#and it makes me depressed if i think about it too long

[evilmenenjoyer]

City of Love

Pairing: The Salesman x fem!Reader

Summary: Months after winning the Squid Games, you receive an unwanted visit from the man who's been haunting you since the very beginning.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: smut (minors dni), drinking, sex in a public place, some murderous thoughts. Don't be fooled by the title, it's very much not a fluffy romantic fic lol.

*

The City of Love.

At least, that's what everyone calls it. It felt like the place to be after all the horrors you had endured in the past year – horrors you don't dare to say a word about to another soul. Friends and acquaintances have told you about how great it is, how beautiful, how magical. About how just a few days here will heal any woes in your heart.

Of course, it didn't work. Now you're just depressed in Paris.

It's not all bad. The Eiffel tower looks just as pretty as it does in pictures, especially late at night when it lights up and sparkles. The historic architecture and cobblestone streets are a nice break from the modern buildings you're used to from Seoul, so different it almost erases the memories sometimes. Never for too long. Just when you think you're slipping back into something resembling normalcy, they return in your nightmares in the shape of blood, pink jumpsuits and children’s games.

This afternoon, it takes the shape of a ghost – a tall, handsome man, whose face you’ve only ever seen in dreams and in the subway lines of Seoul.

All color drains from your face in a matter of seconds, all that pink winter flush.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He smiles, like you're an old friend. It nearly throws you off your balance by how natural it looks, like he's not forcing it.

“Beautiful city, isn't it? Especially at this time of the year.”

This can't be happening. The whole reason you left South Korea was to put distance between yourself and those horrific games, and all the people associated with them. To just run into one right here, in a different continent, mere months after your victory; it makes you feel like you're about to pass out.

You stand up from your seat and walk right out of the patisserie, leaving your ridiculously overpriced hot chocolate nearly untouched on the table.

You knew, somehow, that he would follow you, but you still prayed he wouldn’t. That it had been your imagination, or the PTSD, or anything other than the Salesman himself crossing paths with you in Paris.

“I expected a warmer welcome,” a voice behind you says, making you pause your stroll down the street. Fortunately – or maybe unfortunately – you still haven’t completely lost track of what's real and what's not, and you can tell that voice is real, clear as day. He’s real and here and that terrifies you to your very core.

Turning around to face him, you hate how he still looks every bit as infuriatingly handsome as he did the first time you saw him.

“What are you doing here?” you repeat, your voice shaky and not nearly as incisive ad you’d like it to be.

“Visiting,” he replies. He turns to gaze at the scenery around you. In your hurry to get away from him, you didn't even realize you ended up at the Pont Neuf, the old bridge crossing the Seine River. Dusk settles around the two of you, the purple-ish color of the sky reflected on the river, almost too pretty for this situation. “Like I said, France is quite nice during the winter.”

You scoff. “You expect me to believe it's just a big coincidence that you and I ended up in the same place, five thousand miles away from home, at the same time?”

“Small world, isn't it?”

“I’m serious. I did everything you people wanted. I beat the games, I took the money and I kept my mouth shut. You were supposed to leave me the fuck alone.”

“Did what we wanted?” Something in his smile changes, shifts from warmth to something more sinister. “We never forced you to do anything. Remember that. You brought whatever happened on yourself.”

Cold air rushes over you, drawing a shiver out of you. It's not snowing yet, but it start might soon. It's hard to remember you were once excited for it.

He reaches out, ignoring the warnings in your eyes as he runs a finger over the smooth fabric of your scarf, then wraps it around your neck one more time. It’s almost a tender gesture, if he was someone else entirely. It should have you flinching, or slapping his hand away. Instead, it only makes you freeze in your spot.

“Yves Saint Laurent,” he notes. “I see you’ve been making good use of that money.”

It doesn't sound accusatory, but it feels like it anyway. Even after months, it still feels wrong to use the money, despite all the literal blood, sweat and tears it took to get it. Like you should be gathering it all in a pile and setting fire to it in protest. But what would that change? Why shouldn't you be allowed to use it to build a new life for yourself?

So you stayed in five star hotels. So you bought a few more pairs of Louboutin shoes than necessary. Therapy was out of the question, so this was the next best thing you could come up with for the time being. Best-case scenario, a therapist would think you're a nutcase. Worst case, they’d turn you in to the authorities for confessing to multiple murders you had committed at the Squid Games. You didn’t want to take the risk.

“I thought that was the idea,” you say. The Salesman’s hands are still on the fabric, merely touching it, but that doesn't stop your mind from picturing him gripping it, pulling on it until you suffocate in the garment you bought as some empty, mediocre sign of victory.

“It suits you.” He lets his hands fall with no damage to your throat or to your respiratory system. “Much better than those knock-offs you used to wear.”

It disturbs you that he even remembers that. As far as you know, you were only one of the hundreds of people who had played ddakji with him at the subway station. You remembered every second of it, replayed it in your mind over and over again, but there was nothing particularly memorable about you back then. You lost most rounds. You hoped against hope that he would ask you out, even after your cheek was red and stinging.

That was a different version of you. One that smiled more, even with all the hardships in your life. One that was too naive to realize she was selling her soul to the devil from that very first game of ddakji.

“Since the city brought us together,” the Salesman says, “I’d like to buy you a drink.”

It would be impossible to keep the surprise from your face if you’d tried. Those are words you would've loved to hear all those months ago, and now that he says them, you can barely draw enough air into your lungs to tell him to fuck off.

“Why? So you can kill me the second we’re off the street?”

He chuckles, like he finds your confusion amusing. “Why would I do that?”

“Isn't that why you're here?” Why else would it be, after all? Maybe it's part of their sick games; to give one person the illusion of victory, let them enjoy the money for a few months, then go after them and kill them. Or worse, pull them back in.

“If I wanted to kill you, I could do it anywhere.”

You suppose there's no arguing with that, but you're not sure if it makes you feel better. Good news: you're still breathing. Bad news: you're still breathing only until he allows you to.

“You still didn't tell me why you came after me, then,” you point out.

“Let's have a drink, and I’ll tell you.”

You must be insane for even considering this. The naive girl that had first seen him in the subway, coming home late at night from work, would be enthusiastically urging you to go. You’re supposed to know better than her.

“One drink,” you say. “Then you go home and never contact me again.”

His smile widens. “I know a nice place.”

*

He brings you to a piano bar just a few blocks away from the bridge. It's a fancy place, the kind that makes you feel underdressed even in your designer clothes. He blends right in – not only because of the sleek, tailored suit, but because of his demeanor, the natural elegance with which he carries himself.

Not for the first time, you wonder if he was born into wealth, or if he was ever like you. Someone who had to claw his way out of poverty. You can't picture it, but there's so much you don't know about him. It's what makes him so scary and confusing to you, but also so damn intriguing.

He orders for you before you have the chance to open your mouth. Dom Pérignon, two glasses. You raise your eyebrows once the waiter walks away.

“Are we celebrating something?”

“Your victory.”

The response makes your stomach drop. “I don't want to celebrate that.” Not with anyone, but especially not with him.

He gives a small shrug. “Just a special occasion, then.”

The dimmed, warm lights of the bar make the place feel so intimate, almost romantic in a sense. You don't know what to make of it, so you force yourself to look away from him, even when you can still feel his stare unflinching on you. Luckily, the waiter shows up just in time, pouring you both glasses of the bubbly drink and leaving the bottle in a bucket on the table.

You turn back to the Salesman, glaring at him. “I said one drink, not one bottle.”

“You never specified,” he replies, fake innocence in his eyes. “Gives us more time to catch up. Maybe even play a game, for old time’s sake.”

The mere mention of a game makes you want to run away, to lock yourself in the restroom and refuse to come out. It has to be intentional; he has to know what kinds of things would be running through your head, after everything you’d gone through. You take a long gulp of the champagne, nearly done with the entire glass in one go. You can't let him get to you like this. You do your best to look unbothered.

“Do you walk around with ddakji tiles everywhere?” you ask. “Just in case you find someone who wants to play?”

That earns a soft laugh out of him. “No, not ddakji.”

He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out what looks like a standard deck of cards.

“Have you ever played blackjack?”

You have, but hesitation is written all over your features. “What if I don't want to play?”

“Do you think I’d force you?” he asks, like you're a fool for even thinking so. “Like I said, you were never forced to do anything. It's your choice.” He sips his own champagne in a much classier, more contained way than you. Like he's happy to draw this out for hours, rather than wanting this night to be over as soon as possible. “But you’ve beaten much harder games before. This should be nothing for our big victor, right?”

There's a challenge in his voice, in his eyes. You should know better than to fall for it. So why is there a part of you that still feels like you have a point to prove? That feels like, with a little bit of luck and skill, you can finally beat this man at his own game?

“Fine.” You cross your arms over the table. “Let’s do this.”

Pleased with your answer, he shuffles the cards in his hands. You watch him, almost as mesmerized as you’d been watching him play ddakji at the subway station. It's so hard not to get lost in it, but you refuse to look away in shyness and hesitation again, keeping your eyes on him as you sip the rest of the champagne in your glass.

He refills it before placing four cards on the table: two facing upwards for you, one face-down and one face-up for himself, the dealer.

The rules are simple: your cards all together need to get as close to 21 without going over. Whichever one of you gets the closest wins the round. You have a nine and a four, totaling thirteen. The Salesman has a five, and a card that's invisible for you. 

“Hit me,” you say, figuring your odds can't be too bad.

He places one more card to your pile: a seven. Twenty in total. Your heart speeds up inside your chest, already triumphant even before the end.

He reveals all his cards to you: the five you’ve already seen, a nine, and a three. Seventeen. Your smile widens, relief washing over you like you’d just escaped a near-death experience. You don't think beating a game, no matter the kind, will ever not feel like this again.

“Not bad,” he compliments. He reaches into another pocket for his wallet, drawing a hundred euro note and pushing it towards you on the table.

You just stare at it with an eyebrow raised, baffled and, frankly, a bit offended. With the tip of your index finger, you push the bill back to him.

“Do you really think I still need your money?”

“It's just symbolic,” he argues, but still tucks the money back into his wallet. “Of course, we can bet on other things too, if you’d prefer.”

“What kind of things?”

“Whatever you want. You won.”

“Whatever I want?” A grin stretches across your lips as you lean forward on the table. “Like a dare?”

He leans forward as well, like he wants to meet you in the middle. His eyes never leave yours. “Like a dare.”

You wonder just how far he’d take this game, if he would do something outrageous or serious just because you told him to. Maybe not. But even this is the kind of power that you never, ever imagined you would have over this man.

“Okay. Let me see your wallet.”

He hands it over without a fight. You rummage through all of it, ignoring all the cash and instead looking for something else, anything personal. But there's nothing. No family photos, no old receipts, not even a condom tucked inside one of the pockets. At last you find his ID license, the name Park Ha-Joon listed beside a smiling picture of him that looks so normal you almost want to laugh.

“It's not your real name, is it?”

He smiles. “Smart girl.”

“It was worth a shot.” You close the wallet and hand it back to him.

He shuffles the cards, hands them over again. Seven and six. You tap the cards in a sign for him to hit you with one more.

“Do you really want to know why I came to see you?”

Your eyes snap in his direction, not even looking at the new card that’s placed in front of you. 

“I thought you’d be one of the first to die in a place like that.” He looks focused on the game as he talks, “When I found out you were the winner, I wanted to see it for myself.”

Your throat tightens, making it hard to draw in my next breath. You look around yourself, as if trying to make sure you're really here and not at that disturbing colorful scenario, or at the bunk beds in the dorm. Still the piano bar. Warm lights, soft chatter of conversation, piano notes ringing through the air. The mental image of that place still doesn't vanish from your mind.

“See what, exactly?” you ask, even though you know it would be better not to.  

“If you truly earned it, or if you’re just one more piece of trash who got lucky, like all the others before you.”

Your hand must twitch, an involuntary movement you're not even aware of, and the Salesman places another card to your pile. You look down at it in horror, realizing all the cards together total to twenty-three.

“I didn't say hit me,” you protest.

“You tapped. You know that's the sign.” He looks over the cards again, as if just noticing the source of your distress instead of directly causing it. “Too bad.”

It's not fair, and you both know it, but you doubt pointing it out will make a difference. You bite your tongue around any words as well as the lump that's formed in your throat, tears trying to rush to the surface. Your gaze meets his and holds it.

“Are you going to slap me?”

He’s still for a moment, considering it. It's one thing to hit you in the face in a mostly-empty subway station late at night, and another entirely to do it in this sophisticated bar, with all these people around as witnesses. Still, you don't doubt that he would do it. You hold yourself back from flinching when his hand comes out, bracing yourself for the impact.

It never comes. Instead, his hands merely cup your cheeks, tilting your face to face him fully. He looks at you like he's studying you, his expression unreadable.

“Not now. I want something else,” he says. “A round of shots.”

His grip on your face is firm, but he runs the pad of his thumb over the curve of your cheekbone, like wiping away a teardrop that never fell. A gesture that can only be described as affectionate, and it's messing with your head way more than the slaps on the face did.

You nod.

He holds on for just a second too long before he lets you go. He orders the shots to the waiter – you pay no attention to the brand, or even the type of booze –, and you don't say another word until after they're placed in front of you on the table, small glasses so clean they gleam under the light.

“I crawled my way out of that hell,” you tell him. “You have no idea what I had to do to survive. You don't get to sit here and tell me I didn't fucking earn it.”

He looks more amused than anything. “To kill for necessity, anyone can do. It doesn't make you as special as you think it does.” He nods towards the shot on the table, reaching for his own. “Drink.”

You count one, two, three in your head before throwing the shot back, unable to suppress a grimace when the drink comes down your throat like liquid fire.

“Why do you wanna get me drunk so bad?”

He empties his shot glass as well. “Drinking together ensures none of us has an advantage.” He picks up the deck of cards again, before you ever have the chance to tell him you’ve had enough of this game. The words die down in your throat.

One more round. Your cards add up to seventeen.

It’s too risky to ask for one more card; anything higher than four would mean an instant loss. Only then you notice the sweat under your palms, the rush in your ears overpowering the piano music in the background. You force yourself to take a deep breath, to remember that your life is not on the line anymore and losing doesn't mean certain death, even though it feels like it.

He reveals his cards. Eighteen.

“Fuck.”

He seems pleased with himself, accessing you as you brace yourself for whatever he has in mind for you now.

“Come a little closer,” he orders.

You frown, but you find yourself obeying without much questioning, getting up from your chair to slide to the seat next to him on the booth.

He pours you both more Dom Pérignon, and this time he doesn't have to tell you to drink. You focus on the way the bubbles dance inside your mouth, if only to have something to distract yourself from his proximity, from the faint smell of his cologne or from the fact he still hasn't told you what he wants from you for losing this round

His hand lands on your thigh.

You jump in surprise, and his hand tightens its grip there, digging into your skin and keeping you in your seat. Your eyes widen and search for his, a question clear in them.

With his free hand, the Salesman pushes the cards in your direction. “You’ll be the dealer now,” he says, “and for each time you lose, I get to keep my hands on you for one more round.”

Say no, you tell yourself. Say something. A better, stronger woman would throw the champagne in the glass on his face and walk right out of this bar. Instead, you find yourself still as a statue, a sudden rush of warmth overflowing your senses – first, it rises to your face, coloring your cheeks red, then it travels lower to the pit of your stomach and down right into the space between your legs.

You can’t even tell if it’s the alcohol, spreading through your bloodstream and bringing a buzzing sensation to your head that’s not all unpleasant, or the fact you haven’t been touched like this in what feels like forever, or simply the man sitting next to you. How many times had you fantasized about this, until you realized that he was the catalyst of your ruin?

Maybe even a few times after that.

You take the deck of cards. He grins like he knew you would, like a master pleased with a dog following his command. You want to wipe that look off his face, but you can barely concentrate enough to properly shuffle the cards.

If you felt like you were fighting for your life before, it’s nothing compared to right now. The hand doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as twitch until the very final moments of the round, when you realize the two of you are tied. A fingertip slides up the fabric of your stockings until it stops at your knee, your skin erupting in goosebumps following the movement. Your heart beats so hard inside your chest you can barely hear the chatter of people around you as the bar fills in with people.

You lose the next round, and the next, and the one after that. You can’t even tell if you’re doing it on purpose anymore.

With each passing minute that you don’t push him away, that you allow him to test and cross your boundaries, he gets more daring, drawing shapes in the perimeter of your leg and curling into your inner thigh. Your chest rises with a breath that comes tumbling out, the sound of it way too close to a whimper for your liking.

You can tell he notices it instantly, observant and apparently fluent in your body language like he’s spent years of his life studying it. He takes the opportunity to let his hand wander under your skirt, to the spots it hadn’t covered yet.

That’s enough. You need to win this next round.

It’s like, for once, God listens to your prayers. Your cards add up to an even, perfect twenty-one to his nineteen.

He retrieves his hand as if on cue. You thought you would be gasping in relief, but what comes out instead is a pitiful, almost desperate don’t.

He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t as in stop?” he asks. “Or as in don���t stop?”

Your body answers the question for him before your mind can even process what happened, grabbing his hand and pulling it to the spot where it was. Your skin comes ablaze the second he touches you again, like his touch is charged with electricity.

“Did you know,” you can feel his breath so close to you when he speaks, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “that you were the first person who ever challenged me to play ddakji at the subway? Usually it’s the other way around. Nobody but you ever made the first move.”

It’s hard to concentrate on his words like this, with his body leaning into yours and his hand that still touches you under the table and– whoa, that is not your thigh. The solid press against your core makes your whole body twitch, but you don’t jerk away. You try to focus on the memory.

“I didn’t give a fuck about the game,” you reveal. “I just wanted you to notice me.”

“I know.” He draws small, precise circles over you. “Do you ever think about how I would’ve left you alone otherwise?”

Of course you do, more than you would ever admit. But having him confirm it hurts. It’s bad enough to know you’re the one who caused all the trauma you’ve been through since meeting him, that you could’ve just carried on with your life, shitty as it as, if only you weren’t a foolish girl with a crush on a stranger. But to be in his arms right now, your head falling over his shoulder and your lips releasing a tiny whimper; it just makes it all the more fucked up.

“Was it worth it?”

The smile on your lips is devoid of any humor. “Never.”

“Let me prove to you that it was.”

Just like that, everything stops. He scoots away from you in the booth and stands up, bringing all the heat with him aside from the faint lingering warmth on your face. He leaves a few bills over the table, enough for the entire tab, and walks away.

He doesn’t head towards the front door, instead making his way to the opposite direction. You watch him, confused, for a few moments before you trail after him, past the kitchen and the restrooms until you see the red glow of an exit sign.

A chilly breeze rushes over you the second you step outside, and you expect to see him walking into the dark narrow street. But he’s waiting for you, leaning against the brick wall behind him. He raises his eyebrows in that same condescending way he’s done all night, daring you to make the next move.

You don’t hesitate for even a second longer. You grab a fistful of his impeccable suit jacket and pull him closer, crashing your lips together.

From the start, it’s not sweet or gentle. He digs his fingers into your hips hard enough to bruise, wasting no time before he lifts you up into the air and pins you against the wall. You gasp into his mouth, parting your lips and practically begging his tongue inside. Your legs part almost in unison, allowing him to settle between them and effectively trap you, his larger frame blocking any exit.

As if you would dream to get away.

In one swift movement, he reaches between your legs and rips at the fabric of your stockings, the sound echoing through the empty street. You’re already making quick work of his belt; or trying to, frustrated by your lack of mobility from his position. He doesn’t seem willing to let you go, so he does it himself instead, pulling his pants down just enough to free himself from the confines of his underwear.

You’ve soaked through your panties in whatever time it took to play all those rounds of blackjack. It felt like it was drawn-out for hours, but you know it couldn’t have been more than just a few minutes. He moans when he feels it, before he even pushes into you – a heavenly, otherworldly sound, one you want to hear again and again. You push your hips towards him, feeling yourself throb when he rubs his length over you, burning hot where skin meets even though everything around you is cold. He rewards you with another sound that you drink right in as you deepen the kiss, happy to never have your lips separate from each other ever again.

He pushes the fabric of your panties to the side and thrusts into you without a warning, drawing a strangled, sharp gasp from you. He doesn’t give you time to adjust to the invasion, setting up a punishing pace that pushes you against the wall hard with every thrust. You claw at his back, losing the ability to form coherent thoughts, helpless to stop it as he all but consumes you like this is his last chance to.

“Ah– fuck,” you have to break away from his lips to attempt to draw in some air, your breaths and sounds interrupted by the rhythmic, vicious snaps of his hips into yours. He takes the opportunity to tilt his head and follow the line of your jaw with his lips, to mouth kisses and graze his teeth over your throat.

Hands find their way under pieces of clothing, trying to cling to as much bare skin as they can. He does most of the work, still holding you up in the air with the help of the wall (you curl your toes just to test the waters, the ones on the foot closest to the ground, and they barely touch the pavement), bouncing you on his cock however he sees fit, and it’s embarrassing how close you are already just from this.

“Fuck, baby, that’s so good.”

It’s intoxicating how vocal he is, all the grunts and moans he breathes into your neck, how it rips more sounds out of you than you would usually make. The street is completely silent save for the two of you, not another soul in sight. You could kill him right here and he would never see it coming. Gut him with the knife tucked away in your purse, leave him on the pavement gasping for his last breath. Who would catch you? You have enough money to run to yet another country, to give yourself a new identity and reinvent yourself as many times as you want.

The purse is on the floor where you’d carelessly let it fall, out of reach. Still you run your hands down over his bottom, feeling for any guns or weapons he may have tucked into the back of his waistband, or hidden in his pockets. There’s nothing, but you don’t have a lot of time to be disappointed about it before you’re coming with a high-pitched, broken shout, like your orgasm has taken you by surprise. He holds you up, squeezing you against the wall for support, the only thing stopping you from falling straight to the floor.

The Salesman follows right after, a stream of goods and fucks and your name falling from his lips as he spills deep into you. You wish you had it in you to be offended, to tell him off for it. But all you can think about is how much you wish you knew his name so you could shout it, gasp it, whisper it, for as long as he keeps holding you this tight.

[mellowmusings]

death bed | coffee for your head

Azriel x sick reader

A/N- I had the idea for this when I heard the song and instead of sick Azriel I made a sick reader, please don't kill me and let me know if you wanna be tagged. Enjoy :). Warning- Angst, reader is depressed and sick, Azzie baby is depressed too. Mainly a really sad fic (mentions of death due to illness). Summary- You had been sick for sometime now and upon visiting a healer you find out the reason, unsure how much time you have left, you wish to spend every second of it preparing Azriel for the moment you leave.

'Don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed'

You were tired to say the least, for the past few nights you hadn't been able to sleep at all, and your sweet mate was worried sick for you, and so you had to change your plans for the day, ditching shopping for a visit to Madja instead.

A bell rang as you step into the healer's shop, the air was thick with the scent of dried herbs and incense, instantly calming your nerves. Soft light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow on shelves cluttered with jars, vials, and bundles of plants you didn't recognize. The space felt ancient, yet welcoming, as if it held the quiet weight of countless healing rituals. A small wooden counter sat at the back, covered with bottles and unmarked potions. The faint sound of wind chimes hung in the air, but it’s the stillness that stood out—everything in this room felt intentional, designed to soothe, to listen. There attending to a small plant with the smallest flowers you had ever seen stood Madja.

Yeah, I don't wanna fall asleep I don't wanna pass away I've been thinking of our future 'Cause I'll never see those days I don't know why this has happened, but I probably deserve it I tried to do my best, but you know that I'm not perfect

You felt like throwing up, surely this was a joke? it had to be a joke, no she was lying or maybe you had misheard her, it had to be that way, right? "I know this can be shocking news y/n but like I said it's also a very rare illness" "No,no you're lying please tell me you're lying". She begged. Her voice broke on the last word, she couldn't breathe she felt choked, she wanted to throw up but instead she just fell to her knees and cried her heart out.

I've been praying for forgiveness, you've been praying for my health When I leave this earth, hoping you'll find someone else 'Cause, yeah, we're still young, there's so much we haven't done Getting married, start a family, watch your husband with his son

She didn't know how long she spent crying there with Madja comforting her and stroking her back, she was in shock but more than that she was worried for Azriel, if something happened to her then- No, no she wasn't going to think about that right now but for some reason her thoughts kept circling back to Azriel, to the quiet that would fill the room when she was gone. He’d wake up, reach for her, and feel nothing but emptiness. The bed would be cold, the silence too heavy. He’d feel it in the small things—no more shared glances, no more soft words in the dark.

Would he be okay without her? She couldn’t shake the fear that the grief would swallow him, that the shadows he kept so tightly contained would consume him without her there to pull him back. Would the memories be enough, or would they slip through his fingers? The thought of him unraveling, of him breaking, made her heart ache in a way she couldn’t ignore. She wouldn’t be there to catch him, and that terrified her.

Her gaze caught on a lovely family in the park, children being chased by their dad, their mom laughing at the scene and smiling lovingly at her partner, right, she would never be able to have that with Azriel either. Maybe, one day he'll find someone else, who'd love him just as much as she did, someone who'd start a family with him, give him heirs as lovely as he is. She hoped so because if Madja was right then-

I wish it could be me, but I won't make it off this bed I hope I go to heaven, so I see you once again My life was kinda short, but I got so many blessings Happy you were mine, it sucks that it's all ending

Don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed, yeah

And I, don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

Yeah, I'm happy that you're here with me I'm sorry if I tear up When me and you were younger, you would always make me cheer up Taking goofy videos while walking through the park You would jump into my arms every time you heard a bark

You lay back against the pillows, your chest rising and falling with every shallow breath. Azriel sat beside you, his fingers gently brushing over your hand, but the tension in the air was thick, suffocating. You could feel the worry in his touch, in the way he kept glancing at you, like he was afraid to miss something, afraid to lose you before he could even understand what was happening.

"Azriel," you whispered, your voice trembling as you gathered the courage to finally say the words. "I’m sick." You tried to keep your tone calm, but it cracked as soon as the words left your lips. "The healer said it’s a rare heart condition. Something... incurable."

His face froze, eyes widening with disbelief, and he leaned forward, as if to pull you into him, to somehow shield you from the world. But you didn’t want his protection right now. You wanted him to hear this. To know the truth, even if it shattered him.

"I wish it could be me," you continued softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "I wish I could take it all. The pain. The time. But I—" You faltered, and the tears you had been holding back finally broke free. "I won’t make it off this bed, Azriel."

His hand tightened around yours, his breath shaky, but he said nothing, his eyes begging you to take it back, to tell him it wasn’t true. But you couldn’t. Not anymore.

"I hope I go to heaven," you murmured, forcing a small smile through your tears. "So I can see you again. One day, after this... after all of this."

Azriel’s face crumpled with pain, his eyes bright with unshed tears. He reached for you, pulling you close as if he could somehow hold you together, like he could make everything right if he just tried hard enough. "No," he whispered, his voice raw. "No, please. Don’t say that. Don’t leave me." It hurt to see the brave and stoic shadow singer crumble infront of you over such a small matter, he had faced death time and time again, but never had you seen him so broken.

You closed your eyes, savoring the feel of him holding you, but there was no denying it now. You couldn’t keep pretending. You couldn’t keep fighting against what you knew in your bones was coming.

"I’m not ready," you whispered, voice barely audible, "but I think... I think you need to be. This is the reality now, Love. I won’t have much time left."

Azriel held you tighter, but it was clear that he was barely holding on himself. You could feel his heart racing against yours, the fear, the love, the desperation. But you knew, deep down, there was no way to stop it.

"I just need you to be ready," you whispered, your voice barely a breath. "Because I won’t be here for long. I need you to promise me something, Az."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his face a mask of agony, but he nodded, clinging to your every word.

"Promise me you won’t forget me," you said, the ache in your chest growing, but you didn’t want him to carry this burden forever. "Promise me you’ll live, not survive, but live, even if I’m not there."

He pressed his forehead to yours, and for a moment, it was like the world stopped moving. "I’ll never forget you," he said hoarsely. "And I’ll never stop loving you, not even after…"

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek, but you could feel the finality of it, the quiet acceptance in your soul that you had already said goodbye. "I know. But you have to promise me, Love. Please. Live, for both of us."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy, inevitable. And in that moment, you let go. You accepted what was coming, not with peace, but with a sorrow that was too vast to express.

Azriel didn’t say anything after that. He just held you, and in the silence of the room, you both faced what you knew was coming, as painful and unbearable as it was.

Cuddle in your sheets, sang me sound asleep And sneak out through your kitchen at exactly 1:03 Sundays went to church, on Mondays watched a movie Soon you'll be alone, sorry that you have to lose me

You were curled up against Azriel, the quiet crackling of the fire the only sound in the room. He held you close, his warmth wrapping around you like a shield from the world. The memories flowed easily now, the ones you both cherished, the ones you were trying so hard to relive, to hold on to.

"Cuddle in your sheets," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, "like we used to, like we did so many times. You’d sing me to sleep, your voice soft, your hand in my hair."

Azriel’s thumb brushed over your skin as if committing the sensation of this moment to memory, the feeling of your body pressed against his. "I’ll sing you to sleep forever if I can," he replied, voice thick with emotion. "But you know... I think the best part was sneaking out through your kitchen at exactly 1:03. I used to look at the clock, and I knew you’d be there. We’d laugh, sneak away like we didn’t have a care in the world."

You chuckled softly, a tear slipping down your cheek at the thought. "Sundays, we went to church together. Mondays, we’d watch a movie, get lost in each other’s company. Simple, sweet. And it was ours." You pulled back slightly to look up at him, a small, sad smile on your lips. "I wish we had more of those Mondays."

Azriel's eyes softened with the weight of your words, his voice barely more than a broken whisper. "We still have now," he said, but even he knew the truth in the heaviness of his words. Time was running out.

You closed your eyes, trying to soak in every moment, every detail. You could feel the pain of the inevitable, but for tonight, for this brief moment, you clung to the idea that you could still make new memories. "But soon you'll be alone," you whispered, a sob escaping before you could stop it. "I’m sorry that you have to lose me."

Azriel’s grip on you tightened, his face pressing into your hair. "Don’t say that," he murmured, though his voice was thick with sorrow. "I’ll never lose you. Not really. Not in my heart."

You nodded, your body trembling in his arms. "I hope so," you whispered, holding him tighter. "But I’ll always love you. Every memory, every laugh, every quiet Sunday. I’ll carry those with me, even when I’m gone."

And for a moment, time felt still, like the universe had paused just long enough for you both to hold on to each other a little tighter, to try and make every second count before it was all gone.

Don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

And I, don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

Don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

Azriel sat beside you, his hand resting gently on your own, the warmth of his touch a stark contrast to the chill that seemed to constantly settle in your bones. Your breathing was shallow, weak, each rise and fall of your chest an effort, and yet, despite it all, you smiled up at him. It was the kind of smile that told him you were fighting, even when it seemed like there was no fight left in you.

"I don't want you to stay awake for too long," you whispered, your voice thin, but still full of the love you carried for him. "I know you watch over me, but you need sleep too, Azriel." Your hand squeezed his, the action small but intentional.

He looked at you, eyes filled with an ache that ran deeper than the shadows that normally clung to him. His gaze searched your face, searching for something, anything that might bring you back to him, but there was nothing he could do to stop what was coming. His grip tightened, but he didn't speak. What could he say? Every word felt like a lie in the face of what you both knew was inevitable.

"You've been so strong," he finally whispered, voice hoarse. "Please, don’t give up on me now." His thumb stroked over your knuckles, as if grounding himself in the reality that, in his heart, he knew you were slipping away.

You let out a soft, raspy laugh, and though it was faint, it made him want to smile, even though the pain was consuming him. "I’m not giving up," you said, each word a battle, but the light in your eyes still bright enough to pierce through the darkness. "I’m just… trying to make the most of the time we have left."

Azriel closed his eyes for a moment, his chest tightening, but you gently cupped his cheek, urging him to look at you. "Don’t stay awake for too long," you repeated softly, your hand slipping into his as you pressed it over your heart. "Don’t go to bed, not yet. I’m still here. I’m still with you."

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. You felt his warm breath on your skin, a small reminder of how much he loved you. How much he needed you.

"Let me take care of you," he murmured, his voice breaking. "Let me make you coffee in the morning, just like we used to. I’ll get you out of bed. I’ll help you find your strength again, just like before."

You smiled at him, the tears in your eyes blurring your vision. "I’ll make the coffee," you whispered, "when I can. I’ll make sure you get through it, even after I’m gone. I wrote you letters. Letters for the years to come, so you’ll know I’m still with you. So you’ll know that I’ll always love you, even when I’m not there."

Azriel’s heart shattered. "No," he said hoarsely, "No, you can’t leave me." His voice broke at the end, the rawness of his fear leaking through. You were fighting so hard, so fiercely, for him, but he couldn’t stop the truth from settling in his chest.

"You’ve always been my strength, Azriel," you whispered, your voice so soft, but so full of love. "And I’ll be yours, even when I’m not here to hold you. I need you to live. To keep fighting. And when the days feel long, when the nights feel too empty, I want you to read those letters. They’re for you. I’ll make sure you find your way."

Azriel couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. He leaned down, kissing your forehead, his lips trembling against your skin. "I’m going to keep you here with me, in my heart. Forever. I promise. I won’t forget, I swear it."

You smiled through the tears, despite the weariness that clung to your body. "I’m not leaving you, Azriel," you whispered, "not really. Not ever."

But the truth, unspoken between you both, was that you didn’t have much longer. And still, you fought, not for yourself but for him, so he could have something to hold on to after you were gone.

"Please," he begged softly, his voice breaking, "don’t leave me."

You brushed a tear from his cheek, as your voice trembled, "I’ll never really leave you, Azriel. I’ll always be with you. In every letter, in every thought."

You paused, a soft, warm breath escaping your lips. "I’ll get you out of bed, Azriel," you whispered, a hint of a smile on your face, "I’ll get you going again. Even if I’m not there to see it."

His tears fell freely now, but there was a quiet peace in the way he held you—knowing, with an ache so deep it felt like it might swallow him whole, that he would carry you forever.

And I, don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

A few weeks had passed, and the weight of each day was beginning to take its toll. The glow in your eyes had dimmed, and your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. Azriel stayed by your side every moment, his presence constant, like a shadow you never wanted to be without.

He had been trying to hold on to the last threads of you, keeping the hope alive that maybe, somehow, you would pull through. But he knew. He knew with every soft breath you took, with every fleeting smile you gave him, that time was slipping away from both of you.

Today, though… today it felt like everything was slower. The air in the room was thick with an aching kind of quiet, the kind where even the heartbeats that echoed in the space between you seemed too loud.

Azriel sat on the edge of the bed, his arms around you, pulling you close like you’d always been. His fingers lightly traced the line of your jaw, like he could imprint your face into his soul if he touched you long enough. His lips pressed to your forehead, trying to pour every ounce of love and comfort he could into you, but it felt like it was never enough.

You had grown weaker. Your skin was pale, your breathing labored, but you still smiled at him when your eyes fluttered open.

"I’m still here," you whispered softly, your voice raspy but filled with the love you had for him. "I’m still here, Azriel."

He blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, his throat tight. "You don’t have to fight anymore," he murmured, brushing the damp strands of hair from your face. "I’ve got you. I’ll never let you go."

You smiled faintly, your hand reaching for his, weak but determined. "I know," you whispered. "I know… but I have to tell you something, something important."

Azriel leaned closer, his heart pounding in his chest. "Anything," he breathed. "Tell me anything, love. I’m listening."

"I wrote letters," you whispered, barely able to keep your eyes open. "For the years to come… For you. So you know I’ll always be with you, even when I’m not." He silently promised himself would read every letter you left behind, each one a piece of your love, keeping him alive in a world where you no longer were.

Azriel’s chest tightened, a sob breaking free from deep inside him. "You don’t have to go," he said, his voice raw, breaking with the weight of everything he wished he could say, everything he wished he could change. "I can’t… I can’t lose you."

A tear slipped down your cheek, but your smile didn’t fade. You reached up with trembling fingers, tracing the line of his jaw, as if trying to memorize him the way he had memorized you. "You’ll be okay, Azriel. You’re so strong. You’ve always been strong. Just—just remember that I love you. I always will."

His breath caught in his throat as he kissed your hand gently, his voice cracking. "I love you," he whispered, "I love you more than I could ever put into words."

You closed your eyes, your hand slipping from his, but he caught it again instantly, holding on as if it would keep you tethered to him, keep you from slipping away.

Your breathing grew even more shallow, each one taking more effort than the last. Azriel could feel the tremor in your body, the slow, inevitable shift that told him everything he feared was coming. But he didn’t let go. He couldn’t.

"I’m not ready to let you go," Azriel murmured, his voice hoarse, tears streaming down his face as he held you in his arms. "I’ve never been ready to let you go. Not now, not ever."

You gave him one last, gentle smile, your hand resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. "You’ll always have me," you whispered, your voice barely a breath. "In every letter, in every thought, in every coffee you make. You’ll find me again, in the quiet moments. I’ll always be with you."

And then, as if your body had finally found peace, your chest stilled. Your breathing slowed, and for the first time in weeks, there was complete silence. Azriel’s heart shattered, his breath caught in his throat, and for a long moment, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

"No," he choked out, his voice breaking, his chest heaving with the weight of loss. "No, please…"

But there was no response. Only the soft, quiet sound of his heartbeat echoing through the silence, as if trying to fill the emptiness you left behind. His arms tightened around you one last time, as if holding you could bring you back, as if love could defy death.

For a long while, Azriel stayed there, clutching you to him, his tears falling onto your skin. He couldn’t let go. Not yet. He needed to hold you, to feel you close, to believe, for just a little longer, that you weren’t truly gone.

And in the stillness of the room, as the shadows of night stretched across the floor, Azriel whispered the only thing left in his broken heart.

"I’ll always love you. Always."

The room was silent. Still. But his words lingered in the air, a promise he would carry with him forever.

And I, don't stay awake for too long Don't go to bed I'll make a cup of coffee for your head I'll get you up and going out of bed

Azriel stood at the edge of the balcony, staring into the endless void of night. The stars above seemed to mock him, distant and cold, twinkling as though the universe was still moving forward, as though life was continuing. But for him, everything had stopped.

The wind swept through the courtyard, its icy fingers clawing at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the cold that had settled deep in his chest, in his soul. He had not moved from that spot since… since that moment. The moment she had slipped away from him, her final breath trembling in his arms, leaving nothing but an echo of the love they had shared. The world felt like a hollow, silent place, and he was drowning in its emptiness.

He could still smell her, faintly. Her scent lingered in the air, in the folds of the blanket she had used to curl up in, in the spaces between the letters she had written him, all the things that were now gone—faded into the dust of the world she had left behind.

Her letters. He had read them, over and over, each one a tear-streaked page of her love for him, a love he could no longer feel against his skin, in her touch, in her smile. He had read her last words, over and over, searching for some kind of comfort. But the comfort never came. The words she had left behind—I’ll always be with you, Azriel—only left him feeling more alone. Her absence was a shadow that consumed everything.

"I’ll always be with you," he muttered bitterly to the darkened sky, as if the universe owed him something. "Where the hell are you now?"

He wanted to scream. To shout into the abyss that had taken her from him, to demand it give her back. But what was the point? The universe didn’t care. Time didn’t care. And now, all that was left was his hollow existence.

The days blurred together, the ache of her absence cutting deeper with every passing hour. He had stopped sleeping, stopped eating. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything but exist, moving through each day as if in a fog. The shadows whispered her name—her voice, her laughter, the warmth of her skin against his—and all he could do was shut his eyes and pretend he didn’t hear them.

But the silence… the silence was the worst.

Everywhere he went, there were reminders. The empty corner of the room where her chair used to sit, the books she had loved scattered across the table, the coffee mug she had left on the counter—his mug now, though it meant nothing. All of it was just a reminder that she was gone, and he was left alone, trapped in a world where nothing made sense without her. Without her laughter, without the way she’d tease him in the mornings, the soft way she’d press her face to his chest when she needed comfort.

She had been everything to him. His light, his warmth, his reason to fight. And now…

The darkness pressed in on him, a crushing weight on his chest. His wings, once majestic and powerful, now felt like an anchor. He had no use for them anymore. They had carried him through battles, through pain, through moments of glory. But now they felt like a reminder of how empty he was. How much of a shell he had become.

The weight of the silence was unbearable. He could feel the crushing loneliness clawing at him, desperate to consume him whole. And as he stood there, staring out into the endless night, he almost wished for it to. He almost wished for the silence to swallow him, to take him with her, because what was the point of living in a world where she wasn’t there?

“I can’t keep doing this,” he whispered to the darkness, his voice cracking. His breath came in short, uneven bursts, each one a reminder that he was still alive—still breathing, even though every part of him screamed to be gone. To be where she was, wherever that was, because life without her felt like a slow, torturous death.

He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it as if the physical pain would distract him from the ache in his chest. But it didn’t. Nothing could.

The weight of everything pressed on him—the guilt, the anger, the regret. He had promised her, promised her, that he would take care of her, that he wouldn’t let her go. But in the end, he had failed. He hadn’t been enough to save her. And now, she was gone, and all he had left were the memories. The hollow echoes of her voice, her laughter, her touch.

“I wasn’t enough for you,” he whispered, a raw, broken sob escaping him. His knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground, his wings folding around him like an armor of despair. “I couldn’t save you. And now… now I have nothing.”

He curled into himself, his arms wrapping around his knees, his head pressed against them as the tears came in waves. His body trembled with the force of it. Every sob was like a shard of glass digging deeper into his heart, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

The world had moved on. The stars had continued to shine. The wind had continued to blow. But for Azriel, it had all stopped. Because she was gone, and no matter how many times he whispered her name into the darkness, no matter how many times he begged for her to come back, he knew the truth.

She was gone. And he was broken beyond repair.

Time would pass, the seasons would change, but none of it mattered. Nothing mattered without her.

And as the silence closed in around him, Azriel made a vow to the shadows, to the darkness that now felt like home.

He would never forgive himself. He would never forget the way she had died in his arms, the way he couldn’t save her. And as the cold night wrapped itself around him, he whispered through clenched teeth, “I’ll make the world pay. I’ll make everything pay for taking you from me.”

But even as the words left his lips, he knew they wouldn’t bring her back.

And he would have to live with that.

Taglist: @anarchiii @er1023 @siriuslystyle1989 @velarisdusk @scorpioriesling @starlightazriel

[woosh-floosh-art]

Bits and Pieces: 2024

Went through all my 2024 files and here's all the stuff I didn't post!

Dragon Quest slimes... The idea was to do a slime gacha of some sort but... there's so many slimes man I can't draw them all.

Teeny Sanguini variations. The idea was to make a keychain of each teeny sanguini variation but.. that would cost a lot of money and I don't even know how well does keychains would sell. Maybe people just want basic teeny sanguini and I'm wasting my money buying other keychains.. Oh well. The basic teeny sanguini keychain I ordered has sold well, we'll have to see if I decide to order one of the variations.

Various Ouioui's. I think the goal was to eventually draw them all? I just needed something simple but with some room for experimentation to draw everyday. Early 2024 was a rough time for me.

Fan Ouioui design. This one is good. I would imagine the body of the thing would be a scrunchie so you can put it in your hair or on your wrist.

CMY(K) and spring dango themed galumpin dops.

PEARL DRONE!! The goal was to make stickers, that didn't happen lol. Still cute though...

Various little doodles I thought were cute. Badniks, two headed minecraft calf sticker concept (I didn't think it was very clear in it's design..), kirby :D, alien cow, and a true fact about aphids.

SA2 animal sticker gacha. Like I said, in early 2024 I was really looking for something simple and repetitive to draw with just enough variation to keep things interesting. Like the slimes and the ouiouis this one fizzled out. There was just TOO much variation. I ended up doing all of those gyroids which was perfect for the time and also sold really well as stickers! I also did all those damn kirby stickers which did NOT sell as well.

Okay enough about the grief and depression, let's talk about SONIC OCS!! I really loved the periodical cicada emergence this year so I wanted to make a sonic oc based on them. Her wings are crumpled (like many cicadas I saw this year, unfortunately her and the other cicadas will never fly) but she was some wisp powered roller blades to let her zoom around! I used to do a lot of character design as a teen but now I struggle with it. But I don't think this is that bad of a design? It's fun, she's fun.

Every year for artfight people make new characters based on the theme, and this year I wanted to try as well! He's supposed to be an anthropomorphic ray, a prince that must set out on an adventure! The eyebrow design is cuter but I think the widows peak design better conveys that he is supposed to be a ray. Bottom right is my favorite but I would switch the cutlass for the rapier. It's just a bit more of a princely sword.

Blue eyed cicada sticker concept. During the cicada emergence this year someone found a blue eyed cicada!! This is the mock up if I made stickers of that. I didn't because I was soooo sick of handcutting those damn cicadas, they were not easy to cut. Also they did not sell very well. We need more cicada fans in this world...

Lastly... two pages to a comic I never finished. It was supposed to be the prologue to my oc story but... it's a little scary making comics about original characters! There's a lot more to think about and manage over doing fan comics. I would still like to return to my little world and characters but I just haven't been in the mood for it. Ironically there was only one page left in the prologue but it's been so long I don't think I'm going to finish it!

Also, to try and combat the anxiety that comes with making an original story I didn't plan the layouts at all?? I guess to make the process faster and not worry as much?? The thumbnails in my sketchbook are just loose unconnected panels next to the script. That is not how I typically plan comics... and for good reason! Looks at the paneling in page two! It's bad! It's really bad!! When I come back to my characters I going to have to swallow my fear and put some more time and care into the layouts.

Okay that's all for 2024! I have a couple more things to post from December and then that's a wrap on 2024! Thanks for reading! ^_^

[humanitys-strongest-brat]

Kintsugi - ch.5

Pairing: Coach!Levi x Injured fem!Reader

CW: themes of injury, depression, and hopelessness. 18+ minors and ageless blogs dni.

wc: 1.2k

a/n: so sorry for the long wait for this chapter, and for the shorter length. I can't even begin to describe how bad this one kicked my ass. but huuuge thanks to @tobbi-loves-levi for every second of help and @fromthechaoticmind for your hours of encouragement in the working nook <3 this is my first Levi pov and the struggle was real!!

previous / masterlist / dividers

Levi couldn’t get your face out of his mind. He hated it. The moment your excitement washed away and disappointment took its place carved into his brain, the softness of your eyes before they glossed over. He couldn’t bear to see you like that. On ice he’d know exactly what to say, but this? He couldn’t do this. Knowing he was the one to hurt you like that.

Bursting into his office he went straight for his desk, tossing the ipad on his chair before swiftly pulling open the top right drawer. Reaching in he stops at the sight of his trembling hand, quickly shaking the feeling before feverishly fishing through the contents of the drawer. He finally finds what he was looking for tucked away in the back. A keycard to the Basketball Wing of the sports center Erwin had given him forever ago. Levi could probably count on one hand the amount of times he’d used it in the last seven years. 

Just as quickly as he found the card, he was out the door cursing the distance between the Ice Wing and his destination. Every step was more tortuous than the last as he fought to silence his mind. Once he reached the sliding doors he buzzed in. Unlike the Ice Wing, the Basketball Wing was hot. The air was thick and paired with a heavy metallic scent which was all too noticeable, especially now.

Levi made his way through, catching the gaze of a small group of players along the way. Immediately he noticed he’d forgotten his hoodie, he never walked through the center without it. Just as quickly he realized what they were staring at, he could always tell.

Ignore them. 

Erwin’s office was located in the gym, its entrance on the back wall of the basketball court. He let himself in and made his way straight for it. Without a second thought or a knock, he twisted the handle and shoved the door open. 

“Erwin.” He nearly barked out. The sudden burst causes Erwin to stand straight up, his thighs sending a rattle through his desk as they make contact from the startle. 

“..Levi,” he answered quickly once he registered it was him. 

“She asked me to be her coach.” Levi wastes no time as he steps inside, letting the door swing shut behind him. 

Erwin let out a sigh of relief, slowly lowering himself back down into his chair. “So, What did you tell her?” 

“I said no.” Levi says, almost cringing at the words he had told you verbatim. 

“Why?” Erwin asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Levi shoots him a knowing glare in return.

“Why?” He repeats as if to confirm he heard correctly. “I don’t know the first thing about being a coach.” 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“Not that kind of coach.” Levi corrects himself. “And what about work? Am I expected to just drop everything, travel from competition to competition?” 

“Levi,” Erwin starts, “you stopped taking clients to work with her specifically.” 

The room goes quiet, it was true. Levi knew that you needed the extra attention to get back to training for competitions, so he stopped taking new cases and slowly phased out his existing clients to provide just for you. In this moment, he hated that he mentioned that to Erwin. 

“I think you should reconsider it.” Erwin follows up. “I’ve seen the two of you in the studio, skating together before sessions. The chemistry..”

“You have no idea what you’re saying.” Levi protests. He can feel his chest tightening with every word being said. He could try to blame you, he could blame work, but Erwin saw right through it. 

“Really? From my perspective it stopped being about her ankle weeks ago,” Erwin treads carefully. “You didn’t want to see her step down-”

“Like I did? You don’t have to say it.” Levi says, his nose twitching just from saying it out loud. “She doesn’t need me to get to Worlds, she did it just fine the first time.” 

“She knows that, she wants to take you with her.” Erwin reminds him, leaning forward and placing his arms on the desk “I think you’re ready.”

Levi let out a low sigh, squeezing his eyes shut. “You know what they’ll say about me. I’ll be this year's shining spectacle.”

“Who cares what they say? You’ll be there for her.”

“I’d be on the sidelines, if something goes wrong there's nothing I can do. It’s different this time, Erwin.” Levi’s voice is just above a whisper. There it was. A small shred of the truth came through his excuses, and he knew all too well that Erwin was going to grab onto it. He always does. 

“Under you, nothing is going to happen.” Erwin comforts. “Even I can promise that.” 

“I thought the same under my coach.” Levi sighed, brushing his fingers underneath his eye over the healed scar. “You can’t promise that.” Erwin sits in silence for another few seconds, taking in everything Levi said. 

“She reminds you of her, doesn’t she?” 

“I didn’t come here to talk about that.” Levi scowls. 

“No, you came here hoping I’d agree with your choice about refusing to be her coach. I don’t.” Levi closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, closing himself from Erwin’s gaze. The only way he’d be able to say it. 

“She does. Is that what you want to hear? I saw the news and it killed me. When I got the call she had already shut herself out, not improving at the rate required to get back out there. It would have crushed her to try, I needed to step in.”  

“Sounds more like somebody else I know.” Rarely does he see Levi like this and he knows just how hard it is for him to talk about anything surrounding his accident. “I know you want to do this. You’re skating with her, I’ve seen it. You’re ready.” 

“I’ll think about it.” Levi sighs, letting his shoulders drop from their previously tense posture. He takes in what Erwin says, and to his surprise it strikes a chord in him. He watches Erwin sit back, an almost triumphant expression on his face.

“Good,” he breathes out and gets up from his seat. “Let's go. We’re taking an early day.” 

“That’s not necessary, Erwin.” Levi says as he rises out of his own seat.

“What? And let you go home like this?” Erwin shakes his head. “I’d be back on the phone with you within the next hour if I did.” Levi stares at him for a moment as if to argue against it again, then just nods as he makes his way to the door. Just as he starts to twist the door handle, he stops him before he can pull the door open. Walking across the room, he pulls a zip up hoodie down from the coat hanger in the corner of the room before approaching Levi again and draping it over his shoulder. 

Levi pulls the fabric down and studies it, running his thumb over the soft plush of the hood. A small smile spreads across his lips before pulling it on and making his way out with Erwin. 

taglist:

@amywritesthings @littlerequiem @humanitys-strongest-bamf @hideandgopeep 

@thechaoticarchivist @sixpennydame @saccharine-nectarine @martins-rx 

@levisbrat25 

@yukithestar @reive-1

[jayhyunglover]

Mr&Mrs

Pairing: Zayne x non MC! reader

Part 2 to Send my love to your next lover

Synopsis : is he really going to let her go (no MF go get your girl)

Content: angst , hurt/comfort , smut (I am still ovulating leave me alone) , oral sex , unprotected sex (p in v).

A/N : that's the fourth time I am uploading this if Tumblr make it disappear in a black hole I swear I am gonna...

Edit: hopefully Tumblr didn't make it disappear as I thought, here's part 2 finally finally . Y'all are lucky I am ovulating and boosting with energy if not you'd be getting triple dic- I mean triple angst (no I didn't) , also I just realized the song is send my love to your new lover and not next 💀 , any way I yap too much . Happy reading!!

Now playing : Send my love to your new lover by Adele

Send my love to your new lover played for the 17th time through your headphones, small droplets of tears falling off your cheeks on your lap. 

This was for the best you thought. 

He will be happy,  now he will sign the divorce papers , you will be finally free.

Then why did your heart hurt so badly ? Why did it feel like it was getting wrenched out of your chest and tossed on the floor? 

You wiped your small tears when you caught a little brown haired girl looking at you curiously. 

You offered her a small smile trying to not appear scary but you knew with those heavy eye bags you looked more like a frightening panda than anything. 

What were you thinking , crying your eyes out in a restaurant known for their family gathering while you just lost yours? Pathetic 

To your surprise, the little girl approached you ,her fluffy brown hair bouncing with every step. 

When she finally reached the table where you were sitting at , she pulled out a small flower from her pouch. 

A fragile blue spider  Lily,  faded due to being confined in this small place, longing for sunlight and water just like your heart longing for Zayne's love. 

“Mom said the best way to comfort someone is to offer them something meaningful” she spoke up , her small fluttery voice sending a pang through you. 

“T-thank you” you murmured,  sniffling before taking the small flower from her chubby hands

“You're welcome” she smiled, showing off small dimples that reminded of all the times you managed to pull out a smile from Zayne. 

It always got your heart racing 

“Also smile , pretty lady , crying makes you look ugly” she added, making your eyes widen. 

“Oh sorry” you apologized,  quickly wiping the remnants of your tears,  your cheeks heating up slightly. 

The little menace gave you a toothy  smile before running off to her mom. Leaving you flabbergasted but less depressed. 

With your flower clutched firmly in your hand , you walked down the street,  intending to head to your best friend's house since you didn't want to see Zayne anymore. 

 The wounds were too fresh to throw salt in them. 

“Fuck” you cursed , trying your best to cover yourself with your cardigan as the raindrops started to splatter on your face and hair. 

“You shouldn't stay there , it's raining”

 Zayne's words barely reached your ears too entranced by the sight in front of you. 

“Don't you like the rain , Dr Zayne?” You offered him a sheepish grin , twirling like a fool under the pouring raindrops 

“I dont like the prospect of you catching a cold” he retorted in that familiar monotone voice but the twinkle of concern in his hazel eyes spoke volume.

“Worried about me ?” You chuckled

“You know I am” he retorted without missing a beat , the words sending a warm feeling spreading throughout you despite the cold water soaking through your clothes.

“Let's get you inside Mrs Li” he grabbed your hand to intertwine your fingers and guide you back home . 

Mrs Li . How you loved when he called you that? 

You blinked back your vision, a shiver running through you as you realized you were still standing under the rain and there was no handsome husband/doctor guiding you back home. 

It was all the past now. 

You resumed walking,  now literally jogging to get home as fast as possible. 

 You were lying on the couch , wrapped in a fluffy blanket while Queen of tears was playing on the TV. 

Gulping down spoonful after spoonful of vanilla ice cream,  you were trying to drown out your sorrow but it seemed like this K drama wasn't the right choice for your frayed nerves 

Damn it I should've put Squid Game s2 and giggle at Goong Yoo hotness . 

Maddie your bestfriend went on date with her boyfriend and won't come back until tomorrow which left you , your broken heart and this ton of ice cream in the otherwise empty house. 

You were about to switch the streaming device and play Squid Game as you should've since 2 hours ago when a knock at the Dorado your ears perk up . 

Did Maddie's boyfriend ditch her? 

You didn't know why a selfish part of you was happy at this prospect but quickly squashed it down and got up from the couch to see who it was

The knocking got more fervent as if the person on the other side was desperate. 

“I am coming” you gruffed out , making your way to the front door.  Only  when you opened it , you quickly closed it off .

Why on earth is your soon to be ex husband is standing in front of your (bestfriend) porch ? 

Zayne's eyes widened when you slammed the door shut on his face , every last remnants of hope he had vanishing. 

He was soaked through the bones , hair damp from running under the pouring rain , searching everywhere for you . He might've caught a cold at this rate but he didn't give a damn . He had to find you and now that he finally did you shut the door at his face. 

“Darling” he rested his forehead against the wooden door. 

The familiar nickname had your gut twisting in a very very painful way. 

Why is he here? It hadn't been 24 yours since you left your shared house. 

“I know you're behind this door” he continued. His voice was rough from exhaustion.  He still hadn't has any rest since 24 hours and it was clearly taking a toll on him. 

“Please let me in” he pleaded , small tears running down his cheek,  heart squeezing painfully in his chest. 

Your body slid down against the door , your head resting against the wood ina way that mirrored his own gesture without you knowing. 

“I know I've hurt you” he choked out , voice roughened by his sobs “I know I don't deserve your pretty smile and your sweet laugh,  I know I dont deserve you..” 

Every words,  he spoke was like a dagger they thrusted straight through your chest. It was burning,  painful , making it hard for you to breathe,  to speak.  

“..and I understand if you don't want to see me anymore , I'll sign those damn divorces paper and set you free as you wish” he added , wiping his tears with his hands,  hazel eyes growing red from crying and fatigue 

“But I just want you to know that there won't be any next lover after you , you'll be my last , my love” he bent down to slide something under the door , 

A letter , no your letter. 

“I love you Mrs Li” he whispered before turning on his heels intending to leave  finally you alone 

But you wouldn't let him , not after that,  not after he went all this way under the rain , the rain he hated so much just for you. 

Zayne's steps were resigned as he made his way out , heart heavy with sorrows. 

Just as he stepped under the rain , the door fled open revealing your form clad in sleep short and an oversized shirt. 

His breath got caught in his throat, his whole body going still. 

It's been only 24 hours and yet it felt like forever since he hasn't seen you. 

You approached him slowly,  the letter still clutched tightly in your hand , your tears mixing with the pouring water as you stepped under the rain as well. 

“You-” you didn't know what to sat what to do . Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions , sadness , anger ,relief,  joy all mixing in a concoction that had your head spinning. 

“I love you too” you finally spoke , your words nothing short than a shout under the  rain that was getting more violent just like the storm inside of you. 

“I loved you even when I felt I shouldn't anymore , even when you made me feel like I shouldn't anymore” 

Zayne stood there listening to your heartfelt confessions not daring to move an inch or even breathe too loudly. His hair was sticking to his forehead,  his work clothes damp , turtleneck sticking to his skin. 

“I LOVE YOU ZAYNE LI” you shouted again , voice breaking at the end. Your heartbeat too loud to be drowned out by the sound of tha ragging rain , your feelings too raw to process . The man in front of you too still for someone you just confessed to. 

Zayne always knew you loved him , you always said it and showed it in all the way you could but this felt different,  raw , heartfelt.

Your eyes widened comically when Zayne closed the distance between you in 2 strides , capturing your lips in an heated kiss. 

A kiss where he poured all his unspoken feelings,  his longing , guilt , love , the love that made him.wa and fuzzy even under the cold rain . The rain that washed away your pain , sorrows , guilt leaving your blossoming love like spider lilies blooming in autumn. 

“I love you too Mrs Li” he murmured against your lips before kissing you again more fervently,  tongue licking the small droplets on your bottom lip “so damn much” he added between kisses, his hands cradling your head so gently as though you'd break. 

“I love you” you whispered between needy kisses , lips devouring each other's as if you were starving , the weather didn't even matter in this moment, whether it was raining or snowing or even if an earthquake was happening you couldn't give a damn. Just you needed to keep kissing this man. 

With your hands wrapping around his neck to bring him closer to you . His own on your waist to press your body closer to his. His wet hair tickled  your skin when he started to pepper kisses down your jaw. 

Only pulling away when he was sure you were a breathless mess , chest heaving up and down , droopy eyes that were filled with tears earlier looking at him in a way that made his knees weak. 

“I love you , my wife” he whispered before leaving a small kiss on your forehead , thumbs stroking your cheeks gently 

“I love you even more , my husband” you tiptoed to leave a small kiss on his nose 

“I don't think this is a competition,  Darling but trust me I can show you just how much I love you” his voice in your hear was low heated whisper that sent shivers down your spine . Shivers that has nothing to do with your damp clothes 

“Then show me , husband” your hold on his neck tightened,  bringing his face closer to yours. 

You saw a look of surprise pass through his eyes but it disappeared as soon as it appeared leaving a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. 

“Oh I'll show you wife” the way he said those words,  like a secret promise made your stomach twist in knots,  the lower region of your belly heating up with the rest of your body. 

His strong arms picked you up effortlessly,  your legs wrapping automatically around his lean waist , sticky clothes clinging to you like a second skin. 

Your lips reattached once again as he carried inside the house , his footsteps leaving a wet trail behind that will have Maddie shrieking out hysterically when she'd return but you'll deal with that later . Now all you could focus on was the man kissing you like this was the last time he'd able to. 

By the time you reached the guest room you were staying on which was a miracle with how impatient he seemed to be- you and Zayne already shirt already lost your shirts leaving you only in your bottoms 

He laid you gently on the bed before hovering above you , eyes gazing down at you so tenderly , so lovingly it made you look away. 

“No ,my love. I want you to look at me” he turned your head back to him to plant a soft kiss on your mouth. 

“don't hide this beautiful face from me” he whispered against your skin. 

The adoration in his gaze and voice made your skin prickle , your mind growing hazier and more lightheaded.

“Let me admire you” his compliments and words of praise went straight to your heart , head and cunt making it twitch and ache for his touch . 

His lips left a trail of torturous kisses on your neck chest and shoulders,  his cold hands caressing your body as if he was mapping it out for the first time. His touch tended and reverent like he was worshipping every inch of you. 

How could he had been so blind? Zayne thought. 

How could hasn't he seen how perfect you were for him? 

It didn't matter now he hoped at least he got you back right right ? 

Distracting himself from his thoughts he wrapped his lips around the stiff peak of your nipple to suck harshly making you cry out loud 

“Zayne” his name left you in a moan , hand reaching out to pet his damp hair. Your nails lightly scraping his scalp in a way that made him nearly purr against you. 

See , so perfect to him. 

“I don't deserve you” he murmured against your breast shifting to gave the other the same amount of attention 

“Yeah” you breathed out in a small gasp “but I want you anyway” 

Zayne's lips curved into a smile around your niple before gently biting on it in protest , earning a small yelp from you that was quickly quieted down when you felt his kisses getting lower. Teeth grazing against the soft skin of your stomach until he reached the waistband of your shorts . 

He looked up at you waiting for your consent before going any further. 

You gave him a small hazy nod and it was all he needed to peel out your shorts of your legs , leaving you only in your underwear , spread out for him like his Goddess,  his sacrificial lamb.  

He sat up to admire you like this , so beautiful and all his , his wife ( wife he almost lost but anyway) 

You must have made a sound because it snapped him out of his trance . His body lowering onto the bed to wrap your legs around his neck. 

His soft lips peppered small kisses along your inner thighs,  mouth expertly sucking blossoming hickeys on your skin making you writhe beneath him 

“Zayne” the words left your lips like a plea and a demand all at once. 

“Yes darling?” 

His eyes looked up at you twinkling with mischief and need 

He knew what he was doing this gorgeous bastard. 

“Touch me” you whimpered out , the heat in your belly growing unbearably hotter. 

“But I am touching you darling aren't I?” As if to emphasize his words,  his hands ran up and down your legs the touch sending shiver down your spine. 

“Not here” you shook your head , lips jutting out in a soft pout 

“Where then?” He whispered before leaving a small kiss on your lower belly “here?” 

“No” 

“Here?” another kiss on the right side of your hip 

“No” you shook your head again , patience and sanity growing thinner at his teasing 

“Here?” he kissed the inside of your thighs,  so close to where you needed him the most 

“Closer” you whimpered out , hips shifting to bring his mouth to its destination faster but he wasn't having in . His strong arms pinning them firmly on the bed. 

“You're so impatient darling” he tsked before leaving a fleeting kiss to the damp center of your underwear 

“here?” he whispered against your feverish skin while your head fell bavk.in bliss. You were so fucking sensitive that even the slightest touch sent your mind reeling 

“Answer me , my love” he demanded before gently nipping at your clothed clit making you cry out 

“Yes here” you moaned out , hips bucking against his touch. 

This sight pulled a small smirk at the corner of his mouth before he greedily kissed your heated cunt. Small pecks at first then,  sloppy , greedy French kisses that soaked your already damp underwear. 

The sensation was way too much and not enough we the same time . His kisses were driving you insane but you needed so much more. 

“Zayne please” you begged , hand fisting at his hair to bring him closer, push him away , you couldn't decide 

“What is it , darling?” He spat into your clicking heat , thumb circling your already damp opening   

“Need you” you raised your head to lock eyes with his . 

And Zayne swears ,at this moment, you took his breath away. 

With your hair dishelved,  your eyes wild with lust and your kiss-bitten lips, you looked nothing short but angelic. 

An angel sent by heavens just for him.

 An angel he will cherish forever 

Finally taking some mercy on you , he took off your flimsy panties , throwing them to God knows where across the room. Large palms spreading your legs apart while his eyes feasted on you 

“Beautiful” he whispered before diving in . 

His lips leaving a gentle kiss before literally devouring,  feasting on you like he hasn't eaten for day. 

His lips and tongue greedily licked and slurped everything down with fervor , leaving you a panting and sobbing mess. The only things leaving your parted lips were sinful moans of his name and some occasionally curses. 

It felt so good , heavenly even , his mouth worshipping you like some divine being made you feel lightheaded. 

When he inserted two fingers inside , your brain short circuited , stars exploded behind your eyes and before you knew it you were coming hard and fast. Your orgasm crashing over you like a sea storm that have you screaming his name so loudly you were sure Maddie would earn nose complaints from her neighbors.

Even so , Zayne didn't stop,  tongue still swirling around your clit with fervor while his fingers probed at your walls. 

It was only when you pushed his head off in over sensitivity he finally relented , sticky strands that connected his lips to your pussy breaking as he parted from you to sit up. 

His usual stoic face wore a giddy smile , a pretty pink blush settled on his high cheekbones. 

Why does he have to look so pretty? It's literally unfair. 

“You're ok there , darling?” he asked after climbing up to hover above you once again He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear , eyes roving over your face with a mixture of affection and small concern. 

After Finally regaining your bearings (and stopped getting distracted by his pretty face) you spoke up 

“I am alright..” you replied,  wrapping your legs around his waist to bring him closed to you , your bold action making his eyes widen for a fraction of second 

“..but I think you haven't showed me how much you love me yet” you leaned in to whisper against his lips , index finger tracing a sensual  path against his bare chest. 

Of course his insatiable wife wouldn't be satisfied. 

“I guess I haven't yes” he hummed thoughtfully , grabbing your hand that was tracing against his chest to leave a small kiss on your ring finger. 

“Any suggestion to fix that wife?” 

If you knew Zayne calling you wife after you left would have that effect on you you'd have done it sooner. 

Because the way your insides were viscerally screaming for him wasn't normal at all. 

Clearing your throat to get back a semblance of focus, and sanity , you spoke up again. 

“I have a few , mind me if I show you..”  you leaned in closer until your noses were now touching “husband” 

Zayne must be losing his mind , maybe standing for too long under rain altered his brain chemistry because there's no way just you calling him husband in this sultry tone had him cumming in his pants or maybe it was your taste , your sounds , or just how badly he was infatuated with you. 

His head fell in the crook of your neck as ropes of cum soiled his underwear and pants. 

Your hand found his hair , petting it as he hid his face in the crook of your neck in embarrassment 

“What do you think , husband?” you murmured before kissing his temple , earning a small whine from him 

“Show me” he raised his head from your neck to look at you , hazel eyes nearly black from lust “show me what you had in mind” 

He didn't need to tell you twice because as soon the words left his lips you were straddling him , legs resting either side of his muscular thighs as his clothed cock was nestled against your slick heat. 

Zayne's hands automatically found refuge on your hips gripping them for dear life as his breathing got heavier and heavier 

You were going to be the death of him. 

You impatiently tugged his pants and boxers down , too impatient to take your time , you needed him right fucking now. 

“Impatient are we ?” He let out in a breathy chuckle 

“You're any better , Dr” you teased him , hand wrapping around his cock to pump it slowly. 

His head fell back in ecstasy,  an airy fuck leaving his parted lips. His chest heaved up and down as his pants and groans filled the room replacing your earlier sinful moans. 

Zayne ran a hand through his already disheveled hair , body growing hot and bothered under your touch.  And the way you were looking down at him didn't help his state at all 

“D-darling” he breathed out in a moan , body growing taut with Desire and need 

“Mmh” you hummed distantly ,watching fascinated how your hand slid up and down his veiny cock. 

“Please” he begged , voice growing higher in pitch , his pleading hazel eyes looking down at you in a way that made you cave in so fast . 

“How could I ever deny you when you beg so sweetly?” 

It was simple you couldn't. 

Straddling him , you lined his cock with your entrance,  finally giving what you both wanted . 

You both  moaned in unison when you sank down all the way onto him , the stretch making your eyes roll back into your skull. 

He felt as good and full as you remembered . 

You stayed unvoming for a moment,  letting yourself adjust to his size. But Zaybe was a patient man until it comes to you. 

His impatient hips started moving in small jerky movements to fuck himself deeper into you. Each thrust pulling out a breathy whimpers from your lips 

“Fuck Zayne” you moaned head thrown back as you bounced against his lap meeting his thrust halfway in a lewd symphony of skin slapping sounds. 

Zayne was in heaven. The sight of you on top of him combined with each slow drawl of your lips had him gasping for air , mind growing mushy each time you ground yourself against him in small gyrations tthathas him gritting his teeth .

He had to recite every single artery he knew to not come inside you already . 

That's just how good you felt around him.  

“Darling” he whimpered the sound sending a jolt through you . 

Fuck you couldn't take this torture anymore , he couldn't. 

A small yelp left your lips when you felt your back hit the mattress.  Zayne's hips just pounding into you. 

“I love you” he whispered against your lips with every deep thrust. 

“I love you my wife” he continued to pant into your mouth while his hips  just rammed into you. 

“I love you too” you struggled to breath,  the way he was fucking you so deep inside the mattress made it unable to moan or even scream,  now just struggling to breath. 

His forehead rested against yours,  his hands intertwining with yours as he continued his mean cadence. 

“My wife” he breathed out , eyes closing as you both reached your peaks 

You didn't even realize at first that you were coming , just your vision blacking out for several seconds by the intensity of your orgasm , Zayne's body collapsing onto yours as he pumped you full of ropes  after ropes of his seed.

Zayne stayed there for several seconds,  head buried in the crook of your neck , dick still buried deep inside of you. 

“Darling” he looked up at you only to find your eyes closed,  your body unconscious 

“Darling , my love wake up” he shook you but no response came 

Shit did you pass out?

He quickly got off you , hand frantically checking your pulse. 

Fortunately you were still breathing,  just passed out from exhaustion

Maybe he went a bit too rough?  (Just a bit??) 

He caressed your cheek tenderly before leaving a small kiss on it. 

The first thing that hit you  when you woke was this familiar scent piney and so so addictive that reminded you of….

You abruptly sat up only to be pulled back in bed by a sleepy Zayne 

“Stay there with me” he grumbled out in a sleepy voivce that made your heart melt . 

So it wasn't a dream,  Zaybe really came all this way under the rain for you. 

His arms on your waist pulled you closer until your back was flush against his chest , his hot breath tickling your bare shoulder. 

You chewed nervously on your bottom lip , eyes roaming around the room , the sound was about to rise sun.  You could see the pale hue of orange , pink ,violet and blue painting the sky outside. 

A new dawn , a new beginning you hoped 

“I can hear the gears turning in your head” Zayne spoke after a while making your eyes snap back to his face .

“What's on your mind ,wife?” He asked , resting his head against your chest to look up at you. 

“I am sorry” you muttered after a while making his eyes widen in surprise 

What on earth were you apologizing for?

Seing his puzzled look you clarified yourself 

“For leaving you” you added ,looking away from him. 

“Darling” he sat up,  taking your hand to caress your knuckles 

“You don’t need to apologize_” 

“But I put you in pain_” 

“So did I” he cut you off making you seal your mouth shut 

“Darling..” he let out a small sigh before continuing, his fingers still tracing small reassuring patterns on your hand “marriage is about communication,  understanding and forgiveness, I haven't beenuch understanding of your feelings lately . I should be the one apologizing not you” 

You listened intently to his words not daring to say anything.  

“i should have take your feelings in more consideration please forgive me” he finished his eyes looking at you so earnestly it made your heart ache 

“I already forgave you but” you sat up as well to wrap your arms around his neck “I don't want us to fight like this anymore” 

“Me neither’ he shook his head,  wrapping his arms around your waist 

“All good?” You tilted your head at him 

“All good” he nodded before pecking your lips gently “Just please don't ever scare me like that , my hear can't take it” he pleaded against your lips making you smile 

“Can't promise anything Dr” you grinned 

“Now it's doctor huh?” He sighed indignantly making you giggle at his pouty expression 

Akso's chief surgeon pouting ? What a cute sight to behold . 

“Fine,  husband” you rolled your eyes playfully at him before pinching his cheek 

“Much better” he smiled before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. 

“I love you Mrs Li” he mumbled out through the kiss 

“I love you too Mr Li” you responded before pushing his back against the mattress 

Under the dawn's sunlight Mr and Mrs began a new chapter one they hope won't involve a certain Adele song and Goodbye letters 

...*...*...*...*...*...*...*...

Taglist : @jinwoosbabyboo @yourlocalcatscammer @m00nchildwrites @sunsethw4 @syluslittlekitten @poisonf0rest

[freyito]

I need more Gallagher, I think I’ve read everything x reader about him

So here are some ideas, you can also do other characters with this of course

Gallagher x reader he’s had a long day and accidentally snaps at you. hurt/comfort

Gallagher x reader you accidentally fall asleep at the bar while he’s closing up. Fluff

Gallagher x reader the once married got divorced years past you meet again and realize your still in love trope…

Gallagher x reader close proximity. Smut/fluff

Gallagher x reader he’s the first person to buy you flowers. Fluff/comfort

Gallagher x reader after an argument you go missing… perhaps on your own terms out of anger or your actually kidnapped, either way soft fluffy ending

Gallagher x reader comforting after a nightmare, could go either way or could be both

That is all, 👋👋👋👋

✭ pairing(s): gallagher x gn reader

✧ a/n: URGH ANON YOU GAVE ME. SO MUCH INGREDIENTS. I HOPE YOU KNOW IM THANKFUL. while i love EVERYTHING YOU'VE GIVEN ME :3... i've chosen the first three ehe :3... this one will be based off the third one YAAAY. ALSO HAPPYYYYY NEW YEAR!!! kinda happy this one will be my first post! i had a lot of fun with it if we couldnt tell ^^

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, previous relationship, so much yearning (but like. not enough.), fear of commitment, mention of weight loss, depression, SIOBAHN THE GOAT, little bit of lore-building (he has a dog.), not proofread

✎ wc: 8k

ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴅɢᴇ

He was never like this. He had never lingered on his past for too long, an irrational fear of having it chain him down. After all, today’s Gallagher could be different from yesterday’s. No matter how well crafted the lie was, there were always some sort of leaks through the cracks, like just how much he loved you.

He was never made to be loved and love. He was simply a lie, and he knew that. He perpetuated this lie to you for all those years, simply because he was too greedy to admit his own nature (or perhaps, creation). Because, like the selfish creature he truly is, he did not want to let go of you. Most people seek out love, and he was no different, meme or not. He was created with the heart of a human, so who would fault him for making such an error? He lived and loved like any human would, no?

He wanted to be stubborn, by god, he wanted to be stubborn. And he truly was, right up unto the end. He held onto you like a man starved, only a step away from getting on his knees and begging you. But in the end, his love won out. You wanted the divorce, and he didn’t want to hurt you more than he apparently was, so he went through with it.

It hurt. It truly did, it hurt so much he still feels the sting after years. He tried to rationalize it every day he could, tell himself that you would’ve found out eventually, and he would’ve ceased to exist. But that made it even worse, it made him curl up on himself on those lonely nights in the room that was supposed to be yours, it made his throat tighten and his hands shake and he felt like such a goddamn fool. Someone like him shouldn’t be crying. There was no room in his facade to cry. So why did you make him feel this way? By now it had been several years. He should be over it. But he isn’t. And he resents himself for that.

You had moved on by now. A nice quiet life away from the heart of Penacony, a promotion, and an absolutely positive attitude once you weren’t weighed down by the ring. It’s not like you disliked Gallagher. There were never any fights, no contempt for one another, no reason to think he didn’t love you. But you were scared of the commitment. It only took you two years to realize. How did you stay with your job so long, but not Gallagher? You didn’t know. And it only served to make you feel even worse about the divorce.

You always find yourself thinking of him now and then, his face never truly leaves your mind. You couldn’t keep a partner for long at all, always searching for some little piece of him in them. While you didn’t want to, your subconscious was just as stubborn as the man himself. The two of you didn’t text anymore, and you assumed he had your number blocked. So, you yourself had assumed he moved on, and in the silliest, saddest part of your mind, you chose to accept that. Perhaps he got a new partner, maybe he’s even married again by now. He deserves it, you think. He was one of, if not the kindest souls you had the pleasure of meeting, let alone sharing a few years of your life with. So, you hoped he was happy.

Which couldn’t be farther from the truth. His days had become so monotonous that they started to blur together. Wake up bright and early, get some breakfast (which consist of the most mediocre meals, cereal and/or poptarts. Milk if he’s lucky enough), rush to work, patrol, break, patrol, home, and back to sleep he goes. He barely takes much care of himself anymore, his stubble much more of a mess than when you left him, hair still untamed. He’s done his best to watch himself and keep up, but in the end, the most he can do after work is drag himself to bed.

He’s missed your face oh so terribly, missed your laughter and humming and simply your voice. What a treat it would be to come home to that once more, sweep you up off your feet after you’ve had such a long day and pamper you in bed. He’d go on and on about how you need to eat properly, get enough sleep, and take care of yourself. Even if he’s had a stressful day, even when it is so very apparent by the way he dragged his feet when he came through the door, the way his voice was low and groggy and he could only get a few words out like he didn’t want to speak, the way his eyebags had gotten deeper, he still had his priority; to care for you. Now, he’s met with no one to care for, refusing to acknowledge himself without you.

Days off for him are a rare occurrence, and when he does get one, he chooses to sleep most of the day. He’d do it every day, if he could. He’ll get up and allow himself a shower, perhaps order some food if he really feels like it. But going out now, even to just treat himself, it’s impossible. Gallagher doesn’t want to bear facing the world without you. Even if it has been three years.

It’s obsession, he tells himself, though it is not. He loved like a dog, and had convinced himself since the moment you two started dating that there would never be a rift or a tear between you two. Years later he still grapples with the truth. He understands that perhaps there will never be a second chance, given how long it has been, especially without so much as a text from you. But, he wants one. So badly. He’d do anything, as he’s repeated to himself so many times, to have you back. To love you once more, to truly love you. And he hates himself for it.

Lately, his schedule has changed. He gave his supervisors full control over his schedule, choosing to open up his availability when you left. Only now had they taken full advantage of that, with the vacancies the Bloodhounds had after the Charmony festival. Despite being Head of the Bloodhounds, a different team handled the schedules, and completely disregarded the years of his life he gave to the Bloodhounds and flip-flopped his schedule around. He was pulling more doubles than ever, night shifts that turned into day shifts, his days off dwindled to one, and ultimately his health was thrown into limbo. Due to the changes, he was unable to sleep properly, at most, he got three hours.

Because of this, he didn’t have time to go to the Dreamjolt Holstery, choosing to put his job over his hobby. Which ultimately made him feel worse. While he tried to protest the changes to his schedule and the fact that it’s been stressful on him, his superiors ignore this, continuing on with the rough and unpredictable schedule. It takes a while for him to break, as strong as he is, he can only take so much.

Time blurs together for Gallagher, what felt like years could be just months, weeks, or days. Everything felt the same to him, even with his skewed schedule. Somehow, in between his shifts, he finds himself at the Holstery, hazy and tired out of his mind. Thankfully, there weren’t many patrons tonight, a few vagrants like himself spread out within the corners. Siobhan was surprised to see him, schooling her expression into neutrality when she saw his state.

Disheveled, tired, near half-dead. He greeted her with an unintelligible mumble, slumping down into a chair. He passes out right then and there, ultimately succumbing to the stress that had fallen on him over the years. Siobahn stares for a moment, unsure of what to do. When Gallagher had stopped showing up at the Holstery without a word, she was worried. The hound always found his way back, but he had been gone for months. And now here he was, in arguably worse shape then he had been for several years.

Coincidentally, you had a week off because of the Charmony Festival (and the subsequent tragedy that happened after), and you found yourself quite bored. It had been quite a while since you drank, seeing as you really only trusted one bar. You chose to leave it be after the divorce, not wanting to disturb Gallagher at all. But you can’t help but miss it. Surely it’s been a long enough time by now, so why not go pay the bar a visit? Surely Gallagher has moved up.

After a couple moments of debating, pacing around your apartment and thinking out a very overcomplicated plan of action if he were to be there. You’d leave immediately of course, avoid any of the awkward conversation, or perhaps any spite he had towards you. What if he came in while you were mid-drink? Then it feels like it’d be unavoidable… Still, you muster up your courage and walk out of your apartment. There shouldn’t be any hard feelings, anyways, right? It had been quite some time, and you two must have moved on by now. Surely you two would be okay if you were to meet again…

The cool(ish) night air calms your nerves, though. You can’t remember the last time you had a nice night stroll like this, even in the buzzing streets of Penacony. The city never truly slept, no matter what had transpired even seconds before. The dead of night could be just noon for people, or even morning. As such, most businesses kept running 24/7. It was always odd to you, even as a Penacony native, but you got used to it eventually. Bright flashing lights in your face at almost all times when you were out, endless ads about random things you’d never need for your daily life, and salesmen trying to corral you into their stores, to get you to buy luxuries even you can’t afford. Such was life, there was no tranquility in most Hours, anyways.

However, it all goes silent the minute you enter the elevator in the Reverie. The idle chatter from the lobby is shut away by the metal doors and a ‘clink’, as the elevator starts its ascent. You stand square in the middle, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt as you wait for the elevator to reach the floor. You can’t help but grow nervous with each second, all those silly, impossible events happening in your head again. What if you did see him? What would you do? It’d be hard to act normal after all these years.

Before you can answer your question, the elevator doors slide open, and your legs carry you through the hallway without hesitance. It’s much more quiet here, a light, jazzy tune playing in the Holstery. There’s no chatter, barely any clatter of the shaker or glasses, if any, and you know you’ve found an opportune time to show up. It had been so long since you’ve even visited the Holstery, your irrational fear holding you back. The amount of dates you and Gallagher had together here, impromptu or planned, was innumerable. You always loved watching him work, and sometimes he allowed you to get behind the bar yourself, teach you how to make certain drinks. Those moments were always special, as were most in the relationship.

When you step into the bar proper, Siobahn looks at you, then smiles gently. She had been the first to know about the divorce, from both you and Gallagher. Given how she was the only coworker Gallagher had liked, and how close you two were when you started dating him, it was only fair she knew. Not that there were many people you two talked to much. But she was supportive of both sides, never taking one or the other.

In front of her, a drunkard with brown hair is passed out on the counter, head in his arms as he snores. You shrug and walk around him silently, a few more chairs down, before sitting down. Siobahn raises an eyebrow and looks between the two of you, before taking a step over so she is standing in front of you. She opens her mouth to say something, pauses, then shakes her head and smiles even wider. Her eyes dart once more to the drunkard, and you turn to look out of curiosity.

He was wearing a white dress shirt and a vest, sleeves rolled up. The scars on his arms were impressive–

Ah.

It clicks only then, the man is Gallagher. You feel your stomach flip-flop, but your expression remains neutral. You don’t know whether you should just walk out now, reach out and tap his shoulder, or just talk with Siobahn. You want to do all three. So badly. You want to leave and avoid this awkward situation before it happens, but at the same time you want to see his face again. You also would love to catch up with Siobahn, seeing as you haven’t seen her in quite a while. But your focus is drawn to Gallagher.

He looks a bit thinner than you remember, more ragged even though you can’t see his face, and suddenly your nerves turn into concern. He never drank alcohol, as far as you knew. He despised the stuff, and really only enjoyed mocktails and virgin drinks. So, why did he decide to drink himself to this point…? In the end, your curiosity wins out, and you lean over, before standing up and sitting closer to him, just one stool between you. He doesn’t smell of alcohol, which soothes your nerves a bit, so you reach out and tap on his shoulder.

He flinches harshly, jerking up with a sharp breath and a cough, before looking down at you. His eyebags are heavy, eyes having a hard time staying open. His stubble is more of a scruff, one that looks quite itchy.

“Oh,” His eyes light up just a smidge when he realizes it’s you, a big, dopey smile spreading across his lips. “It’s you.”

The words are spoken with no ire, like you expected. Instead, he looked like some lovesick puppy, all smiles and sighs as he stared at you. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your heart flutter. It’s been far too long since someone’s talked to you like that, let alone looked at you like that, and you are glad it is Gallagher himself.

He does his best to blink the sleep from his eyes, before reaching up and rubbing at them. He takes a deep breath, a sound you fondly remember, one he made in the morning when he didn’t want to go to work but had to. And you find yourself pining for him. You turn your head away quickly, gathering your thoughts and looking to Siobahn for help. What could she do? You don’t know, but you sincerely hoped she could come up with something.

“Ah, well, it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen you,” She smiles gently, clearly holding back the word ‘two’. She herself doesn’t know exactly who she’s addressing, seeing as Gallagher’s finally awake.

“Yes, I didn’t expect to see you… or Gallagher here tonight,” You do your best to smile through it, but you can feel Gallagher’s hazel eyes burning into the back of your head. You are at war with yourself, telling yourself you can’t be feeling this way for Gallagher, just because of one look. Yet at the same time, you’ve missed him so dearly, it’s hard not to fall. Even with how ragged he looks at the moment.

Behind you, Gallagher sighs, yet you don’t turn to look at him, too afraid that if you were to catch another glimpse, you’d do something that would be contrary to the divorce and what you had told him. Siobahn shoots a quick glance to him as if now asking him to help, but when you don’t turn around to look at him, his shoulders slump. While what you said held no venom, it didn’t hold the fondness he was hoping for, either.

With a grunt, he pushes the stool out and stands up, shaking his head. You finally turn around, but he doesn’t look back, his footsteps slow and sluggish as he finally exits the Holstery. You turn back to Siobahn and the two of you share a look, falling silent for another minute. Perhaps Gallagher didn’t want to see you at all, and his smile was more out of formality and politeness than anything. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt, but you did your best to shrug it off. There was no real reason to feel like he truly wanted you back, anyways. It’d be selfish to think so.

“I guess he’s clocking out, then…” You mumble, an attempt at a weak joke.

“He had to quit about a month ago, actually,” Siobahn shakes her head, wiping down a glass quickly, before setting it down and leaning on the bar. “That’s the first I’ve seen of him since he told me.”

“I see,” You nod, looking down on the counter. You assumed Siobahn wouldn’t let him sleep on the job, anyways, so it made some sense. But why? As far as you remembered, he quite loved this job. “May I ask why?”

“Well, he said it was because of the Bloodhounds changing his schedule,” She shrugs, “So I took his word for it. He didn’t tell me much, though. And we haven’t really talked much since then. What about you? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“It’s been… a long while. Since I’ve even texted him,” Saying that makes you feel… horrible. You’ve barely talked to him, and yet he gives you one silly little smile and suddenly your heart is singing for him. “I didn’t expect to see him tonight. Well, I did, but I also didn’t.”

“Y’know, since that was the first time I’ve seen him in a bit… he also looked kinda rough. Real rough. But I mean the way he smiled at you…”

“I know. I know, I noticed it too. Both things. But I don’t think his smile means anything with the way he walked away,”

“He seemed more hurt than anything. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile like that, aside from when you two were married. Not that I’m saying you should get back together, but, he seemed quite–”

“I knowww…” You groan, lowering your head. “I’m starting to regret my decision, not like I can change it now, but the way he looked all sad and like a goddamn puppy, ugh.”

Siobahn chuckles, raising an eyebrow. She allows you to wallow in the silence for a while, before nudging you. “Perhaps it’s time to make up? Only if you want to. But I mean, if you’re feeling this way after, what, two years? Then, maybe…”

There’s a teasing lilt towards the end of her words, and when you look up at her she tilts her head with a small smirk. You hate to admit that she’s right, but also a part of you truly wants to. You’ve missed the intimacy he provided, the way his heart would skip a beat whenever you cuddled up to his chest, even after a couple of years, the way he’d fidget with your fingers when you held hands, or simply the way he’d look at you, how reminiscent his gaze was earlier of you’re previous days of love. Ugh, the more you thought the more you made up your mind.

“Fiiine,” You huff, as if you truly didn’t want to. But the way you get up hastily says otherwise.

“Oh, you’re really gonna try? You’re going to show up at his door?”

“Yeah. I am. I think it’ll be more… I dunno. It just makes more sense.”

“I’m cheering you on,” She chuckles once more, “Text me about the results once you're done. I know it isn’t my place to know, but… well, I’m pretty curious.”

“I will, I will,” You sigh, giving her one last wave before you head out of the Holstery all too quickly. It’s not that you didn’t want to continue talking with Siobahn; you truly did. But if you stayed any longer, you’d convince yourself to leave Gallagher be. And maybe that would be a good thing, but you already made up your mind. You could be chasing after a ghost for all you cared, but you figured you had to try.

The walk to his apartment was full of doubts. The night felt colder than ever, and you did your best to tell yourself to keep going. Perhaps you should’ve stayed at the Holstery and at least taken a shot for confidence. Every single part of you, even your heart, told you to just leave it be and go back to your own apartment. You see him once after a couple years and you decide to make everything right, now? But your legs keep walking, and you can’t tell if you hate it, or love it.

Before you can reach a definitive conclusion on whether to just give it up or go through it, you’re at his door. Suddenly it’s a lot more intimidating than you hoped, almost comically eerie, and you haven’t even knocked yet. Sure, it could seem all sorts of wrong for you to show up at his door, for you to even remember where he lived. But there’s no use worrying about that now, you’re stuck here whether you like it or not, and the only way through is, well, through.

You raise your hand and knock, once, twice– and the door opens. Gallagher stands in front of you, barely registering that you even knocked, looking just about as miserable as he did when you saw him at the Holstery. He blinks, trying to wash away his fatigue, before your presence finally registers.

“Mh, sorry, I can’t listen to your sales pitch,” He mumbles, as you take a couple steps back and he closes the door behind him.

“Gallagher.” That’s all you have to say, and he practically flinches, eyes widening for a second.

“A-Ah, sorry, I didn’t– I have work,” He stumbles over his words for a moment like he had on your first date, then immediately schools his expression back into something more neutral, locking the door quickly, before trying to walk past.

Against your better judgement, you reach out and grab his wrist. He pauses and looks back at you, and you swear you see a twinkle in his eye. Though, aside from that, you can feel the worry fester in your gut. If he has work, it’s so very selfish of you to pull him back. But you do.

“I’m sorry, I just,” You don’t know what to say, but neither of you pull away. Your hand loosens around his wrist, and it takes every bit of self control to not reach down and grab his hand. He’s still so warm, as warm as you remembered, and even though he looks quite beat, he still looks like the man you loved.

The silence stretches on for an unbearable amount of time. Gallagher doesn’t pry his wrist from your hand, despite how late he was for work already. He can’t find the strength to do it. He’s longed for something like this moment for quite some time, and now that he has it, employment be damned. His supervisors couldn’t give a damn about him, so why should he have to feel bad for being late? Plus, he had wanted this. So goddamn badly. If he pulled away now, all those nights hugging pillows and ‘i’m sorry’s didn’t mean much anymore. Perhaps they’d mean he had moved on. And he should be okay with that. But he wasn’t.

“I missed you,” He finally manages to speak, turning his entire body towards you. Once more, he looks like some lost puppy, and by the Aeons do you want to reach out and pet him.

“I’m sorry.” Is all you can get out in your fluster. You missed him, yes, and seeing him was only such a painful reminder of that. But at the same time, seeing his state, and remembering the piss poor excuse you left him with, how could you not apologize? ‘I’m just not ready’, what a joke that was. You loved him, dammit, and you weren’t ready? He gave you everything, he was ready. He was more than ready. And somehow, after three years of him cuddling up to you every night, cooking for you, making special drinks, all those sweet nicknames and the way he softened up after an especially rough nights, it took you a year of being in a relationship and two years of being married for you to tell him you weren’t ready?

Not only that, but he had given you no pushback. He didn’t beg you to stay or try to talk some sense into you, he just nodded and let the process start. That was it. You don’t know what impression it gave you, whether he wanted you to be happy or if he didn’t care for it at all. But hearing his words now made you realize what a fool you had been.

“Don’t– Don’t apologize. It’s my fault,” Gallagher finally wrenches his wrist free from your hand, only to put his own on your shoulders. “I wasn’t enough, so I oughta apologize.”

“No, no! That’s not what it was,” You place your hands on his biceps instinctively, and– Aeons, they’re still big– squeeze. “It was me being stupid. That’s all.”

“You’re not stupid,”

“Well I was for the way I left you,”

“No, don’t talk about yourself like that,” He finally lets go, hands falling to his sides with a huff. “I wasn’t enough, I get it. There’s no reason to apologize to me–”

“There is! You were more than enough–” You find yourself getting angry at his words. You pause, taking a deep breath and calming yourself. “I just… This isn’t about that. Maybe it is. I don’t know. You look like– You don’t look well. And I’m worried.”

Another silence falls between you two, making your stomach flip-flop. You can’t push away the previous exchange, and no doubt you’ll need to return to it later, but at the same time you didn’t want to keep him.

All you can do is nod fervently, because you worried that if you opened your mouth, you wouldn’t shut up. You didn’t want to make him late for work, but at the same time you wanted to tell him to just stay home and talk now. There was no way he could get work done in that state, especially at his rank. Before you can speak your mind, he’s halfway down the hall. However, he stands up a little taller, rather than dragging his feet as he walks away, and you can’t help but feel a surge of pride along with butterflies in your stomach.

.  * 　　　 ✦     .     　⁺ 　 .

Eight hours feel like twelve hours while you wait. You decided you’d busy yourself with some chores at home to clear your head, but it ultimately made the day feel even longer. For the last couple of hours, all you could do was sit on your couch and fidget. It felt like you HAD to wait for this moment. If you started something now, you would be betraying a part of yourself.

All you had to wait for was a notification. Part of you wanted to just go over to his apartment and wait out the rest of the time. You felt an overwhelming need to apologize, your nerves eating at you all day. Seeing the shape he was in, the melancholy that lingered in the air no matter his sappy smile or his posture, you wanted to take it all away. You wanted to say it was some sort of savior complex, but to tell the truth, it was your feelings. Your silly, pathetic feelings. One little look and suddenly you were rethinking everything that had led to this point.

You could worry about it all day, but you could never reach a conclusion on whether you should give it up or push through to have this talk with him. All you could do was hope that something positive comes out from this. At worst, nothing would truly change in your life. You’d carry on as you have been, one step at a time. At best… perhaps you’d get a second shot. If you did, you promised yourself you wouldn’t let it go so easily. You wouldn’t let him go.

Just before you lose your mind, your phone vibrates. You’re way too quick to check the notification, like a lovestruck highschooler. It’s been quite some time since you’ve seen his name pop up on your phone, and just that causes butterflies to flutter in your stomach, despite your nerves.

“I’m on my way home now, if you’d like to meet up at my place”

It’s so oddly formal, coming from him. But you suppose you aren’t any better, your own texts coming off just as awkward, a simple ‘omw’ sent back. You didn’t mean to be so curt, but if you hadn’t been, you would’ve started to overthink your answer, even to just a simple text.

With a deep sigh, you get up off your couch and grab your keys and wallet, shoving them into your pockets. You take another moment at your door, trying to compose yourself. It feels quite right to see him again, to talk with him again, and you can’t stop the guilt from creeping into your veins. You are hoping for… more, again. After you left him for something so very selfish. You had stopped talking to him about three months or so after the divorce went through, rationalizing it as the fact that you and him needed to move on. You couldn’t just stay friends, and you didn’t want to impede on his own life. You made up all sorts of scenarios to keep your mind at ease, and for all you knew, you lied to yourself so that you wouldn’t look like a fool running back.

Yet, here you are. Yearning for more, more, more. You wanted to apologize– you did apologize. But you felt the need to do more. You didn’t know what was going on in his head, you barely understood why he looked like such a mess, and you, for the most part, wanted to somehow swoop in and save him. Like a hug and a kiss would fix all that was wrong. Maybe it would, but usually, that wasn’t how the world works.

Before you make your anxiety worse, you open the door and decide to push through. It’s all for clarity, at the very least. You aren’t doing this to possibly get back together with him, it’s to provide you, yourself, and Gallagher clarity. Clarity. All you can do is repeat that word to yourself as you lock your door and make your way down the hallway.

Each step makes you feel heavier, as you dread what’s to come. Every possible outcome starts to scare you, good and bad. You shouldn’t be that scared, with the way Gallagher acted around you, even if it was just a few minutes in total. But you can’t help it, the sudden wave of guilt twists at your gut and claws at your mind, and it takes all your strength to not turn on your heels and high tail it back to your apartment. You don’t know how many more times you will fight with yourself over this, but you can only hope this will be the last.

.  * 　　　 ✦     .     　⁺ 　 .

Gallagher’s apartment isn’t necessarily as well-kept as it was when you two lived together. It isn’t exactly messy, you can tell he tried to clean it up in the few minutes he had from getting back from work and you coming over. But overall, there was a certain air of… melancholy. Bitter and thick, reflecting Gallagher’s state.

He himself seemed too nervous to sit down, choosing to stand by the couch and mess with his tie. He looked even more tired than before, voice rough with exhaustion. You had asked multiple times when you entered his apartment if he’d like you to come back after a later time, and he said it was fine each and every time.

“Would you like something to drink?” His voice comes out a tad weak, looking down at you with an oddly sheepish smile.

“I– No, I can get something myself… if that’s okay,” The last thing you’d want to do is make him work more.

“No, I’d really like to. Please? I promise I want to,” He gives you the look, soft eyes, sheepish smile, once again, like a lost puppy. “Please.”

You can’t help but sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat. It’s the kind of look he used when he wanted you to stay a little longer in bed when you two woke up (despite the fact that you both had work most of the time), and you cannot find the strength to say ‘no’ a second time. You give him a pitiful nod, and off he goes to the kitchen.

While he busies himself with the drink, you look around the living room. Not much has changed, save for your own items that were missing. Dog fur clung to nearly everything, as was the norm. He had brought his Doberman into the relationship, the sweetest pup you’ve met (aside from maybe Gallagher himself), who had endless amounts of energy. He had named the dog ‘Whiskey’, which… didn’t fit the dog at all. But who were you to judge? You had a puppy and a boyfriend at the time, so you were happy. You did kind of miss the dog, seeing as your apartment didn’t allow pets of any kind.

You wanted to ask where the dog was, looking over the back of the couch and into the kitchen. Gallagher was completely zoned in, a couple of different bottles of drinks and syrups on the counter, a couple ice cubes in a rather fancy whiskey glass, all while he was mixing the drinks. It is a sight for sore eyes, the tranquility of it all. There had been quite a lot of nights where you had sat exactly where you are now, and watched him work. He always loved mixing drinks, on the clock or off the clock. And you were more than happy to try most of them. His concentration softens his features, and for a spell he looks younger, more energetic, and not as weak as he has been.

You catch yourself blushing, and quickly turn your head away, turning your focus down to your hands, fidgeting nervously. What were you going to ask? Right, ask about Whiskey. Instead, you keep your mouth shut and force your mind to keep quiet. You can’t help the influx of memories that wash over you, especially in this space. Being not only close to Gallagher, but your old home, there’s a warmth that burns in your heart, one that can be extinguished all too quickly.

Before you can fluster (or perhaps hurt) yourself more, he’s placing the whiskey glass in front of you. It’s a nice, vibrant red, no doubt something fruity. A mocktail he made you quite a lot, one that you were always worried he would get sick of making. But, apparently not.

“So, uhm,” He starts, taking a seat on the couch as well. He leaves one cushion between you two, unable to allow himself to get closer. “I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” You didn’t expect him to start with that of all things. What did he have to apologize for? “What do you mean?”

“I dunno. I feel I have to. I don’t think I was…” He trails off, a note of sorrow in his voice.

Two years, he reminds himself. Two years, and he still felt this way. He wallowed every night, begged whatever force was out there for it to be different. Once again, he knew it was dangerous. There was no love for something such as him in this world, and yet he held onto the thought of you every waking day. For all he knew, you could be his undoing. If you were to find out the “Gallagher” you knew was not the Gallagher he was… it scared him. Yet, it scared him even more to be without you. Is it truly so bad to look for a warm hand when the clock stops ticking? Would it be wrong for you to be his final memory?

“I don’t think I was enough.” He says in an infinitely weaker and mournful tone. He looks away from you, shrinking in on himself.

The words themselves stun you. Suddenly, your throat feels tight and tears prick at your eyes. You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. You stare for a moment, taking in the way he finally seems smaller. A man you’ve always known to be strong, who you swore you’ve never seen be emotional aside from the day of your wedding, curled up in on himself, vulnerable. Somehow, hearing them now, it hurts even more than it did earlier. And you realize you have to prove him wrong, to tell him it was you, not him, wasn’t enough.

In a moment of selfish action, you scoot over next to him and reach for his hand. It is warm, and it trembles. But he doesn’t swat your hand away, nor does he look at you. After a beat, you grab his other hand, squeezing both.

“Oh, Gallagher…” You mutter, looking into his eyes even though they avoid yours. “That’s not it. You were more than enough, I promise you. You really were.” You squeeze his hands once more, to prove your point. “Somehow, I got it in my head that.. that I wasn’t ready. Even after all the time we spent together. And that’s on me– It really is.”

Finally, he looks up at you, his eyes glossy, mirroring your own. He squeezes your hands back, and relaxes just a little.

“I didn’t mean to rush you…” He responds, voice slightly shaky. He forces a small smile onto his lips however, and it makes your heart stutter.

“No, no, it wasn’t that. I was ready. I swear. I just– I should’ve talked to you, instead of doing what I did,” You huff, shaking your head. “It was unfair of me to come to that conclusion just because of some anxiety.”

“Well, I don’t think you should blame yourself like that,” Even his voice softens as he straightens up, turning his entire body towards you. “I really do wish you would’ve talked to me, but… if you were anxious… I mean, I get it. But don’t talk about it like that.”

You open your mouth to say something, but words fail you. All you can do is nod and meet his gaze, unable to tear yours away from those hazel eyes.

“... I mean, it was pretty expensive for something as simple as that, but– Sorry, bad joke,” He chuckles sheepishly, “But it’s okay. If anything, I’m glad we’re talking about it now, instead of never…”

His eyes rake over your face, down to your hands. He takes another breath like he’s about to say something, then pauses, shakes his head, and chuckles once more.

“I’m sorry,” Is all you can choke out, your hold on his hands loosening.

“It’s okay, there’s no need to apologize. I get it, I really do,”

Gallagher lets go of your hands as well, turning his hands over and presenting his palms to you. It’s a gesture that is so small and from the outside would seem meaningless, but something you always quite loved– as were most things you have seen tonight. You had a habit of playing with his hands whenever you could, running your thumb over the back of his hand when you two were holding hands, messing with his fingers to annoy him when you were watching a movie, and tracing over the creases in his palms to calm yourself down if your mind wouldn’t shut up. It helped when you were anxious, or when you couldn’t fall asleep.

Without thinking, you use your thumbs to trace over the creases in his palms, hands still rough and calloused as you remembered. For a moment, it helps calm your nerves, allowing you to think clearly. Yet, despite that, you can’t form any proper words. You untense and allow yourself to really, truly breathe. After a beat, he drops his hands into his lap, eyes searching your face for any sort of hesitance. You find yourself chasing after your hands for a moment, catching yourself and clearing your throat as you pull away.

“... I have a question. That you can say no to, okay?” He leans back, trying to seem more confident, but he wears an unsure smile on his lips.

“Okay,” You nod, your stomach, once again, flip-flopping.

“I… want to try again. If you feel the same, of course. I just…” There’s a subtle blush that dusts his cheeks as he looks around the room, reaching up and scratching at his stubble. “I meant what I said earlier today. I missed you.”

Your mouth goes dry. It isn’t something you expected– though, it is quite welcome. But you can’t help but hesitate, it sounds a little too good to be true. You bite your lip and allow the question to hang in the air for a second longer, still unable to conjure up a response. You’d tell him you’d love to, but–

“Just– Just a few dates, here and there. We don’t have to pick up where we left off,” Gallagher chimes in at your hesitation, before shrinking away, worried that he’s being too invasive.

You look down to your lap, trying to string your thoughts together and form a coherent response. This was the best possible scenario you had hoped for, so why do you feel so unsure? You fidget with your fingers, all sorts of ‘what if’s popping up in your head. What if it ends up like last time? What if this isn’t just a case of ‘right person, wrong time’, what if it always had been ‘wrong person, wrong time’? You loved Gallagher when you first started dating, you loved him when you married him, and evidently, you loved him even after the divorce. And yet… it was hard to say yes. But you couldn’t let your anxiety eat away at you this time, you promised that to yourself at that moment.

“I’d like that,” You finally speak, voice quieter than you anticipated, and shy.

When you look up at Gallagher, you can tell he’s trying to hold back his own little celebration. He opens his mouth to say something, moves a little in his seat, then closes it. His hand raises from his lap for a second, before he places it back down. Eventually, he figures out what to do. He flashes you a simple grin, the kind that made the corners of his eyes and his nose crinkle.

“Great. Yes. Totally. Okay, I’ll uhm– well, my schedule isn’t the best anymore, so… I don’t know. I mean, this can be a date, right?” He stumbles and trips over his words, unsure if he should let his excitement be visible or not. You haven’t seen him this flustered in a long, long time. And it warms your heart.

“It can,” You chuckle, tilting your head. “I mean, I did kinda miss our movie nights.”

“Perfect! I’ll, uh, well,” He moves to grab the remote off the coffee table, eyes flickering over to you in a bout of nervousness. “Guess I’ll get it started. Ah, wait– do you want some popcorn, or anything…?”

“Ah, actually… Can I ask where Whiskey is?” You can’t help but go back to the dog, as if having a movie night without the pup felt wrong.

“Oh, I-I left him in my room. Didn’t want him to annoy you or anything… uhm, did you want me to go get him?”

“Yes. Please.”

At your eager response, Gallagher practically scrambles to get up. You listen to him pad down the hallway to his room, before he opens the door. The minute that door opens, you hear Whiskey’s claws scratching at the hardwood floor as he runs to the living room to check out the new smells. He wasn’t much of a pup anymore, around 3 years old now. His floppy ears bounce up and down as he runs to you, and he practically crashes into you when he jumps up onto the couch (and ultimately into your chest). You can’t help but laugh as his entire body wiggles in excitement, licking at your face and sticking his nose into it every time you turn your head to avoid his barrage.

Gallagher can’t help but chuckle as he watches, taking his seat back, betraying you and leaving you to fend for yourself against Whiskey’s storm of kisses. Gallagher can’t help but ‘subtly’ reach over and wrap his arm around your shoulders. He figured since you were just soooo defenseless, why not sneak in? Despite the awkward, childish anxiety, like you two had just started dating from earlier, this feels so very… normal. Regardless, you didn’t have time to react either way. Whiskey was relentless with his kisses, determined to make up for the several years he didn’t see you.

Eventually, you are able to pry the dog off of you, and the space calms down for a moment, despite the excited wagging and half-lunging at you. Considering how much he has grown, it’s kind of hard to pull him back. But within a minute or two, he finally calms down, finding his peace on your lap, laying his head on your leg and staring up at you with big ol’ eyes, begging for attention every time you stop petting him.

“Let’s see…” Gallagher hums, finally turning on the tv and figuring out which streaming service to use. “What are you feeling? Horror? Classic? I’m game for whatever.”

“Hmm,” You tilt your head, scratching behind Whiskey’s ear. “I dunno. You pick.”

With a huff of approval, Gallagher chooses a streaming service, quickly scrolling through a couple of movies, before choosing a thriller. Why not be a little cliche? Even if you were used to this stuff by now, he can’t help himself. You can’t help but chuckle and smile at his choice, looking up at him through your lashes quickly. In a moment of selfishness (or perhaps lovestruck idiocy), you lean up and press a kiss to his cheek, before leaning your head onto his shoulder fully.

Gallagher can’t help but smile like a fool, hand squeezing your shoulder. He dares not to look down at you, as if he was afraid this wasn’t real. Ironic, coming from him. But, he couldn’t help it. Something he yearned for after so long, finally in his hands… Someone he had yearned for. Whiskey, however, is quite displeased with this show of affection, giving you a lethal side-eye, as if to say ‘how dare you show him love and not me.’ Such betrayal that you have shown Whiskey, choosing Gallagher over him.

© freyito, 2025 | masterlist | queue | kofi | discord server | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN, REPOST ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[sherewrytes]

𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤, ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 7

↳ Sukuna x f! black reader

Summary: After the death of his grandfather, Sukuna Ryomen is left to shoulder the weight of his family, caring for his younger brothers, Yuuji and Choso. As he withdraws into grief, his relationship with Y/N, his girlfriend of a year, begins to crumble. When Y/N discovers the truth about his grandfather’s passing during a heated argument, it leads to a painful breakup. Now, both are navigating life apart, but Sukuna’s heart aches for Y/N. Determined to win her back, he must confront his pain and find a way to break through the walls he’s built. Can he rekindle their love, or is it too late?

contents: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, smut, dark romance, drug use, talks of depression and similar topics. (a lil )

fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, serious drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.

Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.

Taglist: @for-hearthand-home@clp-84@thelightknight21@favvkiki  @helightknight21 @dylsw @ria-s-writes @sleepymothafterhours 

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Here is another chapter cause I'm still writing out the other fics right now :)

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Chapter 7: Breaking Point

Y/N’s POV

It’s been, what, two weeks since I last saw Sukuna? Since he left my apartment I finally put my foot down. It feels surreal. Like he was here one moment, his presence filling every part of my life, and then, just like that, he’s gone. I can actually focus in class again, and my thoughts are less cluttered without his constant ups and downs. For the first time in a long time, I’m getting assignments done on time, and keeping up with my workload. But underneath it all, there’s this ache, a hollow space where he used to be.

I try to ignore it, but it’s always there, tugging at me, making it hard to concentrate completely. It’s the little things—his laugh echoing in my mind, the feel of his arms around me, his stupid smirk whenever he got under my skin. I find myself wondering if he’s okay. Did he come out of the hospital yet? Did he manage to finally piece himself together?

A part of me wants to reach out, just to check in. Maybe see if he’s doing better, if he’s still leaning on his friends, getting through each day somehow. But that’s not my place anymore, is it? I gave him so many chances to let me in, to let me help, and every single time, he shut me out. He made it clear he wanted to handle things his way. And I… I need to start respecting that boundary, as much as it hurts.

I take a deep breath, glancing out the window of the studio. The city is buzzing outside, people going on with their lives, completely unaware of the turmoil inside me. I sip my coffee, watching the people walk by, their laughter faintly audible through the glass.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes, pulling me from my thoughts. It’s a message from Utahime.

Utahime: You doing okay? Need anything?

I smile, appreciating her concern. She’s been there since everything happened, her presence a constant comfort, even when I didn’t realize I needed it.

Me: Yeah, I’m fine. Just… thinking too much, as usual.

Utahime: Well, stop that! We’re going out tonight. A distraction is exactly what you need.

I hesitate, looking down at my phone, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I know she’s right. A distraction might help me let go of these lingering thoughts, these small pieces of Sukuna that I can’t seem to shake.

Me: Fine. Where and when?

Utahime: I’ll pick you up at 8. Be ready!

A part of me feels relieved at the thought of getting out, of being around people who remind me of who I am outside of Sukuna, outside of this relationship that became such a heavy part of my life.

as the car moves through the city streets, I press my head against the cool window, letting the world blur past me. The bass-heavy beat of W.D.Y.W.F.M. pulses through my headphones, each lyric tugging at parts of me I’ve been trying to bury.

Maybe you’re right, maybe this is all that I can be, the words echo, hitting a little too close to home. I close my eyes, feeling the weight of those lyrics settle in my chest. The memories start seeping in—the countless times I let myself believe that if I loved Sukuna enough, if I was patient enough, he’d eventually find it within himself to let me in. That if I just waited, things would finally feel right. But now I wonder… maybe it wasn’t just him. Maybe I should have known better than to believe that love could fix someone so broken.

But what if it’s you, and it wasn’t me?

The question pierces through my thoughts, stirring a bitterness I didn’t know I still had. He wanted to drown in his own pain, to shut me out every time I tried to pull him up for air. I couldn’t have been the answer, and yet here I am, with pieces of him still lingering, haunting me at every turn.

The Uber driver takes a corner, the familiar streets near my apartment coming into view. I force my gaze away from the window, back to my phone screen, trying to focus on anything but him. It shouldn’t hurt this much, but it does—knowing that for all the love I poured into him, it wasn’t enough to keep him from self-destructing.

The song fades as I arrive at my building. I thank the driver, taking a deep breath as I step out, feeling the city air wrap around me. The streetlights cast a dim glow on the sidewalk, and I let myself pause for a moment before going inside. I need to let him go, I tell myself firmly, as I push open the door and head up the stairs to my apartment. I have to learn to let go of the weight of him, of the what ifs and the could’ve been that keep me tangled in his memory.

I climb the stairs, my heart pounding faster with each step as I spot the car parked out front. The familiar shape, that old, dark-colored sedan that Sukuna drove everywhere... no, no, no, I think, my pulse racing. I’m not ready to see him. My body tenses with dread, the past few weeks crashing down on me in waves.

But as I get closer, I realize it isn’t him. The figure slouched in the driver's seat isn’t Sukuna—it’s Yuuji, his face drawn and pale under the streetlight glow. Relief floods me, only to be replaced by confusion and worry. I stride up to him, feeling the weight of all the things I know about Sukuna’s recent spiral pressing on me, unsettling and heavy.

"Yuuji," I say, my voice sharp, "why are you here?"

He startles, looking up at me with bloodshot eyes. I catch the shadow of sleepless nights, maybe even nights spent worrying about Sukuna. He tries to brush off the tension, but I can see right through him. He's younger, not yet old enough to be driving around on his own at this hour. That alone makes my stomach twist.

"I just… I didn’t know who else to talk to," he mutters, glancing away. The hurt and worry in his voice rip into me.

My gut clenches as I realize just how much of Sukuna’s pain has been spilling onto his family. The weight he’s putting on Yuuji, on Choso… it’s more than I ever understood. The anger, frustration, and heartbreak I felt these past weeks—they’re nothing compared to what Yuuji was going through. He’s barely an adult, forced to watch his older brother destroy himself.

“Yuuji,” I say softly, keeping my tone steady, “what’s going on? Why didn’t you call me?”

Yuuji looks up, and in that one look, I see just how much he’s been holding in. “I thought… I thought I could handle it, but… he’s just getting worse. I can’t even talk to him without him blowing up at me. He left some days ago, maybe more, and just stormed out. No one knows where he is. Toji, Choso, and even Geto…they all tried reaching him, but he wouldn’t answer. And then I remembered… you always knew how to reach him when he was like this.”

The ache in his voice cuts through me, and a fierce protectiveness rises up. I left Sukuna to deal with his pain, but it’s clear that his absence has left more than just a hole in my life—it’s tearing his family apart too.

“Yuuji,” I start, forcing calm into my voice. “I know things are tough, and Sukuna… he’s dealing with a lot. But you don’t have to do this alone. Have you told anyone else? Choso? Gojo?”

He shakes his head, looking at the ground. “No. Choso is dealing with enough as it is… and I don’t want them to worry more.”

He’s trying to be strong, trying to hold everyone else together when he’s the one falling apart. I know that feeling all too well. Sukuna and I broke things off because I couldn’t keep sacrificing my sanity for someone unreachable. But I never thought about how much worse it would get for those who couldn’t walk away, like Yuuji and Choso.

I reach out, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Yuuji, you don’t have to do this alone. You shouldn’t be doing this alone. Sukuna needs someone to get through to him, and it might not be me anymore—but we can try together.”

He stares at me for a moment, eyes wide and vulnerable. “Do you think… Do you think he’ll ever listen? Or is he too far gone?”

My heart aches at his words. “I don’t know. But we have to try.”

He nods, the glimmer of hope in his expression heartbreaking and determined.

I closed my eyes, gripping the phone tight. I knew Kenjaku could be difficult, even evasive when he wanted to be. Sukuna had a talent for finding people who were just as stubborn and reckless as he was. But I couldn’t back down, not now, not with Yuuji looking at me like he was counting on me.

“Kenjaku, I need to know. Yuuji’s here with me. He and Choso haven’t heard from Sukuna in days. They’re worried sick, and he’s…he’s not okay. I think you know that.”

There was a pause on the other end, the silence stretching uncomfortably long. I could almost picture Kenjaku’s calculating look, weighing his options. Finally, he sighed. “He showed up here a few nights back. I didn’t ask questions. He’s been sleeping it off on my couch, but I’ll be honest—he looks like hell, Y/N.”

The anger that had been simmering inside me now sparked, but it wasn’t toward Kenjaku. It was all for Sukuna—his self-destructive spiral, the pain he was dragging everyone into, and the part of him that still didn’t realize how much he meant to those around him.

“I’ll be over soon,” I said, voice steady despite the turmoil within me. “But please, don’t tell him I’m coming. I don’t want him bolting before I get there.”

Kenjaku’s chuckle was dry, but he agreed. “Sure thing. I’ll keep him occupied, though good luck getting through to him. He's really badly…. He’s fucked up, Y/N.”

I hung up, feeling a mix of relief and dread. When I looked at Yuuji, his eyes were wide, filled with a flicker of hope. He didn’t need to ask what I’d found out; the look on my face told him everything.

“I’m going to see him,” I said softly, reaching for my bag. “I’ll try to talk to him, to get through to him, somehow.”

Yuuji looked at me with a mixture of gratitude and worry. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

With a final squeeze of his shoulder, I turned and headed out the door, my heart pounding as I braced myself for the conversation I wasn’t sure I was ready to have.

Yuuji nodded, taking the key from my hand with a somber expression. "I will. Be careful, okay?" he said, his voice thick with unspoken worry.

I offered him a brief smile, though I could feel the weight of everything pressing down on me. "I will. Just... keep an eye on things here, yeah? If anything happens, call Toji."

Yuuji gave me a small, reassuring nod before he turned to head toward the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the hall as he climbed.

I stood there for a moment longer, staring at the door. The tension was building inside me—this wasn't going to be easy. I had no idea what I was walking into, but I knew I had to face it. For Yuuji. For Choso. And for myself.

With a deep breath, I pulled my jacket tighter around me and left the apartment, locking the door behind me. The walk to Kenjaku's place felt longer than usual, each step heavy with uncertainty. The city seemed quieter tonight, the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement as I made my way toward the familiar building.

When I finally arrived, I didn't bother knocking. Kenjaku had given me the code to the door ages ago. I typed it in quickly, the door clicking open with an almost too-loud sound. The hallway was dimly lit, and I could hear the faint murmur of voices from behind one of the doors.

I hesitated for a moment, my hand on the doorframe. This was it. I didn’t know what I was about to walk into, but there was no turning back now.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open.

I stood there, taking in the scene before me—Sukuna, looking completely worn down, his eyes barely open, his hair disheveled and his face a mess of exhaustion and defeat. The cigarette hung loosely from his hand, the smoke curling up into the air as Uraume stood nearby, her posture stiff, frustration radiating off of her.

"Uraume, calm down," I said, my voice steady but firm as I crossed the room, stepping closer to the couch where Sukuna was sprawled out.

He groaned in response, his hand sliding off his face just enough for his eyes to meet mine, dull and clouded. He didn’t look surprised to see me, but his expression was unreadable.

"Great, now I'm fucking seeing and hearing shit," he muttered again, his voice thick with fatigue and annoyance.

I didn’t react to his comment, not letting it phase me. Instead, I walked over and sat on the edge of the couch, just enough to be close but not invading his space. I glanced over at Uraume, who seemed to be holding her ground, but she took a step back, recognizing that I was the one who needed to handle this.

"Sukuna, stop hiding," I said, my tone softer now, almost pleading. "What the hell are you doing?"

He didn’t answer immediately, instead, taking another drag from the cigarette, his eyes drifting away from mine, focused on the wall as though he didn’t want to face me, or anyone.

"You think running away is gonna fix anything?" I continued, my voice low but insistent. "You think wallowing in this is gonna bring Jin back? Or fix what’s broken?"

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought he was going to snap at me again, but instead, he just let out a deep sigh, and the silence in the room hung thick.

"I’m not hiding," he muttered, barely above a whisper. "I’m just... tired."

"Then let us help you," I replied, my heart aching for him, but frustration mixing with it. "You don’t have to carry all this alone."

Sukuna shifted on the couch, his hand coming up to cover his eyes again, but this time, there was something in the way he did it—a sort of resignation, like he knew I was right, but couldn't bring himself to admit it. Uraume stood there, arms crossed, clearly waiting for him to make a move, but it was clear he wasn’t ready.

I stayed quiet for a moment, allowing him his space, but I couldn’t just leave it at that. He needed to hear it, and I needed him to understand.

"You're not alone in this, Sukuna," I said quietly, my voice breaking through the tension. "You’ve got people who care about you. People who are worried. And you don’t get to shut them out."

He didn’t respond immediately, but I could see his body language soften just a little. I wasn’t sure if he was hearing me, or if he was just too far gone to care, but I couldn’t give up on him—not when he was this close to losing everything, including himself.

"Sukuna..." I started again, but Uraume cut me off.

"You can only do so much, Y/N," she said, her tone serious, but a little softer now. "He’s gotta want it. He’s gotta find it in himself to get back up. And we can’t make that choice for him."

I nodded, swallowing back the knot in my throat. I knew she was right. But it didn’t make it any easier.

"You think he’ll listen?" I asked, barely above a whisper, not expecting a clear answer.

Uraume gave a small shrug. "Maybe. But only if he realizes he’s not beyond saving. But that’s up to him."

I glanced at Sukuna once more, feeling the weight of everything press down on me. His eyes were still closed, and he looked so damn defeated. Part of me wanted to scream, to shake him out of his spiral. But I knew that wasn’t what he needed.

What he needed was time and a reminder that he wasn’t the only one who had lost something.

Sukuna's smirk was laced with bitterness, and it was as if the weight of his guilt and self-loathing had manifested in those cruel words. His eyes never left me as he took another drag of his cigarette, the smoke swirling around us like a barrier, creating distance between us that I could almost feel.

I didn't flinch. I refused to let him see the impact his words had, but inside, I was crumbling.

His voice was sharp, cutting through the air, his pain seeping out in every syllable. "You think you can save me, Y/N? Don’t fool yourself. You know I’m worthless."

I wanted to shout at him, tell him he was wrong, but instead, my voice came out softer than I expected. "Sukuna, you're not worthless."

He let out a dry laugh, one that held no humor. "Yeah? Then why the hell did you leave? After we fucked, you tossed me out like I was nothing. Isn’t that what you think of me too?"

Each word felt like a blade to my chest. The anger, the resentment in his voice—it was suffocating. I could see the way his eyes flickered with something raw, something vulnerable that he kept buried under layers of pride and self-doubt. But he was pushing it all on me now.

I took a shaky breath, trying to keep my composure, but the truth was, hearing him say those things cut deeper than I ever anticipated.

I stepped closer to him, ignoring the thick cloud of smoke that hung in the air. "I didn’t leave because I thought you were worthless," I said, my voice trembling but determined. "I left because you pushed me away. You closed yourself off, pushed me out of your life like I was nothing. And I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t see it."

His expression hardened at that, the smirk fading away as he leaned back on the couch, his eyes narrowing at me. "You think I wanted to push you away?" His voice was quieter now, but there was still that edge of anger behind it. "You think I wanted to feel this empty... this fucking broken?"

I shook my head, my heart aching for him even as I held my ground. "No, I don't think that. But that’s what you did. You kept pushing everyone away, even when they were just trying to help. I couldn’t be the one to fix you, Sukuna. I’m not your savior."

He looked away then, the cigarette trembling slightly in his hand. "Then what the hell am I supposed to do, Y/N?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper now, the anger gone, replaced by quiet desperation. "How do I fix this? How do I fix myself?"

I didn’t have an answer. How could I? He had to want it, had to find the strength to fight through his demons on his own. But that didn’t mean I was ready to give up on him.

"You can start by not pushing everyone away," I said, my voice softer now, almost pleading. "You’re not alone, Sukuna. Not yet."

For a long moment, there was silence between us. The tension hung in the air, thick and heavy, as I waited for him to respond. But instead, he just took another drag of his cigarette, looking lost in his thoughts.

"I never asked for any of this," he muttered finally, his words barely audible. "I never asked to be the one holding everything together. I never asked for... this pain."

I didn’t know what to say to that. I didn’t have an answer for him. All I could do was watch him, hoping, wishing he would find the strength to face what he had been running from.

But deep down, I knew it wasn’t up to me. It never was.

His words hit like a punch to the gut. The rawness in his voice, the way he almost choked on the words—it was as if he was tearing himself apart right in front of me. I watched him, frozen, my heart pounding as he looked away, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Just go, Y/N. Please," he said, his voice rough, barely holding it together. "You made the right choice. Don’t let guilt eat at you. Your love... it wasn’t enough."

I felt the sting of tears welling up, but I forced myself to hold them back. This wasn’t the time to break down. He was pulling up walls as quickly as I tried to break them down, and part of me wondered if he would ever let anyone truly see the pieces of himself he kept hidden. I wanted to tell him he was wrong, that it wasn’t about my love being "enough"—that he was worthy of love even in his darkest moments. But I knew, standing there, that he wouldn’t hear it. Not now.

"Sukuna," I began, my voice catching despite my best efforts to stay steady. "It's not about being enough or not enough. You’re worth more than this... more than what you think of yourself right now."

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Don’t... don’t do that. Don’t pretend I’m some lost soul you can save. You’ve done enough. It’s... it’s better this way."

"Better this way?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended, feeling the frustration bubbling up. "Better for who? Because I don't think it's better for you. Look at yourself, Sukuna. You’re drowning, and you’re just... letting it happen."

He clenched his jaw, his hand shaking slightly as he flicked the cigarette into an ashtray. "Maybe that’s what I deserve," he said quietly, almost to himself.

The silence between us felt thick, suffocating. I took a step closer, reaching out, but he backed away, pressing himself further into the couch as if my touch would somehow make things worse.

"If that’s really what you believe..." I whispered, my chest tight. "If you really think you deserve this pain... then I can’t force you to change your mind. But I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes, something soft and vulnerable, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. He lowered his gaze, the same smirk that once felt charming was now nothing more than a mask.

"Just... go," he whispered again, his voice so small it was almost lost in the room. "Forget about me. Move on. It’s better that way."

I stared at him, wanting to reach him, to pull him out of this dark place. But maybe he was right. Maybe I couldn’t save him. Taking a shaky breath, I nodded, my heart shattering with each step as I turned toward the door.

Before I left, I looked back one last time. He wouldn’t meet my gaze, his eyes fixed on some distant point on the floor, lost in his own torment.

“Goodbye, Sukuna,” I whispered, the words barely escaping my lips. And with that, I stepped out, leaving behind the man I’d loved—and the pieces of myself that still wanted to believe he could be saved.

Sukuna's pov

I watched the door click shut behind her, the silence settling thick in the room. My chest felt hollow, but the ache gnawed deeper, clawing its way up my throat. I turned to my side, curling up on the couch, pressing my hand over my eyes as if I could shut out everything I’d just done. I’d pushed her away—again—and for what? To prove some sick point that I was beyond saving? That I didn’t deserve her?

I could still smell her faint perfume lingering in the air, feel the warmth she’d brought with her now slipping through my fingers. It wasn’t like I didn’t want her here. God, I wanted her more than anything. But how could I let her stay, knowing what a mess I’d become? How could I put her through the hell I was living every day?

My mind drifted back to Jin and Gramps, memories that never stayed buried long. Jin would’ve slapped me across the head if he saw me like this, wasting away, hurting everyone who tried to care. But I could never forgive myself for that night, for not being there when he needed me. And now, I was dragging Y/N down with me.

The silence felt louder now, each second stretching painfully, mocking me. She’d tried, even after everything I put her through. She tried to reach me, to pull me out of this pit I’d dug for myself. But I’d thrown her love back in her face. Again.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, pressing my fists to my temples. I wanted to cry, to scream, to feel something other than this endless, numbing void. But even that felt like too much. All I could do was lie here, drowning in my own misery, pushing everyone who mattered further and further away

Kenjaku grabbed my wrist, yanking my hands away from my ears. "Look at me, Sukuna," he snapped, his tone harsher than I'd ever heard. "This is your last chance. No one else is going to fight for you if you don’t fight for yourself."

I kept my eyes shut, trying to hold on to the darkness, anything to keep from facing the weight of his words. What good was that going to do? The damage was done, and I’d burned every bridge around me.

I tried pulling my arm free, but his grip tightened. "You think you’re the only one hurting?" Kenjaku’s voice dropped, each word laced with a fury that broke through my wall of apathy. "Your brothers are terrified. Toji, Uraume—they’re all watching you tear yourself apart. And Y/N? She might be gone, but you know damn well it’s killing her too."

My hands trembled as I finally opened my eyes, meeting his stare. I could see the disappointment, the anger. But there was something else, something that looked too much like hope.

"Why does it matter?" I murmured, my voice cracking. "I’ve already lost everything. What’s the point?"

Kenjaku’s expression softened for the briefest moment before he pulled me up to sit. "You haven't lost everything, not yet. But if you keep pushing everyone away, there will be nothing left. Not your friends, not Y/N, not even your own damn self."

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and I felt a flicker of something I hadn't felt in months—fear.

I held his stare, my jaw clenched, trying to keep the defiance in my eyes. But Kenjaku didn’t look away, his grip on my arm tightening. "What did you take?" he asked again, his tone sharper, cutting right through me.

I tried to shrug him off, mumbling, "Just something to take the edge off. Why does it matter?"

"Because," he hissed, shaking me slightly, "you can barely stand right now, Sukuna. You're falling apart, and you keep reaching for whatever dulls the pain instead of facing it. So I'll ask you one last time—what did you take?"

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his demand. I didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want him to know how far I'd fallen. But the way he was looking at me, with a mixture of anger and something close to pity, broke through the wall I’d put up.

"Xanax... some Oxy," I muttered, barely audible, each word feeling like a confession. "And... a couple drinks." I looked away, shame burning in my chest.

Kenjaku's face twisted with a grimace, and he let go of my arm, taking a step back as if the truth was too heavy for him. "This is what you're doing to yourself?" His voice was low, thick with disappointment. "This isn’t numbing the pain, Sukuna. It's destroying you."

I sank back onto the couch, the weight of his words pressing down like a boulder on my chest. "Maybe that’s the point," I whispered, barely holding back the rawness in my voice. "Maybe that’s all I deserve."

Kenjaku knelt in front of me, looking me dead in the eyes. "Then prove yourself wrong," he said firmly. "If you can’t do it for you, then do it for them—your brothers, your friends, everyone who’s still here trying to reach you. But you have to decide to get up and fight."

My answer was simple, and final. "No."

Kenjaku stared at me, frustration flaring in his eyes. I could tell he was holding back from saying more, like he knew words were useless right now.

“You want to keep drowning?” he asked, his voice sharper, leaning closer as if to pierce right through me. “You think this is easier, huh? Wasting away until there's nothing left?”

“Maybe it is," I said, my voice hollow. "Maybe it’s the only way I can even get through this. The only thing that keeps my mind off... everything.”

“You’re just running,” Kenjaku shot back, anger finally surfacing. "You think the pain will leave you alone? It won’t. It’s gonna keep eating you alive until there’s nothing left, Sukuna. Nothing for you, and nothing for the people who actually give a damn about you."

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms until the sting cut through the haze clouding my mind. “Then let it. I’m not worth anything to anyone.”

Kenjaku exhaled, the fight leaving his shoulders. He stared at me, his eyes dark and steady. “You keep saying that, but it’s not true. You know it’s not true.”

Silence settled between us, heavy and unbreakable, until he finally straightened, his expression hardening. “Fine. You want to stay here, stay here. But don’t expect any of us to stick around and watch you throw your life away.”

[hauntedraggedyanne]

How to add backstories

I can’t be the only one to think it’s difficult

featuring some extra questions you can ask yourself and the characters

—Flashbacks! As long as you can find an event that is at least somewhat similar to the event that we are ‘flashing back’ to, it will be a good enough transition until you’re on a later draft and can smooth it out with similar themes and character development. As long as it’s not like a coffee shop and the MC goes ‘this reminds me of how my parents died’ it’s a good start. Unless the parents died in a coffee shop I guess

—Connect certain objects to specific emotions usually not associated with them. Like, if the MC is filled with guilt or rage when looking at a teddy bear, it clues the reader into figuring some things out for themselves BEFORE they talk about their reasoning.

—Based on the last point, connecting any the senses to emotions not usually associated with the thing can be very effective. Like, no one becomes depressed over the smell of cinnamon buns in the oven, except for the character that is! It’s not only memorable but also

—The best way to show that a character isn’t interested in talking about their past is the other characters finding out that they keep memorabilia from a life before them. Picture this: friend of character A comes over and accidentally opens a drawer filled of old certificates congratulating A on winning numerous competitions, only for A to return and push the friend away. Now there’s questions. Will the secrets put a strain on their relationship?

—Compare the character’s current friends to the friends they had before meeting the main cast. Did they hang out with the wrong crowd? What made them switch to the current group?

—If you want to show culture in a subtle way, ask real people! Or Reddit, that works too. For example, if you’re making a character with a certain religious belief, figure out how they really set up for holidays, how they practice their religion at home, and adjust depending on how connected to their faith they are. Is it different than the people in the area? —Give all the characters a core childhood memory they remember fondly. It could be something as simple as going to preschool. What happens when a poorer character realizes they missed out and they never got to experience the same thing? Do they pretend to fit in, only to accidentally out themselves by remembering something not typically associated with preschool? Or do they flat out say that they didn’t go?

[magicshopaholic]

Late Night Call

Summary: Chaeyoung helps Hoseok in a vulnerable moment. In the dead of night, Miso and Yoongi finally have a long overdue conversation.

Pairing: Yoongi x OC, Hoseok x OC (different OCs)

Genre: Angst

Word count: 11.2 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, alcohol, mentions of a panic attack, mentions of parental abuse, mentions of blood and violence

A/N: It's been a long time since I've posted - in the k-pop world, this might be known as a comeback. But I kid. Thank you for being patient and I hope this fic is worth it. This fic is set around two or three months after Interlude: Hyung Line.

Tagging: @bbl32 @ quarter-life-crisis2 @meirkive  @faearchives @margopinkerton  @dreaming-with-happiness  @confessionsofamarshlily  @purpleseoul7 @sumzysworld @jihopesjoint @xjoonchildx @infinitehobi @handfullofcandids

Listen to: "just the two of us" by kauai45 and sweet cocoa

yoongi masterlist | hoseok masterlist | main masterlist

Yoongi pours a large pint of beer into two glasses and takes them out to the dining table. He places one in front of Hoseok with a soft thud, making him jump slightly.

“Cheers,” offers Yoongi, raising his own glass.

“To what?”

Yoongi shrugs. “A night off. Your album launch?” He nods when Hoseok exhales heavily and drops his face into his hands. “Headlining Lolla? That’s a huge fucking deal, you know?”

“Oh, I know,” he mumbles, voice muffled in his hands. “Huge deal. Huge set list, huge crowd, huge risk of it sucking.”

Yoongi sits across from him and frowns, clinking his glass with Hoseok’s which is still sitting untouched in front of him. “Since when? You were practically giddy during the meeting about it earlier.”

Hoseok gives him a look. “I can’t be negative about it in front of them,” he says with a grimace. Catching the look on Yoongi’s face, he hurries to continue. “Not that I’m negative… exactly. It’s just… everything’s going to be different now.”

Yoongi doesn’t answer immediately, instead taking a large sip of his beer. Hoseok isn’t buzzed enough for his feelings to tumble out freely, but Yoongi suspects he isn’t referring just to their solo ventures.

“It’ll be good for us,” he says eventually, but doesn’t elaborate.

“Yeah? You think?” 

“Sure.”

Hoseok raises his eyebrows, evidently expecting a more emphatic response. “So you’re not worried about your tour at all? Because I got to tell you: sneaking shots backstage before performing as a group was fun. Doing it yourself is just… depressing.”

“You underestimate me,” mutters Yoongi, but flashes him a smile to let him know he’s joking… kind of. “You should be less nervous, though. Your album release was a success. Sales-wise and PR-wise, especially after the listening party.”

Hoseok hums, drinking his beer. It’s unusual for him, Yoongi reflects, to seem this anxious, almost as though he’s lost. Somehow, aside from Namjoon’s responsibilities as leader and Seokjin’s general disposition to look out for them, if there’s anyone who’s level-headed and goal-oriented to the point of being a co-leader of the group, it’s usually Hoseok.

“If anything, you’ve given the rest of us the confidence that people will care about our music even if we aren't together,” says Yoongi after a moment, hoping it will encourage the younger member.

Hoseok nods, although he seems far away. “There’s too much at stake,” he murmurs. “It can make or break the rest of our careers.”

Yoongi frowns slightly, for he's not wrong. But before he can join Hoseok down this rabbit hole, Yoongi hastens to bring him out of it. “Everything you did for the listening party worked. It was a hit. And you seemed to be having fun with Chaeyoung.”

He'd added that last detail as casually as possible, but it catches Hoseok's attention. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” Hoseok stays silent for a few seconds. “Do you think it's weird that I invited her?” he asks suddenly, his tone different and his torso leaning forward slightly.

“No,” answers Yoongi. “Why? Do you?”

“No. I don't know.” He clicks his tongue, looking deep in thought. “I think she did. But I can't be sure.” 

“Did she say something?”

“She seemed a little surprised, I guess.” Hoseok shrugs uncertainly. “It's hard to tell. We're not in a very… forthcoming place right now.”

“So why don't you say something to her?”

“I did,” he reminds him forcefully. “On Sooah's birthday. I told her it was a bad idea and we couldn't be together but we were still hanging out and… eventually hooking up again,” he adds, a bit abashedly, “but after what I said, I don't know how to move forward without making a mess of everything.”

Yoongi, not one to pry, waits for Hoseok to reveal more information, for he certainly isn’t going to ask. “You guys seemed close at the party,” he remarks.

“Yeah. We always have fun together. Not that kind of fun,” he adds with a face, as Yoongi chuckles behind his glass. “Not just that kind of fun,” he amends, his ears reddening slightly.

“But you're hooking up,” he confirms seriously.

“We haven't had sex, if that's what you're asking,” informs Hoseok, a little defensively. “If it's anything serious… she deserves better than an awkward friend-relationship for that,” he admits in a mutter.

Yoongi doesn't reply except to lightly clink his glass with Hoseok’s. He's certain his friend doesn't know this, but Hoseok in love is a predictable machine. The last time this had happened was when they were still trainees; that entire situation had had the distinct desperation and immaturity of teenage hormones and insatiable hunger. 

Now, with the wisdom that age is bound to bring, Hoseok is more restrained and thoughtful, but still the same nevertheless. The emphasis on fun (a baseline requirement for him), the overthinking about whether she felt comfortable or weird about something, the subtle ways he kept her on a pedestal - they’re all classic signs. Had it been a simpler situation, such as one where Hoseok had no lifelong loyalty to her older brother, Chaeyoung would be the most affectionately courted young woman in Seoul right now.

As it is, Hoseok is staring into nothing, a frown between his eyebrows. “There's just… way too much on my mind right now. Even sleep is hard to come by sometimes. I don't know - what do people do when they’re stressed? What does Namjoon do?”

“Wallows, mostly,” says Yoongi. “When he's in a productive space, though, he goes to the gym.” He shrugs. “We could go to the gym.”

There's a pause before both of them snort.

“Feels good to laugh,” chuckles Hoseok, chugging a quarter of his beer before abandoning the rest. “I'm driving,” he adds, “but I wouldn't mind a snack, honestly.”

Yoongi makes a face but doesn't argue, pouring the remaining into his own mug as Hoseok stands up and shuffles into the kitchen. As he hears the cabinets opening and closing, the doorbell rings. Not quite expecting anyone except an Amazon package that usually gets delivered to the lobby downstairs, Yoongi peers through the peephole first. He frowns - for his eyes have to be deceiving him - and opens the door, an incredulous expression on his face that fades when he takes in her appearance.

Kang Chanel pushes her hands deeper into the pockets of her hoodie, her shoulders hunching. “You said I wasn't a project, right?” she reminds him lightly, as though she's referring to an argument about ramen toppings. “Well, here's your chance to prove it.”

Yoongi stares. It's probably rude that he hasn't invited her in yet but he can't help it. Her clothes are wet - he realises now that it's raining outside - and as she pulls down the hood of her sweatshirt and shakes out her wet hair, he notices at once that it's shorter than before.

But that isn't even what he's looking at.

“What - what happened to you?” he murmurs hoarsely, before snapping out of it and standing aside to let her in. She takes a couple of steps and stops, droplets of water pooling around her feet on his clean, tiled floors.

“Well, it's raining,” she answers, making a fuss of wiping her wet hair off her neck and retrieving her phone from her hoodie pocket, clutched tightly in her hand, all the while averting her eyes from his. “It was a drizzle when I left but I didn't think it would get so bad -”

“That's not what I'm talking about,” he interrupts her. She pauses, clearly aware, but doesn't elaborate and doesn't quite meet his eyes either. “What happened to your face?”

Miso takes a deep breath and looks up at him, and he can almost make out the wheels turning in her mind as she evaluates how to answer this. At that moment, however, Hoseok appears in the hall with an energy bar in his hand.

“Is someone at the - oh.”

Miso's eyes widen. “Oh, I didn't realise you had company. I'm sorry, I should've called, I guess,” she mutters, turning her face away slightly, Yoongi knows, to hide the gash from Hoseok's view. 

“It's fine, he was just leaving.” Yoongi meets Hoseok's horrified gaze and gives him an imploring look, hoping he will understand. To his credit, despite knowing nothing about Miso's background, the kindest person Yoongi knows nods wordlessly, the opened energy bar in his hand forgotten.

Both he and Miso stay silent as Hoseok hurriedly pulls on his shoes and moves to the door. “Is - is there anything I can do?” he asks when he's at the doorway.

Yoongi glances at Miso before turning back. “I don't think so,” he says. “But, Hobi -” He pauses as Hoseok meets his eyes again, and this time Yoongi shakes his head a miniscule amount.

Hoseok nods. “Of course,” he says in a small voice, before closing the door behind him.

Just the two of them now, Yoongi turns to Miso, ready to speak more freely now. But she beats him to it.

“Do you mind if I take a shower?” she asks quickly. “I’m freezing. I mean, I know it's unexpected. We're… colleagues. Like, I know it would be weird for sure if I showed up at Donghyuk's and asked to shower -” She breaks off when she catches sight of his expression, unmoving. Her words are tumbling out of her mouth, her tone jerky and her shoulders still hunched, as though expecting to be caught at any second.

Yoongi has so many questions, but if there's ever been a time when she's seemed more like a hunted animal, he can’t think of it.

“Bathroom is down the hall to the right,” he says at last, noting how she nods in barely masked relief. “Fresh towels are on the rack. I'll, uh… get you some clothes.”

Miso nods. Her mouth trembles slightly; whether it's the cold or something else, he can't tell, but when she wipes her face with her hand and winces upon touching the cut, smearing blood further across her pale cheek, any further words die in his throat.

He waits in the living room until he hears the door to the en suite in his room close and the shower start. He rummages in his closet to find dry clothes for her, a pair of joggers and a t-shirt, all the while trying not to let his mind wander down dark paths, for he will learn what happened soon enough. There’s no point, he thinks stoically, as he yanks a hoodie from its hanger with force, of imagining something that may very well have not transpired at all.

The shower is still running when he knocks softly at the door. “Miso,” he calls, as gently as he can. “I'm leaving some clothes on the bed. I'll be outside, in the kitchen,” he adds after a moment. “The door will be closed. The bedroom door, that is.” Cringing at himself, he turns to leave when he hears her voice from inside, unmistakable even through the water.

“Come in.”

He freezes, for surely he must have heard her incorrectly. “Um -” He clears his throat and cranes his neck so his ear is to the door. “What - what did you say?”

“Come in.”

There it is. It's muffled through the water but the words sound exactly the same. “It's - it's Yoongi. Uh, Min Yoongi,” he adds for good measure.

“Yoongi,” she states, but he can’t make out tone or mood. “Come in.”

It occurs to Yoongi that she’s said it three times now; any more and he becomes the Neanderthal who can’t follow a simple request. Hesitating a little, he opens the door to the en suite and steps in, unexpectedly relieved that the glass door to the shower is still closed and fogged with steam.

He places his folded clothes on the basin slab and turns towards the shower, not moving a muscle. For some reason, his palms and the soles of his feet feel tingly, almost as though they’re bracing themselves for stimulation. But it feels wrong, too, and Yoongi wishes Miso would tell him clearly what to do.

“You can come in.” 

Her voice is softer now, as though she knows he’s closer. The steam rises from above the glass door and it takes a certain effort for Yoongi’s feet to leave the floor. His stomach leaping, completely off rhythm with his steps, he places his hand on the handle. Wildly, for a moment, he wonders if he should take off his clothes, but immediately dismisses the thought. Tonight doesn’t seem like that kind of night.

Yoongi opens the door slowly, his heart slowing when he doesn’t see Miso where he was expecting - standing in the middle of the shower - and instead spots her on the floor, sitting under the stream of water, fully clothed and hugging her knees to her chest. She looks up when she sees him.

“Sorry,” she mutters. “The hot water felt really good.”

Still in the doorway of the shower, droplets splashing onto his t-shirt, Yoongi debates what to do. Miso doesn’t say any more but the fact that she’d asked him not once, but thrice, to come in tugs at his heart. She’s never looked more alone; part of him wonders if she’s testing him, to see what he will do next. 

The steam is starting to make him sweat now. After a moment, he slips out of his sliders and steps into the shower as well, sitting on the floor opposite her. The water is scalding; he hisses as it hits the back of his neck and shuffles on the floor until he’s sideways with his back to the wall, the water now mostly hitting his track pants. He looks up to see her mouth twitching slightly at this spectacle, but doesn’t comment on it.

Yoongi can’t hold it in any longer. “What happened, Miso?” he asks quietly.

Miso sighs and runs a hand over her wet hair, causing it to stick to one side of her neck. “My mother had one of her… meltdowns, I guess you could call it. My father is abroad on a business trip and she started drinking a little earlier than usual today and couldn’t find one of the thousand pills she takes…” She trails off and shakes her head, but Yoongi isn’t about to let this conversation end.

“What kind of pills?”

“Just pills.” She shrugs and continues, a deliberate nonchalance in her tone this time. “And she was suddenly convinced that I’d hidden them from her and when I denied it, she accused me of lying and said I was ungrateful after all she did for me, hiding my colour blindness from my father…” She exhales and rolls her eyes. “Anyway. Then she started throwing things.”

She says it with a note of finality, as though that’s all there is to say. Yoongi reaches up and touches her cheek with his knuckle, where the blood has been washed off and the cut is now just a thin red line. He hesitates before making contact as gently as he can, light as a feather. Miso closes her eyes momentarily at his touch before opening them again.

Yoongi’s mind races, thinking of knives, daggers, mirrors, shards of glass flying through the air -

“Diamonds,” she says, and Yoongi knows she’s guessed the direction of his thoughts. “She usually has these episodes when my father gets distant. More distant,” she amends as he lowers his hand. “She flung a hundred carat necklace in her anger and it hit me. She didn’t intend to do… this.”

Yoongi stays silent. He isn’t sure what he might say if he opens his mouth, and the last thing he wants is to put her on the defensive and start a fight - or worse, for her to leave.

“You need to get dry,” he says finally, clearing his throat. “There’s ramen - or whiskey. Whichever warms you up faster. I can put your clothes in the dryer,” he offers. 

Miso nods, her eyes flickering to the floor. But she gets to her feet and Yoongi mirrors her, holding her hand to make sure she doesn’t slip. She peels off her drenched hoodie, her t-shirt rising slightly and sticking to her pale torso. She adjusts it with a slender arm and raises her eyebrows at him.

“I’m going to take my clothes off now,” she says. “So unless you want to watch…”

Hoping the heat on his face is only due to the steam and nothing else, he returns her wry hint of a smile and holds his hand out for her sweatshirt. “I’ll be outside,” he confirms. “Possibly checking myself for a couple of second degree burns.”

“Gotcha. I’ll be in here. Not drowning myself,” she clarifies.

Despite the situation, Yoongi can’t help but chuckle. Stepping out of the shower and closing the door behind him, he exhales. He needs to change his clothes, too; without thinking, he takes off his wet t-shirt and shakes out his hair. Hearing a movement behind him, he turns to see her jeans thrown over the top of the door, followed by her t-shirt. Another, almost inaudible movement occurs inside, but no more clothes appear.

Mouth feeling a little dry, Yoongi reaches up and tugs lightly at her jeans. “They should be dry in an hour, probably.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Taking that as assent, he pulls her clothes down. He should leave; it’s too fucking weird to be standing out here while she’s inside, naked and bathing. But he doesn’t move and she doesn’t ask him to either. The door is still opaque with steam; he isn’t even sure if the vague silhouette he’s seeing is real or if he’s imagining it.

“Yoongi?”

He moves closer to the door, automatically. Her voice is soft again, barely audible over the shower. If he thinks about it, they can’t be more than two feet apart, at best. But something tells him they’re even closer. Hesitating, he touches his fingertips to the door, careful not to wipe away any steam, waiting with bated breath to hear her voice again. A droplet of water falls from the ends of his hair and trickles down his bare chest as he stays there, his heart thumping against his rib cage. 

“I…” Her voice is definitely closer than it was before. “I’ll have a whiskey,” she murmurs eventually, but it’s enough for Yoongi. Nodding wordlessly, he steps away and leaves the en suite, giving her her privacy.

—

Hoseok drives through the cold, misty streets of Seoul, the image of Kang Miso, pale and drenched, in Yoongi’s hallway. He’d had an inkling that Miso wasn’t just any colleague in Yoongi’s orbit at Big Hit, but evidently they were far closer than any of them knew.

It occurs to him only about ten minutes into the drive that he doesn’t have a destination in mind… but somehow, he’s found himself on a familiar route, one he’s come to associate with anticipation, excitement and a not unpleasant fluttering in his stomach.

Predictably, it returns the moment he begins thinking about it, about her. He hadn’t been lying to Yoongi; it was genuinely getting harder and harder to stay away from Chaeyoung. It was easy with her, easier than he’d ever thought possible because she was like a fairy: a cute, fun fairy who made his day better just by existing and had the softest skin and smelled like berries. In fact, there had been more than a few moments over the last couple of months where he’d seriously considered whether it was worth forcing this distance that was basically just for name’s sake at this point, and whether his friendship with Chanyeol was strong enough to survive it if he decided to take the next step. 

Hoseok parks across the street from her building in his usual spot; just far enough away to not lead any stray cameras or phones to Chaeyoung’s residence (Kaya’s incident last year had shook them all to some level). Chanyeol. It’s the only part of this whole situation that turns the pleasant fluttering into an uncomfortable mess of twitching and flapping. As if on cue, his mind goes to the only thing worse than Chanyeol finding out, which is Chaeyoung eventually deciding that this state of limbo is too much for her and walks out of his life.

He sits back in his seat and closes his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms into them. It’s been a busy, stressful few months, with his album recording, the release, the music videos getting filmed and rehearsing for his appearance at Lollapalooza. Chaeyoung had been there through all of it, but it isn’t over. He appreciates Yoongi’s attempt at trying to make him feel better but Yoongi hasn’t reached that juncture yet, the one where, suddenly, there aren’t six other members to ride and die with on stage but just him, alone and exposed. Every crack in his voice, every glitch in the sound system, every off-beat step will be glaring, and anyone who had ever said, all the way back before he’d debuted, that the group would be better off without him would be proven right.

Where would he go from there? If it was proven, beyond doubt, that his solo music and his solo performances were subpar and that everything he was - everything he is - is just because of the handsome, talented people he’s surrounded himself with, then where would he go? How would he ever show his face to the world again? To his family, his friends, his members who would look at him with pity and comfort the lagging member? 

After all these years of travelling and performing and working constantly, he can feel his chest and shoulders and back physically ache at the thought of it all culminating in the clarity that he shouldn’t be here at all. The exhaustion makes his lungs constrict, his heart beating so rapidly that it’s starting to hurt now. Hoseok clutches the sides of his seat, his vision starting to blur and his breathing reduced to dry, uneven gasps.

Even as the blood rushes to his face and his arms go hot and then go cold, as though his skin isn’t even connected to his body anymore, somewhere in the back of his mind it occurs to him that he’s having a panic attack. He hasn’t had one in a long while but he also hasn’t been here in a long while, in a place where the future is so uncertain and the stakes are so high and all the decisions are his and his alone and there’s no room for error because if he messes this up then where would he go?

He’s trembling now, he can feel it. A loud sound almost makes his heart stop but then he turns his head slightly in the direction of the sound to see Chaeyoung outside his window, waving at him with an angelic smile. She’s saying something but he can barely hear her; there’s a roaring in his ears like waves crashing and he can’t breathe. The thought makes him panic but his limbs won’t move. Outside, Chaeyoung is knocking on the window again and her voice is higher now, more worried and he forces himself to turn to her, registering her wide eyes and her palms banging against the door and pointing frantically to something below.

It’s almost euphoric when he realises he understands her; with one shaking hand, he unlocks the car door and hears the click. A moment later, a blast of cold hits him like a freight train but is almost immediately blocked when Chaeyoung peers inside the car.

“Oh, shit! Oppa, are you okay?” she asks, sounding a bit frenzied. “Oh, God - okay - wait, take this off -” She leans over him and clicks unbuckles his seatbelt, returning to her original position. “Okay, oppa? Hobi - can you hear me?” 

Hoseok meets her eyes and nods vigorously, so relieved she’s here with her presence of mind and her sweet-smelling hair. She takes his face in her hands and he almost cries at being able to feel something, and tries to focus all his energy on her cold, slim fingers on his cheeks.

“Hobi? Breathe. Breathe,” she repeats calmly, keeping her big eyes locked on his. “Breathe,” she says again, inhaling slowly. He tries to copy her, his breath still coming in jerks and getting stuck in his throat. But he hangs on to her voice, telling him to breathe, breathe, breathe.

“That’s it,” she murmurs, nodding in encouragement. Placing her knee on the seat between his legs, she hitches herself up and wraps her arms around his shoulders. “Keep breathing,” she continues, rubbing his back, her voice like honey in his ear.

Hoseok nods, feeling his chest start to expand with oxygen. The panic he was feeling starts to fade and he clutches the bottom of her tan sweater in his fist and presses his face to his shoulder. Breathe, she say  and he obeys, breathing in her scent. Focus, and he does, on the only tangible thing in the world right now, anchoring him to the very ground. 

As his breathing starts to normalise, he closes his eyes, because the question that had sent him spiralling - where would he go? - seems like it might have an answer.

—

Hoseok taps his foot on the floor as he sits on Chaeyoung’s sofa, waiting for her to freshen up and return. Now, with a clearer head and calmer breathing, he’s starting to feel a bit silly. Stress was something he’d learnt over time to manage over time, be it in private or public. But he wasn’t expecting it to crash over him like this out of the blue - and he definitely wasn’t intending to get caught.

Chaeyoung appears from inside her room, now in a hoodie and joggers instead of the sweater and jeans she’d been wearing earlier. She gestures at him to continue sitting when he notices that she’s on the phone.

“I know, Dad, I am,” she says, giving him a look as she makes a beeline for the kitchen. He hears a cabinet opening and closing, sounds interspersed with more murmurs, mostly “yes, Dad”s and “I know, Dad”s. He hears her say goodbye to him after a couple of minutes after which she enters the living room again, holding a tall glass of water and a spherical object wrapped in gold foil. She hands him the glass and waits until he takes a sip.

“Thanks,” he says, clearing his throat.

“You’re welcome.” Chaeyoung takes a seat opposite him on the coffee table and crosses one leg over the other, sweeping her long hair over one shoulder. With all her perfectly subtle make-up wiped off, she looks younger all of a sudden. No, not younger - unencumbered. 

Hoseok finishes the water and places the glass down and it’s only then that Chaeyoung holds up the foil-wrapped chocolate.

“Here. Sugar is good for you,” she adds when he hesitates. “Especially if you’re feeling light-headed.”

He observes it for a moment, then unwraps it. “Split it with me?”

To his surprise, Chaeyoung nods immediately. “I wanted it, too, but… I can’t justify eating an entire one myself,” she says matter-of-factly as she pops her half into her mouth.

Hoseok frowns slightly, although the chocolate feels comforting and creamy. “You don’t need to diet,” he tells her.

Chaeyoung licks the tips of her fingers, finishing the last of the chocolate, before looking at him. Their knees brush against each other as she leans forward slightly. “Are you okay?”

He sighs and nods. “I am now. Thanks to you.”

She shrugs, but her eyes soften. “I just recognised your car.” She pauses. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe later? I’m just… stressed. About a lot of things.”

“The album?” she guesses.

“Yeah.”

“And Lolla?”

“That, too.”

“Enlistment?”

He looks up at her and tilts his head, not knowing whether to be annoyed or amused. “Am I that transparent or have I just been talking about myself that much lately?”

She smiles. “Maybe a bit of the first. And maybe a third option, which is just that I know you that well.”

“That’s probably true.” Wrapping his hands around her calves, he jokingly tugs her a little closer. “You’re the smartest person I know, caterpillar.”

“And you’re the happiest person I know, oppa,” she counters, pinching his cheek. She lets go but her fingers stay and she gently smooths the side of his hair before lowering her hand.

There are words on the tip of his tongue he hasn’t said in a long time, but he reins it in. Leaning forward, he kisses her. Her lips are soft as always, shy at first, and he discovers the stomach flutters are back. He brushes her hair back as they continue kissing until she pulls away, biting her lip with two light pink spots on her cheeks.

“I love you.”

It’s the way her eyes widen, like a deer’s, and her smile fades slightly that he realises he’s said the words out loud. Aside from the realisation that hadn’t been able to rein it in for quite as long as he thought, Hoseok searches for something else: panic, regret, annoyance. But he finds none of them.

“I mean it,” he says softly, before he can talk himself out of it. “I don't know where I'd be without you.”

He searches her face this time for a clue, but his heart sinks slightly when she leans away and sits back. “Why?”

“Why?”

“I mean… why are you telling me?” She purses her lips before shrugging slowly, deliberately. “I don't mean that in a bad way, but…” His expression must tip her off about something, for she quickly shakes her head. “Like… I get it. I love you, too, I guess. We're practically family.”

Hoseok's heart seems to settle somewhere around his abdomen. Before he can respond, a sound startles him and they both turn towards the door with a jerk. It opens to reveal Sooah and Jimin entering the house with shopping bags and a large transparent glass each with a straw, sipping matcha tea together. Hoseok uses the few seconds of chaos in greetings to quickly shake it off and breathe in, trying to swallow the lump threatening to creep into his throat.

Sooah immediately begins showing Chaeyoung the things she bought and Jimin joins in as well, and the moment is gone. Somewhere in the middle of it, Chaeyoung's eyes meet Hoseok's eyes briefly and he holds her gaze until she looks away.

—

Yoongi smells his own shower gel and lotion wafting into the open kitchen but stays where he is, by the bar and on his phone, wanting to give Miso a chance to come to him on her own time. It proves to be a good decision because after a few minutes, when she doesn’t, he peers out to see her in the balcony, sitting on the sofa with her knees to her chest. 

He wonders if she’s cold - she must be - but also somewhere understands the appeal of the freezing wind, with its unique ability to numb. She’d asked for whiskey; taking an executive call, he takes two bottles in one hand and two glasses in the other and joins her.

The air is as biting as he’d expected, but something  about the way she’s wrapped himself in his hoodie, her hands pulled into the sleeves and the hood pulled over her head, makes his heart float. He sits next to her, noting that her hair is mercifully dry and pours himself a drink while leaving her glass untouched.

“Is that rum?” Miso asks.

“Yep. Great for cold nights.” He takes a sip of his drink and sighs in satisfaction. “You can try it if you want. Or there's whiskey, as you asked,” he reminds her, pointing to the other bottle.

She holds out her hand for his glass, her fingers warm as they brush his, and takes a sip. “Wow,” she says, coughing a little. “That's -”

“Too strong?”

“Sweet,” she finishes, returning the glass to him. “I wasn't expecting it. But it actually seems to be working.” She frowns, looking disproportionately subscribed. “What is this and why have I never heard of it?” she mutters, reaching for the bottle to read the label. “Old Monk?”

“Mhm. A friend gave it to me, last time I saw her.” Yoongi takes another loud sip as Miso begins making a glass for herself. “She always buys it from the duty free section, but she let me have a bottle to try. Namjoon hated it,” he adds as a side note.

“It's nice.” She takes a longer sip and sits back on the sofa, looking decidedly more comfortable. Yoongi decides he can finally ask her something that’s been on his mind since she turned up an hour ago.

“Can I ask you something?”

She tenses automatically. “What?”

“I don’t mean this to sound weird or like you can’t come over or something - because you can, whenever you want - but just out of curiosity -“

“You’re rambling, Min Suga.”

He pauses abruptly. “Guess you just bring it out in me.”

She raises her eyebrows and half-chuckles. “You were saying?”

“Yeah. How, uh… how do you know where I live?”

“Oh.” Miso looks down at her glass a little guiltily. “Well… I asked Donghyuk. But technically, you gave it to me, a long time ago,” she reminds him quickly. “It just got deleted from my phone. Remember your new year party last year?”

“Of course. The one you didn’t attend?”

“The one you only invited me to because you couldn’t leave out just one person in the team,” she corrects him pointedly, but he simply nods sheepishly. “Having said that… I’m sorry I barged in on your night. And I'll apologise to Hoseok as well. I just - I didn't know where else to go.”

Yoongi bites his tongue, trying to think of the right thing to say because there is so much he wants to say. Finally, he shakes his head gently. “Don't be.”

“I won’t make a habit of it. I mean, I can’t,” Miso shrugs when he gives her a curious look. “It's a lot easier to leave the house when my father is abroad and I'm nowhere on his mind. But it is good to know that Seungkwan has no actual personal interest in where I go,” she adds.

“Did it really get that bad?”

Miso bites her lip. For a moment, he thinks she’s going to evade the question or just not answer but he wonders if anyone has ever asked her this in the first place, point blank. But she came here, he reasons with himself. Why would she if she didn’t feel safer here than in her own house? 

He waits it out, though. Finally, after finishing her drink and placing the empty glass on the table, Miso sits back and hugs her knees again.

“My mother hasn't had one of these episodes in a long time,” she says, not properly meeting his eyes. “But I guess a lot of things came together this time… Father’s on a business trip and I think they had a fight before he left, one of her socialite friends insinuated that he’s having an affair which he probably is, she and I got into an argument about when I’m going to get married and not embarrass her anymore, I told her I have a actual career and she flipped out…”

Yoongi doesn’t interrupt her, although he has so many questions. How many times has this happened? How did she get hurt? What does she mean by episodes? He tries to picture Kang Sera, always the picture of elegance and finery, unraveling while she screams at her daughter. Finally, he prompts her gently. “You fought?”

“That’s an understatement. She accused me of stealing the last of her pills, I told her to go get a life, she called me ungrateful -“ She shakes her head and exhales tiredly. “If I’d known my colour blindness was a thing she was going to use as an argument for the rest of my life, I would’ve foregone the contact lenses. She acts like she fucking saved my life.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” argues Yoongi. “She’s your mother - it’s her job to take care of you. She hurt you, Miso,” he reminds her, unable to keep it in anymore and hearing the hardness in his own voice. “All because she’s insecure about herself and is imagining that you stole from her?”

“But I did,” she admits, surprising him. “I did steal her last pills because she was getting on my last fucking nerve. And they aren’t even prescription,” she clarifies immediately, defensive. “I was just really pissed off. Maybe it was petty.” She looks straight ahead, eyes far away, and Yoongi wonders if she’s seeing a diamond necklace fly towards her face. “I guess in a way I deserve this,” she says, pointing to her face.

“No, you don’t. What are you -“ Yoongi breaks off to keep his glass on the table and scoots closer to her. He needs her, so badly, to hear this that he wishes he could grab her shoulders and make her face him. “You don’t seriously believe that.”

“You know what - forget it,” she says, shaking her head and turning away. “It’s complicated and we don’t need to talk about -”

Fuck. “No, no - wait. I’m sorry,” he interrupts, grabbing her arm to make her turn to him. “I’m not judging, I promise. You’re right, it is complicated. But I want to listen, if you want to talk about it,” he says, his voice softer now. He touches her cut again with his thumb, hoping he isn’t hurting her. “Do you want a band aid or something?”

She shakes her head. “I’m good. But… look, I know my parents are awful. And being around that my whole life… it’s - it’s completely fucked with how I interact with them now. My mother is a shrew who hates me but - but in a way, she’s even more trapped than I am. Her parents never let her work a day in her life, she didn’t really get a choice in who she married, her kid is nothing like she wanted  and now she’s stuck with my monster of a father who -” Her voice breaks and Yoongi knows for certain that she’s never said it out loud before because the loathing in her voice is transparent. “I feel bad for her sometimes. How weak of a person am I?” she asks, her voice breaking slightly.

Yoongi doesn’t reply for a few seconds. He raises his hand slightly again and even though she doesn’t back away, he lowers it before he can touch her . “Miso,” he says quietly, bowing his head. “I’m sorry about what I said in that motel. I’ve felt so shitty about it because… you’re nothing like him.”

She gives him a look. “I just told you I stole a pill from my mother.”

“From what you’re telling me, I would’ve done the same thing,” he clarifies. “And it’s really none of my business if you’re taking over his company one day. I’m sure you’ll do a great -”

Miso shakes her head. “I’m not taking over his company, Yoongi,” she interrupts. 

“I thought you said -”

“Yeah, I know what I said. That’s the official party line, that I’m his heir.” She meets his eyes and shakes her head. “But I don’t think he’s ever giving me his company. And to be honest, I don’t want it. I mean, I worked for him for a year after I returned from Australia and it was… God, I hated everything about it. The way it was built, the way he was running it, the culture, the clear… monotony of it all. There was nothing there, they weren’t working for anything, or creating anything. It was just money and power and being ruthless about everything.”

Yoongi bites his lip, for he wasn’t expecting this. “But… you haven’t told him all this.” The moment he says it, he realises how stupid it sounds.

Miso scoffs. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s a conversation that would go down well. But I don’t even think he’s going to give it to me. He keeps me so far away from it, he’s completely okay with me working for a company he’s invested in on the side… I don’t think he has any intention of having me take over.”

“Then why does he keep calling you his heir? Why hasn’t he just told you either way?”

She shrugs, palms facing up. “Maybe he wants to sell the family-owned business, chaebol image. Maybe he doesn’t want me to be certain so he can continue using it as leverage whenever he wants. I don’t know - why does he do anything?” She runs her hands through her hair, the shorter length seeming to surprise her for a moment. 

“I don’t care anymore, Yoongi,” she murmurs, sounding defeated. “I just can’t care. I can’t…” She takes a deep breath and Yoongi realises with a start when she sniffs that her eyes are wet. “I’m just so tired. I hate waking up in the mornings. Every time I open my eyes, I… I just want to go back to sleep. I’m so tired,” she finishes, her voice barely even a whisper anymore.

At the same time that she moves towards him, he does the same and wraps an arm around her. She rests her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes, and Yoongi wishes helplessly that he could make this easier, that it didn’t need to take a blow-up with her mother for her to end up here.

They stay there for a while, neither of them saying anything. Yoongi’s cheek rests against the top of her head; he feels at a loss to do anything for her. Aside from a shower and a drink, is there really nothing else he can do for her, to help her escape her family? 

He fingers the ends of her hair on her other shoulder and he isn’t sure if he’s imagining it, but Miso relaxes into his side. “Your hair is shorter,” he remarks. “Is there a story there?”

“Um…” Her tone is slightly different. “I tried to cut my hair into layers,” she confesses, sitting up straight and rolling her eyes. “I don’t know why, I’ve always sucked at it. But then I had to correct it and I ended up cutting more of it… are you seriously laughing at me?”

Yoongi purses his lips and shakes his head, but he’s restraining himself. “I’m not laughing. I’m amused,” he allows, his arm still around her for he’s not ready to let go just yet. “It’s just not something I pictured you doing. I always imagined you got fancy overpriced haircuts at those luxury salons in Gangnam or something.”

“Not all of us have personal stylists, Min Suga,” she reminds him. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the Chanel lavender and rose hips lotion you have in your bathroom. You’re fancier than I am.”

“That was a gift,” he points out. “And I can smell it on you so don’t pretend you didn’t use it as well,” he adds, realising only when she stiffens next to him what he’s said. He wants to slap himself, but Miso doesn’t seem uncomfortable.

“I did use it,” she admits after a moment, shifting slightly next to him. “It’s nice. I like how it smells.”

Yoongi nods. It shouldn’t, but his mind immediately pictures her stepping out of the shower, wrapped in a towel and peering at his lotion, possibly snickering to herself before applying it on herself. His shower. Something warm courses through him that he hopes is the Old Monk; it’s occurring to him now just how close in proximity they were to each other while wet and partially naked. He grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut; his body should not be reacting right now.

“It may have been worth it, though,” she continues wryly. “My mother saw my hair and freaked. It would’ve been kind of funny if it wasn’t so deranged.”

Yoongi is glad to hear her chuckle; even if she doesn’t mean it, he’ll take anything that improves her mood even slightly right now. “I like it,” he tells her, smiling when she half-scoffs and half-laughs before sighing hugely.

“We’ve been talking about me for a while,” she says, looking up at him. She doesn’t usually look like she wears much make-up but with her bare face right now and her short choppy hair, she looks strangely vulnerable and otherworldly, almost androgynous, and Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone more beautiful.

“I don’t mind,” he manages to say. 

But she begins sitting up and, to his regret, moves away a little so she can tilt her body towards him. “How’s it going with you?”

“Uh…” Yoongi shrugs. His problems of fame and living his dream don’t seem appropriate to bring up right now. “It’s okay. The usual.”

“The usual?” Miso raises her eyebrows. “I heard the company got a huge cash infusion which they’re using to fund your tour.”

“Yeah - how did you know that?”

“I work for the same company you do, Min Suga.” She taps his knee with the back of her hand. “Are you looking forward to it? Oh, have they set a release date for your album? They’ll have to give it at least a month between -”

But her voice gets fainter, for a wonderful idea has occurred to Yoongi.

“Come with me,” he says abruptly. “On tour. Come with me.”

Miso, who looked a little miffed at being cut off, now falls silent. “You’re asking me to -”

“Come on tour, yeah. We’re both producers, part of the same teams,” he reminds her. “It won’t even look out of place. I can - I can talk to the management, get you on the team and we can just… you can get away, from everything. Just for a while. Just… travel around the world, come to the shows, work on music…” 

Miso’s eyes soften. “That… that sounds amazing. Honestly.”

“Then do it,” he says immediately, quickly, because he can already feel it slipping away. “Come.” With me.

“Um… I can’t, though.”

It takes all of Yoongi’s strength to not to say yes, you can. Instead, he grabs her hands, slender and ice cold. “I’ll speak to whoever is needed. I know I can get you on the team. Last year, we invented a position on the team for Jimin’s girlfriend to come along to a show so I know that I can -”

“No, I can’t, Yoongi,” she interrupts gently, retrieving her hands and squeezing his. “I can’t because… my father has my passport.”

A few moments of silence pass, during which Yoongi’s blood runs cold. He doesn’t immediately understand why; he just knows how his own passport is a constant accessory, almost always on his person. 

He stares at her. “He… what?”

She nods. “He has all our passports, under lock and key. I’m pretty sure I know which lock exactly, too, in his study, but…” She bites her lip, all traces of humour wiped off her face. “Yeah. Could be problematic.”

No shit. Yoongi tries to process this, every single instance of him telling her to leave and to live her own life coming back to him in vivid detail, along with a sense of frustration and regret because he sees now that he had no idea how confined she really is.

“Is this how he’s keeping you here?” he chokes out. “Because… I mean, how can he do this? I’m pretty sure it’s not even legal to keep your own documents from you. How - how is he -” But he breaks off, unable to find enough words.

Miso winces thoughtfully. “I don’t think that’s initially what he intended… butit’s probably an added bonus. A few years ago - the year I worked for him, actually - someone hacked the Kang Industries internal network,” she explains, folding her legs. “They even attempted identity theft but thankfully, it didn’t work. But it completely shattered my father. He was… outraged. Someone caught him by surprise and almost took everything he’d built away… he became completely paranoid after that. It’s only just started getting better, but… yeah, that’s when he locked up all our documents.” She shrugs, her eyes falling to her feet. “Too bad it’s limited our options in the process.”

It takes Yoongi a moment to realise that by “we”, she’s referring to herself and her mother. “He still doesn’t have any right to keep it from you,” he says eventually. “You’re an adult. You’re - you’re a person. I know he’s beyond normal human emotion but this is… God, what the fuck, Miso?”

Miso nods calmly, which only infuriates him more. But he can’t let it show, not any more than he already has. Not tonight. Not if there’s a risk of her leaving again.

“Look, the thing with my father is… he doesn’t look at it like that,” she begins, then pauses. She’s concentrating, and Yoongi guesses she’s working this out as well. She opens and closes her mouth several times, as though trying to find a good metaphor to explain a maths problem to a teenager. 

“Look, for him… I am no different than any other twenty-nine year old woman in Seoul,” she states, her eyes blank. “He doesn’t care that I’m his daughter, there’s no specific attachment there. He just doesn’t understand that. He cares about money and power and control. Those are the things he knows. And I’m not saying this to defend him,” she adds, almost knowingly. “I’m saying this because I have spent years trying to figure out how to get to him and I realised, finally, that… there’s nothing parental there. The only thing that separates me from everyone else is that I have his name and his blood. It’s fact, it’s ink - and he’s in control.”

Yoongi doesn’t care much for a psychoanalysis of Kang Jaesung right now. He swallows, trying to quash the rising feeling of defeat in his stomach. She feels so far out of reach again, like he’s zooming out and seeing her for where she is, far and small in the distance.

“So… what? You’re stuck here forever?” he asks, trying to keep the bite out of his tone.

“No,” she answers, shaking her head. “He’ll never admit to that. The last time I needed to go abroad, I asked him for my passport and he gave it to me. Granted, I was travelling with him,” she adds after a moment, looking down.

It’s late, probably around the same time of the night that he and Miso had yelled at each other in the motel while it poured outside. It was raining earlier tonight, too, but it was nowhere near as bad. It felt peaceful and hopeful for a bit and Yoongi struggles to find it again.

“Yoongi.” Her hand eases up his thigh until it reaches his own, and she squeezes his hand. She’s trying to comfort him, he realises, and it seems absurd. But he lets her because, as he discovers soon enough, he could use it.

“I can still ask,” she says after a moment. “It’s work, technically. It’s an artist tour, it’s publicity, it’s…” She trails off.

“It’s my tour.” By the look on her face, he knows he’s said what they’re both thinking. 

“That’s the tough detail.” Miso gives him a small, hollow smile. “After the last stunt you pulled in front of him, my father may not be so agreeable.”

It takes Yoongi a moment to recall; despite knowing exactly what she’s talking about, he can’t remember actually making the decision to come in between her and her father. It had been entirely instinctual, but he wonders now if it may have been the wrong move.

His heart skips a beat when she leans forward suddenly. The scent of his own shower gel gets stronger as she presses a kiss to his cheek, slow and deliberate.

“Thanks for asking,” she says softly, sitting back. “I’m sure you’ll be amazing on stage. A force to be reckoned with.”

Yoongi doesn’t know how to respond to that. It just occurs to him that he’s leaving for three months - three whole months during which he’ll be away and she will be here, still in the clutches of her father and her life, too far away for him to do anything about it.

She rubs her eyes and looks away. “It’s late.”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “The guest room is ready. And… fun fact, but it’s actually bigger than the master bedroom.”

The moment he hears it out loud, he thinks it probably sounds extremely stupid. But if it does to Miso, she doesn’t react. She simply nods and stands up, allowing Yoongi to lead her to the guest room.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he says just before she closes the door. He’s finally seeing her properly in the light; his clothes seem to fit Miso strangely well. They're just loose enough that her shape isn’t quite visible, but not so much that she looks like she's in donated clothes. 

Most importantly, she looks comfortable. He’s about to offer her an additional jacket or something but before he can, she mutters a “good night” and begins closing the door.

It’s a complicated scenario. He potters around for a while after, cleaning the kitchen counter, returning some emails and folding the clothes from the dryer, all the while with the sinking feeling that he’s disappointing her somehow. Maybe it’s his inability to be of any help in her circumstances, or the way he seems to be misreading signs and situations in context.

Finally, he retires to his room, changing into pajamas and getting ready for a sleepless night staring at his ceiling when there’s a knock at the door. Figuring it can be only one person, he scrambles out of bed to open the door.

“Hey,” he says, hearing himself sound strangely breathless. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” answers Miso, running a hand through her short, choppy hair. “I was taking out my contacts-” She holds up her hand to show him a small and thin white box “- and I was just thinking, uh… maybe I will take that band aid.”

Yoongi nods and beckons her inside. She stands awkwardly by a dresser while he rummages around in a different cabinet before finding the first aid box. He goes up to her and hands her the band aid.

“Do you need any help with it?” he asks.

“I don’t think so…” Miso tears it open and peels off the sticker, holding the band aid up to her face. “Hang on, do you have a -”

Yoongi steps forward and takes the band aid from her, cleanly and gently placing it on the thin red line on her cheek. The solitary lamp on the other side of the bedroom barely illuminates her face, but he doesn’t think he can ever forget the sight of the cut on her face, dripping blood as she came to him in the middle of the night.

He knows it’s happening before it actually happens, but the moment he covers the cut, his hands still on their way off her face, Miso leans up and kisses him. It’s instinctive and immediate and Yoongi also knows that despite the hellish night she has had, he kisses her, too. He does. He pulls her in just as much as she grips his t-shirt and he tangles his hand in her hair just as much as she presses herself up against him.

“Miso -” He breaks away for a moment, his heart racing and body reacting. “I can’t -”

“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispers, and she sounds fearful. “Not tonight, not -” She shakes her head and reaches up to kiss him once more.

He lets her, just for a moment, but then gently pushes her away again. “I’m sorry. Miso… it’s been a hard night and - and I wouldn’t feel right if I…”

She licks her lips but drops her hands to her sides. “You think you might be taking advantage of me?” she asks.

“I don’t want it to even be a question.” He moves his hands down her shoulders until her hands are in his. “I want this, too.” You have no idea how much. “But not at a time where there’s even the slightest chance you may regret it tomorrow.”

Miso looks away and for a moment Yoongi is afraid, terrified that she will leave again. Then her shoulders fall and she sighs. “Wow,” she mutters wryly, but there’s a tremble underneath, buried deep. “You’re a good one.”

He waits a moment, then two, then steps forward to wrap his arms around her. She lets him, her body initially stiff until, slowly, she relaxes against him, shaking silently. 

“You’re not alone,” he murmurs against her hair. “You don’t have to be.”

He intends to stay there, exactly like that, for as long as she needs. Eventually they separate, Miso’s face slightly redder but her eyes dry once again, softening when he pulls her in by the hand to press a kiss to her forehead. Under the covers, they lie next to each other.

“How did you do it?” she asks after a while in the darkness, almost in wonder. “Somehow, despite my best efforts to keep you out of this, how did you manage to creep into my life?” There’s a movement and he sees her silhouette move to face him. “How did I end up here?”

Yoongi brushes her uneven bangs out of her eyes. “I can be pretty persistent. Although it’s not something I’m really known for,” he points out. “So I’m not sure. I tried to stay out of it, if that helps.”

Miso scoffs. “Not very hard.”

“No,” he agrees. “There’s something about you, I guess.”

“All that privilege and nepotism probably.”

“Not that,” he disagrees, a little guiltily. “I liked how you were a different person during our nights in the studio,” he says after a moment. “I liked that person.”

“I liked that person, too,” she murmurs. She exhales softly and turns back to look at the ceiling. Her features are sharp in the darkness, but her presence is light and fresh, almost like his bedroom was far too big and empty before she set foot in it. 

He wishes he could’ve let her kiss go further. He doesn’t regret stopping it, but for a moment he lets himself imagine a world where she wasn’t hurting, where she was free to kiss a man she was attracted to with no baggage attached and he was free to kiss her back without wondering if he was contributing to her trauma or enabling it in any way.

When she shifts to get comfortable and turns onto her side, facing away from him, Yoongi scoots closer to her and wraps an arm around her again, loosely at first. But she stays and so does he; pressing a kiss to her shoulder, on his own t-shirt that she’s wearing, he holds her close and hopes that tomorrow morning, at least, may be a better one for her.

—

Settled on the couch with a pillow and a purple blanket from Chaeyoung’s closet (which smells of her floral fabric softener, but he won’t think about that), Hoseok stares at the ceiling in the darkness. Next to the blank television, the light from the wifi router glows red and there’s a dim strip of blue underneath Chaeyoung’s door which he knows is a nightlight she can’t sleep without.

He can’t quite believe he’s sleeping over at her apartment. But Jimin and Sooah had been fully enthusiastic about hanging out as a foursome, and the former had peer pressured Hoseok to try a large glass of sparkling wine he’d bought which was strong enough to render him incapable of driving home safely. Later, Chaeyoung had awkwardly provided him with sleeping arrangements on the sofa before disappearing into her room, signalling the end of the night.

Jimin and Sooah had successfully interrupted one of the most revelatory moments of his life but in hindsight, Hoseok wonders if they had done him a favour. Chaeyoung’s response had been disappointing on every level and he doesn’t think he would’ve been able to remain around her if those two hadn’t barged in, full of stories about their eventful day. After Chaeyoung and then Sooah had left, Jimin seemed to notice that something seemed to be bothering the older member, but Hoseok couldn’t bring himself to talk about it. He’d caught himself off guard with his impulsive confession; he can’t imagine she would’ve been much more prepared with a response.

It’s late now, but Hoseok can’t sleep. He briefly considers waking Jimin from Sooah’s room or calling Namjoon, but he doesn’t think he can handle words of encouragement from them now, especially since Jimin’s will surely be accompanied by his Cheshire cat grin at being proven right about his year-long hunch regarding him and Chaeyoung. No, not Namjoon and definitely not Jimin. If Hoseok is being honest with himself, there’s only one person he wants to talk to right now.

Chaeyoung [01:15] Are you awake?

Hoseok almost jumps out of skin when the phone buzzes next to him. Heart racing, he stares at her message.

Hoseok [01:16] Yeah. You?

Chaeyoung [01:16] It would be really weird if I wasn’t, oppa.

Hoseok [01:17] You know that when I said what I said, I didn’t mean it as family, right?

Chaeyoung [01:18] I know.

Hoseok [01:19] I’m sorry. If I made you uncomfortable.

Chaeyoung [01:20] You didn’t.

Chaeyoung [01:21] I’m just not sure why you said it.

Hoseok [01:22] It wasn’t planned, honestly. But I meant it. Is that not what you’re asking?

Chaeyoung [01:23] It isn’t.  I don’t know how to put this

Hoseok frowns at his screen, rolling over onto his stomach and staring at it with bated breath. He pictures her inside her room in a similar position, brows furrowed and biting her lip, trying to talk to him.

Hoseok [01:25] It’s okay Take your time

Chaeyoung [01:26] I guess I don’t know the point of bringing it up

Hoseok [01:26] The point? I mean… I wanted to tell you how I feel

Chaeyoung [01:27] You just said you didn’t plan it

Hoseok [01:27] I didn’t, but in that moment, that’s how I felt I was spiraling and you were there for me. You helped me feel better. I always feel better when I’m with you

Chaeyoung [01:28] But that’s about how you feel

Hoseok [01:29] I’m hoping you enjoy my company too, since we hang out together a fair bit But I understand. You don’t have to feel the same way, Chae. I just wanted you to know. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable

Chaeyoung [01:30] Stop saying that, Hobi

Hoseok [01:30] I mean it, though

Chaeyoung [01:31] I’m sure you’ve meant everything you’ve said tonight But it’s not going to change anything. Right?

Hoseok [01:32] Chae You know why I said that

Chaeyoung [01:33] Sure But that’s why I don’t understand why you would bring this up now. If it’s not going to change anything, then what’s the point?

Hoseok [01:34] Do you really want things to change?

Chaeyoung [01:34] I’m not sure it makes a difference

Hoseok [01:35] Of course it does!

Chaeyoung [01:35] Really? Because you didn’t even ask me what I thought when you made that decision. This isn’t about me at all, Hoseok. This is all you.

Hoseok [01:36] I didn’t mean to make you mad, Chae

Chaeyoung [01:36] I’m not mad I heard you and I didn’t expect anything from you But you can’t do this. It’s not fair

Hoseok [01:37] I’m sorry

Hoseok [01:39] You’re right. You’re absolutely right.

Hoseok [01:40] Chae?

Chaeyoung [01:41] I’m here Your friendship means a lot to me, Hobi But I’ve been down this road before and I don’t want to be in this position So if you make a decision, like nothing is going to change, then I need you to stick to it

Chaeyoung [01:42] I’m not mad at you Ish But I’m going to sleep now

Hoseok watches her go offline, his heart sinking slowly. He types out a half-hearted “good night” but he can’t be sure if she’s seen it. She’s right, of course, about everything. He drops his face onto the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut and half-wishing he hadn’t opened his big mouth today.

—

The next morning when Chaeyoung wakes up, the sun has barely come up. She slips on a hoodie and brushes her teeth before heading to her bedroom door, taking a deep breath, and opening it just a crack. Her heart stutters for a moment when she sees the pillow and comforter neatly folded on the sofa, the rest of the living room clearly empty. But then she exhales in relief and heads to the kitchen, deciding it’s far too early in the morning to be rehashing the events of last night.

The events of last night. Despite how her night had finally ended, the words, the memory of him saying those words, makes her stomach flip. Chaeyoung lets herself enjoy it for a couple of minutes while she makes her morning smoothie, the euphoria of having an answer to his actions during their dalliance, the victory of having him say it first. She pours the mauve coloured drink into a tall glass and sticks a wide straw in it, taking a long and hearty sip of fruity goodness before dragging her mind away from the good part about last night.

“Nope, it’s too early,” she mutters to herself, setting the glass down and tying her long hair into a high ponytail. She has the rest of the day to dwell on it, to feel hurt and annoyed and wonder if she’d overreacted. Grabbing her glass, she heads back towards her room, when she does a double take.

Hesitating, she steps forward and closes her bedroom door before lightly fingering the two post-its on the door. They’re both from the tiny stationery box on the cabinet in between both bedrooms, set up by Chaeyoung herself, with coloured pens and stickers. The orange one is on top and has a message she’d expected to see at some point today: Went home, didn’t want to wake you.

The second one, a green one, is the one she takes off the door to read.

Can I take you to dinner tonight? Call me if it’s a yes. Actually, call me even if it’s a no.

—

Thanks for reading. Don't forget to leave a review :)

[boatemboys]

copypasted from my privtwt. theres this kitten in my area who i feed sometimes because hes TINY. shorthair so i can properly see how small he is right. and i THOUGHT he was a stray which is why hes in such a condition and so obviously scared of people. until this lady calls at me "can you stop feeding my cat" LADY YOUR CAT IS BARELY EVEN SURVIVING!!!!!!!! neglectful cat owners piss me off so much feed ur damn pet properly or else i will literally take him im so serious. he spends all his time in our garden anyway. ive never seen this cat at his supposed "owner"s house. always at my house or the houses right next to/across from us. while this lady is like a good 5-6 houses away. anyway have i ever said how much i dont like outdoor cat owners. cuz i really dont like them. ignoring all other concerns (various environmental) its SO dangerous for ur cats especially in a busy car area like mine. ur cat is going to get hit by a car. ur scrawny kitten is going to get eaten. my dads watched multiple cats get hit just outside our house. fuck u if u keep ur cats outdoors im so serious u shouldnt be a cat owner if u cant afford to keep them entertained and fed well indoors. if u want to take ur cat outdoors do it SUPERVISED. cats are not as low maintenance as everyone thinks they are. theres always nuance to this but in general i think u should die idk

[front-facing-pokemon]

[ghostofsnails]

so did you guys know theres this character called tristan vik disventure camp and

[eilarae]

getting super excited every time i find someone irl who also likes stardew vs. inevitably needing to defend my choice of spouse

[softpine]

i can't look at my archive or it makes me want to abandon simblr forever because what do you meannnnnn casper started college 2 entire real life years ago. he hasn't done even a fraction of the things i planned for him to do yet. he's been in like 3 posts. what the hell man

[mamawasatesttube]

do you ever think about kon and tim and them taking care of each other during depressive episodes

BOY DO I EVER!!!! it would be so fun to put them both in a depressive slump at the same time bc like. they'd Both try to hit the "but i need to take care of someone i love" override to push their own feelings down. at the same time.

so then they're both just standing there in the kitchen in their pajamas like. i was gonna make you some hot chocolate. oh… well i was gonna make you some ramen? spiderman pointing meme while they're both in depression pjs holding a hot chocolate powder packet and a cup noodle

[lord-squiggletits]

I was at a "making friends" kind of social event just this past week and ended up having two subsequent conversations with different people that gave me an interesting reflection on my own reasons for writing without me even intending to make the conversation about it.

First conversation: The person talked about the feeling of awe from being at a music concert and how incredible it is that so many complete strangers can be united by a singular love of music. I related to it with regards to my own writing and how many people have read my stuff. Ended up telling this guy about some of the AO3 comments I've gotten from people to the effect of helping motivate them to live/just reflect on life in general. Somehow went into a tangent about a suicidal friend of mine who died when we were in high school, and me saying that maybe the reason I write so much about the things I do is because of the influence his death had on me. And the other person ended up asking me, 'So do you think it's like every time you write, you're doing it in his memory in a way?'

Subsequent conversation was with someone who was a psychologist for a day job, and I ended up telling them that I was kind of thinking of getting a degree in psychology/therapy one day because writing about mental health issues had gotten me so interested in the world of helping people heal themselves. But then I was also like, "Well, I don't know, it could be that I don't need to become a psychologist to help people with mental health. Maybe helping people by being a writer and telling stories is enough."

It was just a surprising, but topical realization for me to have talking to a bunch of strangers. For someone like me who's often preoccupied with doing and having knowledge and expertise, I often fall into the idea that you need to be directly involved in helping people to really be making a difference. I've literally had thoughts in my mind along the lines of "I'm so smart, hardworking, and dedicated when it comes to writing, but wouldn't it have been so much more of a net gain to the world if I'd decided to be this passionate about something like being a doctor or activist that actually helps people?" It's not like I truly regret being a writer (or ever will, because there's nothing else that I love so much), but in my bad moments I truly do sometimes think "Why does it make a difference if I entertain people or make them feel nicer for a while if it doesn't actually change anything in the world?" To quote one of my favorite Transformers fics of all time, "There was nothing that would have been more worthwhile, but that didn't rule out the possibility that the whole damn universe was wasting its time."

I guess the answer is that making someone feel better, even in a small way, is changing the world, even if it's just a few people, and even if it's just as simple as making someone's day better.