#adrenaline-high series

[matchademi]

Interviewer:Stathis what's your favorite food

Stathis:Why did you have to ask! Especially in Italy! Well, to keep Kimi from suffocating me in my sleep pasta with ragu that his mom makes BUT I'm Greek, so my absolute favorite snack is Dolmades!

Kimi:...those are good...

Stathis:TE L'AVEVO DETTO

Stathis:Το ελληνικό φαγητό είναι καλύτερο

[sleep-is-4-da-week]

If babe had a nickel for everytime someone important in his life died and then came back to life, he’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot but it’s weird it happened twice.

[minniesfiles]

A THOUSAND SORRIES

Your phone died without you realising it while at your high school reunion party. So when your best friend requested an old classmate to drop you home, you didn’t realise how much it would shake your relationship with your husband, who you swore would’ve never doubted your loyalty.

❧ PAIRING; seungcheol x reader

❧ GENRE; angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; established relationship, arguing, swearing, crying, seungcheol is a little bit of an asshole, hurt with a lot of comforting, maybe a little overdramatic, fluff

❧ WORDCOUNT; 8.7k

[ part of the Silent Treatment series ]

𐚁₊⊹

▍7 MAY 2024

“Shit, it’s almost one,” you muttered, eyes slightly wide as the glowing red digits on the wall clock stared back at you.

You were still perched on the velvet sofa at the back of the club, your head buzzing slightly from a mix of alcohol and adrenaline. Everyone around you was still laughing. Some sloppily dancing and others in tight huddles catching up over half-spilled drinks.

The night completely ran away from you. You and your friends had gotten too caught up in celebrating your high school reunion, hosted by one of your classmates who now owned the club, to notice how late it had gotten. And more importantly, you were too distracted to notice that your phone died — nearly two hours ago.

You closed your eyes and mentally kicked yourself. Who leaves the house with only fifty-percent battery? You, apparently. And it would’ve been fine — if Sujin didn’t insist on hijacking your phone for photos all night. “Your camera’s way better,” she said as she snapped an infinite amount of blurry selfies and group shots.

If you had that last five-percent, you could’ve booked a taxi by now, or at least texted your husband to let him know you were alive and not passed out in a gutter. But nope. You handed over your lifeline in exchange for better lighting and wider angles.

Still, you had to admit, the night was worth it. Ten years. That was how long it had been since you last saw these faces. Physically, some had changed beyond recognition, but there were moments where their seventeen-year-old selves peeked through. The way Beomseok, the school’s heartthrob, still threw his head back when he laughed. Or how Soyoung, the well-known bookworm, always over-explained her stories like she was giving a TED Talk.

Even the ones you never really liked, like that one girl who always made everything about her, brought a strange and unexpected wave of kindliness. Maybe it was the nostalgia. Maybe it was the drinks. Either way, you didn’t feel the irritation you used to. Just a weird fondness.

You let your mind drift back through the night — from the ridiculous dance-offs to the messy karaoke renditions of songs you didn’t hear in over five years. It was like slipping into a familiar old sweater, frayed in places but still comforting.

But now, reality knocked you back in your senses. You promised your Seungcheol you’d be home before midnight. He wasn’t the jealous type, but you knew he worried. And with your phone dead, no cash on hand, and no clue where your friends had scattered off to, you were stuck.

You scanned the club again, hoping to spot Sujin, maybe even your other friends at the very least. But nothing. Just bodies moving to the beat of some remix you didn’t recognise. You sat back and exhaled. You really didn’t know how you were getting home.

Sooner or later, you finally spotted Sujin over by the cocktail bar, half-laughing at something the bartender said as she swayed in rhythm to the music. The moment you saw her, relief washed over you like cold water, and you made your way towards her.

“Sujin,” you said, tapping her shoulder gently.

She turned around, a little startled. Her brow furrowed as she tried to hear you over the music. “Yeah?” she responded, a bit breathless.

You leaned in close, trying not to yell. “Do you know anyone who can drop me home? My phone’s dead and it’s getting really late. Seungcheol is probably losing it right now.”

Sujin’s expression shifted. She bit her lip and looked around as her eyes scanned the crowd of familiar strangers. “Ahh…” she muttered, her voice trailing off as she thought.

You could almost see the gears turning in her head. Then suddenly, her eyes widened. Her face lit up like someone just handed her the perfect answer.

“Minseok can drop you home!” she said, turning back to look at you.

“You know him, right?”

Of course you did. All too well. Minseok was your seatmate in physics back in your final year of high school. He was an astrology-obsessed nerd with a mop of hair always falling into his eyes and an inexplicable knack for blurting out random facts that you never asked for.

He once told you Mercury was in retrograde as you were about to fail a quiz, as if that was somehow helpful. Another time, he whispered a breakdown of Saturn’s rings during a fire drill. It wasn’t that he was mean, he was just…a lot. A walking trivia machine with no off switch. As harsh as it sounded, you didn’t miss him — not even a little.

“Seriously?” you said, half-horrified, half-resigned.

Sujin shrugged. “He’s sober. He came alone. And he’s not drinking, he’s literally sipping soda with lime like it’s a martini. He’s the safest bet.”

You groaned internally. Out of all the people, it had to be Minseok. You weren’t in the mood for a ride filled with awkward silence or worse — cosmic lectures about Venus retrogrades and your ‘energy aura’.

But desperate times, right?

Before you could protest, Sujin was already waving him over. “Hey, Minseok!” she called out.

You turned your head slowly, catching sight of him as he made his way through the crowd. He looked different, older obviously, but still very much him. His posture was straighter. His hair was neater, and he was dressed well in a simple button-up and dark jeans. Somehow, seeing him walk towards you didn’t feel quite as dreadful as you’d expected.

“Y/n! Hey, how are you?” Minseok greeted with a warm smile. You blinked in surprise. Not just at how relaxed he looked, but at his voice. It was deeper than you remembered. Smooth, even. Less nasal and less grating. Tolerable. Maybe even nice.

“I’m good. How about you?” you asked, offering a faint, polite smile. “I see you don’t wear your glasses anymore.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Ahh, I gave up on them and switched to contact lenses. It was a life changer,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets like it was the most casual thing in the world.

“I see,” you said with a slight nod, unsure what else to add.

Before the silence could settle, Sujin jumped in. “So, Y/n needs a ride home. Can you drop her?”

“If you don’t mind,” you added quickly, almost reflexively. You didn’t want to sound like you were expecting anything.

Minseok didn’t hesitate. “Of course not! Let’s go,” he said, tilting his head toward the exit with a smile.

Your shoulders dropped as the tension left you in a soft breath. “Oh thank god,” you muttered, offering a more genuine smile in return.

You followed him out into the night where his car was parked a few yards away. Once inside, you gave him your address and he nodded before pulling smoothly onto the road.

The car ride was awkward, undeniably, but the soft music playing in the background drowned out most of it. He tried to make small conversations with you, only for you to give back short answers to avoid the awkwardness from growing. And he seemed to catch on to that, and decided no to press on too much.

╴╴╴╴╴

A few minutes later, Minseok pulled up outside your home. The street was quiet and dimly lit by the streetlamp. The neighborhood had long settled into silence — everyone asleep in their cosy homes.

You stepped out of the car and pulled your coat tighter around you as the cold air bit through the thin fabric. You turned back towards the driver’s side and leaned in slightly.

“Thank you so much Minseok. I really owe you,” you thanked him sincerely.

He gave you a small smile with his hands still on the steering wheel. “It’s okay Y/n,” he said softly, then added a chuckle. “It was nice seeing you after all these years.”

“You too,” you replied, returning the smile. You both waved each other a last goodbye before he drove off.

Turning to your house, you saw that the porch light was on. So were the lights in the living room. No surprise. Seungcheol was still awake.

As you stepped inside and started to kick off your shoes, you heard your husband’s voice hit you like a slap to the face. “Do you know what the fucking time is?” Seungcheol snapped from the hallway.

You froze mid-movement, caught off guard by the sheer aggression in his voice. You flinched while your hands were still on your laces. The look on his face was enough to stop you cold.

Rage was plastered across his face. His jaw was clenched so tight you saw the veins popping on his neck. His eyes were wild and bloodshot, like he hadn’t blinked in an hour. He stood there in his grey sweatpants and worn-out hoodie, but nothing about him looked relaxed. He was a coil pulled too tight.

Seungcheol never cursed, rarely even raised his voice. He always tried to stay calm and level-headed. So to see him like this, it threw you off.

“I know, I’m sorry,” you said as you inched closer. Your voice was shaky, but your instinct told you to close the distance. You wanted to calm him, to hug the anger away.

When you reached for him, Seuncheol stepped back and shoved your arms off gently, but firmly. That simple gesture was enough to make your chest tighten.

“And why weren’t you answering my calls or texts, huh? Do you know how fucking worried I was?” his voice rose.

You flinched at the harshness in his tone, and your shoulders curled in slightly as if to shield yourself. “My phone died,” you said softly. The words tasted pathetic the moment they left your lips, because you knew it was a poor of an excuse to explain yourself.

“That’s it?” he snapped.

“Your phone died? Then you could’ve borrowed someone else’s! You could’ve taken two damn seconds to call me and let me know you were alive Y/n!”

You blinked, caught off guard by the volume of his voice.

You could have called. But it didn’t even cross your mind. You were too distracted. You weren’t ignoring him. It just didn’t feel urgent. Until now.

But how could you say that without sounding selfish?

You didn’t say anything. You just stood there quietly, hollowed out by guilt. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, eyes stinging with tears. You could feel it. You could feel your throat tightening, and that familiar ache building just behind your eyes.

“Please don’t be mad. I’m home now.”

You reached for his hand. This time, not out of instinct, but desperation. You needed to hold onto something.

But he pulled away.

That was the moment something inside you cracked.

“Who was that guy who dropped you home, huh?” he suddenly questioned.

You froze.

Of all the things he could have said, this wasn’t what you expected. The question didn’t match the man you knew. The man who never batted an eye when someone flirted with you. The man who used to laugh it off and pull you closer like he had nothing to prove. Jealousy had never been in his nature. At least, not until now.

Your eyes narrowed as you studied him. He just looked at you, waiting.

You frowned, feeling something inside you start to burn. You would’ve answered him directly, but the fact that he even asked, it flipped a switch in you. A part of you that stayed patient through his yelling had enough.

“What do you mean?” you asked flatly. You weren’t playing dumb. You genuinely wanted to know — why that was even his question. Of everything that happened tonight, this was what stuck with him?

“That guy,” he said again, slower this time, as if you were the one not understanding. “The one whose car you got out of. Who was he?”

Clearly he saw you. But you weren’t surprised.

You blinked at him in disbelief, followed by a humorless laugh that slipped from your lips before you could stop it. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

The laughter died as quickly as it came. “Seungcheol? What are you trying to say? That I fucked him?”

You knew you were being dramatic, but the sting of it, the audacity of his doubt, made your heart sink. You just spent the last ten minutes apologising for something that wasn’t even completely your fault.

“That’s not what I meant!” Seungcheol quickly defended. But there was a small hint of guilt in his eyes. Like he knew he went too far but didn’t know how to walk it back.

“Then what did you mean, huh?” your voice cracked now, finally matching his in volume. “You tell me what you’re implying!”

He opened his mouth, but then closed it. A beat passed between you. A silence filled with things neither of you were willing to say out loud.

“I saw you,” he finally said. “You were smiling. You looked so…comfortable with him.”

Sure you were grateful for Minseok for giving you a ride home, but being comfortable with him was the last thing you felt. So you could not believe how ridiculous he sounded right now.

“So what?” you stared at him.

When he had no answer to give you, you took a breath in to steady yourself.

“First of all, he’s not a stranger,” you said.

“His name is Minseok. We went to school together. He was Sujin’s suggestion because my phone was dead and I had no ride home.”

Seungcheol still didn’t speak. He just looked at you with his jaw clenched.

“And second of all,” you continued, walking closer to him.

“Don’t you dare turn this into some bullshit theory about me cheating. You know me better than that. Or at least, I thought you did.”

“I do know you,” he said, but the words sounded unsure now. “I just—I was scared Y/n.”

“I know,” you said, softer now, but still firm.

“And I’ve already apologised for not calling. I should’ve found a way. I get that. But you don’t get to throw baseless accusations at me just because you were scared.”

Seungcheol ran a hand through his hair as he paced a bit around the hallway. “I’m not saying you cheated. I just—seeing you with him, then coming home late, not answering me—it messed me up. I waited for hours, just imagining the worst. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t think.”

“I get it,” you repeated.

“But do you hear yourself? You think I’m out sleeping around because I got a ride from an old classmate? Because I smiled at him?”

Seungcheol sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it sounds stupid now.”

“It doesn’t just sound stupid Cheol,” your voice cracked, shaking your head. “It sounds like you don’t trust me.”

You gave him a last, glassy-eyed look before you walked past him. And as you did, your shoulder unintentionally bumped against his.

Seungcheol didn’t say a word. He didn’t even stop you. He just stood there, still and guilt-ridden, as he watched you disappear upstairs.

His face went pale, and his chest felt tight. He opened his mouth to speak, maybe to call your name, or maybe to say sorry. But no sound came out. What would it change? The damage was already done. He said the one thing he could never take back.

Seungcheol knew he messed up. He knew he crossed a line that might be too late to step back from. But in that moment, all he could do was stand there — frozen in the ruins of a conversation he never should have started that way.

You, on the other hand, tried so hard to stay composed. You willed your feet to keep moving, step by step up the stairs, while holding back the sobs building in your throat. Your chest felt like it was caving in.

But the second you reached your shared bedroom and closed the door behind you, everything broke loose.

You dropped onto the edge of the bed, like your body couldn’t carry the burden of your bottled up emotions any longer.

Your body began to shake as the first sob broke free. The first sob that escaped from your lips was sharp and strangled, followed by another. And another. Soon, they were pouring out of you uncontrollably. You curled in on yourself as your hands gripped the bedsheets, trying to stop the ache in your chest from spreading further.

But it was useless. The pain was too much.

You never imagined hearing those kinds of words from him. Not Seungcheol. Not the man who once told you he trusted you more than anyone in the world. The man who always said he didn’t need constant reassurance because “you’re my person.”

You weren’t crying just because he yelled at you. Or because of the jealousy. It was what it all meant. It was the implication behind his words, and the doubt in his voice. To you, it made you feel like you weren’t someone he could fully trust.

That hurt more than anything else. Because after everything you had been through together and every moment where he told you you were his safe space — it now felt like none of it mattered apparently.

Downstairs, Seungcheol sat on the edge of the sofa with his elbows on his knees and face in his hands. The house was too quiet now. Except for the faint, muffled sound of your sobs upstairs. The sound shattered him more than anything. He knew you were trying to keep it in. You always did. But it wasn’t working tonight.

He could practically feel your pain from where he sat. Every cry of yours echoed in his ears, louder than anything else. His hands curled into fists at the thought of it — at the reality of him being the cause. He used to be the one who made you smile, and wipe your tears. He promised to never make you cry.

Now look at him.

Seungcheol hated himself for it. For letting his emotions get the best of him. For turning on the person he loved most. He would’ve fought anyone who made you cry like that — anyone — and yet tonight, he was the one who broke you. And now he didn’t know how to fix it.

He let out a shaky breath and leaned back against the sofa as his eyes trained on the ceiling like it could somehow offer an answer. But all he found there was more regret and more silence.

The sound of your crying didn’t stop. If anything, it became softer and more defeated. And that scared him more. Loud cries were pf pain. Silent ones were of emptiness. He knew the difference.

He replayed the argument in his head over and over. His words and how your expression changed, and the way you flinched. He saw it all. It wasn’t just what he said. It was how easily it came out, wnd how little thought he gave before hurting you.

The worst part was that none of this came from a place of true doubt in you. He didn’t really think you cheated. The thought didn’t even occur to him until his anger morphed into a kind of jealousy he hadn’t even felt before. He was just finding an excuse to lash out on you for being late and not answering his calls. He knew he shouldn’t have. And instead of dealing with it like a grown man, like a partner, he lashed out like a child.

Seungcheol cursed under his breath and stood up abruptly. He paced around the living room as he thought about going upstairs. Apologising. He wanted to tell you everything he should have said instead. But what would he even say? “I didn’t mean it”? That felt too small. Too late even.

But still, he had to try.

Reluctantly, Seungcheol made his way upstairs. Your cries had now dulled into soft, broken sniffles that barely reached past the bedroom door, but they still echoed in his ears like sirens.

He paused just before the door as his hand hovered over the knob. He didn’t know if he was ready to face you, not after the damage he caused with words spoken in both anger and fear. He always promised to protect your heart and to never break it. But now here he was, standing on the other side of a door that never felt more like a barrier between you.

Maybe he should’ve waited longer and gave you space to breathe. But space also meant distance, and he didn’t want distance, especially not tonight. Not when things already felt like they were slipping. He didn’t want you to think he didn’t trust you. He didn’t want you to think his doubt meant he didn’t love you. Because that wasn’t it. Not at all.

He turned the knob slowly and gently pushed the door open.

There he saw you sitting on the edge of the bed, with your back to him. You wiped at your face quickly when you heard the door open, like you were trying to erase the evidence of your pain before he could see it.

But it was too late. Your eyes were red and glassy, and your movements stiff and tired. Without saying a word, you got up and walked across the room towards your vanity.

Seungcheol stood at the door. He wasn’t sure if he should come in or back away. But after a beat, he forced his feet to move.

“Baby…” he started softly, his voice cracking a little. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know where to start. Everything he wanted to tell you felt too small compared to the hurt he saw on your face.

You didn’t respond.

He took a few more steps, watching as you sat down at the vanity and began removing your makeup. You moved like you were a robot as you dabbed at your eyes and wiped your cheeks. You didn’t even look at him. To you, he might as well have been invisible.

“I’m sorry,” he said, stopping behind you. His voice was quiet and careful. “I didn’t mean what I said. Really. I was just…”

But you still didn’t respond.

The wipes in your hand were tossed into the bin beside the vanity with a bit more force than necessary, but your face stayed calm. Not cold. Just blank. That was somehow worse. The silence was deafening, like it was screaming at him louder than any words you could have thrown.

He didn’t push, though. He just stood there and watched helplessly as you rose from the chair and brushed past him without a word towards the wardrobe. You pulled out a clean pair of pyjamas, underwear, and a towel. Then you turned and made your way towards the bathroom.

Seungcheol was left standing in the middle of your bedroom like a ghost. Like a man who broke something sacred and didn’t know how to fix it. He slumped onto the bed with elbows on his knees and head in his hands. His shoulders sagged and his chest felt tighter.

He played it back again. Every word. Every raised tone. Every look of disbelief and hurt on your face. And he hated himself even more for it.

All he could think about was how you didn’t yell. You didn’t throw anything. You didn’t argue. You just…shut down. That was how he knew it hit you harder than even he realised.

The sound of running water from the bathroom filled the room faintly. It was the only thing that broke the silence now. He sat there for what felt like forever, unsure if he should leave, or if he should knock and ask to come in.

But he knew you needed this time. Time to process. Time to breathe.

His heart ached.

He wanted to walk into that bathroom and pull you into his arms. He wanted to apologise properly. To kiss your forehead and promise he’d do better. That he’d never let his fears cloud the love he had for you again. But something told him words weren’t going to be enough. Not after the hurt he had caused.

╴╴╴╴╴

Seungcheol stayed sitting on the bed, waiting. The silence was too suffocating, and he rubbed his hands together as nerves ate away at him. He didn’t move from the edge of the bed since you closed the bathroom door behind you. Part of him still wanted to go ant knock, to beg for a second chance right there.

But he knew better. You needed space, and for once, he was going to respect that.

When the bathroom door finally creaked open, his head snapped in that direction.

You saw you walking out slowly in your fresh set of silk pyjamas. Your damp hair stuck softly to your shoulders as you gently dried it with a towel. Your face was calm, but still unreadable. There was no trace of any emotion. No glance in his direction nor any words.

It was like he wasn’t even there.

Seungcheol swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing heavier by the second. The atmosphere was thick and tense. He opened his mouth to speak, but before a single word could leave, you turned on the hair dryer. The loud whir filled the room, drowning him out completely and silencing any attempt at conversation before it even began.

He watched as you dried your hair. There was nothing rushed about you, yet everything about you screamed restraint. You were containing your anger, holding back your pain. He could see it, even if you refused to show it.

When the hair dryer finally shut off, the silence that followed was almost louder. You didn’t look at him. You simply walked past the bed, flicked off the lights, and climbed under the covers without a word. As the room dimmed, the shadows softened everything but the ache in his chest.

Seungcheol stood there in the dark for a moment, unsure if he should follow or give you space. But the need to be close to you and to feel your warmth pulled him forward.

He climbed into the bed behind you slowly and carefully. Your back was facing him and your body was curled slightly away. He hesitated for a moment as his heart pounded. Then, inch by inch, he scooted closer. Gently, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you towards him, like he’d done so many nights before.

But, it didn’t feel the same this time.

He pressed his face into the crook of your neck and breathed you in. You still smelled like the same shampoo he always teased you for hoarding in bulk. You still felt like home. But the stiffness in your body and the lack of response said everything he didn’t want to hear.

“Please baby,” he whispered into your ear. “I’m sorry.”

And he meant it. God, he meant it with every fiber of his being.

But you didn’t respond. Not with words. Not with a sigh. Not with a look.

Instead, your hand gently grabbed his wrist and nudged him away. You shifted forward, creating space between your bodies. He lay there, stunned, as his arm fell limply back to his side.

The cold hit him instantly. Not the air though, but the absence of you. The absence of your warmth and of your forgiveness. His heart dropped so far down, and so painfully, that he had to close his eyes to keep himself from falling apart.

To say his broke would be an understatement. It shattered into pieces. It hit the ground so hard, he swore he could hear the smash.

His eyes burned. He blinked to try to stop the tears before they could fall. But one slipped free. Then another.

Seungcheol didn’t cry often. He was strong and always the one to give you confidence during your doubts. But right now, he felt like sand slipping through fingers. Powerless to hold anything together.

He messed up. Bad. And he knew it.

He laid still. He was unsure if he should try again or stay silent. He stared at the ceiling in the dark, wondering how the hell he was going to fix this.

He’d apologise again in the morning. He’d make you your favourite breakfast. He’d give you space if that’s what you wanted, or hold you tighter if you let him. He just needed you to know that he never meant what he said. That no guy in the world could ever replace what you were to him. That his words were laced with panic and not reality.

He needed you to know that he was terrified of losing you, and in trying to keep you safe, he might have pushed you too far.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Sleep never came. Not for him.

Seungcheol listened to the rhythm of your breathing. He hoped that it would calm him. But it didn’t. It only reminded him how far he felt from you, even in the same bed.

He reached out once more, hesitatingly, and let his fingers hover inches from your back. Then he withdrew, letting his hand fall beside him again.

Tomorrow, he’d try again, and you hoped you would give him a chance.

▍8 MAY 2024

When Seungcheol woke up the next morning, he felt a slight chill immediately run through him. He shifted under the covers, and his body instinctively reached out across the bed to find you. But his hand landed on nothing but cold sheets. The side of the bed where you usually slept was empty.

Frowning, he pressed his palm against the mattress. It was cold — too cold. And he realised that you’d been up hours ago

Panic was slowly stirring in his gut. He rubbed his face tiredly, trying to get rid of the haze from his eyes as the soft sunlight bled in through the curtains. Maybe you were downstairs. Maybe you were just drinking tea or sitting in the living room. Maybe everything was fine. Maybe—

But the moment he sat up, he knew it wasn’t. The house was too quiet. Unnaturally so.

Normally, he’d hear you in the kitchen as you prepared breakfast for the two of you. And the smell. He could always smell the chamomile tea you made for him first thing, because you knew he needed it to start his day. You always made sure to have a cup ready for him. You’d have that soft, sleepy smile that made everything else in the world seem irrelevant.

Today, there was none of that.

There was no sound or smells. Not even the warmth of your presence.

Seungcheol’s heart was thudding uncomfortably in his chests as swung his legs over the bed. He sat there for a few seconds, hoping, praying that he’d hear something — anything — that would tell him you were still there.

But the silence was deafening.

With slightly trembling hands, he grabbed his phone off the nightstand. There were no messages from you, nor any missed calls. Just one new message from Sujin.

[SUJIN]:

You’re lucky I didn’t break your legs. How could you do that to her? She didn’t deserve any of it, Seungcheol. You better figure out how to fix this.

He stared at the message as the words burned into his brain. Sujin’s anger was expected. She was always protective of you, and sometimes even fiercely so.

He sent a quick message asking if you were with her, and patiently waited while biting onto his nails.

[SUJIN]:

Don’t worry about her, she’s safe.

Seungcheol let out a shaky breath of relief. While he was glad to know you were somewhere safe, it did nothing to calm the restlessness in his heart.

He sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall. His mind kept replaying everything from the night before — every word that came out of his mouth and every look on your face.

One of the reasons your relationship lasted so long and grew so strong was because of the deep understanding between you. You were always patient with each other. You were both always willing to listen and to step back when needed. You weren’t perfect, no couple was, but you respected each other enough to work through it all.

Arguments happened before, of course. Insignificant things, frustrations and disagreements. But never like this. Never so intense. Last night was different, because it felt like it reached somewhere much deeper than either of you ever touched before.

Seungcheol knew you weren’t someone who lashed out easily. You didn’t lose your temper or escalate fights. You were always thoughtful, even when you were hurt. You didn’t run from problems — you faced them with a calm strength that he always admired, even when he was too stubborn to show it.

In fact, to Seungcheol, you were always the more tolerant one between you both. You gave more grace. You forgave quicker and you loved harder. You were the one who always held the ship steady when the storms hit.

And that’s what made this morning so gut-wrenching.

For things to escalate so badly — for you to leave without a note or a word — that wasn’t you being dramatic. That was you protecting yourself. You were drawing a line he should have never forced you to draw.

The realisation twisted like a knife in his gut.

It wasn’t you being overly sensitive. It wasn’t you misunderstanding him. It was about him. His fear. His words. His failure to trust you when you deserved nothing less than unwavering belief.

The fight alone wasn’t the reason you left. You left because somewhere in the middle of his anger and unknown jealousy, he made you feel small. He made you feel in a way that questioned your loyalty. He hurt you badly.

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

There was no one else to blame but himself.

He couldn’t even lie to himself and say it was a misunderstanding. He crossed a line, and now he was standing on the wrong side of it with no way of knowing if he could bridge the gap.

Seungcheol leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. He knew it would take more than just showing up at the door with flowers. He knew it would take more than empty words thrown in a moment of panic.

It would take time. Especially patience.

And he would do whatever it took to earn his way back. Even if it meant starting from the ground up.

╴╴╴╴╴

Seungcheol spent the next four hours doing everything he could to distract himself. He scrubbed every surface of the house until his hands were sore. He picked up things that didn’t even need cleaning. He even reorganised drawers that were untouched for months. He did anything to keep himself moving, anything to keep his mind off from the deafening silence filling the space you both used to share so easily.

When there was nothing left to clean, he threw himself into work. He opened his laptop and started answering emails he would have normally ignored. But he couldn’t focus. His mind was elsewhere entirely.

He could have gone into the office. He could have pretended that it was a normal day. But he didn’t want to. He couldn’t. Because if he left the house, he’d miss the moment you came back.

That was when you’d come back.

Even as the hours dragged on, and hope started to thin like mist, he stayed. He stayed waiting. Regretting and hurting.

He checked his phone more times than he could count. He left you countless messages and calls in hopes that you would answer. And his heart jumped every time there was a vibration, only to be disappointed a second later. There were no answers from you. Only old notifications and an unread message from Sujin that was probably telling him to go fuck himself. Which was understandable.

But the silence from your end was killing him.

Just when he thought another second of waiting would crush him completely, he heard a soft click of the front door opening.

He nearly dropped the laptop off his lap in his scramble to stand up. He made his way quickly towards the hallway, nearly tripping over himself in the process.

And there you were.

You were bent over as you quietly slipped off your shoes. You were still in your pyjamas from the night before, with an oversized black jacket thrown over them.

You looked small and fragile. Exhausted.

He felt his heart twist painfully.

Your hair was slightly messy, and your face — God, your face — was red and puffy. It was obvious you hadn’t stopped crying, not for long anyway. You sniffed softly, blinking away fresh tears as you shoved your shoes aside without even sparing him a glance.

Seungcheol felt something inside him break.

“Baby,” he called out softly, voice cracking slightly as he took a cautious step forward.

But you didn’t respond. Not even paused. You just walked right past him.

He turned and followed you to the living room, helpless and desperate.

You shrugged off your jacket and placed it on the arm of the sofa, while your back was still facing him. You still didn’t look at him. You didn’t say a single word.

Seungcheol felt his chest tighten painfully, and his throat growing thick.

“Baby, please,” he choked out as he stepped closer.

Still, you said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, almost too quietly.

The words felt inadequate. They were empty compared to the hurt he caused. But he needed you to hear them. He needed you to know that he was willing to say it as many times as you needed. That he would spend the rest of his life making up for what he said.

“I know it’s not enough,” he continued, struggling to find his voice, “for the amount of hurt I’ve caused you by my words, but…” he trailed off, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.

“I’m truly sorry,” he finally said.

You still didn’t turn around.

“I don’t know what came over me,” he said. The words were tumbling out now, more urgent and desperate.

“But I should have never said what I said. Never made you think I didn’t trust you. Fuck,” his voice cracked, fighting the tears he refused to let fall.

“Baby, I didn’t mean any of it. I really didn’t,” he cried.

He took another hesitant step closer. And he watched your shoulders tense, and how still you were, like you were holding yourself together by a thread.

He wanted to reach out and touch your hand. He wanted to wrap you up in his arms and promise he’d never let anything like this happen again.

But he was terrified. He was terrified that if he pushed too hard, you’d pull even farther away.

“I was scared,” he admitted, his voice shaking.

“That’s not an excuse. It’s not. I let fear get to me. I let it make me doubt the person I trust more than anyone else in the world. And I hurt you. I hurt you when I should have been the one protecting you.”

Still nothing. The silence stretched uncomfortably, and deafeningly, long between you.

Seungcheol stood there feeling utterly helpless as his heart beat so painfully he thought it might break apart completely.

He wished he could rewind time. He wished he could take back every stupid and reckless word that came out of his mouth. But he couldn’t. All he could do was stand there, hurting and hoping that you would give him even a sliver of a chance to make things right.

He dropped his head, and his arms hung uselessly at his sides.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me right now,” he said.

“Maybe not even tomorrow. Or the day after that. But I’ll be here. I’ll wait. However long it takes. I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right.”

A tear finally escaped, trailing down his cheek. But he didn’t bother wiping it away.

“I’m not giving up on us,” he said, voice cracking again. “I would never.”

For a moment, nothing happened. You didn’t move, nor speak.

Seungcheol felt like he was suffocating. The longer you stayed silent, the tighter the air felt in his lungs. The fact that you wouldn’t even look at him shattered him more.

You didn’t have to scream. You didn’t have to say a single word. Your silence was already deafening enough that it echoed louder than any insult or accusation he had ever faced.

He stood there for a moment, watching you. He could feel the distance between you. You were right there in front of him, but you felt so far away.

And that was unbearable.

So he stepped forward, cautiously. He reached out, almost hesitantly, and wrapped his arms gently around your waist from behind. You didn’t resist. You didn’t lean into him either. But you didn’t pull away. And to Seuncheol, it was the tiniest mercy he clung to it like a lifeline.

He pulled you in slowly, pressing your back against his chest. He hoped that the warmth of his touch could speak where his words failed. He leaned down and buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling a shaky breath.

Then, he started to sob. Quietly at first as his shoulders shuddered.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice raw and thin. It was all he could manage at first.

“I’m so fucking sorry baby.” The words tumbled out again more desperately.

Seuncheol didn’t care if he sounded pathetic. He didn’t care that he was crying or pleading. All he cared about was the wall between you — the silence. If falling to pieces at your feet meant you’d speak to him again, he’d do it a thousand times.

“Scream at me,” he begged softly, his breath hitching. “Curse me. Heck, hit me. Just…please, say something baby. Anything.”

Still, you didn’t speak.

But then he felt the slightest shift in your body.

Your shoulders relaxed ever so slightly under his touch, and your head tilted just enough for him to feel your cheek brush lightly against his. You weren’t rigid anymore and you weren’t fighting his presence.

“Say something baby, please. Anything. I want to hear you,” Seungcheol pleaded with a shaky voice, tightening his arms around you. He could feel his heart pounding erratically against your back.

But you didn’t answer. You stayed still and silent. And the air felt too thick to breathe. He rested his forehead against your shoulder, eyes shut tightly as he tried to keep it together. His grip wasn’t forceful, but there was urgency in it.

A long minute passed in the choking silence. Then, just when he thought it would stretch on forever, he heard a soft whimper.

Seungcheol stiffened, and his heart began staggering. He slowly lifted his head, and listened.

Another whimper followed, then a sharp, broken breath. And then — sobs. Real, raw, heart-wrenching sobs.

You broke down in his arms.

Seungcheol froze, and soon panic began to swallow him.

“No, no, no…” he whispered as he quickly turned you around to face him.

“Hey— hey, baby” his hands moved to your face, cupping it gently. “Look at me, please.”

Your cheeks were damp and flushed, and your eyes swollen and red. And the moment he saw you like that, something inside him shattered. He never saw you cry like this. Not even during your worst arguments, not even during your lowest moments.

“Please don’t cry,” he whispered as his thumbs brushed under your eyes to catch the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “Please. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, my love.”

His voice cracked mid-sentence, and his throat burned as if the words were scraping against the regret lodged there. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he mumbled as his breathing ragged, and his forehead gently pressed against yours now.

But you only cried harder.

Your body folded forward, and your forehead pressed into his chest as your sobs muffled against his shirt. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, holding you like you were something fragile.

“I didn’t mean any of it,” he whispered again. “I didn’t mean any of it, I swear.”

He said it in a way to not just reassure you, but as if repeating it could somehow undo it. As if it could take back the words he let slip when he lost control.

You didn’t respond. But your fists clutched at the fabric of his shirt as you held him just tight enough for him to know that you weren’t pushing him away. Not entirely.

And that was enough for him to completely fall apart.

He stood there as he rocked you gently. Tears were spilling from his own eyes as your cries rang within the quiet house. He didn’t care that he was crying. He didn’t care about anything but you.

He’d never felt so powerless in his life.

“I thought I was losing you,” he confessed quietly.

“Last night…I panicked. When I saw that you weren’t picking up my calls or answering my texts, and then seeing you get out of someone else’s car…I lost it. And instead of asking if you were okay, I accused you. I doubted you. I hurt you.”

You hiccuped through your sobs, still clutching his shirt. You hadn’t spoken yet, but your pain said everything.

“I’ve never regretted anything more than that moment,” he said, voice breaking.

“I should’ve trusted you. I do trust you. I just didn’t trust myself to be enough. And I let that insecurity punish you instead.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, even though your eyes were still closed and streaming with tears. “You didn’t deserve that. You never have. You’ve always been the one who held us together. And I— I let my worst fear make me the one who tore us apart.”

You finally let out a shaky breath, not quite a word, but enough to make him freeze.

His hand trembled as hebrushed your hair back gently. “Please talk to me,” he whispered.

“I know I don’t deserve it right now, but…I just need to know if there’s even a piece of you that still wants to fight for us.”

He would understand if you didn’t. He’d hate it, and it would destroy him. But he’d understand.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, and for the first time since you walked through the door, your eyes met his. The look you gave him wasn’t angry. It was exhausted. Shattered and deeply sad.

It broke him all over again.

“I was scared too,” you finally said, your voice hoarse.

“I never thought we’d come to such a point. And I was scared that the person I trusted the most didn’t believe in me. That…you saw me the way strangers might. Like I could just…be thrown away.”

“No,” Seungcheol said quickly, shaking his head.

“Never. I don’t see you that way. I never have, and I never will. It’s all my fault for being so insecure when there was no reason to be.”

“You really hurt me,” you said in a whisper as more tears welled up in your eyes.

“I know,” he replied softly, forehead pressing against yours again.

“And I will spend as long as it takes proving to you that I’ll never let it happen again.”

╴╴╴╴╴

The two of you were cuddled up together on the sofa. You were wrapped up in each other with your bodies entangled in a way that words couldn’t describe properly. Because for the first time in what felt like forever, the quiet between you was simply peaceful.

You talked softly. It was obvious how tired you were with how your voice was low, but it was still full of honesty. The rawness of the last twenty-four hours still lingered, but neither of you ran from it.

You repeated how scared you were and how betrayed you felt, and Seungcheol listened to you without interrupting. His apologies kept streaming, and not just verbally but through his tears and trembling touches. Especially in the way he held you like you — like you were the most precious thing in the world.

Eventually, your words began to slow down. You started to speak less and less, and your sentences trailed off as your head rested more fully on his chest. He could feel your breath even out before your body slowly went limp.

You fell asleep on him mid-thought.

Seungcheol looked down at you and just…smiled. Not because he was relieved, nor because the hurt disappeared, but because you were here — in his arms. You trusted him enough to let your guard down again, even if it was only for a moment.

It meant a lot to him. More than anything.

He brushed his fingers gently across your cheek, and tucked a stray hair behind your ear. You shifted slightly in your sleep, your face scrunching just a bit before relaxing again. He chuckled under his breath and continued to trace your jawline with the back of his knuckles.

You were exhausted. He knew that.

Everything that went down last night drained you. You didn’t sleep properly, didn’t eat much either, and your body was finally demanding what your heart didn’t let it take: rest.

Carefully, Seungcheol slid out from beneath you, trying his best not to jostle you awake. You stirred just a little as your hand weakly clutched the hem of his shirt.

“It’s okay love. I’m right here,��� he softly whispered, and you relaxed again before letting him go.

He stood up and stretched his back slightly, before he turned his gaze down to you. You looked so small curled up on the sofa like that.

Without another second of hesitation, he leaned down and gently scooped you up into his arms.

Your head fell against his shoulder as he lifted you. You didn’t stir much either. Seungcheol just let out a quiet sigh as he adjusted his grip and carried you towards the bedroom. He made sure that his footsteps were soft so you wouldn’t wake up.

When he reached the bedroom, he gently nudged the door open with his foot and walked over to the bed. He then placed you down slowly. His hands lingered at your sides for a second longer before he grabbed the blanket and pulled it over you, tucking it around your frame.

It was only three in the afternoon, but the sunlight peeking through the window gave everything a golden hue. He stood there for a moment, and just watched you breathe. You looked peaceful again. Not fully at ease, nor healed — but calm. And that was enough, for now.

You badly needed the rest.

And if he had anything to do with it, he’d make sure you had all the time in the world to feel like you had nothing to worry about.

Seungcheol sat on the edge of the bed, and his eyes never left your face. He reached out and brushed his fingers along your forehead, gently moving the strands of hair that had fallen across your features.

You always looked beautiful to him, but in this moment, you looked ethereal. Vulnerable, yes. But resilient too.

He leaned down slowly and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. It was a promise that he would do better. Be better.

“I love you so much,” he whispered.

He stayed beside you for a while, just watching. He sat listening to the way your breath slowed even more as you fell into a deeper slumber. The lines of tension in your face smoothed out and your lips parted slightly, while your hands loosened beneath the blanket.

Seungcheol didn’t want to leave your side, but he didn’t want to disturb you either. So after a long minute, he stood up quietly and took one last look at you before backing towards the door.

Before leaving, he turned back around, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.

He loved you so much it hurt sometimes. But for the first time since yesterday, he felt like maybe there was still something worth rebuilding. And he was going to fight like hell to rebuild it. Brick by brick.

a/n; please like and reblog 🫶🏽

[chrattho1]

matt sturniolo drabble

thirst

warnings: oral (f. receiving), squirting, established relationship

your sweaty palms grip his hair, and his head between your quivering thighs while he’s on a mission to make you cum for the third time with his tongue.

matt mumbles something against your sensitive and overstimulated clit, “fuck-matt!” pleasure fogging your senses as you whimper and squirm under him. your hands switch between pulling his hair and scratching his back, he doesn’t even flinch let alone look up, determination and adrenaline lace his veins and his tongue.

he licks and sucks on your clit rapidly making you moan loudly, a series of curse words fall from your lips. the entire lower half of his face at work. his nose teasing all the right places as he moves his face along your pussy.

“matt—m-matt—” your chest heaved through your words, matt moaned against you when he heard you screaming and moaning his name. that only making him move faster.

“fuck- ma,do you know how good you taste?” he looks up for approximately two seconds before going back down, his eyes laying low, his voice husky and his words breathy, his lips never looked so plump—glistening with your fluids. the sight of his face makes you groan and arch your back, pushing your hips into it even more.

his lips mould around your entrance, sucking and pushing his tongue in, making it swirl around your walls.

“baby-i-im gon’-FUCK!” your eyes shut and eyebrows tied, your body shuddering, nails digging into his shoulders.

your back arches high and you cum, this time spraying all over his face, matt is taken aback but soon comes to his senses sucking and licking through your orgasm, like his thirst for you might never end.

you scream and whimper, squirting into his mouth and onto his face. your legs shaking and hips bucking, pleasure never felt so pleasurable before. your screams die down with your orgasm and matt eventually slumps and lays his damp face down on your core, pants and heavy breathing fill the room.

his hands lay on your thighs softly as he catches a breath, stroking his thumb on your skin.

“that was the best thing i have ever experienced.” matt’s breath hits your skin as he spoke, making your spine shiver.

taglist: @espressqe @ginswife @sturnsburna @carolina454 @hope2244 @hotgirlbl0gger @violetstxrniolo777 @riggysworld @verycoolmiyah @fadedstvrn @purpledreamertyphoon @mattsplaything @whore4chris @chris-halleluja @annsx03 @mattsdemi @chrislittleslut @poolover123 @luvvnai @chrissturniolossidehoe @pompomprrin @harmonysturniolo @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @soph-loren @ccsturns @lovesturni0l0s @chriss-slutt @wysmols @sturniolosluttt @mattsdillion @alyssa-sturn @bilssturns @sturnobessed @mxnsonn @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosymphony @chrissturnioloswife88 @sxphiee3 @purpledreamertyphoon @whoreforchrissturnniolo @slutformatt17 @realuvrrr @sweetxcheeryx @sturnl0ve @estellesdoll @glitterybtch @courta13 @mattsbitchh @slvtf0rchr1s @trevorsgodmother

[readwritealldayallnight]

FINAL Part of the Wife at First Sight series (18+ MDNI)

Happy New Years Eve!!! I cannot believe we’ve made it to the end! Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think my random lil drabble would be so loved and would eventually grow into this

Thank you for all the love and support and especially for your patience in between uploads! Hope this last part doesn’t disappoint!!

Between the adrenaline coursing through your veins and the defeaning sound of blood pumping in your ears combined with the whimpers escaping your open mouth, you fail to hear just how lighthearted Simon’s chuckle is from between your thighs

He can’t get enough of you like this, his girl, his sweetheart, his love, his wife, all desperate and needy for him, and yet he’s barely touched you

At least not properly anyway

Much to your current dismay

Finding the rec room empty at this late night hour, the two of you huddled up on what you so kindly reminded him was a shared couch, he’s taking the opportunity alone to tease the absolute shit out of you

What had started as an arm slung casually over your shoulder, turned into his other hand absentmindedly tracing patterns on your knee, which led to his large, warm palm slowly stroking up and down your thigh, reaching higher and higher each time until he was slipping his fingers beneath the skirt of your dress, digits barely skimming the edge of your underwear beneath

His eyes are fixated on your face the entire time, drinking in each and every expression you make for him, wishing he could forever remember the way you look as you try not to give in entirely to the pleasure he’s bringing you

It was a losing battle to begin with, but when Simon’s fingers cease rubbing against the increasingly damp spot in your panties, and instead pull the sticky fabric aside just as your man slides off the couch and lands on his knees in between your thighs, you give up the fight for decency entirely

He absolutely revels in the gasp that leaves your lips as his broad shoulders push against your thighs, demanding their rightful place between your legs, his eyes still locked on yours as his face moves closer and closer to your hot center

“Simon,” You don’t mean for your words to sound so much like a plea as they pass your lips, but Simon and his skilled hands have you brain all foggy. “We don- we don’t have ti- time. They’re suppo- supposed to be coming so-”

Your words are lost and forgotten as he tugs his balaclava up just high enough to plant a chaste kiss to your soaked folds. Your fingers quickly tug the mask the rest of the way off his head, feeling the smirk on his face when you snake your fingers through his messy locks.

“You’re the only one I want comin’ right now, love.” He murmurs against your inner thigh, planting small kisses against the sensitive skin, chuckling softly when he feels your fingers gently tugging him back towards where you want him most

He widens his tongue to run through your dripping folds, tasting your lust for him straight from the source. You can’t help the moan that leaves you any more than you can control the way your legs instinctually widen further for him, your body relaxing deeper into the couch cushions as Simon sets to work on you, his own groan of satisfaction vibrating through you

“Si, oh my god, Simon.” His name is the only thing your brain can comprehend as his mouth skillfully brings you closer and closer to that tantalizing edge, that falling off a cliff feeling where you know Simon is waiting at the bottom to catch you, if only to bring you right back to the peak again

His lips are wrapped around your sensitive, throbbing nub, causing you to nearly see stars behind your eyelids as one of his hands lets go of their strong grip on your thigh, bringing it instead to gently circle a large finger at your sopping entrance before he sinks it in entirely, evoking yet another beautiful moan from above him

His attention on you is wholly undivided, his dedication to your pleasure unmatched as he works you up higher, especially after all that teasing he put you through earlier, you both know your climax is rapidly approaching, and his impressive stamina means he is nowhere near stopping his efforts

You can feel him teasing a second finger at your hole, but it’s just as he slips it in with the first one, combined with a skilled sucking at your clit from his mouth, that you quickly stumble over that edge, temporarily blinded by the feeling of ecstasy he gives you, his ministrations never slowing as he prolongs your climax

It’s not until the ringing in your ears begins to fade and you come back down to earth, that you slowly push his head away from you, hearing another kind of ringing echoing through the room

“Si, your phone.” You murmur between panting breaths, still absentmindedly running your fingers through his hair, feeling the slight sweat breaking out along his scalp

“What if I wan’ another one out o’ you, huh?” He asks, planting a kiss to your knee, though his hand is already reaching towards his back pocket.

“What if I want to marry you, huh?” You quip back, knowing who’s likely on the phone, raising a playful brow in his direction paired with a teasing smile which he gladly returns.

“Yes?” Simon asks, putting the phone to his ear put keeping his eyes on you as you attempt to put yourself back together, straightening out your skirt and fixing your hair, hoping it wasn’t too obvious you just got devoured by a Lieutenant on the common room couch

“Well if you two lovebirds dinnae mind, some o’ us would like to get this show started!” You can hear the strong accented voice say through the line, giggling softly as Simon rolls his eyes at the Sergeant.

“Captain’s arrived?” He questions as he finally stands up, extending a hand to you to help you up as well. “Alrigh’ Johnny, we’ll meet you at the spot.” Barely waiting for a reply, Simon is sliding the phone back in his pocket and giving his attention back to you, promises of finishing this later and reciting vows between your thighs dying on his tongue when he sees the sparkle in your eye at hearing him mention the spot.

Before he had ever officially proposed, he knew where he wanted it to happen, and when you had mentioned you weren’t too particular about location, he’d suggested his idea, elated when he saw your grin and knew you agreed

He wanted to marry you, to make you his wife and to become your husband, in the very spot you first met

That very same hallway on base where you’d nearly run into him and unknowingly started a fire in his heart that has yet to go out, the flame growing bigger and brighter each day

That very same spot, which to anyone else appears to be like any other hallway on the base, but to Simon it represents so much more

It’s the spot where his eyes landed on you for the first time and he knew his life would never be the same, where he watched you smile at him and came to terms with the fact that he would never know peace again until he knew your name

And now, he holds your hand in his, walking together towards that same spot, now with the intention of changing your last name

There wasn’t much either of you needed as far as a wedding goes, you weren’t keen on having anything extravagant or grand, as long as it ended in you both being married, you’d be overjoyed to simply go to the courthouse

Each of you had only one request, you wanted to wear a simple white dress, which Simon had happily bought for you without allowing you to see the price tag, and Simon wanted the Captain to officiate the ceremony

While Price had been more than pleased to be asked something so special, he hadn’t been quite as keen on receiving a call on his personal cell from his Lieutenant during his holidays, asking (if not downright pleading with him-) if he could return sooner rather than later to marry them, only half joking that they really would just run away to a courthouse if he wasn’t back by the end of the year

Which is where you find yourselves now, on a practically empty military base during the end of the holiday season, most everyone gone to celebrate with their families and loved ones, meanwhile your handful of loved ones have gathered here, the very closest location and soonest time the Captain could return to make this all official, with only a few minutes until midnight on none other than New Years Eve

As you turn the corner together, a faint blush spreads through your cheeks at Johnny’s low whistle and Kyle’s cheering. Even John’s sporting an enthusiastic grin on his visage, arms crossed across his chest as they watch the couple approach

It feels nearly too good to be true, nothing short of a dream come true, as you turn to face Simon, your soft, smaller hands held steadily in his larger, calloused ones, eyes locked on the other as they speak all the love you hold for each other than no word in any language could ever properly express

Having seen their stoic Lieutenant fall head over heels for you from the very get go, the lads feel downright honoured to be here, witnessing the start of your new lives together, the moment where Simon officially makes you his wife after all

No one present can deny that it is truly something out of a fairytale, when both vows are said, love is expressed and devotion is promised, Price is able to officially declare you married as husband and wife, and when your lips come crashing together in your first kiss as a married couple, it happens to be right when the clock strikes midnight, and fireworks erupt in a blaze of glory and passion outside

Because in the end, as complicated as the journey (or downright painfully obvious some might say but ya know-) to get to this point in your relationship might have been, the love between you both could not be simpler

He had loved you from the very moment you walked into his life, from the moment your eyes glanced up and instantly met his, from the moment you opened your mouth and he heard the voice he knew he would do anything to continue hearing for the remainder of his days

While you yourself had been immediately enamoured with the tall man who first introduced himself as your husband, believing his advances to be a playful joke everyone but you was in on, you couldn’t help the way your heart fell for him faster than you could wrap your head around, showered in his unapologetic affections and undivided attention from the very start

But as soon as Simon took that leap of faith, opening himself up and being truthfully vulnerable with you, he couldn’t understand what he’d been waiting all this time for

Not when he now knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that was the luckiest man on this earth, to be able to love you and somehow, you loved him too

Not when he was able to knock down that final barrier, to literally rip the mask off and just be him, a feeling he still could hardly explain

How does he put into words the fact that he feels more human, more whole, more him, just from being near you?

He’s never had this before, never experienced something this profound and earth shattering, both terrifying and exhilarating. Does everyone feel this way? Is everyone who claims to be in love also going through the motions of having their heart willingly ripped out of their chest and put into the hands of another, just to have it gently put back in better than it was before?

No, he doesn’t believe everyone feels this

This love, is only between the two of you, for the two of you

He knows there can’t be anyone else out there who has it this good

Especially when considering, Simon is the only one who gets to call you his wife

And just like that folks, Wife at First Sight is wrapped up!!!

I really hope it doesn’t disappoint anyone, and leaves everyone feeling as happy as all your kind comments on this story have made me!

I seriously never anticipated for this story to become a series, let alone for it to have received as much love as it has, so again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for all the love, the comments, the patience, everything!

I would absolutely be down to write more about these two, especially if you have any prompts or ideas to suggest, but we’re going to call this the end of the official series, anything else that might come will be nice little add ons

- M🫶🏻

[eureka-its-zico]

Residuals Pt. 4

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: You and Robby spent seven long years together until the day it ended. You’ve done your best to create space; to become invisible. You can’t miss what you don’t see. Unfortunately, the universe (Gloria and the Board of Directors) seemed to have missed the memo.

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, slight age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

A/N: First, I read an article on burns to try and make this as accurate as possible, (article here by the NIH) but it’s still not terribly accurate. So, please, I tried lol. Secondly, I’m still screaming at the amount of love you guys have shown this series. Truly, I appreciate it more than y’all know. Thirdly, enter in a little extra dash of drama by Gloria (who redeemed herself in ep.12 but we ain’t there yet) and ya girl is just having a rough-ass day. Fourthly, yeah…she’s a thick chapter. Hopefully, it's still good because I’ve edited it as much as I can. As always, I hope you all enjoy. Thank you for the support and for being here. Much Love, Jenn

Warnings: Mentions of death, language

Words: 10k +

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Whitaker proved to be an adept student. He followed directions well and answered whatever questions you threw his way about proper wound care at home and possible infection risks around the burned areas. When you’d finished with the first patient, you ensured he knew to return to the emergency room immediately if they experienced any new or persistent discomfort, like pain or tenderness in the area, increased warmth, discoloration, or advanced swelling. 

“If the infection is invasive and takes hold of the wound, what is the main course of treatment, Dr. Whitaker?”

“We would contact surgery.”

“Correct. Why?” 

“The need for surgery would be based on the high concentration of the bacteria levels found present in the wound.”

“We’d check for signs of possible sepsis and a full check-up to narrow down if it's gram-negative or positive bacteria, which tells us further about our treatment plan. What is the chief cause of burn wound infections?”

“Staphylococcus Aureus - MRSA.”

“How would we verify the patient had MRSA or any other type of possible bacterial infection?” 

“By taking a sample from the area for testing -“

“You guys aren’t about to cut me up or anything, are you?”  

The sudden input from the patient caused a nervous tick from Whitaker. It halted his hands from finishing the last few loops around with the gauze. The patients' eyes darted nervously from you to Whitaker and back again. You gave your best reassuring smile while making sure the dressing was secured on his chest and shoulder.

“Well, Kyle, the faster we get you out of here, you take the antibiotics I prescribe you, and make sure you keep your burns dressed and away from exposure to possible germs, then no. We won’t be ‘cutting you up’ today.”

“Okay. Cool. Because that sounds really uncool.”

Dilaudid truly did wonders for conversations. You’d have to make sure the discharge papers were clear on his care and warning signs to look out for. Plus, add extra emphasis on trying to make sure not to share any items in the frat house bathroom. 

In truth, it wasn’t him, but his fellow frat boy neighbor in four that had you worried. So far, he showed no obvious signs of infection, but once the adrenaline of the moment wore off he noticeably seemed to slip into shock at having half his face, eyelashes, and eyebrow singed off. Not enough shock, however, to keep from asking if he’d make a handsome Harvey Dent for Halloween. 

The burns to his neck and chest indicate to you he was closer to the fire pit than his buddy Whitaker currently patched up. You’d ordered blood work, x-rays, and a culture swab on two-face and his friend just to rule out any surprises. 

You did your full assessment, asked questions, and directed Whitaker the best you could. You wanted to be the good mentor like Adamson and Singh had been for you. A good mentor like Robby was too. You would never admit it out loud but a small piece of you wanted Robby to see how capable you were. A silent bid to prove he could trust you with his interns and medical students. Between Robby, Abbot, and the previous attendings you knew you could teach. 

It wasn’t a hidden thing that you’d both meet here during your residency. Yes, it was Adamson’s circus, but Robby thrived under Adamson’s direction and the insanity the Pitt offered. He was funny, charismatic, incredibly smart, and showed a level of empathy that bordered on worrisome at times. A tidal wave of grief encapsulated him and carried him under if he wasn’t careful. Robby was exactly the physician any patient should want taking care of them when they arrived in the ED. 

And hell, you weren’t blind. Anyone with eyes could see that Robby was handsome. Painstakingly, stupidly, egregiously, fucking handsome. It was fucking criminal. 

Robby taught you so much in the time you’d spent here and you knew he probably still could but that would mean being around him. The two of you standing closer than you’d been in years was proving to be a dangerous thing. He’d fallen back into the habit of stealing touches and you’d fallen back into the habit of shamelessly teasing him with things he’d usually make you pay for later trapped between his body and whatever surface in your house.

It was a dangerous game neither of you realized you were playing, and both of you were losing fast. Instead of having your focus one hundred percent on the patients and being back in the ED for the first time in years, your focus repeatedly returned where it shouldn’t. At first, you could lie to yourself and say you were simply scanning the hallways and nursing stations to make sure you didn’t see him. Of course, that’s what you wanted to believe; to coast through this shift without any additional emotional trauma following you home. 

It was fucking impossible.

You could continue to lie to yourself all you wanted, but the truth was blatantly clear. Your eyes didn’t comb over the hallways and desks in hopes of not finding him. You didn’t quickly peer into rooms in anticipation that he wouldn’t be in one. You wanted to see him just as much as you denied that you didn’t. 

The day you left, you made sure to do it while Robby was working because you knew, that if he’d been home and asked you to stay, you would’ve. And if he didn’t fight for you - never uttered a singular word of pleading to keep you from leaving, you weren’t sure you could survive it. 

So now you found yourself hopelessly looking for him in all the places you swore you’d never go again. You may have chosen to leave, but it never meant you stopped loving him. The fact you were still in love with him made seeing the lost look in his eyes sting harder. You watched as he spoke to the parents of the kid who overdosed with no possible hope of waking up again, and you wanted to go to him. It was the shattering look of grief that made you forget how to move. Robby knew what was coming better than anyone else did. 

How many times was Robby the one in charge of giving the heartbreaking news that loved ones weren’t coming home? Shouldering the burden of listening to the breakdown of their world and being the pillar of strength and comfort while families struggled to rearrange? 

You hadn’t realized the black hole of anxiety was leading you down a rabbit hole until the sound of Whitaker calling out, “Dr. Fullerton,” at your side left you practically jumping out of your skin. 

Shit. How long had you been zoned out? Hopefully, you hadn’t said anything weird. Or incriminating.

“Sorry,” he swiftly followed up. “I was trying to ask where we were off to next, but, uh, you seemed a little…preoccupied.”

“Oh, yeah, no sorry. You can go back to the red zone. I’m just going to help McKay up in triage.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No, not at all. You’ll have more of a chance to learn with Langdon and Collins.” What you actually meant was to see more if that was what he was into. “Also, maybe check on your last patient I pulled you away from earlier.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” You watched him take your advice and, in real time, get ready to dispute it. “Why am I checking back in with Mr. Milton?”

What should you tell him? In the Pitt, it was easy to be thrown from one patient to the next - forgetting their faces and names as the minutes blurred into hours. Easy to forget they were waiting on test results that needed to be read by you and needed a treatment plan discussed and planned by you. Major issues could present as something small, something easily missable until further testing exposed the truth of the situation. If you went just the smallest amount of time without checking the results, without popping your head in for a visual, well, it wasn’t hard to imagine how sometimes those major issues finally presented themselves and everything got much, much worse. 

“Look, Whitaker. As much as the powers constantly stress about getting people in and out quickly like this is a drive-thru, we have an obligation to each patient to give them the best care we can. It means staying on top of orders and checking in regularly. Trust me, Whitaker, things can change quickly down here.”

“Okay, yeah. That makes perfect sense. Thanks, Dr. Fullerton.”

“You bet. See you around, Whitaker.”

He gave you an awkward wave and didn’t move right away. It wasn’t until you turned away from him that you heard him shuffle on his feet. A part of you was curious if you glanced behind you he’d still be standing there, deciding where to go.   

All that mattered to you was that you currently needed a new patient. It didn’t matter what the chief complaint was. Ideally, for the all-seeing eye of admin, quick and easy ones would look better. At this rate, you were positive your Press Ganey score was dipping. You were seeing patients at the speed of an R3; two patients per hour and they were after fast and loose results. But you wanted something with the capability to keep you occupied for hours. Preferably something that would require so much of your attention it would force you out of your head. 

Yeah, that would be good. It was too damn early still to be spiraling into a midlife crisis just because you had to work with your ex. An ex, you realized, who was wearing the damn navy blue hoodie you’d bought him on his last fishing trip to Canonsburg. 

No. No. Nope. You weren’t supposed to be thinking about him or stupid hoodies or the gold chain of his necklace that used to drag over your collarbone. How your fingers curled around the thin chain, using it like a lead, to bring him down on top of you on the couch. Absolutely not - you were at work and he was your ex. He was your ex and you shouldn’t fucking care how you could still tell after all these months he was sleeping like shit. 

You were almost back to Dana’s station, the monitor looming overhead like a beacon to salvation when you noticed Whitaker walking in tandem beside you. You cocked a brow in question that Whitaker rushed to answer. 

“The board is this way, so…”

Right. You knew that. 

“I was trying to talk to you but I think you were in deep thought or something. Again.”

Or something. God. That was twice. Twice your head was everywhere else but where it needed to be, which was at work. You should’ve fought harder when Gloria came to reassign you, but none of this should’ve mattered. 

You were a damn good doctor. You’d trained under the best, learned from the best, and kept progressively learning and didn’t stop. You spent years of your life on this because helping people was your passion. It shouldn’t matter where you were placed if you were down here to help for days, months, or years. 

Yet, in the matter of an hour, your mind waded into memories that were better off left for dead with your eyes searching for someone you shouldn’t. 

You didn’t know how to answer him. “Sorry, I should remember where everything is but find myself stuck daydreaming about the past and looking for signs where I shouldn’t and sexually fantasizing about your attending”, didn’t seem appropriate to tell a med student. So, you ended with a weak, “Sorry about that,” which passed for understanding. It made you feel like an ass, but you didn’t trust yourself to speak. 

You came to a stop just a few feet from Dana’s desk. Her back turned to you as she went through folders preparing patient's charts for transfer upstairs. Her eyes shifted up at the board and over to a newer resident you hadn’t met yet. 

Her gaze was fixed on the monitor; eyes scanning rapidly down the chart as if there was a code that needed cracking. You knew that look. It was a shared one you’d no doubt mirrored only an hour ago. 

“What do you need, Fullerton?”

Your head swiveled back to Dana and found her now facing you, her glasses removed, and waiting for your answer. 

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Are you kidding?” The question fell out of her in a chuckle. “You’re the only one I know who goes around taping on every damn surface when they’re thinking. You act like my five-year-old grandson, just less noisy. Barely.”

“That’s offensive,” you pointed out. 

“For who? You or my grandson.”

You felt the first crack in your defenses tug at the corners of your mouth. If you weren’t careful, Dana’s whip-smart comments were going to make you fold back into a routine you hadn’t been a part of in a while. It wasn’t just you who was slipping at this point, and you clocked the moment Dana began to realize it too. 

She was supposed to be upset with you - grumpy, mean remarks only. You were supposed to take them and dish them back so you could comfortably stay in your bubbles of denial and anger. The denial of what, exactly, was achingly easy to see. 

You both missed each other. More than either of you were willing to admit. 

Your reply sat cocked and loaded on your tongue when you remembered what transpired half an hour before. As much as you missed one another, you had to be careful with what you shared around her. It was obvious, whatever the ‘It’ may be, Robby would magically seem to find out. 

“Any quick ones up here? It’s only 8:30, and Robby’s already on my case for being too slow. I can usually at least make it to lunch before he starts hounding me.” 

Your attention swiveled back towards the resident. Her gaze fixed on the board before glancing between Dana and you. Hopefully, her question wasn’t meant for you to answer. You weren’t very good at picking off the board either. 

“Cut him a little slack today, ok? It’s the anniversary of Dr. Adamson’s death.”

Of course, Dana would cover for him. Intercept all incoming rapports of Robby being prickly and sometimes downright mean to bury them under the rug of understanding. 

Yes, it was the anniversary of Adamson’s death. It always would be. Grief wasn’t easy. It was messy and unrelenting in the moments it chose for sights, smells, and touch to materialize memories that recalled moments you wouldn’t get the chance to share with them again. A constant reminder of all that we lost. Time didn’t seal up that cavern their loss created; it just became more manageable over time. 

Robby never coped. Never allowed himself to grieve, heal, and thrive in the good memories he did have. The doubts and guilt haunted him every day in every step, every decision, he made. He housed it inside him like a ghoul in a cemetery feasting on the remains of who he was before Adamson’s death - before the pandemic. 

“That’s sad. But it’s still no reason to take it out on me. I’m just saying.”

You liked her. She got it. You wanted to properly introduce yourself. By the look on Dana’s face, you need to do it quickly before she breaks out into a lecture. Luck wasn’t on your side because Whitaker beat you to the punch. 

You didn’t want to eavesdrop on their conversation but you also didn’t want to go back to having a conversation with Dana, either. It left you the only option of staring back up at the beloved board. You’d just decided on 7 North when Dr. Collins walked by, her hands digging in the glovebox on the wall to retrieve a pair. Her eyes were on Whitaker and yours were on her. 

It wasn’t a secret that Robby and Heather had dated. Well, maybe to those in the Pitt, and not including Perlah or Princess because they suspiciously seemed to be psychic. Or just really loved to gossip. No, you’d learned about them when a friend spotted Robby and Heather out on a date. You’d only assumed it was a date because she repeatedly kept using the word cozy. 

And why should you have cared? It’d been almost a year since you’d left. You chose to leave and that meant making him free to date and find new love or whatever. You didn’t have a right to lay claim to him just because he’d been yours. And Heather? She was gorgeous. She was fucking brilliant, with a beautiful smile, and it suddenly made you feel uncharacteristically subconscious. 

Whether it’d been a date or they just seemed cozy (it was a damn date) you shouldn’t have felt jealous. You were fine. It was perfectly fine and healthy for people to seek out relationships and companionship. It was normal and you were fine. You weren’t any saint either. You’d dated someone briefly and, if you were honest with yourself, you could’ve stayed in that relationship. It was nice and easy. Simple. But you didn’t love him and you weren’t sure if you ever could. 

The problem of loving Robby - still being in love with Robby - was that he stood witness to your most intimate memories of love. There were stories woven into your bones that bore witness to the man he was and how he loved you. They were told in joy and tragedy, laughter and sadness. When Nathan kissed you, the earth kept spinning. He didn’t taste of bourbon or smell of leather and sandalwood. He didn’t spend time in the backyard sanding down tables or staining decks. He didn’t wear glasses that somehow slid minute by minute inch down his nose until he subconsciously tilted his head back to see.

In the end, you left because of one glaring fact: Nathan would never be - could never be - Robby.  

Dr. Collins told Whitaker to come with her for a teaching experience - an unconscious unhoused man was being brought in. Whitaker quickly moved to follow her lead in grabbing a pair of gloves just in time for the paramedics to wheel in the gurney. Said man was very much unconscious and appeared very much unhoused. 

Your time playing the gawking bystander had come to an end and you needed to get to 7 North. You pushed away from the counter when you were stopped by the resident from earlier barreling into your line of sight. 

“Dr. Fullerton? I’m Dr. Samira Mohan - R3. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Dr. Mohan stuck out her hand and you accepted it warmly. Besides the obvious annoyance from Robby hounding her existence, it seemed Dr. Mohan was friendly. She held a kind air about her that reminded you of Robby - only now that kindness held an edge of grumpiness because his empathy was playing an overwhelming game. By the sleepless bags under his eyes, you could tell he was losing. 

You wanted to point the probability of this out to her, maybe offer her a consultation for Robby’s apparent hard-ass demeanor, but quickly shoved it off. 

“It’s nice to meet you, as well, Dr. Mohan.”

“Would it be okay if I could confer with you later?” Dr. Mohan’s eyes shifted to where Dana stood only inches away. “In private?”

You weren’t sure if you should be flattered or wanting to run for the hills. Dana’s eyes practically bore into the back of your head, waiting to hear your answer. You knew no matter what you chose to say this was getting back to Robby. 

Fuck it. 

“Of course, Dr. Mohan. I’ll come and find you after my next patient.”

“Thank you. I look forward to speaking with you.” 

She cut a cautious glance over her shoulder and turned on her heel towards the south hallway. It must have been nice to make an easy exit. It was definitely something you were down to try but Dana stood closer to the counter, her glasses down the bridge of her nose, and accused you with a look of being a troublemaker. Your only defense was a shrug. 

“What?”

“What the hell was that about?”

Your brows converged together as you shrugged again. 

“How am I supposed to know, Dana? I haven’t even talked to her yet.” 

“Talked to who about what?”

Fucking kill me. 

What was with today? Were you unknowingly walking around with a ‘Kick Me,’ sign written by life? You’d gone over two years without ever running into Robby and within an hour in a half, you couldn’t seem to avoid him. 

And why was he standing so fucking close again? 

You didn’t need to glance over to your left to know he was close. The heat of his body, the nudge of his elbow against your arm informed you at breakneck speed you were close. Too fucking close, Michael. 

“Mohan seems to want to speak with Fullerton. In private.”

“You couldn’t just wait for me to answer, Dana?”

The words rose up your throat like bile, acidic with its irritation. You couldn’t help it. You didn’t need this shit. You didn’t know what Dr. Mohan wanted but the cryptic way she asked wasn’t doing you any favors. It was at this moment you finally chose to look in Robby’s direction. He was leaning into his elbow that rested on the counter. Even with his body slightly slouched the height difference was substantial causing you to crane to look up at him. 

The problem with this? He was close enough that your temporal lobe was overloaded with thousands of memories of his thumb gliding across your lips. Large hands taking hold of your neck and tilting you back at just the right angle for his lips to claim yours. 

When you were no longer held hostage to the sensory manipulation your brain concocted, you prayed to whoever was listening that you didn’t look as lovestruck as you felt. By the dark glint in Robby’s eyes, you were doing a piss poor job at being Switzerland. 

“What? So you can conveniently disappear by the end of the shift without any context or explanation? No, thanks. Been there. Done that. Not a fan of the outcome.”

“This bipolar verbal assault is getting real tiring, Dana,” you huffed. 

“Alright. Alright, enough!” Robby cut in. “I expect this behavior from patients, not my staff. Now, Dr. Fullerton, what did Dr. Mohan want to discuss with you?”

“Jesus Christ,” you sighed, “I have no fucking clue, okay? She just asked if she could speak in private and seeing as how she did ask for it to be private, I don’t see why you need to know.” 

“Ugh,” a dry huff of what might have passed for a laugh - a cough maybe? - exited his lips. His brow was drawn tight while he looked at you. No doubt wondering where you’d gained the audacity. “Because this is my emergency department. I’m in charge of the entire thing and I think I need to be aware of what is going on with my staff.” 

“Well, maybe if you stopped acting like an ass to said staff they wouldn’t be seeking outside counsel.”

A mirthless laugh exploded from between his lips. The sound carried part of the disbelief his eyes showed while he took you in. He was no longer leaning against the counter but had his arms crossed against his chest. You weren’t sure if he was looking at you like he wanted to throttle you or found you unbelievable. Neither option would make you a winner if you guessed right.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” he grumbled under his breath. “Are you a fucking counselor all of a sudden?”

“And what if I was? I would ask if you’d require my services, but we both know you’re allergic to seeking help.” 

You should’ve stopped while you were ahead. You were bringing up personal shit - inviting a possible fucking mess to happen - and yet you couldn’t help yourself. You kept poking the proverbial bear and damn it, you weren’t exactly sure you felt bad about doing it. Were you so desperate for a reaction from him - after all this time? What the hell was it going to prove? 

You watched the storm of emotions roll in. The deep set of his forehead and the dark clouds that zapped all residual warmth from his eyes. You weren’t sure if Robby was even aware he’d taken a step towards you, jaw flexing, and body slowly seeping into whatever free space you had left. 

Whatever words he would’ve said died in the aftermath of hearing shouts a few rooms down. It jarred you both out of your staring contest and sent him into action. One minute he was standing in front of you, the next, he was running to see what the commotion was. 

The second Robby was removed from your space, you took a deep breath in. Why did it feel like you were in a constant state of fight or flight? Your answer came in a set of blue eyes who homed in on you the moment Robby was gone. 

“When’s your next smoke break?” 

“Who says I still smoke?” 

“Dana, be serious. The day you quit smoking is the day hell freezes over. So - when?”

She regarded you for a moment. The scale in her mind no doubt weighed if this was going to be worth her time or possibly ruining her nicotine break. 

“I usually take it around 9:30. Why? You suddenly have the urge to open up?”

“Do you want to talk or not?.”

She could bitch, make jokes, and moan and groan all she wanted. You knew offering up a chance to talk would be all Dana would need to agree. Was it something you honestly wanted to do? Not really. Were you willing to do it so that at least you had one less person hounding you the rest of your shift? 

Abso-fucking-lutely.

“Ah, what the hell. I’ll see you on break kid.” 

A sigh of relief eased through you and you prayed Dana hadn’t noticed. You didn’t think she’d agree but, now that she had, you had a tiny ounce of hope this day wasn’t going to be so much of a shit show. 

“What was all that screaming about?”

You knew the question wasn’t directed at you. Robby must have made his return and the soft laughter wasn’t what you expected to hear. 

“We seem to have involuntarily just admitted rats,” he replied. 

“You’re kidding?” Dana scoffed. 

“If only I was. Whitaker was saying it was about three or four of them.” 

“And on that note,” you drummed your hands on the counter, “I am going to 7 North.” 

It wasn’t until you went to take a step forward you noticed the weight on your left foot. A weight that felt like something was sitting directly on it. You looked down just in time to watch a rat - a damn rat - scurry off your foot to run around the edge of the nursing station. 

What you did next wasn’t your proudest moment. You even used to pride yourself on being rational when it came to rodents. The shout that clawed its way from the depths of your stomach proved you wrong at lightning speed. 

You felt your body jump backward and collide with Robby. His hands were on your hips to steady you. You were bouncing back and forth on your heels, eyes scanning the area to make sure no further surprises snuck up on you. Your arms were bunched up at your sides and you were trying to talk yourself down from sweeping the remaining area with your leg. Just for good measure.

It was the feeling of his hands on your waist, the soft sound of his chuckle touching your hair that brought you careening back down to earth. Robby was close. Not like last time when your arms touched - closer than when he followed behind you into Allan's room. Even through your scrubs, you could feel the scorching heat of his palms spreading like wildfire through the fabric that sent your heart racing. 

He should’ve let go by now. The threat of you possibly knocking him over or you both tripping and falling was over. He could let go. He could just let go, but Robby’s hands were holding you firmly in place with neither of you willing to move. You refused to look behind you - afraid of what he might see if you did.

You were afraid of what you might see if you dared to look too. 

Slowly, you took a step forward, disengaging his hands from you. The sensation of loss was instant and you almost stepped back into him. Your body and mind were at war between desire and being rational. Fuck being rational. There was nothing rational about the way your heart brutalized your ribs. The need to ask stupid fucking questions that no longer mattered. The consuming way your body craved for him to wrap his large hand around your throat, whispering words of filth into your ear. 

You had to get away before you made a mistake. 

“Sorry about that. I’m going to just, ugh, go do my rounds now.”

You didn’t turn around while you softly spoke. You may have been delusional at times, but you weren’t crazy. If you looked back and Robby’s eyes gave away any hint of emotion - anything that sparked that dying ember of hope inside you - you would crumble. 

You should’ve fought harder to stay upstairs in family medicine or threatened Gloria with firing you. You were safer there. Now, you were rushing off to remember what patient room you were going to with Robby’s cologne clinging to your skin. 

You were a pain in the ass. But you were his pain in the ass. 

Used to be, his mind reminded him. 

Could still be, came his stupid heart's reply. 

Robby used to love it when you challenged him; called him out on his bullshit. You weren’t afraid to stand in the current of his disapproval or to openly have a debate, especially when you could see he was missing something. You challenged each other to be open-minded to change, because it happened so fast, and to accept that being wrong wasn’t failure but a moment to grow and learn. 

When you both stopped being open with one another, and being honest with yourselves, was when the challenging energy took a turn. Everything felt like a confrontation. Even in moments when the constructive criticism came from colleagues - from you - it felt like an attack he had to defend against. 

Robby saw it in you too. The small hints of walls slowly being built to keep the inquiries at bay. When your responses become short and brief or not at all. 

Now, before nine o’clock, you were in the Pitt not only wreaking havoc on his already fragile mental state but accusing him of…what? When you’d thrown the counselor's comment at him, Robby wanted to rage. How many times was it the main part of your arguments near the end of your relationship that he needed to talk to somebody? Anybody. How many times did he deny it? 

You’d thrown it in from the sidelines and it jarred him so much, Robby felt disoriented. For the briefest moment, Robby forgot that you were no longer together. His mind reflexively thought you were arguing about the same old tired thing. He’d taken a step toward you and wanted to ask, “And what about you?” 

You who wasn’t as honest and open with yourself just like him. There were things left unsaid between the two of you - the things that eventually buried the hatchet too far in to safely remove. 

What about all the times he’d found you in the bathroom sitting against the tub crying in the middle of the night? Your panic attacks and OCD tendencies that started after…

Every time Robby reached out to be there for you, your response was always the same. 

“It’s nothing, Michael.”  “I’m fine.”  “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sure, Robby wasn’t open and was guarded in his own right but neither were you. Where he used to read the transcript of your emotions so delicately on your face, you’d closed yourself off to him and he no longer knew how to get in. 

An angry shout from down the South hallway thankfully tore his attention back to reality. His feet were already moving him robotically forward where he could see Olson entering Central 15. 

“Whoa, whoa what is going on?”

Robby directed the question specifically to one of his many team members in the room. Thankfully, Kiara started to explain or, more appropriately attempted to explain but he couldn’t fucking think through all the damn shouting. 

“Ok, ok, okay ENOUGH!” Robby couldn’t believe he was already raising his voice. Yelling at grown-ass adults like they were children. “This is a hospital. This isn’t ‘ The Jerry Springer Show’.” Although it was really, really starting to fucking feel like it with the morning he was having. “Ma’am, nobody’s trying to take your child. So why don’t you stay here with him while your husband talks to our social worker outside and straightens all this out?”

“Well, I don’t want him speaking for me and my son.”

It was clear by the wavering of her voice, that this was a tough spot for the mom to be in. Robby could sympathize but what he couldn’t sympathize with was starting a miniature war zone in one of his rooms. 

“Well, it is either you or him. Your son is not leaving, but you can be escorted out and even arrested if you refuse to cooperate. Nobody wants that. So you tell us. What do you want to do?”

Robby knew the answer before she replied. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that this mother didn’t fiercely love her son. Whatever situation the husband did to get them in this position was unfortunate, but the only option they had now was to press forward. 

“I’m staying with my son.”

“Ok, great. You do that. Are we all on the same page here?”

The last question he sent out was rhetorical. A feeler to see if anyone else was confused about what was about to happen and if further clarification was needed. God, Robby sincerely hoped it’d all been made crystal clear what the only two real options were; the only choice being to cooperate. 

“You okay?”

Robby could see Langdon was shaken up. It could be a lot dealing with a combative patient - harder when it was a parent just trying to make the right choices for their child. You were always the best at coming in and soothing cases like this one. Somehow able to give relief and comfort while giving the most gut-wrenching news of a parent's life while calmly explaining the next steps. You were able to keep people from feeling lost in the bad news and prepare them for the onslaught of change. 

Robby waited until Langdon confirmed he and Dr. King were good before he walked out of the room. Regarding parents with kids, Robby almost forgot Teresa asked to speak with him about David. 

Central 12 was just a few steps away from Langdon’s patient. It was close to being comfortable but too close to give Robby time to think. He felt out of his element here because he was running out of options. He wanted to help Teresa, because, while she did this to help her son, she knowingly put her own life at risk to get him the help he needed. 

But isn’t that what parents did?  

At times, they blindly waded into the fire if it meant that their child would be safe. 

All Robby could do was watch and listen while he told her about how he left. While he followed up her questions with his own and did his best to try and ward off the sick feeling burying itself inside his gut. 

“Do you think David would hurt anyone?”

Even allowing the question to come out of his mouth made a rush of nausea swell back behind his tongue. He didn’t want to ask it. Nobody wants to ask any parent if they think their child - a fucking child - could be capable of harming another human being. 

Robby carried his thoughts on the reasons why young men are more prone to violence these days. With idiotic podcast hosts spewing their hatred for women who were goal-oriented and not focused on babying them like their mothers. Boys who were told to bottle up their emotions: “Don’t share your feelings. Don’t get caught crying,” unless you want to be told that you were weak. There was so much bullshit in the world for kids to have to contend with these days that Robby didn’t find it surprising a lot of them were overloaded - overwhelmed by a constant flurry from the world to be someone different than who they are. 

Robby had plenty of talks with Jake about these things. He found it easy to lean into him with the both of them connecting during shared trips and quiet nights at the house. Robby made sure his stepson knew that Robby would always be a safe place for him to land. When the world got too crazy and if he couldn’t tell his mom Janey, Robby would be there. 

Because that’s what parents do - willingly walk through fire if it meant their kid would be okay.

“The nasal swab came back negative for COVID, RSV, and Flu - which is a good thing.” 

“Then what’s wrong? What about her eyes?”

The her in question was a three-year-old named Jasmine who was vocally letting you both know that she was not in a good mood, which was very fair. Nobody liked being sick. The only issue with her actively voicing her bad mood was that any high octave screams were soon followed up by a violent cough. 

The moment you stepped inside the room you’d been worried about RSV, especially because of her age. Lungs sounded clear with slight wheezing indicated in the upper left lobe. Thankfully, all major possible viruses came back negative. The unfortunate thing was that this specific viral infection just meant mom was going to have to ride it out.

“It’s still a viral infection. The conjunctivitis, since it started coming from both eyes this morning, it’s from the infection and sinus blockage. The whites of her eyes aren’t red in any way. The best thing to do is apply a compress every few hours on the eyes to help with drainage, saline drops, or spray on the nose to help clear up the congestion and suction as often as you can. Over-the-counter cough medicine is fine unless you need a prescription?”

“No, no, it’s okay. We have some at home. So, she’s okay?”

“Yes, perfectly fine. I just recommend having her sleep elevated to help with drainage and if you have a humidifier, use it. Follow up with her pediatrician in two to three days or come back to the ER if any new or persistent symptoms occur.”

“Thank you so much, doctor.”

“You’re so welcome. Make sure to wait for a nurse before leaving. I hope you feel better, Jasmine.”

 You gave them both a wave before exiting out of the quiet of the room and back into the noise. The nurse assigned to the room came over and held out a tablet and pen for you to take. Quickly, you scribbled a signature down, because doctors were notoriously known for sketchy penmanship, and began to walk towards a nursing station. 

Technically, you did have a second option you could take before throwing yourself into the next patient room. Dr. Mohan asked to speak with you. She didn’t necessarily give a time or a preference. It was more focused on secrecy, which you found a little odd. This was Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center - it was a rare thing to have a private conversation here. You were curious to find out what it was Mohan wanted, a bigger part of you wasn’t ready for the headache of Robby undoubtedly finding out later. The worst option: is if you were the one who had to tell him to be the advocate for his resident.

The scent of his cologne still held tight to the fabric of your scrubs. Slowly, it was beginning to fade but if you leaned in close enough to your right shoulder you could almost get a hint of -

“Dr. Fullerton.”

You were a millisecond away from calling out, “I wasn’t doing anything!”. Was it too early in the shift to consider a name change?

Glancing over your shoulder, you find Gloria making her way towards you. Each step in your direction sent your fight or flight raging back into gear because fuck no. Between Gloria and Robby, the two of them were about to have you so damn stressed out there was a high chance for premature balding to occur. 

“Oh no. I’ve had enough surprises from you today.”

“I just wanted to have a chat - “

“And definitely enough of those,” you shot back. 

You weren’t exactly sure why you kept moving. If previous experiences told you anything, it was that she would follow you until you stopped on your own or she got you into a corner. At least stopping to face her was a choice compared to being cornered with no way out. 

Resigning to your fate, you took in a big meditative breath through your nose and turned around. 

“What can I help you with, Gloria?”

Your voice was so monotone you sounded like a robot. 

“I’m glad you’ve decided to stop running and actually talk to me like an adult.”

“I’m sorry, Gloria. You brought me down here to assist in decreasing triage wait times and that is what I am doing. Stopping to have a chat with you will reflect poorly on my scores.”

“Cute,” She bit back. The smile on her face was too harsh to be genuine. “Well, it’s funny you mention scores. I’ve been keeping an eye on the numbers and the system is showing barely any signs of process or improvement. Can you explain why that is?”

The simplest answer you could’ve given her came with one name, one word, and one human being. Robby. Robby was your fucking problem; the bane of your existence. 

Gloria shoved you down here not knowing all the variables that could hinder productivity. There were moments of clarity where your brilliance shined through and in a matter of seconds it evaporated again. Realistically, it was your fault. Your inability to control your stupid fucking emotions - you didn’t need to react every time you saw him. 

How could you not react when Robby did exactly the same? 

You weren’t stupid. You’d spent years, months, days, and hours with him. Every minute is accounted for in conversations and touch. It wasn’t insanity (although the jury was still out on that one) that made you believe - to fucking notice - Robby was affected too. 

But no way in hell were you divulging any of your innermost thought demons to Gloria. 

“Look around, Gloria,” you said, arms opening up to motion around the Central rooms. “There are no beds available. You ask for solid care, for good patient satisfaction scores and that requires multiple factors. To be a good doctor you have to listen to the patient's chief complaint that they’ve been waiting almost eight hours to tell you.”

“I am well aware of the current wait times in triage, Dr. Fullerton.”

“Oh, that’s awesome. Problem solved then because once we assess them and decide they need monitoring and tests to ascertain the issue, it’s only another three to six-hour wait. Maybe longer if it’s life-threatening. Not to mention if any trauma patients come rolling through the red zone adding another twenty-five to fifty minutes on their time.”

“I don’t see what any of this has to do with not having any beds. Not every situation in triage necessarily requires a bed to be seen.”

“Gloria, your precious Press Ganey scores are going to stay low if a patient doesn’t get back to a room. You can make beds available by sending people upstairs or how about removing the deceased guy in nineteen who’s been posted here since before I arrived?” 

“Robby is in charge of contacting the coroner's office about picking up the deceased.”

“And yet, the body is still here,” you pondered. “I know Robby, Gloria. He wouldn’t knowingly leave someone’s loved one here if it didn’t mean the coroner is backed up, which means our morgue must house him until then. And why are you complaining to me like I'm attending here? Robby is the attending - “

“I’m well aware of that - “

“You keep saying you’re well aware, Gloria but the fact is it feels like you’re not. It’s easy to come down here making demands but the reality is without the proper staffing and moving boarders out of the emergency department to free up space the numbers will never fucking change. Sending one doctor down here isn’t going to change shit.”

“Are you just about done, Dr. Fullerton?” She did a dramatic pause to allow you time to cut in. “The board and its administration are well aware of the pressures that staff face down here in the emergency department - that all hospitals are currently facing shortages. The fact of the matter is studies show close to seventy-five percent of ER visits are non-life threatening, which means more than half of those patients could be fairly seen in triage without needing a room.”

You could feel your mouth opening; primed for a response that Gloria was not going to let you detonate. Her hand waved to warn you not to cut her off. 

“I don't want to hear any more about boarding or staffing. I want to see the results, Dr. Fullerton. It’s already bad enough that there are rats inside.”

“To be fair, they piggybacked on an unconscious unhoused man, so,” you shrugged. If looks could kill, you’d have dropped dead right then and there. “Not helpful?”

“No. Not helpful,” she confirmed. “I do, however, have a proposition for you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth. The earlier annoyance at seeing Gloria twice in less than two hours of your shift changed course. Dread ice cold and paralyzing coiled in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t like where this was going. 

“Is there a pass option?”

“This is an offer from myself and the administration. So, no, there isn’t a ‘pass option.’ How would you like to be considered for an attending position?”

“No.” 

The word barreled out of you without thinking. You didn’t need to think about this proposition Gloria, the administration, or whoever was trying to dangle in front of you. It was any doctor's dream to become an attending at a facility - it made you the doctor. 

You didn’t want it like this. 

“You didn’t even hear the terms.”

“I don’t need to hear them to know that you’re trying to be sneaky.”

“Robby is failing to meet standards -“

“Robby is a fucking good physician.” You fumed. “He’s one of the best physicians in trauma medicine you have here outside of Abbot.”

“No one is disputing that, Dr. Fullerton. The board is open to having you both down here during the morning shift, maybe even making a swing shift for you to help between shifts.”

You raked your hands over your face scrubbing hard to try and cut off a mirthless laugh that came out in patches between your fingers. 

“No - you want me to be a Judas. It’ll be a swing shift until you can get whatever data you need to confirm whatever fucked up plan you’re making.”

“Dr. Fullerton -“

“No!” You didn’t mean to shout the word at her. Or maybe you had. Whatever it was, it surprised you both. You should be quieter - don’t draw attention but your heart was thrashing wildly. Your hand swiped through the air to cut her off before she could attempt to continue. You didn’t want to fucking hear it. “Robby is a damn fine physician and to try and - I don’t fucking know, get rid of him because he doesn’t kiss the boards or your ass is fucking stupid. I don’t know half of what Robby or Abbot knows. I’m not them and it would be beyond idiotic to lose him.”

“Your opinion will be taken into consideration and I’ll dismiss your…outburst, for now, because of the current situation. But make no mistake, Dr. Fullerton this will move forward with, or without, you.”

You wondered if any natural disasters were named Gloria. It seemed possible since she came and created an instant upheaval of your day, completely devastating it in a matter of minutes and once she was done simply went about her day like nothing happened.  

She left you to deal with the aftermath. The rushing thoughts with a million questions - thousands of things you should’ve said to defend Robby. There were dozens of ways you could prove her wrong about him - that he fucking cared about his patients and was such a damn good doctor, phenomenal at times, that to equate all that he was and all that he did down to a simple metric of numbers was fucking ridiculous. 

All the sound in the room began to drown out around you. Somewhere in the background of the hum you heard a shout for help. It could be Code Blue. It could be anything. You tried to get your body to react, but the hurricane of anxiety was sweeping in fast and you were running out of air. 

You needed to sit. You had to act normal because the last thing you needed was Princess or Dana or fucking anybody else coming over to speak with you. Your hands used the counter like a rope to pull you along to the nearest computer. You quickly sat down and swiped your credentials to enter the computer, quickly clicking on anything just to appear busy. 

“How are you holding up today?”

The last person you expected to see at that very moment was Heather Collins. What did you expect? This was an emergency room and doctors worked inside of it. She offered up a close-lipped smile that matched the kindness in her eyes. She was genuinely wanting to know how you were doing and for the first time, you hated the question because you couldn’t answer it. 

Not truthfully, anyway. Who was ever truthful in answering that specific question?

So, you painted on a grin that more than likely resembled a grimace and prayed you didn’t look as tired as you felt. 

“It’s been…an adjustment.”

“What’s taking adjusting?”

Good god, this man was fucking everywhere. 

Robby came into view as he moved across the station to get to the opposite computer. The question was thrown out carelessly; he didn’t expect a response. He was pulling out his glasses and sliding them over his nose, his full focus on the screen. Test results thankfully took priority over your response. 

You were quickly forgotten by Collin’s who walked over to where Robby read the test results. She waited until he removed his glasses and stood to his full height. 

“Please don’t tell me you are going to intubate that poor old man?”

“It’s what the family wants.”

“So what? They want to torture him?”

“I explained all that.” 

It was painfully obvious this was a case you knew nothing about. By the sound of it, you were willing to bet five dollars that it was one of the elderly patients from a home who came in a little after 7:30 that morning. It meant it wasn’t your case. You didn’t need to know the information and you could continue counting down backward from ten while you reminded yourself that no, you weren’t Judas and -

“Dr. Fullerton, if a family came in -“

Fucking hell, you needed to stop zoning out. You brought your attention back to the two of them, wondering what you missed.

“You don’t need to ask her,” Robby interjected.

Collins continued like he’d never spoken. 

“And they had durable power over an elderly family member who had a pre-existing DNR. His family wants to intubate. It’s not what he wants. Whose choice do you honor?”

“What are you doing?” 

A singular brow of hers arched in defiance. 

“Asking for a second opinion.”

“I didn’t ask for one.”

They continued to bicker about the decision Robby made to not fight for a dying man’s wishes. You would’ve told Collins to let it go because once Robby’s mind was made up, it was like talking to a wall. Maybe she already knew that. 

God, what fucking twilight zone episode were you stuck in? You actively wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. Your eyes darted to the time on the bottom of the screen and you had to fight to keep your forehead from landing with a thud on the keyboard. It was only 9 o’clock. There were ten more hours of this day and you needed it to be over. 

Robby released a sigh that reflected how exhausted you felt. It wasn’t a physical exhaustion but one of the soul; a weariness that vines grew thorns and were beginning to tear you slowly open. You could feel your legs wanting to shift out of the chair and go to him. The urge was so strong your hands scrunched into fists to keep from moving - to quell the urge because he wasn’t yours anymore and you weren’t his. 

“Shit.”

“What?”

Robby’s best magic trick? Deflecting. Whenever he wanted the current conversation to end, and didn't like where it was heading, he diverted it completely into something else. Anything else that kept him from having to continue down a conversation he wanted no part of. You knew that trick all too well. 

“I got to go tell those parents their 18-year-old son is brain-dead.” 

“You want me to go with you?”

It should’ve been you offering to go with him. A comfort to the harbinger of bad news because it was never easy to give it. Never easy to stand in the storm of grief and simply be a bystander while their world ends in a matter of words. 

What did it matter who went with him? Who offered? At the end of the day, a family was forever going to be encapsulated by a loss too many people unfortunately knew. 

Vaguely, you caught the end of their argument. Robby wanted to perform an apnea test and a cerebral perfusion study. Dr. Collins didn’t agree. It offered the family false hope but Robby was right - maybe it did offer a false sense of hope, but with each test completed and results read off it was a graceful way to ease a family into acceptance. It gave them the time to process and grieve and come to the very heavy realization their son wouldn’t be going home with them. 

“They need time to process before they can accept what’s happening.”

“You ever consider taking that advice? Physician, heal thyself.”

Dear floor, please fucking open up wide so you can just swan dive right on in. Thanks a bunch. 

Heather knew. She fucking knew about the wall of grief - of acceptance - Robby himself was unable to accept. The King of dishing out advice left and right but unyielding in taking it. Suddenly, all the cool reserve of not caring about them dating evaporated in a crushing wave of heartbreak you shouldn’t have felt in the first place. 

Did he tell her about you? Did he share with her about…about what happened? Was he able to open up to her in ways he stopped doing with you? Their relationship was gone, but the respect and care were still there. 

The irritation came off him in waves. You should’ve told her Robby’s least favorite thing is being told to take his own advice. Or to heal for that matter. Oh, and to also maybe seek therapy. All three of those would turn his mood sour and aggravate him to peak levels at hyper speed. 

He shoved his hands down into his hoodie. His head swiveling between Collins and probably anywhere else in the ED. 

“Don’t you have patients?” 

There it was. The dismissal. The, in not so many words, “I’m done talking to you about this and everything else,” so he could make a quick exit. The magician's last trick before his temper was lost. 

Don’t look up. Do not look up. Don’t fucking do it. 

You didn’t need to look up. There wasn’t any reason to do so. You weren’t on their radar the last half of their conversation. You were just a bystander to a miniature car crash. The issue with crashes? Everyone who drove by couldn’t stop themselves from looking. 

The itch between your shoulder blades was your first warning sign. The weight of his gaze was bearing down on you. You didn’t have to react to it but it was a reflex to look up for him. To search for him in every crowded room and find yourself wishing he was there when he wasn’t. 

Your eyes found he was still looking at you. An in-house debate flashed across his features. If it was whether or not to come to you, you hope he chose not to. You just need a few moments of space. It was too much. You’d run from him and now he was just here all the time and -

“Why are you looking at puppies? You getting a dog?”

“What?”

For the first time since you’d opened the computer, you realized whoever was on it last left it open to an ad for a puppy. 

“Oh, no. This wasn’t me. Hey, earlier did someone shout a Code Blue?” 

You could also perform your own magical change of subjects. Robby took a moment to answer before giving a curt nod. 

“Whittaker’s patient that’d been placed in the hall. If you heard it, why didn’t you go assist? All hands on deck for a code, you know that.”

God, was he chastising you right now? A flood of irritation rippled over your skin. You wanted to snap at him. You weren’t a med student. But he was frustratingly right - you’d heard it and instead of running you’d kept yourself here. 

And Whitaker. It was his first patient of the day. He’d been so excited that he’d done good. He’d gotten praise from Dr. Robby about his work up and Whitaker wouldn’t shut up about it. It meant something to him. 

“I’ll go see if they need someone to switch.”

You went to get up but Robby was too close. If you got up from the chair you would bump straight into his chest. 

“You okay?”

The sudden care behind the question jarred you. How did he expect you to answer? There was no way you could be honest with him - not at that second. He was supposed to go break the worst news a parent could ever receive and he was worried about you. He should be worried for himself. You could warn him about Gloria but what good would it do if he thought you might possibly be in on it with her? Your sudden reappearance, while inconvenient, hadn’t raised suspicion like an ulterior motive waited in the wings just yet. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. You?”

“Never better.”

His smile held every worn line of fatigue that signaled his lack of sleep. His attempt at strength in a moment he refused to seek outside help. You found the same words Dr. Collins asked moments before crawling their way up your throat before you swallowed them back down. He wouldn’t change his mind and agree just because it was you. 

You wanted to be there because whether he voiced it or not, this kid whose family was seconds away from being told was gone wasn’t that much older than Jake. A single accident of taking non-prescribed Xanax ended his life. Jake was a good kid. You wanted to reach out and take his hand and tell him Jake would never - Jake was different. 

Jake was still a kid. 

Robby didn’t wait for you to reply before he headed towards the room. You kept telling yourself to get up and move. Go find Whitaker and the team performing cpr on his patient and do your part. Between everything that’s happened this morning: being forced down with Robby, seeing Robby, Dr. Mohan requesting to speak with you, Gloria’s ultimatum and now the news this young kid didn’t make it you were officially mentally exhausted. 

You needed to move but by the time your legs finally lifted out of the seat, Robby told them. The mother’s wail of agony resounded through the room and rose in octaves. The soul-wrenching loss of her child, her baby, turned the Pitt into a mausoleum of mourning. Her cries followed you down the hallway until you reached the curtain where Whitaker and others were on their third round of Epi, and you could see the continued despair evident in the room. 

It was barely 9 AM and you already wanted to fucking go home. 

As always, thank you so much for reading! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

Tag list: @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @travelingmypassion @jupiter-sky @catsgoogander @rosiepoise88 @It-jakeseresin @blackpopcorn @celmentine111002 @dcgoddess

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Eleven

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, Christian Horner, Lando being a complete simp.

Notes — Had some fun with some social media graphics in this chapter! Share all of your thoughts/feelings after the chapter, I love to hear your yapping!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

Zak’s eyes were fixed on the monitors. Lando was mid-lap, sector times glowing green across the screen. The tension was high but familiar; the usual adrenaline hum of a qualifying session.

Then, from the corner of his vision, the main feed flickered to a live shot of the Red Bull garage.

And there she was.

Amelia.

She was in what had become her usual seat in the RedBull garage, laptop balanced on her legs, surrounded by telemetry screens and noise and movement; like she belonged there. Like she’d always belonged there.

Zak felt something hitch in his chest, but he pushed it down. He hadn’t seen her in person all weekend. Probably by her design.

Then, she looked up. Not at him. At the camera.

Grimaced. Waved, awkwardly. In a way that was just so Amelia. 

And then she held up a piece of paper.

“AND LANDO NORRIS’ GIRLFRIEND.”

It was on-screen for less than two seconds — just long enough to be undeniable.

Will, still tracking Lando’s data beside him, let out a low whistle. “Oh wow. Brave girl. Didn’t realise they’d made it official.”

Zak blinked at the screen.

The Sky Sports commentators were laughing. The F1 TV commentators sounded between shocked and amused. 

But Zak didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Lando’s car zipped through the final corner. Purple sector. P3 provisional. The garage cheered in his ear. Will was on Lando’s radio, mentioning something about the braking point into Turn 10.

Zak was still staring at the coverage screens.

Because no one had told him.

Not his daughter.

Not Lando.

And she looked… happy. God, she looked happy. Freer than he’d seen her in years.

But there was a tightness in Zak’s jaw now, a hollowness in his chest.

— 

The house was quiet, save for the gentle whir of the fan in the corner and the soft murmur of the F1 broadcast on the TV.

Tracy sat curled up on the sofa, feet tucked under her, a forgotten cup of tea cooling on the side table. She wasn’t one to watch every session, not unless Amelia was involved; which, lately, was more often than not. Still, it surprised her every time. Her little girl, in this world.

Then the camera panned to the Red Bull garage.

Tracy straightened.

There she was.

Amelia, hunched over her laptop, eyes sharp behind her glasses, entirely in her element. The graphic read “Amelia Brown, Engineering Intern.”

Tracy smiled, until she saw Amelia lift a piece of paper with bold, black writing.

“AND LANDO NORRIS’ GIRLFRIEND.”

There was a beat of silence in the room. Then Tracy let out a soft, surprised laugh, full of pride and amusement.

“She never was very good at sharing,” she murmured fondly, shaking her head.

And oh, didn’t she mean that. From toys to her spot on the sofa to the last slice of cake, if Amelia liked something, she claimed it.

Tracy smiled at the screen, at the quiet defiance in her daughter’s posture, the certainty in her eyes. “That’s my girl.”

— 

iMessage — 16:07pm

Max F. BRO WHAT JUST HAPPENED 😭😭

Lando ? what are you on about

Max F. GO TO THE MEDIA PEN RIGHT NOW YOU’VE BEEN HARD LAUNCHED

Lando what what are you yapping about mate

Max F. Amelia. Garage cam. “Engineering Intern” graphic. She held up a sign that said “AND LANDO NORRIS’ GIRLFRIEND” ON. LIVE. TELEVISION.

Lando ??????????????

Max F. BRO I SPAT OUT MY DRINK YOU COULD’VE WARNED ME YOU TWO WERE ACTUALLY TOGETHER I THOUGHT IT WAS JUST FLIRTY VIBES

Lando just saw the clip fucking hell

Max F. mate you’re smiling aren’t you

Lando yeah. a little. a lot. she’s unreal

Max F. unreal is one word for it 💀

Lando she’s so fucking cute Jesus. the handwritten sign? the little smile??

Max F. you’re in it man

Lando obviously.

Max F. she’s got guts. respect. also she might’ve just made F1 history first hard launch via broadcast overlay 💀

—

Subject: Media Broadcast Conduct – Spanish GP

From: media@redbullracing.com To: amelia.brown@redbullracing.com Date: August 18, 2020, 10:24 AM

Hi Amelia,

Hope you're well.

We wanted to quickly flag your appearance during the Spanish GP broadcast a few days ago — specifically the moment where you held up a handwritten sign referring to your relationship with Lando Norris.

While we understand this was done in good humour, we'd appreciate the chance to speak with you about the optics of team affiliations, personal relationships, and privacy within the paddock. As you know, the broadcast reaches a global audience, and we have to be mindful of how moments like this can be perceived externally and internally.

Please let us know when you’re free for a quick chat during the Belgium weekend.

Best regards, Red Bull Racing Media & Communications Team

—

Subject: Re: Media Broadcast Conduct – Spanish GP

From: amelia.brown@redbullracing.com To: media@redbullracing.com CC: adrian.newey@redbullracing.com Date: August 18, 2020, 11:22 AM

Hello,

I’m happy to discuss this further in Belgium, but just to clarify, I do only plan on having one boyfriend, so it’s not likely to happen again.

Regards, Amelia

—

iMessage — 11:24am

Amelia The PR team are being passive aggressive I think.

Lando Norris ??? You okay baby

Amelia Yes. It’s just via email.

Lando Norris Get the social media team on your side. Maybe Instagram?

Amelia I don’t like Instagram.

Lando Norris Give it a go, baby. You’re so pretty. The fans will love it.

Amelia Fine.

—

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ameliabrown My 1st Instagram Post 👍🏻

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view all comments

landonorris look at my beautiful girl😍 ❤️ by ameliabrown

user9 im going to pass tf out

user62 i am seething with jealous right now

user22 SHES LIVING MY DREAM😫😫😫

user51 YOU ARE A FCKING QUEEN FOR THAT HARD LAUNCH. I WOULD HARD LAUNCH TF OUT OF LANDO NORRIS TOO

user6 my jaw DROPPED. she was nawt willing to hide her man

user18 anyone else concerned abt what redbull had to say abt it??😭😭

user51 @user18 BABY I COULDNT CARE LESS. I LOVE THEM

user7 that’s so real. like imagine lando norris being your bf, working for redbull racing, and your dad is the team boss for mclaren like ???? girl is hooked tf up

user18 @user7 don’t forget abt how much alonso has praised her in the past!!!!

redbullracing our favourite stem girlie!🤩

user93 you are my biggest inspiration! i want to study engineering and work in motorsport and seeing another woman succeed is so inspiring

ameliabrown Thank you.

maxverstappen A very nice front wing!

ameliabrown I agree 👍🏻

user18 how have you never posted on here before?!

ameliabrown I prefer twitter. I am not very good at taking photographs.

user18 agree to disagree. this is such a cute photo dump!

ameliabrown Thank you. I spent 4 hours rearranging the photos.

user7 oh my god. she has charmed me.

—

Amelia checked Twitter for the first time since the Grand Prix.

She hadn’t meant to avoid it; at least not forever. But between debriefs, logistics, travel plans, and Lando hijacking the vast majority of her spare time, social media hadn’t felt like a priority.

Now, curled up in a quiet corner of the hotel lobby with a half-drunk iced coffee and an overheating laptop, she opened the web app.

The notifications were overwhelming. Thousands of likes. Hundreds of retweets. Clips of the broadcast moment; her sitting in the Red Bull garage, holding up that very efficient sign, looping on repeat across fan accounts, meme pages, and even official F1 news outlets.

There were edits (some cute and some... a bit strange). Screenshots. Commentary. Debate.

And, of course, the most viral of the tweets.

She scrolled slowly.

She scrolled for a few more minutes. There was already a hashtag that was being attached to everything regarding them.

Amelia blinked once. Then twice.

“Oh,” she said out loud to absolutely no one. “Guess everyone knows he’s mine now.”

And with that, she closed Twitter, pushed her headphones over her ears, and returned to the CFD simulation.

—

Lando didn’t usually mind being a passenger.

In fact, outside of a race weekend, he liked not driving. Liked leaning his seat back, feet on the dash, sunglasses on, playlist humming. It was a break. A switch-off.

Except for right now. Because right now, he was gripping the door handle like it might save his life.

Amelia, completely calm beside him, was weaving through the hills somewhere outside Montmeló like she was auditioning for WRC. One hand on the wheel, the other tapping against her thigh in time with whatever Spanish radio station she’d insisted they listen to. She was humming, even.

“Amelia,” he said, as politely as humanly possible while his soul tried to climb out of his chest. “Baby. You… do know there’s a speed limit, right?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, eyes on the road. “I’m under it.”

He glanced at the dashboard. She was; just barely. But then again, it wasn’t the speed that was making his stomach lurch. It was the corners. The absolutely unapologetic and fearless way she took them.

“You brake after the turn,” he muttered under his breath, wincing as they zipped past a startled cyclist.

“What?” She frowned, eyes flickering his way. 

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just—Jesus, okay, that goat came out of nowhere—”

“You’re being weird,” she said, completely deadpan. She straightened the car again, after having swerved around the stray farm animal. “You’ve gone all stiff. Are you having a panic attack?”

“No,” he said through gritted teeth. He took a deep breath. “Sorry. I just don’t understand how you have a driving license.”

Amelia shrugged. “I passed the test. Same one everyone has to take.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.” 

“I used indicators. I drove under the speed limit. I checked my mirrors. Just drove normally.”

Lando gave a wild, incredulous laugh. “This is you driving normally?”

“Yes.” She said. 

“Amelia,” he exhaled, clutching the door handle again. “I like you. I do. I like you a lot. But I genuinely think you’re going to kill us both.”

She made a face, eyes still locked on the road, though she wanted to glance at him. “You’re being very dramatic about this. You’re a Formula 1 driver.”

“Exactly! I know what dangerous driving looks like. And this is it!”

Amelia rolled her eyes but eased off the gas slightly; for his sake, not because she agreed with his critiques. “Fine. You can drive next time. I don’t really enjoy it anyway. I have to focus on a million different things at once.”

“Baby, from now on I’ll drive us everywhere,” he said, placing a hand over his heart like he was making a vow. “Just get me to dinner alive and I’ll buy you dessert.”

“I was getting dessert anyway,” she replied flatly. “I’ve been wanting to eat chocolate cake all day. With vanilla ice cream.”

He looked at her then, still half-terrified but entirely smitten. That warm, indulgent smile pulled at his mouth. “That sounds good, baby.”

“Yeah,” she said, eyes still forward, nodding a little. “It does.”

— 

Lando drove them back to the hotel. Amelia climbed into the passenger seat with the calm satisfaction of a girl with a belly full of chocolate cake and ice cream. She had her knees pulled up to the seat, leaning into Lando’s side as much as the seatbelt would allow.

His hand drifted to her thigh at the first red light they came across, thumb brushing back and forth, the occasional tight squeeze that made her smile.

“I like you like this. Fed and sleepy,” he murmured, head tilted just slightly toward her.

She made a quiet sound in reply, somewhere between a hum and a sigh, and leaned in closer. “I much prefer when you drive,” she told him. “It’s much more efficient. You don’t flinch at your own braking.”

He laughed. “That’s because I brake like a normal person.”

“You brake like a professional driver,” she corrected. “I’m just a normal driver.”

“Sure, babe. That’s what we’ll tell the insurance company.” He teased. 

She gave him a soft shove. 

“…I was thinking,” she started, slightly hesitantly. “Before we fly to Belgium, I want to go see Fernando. He texted again earlier. He- uh, I told him that I told you about him coming back to the grid next year. He was okay with it. Made fun of me for being a terrible secret keeper.” She flushed slightly.

Lando glanced at her, then back to the road. “He’s in Spain?” He asked. She nodded. Without hesitation, he asked, “you want me to take you?”

She blinked at him. “You’d want to?”

He nodded. “Yeah, baby, of course. I’d like to meet him properly. Not just in the paddock, like… really meet him. He’s important to you, and I mean, he’s Fernando Alonso. I grew up watching him race.”

A pause. Her voice was small but unguarded. “He was the first person who ever took me seriously. Let me have full access to his data, made sure his engineers listened to me. It was nice.”

Lando squeezed her leg. “Then I definitely want to meet him.”

She didn’t say anything else, but she reached across the console and tangled her fingers with his, settling their joined hands on her lap. Lando glanced over, just briefly, and smiled.

“I’m glad I didn’t die on the way to dinner,” he said, teasing.

“I wouldn’t risk killing you,” she replied, all logic and deadpan. “You pay for my food.”

He laughed, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, eyes still firmly on the road. “Unbelievably romantic. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiled. 

— 

Lando hovered just behind her, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, expression caught somewhere between polite interest and mild nerves. He was in Fernando Alonso’s house, after all. Not exactly neutral territory.

“Amelia, mi niña!” came the booming voice from across the space. Fernando appeared, all wide smile and familiar presence that made the hairs on Lando’s arms stand. “Finally! You keep me waiting too long.” The Spanish driver exclaimed. 

Amelia lit up, in that subtle way she did, just the slight lift of her eyebrows and the way she tilted forward a little as he pulled her into a tight hug. “You said Wednesday. It’s Wednesday.”

“So punctual, like a human calendar,” he teased, then pulled back and looked over her shoulder. His dark eyes zeroed in on Lando. “And this must be your boyfriend.”

Lando stepped forward, extending a hand. “Hey. Yeah, I’m Lando. It’s really nice to meet you, man—”

Fernando didn’t take the hand. He just stared for a moment. Then said, “As you know, I will be driving alongside you again next year. And I have taken a year off, so I may be… rusty. I would hate to be involved in any kind of racing accident with you, Norris.”

Lando stared at him. “Right.”

Amelia frowned. “Fernando. He’s been very nice to me.”

Fernando ignored her. “Do you like espresso?”

Lando nodded hesitantly. “I—I mean, yeah.”

“Good. Come. I will show you my sim rig and my data sheets, and then we’ll see if you are worth her time.”

Amelia made a small noise. “That wasn’t part of the plan—”

“Plans are for people without passion!” Fernando called over his shoulder as he marched off toward the far side of the large house. 

Lando shot Amelia a look, equal parts amused and alarmed. “Is he serious?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” she said, already walking after him. “But don’t worry. He only makes people run laps around his karting track when he really doesn’t like them.”

“That’s… not actually reassuring!” Lando exclaimed. 

She glanced over her shoulder at him and shrugged. “You’ll be fine. He offered you espresso.”

—

The jet hummed. Amelia was curled sideways in one of the oversized brown leather seats, legs tucked under her, iPad balanced on her knees. Charles sat across from her, nodding along with increasing confusion as Amelia spoke at a pace that could only be described as alarming. She was scrolling through graphs like a woman possessed, pointing at coloured lines and spiking data curves with growing excitement.

“—and then, if you look at the delta between laps fourteen and twenty-two, there’s a consistent 0.04 offset in throttle trace on exit, which shouldn’t happen unless you’re compensating for aero loss, probably from floor damage, but the thing is, the slip ratio here doesn’t match the expected degradation arc, so I think your downforce coefficient might’ve been slightly off due to a micro-blister pattern. See? Look… here.”

She spun the laptop toward him, tapping the screen.

Charles blinked. He followed her finger. He saw… a line. Maybe two. Some colours. Lots of numbers.

He was usually pretty good at reading his own data, enough to hold a solid conversation with his race engineer during debriefing. But clearly, Amelia operated on an entirely different level. Her brain didn’t just read the telemetry; it devoured it, translated it, turned it into a second language he was definitely not fluent in.

“…Oui,” he said eventually, smile tight and unsure. “Yes. That’s… very interesting.”

She beamed, clearly thrilled that he understood.

He did not.

Not even a little bit.

Across the aisle, Max leaned his head back with an amused exhale. “Amelia, let Charles sleep before his brain combusts.”

She turned, brows furrowed in confusion. “He asked about his Sector 2 drop-off in FP3. I can’t tell him how to fix it, but I can explain what he did wrong.”

“A lot, apparently,” Charles muttered, rubbing his temples.

Max smirked at him, and then turned back to her. “Come talk to me instead. I know you’ve got a list of critiques to walk me through.”

Amelia perked up, snapping her laptop closed. “Oh, yes. I’ve been meaning to ask you about that late-braking overtake attempt into Turn 8 at Silverstone. You lost at least 0.2 from the correction alone. Also, your throttle mapping in low-speed corners is still slightly erratic, less so than last year, but it could be cleaner.”

Max nodded at her indulgently. “Very helpful. And from Spain?”

Amelia hopped up from her seat and moved to the one next to Max, angling her iPad toward him. 

Charles turned slowly to Lando, who was sprawled out, watching the whole exchange with a cheesy grin. His eyes were warm and utterly enamoured. 

“…Is she like that all of the time?” Charles asked. 

Lando nodded. “Yeah. Isn’t she great? Like a walking Google search engine.”

Charles just took a deep breath. “She frightens me a little.”

Lando nodded. “Me too.”

Amelia, oblivious to their conversation, was already pulling up a new graph on her screen and gesturing wildly at something. Max was squinting at the scene and nodding. 

The jet hummed steadily beneath them. Outside, clouds drifted lazily past. Inside, amid banter and baffled glances, was something warm. Familiar.

Lando leaned his head back, smiling softly, gaze remaining on her. 

He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of watching her. 

—

The paddock was still settling. Trucks being unloaded, media crews trailing cables, mechanics in Red Bull polos jogging back and forth with crates of components. Amelia was in the hospitality suite, sitting between Max and Jos at a back table, just going over some Spa telemetry from last year, when her phone rang.

Unknown number.

She hesitated. She hated answering the phone. She exchanged a look with Max, who gave her an encouraging nod, and then answered.

“Hello?” She cringed at the pitch of her voice. 

A clipped voice responded. “Miss Brown. This is Laura Marchand with the FIA’s Competitive Integrity Division. I need to inform you that we’ve received a formal inquiry regarding your involvement with cross-team data access. We’re conducting a preliminary review. You’ve been named directly.”

Amelia’s brain blanked. “What? What are you talking about—”

“This isn’t a disciplinary action, but I’m obligated to inform you that the inquiry has been escalated internally.”

Click.

Silence.

Amelia slowly lowered the phone.

Jos didn’t speak, but Max immediately caught her expression. “Who was that?”

“Somebody named Laura… she— she works for the FIA.” Her voice came out small. “Someone filed a report about me. A— sporting integrity, data.” She was fumbling with her words. Her hands were shaking. “They said it’s been escalated.”

Max’s jaw locked. Jos leaned forward, eyes narrowed into sharp slits.

“Who would do that?” Max asked sharply. “That’s—bullshit.”

Jos didn’t ask who. He already knew.

He gave Amelia a steady, quiet look. “Did Christian try to talk to you about this kind of thing? Insinuate this being a concern of his?”

She nodded once, tight.

Max swore under his breath, hands flexing on the table.

Jos sat back for a moment, thinking. Then, without raising his voice, he said, “You need to go.”

Amelia blinked. “Go?”

“To get your father,” Jos said. “And Norris.”

Her eyes widened and panic thickened her throat. “Why? What does my dad have to do with—?”

“Amelia.” Jos’s tone was gentle, but absolute. “Listen to me, yes? Go and get them. Bring them back here.”

She hesitated. Her stomach was clenched.

“Why?” she asked again, quieter, more nervous. 

Jos didn’t smile, but his voice softened. “Because we’re going to work this out. Together.”

Max stood. “I’ll stay here with my dad. Go, Amelia.”

Amelia didn’t move for a second. Then she stood, slowly, shakily, and walked out the back of the hospitality unit, her feet carrying her in an all too familiar direction.

The calm before the storm had passed.

Now the clouds were rolling in.

NEXT CHAPTER

[cherryw0n]

The Walls — lhs

nocturna series

pairing: dabbler!heeseung x addict!reader (afab)

synopsis: the world of intoxication and ecstasy was something you never thought could be so enchanting, so tempting. until you went spiraling into it unable to supress the inner cravings and strong thirst for something so forbidden but so euphoric.

genre: angst, smut, fluff

contains: drug consumption, drug addiction, alcohol consumption, coctailing, unprotected sex, smoking, established relationship

smut warnings: dom!heeseung x sub!reader, high sex, unprotected sex, dryhumping, manhandling, overstimulation, begging, cum play, oral (f. & m. receiving), dirty talk, praise, spit play, facesitting, snowballing, masturbation (f.)

NOT PROOFREAD! (english is not my first language)

MDNI!

It was his fault.

No.

It was really his fault.

But he himself couldn't stop, at least not right now.

The kisses you were leaving all over his neck, your hands groping every inch of his shoulders as you grinded over him on his lap made him weak. He threw his head back, moaning in pure bliss, the blood in his veins pumping fast, carrying adrenaline together with something more, something addictive. Cocaine.

You yourself weren't a stranger to it. If not, you were a little too far gone than Heeseung. It was enthrilling. Euphoric. No other feeling could compare to it, no other experience is equal to it. Just pure heaven. The arousal spread through your body faster, tactical. Every sound he made seemed so far yet so close. Your mind was fuzzy, body felt light and limp, it was only desire that moved you.

"Fuck baby—" He groaned out the moment you bit down into his jugular, messily letting the saliva slide down. Your thighs trapped his hips down to the couch, his slight thursts lazyly losing power with each grind down of your clothed cunt. The room felt suffocating, curtains were pulled over the windows, not letting any of the moonlight in. Only source of light was a small lamp right by the couch, casting shadows all over the living room as much as it's weak light reached.

Heeseung threw back his head, whines leaving his parted plump lips whilst you pulled back and locked your gaze on his expression. Fuck. You moaned, half lidded eyes fighting to stay open with each grind of your hips becoming harsher and faster. His sweats were drenched, your juices mixing into a messy patch. His hard lenght pressed into your pantie covered folds, sliding and letting you feel everything even over the clothes.

He was a mess, whiny. He could feel his orgasm approaching with each bump of his covered tip over your clit. Heeseung's head pulsed, the pleasure getting to his every nerve and the only thing he could do to brace himself for the high of the highs was to bite down on his forearm that he drapped over his mouth in a poor attempt to stop the sounds of becoming any louder than they already are. His other hand traveled to your hip, pushing you down harder in a desperate chase of his long awaited orgasm. "Hee, it feels so good!" You whined out, voice already hoarse from all the sounds that you let out for the past hour of humping and making out.

Heeseung was out, his eyes were tight shut, head still thrown back as his teeth dug deeper into his flesh. He nodded vigorously, not caring that you weren't getting the confirmation back. His hips gained the rhythm back, harshly fucking up into your slippery folds, cock already sore, sensitive and on the brink of bursting. You were so gone, the high of the drug not letting you down, only letting your body succumb to the pleasure easier. "Baby I'm gonna cum!" You closed your eyes, focusing on the hot knot on the verge of explosion, hands sliding over your swollen breasts, giving them a rough squezze. "Ah fuck...harder—" You cried out, head thrown back at the harsh slide of his tip over your swollen bud. It was all it took for pleasure to overflow you, hips sttutering, mouth agape open as you humped yourself through the climax.

Heeseung was there too, and the moment he hurriedly looked at your body over his lap, shaking from your own orgasm, and feeling your hot drenched pussy drag in a slightly slower grinds as you indulged in every and each second of your high, he moaned loudly letting his own take over. His tights trembled, humps became sloppy, his heart hammered violently against his ribcage as he released in the confinement of his briefs with the loudest moan he ever elicited.

Hard breathing filled the room, breaths mixing messily as your head spun from the overwhelming pleasure. His chest heavied up and down, glistening with thin layer of sweat, exhsustingly trying to get to some air. You reached over to the night table with the lamp right by the couch and swiped your finger on the residue of white powder, slowly raising it to your lips and sucking it off. You moaned in delight, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Heeseung observed you, the both highs slowly wearing off. But you on the other hand were still having fun. The euphoric smile on your face as you felt the small crytal powder against your taste buds was telling enough. Your hips grinded against him again, getting a small hiss of sensitivity back but you were still out of it, out of this reality. "Heeseung, I want more..." You cuddled into his chest, whiny voice barely sounded stable as you kissed his neck. He chuckled, peeling you off of him and bringing you up to face him.

"You want what Y/N?"

His thumb brushed your bottom lip, pulling it down before letting it bounce back. Just as he was about to pull his finger away you grabbed his hand, hazed red eyes looking up at him through the lashes. "Coke..." You took his thumb into your mouth, sucking harshly and messily. A breathy laugh left his throat at those words and he smiled teasingly. Smiled because he didn't know what mess will be created from just letting you in on his world of dabbling drugs, just simply enjoying the high for fun.

"Got you addicted to high sex, huh baby?"

And it was a mistake.

A big mistake that can't be undone as wished.

• • • • • •

Music hit Heeseung's eardrums unplesantly loud, making him silently wince in response as the entrace door closed behind him. He was hit with a smell of smoke invading his nosetrils, leaving a burning sensation up his sinuses as his eyes stinged due to the toxic fume. As he slowly took steps down the hall here and there couples were scattered around, some talking, some fighting and some making out using the hall as a secluded area for their private matters. He stepped into the living room where the rest of the party was and the scene fully unraveled before him.

Heat rushed over him instantly. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat and something undistinguishable. A makeshift dance floor had formed near the speakers, bodies moving in a reckless rhythm, lost in the music. A couple lounged on the couch, too deep in their own world to notice the people around them. The coffee table was scattered with red plastic cups and half-empty bottles, illuminated by the soft erratic glow of the neon sign placed on the wall.

Jake always knows how to throw a good party, that's for sure.

"You finally made it!"

The sudden collision with you attaching to his chest and hugging him startled him. He gasped in surprise but quickly, a smile was on his face as he hugged you back. "Woah, slow down girl!" You giggled against his thick hoodie, in the process getting some of the liquor from your cup onto his clean clothes. Heeseung felt the warmth of your body against his, but something was off. Your grip was tight—too tight. Your fingers trembled slightly where they clutched at his hoodie, and when you pulled back, he got a better look at you. Pupils were blown wide, your smile lopsided in a way that wasn’t just from the alcohol. The faint smell of vodka clung to your breath, mixing with something sharper, something artificial. He could tell.

Heeseung forced a smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as he studied you. "You feeling good?" His tone was casual, but his mind was racing. You grinned, nodding quickly. "So good. You should catch up, baby." You said, pressing a cold cup into his hand. Your fingers lingered on Heeseung's, eyes gleaming with a kind of feverish excitement. "Maybe later." He gave you a tight lipped grin as he placed the cup on the nearest table. Your red and hazy eyes still looking up at him, giggling to yourself.

His stomach clenched. He'd been the one to introduce you to the world of casual highs, to the occasional pill or line at a party when the night called for it. But you had been careful, hesitant even. Lately, though, that hesitation had vanished. And tonight? You were on something more than just alcohol—he could see it in the way your body swayed, like you weren't fully anchored to the ground.

It scared him.

Your relationship was just taking it's leap. Six months and counting, the first day you met still fresh in his mind as a day. And how could it not be? You got together just a few months ago, still getting to know some parts of one another and getting comfortable. You were a good girl, shy at first, always up in your own small world, kind and smart. You were everything Heeseung could ask for in a girl. But now, you were slowly changing. Maybe he shouldn't have brought you to one of these parties a couple of months ago, maybe he shouldn't have let you see him taking a ecstasy pill, maybe just maybe he didn't have to give you that pill too.

"Yo, Hee!" Heeseung's attention was stolen by the new approaching figure. "Hey Jake, what's up? " He stood before him grinning as he dabbed him up. Jake's cologne was mixed with the ever-present scent of booze and smoke in the air, his dark hair slightly tousled like he'd already been through a few rounds of partying. He glanced between Heeseung and your slow body giggling for no reason, and he gave his friend a look of concern, his eyes filled with something that only they could understand at the moment. Heeseung let his eyes drift to the ground before wandering all over the place, scanning the strangers in a attempt to avoid the pressure of his friend's gaze, and Jake got the message.

"You finally decided to show up!" Jake spoke teasingly over the loud music, getting a little closer to Heeseung. Heeseung forced a smirk. "Wouldn't miss it." Jake chuckled and held out a shot glass that he already brought with him in preparation. "Then prove it." Heeseung glanced at you and your swaying figure, the half empty glass he took out of your grip earlier now in your hands again. You seemed loose and carefree, enjoying the rhythmic bass as you let it get to you and be the only thing occupiying your mind. His uneasiness didn't fade, but it was drowned put by the heat of moment — the music, the energy. Maybe he was overthinking. Maybe you were just having fun.

And as if let off the leash, he grabbed the shot from Jake's hand and downed it in one go. The burning liquor left a heating sensation down his throat, making him grimace. Jake whooped in approval, getting himself a unopened beer from the table and handing one to Heeseung too.

And just like that, the night swallowed him whole.

Hours blurred into moments—more drinks, more laughter. Heeseung kept an eye on you, watching for any sign that you were spiraling, but the alcohol dulled the sharp edge of his suspicion. Every time he caught you giggling at nothing or losing focus mid-conversation, he told himself it was fine. You were fine. His concern that sat deep in his chest was replaced with carelessness the more he let himself enjoy the night, but it was till he felt your fingers lacing through his, pulling him with as you both stumbled through the crowd together.

Strangers brushed past him, some with barely a glance, others throwing quick smiles or playful shoves as they moved through the crowd. But it was all a blur to his tipsy mind. Dimly lit hall way was somehow empty, the only two figures that stumbled into it were you two, his hands gripped at your waist as you pushed him harshly against the wall capturing his lips in a hungry kiss.

No slow build up like usual, no teasing. Just a messy hungry kiss. Your mouth moved sloppily against his, making Heeseung smile into the kiss. You were barely standing, pathetically holding onto his shoulders as he held you up against him by the waist, the glass that you refused of letting go the whole night still somehow gripped in your palm. Agitation took over your whole body, but it was fighting with all its streght to stay collected. Your muscles were slowly giving out, but the euphoria that traveled through your system was not persisting.

You were pressing yourself against Heeseung harder, desperate to keep on partying, to keep the heat going. Heeseung whined against your lips, saliva messily dripping between your bodies and right onto your exposed clevage. You lips all of a sudden felt numb, tongue too as if something paralyzed them. No sensation was felt on them whatsoever and then your grip loosened, hands gripped at Heeseung's hoodie, lips disconnected as he was taken aback.

Heeseung barely had time to process it before your body gave out, knees buckling. A choked sound escaped your throat as if your brain was struggling to keep up with what was happening to your own body.

"Hey—" Heeseung caught you before you could hit the floor, his arms wrapping around your waist instinctively. His heartbeat, which had been pounding from the drunken high of the moment, now raced for an entirely different reason. You were trembling.

Your head lolled against his chest, breathing uneven. Heeseung quickly switched your positions, pressing your back against the wall for support. His hands framed your face, tilting your chin up so he could see your eyes. They were unfocused, pupils blown wide, expression dazed as if you weren't fully present.

"Babe—" His voice came out hoarse, the alcohol in his system doing little to soften the sharp panic slicing through him. "Hey, talk to me." Your lips parted, but no words came out. Eyes blinking sluggishly, like you were trying to wake up from a dream but couldn't find your way back. Heeseung sobered up in an instant.

This wasn’t just being drunk. This wasn’t just a high.

His stomach turned as realization hit him all at once—whatever you had taken, it was too much. Way too much. He had seen people go too far before, seen the way their bodies stopped listening to them when the mix of substances became lethal. But never you. Never this. Heeseung swallowed hard, pushing down the rising fear in his chest.

"Jake!" His voice cracked as he turned his head, searching the crowd for his friend through the living room door, hoping that somehow someone will hear. "Jake—help!" Everything around him blurred—the music, the people, the party. None of it mattered anymore. The only thing that mattered was keeping you awake. Keeping you here. Heeseung pressed his forehead against yours, gripping you tighter. "Stay with me, okay?" His voice was barely above a whisper now, his own breath shaking. "Just stay with me."

"Hey what's happe—"

"Jay! Help me get her to the bathroom! Quick!" He picked you up in his arms, running into the living room and through the crowd of piled up people, getting some insults and shows back, but he didn't care. Jay ran after him, being the only one in this whole party that didn't touch a drop of alcohol or any kind of drug since he got here ten minutes ago. The climb up the stairs felt excruciatingly longer than usual, Heeseung dodged bodies and bodies. "Move — move!" Jake barked,dragging open the bathroom door, Heeseung barged inside quickly putting you down by the sink. "Grab the sink Y/N, hold yourself up, come on." Jay slammed the door shut, fiddling with the lock hurriedly until it clicked.

Heeseung instructed to you whilst he got the water facet on, cold water numbing his fingers under the stream as he got it on your face. "Jay, hold her." Heeseung was panicking but still held his composure with his movements sharp and precise. The other boy slipped right by you, grabbing your arms that weakly gripped the sink. "She's burning up..." Jay's hand flew to your forehead. "What the hell did she take?" Jay spoke, his usually playful demeanor nowhere to be seen. Heeseung ignored the question. He didn’t know, and right now, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting you back.

The music was thumbing in your head, the bass ringing off in a drowsy melody. Your ears felt stuffed, muscles weak and worn out, eyes were fixed on one dot with your mind blank and dazed. It all felt too unreal. The coldness on your face and neck made you shiver. Slight trembles were shaking you, breathing still shallow. You flinched when another splash of water meet your face, a small gasp leaving your dry mouth and lashes fluttering. Heeseung kept on cupping your face with cold water, bringing it down to your neck too. "Come on Y/N!" He spoke loud and clear, emphasizing your name.

Your breathing was still shallow, but as Heeseung pressed another handful of cool water to your warm skin, your eyes started to clear—just a little. Fingers twitched weakly against the edge of the sink with Jay still clutching you in his arms. "There you are..." Heeseung whispered, his voice barely steady, breathing still deep.

You blinked up at him, lips parting slightly as if you were about to say something—but then a sharp gasp tore from your throat. Before either of them could react, you lurched forward, retching violently into the sink. Heeseung's chest tightened, but relief washed over him at the same time. Your body was fighting back. You were coming down. Jay moved beside you, grabbing a towel and wetting it before handing it over. "She's gonna be okay. " He said, more to himself than anyone else. Heeseung nodded, rubbing your back gently as you clutched the sink, breaths ragged and uneven.

Heeseung hovered over you, one of his hands now grabbing at bits of your hair as the other gripped the wet towel, his jaw clenched tight. His gaze observed your flushed face as you gripped the sink tighter, knuckles turned white from all the retching and the vomit that was spilling from your sore throat. It was agonizing. The stench that filled the room was like no other, just pure filth of alcoholic vapor. Jay grimaced, covering his mouth with the forearm in a poor attempt to dull the smell.

You struggled to breath whilst vomiting, eyes were glossy and felt like they would fall out of your sockets any minute. The vomit slowed down, your spit getting the last bits out. You gasped for air, mind still unaware of what just happened. You slumped down onto the toilet seat right next to the counter, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Your cheeks were flushed, eyes watery but bright, still wide with the remnants of the high. Then, you laughed. A light, airy giggle that echoed off the tiles.

"God... " You said, breathless, looking up at Heeseung with a dazed smile. "That was intense." Jay observed everything, eyes going from your giggly figure up to Heeseung's fuming frame. "I'm gonna leave you two to it..." Jay mumbled before slipping out of the bathroom, giving you two space—or avoiding the fallout. The moment door clicked shut, the world quieted.

You kept on giggling, almost falling off the toilet. Heeseung stood there before you, looking down at your state, party obviously continuing in your head. His fists clenched at his sides, anger raising hot and slow beneath his skin. "Come on, let's go back—" Your hand went to grab his forearm in an attempt to stand up on your wobbly legs but his sharp voice cut you off.

"What did you take?" He asked, voice low, too calm. You blinked up at him, slightly swaying with the smile not faltering. "Relax. I just—" You chuckled softly. "I didn't expect it to hit that hard."

"What. The Fuck. Did you take?" Heeseung spat out through gritted teeth, eyes blazing through you. Your eyes flicked to his again, smile faltered for the first time tonight, eyes squinted as you thought back to it. "I had... two tabs of acid..." You spoke, words dragging against your tongue a little. "Then someone gave me a bump—he said it was just molly... I think there was something else in it. Then vodka. But not that much!—" You smiled up at him at the last part, vision still slightly blurry. His serious expression made you confess, as if he didn't already know. "—not really... "

Heeseung couldn't believe his ears. How reckless you behaved. He took a half step back, racking his hand through his hair with a huff of disbelief. "Jesus Christ—" He stared you down, waiting for any sign of regret, of realization of what you just did for the first time. But none surfaced, only a smiley drunk mess looked back at him, slightly swaying to the beat of music that got to the bathroom. "Are you even hearing yourself right now?!" His tone raised, anger getting the best of him.

"You are so hot when you are angry..." You bit your bottom lip, eyes narrowing in a seductive gaze, back leaning back against the tank. Heeseung was so worked up, not noticing or hearing your comment whilst he continued. "I was not here for the first two hours because of family stuff and you go and do something stupid like this?!" He was particularly yelling at you his hands flying all around with each word. You lazyly grabbed one of his wrist, hooded eyes looking up at him through lashes with his body being pulled close to you. "Why are you so mad? You have done worse. You were the one who told me to stop overthinking this shit and just... feel it."

"Not all at once! Not like this! I didn't tell you to fucking black out" Heeseung was furious, not being able to comprehend that you did something so reckless, something that a month ago would be a story that would creep you out before you went to bed. "You could have collapsed out there!.... If I wasn't with you then what?! You think someone would have noticed?" He stopped, attention finally fully on you that was basically hugging his hips, red glossy eyes looking up at him with your bottom lip stuck between your teeth with your chin resting on his lower stomach. You weren't listening to a thing. He clocked it the moment you two locked eyes, pure lust radiated off you as he huffed in frustration, defeat taking over. "Unbelievable." His voice cut sharp over the distant music letting each syllable bounce off the four tight walls. You giggled at that.

A joke.

This was all a joke to you.

"We are going home. Now."

"Nooo~"

• • • • • •

It's been a month. A month after you almost blacked out. You promised to Heeseung the day after the party when the hangover hit harder then ever that you won't do it again. And boy, was it hard. You got into the relationship with Heeseung knowing that about him. That he does it for fun, occasionally. You were not supportive of it, not one bit, always staying away from any kind of drugs. Throughout the whole high school you never even lit a cigar, let alone tried drugs. So being in relationship with a person who is all about the YOLO motto was kind of new, scary and at the same time refreshing.

You got to try everything that seemed intimidating and always followed with some stigma and fear. You lit your first cigar a month into the relationship at one of the visits to his apartment, surprisingly, on your own request, and he gave you one. The first ever head you got was, again, by him in his car while it rained and you two had to stop due to the downpour. It was mind blowing. Definitely one of the best rainy days to be remembered, that's for sure. The first time you got drunk was again around the same time, a month and a half into the relationship, Jake's house and that hang out is definitely one of core memories.

You could say that you were blooming, finally experiencing all the teenage stuff you missed out on. You felt alive. For the first time in your life you felt the adrenaline of doing something off limits, something that was forbiden for the longest time you could remember. The strictness of your parents that you were under till you turned eighteen was excruciating. But thankfully you were now free of that, the constant nagging now turned into "how was the party" and so on. A breath of fresh air.

On top of all that, you felt safe with Heeseung. One of his biggest virtues is making everyone feel like they belong, like they are protected when near him. And that was what attracted you to him the most. The relationship overall was thriving, you two met at the campus one random day when he actually showed up for the classes, since he had a part time job and could not get to each and every lecture. It all happened so fast, but the instant click was there.

You love him. He was everything you could ask for. Caring, kind, humble, faithful and so on. He was a dream come true. You really hit a jackpot with him as your first boyfriend and you were proud of it, of him.

But it all started slowly crumbling down bit by bit the moment drugs hit your senses. At that time you didn't realize that the clever and occasional highs with your boyfriend would have led you here.

You sat at your study desk, trying to focus and get this part of the lesson over with, but it was hard. Your leg kept on bouncing under the table, fingernails were all the time between your teeth, some of them already bleeding and red. Your mind raced with the words from the paper running around in a hope of distraction. It was no use. Your mouth was dry, no sip of water could get it hydrated enough as the water simply seemed to evaporate from your organism the moment it came in contact with it.

"Fuck." You groaned under your breath, hands coming up and messing with your hair before they rested in it. You need something. You really do or you will go insane. Abruptly getting up, you went over to your drawers and opened the first one, rummaging through it you found nothing. You groaned loudly in anger, slamming the drawer shut. You used up all the weed you had, but you knew you needed something stronger. Well as much as you told and promised Heeseung about staying away from any kind of drug that much you were lying.

The thirst was something indescribable, something you never felt before. And it could not be pushed down or forgotten. You craved the drugs. Your body betrayed you, asking for something you knew was forbiden, but it always won. No matter how hard you tried. Heeseung didn't know about your cravings, but you didn't need to tell him, he saw right through you. He knew you good enough to notice that not everything was right.

You walked in circles in the middle of your room, huffing in frustration. What should you do? Racking a hand through your messy hair you stopped. One name on your mind that you knew you could call up. Your shaky hands grabbed your phone from the bed hurriedly, quickly typing in the name and clicking on it.

One ring.

Two rings.

"Hello?"

"Hey Jungwon..."

• • • • • •

It’d been a quiet night. For once.

The apartment smelled faintly like instant noodles and cologne, the blue glow of the TV flickering across the walls as Heeseung leaned back into the couch, controller in hand, eyes locked on the screen. Jay sat on the floor, legs crossed, fingers moving furiously over his own controller. "Bro, you always camp that corner." Jay complained, tossing his head back. "You are such a rat."

"Strategic positioning." Heeseung smirked, taking another shot in game. "Don’t hate the player." Jay groaned and tossed a chip into his mouth. "Your 'strategic positioning' is annoying." The banter rolled easy between them. Normal. It felt good, like space had formed between Heeseung and everything messy he's been drowning in.

Then, his phone lit up. Heeseung's thumb paused over the controler as his eyes flicked over to the bright phone screen.

Y/N<3: come over. I miss u

He stared at it for too long that Jay noticed. "Her?" He asked, eyes back on the screen, thumbs still working over the buttons. "Yeah..." Heeseung mumbled back, already reaching for his leather jacket. "She wants me to come over." Jay's jaw clenched, hesitating before he spoke. "Wait. Before you go..." Heeseung was already on his two feet, swinging the jacket over his shoulders as he got it on. "What?" Jay shifted uncomfortably, eyes all off a sudden interested in the carpet. "I forgot to tell you... She, uh, asked Jungwon for something last week."

Heeseung blinked. "Jungwon? Like...Jungwon Jungwon?" Jay nodded back. "Yeah. Said she hit him up asking for some pills. Something mellow. I didn't think she would actually follow through but—" Heeseung's gut twisted. "You are joking." Jay raised his hands defensively. "I thought you knew." Heeseung was already walking towards the door, aggressively putting his shoes on. "She told me she was done. She looked me in the face and told me she was done."

"I know man. I didn't wanna stir shit up if she was just asking—"

"You should have told me the second you knew!" Heeseung barked, grabbing his keys. Jay stood up, eyes wide. "Wait, Hee! Don't go there pissed, you will just blow up and—" But his friend was already out the door, slamming it on the way out.

His knuckles were white around the steering wheel. Every red light made his pulse throb harder in his temples. The memory of her last time—laughing, stumbling, trying to kiss him like nothing had happened, the parties where you had no restrains played on repeat in his head. He really wanted to classify them as you just having fun, but it was going out of control even before that infamous blackout a month ago. He noticed all the small signs, the slight shakiness of your hands while at lectures, the bit down fingernails, constant drinking of water in a attempt to try and calm yourself. He noticed all. It was till the point he stopped getting high with you when alone, finding excuses like "I'm tired" or "I have none left" just so he wouldn't have to watch you fall apart. He shouldn't have gave you any in the first place to start with.

He regrets it.

You said you stopped and he believed you. And now you were doing it again. Behind his back. When he pulled up in your driveway, he noticed your parents car was not there, the only light in the house being on was in your room. Great. Getting himself out of the car he ringed once and simply let himself in. You were home alone and even left the door unlocked? Pretty responsible.

Heeseung scanned the dark living room, stepping inside and closing the door making sure to turn the lock and get his shoes off before heading up the stairs. Your door was slightly open, letting the light peak through the slight crack. When he pushed the door open, jaw locked tight, he scanned the room like he expected to see drugs lying out in the open. You flinched at the sudden sound, gripping the towel around you tighter as you turned towards the door a small smile on your lips. "Hey Hee..." You adjusted the towel on your head before taking steps towards him. Heeseung stood there, eyes going over your freshly washed body, but stiil, the smell of your baby talc was not the only thing that lingered in the air. Weed.

"Well that was fast—"

"Did you hit up Jungwon for pills?"

Silence.

You stood before him, staring blankly at his serious face. Your lips parted slightly, like you hadn't expected him to lead with that. "What?" You retorted, almost too innocent, your brows narrowed in confusion, slight smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "What are you talking about—"

"Don't lie to me." He took a step closer, and he had what to smell. You reeked of weed, the earthy scent faded but still there. You rolled your eyes, tension tightening your shoulders. "I didn't take anything. I just...asked."

"Why?" He snapped. "Why the hell would you do that? After everything that happened? After I carried you to the bathroom so you wouldn't pass out in the middle of a party?! Wh—"

"God, Heeseung!—" You took a step back, overwhelmed. Eyes now full of something he couldn't decipher, something you yourself couldn't quite put a finger on. "Will you stop for once... " Your chest moved shallowly as your tone changed to a whisper. "Acting like I'm a baby and can't care for myself. Stop playing dad, Jesus!" You turned away from him, taking the towel from your head and throwing it on the bed. Wet hair on your shoulders sent shivers down your spine as you grabbed the comb and started doing your hair in front of the mirror, like nothing happened. Maybe it was you just avoiding conflict. Or you were scared of the confrontation you knew will come with the argument.

"Oh, so now I'm the villain? And for what? For caring too much?! Miss me with that fucking bullshit! You think this is only about that one time huh?!..." Heeseung now stood next to you, your peripheral vision blurred by him standing close whilst you slowly dragged the brush through your wet hair, jaw tightening. "You really think I didn't notice what's been happening to you? How you have been slipping further? You think I didn't clock every excuse, every lie, every time you said it to my face and weren't honest? It's not a phase, Y/N. It's an addiction—"

"Get out of my fucking face!" You pushed at his chest, making him stumble back a bit, but not from the force—but from the slight tremble and a crack in your voice. The brush tumbled to the ground, forgotten. He hit a nerve. You trembled, eyes boring through his, fists clenched by your sides. "Hit a nerve huh—"

"I don’t need you standing there like some savior." you hissed, voice shaking—not from weakness, but rage laced with fear. "Like you are above this. Like you haven't done the same shit, worse even." He scoffed, jaw clenching. "Don't turn this on me. I never lied about what I was doing. I never pretended I was okay."

"No, you just gave it to me!" you shouted, pointing at him. "You were the one who got me into this. You handed me the first pill like it was a game. Don't stand there and act like you’re clean."

"I never thought you'd drown in it." he said, almost under his breath, but the words landed like a punch. "I didn't think you would need it." Your throat tightened. That sting behind your eyes rose fast. But you refused to let it fall. Not in front of him. Not now. "You don’t know what the fuck I need." You muttered, voice barely held together.

"That's what you do, isn't it?" he went on, voice bitter. "You push until people leave so you don't have to face what you’re doing to yourself."

"Oh, fuck you!" You screamed. "You don't know me! You think just because you stuck around during a few breakdowns, you have earned the right to speak like you are some authority on who I am?!"

“I do know you." he growled, stepping forward again. "I know you are smart. I know you are strong. And I know you are so goddamn scared of being vulnerable that you would rather burn down every good thing around you than admit you need help."

You shook your head, shaking with anger, frustration, and fear. "Stop acting like you know everything. I don't need you coming in here trying to fix me. I'm not addicted!" The last words sat heavy on your tongue, your glossy eyes looking straight into his but behind them there was something that couldn't be hidden. Unsureness.

Heeseung's face hardened. "You know what? Maybe not. Maybe I’m not good. But at least I’m not hiding behind a bottle and a fake laugh while I rot from the inside out." That one hurt. You physically recoiled. A tense, horrible silence fell between you both. Breathing hard. Shaking. You spoke first, bitter and cold.

"Get out."

Heeseung’s jaw flexed, eyes burning holes through you. "Gladly." He turned on his heels without another word and stormed out, slamming the door so hard it rattled the frame. You stood there, heart pounding, fists trembling, eyes burning.

You didn't cry.

You didn't move.

You were too mad for tears.

Too hurt to call him back.

And way too scared to admit he might have been right.

• • • • • •

It's been days. Days since you talked to your boyfriend and it was weird. Everyone noticed your distance, especially at the campus where you two litteraly avoided each other. Heeseung needed time. He had to process everything and actually think about what he wants out of this relationship. He had to figure where you two stand. It was not so easy.

You on the other hand felt empty. With Heeseung no longer by your side you felt more alone then ever. You were lonely. Sad to admit, but he was your only company. You never had much friends. The ones you had were left behind by you the moment you entered a relationship with him, and you shouldn't have done it. Heeseung was telling you that, to try to rekindle the contact with some, but you were too deep into your relationship, it consumed you to the point you didn't care for anyone else except him.

It now backfired.

As you sat down on your balcony, the starry sky over you shining and illuminating your face, almost as if caressing your heavy lashes, you were lost. Your eyes were red, red from the drug that was rushing through your bloodstream and playing with every nerve in your brain. The pill had kicked in a while ago—maybe thirty, maybe fifty minutes. Time had melted into something meaningless. Benzos always did that. It didn't hit like a train, didn't smack you across the face. It just...hushed everything. The noise in your head, the ache in your chest, the trembling in your fingers. All muted now. Just a soft, slippery nothing.

The metal chair you sat on felt uncomfortable, digging into your leaned back and backside uncomfortably as you held your legs close to your chest, head thrown back against the wall. You fucked up. You did. And your eyes stang, again. A single tear dropping down your cheek whilst you kept a blank face. He was right. He was right about everything.

Another tear.

You had a problem and you didn't know how to fix that. You shouldn't have touched drugs, you shouldn't have even thought about it. But the thrill pulled you in and made sure you kept coming back. It was a game that rarely who managed to escape, and that thought scared you. You were too prideful, no, too scared to admit what path you were going down just days ago, but now, it was all clear. There was not a day you weren't on something. That's how bad it had become. Crises were becoming a everyday thing, your apearence started to exude your inner conflicts, leading to you going to lectures not caring about proper hygiene. The last days were really a spiral that seemed inevitable. Your meals all the together weren't regular. A mess, that's the last week summed up. A fucking mess.

It had been days since you heard from him. Not a text. Not a call. Not even a passive-aggressive story repost you could overanalyze. Nothing. And somehow, this hurt more than all your fights combined. The tears started pouring down, your shaky hand came up to wipe them off but only more were coming. You gasped, hands rubbing your calfs up and down, a nervous tick that kept going even if you weren't nervous anymore.

You should have been angry. But you weren't. Or maybe you were. You couldn't tell anymore. Everything inside you had flatlined.

The highs weren't fun anymore. It wasn't wild or dizzying or euphoric. It was hollow, only acting like a stabilizer that kept you alive. The cravings did not have mercy. You fucked it all up. And maybe you had. Maybe he was done. Maybe he meant it.

The thought left nothing but a painful ache in your chest. Your head pounded, body trembled as the tears heavied your vision, the night sky now dissolving into one big blur, the sobs never stopped .

• • • • • •

The sound of laughter and bicker bounced off the alley walls next to Heeseung's building as the friends kept on talking. The city buzzed in the background, cars passing, distant chatter of people, the light bass of the music on the rooftop bar could be felt. Heeseung sat on the wodden crate with the half-burned cigar between his fingers, legs stretched out in front of him, his head tipped back as he exhaled slowly.

Jay was leaned up against the opposite wall, flipping the lighter open and shut out of habit whilst Sunghoon and Jake debated over some movie trivia, their voices loud but harmless. "Bro, I'm telling you..." Jake insisted, pointing his cigar like it was a mic. "It wasn't his real kid, it was a setup." Sunghoon scoffed at that, rolling his eyes. "Shut up. You always think everything is a conspiracy." Jay let out a chuckle at their stupid argument. "Y'all sound like a YouTube comment section." He looked over to Heeseung. "Back me up."

Heeseung gave a half-laugh, corners of his lips tugging up slightly. "I'm too high for logic right now." Everyone laughed just for a moment. Everything seemed fine. Until Jay's eyes lingered too long on Heeseung's face, reading the quiet behind the smirk. Then he spoke. "So... You heard from Y/N?" The laughter stopped like someone had hit mute, Sunghoon and Jake turning to Heeseung, noticing the uneasiness after the mention of you. His jaw ticked, fingers tightening slightly around the cigar. He didn't look at them, just took another drag, slow and heavy. "Not tryna start something. Just asking." Jay added on in defence.

Heeseung let the smoke sit on his tongue for a second before blowing it out with a scoff. "No, I haven't." The words lingered heavy in the air, Sunghoon and Jake exchanged a look but didn't say anything. Jay leaned a bit, voice low. "You miss her?" Heeseung stared ahead, watching the smoke snake through the air, his mind blank but at the same time racing before be answered. "Of course..." Jay nodded slowly, flicking the ash onto the ground. "You think she is gonna come back from it?"

Silence.

Heeseung finally looked at him, eyes darker then usual. "I don't know. That's the part that pisses me off the most. I don't know." There was a long pause. City was still bustling, but here it felt like it was frozen. "I tried." voice quiter now but still sharp. "I tried to pull her out, talks and talks. But it seems like she doesn't get the weight of it. This is all just a getting loose thing to her and it pisses me off. Acting like a fucking child..." The boys stared at him, their eyes carrying something more—sympathy, maybe. Or guilt.

"And every time I bring it up she turns it on me. I get it! I get it that I shouldn't have let her dabble with me, but I didn't know she was that labile..." Jay nodded again, humming in understanding. Sunghoon cleared his throat, breaking the awkward silence with the offer. "You wanna hit something more after this? Grab a drink or something?"

Heeseung blinked, taking the last long drag from the cigar, toxic smoke spreading through his lungs before it exited through his nostrils and slightly parted lips, creating a cloud of fog over his head. He let the cigarette butt down by him, stepping with his heel on it before he answered. "Fuck yeah."

Jake whooped and threw his unfinished cigar. "Let's go!" Like always, he was up for drinking and partying. His reaction got smiles on other boys' faces, light laughter filled the alley. Heeseung knew he needed this. No regret or overthinking tonight, just simple night out with his friends. Carefree and alive. Tonight, he will get you off his mind, even if that only lasted a couple of hours.

He needs this.

• • • • • •

The clicking of cutlery against porcelain echoed softly in the dinner room together with your parents banter. The dinner before you looked beautiful—roasted vegetables, grilled chicken, all neatly plated and ready to be devoured. But you couldn't stomach any of it. You sat at the table, shoulders slouched as you stirred the rice unappetizingly with your fork. Your eyes were tired, the tired that makeup couldn't hide anymore. Your frame was hugged by a baggy hoodie, sleeves run down your arms as if almost trying to swallow you.

"You barely touched your plate." Your mom said gently, pausing her glass of water halfway to her lips. "Are you still feeling sick?" You blinked slowly. "Yeah..." You murmured under your breath. "Still kinda... off." Your dad glanced up from his phone, eyes drifting from a important email and right to your weak figure. His eyebrow furrowed. "You missed three days of classes. You sure you are okay?" Concern could be heard in his gentle tone.

"I'm fine." You answered a little too quickly, voice flat. "It's probably just the flu or something." Your mom gave you a look, skeptical but not confrontational. "Maybe we should take you to a doctor, sweetie." You shook your head. "No. I'm just tired. I'll be okay." A silence took over for a few seconds, your fork again in the plate before you, scraping it. Then your mom spoke again, more careful this time.

"I haven't seen Heeseung around for awhile. Everything okay between you two?"

The fork stilled in your hand. Your eyes locked to the plate, breathing barely noticeable. The question sliced through you —normal, casual, but you still couldn't answer it. Your mouth was opening but nothing came out. Your throat tightened, tongue sat heavy and dry. The silence grew noticeable, both of your parents now hyper focused on you, every movement stopping. Your mothers brow's knitted together. "Y/N?" You still didn’t answer.

You didn't know what to say. How do you explain that the boy they once smiled at across the doorway has not spoken to you for weeks since the last time he looked at you was like a stranger when you were in the same room together? That you couldn't bring yourself to feel normal anymore, not in your skin, not in your thoughts—and you didn't even have a good enough reason for why you spiraled in the first place.

Your dad glanced between you and your mother, he didn't push. He never did.

You finally forced a weak shrug, voice flat. "We have just been... busy. He's been with his friends." Your voice cracked in the middle, so quietly that your mother had to lean in to catch it. More silence. Your mom smiled faintly, not convinced of your words. "Alright. Well... Let us know if you want to talk about anything." You nodded quickly eyes never leaving the plate.

But in your chest, shame coiled tight—hot and choking. They didn't know. Not really. And if they ever did… if they ever truly looked close enough—

You took a shaky breath and stabbed a piece of cold chicken.

Pretending was easier.

• • • • • •

The room was dim, lit by only your bright phone screen and the moonlight that came down through the blinds. The house was quiet, pretty quiet. Your parents were working night shifts again, so that meant no people to distract you. Sheets were tangled at your feet, music playing low from the speaker, something ambient and slow, barely keeping you tethered to reality. You sat up as you clicked on the first icon in the message app, staring at the last message you had sent him.

You: come over. I miss u

It woke up the ache that you worked so hard to avoid. But there's no going back now. Your finger trembled as they danced over the keyboard, typing and retyping the same message with unsureness.

You: I miss you

Send.

You: Please come over

Send.

You: Please

Send. Send. Send.

Your chest tightened, a dull sharp ache pulsing behind your ribs. The benzodiazepines rolled through your bloodstream, turning your thoughts into a slush and muting the sharpness of the world. You didn't feel the pain exactly—not like you should have. It was more like you were watching yourself fall apart from the other side of the room. A weak laugh escaped your lips, cracked and breathy as if you were barely standing. Your hand wiped under your eyes. You didn't know if you were crying again or your vision was distorted from the high. Maybe both.

No reply.

You stared at the screen until the words blurred, until your thumb hit the message bar again and typed without thinking.

You: I'm sorry. I fucked up. I just want you. Please just come.

The silence in the room was unbearable. You fell back against the pillows, eyes locked on the ceiling. Everything felt too quiet but too loud at the same time. Your limbs were warm and numb, heartbeat slow and steady, but your thoughts spun in circles, clashing. You couldn't stop seeing his face. The way he looked at you during your last fight — angry, hurt, done. It made your gut twist at the reviving.

You sent another message.

You: I just want to feel something real again

• • • • • •

The phone buzzed once. Twice. Again. Heeseung looked at it from where he was sitting at the edge of his bed, hair damp from the late night shower, hoodie half zipped up, blunt burning low between his fingers. The screen lit up with your name, over and over again.

Y/N<3: I miss u

Y/N<3: Please come

Y/N<3: I just want to feel something real again

He stared at it, jaw tense, stomach flipping. He could already tell—you were high. The pattern, the desperation, the timing. Everything added up. He knew that too well. His thumb hovered over the screen, his pulse jumped. He hated you for doing this. He hated himself for caring. But most of all, he was hating how fast he was standing up and grabbing his keys.

He was already in your driveway, no sign of your parents car. Of course. Of course you get high and call him when you are alone. He exited the car, pulse quickening with every step he took towards the door. No light was on in the house, not even your own room. The front door creaked open under his hand. Heeseung didn't ring. He never had to.

You always left it unlocked whenever you wanted him to come. It became a unspoken rule that still somehow stood. Even now—weeks after the fallout, after everything that was said and left unsaid.

He took a step inside, slow and cautious, scanning the dark familiar living room. The whole place was quiet, dead almost. He was not even sure if anyone was at all home. He shut the door and made his way up the stairs, no light was needed, it was all too familiar. With each step up the stairs his heart hammered, throat tight. Am I really doing this again?

Reaching the top, he could see the weak light coming from under your door which was slightly cracked open, like always. He took steps and finally was face to face with the comfort of your room, only separated by the thin wood. The moment he pushed the door open, there you were. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, hair wild and unbrushed. Your phone was clutched in your hand and eyes red and unfocused, blinking slowly. Your head turned sluggishly when you felt him on the doorway. You didn't flinch, didn't say anything. You just stared at him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to this world with wet cheeks and watery eyes.

"You left the door unlocked..." Heeseung spoke flatly, almost lifelessly as his eyes scanned you. How glassy your eyes were, pupils blown wide, how you were barely holding yourself together. "You came..." Your hoarse voice echoed through the room, sniffles continued. "I wasn't sure if you would." A bitter smile pulled at your lips.

Heeseung didn't answer, jaw tensed as he shut the door behind him, eyes never leaving you. "You are high." He said, eyes sharp now. You looked down at you lap. "I just needed to feel... less."

"Less what?"

"Just— less."

He slowly made his way towards you, stopping right at the foot of you bed. "You are fucking dissappearing." Your dazed eyes followed him, full of tears that were ready to downpour. You sniffled, pulling your legs up to your chest and hugging them. "Why do you care? You left me." The words left your mouth in a whisper, strained almost inaudible. "I didn't leave!" He snapped. "You pushed me out! You kept lying. Hiding even. You broke my trust!" Tears suddenly started pouring out your eyes quietly, still listening to every word his angry voice spoke. "You became distant, even when I wanted to get close to you!—"

"You think I don’t know what’s happening?! You think I can’t see it too? You think I like being like this?!" You shouted through sobs, finally letting it out. Heeseung’s eyes softened, drinking in every word as his mind raced. "No, I don't th—"

"Then stop acting you you know fucking everything!" You were now gasping from how much tears you were sheding, it was exhausting. You snapped finally, frustration getting the best of you. Everything deteriorated, everything you built collapsed right before your eyes. You chest hurt, hands trembled as cold sweat coated your skin. Heeseung took a step back from the sudden outburst. The rawness of it making his own legs weak. The moment you heard him take steps back your head snapped towards him, eyes wide in fear. "Nonono—" You repeated shaking your head in denial, getting on your wobbly knees and hands. "Heeseung, please! I'll be good. I swear, please—" You crawled towards him, eyes looking up at him through your wet lashes, glowing under the moonlight.

You finally got to the end of the bed, grabbing his wrist before you pulled him back towards the bed, staring up at his upright and strong figure hovering over your crawling one. "Please. Don't go." You got on your knees, attaching yourself to him, hands grabbing at his waist and every inch of his upper body, histerically. Like you would lose him right now, right here.

Heeseung was at a loss for words, blankly staring at your face up close after so long. And you were so beautiful. With your puffy glossy eyes, plump lips swollen, cheeks red from all the stress. You still were so beautiful to him. He gulped, scanning your panicked face, hands still by his side, not daring to lay a hand on you. Not because he didn't want to, but because he was scared he would not be able to stop.

Suddenly your eyes met, your gaze instantly changing, like a switch. Your hands sensually slowed down, caressing his hoodie covered waist. Your breaths mingled, mixing as your eyes traveled down to his lips. Silence became tense, the only sound being your slow and deep breathing. Heeseung gulped and you felt it. That subtle shift in the air, the way his chest raised just a bit more forcefully, the way his fingers twitched at his sides. He was trying, really trying to hold the line. But you could feel him crack under the weight of your desperation.

Your hands moved slower, more intentionally now, sliding up the fabric of his hoodie, gently feeling his muscles contract under your cold touch. "You still want me..." You whispered, eyes hooded and red and voice broken, shaky. "Even now... don't you?" He didn't respond. But the silence was the response.

You leaned in closer, face tilted up, lips ghosting the underside of his jaw. "Say it." You pleaded, voice trembling like your body was. "Please. Just say it." Heeseung's eyes fluttered shut for a second, jaw clenched. He was breathing through his nose, trying to keep control. "Y/N stop—"

"You always love having me like this." The graze of your lips against to corner of his mouth was the last straw, his hands finally moved—grabbing your wrists, gently but firmly, pulling them away from his body. You looked up at him, panic flashing again, eyes wide. But before you could speak, he crashed his mouth to yours.

It wasn't a kiss. It was a collapse.

Your back met the mattress again, his body following, heavy and hot, mouth devouring yours like it's his last. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist as his hoodie rode up, fingers digging into the sheets, into his back, into anything you could hold yourself onto. His hands found your waist, your thighs, your face — gripping, stroking like he couldn't decide what to do first. The kiss was messy, uncoordinated, like both of you were leading your own way. Saliva mixing, tongues fighting to get the taste of each other's mouth, hungrily. He suddenly detached, earning a whine from you in response as he let his kisses down your jaw and right over your neck.

"I hate you for this." He mumbled into your neck, voice sharp, breathing erratic. "You drive me insane." You moaned in response, arching your back off the sheets and right into his body asking him to get back to work. "Hee, please..." He dived back in, kissing your neck, your clavicles, leaving open mouthed kisses with his hands traveling up your hoodie. Your skin was cold but sweaty, chest heavied up and down with each touch of his fingertips. He moved down, slowly descending onto his knees at the foot of the bed, meeting with the carpet as his lips grazed every inch of your stomach, hoodie pushed up by his big hands. You gasped for air, raising yourself by your elbows and watching him. His slouched figure grabbed at your thighs, hips, anything that was available. His nose nuzzled onto your waistband, underwear on full display before him.

He raised his eyes, making direct eye contact with you making you almost moan out loud. Heeseung had a sight to see, you meesed up, desperate for him, eyes now puppy like almost begging him to devour you. "Didn't eat this pussy in a while baby..." His fingers grazed your inner thighs, eyes moving down to scan the mess that was already accumulating. The wet patch stabbing his eyes, making him hiss at the slight movement of your hips against his gaze. "You want that, hm?" You hummed out desperately, nodding your head quickly, legs spreading further on their own.

Heeseung caressed it with the back of his fingers, feeling the wetnees over the drenched fabric. You relaxed into the touch, his knuckles hitting your covered clit in a stroking motion just right. It was gentle, teasing, and he enjoyed watching you fall apart just by his simple touch. You were sweating, the drugs still slowing you down, making the slight pleasure feel otherwordly. Heeseung hooked his fingers on your panties, pulling them away from your core before letting it slap back against it, the action making you slightly jolt. The wet sound that came of it making his mind spin. You were humming repeatedly in a haze, your eyes closed and head thrown back, hips chasing the stimulation under his eyes. "Fuck. Don't do that..." He grimaced, his sweats feeling tighter then ever. Just the simple squirm of your body was enough to make his tip leak precum in anticipation.

His hands grasped your hips, adjusting you as he lowered his head, now face to face with your soaked underwear. He blew at it experimentaly, to see if you would feel even the slightest of brush and you did. Your hips rolled in an attempt to meet whatever that was, not nothing. That's how sensitive you were. It was the last straw before he was tipped over the edge, impatience getting the best of him as he pulled the underwear off you, throwing it somewhere behind. Pushing your thighs spread open again with his palms pressing onto them, he left a harsh lick all the way from your hole to your clit. It made you scream in surprise, body aching and trembling the moment his tongue went flat over your bundle of nerves.

He was impatient. His mouth quickly attached to your clit, engulfing it with his soft wet mouth as he sucked. Your back met the mattress again, arms too weak to hold you up. You panted, head thrown back as he refused to let your bud go. It was becoming sensitive with each flick of his tongue as he harshly sucked, even moaning against your wetness. Heeseung was enjoying himself, head bobbing with each squirm of your hips against him. You tasted divine.

You were becoming a moaning mess, cold sweat covered every inch of your skin, the hoodie feeling suffocating on your torso more than ever. Lightheadedness was taking over. You were so sensitive. You can't take it. So you trashed around against his mouth, trying to run away from his savage lips, but it only made him groan, your moans became erratic, a small tight knot forming in the pit of your stomach.

It made him mad. You trying to run from him. His fingers digged harder into your inner thighs, keeping you in place. You hissed in pain from his strong hold, he was too aggressive, his mouth detaching from your clit to just let a filthy glob of spit onto it before diving back in. You sighed in slight relief but the overwhelming pleasure was back, this time his tongue skimmed over your holds, collecting all of your sticky arousal before it circled your hole. You raised your head and opened your heavy eyes, vision blurry from all the tears, cheeks flushed and red, neck heating in a uncomfortable fire. His eyes locked with yours. You moaned, mouth agape as you kept the eye contact. He smirked with his tongue traveling up to your bud and down to your hole again, teasingly poking at it, again and again.

"Tongue fuck me, yes..." You mumbled lowly through a breathy tremble more to yourself as you bit down on your lip and closed your eyes whilst throwing your head back. Hips meeting his shallow thrusts into your cunt. Heeseung almost came from the simple sight of you fucking yourself against his hot muscle. The next thing he did made you whine in need. He grabbed your knees, his hot hands against your sweaty skin made you shudder as he pushed them up and against your chest, your cunt on full display and at his mercy now. He dived right in, folding you in a uncomfortable position as his tongue thrusted into you, harder this time. You bit your bottom lip, pleasure eating you up as he didn't stop, not for a second. His hot muscle rubbed your entrance and walls in such a dirty way, hammering at a speed that had your head spin. You moaned and moaned, voice already hoarse.

"Heeseung fuck!" Your voice strained and breathy as it came out, the knot forming faster then ever, thighs shaking, ears canceling out everything as your body prepared for the climax. Heeseung could feel that you were close, your walls clenching and convulsing against his tongue, saliva dripped all onto your skin, trickling down your ass cheeks and onto the mattress together with your juices. He moaned, tongue already tired but he did not stop. His eyes closed tight in delight, waiting for your orgasm to wash over you.

One more thirst of his was enough for your body to shudder. The heat spread throughout you, blood pumping faster then ever. You moaned one last time, jaw tensing and thighs shaking. You came hard on his tongue as he fucked you through your orgasm, making sure to remember every sound and move your body let out at the moment, his smile never falling. You furiously tried to get your hips to grind against him, but it was no use, he held you down. "Yes fuck keep going— mhm..." Your pussy convulsed, after shocks still shaking you as he slowed down, finally letting your legs down and onto the bed. You were breathing hard, eyes still closed as your ears ringed. Heeseung let out a chuckle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, collecting the wetness that dripped down his jaw. He got onto the bed, knees dipping the mattress right at the sides of your worn out legs before he leaned over you, eyes scanning your panting and flushed face.

He moved a strand that sticked to your glossy lips, and he kissed you. Hard. His hands cupped your face, holding you in place. You could taste yourself on his lips, salty and tangy. It made you whine leading to him moaning in response. You grabbed his wrists, gently but firmly, pulling them away from your face and getting your hoodie finally off. Your breasts raising and falling with each breath in and out, making him lick his lips at the sight. You pressed a peck to his lips before you slowly slipped your body down, eyes boring into his glimmering with mischief. He furrowed his brows, watching your figure slide beneath his slowly, sheets wrinkling with your back dragging against them. "Y/N what—"

You were already beneath him, face to face with his bulge, cupping it as you looked over your head, lip stuck between your teeth, hand squizzing him. Heeseung’s breath got stuck in his throat whilst he stared at your figure under him who was still on his fours, gawking at your head that was now caged with his thighs . The eye contact made him smile slyly down at you, getting the idea you had. Before he could react your hands already pulled down the front of his sweatpants together with his boxers, revealing his raging cock. It almost hit you in the face, tip bulbous and red, leaking precum. Your mouth watered at the sight, and before Heeseung could say anything your tongue slid over the pulsing vein right on the underside of it.

Heeseung's mouth opened, eyes went closed shut, palms fisting the sheets painfully hard. You smirked at his reaction, getting one of your hands around his base and taking the tip into your mouth. Your tongue went over the slit, fluttering around the pulsing head as the hand stroked it. Heeseung let out a shaky breath, adrenaline making his ears hotter than ever, throat dry and hoarse. The moment your hand squeezed his lenght, he got himself upright, knees dipping deeper next to your head as a moan ruptured from his parted lips. You suckeled on the tip, teasing the hell out of him, the hand stopped with the strokes, instead both arms went around his thighs, keeping him close and anchored. His muscles flexed, contracting with each slight move of your tongue over his slit.

His hands went up to his hoodie zipper, finally releasing himself of unnecessary clothes before he threw it on the floor. Your eyes went over his revealed torso, eyes rolling back in distinguished pleasure at the picture before you. His lean body glistened with sweat under the moonlight, abs contracting on their own in tandem with your mouth against him. His chest seemed flushed, shallow breaths left his lungs in a reckless rhythm. Heeseung looked down, his fingers combing through your hair, getting a gentle grip onto it. "So good... so good for me, yeah—" He kept your head in place, giving your mouth a slow and tender thrust, not all the way in yet. You hummed in response, the vibrations sending his mouth agape, eyes narrowed and focused on the way your lips wrapped around him.

"Letting me use your mouth just how I like—"

Another whiny hum.

"Ah— look at you... So desperate that you didn't even wait for me to ask." His grip tightened around your hair, just slightly, enough to make your eyes look up at him. Tears clung to your lashed from the sheer intensity, saliva messily clinging to your chin. Heeseung's thrust gradually became deeper, his pants and whimpers coming out melodically. "You missed this cock... didn't you?—" Your mouth succumbed to him, giving him the full control, letting him thrust steadily as much as he wanted.

"Admit it."

With those words he pushed himself fully in, making you gag before retracting till he pulled out and let his tip rest on your swollen and glistening lips. You did not break eye contact, letting your tongue out and kitty licking the flushed head with the slight nod of a guilty admition. You did miss him fucking you. More than anything. Heeseung could barely breath. "You are so goddamn filthy." He stuttered out.

You teasingly opened your mouth letting it hover over his raging hard on before nodding slowly, eyes looking up at his with a glint of playfulness. "Only for you." And he was in your mouth again. Heeseung started thrusting right away, groans and whines escaping his lips. The whole time your wetness was pooling more and more between your clenched thighs. Every sound, every tremor of his body sent a wave of arousal through you. You clenched your thighs, rubbing them together in a attempt too relieve the swelling that was starting to ache.

The sliding of his cock against your soft flesh felt all too ecstatic. Saliva was dripping from the corners of your mouth, allowing him to glide with ease. His body was unraveling. His thighs were trembling now, muscles twitching from the overload. His chest rose and fell like he’d just run miles, eyes still locked on where you two connected. "You are gonna make me cum so hard…" He growled, voice hoarse, breathless. "You love doing this, don’t you? Love wrecking me."

Another groan ripped from his throat, and this time, it was broken—shameless. His hands slipped behind your head, gently, and he hissed through his teeth as he tried to hold back. You fisted the material on his hips, bracing yourself for his release. "T-take it—take all of it. Just like that—fuck, yes."

And when it finally hit him, it was devastating. His hips bucked, His hand tightened in your hair but not enough to hurt, just to ground himself in you—because he was gone. Utterly gone. Voice lost in the moan that ripped from deep in his chest.

And you didn’t move away once.

Didn’t even flinch. You kept him in your mouth, cum filling your warm cavity, some even collecting at the corners of your tight wrapped lips. You moaned in delight, tasting it against your taste buds after so long. He bucked his hips one more time into you, making sure to fuck it down your throat, and you let him before he pulled out. Cock all sore, still pulsing and limply standing before your face. His hair stuck to his forehead, chest still gasping for air as he racked a hand through his dark locks, tossing it back. You did not swallow, instead kept it in your mouth as you wiggled out from beneath him, getting on your two feet before making your way again on the bed, your knees shifting the mattress and grabbing his attention as you got in front of him. He looked down at you, raising a brow just as you grabbed his face and kissed him. Heeseung’s hands instinctively found your naked waist, pulling you closer and flush against him, your bare skins rubbing and sliding.

It was messy, raw.

His tongue tasted himself on you like he needed it—like it was the only thing that could bring him down. Cum dripped down between your bodies, messily sticking to your hot and sweaty skin. Your palms glided down his neck and right over his bulging biceps' giving them a squeeze as you caressed them, making goosebumps arise on his wet skin. "You are unreal." He groaned against your mouth, teeth grazing your bottom lip. "So fucking nasty—" His tongue licked at the white fluid dripping down your chin. "My nasty girl."

You giggled, breath hitching as his hands groped at your ass, until you were flush against his again hard cock that stood proud onto his abdomen. The way you grinded your body against it made him bite back a deep groan. You left a light kiss on his nose, the action so pure in the midst of a filthy moment. You moved his arms away from you, letting them drop down to his sides as you sat down on the bed, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you retreated all the way against the headboard. Heeseung just observed, your legs, your hips, thighs, waist, breasts — it made blood rush to his already throbbing dick. Waistbands uncomfortably hugging his scrotum, only adding more pressure when it shouldn't.

Your legs already spread, your cunt glistened with slick, the sticky substance covered your inner thighs. Fuck. Heeseung just stood there, still on his knees making sure every move you make is payed attention to till the maximum. You giggled, watching his focused face not take his eyes off of your throbing pussy. You were still glowing from the high of what just happened, skin dewy and flushed, legs spread slightly as you laid back into the pillows. But it wasn't enough. You weren't done.

You let your fingers trail lazily down your chest, between your breasts, your stomach flexing under your touch.

Heeseung didn't speak. His eyes said everything. They darkened the second your hand dipped lower. You felt your own slick, the heat of your body burning into your fingertips as you began to stroke yourself slow and deliberate—like you knew he was watching. Like you needed him to. You just locked eyes with him, fingers moving. A soft gasp left your lips, and Heeseung's expression darkened instantly.

His eyes dropped again.

Watched.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t move.

You moaned softly, head tipping back, body arching ever so slightly, just for him. You breathed, voice like silk. You moved slow—teasing both of you. Circling, pressing, gasping. All while he watched, unmoving, fists clenched at his sides, chest rising in sharp, ragged breaths. You knew it was driving him mad—the fact that you didn't need him in that moment… but still wanted him to see it. To feel it with you.

"You like this?" you asked, lips curling. "You like seeing how wet I still am for you?" Heeseung growled, low and guttural. "You have no fucking idea." You moaned softly, fingers working against your swollen bud, gradually speeding up as you rolled your hips into your hand, lashes fluttering. He watched your thighs tremble, the way your stomach tensed with each circle of your fingers, the way your breath caught in your throat when you rubbed it in a unexpected good angle. He was painfully hard again. You could see it too, on full display against his lower stomach. His eyes never left your body.

"You are so wet." He muttered lowly, almost in amusement. "Dripping all over that pretty hand. Is that all for me?" Your back arched in response, legs spreading as far as you can, breath catching. "Always for you." You gasped. Heeseung leaned forward, finally breaking. "Let me help." It came out almost as a beg in a whisper as he crawled towards you. But just before he could touch you, your fingers moved faster and slid over your slippery clit, lewd noises filling the quiet air together with your raged breaths—head tilting back, thighs clenching. His name was escaping your parted lips, like a mantra. It was right about to wash over you, one more flick and you would have fallen apart but Heeseung couldn't just watch anymore.

He grabbed your thighs with his arms from underneath and harshly pulled you towards him, your back now flat against the bed as his upright figure stood over you on his knees. Your hand instinctively stopped the movement, instead you gasped in surprise, legs already hooked onto his hips, the back of your thighs pressed against the firm muscle of his, flexing beneath the fabric of his sweats.

Your chest rose with every breath, your heart racing in tandem with his.

Heeseung stared down at you like he was drinking you in—every curve, every flicker of expression in your face. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but you could feel what they meant. That he wanted you. Right now. His hand grabbed the pulsing cock, dragging it between your folds collecting your arousal before he tapped it on your already worn out bundle of nerves. The taps against it sent shocks through you, moans escaping your lips with head tilted back and eyes closed shut. "F-fuck..." Your strained voice echoed, almost sounding a little too painful and aching. It was a groan of desperation. Heeseung stroked himself, tip attached to your clit, his eyes scanning your folds and the way your hole was clenching, asking to be filled.

And he did just that.

He repositioned his knees, pulling them slightly away from you to get the better angle, one of his arms holding himself up next to your shoulders as he leaned over you, still pretty faraway but closer then ever at the same time. His hand led his tip down to your hole, the tip poking against the entrance in shallow teasing thrusts . He bit his lip, looking down at your fucked out expression—lips swollen, eyes half closed, cheeks flushed and hair tousled. Your hips helplessly bucked into his, almost begging him to ruin you. And before you could say anything he slammed into you. Hard. You screamed, not from pain but from pleasure—finally being filled up. He slid in with such ease, every next thrust going in easier then the last. You were getting wetter.

"Ah— shit..." He muttered under his breath, the other hand now next to your waist as he moved steadily. "Didn’t feel this pussy for so long —ah... Fuck!" He was losing it. The way you wrapped around him, hugging his lenght with your gummy walls, the sounds that came from where you two connected, and every whimper you tried to conceal every time his pelvis came in contact with your clit sent him into a frenzy, his thrusts becoming faster. "Heeseung! God— yesyesyes!" You chanted over and over again, getting your eyes down to where you two connected, his hips slamming against your skin, a sound that repeated unstoppably. You did not miss the chance to gawk on his torso—muscles moving and contracting with each movement. He looked like a fucking pornstar.

Your hand went over his forearms, grabbing at them for the support. You were a mess. He continued to ram into you, chasing his own climax—eyes closed, mouth agape. His biceps' and forearms were starting to cramp from holding his whole weight up but he didn't care. Pants filled up the room, moans, whines, groans. It was too good. Your head throbbed, neck burned and felt like it was on fire. You were close. "Heeseung I'm gonna cum! Gonna cum!" He felt you clench and he was losing it. "Yeah? Make a fucking mess baby..." Your back arched, mouth open with endless moans spilling from it, the orgasm shook you to the core with your hips bucking up to meet his, and the moment one of his hands came down to rub your clit it drove you insane. The pleasure prolonged with your thighs shaking and ears ringing, hands clawing at his forearms as if your life depended on it.

"Shit...you are gonna make me lose it!" He gasped out, almost drooling at the feeling.

You trembled, after shock sending your muscles twitching. But his thrusts didn't stop yet, he was still chasing his own release. The overstimulation made you hiss, your body relaxing in an attempt to hold on. But it was too much. "Too much Hee..." It did not reach his ears at all. His thrusts stuttered, but still went hard and deep. Whines were escaping his lips uncontrollably before he let himself fall over your trembling body. His weight trapping you down with his head nuzzling into your neck as he fisted the sheets next to your head. "Please, baby, please!—" His begs sent another spark on in you, making you moan in response. His breathing fanned your neck in rapid brushes, making you shiver. "I'm cumming! I'm cumming!" His thighs convulsed, a groan escaped his throat as his tip painted your walls white. His hips sloppily fucked the releasing cum into your cervix, making you moan through hard breaths, nails digging into his sweaty back.

He groaned with one last snap of his hips, his cum spilling from your tight hole as he lazily pulled out. Head still in a daze as he threw himself on his back right next to you. Pants filles the room , the silence that took over was loud enough. Both of you stared at the ceiling, up in your thoughts.

Your limbs felt numb, you were sore.

Heeseung felt conflicted and asked himself if he really knew what he got himself into.

The drugs in your system were at the brink of wearing off. And it hurt to admit. It really did.

But you felt it.

The warmth that wrapped around your body like a second skin began to fray at the edges. That false sense of ease, of pleasure, of forgetting—started to peel back. The shadows in the corners of your vision that had looked soft and slow now loomed sharper. The air felt colder, like it had shifted while you weren’t looking.

It was a circle you will be back running in even after all of this.

You knew it.

You felt it.

And stil you rolled over to your side, snuggling into Heeseung deciding that, maybe, just maybe you could ignore it and enjoy a moment for once in pure rawness. No drugs, no nothing. Just you two and the feelings. Like before.

But was it all that easy?

• • • • • •

! this is all work of fiction. in no way this is a representation of enhypen members nor do I believe this is how they behave in real life or condone these actions!

taglist: @wheretheheckis-ssaki @firstclassjaylee @nithxhoon @twilght-talks @juicygirl4life @ikeuloirinho @isagistar @adoredbyjay @muranini @nesquikluvr @cristy-101 @y04wonwon @fancypeacepersona @sjakewrld @xuevkim @jellyrushzz @kittympirty @ssanhwatto @nodoubtily @kristynaaah @cyjhhyj @miabaddie @engeneheree @jinnibug

[rotapathetic]

HIMBO .ᐟ RAFE ┆ emergency contact trend ᰋ

headcannons 𖥔 injury 𖥔 himbo rafe’s introduction 𖥔

“you wouldn’t do it for her,” were the magic words. rafe mentioned doing a backflip off of the high post in front of you guys. you were hanging with rafe and his friend when rafe saw the post and said he would do it. his friend, the ever so instigator, told rafe he wouldn’t do it. that led to them going back and forth, until his friend said rafe wouldn’t do it for you.

and that’s how you found yourself watching rafe remove his shirt that wasn’t particularly required to do a flip, “that’s not funny man, anything for her,” rafe said, doing a little bounce to prepare himself for the trick.

“i didn’t ask you to,” you said, pulling out your phone. this wasn’t the first time rafe did some ridiculous stunt and you recorded.

rafe climbed onto the post, turning to you and pointing a finger at the camera, “this one’s for you,” he turned, launching himself off of the post, and landing safely. at least you thought until he turned around, revealing a bloody knee, possibly scraping it on the way down. he was all smiles, not even feeling the pain because of adrenaline. or because he’s just insane.

you stopped the recording, going up to him. rafe’s smile grew bigger at you, “was that cool?” you nodded, matching his smile before saying, “you need stitches.”

rafe browsed the aisle, tugging at your hand, “i think it’s over here, come on,” he pulled you along. he already held five games in his hand. he saw a post on social media earlier talking about this gaming series and rafe immediately needed to have it. you warned him about the total, but he couldn’t care less. his reckless spending is something you’ve gotten used to.

he stopped in front of a display case that had the game he was looking for inside, “here,” he handed you the games he carried. you grabbed them, furrowing your brow. rafe gripped the sides of the case, figuring out how to open it. he knocked at the glass, getting closer to peek in, “it’s right there, teasing me,” he said to the game.

you noticed quickly it was locked and an employee had to open it for him. rafe, of course, didn’t notice this, and continued messing with the case. he pulled at the opening, frowning when it didn’t budge. you pulled out your phone, knowing where this was headed. rafe pulled even harder, breaking the case. an alarm went off as rafe reached in to grab the game, “got it.”

a few more games started to spill out, rafe startling and trying to catch them. when they continued dropping to the floor, he looked around nervously. that’s when a security officer stepped up to you two, looking at the damage rafe had done. rafe waved at him, “this thing was very hard to open. what’s that noise?” he looked at the ceiling, just now registering the loud alarm. you stopped the recording, turning to explain what happened to the officer. rafe ended up paying a fine and buying the games still.

rafe pulled over to a spot at the gas station, getting out to get gas for the car. you sat playing on your ipad in the passenger seat. you heard a tap at your window from rafe, and you rolled it down, “yeah?” rafe stared at you, like he just got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to and got in trouble, “um . . i think i messed up,” he said. you looked down, seeing liquid on the ground and rafe still holding the pump, “the tank rafe, put it in the tank,” you rushed out, watching him finally realize where the tank was and put it inside. you sighed, “you don’t know how to get gas?”

rafe shrugged, twisting and kicking at the ground, “i ask for help all the time. didn’t want to in front of you,” he mumbled. you smiled at him, “it’s okay to ask for help, that’s not embarrassing. you could’ve asked me,” rafe glanced up to you, “i wanted you to think i knew what i was doing, why would i ask you? did you even hear what i just said?”

you giggled at him getting riled up, “okay, fine, sorry. take the pump out, it’s done,” rafe did as you said, shaking off the pump. he laughed, “kinda looks like pee,” he put the pump between his legs, “take a picture,” he told you. you pulled out your phone, taking a video instead, rafe moved with the pump, and you put your hand over your mouth to contain laughter when a lady walked by, giving you two a look. rafe noticed her, quickly putting the pump back in its place then smiling innocently at her.

you applied the mask with the applicator, seeing rafe in the mirror behind you. you giggled, “you can come in,” he stepped inside hesitantly.

“this is your you time, i didn’t wanna interrupt . . it just looks cool,” he stared as you continued applying. you extended the applicator to him, “want some?” rafe glanced up to you, “really? i can?” he asked excitedly.

you nodded and two minutes later, you guys were rocking matching face masks. you grabbed your phone and started recording when rafe poked at his, “so i’m gonna look like you? ’cause your skin is really pretty, i’m gonna have skin like you?” you nodded behind the camera. you put yourself in frame, recording you two. rafe was still staring in awe into the mirror, turning his head this way and that. he looked down to the camera, grinning big.

[aleksatia]

💗 Rafayel – Five Years Later 

The second in a series of stories exploring MC’s return after five years of silence. Others are coming soon — links will be added as they’re published.

Original ask that sparked this continuation.

Sylus | Caleb | Zayne | Xavier (coming soon)

CW/TW: Trauma & PTSD themes, Implied past abduction, Betrayal / emotional manipulation, Poisoning & near-death experience, Violence (including one execution-style kill), Self-sacrifice, Intense emotional conflict, References to grief, guilt, and long-term separation, Complex relationship dynamics, Themes of forgiveness and healing While inspired by the original characters and lore of the game, this is a personal interpretation. Some aspects of character behavior, relationships, or world-building may differ from canon — especially given the five-year time gap and the impact of traumatic events. Consider it an alternate emotional timeline, shaped by growth, grief, and what-ifs.

(He taught himself silence. Learned to paint with absence, to breathe through longing. But when your shadow crossed his path again — living, breaking, real — the stillness inside him remembered how to shatter.)

The thing about disappearing is — if you do it right — no one comes looking.

Not because they don’t care. But because you made it easier to pretend you were never real in the first place.

You left the sea behind. The salt. The songs. The man with sunlight in his laugh and grief in his hands. You traded it all for concrete, steel, smoke. Somewhere between New Madrid and the Eleventh Sector, you stopped being a person and became a profile: Level 3, Tactical Division, Close Range Neutralization. Specializing in high-value body retention.

A shadow with a badge.  A ghost on retainer.

It suited you.

You didn’t drink anymore. You didn’t play games. You didn’t say his name.

“Client arrival is in twenty minutes,” crackles the comm in your ear. "Full week assignment. High confidentiality. Zero contact protocol unless engaged."

You glance at your reflection in the elevator’s gold trim.

Eyes colder. Shoulders straighter. Gun holstered under a matte jacket that still smells faintly of last week’s adrenaline. You're not the girl who once cried into coral bedsheets. You're her replacement.

The hotel smells like money. That antiseptic richness meant to distract from the emptiness.

You position yourself in the lobby near the marble fountain — half concealed, half obvious. Just enough to look like part of the architecture. Just enough to see everything.

The concierge nods. The manager paces. The staff adjust flowers no one will notice.

Then: the cars. Black, sleek, ghost-silent.

Doors open.

Two assistants spill out first. Press, probably. One on a tablet, one on comms. Then a manager — with a face oddly familiar, like a half-forgotten memory trying to surface. Then—

Your heart forgets how to be a muscle.

He steps out like the city belongs to him. Like time bent itself around his absence.

Still tall. Still too elegant for the world he’s forced to live in. Purple waves of hair tied back. Sunglasses sliding down a nose built for poetry. He’s wearing that long beige coat he used to throw over your shoulders when nights got too cold, and his cologne hits you like déjà vu dipped in seawater and regret.

Your mouth is dry. Your hands are ice.

He doesn’t look at you.

Not yet.

You do what you were trained to do: you check for threats. Scan exits. Ignore your pulse.

He walks through the lobby as if unaware. As if untouched. But when he passes, just before the elevator closes — he turns his head.

And smiles.

Like sin. Like summer. Like he knew it would be you.

Then—

“Hello again, Ms. Bodyguard.”

***

The suite was silent. Too silent for something this expensive.

No music. No hum of ventilation. Just the hush of carpet under your boots, and the faint, distant rhythm of city breath outside the window.

You stood near the corner, hands behind your back, spine too straight. Default position. Default you.

He was across the room, jacket already off, sleeves rolled. Moving like someone who was used to being observed. Not by the public — by ghosts.

The wine had already been poured. He handed you a glass like it was part of the ritual. You didn’t take it.

He arched an eyebrow.

“I’m working,” you said.

He didn’t insist. Just smiled, faintly.

Of course.

He used to fill every room — all noise and color and heat. But now, somehow, he'd grown quiet. Not in absence — in weight. Like a masterpiece in a gallery. Like the only rose in a field of thorns. You could look away, but you’d still feel him. Like a crosshair you couldn’t shake.

The window beside you looked out over the city — not that you were looking. Your eyes were trained on his reflection in the glass. Even blurred by distance and light, you could tell: he hadn’t broken. But he’d bent.

Harder than most things could survive.

His voice came low, like something remembered instead of spoken.

“You weren’t always stone.”

You didn’t answer.

He crossed the room without hurry. You didn’t move.

His eyes found yours — not searching, just… waiting. Like the question wasn’t whether you’d speak. It was whether you still could.

“And yet here you are,” he murmured, “standing in my suite like you were carved to fit the corner.”

You felt the words land somewhere deep in the ribs. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak.

He took a slow sip from his glass. The color of the wine caught in the light — the same shade he used to mix on his palette when painting you in shadow.

“I saw the new series,” you said, voice even.

He glanced at you over the rim.

“Did you?”

“Less gold. More... grief.”

A pause. Then a smile — dry, almost kind.

“I ran out of yellow.”

That made your throat tighten. You looked away before it showed.

He studied you. Not your face — your posture. Your silences. You weren’t hiding emotion. You were holding it.

Like a soldier holding a wound closed with one hand.

“And you,” he said, softly. “Still chasing bullets?”

“I don’t chase. I shield.”

“Of course you do.”

He stepped closer. Not enough to touch. But enough that you could feel him again. That impossible warmth, wrapped in restraint.

He looked at you like an old painting. The kind you see once, remember forever, and never find again.

“You followed me,” he said, almost offhand. “Even after you left.”

You didn’t deny it.

“I had to know you were… functioning.”

He laughed — quiet, empty.

“Functioning,” he repeated. “Right.”

You searched his face for anger. You didn’t find it. Only something slower. Older.

Like ash.

“How have you been?” you asked.

It was a mistake. The question hung in the air like smoke from a match — small, stupid, but dangerous.

He stared at you for a long moment.

Then the glass in his hand cracked. A clean, bright sound. Like winter splitting.

The wine didn’t spill. He didn’t move.

“You left,” he said.

Not bitter. Not accusing.

Just: you left.

“And now you want to ask if I’ve been well?”

You shifted. Just enough to register discomfort. Nothing more.

He looked at the flame creeping along his knuckles — Evol, awake and restless. He closed his fist, and the fire vanished like breath from a mirror.

“What did I do?” he asked, quieter now. “What sin did I commit to earn a silent goodbye?”

You drew breath through your nose. Measured.

 “I was tired.”

“Of what?”

You looked at him.

“Of being a story you told instead of a person you knew.”

That did it.

Not an explosion. Not a slam. Just a shift. Like something in his chest cracked, and he had no hands free to hold it in place.

He turned. Slowly. Set the broken glass down. No sound. No shatter.

Then he walked to the adjoining door, pressed it open.

“You’ll stay here,” he said.

A simple guest room. Clean, unpersonalized. Quiet.

He didn’t look at you when he added:

“You’re my shadow for the week. No leaving. No exceptions.”

“And if I object?”

He paused at the threshold. Then turned. Finally met your eyes again.

“You won’t,” he said.

Not a command. Just a prophecy.

***

The days blurred.

They stretched long — drawn out by tension and silence — and yet they flew past with the quiet cruelty of something you couldn’t stop. You caught yourself counting minutes. Not until the assignment ended — but until he left again.

You told yourself it was duty. But no. You knew. The closer it got, the more it scared you.

You’d thought you’d buried the past. That five years had been enough to cauterize what you felt. Enough to flatten grief into dull, predictable weight. You’d taught yourself not to cry. Not to ache. Not to wake up reaching for a voice that wasn’t there.

But now—

Now the thought of losing him again bled through you like poison Slow. Sharp. Relentless.

For the first time, you truly wondered — had you made the worst mistake of your life?

You’d always known leaving was cowardice. A reaction. A wound reacting to pressure. You’d told yourself it was necessary — that you couldn’t survive another secret, another lie, another impossible moment in his orbit.

But now, as you stood in his shadow again, you returned to the one truth you kept avoiding. It wasn’t just the secrets. It wasn’t just his careful, curated nonchalance. It wasn’t even the things he didn’t say.

It was that moment — the one you could never forget.

The Nest. The kidnapping. The deal he’d made behind your back.

The betrayal.

The man who once made you feel like a myth had handed you over like a pawn. And you’d left. Because you couldn’t find a version of yourself that could love him and survive it.

But now…

Now you knew. The price you both paid for your fear had been too high.

***

He treated you like a shadow. Professional. Polite. Silent.

He didn’t try to speak. Didn’t joke. Didn’t prod. Whatever playful gleam had once lived in him now belonged to the stage.

You watched him wear charm like a costume — perfectly tailored, easily removed.

The real man?

He wore quieter things now. No more garish brands. No flash. Just silk-lined precision. Weight without noise. Like he’d stopped needing to be seen in order to feel powerful.

And yet — you felt it. The way his gaze burned across rooms. The way silence wrapped around you both like a loaded pause.

Something was coming. You didn’t know what.

Only that it would not be small.

***

Then came the reception.

A charity event. Wealth, power, and politics pretending to like each other in the same room. He handed you your role the night before — not as a request.

You weren’t the bodyguard tonight. You were his date.

No one must suspect otherwise. His reputation demanded it.

And so here you were:

Draped in sea-glass velvet, cut to glide and cling. Your hair swept into soft, impossible waves. Sapphires at your ears, your throat. Everything felt too heavy. Too expensive. Even your heels were a weapon you didn’t know how to use. You hated how they made you move — slow, deliberate. Exposed.

The car slid to a stop. He stepped out first — a vision in black and steel. Then he turned, offered you a hand.

You took it. His skin was cold.

But the touch — the touch burned. Like nothing had ever healed.

Cameras. Screams. Flashing lights.

Your instincts screamed — scan the crowd. Find the threat. Always the threat. But his fingers tightened around yours. Hard.

He leaned in, breath against your ear — warm, familiar, furious.

“Smile, for fuck’s sake.”

You did.

Not for the cameras. Not for the cause.

But because you knew — the storm wasn’t over. It was just beginning.

***

You played the part well.

Neutral. Polished. Cold enough to earn whispers you never heard, but felt just behind your back. 

No one dared speak them aloud, of course. They looked at you and said the compliments to him.

“She’s stunning.”

“Such a refined presence.”

“As if she was made to be on your arm.”

As if your face belonged to him. As if your silence was his design.

In some twisted way, maybe it was.

You didn’t remember how you got here. One minute you were cataloguing exits with your eyes, tracking the crowd with practiced ease —

 The next —

You were dancing.

His hand on your waist, the other guiding yours. Everything too close, too warm, too practiced.

The chandelier above cast a slow rain of light. The room turned gently, spinning around its own silence.

His touch wasn’t tender. It was intentional.

“Your expression,” he murmured, “is slowly assassinating my reputation.”

You didn’t look at him. “Your reputation as what, exactly?”

He paused. Just a second.Then:

“A man of appetites.”

You tilted your head slightly. “How poetic.”

“I thought so,” he said. “Though the press prefers playboy.”

A beat.

“So you’ve read it,” you said.

“I have someone who clips the good parts.”

“Must be a short list.”

He smiled — not kindly. “Normally, I’m seen with far more… expressive company.”

“Then why break tradition?”

His fingers flexed slightly at your waist.

“I suppose I wanted something quieter.” A beat. “Something that might bite back.”

Your gaze flicked to him. Just once. A sharpened glance.

“And how does this help your image?”

“It doesn’t.” He leaned in, voice a thread. “But it’s not always about image, is it?”

You could feel it — the heat building between syllables.  Not passion. Not yet.

Just tension. Waiting.

You moved together like two creatures pretending not to hunt each other. Each step precise. Each breath withheld.

“You used to enjoy this sort of thing,” he said, voice soft now, too close. “Crowds. Light. Being seen.”

“I used to believe in things,” you replied.

He said nothing. But his hand curled tighter against your spine.

For a second, you let the silence say everything.

Then—

You noticed it.

The way his eyes had started slipping away from you. Again and again — to a single shape on the edge of the room. A man. Grey suit. Clean line. Controlled posture.

You knew that look.

The dance ended, but you weren’t let go. He took your arm, like a gentleman.

But you knew better.

***

The garden was colder than it had any right to be. The kind of cold that wasn’t about temperature — it was about distance. About the way stone walls and sculpted hedges swallowed sound and left only the weight of footsteps behind.

You followed him without a word. Because you already knew.

You’d seen his eyes stray to the man in the grey suit half a dozen times during the reception. Not nervous glances — calculated ones. Not curiosity — confirmation.

And now here you were, walking straight into the web.

The man waited by the marble fountain, one hand resting casually in his pocket, the other holding a glass of something expensive and unnecessary. His smile was pleasant. His suit was quiet money. His name was carved into memory from the briefings you used to skim with more detachment.

Elias Varrick. Publicly: philanthropist, investor, art collector, father of four. Privately: suspected ties to high-level biotech experimentation, classified marine acquisitions, and several quiet disappearances.

 All rumors, of course. Nothing on paper. Nothing proven.

Still — you knew. Your gut always knew.

But you didn’t know what Rafayel knew. Not yet.

They greeted each other like old acquaintances. A handshake that looked effortless. Painless.

“I thought it best to deliver the piece myself,” Rafayel said. His voice had its old rhythm — slow, warm, dipped in charm.

You watched him as he spoke. Not the words — the tone.

Polite. Polished. Performing.

“That kind of personal art,” he added, “deserves a personal hand.”

Varrick smiled wider. “Very kind of you. My family will love it. We’re planning to hang it in the main lounge — the one where we gather in the evenings. My wife, the children, my mother. It’s where we live.”

And that’s when it happened.

You didn’t freeze. Not outwardly. But something inside you did.

That phrase. The way he said it — we live here.

You didn’t hear a lie. That was the problem. You heard sincerity.

You saw the portrait — Rafayel’s portrait — hanging above a mantel. You saw children playing on a rug beneath it. An old woman sipping tea in a chair nearby. You saw innocence. Unaware. Wrapped around a weapon.

And suddenly, all the scattered images connected. The rumors. The names. The “environmental” fund. The experimental projects tied to Lemurians. The disappearances.

He wasn’t here for charity.

Rafayel was hunting. And you were holding his arm like a lover while he did it.

It wasn’t the lie that made you pull away. It was the memory of all the ones that came before.

You stepped back. A breath lodged in your throat.

“I need a moment,” you murmured.

He turned. “Wait—”

You didn’t let him finish.

“Don’t.”

You turned away.

You needed air. Space. Time. You needed to stop hearing the echo of his voice in your chest, the one that said it’s different now, even when you knew it wasn’t.

But he followed. Of course he followed.

“Let me explain—”

“No,” you snapped, more sharply than intended. “No more explaining. That’s always the beginning of the lie.”

He reached for your arm. You stopped him with a look.

“I want to know one thing,” you said. Your voice was low, barely steady. “That painting… it’s a weapon, isn’t it?”

He hesitated. Just a breath. But it was enough.

“Not here,” he said softly. “Please.”

“There are children in that house, Rafayel. Children. How can you guarantee there won’t be innocent blood?”

His jaw tensed. The silence between you vibrated with unsaid things. Then:

“Come with me,” he said. “I’ll explain everything. But not in public.”

“Answer me.”

“I said not here,” he whispered. Not angry. Not cold. Just—desperate. Controlled. And that — more than anything — told you what you needed to know.

And that’s when it happened. The movement was too fast.

You heard it before you saw it — a hiss of compressed air.

Then the glint of metal. Then the needle, already buried in the side of Rafayel’s neck.

Everything shattered.

Rafayel stumbled, hand flying to the injection point. His eyes widened — not with pain. With realization.

Varrick stepped back with chilling calm, adjusting his cuff.

“I knew it was you,” he said simply. “The moment I saw your face, lemurian. I knew you were the one behind Raymond’s death.”

You didn’t wait for orders. Didn’t need permission.

You drew and fired — one shot. Silent. Precise. Varrick collapsed with a grunt of pain, clutching his leg.

You were on him in three strides. Knee in his chest. Barrel to his throat.

“What was in it?” you growled.

His breath rattled, half from the pain, half from the thrill of it all. He was enjoying this — the game, the brink.

“I’m not—”

You slammed the muzzle harder against his neck.

“Tell me. Or I swear, I’ll have your lungs painting that lovely family room of yours by morning.”

He laughed, blood in his teeth.

“Requiem Coral,” he gasped. “Gen-modified. Synthetic compound. It bonds to Lemurian blood — slow neural degeneration. Burns out the body one nerve at a time. Quite poetic, really.”

You stared at him. Then you fired again.

Between the eyes.

No poetry. Just silence.

***

You found Rafayel still upright. Barely. His pupils were uneven. Sweat glistened on his temple. His balance was shot.

You got under his arm, bore half his weight.

“No hospital,” he muttered.

“I’m not a moron,” you snapped. “We’re going home.”

You drove with one hand clenched around the wheel, the other wrapped tightly around his — clammy now, fingers twitching less and less.

The city blurred past like water through glass, useless. Silent.

He was slumped in the seat beside you, head tilted back, jaw clenched.

“Is this your version of a confession?” he muttered, voice paper-thin. “Waiting ‘til I’m half-dead to finally hold my hand?”

“Shut up,” you hissed.

He smiled — barely. “So harsh. Romance really is dead.”

You tightened your grip on his hand. His skin was cold.

“Don’t do that,” you said. “Don’t talk like you’re not about to die.”

“I mean, statistically—”

“I said shut up.”

Your voice cracked on the last word. 

The rest of the ride was agony. You didn’t feel the road. You didn’t feel the turns. You felt him — fading beside you. His breath going shallow. His body heavy.

And all you could do was drive faster.

***

Your home wasn’t built for tenderness. It wasn’t a place to recover. It was a place to survive.

The door slammed behind you, and you half-dragged, half-carried him to the medical bench. He tried to help. He couldn’t.

He collapsed like a broken marionette, breathing hard, sweat cold on his brow.

You moved by instinct.

Antitoxin. Anti-inflammatories. Burn stabilizer. Anything. Everything.

Tubes. IV. Scanners.

Your hands didn’t shake — until you realized that nothing was working. His vitals dipped. Once. Again.

No improvement. And you weren’t a doctor. You weren’t a biotech. You were a weapon.

You could take a man apart in thirty seconds, but this — this—

You couldn’t fix this.

You hovered over him, swallowing panic, shoving down the scream forming in your throat.

He opened his eyes — only halfway. Saw the mess you were making. He lifted one trembling hand, and caught your wrist.

“Stop,” he whispered. “You’ll do more harm than good.”

You shook your head violently. “No. No, I can— I just need time—”

“There is no time.”

His voice was barely there.

“I don’t— I don’t know how to stop it,” you said, broken. “I don’t know how to fight it—how to save you—”

“Then listen.”

His eyes found yours.

“If this is it…” His breath caught. “If I’m not waking up from this—”

“Raf, no—”

“Then I want the truth.”

He looked at you like a man watching his own shadow disappear. Like someone who knew there was no second chance this time.

“No secrets. No lies. Nothing between us.”

You froze. And something inside you cracked.

The words came out on a sob.

“I know.”

He blinked slowly. “Know what?”

“I know you sold me out. N109 Zone. Five years ago.”

The air stopped moving. His lips parted, but no sound came.

You looked down, ashamed and shaking.

“I found the records. I connected the drops, the timing. You handed me over.”

There was a long pause. Then, suddenly — he laughed. A ragged, broken sound that became a cough.

“Oh, you—God.”

His smile was pained. Too pained.

“You wanted to reach Onichynus, remember?”

 You looked up.

“There’s no easy road there. No clean path.”

 He coughed again, winced, and gripped your hand tighter.

“I was watching. If things had gone wrong, I would’ve stepped in. I wouldn’t have let them break you.”

Your lips trembled. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t trust myself not to stop you. I didn’t want you to look at me like you are right now.”

He coughed again — something wet in the sound now.

“I never betrayed you.”

His hand drifted to your chest, barely touching.

“You were always my heart.” He smiled faintly. “And when you left… you took it with you.”

You crumpled. Your hands went to his face, cold and pale, and your voice shattered into pieces.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I thought— I thought you used me. Manipulated me. Like everyone else.”

His eyes stayed on yours.

“I would’ve died for you.”

“I know. I know now.”

Tears streamed down your face.

“I took your heart, Raf, but mine—” You pressed a hand to his chest. “Mine never left you. I… still love you.”

Your voice broke like a body under fire.

 “God, I never stopped loving you.”

You leaned down, kissed his lips — dry, cold, still his. Your tears landed on his skin.

“Please,” you whispered. “Fight. Just… fight. Tell me what to do. Anything. Because if you die— if you leave me now— I swear—”

“I’m already leaving,” he said.

A beat. A breath.

“I don’t think anything can stop it.”

You shook your head. “No���”

“But there’s something you can do.”

You stilled.

“Take me to the sea,” he whispered.

His eyes were almost closed.

“If I die… I want the ocean to take my last breath.”

***

You helped him into the water, one arm steady around his waist, the other gripping his wrist as if holding on could somehow hold him here.

The sea was cold, even for nightfall. Each wave climbed higher, tasting skin and memory as it came. Rafayel leaned into you, too light, too quiet. His steps were uncertain, but not from fear. He wasn’t afraid. He was done.

By the time the water reached his chest, he stopped.

His breath caught. Not sharply — softly, like a curtain falling.

For a moment, under the pale gleam of moonlight, he closed his eyes. His features relaxed. And it struck you — how little color remained in his face. How glass-like his skin looked. Almost translucent. Almost not there.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words never found shape.

Because he let go.

He stepped back. And before you could stop him, before you could tighten your grip — he slipped beneath the surface and vanished.

No sound. No splash. Just absence.

“Rafayel.”

Your voice wavered, swallowed instantly by the dark. Then louder—

“RAFAYEL!”

But there was only the sea.

You surged forward, boots stumbling, breath catching in your throat as you threw yourself into the waves.

Cold bit into your spine. Your jacket dragged you down. Salt stung your eyes. None of it mattered.

You dove.

Once, five years ago, it had been the same. Different ocean. Same cold. Same fear.

You remembered that too well — sinking below the surface on a job gone wrong, your lungs seizing, your vision narrowing. And just before the dark closed in, it had been him who pulled you out. His arms, his breath, his voice.

Breathe, cutie. Come on. Breathe.

And now—

Now it was your turn to find him.

You kicked downward, deeper, into the black.

You couldn’t see. The moonlight didn’t reach this far. But you didn’t need to see. You needed to find.

The water grew colder the further you went. Each stroke slower, weaker. The pressure in your chest building, blooming like fire. Your hands swept forward, wide, desperate — fingers searching for fabric, for skin, for anything.

You found nothing.

The panic came slowly. Not like a scream, but like a slow tightening, a noose drawn carefully across your ribs. Your lungs began to burn. Your mind whispered it was too far. Too late. But your body refused to listen.

You kept going.

Until your arms stopped obeying. Until your legs stopped kicking.

Until your last exhale slipped from between your lips, and with it, the only word that still meant anything.

“Rafayel,” you mouthed.

And sank.

Everything stilled.

Time, sensation, thought.

And just as the darkness began to take you—

Something changed.

A pulse. Not from the sea. From inside.

Evol. Dormant until now — roared awake. But not with power. With purpose.

It didn’t surge to protect you. It didn’t scream in defense. It answered something quieter. Deeper.

A wish.

You weren’t trying to save yourself. You weren’t trying to rise.

You were trying to give him your heart back. To pour your strength into his veins. To reignite the spark inside him — even if it meant extinguishing your own.

Let me give it back. Let him live. Let me take the weight.

That was the prayer beneath your ribs, and Evol obeyed.

It moved through you like liquid fire, searing down to your bones, pulling from every corner of your being. It hurt. God, it hurt — not like dying, but like unraveling. You were emptying yourself willingly. Not out of fear. Out of love.

And then — resonance.

Not just from you. From him.  Like something in the darkness roared back.

No. Not her. Not this way.

You felt it — a pull in the opposite direction. Not rejection. Not resistance. Reciprocity.

His Evol flared back — instinctive, involuntary, desperate. Refusing the gift. Refusing the cost.

He wouldn’t let you die for him.  And you — you couldn’t let him die for you.

And so you were pulled. Not rising. Not flying.

Drawn back. Both of you. Together.

Because even now, even here — at the edge of everything — neither of you could bear to leave the other behind.

***

You came back coughing.

The world hit in pieces — salt on your lips, sand beneath your palms, the weight of your own chest struggling to rise.

And then—

Arms.

Not the ocean’s. His.

He was holding you. Soaked. Shaking. Alive.

His heartbeat thudded beneath your ear, ragged but real. His breath skimmed your temple. His fingers gripped your shoulders like he wasn’t sure whether to anchor you — or himself.

You opened your eyes. The sky swam above you, vast and starless.

And Rafayel’s face was there. Pale with exhaustion, hair clinging wet to his skin, eyes too bright in the dark.

You reached up, touched his cheek with trembling fingers. He leaned into it.

No words passed between you. There was nothing to explain.

“This,” you whispered, voice torn to ribbons, “is exactly where I want to be when I die.”

His mouth twitched, a ghost of a smile breaking through.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured, “next time we die.”

Your breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“Raf…”

He hushed you with his thumb against your cheek, his gaze steady and quiet.

“It’s over.”

You shook your head. “But how—”

He didn’t answer right away.

Only looked at you, and for the first time in what felt like lifetimes, you saw it— light. Faint, buried, but alive in him.

“Cutie,” he said softly, “how could I keep dying when you needed me this much?”

The sound you made was broken, wild — grief and love tangled into one. You folded into him, arms tight around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck.

“Then you’ll have to live,” you whispered, choked, “for a long, long time. Because I need you. Every day. Every second. Every stupid heartbeat.”

He laughed — quiet and hoarse, and it felt like sunlight after rain.

“Another eternity, then. Sounds like a curse. Or a blessing. Maybe both.”

You pulled back just enough to see his face. Moonlight caught the water on his skin, and you felt like crying again.

“I was such a fool,” you said. “You shouldn’t have brought me back. I ruined everything. I wasted so much—”

“I’m not arguing,” he cut in gently. “But I figured… maybe you’d want to fix your behavior.”

A huff escaped you. Wet, shaky. Almost a smile.

“Will you let me try?” you asked. “Will you—can you forgive me?”

He didn’t even blink.

“Sweetheart,” he said, cupping your face in both hands, “this was never about forgiveness. Not really. Not about second chances or fresh starts.”

His thumbs brushed away the tears you didn’t realize were falling.

“We’re us. Flawed. Messy. Brilliant and brutal in equal measure. We hurt each other. And we heal each other.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“I forgave you a long time ago. I was only angry because I didn’t understand. I thought maybe—if I’d been softer. Or warmer. Or better—maybe you would’ve stayed.”

You closed your eyes, tears slipping free.

“I never left you,” you said. “Not really.”

“I know.”

He leaned forward. And kissed you.

Once — soft and slow, like breathing. Then again — deeper, like memory.

And when you kissed him back, there was no anger left. No questions. Just the weight of five years falling away between your mouths.

You broke away just long enough to murmur, “We almost died.”

He kissed the corner of your mouth.

“We’re always almost dying.”

You laughed, breathless.

“This is a terrible time—”

“There’s no better one,” he said. “You never know which kiss is the last. Which night is the edge.”

He pulled you to him again.

And beneath the moon, on wet sand and shaking limbs, you gave yourselves back — completely. No hesitation. No conditions.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t clean. But it was real.

You loved him like you remembered how. And he held you like he never forgot.

And this time, it didn’t feel like the end.

It felt like the beginning.

***

You woke to the sound of brush against canvas.

Soft, rhythmic. A whisper of motion. It tugged at something in your memory, something half-forgotten.

For a long moment, you didn’t move. Didn’t even open your eyes.

There was warmth on your skin — sun, blankets, and something else. You inhaled. Salt. Linens. Paint.

And him.

When you finally blinked into the light, it took a moment to understand where you were.

The room was high-ceilinged, the windows cracked open to the hush of waves. The bed was too big, sheets still tangled, your body aching pleasantly in ways that reminded you — yes, it was real.

Last night was real.

And then—

“Don’t move.”

His voice. Low. Focused. Familiar in a way that made your chest ache.

You turned your head slightly, and there he was.

Rafayel. Sitting on a low stool near the foot of the bed, bare feet braced against the floor, shirt half-unbuttoned, canvas before him. A brush in one hand, a palette balanced on his thigh.

You blinked at him. “What… are you doing?”

“I said don’t move.” He didn’t look up. “You’ll ruin the pose.”

“I wasn’t posing,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. “I was sleeping. Possibly drooling.”

He finally glanced at you. A glint in his eyes — amusement.

 “You were beautiful. Are. I wanted to keep this one.”

“Raf,” you said, stretching with a grimace, “I probably look like a tangled sea urchin. There’s still sand in places sand should never be. I need a shower.”

“If you let me finish, we’ll shower together.”

Your brows lifted. “Tempting bribe.”

“I know.” He smirked. “Also—note to self: never again sex on sand.”

“The ocean was too cold,” you teased.

“Not in my arms.”

That stopped you for a breath.

You smiled. A small, stunned thing.

And somewhere in the middle of smiling and remembering and wanting to kiss him again, you noticed something on the canvas. You squinted.

“Wait... is that yellow?”

He flinched. The brush stuttered.

And then—he groaned, deep and dramatic. “Dammit. Now I have to start over.”

You sat up on your elbows, eyes wide. “Was that my fault?”

He stood slowly, brush still in hand. “You moved. You talked. You ruined my masterwork.”

You grinned. “Your nude beach goddess masterwork?”

“Yes,” he said solemnly. “It was going to hang in the Met.”

“Well, in that case—” you started.

But before you could escape, he lunged — grabbed your ankle, yanked you toward the edge of the bed with a playfully feral grin.

You shrieked.

“Raf!”

“You destroyed art!”

“I was the art!”

You kicked. He caught your other foot.

Laughter spilled from your throat — loud, full, aching in your ribs. You couldn’t remember the last time you laughed like this.

He climbed over you, breathless with mock outrage, and you tangled together in the blankets, in limbs, in joy.

You were still gasping when you murmured, “I’m sorry I can’t erase the past. Those five years... they’re etched into us. But I swear, I’ll spend every day trying to heal what I broke.”

His expression softened — all teasing gone.

“Cutie,” he said quietly, brushing a thumb over your cheekbone, “you still don’t see it, do you?”

You stilled.

“Last night,” he said, “you were ready to give everything. Your Evol, your life, your soul — for me. Even when you thought I wouldn’t survive.”

He leaned his forehead against yours.

“In that moment, I think even the gods cried.”

You closed your eyes.

“My wounds healed the second you chose to stay,” he whispered. “There’s barely even a scar left.”

Then his voice dropped lower.

“Just promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Never disappear again. Not without giving me the chance to fight for you. Not in this lifetime. Not in any other.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You looked him in the eyes — and felt the weight of every mistake, every mile, every ache that had brought you back here.

And then you said, quietly:

“Even if all the oceans rise, even if this world burns and time eats itself whole — I’ll find you. In every life. I’ll find you, and I’ll stay.”

His lips parted. He didn’t speak.

He just kissed you.

And this time, it wasn’t for survival.

It was for everything else.

[matchademi]

I wanna do a loving send-off for Daniel (the one he deserves) in AH, but I'm not too sure what to do for it if anyone has ideas tell me

[shiny-jr]

Hi!🇮🇳 I love your writings especially the damnation series

I was thinking about a 'Dungeon concept' where reader is a traveler/adventurer and encounter different beasts and monsters(twst boys) who want to keep reader with them.

The dungeon can have several levels with different environments and it can offer a vast area for writing. Reader explores these levels to reveal deeper parts of the twisted dungeon.

Basically a twst monster au!!

Warning: Yes, another yandere thing. Mentions of violence and blood. You have been warned.

Characters: Riddle Rosehearts.

Note: What? Shiny actually writing for a request? Shocker. It can happen! Although I'm not sure if you can consider this a request or not, but I did like the idea. You, user, are very brave for coming out and talking about a monster AU in my inbox. I think I shall call it: "Dungeons and Devotions." Anyways, yeah, like I said, you're brave for that. I know what you are.

But! Very interesting, has lots of potential, color me intrigued. So, I'll bite. I actually don't watch or partake in a lot of media with dungeon concepts, but I was obsessed with Monster High when I was younger. So, I took some inspiration from their designs and characters. I actually took the time to write this and not write for the Empyrean AU, so I hope you enjoy this. ✨ I was going to do all dorms, but this part got really long so I just left it at one, but I might be willing to do more later.

Humans are not alone.

At least, that's what the stories said. Ancient accounts tell of a time when there were others who walked the earth as well. Others that certainly were not human beings. These were beings nightmares were born from, entities that served as the inspiration for horror stories passed on for generations.

But those were just scary bed time stories and warped historical records distorted by time, were they not?

That's what you had fully believed, until you found where all those monsters went.

It happened by pure accident. One day, you had decided to go for a hike. Take a new trail, see some new sights, breathe the fresh air and bask in the warm sunlight. All was fine and dandy until you lost your way, having gone off track until you were completely lost. All it took was one wrong step and you were falling. Down, down, down you fell for what felt like hours before everything went black . . .

HEARTSLABYUL

Hell. You must have fallen so far that you landed in the depths of actual hell.

The sky, no, there was no sky here– the horizon? It was red. Blood red. Even when you looked up from where you had fallen, there was no sign of a gaping hole through which you had tumbled through. Wherever you were was so deep into the earth, that you could not even make out a ceiling.

Around you were crooked trees, black like ash as they curled and bent in the oddest unnatural shapes like shadowy apparitions looming over you. There was no green on them. There was no green as far as the eye could see. Anything that looked remotely plant-like, was gray like ash, rusted brown, or different shades of red. Even the ground which you landed face first on was twisted and uneven.

That's when you were spotted by... something. Something wild and rabid, a hungry beast that sent you running, dodging branches and tripping over dense foliage as you ran for your life until you came upon an impassable wall of stone blocking your path, leaving you with nowhere to go. You were cornered. That's when the spray of blood came.

The spillage didn't even immediately register in your mind. Not until your mind, high off the fear and rush of adrenaline, recognized that you were will breathing. You were still alive. And there was a person in front of you, standing between you and starved beast that had pursued you. Barely could your mind grasp everything going on, so much was happening all at once. All you could do was blink as past the mysterious figure, you saw the beast's head slowly droop down until it hit the floor with a sickening squelch. The dismembered head fell into a puddle of its own blood and its body collapsed.

When the figure suddenly turned to you, you didn't know whether to cry tears of relief or scream in horror. Yes, this figure had saved you. Yes, their silhouette was human shaped, but they were wielding a giant axe. The haft was thin and black, almost as long as a person in height, while the blade itself was a fiery red combined with golden accents and a substance black as obsidian. The cutting edge was definitely big and sharp enough to decapitate even the grandest of beasts.

Just as you were about to thank this heroic yet terrifying stranger for saving your skin, he stepped out from the shadows and that's when the words died in your throat. Horns. He had horns. This wasn't a human.

The creature had stepped closer and gripped his mighty battle axe as if he were prepared to use it again, but he stopped when he saw you. Clearly he was just as shocked to see a thing like you just as you were stunned to see him. Thankfully, he did not behead you like he did to that beast a few seconds ago.

Finding your voice, you managed to spew useless words of warning and baseless threats for him to stay back, but he appeared to immediately realize your words were all bark and no bite. And he understood you. This being spoke like a person, frowning as he lowered his axe and commanded you to quit your pointless jabbering.

This being was red. Red like his surroundings, red like fire, red like the blood he made his enemy bleed. Horns curved atop his head, brushing past short locks of hair. Pointed ears poked past the strands, blending in with his red hair. A demon! Despite being a creature of hell, he was quite short in stature and had wide innocent eyes the color of smoke.

It was clear the demon, who politely introduced himself as Riddle, was just as intrigued as you were. Although you were still far more afraid, considering that you had seen him slay a beast. That's when Riddle told you to follow him. It wasn't a request. While you didn't trust the demon, it was either him or risk encountering another monster out here, and frankly, if you were to die, at least it would be swift if the demon chose to end you with his axe.

That's when Riddle led you past the wall into an entire city that lay deep beneath the world you knew. Humans, you learned, were not supposed to be here. They didn't do too well here where there was no real sunlight and there were dangers at every corner. There hadn't been a human down here in over centuries. For now, you would stay with him.

As it turns out, Riddle was the overlord of this domain. At first, the demon did not reveal anything, until the days passed in his castle. Something about you stirred his cold heart. Perhaps it was pity, as you were so defenseless and lost. Once he began to warm up to you, maybe won over by your ramblings of home, he began to cave to your desire for knowledge. There were seven domains in this underworld, each layered one on top of the other. He, Overlord Riddle, ruled the Heartslabyul domain with an iron fist.

Slaying mindless beasts were just one of his tasks, but as the Overlord, he went after the most dangerous kinds. However, people were not spared from his axe. Riddle would personally execute those that threatened his rule or wrecked havoc across his domain. No one was exempt, no hellish beast, no fellow demon, not even a human. Although he stated that there was no reason to execute you, as your only crime was being incapable of defending yourself and occupying the Overlord's time with rather meaningless but entertaining conversation. So, he spared you.

The Demon Overlord was certainly frightening, but, he was curious about you. It wasn't something he displayed so easily, but you could tell by the way he intensely watched you go about your day, his eyes laser-focused on your every move even though he pretended not to watch. You couldn't exactly blame him if you really were the first human down here in so long.

At first, Riddle would return with his axe stained red. However, once he realized how squeamish that would make you and how it drove you away from him, he developed the habit to return in pristine condition, without even the slightest speck on him. Although you could still guess where he had been, either condemning his enemies to death or terrifying them into submission. But with you, although overbearing, he was well-articulated and carried himself with a certain grace.

As the days added up, customs and habits were built. Such as a small little game, where you would both ask a question about each other's life and culture. If the question could stump the other person and they couldn't answer, then they would 'win.' Riddle won most of the time, as he would ask the most peculiar of questions. On occasion, he does ask some questions with such looks of wonder that you can't help but feel some sense of sympathy for him. Questions like: is the sky on the surface really blue?

As patient as he was with all your inquiries about his strange world, there was one question he never answered: How could a human get back home? If he knew the answer, he didn't show it. Each time you asked, he would become irate, and so you would drop the subject.

Throughout your time in the Demon Overlord's castle, your goal never changed: Find a way home. Riddle was simply a friend, the demon who had saved you from the maws of a hellish fiend and granted you sanctuary in his home. It was by pure accident that you learned that Riddle's opinion was quite different than yours. Sometime throughout your stay, he had become attached and developed some rather intense feelings. According to a book of monsters you discovered deep in the shelves of his personal library, demons are deeply protective of their loved ones, often subtly guarding them through quiet gestures or grand notions. Riddle was grand in his display, and it all made perfect sense now as to why he implemented a rule barring other demons from most rooms of the castle so as to not interact with you.

One day, before Riddle left the castle, he gifted you a mystical red gem with a rune engraved into it. A chill went down your spine as you recognized it vaguely. Although you didn't comprehend its exact meaning, you recognized the symbol from a book about demon courtship. If you recalled right, demons tended to inscribe runes into rare objects so their partner would have a spell protecting them and be able to carry their loved one's essence with them. The Demon Overlord hesitated for a moment once the gift was in your hand. If he wasn't already red, his flesh would've been blooming with warmth as he leaned. The kiss on your cheek was brief as the base of his horns bumped against your temple– then he left before you could even utter a single word.

That's when you knew you had to leave. Immediately. If the book you found earlier was factual, then once Riddle returned, he would not let you go. The Demon Overlord had already prevented you from leaving by confining you in his castle, isolating you from others, and purposefully retaining information from you.

The only place you could was down, down into deeper levels. Yes, it was further away from the surface and home, and you had no idea what awaited you, but if you stayed in Heartslabyul, Riddle would never allow you to leave his castle and he would no doubt send demons to search for you once he discovered you were gone. The only place he wouldn't think to look were other domains. Perhaps the Demon Overlord's gift to you would actually be of use as you searched for a way down.

[newobsessionweekly]

Aftershock

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Tim Bradford x younger!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: You’re a bold, confident civil engineering student, used to taking control on construction sites. But when an earthquake hits while you're in charge of your father’s site, you meet LAPD Sergeant Tim Bradford. You clash, you work together, and slowly, something deeper begins to spark.

A/N: I have the second part almost ready so it'll be here soon!! Also is you have some ideas for this mini series, feel free to drop it in my box! Feedback is always appreciated!! I hope you like it! Lots of love, bubs! Stay safe! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Warnings: Earthquake/emergency scenario, mild injury, panic attack (comfort follows), age gap, not proofread

Word Count: 4k+

It starts like a whisper��barely-there tremors under your steel-toes as you walk the perimeter of the new mixed-use high-rise downtown. You've spent the last half-hour barking into your phone, coordinating crane placement and checking load-bearing support numbers. You’re dusty, focused, and completely in your element.

Until the earth moves for real.

You don’t hear it before you feel it. The tremor roars upward through your boots like a live wire. The scaffolding groans. A metallic shriek pierces the air. Then it happens.

The world shudders. A cacophony of screams. Cement rains down. You drop to your knees and roll, instincts kicking in, sheltering beneath a shipping container propped on steel beams.

Earthquake.

It only lasts seconds—long ones—but the aftermath feels like a war zone. You crawl out coughing, your lungs filling with grit and fear, but your brain is firing on pure adrenaline. You're not just some student or supervisor. You’re the boss’s daughter. And he’s out of town, which makes this your site.

Your chest heaves, but your eyes are already scanning. Where's the crew? Who’s accounted for?

“Luis!” you shout, dodging fallen equipment. “Jen! Mateo!”

Two workers emerge from a cloud of dust, one limping, another coughing blood into his glove. You guide them to the open lot beyond the scaffolding, mentally mapping the layout. Six missing. Maybe more.

And then, over the scream of sirens, two figures cut through the dust—uniformed.

The man in front moves like he was born in boots. Tall, broad shoulders, determined jaw. There’s something sharp and no-nonsense about him, like he’s the human equivalent of a battering ram. Behind him, a quick-footed brunette surveys the site with wide, alert eyes.

“LAPD!” the man shouts. “Is anyone hurt?”

“I’m fine!” you yell back over the noise. “There are still people inside!”

He reaches you in seconds. “You need to move—this whole site could still collapse.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you snap. “This is my father’s project. He’s out of town. I’m responsible for everyone here.”

“Name?”

“Y/n Y/l/n. Civil engineering student. Site lead for the day.”

“Sergeant Tim Bradford,” he grunts, scanning you. “This is Officer Lucy Chen.”

Chen gives a small nod and immediately moves to triage the injured worker. Bradford, however, keeps his full attention on you.

You don’t miss the way his eyes rake over you—not in a creepy way. He’s taking stock. Assessing damage. Dirt on your face, small gash on your arm. His brows tighten.

“You were inside?”

“Under that scaffolding.”

“You shouldn’t be standing.”

You fold your arms. “Well, I am.”

“You need to let us handle this.”

“No. I know this site better than anyone. I helped design the layout. There’s a crawlspace beneath the west scaffolding that no one else knows about. If anyone’s still in there—”

“You’re not trained for rescue ops.”

“I’m trained to know what’s safe and what’s about to fall on your head.”

His jaw ticks. “I don’t have time to babysit you.”

“Then don’t. Keep up.”

You step past him, and for a beat, he just stares.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters. “You’re like if a Barbie Doll had a death wish.”

You toss him a grin over your shoulder. “Grumpy and unoriginal. Cute.”

He follows, grumbling something under his breath about stubborn civilians and lawsuits.

The two of you reach the compromised scaffold, and you crouch beside the twisted beams. Bradford stops behind you, way closer than necessary.

“Let me go first,” he says, voice low, eyes scanning overhead.

“I’ll fit through easier. You’re built like a linebacker.”

You feel his breath on the back of your neck as he leans down.

“And you think I’m letting you crawl into a death trap alone?”

You glance at him, only inches away. “So you do care.”

He doesn’t move.

“Protocol,” he says stiffly. “And… you’re bleeding.”

You look down at the gash on your forearm—dirt-caked but shallow.

“Didn’t notice.”

“I did.”

He steps forward and gently takes your wrist. His touch is unexpectedly careful—rough hands, but soft grip. He pulls a cloth from his vest and dabs at the wound. You watch his face as he works. He’s so serious. So guarded.

“I’m going in first,” he says, not giving you a chance to argue.

You don’t push it this time. He’s trying. In his own way.

You both drop into the crawlspace, the air thick with dust and heat. Your shoulder brushes his arm as you squeeze through. Close. Too close.

You hear it before you see it—a cough. Faint, raspy.

“There,” you whisper. “Under that beam.”

Bradford nods. “Stay low.”

The man’s pinned, conscious but trapped under a slab of drywall and steel piping. You approach carefully, testing for weight, and give Tim a look.

“If we shift the load here, I can drag him out.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

His hand grazes your back as he shifts to position. Again, he’s close. Protective. Your skin sparks where his fingers press.

He moves the slab, and you reach under, tugging the worker free with all your strength. It takes effort. You grunt, digging your heels into the ground. Bradford leans forward, adds his strength behind yours. The worker slides out.

You sit back, panting.

“You okay?” Tim asks, wiping sweat from his temple.

You nod, heart pounding—not just from the rescue. From him. From the way his hand didn’t quite leave your lower back.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Thanks.”

He meets your eyes. For a second, everything around you disappears.

And then his radio crackles. “Bradford, update?”

“We got one out,” he replies. “Sending location for medical. Continuing sweep.”

As you crawl back out, he places a steadying hand at your waist, guiding you up the incline. You feel the heat of it even through your shirt. It lingers. He doesn’t rush the touch. Neither do you.

Once you’re out, the EMTs swarm. The worker is taken. Chen updates the map with accounted-for crew.

You press your hands to your thighs, catching your breath.

“How many are left?” Tim asks.

You scan your clipboard. “Two. Maybe three. Could be hiding in the south exit shaft.”

“Is it stable?”

You pause. “Barely. But I can get us in.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re not invincible, Barbie.”

“And you’re not my boss, Grinch.”

He exhales hard. “Fine. But I go first this time. You stay on my six.”

“Yes, sir.”

He gives you a look. You wink.

You both make your way through the wreckage, ducking twisted rebar and beams. At one point, you trip on a loose plank. His arm shoots out, wraps around your waist.

You freeze.

So does he.

You’re chest to chest, his hand splayed across your back, your fingers gripping his vest.

“You okay?” he asks, voice a touch lower now.

Your throat’s dry. “Yeah. You?”

He doesn’t answer. Just watches you for a moment, then slowly lets you go.

You keep moving, but now every time your fingers graze or your arms brush, it feels intentional. Loaded.

You find the last two workers behind a jammed gate. Tim breaks the lock with a metal pipe, and you help the shaken men out. One thanks you. The other looks at you like you’re a superhero.

But the adrenaline has started to fade.

The full weight of it all—the noise, the near-deaths, the responsibility—presses down.

When you step away from the others, your legs buckle just a little. Bradford is there instantly.

“Sit,” he says, catching you by the arm.

You nod slowly, dropping onto a low wall.

He crouches beside you, reading your face. “It’s catching up to you.”

You swallow. “Yeah.”

“You held it together. You did everything right.”

Your breath hitches. “I didn’t… I didn’t think. I just moved. But what if I missed someone? What if—”

“Stop.”

His voice is gentle but firm. He places his hand on your knee. You flinch—but not from fear. From how it grounds you.

“Look at me.”

You do.

“You saved people. You helped us. You didn’t hide. You ran toward the danger.”

Your lip quivers.

His hand slides to your shoulder. His thumb strokes your collarbone, just once.

“You’re allowed to feel it now.”

And that’s all it takes. The panic hits like a wave—hard and fast. Your chest clenches, eyes burning.

Tim doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you into his chest, wrapping both arms around you. You bury your face in his shoulder, fists curling in his vest.

“It’s over,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re safe.”

His hand slides into your hair, combing gently through it. The motion is soothing. Familiar. Like he’s done it before. Or maybe just dreamed of it.

“You don’t have to be strong right now.”

You tremble in his hold. He doesn’t pull away.

“I’ve got you,” he adds. “Okay?”

You nod against him. When you finally look up, his hand lingers on your cheek.

“Didn’t think you’d be the nurturing type." you say, voice hoarse.

He chuckles, voice rumbling in his chest. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my brand.”

You lean back just enough to see his face.

And something shifts between you.

A quiet moment in the eye of the storm.

“I still think ‘Grinch’ suits you,” you whisper.

“And I still think you’re high-maintenance.”

“Excuse me?”

“Only a Barbie Doll would coordinate a rescue effort and sass a cop in the same breath.”

You smirk. “Maybe I’m both.”

The moment stretches. You’re both still, holding onto something neither of you fully understands yet.

Then a shout breaks the spell.

“Y/n!”

You turn. “Dad!”

Your father is running across the rubble-strewn pavement, suit jacket flapping, eyes wild.

You stand, and he pulls you into a crushing hug.

“I’m fine,” you gasp. “We’re all fine.”

He cups your face. “I got the alert mid-meeting and left immediately.”

You hug him tighter. “I had to take charge.”

“And you did,” he whispers. “I’m proud of you.”

You feel a shift behind you. Turning, you find Tim standing quietly, watching the scene with a measured expression. Your dad notices him too.

“You,” he says, crossing over. “You pulled her out.”

“Sergeant Bradford,” Tim replies, shaking his hand firmly. “Just doing my job, sir.”

Bradford looks at you. And he gets it.

You’re not just another young woman on-site. You’re his daughter. His pride. His heart. And you’re damn good at what you do.

Daddy’s princess—with steel in your spine.

He watches you hug your dad again, whisper something that makes the older man smile. And Tim’s jaw tightens, just slightly.

Lucy appears beside him, sipping water.

“She’s a powerhouse,” she says.

“Yeah,” Tim replies, watching you like he can’t look away. “She is.”

“You gonna ask for her number?”

He snorts. “She’d probably write it on an OSHA citation and tell me to lighten up.”

“You could use someone who challenges you.” his rookie shrugs.

Tim glances back at you—still in that vest, still a little scraped up, but glowing with that post-adrenaline shine.

Maybe he could.

[natsaffection]

Redline. (Bonus 2) | N.R

Older!Motorsportboss!Natasha × Younger Racing!Driver!Reader

Warnings: Age gap (N= 32, r=23), Fluff, Fluff, Fluff, 18+! MINORS DNI! Thigh riding, begging, multiple orgasm, oral (N and R receiving)

Word count: 8,1k

A/N: Here we are again!! Here, we focused more on Natasha. This isn’t everything I have in mind because it would probably explode Tumblr’s word limit. And once again, this is filled with a lot of requests! Thank you all for keeping the series alive. <3

The rumble of engines thrummed against Natasha’s chest like a comforting rhythm. Outside the control room, your car carved through the track, tires biting into the asphalt with a grace Natasha could only describe as beautiful. It was pure instinct fused with practice, the kind of skill that couldn’t be taught, only sharpened.

“Uh, boss. She’s…She’s got her music on again. Radio’s not gonna work.” Someone said cautiously, not quite meeting her gaze.

Natasha’s fingers paused over the radio switch, a smirk pulling at her lips. She didn’t snap or scold him for pointing out something she was already well aware of. “I know.” Her voice was calm, the words deliberate.

She’d tried before, many times, to convince you to ditch the habit. Music while driving? A distraction, a dangerous one, especially on her track. But then Natasha saw how you moved when the music was on. Saw how your shoulders relaxed, how your steering smoothed out. How your eyes gleamed with that familiar spark of determination mixed with reckless joy.

It was frustrating at first. Maybe even a little insulting that you ignored her safety advice for something so…unprofessional. But Natasha had come to understand it. More than that, she respected it. Even if she’d never outright say it.

Her pen scratched softly against the notepad, notes forming in neat, clinical handwriting. Adjust braking patterns. Smoother transition into turn eight. Minor correction on corner five. And yet, her eyes kept drifting to the live feed of your car. The way it sliced through the track like it was a natural extension of your body. Wild. Precise. Almost hypnotic.

The music had become part of your ritual. Natasha didn’t know what song was blasting in your ears, but she’d caught glimpses of your playlists before. Everything from classic rock to synthwave. The music wasn’t just noise. It was your heartbeat. Your pulse. So, Natasha had stopped fighting it. She’d even found herself curious, more often than not, about what you were listening to. What melody accompanied your fierce concentration and artful control.

Even now, Natasha’s hand hovered over the radio, a pointless gesture. Habit, more than anything. It made her feel like she was still part of the process. Even if you couldn’t hear her, Natasha’s gaze followed your every move, eyes narrowing whenever she detected the slightest flaw. She wrote down pointers, things to work on. But nothing about the music. Never about the music. Not anymore.

You guided the car into the garage. Your adrenaline was still high, heartbeat synced to the last few beats of your music. You let out a satisfied breath, fingers loosening around the steering wheel. The moment you unbuckled and started to climb out, a hand reached around you and plucked one of the earbuds from your ear.

“Still distracting yourself, I see.” Natasha’s voice was low, even, but there was a hint of exasperation underneath. You startled, not expecting Natasha to be there, your face a mix of amusement and irritation. “Nat! You scared the crap out of me!”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, ignoring the flustered tone. “I’ve told you before. The music is a distraction. You could miss something critical. A sound, a warning. And then what?”

You chuckled, rubbing the back of your neck. “You know me. It helps me focus. Just…makes the world feel smaller when I’m out there. Nothing but me and the car.”

“I know.” Natasha admitted, her gaze softening despite her words. “But it’s still a bad habit. One that could get you hurt.”

You tilted your head, your lips curving into that playful smile Natasha couldn’t stay mad at. “And yet, you’re not exactly telling me to stop.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened for a moment before she sighed. “Because you’re good at what you do. But just because it works now doesn’t mean it’s perfect. And I can’t always be around to make sure you’re okay.”

There. That hint of worry she tried so hard to hide under professionalism. Your gaze softened. “But you’re here now. And I’ll be fine.”

Natasha’s lips twitched. “Let’s go over your run. And next time, maybe consider turning the music down just a little?”

“Maybe..” you replied, your grin returning. “If you ask nicely.”

You leaned in, pressing your lips against Natasha’s, feeling the warmth and tension melt away for just a second, until Natasha pulled back, scrunching her nose with exaggerated disgust. “You stink.”

You blinked, a little stunned. “What?”

“Like sweat, motor oil, and whatever bad decision you made for lunch.” Natasha folded her arms, smirking. “Go shower before you try that again.”

You chuckled, your eyes gleaming with amusement. “You could always join me, you know?”

“Tempting.” Natasha admitted, her voice dropping slightly, “But some of us actually have work to do.”

You pouted but found yourself smiling at the genuine warmth that slipped through Natasha’s cool professionalism. “Fine, fine. But don’t miss me too much, okay?”

“Just go, before I change my mind and lock you out of the track.”

The hot shower did wonders for your sore muscles, washing away sweat, grime, and the lingering adrenaline from the track. After drying off, you slipped into a clean shirt and some comfortable sweatpants. Fresh, relaxed, and still grinning from your earlier exchange with Natasha, you made your way to Natasha’s office.

Just outside the door, Natasha’s secretary, Emma, looked up from her computer and frowned. “Y/n, I wouldn’t! She’s…well, she’s in one of her moods.”

You chuckled, unbothered. “When isn’t she?”

“I’m serious.” Emma pressed, her gaze worried. “She’s been on a call for some minutes. Some contract negotiations fell through, and she’s been ripping people apart..”

“Thanks for the warning, but…” You gave her a reassuring wink. “I know the drill.”

Before Emma could protest, you slipped through the door. Natasha was pacing behind her desk, phone pressed to her ear, eyes blazing with frustration. Her words were sharp, precise, the kind of tone that could make anyone on the other end of the call shrink in terror.

But when Natasha’s gaze landed on you, the smallest flicker of relief washed over her features. Her shoulders eased, but her expression remained tense as she continued her conversation, barely acknowledging your presence.

You leaned against the wall, waiting patiently. You’d learned by now that there was no point trying to speak when Natasha was in business mode. Instead, you just studied her. Noticed the tiredness etched into her features, the stiffness in her posture.

The call finally ended with Natasha’s usual clipped goodbye, her phone clattering against the desk as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Idiots. The lot of them.” Natasha muttered.

“Hey..” you said softly, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around Natasha’s shoulders from behind. Your warmth pressed against Natasha’s back, “You’re working yourself into the ground again.”

Natasha sighed, her head tilting slightly toward your touch, but she didn’t pull away. “It’s called doing my job.” she replied, the snap in her voice dulled by exhaustion.

“And you’re doing too much. Way too much.” Your voice was a soothing murmur. “You need to take care of yourself. The world won’t fall apart if you take a break, you know.”

Natasha huffed, her fingers grazing your arm as if trying to keep you there. “Feels like it might.”

“Yeah, well, that’s just because you’re so used to fixing everyone’s messes. But even you need a breather.”

Natasha closed her eyes, leaning back into your warmth. She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just let herself exist in the quiet, inhaling the faint scent of shampoo still clinging to your skin.

“I’m serious, Nat. You’ve got me here, okay? Let me take care of you for once.”

Another beat of silence. Then, finally, Natasha’s shoulders relaxed. “You know, if you keep talking to me like that, I might start getting used to it.”

“Good. Because I’m not planning to sto-”

The shrill ring of Natasha’s phone cut through the calm like a knife. Natasha groaned, her hand twitching towards the receiver, her fingers already itching to strangle whoever dared to interrupt her moment of peace. But before she could react, you reached over and snatched the phone from its cradle, pressing it to your ear with a casualness that bordered on infuriating.

“What the hell are you doing?” Natasha’s voice was sharp, but you just shot her a smug grin.

“Hello, Natasha Romanoff’s office. She’s currently unavailable and very much not interested in whatever business disaster you’re trying to dump on her right now. Thanks. Byee.”

And just like that, you hung up, your thumb slamming down on the button with finality. Natasha’s jaw dropped, her eyes narrowing as she stared at you, torn between amusement and disbelief. “Did you seriously just-”

“Yep.” You placed the phone down like it was nothing, then made your way around the desk. “Because you need a break, remember? And honestly, I don’t think you care all that much about whoever was on the other end.”

“Whether I care or not is irrelevant. You just…took my call.” Natasha’s eyes glinted with something unreadable. “You’re either really brave or really stupid.”

“Or maybe I’m just good at prioritizing your sanity over unnecessary stress.”

Before Natasha could argue further, you slipped into her lap, straddling her thighs and cupping her face. Natasha’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before narrowing in mock irritation.

“You’re impossible.” Natasha murmured, but her hands instinctively found their way to your waist.

“And yet, you still love me.” you replied, leaning in to press your lips against Natasha’s, slow and gentle.

Natasha’s resolve crumbled, her fingers tightening around your hips as she melted into the kiss. The stress, the frustration, the endless noise of business and responsibility…all of it faded under the warmth of your touch.

“Alright, fine..” Natasha whispered against your lips, voice laced with reluctant amusement. “You win. But only this once.”

“Oh, I plan to win way more than just once.” you quipped before kissing her again. The kiss deepened, Natasha’s grip tightening, her mouth moving against yours in a way that made your entire body feel like it was humming. But then..

The door swung open, and both of you froze. “Well, this is an interesting way to spend a workday.” Melina’s voice cut through the charged air like a whip.

Natasha jerked back, her eyes wide, cheeks flushed. You had never seen your girlfriend look so caught off guard. The always-calm, always-composed Natasha Romanoff looked like she’d just been doused with ice water.

“Mother. I- What are you doing here?” Natasha’s voice was tight, her posture suddenly ramrod straight.

“I thought I’d drop by. Business meeting in town.” Melina’s eyes flicked to you, still very much perched on Natasha’s lap. “But clearly, you two are…occupied.”

“Can you give us a minute?” Natasha said, her tone clipped but her gaze pleading.

“Of course, darling.” Melina’s smile was almost too innocent. “But don’t take too long. I would hate to miss out on the rest of the show.”

And with that, she strolled out, shutting the door with a little too much force to be accidental. You burst out laughing, your forehead dropping to Natasha’s shoulder. “God, I think my soul just left my body.”

Natasha’s hands were still resting on your hips, her fingers gripping just enough to betray the lingering frustration. “That woman…” Natasha muttered, eyes fixed on the door like she could will her mother to disappear. “Of course, she’d show up unannounced.”

“Maybe she missed you?” you offered with a grin, fingers tracing along Natasha’s shoulder, the warmth of your earlier kiss still lingering between you.

“More like she wants something.” Natasha sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “She’s been pestering me about dinner since last week. I told her I was busy.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And now she’s here. Guess she’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

“Clearly.” Natasha’s hands slipped from your hips to rest on your thighs, her touch still gentle despite the tension in her jaw. “I should’ve known. She’s been talking about how I’ve been ‘hiding you away’ from her ever since she figured out we were together.”

You glanced back at the door, then down at Natasha, your fingers brushing against Natasha’s jawline. “You’re really worked up about this, huh?”

“I just…” Natasha’s lips tightened before her shoulders slumped a little. “I wanted it to be perfect. Introducing you as, you know. Not just my racer. But it’s Melina. She’s like a bloodhound when she wants something.”

“Hey.” you murmured, tilting Natasha’s chin up to meet your gaze. “It’s okay. I’m not expecting perfection. I’ve already survived her first impression when I joined your team, remember? If anything, I think this time will be easier.”

“Maybe.” Natasha’s voice was quieter, but the tension in her expression was slowly melting.

“Definitely.” You kissed her again, just a gentle press of lips meant to calm. “Now, what do you say we go out there and deal with your mother before she barges in here again?”

Natasha groaned. “She would, too.”

“Exactly. So, let’s face the music.” You slid off Natasha’s lap but kept a firm hold on her hand, coaxing her to stand.

“Alright. But I swear, if she starts making comments about us..” Natasha shook her head, but there was a hint of affection beneath her grumbling.

You laughed. “She’s definitely going to. And you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

Natasha’s lips twitched, fighting back a smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re still holding my hand.” you teased, swinging your entwined fingers lightly.

“I guess I am.” Natasha’s voice softened, the warmth returning to her eyes. “Let’s get this over with.”

You walked through the track, the cooling evening air swirling around you. Natasha’s hand was still clasped tightly in yours, but the nerves buzzing under your skin were becoming harder to ignore.

“If you had joined me in the shower earlier, you wouldn’t be heading out like this..” you said with a crooked smile, trying to lighten your own mood.

Natasha’s lips twitched, amusement briefly crossing her features. “You know I was tempted. But I had a call and…well, here we are.”

“Yeah. Here we are..” you mumbled, your gaze dropping for a moment as your nerves caught up to you. Natasha noticed instantly, her thumb rubbing slow circles against your hand. “You okay?”

“I mean, sure, if you count being a little terrified as ‘okay.’” you admitted, your voice light but your smile faltering. “It’s just…this feels different. Melina knowing we’re together. Officially.”

“She already likes you. You know that.” Natasha’s voice was steady, the cool confidence that always drew you in. “This dinner thing is just…her being her.”

“Yeah, but what if she doesn’t like me like this?” You said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “As…your girlfriend?”

Natasha’s expression softened, the tension from earlier easing into something far gentler. “I wouldn’t be with you if I thought she’d be a problem. And besides, you can handle her.”

You exhaled slowly, nodding. “Alright. If you say so.”

The sound of a car door opening snapped your attention forward. Melina stood beside her sleek, black Mercedes, arms folded and an amused smile already on her lips. “Get in, both of you.”

You swallowed and climbed into the backseat, your nerves flaring as Melina’s attention lingered just a moment too long. Natasha slid in beside you, her presence reassuring but still carrying that undercurrent of tension.

The car ride was quiet at first, Melina’s gaze occasionally flicking to the rearview mirror, catching your eyes before turning her attention back to the road. You could feel your heart racing, your hands fidgeting with the fabric of your pants. This felt different. More important. Because you weren’t just a driver on Natasha’s team now. You were the woman dating Natasha Romanoff. And Melina’s approval felt like a much bigger challenge to earn.

“Relax.” Natasha whispered, her hand finding your knee, her touch warm and grounding. “You’ve already won her over. Just be you.”

You managed a small, grateful smile. “Easier said than done.”

“Trust me.” Natasha replied, her voice low and sincere. “You’ve got this.”

The restaurant Melina had picked was cozy but sophisticated, with low lighting and quiet jazz humming in the background. A place that screamed exclusivity without trying too hard. Natasha was clearly unimpressed, her jaw tight as they were led to their table. You couldn’t tell if it was the ambiance or her mother’s intrusion earlier that had her in a mood. Maybe both.

The table was already set, the polished silverware gleaming under the soft, amber glow of overhead lights. Three elegant flutes of champagne stood waiting, the bubbles rising lazily in each glass.

“Seems the restaurant knows us well.” Melina commented smoothly as she took her seat, her eyes flicking between Natasha and you with that same, all-knowing smile. You reached for one of the glasses, the chill of the glass refreshing against your slightly clammy palm. But before you could even lift it to your lips, Natasha’s hand shot out and gently plucked the glass away.

“No. That’s only for the podium.” Natasha said with a smirk, her voice carrying the kind of playfulness you were slowly getting used to. The kind of protectiveness that masked itself as nonchalance.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile. “You’re seriously gatekeeping champagne from me now?”

“Tradition is tradition.” Natasha replied, settling the glass out of your reach with an irritatingly smug look. Melina chuckled, her amusement only adding to your embarrassment. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m sure the waiter can bring you something more to your taste.”

True to her word, Melina flagged down a server and ordered you a glass of the restaurant’s finest Wine. The smooth, amber liquid arrived quickly, poured over ice that clinked gently against the glass.

“Now..” Melina began, leaning forward with her eyes focused keenly on you. “Congratulations are in order. I heard you clinched the championship. Well-deserved, I’d say.”

“Thanks..!” you replied, a flush creeping up your neck at the praise. “Couldn’t have done it without your daughter kicking my ass in training every day.”

“An understatement.” Natasha muttered, sipping her wine with a sly smile.

“And the two of you…” Melina’s gaze darted between you. “How exactly did this happen?”

Your eyes darted to Natasha, silently pleading for her to start. But Natasha only tilted her head and lifted her glass of wine, gesturing for you to begin. Of course, she would make you do the talking.

“Well, um…” you started, your fingers tightening around your glass. The whiskey suddenly felt like liquid courage, warming you from the inside out. “I guess it was…a slow thing. I didn’t even realize it at first.”

Natasha’s eyebrow arched, amused. “That so?”

You let your thoughts drift back, the memory unfurling like an old photograph. “It was after the championship photoshoot. The one where the whole team was crammed into that little studio. And you…” You looked at Natasha, your eyes turning soft. “You looked so…powerful. All eyes on you, telling the photographer what to do, how to make the shots perfect. It was like you controlled the whole damn room. And when you finally stepped in front of the camera, there was this… ease. Like it was effortless.”

Natasha’s gaze remained on you, a flicker of surprise breaking through her cool exterior.

“And I remember just…staring. At you. At how confident and unbothered you were. And thinking..I’m done for.”

Melina’s lips quirked upward in obvious satisfaction, but she stayed quiet, watching the two of you with a curiosity that seemed to border on approval.

“But you weren’t exactly subtle either.” Natasha cut in, a glimmer of amusement coloring her voice. “I remember you practically vibrating with nerves when we had to take those team photos. Couldn’t even stand still without fidgeting.”

You flushed, the embarrassment made worse by the knowing smirk on Natasha’s face. “Okay, yeah. Because the photographer made me stand beside you. And I could barely think straight, let alone smile for the damn camera.”

“That bad, huh?” Natasha teased, but there was warmth in her tone, her eyes softening as she took in your embarrassed expression.

“Pretty bad..” you admitted with a chuckle. “But somehow, you made me feel like it was okay to be nervous. And then I figured out why.”

“So you’ve been harboring this little crush since then?” Natasha mused, leaning back in her chair with her fingers delicately circling the rim of her wine glass.

You shrugged, but your smile was honest. “Pretty much. And you’ve been dealing with me ever since.”

“More like tormenting me.” Natasha corrected, but there was something impossibly fond in her expression.

Melina, who had been watching with quiet amusement, spoke up. “Well, I have to say…the way you two interact is rather delightful. I’m almost impressed.”

“Almost?” you joked, trying to mask your nerves.

Melina’s smile was genuine. “You’ve survived my daughter’s training, her schedule, and apparently her mood swings. And yet, you’re sitting here like you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

“Can’t imagine being anywhere else.” you said, your voice a little quieter but no less certain. Melina’s eyes flickered with approval, the smile now softer. “Good. Now, may I see this infamous photo?”

You blinked. “What photo?”

“The one where Natasha apparently looked so powerful that it made you fall for her.”

“Oh.” You bit your lip, suddenly feeling stupid. “Uh, yeah. I actually have it..” You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone, scrolling quickly through your gallery before finding the image.

You handed the phone over, the photo showing Natasha standing with that impossible confidence, arms folded, eyes locked on the camera like she owned the world. It was a little blurry, but the intensity of her expression was all that mattered.

Natasha’s eyes widened as she glanced at the screen. “You…kept that?”

You shrugged, feeling your cheeks heat up. “It’s kind of my good luck charm. I look at it when I need to feel, I don’t know…inspired.”

Melina chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with something approving and almost fond. “Well, Natasha. Looks like you’ve managed to find someone who actually sees you. All of you.”

Natasha’s expression softened, her eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah. I guess I have.”

Dinner continued with Melina throwing occasional questions your way, her eyes keen and voice deceptively casual. But it was clear she was interested. Genuinely so. She even offered you advice on handling certain sponsors, advice Natasha tried to cut off with a sharp glare but didn’t entirely disagree with.

The teasing, the conversations, the occasional moments where Natasha’s hand found yours under the table…It all felt surprisingly warm. Comfortable. Like maybe, this whole ‘meeting the parents’ thing wasn’t so terrifying after all.

Eventually, Melina’s phone buzzed and she checked her messages with a grimace. “I hate to cut this short, but I have a meeting I can’t miss. Duty calls.”

“That’s alright!” you said, your smile a little shy but genuine. “I’m just glad we got to catch up.”

“Likewise, darling.” Melina replied, her smile too genuine to be anything but sincere. Her gaze flicked to Natasha. “Take care of her, Natasha. She’s too good for you.”

Natasha’s jaw clenched for a second before she relaxed. “Yeah. I know.”

Melina gave you one last approving look before gathering her things and heading out, leaving the two of you alone in the dimly-lit restaurant.

“She likes you.” Natasha murmured, a little stunned herself by how well the evening had gone.

“Seems like it.” you said, grinning. “She was practically rooting for us by the end of it.”

“She has an interesting way of showing approval.”

You shared a look, both of you breaking into quiet laughter. But as the laughter faded, a sense of calm settled over you. The night had gone better than either of you expected.

Natasha had already booked an Uber for your way back, her arm draped loosely over your shoulder as you walked out to the curb. The ride was quiet, the city lights flashing past the windows like lazy streaks of color. It wasn’t until you were both comfortably settled in the backseat, the hum of the car providing a soothing backdrop, that you spoke.

“So…” you began, your tone hesitant but curious. “You know how I told you about when I first fell for you. The whole photoshoot thing.”

“Yeah?” Natasha’s voice was soft, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your knee.

“I was just…wondering. When did you fall for me?”

Natasha went still for a moment, her hand pausing before resuming its slow, gentle tracing. Her gaze stayed forward, eyes unfocused as if the memory played just beyond the darkened streets.

“You were so damn stubborn.” Natasha started, her lips curving slightly. “Always talking back, always challenging me on the track. You drove me insane most days.”

“Sounds about right.” you chuckled. “But that’s not when you fell for me, is it?”

“No. It’s not.” Natasha’s eyes flicked toward you, the usual sharpness dulled by something softer. “That night after Training. You were exhausted, barely keeping your eyes open, but you were still so damn determined to get better.”

“I remember that.” You smiled, your voice lowering as the memory floated back. “I fell asleep on the couch in the break room.”

“You did. And I found you there at like…three in the morning. You were dead to the world, curled up with your phone still playing some playlist you must have put on to stay awake.”

“Sounds like me.”

“But then I saw it. Your phone screen.” Natasha’s gaze softened, the memory clearly etched into her mind. “It was a photo of me. Smiling. And you were just…holding onto it like it meant something.”

Your cheeks flushed. “You never mentioned that.”

“Because I wasn’t sure if I was ready to admit what it meant. That someone was willing to see me, care about me, in a way that had nothing to do with the racing world. You weren’t just in it for the glory. You wanted…me.”

“Natasha…” your voice was barely above a whisper. Natasha’s hand slipped from your knee to your hand, fingers lacing together. “That’s when I realized I was falling for you. And I’ve been falling ever since.”

You squeezed her hand, your chest tightening in the best possible way. “You know, you’re not so bad at this whole feelings thing.”

Natasha smiled, genuine and free. “Only for you.”

Natasha’s phone vibrated, the screen lighting up with yet another email notification. She groaned, clearly considering ignoring it before finally checking the message. You watched her, expecting Natasha to launch into work mode at any second.

Instead, Natasha’s gaze softened as she scrolled through her phone. Then, she leaned forward, her voice calm but firm as she addressed the driver. “Change of plans. Take us to my place.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Nat, you’ve got work tomorrow. Meetings, training sessions, all that important stuff.”

Natasha’s gaze shifted to you, her expression somehow both determined and gentle. “It’s just business. Nothing that can’t be pushed a day or two.”

You blinked, your mouth opening and closing for a second. “Are you serious?”

“Completely.” Natasha replied, her lips curving into a fond smile. “I’ve spent all day trying to juggle business, family, and…us. And I’d rather spend the rest of the night and tomorrow with you. Away from everything else. Just us.”

The words settled between you, soft and sincere. You felt your heart do a little flip in your chest, your hand squeezing Natasha’s just a bit tighter.

“You’re really throwing work away for me?” you asked, your voice disbelieving but warm.

“Not throwing it away.” Natasha corrected. “Just..prioritizing better. And right now, you’re my priority.”

Your cheeks flushed with happiness, your grin breaking free and unstoppable. “You’re way too good to me..”

Natasha shook her head, her eyes never leaving yours. “If anything, I’m still making up for lost time.”

The rest of the drive was silent, but it was a warm, comfortable silence. Your hands stayed clasped, and every now and then, Natasha’s thumb would trace gentle circles against your skin. It was perfect.

Days later, the garage was bustling with the usual chaos, engineers running between workstations, mechanics barking orders, and the occasional clang of metal meeting metal. But somehow, it all seemed to hush when Natasha walked in. Her presence demanded attention, her sharp gaze enough to make everyone double-check their work.

You trailed beside her, clearly enjoying the view of everyone’s attempts to impress the Boss. The engineers were quick to gather their notes, practically tripping over each other as they prepared to present the latest upgrades to your car.

“Alright, what have you got for me?” Natasha’s voice was firm, steady, her eyes fixed on the nervous-looking group.

Alex, an engineer cleared his throat, his hands shaking slightly as he adjusted his notes. “So, uh, based on your feedback, Y/n, we adjusted the weight distribution and refined the suspension. Should give you better control during high-speed cornering. Also, we reinforced the front wing for more stability.”

Natasha nodded, her gaze sharp and analyzing. “And the braking system?”

“We upgraded the hydraulic system, boosted response time by about twenty percent.” Alex continued, his voice growing steadier under Natasha’s relentless focus. “It should shave a few milliseconds off the braking reaction.”

Natasha’s nod of approval was almost imperceptible. “Good. Schedule a test run. I want telemetry by the end of the day.”

Your fingers began their playful dance along Natasha’s forearm. Soft, barely-there touches, your fingertips tracing delicate lines over Natasha’s skin. It was subtle enough that no one would notice. No one except Natasha.

Natasha’s jaw tightened for a split second, her eyes flickering downward before snapping back to the papers. “What about the suspension?” she repeated, her voice crisp, though there was a noticeable edge to it.

“Yes.” Alex continued, oblivious to the silent war happening right beside him. “We recalibrated the system to better absorb the pressure during sudden braking. The responsiveness has increased by approximately fifteen percent.”

“Good.” Natasha managed, her voice steady, though your touch was starting to feel anything but innocent. “But I want you to run simulations for all weather conditions. No point boosting control if it’s only effective on dry tracks.”

“Understood.” Alex nodded quickly, making a note on his clipboard. “We also adjusted the front wing. Reinforced it to improve stability during high-speed turns.”

While Alex spoke, your fingers slid down Natasha’s wrist and circled her knuckles, your touch light and almost soothing. Then your thumb brushed the sensitive skin just above Natasha’s pulse point, applying gentle, rhythmic pressure. Natasha’s entire body stiffened for half a second, her eyes narrowing as she fought to keep her focus. “And the braking system?”

“Hydraulic system’s been boosted. Should improve response time by twenty percent,” Alex replied, nodding along like he had no idea his boss was currently fighting a losing battle against distraction.

“Mm-hmm..” Natasha hummed, her eyes shifting to you just long enough to shoot you a pointed look. The kind of look that said, Stop it. Now. But you just smiled sweetly, your fingers now lightly squeezing Natasha’s hand before continuing their playful dance over her knuckles.

Natasha’s hand twitched, her nails pressing briefly into her palm before she forced herself to relax. “Good. Make sure to get me the telemetry results before the end of the day. I want a full comparison between the old setup and the new adjustments.”

Far away, a group are discussing the work, “Yeah, the new adjustments should give her better control on those sharper turns..” one of them, was saying. “But if you ask me, it’s all about the driver’s guts. Not the specs.”

“Maybe so..” another engineer laughed, “But you know who’s gonna have the final say. If the Boss likes it, it stays. If not…”

Someone snorted. “The Boss, huh? I think she’s mellowed out a bit. You saw her the other day with Y/n, right? Almost sweet. Which is wild, considering it’s Romanoff.”

“Guess love does that to people.”

“Yeah, makes me think maybe she’s not so terrifying after all.” The group laughed, clearly feeling safe enough to crack jokes now that Natasha wasn’t breathing down their necks. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at their bravado, even if a tiny part of you was relieved that they were easing up around Natasha.

At least, until Natasha’s voice cut through the air like a knife. “If you’re all done gossiping about my personal life, perhaps you could focus on actually doing your jobs?”

The group went dead silent, the laughter dissolving into a collective tension so thick it felt like the temperature had dropped ten degrees. Natasha’s eyes were hard, her arms folded across her chest as she stared down the group with the kind of intensity that made even the most confident man feel like a scolded child.

“Or did you all forget that I’m the one who signs your paychecks?” Natasha continued, her voice like ice. “Because if you think being friendly with her gives you a free pass to slack off, I can assure you, it doesn’t.”

“No, Boss. Sorry, Boss.” They stumbled over their words, their face pale. “We were just…talking.”

“Talking, sure.” Natasha’s gaze swept over the group with chilling precision. “But if I hear one more word about me ‘softening up’ because of my relationship, you’ll all be reassigned to parts inventory. Understood?”

A chorus of hurried “Yes, Boss” and “Absolutely” followed, everyone looking properly terrified. They scattered like ants, heads down and energy now fully directed at their work.

You couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, shaking your head as you walked over to Natasha, whose expression still held that cold, steely edge.

“And you! What the hell was that?” Natasha asked, her voice low and almost dangerous.

“What?” you replied innocently, though your grin was anything but. “I was just…keeping you focused.”

“Focused?” Natasha scoffed, but her lips were twitching. “More like you were trying to completely derail me in the middle of a meeting.”

“And did I succeed?” You tilted your head, your smile growing wider.

“Barely.” Natasha’s hand shot out, catching your wrist with a grip that was both firm and possessive. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

The track tests later were underway. You had already done a few laps, the new upgrades working smoothly. But as always, Natasha wanted more data. More details. More everything. And you were more than willing to keep providing…just not always in the way Natasha intended. Whenever you were talking strategy, you would lean too close. Whisper suggestions in her ear with a voice just low enough to be suggestive. When Natasha handed you a water bottle, your fingers brushed her hand just a little too deliberately.

“Your focus is slipping, Romanoff..” you teased when Natasha’s fingers trembled slightly under your touch.

“Enough teasing, detka. You know what will happen if you continue pushing my buttons.” Natasha threatened, though the slight blush on her cheeks betrayed her usual control. You just laughed, your playful energy never dimming.

By the end of the day, the team was packing up. Natasha’s office was quiet, the soft hum of the building’s power the only background noise as Natasha finished her reports. But you were there, leaning against her desk, fingers tracing over Natasha’s arm in those infuriatingly light patterns you’d been taunting her with all day.

Natasha’s hand finally slammed down on her desk, her eyes blazing as they met yours. “You’ve been driving me insane all day, detka.”

“That was the plan..” you replied, your smile triumphant. “Is it working?”

“Oh, it’s working.” Natasha’s voice was low, dangerous, but laced with amusement. “You think you can keep pushing my buttons without consequences?”

“Maybe I want the consequences..” you whispered, your fingers trailing along Natasha’s jaw now, your touch still gentle but clearly challenging.

Natasha’s hand caught your wrist, her grip firm but not harsh. “Well, in that case…I think it’s time I give you the attention you’ve been begging for.”

You were straddling her lap, knees pressing into the cushioned leather chair, hands cupping her jaw, your lips fused to hers. Her fingers gripped your hips, her tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that left you breathless, needy, desperate.

And fuck, you loved this. Being pressed so close to her, feeling the way her muscles tensed and relaxed beneath you. Feeling the way she made you feel like the only thing that mattered.

But then..She pulled back. And you whined, the sound breaking embarrassingly from your throat.

“Nat-”

“As much as I enjoy having you in my lap, sweetheart..” she murmured, her smirk both adoring and smug. “I actually have work to do.”

You blinked, momentarily dazed, your head spinning from the kiss. “Then why’d you let me get this close?” you muttered, trying to regain some of your dignity.

Natasha’s fingers traced slow circles against your hips. “Because I needed a little motivation to get through the rest of the evening.”

She shifted slightly, her thigh pressing up against you, the friction igniting a spark of heat. Your breath hitched. And Natasha noticed. Of course, she did.

“Now..” Natasha continued, her eyes flickering back to her laptop, her fingers still firmly on your waist. “I need you to be a good girl and get off by yourself.”

Your eyes widened. “W-What?”

Natasha didn’t look away from her screen, fingers already clicking through files, typing like nothing was out of the ordinary. “You heard me.” she murmured. “I have work to do. So, go ahead. Make yourself come on my thigh.”

Your entire body went rigid. “Nat-”

“You wanted to be here, didn’t you?” she continued, her voice so infuriatingly calm. “So needy. So desperate for my attention.”

Her thigh shifted beneath you, pressing up against your core, making you shiver. “Go on.” Natasha urged, her eyes flicking up to meet yours for just a second. “Be a good girl for me.”

You stared at her, your chest rising and falling too quickly, your mind struggling to process her words. But her hands were on your hips, guiding you, encouraging you. And fuck, the way she was looking at you, with challenge, with possession, with something that made your stomach twist into knots.

“You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

You bit your lip, your cheeks burning. “I-I don’t usually…”

“Oh, baby..” Natasha cooed, her hands sliding down to your hips, pressing you firmly against her thigh. “You can do it. I’ve got you.”

You shuddered as she kissed you again, her mouth warm, her tongue coaxing yours, her lips moving with a confidence that made your head spin. Her fingers gripped your waist, guiding you, making you move. And you did.

Slow, hesitant rolls of your hips, the pressure building where you needed it most, the heat coiling low in your stomach. But Natasha kept kissing you, her voice a low purr between your lips.

“That’s it.” she whispered. “Just like that. You’re doing so good.”

Your breath was already ragged, your body already craving more. Natasha’s lips trailed down your jaw, your neck, pressing kisses that made you shiver.

“Feel good, baby?” she murmured, her breath warm against your ear.

“Mhm..yeah-” you gasped, your fingers digging into her shoulders.

“Then don’t stop.”

After a moment, Natasha’s hands slid away from your hips, her gaze burning into yours. “Keep moving for me, sweetheart.” she urged, her voice turning into a low, encouraging hum. “Show me how much you want it.”

Your hips kept moving, desperate, needy, rubbing against her thigh, but.. It wasn’t enough. It was like chasing something just out of reach. You tried to keep going, your breath hitching, your thighs shaking. But it was useless.

Natasha watched you, her expression knowing, her smirk growing with every passing second.

“What’s wrong?” she taunted, her tone still laced with that infuriating gentleness. “You can’t get off like that, can you?”

You whimpered, your forehead dropping against her shoulder. “Natasha, please..”

“Please, what?”

“I-I can’t-“

“Can’t what, baby?” she teased, her hands finding your thighs again, fingers digging in just enough to make you squirm. “Can’t come all by yourself?”

Your breath shuddered, your body practically vibrating with frustration. “You need me to help you, don’t you?”

“Yes-fuck..please-”

Natasha sighed, a low, mocking sound of pity and amusement. “Guess I’ll have to help you, then.” she murmured, her fingers sliding up your thighs.

The next thing you knew, your back hit the cool surface of her desk, your legs parting automatically as she lowered herself between them. Your eyes widened, your body already shaking from anticipation.

Natasha’s gaze was dark, hungry, completely locked on you. “You’re so fucking desperate, baby.” she groaned, her hands gripping your thighs, her lips pressing kisses along the inside of your thigh, teasing, devouring.

“You couldn’t even do it yourself, could you?”

Your chest heaved, your fingers grasping at nothing, your body already losing control.

“Natasha, please..”

“Pathetic little thing.” she continued, her breath hot against your skin. “Can’t even get off without me.”

Her mouth finally reached your core, her tongue pressing against you with slow, devastating precision. You cried out, your body jerking, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto.

But there was nothing. Just the smooth, cool surface of her desk, nothing to ground you, nothing to keep you steady. And fuck, the sensation of having nothing to cling to made you fall apart even faster.

Natasha groaned, the sound vibrating through you, her tongue working you over with a relentless, sinful hunger. Your thighs trembled, your body arching off the desk, your hands still clawing uselessly at the air.

“Fuck- Nat, p-please!!”

“Come for me.” she commanded, her voice low and demanding, her tongue circling your clit with deadly precision.

And then..You shattered. Your body convulsed, pleasure crashing over you with violent intensity, your voice breaking into a wrecked, helpless cry.

Natasha’s mouth stayed on you, drawing every last bit of pleasure from your body, refusing to let you come down. Your fingers clawed at the air, your body completely hers.

And the way you broke apart for her, the way you looked so wrecked and helpless and beautiful..Made Natasha’s own arousal surge.

She couldn’t stop herself. Seeing you so vulnerable, so desperate, so completely hers..It made her fucking feral. Her own arousal was pounding through her veins, her breath coming out in ragged gasps, her body burning with a need she could no longer ignore.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” she growled, her fingers tightening on your thighs, her eyes dark with hunger. “You’re so fucking beautiful. So fucking perfect.”

Her mouth never left you, her tongue continuing to lick and suck and devour, even as your body twitched from the overstimulation.

“N-Nata-..!” you whimpered, your hands still searching for something to cling to, still finding nothing. The sight of you reaching for her, so helpless, so needy, It made Natasha’s own arousal skyrocket.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Natasha taunted, her voice breathless, wrecked, completely lost in you. “You can’t handle it? You can’t even keep your hands still, can you?”

Her lips curled into a dark smirk, her fingers trailing down your inner thighs, her eyes locked onto yours. “Maybe I should just keep you here.” she continued, her voice rough with desire. “Tied to this desk, begging for me. Completely fucking mine.”

Your eyes widened, your body already responding to her words, your thighs clenching instinctively. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Natasha purred, her hands still holding you down, refusing to let you pull away.

“Would you like me to make you come over and over until you can’t even speak? Until you’re just a desperate, helpless little thing?”

Her tongue is circling your clit with deadly precision again, till you shattered. Your body convulsed, pleasure crashing over you with violent intensity, your voice breaking into a wrecked, helpless cry.

You lay sprawled out on Natasha’s desk, your chest heaving, your legs trembling, your skin slick with sweat. Every nerve in your body felt like it had been set on fire, burning under Natasha’s relentless, brutal touch.

And fuck, she looked so damn smug. Natasha slowly rose to her feet, her lips slick, her breathing just as ragged as yours, but her eyes.. God, her eyes were still dark.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her chest rising and falling in steady, slow breaths. “You’re incredible, Y/n..” she murmured, her voice wrecked, but smooth. “Completely fucking beautiful when you fall apart like that.”

You tried to form a sentence, but it came out as a shaky, breathless whimper. Natasha smirked, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh, her fingers brushing over your trembling skin.

“I think you need a moment to catch your breath.” she teased, her gaze locking onto yours. But as she started to pull away, you moved. Your legs still felt weak, your body still trembling, but there was a determination building inside you.

You pushed yourself up on shaky arms, your eyes not leaving Natasha’s as you slid off the desk. Natasha’s eyebrows rose, her smirk deepening. “What do you think you’re doing?”

But you didn’t answer. Instead, your hands found her waist, fingers fumbling with the buckle of her belt, your breath still coming out in uneven gasps.

Natasha’s eyes darkened instantly. “Oh?” she purred, her voice still heavy with arousal. “You want to return the favor, huh?”

You nodded, your fingers finally getting her belt undone, tugging it from the loops with desperation you couldn’t hide. “Fuck, baby.” Natasha groaned, her voice dropping even lower, her hands gripping the edge of the desk for balance.

But you weren’t done. You pushed her back, making her fall heavily into her office chair. “Now, it’s my turn.”

Her legs spread slightly, her chest heaving, her gaze completely locked onto you. “You sure you’re up for this?” Natasha taunted, her voice filled with mocking affection. “You’re still shaking, sweetheart.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to steady myself.” You whispered, your hands already working to pull down her pants. Natasha let out a low, shaky breath, her smirk slipping as her eyes grew darker.

Your knees hit the cold floor, the chill biting against your skin, but you didn’t care. You were too focused. Too lost in the way Natasha’s eyes had darkened the moment you pushed her into her chair, the way her lips parted with a mix of surprise and raw hunger.

Your mouth pressed against her, your tongue licking a broad, slow stripe that made Natasha’s head drop back against the chair. “Oh, fuck-”

Her voice was wrecked, strained, the sound of her falling apart already making your thighs clench. You swirled your tongue again, your lips closing around her clit, sucking just hard enough to draw a deep, shuddering moan from her chest.

“Fuck, just like that, Y-Y/n..” she groaned, her fingers twitching against the armrests. You could feel her muscles tensing, her breathing already turning ragged. But you weren’t going to let her get away so easily.

Your tongue continued its relentless pace, your lips kissing, sucking, devouring her, determined to make her come completely undone. And Natasha?

She was already crumbling. “You’re so good at this..!” she panted, her voice shaking, her body already struggling to stay steady.

You smirked against her, the vibration making Natasha’s hips twitch, her breath hitching in her throat. “Fuck- Oh, God, yes!”

Your hands gripped her thighs, your fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks, your mouth working her over like you couldn’t get enough.

But then, Natasha’s fingers sank into your hair. Her grip was rough, desperate, her head tossed back as a wrecked gasp tore from her throat.

“Fuck, baby! Just like that!!”

The sudden pull on your hair sent pain radiating down your scalp, but it only made you more determined. You groaned against her, the sound deep, wrecked, raw. The vibration made Natasha’s hips jerk violently, her entire body tightening under your touch.

“Fuck, o-oh fuc-” Her fingers tangled deeper into your hair, her nails digging into your scalp as she held you against her.

Your tongue flicked over her clit, your mouth sucking with ruthless precision, driving her closer and closer to the edge. Natasha’s legs trembled, her chest heaving, her face contorting in pure, raw pleasure.

And then..She came. Her body arched, her head snapping back, her mouth dropping open in a silent scream as her orgasm tore through her.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she chanted, her fingers pulling at your hair, her body shaking violently.

You didn’t stop. You kept licking, sucking, devouring her, determined to drag her through every last second of pleasure.

Natasha’s thighs clenched around your head, her breathing coming out in ragged, desperate gasps.

Her fingers tightened in your hair and she yanked you away.

“N-Nuh uh.” Natasha rasped, her voice still shaking, her chest still heaving. Your eyes widened, the sudden pain of her grip making you shudder.

“But-”

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” Natasha murmured, her gaze heavy, her eyes dark and gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place.

You swallowed, your breathing uneven, your lips still slick from her release. “I was just-”

“Trying to overstimulate me?” she interrupted, her fingers still tangled in your hair, her voice dripping with amusement and challenge.

You stared at her, unsure of what to say. Because yes, you had been trying to wreck her. You had been trying to make her feel as desperate, as ruined, as completely destroyed as she’d made you feel.

But now? Now you were the one feeling completely undone. Natasha smirked, her fingers tightening their grip, pulling you up so you were kneeling between her legs.

“Nice try, sweetheart.” she taunted, her voice low, breathless, but still so completely in control.

“But you don’t get to win this one.”

You tried to fight back, tried to push yourself forward, to resume what you had been doing. But Natasha’s grip was iron-strong, relentless, unyielding.

“Natasha-”

“No.” she whispered, her voice turning into something darker, something that made your stomach twist in both fear and excitement.

Her hand cupped your cheek, her thumb tracing over your lips, her smirk turning almost cruel. “You did good, baby. Real good.”

Her other hand slid down your neck, her touch gentle but possessive. “But now?”

She leaned forward, her lips brushing against yours, her breath warm, her eyes completely locked onto yours. “Now, you’re done.”

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening, your entire body burning with frustration and need. But the way she was looking at you, the way her fingers traced over your skin, the way her smirk never faltered- You couldn’t fight back. You were completely at her mercy.

-

-

-

-

[aventurineswife]

You know those videos of Dads and their dad reflexes with their baby’s? Like how they catch their kids before they land on their heads? Can I request Aventurine, Sunday, Dr Ratio, Blade, and Jing Yuan doing that?

Not really part of the request but I like to think Yanqing made it his mission to be a “big brother” to his generals new baby and has had a moment where he was alone watching the baby and saved it from hitting their head poor guy probably panicked💀

Caught in the Moment

Tags: Aventurine, Sunday, Blade, Jing Yuan, Ratio, Domestic Fluff, Fatherhood, Protective Dads, Gentle Moments, Character Reflection, Calm Affection, Parenthood, Quiet Peace.

Warnings: Mentions of past trauma (Blade), Mentions of immortality (Blade), Mild violence (mentions of near danger).

A/N: please, he probably had a heart attack! 😭🙏

It was a quiet evening at Aventurine's lavish home, the dim glow of luxurious lamps casting a soft hue over the room. He sat at the long, sleek table in the dining room, tapping a pen rhythmically against the polished wood as he mulled over some calculations. Despite the grandiose trappings of his surroundings, tonight wasn’t about strategy or high-stakes games—this was his time with the child.

Aventurine’s latest gamble was one he hadn't anticipated: fatherhood. And while he was known for his cunning and calm in the face of danger, he had no strategy for this—no game to play. His child was his greatest unknown, and they had a way of defying expectations.

Suddenly, from across the room, the unmistakable sound of small feet scurrying broke the silence. Before he could register the moment fully, there they were—his little one, gleefully running toward him. But, alas, the floor was slippery beneath their tiny shoes.

Aventurine’s heart skipped a beat. Without thinking, he pushed himself from the table, his expression an unreadable mask, though his body tensed as he tracked their trajectory. His child, still oblivious to the danger, began to stumble—hands reaching forward for balance, their tiny body tipping perilously.

His movements were lightning-quick. Without hesitation, he swept in and caught them mid-air, lifting them up just before they could crash into the floor. His arms cradled them with the same calculated precision he applied to business deals.

They giggled, unaware of the near disaster, while Aventurine couldn’t suppress a small, wistful smile. The adrenaline rush of the moment lingered for only a second, but it made him realize that, in this chaotic game of life, he’d finally found something worth playing for.

"Careful there," he said, his voice light and playful, masking the fleeting unease he felt inside. "You’ve got to pace yourself in this game."

The room was bathed in the soft glow of early evening, a tranquil calm that was almost otherworldly. Sunday stood by the window, his gaze drifting toward the distant horizon as he reflected on his recent decisions. His mind, always occupied by existential ponderings, occasionally sought refuge in the simple joy of watching his child play.

They were playing by the couch, their little fingers gripping the soft carpet beneath them as they tried to stand, tottering on wobbly legs. Sunday smiled softly, his eyes flickering with pride. A part of him couldn’t help but admire the resilience they displayed—a quality he himself had struggled to find in his own past.

As they took another step, Sunday’s serene focus shifted into mild alarm when they lost their balance. Their body tipped forward, heading toward the edge of the coffee table.

Without a moment's hesitation, Sunday’s wings fluttered slightly—a subconscious reaction—and he moved forward, his tall figure flowing across the room in a series of graceful strides. He reached out just in time, his hands effortlessly catching them before they could collide with the table.

The little one blinked up at him, eyes wide in surprise, and he simply smiled softly, cradling them close to his chest. It was the kind of simple moment that his idealistic heart cherished—a moment that needed no words, just the soft comfort of protection.

“You’ve got to learn to balance in life,” he murmured gently, his voice like a soft breeze. “But don’t worry, I’m here to help you.”

For a brief moment, he felt the conflicting pull of his old idealism—his desire to shield them from harm, even if it meant navigating the murky waters of his own internal struggles. But for now, he let that quiet turmoil fade into the background, focusing only on the warmth of the child in his arms.

The laboratory-like atmosphere of Ratio’s home was filled with the soft hum of mechanical devices and the constant presence of books and research papers, creating an environment that was always abuzz with activity and intellect. Despite his usual air of self-assurance, today was different. Today, he had been tasked with looking after his child while he took a break from his intellectual pursuits.

Ratio was sitting at his desk, absently fiddling with his latest experiment, when a sudden shriek broke his concentration. Looking up, he saw his child—still too young to understand the consequences of their actions—leaning precariously over the edge of the nearby chair, trying to grab at something just out of reach.

Ratio’s heart rate quickened, but only for a moment. He had no time for hesitation. A flash of motion, and before the child could tumble from their position, he was there. His hand shot out, fingers grasping the back of their tiny shirt as he yanked them back into his arms.

"Impressive," he muttered under his breath, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he straightened them up in his arms. "Calculated risk taken... or perhaps not. Should’ve known better than to allow you to wander too close to danger."

The child, seemingly unperturbed by the near-miss, giggled and reached for his glasses, earning a soft chuckle from him. His reaction was a blend of calculated precision and the rare warmth he afforded only to those few who had earned it. He placed them back on the floor gently, adjusting his posture as he turned back to his work.

"Always be careful when testing boundaries," he murmured, his tone both pedagogical and affectionate. "Though, you’ll likely break a few rules before you understand the full implications."

The quiet flicker of pride—almost imperceptible in his usual cool demeanor—was enough to remind him that perhaps, just maybe, there was more to life than pure intellect and unrelenting pursuit of knowledge.

The night had settled over the Xianzhou Luofu, its vast corridors bathed in soft moonlight as Jing Yuan sat on the large velvet sofa in the living room. The quiet hum of his surroundings was a welcome change from the bustle of his duties as General. Tonight, however, was not about politics or strategy. It was time with his child.

They were seated on the plush carpet, playing with colorful blocks, the room filled with the gentle sound of their laughter. Jing Yuan's eyes flickered from his quiet reflection to the playful movements of the child, their small hands stacking the blocks with surprising focus.

Just as he was about to indulge in a rare moment of relaxation, the child, a little too eager in their exploration, began to stand, wobbling unsteadily as they took a tiny step forward. Jing Yuan’s eyes narrowed slightly, tracking every movement as they teetered dangerously close to the edge of a low table.

In an instant, his reflexes kicked in. He rose from his seat, his tall figure moving with an elegance that belied his usual languid demeanor. Without a sound, his hands shot out and caught the child just before they tumbled forward. The child, now cradled safely in his arms, blinked up at him, startled by the sudden movement.

"Careful," Jing Yuan said softly, his voice filled with a calm, knowing affection as he gently set them back on their feet. "It's easy to forget your balance, but it’s important to always be mindful of where you’re going."

The child giggled and reached for his arm, as though offering their own small form of reassurance. Jing Yuan smiled, his eyes softening in that rare moment of warmth, the fleeting sensation of peace that he had worked so hard to cultivate within the Xianzhou now extending to the quiet sanctuary of his home.

The dim light of Blade's home flickered, casting long shadows across the room where Blade sat, his arms folded across his chest. His usually cold, calculating demeanor was softened for the moment—he was at home, a place where the sharp edges of his mission seemed to dull just a little. His child, their presence almost a contradiction to his tortured past, was moving around the room, their tiny steps full of excitement and exploration.

His eyes followed them with a trace of something unspoken in his gaze. For all his power, his immortality, and his resolve to bring an end to his suffering, this—this quiet domestic moment with the child—was a reminder that there were things beyond his tragic existence.

But it didn’t last.

With a sudden, clumsy movement, the child, still unsteady on their feet, lost balance and began to fall towards the sharp edge of a table. Blade’s instincts kicked in—no hesitation, no thought of consequences. His hand shot out and, with uncanny precision, he caught the child in mid-air, their small form colliding gently against his chest. For a moment, the stillness was overwhelming. Blade’s heart didn’t beat, but in the silence, he felt something stir—a fleeting warmth that felt both foreign and familiar.

"Watch your step," Blade murmured, his voice low but laced with a tenderness he couldn’t quite hide. His gaze softened as the child looked up at him, a wide grin on their face as if nothing had happened.

The child wriggled out of his grasp, reaching for the toy they had been playing with earlier, completely unaware of how close they had come to danger. Blade stood for a moment, his gaze lingering on them, before a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips—an expression he rarely wore, but one that seemed to fit in this quiet, domestic world that somehow had found its way into his immortal existence.

"Even the smallest steps can be dangerous," he murmured, almost to himself. "But I’ll always be here to catch you."

And with that, Blade returned to his silent watch, torn between the eternal path he had chosen and the fragile peace that, for now, seemed to be the only thing worth holding onto.

[classyrbf]

STILL IN LOVE! #11 — TOJI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...after still messing around with your ex husband, you began to wonder if you’re still in love with him after finding out about his new girlfriend…

INFO...ex husband!toji x fem!reader, reader & toji have two kids, megumi is readers bio son, nanami x reader, nanami acts ooc for the plot, jealousy, smut, angst, arguments, alcohol, drinking problem, family problems, arguing in front of kids, toxic behaviors, crying, mentions of divorce, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

series masterlist

The smell of food filled your nostrils as you stirred in your sleep. The softness of the sheets wrapped around your skin, only tempting you to stay in bed longer. A soft groan left your lips, prying open your eyes to find the sun shining through your room, peeking through the curtains. A yawn escaped your lips as you stretched, sitting up in bed to find that you were completely rid of your clothes. Events from last night played back in your head like a movie, reminding you of the confession you shared with your ex husband. A small smile plastered on your face when you looked over to the other side of the bed only to find it empty. Brows furrowed, quickly whipping your head to the other side to find it was nine in the morning, way past the kids time for school. “Shit!”

You scrambled to your feet, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you snatched your robe from your clothes, tying it around your waist while you practically ran out the room. “Naya, Megs!” You yelled, knocking on their bedroom doors before opening it. You stopped in your tracks when you were met with a neatly made bed.

“Hey,” a voice called out to you. You turned around, there standing before you was a shirtless Toji, a plate of food in hand along with a glass of orange juice. “Good morning.”

“Where are…where are the kids?” You cleared your throat, slowly shutting Megumi’s bedroom door. Toji looked at you for a few seconds before laughing. “What?” You asked, confused.

“I brought them to school this morning. Got ‘em up and everything. Don’t worry, mama.” He licked his lips before letting out a sigh. “Come eat, will you?” He turned away from you, heading towards the kitchen table where he had his plate of food ready.

You breathed in deeply, the scent of freshly cooked eggs, waffles and syrup made your stomach rumble. “Thank you, Toji. You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.” He slides his hands over your waist, pulling you into his chest, hands now resting on the small of your back. He stares into your eyes for a few moments, getting lost in them before speaking, “are we gonna talk about last night or…?” He says in a playful tone, dipping his head into the crook of your neck.

“What about last night?” You let a small giggle when he presses kisses against your skin. Your arms naturally found their way around his neck, pulling his larger figure closer.

“I want you to know I meant every word. I swear to you.” His tone is serious and empathetic. A small sigh escaped his lips when he lifted his head to look at you, taking in your beauty even if you’d just waken up. One of his large hands cupped your cheek, the pad of his thumb caressing it. You could feel your heart beating against your ribcage, butterflies in your stomach like you were some high schooler with a crush.

You don’t understand the relationship between you and Toji, you don’t know why you two are always so drawn towards each other no matter the obstacles that get in your way. Just when you think it’s over for good, it not. It’s either you or him clawing your back up the walls that you both build until one of you are finally ready to give in. But you can’t deny that you love him—you always have.

“I missed these type of mornings with you, mama. I just want us to be a happy family again. Wanna do right by you and the kids, you understand?” His brows pinch together. His kisses your forehead as you both embrace each other, enjoying the silence.

“I understand, Toji,” you mumble into his broad chest, closing your eyes, rocking back and forth on your feet. “But I need you to understand something for me.”

“Anything,” he’s quick to respond, rubbing your back.

“We can’t just rush into the whole process. Trust me, I’d like too, but I think taking things slow and working everything out will help us realize what we need to fix,” you explain.

“Yeah,” he nods his head, “yeah, of course.” He takes in a deep breath. “Why don’t you go and freshen up before we eat?”

“Good idea.” You look down at the robe that was barely covering you, and you were afraid to look at your hair. He watches as you walk into the bathroom, smiling to himself. Ever since yesterday he can’t stop smiling like a kid in a candy store. He’s finally making progress, showing you that he can be better, that he’s changed. It’s all he’s ever thought about since the divorce, and quite frankly, he’d never thought he’d see this day come. He’s a lucky man, all thanks to you. He doesn’t know why you even still give him the time of day with the way the end of the marriage was going, but he’s grateful you’re still here.

Toji grabs two sets of forks, setting them down at yours and his plates. He could hear the faint sound of water running in the bathroom before the doorbell rang. His eyes wandered over to front door, confusion plastered across his face. He made his way over to the door, unlocking it, expecting it to be a package maybe or a salesperson, but no, it wasn’t anything like that. It was Nanami.

Toji finally got a good look at the man, the scar on his lip quirked when he saw how put together the man was for it being so early. Hair neatly place, business casual clothing, and gold watch adorned his wrist. Just as Toji was taken aback by Nanami, Nanami was taken aback by Toji. When he knocked on the door, he didn’t expect a shirtless man who looked like he had just rolled out of bed to open your door. “Uh, good morning.” Nanami awkwardly cleared his throat.

Toji leaned against the doorway. “Morning,” he simple responded.

“Is y/n here?” Nanami asked, raising a brow.

“She is.” Toji gave blunt answers, eyes narrowing as he wondered why he couldn’t possibly want to talk to you. He couldn’t be trying to win you back? Right? Unwanted jealously bubbled in his chest, his jaw clenching at the feeling.

“Can I speak with her?” Nanami’s questions sounded unsure given Toji’s attitude.

“She’s busy.” Toji went to shut the door before Nanami spoke again.

“Well can you tell her to call me?” Nanami was becoming irritated. He couldn’t quite place it but the man standing in front of him sounded familiar, looked familiar. Though they’ve never properly met, was this Toji?

“She won’t be doing that—”

“Toji, who’s that at the door?” You walked up behind him, the cold air from outside sending chills through your body, goosebumps littering your skin. Over Toji’s tall stature you could see familiar blonde hair and you got closer it felt like your heart dropped. “Kento.” Slightly shock riddled your voice.

“Y/n, can I speak with you?” So that is him. His eyes shifted from you to Toji, glaring. “Now, if you don’t mind.”

“I, uh…” You blinked, stuck on what to say or even do. “What would like to talk about?” You crossed your arms over your chest, Toji standing behind you like he was some sort of assigned bodyguard.

“Our last conversation. On the phone. I…I shouldn’t have been that harsh about it. I regret what I said to you,” he sighed.

“What exactly do you regret?” You shrugged your shoulders.

“How I…ended things,” he admitted. “It was a heat of the moment type of thing—”

“Kento,” you held you hand out in front of him, “I appreciate you coming to speak me in person, I really do. But, I think it was better thar we ended things. You made me realize the truth about—”

“So you are still in love with him.” He interrupted, sharing looks between you and Toji.

“I am.” You nodded.

Nanami let out a scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. He didn’t want to believe he was right, maybe he was just overthinking, seeing too much into it. But no, he wasn’t. “So you were just using me?”

“God, no! You’re a great guy, and I enjoyed the moments we spent together, I didn’t want to end things with you, but when you ended it with me, said those words to me, I started to think that maybe you were right. He was my husband for years, the father my children, I can’t just forget about that so easily.” You nervously bit the inside of your cheek. “I’m sorry, Kento. There’s still so many things I need to work on within myself, I wouldn’t be right for you.”

“And when things don’t work out between you and him? When he ends up treating you the same way? Then what?” His tone was harsh.

“The fuck are you talking about?” Toji moved you to side, a mix of confusion and anger in his voice. “Wanna say that shit again?”

“You’re telling her what she wants to hear and she’s believing it. You’re so fucking predictable, it makes me laugh,” he chuckled.

“Kento, I tried to be nice about it, but now I need you to get off my doorstep. Right now. I’m not doing this. I don’t need no one fighting at nine in the fucking morning.” You stepped between the two. “Get inside, Toji.”

“You already let him fuck you, right? That’s all he wants to keep you around for—” Your palm connected with Nanamis cheek.

“I tried explaining to you, I tried asking nicely, and you still have the audacity to speak to me like I’m not gonna do shit about it.” Your nostrils flared in anger.

“I feel bad for the kids, truly.” Barely even two seconds after those words came from his mouth, Toji pushed you aside and swung at Nanami, his fist connecting with his jaw. Nanami fell back on the floor, grunting when his back hit the ground. You didn’t dare to step in, afraid you’d accident get hurt in the process.

Toji kept swinging, taking a few hits himself but was quite literally unfazed. “Don’t ever mention my fucking kids again!” He shouted.

You anxiously looked around, your neighbors running outside to see all the commotion, a few of them already on their phones—most likely with the police. “Toji, they’re gonna call the police!” You shouted. Your words went in one ear and out the other. “For fucks sake,” you mumbled under your breath when you heard the sirens approaching in the distance. “Toji, stop already!”

The cars came to screeching halt, police running into your yard and dragging Toji off of Nanami, forcefully pushing him into the ground. “Get the fuck off me!” He yelled as they placed the cuffs around him.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you sighed deeply, running your hand over your face. Nanami stood to his feet, blood trickling from his nose and lip. Another police over came rushing over to him, asking him if he was okay.

“Ma’am, can I ask what happened here?” A police officer walked up to you.

“Um, he,” you pointed at Nanami, “came to my house this morning to have a conversation about our relationship—he’s my ex and—”

“He’s your ex?” He pointed to Nanami.

“Yes,” you nodded, watching as he scribbled down words on his notepad. “The other man, he’s my ex husband and me and him are on the verge of working things out and it’s just they both were here at the same time, and…and”

“It’s okay, take your time,” the officer assured. “So you and your ex husband are working things out…okay. Was this a jealousy thing or what?”

“Well before me and him,” you pointed at Nanami, “ended things, he said I still loved my ex husband. So he did end things and he showed up to my house this morning trying to fix it but I explained that I couldn’t personally because…you know.” Your voice was shaky.

“Okay,” the officer nodded. “Anything else.”

“He started making weird remarks. Saying thing are gonna end the same with me and him, that he only wants me for sex, and then he mentioned my kids—”

“Your kids?” The officer furrowed his brows.

“Yeah, me and my ex husband have two kids.” You pursed your lips.

“And that’s when the fight broke out?” He asked, clicking his pen. You nodded, glancing over at Nanami who was getting his nose cleaned up.

“Alright,” the officer sighed, “so we are gonna have to take both of them in for questioning, your ex husband might even end up in jail for aggravated assault since he started the fight.”

“What?! I’m sorry, but he mentioned my fucking kids! Do you have kids?!” You angrily shouted.

“I do, yes,” he responded.

“Then you should know what I’m feeling right now, what my ex husband is feeling right now. He’s talking about our relationship, about me, trying to belittle me! It’s fucking ridiculous!” You shouted, eyes wide in disbelief.

“I understand your anger, ma’am, but there’s not much I can do besides my job. I can’t just go off one side of the story. But I will keep in contact with you just in case. Name and number?” He casually asked.

“Y/n l/n, 234-567-8910.” You rolled your eyes.

“Thank you.” He walked away, getting into his car, driving off with Toji in the back of it, the others following behind shortly after.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me!” You stormed back in the house slamming the door shut. Your eyes landed upon the now cold and uneaten breakfast Toji had prepared for you. What a great start to your morning.

a/n: aye long time no seeee pookies!! Yes I know I made Nanami act so out of character but it’s for the plot yk lmaooo

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