#and he just stood there! in silence! Didn't say a single thing about how much we'd have to write for the midterm

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being Sylus' non-mc significant other. part 2

Imagine Sylus had always been good at slipping into roles. A lover, a liar, a partner, a predator. Not because it was his nature but because that is how he survived. How he navigated a world full of ghosts and guns where names changed with the wind and loyalties died in the dark.

so Imagine when the mission called for him to play the doting boyfriend to MC, he did it without hesitation. Business was business. And nothing more. But you, you were never part of the plan.

Imagine you were something he never expected to find in the wreckage of his life. The softness he did not think he deserved. The quiet safety in a world too loud. With you, he wasn't a weapon, he wasn't a monster. He was just Sylus. Your Sylus. And that terrified him.

Imagine the way he knew what it looked like. The missed calls, the half truths, the bruises he wore like secrets. He watched you swallow your suspicion with grace, letting trust carry the weight of all the things he could not say. And you, you never asked too much. You never demanded more than what he could give and that made him want to give you everything. But then the mission came.

Imagine, the fake relationship with MC was meant to be a temporary cover. A strategic alliance masked in flirtation and staged intimacy. And he hated every second of it. He hated how close he had to stand. He hated the way MC would linger when the cameras weren't rolling. And what he hated most is the way he saw your silence begin to turn into sorrow.

Imagine he noticed everything. The way you started to flinch at the word "work." The way your smile faltered when he came home smelling like someone else's perfume. He noticed and it broke him because he couldn't tell you. Not yet. Not when the stakes were this high.

Imagine he never touched her like he touched you. He never whispered her name like a prayer. Never let her see the parts of him that he bled out in your hands. The vulnerable pieces you pieced back together night after night. MC was the mission. You were the reason he came back.

Imagine the night you asked about her and the way your voice cracked. That sound, that single, fractured breath did more damage than any bullet ever had. He looked at you and saw everything he stood to lose. Not because you doubted him but because he knew you had every right to.

Imagine he let it happen. He let it happen because he thought he was protecting you by keeping the truth buried beneath duty. But secrets rot. Even the ones told with good intentions. And you were starting to wither away from him.

"It's not what you think." He said but you already heard the guilt even before he felt it. Not guilt for what he did. But the guilt for the pain his silence caused you.

Imagine the way your silence answered. You did not scream. You didn't even cry. You just looked at him. You looked at him like you'd been bracing for this all along. And that killed something inside him.

Imagine in that moment, he realized something that made him feel like a sword pierced through his chest. You thought he loved her. You thought you were being replaced. You thought you were disposable. He made you feel that way.

Imagine that night, He stayed the night because he couldn't stand the idea of you being alone with that lie. Yet you did not touch him. You didn’t speak. You just curled into yourself like a wound trying to heal without being treated. And he lay down beside you. Not as a lover, not as a man but as the ghost of everything he ruined. Listening to the way your heartbeat refused to sync with his.

Imagine as dawn bleed into the room like a slow confession. He when and left with your back was still to him.You were quiet. The kind of quiet that used to mean peace, now it meant distance. The kind of quiet that he already knew he had lost you and you were just too kind to say it.

Imagine you were the kind of wound that he wanted to keep. The one that proved him that he could still feel something. And he would give anything to unlearn how it felt to wake up beside you knowing he didn’t deserve it.

Imagine he would give everything to go back to the moment you said his name like it was still a prayer and not a question. Because Sylus never loved her. He only loves you. And now he destroyed the only truth he ever had.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

[lov3notts]

amora congratulations on 1k babes!! i’m so happy for you and your celebration is so pretty ♥️!

i was thinking cupids arrow w/ theo nott + "i think it's time we take a break." (feeling all the angst with theo lol)

1k Celebration!!! ;Navigation

i missed writing angst!!! thank you for this brooke😽

You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone—at yet another unread message, another unanswered “Are we still on tonight?”

You stared for a while. Then stood.

Because you had grown tired of his games.

But by the time you found him, he was in the common room, backlit by firelight and hunched over a book he clearly wasn’t reading, something inside you snapped.

He didn’t even notice you at first.

That used to be impossible.

You stood there for a second too long, waiting for him to look up, to say “hey, love” to smile like he used to.

He didn’t.

You finally spoke. “So, are you going to keep pretending I don’t exist, or is that just how things are now?”

He sat back slowly, eyes narrowing. “Okay. What’s going on?”

“You tell me,” you snapped. “Because I’m tired of guessing.”

Theo blinked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’ve been distant, Theo. You barely speak to me, you cancel plans without a word, you act like I’m bothering you just by being here.”

He closed the book sharply, standing. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No, I’m being honest,” you said. “Do you even care anymore? Or are you just too much of a coward to tell me you’re done?”

His jaw tightened. “I’ve got a lot going on, alright?”

“So say that!” you shouted. “Say something! You just shut me out like I don’t matter anymore—like we don’t matter. And I’m sick of making excuses for you.”

“I don’t know, alright?” His voice rose. “I don’t have some neat answer to make you feel better. Maybe I’m tired. Maybe I’m overwhelmed. Maybe I just need some space without being accused of falling out of love with you every five seconds.”

That hit you like a slap.

Then he moved closer to you, tension sharp in his shoulders. “You don’t get it.”

“Then talk to me, Theo! Let me in! That’s what people do when they’re in love!”

His mouth opened—then closed again.

And that silence burned more than anything he could’ve said.

You laughed bitterly, wiping at the tears starting to slip. “Right. That’s what I thought.”

He looked away, jaw tightening. “I didn’t say I don’t love you.”

“You didn’t have to.”

A beat passed, heavy and quiet.

Then Theo muttered, “Maybe I just need time.”

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Time? Theo I’ve been giving you nothing but time.”

“Well, apparently not enough,” he snapped.

You nodded slowly, chest burning, eyes stinging. “Fine.”

You turned, this time not waiting for him to stop you. Not hoping.

Because you had lost hope a long time ago.

At first, he thought it would help.

Space.

It sounded reasonable when he said it. He told himself he needed air, time to think—some distance to quiet the noise in his head. He hadn’t meant to hurt you. He just… didn’t know how to explain what was going on inside him. And you were always there, asking, worrying, caring—and he couldn’t live up to it. Not then.

But now?

Now it was too quiet.

You stopped walking with him to class. Stopped waiting for him outside the library. Stopped sliding into the seat next to him at lunch like you always used to, shoulder brushing his, warm and familiar. He didn't even realize how much he'd relied on those moments until they disappeared.

Now there was an empty seat beside him. Every. Single. Day.

And that seat was louder than any fight you’d ever had.

At first, he tried to pretend he was fine. He shrugged it off when Mattheo raised an eyebrow and said, “You look like a kicked dog.”

He ignored Blaise’s snort when he muttered, “Mate, you asked for this.”

But he saw the way they looked at him when you walked past without sparing him a glance. He felt it—the hollow ache when you smiled at someone else down the corridor, your eyes never even flickering in his direction.

He thought he’d feel lighter. But he just felt lonely.

So one afternoon, he found you alone by the edge of the Black Lake, where you used to sit together and talk for hours about everything and nothing.

You were sitting on the grass, picking absentmindedly at the hem of your sleeve. The sunlight caught the side of your face, and for a second, it hit him all at once—how much he missed you. Your voice. Your warmth. Your presence.

He cleared his throat softly.

You looked up.

Theo hesitated, hands shoved in his pockets. “Hey.”

“Hey.” It wasn’t cold. But it wasn’t warm, either. It was… careful. Like you were building a wall and choosing not to let him through.

“I, uh…” He shifted. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

He hated how polite you sounded. He hated that he didn’t know how to fix it.

“I know I said I needed space,” he started, eyes locked on the water, “but—”

“But now you’re ready for me to be here again?”

His head snapped to you.

You weren’t angry. That’s what made it worse. You were calm. Resigned.

“I gave you space, Theo,” you said softly. “And in that space, I had time to think too.”

He swallowed hard. “Think about what?”

You shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. “About how much of our relationship was me trying to hold it together while you pulled away.”

Theo’s chest tightened.

“You said you needed time, but you never said why. You didn’t trust me enough to let me in.” Your voice cracked, just a little. “And maybe that was my answer all along.”

“I do trust you—”

“Do you?” you asked, finally looking at him. “Because it didn’t feel like it.”

Silence settled between you. Cold and final.

He didn’t know what to say. He’d thought the distance would give him clarity—but all it did was show him how much he’d taken you for granted. And now… now he wasn’t sure if there was anything left to come back to.

“I’m not mad, Theo. I just… I don’t know if I can keep trying for someone who won’t meet me halfway.”

You took a shaky breath, fingers digging into the sleeves of your jumper.

“I think it’s time we take a break.” The words tasted like betrayal in your own mouth.

Theo’s breath caught. “No. Don’t say that. Please.”

“I’m tired,” you whispered. “I’m so tired, Theo. Of chasing after someone who keeps running.”

“I’m not running,” he said quickly. “Not anymore. I’m here—I’m here. I messed up, but we can fix this. Just—don’t give up on me.”

You looked at him, eyes glassy and throat tight. “I didn’t give up on you. You gave up on us. I just finally listened.”

He reached for your hand, and for a moment, you let him take it.

“I love you” he said, with every ounce of fear and hope in his chest.

You gave a sad smile, eyes dropping to the place where your hands touched.

“And I…..loved you.” You stood slowly, gently pulling your hand away.

He didn’t stop you when you walked away.

He wanted to. God, he wanted to.

But maybe this time, he didn’t deserve to.

ᥫ᭡reblog's & comment's are appreciatedᥫ᭡

©lov3notts ,do not copy, translate or claim any of my writing or works as your own.

[letterlitter]

Let go (nsfw)

Lando Norris x reader

•Lando needs to relief stress after a bad weekend

•tags: smut, semi public, handjob (male recieving), Lando is a sad baby, moaning

•word cound: 1.6

It had been a rough few weeks. You had been away on business and Lando was racing but things weren't going as well as you both hoped.

All had gone downhill after the first race of the season which Lando had won. MCL39 was fast and everybody knew that, yet Lando had been struggling to get it right and use the car's potential to its fullest. He had been updating you through video or phone calls and he repeatedly told you how much he could use a kiss; to which you would reply with a giggle and a "very soon baby" and when you finally made it to the Saudi gp, it was a nice surprise for Lando and the press.

The qualifying had gone terribly for Lando and he wasn't happy about the results at all. You could see him pouting and rolling his eyes from behind his helmet as he got off the car.

You tried to find him in every crowd and be in his sight even when he was busy to let him know you were there, watching and supporting him in real time but eventhough he always smiled back and tanked you several times for it, it wasn't enough to keep him out of his own head.

Sunday, race day

Lando was starting in the middle, closer to the back of the lineup than the front. You and the team sat in the garage hoping for the best and while you had your eyes on Oscar dominating the race, you were worried about Lando. He was doing pretty well with the overtakes and the overall pace but everyone was now more focused on the screen showing how Oscar was going to take the win.

You liked Oscar, he was very talented, hardworking and well deserving of the achievements he had; but your heart broke for Lando, since no matter how had he pushed and how hard he was on himself, he didn't seem to always get it right. You loved him despite every obstacle the media or both of your lives' circumstances were putting in front of you but it hurt your heart to see him try and not see results. You knew how it felt like, to run as fast as you can and be the smartest version of yourself but see someone else doing it better with less effort.it was a tiny part of how brutal life could be. Lando had talked about it to you as well. You knew his struggles and the roller coaster his mental state would go on every single race after his first win last year in Miami.

Before, he would just settle for a podium or some points; but after expanding his capabilities and achievement's limits, he couldn't stop himself from being hungry for the best all the time even when it wasn't realistic. He was hard on himself and the pressure had gotten to him these past few weeks.

Lando ended up 4th on the Saudi gp and while he had done an amazing job, everyone's focus had been on Oscar getting the win for the team.

Lando came in after one or two interviews, helmet in hand, sweat dripping from his forehead. He gave the team in the garage a nod and went straight to the dressing room. He didn't talk to anyone or say much. "Just straight to privacy and silence where he could overthink his brains out" you thought as you stood up, held your hand to stop his engineer, Will, who had taken a step to go after him.

"Let me" you mouthed to him and slowed your steps towards the room to let Lando have his few moments of silence.

"Hello, anyone here?" You tapped your fingers on the door as you pushed it open to find Lando sitting in the farthest corner of the couch in the dressing room. Race suit still on and hanging from his hips. He lifted his head from his hands when he heard your voice and managed a "it is what it is right?" Smile at you.

You sat next to him, "very nice job today. Honestly. And not because you're sad"

Lando scoffed. That was a good sign.

"What's the point when I have done shit for the third week in a row."

"Says who?"

"Me. It's like I waited for Oscar to catch up. I just can't believe I'm this bad...actually I kind of do"

"Don't say that about yourself baby" you rubbed your hand on his back. His fireproof cold from the dried sweat, "I know you beat yourself up because you have high expectations of yourself" you slided to the floor to make Lando's held down head face you, "but with almost every standard you're still doing really really good. And you still have plenty of time to make up for it all. You will only have less chances to mess up and that's it."

Lando exhaled.

"I just think you need to let loose a little bit." you cupped his cheek with a hand and lifted his face, "Stop blaming yourself"Lando looked into your eyes for the first time with a faint smile on his lips.

"Hello there" you whispered

"Hey" his smile widened

"You want a kiss?"

"Please" he sounded desperate

You kissed him long and deep.

You kept wanting to pull away but Lando was following you, even as you tried to stand up.

The kiss seemed to get more passionate and more than just a kiss as moments passed on. Lando's hand started messaging your back, trying to find a way under your vest.

"Slow down mister, this isn't your race track" and you kissed your way down his face to his neck, tracing the helmet marks on his soft skin; Feeling his body heat with your lips, tasting his sweat. Your hands pushed his race suit's zipper lower before he pulled back a second, "the door"

You stood back to let him go and turn the lock. You usually didn't care but the last thing both of you needed right now was getting caught while everybody in the world were behind those doors.

But as soon as he came back two second later, you didn't hesitate to push him to a wall and put your hands on him, pushing his suit lower, getting to his hardening bulge after you had grinded your hips on him before.

"I see you miss me huh?"

"Is that even a question?"

"No not really"

You slightly rubbed and squeezed his balls over his underwear. Making him moan subconsciously. Lando's eyes popped from the unexpected volume of his own moaning.

"Turn it down pretty boy, people might hear us" and you rubbed your hands more firmly, making him visibly suffer. There was something about Lando after a race that made you want him so badly. Maybe it was his wet hair or the red marks on his face. Or maybe it was his wet eyes from the tears he tried to hold back earlier. It all made you...want him.

You slided down Lando's underwear, releasing his long, hard dick. First you were thinking of getting down on your knees, but you couldn't possibly miss the scenery up there. Lando's forehead was filled with wrinkles as your hand touched the skin of his penis. You could feel the slight vibrations of his neck under your lips while he moaned in his throat and tried not to be loud.

"Oh fuck y/n" he let out when you started teasing his tip with your thumb, "are you trying to...fuck..trying to kill me?"

"Shhhhh" you kissed his lips to shut him up. This was going to be slow and relieving. All of his attention and focus had to be on you and trying not to moan instead of the race results; even if it was for a few minutes.

Lando's moans were getting more frequent by the second. At one point his patience was so lost that he hit the back of his head to the wall behind him, with his fingers digging into the skin of your back. "You wanna come?"

Lando answerd with an impatient moan.

"I need those words baby" you looked up at him and smiled at his squeezed shut eyes and tilted back head.

"Please."

"Please what?"

"Oh fuck off y/n"

In a regular day, your would've listened and stopped whatever you were doing to tease him even more. But you felt he had been through enough for today so you took up the pace and moved your hand faster on the pre-cum covered surface you were working on.

"Come for me baby. Come"

You reached for a towel on the sofa in time to clean everything up before Lando got cum on both of you.

He let out a final exhale of comfort and finally opened his eyes.

"Come here" he pulled you in a tight hug as he came down from the high.

"Feel better?"

"I thought I was seeing stars are you crazy?"

You chuckled, "yes I may be"

Lando kissed your forehead a few times before he let you go.

"I have to get back out there. Also take this with you" he took the gray towel by the clean part, "and destroy it."

"Okay"

"I mean it y/n." He shouted as he was walking out the door. Making you laugh with relief seeing the difference between the way he came into this room and the way he was getting out of it.

[livwritessometimes]

At Least One Of Us Got Our Happy Ending

: Part 15 (Lando's Version)

: Spring Fling is finally here…that’s a good thing right?

: Prev | Next

: Series Masterlist

: Main Masterlist

: Author's Note - You can refer to Interesting *Cue Evil Laugh* to get the context for a certain part.

…

As Y/n and Lando watched Oscar pull his girl in for a kiss, she couldn't help but join some of their friends in hooting for the new couple. It was nice to see Oscar finally be with the girl he'd madly been head-over-heels for—Y/n could recall countless conversations they'd had about this. Smiling at the scene, she felt Lando pull her close to him, his hand resting on her waist.

"Should we get back to the table?" Asked Lando

Looking away from the scene in front of her, Y/n nodded at him and started leading him to their table.

There sat Max, one of Lando's friends who he constantly played games with, and his date.

Taking a seat, Y/n said, "It's so nice to see Oscar finally be happy."

"It is! I'm glad he came today," Lando said, looking at Oscar.

Max laughed to himself, leaning back against the chair he said, "I guess it's nice when things work out the way they're supposed to, huh?" He said, looking at Lando.

Lando narrowed his eyes at Max, "Max..." He said in a warning tone.

Confused by the exchange Y/n asked, "Wait, what's that supposed to mean?"

Max shrugged casually, taking a sip from the flask he had snuck in, "Oh, it's just funny how it all started you know? I just didn't think you guys would actually make it," Max finished.

Lando could feel his heart beating faster, "Max," He said again this time with hint of anger.

Y/n couldn't help but tense up, looking between Lando and Max. "What does he mean by 'How it started' Lando?" She asked.

"Oh nothing, you know how I am, I love to talk nonsense," Max said realizing that he might have said a little too much.

"Lando...What does he mean by that?" Y/n asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando sighed deeply, his mind racing as he tried to find the right words. He felt angry—angry at Max for opening his mouth when it was not needed, angry at himself for agreeing to do such a stupid thing.

"Y/n..." He started, his voice hesitant. Reaching out for her hand, he said, "It wasn't supposed to mean anything...I had no idea that I would actually fall in love..." He said. He could see the dread wash over Y/n's eyes.

*flashback*

*present*

Y/n felt her heart shatter into a million pieces. All hope and dreams for an amazing night disappeared in an instant. She sat there in silence as she let Lando's words sink in.

"So I was just a 'Dare'?" She asked, still in disbelief.

Lando avoided her gaze, his throat feeling dry. "I—I never imagined that it would turn into this," He said. "At first, it was just a stupid dare, I was just angry about the complaint, but I never thought that..." Lando's voice trailed off. He was not sure what he could say or do to make any of it sound better.

Y/n could feel her eyes sting with tears, "So does that mean all this time, every single conversation we've had, every single moment we've spent together...It was all just a game to you?" Y/n said as tears trickled down her face.

"No!," Lando said suddenly, a little too loud for his liking. He tried to reach out for her hand, but she pulled away, "I didn't mean for it to be like that. It was just a dare at the start, I admit, but the more time I spent with you, the more I realized that I just couldn't continue. I was going to tell you, I swear Y/n," Lando said. "I just didn't know how...." He trailed off again.

"So if you hadn't "fallen in love" with me, would you have still gone through with your plan?" Y/n asked, her voice a mixture of anger and hurt.

Lando opened his mouth but no words came out. He didn't have an answer. Deep down, he knew that no answer would make things right. The damage had already been done.

Y/n stood up abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Congrats!" She spat, her voice filled with bitterness. "You've won your stupid dare. I really hope it was worth it Lando," she said as she started walking towards the exit.

"Y/n please wait!" Lando pleaded.

"NO!" Y/n said, finally letting go of the emotions she had been holding onto till now. "Don't you dare follow me. You've lost the right to do that," she said, her voice cracking at the end.

And with that, she made her way out of the hall, taking Lando's heart with every step she took.

…

Tags: @regalbanshee | @be-your-coffee-pot | @mrsbrxkkxr | @princessria127 | @moonraysandstars | @prettiest-at-the-party | @theblueblub | @magixpracticality | @slytherinholland | @overlyexcitedoutlaw | @marvel-at-stucky | @crumbssss | @a-beaverhausen | @felicityforyou | @gigigreens | @jas0nluvr | @khaylin27 | @imsiriuslyreal | @cwiphswmwasohmm | @wobblymug | @e-nonsense | @raizelchrysanderoctavius | @papaya-twinks | @vintagefucksstuff | @st4rg1rln | @redstappen | @iamred-iamyellow | @tashisgf | @ghost-of-student-sufferings | @saachiep81 | @lozzamez3 | @ravisinghs-wife | @elizamoe133 | @anthonylockwoodandco111 | @formulaal | @luvsforme | @annabellelee | @a-disturbing-self-reflection | @emryb | @grovelingmen | @illicit-affcirs | @iwilleatyourgod | @youre-on-your-ownkid | @originaldreamerdragon | @landorris | @mountvesuvu | @chezmardybum | @littlegrapejuice | @spitesfvl-blog | @juleshadalittlelamb | @vicurious28 | @niyu2208 |

[happy74827]

The Demon With A Heart

[Crowley x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: When Crowley saves your life, you can't help but think it was a little more than self-interest.

WC: 1858

Category: 99.9% Sexual Tension (lmfao), 0.01% Fluff + Angst? {TW: Mentions of Demons (obvi), Murder}

Crowley is too iconic not to have fics. I said what I said.

『••✎••』

You didn’t know how to react. It was as if your tongue was taken away, and you couldn’t talk, no matter how much you wanted to thank the man.

No, the demon.

You stood there with wide eyes, staring at the King of Hell, Crowley. He looked the same as before: a clean suit, a snarky comment, and a look of disgust on his face. But, instead of being on the opposite side, he was wiping the blood off of the angel blade he used to kill the angel that jumped you.

He just saved you—The King of Hell.

The very man who told Sam and Dean countless times that he doesn't do anything for free and doesn’t help people without getting something out of it. Yet, here he was, standing in front of you, not asking for a single thing.

The thought was a bit unsettling.

"Purely out of self-interest, darling," He says, breaking the silence and putting the stolen blade into his jacket. "Call it a favor that I plan to collect in the future."

He was about to leave, but you couldn’t let him go. Not without a thank you, at least. You didn't want him to think you didn’t appreciate what he did.

"Crowley."

The man turns back around, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

"Thank you."

The corner of his mouth turned upward, forming a small smirk. He didn’t say anything but rather kept his eyes on you for a second longer. He then disappeared, leaving you in the dark.

And it did leave you in the dark. For days, weeks, months. He never came for that favor, and he never brought up what happened. In fact, he barely talked to you at all. It was always towards the Winchesters.

You began to believe it was nothing but a dream. That Crowley somehow didn't save you. The angel was a fake, and this was all some sick joke. It felt like gaslighting.

But you knew what happened was real. You remembered the blood splatter and the dead corpse. The way his face contorted when he pierced the angel's heart.

It was all too real.

So, why was he ignoring you? Why did he pretend that it never happened? Was he going to hold it over your head? Or was it just the fact that the King of Hell did something nice for a human?

Was it because he… cared?

One night, you got your answer. It was a quiet night filled with books, tea, and soft music. At least, it was before those idiotic brothers decided to tear down the bunker in search of some book.

You couldn’t remember the exact reason they needed it, but you were too tired to argue. So, you stayed in your room and tried to fall asleep.

That is until the lights went out and the emergency lights kicked on. Okay, now you were annoyed. You got up, slipped on your shoes and a coat, and walked out of your room.

"Alright, what did you two-"

You paused mid-sentence, eyes falling onto the figure in the library. The man was facing the opposite way, but you knew exactly who it was. The familiar black suit and hair gave it away.

"Crowley…"

"Hello, Darling,” he replied, turning around and smiling at you. It was almost unnerving. He didn’t have a malicious aura or even an evil one. Just... a smile.

You looked behind him and noticed… well, nothing. You were expecting the Winchesters to be with him, and yet, it was just him.

"Where are the boys?"

"Moose and Squirrel? Ah, they're off somewhere, doing... well, you know. Something heroic, I suppose. Figured I’d stick around… enjoy the scenery."

That’s when you looked up and understood what he meant. He was stuck, quite literally. Those devil traps they put everywhere finally did something good.

You half-expected him to bring up that 'favor' he was talking about or maybe even just demand to get out of there, but he did neither. Instead, he looked at the ground and sighed.

At the moment, the King of Hell looked just like a caged puppy, sad and alone. If he wasn’t such a… demon, you might have even felt bad for him.

But, you left him in there, strolling along to the kitchen to find some kind of light. You were not giving up your two hours of reading due to power loss.

As you shuffled through the cabinets, looking for any form of match or lighter, the lights flickered back on.

So that’s where the Winchesters were.

You shrugged and turned back to your room but stopped at the entrance to the library. Crowley was still there, but this time, his face was twisted. He was clearly pissed.

"Why did you do it?" The burning question you wanted answered for months finally came out. Crowley stopped his little fit and turned towards you, a confused expression on his face.

He looked like he had no idea what you were talking about.

"I do a lot of things, Chipmunk. You'll have to be more specific."

You walked towards him, resting down the candles and book on a nearby table. You didn’t know why, but the need to confront him was growing.

"Save me all those months ago."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

You were getting closer, now only a few feet from him. Crowley, however, didn’t back away. Instead, he watched as you moved, his expression unchanging.

"That angel could’ve killed me, yet you came out of nowhere and stabbed him. I know you don't do anything out of kindness, so why did you do it? What do I offer that no one else does?"

Crowley stayed silent for a while, not giving any indication of answering your questions.

You thought it was just a lost cause until his expression changed. It was subtle, but you caught it. The corner of his mouth turned down, and his eyes widened, then narrowed.

He almost looked ashamed.

"It's just like I said. Self-interest." He spat out, his voice sounding like venom. You almost took a step back. It still sounded like the same old Crowley, but his tone was different.

You decided to call his bluff.

"I don't believe you."

Crowley raised an eyebrow, a smirk coming across his face. He was amused by the sudden attitude, but it didn’t last long.

"And what makes you say that?"

"I saw the way you looked at me after you saved me. Hesitancy, almost. Like you were unsure. As if..."

The King of Hell stared at you, waiting for the last part of your statement. He was eager but not for the answer. No, he knew what you were going to say.

He was just waiting to hear it come out of your mouth.

"You care."

Those words hung in the air, both of you processing it. Crowley continued to stare at you, the smirk disappearing, leaving his face neutral. He had a blank expression.

A silence grew, the atmosphere turning awkward. It wasn't until the demon let out a loud sigh and looked to the side that it was broken.

"You’re really pulling on the heartstrings, Chipmunk,” he muttered, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "If I had one, I'd say it was aching."

"Do you?"

You knew what you were implying. Crowley was the King of Hell, the ruler of the damned. He was the furthest thing from human, yet he could walk among them and, sometimes, be mistaken for one.

Was it possible for him to be human or even have emotions?

Crowley looked at you and frowned, clearly not liking the topic. But he didn't deny it. It was a strange sight—the King of Hell, frowning and silent.

It was almost adorable.

"I'm not asking for anything. I just… want an honest answer."

"Well, I am a demon, love,” He stated, his tone changing to a more playful one. “Honesty isn’t quite in the job description."

"Crowley."

You were starting to get impatient, and it showed. Your voice was firm, and your posture was tense. You wanted an answer, and you were determined to get it.

The demon in question let out another sigh and looked at the ceiling as if praying for a quick escape.

"You're a pain, you know that? It's exhausting." He grumbled, rolling his eyes. "But, I suppose, since you asked nicely..."

The man looked at you, his lips pursed. He was still hesitating, which only made you more curious.

"Yes, I care. About you. Happy?"

You blinked a few times, processing the information. Did the King of Hell, the person known for not giving a shit, just admit he cares?

"I-" You started, not knowing what to say. It was a surprise but not an unwelcome one. Crowley wasn't exactly a bad guy, well, a demon.

"Do you actually mean that?"

"Now that…" Crowley started, his voice low and deep. He leaned towards you, making you back up, but the wall soon prevented you from going any further.

He was inches away, his breath hitting your face. You could see his eyes staring into yours—a pretty brown, like a mocha latte.

"…Is the kind of question that will get you in trouble, love."

You weren’t sure what he was planning, but you didn't care. The way his eyes were looking at you, the smirk on his face, the closeness...

He was probably expecting you to back away, but he was wrong. You were an avid reader, obsessive even. This scene wasn't new, nor was it shocking.

The only shocking part was the fact that you were the one in it. And, well, the fact that you didn’t mind it.

"Unlike you,” you whispered, a small smirk on your face. "I don’t care."

Your response made him pause for a moment, squinting his eyes and giving you a confused look. It only lasted a few seconds, though. Soon, he understood, and a chuckle escaped his lips.

"Touché"

You truly believed you were about to lose your chance with the man upstairs, but loud footsteps interrupted you.

"Crowley, you slimy son of a bitch! If you’re not here, we are going to-"

Dean stopped talking as he rounded the corner, seeing you and Crowley close. His expression was shocked, almost comical.

"The hell is going on here?"

You and Crowley both turned to look at Dean, a look of annoyance on the King of Hell's face. Sam came around the corner as well, sharing the same look of confusion.

Crowley gave you one last glance, a bit of disappointment in his eyes, before taking a step back. His attention moved on to the two hunters, his usual smile returning.

And despite the annoyance in the air and the confusion, the only thing that came across your mind was another question that you were sure would take control of your sleep schedule once again.

"Hello, boys," He purred, his arms moving to his side. He was back to his old self, not showing a single sign of what happened moments ago.

Had the beauty thawed the beast?

[airybcby]

hi hii! could i get a chai with vanilla syrup and cinnamon iced with ushijima pls🙈 THANK U ILY

order up!

iced chai add vanilla syrup and cinnamon!

જ⁀✦ i will wait

( ushijima wakatoshi x reader )

♡ a/n — for my for here or to go event! find the menu here! (masterlist)

♡ word count — 2.3k

♡ content — ushijima x reader, supposed to be gn but prob reads more fem?, unrequited love, comfort after pain, fluff, angst, childhood best friends, maybe ooc ushijima?, not proofread

♡ synopsis — Ushijima was like the Earth. Deep. Rooted. Serious. And as much as you loved the earth, all you wanted was fireworks.

── .✦ so i will wait for the next time you want me

The one thing that never changed about Ushijima Wakatoshi was that he never made promises.

Not out loud.

But you always believed he kept them anyway.

You met when you were six. 

Your family had moved into the house next to his — a plain two-story with a pear tree out front and a wooden fence separating your yards. 

He stood there on your first day, just… watching. No greeting, no smile. 

Just those heavy green eyes following you like he’d already decided he’d know you for the rest of his life.

You waved first. He didn’t wave back.

But when you fell and skinned your knee running in the yard later that week, he came over with a Band-Aid. 

Didn’t say a word, just held it out and waited until you stopped crying.

You always remembered that. 

Not because it was special — but because he was.

Time passed, and Ushijima stayed exactly how he was. 

Quiet. Grounded. 

Oddly adult for a child. 

He didn't understand sarcasm or jokes very well, and whenever your parents made small talk with his, he'd just nod along like he had somewhere better to be.

But he never missed a single time you asked:

“Wanna walk to school with me?”

 “Yeah.”

“Do you want to help me with this project?”

“Yes.”

 “You don’t even know what it is.”

“That’s okay.”

Even when he made it onto the volleyball team in middle school — when he got taller, stronger, more serious — he still found you in the crowd after every game. 

You weren’t sure if it was habit, or if he meant to do it. You didn’t ask. 

You just waved at him, smiling like you didn’t notice that he never waved back.

And when life hurt — when you got your first heartbreak in junior high, when you didn’t make the team you tried out for, when someone talked about you behind your back — he didn’t know what to say. 

But he sat next to you in silence. That was always his way.

You’d rest your head on his shoulder and whisper,

“Thanks for being here, Toshi.”

He never answered. But he never moved away either.

It was stupid, maybe, to think he’d always be there like that. But when you’re young, you think forever is a real thing.

You think love is simple — that it’ll come wrapped in a bow, loud and obvious.

But love wasn’t loud with Ushijima.

It was quiet. Rooted deep. So still you didn’t even realize it was growing until it was too late.

And for a while — for years — you didn’t know that he loved you at all.

Because he never said it. 

Because he never had to.

You fell in love at fifteen with a boy who played guitar and smelled like pine.

He kissed you behind the school once, tasted like mints and nerves, and told you he loved your laugh. 

You floated through those early days of affection like it was enough to fix the aching parts of yourself you didn’t yet know existed. 

And Wakatoshi? He was there. Like always.

He walked you home when pine-boy forgot. 

He stood beside you when you cried about the breakup in the back of the classroom. 

He didn’t say much — just handed you a clean tissue and sat beside you until the bell rang.

Then came the next boy. And the one after that. 

You chased butterflies and promises, hearts carved into tree trunks and first dances. 

You looked for something that you didn’t know you already had — loyalty, silence, a presence so unwavering it almost didn’t feel real.

But Wakatoshi never said anything.

Never told you how his chest tightened every time he saw someone else’s name in your phone.

Never confessed that sometimes, when he stood next to you, he imagined reaching for your hand — but didn’t.

Because he didn’t know how to say it. Because words had always failed him.

And because watching you happy, even if it wasn’t with him, still gave him something to hold on to.

You would vent to him. Complain. Laugh.

“Why can’t I just fall for someone who actually cares about me?”

He’d look at you, eyes quiet, expression unreadable.

And say, simply:

“I don’t know.”

But he did. He just knew it wouldn’t matter if he said it.

You never noticed that he remembered everything.

How you liked your coffee. 

The way you always double-knotted your shoelaces. 

The exact expression you made when you were trying not to cry. 

The way you curled into yourself when you were tired.

He memorized you like it was a language only he was fluent in.

And still — you didn’t see it.

Because you were looking for fireworks, not roots.

And Ushijima? He was the earth. Steady. Quiet. Deep.

And oh god, so in love with you.

You were seventeen when you swore you finally understood love.

You didn’t even knock.

The screen door of the Ushijima residence creaked like it always did — a little too loud, a little too familiar. 

You kicked your shoes off in the entryway like it was your home, called out his name like he was yours.

“Toshi!”

He was upstairs in his room, seated on the edge of the bed like he’d been expecting you. 

His legs shifted automatically, spreading just enough to make room for your arrival as you flopped back against the sheets like a gust of summer wind, breathless and warm.

He didn’t say anything, just looked at you — the corner of his lips twitching slightly, like maybe, just maybe, you’d say his name again the way you did when you were kids. 

But instead, you grinned, holding up a slightly wilted rose and a cheap box of chocolates, the kind that come from the clearance bin near the register.

“He’s the one,” you said, breathless and laughing. “Like for real this time.”

He blinked. Slowly. His back straightened.

“He sang to me,” you added, like that was the most magical thing anyone could do. “Right outside the gym. And then he kissed me, like—like in the movies, y’know? Like fireworks.”

You tucked the rose behind your ear, still giggling, eyes cast toward the ceiling as if reliving it would make it even sweeter. 

You looked happy. Radiant, even. And it made something in his chest begin to shrink.

He didn’t say anything.

Just nodded once.

Watched your fingers as they fiddled with the chocolate box.

Watched your lips as you painted a picture he couldn’t be in.

Because he wasn’t the boy who sang. 

He wasn’t the boy who kissed you in school hallways.

He wasn’t the one who bought you gas station flowers or said cheesy things that made your eyes sparkle.

He was the one you always came back to after the sparks burned out.

The one who knew your mom’s work schedule and your favorite ramen flavor.

The one who saved your favorite blanket during a thunderstorm when your power went out.

You were looking for fireworks again.

And he was still the earth.

As you kept talking, the sound of your voice began to blur at the edges — not because he wasn’t listening, but because it was starting to hurt in ways he’d stopped letting himself acknowledge.

So instead, he thought about the upcoming qualifier.

About footwork drills and serve receives.

About winning.

About how maybe, just maybe, if he was good enough at something, it wouldn’t matter that he wasn’t good enough for you.

He loved you. He had for years. 

But he realized, in that moment, sitting silently beside you while you hugged a dying rose like it was gold, that love wasn’t enough to wait forever on. Not when the only thing he ever seemed to do was watch you fall for someone else.

And you?

You didn’t notice the way his shoulders sank.

Didn’t catch the way his jaw tensed, just slightly.

Didn’t see the way his hands gripped his bedsheets like he was holding himself together.

Because you were in love. Or so you said.

With someone who wasn’t him. Again.

It had taken you longer than you were proud of.

All those nights you spent lying awake, staring at the ceiling and wondering why your heart didn’t race when the boys you dated said they loved you. 

Why you kept finding your way back to the same person, year after year. Why every small moment with him — the silence, the steadiness, the kindness — meant more than any dramatic gesture anyone else ever gave.

You didn’t fall in love with Wakatoshi Ushijima in one moment.

You fell in love with him through a hundred small ones.

The way he never flinched when you were angry.

The way he always remembered the things you forgot.

The way he never once asked you to be anything other than what you were.

And when you realized — really realized — it was almost embarrassing how fast you ran to him.

His house. Again. Always his house.

The door was already open. His shoes were by the mat, his bag tossed by the kitchen counter.

You followed the sound of a quiet shower upstairs, waited with shaking hands until he stepped out, towel around his shoulders, eyebrows raised in quiet confusion.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

You swallowed hard. You didn’t want to cry. You weren’t sad. Not yet.

“I think I love you,” you said — and for the first time in your life, the words didn’t feel like fireworks. They felt true.

You meant it.

You meant it so much it ached.

He stood in front of you, completely still. You searched his face for something — anything — some twitch of a smile, some flicker in his eyes.

But instead, he nodded.

Not surprised. Not warm. Not cold.

Just… Ushijima. The one everyone else knew. Not the one you knew.

“Volleyball,” he said, quietly. “Will always be my top priority.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat. He didn’t say he didn’t love you. He didn’t say he couldn’t. But he didn’t say anything else, either.

“So… that’s it?” you whispered. “After everything?”

“You’re still important to me,” he said. “You always have been.”

And then, like it was the simplest thing in the world:

“We can still be friends.”

You stared at him.

And suddenly, every memory you had of him — the birthdays, the late-night calls, the way he’d listen when no one else did — it all felt like it cracked apart, one jagged piece at a time.

Because you realized something awful, something honest.

You had always been waiting for him to love you back. Love you loud. 

But that wasn’t who he was.

And you never understood that.

He had never been waiting for you.

And now, with the quiet finality of his voice, you knew he never would.

You’ve dated other people.

Some were kind. Some were forgettable. Some tried to love you the way you wanted Ushijima to — deeply, endlessly, as if their hearts were made to fit yours.

But no matter how far you went, or how long the relationship lasted, no one ever really stuck.

You stopped pretending to be surprised by it after a while.

Now, you’re older. Wiser, maybe. Definitely more tired. 

Ushijima plays for the Schweiden Adlers now. He’s on posters. Highlight reels. 

When he visits, it’s a handful of days — if you’re lucky. And even then, it’s mostly just dinner and movies, the same easy rhythm you’ve shared since you were kids.

It’s always felt like that with him. Timeless. Safe.

Even if it never became anything else.

Tonight, the game ended a few hours ago. He’s freshly showered, hair still damp, sitting next to you on the couch. 

A movie plays on low volume — you’re barely paying attention, legs curled beneath you, your hand dipping into the popcorn bowl between you both.

The silence is warm. Familiar. His presence never needed filling.

And then — so casually it almost doesn’t register — he says:

“I used to love you.”

You freeze.

Your hand hovers in the popcorn bowl, and when you turn to him, he’s not even looking at you. His eyes are still on the screen, his face unreadable — that same calm expression you’ve spent your whole life trying to decipher.

“What?”

He blinks once, then glances at you.

“Back in high school. I think it started when we were sixteen.”

Your chest tightens. “Why are you telling me this now?”

There’s a beat of silence — no drama, no hesitation.

“Because I don’t feel it anymore,” he says. “I just wanted to tell you.”

And then he settles back into the couch like he hadn’t just cracked something wide open in your chest. 

Like he hadn’t just reached into your past and rewritten it with words he should’ve said years ago.

You stare at him. At the line of his jaw. The slow rise and fall of his chest.

He’s so calm. So composed.

And for the first time in your life, you feel what he must’ve felt all those years ago — sitting beside someone who would never look at you the way you looked at them. 

Listening to stories about other boys. 

Being everything but the person they wanted.

It hits you like a wave.

Not with rage. Not with regret.

Just... sorrow.

Because this is what it feels like — to finally understand too late. To ache for something that’s already passed.

You press your lips together, trying to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He nods, and the movie plays on.

You don’t say anything else. There’s nothing left to ask. Nothing left to change.

You sit beside him for the rest of the night — quiet, still, and completely heartbroken.

But this time, the pain is yours alone to carry.

And somehow, you know you’ll survive it.

Just like he did.

ugh this mannn

i hope you liked it!!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[overangel]

I just thought of this while in the middle of sending the ask about hair pulling, but what will happen to the Batfamily's love interest when they fall for darling and how do they feel about their man being in love with their stepsister? Do they know darling or did they find out about her after their bat started pursuing her instead of them?

(I'm so sorry for sending so many asks😭)

-🦇

𝑾𝒉𝒐'𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍?

Dick = Starfire & Barbara

Kori understands, but Barbara breaks.

You helped him see that his worth wasn’t tied to who he was with or how he made people feel. Your concern for him was genuine, your observations impassioned, and for some reason your words reached deeper than anyone else’s ever had.

You were right. He had a problem but had been at it for so long, he didn’t know how to stop and who he would be after if he ever did.

He took a step back and saw what he had been doing with his life. He was sexualized since he was a boy and bounced between women like a pinball, leaving a trail of broken hearts and feeling emptier from each relationship.

He was looking for something he couldn’t find in himself, something he was sure he could only find in another person.

You helped him see that he was so much more than a body, a face, or a fantasy, and he fell.

The exact opposite of what you wanted.

Kori understands his feelings completely. Her people are driven by passion, and she could feel his love for you practically radiating off his being simply from your name being mentioned. 

His change was subtle but couldn't go unnoticed by someone who loved him as deeply as she did. He wasn't always "on" like before. Whether as Dick Grayson or Nightwing, he was always being watched, admired, devoured. He was never caught at a bad angle, and he still wasn't now—Dick Grayson didn't have bad angles—but he was simply being now. When was the last time he could take a deep breath and feel his lungs expand and taste the sun on his tongue and smell the scent of daisies on the air? It was when his parents were alive. And now, it's after falling in love with you.

He was less touchy and more relaxed. He took things at a slower pace, and was less compelled to sprint into danger or into an entanglement. He wasn't constantly seeking validation to distract him from the pain.

She wasn’t an idiot.

Kori loves love, and she loves Dick and wants him to be happy even if it’s not with her. You wouldn't back down if she fell in love with her adopted sister either (if she had one), so how could she have the gall to discourage Dick? She wasn't a hypocrite.

That doesn’t stop her from initially wanting to fight you to the death for him, but she doesn’t need to lose a fight to see she’s already lost.

She and Dick sat in a long silence, their faces saying what words couldn’t. 

It’s over. 

It had been over the moment you touched his heart.

Barbara can’t be calm, cool, and collected in this scenario. Barbara could let things slide within reason, and had to get used to the insanity life threw at her at every turn, but this was something she didn’t think she could accept.

 A knee jerk reaction tells her that this is wrong! You might as well be Dick’s sister. She shames him for being promiscuous, and lets loose on all the ways this wouldn’t end well for him.

What? He ran out of options and started looking close to home? (she’s a hypocrite and knows it, but emotions are irrational and she’s letting every single one take over)

So what if you were an adult and got your body back? You were Bruce’s daughter that made you off limits, especially to him (who said?). Dick was just lonely and bored and looking for an exotic distraction.

She belittled him in every way and he just stood there. Staring into her eyes, he was an immovable mountain.  

“Are you done?” She was hurting and she wanted to hurt him even more. He knew this and let her lash out and she hated him for being the bigger person.

“I never knew you were a creep.” She spat out from bitten lips.

“I didn’t know you were so small-minded.”

She swings on him and he lets her chop connect. She kicks him in the gut and he doesn’t dodge. He merely bends but his knees don’t buckle. His face is impassive as if she’s just a gnat in front of him.

He waits for her tantrum to end and for all of the fight to leave her so he can help her crawl into her bed. She's dissolved into tears, and her fiery hair he once loved is a curtain hiding her shame.

He leaves their—no, her—apartment. He’s moving out today. He leaves his key on the table and doesn’t look back.

He’s going home to you.

Jason = Ravager

Ravager tries to hit him where it hurts. 

It’s no secret that Jason pushed people away, including the rare few with good intentions. Especially that rare few. He could’ve had something good with Ravager—Rose Wilson—but it was a different day, same story. Jason didn’t want to let himself be vulnerable. If he let someone in, they’d see the things he never let see the light of day for a reason.

They'd see the beauty, but a lot more ugly, and he wouldn't be able to live if someone he loved saw who he really was and couldn't accept him.

It was a shame. They had so much in common. They both knew pain like an intimate friend, were the black sheep of their families, and learned that life wasn't fair before they could even walk. 

They could’ve been so good together, and Jason once regretted pushing her away, hating himself for once again not knowing how to be happy. But now? He was relieved he had pulled away. It was like he unconsciously saved himself for your arrival.

And because things could never be easy for Jason, Rose had fallen back into his life acting like they had never been apart right when he was trying to build something that would last with you.

She was startled and that rarely happened. He wasn’t the same old Jason she knew. He didn’t run from his feelings, he embraced them. He no longer hid his insecurities with dark humor and one-liners, and now he walked like man who knew who he was and was confident with his choices.

He didn’t need Batman’s or anyone else's approval and even more, he didn’t want it. 

He had changed in ways she thought he never could in his life and she was smart enough to find out why that was.

He had been setting up his scope when she cornered him on a rooftop one night. “Seriously?” She hissed. Her mouth curled into a disgusted snarl. “That’s low even for you.” Jason merely squinted, his mind turning over what she could be talking about.

“Aren’t you taking your daddy issues a little too far? Going after his daughter?”

Jason’s blood ran cold and his eyes, that you lovingly called ‘teal,’ flashed with the toxic green of the pit. 

“Watch it, Ravager.”

She leaned in, “Or what? You’re too scared of women, but your sister’s fair game?”

He took one controlled breath. There would not be a third chance after this.

“That’s not the case. I’m not afraid. I’m in love.” The toxin switched to that lovely teal when he thought of you, “She makes me better.”

Ravager scoffed and it almost sounded like she was gathering spit, “She’s a bandage for the bigger problem.” He could feel her roll her eyes under her ask. "You're fucked, and so is she."

He didn’t hold back, but he didn’t kill her either. They had been friends once. 

“Real rich of you talking about daddy issues.” He knelt beside her battered and broken body and wiped the blood from his blade on the skin beside her empty eye socket. He had removed her mask and eyepatch during the fight and dug in a thumb to completely immobilize her. The scream that erupted from her throat was inhuman and he grinned in wolfish satisfaction.

Anyone would deserve it for talking about you like that.

“She’s not my sister, and even if she was,” He turned his back on her, who was fighting unconsciousness, “that wouldn’t stop me.”

Tim = Bernard Dowd

Bernard loses his first love.

Tim had chosen Bernard out of love, but Tim didn’t have a choice when it came to you. The obsession took root and thrived without sunshine or water. A single breath from your pretty lips was enough to nurture the sprout into a full bloom, its creeping vines wrapping around his heart and mind, forever entangled.  

Bernard thought they had settled into something almost normal like how a relationship should be. He discovered Tim’s secret identity, and shared how Tim let him be his true self too. All of the excuses, why Tim had to rain check or go help Dick or Bruce with something spontaneous during all hours of the day, started to make sense to him.

It didn’t take long for that momentary peace to be disrupted.

He first noticed the way Tim looked at you. Well, ‘look’ wasn’t strong enough. The way Tim watched you. He stared unabashedly with dilating pupils. Bernard could see Tim’s eyes moving, devouring every minor detail of yours and then committing it to memory until he could see you again. You always greeted Bernard kindly when you came across each other, and hardly spared Tim a glance, but to his horror, Tim was grateful for any little crumb and walked on air if you even said “Hi.” to him.

It’s like Tim knew where you’d go before you even got there. So many times had he moved their study session to the dining room or den before you walked in, only for you to turn back and for Tim to plead for you to stay. Bernard watched it all with a sour taste in his mouth and sinking feeling in his gut.

Tim switched date spots to wherever you were and made it look like a happy coincidence (only happy for him). He changed his habits to fit your taste, suddenly craved your favorite foods, and was always anticipating your needs. 

Bernard knew it was over when he and Tim were hanging out in the garden, but Tim had been watching you water the plants in silence, not acknowledging Bernard for two hours. 

Bernard whispered quietly, “She’s your sister, Tim.”

“Huh?” Tim was suddenly brought back into his own body.

“What do you think people will say when they find out? You’re Mr. Wayne’s adopted son and she’s an heiress.” He can’t believe he had to spell it out, but it was like wasn’t aware at all. This was a scandal that rivalled being Red Robin.

No! Tim Drake, wealthy in his own right and adopted son to Bruce Wayne fucking Y/n L/n-Wayne—Bruce Wayne's only biological daughter who was discovered in one of the most shameful moments of Bruce's life—would be infinitely more scandalous to the masses than simply finding out some rich kid was a vigilante.

Tim turned his head and locked eyes with Bernard. Something was missing behind Tim’s blue eyes. “That’s none of your concern.”

“Yes it is! I’m your boyfriend.”

Tim’s brows scrunched up, and his voice was dipped in pity. “Bernard…”

Bernard jumped to his feet and almost knocked over the lawn chair. “Don’t you dare, Tim! Don’t look at me like that.”

Tim sighed and swung his legs over the side of the recliner to face him. “Listen, I have a lot to thank you for,” Tim threaded his fingers together and rested on his knees, “but it’s best that we stop now.”

“Are you really breaking up with me for your sister?”

Through gritted teeth, “Stop saying that. She’s not my sister.”

“Well, she’s your adopted dad’s daughter so what do you think?”

Tim raised a thin brow and the pretense of pity to let Bernard down easy vanished. “I think this relationship’s run its course.”

Bernard’s shoulders dropped and his lips trembled. “This can’t be real, Tim… It could be anyone. You could go back to Stephanie, but does it have to be her?”

Tim’s resolve is unshakeable. He knew that this was taboo. He knew the dangers, he knew the ridicule, but he was ready. He had a contingency for anything that would inevitably come your way and was more than prepared to drag you down to hell with him.

“It can only be her.”

Tim sat back and resumed admiring you from a safe distance. “Alfred will show you out.”

Damian = Flatline

“Then what was all that “girlfriend” crap about on the island? What was that kiss, Robin?”

Damian was a lot taller than he had been on the island when he was barely a teen battling with self doubt and a cowl he may never fit. His shoulders were broader, his gait longer, and his horizons had broadened since you had come into his life.

“That was a long time ago.” 

“Not long enough for you to fall for your own sister!”

Damian almost tsk’d but reined it in, not wanting to seem dismissive to the girl who once meant so much to him. You taught him to be this considerate even to people he barely wanted to spare a glance.

He was young when he got his first “girlfriend,” hell, he thought of Flatline as his girlfriend before she even considered the possibility. He had been some dorky kid in a costume to her, and she had literally ripped his heart out when they first met.

He seemingly fell for her more and more, but now? He was taking back that title by force. You were the only one who would be his girlfriend, lover, and wife. He would scrub away any speck of him ever having been “unfaithful” in his past even if you didn’t know or care.

He couldn’t let anything tarnish his purity for you.

“Emotions ran high, Flatline. We were literally fighting for our lives if you don’t recall.”

“So, now it was a spur of the moment thing?” Her painted face contorted painfully. He had made her feel, and now he was just taking this back?

Damian let loose a ragged sigh and pinched his nose bridge in irritation. “I admit, I had a crush on you. However, I was child." He looked at her now like she was a child he had to explain things very carefully to, "Now, I'm a man, and she's the woman I'll love for the rest of my life."

Damian had been the one to show her that she had a choice. That she could be more than a killing machine.

"And you're just taking everything back?"

Damian's eyes flashed. He was a Wayne, but Ra's Al Ghul's roots ran deep and if you were ever in danger he'd chuck the code out the window.

"I'm not taking anything back. I was always hers from the beginning."

Bruce = Selina Kyle

“You monster!” Catwoman screeched through blood red lips and pointed canines. Her leather whip found its target, lashing at Batman’s eyes before he could fully avoid the danger zone. 

The Cat was chasing the Bat with bloodlust in her eyes, and rage pumping through her veins. He retreated, “You don’t want to do this, Catwoman.”

“I know exactly what I want, you freak.”

She closed the distance between them and slashed at his face with diamond claws, “She’s a child!”

“She’s a grown woman now.” 

The claws drew blood, but he managed to grab her wrist and put her in an armlock. She huffed through gritted teeth, “She was a teenager when she got here. Just a girl, and your daughter! You were supposed to protect her from freaks like you!”

Those words didn’t hurt him. No one could say anything worse than he had already thought about himself. 

Catwoman broke free and flipped to kick him in the jaw, he blocked it effortlessly, and became more serious. He had battled with this crisis every second of every day since he discovered you were the vigilante he had been lusting and longing for. He put himself in more life and death situations than usual, and took risks that almost promised he'd come out maimed.

He knew this was wrong, but he couldn't stop. Did he want to?

“I’ll kill you!” She shrieked, and her moves become more erratic. She was too emotionally invested in your situation. She thought of you and only saw a sixteen year old girl who had lost it all. A girl like you needed to be protected but she was thrown to the wolves in Gotham, and taken by the big bad wolf in sheep's clothing.

She knew how vulnerable girls like you had once been ended up, and the fear that gripped her heart made her fight even harder.

Bruce blocked and parried effortlessly as she began to lose stamina. A strong backhand with way too much force behind it sent her spiraling and landing across the construction site where the late night battle began.

"You're sick." She nearly cried, knowing she couldn't save the girl you used to be.

"Always have been."

[silens-oro]

Tight Five

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Dr. John Shen x f!R4!Reader Fluff/Established Relationship

The Pitt Playlist located here Masterlist

Synopsis: John and his wife get a little silly after the wildest shift of their careers Word Count: 970 Content Warning: Bad jokes A/N: as I have stated previously, Dr. John Shen has bewitched me -mind, pussy & soul. I need so much of him next season.

“You know,” John started, elbowing you gently as he sat next to you outside on the curb. The shift from hell had finally ended and you were so dead on your feet, you didn’t think you could get yourself up even if you wanted to. “I didn’t hear a single bad joke from you all night.”

“I don’t think an MCI is the place to run a tight five, ya know?” You turned slightly to smile softly at him. He was watching you, scooching closer and closer to you until your sides were snug up against each other, then he casually wrapped his arm around your shoulders to pull you into him. John kissed the top of your head affectionately, letting his lips linger as the toll of the night started to make its way through him.

Typically you’d just get in the car and go home, but you both agreed that you needed a few minutes outside to decompress before either of you got behind the wheel. John was usually as cool as a cucumber in any situation -it’s one of the things that attracted you to him and why he did so well in the trauma unit, but the events surrounding the MCI (mostly Dr. Robby's abnormal behavior and whatever was happening there) are what threw him for a loop last night and you could tell it genuinely affected him. 

“I don’t know." He shrugged, "I think an audience who can’t go anywhere might be the best people to run your lines by.” John bit his lip as he laughed. You pushed him playfully, but laughed with him nonetheless. The humor was grim, the scene you walked out of was even worse, but this is how you coped -you and John at least. He pulled you back to his side, his warmth leached into you in the most welcome way. “Come on, I know you have one brewing in there. I can almost sense how bad it's going to be, too.” You scoffed.

“Are they bad jokes if you laugh at them?”

“I’d say that makes them worse.” You rolled your eyes, but took a second to think before once came to you. “There it is,” John said with a laugh when he saw your smile grow and a metaphorical light bulb turn on above your head.

“Alright, what happens to a frog’s car when it breaks down?” You turned to look back at him expectantly, your grin only getting bigger.

You were on the cusp of delirium, running on fumes because you didn't get the normal sleep you usually got before a shift, but these quiet moments with John made you feel like you were on another planet in the best way possible. His dark eyes narrowed, knowing whatever you were about to say was going to be so astronomically stupid, it would make his entire night.

The jokes always did. 

“What happens?” He played along like a good sport.

“...It gets toad.” There was a brief silence before you let a giggle out, your head falling over onto John’s chest. He didn’t outwardly laugh, but your head bounced from the chuckles he was trying to hold in. “You want to laugh! It was good!”

“It was fine.” He stood up with a grunt, holding a hand out for you to take. 

“It was funny.” You argued, still giggling as you let him pull you up. He held you there for a moment, looking down at you with adoration in his eyes. “I don't know how, but we got through it last night,” You sighed, leaning your head onto John’s chest. His hands rubbed circles on your back as you held him to you. “And we get to come back tonight.” John groaned and shushed you, dropping down to capture your lips with his.

“We don’t talk about work outside of work.” He murmured against your lips, his forehead resting against yours. 

“We are literally at work, you dork.” You laughed.

“We are literally outside of work, you dork.” He shot back, a smug look taking over his features as he sassily bobbed his head just slightly. 

“Semantics, John. Don’t argue with your wife.” You gave him a pointed look. His eyes narrowed again. 

“You only say that when I’m right, by the way. I’ve caught onto it.” 

“Only took you five years.” You stepped onto your tip toes and kissed him once more, bringing a dopey smile to his face. Your legs felt like they were made of jello and every muscle ached down to the bone as you stepped back down. 

Last night was supposed to be your night off. Neither of you were supposed to be here, but duty calls in the PTMH ED. This was the first mass casualty event that you both encountered, and while it was horrific in every way imaginable, you felt a sense of pride at being able to help so many people with your team. 

John’s arm returned to your shoulders, holding you while you both walked to the garage as the sun rose. Your arm around his waist was one of the first things you looked forward to at the ends of your shifts. You weren't always on the same schedule together, so you allowed yourself to find any comfort you could with him when you were.

You both maintained complete professionalism at work without a single drop of PDA, so when you did manage to get your hands on him, it felt like his life force was anchoring you to him in the most loving, warmest way imaginable. 

“I’ve got another one, unless you’re ready to start throwing tomatoes,” You looked up at him, the grin returning to your face. John sighed, but nodded for you to continue. “What did the elephant say to the naked man?”

“Oh no,” John groaned, tilting his head back. “I’m gonna regret asking, but what?”

“How do you breathe out of something so small?” A snort left John before he could comprehend it and you immediately started wheezing in laughter. Your laughter echoed through the garage until you made it to John’s SUV. 

“Get in before I come to my senses,” He gave you a light push to the passenger side, finishing with a tap to your very tired ass. 

“Hey, that’s grounds for a visit to HR, Dr. Shen. Watch it."

please comment & reblog :)

[cerisereids]

𝘄𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻’𝘁 𝗯𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀 (𝘄𝗮𝗶𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲)- 𝗮.𝗵. [𝗽𝘁. 𝟰]

masterlist, part one, part two, part three

wc- 5.2k

pairing- aaron hotchner x fem!rossi!reader

summary- down on your luck after a huge betrayal, you return to live at your father's house with your tail between your legs. you're humiliated, thoroughly convinced nothing good could come from returning home. then you meet aaron hotchner.

warnings- swearing, mentions of nudity, we finally find out what happened in new york, one thing about me is my ass loves a simile, make ups all around!!!

a/n- the last part of this series is finally here!! thank you all for the endless support for this series, it means the world to me. enjoy!

The overhead light of your father's kitchen beats down in the middle of the table, the rays acting as a golden barrier between you two. He's just across the table from you, but he may as well be a million miles away. Guilt seeps through your every pore as your father's disappointment radiates through you. It's been a week since he caught you with Aaron, a case taking him away soon after that gloomy morning in the kitchen. You pick at your food, sliding it around your plate with your fork until your father speaks first.

"How long was it going to take?" he mumbles, and your head shoots up. He continues at your furrowed brow, "how long was it going to take to tell me you were sleeping with Aaron?"

The confrontation of your actions shock your nervous system, panic seizing each organ in your body. Your forehead falls into the crook of your neck, your cheeks heating at an ungodly temperature. "I'm so sorry, Papà-"

"Nuh-uh," he cuts you off, waving his fork at you, eyes dark and stormy, "don't 'Papà' me, do you have any idea that your actions have consequences, young lady?"

A pit of guilt sinks deep in your stomach, like you're 16 again and got busted sneaking in after a kegger. Only this time, you're grown, no teenage angst to fall back on as a result of your actions.

"Dad-" you try, but he's not having it.

"Did you tell him what ran you out of New York City? Why not a single publishing company will work with you?" he accuses.

Your heart stops, cheeks heating to an insane degree. Acid gurgles in your stomach as you go over the events that led you back to Virginia, your heart anxiously pounding.

"That's a no," he huffs out in annoyance, and frustration constricts your throat as he stands up to put his plate in the sink.

"Dad, I'm-"

He whips around to face you. "You're what? Sorry? You're my daughter, which means that I'm here to support you no matter what, but not when you lie to me. Not about this," he shakes his head as he makes his way to the stairs.

Soon, you're abandoned in the kitchen, your baggage your only company. You sit there in tense silence, mind flashing back to that detrimental morning one week ago. The way your father stood there, briefcase in hand, staring down Aaron like they're in a Texas Standoff.

The kitchen felt like a war zone that day, and has every day since. Tension rose thick like mud, dirtying you all over, exposing your lies. You remember the way your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach, sitting heavy as a rock as you watched your father figure it out. The way his eyes flitted between you two, his brows furrowed, one raised every so slightly as to say, 'really?'

Aaron's face flashes through your mind, the pale of his cheeks contrasting his dark features, looking like he'd seen a ghost. His hand was still partially inside a bag of Nespresso pods, frozen in place. You were sure you didn't look much better as you shot a panicked look at the raven haired man you'd been...liaising with behind your father's back.

"Don't look at him," your father said, in that stern Italian cadence that meant you were about two seconds away from swimming with the fishes. "Look at me, and tell me the truth. What's going on here?"

He knew, of course he knew, though he's making you tell him yourself. Ever the agent.

"Dad-"

"David," Aaron had cut you off immediately, and you remember the sting of acid that punched your throat, your eyes widening as he took a small step towards your dad. "It's my fault, completely. I initiated this, please don't take your anger out on her. It's on me, and I'm sorry."

You were breathless at the fact that even after all of this, Aaron was still taking care of you. You knew it was inappropriate, but you couldn't have slowed the racing patter of your heart if you tried.

"Don't tell me how to feel about you sleeping with my daughter, Aaron," your father snapped, voice booming off the marble walls. "Aaron, I've always respected you. You're a good man, and an even better agent. But right now? I've never wanted to kill somebody more. Get out of my house."

Your fork clatters against your plate as the memory surges through you, seizing every part of you with otherworldly guilt. You see yourself vaguely in the reflection of your plate, and you don't recognize yourself. The distortion of your reflection in the glass paints a better picture of you than a mirror could right now.

Shame follows the guilt soon after, twisting around your heart like a lasso and pulling until it's so tight, you're bursting out the front door for some air. The cool evening air bites gently at your cheeks, dew already beginning to moisturize the nature around you. When you'd moved back here, you wished to be like the daisies blooming in your father's yard this spring. Born again, renewed.

Angry tears prick hot in your eyes as you stroll, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout. You're in disbelief with yourself, making the same mistakes over and over again. Even in your emotional daze, though, you can't seem to count Aaron as a mistake. You're fully aware of the ways in which you hurt your father, but you can't help but wonder if you had gone about things differently, more honestly, could you still be with him?

The question nearly paralyzes you, shock unzipping down your spine at the thought of being with Aaron, inhibitions stripped away. Your feet make quick work in the direction of his apartment, your subconscious stampeding over the logical voice in your head telling you that visiting him would only be disastrous.

Emotion wins this battle, since you're knocking at his door no more than 10 minutes later. You pick at your nails as you wait for him to open the door and anxiety pools in your gut, tart and bitter. His door finally swings open and he's speechless at the sight of you. His eyes wide and chest heaving up and down, he wordlessly steps aside to let you in.

You cross the threshold and stand awkwardly in the entryway. You wring your hands together, eyes darting everywhere but the man before you. He stands with his hands on his hips, clad in a dark suit, go-bag sat by the front door.

"I'm sorry," you breathe out as you take in your surroundings. "Do you have a minute?"

He nods slightly, and your breath hitches on an inhale.

"Aaron..." you start, but the words get lost in your throat. "What do we do?" You want him to maybe, just maybe, try and salvage what you have.

"I don't think we should continue seeing each other. At all," his voice is small, but firm and low. Your hope fizzles like a sparkler fading into the night.

"What?" you breathe out. You weren't sure what other possibilities were there for you, but you weren't expecting him to shut you down so immediately.

"What?" he asks, tone bordering on sarcastic, "is that not what you came here to do?"

"N-not necessarily!" you choke out, tears immediately springing to your eyes. Your throat constricts with frustration, how easily you fold in front of him is nearly embarrassing.

He looks shocked at your response, and it's like a hammer to a nail in the middle of your heart, splitting it right down the middle. His hands still rest on his hips, but he brings a large palm to his face, running it from his forehead to his chin. When he looks back at you, his own eyes are glossy.

"I-" he starts, unsure of how to finish, "I'm sure you can imagine how difficult it has been for your father and I at work."

Water floods in your ears, white hot anger burning in your core at his words. You truly thought you heard him wrong, that there's no world in which he could be making this about himself.

"How difficult it has been for you?!" you screech, and he flinches at your tone. "My own father won't even look at me!"

He avoids your gaze, brows furrowed and sad eyes trained on the floor. You continue.

"He won't talk to me unless it's to berate me for lying to him, and you think it's hard for you?!" your voice rings louder through the

Your logical mind is once more at war with your fiery emotions. You weren't alone in your deceit, and you know that Aaron has been facing his own consequences, too. That doesn't matter much to you, though, as you stand there in front of him, shaking and in tears. All the while he stands there, still as a statue.

"I've always prided myself on being respectable. To myself and others. The way your father looked at me that day..." he shakes his head and takes a few steps in the opposite direction, regaining some composure. "I never want to feel that guilt again. I'm sure you don't either."

You nod slowly, your brain finally wrapping itself around his decision. Before you can respond, though, his phone pings with a new message. He sighs before running five fingers through his lightly gelled hair.

"I think we should talk more about this later," he says, reaching for his go-bag and meeting you by the door.

"No," you turn to him, heaving chests now inches apart, "there's nothing more to talk about. You said we need to call things off, and clearly whatever you say, goes. Have a good case Aaron," you pierce him with one last scrutinizing gaze before slamming his door.

It begins to rain lightly on your walk home, picking up in speed the further you go. Mother Nature is falling right in line with your mood, you see. You wish you could take your time, mosey in your misery. The rain does unfavorable things for your hair, though, and you'd rather not suffer the frizzy consequences.

A familiar figure waits on your porch as you arrive home, brows furrowing as you trudge up the pathway to the house. Your heart stops once you realize who it is, blood rushing through your head and pounding in your ears.

"Kate?" you nearly whisper, paralyzed with disbelief.

Her long blonde hair whips around her shoulder as she turns to face you.

"There you are! I was waiting for you!" she chirps, fake niceties rolling off her tongue with the same ease they did in New York. Good thing nothing's changed.

"Why are you here?" is all you can get out, uncaring of your nasally monotone.

She scoffs, as if it's ridiculous of you to even ask. "Well...let's go inside and talk about it! I don't want to sit in the rain! It seems it hasn't done you any favors." She scrunches her nose in a fake giggle that almost causes steam to rise from your ears. Rage bubbles up inside you as you pass her by, not looking at her as you unlock the front door.

You're not entirely sure why you're letting her in, maybe it's the itch of curiosity you haven't been able to scratch since leaving the city. Why she did what she did. Some people say closure isn’t real. You're not one of them.

"Okay," you huff out in annoyance, "what is it? Why are you here?" you lean against the entryway table, a hand on your hip.

"Geez! We haven't seen each other in almost a year. I thought there'd be at least a little courtesy!" her nonchalance bites at your heart like a mosquito, frustration and hurt swelling inside you. "I just wanted to check in on you. Is that so wrong?"

You scoff, unsure if she's putting on an act or is genuinely this vapid. You shake your head in disbelief, how were you friends with this awful woman for years?

"You never bothered to check in when I was being shamed out of every single publishing office in New York. You seemed just fine then," you cross your arms over your chest, raising a brow at her.

"I think you're being overdramatic," she responds, and your jaw drops open at her gall.

"Oh, you think?" you sneer nastily. She picked the wrong day for this. "That's really rich coming from someone who couldn't get a single piece published until you stole my manuscript!" the accusation hangs heavy in the air, explosive like a bomb.

"You know," you barrel through any bullshit response she would have had for you, "I've had a lot of time to think since I've arrived home, and something I've come to realize is that the people we surrounded ourselves with..." you shake your head, laughing in frustrated disbelief, "all they care about is status. Money. Who has the 'next best idea'. So what are you going to do once this high wears off? When you don't have a story of mine to refigure as your own?"

You struck a nerve, her stunned silence tells you so.

"Well..." she sputters out, "forgive me for never being able to live up to the Great David Rossi's daughter! Nobody ever paid any mind to me, I had to do something!"

There it is. Your answer. Somehow, it’s not as satisfying as you anticipated. You’re still out for blood with this woman.

"So you framed me for plagiarism and ruined my career because of my father? Awesome solution to your problem there, Kate!" your sarcasm rings clear as a bell through the foyer. "You never considered putting in the work to become a better writer? Nobody paid any mind to you because you didn't have it."

You surprise yourself with your bark and bite, and you thought it'd be much more satisfying to see the tears well up in Kate's eyes. All you feel though, is more guilt, piling itself on top of the endless amount that's accumulated in the past few weeks. The doorbell pierces through the tension, and you whip yourself around to face the door and groan. You swing it open to reveal a wet, sorrowful Aaron, standing on your porch steps in the rain.

You didn't need to ask how long he's been standing there, the pained look in his eye tells you he'd heard most of what you said. You feel like you're digging your own grave in real time, like Ebenezer Scrooge watching his grim future from the tomb.

"Aaron..." you trail off, eyes scanning his face for any sign that he doesn't think you're an awful person, but you come up empty.

"Now who's this?" Kate chirps up from behind you, quickly regaining her attitude with this new arrival.

You whip your head behind you and pierce her with a deathly gaze. "Don't even think about it," you grit through clenched teeth, and her brow raises in curiosity.

"What do you want?" you ask, trying to sound unbothered as you face Aaron once again, "I thought you had a case."

"We do, we don't take off for another 15. I wanted to give you this," he holds out a gold chain with an angel pendant hanging from it. "I wanted to give it to you before I left." The clear reason why hangs between the two of you, and you shakily bring your hands to take the gold necklace from his fingers.

It was your grandmother's, and your mind races back to the night you'd shown it to him. Cuddled on the couch, a blanket draped over your sweaty, naked frames. He'd placed a finger on the pendant sticking to your chest, and you'd taken it off to show him. You hadn't even realized you left it there, another boulder of shame nestling itself on the large pile tearing apart your stomach.

"Thanks," you breathe, eyes snapping up to meet his. His lips roll into a closed lip smile, and he nods stiffly. You sit in the tension, nearly swimming in it as you stare into his dark, sorrowful eyes. Your spine straightens at the snicker that echos from behind you, the reality of the situation crashing down on you like a meteor.

"So this is why you haven't come back to New York..." she mutters slyly, pushing you to the side with her shoulder so she can get a better look at him.

Bile rises in your throat at the way her wicked eyes scan up and down his frame. You swallow the lump forming there and flit your eyes back to Aaron. He's still looking at you, which melts your heart and also makes you want to punch him at the same time.

You tear your eyes away from him, a herculean feat as your gaze drags back over to the nuisance now standing next to you. "Kate," you breathe out, "you have no idea what you're talking about." Your eyes shoot her a pleading look, but she has you right where she wants you.

"No, no, no, so let me get this straight,” she holds a hand up in your face, “we all thought you were having some sort of mental break when you up and left New York, quitting on your ‘dream’ of being a writer," she has a scheming smile on her face, and you're still waiting for the other shoe to drop, "I thought you would have lasted a week in Virginia, tops. But almost three months? Hell, I'd stay too if I had someone like this-"

"Stop! Stop, stop, stop!" you nearly screech, holding both palms out, trying to keep both people in front of you at arm's length. "Everyone here needs to leave, I mean it."

Aaron spins on his heel without hesitation, and you wonder how long he'd been standing there, and if he'd be late for his plane. You let the thought pass, unable to dedicate another ounce of worry to this man who's just now discovering he doesn't know you at all. Kate, on the other hand, takes her sweet time sauntering over the threshold onto the porch.

"Fine," she holds her hands up in surrender, clearly satisfied she got the last punch, "what I really wanted to tell you is that the book tour is going great," she rests a faux-sympathetic hand on your forearm and it's like you're being branded, "I thought you'd wanna know your book is a hit. Thanks for the script, I owe ya!”

She blows a fake kiss just as you slam the door, hot tears welling up in your eyes as you rest against it. How did things go so wrong? You came back to your father's house to find yourself, to shed yourself of the burden of being in New York. All you've found, though, is that running away from your worries has made them exponentially bigger. It seems obvious looking back on it, like a slap in the face. You know you can't make things right until you confront what's wrong. You race to your room, grab a suitcase, and open your laptop. You type in 'one way flights to New York City' and purchase the first ticket you find.

Aaron Hotchner is having a bad week. The understatement of the year, truly. David hasn't looked at him all week, barely talking to him unless it has to do with the case. Even then, it's still sparse. His team grace him with pitying smiles that only make the pit in his stomach grow bigger, acid singeing his organs.

He stares down at crime scene photos for what felt like the millionth time that day, desperate to crack the M.O. of their current offender. He frustratedly gives the photo a small shove, sliding it away from his prying eyes. It's no use, not when his mind is entirely preoccupied.

He can't remember the last time he's acted so recklessly, sleeping with his coworker's daughter. Not just any coworker, but David Rossi's daughter. Guilt twists in his stomach, like he's being eaten alive from the inside out. He's been dragging his feet throughout the entirety of this case, he feels it. It's why he's been marooned to the conference room of the local police station, sent to look over photos and witness statements.

Every piece of him, though, is with her. There's been a pull in his chest since the day they last spoke, a painful yearning that's taking over every part of him. He feels like he's going crazy, the moment he called things off replaying on a loop in his brain. The soft downward pull of her eyebrows, the pained gloss coating her eyes. He knew, logically, that he made the right decision. So why does it feel so wrong?

He then thinks back to the woman who was at the house when he visited earlier this week. He knew so little of her life in New York, and the way she spoke to her was unlike anything he'd seen or heard from her before. It concerned him at first, but once that door swung open, and he saw the way the unnamed woman scanned him, clearly trying to get under her skin, he felt that maybe she was justified in the harsh words she threw at the mystery woman. He needs to speak to her again, that much is for certain.

The case wraps up later that evening, and Aaron takes advantage of the empty seat opposite Dave on the jet. He slides into the leather chair dubiously, Dave's dark brow raising at the sight of him. He quickly looks back to his crossword. Aaron lets out a defeated sigh, and this gets his attention. Dave closes his puzzle and crosses his arms.

"You initiated?" he asks, and all Aaron can do is nod sheepishly.

"David, I'm sorry for lying to you, but I'm not sorry for my feelings," he begins.

"Which are...?" Dave encourages, and he prepares to say something he never thought would be possible.

"I'm in love with your daughter. Keeping our relationship a secret from you was awful, and I am so, so sorry I betrayed your trust. I love her, though. I want to be with her," adrenaline rushes through Aaron as he breathes out the last sentence. To his surprise, the tiniest smile tugs at Dave's lips.

"Don't screw it up," he points an intimidating finger at him, and Aaron huffs out a small laugh.

"You got it," he smiles, thankful to have taken the first step in earning Dave's forgiveness.

Aaron's the first one off the plane when they touch down in Quantico, opting out of team drinks at the bar and going straight to his apartment. He's in desperate need of a shower, and then he's heading straight to see her. He slows, though, when he sees an envelope taped to his door. He knows it's from her before he opens it, the scratchy Aaron on the center of the envelope giving her away immediately.

Aaron,

I feel like I owe you an explanation for the shit show you had to witness, and the full truth of what happened in New York. I had completed a manuscript just after graduating from NYU. It was my best work yet, and my ex-best friend, the woman you saw at my father's house, completely abused my trust. She had found her way on my computer one day, forwarded herself a copy, deleted any trace of it from my laptop, and gave it to the biggest publishing company in the whole city. She claimed it was hers originally, that she found it on my computer in my attempt to 'steal' her work. I tried to fight back, but she accused me of plagiarism, effectively ending my writing career. I've spent the last couple months nursing my broken heart, and I'm sorry you were caught in my mess. I'm back in the city, and I wish you well, truly.

XOXO

Aaron feels as if the air has been stolen from his lungs as he shoves the front door open. He loosens the tie around his neck and has never been more thankful for Jessica having Jack than he is right now. He fumbles with his phone, trying to find the next flight to New York. He knows it's irresponsible, rash, but she's completely turned his life upside down. What's a little more fuel to the fire?

The sun rises on your seventh day in the Manhattan Hotel in Times Square, and the liveliness of the city that would once annoy you, is now a welcomed chaos. You have no idea how long you're going to stay in room 203, whether you'll return back to Virginia or find another place here, but you've found that returning to New York has only done you good.

You're confronting the beast that's loomed over you for months, and it has not only unlocked an array of emotions- many of them Aaron related- but also unleashed your creativity. You've written three chapters so far, a semi-autobiographical tale of reclaiming your power in times of hardship. You're not sure how you're going to work around the plagiarism accusations, how you'll gain any publisher's trust again, but you figure that's an issue for a later date.

Your phone buzzes on the desk of the hotel, and you reach to flip it over. Your heart drops when you see your father's face in your caller ID. He knew you were in New York, but there hasn't been an attempt at communication until now. A trembling finger presses 'accept' and you bring the phone to your ear.

"Hello?" you answer shakily, "Dad?"

"I'm sorry I was such a jerk, Principesa," his familiar warmth floods you with relief.

"Oh Papà," you nearly exclaim, emotion flooding over you as tears spring to your eyes, "I should be the one apologizing, I'm so, so sorry for keeping my relationship with Aaron from you. It was wrong, and I never should have done it. I'm sorry," your voice wells up at the last sentence, and you hear your father coo.

"Hey, don't cry. It's okay, I had some extreme convincing from a certain grouch at work," he jokes, but you hear his voice start to shake, too.

The mention of Aaron is like a gut punch, and you can't help yourself, "How is he? Aaron?"

"He was grouchier than normal for a while, but he came to me and we talked. Things are better," he states.

"I'm so glad to hear it," you respond, though you feel there's something he's not telling you.

"Listen, I wanted to tell you something. Aaron mentioned that he dropped by to see you and there was a woman there, and that it didn't look good. I'm assuming Kate?" He asks. Your eyes fall closed, your lashes kissing your cheeks as you recall the moments of her berating you in your father's home.

"Yeah, yeah it was Kate," you whisper out.

"Good to know, because the Ring camera caught some very interesting information on her way out of the door. Something about how your book is a hit?" he mentions slyly, and you're picking up on his tone.

You'd filled him in soon after you returned home, unable to keep secrets from him for very long. He'd told you if there was anything you had to prove that she was truly the one who plagiarized, he'd help you in an instant. It seems the instance has arrived.

"You're kidding," you gasp, covering your mouth with an open palm.

"Not one bit. Sent it in to Good Morning America this morning. She's scheduled to be on tomorrow, y'know?" you can hear the smile in his voice, and it's contagious.

"Papà, oh my God!" you exclaim, the anxiety that's plagued you for months dissipating in a blur.

"Keep working hard over there, and don't be afraid to come back to me, alright?" he asks.

"Alright," you respond, and hang up. You ponder what it would be like to go back to Virginia, to write there. You don't think you'd mind it, whether Aaron is there or not. He'd be a nice bonus, for certain, but you enjoyed fostering a new relationship with your dad, cherished the real friendships you made in his coworkers. You could see a life there.

There's a knock on the door a moment later, and your brows furrow. Nobody knows you're here besides your father and Aaron, and the idea of the latter being behind that door shakes you to your very core. Your stomach drops when you realize that's exactly who's standing on the other side of the threshold.

"Aaron..." you breathe out, nearly speechless.

"Hi," he says back, breathing heavily.

You're not used to seeing him dressed so casually, a Georgetown University t-shirt hanging from his shoulders, jeans snug on his hips. His hair is mussed like he's just gotten off back-to-back flights.

"Your father said I'd find you here," he says, and you wordlessly move to let him in.

"What are you doing here, Aaron?" you ask once the door is shut.

"I'm miserable without you," he confesses, and your eyebrows shoot into your forehead, "I've barely made it through the past couple weeks, the whole time I was just waiting for you. I know it was my idea to call things off, and I don't think I've ever been so stupid."

"So why did you do it?" you question, not so ready to forgive him right away.

"The guilt- your father- it was all too much, I thought the only way past it was out," he admits, and you can understand that. You're not one to judge another for running away. "I'm sorry," he breathes, "I should have fought for you. This wasn't just a hook-up to me, was it for you?" he's breathing heavily, and you waste no time in your response.

"No, it wasn't," you breathe, and he steps closer to you slowly.

"Tell me no," he gives you an out as his hands reach up to cup your cheeks, and you respond by bringing his lips down to yours.

Kissing him again is like the first sip of water after being stranded in the desert, refreshing, renewing, all encompassing. His lips part against yours as he presses himself further into you, causing you to sigh into the kiss.

You reluctantly break away from him before you can no longer control yourself. You're both breathing heavily, your palms flat against his shoulders as you say, "Let's go back to Virginia," a cheeky smile spreading across his face.

"What?" he sputters out, a disbelieving chuckle escaping his lips.

"We're going to take this slow, we're going to do it right. I like you, but I also really like the life I began to create while I was staying with my dad. I can write from Virginia," you nudge his shoulder with yours, moving to pack up your belongings.

"If you don't mind, I'm going to nap while you do this," he lays back on the couch, kicking his shoes off, "after we return home, I'm not getting on another plane for 5 years."

You chuckle as you watch his eyes close, snuggling into the couch. You like the way that word sounded when it came out of his lips, home. You could get used to that.

[fizzyapplecandy]

The one with the boy at the bus stop

Ateez Wooyoung x Reader oneshot

Genres: fluff, runaway bride, strangers to lovers, silly Wooyoung, emotional reader

Word count: 1.1k

You run away from your wedding after your cheating fiance comes clean to you where you meet a strange, but lovely man.

There you were, sitting at the bus stop in your wedding dress. You were supposed to get married today, but your former fiance decided it was a good time to tell you he's been fucking your maid of honor behind your back. For months.

He felt like the perfect moment to come clean was in your dressing room, moments before you had to walk down the aisle. To be honest, the two of you were highschool sweethearts, and the romance was slowly sizzling down. People expected you to stay together, so you just gave in after some time. Your heart wasn't in it completely, but you thought this was your only chance at a normal life.

Way to prove you wrong, you guess.

"Halloween came early this year?"

A voice above you made you shake back into the present. You lifted your head and saw a handsome man leaning against the wall of the bus stop.

"You think you're funny, huh?"

"Hilarious, or so my friends say."

You scoffed. "Well, you have bad friends if they lie to you so much."

The man chuckled, stepping towards you and taking a seat on the bench.

"Can you move your dress a little? I don't want to step on it."

"Spit on it for all I care."

Silence enveloped you after you said that. Mystery man seemed out of words now? How shocking.

"You know, I'm sorry for making fun of you. I also have no filter or the ability to assess a situation. At least, that's what my friends also say."

You smiled now, looking down at your hands. Your engagement ring was long gone, probably stuck in that bastard's forehead with how hard you threw it at him.

"Now they seem like good friends."

He raked his eyes over you, noticing how utterly defeated you looked. It made him feel bad about being such a jerk.

"Hey... Are you okay?"

Your lower lip wobbled, and it was getting hated to keep the tears at bay. You'd rather go to hell and back before you waste a single emotion on that horrid man.

"Not really. I guess finding out your fiance has been a cheating bastard at your wedding day takes a toll on you."

"Oh... Oh wow. Now, that is a story for, like Reddit or something."

Your head snapped towards him, and he put his hands up.

"Sorry, poor assessing the situation skills, remember?"

There was no point in being mad at him. You figured he was trying to lighten the mood a bit, and you kind of appreciated it.

"It's okay... My life is a big joke, after all. I just wish he told me before I put this dress on. I really like it, you know. I think that's the only thing I liked about this wedding."

He was confused. "What about the man you were supposed to marry?"

"Oh, him? I guess the romance faded over the years. Our families became good friends, it was only logical to get together. Honestly... I don't know if I ever wanted that."

"Seems to me like the bastard saved you with his stunt."

You thought about it for a second. The words he spoke were true to some extent. If Mingyu didn't say a word about his affair, you'd probably end up in a loveless marriage to keep up with your family's expectations. Thank God he couldn't keep his cheating dick in his pants.

"I think you're right. It doesn't mean it's nice to feel this way, but it'll do me good."

"See? I can say something smart from time to time." Both of you laughed, and you were glad he broke the tension.

"I'm Wooyoung, by the way. What's your name?"

"I'm Y/N."

He stood up, extending a hand towards you.

"Well, Y/N, I'm starving. Would you like to go get some burgers with me?"

Your eyes widened.

"I'm literally in a wedding dress."

"So? Do you want me to go and buy a tuxedo if it makes you feel better?"

"What? No!"

Wooyoung smiled. "Then come on. I bet you're starving after all that running away you did."

Your stomach agreed with him almost instantly. With a sigh, you took his outstretched hand and stood up.

"By the way, if people start looking at me all funny, I'm probably going to punch you."

"Hit me right on the chin, I'll take it like a man."

He directed you towards a diner, and for some reason, your hand never left his. You cleared your throat, remembering you wanted to ask him something.

"Hey Wooyoung... What were you doing at the bus stop? Were you heading somewhere?"

He smiled, looking at you before giving your hand a squeeze.

"Not really, no. I saw you from across the street. You looked... Sad. I had to come and check on you."

"But... I'm a stranger. Why would you do that?"

Wooyoung sighed, now glancing at the clear sky. It was still daytime, somewhat late in the afternoon.

The streets weren't full, and he was thankful, because he didn't want you to feel uncomfortable.

"I don't really know. You are too pretty to miss out on, that's for sure. And, after all, how many times have you seen a girl in a wedding dress sitting at the bus stop? It makes you curious."

You could agree with that. The blush on your cheeks was instantaneous, and you couldn't remember the last time someone called you pretty. Wooyoung seemed like a person who didn't shy away from compliments. He also seemed like someone you'd like to get to know better.

"It's a shame nobody got to see you in that dress, though. If I was your fiance, I'd never want to take my eyes off of you." His eyes raked over your form as he said that, and you were getting shy all of the sudden.

"Thank you, truly. I'm really sad about the dress. Even though Mingyu wasn't the one for me, this dress was. I'll just have to put it in my closet and remember it from time to time."

"Or we could get married while you're in your dream dress?"

You froze, stopping in your tracks.

"Don't joke around, please. My poor heart can't take it."

"Who said I was joking? But, hey, let's go eat those burgers first. Then we'll discuss wedding plans."

For some reason, you knew he wasn't joking.

Even though you weren't getting married today, you were gaining something else in return. Something you were willing to explore. The gorgeous man seemed on the same page as you, so it made you feel a bit giddy.

Weddings were a special occasion, and they were supposed to bring people together. Your wedding certainly did that, but in a slightly stranger way than you expected.

Now it was your turn to be truly happy, barely fitting into one of the diner booths in your dress, with Wooyoung scarfing down a double pounder in front of you, animatedly telling you about one of his anecdotes, you figured you were on your way there.

.

.

[stariekis]

what are we?

pairing : non idol!sunghoon + fem!reader . genre : fluff, childhood best friends to lovers . cw : kissing . wc : 4.9k

check my other works ₊⊹⁀➴ masterlist

synopsis — falling in love with your childhood best friend doesn't always have to be something bad.

uri's note — taking a break from the texts just to post this little sunghoon au ! nah i love him i giggled while writing this.. hope you guys do to jeje

Sunghoon and you have been best friends since day one. Both your and his parents met in highschool and since then they became inseparable, just like him and you.

You share all your childhood memories with him; every trip, every birthday and every first day of school there is always Sunghoon by your side. And it happened, you didn't want to, but it did happen. As you grow up together with him you develop feelings for your childhood best friend.

He was pretty handsome since he was young, and everyone knew that he would be even more attractive once he became older. And that's exactly what happened. His delicate features, his tall and broad complexion, he was like a porcelain doll. And you couldn't help but fall for it, along with his sweet personality.

Now, both of you are in college. You remember feeling so sad when you discovered that he had to move out of town to study. Even more because the summer before he left you finally realized that, in fact, you like him. Maybe more than like. You loved him

Being apart from him was going to be a torture, you were so used to have him around by now. But you kind of wish that not having him so close to you all the time would help you get past your little massive crush.

But, to your dislike, that didn't happen.

Each facecall, each message he sends you talking about his day and how cool his new college is, every picture he published on his Instagram did not help you at all. You couldn't stop falling in love with him every time.

Summer break finally came and Sunghoon went back to your hometown. He, of course, called you as soon as he reached his house. You didn't waste a second and hopped into your parents car and drove straight to him.

“Y/n?”— The front door opened, Sunghoon’s mom was standing right behind it with the prettiest smile adorning her face. He looked just like him. “He is in his room, go and say hi darling”— She moved aside and, after thanking her, you runned up the stairs to Sunghoon’s room.

You opened the door, revealing a pretty much shocked boy sitting on his bed. He didn't expect for you to come this fast, but he surely didn't wait a second to jump out his bed and hug you.

“I missed you so much” — You said, while hiding your face in his neck. He chuckled, slowly pulling away to take a glance at your face. One of his hands tucked your hair behind your ear.

“You look so pretty” — He whispered. You blushed at his words, of course you did. “You look even prettier than the photos you sent me” — He was admiring your face, every detail of it making sure to remember every single mole even.

Once you pulled away completely he took your hand. “Come with me, we have a lot to talk about” — He said, pulling you towards the door.

He took you to the park near his house, both of you spent your summer days there when you were little. It was kind of your special place.

Sunghoon and you sat on the swing as you talked about everything that had happened while you were apart, even though you talked to him every single day.

As the sun sets a comfortable silence falls between you two. A silence that was soon broken by him.

“There is actually one thing that I haven't told you about, and I need to be fully honest with you” — You looked at him confused, and scared too. Did something happen? Have you done anything wrong?

He stood up, standing now right in front of you as he took your hands. He pulled you slowly towards him, making you stand up. Your confused looks never left your face.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a long time and since I moved it has been the only thing in my mind” — His fingers trance round shapes in your hand, he was nervous. He sighs. “Y/n I like you, a lot, and I feel like this might be mutual but I didn't wanted to talk to you about it because I wasn't sure, and I also was far away from you and, if by any chance, you felt the same I knew I wouldn't be able to be away from you at that moment” — He looked away as soon as he finished his speech, not able to look at you, at least not now.

You smiled, your cheeks were tinted with a slightly red color. Your long time crush liked you, as much as you liked him. Was this a dream? If it is, you hoped you never woke up from it.

“Sunghoon” — You grabbed his chin, making him look at you. “I've had the biggest crush on you for the past years, i don't know how you didn't notice, even your mom knew it” — You swear his eyes almost pop out of his face.

You giggled at his reaction. He then took your face in between his hands, now looking directly at your eyes. “What are we?” — You cracked at his response. Was this really the first thing he had to say after your confession?

“Whatever you want us to be, but I would love to be yours Sunghoon” — He smiled, his pretty fangs showing slightly. And just like that, he closed the distance between you two, giving you the sweetest kiss you've ever received in your life. And the first one too.

Now Sunghoon was part not only of every memory of your childhood, but also the most important parts of your adulthood.

taglist : @layzfy @laylasbunbunny @yuminako @sugarikiz @rikiontopofme (open ; send an ask to be added)

[n0vazsq]

Way of the heart | OP81 x Reader

pairing . . . oscar piastri x racing!engineer!reader

summary . . . After a tough race, Oscar has nothing to look forward to more than spending time with (Y/n)

request . . . kind of?

word count . . . 1.1k

warnings . . . none!

alexavia yaps . . . i really hate this one for some reason like its not the best i could do but i wanted to write something so yeah!! the person who wanted this (im sorry i forgot your user), if you want another story i will totally write it!! tysm for asking <3

Oscar slumped into the chair in the back of the team garage, still in his racing suit, the helmet beside him on the floor. Today’s race had been brutal, everything going wrong until he finally crossed the finish line in a place he didn’t even want to remember. No matter how much he tried to forget it, the disappointment still clung to him.

As the crew packed up around him, you walked over, carrying a bottle of water and a quiet look of understanding. You’d worked with Oscar long enough to know when he needed a moment to think and when he needed someone to remind him he wasn’t alone. Today, he needed the latter.

“Rough day,” you said softly, offering him the bottle. He accepted it with a quick nod, cracking it open but not taking a sip.

“Understatement of the year,” he muttered, letting out a short, frustrated sigh. “Everything went wrong, didn’t it? Every call, every turn… feels like I let everyone down out there.”

You didn’t rush to disagree or to tell him it was all fine because you knew Oscar didn't want you to. Instead, you waited a bit, giving him the space to breathe.

“You know, racing’s a lot like life. Sometimes it’s out of our control, even when we do everything right. We all saw you fight today,” you said gently. “One tough race doesn’t define who you are as a driver.”

He glanced up, the frustration in his eyes softening as he met your steady gaze. “Thanks,” he said, managing a faint smile. “Not sure what I’d do without you, honestly.”

You laughed lightly, leaning against the wall beside him. “Lucky for you, I’m sticking around, win or lose.”

His smile widened a little, and after a few moments of quiet, he stood up, finally letting go of some of the weight he’d carried off the track. “Hey,” he said, glancing at his watch, “I know it’s late, but do you want to grab some food? Just… need to be somewhere that’s not here.”

The restaurant he picked was cozy, tucked away from the noise and chaos that followed you on racing weekends. He knew you’d love it, remembering how you mentioned your love for Italian food

When you walked in, his heart skipped a beat. You wore a smile that was both warm and teasing, the one that always seemed to make everything feel a little less overwhelming.

He stood, smiling sheepishly. “Hey, you look… great,” he said, his voice a little unsteady. The nerves of the race had melted away, replaced by a different kind of nervousness that he couldn’t ignore.

You grinned, taking a seat across from him. “Thanks, Piastri. It’s nice to see you in a non-race setting for once. And I have to say, you look pretty good.”

He laughed, glancing down at his simple outfit. “I tried, y’know, for you.”

The waiter took your orders, and as the evening went on, you two spoke about anything and everything but racing. The conversation drifted easily from favorite movies to random childhood memories. You two talked about wild stories and embarassing moments, laughing at every single thing.

But Oscar’s mind kept wandering back to you. How you’d been there every step of his career, how you’d seen him at his worst and still chose to believe in him. At one point, as you were laughing at a joke he’d told, he couldn’t help but stare a little, his heart pounding in a way that felt completely different from the adrenaline of racing.

The laughter quietened down, and a comfortable silence fell between you both. Oscar looked down at his hands, trying to think of what he wanted to say. “You know,” he began, a little quieter now, “you mean a lot to me. More than just… my engineer or friend.”

You looked up, your expression softening, and he felt his courage swell just a bit. “I think I realized that today, after everything went bad on the track. Just seeing you there, not judging me, not telling me what I should’ve done differently, just… being there. It made all the difference.”

You reached across the table, placing your hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’d be there no matter what, Oscar. You’re a brilliant driver and a good person. Bad race or not, that doesn’t change.”

His cheeks flushed, a warmth spreading through him. He turned his hand to hold yours, letting the silence speak for itself. And for a moment, all the disappointment and frustration faded, replaced by a quiet joy that he hadn’t expected to feel tonight.

Later, you walked together under the night sky, the cool breeze a welcome contrast to the warm evening inside. He found himself wishing the walk could last forever, just the two of you, away from the chaos of everything.

Eventually, you both settled on a bench with a view of a beautiful fountain. The sound of the water filled the quiet spaces between you, and he reached over, slipping his hand into yours again, holding it with a confidence he hadn’t felt earlier.

“This feels perfect,” you murmured, leaning against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I wish every night could be like this.”

You let out a soft laugh, resting against him. “It’d be easier if we weren’t always at a race or in different cities every other week.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, looking out at the fountain. “But I think… I think it’s worth it.”

You turned to him, your gaze meeting his with a warmth that made his heart race. He took a deep breath, the words he’d been holding back finally finding their way out.

“Do you… maybe want to meet my family? Make it official?” he asked, his voice a little uncertain but hopeful.

You raised your eyebrows, a smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Oscar, I think we’re already there. You didn’t have to ask. And of course, I'd love to meet your family.”

He chuckled, feeling a weight lift as his heart swelled with happiness. “Then consider this official.” He leaned in, taking your lips in a kiss.

The kiss made butterflies fill your stomach, it was soft, but also made you crave more. It was something magical, like straight out of a movie. Oscar had his hands on your waist, and yours tangled in his hair. It somehow made it more intimate, more personal. You didn't want it to end.

When you finally pulled back, the smile on your face was everything Oscar ever wanted to see.

Hand in hand, you walked back to the car, and for the first time that night, Oscar felt a sense of peace, knowing that no matter what happened on the track, he’d always have you there, his biggest supporter, his steady presence.

And with you by his side, he knew he could face anything that came his way.

[callme-holly]

𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 - 𝐃.𝐂

||۶ৎ part 2 of the unprofessional series !! a darry curtis x teacher!reader au

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

You tried to convince yourself it was a one-off, that the conversation with Darry had stuck with you because it was unexpected. Because you were tired and just wanted to go home… Nothing more than that. 

But that didn’t seem to excuse the fact that the words he’d spoken to you ran through your mind anytime it got empty, his voice echoing throughout your head, destroying that ebbing silence you’d grown accustomed to. 

It didn’t explain the way your stomach would flip anytime you saw someone tall and broad-shouldered or the way you’d tune in the moment you heard Ponyboy mention his ‘brothers’. 

When you did see him, he never stayed long. Some days he’d walk Pony to the gates, drop him off with a few quick words and a subtle glance in your direction. You never spoke, but you noticed him every single time. 

One time, you both caught each other’s eyes, holding his gaze for a few fleeting seconds in a way that sent your mind into a tailspin for the following week. 

It wasn't long after that when Pony hung back after class, lingering by your desk while everyone else filed out, looking uncertain and slightly awkward.

"Miss?" He mumbled, shifting from one foot to the other. "I was wondering if you could help me with something..." He held out a crumpled piece of paper; the project instructions you'd given on Of Mice and Men. "I don't really get what you meant by 'symbolic framework'."

With a gentle smile, you took the sheet from him, gesturing for him to pull up a chair. "You want me to go over it with you."

You didn't miss the look of relief that washed over him at that, and he nodded quickly, sitting down beside you and leaning forward with an engagement that made your job feel worthwhile.

For the next half hour, you talked him through the instructions, going over each step in a detail that seemed to map things out clearly. You talked about the author's intentions and how the words carried more than they let on. Pony listened closely, hanging onto each word and offering little insights when there was a gap to speak.

And it was times like that that made you remember exactly why you had so much faith in him—he was a bright kid, one of the smartest you'd ever seen. The other students seemed to flunk the class, brushing it aside as nothing more than words and boring books. But Pony... He understood. And that was important to you.

Neither of you seemed to realise how much time had passed until the clock hit 4 and the door to your classroom creaked open slowly, the hinges squealing out, desperate for the relief of replacement. You glanced up sharply, breath catching.

Darry.

He stood in the doorway, hair still damp with sweat from the long shift he'd no doubt just got off of, boots tracking dirt across the linoleum in a way that would usually make you wince had he been any other parent. His expression was unreadable, but it wasn't unkind.

"hey," he mumbled softly. "Didn't realise you were staying late."

You stood sharply, smoothing down your blouse and tucking your hair behind your ear, suddenly incredibly apologetic.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't realise the time. I didn't mean to keep him so long! I should've called home to say---"

But Darry simply waved you off, eyes softening, the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his lips. "Don't worry. I hope he wasn't a bother."

"Not at all. He asked good questions."

There was a pause, long and lingering. Pony stood and hoisted his bag over his shoulder, grabbing the project sheet, now adorned with fresh notes, and thanked you quietly. He slipped out into the hallway and you let out a long breath.

Darry didn't follow straight away.

Instead, he lingered near your desk, fists jammed in his pockets, boots scuffing against the floor. He looked as if he wanted to say something, like the words were burning, but he just didn't know how. So you started first.

"Everything okay?"

He nodded once, eyes flickering toward the door, then back to you.

"You're good for him."

The words landed with more weight than you expected, another mantra that would surely loop through your brain like a broken record.

You smiled sweetly and nodded, the expression genuine and fond. "He makes things easy. You've raised him well."

Darry let out a sigh the moment the words settled, as if that alone was a massive weight off his shoulders, like he'd needed to hear someone tell him that for months and you'd finally said it.

"He doesn't really talk about school much, but he mentions you. I can tell it means something to him. What you're doing."

Another beat of silence, warmer than the last. You studied him in the soft glow of the evening, every tired line of his face, every speck of grime left over from his job.

"You're doing a good job."

"Yeah?" he muttered and you nodded.

"Better than I see most parents treating their kids. It's clear you work hard. That you love him."

Darry looked away, his jaw clenched. He didn't speak for a few moments, and for a second you thought maybe you'd pushed things too far.

And then he smiled—not the guarded little twitch of the lips he'd given you before—a full, genuine smile. "I better get going," he said, backing towards the door, eyes never leaving yours. "I'll see you around."

It wasn't a question. And that's what made your heart race. He wanted to see you and meant to speak to you again…

You were in trouble. This, whatever it was becoming, was dangerous.

And yet, while that was a very conscious thought, it didn't stop you from wishing he'd show up again. 

||۶ৎ chapters

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[natasha-in-space]

⋆˚Longing For You˚⋆

Pairing: Saeyoung/gn!reader.

Summary: You were perfectly aware that it wouldn't be simple or even safe to be with Saeyoung as your lifelong partner. You fully accepted it. If it meant being by his side, you were more than willing to face all kinds of dangerous odds life threw your way. You never realized that Saeyoung couldn't bear the weight of your devotion to him.

Notes: 'better to be tragically in love than to have not loved at all' promt for @brighteststar707! Post-divorce angst and hurt-comfort. Implied unhealthy alcohol consumption (reader thinks of drinking as a coping mechanism but never fully commits to it). Both reader and Saeyoung need a hug.

AO3 Link - 5.2k words.

Credit: Divider by @/saradika-graphics.

Happily ever afters are a thing of fiction. You always knew that, on some level. You weren't an innocent fool, treating life as if it was a carefree fairytale.

But this was just too cruel. 

With your head resting in your arms and the entire weight of the world pressing down on you, you let out a deep sigh. The silence of your apartment felt especially draining today, seeping straight into your bones and constantly reminding you of just how utterly lonely and miserable you were. On the table slightly off to the side rested unopened bottles of vodka and tequila that you had purchased earlier today, the glass glistening almost mockingly under the ceiling lights.

Even though you bought them on a whim, you ultimately couldn't bring yourself to drink. A part of you was frustrated at that. What precisely was stopping you, after all? Nothing. 

Or, rather... nobody. 

Your unusually high levels of moping today had a valid reason. Though you wished you wouldn't care nearly as much, or even remember it for that matter. That's why you stocked up on alcohol in the first place. To become so inebriated that you'd forget. Hopefully. 

You and Saeyoung would be celebrating your first wedding anniversary today. Really, you didn't care all that much about marriage as a whole. What bothered you so much was what it stood for. Memories of a happier time that was so recent, yet felt so painfully alien to you now. Even after several months, he continued to occupy all of your thoughts. His smiles, his laughter, the red of his hair, his scent. Everything. 

You couldn't stop thinking about him. And it hurt. Nothing in the world hurt as much as this did. Like there was a gaping hole left inside you, ripped into you forcefully and unceremoniously, with no regard for the suffering it would inflict on you. Is that what Saeran meant back when he was just brought into the bunker...? You remember him saying something similar... Feeling like a half of him was missing. It's funny how life goes. Your hands moved on their own as they haphazardly grabbed at the bottle that was closest to you and ripped the cap open, hastily bringing it up to your lips. There was no enjoyment in the burning liquid trickling down your throat as you took three large gulps, almost choking as a result. It simply felt repulsive, if anything. You hadn't drunk much ever since you met Saeyoung. Nothing more than a single fruity cocktail on a romantic date night or perhaps a cup of champagne at the RFA event.

You knew Saeyoung wouldn't approve if you did, after all. Although he probably wouldn't have stopped you. He was considered of you like that. 

Immediately after you slammed the bottle back down, the hard sound reverberated throughout the apartment, followed by a dry cough. You felt no desire to continue. If anything, you just felt even more pathetic and gross about yourself, bitter tears stinging your eyes as you swallowed down the lump in your throat.

Drinking yourself to death over your ex husband. It was almost humiliating. This was definitely a rock bottom, if you ever saw one.

But it wasn't supposed to be like this. You were meant to work together as a team and support one another no matter how risky things got.

He was supposed to trust you.

And you didn't know how to live with the fact that he didn't. 

You didn't hate Saeyoung. God knows you couldn't hate him even if you tried. Your heart yearned for him with the same warm tenderness it did back in Rika's apartment all those years ago. There was a part of you that wanted to hate him. That would make everything so much easier. You could rant to a lovely bartender about your deadbeat husband, get intoxicated without any guilt holding you back, and possibly even find a handsome stranger to spend a lousy night with.

You couldn't do that, though. You couldn't even finish a bottle of tequila for heaven's sake. 

Your separation with Saeyoung was as out of the ordinary as every step you have made with him. All of you knew that his father would become a real threat to you one day. It was just a matter of time. You thought you were prepared for that day to come. However, it turns out that none of you were really prepared for that day to come. Maybe that's because you underestimated just how low that man was willing to sink to ensure that nothing and nobody would sully his good image. In the end, Saeyoung's ingrained paranoia wasn't enough to keep you out of harm's way. Maybe that's what broke you apart. That he wasn't enough. That's what he likely felt, anyway.

Saejoong captured Saeran without as much as a warning, which none of you could have predicted. And none of you expected him to dangle Saeran's life in front of you like a carrot on a stick. 

Saeyoung has never looked as terrified as he did in that moment, not even the day he recognized Saeran in Unknown. You'll remember that look of sheer, primal terror painted over his face as white as a sheet until the day you die. It felt like the weight of the entire universe was falling on you at once when you got that initial transmission from that monster of a man. What could you do to help Saeyoung at that very moment? You had no other option except to be his rock and stick with him through it all. You were happy to do that for him. You were a team, after all.

He took a bullet for Saeran, so why is it that you doing the same for him somehow turned out to be the end for your relationship? 

Unconsciously, you reached up to touch the area where the bullet scar has now resigned, imbedded in your left shoulder. A timeless reminder of you saving Saeyoung's life and dooming your happy relationship simultaneously. That was so painfully ironic. You knew he would feel guilty about it. You knew he would be stressed, scared, shaken. Maybe it's because he was left alone with his thoughts for too long. Both you and Saeran hurt and unconscious in hospital beds, while all he could do was wait and pray for the better. He probably felt like he failed you. That his presence in your life has only caused you suffering and peril. And no one was there for him to quell those dark thoughts of his in time.

In the end, you'll never know what truly prompted him to end things between you. All you knew were those sad, guilty eyes refusing to even look at you, and the tremble in his voice, almost like he would break down in tears from even the smallest pushback from you. Perhaps that's why you were also utterly powerless. You were both so stressed, scared, and hurt, each in your own way. And at the time, a part of you thought that would be for the better. For him to focus on Saeran without having to feel guilty every time he saw your bandaged shoulder. 

Naturally, you quickly regretted that choice. But it was too late. And now, you were here. On a day that should have been filled with love and joy, you instead find yourself alone in your empty apartment with just two bottles of booze to keep you company. Knowing Saeyoung, he'd probably plan some elaborate game for you to play. Of course, with him as the final reward. Or maybe he would go the romantic route and take you out somewhere remote to see the stars. Maybe you could dance together beneath the wide night sky before sharing a tender kiss under the stars to cap off the evening.

...Those thoughts didn't help you much right now, if at all. Quite the opposite, actually. You weren't really drunk. Not on alcohol, at least. Even though you weren't as seasoned as Jumin, you wouldn't get wasted after three gulps. But you were certainly drunk on your feelings of heartbreak. And maybe that was plenty to get you drunk in a whole new way.

When your fingers reached into your pocket and took out your phone, you didn't think. You scrolled aimlessly until you came across the familiar red of his hair. You didn't really expect him to pick up. You weren't certain that you wanted him to pick up at all. And yet...

"MC?" 

He does.

After hearing his voice say your name, there was a prolonged period of deafening silence. You didn't know what to say. You could only guess that you seemed strange to him right now, yet you also couldn't really bring yourself to care. Once a minute or two has passed, his voice rang out in your ear again, not cold or angry. Worried. 

"MC?" He reiterated, this time with greater urgency. It made another lump form in your throat, making it hard to breathe. He probably thought you were in danger, you were just worrying him without good reason to do so. "MC, is everything alright? Do you need h-"

"-Do you know what today is?" 

Before you had a chance to reconsider, the question already escaped your chapped lips. But you didn't dare to try and take it back. You had no desire to. Even as another long moment of heavy silence fell over you, this one more pronounced than the ones before it.

Given everything that had transpired between you two, you could only assume that Saeyoung was probably taken aback by your sudden call, and that's putting it lightly. The tone of your voice made it clear that you were not exactly in your best state of mind. There was an unsaid, unbroken bond between you that neither of you could ever fully get rid of, even though you had left the bunker weeks before. You had no doubt he knew that you were referring to your would-be anniversary, but he didn't seem know what to say. You didn't blame him. You wouldn't really know what to say to that, either.

"...Of course I know what day it is," Saeyoung murmured after that hefty pause. "Is... that why you called?"

He didn't sound annoyed with you, at least you didn't think so. Either way, you were suddenly sweating like a sinner in church, shifting uncomfortable on your stool and licking your lips.

His response made you laugh uneasily while you stared up at your apartment's ceiling. You felt your heart fluttering with a mixture of excitement and sadness, but it was mostly the latter. You didn't know or care if it was your lovesickness for him or the alcohol that was clouding your judgment.

“It would’ve been our first marriage anniversary, you know that? We would’ve been married for a whole year. How crazy is that?” You said softly, but there was more to it than that. It was impossible to ignore the almost pleading and desperate undertones seeping through into your voice. You weren't really attempting to disguise it, anyways. You wanted to know that you weren't the only one losing your mind here. That he was concerned for you. That he cared.

The mere mention of your anniversary caused your breath to catch in your throat, making you feel a wave of mixed emotions. Anger, regret, nostalgia - all of them hit you over the head like a ton of bricks. Given that you were essentially baiting him with mentions to your shared past, you could only assume that Saeyoung was well aware of your intentions here. You knew you weren't being very fair to him right now. He must be struggling as well. It's not right for you to demand for his attention like this.

But despite your genuine desire to control your selfish urges, you were unable to do so.

It was a fundamental aspect of your relationship with him, funnily enough. You never knew how to back off.

"MC..." he started, your name practically strangled from his lips. It hurt you to hear him murmur it like that. As if just mentioning you by name was heartbreaking for him. "Don't do this. It's over. There's no point in dwelling on what could have been. You'll just... hurt yourself."

On a whim, you took another gulp from the bottle and immediately regretted it, spitting some of it back out as you exhaled and ran your fingers over your untidy, uncombed hair. Not necessarily because you couldn't stomach your alcohol, but because it felt so utterly wrong to drink like this with him on the line. You were such a mess, God. A complete and utter mess. This mixture of emotions just made you more obstinate and determined, and you couldn't help but question whether things would have been any different at all if you were actually intoxicated. So much for keeping to yourself and not bothering anyone with your problems. 

“There is a point. We were good, you and me. The divorce didn’t have to happen, you know,” you groaned with a slight bitterness in your voice. “It’s your damn father, it’s always your damn father and this unfair world that keeps getting in the way and hurting us. Why couldn’t you understand that, huh? That none of that was your fault?”

You decided to move away from the table - and the alcohol - and sit on your couch, leaning your head back, looking up at the ceiling. Your mind seemed scattered at best, and your eyes were a little off-focus. There was another long beat of silence on the other end of the line, and a part of you wondered if he just hang up on you. You wouldn't blame him. However, your heart pounded in your chest as you heard him take a deep, tremulous breath.

You wished he was here. 

"MC, I-"

“Listen,” your words were still shaky as you spoke. “Can you… can you come over? I just… I just need to talk to you. Please.”

Your grip on the phone tightened, your knuckles turning white from the tension in your joints. You were well aware that your remarks most likely resonated with him, possibly even evoking the same defensiveness and dread that had led the two of you to this very moment. He knew you were right, after all. He could run from it and deny it all he wanted, but you knew him. You knew that, deep down, he must have understood that it was his father that was to blame for all the pain inflicted on those he loved. Not Saeyoung himself. Never Saeyoung. Your downfall was largely due to the outside factors completely out of your control. But he was too stubborn and selfless to admit it.

"I'm not coming over, MC," he said through gritted teeth. "We agreed to keep our distance. And you're... You're better off without me, for God's sake."

You let out a frustrated grunt, steadfastly refusing to give up on this. You were in too deep already. You always had a difficult time accepting no as an answer, especially when it came to Saeyoung. The evident tremor in his voice simply made you feel even more determined to keep pushing. He wasn't fooling anyone. 

“I don’t care that you think I'm 'better off' without you. I just… I just want to see you. It’s been a month, and I miss you,” Your voice took on an even more pleading tone as you spoke. If there was any dignity left in you, it just flew straight out the window. You were willing to beg if you need to. “It’s our anniversary, Saeyoung. I won’t be able to handle it alone. Please.”

He gave another lengthy sigh at your insistence. Pain of separation and longing welled up inside you as you spoke, sending a sharp pang straight through your chest. No matter how hard you tried, you could no longer deny it. You felt the same way about him as you did before. And it was painful to keep these feelings suppressed as though they were wrong. Especially when you knew they were mutual.

"Damn it," he hissed, cursing to himself. You knew full well that you would likely regret this when you had more clarity. But right now, you didn't care one bit. You simply awaited the verdict with bated breath. Finally, you heard him taking a breath, a muffled sound similar to the creaking of a chair being heard in the background. "...I'll be there in 30 minutes."

Relief and excitement washed over you as your heart skipped a beat in your chest. You couldn't believe it, but you somehow, by some miracle, you managed to persuade him to come over. However, you surmised that he was most likely only acting out of concern for you. You were a mess. You only wanted to see him again, regardless of his intentions. As you brushed over your hair again, a small, nervous smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice growing quieter and softer as desperation gave way to anxious hopefulness. “I'll be waiting. And, uh... don't hang up. Please.”

You were simply too afraid of having false hope on your hands, even though that plea sounded foolish. You needed him to come. 

"...Alright."

You attempted to try and relax while you awaited his arrival. You rose to your feet with some difficulty, and stumbled slightly as you made your way over to the bathroom. You sprayed your face with cold water in an attempt to hopefully pull yourself together. You inspected your reflection in the mirror. The state of your appearance was disheveled, messy, and unkempt. To put it mildly, that is. You hadn't been showering in days, and the deep bags under your eyes were a dead giveaway of just how little sleep you had gotten lately. But as long as he was coming over, you didn't give a damn.

While you didn't talk much with each other except for some very short exchanges, you still could hear the sound of Saeyoung driving through the phone speaker, a sound that was in equal measure calming and anxiety-inducing, considering the circumstances. You could hear him stumble around as he got into his car, the sound being a mixture of worry and amusement on your end. You hoped he wouldn't drive carelessly. A part of you questioned whether this was a wise decision at all. If you should maybe just apologize and tell him to go back home and not trouble himself. It would probably simply hurt him to see you. But you also knew that you were already too deep into this to back out now. 

Saeyoung had no trouble parking his car outside your apartment. After all, you knew all too well what an impressive driver he was. And he was familiar with every corner of your apartment building. Not that you made much of an effort to distance yourself from him. However, looking back, that might have been more advantageous for you both. You could hear him pausing momentarily, probably to calm down, mentally prepare himself for what was to come. You followed suit. Though, it didn't really work. He went up the stairs and knocked firmly on the door of your apartment, causing all of your nerve endings to tingle with nervous excitement.

As you answered the knock on your door, your heart began to race once more. You hurried towards it, almost tripping over your own feet, and opened it, your eyes widening as you saw him standing there. Real. You managed to catch yourself on the door frame after unintentionally tripping a little while standing. You were silent for a moment, your eyes roaming over him, taking in his presence. He looked the same as always. Red, unkept hair you loved so much, striped glasses fitting perfectly on his nose, casual and comfy attire, the silver cross. You had to actively stop yourself before you would fall into him the way you typically did when you were lost because he looked that painstakingly familiar to you.

Instead, you stepped back and gestured for him to enter, swallowing down your emotions. 

"You actually came..."

The sight of him made your heart ache with longing. The longer you looked looked him, the more changes your eyes could see. He wasn't as familiar as you initially believed. He looked... unkept, tired, vulnerable. Not at all the chaotically put together man you remembered from your relationship. His eyes were dull, his skin paler than you remembered, clothes just like tad more wrinkled than you were used to. Saeyoung's fists were clinched, as if he was resisting the need to speak or act upon something. You hoped he wanted to touch you. To hold you. Just as much as you wanted to hold him. However, you were way too afraid of him leaving again to even attempt to express that desire out loud. As he entered, his movements were stiff and tense. You didn't like seeing him like this. Not with you.

"You asked me to," he mumbled his words in a somewhat gruff tone, observing the obvious messiness of your apartment. Damn it, you didn't even try to clean up since you were so frantic. He probably saw the bottles. You weren't actually intoxicated, though. Still, it left a bitter taste in your mouth to think of him seeing you like this. He probably just felt worse about himself now.

Great job, MC.

As you closed the door behind him, you let out a dry laugh. The sound bounced through the dimly lit apartment, and you stumbled slightly as you attempted to get back on your feet, the overwhelming feelings from his presence quite literally making you feel weak in the knees. You walked back to the couch and settled down on it, keeping your gaze fixed on him the entire time, as if you were terrified that if you looked away, he would vanish like a mirage.

"Yeah, I did," you admitted with a slight shaky voice. "Come sit down, will you?" 

You rubbed the cushion and pointed to the empty spot on the couch next you. You scooted closer to him as he made his way over to the couch and sat down next to you. The heat emanating from his body was so strong you could feel it even without directly touching him, the familiar scent of his cologne filling your nostrils and making your insides flutter. Orange and lavender. It was a cologne that you gave him as a Christmas present a year ago. He was still using it. You were both pleased and saddened by the thought. Following your first impulse without a second thought, you reached out and grasped at his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. As you put your hand in his, a flood of memories of your wedding day and your happier moments together swept over you.

Saeyoung flinched at the contact, and you couldn't help but wonder if he was feeling the same electric current the moment his skin touched yours. As you intertwined your fingers together, the harsh physical reminder of everything you had lost made your heart throb. You could feel his body heat through his clothes, and the closeness made all the walls you had built up inside you start to crumble. They weren't really all that strong in the first place.

Saeyoung didn't pull away.

"...I missed you," you confessed softly, almost whispering.

"MC..." he began with a slight crack in his voice. His eyes were glued to the wall ahead of him as he cleared his throat. His fingers twitches in your grasp. "We can't keep doing this, you know. We agreed-"

"I know what we agreed on," you interjected before he could finish, your hand squeezing his own in a silent attempt to get him to just look at you. "But I-" 

You squeezed your eyes shut and drew a trembling breath.

"I can't keep going like this, Saeyoung." 

The words left you in a weak whisper, only audible due to the suffocating silence of your apartment this late in the night. Panic struck when you felt him begin to move to remove his hand away from yours. You clung to him, what you said next coming out in a hurried, shaky ramble that grew louder and more emotional the longer you spoke, all the pent-up feelings seeping into your voice with no means for you to stop it.

"I know you blame yourself, and I know seeing me get hurt for you was probably like living through your worst nightmare, and I'm sorry you had to go through something that painful and scary all alone, but-" You took a deep breath. "-But it's no reason for you to blame yourself for everything that happened! It's not your fault I got hurt! It's not even your fault that Saeran got hurt!" 

The quiet felt even heavier after your outburst, almost physically weighing you down due to how charged and stagnant the air suddenly felt. The silence was thick with tension of mutual repressed emotions, each breath feeling almost painful in your lungs. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, clearly trying to contain a flood of his own hidden feelings. Though, you wished for the opposite. You wished for him to be honest with you once more and look you directly in the eyes while doing so. Even if it was ugly or nonsensical, or even downright unfair to you. You just wished for you both to stop hiding things for one another's sake.

"...Not my fault?" He repeated, and the lingering animosity in his voice was obvious even if you couldn't see his face. It was a heavy sound, despite the quiet volume with which his words were spoken. He gave a short, stifled laugh and shook his head. Though it was devoid of any joy or mirth you were used to. You loved hearing Saeyoung laugh, but not like this. This was a sharp, hollow sound. Not one filled with joy and happiness, as it should be. Finally, he turned to look at you, his eyes angry and hard. Not at you, though. You knew this ire was only ever directed at himself. You secretly hoped that, for once, he would be upset with you instead of silently tearing himself down again. That would make it less painful to witness. "MC, you almost died because of me. By the time we were at the hospital, you lost so much blood, you were in critical condition." 

Your heart squeezed in your chest. You knew what you were going to say to that. And you knew he wouldn't want to hear it. But you said it anyway.

"...You know I would've taken that bullet for you a 100 times over again if I had to. I do not regret protecting the man I love." 

You could almost see the moment he broke, which was both horrible and relieving at the same time. He sucked in a shaky breath, one that bordered on a sob, and then he grabbed at your shoulders, his fingers digging into your clothes tightly, almost painfully. 

"You would, wouldn't you? Of course you fucking would. And what would happen next, huh? How do you think I am supposed to live with myself, knowing that the one person in this entire god-forsaken world that has believed in me and loved me when all I wanted was to give up on myself, died because I couldn't protect them? Because I failed to keep them safe from harm after all they've done for me!?" He shook you a little, an action that was probably more emotional than purposeful on his part, like he was trying to literally shake some sense into you. "Do you have any idea how terrifying it was-? To sit there, with blood of two people I love and care for the most all over me!? Not knowing if- if..." 

And the tears came. Two thin streaks of clear moisture sliding down his cheeks and dripping onto your lap with silent weight of restrained hurt finally set free. You quickly became aware that you were crying now as well, your own silent, hurt tears pouring down your cheeks.

"And then, when you finally woke up, you just- smiled at me. Like nothing was wrong at all! Like you weren't just on the brink of death because of me. Do you have any idea how that felt to me?" He's not shouting anymore, previous frustration and ire replaced with broken sorrow and guilt. Which was worst for your hurting heart was a mystery to you. He shook his head again, a shaky breath leaving him. "You think I couldn't tell that you were in pain? That you were just putting on a brave face for me? I hated you throwing your life away for me like that. I don't deserve it. Not me." 

Your palm barely touched the softness of his shirt when you laid a hand over his chest. You could feel the rapid raise and fall of his chest, the trembling in his body. There was a part of you that wanted to just jump right in and hug him. But you didn't. Not quite yet.

"...I'm sorry I didn't think how my actions would make you feel, Saeyoung. I wanted you to not blame yourself for what happened, but... instead, I just made you blame yourself even more by lying to you. I should have been honest with you. Maybe if I relied on you a bit more, you wouldn't feel so responsible for my pain." With your next words, your voice hardened as you gulped. "-But I'm not sorry for keeping you safe. You might not like hearing it, but... if I was to truly die on that day, I would die with no regrets." 

"MC..." 

Your name came out like a broken plea from his lips, and the sound tugged at your heart even more. You raised your eyes to meet his own, so clouded with undeserved pain and guilt. You were not sure if you could fix it anymore, if you could take away all that pain he inflicted onto himself. However, you knew one thing.

"No matter how much it hurts, be it this bullet wound, or you leaving me with only a half of my heart to live with, I don't regret meeting you and loving you. I'll never regret it. Not in life, not in death. I want you to know that." 

When you finally drew Saeyoung into your arms, his body slumped into you with no resistance, his hands gripping the back of your shirt firmly as his body trembled with weeping sobs. And even as you cried and mourned into his shoulder in turn, there were no regrets tearing at your heart. Only pain for the man you loved and his sorrow. 

While Saeyoung may have regretted everything, you regretted nothing. 

All you could hope for was that he would come to forgive himself anew.

"...My only regret is letting you walk away, when we promised to shoulder our burdens together," you whispered into his hair as you turned to press your lips to his temple. His hold on you became more and more firm, almost crushing. Hungry. You welcomed that hunger with open arms.

"I'm the one who broke that promise." 

You hesitated.

"Then we'll rebuild that promise anew. If you'll have me." 

[lavender-butterfly-cookie]

I would love to see a second part of Forgotten Friends

One where the beast eventually realized that they blew stuff out of proportion and, because of that, their friend was basically forced to betray them, but they have no one to blame but themselves

And by the time they realized and are out of their prison

Reader cookie can varely remember them, they do remember they used to be friends, but all their evil deed have replaces most happy memories and Reader has a hard time being able to trust or even be near them

Patience is a strong thing, but time is more

The SoulJam of Patience has follow their tittle, now it's Their turn to use it

I like your style dear butterfly.

Forsaken, Forgotten, Un-Forgiven

previous part

Where does one even begin to express how much patience you've lost? How does one even begin to accept your friends have become nothing more but shells of their former selves? How does one learn to forgive them for forcing you to betray them? As hard as it is to believe, it starts with an apology.

After sealing your friends away all those years ago, it took you immense amounts of patience before you could face the world again. It took you so much patience to adjust and make new friends. So much patience to finally feel free about revealing who you really are. Patience to accept that they were gone and they weren't coming back. It took a long time, but you endured it. And it was worth it.

But it wasn't.

You found yourself face to face with five shards of tinted glass, all representing a shard from what was broken long ago. You barely remembered any of them, but that doesn't mean you forgot them and their evil deeds completely

The blue shard, who had once been your source of knowledge and guidance, now full of cracks that mimicked the web of deceit it was entangled in. You remember how the threads of that web were used to puppet and control the lives of the innocent, forcing them to fight for his own twisted little show.

The white shard, who had one been the holder of the virtue known as volition, now flavorless and apathetic soul devoid of any meaning. You remember how easily she turned everything to flour with just a simple motion of her hand. And you knew she did it because she saw little to no value in living a life with the inevitable end known as death

The red shard, who was once the herald of change in itself, now a destructive and merciless monster who sees no point in creation when it's bout to wither away eventually. You remember how he had destroyed countless homes and lives, all because he was bored.

The pink shard, who was once the most loving and joyful person you had ever met, now a lazy sloth who didn't even bother doing anything anymore. You remember vividly how she wiped away so many cookies just because they woke her up from her nap.

Then there was the Purple shard, once a noble knight of solitude, now a dark knight of silence. You remember all to well how had mercilessly crumbled several cookies in a single strike. How he's never uttered a word since he became corrupted.

These shards of glass are none other than your fallen friends, freed from but under different circumstances. They weren't causing havoc, they weren't attacking- heck, they weren't even angry at you after you lead them into a trap. What baffled you more was how the ancients were present but stood to the side. It took some time before the realization hit you.

"They want to talk."

You heard a voice say. It sounded like you, but much more mature. You felt your heart drop. They wish to talk? Couldn't they have thought about that years- no, CENTURIES ago?! But you're not about to argue with the light of patience when you clearly have better things to focus on.

The first thing you noticed about your fallen friends is their demeanor. They're not angry... they actually look guilty and nervous. Next was their souljams... which they didn't have for some reason. The ancients probably have it, which is good. They can't cause much damage. Shadow milk cookie stepped forward and you were ready for anything....

"Y/N cookie..."

Anything at all.

"We're sorry..."

Except that. Your eyes widened and you froze solid, the words unable to register in your head. They were apologizing?... But- no that can't be right... this is a trick... It's a trick and you won't fall for it again... You look at the ancients. They aren't intervening or protesting against this false apology.

...

They can't seriously believe this, right? They're not falling for this, RIGHT?! You step back a bit and shake your head slightly. This was a trick. Why do they want to redeem themselves NOW? Had they not realized the gravity of what they did before sooner? This had to be some kind of lie. And you weren't gonna fall for it. You made that very clear to them before walking.

It was only later on where pure vanilla cookie explained that they were attempting a redemption arc to fix the bond between you. The ancients really did believe them... Why did they believe them?! They had been nothing but pure evil as far as you can remember. Their evil deeds outweighed whatever happy memories you had with them... almost as though you didn't have happy memories.

The beasts tried again and again to at least get you to cast a glance at them but it was fruitless. You walked away from the library when Shadow milk cookie tried talking to you. You completely ignored Eternal sugar cookie trying to enter your room and talk to you. You turned your back on Burning spice cookie when he attempted reaching out for you. You refused to acknowledge Mystic flour cookies attempt of interaction with you. And the silence between You and Silent salt cookie had grown into a deadly kind of quiet, as if none of you had even been together.

They just didn't get it, did they? They betrayed your trust once, what if they do it again? You had to be BEYOND patient with yourself in order to recover and yet they've returned? No, they shouldn't have. They had no idea how many sleepless nights you endured to finally accept they're absence. How much you had to learn to adjust and be patient with yourself to be able to move on. And all that hard work, all that patience, it was gonna crumble because of them.

No, you can't let that happen. You can't just forgive them just like that. Not after everything they've done, to innocent cookies, everything they've done to you. If they really wanted your forgiveness, they'd have to be as patient with you as you were with them when they weren't corrupted. They have to earn your forgiveness, and that was going to take a long time.

You were patient with them, now they must be patient with you. How long they'd have to be patient was unknown, and how long they'd actually remain patient was just as mysterious.

[hopleii]

crawling back to you . . . ꔫ

content: inspired by Do I Wanna Know? - Hozier, mammon x fem!reader, hurt comfort, angst to fluff, breakup themes, getting back together themes, breaking no contact, yearning, alcohol mentions, not proofread, lmk if i missed anything!

a/n: do u guys like the cover i edited? >< lowkey got bored of the boring pink lines so I'll probably make more of those covers (just probably.)

it's been a whole year since you left devildom, which meant a whole year has passed since you and mammon talked. it's not like he cared though, right? the avatar of greed had better things to take care of, better things to desire, and better things to want.

but deep down, he wanted nothing more than to turn back time to that day. the day you left devildom, the day you two gave up on each other. there has not been a single day where mammon hasn't thought about you, going to bars and flirting with different women to ease the pain. it never worked, though. it always ended the same - he starts talking and crying about you, turning off the other girls. his brothers knew how much your departure and your breakup affected him, often picking up mammon from bars and dragging him home, being forced to listen to his slurred babbling as well.

today, he woke up, hungover and nauseated. he missed the way your soft hands brushed through his white hair, how your arms pulled him into a warm embrace, how you would care for him whenever he was hungover like this. mammon groaned as he stood up from his bed, the sunlight streaming through the blinds felt like knives in his eyes. he'd much rather be blinded by your beauty.

lucifer and the others had been on his case for months now, but mammon always brushed them off. he was the avatar of greed, he takes what he wants and gets rid of them when he wants, that's how everyone expected him to act, he was the one who broke up with you after all. but he didn't want to get rid of you. he had worn his heart on his sleeve for you, after all, and look where it got him.

"still sulking?" satan's voice cut through the silence in the dining hall since the others didn't want to speak up

mammon groaned, rubbing his forehead and adjusting his uniform. "ain't none of yer business."

"sure it's not" satan's green eyes softened at mammon's pitiful state, his eyes swollen from crying all night. "you know, this isn't helping anyone---not you, not MC." he didn't respond, pouring himself a glass of water and ignoring the way his hand trembled.

after school, mammon couldn't explain why he did what he did. maybe it was the way his brother kept giving him pitiful looks all week, or maybe the sheer exhaustion of pretending he stopped caring. either way, he found himself in the human world, in your city.

he had no plan—he never did—but he wandered aimlessly, not knowing if he wanted to run into you or if he wanted the universe to throw a bone at him.

and then, like fate, he saw you.

you were standing outside a bakery, paper bag in hand as you looked through the pastries and treats you bought with a soft smile, and it was like he couldn't breathe.

mammon froze, panic bubbling in his chest, what would he even say? what would he even do? but before he could second-guess himself, your eyes locked onto his.

your expression from surprise to something familiar, the look in your eyes that day when the two of you broke up, and mammon's heart clenched. he started walking towards you, as if his legs had a mind of it's own. he could've just walked away, ignored you, go back to devildom, but he couldn't. not after how long his heart yearned for you.

"hey," he said, his voice hoarse.

"hey," you replied, clutching your paper bag tighter.

and suddenly breathing was harder, the air was thicker with unsaid words.

mammon rubbed the back of his neck, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. "i, uh...didn't think i'd run into ya."

"i didn't either," you admitted.

"look, i know i'm the last person ya wanna see right now, but..." he pauses, fists clenching at his sides. "i can't stop thinkin' about ya, okay? it's been a year, and I've tried — believe me, I've tried everything, but i can't. I'm a mess without ya."

"mammon--"

"I know i screwed up," he said quickly, cutting you off. "i know I'm a greedy and selfish bastard and total pain in the ass but...I never stopped lovin' ya. not for a second. and, i know i was the one that ended things, but i was just bein' a coward. i should've made it work, whether you were in devildom or not."

you stared at him, a mix of bitterness and longing. "why, mammon? why now?"

"cause i couldn't stay away anymore," he said, stepping closer. "I get it if ya don't wanna see me again, but i had to try. i had to tell you."

you didn't reply. you wanted to walk away, to ignore him, to act like you didn't care, but he just wouldn't stop. everything he said, it was crushing your resolve.

"do ya ever think of me, pretty? i do. always. even when I'm drunk and stupid, never stopped thinkin' about you."

"i missed you," you whispered.

mammon's eyes widened, "ya did?"

you nodded, tears staining your cheeks. "mhm. everyday."

he didn't hesitate, pulling you into his arms and holding you like his life depended on it. "i ain't lettin' you go," he murmured into your hair.

"never again."

and for the first time in a year, you felt whole.

© — hopleii