending the weekend with him alone. how would you even get through it if he wouldn’t talk?

the first night John was gone you cooked pizza. frozen, but good nonetheless. Simon took Johns place that night. in the little bench in the nook of the kitchen. right next to you. your body froze when you felt his large thigh basically press against yours. Simon merely dug into his pizza like he was starved and couldn’t focus on anything else, letting his shaggy blond hair fall over his face, covering the many scars that decorated it. still, you bit into your own pizza, letting your thigh relax and press again his. when you’d both finished, sitting in the silence as the food digested, Simons head turned to you, still downturned. “thank you.” he murmured into the dim room. your face lit up, eyes darting to the ones that hid behind his messy and tangled hair. “of course.” you whispered. Simon stood after that, helping you take the dishes to the sink to clean them alongside you. every now and then, you’d throw glances at the tall boy next to you, his disheveled hair and almost defeated shoulders. some days he stood taller than others, but today he seemed…weighed down. as you stared as his fingers while they rinsed the plate, an idea appeared. his hair was a mess, desperately needing to be cut and washed. but Simon hadn’t let anyone touch it, insisting to even John that it was fine. but it wasn’t, not to you. “Simon?” you asked tentatively. he looked to you slowly, eyes drifting up your collarbone and stopping at your chin. “can I cut your hair?” his lips pressed together. “only if it’s okay. I-I just know that it’s long and i uhm. well wasn’t sure if you liked it like that?” the words lost volume and their certainty as Simon didn’t flinch at them. so you looked back to your dishes to dry them. “no. I don’t like it.” Simons voice was dry and sounded like it hadn’t been used in a while. “you can cut it.” he finished before handing you the last plate. your lips parted slightly as you nodded, drying the plate before returning it to its cabinet.

——————————————————————————————————

an:ahhh! I loved writing this, it will be a series, and don’t worry there will be more to come, including all the stuff in the tws so there will be darker smut ahead, and anyway this story is already a bit different, rlly just bc they’re adopted siblings, but I’ve had this in my head for a while, so I hope you enjoyed it!

-cass💕:D

[strawbrrychan]

your side; hwang hyunjin

pairing; hyunjin x reader

genre: angst, highschool au

warnings: cheating, cursing, suggestive themes, panic attacks

word count: 5.5k

a/n: ITS FINALY HERE!!!! i went through a several year long writing slump,, but im finally back!!! thank you guys for the support and i hope you enjoy this as much as i did!!

Growing up with Hyunjin, you could only remember good things - if anything at all. When you were little, the two of you were practically connected at the hip. Whoever was around would quite literally have to peel you off of each other- you both cried every time. Your parents had become friends quickly, thus making you and the blonde the same way. You had played at each other’s houses all the time, watched shows while eating gummies, bathed together, and did whatever else your little imaginations would bring you. If you had baby photos, it was guaranteed that Hyunjin was in at least half of them. It was always “you and him against the world”, you remember promising him. Not much changed throughout primary school, your seemingly endless playdates at the park continued. When middle school rolled around, you got closer- sleepovers every weekend, study sessions which turned into tickle fights, and movie marathons was more than regular for you. And even with high school gnawing away at you, you still managed to pull your way through with him at your side.

Hyunjin was known well for his good looks. He’s practically a walking wet dream as a high school student. You didn’t think there was a girl who wasn’t head-over-heels for him at some point, he’s just that beautiful. Every year there were at least three girls that approached you, asking if Hyunjin was interested in a relationship, or what his ideal type was like.

Thus, at the beginning of your junior year, Hyunjin had managed to have his eye on someone.

“She’s pretty, don’t you think?” Hyunjin asked you with a tired face, the early autumn breeze swirling around your bodies as you entered the school building. “Who? That girl you like? What’s her name…” you trailed off, searching the depths of your mind to remember. Hyunjin mentioned her a lot, but you could never seem to recall it. “Minhee,” he reminded, his voice lowering so no one could hear him. “Thank you,” you nodded, hoping you’ll remember her name at some point.

She was tall; taller than you at least, with short brown hair around shoulder-length. She had gorgeous, shimmering brown eyes and a sharp nose too. Her skin was like porcelain; pale, and practically untouched. She was borderline flawless. Everyone you knew had a crush on her at some point. There was never a time where you didn’t hear Minhee’s name buzzing around the halls. She was pretty, and she was popular - everything you could want in a girl in high school.

And yet, with cold autumn breezes fading into the bitter frost of late October, Hyunjin had already devised a plan to ask Minhee out by the end of that semester. You loathed the idea wholeheartedly, never really trusting her even as she grew closer to not only Hyunjin, but to you as well. Although Minhee treated you kindly, you couldn’t help but be slightly wary of her.

He was going to take her to an ice skating rink, and then get them both coffee from her favorite shop nearby. “That’s the most important part,” he told you. You loved how observant and considerate he always was, picking up minor details that any other person would have deemed insignificant.

Hyunjin called you that night, preparing for his date with the girl. “My little baby is all grown up!” You laughed, sneering at your camera. What he wore wasn’t anything special, considering the bitter cold knocking outside your warm homes. But Hwang Hyunjin could make a potato sack look good, so it didn’t matter much. “Do I look okay?” He stressed, standing in front of his phone, looking at himself. He wore a black turtleneck with dark blue jeans, and a grey wool button down coat on top. His hair was its usual style; half of it tied into a loose ponytail with the rest of it resting above his shoulders. You stared at him for a moment, frowning. “What?” He asked, fear written all over his face. “Do I look ugly? Is the coat too much?” You couldn’t help but laugh at this, how he could even think for a moment that he, the one and only Hwang Hyunjin, could look ugly.

“I’m teasing you,” you said after calming your laughter. “You look amazing. Minhee’s gonna love it.” You smiled. “And regardless, its cold out! We can’t have our little baby getting sick!” You watched his face intently, his sweet eye-smile showing its way through the screen.

“Okay, I have to leave now.” Hyunjin announced, picking up his phone and holding it closer to his face. “I’ll tell you how it goes!”

“Have fun,” you smiled again, “Don’t get her pregnant!” You teased, before hanging up.

Hyunjin huffed, shoving his phone into his jacket before ushering himself out of his house and to the car. He flopped into the driver’s seat, typing the directions to his date’s home. He turned to look at himself in the rearview mirror once more, before shoving his keys into the ignition and driving down the street. It only took him a few wrong turns and a handful of short stops to reach her house. He smiled at the thought of being with her for such a long period of time. His phone buzzed once more, Minhee telling him that she was on her way. He smiled at his screen, quickly lifting his head to meet Minhee. She walked in an unbuttoned pink sweater over a white t-shirt with a rose bush on it, as well as light washed jeans and a pair of white boots. A pink beret sat neatly on top of her head, pulling the look together. Hyunjin exited the car quickly, meeting his date at the bottom of her stairs.

“You look wonderful,” he smiled down at her, guiding her to the opposite car door, opening it for her. She smiled, thanking him and sitting in the passenger’s seat. He joined her in the car, pulling out of the driveway and making their way down the street.

A few bruised butts and trips over the other person (and a few other skaters), their time spent at the ice skating rink was up. With shared laughter and light brushes of hands, they made their way into the dimly lit streets. Hyunjin’s body shivered, snowflakes finding their way into his hair as he sauntered down the street. “It’s so pretty like this,” Minhee spoke, her warm breath escaping her mouth and floating away with the wind. Hyunjin nodded, a smile forming on his face as he watched her. His gentle footsteps began to taper, leading him to a complete stop before he took out his phone. He pointed it towards his date, snapping a few photos of her admiring the setting. Hyunjin brought his phone down again, studying the photos he took with a small grin forming on his lips. “Hey!” Hyunjin’s head shot up, his eyes meeting a very upset Minhee. She jogged over to him with a playful smile on her face, a tinge of pink at the end of her nose from the bitter frost surrounding them. “You were just gonna leave me walking like that?” She laughed, peering over his shoulder to see what he was looking at. Her face softened, studying the candids he took of her. Hyunjin lifted his eyes slowly, drinking in Minhee’s features. He never noticed the light dusting of freckles across the apples of her cheeks, or the small beauty mark on the tip of her nose. He could feel his face heating up, the realization of the proximity of their faces finally processing. He swore his heart would’ve bursted out of his chest if it weren’t for his ribcage shielding it. “Its so cold, let’s find that coffee shop, yeah?” Hyunjin smiled, praying his voice wouldn’t falter. He began walking again, slipping his phone into his back pocket and wrapping his opposite arm around Minhee’s significantly smaller shoulders.

Minhee let out a small huff, with a cloud of steam following it as they continued walking to the coffee shop in the distance.

Hyunjin rubbed his arms vigorously, following Minhee inside. A small bell chimed, notifying the worker at the register that more customers had come in. The cashier’s head lifted above the pastry glass, a soft smile forming as the couple approached it. “Can I have a small iced americano please?” He asked, taking a step back for Minhee to see the menu, looking around. “And can I have a small matcha latte with steamed milk please?” The cashier nodded, typing in their order. Hyunjin payed for their drinks, and walked over to where Minhee sat. The walls were a soft pink, complimented by streaks of brown and white. Hyunjin watched Minhee, as she stared at the gentle white flakes whirling in the wind.

“Are you enjoying yourself at least? I hope I’m not boring you!” A sheepish smile crept onto his face. “Of course I am,” she replied, smiling directly at him. “I’m with you.” Hyunjin could feel a gentle blush crawl up his neck and onto his face. “I-I think they just called our drinks,” he said quickly, “I’ll go get them.”

Only a few hours later, you could’ve sworn someone died. Your phone was vibrating non-stop, interrupting the show you were watching. You snatched it off of your nightstand, staring at the screen for a moment. You tapped on one of the notifications, opening the continuous messages flooding your screen.

Hyunjin was telling you all about how he and Minhee were a couple now.

His excitement made you unbelievably happy. You smiled, typing a just as enthusiastic reply.

A small, melancholic smile crept onto your face.

But you knew how badly your best friend wanted this.

Just about a year had passed, and the familiar white snow was coating the ground once again. A cold shiver went down your spine as Hyunjin approached you in the bustling hallway. “Christmas is soon, what do you think I should get Minhee?” He asked you, slinging his arm around your shoulder. He was so warm. You still didn’t trust her much, but you learned to endure it. It was probably just petty drama from the year before. “Why don’t you get her some sexy lingerie? We all know you’ll get a rise out of it,” you nudged at him, snickering. You watched the way his eyes went wide, and a bright pink hue brushed across his face. The laughter bubbling in your throat only increased at his reaction. “..you’re not wrong,” he half agreed with you once your laughter calmed down a little bit. “But seriously, has she mentioned anything she’s wanted to see or something recently?” You asked, making swift strides with the boy still at your side. You and Hyunjin had made an agreement ages ago, to not get gifts for each other for Christmas, since the other always managed to get to it before it was actually time to gift them. “Actually, there was! She posted a ring she really wanted on her Instagram,” he recalled. “Isn’t it super expensive though?” You cringed, thinking of the price. It was pure diamond, nearly $1,000. Hyunjin shrugged. “It’s for Minhee though,” he reminded. He knew he could afford it. “I swear, im gonna marry her someday. I love her so much.” He was grinning like an idiot in love, which wasn’t too far off from the truth. A moment of silence passed before you spoke again. “If you’re willing to spend that much, then do it! I think she’ll love it,” you replied. He smiled at you, but more gently. There was a look of gratitude behind it. “Thank you,” he said. “For helping me.” You could hear the way his sincerity practically oozed from the way he spoke. Your heart squeezed at his words.

Hyunjin invited you back to his house after school, where you chased his chihuahua Kkami around the house for about an hour before flopping yourself onto his bed in exhaustion. Kkami followed you soon after, placing himself at the foot of his owner’s large bed. Hyunjin was sat comfortably next to you, unbothered by your stray limbs sprawled out around him. He was scrolling through the website that sold the ring Minhee wanted. “You’re really gonna buy it?” You leaned over him, looking at his screen. he shifted his position for what felt like the umpteenth time in the past five minutes. You couldn’t tell if it was from stress, or your palms digging into the mattress right next to him. “I want to, I’m just scared that she won’t like it,” he stressed, turning to you, who was now comfortably curled at his side. “Hyun, she literally said she wanted it,” you rolled your eyes at his doubt. Hyunjin smiled at the newfound nickname you’d given to him. “There’s nothing to worry about. She’s gonna love it.” He sat there, staring at his screen in thought for a few moments. Suddenly, his arms flung in the air. “Okay, I’ll buy it!” He declared loudly. Kkami’s head flew up, glaring at you and Hyunjin. “Sorry Kkami,” he reached over, patting the dog’s head to ease his poor nerves. He huffed, readjusting his position and facing away from the two of you, falling asleep as quickly as he sat up.

You were on your way to class when you heard an all too familiar voice behind you. Your head whipped around, searching the sea of people for the jogging boy’s face. He hopped his way up to you, ending with a dramatic huff and pose with his har falling in his face. You smiled as you continued your walk to your upcoming class. The blonde brought his hand up to rake his fingers through his hair before speaking.

“Are you going to Sana’s party tonight?” He asked, watching people pass your figures as you sauntered down the hall. “Only if you will,” you shrugged, not caring much for parties unless you had familiar company. “Okay! I’ll pick you up tonight and we’ll go together, deal?” He clapped his hands together, like a child opening gifts on their birthday. “What about Minhee? Is she coming?” His head perked up at the sound of his girlfriend’s name. “She said she’d meet me there,” he stopped moving, reaching the door of your class. You gave him a confused look, waiting for him to continue. “She’s getting ready with Ryujin and Mina.” Your lips formed an o shape, nodding your head slowly in acknowledgment.

The end of your day went by smoothly. you huffed, dumping your remaining supplies into your locker, considering they’d be deemed useless during your winter break. Hyunjin greeted you right on time in front of your locker, leaning against the one next to it, watching you closely. You slammed your locker closed and slung your backpack over your shoulder before making your way out of the school with your gorgeous friend behind you. “What are you wearing?” He asked, pulling his car keys from his pocket. “To the party I mean,” he corrected himself. “I figured you meant that,” you said turning to him, plopping yourself into the passenger’s seat. “But I don’t know yet.” You sat for a moment thinking over your options. “I might just go in a sweater and some pants.” You shrugged. You were never really a party person anyway, nor did you really care enough to make yourself look over-the-top gorgeous for people you didn’t know. It’s not like you had that kind of attire anyway.

You decided on something simple to wear. It was a Christmas party after all. Downstairs, you could hear your front door close. 
“Y/N! I’m here!” Hyunjin called from the bottom of your stairs. You gave yourself one last look-over and decided you were ready for the party. You were greeted by Hyunjin’s lean figure at the door as you came down the stairs - looking flawless, as always. He smiled at the sight of you. “Ready?” He asked, grabbing the keys from his pocket. You nodded quietly, the two of you exiting your house together.

On your ride there, you could only think about how lucky you got with your friend. He was gorgeous, and unbelievably kind.

So why did he take such an interest in you?

The drive was short, only about five or ten minutes. You probably could’ve walked, but it was far too cold to go in what you were wearing. Different colored lights could be seen through the house’s windows, shining onto the lawn occasionally. It was huge. As you and your friend walked closer to the party, you could hear the buzz of conversations and music from inside. There were a few people littered in the yard, speaking quietly to one another.

Hyunjin swung open the front door, the smell of booze and people hitting your face like a train. It was so strong.

People greeted you and Hyunjin kindly, giving smiles and hugs. You didn’t know a lot of people there, but you at least knew the host.

The house was a maze, so you decided to take a seat on one of the empty chairs in the living room and scan the room. Most people were dancing, some were already blacked out. You grimaced, turning away. The party only started a few hours ago.

“Hey Y/N!” a girl’s voice broke through your thoughts. It was Sana. She smiled at you, pulling a chair closer to you. “How are you?” You asked, rather loudly. It was hard to hear your own thoughts when the music was so loud. “I’m pretty good, are you liking the party so far?” She shouted back. Your loud conversation continued for a while, until someone called Sana away. She smiled at you, disappearing into the crowd. More people came and went, making small talk with you before walking away again. Is this what parties are like?

You let out a sigh of near boredom. With a huff, you stood up.

You tried to make your way through the sea of people to the kitchen, where very few people lingered around the white marble counter. The music was quieter in here, easier to talk to people that way. There was a huge bowl of red liquid in the middle - presumably punch - and it reeked of alcohol.

You’re at a party, might as well get a little tipsy, right?

You reached for the stack of red cups and poured yourself a cup. Pieces of strawberries and cherries floated on the surface.

You recognized some of the people in the kitchen, looking around as you took a swig from your cup.

One of them was Hyunjin’s friend, Jisung.

“Hey Ji! How are you?” You smiled, walking over to him. He was talking with Changbin - another one of Hyunjin’s friends as well. His eyes lit up when he saw you.

“Y/N! Its been so long! It’s great to see you.” He said, wrapping you in a tight hug. 
“Hey, Y/N,” changbin smiled, watching you being crushed by jisung. when he let you go, you tried to catch your breath. Jisung doesn’t know how strong he is. “Jesus, you’ve gotten so much stronger since I last saw you.” you smiled, looking at his insanely large arms. “I’ve missed you guys so much!” You said, hugging changbin. The leather of his jacket made you shiver.

“Did you just get here?” Changbin asked, trying to make conversation.

“Yeah, a little while ago. I haven’t really seen anyone I know, so im glad I ran into you guys.” You smiled sheepishly. “Is everyone else here?” You were referring to the rest of their shared friend group. Changbin nodded, taking a sip from the can he held in his hand.

“Did you show up with Hyunjin?” Jisung started. You nodded, wondering about where the boy had run off to. You were only there for about an hour or two, and you’d only seen him when you entered together. “Yeah, im surprised minhee wasn’t insisting that they get ready together.” You tried to suppress your eyes rolling in annoyance.

“Maybe she wanted to surprise him with her outfit, girls do that, don’t they?” Jisung shrugged. “I guess, maybe im thinking too much into it.” Jisung and changbin nodded in agreement. “It was great seeing you guys, i’ll see you later,” you smiled, walking back into the sea of bodies.

More dancing. More booze. More laughter.

You finally ran into Hyunjin, after seeing him once since you arrived at the party. He said he’d been looking for Minhee. You didn’t know what she was wearing, making it harder to spot her in the house of people. you promised him you’d look for her. He frowned at your response, turning away to continue searching.

Many hours into the night, you found yourself a bit buzzed, mixing into conversations like it was nothing. You found yourself with Minho and Seungmin discussing who the hottest people at the party were.

You were way too drunk for this.

You reached for your phone, but its battery was dead. Of course.

You stood up, walking into the kitchen to find someone to take you home. minho called for you once, but gave up quickly. Luckily, chan was propped against the sink, staring at his phone.

“Can you take me home? Im really drunk.” Your words came out in one string of sounds. You were barely coherent. He looked at you with soft eyes. He nodded, wrapping an arm around you to keep you upright. “Where’s Hyunjin?” He asked, looking around. 
“my phone is dead, I don’t know.�� You mumbled.

As you walked, you looked around the living room again, seeing at everyone. So happy. So carefree. Your eyes lazily scanned some faces until you finally caught a glimpse of an all too familiar one.

Minhee, in her champagne dress, giggling away. She was making her way to the stairs, sneaking away from the rest of the party.

“Wait…” you said, looking at the scene. Something wasn’t right, but you couldn’t figure out what exactly.

Chan swung open the front door, the frosty air hitting your body immediately. Goosebumps covered every inch of your skin. By the time you were in his car, your whole body was shaking from the cold.

“Here,” he said, reaching into the back seat. He draped a hoodie over your shivering body, hoping to warm you up. you smiled at his attentiveness. “Sorry it’s not much. You’ll be home soon.”

You thanked him in a whisper as he pulled onto the street.

You don’t remember much else from the night.

Hyunjin let out a sigh, closing his bedroom door and kicking his shoes off. He never found Minhee at the party. He texted her numerous times throughout the night, but all of them were left unanswered.

He was shocked when he felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. It was minhee.

“Hey,” he answered urgently, worried sick about her. “Where were you all night? Why didn’t you say anything?” He spoke again.

He was met with a sigh, and Minhee’s beautiful voice.

“Hyunie babe, can we talk?” Her voice sounding so sweet and kind. “I’m not doing this with you anymore. Can’t stand you, actually.” She sighed.

“What?” hyunjin’s voice was small and weak.

“Oh, how naive you are. You really couldn’t tell? Hyunjin, you mean nothing to me.” She smirked into the phone, her words spilled through it like poison. “But thanks for the sex and all the cash, I guess. this’ll be the last time I talk to you. So bye! Oh, and delete my number too-” The phone call ended with a click. He couldn’t listen to another word from her. he could feel a lump gather in his throat, and his eyes burn quickly.

Soon after, almost immediately, a video appeared in their messages. It was short, but more than long enough for him to realize what was happening. He heard her moaning - screaming even - another guy’s name. He could see her face so clearly.

He covered his mouth, trying so desperately to suppress his sobs. How could someone he loved so much do such an awful thing to him? Did he deserve it?

You awoke with a start, your phone buzzing incessantly on your pillow. Chan plugged it in for you when he took you home.

Not bothering to look at who was calling, you brought the phone to your ear, mumbling a lazy “hello” into it.

You were met with sniffling and choked sobs. The voice was familiar. Too familiar.

“Hyune?” You asked, sitting up. “Hyunjin, is that you?”

You were met with more sobs before a response. “Minhee..” He spoke, his voice shaking. You didn’t say anything, hoping he’d say more.

Then the four words that felt like poison filled your ears.

“She cheated on me.”

That’s when you remembered part of the party. When you were leaving, you saw Minhee going up the stairs. Is that what this was about?

“Hyunjin, I’m so sorry. That’s horrible. Should I come over?” Your words were laced with pity. Hyunjin didn’t answer. more sobs.

Without another thought, you slipped on a pair of shoes, and left the house. Hyunjin only lived up the block from you.

“Im coming, hyune,” you said promptly, throwing your phone in the passenger seat of your car. You turned the key and pulled out of the driveway with one swift move. Within a minute you were at his front door. the driveway was vacant, besides his black car in the back.

By this point, your phone was off and he wasn’t on the other end of the line.

You tried the door without thinking, knowing his house too well. It was locked. A pang of fear struck though your body. That wasn’t like him.

Being at his house constantly, you knew where the spare key was and snatched it from its hiding spot. You flung the door open, running through his house to find him.

“Hyunjin?” You called out loudly, your voice bouncing off the quiet walls.

You could hear his faint sobs across the house. “Hyunjin!” You yelled, running to his room.

He was screaming.

Not crying.

Actually screaming.

You opened the door gently, trying not to startle him. the lights were off and he was sat between his bed and the wall, curled into himself. your heart shattered at the sight.

“Hyune..” You started gently, walking over to his corner. He was still in his clothes from the party, just.. more disheveled. You sat down next to him while he held his head in his hands. he refused to look at you.

“Hyunjin,” you placed your hand on his back, rubbing slow, gentle circles into the fabric.

“What did I do wrong?” He sobbed, gripping his hair at the root. It looked like he was going to rip chunks out. You could feel his shoulders tremble with every sob that ripped itself from his lungs. The sobs turned into loud, labored gasps. He was spiraling.

“Hey, hey, look at me hyune.” You said, grabbing his hands gently. His glossy bloodshot eyes finally met yours.

“Breathe with me,” you said, taking in slow, deep breaths, trying to convince Hyunjin to follow. Eventually his breathing slowed and his sobs were reduced to quiet sniffles.

“what happened..? Can you tell me?” You spoke gently. He didn’t respond. He stared at you for a moment, before handing you his phone with a sigh. The screen displayed the final messages between him and Minhee. There, a video waited. You played it, and stopped it immediately. It was a sextape. You didn’t need to listen very long to know.

You were disgusted. How could she do something like that? Especially to someone like Hyunjin?

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Hyun. She didn’t deserve you.”

“No.. I just..I loved her so much.. why?” He choked, voice hoarse from screaming.

“It’s okay. I know it sucks right now, but things are going to get better. It’s you and me against the world, remember?” you smiled at him.

He sighed and shook his head. “No.”

You were shocked. “What do you mean?” concern laced your words.

“You shouldn’t have to put up with this…im sorry, Y/N.” He whispered, his voice unwavering.

“No, Hyunjin. I’ve been here since the start. I want to take care of you. I’m here for you.” You grabbed his hand tightly.

“It’s pointless, Y/N.”

“Not to me, Hyunjin. Not if it’s you.” Your hand made its way up his frame, playing with strands of blonde at the nape of his neck. “I’m on your side.” tears burned his eyes yet again, silently marking their trails on his cheeks. It was quiet for a moment.

“Promise?” He turned to look at you, breaking the silence. You stared at him for a moment, taking in his pure beauty. Even after crying for hours, he still looks just as perfect. Even with his puffy, disheveled hair and haphazard shirt, he was beautiful all the same.

“Of course I promise,” you smiled, hugging him tightly.

You stood up, holding out a hand to help him up. He looked at your hand and then up at you, and grabbed it tight.

“How about we just hang out for a little while? i can even start a shower for you.” You offered, brushing yourself off. he shook his head, declining the offer.

“I don’t have the energy to shower.” He said blandly, making the exhaustion evident in his voice. he slumped onto his bed, letting out a sigh.

“How about you change out of that and we watch a movie, hmm?” You looked at him. His eyes were closed as his body was sprawled out on the bed. For the first time in hours, he finally looked at peace. You walked over to his desk, covered in old sketches and poems, flicking on the lamp and watching it illuminate the room. you couldn’t help but see a familiar face sketched out in black and white on a crumpled sheet of paper. It was you. You could feel the undeniable heat creep up your neck and ears, and your heat beat just a little bit faster.

Your focus was back on Hyunjin, watching the light bounce off of his face. He was so perfect.

Now you too, were sat on the bed. You lifted his head gently to remove the hair tie holding half of the blonde heap together. Hyunjin groaned, reaching his hands up to scratch his scalp. He sat up after a moment, walking towards his dresser. He slipped off his button-down shirt and dress pants and swapped them for a t-shirt and a pair of sweats.

You were already under the blankets, preparing a movie for the both of you when he switched off the light. He joined you under the covers, just like he would have when you were little.

“We used to do this all the time,” you laughed, rolling on to your side.

“I remember,” he smiled. “My mom used to come up here and tell us to be quiet.”

Silence fell between you two for a while, your focus trained on the movie.

“It feels good to have you here, Y/N.” hyunjin broke the silence, staring at you.

You had propped your head up on your hand at this point, locking eyes with the boy in front of you.

“Im glad to be here. I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else but right here.” You spoke, genuine and sweet. He smiled, and turned back to the movie. You didn’t stop staring. He looked like he was carved out of stone by the gods. He was absolutely perfect.

“You are so beautiful, Hyunjin.” You spoke, so softly you weren’t sure he would hear you.

“So are you, Y/N.” He was now on his side, staring back at you. A blush crept its way on to your face once again, but under the blanket of darkness, he couldn’t tell. You moved your body closer to him, so you could lay on his chest. He welcomed your warmth and let you settle in before relaxing himself.

“You know I love you, right Hyunjin?” You looked up into his eyes from his chest. “More than anything.”

“I love you too, Y/N.” He whispered into your hairline. He left a gentle kiss at the crown of your head and began to play with loose strands of your hair.

“I’ll always be on your side.” You whispered to him, but he had already fallen fast asleep with you on his chest. 
This was peace. Not just for you, but for Hyunjin too.

This was real love.

You were real love.

And that’s all he needed.

[crowfish-brainrot]

Since I want my mains to come home quickly for this next banner, I’m gonna yap my love for my mains because fuck I love them both so much.

Rafayel speaks to me, deeply, which is funny because he was my least favorite at first. I always liked all the LIs, but I fully expected to be a SnowCrow main. As wild as it is, Raf has become my number one favorite, which I didn’t expect!

Maybe it’s because I’m also an artist (though, with words versus painting), but I feel so seen by him. He loves so deeply, he feels so deeply, and all of it hides under a playful mask that makes it easier for him to face the sheer depth of his emotions. I’m much the same way. Also the way he shares his vulnerabilities with MC (like in his Nightly Rendezvous card “will you still like me if I become someone who only takes from you?”, Ebb & Flow “there’s still time to care for someone else,” and his entire spring event card) is so tender. He shows true maturity by expressing himself to her, and it’s so intimate.

I also love how he plays with MC! He goofs her, makes her flustered, teases her. He lets her overpower him because it’s fun for him, but he always takes back over & I just LOVE how they play off each other. Brat x brat is such a fun dynamic. I’m also a brat, so of course I love this.

He’s so passionate with MC, too. His spicy cards always get me so damn flustered! I can read the nastiest smut known to man & listen to most with a straight face but for some reason I blush to my ears when listening to his secret times 😂

I love when we see how dangerous he really is. The card where he protects MC from that creep? Swooon!! How creative he is when he kills people?? Hot. Hot. Hot!!! I personally think he’s actually THE biggest threat to MC, but he would rather die than hurt her, which is so 😩. Also he literally let his world fall apart rather than kill her and that does things to me. (Granted, all of them have done that to an extent, which is probably why I love all of them!)

Also, the way he yearns…? 😩 He’s waited 800 years for her. They’ve both died in each others arms, their love is star crossed but they still make their way back to each other in every lifetime & my heart can’t take it. I love him. I love how their bond gets stronger the more they love each other, because that is such a beautiful way of describing what happens when two people are together for a long time. Love only grows deeper. I know the next banner isn’t going to be a real wedding but I can’t wait for MC to be his WIFE instead of only his bride 😭😭😭😭

Now for Sylus.

He’s the entire reason I downloaded the game. My sister showed me Dragon Sylus & I was down bad immediately. I love a morally grey man, I’m a monster fucker, and I have a thing for deep voices so I was immediately in love.

Then I got into his story & lore. I cried at his dragon myth. I love Sylus so much because he is devotion. He chased MC through time and space. She has half of his soul, and you FEEL it through every interaction he has with MC. Yes he’s dangerous and kills people on the regular (which is hot in a fictional man, ngl), but what I love most about him is his softness. To MC & no one else. I’m a sucker for that, because I am also that way. I’m not a big fan of people, I don’t trust easily. But for my husband? I am the softest little thing. To everyone else? I will bite. He has that same energy & I loooove it!

Also I love how calm he is. How stable he is. How he encourages MC to want more, to do whatever she wants. I love that he inverts the Dark Romance Mafia Boss Archetype where he doesn’t control MC, he isn’t toxic toward her, and how he honors her power bc she isn’t a damsel he needs to save. I love that he wants her to be powerful and strong. I love that he challenges her. I also love how they don’t take either of each others bullshit 😂

I adore how much of a pathetic lover boy he is. It’s so cute. He’s so painfully in love with MC. How everything he’s ever done is for HER, to call her back to his side, to find her in all the vastness of space and time. I love his dominance. I love his confidence. The man speaks poetry & Magnum Opus truly is one of the best memories in the game. My heart can’t take it. Every time he talks to her after the face mask scene I melt all over again. I love how he tries to fit in her world, instead of just expecting her to fit into his. How much he tries for her is so fucking precious.

I also love how he plays with MC. It’s different than how Rafayel does, but it’s still playful banter, teasing, with a lot of back and forth. It’s so fun to watch them dance around one another and to see how they get under the other’s skin. I love how he finds joy in her audacity & bratiness. As a brat, I will always simp for a brat enabler!!!!

His spicy cards also have me in a chokehold. Every time I’m always blushing!!!! His playfulness seeps into the steamy cards, and it always gets me. How he and MC push/pull one another, how he teases her??? Please I’m dyiiiing every time! He’s so damn hungry for her, it’s just hot.

Again, the yearning. How he didn’t interfere in her life at all until she came to the N109 Zone, even though he saw her, knew where she was, etc. he waited for her to come to him, and then of course she didn’t remember him. How much that must’ve hurt after all he did for her. But, after a rough start he goes hands off and lets her come to him. He would’ve left her alone if she asked him to, but she ran for him & THAT scene made me all misty-eyed. He’s waited so long to have her in his arms, and he’d wait forever if that’s what she wanted. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for her(which again, could be said about all of them, but I digress), & I can’t help but love him!!!

Sylus might be my number 2, but it’s by like maybe three points. I love both Sylus and Rafayel sm, & I can’t wait to ugly sob while watching the wedding banner. 😭😭😭

Come home quickly my husbands!!!!!!

[inkpetrichor]

Nasty Dog! | Kuroo Tetsurou x f!reader

9.- Part nine

masterlist here<3

cw. MDNI. fem! reader. delinquent! reader. use of yn. smoking. cursing. angst. hurt/comfort. TW. dead dove: do not eat. sa/unwanted physical contact (non-consensual kissing). mentions of suicide and sh (past). dissociation (trauma response). emotionally intense arguments. cyberbullying. gossip. malicious photo sharing. violence. pls let me know if i missed anything. wc. 6k an. sooo i hesitated a lot on this one. this chapter is a little heavier. it contains intense and potentially triggering content, and while i worked hard to handle it with care and respect, please take the content warnings seriously. they're there for a reason. if you're not in the right headspace, if anything listed might hit too close—please don't push through just for the story. take care of yourself first. the chapter will always be here when and if you're ready. i trust you, my beloved readers, to approach it with the emotional maturity and self-awareness i know you have. i know you're not minors. i know you're thoughtful, empathetic people. and i appreciate you more than you know. so thank you—for being here, for reading, for caring. i love you. please be gentle with yourselves<3

Shibuya felt wrong that night.

Too quiet.

Or maybe it was just your panic, drowning out the chaos of the city.

Even the noise of cars and neon signs seemed muffled beneath the storm in your head.

When you got to the place, something in your gut twisted. Off. Rotten.

The streetlight above buzzed like a dying insect, casting sickly yellow light onto the damp concrete. The alley smelled of rust and old piss, and your shoes stuck slightly with every step, like even the ground itself didn't want you there.

Junpei leaned against the wall, hoodie up, his face half-sliced by shadow.

No Emi.

Just him. The orange streetlamp carved hard lines across his cheekbones, but his eyes stayed buried in the dark.

You stopped dead in your tracks. Every nerve in your body fired at once.

"Where is she?" you asked, voice sharp and cold.

He looked up slowly. "She's not here."

Your pulse stumbled, then picked up at 100 per hour.

"...What?"

"I lied."

His voice was almost casual. He gave a small, sheepish smile like this was some petty misunderstanding.

"I just... I needed to see you."

Silence. Then a breath that came out too shaken.

"You said she was going to hurt herself."

"I had to get you here," he said like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. "You wouldn't have come if I told the truth."

Your blood ran ice-cold. Something ancient and primal surged up your spine.

The good old fight and flight.

But before you could move, he kept talking.

"I think about you all the time. I see you with that guy and it—it drives me crazy. You're not supposed to be with him. You're mine. You always were."

You took a step back, throat dry.

"You're a fucking psycho."

He stepped forward—and his hand shot out, closing around your wrist.

"I love you," he said. Like that explained anything. Like it was some kind of blessing. Like it was a reason.

Then he yanked you toward him.

His mouth crashed into yours.

Sloppy. Forceful. Wrong.

You froze. Your mind shut down.

You weren't in your body anymore. It was like watching through fogged glass.

Then his other hand gripped your waist, then slid—lower, insistent.

And with that—the glass shattered, and your body was yours once again. Your knee came up in a second. Hard into his stomach.

He let out a choked grunt, doubling over—but you didn't stop.

You punched him once, then twice—fury guiding your fists before the pain even registered in your already injured hand. The sting only hit on the third swing, throbbing through your knuckles.

But that didn't matter.

And neither did his groans as he hit the pavement.

You stood over him, chest heaving and adrenaline shaking your limbs.

"Don't ever fucking touch me again," you spat, wiping the back of your hand across your lips like you could scrub him off.

He didn't move.

But that didn't matter.

You didn't remember the train ride home. Or if you even took it. Didn't remember the streets you cut through. Or unlocking the front door. Just the sound of your lungs burning. The numbness in your legs. The way your skin crawled like it was trying to peel itself off your bones.

It felt unreal. Like a nightmare.

Like maybe it didn't happen. Like maybe you imagined it.

But when you kneeled on the floor of the shower and let the scalding water pour over your back—when you scrubbed and scrubbed until your skin stung raw—you knew the truth:

You didn't imagine it. You couldn't erase it. You couldn't scrub him out. Burn him out. You couldn't speak it aloud.

You tried—you tried to call Kuroo.

But your thumb hovered over his name for too long—imagining his voice. Imagining the way he'd say your name—soft and scared—and something in you fractured.

You couldn't handle the way he'd ask if you were okay. Not when you weren't. You couldn't deal with his voice right now—not the concern, not the gentleness.

So you didn't call him.

Didn't answer the texts that kept piling up.

Didn't open the one that just said, "I'm worried about you. Please say something."

Instead, you curled into your bed, knees tucked tight to your chest, and smoked until your lungs ached and your fingers trembled and the pack was empty.

It didn't help.

The ache behind your ribs didn't fade.

You sat in the haze until the air turned thick with smoke. Until the quiet became unbearable. Until the acid in your chest began whispering lies in your own voice.

Until the shame didn't just sink into your bones—

It became them.

You woke up to the smell of ash and the taste of old smoke in your mouth.

Your throat was dry. Your skin felt tight. Your limbs were too heavy to move like your bones had been replaced with concrete in the night.

You laid there, staring at the ceiling, trying to remember what it felt like—yesterday. The morning before, when you woke up next to Kuroo and everything felt perfect. When you felt happy and full and finally safe.

His breath soft against your neck. His voice still sleep-heavy as he whispered your name.

That morning felt… warm.

Now the sheets were cold. The silence too.

No warmth pressed against your back. No lazy arm slung over your waist.

No heartbeat beneath your ear.

Just you.

Alone.

You showered again. Not because you thought it would help, but because your body needed something to do.

But the water didn't burn this time. You didn't scrub like before.

The weight inside your chest seemed quieter, but not gone.

You felt a little less shocked, a little stronger.

Still, the walk to school felt like something someone else was doing.

Your limbs moved, but you didn't remember telling them to. Your shoes struck the pavement in soft, disconnected thuds. The city was wide awake, but none of it felt real.

You didn't even register arriving at Nekoma's gates—until everything around you shifted.

It started subtle. A shift in the air pressure—stares, side-eyes, a sudden hush that trailed behind you like smoke—sticky, inescapable, impossible to ignore.

And then the whispers.

"Isn't that the girl from the pictures?" "Wasn't she dating the volleyball captain?" "Did she really hook up with Ookami Junpei?" "Apparently they used to be a thing."

Your heart dropped like a stone into a frozen lake.

Pictures?

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. Once. Twice. Again. A steady pulse of notifications—sharp, demanding, merciless.

You didn't check. Couldn't. Whatever waited on that screen would scrape you raw from the inside out, and there wasn't much left to cut through.

And then—

"Kuroo's looking for you."

The voice barely registered. Familiar, maybe. Yaku? Kenma? It didn't matter. It sounded far away, like someone was shouting through water.

Your limbs grew heavy. The spring air clung to you, too thick, too cold. You were still wearing yesterday's bruises, even if no one could see them.

Every second stretched, unbearable. Until you felt him. Not saw—felt. The unmistakable force of him—barreling toward you like a loaded gun with no safety.

Kuroo.

"Y/N."

Your head snapped up.

And there he was. A storm system making landfall, jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscles ticking beneath his skin. His fists were balled at his sides, knuckles white.

And his eyes—God, his eyes— They burned. They weren't just angry. They were wrecked. A wildfire of betrayal and grief burning behind them with nowhere to go.

"Is it true?" he rasped.

His voice sounded raw, like he'd been screaming somewhere else already, somewhere you couldn't see, long before he found you.

It hit harder than any punch.

You felt everything all at once—

Kuroo. Tutoring. Class 5. The beach. Takoyakis your dad bought. Rumors. Emi. Shibuya. A mouth that didn't belong. Water too hot. Skin too raw.

The school gates yawned behind you like the maw of something ancient, waiting to swallow you whole.

"Is it?!"

His voice cracked across the courtyard, slicing it in half.

Some students flinched. Others stared. But most slipped past, sensing the detonation and giving it distance. Soon, it was just you and him.

You stood frozen in the eye of the storm.

"I saw the pictures." His voice was quieter this time, still hurt—but sharp. Like glass underfoot.

You looked away. Couldn't look at him. Not when he was looking at you like that.

"Please tell me you didn't fuck him," he whispered.

The world tilted.

"I didn't." Your voice barely existed. It came out like smoke from a dying flame. It wasn't enough. Would never be enough.

"So you didn't do anything?" he pressed. His voice spiraled, unraveling at the seams. "Nothing?"

You shook your head.

"What about before?" he asked, lower now. "Before we met. Before the tutoring."

Your breath caught—then froze.

And you watched the moment it broke him.

His fingers dug into his hair, yanking like he could tear the thoughts from his skull. Your silence said more than anything you could've uttered.

"Fuck," he hissed, pacing back. Hands dragged down his face. "Fuck. I'm an idiot. I'm a fucking idiot. No wonder you weren't picking up last night."

"Tetsurou—" your voice trembled. "I didn't cheat on you."

"Then what the hell were you doing there?! With him?!"

He whipped around, the sound of his voice so sharp—so hurt—it left invisible gashes down your spine.

The images in his mind were killing him. Junpei's hands. Junpei's mouth. Your silence.

You saw the poison eating him alive. And you had no antidote. You wanted to tell him. God, you did.

But—

"I… I can't tell you."

His whole body stilled.

"What?"

"I can't tell you," you said again, firmer. "It's not my secret to tell. I want to explain—I do. But I can't. I'm asking you to trust me."

A beat of silence.

And then something in him… cooled. Not calmed. Hardened. Like steel cooling too fast.

"I can't."

You felt something crack under your ribs.

"What?"

"I can't," he said again. Quiet. And somehow, that hurt more than yelling. "I tried, Y/N. I really did. But there's just—there's too many holes. Too much evidence. Too many things you didn't say."

He rubbed his face, exhausted.

"You already broke my heart. The beach. Now this... I can't let you do it again—not a third time. I need to get away from you."

He didn't look angry anymore. He looked tired. Hollow.

"Tetsurou, I didn't fucking cheat on you," you choked out again, voice catching on splinters.

He flinched just slightly. Like your voice physically burned him.

He wanted to pull you in. To believe. But when he looked at you—all he saw were the fucking pictures.

His mouth twisted. For a second, you thought he was about to say something cruel, something meant to hurt. His expression wavered between rage and devastation.

But then he exhaled again, lower this time, trembling. And barely above a whisper—so quiet it cracked—he muttered:

"I need space. I can't even look at you right now."

The world stopped turning. The noise faded. The people. The school. Everything. Only him. Only you. And the crumbling space between you where everything good had lived and died.

He meant it as mercy. As a 'I don't want to say something I'll regret.'

But in the moment, that intention didn't really land.

You stared at him. At the boy who once kissed you like he saw your soul. Who held your hand like it meant something sacred.

Now he couldn't even look at you.

And you? You couldn't even cry. Not properly, at least. Your body was too used to swallowing it down.

The ache inside your chest curdled, hardened, and twisted itself into something sharper. Something easier to carry than grief. Hurt turned to fury. Anger calcified into armor.

"You know what?" you whispered, voice brittle. "Fuck you."

Kuroo's head snapped back to you, eyes wide.

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah. Fuck you. Go ahead. Believe the pictures. Believe whatever you want." Your voice shook, but didn't falter. "I'm a cheater and slut. I'm too much work... I already broke your heart, didn't I? Then leave me."

Every word felt like a bleeding wound. You didn't mean them. You didn't like the knives you were throwing.

But they were the only weapons you had left.

"I have enough shit to deal with already. If you can't trust me... then fuck you."

Silence.

Not stunned. Not even angry.

Just... sad.

He didn't argue. Didn't fight back. He just stood there, breathing like it hurt, like every word you spoke made it worse—and yet still, somehow, he couldn't deny any of it.

The unfairness sat in your chest like a boulder, immovable and cold.

You wanted to punch something. Scream until your throat bled. But instead, you hid. You turned. Walked fast—past the gate, across the grounds, to the corner of the school that always felt safest.

Kuroo let out a breath and turned to leave—when he saw her.

Emi.

Leaning against the wall just out of sight, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Her eyes were hollow—like the light behind them had been long gone.

She'd been there the whole time. Watching. Listening. Invisible.

She didn't look surprised. She didn't even look mad. Just tired.

Like this whole little dance between you two was boring her and hurting her at the same time.

Kuroo barely spared her a glance, a half-lidded look that slid past her like water. He kept walking.

And then—

"It's not true," she said, voice as calm as the smoke she was inhaling. She exhaled through her nose, the faint trail curling upward. Her eyes met his without hesitation.

He half-turned, jaw still tight. "Were you there?"

Her brow arched. She shook her head and took a slow drag.

"Then how do you know?"

"Because I know her," Emi said simply. "I thought you did, too."

That one hit deeper than he expected. His eyes narrowed, but something in his face twitched—like he'd been stabbed in the ribs but was too proud to flinch.

"Do you know what she was doing there, then?"

Emi squinted, tilting her head just slightly.

"I might."

He took a step forward, voice low. "Are you gonna tell me?"

She snorted. "Why do I always gotta do the dirty work for you two? I'm out here carrying the damn plot. How about you actually talk to each other for once?"

Kuroo huffed and turned again, footsteps sharp against the concrete.

And then—

"I tried to kill myself."

Sharp like a blade. Soft like a kiss.

He stopped in his tracks.

Emi stepped forward, already pulling out another cigarette like it was armor. She lit it with practiced ease, took a drag, held it in. When she spoke again, her voice was flat. No sass. No bite. Like she'd hollowed herself to get the words out.

"In junior high."

Kuroo turned back slowly.

Emi rolled up her sleeve.

No flourish. No drama. Just a quiet, deliberate motion.

And there it was.

A scar. One long, brutal line that etched down her forearm and curved around it like a memory too jagged to ever smooth over.

Kuroo winced when he saw it. It physically hurt to look at.

"We went to the same junior high. Y/N and me. Hebinuma too," she began, voice low, like it cost her something. "Y/N transferred in a little late. By then Hebinuma already had her little kingdom. Rumors, isolation, backstabbing—standard queen bee shit."

Emi's gaze drifted skyward, her expression distant, like she was searching the clouds for a version of herself that never made it out of those years.

"I never even knew what I did to deserve it. One day, I just had a target on my back."

Her voice cracked faintly. Not enough to break—but enough to show it still lived under her skin.

You knew she still asked herself that question in the dark.

"But that doesn't matter. What matters is, one day, I broke a mirror and tried to end it."

She didn't flinch as she said it. Didn't rush. Just let it hang.

And then looked him dead in the eye.

"She has the pictures," she said, nodding faintly. Maybe to him. Maybe to herself. "Yeah. From the hospital. And whenever she remembers I exist, she comes back to remind me how easily she could spread them around. Just like she did with those photos of Y/N."

Kuroo's body locked up. Every part of him tensed. His fists clenched at his sides, jaw ticking hard enough to ache.

"We've made her delete them a hundred times. But she keeps backups. Always. Like it turns her on—knowing she can ruin me whenever she wants. That's the kind of bitch she is."

Emi flicked the ash off the end of her cigarette with a hard snap.

"My theory? Junpei probably called Y/N last night and told her I was gonna do something stupid. So of course she ran. Didn't ask. Didn't think twice. Because that's the kind of hot-headed, loyal idiot she is."

A strange kind of fondness edged into a smirk. Something caught between exasperation and admiration. Grudging, protective. Almost proud.

"Then Junpei kissed her—probably just for a second. Long enough to throw her off. Long enough for Hebinuma to get the shot."

She glanced back at him, her gaze sharpening. Her voice dropped.

"And she's good with a camera, you know? Real good. She doesn't need truth. She just needs a good angle."

Her eyes narrowed, deadly calm.

"And people believe her. Always. She could ruin my family with those hospital pics. Just a few lies in the right place and—bam. CPS, scandal, cops. That's how much power she has," Emi muttered, jaw clenched. "Or I don't know. Maybe that's just how fucking terrified I am of her."

She rolled her sleeve back down, the motion careful. Like she was tucking away a confession too sharp to keep showing.

"There. That's the story. Y/N didn't say anything because she wouldn't throw me under the bus to clear her own name—'cause she's stupid like that. So yeah. Now you know. Straight from the source."

She took a long drag. Crushed the butt under her heel with finality.

"You do whatever you want with that information."

Kuroo didn't speak.

He just stood there—stone still, jaw slack, hands flexing uselessly at his sides. Like every word she'd said had short-circuited him.

Then, finally, he breathed.

Ragged. Gutted.

He dragged both hands down his face, hard enough to leave red streaks, then shoved them into his hair and gripped hard—like he needed pain to focus.

"I… I need a second," he managed at last, voice wrecked and low. "I need to think."

Emi shrugged. "Yeah. You do that."

She didn't say it cruelly. Just tired.

"You talk to her or you don't," she added. "But this whole thing where you two run in circles and bleed for it? It's getting old tbh."

And then she stepped away from the wall, exhaling long and slow, and walked past him—past the gates to go find the gang.

You were sitting on the floor in your little hidden spot—knees to your chest, face buried in the soft fabric of your jacket. You weren't crying, not really. But every few seconds, a tremor ran down your spine like your body wanted to sob but your mind refused to let it.

You waited. Waited for the hurt to fade. For the anger to settle. Waited for Kuroo.

Because you knew he'd come.

But the hurt didn't fade. The anger didn't settle.

Instead, the silence swallowed you whole.

You sat there all day—back against the brick wall, eyes on nothing. The afternoon heat clung to your skin, but you didn't move. Didn't cry. Barely breathed.

At some point, our hands stopped trembling. The sting in your chest dulled to a bitter throb, then went cold.

And by the time the sun started to dip low, the version of you who had broken down the night before was long gone.

She'd been replaced by the one you knew how to be.

The angry one. The survivor.

Footsteps crunched across the gravel in front of you.

You didn't flinch. Didn't even look up.

"Took you long enough," you muttered flatly.

Kuroo's voice came out hoarse. Tight. "Had some shit to figure out."

"Yeah. Guess we both did."

Silence. Thin, barbed-wire silence.

Then—

"Emi told me of what happened in junior high."

Your head snapped up at him, eyes wide.

"She said you wouldn't tell me. Said that was the reason you were in Shibuya last night. Why didn't you just—"

"I was protecting Emi," you snapped. "Her secret."

Kuroo scoffed. Dry. Bitter. "Yeah? And where does protecting me fit into that? You know what it looks like? I look like a fool and a cuck to the entire school."

You surged to your feet, heat roaring in your chest.

"You think I wanted any of this?" Your voice rose and trembled, but you didn't back down. "You think I enjoyed getting fucking manhandled and photographed like some piece of meat?!"

His eyes met yours—dark and stormy. Pain flared behind them, not just his but yours too.

"Then why didn't you tell me?" he asked again, quieter now, like he was begging. "Why didn't you trust me?"

You laughed. A dry, hollow sound.

"Please. Like you trusted me the second you saw those photos? You looked at me like I was poison. Like I was already guilty."

He flinched.

"Maybe I should've told you," you said. "But I was scared."

He opened his mouth, paused, then dragged a hand through his hair—rough, frustrated, the strands sticking out in every direction.

"Scared of what?" he asked finally. "Of me?"

"No, idiot!" you yelled, voice breaking. "Of losing you! Of you looking at me like I was broken! Like I was disgusting! Like I wasn't worth fighting for anymore."

You wiped your eyes furiously with the back of your hand, hard enough to sting.

"And congrats," you spat. "You made sure of that real quick."

"That's not fucking fair," he snapped. "You're acting like you didn't give me every reason to doubt you."

"Oh, I'm sorry," you snarled, laughing darkly. "Was getting assaulted supposed to come with a fucking heads-up?"

Kuroo's eyes narrowed, stepping closer.

"That's not what I'm talking about."

You glared at him, daring him.

"You could've told me about him that night at my house. When I asked. Could've told me about Emi," he said. "You hid shit from me over and over. And now I'm the asshole because I hesitated for five seconds after someone handed me proof?"

Your fists curled so tight your nails bit into your palms.

"That wasn't proof. It was a setup. A fucking ambush."

Guilt twisted his face, but anger didn't leave either.

"You made it impossible to trust you!" he snapped. "You put walls around everything that mattered and then got pissed when I couldn't guess what was inside. Made it a goddamn puzzle I wasn't allowed to solve."

You stepped in close, face inches from his.

"Oh, poor you," you seethed. "Did I ruin your fantasy? Was I supposed to wrap myself up with a bow and hand you all the ugly pieces so you could decide if I was still worth it? Show you how fucking imperfect I was so you could come in and fix me? 'Bad girl fixed by the nice nerd guy,' Perfect fucking story, right?"

His jaw tightened, breath sharp. "I didn't want to fix you. I just wanted you to be honest."

"I was trying," you whispered. "I really was. But the second you had to choose to believe me, even if it was hard, the second it stopped being cute—you dipped."

He didn't respond. Couldn't.

"I didn't tell you about Emi because it wasn't my secret to tell. And because she nearly died, and I wasn't there. I couldn't protect her. And I still feel like shit for it."

His face flickered—guilt and shame crawling behind his eyes.

But you didn't stop.

"And you…" You inhaled sharply. "You're mad because of your reputation? Because people think you got cheated on? Is that what matters most to you?"

Kuroo's jaw clenched, but he didn't deny it. Didn't correct you.

"And you looked at me like that," you added, and your voice broke on the last word. "Like I was dirty."

You swallowed hard.

"And I feel dirty. I do. That fucker… he…" your breath hitched, the words came trembling, brittle. "All these punches—and for what? I couldn't even..."

Your eyes dropped to your hands like you resented them. Fists that had flown a hundred times in a hundred fights. That had drawn blood, broken noses.

All the fights. All that training with your dad.

Useless, when it mattered most.

You were the one who always hit first. Who protected everyone else.

But in the end—

You couldn't even protect yourself.

Kuroo's face collapsed. All the anger fell out of him in one breathless second. Guilt replacing it as it swept over him like a tidal wave.

Like he was only now, finally, realizing what those pictures actually meant. What had really happened.

And that he'd believed the camera instead of you.

You saw it hit him. Hard. His eyes widened slightly, like he was seeing it now—truly seeing it—for the first time.

Not the rumor. Not the picture.

You.

His girlfriend. The girl who was looking at her hands like they betrayed her.

"Y/N—" he rasped.

He reached for you, but when his fingers brushed your elbow you shoved it off, stepping back without looking at him.

"Don't." You pulled away. "It doesn't fucking matter anymore. It wasn't a big deal. I don't care."

"You do, though."

You glared at him, jaw tight. "You don't get to tell me how I feel."

"I'm not," Kuroo said, voice rough. "But I know very well what it looks like when you're trying not to feel."

You scoffed and turned away, arms crossed so tight they ached.

"And stop doing that too," he said sharply.

You blinked. "Doing what?"

"That," he snapped. "Pushing it down. Acting like it didn't fucking happen."

Your spine straightened.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

The silence that followed bristled with static.

He stepped closer again. Not enough to touch, but enough for you to feel the weight of him.

"You're doing that thing," he continued, voice low, gentler. "Where you take something that should destroy you and just... shove it into some box and pretend it didn't hurt."

His tone wasn't accusing anymore. It was something softer. Something scared.

"And maybe that's how you survive, I get it. But it's not the same as healing. And if you keep doing it one day it's gonna eat you alive. One day you'll snap, and no one—including you—will understand why."

You looked at him then. Really looked. And for a second, your guard slipped.

Just a crack.

"Then what the fuck do I do?!" You stared at him. Your breath was shaky. "I'm... I don't know how to talk about this shit! I'm so used to swallowing it I forget there's another fucking option!”

He blinked, startled by the admission.

"You cry! Stop locking it up like it doesn't deserve air! Just—fuck—scream if you have to! Just don't shut down like this..."

There was a moment of silence. You exhaled, shaky and slow.

"You know what? Worst part is you're acually right."

Kuroo's face softened. But you didn't let it stay that way.

"But don't think that means I forgive you," you added quickly. "Because I don't. Not yet."

He nodded slowly, voice low. "I don't expect you to."

You turned your face away, arms still crossed, chest still aching—but lighter somehow.

You didn't know how long you stood there, breathing hard in the silence between you two.

The words hung between you like smoke—raw, half-said, unsatisfying.

You could still feel the shape of his hands in the air where they'd almost held you. The anger hadn't gone. The hurt hadn't either.

But under it, something softer stirred. Not forgiveness—not yet.

But something closer to understanding. Or the ache of it.

"I should've told you earlier. As soon as it happened," you muttered. "I do bottle shit up. I always have."

Kuroo looked at you—eyes bloodshot, but steadier now.

"And I should've trusted you," he rasped.

A small, bitter smile tugged at your mouth. "Look at us. Actually communicating."

He huffed a weak breath, something between a scoff and a laugh.

"I think that whole conversation counts, honestly. It's not like we don't communicate we just... Need better methods I guess."

You let your gaze drift down the gravel path, blinking hard.

A sound broke the stillness—a sharp, broken whimper.

You both turned.

And then you saw her.

Emi was walking toward you, eyes dead, lips parted, her grip tight in Hebinuma's hair—fisted hard at the nape of her neck.

Her usually neatly styled, bleached hair was in disarray, her makeup smeared, and her eyes swollen. Blood ran fresh from a cut on her lower lip.

Her expression was hard as she shoved Hebinuma forward, letting go and making her stumble and fall to her knees in front of you.

"Speak! Tell 'em what you told me."

Hebinuma didn't look much better—her nose was swollen, her right eye barely open and already bruising. Her hair was a mess and nail marks raked down the sides of her face and down her neck.

She whimpered, shoulders hunched inward like she could fold herself out of sight. Her hands trembled. When she glanced up, it wasn't at you—it was at Kuroo. Like a cornered rat reaching for a predator's mercy.

"Kuroo-san..." she whimpered, barely audible.

"Speak up, bitch!" Emi screamed, her voice hoarse and shaking with unrestrained rage.

Hebinuma flinched, shrinking inward. But your eyes stayed locked on Emi.

Your best friend, your sweet Emi—who always hung back when fists flew—stood there, seething. You'd never seen her like this before. Blood on her mouth. Fury in her eyes. You'd always taken the hits for her. But now... now she was burning.

When it became clear Hebinuma wasn't going to speak, Emi scoffed, rolling her eyes like she'd stepped in something filthy.

"She did it. All of it," she said, voice clipped and shaking. "She convinced everyone to spread shit about you and Kuroo. She told Junpei to call you so she could take the pictures and spread even more bullshit. The guys are looking for him right now. That motherfucker must be hiding if he knows what's coming. They're gonna beat the shit out of him."

Her shoulders lifted, then sank with a trembling breath.

"I don't know if it'll help, but I made sure her little friends spread the word that it was all a lie."

"Emi..." You surged forward, cupping her face in both hands. She flinched in pain, and your stomach turned. Her skin was hot beneath your fingers, raw around the bruises.

"She landed a good one," Emi said, voice trembling, trying to joke. "Right on the cheek. Gotta give her that." She shot a venomous glance at Hebinuma. But when she looked back at you, something cracked. Her eyes were glossy, her voice small and soft like a kid waking from a nightmare.

"You think it'll bruise?"

"It better not—for her sake." You turned on Hebinuma, baring your teeth. "If you lay another finger on her, I'll fucking kill you. Got that?!"

Kuroo raised a hand like he meant to calm you—but his eyes were wide, locked on Hebinuma's battered face, flicking across it like he couldn't quite make sense of what he was seeing.

"I think Emi already did enough," he muttered.

You sneered, snapping your head toward him. You weren't done with him—not even close—but Emi's gentle hand on your shoulder grounded you, fingers curling just enough to keep you tethered.

"I started it," she said quietly. "I heard her admitting everything to her friends, so I just... yeah. And the fact she'd spread pictures of you getting fucking assaulted is just disgusting. What the fuck is wrong with her?"

Her voice wavered, the end trailing off.

"But I didn't do it just for you. I had to get her at some point, right? I couldn't keep leaning on you for protection... You spoiled me too much..."

"Idiot," you said, voice thick with anger and love. "You can lean on me whenever the hell you want. And fighting on school grounds means suspension. You know that."

"But… you're doing so good now." Her eyes flicked away, guilt bleeding into her bruised expression. "If you fought her, you'd go back to your old class, right? And you'd lose Kuroo too, because he would've thought you cheated, and that you and Junpei were really a thing…"

You glanced at Kuroo. His gaze had softened.

Guilt curled up his spine like a noose. His jaw clenched.

And then—

"Yo, Y/N! Here's the traitor!"

You looked up.

Kenkiba had Junpei by the collar, dragging him across the gravel like trash to be taken out. His face was bloody, lip split and cheek swelling, eyes blinking in and out of consciousness.

The rest of the gang trailed behind, their steps heavy and filled with intent.

Kenkiba's steps slowed when he saw Emi's face. His eyes widened in horror, and he surged forward.

You stepped aside without thinking, letting him rush to her side.

"Emi! Did Hebinuma do this to you?"

"You should see her face," Emi muttered with a weak chuckle. "But I think I twisted my ankle kicking her. It hurts, Kiba~"

He wrapped his arms around her as she sagged into him, the adrenaline finally fading from her limbs.

Behind them, Taiga grabbed Junpei by the scruff, making him stand up, and turned to Kuroo with a grimace.

"It's a lie, man. Y/N would never do you like that."

You waited.

For Kuroo to speak. To agree. Something.

But he'd gone still.

Too still.

His entire body went tight—shoulders locking, chest rising with slow, heavy breaths. His gaze zeroed in on Junpei like a sniper finding his mark.

And then, in a heartbeat, he moved.

Taiga barely had time to step aside before Kuroo's fist obliterated Junpei's jaw with a sickening crack. Junpei hit the ground like a sack of bones, blood spraying across the gravel.

Taiga and Inuzuka lunged, grabbing Kuroo by the arms, but he broke through—rage-fueled, vicious—just enough to land a savage kick to Junpei's ribs.

"IF YOU EVER FUCKING TOUCH HER AGAIN, I'LL KILL YOU!" Kuroo roared, his voice raw and shaking with fury.

He thrashed in the guy's grip, a storm given human shape. His face was twisted with a rage you'd never seen on him—feral, gut-deep, personal.

"YOU MOTHERFUCKER! TOUCH HER AGAIN, I FUCKING DARE YOU."

"Shit—volleyball nerd is strong, what the hell—" Taiga grunted, half in awe, half in alarm as he struggled to hold him back.

You stood motionless, frozen in place, trembling from the sheer heat of Kuroo's fury. He wasn't the composed, sarcastic genius you knew.

He was rage. Pure and unfiltered.

"Tetsurou-kun."

Inukai-sensei's voice cracked through the chaos like a gunshot.

Taiga flinched and muttered under his breath.

"Holy fuck."

He stepped from the shadows, arms crossed, expression grim.

"Tetsurou-kun, I think that's enough," he said calmly, though his voice carried the weight of command. "No one here wants to see you walk down that path."

He nodded to the boys, and reluctantly, they let Kuroo go.

But he didn't move.

He just stood there—trembling, fists still balled at his sides, sweat dripping from his brow, breathing like he'd just survived a war.

His eyes stayed wide and crazed, locked on Junpei who lay coughing on the ground, like if he looked away for even a second, the bastard would vanish before he could finish the job.

"I think it's safe to say we all have a clear picture of what happened here," Inukai-sensei continued, voice like velvet pulled taut over steel. "But as Y/N said, fighting on school grounds does mean a suspension. I'll take Hebinuma and Shiromaru to the infirmary. Then we'll go to the principal's office."

His gaze softened a shade as it landed on the two of you.

"You two need to talk."

Still, Kuroo didn't speak. Didn't blink.

Just stood there, fury and grief barely leashed under his skin, jaw clenched like he was trying not to break.

Inukai-sensei kneeled to ease a sobbing Hebinuma to her feet and walked off. The gang trailed after him, dragging Junpei's limp body with them.

And just like that—

You and Kuroo were alone again.

Next chapter↪ (coming soon)

tags. @themoreeviltwin @taylordenae @rhea-sylvea @iluvikeu @tgnvhp @adangerousbalance @orphicarchive @tammytaamm @iluvmusicxoxo @rvm1ne @kuzoq @espressocandies @ashley95943734 @jayathelostdragon @kyokoyya @crystal-lilac @kuzuven0208 @lblackwood @evilari111 @chaoticotaku @uekarashi @talia-the-gemini

[gomzdrawfr]

“I love you, Evangeline….hm hm hm hmm hmmmm hm hmmmmm”

The night was quiet and still, with a cold breeze and a rare moment where the black above them was filled with shinning stars, shimmering and aligning in dreamy patterns.

Raven sat on the roof, legs bent to her chest, head faced up, trailing the stars with her eyes. She was humming the tune that seemed to dance with the stars. John was lying beside her, both hands rested at the back of his head.

“That a real song, or something you made up?”

She didn’t stop humming right away. Only after a few more notes did she let the sound fade like smoke from a snuffed cigarette.

“Ma Belle Evangeline,” she said, “It’s from a cartoon. A firefly sings it.”

John narrowed his eyes at her, lifting a brow. “Bugs singing?”

She gave a small nod. “He’s in love with a star.” She said quietly, reminiscing the plot. “He thinks she’s his Evangeline, the most beautiful thing in the world.“ She looked up the sky, lingering on the two stars. “He sang like she listened, like she loved him too…and then he died…and became a second star next to her, like he had finally reach her.”

There was a pause, where only the wind was whispering, until John broke the silence again.

“Didn’t peg you for a romantic.”

Raven scoffed under her breath. “You mean you think I don’t have a heart, John…”

“No no, not what I said, birdie” he said with a half-smile, looking up the sky, trying to see the stars she was fixated on.

“Just didn’t expect you to be sentimental over cartoon bugs.”

She didn’t replied him right away, still honed in on that one bright star that had reminded her of the scene. And the second one beside it, dim, just barely shimmering. It could have been her imagination, the second star might just be an illusion. But still, she hope her eyes were right.

It was a blessing, was it not? To look up to the abyss, to the specks of light from thousands and hundreds of years ago, so far and beyond reach, yet they were seen, appreciated and admired.

It made her think of the strange way certain things rooted themselves in her heart. Not with how things usually are, not by force or not by pain and loss. No these things are quiet, sneaky bastard, light and stupid. Like starlight filtering through cracks in a wall you didn’t know had openings.

There were many things who stayed in her heart, some she never knew was there until she missed it. Favorite dumplings from the stall tucked in a sketchy alley way, the filling and skin was the best, it was soft and warmed up her heart and belly that no other food could do. That sometimes, a single bite would remind her that life was worth living. Her blades who had stayed longer than most of her relationships, extensions of herself, the metal are imbued with memories and experiences, honed with purpose and grace. They are her comfort in the dead of light, offered as a medium to perform repetitive, mindless acts of polishing, to drown her thoughts into nothingless, to not think with her all too loud of a mind.

And then there was him.

The man beside her, with that gravel voice and the questionable beard. Part of her thought unlike the rest of things that were a sentiment, John might have wrestled his way into her heart, cause he has that tendency. The uncanny ability to squeeze his way into another’s life like a nosy dog, leaving muddy paw prints along the way, nuzzling its snout on your soft spot and unconsciously made your arms open. The same dog who, once given a treat and trust, would stay by your side stubbornly, who would growl and grumbled and bark simply because he had decided, you are the one.

It was strange, she thought. The things that made a home inside you, without asking permission. They slipped through like constellations hidden in plain sight, if you didn’t look, they’re just another ordinary thing in the sky, the nature of things, but they are brilliant once you do.

She wondered if the firefly knew what he was doing when he sang. If he really believed he could reach the star just by loving it.

Bit too much optimism if you asked her, but maybe blind love and hope is the better choice in other circumstances.

She pat the doggy who nosed her neck.

“Guess I am a softie at heart after all, John.”

John chuckled lowly, amused yet fond of her answer, leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead.

Somewhere above them, two stars shine brightly still, as if they were once fireflies.

[gothcowgrrl]

𝑫𝑬𝑿𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑫𝑹

DR. VIENNA BARDOT. 〝 the profiler. 〞

Vienna Bardot is the youngest member of Miami Metro’s Homicide division — something that isn’t immediately obvious, given her composed, almost clinical demeanor. At just 25, she holds dual credentials as a forensic psychologist and behavioral profiler, her intellect far outpacing her years. Though officially brought in to consult on complex homicides, Vienna has quickly become a quiet fixture in the department, hovering at the edges of crime scenes with a notepad and unreadable expression.

She doesn’t talk much — just enough to make her presence known. It’s not shyness. It’s calculation. Observation. She listens more than she speaks.

But Vienna changes when she’s in front of a suspect.

Where most shrink under fluorescent lights and police pressure, she comes alive. Her quiet exterior sharpens into something surgical. She speaks with chilling clarity, dissecting a criminal’s mind like it’s a textbook, her voice calm, even gentle — but every word hits like a scalpel. She knows exactly where to poke, exactly how to make someone unravel.

To most of the team, she’s a bit of an enigma: brilliant, polite, and a little unsettling. But to Dexter, Vienna feels… familiar. She doesn’t laugh at the dark humor in the office, she doesn’t flinch at blood, and she navigates human interaction like it’s a second language. She’s not hiding a dark urge — but she is hiding something. Perhaps not a secret, but a truth: she sees the world differently.

In another life, she might have been Dexter’s reflection. Instead, she’s becoming the one person he can’t quite figure out — and maybe the only one who could ever come close to figuring him out.

DET. JEFFREY D. MORGAN. 〝 the detective. 〞

Jeffrey Dean Morgan has been with Miami Metro for over a decade. He joined young — twenty-four, sharp, determined, and a little reckless. Now at 38, he’s seasoned but not jaded, respected without being intimidating. He’s the kind of detective who’s easy to work with and hard to rattle, known for keeping his cool even when the case doesn’t.

People like him. He’s personable, approachable — charming, if you ask around. Not the kind of guy who needs to talk over everyone to be heard. He knows when to crack a joke and when to shut up and work. He gets results, and more importantly, he does the job right. No shortcuts. No ego.

He first noticed Dr. Vienna Bardot not because she stood out — but because she didn’t. Quiet, precise, always thinking. She reminded him of someone who’d walked into a room already tired of it. Young, but sharp. Reserved, but not insecure. She didn’t try to impress anyone, and that alone caught his attention.

They work well together — despite the contrast in style. He breaks the ice; she reads the room. He asks the questions; she watches the answers unfold. There’s a rhythm there, even if neither of them says it out loud.

He’s aware of the gap between them. In age. In experience. In how they move through the world. But he doesn’t make it a thing. He treats her like a colleague — one he trusts, one he listens to. Everything else… it’s just under the surface. And he’s in no rush to name it.

Because with Vienna, it’s not about grand gestures or clear lines. It’s about patience. Time. Trust.

And that, he understands better than most.

a dr where i allow myself not to mask at all? giggles n kicks feet! i’ve always loved dexter because, although i don’t think it’s confirmed, it has some real good autistic representation (for me anyways). also, yes jdm is my s/o ONCE AGAIN… i can’t get over this man.

[formulafanfics13]

I love your writing so much , can I ask if you could write down one where Lewis is intrigued by a virgin (the reader) even though she was old enough, just write the dynamics and how she just gave it all for Lewis. Was wondering the before and after it happened & during. Something like like the line from fifty shades ( where have you been all my life .. kind of line )

Where Have You Been All My Life? - LH44 🔥

Masterlist

Summary: You tell Lewis the night before that you’re a virgin — not from fear, but by choice. He treats the revelation with reverence, not pressure, holding you close through the night. The next morning, with tenderness and care, he makes love to you for the first time. It’s slow, emotional, intimate — full of whispered praise, deep trust, and soft worship. What begins as physical becomes sacred.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, first time sex (virginity loss), oral sex (fem receiving), praise kink, intense emotional intimacy, soft dom energy, worshipful tone, gentle language, aftercare, deep vulnerability, handholding-level emotional weight. Contains themes of trust, safety, and the emotional gravity of a first sexual experience.

You told him the night before. Not nervously. Not shyly. Just… truthfully.

One leg tucked under you in his hotel suite, glass of red wine balanced in one hand, the lights low and soft across your skin. You’d been talking about everything and nothing, feet brushing under the couch cushions, laughing like it wasn’t midnight in Monaco. 

And then he asked, soft and curious, with that velvet voice, “You’ve never?”

You shook your head. “No. Not yet.”

He blinked. “By choice?”

You nodded. “I never wanted it to be a throwaway thing. I wanted it to mean something. And most of the guys who’ve wanted to fuck me didn’t… deserve it.”

Lewis smiled. Not a smirk. Not a leer. Just a slow, private kind of awe. “Fucking hell,” he whispered. “That’s beautiful.”

And that was it. He didn’t push. Didn’t pry. Just offered you another glass of wine and changed the subject. But the look in his eyes stayed. Hot. Focused. Reverent.

Like you’d handed him the rarest thing in the world, and he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

You slept in his bed that night. Fully clothed. No pressure. His arm around your waist. His hand tucked under your shirt, just resting there, palm over your ribs. You felt him hard once or twice during the night, shifting behind you, breath heavier, but he didn’t move. Didn’t take. He just held you.

The next morning was quiet.

Breakfast on the balcony. Coffee and croissants. He was wearing his chain and nothing else. You wore his t-shirt, oversized and soft. The world felt still. Like the day was holding its breath. He reached over at one point and ran a thumb across your lower lip. 

Then asked, so gently it nearly broke you, “Would you let me have you?”

You didn’t hesitate. You nodded. And the world tilted.

It started with your shirt. He lifted it off like he was unwrapping something sacred, hands slow, gaze steady. Your skin prickled under the weight of it, not just the touch, but the intention.

Lewis saw everything. Your nerves. Your breathlessness. The way you tried to stay calm. And he worshipped you for it.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured. “Letting me see you like this.”

You blushed. “I don’t really know what to do-”

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said, tilting your chin. “Just let me take care of you.”

Then he kissed you. Soft at first. Gentle. Then deeper. Like he was trying to find the part of you no one else had ever touched.

You whimpered. He groaned.

His hands were everywhere but nowhere, never rushing, never forcing. He cupped your breasts. Dragged his palm down your stomach. Dipped between your thighs without slipping under.

“Can I?” he asked.

You nodded, breathless. 

He slid your panties off and spread your legs. You expected him to finger you. Maybe eat you out. But instead... He looked. Just looked. Eyes wide, dark, reverent.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “So pretty. So fucking untouched.”

You whimpered. “Lewis-”

He leaned down, kissed your thigh. “I’m gonna go slow,” he murmured. “You’ll tell me if anything feels off, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Colour?”

“Green.”

He smiled. And then he devoured you.

You’d never been eaten out before. You’d fantasised. Touched yourself. Watched porn. But nothing, nothing, prepared you for what Lewis Hamilton did with his mouth.

His tongue was magic. Circling your clit, flicking, flattening. One hand gripping your thigh, the other spreading you open, groaning into you like he needed the taste to breathe.

He whispered things too, against your skin, into your heat.

“Fuck, that’s perfect.”

“You’re gonna come for me, baby.”

“Been saving this for me, haven’t you?”

You came harder than you thought possible. Full-body. Back-arching. Hands clawing at the sheets.

He didn’t stop until you were trembling, crying out, hips jerking helplessly. And when he finally pulled back, mouth shiny, eyes wild? He smiled like a man reborn. “Taste of heaven,” he rasped.

You laughed through your haze. “You’re insane.”

He kissed your thigh. “For you? Always.”

When he finally hovered over you, cock in his hand, you saw him hesitate. Just for a second. Because he knew what it meant. He knew this wasn’t just sex. It was trust. It was choice. It was you, handing yourself over completely.

“Last chance to run,” he whispered.

“Take me,” you said.

And he did.

The stretch burned. Not horribly. Just… deep. New. He groaned low in his throat when he slid in — inch by inch, careful, steady. “Jesus Christ,” he hissed. “So fucking tight. Like silk.”

You whimpered. Clutched his back.

He froze. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just-full.”

He kissed your jaw. “You’re doing so good.”

He stayed still for a bit. Letting you adjust. Kissing your neck, your shoulder, your lips. Whispering praises you’d never forget. 

“Taking me so well.”

“Made for me.”

“No one else’ll ever touch you like this.”

You moaned. “Please move.”

So he did. Slow thrusts. Careful at first. Then deeper. Stronger.

Your body adapted quickly, stretching, clenching, needing. And when he picked up pace, your mouth fell open in a gasp.

“Lewis-oh my God-”

“That’s it,” he panted. “Let me hear it.”

You came again without warning, this time around him. Wet. Intense. Your nails raked down his back and he fucked you through it. He came a moment later, deep inside you, head buried in your neck, body shuddering. “Where the fuck have you been all my life?” he whispered.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

After, he cleaned you up like you were made of gold. Warm towel. Gentle hands. Soft kisses. Then he pulled you onto his chest and held you there.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded. “Better than okay.”

He smiled. “Still want me?”

You laughed. “More than ever.”

“Good,” he said, eyes heavy. “Because I’m never letting you go.”

That night, in his arms, you slept like you’d never slept before. And when morning came? You weren’t a different person. You were still you. Still whole. Still soft. Still powerful.

But you were loved. Fully. Deeply. Honestly.

And that? That was worth the wait.

[paperbacksinner]

Joe and incredibly shy reader?

- Joe notices you instantly—not because you're loud, but because you aren’t. You move quietly, speak softly, and keep your head down, and somehow that only makes you more magnetic to him.

- You’re the kind of person who apologizes when someone bumps into you. And Joe hates how the world treats you like you're invisible. He makes it his personal mission to make sure you’re seen.

- He memorizes every little thing about you—your routines, your nervous fidgeting, the way you always carry a book even if you’re too shy to read it in public.

- If he compliments you and you get flustered? Oh, he lives for that. The way your eyes drop, the way your voice gets quieter, the little smile you try to hide behind your hand—it makes his heart ache.

- He doesn’t rush you into conversations. He speaks softly when you do. He matches your energy until you feel safe.

- If someone interrupts you or talks over you, Joe cuts them off immediately. In the most polite but terrifyingly pointed way. Like:

“She wasn’t finished speaking.”

- When you whisper something to him, he always leans in just a little and listens like it’s the most important thing he’s ever heard.

“Can you say that again? I just love your voice.”

- You’re terrified to initiate physical affection—so Joe lets you lead. But when you do reach for him (even just to hold his sleeve)? He melts. Fully.

- He’s gentle with you in public but possessive in subtle ways—always standing a little too close, brushing his fingers against yours, helping you put on your jacket.

- If someone flirts with you and makes you uncomfortable, Joe will ruin them with a single sentence.

“Did she say you could talk to her?”

- He encourages your passions in the background—leaving you quiet notes that say things like “I hope you write more. I think the world needs your words.”

- At home, he’s your safe space. He doesn’t demand your attention, he earns it. If you're having a shut-down, overstimulated moment, he quietly brings you tea and lays beside you until you’re ready to speak again.

- He adores how your voice only gets confident when you're talking about something you love. That’s when he just sits back and watches, in awe, like you're made of something rare.

- If you ever tell him “I don’t think I’m interesting enough for you”, Joe looks genuinely pained.

“Are you kidding? I’d follow you through silence and shadows just to hear one more sentence.”

- And when he finally, finally earns your trust enough for you to climb into his lap, cheeks pink, arms around his neck, whispering “can I stay like this?”—he holds you like a prayer.

[lackablazeical]

It would be fun to see the fusion AU mixing different brothers, Kenichi and Raph, Ichida and Leo, Chizu and Mikey, Donnie with Usagi, etc etc etc, it’s interesting to think abt what fusions would be most stable depending on who they’re fused with.. such a fun concept to me!! I personally think the original Chizu & Raph, or really any Raph or Chizu fusion, would be the most stable ones, but in regards to the other brothers I feel like Leo and Kenichi, Mikey and Ichida, and Donnie and Usagi would be the most stable solutions for them all.. but they’re also probably gonna have issues too

Ok so this is gonna be a long post deal with it OK SO

Raph Fusions -

Rizu - The most stable of any rabbit/turtle fusion, Rizu is the ultimate big sister. She is protective and nurturing, always there to give hugs and support. Though she's not someone you want to cross, he can still very easily rip you in half.

Rashi - Rashi is THE himbo jock, combining Ishida's energy with Raph's strength. A bit cocky but motivational and friendly, the fusion often only gets destabilized when Ishida wants to persevere whereas Raph wants a nap.

Rasagi - A bit of an agorophobe, Rasagi keeps to Rasagi. Rasagi can most often be found hiding in dark areas or at the bottoms of swimming pools to enjoy some quiet time. Rasagi is very stable though! Unless Rasagi is being perceived.

Raphchi - Raphchi is... a tough case. Both components are stubborn, so they're like talking to a wall. Competitive and a massive stickler for rules, it's suggested to NEVER have a board game night with this guy. But it will always speak its mind and defend its loved ones. Also, it's a natural at sumo wrestling.

Leo Fusions -

Lhizu - Lhizu is a loving (smothering) girl who just wants to show everyone how much she cares. Can most often be found sewing with spider silk or sharpening one of her many knives. Becomes unstable when matters of healing come up.

Leish - What do you get when you cross a hidden city bachelor with a delusional stalker? Leish!! Leish is a smarmy and shallow guy, always quick to move on to the next person who has caught his attention. He is always ready to belittle anyone who isn't interested in him or to show off. Becomes unstable around potential partners.

Leosagi - Egotistical through and through. Barely looks away from anything that is reflective, and if he does, it probably means someone is going to die. Always preening and praising itself, Leosagi is often in their own little world. While extremely unstable (uncoordinated movements/speech, extreme mood swings, etc), they will stay fused unless forced apart by a third party.

Leechi - The WORST theater kid ever. Leechi (or 'leech') is an obsessive girl. Always having a person of interest to obsess after and follow around, with the goal of mimicking them perfectly. They copy routines, habits, any of it, often leading to situations like them acting out someone's breakfast routine at 2 am. Hides second face to seem more normal to potential crushes.

Donnie Fusions -

Dozu - Snakelike and unstable, Dozu is a rough one. With science and religion at war inside them, Dozu is often spastic and confused. She often enjoys dissecting things and then regretting it, wherein she tries to put them back together (usually with a few mismatched parts.) They are very unstable especially in lab/social settings.

Donnida - A friendly and chipper guy hiding away an evil scientist. Chatty to the max, Donnida has a natural talent for lowering people's guards or convincing them of things. Most often he uses these trusting people in experiments. Evil is extremely proud of evils collection of specimens gathered.

Donsagi - A total agorophobe, it is rare this fusion ever leaves the dark room they hide away in. They prefer pondering philosophy or playing VR to the real world. They create drones to do things like interact with others or gather 'necessities' like food and water (and the important USB cables).

Kennie - A brilliant mind! Kennie loves to learn and create, especially things like mechanics, architecture, astronomy, and history. Dey are always knee deep in projects, always busy and planning, but that's the fun part! The fusion tends to destabilize over deir burnout though. Ken and Don do not agree what self care means

Mikey Fusions -

All of these fusions will have excess mystic Magic from Mikey btw

Mikzu - A witchy gal!!! A lover of all things Halloween and spooky. When not eating candy apples or sewing on new parts, she's typically turning someone into a frog. A total manic pixie dream girl icon. Her lilypad hat holds liquid mystic energy, which often spills out during her antics and leaves chaos in her wake.

Mishida - The adrenaline junkie of the century. Only knows how to do, not think. Scales buildings or jumps down obscured pits just for fun, and always comes back with a trophy of victory and another ego boost. Most often found dancing. Stability typically lowers if Ishida and Mikey have conflicting priorities. Also he may tend to be a bit shocking to others lmao

Mikesagi - a walking train wreck. Clumsy, ditzy, and scared, it's a wonder they manage to stay together at all. Most commonly found tripping over their own feet or talking to himself. Highly unstable, so much so that it's hard to get info on them! Their belt is how Mikey's mystic energy vents out. The hands aren't super nice tho, usually just throwing things or flailing

Michi - a chill, laid-back guy. Sort of a stoner cousin vibe, Michi is just here for a good time. Always willing to hang, even if it's just to be lazy or to commit some type of felony. A foux-intellectual, just says buzzwords that make it sound smarter than they are. Smells faintly of incense at all times. Destabilizes around Leo or Usagi.

[samsswife]

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 (𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝)

18. “i’ve never done this before.”

19. “breathe, i’ve got you.”

warning: suggestive sexual content (no sex is written, just kissing.)

—————————————————————————

growing up you were very religious. i’m talking the whole show, church on a sunday, camp every summer, prayer group wednesday’s and thursday’s. instead of reading you ‘little red riding hood’ as a bedtime story, your dad would read you the bible. he said it was because “the lord shall guide you even in dreams, his words should be the last and first thing you hear when you wake.”

what a load of bullshit.

you were terrified to repent against god and his ways, petrified to commit a sin incase it won you a one way ticket to hell. that’s why you were 26 and still a virgin.

it’s not like you hadn’t had the opportunity to, it’s been presented to you by multiple men over the years. but as your mother said… “praying it the only way you’ll be getting on your knees, miss.” you were 6 when she began telling you that. six.

and everytime the opportunity came to you, you’d go to church and pray- plead and beg for forgiveness and mercy from your lord and saviour. the amount of times you bleached the shear thought of sin from you was enough to drive anyone insane.

and honestly it had drove you insane.

but when you met sam?

when you realised demons, angels- the whole thing was real? it seemed to change your perspective abit. if god was real, and he was an all mighty… then why the fuck was it a sin to live? why was ‘being a saint in the lords eyes’ so soul crushing?

sam opened a new world up for you of drinking, r rated movies, and most of all? love. your parents forbade you to every date a man, the man you dated was the man you married. you heard those words ring in your head constantly. but sam stopped it. sam calmed it.

but there was one thing he hadn’t showed you yet.

lust.

it was late at night, you two were tangled in the sheets. innocently kissing and giggling when he tickled you. but the moment got heavier, the kissing lingering for longer and becoming harder to pull away from.

it was happening. the thing that you’d believed all your life you’d have been sent to hell for, it was happening. you knew it. you could tell in the way sam’s eyes had darkened.

he was hovering over you, a leg between yours with one hand on your face and the other gently running down your body. after a moment he pulled away, looking down at you.

“god you’re so beautiful…”

you smiled, but it faded a little.

“…sam?” you spoke sheepishly, sam knew you were a virgin. but it was embarrassing to say out loud.

“yeah honey?” he replied in that soft tone that made your heart flutter.

you hesitated. your eyes searching his.

“i’ve never done this before…”

he nodded, gently moving a strand of hair from your face.

“i know…”

you rubbed your lips together gently, a mix of your own and his saliva on them. he then leaned down and continued kissing you, it was gentle and soft yet you could feel the intensity of how much he craved you. it made your breathing heavy, a unfamiliar warmth pool below.

he pulled away once he heard your breath pick up.

“hey..” he said a little breathless. “breathe, i’ve got you.”

you trusted him with your life, with your soul.. your body. you nodded and let him do the work, the way he so gently took your clothes from you. the way he’d kiss your neck, catching the chain of your cross necklace in it… it felt sinful. blasphemy even.

it felt amazing.

he took care of you that night, despite how much he was making you scream his name and making your eyes roll into your skull.

he took care of you.

he took care of his sweet girl.

prompt challenge here