#and she told me about the same thing from her side. and she told me about how she loved london because she would walk the streets

[coldfanbou]

In Heat

Here we go! So I ended up going with the winner of the poll...mostly because where I live also went through a heat wave, so yeah. Anyway, here we are with some hot and heavy stepcest action...literally and figuratively

Length 2.8K

Eunbi X Mreader

Life was very hard right now, despite everything you and your family tried. The heat wave running through the area was unbearable in its own right. What made it worse was having to watch your stepmother walking around the house in her bikinis, day after day, she would be around in them. Her heavy bust had nearly spilled out more than a handful of times as she moved around the house. You could hardly look at her; you would get hard in seconds, staring at her perfectly shaped body. You didn’t say anything, though; it wasn’t your place, either, considering this was her home, too. Still it was a problem you couldn’t so much as leave your room without catching a glimpse of her bending over to pic something up, showing that perfect ass of hers off. 

You had dreams about her, about your father’s wife. You wanted Eunbi. She was absolutely beautiful, and those bikinis she wore left little to the imagination. 

You peeked out of your room, and with no Eunbi insight, you went to the kitchen, hoping to get something cold to drink. As you searched through the fridge, you heard her. “Honey? Can you get me something to drink, too?” Honey, that’s what Eunbi called you. It was weird enough to hear her call you, considering she was only a little bit older than you. Add in the fact that she was also your stepmother, and it was weirder. That being said, knowing that she had called out to you, you grab a bottle of water for her and head toward the living room.

Walking in, you see her in another bikini. Eunbi was lying on the floor, sweat running down her face and legs, just as slick from the sweating she was doing. You paused, taking in the sight before you, Eunbi had her legs spread, you could just see the blue of her bikini bottoms poking out from under the white skirt she had on. Her breasts were bulging out of the top of her bikini top. You were getting hard quickly, and it would be tough if she spotted that. You shake your head and walk over to her, placing the bottle beside her before turning on your heel, ready to walk out. “Honey,” you pause, hoping she didn’t see your bulge. “Do you think your father is going to come home soon?”

You breathe a sigh of relief, “I don’t know Eunbi. He always goes on these sorts of trips. Sometimes he comes back in a day or two, and other times it’s like a month.” You say honestly. 

“Right,” Eunbi responds, dejected. “I knew he would be gone for work a lot, but I didn’t think it would be this lonely. Do you want to play a game? I could use the company.” There was a hint of hopelessness in her voice, and as much as you didn’t want to be in the same room with her for fear of her seeing your bulge. You also felt bad for her. You saw the relationship they had firsthand, you heard about how your father would stop his trips and finally settle down again, but since the wedding, he’s been gone more than ever. You understood how Eunbi must feel, being told one thing but then getting the opposite. 

“Sure, what kind of game did you have in mind?” You turn around, sitting as quickly as possible, trying to avoid staring at Eunbi’s heavy chest. You focus on her face, seeing a slight smile form as you accept the invitation. 

Eunbi purses her lips as she considers what game to play. She rolls onto her stomach, crawling over to the TV stand, searching through the drawers. You can’t help but stare at her ass, it shakes from side to side as she looks. It was shapely, and your imagination runs wild. You imagine what it must be like to take her from behind, feeling what must be the soft piece of flesh pressing against you as you drive yourself deep into her. 

Eunbi kneels, finding a game she thinks would be good for the two of you. She turns herself around and places the box in front of you, Jenga. “This should be a little fun.” She says, a slight smile on her lips. She lifts the box and begins setting up the game, block by block. “It’s been so hot, hasn’t it?” She says, her eyes glued to the growing structure. 

“Yeah, it’s been pretty hot.”

“I’ve had to wear my bikinis in the house. It’s insane we don’t have air conditioning; these fans aren’t helping either. Eunbi sticks her tongue out, focusing intently on the tower, making sure no piece sticks out. Sweat moves down her neck, running between her heavy mounds. Your thoughts go wild again as you imagine lapping up the sweat between her tits, the moans she would make a response fill your ears for a moment. Your cock twitches as you think about it. You shake your head and push the idea out. 

Eunbi finishes setting up the game and looks up at you, noticing where your eyes were. A slight blush moves across her face. “The game's ready. Do you want to go first?”

“Uh, no, you should go first. You set it up.”

“Okay,” Eunbi looks at the tower and nudges a piece from the very bottom, pushing it out slowly until she’s able to reach around and pull it out. The shake shakes slightly, but there isn’t a threat of it falling yet. Switching to your turn, Eunbi eyes you while you focus on the game. She scans you up and down, noticing the bulge in your shorts. More than shock, there was intrigue. Whether it was because of the heat messing with her mind or loneliness, Eunbi felt a pang in her chest. She squeezed her legs together and stared at the outline in your shorts. “Bigger,” she thought to herself, biting her lip. 

“There we go,” you call out, grabbing the piece you pulled out. 

Eunbi shifts her focus onto the game. She leans forward, giving you a look into the valley between her mounds. She only realizes what she is doing as she glances at you, noting how much you are staring at her chest. She pulls another block out, placing it back on the top of the tower. 

It was back to you. The game continued with both of you staring at the other when it wasn’t your turn. The desire each of you held for the other was growing. Eunbi, at one point, had removed her skirt, saying it was getting uncomfortable. It was difficult to concentrate with Eunbi in her bikini before, but now that you had an unblocked view of her shapely legs, it was another beast entirely. Eunbi noticed your cock twitch as you stared at her body. Seeing the reaction pleased her. She was craving more, her mind began to imagine how big you were, and it was getting her wet. Still, you both played on piece by piece, and the tower became more unstable.

The tower was becoming unstable, threatening to fall over at any moment. “How about we make this a little more fun?” Eunbi asks, a teasing smile on her face. 

You wonder what she means, “More fun?”

“Yeah, interesting might be a better word. How about the loser takes off a piece of their clothing?” She says boldly, almost confident that she would win. 

“I- that’s kind of…”

“Are you afraid you might lose to your mommy?” Eunbi teases, sticking her tongue out at you. 

“Okay, you’re on.” You reply, your competitive spirit stirring in response. You watch the tower intently. It was a mess of missing pieces, the middle pieces almost completely gone. You spot your target, though, one section already had one of the edge pieces taken, you would take the other, leaving a single middle piece to hold up the tower. You make slight taps to the piece, nudging it out of place before tugging it out and carefully placing it back on top. 

It was Eunbi’s turn. She glanced at you before turning her eyes to the tower. “You know I haven’t lost a game in a long time.” Eunbi wasn’t after a win, at least not in this game. She picked her spot, going for something risky. She licked her lips, waiting for what came next. Looking at the level where you just took a piece, Eunbi was going to “attempt” to flick the last piece out, getting rid of one level entirely. The confident look on her face had you convinced she’d be able to do it. Eunbi’s smirk faded as she smacked her hand against the block. The tower fell down one level, shaking before it collapsed. It was all going to plan. She sighed at the loss and placed her hands on her bikini top. “I guess I lost.” Without any sort of hesitancy she tugged at the bottom of her bikini top, her tits bouncing in their confines before she finally brought it over her mounds and released them. You were stunned, unable to look away from her perfect breasts as they bounced in front of you, a slick and glistening mess from all her sweat. Your cock was harder than ever. “A deal is a deal.” She said, twirling the bikini top around her finger. “Are you proud of looking at your mommy’s tits? Hmm?” 

You couldn’t speak or do anything—the sight before you completely envelops you. Eunbi chuckles and bounces, so her tits shake and jiggle for you. “Well? What do you think? Want to touch them?” Eunbi said, pressing the issue. She crawls toward you and takes your hand, bringing it close to her chest. “Do you?” She pauses, her thumb running across your palm. “Do you want to touch mommy’s tits? Because there’s something I want too.” Eunbi places her hand on your crotch, moving her hand along your clothed bulge. You gulp, never expecting to be in this situation. You don’t even notice your hand moving forward, until you feel her soft tits rubing against your palm. Eunbi bites her lip, containing her moan before smiling. She reaches into your shorts, her bare hand wrapping around your shaft. 

“E-eunbi,” you groan. 

“Shh, Honey, I need you.” Eunbi leans in, pressing her lips against yours. “I know it’s wrong, but it's been so long and seeing you so hard…” You will weaken, and you return the kiss, your hand squeezing Eunbi’s breast as she pushes you onto your back. Your hand slide down her sides, sliding underneath her bikini bottom as you grab her ass, fingers digging into her soft flesh. Eunbi moans into the kiss, allowing your tongue to explore her mouth. 

Nothing can stop either of you. Eunbi wanted you with her entire being. Her hand moved along your shaft quickly. She pulls your shorts down with her other hand, springing your cock free. She glances down, eyes widening for a second as she sees your size. The shock is replaced by satisfaction; you are bigger than your father, just as she had thought. Her hand squeezeds your cock, making your grunt and drawing a bit of precum out of you. 

You release your grip on Eunbi’s cheeks and move out, grabbing the sides of her bikini bottom and pulling them down. Eunbi kicks them off on you get them to her knees and sits on your pelvis, your cock rubbing against her slick folds. “I can’t wait any longer, Honey,” Eunbi moans. She rises and aligns herself with your cock sinking onto it in an instant. It’s a shock to your system just as it is for Eunbi’s. You both throw your heads back, whether it was finally getting the release you both wanted, the taboo of fucking your family, or something else you both came at that moment. Eunbi’s body tingled as she felt your cum shoot inside her. She had forgotten what it felt like, and she wanted more. 

Eunbi grinded against you at first, rocking back and forth causing your cock to rub against her walls but her body wanted more. She placed her hands on your chest and squatted over your, slowly rising before slamming herself back down onto your cock. “Keep going, Eunbi,” you groan, holding onto her waist and guiding her along your shaft as you thrust into her. You watch her tits bounce as she gets into a rhythm, sweat running down her body. You lean up, sticking your tongue out and running it between her heavy tits, lapping up her salty sweat before moving over to one of her nipples.

“Oh, wait baby,” Eunbi moans as she feels your mouth surround her sensitive nipple, your tongue swirling around the hard nub as you suck on her tit. Eunbi cries out from the pleasure, her moans getting louder as you switch to the other breast. 

She continues to ride you, her body growing weaker as you both move closer to another orgasm. “Eunbi,” you grunt. That was enough to tell her you were getting close, even if you hadn’s said a word she would’ve figured it out sooner or later, your cock was throbbing inside her again. Eunbi had to give up her squat position and ride you normally, giving you the position to grab her waist and thrust into her for the final few moments before you both were taken to heaven, rocked by intense orgasms. Eunbi collapses on top of you, breathing heavily. You tilt her head and kiss her. Your sweaty bodies felt like they were melding together. 

“That was amazing,” she says breathlessly.

“I can keep going, at least once more.” Eunbi nods and gets ready to ride again. “No, I want you from behind.” You lift the young woman, moving her beside you. Eunbi lies flat on the floor, her strength gone from the previous two orgasms. Just as well you had always imagined fucking Eunbi into the ground. You run your hands along her body, stopping at her ass and giving each cheek a squeeze. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought of this, Eunbi,” you whisper into her before aligning with her cunt. You push yourself back into the welcoming hole, stretching out your stepmothers pussy, pushing your cum out of her as you go deeper. 

“Deeper, baby. Make me cum again.” Eunbi feels your body weight against her as you push deeper. Her eyes twitch in their half-lidded state. Fully buried inside your stepmom you pull out and slam yourself back in, your pelvis pressing against her soft ass. The experience was better than you had imagined. You lost yourself nearly instantly, beginning to thrust into Eunbi like a wild beast.  “Fuck! Fuck me! Fuck your dirty mommy!” Eunbi screamed. You snaked your hands under her waist, lifting her ass up and giving yourself a better angle. You slam into her ass with every thrust, both of your minds melting into nothing as claim Eunbi. You hold Eunbi up with one hand, using the other to her clit, pressing it and making her get closer to cumming. Eunbi roars as the pleasure floods her body, she backs her ass into you, wanting you deeper as your cum spills out of her onto the floor. “Oh fuck!”

Eunbi curls her toes as she’s rocked by another orgasm, her entire body shakes before collapsing onto the floor with you on top of her, your cock buried inside her tight cunt, filling her with another load of your semen. You rest on top of Eunbi for a moment before rolling off of her. Your cum pours out of her staining the hardwood. Neither of you cares, though; the experience was like nothing else. Your bodies desire more, and if it weren’t for the exhaustion, the two of you would’ve continued to go at it like rabbits. 

You don’t know how much time passes before your strength returns and you're finally able to get up. Eunbi was in the same position. As you both get to your feet, you look at each other, wanting nothing more than to have sex again. Your body is tingling with excitement. Eunbi reaches out and grabs your cock, her hands rubbing the creamy mess. “I want you to ruin me every day. We can’t tell your father about this, but just know that I am all yours.” You tilt her head back and kiss her. Eunbi raises her leg to your side, and pushes your cock back inside her warm cunt. 

You spend every moment you can with Eunbi from morning to night, the two of you revel in each other’s bodies, having sex all over the house, marking each space as somewhere you’ve done it. Even when your father comes back, you find a way to sneak in a few rounds, but the time apart fuels your need for each other, and the moment he leaves for another trip, you claim his wife.

[hisui555]

I was 14 when I got my wise teeth removed, the whole thing was a clusterfuck rollercoaster of absurdity. First of all it started with the doc wanting me to take a betadine shower and THEN go to school while looking as if I ruled Hell, to say nothing about the trouble I'd get for not eating at the cafeteria since I was supposed to be fasting. I just stayed at home the whole morning, looking like a tomato. A foul one - my hair is brown, not green, and I have the stinking temper to match.

Then I arrived at the clinic, and the trouble went further when the guy planting the IV in stabbed me repeatidly and directly in the nerves - 10 times over, five each side of the vein. How do I know ? Well I fucking felt it for starters but since this isn't gonna convince people because we're on the Internet, my wrist had a knee-jerk unvoluntary reaction everytime and Blindy O'Sightless went "Oh, sorry, I hit the nerve." like it was just the most bewildering thing ever and nerves shouldn't be in a human body. I just ended up contracting my muscles to make the veins pop so he could finally get at least ONE - that guy wouldn't be able to hit a cow's arse with a banjo.

Then the fun kept piling up, because by the anaesthesia, they told me to count up to 10, expecting me to be under by 6 or 7. I was up to 15 when the anaesthesic dude looked at me weird, doubled the dose, and I decided to fall asleep to help the process go along because I wanted it over with - sensation also isn't the best : it's like someone's pulling you by the hair backwards to fall headfirst. I know my last conscious thought was "oh hey, maybe that's what babies feel when they're born and pulled out, hence why we're instantly awake when feeling that while asleep. It's like the 'kick' to wake up in Inception." and I don't remember dreaming during the processus afterwards.

Then I woke up, and by waking up I mean getting jolted from slumber by the nurse ripping out the breathing tube from my nose with all the patience, grace and mercy of an excavating bulldozer. I'm already a snap-awake person with immediate lucidity when waking up from normal sleep, so I was sadly VERY AWARE of the pain and my environment - the nurse was very surprised to find me immediately sitting up, look around, nod at the "You're in the wake-up waiting room" banner above, and shoot her a glare while rubbing my nose. She didn't ask me the "are you okay what's your name" questions, funnily enough, unlike the others - I think we both knew the answer to "How are you feeling" was "mighty pissed off."

The positive in that was that I was the first awake, or at least lucid, and I could see the others emerge - apparently they didn't had the same luck of being insta-awake, and this is where I could witness that consciousness was more of a spectrum in others than the binary it is for me. Best part was when I waved to one guy next to me, who also got his wise teeth pulled out, and he apparently decided it was too weird for him, because he went right back down to sleep.

THEN the worst started : I was driven to my room, got onto the bed, and someone asked me what I wanted for breakfast tomorrow. I wordlessly pointed at my cheeks, beginning to swell and changing colors, and the woman nodded in understanding. "Okay, not chewy stuff, got it." (the morning after, it was hardass cereals and bread croutons). One doctor came up to me and told me the IV would stay for the night, in case complications happened - okay, no problem, sounds fair. Cue another one entering five minutes later and pulling it out, congratulating me that, unlike my teen Wise-Tooth-Hell peers, I didn't ripped it out myself. I remember thinking something along the lines of "?????"

Then they gave me cortisone to help with the pain and swelling or whatever, and an ice-pack, telling me the button to call for help was over there, okay, noted... 15 minutes later I had to rush to the sink to barf very fine powdered black sand up - it was the cortisone. I check the meds box : they gave me a dose for adults, while I was 14, 1m50, around 45-50kg. I decided to not use the emergency button EVER lest these clowns rub aloe vera on my feet to "help" me with an upset stomach or a dental infection and ask where the IV went, like a bunch of double-taking goldfish having no clue what their neighbor is doing.

THEN the pain hit, and I spent my night sleeping 3 hours total, 10 minutes by 10 minutes. Tom&Jerry was on a rerun on TV, but past two in the morning it was me, myself and OW. I got picked up by my mom looking like a hamster with cheeks drenched in blueberry juice and stuck in barbed wire, she asked if I didn't wanted to stay another night because I didn't look that good, but since things were already ten shades of wrong I just proved I was feeling very, very fine with not staying one more second in there by doing a cartwheel, and we racked off the fastest possible.

Think it's the end ? Nnnnope ! 'Cause the swelling didn't die down for three whole weeks, I went by all the colors of the rainbow in terms of bruises, and the doctor gave me a mouthwash to use for said 3 weeks... when the notice specified in bold letters to not use more than 1 week, max, because of how strong it was. Results ? Dental enamel took quite a bad hit. We went back and pointed this out, to which he replied with another mouthwash... stronger than the previous and to not be used for more than 3 consecutive DAYS. Oh and also I just pulled out the stitches myself, because they came loose on day 4 after I was out of the hospital.

So somehow, I wanna give that person shoving an entire fist in their mouth and then bawling afterwards (good thing they didn't damage anything) for 20 minutes a very sympathetic pat.

We sharing anaesthetic stories?? I had to have dental surgery when i was in middle school.

According to my mom and sister the very first thing i did upon waking up was BOLT upright and proceed to try and shove my ENTIRE fist in my mouth as fast as possible.

I had to be physically stopped, and i proceeded to sob my eyes out for the next 20 minutes. Somehow, i didnt damage anything 🤣

sorry that imagery is so vivid i just..

?????LOL

[studioeisa]

i said i wouldn’t miss you 🎤 jeonghan x reader.

“she ghosted you, jeonghan.” “she doesn’t ghost. she lingers. she haunts.” ⸻ ikaw mula noon anniversary series 🎵 halik (acoustic), kamikazee

word count: 1.3k · includes: romance, angst with a happy ending; situationship struggles, jeonghan yearns/chases, the art of groveling

Jeonghan wakes to the warmth of sunlight, not you.

It pours through the sheer curtains like a promise it doesn’t intend to keep, brushing over the tangled sheets and the still-dented pillow beside him. The morning is too quiet. No soft rustle of you in the kitchen, no off-key humming into the coffee steam. Just the low, steady ache of emptiness blooming in the space where your laughter used to be.

There’s a phantom weight on his chest, the memory of your body curled into his side, the way your leg always slid between his like it belonged there. Like you did.

But the duvet is too light now.

You always kissed him awake. Always. Sometimes on the cheek, sometimes on the corner of his mouth, sometimes right on the nose if you were feeling silly. You’d lean in like a secret and whisper good morning like it meant something. 

And he’d play along, eyes still closed, basking in the softness of it. Of you. Now, there’s nothing.

Just the hollow press of silence and the aftertaste of your accusation echoing in the back of his skull. You’re only good at the start.

He remembers the way your voice broke on the word start, like you already knew this was the end. Remembers the way his fingers had curled into your wrist too tightly, how he had called you delusional, how the words were a smoke screen for the panic clawing up his throat. He remembers the way you let him kiss you anyway. The way you didn’t kiss back.

The bed groans under his weight as he finally sits up, elbows on knees, face in his hands. Your scent lingers in the linen. Sweet and stubborn. Just like you.

The next day, Jeonghan texts you.

First it’s just your name. A tentative hey. Then, an hour later: Can we talk? Followed by a double-send. Please.

You don’t reply.

He calls that night. It goes straight to voicemail. He doesn’t leave one.

He tries again the next day. And the next. Different hours, like maybe your silence has a time zone.

“Still no word?” Seungcheol asks over coffee, brows drawn tight as the foam heart in his latte.

Jeonghan shrugs, half-casual. “She probably dropped her phone in a river. Or joined a cult. You know her.”

“She ghosted you, Jeonghan.”

“She doesn’t ghost. She lingers. She haunts.” He smiles, bitter and small. “She’s probably somewhere rolling her eyes at how dramatic I’m being.”

Seungcheol exhales through his nose, like he’s trying not to say something he’s said too many times before. “You’re not chasing someone who wants to be found,” he says delicately, but Jeonghan isn’t listening. 

Later, he corners Joshua in a stairwell after rehearsal.

“Have you heard from her?”

Joshua blinks. “No. Why would I?”

“You’re nice. She liked that about you.”

“She liked a lot of things about me. Doesn’t mean she told me where she’s hiding.”

Jeonghan leans against the railing, tilts his head back like he might catch your scent on the breeze. “She kissed me before she left. Well—she let me kiss her. Not the same.”

Joshua gives him a look. Kind. Exasperated. “You always think you can charm your way out of heartbreak,” the younger man muses. “Maybe just let yourself be sad this time.”

But Jeonghan isn’t sad, not exactly. He’s something quieter. Hungrier. He scrolls through old photos and wonders how long your scent will stay on his skin. Wonders if kisses have half-lives. Wonders if he kissed you enough times to still feel full.

The days are getting longer, and they’re all missing you. Even now, he finds himself waking with his lips parted. Expectant.

And every time, it’s just the sunlight. And the ache.

After two weeks of radio silence, Jeonghan finds himself outside your apartment with a bouquet that’s too big and an apology that’s probably too late.

The flowers are your favorites. He had to ask three different florists before he found them, clutching his phone like a cheat sheet and mispronouncing the name until someone finally took pity on him. One of the stems bends under its own weight, the petals too open, too eager. Just like him—always blooming at the wrong time.

He’s been standing there for twenty minutes. Maybe more. Long enough for the streetlight to buzz into life, long enough to rehearse every variation of sorry he can stomach, long enough to remember how you used to kiss the inside of his wrist when you thought he was being brave.

He briefly contemplates doing it to himself. A press of his lips to his wrist, just enough to give him courage. 

Jeonghan is old school and drenched in cliché as he throws a pebble at your window. Then another. Then—

The curtain twitches. Your light flicks on. A beat. 

The window creaks open, and there you are, arms crossed in that way that means you’re dangerously close to slamming it shut.

“Seriously?” you ask, and even though you’re annoyed, your voice is still the sweetest thing he’s ever heard. “Rocks, Jeonghan? What century is this?”

He winces and offers the bouquet upward like a white flag. “The romantic one? The desperate one? Whichever one gets me in the door,” he calls out. But soft, what light through yonder breaks, he almost adds. It is the east. You are the sun. Or something. 

You stare down at him. Long enough to make him sweat under his hoodie. Then, sighing like this is a burden you've carried for lifetimes, you buzz him in.

He bolts.

You’re waiting by the door, robe tied like armor. Arms still crossed, expression unimpressed but eyes—he swears—just a little soft.

“I brought—”

“I see the flowers. Talk.”

He swallows hard, fidgets, then sets the bouquet on your table like it might soften what’s coming. “I know you’re tired,” he says finally. “Of the chasing. The mess. Me.”

You say nothing.

“And I know I always show up like this—arms full of promises, too late.”

Still nothing.

“I talk too pretty and follow through too little. I know that.”

You tilt your head to one side. “Keep going,” you mumble, so he does. 

He exhales, long and uneven. His voice drops, all the smugness wrung out of it. “I miss your kisses,” he blurts out, because it’s the most honest thing pressing on his chest.

You blink. Something in your face wavers, just slightly. Jeonghan pushes on, nervous now.

“I miss the one you gave me before I left for rehearsal. I miss the one you didn’t give me the night you left.” The words come spilling out of him like a dam that’s been broken. He can’t stop. “I miss the kiss behind my ear you always pretended didn’t mean anything. I miss how they tasted like forgiveness even when we were still fighting. I miss the sleepy ones. The stubborn ones. The ones you gave me when I least deserved them.”

You stare at him, a war behind your eyes. The silence stretches like a held breath.

“Jeonghan,” you warn, voice low. Almost gentle.

He nods. This is not the first time. It will be the last. He swears. He swears. “I know,” he says. “Just one more shot.”

You lift your hand. He flinches—then softens when you cup his face, thumb brushing just beneath his eye. And then you kiss him. Just once. Long enough to taste the apology on his lips, short enough to make him earn the rest.

When you pull away, your eyes don’t let go.

“If you screw this up again,” you murmur, “I’m calling Seungcheol to help me bury the body. And he’ll bring shovels.”

Jeonghan grins, dizzy with relief. “Fair. But I plan on being too kiss-drunk to screw anything up ever again.”

You roll your eyes. But your robe loosens, and your arms open, and for the first time in what feels like lifetimes, Jeonghan feels like he’s holding the warm sun instead of hiding from it. 🎼

[4linos]

the stranger you loved 2.

lee minho x fem!reader

synopsis: you don’t know him anymore. but minho knows you, every laugh, every tear, every promise. and he’s not giving up.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, memory loss, emotional manipulation, mentions of family rejection.

wc: 11,879

[part 1]

He had been alone in his thoughts for too long.

Minho sat in the dim corner of the hospital corridor where the light flickered just a little too much, that familiar, sterile hum filling his ears. His hoodie was damp from where he’d wiped his face. His eyes ached. His heart ached more. Time had stopped having any shape or meaning, just hours of cold air, the occasional footsteps echoing off linoleum, and the unbearable weight of not being able to fix anything.

He couldn’t keep sitting there. Couldn’t stay in the silence, with the ache growing heavier by the minute. Eventually, he stood, slowly, stiffly and made his way back to your hospital room. He just needed to see you again, maybe even talk to you from the doorway. Nothing intense. Nothing that would make things worse. Just presence. Just proof that he was still here.

But as he neared your room, one of the nurses, one he vaguely recognized from the night shift stepped in front of him, hands gentle but firm.

“Mr. Lee,” she said softly, “I’m really sorry, but… we’re asking you not to go in right now.”

Minho blinked. At first, he thought he’d misheard. “What?”

The nurse glanced over her shoulder, toward your room, then turned back, her expression apologetic. “The doctor spoke with Y/N not long after you left. She was… visibly shaken. Scared, confused. Her vitals spiked. She was overwhelmed. We think it’s best to give her a little space while she adjusts.”

Minho stared at her like the words didn’t quite make sense. His eyebrows slowly drew together, a disbelieving scoff slipping from his lips. “I’m not some random guy off the street,” he said, voice rising just enough to draw a few glances. “I stayed by her side all night. I didn’t leave the room once. Not when the monitors beeped, not when the nurses came in, not even when you told me visiting hours were over. You all saw me there. You know that.”

The nurse’s expression didn’t waver, but her voice softened. “I do. We all saw it. And I know how much you care. But she doesn’t remember that, Minho. Right now, from her perspective… she’s waking up in a strange place, surrounded by strangers. Her memory is fractured. And when she saw your face, when you reacted so emotionally, it startled her. She’s not in a place yet where she can process all of that safely.”

Minho exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. He could feel the sting behind his eyes again, and he fought it, hard. He wasn’t angry at the nurse. Not really. But he didn’t know where else to aim the pain inside him. The grief. The helplessness. Because how was it fair? He had held your hand through the night. Had whispered to you about the little bakery you loved, your favorite songs, how you always pretended not to cry at sad movies but always did anyway. He had begged you to wake up.

And you had.

Only now, he wasn’t allowed near you.

“I just want to see her,” he said again, quieter now. “I won’t upset her. I’ll stay back. I won’t even speak if that’s what you want. Just let me be there. Please.”

The nurse looked torn. She hesitated, shifting her weight. “I’ll talk to the doctor. Maybe tomorrow, after some rest and evaluation, we can try again. But tonight... she needs calm. The brain needs quiet to begin the healing process. For now, just, trust us, okay?”

Minho didn’t answer. He nodded stiffly, backing away from the door like it burned him.

But in his chest, he could feel the unraveling.

He returned to that same quiet hallway, but this time it felt colder. Lonelier. He leaned against the wall, staring at the pale floor tiles like they might give him something clarity, answers, maybe just a way to stay grounded when everything he knew was crumbling.

He was still here.

Still your Minho.

But you didn’t remember that.

And now… you weren’t ready to see him.

Even love, deep, steady, desperate love wasn’t enough right now.

And that was a kind of heartbreak he never knew existed.

-

Minho had barely slept.

The coffee in his hand was lukewarm now, even though he’d just bought it minutes ago. He hadn’t tasted it. He didn’t care. The bitter steam curling from the cup only reminded him of the night before, hours of pacing cold hallways, of sitting in uncomfortable plastic chairs, of whispering to your unconscious body like it might tether you back to him.

And then the morning came, and with it, the nurse’s gentle insistence that he stay back. That his presence had made you worse. That for now, it was better if you didn’t see him at all.

He hadn't fought them again. Not this time. Not after seeing the look in your eyes, the way you'd flinched at his touch. The quiet, scared voice asking him to leave.

But it didn’t stop the ache that settled into his chest like a second heartbeat, pulsing with every second that passed without you remembering him.

He was just coming back from the hospital lobby, a paper cup in one hand and his phone in the other, the screen still black. No messages. No calls. Not that he was expecting any. The only message he wanted was your voice, saying his name like you remembered. Like you loved him again.

He turned the corner, heading back toward the ICU, when he saw him.

Jay.

At first, Minho froze, unsure if he was imagining it. It had been so long since he'd seen that face, longer still since he’d thought of him. But there he was, standing stiffly at the nurse’s desk, dressed too neatly for a hospital visit, his dark hair styled like he was coming from somewhere important.

Minho’s blood ran cold.

Jay.

What the hell is he doing here?

He watched, heart pounding, as Jay leaned in toward the nurse with an overly concerned expression on his face. Like he belonged there. Like he had the right.

“Hi,” Jay said, glancing at the nameplate clipped to her scrubs, “I’m a friend of Y/N’s. I heard about the accident—I just need to know what room she’s in, and what happened. Please. I need to see her.”

The nurse gave him a quick look of polite skepticism, as she should. But before she could say anything, Minho was already moving, hot coffee sloshing in his cup as his steps quickened across the hallway floor.

“Hey,” Minho snapped, his voice sharp, tense with disbelief. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Jay turned slowly, his mouth pulling into a tight, false smile. “Minho.”

Minho stood toe to toe with him now, hands clenched, posture rigid. He didn’t want to cause a scene, not here, not in the hallway of the ICU, but he couldn’t stop the fire rising in his chest. “You don’t belong here.”

“I came to check on Y/N,” Jay said smoothly, unbothered. “Someone had to.”

That was it.

Minho’s jaw locked. “Don’t act like you care.”

“I do care,” Jay countered. “Not that you’d know anything about being a real friend.”

The insult was barely veiled, and Minho flinched like he'd been struck. But it wasn’t the first time he’d heard it, not from him.

Because Jay wasn’t just anyone.

He was the friend you used to be inseparable from, the one you trusted with everything, until Minho came along. And from the moment Jay realized how serious the two of you were becoming, he’d tried everything he could to sabotage it. The comments. The rumors. The passive-aggressive texts. That one night he cornered you after practice and told you Minho would never love you the way you deserved, that he was cold, manipulative, temporary.

Jay never liked Minho. Never even pretended to. And when you chose Minho anyway, when you distanced yourself from Jay and made it clear where your heart was, he turned bitter. He stopped pretending. Started treating Minho like the enemy.

And now here he was.

Minho stepped forward, voice low, teeth clenched. “You think showing up now makes up for what you did? You weren’t there when she needed support. You weren’t there when she was hurting. You disappeared the second she chose me, and now you want to show up like some concerned guardian?”

“She doesn’t remember you, does she?” Jay asked, his tone light but the venom unmistakable. “So maybe this is the universe giving her a second chance.”

Minho’s hands curled into fists. He saw red for a moment pure, unfiltered rage bubbling just under his skin.

The nurse intervened then, stepping between them before things could go further. “Hey, please. This is a hospital.”

Minho turned to her, still breathing hard. “You can’t let him see her. He’s not family. He’s not—he’s not anything to her anymore.”

Jay raised an eyebrow. “And you are?”

The words stung more than Minho expected. The truth was, right now… he wasn’t sure how to answer. Because to you, in your broken, half-lit memories, he was nothing. A stranger. An unfamiliar face who cried too easily and begged too hard.

The nurse looked between the two men, clearly uncomfortable. “I can’t make decisions based on history I don’t know. If the patient recognizes Mr. Jay, and she’s comfortable with it, we allow visitors. But for now, we’re trying to avoid overwhelming her.”

She turned back to Jay. “You may go in, but keep it short. And speak gently. She’s still very fragile.”

Minho opened his mouth to protest, but it was already too late.

Jay was walking past him, heading for your room with confident strides, as if he had every right in the world to be there. As if he hadn’t tried to pull you away from Minho every chance he got.

And the worst part? Minho couldn’t follow.

He stood there in the hallway, helpless, his fists clenched and his heart in his throat. The nurse gave him an apologetic glance before walking away.

Minho was left standing alone again.

Another locked door. Another piece of you slipping further from his grasp.

And now he was in there with you.

He didn’t know if you’d recognize Jay. If your mind had pulled him back while leaving Minho behind. If you’d smile for him. Laugh. If Jay would take advantage of the blank slate that the accident had given you.

But Minho knew one thing with unbearable certainty.

He’d spent the night holding your hand, whispering his love into the dark like a prayer.

And now he was being replaced again by the one person who had always wanted to take you away.

The nurses and doctors kept saying you were getting better.

They said it like it was a fact, like a milestone you had clearly reached "You’ll be out of here in no time," they smiled, charts in hand, voices warm with optimism. "Your vitals are strong, and your cognition is improving every day. Just keep resting, okay?"

But the truth was, you didn’t feel better.

You felt like you were drowning.

Not in pain exactly, though your head still throbbed sometimes and your body felt stiff in ways that made simple movements difficult, but in confusion. In the aching, suffocating emptiness where your memories used to be. People told you things: names, stories, reassurances. Faces came and went, some that sparked a flicker of recognition, most that didn’t. The world around you looked familiar, but distant like trying to peer through fogged glass at a life that had once been yours.

You tried so hard.

You spent hours straining your mind, pushing yourself to remember anything. A moment. A voice. A laugh. A feeling. You stared at photos, flipped through magazines, even listened to music they said you used to love. But it was all blank. All white noise.

So when the nurses brought you a puzzle and suggested you work on it to pass the time, you agreed because at least it gave your hands something to do. Something to focus on besides the panic always threatening to creep in at the edges of your silence.

You were bent over the little tray table, trying to find the right edge piece, when the door creaked open behind you.

At first, you didn’t look up. You assumed it was another nurse with more encouraging platitudes or another round of gentle cognitive tests. But then you heard his voice.

Soft. Careful. Familiar.

“Hey...”

You turned slowly, and your eyes landed on a tall figure standing awkwardly just inside the room, his hand still resting on the door handle like he wasn’t sure if he should’ve come in. He looked nervous. His smile was small, but his eyes were filled with something else, something harder to define.

And something in you stirred.

You stared at him.

His face... it was like a name on the tip of your tongue. Like a dream you’d half forgotten the second you woke up. It pulled at something deep inside you, something quiet and buried.

“I wasn’t sure if I should come,” he said, shifting his weight. “I just... I heard about what happened, and I had to see you.”

Your heart picked up speed.

There was something about the way he said it. Something real. Something that rang true in a way nothing else had since you woke up in this hospital bed.

You blinked fast, overwhelmed.

“Do I... do I know you?” you asked quietly, the words cracking on their way out.

The boy stepped forward slowly, eyes flicking toward the puzzle pieces, then back to your face.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low. “You do. Or... you did. I’m Jay.”

And then it hit you.

Like a rush of cold air after being underwater too long.

Jay.

You knew that name. You knew him.

It wasn’t everything not a full memory, not even close, but it was a spark. A sliver of light through the fog. You remembered the way he laughed, the way he talked too fast when he was excited. You remembered late nights and long walks, sitting on sidewalks and laughing at dumb things only the two of you found funny.

Your breath caught.

A tear slipped down your cheek before you even realized it was coming. Your hand reached up to cover your mouth as a sob built in your throat.

Jay’s face softened immediately, and before you could speak, he crossed the room and wrapped his arms around you gently, careful not to hurt you.

And you let him.

You let yourself sink into that hug, into the one familiar feeling you'd had in days. Your fingers clutched at the back of his shirt as you tried to ground yourself in the warmth of his embrace, your body shaking from emotion you didn’t have words for.

He didn’t say anything. He just held you. And for a brief, flickering second, the ache in your chest eased. You weren’t drowning anymore. Not in that moment.

He remembered you.
And, finally you remembered something.

-

Jay stayed with you for a long time.

Longer than any of the doctors or nurses expected, longer than any other visitor had. And you didn’t mind. In fact, for the first time since waking up in that sterile white room, you felt… okay. Not good, exactly. Not whole. But safe. Familiar. Like the world around you had finally cracked open just a little bit and let in a beam of warmth.

He sat in the chair beside your bed, his body slouched like he’d done it a hundred times before. He looked around like he hated the hospital, called it “soulless,” said it didn’t suit someone like you and you laughed at that. It was a genuine laugh. Small, but real. You didn’t even realize how long it had been since you’d felt one rise naturally from your chest.

Jay began to tell you stories. Small, scattered things. Fleeting moments from your childhood, things he said the two of you used to joke about. He mentioned how you used to dare each other to jump into freezing water at the lake near your old neighborhood. How you used to call his mom “Mom #2” and how she always made your favorite pancakes with too many chocolate chips. He told you about a time you’d both skipped school and gone to a matinee movie, just the two of you, stuffing your pockets with snacks and swearing the popcorn had never tasted better.

You didn’t remember the details, not really, but the way he told them made you believe they were true. Made you feel like somewhere, deep down, maybe those memories were still there. You smiled as he spoke, sometimes even laughed softly, and each time you did, he smiled wider. Like he was proud of himself. Like helping you feel something again meant something to him too.

Then, after a pause, his tone changed.

He hesitated, his eyes flickering toward the hallway outside. He leaned forward, like he didn’t want anyone else to hear what he was about to say. His voice lowered, gentled, but carried a certain edge beneath the softness.

He started talking about Minho.

“You might not remember him,” Jay said slowly, “but… maybe that’s for the best.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at the name. Minho. It tugged at something in your chest, nothing solid, but not nothing either.

“He’s not who you think,” Jay continued. “Everyone acts like you two were some kind of perfect couple, but I was there. I saw what it was really like. He was bad news. Controlling. Jealous. He made you change cut people off, stop doing things you loved. You stopped talking to me because of him. Said he didn’t like the way I ‘got in the middle.’”

You blinked, the confusion settling heavy over your features.

“I’m not saying this to upset you,” he added, eyes searching yours. “I just want you to be careful. If you don’t remember him, don’t let anyone rush you into something you don’t feel. Don’t let them convince you of a version of the past that wasn’t real.”

You didn’t say anything. You just stared down at your hands, now limp in your lap. The warmth you’d felt earlier had started to drain away, replaced by a fog of doubt. Who was Minho to you, really? What did you forget?

Jay noticed your silence. He reached out and gently touched your hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said, giving your fingers a soft squeeze. “I didn’t mean to drop all that on you. I just… I care about you. I always have.”

And when he stood to leave, hours later, after the sun had shifted across the room and the nurses had come in twice to check your vitals, you felt a panic rise in your chest. You didn’t want him to go.

You didn’t want to be alone again.

“Can’t you stay a little longer?” you asked, your voice small.

His eyes softened, but he shook his head. “I want to. I do. But they said visiting hours are over. I’ll be back tomorrow, okay? I promise.”

And for some reason, that made tears prick at the corners of your eyes again. He stepped close, pressed a kiss to your forehead, and said gently, “Try to rest. Don’t think too much. Just take it one day at a time.”

You nodded.

But once he was gone, and the door clicked shut behind him, the room suddenly felt colder. And quieter. And your thoughts, once briefly still, began to race again.

Who was Minho?

And why did Jay’s words make something in your heart feel uneasy?

Minho was going crazy.

Not in the dramatic, exaggerated way people throw that word around. He was unraveling in real time, second by second, thread by thread, as the hands of the clock moved painfully slow.

It had been exactly three hours since Jay walked into your hospital room. Minho knew because he’d been counting. Watching the time tick by on the faded wall clock above the nurses’ station like it was mocking him. Every minute that passed with Jay in your room and not him made something deep inside his chest tighten.

He’d tried everything.

First, he asked the nurses calmly if he could go in, just for a moment. They said no. Said they’d been advised to limit your visitors for your “emotional recovery.” He reminded them, again that he wasn’t just anyone. That he’d been there every day since the accident. That he’d slept in those hard plastic chairs outside your room. That he’d sat by your bedside, talking to you even when you couldn’t respond. That he loved you.

They gave him tight smiles. Apologetic, tired ones. “We understand, Mr. Lee, but she needs time. She was very distressed last time. We’re following doctor’s orders.”

He didn’t yell. Not at first. He just clenched his jaw and walked away, pacing the hallway like a man trying to out-walk his own panic. But every so often, he returned. Softened. Pleaded. Asked a different nurse. Asked again. Just one of them to please, please check in on you, just make sure you were okay. That Jay wasn’t saying anything that might confuse or hurt you.

At some point, after the third nurse, the fourth, maybe the fifth, they stopped pretending to care. They brushed him off with distracted nods or curt reassurances. One even told him to go get some fresh air, that “hovering wasn’t helping anyone.”

He almost laughed at that. Hovering? He wanted to scream.

And then finally, finally, Jay emerged.

The door to your room swung open, and Minho’s heart immediately surged with hope. Maybe he could go in now. Maybe you were asking for him. Maybe you remembered.

But then he saw him.

Jay stepped into the hallway like he owned the place, his hands casually tucked in his coat pockets, that same smug, self-satisfied look on his face that Minho had hated since the very first time they met. The glint in his eye, the cocky tilt of his head, it was like he was silently daring Minho to say something. Like he wanted a reaction.

Minho stood frozen. His fists clenched so tight at his sides his knuckles turned white. His jaw locked. He could feel every part of his body screaming at him to move, to do something, to grab him, shove him against the wall, demand to know what he said to you. Because he knew Jay. Knew the games he played. Knew how good he was at twisting the truth, planting seeds of doubt.

He also knew how much Jay had always hated him.

Jay had never made a secret of it. From the very start, he’d done everything he could to tear the two of you apart. Told you Minho was bad for you. Controlling. Dangerous. Said things behind Minho’s back, things he couldn’t prove but could feel were poisoning you slowly. He'd always smiled to your face but looked at Minho like he was a threat. And now, with you vulnerable, confused, unable to remember, he finally had the chance to rewrite history. To plant his own version of the past in your head.

Minho could see it in the way Jay looked at him now. Like he’d won.

Jay gave a small, mocking nod as he walked past, brushing just close enough to Minho’s shoulder that it could’ve been an accident, but wasn’t. And Minho… Minho had to dig his nails into his palm to keep from doing something reckless. Something he’d regret.

He didn’t care what the nurses said anymore.

He needed to see you. Needed to look into your eyes and hear your voice. To remind you of the truth, your truth and not whatever lies Jay had just spent three hours feeding you.

Minho waited until Jay disappeared down the hallway before moving.

He lingered just out of view behind the corner of the hallway, where the nurses wouldn’t notice him, where the monitors wouldn’t give away his presence. He was done being brushed off, done being treated like he was some stranger hovering around a patient who didn’t want him. Because he knew the truth, he wasn’t a stranger. He was yours.

He had spent every day since the accident aching to be by your side. But for hours now, he had paced, waited, begged just for a chance to see you. And now, Jay was finally gone. The coast was clear. The nurses were distracted, and for the first time in what felt like forever, your door stood slightly open. Like fate had finally cracked a window in the thick, suffocating wall that had kept him out.

He moved quickly, quietly, his heart pounding so hard in his chest he swore it echoed through the floor.

As he stepped into the room, the soft click of the door closing behind him made you look up from a puzzle on your tray.

The moment your eyes landed on him, something shifted.

Minho froze.

You were staring at him, not with recognition, not with warmth, but with the same look you’d had the first time you saw him after waking up: confusion. Hesitation. That faint edge of alarm. It hit him like a punch to the chest. He didn’t even get a word out before he saw your hand move not toward him, but toward the red call button clipped to the side of your bed.

His instincts kicked in. He stepped forward quickly and reached out, not to hurt, not to scare, just to stop you. His hand gently covered yours, just before your finger could press it.

"Please," he breathed out, his voice cracking already. “Just… please. Just give me a minute. One minute. That’s all I’m asking.”

You stared at him, your lips parted but no words coming out. Your hand under his didn’t move, but you didn’t pull away either. You were trying to place him, he could see it in your eyes. Like your brain was flipping through the pages of a book that had been burned halfway through, trying to find a sentence that made sense.

He pulled his hand back, slowly. Raised both palms, like he was surrendering.

“I know you don’t remember me,” he said softly. “I know I’m just some… stranger in your eyes. I get it. I saw it the second you looked at me. But I’m not a stranger. I’m not.”

You were still silent. He didn’t even know if you were hearing him, really hearing him, but he couldn’t stop the words from coming out now. They’d been bottled up for too long.

“I’m Minho,” he said, voice trembling. “I’m the guy who’s been here every day. I’ve been sitting outside that door since the day they brought you here. I slept in that chair—” he gestured to the hard plastic seat by your bed “—because I couldn’t stand the thought of you being alone. Not even for a second.”

Your expression didn’t change, and that broke him a little more.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much.”

His throat tightened, and he looked down, trying to blink back the sting in his eyes, but it was no use. The tears came. Quiet, helpless tears. The kind that didn’t come from just sadness, but from fear. Fear that you were slipping through his fingers. That he’d already lost you, not to death, but to forgetting.

“I don’t know what Jay said to you,” he said, barely able to speak through the lump in his throat, “but whatever it was… whatever he told you… it’s not the whole story. Please don’t let him be the one to define us.”

You watched him. Still silent. Still unsure. Your eyes were softening, but you didn’t speak, and he didn’t push you.

“I just want a chance,” he murmured. “To help you remember. To remind you who we were. Who we are. Even if you never remember, even if it takes forever, I’ll be here.”

He let the silence settle then, stepping back just enough to give you space, but close enough that you could still feel the weight of his presence. His heart was in his hands now, and all he could do was wait.

When you didn’t respond, didn’t speak, didn’t move, didn’t even blink for what felt like an eternity, Minho felt something inside him shatter.

He had come in here, heart in his hands, stripped raw with desperation and grief, hoping that something in you would remember him. Hoping your silence meant your mind was turning over something familiar, that maybe, maybe some part of you was starting to click into place.

But you just… stared.

Like he was nobody. Like he hadn’t spent years building a life with you. Like he hadn’t held you on the nights you couldn’t sleep, memorized the rhythms of your laugh, or traced every line of your face a thousand times. You stared at him like he was just another person in a room full of machines and white walls.

And he couldn’t take it.

He wiped at his cheeks roughly, turning away so you wouldn’t see the full force of it, the way his face twisted as he tried to swallow the hurt. He muttered something under his breath, barely audible but bitter. A curse word. Anger at himself, at the situation, at fate for putting the person he loved most in front of him only to make her forget who he even was.

“Maybe this was a mistake,” he said, voice flat now, hollowed out by pain. “Maybe you’re better off without me if you really don’t see anything left. If Jay already got in your head, maybe I was stupid to think—”

He turned, hand reaching for the doorknob. He was about to walk out, to disappear the way everyone seemed to want him to.

But then, your voice cut through the quiet.

“Wait.”

It was soft. Hesitant. But enough.

He froze mid-step, his fingers resting against the cool metal of the door handle, shoulders rigid as he slowly turned back around to face you.

You looked nervous. Your eyes flickered between his and your own hands, which were now fidgeting with the edge of the blanket in your lap. You swallowed before speaking again, voice still unsure but steadier.

“Jay… he told me things. About you. About us.”

Minho stayed still, his gaze locked on you, not daring to interrupt.

“He said…” you hesitated, trying to remember the exact words, “that we were together. But that you weren’t good for me. That we were toxic. He said you… made me feel small. That you made me cry a lot. That I changed when I was with you, and not in a good way.”

You looked at him now, not with confusion, but something else. Something bordering on hurt. Vulnerability.

“I don’t remember those things,” you said. “But I don’t remember not feeling that way either. So how do I know what’s true?”

Minho’s jaw clenched slightly, but he didn’t lash out. He didn’t defend himself with rage or denial. Instead, he just looked down, breathing through his nose, composing himself before speaking.

You continued, quieter now. “I want to believe you. I really do. But right now… I believe Jay. Because he’s the only one who’s reminded me of anything. He made me laugh. He told me stories I could almost remember. And you… you just make me feel confused. Scared.”

Minho winced like you’d hit him, but still he didn’t walk away.

Then, you said the words that changed everything.

“So prove him wrong.”

The room went still again, but this time it was charged. Like the air had shifted.

Your voice steadied with the weight of your decision. “If everything he said is a lie, then prove it. Prove to me that I wasn’t wrong to love you. Prove that I didn’t make a mistake.”

Minho stared at you for a long time. His heart still ached, but now there was something else, something sparking behind his eyes. A flicker of hope.

He stepped closer, slowly, as if afraid you’d vanish if he moved too fast.

“I will,” he said, voice thick but firm. “Whatever it takes. I’ll remind you of every good thing. Every moment that mattered. And I’ll do it without pushing, without rushing. I’ll wait. I’ll be patient. But I won’t stop until you see the truth.”

His expression softened. “Because I know what we had. And I know what kind of man I am when I’m with you. That’s what I’m going to show you.”

You nodded, unsure of what you were agreeing to, but willing to let him try.

And for the first time since everything changed, there was a thread, thin, fragile, but real connecting the two of you again.

The morning sun filtered gently through the half-closed blinds of your hospital room, casting soft gold streaks across the floor. You had barely slept, your mind buzzing from the night before, Minho’s visit, his tears, his voice as he pleaded for you to remember him, to trust him. Something about the way he looked at you had stayed with you long after he left. It felt too intense to be fake. Too familiar to be made up.

Still, when Jay showed up early, carrying a takeout tray of warm breakfast and that easy, familiar smile of his, you felt the same uneasiness. He looked like a piece of a memory you couldn’t quite reach but almost could. The way he greeted you, cheerful, teasing, like you’d just seen him yesterday, felt grounding. It made the confusion from the night before quiet down a bit.

“I brought your favorite,” he said, holding up the tray with a dramatic grin as he set it down on your tray table. “Okay, well, at least what I think used to be your favorite. I might be wrong. But I’m also usually right.”

You smiled small, but genuine and he noticed, clearly pleased with himself. He helped you unwrap the meal, cutting pieces where you struggled, holding your water cup steady. It wasn’t the most graceful moment, but he filled the quiet with light jokes and soft reassurances. You laughed once, softly. He smiled wider.

Then, between bites, you spoke.

“Minho came by last night.”

Jay’s hands stilled.

You didn’t notice right away. You were focused on your fork, pushing around a piece of fruit.

“He just… showed up. The nurses didn’t know he came in. He said he loves me.”

The silence between you and Jay stretched suddenly. When you finally glanced up, his face had changed. He was no longer smiling.

Jay set the cup in his hand down slowly, his eyes scanning yours as if trying to read how deeply you meant what you were saying. “He said he loves you?”

You nodded. “I don’t remember everything. I still don’t. But something about the way he said it… felt real.”

Jay leaned back slightly, his mouth tightening into a line. His voice dropped, no longer as playful as it had been just moments ago.

“I told you, he’s not what he says he is,” he said. “Minho might look convincing, but he’s good at that. That’s the problem.”

You furrowed your brow, unsure.

“He said he’d prove it,” you murmured. “That he’d show me what we had.”

Jay sighed, rubbing a hand across his jaw. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his phone. “I didn’t want to do this unless I had to,” he said, unlocking the screen, “but I can’t sit here and let him manipulate you again. Not after everything I watched him put you through.”

You watched as he tapped a few times on the screen before turning it toward you.

There were screenshots, texts. They looked like messages from Minho. Angry words, frustration, accusations. “You never listen to me,” one said. Another: “I’m not doing this anymore, you're impossible.”

You stared at them, trying to make sense of the harsh tone. You didn’t know enough to understand the context, but it felt like something. Like a warning. Maybe Jay had been right.

Then he showed you a photo. You weren’t in it, but it was of Minho, arms around another girl at what looked like a party, dim lighting and loud energy caught in the background. Jay didn’t even explain it; he just let it sit there between you.

“You still want to believe he’s the kind of person who’ll prove anything?” he asked softly, but there was an edge under it. “He had you wrapped around his finger, and I watched it happen. You cried to me so many nights, said you felt like you were losing yourself.”

Your stomach churned. You didn’t know if the texts were real. You didn’t know if that girl in the picture was just a friend. But Jay sounded so sure. And you didn’t remember anything to fight what he was saying. All you had were emotions, and right now, they were tangled and contradicting.

You looked down, quietly.

Jay noticed, leaning forward a little. “I’m not trying to control what you do. But I’m your friend. I care about you. I’ve always been the one who told you the truth, even when it hurt.”

You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure what to say.

Outside your room, the hallway stirred faintly with movement. Unseen by you or Jay, Minho had arrived, earlier than expected, just like he promised himself. And he had heard just enough to stop him cold in his tracks.

-

Minho stood frozen just outside the doorway, the hospital corridor quiet around him except for the low hum of distant monitors and footsteps. He hadn’t expected Jay to be there again, hadn’t expected that.

He had arrived early, just like he told himself he would, carrying a small duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Inside were pieces of your shared life: polaroid photos from your first trip together, a worn hoodie he knew you used to steal from him when you couldn’t sleep, a playlist he'd burned onto an old CD because you once said you missed mixtapes. He was ready. He had come here to remind you who he was, who you both were.

But now, as he stood just out of view and listened to Jay’s voice, quiet but sharp, digging into your uncertainty, Minho felt his stomach turn.

"He had you wrapped around his finger, and I watched it happen. You cried to me so many nights, said you felt like you were losing yourself."

Minho’s fingers clenched around the strap of the duffel bag.

Jay’s voice dripped with conviction, too confident, too rehearsed. And the worst part was, you weren’t arguing. You weren’t correcting him. You weren’t defending Minho at all. You were silent.

That silence did something to him.

Minho could feel the heat rising in his chest, shame, frustration, fear, all wrapped tight together. His jaw tensed, his throat burning. He wanted to burst in, tell you Jay was lying, that he had twisted every story, poisoned everything good between you. But he knew how that would look. Sound. Emotional, desperate, unstable. Exactly how Jay wanted him to look.

He backed away from the door, slowly. His breath was uneven, and he could feel his hands shaking as he tried to keep himself calm. This wasn’t just about you not remembering him anymore. This was about someone else rewriting the memories you did still have. Someone you used to trust. Jay wasn’t just some ex-friend trying to help. He was rewriting history while Minho had to wait behind locked doors.

The weight of that was unbearable.

Minho turned and walked away from the door before either of you could see him, his mind racing, pulse hammering in his ears. He made it to the end of the hall and leaned heavily against the wall, his bag sliding off his shoulder.

He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a breath that shook too hard to hide. You didn’t even look at him like you once had. You were starting to look at Jay that way instead.

He hated him. He hated him for being in that room. For sounding so sure. For smiling while you forgot everything Minho had fought to build with you.

But more than anything, Minho was terrified, terrified that this time, Jay might actually succeed in taking you away.

-

Minho couldn’t back down.

His chest burned with every step as he marched back toward your room, the echoes of Jay’s voice bouncing off the walls of his skull like static he couldn’t shut off. His hands were fists, white-knuckled, the strap of the duffel now hanging loose at his side, forgotten. He didn’t even remember dropping it.

All he could think about was you sitting there, looking at Jay like he was someone you could trust. Like he was the one who had stayed, who had held your hand during sleepless nights, who had loved you through every breakdown, every high and low. Like he was the one who knew how you liked your coffee, how you couldn’t fall asleep unless someone rubbed your back in slow circles. Like he was the one who had never left you, not once.

The door was cracked open.

He didn’t hesitate.

He pushed it open so hard it hit the wall with a thud.

Both you and Jay jumped, startled and before Jay could even rise to his feet, Minho was on him.

He stormed in like a wave breaking through a dam, grabbing Jay by the front of his hoodie and yanking him up so hard his chair scraped backward across the linoleum. Jay stumbled straight into Minho’s chest, caught in the grip of hands that had been trembling just seconds earlier.

“You’re done talking to her,” Minho growled, voice low and shaking with barely contained fury. “You’re done lying to her.”

Jay didn’t react the way Minho thought he would. He didn’t fight back. He didn’t shout. Instead, his lips curled faintly, not into a full smile, but just enough. Enough for Minho to see it. Just enough to feel sick.

Then, with the theatrical subtlety of someone who had rehearsed this very moment, Jay turned his face toward you. His expression shifted instantly eyes wide, breath shallow, voice trembling with false vulnerability.

“See what I mean?” Jay said, loud enough for you to hear. “This is what I’m talking about. This is how he is. You think I’m making it up? Look at him.”

Minho froze.

His eyes snapped to you. You were sitting up in bed, the half-eaten breakfast tray still beside you. You were staring at him, not scared exactly, but unsure. Shaken. Like someone who had just watched two parts of their fractured life slam together with no warning.

Minho’s grip loosened.

His hands fell away from Jay’s hoodie, and Jay took a dramatic step back, brushing himself off with an exaggerated tremble in his fingers. His eyes never left you, like he was waiting for you to flinch or speak or believe.

But it was Minho who looked devastated.

His chest was rising and falling too fast now, not from rage but from panic. His whole expression crumpled in front of you like a paper burned at the edges. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t come in here to make things worse. He had come to fight for you, but not like this.

He turned to you fully now, his voice cracking when he spoke.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I just… I heard him, and I lost it. I lost you, and now he’s trying to take what little I have left.”

He looked so different then, no longer the angry, storming version of himself that had burst through the door. He looked like a man barely holding it together. Like someone who had spent every second loving you, only to be shut out when you needed love the most.

And yet, he didn’t step closer. He didn’t reach for you. He just stood there, waiting for you to decide what you believed.

Jay didn’t wait a second.

The moment Minho stepped back, just far enough for the tension to hang, thick and bitter in the air Jay straightened himself up, smoothing out his hoodie like it had actually been disturbed. His smirk had vanished again, replaced once more by that carefully measured, concerned expression he knew worked on people. The same one he used on teachers when he was younger, on your parents when he wanted their trust, on you now that he had your attention again.

He gave a subtle glance your way soft, comforting, almost protective. Like Minho was the threat and he was the shield.

Then he moved, stepping slightly in front of you not too obviously, just enough to make it seem like instinct. Like reflex. Like he was trying to keep you safe.

His voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that made Minho look even more volatile in comparison.

“This is exactly what I was trying to explain to you,” Jay said, shaking his head like he hated being right. “You don’t remember what he’s like when he gets like this. You never liked seeing him angry, remember? I told you he was bad for you.”

He turned to you fully now, crouching down just enough so he could meet your eyes on the same level. His tone softened even more.

“I know it’s confusing,” he said, carefully, like he was walking you through a lie he’d practiced a hundred times. “Everything’s messed up in your head right now. I get it. But you have to trust what you feel. That sick feeling in your gut when he stormed in? That means something.”

Minho opened his mouth to speak, but Jay didn’t give him the chance.

“I’m not trying to turn you against him,” Jay said quickly, eyes still on you. “I’m just reminding you what’s real. You were scared of him once. I was there. I saw it. He wasn’t good to you. Not really.”

That last part hit Minho like a slap, his fists clenched again, not to strike, but to hold back the scream in his throat. He wanted to yell that it was a lie, that you were never afraid of him, that everything Jay was saying was calculated, twisted, wrong.

But Jay’s trap was already set. Calm versus chaos. Friend versus partner. His words against Minho’s silence.

And Jay, he didn’t need to win the whole war. Just this one moment. Just enough to plant the seed of doubt.

So he placed a hand gently over yours on the blanket. Softly. Casually. And looked you straight in the eye.

“I’m just trying to protect you,” he said. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

And Minho watched you, watched your face, your eyes, your hands under Jay’s as if he could still find the version of you that remembered.

Because Jay hadn’t won. Not yet. Not completely.

Minho stood there with his duffel bag slung over one shoulder, his other hand gripped tightly around the strap like it was the only thing holding him together.

He hadn’t come back that morning expecting a perfect reunion, he wasn’t that naive, but he hadn’t expected this either. Jay, already in your room like he belonged there. Jay, sitting at your side, feeding you bites of breakfast like it was normal. Jay, looking at him with that smug little grin barely hidden beneath faux concern. Like he’d already won.

Minho couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t watch someone else fill the space he’d been fighting to stay in. He’d spent the whole night digging through old things photos, playlists, that sweatshirt you always stole, things he thought might help trigger your memory, things he’d wanted to bring to you. To help you remember them. Remember him.

But instead, all he could do was stand there and watch Jay plant more lies in your mind. And you, you didn’t even know they were lies. You were just trying to survive inside your own confusion.

He lowered his head, letting his hand fall from the strap. He felt heavy. Tired in a way he hadn't even let himself admit until now.

“I’m going,” Minho muttered, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He didn’t look at you. “I shouldn’t have come back.”

You looked up, surprised. You hadn’t expected him to give up, not so suddenly, not when it was clear how much this meant to him. Jay didn’t say anything at first, just leaned back in the chair with a sigh, already satisfied.

“You should let him go,” Jay finally said under his breath, just loud enough for the silence to catch it. “He’s already done enough.”

Minho stiffened, but he didn’t argue. Didn’t yell. He turned toward the door with heavy steps, his hand brushing against the knob.

That’s when you said it.

“Min.”

Just one word. Just that nickname. Small, almost unsure, but the second it passed your lips, it was like the entire room stopped breathing.

Minho froze.

Slowly, he turned his head, not all the way, just enough to look over his shoulder. His eyes wide, almost disbelieving.

You saw it on his face immediately. Shock. Pain. Hope. All of it tangled together like a wound trying to heal too fast.

You didn’t even mean to say it. It had just slipped out, like it had been waiting quietly in the back of your mind for the right moment to rise. You didn’t remember everything. But something about the way he looked when he stood there, his shoulders hunched, that duffel bag barely clinging to him, his voice cracking, something about it broke your heart in a way that felt familiar.

Jay stiffened. His jaw clenched.

Minho turned fully now, his eyes locked on you. “What did you just say?”

You swallowed, suddenly unsure. “Min…”

It felt real in your mouth. Natural. Like it always had been.

Minho took one slow step back into the room. His duffel bag slipped off his shoulder and hit the floor with a soft thud.His eyes were glassy, his breathing unsteady.

“You used to call me that,” he whispered. “You used to call me Min. Everyday.”

Jay stood abruptly, suddenly aware that the atmosphere had shifted. “It doesn’t mean anything,” he said quickly. “It’s just a nickname—”

“Shut up,” Minho snapped, not even looking at him. His eyes stayed on you.

“I didn’t think you remembered anything,” he said, voice barely holding together. “But maybe… maybe something's coming back.”

Your heart beat faster. You didn’t know why you said it, but now that you had, you didn’t want to take it back.

And Minho saw it. That flicker of recognition. The sliver of light trying to break through the dark.

It started like a whisper in the back of your mind.

As soon as the word “Min” left your mouth and you saw the way his eyes lit up, wet, wide, desperate, you felt something inside you shift. Something warm and painful and real. It didn’t come in a rush, didn’t hit you like a bolt of lightning the way people said memory sometimes did. It was softer than that. Like the faint flicker of a candle in a pitch-dark room. A glow you hadn’t seen in so long you forgot it was even there.

Minho took a careful step toward you, his expression so gentle, as if any wrong move might scare the moment away. Jay was saying something beside you, probably trying to pull your attention back, but you didn’t hear it. You were looking at Minho.

“I… I think I remember something,” you whispered, more to yourself than to anyone else. You swallowed, and your hands gripped the edge of your blanket like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “It was raining. And I didn’t have anywhere to go. My family, my mom said I couldn’t come back. She locked the door. Jay told me it was my fault, that I ruined everything, and I, I didn’t know where else to go. I felt so stupid.”

Minho’s breath caught in his throat. You could see the way his body tensed at your words. He knew exactly what you were remembering.

“I was soaking wet,” you continued. “It was late. I called you… we hadn’t even been together that long. I don’t even know why I called. I just—something told me you’d answer. You told me to come over, and when I did, you were already waiting outside. You didn’t say anything when you saw me. You just… held me.”

The memory unfolded like a fragile piece of paper being smoothed out. You remembered the warmth of his arms. The scent of his hoodie. The way he kept brushing your wet hair out of your face, even though you were shivering and crying too hard to even speak. And then later, curled up on the old pull-out couch in his apartment, when you finally managed to get the words out, how he’d looked at you.

And said, “You don’t have to earn love. Not here. Not with me.”

“I remember,” you said again, your voice cracking. “You gave me dry clothes and made tea even though you didn’t know how. You burned the first batch.”

Minho let out a short, broken laugh. He was already wiping his eyes before you even finished speaking.

“I did,” he said, voice thick. “I left the bag in for twenty minutes. You still drank it.”

“Because I didn’t want to be rude.”

“No, it’s because you were trying not to cry again.”

Your bottom lip trembled, and you didn’t even realize when a tear slipped down your cheek.

Then Minho suddenly knelt down and set his duffel bag on the chair beside your bed. He unzipped it with a hand that was shaking now for a different reason. He rummaged through it for a few seconds before he pulled something out, a crumpled gray hoodie.

Your eyes widened. You knew that hoodie. Your fingers itched just looking at it.

“I kept it,” Minho said, his voice soft. “You used to wear it every night for the first few weeks you stayed with me. Even after we moved in together. I found it in the bottom of your drawer. It still smells like you. I brought it… just in case.”

You reached out for it, your hand hesitant at first, but then firmer, more certain. When your fingers touched the worn fabric, another memory sparked, curling into yourself in the corner of his couch, that same hoodie swallowing your frame, while Minho sat beside you, holding your hand and talking you through your breathing.

Minho saw the recognition in your face and gently helped you hold the hoodie in your lap. He crouched beside the bed, both hands resting on the mattress as he looked up at you.

“I didn’t just take you in,” he said quietly. “I wanted you there. You didn’t ruin anything. You saved me too. And I’ve been trying to hold on to you ever since.”

Behind you, Jay shifted in his seat, but neither of you looked at him. His presence seemed to fade as the moment between you and Minho deepened.

“You really said that?” you asked, tears streaming now.

Minho nodded, his own eyes just as glassy. “Every word.”

And even though your mind still felt like a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing, one thing suddenly became very clear: Minho hadn’t just been someone you loved.

He was home.

Jay shifted in the corner of the room, his chair scraping faintly against the hospital floor, the sound sharp in the silence that had settled after you finished speaking to Minho. His eyes flicked from your tear-streaked face to the hoodie in your lap, then to Minho’s crouched form beside your bed. You could see the way his jaw clenched. The way his fingers curled into fists at his sides. His whole body screamed discomfort not guilt, not regret, but defensiveness. Like a man losing control over a story he’d worked hard to rewrite.

He stood up.

“You can’t seriously believe all that,” Jay said, voice low but pointed. “It’s been months. You’ve been through a trauma. Your memory isn’t reliable. You don’t even know if what you’re remembering is—”

“Stop.”

Your voice cut through the room sharper than you meant it to, but you didn’t take it back. Jay flinched slightly, blinking like he couldn’t believe you’d raise your voice at him. You sat up a little straighter, hoodie still gripped in your lap, and looked directly at him, really looked. For the first time in days, something in your gaze felt solid. Anchored.

Jay’s mouth opened like he wanted to interrupt, but you kept going.

“I remember when everything fell apart. When my mom told me to leave. When I had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. You were the first person I called.”

You paused, swallowing.

The image of yourself standing outside his apartment door came rushing back with more clarity than you were ready for, the rain slamming down so hard it felt like it was trying to punch through your skin. The thunder, the way your phone screen had gone blurry from the water, how your fingers had started to go numb from the cold.

“I called you. I begged you to let me stay for just one night. You answered the door, saw me standing there soaking wet, and you looked me in the eye and told me I’d made my choice.”

Jay’s face paled, but he didn’t speak.

“You said, ‘You wanted Minho so bad? Go ask him for help.’ And then you shut the door.”

Minho, still crouched beside your bed, slowly turned his head toward Jay with a look that was anything but forgiving.

Jay’s lips parted again, trying to find something to say, but you weren’t done.

“You let me stand in the pouring rain,” you said, voice cracking just a little at the edges now. “You knew I had nowhere else to go. And you punished me for being with someone who actually cared about me.”

Jay's expression flickered, his smugness cracked for the first time since you’d woken up in that hospital bed. And all he could muster was a weak, “That’s not how it happened.”

“It is how it happened,” you replied, without hesitation. “And the fact that you came here, pretending like I could trust you after that… that you twisted everything just so I’d forget him…”

You shook your head slowly.

“You don’t get to play savior, Jay. Not after abandoning me when I needed you the most.”

Silence fell heavy between the three of you. Jay looked like he wanted to argue, to find a thread to pull so the truth would unravel again, but there were none left. You had your piece. The memory, fractured though it had been, was real. You felt it in your chest like a bruise that had finally begun to heal.

Minho didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. His hand quietly found yours on the bed, and you let it. No hesitation this time.

Jay stood there for a long moment, eyes bouncing between you both, before he scoffed under his breath,, more out of disbelief than anger and turned toward the door.

You didn’t stop him.

For the first time since the accident, Minho felt like he could breathe.

It wasn’t just a metaphor, his lungs physically expanded with the deepest breath he’d taken in days, maybe weeks. His shoulders, always tense lately like they were holding up the weight of the entire world, finally relaxed, even if only slightly. There was a softness in your expression that hadn’t been there before, a quiet kind of trust peeking through the fog of confusion and hurt. And for him, that was everything.

He exhaled slowly, almost in disbelief, as if he had been holding that breath in ever since you forgot him. Ever since you looked into his eyes in that hospital room and saw a stranger.

But now, the faint curve of your lips, the gentle smile you gave him told him that maybe, just maybe, you were beginning to see him again. Not just as a person, but as your person.

You tilted your head toward him, voice soft, curious. “What else did you bring?”

Minho’s eyes lit up.

He immediately reached for the worn black duffel bag he had placed beside your hospital bed, he’d been dragging it around since the night he left to gather everything he could find that might help you remember. His fingers moved gently, reverently, like he was handling something sacred as he lifted it onto your lap, careful not to jostle you too much.

“This,” he said, unzipping it, “is basically our entire life in a bag.”

He opened it fully, revealing a chaotic but heartfelt assortment of items: Polaroids, little keepsakes, your favorite hoodie of his (the one you used to steal every other week), and even a coffee mug that had a tiny chip on the rim, something you always teased him for never replacing.

He pulled out the first photo, its edges slightly curled. It was a candid one, taken at the beach on your first trip together. You were mid-laugh, wind tangling your hair, Minho’s arm looped lazily around your waist. He handed it to you, watching carefully for your reaction.

“I took this one the day you said the sea always made you feel like you belonged to something bigger,” he murmured. “We got sunburned that day because we forgot sunscreen. I remember you yelled at me for it and then made me rub aloe vera on your back like twenty times.”

A small laugh slipped out of you, and his heart swelled.

One by one, he pulled out more, A charm bracelet with a single initial, M, you had bought it at a market and insisted on wearing it every day, even though the chain was barely holding together. Your shared apartment’s spare key, taped to a sticky note with your handwriting on it: “Don’t lose this, dummy.” And then finally, a notebook. Minho opened it and flipped to the dog-eared pages.

“This was your dream journal,” he said quietly. “You used to wake me up at like 2 AM just to write down the weird dreams you had. Sometimes they were scary, sometimes they made no sense, but you never wanted to forget them. You said they meant something. That all dreams do.”

You took the notebook slowly, running your fingers over the cover like it was a relic from another life. And in a way, it was.

“You kept all this?” you whispered.

“I kept everything,” he said. “Even the smallest things. Because you never know what will mean something later. What might bring you back.”

For a long time, you didn’t say anything. You just looked through the contents of the duffel bag, piece by piece, and with each item, something in your face softened. The fog hadn’t cleared completely, but there were pockets of clarity now, glimpses of the life you’d had, the love that still waited patiently for you to remember it.

Minho didn’t rush you. He just sat beside your bed, one hand loosely holding yours, hope flickering steadily in his chest now.

He had brought your life back to you. And this time, you didn’t push it away.

Minho stayed with you the entire time, watching with quiet devotion as you sifted through the pieces of the life you had forgotten.

Each item was a breadcrumb leading you somewhere deeper, somewhere softer, toward a version of yourself that still felt far away but not impossible to reach. You didn’t rush. You turned every photo gently in your hands, paused over every note, reread every little caption or scribbled doodle. You could feel the weight of them, not just the physical weight, but the emotional one. These weren’t just things. They were echoes. Proof of something real.

And Minho never said a word. He didn’t press you or try to force anything. He just stayed.

Eventually, the silence settled around you both, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that felt like safety, the kind that could only exist between two people who didn’t need to fill every space with words. His head had slowly tipped back against the chair, his arms folded loosely across his chest, legs stretched out in front of him. His breathing had gone soft and steady, and you glanced at him through the corner of your eye.

He’d fallen asleep.

You stared at him for a long while, taking him in again, the slope of his nose, the way his lashes brushed his cheeks, the slight crease between his brows that made it seem like he never fully relaxed, not even in sleep. There was a gentleness to him in that moment that tugged at something in your chest. You had this strange feeling like you’d seen him sleep like this before.

And then it hit you.

The memory didn’t return like lightning. It came in quietly, softly, almost like a dream.

You remembered a night, not too long after you’d first moved in with him. It had been raining. You were sitting on the floor in his bedroom, your knees pulled to your chest, trying to keep yourself from falling apart. The reality of what had happened, being kicked out by the people you once called family, losing your home, your stability had hit you like a tidal wave. You remembered how you had been trying so hard to stay strong for days. But that night, you broke.

And Minho… Minho didn’t ask questions. He didn’t try to tell you that it would all be okay. He didn’t offer platitudes or promises he couldn’t keep. Instead, he’d knelt down beside you and just… held you.

He’d pulled a hoodie over your head, one of his, because you were shivering. He wrapped you in his arms like a fortress and whispered, “You’re not alone anymore. I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

And you had cried in his arms that night, not because you were weak, but because you were finally safe enough to fall apart.

The memory washed over you like warmth, like light breaking through after weeks of storm.

You looked back down at the things in your lap, and your fingers found the exact hoodie from that night, the one he had wrapped around you like a second skin. You held it against your chest, letting yourself feel every layer of the moment return. The rain. The ache. His voice.

And for the first time since the accident, the memory didn’t feel like a puzzle piece struggling to fit. It felt like something that had always been there. You had just forgotten where to look.

You turned back to Minho, still sleeping in the chair beside you, and whispered so quietly that only the stillness could hear:

“I remember.”

Minho stirred awake slowly, his body stiff from sleeping upright in the hospital chair, neck craned slightly to the side. He blinked a few times, disoriented, until his eyes adjusted to the soft morning light spilling in through the blinds. The rustling of the blanket over your legs caught his attention, and when he looked up fully, his breath caught.

You were watching him.

There was something different in your expression this time gentler, steadier. Your eyes weren’t clouded by confusion or hesitation. They were clearer, like something inside had clicked into place, even if just partially.

“Hey,” he said groggily, straightening up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

You shook your head and gave him a small, knowing smile. “It’s okay. You were here.”

That alone made his chest tighten. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, searching your face like he was still afraid it might disappear.

Then you spoke again quietly, but firmly. “Minho… I remember.”

His heart stopped.

You saw the way his entire body froze, his mouth parted like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you correctly. Before he could ask, before he could even breathe, you continued.

“I remembered that night,” you said softly, your fingers running along the edge of the hoodie in your lap, the one he’d given you all that time ago. “That night I stayed with you. After everything happened with my family… with Jay.”

His throat bobbed, overwhelmed.

“I remembered the rain. I remembered standing outside Jay’s place soaked and scared, calling him and him hanging up on me. And I remembered you, Minho. You opened the door to your apartment and didn’t even ask me why I was there. You just… pulled me inside and told me I wasn’t alone.”

Minho’s hands curled into fists in his lap. He was trying so hard to keep it together, to not break down right then and there.

“I wanted to tell you as soon as I woke up this morning,” you added, voice faltering, “but Jay got here first. And I— I didn’t want to say anything with him in the room. I didn’t trust it. I didn’t trust him. So… I waited. I pretended I didn’t remember. Because I wanted to say it to you. First.”

Minho let out a choked sound, like something between a laugh and a sob. “You remembered,” he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. “You remembered.”

You reached out and took his hand, your grip still tentative, still cautious, but it was yours. And it was real.

“My memories are still… fuzzy,” you admitted, “like I’m walking through fog. But I remember you. I remember how you made me feel. Safe. Seen. Loved.”

Tears welled up in Minho’s eyes again, but this time he didn’t look away. He let them fall, and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against your joined hands. “That’s all I need,” he whispered. “I’ll remind you of the rest. No rush. Just… let me stay. Let me be here.”

You smiled, heart aching with something so full it nearly brought you to tears. “I never wanted you to go. Even when I didn’t remember, some part of me missed you.”

Minho lifted his head, looking at you with awe, like you were a miracle he still couldn’t quite believe had returned. “You came back to me,” he whispered.

“No,” you corrected gently. “You never left me.”

And in that moment, it didn’t matter that there were still gaps in your memory or questions left unanswered. What mattered was that the one person who had held you through the darkness was still here, steady as ever, ready to walk you home, one step at a time.

//

masterlist.

❌proofread

a/n: ending was a little rushed i’m sorry 🙃. “jay” is someone i made up, not an idol 👍

[permanent taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms @captainchrisstan @anastasiiiiaaaaa lmk if you’d like to be added/removed 😙 ..]

[TSYL taglist @ari-hwanggg]

[neeeooon]

i think otoya is the kind of person who is aware that he is capable of changing his ways with girls when he finds the “one”, but he’s never truly believed in that. but when when like a girl transfers it’s quite literally love at first sight and he wants to change for her. you can decide whether she gets with him or not, thanks so muchh !! ^^

aww yes i love this idea tysm!!

love of my dreams

otoya eita x fem!reader. ft. karasu and yukimiya. love at first sight. fluff, crack, otoya is a bit weird at the start, cussing, slight death/kms joke at the end. wc: 810

“fuck.”

otoya just told karasu and yukimiya how much he liked his bachelor life. how he wasn’t ready to change. to settle down.

and then you just had to walk through those damn doors.

“fuck.”

you had a guide at your side, telling otoya you were a transfer student. his eyes were glued on you, and every step you took, unable to tear his gaze away. he wanted to know your name, where you transferred from, and what you were studying. probably something similar to him, as you were being toured through his building.

a sharp jab caused him to curse again, and otoya shot a glare at karasu and the cheap plastic butter knife he’d been stabbed with. “yer staring.”

“of course i’m staring. i’m in love.”

“you don’t do love,” yukimiya chimed with a snicker before shoving a forkful of salad into his mouth. “that’s your whole thing.”

otoya didn’t want it to be his whole thing anymore—not after seeing you.

he continued to think about you through the rest of his lunch, then his classes, his drive home, and even while he was texting yukimiya for answers to their finance homework. he didn't believe in love at first sight, at least he didn't think he did. you changed that so quick, otoya was still reeling six hours later.

otoya: i need her number

otoya: pls be my spies pls pls pls

karasu: i never thought i'd see down bad otoya like for real and not just to get pussy

otoya: is that a yes

karasu: for all we know she has a boyfriend

yukimiya: or a girlfriend

otoya: GODDDD IM GOING INSANE I NEED HER SO BAD

otoya: she's the one for me. i'm done. no more playboy otoya.

yukimiya: if you're serious. REALLY SERIOUS. i'll help

karasu: same ig

otoya: there's a special place in blowjob heaven for you two 🙏

and two days later, with the help of yukimiya and karasu, otoya had intel. they also told him you had a gap in your schedule and ate lunch by yourself in the dining hall.

and when otoya saw you? he was nervous.

your hair was pulled away from your face, the eraser-end of your pencil tapping your lips as you concentrated so hard on your homework that a delicate crease formed between your brows. otoya wanted to smooth it out with his thumb and kiss the spot instead.

shaking his head, his grip tightened around his sandwich as he slowly approached you. when you looked up, otoya felt his face grow hot. "sorry to bother you. is this seat taken?"

you rapidly shook your head and gestured to the chair. "no, no, you can take it! just make sure you put it back—"

"i mean, is it okay if i sit here?" he quickly cut off with a small grin, his chest fluttering when you blushed in embarrassment.

you dropped your pencil to hide your face in your hands. "oh my god, i'm so... yeah, yes, you can sit here." shaking your hands out to release some of the stress, you flashed a bright smile. "i'm y/n."

“otoya,” he greeted casually, as if a flock of butterflies didn’t make a home in his stomach.

you repeated his name quietly to yourself before nodding. “i think i’ve seen you in this building before. what are you majoring in?”

when he told you, your eyes lit up so brightly that otoya swore they glittered. “no way! me too! weird that we don’t have any classes together, though. maybe next semester!”

the rest of the time spent before your next class was filled with the two of you talking. otoya thought he'd fail at the genuine small talk thing since he didn't want to use any of his usual lines on you, but he was surprised at how easy it was. whenever he got quiet, you were right there to pick up where he left off.

"this might be too soon," otoya started as he walked you to your class. "but would you want to hang out again tomorrow?"

your smile faltered slightly, and otoya was ready to jump over the rail and fall to the first floor. it wasn't too far down, so he probably wouldn't die, but if he hobbled in front of a truck right after—

"i don't have this class tomorrow," you explained gently. "but would thursday work instead?"

fireworks exploded behind otoya's eyes, along with the relief of no longer needing to die. he readjusted his grip on his bag strap and flashed you a slow grin. "thursday works. same spot as today?"

you beamed. "yep! oh, and here's my number, in case i'm late or we have to reschedule!"

otoya knew, as you entered your name into his phone with a cute emoji, that he would eventually die a happy man.

[champagnetommy]

Rocker swings the door open and lets himself in Molly’s apartment, arms loaded with ingredients for dinner and her favorite snacks. “What’s cookin, good looking’?” He greets her with a cheesy line to make her smile, as he drops everything on the counter.

Sure enough, she’s smiling and shaking her head at his antics. He walks over to her on the couch and kisses her forehead before sitting next to her and throws an arm around her. He likes feeling close to her in every way. She snuggles into his side, legs tucked underneath her, and lays her head on his shoulder.

“How was your day?” She asks, as she plays with his fingers.

“Good, got to kick some ass with Tan first call of the day,” he says with a big grin. “Miss having him on my team.”

“I bet you do,” Molly laughs. “I like him, he’s got a good head on his shoulders. We should go out with him and Olivia sometime.”

“Funny you should say that, he said the same thing. I’ll tell him and set it up,” he promises. “What about you, what’d you get up to today?”

“Well, I had lunch with my dad earlier.” She laughs at his worried look. “He told me you stood up to him, about dating me. God, I still can’t believe he forbade you to date me!”

“He’s protective of you, I get it, but you’re also your own person, and what kind of guy would I be if I just gave up on you like that. You’re kinda out of my league, babe!” He reaches over to rub a thumb over her jaw and can’t resist leaning in for a kiss.

Molly melts against him and he feels heady with giddiness that he gets to have this.

“He also said you told him you care about me— very much, if I remember correctly.”

“Oh?” He smiles, unabashed- it’s true and he’s not going to hide about it.

“Mhm, you’re sweet, you know that?” She kisses him again. “Hot.” She lets go of his hand and slides down to the floor.

Rocker’s legs part immediately for her. She slides both of her hands up his thighs and reaches for his belt. “I kind of want to blow you about it. What do you think about that?”

“I think,” his breath stutters for a moment, “you have the best ideas, baby. I’m all yours.”

In every way, but he doesn’t say that, not yet.

Molly deftly works his belt and zipper, and takes him out, her hand warm and soft around him. She grins up at him, eyeing him from beneath her lashes, and keeps contact with him as she takes him into her mouth.

[lo1k-diamonds]

Bubbles 💜 Part 4

SX Seoul Series | Jungkook's Entry

“If you want to be with me.”

PAIRING: Jungkook x (f) Reader

SUMMARY: Jungkook did change - he learned from his mistakes. Did you?

WORD COUNT: 7.4 k

GENRE: Exes to lovers, smuuuuuut, angst, making up

RATING: Explicit

WARNINGS: arguing, crying, angst, making up, semi-public, fingering, orgasm control/denial, begging, soft Dom Kook if you squint, nipple play, mirror sex, unprotected sex, confessions

PARTS: [1] [2] [3] > [4] <

A.N. And here we have it! I'll miss this couple, they're intense 😁 Sorry for the wait, I hope you enjoy it! 💜 (Thank you @eerieedits for the cool banner 💜)

Masterlist | Masterpost | AO3 | Wattpad

“So what do I get for you?”

You barely noticed the girl whose name you couldn’t recall, waiting for you now that the conversation about Jeon Jungkook had ended.

“A porn star martini,” you bit quietly, eyes quickly drifting to the couple just a few tables over, at the bar. Cold sweats chilled your spine as you watched Jungkook laugh and thank the bartender for the beer, all while the girl with him all but drooled all over his bicep.

“Stay calm.”

Youngjoo was the voice of reason, and it stung you. “I am,” you bit at her, glancing at her before staring at the scene again. You couldn’t look away, both dreading and anticipating how that would unfold. “I recognize her,” you admitted, giving in to the anxiety lacing its claws around your heart. “She was at the party, hitting on him a week ago. She is a model.”

“Okay, and what did he say about it?”

You whipped your head, glaring at her. “I told you before, he laughed it off!”

Youngjoo rolled her eyes. “I mean after that. Haven’t you talked about it after that?”

You looked away. “No.”

Youngjoo turned to you with raised eyebrows. “Why not? Are you guys not talking?”

You shrugged. “We’ve sent a few texts. We’ve been busy.”

“You’ve been busy?” she repeated, skeptically. “I mean, of course you have, but it’s not that. You went from not leaving his side to barely not talking?” You could tell by her tone that she was incredulous. “You need to talk to him! You need to be on the same page about all this. Don’t let some misunderstanding happen again. If it’s not meant to be, then it’s not. Just talk to him first.”

You clenched your jaw, finally looking at your best friend to avoid glaring at the girl clinging to Jungkook. “If he wants his fuck boy life, then—”

“Stop putting words in his mouth! So what if some girl hit on him? He went home with you!”

“Actually, he dropped me off so he could help his brother with the roof of his place…”

“Oh, m— Won’t you stop it?! Since when are you this insecure about him?”

You glared at her once again, snapping in a caustic tone, “Since he has models grovelling on their knees, begging for seconds!”

“But he chose you.” You straightened back up on the sofa, and she continued, “He could have them if he wanted, but he chose you.”

Your eyes were locked with hers as you silently fought her without a word. You doubted she was right, and she reproved the way you were handling things. You could see it in her eyes — you promised Jungkook and yourself you wouldn’t make the same old mistakes. When Youngjoo had asked you about getting back together after you had hurt so much over the last year, you had assured her you were more mature now; you both were. So what the hell were you—

“Hi.”

You turned, shuddering with the sound of his voice before you saw him standing there, black leather jacket, wet hair curling over his ears, and a half-drunk beer bottle in his hand. 

“Hi, Jungkook. How are you?”

Youngjoo put you to shame with the way she effortlessly made casual conversation while you couldn’t even say something. Instead, your eyes were on the girls around you, who were casually listening in and ogling Jungkook. 

They threw quizzical glances at you — do you know him?

They gave Youngjoo looks, too — can you introduce us?

But Youngjoo ignored them, and you did the same.

You heard your name, so your attention was pulled into the conversation. “—that she was coming with you and a few friends to the SX tonight, and I thought I’d join you.”

“What a great idea,” Youngjoo praised, probably with more emphasis than she should have. Same as your best friend’s, Jungkook’s eyes were also on you, but unlike him, you couldn’t seem to hold his gaze. Your stomach twisted as you tried ignoring your sweaty palms. You felt like a teenager, the furthest from mature you had ever been. “How about we go get a round of shots? My treat!”

She clapped for the others to follow her, and although the girls offered resistance, Youngjoo managed to drag them along. You got up, too, ready to follow after them, but Jungkook’s presence kept you locked in. Not that he touched you or overtly expressed anything towards you, but his presence next to yours, his arm brushing yours, your hands grazing as his cologne reached your nose, made you stay, standing on shaky legs.

Your eyes stayed fixed on the floor as you took a deep, soothing breath. 

“What’s wrong?”

His question made you finally meet his eyes, only to have your stomach drop. A week ago, you thought it would be best to talk directly and clear things out, but now you just didn’t have the guts. Maybe Youngjoo was right — you were too insecure about him and yourself. You needed that conversation, but not now.

You knew what he’d tell you — you could already see his gentle eyes as he drew you close and said, I know those eyes.

So you took a deep breath and replied before he could.

“I’m just tired,” you explained, attempting a smile. “I’m going home.”

He placed his beer on a nearby table. “I’ll take you home.”

“Stay,” you insisted. “You're having fun.”

“Fun?” he asked, shaking his head slightly with a smile. “Nah, no reason for me to stay. Besides, you don’t look so good. I’ll take you home.”

He gave you a nod to lead the way, and you made your way through the crowd. Once in the lobby, you took your phone from your purse to text Youngjoo about leaving with Jungkook and followed him quietly out into one of the many streets in Itaewon.

Jungkook turned around to check if you were still following and slowed down so you could walk side by side through the Friday night crowd.

“How’s the apartment?” he asked, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Fine, it’s quiet,” you confirmed, meaning to reassure one of the first things he worried about after sleeping there with you the first weekend.

“Good, that’s good. Maybe we just caught a neighbour partying that weekend.”

You nodded and kept going, eyes lost in the partying crowd, smiling and laughing, unlike you.

“What about the washing machine? Still giving you issues?”

“No, the plumber you called fixed it. Thank you.”

Jungkook smiled at you. “You can always do laundry at mine if it gives you problems again.”

You smiled back, closing your coat a little more to stop the winter cold.

“Are the elevators working again?”

“Oh yeah, they fixed it the morning you left. It’s only been two weeks, but I’ve already noticed that they keep at least one of them working.”

“That must be annoying.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I live on the second floor; I take the stairs most of the time.”

“That’s good.” His voice sounded distant for a second. “What about work? Is that other department head still giving you a hard time?”

“I’m still adjusting…”

Your smile dropped from your face, and he instantly reached out to grab your hand. “It’s a phase. Just wait until they get to know you and how good you are.”

“Thank you.” You squeezed his hand and smiled genuinely, noticing the stars in his eyes the moment he stole a glance.

But then he had to let go of your hand to get into the underground parking lot, squeezing in the narrow corridor to allow the many people wanting to reach the street to pass you in the opposite direction.

You asked him to lead, as you didn’t know where he had parked his motorcycle, and he did, unable to talk to you above the noise of roaring engines and loud people, who were excited to party. The same groups kept both of you pressed against the wall as you went further down the stairs, until you exited them on the third level.

It was suddenly much quieter, with faint echoes and the occasional sound of cars driving along the parking lot.

The silence almost gave you whiplash, your ears ringing faintly.

“And the—” Jungkook’s voice was so loud it echoed. He cleared his throat. “The team? Your colleagues, are they nice?”

“Very nice, actually.”

He nodded quietly as he led the way to his red motorcycle. Once beside it, he pulled the keys out of his black leather jacket pocket, then twirled them once.

“Should I take you to a doctor instead?” he asked, and you raised your eyebrows. “I mean, you said you’re tired a lot…”

“No, I’m not sick,” you assure him, noticing his eyes avoiding you. Suddenly, the silence felt heavy again. “Why?”

“Am I… Should I… I mean,” he tried, grabbing his keys firmly in a fist. “If I’m bothering you, I can… give you space.”

You paled. “What?”

“It’s okay, I understand that it’s a lot with the moving back and the new job and… we have our issues, too. I’m sure it’s difficult, I don’t want to make it harder for you.”

Your blood ran so loudly in your ears that you didn’t know if you heard him clearly. Yet, this one word caught your attention. “Issues?”

Your eyes instantly teared up, and your guts twisted. That was it. You knew it, he was done with you.

“I don’t mean—” His wide brown eyes as he waved his hands tried to interrupt your thoughts. “No, I mean—”

“So things aren’t going well,” you thought out loud, feeling a chill up your spine.

“Wait, that’s not what I’m saying.”

In a split second, your eyes were full to the brim, and there was a sob about to shake you, and you instinctively spun on your heels to hide it. “We can talk about this later—”

“No,” he cut in and caught your arm before you could make an escape. Instead, he spun you around, making the back of your legs collide gently against his bike. “I’m never going to let you walk away without things being clear. Never again,” he promised, looking deep into your eyes. Your guts twisted for an entirely different reason. His eyes were puffy but firm, and suddenly your heart ached; you missed him so much. “I’m just… I’m worried. You’re quiet and distant, and I don’t want you to feel like you have an obligation to be with me or something.”

The blood drained from your face. “You— You don’t want to be with me?”

“Of course I do,” he scolded with a hint of a frown. He cupped your cheek. “What nonsense are you saying? Would I even mention it if I didn’t want to be with you?”

Your breath hitched. “You just said something about space.”

“If you need it because—” He looked straight into your eyes, drawing his thumb over your cheek in a caress. “Because I don’t want to be something you worry about.”

Your mouth opened to object — he wasn’t a problem, he was home — but then you closed it as your eyebrows drew closer together.

“So I am,” he said quietly. “Something you worry about.”

Your eyes lowered stubbornly, even as tears pooled again. But then his hand dropped from your face, and it unintentionally stung your heart.

So you raised your gaze sharply. “You’re right, you are, so I’ll just get it off my chest.”

As soon as you said it, you were breathless, watching his glistening eyes. The fear of everything falling apart froze you for a second, but then you swallowed dryly and decided to open up.

“I don’t think I’m a jealous person, I just— I think I have healthy boundaries, that’s all. In the end, I can’t, nor do I want to, control you or anyone you do whatever with. I don’t want to deny you freedom or whatever, either. But I don’t see how I’m supposed to keep quiet. If you need multiple women to give you attention and hit on you, then maybe restarting just isn’t a good idea.”

He just looked at you the whole time, not interrupting, not moving. He listened attentively to every word you said, until he raised an eyebrow. “Wait, is that the problem? You think I want that? Is that why you’re acting distant?”

You crossed your arms over your chest to hide the tremble. “I’m not…”

“Is that why you text me less and are tired so often?”

“I’ve been really tired…”

He took a step closer to you. “Is that why you don’t come to mine anymore?”

You pursed your lips, looking away. Now that he said it, you had to admit that, once again, you were a coward in many ways.

“Is that why you say you’ll come to a party with me and then don’t show up?”

Your eyes found his immediately, and your hesitation must have been evident in your face. By the way he looked at you, you knew there was no use in keeping secrets.

“I did show up. Remember Soyeon? She helped you with a class one or two years ago? She was there. And Haechan? He graduated with me. He was there too.”

Jungkook nodded slowly. “I know, I saw them.”

His patience was enough for you to know he was waiting for more, and you pressed your lips before letting it out. “I arrived before you did. I saw you arrive, and by the time I got to the kitchen, I overheard Seungkwan saying something about you needing to be free and not doing relationships and all that…”

Jungkook groaned loudly, covering his face with his hands for a moment before suddenly wrapping his arms around you to let his forehead fall to your shoulder.

“You gave me such a scare.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, confused about his reaction but happy to hold him, too.

“I thought you were giving up on us.”

You scoffed playfully. “And your reflex is to give me space?”

He snapped back up to look at you. “I don’t want to push you away!”

“Well, you are! Or would,” you corrected, biting your tongue. “Shouldn’t you be pulling me in instead of—”

He pulled you in by the waist. “I am.” You pressed your lips again, and he sighed. “Why would you listen to anything Seungkwan says? What does he know about what I want or do? I’m guessing you didn’t stick around to hear my reply.”

You blushed and looked down at his chest. “I… did not… So what do we do now?”

“About what?”

“About how I feel.”

He hummed, looking up as though recalling. “You mean about your jealousy?”

“Yes,” you said, still looking away. “Maybe I don’t even have the right to be jealous…”

“You do.” He pulled your arms around his neck. “If you want to.”

You scoffed. “If I want to be jealous?”

“If you want to be with me.”

Your mocking smile dropped before the seriousness in his eyes. “You know I do.”

He nodded. “I do, but… Can we be more?”

Your eyebrows quirked. “More than together?”

“Officially together,” he whispered, looking at you as your guts twisted again.

“We aren’t? I mean, I thought— We’re either together or we’re not,” you pointed out, swallowing hard.

“Right, that’s good.” He squeezed you closer. “No, forget I said anything.”

“No, that—” Your breath caught as you pressed your palms to his chest, grounding yourself. “What does that mean?” you asked, seeking clarity while your sight grew blurry. “I never thought of it in any other way, did you—” Your voice wavered with a pain you couldn’t hold back. “Did you— Those girls—”

“No. Look at me,” he urged, searching your eyes now full of tears. “No. I didn’t know how you felt about us, but—”

“We said we’d try again!” you exploded, the tears streaming down your face. “What do you think that means?!”

You were trembling, unable to keep your pain and fear from lashing out, but he didn’t even flinch. He kept you close and guided your foreheads to touch. “It means we love each other. I know that. It means you’re mine, just like I’m yours. I know that,” he insisted. “But I needed to know how you thought about it. I… You’ve been so distant for the past week.”

“You could have asked me about it.”

“We should have talked, clearly,” he instantly agreed, looking deeply into your eyes despite your snarky comment. “If you knew how much I want to be with you, you would never have gotten jealous like this. You would have never ignored me after you just saw me talking to someone—”

You smacked his shoulders. “Can you blame me?!” It was hard not to cry, but suddenly you were angry all over again. “I thought you were keeping your options open or regretting giving up your fuck boy life!” His hands were firmly on your waist as you tried not to sob. “You knew how I felt and still—!”

“I didn’t know you felt like this.”

“I told you!! And you laughed!!”

Jungkook frowned, about to shake his head and deny ever laughing, when suddenly it hit him. “You mean at my work dinner party? No, but I didn’t think you were serious!”

“What? Why not?!”

“Because there’s no way I’d ever look at someone else,” he deadpanned, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Not when I have you back in my life, it’s just— I thought you were joking!”

You caught your breath, realizing as he tried defending himself that you were crazy angry. You had tears on your face, red cheeks, were panting, and your throat felt rough.

“Well, I wasn’t,” you managed to mutter after calming down. Meanwhile, you could see Jungkook thinking about things as well, and he looked calm and sober, never taking his eyes or hands off you.

“Alright, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I can’t stop anyone from talking to me, but I have told anyone who asked that I was taken.”

“At the party, you introduced me as your friend.”

“That’s exactly why I wanted to make sure!” he blurted out, and as you frowned, he rushed to add, “Not because I’m not in it one thousand percent, but because I don’t want to put words into your mouth or go too fast! Remember? I don’t want to put you in that position again.”

Your lips trembled as your heart ached. You were clearly the one who hadn’t learned from her mistakes.

“And tonight? The girl you saw?” he continued. “She asked me if I was lying about being with someone because she hasn’t seen me with anyone in a while.”

Your jaw hardened as you grumbled, “Well, then. Let’s go back to the club and give her a show—”

“No,” he cut in and stopped you before you could leave the comfortable position you were in, between him and his motorcycle. “I don’t care about what anyone thinks, but I do care about us. I’ll just give your name next time, you fight it out.”

“You want me to fight her?” You raised a skeptical eyebrow as he hugged you.

He chuckled, “No, obviously. I want to walk in with you hand in hand and hug you and kiss you without worrying that you won’t like it because we’re going too fast.”

“You thought I wouldn’t?” You were in disbelief. “I’d always like it.”

“Always?” He looked into your eyes, and your knees were weak. You nodded. “You wouldn't think it's too fast?”

You shook your head eagerly. “No! I want to be with you, the whole deal, the whole package. It's not too fast,” you raised your hand to caress his cheek, “if anything, it's too slow. We need to make up for the time we lost.”

He nodded quietly, licking his lips. “Can we pick it back up where we started?”

You grabbed his leather jacket and pulled him close. “Yes. Just kiss me, I miss you—”

He captured your lips in a kiss, and you were never so happy to forget about whatever you were saying. You dove headfirst, showing him you were as desperate and crazy about him as he was about you. You could barely breathe, and all thoughts about where you were flew out the window. All you cared about was licking the lingering taste of beer still in his mouth while you grabbed his hair just as firmly as he grabbed yours.

The more he consumed you, pushing his tongue past your lips and sinking his fingers into your hips, the more heated you became. Your thoughts were clouded as you got intoxicated — his taste, his scent, his touch, the lip ring grazing your lip, his hair curling around your fingers. You weren’t thinking, you just had a visceral need to be his again. Not just to correct your wrongs, but to rewrite history.

His hand on your hip raked your dress up to squeeze your ass and you did the only sensible thing possible — you sat on his motorcycle. Instantly, your leg laced around his waist, pulling him closer to you. The hard-on grazing your core told you everything you needed to know; it was your carte blanche.

“Kook, don’t make me wait,” you begged once he gave you a reprieve and kissed down your jaw.

He wasn’t shy about humping you, gripping your leg around him so firmly you were sure it would bruise. “What do you want, bubbles?”

“Need,” you corrected, unapologetically grabbing his head and squeezing your tits between your arms in the process, hoping he’d notice what was right under his nose.

“What do you need?” he breathed, dragging his lips over your chest until he hid in the valley between your breasts.

The anticipation alone was making you throb and clench, gluing your underwear to you while you wished you had no clothes separating your skins. “You. Inside me,” you moaned, feeling his tongue licking every stretch of skin he could while he ground against you roughly. If he were inside you, you’d be undone by now. “Please,” you begged, your voice wavering as you writhed. You leaned in to speak as closely to his ear as possible. “I need to be yours again, please.”

Your voice faded into a whimper when he bit down on one of your tits, yet it wasn’t that that made you gush between your legs, bracing yourself for what you wanted most. He placed you on the bike more firmly, wrapping your other leg around him, then pushed your underwear to the side and skimmed your dripping folds ever so lightly. Enough for you to moan and for him to groan against your chest.

“Fuck… bubbles,” he sounded muffled but you didn’t care, proud that he knew you were more than ready for him.

You weren’t shy from incentivizing him to continue, whispering in his ear, “Feel that? For you,” you moaned, trembling from the sensations shaking you. “I’m so ready for you, you’ll feel so good, please…”

You squirmed, trying to make his fingers touch you more firmly where you needed them, but as usual, Jungkook did what he pleased. He chose to pull his hand away despite your request, and as your pleas shifted to whimpers, he pushed your coat over your shoulder. You shimmied, easily taking it off.

Then, he slid the zipper of your dress down your back and pushed the straps down your arms. Your skin tingled under his touch while you were dazed by the hickeys he was leaving across your chest. Even feeling him unhook your bra didn’t startle you; you only realized his goal when he pushed away all barriers and finally got a nipple inside his mouth.

You had to make your best effort not to let your moans echo in the parking lot. It was so hard, you started trembling, sinking your nails into his scalp, when his hips snapped forward as though he wished he were inside you right now. You showed him you wanted the same by helping him dry humping into you, the fraction of friction enough to have you begging yet again, but he had other plans.

He kept nibbling and torturing your nipple in his mouth while his free hand got under your skirt again, unabashedly going straight for your core.

Your efforts to suppress your moans made your very bones shake as his thumb gently drew circles on your clit. Every new motion elicited a new shudder, to the point you were holding your breath and letting your body unfold along with the pleasure. It was so singular and soft, immediately contrasted by his mouth suckling, making your toes curl.

“Kook, please,” you cried as soon as you could, surfacing to draw a quick breath before sinking into it again.

“What do you need, bubbles?” he asked again, nuzzling and pecking all over your chest as though he was so lost in you, he no longer knew what you needed.

As if that was possible.

“You. Inside me,” you managed to say through the shivers, making your lower belly coil. Every lap of his thumb was a threat to your sanity, pushing you closer. You sank your nails into his scalp and crossed your legs behind him so he’d stay as close as possible. “I need you, I missed you… Kiss me, please.”

Your desperation was obvious in your breathy words, and your heart thumped when his lips left your chest to acquiesce. His mouth was quick to slot in with yours, instantly seeking your taste with his tongue as though being inside you meant in every way possible. You kissed him harder, knowing it would bruise your lips. His thumb disappeared momentarily as he adjusted the clothes between your bodies, and you moaned breathlessly in anticipation. Only what suddenly invaded you was not his hard dick as you had hoped, but two fingers that he curled inside you.

You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut further when he started playing with your slick, getting his fingers properly coated by pulling away and pushing back inside you multiple times.

“How— How could you—” you complained, finally managing to open your eyes.

His eyes sparkled mischievously as he kept you as close as could be with your foreheads pressed together. He chuckled sensually, and you throbbed around his fingers. “Did you forget where we are?” he asked. Your lashes fluttered as you tried to think, but it was impossible while he fingered you with that deliciously slow and consistent rhythm. “Besides, I have to make you a good girl. Make you earn it first.”

His playfulness made your stomach flutter, clenching around his fingers before you even realized how close you were. You gripped him harder, closer to you, so needy you couldn’t think further than him, right there, with you.

“Tell me what you want,” you whispered, trembling with want. He ghosted your lips as you breathed, “Whatever you want, I—”

Everything happened so fast. Your mind was invaded with possibilities of what he might have wanted, from you getting on your knees to suck him to him turning you around and fucking you raw, either way covering your insides white. As if your fantasies weren’t enough, he raised his thumb, trying to give you extra friction. For a split second, you were sure you’d come in seconds.

But then the loud noise of a door slamming open broke through your haze, and everything stilled. Jungkook’s hand stopped as he hugged you closer, hiding your face in the crook of his neck with a possessive grip that quickly turned into a soothing caress.

You heard the laughter and steps of people entering the parking lot not so far from you while your racing heart calmed inside your chest. Jungkook’s scent and embrace were enough to keep you relaxed, but then his hand slid off you slowly, and you cried out quietly. His neck muffled it, but still.

“No…” You whined. “I was right there.”

“Sorry, bubbles.”

You sulked hard and pulled away abruptly to glare at him, but your chin dropped instead. He was casually licking your slick off his fingers while the group of people got inside their car a few rows behind you.

You blinked, befuddled, and before you could say something, he was already kissing you again. The way he pressed himself to you, hard, hot, and tasting of you, scrambled your mind entirely. Licking your taste on his tongue made you grab him close and press him to your needy core. It was enough to move your hips, dry humping him while his hands grabbed your ass and helped.

You were so turned on that the lightest touch was enough to set you ablaze. “Fuck, please… Jungkook, please…”

“I want to, bubbles.” He groaned, kissing down your jaw. “You drive me fucking insane.” You agreed eagerly, nuzzling him while your hands tried to search for his belt. “But I want to take you home.”

“Sounds perfect,” you agreed, unbuckling his belt when he stopped your hands. You faintly heard tires screeching as a car left the parking lot, but your mind was focused on Jungkook.

“Now,” he clarified softly, raising his hand to brush your hair behind your ear. “I need to take you home.”

Suddenly, the lust dictating your every move receded. Your mind was brought to a conversation you two had one month ago, and everything was clearer.

I hate that I brought you here 'cause I wanted to see you here, in my home, as if that could bring back what we once were.

Jungkook always needed to bring you home because you were the woman of his dreams. The one he loved with his whole heart, whom he could never hate.

You cupped his cheeks and nodded, kissing him tenderly. “Take me home, Kook.”

His precious smile meant everything. He quickly helped you fix your clothes and put your coat back on before buckling his belt and giving you the extra helmet he always kept under the seat. Once seated behind him, you kissed the back of his neck before putting your helmet on and holding onto him.

As usual, as soon as the motorcycle engine roared, you let all thoughts fade from your mind. There were no more worries or doubts, just Jungkook taking you back home, as if you had never left.

The way to his home was paved with tenderness and care. He drove carefully, not too slow, not too fast, grabbing your hand on his chest whenever he had to stand still at a red light. You responded by pressing yourself flush to him, molding to his body like a blanket. You knew by the way he touched your leg sporadically or squeezed your hand that he loved every second.

When he parked in the underground garage of his apartment building, no words were exchanged. Not even all the way up to his apartment. You both moved in silent tandem, storing the helmets away, then holding hands and making way to the elevator. You stood close, easily curled up to his chest while you waited, and the familiarity of that moment soothed you. It was just like three weeks ago, just like one year ago; thankfully, nothing had changed.

When you entered his apartment, you hung up your coat on the coat hanger, the same one he had kicked to the floor in a fury one month ago, when you fought. When you drove him insane because, despite the words out of his mouth, the one thing Jungkook never wanted was for you to leave.

You smiled at the memory. “I’m home,” you sighed, stepping in.

His living room was just as you remembered; the blanket you used to snuggle on the couch was still there, as was your favorite coffee mug next to the coffee machine in the kitchen. 

Before you could turn around and tell him how much those little things made you feel at home, his arms wrapped around you from behind. And just like that, you were more than welcomed back, more than safe.

You pulled his arms further around your middle, making him drape over you like a blanket this time.

“Bubbles…”

His whisper in your ear was enough for you to turn around and meet his waiting lips. He didn’t relent his hold for one second; instead, he pulled you flush to him, kissing you gently before softly picking you up from the floor. You held onto him with arms and legs, sighing into his kiss as he carried you.

He placed you gently on the bed, and you were quick to get on your knees so your lips would stay connected to his at all times. You were so heated, pulling his shirt so he’d take it off and welcoming him straight after when he returned his mouth to yours, that you barely noticed his deft fingers sliding your zipper down. Yet as soon as you did, you peeled the dress and everything else as quickly as possible. The moment your lips connected once again, he was unbuckling his belt, and the very sound made you clench unapologetically. You wanted him so much you wouldn’t be able to think until all of him was all over you.

You tried to move, but your foot got stuck, forcing you to turn and look. Your heels were getting tangled in the sheets and you chuckled, sitting back on your butt to take them off. Jungkook smiled too, never taking his eyes off you as he stripped naked. Yet, your eyes drifted from him to the mirror behind him after throwing your heels on the floor. Not just because of the view of his round ass and sculpted back, but the whole image — you on the bed, naked, waiting for him. It reminded you of the first time you got back together, when he moved the mirror on purpose so he could see you.

Before he could put his knees on the bed and embrace you again, you got on all fours and reached out your hand to him. He grabbed it instantly, letting you guide him behind you to face the mirror too.

“I want you to see me every time you look into this mirror,” you told him, kissing his hand before putting it on your body. “Even when I’m not here.”

He brushed his hands down your curves slowly, admiring you in front of him as he got on the bed. Soon, his whole body was a blanket again, covering you from head to toe. His strong chest pressed to your back as his broad shoulders framed you, leaving nothing to the imagination, not even his excitement.

Yet your mind didn’t go there immediately. Instead, you basked in his sweet caresses and kisses as he leaned in to whisper in your ear, “I always have, bubbles…”

Your heart thumped loudly inside your chest as you shuddered, knowing he was telling the truth. Knowing that was how deep you were for him.

Jungkook didn’t take long to trace, kiss, and nuzzle every bit of skin you left for him to find, taking pleasure in nibbling and tickling you so you’d squirm and chuckle. Meanwhile, you had no gripe with pressing yourself further into him, scratching his arms, and bucking your hips, trying to get him to align with you. 

At first, he chuckled, playing along, but eventually, he grabbed your hips. “Eager?”

“I’m a good girl, and we’re no longer in a parking lot,” you replied. He nipped your shoulder in retaliation, but you weren’t taunting him. “We’re home, so won’t you come home to me?”

He groaned, grabbing your hair to turn your head so you’d meet his lips. His mouth was needy, almost rough on yours, and you matched him. You were busy meeting his tongue and trying to lick his lip ring when you felt him pressing the head of his cock to your entrance.

Your chin immediately dropped, turning a needy kiss into a messy one, especially when he thrusted shallowly, trying to stretch you to his size. You both groaned, loving the searing pleasure climbing your spine as he bottomed out.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and you whimpered. His fingers started drawing gentle circles on your clit and your hips buckled against him. You could feel him sliding so well, melting under the strength of his arms and the sweetness of his lips. “You’re so wet…”

You bit your lip, letting the way he fit inside you override your senses. It was so easy to let go and forget everything when Jungkook kept whispering sweet nothings into your ear while he rubbed your clit slowly. His hips were even slower, barely moving while he stayed perfectly hard inside you, as though telling you how amazing you felt was more important than fucking you.

It drove you wild; the more gentle his touch, the more you needed more. The more he told you how much he wanted you, the more you craved him. To the point that when he bit your earlobe playfully, you snapped your hips back, making him reach deep and bottom out again.

His hand automatically striked your asscheek, but you felt it like a caress.

“Needy,” he whispered, nibbling your shoulder, and you sighed.

“Only for you.”

His hand darted from your ass to your hair, pulling ever so slightly so you’d arch your back. His hips gained a rhythm, snapping to yours more vehemently while he suckled and took nips at your neck. 

You grunted, dazed and happy. You wanted everything, from his kisses and teases to the way he rutted into you and caged you in like you were his. His fingers left your hair to your core again, knowing how to softly pave the way of your pleasure while your walls clenched around his length, feeling him slide into you so well. The sloppy sounds made you proud.

Until he slowed down and bit your ear again, knowing your squirms were because he was keeping you on edge for far too long.

You were about to call him out when he whispered, “I want to look at you.”

You raised your head to look into the mirror, having completely forgotten about it, and met his gaze. His eyes glistened sweetly, trained on you while his hips kept a sweet rhythm, and you sighed. This was all about you two, not whatever he did before he found you again.

So you raised a hand and guided his sweet lips to meet yours, telling him with a slow kiss that you loved him. You could always have hot, frenzied sex, but right now, you wanted that sweet loving only he could give you.

He understood you perfectly. He pulled out and sat on the bed, grabbing your hand to keep you close while giving you the choice of what would happen next. You rose to your knees and smiled at him, unable to hide how much your heart thrummed with his gentleness toward you. Then, you leaned back, splaying your hair on his pillow while pulling him over you. His eyes eagerly took in your silhouette, including your smile, as you spread your legs and welcomed him. You belonged in his bed, on his pillows, and he belonged to you.

He instantly crushed you to the mattress, sweetly wrapping your legs around him as he kissed you deeply. He didn’t just love you with passion; he lived it too.

Aligning himself with you took a second, and sliding into you, filling you whole, was instantaneous. You gasped as he pecked your cheek and moved with him, knowing this was it. He wasn’t just enjoying feeling you, nor guiding your pleasure in ways that blew your mind. He was looking at you with love and desire unfolding with every thrust. Every time your bodies pieced together, stealing your breath away between one moan and another, his starry eyes stayed on yours, locked together, strengthening the foundations of your commitments until you were ready to cry out.

“Kook…” you breathed, quickly squinting your eyes. You wanted to look at him, but as your insides coiled, ready to be released at any moment, it was harder and harder.

“I’m here, bubbles,” he assured you. He grabbed your hands, pressing them to the mattress next to your head, and you knew that look. Knew that angle, recognised the snap of his hips, and soon the burn stretched through your body, making you keen. He knew you so incredibly well that you weren’t surprised when he sharpened his thrusts. There was no hesitation, just pure want and something deeper and gentler.

Your nails sank into the back of his hands as you bucked your hips, helping him to the last of your strength. Your breathing changed, and so did your moans as you arched your back, and he sank into you. He searched for your mouth, kissing your lips once, twice, with the same cadence as his hips until you collapsed. 

You arched against him, unable to keep your eyes locked with his or that sweet kiss any longer. Your climax floored you, making you scream and tremble as you felt everything. The way he groaned as he hid in your neck, the way his body framed yours with as much gentleness as fucking that need allowed him, and finally, the way he throbbed inside you, releasing warm ropes of cum to make you feel complete.

His lips peppering your neck with kisses quickly reached your own, pressing gently before he lay beside you. 

He pulled you into his arms as you both caught your breath. You rested your head on his chest, and he grabbed your hand. 

“I love you,” he whispered, brushing your knuckles with his lips.

You could hardly be happier. “I love you, too,” you said, kissing his sweaty pec. 

“I need you to know it,” he insisted, looking into your eyes. “When you came back, I felt pathetic. You reminded me of how happy I was before you left me. Of how much it hurt to lose you. Of what I did to try to forget you and how it changed me. So much so, I almost lost you in this whole thing. Even when I knew, as soon as I saw you again, that I wanted no one else. That I wasn't happy with the way I was doing things. That I still love you and want to spend my life with you, even if you tore my life apart when you left.”

You frowned. “Kook—”

“No, I’m saying it because that’s where I stand. This opportunity with you is not just… a gamble or giving it a shot. I love you, I want you, my life isn’t complete without you. No one could ever take your place. It’s been two years since I met you, and this is still true. I want to be with you and be the Jungkook who loves you. Because when you’re in my life, I’m happy and strong enough to live as I dreamt. You're part of all this, of me,” he whispered, kissing your fingers again. “I want you to know that.”

“Kook,” you called, with tears in your eyes. His teary gaze met yours, and you jerked forward to hug him with all your heart. “I love you, too, and I want you too, so much! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I… I should have talked to you immediately. I let it all get to my head. It won't happen again, I promise.”

He nodded, petting your hair as he held you to his chest. “It's part of trying again, right? As long as we figure it out together, I'm happy. But you know what could help?”

You withdrew to look at him with a furrowed brow. “What?” 

He grinned. “A certain ring.”

He pressed his lips to your fingers again, unable to hide a playful smile, while you chuckled.

“One thing at a time.”

He chuckled. “Maybe next year.”

[ikeupied]

7:00 AM

My alarm went off, but I was already awake. I’d barely slept at all—I was too nervous.

I got out of bed quickly and headed to the kitchen. Taesan was already having breakfast.

“You didn’t sleep?” I asked as I poured myself a glass of water.

“Barely. You?”

“Same.”

“You should eat something, Y/N.”

“I can’t. My stomach’s a mess.”

He looked like he was about to say something else but stopped himself.

I rushed back to my room to get dressed. My bag had been packed for days.

Taesan knocked on my door. “We leave in ten.”

I came out right away, dressed, bag in hand, and shaking with excitement.

“I’m ready.”

Heejin appeared at the door too, dressed and ready.

“Did you sleep at all?”

“No,” Taesan and I answered in unison.

“God, me neither,” Heejin groaned, flopping down onto the couch.

While Taesan finished packing up a few last things, I sat beside Heejin. My phone buzzed—Riki.

I’m outside.

I stood up immediately and left the apartment to meet him.

“I thought you were going with Heeseung,” I said as we waited for the others.

“I was supposed to, but they left early and didn’t even tell me,” he sighed, clearly frustrated.

“Everything’s going to be fine, Riki. Don’t stress,” I told him with a small smile. He gave me one back.

Taesan and Heejin finally came down, and we all piled into the car.

When we arrived at the venue, Leehan, Heeseung, Jungwon, and Sunghoon were already there.

We greeted them quickly and headed over to the warm-up area to go over our routine one last time.

I tightened my shoelaces and tried to focus on breathing steadily.

Taesan was quietly rehearsing the steps, Heejin stretched beside me, and Riki… Riki couldn’t sit still. He paced back and forth, chewing on his lip.

“You remember everything?” Heejin asked, watching me closely.

I nodded. I lied.

The choreography was in my head, sure, but my body was shaking. Everything still ached from the fall. But I wasn’t going to let that stop me.

Just as Leehan came over to give us final notes, Gowon appeared.

With her signature fake smile, she stopped a few steps away and crossed her arms, eyeing me from head to toe.

“Are you sure you can dance today?” she asked sweetly—but her voice dripped with venom.

I didn’t even bother answering. Heejin glared at her like she could set her on fire.

Leehan called us for a final run-through. Time was running out.

“Group number seven, get ready,” a voice said over the mic. “Once the current performance ends, you’re up.”

My heart skipped a beat. This wasn’t rehearsal anymore.

The music from the previous group began to fade out. We looked at each other one last time.

Taesan took a deep breath, Heejin squeezed my hand, saying nothing.

Riki stretched his arms out like he could shake the fear right off.

We moved to the side of the stage.

From there, we heard our name echo through the speakers:

“Please welcome… Vortex Crew!”

We stepped onto the stage. The lights were blinding for a moment.

I found my spot and focused on breathing.

My hands were freezing, but my legs felt steady. I fixed my gaze forward.

The music started.

For a few seconds, all I could hear was the pounding of my own heartbeat.

One, two, three… breathe, I told myself.

And then, like something inside me switched on, my body just moved.

The steps came naturally. The routine flowed. I wasn’t thinking anymore—I was feeling.

The floor beneath me no longer felt uncertain. I focused on the rhythm, on my teammates’ faces, on every beat we hit together in perfect sync.

When the music ended, a heavy silence hung in the air.

Then, slowly, scattered applause began.

We had finished.

I took a deep breath. My legs trembled beneath me.

Now all that was left was the judges’ score.

The venue went dead silent again. Time slowed to a crawl.

Without thinking, I reached for Leehan’s hand beside me. He didn’t pull away.

After what felt like an eternity, the first judge lifted their sign.

8.

I exhaled in relief—it was a good score.

The next scores followed: 7, 7, and 8.

30 points total.

It was a great start.

We bowed and left the stage. As soon as we were out of sight, the celebration erupted.

Heejin threw her arms around me.

“We did it!” she shouted.

Taesan high-fived everyone, and Leehan was smiling proudly.

The joy in the room was infectious.

First Round! (wc; 3266)

SYNOPSIS: Y/n and Riki were inseparable. The kind of friendship everyone envied, the kind that felt unbreakable. But somewhere along the way, something shattered. Now, every word they exchange is a fight, every glance a silent war. Neither of them wants to admit how much it hurts. Neither of them wants to be the first to let go of the anger. But how long can you hate someone who once meant everything to you? Because the line between love and hate has never been thinner.

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note: sooo, hey! im really sorry for being so inactive, I wasn't feeling well and it took me SO LONG to write this, idk why honestly, I feel like it's kinda weird how it ended up being, but I don't dislike it. but hopefully this is my comeback! i really want to be active again, so I'll try my best. ALSO, my birthday is almost here! so I'm thinking of changing the theme :3. anyway, enough with all this talk. I love you all, and thanks for being here. 💗

perm taglist 😼: @brianashiftz @zaycie @ijustwannareadstuff20

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© all rights reserved to ikeupied, please don't copy.

[rheanyraaaa]

Could you do a fanfic where cregan starks timeline mixes with robb and they know eachother and there brothers? And they both want y/n? Beacuse l deff read that.

In the Shadows of Winter

pairings: cregan stark x reader/ robb stark x reader

a/n: sorry for the late one! thid was just sitting there and i was so busy and plus my fics come out automatically….

backstory: Y/N married Robb for politics, but also because of her unusual obsession with his ancestor Cregan Stark, when she was around 12, a witch told her she was the reincarnation of Cregan’s late wife Alysanne Blackwood (forgive me if i’m wrong) and since then youve been utterly head over heels, as youve grown you obviously know marrying a deceased man isn’t an option, so you married the next best thing…

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

Snow whispered at the windows as you traced the ancient letters in the book before you, the Stark sigil pressed deep into the leather. You had meant only to review a few lines for your studies, just enough to prepare for tomorrow’s meeting with Lord Robb Stark, but your eyes lingered too long on one name: Cregan Stark.

“The Wolf of Winter. Sword of the North. Brother to Robb Stark in some forgotten breath of time…”

The candle guttered. You blinked.

And when your eyes opened again, Winterfell had changed.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

The Dream

The halls were older, shadows deeper, the stones beneath your slippers rougher than you remembered. But it was still Winterfell. And standing beneath the broken archway near the training yard, smiling as though he’d waited forever, was Robb Stark.

He looked the same, and yet not. His eyes brighter, his voice lower. “You look like you stepped right out of the pages of that book,” he teased, stepping closer. “Were you dreaming about me?”

You arched a brow. “Is that something you’re used to hearing?”

He leaned in, close enough that his breath tickled your cheek. “Only from the ones I don’t mind dreaming of, too.”

Your heart stammered, but he didn’t stop there.

“You’ve always looked better in Winterfell than anyone else. Even the godswood blushes when you walk past.”

You laughed, flustered. “That’s hardly possible—”

“I’ve seen it,” he said, reaching for a strand of your hair, brushing it back slowly. “The snow melts when you smile. That’s power enough to make two brothers quarrel.”

Before you could ask what he meant, a voice cut through the winter air.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

In the Godswood

The scent of pine and cold iron. Red leaves above, blood-red sap below.

And Cregan Stark stood there, tall and quiet, like the old gods carved him out of ice and smoke.

“You let him flirt with you so easily,” he said, not quite accusing.

“I didn’t let him. He simply… does.”

Cregan stepped forward, eyes sharp like frostbite. “He talks. I watch. That’s the difference between us.”

“And which do you think I prefer?” you challenged.

He smiled, slow, rare, devastating. “You haven’t decided. But you dream of me now, don’t you?”

Your breath caught.

Cregan circled you like a hunting wolf, close but never touching. “I know you read my name before sleep. I could feel it.” He reached up, brushed a finger along your jaw. “You want to know what kind of man I am. Let me show you.”

The weirwood leaves fluttered.

And then, you were standing between them again. Robb on one side, Cregan on the other. Brothers. Opposites. Both looking at you like you were the fire in winter, the only warmth they’d ever wanted.

“I can’t…” you began.

“You must,” they said, in perfect unison.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

Waking

A sharp knock jolted you upright.

“Lady Stark? Lord Robb awaits you in the council chamber.”

You gasped softly, chest rising. The book had fallen open in your lap, and the name Cregan Stark still sat there, underlined by your sleepy hand.

The dream hung heavy, like frost clinging to a blade. You rose, heart torn between two names, two wolves.

And as you reached for your cloak, you whispered, “What if I’m still dreaming?”

But no answer came.

Only the sound of your steps echoing down Winterfell’s hall.

[aliciasays]

Safe - Joel Miller x OFC - Chapter 3

Word Count: 1.6K

Status: Ongoing

Let me know what you think!

Chapter 3: Butterflies

At the end of the night, Penelope found herself sitting on her porch swing, watching her dad, Tommy, and Joel, haul all the boxes out from the bed of her truck and into the house. Sarah sat beside her, a popsicle in her hand as she kicked her feet, and both slowly rocked on the swing in a comfortable silence.

At about 9pm, the neighborhood had dispersed and decided to head to their own homes. Penelope was happy that she’d finally be able to get some semblance of peace on her first day back in Texas– but then, Joel Miller had thrown a wrench in her plans when he’d asked her dad if he wanted help unloading her truck.

So now she sat on her porch swing, with his daughter, watching him and his brother and her dad haul all her things into the house.

Penelope couldn’t help the butterflies that fluttered in her stomach as she thought about their time together earlier that day. It was stupid, really– he’s just being nice, she told herself… and yet, with the way Joel had smiled at her as they sat at the picnic tables, how he’d fixed her a plate of food and all but commanded her to sit her ass down and not strain herself, or how he was obviously uncomfortable making small talk but tried anyways just to keep her talking– it made Penelope want to squeal like a damn teenage girl.

He was just being nice, he ain’t trying to get into your pants, Penelope thought, a small frown crossing her lips.

The delusional side of her however, was whispering in her ear that maybe Joel was into her in the same manner that she was into him. It was normal to find someone attractive and be physically into them, Penelope tried to rationalize. It wasn’t like Joel was in love with her or anything. Maybe he thought she was cute? Or maybe he was just being nice.

I’m so fucked, Penelope sighed, refraining from groaning loudly in despair as Sarah was sat beside her.

No need to let the little girl know that she was lusting after her father.

Suddenly, a very annoyed sigh left Sarah’s lips, pulling Penelope out of her thoughts.

She turned to look down at the girl and saw that she was swatting at the stray curls on her forehead that had escaped from her poorly tied ponytail.

Popsickle still in one hand, Sarah tried to untie her hair with the other– probably to redo her ponytail, Penelope thought, but then she noted that a part of her hair was knotted around the rubberband.

“Hold on a sec, let me get that for you” Penelope offered softly, “I’ve got a brush in my truck– give me a few secs, okay?”

“Thank you,” Sarah sighed in frustration, “dad doesn’t know how to do my hair.”

I can tell, Penelope thought, smiling softly as she got up and walked towards her truck.

She needed to get to the glovebox, but as she walked towards her truck, she caught Joel’s eye and he immediately walked from behind her truck and met her in front of her passenger door.

“Go sit down,” he said simply, nodding his head towards the front porch where Sarah sat on the swing. “We got your stuff taken care of.”

Penelope felt like squealing like a damn little girl. Her chest felt tight, and the butterflies in her stomach were making her breathless.

“I– uh– thank you, again, for… taking my stuff in,” she stuttered nervously, giving him a small smile, “I was just gonna get a hair brush– it’s in the glovebox.”

At that, Joel gave her a disbelieving look. Of all things, a hair brush– these damn women, he thought to himself. The whole purpose of him and Tommy helping her dad take her stuff inside was so that Penelope wouldn’t have to move around and strain herself, yet here she was, trying to get a hair brush from her truck.

Joel resisted the urge to roll his eyes and shake his head at her in annoyance. There was nothing wrong with her hair, he thought as he gave her quick, once over. She had long, full, black hair that came down to the small of her back. With the Texan heat and how much she had been sweating, he had noticed that her wavy hair had started to go curly at the ends and roots… And suddenly, he couldn’t help but to imagine what her hair would feel like if he ran his hands through it.

Before he could let his mind wander into a darker place, he sighed and reached for the door handle of the passenger door, pulling it open and taking a step to the side to let Penelope through.

Penelope stepped forward, shoulder lightly brushing against Joel’s chest as she reached into the truck to retrieve her hairbrush from the glove compartment. Coming back up, she became painfully aware of how close he was standing. She was sandwiched between her open passenger side door, and Joel, and she felt like dying.

“Got it,” she said almost hesitantly, holding the brush and bringing it up to her chest.

“You don’t need it,” he said simply, eyes softening slightly as he added, “your hair looks good.”

“Thank you,” Penelope nearly whispered, her heart beating a million miles a minute after receiving that compliment. “It’s not for me though, it’s for Sarah. I’m gonna braid her hair.”

At that sudden piece of information, Joel slightly straightened, his eyes darting above Penelope’s head to look at Sarah on the porch swing.

“For Sarah?” he questioned, eyes dropping back to look at Penelope with an unreadable expression on his face.

“She’s got a knot in her hair, I told her I’d help her with it.”

Suddenly, almost hesitantly, Joel’s hand came up to brush a random stray curl away from Penelope’s forehead, tucking it behind her ear. He let his hang linger on her jaw for just a moment, before realizing what he was doing and quickly bringing his hand down and into the front pocket of his jeans. He couldn’t fathom why  he had just done that, but something inside of him had snapped with the new information Penelope had thrown at him. Something about her helping his daughter with her hair soothed a deep ache within his chest that he hadn’t realized was there before.

“Don’t let me hold ya’ up,” Joel mumbled darkly, his eyes looking everywhere but at Penelope as he made a beeline for the back of the truck without another word.

What the fuck was that, Penelope thought, trying to catch her breath as she stood rooted to her spot beside her truck. What. The. Fuck.

The next day found Penelope sitting at  her kitchen table, across from her dad, staring down at her reflection in her mug of tea as she gave him a moment to process what she had just told him.

Unlike Joel, her dad had received the edited version of her story; she’d gotten shot while doing a training exercise, she’d sued for negligence, and then the police department had paid her out through a very hefty settlement– and that was that.

He doesn’t need to know that it was probably not an accident, Penelope kept telling herself.

“Why don’t you just take a few months off work,” her father said after a moment, “catch  your bearings and all that. You work too hard.”

Penelope sighed. She had thought about that. With what money she currently had in her savings, she had calculated that she’d be able to live comfortably off that for the next 3 months, but now with the added settlement money, she could probably finesse not working for the next year or so and still be comfortable.

“I don’t know,” she said after a moment, “I can’t picture myself not working,  you know? I’m just used to always doing something.”

“I know sweetheart,” her father cooed, reaching over the table to place a hand on her wrist, “but maybe it’s time you just… take a break.”

Penelope looked at her father. She’d been playing around with that idea for the past week now, but she just couldn’t. She needed to work.

“If it's any consolation,” she said with a faint smile, “I don’t start work until July. That’s when my doctor says I’m cleared to go back to work.”

Her father rolled his eyes.

“Two month’s aint shit,” he quipped, leaning back on his chair and crossing his arms. “You got fuckin’ shot!”

“I know… but– I’ve been outta commision since like the end of March,” Penelope groaned, “4 months off work is good enough, at least for me.”

“I guess,” her dad sighed, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not even gonna be working too hard– it’s a desk job,” Penelope pushed, “it’s a good schedule; 3 days a week, 12 hour shifts– I’ll be off Friday through Monday, so perpetual 4-day weekends…”

Her father didn’t look impressed, but eventually he conceded and grumbled out, “We’re going camping before the summer ends. No RV, or none of that bullshit “glamping”-- I’m talking about real camping. Tents on the dirt and sleeping-bags and shitting in a hole in the ground…”

Penelope grinned. She was just as outdoorsy as her father, but she hated camping. She needed access to a toilet, a shower, a bed, electricity– she just couldn’t do it. Her dad however, loved the kind of camping that took you out into the middle of the woods with no cellphone reception.

If sleeping on the ground and shitting behind a tree would get him off her back, she’d do it.

“Can I at least bring a–”

“I don’t wanna hear it!

Penelope sighed, but as she looked at her dad, she couldn’t help but to smile widely.

They’d be okay.

[writer-shipper-ffreader]

Maybe not so useless after all?

(Kate Lethbridge-Stewart x f!Reader)

Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first posted fic for Kate x f!Reader. I'm not really used to writing the Doctor, so it may be a weird mix of 11 and 15. This all stemmed from the prompt 'You get a notification whenever your soulmate is asleep or awake'. Any and all comments/feedback welcome :)

Warnings/Tags: Slowburn for this chapter, soulmate AU, yearning, a bit of angst, injury.

Words: 1,264

Summary: After a mysterious mishap with a device found in a field, can you find out what the device is and what it means for you and Kate?

You are next to Osgood, monitoring the screen on your tablet as you both lead the group traversing the expansive fields. You had already been out here for over two hours, searching for whatever the scans are picking up. You’d both concluded it was a small object, otherwise this task would have been a lot easier.

“The signal’s getting stronger,” You murmur, stopping to look around the area.

You spotted something shining unnaturally in the sun about 20 yards away. You knocked your shoulder against Osgood’s and pointed toward the object. She nodded, and you both carefully made your way over to the shiny thing.

As you approached you could make out that the object was definitely some type of metal and looked to be a handheld device. There was a small red light on the side of the object, similar to the light you’d find on a TV that’s on standby. Your tablet indicated that this was the object you were looking for.

Osgood waved one of the lab techs forward to cordon off around the object. Until they had scanned the object further, it was best not to touch it. You snapped a couple of photos of it on your phone and headed back to the cars, where Kate had been on a call to Geneva.

Kate was tapping away on her tablet when you got to the front car, her phone resting on the dashboard. The car door was open, her still making the most of the sunny afternoon in the countryside while being tasked with bureaucracy.

“Ma’am, we found the object,” You said, standing next to the open door.

“Any theories?” She asked, looking up and taking your phone to swipe through the photos.

“If I had to guess without any further tests, probably something from a future human civilisation,” You told her.

“Why human?” Kate asked for further explanation.

“It looks like a handheld object,” You highlighted, tracing your finger around the shape and then making out as if you were holding it. “I came to the conclusion of at least a humanoid based on the shape. However, it’s similarity to a remote control and the familiar looking metal, made me think future human manufacturing.”

You handed her your tablet, having brought up files from a 45th century human device that looked materially the same. The shade of the metal was an identical charcoal grey, with a slight green tinge. The device on the tablet had been identified as a control for a child’s hover car.

“I see what you mean,” Kate acknowledged, comparing the two images and nodding with a smile. She passed back your tablet and phone, sliding herself round to step out of the car. She placed her tablet down and pocketed her mobile as she shut the car door. “Come on, let’s go see if Osgood has found out anything to confirm your theory.”

You were about to respond when a high-pitched noise pierced the air. Before you had time to turn around to see what had happened, you were pushed towards Kate, her cushioning you slightly as you both collided with the car. You weren’t sure what had happened, the eerie silence panicking you.

Kate groaned under you and moved her hand to the back of her head; it having hit the car. You quickly glanced behind you, trying to work out whether there could be a repeat of what happened. It didn’t seem to be an explosion, but everyone had been knocked back to the ground, suggesting some sort of shock wave.

Deciding that another threat wasn’t imminent, you slid your arm around Kate’s waist and hoisted her away from the car. You opened the back door and manoeuvred her to sit down. You quickly checked the back of her head to make sure she wasn’t bleeding.

“You’re hurt,” Kate murmured, her hand coming up to swipe the blood from your face.

“I’m fine. Your head isn’t bleeding. Are you hurt anywhere else?” You asked, looking her over.

“Just dizzy,” She replied, her hand still pressing to the cut on your face, other hand reaching for the first aid box.

As she tended to the cut on your head, you noticed the black writing on her wrist. “When did you get a tattoo?” You asked, wondering why you hadn’t noticed it before. You’d spent enough time staring at her that you should have noticed.

“I don’t have a tattoo,” She snorted in amusement, placing the butterfly stitches on the now cleaned cut.

I took hold of her wrist and turned it to her, so she could see the black writing. Her eyes widened, as her other hand came up to try and rub it off.

“I didn’t have a tattoo this morning?” She muttered, still rubbing at it harshly. “Why the hell would I get twenty-three twelve tattooed on me?”

“Ah, that’s interesting,” You said, gaining her attention as you stared at your own wrist. “Quarter past one. I wonder what it means?”

You were brought out of your contemplation as your comm crackled to life. Carter was checking that everyone was okay. Luckily as most of the personnel were out in the field, they all just got pushed back and fell on the grass. It seemed you and Kate had the worst of the injuries, with suspected concussions.

Kate ordered the science team to box up the object and for everyone to head back to the tower. She had one of the dogs drive you back, not convinced either of you were capable of driving safely. You stayed sitting in the back seat, both on your tablets looking through the data Osgood managed to capture before the shockwave.

“I think you’re right, but I’m not sure what the times are for,” Kate contemplated aloud.

“You think it’s human too?” You asked, wanting clarification.

“Yes. The composition data looks very similar to the 45th century object,” Kate had both sets of data up on her tablet, pointing as she explained.

“Unless it can translate, the times on our wrists are human too,” You added.

“Quite right. I want you to take the lead on this and make it your primary project,” Kate stated.

You nodded, a smile gracing your face that Kate wanted you to lead. You were still getting used to being given your own projects, having only been promoted recently. Osgood had recognised your skill when you worked with her in the lab and had been feeding back your insights to Kate.

Your persistence with unidentified objects and ability to draw links where no one else could, led to Kate calling you to her office and promoting you a few months ago. Since then, you had been spending a lot more time in the field and with Kate.

You would never complain about spending more time with the intelligent and beautiful blonde; however, it had made your crush on her harder to deal with. You had hoped she hadn’t noticed, you’d been trying really hard to ignore your feelings. If anyone had realised, they hadn’t said anything.

Gathering your thoughts, you returned to your tablet and looked through the amassed data. Someone from headquarters had uploaded a file; a map showing where the shockwave affected loaded on the screen. The technology at base picking up the strange wave.

“It looks as though the wave only affected our team,” You said, showing the radius to Kate.

“At least it is contained. I’d still feel better if we knew what these times are for,” Kate sighed, running her finger over the writing again.

[ihavenoideawhatiamdoingjustgay2]

Unraveling you at the Seems

Genre : Haters to Lovers

Notes : Ho...pital, making out, you are still heavily injured, I'm posting this during my break lol, AO3 saw it first

Wordcount : 941

Chapters : 1 / 2 / 3

My Masterlist

Link to AO3

Drip, drip, drip

Sounded in your ears, a comforting albeit annoying sound.

Similar to the sound of the pen scraping paper from the other side of the room. You knew who it was, having heard her talking to a nurse while you were dozing. It scared you, to confront her, to open your eyes and watch the consequences of you actions rigth in front of your eyes. It scared you so much that you have not opened them in the half an hour you were awake, listening to the drip, drip, drip of the infusion. You thougth about opening them when she was away, even planing an escape route, despite not knowing where you were. But…hospitals all had the same build, for sure!

"Your breathing has changed."

You tensed up.

"The nurse has to check on your wounds while you're awake."

You sighed, sitting up. "Can you stop being so attentive for once?"

"My children don't appreciate this virtue either.", she had put her tea cup down, looking as refreshed as ever, though she had not covered up her eyebags with make up like she usually did when you were out. A line carved itself between your eyebrows.

"Where are we?", you asked, then grabed your head at a random headache. "And what time is it?"

She pulled up her chair and sat next to the bed. "It's morning. And we're in Fontaine."

Your head snapped towards her. "How in the WORLD did you get me to Fontaine?!"

"A carriage.", she answered and you groaned. "I have a heavy burn wound-"

"And I have my ways.", she stood back up, walking to the door. "I will get the nurse now, she will have to check on you."

You waited a bit, before nodding. You watched her leave.

----------------------------

"Please take a deep breath for me.", the stethoscope was cooling your skin, Arlecchinos heel tip was tip, tap, tapping on the floor, similar to the Infusion or the pencil.

"Seems fine, now lift your shirt up, please, I will need a clear look at the wound."

You did as she asked and she started pressing her fingers around it. "Do you have any memories? Your husband told me you slipped in and out of consciousness during your ride."

You looked between the both of them, a question on your face, esspecially when Arlecchino tensed a bit. You stopped your grin. Maybe you should say yes, just to mess with her. The thougth made you chuckle, which probably gave you away. "No, nothing. I remember waking up only."

"And nothing hurts?"

You turned your head towards the direction she was going, watching her sit back down on her chair.

"No."

She pulled back, done with her examination it seemed. "It was dangerous to travel that quickly after such a fatal wound.", she criticized, looking at the harbinger for a split second, or maybe it was the window, what did you know? "But, it seemed to have been treated with the proper precautions and luck.", she put the stethoscope around her throath. "If you need anything, call for me, I will do a check up on the children.", she scribbled something down in her notebook before taking her bag with her to leave.

Only silenced followed, though even that was broken since you had to adjust yourself under the blanket. "What happened?"

She rubbed her forehead. "Your family."

You hummed. "What did they do?"

"You're a smart Woman.", she said. "Take a guess."

Your lips were sligthly agape. You leaned back into the lifted bed. As you predicted, they had tried to kill you. What a suprise, is what your body thougth, since you felt like a ligthweigth all of a sudden. You grabbed the sheets after it wouldn't go away. "My family tried to kill me…" You chuckled. "I shouldn't be suprised now, should I be."

"No.", she said. "I would have done the same thing."

You gulped. "I thougth you take care of what is yours."

"Not when it betrayes me."

You huffed. "Killing seems like the greatest betrayal…"

"Not when it is expected.", she grasped your chin, making you look at her. "Not with us."

Then she looked at your lips, having her thumb stroke over the bottom one. You wasted no time, pulling her close before she could escape you, meeting her in a kiss. You could feel her shock in her lack of action at first, but then she melted. You hummed, sligthly teasing, pushing her back a bit, but she took control within a heartbeat, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you up. You only parted as you whinced, she had misplaced her hand, rigth into the wound.

"Hm..", she looked down. "Sorry love.", her hand was wuickly gone, but so were her arms, now resting limp on her sides.

"It's ok.", you say, recognizing that it had not hurt when the nurse touched it. You looked at her hands. Her curse. Sat back down.

"I take care of what is mine, even if it tries to kill me.", she reminded.

You crocked a brow. "Do you tell that to me, or yourself?"

"Both.", she looked you up and down, as if you were a secret that she could not decipher, a lock withouth a key, a pet withouth a master. You crocked your head. Was that how you had looked at her for this whole time? No wonder she had thougth you an assasin. She turned around, back to her table, her work. "Do rest more," her pencil scraped against the old paper. ", we have a lot to discuss once you are properly healed, after all."

[bridgetlynn]

All this.

Santos is basically fanfic a Mary-Sue. (and about the only thing that makes her even potentially tolerable if they can even out their writing is that Isa Briones is the caliber actress that she is. A bad actor would have driven the character into cartoon villain territory) - Traumatic Backstory. Check. - Mean-girl attitude (but it's just to mask her "hidden vulnerabilities and soft side"). Check. - Gets a free pass to do things that have been narratively established she should not be doing. Check. (btw: the "learning curve" argument by Garcia and Robby was hysterical since if Santos had checked with ANY senior resident as she was told to, didn't even need to be Langdon, she would have then learned not to use BiPAP, ya know, without collapsing someone's lung first). - Is apparently a Super Doctor. Check. (Cause the REBOA? Multiple people stated that is difficult and dangerous. It's an MCI - I get permissions are out the window. My issue is more on the "HOW" did an Intern do it properly? With zero complications?) - Apparently thinks the Hippocratic oath doesn't apply to her. Check. (Threatening a patient...even a potential scum bucket...ya no.) Then there's the Langdon situation - which is totally removed from everything I just listed above. I absolutely 100% think she did the right thing reporting him.

But she also blatantly lies to Robby's face when he asks her if she told anyone else her suspicions. Dana and Donnie don't count as she didn't mention names and just asked about the vial. But she straight up named Langdon to Garcia and then straight faced told Robby she didn't say shit. In the same conversation Robby basically tells her that he is now handling the situation and she is out of it. And not to say anything to anyone. First thing she says to Langdon - in front of Ellis - is "You're not even supposed to be here." How does she know that? All Robby confirmed was that he was handling the situation. He didn't tell her how he was handling it. He didn't tell her he sent Langdon home (she just didn't see him - hell, he could have been upstairs getting drug tested and having it come back clean for all she knew at that point). But either way - saying "you aren't supposed to be here" like you aren't a bottom rung of the ladder Intern in a place that operates on a chain of command to keep people alive is "saying something about it" - because now it invites Ellis to ask what the problem between the two of them is.

So yea....Mary-Sue. Not one of these things would have bothered me if there had been even the hint of some form of consequence.

Meanwhile you've got Robby practically taking Mohan's head off for taking more then 10 minutes with a patient every once in a while. And actually scalping McKay for calling the cops on a kid hours after the cops should have been called (for both his sake and the sake of the potential girls). Like, excuse me?!

Anyone think the writers intended Santos to be The Central Character? And think they might be genuinely puzzled by the audiences adoration of Mel as a result? (who is a 180 degree different character then Santos)

Okay like but my one problem with the pitt on rewatch is the fact that most people still don't get what was wrong with the way Santos acted

As a med student I can confirm that it I absolutely not okay to skip the chain of command and do things on your own especially on your first day as an intern, and Santos started doing that even before she had her doubts about Langdon

And yes the way she saved the patient with the REBOA was cool, but that was a mass casuality situation and there wasn't anyone there for her to call anyway

I just feel like all that got pushed aside to make the point about Langdon and his addiction, but both things can be true, Santos was right to report Langdon and she was wrong about many things during the shift, and while the way he went about it was wrong, Langdon was well within his authority to tell her off

[sysig]

Go play pretend on your own (Patreon)

[throatsplit]

Delilah breathes in soft, shaky gasps that seem never to give her the air she needs, and her chest aches with it—the heat, the fear, the blood. Him. She feels like she's unraveling beneath his touch, the stitching she's held herself together with fraying against every breath he draws on her throat, every smear of blood his lips paint on her skin. His mouth against her neck feels like a brand, like it's permanently marking her. Like if she lives, she'll never be the same girl again. It should terrify her, and it does, but fear isn't the only thing making her tremble.

There's something about the way he says he'll kill her, almost like he's trying to convince himself instead of her, but Delilah doesn't flinch. It's not the first time she's faced death and come out on the other side. Scarred, but alive. She wonders how he'll scar her—if he'll mark her with more than kisses and the tender bite of the blade. She blinks slowly, pupils blown wide with something raw and reckless as her hands drift higher—soft and gentle, like she's touching something feral and doesn't want to spook it. "That's okay," she whispers, inhaling sharply as if she's surprised even herself with the words. "That's okay," she repeats, with a little more conviction this time. "I'll let you. I won't fight'cha. Promise. Just—" She's cut off by another ragged gasp at the feel of his mouth against her ear, eyes fluttering shut as her body shivers and then arches into him more without thought. She's careful with her words, but her movements are thoughtless. Driven by something unsteady and wanting.

"Please." She's not entirely sure, at first, what she's pleading for—her life? the mask to come off? more?—just that she doesn't want him to stop. Again, her thoughts scream at her that she's insane, but there's no room here for her to focus on it. Every part of her is consumed by him; how close he is, the heat of his body pressing into hers. His lips at her jaw, his hand creeping beneath her shirt. She barely even registers the metallic smell of the blood anymore, can barely recall her friends' screams. Not that she has the will to try. She might regret it later, might feel bad for it if he lets her live, but now? All she can think about is how his fingers feel as they trace the skin beneath her shirt, covering her in goosebumps.

For a moment, his words catch her off guard enough that her eyes snap open, though she doesn't have the strength to pull back to look at him, can't bring herself to let his lips move from her jaw. "What? No, I—" It doesn't make sense in her head, why he'd think that's what she meant. "Don't matter what you look like. I told you, I already see you. I just wanna know who it is that's gonna stick that knife in me at the end'a the night, if that's how you'll do it."

One hand moves up farther to his shoulder, then wraps delicately around his neck. The other trembles when she raises it to let her fingers brush against his hair, then the edge of the mask. Her eyes close again, purposefully this time, and she leans in to press her face into his neck like he'd done to her. Like she's the one hiding now. She ignores the tremor in her hand like she ignores the voice in her head screaming at her to stop as she tips the mask back over his head until it falls to the floor behind him. Still, she doesn't move to peek, just slips her hand around his neck to meet the other as she presses her body into his like she's trying to tug herself even closer, ragged breaths hot against his neck. "Please don't kill me yet," she mumbles against him, parted lips brushing wetness against the skin there, "I won't look 'til you tell me I can, 'kay? But you don't have t'a hide from me, I— If y'er gonna kill me, it don't matter, does it?"

touch is a sense that raleigh has come to know with unusual intimacy. not in the form of soft exploration, as delilah performed now - but in the form of closed fists, of torn fingernails, and bruises blossoming just beneath the skin. it is not known as a tender thing, but something meant to hurt, to damage. the way fingers press to his skin, coast over bones like they were painting his body with gentleness instead of violence - it racked shivers up && down his spine. pulled hot breath from his throat in a raspy gasp. even through his shirt, raleigh felt seen, exposed beyond anything he's been accustomed to for at least the majority of three years.

he chased victims, not lovers. gore && guts && blood... not pleasure. delilah didn't seem to understand the difference. eyelashes fluttered shut, behind the mask half-hiding his face buried under her hair, as he felt her neck move beneath his blood-stained lips as she spoke. words light && airy like they'd found each other between bedsheets, not corpses.

" i'm... still gon' kill you... " it wasn't a promise, it held no conviction, the words placed like breath to her skin as raleigh tried to gather control of his body. to focus on the knife's weight in his hand, instead of the tightening of fabric from where she gripped. how could this night have another ending, even if she pressed flesh to his, purred words that inspired a tendril of heat to unfurl from his chest, racing down to his core. delilah had to die - because they always died - because that's all raleigh knew how to do anymore. to take, to take, to take... to hide.

but as his mouth climbed up, still tracking blood between the kisses placed to her neck until he met with the lobe of her ear, breaths becoming quicker as he growled into her hair, the mask pushed up further yet. tangling between the blood-caked strands of their hair. lips pressed to her jaw where he'd held it captive, smearing crimson against his mouth fresh again. fingers of his free hand, void of the cool knife's blade, were crawling up her side. under her shirt. like he needed to feel the skin he'd peel back later, to feel her, make sure this was real. " why do you wanna know so bad, anyway? what's it matter what i look like? "

[franeridan]

I really wish yamato had gone with luffy and I love that he asked to be considered a crewmate anyway and that luffy told him he'd always have a place on the sunny so I a hundred percent consider him a mugiwara but in my ideal one piece where the war ended differently and ace is still alive yamato is his. like obviously ace is dead and he hadn't been a captain for a while before then anyway, but in my ideal one piece yamato belongs to him. he's a spades. he's ace's crewmate first and foremost.