#WHY IS HE TRYING TO TAKE OVER THE WORLD IN THE SECOND ONE

[incorrect-green-lantern-quotes]

Taking the context of Parallax out of the story is why I think Tower of Babel is near impossible to adapt as a standalone story without losing key aspects of Batman's characterization.

Case in point: Justice League: Doom. It's supposed to be an adaptation of Tower of Babel, and it does get the broad strokes of the story right insofar as that the villain is trying to take over the world and adapts Batman's contingency plans to take out the Justice League. But that's really about as close as it gets. I'm not going to go over all the differences between the movie and comic, just the ones that I think are most crucial.

Firstly, the Green Lantern in Justice League: Doom is Hal Jordan, as opposed to Kyle Rayner in Tower of Babel. This isn't the only character change (Barry is the Flash, and both Aquaman and Plastic Man are switched for Cyborg), but it's the most significant because Hal Jordan isn't a ghost haunting the narrative. He's just another superhero, with no indication that he was ever Parallax. Ironically, this actually makes Batman's actions even worse, since there's less justification for his paranoia

Second, a lot of the contingency plans in the movie are significantly tamer than those in the comics. In the movie, Superman is shot with a Kryptonite bullet, Flash gets a bomb planted in his wrist, and Green Lantern takes a huge dose of fear gas.

In the comic, Clark's cells are overloaded by Red Kryptonite that Batman specifically created. Wally is shot in the neck with a vibrating bullet, causing him to suffer epileptic seizures at light speed. Kyle gets blinded by a hypnotic suggestion, which is especially horrifying because the comic shows that Batman got the idea from Kyle talking about how important his sight was to him as an artist.

Both the comic and movie indicate that Batman made his contingencies to be nonlethal, but the former really pulls no punches with just how cruel the plans were to their victims.

Third, the movie tries to end on a more positive note by having Batman quit before the League has to vote on whether he is allowed to remain, and Superman goes after him to talk. That's where we get this scene, where Bruce tells Clark that his contingency plan for himself is the Justice League, implying that he does have some measure of trust in them.

The original comic does not have this scene. It does not have any version of it, and Superman is actually the tiebreaker vote to kick Batman out of the League, though Bruce is already gone by then because he knew Clark would never allow him to stay after violating everyone's trust so badly.

In fact, the trade paperback of Tower of Babel shows that Batman's actions have consequences far beyond the Justice League. Both the Titans and Young Justice are suspicious of Nightwing and Robin because of their association with Batman, and the Justice League are reluctant to call upon Oracle for any information.

The original version of events makes it clear. Batman's contingency plans were not a good thing. They were rooted in paranoia, and his secrecy was costly for everyone.

Justice League: Doom is fun to watch, but it's also limited by the nature of being a standalone movie. It loses the context of Batman being driven by fear to make plans to hurt his friends while keeping, and the difficult process of regaining trust afterward.

which makes it all the more ironic when batstans point to the contingencies as "proof" that Batman is the only sane and rational man on the Justice League and could take them out if he wanted to. like, way to miss the point guys

The real tragedy of the whole “Batman contingency plans” thing escaping containment into the wider cultural zeitgeist is that it’s become completely divorced from the original context of, you know, the Tower of Babel story-line happening after a beloved member of the Justice League did in fact go mad, become all-powerful, and destroy all of reality.

Which is devastating because it loses so much when you take Hal Jordan out of it! In both adaptations and fan discussions!

Despite only being mentioned by name once in the story, Hal haunts the whole narrative in how unspoken he is. The whole theme of the story is the failure to communicate and how it destroys trust, and an essential part of that is how the whole League won't (and can't) talk about Hal.

When Kyle finally tries to bring him up, Wally shoots him down. He is the forbidden topic at the heart of the League's breakdown of trust!

When the contingency plans plot is removed from the context of Hal's fall from grace, isn't proceeded by a JLA founding member doing what was supposed to be unthinkable, Bruce's actions lose their emotional core. It becomes just "Batman is the coolest and smartest and also a huge untrusting asshole" instead of "Bruce was already on the knife-edge of crippling paranoia regarding his powerful allies, and then one of those same allies started slaughtering people and he couldn't do a thing to stop it, confirming all his worst fears and sending him right over the edge"

You take Bruce's feelings of very personal betrayal out of the equation. He's not operating on just hypotheticals, but fears that were heartrendingly justified!

Bruce claims the reason for his plans on some past mind-control incident, but Clark calls Bruce out on it being an excuse.

Maybe that's how it started, but there's a reason the fail-safes aren't against mind-control and possession. The fail-safes are ways to permanently stop your friends should they willingly or unwillingly become a threat.

And they both know it. They've argued about Hal several times before.

Bruce has a lot of unresolved feelings about Hal. He's still hurting.

The contingency plans are not some cold, clinical necessity. They are the product of pain.

I think all readings and tellings of the Tower of Babel should be followed by the JLA/Spectre story.

It provides the necessary emotional conclusion to the unspoken conflict! Because they finally have to talk about it! They heal the broken trust! Bruce admits how much Hal's betrayal hurt him and his faith in heroes, and gets past it! Instead of letting a former and potential future threat be eliminated as his fail-safes say he should, he invites the threat back, even if he can't guarantee it won't happen again, because he chooses to believe in his friend!

The contingency plans are a cool and interesting concept, but again, you can't just...take Hal out of it. You can't make it about some evil alternate versions, or about Clark. By doing that, you lose the most heartbreaking part of the story. Batman isn't in the right or the wrong, but he's not heartless. He's brokenhearted.

[mssishipi]

THE PURGE SERIES #1: Kiss Me - enhypen! jay PAIRING:purger reader x privileged jay

SYNOPSIS: You hate the Purge. You hate the monster they create, the cruelty, and the way it's broken you down year after year. You hate the rich most of all—the people who don't have to fight to survive. People like Park Jongseong. And now, somehow, he's sitting next to you. The boy who's always smiling, always comfortable, as if the world hasn't burned down around him. The boy who lives in safety, behind barricades his father's company builds, while you've spent years starving, hiding, and praying. Jongseong keeps smiling at you, oblivious to the weight of your hatred. He doesn't care about you, not really. To him, life is simple. And maybe that's why you can't stand him. Because while he laughs, you're trying to figure out how to make sure people like him never smile again.

warning: contains dark sensitive topics, mentions of murder, sexual assault, violence, and ptsd behavior, different perspectives of the purge, one sided hatred, reader is kinda difficult to handle but it's a trauma response, messy ending, jay is a supportive boyfie (in a good and bad ways), reader is unhinged, explicit content (3 diff scenes smut), fingering, nipple play, pussy eating, unprotected sex, doggy style, purge fucking, MDNI, reader discretion is advised

WC: 21.8K

You hate March 21. God, how you loathe it—the day that strips away any pretense of humanity.

It always starts the same way: the wailing sirens, cold and mechanical, ripping through the air.

Not even sixty seconds pass after the announcement before the streets erupt. Gunshots. Screams. The unmistakable, animalistic sounds of survival. The world falls apart faster than you can blink, faster than you can even take a breath. And every year, you sit in that darkness, trembling, hating.

You hate how they made this—how society carved out one single night to let its ugliest urges spill over.

You hate the twisted smiles on people's faces, the gleeful violence, the merciless slaughter. You hate everything about it.

You hate how weak you are. How poor you are. How your "barricade" is nothing but a creaky door and a pile of junk you've pushed in front of it. Heavy chairs, the couch, a dresser you could barely move—what is that supposed to do against the monsters outside?

They'll break through it in minutes, seconds even, if they choose you this year.

And there's nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

So you crawl inside the closet, knees tucked into your chest, hands pressing hard over your ears as the chaos outside creeps closer and closer. You rock back and forth, whispering to yourself, "Just twelve hours. You just have to survive twelve hours."

You hate how your morals hold you hostage.

You're too much of a coward, aren't you? Or maybe you're too human, too stupidly tied to the idea of right and wrong.

Either way, you've sentenced yourself to this endless nightmare.

You hate how they have no mercy. How people don't even hesitate.

The second those sirens stop, the masks go on, the knives come out, and the laughter—the laughter—starts echoing down the streets like some kind of hellish symphony.

You hate the way your mind races, picturing your own end over and over again. Would it be quick? A bullet to the head? Or would it be slow? Something worse?

You hate how poor you are. How people like you—people who can't afford high-tech barricades, bulletproof shelters, or private security.

You're the bottom rung of society, the lambs to the slaughter. And that's exactly how they see you. Nothing more than sport for the rich.

You've been their prey before—dragged into one of their "games." Their sick, twisted hunting expeditions where they wear masks and hunt you down like animals, laughing all the while.

Somehow, you survived that night. Somehow, you ran fast enough, hid well enough. But you didn't leave unscathed.

No, you left something behind that night: your sanity.

You can still feel their eyes on you, their jeers echoing in your ears, their mocking laughter as they cornered you over and over, just to let you escape so the game could continue.

You see their faces—those masks—every time you close your eyes.

And no matter where you go, it's always the same.

You transfer to a new town, a new neighborhood, hoping to disappear, but you always end up right back here.

They smile too wide, your neighbors. They're too friendly. Too eager to see you. And every time they stare at you, every time their grins linger a little too long, you feel the bile rise in your throat.

You hate everything about the Purge.

You hate the people who participate in it, the government that allows it, the sick, twisted minds that relish in it.

You hate the monsters you've seen outside, but you hate the monster you're becoming even more.

Because every year, it gets harder. Harder to keep your sanity intact. Harder to resist. Harder to keep your morals from shattering under the weight of it all. And every year, the hatred inside you grows like a poison, rotting you from the inside out.

You hate how you're always waiting. Waiting for another March 21.

Waiting for the next time you'll have to endure this torment. Waiting for the day you finally snap, when you stop running, when you stop hiding, and when you start fighting back.

You hate the waiting more than anything because you know that day is coming. You know it's only a matter of time before something inside you finally breaks.

And when it does, you'll hunt them down. Every last one of them. The rich who preyed on you. The neighbors who smiled too wide while undressing you. The government officials who allowed this nightmare to persist.

You hate March 21.

But more than that, you hate how much you're starting to look forward to it.

"I see you survived the Purge," you muttered, your eyes narrowing as they landed on the group of seven boys in the hallway.

They were laughing softly, their voices laced with relief as they exchanged hugs and pats on the back.

"Thank God," one of them said, gripping the others in a tight embrace, his shoulders sagging like he'd been holding his breath for the last twelve hours.

"I already told you guys," another voice chimed in—smooth, Park Jongseong. Of course.

"Next year, you should all come to our house. Our lockdown is solid. Our barricades are strong enough to keep anyone out. You'll be safe there, trust me."

You scoffed, the sound low and bitter, but loud enough to be heard if anyone was paying attention. Of course, they weren't. They never noticed you. Not people like them.

Park Jongseong— the golden boy. His father owned one of the biggest barricade companies in the country, making a fortune off other people's desperation and fear.

He didn't just survive the Purge; he thrived in it. His family's state-of-the-art lockdown system probably made their house into a fortress.

And now here he was, standing in the middle of the school hallway, flashing that perfect smile and talking about how his family had been "safe and sound" while people like you hid under a bed, praying not to die.

You bit the inside of your cheek, tasting blood, and turned away. Of course Jongseong had survived. People like him always did.

You were miserable. Miserable every single day for the past seven years since the Purge began.

Seven years since the night your parents were taken from you on that first Purge.

Seven years of surviving on your own, scrabbling through life like a rat in a never-ending maze.

An irregular college student balancing four jobs just to afford rent, tuition, and scraps of food that barely kept you standing.

And some nights, when you're too tired to even close your eyes, the same thought creeps in, like a whisper you can't shut out.

Why can't you just die already?

Was this what God wanted for you? Was your suffering some part of His great plan? If it was, you hated Him for it. You hated everything—for putting you here, for making you live like this, for keeping you alive while everyone else you cared about was gone.

Then came August. Seven months before the next Purge, You took your entire month's pay—every single cent you'd earned and bought a handgun from a retired Russian police man who didn't ask questions.

You didn't eat for weeks after that, barely managing to survive on water and scraps you could steal from work.

Hunger clawed at your stomach, but you didn't care. Every second of discomfort was worth it as you cradled the gun in your hands at night, running your fingers over the cold steel.

At college, exhaustion weighed on you like a heavy coat. Your mind was foggy, your body barely cooperating as you tried to focus in class. You were too tired to care about anything anymore. That's why, when you heard the voice, you didn't even look up at first.

"Hey, are you Y/N?"

You blinked, sluggishly dragging your tired eyes up to meet the man.

Park Jongseong. He was standing there, his usual easy smile on his face, holding a lab manual in one hand.

Your brows furrowed as he sat down next to you like it was the most natural thing in the world. You raised an eyebrow at him, watching in silent disbelief as he got comfortable.

"We're partners in laboratory," he announced with that same friendly grin, his tone light and conversational.

You stared at him, your eyebrow twitching slightly. Of course, we are. Just my fucking luck.

You hated him. You hated everything about him.

You hated how he could walk into a room and light it up, how he always smiled like life was some perfect little gift wrapped up in a bow.

You hated how easy everything seemed for him, how he floated through life without ever seeming to care about the world around him.

Jongseong keeps smiling at you, oblivious to the weight of your hatred. He doesn't care about you, not really. To him, life is simple. And maybe that's why you can't stand him.

Because while he laughs, you're trying to figure out how to make sure people like him never smile again.

"I'm Park Jongseong," he says brightly, "You can call me Jay, if you don't know me."

You stare at him with your tired eyes, barely masking your irritation. His enthusiasm is exhausting, like a candle burning too brightly, too close to your already frayed nerves.

But he doesn't seem to notice. Of course, he doesn't. He keeps talking.

"I'm planning to start our experimental research maybe in like three days? I don't really like cramming," Jay continues, flashing you another one of his easy smiles.

"Are you available on Saturday?" he asks, finally looking at you. "Do you want to do it at my place or yours?"

His smile falters for the first time when you just stare at him, bored and uninterested, like he's wasting your time—which he is.

He must be so used to people hanging on his every word, eating up his charm. You, on the other hand, are trying to figure out how long you have to tolerate him before he leaves.

"I have a morning shift at the ice cream shop. Probably the afternoon, but I'll leave at 7 PM," you reply flatly, spinning your pen lazily between your fingers. You're not trying to be rude.

You're just tired—tired of him, tired of everything. "Then I have another shift at the restaurant."

Jay nods, and for a moment, you think he's about to say something stupid, like you work too hard or you should take it easy. But he doesn't. Instead, he watches you for a second too long before his smile returns, a little dimmer than before.

"And your place," you add, cutting off whatever he was going to say. The idea of being in his house, surrounded by whatever rich-boy luxuries he has, makes your stomach churn.

Jay blinks, then nods again. "Alright, my place it is," he says, his tone softer, as if he's trying to figure you out.

You hate it—hate the way his gaze lingers on you.

You turn your attention back to your notebook, letting the silence hang between you until he finally shifts in his seat and looks away. At least he knows when to stop talking. For now.

You observe people every shift. At the ice cream shop, kids cry and tug at their parents, pointing at a flavor they desperately want. At the fast food chain, students laugh, stuffing fries into each other's mouths, their joy spilling out into the air.

You watch them. You clean up after them. And when no one's looking, you pick at their scraps—half-eaten burgers, fries left behind—anything to stave off the hunger that gnaws at you day and night.

When you sneak into the back to wash your hands, you catch your reflection in the grimy bathroom mirror. It almost shocks you, the hollow-cheeked girl staring back.

Your dark eye bags seem to sink into your face like bruises, your cheekbones sharp enough to look dangerous. Your lips are pale, chapped from thirst, and your hoodie swallows what little remains of you.

Even when you do sleep, it's never peaceful.

The nightmares always find you, pulling you back to that night—hands grabbing, voices laughing, the cold press of a mask against your skin.

Not even the sleeping pills you've wasted money on help anymore. You've tried. God knows you've tried. But the fear is something you can't escape.

And then Saturday comes.

Jay welcomes you at his house with his usual easy smile.

You stand awkwardly at the entrance, your eyes immediately drawn to the luxurious details surrounding you.

Expensive vases line the walls. A cabinet full of fine liquor gleams under the lights. Everything in the house feels deliberate, pristine, and just looking at it makes you feel like you don't belong.

"This way," Jay says cheerfully, leading you to his room.

The moment you step inside, you're greeted with more of the same—displays of wealth that feel almost obscene to you. A collection of guitars lined up like trophies. A cabinet stuffed with fancy perfumes. Everything here screams a life of comfort, of privilege, of a world you'll never touch.

"Are you always cold? Want me to lower the aircon?" Jay asks suddenly, his gaze flicking to your oversized hoodie.

You almost punch him for the question. The audacity of it. 

Are rich people really this clueless?

The irritation bubbles up. You almost imagine your hands around his neck, squeezing some sense into him.

"No, thanks," you say curtly, not bothering to hide your annoyance. You drop to the floor, pulling out your notebook and pen, ignoring the uncomfortable tension forming between you.

"You can sit on my bed," Jay offers, reaching out to touch your arm like it's no big deal.

But the moment his hand brushes your sleeve, your mind snaps. You're not in his room anymore. You're back there—on that night—being grabbed, pulled, restrained. Masked faces loom in your vision, their laughter ringing in your ears like a sick melody.

Before you even realize it, you've slapped his hand away, standing so fast you almost knock your notebook over.

"I—I'm sorry," you stammer, your voice shaky as you rub your arm. Jay just stands there, his hand hovering in the air, confusion written all over his face.

"It's fine," he says quickly. His smile is gone now, replaced by something softer.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to sit down again—this time on the bed, even though you'd rather be anywhere else. You pull your notebook back into your lap, flipping it open as if nothing happened, your hands trembling slightly.

The two of you work in near silence, researching for your lab project. Jay tries to engage you now and then, asking for your thoughts, but you keep your answers brief. You don't want to talk. You don't want to share. You just want to get through this.

After a while, Jay breaks the silence again. "How many jobs do you have?" he asks, his voice almost hesitant. "How do you manage school and work?"

You huff, irritated by his questions. What does he know about working to survive? What does he know about balancing your life on a thread?

"I don't manage," you reply bluntly. "I'm already planning to stop after this semester."

Jay straightens in his seat, frowning slightly. "Why?"

"Because I can't afford it anymore," you snap, your patience wearing thin. Your voice is sharper than you intend, but you don't care. You glare at him, daring him to argue, to say something stupid like, You should keep trying.

But Jay just looks down, his gaze softening. "I'm sorry," he whispers, almost too quiet to hear.

Before you can respond, a knock interrupts the moment. A head peeks into the room—a woman with wavy hair and a face so similar to Jay's that it's clear she's his mother.

"Heard you had a classmate over," she says warmly. "Come down and eat."

Jay stands immediately, glancing at you as if waiting to see if you'll follow. You nod stiffly, clutching your notebook to your chest as you trail behind him, feeling awkward in a house like this.

When you reach the dining room, your stomach grumbles embarrassingly loud at the sight of the food. A table full of steaming dishes spreads out before you, prepared by maids who move around effortlessly. You've never seen this much food at once before, not even during the holidays.

"Come, sit, sweetheart," Jay's mom says, pulling a chair out for you. Her voice is so kind, so gentle, that it makes your chest ache.

You sit down slowly, staring at the food like it's a mirage. Jay's mom piles your plate high with food, her warm smile reminding you so much of your own mother that your throat tightens.

"Eat, don't be shy," she says, her voice light and encouraging.

Your hands shake as you pick up the spoon, the first bite warming your tongue. 

The taste is overwhelming, rich and filling, and it's so good that tears prick at the corners of your eyes. 

You quickly take another bite, and another, ignoring the lump in your throat.

Jay watches you quietly, his gaze flicking to your small, trembling hands. His eyes catch on the scars peeking out from your sleeves as your sweater rides up.

"So, where are you from? It's my first time seeing you here! Jay's always bringing friends over—so many faces!" His mother's voice was cheerful, her smile warm and inviting.

"I'm from Las Vegas," you replied, keeping your eyes on your empty plate. You didn't want to talk, but her energy made it hard to ignore her.

Your gaze shifted to Jay as he leaned over, silently placing more food onto your plate.

"Oh, Las Vegas!" His mom exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. "What made you settle here in Seattle? Life is so exciting over there! So bright and lively!"

"Not really," you said, inhaling sharply as you tried to keep your tone even. The last thing you wanted was to go deeper into that conversation.

She didn't seem to notice your discomfort. "Oh, I see. Well, what do your parents do for a living?"

You froze. The fork in your hand stilled as memories rushed back like a tidal wave.

The screams. The blood. The way your parents looked at you, their faces twisted in pain as you hid, trembling in the cabinet.

"They're dead," you said bluntly, gripping your fork so tightly your knuckles turned white.

The room seemed to grow quieter. His mother's cheerful expression faltered. "Pardon?"

"They're de—" you started, but the words caught in your throat. Your pulse quickened, your chest tightening, and before you could finish, Jay cut in.

"It's already almost 7:00," he said quickly, "Didn't you say you have a shift?"

You looked at him, startled. His gaze met yours, and for the first time, his ever-present smile was gone. Instead, his eyes were steady, watching you carefully, like he knew you were unraveling and didn't want to make it worse.

You took the excuse without hesitation. "Yeah," you muttered, shoving your chair back as you stood. "I should go."

His mom looked like she wanted to say something, but Jay rose from his seat, cutting her off with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'll walk her out," he said softly.

"Thank you for the food, Mrs. Park," you smiled, trying to look natural, bowing at her. You grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder, refusing to look back at the table, at the food, at his mother's concerned face. Your throat burned as you fought the tears threatening to spill over.

Jay followed you silently as you stepped into the hallway. Once you were out of earshot, he finally spoke.

"You didn't have to answer her," he said gently.

You stopped in your tracks, gripping the strap of your bag tightly. "I didn't want to," you said flatly, your voice trembling just a little. "But people always ask. Like they have the right to know."

Jay didn't respond immediately. When you glanced at him, he looked... softer, his usual brightness dimmed with something quieter. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice low and careful. "She didn't mean anything by it. My mom's just... the type to ask questions. She doesn't think it'll hurt anyone."

"Yeah, well, it does," you snapped, the words slipping out before you could stop yourself. Your voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet hallway. But Jay didn't flinch. He just nodded, that same calm expression on his face, like he understood.

And for some reason, that made you angrier.

Your bag strap digging into your shoulder as you stared at him. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward. Your chest burned with frustration, your hands curling into fists at your sides. You weren't sure what you were mad at—his mom's question, his calm demeanor, or the fact that he kept pretending to get you when he didn't.

The words tumbled out. "What are your thoughts about the Purge, Jay?"

Jay's eyes widened, caught off guard by the sudden question. He hesitated for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like he was carefully picking his words.

"I—I don't agree with it," he said finally, his voice quiet..

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. "You don't agree with it?" you repeated, mocking his tone.

"That's rich. The Purge is the reason why you're making money, Jay. It's why your family's living in that giant house with your shiny vases and fancy barricades."

Jay blinked, visibly taken aback. "That's not fair," he said, his voice soft but firm.

"Isn't it?" you shot back, your voice rising.

"Your dad's company makes barricades, doesn't it? Every year, people like you get richer while people like me..." You trailed off, shaking your head as your throat tightened. "You don't get to sit there and say you don't agree with it. Not when your family profits from it."

Jay's jaw tightened, but he didn't interrupt. He just looked at you, his expression unreadable.

"And you know what's funny?" you continued, the bitterness spilling out of you now. "You probably spend Purge night in your fortress of a house, watching movies or playing board games with your family while the rest of us are out there dying. You don't even have to think about it, do you?"

"That's not true," Jay said quietly, his hands clenching at his sides. "I do think about it."

"Oh, do you?" you snapped, glaring at him. "What, do you spend a whole five minutes feeling bad for people like me before you go back to your perfect little life?"

"That's not what I—" Jay started, but you cut him off.

"You don't get it, Jay," you said, your voice trembling now, anger and exhaustion mixing into a volatile cocktail. "You'll never get it. You don't know what it's like to be hunted like an animal while people laugh. So don't stand there and tell me you 'don't agree with it,' because that doesn't mean anything coming from you."

Jay looked like he wanted to say something—his mouth opened, but no words came out. His shoulders slumped slightly, and for a moment, you thought you saw guilt flash across his face.

"I'm sorry," Jay said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You froze, your anger faltering for a moment as his words sunk in. Your chest tightened, and your eyes softened just slightly, guilt prickling at the edges of your mind. What were you even doing?

But the shame and bitterness were too much to face. You turned away quickly, your voice small and strained. "I'm sorry... I should go," you murmured, gripping the strap of your bag as you hurried to leave.

Jay didn't stop you. He just watched your retreating figure, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. As the door clicked shut behind you, he sat down heavily, running a hand through his hair. He wanted to help, but he didn't know how. And the way you looked at him, like he was the problem, made it feel impossible.

The weeks passed in a blur of survival and self-destruction. Bullets were fucking expensive. Even knives cost more than you expected, and every penny you earned disappeared the moment it hit your hands. Life was getting harder.

The monster inside you—was growing louder, feeding off your exhaustion and anger.

At night, when you weren't working, you trained yourself obsessively. Watching documentaries on how to kill someone. Studying anatomy. Practicing with your weapons until your hands were blistered and shaking. 

You didn't care if your body couldn't take it anymore. Pain didn't matter. Hunger didn't matter. Nothing mattered except being ready.

But as the weeks dragged on, it became harder to keep going.

Your hoodie, the one you wore every day like a second skin, was filthy and smelled of sweat and exhaustion. Your body was sore in every possible way.

Your reflection in the mirror was worse than before—hollow eyes, sallow skin, dark circles so deep. And every time you saw yourself, you thought the same thing.

You just want to die already.

One night, your phone buzzed. It was a message from Jay.

"Y/N, I'm sorry to bother you, but you haven't been coming to class. I can handle most of the project on my own, but for this reporting, I really need your presence."

You stared at the message for a long time, debating whether to ignore it. But something in you caved. Maybe it was guilt. You replied: "Okay. I'll come."

Jay welcomed you into his house again, you ended up on his bed, laptop in your lap as you both worked on the PowerPoint for your report. The room was quiet except for the sound of typing, but every movement felt like a struggle. Your body ached. Your head throbbed. You could barely focus, and every second felt like a fight to stay upright.

It wasn't long before your body gave up.

The laptop slipped from your lap, crashing to the floor as your vision blurred. The last thing you heard before everything went dark was Jay's panicked voice calling your name.

When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was a white ceiling. 

The faint smell of alcohol and disinfectant filled the air, and the sharp tug of a needle in your arm made you realize you were hooked up to an IV. An oxygen tube rested under your nose, and your body felt impossibly heavy, as if all the exhaustion you'd been ignoring had finally caught up with you.

Your gaze drifted down to your body—and then you saw it.

You were wearing a hospital gown.

Panic gripped you instantly. Your chest tightened, your breathing quickening as your hands clawed at the fabric.

"No, no, no," you whispered, your voice trembling as your heart pounded in your ears.

Memories of hands grabbing at you, tearing at your clothes, flashed through your mind like lightning. You gasped for air, a faint scream slipping from your lips.

Jay jolted awake from the chair beside you, his eyes wide with alarm.

"W-what's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with panic. He moved closer, his hands hovering uncertainly like he wasn't sure if he should touch you.

"H-hoodie," you stammered, gripping his arm with weak, trembling hands. Your nails dug into his skin. "Need to cover. Ugly. Ugly."

Jay winced at the pain but didn't pull away. "Hey, hey, it's okay," he said gently, his voice calm and soothing. "You're okay. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you."

"No," you whimpered, shaking your head as tears streamed down your face. "I'm ugly. Don't look." Your hands fumbled to pull the gown tighter around you, but it didn't help. You could feel the scars beneath it—the raised lines.

Jay hesitated for a moment before slowly reaching out to cover your hands with his. His touch was warm, steady, and he squeezed your fingers just enough to ground you.

"You're not ugly," he said softly, his tone so sincere it made your chest ache.

You shook your head again, your voice breaking as panic surged through you. "You don't understand. You don't know what they did to me. What I look like—"

"Calm down," Jay interrupted, his voice steady but still gentle, as if he were trying to anchor you to the moment.

He closed his eyes and turned his head slightly to the side, a gesture meant to reassure you. "I'm not looking, okay? I'm not looking."

His words made you pause, your breathing still uneven but slowing just a little as you clung to his arm. The panic was still there, buzzing under your skin, but his calmness was starting to chip away at it, little by little.

"You're safe now," Jay said, his tone softer this time, "and you're not alone, okay? I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Just calm down, breathe in, breathe out. You can do this."

You tried to follow his instructions, inhaling shakily and letting the air out in uneven bursts. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to keep you grounded, enough to stop the tears blurring your vision completely.

Jay's hand was warm against yours, his fingers gentle but firm as he held on. "What do you want me to get?" he asked softly, his voice careful, his head still turned slightly away so you wouldn't feel watched.

"My hoodie," you whispered, your voice weak and pleading. "I need it. Please."

Jay glanced at the IV in your arm, his lips pressing into a thin line. "You have an IV in your skin," he said quietly. "It's still not okay for you to wear your hoodie yet. If you pull at it, you could hurt yourself."

You looked away, shame and frustration boiling under your skin, your fingers gripping the hospital blanket tightly. "I don't care," you mumbled, your voice trembling.

Jay sighed softly, squeezing your hand again to ground you. "I know you don't feel comfortable," he said, his tone gentle but firm, "but if it's too hot or heavy right now, I don't want you to hurt yourself trying to put it on."

You clenched your jaw, swallowing back another wave of tears. "I just—I need to cover up," you said, your voice breaking again.

Jay hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay," he said carefully, "if you're not comfortable in the gown, I can get you a long-sleeve nightgown instead. Something softer. Something that'll cover your arms. Is that what you want?"

You glanced at him, your lip trembling, and nodded weakly. "Yeah," you whispered, barely audible.

Jay gave your hand one last gentle squeeze before slowly standing up. "I'll go ask the nurses," he said softly.

Days had passed, and Jay had stayed by your side, refusing to leave, despite how much of a burden you felt like.

He wasn't overbearing or hovering—just quietly there, helping you in any way he could.

He brought you meals, water, even helped you comb through your disheveled hair when your strength failed you. He didn't ask questions about what happened, didn't demand explanations.

His mother visited often, sweeping into the room with an energy that made your chest ache. She came with baskets of fruit, flowers, and small gifts, her arms overflowing like she was trying to smother you with kindness.

On one visit, she hugged you tightly, tears in her eyes, and said, "You need to take better care of yourself, sweetheart. Your life is precious."

Her words pierced through you, bringing a lump to your throat. You didn't have the heart to respond, just nodded, even though deep down you still didn't believe her.

Jay's friends, Sunoo and Ni-ki, had even come to visit. Despite the fact that they didn't know you at all, they acted like you were an old friend.

They brought a snake and ladder board game, and before you knew it, they were sitting cross-legged on your hospital bed, loudly cheering, groaning, and playfully arguing over the dice rolls. Their laughter filled the room, echoing against the sterile walls and spilling over the edges of your heart.

At first, you just watched them silently, your hands resting in your lap, unsure of how to react. But as the game went on, you found yourself drawn in—your dead eyes softening as you watched them bicker like kids, a faint half-smile tugging at your lips.

For the first time in what felt like years, you felt something other than pain. Just a flicker, but it was there. A tiny seed of happiness.

"What do you want to eat today?" Jay asked, smiling as he sat at the edge of your bed, peeling an apple with practiced ease.

"I want rice cakes!" Ni-ki chimed in, raising his hand like an excited child.

Sunoo rolled his eyes dramatically, crossing his arms. "Yuck! We had rice cakes yesterday!"

Their back-and-forth made you chuckle softly, a sound you hadn't heard from yourself in a long time.

But later, when the room grew quiet again, and it was just you and Jay, that flicker of happiness gave way to something heavier. Guilt.

You glanced at Jay as he sat by the window, scrolling through his phone absentmindedly. His face was relaxed, the sunlight catching the soft angles of his features. He had done so much for you—things he didn't have to do. And all this time, you had hated him. Misunderstood him.

You had assumed the worst of him, just because he was rich.

You had lumped him in with the monsters who had ruined your life, convinced yourself that he was just another spoiled, privileged kid who wouldn't understand what suffering felt like. But the truth was... he wasn't.

He wasn't the people who had hunted you, mocked you, stripped you of your humanity. He wasn't the people who laughed behind masks, thriving on fear and violence.

Jay had done nothing but help you, even when you were rude to him, even when you pushed him away.

And yet, the guilt didn't erase your pain. It didn't undo your trauma or silence the nightmares that still haunted you.

You still hated the world that allowed the Purge to exist. You still hated the memories that burned like fire in your veins. You still hated yourself for being weak, for surviving when your parents hadn't.

But you didn't hate Jay anymore.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly, breaking the silence.

Jay looked up, tilting his head in confusion. "For what?"

"For... for how I treated you," you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. "For assuming things about you just because of where you come from. I thought you wouldn't care. That you couldn't understand. But... you're not like them."

Jay's expression softened, a small, almost sad smile tugging at his lips. "You don't have to apologize for that," he said gently. "You've been through hell. I get why you'd feel that way."

You shook your head, gripping the blanket tightly in your hands. "No, you don't get it. I was cruel to you. I blamed you for things that weren't your fault."

Jay was quiet for a moment, then reached out, resting a hand over yours.

His touch was warm, steady, grounding. "I'm not perfect," he said softly, his tone sincere. "I won't pretend to know what you've been through. But I want to help."

Your throat tightened, tears threatening to spill over again. You didn't know how to respond, so you just nodded, gripping his hand. And for the first time, you allowed yourself to trust someone. Even if it was just a little.

"The doctor said you have anemia and osteoporosis," Jay's mother said gently, setting her bag down on the small table beside your hospital bed.

"That's why your bones are weak! You'll need to eat more foods with calcium and iron to build your strength and get your blood count higher. We'll make sure you have everything you need."

You stared at her, unsure how to respond. Guilt curled in your stomach, gnawing at you. You weren't her child. You weren't even close to being part of her world. And yet, here she was, treating you so good.

"The hospital bill is covered," she continued, her voice casual, like it wasn't a big deal. But to you, it was.

It was a huge deal. The cost of staying in a place like this was something you couldn't even fathom. You'd spent years scraping by, eating leftovers just to save a few bucks, and here she was, brushing off what could've been months—maybe years—of your income.

"You don't need to worry about it," she added, her smile soft and reassuring. "Just focus on getting better. Jay's friend is also my priority."

Jay's friend.

The words hit you harder than you expected. You weren't his friend. You didn't deserve to be called that, not after the way you'd treated him.

"Thank you," you murmured finally, your voice barely audible. It was all you could manage without breaking down entirely.

Jay's mom smiled wider, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," she said, reaching out to gently pat your hand. "Now, tell me—what's your favorite food? I'll have the kitchen prepare something special for you."

You blinked, caught off guard by her kindness. "I... I don't really have one," you admitted quietly, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

It wasn't a lie. You hadn't thought about things like "favorite food" in years. Food, for you, had been about survival, not enjoyment.

"Well, then we'll just have to find one for you," she said, her tone cheerful and determined. "I'll have the staff make a variety of dishes for you to try. And don't worry—if there's anything you don't like, we'll keep trying until we find something you love."

Her words left you speechless. All you could do was nod, the weight of her generosity pressing down on you. It felt so foreign, so undeserved, and yet, for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt... cared for.

Jay, who had been quietly peeling an orange in the corner, finally spoke up. "Mom, don't overwhelm her," he said softly, his eyes flicking to yours. "She's still recovering."

You glanced at him, your gaze lingering for a moment longer than you intended.

His mother waved him off with a laugh. "Oh, hush, Jay. I'm just trying to help." She turned back to you, her smile never faltering. "You're part of our family now, okay? At least while you're here. So don't be shy about asking for anything."

Her words made something in your chest tighten. You nodded again, unable to trust your voice.

Jay's mother spent hours at your bedside, chatting away. She told you stories about Jay's childhood—how he once tried to "fix" a birdhouse with peanut butter, or how he dressed up as a firefighter for three Halloweens in a row because he was so obsessed with the uniform.

Jay groaned beside her, his face flushed as he waved her off. "Mom, stop! She doesn't need to know all of that!" he whined, his voice high with embarrassment.

But his mother only laughed, brushing him off with a playful wave. "Oh, hush, Jay. She needs to know how adorable you used to be!"

You couldn't help but chuckle softly, your lips curving into a small, almost shy smile.

Eventually, Jay's mother had to leave, something about a business emergency pulling her away. She hugged you gently before she left, squeezing your hands and promising to visit again soon.

"Take care of yourself, sweetheart," she said with a warm smile. "And if Jay gives you any trouble, let me know."

"I'm right here," Jay muttered, rolling his eyes but grinning all the same.

As the door clicked shut behind her, the room fell quiet again. You and Jay were alone, the silence settling between you like a soft blanket.

"Have you showered?" Jay asked suddenly, breaking the stillness.

You shook your head, feeling a little self-conscious. It had been days since you'd had the energy to even think about something like that.

"Do you want to?" he asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded hesitantly.

Jay smiled, standing up to grab a towel from his bag. He returned a moment later, his hand extended to you. "Come on," he said softly, his voice warm and encouraging.

You placed your hand in his, and he guided you carefully out of the bed. But as soon as your feet touched the ground, your knees buckled beneath you, the strength in your legs giving out entirely.

"Whoa!" Jay exclaimed, catching you before you could fall. Without hesitation, he slipped your arm around his neck, his other arm sliding under your legs.

"I've got you," he murmured as he lifted you effortlessly.

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn't protest as he carried you to the bathroom. His touch was steady, his arms warm and reassuring as he placed you gently into the tub.

"Do you want me to call a nurse to help you?" Jay asked, crouching in front of you. His voice was careful, like he was trying not to overstep.

You shook your head quickly. The idea of a stranger cleaning you—seeing you—made your stomach churn with discomfort. "I'm not comfortable," you said quietly, looking away.

Jay nodded, his brows furrowed slightly in thought. He didn't push or suggest anything else. He just waited, watching you carefully.

And then, before you could stop yourself, you looked up and met his gaze. "Can you?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jay's eyes widened in surprise, his ears turning red as your words sunk in. "Are you sure?" he asked, his tone soft but serious. "Are you comfortable with me?"

You nodded, swallowing hard. You didn't know why you asked him. Maybe it was because he was the only one who had seen your broken pieces and didn't turn away. Maybe it was because, despite everything, you trusted him.

Jay hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the redness creeping up his neck.

Your hands trembled slightly as you began to strip off the hospital gown, letting it fall away from your shoulders.

You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, your chest tightening as the scars on your body were laid bare—scars from knives, from bullets, from cigarette burns that had long since healed but never truly faded.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

You finally glanced up at Jay, only to see his face frozen in a mixture of sadness and anger. His jaw clenched, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. His eyes weren't looking at you with disgust or pity—just pain. Pain that you couldn't quite understand.

"I'm sorry," you said, your voice cracking. You quickly crossed your arms over your chest, trying to cover yourself, to hide the ugly truth of what had been done to you.

"Don't apologize," Jay said softly, his voice strained but firm. He crouched lower, his gaze meeting yours. "You don't have to apologize for this. None of this is your fault."

You bit your lip, tears welling in your eyes as you looked away. "It's ugly," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I'm ugly."

"No, you're not," Jay said immediately. "Don't ever say that. Don't ever think that."

Jay begins to open the faucet, filling the tub. You felt his hand gently rest on your shoulder, his touch so light it was almost like a question. "These scars," he continued, his voice softening, "they're not ugly. They're proof that you survived."

You turned back to him, tears spilling over as his words sank in. His gaze didn't waver, didn't falter. There was no judgment in his eyes, only sincerity.

His hands were gentle as he worked, brushing over your skin with careful precision, the towel soaking up water from your arms, your back, every part of you. Each movement was measured, respectful, almost as though he was afraid of breaking you.

The silence was heavy but not uncomfortable. Still, the question burned on your tongue, and before you could stop yourself, you asked, "Why are you helping me?"

Jay froze for the briefest of moments, his hands stilling as he rinsed the washcloth. Then he gently reached for your hair, lathering shampoo between his fingers before carefully massaging it into your scalp.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked softly, his tone calm, but you could hear the edge of emotion beneath it.

You tilted your head slightly, his fingers never missing a beat as they worked through your tangled hair. 

"Because... people don't just help without a reason," you muttered, your voice barely audible. "Are you pitying me?"

Jay's hands stilled again, his fingers pausing in your hair. For a moment, you regretted asking, but then he sighed softly, his hands resuming their slow, soothing motions.

"No," he said firmly. "I'm not helping you because I pity you."

"Then why?" you pressed, your voice cracking as the question spilled out of you. "Why are you doing all this? Why do you care?"

Jay rinsed the shampoo from your hair, his hands tilting your head back slightly so the water wouldn't get in your eyes. He stayed silent for a moment, as if he was choosing his words carefully.

"Because you deserve to be cared for," he said finally, his voice almost a whisper.

His words hit you like a punch to the chest. You stared at the tiled wall, unable to respond as your throat tightened and your eyes began to sting.

"I'm not doing this out of pity," Jay continued, his voice soft but insistent. "I'm doing this because I want to."

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling. His words felt foreign, like they didn't belong to you. Like they were meant for someone else, someone who deserved kindness.

"But I'm broken," you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips. "You don't understand. I'm not... I'm not normal."

Jay's hands paused again, and for a moment, you thought he might agree with you. But instead, he leaned forward slightly, his voice so soft it almost didn't reach you.

"Who cares about 'normal'?" he asked gently, smiling at you.

His words made your chest ache, a strange, unfamiliar warmth blooming beneath the pain. You didn't know what to say, so you didn't say anything. Instead, you let him finish rinsing your hair, his touch as careful as ever.

Jay stayed quiet for a moment, his hand gripping the soap, before his soft voice broke the silence. "Let me brush your body, hmm? Are you okay with that?"

You looked up at him, your eyes still glossy from earlier tears. He was smiling, It was softer, almost hesitant, like he was giving you all the space in the world to say no.

For a second, your chest tightened again. But then you wiped at your tears, nodding, a small, watery laugh slipping from your lips. "Yeah, okay."

Jay let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he dipped the soap into the water, creating a soft lather. "You don't need to apologize," he said after a moment.

But you shook your head, tears spilling over again as the words tumbled out. "I'm sorry," you whispered. "For being a burden. For being weak."

But Jay stopped what he was doing, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. "Showing vulnerability isn't weakness," he said softly, his voice steady but warm. "Don't say you're a burden when you're not."

You finally looked at him, your breath hitching at the sincerity in his gaze.

You spent almost a month in the hospital, longer than you ever thought you'd stay. There were stretches of time when you were alone, the quiet pressing against you like a heavy blanket.

Jay still had to attend his classes during the day, and you hated how much that relieved you. Being around him, around his patience and kindness, was almost too much to bear. It made the guilt twist deeper into your chest.

But every night, without fail, Jay came back. He'd shuffle in, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his shirt slightly wrinkled, and his face drawn with exhaustion.

No matter how tired he was, he'd sit beside you for a while, asking how your day had been, what you'd eaten, or if you needed anything.

Then, when he couldn't fight the fatigue anymore, he'd curl up on the couch, a thin blanket thrown over him, and fall asleep with his phone still clutched in his hand.

You'd watch him sometimes, your chest tightening at the sight of him.

Jay's mother visited often, breezing into the room with her warm smile and bags full of food. "You need to eat this," she'd say, setting down a steaming dish in front of you. "It'll help your bones."

The next day, it was something new: "This will boost your blood count!" she'd exclaim, watching eagerly as you took hesitant bites.

At first, you forced yourself to eat out of politeness, but slowly, you began to notice things.

You realized you liked gimbap—the way the rice was soft and slightly sweet, the seaweed wrapping it all together. You discovered new juices and found yourself craving strawberry milkshake more than anything else.

Jay's mom always noticed. "Strawberry milkshake, hmm?" she teased one afternoon, her smile playful. "I'll make sure to bring more tomorrow."

The warmth of her attention and care settled uncomfortably in your chest. You didn't know how to handle it, didn't know what to do with the kindness she gave so freely. It was foreign, and it made the guilt inside you grow.

After weeks of lying in bed, your body weak and fragile, the day finally came when you managed to stand on your own two feet. It wasn't easy. Your legs shook, your grip on the metal IV stand so tight your knuckles turned white, but you did it. For a brief moment, you felt a flicker of pride.

But then you looked down at yourself. Your pale, almost sickly skin stretched over your bony frame. Faint bruises marred your knees and legs.

You hated looking at yourself like this—so helpless, so exposed.

Your fingers trembled as you tightened your grip on the IV stand, leaning against it for support. Every movement felt slow and deliberate, like your body was relearning how to move after months of stillness. You shuffled to the calendar pinned on the wall, each step sending a dull ache through your legs, but you pushed through it.

December 13.

You stared at the date, your chest tightening as the weight of it settled on you. Three months. Three months until the Purge.

Your hand instinctively went to your stomach, as if trying to steady the rising wave of anxiety building inside you. You swallowed hard, your throat dry and tight. The memories began creeping in, uninvited, flashing behind your eyes like fragments of a nightmare you could never escape.

You shook your head, closing your eyes to block it out, but it didn't help. The thought was already there, rooting itself firmly in your mind.

You couldn't go back to the same cycle of fear, of waiting for someone to find you, to break you all over again.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to steady your breathing, gripping the IV stand as it was the only thing keeping you upright. You felt caught in between two versions of yourself—the girl who cowered in fear, and the one who had spent months preparing to become something worse.

"You're standing."

The voice startled you, and you turned your head sharply, your grip tightening on the IV stand.

Jay was standing at the doorway, his hand on the handle, staring at you with that familiar wide smile that somehow made the heaviness in the room feel a little lighter.

"My mother said you like strawberry milkshake, so I brought you one," he said, stepping inside and walking toward you, his eyes soft with pride as he glanced at your trembling legs. "Here, let me help."

Before you could say anything, Jay gently took your hand and guided you back to the bed,

"I think I should discharge," you said quietly, the words barely escaping your lips.

Jay blinked, his smile fading slightly. "Why? You're not well yet. Are you thinking about the bills? You shouldn't. I told you, that's already taken care of."

You shook your head, staring at the strawberry milkshake in his hand as he popped the straw into the cup. He handed it to you, the smell of sweet strawberries wafting up and tempting your senses, but you couldn't focus on it.

"The Purge," you said finally, your voice trembling as you gripped the cup tightly, your knuckles turning white. "It's coming again."

Jay froze for a moment, his expression softening as he crouched down in front of you, his eyes level with yours. You could feel his gaze searching your face, waiting for you to continue.

"They... they're coming," you mumbled, your voice breaking. Your chest started to rise and fall rapidly, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. "I don't know what they'll do this time."

Jay reached out instinctively, his hand resting gently on top of yours, steadying the trembling that had begun to spread through your fingers.

"They always find me. No matter where I go. They... they enjoy it. It's a game to them." Jay's jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he listened.

"They won't find you this time," he said firmly, his voice filled with a quiet determination. "I won't let them."

You stared at him, your chest tightening as you tried to find the words to respond. Instead, you looked down at the strawberry milkshake in your hand, the straw still untouched. Slowly, you brought it to your lips, taking a small sip. The sweet, familiar taste spread across your tongue, and for just a moment.

Jay stayed crouched in front of you, his hand still resting lightly on yours as he watched your expression soften just slightly after taking a sip of the strawberry milkshake.

"Y/N," Jay said after a pause, his voice careful.

You glanced at him, your grip tightening slightly around the cup in your hands. "What is it?"

Jay shifted, sitting back on his heels but keeping his gaze level with yours. "Have you ever thought about talking to someone? You know, a therapist? Someone who might be able to help with... everything you've been through."

Your breath hitched, and you stiffened slightly, your shoulders tensing as the words sank in. "I don't need that," you muttered quickly, looking away from him. "I'm fine."

Jay tilted his head slightly, his expression soft but unconvinced. "I don't think you're fine," he said gently, his tone lacking any hint of judgment. "And that's okay. You don't have to be fine. After what you've been through... no one would expect you to be."

Your chest tightened, your fingers digging into the cup as you tried to swallow the lump forming in your throat. "I don't want to talk about it," you said, your voice trembling slightly. "Talking won't change anything. It won't make the memories go away."

"I know," Jay said softly. "It won't erase what happened. But maybe it could help you carry it. You've been carrying all of this alone for so long, Y/N. Maybe it's time to let someone else help."

"I can't," you whispered, shaking your head. "I don't know how to... to say it out loud. I don't even know where I'd start."

Jay's hand tightened slightly on yours, grounding you as he leaned closer. "You don't have to start anywhere specific," he said quietly.

"You just have to take it one step at a time. They won't push you to talk about anything you're not ready for. It's not about fixing everything all at once—it's about helping you find a way to live with it."

You looked at him, your vision blurred by unshed tears, and for a moment, you hated how much his words made sense. You hated how right he was, how kind he was being, how much he cared when you weren't sure you deserved it.

"I don't know," you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know if I can do it."

Jay nodded, his eyes warm and understanding. "That's okay," he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring.

"You don't have to decide right now," he continued, his hand lightly squeezing yours. "I just want you to know it's an option. And if you ever want to try, I'll be there with you. I'll help you find someone. You don't have to do it alone."

You stared at him, his words settling in your heart like a soft weight. Slowly, you nodded, a small, shy smile tugging at your lips. "Thank you," you whispered,

January came, and you were finally discharged from the hospital. It felt strange being back in the world after so much time spent in bed, but Jay made it easier.

In the weeks after your release, you returned to your small apartment, but more often than not, you found yourself spending your nights at Jay's home.

His mother insisted, always greeting you with a warm smile and asking how you were feeling. "It's better to keep an eye on you," she'd say, ushering you to the dinner table, where she'd pile your plate with food.

You had stopped studying, deciding to focus on working full-time instead. Jay had suggested a restaurant he knew, and before long, you found yourself settling into a routine. The work was tiring, but it kept your mind busy, and slowly, the spark in your eyes began to return.

Your nightmares didn't disappear, but they became easier to bear with Jay by your side. Whenever you woke up crying, shaking from the images that haunted you, he was always there.

"Shhh, it's okay," he'd whisper, pulling you into his arms and holding you close. His chest was warm and steady against your cheek, and his hand would rub soothing circles on your back as he whispered, "I'm here, love. I've got you."

You didn't know where he got his patience. No matter how many times you woke him in the middle of the night, trembling and crying, he never got frustrated. He never made you feel like a burden.

And maybe that's why, before you even realized it, you fell in love with him.

It wasn't a dramatic realization—no grand moment or spark. It was slow and steady, like the warmth he gave you every day. It was in the way he smiled at you, in the way he stayed even when he didn't have to.

You wanted to be better for him. You wanted to be strong—not just for yourself, but for him, too. That's when you decided to take his advice. You were going to try and talk to a therapist.

One evening, you were lying on his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath your ear. His hand played idly with your hair, his fingers brushing through the strands like it was second nature. The room was quiet, the only sound coming from the soft hum of the heater, and you felt so at ease it was almost strange.

You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him. His eyes were closed, his lips relaxed in a small, peaceful smile. Something about the moment felt so natural, so intimate, that it made your heart swell.

Without really thinking, you leaned closer, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. You felt him shift slightly beneath you, but he didn't stop you. The warmth of his skin was comforting, and before you could second-guess yourself, you pressed a soft kiss to his neck.

You felt his body tense under you, his breath hitching ever so slightly. His fingers froze in your hair, and for a moment, you thought you'd made a mistake.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice low and shaky, like he wasn't sure what to say.

You lifted your head slightly, meeting his wide eyes, your cheeks burning. "I—" you started, but the words caught in your throat.

Jay's lips parted, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips.

You bit your lip, "I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His expression softened immediately, his fingers brushing your cheek. "Don't be," he said gently. "Just... tell me. Is this what you want?"

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding again. "Yes," you breathed, your voice trembling.

Jay's hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your lips were just a breath apart. "Me too," he whispered, and then he kissed you.

It was soft, tentative at first, like he was afraid of breaking the moment, but when you kissed him back, his grip on you tightened slightly, his lips pressing more firmly against yours.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his hand still cradling the back of your head.

Your tongue traced a slow, deliberate line down to his neck, and when you sucked gently at the sensitive skin there, he groaned, low and deep, the sound sending a rush of heat through you.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice shaky as his hands found their way to your waist. You grabbed them, guiding them more firmly against your body as you shifted, straddling his lap.

Jay's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his gaze darkened, his lips parting slightly as you leaned down to kiss him again. This time, the kiss wasn't soft —it was full of need, your lips moving hungrily against his as your hips rolled against him.

You gasped into his mouth, the heat pooling low in your stomach as you felt the tension building between you. Your breath came in heavy pants as you pulled back just enough to whisper, "I love you."

Jay's hands slid under your clothes, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your waist. His touch was warm.

"I love you," he said back, his voice low and full of something raw, his head tilting back slightly as your movements sent a shiver through him.

You didn't stop. Your hips pressed into him again, a slow, deliberate grind that made him bite back a groan, his head falling back further as his grip on your waist tightened. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his breath coming out in a shaky exhale.

His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, pausing as his eyes met yours again. "Can I?" he asked softly, his voice laced with tenderness.

You nodded, your heart racing as he carefully lifted the shirt over your head. His eyes roamed over you, taking in every inch of exposed skin, and you felt a familiar pang of self-consciousness.

You instinctively moved to cover yourself, your arms wrapping around your torso, but Jay stopped you gently, his hands warm and steady as they held yours.

"Don't hide," he whispered, his voice so soft it made your chest ache. "Please don't hide from me."

Your breath hitched as his hands released yours, moving slowly to trace the lines of one of the scars on your shoulder. He leaned down and pressed his lips to the scar on your shoulder, the gesture so tender it sent a jolt through your entire body.

 He kissed it again, slower this time, before moving to another scar on your arm, his lips lingering as if to erase the pain it carried.

You couldn't stop the tears that spilled over, your hands trembling as they clutched at his shoulders. "Jay..." you whispered, your voice cracking.

"I see you," he murmured against your skin, his hands steady as they held your waist. "I see all of you, and I love every part of you."

His lips brushed against the scar on your collarbone, then another on your ribs, each kiss more deliberate than the last.

Jay's eyes softened as he whispered, "You're so beautiful, I love you."

The sincerity in his words made your heart race, your breath catching in your throat. You didn't know how to respond, your chest tightening with emotions too overwhelming to name. Instead, you leaned forward, capturing his lips in a kiss that spoke all the words you couldn't say.

His hands slid up your back, his touch firm yet tender as he pulled you closer, your bodies pressing together. The kiss deepened, slow and consuming, his lips moving against yours with a passion that sent heat coursing through your veins.

Then, with a flick of his fingers, you felt the clasp of your bra come undone. The cool air brushed against your skin.

A soft moan escaped your lips as his hand cupped your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple, teasing and flicking it in a way that made your back arch involuntarily. Jay groaned against your mouth, the sound low and deep, sending a wave of desire pooling low in your stomach.

He gently guided you to lay down, his lips never leaving yours until he moved to your jawline, then your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses in his wake. 

He stopped at your left breast, his warm breath ghosting over your skin before he wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking gently.

The sensation made you gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as you arched into him. His tongue flicked over the sensitive peak, sending jolts of pleasure through your body, while his right hand gripped your other breast, kneading it with just the right amount of pressure.

You let your head fall back, lost in the feeling, soft moans spilling from your lips as your body responded to his every touch. His name escaped your lips like a prayer, and he hummed against your skin, the vibrations adding to the heat building within you.

Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, his right hand began to travel lower. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, and you felt his touch move in slow, deliberate circles.

A gasp tore from your throat as his fingers teased you, his touch light but enough to make your hips lift in desperation. "Jay," you breathed, your voice trembling with need, your body aching for more.

"You're so perfect," he murmured, his voice rough and heavy with desire. His lips returned to yours, as his fingers continued their slow, torturous motion, building a fire within you that you couldn't extinguish.

When his finger slowly slid inside you, your breath hitched, your chest pressing into his as you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck. The sensation was overwhelming, every nerve in your body alive with heat as he moved inside you, testing your limits.

Jay's forehead rested against yours, his breath heavy and warm against your lips. "I'm going to add another one, baby," he said, his voice low and filled with lust. "Can you take it?"

You nodded quickly, your hands clutching at him, your voice trembling as you whispered, "I can take it for you."

He groaned at your words, his jaw tightening as he stared at you with darkened eyes. "Fuck, don't say stuff like that," he muttered, his voice almost a growl.

Without wasting another second, he slid a second finger inside you, stretching you in a way that made your back arch. The pace of his movements quickened, the slick sound of his fingers filling the room as your walls clenched around him. The pleasure built fast, sharp and electric, making your breath come out in broken gasps.

Jay leaned down, his lips trailing along your collarbone, then down to your chest again. His mouth latched onto your breast, his tongue flicking over your nipple, adding another layer of sensation that made your head spin.

"Jay," you whimpered, your hips moving on their own, grinding into his hand as his fingers curled inside you, hitting a spot that made stars explode behind your eyes.

"You're so good," he murmured against your skin, his free hand gripping your waist to keep you steady as his mouth moved between your breasts, leaving heated kisses in his wake.

"I'm gonna cum," you whined, your voice high and desperate as the pressure in your stomach coiled tighter and tighter.

Jay didn't let up. His tongue teased your nipple, licking it in slow, deliberate strokes that made you shudder, while his thumb suddenly found your clit, pressing and rubbing it in perfect rhythm with his fingers.

The combination was too much. Your body shaking uncontrollably as the pleasure crashed over you in waves. "Jay!" you sobbed, your hips lifting off the bed as your orgasm hit, leaving you trembling and breathless beneath him.

He didn't stop right away, his fingers and thumb slowing just enough to help you ride out the high, his lips never leaving your skin. "That's it," he whispered, his voice full of pride and adoration. "You're so beautiful like this."

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to catch your breath. When his fingers finally slipped out of you, you whimpered softly, feeling the loss of his touch.

Jay kissed your forehead gently, his hands soothing over your sides as he pulled you into his arms, holding you close against his chest. "I've got you," he murmured, his voice soft again, filled with affection. "I've got you."

"I was preparing for the Purge this year," you said quietly, staring at your hands instead of your therapist, Ms. Jisoo.

"A self-defense plan, or something more?" she asked gently. There was no judgment in her voice, just calm curiosity.

"Something more," you admitted, biting your lip as your fingers fidgeted in your lap.

Ms. Jisoo nodded softly, giving you space to speak. "Do you still think about it now, after falling in love?"

You paused, her question lingering in your mind. "I don't know," you said after a moment. "I've been so focused on him... on how he makes me feel. The only thing I know for sure is I want to be a better person for him. Not... this."

You hesitated, your voice trembling. "Not some mentally unstable girl who can't even sleep through the night without waking up screaming."

Your chest tightened as the words left you, the guilt clawing at your throat.

Ms. Jisoo leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle and steady. "Wanting to heal for someone you love is a wonderful thing, Y/N. But it's okay to want to heal for yourself too. That doesn't make you weak, and it doesn't mean there's something wrong with you."

Her words softened something in your chest, but the guilt was still there, heavy and sharp. You bit your lip harder, tears welling in your eyes.

"D-Do you think I'm a monster?" you asked suddenly, your voice breaking. "For thinking about purging this year? For even wanting it?" You finally looked up at her, tears spilling as you waited for the answer you feared most.

Ms. Jisoo's expression stayed calm, warm, and understanding. "You're not a monster," she said gently, her voice soft as she stares at you.

"You're someone who's been hurt. Someone who's been through things no one should ever have to experience. It's okay to feel angry. It's okay to feel hate. Those feelings don't make you a monster. They make you human."

"But they feel so wrong," you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "Wanting it feels wrong."

"They're not wrong or right," she said softly. "They're just feelings."

You sniffled, wiping at your face with trembling hands, but her words didn't fully settle the storm inside you. After a moment, you looked back at her, hesitating before asking the question that had been on your mind for so long.

"Do you... agree with the Purge?"

Ms. Jisoo blinked, caught off guard by the question. She leaned back slightly, her hands folding in her lap as she thought about her answer.

"No," she said after a moment, "I don't. I don't think violence solves anything. And I don't think people should have the right to hurt others, no matter what the law says. The Purge... it brings out the worst in people. It allows fear and hate to fester. And I've seen how much it hurts people—people like you."

Her gaze softened, and she leaned forward slightly, her tone quiet. "But I also understand why you feel the way you do. The Purge forces people to live in fear, to carry anger and pain that they shouldn't have to carry. It's normal to feel conflicted. It's normal to feel angry."

You swallowed hard, her words sinking into you like drops of water on dry ground. "So... I'm not wrong for feeling like this?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"No," she said firmly. "You're not wrong. You're human, Y/N. And humans feel messy, complicated things. There's no shame in that."

You nodded slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what to do with myself. I keep thinking and thinking about what I should do to live freely... but nothing feels right."

Ms. Jisoo smiled gently, her expression steady and reassuring. "It's okay to feel lost, Y/N. Healing doesn't come with a map or a timeline. But you're taking steps forward, even if they're small. Just keep going. You'll find your way."

By the middle of February, your days had settled into a rhythm. You managed your job at the restaurant, worked through your therapy sessions every week, and spent most of your free time with Jay and his mother.

Their home felt warm, almost like a haven, and you found yourself doing small things to show your gratitude—buying Jay his favorite snacks, surprising his mom with flowers or something she'd mentioned in passing.

They never expected anything in return for their kindness, but doing those little things made you feel like you were giving back in some small way.

One evening, the restaurant was hosting a group of high-class businesspeople who had reserved the entire dining area. The room buzzed with laughter and chatter, the expensive suits and gleaming jewelry making you feel out of place as you carried trays of food to their table.

As you placed the dishes on the table, your eyes drifted to a middle-aged blonde woman sitting at the center. Her hair was perfectly styled, her tailored suit fitting her like it had been made just for her. She held a glass of wine delicately, twirling it in her hand as she laughed with the others.

Your breath hitched.

A memory slammed into you with the force of a freight train.

Gunshots. Screams. Blood splattered across the ground. You could see the flash of a machete. Hear the sound of a head rolling across the dirt. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your throat tightening as the room spun around you. The scar on your arm felt like it was burning.

"Excuse me?" a man's voice pulled you back to reality, his tone polite but firm. "Do you need anything else?"

You blinked, your breath still shaky as you tried to steady yourself. The blonde woman's laughter had faded, and now she was looking at you, her piercing eyes sharp and almost bored, like she was trying to place where she'd seen you before.

You struggled to keep your hands from trembling as you clutched the tray tighter. "I-I'm fine," you stammered, inhaling deeply to keep your composure.

But it didn't help when one of the other women at the table—a brunette with diamond earrings—reached for your arm, pushing up your sleeve to reveal the long scar that ran down the length of it.

"God," the woman said, her voice dripping with disgust. "What a nasty scar you have." Her fingers brushed the raised tissue, making you flinch involuntarily. "How'd you even get this?"

You froze, the room seeming to go quiet as her words echoed in your ears. You couldn't breathe, couldn't think. You wanted to rip your arm away, but your body felt paralyzed, like you were trapped in that night all over again.

And then, you heard yourself asking, "Are you Ms. Wilson?"

The words felt foreign on your tongue, your voice shaky as you stared at the blonde woman.

She raised an eyebrow at you, her expression amused. "Yes, why?" she asked, taking another sip of her wine. "Do I know you?"

You almost laughed. Of course, she didn't remember. People like her never did.

Your grip on the tray tightened, your knuckles white as your mind raced. You remembered her now—her face, her voice, the way she had smiled behind the mask as she watched you and the others run for your lives.

And she didn't even remember you.

"No," you said, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. "You don't."

Her head tilted slightly, her sharp eyes narrowing as if she were trying to place you, but after a moment, she simply shrugged and turned back to her companions, already dismissing you from her mind.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your nails digging into the tray as you tried to contain the rage bubbling up inside you.

You turned on your heel, your legs trembling with each step as you left the dining area. The walls of the restaurant seemed to close in, the air thick and suffocating. 

Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps as you pushed through the kitchen doors, your tray clattering loudly onto the counter.

Gripping the edge of the counter, your knuckles turned white as you stared down at the cold, stainless steel surface. You willed yourself to calm down, to pull it together, but your heart was racing, your chest heaving as the memories refused to let you go.

You muttered something about not feeling well to your manager, barely hearing his reply as you left the restaurant. 

You didn't go to Jay's home like you usually did. Instead, you walked to your own apartment, your feet moving automatically, your head swirling with thoughts you couldn't control.

When you finally closed the door behind you, something inside you broke. You let out a scream, raw and primal, nails digging into your throat as if you could claw the pain away. Tears streamed down your face, hot and endless, blurring your vision as sob after sob wracked your body.

You stumbled to the target board you had set up on the wall—the one you used for practice, for preparation—and grabbed a knife. With a sharp, angry cry, you hurled it at the board. It hit the target right in the head.

You screamed again, louder this time, grabbing anything within reach and throwing it across the room. A glass shattered against the wall. A stack of books tumbled to the floor. You didn't care.

When you finally collapsed onto your bed, your body was trembling, your chest heaving as you cried into the pillow. The tears wouldn't stop, your sobs loud and broken as you curled into yourself, trying to escape the weight pressing down on you.

At some point, exhaustion took over, and you fell asleep, your face damp with tears.

You jolted awake when the bed shifted beneath you. Your heart leapt into your throat, your body tensing instinctively, but then you saw him—Jay, sitting beside you, his worried eyes scanning your face.

"You didn't come home," he said softly, his voice full of concern. 

"I was worried. Your manager said you took an early leave." He reached for your hand, holding it gently as his thumb brushed over your knuckles. "Did something happen?"

His voice was so calm, so steady, and it only made your tears resurface. You watched him lift your hand, pressing a soft kiss to your fingertips. The tenderness in his actions broke you all over again.

Your eyes watered, and before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as you cried. Your sobs were muffled against the fabric of his shirt, but he didn't say anything—he just held you, his arms wrapping around you tightly, protectively.

"It will never go away," you choked out between sobs, your voice muffled against his chest. "I don't know how to heal when this Purge still fucking exists."

Jay tightened his hold on you, his hand moving to the back of your head as he gently stroked your hair. 

"I'm so sorry," you cried, your voice breaking. "For always being like this."

"Shh," he murmured softly, pulling you into his lap. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close. "You don't have to apologize, love. Don't ever apologize for how you feel."

You buried your face in his shoulder, shaking your head. The words of comfort should've helped, but all they did was amplify the storm inside you.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Jay asked, his voice low and patient.

You shook your head, gripping him tighter. You couldn't bring yourself to say it. Not now. Not yet.

He didn't push. He just held you, his hand running up and down your back as you cried into him.

And then, as the room grew quieter, your emotions spilled into something else. The ache in your chest shifted, giving way to a deeper, more desperate need—the need to feel alive, to feel connected, to escape the weight of your mind, even if only for a moment.

Your lips found his, and he kissed you back without hesitation, his hands tightening around your waist. The kiss was slow at first, gentle, but soon it grew hungry, fueled by the raw emotion lingering in the air.

It wasn't long before your knees dug into the mattress, your body arching beneath him as he moved inside you. The pain and weight of your emotions blurred into the pleasure of his touch, every thrust sending a wave of heat through your body.

"A-ah! Fuck, slow down!" you gasped as he hit a spot inside you that made your toes curl.

"Felt so good," Jay groaned, his breath hot against your ear as his body pressed flush against yours. His lips found the nape of your neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses as his fingers kneaded your breasts, sending sparks of sensation through you.

You threw your head back, your arms giving out beneath you as he pressed deeper. "Jay," you whimpered, his name tumbling from your lips as your body trembled with every movement.

"Love you," he groaned, his voice rough with desperation. "Fuck, a-ah, I'm gonna cum."

"Inside me, please," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper, but he heard you.

Jay's body fell against yours as he pushed deeper, his breath hitching as his release overtook him. The feeling of him filling you pushed you over the edge, your orgasm crashing into you so intensely that tears pricked your eyes.

Your cries of overstimulation mixed with his groans, his hips moving in small, desperate thrusts as he fill inside you. Finally, he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath.

His lips pressed soft kisses along your forehead and temple, his hand trailing to your stomach, where his fingers traced gentle patterns on your skin.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice so full of sincerity that it made your chest ache.

You turned your head, catching his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. He kissed you back, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

"Spend the Purge at our house," he said after a moment, his forehead resting against yours. "You'll be safe there. I'll protect you. I promise."

His words should have comforted you. They should have been enough. But as you stared into his eyes, full of love and hope, you felt your chest tighten.

Because no matter what Jay did to protect you, no matter how much healing you tried to find, there was one truth you couldn't ignore.

No matter how hard you fought it, no matter how much you loved him, you're still broken, and lost.

March 21, 3:00 PM

You wiped the tables methodically, trying to focus on the task, but the air in the restaurant was tense. All eyes were glued to the TV mounted on the wall, where the announcement of the Annual Purge was being broadcast. The monotone voice of the announcer echoed through the room, describing the rules and restrictions for the night.

Your manager came up to you, his voice urgent. "Hey, take an early leave. Go home and get ready. You shouldn't be out when the sirens start."

You nodded, offering him a faint smile. "Thanks, I'll head out soon."

After finishing up and helping close the restaurant, you walked back to your apartment. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the streets. As you set up a small barricade in your apartment—nothing fancy, just furniture pressed against the windows and doors—you heard a car honk outside.

Peeking out, you saw Jay leaning casually against his car, waiting for you with that familiar warm smile.

You felt a wave of comfort wash over you at the sight of him. Smiling back, you hurried outside, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"Let's go home?" he asked, his voice calm and full of care.

You hesitated, glancing back at your apartment. "I need to grab a few things first," you said.

Jay nodded easily. "Of course. Take your time."

After changing out of your work uniform, you slipped into a white off-shoulder dress that reached your knees—something simple yet elegant. You'd never worn it before, and even the soft fabric against your skin felt foreign. Paired with Mary Jane shoes and a pair of cute white socks.

When you stepped into Jay's car, he looked up at you, his eyes widening slightly. "Wow," he murmured, his gaze softening. "You look beautiful."

You felt your cheeks warm as he leaned in, holding your jaw gently and pecking your lips. "What's with the outfit today?" he teased, laughing lightly.

You smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I just thought... maybe I'd wear something different. Something nice."

Jay laughed again, his hand reaching out toward your thigh, but you subtly redirected it, placing it over yours instead. He didn't seem to mind, intertwining his fingers with yours as his other hand rested on the steering wheel.

March 21, 4:30 PM

The house was buzzing with noise by the time you arrived. From the top of the stairs, you peeked down and saw six boys piling in through the entrance, bags slung over their shoulders as they greeted Jay's mother.

"Oh, it's Jay's friends!" his mother exclaimed warmly, hugging them one by one.

You recognized Ni-ki and Sunoo, the only ones you'd met before. The rest were strangers to you, their confident voices filling the house as they exchanged jokes and pleasantries.

"Hi, Mrs. Park! I hope you don't mind if we spend the Purge here at your house!" said a tall man with an easy smile.

"No problem, Heesung," Jay's mother replied, her voice full of affection. "What about your parents and sisters?"

"They're at a party," another boy replied casually. "Some politician's mansion. They love that kind of thing."

Your breath hitched, the words hitting a nerve.

What a nice life to be rich, you thought bitterly.

"Hey," Jay's voice pulled you from your thoughts. You turned to see him standing beside you, his brow furrowed slightly. "Are you okay?"

You forced a smile, one you'd perfected over the years. "Yeah, I'm fine. Your friends are downstairs."

Jay studied you for a moment longer, but then he smiled, intertwining his hand with yours as he led you down the stairs.

The boys were loud and full of energy, laughing and teasing each other as they set their bags down and unpacked their things. Jay's mother fussed over them, offering snacks and asking about their families.

"This is Y/N, my girlfriend," Jay announced proudly, pulling you close by your waist.

The room fell quiet for a brief moment, and you could feel their gazes on you.

"Oh my God, you're a thing now?" Jay's mother gasped, her hands clasped over her mouth.

"Isn't it obvious?" Jay replied with a laugh.

One of the boys stepped forward, introducing himself. "Hi, Y/N! I'm Heesung. This is Jake, Sunghoon, and Jungwon. I guess you already know Ni-ki and Sunoo."

You offered a polite smile, nodding as they all greeted you.

As the evening went on, you stayed mostly quiet, helping Jay's mother prepare food while the boys joked around. Jay noticed your silence, slipping his arms around your waist from behind as you worked in the kitchen.

"Hey," he murmured against your ear. "You're safe, okay? You don't need to worry."

You turned to look at him, your heart heavy with emotions you couldn't express. "I love you," you said softly, staring into his eyes.

Jay smiled, pressing a kiss to your lips. "I love you more," he replied, glancing at his watch. "It's already 6:30. I need to barricade the house."

You nodded, watching as he started to walk away. Then, impulsively, you called out, "Jay."

He turned back, his eyes soft. "Hmm?"

Walking up to him, you wrapped your arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. His hands found your face, gently brushing his thumb across your cheek as he looked at you with worry. "Are you anxious, baby?" he asked softly.

"No," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "I just wanted to say I love you again."

Jay let out a soft laugh, leaning down to kiss you. "Love, I'm just barricading the house, not purging." He kissed your forehead tenderly, his lips lingering for a moment. "Now, let me lock everything down so we'll be safe, okay?"

You nodded, stepping back reluctantly as he disappeared toward the storage room.

Jay walked through the dim hallway leading to the storage room when he heard footsteps behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Sunghoon catching up to him, a casual smirk on his face as he slung an arm around Jay's shoulder.

"Yo, bro," Sunghoon said casually, falling into step beside him. "No offense but, you sure about that girl?"

Jay frowned, shrugging off Sunghoon's arm. "Why? What are you talking about?"

Sunghoon shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "She just... seems like a lot. I mean, no offense, but she looks like she's difficult to handle."

Jay's brows furrowed deeper, his steps slowing as he turned to face Sunghoon. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Look, we care about you," Sunghoon said, raising his hands as if to calm him. "Have you seen her scars? Her face? She's clearly been through some shit. Is she even healed from all that?"

Jay's jaw tightened, his teeth clenching as anger flared in his chest. He stepped closer to Sunghoon, his voice low and dangerous. "Watch your mouth."

"Chill, man, I'm just saying." Sunghoon grabbed Jay's arm in an attempt to reason with him. "That girl's got baggage, and I'm telling you, she's going to be a lot of problems for you. She's not stable, bro. You can't tell me you haven't noticed."

Jay didn't let him finish. His hand shot out, grabbing Sunghoon by the collar and shoving him back against the wall. "Say another word, and I swear I'll make you regret it," he growled, his voice dripping with rage.

Sunghoon's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't back down. "I'm trying to look out for you, Jay," he said, his tone firm. "You're my friend. I don't want you getting hurt."

Jay released him with a sharp shove, his chest heaving as he tried to control his temper. "Don't ever talk about her like that again," he said coldly, his eyes burning with anger. "You don't know a damn thing about her."

He turned on his heel, ignoring Sunghoon as he walked into the storage room. His hands trembled slightly as he pressed the button to activate the lockdown. The sound of metal walls sliding into place filled the air, sealing the house and cutting off the world outside.

"Jay, listen to me," Sunghoon said, his voice following him into the room. "I'm serious. There's something off about her. Just think about it, man."

Jay didn't respond. He slammed the door shut behind him, shutting Sunghoon out both literally and figuratively.

Returning to the living room, Jay found the rest of his friends lounging on the couches, laughing and exchanging stories. His mother was tidying up nearby, a small smile on her face as she listened to their chatter.

"Where's Y/N?" Jay asked, his eyes scanning the room.

"I think she went to your room," Ni-ki said, glancing up from his phone. "She said she wanted to sleep early."

Jay nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. But before he could take another step, Sunghoon appeared at his side again.

"Man, I'm trying to talk to you," Sunghoon said, his voice laced with frustration.

Jay's patience snapped. Without thinking, he turned and landed a punch squarely on Sunghoon's jaw, sending him stumbling backward.

The room fell silent as the others jumped to their feet.

"Jay! What the hell are you doing?!" Jake shouted, stepping between them.

"I'm just trying to give him advice about his girlfriend!" Sunghoon snapped, holding his jaw as he glared at Jay.

"Are you seriously saying that fucking nonsense while my girlfriend is in this house?!" he shouted. "How dare you even say that shit in front of me?!"

Sunghoon raised his hands in defense, but Jay wasn't done. He stepped closer, pointing a finger at him. "You've known her for, what, an hour? And you think you have the right to judge her? To judge us? Fuck you, Sunghoon!"

"Jay, calm down," Heesung said cautiously, stepping between the two of them with his hands outstretched, but Jay wasn't having it.

"You don't get to judge her just because of what you think you see!" Jay growled, his voice trembling with anger. He shoved Heesung and Jake off as they tried to hold him back.

"Get the fuck off me!" he barked, storming out of the living room. His footsteps pounded against the floor as he made his way up the stairs, leaving everyone behind in stunned silence.

Jay climbed the stairs two at a time, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. He pulled out his phone, swiping through his notifications until he found a message from Dr. Jisoo that he had missed earlier.

Dr. Jisoo: Good afternoon, Mr. Park. I just wanted to check in on Y/N since she's missed her last three sessions. Please keep an eye on her, especially today—it's a particularly triggering event for her. Thank you.

Jay felt a wave of dread wash over him, his heart sinking into his stomach. He quickened his pace, practically sprinting to his bedroom.

"Y/N?" he called, pushing the door open.

But the room was empty.

Panic set in as he checked the bathroom, the closet, all of the room, even under the bed, but you were nowhere to be found.

He bolted back down the stairs, his voice frantic as he called out for you. "Y/N?! Where are you?!"

His mother stepped into the hallway, her face pale with worry. "What's wrong, Jay?"

"She's gone," he said, his voice shaking. "Did anyone see her leave?!"

Everyone in the living room exchanged confused looks, shrugging helplessly.

"Y/N?!" Jay shouted again, his voice echoing through the house.

Jay froze as the broadcast echoed through the house, the robotic voice chilling him to the bone.

"This is not a test. This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the Annual Purge sanctioned by the U.S Government.

Weapons of class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted. Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed.

Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning, until 7 a.m., when the Purge concludes.

Blessed by our New Founding Fathers and America, a nation reborn. May God be with you all."

The final words echoed in his ears as the sirens blared, signaling the start of the Purge.

His heart pounded, his chest tight as he pieced everything together. The missed therapy sessions, how quiet you had been all day, the way you hugged him like it might be the last time.

You weren't in the house.

You were out there.

Jay turned on his heel and sprinted to the storage room, his mind racing as panic surged through him.

He yanked open his closet, grabbing the bag he had packed weeks ago—just in case. Inside were the essentials: a shotgun, a pistol, extra ammunition, and a knife. He tossed the bag over his shoulder, his hands trembling as he loaded the pistol, cocking it with precision.

"Jay, what are you doing?!" his mother cried, standing at the door with tears streaming down her face.

"Unlock the barricade and lock it again after I leave," he said coldly, his voice devoid of the warmth she was used to.

"Jay, you can't! It's dangerous out there!" she pleaded, stepping closer.

"Unlock it!" he snapped, his voice sharp, though his eyes betrayed his inner turmoil. "Please, Mom. I have to go."

"No," Sunghoon interrupted, stepping forward and grabbing Jay's arm. "You're not thinking straight. She left, Jay. She chose to go out there—"

Jay swatted his hand away, pointing the pistol directly at Sunghoon's head. The room went silent.

"Jay!" Heesung shouted, stepping forward.

"Come any closer, and I'll blow his fucking head off," Jay growled, his jaw tightening as his finger hovered near the trigger. "You don't get to stop me. None of you do."

Sunghoon raised his hands slowly, his expression shifting to one of caution. "Alright, man. Just... relax, okay? I'm just trying to—"

"Shut up," Jay hissed, the tension in his body radiating outward. His voice lowered, trembling slightly. "I told you to stay out of this. She's out there, and I'm going to find her."

He turned his gaze to Ni-ki, who was frozen near the security console. "Ni-ki," Jay said firmly. "Unlock the barricade. Now."

Ni-ki hesitated, looking at Jungwon and Jake for guidance, but neither said anything. With a shaky hand, Ni-ki pressed the button, and the sound of the metal walls lifting reverberated through the house.

"Jay, please," his mother sobbed, grabbing his arm as he stepped toward the door.

Jay paused, his resolve faltering for just a moment as he looked at her. "I'm sorry," he said softly, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "But I can't stay here knowing she's out there."

Tears streamed down her face as she nodded, her voice trembling. "I understand, be safe. Please."

"I will," Jay said, stepping out the door. "Lock it the second I'm gone."

The metal walls began to descend behind him as he walked to his car, his mind racing with questions. Where could you have gone? Why didn't you tell him? Were you safe? Were you scared?

Sliding into the driver's seat, he tossed the bag into the passenger side and gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. His eyes scanned the darkened streets, the occasional scream or gunshot in the distance reminding him of the stakes.

Without hesitation, he pressed the gas pedal.

You walk slowly down an unfamiliar road, your steps unsteady. You just keep walking and walking, unsure of where you're going or why. You don't understand yourself anymore. You thought everything was finally okay. What more could you ask for?

You have a loving boyfriend who always tries to make you smile. His mother cares for you like her own. You eat three meals a day. You're seeing a therapist. And you even have a safe place to hide on Purge Night.

So why do you feel like this?

Why do you feel so broken when you should feel whole?

Why are you out here, in the middle of the street, on the most dangerous night of the year, with just a knife strapped under your dress?

You wonder if Jay has noticed you're gone. He probably has by now. Your chest tightens at the thought of him pacing back and forth, calling your name.

Your lifeless eyes stare ahead as you walk deeper into the quiet street. It's so still, unnaturally still. No trucks rumbling down the road. No gangs or masked figures in sight.

"Kill me already!" you scream into the emptiness. Your voice echoes down the road, but there's no answer. Not a single sniper or purger takes the bait.

Then, a distant cry catches your ear—a plea for help. You turn toward the sound and walk toward it, your grip tightening on the handle of the knife hidden beneath your dress.

As you approach, you see a young girl sprinting toward you, clutching her bleeding waist. Four people in masks are chasing her, laughing like it's some sick game.

"Man, we just want to purge!" one of them—a woman—cackles. That laugh—it burrows into your memory like a needle.

The girl stumbles, and when her eyes meet yours, there's desperation written all over them. She collapses at your feet, her blood soaking through your white dress as she clings to you.

"Please... help me," she gasps.

Her words are cut off by a gunshot. Blood splatters across your face as a hole appears in her forehead. Her body falls limp, her grip on your dress loosening.

"My fucking soul feels cleansed!" the woman says with a twisted laugh. The others laugh with her, like a pack of hyenas.

"Up next—" the woman starts, raising her pistol toward you.

But you're faster.

In one fluid motion, you pull out your knife and hurl it at her. It pierces through her mask and into her skull. She drops instantly, blood dripping from the blade.

The remaining three hesitate, stunned. That's all the time you need. You yank the knife from the dead woman's head and dash toward the others, slicing the nearest one's throat in a clean arc.

The man in the joker mask fumbles for his gun, but you grab the dead body beside you, using it as a shield. Then, you throw the knife again, this time hitting his chest.

He stumbles back, gasping for air, as you snatch his gun from his weakening grip. Before he can even hit the ground, you fire a shot straight into his skull.

Now, there's only one left.

The last purger, wearing a cat mask, drops to his knees and pulls the mask off, revealing a trembling man. He raises his hands in surrender, tears streaming down his face.

"P-please... spare me. I-I just wanted to purge this year," he stammers, his voice cracking.

You glare at him, the weight of your actions and emotions swirling inside you.

"How many innocent people have you killed in all the purges you've been a part of?" you ask, your tone icy.

His lip quivers. "P-probably 70—"

Before he can finish, you pull the trigger.

The gunshot echoes through the street as he collapses, lifeless.

Silence fills the street once more as you stand there, your white dress soaked in blood, surrounded by bodies. You don't know how long you've been standing there, staring at the carnage.

Then, it happens.

A soft laugh escapes your lips. It bubbles up from your throat, quiet at first, but it grows louder, sharper, until it echoes down the empty street. It's not a happy laugh. It's hollow, bitter, unhinged.

You bring a hand to your face, your fingers brushing against the blood splattered across your skin.

You really have lost yourself, haven't you? Or, did you found it now?

You hate the Purge. You hate the monsters it creates. You hate the people who thrive on it, the ones who laugh, who kill, who hurt.

So why are you here, in the middle of the night, doing the exact same thing?

Tears prick at your eyes, but they don't fall. You just stand there, your shoulders trembling as the weight of everything presses down on you. You feel nothing. And that terrifies you most of all.

You crouch down, wiping your knife on the dead woman's clothes, smearing blood across the fabric.

Your hands tremble slightly, it's not fear—it's something else. A quiet storm you can't name.

Once the blade gleams clean, you tuck it back into the thigh strap beneath your dress. Grabbing the fallen gun, you check the chamber and reload it. The satisfying click of the cocked weapon echoes as you straighten up and continue walking.

The street stretches ahead, eerily quiet except for the distant sounds of chaos—gunshots, screams, and the occasional rumble of an engine.

Three figures suddenly sprint toward you from the shadows. They glance at you, wide-eyed, as they pass by, their faces pale with fear.

Ahead of you, three figures suddenly appear from the shadows. Their faces are pale with fear as they sprint past you. One of them—a panicked old man—stumbles and grabs your arm, his grip shaky.

"Miss, don't go that way!" he says, his voice hoarse and desperate. "That group's rounding people up—they're psychos!"

His words barely register. Your gaze drifts past him, toward the direction he came from. A cold calm washes over you as he keeps tugging at your arm, pleading.

A large truck screeches to a halt in front of you, its headlights blinding. The old man panics, letting go of your arm and bolting down the road. He doesn't get far. A sharp crack rings out, and he collapses mid-stride, a bullet tearing through his back.

You don't flinch.

The truck door swings open, and several masked figures step out.

One of them grabs your arm, yanking it behind your back as another snatches the gun from your hand.

"Blessed be the New Founding Fathers of America," one of them says, leaning close to your face.

You smile. Not a kind smile—a bitter one. "Blessed be them," you whisper back.

Then, without warning, you jerk your head forward, slamming it into the man's nose. He stumbles back with a grunt of pain, clutching his face as blood pours through his fingers.

Before the others can react, you twist your arm free and yank your knife from its strap. The blade flashes in the dim light as you slice upward, catching one of them in the throat. They gargle and drop to their knees, clutching at the wound.

Another lunges at you, swinging a metal pipe. You duck under the blow, driving the knife into his ribs. He gasps, his body jolting as you twist the blade, blood spraying onto your dress.

You scream—whether it's from rage or something deeper, you're not sure.

The sound rips from your throat as you yank the knife free and stab again, and again, and again, until his body goes limp.

Behind you, the first man—the one whose nose you broke—recovers quickly. He raises his gun, aiming it directly at your back.

You're too focused, too lost in the heat of the moment to notice him.

The loud crack of gunfire fills the air, but it doesn't come from his weapon.

The man's body jerks violently as a burst of bullets tears through him, and he collapses to the ground, lifeless.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you spin around.

Your wide eyes locking onto the figure standing behind him.

"Jay," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He steps forward slowly, his shotgun still in hand. His expression is unreadable, his eyes flicking over the bodies surrounding you before settling on you.

You brace yourself for the anger you expect to see in his face. For him to yell at you, demand answers, maybe even tell you he's done with you.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he stops in front of you, his gaze softening as he raises a hand to your face. His thumb brushes gently across your cheek, wiping away the streaks of blood smeared there.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice full of worry. "Are you hurt?"

You can't speak. Your lips tremble as tears blur your vision. Slowly, your hand rises to hold his against your cheek.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, his voice heavy with guilt. "I'm sorry for not noticing sooner that you weren't okay. I should've known."

His words hit you like a punch to the chest, and you shake your head, your tears spilling over. "W-what are you doing here?" you manage to say, your voice shaking. "It's dangerous."

Jay smiles softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I could say the same thing to you, love," he murmurs, pulling you into a warm, protective embrace.

His arms wrap around you tightly, holding you like he's afraid to let go. You bury your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt.

"I can't let my girl be out here alone on Purge Night," he whispers into your hair.

You pull back slightly, looking up at him, your smile shaky and uncertain. "Y-you're not angry?"

Jay shakes his head slowly, his warm hand cupping your face as if to anchor you. "No, baby. I'm not angry," he says softly.

Your lips tremble, the guilt clawing its way up your throat as you look into his eyes. "I... I'm a monster, Jay. Look at what I did," you whisper, your voice cracking.

His thumb gently strokes your cheek, his gaze never leaving yours. There's no judgment there, no fear—just a quiet understanding that makes your chest ache.

"I don't think I'm normal anymore, Jay," you say, your voice barely audible as tears spill freely down your face. "I don't even know what I'm feeling right now. I don't know who I am anymore."

You start to sob, the raw emotion pouring out of you like a dam breaking. Jay leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours, his other hand sliding to the back of your neck to hold you steady.

"I love you," he whispers into the space between you. "No matter what. No matter what you've done, no matter what you want to do... I love you."

His words hit you like a wave, and your sobs come harder, your body trembling in his arms.

"You always ask if you're normal," he continues, his tone soothing as he brushes a stray tear from your cheek. "But I already told you, love. Who cares about normal? Normal doesn't matter to me. You matter to me."

His arms wrap around you tighter, pulling you against his chest.

"If this is what you need to do to heal, then I'll be here," he whispers into your ear. "And I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn't say this to me. I'll always understand, love. Always. Just... don't do this again without me knowing, okay?"

You nod against his chest, your sobs muffling into his shirt.

"I'm such a—" you try to speak, but the words get caught in your throat, your cries making it impossible to finish the sentence.

Jay shushes you softly, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. "You're not. You're not anything bad, baby. You're just... hurting."

You pull back slightly, your hands clutching his shirt as you look up at him, your voice trembling. "I hate it, Jay. I hate what I've become. I'm not me anymore. It terrifies me."

His hand moves to cradle the back of your head, and he presses a soft kiss to your hair. "I know," he whispers. "But I'll be here. I'll be with you through every terrifying moment, love."

For a long moment, the two of you just stay like that—his arms holding you close, your head resting against his chest as your breathing slowly evens out. The tension in your body begins to ease, though the storm in your mind still churns.

Jay pulls back slightly, tilting his head to meet your gaze, his smile growing softer but never losing its warmth.

"Are you enjoying yourself right now?" he asks, his voice light and genuine, almost teasing.

You blink at him, surprised by the question, but the answer bubbles up inside you before you can stop it. A faint smile begins to form on your lips, something that feels both wrong and inexplicably right.

"Yes," you admit quietly, your voice steadier than before. "I think I am."

Jay's smile widens just a little, his thumb brushing against your cheek again as if to ground you.

"That's all that matters," he says softly, his voice filled with a calm acceptance that makes the tension in your chest ease.

Then, his eyes flicker toward the carnage surrounding you—the lifeless bodies, the blood that stains the street, and your hands, still trembling but steady enough to hold the knife.

"What do you want to do? Hmm?" he asks, his tone curious yet understanding, as if ready to follow wherever your answer leads.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the gun in your hands and the heat of the night pressing against your skin. Your lips curve into a determined smile, and your answer comes without hesitation.

"I want to kill purgers," you say, your voice clear and sharp, your eyes shining with a fire that you hadn't felt in years.

Jay doesn't flinch or waver at your words. Instead, he nods, stepping closer to you and holding out his shotgun. "Here," he says, his voice calm as he hands it over.

You take it, your hands steady now, and your eyes glint as you examine the weapon.

"Is this a SPAS-12?" you ask, running your fingers along the smooth barrel.

Jay chuckles softly, watching the way your gaze flickers with excitement.

"Yeah. My dad gave it to me," he replies as he takes your free hand in his.

"Come on," he says, tugging you gently toward his car. "Let's get out of here. It's dangerous to stay in one spot too long."

You follow him, practically bouncing on your heels as you intertwine your fingers with his. As the two of you approach the car, a question bubbles up, one you hadn't thought to ask before.

"Where's your dad, anyway? I've never met him," you say, glancing at him as he unlocks the driver's side door.

Jay shrugs lightly, opening the door for you.

"He's overseas," he explains as you climb in. "He's been busy. A lot of countries are starting to plan their own versions of the Purge, and he's consulting on security systems for them."

"Wow," you mutter, settling into the passenger seat as Jay slides in beside you.

He starts the car, the engine rumbling to life as he glances over at you. "You ready?"

"Is this car bulletproof?" you ask, running your hand along the interior with a raised eyebrow.

Jay smirks, shrugging. "I don't think so, but who needs bulletproof when we've got each other?"

You giggle, the sound light and unexpected, even to yourself.

As he presses the gas pedal hard, the car lurches forward, and the thrill of speed courses through you.

The windows are down, and the cool night air rushes past you as you cock the shotgun, the familiar click of the weapon sending a chill down your spine.

You lean halfway out the window, scanning the streets for purgers, your eyes narrowing when you spot a group down the road.

"Hey, fuckers!" you shout, your voice carrying across the night.

Jay glances over at you, his grin widening as he watches you. "Careful with my car, love," he teases, though there's nothing but pride in his tone.

You don't respond, too focused on your target. Raising the shotgun, you take aim and fire. The blast rings out, and one of the masked figures crumples to the ground.

Jay chuckles, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he drifts the car in a sharp circle, giving you a clear view of the rest of the group.

You take the opportunity, cocking the shotgun again and pulling the trigger, your laughter bubbling up as another purger falls.

Jay's eyes are on you the whole time.

There's a softness in his gaze, even amid the violence. A quiet love that seems to radiate from him as he smiles, the chaos of the night fading away for him.

There's just you, him, and the shared thrill of the hunt.

March 22, 4:00 AM

The two of you stand on the rooftop of an abandoned building, the city stretched out before you in ruins. Fires burn in the distance, their orange glow painting the night in an eerie light. Screams and gunshots echo faintly through the air, but up here, it almost feels quiet.

Jay's arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you against him as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

"When I first saw you, I thought you were the prettiest girl I'd ever seen," he says softly, his voice low in your ear.

You snort, your lips twitching into a faint smile. "I smelled like shit, Jay. I looked like skin and bones. Where's the 'pretty' in that?" you ask, a chuckle escaping you.

Jay presses his lips to your neck, his voice a murmur against your skin. "You were pretty then. You're pretty now. You've always been pretty."

"You should hate me," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the distant crackling of fires below. "For leaving. For running away."

Jay's grip tightened, his hands pulling you closer as his forehead pressed against the back of your head. "I could never hate you," he murmured. "Not when I know what you've been carrying."

You opened your mouth to argue, to push back

"I don't deserve you," you admitted, your voice cracking as the weight of the night caught up with you.

Jay let out a soft laugh, the sound warm and reassuring. "You don't get to decide that," he said, his tone teasing but full of affection. "That's my call, and I'm not going anywhere.

You tilt your head slightly, giving him more access, your breath hitching as he kisses the sensitive spot just below your ear. His lips linger, soft and warm, before his tongue flicks against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

A quiet moan escapes you as he nips at your neck, his teeth grazing your skin before he soothes the bite with a kiss. "Jay..."

His hands begin to roam, one sliding up to cup your breast, squeezing gently, while the other dips beneath your dress. His fingers brush over the fabric of your panties, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves there.

"You're really doing this?" you sigh, half-laughing even as your body arches into his touch.  "In the middle of the purge?"

Jay chuckles softly, his lips still pressed against your neck. "We're standing on a rooftop, watching the world burn," he murmurs. "Seems like the perfect time to me."

His fingers move with more purpose now, slipping past the fabric of your panties and brushing against your wet folds. You gasp, your body trembling against him as he slides one finger inside you, curling it just enough to make you bite down on your lip.

"You know," Jay whispers, his voice low and rough as his free hand kneads your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. "I'm not normal either."

You barely manage to form a response, your mind clouded by the pleasure building inside you. "W-what do you mean?"

Jay bites gently at your neck again, his lips curling into a grin. "Watching you out there... gunning down those purgers... smearing blood all over that cute little dress..." He groans, his hips pressing into you so you can feel just how hard he is. 

"Fuck, it turns me on so much. You looked so beautiful. So fucking dangerous."

His confession sends a jolt of heat straight through you, and your legs almost buckle as he slides another finger inside you, his pace increasing. His other hand slips beneath the neckline of your dress, tugging it down just enough to expose your chest as he palms your bare skin.

"Jay..." you gasp, your head falling back against his shoulder as his fingers work you over, pushing deeper and curling just right.

"You're so perfect like this," he whispers, his voice breathy and filled with adoration as he watches your face twist with pleasure. 

"The way your body moves, the way you moan for me... I'll never get enough of you."

His thumb brushes over your clit, sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. You grip his arms, your nails digging into his skin as your body starts to shake.

"F-fuck, Jay," you cry out, your voice muffled as he kisses your temple.

"That's it, baby," he encourages. "Let go for me. Let me see you lose yourself."

You're barely holding on, your body trembling as he picks up the pace, his fingers sliding in and out of you relentlessly. 

The pressure inside you builds and builds until it snaps, a wave of heat and pleasure crashing over you as your orgasm takes hold.

You cry out, your hips bucking against his hand as you ride out the high, your walls clenching around his fingers. Jay doesn't stop, his movements gentle now as he works you through it, his lips pressing soft kisses to your neck and shoulder.

When the aftershocks finally subside, you collapse back against him, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath. Jay wraps his arms around you tightly, holding you close as he presses a kiss to your temple.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice soft and sincere.  "Now, let me eat."

Before you can respond, he gently turns you, guiding your back to the cool metal railing. His hands are steady on your waist

"Park Jongseong!"

He crouched, his teeth hooking the edge of your panties and dragging them down, baring you inch by inch. The fabric pooled at your knees before his face dove between your thighs, his tongue parting you

He worked his way up to your clit, licking slow, teasing circles that made your knees threaten to buckle.

His grip tightened on your waist, firm hands pulling you closer, urging your hips to rock against his face.

Your right leg lifted, hooking over his shoulder for balance, your fingers threading into his hair to anchor yourself. You tugged, hard, grinding yourself against him. His groan reverberated through you, the vibrations sending shockwaves straight to your core.

"Jongseong!" you sobbed, your voice breaking as the intensity overwhelmed you. Your grip on his hair tightened, your body trembling.

Abruptly, he pulled away, leaving you breathless and desperate. 

Before you could protest, his hands were on your shoulders, pushing you down. You hit the rough ground with a muted thud, your palms scraping against the coarse surface.

You barely had time to process the sensation before his hands were on your hips, lifting you up.

"Need to be inside you, baby."

You heard him groan softly, the sound of him stroking himself before he pressed against your entrance.

The stretch as he slid inside you was slow, deliberate, every inch a sensation that left you gasping. You clenched around him instinctively, earning a hiss from him as he threw his head back, savoring the feeling.

"Faster," you whimpered, your voice trembling with need. Your hands scrambled to reach his, gripping the one on your waist.

"My baby wants more?" he laughed, a dark, almost mocking edge to his tone.

Before you could answer, he gathered your wrists in one hand, pulling them behind your back and holding them there. His pace quickened, his hips snapping against yours with bruising force.

You screamed, your voice raw, your body pliant in his grasp.

He didn't stop, didn't relent, even as your cries turned to desperate whines. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, your body trembling violently. But just as you were about to fall over, his movements faltered.

"No!" you cried out, shaking in his hold, trying to move, to chase the release that hovered just out of reach. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pressing you down firmly.

"Don't move," Jay ordered, his voice low and commanding. "I'm still enjoying the view."

You sobbed, your body trembling, your desperation mounting. "Please! I'll be good, I swear, please!"

He growled low in his throat, his hips slamming forward again, harder, rougher, making you cry out.

Gunshots echoed faintly in the background, but they felt distant, irrelevant. All that mattered was the man above you, his hands pinning you down, his movements relentless.

Your mouth fell open as you felt him twitch inside you, his pace faltering before he suddenly flipped you onto your back. Your legs went limp, draped over his shoulders as he sank into you again, his face hovering inches from yours.

Your focus locked on him, the way his brows knit together, the way his jaw clenched, the way his sweat-dampened hair clung to his forehead. He was beautiful in his rawness, primal and consuming.

"I wanna cum," you whimpered, your hand reaching for your clit, desperate for release, but he slapped it away with a sharp look.

"Hold it, love," he commanded, his breath ragged. He leaned down, his mouth latching onto your breast, his tongue swirling around your nipple before he bit down, hard.

You screamed, tears streaming down your face as your body writhed beneath him.

"Can't hold it anymore," you sobbed, shaking your head, your pleas growing more desperate.

"Just a little longer," he whispered, his voice a strained plea of his own. His thumb found your clit, pressing down in firm, maddening circles, even as his hips drove into you faster, harder.

The moment came like a tidal wave, crashing through you with a force that left you breathless, your body spasming around him.

"A-ah fuck!" you screamed, your voice breaking.

His rhythm faltered as you tightened around him, pulling him over the edge with you. He buried himself deep, his groan low and guttural as he came, filling you completely.

"Jay, can't!" you whimpered, your body oversensitive, trembling as he continued to move, chasing the last echoes of his high.

"Fuck, I love you," he muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion

Finally, he stilled, collapsing beside you. His arm looped around your waist, pulling you close.

"You're not falling asleep on me, are you?" he teased, his voice soft.

"Tired," you mumbled, pouting with your eyes half-closed.

"What happened to killing purgers all night?" he asked, his tone light, teasing.

You cracked one eye open to glare at him. "It's morning," you grumbled.

Jay chuckled, his fingers gently smoothing down your dress as best as he could. His eyes lingered on you, softening as you murmured sleepily against his ear.

"I wanna kill Ms. Wilson next year," you whispered, your voice faint.

His lips curved into a small, knowing smile. He kissed your forehead softly, his breath warm against your skin. "Anything for you, love."

You hummed in response, your body melting further into his hold. "I hate how the Purge is so right," you mumbled, your words fading into the quiet dawn. "It really did cleanse my soul."

March 22, 6:45 AM

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting a pale golden glow over the city. The streets were eerily still, a grim quiet settling over the aftermath of the Purge.

Jay carried you carefully to his car, his movements slow and deliberate as he set you down in the passenger seat. For a moment, he lingered, crouching beside you. His hand brushed a stray strand of hair from your cheek, his fingers ghosting over your peaceful expression.

You had found yourself, hadn’t you? Maybe not in the way most people would expect, but in a way that felt undeniably true to you.

Your eyelashes fluttered, your eyes opening just enough to glance at him groggily. "What time is it?"

"6:45," Jay replied softly, his voice low. "The Purge is almost over."

You nodded weakly, your head tilting back against the seat as your eyes drifted closed again. But before sleep could take you, they snapped open once more, and you turned your head to him.

"Why? What’s wrong?" Jay asked, his voice laced with gentle concern.

You smiled sweetly, your lips curving in a way that made his heart skip.

"Kiss me."

His lips twitched into a chuckle, but he leaned down without hesitation, pressing his lips to yours. 

"I love you," you whispered as your eyes closed again, this time surrendering completely to sleep.

"I love you too," Jay echoed, his voice just above a whisper. His hand lingered on your cheek for a moment longer before he straightened up, gripping the steering wheel as he started the car.

The streets stretched out before him, empty and silent now, save for the faint echoes of distant sirens. The Purge had ended.

Jay chuckled softly to himself, glancing over at your sleeping form in the passenger seat. You looked so peaceful now, your lips slightly parted, your head resting against the window. It was hard to believe that just hours ago, the two of you had been surrounded by blood.

"Next year, huh?" he murmured under his breath, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Jay definitely needed to watch his back next year.

But with you by his side, what could any purger do?

There was no telling what the two of you were capable of.

taglist: @fancypeacepersona, @tunafishyfishylike

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

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buff guy

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ʚ Part 1 ɞ

❥ CW: chubby fem reader x buff guy

❥ A/N: hello!! I compiled the first two drabbles of this series into one fic! Im hoping to continue the fics in the future :) feedback is always appreciated!!

It's when he brings you flowers for the third time that you become a little suspicious of his intentions.

"He likes you," your coworker whispers as he leaves. "When are you gonna give him the chance?"

You shrug, putting the flowers on the counter by the register, rearranging them a bit.

"I think he's just trying to be nice."

"Why in the world would he keep bringing you flowers if he wasn't interested in you?" She grabs your shoulder, pulling you to face her. "The next time he comes in, just ask him how he feels. Maybe he'll be more direct and tell you how he feels."

Two days later, he's back, carrying a red bag. He approaches the counter, opposite hand in his pocket.

"The usual?" your coworker asks, but he's not looking at her, staring at you across the room, watching you steam milk. You pour the milk in a paper cup, placing down the pitcher and finally making eye contact with him. The two of you stare at each other, your coworker glancing back and forth before approaching you.

"Let me take over," she says, taking the cup from you and putting on a lid. She leans in to whisper. "Ask him."

You glance at her before looking back at him, running your hands over your apron, approaching the register where he stands.

"The usual?" you ask, and he nods. You click on the screen, bringing up his order. "Anything else?"

"What's your favorite drink?"

You twist your lip, looking up in thought.

"It's a little complicated."

"Tell me."

You take a deep breath.

"Well, I like to get two ristretto shots over ice, add two blue sugars, sometimes I add toffeenut or white mocha, and then I add oatmilk. Or soy, if I want some protein."

He hums.

"One of those too."

You pause, tilting your head quizzically before reaching towards the register.

"What size?"

"Whatever size you get."

You squint in thought, typing in the order. You give him the total, let him insert his credit card, and grab the cups you need. You make his order quickly, placing it at the other end of the counter where he now stands. You work on the second drink, placing it in front of him a minute later. He doesn't move for either drink.

"Is... there anything else I can do for you?"

"Yeah." He pushes the second drink back towards you. "Drink this for me."

"I—"

"And take this." He places the red bag on the counter next to the drink.

"Uh... what is it?" He nods towards the bag.

"Open it."

You hesitate, sliding the bag towards you and glancing inside.

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck, you think as you reach in and take out a heavy box wrapped in plastic.

"Perfect by Marc Jacobs?" you ask in a whisper. You glance up at him and he's just staring at you, an intense look in his eye. You swallow, peeling off the plastic and opening the box. You pull out the bottle, removing the cap and sniffing.

"Smells nice." You put the cap back on and look at him again. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

You both stand there silently for a moment before you put the perfume back in the box.

"Did you get this for me because I smell?"

His eyes widen, his hands raised.

"I didn't—"

He stops when you smile and laugh, tossing the plastic in the trash.

"I'm just messing with ya." You see his shoulders loosen as he lowers his arms, a smirk creeping up on his lips.

"Funny."

You move the bag behind the counter, making sure there wasn't a line before returning to him.

"Do you usually buy perfume for girls?"

"No," he replies quickly, finally taking his drink. "Just you."

You hum, grabbing the drink he bought for you.

"Why?"

He swallows his drink, staring at you the whole time.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Um... no, not really."

He scoffs, putting his cup down.

"The flowers, the perfume... what do you think it means?"

"Uh..." You glance at your coworker who's just leaning against the counter, smiling as she watches the two of you. "I, um... I thought you were just trying to be nice."

"You think buying perfume for a stranger is 'trying to be nice'?"

"I don't know," you reply defensively. "I just don't see why else you would give me stuff."

He leans his hands against the counter, bringing his eyes down to your level.

"You really can't think of any reason why someone would bring you flowers and perfume?"

You pause, then shrug, pouting at him. He sighs, hanging his head before standing up straight, grabbing his cup.

"Guess I'll have to try harder next time."

You scrunch your eyebrows as he starts walking away.

"Try what next time?" He doesn't answer, opening the front door. "Try what next time?" you yell after him, but he's already gone, taking a right and walking down the street.

You're dumbstruck. Your coworker starts squealing and jogs to you.

"Oh my god, the tension was so thick I could cut it with a knife!" She giggles and bounces. "I can't believe my work bestie is being pursued by a guy like that!"

"He's not pursuing me." She groans, throwing her head back.

"Alright, sure, keep telling yourself that. Meanwhile he'll keep bringing you flowers and then it'll be chocolate and jewelery and–"

You zone out, not paying attention. You glance at the drink he bought for you, wondering.

"He's coming!" your coworker whispers to you, bouncing for a moment before regaining her composure as he walked through the door. He approaches the counter, glancing at her before staring at you. He's carrying a bouquet of roses and a red box wrapped with a white bow.

"You're here for her, right?" she asks, pointing at you. He nods, and she turns, giving you two thumbs up as she walks past you, moving to the other side of the coffee bar. You pause, unsure, but eventually make your way to the register.

"Your usual?" you ask, but he shakes his head.

"Not today." He hands out the flowers and box. "For you."

"I..." You don't know what to say, so you just take the gifts, giving an awkward smile. "Thank you...?"

He nods towards the box.

"Open it."

You try not to show how nervous you are, putting down the roses on the counter. You peel the white ribbon from the box, taking off the red lid.

"Holy fuck?" you whisper, putting down the lid and pulling out a string of pearls. "What is this?"

"They're pearls."

"Yeah, I can see that, but why are you giving them to me?"

"Do you not like them?"

"No, I do like pearls, but–" You put the pearls back in the box, staring up at him. "Why are you giving them to me?"

"So you can wear them."

You roll your eyes.

"What? No, really? I thought I was supposed to eat them."

He smiles.

"You're funny. I like that."

You sigh, putting the lid back on the box, setting it down on the counter.

"Look, you've been really nice, but I don't think this is appropriate."

He glares.

"Why?"

"Well," you start, fiddling with your fingers, "I don't think your girlfriend would like you giving me all these things."

"I don't have a girlfriend." You blink.

"Well, I don't think your boyfriend would—"

He laughs, deep and gruff. It makes your stomach flip in the best way.

"I'm not into men."

"Then... well, why would you—"

"Look," he starts, leaning against the counter. "I want you to wear those pearls. I want you to wear the perfume I got you too. I want you to wear them to dinner with me."

Your cheeks burn. You swallow hard.

"W-Why do you want to have dinner with me?"

"You'll see." He stands up, reaching his hand out. "May I see your phone?"

You hesitate, but reach into your pocket, unlocking your phone and handing it to him. He takes it gently—holy fuck his hands are big—and taps at the screen for a little while. He hands the phone back to you, smirking at you. You read the screen, seeing his phone number and contact name: Future Husband 💕.

You sputter, wondering if your face could burn any hotter as you look up at him.

"Send me your address: I'll pick you up on Friday at seven."

Before you can respond, he turns and walks away, leaving the coffee shop. Your coworker squeals behind you.

"Oh my god, girl! I am totally living vicariously through you."

You huff, changing his phone contact to something more sensible.

Buff Guy

[deonsx]

hi, hi!! first off, i love your work so much!!

i saw that your requests were open, so i thought i'd shoot my shot.

i'd like to request an interviewer!reader x the blue lock boys. a few specific characters i'd like are: sae, rin, nagi, and kaiser.

but feel free to add or remove characters as you'd like, though! thank you, and take care!

Hiii love!! you said all my favorites so lets do it

Sae Itoshi

Sae Itoshi didn’t care for interviews. They were a chore. Walk in, answer a few dull questions, leave. That was the routine. But today, something was different

When he stepped into the room, his gaze landed on you. You weren’t like the others. No nervous smile, no overly eager expression. You were calm, composed, and confident. Sae found himself watching you longer than he usually would

The questions began, and for the first time in a long while, Sae gave more than his standard short answers. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the way you spoke steady and clear. Or maybe it was how you watched him, your expression thoughtful yet impossible to read

When the interview ended, Sae walked out as usual. But this time, your face and voice lingered in his mind. He brushed it off. It was just another interview. Or so he told himself

Sae wasn’t used to this. Faces and voices from interviews blurred together in his memory, but yours stood out. He found himself looking for you at matches, wondering if you’d be the one holding the microphone. He didn’t understand why it mattered, but he didn’t try to stop it either. The next time he saw you, Sae promised himself one thing

“Next time, I won’t let you leave without knowing more about you”

Rin Itoshi

He sat in the chair with his usual blank expression, arms crossed, eyes sharp as he waited for the questions to begin. When you walked in, your calm demeanor was the first thing he noticed. No exaggerated smiles, no forced charm. Just steady professionalism

There was something about your composure that irritated him but not in the way most people did. It was the kind of irritation that demanded his attention, the kind he couldn’t quite shake off

Weeks later, Rin was at a press conference following a heated match. His answers to reporters were as blunt as ever. But then his eyes found you among the crowd, seated quietly, waiting for your turn

For a split second, his focus faltered. It wasn’t like him to be distracted, yet here he was, scanning the room to catch another glimpse of you. When you finally stood to ask your question, Rin’s posture shifted almost imperceptibly.

You asked “Rin-san, your performance today was extraordinary. Do you think your ability to stay calm under pressure gives you an edge over other players?”

“Staying calm isn’t an edge. It’s a necessity. If you can’t handle pressure, you don’t belong on the field.”

Nagi Seishiro

They were a hassle, like most things that required effort. He slouched in his chair, head tilted, clearly uninterested as the team’s PR staff ran through instructions. When you entered the room, clipboard in hand, his gaze flicked to you briefly before returning to the wall

The interview began, and Nagi answered lazily, barely putting thought into his words. But as you continued, something shifted. Your voice wasn’t pushy or overenthusiastic like the others. It was calm, steady, almost soothing. You didn’t prod him to elaborate or react when his answers were short.

Nagi didn’t like putting effort into things or people. Most of the time, he preferred to avoid unnecessary interactions altogether. But with you, it was different. He wasn’t sure why.

Maybe it was how unfazed you were by his detached demeanor. Or the way you never tried to force a reaction out of him. Whatever it was, he found himself searching for you at matches and events, hoping to see you again.

You weren’t loud or demanding like the rest of the world around him. You were quiet, steady just there. And for someone like Nagi, who found most things exhausting, that was more than enough to capture his attention

“If I keep seeing you, maybe it won’t be so bad putting in a little effort”

Kaiser Michael

Michael Kaiser loved interviews or rather, he loved talking about himself. For him, it was just another stage where he could shine. When he entered the room, he was fully prepared to charm his way through. But this time, something unexpected caught his attention

You stood there, calm and composed, with no exaggerated expressions or overeager smiles like the others. Your presence was sharp but unassuming, and Kaiser noticed it immediately

As the questions started, Kaiser responded with his usual flair, confident and theatrical. But your reactions or lack thereof unsettled him. You didn’t laugh at his witty remarks or fawn over his charisma. Instead, you remained focused, observing him as if you were studying his every word

It wasn’t something Kaiser was used to, and it threw him off balance in the slightest, most infuriating way. When the interview ended, he left the room with a lingering thought: Who were you, and why couldn’t he stop thinking about how you looked at him?

Without realizing it, Kaiser found himself looking for you at every event, every match. You became a puzzle he couldn’t solve, and for someone who was used to winning at everything, that was both maddening and thrilling

“If you keep ignoring me, I’ll just have to make sure I’m impossible for you to overlook.”

Enjoy!

[mayrose713]

Beautifully Cruel World-Chapter 15

Series Masterlist | Previous | Next

ABO Non-Idol Stray Kids Universe Poly OT8 x Reader 18+ MDNI

Warnings in the Series Masterlist as well as any other information needed

A/N: Idk if anyone else's seasonal depression is hitting them harder at the moment but man is mine kicking my ass right now. But I finally managed to get this written so hopefully it isn't shit. I'm just happy to always get notifications of new people reading this and wanting me to still continue so I know my writing isn't completely trash at least. Enjoy!

Chapter 15

Jeongin and Hyunjin rush into the Omega’s room seeing her curled up to Seungmin before both of them jump on the bed.

“Wake up.” Jeongin says in a sing-song voice as he cuddles up to Y/n and Hyunjin puts his whole weight on Seungmin. 

“Get off you pabo.” Seungmin groans, pushing the older beta off of him, causing Hyunjin to land between Y/n and Seungmin.

“Innie.” Y/n groans. 

“What time is it anyways?” Seungmin leans over to look at his phone on the nightstand. “What’s got you guys up so early? Hyunjin is never up willingly before ten.”

“We’re doing our beach day today.” Jeongin beams looking at the two. “Felix and Jisung are waking Minho and Channie hyungs up right now.”

“Changbin just got back from the gym and is in the shower.” 

“You get to wear your new swimsuit. Ow.” Hyunjin glares at Seungmin who pinched  his side.

The omega blushes turning away from the two betas, not sure how to feel about wearing the swimsuit in front of all of them. 

“Jagiya.” Jeongin leans over Y/n, tilting his head to the side. “There’s no need to be embarrassed, it’s just us.”

“That’s exactly why she’s embarrassed.” Seungmin pushes the younger one over to lay back on the bed. “All of you are nothing but horny males.” 

“You say that as if you aren’t a horny male yourself.” Hyunjin tackles Seungmin to the floor and they start wrestling. 

Jeongin pulls the omega to his chest as they watch the two tumble with each other.

“What’s going on in here?” Felix’s eyes widen as he walks in with Chan. 

“Alright, break it up.” Chan bends down to separate the two beta’s but Hyunjin pounces on him. “So the pups wanna play huh?” Chan looks up at Hyunjin before flipping them over, pinning the younger male under him until Seungmin jumps him, tackling the alpha to the ground.

“You’re getting slow old man.”

Felix quickly joins Y/n and Jeongin on the bed taking notice of the glint in the youngest alpha’s eyes and takes the girl from him.

“Join them.” Felix nudges him, making Jeongin look at him unsure. “Go on, I’ve got our girl.”

Jeongin takes a second looking at both of the omegas before smiling and jumps off the bed onto his alpha’s back.

“Ah, Innie, claws.” Chan groans in pain.

“You like it when I claw you.” Jeongin huffs as Chan shrugs him off of his back before suddenly Hyunjin tackles the youngest. 

Changbin, Minho and Jisung step into the doorway to see what's going on, shaking their heads at the antics going on. It’s when Seungmin bites Chan that the alpha has enough and picks up the youngest beta.

“Put me down, old man.” Seungmin squirms.

“Who’s your alpha?”

“Fuck off, I’m not saying it.”

Minho and Changbin quickly grab the omegas off the bed just before Chan flings Seungmin on it, pinning him down.

“Yah, careful.” Minho shouts. 

“Sorry babies.” Chan turns to the two in the other two alpha’s arms.

“Bin, help me.” Seungmin tries to fight Chan’s hold on him.

“You got yourselves into this.” Changbin holds Y/n closer to his chest as Minho has Felix and Jisung leaning against him.

“You know how to get hyung to stop, just say it.” Jisungs smiles.

“Yeah pup, just say it.” Chan beams down at the beta. 

“Not happening.” Seungmin continues to struggle until both Hyunjin and Jeongin fling themselves at the alpha making them all roll off the other side of the bed. 

Y/n flinches at the thud heard from the three of them hitting the ground. She tries to move forward to maybe try and stop them but Changbin holds her in place.

“They’re okay, pretty girl.”

“Trust us kitten, it’s better not to get involved.” Minho holds Felix and Jisung close to them as they had tensed up too at the thud.

“How did this become you three against me?” Chan huffs as he stands with Jeongin locked in his arms and Hyunjin on his back. “I was only trying to separate two of you originally.”

“I couldn’t help but to join.” Jeongin tilts his head innocently. 

Chan lets go of the youngest before throwing Hyunjin off his back and onto the bed next to Seungmin.

“Who’s your alpha?”

Hyunjin looks up at him with an evil grin. “Jeongin.”

“Wrong answer.” Chan growls leaning down to bite the beta’s shoulder.

“And that’s our queue to leave.” Changbin turns Y/n away from the room, Minho doing the same with Jisung and Felix. 

“Does that happen a lot?” The omega asks as she’s led to the kitchen. 

“With them. Yeah.” Minho starts making an easy breakfast. “Innies still a new alpha so the pup likes to play, especially if it’s ‘challenging’ our alpha.”

“The betas just like ruffling some feathers.” Changbin laughs. “Occasionally Lixie and Ji do it too.”

Seungmin walks in smiling. “Hyunjins getting his ass handed to him by both alphas.” 

“He knew better.” Jisung shakes his head. 

“I don’t know why you’re so smug, pup.” Changbin grabs the beta’s arm. “You weren’t any better.”

Seungmin looks up at the older male and gulps.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/n stands hugging herself as she watches the boys all running around the beach getting umbrellas, towels and beach chairs set up. Hyunjin and Felix have already run out into the water ignoring Chan’s calls to put on sunscreen first. 

She manages to stay unnoticed for a while until all of them get in the water, playing and swimming. Well almost all of them. Minho sits in a beach chair watching her behind his sunglasses as she stands there watching her pack, still wearing her coverup over her swimsuit.

“Y/n.” She jumps when he calls her name and turns to look at him.

The alpha motions for her to join which she hesitates before walking over to the chair where he grabs her waist and pulls her onto his lap.

“Yeah?”

“You look uncomfortable.” He looks over her closely. “Talk to me. Tell me what's going on in that pretty little mind of yours.”

She manages to smile as he taps her head and she playfully pushes his hand away. 

“It’s just… I haven’t worn a swimsuit since I was a kid.” She whispers looking away from him back at the rest of the boys in the water.

“You’re safe with us kitten.” Minho turns her face to look back at him. “It’s just us here so you won’t be harassed like you would be being an omega at a public beach.” He cups her cheek and she leans into his touch. “Besides, you didn’t seem to feel that way the other night when you went skinny dipping with Lixie.”

“That was different.” She rolls her eyes and resituates herself on his lap causing him to grip her hips. “Felix is practically another omega, he’s comforting to be with. And it’s not like I see you with your shirt off joining the others.”

“I don’t like water.” He pinches her hip but then gets an idea. “How about this baby, you take your coverup off and quit being insecure and I’ll join you in getting in the water.”

Y/n looks at him in disbelief. “Did you really just tell me to quit being insecure?”

“Yes, I did.” He places a finger under her chin. “Because you are beautiful and there is nothing for you to be insecure about. We love you how you are.”

“Thanks Min.” She smiles down at him and his hands move to the bottom of her coverup.

“Can I take this off now?” 

The omega nods and he pulls the coverup off her and over her head. He takes in the swim shorts and tankini top she’s wearing as he caresses her sides. “My beautiful girl.”

“Wanna go get in the water now?”

“Let’s go kitten.” He lifts her off his lap placing her on the sand before he gets up, pulling his shirt off, grabbing her hand. 

He drags her along the beach towards the water but stops just where the sand is wet from the waves. The others take notice of this and Chan and Changbin move, Chan running, before picking Minho up and carrying him into the water. 

“Chan put me down.” 

“Are you sure you want that?” The older alpha asks as he walks them deeper into the water.

“Binnie.” Y/n squeals as Changbin picks her up and follows the other two alphas. 

Chan drops Minho into the water causing the male to freak out a little and Y/n holds onto Changbin scared he’ll drop her in the water too.

“Relax, pretty girl.” He kisses her head. “I’m not letting go unless you ask me to.”

The omega relaxes in his arms as they walk deeper into the water. Once the water reaches up to their chests she readjust herself, wrapping her legs around his waist and arms around his neck as he holds her thighs. 

“Hi angel.” Jisung comes up to the two, happy to see her in the water.

“Wanna learn to swim princess?” Hyunjin swims over with Felix.

“Umm...” Y/n looks around at everyone.

Jeongin and Seungmin have joined Chan and Minho now. Chan holding the other alpha while the two pups are splashing them.

“I promise that none of us will let you drown.” Changbin squeezed her a little.

“Yeah, Channie, Hyun and I are all really good swimmers.” Felix reassures his fellow omega. “We’ll teach you properly. And you have all eight of us watching over you and will save you if you need it.”

“Seven.” Hyunjin corrects him as he looks over at Minho who's clinging onto their pack alpha. “Min won’t be saving anyone in the water.”

“I’ll go get one of the floaty rings for him.” Jisung starts to head back to shore.

“Get both so Y/n can have one too.” Changbin calls out before looking at said girl again. “So what do you say Y/nnie? Will you let us teach you?”

“I guess.”

Felix, Chan and Hyunjin made work on teaching Y/n how to swim, and also attempting to teach Minho, again. The other four were always close by in case she needed to cling on to one of them. Which it wasn’t until late evening when she finally stopped latching on to one of the boys or the floaty and actually swam a little by herself. It was only a few feet between Hyunjin and Felix but she did it without clinging onto Chan who stayed next to her the whole time, just in case she needed him.

“That was great, babygirl.” Chan praises once Felix grabs her into his arms. “Now go back to Jinnie.”

Felix helps push her towards the beta and she swims, more like doggy paddles, to Hyunjin who continues to back away a little so she has to swim farther but eventually lets her catch him when he notices her start to panic a little and almost grabs onto Chan again.

“Good job princess.” Hyunjin holds her close. “When we get back home we should do a pool day at least once a week so you can get better.”

“Don’t expect me to partake in those lessons.” Minho calls out from where he rests on the floaty, Jisung also somewhat laying on it.

“Hyung, you have to learn to swim eventually.” Jeongin pokes the alpha.

“I don’t have to do anything, pup.”

______________________________________________________________

Taglist will be close for now as I'm not able to tag more people for some reason

Tag list: @pixie0627 @sinfulfic @estella-novella @mbioooo0000 @ms-flowergirl

@blindspot143 @ihrtlix @arishoriasims @fic-for-readers @motheraiya55

@hwangrfrnd @lxvxchxrlxttxbxrsx22-blog @juskz @borahae-reads @dreamerwasfound

@galaxy4489 @kayleefriedchicken @lostgirlinthewoodss @catkight @royal-shinigami

@notevenheretbh1 @passionandsuga @m00njinnie @sukss @n1nme4r

@blueberrydish @xxeiraxx @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @aalexyuuuhm @kaleigh-2002

@btskzfav @hyunmikim @ot8girlfie @sillygoosegoose @tr0p1cal

@eastjonowhere @hime-honne @furfoxsake22 @luvlino23 @iknow-uknow-leeknow

@im-sinking-in-mud @fiest4plum @forevermoremagcon @comicnerd557 @nchhuhi

@alyxcatspost @danceonmyheyday @maisyyyyyy @shycreationdreamland @chanshugsaretherapy

@mo0n13 @yumuramma @nuggiesnuggetdog04 @idkwhoisthis1971 @violet-hatake

[thediaryofaghost]

; NOT MY MAN

© gif credits to @daniel-bruehl.

Simon Riley aka GHOST x READER | masterlist.

Summary. the team is back in town after a mission but seems like you would have preferred to stay there than having to face the kind of feelings you're discovering now.

word count: 1.2k.

warnings/tags: none. maybe a little bit of jealousy, but nothing serious.

author notes: my stories don't contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

pd: hi, y'all! first time writing for Ghost, no judging, please. i hope you like it.

The mission couldn’t have gone more successful, and the whole team was back in town before expected. That’s why Soap has had the great idea of throwing a small party for you all, more like a teammates’ barbecue. But now that you’re there, staring at the scene happening right in front of your eyes and holding a beer almost empty, you’re starting to figure out how to leave the place without looking like an asshole.

All your friends are having fun, while you’re about to break the glass container between your fingers just by the burning angriness emerging inside your guts. Why? Simple question, simple answer. Ghost is there, of course, keeping his face covered by the balaclava he never takes off, not even while sleeping; standing arms crossed next to the new acquisition for the team. Rhaia. A former soldier who is brand new to your world. Flirting with him. Or better said, trying to flirt with him. But even if Ghost isn’t moving an inch of his body, he’s letting her touch his bicep, play with the badges sewed in his jacket, and grab his dog tags to read the information written down in them.

Who does she think she is?

And who do you think you are?

Clicking your tongue, as you turn around, you give the beer one last sip before placing it on the table next to you. Silent and keeping your gesture deadpanned, your feet take you to the inside. You’ve had enough shit to deal with for today and you’re pretty tired to pretend you aren't… jealous? Ghost and you are nothing but teammates. On-duty. Off-duty is hard to explain. He’s your guardian during the nights in town like a protector, that’s how you like to see the situation. For a cop, he’s a stalker, and probably a psychopath too. But he has some power over you that you can’t even explain or run away from.

And now, everything you’ve thought you’ve had till this moment looks like it’s been reduced to ashes since Rhaia is part of the equation.

“ Party is downstairs. ”

A shiver runs down your spine. It doesn't matter the amount of time you two spend together, accompanied or alone, you never hear him coming. But you can't help but ignore his words, looking for the keys to your bike inside the pockets of your leather jacket, about to wear the piece of clothing and leave the house.

“ You going mute scares me more than death. ”

His voice is neutral. There’s no confusion, or angriness, or surprise in it. Those emotions fill you up at the exact moment you turn around, ready to go, by finding him closer than expected. 

“ Oh, for fuck sake! ”  You grumble, moving a palm onto your chest and closing your eyes for a second.

“ Where are ya’ heading at, hm? ”

“ You all are occupied with your own business and I’m tired, I just want to sleep, Ghost. ”

Raising his eyebrows as an incredulous gesture, the man tilts his head slightly, trying to figure out what’s going on inside that mind of yours. It’s not the explanation, but the fact that you have called him by his undercover name, and not just by his name like whenever the two of you are alone.

“ I'll take you home, little bird. C’mon. ”

“ You’re not coming. ” The sentence slips through your mouth before you can even think about it, watching him turn back to face you as he is ready to accompany you.

“ I am your man, of course I’m leaving with you. ” He’s now aware of what’s going on, and can’t help but drag every single word by his tongue. Demanding. With that possessive tone of voice that, in another kind of situation, would take you to your more desired fantasies later that night.

“ If my man can be touched by any woman, then… he’s not my man. ”

Oh, there it is; the attitude that rarely comes out from you, taking a step closer at the point you're breathing in the air he spells — besides the height difference. You’re challenging him with no fear, with no doubt. Looking straight into his eyes, contemplating how they darken themselves. That man is angry for real, making a huge effort to not lose his mind, the control over his body. Not with you. Maybe with a poor devil that crosses paths with him tonight. But you’re hurt. And so it’s your ego. Gho— Simon is yours. Nobody else can't touch him with that kind of intention but you, even when you don’t touch him like that; because the two of you have a non-verbal arrangement that he’s your guard dog and you don’t make any complaints.

Your heart races at the moment he takes a step back, away from you, not uttering a single word, making you feel frustrated for preventing you from seeing his face at this moment. How much would you love to burn down the balaclava he’s wearing (...).  But, at least, it seems like he has understood that you need some time alone to put down the feelings and emotions blurring your head like stormy clouds covering the sun from nowhere.

( A few hours later. )

“ What… What are you doing here? ”

Even if it was quite a surprise to find your lieutenant, fully equipped, sitting in front of your bed in the middle of the night, you didn't feel like he was a menace, nor like you were in danger. You didn't even care to ask how he had sneaked inside your house outwitting the alarm.

“ Go back to sleep, little bird. ” The murmur left his covered lips as he bent over just a little, enough to rest his arms onto his lap, getting a better view of you obeying without complaining and laying down between the sheets.

For a reason you can’t understand, you wake up with your heart racing and a thin layer of sweat covering your whole body. The survivor mode has been turned on. It wasn’t a nightmare, but a memory haunting you. The room is submerged in darkness, only illuminated by a lamppost outside, but what leaves you with no words is the empty chair in front of your eyes. Ghost is not there. And he should be.

Turning on the light, you look for your phone. No calls. No texts. Nothing. Cleaning the sweat from your forehead with a tissue, you toss away the wet sheets and walk barefoot outside of your room, touring the small flat.

“ Simon…? ”

Maybe he has gone for a glass of water or something, but you don’t receive a word back, nor a hint that he’s there. It’s only you and the silence of the night.

A sharp pinch stabs your heart. But what is that? Pain, sorrow, regret? Sadness? For a moment, you think that calling him is a good idea, disappearing as you remember what you told him earlier this evening. Has he taken that really seriously? No. That’s not typical of him. He would fight. And, for you, he would go to hell and be back before the blink of an eye, after turning off the flames that consume the place.

But then, why is the first night in almost two years he is not there, watching over you while you sleep?

Where are you, Ghost…?

feedback is appreciated and needed. please, if you have read this shot, leave a comment and / or reblog. don’t forget we do it for free to contribute to your entertainment and interactions are what make us keep writing every day.

[estellardreams]

Hehe writing idea go brrrr

Red didn't mean to get sent here. The universe just did it because... Something. He had no clue.

Regardless, it had to have been bad enough for him to show up here.

But... The world seemed peaceful.

No king's fortress.

No destruction.

Nothing signaling anyone's death.

Red wandered around the streets, his footing a bit unsteady.

What happened here...? Nothing seems to be wrong, so what's he supposed to fix to return home?

He spotted Pigsy's Noodles up ahead, slipping inside quietly. The shop seemed... Closed. Like no one was there yet.

Wait, how did he even get in? Usually the door was always locked before the shop opened.

Red quickly shook his head, trying not to focus on that. He headed up the stairs to MK's room, not sure if he'd be up there.

He placed his hand on the door, cracking it open.

"Xiaotian...?" he asked softly.

"Go away, Red..." MK softly pleaded, buried under the blankets.

"What? Why?" he pushed the door open, approaching MK on the bed.

Mk turned his head to look at Red, a gleaming ruby fillet over his forehead.

"Oh no! Who put this on you?!" Red exclaimed, immediately trying to find some way to take it off.

Mk quietly sat up, holding still.

Red paused, concerned. "Are you... Okay?"

"I'm... Fine. Just get this off of me, okay?"

"No! It's to keep him safe!" a voice snapped.

Mk froze, backing up a little. Red moved to protect him, only to stop himself once he came face to face with...

Himself.

Red's eyes widened in shock and horror, gripping the blankets tightly.

What...?

But... He did everything right!

He avoided becoming like the king!

He cut his hair, exposed his weaknesses, tore apart his clothes, changed his glasses, indulged in sweets and cutesy things... HOW did this happen?!

"Please... Step away from Xiaotian." the other Red spoke.

"Are you... What year is it here?" Red asked.

"207X. Why?"

Red paused. It had only been two years...

"I'm... Two years from the past." he spoke up.

"Oh, that explains it." Other Red pulled him away from MK.

"Hey! What are you doing to him?!"

"First of all, sit down. Second of all, I'm trying to keep him safe." other Red said.

"By holding him captive?!" Red snapped.

"I'm not holding him captive! I'm trying to protect him!"

"From what? People like you?"

"From him trying to kill himself!"

Red froze, his anger instantly dissipating into horror.

Other Red's eyes began to well up with tears. "I... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... I can't... I don't..."

He quickly turned away and scooped up MK into his arms.

"Hey! Where are you going?!" Red yelped.

"Somewhere safer and not here." other Red said, bringing them both to the window.

"Bye, past me. Good luck dealing with King Red."

"No, WAIT-"

His future self leapt out of the window with MK, setting him down on the ground before leading him away somewhere.

Red bolted down the stairs, trying to follow after them.

"STOP! LET XIAOTIAN GO!"

"It's for his safety! Do you want him to hurt himself all over again cause I'm not here to keep him safe?!" Future Red exclaimed.

"What the hell happened to you?! To me...? To us? What happened to us? What made you like this?" Red pleaded.

Future Red paused, his gaze shifting downwards as he held MK's hand.

"... The pillar of heaven. He... I... I didn't wanna lose him... He did it anyway... And I failed..." he mumbled.

"But... But I won't fail again. Not anymore. I'm gonna keep Xiaotian safe from hurting himself and everyone else, no matter what it takes!"

Red gulped as his future self made off with MK once more.

He was never free to begin with, was he?

He... He's always gonna become the king. No matter what he does.

No matter what he tries to change.

No matter how much introspection, self sabotage, everything...

No matter what he tries, or does... It'll never work.

He'll fall back into his old self.

And this future... This self... Is proof of that.

Red sank to the ground on the barren streets, tears blurring his vision.

Did the universe just hate him?

He could never kill King Red.

He could never protect MK without hurting him.

He never deserved MK's love.

He could never escape being King Red in the future.

No matter what.

And...

That hurt.

The reality of his life hurt.

But... He couldn't just kill himself!

He knew what would've happened if he did, especially in that one timeline. He swore he'd always return to MK in the past ever since that timeline.

But now? He wasn't so sure...

Was it better to spare everyone the horror of any of these futures by getting rid of himself? Or let him stay and potentially ruin everything all over again no matter what he does?

... He needed to talk to his therapist about this.

But for now... He needed to talk some sense into his future self and rescue MK from his fate.

Red pushed back his tears, trying to clear his head. He breathed, standing back up on his feet.

Two bright lights came up and it was instantly darkness.

Red stirred awake, feeling the gentle rocking of the bed. He sat up, groaning a little.

"Oh, welcome back Red!" Sandy greeted.

"Oh, um... Hi, Sandy. What year is it?" Red asked.

"207X."

"... And I'm back in present day, okay." Red got up from the couch, only to immediately grip his chest in agony.

Great sage, why did that hurt?

"Red, go back to the couch. You're hurt."

"I... I see that now. Sorry."

"How did you even get hurt like this, anyway? You suddenly returned but as a crumpled heap in the noodle shop."

"Uh..." Red bit his lip, glancing at his phone.

He quickly opened it up and texted his therapist for a new session.

"I... I can't say, I'm sorry. I just... I need a moment to process all of this before I can tell you." he apologized, putting his phone back down.

"That's alright! As long as you're okay, it's fine by me! Would you like some tea?"

".. Yes, please."

Hello, I'm glad you opened the request box. I'm so interested in the Time Travel au that I thought if Time Travel Red Son was a yandere and wanted to protect MK alone, I'd love to see that drawing.

This is a unique sort of challenge, since Time Travel Red Son is so explicitly afraid of becoming like Demon King Red, who is a super duper Yandere, that it can only mean something has gone terribly wrong in this timeline and TT Red has all but snapped and become just like the king! And so, I figured he’d start where the king himself did in his downward spiral to madness: with the tightening fillet.

[bedfordxcx]

Keep it cool. | Spencer Reid

⛧· ·⛧· · ───────⛧· ·☽◯☾· ·⛧─────── · ·⛧· ·⛧

⛧· ·⛧· · ───────⛧· ·☽◯☾· ·⛧─────── · ·⛧· ·⛧

Pairing: Post prison!Spencer Reid x Fem!Loser!Reader (I did try to make it as gender neutral as possible but I do believe some Fem slipped through the cracks.)

Synopsis: In which Loser!Reader works a case with the team, including a specific Doctor you're almost creepily in love with.

Word count: Around 2.2k

Warnings: Reader knows far too much about Spencer, mentions of death and crime scenes, I think that's it!

A/N: Introducing Loser!Reader, yippee! Although, there's not alot of the loser vibes in this (I do have a vision for the future though, comics hint hint.) Might make a vision board for you guys to see where I'm going.

⛧· ·⛧· · ───────⛧· ·☽◯☾· ·⛧─────── · ·⛧· ·⛧

Joining the BAU is terrifying.

But for you, it isn’t the crime scenes or even the murderers. You’ve been an introvert your entire life, the sort of person who spends more time in fictional worlds than the real one. Friends? None. Social skills? Practically nonexistent. A loser in every way that counts. The very idea of interrogating suspects, chatting with local officers, or presenting your theories in front of a room full of people makes you want to curl up under your desk and pretend none of it exists.

So why do you stay?

For him.

Spencer Reid, the man who occupies every corner of your mind and whose name is scrawled obsessively across your journals. One look at him on your first day—gangly frame, untamed hair, lips that always look half a second away from darting into a fact-filled ramble—and you’re doomed. Completely and utterly bewitched.

Even the way he refuses your handshake that first day, with an explanation about pathogens, leaves you spellbound. It isn’t normal, but then again, neither are you. From that moment on, you find yourself obsessed.

You’re beyond gone.

When Spencer is sick, you swear you can feel the congestion in your own chest. When he takes time off to visit his mother, you stare at his empty desk, imagining his hands rifling through files, the ghost of his pen against paper.

Every moment revolves around him. You don’t just daydream about him; you study him. You memorize his mannerisms, his voice, the way he moves. It isn’t healthy—not by a long shot—but the more you try to pull yourself away, the more tightly you cling to the idea of him.

Now, as Hotch drones on about the case, his voice is just background noise. It isn’t important. Not compared to the gentle, rhythmic breathing coming from Spencer.

And then it happens.

The all-too-familiar snapping of fingers in front of your face, followed by Emily’s teasing voice. “Hello? Earth to Agent Daydreamer?”

Stupid Emily. Always ruining your (non-existent) moments with Spencer.

You blink slowly, your gaze drifting toward Emily as you come to.

“Hm, what?”

You clear your throat awkwardly and look down at the table, avoiding her eyes.

“I... I was listening, definitely.”

You glance at Spencer, making sure to memorize the highlights of his face, the way the button of his nose sits a bit brighter than the rest of his features. You’ll definitely write about that in your journal later.

Before blinking away and staring down at the file in front of you on the table, though your cheeks are flushed from lying.

“And—I—I asked you to stop calling me Daydreamer...”

“Uh huh.”

Emily’s lips tug into a knowing smirk. There’s something almost cruel in the way she looks you over, like she knows, but you quickly shake the thought out of your head.

Get it together.

Just then, Hotch’s voice disrupts the teasing (thank god). “Wheels up in five.” You’re not surprised the team was called in to take this case. Three women, all with dark hair and petite frames strangled to death with no solid evidence linking the cases aside from the MO.

Emily nudges your shoulder. “Ready?"

⛧· ·⛧· · ───────⛧· ·☽◯☾· ·⛧─────── · ·⛧· ·⛧

The trip is uneventful at first. Hotch briefs you on the plane, and you do your best to listen with Emily’s teasing glances and Spencer’s fidgeting hands in view. You jot down notes about the case, but most of your attention is directed toward the man across the aisle. He’s wearing a sweater-vest today, the fabric accentuating the lines of his body.

You start to wonder what it would be like to feel his frame under your hands, to trace the curve of his waist, to kiss your way up to his Adam’s apple.

Your stomach flutters as you watch him. Is it too much? Do your stares linger a little too long? Do you look like a creep when you spend hours daydreaming about the feel of his hair or his skin?

Yes, you think, you certainly do.

But you can’t stop. Not when he’s there, right in front of you, so close and yet so far away.

He looks up, glancing around as if he feels your eyes on him, and you turn quickly back to your notebook, pretending to take notes.

“Where do you think he gets his coffee?”

Emily pulls you from your thoughts, the rest of the team still discussing the case in the background. The plane is dimly lit, the soft hum of the engines creating a soothing white noise. You’ve been staring out the window, eyes locked on the setting sun while your mind worked overtime, imagining all the ways you could make Spencer love you.

JJ arches a brow. “Who?”

“Reid, idiot.”

“Oh! The, uh... the café two blocks away from Quantico—they sell coffee beans for home use as well as the, well, drinks the baristas make..." You mumble, not realizing it might be a little weird that you know such specific details about him.

Why does Spencer drink his coffee black? Is it for the taste, or is it because it keeps him sharp? Maybe it’s routine. Maybe it’s just his preference. Either way, you have that fact on a page in your journal, labelled "What Spencer Likes."

JJ laughs softly. “You think you know him that well, huh?”

But Emily just nods, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “You know, I could see it. And I bet he has a little home espresso machine, too.” She smirks, glancing over to Spencer as he continues to talk, his hands flying as his tone grows more and more passionate.

“You know how he likes his coffee?” Derek’s smile is wide, and you can see the accusations forming in his mind.

“You’re drooling, sweetheart,” Emily teases, her voice a low whisper.

You pout. “Am not.”

But despite your denial, you raise a hand to your lips to check for drool anyway.

But you aren’t drooling. No, you’re so far gone that just staring at him lights up the pleasure centers in your brain. You have pages upon pages of notes just like this, detailing Spencer’s preferences and likes from the way he takes his coffee down to what you think is his favorite color (you haven’t confirmed, you are just that good at picking up on subtleties like his tie choices and such). But your lips might as well start to water, because now you’re imagining him pulling you in close, whispering all your favorite facts into your ear.

Does he ever whisper secrets to anyone? Is he the type to fall asleep talking about his passions? These were the thoughts you had before bed the night before this case, and you couldn’t help but imagine yourself in bed with Spencer, both of your bodies tangled together as he whispered to you, lips brushing the hollow behind your ear. Would he ask how your day was? Would he press kisses onto your skin, and tell you about one of the many facts he has stored away?

These thoughts are getting out of hand.

You don’t even notice the conversation has ceased until you look up and see everyone with their eyes on you.

Oh. They’d asked a question.

It wouldn’t be out of character for you to space out like this. You’re notorious for it. But still—it’s a bad habit, one you’ve tried to kick since your undergrad.

Spencer’s brow furrows ever so slightly as Hotch speaks. “So what do you think?”

“Well, from what you were reading in the file,” Hotch presses, waiting expectantly.

Is it a good answer? A bad answer? Are you supposed to respond? “Uh... what?”

A voice pipes up. Emily.

“Maybe it’s his first time out. Just a thought,” her voice is casual, but there’s an edge to it.

The rest of the plane ride is uneventful. Spencer spends most of his time reading, his lips moving as if reciting the words under his breath. You’d do anything to be that book. You bet it smells like him.

When the plane touches down, it’s already late afternoon, and the local precinct is eager for your help.

⛧· ·⛧· · ───────⛧· ·☽◯☾· ·⛧─────── · ·⛧· ·⛧

The first victim’s house still smells of death.

You keep your face behind your collar as the M.E. walks you and Emily through the house, describing the scene with a level of morbid detail that makes you question your career choice. Spencer follows, his eyes scanning every corner, his lips moving in quiet conversation. It might be your imagination, but he seems closer than usual, his arm brushing against yours as he leans in to whisper something about the blood pattern.

Stay calm. You’re on a case. People are dead. Focus.

After the scene tour, the team splits up. Hotch and Prentiss go to the station, Rossi and Morgan check into hotel rooms, leaving you alone with Reid.

Alone. With Reid.

Emily flashes you a wicked grin before heading out, and you make a mental note to smother her in her sleep. How dare she leave you alone with Reid and look that smug?? Just to make it worse, she winks. Ugh.

Spencer glances at you. "I don't know about you, but I always work better with caffeine in me."

⛧· ·⛧· · ───────⛧· ·☽◯☾· ·⛧─────── · ·⛧· ·⛧

The local coffee shop is relatively empty—just you and Spencer, the coffee machines hissing and gurgling in the background. You sit at a small table, a file open between the two of you, as Reid leans forward, fingers tracing the line of text.

“See the marks on her neck here,” he says, gesturing to the grisly photos. “That’s consistent with a rope or cord of some sort. But look at the angles. The depth.”

His finger travels up and across the photo, drawing your eye to the bruises.

“It’s not just strangulation.”

“It’s an odd pattern, though.” His voice has that familiar excitement to it, the kind that comes with unraveling a mystery. “It could indicate a signature, something personal to the killer. We should look into that more.”

Is his voice always this smooth? Are his lips always this pink? You’ve never seen him this closely before, at least not sober and awake.

Your gaze roams over his face, noting the way his tongue dips out to wet his bottom lip, the creases at the corners of his eyes.

Focus, focus, focus.

“And we could then link all of the victims together then.”

“Exactly!” He flashes you a grin, a real one this time, all teeth and crinkled eyes. It’s so damn cute you can barely breathe.

“Maybe he’s got a type, you know. A certain look, height—”

You can’t help but imagine Spencer pressed against your body, his breath on your neck, the rough stubble of his jaw dragging across your skin as he plants those damn perfect lips right behind your ear.

The warmth in his voice makes your stomach clench. You’re so close. If you leaned just a little bit forward, you could be kissing him. What’d he do? Would he pull back? Would he grab you and push you against the coffee counter? Would he pull your hair and bite your lips and whisper facts about how hot he thinks you are?

You can be a type.

“Mmhmm, a specific look, maybe... he wants revenge on someone who looks that way? And he’s working his way towards her. An endgame.”

The tension is almost palpable. You shift in your seat, trying to keep the air cool, to not let on how much you want him.

Spencer’s lips part slightly as he speaks, his tongue darting out to wet them. You can’t help but wonder if he tastes as good as he looks, like coffee and sugar and that je ne sais quoi that makes him… him.

You’re staring at him. You know you are. You shouldn’t be, but your eyes keep flitting between his lips, his hands, his eyes—you haven’t looked down at the file in what feels like forever.

You probably look like a creep, but you can’t help it. Every movement of his, every shift in his voice, sends a wave of warmth through your body. Maybe it’s obsession, maybe it’s hormones talking.

“The victimology might hold some clues,” he says.

“...probably, it usually does.”

“Right.”

Spencer licks his lips, his gaze lingering on the files scattered in front of you. He runs a hand through his hair, a habit you’ve noted when he’s deep in thought. If you had it your way, you’d have your fingers knotted in his hair, pulling him close as you kiss the curve of his jaw…

But for now, you’re here, in the coffee shop, trying to untangle your feelings for Spencer from the case at hand.

The smell of coffee and the hum of the evening news serve as a backdrop to your internal struggle.

Keep it cool. Keep it cool. Keep it cool.

[saeslove]

🕸️ 015 . lines we crossed

synopsis caught between playful banter and rising tension, a kiss ignites feelings too raw to ignore, but his self-doubt threatens to tear you both apart before it can begin. wc 948

“bro??? i lost three times in a row! how are you so good at literally everything?”

he smirked, setting down his controller and taking yours in his hands. “it’s easy. come here, i’ll show you.” his warm, bruised hands covered yours as he guided you.

“so, to speed up, you press this button here, and to slow down, it’s this one. got it? now give it a shot.”

you blinked, clearly distracted. “huh?”

he raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “i said, try it out. i just taught you my tricks.”

“oh, okay,” you mumbled, trying to focus.

but he wasn’t convinced. “you didn’t listen to a word i said, did you?”

“i did!” you protested, fumbling to recall. “the decelerate button is here, and then the—”

before you could finish, he stepped closer, the proximity making your breath hitch. his voice was lower now, teasing. his breath brushed your lips.

as he lingered close, his gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips and back “you’re distracted again,” he said, “are you even trying to focus, or is it me?”

you swallowed, heat rushing to your cheeks. “i’m trying!”

“if you say so.” his fingers grazed yours briefly as he steps away from you.

“alright, one more round. if you lose again, maybe i’ll have to take over completely.”

you tried to focus on the screen, but the game blurred in comparison to the tension lingering between you. suddenly, the game ended, your character crashing into defeat yet again.

“game over,” he said with a laugh, leaning back triumphantly. “guess that’s four in a row.”

you groaned in frustration, throwing the controller down onto the couch. “i don’t even know why i bother.”

“maybe because you like losing to me," he teased, the smirk on his face infuriatingly charming.

shooting him a glare, you grabbed a pillow and tossed it at him. he caught it effortlessly, laughing as he leaned forward. "alright. i’ll let you win next time."

"yeah, sure," you muttered, but you couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at your lips.

as his laughter subsided, the room seemed to settle into a comfortable silence. his teasing smirk softened, his eyes locking with yours in a way that made your breath hitch.

his gaze was steady on yours, the smirk fading into something softer, more vulnerable. he leaned in, his breath brushing against your lips, pausing just inches away. the world seemed to slow, your heart pounding in your chest as your eyes fluttered shut.

and then it happened, his lips met yours, tentative at first, but growing surer as the seconds passed. his hand found its way to your cheek, warm and grounding, while the other rested lightly on your waist.

just as you started to lose yourself in it, he abruptly pulled away, breaking the connection as his hands fell to his sides.

his expression had shifted entirely. the vulnerability you’d seen moments ago was now overshadowed by something else, like self-doubt. he stepped back, raking a hand through his hair.

“i—“ he started, his voice strained. “i shouldn’t have done that.”

you blinked, the sudden change throwing you off. “what?”

his jaw clenched as he avoided your gaze, his fists tightening at his sides. “you don’t understand. i’m not someone who deserves this.”

“michael,” you whispered but he just shook his head.

“you think i’m someone i’m not. it you knew everything about who i really am, you wouldn’t, you wouldn’t want this. you wouldn’t want me.” his voice cracked slightly, but he quickly masked it with a bitter laugh.

“stop,” you said firmly, reaching out to him, your hand brushing against his arm. “i don’t care about whatever you think makes you undeserving. i know who you are, and i’m still here anyway.”

he finally looked at you, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to find a reason to believe you. “you don’t get it,” he said, his voice quieter now. “i don’t want to hurt you.”

“michael,” you said softly, reaching for his hand, but he pulled away before you could touch him.

“i overstayed my welcome i have to go,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, as though he wanted to say more but couldn’t bring himself to.

“huh? i don’t understand, where are you going?” your voice cracked as you watched him step back.

“i’m sorry, y/n” he said, his tone heavy with regret.

without another word, he turned and walked out, leaving you standing there, your chest tight with confusion and the ache of something left unfinished.

series MASTERLIST

notes from lily ❦⋆ : no more fever but the headaches is so bad omg 🙂

TAGLIST

@mixolya @x3nafix @96jnie @tamashithe2nd @cookielovesbook-akie @yuiearyi @noomimi @stargirljas @jhsluvv @sof888a @livelaughloveshidou @swagkittybear @axquella @passw-0-rd @hwaassaa @bbladie @tofumiarchives @justanotherweeb666 @metaphorically-here @ravenbc @levihanmyotp @rybunnie @adrnmyknight @etherealrin @shosuki @90s-belladonna @wwastro @shr00mfairy @pan-kojiwa @pctterheadd [tell me if i missed out anyone’s name]

comments & reblogs appreciated!

@ saeslove 2025 do not plagiarize, translate, or rewrite my writings without my permission !

[viinsnt]

Little thing about Shadow Milk Cookies corruption

Shadow Milk cookie, once a highly respected and adored figure among all cookie kind for his vast knownledge and geneorosity in sharing what he learns with others. It clearly is a favorite pass time of his, learning and sharing with everyone and he enjoys seeing other cookies use the knownledge for the greater good surely ..! That is, with unlimited knownledge comes with truths that one just doesn't want to believe or admit. But alas, it is only his nature to accept truth wholeheartedly. It's what he was made to do, afterall! He learns the truths of the world, and oh is he horrified of his horrifying creation, as any cookie would be. Upon trying to teach this information, because even though the truth is horrifying, it must be known. To his surprise, the cookies who adore him oh so much are very quick to reject this information no matter how much he pleads that it is true. The more he learns, he learns more horrifying, brutal truths of the world and the reality they live in. And at the same time, the more he tries to teach these truths, the more cookies refuse to believe it, call him a liar. His playful nature only now being used against him as "proof" he is taking advantage of his high level of respect and lying to cookie kind. And with this, he learns the world is cruel, everything is cruel. Why shouldn't he be too? If they want him to be a liar so bad he will be a liar if they want to hear good things, he will deceive them. He will make them the fool, not him! And these stupid, stupid cookies fall for it! For when he finally is the liar they want him to be, they believe him And finally, he learns how very easily cookies can be manipulated. How fragile their little minds are, how far above he is from them, how much control he can have over them. So no longer is he the fount of knownledge but the beast of deciet. Oh and you can bet he loves every second of it

[green-tea-in-absinthe-bottle]

Tear you apart

Niragi as your friend with benefits, headcannons. Fem reader. +18 below cut

General masterlist

⚠️ In dark, full of despair world of Borderland luxurious Beach seemed to be dreamlike utopia where everybody could just enjoy life and forget about constant bloody fight for survival, even if only for a second. However, this illusion of a paradise was hiding many ugly secrets. Power-hungry control freaks in charge, enemies hidden in plain sight, armed social outcasts terrorising its residents under excuse of keeping the order and crowd of people trying to drown their existential fear in sex, drugs and alcohol. Caged between constant anxiety and bitter, temporary relief after each game won you also lived through every day as if it was your last. Instead of numbing yourself with strange pills or vodka, you found more primal addiction to distract your mind and body from this reality.

You were concerned about how fast this dangerous and unpredictable man became your painkiller. Everything about him was like a big red flag, but this brutal realm made you used to chaos. Hell, maybe it was exactly the thing that made you seek him out. After all, you could die in the next game, why not take a risk and enjoy something you wouldn't have enough courage to try in the real world? So you listened to your body and indulged in this forbidden pleasure. In the end it's not that deep, it's not like you two are a thing, you just want to feel alive before you get old, or more likely eliminated from games. And he was so exciting. Bad boy, fun and unpredictable. Niragi made your heart beat faster.

⚠️ What made you so physically interested in him at first was his tongue. Pierced, long and extremely agile. The way Niragi used to stick it out at all times didn't help at all, the sight of its tip gently stroking his lower lip while he concentrated on something never failed to make you insanely wet. You cringed a bit when he tried to provoke you by doing some obscene moves with it in your face, tho.

Nowadays this hot, talented tongue of his drives you to insanity. Niragi has oral fixation and his idea of foreplay usually includes licking you from your head to your toes. He will only ever do things in bed that satisfy him, he isn't the type to do something just because you like it. So when he tastes you all over you better believe he does it for his own pleasure. Not to mention the ego boost he gets from your moans when he overstimulates you with it. He knows just how flexible and long is his tongue and loves to flex it. As much as he gets off on disgusted reactions he gets from ladies when he flirts with them (sometimes even behaving a bit vulgar to earn them) sometimes deep down he wants to be wanted, needed, begged for - and he achieves it when his head is between your legs. So ask for him, moan, even ride his face, it makes him so eager. This is the only bit of control this man will let you have in bed.

⚠️ Besides this one thing, he's strictly dominant. A lot of his trauma revolves around being humiliated and having his physical boundaries violated to extreme level, just how much it influenced him shows in the way he fucks. First of all he loves to bind your hands. Besides the fact, that it makes you very vulnerable in front of him, making him feel more confident and secure - it's also a way for him to make sure you won't touch him in a way he couldn't control. He is a very touch starved person who craves physical stimulation and company of others more than anything, but for years only physical touch from others he got was painful and violent. This screwed him up deeply. He tries to shield himself during sex, for example he will not fully undress himself while you are completely naked or he will behave in overconfident or pushy way, hoping you won't notice how much his hands shake. You know how people who starved for a long time get nauseous when they finally get some food? That's Niragi and affection. So he will ovestimulate you until you can't even think anymore; bind your hands above your head to not feel your palm press against his chest - where his heart is; and intimidate you to make you submissive. He wants to feel your warm flesh accept him so much he will manhandle you and squeeze you, to make sure you are real, to make sure you are there. To make sure he can touch you and you won't run from him. He always fucks hard and fast, like he's trying to prove a point. You never now if it's to you or to himself.

⚠️ Niragi is impulsive and always seeks stronger stimuli, he has a strong tendency to overdo things. His mood changes very fast. You will definitely notice how it shows in bed as well. He has extremely bad day and wants to feel less shitty? He will fuck you in front of other people so everybody can see just how much of a man he is. He feels like somebody questioned his authority at the meeting with other high status citizens of the Beach? He might choke you just to feel empowered, to feel like your life lays in his hands and see your begging gaze get cloudy. He will do many things to make sure you feel who has control here, like making you suck on his gun (safety on, dw), spitting on your pussy and slapping it harshly just to hear you scream his name or leaving hickeys wherever he wants regardless of your opinion on that. He is the one deciding when and where you two fuck, your sex life revolves around his activities with the Militants.

⚠️ He's a messy boy and sex with him is just as messy. He loves it wet. At the end you will be covered in cum and spit and his entire face will be soaked with your squirt. He comes wherever he wants. Bad impulse control and awful pull out game. Things tend to go in dubcon territory with him from time to time cause he treats you like his doll and handles rejections very badly. He openly considers himself a filthy creep and is not ashamed of this indentity, pretty much the opposite - he embraces it. He wouldn't hesitate to eat your ass or kiss you right after he filled your mouth with his cum. He's the type to find your after game of spades just to lick off your sweat. If it makes you uncomfortable he gets instant boner. He's hella hypersexual so expext a lot of sex.

⚠️ He will have trouble with respecting rules of fwb deal. He will leave hickeys and cum inside you like you are his. Niragi will get jealous as if you were in commited relationship and will blame you for advances of other people out of his own insecurity and fear that you will choose someone else over him. Don't even try eyeing other people. He will at first attempt to disguise his jealousy as being protective to not feel like a loser but won't keep it up for long. Unless you crush his rival's dreams in the cruelest way possible he is mad at you just in case you even considered other guy for a second. You might get tired of it pretty fast, Niragi constantly refuses to be open and vulnerable with you while expecting you to be as loyal as a girlfriend should be, even if you never promised each other anything but pleasure. However he simply doesn't care if he's being unfair. He is not a good guy after all.

⚠️ If at any point you decide to get out of this fwb thing with him, well. Good fucking luck. Niragi will definitely get pissed off, trying to argue with you and convince you that you have no say in this matter. If you manage to withstand this pressure and leave anyways - get ready for him to get passive aggressive. He will make your life harder and won't hesitate to use his position on the beach to do so, hoping that you will come to him for help. Any guy that tries to approach you will suffer consequences of Niragi's fury as well. Nobody can touch you if he can't. If loneliness and helplessness won't be enough to make you come back to him, expect him to invade your personal space and bother you. The only way for it to stop is escaping from the Beach.

[vice-like]

just saw this one in the main tag and it got me thinking... "wanting to do the right thing but having your actions distort your goals" is obviously about natori, he even reflects upon it directly more than once during the chapters BUT even tho world unbent is from natori's pov, i always thought it wasn't just about him but also about matoba and the exorcist world. for me it was clear that midorikawa wanted to expand upon the exorcists and thought natsume's pov wouldn't have been enough for this case (i also think she always wanted to expand upon natori's and matoba's younger days as well)

so with that in mind i tried thinking if that could apply to matoba too and it might be a stretch but i think it does, but in the sense that "the right thing" for matoba and natori are two different things and matoba might not even think abt doing it along those lines

like, from what we've seen, i interpret that matoba genuinely thinks the matoba clan has a responsibility to protect ppl, regardless if they can see yokai or not and he takes that very seriously, most recent example being what he said abt a previous matoba head being unable to protect the miharu; also to achieve this the clan must be powerful above all others and for that he needs to do anything and if he has a limit we haven't seen it yet. we see that during world unbent ("i won't let us fall"), but most recently during homura arc when he was willing to bet his own life just to be able to control a powerful vessel (being shortsighted enough abt the possibility that natsume had to snap him out of it), he's power hungry, but weirdly enough he's like that because it's "the right thing to do" or what he must/needs to do, the matoba must be powerful to be able to protect anyone and anything ("you can't protect anything if you're not powerful, shuuichi-san")

so "having your actions distort your goals", how does that apply to matoba in a world unbent? midorikawa was merciful enough to let us know his initial goal (or what he wants ppl to think his goal is?): "i'm looking for allies i can use" and at first he was definitely testing if natori could be that, but by the second part (that tellingly starts with a companion matoba artwork to natori's in the first part) i think he wanted to work with natori so badly simply bc he was a peer his age, probably the first and only in the exorcist world and for this interpretation i have no evidence just vibes lol besides this part in midorikawa's afterword from homura arc

anyways, for me this conversation during the second part of world unbent is the best example of matoba's actions distorting his goal:

in my interpretation matoba's goal here was to be picked by natori to be that person, to be his peer, to be the one that teaches him and works with him and "he's better" bc he's more powerful than takuma-san and that's a fact (also idt he wanted to be his "mentor" per se, i think he wanted to be closer than that but that's my bias lol). as i see it, matoba was not trying to bad mouth takuma (and i think natori understood that too), but simply stating what's most important: power, which is ultimately very different from the things that natori puts first, even tho he's also seeking to be a more powerful exorcist

another thing that is also funny about these two understanding but mostly misunderstanding each other is that natori wants to become powerful so he could be needed, so he can protect ppl, "do the right thing", which is the same but also different from the reason why matoba seeks power and the kind of power they seek is also different but the same in one aspect, natori wants spiritual power but also "power" to better himself, to be a better person, while the power matoba seeks is spiritual but also a power that will make the matoba clan unbeatable which can be power over ppl

the way his actions distort his goal here is this: natori focuses on the fact that matoba values spiritual power and the power one can have over another more than someone's character and what natori wishes to learn from ppl like takuma is how to be better as a person so he can carve his own path or at least finally find what his path even is and how to set himself in it. this blinds him to anything else, him and matoba are fundamentally different, end of story. and so from his pov he can not see what matoba is offering which was actually matoba's main goal in this conversation: "I can teach you, I can work with you, I can protect you, I can help you become more powerful, I can protect ppl, so you should stick with me, you sould use me instead of him" and matoba's shocked reaction is proof he was misunderstood and natori's reaction to this conversation was unexpected to him, if my interpretation of what he meant is right or not is up to debate tho

so if natori realises and reflects upon his "actions distorting his goal" does matoba do the same? and that's what intrigues me a lot here, because honestly i don't know, we are not shown that ever. does matoba realise how his actions can hinder his goals? does he care enough to reflect on it? does he care abt how he's perceived? does he care about how natori perceives him specifically? and honeslty the way he gets "worse" abt this in the present timeline (being an unsettling little shit especially towards natsume) makes the interpretation that he doesn't care enough to change and so doesn't reflect upon it seem plausible but when it comes to matoba maybe it's simpler that that:

from afterword for chapters 52-54

he's just like that, he is who he is, the matoba clan head but also matoba seiji and he's not afraid of his mistakes, he'll face them head on even if they distort his goals. most interesting tho, while i do think he's like that partially bc he's a little shit and likes having fun ruffling ppl's feathers, i think it's interesting how there's a possibility of him seeing that habit as a mistake, idk if that interpretation is right but matoba is a character that is difficult to interpret especially bc we dont get his pov, he's a confusing character and the fact we never get into his head makes him even more multifaceted. now that we're getting more into matoba clan drama maybe someday we'll get his pov, but until then ig it souldn't be too hard to think a person notices and reflects upon their mistakes right? well, unless the person is matoba seiji, then i dont know.

there's other things i want to talk abt here, especially the fact that natori wants to be needed and current timeline matoba might actually need him, but does natori know that? you think the "a burden can be shared" bs might be an indication that he does, but i don't think he actually does lol also the fact matoba was seeking someone to use but ended up wanting to be used instead to this day (and is ecstatic abt it during homura, one of the many reasons why he looks like he's having the time of his life during those chapters imo), idk just the fact natori recoils at the wording of "someone to use" but wants to be useful himself and matoba ends up wanting to be used by him so badly it's funny (and also a little sad). just these two always wanting the same thing but mostly not and understanding but mostly misunderstanding each other more than anyone ever could for one another, how they could go together seamlessly but mostly don't yet i dont have the capacity to expand upon those right now, midorikawa gotta give me more so, anyways

[morningsharksworld]

Just confess already!!!

Hazard x Hopeless Romantic! Reader

A/N: This was going to be an oc x cannon fic but tbh I know some people feel like this for others and went WHY NOT

Summary: JUST TELL HIM ALREADY

You were nursing a cup of coffee at the dimly lit bar the Phreaks called their second home. The music was low, a rare lull in the usual chaos that followed the gang. Across the room, Hazard was playing darts, his sharp eyes focused on the target. Every so often, he’d crack a joke or smirk at something Boomslang said, his laugh echoing in the space.

You couldn’t stop staring, your heart doing that stupid fluttering thing it always did when he was near. But no matter how much you felt, you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything.

“You’re pathetic, you know that?”

The sudden voice beside you made you jump, nearly spilling your coffee. You turned to see Boomslang leaning against the bar, her ever-present smirk firmly in place.

“Excuse me?” you said, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t play dumb” she said, gesturing toward Hazard with his drink. “You’ve been making goo-goo eyes at him for months. Hell, maybe even years. When are you gonna grow a spine and tell him?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Not you too.”

“Oh, definitely me” she said, sliding into the stool next to you. “And you’re lucky, ‘cause I’m the nicest one in this group. If Susie were here, she’d—”

“If Susie were here, she’d what?”

You flinched as Susie appeared out of nowhere, her boots clunking against the floor as she crossed her arms and gave you a pointed look. “Don’t stop on my account, Boom. Go ahead, finish the thought.”

Boomslang grinned. “She’d give you hell, obviously. Right, Susie?”

You felt Susie rolled her nonexistent eyes and turned her attention to you. “Look, we’re not trying to be jerks. But seriously, what’s stopping you? Hazard isn’t a mind reader.”

“He doesn’t need to be” you muttered, staring into your coffee. “It’s obvious he’s not interested.”

Susie snorted. “Are you kidding me? Do you know how many times he’s asked me if you’re okay when you’re not around? Or how often he gets distracted during missions ‘cause he’s worried about you?”

Boomslang chimed in, “Not to mention the fact that he’s actually tolerable when you’re around. That’s a miracle all on its own.”

You frowned, your heart pounding. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Am I?” Susie leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a serious tone. “Listen, I’ve been around enough people to know when someone’s holding back. Hazard’s got his issues, sure, but he cares about you. Probably more than he even realizes. You just have to give him a reason to admit it.”

You shook your head, your stomach twisting. “It’s not that simple.”

“Nothing worth having ever is” Boomslang said, clinking her glass against yours. “But you’re running out of time, sweetheart. Guys like Hazard don’t stick around forever.”

Susie nodded, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “I’m not saying he’s gonna disappear tomorrow, but life happens fast in our world. If you wait too long, you might lose your chance. And trust me, regret’s a bitch.”

You glanced back at Hazard. He was laughing now, leaning against the dartboard as another member of the crew tried (and failed) to beat his score. He looked so carefree in that moment, so alive.

“I don’t even know how I’d do it” you admitted quietly.

Boomslang grinned. “That’s the easy part. You walk up to him and say, ‘Hey, Hazard, I’m into you.’ Boom. Done.”

Susie smacked her arm. “Ignore her. Just… be honest. Tell him how you feel, no games, no excuses. If he feels the same, great. If he doesn’t… well, at least you’ll know, right?”

You swallowed hard, the weight of their words settling over you. They were right—you’d been holding back out of fear, but that fear wasn’t going to disappear on its own. If you didn’t take the risk, you’d never know what could have been.

“I’ll think about it” you said, your voice shaky but determined.

Boomslang raised her glass in a mock toast. “That’s all we’re asking for. Just don’t take too long, yeah?”

Susie hummed. “And if you chicken out, don’t worry—we’ll happily push you in his direction.”

You groaned, but a small smile tugged at your lips. “Thanks… I think.”

As they walked away, you took a deep breath, your eyes drifting back to Hazard. The fear was still there, but so was something else—hope.

Maybe, just maybe, it was time to take the leap.

The noise from the bar faded as you stepped out onto the balcony, the cool night air wrapping around you like a welcome reprieve. You sighed, leaning on the railing, the weight of your thoughts pressing down on you. This was the only quiet spot, far from the crowd—perfect for what you were about to do.

You pulled your jacket tighter around you, gathering the courage once more. You couldn’t keep pushing it aside—tonight had to be the night. You were tired of hiding your feelings, of pretending you didn’t care. Hazard deserved to know, no matter what came next.

Just as you were about to speak, the door creaked open behind you. You turned to see Hazard stepping out onto the balcony, his eyes scanning the space for a moment before settling on you.

“What’re you doin’ out here?” he asked, his tone casual but curious.

You shrugged, playing with the hem of your sleeve. “Needed some air. A lot of things have been… on my mind.”

Hazard’s brow furrowed slightly as he approached, his usual cool expression softening. “Ye a’right?”

You hesitated for a second, then let out a nervous laugh. “No, actually. I’ve been kinda of a mess.”

Hazard stepped closer, now standing beside you, his presence quiet but steady. “A mess? What’s got you in such a state?”

You sighed, turning to face him fully. “Look, I didn’t come out here to waste time. I needed to say something.”

Hazard’s sharp gaze sharpened. “Aye? What’s on your mind, then?”

You took a deep breath, gathering every ounce of courage you had left. “I’ve been wanting to tell you something for a while. And I can’t keep pretending anymore… I like you, Hazard. I like you more than I should...”

His lips twitched into a subtle smirk, and you could tell he wasn’t surprised—but it still made your nerves tangle. “Oh?” he murmured, his voice soft but with that familiar teasing edge.

“Yes” you continued, feeling more confident now that the words were out. “And… I don’t want to pretend it doesn’t mean anything anymore. I care about you, more than I should.”

Hazard’s smirk grew, but it wasn’t mocking—more like… intrigued. “You’ve been carryin’ this for a while, haven’t you?”

You nodded, unable to hide the blush rising in your cheeks. “Yes. And I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I—”

Before you could say more, Hazard took a step forward, closing the small distance between you. His expression softened, his gaze steady. “You should’ve told me sooner, then.”

Your breath hitched. “I was scared. What if I messed things up? or worse, what if you didn’t like me at all?”

Hazard chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re braver than most I’ve met, Ach, I've seen ye punch guys twice yer size Luv. But ye don’t need to worry ‘bout that.”

You frowned slightly, confused. “What do you mean?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair before locking eyes with you again. “I’ve known for a while now… I’ve been feelin’ the same.”

Your heart skipped, the weight of his words settling in. “What?”

Hazard gave you a small, amused smirk. “Aye, I’ve been feelin’ the same way ‘bout ye.”

For a moment, you were speechless. Your mind couldn’t process it.

“…You like me?” you whispered, disbelief washing over you.

“Aye” Hazard replied, his expression serious now, but with that familiar quiet confidence. “Just didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

You blinked, your mind reeling. You couldn’t believe it—he’d felt the same for so long, and yet, he’d never said a word. And now, here you were, finally hearing it from him, your face completely flushed.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up in disbelief. “Do you have any idea the amount of nights I’ve stayed up thinking about you!? I mean I must look like a damn dog waiting for y—”

But before you could finish, Hazard stepped closer, his hand gently cupping your cheek. He leaned in, cutting you off mid-rant with a soft, kiss on the lips—firm but tender, grounding and real.

Your eyes widened in surprise, but your breath caught in your throat, melting into the kiss. It was unlike anything you’d imagined—something more, something you hadn’t realized you needed.

He pulled back just slightly, his Scottish accent thick and warm as he murmured, “Now, does that feel like ruinin’ anythin’ to ye?”

You blinked, your heart fluttering wildly. No—this felt right. More than right. And you couldn’t help but smile, your hands gripping the edge of his jacket slightly.

“No… it doesn’t” you whispered, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest.

Hazard smirked again, leaning in just enough so his breath brushed against your ear. “Good. ‘Cause you’ve got me now, and I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

You felt a rush of relief—of certainty—that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment. This was real.

And finally, you let yourself believe it.

[lazysoulwriter]

Against All Odds - Joel Miller.

feel free to send me requests! ✎ (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ༉‧ ♡*.✧

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the barren landscape. Joel Miller adjusted the strap of his rifle, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. The world had turned into a cruel place, and trust was as rare as a safe haven. Yet, somehow, she had managed to break through his defenses.

“You’re falling behind, old man,” her voice rang out, teasing but firm. She walked ahead, her steps light but purposeful. Despite the grime of the apocalypse, there was an energy about her, a fire that refused to be extinguished.

Joel sighed, quickening his pace. “Watch your tone, kid. You’re not as untouchable as you think.”

She smirked but didn’t look back. “Neither are you.”

There was no denying the truth in her words. Joel knew better than anyone how fragile survival could be. Yet, she carried herself with an unshakable confidence that reminded him of someone he once knew. Maybe that’s why he had let her stay by his side, despite the gnawing voice in his head warning him not to get attached.

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

Nightfall found them huddled in the ruins of an old convenience store. Joel worked silently to secure the doors while she rummaged through the shelves.

“Canned peaches,” she said, holding up a dented tin with a triumphant grin. “Dinner of champions.”

Joel shook his head but couldn’t help the slight tug at the corner of his lips. “You’ve got low standards, I’ll give you that.”

They ate in relative silence, the crackle of the small fire between them filling the void. She broke it first.

“You don’t have to be so hard on me all the time, you know. I can handle myself.”

Joel’s jaw tightened. “It’s not about you handling yourself. It’s about knowing when to pick your battles.”

“And you think I don’t?” she shot back, her tone sharper now.

He met her gaze, his voice low. “I’ve seen people like you before. Brave, strong... and gone in a second because they thought they were invincible.”

Her expression softened, but she didn’t back down. “I’m not going anywhere, Joel. Not without a fight.”

His chest tightened at her words. He wanted to believe her, but the fear of loss loomed heavy. He turned away, ending the conversation.

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

Days later, danger found them as it always did. A group of raiders ambushed their camp in the dead of night. Chaos erupted as gunshots rang out, and Joel’s instincts took over. He moved with precision, taking down threats one by one. But when he heard her shout, his heart stopped.

She was cornered, her knife gleaming in the moonlight. Joel didn’t hesitate. Within moments, the raider was on the ground, and Joel was at her side, his hands trembling with adrenaline.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice rough.

She nodded, her breathing heavy. “I had it under control.”

“Sure you did,” he muttered, pulling her into a quick embrace. This time, he didn’t let go so quickly. She tilted her head, her gaze meeting his in the dim light. Before either of them could second-guess it, their lips met in a kiss that was anything but brief. It was desperate, as if the world could crumble around them and they wouldn’t care.

When they finally pulled back, Joel’s voice was thick with emotion. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

She smiled softly, her fingers brushing against his cheek. “I can’t promise that. But I’ll try.”

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

In the days that followed, Joel found himself unable to deny the pull he felt toward her. She was everything he thought he couldn’t have in a world like this: hope, light, and a reminder that there was still beauty to be found. One evening, as they set up camp under a canopy of stars, he finally let the words spill out.

“You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever met,” he admitted, his voice low. “And you’re making me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time.”

She looked at him, her expression softening. “Joel…”

“Let me finish,” he said, reaching for her hand. “I didn’t want to get close to you. I thought it would make everything harder. But now? I can’t imagine getting through this without you.”

Her eyes glistened as she leaned into him, their foreheads touching. “You’re not getting rid of me, Miller. Not a chance.”

He chuckled, pulling her into a kiss that was softer, slower, but just as passionate as the first. It was a promise, unspoken but understood.

The next test of their bond came sooner than expected. A pack of infected forced them into a frantic escape, their lives hanging by a thread. At one point, she stumbled, and Joel’s heart leaped into his throat. He doubled back, refusing to leave her behind.

“Go!” she shouted, but he ignored her, grabbing her arm and hauling her to safety. Once they were clear, he rounded on her, his voice shaking with both fear and anger.

“Don’t you ever tell me to leave you again!” he growled.

She stared at him, stunned by the raw intensity of his words. “I was trying to protect you.”

“And I’m trying to protect you,” he shot back, his hands gripping her shoulders. “Because I love you, dammit. And I’m not losing you.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the chaos of the world faded away. “I love you too, Joel,” she whispered, pulling him into a kiss that left no room for doubt.

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

Their journey was far from over, and the world showed no signs of mercy. But they had each other, and that was enough. Against all odds, they had found a love worth fighting for—and Joel would protect it with everything he had.

[starwarskawaii]

Annoyance and Empanadas

A Miguel O'Hara fic

Alright, here's that Miguel fic. Dedicated to Lan ( @chaithetics ) for always believing in and encouraging me. Proofread by my husband, @kitsunot . So if I made a mistake, blame him.

A/N: This is self-serving, reader is HEAVILY based on me. No word count because I am lazy.

Edit: possible part 2 if you guys like this one. So make sure to let me know!

CW: disabled reader, possible slightly ooc Miguel, mentions of Miguel's *gestures at his life*, no use of Y/N, second person voice, mentions of mobility aids, disability is not specified but is highly based on my experiences with fibromyalgia, female reader, mentions of brain fog, mentions of safe foods, reader is slightly implied to be autistic, PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANYTHING

You were annoying. Not annoying like Peter B, who always had a quip and lacked boundaries. Not annoying like Miles, who questioned Miguel constantly. Not even annoying like Hobie, although you were a bit of an anarchist. The first thing you had ever said to Miguel was, "I support women's rights and women's wrongs. I do not, however, support men's rights OR men's wrongs, so I hope you've improved." No, you weren't annoying like any of them. You were annoying like Lyla. You were annoying because you knew him. You knew him entirely too well. Which was quite possibly the worst kind of annoying you could be.

You sauntered in on your purple forearm crutches, thinking of what you could say to piss Miguel off. As much as you'd like to pretend you were a quick thinker, the brain fog made it near impossible to come up with anything on the fly. So as you sauntered in, you thought of what you could do to make those veins pop on his neck and forehead. You liked those veins.

Miguel heard you coming. How could he not? Mobility aids are not stealthy. Not in the least. Miguel knew what was coming, and he braced himself for whatever quip you had up your sleeve. Your quips were worse than a Peter Parker's; you had studied him. You came from a universe Miguel stumbled on accidentally. A world where he and all the other Spiders were just characters in comics and movies. And you happened to be Miguel O'Hara's number one fan (and biggest hater, somehow simultaneously). You had made tons of posts analyzing him on some site, tumbling, maybe? He couldn't remember. He brought you on for a few reasons, but mainly to help the algorithms predict events in the Spider's lives.

"Ohhh, Miiiiiggy!" Came your voice, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"What? I'm a bit busy, you know, " came his reply.

"Too busy for me, Migs?" You pouted and batted your lashes. You knew he couldn't resist that.

Miguel was surprised. No quips yet. That's a first.

"Too busy brooding to listen to your favorite right-hand woman?" There it was. There was the jibe at him. You loved doing that. You were probably worse than Lyla.

Lyla popped up and snickered "He was just brooding, how did you know?"

"Lucky guess. Migs, my love, would you care to tell me why the caf has no empanadas?"

"Aye, you came here to interrupt my ensuring the fate of the Arachno-humanoid poly-multiverse over an empanda?"

"They're your recipe, we all know they're the best in the multiverse" you reasoned with him.

"They're my mother's recipe, technically, and I'll make you some when I take you home." Miguel always took you home. You had a lot of issues with the stupid 2099 high-tech stuff, and it also required use of at least one hand, something you rarely had the luxury of, unless it was a no mobility aid or a wheelchair day. So Miguel made sure you were safe.

"Fine, fine. When are you taking me home, speaking of? Should I just wait here, or should I try to navigate the awful upside down maze you created while I wait for your self-imposed penance for the day to end?" Man you were annoying. Man you knew him well.

"I'll finish up soon. Wait here," his face softened as he looked over at you. You were making yourself comfortable on a chair, placing your aids to the side and getting into that position you liked to sit in. The one that seemed uncomfortable, but you swore was best for your hypermobile joints.

You reminded him a lot of Lyla. Lyla, who Xina had programmed to heckle him. Lyla, who he never had the heart to reprogram. You knew all his buttons. Just like Lyla. Just like Xina... You were also like Gwen. He had initially seen you as much more like Gwen. You had a baby face, so he had assumed you were younger. You had half-shaved hair, which you had actually gotten done because of some singer in your dimension, the year before Spiderverse came out. You had always loved Gwen Stacy, though. It wasn't hard to see why. You were smart, you liked nerds, you were incredibly confident, you were kind of punk, but also hilariously materialistic, not in a fancy clothes way but in a "I have to have this figure or I will cry" way. You were a lot like the Gwen of 120703. You loved that Gwen.

You were very different from all of them, though. He remembered stumbling upon your dimension by accident. A dimension where there were no heroes. A dimension where there were somehow still supervillains. A dimension where, even when faced with a lack of heroes, some people still had hope. You were one of them. He had initially infantalized you. Your mobility aids, your interests, the baby face, the fact that you clearly needed a caregiver, but stubbornly lived on your own all made him see you as younger than you were. You had had many arguments before he finally realized how capable you are. That you're tougher than most Spiders are, save for Sun Spider, who has EDS (you LOVED Sun Spider). That you deal with 24/7 full body pain, work a full-time job, and somehow manage to take care of yourself.

You had shown him so much. Like punk versions of him that you thought were hot. He hated them. He hated that you found that attractive. It made him question for a moment if his appearance was alright. Of course, you would like piercings and tattoos. You had multiple of each. He never really thought much of it before. You had shown him art of him pregnant. You both hated that one. He had learned so much about you. In a way, he had become the caregiver you needed. He made sure you ate, he popped into your dimension to help with your laundry, he helped you on low mobility days, he cooked for you, he helped you set up appointments and refill meds when your brain just wouldn't cooperate. He admired you. He thought you were incredibly strong. He made you empanadas because they're a safe food for you. He secretly loved the way you loved his cooking.

You cared for him. Really, truly, deeply cared. You had listened to his pain and felt it like it was your own. You were so empathetic. He realized that your disabilities and baby face and your being a few years younger didn't matter at all. You were more mature than he was. You knew pain, you lived with pain, you had lost so much and had dealt with it a long time ago. You helped him pick apart his mind, healing what had been broken by grief. He had spent so many nights sitting on the floor of your apartment, next to your couch, pouring his heart out to you. The girl who had fan art of him up on her walls. He was pretty sure he loved you, but too worried he was confusing gratefulness for that painful emotion he hadn't felt in so long that he couldn't bring himself to say anything. You were in love. How could you not be? He let you see him so vulnerable. He was also 6'9, built like a tank, perfect dark skin and hair, newly emotionally open, and had clearly come to genuinely respect you, in a way you struggled to find as a disabled woman. You were much less subtle about your feelings than he was. You flirted constantly. But he was as dense as his muscles.

"Alright, I'm done, cariño," Miguel said. "Time to go back to your dimension, and get you some food. Did you actually eat today?"

"Uhhhh, what answer do you want to that?" You said, only half joking, with a nervous laugh.

"You'll be the death of me, hermosa"

He was used to the quips. He was used to the forgetting to eat. He was used to it all, and he hoped it could stay that way. Miguel O'Hara loved how you annoyed him. And he hoped you would continue to, for at least as long as Lyla has.

[apomaro-mellow]

Lambing ch 1/? Read on AO3

the stedissy secret adoption omegaverse fic that i put in the steddie fic adopt community

There was silence in the Hagan house tonight. However it wasn’t the peaceful silence of a household asleep. No, the silence came after the frantic chaos of just an hour before. Steve Hagan had awakened, suddenly in distress. Something felt wrong. It didn’t take long to figure out why. Now, the mess was cleaned, the bed sheets changed, and he was in a fresh nightgown and his husband was back to sleep.

The days when Tommy would comfort him over this were gone now. This was the third time after all. Once everything was done and they were settled back into bed, he simply said, “We’ll try again later” and then bid him good night. Steve knew he must smell something awful. Bitter and astringent, he didn’t know how Tommy could sleep so easily. As much as he tried, Steve knew he couldn’t escape his own scent. But he could stay here in this bed.

Quietly, he got out, slipped on his bed jacket and left the bedroom. He felt like a phantom, haunting the halls of the house in the dark until he got to the nursery. Or rather, what would have been the nursery. Steve brought a hand to his mouth, just barely covering a sob. He slid down along the doorframe, his shoulders shaking but his voice producing no sound. He knew he shouldn’t feel like this. He should let it roll off of his back like his husband.

And yet it broke his heart all the same. The first time, Tommy had kissed him sweetly, had blamed it on Steve trying to do too much as a new wife, had assured him that it wasn’t his fault. He’d understood when Steve didn’t leave the bed for a week, he’d even stayed home with him. The second time, Tommy had rubbed his back as he cried and didn’t force Steve to attend outings but still went out himself.

Tomorrow there was a party. And Steve knew that this time he would be expected to be present. It was an open secret that Jason Carver would be proposing to Chrissy Cunningham tomorrow. Jason and Tommy were close partners. Steve couldn’t even imagine having to congratulate Miss Cunningham on her soon to be engagement. Steve wasn’t that familiar with her, only Jason through Tommy. But she would be Jason’s wife soon and he needed to begin establishing a kind of relationship with her. 

He couldn’t sleep. He knew trying to do so would be an exercise in futility. But he also knew that Tommy would be disappointed if he woke up in bed without him. He wiped his face, breathed deep and long for a while, then stood. He gave the nursery a final look before shutting the door on it and returning to bed. If there was one thing he wished the future Mrs. Carver, he hoped she had better luck conceiving and carrying a child.

Chrissy giggled as she was kissed from the tip of her middle finger all the way up to her shoulder. Her sleeve acted as a barrier and yet she felt the heat of it anyway. It felt incredibly bold doing something like this in broad daylight, but there weren’t many windows on this side of the house and the view from both sides was obscured by tall hedges. She knew her beau wouldn’t risk it otherwise.

“Like sweet cream and sunshine.”

“Sweet-talker.”

“Ah, but ‘tis true my lady.”

“Eddie~”

“Madame~”

“Stop”, she giggled again. But he continued, kissing her cheek and then whispering sweet nothings into her ear. She didn’t want him to cease anyway. These secret stolen moments with him were one of the only things she had to look forward to right now. Especially with her impending engagement…

Chrissy had been born into a wealthy family and unfortunately, Eddie was not a wealthy man. He was rich in his soul, it was what had drawn Chrissy to him as he tended to the garden of her childhood home. What began as a tender yet shy flirtation as teenagers blossomed into a secret love as they reached adulthood. They were of different worlds and yet Eddie courted her with all the cordiality he had in his bones. Were they allowed to be open, he certainly would have proposed and made an honest woman of her.

But it was not to be. Chrissy knew that Jason would be proposing at the party today. She knew that once that was set in stone, she wouldn’t be able to be alone with Eddie like this. It made her burn for something more than kisses and light touches. But Eddie was a proper alpha and never pushed forward, even when they could smell each other’s desire.

Eddie could smell her getting dour now and moved to kneel in front of her, holding both of her hands.

“E-Eddie?”

“~It won't be a stylish marriage~ I can't afford a carriage~ But you'll look sweet upon the seat~ Of a bicycle built for two!” He kissed her knuckles. “I can’t give you a ring. And I can’t promise you anything but myself. But I’ll always be here. You call my name and I’ll be at your feet.”

Chrissy smiled down at him. She pulled one hand away and petted at the short curls upon his head. “Like a loyal little pup?”

Eddie barked and Chrissy laughed as she scratched behind his ear and he bounced his leg. Eddie always knew how to put a smile on her face. So when he had to get dressed for the party tonight, she was still walking on air. It felt odd, putting on such a pretty yellow dress when the radio spoke of war and the world falling apart. So she turned it off. No one she knew was off fighting, although she knew husbands and brothers of acquaintances that did.

Tonight she would be fighting her own battle, so she put her war paint on in the form of her favorite lipstick. 

All was going well tonight. Tommy had complimented him on how he looked in his dress. His breathing was even and the music kept him from thinking too much. Steve was doing an amazing job holding it together. Something he had learned long ago was that decorum would keep people in polite society from mentioning ugly things in public. He had lost the milky sweet scent that came with pregnancy already but no one said a word. They all must know though. The first time Steve had been so ashamed, he wore scent blockers for six months, long after the baby would have come, had it survived. 

He thought any and everyone would throw it in his face, his failure as a wife and supposed mother. Now though, he knew better. People possibly had remarks in private, but no one said anything to his face. He still went without drinking though. He didn’t trust himself around it right now. Tommy was by his side most of the night until Jason called him over when at the same time Steve felt a bit dizzy.

“You go. I’m going to sit down for a bit.” Steve felt like he was wobbling in his heels but no one commented, so he must look well enough. He looked for somewhere to sit and the couch was right there, but it was also in the center of everything. And the longer he looked, the more he felt short of breath. So another room wasn’t the answer either.

Steve eventually found his way to a patio in the back. And thank the stars, there was a patio set. He sat down, taking a deep breath. Summer was good to them right now and the night was pleasantly warm.

“Too boisterous for you?”, a voice said in the darkness, causing Steve to jump to his feet and look around. A man pushed off from the wall just next to him, he’d been covered in the shadows.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Steve looked him up and down. He wore a simple white button down, his slacks held by suspenders and a flat cap finished the look. It was the lack of a jacket, the slight wrinkle to his clothes and the stain on his shirt that told Steve he was a member of the staff.

“No harm done”, Steve said, pushing some hair behind his ear. It was short, just barely coming off his nape. He’d worn it long his entire life. But after the second loss, he had chopped it in a fit of shame, guilt, and rage. 

“They’re a lively bunch, aren’t they?”, the man said, gesturing towards the interior of the house.

Steve looked just in time to see Jason lead Miss Cunningham across the room and into another, supposedly to pop the question.

“It’s a momentous occasion”, Steve said. He remembered his engagement to Tommy. How hopeful and happy he had felt.

“Mmn”, his conversation partner said before taking a drag from his cigarette that Steve just now noticed. Then he looked Steve up and down and for a moment Steve feared he could tell what he’d just been through.

“Why is a baker a silly fellow?”

“...I beg your pardon?”, Steve asked.

“Just what I said. Why is a baker a silly fellow?”

“I don’t know many ba-”

“Because he parts with what he kneads!”

It took Steve a moment to catch up but when he did, a smile broke out onto his face and he covered his mouth to hide the little giggle that threatened to bubble up.

“What has eyes but cannot see? A potato!” 

That one got a snort out of Steve and an eye roll that was only half sarcastic.

“Alright, alright, just one more. If Hitler and Goering went up a tree, what kind of fruit would they find?”

Steve raised a brow at that, his silence prompting the man to finish his joke. The man grinned wide before answering.

“A rotten pear.”

It was so unexpected, Steve hadn’t been able to stop the bout of laughter that spilled out. It was so strong that he had to hold his sides. His companion looked incredibly proud of himself but Steve had to admit that it was deserved. He was literally wiping tears from his eyes.

“Now it’s your turn.”

That got Steve to sober up. “Me? I don’t know any jokes, I’m afraid.”

“No? You must know at least one. Come on, indulge me. What’s a momentous occasion for you is terribly tedious for myself.”

Steve tried to think of any funny stories or wordplay he knew. He remembered making friends laugh before getting married. Nowadays, people laughed at Tommy’s jokes and Steve was expected to laugh along. That was when he remembered. 

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

It was a bawdy sort of joke. One that wasn’t really meant for a wife’s ears but Steve had heard it anyway when he entered the room to serve their guests drinks one evening. He never would have thought of repeating it. But something about this man made Steve want to impress him. He swallowed, rubbed his hands onto his skirt like he was preparing himself for more than just telling a joke. Then he cleared his throat.

“What hangs at a man's thigh and wants to poke the hole that it's often poked before?”

The other man’s eyes got wide for a moment before he smirked. “Oh pray tell, what?”

“A key”, Steve said, grinning the whole time. He felt filled with light the way the man roared with laughter. 

As he caught his breath, he almost sounded like he was choking. That was when the music stopped and Steve could see that everyone had gathered around Jason and his future bride. The glass door muffled most of it but they could both hear as Jason raised his voice to announce - “She said yes!” prompting the guests to clap and cheer. Almost immediately after, Jason was corralled by alphas and male betas while the omegas and female betas flocked to Miss Cunningham to get a look at the ring.

“I should go inside. Get back to the party”, Steve said. 

His companion was already walking away, melting back into the darkness. Steve felt odd for not getting his name. But he more than likely worked here as a gardener or cook or steward of some kind. It was only happenstance that their paths would cross now and there wasn’t any reason to expect them to again. Steve patted his cheeks before going back inside and joining the throng around the woman of the hour. 

“Congratulations, Miss Cunningham.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hagan. It really is a dream come true.”

Steve wondered if he was imagining the strain in her voice, the tightness of her smile. A query was on the tip of his tongue. Was she alright? Was she really happy? Was this what she truly wanted? But he held back and kept smiling and so did she. Because these were not questions that were asked in polite society.

Part 2 coming soon

If you want a preview of what's coming soon, this was all inspired by this yt short