#a kiss of love. a kiss of betrayal. a kiss of death. a kiss of forgiveness. a kiss of mercy. a kiss of God | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

abbotjack · 20 days ago

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪₊ Built for Battle, Never for Me ݁ ˖ִ ࣪₊ ⊹˚

“And I will fuck you like nothing matters.”

summary : You loved Jack through four deployments and every version of the man he became, even when he stopped choosing you. Years later, fate shoves you back into his trauma bay, unconscious and bleeding, and everything you buried resurfaces.

content/warning : 18+ MDNI!!! long-form emotional trauma, war and military themes, medical trauma, car accident (graphic details), infidelity (emotional & physical), explicit smut with intense emotional undertones, near-death experiences, emotionally unhealthy relationships, and grief over a still-living person

word count : 13,078 ( read on ao3 here if it's too large )

a/n : ok this is long! but bare with me! I got inspired by Nothing Matters by The Last Dinner Party and I couldn't stop writing. College finals are coming up soon so I thought I'd put this out there now before I am in the trenches but that doesn't mean you guys can't keep sending stuff to my inbox!

You were nineteen the first time Jack Abbot kissed you.

Outside a run-down bar just off base in the thick of Georgia summer—air humid enough to drink, heat clinging to your skin like regret. He had a fresh cut on his knuckle and a dog-eared med school textbook shoved into the back pocket of his jeans, like that wasn’t the most Jack thing in the world—equal parts violence and intellect, always straddling the line between bare-knuckle instinct and something nobler. Half fists, half fire, always on the verge of vanishing into a cause bigger than himself.

You were his long before the letters trailed behind his name. Before he learned to stitch flesh beneath floodlights and call it purpose. Before the trauma became clockwork, and the quiet between you started speaking louder than words ever could. You loved him through every incarnation—every rough draft of the man he was trying to become. Army medic. Burned-out med student. Warzone doctor with blood on his boots and textbooks in his duffel. The kind of man who took people apart just to understand how to hold them together.

He used to say he’d get out once it was over. Once the years were served, the boxes checked, the blood debt paid in full. He promised he’d come back—not just in body, but in whatever version of wholeness he still had left. Said he’d pick a city with good light, buy real furniture instead of folding chairs and duffel bags, learn how to sleep through the night like people who hadn’t taught themselves to live on adrenaline and loss.

You waited. Through four deployments. Through static-filled phone calls and letters that always said soon. Through nights spent tracing his name like it was a map back to yourself. You clung to that promise like it was gospel. And now—he was standing in your bedroom, rolling his shirts with the same clipped, clinical precision he used to pack a field kit. Each fold a quiet betrayal. Each movement a confirmation: he was leaving again. Not called. Choosing.

“I’m not being deployed,” he said, eyes fixed on the duffel bag instead of you. “I’m volunteering.”

Your arms crossed tightly over your chest, nails digging into the fabric of your sleeves. “You’ve fulfilled your contract, Jack. You’re not obligated anymore. You’re a doctor now. You could stay. You could leave.”

“I know,” he said, quiet. Measured. Like he’d practiced saying it in his head a hundred times already.

“You were offered a civilian residency,” you pressed, your voice rising despite the lump building in your throat. “At one of the top trauma programs in D.C. You told me they fast-tracked you. That they wanted you.”

“I know.”

“And you turned it down.”

He exhaled through his nose. A long, deliberate breath. Then reached for another undershirt, folded it so neatly it looked like a ritual. “They need trauma-trained docs downrange. There’s a shortage.”

You laughed—a bitter, breathless sound. “There’s always a shortage. That’s not new.”

He paused. Briefly. His hand flattened over the shirt like he was smoothing something that wouldn’t stay still. “You don’t get it.”

“I do get it,” you snapped. “That’s the problem.”

He finally looked up at you then. Just for a second.

Eyes tired. Distant. Fractured in a way that made you want to punch him and hold him at the same time.

“You think this makes you necessary,” you whispered. “You think chaos gives you purpose. But it’s just the only place you feel alive.”

He turned toward you slowly, shirt still in hand. His hair was longer than regulation—he hadn’t shaved in days. His face looked older, worn down in that way no one else seemed to notice but you did. You knew every line. Every scar. Every inch of the man who swore he’d come back and choose something softer.

You.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” you whispered. “Tell me this isn’t just about being needed again. About being irreplaceable. About chasing adrenaline because you’re scared of standing still.”

Jack didn’t say anything else.

Not when your voice broke asking him to stay—not loud, not theatrical, not in the kind of way that could be dismissed as a moment of weakness or written off as heat-of-the-moment desperation. You’d asked him softly. Carefully. Like you were trying not to startle something fragile. Like if you stayed calm, maybe he’d finally hear you.

And not when you walked away from him, the space between you stretching like a fault line you both knew neither of you would cross again.

You’d seen him fight for the life of a stranger—bare hands pressed to a wound, blood soaking through his sleeves, voice low and steady through chaos. But he didn’t fight for this. For you.

You didn’t speak for the rest of the day.

He packed in silence. You did laundry. Folded his socks like it mattered. You couldn’t decide if it felt more like mourning or muscle memory.

You didn’t touch him.

Not until night fell, and the house got too quiet, and the space beside you on the couch started to feel like a ghost of something you couldn’t bear to name.

The windows were open, and you could hear the city breathing outside—car tires on wet pavement, wind slinking through the alley, the distant hum of a life you could’ve had. One that didn’t smell like starch and gun oil and choices you never got to make.

Jack was in the kitchen, barefoot, methodically washing a single plate. You sat on the couch with your knees pulled to your chest, half-wrapped in the blanket you kept by the radiator. There was a movie playing on the TV. Something you'd both seen a dozen times. He hadn’t looked at it once.

“Do you want tea?” he asked, not turning around.

You stared at his back. The curve of his spine under that navy blue t-shirt. The tension in his neck that never fully left.

“No.”

He nodded, like he expected that.

You wanted to scream. Or throw the mug he used every morning. Or just… shake him until he remembered that this—you—was what he was supposed to be fighting for now.

Instead, you stood up.

Walked into the kitchen.

Pressed your palms flat against the cool tile counter and watched him dry his hands like it was just another Tuesday. Like he hadn’t made a choice that ripped something fundamental out of you both.

“I don’t think I know how to do this anymore,” you said.

Jack turned, towel still in hand. “What?”

“This,” you gestured between you, “Us. I don’t know how to keep pretending we’re okay.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. Then leaned against the sink like the weight of that sentence physically knocked him off balance.

“I didn’t expect you to understand,” he said.

You laughed. It came out sharp. Ugly. “That’s the part that kills me, Jack. I do understand. I know exactly why you're going. I know what it does to you to sit still. I know you think you’re only good when you’re bleeding out in a tent with your hands in someone’s chest.”

He flinched.

“But I also know you didn’t even try to stay.”

“I did,” he snapped. “Every time I came back to you, I tried.”

“That’s not the same as choosing me.”

The silence that followed felt like the real goodbye.

You walked past him to the bedroom without a word. The hallway felt longer than usual, quieter too—like the walls were holding their breath. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

The bed still smelled like him. Like cedarwood aftershave and something darker—familiar, aching. You crawled beneath the sheets, dragging the comforter up to your chin like armor. Turned your face to the wall. Every muscle in your back coiled tight, waiting for a sound that didn’t come.

And for a long time, he didn’t follow.

But eventually, the floor creaked—soft, uncertain. A pause. Then the familiar sound of the door clicking shut, slow and final, like the closing of a chapter neither of you had the courage to write an ending for. The mattress shifted beneath his weight—slow, deliberate, like every inch he gave to gravity was a decision he hadn’t fully made until now. He settled behind you, quiet as breath. And for a moment, there was only stillness.

No touch. No words. Just the heat of him at your back, close enough to feel the ghost of something you’d almost forgotten.

Then, gently—like he thought you might flinch—his arm slid across your waist. His hand spread wide over your stomach, fingers splayed like he was trying to memorize the shape of your body through fabric and time and everything he’d left behind.

Like maybe, if he held you carefully enough, he could keep you from slipping through the cracks he’d carved into both of your lives. Like this was the only way he still knew how to say please don’t go.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he breathed into the nape of your neck, voice rough, frayed at the edges.

Your eyes burned. You swallowed the lump in your throat. His lips touched your skin—just below your ear, then lower. A kiss. Another. His mouth moved with unbearable softness, like he thought he might break you. Or maybe himself.

And when he kissed you like it was the last time, it wasn’t frantic or rushed. It was slow. The kind of kiss that undoes a person from the inside out.

His hand slid under your shirt, calloused fingers grazing your ribs as if relearning your shape. You rolled to face him, breath catching when your noses bumped. And then he was kissing you again—deeper this time. Tongue coaxing, lips parted, breath shared. You gasped when he pressed his thigh between yours. He was already hard. And when he rocked into you, It wasn’t frantic—it was sacred. Like a ritual. Like a farewell carved into skin.

The lights stayed off, but not out of shame. It was self-preservation. Because if you saw his face, if you saw what was written in his eyes—whatever soft, shattering thing was there—it might ruin you. He undressed you like he was unwrapping something fragile—careful, slow, like he was afraid you might vanish if he moved too fast. Each layer pulled away with quiet tension, each breath held between fingers and fabric.

His mouth followed close behind, brushing down your chest with aching precision. He kissed every scar like it told a story only he remembered. Mouthed at your skin like it tasted of something he hadn’t let himself crave in years. Like he was starving for the version of you that only existed when you were underneath him.

Your fingers threaded through his hair. You arched. Moaned his name. He pushed into you like he didn’t want to be anywhere else. Like this was the only place he still knew. His pace was languid at first, drawn out. But when your breath hitched and you clung to him tighter, he fucked you deeper. Slower. Harder. Like he was trying to carve himself into your bones. Your bodies moved like memory. Like grief. Like everything you never said finally found a rhythm in the dark.

His thumb brushed your lower lip. You bit it. He groaned—low, guttural.

“Say it,” he rasped against your mouth.

“I love you,” you whispered, already crying. “God, I love you.”

And when you came, it wasn’t loud. It was broken. Soft. A tremor beneath his palm as he cradled your jaw. He followed seconds later, gasping your name like a benediction, forehead pressed to yours, sweat-slick and shaking.

After, he didn’t speak. Didn’t move. He just stayed curled around you, heartbeat thudding against your spine like punctuation.

Because sometimes the loudest heartbreak is the one you don’t say out loud.

The alarm never went off.

You’d both woken up before it—some silent agreement between your bodies that said don’t pretend this is normal. The room was still dark, heavy with the thick, gray stillness of early morning. That strange pocket of time that doesn’t feel like today yet, but is no longer yesterday.

Jack sat on the edge of the bed in just his boxers, elbows resting on his thighs, spine curled slightly forward like the weight of the choice he’d made was finally catching up to him. He was already dressed in the uniform in his head.

You stayed under the covers, arms wrapped around your own body, watching the muscles in his back tighten every time he exhaled.

You didn’t speak.

What was there left to say?

He stood, moved through the room with quiet efficiency. Pulling his pants on. Shirt. Socks. He tied his boots slowly, like muscle memory. Like prayer. You wondered if his hands ever shook when he packed for war, or if this was just another morning to him. Another mission. Another place to be.

He finally turned to face you. “You want coffee?” he asked, voice hoarse.

You shook your head. You didn’t trust yourself to speak.

He paused in the doorway, like he might say something—something honest, something final. Instead, he just looked at you like you were already slipping into memory.

The kitchen was still warm from the radiator kicking on. Jack moved like a ghost through it—mug in one hand, half a slice of dry toast in the other. You sat across from him at the table, knees pulled into your chest, wearing one of his old t-shirts that didn’t smell like him anymore. The silence was different now. Not tense. Just done. He set his keys on the table between you.

“I left a spare,” he said.

You nodded. “I know.”

He took a sip of coffee, made a face. “You never taught me how to make it right.”

“You never listened.”

His lips twitched—almost a smile. It died quickly. You looked down at your hands. Picked at a loose thread on your sleeve.

“Will you write?” you asked, quietly. Not a plea. Just curiosity. Just something to fill the silence.

“If I can.”

And somehow that hurt more.

When the cab pulled up outside, neither of you moved right away. Jack stared at the wall. You stared at him.

He finally stood. Grabbed his bag. Slung it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. He didn’t look like a man leaving for war. He looked like a man trying to convince himself he had no other choice.

At the door, he paused again.

“Hey,” he said, softer this time. “You’re everything I ever wanted, you know that?”

You stood too fast. “Then why wasn’t this enough?”

He flinched. And still, he came back to you. Hands cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like he was trying to memorize it.

“I love you,” he said.

You swallowed. Hard. “Then stay.”

His hands dropped.

“I can’t.”

You didn’t cry when he left.

You just stood in the hallway until the cab disappeared down the street, teeth sunk into your lip so hard it bled. And then you locked the door behind you. Not because you didn’t want him to come back.

But because you didn’t want to hope anymore that he would.

PRESENT DAY : THE PITT - FRIDAY 7:02 PM

Jack always said he didn’t believe in premonitions. That was Robby’s department—gut feelings, emotional instinct, the kind of sixth sense that made him pause mid-shift and mutter things like “I don’t like this quiet.” Jack? He was structure. Systems. Trauma patterns on a 10-year data set. He didn’t believe in ghosts, omens, or the superstition of stillness.

But tonight?

Tonight felt wrong.

The kind of wrong that doesn’t announce itself. It just settles—low and quiet, like a second pulse beneath your skin. Everything was too clean. Too calm. The trauma board was a blank canvas. One transfer to psych. One uncomplicated withdrawal on fluids. A dislocated shoulder in 6 who kept trying to flirt with the nurses despite being dosed with enough ketorolac to sedate a linebacker.

That was it. Four hours. Not a single incoming. Not even a fender-bender.

Jack stood in front of the board with his arms crossed tight over his chest. His jaw was clenched, shoulders stiff, body still in that way that wasn’t restful—just waiting. Like something in him was already bracing for impact.

The ER didn’t breathe like this. Not on a Friday night in Pittsburgh. Not unless something was holding its breath.

He rolled his shoulder, cracked his neck once, then twice. His leg ached—not the prosthetic. The other one. The real one. The one that always overcompensated when he was tense. The one that still carried the habits of a body he didn’t fully live in anymore. He tried to shake it off. He couldn’t. He wasn’t tired.

But he felt unmoored.

7:39 PM

The station was too loud in all the wrong ways.

Dana was telling someone—probably Perlah—about her granddaughter’s birthday party tomorrow. There was going to be a Disney princess. Real cake. Real glitter. Jack nodded when she looked at him but didn’t absorb any of it. His hands were hovering over the computer keys, but he wasn’t charting. He was watching the vitals monitor above Bay 2 blink like a metronome. Too steady. Too normal.

His stomach clenched. Something inside him stirred. Restless. Sharp. He didn’t even hear Ellis approach until her shadow slid into his peripheral.

“You’re doing it again,” she said.

Jack blinked. “Doing what?”

“That thing. The haunted soldier stare.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose. “Didn’t realize I had a brand.”

“You do.” She leaned against the counter, arms folded. “You get real still when it’s too quiet in here. Like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Jack tilted his head slightly. “I’m always waiting for the other shoe.”

“No,” she said. “Not like this.”

He didn’t respond. Didn’t need to. They both knew what kind of quiet this was.

7:55 PM

The weather was turning.

He could hear it—how the rain hit the loading dock, how the wind pushed harder against the back doors. He’d seen it out the break room window earlier. Clouds like bruises. Thunder low, miles off, not angry yet—just gathering. Pittsburgh always got weird storms in the spring—cold one day, burning the next. The kind of shifts that made people do dumb things. Drive fast. Get careless. Forget their own bodies could break.

His hand flexed unconsciously against the edge of the counter. He didn’t know who he was preparing for—just that someone was coming.

8:00 PM

Robby’s shift was ending. He always left a little late—hovered by the lockers, checking one last note, scribbling initials where none were needed. Jack didn’t look up when he approached, but he heard the familiar shuffle, the sound of a hoodie zipper pulled halfway.

“You sure you don’t wanna switch shifts tomorrow?” Robby asked, thumb scrolling absently across his phone screen, like he was trying to sound casual—but you could hear the edge of something in it. Fatigue. Or maybe just wariness.

Jack glanced over, one brow arched, already sensing the setup. “What, you finally land that hot date with the med student who keeps calling you sir, looks like she still gets carded for cough syrup and thinks you’re someone’s dad?”

Robby didn’t look up from his phone. “Close. She thinks you’re the dad. Like… someone’s brooding, emotionally unavailable single father who only comes to parent-teacher conferences to say he’s doing his best.”

Jack blinked. “I’m forty-nine. You’re fifty-three.”

“She thinks you’ve lived harder.”

Jack snorted. “She say that?”

“She said—and I quote—‘He’s got that energy. Like he’s seen things. Lost someone he doesn’t talk about. Probably drinks his coffee black and owns, like, one picture frame.’”

Jack gave a slow nod, face unreadable. “Well. She’s not wrong.”

Robby side-eyed him. “You do have ghost-of-a-wife vibes.”

Jack’s smirk twitched into something more wry. “Not a widower.”

“Could’ve fooled her. She said if she had daddy issues, you’d be her first mistake.”

Jack let out a low whistle. “Jesus.”

“I told her you’re just forty-nine. Prematurely haunted.”

Jack smiled. Barely. “You’re such a good friend.”

Robby slipped his phone into his pocket. “You’re lucky I didn’t tell her about the ring. She thinks you’re tragic. Women love that.”

Jack muttered, “Tragic isn’t a flex.”

Robby shrugged. “It is when you’re tall and say very little.”

Jack rolled his eyes, folding his arms across his chest. “Still not switching.”

Robby groaned. “Come on. Whitaker is due for a meltdown, and if I have to supervise him through one more central line attempt, I’m walking into traffic. He tried to open the kit with his elbow last week. Said sterile gloves were ‘limiting his dexterity.’ I said, ‘That’s the point.’ He told me I was oppressing his innovation.”

Jack stifled a laugh. “I’m starting to like him.”

“He’s your favorite. Admit it.”

“You’re my favorite,” Jack said, deadpan.

“That’s the saddest thing you’ve ever said.”

Jack’s grin tugged wider. “It’s been a long year.”

They stood in silence for a moment—one of those rare ones where the ER wasn’t screeching for attention. Just a quiet hum of machines and distant footsteps. Then Robby shifted, leaned a little heavier against the wall.

“You good?” he asked, voice low. Not pushy. Just there.

Jack didn’t look at him right away. Just stared at the trauma board. Too long. Long enough that it said more than words would’ve.

Then—“Fine,” Jack said. A beat. “Just tired.”

Robby didn’t press. Just nodded, like he believed it, even if he didn’t.

“Get some rest,” Jack added, almost an afterthought. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You always do,” Robby said.

And then he left, hoodie half-zipped, coffee in hand, just like always.

But Jack didn’t move for a while.

Not until the ER stopped pretending to be quiet.

8:34 PM

The call hits like a starter’s pistol.

“Inbound MVA. Solo driver. High velocity. No seatbelt. Unresponsive. GCS three. ETA three minutes.”

The kind of call that should feel routine.

Jack’s already in motion—snapping on gloves, barking out orders, snapping the trauma team to attention. He doesn’t think. He doesn’t feel. He just moves. It’s what he’s best at. What they built him for.

He doesn’t know why his heart is hammering harder than usual.

Why the air feels sharp in his lungs. Why he’s clenching his jaw so hard his molars ache.

He doesn’t know. Not yet.

“Perlah, trauma cart’s prepped?”

“Yeah.”

“Mateo, I want blood drawn the second she’s in. Jesse—intubation tray. Let’s be ready.”

No one questions him. Not when he’s in this mode—low voice, high tension. Controlled but wired like something just beneath his skin is ready to snap. He pulls the door to Bay 2 open, nods to the team waiting inside. His hands go to his hips, gloves already on, brain flipping through protocol.

And then he hears it—the wheels. Gurney. Fast.

Voices echoing through the corridor.

Paramedic yelling vitals over the noise.

“Unidentified female. Found unresponsive at the scene of an MVA—single vehicle, no ID on her. Significant blood loss, hypotensive on arrival. BP tanked en route—we lost her once. Got her back, but she’s still unstable.”

The doors bang open. They wheel her in. Jack steps forward. His eyes fall to the body. Blood-soaked. Covered in debris. Face battered. Left cheek swelling fast. Gash at the temple. Lip split. Clothes shredded. Eyes closed.

He freezes. Everything stops. Because he knows that mouth. That jawline. That scar behind the ear. That body. The last time he saw it, it was beneath his hands. The last time he kissed her, she was whispering his name in the dark. And now she’s here.

Unconscious. Barely breathing. Covered in her own blood. And nobody knows who she is but him.

“Jack?” Perlah says, uncertain. “You good?”

He doesn’t respond. He’s already at the side of the gurney, brushing the medic aside, sliding in like muscle memory.

“Get me vitals now,” he says, voice too low.

“She’s crashing again—”

“I said get me fucking vitals.”

Everyone jolts. He doesn’t care. He’s pulling the oxygen mask over your face. Hands hovering, trembling.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “What happened to you?”

Your eyes flutter, barely. He watches your chest rise once. Then falter.

Then—Flatline.

You looked like a stranger. But the kind of stranger who used to be home. Where had you gone after he left?

Why didn’t you come back?

Why hadn’t he tried harder to find you?

He never knew. He told himself you were fine. That you didn’t want to be found. That maybe you'd met someone else, maybe moved out of state, maybe started the life he was supposed to give you.

And now you were here. Not a memory. Not a ghost. Not a "maybe someday."

Here.

And dying.

8:36 PM

The monitor flatlines. Sharp. Steady. Shrill.

And Jack—he doesn’t blink. He doesn’t curse. He doesn’t call out. He just moves. The team reacts first—shock, noise, adrenaline. Perlah’s already calling it out. Mateo goes for epi. Jesse reaches for the crash cart, his hands a little too fast, knocking a tray off the edge.

It clatters to the floor. Jack doesn’t flinch.

He steps forward. Takes position. Drops to the right side of your chest like it’s instinct—because it is. His hands hover for half a beat.

Then press down.

Compression one.

Compression two.

Compression three.

Thirty in all. His mouth is tight. His eyes fixed on the rise and fall of your body beneath his hands. He doesn’t say your name. He doesn’t let them see him.

He just works.

Like he’s still on deployment.

Like you’re just another body.

Like you’re not the person who made him believe in softness again.

Jack doesn’t move from your side.

Doesn’t say a thing when the first shock doesn’t bring you back. Doesn’t speak when the second one stalls again. He just keeps pressing. Keeps watching. Keeps holding on with the one thing left he can control.

His hands.

You twitch under his palms on the third shock.

The line stutters. Then catches. Jack exhales once. But he still doesn’t speak. He doesn’t check the room. Doesn’t acknowledge the tears running down his face. Just rests both hands on the edge of the gurney and leans forward, breathing shallow, like if he stands up fully, something inside him will fall apart for good.

“Get her to CT,” he says quietly.

Perlah hesitates. “Jack—”

He shakes his head. “I’ll walk with her.”

“Jack…”

“I said I’ll go.”

And then he does.

Silent. Soaking in your blood. Following the gurney like he followed field stretchers across combat zones. No one asks questions. Because everyone sees it now.

8:52 PM

The corridor outside CT was colder than the rest of the hospital. Some architectural flaw. Or maybe just Jack’s body going numb. You were being wheeled in now—hooked to monitors, lips cracked and flaking at the edges from blood loss.

You hadn’t moved since the trauma bay. They got your heart back. But your eyes hadn’t opened. Not even once.

Jack walked beside the gurney in silence. One hand gripping the edge rail. Gloved fingers stained dark. His scrub top was still soaked from chest compressions. His pulse hadn’t slowed since the flatline. He didn’t speak to the transport tech. Didn’t acknowledge the nurse. Didn’t register anything except the curve of your arm under the blanket and the smear of blood at your temple no one had cleaned yet.

Outside the scan room, they paused to prep.

“Two minutes,” someone said.

Jack barely nodded. The tech turned away. And for the first time since they wheeled you in—Jack looked at you.

Eyes sweeping over your face like he was seeing it again for the first time. Like he didn’t recognize this version of you—not broken, not bloodied, not dying—but fragile. His hand moved before he could stop it. He reached down. Brushed your hair back from your forehead, fingers trembling.

He leaned in, close enough that only the machines could hear him. Voice raw. Shaky.

“Stay with me.” He swallowed. Hard. “I’ll lie to everyone else. I’ll keep pretending I can live without you. But you and me? We both know I’m full of shit.”

He paused. “You’ve always known.”

Footsteps echoed around the corner. Jack straightened instantly. Like none of it happened. Like he wasn’t bleeding in real time. The tech came back. “We’re ready.”

Jack nodded. Watched the doors open. Watched them wheel you away. Didn’t follow. Just stood in the hallway, alone, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

10:34 PM

Your blood was still on his forearms. Dried at the edge of his glove cuff. There was a fleck of it on the collar of his scrub top, just beneath his badge. He should go change. But he couldn’t move. The last time he saw you, you were standing in the doorway of your apartment with your arms crossed over your chest and your mouth set in that way you did when you were about to say something that would ruin him.

Then stay.

He hadn’t.

And now here you were, barely breathing.

God. He wanted to scream. But he didn’t. He never did.

Footsteps approached from the left—light, careful.

It was Dana.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just leaned against the wall beside him with a soft exhale and handed him a plastic water bottle.

He took it with a nod, twisted the cap, but didn’t drink.

“She’s stable,” Dana said quietly. “Neuro’s scrubbing in. Walsh is watching the bleed. They're hopeful it hasn’t shifted.”

Jack stared straight ahead. “She’s got a collapsed lung.”

“She’s alive.”

“She shouldn’t be.”

He could hear Dana shift beside him. “You knew her?”

Jack swallowed. His throat burned. “Yeah.”

There was a beat of silence between them.

“I didn’t know,” Dana said, gently. “I mean, I knew there was someone before you came back to Pittsburgh. I just never thought...”

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

“Jack,” she said, softer now. “You shouldn’t be the one on this case.”

“I’m already on it.”

“I know, but—”

“She didn’t have anyone else.”

That landed like a punch to the ribs. No emergency contact. No parents listed. No spouse. No one flagged to call. Just the last ID scanned from your phone—his name still buried somewhere in your old records, from years ago. Probably forgotten. Probably never updated. But still there. Still his.

Dana reached out, laid a hand on his wrist. “Do you want me to sit with her until she wakes up?”

He shook his head.

“I should be there.”

“Jack—”

“I should’ve been there the first time,” he snapped. Then his voice broke low, quieter, strained: “So I’m gonna sit. And I’m gonna wait. And when she wakes up, I’m gonna tell her I’m sorry.”

Dana didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just nodded. And walked away.

1:06 AM

Jack sat in the corner of the dimmed recovery room.

You were propped up slightly on the bed now, a tube down your throat, IV lines in both arms. Bandages wrapped around your ribs, temple, thigh. The monitor beeped with painful consistency. It was the only sound in the room.

He hadn’t spoken in twenty minutes. He just sat there. Watching you like if he looked away, you’d vanish again. He leaned back eventually, scrubbed both hands down his face.

“Jesus,” he whispered. “You really never changed your emergency contact?”

You didn’t get married. You didn’t leave the state.You just… slipped out of his life and never came back.

And he let you. He let you walk away because he thought you needed distance. Because he thought he’d ruined it. Because he didn’t know what to do with love when it wasn’t covered in blood and desperation. He let you go. And now you were here.

“Please wake up,” he whispered. “Just… just wake up. Yell at me. Punch me. I don’t care. Just—”

His voice cracked. He bit it back.

“You were right,” he said, so soft it barely made it out. “I should’ve stayed.”

You swim toward the surface like something’s pulling you back under. It’s slow. Syrupy. The kind of consciousness that makes pain feel abstract—like you’ve forgotten which parts of your body belong to you. There’s pressure behind your eyes. A dull roar in your ears. Cold at your fingertips.

Then—sound. Beeping. Monitors. A cart wheeling past. Someone saying Vitals stable, pressure’s holding. A laugh in the hallway. Fluorescents. Fabric rustling. And—

A chair creaking.

You know that sound.

You’d recognize that silence anywhere. You open your eyes, slowly, blinking against the light. Vision blurred. Chest tight. There’s a rawness in your throat like you’ve been screaming underwater. Everything hurts, but one thing registers clear:

Jack.

Jack Abbot is sitting beside you.

He’s hunched forward in a chair too small for him, arms braced on his knees like he’s ready to stand, like he can’t stand. There’s a hospital badge clipped to his scrub pocket. His jaw is tight. There’s something smudged on his cheekbone—blood? You don’t know. His hair is shorter than you remember, greyer.

But it’s him. And for a second—just one—you forget the last seven years ever happened.

You forget the apartment. The silence. The day he walked out with his duffel and didn’t look back. Because right now, he’s here. Breathing. Watching you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“Hey,” he says, voice hoarse.

You try to swallow. You can’t.

“Don’t—” he sits up, suddenly, gently. “Don’t try to talk yet. You were intubated. Rollover crash—” He falters. “Jesus. You’re okay. You’re here.”

You blink, hard. Your eyes sting. Everything is out of focus except him. He leans forward a little more, his hands resting just beside yours on the bed.

“I thought you were dead,” he says. “Or married. Or halfway across the world. I thought—” He stops. His throat works around the words. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

You close your eyes for a second. It’s too much. His voice. His face. The sound of you’re okay coming from the person who once made it hurt the most. You shift your gaze—try to ground yourself in something solid.

And that’s when you see it.

His hand.

Resting casually near yours.

Ring finger tilted toward the light.

Gold band.

Simple.

Permanent.

You freeze.

It’s like your lungs forget what to do.

You look at the ring. Then at him. Then at the ring again.

He follows your gaze.

And flinches.

“Fuck,” Jack says under his breath, immediately leaning back like distance might make it easier. Like you didn’t just see it.

He drags a hand through his hair, rubs the back of his neck, looks anywhere but at you.

“She’s not—” He pauses. “It’s not what you think.”

You’re barely able to croak a whisper. Your voice scrapes like gravel: “You’re married?”

His head snaps up.

“No.” Beat. “Not yet.”

Yet. That word is worse than a bullet. You stare at him. And what you see floors you.

Guilt.

Exhaustion.

Something that might be grief. But not regret. He’s not here asking for forgiveness. He’s here because you almost died. Because for a minute, he thought he’d never get the chance to say goodbye right. But he didn’t come back for you.

He moved on.

And you didn’t even get to see it happen. You turn your face away. It takes everything you have not to sob, not to scream, not to rip the IV out of your arm just to feel something other than this. Jack leans forward again, like he might try to fix it.

Like he still could.

“I didn’t know,” he says. “I didn’t know I’d ever see you again.”

“I didn’t know you’d stop waiting,” you rasp.

And that’s it. That’s the one that lands. He goes very still.

“I waited,” he says, softly. “Longer than I should’ve. I kept the spare key. I left the porch light on. Every time someone knocked on the door, I thought—maybe. Maybe it’s you.”

Your eyes well up. He shakes his head. Looks away. “But you never called. Never sent anything. And eventually... I thought you didn’t want to be found.”

“I didn’t,” you whisper. “Because I didn’t want to know you’d already replaced me.”

The silence after that is unbearable. And then: the soft knock of a nurse at the door.

Dana.

She peeks in, eyes flicking between the two of you, and reads the room instantly.

“We’re moving her to step-down in fifteen,” she says gently. “Just wanted to give you a heads up.” Jack nods. Doesn’t look at her. Dana lingers for a beat, then quietly slips out. You don’t speak. Neither does he. He just stands there for another long moment. Like he wants to stay. But knows he shouldn’t. Finally, he exhales—low, shaky.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Not for leaving. Not for loving someone else. Just for the wreckage of it all. And then he walks out. Leaving you in that bed.

Bleeding in places no scan can find.

9:12 AM

The room was smaller than the trauma bay. Cleaner. Quieter.

The lights were soft, filtered through high, narrow windows that let in just enough Pittsburgh morning to remind you the world kept moving, even when yours had slammed into a guardrail at seventy-three miles an hour.

You were propped at a slight angle—enough to breathe without straining the sutures in your side. Your ribs still ached with every inhale. Your left arm was in a sling. There was dried blood in your hairline no one had washed out yet. But you were alive. They told you that three times already.

Alive. Stable. Awake.

As if saying it aloud could undo the fact that Jack Abbot is engaged. You stared at the wall like it might give you answers. He hadn't come back. You didn’t ask for him. And still—every time a nurse came in, every time the door clicked open, every shuffle of shoes in the hallway—you hoped.

You hated yourself for it.

You hadn’t cried yet.

That surprised you. You thought waking up and seeing him again—for the first time in years, after everything—would snap something loose in your chest. But it didn’t. It just… sat there. Heavy. Silent. Like grief that didn’t know where to go.

There was a soft knock on the frame.

You turned your head slowly, your throat too raw to ask who it was.

It wasn’t Jack.

It was a man you didn’t recognize. Late forties, maybe fifties. Navy hoodie. Clipboard. Glasses slipped low on his nose. He looked tired—but held together in the kind of way that made it clear he'd been the glue for other people more than once.

“I’m Dr. Robinavitch.” he said gently. You just blinked at him.

“I’m... one of the attendings. I was off when they brought you in, but I heard.”

He didn’t step closer right away. Then—“Mind if I sit?”

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t say no. He pulled the chair from the corner. Sat down slow, like he wasn’t sure how fragile the air was between you. He didn’t check your vitals. Didn’t chart.

Just sat.

Present. In that quiet, steady way that makes you feel like maybe you don’t have to hold all the weight alone.

“Hell of a night,” he said after a while. “You had everyone rattled.”

You didn’t reply. Your eyes were fixed on the ceiling again. He rubbed a hand down the side of his jaw.

“Jack hasn’t looked like that in a long time.”

That made you flinch. Your head turned, slow and deliberate.

You stared at him. “He talk about me?”

Robby gave a small smile. Not pitying. Not smug. Just... true. “No. Not really.”

You looked away.

“But he didn’t have to,” he added.

You froze.

“I’ve seen him leave mid-conversation to answer texts that never came. Watched him walk out into the ambulance bay on his nights off—like he was waiting for someone who never showed. Never stayed the night anywhere but home. Always looked at the hallway like something might appear if he stared hard enough.”

Your throat burned.

“He never said your name,” Robby continued, voice low but certain. “But there’s a box under his bed. A spare key on his ring—been there for years, never used, never taken off. And that old mug in the back of his locker? The one that doesn’t match anything? You start to notice the things people hold onto when they’re trying not to forget.”

You blinked hard. “There’s a box?”

Robby nodded, slow. “Yeah. Tucked under the bed like he didn’t mean to keep it but never got around to throwing it out. Letters—some unopened, some worn through like he read them a hundred times. A photo of you, old and creased, like he carried it once and forgot how to let it go. Hospital badge. Bracelet from some field clinic. Even a napkin with your handwriting on it—faded, but folded like it meant something.”

You closed your eyes. That was worse than any of the bruises.

“He compartmentalizes,” Robby said. “It’s how he stays functional. It’s what he’s good at.”

You whispered it, barely audible: “It was survival.”

“Sure. Until it isn’t.”

Another silence settled between you. Comfortable, in a way.

Then—“He’s engaged,” you said, your voice flat.

Robby didn’t blink. “Yeah. I know.”

“Is she…?”

“She’s good,” he said. “Smart. Teaches third grade in Squirrel Hill. Not from medicine. I think that’s why it worked.”

You nodded slowly.

“Does she know about me?”

Robby looked down. Didn’t answer. You nodded again. That was enough.

He stood eventually.

Straightened the front of his hoodie. Rested the clipboard against his side like he’d forgotten why he even brought it.

“He’ll come back,” he said. “Not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But eventually.”

You didn’t look at him. Just stared out the window. Your voice was quiet.

“I don’t want him to.”

Robby gave you one last look.

One that said: Yeah. You do.

Then he turned and left.

And this time, when the door clicked shut—you cried.

DAY FOUR– 11:41 PM

The hospital was quiet. Quieter than it had been in days.

You’d finally started walking the length of your room again, IV pole rolling beside you like a loyal dog. The sling was irritating. Your ribs still hurt when you coughed. The staples in your scalp itched every time the air conditioner kicked on.

But you were alive. They said you could go home soon. Problem was—you didn’t know where home was anymore. The hallway light outside your room flickered once. You’d been drifting near sleep, curled on your side in the too-small hospital bed, one leg drawn up, wires tugging gently against your skin.

Before you could brace, the door opened. And there he was.

Jack didn’t speak at first. He just stood there, shadowed in the doorway, scrub top wrinkled like he’d fallen asleep in it, hair slightly damp like he’d washed his face too many times and still didn’t feel clean. You sat up slowly, heart punching through your chest.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t look like the man who used to make you coffee barefoot in the kitchen, or fold your laundry without being asked, or trace the inside of your wrist when he thought you were asleep.

He looked like a stranger who remembered your body too well.

“I wasn’t gonna come,” he said quietly, finally. You didn’t respond.

Jack stepped inside. Closed the door gently behind him.

The room felt too small.

Your throat ached.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he continued, voice low. “Didn’t know if you’d want to see me. After... everything.”

You sat up straighter. “I didn’t.”

That hit.

But he nodded. Took it. Absorbed it like punishment he thought he deserved.

Still, he didn’t leave. He stood at the foot of your bed like he wasn’t sure he was allowed any closer.

“Why are you here, Jack?”

He looked at you. Eyes full of everything he hadn’t said since he walked out years ago.

“I needed to see you,” he said, and it was so goddamn quiet you almost missed it. “I needed to know you were still real.”

Your heart cracked in two.

“Real,” you repeated. “You mean like alive? Or like not something you shoved in a box under your bed?”

His jaw tightened. “That’s not fair.”

You scoffed. “You think any of this is fair?”

Jack stepped closer.

“I didn’t plan to love you the way I did.”

“You didn’t plan to leave, either. But you did that too.”

“I was trying to save something of myself.”

“And I was collateral damage?”

He flinched. Looked down. “You were the only thing that ever made me want to stay.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

He shook his head. “Because I was scared. Because I didn’t know how to come back and be yours forever when all I’d ever been was temporary.” Silence crashed into the space between you. And then, barely above a whisper:

“Does she know you still dream about me?”

That made him look up. Like you’d punched the wind out of him. Like you’d reached into his chest and found the place that still belonged to you. He stepped closer. One more inch and he’d be at your bedside.

“You have every reason not to forgive me,” he said quietly. “But the truth is—I’ve never felt for anyone what I felt for you.”

You looked up at him, voice raw: “Then why are you marrying her?”

Jack’s mouth opened. But nothing came out. You looked away.

Eyes burning.

Lips trembling.

“I don’t want your apologies,” you said. “I want the version of you that stayed.”

He stepped back, like that was the final blow.

But you weren’t done.

“I loved you so hard it wrecked me,” you whispered. “And all I ever asked was that you love me loud enough to stay. But you didn’t. And now you want to stand in this room and act like I’m some kind of unfinished chapter—like you get to come back and cry at the ending?”

Jack breathed in like it hurt. Like the air wasn’t going in right.

“I came back,” he said. “I came back because I couldn’t breathe without knowing you were okay.”

“And now you know.”

You looked at him, eyes glassy, jaw tight.

“So go home to her.”

He didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t do what you asked.

He just stood there—bleeding in the quiet—while you looked away.

DAY SEVEN– 5:12 PM

You left the hospital with a dull ache behind your ribs and a discharge summary you didn’t bother reading. They told you to stay another three days. Said your pain control wasn’t stable. Said you needed another neuro eval.

You said you’d call.

You wouldn’t.

You packed what little you had in silence—folded the hospital gown, signed the paperwork with hands that still trembled. No one stopped you. You walked out the front doors like a ghost slipping through traffic.

Alive.

Untethered.

Unhealed.

But gone.

YOUR APARTMENT– 8:44 PM

It wasn’t much. A studio above a laundromat on Butler Street. One couch. One coffee mug. A bed you didn’t make. You sat cross-legged on top of the blanket in your hospital sweats, ribs bandaged tight beneath your shirt, hair still blood-matted near the scalp.

You hadn’t turned on the lights.

You hadn’t eaten.

You were staring at the wall when the knock came.

Three short taps.

Then his voice.

“It's me.”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Then the second knock.

“Please. Just open the door.”

You stood. Slowly. Every joint screamed. When you opened it, there he was. Still in black scrubs. Still tired. Still wearing that ring.

“You left,” he said, breath fogging in the cold.

You leaned against the frame. “I wasn’t going to wait around for someone who already left me once.”

“I deserved that.”

“You deserve worse.”

He nodded. Took it like a man used to pain. “Can I come in?”

You hesitated.

Then stepped aside.

He didn’t sit. Just stood there—awkward, towering, hands in his pockets, taking in the chipped paint, the stack of unopened mail, the folded blanket at the edge of the bed.

“This place is...”

“Mine.”

He nodded again. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Silence.

You walked back to the bed, sat down slowly. He stood across from you like you were a patient and he didn’t know what was broken.

“What do you want, Jack?”

His jaw flexed. “I want to be in your life again.”

You blinked. Laughed once, sharp and short. “Right. And what does that look like? You with her, and me playing backup singer?”

“No.” His voice was quiet. “Just... just a friend.”

Your breath caught.

He stepped forward. “I know I don’t deserve more than that. I know I hurt you. And I know this—this thing between us—it's not what it was. But I still care. And if all I can be is a number in your phone again, then let me.”

You looked down.

Your hands were shaking.

You didn’t want this. You wanted him. All of him.

But you knew how this would end.

You’d sit across from him in cafés, pretending not to look at his left hand.

You’d laugh at his stories, knowing his warmth would go home to someone else.

You’d let him in—inch by inch—until there was nothing left of you that hadn’t shaped itself to him again.

And still.

Still—“Okay,” you said.

Jack looked at you.

Like he couldn’t believe it.

“Friends,” you added.

He nodded slowly. “Friends.”

You looked away.

Because if you looked at him any longer, you'd say something that would shatter you both.

Because this was the next best thing.

And you knew, even as you said it, even as you offered him your heart wrapped in barbed wire—It was going to break you.

DAY TEN – 6:48 PM Steeped & Co. Café – Two blocks from The Pitt

You told yourself this wasn’t a date.

It was coffee. It was public. It was neutral ground.

But the way your hands wouldn’t stop shaking made it feel like you were twenty again, waiting for him to show up at the Greyhound station with his army bag and half a smile.

He walked in ten minutes late. He ordered his drink without looking at the menu. He always knew what he wanted—except when it came to you.

“You’re limping less,” he said, settling across from you like you hadn’t been strangers for the last seven years. You lifted your tea, still too hot to drink. “You’re still observant.”

He smiled—small. Quiet. The kind that used to make you forgive him too fast. The first fifteen minutes were surface-level. Traffic. ER chaos. This new intern, Santos, doing something reckless. Robby calling him “Doctor Doom” under his breath.

It should’ve been easy.

But the space between you felt alive.

Charged.

Unforgivable.

He leaned forward at one point, arms on the table, and you caught the flick of his hand—

The ring.

You looked away. Pretended not to care.

“You’re doing okay?” he asked, voice gentle.

You nodded, lying. “Mostly.”

He reached across the table then—just for a second—like he might touch your hand. He didn’t. Your breath caught anyway. And neither of you spoke for a while.

DAY TWELVE – 2:03 PM Your apartment

You couldn’t sleep. Again.

The pain meds made your body heavy, but your head was always screaming. You’d been lying in bed for hours, fully dressed, lights off, scrolling old texts with one hand while your other rubbed slow, nervous circles into the bandages around your ribs.

There was a text from him.

"You okay?"

You stared at it for a full minute before responding.

"No."

You expected silence.

Instead: a knock.

You didn’t even ask how he got there so fast. You opened the door and he stepped in like he hadn’t been waiting in his car, like he hadn’t been hoping you’d need him just enough.

He looked exhausted.

You stepped back. Let him in.

He sat on the edge of the couch. Hands folded. Knees apart. Staring at the wall like it might break the tension.

“I can’t sleep anymore,” you whispered. “I keep... hearing it. The crash. The metal. The quiet after.”

Jack swallowed hard. His jaw clenched. “Yeah.”

You both went quiet again. It always came in waves with him—things left unsaid that took up more space than the words ever could. Eventually, he leaned back against the couch cushion, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I think about you all the time,” he said, voice low, wrecked.

You didn’t move.

“You’re in the room when I’m doing intake. When I’m changing gloves. When I get in the car and my left hand hits the wheel and I see the ring and I wonder why it’s not you.”

Your breath hitched.

“But I made a choice,” he said. “And I can’t undo it without hurting someone who’s never hurt me.”

You finally turned toward him. “Then why are you here?”

He looked at you, eyes dark and honest. “Because the second you came back, I couldn’t breathe.”

You kissed him.

You don’t remember who moved first. If you leaned forward, or if he cupped your face like he used to. But suddenly, you were kissing him. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle. It was devastated.

His mouth was salt and memory and apology.

Your hands curled in his shirt. He was whispering your name against your lips like it still belonged to him.

You pulled away first.

“Go home,” you said, voice cracking.

“Don’t do this—”

“Go home to her, Jack.”

And he did.

He always did.

DAY THIRTEEN – 7:32 PM

You don’t eat.

You don’t leave your apartment.

You scrub the counter three times and throw out your tea mug because it smells like him.

You sit on the bathroom floor and press a towel to your ribs until the pain brings you back into your body.

You start a text seven times.

You never send it.

DAY SEVENTEEN — 11:46 PM

The takeout was cold. Neither of you had touched it.

Jack’s gaze hadn’t left you all night.

Low. Unreadable. He hadn’t smiled once.

“You never stopped loving me,” you said suddenly. Quiet. Dangerous. “Did you?”

His jaw flexed. You pressed harder.

“Say it.”

“I never stopped,” he rasped.

That was all it took.

You surged forward.

His hands found your face. Your hips. Your hair. He kissed you like he’d been holding his breath since the last time. Teeth and tongue and broken sounds in the back of his throat.

Your back hit the wall hard.

“Fuck—” he muttered, grabbing your thigh, hitching it up. His fingers pressed into your skin like he didn’t care if he left marks. “I can’t believe you still taste like this.”

You gasped into his mouth, nails dragging down his chest. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

He had your clothes off before you could breathe. His mouth moved down—your throat, your collarbone, between your breasts, tongue hot and slow like he was punishing you for every year he spent wondering if you hated him.

“You still wear my t-shirt to bed?” he whispered against your breasts voice thick. “You still get wet thinking about me?”

You whimpered. “Jack—”

His name came out like a sin.

He dropped to his knees.

“Let me hear it,” he said, dragging his mouth between your thighs, voice already breathless. “Tell me you still want me.”

Your head dropped back.

“I never stopped.”

And then his mouth was on you—filthy and brutal.

Tongue everywhere, fingers stroking you open while his other hand gripped your thigh like it was the only thing tethering him to this moment.

You were already shaking when he growled, “You still taste like mine.”

You cried out—high and wrecked—and he kept going.

Faster.

Sloppier.

Like he wanted to ruin every memory of anyone else who might’ve touched you.

He made you come with your fingers tangled in his hair, your hips grinding helplessly against his face, your thighs quivering around his jaw while you moaned his name like you couldn’t stop.

He stood.

His clothes were off in seconds. Nothing left between you but raw air and your shared history. His cock was thick, flushed, angry against his stomach—dripping with need, twitching every time you breathed.

You stared at it.

At him.

At the ring still on his finger.

He saw your eyes.

Slipped it off.

Tossed it across the room without a word.

Then slammed you against the wall again and slid inside.

No teasing.

No waiting.

Just deep.

You gasped—too full, too fast—and he buried his face in your neck.

“I’m sorry,” he groaned. “I shouldn’t—fuck—I shouldn’t be doing this.”

But he didn’t stop.

He thrust so deep your eyes rolled back.

It was everything at once.

Your name on his lips like an apology. His hands on your waist like he’d never let go again. Your nails digging into his back like maybe you could keep him this time. He fucked you like he’d never get the chance again. Like he was angry you still had this effect on him. Like he was still in love with you and didn’t know how to carry it anymore.

He spat on his fingers and rubbed your clit until you were screaming his name.

“Louder,” he snapped, fucking into you hard. “Let the neighbors hear who makes you come.”

You came again.

And again.

Shaking. Crying. Overstimulated.

“Open your eyes,” he panted. “Look at me.”

You did.

He was close.

You could feel it in the way he lost rhythm, the way his grip got desperate, the way he whimpered your name like he was begging.

“Inside,” you whispered, legs wrapped around him. “Don’t pull out.”

He froze.

Then nodded, forehead dropping to yours.

“I love you,” he breathed.

And then he came—deep, full, shaking inside you with a broken moan so raw it felt holy.

After, you lay together on the floor. Sweat-slicked. Bruised. Silent.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

Because you both knew—

This changed everything.

And nothing.

DAY EIGHTEEN — 7:34 AM

Sunlight creeps in through the slats of your blinds, painting golden stripes across the hardwood floor, your shoulder, his back.

Jack’s asleep in your bed. He’s on his side, one arm flung across your stomach like instinct, like a claim. His hand rests just above your hip—fingers twitching every now and then, like some part of him knows this moment isn’t real. Or at least, not allowed. Your body aches in places that feel worshipped.

You don’t feel guilty.

Yet.

You stare at the ceiling. You haven’t spoken in hours.

Not since he whispered “I love you” while he was still inside you.

Not since he collapsed onto your chest like it might save him.

Not since he kissed your shoulder and didn’t say goodbye.

You shift slowly beneath the sheets. His hand tightens.

Like he knows.

You stay still. You don’t want to be the one to move first. Because if you move, the night ends. If you move, the spell breaks. And Jack Abbot goes back to being someone else's.

Eventually, he stirs.

His breath shifts against your collarbone.

Then—

“Morning.”

His voice is low. Sleep-rough. Familiar.

It hurts worse than silence. You force a soft hum, not trusting your throat to form words.

He lifts his head a little.

Looks at you. Hair mussed. Eyes unreadable. Bare skin still flushed from where he touched you hours ago. You expect regret. But all you see is heartbreak.

“Shouldn’t have stayed,” he says softly.

You close your eyes.

“I know.”

He sits up slowly. Sheets falling around his waist.

You follow the line of his back with your gaze. Every scar. Every knot in his spine. The curve of his shoulder blades you used to trace with your fingers when you were twenty-something and stupid enough to think love was enough.

He doesn’t look at you when he says it.

“I told her I was working overnight.”

You feel your breath catch.

“She called me at midnight,” he adds. “I didn’t answer.”

You sit up too. Tug the blanket around your chest like modesty matters now.

“Is this the part where you tell me it was a mistake?”

Jack doesn’t answer right away.

Then—“No,” he says. “It’s the part where I tell you I don’t know how to go home.”

You both sit there for a long time.

Naked.

Wordless.

Surrounded by the echo of what you used to be.

You finally speak.

“Do you love her?”

Silence.

“I respect her,” he says. “She’s good. Steady. Nothing’s ever hard with her.”

You swallow. “That’s not an answer.”

Jack turns to you then. Eyes tired. Voice raw.

“I’ve never stopped loving you.”

It lands in your chest like a sucker punch.

Because you know. You always knew. But now you’ve heard it again. And it doesn’t fix a goddamn thing.

“I can’t do this again,” you whisper.

Jack nods. “I know.”

“But I’ll keep doing it anyway,” you add. “If you let me.”

His jaw tightens. His throat works around something thick.

“I don’t want to leave.”

“But you will.”

You both know he has to.

And he does.

He dresses slowly.

Doesn’t kiss you.

Doesn’t say goodbye.

He finds his ring.

Puts it back on.

And walks out.

The door closes.

And you break.

Because this—this is the cost of almost.

8:52 AM

You don’t move for twenty-three minutes after the door shuts.

You don’t cry.

You don’t scream.

You just exist.

Your chest rises and falls beneath the blanket. That same spot where he laid his head a few hours ago still feels heavy. You think if you touch it, it’ll still be warm.

You don’t.

You don’t want to prove yourself wrong. Your body aches everywhere. The kind of ache that isn’t just from the crash, or the stitches, or the way he held your hips so tightly you’re going to bruise. It’s the kind of ache you can’t ice. It’s the kind that lingers in your lungs.

Eventually, you sit up.

Your legs feel unsteady beneath you. Your knees shake as you gather the clothes scattered across the floor. His shirt—the one you wore while he kissed your throat and said “I love you” into your skin—gets tossed in the hamper like it doesn’t still smell like him. Your hand lingers on it.

You shove it deeper.

Harder.

Like burying it will stop the memory from clawing up your throat.

You make coffee you won’t drink.

You wash your face three times and still look like someone who got left behind.

You open your phone.

One new text.

“Did you eat?”

You don’t respond. Because what do you say to a man who left you raw and split open just to slide a ring back on someone else’s finger? You try to leave the apartment that afternoon.

You make it as far as the sidewalk.

Then you turn around and vomit into the bushes.

You don’t sleep that night.

You lie awake with your fingers curled into your sheets, shaking.

Your thighs ache.

Your mouth is dry.

You dream of him once—his hand pressed to your sternum like a prayer, whispering “don’t let go.”

When you wake, your chest is wet with tears and you don’t remember crying.

DAY TWENTY TWO— 4:17 PM Your apartment

It starts slow.

A dull ache in your upper abdomen. Like a pulled muscle or bad cramp. You ignore it. You’ve been ignoring everything. Pain means you’re healing, right?

But by 4:41 p.m., you’re on the floor of your bathroom, knees to your chest, drenched in sweat. You’re cold. Shaking. The pain is blooming now—hot and deep and wrong. You try to stand. Your vision goes white. Then you’re on your back, blinking at the ceiling.

And everything goes quiet.

THE PITT – 5:28 PM

You’re unconscious when the EMTs wheel you in. Vitals unstable. BP crashing. Internal bleeding suspected. It takes Jack ten seconds to recognize you.

One to feel like he’s going to throw up.

“Mid-thirties female. No trauma this week, but old injuries. Seatbelt bruise still present. Suspected splenic rupture, possible bleed out. BP’s eighty over forty and falling.”

Jack is already moving.

He steps into the trauma bay like a man walking into fire.

It’s you.

God. It’s you again.

Worse this time.

“Her name is [Y/N],” he says tightly, voice rough. “We need OR on standby. Now.”

6:01 PM

You’re barely conscious as they prep you for CT. Jack is beside you, masked, gloved, sterile. But his voice trembles when he says your name. You blink up at him.

Barely there.

“Hurts,” you rasp.

He leans close, ignoring protocol.

“I know. I’ve got you. Stay with me, okay?”

6:27 PM

The scan confirms it.

Grade IV splenic rupture. Bleeding into the abdomen.

You’re going into surgery.

Fast.

You grab his hand before they wheel you out. Your grip is weak. But desperate.

You look at him—“I don’t want to die thinking I meant nothing.”

His face breaks. And then they take you away.

Jack doesn’t move.

Just stands there in blood-streaked gloves, shaking.

Because this time, he might actually lose you.

And he doesn’t know if he’ll survive that twice.

9:12 PM Post-op recovery, ICU step-down

You come back slowly. The drugs are heavy. Your throat is dry. Your ribs feel tighter than before. There’s a new weight in your abdomen, dull and throbbing. You try to lift your hand and fail. Your IV pole beeps at you like it's annoyed.

Then there’s a shadow.

Jack.

You try to say his name.

It comes out as a rasp. He jerks his head up like he’s been underwater.

He looks like hell. Eyes bloodshot. Hands shaking. He’s still in scrubs—stained, wrinkled, exhausted.

“Hey,” he breathes, standing fast. His hand wraps gently around yours. You let it. You don’t have the strength to fight.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he whispers.

You blink at him.

There are tears in your eyes. You don’t know if they’re yours or his.

“What…?” you rasp.

“Your spleen ruptured,” he says quietly. “You were bleeding internally. We almost lost you in the trauma bay. Again.”

You blink slowly.

“You looked empty,” he says, voice cracking. “Still. Your eyes were open, but you weren’t there. And I thought—fuck, I thought—”

He stops. You squeeze his fingers.

It’s all you can do.

There’s a long pause.

Heavy.

Then—“She called.”

You don’t ask who.

You don’t have to.

Jack stares at the floor.

“I told her I couldn’t talk. That I was... handling a case. That I’d call her after.”

You close your eyes.

You want to sleep.

You want to scream.

“She’s starting to ask questions,” he adds softly.

You open your eyes again. “Then lie better.”

He flinches.

“I’m not proud of this,” he says.

You look at him like he just told you the sky was blue. “Then leave.”

“I can’t.”

“You did last time.”

Jack leans forward, his forehead almost touching the edge of your mattress. His voice is low. Cracked. “I can’t lose you again.”

You’re quiet for a long time.

Then you ask, so small he barely hears it:

“If I’d died... would you have told her?”

His head lifts. Your eyes meet. And he doesn’t answer.

Because you already know the truth.

He stands, slowly, scraping the chair back like the sound might stall his momentum. “I should let you sleep,” he adds.

“Don’t,” you say, voice raw. “Not yet.”

He freezes. Then nods.

He moves back to the chair, but instead of sitting, he leans over the bed and presses his lips to your forehead—gently, like he’s scared it’ll hurt. Like he’s scared you’ll vanish again. You don’t close your eyes. You don’t let yourself fall into it.

Because kisses are easy.

Staying is not.

DAY TWENTY FOUR — 9:56 AM Dana wheels you to discharge. Your hands are clenched tight around the armrests, fingers stiff. Jack’s nowhere in sight. Good. You can’t decide if you want to see him—or hit him.

“You got someone picking you up?” Dana asks, handing off the chart.

You nod. “Uber.”

She doesn’t push. Just places a hand on your shoulder as you stand—slow, steady.

“Be gentle with yourself,” she says. “You survived twice.”

DAY THIRTY ONE – 8:07 PM

The knock comes just after sunset.

You’re barefoot. Still in the clothes you wore to your follow-up appointment—a hoodie two sizes too big, a bandage under your ribs that still stings every time you twist too fast. There’s a cup of tea on the counter you haven’t touched. The air in the apartment is thick with something you can’t name. Something worse than dread.

You don’t move at first. Just stare at the door.

Then—again.

Three soft raps.

Like he’s asking permission. Like he already knows he shouldn’t be here. You walk over slowly, pulse loud in your ears. Your fingers hesitate at the lock.

“Don’t,” you whisper to yourself. You open the door anyway.

Jack stands there. Gray hoodie. Dark jeans. He’s holding a plastic grocery bag, like this is something casual, like he’s a neighbor stopping by, not the man who left you in pieces across two hospital beds.

Your voice comes out hoarse. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I know,” he says, quiet. “But I think I should’ve been here a long time ago.”

You don’t speak. You step aside.

He walks in like he doesn’t expect to stay. Doesn’t look around. Doesn’t sit. Just stands there, holding that grocery bag like it might shield him from what he’s about to say.

“I told her,” he says.

You blink. “What?”

He lifts his gaze to yours. “Last night. Everything. The hospital. That night. The truth.”

Your jaw tenses. “And what, she just… let you walk away?”

He sets the bag on your kitchen counter. It’s shaking slightly in his grip. “No. She cried. Screamed. Told me to get out”

You feel yourself pulling away from him, emotionally, physically—like your body��s trying to protect you before your heart caves in again. “Jesus, Jack.”

“I know.”

“You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to come back with your half-truths and trauma and expect me to just be here.”

“I didn’t come expecting anything.”

You whirl back to him, raw. “Then why did you come?”

His voice doesn’t rise. But it cuts. “Because you almost died. Again. Because I’ve spent the last week realizing that no one else has ever felt like home.”

You shake your head. “That doesn’t change the fact that you left me when I needed you. That I begged you to choose peace. And you chose chaos. Every goddamn time.”

He closes the distance slowly, but not too close. Not yet.

“You think I don’t live with that?” His voice drops.

You falter, tears threatening. “Then why didn’t you try harder?”

“I thought you’d moved on.”

“I tried,” you say, voice cracking. “I tried so hard to move on, to let someone else in, to build something new with hands that were still learning how to stop reaching for you. But every man I met—it was like eating soup with a fork. I’d sit across from them, smiling, nodding, pretending I wasn’t starving, pretending I didn’t notice the emptiness. They didn’t know me. Not really. Not the version of me that stayed up folding your shirts, tracking your deployment cities like constellations, holding the weight of a future you kept promising but never chose. Not the me that kept the lights on when you disappeared into silence. Not the me that made excuses for your absence until it started sounding like prayer.”

Jack’s face shifts—subtle at first, then like a crack running straight through the foundation. His jaw tightens. His mouth opens. Closes. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough around the edges, as if the admission itself costs him something he doesn’t have to spare.

“I didn’t think I deserved to come back,” he says. “Not after the way I left. Not after how long I stayed gone. Not after all the ways I chose silence over showing up.”

You stare at him, breath shallow, chest tight.

“Maybe you didn’t,” you say quietly, not to hurt him—but because it’s true. And it hangs there between you, heavy and undeniable.

The silence that follows is thick. Stretching. Bruising.

Then, just when you think he might finally say something that unravels everything all over again, he gestures to the bag he’s still clutching like it might anchor him to the floor.

“I brought soup,” he says, voice low and awkward. “And real tea—the kind you like. Not the grocery store crap. And, um… a roll of gauze. The soft kind. I remembered you said the hospital ones made you break out, and I thought…”

He trails off, unsure, like he’s realizing mid-sentence how pitiful it all sounds when laid bare.

You blink, hard. Trying to keep the tears in their lane.

“You brought first aid and soup?”

He nods, half a breath catching in his throat. “Yeah. I didn’t know what else you’d let me give you.”

There’s a beat.

A heartbeat.

Then it hits you.

That’s what undoes you—not the apology, not the fact that he told her, not even the way he’s looking at you like he’s seeing a ghost he never believed he’d get to touch again. It’s the soup. It’s the gauze. It’s the goddamn tea. It’s the way Jack Abbot always came bearing supplies when he didn’t know how to offer himself.

You sink down onto the couch too fast, knees buckling like your body can’t hold the weight of all the things you’ve swallowed just to stay upright this week.

Elbows on your thighs. Face in your hands.

Your voice breaks as it comes out:

“What am I supposed to do with you?”

It’s not rhetorical. It’s not flippant.

It’s shattered. Exhausted. Full of every version of love that’s ever let you down. And he knows it.

And for a long, breathless moment—you don’t move.

Jack walks over. Kneels down. His hands hover, not touching, just there.

You look at him, eyes full of every scar he left you with. “You said you'd come back once. You didn’t.”

“I came back late,” he says. “But I’m here now. And I’m staying.”

Your voice drops to a whisper. “Don’t promise me that unless you mean it.”

“I do.”

You shake your head, hard, like you’re trying to physically dislodge the ache from your chest.

“I’m still mad,” you say, voice cracking.

Jack doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t try to defend himself. He just nods, slow and solemn, like he’s rehearsed this moment a hundred times in his head. “You’re allowed to be,” he says quietly. “I’ll still be here.”

Your throat tightens.

“I don’t trust you,” you whisper, and it tastes like blood in your mouth—like betrayal and memory and all the nights you cried yourself to sleep because he was halfway across the world and you still loved him anyway.

“I know,” he says. “Then let me earn it.”

You don’t speak. You can’t. Your whole body is trembling—not with rage, but with grief. With the ache of wanting something so badly and being terrified you’ll never survive getting it again.

Jack moves slowly. Doesn’t close the space between you entirely, just enough. Enough that his hand—rough and familiar—reaches out and rests on your knee. His palm is warm. Grounding. Careful.

Your breath catches. Your shoulders tense. But you don’t pull away.

You couldn’t if you tried.

His voice drops even lower, like if he speaks any louder, the whole thing will break apart.

“I’ve got nowhere else to be,” he says.

He pauses. Swallows hard. His eyes glisten in the low light.

“I put the ring in a drawer. Told her the truth. That I’m in love with someone else. That I’ve always been.”

You look up, sharply. “You told her that?”

He nods. Doesn’t blink. “She said she already knew. That she’d known for a long time.”

Your chest tightens again, this time from something different. Not anger. Not pain. Something that hurts in its truth.

He goes on. And this part—this part wrecks him.

“You know what the worst part is?” he murmurs. “She didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve to love someone who only ever gave her the version of himself that was pretending to be healed.”

You don’t interrupt. You just watch him come undone. Gently. Quietly.

“She was kind,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Good. Steady. The kind of person who makes things simple. Who doesn’t expect too much, or ask questions when you go quiet. And even with all of that—even with the life we were building—I couldn’t stop waiting for the sound of your voice.”

You blink hard, breath catching somewhere between your lungs and your ribs.

“I’d check my phone,” he continues. “At night. In the morning. In the middle of conversations. I’d look out the window like maybe you’d just… show up. Like the universe owed me one more shot. One more chance to fix the thing I broke when I walked away from the one person who ever made me feel like home.”

You can’t stop crying now. Quiet tears. The kind that come when there’s nothing left to scream.

“I hated you,” you whisper. “I hated you for a long time.”

He nods, eyes on yours. “So did I.”

And somehow, that’s what softens you.

Because you can’t hate him through this. You can’t pretend this version of him isn’t bleeding too.

You exhale shakily. “I don’t know if I can do this again.”

“I’m not asking you to,” he says, “Not all at once. Just… let me sit with you. Let me hold space. Let me remind you who I was—who I could be—if you let me stay this time.”

And god help you—some fragile, tired, still-broken part of you wants to believe him.

“If I say yes... if I let you in again...”

He waits. Doesn’t breathe.

“You don’t get to leave next time,” you whisper. “Not without looking me in the eye.”

Jack nods.

“I won’t.”

You reach for his hand. Lace your fingers together.And for the first time since everything shattered—You let yourself believe he might stay.

#jack abbot #dr abbot #jack abbot x reader #dr abbot x you #reader insert #dr abbot x reader #the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader #shawn hatosy #the pitt hbo #fanfiction #smut #angst

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colouredbyd · 1 month ago

Text

“Tell Me You Will Believe Me”

poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary: Your visions as a Seer used to be harmless—until they turned dark. Now, you find yourself caught between protecting the people you love and the terrifying truth only you can see.

wc: 3.6k

warnings: emotional abuse, graphic violence, dark themes, angst, betrayal, emotional withdrawal, mental health struggles (anxiety, depression), trauma, past trauma, death of a loved one, remus being a sweetheart, visions of future tragedy, so much hurt/comfort, LOTS of angst but then happy ending <3

authors note: i should be studying but this idea has been on my mind for weeks so i decided to just write it, enjoy the major angst with comfort. Im trying to test my skills, idk should i do part 2 or leave the ending like this?

part 2 masterlist

It started slowly. Almost imperceptibly.

At first, you skipped breakfast. Said you’d meet them later in class. You didn’t.

Then you stopped holding Sirius’s hand in the hallways. Your fingers used to seek his like a reflex—lacing together as naturally as breath. Until one day, his hand brushed yours and you flinched, pretending not to notice. He didn’t say anything, just shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away.

You stopped waiting for James after class too. Where once you leaned against the wall with a playful grin, teasing him about being late, now you left as soon as the bell rang. “Thought you’d already gone,” you’d lie, when he showed up confused and breathless, eyes searching the corridor for you.

You started skipping Hogsmeade weekends, claiming migraines, unfinished essays, fatigue. “I’ll just stay in and rest,” you’d say, brushing kisses onto their cheeks like goodbyes. “You go. Have fun my love.”

They noticed, of course. The boys weren’t blind.

But you were clever.

You still smiled when spoken to. Still said “love you” back. Still sat beside them at meals—even if you barely touched your food, barely looked up, barely breathed. You learned how to be present without being there. An echo. A ghost in your own skin.

The boys watched you like you were slipping underwater, helpless to stop it.

One evening, James sat beside you on the Gryffindor common room couch, his voice low and joking, “You’ve got this whole ‘mysterious tragic poet’ thing going on lately baby. Should we be worried?”

You forced a laugh. “I just haven’t been sleeping well.”

He smiled at you, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We miss you.”

“I’m right here, Jamie,” you whispered.

The smell of fire, of burning flesh. Someone’s laugh twists into a scream that ends too fast.

But you weren’t. Not really.

“Take her and RUN, Sirius!” Remus roars, storming forward and grabbing him by the collar, shoving him back like the fire behind him hasn’t already started swallowing everything whole. “NOW!”

There’s blood in Remus’s mouth when he speaks, on his hands when he clutches Sirius, on his temple where something struck too hard, too fast. His lips are trembling but his eyes are terrifying—brighter than the firelight. They burn with something final.

“Moony—” Sirius chokes, voice hoarse with panic, tears already rising. “I can’t—”

“THERE’S NO TIME!” Remus howls, like it’s killing him to say it. “You don’t look back. You don’t come back. You take her and you fucking run, do you hear me? You keep her safe—Sirius, please—

“Hey hey hey pretty girl, look at me breathe for me come on.”

Sirius’s voice breaks through your fog. He’s kneeling in front of you now, his dark eyes wide with concern. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Dorca and Peter are there too, hovering close by, their faces twisted in worry. They’re all looking at you, their concern thick in the air.

“Are you alright?” Remus asks, voice soft, but there’s something underlying—something urgent in his tone. He crouches beside you, his eyes searching for an answer you don’t have.

You open your mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. You feel pathetic having a panic attack infront of everyone. The vision’s weight is still on your chest, pressing down on you, suffocating you. It feels like the whole world is closing in.

Sirius looks like he might reach for you, but he hesitates, as if afraid to touch you. The intensity of the moment hangs heavy in the air. “You’re scaring me princess.” he says quietly, eyes softening.

And for the first time in days, you feel something like a tremor in your chest—like the weight of their love, their worry, is finally sinking in.

“please just hold me.” you hiccup through sobs, your voice sounding too small, too fragile. But the words feel hollow in your mouth.

And they do, they hold you until you feel safe enough.

It was Remus who saw through it first.

He’d catch you staring into the fire too long. Flinching when the wind howled against the castle windows. He noticed your fingers trembling when you thought no one was looking. The way your hands hovered just above the boys’ shoulders when they leaned in—like you wanted to touch them, like you were afraid to.

“Are you alright, dove?” he whispered one night, his hand brushing your arm.

You blinked, startled. You hadn’t even noticed him sit beside you.

“Fine,” you said too quickly, too brightly. “Just tired.”

He didn’t believe you. He never did.

But he let you go.

After that, everything became quieter, not the visions though. They got worse, more clear, and more horrifying.

You stopped calling Sirius by his stupid nicknames. No more “Padfoot,” no more “Starboy.” Just “Sirius,” plain and clipped.

You forgot James’s birthday. The guilt nearly ate you alive, even as you watched him pretend not to be disappointed.

You stopped reading with Remus at night. Once, you’d fall asleep curled against his chest while he read aloud, voice soft and warm against your temple. Now, you claimed headaches. Stayed in your bed. Doors locked.

They started whispering when they thought you couldn’t hear.

“She doesn’t laugh anymore,” James murmured one night.

“I think she’s scared,” Sirius replied. “Of what, I don’t know.”

“Us?” Remus said quietly.

“They know. They know, James—run!” and then footsteps and a crash and nothing.

A golden ring in a pool of blood. The sound of Sirius sobbing into Remus’s shirt. “They said she was dead. They said—”

Remus’s breath on your neck. “Run.”

Smoke curling under a door you don’t recognize.

The sound of chains dragging across stone. Always the chains.

Blood on parchment.

Your name scrawled across it again and again and again.

You pretended you were asleep, but your pillow was wet.

Until one night, Sirius finally snapped.

You were halfway through dinner in the Great Hall when he slammed his goblet down and growled, “Alright, what the hell’s going on with you?”

You blinked, startled.

“You don’t look at us anymore,” he hissed. “You don’t touch us. You barely speak. If you want to leave, just say so, but stop pretending everything’s fine.”

“I don’t want to leave,” you said, voice breaking.

“You already have.”

And when you looked at him—really looked—you saw it: the shadow of his future, the one you’d dreamed a hundred times. Screaming behind bars. Eyes hollow.

You turned away. “Please. Just let it go.”

And he did. Because even angry, Sirius would always choose you. Always love you, even when it tore him apart.

Then weeks turned into a month.

Then a month turned into two.

And you kept fading—slowly, quietly, like death by a thousand unspoken words.

Until Remus couldn’t take it anymore.

Until that night in the library when he found you curled into yourself like a broken star, and you shattered in his arms and told him everything.

You were in the library at nearly midnight—eyes hollow, curled in the farthest back corner like you were trying to vanish into the stone.

You didn’t hear Remus at first.

But suddenly, he was there—standing in front of you, pale and shaking, with something desperate in his eyes.

“You’re done hiding.”

His voice trembled. You looked up, startled.

“I tried to give you space,” he said quietly. “I tried to trust you. Its been two months and 4 days (Y/n). I can’t anymore. You’re fading right in front of me. And I don’t care how much you lie and pretend you’re okay—you’re not.”

You stood too fast, the chair scraping behind you. “Please, just let it go rem.”

“No, dammit!” he snapped. “You shut us out. You stopped letting us love you. You look at James like you’re already mourning him. You look at Sirius like he’s glass. And you haven’t looked at me like anything in weeks.”

Your hands were shaking. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“I don’t want protection, I want you!” he shouted.

The silence that followed was deafening.

His eyes were glistening. “Tell me what’s happening. Even if it hurts. Even if it ruins everything. Please.”

You stared at him, throat tightening, vision blurring.

Remus’s hands trembled as they gently cupped your face, his eyes searching yours for answers. The weight of everything was pressing down on him now, and he could feel the tension in your body, the way you were holding yourself back.

“Please, just tell me,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, pleading. “I need to know, I need to understand what’s happening to you.”

You closed your eyes, tears brimming, throat tight with the truth you couldn’t bear to say. You’d been holding it in for so long, the fear, the guilt. It was all too much.

“Tell me you will believe me,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “Please. Tell me you will believe me.”

Remus’s breath hitched at your words, his grip on your face tightening slightly as if to pull you closer to him, as if to anchor himself to you. His heart was racing now, but his voice was steady. “I will,” he promised, his voice raw with desperation. “I believe you. I always will.”

You sank to the floor, legs giving out, and he followed, arms catching you before you could crumble completely. And then, for the first time in weeks, you told someone the truth.

“I’ve been having visions.”

He froze, but didn’t speak.

The words hung in the air between you like a spell. You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t face his eyes yet. The silence stretched on, thick and suffocating, but then Remus exhaled like he had been holding his breath too, his hands moving to hold yours tightly.

“What do you mean? Visions?” His voice was filled with concern, but there was something else there—something dark, like he already knew this wasn’t just a simple problem. This wasn’t something you could brush off with a shrug and a laugh.

You pulled your hands away, holding them against your chest, as if protecting yourself from the storm you knew was about to break.

“It’s like—I see things. Fragments. Pieces. But they’re never in order, Remus.” Your voice broke, and you cursed yourself for sounding so weak, for not being able to keep it together just a little longer. “Sometimes, I’m in them. Sometimes, I’m not. But it’s always horrible. Always the same. It’s—it’s the end, Remus. The end of all of us.”

Remus’s eyes never left you. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t say a word, but his face twisted with confusion and concern, his brow furrowed like he was trying to make sense of the puzzle you were handing him.

“The night we’re all going to die,” you continued, your throat raw. “I’ve seen it, over and over again. I—I see James… He’s screaming. I see Sirius… He’s… he’s not himself. And you’re—” You stopped yourself, unable to finish the sentence, the emotion too raw to put into words. “You’re not there. You’re gone, Remus. And it’s my fault.”

Remus’s face went pale as he absorbed what you were saying, his jaw tightening with the weight of your words. He reached out, his fingers grazing your arm, but you jerked back, your heart racing as you continued, desperate to say it all before it consumed you.

“I’m not always there, but when I am… It’s like I’m not even alive. I watch from some place far away. Sometimes, I see myself dead.” You let out a shaky breath, trying to hold it together. “I see James and Sirius, and I—God, I can’t breathe. I just… I can’t fix it, Remus. I can’t stop it. There’s a traitor, someone in our circle, someone close, and they’re going to betray us. James dies, Sirius gets blamed. They throw him in Azkaban… And I—I get taken, or worse.”

Remus’s hand reached out, but you flinched away, guilt and fear flooding your chest. You couldn’t look at him anymore. You couldn’t look at anyone, not with this knowledge hanging over you.

“I’ve been pushing you all away,” you whispered. “I’m scared, Remus. I’m terrified. I’ve been trying to protect you, to protect all of you. But I can’t stop what’s coming. I can’t stop it. And it’s eating me alive. I’m watching all of us die and I can’t do anything about it.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you didn’t dare let them fall. You were already too weak. Too broken. You couldn’t bear to show him any more of your fragility.

“Please, Remus, you have to promise me—promise me you won’t tell them.” Your voice was barely a whisper now, a plea. “Not yet. Not until we know what to do. I don’t know how to stop it, but I have to try. I have to do something, and I can’t do it alone.”

His hand was trembling as he cupped your face, lifting it so that you had no choice but to meet his eyes. His gaze was filled with so much pain, but also an understanding that shattered you further.

“Don’t ever think you’re alone in this, dove,” he whispered. “I’m with you. Always. We’ll find a way to stop it.”

You collapsed into his arms then, the sobs you’d been holding in finally breaking free. He held you tight, letting you cry it all out, his hand rubbing your back in comforting circles.

When the tears subsided, he whispered into your head, “ I believe you, dove.”

And in that moment, you finally allowed yourself to believe it too—believe that together, you might still have a chance to rewrite the ending.

The days that followed were desperate, and the sense of dread hung thick in the air.

The Marauders—Sirius, James, and Remus—refused to leave your side. Remus spent hours with you, pushing you to strengthen your Occlumency, your focus unwavering as he guided you through each mental block. His presence was a steady reassurance, though the unspoken tension between you both never quite lifted. The weight of what you’d seen in that vision was suffocating, and you had to push yourself to stay strong for them. For him.

Every moment, every glance you exchanged with your boyfriends felt charged with the weight of a looming secret. You knew things were changing, but you couldn’t tell them yet. Not until you knew the truth.

And so, you turned to your studies, hoping that if you immersed yourself in magic, in spells that might give you a fighting chance, the gnawing fear would subside.

It was a normal evening. The fire crackled merrily in the common room, casting a warm, golden glow over the four of you. Sirius sprawled out on the couch, teasing James as he flicked through a Quidditch magazine, his signature grin pulling at the corners of his lips. James was laughing, leaning over to nudge Sirius, while you and Remus sat across from them, trying to hold onto a semblance of normalcy.

For a fleeting moment, everything felt right. Remus caught your eye from across the room, and his lips curved into a small, reassuring smile. You returned it, but deep inside, the unease never fully disappeared.

“So, how’s the study session going baby?” Sirius asked, turning his head lazily toward you.

“It’s… fine siri.” you replied, your voice betraying none of the storm inside you. “Just trying to get through all this Occlumency nonsense.”

Remus laughed softly, his gaze never straying from you. “You’re doing great. You’re stronger than you think.”

James grinned. “You’re both scary smart,” he said with a wink. “I’ve been trying to catch up, but it’s been a slow process.”

Sirius chuckled, his usual mischievous energy making it feel like everything was just as it should be.

But then, in the blink of an eye, the room seemed to shift.

The dizziness hit first, so sudden you barely had time to brace yourself. Your vision blurred, and a rush of cold air washed over you. You pressed a hand to your temple, trying to steady yourself, but it was no use.

It wasn’t just dizziness. It was like the world itself was slipping away, replaced by something darker. A vision.

The world is suffocating—darkness swallowing everything.

The air is thick with screams—raw, guttural, pleading.

James’s glasses fall, shattered into pools of red.

The earth is drenched, soaked with fear, with blood, with everything you never wanted to know.

“Run!” Sirius’s voice cracks as he yanks you forward

You hear Remus, pleading, begging—

“Please, don’t look back. Just go!”

The air is heavy with the crack of spells, the sickening sound of bones breaking.

Sirius’s grip is all you have left to hold on to. You feel the weight of everything pressing down on you, but his voice is a lifeline.

“We need to go NOW.” You don’t look back, but you hear it. That scream.

James.

It’s not just a scream. It’s the sound of everything breaking. The sound of life ending.

It rips through you, through all of you, tearing something deep inside that you can’t even name.

Remus’s eyes lock with yours for a brief second, and in them, you see everything: fear, love, regret. “Don’t look back,” Remus’s voice is barely a whisper,

The screams keep coming, one after the other. A storm of death and pain. Then, the worst sound of all.

Remus.

You hear him cry out—no, not cry out—begging. His voice breaking, splintering as if his very soul is being torn apart.

The sound cuts through the air like a knife, a desperate plea for mercy that doesn’t come.

The trees are closing in, but you can’t outrun the screams. You can’t outrun what’s happening.

Sirius stumbles, dragging you with him, but you both know it’s too late.

The ground is shaking now, trembling with the weight of death.

Something moves in the distance. Something that’s always been there, lurking, watching.

It’s him.

You hear the soft whisper of a name in your mind, but you don’t believe it.

The world stops.

The truth crashes through you, breaking you wide open.

The traitor.

The one you trusted.

The one who sold them out.

Everything you thought you knew is shattered.

Gasping for air, chest heaving, you felt the pressure of hands on your shoulders, holding you steady.

“Hey—hey, stay with me. You’re okay.”

It was Remus. His voice was strained with worry. But it didn’t make sense. None of it did.

The world was still spinning, and the faces around you were all blurry—except for one. The one that you couldn’t pull your eyes away from.

Peter was standing by the door. His eyes were unreadable.

And in that moment, you knew.

“Peter.”

The word was barely a whisper, but it hit the room like thunder.

Remus’s grip tightened, his voice full of panic. “What are you saying? What do you mean?”

But you couldn’t answer. Your mind was reeling from the truth. The betrayal that had been right in front of you all along.

It was Peter.

#poly!marauders x reader #marauders era #james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #marauders x reader #poly!marauders fluff #poly!marauders angst #poly!marauders fic #sirius black x reader #peter pettigrew #poly!marauders x reader angst #poly!marauders x reader fluff #sirius black angst #remus lupin angst #james potter angst

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yandere-writer-momo · 5 months ago

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Thinking about a yandere werewolf, but not just any werewolf… a bounty hunter. And he has it bad for his you. Cowboy Werewolf!

Yandere Shorts: Like I Love You

Yandere werewolf x fem reader

TW: obsession, delusional themes, abo dynamic, horror, gore (mentioned), death of characters, neglectful husband, betrayal, cheating husband, forced relationship, mention of baby trapping, and behavior that should not be romanticized

Rolfe was currently on a hunt… his target is a sickly preacher’s, one that should be easy enough. Her own husband had paid him quite the pretty penny to off her. Poor little lamb didn’t stand a chance in the wilderness of this world. Not when she had enemies close to her side such as an unfaithful husband and a conniving best friend. He almost felt sorry for his prey

He arrived a day later, his clawed fingers dragged through a lock of her hair as he inhaled her scent. She smelled… delicious. And she was so vulnerable too with her nape out that just begged for his teeth to be driven into…

Rolfe shook his head before he went back into a trance when she subconsciously leaned into his touch. His hand moved up and grazed her temple that felt as if it were ablaze. Poor woman had a fever…

“Darling? Did you finally come to me?” Her voice was a bit delirious with sickness as she kissed his hands. Each kiss made him feel as if he was her beloved. It took everything in him not to loudly whine like a dog. “I missed you so much James. I’m sorry I got sick again.”

Rolfe didn’t say a word before he continued to drag his rough palms through her hair. His heart hammered in his chest and his wolf clawed inside his brain to be released. It seemed this woman before him… was his fated mate.”

Rolfe bent down and buried his nose into the crook of her neck to deeply inhaled. Oh yes… this lassy was his for the takin.

Rolfe began to slowly nurse her back to health rather than off her. An action that made his employer question him. Why on earth would a monster nurse such a nuisance back to health? She was always near death’s door. What use was such a delicate woman in the Wild West?

“When are you going to off (your name)? She’s an easy target.”

“I have honor as a bounty hunter. It must be a hunt.” Rolfe snarled at (your name)’s husband, James, the man who dared to keep her sick due to his lack of care. Had that scrawny man have no pride as a man? The pastor made him sick.

“She’s easy to pick off right now. I’d really like this to be over and done with so I can marry Helen. This is why I hired a monster-“ Rolfe picked James up from the ground by his throat as James gasped for air.

“You are a foolish, greedy man. Are you sure you are truly a man of god?” Rolfe growled, showing his fangs. His dark, muscular form largely towered over James’s lithe frame. “You’re a pathetic man.”

Rolfe soon went back to the care of (your name). The werewolf rubbed his cheeks all over her bed and her body to scent her… he needed to get rid of James’s scent. Rolfe wouldn’t let another have her and hurt her again… he’d spirit her away.

Rolfe wondered how many pups she’d want. If they’d be pretty like her but strong like him… if she’d pepper him with nips and kisses everyday. If she’d beg him for his knot on the next full moon as he properly mated her?

“Darling?” (Your name) reached for his face and Rolfe was quick to put his face in them. A needy whine escaped his throat while he nuzzled her. She was his precious mate…

He snarled when he saw Helen enter. The woman scoffed at him in disgust.

“Ugh. James and I are tired of waiting. You have been here over a month! We want you gone beast. We’ll do it ourselves.”

“So you’re cancelling the contract?” He hummed while he continued to tenderly kiss (your name)‘a palms. “Are you sure? Did you read the fine print?”

“Yes. We don’t need your kind here, true love will prevail-“ Helen didn’t even have time to scream before a giant black wolf hybrid had dug it’s fangs into her throat and ripped it apart like wrapping paper. Blood splattered all over the floor and walls as Helen could only helplessly choke on her own blood.

“Yes… true love will prevail.” He muttered with a a satisfied hum. “My mate will be so happy.”

Meanwhile, James fled into the forest for dear life. That beast had gotten Helen! The two of them couldn’t believe the werewolf would turn on him.

James loudly leapt when he heard something large chase him through the underbrush on all fours. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and feel his sweat pool down his back in puddles. He needed to get to the church! A demon such as the bounty hunter couldn’t possibly enter there-

But James was knocked to the ground as an agonized shriek fell from his lips. The werewolf began to shake and mangle his leg like the bloodthirsty beast it was…

“Let me go! Let me go! I didn’t do anything-“

Rolfe chuckled darkly. The black werewolf dropped his legs and glanced his beastly head at James. “Oh but she never did anything either… all she did was foolishly love you.”

“W-what do you mean? Are you talking about-“ James’s words were muffled by the paw like hand that covered his mouth. Rolfe shushed him.

“Shhh. You may have failed to pay me and cancel my contract but I had gotten something far more valuable from this transaction. Something most werewolves dream to find in their lifetimes… a fated mate!” Rolfe sighed dreamily. “You may have failed as a protector and provider, but I surely won’t! You have given me something more valuable than any coin could offer… yet you were neglectful to her. Such a shame really.”

“I… I’ll do anything! Just take her and let me live.”

“Ah but I can’t do that. Not when she still calls for you at night. No… you have to be eliminated. Destroyed, really. You can no longer exist on the same planet as her! You are in the way of my love!”

Loud screams of terror ringed out throughout the crisp night air and then it was silence.

Rolfe returned hours later scrubbed clean of blood while he crawled into the bed with his darling mate. He sighed in contentment when she cuddled him. Yes… it may take time to train her properly, but he was sure he could do it. He could make her love him. Just like he loved her.

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monicfever · 20 days ago

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ben poindexter as your boyfriend. 𝜗𝜚 hc’s

cw ᝰ .ᐟ obsessive tendencies ,, dark themes ,, gn reader unless i slipped up somewhere ,, headcanons ,, i mean he’s a murderer so

BEN POINDEXTER AS YOUR BOYFRIEND... is obsessed with you. not the “likes your selfies” kind — more like memorized your schedule, cataloged your facial expressions, and would absolutely kill for you without a blink. no hesitation. no regret.

he has a tracker on your phone. not because he doesn’t trust you — he just doesn’t trust anyone else. he tells you it’s for your safety, and when you raise an eyebrow at him, he just shrugs and kisses your forehead. “i’d rather know where you are than bury you, baby.”

he gets jealous. so easily. and he hates it. hates how tight his jaw gets when you laugh at someone else's joke. how his fists curl when someone makes you smile. but he’s so good at holding it together — until you’re alone. then he’s pacing. spiraling. pulling you into his lap just to feel your heartbeat under his hand. “you’re mine, right?” he’ll ask, low and tight.

dex does everything for you. carries your bags. makes your coffee. walks you to class. waits outside your job. doesn’t matter if he’s had the worst day imaginable — he’ll still show up to tuck your hair behind your ear and ask if you’ve eaten.

he gets scary when he thinks you’re pulling away. it’s subtle at first — quiet stares, clenched jaw, questions masked as concern. but the second he’s sure something’s wrong he snaps. cold. sharp. wounded in that dangerous way. looks at you with that unhinged grief behind his eyes. like it’s betrayal. like it’s death.

he’s weirdly soft in private. you’re the only person who gets to see the version of him that’s quiet and needy and kind of broken. he sleeps with his head on your chest, fingers clinging to your shirt like you’ll vanish if he lets go. sometimes he just stares at you, like he’s memorizing you in case you disappear.

always brings you little things he finds throughout the day. not flowers or jewelry — no, ben’s gifts are weirder. more him. a vintage matchbook he liked the design of. a cool rock he found on the sidewalk. a bullet casing from his last mission. “made me think of you,” he says, dead serious.

his love language is acts of service — intense ones. fixes everything in your apartment before you even notice it’s broken. goes grocery shopping and memorizes your favorite brand of literally everything. remembers how you like your tea down to the exact amount of honey.

can’t sleep unless he’s touching you. even just a pinky finger brushing yours. if you roll away in the night, he subconsciously follows, pulling you back like a heat-seeking missile. “where you goin’, sweetheart?” he mumbles, half-asleep.

keeps a photo of you in his wallet. it’s old, kind of faded, maybe creased in the corner — but he looks at it constantly. you catch him doing it once, and he just shrugs. “keeps me sane.”

loves forehead kisses. won’t ask for them. won’t say a word. just leans down a little and looks at you with that tilted-head stare until you get it. and when you comply? his whole face goes soft like it’s the only thing anchoring him to earth.

has a surprisingly dark sense of humor. says the most horrifying things in the most affectionate tone. you’ll say “i’m cold” and he’s like, “want me to burn the world down for you?” you laugh. he doesn’t.

likes watching you do normal stuff. brushing your teeth. folding laundry. humming while you cook. he sits quietly, just watching — so still it’s unnerving. to him it’s peace. it’s you alive.

plays with your fingers absentmindedly. twists your rings around. traces the veins in your wrist. holds your hand even when you're just sitting on the couch doing nothing. asks what every little scar is from. “this one?” he’d question. “fell off my bike.” a pause. “want me to go back in time and kill the pavement?”

notices everything. you don’t even realize how closely he’s watching until he casually mentions things like, “you switched shampoo, didn’t you?” or “you tapped your foot three times before locking the door today. usually it’s four.” and it’s not judgment — he just keeps mental notes on everything that makes you you. so if something changes, he knows. and if something’s wrong, he really knows.

he’s extremely routine-oriented — and he builds you into his structure. once you’re part of his life, you’re in it.

your coffee order gets timed to the minute. your text messages get categorized in his head (green = happy, yellow = something’s off, red = drop everything).

he gets agitated if plans change too suddenly, but if you’re the reason? he softens instantly. you ground him. you’re the only thing that doesn’t throw him off.

he gets attached fast. his BPD makes it so once he feels something for you, it’s intense. there’s no casual dating. no half-measures. he goes from “i think i like them” to “i will absolutely die if they leave” in under a week. he’s so good at hiding just how deep it runs.

he replicates your habits without meaning to. if you fidget with your sleeves, he starts doing it. if you use a certain word a lot, it shows up in his vocabulary. he mirrors you because it comforts him.

he hyper-fixates on your favourites. if you say you like a snack once, he’ll buy ten. you compliment a song? it’s on every playlist he makes. you wear a certain lip balm? he’ll go out of his way to buy backups. he wants to memorize what makes you happy so he can recreate it. perfectly. every time.

he spirals when he thinks he upset you. even slightly. a weird tone in your voice? a shorter text reply than usual? his brain jumps to you hate me. you’re going to leave. i ruined it. he’ll pace. his routine will fall apart. instead of lashing out on you he gets quiet. self-destructive. unless you pull him back in with something soft — a touch. a word. a look. then he clings like a shadow.

he makes you things with his hands. little wood carvings, origami, folded napkin animals — he fidgets constantly, and you’re the outlet.

his hands don’t stop moving, so they move for you. you’ll come home and find a tiny heart made of safety pins on your nightstand. he won’t mention it, but he’ll watch to see if you notice.

he always asks for reassurance, but never directly. he’ll say things like, “you still like having me around, right?” or “you’d tell me if i was being too much?” and it breaks your heart a little, because he’s so desperate not to be a burden. you always answer the same way: “you’re my favourite person.”

can’t fall asleep without saying goodnight the same exact way. it doesn’t matter how late it is, how exhausted he is, how bad the day was — he has to say it. same tone, same words, same kiss on your temple. if he doesn’t it eats at him. he’ll lie awake, heart racing, staring at the ceiling like something terrible’s going to happen because he broke the pattern.

refuses to let anyone else drive you anywhere. he doesn’t care if it’s your friend, your boss, your own damn parent — if he can’t be the one driving, he’s deeply uncomfortable. he’ll sit by the door with his keys, ready to go.

has ‘rules’ for loving you. like brushing your hair off your face with his left hand only. or always kissing you three times before you leave. he doesn't need to do it — he has to. if he breaks the pattern, his brain tells him something bad will happen to you.

saves every single voicemail and text you send. even the dumb ones. especially the dumb ones. he replays your old voicemails when he’s spiraling.

he screenshotted the first time you said “i miss you” and keeps it in a locked photo album. you’re proof that something good happened to him once.

gets overstimulated easily, but hides it around you. if the lights are too bright, the room’s too loud, someone’s tapping a pen too much — he’s unraveling inside.

but if you’re talking to him? smiling? holding his hand? he’ll grit his teeth through it, just to stay in your orbit a little longer.

has a favorite version of you, but it’s not what you’d think. it’s not when you’re dressed up, or being cute, or saying nice things. it’s when you’re sleepy. messy. barely awake and murmuring nonsense with your face squished into his chest.

“you’re not real,” you mumbled once. “i made you up.” he still thinks about that. hopes it’s not true. but if it is? he’s glad you dreamed him.

collects your words like scripture. if you ever say something sweet to him, he will not forget. he repeats it to himself, over and over, like a mantra.“you’re safe with me.” ,, “you’re not too much.” ,, “i like you exactly the way you are.” he mouths the words in the mirror. sometimes he believes them.

panics if he forgets anything about you. can’t remember your shoe size? his heart races. doesn’t know if you take your coffee with sugar that day? hands start shaking.

his whole sense of safety is tied to knowing you. so if anything slips, it feels like the whole foundation is cracking.

he loves you in patterns. in rituals. in coffee orders and folded blankets and kisses placed in the exact same spot on your shoulder every night.

gets annoyed when you shower without him. he doesn’t even want to do anything — he just sits on the toilet lid with his chin in his hand while you’re in there like, “you left me out here alone for twenty-three minutes.” you open the door to steam and a pouty six-foot weapon of a man sulking.

gets weirdly quiet when you’re on your phone too long. not mad. just a little neglected. you look up and he’s just sitting there like a sad cat, hoping you’ll notice. you say “benny, you okay?” and he melts like, “...m’here. just waitin’.”

clings after arguments like his life depends on it. doesn’t matter if it was something small or serious. once things settle, he’s already reaching for you, forehead pressed to your collarbone. “not mad anymore.” he murmurs. translation: don’t leave me.

keeps weapons stashed in every room ‘just in case.’ under the bed. behind the fridge. in your car’s glove box.

memorized your ex’s face and car within the first week. he won’t say what he did with that information. but he didn’t like how they looked at you at the grocery store that one time. he made sure it wouldn’t happen again.

he hates parties.not because he’s antisocial, because he can’t relax when you’re in a room full of strangers.

he’s watching everyone — every glance, every shift, every hand that moves too close. he stands behind you the whole time, hand at your lower back, barely talking to anyone.

texts you “where are you?” even when he knows where you are. he saw you leave. he knows you’re at work or running errands or at the gym. but he still needs to hear you say it. needs the proof. the reassurance. you say “i’m fine, benny,” and he responds with “miss you.” (you’ve been gone 20 minutes.)

calls you his “person.” not partner. not babe. just “my person.” says it in a tone that sounds more like my reason for breathing.

won’t let you walk on the street side of the sidewalk. you’ve tried switching sides — he’ll switch with you immediately. doesn’t matter where you’re going. doesn’t matter if the road is empty. “nope,” he’ll mutter, hand on your hip. “you don’t get hit. not on my watch.”

he has a folder on his computer labeled “them.” inside: blurry security cam screenshots of you walking alone at night (yes, he tapped into feeds), saved texts from people who’ve upset you, and a detailed list of names he keeps tabs on. you don’t know it exists.

takes everything as a threat. you flinch at a loud noise? he’s already scanning the room. someone bumps into you too hard in a crowd? he steps between you like a human wall. you say “i don’t feel safe,” and he’s already reaching for his coat.

he doesn’t yell unless someone talks down to you. he’ll take endless shit from people when it’s about him. but the second someone disrespects you? his voice goes sharp. dark. you see it flip in his eyes like a switch — “you wanna repeat that to me?” and suddenly the room’s ice cold.

he’ll sit in complete silence beside you while planning murder in his head. someone made you cry? he holds your hand gently, rubs circles into your palm, kisses your wrist — and behind his eyes, he’s already figured out the five best ways to ruin their life.

he keeps track of your patterns better than you do. you get headaches before rain? he brings you meds before you mention it. your trauma responses show in tiny shifts? he spots them immediately and gets you out of the room.

he might be unstable, but when it comes to protecting you — he’s the most focused man alive.

stares at your contact name before calling you, like he’s bracing himself to hear your voice. thumb hovering over the screen, eyes soft and far away. sometimes he doesn’t even call. just stares. like maybe that’s enough to survive another hour.

doesn’t know how to be casual. you say “i like your shirt” and he’ll buy five more. you compliment his cologne once? he never uses another one again. every word you say means something to him.

loves when you wear his clothes a little too much. he acts all chill but inside he’s screaming. watching you walk around in his hoodie with the sleeves over your hands? ruined. he has to sit down.

he has no idea what a normal reaction is. you get a weird DM? he’s already tracking the IP address. you trip and scrape your knee? he’s acting like you got shot. “you’re bleeding.” he mutters, completely still. “baby, it’s a scratch—”

gets scary quiet when you’re in danger. like full military-mode, voice low and flat. grabs your hand. pulls you behind him. “stay down. don’t move. don’t look.” and you listen — because in that moment, he’s not your sweet clingy ben. he’s the weapon the government built.

has trauma responses built around you. you’re late? his hands start shaking. you stop responding? he spirals. he doesn’t just worry— he catastrophizes. his brain jumps to body bags. blood. everything he’s lost before.

so when you walk through the door, totally fine, he just grabs you. holds you so tight it hurts. “don’t do that to me again,” he whispers. “please.”

doesn’t forgive people who hurt you. ever. you may move on. he won’t. he keeps the memory. files it away like a grudge on ice. and if he ever gets the chance to settle the score? he’ll do it without blinking.

knows all your “tired” cues. you yawn a certain way when you’re really worn out vs. just sleepy. you go silent when your brain’s overwhelmed. so he’ll quietly turn the lights down, warm up your hoodie, and run a bath without you even asking.

obsessively keeps the place safe. deadbolts, alarms, cameras, backup flashlights, reinforced doors. not because he’s paranoid. because you live there. and nothing — nothing — is allowed to hurt you where he sleeps.

he does not know how to regulate jealousy. like. at all. you compliment someone? he’s quiet for hours. you laugh too hard at someone’s joke? he stares them down until they suddenly remember they have somewhere else to be.

he gets clingy after. full body contact. face buried in your shoulder. won’t let go. “you like me better, right?” you tease him and say “maybe…” his whole face drops. “dont.”

and if he sees them in public, he’s pulling you closer with a hand on your waist like mine. mine. mine.

he repeats the same three phrases every time you’re hurt. like it’s a spell: “you’re safe.” “you didn’t do anything wrong.” “i love you so much it hurts.”

he checks in constantly. not just “are you okay?”but “did you eat today? do you need quiet or company? can i hold your hand right now, or just sit near you?”

started 4.23.2025. finished 4.23.2025.

( masterlist. )

©️ monicfever 2025

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extinctlesspains · 4 months ago

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I really loved the salesman imagine.could you write one where the reader and the salesman had a romance.But he gives a card sending her to the games.Feeling and hurt and betrayed she does her best to survive and she ends up winning along with Gi-hun.now three years later the reader goes to visit Gi-Hun with her 2 year old daughter.(she had found out she was pregnant after the games)she walks in on Gi-hun and the salesman during Russian roulette

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑒 [𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑛]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛᴇᴅ: ʏᴇs ᴏʀ ɴᴏ

☆ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴛʜᴇ sᴀʟᴇsᴍᴀɴ x ᴀғᴀʙ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

☆ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ᴀɴɢsᴛ

☆ sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴀ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ ʙᴇᴛʀᴀʏᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴍɪɴɢ sᴀʟᴇsᴍᴀɴ ᴡʜᴏ sᴇɴᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟʏ ɢᴀᴍᴇs sᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴇs, ᴅɪsᴄᴏᴠᴇʀs sʜᴇ’s ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇʙᴜɪʟᴅs ʜᴇʀ ʟɪғᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇʀ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ. ʏᴇᴀʀs ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ, sʜᴇ ᴄᴏɴғʀᴏɴᴛs ᴛʜᴇ sᴀʟᴇsᴍᴀɴ ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴛᴇɴsᴇ ᴇɴᴄᴏᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ᴀᴛ ɢɪ-ʜᴜɴ’s ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ, ᴄʜᴏᴏsɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ʜᴇʀ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ʜɪs ᴍᴀɴɪᴘᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs.

☆ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs: ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ, ᴋɪssɪɴɢ, ᴠɪʀɢɪɴɪᴛʏ ʟᴏss, ᴀʀɢᴜɪɴɢ, ᴄʀʏɪɴɢ, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ɢᴜɴ ᴛᴀʟᴋ.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

It all started with a simple game.

You’d been on your way home, drowning in stress and overdue bills, when a man in a sharp suit approached you at the train station.

“Care for a little fun?” he asked, holding up a red and blue envelope.

At first, you wanted to refuse. But his easy charm—and your desperation—drew you in. He explained the slap-match game, and soon you were caught in the strange, exhilarating rhythm of winning and losing. By the end, you were breathless, laughing despite the sting on your cheek.

“Not bad,” he said, handing over the cash with a smile that felt too warm, too genuine for a stranger.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him after that. When you ran into him again a few days later, he acted like it was coincidence.

“Maybe it’s fate,” he teased.

Soon, he was everywhere—buying you coffee, walking you home, and making your life feel just a little less heavy. He made you laugh, listened to your frustrations, and looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

One night, after weeks of growing closer, you found yourself in his arms. You’d invited him in after a long evening, your walls lowered by exhaustion and the warmth of his presence. You were full of ecstasy after that night. The way his lips kissed your neck, the way his thrusts were so sensual.

“You’re special, you know,” he murmured as his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back.

“Do you mean that?” you whispered, scared to hear the answer.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

His words were your undoing. That night, you let him see all of you—your fears, your flaws, and your dreams. For the first time in years, you felt safe.

The illusion shattered when he slid the card across the table.

“What’s this?” you asked, staring at the embossed logo. Circle, triangle, square.

“A chance to change your life,” he said, his tone eerily calm.

You frowned, a pit of unease forming in your stomach. “What kind of chance?”

“It’s a game,” he explained. “An opportunity to win enough money to solve all your problems.”

“Why are you giving me this?” Your voice wavered, the trust you’d built with him suddenly fragile.

“Because I care about you,” he said, his gaze steady.

His face softened, but he didn’t retract the card. “I believe in you, Y/n. More than you believe in yourself.”

His words felt like a betrayal wrapped in a compliment. Against your better judgment, you took the card, driven by desperation and the hope that maybe he was right.

The games were worse than you could have imagined.

Every death chipped away at your soul, and every betrayal reminded you of his. But you refused to break. Gi-hun became your lifeline, his determination and kindness pulling you through when you felt like giving up.

“We’re going to make it,” he promised one night, his voice steady. “We have to.”

You survived, but at a cost. The prize money felt like blood money, and the nightmares lingered long after the games ended.

A month later, you discovered the pregnancy.

At first, you were terrified. The thought of raising a child alone, of explaining where her father was and why he wasn’t around, felt overwhelming. But when you heard her heartbeat for the first time, everything changed.

You named her Hana, meaning “flower.” She became the anchor that kept you grounded, her laughter a reminder that there was still beauty in the world.

When she was born, you held her close, tears streaming down your face. “You’re my miracle,” you whispered.

Hana grew into a bright, curious toddler who filled your life with light. But you couldn’t shake the shadow of her father—the man who had once made you feel safe and then abandoned you to the wolves.

Two years later, you decide to visit Gi-hun. He had become like a brother to you, someone who understood the darkness you’d endured. As you climb the stairs to his apartment, Hana babbles in your arms, clutching her favorite stuffed rabbit.

But when you reach the door, the sound of voices stops you cold.

“Are you sure about this?” Gi-hun’s voice, tense and uncertain.

“I never force anyone,” a familiar voice replies.

Your heart races as you push the door open.

Gi-hun and the salesman sit at the table, a revolver between them. The salesman looks as composed as ever, while Gi-hun is pale and trembling.

“What the hell is going on here?” you demand.

The salesman looks up, his eyes widening slightly as he sees you—and the child in your arms. “Y/n.”

Gi-hun stammers, “It’s not what it looks like—”

“You’re playing Russian roulette!” you snap, your voice rising. “How is that not exactly what it looks like?”

The salesman’s gaze flicks to Hana. “You have a daughter,” he says softly, putting the pieces together.

“Don’t you dare,” you hiss, clutching her closer. “You don’t get to talk about her. You don’t get to act like you care.”

“I do care,” he says, standing slowly. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You lied to me,” you spit. “You used me. You sent me to those games knowing I might die.”

“I gave you a choice,” he says, his voice calm but firm.

“You gave me a death sentence,” you fire back. “And now you’re here, dragging Gi-hun into your twisted games? Haven’t you done enough damage?”

The salesman’s jaw tightens. “It’s not that simple.”

“No,” you say, your voice shaking. “It’s exactly that simple. You destroy people’s lives and pretend it’s for their own good. But you don’t get to do that to us anymore.”

He looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nods, his eyes lingering on Hana one last time.

“Goodbye, Y/n,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

As the door closes behind him, you sink into a chair, trembling.

Gi-hun reaches out, his voice filled with regret. “I’m sorry—”

“It’s not your fault,” you say, cutting him off. “He manipulates people. That’s what he does.”

Hana wriggles in your arms, her tiny hand brushing your cheek. “Mama,” she says softly, her voice filled with love.

You press a kiss to her forehead, tears slipping down your face. “We’re okay,” you whisper, more to yourself than anyone else.

Gi-hun watches you, his eyes filled with both guilt and gratitude. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

“For what?”

“For saving me.”

You meet his gaze, your resolve hardening. “We save each other.”

#squid game x y/n #squid games #squid game #squid game x reader #squid game x you #the salesman #the salesman squid game #the salesman x reader #gong yoo x reader #gong yoo #squid games x reader #squid games season 2

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iamgonnagetyouback · 2 months ago

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INTRODUCING POTTER!READER WITH MATTHEO RIDDLE

potter!reader is the softest little hufflepuff you’ll ever meet — sweet, polite, always with snacks in her bag and a book half-finished in her lap. she’s the sunshine of the potter family, and unfortunately, that sunshine is now dating mattheo riddle. harry’s greatest nemesis. his mortal enemy. his personal headache.

mattheo is smug, sarcastic, and entirely too pleased with himself — especially when he’s got harry’s baby sister on his arm and harry’s parents calling him “dear.” he swears he didn’t mean to fall for her, but now he’s absolutely whipped.

and harry? harry’s on the verge. full-time seeker, part-time brother, full-time victim of betrayal. while everyone else is busy picking out couple jumpers and cooing over “how cute they are,” he’s seriously considering faking his own death. it’s hard being the only sane one when your baby sister’s in love with your sworn enemy.

( oneshots )

01. YOU. AND MATTHEO RIDDLE. KISSING? 　─　sneaking around with mattheo was easy—until harry caught you in the act. one second, you're kissing your boyfriend in an empty corridor, the next, your brother is throwing off his invisibility cloak, screeching about betrayal, and acting like you’ve doomed the entire potter bloodline

02. FAMILY DINNER 　─　inviting mattheo to family dinner seemed like a good idea—until he started acting like the perfect gentleman, calling your dad "sir" and your mum "ma’am." harry, already furious about your relationship, is losing his mind as your parents actually like mattheo

03. MOST DISTRACTING PERSON 　─　ever since mattheo started tagging along with your family, he's made it his mission to annoy harry at every opportunity. so when he joins you all to watch harry’s quidditch match, he somehow ends up charming the entire crowd—much to harry’s absolute misery

04. I NEED YOUR HELP 　─　mattheo riddle asking harry potter for help is something you never thought you’d hear, but apparently, when it comes to your birthday, he’s willing to suffer. now harry’s dragging him all over hogsmeade, milking the moment for all it’s worth, and mattheo’s just trying to survive

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ✗♡✗♡ requests are open for these three

#ivywrites!#mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x potter!reader #mattheo riddle x y/n #potter!reader #mattheo riddle

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aeristudios · 14 days ago

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see you, space cowboy

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: With a bounty on your head, you are determined to get your revenge at all costs… even if it means losing the man that you love. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bounty hunter!Wonwoo x bounty hunter!reader, mentions of other members (Jeonghan, Soonyoung and Mingyu) .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst, sc-fi, smut, lovers to enemies to ???, cowboy bebop elements, space au, established relationship, betrayal, dark themes, neo-noir, dystopian-ish if you squint .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: PLEASE READ ALL THE WARNINGS! heavy angst, very strong language, mentions of murder/attempted murder, gun violence (for revenge and they're bounty hunters so), familial death, morally grey characters, grief, emotional manipulation (not by Wonwoo or the reader), drugging (not for sexual purposes), toxic family dynamics, gaslighting, graphic violence (reader gets into fights defending herself), guilt/self blame, mentions of black market dealings, kissing, oral (giving and receiving), nipple play, fingering, nail digging, unprotected shower sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, throat grabbing, creampie. lots and lots of yearning .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 16.7K .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐀𝐍: It's finally hereeeeee. Reader has a nickname "Silver", which is explained why and she will be referred as that for the most part. I was inspired by Cowboy Bebop and as a 90s anime enthusiast , I dreamed this up when I was doing a rewatch and I had to make this happen. I want to give a huge thank you to @starlightkyeom for reading this, putting up with me sending long ass voice notes agonizing over this story and reassuring me that what I had was good. I feel like we have gotten closer because of this 😭 thank you Cam @highvern for giving me some info on bioweapons (even though I didn't use it much). It gave me some insight for other ideas I might have for this universe. Also thank you to @hobeemin, @hannieween, @neoneun-au and @straylightdream for reading as well and letting me bounce off ideas. It helped me a lot when I was stuck and need another opinion. Also thank you Beezy @hobeemin for the cool ass banner.

visual concept #1 visual concept #2 playlist epilogue

You see him coming to your door, gun drawn with his finger on the trigger, ready to shoot. You duck behind the bookshelf, the only place you can hide in this small room. Creeping low on the ground, you clutch your own pistol in your hand as your breathing slows. Your heart beats a million times a minute, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you wait for him to come in. Despite having a million-dollar bounty on your head, you are determined to get out of here alive, even if it means losing the man that you love.

“Silver, I know you're in there.”

Hearing Wonwoo’s voice is like a shot to the heart. You love him with every fiber of your being. He is your morning sun, the Heart Nebula to your Soul Nebula, and anything you could say to describe a love that fills you deep in your soul and makes you whole. He is the one for you, and it’s fucked that you are on enemy lines. You never thought it would be you against him. It was always supposed to be you and him till the end of time.

But you made it this way.

If this were another situation, you would be flattered that your life was worth this much to anyone. Unfortunately, you didn’t achieve this by being a damsel in distress, but by taking a shot at the head boss of your Organization, Aeron— and you almost succeeded. You were so close, narrowly missing his head by a centimeter and marking his ear instead. Wonwoo, your fiancé and his adopted son, was his saving grace as he knocked the gun out of your hand at the last minute. You should feel conflicted, as the man raised you as one of his own and trained you personally to be the top bounty hunter. He even gave you your nickname, “Silver,” due to the thick strand of silver hair you were born with, a signature trait passed down from your mother’s side of the family. He was a family friend, and you loved him like an uncle, and in a way, you still do. That’s why this hurts so much.

“Baby, open the door… I just want to know why you did it.”

The deep anguish in his voice twists your stomach into knots. You promised him that you would never hurt him and be honest with him, even if it meant breaking his heart. You’ve kept your word until now, and you hope that when the dust settles, he will understand.

The door creaks open, and you move towards the wall as the loud creak muffles your foot movement. His shadow is darker, moving closer to you, and before he can see you, you grab a heavy book and throw it at his head as a distraction. Wonwoo is quick, knocking it out of place and kicking down the bookshelf, forcing you to scurry out of the way. A small table separates the two as you face each other for the first time in months.

“Hey there, space cowboy.”

You aren’t sure why you were expecting him to crack a smile at the nickname you gave him long ago. You stare at each other, his stern stare enough to scare anyone away. His eyes are heavy with an unspoken pain that you caused, and it eats you alive. You know he didn’t want to be the one to bring you in, but you both know if it were someone else, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Silver, I don’t want to fight,” Wonwoo warns. “But you know what will happen if I don’t bring you in.”

“Well, tough shit,” you spit. “You know what will happen to me if I return to the Nova District. So you’re just going to have to bring me in dead.”

Another moment of silence hangs between you two, your fingernails digging into your palms as you prepare for a fight.

“One day, you’ll understand why I did it.”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer immediately; you can see the gears turning in his mind as he wrestles with your words, the pain etched on his face.

“Why can’t you help me understand now?�� he pleads, desperation creeping into his voice. “Why did you try to kill him? Why didn’t you talk to me about this?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

He shakes his head, and you sigh heavily, your shoulders hanging low in exhaustion. Of course, he didn’t tell him, and you shouldn’t be surprised. Being honest isn’t exactly Aeron’s strong suit, and now you have to explain everything. The lies and secrets are how you ended up here in the first place. But today isn’t the day for that—you must get out of there and hope that one day, Wonwoo will be able to forgive you.

“I don’t have time to explain now,” your voice cracks. You're angry and tired all the same. “You just have to trust me.”

“Just like you trusted me before you shot at Aeron?” His words are laced with a venom that incinerates your chest. He’s hurt, and you know he’s right, but there is no time to dwell on that.

Taking Aeron’s life was necessary, even if you failed, as he lied to you for years about your family. You became an orphan when you were twelve, watching your family’s house blow up on a hill while you were painting. You were always told that it was a gas leak, and you believed that until you received an ominous email with documents and recordings that proved it was a lie. Aeron was in love with your mother, and they had been having an affair for years. Seeing the pictures of them embracing, exchanging longing looks, and kissing… it was hard to look at.

“I know this isn’t fair, but please, believe me.” The ache in your torn heart that you’ve been ignoring rears its ugly head, bringing you to tears. “I don’t want to bring you further into this.”

“I’m already in it!” Wonwoo raises his voice, the gun trembling in his hand. “My fiancé shot the man who raised me. Took you in. I’m already knee-deep into this shit, Silver!”

He lunges at the table and throws it against the wall, catching you off guard. Aside from your jobs as bounty hunters, he has never gotten aggressive towards you. He’s warm and gentle and would worship the ground you walk on. Seeing him in turmoil, a pain that you caused paralyzes you momentarily, allowing him to cross the room towards you, pulling you close to him. Your knees almost buckle in close proximity to him, and you have half a mind to call all this off and go back with him. Figure all this shit out. Your heart bleeds for him.

“Talk to me,” he whispers, his eyes peering into your soul. “Why did you do this?”

You rest your head against his shoulder, ready to lay down your burdens and reveal the truth. “He’s responsible for my family’s death.”

You feel him stiffen, his breathing tempered as you wipe away your tears, regaining your composure as you explain what happened. “He planned all of it. The gas leak, my house blowing up. All of it because he was in love with my mother.”

You explained how you received the evidence via email and Dropbox, which is typically used for work purposes, and how your own investigation followed afterward. You didn’t believe it at first, and you almost deleted everything, chucking it up to someone trying to fuck with your head and take your spot from being the top bounty hunter on the planet. But with that email came a delivery of something precious, making it seem like maybe it was the truth after all: a picture of your mother wearing a locket. A silver heirloom passed down resembled a peony covered with red jadeites. It is a rare gem that doesn’t exist in this galaxy, and your mother always had it tucked away, promising that one day it would be yours as the oldest child.

Even though you were far from the house, the force of the explosion knocked you off your feet, and you hit your head; you blocked out your memory, and your doctors all say it’s due to trauma and all of the related stuff. You started to forget about the locket, and eventually, your family’s memory became distant. That same locket, however, Aeron kept in his possession all these years in a glass container. He said it was his most “prized possession” that he won after a “tough” job, and despite the familiar feeling you had whenever you were near it, you believed him. Never again.

“The affair with my mother wasn’t just some secret,” you say, your voice filled with rage and sorrow. “He had been obsessed with her for years. They were childhood sweethearts, and she was forced to marry my father in an arranged marriage that turned into real love.” You grab his hands and study his eyes, hoping to find a flicker of hope that he believed you and that you didn’t just fly off the handle. “She tried to end it for years, and he wouldn’t let her. Now look what’s happened.”

The transcripts and phone call recordings showed she wanted to end things with Aeron and be faithful to your father. Your mother was beautiful and had an elegance and grace that turned every head in the room. You don’t know how the affair started, but you know your mother wanted to be free from Aeron, and he wouldn’t have that. So instead of letting her go, he killed her and everyone that you loved in that house. Your parents, your little sister, and your cat Dipper. All gone with a boom. He didn’t count on you not being in the house, so he tried to cover his tracks by taking you in. Raising you with Wonwoo, training you two together to be the best hunters in the galaxy. He watched you two fall in love and bragged about how much he loved his family. He talked about how much he loved you. It’s sick.

Wonwoo’s eyebrows furrow as he processes your words, shadows of doubt flickering in his eyes. “How do you know what was sent was the truth? You could’ve come to me, and we could’ve—”

“Could’ve done fucking what?” You cut in sharply. “Gone to him and had him tell us the truth? He wouldn’t have done that if you were there. That’s why I went alone.”

You feel anger building in your chest, and you want to scream into the void. Betrayal doesn’t even begin to describe how you feel; it’s as if someone is tearing your heart apart at the seams. You can feel every rip, every piece of you being pulled away, and it just won’t stop.

“I know I put you in an impossible position, and I’m sorry,” you search his eyes for understanding and comfort. “I love you. So fucking much. And I know he means a lot to you, and he meant a lot to me, too, but he has to go—”

“Baby, stop,” he pleads. “Don’t do this.”

“I have to. I’m sorry.”

You lean in, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss, your heart racing as he pulls you closer to him. His taste evokes nostalgia and comfort, reminding you of happier times when you lay in bed together and talked about your future, planning your wedding, and discussing jobs you'd take together. Your whole lives were mapped out for the taking, and you could’ve had it all. Maybe you still can, in another life.

You quietly pull a powder called Dreamshade out of your back pocket. It is a bag of fine, shimmering dust that glimmers with deep violet and midnight blue, mixed with the endangered plants of blooming nightshade and wild lavender. A tear trickles down your left cheek as you know what you have to do next, breaking your kiss and sprinkling the dust across his face. You watch his expression soften, confusion clouding his features as he slumps to the ground, unconscious. You pull him until his back is against the wall, your heart twisting painfully as you betray his trust for the second time.

With one last lingering glance, you slip into the night, the vision of the last day your family was alive fueling your resolve. You had to eliminate Aeron, even if it meant losing everything.

Wonwoo remembered the first time you met.

You were brought home from the hospital, where you spent a few weeks unconscious from the blast that destroyed your home. Aeron told him you were coming to stay with them and that it was his job to protect you. He didn’t know what the hell he meant by that; he was just a scrawny fifteen-year-old pickpocket living on the streets before he was found. He was born and raised in the Lutum district, poor, with two parents who passed away when he was ten years old from a plague that took over his city. He only knew how to take care of himself. Why was it his responsibility to care for someone he didn’t know?

Wonwoo was a shy and quiet kid, but he knew that you meant a lot to Aeron, and he would do anything to please the man who took him in. You two didn’t talk much at first; his job was to protect you, not be your friend. But the more time you spent together as you navigated your new reality, the closer you two became, and he got to see you for who you were. You were half a year younger than him, but you never let it show, as he found you fearless and driven, sometimes to the point that you were reckless. He always had your back, even if you were in the wrong, and Wonwoo wasn’t afraid to call you out on your shit.

“Do you really have to start a fight everywhere we go?”

You were both nineteen, and you were dragged out of the club in Adamas City for punching a girl who got too close to your “date,” if that’s what you wanted to call it; more like your flavor of the month. You didn’t know the man had an on-and-off girlfriend, nor did you know she would show up to the place and start screaming at you, calling you every kind of whore, and how your parents were ashamed from the grave to have a daughter like you. But you did know she had to be taught manners, and before Wonwoo could stop you, the girl was knocked to the floor with a bruised right eye and a chipped tooth.

“Wonwoo, stop.” You snatched your hand from him. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, no shit, Silver,” Wonwoo retorted, running his fingers through his hair. “Why can’t you be normal for once?”

“Because,” you adjusted your jacket. “That’s fucking boring.”

You frustrated him to no end. You were wild and resilient, and despite the hellfire you brought, you had a sharp wit and knack for adapting to any situation you were in. You also made him curious and brought a spark to his chest whenever you were around, and he found you more attractive as time went on. He noticed how your eyes squinted when you read, and how your silver hair shone brightly in the sun and moonlight. You sparkled like the stars in the night, a nuclear fusion of many components that made you beautiful to him, that kept him grounded.

Deep down, Wonwoo knew what that meant. It’s not like he hasn’t had crushes before, but you were different; you made him feel alive. Seeing you date these guys, who wouldn’t last longer than a few weeks, bothered him. You need someone you could rely on at the end of the day and be comfortable with; you needed someone who felt like home, and he wanted to be that for you.

Wonwoo swore he would protect you with his life to Aeron, but he didn’t realize falling for you was in the cards.

Aeron wasn’t pleased to hear what happened in the club, and he made you both start training to become bounty hunters for the Organization. He said you needed discipline and structure, and let you get away with acting out for far too long. Wonwoo didn’t fight it; he knew he was right, and it was time for you to grow and become an adult. You surprisingly took everything in stride, attending all the necessary training and adhering to the daily regimen implemented for you throughout this process. Later on, Wonwoo asked you why you didn’t fight it, and you said something clicked with you— you could either party and fight anyone who got in your way, or you could do something with your life and be taken more seriously. Amid everything, you wanted respect.

You two trained together with Aeron personally and became even closer. You tended each other’s cuts and bruises, vented about each other’s day, and, late at night, shared secrets about your fears and what you wanted for your future. You didn’t share much about your childhood, but Wonwoo shared about his life before Aeron, and he was okay with that. He saw you coming into your own, making him grow fond of you even more. Sometimes, he wondered if what he felt was love or if he just liked you a lot. But he kept to himself, as he didn’t want to rock the boat with Aeron, and he didn’t want to mess up this dynamic he had with you.

A year into training, you both had to take a series of mental aptitude tests to strengthen your minds against any emotional factors that could affect your jobs. He knew bounty hunting wouldn’t be just bringing people in alive or collecting treasure— it also meant possibly taking people out of equations, permanently. On the last day of the test, he met with you on the rooftop of the Hightower, the building where the Organization was located and where you both lived. The test was rigorous, and it forced him to think of his parents and the pain they suffered from the sickness that killed them, and he just wanted a quiet moment to process that. He missed them.

After midnight, the stars formed different constellations in the dazzling dark sky, and you leaned on the balcony, lost in thought as the wind flowed slightly to the East. Wonwoo knew something was wrong; you never want to be this still. He was usually the quiet one and listened to you talk. It was his favorite thing to do at the end of the day.

“Are you okay?”

Wonwoo placed a supporting hand on your shoulder, watching you slowly come back to reality and regain your focus on him. Your eyes were red, and your face was tear-stricken, and it hurt him to see you upset.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you sniffled, wiping your face with your shirt sleeve. “The test just really sucked.”

“Yeah, I know,” Wonwoo agreed, leaning against the rail. “I’m glad it’s over.”

“Is it?” You let out a shaky breath, gazing at the sky. “We will be doing jobs soon, which means we will be doing some tough things. What if we come across a dead family or a child without their parents?”

He watched your bottom lip tremble as you burst into tears, quickly covering your face and turning away from him.

“What if I am not cut out for this?”

Wonwoo pulled you into a warm hug, letting you sob on his shirt as he rubbed your back. He had never seen you break down like this, which nerved him. You’ve always made it a point to never let anyone see you cry, yet you felt so vulnerable and trusted him. It pulled at him heavily, and he wanted to take your pain away.

“Hey,” he lifted your chin slightly so your eyes met. “You’re stronger than you think. You’ve been through a lot, and you’re still here. You’re a force of nature, Silver. I believe in you.”

You nodded softly as he wiped the remaining tears from the corner of your eye. Wonwoo will always be there to protect you; as long as he is alive, no one else will ever make you cry again.

“Wonwoo,” you whispered, gazing into his eyes. “I’m going to do something that you’ve been too nice to do.”

Before he could respond, you pulled him into a kiss, catching him off guard. His pulse quickened as he understood what was happening, but he kissed you back, the heat radiating between you two on this chilly high tower. He needed you, but didn’t know how to tell you; however, he would surely show you, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer. Your kiss deepened, a mix of yearning and relief in the air as if he knew you felt the same way.

You finally pulled apart, breathless and content. Wonwoo’s heart was pounding; he wanted more but didn’t want to rush things. In due time, it would happen.

“Well, it’s exciting to know you feel the same way, space cowboy.”

“You are never going to let that nickname go, will you?”

“Never.”

A slight grin spread across your face, and you stepped back, looking at the night sky again. Wonwoo came behind you and wrapped his arms around you, wanting to feel your warmth again. If it were up to him, he would never let you go. He stood there in silence, watching the beautiful person in front of him finally have a moment of peace, and it was because of him.

At that moment, Wonwoo knew he was in love, and despite being ordered to protect and save you, you also saved him from a lifetime of loneliness.

It took you a few hours to get to Merchara, an industrial planet dominated by towering factories and sprawling cities. The sky is a permanent rust orange, filled with smog that suffocates without the proper mask. It’s ironic that you are going to a place where you can barely breathe on your own after what you did to Wonwoo back there, leaving him slumped on a wall. You haven’t stopped crying and haven’t been able to breathe easily since a tight knot settling on your chest as each hour goes by; you don’t deserve him.

“Let’s do this shit,” you muttered.

Settling behind a building in the city of Theodian, you wipe the remaining tears off your face and regain focus. You took a ship common enough to blend in with others in the galaxy that would let you go undetected. You registered with an alternate login no one knew, which gave you enough time to disable the GPS and turn into a ghost, hence its name, Umbra. People only come to this planet if they are hiding out or are involved in the black market. Fortunately, the person you need to see fits both criteria, and he may be the only person in this galaxy who will not rat you out the second you step into his establishment: Yoon Jeonghan.

You met him on a job when you were tasked with a group of other bounty hunters to raid his building and eliminate anyone who got in your way. The job was messy and ended with unnecessary casualties, and you suspect that Jeonghan was targeted because he dabbles in black-market weaponry and tech. The only reason why you spared him, despite him attacking you on sight, was because he was protecting a little girl, his sister. Despite him being good at fighting, you had the upper hand, and you were ready to get rid of him, but then you saw her crawl from behind the table, wild-eyed and shaken. She stood behind him with big brown eyes and clung to his shirt, and it reminded you of the little sister you lost, and you didn’t want to be the reason you took her family away.

You spared his life, and because of that, he became your most trusted ally, second only to Wonwoo. Jeonghan would supply you with weapons at a cheaper rate as a token of gratitude, and eventually, you would become friends. His sister, Sohee, was wary of you at first, and you didn’t blame her; you almost killed her brother. But she came around, and now she refers to you as “Aunt” Silver when you come around.

“Hello?”

Your knuckles rapped against the door while you waited for a response. The door slowly creaked open with little effort, causing your body to tense as you became more alert. Hesitating, you quietly pushed the door open, greeted by the coolness of the living room. Your heart quickened as you scanned the room, looking for anything out of place. You’ve known them a long time, and it’s not like them to leave their doors unlocked.

You hear shuffling from the back corner, and you quickly pull out your gun, only to be met by Jeonghan, holding a basket of fruit.

“Well, hello,” Jeonghan greets you, eyeing your gun.

“Don’t worry, Hannie, I come in peace,” you say, raising your hands slowly.

“Yeah, I don’t think you have much of a choice, Miss Million Dollar Bounty,” he smirks as he sets down his basket. You relax and put the gun back in its holster.

“You heard about that, huh?” you sighed. “I imagine the news is probably all over the galaxy.”

“Fresh on the ten o’clock telecasts,” he remarked.

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

You sit on one of the barstools, your head in your hands as everything hits you all at once. Finding out the truth about your family, attempting to kill Aeron, Wonwoo… fuck, Wonwoo. The thought of him lying there all alone feels like a knife twisting in your gut.

“How is Wonwoo taking all of this?”

You slowly look up at him, your eyes blurry from the tears that you managed to repress for a short time. “Not good,” you sniffle. “I broke his heart.”

Your chest feels heavy, like a weight pressing down on you as you unravel, releasing all the frustration and hurt you've experienced over the past twenty-four hours. You thought Aeron was one of your last living connections to your family, and learning that he had a hand in severing that bond makes you feel sick to your stomach.

Jeonghan quickly pulls you into his embrace as you cry, unable to keep your jar of emotions shut. You’re not a crier; you view it as a weakness and never want anyone to see you that way… but you can’t help it. Your heart aches for the family you lost, Wonwoo, and for everything that has transpired since then. It feels like the last fifteen years were a lie—a facade created for Aeron to cover his tracks.

“He hates me, Hannie.” Your voice trembled. “Wonwoo is never going to forgive me.”

“Shhh, don’t say that,” he shushed you. “If I know anything about Wonwoo, you are his sun and moon and all that other cliche stuff. From what I have seen, that man is too deep in love with you. I’m sure he’ll understand… just give him some time.”

“I don’t know,” you sniffled again. “I really knocked him out the last time I saw him.”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Dreamshade.”

“Oh, Silver,” he clicks his tongue. “You were always a sneaky one.”

He hands you a napkin, and you wipe your face in the mirror. Your eyes are rubor red and you lack sleep. You look worn down and defeated; even your silver hair is dull and no longer full of life.

“You need to sleep,” Hannie says suddenly. “Go up to Sohee’s room and take a nap.”

“No, no,” you shake your head. “I gotta keep moving. Where is she anyway?”

“School,” he says, taking the bananas out of the basket. “You do know what time it is, right?”

You glance at the digital clock on the wall; it reads nine o'clock AM, its bright blue lights glowing prominently. The adrenaline that has fueled you for the past twenty-four hours is fading, and fatigue and hunger crash over you like wildfire. Your back aches, and your feet are sore. As much as you want to leave, you know Jeonghan is right: you are completely exhausted.

“I just really need to re-up on some supplies,” you say wearily. “I’ll be out of your hair soon. I don’t want to risk you and Sohee’s life any more than I am being here.”

“Silver, you saved our lives even when you didn’t have to,” Jeonghan said firmly. “I will always have your back.”

He pointed toward Sohee’s room. “You should rest first. I can give you what you need when you wake up. But if you keep going like this, you will exhaust yourself, and I won’t be able to help you.”

You sigh heavily, running your fingers through your hair. “Don’t you want to know why I did it?”

Jeonghan pauses momentarily, giving you a once-over before coming around the corner. “Not if it’s going to get me in trouble,” he smirked. “But seriously, whatever reason you did it, I’m sure it was justified.”

You don’t have the strength to argue anymore; your eyes grow heavy with each passing second. You let him lead you to her bed, where he untucks the covers. You slowly crawl in, the scent of lavender lingering on her pillow.

“Sleep,” Jeonghan says softly. “I’ve got you.”

You nod, too tired to think. Your body succumbs to fatigue, and you drift into a deep sleep.

Wonwoo dreamed about you.

It was an old memory, but it’s one of his favorites. You two were at the Sanctuary, a blip on the map outside the city, kept a secret from the public. You two discovered it accidentally after finishing a mission on the planet Glacius, which became your secret getaway. Very few people know about this place, and it provided the privacy you both craved when you grew tired of being in the public eye. The weather was always warm, with a tropical element reminiscent of the beaches on old Earth.

You had only been dating officially for several months, but Wonwoo was deeply in love. You were fire and ice and an enigma all at the same time. You made his soul smile when you touched him, and he was in awe of your bravery and the lengths you were willing to go to protect him on each mission. You weren’t the heavy emotional type, but he knew how much you cared about him. It was the little things— the way you talked to him softly like no one else could, the way you kept contact when Wonwoo spoke, and by gods, the way you kissed him. He felt it, knew you loved him too. But you haven’t said it out loud yet.

“Wonwoo… I think I am ready to take the next step.”

You two were lying on the blankets on the beach, letting the sun kiss your skin and melting the cold away from the other planet. Wonwoo lifted his head up, his glasses slightly askew and his heart racing as he replayed the words in his head.

“W-what step?”

You raised an eyebrow and threw him a look, and he got your message crystal clear. “Oh… I mean, are you sure?”

“Yes,” you nodded, now sitting up. “I want to do this with you. I’ve never been in love before… and I want to know what it’s like to do it with someone you love.”

Wonwoo’s eyes softened, sitting up and moving closer to you. “You love me?”

“Yes, you dolt,” you giggled. “Do you need me to say it?”

You leaned closer to him, your lips barely touching his. “I love you, space cowboy. More than you know.”

Wonwoo never acts on impulse. He always thought ahead and planned for every scenario, but this time, he wanted to live in the moment with you and forget all his inhibitions. So he kissed you. Hard.

There wasn’t a place in the galaxy hotter than you two. Passion and lust flowed through each other at the simple but profound eight-lettered phrase. His heart was beating out of his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he laid you back on the blanket, tasting vanilla on your lips.

“You are a man of very few words, Wonwoo,” you teased him. “I take it you love me too?”

He gave you one last, lingering kiss before gazing into your eyes, seeing a vision of love in front of him.

“You consume every thought that I have. You make me feel open and alive. I love you, Silver—”

Bzzt! Bzzt!

Wonwoo’s world started to crumble, the Sanctuary slipping away with you in it, forming into a dark, blurry room with four vibrating walls.

Bzzt Bzz!

Wonwoo stirred slowly, his right jeans pocket buzzing incessantly as he opened his eyes. His vision was blurred, a sign that the eye drops he had used to clear his eyesight had worn off. He reached into his left jacket pocket, pulled out his glasses, and carefully slipped them on. A dull ache throbbed in his head, and he felt groggy as the events of the previous day flooded back to him.

“Alright, alright,” he grumbled, digging into his right pocket.

He looked at the screen and groaned when he saw Aeron's call from his private residence. He rarely used the private line unless it was a matter of serious concern.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“State your location,” Aeron’s voice responded gruffly from the speaker.

It took Wonwoo a moment to answer; the effects of the Dreamshade were still holding him back. “I’m at the Portalis.”

The Portalis was a small area in the Nova District with a portal that transported people to other planets. There were a dozen rooms where individuals could conduct business, rest, or do whatever they wanted, much like a motel. Wonwoo knew that you would go there after the attempt on Aeron’s life; he would have done the same.

“Have you captured her?”

He envisioned your face, your soft lips pressed against his, before everything went purplish-blue and black. He should be angry at you for running off instead of sticking together; you are a team. But his love and longing for you supersede any anger he might feel. He was made for you, you need him, and he is determined to see this through.

“No,” he pushed himself off the ground. “Not yet.”

“What do you mean not yet?!” Aeron snapped. “Did you forget what that bitch did?”

“That bitch is Silver,” Wonwoo defended, dusting off his jacket. “She isn’t some stranger on the street or a temp for hire. She is family. My fiancé.”

“Family doesn’t try to kill each other, Wonwoo,” Aeron said plainly. “She went against us. You know what happens when you break the code.”

Wonwoo stilled, leaning against the wall as the effects of Dreamshade finally started to wear off. He knew very well what happens when you break the code, and never wanted to meet that kind of fate. Let’s just say he would rather have his death swift and to the point, instead of floating around in space.

“Aeron, what Silver said you did… is there any truth to that?”

There was a momentary silence thick with anticipation; he almost thought Aeron hung up.

“Are you questioning me, boy?” His voice roared through the speaker. “Understand something. If I tell you to skip, you ask how many times you hear me? You would still be in the streets if it weren’t for me. Bring her to me NOW, or you will die right next to her.”

The call ended with a hard click before he could respond, and he just stood there, motionless and angry. Aeron has never talked to Wonwoo that way, and he could feel his heart beating through his ears. Who does he think he is? Wonwoo didn’t need him. He didn’t ask to be saved. The Organization would be nothing without him and Silver, and he knows that. Is this how family treats each other?

He exited the room and slammed it shut, frustration seeping out of him as he climbed into his ship and turned on the engine. He would deal with Aeron later, but he had to find Silver before it was too late.

“Aunt Silver, wake up.”

You feel a little hand softly nudge you awake. Your mouth opens, and tiny drool drops come out of the corner of your mouth. Your eyes regain focus, and you stare at little Sohee, with pigtails in her hair and a clean school uniform. She beams once you recognize her, giving you a tight hug that touches your heart.

“Jeonghan told me to wake you up. Dinner is ready.”

“Dinner?”

You look at the time plastered on the wall—it was quarter past seven. Shooting out of bed, you hurriedly put on your socks and laced up your boots, kissing Sohee on her head as you walked out of the bedroom.

“No, Jeonghan said you must stay and eat with me.”

“I can’t, sweetie,” you say, frantically looking around the house for your weapons. “I have somewhere to be and shouldn’t have stayed here this long.”

Little Sohee folds her arms and stands in front of the front door. “Jeonghan says he will be back and to stay with me and eat.”

This makes you stop in your tracks, and a slight panic starts to kick in. “He left?”

“Yes,” she nods. “He says something about you needing 'supplies' and he will be back.”

Then it clicks. Jeonghan must have gone to get you more weapons, and he doesn’t want you to leave Sohee alone. Jeonghan, if nothing else, is a tricky bastard.

“Okay,” you sighed, walking to the kitchen.

Laid out on the table was an arrangement of foods in bowls, steaming hot, accompanied by a rare tea that grows only on this planet: hibiscus. You sit in view of the front door to see when Jeonghan or anyone else comes. Despite your eagerness to get out of there and your stomach pains of hunger, you reluctantly sit down, grab a bowl, and fill it with rice and braised chicken.

You observe Sohee as she happily fills her bowl with miso soup, accompanied by a side of grilled fish, with not a care in the world. You miss being at that age, when you only had to worry about whether your mom would let you play outside or if you remembered to fill Dipper’s food bowl. Sadness and a hint of envy prick at your heart, and you think of your past life and what you could’ve become.

“How’s school?”

“It’s fine, Aunt Silver,” Sohee responds, slurping her soup. “We are learning about planets in the Milky Way and how they differ from those in our galaxy.”

You listen to her shoot off random facts about Earth, Mars, and all the other planets in the solar system in awe. You’ve heard the story a million times about how Earth became inhabitable and how we had to travel through galaxies to get here. But hearing Sohee tell it, happy to share the knowledge she is learning, warms your heart. This is partly why you wanted to leave; you care about Sohee so much and want her to have the life your sister could’ve had.

You mostly eat silently for the rest of dinner, and Sohee has already packed food for you to go before she wakes you up. You hear the door creak, and you instinctively grab for your gun, panic setting in when you remember it isn’t in your holster.

“Don’t worry, it’s just me.” Jeonghan’s voice rang out, calming your nerves. “I come bearing gifts.”

You meet him in the living room as he pulls out the weapons, more Dreamshade, clothes, and other things needed to protect you while you’re out there. You pick up a magazine, the cool metal feeling familiar in your grip, and begin attaching it to your gun with practiced efficiency. You secure your other weapons and powders that would affect you without gloves. You glance at Jeonghan, who gives you a soft smile and places a supporting hand on your shoulder.

“You and Wonwoo will find your way back to each other. Do what you have to do.”

You nod, put on your mask, walk out of the back door toward your ship, and place your bag behind your seat. Taking deep breaths, you are determined not to cry again as you head to your next destination for more answers.

“WAIT!”

You look to your left, and Sohee runs towards you, holding the packed food you forgot to grab.

“Here,” Sohee shoved it into your hands. “I also put some hot buns in there, in case Uncle Wonwoo wants some.” Hearing his name left a painful reminder that struck your heart, leaving you momentarily lost in the memories you don’t want to revisit.

“Aww, come here, kid,” you say, shaking off those feelings, putting everything aside, and pulling her into a tight hug.

“Aunt Silver, I don’t care what the people on TV say. You aren’t a bad person. I know it.”

Fresh tears threaten to break through, and you don’t want her to see that. Sohee is sweet, pure, and full of light. You hope she never changes.

“Thank you, Sohee,” you manage to say. “It means a lot to me.”

You wait until Sohee is safe before booting up your ship, soaring high in the galaxy, and heading to your next destination.

The trip to Glacius was the longest twelve hours you have ever had to sit through. You’ve been on longer trips, but you were never alone—you at least had Wonwoo and other crew members or bounty hunters with you. The silence is the hardest part to sit through, the crippling thoughts in your head and considering your current mental state, it’s hard to turn off. All you can do is grieve; you mourn the life that you lost and the one that you are about to lose again, because of Aeron. There isn’t a hell in this galaxy you won’t send him through, and you will see to it that he suffers a satisfying death.

The temperature drops significantly the farther you travel from the sun, and a turquoise planet with cloud rings around comes into view. Glacius is a planet with icy terrain throughout its surface. From the outside, there is nothing but snow for miles, and the forest is filled with Glaceons and other wild animals. However, only a few know about Zoie, the underground city with just over fifty thousand people. Scientists and researchers mostly live here, and the only place besides Merchara where you have another ally you can turn to at the drop of a hat.

You park your ship and suit up to brace the freezing cold. It is your luck to come here in the middle of the storm, but what other choice do you have? You exit the ship, fighting against the wind until you reach Zoie's hidden entrance. Three taps from your foot alert to your arrival. The ground shifts, and you are lowered through a glass tube, with illuminated lights being your only source of light in the darkness. Eventually, you reach the entrance to the city, met by bodyguards circling around as the glass lifts.

“State your business here,” the agent with toad-like skin gruffed. The other guards took your bag and body searched you, digging through your bag in hopes of finding incriminating evidence.

“I’m here for Dr. Selene Ardyn,” you say, eyeing one of the guards with porcelain-like skin sniffing your hot buns.

“Wait here.”

You awkwardly stand there while they finish searching your bags, your eyes twitching as they unfold the clothes you had packed and throw everything back unceremoniously. You would think that being in a place renowned for technology would instill more manners in people, but alas, not everyone possesses class.

“These hot buns, you don’t want them, right?” The guard pulls one out and eats it in front of you.

“Nope,” you roll your eyes. “Have fucking at it.”

You shake your head, looking away at the greasy man smearing minced meat over his face in disgust. Your thumbnail instinctively digs into your palm, and you slowly count to ten as you try to keep your annoyance at bay.

“What’s wrong?” He goads, stepping closer to you. “You don’t like it when people take your things?”

“You’re awfully perceptive.” You stand your ground. “I guess the worms in your brain have finally mellowed out.”

The other guards snicker at your remark, and you look straight ahead, waiting for the toad-like guard to return. The porcelain guard’s face turns tomato red, and before you can react, his hand grabs your throat and slams you against the wall.

“You bounty hunters think you are tough shit and are better than the rest of us,” his words spit on your face. “You probably can’t even fi—”

Before he could finish his thought, he was already on the floor, thanks to a quick head butt and a kick to the left knee. It’s been a long day. You are tired and hungry, and the ache from missing Wonwoo eats at you more and more. You could’ve let his words slide and waited for the doctor, but unfortunately for him, you were having a bad time.

Turning him over, you place your foot on his back and grab both of his arms, pulling them back until you hear a tear and a blood-curdling scream that makes you satisfied. “You were saying?”

“What’s going on here?”

You look up, facing Dr. Selene Ardyn, watching the scene before her with an eyebrow raised. She was all but five feet two, with smooth caramel colored skin and thick hair wrapped neatly into a bun. Dressed like the typical scientist, complete with a white trench coat, she folds her arms while waiting for an answer.

“Your guard ate my food and put his grubby hands on me,” you grit through your teeth. “So I was teaching him some manners.”

“Silver, is that necessary?” Selene asks, looking annoyed. “Let him go, and I’ll take you back to my quarters. I’ve been expecting you.”

You tug his arms one last time, dropping them unceremoniously, grabbing your bag, and walking around the injured guard. The other three move away quickly as you storm by, the red you saw slowly dissipating.

“Guards?” You hear Selene call out. “Take Brutus to the medics and tell them I sent him.”

Selene Adryn is one of the most renowned scientists and engineers in the galaxy, specializing in the research of bioweapons. You have worked for her several times, gathering plants and resources from all over the galaxy, and have grown somewhat close. You’ve seen how she interacts with her employees, and though she hasn’t explicitly said it, you knew you could go to her if you were ever in trouble.

The click of her heels against the glossy floor is almost melodic, calming your nerves as you pass the different quarters. Zoie City is not your typical city; besides being underground, it mainly comprises engineers, other scientists, and researchers from various fields. Everyone stays to themselves or congregates in the main halls for meals or other relaxing areas. Glancing at your watch, it’s a little after 10am, and everyone is bustling with scientific talk that you quite understand.

“We’re here,” Selene announces as she stops before two sliding doors. “Let’s hurry inside.”

Placing her hand on the scanner, the machine beeped and gradually opened the door, revealing a sprawling condo with enough space for three houses. Her place was nothing less than high-tech, with housemaid Androids tidying up on each floor.

“Take off your shoes and give your coat to Bob.”

You already knew who Bob was: her oldest butler, also an Android. He was built to look like a real person, and to someone who doesn’t interact with them often, you would think he is the real thing. But a stark difference always stood out to you—they always looked soulless in the eyes. It unnerved you.

Sliding off your shoes, you hand your coat to Bob and follow Selene into the living room, where she sits on her sectional sofa. You gaze through the tall picture windows as the storm rages outside. The wind howls, lifting the snow into a wild, swirling dance, throwing it around as if it were nothing.

“Thank you for seeing me on short notice,” you say, returning your focus to Selene. “I’m sure you saw the news.”

“Yeah, I did,” Selene confirms with a nod. “Seems like you’ve been busy.”

“Yeah,” you clear your throat. “Being on the run and all, I don’t exactly have time to sit around and linger.”

You look down at your beaten hands, twirling the ruby and diamond infinity engagement ring that Wonwoo proposed to you with. He knew red was your favorite color, and he always said you were more precious than rubies and diamonds, which are rare in this galaxy. God, you miss him.

“So, you say you were expecting me?” you ask, pulling yourself out of your sadness.

“Yes, I was,” Selene replies, walking toward the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I want to know how long you’ve known.”

Selena hesitates slightly as she grabs a mug from the counter. If it were anyone else, they might miss it, but after years of bounty hunter training, you have learned to read people’s body language without asking questions. It’s one of your special skills.

“What do you mean, Silver?” she asks.

“I mean,” you get off the couch and approach her in the kitchen, “how long have you known about my family?”

Selene clutches the handle of her hug, sighing heavily before turning around and facing you. In all the many years you’ve known her, you are actually seeing her— the delicate wrinkles on her forehead and the faint shadows beneath her eyes. It feels like her mask has slipped off, and she is finally revealing who she is.

“Silver, I…” Selene’s voice falters. “How did you figure it out?”

“I didn’t,” you reply softly, trying to keep your emotions in check. “But you just confirmed it.”

When you started receiving the documents about the truth of your family’s death, you knew it had to be someone who had access to your Dropbox. It’s not easily accessible to the public, and though you couldn’t track the IP address exactly, you knew it had originated from far beyond your planet. The first two numbers indicated that you were this far in the galaxy, and you decided to apply the process of elimination. You knew this was a huge gamble, showing up here with accusations that may have been unfounded, but you had to trust your gut, and it rarely steers you wrong.

“I don’t want to have to ask you again, Selene,” you warned.

“Okay, okay.”

She gestures back to the couch and urges you to sit, while you settle opposite her, on guard. Selene had known about you for so long and never said a word… You really can’t trust anyone, except for Wonwoo.

“You remind me of your mother a lot.”

Your head ticks at her words, unsure if you heard her right. “What do you mean, I remind you of my mother? How do you know her?”

Selene settles into the sofa, twiddling her thumbs on her lap. “She was my best friend.”

You look at her incredulously, the woman you respected, keeping this secret from you all this time. It all makes sense now; It all clicks now—why she was constantly requesting you for missions and would sometimes let you stay in her home overnight instead of sending you off when the job is complete. Sometimes you’d hear her hum a song your mom used to sing to you to sleep, and you thought it was a coincidence or the song was popular across the galaxy. You’ve just been a fool.

“Wow,” a bitter laugh escapes your lips. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

You turn away, looking at the window as the storm still rages on, the chaos mirroring what you feel inside. You're a tempest, brimming with anger and ready to wreak havoc on everyone who has played you like a fool.

“Selene, you would be dead if I didn’t respect you so much.”

You turn around and face her, your nails digging sharply in your palms. “You let me believe this lie… this fallacy that Aeron planted all these years. You were my mother’s best friend, supposedly, right? Why didn’t you take me in? Why did you leave me in the hospital for weeks and not visit me ONCE?”

Your chest heaved as you lay it all out. “Why Selene? WHY?”

“I detect elevated voices, is everything al—”

“For the love of Gods, Bob, shut the fuck up!”

You overflow with anger, reaching behind your back and pulling out your pistol. Cocking the lever, you aim to shoot—

“Y/N, STOP!”

You freeze, slowly gazing at Selene as she runs over to Bob, covering the android with her body. No one has called you by your real name since you were a kid... Since you came to live with Aeron. “Don’t shoot him, please.” You study her, watching her chest heave, panic and fear wild in her eyes. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know. Just… don’t hurt him.”

Reluctantly, you lower your weapon, choosing to keep out instead of putting it up. She whispers something to the android, who nods, bowing to her slightly and leaving the main room. The other androids follow on cue, and it’s just you and her.

“You said you would tell me everything I need to know.” Your voice is low and tense. “So start talking.”

She sits on the couch, shifting around until she is comfortable, before she begins. “Like I said earlier, your mother and I were best friends. We attended the same girls' school and were roommates, so naturally we became close.”

“So you knew Aeron then as well?”

Her eyes briefly go dark at the mention of his name. “Yes, I knew him. He attended a brother school and would often follow her around. I hated him. I thought he was so weird, but your mother… she was sweet. Always saw the good in people. So, eventually, they fell in love.”

“Her family, your folks, weren’t close, and she thought she could convince them to accept Aeron, and they would get married and start a family. Aeron could’ve been your father.” You grimace at that thought.

“But,” you cut in. “She was forced to marry Dad, right? “

She nods. “Yes. Your family was a very powerful people, and whatever they said went. So if your grandpa said you had to marry someone, there was only so much she could say or do before bending to their will. Aeron was obviously unhappy with it, but what could he do? He was just a boy who loved someone he could never truly have.”

“Don’t make excuses for him,” you say bitterly.

“Oh, trust me, I’m not,” Selena waves her hands. “He’s a bastard who didn’t deserve your mother. I will hate him until the day I reach Valhalla.”

You smirk at her statement, feeling slightly relieved that you two are on the same page. “So you knew my mother, my dad, I assume? How come I never saw you?”

“I used to come around a lot more when you were younger. You probably don’t remember, but I used to visit and bring you stuffed animals. Your favorite was always a lamb.”

You think back to your childhood, when your room was surrounded by stuffed animals of many species. You always found comfort in your little white lamb. You used to sleep with it and named it Boop, which smelled like rose petals. Maybe you were too young to remember her exactly, but your gut doesn’t tell you she’s lying.

“I couldn’t visit much anymore when I became the head of bioweapon research, and I hadn’t seen your mother in almost ten years. We talked weekly, though, and I saw pictures and videos of you and your sister growing up.”

A slight pang grips your chest, and your eyes water at the memories of you and your little sister that you could reclaim. She was full of sunshine and life, and she dreamed of exploring the cosmos, of discovering the wonders beyond the stars. She deserved to live, and if you could trade your life for hers, you would do it without a second thought.

“Your family’s death devastated me,” Selene’s voice trembles. “It still does. When I heard what happened, my heart sank. I went to the morgue, identified the bodies, and started the process of formally taking guardianship over you. You needed someone, and I wanted to be that.”

“So what happened?” you demand, your voice cracking as tears stream down your cheeks. “There were no records of you trying to take guardianship or even visiting me. Why did you leave me there?”

“Aeron threatened me outright,” Selene discloses, shocking your heart. “He said if I tried to take you in, if I got in his way, he would see to it that your life would be a living hell. See, he knew I would eventually discover the truth about the accident. Just because I work mainly with diseases doesn’t mean I have forgotten about regular science. The day I visited your house after the explosion, I knew it wasn’t a simple gas leak.”

“My gods, he is truly a bastard.” You rub your temples. “So you managed to collect all the evidence and kept it hidden? Is that why you personally requested me to run missions for you?”

“Yes,” Selene nods. “It was the only way I could check on you without tipping off Aeron. If he knew we were having this conversation now…”

“To be frank, I don’t care if he knows we’re talking,” you sniffle. “Next time I see him, he will be dead.”

Silence comes over you, and you look to the windows again, watching the storm finally pull back as the snow finally settles. You hear Selene enter the other room and return with a white box engraved with beautiful drawings of bows and flowers. She hands it to you, slowly lifting the top, revealing pictures of your mother and her as kids, as well as pictures of your dad and mom before you were born.

“I was keeping these until the time was right, and there isn't a day that goes by that I don’t miss your family. Please forgive me for lying to you.”

Selene breaks down in front of you; all you can do is watch silently. The woman you’ve always seen as composed and put together now shows raw emotion and deep grief, which is unusual for you. Just 24 hours ago, you had no idea that anyone even knew about your family.

“I… I don’t hate you, Selene,” you draw breath. “I can’t say I just move on overnight, but understanding who Aeron truly is, I get you were in a tough spot.”

Selene manages to calm down, her feelings reeling in slightly as she gazes at you, her eyes red and tear-stricken. “Let me take you to the spare room. I’m sure you want some time alone.”

You have a lot more questions, especially about your mom’s side of the family, but you decide to table it for another day. You follow her as she takes you into a different room, where you’re used to staying. It’s smaller, but cozier, with a round window next to the bed that gives you the perfect outside view. You look at each other and nod; there is nothing more that needs to be said as of now.

Gently shutting the door, you undress, settling into bed wearing just your shirt and underwear. You look through the box filled with photos—pictures of your mom and Selene at the all-girls school, moments from dances, and a few happy snapshots of your dad and mom together. For the next few hours, you immerse yourself in every photo, document, and memorabilia that captures your family's life before you were born. As you do, you feel a connection to them, their memories coming alive once more, burning brighter in your heart than ever before. For the first time in a long while, you feel a sense of peace and drift off to sleep.

…

“HEY! WHAT’S GOING ON IN HERE?!’

“BRING HER TO ME NOW!—”

You stir in the soft sheets, believing you are asleep and it’s a part of your dream.

“SELENE, I WILL GO IN THERE AND GRAB HER MYSELF AND YOU DON’T WANT THAT.”

“Wonwoo, please don’t—”

You shoot up; the mention of his name constricts your heart as you hear shouted voices outside your door. Grabbing your pistol, you quickly leave the room, pointing it toward the voices until you see him: your Wonwoo.

You lock eyes with him, and his expression shifts, displaying a mixture of longing and sadness. It's the first time you've seen him since you left him behind in Portalis. You'll never love anyone as much as you love him.

“Wonwoo, I—”

“Put your clothes on and let’s go,” he commands, his face hardening. “You’re coming with me.”

Wonwoo hated this. He hated all of this. If someone had told him last week that his fiancée would be on the run for attempting to assassinate the head of the Organization and his father figure, he would’ve asked what they had been sniffing.

It was the first time he had seen you in days, and he was almost breathless at the sight of you. You made his heart race, and all he wanted was to kiss your lips and tell you that everything would be okay, that you could get through this together. But he also remembered how you had left him in the dark during your quest for revenge, and that hurt him deeply. It felt as if the past fifteen years meant nothing; after all this time, you still couldn’t trust him.

“Silver, let’s go,” he said bitterly. “We don’t have all day.”

You came out of the room shortly after, duffle bags in hand and suited to brace the bitter cold weather outside. He watched as you gave a longing look at Selene, who returned it with a teary nod, watching in sadness as Wonwoo placed the handcuffs on your wrists.

“Come on, Wonwoo, is this really necessary?” Selene pleaded. “This is your fiancé we’re talking about here.”

“The same fiancé who knocked me out with Dreamshade?” Wonwoo scoffed. “I know better than to underestimate her.”

He shot a glare in your direction, and in response, you looked down at the ground in shame. “I’m sorry, Wonwoo.”

“There seems to be a lot of that going around,” he shook his head. “Let’s go.”

Wonwoo's footsteps echoed against the cold, hard floor as he led you away from the quarters, earning shocked and disapproving stares from the patrons. He didn’t care what people thought was happening; he just wanted to get out of this place and think. And talk to you.

Reaching the entrance, only one guard was waiting, who gave Wonwoo a curt nod before placing you in the tube, raising you slowly to the outside world.

‘Wonwoo, my ship—”

“Has already been taken care of,” he interrupted. “Did you forget I’m the one who taught you how to navigate an Umbra ship?”

He pulls you onto his ship, the wind howling furiously behind him as another snowstorm starts to commence. He sits you down on one of the chairs, strapping you in tightly across your chest and shackling your feet at the bottom. His heart is pounding heavily in his chest, a drumbeat of anxiety as he fights the urge to return your gaze while he is so close to your face, your lips.

“Wonwoo,” you said weakly. “I’m really sorry.”

“You’ve already said that,” he muttered. “I’ve heard it enough.”

Moving swiftly, he closed the doors and booted up the spaceship before settling into the commander’s seat. The melodic sounds of the buttons being pressed momentarily distracted him as he focused on safely lifting off the ground and into the galaxy. Usually, he would have his usual crew of Mingyu and Soonyoung with him, but this was a mission he wanted to undertake alone. You were intelligent, quick, and a skilled shooter, and he didn’t want to take the risk of you hurting someone else and escaping again. It pained him to think of you that way.

Once you were safely in the air, he set the ship on autopilot and kicked his feet up on the dash as it navigated through the dark blue sky. Within a day's time, they would be back in Adamas City, where you would have to stand in front of Aeron and answer for what you did. This whole situation was gnawing at him; the family he found was being split apart, and the only reconciliation could come through death. Wonwoo hadn’t felt this kind of pain since his parents died, and he shuddered to think about life without you in it. You were his sun, his moon, and a world without you in it wasn’t something he could bear.

Instead of talking to you, baring his feelings and putting everything on the line, he remained silent, watching the planets go by while he nursed a broken heart.

“Where are we?”

16 hours have passed since you left Glacius, and the ship doors open to a planet that is not Galaxia. It is small, round, and rocky with multiple pit stops, restaurants, and a main hotel that stands higher than the planet, if you had to guess.

“East Eaoros XII, specifically Requim,” Wonwoo responds. “You haven’t been here before, but this is where you go to refuel your ships and rest before you go to your next destination.”

“Oh…” you nod. “I see.”

Wonwoo pulls a blanket over you, assumingly to cover your handcuffed hands to not draw attention to you. You catch a whiff of his cologne when he wraps it around your arms, his close proximity sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach. For a brief moment, your eyes meet, but he quickly looks away. His brown eyes are filled with sadness, yet they still radiate love for you.

“I think we should rest… You know, before we go back to Adamas City.”

“Okay.”

He leads you out of the ship and closes it with the remote in his pocket, walking towards the hotel. It is a ten-story building with nothing special about it, resembling a regular hotel. The interior was no different, with the typical mahogany-colored walls and shiny white floors that were supposed to exude luxury. You stood silently as Wonwoo checked into his reservation, listening to the conversations of the guests that walked by, oblivious that they were standing next to the most wanted person in the galaxy.

“Let’s go.”

He shoves the room keys into his pocket, and you follow him to the elevator, watching as he presses number ten on the pad. You passed each floor with a hum, the tension between you two thick and suffocating. You have so much to say, but your throat tightens every time you start. If today is truly going to be your last day in this galaxy, you want Wonwoo to know the truth, and no matter what, you love him deeply.

The elevator dings on the tenth floor, opening to a grand suite that overlooks the city. Expansive picture windows, a spacious living room with a luxury kitchen, and two rooms that were presumably where you would be sleeping tonight. Wonwoo slips the blanket off of you, throwing it over his shoulder and walking you to the living room. For your last night of freedom, he went all out. If anything, you expected a standard room with two twin beds, a TV, and, if you’re lucky, a mini fridge.

“This was the only room they had left,” Wonwoo stated, as if he were reading your thoughts. “And I really need the rest… and so do you.”

You gaze at him, your words caught in your throat and keeping you from saying how you truly feel. You took a deep breath, sliding one of the dining room tables with your foot and sitting down, your head cocked back as you take in the A/C. You feel his presence nearby, his shadow looming over you as goosebumps rise on your arms. He takes your hands, unlocks the handcuffs, and briefly rubs your wrists before letting go. You know you’ve hurt him, and it’s your cross to bear whatever he throws at you, but he still took the time to take your pain away.

“How do you know I won’t run?”

He studies you, putting the handcuffs and keys in one of the duffle bags. “If you wanted to run, you would’ve been out of the cuffs without my help.”

Your lips slightly twitch, knowing that once again, he is right. “Touche.”

Wonwoo hands you your duffle bag full of clothes, pointing to the bathroom in the room on the left. “You should go ahead and shower while we’re here.”

You nod slowly, walking into the bedroom and shutting the door. It had a king sized bed and soft satin sheets, a couple of fake plants in the window for personality and a large chess drawer with a mirror in front. You hear Wonwoo shuffling in the living room for a while, a light harmony escaping his lips that softens your heart.

You remember when he sang soft lullabies in your ear, thinking you were sleeping, his raspy vocal tone soothing to your soul. You miss your late nights and late mornings, when you were either in his arms or underneath him. You miss his intimacy, his protection, his raw love, which he showed you in different ways that made you want to stay and live. Wonwoo is your whole world, your lifeline, and you're proud to say you’ve never loved anyone before him, and it's an honor to be loved by him in return.

You step into the bathroom, turning on the shower, wincing as you slowly undress. The straps from the belts on the ship were too tight, and you felt them tightening against your skin as each hour passed. It’s left you with bruises across your chest, nothing too serious, but enough to feel when you move. You didn’t complain, you’ve had worse injuries before, and it seems so minuscule compared to the pain that you’ve caused. The only thing that mattered was being here with him and making the most out of it.

“Wonwoo,” you call out, inhaling the steam quickly filling the bathroom. Your heart beats a drum of suspense, overriding your head, and what could blow up in your face. You can’t think straight, your thoughts are jumbled, and above all, you don’t want to be alone.

A few seconds later, he rushes into the bathroom, his eyes full of panic.

“C-can you just hold me please?” Your voice trembles. “I know you hate me and I really fucked up but I don’t want to be alone.”

His gaze softens at your words, and he slips off his glasses, undressing without hesitation. Wonwoo is a muscular man with his own scars and battles, and you could recall how he got each one. Stepping into the shower stall with you, he noted your bruises, his eyes welling up as he examined each one. “Did I do this?”

“It’s okay, you didn’t know—”

“NO, it’s not okay!” His raised voice makes you jump. “God, Silver, it’s like you don’t trust me anymore.”

His words pierce your heart, triggering a cascade of tears you can no longer hold back. You’ve been strong all this time, running throughout the galaxy to complete your last mission alive and eliminate Aeron. But your soul is tired, and Wonwoo is one of the few people you can depend on, and yet you keep hurting him.

He pulls you into his arms as you continue to cry, the warm water from the shower head beating over both of you. You feel protected and safe, as if you are finally home and can lay down your burdens. You don’t regret trying to kill Aeron, and you would do it again in a heartbeat, but you regret not including him in on this. You will forever be sorry about it.

“I don’t deserve you,” you blurt out, gazing at him. “You deserve someone who isn’t fucked up like me—”

Wonwoo kissed you ravenously like a starved man. He didn’t intend to go in so strong, but hearing you talk down about yourself, he hated it. He just wants to kiss your pain away.

“I couldn’t hate you if I tried.” He whispered. “I love you, okay? Nothing will ever change that.”

You were beautiful to him, with many layers and flaws that he didn’t care about. Yes, he was upset that you hadn’t trusted him, but he also knew YOU, and understood you wouldn’t have acted that way without proof. He was hopelessly and deeply in love with you, and his heart was telling him to trust you. You had grown up together and had seen every side of each other. There was no way he would ever give up on you, Aeron or not.

He kissed you again, and he found himself caught in a rapture of love, his hunger and need for you superseding any logical thought or need. He touched you like he was trying to reclaim all the time you had been apart. Your nails dug into his back when he sucked your neck, leaving you more bruised.

“Sorry, baby,” he said in between breaths.

“Don’t be sorry,” you shook your head. “Do what you want.”

He felt himself hardening against your leg, and he instinctively started stroking himself, sending electric jolts throughout his body. His lips slightly parted, the thought of being inside of you and feeling your warmth around him, cumming for him over and over almost sends him into an abyss.

You slowly get on your knees, moving his hand, rubbing his shaft, and giving his tip a soft kiss. Wonwoo watched as you took over, bobbing your head back and forth as you sucked him inch by inch, never breaking eye contact. He loved the way you twirled your tongue around his cock, the wet slurping sounds coming from your pretty mouth was music to his ears. It made his toes curl, turning him animalistic as his hands grasped your head and pulled it tightly.

"You feel so good baby", he muttered against the wall. "I missed you."

You nodded fervently, increasing your pace and skillfully deepthroating him while he was in ecstasy. Watching his cock go in and out of your mouth, drops of spit coming out of your mouth was a sight to see. You sucked him earnestly like you owed him, and he felt that. But little did you know, Wonwoo is the one who owes you, for keeping him alive all this time.

“Get up,” he gritted his teeth, reluctantly pulling you off of him.

He helped you off the ground and pressed your back against the tiled wall, the warm water hitting your breasts and falling on the curves of your stomach. The smell of vanilla on your skin is intoxicating, stirring in his chest a need for you and your taste. His fingers brushed against your nipples, your sensitive buds hardening at his touch. He sucked on them softly, his tongue swirled around each nipple, earning a hard moan from your lips. He loved the way your body responded to him. You were like a siren, your moans enticing to him as he sucked on them harder and putting him under your spell.

“God, Wonwoo,” you whined.

“I know, baby, I know.”

His lips traveled lower to your abdomen, leaving a trail of kisses on your soft stomach as he made his way to your center. His mouth salivated as he saw your flowering bud, bringing back memories of his tongue inside of you for the first time at the Sanctuary. You were creamy and tasted like heaven, and he’s been addicted to your sweetness ever since.

“You’re so beautiful.”

He dived in without any warning, sucking on your clit and spreading your legs. He was on his knees, devouring your center like this was the last time. He yearned to feel your cum on his tongue, to swallow everything that you had to offer him. He was a desperate man in love, and willing to do anything to make you satisfied.

“Shit,” you sighed, your hands caressing his hair. “You feel so good.”

Wonwoo grinned against your folds, giving your clit another kiss before hiking your leg up, slipping two digits inside of you. He watched as you bit your lip in anticipation, slowly working his fingers in and out of you. HIs lips found your clit again, fingering and sucking you while your hips slow whined into a seductive rhythm. He loved watching you lose control, your legs shaking and your stomach tightening as the pressure built up in your abdomen. He didn’t slow down when he knew you were cumming, instead he increased the pace, wanting to see you explode over his face and fingers.

“Wonwoo, I...”

Your sentence ended in a high-pitched moan, your fingers grasping his hair tightly as you erupted. He slowly slipped out his fingers, drunk on your sugarness, as he slurped everything you had to offer him. He didn’t stop until you lightly slapped his face, your unspoken yellow light when you needed to catch your breath. Standing up from the shower, the warm water hit his back as he faced you, pulling you into another kiss. Your lips curved into a smile, your eyes shone brightly into his as if nothing more needed to be said.

But he said it anyway.

“I love you.”

You nodded slowly, bringing your hand down and stroking his cock near your entrance. His eyebrows raised, and you smirked, kissing his face lightly before turning around and pressing your chest against the wall. “You know what to do.”

His hands found your hair, wrapping it around his fist as he slid the head of his cock inside of you. He entered you slowly, knowing you were still ripe with overstimulation, despite your body saying otherwise. You pressed your ass against him, goading him to go keep as possible. Your hips rolled in a way that made Wonwoo’s cock twitch, and with one grunt he place his hand on your left hip and started to fuck you. Hard.

“Please.”

He knew exactly what your body craved, hitting you with deep, long strokes that made you quiver, your hands reaching for him and digging into his legs. You didn’t want to be handled like a princess tonight; you wanted to be fucked until there was nothing left. He felt your hunger, your ache, your eagerness to make your pain go away. He loved the way your walls tightened around him when he kissed the back of your neck. Wonwoo has studied you for a long time, and he knew exactly what you needed.

He lets go of your hair, sliding his hand down to your throat and tightening his grip. Your body began to shake, and he thrusted into you harder, your wet skin slapping against his as you moved in harmony with each other. Your moans turn into a sirenic scream, your warm essence drowning his cock as you shudder, your eyes rolling in the back of your head. Wonwoo didn’t last long after that, letting out a long mewl before emptying himself inside of you, coating your walls with his load. You’re both breathless, the water still warm as ever as it rinses away the mess that was made. Kissing you on your shoulder, Wonwoo pulls you off the wall, turning you around and moving a part of your silver hair out of your face.

“We need to talk,” you muttered, looking down at the floor.

“I know,” Wonwoo nodded, feeling his chest constrict at the dreaded conversation. “Let’s get cleaned up first.

A few hours later, you were sitting on the couch, watching the shooting stars go back and forth outside the window. After your shower, your energy was gone, and so you took a nap, promising to get up in an hour. Wonwoo let you sleep in and, at some point, laid in bed with you, as you woke up with his arms wrapped around your waist. His light snores were peaceful, and you wondered if he dreamed like you did, where you were happy, without the threat of Aeron looming over your shoulder with a wedding ring on your finger and a baby in your stomach. Maybe in another life, you can get this back.

“Hey.”

Wonwoo walks into the living room with sleepy eyes and messy hair, unfolding his glasses and sliding them on. He takes a seat next to you, pulls you into his arms, and gazes at the stars together. For the first time in days, you finally feel at peace, able to breathe easily with the limited time you have left.

“I can’t believe this is the last time I’ll see this,” you say solemnly.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

You turn to him and hold his hand tightly. “You know Aeron isn’t going to let me go alive.”

Aeron is a pitbull with a grudge that could go on for a thousand years. You’ve seen what he’s done to people who have pissed him off for less. You aren’t going to believe in some miracle or the greater good; you know better than that. He’s never laid a hand on you as many times as you’ve disobeyed him growing up, but you’ve never tried to kill him either. God, you wish you didn’t miss.

Wonwoo rubs your shoulders, and you can tell he is thinking of a way to get out of this and take care of you, like he always does. “Who sent you the files and the evidence?”

“It was Selene,” you disclosed. “She was best friends with my mother, and she knew Aeron growing up as well.”

You explained everything that Selene told you, even down to the box of mementos that was left in her quarters. Wonwoo listened, never interrupting and taking in everything you said. You saw anger flash in his dark eyes, and you are thankful you aren’t the reason behind that.

“He created this whole, elaborate plan just to keep himself from facing judgment, from facing me,” you pointed at your chest. “He has to know that I would’ve killed him if I found out.”

You think back to Glacius, looking at the photos of your mother’s childhood, happy and oblivious to the future she faced. You remember sleeping happily to your mother’s framed memories and waking up to Wonwoo pulling you back into reality… how did Wonwoo know where you were?

“Hey,” you say abruptly. “How did you know where I was?”

A fleeting look of shame crosses Wonwoo's face, prompting you to withdraw your hand as an eerie feeling coils in your chest. “Jeon Wonwoo, I swear to God—”

“Your ring,” he blurts out, looking at your left hand. “I’ve been able to track you with your ring.”

It didn’t hit you right away. You looked down at your engagement ring, a symbol of love and a promise of your future together that he gave you on the last day of the year, down on one knee at the Sanctuary. There is no way he would taint that memory with a lie, right?

“You must be talking about another ring…” Your voice trails off. “Surely you aren’t talking about this ring on my finger?!”

“Silver, let me explain—”

“Really, Wonwoo?!” You leap off the couch, yanking the ring off your finger while he watches wide-eyed. “It’s bad enough I have Aeron lying to me, but I would never think in a million eons that you would be capable of this, giving me a fake ring—”

“Silver, STOP!”

His voice roars through the suite, sending chills down your spine. The heat of anger and betrayal that had fueled your fire suddenly evaporates. Anything else you wanted to say dies in your throat, your lips pressed tight in a mix of confusion and disbelief as you wave your hand, urging him to continue.

“That ring was made from the finest jeweler in the Nova District, and I personally picked out the stones in the lab. I would never, EVER, give you a fake ring, and I’m really offended you would think I would do that.” Wonwoo motions for you to sit down, and reluctantly, you sit.

“Remember when we had the mission in the Xaros Forest and we were attacked by the wild boars there? Remember when we got separated and I couldn’t find you for days?”

You think back to that particular mission from a year ago, as you were sent there to bring in a wanted fugitive and were met with the wild beasts. While fending them off, you were cut by one of them and almost died, bleeding out in the field. A native of that land saw what happened and stopped the bleeding in their cave, leaving you separated from Wonwoo and the rest of the hunters for seven days. Eventually, that native led Wonwoo to you, and you had never seen him look so terrified; the agony etched on his face upon seeing your condition was unforgettable.

“Those seven days were the worst days of my life,” Wonwoo laments. “I didn’t know if you were dead, alive, but held captive, and I never wanted us to be in that position again. So I placed a tracker on the band of the ring, so if you disappeared again, I would find you.”

You search his eyes for any hint of deceit, but deep down, you know he was telling the truth. Wonwoo could be a lot of things, but a liar he is not. The truth is, this Aeron situation has made you go out of your mind. If someone you looked up to could lie to you like that, or the scientist you did jobs for knew secrets and kept them from you, what’s to say Wonwoo wouldn’t do the same?

“I just wish you had told me, talked to me first,” you sigh heavily. “I would’ve done anything you wanted.”

“I don’t think you should be lecturing me on trust, Silver.”

His words hit you like an arrow to the chest, and you had no comeback for that. He was right.

“Put your ring back on, please,” Wonwoo says softly. “If you want me to take off the tracker, I will.”

You study him for a moment, the familiar look of pain you keep causing on his face. You slowly slide the ring back on your finger, feeling like shit. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says, getting up and pulling you into a hug. “I should’ve talked to you about it first. You’re right.”

You nod on his chest, listening to his heartbeat drum against your ear as the living room falls silent, sans your loud, grumbling stomach.

“We have room service here. Go ahead and order something.”

He kisses your forehead and untangles himself from you, going into the other room and quietly shutting the door. You go into the kitchen and browse the menu, settling on two burgers and fries with drinks, since you know Wonwoo is going to want the same thing. After you enter your order, you sit at the table, alone with your thoughts and everything that has happened. Shortly after, Wonwoo exits the room, his face red with anger.

‘What’s wrong?” You get up slowly.

“It’s Aeron,” he said bitterly. “He wanted to know if I captured you.”

You feel your heart sink into your chest, collapsing back in your chair. Reality is setting in, and tonight will be the last day you will be alive. But at least you will have your day to confront him in person, to look him in the eyes and make him confess to everything he did.

“The way he’s been talking to me every time I bring up what he did… It’s like I don’t matter. Just another body under The Organization.”

Wonwoo looks dejected and hurt, like a boy who's lost his father. You wrap him up in your arms, letting him squeeze you tight in the solace that he needs.

“Baby, I have a plan,” he says, “And it may not work, and it could get us both killed. But I need you to trust me.”

You release him and gaze into his eyes, placing your hand across his heart. “I trust you completely. What are you thinking?”

The rain pours as you land in Adamas City, and the wind is violent like it knows what today is: your judgment day.

The last twelve hours you spent with Wonwoo on East Eaoros XII all seem like nothing but a memory now, the anxiety eating at your stomach as you face the unknown about your future. Wonwoo was careful leading you out of the ship in handcuffs, meeting Soonyoung and Mingyu at the doors before heading inside The Hightower. Soonyoung and Mingyu give you sympathetic looks, walking you to the elevators and standing on each side as you walk in. Wonwoo swipes his badge and presses the button to floor 77, where Aeron awaits you both.

“Are you ready for this?”

You look at Wonwoo, and despite his calm demeanor, his brown eyes reveal that he is worried. You lean in, quickly kissing him and interlocking your pinky with his. “I’m as ready as I can be.”

The elevator dings at 77, the doors opening to Aeron’s office, a swanky 7000 square feet of space that held business meetings, promotions, and if you were on his bad side, your last breath.

“I’ve been expecting you.”

Before you could react, a fist connected to your left cheek, sending you flying into one of the tables. You stagger, facing the 6’5” man with olive skin, a muscular build, and piercing eyes ready to kill.

“You thought you could shoot me and get away with it?!”

He swings another punch, but you're nimble, ducking just in time. Your eyes catch a bottle of dark liquor on his desk, and with a swift motion, you hurl it at him like a Frisbee. Aeron raises his arm to block it, the glass shattering and slicing into his skin, shards splattering across his face. You see Wonwoo reach for his gun, but you shake your head, determined to be the one to send him out of this world.

You search wildly for anything that could free you from the cuffs, adrenaline surging as you fight for your life. You don’t hear Aeron’s approach until it’s too late; suddenly, you’re lifted off the ground and violently slammed down, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs. With merciless fury, Aeron unleashes a torrent of insults, calling you every foul name imaginable while you struggle to gather your thoughts on the hard, unforgiving carpet.

“And I bet it was that bitch Selene who tipped you off,” he spits. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her next.”

“Leave her out of it,” You croak. “She had the guts to tell me the truth, and not hide behind my mother’s memory like some little bitch.”

Aeron’s roar could be heard several floors below. He marched over to your direction, but he was cut off by Wonwoo, standing squarely in front of you. “Enough, Aeron.”

“Boy, get out of my way,” Aeron growls, rolling up his sleeves, attempting to go around Wonwoo.

Wonwoo stood his ground, pushing him out of the way while giving you a chance to sit up and catch your breath. Aeron’s head tilts in disbelief, but instead of going after him, he saunters over to his desk, pulling out a cigar from his drawer. “I could use a break anyway.”

Slumping into his chair, Aeron lights up his cigar and takes one long puff, his eyes fixing on Wonwoo as he examines your swollen left cheek.

“Are you okay?” Wonwoo asks softly.

“I’m fine,” you assure him. “It’s going to take a lot more than this to take me out.”

“You were always pussy-whipped,” Aeron chuckles at his desk. “She could ask you to leap into traffic, and you would do it, no questions asked.”

Wonwoo didn’t respond, instead looking at the time on his watch and moving to your right side. You would be a liar if you said you weren’t in pain. You haven’t sparred with Aeron in years, let alone a real fight. He caught you off guard, and you underestimated his strength, and now you have a sore back and limbs to show for it. It’s not like he got away scot-free, the cuts of glass being the only blow that you could land while handcuffed.

“Why did you do it, Aeron?” you speak up. “Why did you kill my mother? My family?”

You watch him as he takes another puff of his cigar, exhaling the thick smoke out of his mouth.

“She was supposed to be mine, always,” he reveals. “I’ve loved your mother since the first time I laid eyes on her. She loved me too, ya know. Our love transcended time, and we would be happy together if she didn’t get married to that father of yours.”

“I know about the affair, and she wanted to end it.” Your voice is low. “Why didn’t you just leave her be? Why did we all have to die? Why fake a gas leak?”

His hands twitch, fingers curling into fists before releasing. “Because she broke her promise to me,” his voice trembled. “She was only supposed to love me. We were going to figure out how to get her out of her marriage so we could finally be together, and I would raise you as my daughter. However, she fell in love with that man and wanted to make it work with him.” He gazes back at you, eyes wild with a mix of pain and fury. “I just couldn’t have that.”

“So instead of moving on, you decided to kill us?” Your voice wavers, a lump forming in your throat as tears begin to blur your vision. “You were family to us, Aeron! How could you?”

“How could she? How could she love someone else? No, she did it to herself. Your family’s death is on her. I just facilitated the leak, that’s all.”

You stare at him incredulously, your body shaking in anger. You lost your family because Aeron couldn’t handle the thought of your mother being happy with someone else. He’s a bitch and a punk, and you can’t wait to put him down for good.

“Fuck you.”

The telecast’s screen suddenly turns on, showing a livestream of the office and the three of you in it. The recording replays of Aeron assaulting you on entry, watching you fly across the room with a thundering smack to the face. You pinpoint how it was recorded, noting the camera moved every time Wonwoo did, realizing the pin Wonwoo was wearing was actually a hidden camera. Aeron’s eyes are wide with shock as the telecast is shown on the main public channels for everyone to witness.

“What the hell is this?!”

Wonwoo silently releases the handcuffs while Aeron is distracted, whispering in your ear, “Do what you have to do.”

Without hesitation, you grab Wonwoo’s gun, firing a shot into Aeron’s knee. He howls in pain, and without mercy, you shoot the other one, witnessing his face contort in agony and surprise.

“Those two? Are for Dipper and Umi,” you declare, your voice laced with vengeance.

The gun recoils in your hand again, sending a bullet into Aeron's stomach. “That was for my dad, who was ten times the man you ever were.”

With a perfect aim, you shoot one more shot, a fatal blow to his heart. “And that is for my mother, you piece of shit.”

You watch the life leave his body, his eyes glassy and his tongue rolled out of his mouth like the dog he is. The alarms suddenly start blaring, the lights in the office flashing red.

“We have to go.”

Wonwoo pulls you out of the office and into a hidden stairwell, racing up to the roof where the helipad is located. When Wonwoo told you about his plan, you weren’t sure he could pull it off, as it involved many moving pieces. But just like you had friends in different places, so did he. Mingyu and Soonyoung were in on it, standing guard and making sure no one got in the way. Conveniently, they would also be the ones to sound off the alarm to cover up their tracks. He planned to have you leave the city while he cleaned up this mess, publicly and behind the scenes. Since Aeron is dead and Wonwoo is his adopted son on paper, Wonwoo is now the head of The Organization.

He opens up the door leading to the roof, and there awaits a ship, ready to go. What he didn’t tell you was who was going to be navigating the ship, and you have never been happier to see your best friend.

“Happy to see me?” Jeonghan smirked in the commander’s seat.

“Always a pleasure,” you say, looking around the ship. “Where’s So—”

“She’s… with a friend,” Jeonghan finishes your sentence. “We need to leave now before the guards come.”

You nod sharply and turn to Wonwoo, who’s looking at you with a mix of awe and sorrow. The realization hits hard: this might really be the last time you see him until things chill out. All those moments you fought for just to end up on the brink of another goodbye—it feels so wrong. Frustration bubbles up inside you. It shouldn’t be like this; none of this is fair. You should be together, not caught in this mess, forced apart when all you want is to hold on.

“Remember what I told you at the Hightower when we passed our tests?”

You could never forget anything about that day. It was the first time you kissed him, and one of the best nights of your life. “You said I was a force of nature.”

“That’s right, baby,” he says, tears welling up in his eyes. “We’re going to get through this together, and I will find you, okay?”

You point at your engagement ring, and he nods, and he meets your gaze, leaning in to kiss you deeply. A flood of emotions washes over you, your own tears spilling out of your eyes, as you draw him in tighter, breathing in his scent one last time.

“I’m sorry to cut in here, but we have to go,” Jeonghan calls out from his seat.

Reluctantly breaking away, you leave him with one last kiss, wiping his tears away and letting go of his hands.

“I love you, Silver.”

You nod as he exits the ship, your heart feeling lighter with the resolve that you will see him again. Instead of saying goodbye, you leave him with a promise:

“See you, space cowboy.”

(epilgoue)

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