#and we all know that would’ve died down in a week or so

[just-nc-tea]

LOVESONG(demo).wav

⭑.ᐟ an office romance featuring marketing girly Y/N and producer Heeseung Who would’ve thought that stumbling into room 3B-47 crying your eyes out would lead to the best thing that ever happened to you in that cursed HYBE building.

⋆｡◛ ⊹ ⤳ requested ･:*:･｡☆

ᝰ genre. fluff!!!! just pure fluff .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ warning. stress at work, drinking, sexual harassment at work? .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ word count. 19.6k .ᐟ₊ ⊹

The door to your office was closed, which was unusual. Your smile faltered a bit as you carefully nudged the door open with your elbow. The pastel cake box in your hands wobbled slightly as you moved inside. Today was the first day of the campaign for Enhypen’s newest comeback, and you had decided to bake a cake to celebrate your team's hard work finally paying off, knowing full well that you were already planning the next comeback.

Working at HYBE meant you were always working. It felt like the company moved in dog years, every week sprinting at the speed of a month.

Idols had it worse. Practicing, performing, filming, traveling, interacting with fans, and repeating it all again with barely a break. You didn’t understand how they did it. At least you went home. You could sleep. Cook. Watch trashy dramas and feel your brain melt in peace. With Enhypen having comeback after comeback after comeback, the team behind them was also working all the time. Designing concepts, thinking about inclusions and albums, getting all of that produced, and campaigns published. But today, you finally had the first publication of their concept trailer, which in your opinion should be celebrated.

The air in the office was already stuffy. It was almost silent. The fluorescents buzzed faintly overhead, but otherwise… nothing. No chatter, no gossiping. Just the frantic click-click-click of keyboard abuse and one person swearing under their breath near the copy machine. Your smile died right there on the threshold.

As you marched past your favourite colleague and the intern, no one turned around, not the usual “good morning”, no "oh, you brought cake." You carefully set down your box and opened the lid slightly to check if the meringue cream and the sprinkles survived your subway trip to the office. The sugary scent of the cream spilled out into the quiet.

The second you turned back around to announce to the office that you brought cake and everyone could take a piece, your phone vibrated.

[8:04 AM] Manager-nim Y/N, are you in the office? If yes, room RB_12. Asap.

You barely had time to pull your sleeves down and smooth your dress before you were hustling down the hallway, your heels thudding softly on the carpet. The door to RB_12 was cracked open, and even from the corridor, you could hear your manager’s voice. He sounded furious. Your manager was usually a very chill person. He was very pleasant to work with, so hearing him raise his voice was quite rare. And if he did, something went really wrong.

“We can’t just change everything now, because they decided to plagiarize us?!” You slipped inside quietly. Your manager stood at the head of the table, tense and indeed furious. Seated across from him was Mr. Kim from Legal. “I’m not saying change everything,” Mr. Kim replied with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Just enough so it doesn’t look too similar. That can't be too hard, Mr. Park.” Mr. Kim was short and stout with greasy hair and round glasses that constantly slid down his nose. You had had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Kim one time too often, and every time, you left feeling like you needed to shower. He was known for saying the most disgusting things to any woman around, constantly sexualizing them whenever he opened his mouth. You did really liked your job, so you never said anything back. “We didn’t copy anything. They published the video on Friday. We were already done on Friday!” your manager almost shouted. “Mr. Park, that is a problem you will have to work on. Management wants us to push the release two weeks, so adjust the timeline accordingly. Think of a valid reason why we have to push the release back, and see if you change enough to make it different.” The lawyer stood up, straightened his suit, and looked at you. The moment his eyes did find you, they flicked up from your calves to your chest with a slowness that made your skin crawl. His face shifted into what he probably thought was a charming smile. “Miss Y/L/N,” he said, his voice syrupy sweet. “Always such a pleasure. That dress looks incredible on you. Quite the distraction for a Monday morning.” You suppressed a shudder and forced a tight, practiced smile. “Thank you, Mr. Kim.” He made his way towards the door, and you stepped out of the way, praying he wouldn’t find a reason to touch you. His arm brushed too close to your waist as he passed. “Have a nice day, Mr. Park. Miss Y/L/N,” he called lightly, pausing by the door to flash you one last look, far too amused with himself. “Let’s do lunch sometime. I have suggestions for next quarter’s visuals.” You nodded once and closed the door behind him, the second you could. Your manager sat down heavily, scrubbing both hands over his face.

“They want us to change it,” he muttered. You blinked, trying to shift your focus. “Change what?” “The comeback.” His voice was flat now, tired. “Starboiz published their MV on Friday. Same font direction. Same color palette. Even similar choreography shots. Legal’s worried someone will say we copied. So they decided to delay the release, and we are supposed to redesign everything.” You felt your stomach sink. “The entire promo rollout?” “The entire thing,” he confirmed, eyes dark with exhaustion. “I’m going to talk to upper management about next steps. In the meantime, I need you to map out what we’ll have to shift. New deadlines. Meetings to reschedule. Reassignments. We’ll need a rough plan of the new look before the end of the week, and it should be done within the next two weeks.”

You made your way into your office again. Walking much slower this time, while you were drafting the first emails for meeting invites. 

The office was still silent, and the air felt tense. The box of cake sat forgotten near the window, untouched. The meringue had started to collapse in the warmth. You watched it for a second, its shape sinking, before you steeled yourself and opened your laptop.

You cleared your throat. “Can I get everyone’s attention?”

You thought for a second how to tell everyone that they would have to essentially redo months of work within two weeks, and decided not to sugarcoat it.

“As you all probably noticed, Legal came down this morning,” you started, your voice low but steady. “There are… concerns about the similarities between our rollout and Starboiz’s new video. It wasn’t a direct accusation, but…”

You stopped for a second, taking a deep breath.

“…we’re pulling the current campaign. Management wants a full revision. The comeback date will be pushed, but not by much, only around two weeks. We need to rework the visual concept, reprint all materials, and update the promotional assets. Everything we had ready… it won’t go live.”

Someone cursed under their breath.

You continued. “I know this sucks. I know you put in so much work, and it was good. It is good. This isn’t because we failed. It’s politics and timing and bad luck.”

“Do we have to redo the teaser edits?” someone asked, voice brittle.

“Yes.”

“And the inclusion set designs?”

“Still being discussed,” you answered, “but yes, most likely.”

After answering every question that came up and running over a short task plan, you settled back down into your chair with a huff.

Jungwoo walked past you on the way to refill his mug and muttered low, “We kinda figured. Legal showed up first thing this morning and killed the entire vibe.”

You nodded slowly. “You think the manager already knew?”

“Probably. I did think there were many similarities when I watched the video on Friday as well, so he probably knew, yeah.” Jungwoo gave a sad smile. “Thanks for bringing cake. It looks very yummy.”

You smiled back weakly. “Thanks.”

You pulled up Starboiz’s new music video and watched it frame by frame. You listed every overlap. Font choice. Filter tone. Light leaks in the first chorus. A goddamn pink balloon in the dance break that looked exactly like one of your teaser shots.

You dissected it like a surgeon, fingers flying across the keyboard, notes, deadlines, names of designers, editors, and choreo consultants. You cross-referenced what needed to change with who had bandwidth to do it, calculating the most damage-limiting way to blow it all up.

And as the minutes ticked by, the weight in your chest only grew.

You weren’t upset for yourself, not really. You were used to cleaning up. Used to picking up when people higher up made decisions and dropped the pieces on your desk like puzzle shards.

You were upset for your team. You were upset for Jiwon, the new hire, whose first comeback had become a minefield. You were upset for the idols, who would smile and say “it’s okay” even though it meant another reshoot, another delay, another storm of hate.

Almost ten hours later, you were still in that stupid dress.

It clung to your skin in all the wrong places, too tight at the waist, too breezy at the shoulders. You felt cold. Hungry. Tired in your bones.

The clock on your screen reads 21:56.

You shut the lid of your laptop with a resigned sigh. Your back ached, and your thighs prickled with pins and needles from sitting too long. Most of the team had left already, voices trailing off one by one as they said soft goodbyes.

The building was never dark, not even in the middle of the night, but it was dead silent in the hallway.

You padded down toward the elevators, your heels clicking dully against the tile. You hit the elevator button with the side of your fist. And then you heard it.

“Miss Y/L/N.”

The voice slithered in before the man did.

You looked up and felt your stomach tighten like a fist.

Mr. Kim.

You forced a polite, brittle smile. “Evening, Mr. Kim.”

“Working late?” he asked, stepping into the elevator with you. 

“Yes,” you replied in a clipped but still polite tone, hoping he'd get the message.

“You should be careful about how late you stay here,” he said, voice low and oily, taking a step closer to you. “It’s not safe for women to be alone in the dark. Someone might take advantage.”

You stared at the elevator doors. Just two more floors.

But he was apparently not done yet.

“Though I suppose,” he chuckled, eyes dragging down your body like grease, “if you dress like that, you probably don’t mind the attention.”

It was said with a grin, as if it were charming. You said nothing in response.

The doors opened on the fifth floor, and another person stepped in. You nodded a quick “Good evening, Sir,” and stepped out of the elevator. 

He winked, “Good night, Miss Y/L/N.”

The second the doors closed behind you, you squeezed your eyes close to prevent your tears from falling. Your legs started moving on autopilot toward the far wing, past the B-studios and the practice rooms.

You were praying that room 3B-47, one of the vocal booths, was not being used right now. The air conditioning was broken, and it always ran too warm in the room, so the trainees and producers usually weren’t using this room during the summer months. You knew because you’d used it before to escape your office when everything got too loud.

You reached the room with trembling fingers. You just needed five minutes. Five minutes in the quiet. Five minutes to fall apart and then pull yourself back together.

You pushed the door open and stepped inside, ready to finally breathe, and froze. 

A guy was sitting at the desk in front of the mixing board, headphones around his neck and a can of soda next to him. He turned when he heard the door and froze, just as startled as you were.

“Oh,” he said softly.

You blinked at him, and despite not being alone, you felt the first few tears spill out of the edges of your eyes, and your lip wobbled.

For one long, mortifying second, you just stood there, half-in, half-out of the room, tears streaking down your cheeks, chest tightening in sheer panic.

“…Hi,” you croaked, your voice barely working. And then, because what else could you possibly do?, you laughed. A broken, awkward little sound that came out more like a hiccup. “Sorry. This room is usually empty.”

His eyes were wide with concern. “It usually is.”

You wiped your face quickly with the sleeve of your jacket, trying to salvage whatever dignity you had left. “I didn’t mean to – I can just – I’ll leave.”

You started to backpedal, face burning now on top of everything else.

But he stood up, alarmed. “No – wait, are you okay?”

You gave another watery laugh, shaking your head. “Not really,” you admitted. Then immediately cringed. Why did you say that? To a stranger??

He stepped around the desk but didn’t come too close. His voice was gentle. “You, uh… do you want a tissue or something?”

You blinked again, and this time a fresh tear slipped out. You nodded helplessly.

He turned back to his backpack, rummaged, and pulled out a slightly crumpled pack of tissues. “Here.”

You took one, murmuring a hoarse, “Thanks.”

You wiped your eyes and cheeks, sniffling. “This must be so weird.”

He cracked a small smile. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t usually get cried at by strangers in my break room.”

You huffed a soft, wet laugh. “Break room?”

“Kind of. I use this place during lunch sometimes. One of the speakers buzzes, so no one really books it anymore.”

You nodded, still dabbing at your eyes. “Oh. I didn’t know that. I thought no one came in here because of the AC.”

He watched you carefully, like he wasn’t sure if he should say more or just let you sit. 

“I’m Heeseung,” he said finally, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

Despite yourself, you smiled.

“I’m Y/N,” you said. “I swear I don’t usually cry on strangers.”

Heeseung smiled gently. “It’s okay. I’ve had worse introductions.”

You laughed again, or tried to, but your throat was still tight, and the sound came out small.

There was a beat of silence. You dabbed at your face with the tissue, eyes darting to the dusty corner of the booth, embarrassed all over again when you noticed the black streaks of mascara on it. 

“Today was supposed to be a good day,” you said, and sniffled a bit.

Heeseung blinked. “Yeah?”

You nodded, staring down at the balled-up tissue in your hands. “I baked a cake this morning. With homemade meringue cream, sprinkles, sponge layers, the whole thing. I thought we’d finally get a little breather. One project done, celebrate a bit, move on to the next.”

You laughed, but it cracked partway out of your chest.

“And then legal comes in and suddenly everything we’ve worked on for the past three months is ruined. A different group released something similar, and now it looks like we copied them, which we didn’t, but my manager got chewed out, and now we have to redo all of it. Like, start from scratch. In a week.” You looked up, eyes tired. “Have you ever tried to rearrange three months of work for a seven-member idol group and their entire comeback rollout in a week?”

Heeseung looked stunned. “No. God, no.”

You exhaled shakily. “Yeah. Everyone’s stressed, my team’s exhausted, I’m exhausted, and then Mr. Kim from legal–” Your face twisted at the name, voice going sharper. “–tells me my dress is ‘lovely’ while staring directly at my boobs in the elevator. And I couldn’t even yell at him because of power imbalance and corporate hierarchy and all that fun stuff.”

Heeseung’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening.

“And now I’m crying in a broken practice booth in front of someone I’ve never met.”, you sniffled again. “I promise I’m not usually like this.”

There was a small pause. Heeseung took a small step closer.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said quietly. “Seriously.”

You blinked up at him.

“Sounds like you deserve to punch someone, who isn`t me, in the face.” He gave you a soft, lopsided smile. 

You let out a breath, something between a laugh and a sob, and dropped your shoulders.

Heeseung looked toward the little stool near the desk. “Want to sit for a bit? I mean, unless you want to go home. I won’t judge.”

You hesitated, then nodded slowly. You really didn’t feel like walking through the whole building while crying like a baby. “Yeah… I’ll sit.”

You sat down with a quiet sigh, letting your shoulders sag, the tissue still clenched loosely in your hand. The booth was warm, slightly stuffy from the broken AC.

Heeseung leaned against the edge of the desk. He was quiet for a moment, studying you like he wasn’t sure if he should ask something. You beat him to it.

“What about you?” you asked, voice still hoarse from crying. “What’re you doing here at ten p.m.? Do you always let people cry in your booth?”

His mouth tugged into a surprised smile. “Maybe. I guess that depends.”

You raised an eyebrow. “On?”

“If you’re someone who’ll report me for sneaking in to work on personal projects.”

You blinked. “Wait. You’re not even supposed to be here?”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “No, no. I work here. I’m not trespassing, I promise.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Doing what? Are you… like, a trainee?”

He raised his eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”

You waved a hand vaguely in his direction. “I mean. You're good-looking enough. You do look like you had a few HYBE-funded plastic surgeries.”

He choked on a laugh, genuinely startled. “HYBE funded plastic surgeries?”

You shrugged, cheeks warming despite yourself. “Dude, your nose is so pretty. Maybe I’m also just going crazy. I’ve been crying for twenty minutes. Just take the compliment.”

He grinned, tilting his head. “I used to be a trainee, actually. Years ago. But no, I’m a vocal instructor now. Well, technically… assistant instructor. I help run some of the trainee vocal sessions, and I do warm-ups with some of the newer groups before recordings and help with the recordings. ”

You blinked. “Oh. So you work with the idols?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m trying to get into producing, though. That’s why I am in here, just trying out some stuff. This is one of the only rooms where no one bugs you.”

You tilted your head. “Doesn’t it bother you? The AC being broken?”

“Honestly?” He glanced around. “Not really. If I am really locked in, i don’t even notice how warm it gets. I haven’t been in here during the summer, tho.”

You leaned back against the wall, nodding slowly. “Yeah. I think I get that.”

Another moment of quiet settled between you. This time, it didn’t feel uncomfortable.

“I really didn’t want to cry in a toilet again.”, you said after a while. 

He chuckled. “I’m honored to be chosen over one of the toilets here.”

You smiled faintly in response. 

It was almost nine thirty p.m. when you slipped into the booth again a day later.

Your bag was heavy, overstuffed with a tumbler for water and one for coffee, sticky tabs, two notebooks, a Tupperware box with the rest of your lunch, and a laptop that had maybe one percent battery left. Your shoulders ached from stress, and your phone was still buzzing.

The small studio was dimly lit, with only one lamp in the corner casting a warm pool of light. The faint scent of instant ramen hung in the air, and Heeseung sat by the mixing desk, hunched forward slightly, headphones covering his ears. 

He didn’t notice you at first. He was lost in whatever he was working on, eyes on the screen, a pen tapping slowly against his thigh in rhythm with something you couldn’t hear.

You paused, the door quietly clicking shut behind you. “Hey,” you said softly, barely louder than a whisper.

He startled slightly, looked up, and then relaxed when he saw you.

His lips curved into a small smile. “Hey. Back again?”

You nodded, already pulling your things out of your bag. “Yeah. Sorry. I just… I needed somewhere that is not my office to finish up some things.”

He pulled one side of his headphones off his ear. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer right away. You set your laptop down, pulled out your folder, and exhaled like it physically hurt. “I have to redo everything,” you murmured. “And I don’t even know where to start. I mean. I do. We already did a lot today and yesterday, but I still feel kinda lost. It’s so much work.”

He just nodded slowly and gestured to the table beside him.

“Sit. Do your thing. I’ll be quiet.”

You offered him a tired, grateful smile and slid into the chair, spreading out your chaos across the desk.

For a while, you both worked in parallel silence. Heeseung occasionally nodded his head to the beat in his headphones and, once in a while, scribbled down something in a well-loved notebook. You muttered under your breath, highlighted something in angry pink, and crossed it out again.

At some point, he slid a half-eaten protein bar toward you.

You stared at it, then glanced at him.

“Do I look that miserable?”

He grinned, eyes still on his screen. “Just hungry. Miserable was yesterday.”

You let out a laugh that surprised even you.

And then, quietly, you returned to your mess of unfinished tasks, and he returned to his music.

The silence stretched comfortably for a while. You had managed to sort the campaign into vaguely manageable buckets, and your brain was finally slowing down enough to process other things. 

Like the quiet hum of bass through Heeseung’s headphones. 

Or how he tapped out beats on the desk.

Or the soft smile he had when something on his screen clicked into place.

You glanced over, curious.

“What are you working on?” you asked, voice soft. “Is it… for work, or just something you’re playing with?”

He looked up and pushed his headphones down around his neck. “A bit of both, I guess. It’s something I’ve been producing for a while. A side project.”

You tilted your head, still watching him. “Do you produce for the company? Not just teach vocals?”

He blinked, seemingly a little surprised at the question. “Yeah. I mean, officially, I’m with the vocal team, mostly coaching and arranging. But I co-produce tracks when I can. Some of the groups I work with let me sneak stuff in.”

You smiled, intrigued now. “Anything I might know?”

He gave a small, sheepish laugh. “I mean… probably.”

“Oh?” You leaned forward slightly. “Like what?”

He hesitated, then reached for his phone and scrolled through something. After a moment, he turned the screen toward you. A familiar Spotify page, listing tracks from Enhypen’s last two albums.

Your eyebrows shot up. “Wait. You helped produce these?”

He nodded. “Yeah. ‘Bite Me,’ ‘One in a Million,’ and a couple of B-sides. Some vocal arrangements, too.”

You stared at him, genuinely stunned. “I was so obnoxiously annoying about ‘Bite me’ last year.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly a bit bashful. “Well. That’s a compliment, right?”

You nodded, still reeling. “You’re telling me I’ve been slowly dying under three separate campaign deadlines for Enhypen… and the guy whom I met in a random recording booth while crying my eyes out wrote my favorite songs?”

He grinned, looking down. “I didn’t know you were on their team.”

“I didn’t know you were a genius,” you shot back, smiling now.

He laughed, warm and genuine, and your stomach flipped slightly. 

You looked back down at your notes, flustered. “Okay, well. No pressure. I’m just rebuilding your next concept rollout from scratch.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “Then I guess I should start sneaking you some coffee, because what you gave us for the new changes is hard to do in such a short time frame.”

You barked out a laugh. “Tell me about it, Heeseung, tell me about it.” 

The subway platform smelled faintly of coffee and the sweet smell of the forsythias that were blooming all over Seoul at the moment.

You stood half-asleep in Line 2, wrapped in a cardigan you’d pulled off the back of your chair in a daze. Five hours of sleep, a slice of leftover toast, and a double-shot latte from Megacoffee were all that kept you vertical.

The doors slid open with a soft chime, and you stepped out, the early morning crowd moving with a surprising speed, making you adjust your footsteps to keep up with the crowd.

While you were waiting to check out your t-money cards, you spotted a familiar figure. Heeseung was wearing a hoodie half-zipped and had a big bag slung over his left shoulder. He looked as exhausted as you felt. Considering you left at almost 11 pm and he said he would stay a bit longer, and it was 7:06 am right now, you weren’t surprised. 

“Heeseung!” you said when you were close enough to where he was standing in the crowd. 

He blinked once when he saw you, like it took a moment for his brain to register what his eyes were seeing.

You gave a little wave. “Morning.”

He huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh, falling into step beside you as you both headed toward the exit of the subway station. “Good morning, Y/N.”

“You look like you slept worse than I,” you said, offering him a sideways glance.

He rubbed his face. “I have a meeting slot at seven thirty. Am. Seven thirty a.m.”

You grimaced. “That’s illegal. Call HR.”

He snorted. “Trust me, I’ve thought about it.”

You shuffled across the final crosswalk toward the HYBE building, warm summer wind tussling the yellow flowers slightly.

“It’s so stupid pretty today,” you mumbled.

Heeseung nodded. “It does look really pretty.”

You chuckled. “I love this season. In between summer and spring.”

“I like the quiet in the morning,” he said. “Before the heat kicks in. Or the fans start screaming in front of the building.”

And right on cue, as you turned the corner toward the entrance, you both slowed, spotting the small cluster of fans already hovering by the doors, phones out, whispering, some filming. 

You shared a glance, silently commiserating. 

“Looks like someone interesting walked by,” Heeseung muttered.

You gave them a wide berth, eyes down. “I’ll never understand how they do this every day.”

“Neither do some of the idols,” he said under his breath.

Once inside the cool glass doors, you both paused in the lobby. 

Heeseung gave you a small nod. “Good luck with your soul-crushing deadlines.”

You smiled tiredly. “You too. Have fun with your 7 a.m. meeting.”

That made him chuckle as he stepped into the elevator, lifting a hand in lazy farewell.

You stood there a moment longer, watching the doors close before you moved to your part of the building.

You and Jungwon were staring at your screens for about two hours now, picking and matching fonts together, when he groaned and let his head fall back against his chair.

“No offense,” he said, pointing at the monitor like it had personally wronged him, “but if I see one more handwritten brush font today, I’m going to start biting people.”

You hummed sympathetically. “We just need something clean. And no serifs. Nothing like the old one but kind of like the old one.”

He huffed. “Great, so… Helvetica?”

You snorted, adjusting the saturation levels on a font. The new concept was sleek, a little icy, almost sterile. It was going to be gorgeous. Sometimes, having to do something completely from scratch again results in perfection. But it also meant your eyeballs were bleeding from staring at high-gloss gradients for six hours straight.

Your screen pinged with a message.

[15:16] Lee Heeseung Hi Y/N, could you please come to Room 3C (production suite) when available? We had a couple of questions about the new concept visuals.

You blinked.

Then turned to Jungwon. “Did we miss a sync-up with A&R?”

Jungwon frowned, reading over your shoulder. “I thought the notes weren’t even finalized yet.”

You shrugged and started typing back.

[15:18] Y/N L/N Hi Heeseung, thank you for reaching out. Is this a time-sensitive matter, or would it be possible to align closer to noon? Currently finalizing teaser assets.

His reply came back thirty seconds later.

[Meeting Request: 15:30 – Production Room 3C] Title: Concept Sync — ENHYPEN / Visuals / Sound Direction From: Heeseung, Lee

You blinked at it.

Then looked at Jungwon, who was sipping from his oversized iced Americano.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s… weirdly formal.”

“Right?” you said, clicking Accept with a sigh. 

Jungwon squinted at the meeting invite, then at you. “Who’s Heeseung again?”

You blinked. “He works in A&R. He’s one of the vocal producers on the current cycle. Well, technically, he’s helping with the changes to the title track. They’re rerecording with some of the members today? Wait, let me pull up his profile picture.”

“Oh,” Jungwon said, sitting back, looking at the picture. “That guy. I think I’ve seen him around the elevators. He is quite tall, right?”

You nodded and turned back to your screen. “Yeah. Anyway, A&R and the members were already briefed on the concept changes?”

“Maybe they hate the new font,” he offered dryly.

You let out a quiet laugh, but the thought itched in the back of your mind. Heeseung didn’t seem like the type to waste time. And a meeting this formal? For a few design clarifications, while he works in sound design?

You checked the time.

15:24.

You stood up, smoothing down your skirt. 

“Text me if you hear screaming,” you muttered, grabbing your laptop and notebook.

Jungwon gave a dramatic salute. “Godspeed.”

You gave him a weak smile, headed toward the elevators.

The production hallway was dimmer than the main office floors. You’ve never really been here. This part of the building wasn’t really for administrative employees, so you had to search for the room for a couple of minutes.

When you finally found the room, you paused in front of it, double-checking the invite on your phone:

[Meeting Request: 15:30 – Production Room 3C] Title: Concept Sync — ENHYPEN / Visuals / Sound Direction From: Heeseung, Lee

You inhaled slowly, knocked, and slowly opened the door.

And then… your brain short-circuited.

There, in front of you, standing right there in the recording booth, were Jay and Jake. Jay and Jake from ENHYPEN.

Jake, who was standing behind the glass panel wearing headphones, noticed you the fastes, grinning at you. “Hi! You must be Y/N?”

“Uh,” you said, eyes flicking between him and Jay, who was sitting on a sofa behind Heeseung, outside the recording booth. “I–Hi.”

Your voice cracked.

Cool. Really cool. You didn’t even know if Jake could hear you.

Jay smiled and stood up, offering a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

You took it numbly. “I… know. I mean– Yes. Same. I mean… you.”

Heeseung was sitting in a chair behind the producer’s desk, a few meters behind them, smiling smugly.

“Oh,” he said, as if this were no big deal. “Y/N, you’re here. Come in.”

You didn’t move. You couldn’t move. What was happening? 

Heeseung gestured lazily. “Uh– this is Jake. Jay.”

You may have stopped breathing. You may have also forgotten how to stand.

“What… what is happening?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper as you stepped just inside.

Jay chuckled. “We wanted a bit of outside perspective on the new version. Heeseung said you would be able to give lots of insights into the new concept after the changes.”

You turned your whole head toward Heeseung, expression somewhere between murderous disbelief and you absolute lunatic. He had the gall to smile at you. Teeth and all.

“She’s a genius with designs,” he explained to the guys, tapping at his tablet. “So she should definitely know if the vibe fits. You should have seen her post-it wall, she noted down everything so meticulously, dude.”

You opened your mouth to protest and defend your Post-it wall in the booth. 

“That’s fantastic! We are almost done, Jake and I are going to record a few extra lines, and maybe you could listen to the track to give some feedback?” Jay said, smiling softly. You were talking to Jay Park. What was happening? 

“I–um–I can try?”, you said, tilting your head a bit, and Jay just laughed in response, nodded, and entered the booth.

Which meant it was just you and Heeseung now.

You turned on him, whispering fiercely: “Heeseung. What. The. Hell.”

He raised a brow, unfazed. “What?”

“What do you mean what?! What am I doing here? What are they doing here?!”

“I told you we needed input.”

“You said concept adjustments. Concept. Like… design. You didn’t say ENHYPEN would be here in the flesh.”

Heeseung looked far too pleased with himself. “I thought you might like to meet them.”

Your mouth dropped open. “You–Are you–You did not just casually drop me into a room with two-fifths of ENHYPEN like it’s the most normal thing.”

He lifted his tablet innocently. “I mean. Is it a normal thing for me? I am still friends with them.”

You groaned into your hands. “Heeseung. I’m in a wrinkled shirt. I’ve had, like, one coffee. My hair is greasy, and I smudged my eyeliner.”

“You look pretty,” he said quietly.

You blinked at him. “What?”

He shrugged. “You look fine. You were normal. You also were calmer than I thought you would be. I thought you would freak out more.”

You hesitated. “I didn’t freak out–”

He gave you a look.

“…Okay, I freaked out a little.”

He grinned. “But only a little.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You crossed your arms. “This is unfair.”

Heeseung walked to the soundboard, gesturing for you to follow. “It’s not. You like their music, right? Having a fan’s insight could help us tremendously.”

You exhaled slowly, willing your heart to stop galloping in your chest as you made your way to the chair beside him.

“Fine,” you muttered, cheeks still hot. “But if I say something dumb and they think I am cringe, you’re responsible.”

Heeseung laughed, handing you the headphones. “They won’t. I promise.” 

You watched as Heeseung leaned forward, elbow propped on the soundboard, tapping out the beat with two fingers before adjusting the mic that was on the table.

“Okay,” he said into the mic, his voice calm but precise, “Jay, keep your tone tight here. Don’t overproject. I want more air, less bite. Jake, I know the ad-libs aren’t final, but throw some texture into the bridge. Go off-beat if you want, I’ll clean it up in post.”

Jay nodded, while Jake just gave a lazy thumbs-up. The music started, and both idols started singing.

You turned slowly to look at Heeseung, who was listening intently, eyes flicking from the control board to the monitor to the waveform display. Your brow furrowed deeper with every note.

“Wait,” you whispered, afraid it might interrupt them, “how do they know how to do that? He just–you just gave them, like, five words of instruction and they just…did it?”

Heeseung chuckled beside you, low and soft, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “It’s instinct and training,” he said. “We work off reference tracks and sometimes demo vocals from overseas. Jay and Jake have good ears; they know how to adjust for tone and mood without needing a full breakdown. It’s kind of like… designing, I guess?”

You blinked. “How?”

“Well,” he said, settling back in his chair, “you don’t always tell your team, ‘make the logo 12% smaller and 4.5 degrees to the left,’ right? Sometimes you just say, ‘This doesn’t feel right.’ And they get it. Same thing here at one point, you just hear what you want to do.”

You sat back slowly, watching Jake and Jay take a sip of their waters and readjusting in the small booth. “Okay, that’s actually… cool as hell.”

Heeseung shot you a glance, smug but warm. “Glad you’re impressed.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you muttered, but the grin tugging at your mouth betrayed you.

The session continued, and slowly, your confusion melted into fascination. 

Honestly, it was kind of mesmerizing. Heeseung sat beside you and gave comments, directing his friends and adjusting when necessary. He really must love producing. Somehow, seeing him here instead of in front of the mic with Jake and Jay felt wrong. You have been thinking a lot about how he told you he was a trainee. Him not debuting was weird. He was pretty and talented, and you were sure he had a lot of potential.

You didn’t realize how much time had passed until Heeseung leaned toward the mic again and said, “Let’s take five.”

The booth door opened, and the two boys stepped out, both grinning and slightly sweaty.

“You good, Y/N?” Jake asked as he passed, tossing you a water bottle he’d grabbed from the mini-fridge.

“I–yeah,” you managed, catching it. “No, I’m good. You guys are just… really talented.”

Jay gave you a warm laugh as he walked past. “Thank you so much.”

Jesus Christ, Park Jongseong was breathing the same air as you. 

Heeseung stood up, stretching lightly. “Be right back, gotta tweak something in the vocal room.”

You nodded, watching as he disappeared down the hall. Being left alone with two of your favorite idols. Jesus. 

Your recording booth was a lot smaller, dimly lit, and far quieter than the one you were in earlier today. After about an hour of watching the boys recording one of the B-sides, you had to leave to join a meeting. You were still in disbelief that you had met Jake and Jay today. They were so …nice, and normal. They joked around with you and asked questions about you whenever they were not singing, seemingly being interested in your measly life. Their lives were so exciting, while yours was almost boring, so you didn’t really understand why they wanted to get to know you better. 

You leaned back in your chair. It had been almost a full week since the other group released their video, and the mountain of work your team had to redo was still looming. You had managed to finish about a third of it, but the rest was still open, waiting for the reshoots. And no matter how many times you tried to sit down and focus, it felt like you were just drowning in endless revisions and emails.

Frustration was simmering in your chest, and you needed a break.

You closed your laptop with a soft snap and leaned back, crossing your arms.

Heeseung, absorbed in his music, kept adjusting the sound levels on his tablet, occasionally glancing at the screen in front of him with a furrowed brow. The speakers in the booth weren’t great, but they did the job, playing the track he was working on with a slightly muffled quality.

"Can you explain what you’re working on?" you asked, your voice tinged with exhaustion. Heeseung glanced at you, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smile. “Sure.” He pulled up a few sliders on his tablet and gestured for you to sit closer to the desk. “I’ve been tweaking some harmonies here and there. You wanna try playing around a bit?”

You moved closer, peering over his shoulder at the glowing screen. He let you try adjusting a few settings on the software, the knobs and dials responding to your fingers in a way that felt oddly satisfying. The sound in the booth changed, layering and shifting as you worked through the track.

After a few minutes of fiddling, you paused, a thought popping into your head. The voice that came through the speakers sounded familiar.

“Wait...” You blinked, your fingers hovering over the tablet. “Is that you?”

Heeseung, who had been watching you experiment with the sound, gave a slight nod, his smirk widening. “Yeah, that’s me. I’ve been adding in some of my vocals to fill the track out.”

You stared at him for a moment, blinking rapidly, unsure if you had heard him correctly. “You... You’re singing in the song?”

Heeseung shrugged, his grin never faltering. “I mean, someone had to do it. The producers and the idols are all tied up with other things, so I thought I’d help out.”

You looked at him, wide-eyed. “That’s... amazing. I mean, I didn't expect you to... you know, sing. Like in the songs. I knew you could, like you know, you were a trainee. But-.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your reaction. “I’m full of surprises.”

You laughed, but it came out a little breathless, more from the shock than anything else. "I— Wow. You really know how to keep things interesting, don’t you?"

His grin widened. “It’s all part of the job.”

You shook your head with a small chuckle. 

You sat in silence for a few beats, listening to the faint loop of the track playing through the speakers. Then, quietly, you glanced over at him again.

“You told me you were a trainee, right?”

Heeseung didn’t look up at first, just nodded once, his eyes still on the screen. “Yeah.”

You hesitated, then asked, softer this time, “Why didn’t you debut?”

That made him pause. His fingers stilled on the tablet. For a moment, he looked like he might brush it off with one of his usual casual shrugs, but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned back a little in his chair, letting out a slow breath.

“I trained for almost three years,” he said finally. “Made it pretty far in the process. Thought I was gonna be part of the debut team. We were already learning choreo, recording demos... I was so close.”

You watched him carefully, the change in his tone impossible to miss. It wasn’t bitterness exactly, more like quiet disappointment.

“But they cut me before the final lineup,” he continued. “Said it was a tight call, but that I didn’t quite fit the concept. One day I was in the practice room with the guys, next day I was… out.”

Your chest tightened. “That’s–” You stopped, unsure what words would even help. “I’m sorry. That really sucks.”

He nodded slightly, but didn’t look at you. “I mean, it’s just how it goes. That’s the industry, right? You always know it might happen. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell when it does.”

You didn’t say anything, letting him have the silence.

After a moment, he glanced at you and added, quieter, “I didn’t want to just hang around, waiting for a maybe. So I left. Enrolled in uni. Got into A&R later. I still wanted to be around the music. Just… not in front of the camera.”

You swallowed, the lump in your throat catching you off guard. “For what it’s worth, you’re good at what you do.”

He gave a small smile. “Thanks. Took me a while to believe that again.”

You sat back again, letting the track loop one more time. 

“You really can sing,” you said, your voice quieter now. “Like… really.”

Heeseung gave you a lopsided smile, like he appreciated it but didn’t quite know how to take the compliment. “Thanks.”

You tilted your head, watching him fiddle with the EQ levels. “Who did you train with? Back then?”

He glanced over, like the question surprised him. “Uh… I started around the same time as the TXT guys, actually. We were all in the same batch for a while.”

“Seriously?” Your eyes widened. 

He nodded. “Yeah. I am still close with Beomguy. We tend to play lol together if he does get the time to do so.“ He chuckled a little, a mix of fondness and something more wistful. “Later, I trained with Jay and Sunghoon too, for a bit. But I didn’t go to I-LAND with them.”

You frowned slightly. “Why not?”

Heeseung paused, then shrugged lightly. “I’d just gotten into Yonsei. I figured if I wasn’t debuting with that team, I should at least do something with all the time I’d spent studying on the side. It felt like a sign or whatever.”

You nodded, trying to picture a younger version of him, in practice rooms, on stages, performing.. “Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if you did go?”

He hesitated. “Sometimes. Yeah. But I also don’t know if I’d still love music the way I do now if I’d pushed through it back then.” His eyes flicked to yours. “Don’t get me wrong. I respect the hell out of the idols who make it. But… I think I wanted music more than I wanted the spotlight.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you just reached out for his hand and gave it a small squeeze. Being so close but still so far away from achieving your dreams while your friends did must be horrible. Your heart was breaking for Heeseung. 

He didn’t look up when he asked, “So how’d you end up in marketing?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. “Marketing?”

He glanced at you, then back at the screen. “Yeah. HYBE. This whole world.”

You leaned back in your chair, letting your gaze drift across the scattered post-its and empty coffee cups. “Honestly?” You paused, debating how much to share. “I wanted to be a baker.”

Heeseung’s fingers stilled over the controls. “A baker?”

“Mm-hmm.” You smiled a little. “Like, own-a-little-café-and-make-pretty-cakes kind of baker. I used to bake all the time. Still do, sometimes, birthdays, project launches, stress-induced insomnia...”

“That explains the cake last week.”

You nodded. “Guilty.”

“So… what happened?”

“My parents weren’t exactly thrilled about the idea,” you said, your smile flattening a bit. “Not a real job, too unstable, that whole thing. Don’t get me wrong. I still love it. But I also liked graphic design. I spent way too much time messing around in Photoshop in high school, and that seemed like a more reasonable job. Something in graphic design.”

Heeseung hummed softly.

“Soongsil had a program that combined marketing and design,” you continued. “I applied on a whim. Somehow got in. And now I’m here. At HYBE. Running on five hours of sleep and three iced Americanos a day.”

He chuckled. “Living the dream.”

“Right?” you muttered, smiling despite yourself. “I still haven’t even met half the artists I used to lose my mind over in high school.”

He shot you a look. “You met me.”

You snorted. “I did. But you’re technically not famous. No offense.”

“Wow.”

You laughed, nudging his shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

Heeseung grinned, then tilted his head thoughtfully. “Would you want to?”

You blinked. “Want to what?”

“Meet more of them. The guys. Or, I don’t know, come with us sometime. When we go out to eat or something.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “What?”

He gave a half-shrug. “Obviously, you’d have to sign NDAs, and it wouldn’t be anything wild. But… Jay and Jake said you were cool to hang with.”

You just stared at him.

He raised a brow. “What?”

“You’re joking.”

He shook his head, completely serious. “Not really. I can ask.”

You blinked once. Twice. “I mean. Yeah. Yes? I’d love that? But are you sure?”

“Absolutely.“

Monday, you were the first one in the booth.

The room was still dim and cold when you flicked on the overhead lights. You set your bag down with a soft thud, pulled your laptop from its sleeve, and stared at the wall you’d unofficially claimed for the past week.

Post-its in every color, screenshots printed out and pinned up, concept sketches taped beside side-by-side comparisons of the old and new rollout plans. The teaser stills were up now, too, and one corner held an evolving palette reference that had been mercilessly fine-tuned since Saturday.

Honestly, it looked like the inside of your brain.

Jungwon had helped you most of the weekend, poring over typefaces and tweaking spacing pixel by pixel while eating almost half of the batch of croissants you made for the team as a cheer-up on his own. Neither of you had gotten much sleep, but you were proud of what had come together.

Now it was Monday, and the final design sprint was on.

You pulled out your laptop and your notebook and then and then, with a flick of hesitation, took a small Tupperware box containing two croissants, a strawberry, and one witch pistachio creme and placed it right in front of the screens on the mixing table. 

You sat back on the sofa and stared at your screen, continuing to adjust the promo banner’s line weight.

You heard the door open ten minutes later.

Heeseung walked in, yawning audibly, one hand ruffling through his hair as he padded across the room. He didn’t notice you at first and made a beeline for his chair, eyes fixed on the floor.

Then he stopped short.

You watched him inspect the box. 

“…What the hell?”

You set down your stylus, trying not to smile. “Good evening, Mr. Lee.”

He jumped slightly, then squinted at you. “Did you bring this for me?”

You blinked innocently. “Bring what?”

He picked up the box. “This says my name on it. In your very neat handwriting.”

You shrugged, going back to your laptop. “Figured you deserved something sweet. You’ve been working nonstop too.”

He looked at you back at the croissant and back at you, then opened the lid, picked out the strawberry one, and took a bite. He moaned. Actually moaned.

You glanced over, cheeks growing warm. “Is it okay?”

“You made this?” he said through a mouthful. “Like. You made this?”

“Mhm.”

He took another bite and threw his head back, making another pleased sound.

“Okay,” he said after swallowing, “I want ten more.”

You laughed. “You’ll have to get in line. Jungwon already stole four yesterday. He ate almost all the matcha ones, I almost had to fight him to save you one.”

Heeseung set the box down with care. “Y/N. I would quit my job and follow you to a bakery handing out these things all day long if that means I could eat one once a day.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You would work the counter?”

He leaned against the edge of the table, grinning. “Only if I get paid in croissants.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warming. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’m a visionary,” he said, still chewing. “And this visionary says we’re keeping you busy and stressed if you bake like this on no sleep.”

You smirked and turned back to your screen. “Then get me coffee and I won’t sleep today.”

He saluted dramatically. “On it.”

By 8 PM, the booth had gone quiet again, not from lack of activity, but from pure, unfiltered exhaustion.

The once-crisp brainstorm wall now looked ragged around the edges, corners curling from the humidity. Your Tupperware sat empty beside a growing sea of coffee cups, and your cursor blinked mockingly on the fifth draft of a teaser caption. You didn’t even register that Heeseung had stopped working until you felt a gentle tug on your hair as he walked past the sofa to peer into your laptop.

“Okay,” he said, voice low but firm. “That’s enough. Hands off.”

You blinked, disoriented. “Wait, just let me–”

“Nope.” He was already reaching across to shut your laptop lid. “You’re two eye twitches away from collapsing. I’m not risking a death on my watch.”

You groaned, slumping back in your chair. “I still have so much to–”

“You’ll be useless if you drop dead tonight. Sleep is part of productivity, Y/N.”

“Is that a direct quote from Bang PD?”

“Me,” he said smugly, gathering his things. “Bang PD wishes he were this wise.”

You finally caved and packed up your bag, groaning softly as you stretched. Your limbs felt like jelly. “God. I might fall asleep standing.”

“Then let’s get you on a subway before that happens.”

The subway hummed beneath your feet, rocking gently as the car pulled into your station. You and Heeseung stood side by side, swaying slightly.

“This is my stop,” you mumbled, turning towards the door.

“Oh really?” he blinked. “You live here?”

“Yeah. Near that 24-hour tteokbokki place,” you said, turning to him. “Why?”

He smiled, a bit stunned. “I’m like five minutes from there.”

“What?”, you asked, your eyebrows scrunching together. 

“We've probably missed each other by seconds.”, he said and walked towards the door, waiting for you to follow, before continuing. “I go to that tteokbokki place at least twice a week.”

“Oh really?” you shook your head, smiling. 

“I swear they make a lot of profit thanks to me.”

“So where is your apartment?”, you asked, tapping your T-money card against the sensor to open the gate for you to walk out. 

“Across from that tiny laundromat with the blue sign just down the street,” he said, as the two of you made your way upstairs and outside the subway station. 

You were greeted by pouring rain. “Oh. That’s really close to me, then.”

You used one of your hands as a makeshift umbrella, pressing your workbag closer to you. 

“Do you not have an umbrella?” Heeseung asked, unfolding his and stepping closer so you were hurdled under his together. 

“No. I forgot mine at home this morning”, you mumble, adjusting your bag again so it was protected from the rain. 

“I’ll walk you home then”, Heeseung said and nodded. 

You blinked. “You don’t have to–”

“I want to,” he said, simply.

You both fell into step, feet dragging just slightly on the quiet sidewalk. You walked in comfortable silence for a block or two, the street dim and hushed.

And then, just before your building came into view, you slowed slightly and turned toward him.

“Well,” you said, offering a small smile, “this is me.”

Heeseung nodded, rocking back on his heels. “Right.”

You opened your mouth to say goodbye when he suddenly spoke again, fast.

“Wait–uh, have you eaten?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He shifted, suddenly looking a little unsure of himself. “Dinner,” he clarified, gaze dropping for a second before flicking back to yours. “I mean. Did you eat anything yet?”

You hesitated, then shook your head. “Not really. Why?”

He exhaled like he wasn’t sure if he should keep going. “It’s just–” He paused, then gave a crooked, slightly sheepish smile. “I make really good ramen. Like… really good ramen. And I figured since you fed me the best croissant I’ve ever had in my life, maybe I could return the favor?”

You stared at him for a second, thrown off.

“You… want to make me ramen?”

“I mean, you don’t have to say yes,” he said quickly, suddenly sounding adorably embarrassed. “But I promise they are going to be the best instant ramen you have ever eaten.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself, the sound light and disbelieving. “Are you actually trying to seduce me with ramen?”

Heeseung’s ears turned pink. “Only a little?”

You bit back your grin. “Okay.”

He blinked. “Okay?”

You nodded. “Let’s see if your ramen lives up to the hype, Lee.”

He grinned, eyes lighting up like a kid getting away with something. “You won’t regret this.”

You unlocked the door with one hand and pushed it open with the other, stepping inside and kicking off your shoes with a sigh.

He crouched to undo his own laces, then straightened, glancing around the small space. “You weren’t kidding. We really do live close.”

“Five-minute radius,” you said, dropping your bag onto your sofa. “Honestly, I’ve never run into you before. Weird.”

He stepped further in, still looking around. “Nice place.”

You let out a small, awkward laugh. “It’s a bit of a mess. I didn’t think I’d get any guests today.”

He turned toward you, one brow raised. “This is a mess?”

You looked around—jacket half-draped over a chair, two mugs in the sink, and a few design books scattered on the desk.

“Kind of,” you said, self-conscious.

“No,” Heeseung said gently. “You should see my apartment. Yours looks like an Airbnb listing.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but stopped when you realized he wasn’t teasing. His voice was soft, eyes still lingering on the wall of pictures next to the sofa with something like curiosity.

“Right,” you said, clearing your throat. “Okay. So, um, what do you need to make the ramen happen?”

Heeseung stepped into the kitchen with you, looking around like he was sizing up a mission. “Pot. Strainer. A spoon and a dream.”

You laughed quietly and opened a cabinet. “Okay, I can manage that.”

While you pulled out everything he needed, Heeseung started unpacking the convenience store bag: two packets of noodles, tofu, scallions, two eggs, and a packet of cheese he insisted on buying.

He glanced at you. “Would you like to play some music?”

You grabbed your phone and shrugged. “Sure. What do you wanna hear?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

You picked one of your most listened R&B playlists. The speakers on your counter buzzed faintly as the music kicked in, and Heeseung was already filling the pot with water, sleeves rolled up, head bowed in focus.

You found yourself watching him for a beat too long.

Then you turned to the drawer, pulled out two sets of chopsticks, and set the small two-seater table without thinking, putting everything down meticulously. 

“Sorry for the lack of options with drinks,” you said eventually, twisting the cap off a bottle of water. “I didn’t really plan for dinner company.”

Heeseung looked up from where he was slicing green onions with the dullest knife you owned. “You’re kidding? This is better than most of my actual dinner plans.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Which are what, exactly?”

“Usually just me and a microwaved rice bowl.”

You laughed again, softer this time. “Tragic.”

He shot you a grin. “Hence the ramen upgrade.”

The kitchen filled with the scent of boiling broth and spice. It was quiet, save for the clatter of utensils and the low hum of the playlist. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him stir the noodles in smooth, practiced motions.

“This feels weird,” you said, after a moment.

He glanced at you, brows raised. “Weird?”

“Not in a bad way,” you clarified. “Just… we barely know each other. And now you’re making ramen in my kitchen.”

Heeseung looked down at the pot, then back at you. His expression shifted, something between amusement and bashfulness.

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess it is kind of weird.”

A beat passed.

“But not, like… bad weird,” he added.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Not bad.”

You were halfway through reviewing the teaser layouts when a message pinged your phone.

[10:12 AM] Manager-nim Y/N, please come to Meeting Room 5A. Someone’s waiting for you.

Curious and a little nervous, you made your way upstairs, dodging a couple of rushed interns in the hallway. The second you stepped into 5A, your eyes widened.

Sitting calmly at the head of the small table was Enhypen’s manager.

“Y/N-ssi,” he greeted, standing and offering a small bow. “Thanks for coming. Please, have a seat.”

Your brain scrambled. Why the hell was Enhypen’s manager here? Had something gone wrong with the concept rollout? Was there another delay? 

But instead of pulling up the campaign materials, he slid a neat stack of documents across the table. A thick set of papers clipped together.  On top, in bold print:

CONFIDENTIALITY & CONDUCT AGREEMENT (NDA)

You blinked. “I–sorry, what is this?”

The manager smiled faintly. “Jay mentioned he’d invited you to join the team for dinner next week.”

You stared. “Jay?”

Why would Jay invite you for dinner? 

“The boys are very serious about privacy,” he said, flipping the first page over. “So we have to be as well.”

For the next fifteen minutes, you were walked through every clause of the NDA, contact policies, social media limitations, media interaction clauses, and personal conduct guidelines. You nodded numbly, half in shock, half in awe, as you signed your name at the bottom.

The second you were released, you didn’t even make it back to your desk. You opened your messages and texted Heeseung instead:

[10:52 AM] You: Where are you. [10:52 AM] Heeseung: Vocal Room 3. Just wrapped a lesson.

When you pushed open the door to Vocal Room 3, Heeseung was setting down a water bottle. “Wow, that was fast.” 

“Dude–” you blurted, slapping the door shut behind you. “Are you actually insane?”

He blinked. “...No?”

“You told me I’d have to sign an NDA. You didn’t tell me it was real! I thought you were joking?!”

“I wasn’t.” He grinned, thoroughly enjoying your fluster. “Do you not wanna come?”

You launched yourself at him before you could stop yourself, arms looping around his neck. “Are you kidding?! Of course I want to come! I can’t believe– thank you, seriously–”

You hadn’t even fully realized you were hugging him until you felt that split-second freeze in his posture. His hands hovered in midair like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Oh–,” he muttered under his breath.

You pulled back immediately. “Oh my god–sorry–”

“No, no,” he said quickly, shaking off whatever momentary glitch he just had. His arms settled loosely around your waist. “I just didn’t think you’d be this excited about an NDA.”

“You literally handed me a legally binding document that says Enhypen wants to hang out with me.”

He snorted. “Technically, it just says they won’t sue you if you talk about anything that might happen or will be said.”

You smacked his arm lightly.

He grinned. “We’re going for Italian on Thursday.”

You blinked. “Thursday? Crap–I have the rollout presentation Friday morning.”

Heeseung tilted his head. “Okay… so come over instead.”

“…What?”

“I’ll host. My place. We’ll do pizza or pasta or whatever. Super chill. I’ll tell the guys.”

You stared at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. “Absolutely.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach flip a little. You tried to pretend your ears weren’t burning as you nodded slowly.

“…Okay,” you said, voice a bit higher than intended. “I’ll bring dessert.”

“You’d better,” he shrugged. “If not, you’re getting uninvited.”

You laughed under your breath as you followed him out into the hallway, heart thudding somewhere between this is so surreal and how is he so nonchalant about this.

He laughed softly, arms coming up to steady you as you practically bounced on your heels. “Okay, okay, calm down. It’s just dinner.”

“It’s not just dinner,” you huffed into his shoulder. “It’s Enhypen dinner. I didn’t even think you liked me that much–”

“I don’t,” he teased. “I just want more croissants.”

You shoved his shoulder lightly but didn’t let go. You were still grinning way too hard to care.

The morning crowd on the subway was… less than forgiving.

You regretted everything the moment you stepped onto the packed train, clutching your bag and a coffee cup against your chest like a shield. Heeseung had met you at your usual stop with a lazy smile and two iced Americanos, one of which you almost spilled when the train lurched forward.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, half-tripping. 

“Hold that,” Heeseung said, pressing his cup into your hand and wrapping one hand around your waist, steadying you. The other shot up to catch the overhead handle just in time. You froze.

Not a single muscle moved.

His arm stayed firmly around you, low and warm and annoyingly natural.

“I was doing fine,” you protested, after a few seconds. 

“Yeah,” Heeseung said, glancing down at you with a raised brow, “you look thriving.”

You shot him a look, but the next jolt of the train had you wobbling forward again. 

And suddenly your entire spine was pressed against Heeseung’s chest, shoulder to ribs.

You were perilously aware of everything: how warm he was, how steady his breathing felt against your back, how he smelled faintly like cologne and coffee. And most of all, how he didn’t move.

If anything, he just adjusted his grip slightly. 

You wanted to say something. Instead, you just blinked at your own reflection in the window and tried not to melt.

“Relax,” Heeseung murmured near your ear, low enough for only you to hear. “I’ve got you.”

You made a tiny, strangled noise, trying not to squeeze the two cups in your hand, while panicking. 

And then, mercifully, the next stop came.

By the time you spilled out of the subway car onto the platform, your legs were jelly and your face was on fire. 

“You okay?” he asked, amused when you handed him his cup.

“Totally,” you wheezed. “Normal. Very normal train ride. Love commuting. Big fan.”

“Good,” he said, sipping his coffee, grinning at you.

The train finally began to slow near your stop, the pressure of the crowd shifting as people prepared to shuffle out. Heeseung’s arm loosened from around you, and you stepped forward as space allowed, finally able to breathe without your heart doing parkour in your chest.

At the platform, the two of you walked in step toward the station exit, letting the rhythm of the morning crowd carry you along. 

Outside, the morning air was already stuffy. You reached the entrance of the building.

You turned to Heeseung. He was already watching you with that unreadable expression of his, coffee cradled in one hand.

“See you later,” you said, a little quieter than usual.

He nodded, mouth tilting up just a bit. “Yeah. Later.”

 By 6:40 p.m. on Thursday, you were this close to crying.

Your desk was a mess of draft decks, color-correction notes, and flagged emails you hadn’t yet answered. Your hands were cold from stress, your jaw ached from clenching, and your chest felt tight.

You were just about finished for the evening when you noticed him standing in the doorway of your booth. His shoes clicked against the polished floor, his movements far too deliberate, too slow, as he made his way toward you.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he said, his voice so sickly sweet you could almost taste the insincerity. “Looking absolutely stunning tonight.”

You blinked, trying to refocus on your screen.

“Is that a new dress?” He leaned closer, his smile stretching too wide for comfort. “You know, I do enjoy when someone can dress for the occasion... So much more appealing to the eyes.”

You barely suppressed a grimace, resisting the urge to curl your lip. You'd chosen the dress that morning because it was a simple yet professional choice. You didn’t think much of it until Mr. Kim made it clear that it had caught his attention in a way that had nothing to do with your work.

His eyes lingered, scanning you too intently for your liking, and the comment that followed only made your stomach churn.

“Quite the distraction, though,” he added smoothly. “Makes it hard for a man like me to focus, Miss Y/L/N.”

You hated how his gaze felt like it was crawling over you, how it lingered a little too long on the way your dress fit and the way you sat at your desk. 

He lowered his voice slightly, the words coated with layers of suggestion. “You know, I could always help you with getting your mind off work... if you needed a break from all this stress.”

Your jaw clenched. A small part of you wanted to retort, tell him exactly what you thought of his “help,” but you knew better. You didn’t want to make a scene. You smiled tightly instead, forcing the words out with as much professionalism as you could muster.

“Thank you, Mr. Kim. But I have everything under control.”

He leaned back, satisfied with your answer, or rather, the fact that you hadn’t rejected his offer outright. You tried to shove the creeping feeling of disgust down. He made a final comment before leaving, "Don't work too hard, Miss Y/L/N. After all, we wouldn’t want you to get too tired in that lovely dress."

You almost threw your stylus at him.

Now you sat slumped in your chair, elbows on your desk.

You wanted to cancel. You really, really wanted to. 

But you couldn’t.

Because Heeseung invited you. Because he was excited. Because you were excited. Because you made tiramisu. Because this was your chance to meet some of the Enhypen members as actual people, not headline acts. 

A knock on the outer glass startled you.

Heeseung.

He walked in smiling, but his expression shifted the second he saw you. You didn’t even have time to straighten up before he crossed the room.

“Hey…” His voice was gentle. “What happened?”

You opened your mouth to answer and ended up just blinking fast.

“Oh. Okay, come here.”

He wrapped his arms around you before you could say anything else. One hand rubbed gently between your shoulder blades.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay.”

You sniffed, trying not to fall apart completely. “Sorry. I’m just– I don’t know, I’m just really tired and that asshole came by and–”

“I hate that guy,” Heeseung muttered, pulling back just enough to look at you properly.

His hands came up to frame your face, gentle thumbs brushing at your temples, moving a few strands of hair away with soft care. “You’re doing amazing, okay? Don’t let him make you think differently.”

Your breath shuddered out. “I just… I don’t wanna show up all weird and stressed and ruin the vibe.”

“You’re not going to ruin anything,” he said quietly. “You’re bringing tiramisu. You’ve already won everyone’s heart. Especially Sunghoons. I know he is your bias, so it’s a win, right?”

That got the smallest laugh out of you. He himself asked you if you could make tiramisu. 

He smiled. “Let me carry your stuff, okay? We’ll head to mine, eat too much, and if you want to dip early, I’ll make something up. Deal?”

You nodded slowly. “Deal.”

“And,” he added, lowering his hands but still watching you carefully, “if he ever comes near your booth again, let me know. I’m not management, but I know how to be annoying.”

You laughed again, for real this time. “You? Annoying? Never.” 

The subway car was packed.

Not just crowded, shoulder-to-shoulder, strangers-breathing-down-your-neck kind of packed. You squeezed in just behind Heeseung as the doors hissed shut, the jolt of movement almost sending you stumbling. He caught your elbow instinctively, his hand steadying you for just a second before he let go.

“Seat,” he said quietly, nodding toward the only one available, just a few feet to your right.

You hesitated. “You should take it.”

Heeseung looked at you like you’d suggested jumping onto the tracks. “You’re wearing a dress and heels.”

You blinked. “What does that–”

“Just sit.”

You didn’t argue again. You just slid into the seat, your bag clutched tight in your lap.

He stood directly to your right, one hand braced on the bar above, the other tucked into the pocket of his jacket. The car lurched forward.

Your knees bumped his leg when the train turned.

He didn’t move.

You shifted, trying to give him space, but there wasn’t any. He was close enough that you could smell the laundry detergent on his hoodie. 

Another stop. More people pushed in. He adjusted his stance slightly, his shin brushing against your ankle now, the line of his thigh against yours. 

His eyes flicked down.

Then up again.

Then away.

Neither of you spoke.

You didn’t have to. The contact was small, but your whole body was aware of it.

You stared at the blinking subway map above the door.

One stop. Then two. Almost home.

You tried not to think too hard about how nice it felt, this quiet little moment of being taken care of in the most casual, quiet, unspoken way.

By the time you reached your building, it started raining and you and Heeseung were huddled under his umbrella again. You buzzed yourself in, holding the door with your foot until Heeseung followed.

Once inside, you took off your shoes, motioning toward the living room. “Give me two minutes. Gotta grab the tiramisu and maybe… change?”

Heeseung tilted his head. “Yeah….actually, if you want to, that might be… good?”

You blinked. “Good?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Just figured you might wanna get out of your work stuff, to be…more comfortable. It’s super casual, I mean.”

You nodded slowly. “Got it. Two seconds.”

You disappeared down the hallway, your heart doing something slightly irrational as you pulled open your wardrobe.

Comfortable. Casual. Not… too casual.

You settled on high-waisted jeans and a soft black tank with scalloped straps. Simple. You undid your hair too, shaking it out with your fingers until it settled loosely over your shoulders. You checked the mirror, lips twitching.

And then, without overthinking it, you padded barefoot back into the living room.

“Okay,” you said, leaning against the doorframe. “This okay?”

Heeseung looked up from where he’d been sitting on your sofa, flipping through one of the design magazines you bunkered under the table, and froze. 

His eyes scanned you quickly and then darted immediately to the floor like the entire act of looking had caught him off guard.

“Uh–yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “Yeah. That’s–uh. That’s perfect.”

You tilted your head. “You sure?”

“Totally,” he said, too fast. “I mean–it’s not, like–you’re perfect. I mean–not like perfect-perfect, just–you look great. I mean good. Yes.”

You smiled slowly, watching the tips of his ears turn pink. “Thanks, Heeseung.”

He coughed once, avoiding your eyes. “Let’s… let’s go before I eat the tiramisu myself.”

You grabbed your bag again, heart fluttering just enough to make your grin feel dangerous. “Lead the way.”

Heeseung’s apartment was bigger than yours. 

He dropped his keys in the bowl near the door, turning to offer you a small smile. “They said they’d be here around seven-thirty, so we’ve got a few minutes.”

You nodded, clutching the tiramisu like it was a shield. Your heart thudded faster now, not in fear exactly, but in nerves. The idea of sitting down and casually having dinner with ENHYPEN suddenly felt very… real.

Heeseung watched you for a moment, eyes soft. “You okay?”

“Just… mentally preparing,” you said, exhaling. “It’s fine. Totally fine. Just casually meeting five people who were on my Spotify Wrapped last year.”

He grinned. “If it helps, Sunghoon still burns toast.”

You laughed under your breath and were about to respond when the shrill sound of Heeseungs doorbell interrupted you. 

Heeseung raised a brow. “They are early.”

You instinctively stepped half behind him as he opened the door.

“Hyung, I swear to god. I am so freaking hungry if we dont order food immedietely I’ll die,” Jake’s voice rang out as he stepped inside, followed by Sunoo, who immediately toed off his shoes.

“We literally just came back ourselves,” Heeseung replied, letting them all in. “We haven’t ordered anything yet.”

“Man, thats dissapointing,” Jake said, already peeking toward the kitchen where you were standing, next to the tiramisu.

“Hi,” you replied, suddenly aware of how warm your face felt.

Behind him came Niki and Sunghoon, who both had wet hair. All of them were bare faced.

“We’re minus one,” Sunghoon said as he dropped onto the couch. “Jay’s not coming.”

Heeseung blinked. “What?”

Sunghoon shrugged. “His girlfriend started her period today and he went over to her place.”

“That’s… actually sweet,” you blurted.

Heeseung gave a small laugh and motioned toward you. “Everyone, this is Y/N. She works in creative.”

You gave a small wave, not quite trusting your voice again yet.

Sunoo smiled at you, “Nice to meet you Y/N.”

You slightly cleared your throat. “Yeah. Nice to meet you, too.”

Jake stepped into the kitchen. “Wait. Is that the tiramisu?”

“Mhm,” Heeseung said walking over and, setting it in the fridge. 

“Dude I thought you ordered some,” Sunghoon said sitting down on Heeseungs sofa. 

“Yeah. Well, not exactly order, I asked Y/N if she wanted to make some,” Heeseung shrugged. “It’s Sunghoon’s favorite.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You asked for it.”

Heeseung’s expression didn’t even flicker. “Yeah. For Sunghoon.”

You turned to him, deadpan. “Dude. What the fuck. I wanted to make cookies for you cause you said u said they looked yummy and now i made tiramisu for an international super star?”

Sunoo laughed immediately. “Wait, you’re the croissant girl?”

You blinked. “The crossiant girl?”

“But Heeseung didn’t shut up about the croissants for days.”, Jake said plopping down next to Sunghoon.

You looked at Heeseung, arms crossed. “You told them about the crossints?”

Heeseung, who was now pretending to scroll through the pizza delivery app, said nothing.

“I think that’s sweet,” Sunghoon said, leaning back on the armrest. “Even if it’s a little embarrassing.”

“For him or me?” you asked.

“Yes,” Sunghoon replied with a faint smile.

You shook your head, still suppressing a grin. “Okay. You guys want pizza or not?”

“Absolutely,” Niki said. “Half bulgogi, half pepperoni. No pineapple.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jake muttered.

“Do not start a war in my apartment,” Heeseung warned.

While they argued about toppings, you helped Heeseung finish the order. 

Sunoo plopped down next to Sunghoon and patted the seat beside him. “Come on. We don’t bite.”

You hesitated, then sat, keeping your posture neutral, your legs tucked neatly under you.

“Okay,” Jake said, lounging across the arm of the couch. “So what made you want to work at HYBE?”

You blinked at the directness, then laughed nervously. “Wow. Uhm I'm there more or less on accident?”

You glanced at Heeseung, who offered a small nod of encouragement from the kitchen.

“I… actually wanted to be a baker,” you said. “I studied design because my parents wanted me to have something ‘practical’ to fall back on. Turns out I liked it enough to keep doing it. And then one internship led to another, and somehow I ended up designing teaser graphics for idol groups.”

“Do you still bake often, or was it a one time thing for hyung?” Niki asked.

“Mostly for stress,” you admitted. “Or when someone makes a really annoying request for tiramisu.” You shot a glance at Heeseung, who just smiled and opened a cabinet.

“Hey,” he said, mock-offended. “That was a great decision.”

The next morning was already chaos.

You had a stack of revised mood boards tucked under your arm, three poster mock-ups clipped to your tote, and a USB drive clenched between your teeth while you tried not to spill your lukewarm coffee. The team had pulled off near-miracles, reworking concepts, rebuilding a cohesive storyline, and salvaging designs under impossible pressure. And now it was time to present.

Your nerves were frayed and your blouse was wrinkled and of course, of course, the elevator was packed when you stepped inside.

Just as the doors started to close, a hand slipped between them.

Heeseung, headphones around his neck and hair still slightly damp like he’d showered five minutes ago made his way into the packed elevator. He offered you a sleepy smile, eyes darting to the mess in your hands.

“Are you ready?” he asked, leaning slightly against the side of the elevator.

“I am not sure,” you muttered, clutching your things. “Everything breaks if one person blinks wrong.”

“Sounds relaxing,” he said, with a small smirk.

You gave him a half-hearted eye roll, but you were grateful for the few seconds of levity. His presence was oddly grounding. Then the elevator dinged.

And in stepped Mr. Kim.

The air changed immediately.

You froze as the man’s eyes raked across the small elevator car, lingering far too long when they landed on you. Your stomach twisted. 

“Miss Y/L/N,” he said, his tone smug. “Always working so hard.”

You tried to smile without actually smiling, eyes darting to Heeseung, who glanced between you and Mr. Kim.

You gave him a look.

And without missing a beat, Heeseung shifted closer to you, casually, but firmly placing himself between you and Mr. Kim. His hand came up to gently rest on your back, warm through the fabric of your shirt. 

Your breath caught.

As the elevator slowed to your floor, Heeseung looked down at you and gave a quiet, encouraging murmur.

“You got this, babe.”

Your brain short-circuited.

You barely registered the surprised look on Mr. Kim’s face as he blinked at Heeseung, then back at you, as you stepped off the elevator.

“Oh?” he said, clearly trying to mask his annoyance. “You and Mr. Lee are… close?”

Heeseung didn’t even blink. He just smiled.

“Yes. We’ve been going out for a while now.”

Mr. Kim’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he gave a small nod, like the internal math he was doing didn’t quite add up but he’d decided it wasn’t worth the effort to challenge it, at least not now.

The rest of the meeting passed in strange, almost blessed peace. Mr. Kim didn’t interrupt you once. Didn’t cut off your points, didn’t make snide remarks. He just… sat there. Quiet.

The applause at the end of your presentation felt like a drug. Even Legal had nodded in approval, which was practically a standing ovation. When your manager turned to you with a small, rare smile and said, “Great work. We’re green lit to post. Let’s get this live by Monday,” your knees almost buckled.

You had survived.

You should have felt on top of the world.

Except…

Heeseung had been red on Teams since 10:14 a.m.

You checked. Rechecked. Closed and reopened the app. Still red.

[12:47 PM] y/n: We did it. Greenlight.

No reply.

[2:05 PM] y/n: I brought the fancy draft mockups for you to roast but you’re ghosting me instead, rude

Still red.

You tried to be mature about it. He was busy. Probably. 

Except it stung a little. Okay, a lot. Especially when your manager swung by at 4:30 with a tired grin and a generous offer.

“You’ve earned a break. Go home, everyone. Rest. Sleep. Don’t even look at your inbox until Monday morning.”

And like that, the office emptied.

You took the train back in silence. When you got home, you peeled off your work clothes, cleansed your face, and climbed into your pink kitty pajamas. You slapped on your favorite aloe sheet mask and sank into your couch like a deflated balloon.

You glanced at your phone once more, just in case.

Still red.

At 9:17 p.m., just when you were deciding whether you wanted to start a new drama or rewatch a old one your phone vibrated. 

[9:17 PM] Heeseung: Are you still in the building?

You blinked, stared, then scrambled to type back.

[9:18 PM] y/n: Nope. Left hours ago. Home now.

Three little dots appeared immediately.

[9:18 PM] Heeseung: ...Can I come over? Actually. I’ll be at your place in 5 min. 

You froze and stared at your reflection in the black screen of your TV.

You barely had time to rip off your sheet mask and throw on a hoodie before the doorbell rang.

When you opened the door, Heeseung stood there in sweatpants and a hoodie, holding a bottle of red wine and a guilty expression.

“Hi,” he said, a little breathless. “I forgot how fast I walk when I’m anxious.”

You blinked. “You’re anxious?”

“...Yes.”

He stood there for another second, then stepped inside when you moved back. He hovered awkwardly near the entrance, hands in his pockets now, looking around like he wasn’t sure if he was intruding.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I meant to come by after the elevator. I really did. But the studio called me into something last minute and then I had to stay in the editing room and–”

You blinked, confused for a second. “Wait. You were coming to find me?”

He nodded, sheepish. “Yeah. I wanted to come after you texted me you got greenlit. To congratulate…and to see how you were doing, if he did something again.”

Oh. You thought back to the elevator, Mr. Kim’s eyes on you, his words oily and smug, and then Heeseung’s hand on your back. The quiet “you got this, babe” still echoed in your head like a song lyric you didn’t know how to stop humming.

“I was fine,” you murmured.

He gave you a look.

You sighed. “Okay. I was… about to punch him but holding it together. Professionally of course.”

“I was so mad,” he admitted, voice lower now. “At him. I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I should’ve texted.”

“You were red on Teams all day.”

“I was sitting on the floor with a laptop trying to fix three vocal tracks while my phone was dead in my bag,” he said, smiling weakly. “It was not my most functional day.”

You stared at him, this boy who offered you a tissue when you crashed into his, now your, booth when you were crying, who casually invited you to meet your idols, who fought off your sleazy coworker with just four words and a hand on your back, and felt something soft start to uncurl in your chest.

“Want wine?” you asked, voice gentler now.

He looked up like you’d just told him the world was ending and he had five minutes to enjoy it.

“Yes. So much.”

Fifteen minutes later, you were curled up on your couch in your oversized tshirt and mismatched socks, and Heeseung was beside you, barefoot now, as he poured you both generous glasses of red wine.

Your cat-themed pajama pants were definitely not glamorous, but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, his expression had softened the second you shuffled back into the room with your hair damp from a quick rinse and your face washed clean of mask residue.

“You really are glowing when you’re out of that office,” he said, handing you a glass.

You wrinkled your nose. “I think that’s just the very expensive and excessive amount of skincare on my face right now.”

He smiled into his glass as you both sipped.

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, the low flicker of your floor lamp the only light in the room. The Netflix menu looped quietly on your TV, still waiting for a decision you didn’t feel like making.

Heeseung broke the silence first.

“I kept thinking about it.”

You turned your head to him. “About what?”

“The way he looked at you.” His jaw tightened. 

You said nothing. Just reached for your wine again.

Heeseung glanced sideways, then spoke again, softer. “You don’t have to talk about it. I just… wanted you to know I saw it. And it wasn’t okay.”

You nodded slowly. “It happens. More than it should. To more girls than just me.”

He looked at you, brows drawn slightly. “Still not okay.”

“I know,” you whispered.

Another beat passed.

“I didn’t expect you to say it like that,” you said finally.

Heeseung blinked. “Say what?”

“‘Babe.’”

“Oh,” he said, the tips of his ears instantly going red. “Yeah. That was… I didn’t plan that.”

You smiled into your wine glass. “It worked.”

He looked over, surprised. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “He didn’t say a single word to me during the meeting.”

“I’ll call you that again if it keeps him quiet.”

“Don’t push your luck, Romeo.”

That made him laugh, the sound low and honest, and you smiled against your glass again.

Eventually, you picked a movie and settled deeper into the couch cushions. You sat closer now, your thighs brushing once or twice, his knee occasionally bumping yours when he shifted.

By the time the movie was halfway through, the first bottle of wine was nearly gone.

You hadn’t meant to drink that much. Neither had he.

But you kept topping off each other’s glasses in lazy silence, the bottle tipping between you like a slow conversation neither of you wanted to end. The couch had become a sort of middle ground, with two pillows behind your backs and one blanket draped loosely over both your legs. You weren’t sure when that had happened either.

The film flickered quietly in the background, something about a bakery in Paris and a romance that neither of you were really following. Heeseung made a dramatic noise when the lead actress confessed her feelings to the wrong guy, slumping his head against your shoulder.

“Justice for the hot violinist,” he mumbled into your hoodie.

You burst out laughing, setting your glass down before you spilled.

“You’re so annoying,” you said between giggles.

“Am not,” he replied, lifting his head just enough to smirk at you.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t move away.

Heeseung grabbed the second bottle from where it had been sitting patiently by the TV and held it up like a question.

You raised your brows. “You really want more?”

“Yes.” He grinned. “Absolutely.”

You got the cork halfway out before it popped with a little pop that made you both jump and then start laughing all over again. Heeseung nearly dropped his glass trying to pour, his other hand bracing against your thigh for balance, and you swatted at him gently.

“God, you’re clumsy,” you muttered, amused.

“Blame the grapes,” he said, eyes dancing.

You sipped your wine and sank deeper into the couch, your legs half-tangled with his now, your knees bumping, your feet tucked under the blanket. The buzz in your head was warm and a little dizzying. 

“Do you do this a lot?” you asked after a while, your voice soft and hazy. “Stay late at the office? Show up at coworkers’ apartments with wine?”

Heeseung shook his head slowly, resting his head back against the couch. “No. Not really.”

You turned to look at him.

He was already watching you.

“It’s just you,” he added, voice lower now. “It’s always just you.”

You felt your heart stutter in your chest.

Then, to cover it up you reached for your glass. “That sounds dangerously close to flirting, Mr. Lee.”

He grinned, slow and crooked. “Dangerously?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And if I said I meant it?”

You looked at him over the rim of your glass. “Then I’d probably say… don’t stop.”

Both of you were silent for a second, watching each other until Heeseung turned his head towards the TV again.

By the time the second movie started your feet were in his lap, his hand resting lightly against your calf. You were curled up sideways, your cheek brushing his shoulder. At some point, his fingers started tracing slow, absent-minded shapes against your knee.

You felt them even through the blanket.

“You’re warm,” he mumbled, voice muffled into your hair.

You made a soft sound. “You’re heavy.”

“Lies.”

“Truth.“

Your wine glass was empty and forgotten on the coffee table, your head tilted slightly toward Heeseung as the credits rolled over yet another cheesy, completely ignorable romantic subplot. The soft buzz in your limbs made you slower, warmer, and more tangled up in the present than you usually allowed yourself to be.

He hadn’t made a joke in a while.

Which, honestly, was weird.

You shifted slightly, cheek brushing the edge of his shirt where your head had been half-leaning for the last–what, twenty? thirty?–minutes. His shoulder was warm and steady beneath you, but quiet.

Too quiet.

You turned your head slowly.

He was out cold.

His head had slumped just slightly to the side, lips parted the tiniest bit, one hand still loosely holding the stem of his wine glass, though it had dipped into his lap. His other hand was still half-tucked under the blanket near your leg.

You blinked.

“You traitor,” you whispered, grinning.

He didn’t move.

You leaned closer, squinting at his face in the low light. His cheeks were flushed, not just wine-warm, but rosy now, all the way to the tips of his ears.

You couldn’t help it.

You let out the softest, breathiest laugh and murmured, “You’re so red, oh my god.”

You carefully reached out and plucked the glass from his hand before he could spill anything, setting it on the coffee table. Then you curled back into the couch, closer this time, and let your head rest against the curve of his shoulder.

“You laughed through an entire subplot about a pastry chef and her ghost boyfriend,” you whispered into the quiet. “And this is what knocks you out?”

Still nothing.

But his breathing stayed slow and even.

You looked at him again, your smile softening.

He looked peaceful. Not polished or poised or the version of him you usually saw pacing around the studio, just… Heeseung. Slightly flushed, his shirt wrinkeled, wine-drowsy, and entirely asleep in your living room.

And somehow, that made your chest ache in the nicest possible way.

“Guess I’m not the only lightweight,” you whispered, barely audible.

You shifted carefully, moving one arm, then another, easing yourself up from the sofa to go sleep in your bed. 

You didn’t even get the chance to move mor ethan a few centimeters when Heeseungs hand tightened at your waist followed by a quiet, groggy voice.

“…What?”

You froze mid-sit-up and looked down.

Heeseung’s eyes were barely open, squinting in the low light, his lashes heavy against his cheeks and his mouth slack with sleep. But he was awake. Or halfway there.

You smiled, soft. “Go back to sleep.”

He blinked slowly. “Where are you going?”

“My beed,” you whispered, brushing your fingers against his wrist, trying to gently pry his hand off your hoodie. “I was just gonna–”

“No,” he mumbled, arm tightening just slightly, his voice all thick and low and whiny. “Stay.”

You blinked. “What?”

He made a small, disgruntled sound and shifted, trying to pull you back down the way someone hugs a pillow in their sleep.

“Stay,” he repeated, quieter this time, like he knew he was already asking for too much. 

You were about to argue. Say something rational. Like you’d be more comfortable in your bed or he might need space or this is unprofessional, right? But then he made that soft noise again and his fingers caught the hem of your shirt.

And your chest did that dumb, twisty ache again.

So you sighed and gave in.

“Okay,” you murmured, lowering yourself back down. “Fine. Whatever.”

You felt him relax instantly, his arm slipping easily around your waist again, pulling you against his chest with a quiet breath of relief.

His forehead bumped gently against your temple as you both settled back into the blanket.

“You’re so dramatic,” you muttered.

He let out a small, satisfied mmph, already melting back into the couch. And just before sleep pulled you under too, you thought you felt him murmur something else, a quiet, hazy little thank you, into the space where your shoulder met his chest.

Heeseung didn’t stir. Just exhaled softly, mouth twitching. You watched him for a second. The way his hair was a mess, flattened on one side. The way his mouth hung open just a little. The way his shirt had slid up to reveal a sliver of his waist where your hand had been curled all night. You shook your head and padded into the bathroom before your brain could linger on that detail too long. You washed your face, brushed your teeth, and pulled your hair into a low bun. By the time you stepped back into the kitchen, the soft blue light of morning had begun to filter through the curtains. You opened the freezer, reached in, and smiled. You still had a tray of frozen croissants.  You’d rolled and shaped them last week and froze them, just in case you needed some for an emergency. This counted as an emergency. “Perfect,” you murmured. You set the oven to preheat, arranged four pastries on a tray, and grabbed a knife to slice up some strawberries and green grapes you’d had tucked in the fridge. As the fruit hit the plate, a soft creak sounded behind you. You turned, just in time to see a very groggy Heeseung shuffle into the kitchen. His hair was sticking up in three directions, and he looked like he wasn’t really awake yet. He blinked at you. “Why are you vertical?”

You grinned, holding up a strawberry slice. “Because I have a healthy sleeping rhythm and can’t sleep longer than 8 am.” He made a soft, confused noise and collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs, his head dropping forward onto the table with a dramatic thud. You laughed quietly, setting the fruit down in front of him. “Sleep well?” He mumbled something into the wood that might have been yes or kill me, you weren’t sure. You turned back to the oven just as it pinged. The smell of the croissants was already filling the apartment. Behind you, Heeseung groaned. “Are you baking?” You glanced over your shoulder. “You’re the one who told me you’d work the counter at my imaginary bakery if I paid you in croissants.” He squinted up at you, one eye barely open. “You’re baking. At 8 am on a Saturday morning.” You slid the tray into the oven with a smile. “I am. Just for you.” You sat on the small bench by the wall, a mug of coffee wrapped in both hands, your bare legs curled up beneath you. Your shorts were riding up slightly, and your oversized t-shirt hung comfortably off one shoulder, rumpled from sleep.

Heeseung sat next to you, his long legs stretched lazily under the table. One of them bumped against yours. His knee slid alongside your thigh, skin against skin. Neither of you moved. You felt it in your stomach, low and sudden. Heeseung, half-slouched in the chair, blinked once. Then again. His gaze dropped briefly to where your knees touched, then back up to your face. You pretended not to notice. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he let out a quiet hum and slumped his cheek into his hand, eyes only half-open.  “I’m trying to remember if I said anything stupid last night.” You sipped your coffee, lips twitching. “Define stupid.” “Like… did I call you ‘babe’ again?” You smiled into your cup. “No.” He exhaled, relieved. “Just whined like a child until I stayed on the couch.” His head snapped up. “What?!” You grinned. “You literally said, ‘Don’t go yet, just stay.’ And then clung to me like a koala.” Heeseung covered his face with both hands. “Oh my god.” “I did stay,” you added, smug. “So technically it worked.”

“Please erase that entire interaction from your brain.” You let your thigh lean just slightly more into his. “Nope. Gonna treasure it forever.” He peeked through his fingers, groaning. “Why are you like this?” “Because you slept with your mouth open and drooled a little on my shoulder.” He gasped. “That’s a lie.” You shrugged innocently. “You’ll never know.” He squinted at you, then glanced down at your coffee. “Is that the good blend?” You nodded. “Vanilla roast.” He reached for your mug without asking and took a sip, then sighed dramatically. “I forgive you.” “For what?” “Mocking my emotional vulnerability.” You laughed softly, the sound curling between you like steam. When the oven pinged, neither of you moved for a moment. Your legs were still touching.  His knee was still pressed lightly against your bare skin, and your arm was now brushing his where it rested on the bench. It was nothing. And also very much something. Then Heeseung stood up slowly, stretching with a yawn that revealed the tiniest sliver of skin under his t-shirt. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked over his shoulder at you. “You’re burning our breakfast.” Breakfast didn’t last long, but neither of you moved afterward. You stayed exactly where you were: side by side on the bench, your knees brushing, your thighs pressed together, your bare leg warm against his. The soft cotton of his t-shirt clung to his side, and you could feel the rise and fall of his breath every time he shifted. Heeseung sat with one elbow on the table, chin in his hand, half-turned toward you. He hadn’t stopped smiling since the second cup of coffee, his hair still tousled, eyes still heavy-lidded with sleep. You leaned back against the wall beside him, foot nudging his under the table.

“This is weird,” you said. He blinked. “Weird how?” You tilted your head. “I don’t know. I feel like I should be freaking out. You slept over. We’re… close.” He looked down at where your legs were still touching. “Yeah.” “But I’m not freaking out,” you added. He smiled slowly. “Me neither.” You were both quiet for a moment. Then he said, voice barely above a whisper, “It’s nice.” You nodded, looking down at your empty plate. “Yeah.” His hand moved slightly under the table. His pinky nudged yours. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you moved your hand and intertwined your fingers with his long ones. And when you turned your head to glance at him again, he was already looking at you, something soft and unspoken flickering behind his eyes. “I could stay like this all day,” he murmured. You smiled. “Then stay.” Heeseung didn’t answer right away. But he didn’t move either. And neither did you.

The booth was quiet except for the occasional soft click of Heeseung’s mouse. It was already late, past golden hour, and the air outside had cooled from its blistering midday heat into something softer. Muggier, still sticky, but breathable. You sat on the couch with your legs tucked under you. A bottle of cold green tea sat between your knees. You’d finished your last rollout file before dinner. Technically, you could’ve gone home. But instead, you waited. You liked waiting. Because it meant walking home with Heeseung. That had become your favorite part of the day over the last weeks. He pulled off his dress shirt and was only wearing the white tank top he always wore underneath. His hair curled a little at the edges when he got too warm, and he kept pushing it back with one hand, blinking hard at the screen. You checked the time. “Almost done?” you asked, voice low, lazy. He didn’t look up. “You don’t have to wait.”

“I know.” His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. He continued working for a few more seconds, and then he sat back in his chair and let out a dramatic exhale. “Okay. I think I’m done for today.” You grinned. “Took you long enough.” He finally turned to look at you. And then didn’t look away. His gaze dropped to your bare legs curled on the couch, to the faint line of sweat at your collarbone, to the gentle flush on your cheeks. He blinked once. Twice. His mouth parted like he wanted to say something, but forgot what. You just raised an eyebrow. “Ready to go?” He stood, grabbing his dress shirt, putting it on again, and held the door open for you with that same crooked, tired smile he always had at the end of a long day. The hallway was empty, the whole building humming quietly. Your footsteps echoed softly as you made your way toward the elevator. Outside, the streetlights were just flickering on. A warm wind blew past, thick with summer and stillness. Heeseung walked beside you, your shoulders occasionally brushing, your hands swinging just close enough to touch.

The hum of the AC buzzed low through the apartment, doing its best against the weight of the summer heat a few days later. The heat seemed to get worse every day, clinging to your skin and making it impossible to breathe. Your AC had sputtered and died two nights ago, and since then, you’d been semi-permanently relocated to Heeseung’s place. Today, after work, you kicked off your socks and curled up on his couch, legs bare, feet tucked under a throw pillow. The oversized t-shirt you wore hung down past your hips. You stole it from him after he spilled tomato juice on your at-home T-shirt the day before. It still faintly smelled like his cologne. Your shorts were barely visible beneath the hem. Heeseung stood in the small kitchen, barefoot in a black tank top and old sweatshirts, elbows braced against the counter while he adjusted something in the blender. You’d watched him add frozen banana, ice, peanut butter, a protein scoop, and almond milk. His brow furrowed in concentration as he pushed the button. You flipped a page in the book resting across your thighs. And then didn’t read a single word of it. You were too busy ogling Heeseung in a very professional, not inappropriate way, colleagues? Friends? His muscles were taut from leaning over the counter, jaw set, skin glowing slightly from the walk home, strands of now red hair curling over his forehead from the heat. The edge of his tank had dipped low, revealing the clean cut of his shoulder and the line of his collarbone. His arms flexed slightly as he twisted the lid back on. You licked your lips and quickly looked back at your book. He wiped his hands on a towel, completely unaware of the crisis you were currently having ten feet away. Or maybe not, unaware he’d caught you staring once already when he was adjusting the fan, and you swore he smirked. You turned to another page you hadn’t read.

“Still good over there?” he asked, his voice teasing, lazy. “Barely,” you called back. “I'm still melting. I don't even wanna imagine how warm my apartment is right now.” He grabbed two glasses from the shelf. “I expect your eternal loyalty and gratitude for granting you shelter from the heat .” You gave a dramatic sigh. “You get two compliments and one baked good per week. That’s the cap.” “I already get that,” he called back. You smiled to yourself. “Then I’ll consider bringing you lunch to work sometimes.” He froze just long enough for you to see it out of the corner of your eye. Then he laughed, soft and breathless. “Noted.” You peeked up again as he walked over, two glasses in hand. He handed you one, fingers brushing yours, and settled onto the floor, leaning back onto the couch. You stared down at him, still flushed from the heat, or maybe not only the heat. “Comfortable?” you asked, sipping your smoothie. “Very.” He tilted his head back lazily until it rested against your knee. “Book good?” You stared at the unread page. “Incredible.” He looked up at you, one eyebrow raised. “You haven’t flipped it in five minutes.” You pressed the book gently to his forehead. “Shut up.” He grinned, eyes crinkling. The two of you went silent again, and after a while, your hair slipped into his hair, playing with the dry strands and grazing your nails along his scalp while you actually started reading your book again. Heeseung let out a long, contented breath. “I like having you here.” You paused. Then said, just as softly, “I like being here.”

Half an hour later, the smoothie was half-melted in your glass. Your book sat open in your lap, though you had to re-read the same paragraph three times thanks to the way Heeseung’s arm kept brushing against your side. He was still on the floor, and at one point, you joined him there, the sofa’s velvet texture feeling too warm against your skin. Your whole body was leaning against his, your head resting softly on his shoulder, and your legs draped loosely to the side. From Heeseung’s laptop, which was propped up on his thighs, came the steady pulse of a new track, layered synth, subtle guitar… and a voice. You blinked, looking up. “Wait. Is that Jay?” “Mhm.” Heeseung didn’t turn around, just scrolled through something on his screen. “He dropped by to do a scratch vocal for one of the demos. I haven’t layered the harmony yet, but his tone worked weirdly well.” You stared at the screen. Jay’s voice.

On his song. In this apartment. While you were wearing Heeseung’s shirt and drinking smoothies with your legs tangled against his, and a half-read book in your lap. You let out a quiet laugh and muttered, “My life is so weird.” Heeseung looked over his shoulder. “Good weird?” You met his eyes. And immediately regretted it. Because he was already looking at you the way he always did when you caught him off guard, soft, curious, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing but knew he didn’t want to stop. His face was close now, your head still on his shoulder, your fingers curled loosely in the fabric of your shirt right above where your thigh still pressed against his. “Very good, weird,” you said quietly. Heeseung’s gaze dropped to your mouth. Just for a second. Your heart thudded. But he just moved his head back towards the laptop. The soft sounds of Jay’s vocals looped again from Heeseung’s laptop. You could see it in his profile, that sharp little line between his brows. The tension in his jaw. He was thinking again.

Which meant he wasn’t going to do it. You waited another second. Two. Gave him a chance. He didn’t take it. So you did. You closed the book gently and set it aside, leaned over just enough to catch his attention, and when he looked up, eyes wide and questioning, you kissed him. Pressing your lips to his. You didn't even really think about it; it just felt right. He froze for half a second, just enough for you to second-guess it. But then his hand slid to your thigh, fingers tightening. His other reached for your waist, softly grazing against the fabric of the shirt. You pulled back first, just barely, your nose brushing his. He stared at you. His eyes were glazed, and his mouth parted slightly. You smiled and breathlessly muttered. “You took too long.” He blinked. “You–” His voice cracked. “I was trying to be respectful.” “You were being a coward.” “I was waiting for a sign!” “Heeseung, I gave you so many signs.” “I’m not a mind reader!”

You laughed into his neck, warm and breathless and giddy. His arms slipped around your waist properly now, hugging you close, face buried in your collarbone. He mumbled something into your skin. You stilled. “What?” He stiffened. “Nothing.” You leaned back just enough to look at him. “What did you say, Heeseung?” Heeseung stared, wide-eyed. Then blinked once. “Hypothetically. I really want to kiss you again.” You grinned, pulling him back in by the collar of his tank top. “Hypothetically, I think you should shut up and kiss me again.” So he did. His lips moved slowly and steadily against yours, and you moved your head slightly to the side, deepening the kiss for a second before he pulled away first this time, breathing heavier than before, his forehead resting against yours.

You could feel how warm his skin was. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.” You smiled. “Yeah. I noticed.” He gave a soft, helpless laugh and bumped his nose gently against yours. “So… now what?” You looked at him, all flushed cheeks and messy hair and wide brown eyes, and knew you never wanted someone else to see him like this ever again. “I don’t know,” you said honestly. “But I like this.” “Yeah?” he asked, eyes searching yours. You nodded. “Yeah. I like you.” He let out a breath like he’d been holding it for days. Then, with that lazy, crooked half-smile you were quickly learning was dangerous, he said, “Can I kiss you again?” You raised a brow. “You’re asking now?” “I’m being respectful.” You leaned in. “Then yes.” Your hand slid into his hair, thumb brushing the curve of his cheek when his lips were on yours again. His lips were on yours again before the word even left your mouth. His hand slid from your waist to your hip, palm splayed wide over the soft fabric of your shorts, fingers flexing slightly. You shifted into his lap without thinking, tilting your head, knees brushing his thighs. He made a sound in the back of his throat, and it made you smile against his mouth. “Stop laughing,” he murmured. “You make weird noises.”

He groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You’re impossible, Y/N.” You laughed, soft and breathless, fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Sorry, not sorry.” He kissed your collarbone next, just a warm brush of lips against skin. Then another, lower this time. Your breath caught.

He pulled back instantly. “Okay?” You nodded, cheeks flushed. “Yeah. Just… yeah.” His hands found your waist again, more certain now, thumbs brushing bare skin where your shirt had ridden up. Your thighs tightened around his lap just slightly. He inhaled sharply. “Y/N,” he said, like it was a question and an answer and a prayer all at once. You kissed him again. This time, you were the one deepening it. Your fingers curled in the collar of his tank top, pulling him in closer, angling your hips until your bodies fit together just a little too well.  You could feel the shift in him, the way his hands stilled, the way his breath hitched when your thighs pressed around his. But he didn’t push. He didn’t even pull you closer. He just let you kiss him, his lips soft and slow, like he’d waited long enough that he didn’t want to ruin it by rushing. Eventually, you both stilled, foreheads pressed together, noses brushing, lips kiss-dumb and smiling. “You good?” he asked softly, his thumb tracing lazy circles at your waist. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Really good.” “I swear,” he muttered, breathless, a little dazed, “I had this whole thing planned out.” You tilted your head. “What thing?”

He gave a weak huff of a laugh and shook his head, cheeks flushed. “To tell you. To ask you out. I didn’t think I’d just..get kissed out of nowhere and completely forget how to speak like a normal person.” You smiled, fingers brushing his wrist. “Heeseung.” “I’m serious,” he said, laughing softly, reaching up to caress your face. “I had it all laid out. I wrote you a song.” Your brows lifted. “A song?” He hesitated. Then nodded and reached for his laptop that was lying forgotten next to the two of you and tapped at the keyboard with one hand, the other never leaving your waist.

“I wrote it like a month ago,” he said quietly. “Kind of… when I realized.” You rested your head on his chest, watching him type. “When you realized what?” you asked. He didn’t look at you. But you saw the corner of his mouth pull up just a little. “That I really like you too, Y/N.” And then he hit play. The track started low, just a few notes of piano, slow and thoughtful. It was… beautiful. You didn’t even realize you’d moved until your hand slid down to his chest, your palm resting flat just over where his heart was pounding. Heeseung moved his head back slightly to look at you. You leaned in, brushed your lips against the edge of his jaw, and whispered, “I’m really glad I kissed you first.” He laughed, just once, softly and short, and pressed his forehead against yours. “I was so scared I’d mess it up,” he said into your lips. “I wanted it to be right.” You held him close, one hand carding gently through his hair. “You didn’t mess anything up.” He tilted his head, eyes bright. “You think?” “I think,” you said softly, “this might be the best song anyone’s ever written for me.” He smiled and whispered, “That’s good. Because I’m not writing another one about anyone else.” You closed the distance between the two of you again, pressing your lips softly against his.

Thank you so much for reading! Lots of Love, Patty

all feedback and reblogs are welcome ⭑.ᐟ ⤷ my masterlist ⭑.ᐟ

ᝰ taglist. @enhastolemyheart @dreamiestay @elairah @vviolynn @engenemilia  @xylatox @firstclassjaylee

ᝰ an. ₊ ⊹  dear anon, I am so sorry I needed 3 months to write this and I hope you enjoyed reading, regardless of the wait! I also hate tumblr. I just spend one and a half hour formatting this. Also in case someone wants to request anything! Please do! Just know I'll probably do it inbetween my other projects and might need...like 3 months lmao

[anyarose011]

Born Too Late: "Death by a Thousand Cuts"

Pairing: DBF!Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x Reader

Summary: Your stepfather (not your actual father, let's make that clear), helped you out and scored you a job as one of the Medical Trauma's social workers. Moving off of the night shift from your first week, you figured that you'd seen all the worst things you could. It doesn't help that, at the start of your first day shift, the man you had an...interesting few encounters with at a local cafe, is your supervisor...What's twelve hours in an ER with him?

Part 1 of 3 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Descriptions of Past Smut, Heavy Age Gap [Reader is in her mid-20s] Swearing, Past Parental Death, and Inevitable Medical Inaccuracies.

My Brain Randomly on a Sunday: "You know what? Fuck you guys! *Realistic DBF!Robby x Reader, with a sprinkle of Whitacre, King, and/or Santos x Reader (depending on what your poison is) and a 'Lost in your 20s' feel*". Lmao, yeah this idea just came to me out of the blue and I had to get it down. Now usually, I'm not a fan of the Dad's Best Friend Trope, but I think I've found a way to make it tasteful while also keeping some of the ✨drama✨. I've taken a huge inspiration from Shiva Baby, which also taps into a more realistic age gap relationship and feeling like the world is ending post-graduation (am I feeling this too? Idk). I'm also more personally experienced with the social/psychological aspect of the show, and wanted Kiara to have a partner because she was put through the wringer in the first season, so I decided to make reader a social worker. I hope I do this justice!

Word Count: 4.9k

“Fuck me!” Your roommate, Kimi, groaned into the toilet bowl seat beside you once she finished vomiting.

You rubbed her back as you continued to put on mascara. “I’m sorry, babe.”

“It’s been twenty-four hours!” She groaned, staring up at you. “Do you think you could squeeze me in today at your job?”

“Go to Urgent Care if you keep puking.” You answered.

Kimi rested her head against the seam of your pants. It was six in the morning, and you had no idea how she had so much energy. “I thought you only worked nights.”

You weren’t a doctor, nor were you a nurse, but a secret third thing: A social worker. You graduated from your master’s program a year prior, taking a job at a senior center. To you, it was boring as shit, so you left several months later. Turns out, in this economy, job security was more important than job stimulation; and it wasn’t necessarily easy to find work with your degree.

So…someone had done a favor for you. That someone being your stepfather; the Night Shift Attending.

Everyone had known Jack Abbott was your stepfather by midnight on your first shift. There was some teasing by Ellis and Shen, but other than that, nothing. You wouldn’t call it ‘nepotism’. Jack was in the picture since you were fifteen, and you’d only called him ‘dad’ once.

It was when he found you tucked away in the corner at your mother’s funeral, unable to stand. He just held you there, not saying anything. One would’ve thought you’d grow closer to him after that; but you were twenty-two when your mother died, and he’d only been married to her for five years. You didn’t necessarily want to know him more.

Of course, then you let it slip one day that you were trying to find a job in social work, and he had to swoop in and save the day. Still, how could you complain?

You finished your makeup and helped Kimi stand. “I did last week. I’m doing the day now to see which one I like.”

She washed her hands. “Do mornings so we can talk more. Like,” she smirked as she dried her hands. “Why didn’t you come home last Saturday night?”

Laughing, you left the bathroom and walked into the kitchen, packing your lunch. She followed after you, leaning over the breakfast bar.

“Come on!” She begged. “I gave you a few days to play coy, now spill!”

You grinned from ear to ear. “I went home with a guy.”

“Fork found in kitchen. Who was it?!”

“The one from Big Dog.”

Her face dropped into disgust. “The old Jewish guy?”

You sneered. “A, his name’s Michael, and B, it’s weird that’s how you remember him.”

“Girl, how old is he?!” She laughed.

“Forty-five? I don’t know.” You did know: fifty-one, but you couldn’t say that.

Kimi tossed herself onto the sofa. “You’ve been talking to this guy for like a month, and you don’t know. Is he even that cute?”

Of course he was. His eyes were quite possibly the kindest ones you’d ever seen on a man, and he smiled at almost everything. Beauty standards be damned; you don’t give a shit if smiling “causes early wrinkles”.

After packing your lunch, you walked into the sitting room and sat on the floor, resting your back against the couch. “I think so.”

“You like rat-looking men.”

You shoved her. “Now stop it!”

“No, you do!” She relented. “You’ve always liked the ugly ones.”

“Kimi.”

“Sorry, the unconventionally attractive ones.”

If you had a death wish, you would say that she had no right to judge. You at least knew that Michael didn’t have a single baby mama, and you weren’t in an off again on-again relationship with him every few weeks. Besides, at least it was obvious that you could tell he showered; unlike her “true love”.

But, that was always Kimi. You weren’t best friends in undergrad, but got along enough to where, after going a few years of not talking after graduation, you reconnected, and she asked you to be her roommate. So, you had been living with her for seven months, and it wasn’t….so bad.

Well, unless her ex-boyfriend (that’s who Trent was at the time of this) would come over. Besides the fact he was open about getting two separate women pregnant (he had three daughters), he had a short fuse. You made one joke about his favorite movie being basic, and he threw a plastic cup in your direction.

That was the first time Kimi broke up with him; then took him back two weeks later.

“He’s sweet.” You settled upon defending Michael. “He’s ridiculously smart too and can hold a conversation.”

It was something out of a 2000s romcom how you met him. There you were at Big Dog Coffee one early morning a month ago when he quite literally bumped into you, spilling your coffee onto the floor. Thankfully, it didn’t get on you, and he attempted to joke about how you wouldn’t have to take off your shirt to check for burns.

It was awkward, that beat of silence where the realization of what he said settled in. Then, you laughed, and it wasn’t so strange anymore. You fell into effortless conversation that only lasted ten minutes before you both had to leave. You thought that’s where the story ended.

Then, he was there the next time you went, and you talked for hours. He was a doctor but didn’t say where; if anything, the two of you barely discussed work and that was fine with you. He wasn’t always there when you went to get coffee. You managed to get it out of him that there were times he’d see you in the window but wouldn’t go in, not wanting to make you think he was stalking you.

A man who went out of his way to not make you feel uncomfortable? Of course you were attracted to him.

“So,” Kimi teased. “tell me how sweet he was when he took you home.”

You giggled. “He kissed me.”

“And?”

“And kissed me,” you smiled at the memories. “and kissed me, and kissed me, and-.”

Kimi talked over you as you repeated yourself. “I mean, he’s probably ready for the grave so I get he can’t do a lot but-.”

“-And kissed me between my legs,” you snuck in. “and kissed me and-.”

“-Woah!” Kimi laughed. “Back up, how was it?”

You looked back at her, feeling yourself blushing. “His beard was soaking.”

She screamed, causing you to as well into fits of laughter. She shook you, hugging you from behind. “Okay, grandpa!”

“Stop!” You shoved her. “God, I feel weird now.”

“How long did he go?”

“Like…almost three times I think?”

“Three?! At his age?!”

“I mean, his back started hurting-.”

“-Oh my god!” She hollered. “Have you seen him since?”

You shook your head. “No.”

“Well, you got his number, right?”

“No.”

“You’re the fucking worst!”

“It’s not like we’re gonna date!” You rationalized. “I like talking to him, but I don’t wanna be forty or fifty when my husband dies.”

“Who said he’d be your husband?”

“You know what I mean.”

She sighed. “Okay, what else did he do?”

You stood up after looking at the time. “I gotta go to my shift.”

“Come on!”

“I promise,” you slipped on your shoes. “I’ll recreate every position we did when I get home.”

But there were some things she didn’t get to know. Like how you and Michael were both nervous to the point of laughter, how he apologized profusely for not lasting long the first time, but you didn’t care; it was raw, and it was all real. You still wondered how that didn’t scare you.

“You better.” Kimi laid back down. “Have a good day.”

“Call if you need anything.” You took your keys and purse before leaving. It was a bit of a longer drive to the hospital from your apartment, but you didn’t mind driving. You’d grown up in Pittsburgh, so you could essentially drive downtown with your eyes closed.

It was strange arriving at the hospital in the morning when you were so used to leaving. You wondered if the time change would be the worst thing you’d deal with that day, but upon seeing your stepfather still there when you arrived, that was only the beginning.

“Hey kiddo.” He greeted, his bag over his shoulder as he walked outside.

You thinned your lips. “Dr. Abbott.”

“You ready?”

“You said day shifters are more type A.”

He snickered. “Yeah, you gonna be able to adjust?”

“I think so…” you bounced on the balls of your feet. “Uh, how was your shift?”

“Not bad.” he shrugged. “We had three patients come in from sex injuries.”

“Shit, that’s more than last week!”

He laughed. “Yeah, you wanna know the worst one?”

“Please no, it’s seven in the morning.”

“Alright.” He backed down. “So, you’re gonna stick close mainly with Kiara and sometimes Lupe if shit goes bad-.”

“-I know.” It’s as if he hadn’t already told you this. “‘The Attending’s Robby who means well but has a stick up his ass sometimes, so don’t take it personally.’ I got this.”

He smiled. “Yeah, you do.” His eyes then traveled to the direction of the parking lot, and he huffed. “Hey, we were just talking about you!”

You turned your gaze and felt your heart leap into your throat. There, approaching the two of you, with the same hair, same eyes, and same nose…was Michael.

Shit…

“All good things, I hope!” He yelled back, not making out your figure yet.

“I got your newest social worker here.” Jack introduced you, and once Robby got close enough, you saw recognition settling in his eyes.  It was only for a moment, forcing himself to remain smiling.

Robby looked at Abbott. “This is uh, this your daughter?”

“Stepdaughter.” Left your mouth before you could stop yourself.

Jack snorted. “I was gonna say I found you on the side of the road, but that’ll do.”

All Robby did was hum, nodding. “Well, I’ll make sure she stays out of trouble, even though that’s more Kiara’s job.”

“She’s a tough cookie.” He pat your shoulder. “I think she’ll make the day shift her bitch.”

“Jack.” You nudged him, clutching your purse.

“I’m sure she will.” Robby forced a laughed. “See you in twelve hours, brother.”

Oh, shut up. You thought, dreading the day ahead and turning your eyes to the ground.

Jack nodded, brushing by him to leave. “See you in twelve hours. And be nice to her!”

“I will!” Robby yelled back.

When it was just the two of you, that was when everything started settling into you like a parasite under your skin. The older guy you talked to for hours upon hours at a simple café, the same older guy you slept with just that last weekend…was technically your supervisor.

“Good morning.” He greeted as if he hadn’t acknowledged you until Abbott was gone.

You finally looked up at him. “Good morning.”

Then you walked through the hospital doors. Of course, he was on your tail.

“Alright, all on the table, did you know?” He asked.

You scoffed. “How the hell do you get ‘Robby’ from ‘Michael’?”

“Dr. Robinavitch.”

“Shit.” You shut your eyes. “And no, I didn’t know.”

He sighed as you both entered the stairwell. “Okay. Are you able to keep this…professional?”

“I’m so professional, I don’t even want to say another word about this even when we’re done with a shift.” You rolled your eyes.

“We have to talk about this sometime.”

“No, we don’t.” You stopped on the stairs, knowing no one else was around. “I’ve already agreed I never want to see you again outside of work because…well, obviously.”

“Yeah?” He rose his brows, then shrugged. “Okay.”

“Okay.” You walked back down. “Cool, cool, cool.”

It wasn’t, but you had to say that because you were going to have to spend twelve hours with a bunch of new people and him. When you arrived in the lobby, you were astounded just to see how many people there were. All ranging from kids with bloody noses, to a middle-aged woman clutching her stomach, and an old man holding a rag to his face.

“Welcome to the morning shift.” Robby said from beside you.

Pushing past disgruntled people in line to harass Lupe, you and Robby entered the ED, or, as your stepfather had called it: ‘The Pitt’.

Upon entering, a woman with cornrows approached you, smiling and saying your first name; thank God she had a hint not to say your last one. “I heard you were coming in today.”

“Are you Kiara?” You shook her hand, feeling warmth flow through you at the sight of a friendly face.

“Yes, you’ll be shadowing me today just to still get the hang of the day shift.” She explained. “Hope that’s okay?”

“No, it’s great!”

You hadn’t realized Robby left until Kiara was leading you into a room to speak with a woman who had failed an overdose suicide attempt. What a way to start the day.

Much like anyone, there were different versions of you. There was you when you were with family (yes, including Jack), there was you when you were with Kimi, and there was you when you were at work.

That was the one you could barely recognize yourself.

Still, you were pretty damn good at it. Almost like a chameleon, you could morph into whatever you or someone else needed you to be. Usually, it was the gentle and sweet girl anyone could talk to and share their deepest secrets with. While that part of you still existed on its own, it thrived while being a social worker.

Two hours later, after having only your second heart-to-heart with a patient that day, you ran into some familiar faces.

“Oh shit, Starshine!” Santos greeted as she looked away from the overhead monitor behind the front desk. You’d forgotten his name, but the boy beside her looked at you. He had bags under his eyes that you knew would never be covered even if he had all the concealer in the world. Yet, his own gaze was…kind.

You laughed as you approached them. “You gave me a nickname?”

“Well yeah,” she winked. “you made such an impression on me.”

That impression being the end of your third night shift, where you had drunk too much caffeine and, I shit you not, greeted most of the day shifters with: “Good morning, starshine!”

Trinity Santos and the Charles Dicken’s looking boy were your first victims.

You snorted. “I want to forget any of that happened.”

“I don’t.” She looked over at the boy. “Come on, Huckleberry, where’s your manners?”

He smiled shyly. “Sorry, how are you doing?”

“Don’t apologize.” You chuckled. “But I’m doing pretty good.”

“I thought you only worked night shifts?”

You shrugged. “I did last week. I’m trying out day ones; seeing what I like.”

“And?” Santos asked.

“I kinda like the vibe more here.”

“Just you wait.” She tisked, then turned on her heel and went to one of the rooms. That left you there with…Huckleberry.

“I’m sorry,” you smiled. “I actually don’t remember your name.”

He shook his head, mirroring your grin. “No, it’s good. Dennis Whitaker.”

You introduced yourself, but instead of using Jack’s surname you used your mother’s. “How long have you been here?”

“It’ll be three months on Friday.” He nodded.

“Wow, congrats. How’s it been?”

“I mean, the worst day was my first day.” He laughed humorlessly. “Everyday after that has been basically a cakewalk.”

“What happened your first day?”

He paused. “Pittfest.”

“Shit…” was all you could say.

“Yeah…” He pursed his lips.

“Hey,” a woman wearing a red sweatshirt said your name from behind you. “Kiara said you’re the new social worker. Could you come with me, please?”

“No problem.” You started following her, looking back at Whitaker. “See you later!”

You heard him utter a ‘see you later!’ behind you as you walked alongside the new woman.

“You’re usually on the night shift, I hear?” She asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She hummed, smiling. “None of that. Heather Collins. You’re probably getting overloaded with names.”

“I can keep up.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” She turned down the hall, lowering her voice. “Okay, so we got this young girl who came in a few months back. We think she’s being trafficked, but she didn’t say anything the last time; now she is. We need you to talk with the woman who came in with her.”

“About?” You were on top of it.

“Literally anything.” She explained. “Her new baby, movies, herself, just somethingto keep her preoccupied for a few minutes’ tops.”

Just as you were about to say ‘Okay’, a man poked his head from behind the corner, calling your name.

“Are you busy?”

Motherfucker, you cursed in your head. Why?!

“Back off, Robinavitch.” Collins rolled her eyes, yet you heard humor in her voice. “I got her first.”

He smiled the same smile you saw him wear every time he talked to you at the café. “Didn’t mean to interrupt you, ladies.”

“Ladies?” She stretched the word, glancing at you. “Is he serious?”

You swallowed thickly. “I think he is.”

Collins sighed, holding her hand out almost to comedically present him. “This is Dr. Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch, I assume you’ve already met him.”

“Yeah.” you said without missing a beat. “He was talking with Dr. Abbott outside before my shift started.”

She put her hands on her hips, looking at you closely before smiling. “You’re Jack’s kid.”

 Luckily, you managed to bite your tongue before you could correct her with ‘step’. Unfortunately, Robby had his own words to say.

“Did you just steal her away to figure out if she was related to anyone,” he teased. “or do you actually need her?”

You and Collins mirrored each other’s somewhat disgusted faces as you looked at him. She responded first.

“Yeah, I actually need her. Do you need anything, Robby?”

“No, Heather, I’m good.” He shook his head, backing away. He looked at you. “If she’s ever hazing you, just tell me.”

You were quicker this time. “Everyone’s been telling me you do the hazing.”

Not exactly true; you just felt the need to say something sassy. Ultimately, that’ll probably kill you.

Still, while Robby rose his brows in shock, Collins snickered, grabbing your arm and leading your farther away. “Come one.”

When you both were outside the door and away from Robby, she composed herself. “Okay, that was funny, but maybe just in the future…tone it back a little?”

You nodded. “For sure. It won’t happen again.”

“No and he’s good about it.” She explained. “I know he can be a bit much sometimes, but…he’s good at what he does.”

Oh…oh they definitely fucked. You figured it out. …Shit…

And all you did was nod, then went in to distract the human trafficker. She was a bitch for sure, but your thousands of dollars in student debt paid off. You kept her busy for ten minutes, and two police officers showed up: one taking her into custody, and the other to process the victim.

Not even a minute after it was over, Robby found you to talk with two worried moms whose daughter had an asthma attack. Then after that, the most eventful thing was feeling a wetness between your legs.

No…not the good kind.

Rushing into the bathroom and into a stall, you yanked your pants and underwear down. There wasn’t enough blood to cause a scene, but regardless, you still started your period.

“Shit!” You hissed, as well as said every curse in the book.

“Are you okay?” A woman asked from the stall beside you, her voice somewhat deeper.

“Do you have a pad, or a tampon?” You asked, sitting on the toilet.

“Hold on, I got a pad in my locker.” She flushed the toilet then went to wash her hands.

You sighed. “Thank you!”

“Don’t mention it.” You heard the front door open and close. Soon after, she came back in and handed it to you under the stall.

You sighed happily. “You have saved at least one life today. I’m buying you lunch.”

“You really don’t-.”

“-Shut up, I do.” You opened the pad. “I can’t today, but some other time. Who are you?”

“Melissa King.”

You gave her your name, and then she left.

It somehow got busier the further you were into your shift. You had to skip lunch when a grandmother brought her grandson in after he fell climbing a tree and started going blind as she drove him to the ER. It was pure luck she herself didn’t go into cardiac arrest.

It was about three when you finally managed to slow down. You took your lunch out of the fridge in the breakroom and ate what you could. The moment you sat down was the moment Whitaker came into the room, breathing heavily as if he’d run a marathon.

“You good?” You asked.

He nodded. “Uh huh, yeah uh…I just…”

You stood up. “Can I take your hand?”

“Huh?” You repeated yourself, and all he did was nod. You helped him sit down in one of the chairs before getting a Styrofoam cup off the counter and filling it with tap water. Once you set that on the table, you sat beside him and opened the chocolate bar you brought.

“Go on.”

“No,” he shook his head, taking a drink of water. “I can’t, it’s your lunch-.”

“-And I doubt you had anything today.” You held the chocolate out to him.

He smiled shyly before taking a piece off the bar. “Thanks.”

You took a piece and popped it into your mouth. “So, you’re from Missouri?”

“Nebraska.” He corrected, eating more of the chocolate.

“Why’d Santos call you Huckleberry? That doesn’t make sense.”

He snickered. “Just assuming that all of the Midwest is the same I guess.”

“I mean,” you hummed. “all I really know about Nebraska is Ethel Cain and Children of the Corn.”

“No, but the movie wasn’t even filmed there.” He pointed out.

“What?”

“They didn’t film Children of the Corn in Nebraska; they did in Iowa.”

You furrowed your brow. “But…it takes place…in Nebraska.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” He laughed.

“So, what I’m hearing is that it doesn’t actually exist?”

 “Yeah, you’re right.” He played along. “In fact…I was never actually here.”

He slowly sank out of his seat and onto the floor, out of sight from you. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your chest, trying to smother it. It shouldn’t have been that funny, but aside from the delivery being impeccable, the case with the grandma really struck you so that’s why everything was now hilarious.

What wasn’t though, was the door opening, and seeing Robby being the reason it did.

“Hey Whitaker,” he stared right at him. “Mr. Lee’s asking for you.”

Whitaker stood up off the ground like a soldier as soon as Robby had looked at him. “Yeah, sorry. Thanks.”

Even when Whitaker left after thanking you, Robby stayed put, crossing his arms. “You doing alright?”

You nodded. “Yeah; it’s actually not that crazy.”

“We’re having a good day. You get along with everyone?”

Standard questions yet sprinkled with a tenseness you could see he held within himself. You pursed your lips, still meaning to remain professional.

“Yeah, really nice.”

“Should I ask a night shift resident if you distract them too?”

Okay, out of left field, but still, you were going to keep a cool head-.

“If I distract them?” You tilted your head.

“Just a question.”

“Yeah, and my answer is that he was freaking out so I just gave him some water and something to eat so he wouldn’t crash in the middle of the ER!” You scoffed.

He held his hands together, pointing them at you. “And thank you, but we never know when we need all hands-on deck. So, in the future, if you could keep it short-.”

“-He was in here for like two minutes.”

“The exact same amount of time it could take for someone to die.”

You surprised yourself and took a deep breath before responding; even though you could feel your blood boil beneath your skin.

“He’s a grown man; at least my age, but maybe a few years older. I think he can take care of himself, take accountability, and not blame some girl for it.”

Was the statement slightly targeted? Who’s to say?

Still, his eyes changed. Where they were once hardened with a mix of annoyance and passive-aggressive glee, they softened at the realization. He dropped your gaze and sighed.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, that was out of line.”

Shrugging, you stuck your hands in your pockets. “Bad day?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“I didn’t ask that.”

He looked at you, and for the first time that day, you saw Michael; the idiot who ran into you but didn’t spill his coffee on your body and then made a stupid joke he probably made at work. For a moment, it was as if neither of you had known what you found out at 7am that day. That you were both in the worst positions imaginable, job and personal wise.

Then, he was gone and was back to Dr. Robby. “Kiara said she was looking for you. I heard about a gunshot victim coming in; teenager, so his parents are gonna love that.”

You nodded. “I bet.”

With that, you went to find Kiara. Sure enough, there was a teenager who’d been shot, and two worried parents. Still, despite the mom talking down to you, you and Kiara managed to calm their nerves. Luckily, an hour later, the teenager woke up and could talk to his parents.

“Good job,” Kiara squeezed your shoulder. “I know that was rough.”

You nodded. “Yeah, it was.”

“Do you need to talk?”

You shook your head. “No, but thanks. Do you?”

One can only talk to so many people about injured or even dying loved ones. This was actually your first shift where no one had died. It should’ve been a great day just with that alone. Still, you had no idea what the rest of it had in store, and it was already five.

What was two more hours?

Kiara smiled. “I’m doing alright. I’m gonna go make my rounds, you should too.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” You teased, and she left with a small skip in her step.

Sighing, you leaned against the front desk, looking up at the monitor. Someone lightly kicked your heel, and you turned to see who it was.

“Good evening, Starshine.” Santos bumped your shoulder with hers.

You scoffed, shaking your head. “I gotta start calling you something.”

“How about ‘Goddess’?”

“‘Satan’ suits you more.”

The two of you giggled, and just as you were about to ask her how the rest of her day was, she said.

“Rumor has it, you and my roommate were really hitting it off in the break room.”

Your immediate reaction was to laugh, yet your heart still stammered. “Yeah, he’s nice.”

“Uh huh,” she bit her lip. “how nice?”

Side-eyeing her, you answered politely. “Not like you.”

She snickered. “I can be nice.”

“Sure, Jan.”

“Who?”

“Brady Bunch?”

Santos shook her head. “Never took you to have an old soul, Starshine.”

You heard two women whisper to each other as they sat behind the desk. Santos made a face before responding in Tagalog. The two women only shook their heads, giggling to each other. Santos slipped her arm through yours, leading you away.

“Don’t pay attention to them.” She said lightly. “Princess and Perlah just like to think they know and see everything around here.”

“I guarantee you, they don’t.” It left your lips before it left your mind. You’d gotten too comfortable, and now it was going to bite you in the ass.

Santos’ face dropped into a shocked smile as you stopped outside one of the rooms. “What?!”

Your chest felt like it was being constricted by a snake as your skin turned cold. Swallowing, you attempted to cover it all up. “It’s nothing, I’m just saying-.”

“-What do you know?” She lowered her voice, pulling you off more to the side hopefully away from others. “Oh my god, what did you do?”

“Santos-.”

“-No,” She grinned like the devil. “who’d you do?”

It should’ve been easy to brush it off; to act like she was crazy to assume that you had a big secret just from a stupid statement. Yet, the longer you were silent, the deeper the pit you dug yourself into.

“I promise, I’ll keep quiet.” Santos held her pinky up. “Pinky swear.”

You finally found your words. “That doesn’t mean shit.”

“We’re not doing the pussy version.” She clarified. “If I say anything, you break my finger.”

“Girl-.”

The doors to the ER opened wide and in came two paramedics wheeling a woman on a gurney. She was sitting up and alert thankfully, and you could get a clearer view of her face, and the sound of her voice.

“Where the fuck is that bitch?!” Kimi yelled. “The one who hit us, where is she?!”

As the paramedics tried to quiet her, you saw another familiar face rush to Kimi’s side. He had the same greasy hair and overall feel about him that you knew would never leave. It was almost embarrassing how surprised you were that she got back with him.

Still, it wasn’t simply seeing Trent that was the worst part of your day.

…What was two more hours?

[wcnderlnds]

dizzy ★ choi seung-hyun (t.o.p)

・❥・ summary: it's seunghyun's busiest week in eight years, heading to the states for his appearances to talk about squid game. luckily, he has you on hand to help him relax. ・❥・word count: 1.9k ・❥・warnings: 18+. mdni. hand stuff (m receiving), public touching. established relationship. ・❥・authors note: this isn't what i was originally planning to post today but i was insipired by the new pictures. it's not the best but here we are anyway.

“Are you sure you’ve got everything?”

Your voice rang through Seunghyun’s ears as he patted himself down to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. “Passport, boarding pass, phone, backpack and vape.”

“Yes, because a vape is essential,” you rolled your eyes, making sure you had your own stuff.

He only grinned back at you as he pulled on his favourite white backpack. It was a marvel to you how he could look so damn good even when he was dressed down. His oversized hoodie and black sweatpants were almost drowning him but he still looked incredible. The only person on the planet that could look good in anything. You watched as he pulled the mask on his face, covering his mouth only showing his eyes and glasses. He was trying to be incognito but you knew that any true fan would be able to spot him by just his eyes anyway. He often forgot how loved he actually was but luckily he had you to remind him.

The ride to the airport didn’t take too long; traffic had died down with how late it was. You were praising the heavens that it wasn’t an early morning flight at least. Neither you or Seunghyun were morning people so trying to get you both to move in the AM would’ve been a disaster. Pulling up outside, you leaned over to give a kiss to his cheek. He smiled warmly at you, wrapping an arm around you to bring you in for a quick side hug.

“I’ll let you go have your moment and stay behind a little bit. I know there’s fans there who’ve been waiting for this moment for years. Go say hi, have fun and remember I’ll just be a few feet behind you if you get too overwhelmed,” you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as he stepped out of the car. You followed him out, feeling a sense of cuteness aggression wash over you as he pulled on his backpack and stuffed his hands into his hoodie pocket. How could a thirty-seven year old man be this adorable? He really was the best of both worlds. Hot and cute. How’d you ever get so lucky?

You watched as he walked through the airport. It made your heart swell as you saw fans handing him gifts and letters, Seunghyun thanking them with the gentleness that he’d always showed his fans. He may have changed during his hiatus but one thing he never took for granted was his fans. They were the reason he had the life he had, he would always be thankful for them. So would you. The thought that there were people out there who loved him just as fiercely as you made you so happy. It was what Seunghyun needed. This man deserved all the love in the world and you hoped this week would show him how dearly loved he was worldwide.

The whole experience went smoothly. Seunghyun’s confidence had grown, you could tell with the way he wasn’t looking all around like he usually would, he wasn’t holding on to you like a lifelines like the last time he’d been out in public. Now, you were waiting in line to board the plane, Seunghyun had wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Thank you,” he whispered into your ear. “For sticking with me for all these years.”

“You don’t ever have to thank me. I love you and I’ll always be by your side,” you smiled up at him, turning around in his arms, wrapping your own around him. “For better or for worse, remember?”

You had met Seunghyun around six years ago. He’d been visiting one of his artist friends and you had just so happened to be using their studio that day. Your artwork had caught his eye causing him to strike up a conversation and ever since then he’d been hooked. It started off innocently, he’d had to build up the courage to ask you but when he did and you said yes, he’d been elated. Marriage had never been something that had crossed Seunghyun’s mind but after being with you for a few years, he really couldn’t picture his life without you so he’d picked out a ring, got down on one knee and popped the question. Obviously, you’d said yes. The wedding had been lowkey – only family and a few friends invited. Somehow, you’d managed to keep it under wraps. The only time fans had questioned it was when Seunghyun had accidentally kept his wedding ring on during an interview but only eagle eyed fans had really pieced it together.

“There’s been a lot of the ‘worse’ but… I promise you, baby, there’s going to be a whole lot more of the good now,” he cupped your cheek, tilting your head back a little. You reached up to pull his mask off, letting it dangle in your hand as he leaned down and captured your lips in a soft, gentle kiss. Your eyes closed at the feeling of his soft lips on yours, the taste of coffee and his cotton candy vape filling your senses. 

He pulled back, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek as you gazed up at him with adoring eyes. “If you keep kissing me like that, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

That made him chuckle, the sound like music to your ears. His laugh was one of your favourite things – the way it was more of a giggle than anything always sent the butterflies in your stomach soaring. The chokehold this man had on you was insane. Seunghyun grabbed his mask from your hand, stuffing it inside his hoodie. He didn’t need it anymore. He’d got through the hard part, now was the long eleven hour flight to Los Angeles.

Once safely inside the plane in your first class seats, you settled in, throwing a blanket over you and Seunghyun. You shuffled closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder. He smiled down at you, throwing an arm around you, his fingers running through your hair. It was intimate, domestic and you could never get enough of moments like it. However, your mind was still racing from the kiss. As the hours passed, you tried your hardest to forget about it but you still felt the trace of his lips against yours, the way he had held you. No other person had the effect that Seunghyun had on you. He really could drive you crazy with just one simple kiss.

Unable to keep your hands to yourself, you tested the waters, placing your hand on his thigh. He didn’t move, his eyes fully focused on the movie that was playing on the screen in front of you. So, you slid your hand up more, moving over to rest on his crotch. Now, he did glance in your direction, a warning look but then his eyes were back on the screen. You caught him off guard when you squeezed him through his sweatpants, your hand slowly rubbing against his hardening length.

“What’re you doing?” He turned to whisper at you, a warning tone to his voice but his eyes deceived him. He wanted this even if he dared not admit it. The thrill of you touching him in such a public place was more of a turn on than he wanted to admit.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you smiled innocently, giving him yet another squeeze. He hissed, bucking his hips up into your hand. You had him right where you wanted him.

“You’re playing a dangerous game here, baby. Anyone could catch us,” he took a sharp breath in as your hand slid inside his sweatpants, diving past the elastic of his boxers. You wrapped your hand around his half hard cock, lazily stroking him, making sure to get him nice and hard. It didn’t take much, Seunghyun was always sensitive to your touch.

You felt him twitch in your hand, twisting your fist as you pumped him with more pressure. He let out a low groan, his head leaning back against the seat. Luckily, you were covered by the blanket which was good because just as you ran your thumb against his aching tip, one of the stewardesses came up to your seats. Seunghyun shot you a warning look as if to silently tell you to behave.

Were you going to listen? Absolutely not.

“Can I get you two anything?” The woman smiled sweetly, none the wiser to what was going on under the blankets. Once again you ran your thumb against the tip of his cock, gathering the precum and using it as lubricant to help your hand glide along him faster. Seunghyun had to cover up his choke with a fake cough, his cheeks reddening.

“Uh… um…” he stumbled over his words as your hand sped up. He was throbbing in your hand, you could feel every ridge and vein against your palm as he thought the urge to buck up into your fist. “Uh… y-yeah… can… we get some coffee?”

“Sure, no problem, handsome,” the stewardess smiled sweetly. You narrowed your eyes as she flirted with your husband, tugging on his cock a little harder causing him to stifle a groan.

“T-thank you,” he strained a smile as she walked off. 

A sigh of relief passed his lips when she walked away but you weren’t letting him off the hook that easily, your hand moved along his length faster, harder, determined to bring him to the edge. Seunghyun tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, holding back his groan. Now, his hips were thrusting up into your hand, you could tell how close he was by how one of his hands was gripping your thigh like it was a lifeline, his fingers digging into your skin.

“You gonna cum, baby?”

“You’re the fucking worst.”

“Not very nice to say that to the person that’s got your dick in their hand now, is it?” You smirked, giving him one more hard tug and that was it for him. He groaned loudly, your free hand moving quickly to cover his mouth as you felt his release coat your hand, his eyes closed as he let go. 

His chest was heaving, ragged breaths falling from his lips behind your hand. He licked your palm causing you to pull away. He leaned in towards your ear, lightly tugging at the lobe between his teeth before whispering in his deep, spent voice. “You know payback’s a bitch, right?”

“Can’t wait,” you pulled your hand from him. You made sure to meet his gaze as you brought your hand up to your mouth, your tongue darting out to lick his release from your fingers. Seunghyun felt his cock give a valiant twitch at the erotic sight, his eyes narrowed at you but just as he was about to say something, the stewardess came back with the coffees in hand.

“Here you go,” she placed the drinks down. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Some napkins would be nice,” he mumbled, which only caused you to giggle. With a nod, she walked away yet again.

“Better go clean yourself up when she comes back with them. Wouldn’t want to spend the whole flight sitting in your own cum now, would you?” You fluttered your eyelashes innocently at him.

“...you’re in for it, I swear.”

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @berfgrimm @loveesiren @justsisse @sherrayyyyy @aizshallnotbefound @fleabagspurplewife @gemzyy @bettelaboure @gdinthehouseee @breakmeoff @babyrvis @flymetothexmoon @forevervibezzzz1 @ttturnitup @szonyix6277 @riddlerloveb0t @youlikeex @septywitch @melanatedhorrorqueen @l5byrinth @tabibabi

[xetlynn]

arcane imagines- vander

crushing hard

[arcane] [main page] requested!

prompt: Vander has a crush on you, and he won’t shut up about it to his friends.

The bar doors open, earning the attention of three young adults, one who is awaiting your presence. Who’s been anticipating you all morning. You grin, waving to your new friends you met two weeks ago at the market. “Hey, [Name]! Good to see ya!” Vander greets you as he wipes down a glass cup. 

“Hiii, Vander. Silco, and Felicia.” You nod your head politely to the other two who do the same with smiles adorning their faces. “I brought you that can opener, can’t believe you forgot it!” You snicker, placing the metal object down on his counter before him. He nervously laughs in response, his eyes flickering over to his close friends who have amused expressions. 

“Silly me, just a forgetful guy.” He defends himself and you tilt your head. “Really? I would’ve never guessed! I feel like your memory is better than mine.” You pout your lips. Silco mumbles something into Felicia’s ear who giggles in response. Luckily you didn’t hear what it was. Vander glares at them. 

“Well, I can’t stay too long, my brother is waiting for me.” You huff, putting your hands on your hips. “It was great seeing you three. We have to hang out again!” You tell them, taking steps back. “We’d love to.” Felicia says. 

“Yeah, we would! You could even come visit the bar anytime. I’d love the company.” Vander blurts out and you smile at him. “Guess I’ll have to then, don’t want you getting lonely with all your customers.” You poke fun with him, your back slightly hitting the door. His face heats up. 

“Ha! Yeah, still… you should.” He rasps and you scrunch your nose. “I’ll have to come by later this week.” You wink at him, pushing the doors open as you swiftly leave. 

He lets out a loud groan once he knows you’re gone. “I’m such an idiot.” He takes the can opener, adding it to his stack of others. “Yeah, you are.” Silco takes a sharp breath, astounded by the second embarrassment he was feeling. “It wasn’t that bad.” Felicia nudges the guy beside her. “What? He looked like a total dog. He makes his crush so evident.” 

“Do I really?” Vander’s eyes widened in fear. Hoping that wasn’t the case. He didn’t want to look desperate. 

“Yes.” “No.” 

The two say at the same time, then glaring at one another. “No, Vander. You seem timid for sure but I don’t think she knows there’s meaning like that behind it.” Felicia assures her friend. He lets out a sigh. “I just- I’ve never been like this around a girl. She’s perfect! Like- Perfect!” He gesticulates, running fingers through his hair dramatically. 

“Her humor? She’s actually really funny. Did you see the way she winked at me by the way? Almost died on the spot.” He exaggerates to his best friends. Felicia presses her lips together trying not to laugh as Silco pinches the bridge of his nose. Not wanting to hear this. 

“I mean for real, it was the hottest thing. She’s smooth with it, I wonder if it means something.” Vander ponders, placing down his drink cup. “It was just a wink, dude.” Silco exclaims with an “are you for real?” look. “A wink that could’ve had an undertone.” Vander points at him. 

“And she’s going to come by later this week. Oh man.” Vander now begins to panic. He invited you to sit at the bar. Later in the week is the weekend… obviously. But that means the rowdier customers will be there. He’ll barely have the chance to speak with you. Maybe you’ll stay late enough to hang out afterwards? Or come early enough where you guys can talk. 

“Yeah you asked her like a real desperate dog.” Silco comments and Vander’s face drops. “No I didn’t.” His eyebrows furrow. “If you say so.” 

“You’re being a real hater, Silc.” Vander huffs, crossing his arms. “Yeah because you met her two weeks ago and you won’t shut up about her.” The boy esaperates. Earning a frown. “And I’ll continue to talk about her. Now it’s to spite you.” 

“You two are such idiots.” Felicia sighs, slumping forward on the counter. “Vander certainly is. I’m growing a little worried for [Name].” Silco insults his friend who rolled his eyes. “Whatever man. She’s different. I’m just saying.” He shrugs his shoulders and Silco scoffs out a laugh. “You’re whipped on a whole different level.” 

“I might be. I don’t know what to do about it.” Vander makes a face. “As time goes on I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Felicia encourages him. “Mm, yeah. Until then I’m going to continue talking about her.” He cheekily smiles. “Of course you are. Because you don’t know peace.” Silco groans. 

“You don’t deserve peace.” Vander chuckles. “I’ll just have to go tell [Name] about how you feel I guess…” He stands from the bar stool. “She’s probably not too far from here.” He starts. “Don’t do that! That’s not even funny!” Vander whines like a child. His heart is genuinely racing by his buddy threatening to tell his crush his feelings like they were in grade school. 

[tldrthor]

promises we intend to keep | steve rogers

Summary: The Avenger's spend time with their comatose friend, Cap's sanity slips from him as he spends every night by her bedside. Is blind faith enough?

Part 2 to things we shouldn't have said (prev. classic enemies to lovers stuff) // He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn't care less. // word count: 4.3k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hi, (y/n).” He settled himself into the chair next to the bed, the familiar antiseptic smell filling his nostrils, the beep, beep, beep of her heart like music to his ears. He had hated it at first, but now, it was evidence that she was still here. There was still hope. “I’ve got a break between meetings so I figured I’d come down and say hello.”

He leaned back, watching her peaceful features as unmoving as they had been for nearly a month now. He frowned at the wires connected to her neck and chest, knowing that if she was awake she would’ve hated that. Part of him wanted to rip them off, but his more rational thinking prevented him from doing that.

Dr. Cho’s words circled round his mind, as they hadn’t stopped doing since she spoke them all those weeks ago. “She’s not out of the woods yet. She died twice on the table, and requires all manners of intervention going forward. We’ll only know the extent of the damage when she wakes up –” The doctor had paused for just a second, trying to soften what was only certain to be a killing blow. “–If she wakes up.”

Every time he remembered those words, his knees felt as weak as Bambi on ice. The nausea he used to feel every time he entered this room had faded, and the shell-shock had worn. She still occupied every moment of his thoughts, awake or unconscious. Not that he had been doing a lot of sleeping.

He opened the book at the page he had last left off at, when Sam had come downstairs and dragged the Captain to bed himself last night. “Just to recap,” He spoke to her regardless of her response to him. “Laurie confessed to Jo, but she rejected him. Beth is still sick and boy, that’s rough.” 

He cleared his throat and began reading aloud.

================================================

“(Y/l/n), I’ve had enough now.” Natasha charged through the doors to where (y/n) lay. She threw herself down in the chair, leaning her head on her asleep friend’s shoulder, trying to gain what little emotional support she could from her usual source of sanity amongst the chaos of the compound. “The boys are driving me crazy. I think you’ve made your point; Cap is sorry – he’s very, very sorry, borderline depressed – so you can come back.”

She smiled a charming, pleading smile. But no one was there to see it. She dropped the smile after a few seconds.

“(Y/n), it’s hard without you here. No one’s the same, and Steve won’t accept any missions so we can’t even escape. Sam and Bucky are about to tear each other apart, and Cap just wallows in the gym whenever he’s not here with you.”

More silence. 

“Anyways, Cap said that he wants someone here as much as possible. And we haven’t hung out in a while, so if you don’t mind we’re going to watch the new season of Love Island together.” She kicked off her shoes, stretching her legs over the hospital bed and getting comfortable.

================================================

The next visitor didn’t say anything as he walked through the doors, hovering by the foot of the bed. He uncomfortably brought his hands in and out of his pockets, shifting from one leg to the other. 

He eventually moved beside the bed, reaching a hand out to her forehead, to get rid of a hair that had found itself there. He stood there, staring, in silence for a while longer. He swallowed, took a breath, and spoke out loud;

“Kid, I don’t know if you can hear me.” He paused. “You probably can’t.”

He paced around the room, continuing; “I just want you to know, I got your little letter. Really, more of a stunt, very childish – anyway. I want you to know that if that’s your wish, I’ll help you out in setting up. But I also need you to know that you’re going to have to tell me that to my face. So you’ll have to wake up.”

“Also, I’m your boss and your sick pay is running out, so chop chop.” He joked to himself. He basked in the silence for another second.

“It’s not the same without you, (y/l/n). Hope to talk soon.”

“Mr. Stark, Mrs Potts is requesting your presence in the kitchen.” FRIDAY chimed in right on time. He muttered a be right up, taking one last look at his young teammate, and walked out the doors. 

================================================

A month to the day since she was shot, Steve couldn’t sleep. Before the whole debacle, he would’ve just gone to the gym and fought it out of his system. But now, he couldn’t bear being anywhere but in the medical bay. He couldn’t even count the amount of times he had woken up in that chair, neck in excruciating pain, the book on the floor. Or, the amount of times Bucky or Sam or Natasha had come downstairs and marched him back to bed.

He couldn’t help it. The thought of her waking up alone, not knowing where she is, was his greatest concern – scratch that, his greatest fear was her not waking up at all.

He didn’t take the time to change into proper clothes, instead deciding to head down in his pyjamas – ones that she had complimented him on, once upon a time. Red flannel pants and a matching henley – she had described it as ‘lumberjack chic’ and then explained that that was a good thing. He hadn’t realised back then, but Steve now thinks she might have been flirting. He cursed how much of an idiot he was before this disaster.

He wished desperately he could turn back time to then. Before he decided the only way not to love her, was to hate her.

“It’s me, again.” He spoke, taking his familiar spot on the chair next to the bed. He yawned, getting himself more comfortable, flicking the blanket they had all collectively decided was required over his legs. “Now, where were we?” He picked up the book again, reciting words from the pages until it fell from his hand, loud snores from his mouth filling the room.

================================================

When he awoke again, he was in the same familiar pain he always had when he spent too much time in the chair. This time he had fallen forward, his head resting on the bed and… his hand entwined in hers.

He sighed, giving himself the luxury of just a second feeling what he would never have. Her hands were soft, and smooth. Not like his own. They were warm, and comfortable, and something about her fingers holding onto his just felt right.

It wouldn’t be respectful to linger for longer than that, not without her knowing, but as he tried to pull his hand away –

Was that a twitch?

He stared at her hand, now more awake and alert than he had been all month. There was no way, he was definitely just going delirious through stress, or lack of sleep, or maybe his age had just caught up with him because –

A second twitch.

“Oh my god.” He glared daggers into her hand, as if that would do something. Maybe he really was losing his marbles. This was just wishful thinking. His heart feeling like it was about to thump, thump, thump right out of his chest. Do it again. Please, do it again. 

When it happened for a third time, and he saw it with his own eyes, he could only make a noise that could really only be described as a squeal. On his feet in an instant, his hand finding its way to her cheek, cupping her face.

There was no other sign of life. He stared and stared and stared. “Wake up, (y/n). Wake up, I’m here.” He pleaded. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he considered them; “If you wanted to prove a point, consider it proven. You’re not a liability, you’ve never, ever been a liability.”

“Just wake up. I am so, so sorry for everything.” His thumb stroked her cheek, his eyes staring at her face looking for anything that might indicate she was coming back to him. “Just wake up.”

Nothing.

He sat back down, defeated. He had gotten his hopes up, and it all came crashing back down. He placed his hand firmly back on hers as he leant his head on the bed, wet patches forming on the sheets as saltwater leaked from his eyes.

====================================

“Cap, we’re not saying we don’t believe you —” Sam was interrupted.

Steve turned away from his friends, growing more and more frustrated with every sentence uttered. They didn’t believe him. She had moved. She was coming back, but no one would listen.

“You don’t believe me. I promise her hand twitched.” His jaw tensed, his stare as far away from his friends as he could get.

“Stevie, we believe that you felt something, but you have to admit, bud, you’ve been hardly sleeping and pushing yourself too far. Nothing was picked up on monitors, how would that be?” Bucky reasoned, sitting in the same chair where Steve had been so convinced she was waking up, just hours ago.

He had called them to the room as early as he deemed was responsible that day, and they had come running. Only to find their friend still asleep, and the captain with red eyes and bags under them that only seemed to get worse and worse the more they looked.

Sam sighed, hand reaching up to rub his temple. He had had a pretty consistent headache himself for a good couple of weeks. “Steve, I completely understand. We all want her back, but you can’t keep torturing yourself over this. She’ll wake up, just give her time.”

“Sam, it’s been a month – the doctor said if she was going to wake up it would take around a week.” Steve pleaded, the tears welling in his eyes again. He didn’t care anymore about hiding it from them. They already thought he was crazy anyway.

Sam placed a hand on his back as he wiped the water with the back of his hand.

“We’ll wait as long as it takes, but it has to be we. You can’t be here all the time, Steve. It’s no good if she wakes up and you’ve killed yourself from lack of sleep.”

“I don’t want to miss the moment she comes back.” He whispered.

Sam and Bucky made eye contact, pitying looks cast between them. 

Bucky decided to speak, seeing Sam’s heartbreak at trying to reason with their normally solid friend. “Steve, you have to go to bed – don’t argue – but I’ll stay with her. I promise that if anything happens, I will let you know in an instant.”

Steve’s lips drew into a tight line, his eyebrows furrowed. Bucky continued; “Come on, just give me a couple hours, Stevie. I’ll chat to her, we’ll listen to music or something. I promise I’ll take care of her.”

“Come on.” Sam put his arm round Steve, gentle but firmly leading him away. He stole one last glance, as Bucky pulled out his phone to put on some music.

When the boys were finally away, Bucky turned to her. “You’re causing quite a ruckus, tiger. You always liked your sleep, but this is a bit much.” He laughed, leaning back in the chair. “There’s not much to say, kid – I know that the others have been talking your ear off. We need you back.”

He scrolled on his phone a little. Looking for the playlist she had shared with him – one to blend their music tastes. It was originally just for a mission they had to go on together, but turned into one of his favourite ways to bond with her. Music. He laughed again at the name: ‘Golden Oldie and the Wunderkind’ He remembered the day she had made up the name, they hadn’t stopped laughing for hours.

He clicked shuffle, smiling as I and Love and You by the Avett Brothers came over the speakers. “I know you like this song because it reminds you of Stevie.” He teased, but let it play out. He didn’t quite let himself sing, but he did mouth the words to his favourite verse;

That woman, she’s got eyes that shine, Like a pair of stolen, polished dimes. She asked to dance, I said ‘it’s fine– I’ll see you in the morning time’.

What he didn’t tell her, didn’t dare to say out loud, was that ever since he had mentioned to Steve that she liked the song, Steve had listened to it at least once a day. Particularly after they had their usual fights.

These idiots have a lot to figure out when she wakes up. He thought to himself.

================================================

Bucky got a few hours with her, listening to their playlist, occasionally chatting about the song choices. He briefly tried to read the book on the side, but when he saw it was Little Women, he put it right back down again. 

“Sorry, tiger. Not my vibe.” He chuckled.

The doors opened slowly, revealing a slightly-less-haggard Captain America. He had put actual clothes on, looked like he had slept at least a little bit and had even showered. Bucky gave a nod of approval, folding his arms and leaning back in the chair again.

“You feeling better?” Bucky asked his friend, who simply nodded in response. 

Buck stood, knowing that Steve wanted to be alone with her right now. To not have the pitying looks thrown at him that Bucky couldn’t help but cast. He understood, he had been there.

“See ya, punk.” He gave a hearty smile before leaving.

Steve took his rightful seat, sighing before starting the same routine they had done over, and over, and over again. He was growing so sick of this chair, and the bed, and the beeping from the machines that didn’t seem to be helping at all. 

He got through around half a chapter of Little Women, until he realised that Beth was going to die. He didn’t know how he hadn’t remembered, he had heard his mother reading this book all the way back in ‘35. He closed the book, finding death far too triggering, given the current situation. 

Just closing the book wasn’t enough, it was like it burned him to hold it. He threw it across the room in a moment of fury. Frustration swept his whole body as he spiralled, down and down and down. He was ashamed of how out of control he had become. He had always been so rational, so measured. He was always the one people came to when they needed grounding – yet he didn’t know how to ground himself.

He rested his head on her arm, his sweaty palms holding her hand with a ferocity hitherto unseen from him. Like his damn life depended on it.

Maybe it did.

“Come on, (y/n),” He pleaded with the air. With God. With her. “I know you’re mad at me, just wake up and we’ll have another shouting match. Just like before.” A brutally defeated tone weighed down his voice, rough and gravelly from the effort of his bargain. He enclosed her hand in both of his own, leaning his head against them.

A cough. 

He froze for a second, hiding behind her hand in his. The coughs continued, dry and painful sounding. Was there someone else in the room?

He took a moment to steel himself, peeling himself away from her hand, and staring at her, mouth agape like a fish out of water. “Oh my god.”

“Water.” She croaked.

He jumped up, the chair going flying backwards. He didn’t notice. With shaking hands, he poured the water from the jug on the bedside table into one of the plastic cups. He held it up to her dry, cracked lips, watching as she drank the whole cup.

“Be careful.” He spoke, instincts kicking in. “You’re on fluids, don’t overload your kidneys.”

She finished, her head laying straight back down on the pillow. He could see in her very brief movements that she was weak. He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Her eyes were barely open as she turned her head in his direction.

“Captain?” Her voice was rough as sandpaper, like she was straining just to get her singular words out. He just stared, incredulously.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” The pet name rolled off his tongue like he had always said it, and he didn’t even notice. “Oh, my god. You’re awake. I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here.”

He had practiced over and over again, what he was going to say to her when she woke up. Thought about it for entire nights when he couldn’t get to sleep. His plans had been poetic and perfect – they were not ‘oh my god you’re awake.’ He sounded like an idiot, but he couldn’t care less.

Her eyes opened, slowly, and she looked around the room. “What happened?” The words were still a struggle to get out and he could tell. He wanted to tell her to rest, to save her voice for later, to recuperate. But he hadn’t heard that sound in so long, that he let himself be selfish – just one more time.

His own mouth when dry at her amnesia. She knew who he was, which was good. But not knowing how she ended up here was a bad sign. 

“What do you remember?” She was growing restless at lying down, and she was in so much pain. It felt like her whole body was made of stone, but she used all of the strength she had in her to try to sit up.

She was met by gentle hands, guiding her up and placing pillows behind her to support her. Hands that belonged to her once arch-nemesis, who looked at her now like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

She was so confused. 

“I remember arguing in the forest.” Her eyes were wide with what Steve could only decipher as panic. “I don’t remember anything else… Why am I here?” The scared tone in her voice broke Steve’s heart all over again, but it could not take over the elation he felt at the fact that she was there.

He took a deep breath, briefly considering what he should tell her, considering all the events of the last month, in particular, that day. One of the worst days of his life.

“You were shot through the chest.” He began. “It knocked you out instantly, we barely got you here alive.” He ran his thumb softly over the back of her hand, unable to make eye contact. “You- you’ve been asleep for a month.”

He decided not to tell her of the fact she had died on the operating table. That could wait.

“A month?!” She shouted, resulting in another coughing fit. He helped her drink some more water, making soothing noises as she did so. It all felt so surreal. Every minute of every day since that moment, he had wished for this. And now it was happening. She was awake, and talking. 

Her voice started to clear; “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”

“No. Please, don’t worry about me. You saved me from being shot right before you went down – it was my fault you got hurt.”

“I don’t think that’s right.” She contorted her face into a puzzled expression, looking down at his hand, clasping hers. She said it as a mix between a statement and a question – “We’re holding hands?”

“Yes, um. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up and your hand twitched a couple of days ago so that’s why – sorry, I’ll stop-”

As he tried to untangle their hands, she closed her fist and prevented him from doing so. He watched her chest rise and fall quickly, her eyes wide.

“Please, don’t.” Her words were like a child’s as her nostrils flared. She was uncertain. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her uncertain before, not even a flash of hesitance had danced across her features as far back as he could remember. “It feels nice.”

Maybe, he just wasn’t paying enough attention.

“Then I’ll keep holding your hand until you ask me to stop.” He promised. A gentle, sincere smile took over his features, which she tried her best to replicate. He observed her face, drinking in the colour in her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. 

It was a stark contrast to how they had last left off – the image replaying over and over again in his mind of her clinging to life, blood leaking from her mouth, her nose, her chest. The inky, sticky red coating his suit and his hands and his shoes. So much blood, endless. Sometimes he still felt the slick heat of it all over him. He wasn’t sure that he would ever be able to scrub that feeling from his memory.

“Where are the others? Are they okay?” (Y/n) asked, looking around the room at the various bunches of flowers and cards littered upon every surface. Steve had completely forgotten the others existed in his complete shock at her return.

He winced, knowing he should have called for them immediately. “They’ll be so happy to see you.” He spoke directly to her, and then to the ceiling; “FRIDAY, let everyone know that (y/n) is awake.”

“Yes, Captain.” The irish lilt came from above.

It was mere seconds before the doors came barrelling open, the entire team funnelling into the relatively small room, crowding around the bed and exclaiming various different versions of ‘Oh my god’, ‘You’re awake’, ‘Holy shit’. The room was absolute chaos with an unmusical cacophony.

This was allowed to go on for a few minutes, before the on-call doctor, someone (y/n) had never seen before, rounded the corner. “Okay, okay!” He shouted, “This is too much for the patient, I want everyone out – you can come in smaller groups.”

Everyone grumbled but did as they were told, each taking their chance to say ‘call if you need anything’, ‘see you later’ or ‘we’ll come back with sweets’. Bucky ruffled her hair and Natasha pressed a kiss to her cheek, muttering about how a certain Captain would be looking after her. She didn’t really understand what it meant, but a blush spread to her cheeks anyway.

As the last of them filed out, Steve turned to her and asked; “Do you want me to stay?” A certain vulnerability sewn into his question.

“Yes.” She answered far too quickly. “Please, Captain. If that’s okay.” Her voice seemed to get smaller and smaller as she spoke. “I don’t want to be alone.” Her grip on his hand tightened, both a demand and a question contained within it.

How on Earth could he say no to her? Her wide, gorgeous eyes searched his face for an answer, which he gave by settling further into the chair, pulling it even closer to the bed, if that was even possible. 

“Like I said, as long as you want. I’m here, you’re not alone.”

They sat in silence for a while, the Captain not taking his eyes away from her face. 

“(Y/n).” He had to tell her, now or never. He wouldn’t risk something like this again, things going unsaid. “I hope you know how sorry I am for what I said, all those weeks ago. It’s not an excuse, but I realised all this time I’ve not hated you, I’ve …”

She looked at him, her lips parted. Her messy hair splayed in a way where the fluorescent lights caught it, making it look like a sort of pseudo-halo. He knew it, right there and then. This was it.

“I’ve loved you. Since the moment we met.”

A shocked expression on her face moved slowly, her open mouth contorting into a soft, loving smile. She squeezed his hand, bringing her other arm over to hold it as well. Just more contact. That was all she needed.

“Steve, I feel the same.” She was still playing with his actual name, not ‘Captain’ or ‘Rogers’ or a sarcastic ‘Cap’. He couldn’t believe how it sounded coming from her – like it was a new name altogether. Like a song he was discovering for the first time.

He couldn’t help it now, he beamed. “You do?”

She nodded, licking her lips. They were so cracked, and dry. But she didn’t care.

“I– I can’t lean over to you, but… I would love to kiss you right now.”

He didn’t waste any time. Up and out of his seat in an instant, crossing what little distance was left between them. His hands reached her cheeks first, cupping them ever so softly. They breathed together, just for a second, his eyes flicking to hers almost to make sure she knew what she was doing. 

And then his lips were on hers. The kiss wasn’t like she had imagined – it wasn’t dramatic, wasn’t angry, wasn’t sudden. It was calculated and gentle and passionate. It was everything she could ever have hoped for.

They pulled apart, Steve knowing that she wasn’t strong enough to hold her breath to kiss her as long as he wanted to. His hand stroked her cheek, his eyes staring into hers. He rested his forehead against hers for a second, before moving up and pressing a kiss to it.

The look in his eyes was one of love, happiness and admiration.

“I think I’ve wanted to do that since we met.” He admitted, breathless from excitement. They smiled at each other wordlessly, growing used to the looks between not being ones of glaring and daggers, but of kindness, and warmth.

The only sound was the steady beep, beep, beep of her heart rate – a sound he had definitely decided he loved. They stayed like that for hours, before she started to fall back asleep – to rest, this time.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” She asked, as she slipped back into slumber.

“I promise.” And nothing on Earth could stop him from keeping it.

================================================

TAGS -- I've tagged everyone who requested a part two! You guys really keep my motivation up so I hope it's done you justice <3. This will be the last part for now, but I'm thinking of setting future domestic fics in this universe!

@haven-in-writing @marvelouskatie @veryaverageapple @ironwinnerwonderland @ohdrey89 @waqtzayaontmblr @shygamergirl01 @starkenobi @ynstark

p.s. please please listen to 'I and Love and You' by the Avett Brothers if you haven't before -- it's so Steve and is such a lovely song.

[lologoinsolo]

Minds Us All Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 TW: Mentions of blood! Non-con sedation And kidnapping!

“Make her off…” Kyle murmurs under his breath. That annoying smell of something far too clean and sterile has kept him up. Everyone has been taking time to sit besides Johnny in the hospital bed. “Make her off,” he jolts a bit when the door opens. John’s not looking his best but he’s trying to keep himself strong. Johnny took a bullet and nearly died for him after all.

“What’s that?” John says, tiredness etched into his features as he takes his seat besides a sleeping Johnny. The doctors worked relentlessly to keep him alive, now he just needs to wake up from his coma. “Heard you muttering, do you need a break?”

Kyle merely scoffs, he and Simon’s been sitting here the most. He still can’t get how devastated Simon sounded when Johnny was laying in a pile— he shakes his head and breathes deeply. “You remember that girl,” he says offhandedly, “the one that acted weirdly around Johnny.”

John’s beard crinkles slightly, “yeah? Johnny mentioned it once. Gave a report and everything.” He leans a bit forward, “why?” The gears in his head starts to grind.

“She told him that sunshine can’t go down the tunnel.” John freezes and Kyle continues, “I don’t get it. She was clearly frightened and confused.”

“She said sunshine?”

“Yeah,” Kyle sighs, “said it like a prayer.”

“I called Johnny, sunshine, before we went in the tunnel.” At that Kyle sits up. “I told him that we wouldn’t go down easy”.

The man’s eyes widen. “Make her off, make her— Makarov!” He shouts and the nurse makes a shushing noise, Kyle doesn’t seem to care as he stands up. The realization crashed down on him. “She knew,” she had to. “John, she knew.” How else would she have known that Makarov would’ve been there before anyone else?

The tiredness ebbs from John’s face and the Captain shows up. “Get Laswell on the phone right now, Gaz.”

…

You watched the news repeatedly after you left the hospital. You couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, everything felt wrong. Those blue eyes haunt you every time you blink. Your left side of your head throbs and aches, an itch on the inside of your brain. You hate it. You hate him. You hate that you can’t help but wait for a sign. A sign that you’re not as crazy as the doctors have made you out to be.

A week passes and nothing, another and nothing. You give up hope till the news recounts a ‘gas leak’ in a tunnel. Causing multiple problems and a near casualty. You drop your remote when your vision shakes your world and you see the man with familiar blue eyes being rushed on a gurney. Voices shouting at you, voices you’ve never heard giving commands. Your hands claw at your hair and you feel bile coming up your throat from the intensity of the sight. He’s bloodied up and his left side of his head looks at though it’s been cracked open with the blood gushing out.

You scream and fall to your knees when you manage to pull out. Your stomach lurches and you struggle to stand. You grab your keys, your wallet, and anything useful and drive off. You don’t know where you’re going but you're running. You never stay long when the visions come true, you can’t risk yourself. You won’t.

So you move, move around quickly and find a job. You found a hole in the wall apartment, no one would come looking for you here… at least you hope. Weeks turn into months, months turn into a year and you feel like maybe your life is coming slowly back together. Your visions have been weak but consistent, the only one that’s ever shaken you was blue eyes but he’s probably okay now. Hopefully…

Getting off of work, a job at the gas station. Something easy to blend into and no one bats an eye when you don’t look okay. Everyday has been feeling weirder. You’ve been writing more, visions are starting to stay longer. They’re getting worse again, the left side of your head throbs more every day. You’re tempted to run again but you don’t have the funds to do that. Taking a deep breath you push the apartment's creaky gate open, trudging along up the stairs to your place. You pull your keys out and as you do a warning flashes through you.

A man with a beard is sitting at your table, holding a gun, waiting. Waiting. He’s— you don’t open your door and you take off down the stairs. Your panic is rising with every stomp of your foot. You are near the gate and a flash of a hand goes through your mind's eye but not quick enough when you’re grabbed roughly. Can’t even scream when a hand clamps right over your mouth.

“Shut it,” a voice as deep as the ocean growls out. Your arms are forced behind your back as you cry and flail. You try to move them back but your assailant cuffs you quickly before slamming a hand back over your mouth before you can even call for help. Something cold is then pushed against the center of your back and it doesn’t take your curse to see that it’s a gun. “Walk. Now,” you hear a click and you tremble a step. Your arms are painfully tight against your back as he shoves you forward.

You walk up the steps and tears run down your face when he doesn’t even turn the knob, the door just opens for him. Meaning it was already unlocked. He shoves you once more to your kitchen table, the man with the beard that your curse showed earlier is sitting there. Waiting with a gun on the table. “Sit,” beard says, the one behind you gives a sharp nudge from his own gun and you sit.

“Pl-Please, I— I don’t have,” beard raises his hand and you try desperately to not whimper. “Please,” you beg, hoping he doesn’t kill you. You don’t know what they want or who they are.

“We need to talk.” Is all he says, he leans forward. The chair groaning under his weight and you blink back your wet eyes to see that he’s wearing a fishing hat. “You’re not hard to find, you know? Never stay in a place for long though.” His eyes squint and your struggle to breath when says without saying that you’re being tracked and watched. “Why are you running?” He doesn’t ask, he expects an answer from you. That gun on the table won’t allow you to deny him that.

“I…” you swallow, you can’t seem to stop your tears or the snot. You rub your face as best as you can against your shoulder. “Am I in t-trouble?” It’s not the answer he wants and his hand moves to his gun. “Please!” You shout suddenly, “I don’t know what I did wrong! Tell me, please— I don’t have any money. I’m sorry, please.”

He says nothing as you plead and beg, the one behind you doesn’t even make a gesture. You didn’t even recognize that he was wearing a mask, a skull one at that. A grim reaper that’s come to reap.

“Don’t kill me,” you blubber, you’re trembling so much that you’re surprised you haven’t vibrated off the chair. “Just— just tell me what I did wrong.”

He stands and you flinch, his hand trails as he walks around you. Shrinking under his hard gaze even more, “how did a girl like you work for Makarov, hm?” He chuckles mirthlessly, “could spill your bits out easily,” the one behind you grunts in agreement.

“I don’t,” you shake your head repeatedly side to side, “Makarov? Who? I don’t—“ beard grabs your chin and squeezes tightly making you whimper.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” He sneers, “one of my best nearly died but you told him to not go into that tunnel.” His thumb shifts harder against the fat of your cheeks. “Why?” That’s what confuses him in the entirety of tracking you down. If you did work for Makarov, why did you tell Johnny about it?

“Tunnel?” You murmur, tears rolling down your face and he does you the single kindness of flicking them away. It dawns on you now. “I-I,” you start hyperventilating, your anxiety through the roof as you try to breathe. The visions come flooding back and you scream.

…

10 minutes prior.

Gaz searches through your computer. Searching for something that could prove that you work with Makarov. It’s the only thing that makes possible sense, you’re practically normal. Your records scream ‘normal’, Laswell couldn’t find anything save for the fact that you’re an only child that went through numerous foster homes.

“Son of a bitch,” he slams his fist against your desk. Your search history is useless save for everything else. Sourdough starter, flower pots, seeds, gas, kitchenware, gas, star lights, dresser, gas. He sighs after looking at all of it, he hears a woman crying and he knows that Price is already interrogating you. He’d feel bad but they all need answers, “what are you hiding?” He mumbles when he sees gas, floor, and dresser typed in repeatedly. Almost like it’s important but why would you type it so many times. “Maybe she wanted new flooring?”

He leans back, taking a breath and he rolls his neck. “Gas…” his eyes move towards your dresser, “gas,” it starts to click, “Gaz, floor, dresser.” He pushes off and runs to your dresser. He opens it and digs through your clothing for something, anything. He lets out a gritted curse when there’s nothing.

He runs his hand down the sides, “floor,” a light bulb flickers to life in his head and he gets on his knees. His hands tap on the floorboards and he hears a hollow sound. “Gotcha,” he pulls the floorboards back and he sees numerous journals. Some old and some new, he grabs the newest one and he flips it open. Flicking through the pages and most of the dated entries makes no sense. Some are singular words to full on spirals of paragraphs. The latest one that’s dated today brings him to a stop.

Gun, man with gun, home, no safe. Run, run, mask, grab, gas will read, gas is read. Read. Read. figuring out, knowing. He knows. Knows. Knows. Scream.

Just as he reads that last word he hears a scream and he comes running downstairs with his gun in hand. He sees you screaming as Ghost shoves a needle into your throat. You flail and flounder, tears staining your cheeks and you manage to get off the chair. Ghost stands over you as you try to crawl away but there’s no way to escape. You hold out for as long as you can but eventually you give in. The sedative works quick and Ghost gives a nudge to your soft side but you make no movement. “Out like a light,” he hears the big man say. He crouches down and turns you on your back.

“Sir,” Gaz says, holstering his gun, “you need to see this.” Price glares down at you but he follows after Gaz upstairs to your room. “She—“ he doesn’t even know where to begin, “she knew we’d come.” He pushes your room door to open more. The journals he rummaged through is sprawled out on the floor.

“Makarov?” There’s a tight look on his Captain's face when Gaz shakes his head, “then how, Garrick?” Ghost is probably taking you to their van right now. Everything’s off record and he’s sure someone is bound to call the police with how you screamed. Just what he needed, he sways to move his weight to one side as Gaz looks bewildered, confused, and shaken up.

“Here,” he passes off your journal with the entry written before the one Gaz had read. It’s dated yesterday.

Man. 1, no, 2. Gun, man with gun, home, no safe. Run, run, mask, grabs. Grabbing you. Men, 3. 3 men, 3 total. Blue eyes. Blue. Same Blue. Hurt? Are hurt you? Will hurt they you? Scared. No. Stop, stop. Needle! Taken. Dark, van dark.

[athenamikaelson]

A/N- finn is hot- don't try to fight me on this

Klaus Mikaelson X Soulmate!Reader x Elijah Mikaelson Ch. 25

Word Count- 3.2k

Warnings- mentions of STDS, sex, condoms, bananas, THEO, decapitation, Kardashians

“Why are you smiling like that?” I finish applying the lipstick Rebekah sent me as an apology gift for attacking Elena, and glance over to Theo leaning against the doorframe.

“I just had a good dream,” I mumble as I stand up from my desk and grab my jacket.

Theo hums.

“So it has nothing to do with you letting that mutt slobber all over you last night…or his brother coming over right after and spending the night with you… I must say sister, juggling two bitches,” Theo wipes away a fake tear, “I’m so proud of you.”

I whip around and glare at him, “Theodore Monty Y/l/n, watch it!”

Theo smirks at me and raises his hands. 

“All I’m saying is that like 3 weeks ago the only side piece you had on your arm was Elena, and now you’ve got two brothers. Upgrades sister, hell ya!”

Theo throws out his palm for me to high-five. I don’t. Instead, I walk around him and down the hallway to the front door. 

Theo continues to speak.

“Now I know you’ve had zero playtime soooo I think we should chat about this. For example, we should have the talk.”

I freeze. 

“Theo, I will smother you in your sleep if you continue to talk.”

“Y/n, I don’t like children, I don’t want any nieces or nephews running around.”

I glare over my shoulder at him, “They’re vampires, you dimwit. They can’t have kids.”

Theo thinks to himself for a moment before nodding, “Okay. Well, what about STDs? What if there are vampire STDs you could catch? One look at that mutt from last night and I bet he’s got something you can catch other than fleas.”

I feel my face drop as Theo continues to mutter things to himself about vampire sexually transmitted diseases. 

I shake my head, open the front door, and leave the house, hearing Theo call from behind me. 

“Fine run! But don’t think for a second young lady that we won’t be discussing things later! And trust next time I see either one of those fools I will be asking them about Vamp STDs!”

At that exact moment, our 82-year-old neighbor Shelley, exits her house. I’m pretty sure her look of pure shock and horror mirrors mine. 

“Oh hi Mrs. Davenport,” Theo yells happily.

—

“Hey Bonnie, how are you?”

The phone line is silent for a moment as I hear Bonnie closing a door.

“I’m fine…I guess. My mom’s going to finish her transition,” Bonnie’s sad voice makes me frown as I stare at the red light in front of me. 

“I’m sorry, Bonnie,” I think back to last night and try to shake away the image of Esther’s decapitated head from my head, “If I would’ve known your mother…”

“Don’t apoligize, Y/n. It’s not your fault. And ya… it sucks she has to become a vampire but…it beats losing you or Elena. And I swear, Y/n, as soon as Damon told me that if the originals died, you would die with them, I tried stopping the spell. I would have never done it in the first place if I knew you’d die too.”

Bonnie’s earnest voice makes me smile, “I trust you, Bon. And thank you.”

I hear someone say something to Bonnie and she sighs, “I’ve got to go.”

“It’s ok, Bonnie. We’ll talk soon. Give yourself some time with your mother before coming back to this mess over here. You deserve it.”

“Okay, thank you. And when I get back we’ll find a way to get you out of that soul bond mess and away from the Mikaelsons.”

“Uh, ya, ok. Bye, Bonnie.”

I end the call and pull into the Grill’s parking lot. As I step out of my car, cross the street, and enter the grill, one thought won’t leave my head.

“What if I don’t want to break the bond?”

—

“Y/n?”

I stop walking and smile when my eyes meet Finn’s brown ones.

“Hey, Finn,” I slide into the seat in the booth across from him and can’t help but smile at the obvious discomfort he has plastered on his face.

“You look…”

“Uncomfortable…yes I know. A lot of things have changed since I was last part of civilization,” Finn fiddles with the ring on his middle finger and it reminds me of the anxious tic I do quite often. 

“We could’ve met somewhere else. I know that being in big crowds like this unsettles me too,” I smile softly at him. 

Finn eyes a group of passersby wearily but still shakes his head, “No…I’m alright. If I’m going to be a part of this world I’ve got to learn to live with these things.”

I nod, “Okay. So, why exactly did you have Rebekah call me to meet you here?” Finn turns his attention away from a drunk woman who seems to be having the time of her life, “You said you’d help me find my Rose.”

Oh…ya I did. 

I cringe slightly, “So here’s the thing Finn,” I’m about to tell Finn that there is no way in hell Bonnie would agree to bring another old ass vampire to Mystic Falls after what just went down, but as I look at the helpless expression on Finn’s face and the loneliness in his eyes, something in my breaks, “My witch is currently out of town for a family thing,” Finn’s shoulders sag and his face drops, “But, she said she’d be happy to help as soon as she gets back.”

Finn eyes me for a moment before a soft smile on his face appears, “I’ve waited 900 years for her…a little longer will be fine. Thank you for helping me, Y/n, I know you don’t have to but…”

“Finn we’re friends, that’s what friends do,” I say simply and Finn frowns. 

“Friends?”

The way he says the word aloud is as if he’s never heard it before.

“I mean you don’t have to be my friend, I was just-”

“I would like it,” Finn interrupts me, “It’s just that I’ve never really…had one before.”

His words bring back memories of me crying in my room, wondering why no one ever wanted to be around me and it makes me realize just how much me and this 1,000-year-old man have in common. 

“Well, I just got my first friend like 3 months ago, so I’m pretty new to this whole friend thing too.”

Finn frowns, “I don’t understand why someone wouldn’t want to be friends with you.”

I shrug, “I’m peculiar, remember?”

Finn’s upper lip twitches, “That we are.”

—

“Wait… so Kim is the oldest?”

I groan at Finn’s words, “Finnias, no! We’ve been over this Kourtney is the oldest! Kim is the one dating Kanye.”

Finn nods thoughtfully, “And we don’t like Kanye?”

I shake my head, “No because he was mean to Taylor Swift.”

I watch as the wheels turn in Finn’s head as he continues to piece together all the information on pop culture I’ve given him in the past hour. 

“Alright, I think I’m understanding. Actually…remind me again who Hannah Montana is?”

“Well, don’t you two look comfy together!”

I roll my eyes as I turn to see Demon Salvawhore smirking down at Finnias and I.

“What do you want, Demon?”

“I thought his name was Damon,” Finn questions me with a confused look.

“It is, but I still haven’t seen him and Lucifer in the same place at once so I call him Demon.”

Finn nods but looks down at his hands with a confused look.

“I just saw you two here chatting it up so I thought I might come say hi.”

“Well, we’re kind of in the middle of something here. So feel free to take your leave,” I glare at him.

“It’s alright, Y/n,” Finn says and I turn to see him getting out of the booth, “I should probably get back to make sure my siblings are still alright. But…thank you, for today and helping me.”

I smile up at Finn, “Anytime, Finnieas. And I’ll talk to Klaus about buying you that phone so I can show you how to text.”

Finn nods his head, smiling, and then walks away.

My smile falls as I glance back to Demon.

“What do you want?” “Why are you avoiding me?”

I blink slowly at him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Damon gives me an “Are you serious” look.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Pukey. I’ve tried calling you all night last night and all this morning. Only to find you here with yet another original.”

I stand up and glare at him, “Finn is my friend.”

“Ya? Just like Elijah and Klaus are right?”

This bitch.

“I’m not doing this with you right now, Damon. Leave me alone.”

I turn and walk away but Damon’s hand grabs my upper arm.

“Y/n, stop.”

“Is there a problem here, Y/n?”

I turn to my right to find Rebekah at my side, glaring at Damon.

“No, Rebekah. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Rebekah smiles at me but doesn’t move. 

Damon drops my arm but doesn’t leave, “Why are you mad at me?”

It’s my turn to give him an “Are you serious” look, “Really Damon?! You almost killed the Mikaelson yesterday, which almost killed me, and then you actually did kill Bonnie’s mom who is now turning into a vampire?!”

Damon rolls his eyes and I fight the urge to slap him.

“Bonnie’s mom needed to die,” He says simply and I glare at him.

“And why was that?”

Damon doesn’t blink, “Because it came down to you or her,” His voice comes out strong, “And I’d pretty much kill everyone in this town if it meant my best friend stayed alive.”

Oh, Jesus Christ, I’m going to cry.

“Oh…”

Damon tilts his head, annoyed,  “That’s all you have to say. Oh?”

The next thing I know I’m throwing my arms around him. 

Damon doesn’t move for a moment, but after a few seconds his arms wrap around me and he pats my head awkwardly, “Ya, okay, Pukey. Love you too.”

I let go of Damon and fight back tears in my eyes. Damon rolls his eyes and fies his jacket trying to act tough. 

“You’re too emotional,” He says nonchalantly.

I punch him in the arm, “You just called me your best friend. Not takebacks, Demon.”

Damon rolls his eyes dramatically, “Ya whatever, Pukey.”

He reaches out a hand and messes up my hair before turning around and walking away, not before I spot the small smile on his face.

“You guys are odd.”

Rebekah’s British accent makes me remember she’s standing beside me. 

“Ya, kind of.”

Rebekah rolls her blue eyes and a wave of jealousy flows through me. How is it that someone can be this pretty?! 

“So…Elijah didn’t come back until early this morning,” Rebekah’s lips morph into a smirk, “Do you know anything about that?”

I feel my face heat up, “Um…nope.”

Rebekah raises an eyebrow, “Are you sure? Because the smile that was plastered on his face all this morning says otherwise.”

I furrow my brows, “What does him smiling have to do with me?”

Rebekah gives me an “Are you serious” look, guess it’s common today, “Maybe because the only time my older brother smiles is when he’s around you…And he was really smiling this morning.” 

At her tone I freeze, “Wait…do you think that we…” I move my hands around, “Y’know…”

Rebekah raises an eyebrow at me, “Well, didn’t you?”

I shake my head viciously, “No! All we did was kiss and then he watched Coraline with me until I went to sleep!”

Rebekah’s face falls, “Seriously? You’ve got my older brother all giddy after one kiss.”

I shrug, “I doubt he was “giddy”.

Rebekah nods her head, “Oh trust me, he was practically singing when he was making his morning coffee. 

I snort out a laugh at her words and try to imagine Elijah singing. 

“I like seeing him that way…happy. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen any of my siblings like that.”

At her solemn voice, I frown, “How are you doing? After everything…”

Rebekah shrugs, “I’m fine. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t be.”

Her dismissal has me frowning deeper, “Bekah, you’re mother died. I know that she tried to kill you but it doesn’t change the fact that she was still your mother.”

Rebekah looks at me but her face doesn’t betray how she’s really feeling, “I’m fine, Y/n. Finn was the mummy’s boy. I don’t give a damn about that woman.”

I nod but still don’t believe her, “Well if you ever do need to talk to someone. You can always call me.”

Rebekah eyes me for a moment skeptically, then nods, “I won’t need to but…thanks. I guess,” Her attention strays for a moment, “There is someone I need to go talk to. Goodbye, Y/n.”

“Bye, Rebekah.”

—

I pull into my driveway but feel a frown come over my face as I notice an unfamiliar expensive-looking black car in my usual parking spot.

I park beside it and hurry into the house, worrying about Theo.

“Theo! Are you okay-”

“So, both of you have your bananas, and these right here are condoms,” I turn the corner and my jaw drops as I see Theo holding up a banana and a Trojan condom. An unfamiliar sound comes out of my mouth when I look at the two figures sitting on the couch before him with bananas in their hands and annoyed looks on their faces. Klaus and Elijah. 

“Theo what the hell are you doing?!?”

My yell of utter horror catches the three men’s attention.

“Oh, goody! Sister, I’m glad you’re here,” Theo drops his banana on the coffee table before Klaus and Elijah, a table that is covered in condoms and STD pamphlets, “After our little talk this morning I got to thinking and decided that if you and I aren’t going to talk about the elephants in the room, I’d just call up your boyfriends and have that chat with them myself.”

I stare wide-eyed at Elijah and Klaus, “And you both agreed to this?!?”

Elijah releases a deep sigh and Klaus glares at my little brother, “Your infant here called us and said we had to get over here because you were in danger.”

Theo raises his hands, “YES! In danger of catching a vampire STD.”

“Theo! Those don’t exist,” I screech at him.

“That’s exactly what we’ve tried to explain to him for the past 30 minutes, Elskan. For some reason, it isn’t sticking,” Elijah raises his head and shoots a dirty look at my brother. 

“Thirty minutes!? You’ve been sitting here for thirty minutes letting my 16-year-old brother have the sex talk with you!?”

“Well, 15 of those minutes were filled with threats,” Klaus mutters.

I glare at him, “I thought I told you to stop threatening my brother.”

Klaus turns his glare onto me and raises his hands in exhaustion, “The threats were from him, Love! And they were quite imaginative.”

“Thank you, I’ve been working on them for a while now,” Theo smirks at Klaus, and the hybrid growls at him. 

“Niklaus, please,” Elijah sighs.

Theo turns his attention back onto me, “Well now that you’re here,” He drags me over to a chair and pushes me down into, “I can finally give you the talk.”

“What talk,” Elijah asks confused.

Theo looks at him like he’s stupid, “The sex talk, dumbass. Since you,” He points to Elijah, “Like to spend the night in my sister’s bed without asking me permission. And you,” He points to Klaus, “Like to slobber all over her like the dog you are. I thought it would be a good idea to have this discussion before things move further. Now gentleman pick your bananas back up.”

“Theo! NO!”

Theo ignores me and smiles at Klaus and Elijah, who haven’t moved.

“One more dog joke out of you, Theodora and I swear I’ll-”

“Niklaus!”

Elijah and Klaus eye each other and Theo just stands there tapping his shoe on the hardwood floor. 

“Theo go to your room, right now,” I stand up and glare at him, “We are not having this discussion right now…or ever!”

“But the vampire STDS!”

“Theodore there are no such things as vampire STDS! GO TO YOUR ROOM!”

My yelling has all three men looking at me wearily. 

Theo raises his hands in surrender, “Ok, fine. Just trying to help.”

“And leave the condom here!”

Theo halts and turns back to the table and Klaus, Elijah, and I watch as Theo empties maybe 30 condoms from his jeans. 

“Bloody hell,” Klaus mutters.

I glare at Theo as he skips out of the living room and down the hall to his room. As soon as I hear his door close I run a hand over my face.

“Elskan-”

I raise a hand stopping Elijah before he can continue. 

“Nope. Whatever you’re going to say…just nope.” 

“Well, I’m never going to look at a banana the same way,” Klaus’ says sarcastically and I’m silent for a moment before a loud laugh escapes my mouth.  

I move my hands from my face and find Klaus smirking at me, and Elijah smiling softly at me with a bright look in his eyes. 

“Why didn’t you both just leave,” I asked incredulously, “You two are the strongest and oldest creatures alive, and yet you stayed to have a teenage boy teach you how condoms work?!”

Klaus and Elijah side-eye each other. 

Elijah stands from his seat and fixes his suit jacket, “When we heard that you were in danger we hurried over here as fast as we could…but when we came inside and found this,” He gestures to the table of condoms and bananas, “We were going to leave.”

“And then Theodora locked the door behind us and told us that if we didn’t sit down and shut up he’d never give us his approval. And then said that we can bet our asses that if we don’t have his approval, you’d never speak to us again. I of course told him to go to hell but my brother here sat down like the good boy he is,” Klaus says and rolls his eyes.

“And yet you’re still here,” Elijah mutters. 

“So let me get this straight,” I look to both of them, “You endured Theo’s company for 30 minutes, just because you want his approval?!”

“If his approval means you accepting us…then of course we did.”

Klaus mutters something about Theo and daggers, but I ignore him. 

“You really care that much?”

Klaus and Elijah both give me “Are you serious” looks. 

“Love, I thought we made our thoughts about you quite known,” Klaus says as he stands, “We want you. Even if that means you come with a less than exceptional little brother as baggage.”

I snort at Klaus’ words and Elijah walks across the table and over to me, “There is nothing in this world I desire more than your company and happiness, Y/n. Please believe me when I say that.”

I feel my face heat up at the attention of the two men and I nod.

“I believe you.”

“Great,” Klaus says then pauses, “Also…I was just wondering what exactly was discussed by you and Theodora to warrant all of this,” He gestures to the table with a smirk. 

Oh fuck.

[retroaria]

Domestic Life w/ Osamu Dazai ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊

• ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── •

summary: life with agency!dazai, days off, date nights, the whole shabang!

warnings: slightly suggestive at some points (not sure if MDNI is necessary but keep it in mind) NOT SAD AND MISERABLE CANON DAZAI!!! Pretend he is happy and joyous for this, why would he want to die when he has you? Not proofread!!

BSD M.LIST | enjoy 🐈 - aria

• ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── •

The days where Dazai can fully devote himself to you are unfortunately far and few. On top of that, he’s a rather forgetful man. He saves all his reports for the last minute, needing to finish them up while everyone else is already gone (or spend just as much time begging Atsushi to do them for him). He makes plans, promises, deals, all of which take up his time aside from the usual agency agenda.

You know that Dazai loves what he does, so you put up with it. At the very least he still comes home almost every night, flops himself down on the bed and wraps his arms tight around you. And he’ll still be there in the morning. flashing you a warm smile as you wake up to see him adjusting the collar of his suit, throwing his jacket over his shoulder before planting a soft kiss to your lips and heading out the door. The purely intimate moments you get to experience together always happen in the dead of night or at the crack of dawn.

Aside from that, as well as all the work related events Dazai brings you to, his days off don’t come often. Whenever the stars align and those days do happen to fall upon you, you know immediately as you wake up in the morning. He’s still wrapped around you, arms and legs, almost in a death grip. He would’ve left for work by now if he had too, not that he hasn’t slept in late before, but his suit is still sprawled on the floor of your room. He hadn’t taken the time to wash it or hang it back up because he wouldn’t be needing it the next day.

• ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── •

These days begin with an absolute power struggle in the bedroom (not the fun kind). This man will not wake up and will not let you out of bed. He will whine and groan and sometimes even shed tears at the fact that you would ever want to leave him when he finally can spend a morning with you. “Dazai we still have stuff to do today, you can just hold me captive.”

“Do you hate me Bella, is that it? Has our love truly dwindled? I finally have the chance to engulf you in my affection and you want no part of it.” He’ll give you a full Shakespearean style monologue about how cruel it is that you would deny his neediness.

“Oh my god Osamu, you are so dramatic”

Eventually you do escape his grasp and leave the bedroom to start the day, to which he must follow suit. These days are spent with Dazai following you around like a lost puppy.

He follows you to the bathroom, you guys get ready together, he sits on the toilet while you shower, talking to you through the curtain about all the recent agency drama, casually mentioning all the times he’s almost died in the last week alone. (He’s also sneaking peaks of you, slyly pulling the curtain back when you won’t notice)

On days where the two of you get to go out you always let him pick your outfit. Dazai’s list of skills typically pertain to crime and manipulation, but style and fashion is somewhere in there too. He’s usually wearing simple jeans and a crew neck, but he wants you to look like a runway model next to him. “Gosh you look beautiful, gonna make me look like the luckiest guy in the world standing next to you!” he gushes in a sing-song tone.

The first order of business is breakfast, a task which Dazai wants desperately to help you with, but always fails miserably. You opt to let him make coffee for you two, which he adorns with an ungodly amount of sugar and creamer. you’ve been drinking Dazais coffee for so long you’ve grown to like it. It’s like a sweet treat with breakfast, nothing you could complain about. If he gets his hands on a frying pan you’re truly doomed, so this is the one thing you let him have. He can handle the toaster too so he’ll make toast for you guys with jam on it that he spreads on in the shape of a heart with a smiley face in the middle “Dona’ look, can you tell what it is?” he says with a smirk of confidence on his face.

“Very sweet Osamu, your hearts are getting better and better” You can’t actually tell what it is but you know he does the same thing every time. You grab the toast from him and plant a kiss on his cheek, it’s like his reward.

One of Dazai’s favorite things in the world is going to the grocery store with you. It’s such a simple task, that always ends up being so much fun. He relishes in the domesticity of it. It feels almost intimate in a way, it’s something you both would have to do if you were apart, but you’re together, so you do it together for the both of you. He loves being reminded that you are a part of his life in every way.

But god is he troublesome

Dazai is the kind of person to stay at the sample stand and talk to the employee for forever. After about 10 minutes he knows their geographical lineage, their favorite flavor of ice cream, their mother’s maiden name, the name of the high school they went to, the name of their first love, but then he gets bored and moves on. Btw he ate the whole tray of samples while he was talking to them, but made sure to swipe one for you before he bounced. “Don’t think I forgot about you darling” he’d wink as he hands you the cup.

Once you guys get everything you need you head back home. Dazai is a gentleman and is obviously carrying all the heavy bags, but not without complaining. “I don’t remember us getting 3 tons of milk”

“I have the milk, that’s the bag with the 10lb rice”

“I don’t remember us getting 3 tons of rice either.”

When the two of you get home he acts like he just got back from a 12 hour shift, like he’s been fighting an enemy organization all the day, like he’s been strategizing with Ranpo for hours, like he just had to get rescued by Chuuya. He helps you put the groceries away and throws himself onto the couch.

Once he notices you’ve start cooking he returns from his corpse like state on the couch and peaks over at you. He likes watching you cook because you look so focused yet so relaxed at the same time (I’m sorry if you don’t like to cook oops) . He likes to try and read your mind whenever he watches you do things.

Eventually he’ll get up and walk over to the record player in your living room. As you’re chopping away you notice the feint sound of a jazzy tune ringing away behind you, before you can turn around to see the source there is a pair of hands on your hips, swaying you from side to side. “Osamu, I have a knife in my hand”

“That’s never stopped me from anything before in my entire life” he hums away, pushing his body up against yours as he lays his head in the crook of your neck. You guys stay like that as you continue to cook, him humming into your shoulder, planting soft kisses as you simply sway to and forth.

“This is really nice, but I’m about to start chopping onions.” You lied, you were already chopping them.

“Augh god, my eyes! Why would you ruin the moment!?”

“I have to make dinner ‘samu!”

After dinner you guys both enter a corpse like state on the couch, snuggled together, either watching a movie or a parallel play type thing, usually both of you reading your respective books. During this time Dazai can be rather clingy, wanting to literally lay on top of you or have you lay on top of him. He also needs to get your opinion on whatever is happening in the movie or this crazy new suicide method he saw in his book (it’s a novelty interest now, how could he want to die when he has you!)

As bed time approaches, Dazai gets into the shower and it’s your turn to sit in the bathroom with him and tell him about all of your own work drama. Unlike Dazai, your peaks behind the curtain aren’t very sly “hey I see you~” he’d say in a teasing tone.

When the two of you finally get into bed, a wave of sadness washes over Dazai. He is unpleasantly reminded that he has to go to work tomorrow. His little life with you would end once morning came and he’d go back to having to use 100% of his brain power to focus on anything but you. He dreaded the thought and all he can do now to eleviate the pain is pull you close beside him. He plants a million kisses on your face before pulling your lips against his into a deeper kiss that usually lasts until both of you are tired and slightly out of breath.

At this point you begin to drift off to sleep in each others arms. You awaken the next morning to Dazai flashing you a warm smile as he adjusts the collar of his suit, throwing his jacket over his shoulder before planting a soft kiss to your lips and heading out the door.

• ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── •

I FINALLY wrote something for my husband Dazai. I hope you guys enjoy and I can’t wait to keep writing I’m having so much fun here!! Stay safe guys and much love 🤍🤍🤍 -aria

• ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── •

[xoxolaw]

+ 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗥 𝗗𝗜𝗔𝗥𝗬

in which a quiet visit to her room turns into something else entirely. Hyun-tak finds her diary, and with it, the truth he never saw coming.

+ 𝗚𝗢 𝗛𝗬𝗨𝗡-𝗧𝗔𝗞 𝗫 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

CH 5 , CH 6 , END

✎ᝰ.ᐟ⋆⑅˚₊

March 14th, 2025

Dear Diary,

A lot has happened recently. And by a lot, I literally mean a lot! Everything feels too loud and too heavy — and I think my heart’s been sitting outside my body this whole week, because I can feel it bruise every time I breathe.

Hyun-tak got injured.

Badly.

I don’t even know how to explain it without my hands shaking. His leg — his knee — it got injured during a fight. With Seong-je.

I hate him so much! I swear to god, if I was strong enough I would have beaten him. If only I didn't get bored of taekwondo and quit just after a few months as a kid.

But I guess taekwondo also doesn't help much against people who like to play dirty. Seong-je was just looking for a reason to be cruel again — because that’s what he does, right? That’s what he is. A mean, mocking, overgrown bully who doesn’t know when to stop.

I don't know how to even write it. Hyun-Tak loves taekwondo so much. That's like his second personality or maybe even the only personality he has. But turns out... He won't be able to continue anymore.

It means everything to him. When I saw him lying on that hospital bed — hooked to IVs, hair a mess, his eyes fluttering open with that foggy kind of pain — I swear, Diary, I wanted to scream. Not cry — scream.

And when the doctor said, “We’ll need scans to confirm, but there’s a chance he won’t be able to compete again,”

my vision blurred.

Just like that. A chance. Like his dreams were a coin toss now.

Geum. Seong. Je.

I hate him.

I hate him.

I don’t care if hate is a strong word — it doesn’t even feel strong enough right now.

But I saw the look in Seong-je’s eyes when I found him afterward, leaning against the school gate like nothing happened — like Hyun-tak wasn’t lying in a hospital bed, trying not to cry in front of his mother.

He smirked, Diary.

He looked at me and smirked.

So I lost it.

I don’t even remember what I said — it all came out in a blur of tears and fury and shaking fists. I screamed at him. Shoved him. Told him he was a mockery of everything good in this world. That he was cruel and small and rotten to the core.

I told him that if he ever touched Hyun-tak again, I’d make sure he wouldn’t be able to walk either.

And do you know what he said?

He said,

"Calm down, princess. It’s not like your precious Gotak died."

I nearly slapped him.

No.

I should have slapped him.

But instead I walked away — because if I hadn’t, I think I would’ve broken. Not him. Me.

Because this whole thing has broken something in me.

I visited the hospital that night. He wasn't in his bed so I panicked a little. But then the nurse told me that he went up to the rooftop. My feet practically flew up the stairs.

He was sitting near the edge, hunched over with his hood up, one knee bent, the other stretched out and wrapped in bandages. The wind was cold. Too cold. But he wasn’t shivering.

He looked like he belonged to the night sky.

I stood there for a while. Just watching him from the stairwell door. He didn’t see me. His back looked... small. I don’t know how to explain it.

He’s taller than me, stronger than me in every way — but in that moment, he looked like a kid again. Like the boy who used to climb trees and then freeze halfway down because he was scared to fall.

I walked over slowly. He didn’t look at me.

So I sat beside him. Not too close — just enough that he’d know I was there. He looked at me. Then he said, “You didn’t have to come.”

But I did. God, I did. What was he even talking about?? If I didn't come, then who would??

Dumbass.

I wanted to tell Hyun-tak that it wasn’t fair. That he didn’t deserve this. That he didn’t have to pretend like it didn’t hurt.

But I didn’t say any of those things. We sat in silence until I heard some sniffs.

At first, I thought maybe the wind had made his nose cold, or maybe I imagined it. But then I saw the way his hand moved — just a little — like he was trying to wipe his face without letting me see.

And my heart cracked right there.

Because Hyun-tak doesn’t cry.

Not in front of people. Not even me.

He always acts like he’s too tough for that. Always shrugs everything off with that familiar “Tch,” like feelings are just something you can kick out of the way and keep walking.

But tonight, he couldn’t hide it.

And I think that broke me more than anything.

I didn’t say a word. I didn’t want to embarrass him. I just reached over and — very slowly — rested my hand over his, the one he’d used to wipe his face.

He flinched a little.

Then he turned his face away.

But he didn’t move his hand.

He let me hold it.

Just like that.

His fingers curled a little, like maybe he was holding on back.

We didn’t look at each other. I didn’t need to see his face to know what was happening. That silence? It said more than any words could’ve. I could feel the weight of it — the grief, the loss, the anger — the fear that maybe, this time, he couldn’t just brush it off and keep going.

He whispered something. I’m not even sure I heard it right.

“I don’t know who I am… if I’m not doing this.”

And that’s when I wanted to cry.

Because I know who he is.

He’s the boy who stood up for kids getting bullied. He’s the one who always walked me home even when I said I was fine. He’s the one who gave me his scarf and the better half of his lunch. He’s the one who always showed up, even when he didn’t say he would. He’s Hyun-tak.

And I wanted to say all of that.

But the words just stayed in my throat.

So instead, I gave his hand a squeeze.

And that was it. That was all I could do.

Sometimes I wish I could do more.

But maybe that was enough.

I love you, Hyun-Tak.

-Y/N

(hoping to someday tell him everything I have been holding back)

✎ᝰ.ᐟ⋆⑅˚₊

Hyun-tak sat frozen.

The page hadn’t moved. His eyes hadn’t blinked. His thumb trembled faintly on the edge of the paper, holding it open like it might slip away from him if he let go for even a second.

That last line. It hit him like she’d whispered it into his ear. He could hear her voice in his head—quiet, steady, so close it made his chest ache.

His hand instinctively moved down, resting lightly on his right knee—the one still stiff under his jeans, the one the doctors kept talking about like it wasn’t part of him anymore.

He remembered that night. Not the hospital walls or the IV lines. But her.

How she’d looked under the pale rooftop lights. Her expression trying to stay calm, but her fingers were gripping his hand too tightly. He remembered thinking she was warm. So warm.

And wondering if it was okay to lean into that.

He hadn’t let himself.

Not then.

And maybe not now either, because his heart was thudding so loud it felt like it was caught in his throat.

He had to swallow hard, lips parting like he was about to say something—even though there was no one to hear it. Just the silence of her room, the faint rustle of a curtain, and her words. Her truth, pressed between paper and ink.

And suddenly, all the quiet memories started screaming:

The way she used to mimic taekwondo stances behind the teacher’s back — all elbows and bad posture — just to make him laugh.

How she always looked at him during tournaments, never at the scoreboard.

The time she ran after his bike with a bandaid because he scraped his palm falling, yelling, “It’s pink but it still works!!”

The way she always sat next to him. Always.

How her hand fit inside his jacket sleeve when it got too cold.

And how he always noticed.

He’d brush it off, like it didn’t mean anything. Like it was just habit.

Like she was just habit.

But now…

He let out a shaky breath and rubbed his face with both hands, like that could slow the spinning in his head. His fingers dragged through his hair, then dropped, landing back on the diary.

So many pages.

All of them about him.

Every word from her younger self to now — it was him.

Him in the margins, him in the moments, him in the in betweens.

His chest tightened.

Because—

Maybe he had, too.

Without even realizing it.

Without ever saying it.

He tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. The softness of her pillow behind him. The golden glow of her lamp.

Everything here had her warmth.

And it overwhelmed him.

He closed the diary carefully, this time not because he was done reading—but because he was too full.

His palm hovered over the cover for a moment before pressing down like it needed to be held.

Because he was scared of what would happen if he opened another page and saw more.

And even more scared of what would happen if he didn’t.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, the smallest of cracks in his voice.

Then, after a pause, almost a whisper—

“…Why didn’t you just tell me?”

But even as he said it, he already knew the answer.

Because maybe…

he wouldn’t have been ready to hear it.

Not then.

Maybe not even now.

But he was listening now.

And the one thing he knew, clearer than anything else?

He didn’t want to lose her.

Not her voice.

Not her truth.

Not her.

+ 𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 + 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

I LOVE THIS SM 😭😭😭

+ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

@keizvn @soobinbunnie5 @chaywkk @l5byrinth @inom17 @randomheyl @coffee-ii @mizxuqii @dna-black-and-blue @kyungjunnies @maxinehufflepuffprincess @deboizzzstay @coolasiangal123 @intoanothermind @satoru2716 @chenlegendj @changbinkisser @xh01bri @jww-sjzyeirie @thebatapex @itzcandy @ryeounistic @ruruyinn @ashayein @bblgeum @tojirin @lov3lylyn @urmazah

[just1cefor4ll]

Cinematics

A/N. this is set in the modern era, so basically the marauders but it’s in 2024, no voldemort, everyone is just happy and alive !! plus this isnso bad istg💀🙏 im so sorry

summary. looking back on soft launching your relationship with Severus during your youthful years at hogwarts and comparing it to present time

requested. yes || no

not.yn

liked by s.snape, jamie.potter, b.rregulus and 17 others

not.yn Hey lover<3

ׂ╰➤ jamie.potter, b.rregulus and 3 others commented

jamie.potter maybe the schools weirdo can pull after all

b.rregulus when???? what???

lils.evans so happy for the both of u!! >w<

╰➤ jamie.potter yh me too or whateverׂ

╰➤ not.yn simp

posted 8 years ago

s.snape

liked by not.yn, lils.evans, rj.lupin and 39 others

s.snape You’re my, my, my.. My kind of woman 🤍

╰➤ not.yn, lils.evans, and 6 others commented

not.yn 🤍🤍🤍

lils.evans the best couple at hogwarts 🥰

╰➤ jamie.potter what about uss 💔

╰➤ rj.lupin and you called severus weird…

╰➤ jamie.potter THAT WAS IN 4TH YEAR???? STOP??

╰➤ s.snape i know what you did

╰➤ jamie.potter IM LIT GETTING ATTACKED RN YOU FORGAVE US LIKE HALF A YEAR AGO??

╰➤ not.yn bully allert cancel him🙏

posted 7 years ago

mary.macd0nald

liked by s.snape, b.rregulus, mars.mckinns and 25 others

mary.macd0nald enemies to friends (and some to lovers) 🌻

╰➤ not.yn, lils.evans, and 2 others commented

not.yn never would’ve thought we would all be a big friend group one day 🥹🤍

╰➤ s.snape tell me about it

lils.evans yesterday was so funn!! love you guys

mars.mckinns we need to do this again sometime!

posted 7 years ago

not.yn

liked by s.snape, jamie.potter, lils.evans, mary.mcd0nald and 68 others

not.yn welcome to the world baby girl 🤍 13/10/2024

╰➤lils.evans, s.black and 7 others commented

s.snape my two beautiful girls ❤️

lils.evans shes so cute 💞 proud of you mama

s.black uncles are gonna teach her how to have fun 🥰

╰➤ not.yn hell nah 🤺🤺

╰➤ jamie.potter hell yes ;)

╰➤ rj.lupin leave the poor baby alone she hasn’t even been home for a week yet (congratulations 🤍)

mary.macd0nald was just looking back on our teenage years!! so happy to have a new addition to our little group ❤️

b.rregulus can’t wait to meet her

mars.mckinns girl that speed ticket to the hospital was so worth it. happy for the both of you ❤️

posted 1 month ago

“Hun, what are you doing?” Severus whispered as he closed the door of your daughters room. He layed down on the coach next to you, putting a hand over your shoulders to bring you close, a smile spreading across your face, heart thumping even after so many years of being together. Severus looks down at your phone and his eyes turn to one of shock once he notices the photos he thought he’d never see again.

“You still have those? Thought you deleted them since it was like.. when we were 16?” He raised a brow and scrolled through the many pictures that had been taken in your younger years. “Yeah I just felt.. nostalgic. I’ve never deleted them off my account and I don’t plan to.” A chuckle leaves Severus’ throat and shows you the picture of him you took at the time you announced your relationship, putting it next to his face. “You think I’ve changed much?”

“Not really, you just don’t have your long-long hair anymore. We’re just 23 Severus, what were you expecting at this age? Wrinkles?” You flick his forehead and he winces sarcastically, giving you a dramatic pained expression. “You hurt me, darling.” He sits up and cups your cheek, pulling you into his lap with a sweet smile. “And I must say you’ve grown out of your shy phase and you do smile a lot more.. however I can’t say the same when were around other people.” You smirk, tucking a strand of loose hair behind his ear. “And you haven’t grown out of your constant teasing.” He grunted into your neck and embraced you to hide the small smile forming on his lips. “What can I say? I guess adulthood hasn’t quite kicked in yet.”

However your statement got cut short once you heard your daughters sobs, which died down just as quick as they started. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as Severus breathed out a laugh. “You were saying?” He whispered, looking deep into your eyes im which he could’ve gotten lost in during that very moment. He lifted you in his arms and walked with you in his arms to your bedroom, laying you down onto the bed.

“How about we.. get a bit more nostalgic tonight, hm?”

© URFAVLARRY

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE OR COPY ANY OF MY WRITING TO OTHER PLATFORMS

[andy-15-07]

The One That Got Away

PAIRING: Tommy Miller x reader

Word Count:1082| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

The Last Of Us Masterlist

Pre-Outbreak – Austin, Texas

"You’re really gonna leave the house lookin’ that good and not expect me to say anything?"

You smirk, leaning against the kitchen counter, coffee in hand. "You’re really gonna be late for work again if you don’t stop flirting with me every morning."

Tommy wraps his arms around your waist from behind, lips brushing your ear. "Ain’t flirtin’ if it’s true."

"Still makes you late," you tease.

"And worth every second." He spins you around, kissing you like the world isn’t on fire, like nothing could go wrong.

Post-Outbreak – Jackson, Wyoming (Years Later)

"Tommy!" Maria's voice cuts through the biting winter air as she hurries toward him. "We’ve got a new group coming in. Patrol found them southeast , couple of 'em are hurt."

He sighs, tossing his gloves into the bin outside the stables. "Another one? That's the third group this month."

"I know. But there’s someone you’re gonna want to see." She hesitates. “I didn’t believe it at first.”

"What do you mean?"

Maria tilts her head. "Just… come with me."

He walks through the clinic doors, the cold following him in. Jackson’s med bay is warm but tense. People shift around, helping a few newcomers settle in. And then,

He sees her.

You.

You're sitting on a cot, bundled in a jacket too big for you, bandage on your arm. Your hair’s shorter, skin a little rougher, but your eyes , those damn eyes.

He freezes.

You look up.

And your whole body stills.

"...Tommy?" your voice comes out cracked, disbelieving.

His feet move before his brain catches up. “No way. No. No, you," he stumbles, chest rising fast. "You died. I saw the house. I saw the flames,”

“I got out,” you whisper, tears immediately spilling over. “I ran. I,Tommy, I looked for you for years.”

Tommy’s hands are on your face before either of you can say anything else. "Jesus Christ," he breathes. "You’re real. You’re,"

“I’m real,” you nod, laughing through the tears. “You’re real, too.”

Later That Night – Jackson Lodge

You're sitting by the fire, wrapped in a blanket Maria brought, sipping hot tea. Tommy hasn’t left your side.

"You really thought I was dead?" you ask softly.

"I didn't just think it," Tommy says, voice tight. "I knew it. There was no way someone could’ve made it outta that mess. We lost power, the whole block was burning, your street was overrun. I... I lost it."

You stare at the fire. “I remember the screaming. The smoke. I grabbed a bag and bolted through the back window when I heard the infected. I thought I’d find you on the road.”

"I went back for you. I swear. Joel tried to stop me, but I went back. Place was gone."

“I kept hoping maybe you’d made it out. That maybe I’d see you again.” You glance at him, smiling sadly. “Guess we’re both stubborn like that.”

He chuckles dryly. “You have no idea.”

A Walk Through Jackson – The Next Day

"So… married, huh?" you ask, nodding at his wedding band.

Tommy hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. Maria. She’s good people. Smart. Brave. Keeps me grounded.”

"I figured you’d find someone," you say, forcing a smile.

He studies you. “That a problem?”

You shake your head. “No. Just… weird. We used to talk about getting a dog, a porch swing, a bunch of loud kids running around.”

Tommy sighs, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “Yeah. We did. Life just had other plans.”

“Clearly.”

You stop walking.

“Tommy… do you ever think about what it would’ve been like if none of this happened?”

He nods. “Every damn day.”

Flashback – A Week Before the Outbreak

"You gonna marry me someday?" you ask, half-joking as the two of you lie in bed, limbs tangled.

Tommy looks down at you. "You kiddin’? I’d marry you tomorrow if I could afford a ring."

"You don’t need a ring."

"Well, I want one. You deserve more than some last-minute courthouse vows and a beer after."

You grin. "What if I like beer?"

He laughs. “Then I’ll buy you the fanciest beer in the state and make sure you’ve got that porch swing, too.”

Back in Jackson – Present Day

"Things have been… hard," Tommy says later that evening, walking you back to the guest house. “Even in this place. Even with good people. You keep surviving, but it doesn’t mean it stops hurting.”

You nod, voice quiet. “You were the only thing that kept me going some days.”

He looks at you, raw emotion swimming in his eyes. “I never stopped loving you.”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper.

“Why not? It’s true.”

“Because you’ve got a life now. A wife. A town. And I’m just… a ghost.”

He grabs your arm gently. “Don’t do that. Don’t talk like you don’t matter.”

“But I don’t belong here.”

“You belong wherever you want to be.”

Silence stretches between you. Snow begins to fall.

“Can I stay?” you ask.

His voice breaks. “Please.”

A Few Weeks Later

Life in Jackson is calm. Quiet. You help in the greenhouse. Get to know people. Share meals in the dining hall. Sometimes Maria watches you and Tommy with a distant expression, unreadable.

One evening, as you and Tommy walk past the stables, you break the silence.

“Does she know?”

Tommy nods. “She knew the second I saw you. I told her everything that night.”

“What did she say?”

He hesitates. “She said love before the world ended still matters. She said she wouldn’t stand in the way of what we were… whatever this is.”

You stop. “And what is this, Tommy?”

“I don’t know yet,” he admits. “But I know I don’t want to lose you again.”

You step closer, snow crunching beneath your boots.

“Then don’t.”

That Night – Tommy’s Porch

He brings out two mugs of hot cider, handing you one before sitting beside you.

"Think we ever get to be happy again?" you ask.

"I don’t know if it’ll look the same as before. But I think we can make somethin' new."

You glance at him, warmth flickering in your chest. “Even without the dog and porch swing?”

He smiles. “Well, we’ve got the porch. And I’m sure someone’s got a mutt around here.”

You both laugh.

Then you lean your head on his shoulder.

And for the first time in years, it doesn’t feel like the end of the world.

It feels like a beginning.

[screamforyani]

stargazing

warnings: dubcon, use of knife, unprotected sex

wc. 2.1k

you could literally feel the bass beneath your feet. the house felt like it was going to crumble in on itself at any given moment, but of course, frat boys went all out with their parties. loud music was an essential, apparently.

to be honest, you were looking for ethan. you hadn’t seen him since earlier that evening and he promised that he’d go stargazing with you later. how you lost ethan of all people at a party was way beyond you. he literally couldn’t fit in if he tried.

“gosh, E,” you grumbled to yourself, searching around for him. you didn’t find him, but you caught tara and mindy and asked, “hey, guys, have you seen ethan?”

“nope. he’s probably somewhere stabbing people,” mindy replied, crossing her arms. 

you rolled your eyes. “would you stop already? ethan’s not a fucking killer. just look at the guy.”

mindy droned sarcastically, “because being a computer-obsessed socially enept dork isn’t a great cover for a psychopath, wow, you definitely have what it takes to be a final girl.”

tara nudged mindy and said, “we haven’t seen him. i’ll ask anika if she knows where he is though.”

“alright, thanks,” you said in relief. “i’ll be in the kitchen.”

like you said, you headed for the kitchen, temporarily pausing your hunt for ethan. to make things worse, literally everyone was cloaked in a costume, making it all that much harder to recognize everybody that was surrounding you. you’d tried calling him, but ethan’s phone had probably died or something because it went straight to voicemail.

“whatever,” you grumbled, peering inside the fridge for a beer.

“boo!” 

you screamed, so loud the entire block could probably hear you over the raucous. you grabbed a knife from the counter and whipped around to spot chad pointing his finger at you, laughing his ass off. you rolled your eyes, annoyed by his shenanigans. for the past two weeks, chad had been pranking you for no other reason than getting on your damn nerves.

“you’re not fucking funny, chad,” you hissed.

“because i’m hi-fucking-larious,” chad retorted, then pointed at the knife in your hand with amusement. “what, were you going to stab me?”

you thrusted the knife forward, “i still will!”

“yeah, sure thing. maybe when you stop shaking and you can actually hold the knife,” chad teased, holding your wrist to stabilize you. you snatched your hand away from him and ignored his laughter while you set the knife back down, and chad gave you a chaste kiss to your cheek. “hey, we’re running low. can you go grab some more beer from the fridge in the garage?”

ugh, no wonder there’s nothing in the fridge here, you thought to yourself. “yeah, sure. just send a defenseless girl into a dark garage by herself to get slaughtered like an animal,” you retorted, but headed for the garage anyways. 

chad called after you, “thanks, babe!” 

“don’t call me that, i’m telling tara!”

the garage was just as dark as you expected it to be and you felt the wall for a light switch, breathing a little easier in relief when the lights flickered on. it was a little scary in there, not that you would admit to anyone. you were probably just a little shaken up from chad giving you the scare of your life. again.

you waltzed over to the fridge, opening it and grabbing as many bottles of beer as you could carry in one trip. god, it was going to be all chad’s fault if you dropped any of them. if he was a gentleman, he would’ve never let you carry a darn thing.

turning around to close the fridge, you jumped with a shriek when you heard a noise, only to find it was the cat. “jeez,” you muttered, walking back to the door.

much to your inconvenience, it was closed when you turned around. you blew out a breath and slipped the drinks under your arm, pulling at the handle. to no avail. “shit. which idiot locked me out?” you huffed, though you had a couple of ideas.

you were literally going to kill chad. 

“hello,” you called, knocking the door on your fist. “can anyone hear me?”

you could still hear the music loudly thumping behind the shut door. needless to say, your shouts were drowned out. 

you were completely annoyed now. then, you remembered the front door, and pressed the button to let up the garage. you walked towards the garage door, only for it to mysteriously come back down. brows furrowed, your turned on your heels, only to spot somebody in a ghostface costume by the door.

you gave them a look. “chad, is that you?”

the ghostface shook his head. 

“great, what movie is this - i spit on your garage?” you asked, stepping back over to the door. you gave him a look. “lose the costume. you’ll give minds a heart attack and as much as i hate you, i don’t want you to be the next victim of her PTSD.”

again, he shook his head.

you scoffed, “oh, you wanna play psycho killer?”

he nodded. 

you deadpanned, “can i be the helpless victim?”

predictably, he bobbed his head again.

“okay, let’s see,” you said, giving in to his little games. “no, please don’t kill me, mr. ghostface. i wanna be in the sequel!”

you laughed, expecting chad to laugh it off too and take the mask off, but you were baffled when he didn’t budge, shaking his head at you.

you were annoyed again. “okay, that’s enough. i’m not drunk enough to deal with your bullshit and i have to go find ethan.”

rather than let you go, he grabbed you and you struggled against his hold, asking, “chad, what the hell are you doing?”

you writhed so much that you dropped the beer, the bottles cracking into tens of glass shards on the cold floor. you couldn’t get away in time, because he pulled out a blood-stained knife and pointed it towards you, making you back down the steps until you tripped backwards, just barely missing the broken glass.

you hit the ground with a thud and ghostface crawled over you, giving you nowhere to run. your heart was thumping in your chest at a rapid speed, and you couldn’t find your breath. this wasn’t fucking chad. even he wouldn’t go this far.

this was a fucking monster.

“stop,” you said, gathering yourself on your elbows. you tried to back away, but it was no point, because you were too slow and there was absolutely nowhere for you to run off to. 

the ghostface shook his head. 

you made a risky move and reached for the mask, pulling it off his head to reveal the true identity of your attacker.

and nothing could describe the shock and anger that paralyzed you when saw his face. “what the fuck?” 

“surprise, surprise,” ethan said, waving at you with the knife.

“you’re kidding.”

ethan beamed at you. “i’m afraid not, sweetheart.”

you shook your head. you couldn’t believe this. the boy you’d been (not so) secretly smitten with and defended with your whole being was at the helm of the latest ghostface killings. you felt betrayed and back-stabbed, and you were terrified of how soon you would mean that literally. you were at a loss for words. 

“please don’t hurt me, ethan,” you begged, your eyes glistening. your back hit the large garage door.

“hurt you?” ethan repeated, cocking his head. “never that. i just want to fuck you.”

your brows furrowed. “huh?”

“you have a crush on me, don’t you?” 

“well, i did,” you mumbled, making a face. 

“say you don’t want me,” ethan demanded, staring into your eyes. you couldn’t look away from his even if you wanted to. it was as if you were being hypnotized. “tell me you don’t want me and i’ll leave you alone.”

you frowned. you couldn’t do that, because you would be lying - to him and to yourself. you’d wanted him for ages, dreamed about him even longer. your heart beated for him, each pump spelling his name over and over again, and it would until the very last beat.

ethan pretended to be impatient. “well?”

i don’t want you. it was that simple. you knew it was the smarter choice, because ethan was dangerous, but when your heart was involved, rational thinking was out the window. as was the safety of your friends and the preservation of yourself.

“i want you,” you whispered. 

“huh? i didn’t quite catch that.”

god, he was so annoying. “i want you,” you blurted. 

“that’s all i needed to hear,” ethan chirped, smashing his lips against yours. 

you let yourself be consumed by his lips and the heat of them, because it made you feel things inside, inexplicable things. he was a hell of a good kisser. you threaded your fingers through his curly, brown head of hair, wanting to tangle them through there until the end of time. you’d imagined it before, like a passing daydream. how soft his hair would feel in your hands and how gentle his mouth would feel pressed to yours. 

for a killer, ethan was a surprisingly sweet and steady kisser, and for a moment you were so immersed in an entirely different world - one where there was only you and him - that you forgot reality.

in no time at all, ethan had ditched the ghostface fit and you were both more or less nude. the door was locked and the garage was down so there was no way for anyone to interrupt you. you expect chad to complain that you were taking too long to grab some fucking beer, but well, he’d just have to wait. and you’d have to come up with an explanation for why you dropped so many on the floor, but that was a problem for later. 

right now, you were more concerned with getting ethan landry’s dick inside of you.

“fuck,” you moaned when he slipped inside your cunt, slowly but surely pushing inside.

ethan was making a similar sound, grunting about how tight you were and how perfect you felt wrapped around his cock, how he’d imagined this moment countless times. you had, too, but it wasn’t exactly playing out how you’d planned it in your mind. not that you were really complaining. to have his dick inside you, you were content.

you were glad that he wasn’t wearing that stupid mask. it did things to you seeing his handsome face scrunch up in ecstasy as he used your body for his own pleasure. and you would let him, because you loved him half to death.

“you’re mine. nobody else can have you,” ethan hissed in between marking up your neck. you were so engrossed with him that you didn’t even consider the fact that your friends would definitely poke fun at and interrogation you for the set of hickeys he was sure to leave on your throat and collarbone. you wanted to mark him back, but would take your time for now, dragging your nails down his bare back. “say it.”

“nobody else can have me. i belong to you,” you reiterated through thick breath. 

ethan winced at the feeling of your nails digging into his skin, but he didn’t mind the sting. “i’ll kill anyone who touches you with my bare hands.”

you were just nodding along and barely acknowledging his words at this point, too fucked out to offer anything meaningful, because ethan was doing way too good of a job at pleasuring you and you physically couldn’t take it.

the two of you were so close, you could feel it, your bodies moving in sync with one another. your lips connected and reconnected, the kisses doing nothing but fueling your mutual arousal. the air was hot in the garage and the floor was cold, but you could feel nothing save for your growing feelings for the both between your legs and the absolute bliss he was bringing to you.

ethan became more obsessed with you with every thrust and he didn’t exactly know that was possible, because he was already quite obsessed with you. you were everything he wanted and more. if he couldn’t have you, then absolutely nobody else would.

“E, please cum inside me,” you begged. “pretty please.”

“shit,” ethan groaned, because you sounded so pretty when you begged for him. “i will, fuck, trust me.”

true to his word, he did cum inside you, once giving you the greatest orgasm, most mind-numbing of your life. you could still feel his palm over your mouth, smothering the sound of your shrill cries of his name as you shuddered with climax. the music was loud enough so that it would drown out the sound of sex, moans and skin-slapping included, but he didn’t want to risk anybody else hearing what was his and only his. 

you lay there panting when you were done, your vision steadily clearing. ethan let out the most guttural, delicious groan when he came inside of you and you knew then that he was irresistible.

maybe you did see stars after all.

[chlix]

sharpest tool

bf! chan x fem! reader: chan doesn't love you like you love him. you're not planning on doing anything about it

genre: angst, suggestive (but not actually very fun or sexy)

word count: 2.9k

warnings/tags: toxic relationships/situationships, arguing, self-worth issues

a/n: this fic is inspired by "sharpest tool" off sabrina carpenter's new album! i heard it and immediately knew i wanted to write for it. i also plan on doing other songs off the album with other members but we'll see if i get to that before the album loses all relevance 💀

“What’s new with you then?” your coworker Seohyeon asks once the lunch rush dies down. You’re wiping spilled coffee off the bar and she’s pretending to reorganize the stacks by the till, but really, you’re both just trying to look busy while you recover from the last round of customers. Seohyeon has already bitched about her evil landlord and snitched on your manager for critiquing the way the new girl set up the cup display. Now, it’s your turn to overshare. Unfortunately, your life is scant of any juicy details.

“Nothing. You know I have no life outside this job,” you say.

“So not true,” she says. “What about that guy who keeps hanging around waiting for you to get off every day? How’s that going?”

You stiffen. “It’s going.”

She hums sympathetically. “That bad, huh?”

You drop your rag in the bucket of sanitizer water and take a long breath.

“It’s not bad. It’s not really anything right now.”

“You know, I mentioned how he’s always waiting for you, but I haven’t really seen him in a couple of weeks.”

“You and me both,” you mutter. Unwittingly, your hands drift to your phone in your apron pocket, hoping it’ll buzz and you’ll get a text from Chan, as if he’d sense you thinking about him and give you the attention that you’ve been craving. When you first met, the two of you had that kind of psychic connection. It was like you were of one mind. He was everything you wanted in a guy. He still is.

That’s what makes this all so difficult.

The idea of Chan using you as a warm body isn’t inherently distressing. Or, it wouldn’t have been, if he’d posed the idea initially. Maybe if he’d asked you for that up front, then you would’ve known better than to catch feelings. Or at least if you had, then you could take all the blame unto yourself for being softhearted, overly optimistic. He could be blameless. This would be easier if he was a bad person. Or maybe he is, and you just love him too much to care.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m all ears,” Seohyeon says.

“There’s not much to say. We weren’t really even dating. I think. I mean, he doesn’t owe me anything.”

Seohyeon gives you a knowing look, and it makes anything else you were planning on saying stick in your throat.

“Get well soon, girl,” she says, and turns back to the till. You swallow, pick up the bucket of dirty water, and go to dump it out in the sink in the back.

Chan does not come in at the end of your shift and wait for you. Of course not. He does text you, though.

Hey, he says. It’s the first time he’s spoken to you in a week. The casual nature of it swallows you alive.

Hey

Busy tonight?

Never for you <3

My place? 8?

It’s almost pathetic of you to keep falling for the same old trick. Can it even be called a trick if you’re neither fooled nor impressed? You always knew you were just a placeholder, filling in the gaps for when he can’t have the girls he really wants. He doesn’t have to make it so obvious, though.

Placeholder. It’s one of those thoughts that as soon as it crosses your mind, you know you’ve already lost. You’re not sure if Chan realizes that’s what he’s turned you into. You can’t really blame him. You only recently realized it yourself. You’ve been hooking up for months, you’ve been hanging out with his friends, you’ve been posting each other and having cozy nights in with long conversations that last until the early morning. He’s your baby. You’re his girl. But you’re not his girlfriend. Six missing letters and suddenly, you’re the crazy one.

You wonder if Chan knows how these periods of long silence make you feel like a cheap lay, like someone he doesn’t even know. Maybe he does, and this is all an elaborate manipulation tactic that’s working distressingly well. Maybe he doesn’t know, and you’re projecting malice onto his thoughtlessness.

It doesn’t matter either way. You know it, and you’re still going to go.

Ok <3

You put your phone away and start walking to the bus. You need to go home and get ready.

You arrive at his apartment just before eight pm. He hates it when people aren’t punctual, and you hate it when he’s upset, so here you are, shaved and showered and dressed all pretty. You’ve developed a scarcity mindset around him- you need to make sure every time he sees you is perfect because the incidents are so few and far between. You need to look irresistible, so enticing that he’ll be begging to come see you again. It’s so pathetic that you piss yourself off on a daily basis.

You fix your hair and clothes, ring his doorbell. He answers the door, all smiles and muscle tees, and it almost makes you forget that you haven’t seen him since the last full moon. It’s like a thirst that doesn’t make itself known until that first drop of water.

“Hey, baby,” he says, drawing you into his arms. He kisses you deeply, not lustful but loving and you let yourself fall into it.

“Missed you,” he says, low in your ear. He smells like aftershave, like sandalwood and pine.

“Missed you more.”

He pulls you into his apartment and closes the door behind you so he can press you up against it and kiss you again. He licks into your mouth, and you let him, bringing your own hands up to cup his face. The barest bit of his stubble tickles against your palms. His body is warm and solid against you, it makes your knees weak, makes your heart race. For the moment, you forget every grievance you’ve ever had with him. You forget how upset you were at work today, and Seohyeon’s pity, and how empty your phone has been lately. The world outside the two of you might as well not exist.

Chan’s hands slide up under your shirt, pressed against your stomach. Your gut twists.

The illusion shatters.

You pull your lips away from him.

“Chan,” you say, trying to be authoritative, but you’re breathless. He moves away from your mouth and latches onto your neck, and your body reacts without your permission, arching into the touch, but you pull your hands away and press on his chest.

“Chan, stop.”

He lets you push him, taking a step back and looking down at you with blown wide eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m just…not feeling it.”

“Right, sorry. Didn’t mean to pounce on you. We can move to the bedroom if you want?”

“No…” That sticky feeling is building in your throat again. “I’m just not really in the mood for sex at all, right now.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Awkward silence stretches between you. He’s just looking at you, unsure how to proceed, and you want to die a little more every minute.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I’ll just- I’ll go-”

“No, wait!” He catches your arm as you go to turn away. “You don’t have to leave. I’m the one who’s sorry. You shouldn’t have to apologize for something like this.”

“Okay…”

He kisses your forehead again, affectionate and chaste. “I’m glad you came. I wasn’t lying about missing you, yeah? Let’s just have a chill night in.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’ll order in. It’ll be nice.”

You let out a long breath and pull him into a hug. He embraces you, and your ear ends up pressed against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat thrumming under his ear, soothing, reassuring.

Okay. Okay okay okay.

You try to have a good night, you really do. You want to be happy when you’re around him, but it’s like a switch has flipped in your head and it’s impossible to truly relax. He orders food from your favorite place without you having to even ask.

“You want your usual?” he asks.

“You still remember my usual?”

“I remember everything about you, love.”

You think about earlier, how he’d known to text you as soon as you got off work yet hadn’t made the effort to actually show up like he used to. You tell him your usual is fine and kiss him on the cheek.

When the food arrives, you curl together on the couch under blankets and put on some show as background noise. There was a drama you were watching together, but he doesn’t bring it up and neither do you. As he pulls up Netflix, you notice the title card in his Recently Watched, but you haven’t been over in so long that you know it can’t be from the last time you were together. He doesn’t pause, skipping over it completely to select another random thumbnail.

“This okay?”

You hum an affirmative and the Netflix logo appears on the screen, signaling the start of the episode. You eat your food and try to focus on how good it tastes instead of how leaden your stomach feels.

As the night wears on, you realize that he’s being cagey. He asks you questions about your life and your job, about your sister and her baby and your plans for the holidays. He’s always been a good listener, always attentive and empathetic and curious. He’s been good at getting secrets out of you as long as you’ve known him.

I’ve never told anyone this before, you would start sentences, but I feel like I can trust you.

You can, he’d respond. I’d never judge you. I care about all of you, even the parts you might not care about yourself.

Always so welcoming, so loving. It had you spilling your guts after only the third date.

I’m rambling, I’m sorry. You don’t need to hear about all my baggage.

Y/n, I want to know anything you’re willing to tell me. Communication is important in relationships. It builds strong foundations.

And yet here he is, only a few months later, dodging all your questions about where he’s been or what he’s been up to.

“How’s work?”

“It’s been alright.”

“You’re pretty busy around this time of year, aren’t you?”

Chan shrugs. “Yeah, but I’m used to it by now.”

You nod around the fork in your mouth, unsure how to continue the line of inquiry. You try again, another topic this time.

“Did you hear about that giant pile up downtown? There were like ten cars involved.”

“I haven’t been watching the news much lately.”

“Well what have you been watching?”

“I’ve kind of had other things going on. Not much time for leisure.”

“Right. You said you were busy with work.”

He doesn’t reply to this. You want to shrink into the couch cushions and coil inside one of the springs.

You eat in silence for a while, eyes flittering between the screen and his face. Once or twice, his phone will ding, and he’ll pick up and scroll through it, shoot back a quick reply. You don’t ask who’s contacting him. When he’s done, he sets his phone face down on the table, out of your reach.

When you’re both done, he takes the empty containers from you and goes to dispose them. His hair bounces as he moves, curling around his ears and the tops of his brows.

“Your hair’s getting long.”

“Is it?” He pulls at a loose curl, stretching it out in front of him critically. “Guess I should get it cut.”

“Nooo, I like it. It suits you.”

He glances at you shyly. “You think?”

“I know. You look adorable.”

“I can’t be walking around adorable. What would that do to my image?”

“Right. Mr. Tough Guy Bang Chan, who always has short hair and thick biceps. There’s a brand image to consider.”

“Exactly! I knew you’d understand.” His cheeks dimple in his smile, but it’s shaky, and it disappears as quickly as it came. “And anyway, I just don’t think…” He trails off.

“Don’t think what?”

Chan stays quiet for a while, lost in thought. You’re unsure whether or not to push, but before you can say anything else, he snaps out of it. He shakes his head as if to clear it and throws an apologetic look your way.

“Never mind. Just getting too into my head.”

Concerned, you rise from the couch and cross the room to his kitchen.

“Is everything okay?”

“Of course. Don’t worry about me.”

“Of course I worry about you. I care about you.”

Chan isn’t meeting your eyes. “Just leave it alone, y/n. It’s stupid anyway.”

“Something bothering you could never be stupid.”

“I said just leave it alone.” His voice is harsh now, face hardened in the way he does when he’s not being nice anymore. He’s putting his walls up and you don’t understand why, and it’s tearing at you, the cumulative weight of all this distance.

“Okay. Whatever then.”

You turn around and start walking back towards the couch.

“Whatever?”

The audacity to sound offended after the way he’s been treating you.

“I can’t make you talk to me. If you don’t want to tell me anything then why keep asking?”

“Don’t be dramatic. I’ve been talking to you all night.”

“No, you haven’t. You’re shutting me out.”

“Shutting you out?” He sounds genuinely confused. You stop halfway back to the living room and turn to look at him.

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

He lets out a short laugh and pushes his curly bangs away from his forehead, hands alight with anxious energy.

“Y/n I invited you over here. We’ve been talking and watching the show. I thought we were having a good night. Now I want to keep one thought to myself and I’m ‘shutting you out’?”

That same twisting in your gut starts up again.

“You’re making me sound so unreasonable.”

“I mean, can’t you see how this looks from my perspective?” He turns away from you and pinches the bridge of his nose, like he’s developing a headache. Like he’s the one being tormented. “Sometimes I feel like you and I are living in different realities.”

It’s like a dagger in your chest. All your indignation leaves you, leaking out of you and pooling at your feet in a sad little puddle of self-respect.

“Don’t say that.”

“I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

You set out of your ring of self-loathing and approach the island where he is, still turned away from him. You reach out a shaking hand and turn him to face you. When you meet his eyes, you see frustration, confusion, and helplessness.

You’re a placeholder. You know it, Seohyeon knows it, the girl he’s been texting all night knows it. It’s possible Chan doesn’t.

That’s fine. You know it, and you’re in love with him anyway.

You press your hands against his chest, leaning up so you can look right in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “You’re right. I’ve been on edge lately; I didn’t mean it.” You smile, self-deprecating, embarrassed. “Forgive me?”

Chan lets out a long breath. He grabs your hand and kisses it, then keeps holding on to it, his grip strong and secure.

“Nothing to forgive. I’ve been all over the place too. But we’re here now, together. So let’s just relax, yeah?”

You nod. He leans down and kisses you. The twisting in your gut persists, but you don’t pull away until he does.

“Let’s go finish this episode,” he says, and goes to lead you both back to the living room.

The night feels like a failure. You can’t figure out why, but the thought of just finishing your show and then putting your coat and boots back on and leaving feels like accepting defeat. Your legs are unstable underneath you, but not in the way they were earlier, when Chan was kissing you like his life depended on it. Now, you are standing at the top of a very tall hill, fighting against gravity to remain upright on the slope.

Get well soon, girl.

You close your eyes tightly, then reach forward and grab the back of Chan’s shirt. He jolts, surprised, then turns back to you. You release his jacket as he turns and grab his hand instead, lacing your fingers together.

“Forget the show,” you say. “Take me to bed.”

His eyes widen. “Are you sure? Earlier you said-”

“I’m too in my head. You’re right. I should try to relax. I haven’t seen you in weeks.” You get on tiptoe and lean up to his ear and whisper. “You can make me feel better, right Channie?”

Chan’s fingers tighten around yours. When you lower yourself back onto your heels, he’s looking down at you with dark eyes. You push down your unease, leave it abandoned on the floor with your anger and ego and heartbreak.

“You’re sure.”

“Never surer. Unless you don’t want-”

He effectively silences you by sweeping you into his arms, lifting you up like you weigh nothing.

“Baby, you have no idea the things I want.”

You laugh, shocked at the display of strength, and wrap your arms around him as he carries you away. The last thing you see before he shuts the bedroom door is his phone on the table, vibrating with an unanswered call.

[quarterlifekitty]

Another strange little idea

cw: child death, Catholic school trauma (based on outlast 2)

As I lay down my head to sleep

Johnny could tell you when his issues with authority started. Still has them now, though Price knows where to direct the teeth of a mad dog. He could tell you so much more than just the age— he could tell you the very day. The hour. The minute. The second.

It was the last second he saw you alive. The moment before your body made its final fall from the last step, cracking your skull on the linoleum, a halo of blood soaking your hair and the skewed blue wool of your uniform vest.

Johnny talks a lot. In fact, it’s hard to get him to stop. But that one moment has stayed buried deep, still stuck at the base of his 12 year old spine.

I pray the lord my soul to keep

They say girls grow up faster than boys. It’s true. Your best friend—your girl best friend, that is— clumsily shoved a pile of loose leaf paper into his hands when school had resumed on Monday. When everyone knew. He looked at them, confused— like runic cryptograms of femininity, the pages were covered in doodles of hearts and centaur men, creased by dozens upon dozens of repeated intricate folds, emblazoned with line after line of glitter pen ink.

“She, uhm— she really… I think she’d want you to know— she really liked you.” He barely looked up in time to see the flutter of a navy skirt as she ran away, having finished her grave deed.

They stayed clandestinely tucked into the back pocket of his binder for an agonizing week before he’d had the courage to read them.

Johnny? As in Johnny Mactavish? Ewwwww. he’s so stupid.

All boys are stupid. At least he’s cute. His eyes are pretty. And he’s like…. Funny-stupid. Not mean-stupid.

So when are you gonna get married? Are you gonna have a hundred babies and have a dog and a cat? And live in million-pound house in London?

Shut up!!! Bitch.

Slag.

Maybe we will get married. And have a million babies and they’ll all have his blue eyes and my perfect hair and you’re gonna be so jealous!!!

And if I die

He was still in his boyhood then. When he looks back now, it was all so obvious… the excuses to hold his hand. To come over to his house after school. Begging him to join the same after school club as you. Leaving butterscotches in the little pocket on his book bag.

Maybe if he’d had just a little more time to grow into himself— to understand the fairer sex, he’d have known things. He’d have liked you back. Maybe you would’ve been happy together. Maybe it would’ve lasted two weeks.

But now there was just no way to know.

You died running. Pushing. Escaping. No more than five minutes after you’d begged fearfully for him not to leave you to pray with—

And it planted the awful little rotting seed deep in some under-used vessel in the recesses of his heart. A purpling bruise from every possibility that was shattered. Everything that could’ve been. It warped your image in his mind. How could it not, when he was taught to admire and adore innocents that had died?

You became his personal saint. And try as he might to move on, to forget, no earthly woman had a chance to compete with that. Not really.

Before I wake

He should’ve known. When he saw that patch of blue in the corner of his eye. That strictly kept length of hair. When Simon had to snap at him to get him to fucking pay attention if y’wanna keep that useless ‘ead on ya shoulders.

When he heard that little—

Please don’t go.

Right in front of the tunnel.

When your halo became a blinding light where it had been the blood of an ingenue spilled against cheap, beige and white speckled plastic flooring. When he smelled angel’s trumpets instead of rubber burnt into the grit on the edge of the steps.

When he heard the click of a three ring binder instead of the gunshot.

I pray the lord my soul to take

But he does feel it when the bullet makes a home in the side of his skull. And he prays to god that he falls the very same way you did.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Wendigo | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, Dean's a dick but so is the reader

Word Count: 8817

A/N: Happy Saturday! Enjoy the next chapter!! Taglist/Requests are open!!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

You were curled up against the backseat of the Impala writing in your journal and humming along to Dean’s Foreigner cassette tape when Sam jerked awake in the front seat. You jerked up as well, concerned.

Dean shot his brother a worried look. “You okay?”

Sam blinked and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, I'm fine.”

“Bull. Nightmare?” you asked.

The younger brother just cleared his throat in response. 

“You wanna drive for a while?” Dean asked.

You and Sam gave him an incredulous look. 

“Dean, your whole life you never once asked me that,” he laughed.

“Just thought you might want to. Never mind.” He rolled his eyes and returned them to the road. 

“Look, man, you’re worried about me,” Sam sighed. “I get it, and thank you, but I'm perfectly okay.”

His brother just hummed in response.

“I’ll take you up on that driving offer, though,” you chimed in.

“Not a chance, sweetheart.”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“And I told you I wasn’t listening.”

“Dick.”

Dean just scoffed in response. 

Sam’s unfolding of a map brought the conversation back on track. “All right, where are we?”

“Just outside of Grand Junction,” you answered. You leaned over his shoulder and pointed at the spot labeled “Grand Junction” and drew a trail with your finger over to a spot labeled with the coordinates Dean had found in John’s journal. 

Sam hesitated before speaking again. “You know what? Maybe we shouldn't have left Stanford so soon.”

Dean shook his head. “Sam, we dug around there for a week. We came up with nothing. If you wanna find the thing that killed Jessica—”

“We gotta find Dad first,” Sam finished.

“Dad disappearing and this thing showing up again after twenty years, it's no coincidence.”

“Wait, showing up again?” you asked. Even after poking around at Stanford, this was the first you’d heard of a previous encounter with the creature.

“I thought Sam would’ve told you,” Dean said.

“Told me what?”

Sam turned to face you. “You remember what I said about my mom dying? She died the same way Jess did.”

You nodded in solemn understanding. 

The car went quiet again; the silence only broken by the older brother. “Dad will have answers. He'll know what to do.”

Sam scanned the map again. “It's weird, man. These coordinates he left us. This Blackwater Ridge.”

“What about it?” you asked, putting your chin on Sam’s shoulder to look at the map.

“There's nothing there. It's just woods.” He put down the map, looking past your head at Dean. “Why is he sending us to the middle of nowhere?”

Dean just shrugged in response. 

The three of you found yourselves in a ranger’s station in Lost Creek National Forest just outside of Blackwater Ridge. You and Sam scanned a three-dimensional map of the forest atop a large table in the center of the room. 

“So Blackwater Ridge is pretty remote.” The brunet tapped his finger against the ridge’s label on the map. “It's cut off by these canyons here, rough terrain, dense forest, abandoned silver and gold mines all over the place.”

However, his brother’s attention could not be pulled away from a picture on the wall. “Dude, check out the size of this freaking bear.”

You walked over to him, and he was right. The thing was massive. The man standing behind its corpse looked like a dwarf in comparison. 

“There’s about a dozen or so grizzlies in the area,” you added. 

You and the boys were startled by a ranger’s voice coming from behind you. “You three aren't planning on going out near Blackwater Ridge by any chance?”

“Oh, no, sir, we're environmental study majors from UC Boulder, just working on a paper,” Sam assured him, laughing awkwardly.

Dean grinned and raised a fist. “Recycle, man.”

‘I could hit him. Jackass.’

The ranger obviously did not believe him. “Bull.”

Your eyes flicked to Dean, who was unmoving. 

“You're friends with that Haley girl, right?” the ranger continued.

“Yes. Yes, we are, Ranger— Wilkinson.” Dean faltered only to read the ranger’s name tag.

“Well I will tell you exactly what we told her. Her brother filled out a backcountry permit saying he wouldn't be back from Blackwater until the twenty-fourth, so it's not exactly a missing persons now, is it?”

You shook your head. 

“You tell that girl to quit worrying, I'm sure her brother's just fine.”

“We will.” Dean paused only for a moment. “Well, that Haley girl's quite a pistol, huh?”

“That is putting it mildly.”

You laughed. ‘I’m sure we’d get along great.’

“Actually,” Dean stopped the ranger from leaving the room. “You know what would help is if I could show her a copy of that backcountry permit. You know, so she could see her brother's return date.”

The ranger eyed Dean curiously, but still got him a copy of the permit. 

Dean laughed smugly as the three of you left the station, waving the paper around.

“What are you, five?” you asked him.

“Listen, sweetheart, I consider this a major success.” You quirked a brow at him, mildly annoyed he called you that stupid name again. “This eliminates a lot of the groundwork we normally have to do.”

“Fair point,” you shrugged. 

Sam broke the somewhat comfortable silence. “Are you cruising for a hookup or something?”

Considering the thought you’d just had, you were taken slightly aback. “What do you mean?”

“The coordinates point to Blackwater Ridge, so what are we waiting for? Let's just go find Dad. I mean, why even talk to this girl?” Sam was more talking pointedly at Dean and not you. You came to a stop on your respective sides of the Impala.

You couldn’t quite see Dean over the top of the car. “I don't know, maybe we should know what we're walking into before we actually walk into it?”

You could practically feel the look Dean was giving Sam.

“What?” the brunet scoffed.

“Since when are you all shoot-first-ask-questions-later, anyway?”

“Since now.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, biting the inside of your lip. “Really?’ you muttered, getting down into the car. 

***

Sam walked a little further up the walkway to the Collins house than you and Dean did. 

“Forty-five minutes in that copy room for this?” you inspected Dean’s small, fake park ranger ID.

“Can’t rush art, sweetheart.”

“Now you’re just working it into every sentence because you know it aggravates me.”

"Yup,” Dean chuckled. 

You smirked lopsidedly and Dean knocked on Haley Collins’s front door. A quite beautiful, dark-haired girl opened it moments later. 

“You must be Haley Collins. I'm Dean, this is Sam, and (Y/N), we're, ah, we're rangers with the Park Service. Ranger Wilkinson sent us over. He wanted us to ask a few questions about your brother Tommy.”

Haley hesitated. “Lemme see some ID.”

Dean held up the ID you’d previously been inspecting to the screen door. The girl looked between the ID and Dean. 

“Come on in.”

“Thanks.” 

The door swung open, allowing Haley to catch a glimpse of the Impala. “That yours?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice car.” She began leading the three of you into the home.

Dean looked back at Sam, mouthing something excitedly to him that you couldn’t quite make out. You rolled your eyes. You decided then and there you would push your attraction to him to the side for the rest of the time you were working with the brothers. To you, he was just an asshole playboy. 

Sam’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. “So if Tommy's not due back for a while, how do you know something's wrong?”

You took in the sight of the table set for dinner and a young boy who looked to be about thirteen already picking at his plate of food. 

Haley entered the room with a bowl and placed it onto the table. “He checks in every day by cell. He emails, photos, stupid little videos—we haven't heard anything in over three days now.”

“Well, maybe he can't get cell reception,” you suggested.

“He's got a satellite phone, too.”

‘Well, there goes that theory.’

“Could it be he's just having fun and forgot to check in?” Dean threw in.

The teenage boy clanked his fork against his plate, sharply stating, “He wouldn't do that.”

You eyed the boy, getting a read on him.

“Our parents are gone,” Haley said. “It's just my two brothers and me. We all keep pretty close tabs on each other.”

You nodded in understanding. As much as you were trying to dislike her, it wasn’t working all that well.

“Can I see the pictures he sent you?” Sam asked.

Haley pulled out her laptop to show Sam the folder of pictures and videos her brother had sent her. “That's Tommy.” You could hear the sadness in her voice.

She clicked through to the most recent video. 

A scruffy, presumably twenty-five year old man appeared onscreen. “Hey Haley, day six, we're still out near Blackwater Ridge. We're fine, keeping safe, so don't worry, okay? Talk to you tomorrow.”

Something flickered past outside the young man’s tent. Your brows furrowed. 

“Well, we'll find your brother. We're heading out to Blackwater Ridge first thing,” Dean assured her.

“Then maybe I'll see you there,” she answered. “Look, I can't sit around here anymore. So I hired a guy. I'm heading out in the morning, and I'm gonna find Tommy myself.”

“I think I know how you feel.”

Your eyes flicked over to Dean, growing angry at what you assumed to be an attempt at seducing the girl.

‘She’s mourning the potential loss of her brother, and you’re gonna try and charm her? Asshole.’

The younger Winchester once again broke you out of your thoughts. “Hey, do you mind forwarding these to me?”

“Sure.” Haley clicked away on her laptop again.

*** 

You and the boys wound up at a bar. The table was covered in newspapers, John’s journal, and beer bottles; some full and some half empty. 

“So, Blackwater Ridge doesn't get a lot of traffic. Local campers, mostly. But still, this past April, two hikers went missing out there. They were never found.” 

You gestured to John’s journal, which Sam slid over to you. You began flipping through it. 

“Any before that?” Dean asked. 

Sam pulled out a newspaper to show his brother. “Yeah, in 1982, eight different people all vanished in the same year. Authorities said it was a grizzly attack.”

You leaned across the table, squinting at the headline. You felt Dean’s eyes flick to your breasts that had subsequently been pushed up in your wife beater as you leaned over. 

You glared at him. “Stay focused, Winchester.”

Dean rolled his eyes, apparently unable to find his way to a witty response. You turned your attention back to the headline that read, “ GRIZZLY BEAR ATTACKS! UP TO EIGHT HIKERS VANISH IN LOST CREEK AREA.”

Sam pulled out his laptop. “Before that, 1959 and 1936. Every twenty-three years, just like clockwork.”

“You have WiFi in here?” you questioned.

“Don’t need it. Just wanted to look at Haley’s video.” He pulled it up from a folder on his screen. 

“Oh, shit. I almost forgot. Can I see that?” You hopped off your stool to get between the two brothers. “Watch this.” You clicked through the three frames of the video containing the shadow you’d seen flash across the screen. “That's three frames. That's a fraction of a second. Whatever that thing is, it can move.”

Dean reached across you to hit Sam’s shoulder. “Told you something weird was going on.”

Sam rolled his eyes, closing his laptop. “Yeah. I got one more thing.” He put a newspaper article between you and Dean. “In 'fifty-nine one camper survived this supposed grizzly attack. Just a kid. Barely crawled out of the woods alive.”

You skimmed the article briefly. “Is there a name?”

The only survivor of the attack in the article Sam showed you and Dean was a child at the time. He now lived a life of what appeared to be solitude. He drove a beat up truck that was parked haphazardly in his driveway and lived several miles out of the city. You took in the poor old man’s messy house as he led your trio into his living room.

“Look, ranger, I don't know why you're asking me about this. It's public record. I was a kid. My parents got mauled by a—”

Sam interrupted him. “Grizzly? That's what attacked them?”

Mr. Shaw lit a cigarette, took a deep puff, and nodded. 

“The other people that went missing that year, those bear attacks too?” Dean’s tone was slightly pointed. “What about all the people that went missing this year? Same thing?”

The old man continued to take drags of his cigarette. He seemed almost scared to entertain any other explanation aside from a grizzly bear attack. 

Dean continued to pressure him. “If we knew what we were dealing with, we might be able to stop it.”

Mr. Shaw shook his head. “I seriously doubt that. Anyways, I don't see what difference it would make.” He sat down in his recliner. “You wouldn't believe me. Nobody ever did.”

Sam sat down opposite the old man. “Mr. Shaw, what did you see?”

“Nothing. It moved too fast to see. It hid too well. I heard it, though. A roar. Like... no man or animal I ever heard.”

“It came at night?”

He nodded. 

“Got inside your tent?”

“It got inside our cabin. I was sleeping in front of the fireplace when it came in. It didn't smash a window or break the door. It unlocked it.”

You tried to keep your face from conveying your intrigue and tinge of fear.

“Do you know of a bear that could do something like that? I didn't even wake up till I heard my parents screaming.” You could see Mr. Shaw becoming lost in his mind. 

“It killed them?” Sam continued.

“Dragged them off into the night.” The old man shook his head as if to shake away the memories. “Why it left me alive... been asking myself that ever since.” He took a brief pause before reaching to the collar of his wife beater. “Did leave me this, though.” He pulled it down to reveal three long, deep claw mark scars. Through morbid curiosity, you were tempted to run your fingers over the jagged edges of the scarring. You couldn’t imagine how painful and angry the marks must have been when the poor man first got them. 

“There's something evil in those woods. It was some sort of a demon.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Shaw. We’re sorry about your parents,” you told him, turning away. “Have a good night, sir.” 

Mr. Shaw seemed too caught up in his own head to respond with more than a wave, letting a cloud of smoke slither out of his mouth. 

*** Later that night, you and the boys had just booked a room in yet another crappy motel.

‘One of these days I’ll treat myself to a stay in a halfway decent hotel.’ 

Before the three of you would be turning in for the night, you were headed to Dean’s car to pack your bags for the early morning you were about to have. 

“Spirits and demons don't have to unlock doors.” Dean broke your train of thought. “If they want inside, they just go through the walls.”

“So it's probably something else, something corporeal,” Sam said.

“Corporeal? Look at you, smartass,” you laughed.

“Shut up. So what do you think?”

“The claws, the speed that it moves…” Dean trailed off. “Could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog. Whatever we're talking about, we're talking about a creature, and it's corporeal. Which means we can kill it.” 

“True,” you started. “But how are you gonna know what to bring to kill it with if we have no idea what it is?”

“Just trust me on this one,” Dean replied. “There’s not much a gun won’t be able to take care of.” He let the door to the motel almost completely swing shut behind him; nearly hitting you in the face. 

You caught it just in time. “Right, right. Just like you ‘took care’ of Constance by shooting her.”

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” Dean raised a brow at you, just barely turning over his shoulder to give you his response. He started busying himself in the weapons box in the back of his car.

“I mean, just barely. Nearly caught me in the crossfire.”

Dean rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically. “And what a shame that would’ve been.”

“Hey!” You shoved his shoulder with yours. 

He glared at you in response. 

Sam, who had been quiet the last few minutes, spoke up. “We cannot let that Haley girl go out there.”

His brother was rummaging through the weapons box; haphazardly throwing guns into his duffel bag. “Oh yeah? What are we gonna tell her? That she can't go into the woods because of a big scary monster?”

You found a shotgun that was slightly smaller than the rest, giving it a once over before moving to put it in a duffel bag of your own. Before you could fully get it settled in the bag, Dean took it from you.

You went to protest, but Sam cut you off by saying, “Yeah,” as if it was obvious. 

Dean turned his attention away from you and your shotgun long enough for you to steal it back. 

“Her brother's missing, Sam,” he tried to reason. “She's not gonna just sit this out. Now we go with her, we protect her, and we keep our eyes peeled for our fuzzy predator friend.” 

Dean seemed to notice you had taken the gun back and glared at you. He picked up his own duffel, and you closed the weapons cavity. 

“Finding Dad’s not enough?” Sam countered while you closed the trunk. “Now we gotta babysit too?”

You and Dean gave Sam a look.

“What?” he snapped.

You shook your head. 

“Nothing,” Dean replied. He threw the duffel bag at him and walked off. 

***

You yawned and pulled yourself into a tighter ball on the backseat of Dean’s Impala. You hadn’t gotten much sleep last night for a reason you couldn’t quite place.

“Don’t get too comfortable, sweetheart, we’re here,” Dean told you.

“Fuck.” You grabbed yours and Dean’s duffel bags off the seat next to you and got out of the car to feel loose gravel grating against your boots. 

A man who looked to be in his late fifties was up ahead of you next to a Jeep with Haley and the teenager you recognized as Haley’s younger brother. You approached the other three from behind Sam and Dean.

“You guys got room for three more?” the older brother asked.

Haley crossed her arms. “Wait, you want to come with us?”

“Who are these guys?” The older man pointed at your group.

“Apparently this is all the park service could muster up for the search and rescue.”

Sam headed past everyone, and you followed.

You assumed the middle-aged man was the guide Haley had talked about hiring the previous day. He was very skeptical of the three of you. “You're rangers?”

Dean’s confidence never wavered. “That's right.”

“And you're hiking out in biker boots and jeans?” Haley was apparently skeptical, too. 

“Well, sweetheart, I don't do shorts.”

‘That’s what he calls me.’ You couldn’t quite understand the pang that went through your chest when he used that nickname for her. You pushed the thought aside once again, reminding yourself that you weren’t special in Dean’s eyes. To you, he was becoming more of a playboy asshole with each passing moment. You hoped your attraction to his beautiful green eyes and sharp jawline would soon turn to disdain. 

Speaking of which, he appeared next to you as the guide spoke once more. “What, you think this is funny? It's dangerous back country out there. Her brother might be hurt.”

You turned around, trying to explain Dean’s attitude away. “He knows that. He just has a funny way of showing it.” You hoped Dean didn’t miss the bite in your tone. And from the way you could feel his glare burning a hole through your skull, you were sure it wasn’t lost on him.

The guide shook his head, brushing past you and the brothers. He headed into the forest, and you followed a few paces behind. You would never admit it, but the woods had always unsettled you just a bit. You tightened your grip on your bag and pushed forward. 

Dean had apparently learned the guide’s name from Haley while you were lost in your own anxiety. “Roy, you said you did a little hunting.” He quickened his step to pass you and get up next to Roy. 

“Yeah, more than a little.” The response came gruff and disinterested. 

“Uh-huh. What kind of furry critters do you hunt?”

You could feel where this was going. ‘Don’t fucking provoke him, Winchester.’

“Mostly buck, sometimes bear.” The disinterest was ever present in Roy’s tone as he continued to scan the treeline in front of him. 

Dean passed him up, doing that obnoxiously confident backwards walk again. “Tell me, uh, Bambi or Yogi ever hunt you back?” 

Suddenly, Roy grabbed Dean’s jacket roughly. You nearly flinched.

“Whatcha doing, Roy?” Dean’s tone had hardened.

Roy grabbed a stick, and peering around Dean you could see the jaws of a bear trap close around it inches from Dean’s boot. 

“You should watch where you're stepping. Ranger.” 

‘Damn.’

Roy dropped the stick and took the lead once more.

Dean turned around to the rest of the group. “It's a bear trap.”

You scoffed. 

You could hear Haley’s quickened step crunching leaves as she passed you to catch up to Dean. “You didn't pack any provisions. You guys are carrying a duffel bag. You're not rangers.” She grabbed his arm, spinning him to face her. “So who the hell are you?”

The teenage boy passed his sister and Dean. You and Sam hesitated behind Haley, shooting Dean a quizzical look. Dean jerked his head for the two of you to go on. You followed Sam forward, but hung back close enough that you could hear Dean and Haley’s conversation. 

“Sam and I are brothers, and we're looking for our father. (Y/N) is—” you were interested in this explanation, “—a friend of ours.” 

‘Oh, so we’re friends now.’

“He might be here, we don't know. I just figured that you and me, we're in the same boat.”

“Why didn't you just tell me that from the start?”

“I'm telling you now. 'sides, it's probably the most honest I've ever been with a woman. ...ever. So, we okay?” 

‘Wonder how many times he’s used that line.’ You caught that same squeeze happening in your chest happening again. You desperately wished to get ahold of yourself and snap out of it. ‘He’s just pretty to look at. He’s a complete douche. Get it together, girl.’

You had missed Haley’s response to Dean’s “heartfelt” admission, but heard “And what do you mean I didn't pack provisions?” You heard the rustling of a plastic bag behind you, and remembered the bag of peanut M&Ms he had bought at a gas station before coming here. You heard Dean start walking again, and you hurried ahead to catch up with Sam and not look like you were snooping. 

Dean had apparently noticed you were hanging back and chuckled to himself. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. 

He walked up beside you. “Jealous?”

“What?” you turned to him, feigning disgust. “Fuck no.”

“So… you were just snooping because…?”

You wanted to smack the smug grin off his face. His amusement at your aggravation riled you up even more. “I was just curious what she thought of us. And to be frank, I don’t exactly trust your ability to explain things away. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh.” You knew he didn’t believe you. “That’s all.” 

You petulantly stole the bag of peanut M&Ms from him.

“Hey! (Y/N)!” 

You marched on.

“This is it. Blackwater Ridge,” Roy announced after what felt like hours of walking. Your anxiety around getting lost in the forest was only deepening. That was what it all boiled down to. You had a fear of not being in control, and the idea of a place where every “landmark” looked the same, wildlife ruled the terrain, and being alone in it was pretty much a death sentence, scared you pretty severely. Not to mention, the time you almost bled to death in the middle of the woods had another hunter not found you.

You had no means of identifying where you’d come back from. All the trees seemed the same to you. You had no idea how you were going to get back to the car at the end of the day; if you were even going to make it out of here by the end of the day. You had been walking for so long that you were sure you’d be sleeping out here tonight. The thought of that frightened you even more. 

What truly unsettled you was that the sounds you had been hearing up until you made it to Blackwater Ridge— crickets, leaves rustling, birds chirping— all of it had been silenced. 

“I'm gonna go take a look around,” Roy announced.

The younger Winchester stopped him. “You shouldn't go off by yourself.”

Roy’s snark almost rivaled Dean’s. “That's sweet. Don't worry about me.” He waved his gun around and pushed between the two brothers to head deeper into the forest. 

Dean turned to the rest of your group. “Alright, everybody stays together. Let's go.”

‘Great. More fucking woods.’ You marched forward, trying to put on a brave face.

Sam’s eyes softened when he caught sight of you. “You okay?”

Apparently, your “brave face” wasn’t as brave as you thought. “Yeah, why?”

“You look… kinda nervous.”

“Yeah, I am. I’m, uh, kinda scared of the forest, honestly.”

“Aw, sweetheart,” Dean’s mocking tone interrupted your vulnerable moment. “You’re scared of a little woods?” He jutted out his bottom lip, feigning a pout. 

“Fuck off, Winchester. I’m fine.”

“Whoa, touchy. Relax.” Dean held his hands up in surrender. “Was just poking fun, that’s all.”

“Okay, well, it wasn’t funny. So, fuck off.” You rushed ahead, still white-knuckling the duffel bag on your shoulder. 

Before Dean could catch up to you or respond, Roy called out from quite a bit ahead. “Haley! Over here!”

Haley took off in the direction of Roy’s voice, closely followed by you. Haley froze at the sight in front of her. “Oh, my God.”

In the clearing Roy had found, bloodied, torn open tents surrounded mutilated camping supplies and backpacks. Deep gashes in the tent material and the surrounding trees were jagged and stained with blood around the edges. The sight wasn’t making your queasiness any better.

“Looks like a grizzly.”

‘No, it doesn’t, Roy,’ you thought. 

Haley’s backpack hit the ground next to you, and she tore through the campsite; screaming her brother’s name. 

Sam moved to quiet her down. She kept screaming. A much harsher “Shh!” passed Sam’s lips, finally getting the girl to settle down. 

“Why?” she questioned defensively. 

“Something might still be out there,” he answered. 

Dean called his brother’s name from the other end of the campsite. You followed Sam over to the sound of Dean’s voice.

You crouched down next to Sam. Dean snapped a stick and pointed to a set of drag marks on the ground. “The bodies were dragged from the campsite. But here, the tracks just vanish. That's weird. I'll tell you what, that's no skinwalker or black dog.”

The three of you stood and returned to the campsite to find Haley crying on the ground over her brother’s broken and bloodied phone. 

“Hey, he could still be alive,” Dean told her. She shot him a confused and slightly angry look. 

Out of nowhere, a scratchy male voice started gutturally calling, “Help! Help!”

Roy was quick to run to the shouter’s aid. However, you weren’t so sure it was a real person screaming like that. 

“Help! Somebody!” came again.

The brothers started off to follow Roy. 

“Wait, guys!” you called, not wanting to be left alone despite your hesitation. 

“C’mon, (Y/N)!” Sam called.

You dropped your duffel in your rush to follow Sam’s voice. When you found where the group had gathered, you could see the brothers searching the treeline. You licked your teeth, upset that your intuition was right. Your group had found no one.

“It seemed like it was coming from around here, didn't it?” Haley said, confused.

“Everybody get back to camp,” you ordered.

You followed the path you were pretty sure would get you back to the mangled campsite. Thankfully, your sense of direction was right, but all of your supplies had been taken by the time you returned. 

“Our packs!” Haley exclaimed.

Roy grumbled, “So much for my GPS and my satellite phone.”

“What the hell is going on?” Haley was catching on. 

“It’s smart. It’s trying to isolate us so we can’t call for help. It knows we won’t last long without supplies,” you stated. 

“You mean someone, some nutjob out there just stole all our gear.” The guide’s voice was hard and angry.

“I need to speak with you two. In private.” You pulled the brothers aside by their jackets. Dean shrugged your hand off him. 

“Can I see your dad’s journal?” you asked. Yours had been taken along with your duffel bag. 

“No, why?” Dean asked petulantly. 

“Please, dude, c’mon.” You were not in the mood.

“Give it to her, Dean,” Sam chimed in.

Dean rolled his eyes and handed it over. 

You flipped through until you found a page marked by a First Nations-style drawing of a tall figure with long claws labeled “Wendigo.” You looked up at the boys expectantly.

“Oh, come on, wendigos are in the Minnesota woods or, or northern Michigan. I've never even heard of one this far west,” Dean responded.

“Think about it, Dean, the claws, the way it can mimic a human voice,” you tried to reason. 

“Great.” He took his pistol out of his belt. “Well, then this is useless.”

“I told you guns don’t work on everything,” you quipped.

“Shut up.”

Sam took the journal from you and handed it back to his brother. “We gotta get these people to safety.” He led you and Dean back to the group. “All right, listen up, it's time to go. Things have gotten...more complicated.”

Haley seemed pissed. “What?”

“Kid, don't worry.” Roy’s tone was almost patronizing. “Whatever's out there, I think I can handle it.”

“It's not me I'm worried about. If you shoot this thing, you're just gonna make it mad. We have to leave. Now,” Sam countered. 

“One, you're talking nonsense. Two, you're in no position to give anybody orders.” Roy was now getting in Sam’s face.

“C’mon, Roy, chill out,” you told him, pressing a hand to Sam’s chest to keep him from stepping to Roy.

Sam let you keep your hand there, but still bit back at Roy. “We never should have let you come out here in the first place, all right? I'm trying to protect you.”

“You protect me? I was hunting these woods when your mommy was still kissing you good night.” The guide was so close you could smell the chewing tobacco on his breath.

Sam still refused to back down. “Yeah? It's a damn near perfect hunter. It's smarter than you, and it's gonna hunt you down and eat you alive unless we get your stupid sorry ass out of here.”

Roy laughed mockingly. “You know you're crazy, right?”

“Yeah? You ever hunt a wen—” 

Dean pushed you out the way and shoved his brother back. “Relax!”

Haley got between you, the boys, and Roy. “Stop. Stop it. Everybody just stop. Look. Tommy might still be alive. And I'm not leaving here without him.”

You considered for a moment the implications of what may happen if you allowed them to stay. 

Dean broke the silence. “It's getting late. This thing is a good hunter in the day, but an unbelievable hunter at night. We'll never beat it, not in the dark. We need to settle in and protect ourselves.”

“How?” Haley asked. 

“I’m not gonna sugarcoat this,” you began. “We don’t really have the time for the ‘monsters under the bed are real’ talk. This thing is a Wendigo. I’m gonna start carving some symbols into the ground. No one crosses the circle once I’ve drawn it. Got it?”

Haley nodded at you. “What can I do?”

“Build a fire with— sorry, I never caught his name,” you gestured to the teenager next to her. 

“Ben,” Haley told you. 

“Ben. You two start gathering enough wood and tinder to keep a fire going. Don’t go too far, though, please.”

She and Ben nodded at you before setting off.

“Thank you,” you called after the Collins siblings. “Sam, Dean, help me with the Anasazi symbols.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean said. You were surprised at his compliance.

After a while of scuttling across the forest floor drawing a circle of Anasazi symbols around the campsite, the sun had set. Haley and Ben had long since returned and were tending the fire. As you finished the last symbol, you brushed the dirt off your hands on your jeans. 

Haley looked up at you from her place by the fire. “One more time, that's—”

“Anasazi symbols. It's for protection,” Dean explained. “The wendigo can't cross over them.”

Roy laughed, feeling the need to assert the fact he thought this was bullshit. 

“Nobody likes a skeptic, Roy,” Dean told him, clearly fatigued of the man’s attitude.

Roy turned his attention back to the treeline with his gun over his shoulder. You followed Dean over to where Sam sat away from the group at the edge of the campsite. 

“You wanna tell me what's going on in that freaky head of yours?” Dean asked his brother.

“Dean—” the younger one began to protest. You sat down next to him.

“No, you're not fine.” Of course, he already knew what Sam was going to say.  “You're like a powder keg, man, it's not like you. I'm supposed to be the belligerent one, remember?”

You laughed. “Yeah, I’ve got enough of that attitude with just him, Sam.”

Dean nudged the tip of your boot with his harshly. You returned his glare petulantly. 

“Dad's not here. I mean, that much we know for sure, right? He would have left us a message, a sign, right?” Sam’s mind was clearly going a mile a minute.

“Yeah, you're probably right. Tell you the truth, I don't think Dad's ever been to Lost Creek.”

You decided to just sit back and listen for a moment before throwing your two cents in. 

“Then let's get these people back to town and let's hit the road. Go find Dad. I mean, why are we still even here?” Sam threw his hands up in frustration. 

“This is why.” Dean held out his dad’s journal to his brother. “This book. This is Dad's single most valuable possession—everything he knows about every evil thing is in here. And he's passed it on to us. I think he wants us to pick up where he left off. You know, saving people, hunting things. The family business.”

Sam shook his head. “That makes no sense. Why doesn't he just—call us? Why doesn't he—tell us what he wants, tell us where he is?”

“I dunno. But the way I see it, Dad's giving us a job to do, and I intend to do it.”

Sam’s eyes began to well with tears. “Dean, no. I gotta find Dad. I gotta find Jessica's killer. It's the only thing I can think about.”

“Okay, all right, Sam, we'll find them, I promise. Listen to me.” Sam looked up at Dean. “You've gotta prepare yourself. I mean, this search could take a while, and all that anger, you can't keep it burning over the long haul. It's gonna kill you. You gotta have patience, man.”

Sam looked away again, still fighting the tears congealing in his water line. “How do you two do it? How does Dad do it?”

You let Dean take that question. “Well for one, them.” He gestured to Haley and Ben. “I mean, I figure our family's so screwed to hell, maybe we can help some others. Makes things a little bit more bearable.”

You paused, looking down at the dirt and twigs below you before speaking. “It’s kind of the same for me. I don’t have a family anymore.” You felt Dean’s gaze on you, but kept the burning in your cheeks at bay. “This is really all I’ve ever known. I know I couldn’t go back to a normal life after all this. So, I do what I can to help everyone else’s lives feel a little more normal. Not everybody needs to know what’s really out there. It kinda brings me peace knowing I’m helping somebody else live their life relatively worry-free.”

Dean continued. “I'll tell you what else helps.”

You looked back up at him. 

“Killing as many evil sons of bitches as I possibly can.” 

You smiled at Dean genuinely for the first time. 

A twig snapped, breaking you and the boys out of the little bonding moment you’d just had. The same, slightly unhuman grainy voice screamed out again from somewhere in the trees. “Help me! Please!”

Dean stands with his gun. You thought about pointing out the fact that it was useless, but decided to keep it to yourself. 

“Help!” the strained sound came again.

Sam shined his flashlight through the tree line.

“He's trying to draw us out. Just stay cool, stay put,” Dean told the group.

“Inside the magic circle?” Roy quipped.

“Shut up, would you?” You snapped, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“Help! Help me!” The voice seemed to become more distant before a low growl emanated from just outside the circle.

Roy pointed his gun at the sound. “Okay, that's no grizzly.”

“Oh, now you believe us,” you quipped. 

“(Y/N),” Dean warned, still facing the outside of the circle. 

Something rushed past where Haley and Ben were standing. She let out a scream. 

“It's here,” the younger Winchester stated.

The guide shot at the rustling bushes, and then again. “I hit it!” He took off before you could protest.

“Roy, no!” you immediately ran after him.

You could hear Dean behind you addressing the Collinses, but barely registered it while trying to follow Roy. 

“Roy! Come back!” you called. 

“It's over here! It's in the tree!” the man called back.

Just as you reached him, something grabbed onto Roy’s shoulders and began pulling him up into the tree above.

“Roy!” you grabbed his ankles, doing your best to pull him back down to the ground. 

Roy was screaming above you, and the Wendigo’s strength was too much for you. Roy’s screaming was cut off sharply by a snapping sound. In that moment, you knew he was gone. You let Roy’s legs go and dropped back down to the ground. 

The Winchester brothers appeared at that second, rushing to your side.

“You okay?” Sam asked, helping you up. “Where’s Roy?”

You shook your head. “He’s gone.”

You and the boys headed back to camp to find Haley and Ben huddled together. Haley was caught off-guard by your return, and nearly took you out with her makeshift torch-weapon. “Shit!” she yelped. “You scared the crap out of me!”

“Sorry,” you laughed. “Easy, tiger.”

She threw her torch back into the fire. “Where’s Roy?”

Your smile faded. “I tried to help him. I’m sorry.”

She nodded somberly. A saddened, heavy air fell over your camp as the remaining five of you tried to go to sleep before your undoubtedly busy day tomorrow.

Haley and Ben settled down near the fire with tatters of backpacks and tent material as pillows and blankets respectively. You and Dean forced Sam to lay down and rest because it was evident via the bags under his eyes that he’d had none over the last several days. 

“I’ll take first watch,” you told Dean, settling your back against the stump of a tree near where Sam had started falling asleep.

“Not a chance, sweetheart.”

“First of all, stop calling me that,” you snapped. “Second, it wasn’t a suggestion. I’m taking first watch. Go to sleep.”

“Why are you so insistent on this?” Dean furrowed his eyebrows at you.

“Why don’t you trust me?” you countered.

“I don’t know, maybe because you’re the last person to have seen my dad before he ‘mysteriously disappeared’?”

“You’re not seriously suggesting—” you scoffed, and Dean cut you off again.

“Maybe because I don’t even know you. Maybe because you so readily agreed to just hitch a ride with Sam and I the day Jessica died. Maybe those are some good reasons not to trust you.”

“Dean, I had nothing to do with your dad’s disappearance. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m on my own. Sorry that I was just excited to finally have someone willing to take me along with them. And I don’t give a shit about you, honestly. I do give a shit about Sam, though, and I’m not gonna leave while he’s in this headspace. And I wanna help you find your dad.”

“Why do you care so much?” he hissed in retaliation.

“Because I don’t have any family. I want to help reunite yours. Like you said earlier, it helps you feel a little better and sleep a little easier at night.” Your voice had softened considerably, and you turned your attention from Dean to your hands folded in your lap. 

“Fine, but after we find my dad, you’re gone,” he responded after a moment.

“Fine.” You turned away from him, hugging your knees to your chest. “I’m still taking first watch.” 

“Whatever, (Y/N).” You could hear Dean moving around behind you. 

“Goodnight,” you said. 

All you got was a huff in response. 

At some point that night, Sam was actually the one to take over your watch. He’d woken up from a nightmare, and you knew he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep any time soon. You did your best to get some sleep despite your heightened sense of awareness from your unsettling surroundings and the anger you still felt at Dean after your argument. 

When you did awaken, Sam was sitting against the tree next to you, Dean was talking to Haley about the origin of Wendigos, and Haley was grilling Dean about how he knows about monsters.

“Kind of runs in the family,” was all Dean answered her question with. 

You felt Sam push off the tree behind you. You still hadn’t rolled over from your sleeping position. 

“So we've got half a chance in the daylight,” Sam announced to the group. “And I for one want to kill this evil son of a bitch.”

“Well, hell, you know I'm in,” you heard Dean respond. 

“'Wendigo' is a Cree Indian word. It means 'evil that devours',” Sam explained. 

You began stretching while Dean continued educating Haley and Ben. “They're hundreds of years old. Each one was once a man. Sometimes an Indian, or other times a frontiersman or a miner or hunter.”

“How's a man turn into one of those things?” Haley asked.

“Well, it's always the same,” the older Winchester continued while you started to make your way over to them, brushing leaves out of your hair with your fingers. “During some harsh winter a guy finds himself starving, cut off from supplies or help. Becomes a cannibal to survive, eating other members of his tribe or camp.”

“Like the Donner Party.” That was the first you’d ever heard Ben speak.

“Cultures all over the world believe that eating human flesh gives a person certain abilities. Speed, strength, immortality,” Sam continued. 

“If you eat enough of it, over years, you become this less than human thing. You're always hungry,” Dean finished.

“So if that's true, how can Tommy still be alive?” Haley waited for the answer with baited breath.

“You're not gonna like it.”

“Tell me.” Haley steeled herself.

“More than anything, a wendigo knows how to last long winters without food. It hibernates for years at a time, but when it's awake it keeps its victims alive. It—” Dean seemed to be searching for the right words, “—uh, it stores them, so it can feed whenever it wants. If your brother's alive, it's keeping him somewhere dark, hidden, and safe. We gotta track it back there.”

“And then how do we stop it?”

You spoke up for the first time, holding an empty beer bottle, a white cloth, and a can of lighter fluid you’d found from near the camp. “Guns are useless, so, Molotov cocktail, baby.”

You could swear Dean cracked a smile at you, but you refused to acknowledge it. 

The sun had risen much higher since your crew had first started walking. You had passed multiple trees with bloodied claw marks on them. It was starting to unsettle you, quite honestly. You’d just passed the seventh or eighth claw-marked tree  when you decided to bring Sam’s attention to your thought process.

“You know, I was thinking, those claw marks are so clear and distinct. Not at all as jagged as they were on Mr. Shaw’s scar or the tree where the thing snatched Roy. They were almost too easy to follow.”

Almost as if on cue, a low growl rumbled from above and trees rustled. Haley looked up before jerking herself out of the way. And good thing she had, because Roy’s corpse soon landed where she’d stood. 

Dean inspected Roy’s corpse while Sam helped Haley up. “His neck's broke.”

The growling continued. 

Upon hearing the sound, Dean started to bark out, “Okay, run, run, run, run, go, go, go!”

You immediately split. You were always quite a fast runner and light on your feet. You and Haley took the lead of the group and could hear the boys’ thundering footsteps behind you. 

Before you knew it, the growling had landed right in front of you. You and Haley were brought to a skidding halt before the creature. Haley yelped as the creature grabbed your legs and began dragging the two of you. You took the bag of peanut M&Ms you’d stolen from Dean out of your jacket’s inner pocket. You let the bag’s contents out slowly as sticks and rocks scraped up your dragging body. The last thing you felt was a sharp pain on the back of your head before you vision blacked out completely.

The next time you came to, the first thing you felt were your aching wrists and hands on either side of your face. You could faintly hear Dean calling your name, and your vision began to get less hazy as Dean’s voice became more clear. 

When Dean’s annoyingly beautiful, worried face finally came into focus, you said the first thing that came to mind. “Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper.”

You could hear Sam laughing behind Dean and Dean sighed. If you didn’t know any better, you would say he sounded relieved. 

Sam reached above you to cut your wrists down. “You okay?”

Despite your aching joints, you said, “Yeah.”

Sam helped you over to one of the cave’s walls. “You sure you're alright?”

“Yeah. Yep,” you groaned. “Where is he?”

“He's gone for now.” 

“Oh, thank god,” you breathed, making Sam laugh a little. “Oh, sweet.” You noticed the stolen duffel bags next to you and started rummaging through yours. Haley let out a shriek, causing you to jerk your head in her direction. She’d found her brother, and thankfully, he was alive. 

“Cut him down!” Haley ordered. Sam got to work. 

You found a flare gun in Dean’s duffel bag, saying, “Check it out.” to the rest of your group.

“Flare guns. Those'll work,” Sam responded, grinning.

You laughed, throwing one of the guns at Dean who caught it easily. He twirled it around his finger, smirking at you.

“Enough fooling around, let’s go,” Haley urged. She shouldered her brother, and with Ben’s help, started moving down the mine shaft.

You and Sam held up the rear of the group while Dean took the lead. Amidst the clunky shuffling of Tommy’s weakened body down the shaft, you could hear the same deep, low growling you’d heard in the forest. 

“Looks like someone's home for supper,” quipped Dean, scanning the corridor ahead of him.

“We'll never outrun it,” Haley said.

Dean looked back at you and Sam. “You thinking what I'm thinking?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Sam responded.

“I don’t,” you chimed in.

“You’ll catch on,” Dean shot back. “All right, listen to me. Stay with Sam and (Y/N). They’re gonna get you out of here.”

“What are you gonna do?” Haley asked the older Winchester. 

He winked at her, shooting her that same smile he’d shot you one of the first times you’d met him. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. He started yelling moments later, walking away from you. “Chow time, you freaky bastard! Yeah, that's right, bring it on, baby, I taste good.”

‘I bet he does.’ You surprised yourself. ‘What? What the fuck? He’s an asshole.’

Sam’s voice brought you out of your head. “All right, come on! Hurry!”

Your group rushed down the tunnel. You stayed in the rear, and Sam headed up to the front. He began leading your group down to where you could faintly see a bit of daylight peeking through. 

And then, the growling again. 

“Fuck,” you muttered. “Get him outta here!” you instructed the Collinses. 

“(Y/N), no,” Haley told you.

“Go!” you urged her. 

She finally nodded and started pulling her brothers down the tunnel with her. You aimed your flare gun at the direction where the growling was coming from. 

“C’mon, motherfucker,” you grumbled, scanning the tunnel. 

“(Y/N)!” Sam called from behind you. 

You wheeled around to come face to face with the Wendigo. In your startle, you missed your shot with the flare gun. Your only other option was to take off after the three Collins siblings, closely followed by Sam.

“Come on, hurry, hurry, hurry,” Sam ordered the group. “Get behind me.” Given Sam’s size, he was able to hide all three Collinses behind him. You knew your pistol was no use, but you still aimed it at the creature anyway. 

The Wendigo approached, taking its time in getting to you. 

“Hey!” you suddenly heard Dean from behind the Wendigo. It wheeled around, only for Dean to shoot it in the stomach. 

Flames curled up the Wendigo’s horribly disfigured body in twisted tendrils. The creature let out a howl before collapsing to the ground in a pile of burning embers. 

Dean was revealed behind where the Wendigo previously stood. “Not bad, huh?”

Despite yourself, you grinned. 

A quite chipper, clearly freshman EMT had patched you up upon your return to civilization. You had an uncomfortable laceration on your neck, a few scrapes above your eyebrow, and your wrists burned from where you had been tied up. You’d survive, it would just take you a few days to recover from. 

You watched from a short distance as Haley approached Dean, both of whom had been patched up. You scowled as Dean smirked lasciviously at Haley and couldn’t help the bile rising in your throat when Haley leaned in to kiss Dean’s cheek. She said one final thing to Dean before walking toward the ambulance carrying Tommy with Ben. 

“Thanks, (Y/N)!” she called to you.

You waved at her with a lopsided smile. She returned your grin before hopping into the back of the ambulance. 

Sam motioned for you to come back over to Dean’s car. 

“Man, I hate camping,” said Dean as you approached.

“Me too,” you shivered.

“Still scared of the woods?” he asked you, his tone slightly patronizing.

You ignored his tone and answered earnestly. “Definitely. Probably more so, now.” You crossed your arms over your body and hugged yourself. 

A moment of silence passed before Dean addressed his brother. “Sam, you know we're gonna find Dad, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” he nodded. “But in the meantime? I'm driving.”

Dean lolled his head to the side dramatically before tossing the keys to Sam. Recalling your fight with Dean at the campsite, you hesitated to get in the car when the brothers did. 

“(Y/N), what are you doing?” Sam asked out of the driver’s side window. “Let’s go.” 

You nodded, conceding, and hopped into the backseat. You threw your legs up on the leather beside you and stared out the window. Out of the corner of your eye, you could swear Dean was staring at you. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891

[uhhlifeig]

First Miscommunication - Jan. 27th - word count: 510 - @wolfstarmicrofic

Sirius had been avoiding Remus all week. 

Whenever he walked into a room, Sirius would immediately stop talking, make an excuse, and leave. Whenever Remus tried to talk to him, he just tried to brush it off. 

And worst of all, Remus could feel his heartbeat quickening whenever he was nearby. A closer look also revealed wider-than-normal pupils. 

There was only one logical conclusion. 

Sirius was scared of Remus.

Honestly, it made him sick to his stomach to think that one of his best friends could be scared of him. How was Sirius Black, the bravest of the brave, the person who had become an Animagus for him, scared of him?

Remus would’ve been slightly more okay with it if he didn’t have a huge crush on Sirius, but he did, and now he was trying to find where he might’ve gone wrong.

Remus managed to pull Sirius aside the next day when Peter had a club meeting to attend and James had detention with Slughorn.

“Sirius,” Remus started, subtly moving to block the door so Sirius wouldn’t leave. “We need to talk.”

“Okay,” Sirius replied hesitantly. Remus could feel his heart speeding up again. Shit.

“Well, you’ve been avoiding me.”

“No, I haven’t,” Sirius protested immediately. “I’ve just, uh, been busy.”

“Yeah, right. Busy avoiding me. Don’t think that I can’t tell, Padfoot.”

“Tell what?” Sirius sounded nervous for what was probably the first time in his Hogwarts career. 

Remus decided to just rip the bandaid off. “You’re scared of me,” he stated flatly. “I know. You don’t want to talk to me anymore.”

Sirius’s mouth fell open. “That’s not- I’m not scared of you, Moony.”

“It’s okay, I’d be scared of me too.” Remus snorted bitterly, looking away from his friend. “I’m a monster. It’s okay. Just-” his voice cracked as his nonchalant mask slipped away. “-just tell me what I did wrong. I can’t lose you, Pads.”

“You never did anything wrong, Moons,” Sirius said softly. He was a lot closer than he was before, now. “I’m not scared of you.”

Remus opened his mouth to object, but Sirius beat him to it. “No, I’m not scared of you. Close your mouth and let me talk.”

Remus huffed but acquiesced.

“I like you. Like, more than friends should like each other. Well, unless friends want to kiss each other all the time,” Sirius said. “And you’re amazing and beautiful and I want the rest of eternity with you.”

“I- erm,” Remus stuttered. He was pretty sure he had died and gone to heaven. There was no way that Sirius Black had just confessed to liking him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sirius said after a moment of absolute silence, turning tomato-red down to his neck. “I’ll just… leave now.”

As he moved towards the door, Remus regained his cognitive abilities. “You’ve been avoiding me because you like me?” he asked.

Sirius nodded.

Acting on pure instinct, Remus strode over to him, pressed their bodies together, and kissed him on the mouth.

His dreams didn’t even compare to the real thing.