#and I worked on a x stitch project for a second

[reptilesunshjn]

I may have done what felt like the bare minimum today (even though I actually did a good bit more than that)

But after dinner I took a quick shower and then relaxed in a bath with some incense for a while

And then I felt better about what I accomplished for the day! Yay!

I also made a spreadsheet for goals that I want to accomplish for 2025! So that’s cool!

[woobly]

THERE SHE GOES . . . 한태산 !

PAIRING. taesan x crocheter! gn reader GENRE. fluff, uni au, strangers to ??? WARNINGS. both are in uni but no scenes about school itself lol WC. 1.4k

𓂋˚˖ A/N. lichrally dunno what this is, i just word vomited ���� i was actually gonna make another acc bc i got kinda shy to post here again but im too lazy to do that so here we are, ig im a onedoor now too 😆 𓂋˚˖ NOW PLAYING. there she goes by the la’s

THE FIRST TIME TAESAN SEES YOU, you were casually walking into the train car along with the rest of the morning rush. One of your hands was clutched onto your bag while the other was inside the pocket of your black puffer jacket.

He wasn’t thinking about anything in particular. It was too early in the morning, and the music playing in his ears drowned all his thoughts out while on the way to his first class.

But upon seeing you, he was immediately awakened from his morning daze and stood up from his seat. Watching you switch places with him to stand beside your seated figure, he thinks he saw you say thank you, but he’s not sure.

Not thinking much of his gesture of giving up his seat, he looked out toward the city passing by outside. That was until the train entered another tunnel, and he was forced to look at something else; you, in his peripheral vision, had suddenly brought out a crochet needle and some yarn.

He was pleasantly surprised. People were usually on their phones while on the train, while here you were, your hands half buried in your jacket as they worked on some yarn as if you were in your own little world.

He wasn’t actually sure if you were crocheting or knitting or what. He had only overheard from the other students in his classes about how they crocheted in their free time, but he had never actually seen anyone do it.

He tilted his head once in a while to watch you, trying his best not to act like a creep. Not that you would notice anyway. He did this until he had to step off at his stop first.

The second time Taesan sees you, it was a Saturday. He unfortunately had a class in the morning, and he was on the way home after having lunch with his friends and spending some time in the library.

You were already seated on the train, hands busy once again. It wasn’t rush hour, so Taesan took a seat across from you.

You seemed to be counting something, perhaps the stitches, based on the way your mouth was moving. You furrowed your eyebrows, looking closer at your project, before pulling at the string of yarn exasperatedly. He was curious about what just happened, smiling at your frustration.

He caught himself glancing at you from time to time again. And this time, you almost caught him looking at you.

He saw you again a few times after that, to the point that he’s learned where to sit or stand so that he can see your reflection in the window to avoid being caught looking at you directly. He’s even learned what days of the week you usually share train rides.

At first, it was a little freaky how the two of you managed to be on the same train at the same time a few times a week, let alone the same car. But after a while, he started looking for you, wondering where you had gone on days when he’d usually seen you.

Months had gone by like that, Taesan watching you work on what seemed like different projects from a distance.

However, this time it was a little different. There were no other available seats except the one right beside you. There was still some space on the metal bars to hold on to, but something told him to take that seat (perhaps it’s the voices in his head aka Leehan urging him to do something about his little train crush; Taesan always denies it by saying it’s not a crush).

This time, it was difficult to see your face, so he could only look at your hands. He tried so hard to be subtle, but he supposes he wasn’t subtle enough because you suddenly put your needle and yarn down on your lap and took something out from your bag.

“Hey, I uh… made something for you,”

You were now looking at his wide eyes, a rush of different emotions suddenly coursing through him. Ashamed because you noticed him watching; touched because you made something for a stranger like him; and shy because you were talking to a guy like him.

He finally looked at your open hand that delicately held a stuffed black cat keychain.

“Is this a cat?”

“Yeah, that’s you,” you said as you smiled tightly. You acknowledge that he was a good-looking guy, but there was still something about him that intimidated you a little. “Um, I’m sorry if that offends you. I made it based on the vibe you gave off, but I don’t mean to stereotype based on the clothes you wear. Not that I made you a black cat because you always wear black, but the dark hair covering your eyes a little also kinda—,” you rambled, stopping when you see the look on his face and realizing you might have said too much.

Taesan chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m not offended. May I ask why…?”

“Um… no reason,” you shrugged with another tight smile, trying to mask the blatant lie you just told him.

“Well, I’m honored. This is really cute,” Taesan smiled, looking at you then at anything but you.

You finally smiled with a more relaxed expression, lips pursing to keep yourself from smiling too widely.

“I figured it wouldn’t hurt to give it to you after already making it, plus you sat here today,”

The truth is, you also noticed him that first time. You noticed his repeated presence the same way he did. When he was looking outside, you looked around the train car only for your gaze to land on him. You actually lied when you said you made a keychain for him. It’s actually a gift meant for one of your friends, but you decided at the last minute to use it to shoot your shot—you could always make another one. If he realized that you were also watching him from what you just said, then he was nice enough to not bring it up.

“This is crochet, right?” Taesan asked as he looked around his bag for a place to hang the keychain.

“Yup! I like to do arts and crafts as a pastime, and crocheting is the most… mindless one for me—for lack of a better word,” you both chuckled. “But it also keeps me from falling asleep when I commute alone. That’s why I mostly do it on the train,”

Taesan nods, his mind still processing what was happening.

“You go to Hybe U, right? Saw your ID,”

You looked down at your lanyard and held it. “Oh yeah. You?”

“I go to KOZ,” Your eyes light up in recognition as it’s the college not far from yours.

“We should—“ “If it’s—“ you both say at the same time.

Chuckling, Taesan gestures for you to go first.

“We should hang out some time… is what I was gonna say,” you smiled, looking at the boy beside you.

“Yeah, I’d like that. And I was gonna say that if it’s any help, I could wake you up at your stop,”

You frowned in confusion. “But you get off first,”

“It’s okay. I have time before class,” Taesan smiled shyly, unsure what to do with himself after making such an offer.

You looked away, realizing the boy wasn’t as intimidating as you thought.

“Well, I’ll hold you to that.”

BONUS:

True enough, by midterms season, you spent most of your train rides asleep on Taesan’s shoulder. You started falling asleep in the middle of crocheting more often to the point that you stopped carrying your projects altogether and opted to indulge in Taesan’s insistence.

The both of you were on the way home when he was reminiscing about his conversation with his friends earlier that day.

“Look at you. Who would’ve thought you out of all people would carry so many keychains on their bag?” Leehan commented after the boy in question mentioned how that first black cat keychain was apparently not even meant for him. You told him after a while that you gave it to him in the spur of the moment as an excuse to talk to him.

“Yeah, it’s kinda funny seeing you in your band shirts then you turn around and suddenly there’s a bunch of colorful animals and characters. Personally, I really like the Sanrio ones,” Sungho said teasingly. “Plus the way I just know it’s you when you enter a room because your bag is so noisy,”

“It’s not funny, Y/N made them! The plastic ones they also got for me,” Taesan blurted in faux offense, smiling and internally agreeing with the older boy.

“Yeah no, it’s cute actually,” Sungho said before bursting into laughter.

“Then ask Y/N for one. Actually no, don’t do that,” his friends chuckled at him.

“Then make one for me,”

“You know, I’ve already asked them to teach me. But I sucked so bad, and Y/N fell asleep while waiting for me.” Taesan chuckled while recalling the first time you hung out at the library.

“Man, he’s got it pretty bad.”

© woobly, 2025. all rights reserved.

[cdelphiki]

Nightwing Cover Cross Stitch

I made a cross stitch pattern based on the cover of Nightwing #78 art by Bruno Redondo.

It's a full coverage piece, but you could skip the pale blue background if you wanted. It's a large piece, 200 by 307 stitches. How large yours will be will depend on what size stitches you do. If you do 11 count (11 stitches per inch) it will be 18.2 x 28 inches. If you do 26 count, it would be 7.7 x 12 inches. Always add about 5 inches to both measurements so you have plenty of space around your piece. You don't want the fabric to unravel and ruin your project. You can cut the fabric down after you're done if you don't like having a lot of excess.

The threads I use are all in DMC, the numbers from most used to least used are 310, 995, 3756, 3842, 437, 996, 162, 3843, 738, 739, 435, and 801. Estimates for how many skeins you need are listed on both the PDF and in the excel file.

Here's the PDF file, it's printable with a chart broken up into 20 pages. (Yes, it's huge!)

And here is the Excel file, since I built it in Excel. If the colors and symbols I picked out don't work for you for whatever reason, you can edit them in excel. My instructions inside it are meant for working with it inside Microsoft Excel, I have no idea how to use google sheets so I can't help you there. You can download the file from this link and then open it up in Excel.

Also, in the excel file, I have four workbooks. The first is the chart with a grid, broken into the 20 panels I used to make the PDF. The second is the high contrast chart without a grid, the third is the graph in the colors of the suggested thread, and the fourth is all the thread information.

If anyone ends up making this, I would LOVE to see process pictures! I started mine yesterday, and I'm so excited about it. This is the first time I've ever sat down and written up one of my patterns to share, so I hope everything is easy to follow. Let me know if you have any questions!

[astraystayyh]

skz quotes series masterlist

these are the fics i am currently working on, where the quote is part of the dialogue or it inspired the fic as a whole!! brainstorming these was very fun, i hope you'll enjoy reading it <3 2/8 done.

chan x reader. soulmates!au. strangers to lovers.

in a world where you can only see colors once you meet your designated soulmate, you already know that you and chan weren't destined for another. but maybe, just maybe, the stars were wrong about you both.

"on purpose. i love him on purpose." - Casey Mcquinston.

Echoes of love- minho x reader. lovers to (one sided) strangers. memory loss trope. [posted]

if given the choice to, would you love minho again? yes, you would've once said in a heartbeat. but now, you aren't sure of your response anymore.

"to love someone is to firstly confess, I'm prepared to be devastated by you." - Billy-Ray Belcourt.

changbin x reader. fwbs with so much emotional and physical tension.

things were clear and simple between you and changbin- a strictly physical relationship with no strings attached. until those same threads bursted at the seams, making you question everything you thought you knew about him.

"if i kissed you right now, i don't think I'd be able to stop." - unknown. & "please forget your scarf in my life and come back later for it" - Mikko Harvey

hyunjin x reader. art students. forced proximity. slow burn. hanahaki disease!au.

working on an assigned art project for three months with hyunjin is an easy task, right? not so much when you're both exactly what the other is afraid of, and simultaneously, terribly longing for.

"f i loved you less i might be able to talk about it more." - Jane Austen.

Volcano- han x reader. enemies to friends to lovers. uni au. [posted]

you've never gotten along with han, your mutual prejudices ruining any prospect of friendship between you both. but you slowly realize that you are more similar than what you originally thought- your darkness recognizing his, and his light yearning for yours.

"I'll take care of you. it's rotten work. not to me, not if it's you." - Anne Carson.

felix x reader. exes to lovers. second chances. [au is yet to be determined]

in which you meet your ex felix years down the road, and you realize that maybe, just maybe, the love never truly deserted your heart.

"for a while it was love, wasn't it? for me, it was love." - Unknown.

seungmin x reader. best friends to lovers with a taste of unrequited love.

seungmin believed he was content with only being your friend. of being the one picking up pieces of you that others carelessly broke. but in the depths of his bruised heart, he desperately needed you to stitch him back together, for once.

"oh god, please. please. love me. love me. desperation sits heavy on my tongue." - a.m.

jeongin x reader. strangers to lovers.

jeongin hated the commute he took daily from his hometown to his work in Seoul. Until the day you stepped in the train and sat on the seat facing him, changing his view of this train ride, and his life.

"on the train we swapped seats, you wanted the window and i wanted to look at you." - Mahmoud Darwish

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

the taglist for this series is closed, there is no set schedule nor a particular order. comment or send me an ask if you want to be added. (general taglist is also open :))

p.s: if u happen to know whose the owner of these quotes, please tell me. most of them come from tiktok slideshows ajdjdh

[to-the-stars8]

Learning to Love Slowly

Jason Todd x Reader All Chapters AO3

72- Laughter and Mortified Robins

Bruce had been passing up the TV room when heard your loud laugh followed by Jason’s quiet, low one. The door was open slightly, allowing him to look in just enough to see the two of you sitting on the couch facing each other. Curious, he stood there and watched. 

“I was mortified,” Jason said, a little smile on his face. Mortified; surprisingly, Bruce could hardly imagine adult Jason being other than slightly amused, a little in love, or stoic. “And there was the whole Justice League just staring at me.”

You laughed again, but Bruce didn’t look at you. 

No, instead he was looking at Jason. He watched as his son stared at you, green eyes filled with excitement as he continued into another funny story. It didn’t take Bruce long to figure out that his son wanted to make you laugh, trying his hardest to share the most absurd stories from his Robin days. Comparing the rest of his children to a younger Jason, it was easy for him to say that Jay was the most sensitive and loving one. Now, despite the added angst and aloofness, Bruce could see that his son managed to keep a bit of his younger self intact. 

Your laughter rang out loud again and a grin broke out onto Jason’s face. It wasn’t long before he went into another long, detailed story that would leave you in stitches again. As he told the story, you reached up to twirl a piece of Jason’s black hair, and a subtle blush fell onto his cheeks. 

Bruce leaned in further to hear what Jay was telling you, but, in doing so, he pushed the door open further with an audible squeak. You looked over your shoulder momentarily, your smile becoming brighter as you quickly urged Mr. Wayne to come sit with the two of you. A quick glance at Jason told him he’d rather Bruce fuck off somewhere in the manor, but you had been so sweet as to invite him that saying no would seem like a slight.

He took a seat across from the two of you and waited for something to be said. When Bruce wasn’t the first to say anything to you, you asked about him. You asked how his day was, if he managed to get that project he'd been working on finished, and all the other things that were polite to ask. Alfred would have been proud of you. 

Jason wasn’t having it, though, and asked bluntly, “Were you watching us?”

Bruce was always quick on his feet, but this wasn’t a situation he had been in before so the words were lost on him. Luckily, you didn’t give him a chance to come up with something. “Probably came to see what all the loud laughing was.”

That seemed to be an answer Jason liked from just how wide his grin was. Now that was something Bruce hadn’t seen in a while. It had to be a slip, too, because just as that familiar, boyish grin was there it was gone. Thinning his lips, Jason nodded his head, looking at you like you had shown him how to breathe. 

“She’s right,” Bruce said, glancing at you before looking at Jay. “What story were you telling?”

You smiled, looking at Jason expectantly and excitedly. The two of you exchanged a knowing glance, and Bruce thought he would give anything to know what the two of you were quietly exchanging. After a second, Jason finally looked at Bruce, smiling. 

“Well, it’s a hell of a story,” He started. 

Leaning back into his chair, Bruce was prepared to laugh with his son for the first time in a long, long while.

[desideriumwriter]

heyyyy i wanted to request a peter x fem!reader fic! where peter shows up at readers window and he’s cut or something and needs reader to stitch him up and reader is scared to but she eventually does and peters all calm and encouraging reader while she’s freaking out and screaming on the inside

i loveeeee your writing and i can’t wait for more ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

ty for the request!! i love this idea so much lmaoo

cw: talks of blood, being stabbed, stitches, nothing too graphic i think! poorly proofread, works with any spiderman version! | wc: 1.0k | navi

It’s a late Sunday night and you’re hunched over your desk, your small desk lamp and the moonlight peeking through your translucent curtains being the only light in your room.

There’s a few papers scattered across the wooden desk with your laptop in front of you, several tabs open on a topic for the project that’s due tomorrow.

Your room is mostly quiet, the only sound being your fingers clicking against the keyboard or your pencil on paper and the soft music playing from your radio.

A loud thud against your window made you jolt up from your slouched position, you turned in the direction of the noise.

You saw Peter in his suit, his hand holding down on his abdomen. His voice was muffled through the suit and the window as he asked you to open the window.

Immediately, you got up and unlocked the window, sliding the glass panel up, you couldn’t get a word in before he started crawling through, slightly stumbling once inside.

He yanked off his mask, dropping it onto your desk.

The single lamp on your desk didn’t give you the best sight of him, but you could tell his chest was heaving as he held onto your wall.

“Peter?” Your face was covered with worry at his weak posture.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you, I usually fix myself up but your place was closer than mine.”

“Peter, what the hell happened?”

“I got in the middle of a mugging and I may have gotten...” He trailed off as he removed his hand from his stomach, revealing a nasty gash, blood staining his skin and suit around the injury.

“Oh my god, we need to get you to a hospital.” You gasped at the sight.

“No, no hospitals.” He strained. “It’s just a flesh wound.” He pressed his suited hand back onto the injury.

“You've been stabbed!” You cried out, looking at him with disbelief.

“Cut.” He corrected as you helped him sit down in your desk chair, he peeled his suit off until his abdomen was bare.

“Peter, this looks bad,” You looked at him with pure worry, “We seriously need to get you-“

“Your moms a nurse, right?” His head perked up as he cut off your sentence.

“Yeah, but she's at the one place you don’t want to go!” It was true, your mom had the night shift at the hospital tonight, your mother had no idea the sweet boy from your english class was Spider Man either. You had no idea where he was going with this.

“Well she’s gotta have a first aid kit here, right?”

“Yeah, she’s got like a giant bag under the sink but-“ Your voice was starting to become more panicked than his was originally

“She’s taught you a few tricks, I remember-“ He shifted in seat and winced a bit, “ I remember you telling that to me.” Your heart fluttered for a second, he remembered, then it went straight back to panicking.

“I mean I know the basics but I’m not a nurse!”

“You know the basics.” He placed his hand gently under your chin, softly moving your head to look at him.

“Peter.” You sighed, knowing he would be stubborn no matter what.

“Go get the first aid kit, please.” His plea came a few seconds after the rest of the sentence, and it was full of desperation.

You gave him a silent answer, running to the bathroom, grabbing a hand towel and the bag of supplies your mother kept.

When you came back you dropped the bag onto the floor, before moving the hand that was over his wound and replacing it with the towel.

Peter kept the pressure on it while you zipped open and shuffled through the bag. You soon were able to find a small suture kit.

“I’ll check and fix up whatever you think you’ve gotten wrong, okay?” Peter assured you.

“Okay. Okay.” Your voice came out in a whisper, he watched as you readied all the supplies, it felt like a miracle when you were finally able to get the thread through the hole.

When everything was ready to go, you held the wound together with your non-dominant hand, the other clutching the needle.

Peter noticed how your hand hovered hesitantly, your eyes darting all around the injury.

He laid his bloodied and somehow steady hands over your shaky ones.

“Come on, you’re a smart girl, you’ve got this.” He spoke softly, hooking a finger underneath your chin and lifting it to meet your gaze.

You took a deep breath and nodded. As you worked you silently repeated the steps you were taught.

It felt like you could finally breathe once you finished covering the spot with bandages and gauze.

“All done. That should be good right?” You sat back, Peter gave you a sweet smile and nod, whispering a ‘thanks’ before giving you a kiss on the forehead.

You went off to clean the blood off your hands and get a moment to calm your racing heart.

Peter had already put his suit back on and grabbed his mask from where he dropped it by the time you’d gotten out the bathroom.

“What’re you doing?” You crossed your arms over your chest as you watched him open the window, he stopped immediately, staring at you like a deer caught in the headlights.

“I-I’m just going back out.” He said sheepishly, you sighed.

“You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying.” You scoffed, dropping your arms to your sides and walking over.

“But I have to-“

“You are in no condition to be swinging around the city.” You interrupted, moving his hands and closing the window shut.

Peter groaned out your name like an impatient child.

“What if-“ He began, you rolled your eyes and held the sides of his face gently.

“Peter, you need some rest. Stay. Please.” The way your voice whispered the last word was enough to melt away his stubbornness.

“I’ll let Aunt May know I'm staying the night.” He mumbled, dropping his mask once again, earning a smile from you.

“Good.” You gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Take off that dirty suit. I’ll grab you some pajamas.”

tell me what you thought! <3

[leighsartworks216]

Knitting Hands

Zayne x gn!Reader

Sometimes you be knitting when you have chronic joint pain and wish a certain doctor was there to help soothe the ache

Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, established relationship, knitting

Word Count: 821

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

The metal needles click quietly against each other. Gentle scrapes as you draw the needle through the stitches. Alongside it is the occasional turn of a page. The soft thwip, the whisper of fingers sliding along the page, the transfer from one side to the next.

The silence should be suffocating. It should be unbearable. There was a time when it used to be. Back then, neither of you really knew how to handle the silence, assuming your own expectations from past relationships or the advice of others (friends, colleagues, and movie characters alike).

Now, it's welcoming. It's warm.

When your thoughts slow and the world comes back into focus, you can rely on the slow inhale and exhale of Zayne's breath. You can look over and see him reading. It’s a book you recommended to him after relentlessly teasing him about needing to branch out from medical texts. Sometimes, he'll even look up at you, too, with a grin reserved only for you.

Your world is brought back into focus now by the strain on your hands and fingers. You slot the right needle into a stitch on the left, wrap the yarn around it, and hook it on, dropping the old stitch. Repeat verbatim until you reach the desired length.

It's not a difficult project - a simple scarf, built with rows and rows of knit stitches that fade between different shades of blue. The only issue is the size of the needles you work with. They're smaller than you're used to, requiring more precision than your normal set. But this yarn was just too pretty to pass up, you simply had to use it.

The clicking of the needles gets slower, but more forceful, as you get through this row and to the end. Your left hand is beginning to severely cramp by the time you transfer the last stitch over. It creaks and tenses as you place silicone stoppers onto the ends of the needles to keep the project from slipping off.

Similarly, Zayne slots a bookmark neatly into his novel and sets it aside. He takes one of your hands in his before you can even set your needles down in your lap, massaging the sore tendons and muscles with practiced fingers.

You lean your head on his shoulder, watching as his thumbs press into your palm.

"You should take more breaks," he says, speaking low to avoid breaking the atmosphere. He rubs along the sections of your fingers, easing out the lingering tension there. "It won't all unravel if you take a second to rest."

You let out a pleased hum. The soft knit of his sweater caresses your cheek as you nuzzle further into him, closing your eyes and basking in his care. "And what if it does?"

He sets the first hand down and lifts the other. He goes through the same movements as before. "Then you can make it all over again, with well-rested hands."

Since when were you this tired? It seems like the longer you stay there, resting against Zayne, the heavier your eyes become and the foggier your brain gets. You stifle a yawn. "How's the book?"

"I like it," he answers. He kisses your head knowingly, setting this hand back in your lap. He doesn't pull away, and you twine your fingers together in your lap. He draws them closer to his leg. "The main character acts a lot like me, doesn't he?"

"Ah, you noticed?"

"Is that why you recommended it?"

You shake your head lazily against him. "No, I thought you'd like the plot." Your words are beginning to slur together.

He hums thoughtfully as he rests his cheek on your head. Your mind feels as though it is floating on water. Bobbing in the waves, lost to the rest of the world.

"We should get you to bed," he suggests, "before you fall asleep here."

You rub mindlessly at the ring on his finger. "If I did, you'd carry me anyway."

"Mhm. Is that what you want?"

"Hm?"

"For me to carry you?" Zayne smiles to himself. There is a special kind of sweetness in watching his beloved fall asleep. The way your brain slows down, uncomprehending, as you give in. The fight you put up trying to speak until the very end, until you can't anymore. The way your body unconsciously clings to him, ever pulling him closer. It's an honor, truly.

"Hmmm, maybe."

He kisses your head, almost as though apologizing for having to let go of your hands. You let him go. You sit back up, sort of, and let your hands sit limply in your lap. The couch shifts as he sits forward and moves your knitting project aside. He makes sure the silicone stoppers are on there well, ensuring it won't all unravel in the night.

He's pretty sure you're fast asleep when he stands and lifts you in his arms.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko

[murdockparker]

In Stitches

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Reader is on bedrest, nearing the end of a taxing pregnancy. Bored and restless, she hatches a plan to keep her hands busy.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Reader is pregnant, tooth-rotting fluff, self doubt, a joke about gaslighting.

A/N: sorry for the hiatus. I hated it too my loves, life is just... crazy. Also first Spencer fic?? word.

"I just have questions.”

“You always have questions,” she hummed, gliding her scissors across the purple fabric. “The only answer I have for you is that I’m on house arrest and restless. Gotta find some way to pass the time.”

“And tearing up my shirts is the best use of that time?”

“House. Arrest,” she clicked.

Spencer scoffed, smiling at her quip. The doctor had put her on bed rest for the last few weeks of her pregnancy, citing the stress of their job and the physical demand was too much for the baby. They had never planned on her continuing in the field during the final trimester anyway, but the doctor was adamant about as little stress as possible. “Bed rest isn’t the same as house arrest, lovey.”

“Sure feels like it,” she said, throwing a scrap over her shoulder onto the floor. “First, I had to give up sushi and my wine, now I have to sit around and be a proper housewife?”

“If it’s any consolation, you’ve never been a proper housewife,” Spencer said, cringing as soon as the words left his mouth. “I-I mean, in the traditional sense—you’re a hardworking woman with a rather successful career—”

“And now my husband is verbally abusing me,” she sighed, though no malice was in her tone. Very clearly a joke.

“I wouldn’t say—”

“And now he’s gaslighting me!” (Y/N) nearly giggled, trying hard to keep the argument going. Spencer joined in on her laughter.

“I…I’ll shut up now.”

She turned on her chair, looking up at Spencer. “Normally, I’d be against such a thing, but silence is appreciated in my time of solitude and sewing.”

“I didn’t know you could sew,” Spencer mumbled, rubbing her shoulder. 

“My dad taught me the basics,” she explained, placing the fabric into a pile. “I was always getting rips and tears in my clothing. He claimed it was a valuable life skill for me to learn, but I think he was just sick of doing the mending himself.”

“I love learning new things about you,” Spencer said softly, his eyes practically pooling with affection.

She snorted. “It’s not the most interesting fact about me.”

“Every new fact is the most interesting fact about you.”

“Okay sap,” she pinched his waist, causing him to flinch away from her. “You better get going to work before Hotch throws a hissy fit.”

“How could I?” Spencer had already moved over to the fridge, throwing the essentials in his lunch bag. “You’re tearing up my work clothes.”

“You haven’t worn this shirt in months,” she pointed at him with the scissors in her hand. “I should know, you packed it away for the move nearly five months ago. If anything, I’m giving it a new life.”

“A new life as…?”

“Nope,” she shook her head, rising from the dining table. With a few careful steps she made it over to the fridge. “Not telling. It’ll ruin the surprise.”

“So it’s a project for me, then?”

All it took was a pointed look and a raised brow for Spencer to get the hint. He gave her a quick kiss, a loving goodbye to both her and their growing bundle of joy before leaving.

“Profilers.”

—

What started as a supposed and rare office day turned into a five day case in Wisconsin. Not unusual, given their line of work, but it was still exhausting to be away from his family for so long. Spencer decided exactly thirty hours into the case he’d never take the fact he worked with his wife for granted again.

His relief was found the second he returned to their home, opening the door to the smell of cookies and the sight of his wife hanging up their jackets in the hallway.

“Spence!” (Y/N) exclaimed, all but dropping the remaining coats to embrace him. “I didn’t know you’d be back tonight, Pen made it seem like you guys were still going to be there until tomorrow!”

“We had a new lead that wrapped it up rather quickly,” Spencer said, hugging her a bit tighter, not ready to let go of her warmth. “You’re unpacking?”

Their attention was turned to the boxes on the floor. All but one of their winter coats had already been removed and hung in the entryway closet. “I told you, I’ve been restless—” 

“Honey, you’re supposed to be resting,” Spencer smoothed her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple. “This could’ve waited until I got home.”

“I want to be settled before she comes, you know?” (Y/N) tried to explain, a hand moving protectively on her bump. “Nesting and all that.”

“How much more unpacking did you do when I was gone?” He didn’t need to ask, he already saw the pile of broken down boxes in their living room. If he had to guess, she’d made quite a dent in them. 

“Only a little,” she argued. “After I finished my sewing project the mountain of boxes overwhelmed me—it’s silly that you think I could’ve stopped myself from doing it.”

He laughed. “I guess so.”

“I mean, who buys a house around the same time they’re expecting a baby? It’s maddening!”

He bit his tongue, knowing any statistic that popped into his mind to correct her wasn’t worth sharing with his extremely pregnant wife. He already learned his lesson when he corrected her on the history of bubblegum a few weeks ago. 

“Maddening,” he agreed.

“So what if I unpacked a few boxes? I finally found my KitchenAid! Packed with the baking trays if you could believe it.”

“That explains the cookies,” Spencer said softly, smiling at his wife like she held the world in her hands. “Please tell me that other than the few boxes and cookies you spent your time off of your feet and resting?”

“Would I lie to you?” She crossed her arms, pursing her lips.

He gave her a trying look.

“Don’t answer that.” 

“Will you please go sit down? I’ll bring you a plate of those delicious smelling cookies and you can interrogate me about my extremely exciting trip to Wisconsin,” Spencer rubbed her back lovingly, trying his best to convince her.

“Jokes on you, I was just about to go sit down anyway,” she kissed his cheek, patting his jaw lovingly. He needed to shave. “Now I get cookies brought to me by my handsome husband.”

It was chocolate chip cookies she had made, her mother’s recipe as far as he could tell. It was her go-to when she made cookies, save for the peanut butter blossoms she made for the holidays. Spencer loved either kind, especially because they were made with the loving care of his wife. Placing five of the still-warm cookies on a plate, he walked to their living room, his wife already making good on her promise of sitting on their new couch.

She claimed they didn’t need a new one, but Spencer made a rather convincing argument, the dark green of the new couch would fit much better into the aesthetic of their new home. (Y/N) didn’t have much of a leg to stand on, given her old couch was a ratty grey one she had since college. It was also really ugly, a fact Spencer chose to keep to himself.

Sitting on their—rather beautiful—couch beside his wife was a purple teddy bear, the striped fabric looking familiar. “You made a bear…?”

(Y/N) quickly tried hiding the stuffed animal behind her back. “What? No.”

“(Y/N),” Spencer chided lightly, sitting down beside her, the plate of cookies nearly forgotten on their coffee table. “I saw the bear.”

“I didn’t have time to wrap it,” she explained, pulling it out from behind her. “Again, wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow…”

With the purple bear in his hands, it was clear his suspicions were correct. It was made out of the shirt, the striped purple one she had cut up days prior. “You made this?”

“I did,” she nodded, feeling bashful. “I convinced a friend to let me borrow her sewing machine to finish it. I tried hand stitching, but my patience was growing thin, you can only prick your finger enough times before nearly giving up.”

He laughed at that. “I see.”

“To clarify the bear isn’t for you,” she said quickly, sensing his confusion and possible disappointment. “I mean, in a way it is? But it’s for her—”

“I figured that much,” he laughed again.

“I just thought, y’know, given our jobs and how often you or I might be away from her,” (Y/N) shrugged, placing both hands on top of her stomach. “It’d be nice to have a piece of you behind. So… I made the bear out of your shirt.”

“It’s really—”

“It still took like, a stupid amount of hours,” she continued. “And even if you hate it or think it’s stupid, please be gentle with your critique. I know the eyes are wonky and—”

“It’s a very thoughtful—”

“I figured you’d like the purple shirt I chose, but I was hesitant because you loved that shirt, it was the one I bought you for your birthday years ago, the one you told me I shouldn’t have bought you but I did it anyway—”

“My love,” Spencer placed his hands on top of hers. “You need to breathe.”

His shoulders raised, inhaling deeply, hoping she’d mirror his movements. To his surprise, she followed along instantly. 

“Better?”

“A little.”

“Before you cut me off again,” Spencer chucked, looking at her in that sickening way he always did, the kind of way that made her want to melt into the couch. “I was trying to tell you how much I loved it, the idea, the execution, everything about it.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do,” he mumbled. “To think about her snuggling with this, obviously when she’s old enough to be left with stuffed animals—around the one year mark or so—especially cuddling with it when I’m away? I-I don’t know what to say…”

She could see the tears forming on his face, afraid they’d fall. “Oh no, I didn’t mean for you to cry!”

“Happy tears, my love,” Spencer clarified. “And perhaps a bit of mourning for one of my favorite shirts.”

“You haven’t worn it in a while,” she tried to argue.

“You haven’t worn your wedding dress in a while,” he teased, pulling her into his side. “Should I go and cut it up for a heartfelt gift for our daughter, too?”

“Hm, perhaps when she gets married. Could be her ‘something old’?”

Spencer’s face blanched, flashes of a distant future in which he was walking his little girl—someone he hadn’t even met yet—down the aisle. “I’m not ready for that. She’s not allowed to get married, ever.”

“Spence, she doesn’t even have a name yet, of course she’d not getting married anytime soon,” (Y/N) giggled, her laughter like a bell. His worried heart immediately felt at ease, the medicinal properties of her laugh was something he wanted to study.

“We should probably get around to that,” Spencer nodded, thinking back to their list of potential names.

“Probably.”

Her sweater felt like heaven against his fingers, soft fibers tickling his senses as he rubbed her side, enjoying the feeling of her next to him. “I’m just so ready to meet her, to hold her, to love her,” he sighed.

“Me too,” she said, her tone matching his entirely. “I want to be more sweet about it, but I’m so ready to not be pregnant anymore.”

“Just a few more weeks,” Spencer nodded, knowing the toll the pregnancy was taking on his wife. “We’ll celebrate with a dinner of all the foods and drinks you had to give up for most of this year.”

“We’ll also have a baby,” (Y/N) added.

“I know, but I figured you would be placated by the idea of a fun dinner,” Spencer smiled. “On top of our daughter being here.”

“God I miss sushi,” (Y/N) moaned, head turned towards their ceiling. “Yes, okay, a fun dinner would be excellent. Snuggling our perfect girl while inhaling a spicy tuna roll from that place downtown, sounds like a dream.”

“Well, preferably inhaling it away from our daughter, but yes, that sounds nice,” Spencer smiled softly.

“Our daughter…” (Y/N) said, looking down at her baby bump. “I still can’t believe we’re having a baby. Like, genetically fifty percent me and fifty percent you—one hundred percent our legal responsibility.”

“That’s typically how it works…”

“We’re not going to ruin her, are we?” She asked, turning to look at her husband. “I mean, with the work we do, how often we’ll likely be away…”

“She has her new bear,” Spencer said, his voice softer than silk. He pulled the bear into her lap, drawing her attention to it. “You already thought of something so kind to give her, to know we’re going to be with her even when we’re gone.”

“It’s only your shirt though,” she sighed, feeling too emotional about a silly bear. “She’ll only think of you.”

“Make another one,” Spencer offered. “You have that green blouse with the lipstick stain on it—the one you insisted you could get the mark out of?”

“I never got it out..."

“Cut around it,” he laughed lightly. “Even if you decide to not make another bear, rabbit or whatever animal your beautiful mind comes up with, she’ll know how much you love her.”

“You think?”

Spencer hugged the bear tightly, squeezing it as hard as he could. “Angel, I can feel the love you put into this bear. I know she will too.”

She smiled at that. 

“I know how scary this all is,” Spencer reiterated. “I mean, I’m terrified. She’s going to be so little, so reliant on us, so fragile. But you know what else?”

(Y/N) tilted her head up. “What else?”

“She’s going to be perfect,” he said lowly, honestly, truly. “I just know when we meet her for the first time, all of those fears are going to just melt away.” His fingers wrapped between hers, squeezing them just tight enough, enough to convey every emotion he was feeling in that moment. “And even if they don’t? Even if we both are constantly freaking out and taking her to the doctor all the time or wrapping everything in bubble wrap, we’ll get to do it together, as a team.”

“We make a good team,” she agreed.

“The best team.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, hands still intertwined. “Thank you, I needed to hear that.”

“It’s the truth,” Spencer said, love oozing from his lips. “We’ll be ready for her.”

“I know,” she hummed in contentment, enjoying the moment. “I already did so much unpacking when you were gone.”

“Please let me do the rest, angel.”

She laughed lightly, patting his arm.

“No.”

—

BONUS:

Spencer had been going through their closet, trying to find a specific shirt for work—the one that matched a green tie he had in mind. “My love, was there another box of shirts hanging around? Or is everything already unpacked?”

(Y/N) placed the book she had been reading in her lap, looking towards their closet. “I think so? Why, is something missing?”

He walked out of the closet, hands on his hips. “I think a few of my shirts are missing.”

She bit her lip. “Uh… no, I don’t think there’s any shirts missing. You must be remembering wrong.”

Spencer blinked, posture unchanged.

“Which… would be impossible because you don't remember anything wrong,” she groaned, rolling out of their bed and planting both feet onto the ground. “Fine, okay. You’re missing a few shirts.”

His lip quirked, a smile tugging up one corner. “Casualties of your sweet gift, I imagine?”

“Shut up,” she swatted the air, not even in his general direction. “I couldn’t get the pattern right. The online print out was terribly misleading.”

He laughed. “I’m sure it was, angel.”

“It was!”

He took a few gentle steps over to her, wrapping her in his arms and kissing her hairline. “I believe you.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

He kissed her again, this time, on her lips.

“But we do have to replace those shirts.”

[cameronspecial]

Neverending Texts

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.7K

Summary: Rafe's small crush on his tutor definitely doesn't lead him to text her a little too much.

A/N: Insipred by this post.

Masterlist

Rafe’s education is not a responsibility Y/N ever expected to have on her plate. However, tutoring seems like a no-brainer for the girl who likes teaching and it is not like she could say no to Ward Cameron. Plus, Ward offered her an insane rate and even though her parents are rich, it is still nice to make her own spending money. Rafe and Y/N’s relationship is odd, to say the least. He always seems to have an interest in her, while she would rather be kept out of his social circle. This dynamic is only intensified by Rafe getting her number to set up tutoring sessions. He’ll often send her random texts that are so out of pocket, but she knows he is trying to invoke a conversation between the two of them. During all hours of the day, she will randomly receive jokes, facts, or gossip from the boy. Her responses were always a single word, not inviting the discussion to go any further. It never deterred him from trying every day though. Her hand shoves the hook through the stitch and the hook grasps onto some yarn to be pulled through. The buzz from her phone freezes her hands. She picks up the device and lets out a breath with a shake of her head. What is your ideal date? Normally, his texts would allow her a one-word answer; however, this one can’t be answered as such and she feels bad if she ignores it. 

She takes a second to think about her reply. Baking pizza with extra mushrooms and a movie night. Maybe watch rom-coms. She sets her phone back on the desk and goes back to her crochet project. 

———

He is pleasantly surprised she gives a thoughtful answer to the text. It seems his tactic of open-ended questions has worked. It doesn’t shock him that her idea of a prime date is something more intimate. Y/N has always been more reserved, so it makes sense she would prefer one-on-one time with her date. He likes that. That sounds like the perfect date, except for the extra mushrooms. We’ll have to only put it on half of the pizza.

Who said you were invited?

He chuckles at her retort and shakes his head. Why is there someone else you are dying to go out with? He holds his breath at her reply, not wanting her to say what he thinks she might. The little bubble with three dots displays her effort to rejoin. It stops eventually and no new words appear in a new bubble. He bites the corner of his lips as his thumb hovers over the button. He decides to bite the bullet, bringing the phone to his ear. It dials three times before she picks up. “Wow, moving on to phone calls to tell me your random thoughts. You really are getting more persistent, Cameron,” she teases. He can hear something clatter on the other end, “Can you blame a guy for wanting to hear your voice, Teach?” She giggles with a sigh. “What did you need?” she urges. He shrugs, “I told you. I just wanted to hear your voice. I also wanted you to answer my question and to hear if you are lying.” “Why do you care so much?” she questions, rolling her eyes. 

“Because if you don’t have anyone else on your mind, then I was hoping I could be the one to take you on that date.” 

“I have no one else, but why me? What makes me so special in your mind?”

“You just have this je ne sais quoi to you that I can’t get out of my mind. We just click, Teach, and I know you can’t deny it.”

———

She traces the surface of her desk with her crochet hook as she tries to focus on his words. “I know you can’t deny it.” She would never admit she felt the spark he was talking about. It’s been something she tries to bury deep inside of herself because their personality dynamic would not make sense. Rafe likes all eyes on him and to be as loud as possible, whilst Y/N enjoys a quiet night in. The more she thinks about it, the faster her heart starts to beat, telling her to say yes. Yes to a chance at love. Yes to opening herself up to someone else. Yes to stepping outside of her comfort zone. “Okay, let’s go on a date.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

How to knit a Six of Crows blanket!

Hi my darlings, after posting quite a bit about my Grishaverse knitting projects I’ve had a few people ask if I have any kind of pattern or instructions for the Six of Crows blanket I made. I completely drew it myself and (as someone who has never designed a real pattern) figured it out as I went but I thought I’d do my best to put together a step-by-step guide of what I did for my one so you can try it if you’d like to! If you do this and share it anywhere then if you could please credit me for the design that would awesome <3

My finished blanket is approximately 117x120 cm, or 46x47 inches, and it looks like this:

Yarn I used: so sorry I can’t remember and I don’t have the information right now but if anyone wants me to I can update this when I find it; I know that it was bulky weight though

Needle size I used: 9mm

Stitches you need to know how to do: Knit and Purl

Other techniques you’ll need to know: the fair isle method for colourwork, and possibly how to back a blanket but I will explain that in more detail because I had to learn how to do it for this project

Tags: @marielaure @spike-is-not-a-dogs-name @scenemime @worth-this-and-more @wisegirl29 @atac-agent @uttermywish @feralipadkid @fairytalesofforever

Guide below the cut!!

Step 1: the first thing you need is a chart, because this is knit in fair isle. I’m sure there are proper softwares for designing fair isle charts but I uploaded a photo of the six of crows book cover onto a free drawing app called Ibis Paint X, went over it in flat colours to create a more 2D design, superimposed a grid over the top, and then went round every individual square of that grid and edited the image so that there was one colour in each square (ie, pixelated it). The fun thing about doing it like this is that you can easily change it to be whatever size you want by changing the size of your grid (each square represents one stitch). As I mentioned before, if you use the same yarn as I did and the exact same chart as I did it comes out to be around 117x120 cm or 46x47 inches; it’s pretty square and smaller than your average blanket, which is perfect for what I wanted but might not be perfect for what you want so you might want to adapt that if you’d rather a different size. This is what my chart looked like:

Step 2: casting on and knitting! This is the most fun bit, in my opinion. My grid is 103 stitches wide so and I wanted to have a border all around the edges so the first thing I did was cast on a full row in the cream yarn that I wanted to make that border from, with two more stitches

1) Cast on 105 of cream yarn. This should be the number of stitches across the x-axis of your pattern plus 2, to create a border either side. This cast on row will then create a one row border at the bottom of your work.

2) K1 in cream, knit first row of pattern, K1 in cream

3) P1 in cream, purl second row of pattern, P1 in cream

4) repeat steps 2) and 3) until the pattern is complete

5) complete an entire row in cream yarn

6) cast off - this is always so exciting!!! This is when you get the first real sense of accomplishment, in my opinion

I don’t have loads of progress photos, I’m afraid, but this is what mine looked like when I first cast off:

(The edges are curled here so you can’t see the border on the sides, but it is there, also the lighting is rubbish sorry)

Step 3: Weave in all the ends. Gonna be super honest this step is deeply boring but incredibly important; there are a lot of ends to deal with here. Sorry I don’t have a photo of the wrong side of my work but if you imagine at least one loose end for every section of colour change you can gather that it’s a lot haha

Step 4: Backing!! Now there can be different methods of backing depending on what kind of fabric you choose, I can’t actually tell you what kind of fabric I used other than that the colour was called ‘luna grey’ because the label didn’t actually say what it was so I just decided to go for it. I could only buy it in metres or half metres so I had to get 150cm and then trim the excess. Remember to cut your backing fabric larger than your knitting!! - you need lenience to sew it in. I chose a soft fabric that wasn’t very stretchy. If you get a stretchier fabric you might want to use something to band the knitting first so that you avoid pulling it out of shape.

Lay the right sides of your two pieces (fabric & knitting) together and securely pin three sides.

Once your right sides are pinned together you can go all around your three pinned edges and sew together. Sewing is not my forte so if it isn’t yours either don’t worry, what’s good about this is that your stitches won’t actually be seen once the project’s done so don’t worry too much if they aren’t super neat. I used a running stitch and caught the underside of the knitting without going all the way through so that I knew my stitches wouldn’t be visible. If you want to add extra security, you can go round this sewing section twice. I personally hand sewed this, I think you could use a machine if you wanted to but be careful that the knitting doesn’t catch.

This is an exciting bit because you can really start to see the finished project

Once you’ve sewn your first three sides what you essentially have is a giant inside out pocket, and you can turn it right side out so it looks something like this:

Sorry it’s not a great photo.

After this I trimmed off the excess fabric and just sat and stretched everything out to make sure it was sitting properly and I was happy with it. If you’re also trimming off excess fabric, remember to leave the same amount of lenience (I did about five centimetres/two inches) as you did for the original edges!!

Then fold your lenience fabric inside the pocket and pin it nice and securely. I used a YouTube video to learn an invisible stitch to close this edge and it worked really well once I’d gotten the trick of it, I was really pleased. I practiced it on the excess fabric is cut off first and I definitely recommend that, it was really helpful

And then that’s it!!!

Here is my finished project again:

I am so overjoyed with how this came out!

I hope that this guide was somewhat helpful, though I realise it’s clear that I don’t write patterns and am probably not very good at describing what I did so I’m sorry if anything was unclear. If you try this let me know, and if you share it anywhere please credit me! 🖤🖤

[polkadotpenguin16]

Twisted Stitches

Fills the Ugly sweaters square for @storiesofsvu's Holiday Bingo 2024

Pairing: Sonny Carisi x reader

Tags: just fluff, and the heartbreak associated with having a fiber arts hobby

Word count: 2K

Beta'd by: @misscharlielulu + @escapingrealtiylovinginsanity

A/N: this is dedicated to anyone who put their heart and soul into a project only for it to not work out, I see you <3

Also posted on AO3

Your absolute favorite way to pass the time was knitting. People sometimes made fun of your “granny” hobby, but you didn’t care. You loved the softness of the yarn as it glided through your fingers. The soothing, repetitive nature of passing stitches from one needle to the other. It calmed your mind and comforted your soul. People were always impressed by your knits, but none more than Sonny. He’d be mesmerized watching your hands work your needles, trying to figure out how your yarn didn’t wind up in a tangled mess. You were modest about the things you made, but Sonny thought you were the most talented person in the world.

You’d knitted some small things for him in the past. A hat and scarf which he wore until the yarn disintegrated. But you wanted to make him something special for the holidays this year. Inspiration struck as you sat in bed, watching Bridget Jones’s Diary. It was the Christmas party scene, and when you saw Mark’s ugly reindeer jumper, you knew you had to knit Sonny a sweater.

Have you ever knitted a sweater before? No…but you hoped your skills and determination were enough to make it happen.

You scoured the internet for the perfect pattern before settling on a simple pullover—no crazy cables, no complicated stitch patterns. You wanted to give yourself the best chance of success. You wanted this to be extra special, so you ordered some beautiful hand-dyed yarn from an indie shop. It was pricey, but for Sonny, it was worth it. You pictured how proud you’d feel seeing him in a sweater you’d created. That made you even more eager to get started. You loved the thrill of a new project. The electric burst of creativity and dopamine it gave you.

When your yarn finally arrived in the mail, you could hardly contain your excitement. You delicately opened the package, expecting to be wowed by its contents. But you were met with deep disappointment. This was NOT the yarn you’d ordered.  You’d chosen a deep, rich navy blue—your favorite color on Sonny because it made his blue eyes pop. This was more of a pale baby blue. How was it so off from the pictures? Worse still, each ball you ordered was a slightly different shade.

Panic set in as you scrambled to find a way to salvage this situation. You invested too much money in this yarn, you couldn’t buy more. Exchanging it wasn’t an option because the holidays were too close, and you wouldn’t have time to finish it. Your heart raced as you thought through your options, your fingers excessively tapping in concentration. Then it hit you—you could dye it!

Have you ever dyed anything before? No…but how hard could it be?

Feeling rejuvenated by your clever solution, you decided it was time to start knitting. To get in the zone, you gathered all the necessities for a productive knitting session: a fuzzy blanket, a mug of mint tea, and a Netflix crime documentary. With your space suitably cozy, you excitedly casted on your first stitches. You were impressed by the quality of the yarn. The wool was surprisingly soft and effortlessly glided across your needles. It was a welcome treat for your fingers. It may have been the wrong color, but at least you’d gotten your money’s worth.

It took a few hours to knit the collar. You tried it on yourself only to find it was much too tight. No worries—you switched up your needles and started again. By the end of the night, you had the second collar finished. 

A couple of days later, you’d knitted to the shoulders. Your enthusiasm soured when you realized you were missing more than a few stitches. You gritted your teeth as you frantically counted and recounted, trying to somehow manifest the missing stitches onto your needles. Your eyes darted between your pattern and your project, trying to figure out where you went wrong. Doubt started to creep in as you wondered if you were capable of making a sweater. But you were determined to make this work. You held your breath as you oh, so carefully unraveled your work to see where you went off track. Your eyes scrunched up as you meticulously pulled back each stitch. Finding your mistake, you let out a relieved sigh. Maybe you could do this. You returned the stitches to your needles and confidently continued.

After 3 long weeks, you finally made it to the hem. You laid the sweater out to admire your work when you noticed it looked bigger than expected. Sweat beaded up on your temples. You reluctantly considered starting over. But you wanted to trust your gut. You were sure you’d followed the pattern correctly, so you casually ignored the issue and moved on.

Your combination of perseverance and denial gave you the willpower to finish the sleeves. Were they both the same length? No…but you needed this done, so they were close enough. They’d probably even out in the wash anyway. 

Right?

It was time to dye! You were sure this was the thing that would save your sweater. You briefly read the instructions before fearlessly tossing it into the boiling blue liquid. The steam billowing off the pot made you feel like a witch conjuring some magical brew. Hopefully it conjured up a beautiful sweater.

You let it simmer for an hour before pulling it out. Your fingers practically buzzed with excitement as you rinsed your creation, or maybe it was just the water boiling your skin. You were absolutely positive that you’d have the most amazing sweater once the color set. You laid it out to dry before going to bed. You found it hard to sleep because you were so excited to see the final product, trusting that the dye worked its magic.

The next morning, you held your breath and crossed your fingers as you went to your living room. You hoped you’d see the magnificent sweater you’d been picturing in your head. But your heart sank when you saw the final result. It was not at all what you’d imagined.

In fact, it was a nightmare.

It was not the velvety navy the packaging promised. It was a loud, gaudy blue raspberry shade. The brightness accentuated all the mistakes you’d made along the way. The collar that was originally too tight was now way too loose. There were tiny holes in the places you tried to add back those missing stitches. And the sleeves did not even out like you ignorantly believed.

Tears burned at the corners of your eyes. Your whole body painfully stiffened in frustration. You were so angry with yourself. How did you mess this up so horrendously? You clearly failed every step of the way. You blindly tossed the ugly thing across the room, not caring where it landed. You just needed it out of your sight. You ran to your bedroom to have a good cry. You hugged your knees and let all your anger out. Your anger faded into disappointment as you slumped into your pillows. How could you think you were good enough to make a sweater? It probably would’ve been best to go to sleep, but your mind raced, stressing over what you could possibly get Sonny for Christmas now.

A few days later, you were sitting on the couch with Sonny watching TV, unwinding from a long day. He had one arm draped around your shoulders and the other dangling over the side of the couch. He made a face when his hand brushed something soft on the floor.

“You missing some laundry, doll?” He pulled up the mystery item from beside the couch.

Something blue caught your eye, and your jaw dropped as the awful memories suddenly flooded back. Your chest tightened and your cheeks reddened in embarrassment. “That’s nothing! Give it to me!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” You tried desperately to reach for the monstrosity before Sonny could get a good look at it, but he used his height against you and held it out of your reach. “Cool your jets, what’ve we got here?” Now way too intrigued by your over-the-top reaction, he inspected the garment closer.

“I…” You wracked your brain on what to tell him. You could lie, say it was a friend’s. You probably could’ve convinced him had you not just spazzed out. You sighed and hung your head low in defeat. It was time to come clean. “I was trying to knit you a sweater as a Christmas present. But then I knitted it wrong. It wasn’t the right color, so I dyed it and made it worse. It’s just…I’m sorry, Sonny.” You teared up as your emotions were still raw from the experience. Weeks of work, all a waste. Nothing to show for it but a neon blue eyesore.

“You made me a sweater?” Sonny's eyes softened, and the sweetest smile grew on his face. He’d watched you knit projects before and knew how much effort you put into them. He couldn’t believe you thought he was worthy of being knitted a sweater. His heart swelled with gratitude. He lovingly looked it over, appreciating every single stitch.

The grateful look in his eyes only made you feel worse. He probably did appreciate the mess you created, but you knew he deserved so much better than that. “You don’t have to keep it, Sonny—”

“Oh, I’m gonna try it on right now.” He leaped off the couch, took off his hoodie, and pulled the sweater on.

It was glaringly obvious now that the sleeves were significantly different lengths as he rolled one of them up. Not to mention it was two sizes too big. Yet still, with a giddy grin, he gently ran his fingers across the sweater. He noticed it was a lot softer than other things you’d made. He wondered if you’d used some kind of fancy yarn, making him feel even more special. “This is amazing, doll. You did a great job.”

You dropped your head in your hands and groaned. Of course, he’d love it. “Babe, it’s the wrong size!”

“What do you mean? It’s perfect! Plenty of room to eat ma’s Christmas dinner.” He rubbed his belly for emphasis.

Your stomach dropped in horror at the thought of him wearing it in public. “Nooo! You can’t wear that to your parents’ house!” you begged. He’d obviously tell everyone that you made it for him. What would his family think? You couldn’t show your face there again.

“What? Why not?” His reaction was so genuine. Were you even looking at the same sweater?

“You look like the Cookie Monster!” you exclaimed in frustration.

Sonny chuckled as he walked back over to sit next to you. “Sweetheart, you’re way too hard on yourself. I know you worked hard on this. I love this sweater, and I’ll cherish it forever.” He pressed a warm kiss to your pouting lower lip, then your forehead. “And by the way, I think Cookie Monster is a pretty cool guy.”

The tiniest hint of a smile escaped your lips. “Well, I’m glad you like it.” You were still disappointed in yourself, but at least you knew you were always appreciated. It really was the thought that counts. “But you know this means I can never trust your judgment on the things I make ever again?”

“What do you mean? I have exceptional taste.” He stood back up and struck a pose for you. “Practically a fashion icon, really.”

You rolled your eyes so hard they might’ve actually bounced off the back of your skull. A fashion icon, indeed. He did a little twirl, and you couldn’t help but laugh. At yourself or him, you couldn’t tell. He was definitely a dork, but he was your dork, and he loved you, and that made it all worth it.

[oddinary4bts]

Love is a Laserquest | choi san

☆summary: years after your break-up, Choi San comes to you for help. In an attempt to save his life, you escape to your uncle's cabin in the woods far from civilization. Will nostalgia and longing make you fall again, or is Choi San just spinning more lies to you?

☆pairing: gangster!Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: gangster au, exes au, angst, smut, a smidge of the one bed trope

☆warnings: guns/gun violence (mentioned), knifes/stabbing (mentioned), a bounty over San's head, death of a minor character (named Jungkook my bad), blood, injuries, stitches, probably some wrong medical terminology bc optometrists don't stitch up people lmao, a panic attack, cursing, pet names, explicit content: oral sex (female receiving) -> face riding, let me know if I forgot any!

☆word count: 16.5k

☆a/n: Here's my submission for Outlaw: The Project hosted by @ssaboala. It is coincidentally my first time posting about another group than bts, so I hope this won't disappoint! I really enjoyed writing it (even though it's really sad oop). Also my first time making a moodboard so hopefully it works haha

☆a/n pt2: thank you to @moonleeai for being my ever-so faithful beta reader, love you lots <3

☆☆☆☆☆

And do you still think love is a Laserquest? Or do you take it all more seriously? I’ve tried to ask you this in some daydreams that I’ve had But you’re always busy being make-believe

Love is a Laserquest – Arctic Monkeys

☆☆☆☆☆

The diner is silent, unoccupied. It always is on late weekday evenings, when most patrons have gone to bed, the city falling under a carpet of hushed silence only night can bring forth. It makes the diner feel like it’s straight out of a 70s movie, and it makes for the perfect study sessions too.

Night isn’t always soundless in your part of town. Hence why you’ve been trying to escape, pursuing an education that has been leaving you penniless, but with a bright future ahead. If you make it out of med school at a certain point, that is.

Tonight, you fear the peace that night usually entails has been ruined for you – there were gunshots earlier, close enough for you to see the police cars racing past as the law officers made it to probably yet another gang fight.

There’s been a gang war on your side of town. The diner has always been safe, a refuge for both sides of the war, where they aren’t allowed to fight. To carry in weapons and hatred. No, the moment they cross the threshold of the diner, the gangsters become one family, sharing struggles that only poverty can cause.

You wipe a table clean before walking back towards the counter. Your open laptop waits for you, and you quickly read the study guide you’ve made for yourself, the cardiovascular system and its pathologies forming a maze in your mind that you’ve yet to decode. Luckily enough, you still have a week before the bloc ends and you have to take the exam.

Plenty of time to cram everything about the heart in your thick little skull, you’d say.

Your lips move in time with what you’re reading, attention solely focused on the bright screen when a thump is heard right outside the door. It startles you, and you turn around to see the empty street out of the glass door.

It takes you about ten seconds to notice the dark form sitting on the ground. They’re leaning against the door, head lolling to the side. You assume it must be someone that’s ended unhoused, something that happens far too often where you live.

You’ve always been kind. When you were younger, you were told your kindness would be your demise. Yet you’ve never been able to be anything but kind, even though sometimes it might put you at risk. So you can’t resist but walk to the front door, trying to push it open.

It’s useless – the weight of the person is keeping it tightly shut, though they do straighten a little, as if coming to their senses. They turn, and the moment their profile comes into view you’re brought back eight years in the past. To a time when the world was still a beautiful place, void of violence and cruelty. To a smile so sweet it made flowers blossom on your heart, and to eyes so sharp you knew they had read your soul.

Choi San is sitting outside the door, and the caked blood on his cheek tells you enough – he’s injured. He pushes away from the door before slowly getting up. He clutches his side as he does it, yet when he turns back towards you and faces your horrified eyes, he still offers you a smirk.

You push the door open, thinking about the years between then and now. You had dated him for a few months that had felt like forever, until you had realized in what kind of business he was getting involved with. You had tried to convince him to flee before it was too late, and he kept promising that he would.

Only he never did, hiding lies with beautiful words that made your teenage self swoon, until your parents had realized and forced you to break up. It had been a nasty break-up, filled with hatred and words you didn’t mean yet had needed to say for him to leave.

You remember breaking his heart like it was yesterday.

“Choi San,” you greet him, and when he lets go of his side, you notice blood on his hand.

Something runs cold inside of you, even though he still sports a smirk on his lips.

He says your name, bowing his head. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Months, in fact. Because he does come to the diner sometimes. He usually ignores you, and so do you, so it feels strange to have him speak to you. To hear his voice as his words are addressed to you.

“What…” you trail off, glancing down at the ripped fabric of his black tank top.

He’s got a mean cut on his ribs, and it’s only then that you truly realize that he’s badly injured. Because there’s more – one of his biceps has been sliced open too, though blood is barely oozing out of it in small rivulets. The blood on his cheek is from where you assume he’s been punched with rings, and there’s already an underlying bruise under his eye.

“Got beaten up,” he states the obvious, and you immediately open the door wider to let him in.

He limps in, heading towards the nearest booth, where he plops down and lets out a pained grunt. You make sure no one is outside before shutting the door and locking it, flipping the hanging sign on it so it says closed in case a patron decides to show up.

You take a few steps towards San, hands shaking slightly at your side. Because that’s a grown man, bleeding out on the leather seat of the booth, and his eyes are shut though he looks in pain. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do. You haven’t yet started your residency, haven’t really gone from theory to practice… Yet you’re studying to be a doctor, are you not?

“Why are you here?” you ask, though you’re pretty sure you know the answer.

“Didn’t know where else to go,” he says, wincing as one of his eyes opens. He tilts his head to look towards you. “Word around the block says…” he pauses, takes a deep breath before continuing, “that you’re studying to be a doctor”.

So you are right. He’s here because he needs your help, and you’re not quite sure how you feel about it.

“Why…” You look for words, and it takes you a moment to realize that it doesn’t matter.

For all the history between you and him, Choi San doesn’t deserve to bleed out to death on a cheap leather seat in a forgotten diner on the dangerous side of town.

He has the decency to chuckle at the start of your question, which only makes him wince in pain once again.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and it’s a little stupid because clearly, he’s in no state to move.

He doesn’t question it, and you run to the kitchen to thoroughly wash your hands and grab the first aid kit. At night, no cooks stay around, and you usually only reheat food if needed, which doesn’t really happen. You haven’t had any client coming in at night in weeks… until San, that is. So no one is there to see what is going on, which you reckon is a relief. Because you have no idea what’s going on.

You return to the booth where San is waiting, patiently. He’s clearly wiped his hand on his face because there’s fresh blood on his forehead, and you almost balk at the sight of it.

“What have you done?” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.

It seems he’s still in sync with you because he still hears. “Got involved with the wrong crowd.”

You put the first aid kit down on the table, ignoring his eyes when they flutter open, and he rests his gaze on you.

“I don’t know if I can help you,” you say as you unzip the kit and throw it open. You spare his side a quick glance. “This looks like you’re going to need stitches.”

He makes an effort of looking down at himself, though it mostly fails as he doesn’t raise his head from the seat. “Right.”

You grab everything you think you might need – alcohol swabs to clean his skin, fresh linen to bandage his side and arm, and stuff for his cheek too. He carefully observes you, with that piercing gaze of his that used to make you go crazy inside when you were young and impressionable.

You vaguely motion at him, and he cocks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Are you able to sit up?” you ask. “I can’t reach you if you’re lying back like this.”

His pink tongue darts to wet his lips, and he nods curtly. “Let me…” he trails off, resting a bloody hand on the table while he grabs at the back of the booth to push himself up. It has new blood appearing on his side, and you quickly move towards him, putting some linen against it.

As if it’s going to do anything. He clearly needs stitches, and you’ve got nothing with you to stitch him up.

“Fuck,” he curses lowly as he’s finally sitting. You just keep the linen on his side, eyes a little wide.

Your gazes connect inevitably, and time slows. You think about how he used to smile, how his eyes used to hold a softness you haven’t had the chance to see again since he’s walked out of your life.

Or rather, since you kicked him out of your life.

“I don’t think I can help,” you whisper, and his eyes flicker to your lips.

“I can’t go to the hospital,” he admits, shame turning his features into a mask of regret. “They… If they find me, I’m dead.”

Dread fills every ounce of your being. “San, what have you been doing?”

He looks away from your insistent gaze, scoffing slightly. “You don’t want to know.”

He isn’t wrong; you genuinely don’t want to know. Because he means nothing good, even with all the memories you share with him.

“Is it going to put me in danger?” you ask, as he still obstinately avoids your gaze.

He seems to freeze in front of you, as if you’ve pressed pause to your favourite show. To avoid the awkwardness, you busy yourself with grabbing one of his hands so he can hold the linen in place before you start washing the cut on his arm. It’s not deep, but you’re pretty sure it’ll still leave a mean scar, especially considering he can’t go to the hospital.

The thought has a drop of cold sweat roll along your spine. People want him dead. People want Choi San, the man you know as a young, scared teenager just trying to find a way to make his life better, dead. You remember the innocence in his smile – has he smiled at all in the years apart?

“I should go,” he says flatly. He moves to stand, but you hold him down, two hands firmly placed on his shoulders. It makes him wince, and you quickly release your grip.

“Don’t,” you tell him. “Let me at least patch you up.”

His eyes shut again as his head hangs low. “I am so sorry.”

You don’t even know who he is apologizing to, or why he is. All you know is that it causes your heart to clench in your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When you were younger, you believed San was your star-crossed lover. You believed your high school sweethearts romance would grow until you’d be old and grey and at the end of a very long road. You had dreamed of a future with him, the way only teenagers can dream – with no sense of reality. Because your reality had never been to end up by his side.

His choices had been proof enough of it.

You still remember the day you first kissed. Under an August meteor shower, with just the night sky as your witness. It had been hesitant, slow and soft, just like everything with San. And you had believed the lie, trusted it with every beat of your little heart, until your parents had found out the truth about him.

Until they had broken your heart, even before you had broken his.

If the stars had known then, what was going to happen to you and Choi San, would they still have shone through the night?

He lets out a pained sound as you gently dab at the cut on his bicep. You clean the skin around the wound in and of itself, and he watches you carefully, piercing gaze not missing how your face clouds with memories.

“How have you been doing?” he asks so softly you think his words are a gentle summer breeze on your features.

You can almost still smell the summer night air of that field where you had stargazed, where you’d always meet so long ago.

“I’ve been okay,” you answer, truthfully. Because even though you haven’t seen him, you have lived your life apart from him. Have evolved without him by your side. “Better than you, visibly.”

He didn’t expect the joke. It makes him snort, and then a soft smile grows on his lips, softening the edges of his hard features. “You haven’t changed.”

You have, and yet you haven’t. Like him, you think there’s a part of you that is still sixteen, and will forever be. A part of you that remained stuck in the moment when you watched him walk away in the rain, as if even the sky had to cry for his broken heart.

“Wish I could say the same about you,” you murmur, nostalgia a melancholic song in your words.

He chooses to remain silent, because the proof of how much he’s changed is sitting right in front of you, wounded and bleeding and hurt. The hurt is behind his eyes, in the shadows of the past that have also been obscuring your vision.

“Yeah,” he lets out, barely audible.

And then silence reigns between you, because as much as you once loved him, eight years have made you strangers. You don’t know anything about his life except the dirty, obvious darkness that surrounds him, and he doesn’t know anything except that you are studying to be a doctor…

Which leads you to wonder how does he know in the first place?

You ask him, as you’re wrapping the linen around his bicep to make a makeshift bandage. You’re proud of the result, though your fingers can’t resist but linger on the taut skin over his muscle, surprised at how soft it still is.

“I’ve heard you mention it,” he admits, as you take a step away to look at the material on the table, as if it’ll suddenly make stitches appear for you to put them in his skin. “One of the times I was here.”

“You never said hi,” you reproach him, unable to hide the ghost of a bite in your tone.

“Neither did you,” he points out, and he isn’t wrong.

All you can do is purse your lips as you finally decide to clean his skin. But for that, you have to rid him of his tank top, to make sure there’s no fabric in the wound. You look at him, cheeks somehow burning even though all you’re doing is taking care of a patient.

Though he’s not a patient, and you’re not in a hospital. You’re just a server at a dusty, old diner and he’s just your teenage lover, wounded by his dangerous actions.

“Should I grab scissors to remove your shirt?” you ask, though you’re speaking to yourself more than to him.

He still finds it in him to tease. “You want me out of my shirt?” he enquires, smirk gracing his lips again. “Say no more.”

He tries moving, but you hold up a hand to stop him. “Don’t,” you warn. “You’ll make it bleed more.”

He purses his lips, because nodding. “Right.” He glances at the first aid kit, before his eyes trail to your face again. “You got scissors in that?”

There are. You grab them, before turning towards him. It feels strange: you’ve never undressed him before. You had always wanted to wait, back then, before you slept together. You believed you were too young, and San had always respected it.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” you tell him as you take a step closer to him.

He slightly leans back, furrowing his eyebrows. “What do you plan to do with those that might hurt?”

You roll your eyes, playfully, before taking the two other steps leading to right in front of his legs. You notice that they are slightly parted, allowing you to come closer, and you take a steadying breath before reaching between you, pulling at the fabric of his tank top.

“Stay still and you shouldn’t get hurt,” you whisper, ignoring the heaviness of his piercing gaze on you.

It burns right through you, and you have to tame the beats of your heart at the feeling of the warm skin of his shoulder against the back of your fingers as you bring your other hand forward, until you’ve started cutting his shirt.

It’s stuck to his side where blood has dried, and he winces but remains still and silent as you keep going, pulling on it a little harder to be able to cut. The moment stretches into infinity, because you can’t help but take your time. It reminds you of how you’d used to run your fingers on his back, under his shirt, when you napped in the field in the summertime. In an idyllic world where gangs and violence and war were mere inventions of the media, and not a reality that surrounded you.

You’d loved the field. The wildflowers, the open air, the way it was just you and him and a few lazy bumblebees as clouds lazily crossed the sky above. You were so young then, so innocent. Hands unstained from blood, from his blood.

Because as you cut, the hand touching his shirt stains with blood. You pale at the sight of it, but you keep going, pushing through until you’re done, gently pulling the fabric from his body until he’s sitting there, shirtless, with a long wound on his ribs.

You can’t help but notice his toned chest and the defined abs on his stomach. Though blood mars his skin, turning it into a piece of violence, Choi San is still beautiful. Beautiful in a dark, dangerous way that has you glance outside, making sure no one is looking.

But the streets are empty, void of life at this time of the night. At least, they mostly always are.

“You will need stitches,” you state again as if you both don’t know already.

“I can’t…”

An idea forms in your brain. It’s a stupid idea, and you don’t even know why it crosses your mind.

Your uncle has a hunting cabin far in the woods. He’s a nurse himself, and he’s always kept everything over there in case someone got injured and he had to stitch them up. You haven’t gone in forever, but you still remember the tall trees, the deep forest scent that reminds you of autumn and leaves and grey days spent reading by the fireplace.

You never went hunting, but you did accompany your father when he went, needing an escape from the city once in a while. An escape from a life that was slowly becoming too real.

Your uncle is currently halfway across the country, so you know you’d be alone at the cabin. You glance at your laptop over your shoulder – you have three days off in front of you before your next class on Monday. Indeed, the Friday class is pre-recorded and to watch online in your free time, and you figure you can always watch it some other time.

So you turn towards Choi San, almost surprised that he’s real and he’s still sitting in front of you, honey skin cut open on his ribs.

“I might know a place where you can go,” you admit, with a small voice, surprising both you and him. Because you doubt he expects you to want to help, after tonight.

“What?” he asks.

“My uncle’s cabin,” you remind him, because you’ve told him about it all those years ago. “He should have all that I need to stitch you up.”

San looks down at himself. “You’ve just cut my shirt open.”

It sounds a little dumbfounded, and you can’t help the nervous laugh that falls from your mouth. Because even though it doesn’t look too deep, the wound still is terrifying in and of itself.

“I’ll bandage it,” you whisper. “Before we go.”

He seems like he ponders for a time. You watch the debate across his features, his eyes falling to a spot on your chin. He looks sad, troubled and defeated. “I can’t… I can’t do this to you.”

You ignore his words, carefully washing his side. You avoid the cut and try to be as gentle as you can, but his muscles still flex as he clenches his fists from the pain.

He’s strong. That much hasn’t changed. Because he doesn’t make any sound as you finish washing him and then patch him up with those same careful hands. And when you move to his face, cleaning the blood, his eyes flutter shut, and he sighs softly.

He looks so much like he looked then that your heart aches, and you find yourself blinking away tears for this man who’s had it so rough he believed joining a gang would save him.

“I should have come to you before,” he murmurs. “You’re much gentler than Hongjoong.”

You don’t know the guy he mentioned, and you don’t feel like asking. Don’t feel like acknowledging his words, so you just finish with his cheek before stepping away from the peaceful aura that was treacherously pulling you in.

Like all those years ago, you reckon.

“Let me make a call,” you say, turning away from him as you move to the counter. You feel the weight of his eyes between your shoulder blades as you get your phone from next to your laptop. You call your boss, and as someone that’s never called in sick before, you feel anxiety flush through you.

Because you’re not sick. And how could you tell him that you need to take care of your ex-boyfriend of eight years ago?

Seokhyun picks up on the first ring, voice groggy with sleep when he mutters, “Hello?”

“Boss,” you greet him. You scrape your throat and spare a look towards San who’s watching you curiously. “An emergency came up, and I have to leave the diner.” You swallow the lump in your throat that’s formed from lying, and then you add, “There haven’t been any customers all night, so I was wondering… would you be comfortable with me closing for the rest of the night?”

Your boss says your name, a little reproachfully. But then he sighs, because he knows just as well as you what a good employee you’ve always been. “Are you going to be able to come in tomorrow night?” he asks.

You pull at dry skin on your bottom lip, assessing San’s state. You could always come back to the city for work…

“You know what, I know you’ve got that big exam coming up,” your boss says, sighing into the phone. “Why don’t you take the next week off so you can take care of your emergency and focus on your studies?”

If Seokhyun wasn’t a fifty-three year old married and father of three children man, you think you’d ask him to marry you right now.

“That would be really helpful,” you tell him, gratitude dripping from your voice. “Are you sure that won’t be a problem for the diner?”

“The diner won’t lose profit if it closes for three nights in the week,” he points out. “I’ll see if I can get you replaced for the evening shift on Sunday.”

You thank him again as he grumbles that it’s nothing. He wishes you good luck, and when the line goes silent, you finally meet San’s gaze again.

“All sorted out,” you tell him, offering him a nod. “Let me just close the diner, and then we can go.”

He nods, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He observes you as you do so, quickly closing the diner like you’ve done about a hundred times before, though this time you’re far more excited to go. You grab a plastic bag to put away the bloody swabs, and though he groans in pain, San gets up to help you clean the blood that stained the cheap leather of the booth.

Soon enough, you’re ready to go, and you walk outside with the plastic bag in one hand and your backpack on your shoulders as San chuckles, looking down at himself.

“Do you have a shirt for me?” he asks as he follows you out.

You lock the door behind you before glancing at him. He’s quite the sight, naked from the waist up and bandaged like he is, and you can’t help the small chuckle you let out as you glance towards your car, that’s luckily parked right in front.

Though it’s a deadbeat car, you trust it enough to know it’ll make the trip to your uncle’s cabin, even in the middle of the night.

“My ex left some sweaters on the back seat,” you admit as you unlock your car doors and open the trunk to put your backpack and the plastic bag in there. There’s no chance in hell you’ll leave a plastic bag full of bloody swabs near your work.

You see San nod from the periphery of your vision, and then he’s opening the door to the backseat. “Your ex, huh?” he mutters as he grabs a sweater you used to love wearing and that you haven’t convinced yourself to give back to Hyunmin.

He carefully puts it on, and you’re pretty sure just the motion is going to make blood seep through the bandage. Somehow, you don’t care that it might stain Hyunmin’s sweater.

Hyunmin was a cheater, and even though you never really loved him, it took you months before you found the strength to break up with him. Needless to say, he doesn’t deserve his clothes back.

“Yeah,” you flatly say as you move towards the driver’s seat. You sit, and San follows you, naturally, as if you’ve done it a thousand times before.

As you turn the keys in the engine, San asks, “Have you dated a lot?”

You bristle at the question, shooting him an embarrassed look. “Have you?”

“No,” he replies, features fully serious.

You purse your lips, focusing on the road as you start driving. You need to put gas in the car if you want to get to your uncle’s cabin, so you make your way towards the closest one. It takes you a moment before you register how San has stiffened next to you.

“Can we…” he trails off, and he sinks in the seat, trying to hide. “I can’t be seen here.”

You immediately press on the accelerator, and your car speeds down the street as you pass in front of the gas station. You glance at San only when you’re stopped at a red light. He’s pulled the hood of the sweater over his features, and he’s doing his best to hide.

“Where can we stop?” you ask.

“Next town over,” he answers. “I just can’t be seen in Bangtan territory.”

Right. You have no knowledge of how the gangs have divided your city, but you’re not surprised Bangtan has this part of town. It’s the industrial area, and you assume there’s a lot of money to be made around here.

“Sounds good,” you gently say, and then you’re driving again, the light turning green, allowing you to speed away into the night.

You drive silently all the way to the next town, watching your city disappear to be replaced by trees until buildings reappear. San is looking outside the window, and you can’t help but wonder how he’s been doing, truly. How he managed to get injured like he is right now, and mostly, if his dreams of running away still occupy his thoughts.

He had begged you, the evening you had broken up with him. Told you he’d make enough money to be able to move with you across the country and build yourself a nice little life over there. You had wanted to believe him for so long, until your parents had opened your eyes on just how he was trying to make money.

“Do you need anything?” you ask as you finally reach the gas station, pulling into the driveway. You park next to a pump, turning to face him only to find him already watching you.

“I don’t have money to pay for food,” he admits. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I lost my wallet in the… altercation.”

You gently put a hand on his forearm. “Hey, my treat. We have to eat.”

He inhales deeply, letting out the breath slowly, before he nods. “Alright. I owe you.”

You reckon he’ll owe you for a lot more than just food at a gas station, but you choose not to say it. Not when you feel like someone’s watching over your shoulder, watching you drive away in the night with the person they are looking for.

You know it’s paranoia. No one followed you out of the city and into this town. It just feels too strange to have him here, with you. In your car, on the way to your uncle’s cabin, as if eight years have gone out the window. As if you can still be young and innocent.

It’s stupid, because you can’t. Time has changed him; time has changed you. And in just a few years you’ll be a doctor, and you’ll finally get out of this hellhole of a city, of its dangerous streets.

Of its equally dangerous man, that you know could probably pull you back in with one of his many well-crafted lies, one of the dreams he weaved expertly, whispering it into your ear.

You take a deep breath before getting out of the car. You go into the station, grab snacks for the next few days and then head to the counter. The guy behind nods as you approach, and you pay for the food and for gas before wishing him a good night and returning outside. San is still squatting in the car, clearly trying to hide, and you put the food on the backseat before putting gas in.

You watch his profile as you put gas in the car. Back when you were dating, his features weren’t as sharp, as glass-cutting as they now are. He used to sport a rounder face, but today you wonder if you’d get a papercut on his jaw. You wouldn’t even be surprised.

When you’re done with gas, you sit back next to him, and you quickly bring the engine back to life before pulling out in the street. As soon as you exit the city, darkness falls on the two of you, tall trees standing on the two sides of the road again. San doesn’t speak much, and it doesn’t take you long to realize he’s dozing off next to you.

“Hey, everything okay?” you ask, suddenly worried that he might have lost too much blood. Which, you reckon, you should have thought about earlier.

He sighs, glancing towards you. “Just tired.”

“Don’t…” you trail off. “Don’t fall asleep.”

He chuckles. “You’re afraid I’m going to die on you?”

“Choi San,” you warn. “Don’t you dare say stuff like that.”

He smiles, but you reckon he’s a little pale. Or at least you think he is, in the silver light of the moon up above. “I think I’m fine. Just…” He offers you a weak smile, though you’ve returned your attention on the winding road. “Just exhausted. I haven’t slept in three days.”

Worry clutches your heart, and you nibble at some dry skin on your bottom lip. “What’s been going on?”

He slightly shrugs. “I can’t tell you. I don’t want to put you in danger…”

“Am I not already in danger by just helping you?”

The silence is telling enough. And it remains for a while until San finally speaks.

“I was in a gunfight a week ago. Accidentally shot the youngest member of the other gang. He didn’t make it, and the gang has put a bounty on my head. Ateez took my gun and told me to run; I laughed in their face and said I wasn’t a coward. Then I got attacked by two guys with knives earlier, and I made it to the diner because I had nowhere else to go.”

Now the silence is deafening, heavy, and you think you’ve altogether stopped breathing. You’re struck with an image of San in the summer sun, smiling wide as he put a flower behind your ear, claiming you were the most beautiful girl he had ever met. The contrast with who he is now – a product of night, shrouded in darkness with no hint of that smile on his lips – is stark. And you wonder when’s the last time he has seen the sun, when’s the last time his life wasn’t violence like this.

When you say nothing, he scoffs, resting his head against the window as if it’d allow him to escape. Because clearly he wants to escape – he’s just told you that he’s killed someone after all.

And you don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to react to someone confessing murder. All you can do is stare at the street ahead, hoping you won’t end up in a gunfight with San. Because where would that lead you, other than in the dramatics of death?

You don’t speak for the rest of the ride. You don’t think he sleeps either, and dawn is clinging to the far horizon when you get to your uncle’s cabin, in a secluded forest that seems straight out of a fairytale. Instead of bringing you awe like it usually does, the sight of it makes you think of all the murder mysteries you had been obsessed with when you were younger, before you realized how horrible the real world truly is.

Neither of you move, as you turn off the engine of the car, and you fall into even more of a tensed silence, though this time you can hear the chirping of the early birds. It’s peaceful, so peaceful you can barely even grasp how tangible the presence of San is next to you. The presence of his actions too, looming between the two of you like a sword of Damocles.

You move first. Putting a hand on the knob, hoping to escape the heaviness into the dawn. San speaks before you can though, and your heart stops in your chest.

“I never meant for him to get hurt,” he murmurs, and you think he’s speaking to himself more than to you. “Everything went too fast, my gun was in my hand and I just… in situations like these, you don’t have time to think.” He leans his head against the headrest, eyes closing. “All I can picture since it’s happened is him falling and blood. Like a fucking blossoming rose, all around him.” He rests his closed fist on his forehead, rubbing it hard. “I haven’t been able to sleep; I’ve been sick every time I’ve tried to eat…”

“San,” you interrupt as you break and break for him. Because this is the San you know. This is the young boy that just wanted to escape and live in a better world. You can almost taste his remorse, taste his regret and shame. It’s poisonous, treacherous, a slippery slope that can’t lead anywhere good. “Let’s get you in. I want to get that cut on your ribs checked.”

He falls silent, and for a moment you feel guilty. Because what if he had more to say? You don’t even think you would have been able to listen. You need the escape, and you know he’ll permit it. Because the man next to you is a broken man, a fracture of what he could have been.

You step out of the car, blinking away tears – from the anxiety, from the exhaustion, and perhaps even from the pain you feel for him. He follows you, wincing as he swings his legs out of the car. He stumbles a little as he stands, but soon enough, he grows steady on his feet, and his attention moves to you. You climb the stairs of the cabin, lifting the rug to find the small trap that leads to the spare key. The padlock is rusted, but it stands strong as you put in the code, and a click is heard when you pull on it.

A few seconds later, you’ve unlocked the front door, pushing it open to reveal the cabin as you remember it. Not a single item is out of place, though dust covers everything, a clear indication that no one has been here in years. You let San in, before going back to the car to get the food you bought, bringing it in and putting it in the fridge. Three full gas canisters hide under the counter, and you sigh in relief – you’ll be able to get the generator on for some electricity.

You motion to the kitchen table. “Have a seat,” you tell San, who somehow looks like a lost puppy. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He nods, remaining silent, eyes downcast. You only move when he’s seated, heading to the bathroom area of the cabin, where you startle a spider that almost makes you scream out loud. You keep it in, heart beating out of your chest as you get the kit before moving back into the main area.

San is leaning against the chair, eyes closed. He senses you approaching, and one of his eyes cracks open to watch you carefully, a little like he did earlier, at the diner. It looks so similar to how he used to look at you, when you joined him at the field, that you stop in your tracks, heart squeezing once again.

You don’t like the way Choi San is making you feel, that’s for sure.

“Take off the sweater,” you tell him, putting the kit down on the table. You put some clean linen next to it, to put what you need over it, before washing your hands with the disinfectant you find in the kit. You put latex gloves on after, and then you fish wire and a surgical needle from the first aid kit that you carefully put down on the linen once you’ve torn the packages open.

As you were doing all of that, San took off the shirt, struggling a little as it meant he had to lift his right arm, which pulled at the skin of his ribs, where the cut clearly has started bleeding again. Though, if you’re honest to yourself, you’re pretty sure he’s been bleeding this whole time, even though it probably was just some fine rivulets.

Indeed, the cut isn’t all that deep, you remind yourself. Mostly because you don’t want to even think about the consequences of the blood loss. As long as he stays awake, you figure he’s fine – he would have lost consciousness a while ago if he was losing a lot of blood.

You remove the bandage you had carefully put in place earlier, wincing at the sight of the blood that’s seeped through it. San keeps his eyes close, lets you clean his skin again in peace, and you feel sick to your stomach as you realize you don’t have any anesthetics for the pain that stitching him up will cause. Indeed, the pocket in which your uncle usually leaves the lidocaine is empty, and you remember that he’s had to use it for your dad when he accidentally cut himself with a machete last summer.

“Huh,” you let out. You chuckle nervously. “It’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

His eyes narrow, and he clenches his jaw. “Don’t worry about it.”

You worry at your bottom lip, holding his gaze as you gauge if he’s serious. When his gaze doesn’t falter, you offer him a curt nod, before getting the wire and needle ready under his watchful eyes.

You hand him some linen. “To bite on,” you explain as he just cocks an eyebrow quizzically. That makes his gaze widen a little as if he’s just now realizing how serious you were about it hurting, but he takes it nonetheless.

You think about the theory of how to stitch someone up. It was in your previous block – you watched hours of videos of it in an attempt to desensitize yourself to it. You don’t think it compares to the real thing, but at least you’re somehow confident of what you’re doing when you start.

San startles, groaning in pain, and you offer him a glare. “Don’t move, or it’ll be worse.”

A drop of sweat rolls down his temple, but he still nods. Even as you keep on stitching him, he remains as still as he physically can, though you don’t think he even notices how he’s trembling. Or maybe that’s you – you don’t even know.

Somehow, you make it through the whole thing. You think San might have passed out at some point, but he’s wide awake when you finish the knot to keep the stitches in place, looking up to meet his face.

He’s panting and tears of pain wet his waterline. He blinks them away as he takes the linen out of his mouth, dropping it on the table.

“Fuck,” he curses.

“Let me…” you trail off, mind set on getting something to at least help him cool off, because he’s clearly been heating up.

You grab a washcloth and a small bucket, and head outside to walk down to the lake. You fill the bucket halfway, and take a few seconds to observe the calm surrounding you, hoping that it can ease the nerves rolling inside your heart like dark clouds do on the horizon whenever a storm is coming. You feel it in your bones – you have a murderer in your uncle’s cabin.

You have to keep that in mind. To not let Choi San in like you did when you were a young impressionable teenager.

You sigh, closing your eyes to breathe in the fresh morning air. The sun is peaking over the horizon now, and you bask in its hesitant rays for all of twenty seconds before you convince yourself to go back in. You’ve got a patient to take care of, after all.

San hasn’t moved an inch while you were outside. The only indication that he hasn’t died on you is the groan he lets out as you put the wet washcloth on his forehead. You tap his cheek gently, as if to say, ‘suck it up, I’m just trying to take care of you’.

Which is exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it?

You watch him carefully for a few seconds before tapping his shoulder this time around.

“There’s a bed,” you remind him. “You’d be better passing out in a bed.”

He groans again, cracking an eye open. “I’ve just been repeatedly poked with a needle,” he drawls. “Give me a second.”

It makes you laugh. Because of the nerves, maybe. You’re not quite sure. All you know is that you’re laughing, and San opens his second eye to look at you as if you’re crazy. And you laugh for longer than you should – you’re exhausted after all, especially considering you haven’t slept since yesterday morning. So far, adrenaline has been keeping you going, but you can tell you’re about to crash.

“Sorry,” you apologize once you calm down. “This has just been…”

“A lot,” San finishes for you. “I know.”

You nod once before glancing at the doorway to the bedroom. It has no door, as your uncle and your dad usually come here alone and they don’t mind sharing a bed. It makes you realize that you’ll have to share it with San, which you reckon you should have thought about before. Because there’s no way in hell you’ll share a bed with him, especially after he’s told you why he’s being hunted.

There’s always the option of going into town later today so you can get a sleeping bag and floor mat to sleep on. But you’re far too tired right now to even consider driving, so you motion to the bed once again.

“Stick to your side; I’ll stick to mine.”

He smirks though he’s extremely pale. A lot paler than he was before, and you swallow a sudden lump in your throat. Because what if he dies? What are you supposed to do with him if he dies?

“You’ll have to help me to get to the bed ‘cause I don’t think I can move,” he says once his smirk dies. He curses under his breath. “I’m so pathetic.”

You put your hand on his shoulder again, reassuringly, eyes holding his. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re hurt. Everyone is pathetic when they’re hurt.”

He gulps before nodding once. It takes everything in you not to offer him more comfort because you feel like the slope would tilt forwards far too much if you did. Instead, you help him to get up, wincing as he puts most of his weight on you, clutching his side with one hand. You’re infinitely aware of how his skin is sticky with sweat, but you ignore it as you slowly walk to the bedroom.

You can only hope the stitches will hold because you don’t think he’d be able to withstand another round of them.

You finally reach the bedroom and help San sit on the side of the bed. He sighs, eyes shut tightly, and he doesn’t move for a time. When he does, it’s to stiffly lie down on his side.

“You might want to sleep on your back,” you inform him. “I don’t want you rolling around and messing up the stitches.”

He glares at you, though he looks like he’s already half out of it. You hold his gaze until he gives in, turning on his back with a deep sigh. You arrange pillows around him to make sure he’s not moving, and by the time you’re done, his breathing has already evened out.

For a moment, you just watch him sleep. You see him in the field where young love blossomed like a trillion wildflowers. You can almost breathe his pollen again, can almost feel the softness of his skin under your fingertips.

But he’s not what he used to be. Back then, you felt like you had discovered something new. Love, infatuation, affection, and desire, all in the form of the man sleeping next to you. You’d used to kiss, dance and sing to a song only your souls knew, and now you don’t think you recognize him anymore.

As much as he is him, he’s also but just the ghost of what he was. He’s trouble, danger in the shape of innocence, and you recall his words from earlier. You recall the despair, the regret and sorrow that haunted him after he told you. You can’t let him get to your head.

You reckon sleep might help. Though you’re afraid he’s going to waste away in his sleep, so you set up an alarm every hour, before climbing on the other side of the bed. You don’t pull on the covers, mostly because the cabin is warm, and you can imagine it’s just going to get hotter as the sun goes up and the summer heat slowly sizzles into the countryside.

It’s a good thing you put an alarm on. Because when it rings an hour later, you don’t even remember falling asleep. You’re pretty sure the second your head touched the mattress, you were out to the land of dreams. You groan, mostly because you’ve got a slight headache, but you power through it to make sure San is still breathing.

When you see his chest moving up and down steadily, you let yourself fall back asleep.

This goes on for the whole morning, and you only force yourself to stay up when your phone shows that it’s passed noon. As you had suspected earlier, the cabin has gotten extremely warm, so you force yourself out of bed to open all the windows, and then you use the washcloth from earlier to gently wash San’s face of the sweat.

He doesn’t even flinch in his sleep, but he’s still breathing and for now, that’s all that matters.

You head back to the main room, grabbing a pack of chips from where you had left the food earlier, and then you move outside to sit by the lake. Mostly because you need to put distance between you and San, but also just because the childhood memories of this place have you in their hold, and they’ve decided to make you miss the times when you’d swim around with your cousins before both of them had moved out of town.

One day, it’s going to be you too. You already know where you’d go – on the other side of the country, as far away from here as possible. You just want to forget all about the place you grew up in, and you know that, in a few years, you will have forgotten.

Though you’re pretty sure a certain piercing gaze will haunt you forever, especially after the events of today.

When another hour passes, you head back inside, putting the empty bag of chips in the trash before you check up on San. He’s still asleep, but this time he doesn’t look as pale as he did earlier. You assume it’s going to take him a while before he wakes, so you head to the nearest town to grab more food. Mostly to busy yourself, but also just because you know San will need a place to hide for a lot longer than just the weekend. Might as well make sure you have enough for him to survive a couple of days. In town, you also stop to eat at a small café on a small terrasse in the shade of a few trees, and then you grab the food you think you might need at the grocery store.

It’s the middle of the afternoon when you get back, realizing that you forgot to buy a floor mat. As you spy San, who hasn’t moved an inch since he’s fallen asleep, you figure that sleeping next to him tonight should be fine.

As long as his presence in your vicinity doesn’t drag you down memory lane again.

You bought some meat in town, so you head to the little shack outside where the generator is hiding. There’s a gas canister right next to it – also full – and you busy yourself for the next twenty minutes trying to figure out how to get it started. When it finally rumbles to life, you head back inside to put the meat in the fridge, which has finally come to life.

When you hear a groan, you quickly jog to San’s side, fully expecting to find him awake. Surprisingly, he’s still asleep, and you stay next to him for a full minute, thinking he might groan again, though he remains entirely silent.

If it wasn’t for his chest moving up and down steadily, you’d believe him to be dead. But now that a few hours have passed, you’re pretty positive he’ll make it, though he’s probably going to sleep through the day and possibly through the next one too.

Which leaves you in the most peaceful atmosphere you’ve been in for a while, with the opportunity to study as you listen to the rush of wind in the leaves of the tall trees surrounding the cabin. You sit outside, this time near the fireplace, and you study until your stomach grumbles, indicating that it is time for you to cook.

You cook the meat you’ve bought on the grill outside, feeling thankful that your dad once showed you how to use it. You go back in to grab a bottle of water before you eat, and you’re bent in the fridge when you hear San moan again, and this time it sounds like he’s saying something.

You gently close the fridge, making your way to the bedroom. San hasn’t moved, but his features are creased in a frown, and sweat is rolling down his temples. You wet the washcloth, gently wipe his face, and you’re about to leave when he moans again.

It takes you far too long to realize he’s apologizing. What for, you can’t really tell. Though you remember his troubled eyes this morning, you remember his story, and your heart breaks in your chest.

He’s haunted. You think the ghost of the dead guy will probably haunt him for the rest of his life. And suddenly you’re struck thinking maybe, maybe if you hadn’t broken his heart all those years ago, you could have saved him from the gang.

Maybe you could have opened his eyes.

You still remember the break-up like it was yesterday. You remember the rain, him leaving without once looking back, but mostly you remember the words you had uttered. Ghosts of their own, that feel more real now that he’s come back into your life.

*****

                “You’re going to get hurt!” you yelled. “You’ll get hurt, San. What are you thinking?”

He scoffed, shaking his head, and little droplets of water shot all around him. “I’ll be careful. We need the money if we ever want to make it out of this shit town.”

You blinked away tears, folding your arms on your chest as you tried to keep your heart from breaking. Though you reckoned it had broken when your parents had told you what they knew about San. When your father had mentioned Ateez, and you’d truly realized what it meant that he was part of a gang. San, your sweet, soft, and bubbly San, in a gang that had murdered someone just a few weeks ago.

“But that’s not a way to make money!” you screamed, hoping he’d understand. Hoping he’d hear the truth in your words, hoping he’d change his mind before it was too late. “Why don’t you get a part-time job, like me? Then we can go to college and get jobs in a nice city on the other side of the country!”

“It won’t work,” he drawled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I want to be out soon, not in a few years. I barely even have a roof over my head, Y/n…”

“Come live with me,” you choked out around the lump in your throat.

You both knew fully well that your parents would never let him come near you again.

“I can’t.”

You cried, hiding your face in your hands. You cried thinking of the field where you usually met, thinking about its beauty now fading into ugliness. You thought about the wildflowers, withered and dead as autumn had come. You thought about how you were convinced you knew what love was.

“What’s the point?” you asked then. “What’s the point of putting your life in danger? Life isn’t some sort of a game, Choi San. Worse, what if you have to hurt someone? Do you think you’ll be able to pull the trigger?”

He clenched his jaw, hard. “Do me a favour and stop asking questions.”

You closed your eyes, feeling sick to your stomach. Because it couldn’t be. Not San. Not your smiley San, who’d always weave dandelions crowns with you, as you’d pretend you were a queen and a king of that field you had found. An empty field, an abandoned farmland that was just yours and his to explore. That had been home to your first kiss, and all of those that had followed.

Now you wondered why he had always wanted to meet there in the first place. Was he trying to hide?

"If you love me, you’ll get out while you still can,” you said as your tears suddenly ended.

There was a weird sense of clarity in you, suddenly. You remembered the day you had fallen in love, the moment you had first kissed. You remembered the stars in the sky above, the meteors falling for the two of you. You remembered the music on the radio you had brought. Some Arctic Monkeys song about heartbreak, about moving on and failing to do so. As a joke, when it had ended, you had asked San, “Do you think love is a laserquest?”

His answer had been cryptic, mysterious, things that had made you believe he was the one. “Maybe. Maybe it is, and I’ve shot you in the back while you weren’t looking. Maybe I’m that annoying player that won’t leave you alone.”

“I’ll never find you annoying,” you had replied.

But today, watching the rain rolling down his face like tears, you realized that maybe, maybe you should have seen the warning behind his words. Because this betrayal, it came like he had shot you in the back – you didn’t think you’d be able to recover from it.

The past dwindled away as San spoke again, reminding you of the question you had just asked him. “It’s not a question of love, Y/n. I do love you. But it’s a question of survival.”

You laughed, coldly, and then you said, “You know what? You’re full of shit.”

“Alright then. Do me a favour and tell me to go away.”

“Go away.”

A long silence had lingered between you, voided of that summer warmth that had you falling in love. Like a piece was missing from the contract of you loving him, and him loving you. And you realized, maybe you had never really loved each other anyway.

He nodded once when you didn’t say anything else, before turning away. And you watched him walk away. You watched him thinking he was going to turn around and tell you this was just some twisted joke, the prank of the century. Only, he never turned around, and he disappeared behind the bend in the road, never to be seen again, cracking your heart open and splitting it in half.

*****

                The sun sets, like an ending to a dream. You’ve always liked the end – you think if you could choose, you’d want to witness the end of the world. The nostalgia, the beauty of endings… it’s something you understand now that you didn’t understand when you were younger. Because you and San ending, it had led to you focusing on high school. It had allowed you to get in the good college in town, with a scholarship that covered most of your expenses before you made it to med school.

There’s beauty in knowing losing San has allowed you to live out your dreams.

There’s less beauty in knowing that San has been sleeping for almost thirty-four hours now. Last time you checked, he was still breathing, but you’re starting to be afraid that he just won’t wake up. It’s irrational, you know – after the blood loss it makes sense that he’d sleep for a long time.

But it leaves you with far too much time on your hands to think and revisit the past. You’ve been doing it all day – thinking about the fight with your parents that had led to your break-up with San, thinking about that damn rainy evening he had walked away without once looking back. Thinking of the field, of sunshine and star falls and the sweetness of a first kiss. Thinking that, then, you thought you knew what it was like to be in love.

You haven’t dated anyone serious since San. Hyunmin was a distraction for a while, but you never were into it. Not like you were into San. There’s a guy in your class though, that you’ve been chatting with for a couple of weeks. He’s sweet, innocent, and the perspective of a future seems less scary with him around. He’s mentioned he wants to move across the country once too, and since then you’ve started talking more, the similarity of your wishes drawing you closer.

All day today you’ve been feeling like you’re slowly drifting away though. Slowly getting entrapped in a web you’re not sure you’ll be able to walk away from.

You decide to swim, seeking the fresh clarity only cold water can bring to you. You don’t have a swimsuit with you, but since San is half-dead in bed you figure it doesn’t matter. So you strip naked, feet making squelching sounds in the mud by the lake side as you step in the water.

The sharp cold has you holding your breath, but you don’t slow down. You’ve never slowed down in life – when you make a decision, you bring it to completion. And you’ve decided to swim, so swim you will.

The warm summer evening breeze catches in your hair as you take another step forward, the water now lapping at your thighs. You dread the moment it’ll hit your core, knowing that that’s the worst part, but you breathe in deeply, moving forward. Because there’s no moving backwards now.

When the water hits, your eyes flutter shut, and you hold in the wince that threatens to escape the mask of calm your features hold. Soon enough, you get deep enough to swim, and the movements bring welcomed warmth to your limbs as you flop on your back, tits out of the water.

Your uncle’s cabin is the only cabin in a fifteen miles radius. You know you won’t be interrupted, and so you let the water cool you down. Calm you down, hold you in its fresh embrace. It undoes knots in your back that have formed from worrying about San, but also from worrying about college.

From worrying that you will never be enough. You think it’s a normal anxiety to have, something most people must feel as they go through the trials of college, not knowing what to expect on the other side. A nice career, perhaps, though the perspective of failure is there too, looming over the horizon.

You sigh, and your eyes flutter open as your legs move mindlessly under you, making sure to keep you afloat. You look up at the azury ceiling over your head, so far away as it slowly turns gold. Out of touch, out of grasp. You watch the fluffy white clouds that are lazily crossing the sky, turning fiery in the sunset, as if they have all the time in the universe. And you wish you were them, up above. With nothing to worry about.

Without a Choi San on the brink of death lying about twenty meters away from you. You sigh, and you turn in the water, with the purpose of swimming again. Though your gaze catches movement by the cabin, and your head snaps towards it to see none other than the supposedly Choi San, standing on the deck with a hand clutching his side.

You shriek, looking down at yourself. Most of you is hidden, but you don’t know how long he’s been there. Don’t know if he’s seen you naked as you looked up at the sky.

He doesn’t move, only watches you where you’re swimming.

“Can you please look away?” you say from the water, and he has the nerves to lean against the railing, eyes still boring into where you’re swimming. You think his gaze might be so hot the water will boil, and it startles you into action.

You start walking out of the water, pointing towards the door. “You shouldn’t be up, Choi San.”

“I feel fine,” he says as you take another step forward, and the water barely hides your tits anymore.

That makes him turn around, as he offers you a little bit of privacy. You’re quick to get out of the water and wrap yourself in the towel you brought outside, and then you collect your clothes to head back to the cabin. San dutifully keeps his gaze away until you’re climbing the three steps leading to the deck, and it’s then that his eyes trail to you again.

“Thank you for the water,” he says, offering you a tentative smile.

You left water by his bedside earlier today hoping it will coax him to wake up. You’re strangely surprised that it worked.

“You should go sit inside,” you scold him, only half-heartedly. Because seeing him up and about reassures you, somehow.

He cocks an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “The weather is beautiful, I’d rather sit outside.”

You roll your eyes, but you do let him walk down the stairs to sit by the fireplace while you go inside to take a quick shower and get dressed. You decide to make some food for him, though you know he shouldn’t eat too much right now, after not having eaten for a while. He has to start slowly, and you don’t even know if he’s hungry anyway.

You settle for preparing a cup of chicken noodle soup for him, so at least it isn’t too heavy on his stomach. You bring it to him outside, as he’s just calmly observing the lake.

“Thank you,” he says, voice small as he grabs the cup and the spoon.

You sit next to him, trying not to watch him eat too much. His hair is sticking to his forehead in some places, and you have the distinct thought that he’ll probably need to shower. At least there’s plenty of rain water in the bucket for the water pump.

“What have you been doing while I was out?” he asks.

You spare him a quick glance before losing your gaze in the rocks of the fireplace. “I’ve studied. Checked up on you. Not much honestly.”

He chuckles. “I’d argue that caring for someone is a lot.”

You glance at him, cheeks burning at the sight of his teasing smile. “Not really.”

He chuckles again, but doesn’t say anything more before eating another spoonful of soup. He’s almost done with the cup when he actually does speak, asking, “How long was I out?”

“A day and a half,” you answer. “I’m actually surprised you haven’t slept longer.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “I’m made of tough stuff.”

You snicker, but you don’t say anything, just focusing on where you’re kicking at the dirt. When he’s done with the cup, he puts it down on the ground next to him, before sitting back in the chair. He stretches out his legs in front of him, sighing deeply.

“I still feel out of it,” he admits, and you meet his gaze.

“You can sleep more,” you tell him. “I’d just like to check on the…”

You don’t even have to finish your sentence. He immediately turns so his side is to you, and you have to admit you’ve done a perfectly good job with the stitches.

“So?” he asks.

“All good.” You pat his shoulder. “You can sit comfortably again.”

He’s smiling when he does so, and his gaze wanders to the lake once again. “I’m sorry I…” he trails off, and he chuckles softly. “I’m sorry I interrupted your little swim earlier.”

You have the decency to flush furiously red, and you shrug your shoulders. “No worries, I wasn’t expecting you to be up so soon.”

You fall in a comfortable silence, surprisingly so. Rare stars dot the darkening sky up above, and all that can be heard for a moment is the flap of a bird’s wing as it moves from branches to branches in the trees by the water. The breeze picks up as you watch the little bird, and the leaves dance, loudly so. You’d think it’d be deafening in the silence between you and him, but it’s strangely reassuring.

As if, after all, you found your way back to the field. Only this time it’s completely different, as if decades have passed between you. At least, that’s how it feels like.

You notice San has dozed off in the chair next to you when you were about to speak to him again. To ask him how he’s truly been, in the years between then and now. Hoping to avoid mentioning what led to him coming to you, yesterday, a whole eternity ago.

You watch him, heart aching in your chest. Aching to reach out and brush his hair away from his forehead, aching to heal the cut on his cheek with a gentle swipe of your fingers. If only medicine was so simple…

It seems the peace of the early evening wasn’t going to stay around, because you notice dark clouds rolling in the distance, streaks of lightning cutting through them. Slowly inching closer, menacingly so, and you gently wake San up with your hand on his wrist.

He startles awake, hand shooting to his waist, finding nothing there. It startles you, and you both stare at each other for a moment until you realize what he was looking for.

His gun.

“San…” you let out and he runs his hand through his hair, eyes falling shut as he breathes in and out raggedly.

“Sorry.”

“San, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, refuses to let you see the vulnerability you glimpsed behind his piercing gaze. Refuses to acknowledge that he’s terrified, deadly so.

“Let’s go in,” you tell him, softly. Because you’re afraid you’ll spook him, when he’s clearly been living in fear long enough. “There’s a storm coming.”

He nods, carefully getting up without sparing you a glance. He heads inside, hand clutching his side again, while you pick up the chicken noodle soup cup before following him.

You’ve refilled the generator before swimming, so you know it’s been charging the batteries for a while now. You don’t fear ending up in the dark with San, and there’s also always the option of using the lamps and candles your uncle always leave here in case of an emergency.

The storm doesn’t roll in until a little later. You’ve forced San to put a shirt on – mostly so your eyes would stop betraying you, dropping to his toned body whenever he talked to you. You’re currently sitting on the couch, and as the rain starts, hammering against the window behind you, you pull your legs to your chest, wrapping your arms comfortably around them.

“How hard do the storms hit here?” he asks, eyes trailed to the world outside.

You follow his gaze, right as wind picks up to make the water hit the window even harder, creating a cacophony that forces you to speak louder for him to hear. “Pretty hard.”

He nods, and he glances once at you. “Fun.”

You smile, because you’ve always liked storms. Have always found them electrifying, energizing.

“Do you remember when we used to go to the field when it rained?” San asks, taking you by surprise.

Making your heart clench so hard in your chest you have to take a wobbly breath in. If he notices he doesn’t say.

“We were always in that field,” you remind him. “No matter the weather.”

It’s his turn to smile fondly. “It got so pretty with all the wildflowers. But you were afraid of the bees.”

“Bees are scary!” You laugh, and he echoes it with a soft chuckle. “You’re the one that almost pissed yourself when we saw the rat.”

That makes him laugh, and he winces in pain clutching his side. “Gosh, is it supposed to keep on hurting like this?”

It douses your enthusiasm and your smile falls. “Well, it was a solid cut.”

His eyes get lost in the void as he takes on a wistful expression. “I’m surprised I didn’t die.”

You gulp, watching his profile carefully. “It wasn’t deep enough for that…” you trail off, even though you spent most of yesterday and today being convinced he’d die. “At least they didn’t… stab you.”

“They would have if… Wooyoung didn’t shoot.”

You remain silent, not knowing what to reply to that. San interprets that as discomfort, and he quickly adds, “He didn’t shoot them. Just… in the air. It attracted the police.”

You remember the cars zooming past the diner a lifetime ago, and you nod your head. “I heard.”

He seems surprised, and his gaze finally finds yours again. “You did?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, a little awkwardly. “I hear a lot of shootings, in the diner.”

His eyes widen, mouth falling open cutely. “You do?”

You don’t know what he expected. The diner is right between Ateez and Bangtan territory, and as much as it is a safe space, it is also near enough to dangerous grounds, and you’ve heard plenty of shooting in your time working there.

“Always,” you admit. “It can get scary sometimes… but you also get used to it.”

He looks sad. Infinitely so, like a lost puppy. That’s when the first thunder hits, so sharp and sudden you startle. Not quite as much as San, who ducks, wincing in pain as he clutches his side.

“Shit,” he curses. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, in time with another thunderclap, though this time it’s more of a rumble.

You watch his chest as he breathes in and out quickly. “Just… fuck.”

Now, concern grows in you, and you gently put a hand on his shoulder. “San…”

He meets your gaze, and there’s so much white in his it makes you think of a terrified prey. And then it clicks: he thought it was a gunshot.

“Hey,” you quickly say, moving closer to him. You’re on the side of the stitches, so you still keep a safe distance between the two of you, but you grab his hand nonetheless. “You’re okay.”

“Fuck,” is all he’s able to say.

“I promise, no one’s going to find you here.”

He remains silent this time around, eyes still boring into yours. You take that as a cue to continue, because you don’t want him to panic. You want his thoughts here, with you, and not miles away in a city he should have escaped from years ago. You wish he had, knowing the atrocities that he would have avoided.

Would he have escaped with you, had you stayed just a little longer?

“I killed someone,” he says, and you balk at the silver lining his gaze. “I fucking killed him.”

You don’t know how to help. All you can think to do is cup his cheek, right as he starts breathing even faster. “Breathe with me, San.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes fall to your mouth. You make a good show of inhaling slowly, before exhaling even slower. It takes him a moment but he eventually follows your lead.

It breaks when there’s another sharp thunderclap, and he flinches, eyes shutting instinctively.

“Hey hey hey,” you say again, even more gentle, softer than before. You move even closer, and when a tear slips out of his closed eyes, you pull him into a hug, careful not to brush his side.

His head falls on your shoulder, and one of his arms wrap around your waist. A thunderclap later, he starts sobbing, fist balling the fabric of your shirt in his tight hold, and you let him do it. You let him hold onto you, hoping it’ll keep him here with you. Hoping it’ll keep him afloat during the storm that’s raging both outside and in his mind.

“It’s going to be okay,” you breathe, and you feel like you’re lying to him.

Because how can he ever be safe from the ghosts inside of his skull? The ghosts wandering the halls of him, tainting his soul with their presence?

“He’s never going to smile again,” San chokes out. “Everyone loved him. Even in Ateez… Jungkook was the best of us. The only one who had a shot at getting out of it.”

You don’t know how good he could have been, if he was a member of Bangtan. In your mind, you’d always seen Bangtan as the bad guys, mostly because they weren’t with San. Even when you had been struggling to evade that life, you’d still rooted for him.

It’s strange how you just realize that now, as you’re holding him while he breaks.

“You didn’t mean to kill him,” you remind San, still speaking with the calmest voice you can muster up. “You didn’t want to, San. You’re not a murderer.”

“I’m still a killer,” he says. He sounds angry, and you reckon he might be angry at himself. Might be consumed with his actions, dragged to hell before his time as his mind gets stuck replaying the events.

“Maybe,” you answer. “But,” you quickly add when he stiffens in your arms. “But you can spend the rest of your life making up for it. Repenting.”

He doesn’t respond right away, as he breaks some more, sobs rocking through him. You’ve never seen him like this, not even when you were younger and in love. It makes your gaze wet, yet you hold on strong for him. You keep your head held high, and you allow him to break in the safe haven that your arms represent.

Because to him, you’ve never been tainted. You’ve always been the ideal he was trying to pursue, albeit the wrong way.

“I don’t know how to repent,” he admits when he calms down. He turns his head, and his nose brushes along the skin of your neck, slightly tickling you. You ignore the feeling, especially as he adds, “Ateez… it’s all I’ve ever known.”

You run a hand on his back, soothingly. “It isn’t.”

Because there was you, too. There was the summer field and the twinkling stars and Artic Monkeys on the radio. There was the two of you, petal-soft kisses exchanged in the dead of night and in the brightness of day. There were rainy days, and then there was rain. There was him walking away, and you hate yourself then.

You wish you had stopped him that day, had kept him from going on to become what he’s become now. A person he clearly hates, someone that has a bounty on his head. Someone that doesn’t even believe they’re allowed redemption and you reckon you don’t even know if he is.

You only know that seeing him break is bending your will, the way the wind outside is bending the trees. All you can hope is that, like the tall trees, you won’t break.

*****

                The storm calmed down sometime around midnight. San ended up falling asleep on the couch, as you’d reassuringly ran your hand through his hair, trying to keep him with you. Though you think he’s been slipping through your fingers, into his demons.

You’ll find a way to bring him back. You have to. Turns out it comes faster than you think, as the electricity runs out and you busy yourself with lighting some candles throughout the main room. When you’re done, you put a blanket over him, and you almost let out a startled scream as his eyes shot open.

“Hello,” you say, resting a hand on your heart to tame the wild beats.

You’re about to move away, but he grabs your hand, forcing you to sit next to him. You don’t really resist, though you think you probably should. You’re weak – weaker still when he murmurs your name.

“San,” you whisper in return, and you’re aware your voice carries too much longing. Longing for a past when life’s atrocities hadn’t changed either of you yet.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, and a tear rolls on his cheek.

You dry it, fingers lingering there. “It’s okay.”

“Angel…”

The nickname brings you back to laser quests and favours and warmth creeping up your stomach for the first time in your life.

“I’m no angel,” you breathe.

“You saved me.”

You hold his gaze. There’s something hiding behind his pupils. The need, to forget. You don’t think you have the ability to run his mind through amnesia, but still you brush his cheek again.

“You deserved saving.”

His eyes glaze once more, though this time no tears fall. “It’s hard to believe it.”

“Do you still believe love is a laser quest?” you ask him, out of the blue.

As if you’re a line straight of that Arctic Monkeys song you listened to the first time you kissed.

“Maybe,” he says, a parallel to that first time you had asked the question. “Maybe it is.”

You can’t resist. You lean down, and you press the gentlest kiss on his lips. His are dry, but the way he sighs with you against him is soft, for your heart and for your mind, and you kiss him again. He lets you lead, follows the dance of your lips, lets you run your hand through his sweaty hair.

Even if you shouldn’t. Even if you know everything you’re doing right now is a mistake, you still find yourself deepening the kiss, opening your lips to slip your tongue out, teasing his mouth. One of his hands finds your thigh, and he squeezes ever so slightly as his tongue finds yours, and you let out a breathy sound.

When you pull away, eyes fluttering open, you find San’s gaze. You think about the boy he was then, the girl you were then. You think about who you were, together. And when he says, “Please make me forget”, you lean again, capturing his mouth in a languid kiss.

For a reason unknown, the summer sky and falling stars pale in comparison to this kiss. Maybe because it holds longing, nostalgia. Hope that life would have turned out differently. For a moment, you picture what it would have been like, without Ateez. With you and him in the field, in your family house, in a car driving by the beach, windows down as the sun sets and you sing along to the radio, wind blowing in your hair.

You see a whole life there, with you and him marrying in the field, under the sun that had been the host of your first love. You imagine growing up by his side, attending college with him in the big city. You imagine how he would have become the owner of his own construction company, like his dad before him. You picture kids laughing, running around the house he would have built for you. You see Christmas light, late nights antics by the firelight.

You see it all, and you know you’ll never have any of it. But if you can have tonight, then you’ll grab it before it slips through your fingers. Before he walks away in the rain again, only to be a memory you cherish in the deepest corners of your heart.

“How?” you ask him when you pull away.

Mostly, you’re asking how to make him forget. But you’re also asking how it is that the feelings are still there, even stronger now, as if they’ve grown up with you, yet haven’t changed like you have. Like they are a constant of an ever-changing universe.

“Kiss me again,” he asks, begs, and you give in. You kiss him wildly, always making sure not to touch his side and the stitches.

You know sex would be a stupid idea, especially with the fresh stitches. But also because he’s barely had time to recover. But he doesn’t really give you a choice, pulling you on top of him until you’re straddling him.

You sit back on him for a second, eyes trailing to the spot where you know the stitches are. “This isn’t a good idea,” you whisper through the ragged breaths caused by the ministrations of his mouth on yours and of yours on his.

“I’m fine,” he says, and you know you shouldn’t believe him. But when he pulls you down again, large hand holding the nape of your neck firmly so you don’t escape, you want to believe him.

Want to believe the beauty of his lies, like you had when you were younger.

From where you’re perched, you can feel the start of his erection pressing against you, and you moan softly in the kiss, rolling your hips. His mouth falls open, and you capture his tongue, sucking on it once before you pull away, leaving hot kisses on his jaw.

“Sit on my face,” he says, and he sounds out of his mind. Crazed, a little like you too feel at the moment.

“What?”

“Can’t get hurt if you sit on my face, angel,” he explains, and then hisses when you suck a hickey on his neck.

You let him pull your shirt off, unclasping your bra yourself as you sit back on his lap. He cups your breasts, rolling your erect nipples between his thumbs and indexes. You moan again, grinding your hips into his, and he hisses once more.

“You want to taste me?” you ask, head throwing back as he pinches your nipples hard.

“I’d fuck you, but you’re the doctor. Can’t risk fucking up my stitches, huh?” he replies, voice low and husky.

Your core heats up, pussy clenching around nothing. This is a side of him you’ve never seen, though you spy desperation beneath it. Like he thinks he doesn’t have forever, when it comes to you.

He’s right. Because tomorrow, you’ll have to go back into town, into the hellscape you call home. What will be left of the two of you then?

So when he tugs at your pants, you give in and get up, taking off your pants and panties in one swift motion. You step out of them, blood heating up by the way he’s looking at you through half-lidded eyes, gaze burning on you.

You have half a thought that you could probably ride him instead of his face, but when you see his pink tongue darting out to wet his lips, making them glisten in the candlelight, you need to know what it’ll feel like against you.

So you straddle his face as he guides you down, large hands pushing on your thighs until your pussy is a hairsbreadth away from his lips. He blows on it, and your eyes shut with sensitivity. You clutch the cushion of the couch, hoping it’ll help steady you, but the moment his tongue flicks at your clit, you realize nothing will be able to steady you. Yet you still hold onto it, especially as he dives his tongue between your folds, lapping up your juice. He moans in contentment, before moving to your clit again. And his tongue is wicked down there, like it knows exactly what you like.

You grab a handful of his hair, grinding into his face. You’re pretty sure he’s chuckling down there, and then he unleashes himself. Sucking hard, alternating circling motions to teasing you with his teeth. You’d expect the latter to hurt, but the way he does it just makes you see stars, and your pussy clenches around nothing again.

San is deadly good with his mouth. Both with crafting lies and pulling moans out of you, and your thighs tighten against his face as he sucks particularly hard, before dipping his tongue inside of you. His nose brushes your clit, and then he forces you to properly sit on him.

The way his tongue moves inside of you, lapping up your juices while opening you up, has you on the brink of an orgasm in no time. Especially as he makes you grind again, holding you tight into place. When one of his hands moves from around your thigh to reach your clit, you cry out, head throwing back.

He’s quick to rub at your sensitive clit, and you grab one of your breasts, massaging it mindlessly before you pinch your nipple, hard, right in time with a skilled swipe of his tongue. Your orgasm meets you there, shaking through you as it explodes in a blinding flash of light. You moan, loudly, something that resembles his name, and he keeps you going, guides you through your high until you cringe with oversensitivity.

Only then does he let you climb off from his face. You stand on wobbly legs, before deciding to sit next to him, and you catch sight of the smirk on his lips. It makes you blush, right as you realize what you’ve just done.

When you realize what kind of sinful activity he’s dragged you in, this time around.

“Gosh,” is all you manage to say.

He chuckles, clearly proud with himself. “That felt good?”

You worry at your bottom lip, eyes going down to the tent in his pants. You want to pleasure him too, to take him in your mouth and make him feel good, but he stops you with a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Don’t.”

You still and you meet his gaze with slightly-widened eyes. “Why not?”

His features turn somber, haunted, and the heat of the moment passes so quickly you think it might have been a figment of your imagination.

Were you really riding his face just a moment ago?

“Please just lay next to me,” he says, barely even a whisper.

You don’t know a lot of men that would choose cuddling over getting a blowjob, but if that is what he wants, then you’ll give it to him. You lay next to him, glad that the injured side is closer to the couch. That way, you can cuddle up to him, resting your head on his shoulder while he wraps an arm around you.

“Angel,” he murmurs after a time. “You’re a fucking angel. I think you’re my salvation.”

You highly doubt you hold this kind of power, but you don’t want to tell him. Have never been good at weaving beautiful lies for him to believe.

“We should stay here,” he continues. “Forever.”

And you wish you could. Wish reality didn’t exist, didn’t call for you to go back to your regular life like you’ve never been here with him. But you know tomorrow exists, and you’ll have to leave.

“We should have stayed in the field,” you choose to answer. “Under the shooting stars.”

“I wished for a lifetime with you, then,” he admits. “I wished I’d never have to let you go.”

You’d wished for a similar thing, but life is far too cruel to allow a world of first loves.

“Why did you…” you trail off. The question has haunted your sleepless nights for a long time after the break-up. Even years later, you’d still think about it sometimes, wondering if nostalgia would choke you up. “Why did you decide to join the gang?”

He tenses next to you. But you start tracing a mindless circle on his chest, through the shirt, and it distracts him enough for him to reply. “I thought I didn’t have a choice.”

“Did you?”

His voice holds the weight of the world when he says, “I did. And I made the wrong one.”

You want to cry, but you’re older now. You’re not the teenager who thought she was going to die from losing him anymore. You know what living without Choi San is like, and as much as it hurts, you know that it’s doable.

“You made the one you believed was right,” you say carefully. “But I do wish you had made a different one.”

He holds you a little tighter, as if that will make it so tomorrow never comes. “Me too.”

There’s an eternity of flickering candlelight on the ceiling, of the circles you trace on his chest and of your breathings forming a melody. Outside, the wind has died down, and the world is silent except from an occasional cricket braving the world after the storm.

“Where will you go, once you graduate?” he asks, taking you by surprise.

Because he knows. It’s one of the few things that hasn’t changed.

“As far away from here as I can.”

“I hope you find peace, wherever you go,” he whispers. “I hope you forget all about how we grew up in a hellhole.”

Do you feel bad for saying it? Maybe. But you can’t help saying it anyway. “I will, San.”

And like that rainy day years ago, you think you can see him walk away.

*****

Seven years later

The winter sun is strangely bright, up above. You’d think it will warm you up, but the cold is relentless, violent, and it sneaks into your coat as you walk out of the hospital. You’ve just finished a thirty-hour shift, and you can’t wait to be home.

To take a shower and forget that you’ve lost a patient today.

But you’ve saved another. A young man, with a stab wound in his ribs that should have killed him. But you saved him, stabilized his condition to the point you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Which is the only reason why you’re allowing yourself to leave now.

You’re never able to leave until you know your patients are okay. It’s been that way since your first patient, in a cabin in the woods you’ve done your best to forget.

You’d let San stay, after that weekend. He had given you the number of one of his friends, so you could get some clothes for him, and you’d gone back the next weekend. Bringing him the clothes, making love to him under the moonlight as if that would change the ending.

The following week, you had gone back to find the cabin empty. He’d left a note behind.

I hope I can find you again, wherever you go.

You kept the note. It’s in your bedside table, back at home, in the nice apartment you’ve been able to rent for yourself with all the money you’ve been making now. Enough to pay back student loans from med school, enough to reassure you that never again will you struggle.

You’ve never seen San again after. He hasn’t found you, and you haven’t searched for him. Have only looked up his name a couple of times, in the months following his disappearing, scared you’d find out that he was found dead in a ditch. But his name never came up, and you wondered if he had managed to escape, if he had managed to find a place where Bangtan couldn’t reach him.

You found peace, on your side of the country. Life is kinder here, though it still holds the same atrocities. You wonder if it’s the novelty of the city, or maybe if you’ve just grown old enough to be able to withstand the bad that the world throws your way. It’s hard to tell – you haven’t kept contact with anyone from back home, except Jae-on.

Jae-on, who’s moved with you when you’ve decided to come here, like he said he would. Jae-on, who asked you to marry him in late October, and you said yes. The ring sits heavy on your finger, and you mindlessly play with it.

In another world, you would already be married to Choi San. Sometimes, you catch glimpses of that world – a piercing gaze in the morning, a smile and a kiss to your temple. Talks about angels, children screaming in happiness. In another world, you’d be pregnant again, waiting patiently to add another piece of you and him to this world.

It’s fun to think about, sometimes, but you’ve been good at forgetting. Like you told him you would – most times, you’ve forgotten all about Choi San.

But today, you had a patient that reminded you of him. So you allow yourself to feel, you allow yourself to think about that note tucked in the bottom drawer of your bedside table, hidden under the thick socks you never use.

You allow yourself to think about the cabin in the woods, about the field where you would have gotten married had you been in that picturesque world you like to imagine. You think about laser quests and first kiss and rainy days and meteors. You think about summer, about wildflowers and him.

You’re so lost in thought you miss your stop home, and you begrudgingly get out at the next one. You’re tired, and your hands are shaking as you pull your phone out of your tote bag, wanting to text Jae-on that you’re going to be home late because you missed your stop. You walk to the other side of the tracks, sighing when you see a five-minutes wait for the next subway.

At least the sun is high in the sky, even though it is dreadfully cold. You shiver, putting your phone back in your tote bag so you can hide your hands in your sleeves again, hoping it’ll preserve them from the cold.

In your exhaustion, you forgot your gloves back at the hospital, you realize. It’s strange that you only realize now, and you reckon you really need to sleep, because your brain isn’t even working right anymore.

You sigh, glancing at the display showing the time. Still four minutes to wait. You think at this rhythm you might freeze in your spot before the next subway comes. You try to hide your face in the lapel of your coat, but a movement on the other platform attracts your gaze.

A man is helping an older woman climb down the stairs. She’s speaking loudly, which might be what attracted your gaze in the first place. You follow them as they walk down the stairs, and then when the man turns towards you, you meet his piercing gaze.

He smiles, and you realize that maybe, all those years ago, he was not spinning lies to you after all.

☆☆☆☆☆

Gosh yeahhh rereading it had me ralize that it is a lot sadder than I remembered it to be. At least we got an open ending ... :') What did we think? Should I write about other groups more often? Let me know what you think! All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate

Taglist:

@btsborahaee

[loosethreadstitchery]

This looked infuriatingly messy while I was working on it, and I frogged a good chunk of that largest ribbon more than once. Only when I made it through each section was I able to see that the problem wasn't my stitching, but my perspective - up close, looking stitch-by-stitch, the transition between colours looks rough and chunky, but from a distance, you get the gradient effect I was going for.

At 210 x 210 stitches, this is the largest blackwork sampler I've made so far, and I'm happy with how it turned out. I may even make a second one in different colours once I finish a couple other projects I've got on the go.

Pattern here My Etsy shop

[sinsinsininning]

A little bit softer

Chapter 1.

Eustass Kid x crew mate!fem!reader

Thinking of Kid who acts a little bit softer around you.

He’s still loud and moody and argumentative, he still throws things and breaks his projects when something goes wrong. But with you, he eases up, steadies himself before flying off the handle.

TW: Kid being himself, past DV, can one typical violence, eventual smut, smutty thoughts

Reader isn’t overly described in this chapter but I wrote this with a short, chubby reader in mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you first joined, you were the smallest out of the 5 rookies taken on, but you had great aim as a sniper and had already served on a different ship. Kid had been reluctant to take on ‘sloppy seconds’ (Killer had to explain that’s not what that term meant), but your skills were valuable and you didn’t trip over your own feet like the others. Eventually the group was whittled down to just you and one other rookie.

At the start you were like any other rookie, eager to spend time with the higher members of the crew, Kid being no exception. You were bold and even asked to show him your schematics for your dream sniper gun, asking to borrowing some of his tools to make it. Kid enjoyed the attention, preening as you and the others watched him train his devil fruit powers, stars in your eyes. He hadn’t meant to, but looking back, he’d been on his better behavior around you.

Kid spent a lot of time in his workshop, but every time he ventured out it seemed you were EVERYWHERE. Helping Killer cook lunch, repairing the ship with Wire, cleaning up the med bay with Heat. Anytime he came around a corner you were there, your eyes would light up at the sight of him, excitedly greeting your captain with an enthusiasm that rivaled Quincy’s.

But a few weeks after you joined the crew, he has his worst episode in a longtime. After a stand off with some Marines, the Victoria Punk had some serious damage, they had to rush to the port they’d just left and the cost of the repairs were pretty high. He hadn’t meant to hit Wire, but a pipe aimed at the railing ricocheting to strike the tall man on the side of the head harshly, your shocked face broke him out of his tantrum and he vacated quickly. He’d found out later you’d been the one to stitch Wire up.

Afterwards, he caught you talking with Killer, still brand new and unsure how to handle such an ‘unstable captain’. Killer reassured you that Kid meant no harm, he couldn’t see your face, but he could hear your whispered confession.

“That’s what my last captain said.”

Normally being compared to another man, let alone another captain, in any way would send him into a fit. But he held back as Killer tried to comfort you -as much as a pirate can comfort another pirate- and it seemed to cheer you up.

Your behavior changed around him though, you flinched when he shouted in anger -different from his normally loud voice- and you made yourself scarce when he was arguing with someone. You still did all your work, much more efficient than other rookies, and you were getting close with the senior crew members. Wire and Hip particularly liked you, and while Heat thought you were too soft, he still humored you with card games and fire tricks after dinner.

Kid felt like he had a ghost as a crew member, he’d walk into a room, his gaze zeroing in on you, then he’d blink and poof you’d be gone. No one else seemed to noticed, he tried listening in before entering rooms, no one spoke with you or each other about it. It’s not like he really needed to speak with you, Killer was the delegator of chores and unless there were strategy meetings he didn’t really need to speak with a sniper on a daily basis.

But he wanted to. And that was the worst part.

He wanted you around, looking at him like he was the greatest thing you’d even seen. He wanted your soft, teasing voice around, even though you never actually teased him, he still liked it when you wound up Reck or Dive with your wit. He wanted to watch you as you lost yourself in whatever task you were doing, no matter how mundane.

Quickly his thoughts turned to other ways he wanted you. He wanted you in his bed every night. He wanted you riding him after a long day. He wanted you squealing as he fucked you up against the wall. He wanted you sitting on his face, embarrassed but still cuming as he tasted you. He wanted you cock warming him in his workshop as he finished up projects.

It was driving him insane, making his mind work overtime as he tried to squash these desires down.

It got worse when you’d gotten more established, about 6 months into your life here. You still avoided him, and did a damn good job of hiding it, but every now and again he’d be nearby and could hear you tease your crew mates. No scratch that, you were flirting, maybe that wasn’t your intent but it sure sounded like flirting to him.

“Hip if you wanted to have alone time with me you could just say it.” Said as the blond woman yanked you away from lunch.

“Awww Wire, you didn’t have to dress up for me.” Said as the tall man arrived in a new outfit.

“Makes sense why they call you Heat, cause you’re hot.” Ok that one was to get Heat to break his concentration and lose at poker, but still!

You were avoiding him, your captain, and flirting with everyone else. Even Killer got a line about how you prefer blondes- said only so you’d get a second helping of dessert, which didn’t work but you tried. Kid was trying so hard to not show his struggles, but it was becoming obvious. To everyone but you that is.

Killer had tried to speak with him, to ask what his problem with you was, but Kid just shoved him away. He almost threw a punch, but the image of your scared face after Wire was struck kept him at bay. This didn’t go unnoticed by his first mate of course, but it was misinterpreted. Killer asked if Kid wanted to dismiss you and try to find a new sniper, but Kid shouted no before he could finish speaking.

That alerted the masked man to what was really bothering his captain. He wanted to laugh, Kid hadn’t shown any interest in dating since… well since Victoria. It made sense he was a little rusty.

Kid left before they could finish talking, but Killer made a point to have you regularly help serve the crew during meals forcing you to talk to the captain. He also saved you a spot beside him to eat, making sure you were as close to Kid’s chair as possible. The rest of the crew caught on soon as well, watching their captain clam up and blush, while you kept your eyes on your plate.

The entire crew tried to force the two of you into contact daily. Dive would ask you to get tools from Kid to help her make repairs. Hip and Hop would ask you to spar with them whenever Kid was on deck. Wire convinced you to let him alter some of your clothes to match the punk rock aesthetic more, you were excited until he paraded you in front of Kid and Killer. Kid was red faced as Wire demanded critiques on the clothes you were modeling, though you assumed it was from anger and quickly escaped the situation.

Heat was probably the only one who didn’t interfere, so you ended up spending most of your time with him. Of course that didn’t stop him from commenting on the situation.

“So what, you got a little crush on the captain,” he said breezily on day over drinks at a bar on shore. “Happens all the time.” You nearly spat out your drink.

“What? No I don’t!” You coughed out, he patted you roughly on the back. “Please don’t tell me people actually think that about me and Kid?!” Your face was red as you thought of the crew’s strange new habit of forcing you around the captain. Who was sat nearby in a booth, nursing a beer with Killer, hearing his name he strained to listen.

“You don’t? Oh, I thought that’s why everyone’s been trying to get y’all alone together.” He seemed genuinely confused, but shrugged and drank again willing to let the conversation pass. You however weren’t done.

“I have no idea why everyone’s acting weird. I thought it was maybe like hazing ya know?”

“Nah that’s at the beginning, you barely even noticed the shit we hazed you with.” He grinned, then got serious again. “So you really don’t like him like that?”

“No why would I?” You stared at him, Kid winced a little at that. “I’m honestly terrified of him, I never know when he’s gonna fly off the handle. Half the time I’m around him I’m wondering when he’s gonna just up and hit me.” Your eyes got misty and you fought back tears, knowing how Heat- really all of the crew- feel about crying. You couldn’t help it though, your last captain had been terrifying and sadistic. Compared to him, Kid and his crew were almost kind, but you couldn’t let your guard down.

“Kid wouldn’t hit you,” Heat said seriously slamming his mug down, Kid found himself hoping the loud, jarring action hadn’t spooked you. “He wouldn’t hit any of us, yeah he yells and stuff but he doesn’t hate us. If he wanted to get rid of us he’d just kick us off at port.”

“He hit Wire, made him bleed a lot. It took 13 staples to close that gash.” You leaned forward, meeting his gaze.

“That was an accident,” Heat sighed. “He’d never hit us before except as like, a brotherly smack on the arm or something. Besides, if you’re so sure he’ll hurt you why not leave?” You paused, shuffling your hands a bit.

“That’d make sense, but I love the crew, I love the sea. I can’t just give that up, my last crew wasn’t like you guys.” You glanced away, Heat blushed a little shocked at your sincerity. “I know, I know. I sound pathetic and soft, but it’s how I feel.”

“Heh- yeah you’re definitely the baby of the crew, even more so than Dive.” He laughed. “But I can’t fault you for being authentic I guess.”

You both smile, toast your mugs once more, then you go grab another round. Kid watches you, eyes hard, he wondered who your last captain was. And if he should pay him a visit.

[fairy-writes]

Hello!! If requests are still open (if not, please ignore) can I ask for a Louis Moriarty x reader like the Mycroft “regret” one you wrote? Where he says something mean and they get into a fight and it’s dramatic with a fluffy ending? I would appreciate it very much! ♥️

SWEET APOLOGIES

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Moriarty the Patriot

Pairing(s): Louis James Moriarty x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Angst to Fluff, Arguments, Injuries

Notes: I really hope this is alright! I was second-guessing myself the entire time 😭

__________________________________________________________________________

Your name being shouted makes you prick your finger on your sewing needle. You curse and drop the thing onto your current project which happened to be a pair of Moran’s trousers. You were often asked to sew various things, whether that was an injury or socks. You were the Moriarty’s tailor or seamster and makeshift doctor. 

The voice shouts your name again. Moran maybe? But wasn’t he out with Bonde and Louis?

You make it to the top of the stairs and stop dead in your tracks.

Louis hangs limp between Sebastian Moran and James Bonde. Blood drips from his forehead, and he’s clearly unconscious and missing his glasses.

You’re down the stairs in an instant. 

You direct them to the sitting room, where you have them leave Louis while you retrieve your stitching needles and threads, as well as some medical supplies like bandages and whiskey.

Because you know he’s going to need it when he wakes up.

“What happened to him?” You ask as you gently work his suit coat from his shoulders. Moran favors his right side, and you make a mental note to take a look at him after Louis. Bonde has a scratch above his left eye but otherwise looks unharmed.

“We were jumped,” Moran says, voice strained with pain, and if you had to guess, he has a couple of cracked or broken ribs. You end up handing him the bottle of whiskey to which he takes several long swigs. 

Soon enough, you dismiss Moran and Bonde, promising them you’ll look at their injuries later, leaving you and Louis alone in the sitting room. He lets out a pained moan as you agitate his injuries in your attempt to remove his shirt but doesn’t awaken.

It isn’t until you are threading your needle that he stirs. By that time, you had bandaged his lesser wounds and were working on what looked like a knife cut on his collarbone. It’s awkward and long, and you’re fairly certain that his shirt is partially shredded because of it. 

But your rage has started to grow. Tiny and hot like a dying ember, but slowly fed by your worry and panic at seeing him so injured. 

His already darkened maroon eyes are even darker because of the pain. He grits his teeth and tries to sit up but is stopped by you putting a gentle hand on his chest.

“Don’t get up. You’re hurt.” You say quietly, keeping a tight leash on your anger so as to not anger him. 

The last thing you needed was for him to get angry back and start an argument. 

“I’m fine.” He tries, but you glare and show him your bloody fingers where you had been stitching for the last twenty minutes. 

“Clearly you aren’t. So be quiet and let me finish.” You snap, the leash on your temper fraying just the tiniest bit. 

Thankfully, Louis catches your slip and doesn’t say anything. Instead, he bites his tongue and leans back against the couch arm. You’ll likely have to throw the couch out or burn it after you’re done. It’s stained in blood and grime from his injuries.

As soon as you finish the last stitch, Louis is sitting up and pushing your hands away. 

“I promise I’m fine.” He says quickly, and that’s when your patience snaps. 

“What do you mean you’re fine?! THIS IS NOT FINE!” You shout, and he stops where he’s shrugging on his button-down and suit coat. His movements are painfully slow, and it’s clear that he’s suffering. 

But that doesn’t stop his temper from flaring up to meet yours like two bucks charging each other. 

“Can you stop it for a moment?!” He snaps back and yanks on his suit coat, ignoring how it pulls his stitches. You toss the dirty needle back into your bag and feel tears burn in your eyes. 

“You promised me you weren’t going to be reckless! You promised!” You exclaim, and he grits his teeth,

“Well, promises can be broken, so just leave me alone, yeah?” He says, and you flinch back. 

Then, with tears threatening to overflow down your cheeks, you pack up your things and leave with a slam of the sitting room door. It rattles the chandelier above you as you wander the mansion halls in search of Bonde and Moran. 

You find Moran in his chambers, smoking a cigarette and shuffling a deck of cards. 

“Those’ll kill you, y’know.” You say as a way of entrance and he looks up, clearly unimpressed. 

“Then I’ll die doing somethin’ I like.” He retorts, and you roll your eyes, shuffling inside to take a seat across from him. 

“Take your shirt off.” You say curtly, and he huffs out a laugh, 

“At least buy me a drink first.” You look up to the ceiling and pray for patience. Because after Louis, you don’t have any left. 

Did he really want you to leave him alone? 

“I need to see if you broke anything dumbass.” You say eventually, and his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline.

“What’d Louis do t’ you t’ get your knickers in a twist?” He says, clearly picking up on your foul mood. You set your bag down and reach inside for bandages in case he’s bleeding. 

“Nothing. Louis just wants me to leave him alone, is all.” You say and swallow down the lump in your throat. 

If he was so willing to break this promise what others was he going to break?

Thankfully, Moran doesn’t say anything else and instead sheds his shirt so you can take a look at his side. It’s mottled in purples and blues and slightly swollen. You don’t have to touch it to know it’s tender. So, you prescribe him rest and the occasional shot of whiskey to dull the pain. 

“No missions for you for a while. Take it easy, alright?” You instruct and he nods, waving you off as he starts playing a card game with himself.

“Yeah, yeah, go check on Blondie, will ya? He took a pretty good look to the head.” 

You are about to say something when you see Louis hobbling down the hallway, favoring his stitches. He stops, looks at you, scowls, and continues down toward his bedroom. You huff and brush past him toward where you guessed Bonde would be.

Two can play that game. 

The tension between you is palpable by day four of not speaking to each other. Perhaps it was day two, but you didn’t really care to count—not when Louis was still being so touchy.

But it wasn’t long before everyone else came to you, asking you to make things right.

“He’s so mopey! Not at all like himself!” That was Bonde. You grunted to acknowledge his words but didn’t respond past that. 

“He’s got a stick up his ass. You should talk to him.” Moran. At that, you roll your eyes and stab your needle into your embroidery. Perhaps more aggressively than you meant to, but it got your point across. 

“He said he wanted me to leave him alone. So that’s what I’m doing.” You snap, and he relents and doesn’t push the issue anymore. 

Soon, everyone has come to you, complaining about Louis’s sour behavior. And every single time, you turn them away with the same excuse. It isn’t until you stumble upon Louis nursing a clearly infected injury that you relent and talk to him. 

You enter the library to find Louis hunched over himself, taking a long pull from a whiskey bottle as he tries to remove his stitches. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” You snap, hurrying to his side to stop him before stopping yourself. 

The injury on his collarbone is infected—that much is obvious. The wound has an unpleasant odor emanating from it and is red and inflamed. He’s successfully removed a handful of stitches, but a few remain. 

“What does it look like?” Louis retorts and sets down the whiskey bottle. It’s clear he’s in pain, his nose scrunched and his eyes tight. 

Despite your anger, you’re gentle in helping Louis. After some back and forth, he eventually sits back and lets you work. 

Pus oozes from the gash, and you work to clean it out and apply a poultice of your own design to help fight infection. Then, you leave the wound open to breathe. 

“I’ll restitch it later if it starts bleeding again.” You say and begin cleaning up the mess that Louis had made.

He stops you by saying your name oh so softly. You sigh, stop what you’re doing, and look at him. He looks sad. Broken. And hurt. 

“I don’t want to keep fighting.” He says, and you scoff,

“You told me to leave you alone. So I am.” You say and go to leave but he catches your wrist as you stand to leave.

“I’m sorry.” He blurts, and you stop, raising an eyebrow at him, and he continues. 

“It was never my intention to hurt you. I want you to know that. It’s no excuse, but I was in pain and upset that the mission went so badly. But I took it out on you, and I’m sorry.” He finishes, and with each word, you feel your anger dissipating. You lean down and press your mouth to his hairline in a soft kiss. 

“I accept your apology. Thank you, Louis.” You whisper, and he smiles.

[sall0wisms]

love at first sight; Sebastian Sallow X f!MC

summary: preceding her attendance to Hogwarts next term, MC attends a quidditch match with her childhood friend where a certain Slytherin beater catches her eye author note: I was listening to 'Love at First Sight' by Kylie Minogue when this story idea came to me. the vibes are immaculate and I couldn't stop myself from making it about Seb hehehe. anyways, the story is very loose interpretation of the song but I hope you all enjoy!!!

word count: 929 (short read, but hope it makes you feel all the feels it gave me)

cw: none, it's allllll butterflies

The air was ripe with anticipation as excited voices swelled around the Quidditch pitch, a vast expanse framed by the historic towers of Hogwarts. Above, the sky wore a slate-gray hue, filled with promise and the distant sound of chattering clouds.

Sitting in the Ravenclaw section, MC couldn’t help but feel a blend of nerves and excitement. She was here for a taste of what life was going to be like next term, and Lily—her childhood friend and student at Hogwarts—was her guide into this extraordinary sunlight.

“Isn’t this incredible?” Lily exclaimed, her blue Ravenclaw scarf flapping like a banner as she waved it above her head. “Quidditch matches in the air, friends around, and all of Hogwarts cheering together! You’re going to love it!”

MC smiled, her stomach a swirl of emotions. Dressed neutrally in beige and gray, she didn’t have a house banner to wave. After all, she was yet to be sorted, but she was here for the experience, and how immense it felt.

The game started, and the players soared into the sky; their vibrant robes—brilliant greens for Slytherin, deep blues for Ravenclaw—were streaks of color against the canvas of gray. MC couldn’t keep her eyes from darting after the Slytherin beater, who flew with a charisma that made her heart race. His name, she had learned from the letters stitched on the back of his jersey, was Sallow, and his messy brown hair danced wildly in the wind as he dominated the aerial field.

“Go Ravenclaw!” Lily cheered enthusiastically, her eyes fixed on their team, but MC found herself more captivated by Sallow’s movements. He commanded the pitch with a blend of strength and grace, the wooden bat in his grip transforming into an extension of himself. Every time he swung, it was poetry; every time he sent a bludger hurtling away from his teammates, it resonated with confidence that was nearly tangible.

MC’s heartbeat quickened each time he assisted in scoring a point for Slytherin. Knowledge of the teams’ rivalries vanished in the thrill of the game. She sucked in a breath and found herself cheering for Slytherin whenever they made a particularly good play.

Lily caught a glimpse of her friend’s exuberance, narrowing her brows in curiosity. “I thought you were cheering for Ravenclaw?”

MC shrugged, unable to conceal her smile as Sallow soared high above, tangled in the grips of the bludgers, commanding the chaos around him with effortless charm. “I’m just here for the experience.” She felt a flutter, the vibrant noise of the game fading in the background as she became ensnared by him.

With each passing moment, MC felt like she was in a magical trance until, suddenly, a bludger streaked down from above, heading straight towards her section. The crowd gasped, but MC merely turned to look in surprise.

In a split second, Sallow swooped down, bat in hand, striking the bludger away with a ferocity that exhibited not just skill but an enthralling fearlessness. Just as he sent the bludger off into oblivion, he turned to glance back at the Ravenclaw stands and, with a cheeky grin, winked in their direction.

MC’s heart almost stopped, a rush of heat flooding her cheeks. A flutter of giddiness took her, and she nearly melted into her seat. Could he have seen her watching? He was beyond a stranger—this was a boy, a player, basking in glory—and yet, she felt inexplicably seen.

Lily elbowed her gently, barely suppressing laughter. “You like Sallow, don’t you? Look at the way you’re glowing!”

“Shh!” MC huffed playfully, though her pulse leapt in agreement. Sallow moved back into the fray, battling through the air, and she quickly focused on the game again, every play intensifying her inexplicable interest in him.

As the match drew to a close, and Ravenclaw made a late-game effort that nearly overwhelmed Slytherin, MC found herself caught up in the ebb and flow of the crowd’s cheers and gasps. The exhilaration in her veins was unlike anything she’d felt, made only more vibrant by the rush of the game and the seductive charm of Sallow, whom she had not met but felt a strange bond with nonetheless.

Finally, as the whistle blew, the Slytherin team—exhilarated, victorious, and boasting triumphant grins—soared down. The energy around MC was electric. She felt alive with anticipation, the magic of this place and the overwhelming excitement of the game enveloping her.

“Didn’t I tell you? You can already feel the magic!” Lily laughed, the edges of her voice tinged with thrill. “Next term, you’ll be a part of it all!”

MC nodded vigorously. A feeling surged, an inkling of her own destiny beginning to form. Maybe she'd be sorted into Slytherin, maybe she wouldn’t, but one thing was undeniable; she was more connected to this world than she ever anticipated. Her heart swirled with hope and exhilarating possibility, just like the players who gracefully ascended to the clouds.

As they watched the teams shake hands and revel in the game’s aftermath, MC realized magic wasn’t just in the spells and potions; it was in the connections and the feelings that bloomed, even from afar. Sallow caught her gaze again, a smile playing on his lips, and with that simple glance, she felt her world shift—a whisper from the universe, an inkling of love at first sight.

And in that instant, under the damp sky of the Quidditch pitch, she knew that she was ready for the adventure ahead, ready to embrace everything Hogwarts had to offer, especially if it included occasional attention from Sallow.