#another old edit I found it my drafts

[stllmnstr]

starlight

pairing: yang jungwon x f reader

genre: soulmates au, university au

word count: 13.4k

warnings: swearing, angst (but a happy ending because I’m not a monster), soulmate lore, copious amounts of pining and yearning and sighing

soundtrack: crying over you - honne, beka / a world alone - lorde / this is me trying / invisible string / daylight - taylor swift / spring day - bts / so far away - agust d, suran

note: this was another find in my old drafts that I spent a couple of days editing/rewriting. I have very much been in a jungwon mood these days, and it was fun to venture into some more angsty stuff that I haven't written in a while. happy reading! ♡

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

There’s a word for it. Something that’s whispered behind closed doors, shunned like a bad omen you can’t quite shake.

Glitch. A cruel twist of fate. A failed soulmate match.

Something you’ve been marked as since the countdown on your wrist ticked to 00:00 two long years ago and left you lonelier than ever. Something you’ve been fighting since destiny carved itself into your skin with a dull, lifeless shade of gray.

But fate is a funny thing. And love, as you’ve learned, is often found in the most unexpected places.

or,

fate, with all of its cruel, incandescent scheming, leads straight to yang jungwon.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

The overhead fluorescents in this particular lecture hall always manage to leave you with a pounding headache that even a strong dose of Advil can never quite seem to mitigate. 

“And with time, these bonds only strengthen. Until a point is reached after which both parties would experience immense pain were they to be physically separated, willingly or not.”

Well, it’s either the lightbulbs or your professor’s droning.

Today, his words are slightly muted where they reach your ears, as if you’re underwater. Drowning in a topic that’s been beaten to death a million times over. 

Still, this is information you should be taking in. Or, at the very least, jotting down notes of, since it’s all but guaranteed to appear on your final exam. But no matter how much you will yourself to focus, you can’t get your mind to cooperate. 

After all, it’s bad enough that you’re forced to be here in the first place. 

Sociology 112: Intro to Soulmate Theory. An absolute joke of a class. 

The very foundation your society is built around. A nagging reminder of the grayscale deficiency that stains the skin of your left inner wrist. 

Subconsciously, you tug the left sleeve of your shirt down a little further. There’s no need, not really. You made sure that your mark was fully covered before you left your dorm room this morning. Just like every morning. 

But long standing habits are rarely broken, and the last thing you need now is another reminder of what makes you different. What makes you wrong.

At the front of the lecture hall, your professor pushes forward in that same, monotonous stupor. He’s either unaware or unconcerned by the fact that some of his students may be affected by his lecture on more than just a purely academic level. 

Staring straight ahead, you distract yourself by scanning your professor, eyes taking in his appearance. At the very least, it will make it look as if you’re paying attention to what he’s saying. 

With the signature graying hair most men in their mid-fifties carry, a pair of rather plain, slightly round eyeglasses, and neutral button-down appropriate for most professional settings, there’s nothing particularly noteworthy about your professor. 

Like most people, he gets up in the morning, selects a plain shirt from his modestly sized closet. He enjoys a cup or two of black coffee before embarking on his morning commute to campus, leaving ten minutes earlier than strictly necessary, because he’s convinced it helps him avoid the worst of the morning traffic. 

His life is one of normalcy, you imagine. Nothing that most people would find especially enviable or extraordinary. 

But when he reaches up to point out an example on the lecture slide, the left sleeve of that beige button down lifts, just slightly. 

You only catch a glimpse, a tiny fraction of a look, but you see it all the same. The glossy, shiny, red 00:00 inked into his skin. 

You resist the urge to scratch your wrist. He clicks forward to the next slide. Life goes on.

“As per the syllabus, you’ll be completing projects with an assigned parter on a topic of your choice. Although I encourage you to consult a variety of resources and include several points of view in your project, the only firm guideline is that your topic relates to soulmate theory.”

Several points of view. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Yeah, right. In your experience, any arguments against the traditional soulmate model are scoffed at. Met with nothing but anger and ridicule. 

Although it makes for a miserable life, it does make for a simplistic assignment. Assigned partners are usually the bane of your existence, but no matter how incompetent this one is, you’re sure it will be easy enough to meet up once or twice in the university library and regurgitate common sentiment on how the soulmate system is nothing short of a wondrous gift to humanity. 

Glancing at the clock as your professor officially dismisses class for the morning, you suppose you do have something to thank the heavens for. He’s wrapped up fifteen minutes early, which means you’ll have enough time to grab a coffee before your shift. 

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and once again checking that the fabric of your left sleeve covers your wrist, you slide your laptop into your bag and stand up from your seat. 

No matter what particular strand of bullshit this class dragged you through, today will be a good day. Or at least a comfortingly neutral one. You’re sure of it. 

With one final scan of your desk, you head to the exit at the front of the lecture hall without a backwards glance. 

And in the very back corner of the lecture hall, tucked neatly out of both sight and mind, Yang Jungwon exhales a long sigh before gathering his things. 

…..

“Oh, you are an absolute angel.”

Playful frown tugging at your lips, you ask, “Why is it that you only praise me when I come bearing gifts?”

Jake’s too engrossed with taking a long sip of the matcha latte you just handed him to concern himself with giving your question a real answer. 

Despite his inclination to be most forthcoming with compliments when they’re a payment for caffeine, he’s hands down your favorite coworker. He’s genuinely kind, easygoing in a way that makes even the longest of shifts pass quickly. 

Setting your bag down, you slide into the seat next to his, turning on your desk computer. “Any new applications to process today.”

“Nothing yet.” Jake glances at the empty inbox to confirm his answer. He shrugs, adding, “This time of year is usually fairly slow, though. We tend to get the most applications at the beginning of the semester and around the holidays.”

“Right,” you nod. “That makes sense.” Times when people are fresh on campus, away from home and exploring a new environment for the first time. And times when people are lonely. 

It’s something you understand well. After all, you had been part of the latter group when you submitted your own application. 

Last year was your first year of university, and although the numbers on your wrist had already faded to a dull, matte gray by the time you enrolled, living on campus put you far away from your support system for the first time in your life. 

Even then, you avoided it as long as you could. It hurt something in your pride, felt like admitting a weakness, admitting a flaw. But the truth could only be avoided so long and on one cloudy afternoon in late fall, the loneliness crossed the line from painful to unbearable. 

So, with a rain jacket pulled tight around your body, you made your way to the Student Support Center on campus and sought out help for something you’d been grieving in private for the better part of a year. 

It had still felt like shame, to disclose the details of your condition. To tell another person about the cosmic cruelty etched permanently into the soft skin of your left wrist. 

And then it was done. Your secret belonged to someone else, too. Pain was shared, and over time, started to feel less like a cut and more like a bruise. 

It still ached when you pressed on it, of course, but you felt lighter. Able to breathe a little easier. 

But even with all of the support, all of the work you’ve done to feel a bit more like yourself, pain is still a shadow that lingers at your heels. 

Even now, months later, sitting next to a friend, you suppress the urge to tug at your sleeve again. 

You’re able to see your actions for what they are now. And you suppose it’s the same thing – injured pride, a deep sense of shame, that has you wearing long sleeves even as the last days of late summer cling to the air with stifling heat. 

It’s not as if your unfamiliar with the failure etched into your skin. You know what you would find, what everyone would see if you were to wear short sleeves for once. 

A dull, matte gray 00:00. A reminder of what could’ve been. What should have been, if the universe had just been a little kinder to you. 

Even as days and weeks and months pass you by, you still remember when there was a different number displayed there. One that got smaller with each passing second. One that, like your professor’s, like everyone else’s, glowed a bright, glossy red.

Just like everyone else, you were born with red numbers on your left wrist. There was no sign then, at your birth, that you were different. That you were a glitch. 

Just like your family, just like your friends, just like every stranger you passed in the street, your number was normal. In fact, it was enviable. Mostly because it was so much smaller than average. 

As a child, you’d reveled in it – the comparatively short length of your soulmate countdown. It wasn’t unusual for people to have to wait well into their twenties, thirties, or even forties to find their soulmate. 

But a quick calculation had revealed that your countdown would tick to 00:00 just after your seventeenth birthday. 

It feels stupid now, like some sort of cruel joke, that you ever thought of yourself as lucky. 

You still remember it as if it were yesterday. Two long years ago, at the delicate age of seventeen. On the precipice of a life-changing revelation. A moment that was meant to mark the beginning of your forever. Your happy ending. 

The air was clean that day. Lingering with the fresh scent of the earth after a rainstorm. Rebirth. A sign of something beautiful to come. Dew and humidity clung to you like a second skin as you raced towards the neighborhood park that had been haunting your dreams for the last few weeks. 

Soulmates and the bonds that connect them aren’t magic, not exactly, but there was still something divine about it, the cosmic energy that sang to you. That told you that this particular park was where your life was destined to change. That it was where you were going to meet your soulmate. 

The other person who felt the same gentle tug towards you, whose wrist was stained with a matching countdown, set to tick down to 00:00 at the very second your eyes locked with one another. 

Your heart was racing, nearly beating out of your chest. Your fingertips thrummed with it, that overflow of energy that didn’t come from you but belonged to you all the same. 

And like everyone else, your timer ran out. 

He was there. He was there, and you knew it was him without having to say a word. Across the park, under the shade of an old sycamore tree, you could see it, feel it in his eyes. 

Your soulmate. 

Handsome and a year older than you, if you had to guess. A perfect stranger that you felt like you already knew. That already understood you without the need for words. 

You had been too wrapped up in it, in him, to notice the one striking oddity. Because unlike everyone else, your completed countdown, that ever coveted 00:00, didn’t remain that gorgeous, shiny red. 

No, while your eyes were locked on his, heart singing with unfulfilled dreams and visions of a future you’d never have the privilege of knowing, it had faded to that same dull gray that mocks you now. 

It wasn’t the color that you noticed. It was the burning sensation that finally had you tearing your gaze away from him and landing on the skin of your left wrist. 

Confused, your brow drew together as you tried to make sense of it. As your mind spun, searching for a plausible explanation. 

And when you finally found it in you to look up at him again, the wrongness of it all began to sink in. The way he walked toward you with slow, reluctant steps. The way his mouth pulled tight at the corners, as if he wanted to prevent any words from escaping. 

The wedding ring wrapped around the finger on his left hand. The already occupied space you thought would belong to you one day. 

It was an accident, he told you. Even then, his voice had been steady. He wasn’t pleading for your forgiveness. He didn’t need it. He didn’t need you. 

It was nothing more than a drunken mistake between him and a girl he met at university. One that he wasn’t serious about, but damage had been done nonetheless. A single night that was meant to be a blip, a passing moment in time, but had turned into a child. One that the two of them had already made the decision to raise together. 

A child that had made them both decide to forgo the fate written on their wrists and forge a new life on their own. 

It hurt, he told you, to see you, to know that he was causing you pain. 

But one glance at him confirmed for you that his hurt was different from yours. For one, he could still speak, could form words with that same, even cadence that felt like knives embedding themselves into your skin. 

You had wanted to beg, wanted to scream until your throat was raw. It was him. It was him. He was supposed to be yours, and you were supposed to be his. Wasn’t it the same for him? Didn’t he feel it too?

But his mind was made up and you knew better than to plead with a man who had fought and forsaken destiny itself. 

It wasn’t your fault. He had told that day, and you’ve heard it countless times since then. From your parents. From your closest friends. From your own tear-stained reflection in your bedroom mirror. 

But blame with nowhere to go always had a way of ending up on your shoulders, and empty reassurances never stopped your mind from spinning with painful possibilities on sleepless nights. 

What if we had met sooner? What if he had never met her? What if they never had a child?

Or even worse, 

What if I found him again? Begged him to reconsider? Convinced him to leave her?

In the end, it was pointless. Fate had been written and then rewritten. Would in a tight string and undone in one fell swoop. The stars had aligned and shifted and still remained so terribly out of reach. 

There was nothing you could do, nothing to be done. 

But it didn’t stop the loneliness from seeping in. It was always loudest in the quiet moments, but it never truly left. It didn’t matter where you were – in class, with friends, surrounded by people, or completely alone. There was always an overwhelming sense of loss, of loneliness that followed you wherever you went. 

So last fall, when the burden of it felt too heavy to bear alone, you’d bitten the bullet and applied to your university’s support program for glitches. Although, of course, none of the staff dared to use that word. 

It’s where you first met Jake. And the bright red number on his wrist still ticks evenly, he had a friend once, one that shared a fate similar to yours. One who let the loneliness consume her instead of accepting help. 

Even though it wasn’t through firsthand experience, Jake knew the pain of a failed soulmate match intimately. And after a handful of weeks, you’d found genuine friendship in him. 

After a few months of attending support groups, he was the one who suggested you for an open position on the support team. It was him that thought you might find a renewed sense of purpose, a distinct kind of empathy for the other students on campus with stories like yours. 

You’re grateful beyond words for him, for all of it. For the people and the friendships and the small moments that remind you that life is worth living, even on the hard days. Even when you’re forced to sit through classes on soulmate theory and pretend like long sleeves are nothing but a fashion statement. 

So you’ll take his compliments with a smile, even when they come at the expense of a matcha latte from his favorite campus cafe. You’ll take the hard days and the good days and all the little moments in between. 

He knows it too, even if you don’t say it with words. Even if all you ask is, “The matcha’s good?”

But something in you still smiles, still feels a little lighter, when Jake turns to you with a grin and assures, “Of course.”

…..

If there’s one place you still find to be painfully devoid of optimism, it’s your damn Intro to Soulmate Theory course. Although it’s an important element of existing sociological systems and objectively relevant, it presses on your ever-lingering bruises more than just about anything else in your day-to-day life. 

As if that weren’t enough, it’s a morning class. Which means you’re already in a dreary mood as the clock ticks painfully slow through yet another monotone lecture. 

Thankfully, your professor’s cadence is beginning to slow, a surefire signal that class is drawing to an end. Again, you glance up at the clock, a spark of pleasant surprise flickering through your mind. Could you really be so lucky as to get out early two classes in a row? 

At the front of the hall, your professor scans his notes one final time. Nodding slightly, you really think he’s about to let you go ten minutes ahead of schedule. 

But then his eyes pause at the bottom of the page, a reminder he missed the first time. 

“Before we wrap up for the day,” he says, and you suppress the urge to groan audibly. “As I mentioned last class, you’ll be completing your next assignment in partners.”

That’s right. You’d almost forgot. Ugh, as if the disappointment of a full length lecture hadn’t been bad enough. 

“The instructions, rubric, and due date can all be found on your syllabus, and as always, you’re welcome to email me or attend office hours with any additional questions you may have. I’ve already taken the initiative to place you in pairs, so please listen for your name.”

Glancing down at his notes again, he reads out the first pair. 

“Kim Sunoo and Lee Heeseung.”

As he moves through the seemingly endless list of names, you begin to tune out. Have there always been this many people in this class? Admittedly, this is not a lecture that often commands your attention, but it seems like something you should have picked up on. 

A minute later, spurred by the sudden sound of your own name, your attention snaps back into focus. 

“... and Yang Jungwon.”

Yang Jungwon. 

It’s a name you’ve heard in passing, maybe. But it’s not one you’re familiar with. 

Standing as the list draws to a conclusion, you begin to look around the emptying lecture hall. You figure it might be easiest to exchange information now, but you’re not sure if you’ll be able to find him with everyone else trying to do the same. 

Sighing, you decide to try for a minute or two before just resorting to looking up his email on the online class list later and sending him a message there. 

Ultimately, it’s him who finds you. 

“___?” At the sound of your name, you spin around, looking back over your shoulder. 

His presence, like his voice, is unassuming. Still, as your eyes land on who you assume must be Yang Jungwon, there’s something about him that makes you want to keep looking. 

Dark hair falls over his forehead, framing equally dark eyes. Dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and oversized jeans, the attention doesn’t seem like something he’d seek out. Even now, he doesn’t quite match your gaze. 

“Yeah,” you affirm, somewhat breathless. “Yang Jungwon?”

“Just Jungwon is fine.” He smiles, but it’s a tight, strained thing. Doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s pressing forward before you have time to linger on it. “Do you want to go ahead an exchange information now? I’ll get my final training schedule this afternoon, so I can message you when I have a better idea of when I’ll be able to meet up.”

Well, he seems competent enough. Or at the very least, willing to put in effort. It’s more than you can say for most of the assigned partners you’ve been given. And it’s pleasant surprise in a string of disappointments and what is surely going to be a miserable project to work on. 

“That sounds good,” you nod, reaching for your phone. You open a new contact before handing it to him to fill out. As he types, you watch a strand of hair fall over his eyes. He doesn’t bother to brush it away, even as your fingertips itch with the sudden urge to. 

Instead, you busy yourself with asking a question. “Training schedule?” you echo his earlier words. “Are you an athlete?”

If he’s put off by your probing, he doesn’t show it. Steady as ever, he continues typing. “Mhm,” he hums. “Taekwondo team.”

“Ah,” you nod. “That’s cool.” Accepting your phone back, you type your name into the newly created chat. “Here, I sent you a message with my name, so you have my information, too. I work in the afternoons, but I have a pretty consistent schedule. Once you have your training times, we can figure out when we’re both free.”

Glancing at the message that comes through on his end, Jungwon confirms, “Perfect.” Hiking his bag a little further up on his shoulder, he pauses for a moment before turning his gaze towards the door at the front of the lecture hall. 

In the time that’s elapsed, most of the other students have made their way towards it. The room is significantly more empty than it was a handful of minutes ago. Still, Jungwon lingers for a moment. 

Finally, he looks back at you. This time, he does meet your eyes. 

You know it’s nothing but the overhead lights. The same obnoxious fluorescents that always give you a pounding headache. But reflected in his dark, searching gaze, they almost look like starlight. 

“I’ll see you around, then,” he says before turning towards the door. 

And if you let your gaze linger just a little too long on his retreating back, you’ll be grateful that no one is paying you enough attention to notice. 

…..

Your dinner is cleaned up, skincare is completed, and the events from your day are blurring into a sleepy sort of haze when his first message reaches you. 

9:36 pm Yang Jungwon I got my final training schedule. Looks like I should be free Tuesday and Thursday afternoons after 4 if that works for you?

Double checking your work schedule, you type a reply. 

9:38 pm You I work on Tuesdays until 6 but I can do Thursday at 4. 

9:39 pm Yang Jungwon Let’s plan on Thursday then 👍 Meet you at the library? I’ll reserve a study room on the first floor. 

9:40 pm You Sounds good, see you then!

With the semester well underway, Thursday is quick to roll around. Other than a quick wave and a small smile towards him during your last shared lecture, you haven’t had any contact with Jungwon since your last messages. 

Even though it’s still only early afternoon, you’re already feeling the weight of a busy day weighing on you when you arrive at the library. A handful of minutes before four, you’re working to locate the study room Jungwon just sent you the number of. 

Navigating your way through frazzled study groups and overworked, overcaffeinated upperclassmen, you finally find it with a few minutes to spare. Pulling the door open slowly, you’re half surprised to see that he’s arrived even earlier than you. 

Early and straight from practice, you assume, if his still slightly damp hair is anything to go by. Freshly showered, the faint smell of his shampoo reaches you where you slide down into the seat across from him. 

“Good call on the study room,” you add after your initial greeting. “I always forget how packed the library is once the semester really gets going.”

“Right?” Jungwon agrees. “I have a friend who swore by them last year, and now I’ll never go back.

“Letting you in on the study room secret,” you grin, pulling out your laptop. “That’s a true friend right there.”

“Yeah.” Something in Jungwon’s gaze softens as he nods. There’s a distinct fondness in his eyes, one that makes you think there’s a story there. One about more than just study rooms. “He is.”

When you finish settling in, you pull up your course syllabus again, clicking on the link to the assignment guidelines. “So,” you start, scanning the page one more time, “the instruction seem pretty straightforward. It looks liek we just need to pick a topic within the realm of soulmate theory and discuss recent research or developments.”

Swallowing the sudden lump in your throat, you suppress the urge to tug at your left sleeve. Eyes honing in on the screen in front of you, you force yourself into a practiced state of detachment. The one you always revert back into when discussing this particular topic. 

“I don’t know if you have a topic in mind already,” you shrug, “but I’m pretty much open to anything.”

Across from you, Jungwon’s teeth start to worry at his bottom lip. He hesitates for a moment, the room suspended in silence before he ventures, “What about –” Shaking his head slightly, his words die on his lips. “Never mind.”

Looking up at him, you frown. “Is there something you’re interested in?”

“No.” Jungwon shakes his head again. “I doubt there would be any recent research, anyway.”

“Okay,” you concede. Part of you wants to push further, but you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. Instead, you type in a quick search. “I just pulled up some recent research topics, and it looks like there’s been development related to countdown colors and location based soulmate matches.” Ignoring the sudden slight burning sensation on your left wrist, you fight to maintain an even tone as you ask, “Do either of those sound interesting to you?”

Jungwon pauses for a moment, considering. “Maybe location based matches?”

Exhaling, you release a breath you hadn’t been meaning to hold. With a small nod, you tell him, “That sounds good. Let’s look for publications to reference today.  We can divide them between us before we go and then take notes on them separately. We can meet up again next week at the same time to start an outline, if that works for you. We have a little over four weeks until the final paper is due, so that should give us a decent start.” 

“Yeah,” Jungwon agrees. “That works for me.”

Returning to your computer, you fight the urge to steal small glances at him as he does the same. In the minutes that follow, a silence settles around you. It’s not horribly awkward, but you still find yourself itching to fill it with something. 

Finally, you bite the bullet. “Would it be okay with you if I put some music on? Just something instrumental.”

Glancing up at you, your eyes meet. Again, you’re not sure how he does it. But tucked away in a library study room, his gaze reflects the lights above you in a way that looks all too much like starlight. “Sure,” Jungwon nods. 

Forcing your gaze back to your screen, you navigate to your study playlist and put it on shuffle. The first handful of notes spill into the silence, a calm piano melody that cuts through some of the stagnance. 

A handful of classical pieces and a dozen journal articles later, Jungwon breaks the easy rhythm the two of you have fallen into. “Clair de Lune,” he names the tune that has just begun to weave itself around the room. A small smile turns the corners of his lips upwards. “This is on my study playlist, too.”

You offer him a matching smile in return. A soft thing. A shared moment. “You like this song?” It makes sense. A boy with stars in his eyes listening to a love letter to the moon. 

“Yeah,” he nods. The quiet melody sings through the air, floats around tentative glances, delicate breaths. Lands lightly on two sets of shoulders. “You know, you’re better than I am. I always end up turning on my regular playlist and then singing along to the songs instead of actually working on anything.”

That earns him a full blown smile. “Believe me,” you lean in like it’s a secret. Something meant just for the two of you. “I do that more than I probably should, too.”

A shared grin later, the two of you are back to your own laptop screens. 

Even though it’s your study playlist that continues to filter softly through your speaker, you find yourself distracted for a different reason.

It’s all too easy to imagine.

Jungwon, alone in his room, eyes sparkling even as he fights off the clutches of sleep. A song playing through his speaker. An old favorite, maybe, or perhaps something he heard on the radio and hasn’t been able to get out of his head since. One that he sings along to softly, assignments lying untouched on the desk in front of him. 

…..

Despite your newfound fondness of your project partner, you’re sure that Intro to Soulmate Theory will continue to be your most dreaded class until the end of the semester releases you from its twice-a-week morning monotony. 

The universe, as always, seems determined to prove you wrong, though. 

Just as your professor steps into position behind the podium at the front of the lecture hall, a person slides down into the usually unoccupied seat just to the left of yours. 

Startled, you glance up .

“Jungwon?”

“Hey,” the boy in question smiles. Switching to a whisper as the professor begins his lecture, he adds, “I’m glad I made it on time. I thought for sure I was going to be late.”

Sliding his bag off of his shoulder, he pulls out his computer and finishes settling into the seat next to yours. Then, he sets something on the desk in front of you. “I brought this for you, by the way.”

Eyes landing on the iced coffee in front of you, you can’t find it in yourself to do anything but stare for a moment. 

“I noticed you have one sometimes, in this class.” With your silence, Jungwon suddenly seems unsure of himself. “I wasn’t sure what your order was, so I just guessed based on color. And I mean, light brown can be just about anything with iced coffee, so I hope you like it. I probably should have just asked, but…” he trails off, and you don’t think you imagine the light dusting of pink that settles across his cheekbones. “But I thought it would be nicer as a surprise.”

“I – thank you.” The fondness that’s been growing since your time together in library study room begins to swell again.

You glance at him, and your heart gives a strange, unsteady lurch. Not entirely unpleasant, but disquieting all the same. For a moment, it feels like something bigger. Something more.

Something you haven’t felt since a humid afternoon in a neighborhood park that you’ve been trying to forget for a long time. 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Jungwon shrugs, but his cheeks retain their color. “I was stopping by the cafe anyway.” He gestures to the coffee on his own desk, proof of his claim. “Besides, it’s what a partner’s for.”

“Well, thank you,” you repeat. “I –”

“Again,” the sound of your professor’s voice, suddenly sharp, cuts through your words. “I’d like to give a firm reminder to you all that my lectures are not an appropriate place to carry on side conversations. Feel free to exit the room and forfeit your attendance points for the day if you are unable to refrain.”

Thoroughly cowed, you shrink back into your seat as a few wandering pairs of eyes land on you. 

At your side, Jungwon shakes with a silent hint of laughter. 

Despite the humiliation of essentially being asked to shut up in front of an entire lecture hall, the sight is enough to have you smiling. 

And when the two of you part ways an hour later with matching smiles and a promise to see each other again Thursday afternoon, your heart feels lighter than it has in ages. 

…..

When Thursday afternoon comes, it finds you and Jungwon tucked away in the same study room, sitting across from one another, laptops open, and outline for your project halfway formed. 

This time, the drinks that sit on the table in front of you are courtesy of your wallet. The iced coffee Jungwon brought you a few mornings ago wasn’t your usual order, but it is what you’re sipping on now. You can’t quite decide what you enjoy more: the taste or the sentiment. 

Either way, you have a feeling that a tradition of sorts may be blooming. 

You can’t say that you mind. It’s nice to have something to look forward to, to have someone to share it with. It doesn’t matter that it’s small. It doesn’t matter that it’s just an unexpected coffee to help a study session pass by just a bit faster. It feels nice, to be considered. To be thought of. It feels… special. 

With the same instrumental study playlist filtering through your laptop speaker, the two of you exchange a smile when Clair de Lune begins to play. 

With startling clarity, you realize that you enjoy this. It’s pleasant. A project that you were dreading with dragging feet has become something you look forward to. 

And you’re sure that it’s because of him. 

Despite the fact that you’re poring over research that would sting like a slap to the face under any other circumstances, Jungwon’s presence has a way of soothing the ache. Even as you scan over another promising article detailing the current research on soulmate matches in various geographic regions, you find yourself fighting smiles. Stealing glances. 

All Jungwon is doing is sitting next to you. Occasionally trading mindless conversations with you. But that’s enough to keep the reminders of a tragic fate lost to decisions and circumstances out of your control at bay for the time being. 

You’re not sure what it is, not sure why it seems to reach you somewhere that’s remained untouched for years, but the more time you spend with Jungwon, the more you start to like it. 

That odd sensation that almost feels like butterflies in your stomach. The stilted rhythm of a heartbeat that almost feels like it’s running a little faster, skipping a step every now and then. 

The warmth that sits high on your cheekbones and heats almost like a flustered blush whenever he catches your eye for a little too long. 

A million little almosts. A thousand little possibilities. The lingering ghost of a hundred somethings you thought you lost along with the dead countdown on your wrist two long years ago. 

But you don’t let yourself voice these thoughts. You’re afraid to even let your mind linger on them for too long. 

If it does, you’re worried that it will twist and tarnish whatever is taking flight into something ugly, something rotten. Will convince you that this glimmer of peace you’ve found is living on borrowed time and will only bring a future of misery in its wake. 

Because the semester will end, the class will finish, and your project will be submitted. 

Yang Jungwon will become nothing but a moment in time. A blip on a radar. A distant memory that you hope you’ll reflect on with fondness. 

Time will continue on with its incessant march, and the countdown on your wrist will still be that ugly, faded, gray. 

It doesn’t matter if the moments that pass between the two of you feel like almosts. Your fate was already written and unraveled by another man who didn’t want you. 

You’re a failure. A glitch. 

Pretty words and sideways glances and unexpected gestures imbued with kindness won’t change that. Won’t fix you. 

Yang Jungwon will move on from this project, from this class, from you. 

The countdown that you’re sure must tick bright red on his wrist will continue to get smaller and smaller, and you will be nothing but a forgotten memory. 

You’re not sure why it’s so upsetting, here in the sanctity of the study room. Not sure why this series of truths you’ve always known is suddenly so devastating. But something about the way they swirl in the recesses of your mind had you flailing, desperate for air, for distance, for space. 

Out loud, you choke out a halfhearted excuse about stepping out for a moment. The concern that immediately flickers across Jungwon’s features barely registers in your panic induced stupor. 

You need to go. Need to get away. Need to find somewhere to be alone and away from all of it, from him. You can’t breathe – 

“___?” You hear your name. You know it’s him. Hear him ask gently, “Are you okay?”

But it’s muffled. It’s all wrong. 

In your haste to escape, you knock over the gift, your gesture of goodwill in the form of coffee you bought for Jungwon. 

You watch, horrified, as it falls in slow motion. Hot, dark liquid spills over the table, narrowly avoiding his laptop and class notes. 

Of course. Of course you ruined this, too. 

“It’s okay,” you think you hear him say as he reaches for a spare napkin, dabbing at the growing puddle. But it’s not. It’s not. 

He reaches for his bag, pulling out another handful of napkins from the front pocket. Instinctively, he rolls up his sleeve, the left one, to wipe up the rest of the excess liquid. 

That’s when you see it. The inky 00:00 on the inside of his left wrist. 

It’s not red. It’s not shiny. It doesn’t make sense for him. A boy with stars in his eyes should have love on his skin. 

But even as you blink again, it remains unchanged. It’s a dull, muted, lifeless gray. 

A reflection, a twin, a copy of your own. 

A moment too late, his eyes fall to the skin of his wrist too. With the practiced reflexes of a trained athlete, he’s pulling it down just as quickly as he rolled it up. But it’s too late. You’ve already seen the truth. 

Shared pain. Shared shame. 

It grounds you. Reaching out a hand, you take a few napkins from the top of the pile. 

“Here,” you offer, voice unbearably small. A million questions swim in your mind, none of which you’ll ask. “I can help.” Hollow words and a hollow sentiment. There’s nothing you can do for him, and he knows it just as well. As luck would have it, spilled coffee is the least of your shared concerns. 

Nonetheless, the two of you wipe up the remainder of the spill in silence, a gentle piano melody still weaving its way around the space between the two of you. It wraps itself around both of your stained wrists, threads an invisible string between two lost souls, two shared fates. 

Finally, after long minutes, you are the first one to speak. “It didn’t get on your computer, did it?”

“No,” Jungwon shakes his head. He reaches an outstretched hand towards you, taking the soiled napkins you still hold before discarding them in the trash can. “Just the table.”

“That’s good.” A moment passes. Two. And then, “I’m sorry.” You’re not sure what you’re apologizing for. You’re not sure what you should be apologizing for. In the end, you take the easy way out. “I should have paid better attention to where your cup was. You can finish mine, if you want.”

“That’s okay.” Running a hand through his hair, Jungwon explains, “I usually only drink it hot.”

“I can get you a new one –”

“Really,” he insists. “It’s okay.”

And it is. You can tell that he’s not upset, not about the coffee. But the tension is still there. Has yet to vacate the room. Has yet to drain from the tight line in his shoulders. 

You saw it. You have the sinking suspicion that he knows you saw it. 

That puts you at a crossroads. You can act as if nothing has happened, pretend that you saw nothing and do your best to return to your project. 

But you’ve had friends and family tiptoe around you for the last two years, and it never left you feeling anything but empty. Even more unwanted, more of an anomaly. More of a glitch. 

You don’t want Jungwon to feel those things. Don’t want him to feel as if he has to carry all of his pain by himself. So, you try your best, in a steady voice, hiding the shake in your hands underneath the cover of the table in front of you. 

“You know,” you nod towards his arm, taking great care to keep any sign of judgement clear from your voice. “I actually work at the Student Support Center. I know it’s rare, but there are lots of people and resources there dedicated to helping people that… struggle with soulm–”

“I think we should just work on the project.” Jungwon’s lips are tight, drawn into a thin line. Avoiding your gaze, he sinks a little further into his chair. Even with his eyes trained on the floor beneath him, you can see the tension in his jaw, the uneasy tapping of his fingers against his leg.

The way he tugs at the sleeve that sits over his left wrist makes you want to press matters further, to push just a little more until he knows that he has you on his side, but you’ll respect his wishes. 

You may have shared moments between the two of you, but you don’t know him, not really. The boundaries he sets are not yours to push. The lines he draws are not yours to cross. 

The last thing you want to do is increase his discomfort, even if you have the sinking feeling that you’ve already done just that. 

“Okay, yeah.” You take a deep inhale. “I overstepped. I’m sor–”

But Jungwon just shakes his head again. “Don’t worry about it.”

…..

But you do. 

You worry about it when you head back to your down nearly an hour later, after bidding him a goodnight that was still riddled with tension. 

You worry about it as you prepare dinner, accidentally leaving the stovetop on long after you’ve finished cooking. 

You worry about it as you try to fall asleep, unsettling thoughts of Jungwon suffering from the same pain, the same shame you’ve been hiding for the last two years. Distantly, you wonder how long it’s been for him. 

You worry about it when you arrive at your next Intro to Soulmate Theory lecture, two coffees in hand. 

Your worry turns to dread when long minutes tick by and still, the seat on your left remains horribly unoccupied, coffee going cold where it sits untouched on the desk. 

You worry when you arrive at work, the handful of messages you’ve sent still unanswered no matter how many times you check your phone. 

10:47 am You Hi Jungwon, sorry if this is annoying but you weren’t in class today and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay

10:58 am You I’m really sorry about the other day at the library. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

1:32 pm You Hey let me know when you see this. I just really want to make sure you’re okay. 

You’ve typed and deleted a million more, unsure of how to best approach the situation. You’re not close to one another, not really. You’re not even friends. You’re project partners, and not even of your own volition. 

You can’t seek him out, because you don’t know where he lives. Who he talks to. What his schedule is. 

The whole situation has you feeling a bit helpless. Your shift passes in an absentminded blur as you try to piece together some kind of solution, some way of making sure he’s okay. 

In your daze, you hardly notice that the clock has ticked all the way to the end of your shift. Jake finds you, an apologetic smile on his features. 

His voice sounds far away, muddled as he asks you for a favor, asks if you’d be willing to pull a double tonight since the person on the evening shift just called out sick. 

Usually you’d be hesitant, but right now you’re desperate for a distraction. Something to take your mind off of the fear that gnaws at your gut. 

But through the fog in your mind, you’ve forgotten one thing. In your old schedule, evening shifts were always your favorite. Primarily because they’re significantly slower than the daytime ones. Back then, the reprieve had been welcome, and you’d used the extra time to finish up assignments between tasks. 

But now, every agonizing minute feels like an eternity. 

And it’s an especially slow night tonight. From your office seat, you watch as the light rain showers outside turn into a torrential downpour. With a sigh, you resign yourself to the fact that no one will be visiting tonight. No one will want to leave their home in weather like this. 

In the silence, you’re left alone with your thoughts. Again, you check your phone screen, hoping that sometime in the last three minutes since you last checked, there will be a notification to ease your worries. 

But there’s nothing. The only thing that stares back at you is the time and the faint outline of your own reflection. 

Frustrated, you set your phone back down. There has to be something you can do. You’re halfway convinced that you should just go through everyone on your class list and send emails until someone knows something when the sound of the chime that hangs above the front door to the center rings out against the silence. 

Peering over your computer, you frown. Maybe Jake forgot something. 

But as the person draws closer, a familiar shape begins to solidify. And it’s not your favorite coworker. 

“Jungwon?” It’s him. You’re sure of it. Even if he looks more like a drowned cat than the boy you share a study room with. 

Your brow furrows, a strange mix of confusion and relief coloring your features as you stand from your seat. A million emotions flicker through your mind, running too fast for you to fully keep up. Annoyance that he’s been avoiding you and your messages. Confusion as to why he’s here now. And above it all, cold, sharp relief that he seems to be okay. 

But then you let your eyes scan him, falling from his dark hair to his soaked sneakers. 

He’s absolutely drenched, down to the bone. Rain soaked hair falls over his eyes, stray drops streaking over his cheeks, his nose, his jaw. Dripping from his dark eyelashes. His clothes, usually baggy, cling a bit closer to his frame with the added weight of precipitation. 

And his eyes. His sparkling, shining eyes full of starlight. 

They’re frantic now, imbued with a panic you recognize all too well. 

“Jungwon,” you repeat, letting your strides eat up the ground as you close the distance that separates you. 

He’s shaking, you realize. His entire body trembles. Without thinking, without even really meaning to, your hands reach up to smooth some of his dark, wet hair away from his eyes. Your touch only intensifies his shivering. 

He stands, motionless, dripping on the floor. He still can’t match your gaze, has yet to breathe a single word to you. 

“You’re shaking.” You can’t help but state the obvious. Removing your hand from his temple, you reach for his hand. It’s cold, too. Raindrops melt against your skin as you touch your skin to his. Finding no resistance, you envelop his hand in your own. 

Tugging slightly, you pull him into a nearby room, stopping only to grab a warm blanket. Guiding him gently into a chair, you drape it over his shoulders, let it cover his entire body beneath his neck. 

Stepping away from him, you begin to brew a warm cup of tea. After another minute of silence, you hand it to him wordlessly. 

You watch him take a tentative sip. His fingertips are red, evidence of the lingering chill in his bones, where he wraps them around the mug. 

A million questions bubble in your throat. You breathe life into none of them. Silence settles around the both of you. Not entirely unpleasant, but brimming with something heavy. 

You’re not sure how much time passes like that. It could be minutes, could be hours. Could be something not bound by the rules and restraints of physics at all. 

But soon enough, the mug is empty. Jungwon sighs. 

“I just,” he finally breathes, and you feel your heart clench in your chest. Seizing like his pain belongs to you. His voice is ragged, scraped raw. And so, so quiet. “I couldn’t be alone.” There’s a tremble in his fingertips when he adds, “Not tonight.”

“You’re not,” you assure him, shaking your head as you step closer. After a moment of consideration, you slide down into the seat next to him. “I promise you. You’re not alone.”

Jungwon closes his eyes, lets his head fall back against the wall. You watch as his throat works around a swallow. 

“Okay,” he finally whispers. 

You mean it. He’s not alone. You won’t let him be. Not for the remainder of your shift. Not when the early traces of dawn start to streak in through the windows, clouds parting in the morning sky as the rain releases its grip on the world. 

Not as the sun starts to peek its head over the horizon, painting the sky in pastel watercolors and the promise of a new day. 

Even then, it’s just the two of you. Jugwon’s head it still against the wall. His eyes are closed, but you know he’s not sleeping. 

You don’t move until he does. Until he asks in a small voice if you’ll meet him at the coffee shop the two of you have started to become regular at. 

Until you honor his request with a nod and a promise to see him again in an hour. 

…..

The coffee shop is mostly empty this early in the morning. You watch, sipping absentmindedly on your iced coffee as a handful of patrons come and go, moving about their day blissfully unaware of the way your world feels a bit like it’s spinning on its axis. 

But you feel distant from them, too. 

The corner table you and Jungwon occupy feels private, secluded. A bit like the study room you’re also well acquainted with. A fitting place for revelations. 

After a minute of baited silence, Jungwon begins all at once, coffee warm between his hands. 

His match was supposed to be in a park, too. 

It’s interesting – the research you’ve been reading on location based matches supports claims that soulmate bonds prefer open air, areas surrounded by nature. Ironic then, that both of yours should end like this. 

Jungwon’s fate was set in stone later than yours. His match failed a year ago. Exactly a year ago. Today is an anniversary for him, a terrible reminder of your shared fate, shared shame. 

It was supposed to be in a park. His favorite one. A place he went often, a place he loved. He hasn’t been back since. 

Not when that eerie, cosmic, magnetic pull of destiny tugged at him until he was sitting on a bench, next to the rose garden that had just begun to bloom. 

Not when his breath stopped the second she arrived, and he knew, he knew that it was her. He was looking at his destiny. His soulmate. 

But she wasn’t looking at him. 

Not when he stood up to greet her, to meet his future with a wide smile and a fresh bouquet of wildflowers just as the shiny, red numbers on his wrist drew closer and closer to zero. 

Not when he watched, a distinct sort of dread building in the pit of his stomach, as someone emerged from the opposite side of the garden. He wasn’t carrying wildflowers, but he did hold a single, ruby red rose. 

Not when time ticked on, revealing with every steady, agonizing second that this stranger had the same intentions, the same plan. 

The same countdown. The same fate. 

Not when he watched, motionless, helpless, as this stranger met her first. 

Not when he watched in abject horror as both of their faces lit up with smiles. When she took the rose from him with care in her touch and love in her eyes. 

Not when he looked down at his own wrist, vision blurring as tears began to gather in his eyes, as bright, shiny red faded to a dull, lifeless gray. 

Not when he was a failure, a miscalculation. An unfortunate needle in a haystack of success stories. A glitch. 

Not when he watched the woman that was meant to be the love of his life fall into the arms of another man and leave him standing there alone. Lonely. Forgotten. 

Not when his fingers began to shake so bad that he couldn’t maintain the grip on the bouquet. 

Wildflowers stained the earth beneath him in a garish array of too bright colors, and he knew, even then, that part of his heart would be left there to die, too. 

Even now, in the seat across from you in the cafe, you can see the toll it takes on him. 

So you strain for a fragment of twisted comfort in the only way you know how. A reassurance that this particular cruelty is not his alone. That somehow, in an unlikely twist of fate, your paths crossed. 

Laying your left arm on the table between you, you slowly drag the bottom of your sleeve up. Only an inch. And only for a moment. 

It’s not a lot. Against the tides of his own agony, it’s nothing at all. But for now, it’s enough. 

…..

There’s an odd sort of balance, a distinct sense of comfort that comes from the simple act of understanding. Of being understood. 

It’s not quite as easy, as lighthearted as it was before, but you and Jungwon are quick to fall into a new kind of simple rhythm with one another. One that saves space for the intricacies of your shared pain and shame while still keeping them at an arm’s distance. 

It’s not solace. But it is something. 

You’re off tiptoes and on solid ground. For the first time in your life, you don’t feel the need to constantly check the length of your left sleeve. At least, not when you’re with him. You don’t have to pretend that it doesn’t hurt to sit through hours of lectures on soulmate theory every week. 

You don't have to explain any of it. Jungwon just gets it. He already knows. 

But when you meet him for your next Thursday study session, two coffees in hand, Jungwon’s eyes aren’t sparkling with their usual stars. There’s something different there now. A kind of fire you haven’t seen from him before. One that glimmers with determination. 

As you slide down into the seat across from him, he skips all pleasantries and says instead, “I think we should switch our project topic.”

It takes a concentrated effort not to knock over the coffee you set down in front of you for the second time in the span of weeks. “What?” At this point, your outline has long been finished and you’re well into writing your report. The thought of changing topics with barely a week left until the submission deadline is absolutely ludicrous. “Why?”

Jungwon doesn’t miss a beat. “I think we should do our project on glitches.”

You recoil as if you’ve been slapped. 

Glitch. It’s a word people usually tiptoe around, whisper behind closed doors. Not meant for respectable society and certainly has no place in a university research paper. 

You don’t even take a second to consider. “No.”

“What?” Now Jungwon is the one who looks surprised. Brow creasing, he presses. “Why? I mean, we’re both gl–”

“I said no.” You can’t hear him say it again. Features falling, Jungwon’s confusion begins to mingle with hurt at the sound of your sharp rejection. This might not be something that you’re willing to compromise, but your intention was never to hurt him, either. 

Sighing, you explain, “Look, I’m just not comfortable with it. Besides, we’ve done so much work on this topic already. It doesn’t make sense to switch so close to the deadline.”

Only a fraction of what you’ve said seems to resonate. After a pregnant pause, Jungwon echoes. “Not… comfortable.” His tone is flat, as if your words are indecipherable to him. 

He doesn’t continue, but you can tell that he has more to say. Can sense the words bubbling on his lips, begging to drip from his tongue. This is already a sensitive subject, and it’s made even more so by the way he tiptoes around it. 

Across from him, your cross your arms across your chest. “I can tell that you have something else to see.” You don’t mean to be combative, don’t mean to start anything. But annoyance is starting to creep in. It’s dragging dread along with it, like an old friend, like a dangerous reminder. 

“It’s nothing.” Jungwon shakes his head. “I guess I just don’t…” He trails off for a moment, deciding how best to tread treacherous territory. “How can you not be comfortable? I mean, you’re a glitch like me. Aren’t you curious at all? About why we glitched? If there’s anything we can do to fix it?”

And there it is. The lingering fear you’ve been working for two long years to overcome. The deep, aching insecurity that beneath it all, this is all your fault. That something is fundamentally wrong with you. “Fix me, you mean.”

Jungwon frowns. “I mean, I guess you could look at it that way, but I’m more curious about what kind of solutions there are.” He presses on, oblivious to the way every word sounds like nails on a chalkboard to you. The way every syllable pierces like a knife against your skin. 

He’s not overflowing with hopelessness where he sits across from you. No, he’s enthusiastic as he tells you, “I did some research the other day, actually, and there’s this one scholar who thinks that all glitches happen for a reason. He thinks that you can still meet your soulmate and get your countdown to turn back to red if–”

“Stop.” Your voice is too loud, too sharp, too much, for the scant space of this small room. “Please,” you’re whispering now, but Jungwon flinches all the same. “Just stop.”

Jungwon’s eyebrows draw into a tight furrow. You thought he understood, but he doesn’t. He still doesn’t get it. He tells you as much. “I don’t understand why you’re so against it. I mean, we finally have a chance to look into why we gli–”

“I said, stop.” Jungwon looks as if you’ve pushed him. Dumped ice cold water over his head and left him out to dry.

But now he’s angry, too. There’s an accusation in his words when he says lowly, “I thought you would understand.” 

And you do. You know how flowers wither when they’re left to die without any water. You know how love blossoms and blooms and dies all within the span of a single breath. You know what it feels like to carry a constant reminder of your most intimate pain seared into your skin, your soul. 

There was a time when you wanted to be fixed, too. When you would have given anything to have a second chance at that day in the park two years ago. When you were sure if you could just do it again, you would walk away with a different fate. A red countdown. A soulmate. 

But the longer you spent with your grief, the more you realized that it didn’t matter. The what ifs didn’t matter. The maybes didn’t matter. The almosts didn't’ matter. 

You can’t reverse time. You can’t turn back the clock until your countdown glows red again. You don’t get a second chance at that afternoon in the park. 

All you get is the life you have now. And you can grieve for what you’ve lost. Part of you always will. But if you spend the rest of your life lingering on it, obsessed with it, trying to fix it, then that’s all your life will be. 

You won’t just lose a soulmate. You’ll lose yourself, too. 

You’ll lose new friendships and favorite coworkers and every goal and dream you’ve ever had. You’ll lose quiet moments in secluded study rooms, trading smiles and sharing coffee. You’ll lose every shred of happiness in search of something that never really existed. 

Sitting here now, across from Jungwon, you’re not just angry. You feel stupid, too. Ridiculous for ever thinking that maybe, just maybe, butterflies bloomed in the pit of his stomach when he looked at you, too. 

That maybe, just maybe, when he matched your gaze, your eyes turned ordinary things into starlight, too. 

But even with gray on his wrist and pain in his heart, the distance between the two of you has never felt wider. 

Jungwon won’t even match your eye now. He aims for the heart instead. “You know, you’re the only person I’ve ever met who I thought would understand. Who knows what it’s like. To lose the only thing in life that really matters.” His voice is small, but it’s teeming with frustration, with misplaced anger. There’s an unmistakable fury in his eyes when he finally lets his gaze land on yours. But you know him now, even better than you thought. You see the pain just as clearly. The confusion, the hurt. 

And where he expects to find an apology, or perhaps some sort of agreement, he’s met only with a rage to rival his own. 

“Fuck you.” It’s barely decipherable under your breath, but he catches it, even if just barely. 

“What?”

You double down. “I said, fuck you, Jungwon. How dare you. You think you’re the only one who’s ever been hurt, the only person that this stupid fucking system screwed over?” And now your anger has been let loose, the floodgates opened. It rises, ebbs and flows like waves against a shore. Weathering over all the sharp pieces and jagged edges that time hasn’t yet managed to erode. Spills over onto the table like his forgotten coffee from weeks ago.

“Why do you think I work at the support center? Why do you think you’ve never seen me in a short sleeve shirt?”

You’re angry and you’re hurting and you understand his pain. But it’s worse this time. You don’t know why his determination to fix his failed soulmate match stings like rejection. You can’t figure out why it burns in a way that’s all too reminiscent of that afternoon in the park two years ago. 

You feel it all, under your skin like an itch you can’t scratch, an ache you can’t get rid of. You don’t know why he didn’t just stop when you asked him, why he won’t just listen to you.

“At least you get to wonder what might have happened.” You don’t mean to do it, to throw his hurt back in his face. To compare pain, to stack your scars against one another and measure them like there’s a winner in this game. “I met my soulmate. I met him and talked to him and fell in love with him and he still didn’t want me. It doesn’t matter what some scholar says. You can’t fucking fix that.”

You’re standing before you know it, heading to the door before you mean to. But you can’t stay here, can’t watch him look at you like that. Not when every word that passes between you opens wounds you’ve spent ages trying to clean. 

Not when you know that none of it, even the parts you’d hoped you’d remember fondly, were ever done intentionally. He didn’t mean to hurt you. Didn’t mean to give you butterflies or look at you with starlight in his eyes, and that only makes it worse. 

You’re already beneath the doorframe when you find it in yourself to add, “You’re hurting and you’re lonely and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. You don’t deserve that pain, and you never will. But I refuse to do this again, to spend the rest of my life thinking there’s something wrong with me. That it’s my fault, that I can fix everything, fix myself, if I just try hard enough. My matched glitched.” You still can’t quite say the word without flinching. “I’m a glitch. But I refuse to let that be the only thing I am.”

When the door shuts behind you, it echoes, even in the crowded hallway. 

Your footsteps feel too heavy as they eat up the ground between you and the front door of the library. The late autumn air feels too cold as you walk back to your dorm, enveloped in the quiet of the evening, mind screaming with misplaced rage. 

The silence of your dorm room is too loud as you sit alone in it. 

And the mark on your wrist is too gray, no matter how you look at it. 

…..

Jungwon is antsy. 

Even with the space of a day between him and your argument, he’s brimming with a sort of uncontained energy that will only spell trouble if he doesn’t find a way to channel it. 

Taekwondo practice helps, albeit only slightly. Physically, at least, it grounds him. There’s a solace to be found in the repetitive motion of his well aimed kicks. 

He welcomes the familiar ache in his muscles like an old friend, sweat building on his brow as he lets the calm, flowing energy guide his powerful movements. 

But even after two hours on the mat and a long, overly warm shower, Jungwon’s thoughts are still spinning in circles, still doing cartwheels through his mind. He needs to talk, needs to process everything that’s happened, everything that he’s feeling. 

But save for one person, he’s not sure who to go to. 

It’s then, the last member of his team still towelling off in the locker room, that he realizes that under any other circumstance, the first person that he would want to reach out to, to spill his heart and guts and soul out to, is you. 

It’s been weeks, a handful of days, a smattering of hours, since you became a name in his mind. A person with an identity other than the pretty girl that sits in the sixth row of the lecture hall, and yet. 

And yet. 

Jungwon is suddenly overcome with the urge to reach for his phone, to send a message, make a phone call. His better judgement stops him before he can. 

Mostly because he has no idea what he would say. An apology is in order, surely. He still sees the look on your face against the backs of his eyelids. The way pain etched itself into your features, the way your shoulders never quite relaxed after he suggested the topic change on your project. 

He’s not sure if this is even something that can be remedied with words, but he is absolutely certain that he never wants to see that look on your face again. 

So an apology it is, then. But for what, exactly? 

If he’s honest with himself, he still doesn’t fully understand. 

He let his anger, his frustration, his pain get the best of him, yes, but it was more than that. He’s not sure why you seemed so personally affected by the idea of exploring research around soulmate glitches. Why that word seemed to eat at you so much. 

So he lets his confusion carry him to the only place where he thinks he just might find an answer. 

The Student Support Center looks different in the daytime. Jungwon still feels that nagging sense of discomfort as he forces his feet through the front door. 

His shame feels most prominent here, in a place where admitting that he needs help still feels like weakness to him. 

Swallowing his pride, he forces his footsteps forward. The desk he found you at a handful of night ago is empty. But the one next to it is occupied with another student, a boy. One that looks a couple of years older than you, if he had to guess. 

He smiles when he sees Jungwon, offering a generic greeting before he takes another look at him. 

Jake, he thinks it must be, if your descriptions are anything to go by. Another person that Jungwon has begun to become familiar with in the past few weeks, albeit only by your secondhand account. 

And you must have done the same for him, because Jake is quick to mask his shock with something careful, guarded. 

“Hi,” he repeats, standing from her seat. “I’m Jake.” Looking him over once more, something akin to a sigh escapes his lips. “You must be Jungwon.”

Jake, as it turns out, is surprisingly easy to talk to. He understands why you like him so much. 

In a matter of minutes, a fairly abridged version of your last library session has been reconstructed, laid bare in front of eyes that know you best. 

Jake is silent for a moment, turning over thoughts in his mind before he finally says, “It’s not my story to tell.” Jungwon figured as much. “But I think she would, if you asked.”

Jungwon nods. It’s permission. From an indirect source, maybe, but hope flutters through his chest all the same. He has a goal now, something to work towards. Something that he hopes will fix whatever has shattered between the two of you. 

There’s a brief pause before Jake speaks again. “What I can say is that she’s done a lot of work to move on. To find meaning in her life outside of the number on her wrist. To stop feeling incomplete, like a burden, like a problem to be solved.”

And I threw those fears back in her face, Jungwon realizes, something twisting unpleasantly in his gut. 

The despair must play out on his features, because Jake is gentle when he says, “I won’t pretend to know what it’s like, but I do know how it feels to grieve for what could have been. It’s easier, sometimes, I think, to let that consume you. To spend your life trying to get as close to that lost future as you can, even though you know it will never be quite right. Even though you know you’re chasing ghosts.” 

Jake folds his hands across his lap, lacing his fingers together. 

“She made the decision to let those ghosts rest, to let that part of her life go. To find something else worth living for instead. For the small moments, maybe. For joy, for love. All those things that she still gets to feel.” 

That you still get to feel. Jake doesn’t say it, but Jungwon hears it all the same. 

“Those things that nothing, not even fate, gets to take away.”

Jungwon glances down at his wrist. It’s covered, but he can feel the ever present weight of it. Of the gray mark that he knows, deep down, will never fade. Will never change. 

And for the first time in a long time, that truth doesn’t feel quite so heavy.

“I…” Jungwon isn’t sure how to wrap his gratitude in words. “Thank you.” For telling him. For helping you. For being here. “For all of it.”

“Of course.” Jake smiles. Lets his fingers fall to his sides as he stands, brushing invisible dust from his lap. “Joy is even better when it’s shared, no?”

Joy is even better when it’s shared. 

For the first time in a long time, Jungwon smiles. A real smile, a face-splitting, toothy, uncontrollably wide smile. One that hurts his cheeks and reaches all the way to his eyes. 

It’s still there when he’s walking back to his dorm. 

It’s still there when he sits down at his desk, reaching for his computer and turning on the last playlist he was listening to earlier, just for something to fill the silence. 

After a handful of moments, a familiar melody begins to lilt through his speaker. 

Clair de Lune. It’s a tune he would know anywhere. It reminds him of moonlight, of starlight, and everything in between. It reminds him of long study sessions and stolen glances and tentative whispers. 

It makes him smile even harder. 

Looking at the computer in front of him, Jungwon thinks fate just might be a tangible thing. 

He feels it in the back of his throat first and then the base of his nose. The telltale stinging sensations that always comes at the first sign of tears. 

He lets it. Welcomes it. Allows them to fall. 

Alone in his room, hard, long sobs wrack his entire body and leave him gasping for air. Sorrow and grief and anger and joy all tangled together in one.

Because Jungwon is done mourning himself, the ghost of a life that has haunted him for the last year. The future that was never his to begin with. The weight of possibilities that time cannot undo, that sheer will alone cannot change.

Joy is even better when it’s shared. 

And he thinks he’ll start with himself. 

…..

The knock on your front door is unexpected. And it comes just too late at night for you to feel comfortable opening it without a second thought. Footsteps padding as silently as possible towards the entrance to your dorm, you run through the short list of people you think could possibly be knocking at your door at this hour and come up blank. 

Against your better judgement, you undo the latch, opening the door slowly as if that will be enough to deter any unwanted visitors. 

Thankfully, the sliver of space doesn’t reveal a threat. But it does have your brow furrowing in confusion. 

“Jungwon? How did you–”

Explanations for how he found your address are not at the top of his priority list. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, words tumbling out all at once. “I don’t…” A pained expression crosses his features. “I’m not good with words, and I don’t always know what the best thing to say is, but I’m sorry. I never should have said those things about you, about us. I – we’re not glitches.” He pauses, frowning. “I mean, we are, but that’s okay. We’re okay. There’s nothing to fix, and I’m sorry that I made it sound like I think otherwise.” 

He trails off again, jaw working as he swallows the lump in his throat. “I… You have to know that I think the absolute world of you, ___. I would never, ever want to say or do something that makes you think otherw–oof.”

Jungwon’s words die with the sudden impact of your head against his chest, arms wrapping tight around his torso. Shock renders him immobile, just for a moment, before he’s melting into your touch. Returning your embrace as his arms twine around your back, fingers settling against your spine. 

It’s all there, wrapped up in this moment. A solid foundation. A warm place to land. Things that futures can be built upon. Things that can breathe life into possibilities, into almosts, into maybes. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, and it’s lost somewhere against the skin of his neck.

“For what?”

“For everything you said.” You melt a little further into him, and Jungwon hopes that he never has to move. “For being here.” 

You mean it. He knows it. 

He lets his cheek rest against the crown of your head. You feel the movement of his jaw when he tells you, “It’s the only place I wanted to be.”

He means it. You know it.

…..

epilogue. 

“Where are you taking me?”

“You know,” Jungwon rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his lips, too. “The more you keep asking that question, the less inclined I am to answer it.”

Huffing, you argue. “We’ve been walking for thirty minutes.” With still no destination in sight, mind you. “Don’t I deserve some kind of explanation.”

“That’s what the coffee was for.” Jungwon’s smile turns into a grin, one of those real ones that lights up his eyes. That has starlight reflecting in them. One that has you returning a smile o your own, despite your complaints. “To distract you from the physical labor.”

“Well, we can’t all be on the taekwondo team.”

Jungown just rolls his eyes again. “We’re almost there. I promise.”

And despite it all, you believe him. Because it’s been six months since you were first assigned as project partners and nearly two since your shared class ended. And he’s still here. Still a permanent fixture in your life. Still responsible for so many moments you’ve come to look forward to, so many memories you know you’ll cherish forever. 

Because despite the gray numbers on your wrists, you’re both dressed for the activity. It’s nearing winter now, but it’s unseasonably warm. With the physical exertion included, it’s weather that calls for short sleeves. 

Because there’s no one else you’d walk thirty minutes towards an undisclosed location for. 

Because there’s no one else that understands you the way he does, not just from shared circumstances, but also as a result of effort. Of honest conversations and the genuine desire to listen. To learn you. To know you like the back of his hand. 

Because to him, you’re just you. A person capable of joy and anger and grief and love and all of the beautiful, wonderful, messy things that comes with being a human. You’re not a failure, not something to fix. Your identity isn’t constrained to the gray mark on your wrist. 

Because you think you might love him for it. 

Because you know that you do. 

And when you finally arrive at the small neighborhood park ten minutes later, the only thing you’re thinking about is how beautiful the lake looks bathed in the glow of afternoon sunlight. 

Later, sprawled on a picnic blanket underneath the shade of an old sycamore tree, overlooking that same lake, you’ll turn to him and whisper some nonsense about recent studies claiming that soulmates often find each other surrounded by nature. Particularly in the presence of a body of water. 

Jungwon will roll his eyes, will brush a strand of hair away from your forehead while he tells you that he doesn’t care, that it doesn’t matter, that it’s all a bunch of nonsense anyway. 

His smile will be soft, as he hands you the small makeshift bouquet of wildflowers you hadn’t noticed him collecting on your journey here. You’ll tuck your favorite one behind your ear before you lean back against his chest. 

And it will feel a little bit like coming home, like resting after a long day, like basking in the first rays of sunshine as winter finally releases its grip on the world and blooms into a glorious spring when he intertwines his fingers with yours and whispers against the shell of your ear that he thinks you’re beautiful. 

Fate is a funny thing, you’ll think as his breath tickles the skin of your neck, sends a shiver down the length of your spine. 

And no matter how many nights we’ve spent berating it, cursing it, resenting it, I’ll always be glad that it has led us to this. Or maybe, you’ll wonder as he presses a gentle kiss to the curve of your cheekbone, the space between your eyebrows. 

Maybe we led it. Grabbed fate by the collar and forced it to bend to our whims like that masters of destiny we are. 

Whatever it may be, I’m glad that it brought me here. 

To joy. To love. 

And most of all, to you. 

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed. As always, I love hearing your thoughts. All the best ♡♡

[princess35azzi]

The Hard Launch of "My Current Girlfriend"

Hi All- this is my first fic ever so please be kind and patient! I did not even edit it so all mistakes are mine and I am so sorry.

I kept seeing those "My current boyfriend/husband" videos on tiktok and kept thinking about how fun it would be for Azzi to play that prank on Paige.

Hope you enjoy it!

------

For years, fans and the world around them have speculated about their relationship. Heated debates under their Tiktoks, their friends' lives, their instagram dumps. Always keeping track of every little move.

Azzi Fudd and Paige Bueckers were suspiciously close—closer than most best friends, some insisted. Even now, with hundreds of miles between them every day off you could count on Paige being wherever Azzi's world tour had taken her. And you could always count on running into Azzi in Dallas on her days off.

Then there were their social media soft launches. Something they joked about constantly. Paige always around the edges of Azzi's posts. Sometimes Paige caught checking Azzi out in a mirror selfie, sometimes Paige asleep on Azzi's shoulder on a plane, sometimes Azzi wearing Paige's hoodie in Paige's bathroom.

Azzi's dumps were always a little chaotic. Always sending fans into spirals.

One photo would be her post-game stat. The next? Paige's softly smiling at her across a table lit by a candlelight. Another? A group dinner with Paige's hand in Azzi's lap, barely visible, their pinkies linked under the table.

"IS THE PRIVATE IN THE ROOM WITH US?"

"Yooo how many more soft launches until we get that hard launch?!?"

"IS THAT PAIGE'S HAND ON HER THIGH?????? OMGGG the pinkies plsssss 🥹"

"WE GET IT BUT CAN PAIGE FIGHT?????"

Paige loved it. She knew Azzi was very private about her life. For her social media had become an extension of her professional life. Paige loved to see her have a little fun with their relationship. It also make her giddy to think Azzi could not help but share how happy she was in their relationship.

"baby, lowkey," Paige had said one night while Azzi's head lay in her chest and she played with her curls. "You're the worst at the game of private."

Azzi grinned, eyes shinning and dimples showing. "I don't say anything. I just let the pictures speak."

Still, never a confirmation. No public hand-holding, no public kissing, no captions that said more than "💗", "my shooter", "😍".

But there were many signs.

A favorite was the latest addition to Azzi's favorite heart shaped necklace— a delicate pendant of the number 5. Paige had gifted it to her the night she formally asked her to sit on her table at her WNBA Draft Night. They both knew Azzi would be there, but the asking out loud was a quiet confirmation that they were both ready to take the next step. They knew people would speculate and write discussions posts about what it all meant. But for Paige and Azzi it was just another moment of them showing up for one another and living their love in the safety or their bubble. Always private, but never secret.

And now here they were with Paige visiting Storrs for a weekend. They were getting ready to go out to Ted's with the team. Paige was sitting on Azzi's bed waiting for her to finish getting ready.

Azzi angled her phone for a TikTok. She wore a black crop top and black cargos, her hair up in a bun with a couple of curls framing her face, gold hoops on her ears. Paige, in the background, was lazily adjusting her vintage hoodie, halfway paying attention.

Azzi pressed play and started filming.

"Hi everyone," she said casually, dimples pointing at the camera. "Today my current girlfriend and I are going to do a little fit check."

Azzi's eyes carefully watched for her girlfriend's reaction in the back.

There was a beat of silence. She could see the wheels turning in Paige's head. In the reflection of the mirror, she could see Paige frozen.

Azzi smiled and kept talking like nothing happened. "She is wearing a thrifted hoodie I found, my old UConn tee, and jeans."

Paige slowly turned, her face caught between shock, pure offense, and existential crisis.

"uh-huh not allat...repeat that please? whatchu mean your 'current girlfriend'" Paige said giving her the air quotes with her fingers and a bewildered look. Before Azzi could answer Paige continued, "Current girlfriend???? I am sorry, did we break up and I didn't get the memo??"

Azzi could not help but giggle. Turning to her, dimples in full force like she hadn't just casually dropped a bomb.

"Oh, but you are my girlfriend right now? Baby, that makes you my current girlfriend" she said, feigning innocence.

"Yes, I caught that," Paige said, stepping closer and holding her by her hips and she rested her head on the crook of her neck. Eyebrows furrowed and pout in full display. "You just hard-launch our relationship on Tiktok and implied you have a full roster."

Azzi laughed, tucking a loose curl behind her ear and turning to give her a kiss on the cheek. "Relax. You are my only girlfriend. Current is just a true statement and it sounds cute and lowkey...unbothered you might say."

Paige, did not smile. She narrowed her eyes and stared at her in the reflection of the mirror. "It sounds like you've got a backup."

"No. no, baby. You are everything. My starter and my bench." Azzi teased. "You are the roster. All-star. MVP."

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn't help the smile tugging at her lips. "You are lucky I am madly in love with you."

"I know," Azzi said sweetly. "What are you going to do about it? Kiss me on camera to confirm you are the one woman roster in my lif-?"

Before she could get the word out Paige's lips where on her only interrupted by the soft laugh coming out of Azzi's mouth.

The next morning Azzi is laying on Paige's chest enjoy the warmth of her body while Paige plays with her fingers. Paige raises her hand and kisses her ring finger with a lazy smile spreading a cross her face followed by, "I can't wait to be your current wife."

It is in that moment that Azzi decides that video is not staying in her drafts.

The comments start to come immediately:

"EVERYONE WILL REMEMBER WHERE THEY WERE DURING THE PAZZI HARDLAUNCH"

"WAIT. WHAT.WAIT. DID AZZI JUST CALL HER HER GRIELFRIEND?

"not us finally getting a hardlaunch after years of waiting and it was a drive-by"

"PAIGE'S FACE OMG AZZI FIX IT KISS HER RIGHT NOW. I COULD FEEL THE HEART BREAK!"

"Paige is never recovering from being called 'current'"

"AZZI BETTER ADD HER TO YOUR DUMP WITH A "FOREVER" IN THE CAPTION OR WE RIOT"

They read and laugh about them all morning. Azzi liking a couple of them. Until she sees the one Paige left on her post:

"pov: you didnt know if you were being hard-launched or soft-dumped 🥺"

Azzi does fix it that night by posting another dump.

(Slide 1) A mirror selfie in her apartment. Azzin in her sweats, Paige behind her in a hoodie, one arm slung casually around Azzi's waist. The pendant with the number 5 visible. Eyes on each other.

(Slide 2)

A shot of their iced coffee cups on a cafe table. Azzi's name spelled right, Paige's cup says "Azzis Forever Girl" (in Azzi's handwriting.)

(Slide 3)

A close-up of the pendant necklace on Azzi's collarbone, the "5" in the corner of her collarbone with Paige's finger resting lightly right under it in the shot.

(Slide 4)

A grainy polaroid held up by Azzi's finger next to Paige's soft smile of Paige asleep on her shoulder during a movie night.

(Slide 5)

A picture of Paige and her family at the dinner table. Paige hold Azzi's pinky on top of the table.

(Slide 6)

A picture of Paige's soft smile as she stands at the baggage claim area with a bouquet of flowers in hand and strawberry and nutella snack on the other.

(Slide 7)

A picture of Azzi sleeping on Paige's lap with Paige hand caressing her cheek.

(Slide 8)

A picture of two paper rings. And Paige's soft look and timid smile blurred behind them.

(Slide 9)

A picture of Paige's latest visit to Storrs. A group photo of the team around Paige. Azzi sitting on her lap with her arms around her neck. Cheeks pressed together and Paige's arms lazily around her lower hips.

(Slide 10)

Paige asleep in her bed wearing her old hoodie sleepily reaching for her hand.

The caption is simple: "ft. forever 💗 "

the top comments make her grin.

"Ft. forever" is INSANE WORK AZZI."

"Paige currently fighting for her life trying to stay nonchalant final boss"

[iydiamartinx]

MORAL MIDDLE GROUND

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

divider by: cafekitsune & omi-resources word count: 986 synopsis: He wants answers. You want a little fun. But when kids are in the line of fire, the games stop and you drop the mask. a/n: Had this sitting in my drafts, don't ask me what exactly Sionis is up to cause I don't know, I just made some shit up that sounded cool and didn't bother to edit it to make sense.

The room was dimly lit, its only illumination coming from a flickering overhead bulb that cast long shadows across cracked walls and peeling paint. Rain tapped steadily against broken windowpanes, and beneath the musty scent of mildew and gunpowder, you could still make out the copper tang of old blood.

Jason stood opposite you—arms crossed, helmet discarded on the table beside him, jaw clenched tight. The Red Hood persona radiated off him even without the gear, all tightly coiled rage and ruthless control. His voice was low and sharp, slicing through the silence like a blade.

“Tell me what you know about Black Mask’s new operation.”

You sat comfortably, legs crossed.Your left hand toyed lazily with a lock of hair while your right held a cigarette, the ember glowing faintly as it hovered near your lips. A drying cut traced your cheekbone, your bottom lip was split and tender from the earlier scuffle you had with him. You took a slow drag, exhaling smoke with a small sigh, perfectly at ease despite the sting in your jaw and the man in the Red Hood pacing just a few feet away.

“You’re no fun tonight,” you pouted, groaning. “No witty banter? No threats? Not even handcuffs? Tsk. You’ve gone soft, Hood.”

Jason didn’t flinch. “You’re stalling.”

“Obviously.” You smirked, taking another drag. “Because you haven’t even said please. Or better yet, gotten down on one knee. A girl likes a little effort and action.”

He stepped forward, shadows casting over the red mask as he loomed over you. “Cut the act. I know you’ve been tailing Sionis. You were at the docks last Tuesday. You broke into Crane’s lab before that. You know something.”

You leaned in, closing the distance between you with a playful tilt of your head. “I always know something. It’s what makes me so charming.”

The mask he wore gave nothing away—no expression, no tells—but you didn’t need to see his face to know he was agitated. It was in the subtle things. The way his index finger tapped against the metal table with increasing tempo, and how his shoulders stayed bunched, tight beneath the weight of his jacket like he was holding himself back from lunging across the space between you.

The truth was, you wanted no part in this mess. If Sionis found out you were the one who spilled, he’d flay you alive—and not metaphorically. You’d seen what he did to traitors. Heard their screams echo down warehouse corridors long after their mouths had gone silent. And you quite liked your skin exactly where it was.

But… everything was worth the risk for the right price.

You let the silence stretch before continuing, voice dropping to a sultry murmur. “But where’s the fun in giving away answers for free? Maybe I want something in return. A kiss, perhaps? A dance? A few hours alone with your bike and a set of keys?”

He didn’t blink. “He’s moving weapons into the Narrows. Street-level. Military-grade tech. There are shelters there. Schools. Kids. Word on the street is he’s planning to launch an attack at one.”

Your smile faltered.

Just a flicker. Barely noticeable to anyone else. But Jason caught it.

He pressed in. “Yeah. You like to play games, but you’ve got a line, don’t you? A red one you don’t cross. Kids get hurt, you suddenly lose your appetite for chaos.”

Your gaze sharpened, flirtation bleeding out of you like smoke in the wind.

Well, fuck.

You hadn’t known that little tidbit.

You groaned and threw your head back with a frustrated growl.

“Fuck! Fine! I’ll tell you—but if Sionis finds out, he’s going to skin my ass alive.”

The words tumbled out in one breath, fast and sharp.

“Three shipments came in through the old sewer system under Blackgate. Ex-military tech—non-traceable, high-end. This isn’t another drug run. He’s building something. A control hub. Surveillance and weapons grid in one. Real-time targeting.”

Jason didn’t interrupt.

You continued. “It’s not about money this time. He’s trying to root himself into Gotham’s infrastructure. Digital chokehold. Every gang that signs on gets a piece of the network—and every civilian caught in the middle becomes leverage.”

“Drones,” Jason muttered.

You shrugged. Your fingers tapped once against the metal chair, then stilled. “He’s testing it in the Narrows. Wants to see how many people he can disappear without a headline.”

Jason’s fists clenched.

You exhaled slowly, the edge in your tone quiet but unmistakable. “Look, I don’t give a shit what he does to people like us—we chose this life. But you’re right. I draw the line the second he drags kids into it.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. You stared the red helmet covering the Hood’s face wondering what he was thinking. 

Jason finally nodded. “Where’s the hub?”

You stamp out your cigarette. 

“I’ll take you.”

“You sure?”

You stood, brushing imaginary dust from your thighs. “I might be a lot of things, Hood. A thief. A liar. Sometimes a bitch, depending on the day. But I’m not a coward. And I don’t look away when innocents bleed.”

He nodded. “Then let’s go take him down.”

You smirk, your playful personality returning. “I’d say you owe me dinner after this.”

“I’m not taking you to that dive you like,” he said dryly, strapping his gun into place. “You’ll probably flirt with the bartender just to piss me off.”

You smirked wider, trailing after him as he stalked toward the exit. “Don’t be jealous. I’d still let you walk me home.”

He didn’t reply—just pushed open the door and let the night air sweep in, rain misting against his armor. But as you stepped out behind him, he glanced at you again, voice low beneath the hum of the city.

“Survive tonight… and maybe I’ll even let you pick dessert.”

Your eyes glittered.

“Oh, baby,” you purred, “you are dessert.”

[springismss]

ᱬ⛧ heaven ~ i. midoriya

sum: after years of not seeing him, he finally shows up, asked to join the agency you work at. you remembered him, but did remember you?

pairing: pro hero! izuku midoriya x female pro hero! reader

content: 18+ - mdni. p in v, slight teasing, dirty talk, marking, multiple/implied multiple orgasms, fingering, reader gets called princess/baby/good girl, general NSFW content, aftercare.

a/n: slight spoiler ahead - set in an au where the end events of the manga didn’t happen, where izuku doesn’t lose one for all, still finishes u.a and is currently the world's number one pro. this has been rotting in my drafts for a while, but i didn’t have a chance to edit it. as always, likes, comments and re-blogs are deeply appreciated!

word count: 1.9k

links: bnha/mha masterlist | masterlist

Looking around the semi-crowded street, you let a soft hum of annoyance pass your lips as you continued forward. Due to there being hardly any criminals for the past few days now, you had found yourself, yet again, on patrol on a slow day. Not only were you patrolling, but you also caught glimpses of three other pro heroes who were in the area, looking as bored as you were.

A sudden chime in your ear made you stop as you looked at the other heroes, noticing they were still patrolling and talking to citizens. How odd. Lifting your finger, you tapped on the device and placed your free hand on your hip as you continued to scan the area out of habit. "What’s up?".

"(h/n), can you come back to the office? We have someone coming and we want our best hero here when they arrive". Furrowing your brows, you glanced in the direction of the voice, opening your mouth to question the communication when they spoke again, seemingly reading your mind.

"And yes, it's been cleared. We've heard it's another slow day, so there's no need for you all to be out there".

Letting out a hum, you turned on your heel and began to make your way back to the agency you were working at. "Sure you're not trying to butter me up there? I'll be there in ten".

Walking through the doors, you stretched and sighed softly, the cool air of the air con lapping against your skin felt refreshing. You had a few spare moments before heading to the meeting room, so you opted to grab a drink, making your way to the meeting room not long after.

Opening the door with a click, you noticed quite a few of the other heroes you worked alongside already there. A sea of murmurs greeted you as you greeted them back, taking your place at the side while you all waited for whoever they had made you come back for.

Up front, you saw the owner of the agency standing there with another figure by their side, most likely their assistant, who called you back. "Ahh, (h/n), now that you're here, I can introduce you to the newest hero to join us~". Your boss lifted a hand and motioned to the door as eyes followed, looking at the door that was clicking open again.

Green was the only colour you could focus on as your eyes widened. You had to be seeing things, this couldn't be real, right? You had to be in some sort of dream. Yeah, that's right, a stupid dream. You and the rest of your classmates thought he'd disappeared, seemingly moving away to the other end of the country or beyond.

No one had heard from him in years. Yet there he was, walking past you as everyone followed with their gaze. "~The number one pro hero, Deku". A confident wave and bright smile replaced the once timid and shy movements of the young boy you remembered.

As you tried to wrap your head around what you had just seen, a group began to form around the hero with words of excitement buzzing in the air. By the time you had managed to somewhat comprehend things, the group had disappeared, giving you the perfect time to go over and say hello to an old friend. Would he recognise you? You'd doubted it, but it didn’t hurt to see. "Well, if it isn't Izuku Midoriya in the flesh".

The sudden intrusion of your words, and the fact that his name had been used, seemed to take him by surprise as he took a closer look at your face. It took him a moment longer than usual to put the pieces together, but he got there, eyes widening as you smiled brightly at him. "(y/n)? Is that you?".

Ever since that day when you had both been reunited, the two of you had been virtually inseparable. Spending more time together, be that on missions or in general, had resulted in the two of you becoming close again. Closer than what you both had been before.

Then came the rumours that surrounded you both, some sweet and innocent and others downright dirty. Of course, the latter made Midoriya blush. He couldn't imagine people saying those things, and yet there they were, plain as day. You were nothing more than a friend to him.

Sure, it had been a good few years since he last saw you and the rest of your friends, but he couldn't deny it even if he tried; you had become a beautiful young woman. Foreign feelings stirred deep inside of him, feelings that caused his body and mind to react in ways he hadn’t had since he was a teen. Sure, he'd had partners, but none of them fired him up the way you did.

Feelings he thought he had buried were starting to resurface all over again. Starting to increase each time he was with you until he couldn't handle them any more, the way he felt became too much to bear. Doing the only thing he could think of at that time, acting on how he felt around you, something he should have done back when you were both younger.

Everything seemed to move in a bit of a blur. One minute, you were sitting on the couch in Midoriya's house with him, TV on in the background as you both sat talking about various things. The next minute, you were on your back, pinned to the cushions as you both shared a hot kiss. The feelings that poured out between you both during that kiss had been pent up for some time.

A dark blush covered his face as he pulled back, trying to catch his breath, frame hovering over your panting form. "I-I can't take it anymore, (y/n), I-I need to do s-something~".

In what felt like mere seconds to you, articles of clothing had been scattered all over the floor before thick digits thrusted into your wet cunt, walls stretching deliciously making you whine out at the burning desire you felt again. "Hah, Izuku, p-please. I need you".

His fingers disappeared, causing you to whine out from the sudden emptiness before his stout cock began to press deep within you. Pressing past the ring of resistance, as desperate moans sounded. The overwhelming feeling of Midoriya stretching you made your back arch, hips wriggling as he buried himself deep inside. The pro hero took a moment to savour the feeling of your walls pulsating tightly around his cock, your needy cunt desperately trying to keep him there.

“Shit, you’re gripping me so good princess. Like that pretty pussy was made for me”. Those words alone had you moaning out, hands grabbing any part of him you could. You had to keep yourself sane.

With the slow pull back of his hips, you gasped slightly as the emptying feeling until you felt him thrust hard back into you. You swear if your eyes could roll any further back than they were already, they would. Bringing your legs up, you wrapped them around his waist, ankles locking behind his back as you pulled him closer to you. Your fingers dug into his forearms, nails leaving crescent moon marks as you tried to ground yourself.

Green eyes glanced at the fucked out look on your face, before dragging down your body, watching the way your tits jiggled with each desperate thrust. Watching the way your body bounced in time with his movements, the small sheen starting to cover your body. He was eager to show you how much he needed and wanted you, even after all these years. "F-Fuck, why did I wait this long to get in this cunt of yours?".

The words caught you off guard as a loud mewl slipped past your lips, hands flying to his back before you dragged your nails down, red marks being left against pale skin as you arched further into his body.

You could feel that knot in the pit of your gut tighten, and you knew, knew it wouldn’t be too long before you were crying out from the pleasure. You could already hear how wet you were, messy sloshing noises only added to the way you were feeling. "Izu, fuck, I-I'm gonna~".

His rough thrusts never ceased as he reached between you both, pad of his thumb rubbing circles on your clit as his fingers pressed against the small bump he was creating inside you. “Come on, baby, let go for me, want to feel you all over”.

All it took was a few more harsh thrusts to have you lose your sanity, to have your back arch beautifully as you gasped out. Broken cry of Midoriya’s name sounded from your throat as your vision blurred. You were almost sure you felt some of your slick squirt out, no doubt coating not only his cock and thighs, but the sofa beneath you.

The overwhelming feeling of feeling full took over your now overly sensitive cunt, breathy moans sounding louder. “That’s a good girl, but I'm far from done, princess".

Before long, you’d lost all sense of time as you continued to be fucked senseless by the man above you.

Your legs were numb, your clit and cunt were overly stimulated and your body began to grow tired. Despite that, you felt another wave of euphoria nearing, gripping Midoriya's arm as you anchored yourself, a strangled sob left your throat as tears slipped from your eyes. Your nails were sure to leave more marks, marks that would no doubt bleed, not that the pro seemed to mind.

Deep moans sounded from above you as you turned your watery, glassy stare to the man responsible for the state you were in. You could tell he was close as his thrusts became sloppy, desperately rutting into you as he chanced his own euphoria. After a few more sloppy thrusts, Midoriya let out a guttural moan, hips stalling as he filled your cunt with his cum. “F-Fuck, that’s it (y/n), take it all. Going to fill you so full you’ll be dripping me for days”. The hot fluid seeping deep within you as sparks of his quirk flashed around you both.

Lifting your arm, you brought a hand up to his face and cupped it, guiding him down to your lips as you held him close. You took a moment to press a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, humming softly as you mumbled against the skin. “I love you, Izuku”.

The words took him by surprise, green eyes widening as they looked down at you, face still flushed as hair clung to you, offering his own sweet smile a moment after. “I know you do, and I love you too, (y/n)”.

Wrapping his arms around you as best he could, he pulled his cock out of you. A moan of loss sounded from you before you felt yourself being moved, held close against his chest as he carried your sore body to the bathroom, helping clean you up once you were settled in the hot water.

A thumb rubbed the small of your back in a comforting manner. No words needed to be spoken, but at that point, you both knew what you were to each other. The feelings you both held were finally shared for the other to feel.

Although you had both been caught up in the throes of pleasure a few minutes ago, nothing could have prepared you for the words that were uttered next.

"Next time, I’ll show you that blackwhip is good for something other than restraining villains".

© springismss 2025 - don’t repost, copy, translate, steal or modify.

[bowtiepasta]

indulging: gn!reader, implied ptsd, brief gun, reverse comfort, established relationship, soft and retired si, possibly ooc since this is my first cod piece in a minute. be nice please

you light an old candle in the kitchen, one saved from new years, and call his name, but he’s already moving—boots by the door, checking windows. old habits really never die, do they?

“it’s just a fuse, si.”

he doesn’t answer. instead of a switch box, you hear the click of a gun you didn’t know was loaded.

“simon.” you say, softer this time, stepping into the shadow of his silhouette. “it’s okay.”

when you see his shoulders sag, you usher him into the living room, careful to mind all the trinkets and memories now decorating your home despite not being able to see them without squinting.

with his head in your lap he tells you, in that voice like gravel and apology, that he’s been anxious for days.

you shift beneath him to reach the blanket draped over the back of the couch—navy, soft and frayed from too many washes, the one he pretends not to favor but always ends up loafed under anyway.

you tug it down and drape it over his back, fixing it when it catches on his shoulder, smoothing over the edge by the curve of his neck where his dog tags leave faint, irritated lines. they aren’t there tonight. he hasn’t worn them in the house for months now.

the wind rattles weakly against the kitchen window. the kind of sound that used to make him check all the locks again—three times over, sometimes four. he doesn’t move. that’s a win in your book.

you yawn. “did you eat today?”

he hums, which isn’t a yes.

the candle’s almost halfway gone now. it burns faintly of pine and smoke, same as the scarf you wrapped around him back in january when he came in from shoveling the walk and couldn’t feel his fingers.

“there’s leftover stew in the fridge,” you add. “with the carrots cut how you like. plus, i found the crackers that don’t go soggy in five seconds.”

his shoulders twitch in a small, grateful laugh.

“you spoil me.”

“i keep you alive, baby.”

his lids open, closing again when you lean down to press your lips to them. “so spoiled.”

your thumb moves along his temple, grazing the spots where his hair grows in uneven. he’d tried trimming it himself last month, stubborn over the bathroom sink with dull scissors and curses under his breath. you’d happily taken over, guided his chin with your fingers, smiled through the steam despite the way he never quite met your eyes in the mirror. now that same temple twitches under your touch, a small tell.

power’s still out. the hum of the fridge is slowly dying down, the candle sputters and spits when the draft rolls in. you think about the leftovers on the stove, simmering in the pot because you always forget to put it away until you’re both already in bed.

you nose at the crown of his head. “i refilled the tea tins,” you yawn again, and he follows suit. “moved them to the left side of the cabinet so you’ll stop knocking over the sugar in the morning.”

“i’m sorry i scared you,” he shifts on your lap, nuzzling your thigh while his head’s elsewhere.

“you didn’t.”

“i clicked the bloody gun.”

“we’re both still here aren’t we?” you’re quick, and he scratches another notch in his metaphorical bedpost, for all the times he thought you wouldn’t have anything to say back but did. he’s starting to believe you were made for him, in every sense of the phrase.

outside, the wind pushes against the window like it wants in, but here—here, the room glows faintly gold. the fuse is still blown, hallway still dark, kettle as good as dead. even so your home is warm with old blankets and old habits, and a man who doesn’t quite know how to rest, but tries anyway, in your lap.

idk idk idk idk i missed him and spat this out think whatever you want i feel too sleepy and soggy to proofread

consider reblogging, commenting, or sending an ask if you enjoyed. thank you for reading ! ♥︎ do not copy, edit, or repost, any of my content on any platforms.

[chimcess]

Bittersweet || myg (1)

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Other Tags: Grad Student!Yoongi, Undergrad!Reader, Grad Student!Hoseok, Uncle!Namjoon, Doctor!Namjoon, Grad Student!Jimin, Fuckboy!Jungkook, GradStudent!Jungkook, Boss!Seokjin, Yoongi POV Genre: College!AU, Strangers to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, kinda Student/Teacher but not really, Older!Yoongi, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut Word Count: 19.9k+ Summary: When a cynical graduate student meets an overly enthusiastic undergraduate, the air crackles with tension—though not all of it is good. Warnings: Mean!Yoongi, he's extremely rude, like extremely so, prank gone wrong, bitter grad student to the max, strong language, Jimin is a snitch, possible wrong science information (i'm sorry i'm not perfect), sexual tension, reader faints at the sight of blood, unfunny pranks, Yoongi is jaded, he's a softie once you get to know him, hospital visit, non-descriptive male masterbation, reader has a stutter when nervous, Yoongi just being in denial for almost 20k words, kissing at work, almost caught, Jealous!Yoongi, i'm sorry but this JK is kind of a slime ball, Reader knows what she's doing, they're adorable, lots of bickering, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: Another old draft I found buried in my Google Docs! I didn't need to change too much, and it's very loosely edited, so please forgive any grammar or spelling mistakes. This was rather long (and I don't know why I never posted it), so it had to be split into two parts because of Tumblr's new rules. Thanks for reading!

Next

Subject: Undergrad Mentoring From: Seokjin Kim, seokjinkim(at)fhcrc(.)org   Sent: Friday, January 14, 2024, 6:18 AM   To: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu  

Yoongi,  

I’m forwarding an email from a brilliant undergraduate. Have you thought about mentoring a student? I really think you should.  

— Jin  

---

From: ynyln(at)u(.)washington(.)edu   Sent: Friday, January 14, 2024, 2:08 AM   To: Seokjin Kim, seokjinkim(at)fhcrc(.)org   Subject: Undergraduate Research  

Dear Professor Kim,  

My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I’m a junior in the School of Arts and Sciences, majoring in microbiology. I’m incredibly interested in undergraduate research, particularly in your fascinating work on Helicobacter pylori and its connection to stomach cancer.  

Although I don’t have prior research experience, I’m hardworking and responsible, and I would appreciate the chance to join your team. Please let me know if you have space available in your lab.  

Attached are my CV and transcript.  

Thank you!  

Y/N Y/L/N  

---

Dr. Seokjin Kim Member, Division of Basic Sciences   Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center   1100 Fairview Avenue North   Seattle, WA 98109-1024  

I stared at Jin's email, the words bouncing around in my head. No previous research experience? Oh great! Just fucking great!

As the clock hit noon, I trudged into the break room, where the fluorescent lights buzzed like a swarm of angry bees. It was my little escape, my sanctuary from the suffocating hallways of academia. Hoseok, the only graduate student I considered a friend, was already inhaling his lunch.

I plopped my Tupperware into the microwave, the day’s weight pressing down on me like a thick fog. “Jin wants me to take on an undergrad,” I grumbled, feeling the words stick in my throat.

“Seriously?” Hoseok asked, mouth half-full. He didn’t even bother to swallow before adding, “Have them do the dishes.”

“Oh man, this is going to suck,” I muttered, stirring my mac and cheese with the enthusiasm of a person headed to their execution. “I have to train her, and she has zero lab experience. I don’t have time for this crap.”

The microwave beeped, its harsh sound grating against my nerves. I pulled out my steaming food, the steam rising ominously. “I tried to get out of it, but Jin insisted it’s ‘all part of the training.’” I mimicked his voice, nasal and overdramatic. Hoseok chuckled, nearly choking on his food.

I dug into my lunch, my mind racing. “She’s probably some pre-med trying to pad her CV. Calling our research ‘fascinating’ like she even knows what we do here—just another cookie-cutter student firing off a hundred emails.” 

“Maybe she’s cute?” Hoseok waggled his eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes, ignoring him. My single status was a constant source of irritation for him. He meant well, but his attempts at matchmaking were like trying to fix a flat tire with a spoon.

“I already did my required TA-ing last year, and it nearly gave me an ulcer. I thought I was done with whiny undergrads! This really sucks!” The words burst out, hot and angry. The idea of babysitting a clueless student gnawed at me like a persistent itch.

I focused on my research, hoping it would be my ticket out of this academic purgatory. Mentoring an undergrad was the last thing I needed—a distraction threatening to derail my meticulously planned escape.

After lunch, I headed to the incubator to check on my cultures, the familiar hum a small comfort amidst the chaos. Then I settled at my desk, drafting a reluctant email to the undergrad, my words dripping with begrudging obligation.

From: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu   Sent: Friday, January 14, 2024, 1:05 PM   To: ynyln(at)u(.)washington(.)edu  

Come to the lab on Monday between 8 AM and 7 PM. Bring your schedule.  

Yoongi Min PhD Candidate   Kim Lab   Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center   1100 Fairview Avenue North   Seattle, WA 98109-1024  

This was going to suck.

“Hi, I’m looking for Yoongi Min?” A stranger’s voice cut through the quiet of the lab, and I felt my focus waver. I was knee-deep in DNA sequencing data, desperately searching for a start codon when the interruption struck like nails on a chalkboard.

“That’s him over there,” Jimin, my lab mate, replied. I didn’t need to look up; I knew he was pointing at me.

“CTT ATC GTG ACT…” I murmured; eyes glued to the screen. The code demanded my attention.

A shadow crept closer, invading my peripheral vision. I ignored it, hyper-fixated on the screen.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” the shadow solidified into the undergrad I’d been dreading. I continued to stare at the screen, unwilling to break my concentration.

“Did you bring your schedule?” My voice was clipped, an attempt to maintain my rhythm.

CGC CTC CGT ATG… There it was! I highlighted the start codon, feeling a small sense of victory amidst the irritation. Finally, I turned to face her. She held a crumpled piece of paper in trembling hands.

The crackling noise of the paper grated on my nerves, and I snatched it from her. A quick scan revealed she had a limited availability. Tuesdays and Thursdays it was.

“Do you want one or two credits?” I asked, filling out her form with practiced efficiency.

“Oh… um… t-two,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Oh great, a stammerer. I disliked her already. My frustration bubbled beneath the surface.

“That’s ten hours a week,” I said, scribbling on the form. “Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, maybe some Wednesday mornings.” I thrust the completed form back at her and turned back to my computer.

“See you tomorrow,” I dismissed her with a wave, eager to end the interaction. Her stammering was already wearing on my patience.

When I returned from lunch, she was perched at my bench. A laugh escaped me at the sight of her attire.

“What the hell is that?” I pointed at her lab coat, which was covered in hand-drawn bacteria.

She jumped, eyes wide. “My la-la-lab coat?” she stuttered.

Oh great, she’s a fucking idiot.

I took a deep breath, scanning her outfit for safety violations. At least she wore closed shoes and jeans, but her long hair hung loose.

“You should tie your hair up. You’ll be working near the flame.”

She pulled a hairband from her wrist and started tying her hair back. As I walked past, I noticed the back of her lab coat had “Bacteria Rule” scrawled in huge letters.

Bacteria Rule? Is she serious? I wanted to stab my eyes out with the pen in my hand. Who wastes time drawing on a lab coat? Nobody in their right mind, that’s for sure.

Something was off about her—I was certain of it. Concerned about her competence, I decided she couldn’t be trusted with any real work. Instead, I assigned her mundane chores, the kind even a high schooler could handle. It might not have been what Jin envisioned, but it was the only way.

God, I’m already dreading this. Can it be Friday already?

Hoseok and I lounged in the break room, our feet propped up on the coffee table, Tupperwares in our laps. The lack of a proper dining table didn’t bother us; it still beat eating at our desks.

“How’s it going with the undergrad?” Hoseok asked, mouth full.

“I’m pretty sure there’s something wrong with her,” I said, dead serious.

Hoseok laughed, even though I wasn’t joking.

“All she does is nod at what I say,” I elaborated. “Like one of those bobblehead dolls.” I stretched my neck and bobbed my head for effect. “Except she has bangs flopping all over her face when she nods frantically at everything I say.”

Hoseok snorted but kept eating.

“And she stutters! Well, when she speaks, that is. She doesn’t speak much. I kind of like that about her.”

Hoseok chuckled. “Sounds like you’re in love, bro.��

“Fuck you, Hoseok,” I shot back, uninterested. I already knew where this was heading.

“Is she cute?” Hoseok asked, glancing at me with a smirk.

“She’s a baby.”

“Is she a cute baby?”

“Hoseok, she’s… she’s a zygote.”

“Well, maybe with this zygote, you’ll learn how to be human again.” He turned his attention back to his food.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Come on. You’re not exactly social, bro. All you do is lab stuff and occasionally hang out with me and Serena.”

“What are you talking about? I am social.” My tone came out whiny, betraying my disbelief.

“Oh, really?” Hoseok raised an eyebrow, gesturing to my Tupperware. “So social that you prefer to eat alone in the lab over joining us in the break room?”

“Do you even hear yourself? You’re such a dork. I eat in here because the lab is a mess, not because I’m antisocial.” I shrugged, trying to hide the embarrassment creeping into my cheeks.

“Whatever you say, Yoongi,” he laughed, clearly unconvinced.  

I shook my head. I didn’t want to think about this right now. Instead, I grabbed my backpack, bracing myself for the next round of research duties.

After a few weeks of working together, I had to admit—albeit grudgingly—that the undergrad was following instructions better than I’d expected. If I could just ignore her ridiculous lab coat and the way those bangs flopped annoyingly over her forehead, she wouldn’t be half bad. The real annoyance, though, was her constant presence invading my space. But honestly, it could be worse; at least she wasn’t stammering nonstop. Most of the time, she barely spoke, and mercifully, she didn’t ask a ton of questions.

As I walked back from lunch with Hoseok, I was surprised to realize I didn’t dread the thought of the undergrad being in the lab when I arrived. Maybe having her shadow me wouldn’t be the end of the world after all.

Of course, the moment that thought crossed my mind, I jinxed myself. Stepping into the lab, I found her cleaning my bench, and a wave of irritation crashed over me. 

“What the heck are you doing?” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended.

She flinched, turning slowly to face me, her gloved hands still gripping an ethanol squeeze bottle. “I-I just thought I’d clean up a bit,” she stammered.

“Did you touch my samples?” I shot back, a surge of panic coursing through me.

“Which samples?” 

“Those!” I pointed at the upside-down tubes that had been perfectly positioned when I left, now carelessly shoved to the side. 

“I-I just mov—”

“Did you touch my RNA samples?” Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air—an annoyingly stupid fish. “Do you know how labile RNA is?”

“L-la-labile?” 

“Yes! Unstable—easily degradable. The main point here: you don’t touch my RNA samples!” 

“I-I used gloves… I’m sorry,” she mumbled, tears shimmering in her eyes. 

If she started crying, I was really going to lose it. 

I took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of my nose to calm the storm brewing inside me. Slipping on my own gloves, I gently set my samples back in their rightful place, praying I hadn’t lost a week’s worth of work. 

I could hear her sniffling next to me, and I groaned out loud. “Why don’t you and your la-la-lab coat coat go find something useful to do?” 

I listened as she shuffled away, clearly eager to escape my sight. I should have known better than to think this arrangement would work out.

From: Seokjin Kim, seokjinkim(at)fhcrc(.)org   Sent: Monday, February 14, 2024, 6:27 AM To: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu

Yoongi,  

Part of the undergrad training involves more than just doing chores. Cleaning dishes, stacking pipette tips, and capping tubes do not count as experiments.  

I expect your undergrad to have enough experimental data to give a presentation at the end of the semester.  

Jin  

What the hell? Did she tell him I’m only having her do chores? 

Shit, shit, shit, shit. 

Jin was right, though. All she’d done these past few weeks were chores. Aside from that little incident with my RNA samples, she hadn’t completely messed up yet. Maybe I should cut her some slack and give her a real project. She might learn something—or at the very least, realize how frustrating science could be and decide to give up on it sooner rather than later. 

Oh God, how was she going to give a presentation if she couldn’t even say one coherent sentence without stuttering? 

This would be an embarrassment, not just for her but for me too. If she messed up, she’d make me look bad. 

Decision made. I needed to lighten up a bit and actually try to teach her something.

On Thursday, the undergrad was busy with her chores when I approached her, project sheet in hand. 

She looked at it, her eyebrows raised. “What is this?” 

“Your project for the next few weeks.” 

Her face lit up with excitement. 

“You didn’t have to go crying to Jin. I was going to give you a project anyway.” 

Her smile faltered into a frown. “W-What are you talking about?” She gazed up at me, bewildered, but I waved her off, unwilling to explain further. 

“Enough chattering. Those tubes aren’t going to wash themselves.” 

Gotcha, undergrad. Your puppy dog eyes don’t work on me.

It was the first week of real work for the undergrad, and I felt a knot of anxiety twisting in my stomach. My palms were clammy, and my heart raced uncomfortably. 

Am I excited about this? Nah… I’m probably just hungry.

“Do you know what PCR is?” 

She nodded eagerly, pulling out her notepad, ready to take notes. 

I explained how I wanted her to amplify two toxin genes from a set of H. pylori samples that had just arrived that morning from the hospital. Naturally, I only gave her a small subset of the total samples. It was a manageable number—enough for her to play around with, but not so many that I’d be ready to murder her if she messed up.

As usual, the undergrad took notes on everything I said, jotting down even where I pointed out the locations of various equipment. For all I knew, she was sketching a detailed map of the lab in that notepad of hers.

The undergrad sat at the bench, PCR tubes lined up in front of her, the protocol to her left, pipettes to her right, and a rack of reagents looming in the back. I watched her as she stared at everything, nervously picking at the edges of her gloves. 

She was going to drive me insane. 

“Do you know how to use the pipettes?” 

She looked up at me, shaking her head timidly. 

“Why didn’t you say so?” My voice came out louder than intended, and she flinched. 

We were never going to get anywhere like this. 

I took a deep breath and tried again, grabbing one of the micropipettes. “You set the volume here.” I pointed to the rings. “Clockwise to increase, counterclockwise to decrease.” 

I demonstrated, twisting the rings as I explained the display window and where to discard the disposable tips when she was done. 

After a few trials, the undergrad carefully pipetted into the PCR tubes, preparing the reaction with surprising precision. 

She was focused, making sure not to contaminate anything. It was clear she was paying close attention to every detail. 

Skilled hands, I noted, feeling a flicker of satisfaction. 

Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as I thought.

I led the undergrad into the darkroom, where shadows clung to the walls like forgotten secrets, ready to ensnare us. The air was thick with a sharp, chemical tang, buzzing with anticipation as we approached the agarose gel. The PCR products shimmered faintly under the dim light, a hidden treasure waiting to be revealed. Surprisingly, a flicker of excitement sparked within me, a rare departure from my usual brooding.

“The ethidium bromide binds to the DNA,” I explained, my voice echoing softly in the sterile silence. “When we expose it to UV light, it fluoresces an orange color. You’ll see the PCR products light up on the gel.”

She walked beside me, clutching the gel like a sacred relic, her wide eyes absorbing every word. I could almost see the gears turning in her mind, likely wishing she had her notepad to document my brilliance, as if capturing my words would somehow validate her existence.

As we stepped into the darkroom, she hesitated, like a deer caught in headlights, before gingerly placing the gel inside the UV box. She moved carefully, avoiding the pitfalls of air bubbles that could ruin everything. Either she’d done this before, or she had the sense to read up on it. 

Good. I liked a prepared undergrad.

Once she’d set the gel, I instructed her to turn off the lights. The room plunged into darkness, and I leaned in, my heart racing a little faster. Peering into the UV box, I couldn’t help but grin. “Well, look at that. All your reactions worked.”

“Really?” Her voice trembled from the back, laced with a quiver of hope.

“Yeah,” I called back, though the shadows played tricks on me. “Come closer so you can see.”

I waited, but she lingered in the gloom, frozen as if afraid to approach the light. “Come here, I don’t bite,” I coaxed, trying to keep my tone lighthearted.

Finally, she moved, her profile illuminated under the eerie purple glow. Her eyes widened, and a smile broke across her face like dawn piercing through a dark night. I snorted softly, amused by how easily undergrads were impressed.

After she soaked in the spectacle, I showed her how to take a photo of her gel, and we returned to the lab. She began dutifully filling in her lab notebook, and a glimmer of pride swelled within me. That was until I checked her progress later. The notebook was pristine—a meticulous record of her every move since day one. Hope flickered in my chest, only to sputter out when I turned to the last page. There it was, taped prominently: a picture of the gel with “All worked!” scrawled underneath, accompanied by a crude smiley face.

A fucking smiley face.

This undergrad, I thought, definitely had a screw loose.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” 

“What’s wrong with it?” I glanced down at my sweater, a worn piece of fabric riddled with holes—just like my soul. It was what I had been wearing all day, and it sufficed. 

“It has holes in it.”

“And?” I shot back, genuinely baffled. It was just clothing—a shield against the chill of the world.

“Are you making a fashion statement? You do know grunge was over twenty years ago? I know you live in Seattle and all, but I’m not digging the Kurt Cobain look… at all.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I muttered, irritation bubbling beneath my skin. “I’m starting to regret bringing you to this.”

“Relax, it’s just beers with Hobi and Serena,” she said, rolling her eyes like I was some petulant child.

I raked a hand through my hair, but it sprang back defiantly, so I slapped on a beanie to cover the chaos.

“You know, Yoongi, it wouldn’t hurt to wash your hair once in a while. How are you going to meet any cute girls?”

Here we go again.

“Yoonji, would you get off my case? I don’t want to meet anybody.” 

Yoonji dropped in at least once a month, a whirlwind of concern and relentless nagging. She never believed me when I claimed to be fine over the phone. 

It was endearing, in a way, but mostly a burden I didn’t need. My family was my anchor, yet their relentless need to take care of me felt like shackles.

“Okay, okay... let’s go then.” 

“It’s just beers, for crying out loud.” 

“I’m telling you to relax.” 

In the car, I felt her eyes boring into me. “It’s just... I worry about you.” She brushed her hand along my arm, and I sighed.

“I’m fine,” I insisted, but I could see the disbelief flickering across her face. “Really. I’m just tired of school. I want to start real life already. I’ll be twenty-six this summer, and I’m still stuck in this academic limbo.”

“Hell, I’m twenty-seven!” Hoseok said when we arrived at the bar, lifting his pint in a mock salute. “And look at all the fuck I give!” He downed it with a flourish.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I shot back.

“Hey,” Serena interjected, her tone warning.

“It’s okay…” Hoseok waved dismissively. “He’s just got a bad case of graduate bitterness.”

Graduate bitterness... yes, that was exactly it. A malaise that settled in my bones like a persistent chill. I glanced around, my throat tightening as if the weight of my uncertainty was squeezing the life out of me.

I led the undergrad through the winding corridors of the building, our footsteps echoing like whispers in the shadows. She walked beside me in near silence, her gaze occasionally darting down to her notepad, scribbling furiously as if the ink might escape her. If only she spent as much time observing her surroundings as she did with her frantic notes, she wouldn’t need them to find her way back to the sequencing facility.

There was something peculiar about her. She avoided meeting my eyes, her demeanor skirting the edges of unease, a deep-seated shyness that pricked at my irritation. And Hoseok thinks I’m the antisocial one!

As we turned a corner, I pondered the unspoken rules of social behavior in the lab when we suddenly bumped into Jungkook Wand, another graduate student known for his knack for lurking around.

“Min,” he greeted, his gaze fixated on my undergrad, likely eyeing her in that ridiculous lab coat that looked like it had seen better days. Why she insisted on wearing that tattered garment was beyond me.

“We missed you at happy hour,” he added, his eyes still glued to her, ignoring me completely.

Every Friday, the department hosted a gathering that, while lame, at least offered beer. Last week, Yoonji was visiting, and I wouldn’t have dreamed of dragging her into that debacle.

“Yeah, my cousin was in town,” I managed, trying to shake off the feeling of being an afterthought.

Jungkook’s smile widened as he turned his attention to her. I should probably introduce them, but for the life of me, her name eluded me. Panic set in like a cold sweat.

“Hi,” Jungkook said, flashing a grin that felt a bit too eager.

Shit. What was her name again?

The girl glanced up at me, and a flash of annoyance crossed her features, as if she could read my mind. “I’m Y/N,” she said, her voice laced with indignation as she extended her hand. The scowl she shot me could peel paint off the walls.

Y/N. The name landed in my mind like a lead weight. How had I forgotten it?

Before I could muster an excuse, Jungkook was launching into conversation, his gaze lingering on her with a familiarity that irked me. I didn’t like Jungkook, nor the way he looked at my undergrad, so I steered her away from him, back toward the safety of the lab.

Now, what was her name again? Damn it.

The following week, I was knee-deep in sequence alignments at my cluttered desk when the fire alarm shrieked, slicing through the stillness like a knife. I turned to find my undergrad, her wide eyes betraying sheer panic. 

She thought it was real. In that moment, a mischievous idea sparked in my mind. 

“Run, Becca! Run!” I shouted, leaping from my chair.

“What?” 

The color drained from her face, and I couldn't help but laugh as confusion and fear played out across her features— priceless. I doubled over, laughter bubbling out like soda from a shaken can. 

The alarm blared on, drowning out her startled gasp as she clutched a rack of tubes, trembling. “It’s just a fire drill! Relax!” I finally managed to gasp.

She set the tubes down, took a deep breath, and shot me a glare, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “That was not funny,” she huffed, her voice laced with indignation. “And my name is Y/N!”

With that, she stormed off, leaving me with echoes of my laughter still ringing in my ears. 

Oh, being social was unexpectedly entertaining!

The fire alarms continued to test my patience, ringing again and again. Each time, I chuckled at the memory of her startled expression. Now, standing outside for what felt like the fifth time, I glanced sideways at Y/N, who was shifting her weight from foot to foot, hands shoved into her pockets. 

“Want to grab some coffee?” I asked, feeling an odd urge to make amends.

She blinked at me, surprise flickering across her face as if she couldn’t believe I was actually talking to her.

The cafeteria at the library was our destination, and we walked in silence, the clouds parting for a moment to let in the faintest hint of sunshine. 

As we stood in line, I noticed her tense shoulders. Suddenly, she muttered a string of curses under her breath. Before I could react, her arm was around mine, grinning at me like a Cheshire cat.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked, bewildered.

She maintained her smile but released me, stepping in front. “Say something funny,” she ordered, her voice low and urgent.

“What?”

Then she erupted in laughter, leaving me standing there in utter confusion.

She pressed a hand against my chest, and I wasn’t sure whether to be amused or alarmed. Was this how lab partners acted in her world?

But just as quickly as the laughter came, it faded, and she stepped back, looking sheepish, as if the moment had been a strange dream.

I moved up in line to get my coffee. “Do you want anything?”

“No, thanks,” she replied, shaking her head. I decided to drop the subject entirely.

As we started heading back, she caught up to me, her expression suddenly earnest. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “There’s this guy, Jonah. He won’t take a hint. I thought if he saw me with someone…”

I tuned out her words, her rhythm a blur as I realized just how bizarre everything was.

Could undergrads get any weirder?

Sitting alone on a bench Wednesday afternoon, I savored the solitude when Jungkook appeared, looming over me like a vulture. 

“Min,” he said, his tone dripping with false familiarity.

I glared at him, not in the mood for whatever nonsense he was about to spill. 

“Where’s that cute little thing you were with?” 

“Who?”

“You know, the one in the colorful lab coat.”

Colorful? I snorted, recalling the eyesore she wore.

“She’s not here,” I replied curtly.

“Got her number?”

“Why would I have her number? And why do you want it?”

He raised his eyebrows, a smirk spreading across his face. “You know… you and her…”

I cut him off, anger flaring in my chest. “Me and her what?”

“Is she up for grabs?”

I couldn’t believe he’d come to my lab just to ask about her.

“Jungkook, she’s an undergrad.”

He laughed, completely oblivious. “Dude, have you looked at her? She’s fine.”

“Yeah, and she’s crazy.”

“Even better!” His expression made my stomach churn.

“I don’t have her number, and if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you.”

With that, I shoved my earbuds in, blocking him out as he stormed off, his words echoing in my mind.

Fucking creep.

Even though it was Friday—one of those days Y/N usually avoided—the lab felt off-kilter, like an old, rickety house holding its breath. She hovered at my desk while I pulled up the sequencing results on my laptop. Last night, I’d sent her a simple email, expecting a casual response. But her reply had come back faster than a ghost in the night. She wanted to see the data today.

As we sat there, the silence between us thickened, almost palpable. Her face was a mask of concentration, but her expressions kept faltering, crumpling like old paper. Not that I cared too much; she had to learn that research was 90% disappointment wrapped in frustration.

“Why didn’t it work?” she asked, her voice tinged with sadness, as if she were mourning a lost hope.

“Maybe you made a mistake?” I suggested, trying to sound casual.

“I was very careful,” she shot back, defensive, her eyes narrowing like a predator ready to pounce.

How typical. Pre-med students always thought they were immune to failure, that the universe owed them success on a silver platter.

“It happens,” I shrugged, trying to dismiss the tension.

“I don’t understand,” she said, her brows knitting together.

“There's a reason it’s called research. If you only had to do it once, it would be called a search.”

“So, what do I do now?”

“You start over.”

“From the beginning?” Her voice trembled, disbelief flickering in her eyes.

“Yeah.”

A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she gazed at her notebook, defeated. Her eyes flitted to the calendar on the wall, and her pencil scratched furiously on the pad. “Can I come tomorrow? I want to have cells growing by Monday.”

Her eagerness surprised me. I added “overachiever” to the growing list of quirks that made Y/N so peculiar.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” I teased, raising an eyebrow.

“I know that.”

“Don’t you have a frat party to attend?” I quipped, but her glare silenced me, a reprimand that cut through the lab's sterile air. “Fine, come tomorrow,” I relented, knowing I’d be here anyway. Weekends in the lab were the best; no distractions, just the hum of machinery and the click of keys.

“Awesomesauce!” she chirped, her smile lighting up the dim room. I rolled my eyes, annoyed yet impressed by her determination. Maybe, just maybe, she had what it took for grad school after all.

Saturdays were sacred—my little slice of peace amid the storm of classes and lab reports. After a killer morning workout, I made my way back to the lab, my damp hair fluttering in the cool breeze. Just as I settled into my zone, my phone buzzed with a message that snapped me back to reality. 

“Mr. Graduate Student, I’m at the front of the building. Y/N.”

I chuckled, shaking my head at her cheesy attempt at humor. By the time I reached the entrance, I found her wrestling with her hair, tying it up into a high ponytail that looked like it could give anyone a headache just by looking at it. But when she caught sight of me, her face lit up with a grin that could brighten the cloudiest day.

“Very funny,” I replied dryly as I held the door open for her. “It’s Yoongi, remember?”

As we stepped inside, the silence stretched between us, thick and awkward. I considered tossing out a quip about her hairstyle or her lab coat, but then a mischievous prank began to brew in my mind—dark and delightful, like a noxious weed spreading through my thoughts.

“Start your experiment from scratch,” I said, forcing a serious tone. “Could be that my reagents were contaminated.”

Her eyes widened, and I could barely suppress a smirk. It was a complete lie, of course; the old autoclave in the corner was already wheezing like an ancient beast. But picturing her panic was too tempting. 

Settling at my bench, I could barely contain my excitement. But instead of the expected rush of alarm, there was a loud crash—glass shattering like a million tiny dreams—and then silence. 

What the hell was that?

I found her on the floor, surrounded by shards of glass that sparkled like lost hopes. The autoclave hissed and wheezed, steam curling around us like a ghost. I rushed to her side, trying to stem the leak with my hands. 

“What happened?” I asked, crouching beside her. She looked like a wilted flower, her head buried in her knees, eyes squeezed shut.

“Are you okay?” I tried again, dread pooling in my stomach as I saw her trembling hands. Her breath came in quick bursts, and my heart raced. 

She mumbled something I couldn’t catch, her palm pressed hard against her leg. “Let me see,” I urged, only to be hit with a wave of horror: a deep gash across her palm, crimson pooling onto the cold tiles.

Oh, no...

Panic surged as I scooped her up, her fragile body slumping against mine. “You’re okay,” I whispered, the words feeling hollow. “It’s okay.” 

I hurried her to the sink, the cool water a sharp contrast to the rising heat in the lab. She buried her face in my chest, her panic palpable against my shirt. 

“Is there still blood?” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“Mostly gone. But we need to get to the ER,” I insisted, urgency tightening my tone.

She groaned, eyes still shut tight, her composure slipping away. 

“Please, open your eyes,” I pleaded, gently lifting her chin. I rubbed my thumb along her cheek, trying to anchor her to reality.

“Can you walk?” 

She nodded weakly, but when she tried to stand, her legs buckled. I swept her back up, panic clawing at my throat. 

What have I done? The air felt thick with dread, and I knew I had to get her out of there. 

I carried her to my car, the world outside fading into a blur, as if the universe was holding its breath. Carefully, I placed her in the passenger seat, her eyes still shut like she was blocking out the horrors around us. I fastened her seatbelt, feeling the weight of the moment. "Please say something," I urged, glancing at her, desperate for any sign of life.

"I hate blood," she mumbled, voice fragile.

Relief washed over me—she was talking. It struck me as strange that a pre-med student would detest blood. "Are you still dizzy?" 

She nodded, and my heart sank at her admission. The crease in her forehead deepened, and I wanted nothing more than to smooth it away.

"We’ll be at the hospital in ten minutes," I promised, focusing on the road ahead.

"Would you distract me, so I don’t think about the blood?" 

"I don’t know how," I admitted sheepishly.

"Say something funny." 

"Funny? Okay. It’s pretty funny that you want to go to med school and you faint at the sight of blood." 

"Who says I'm pre-med?" she shot back, and I blinked in surprise.

"You're not?" 

"No, and that really wasn’t funny. Talking about blood isn’t going to help me forget about it." 

Frustration clawed at me as I struggled for something to say. 

"What do you want me to say?" 

"Don’t you know any jokes?" There was an edge of frustration in her voice.

"No." 

"Everyone knows at least one joke, Yoongi." The way she said my name sent a jolt through me, tightening my stomach with something close to admiration.

Before I knew it, I blurted out the lamest joke I could remember from college. "Two hydrogen atoms walk into a bar," I began, watching her lips twitch upward. "One says, ‘I think I've lost an electron.’ The other asks, ‘Are you sure?’ The first replies, ‘Yes. I'm positive.’"

I cringed at how cheesy it was, but when her smile finally broke through, it felt like winning the lottery.

"That was lame," she said, but the glimmer of her smile gave me hope.

At a red light, I risked a glance at her. Her eyes were still closed, but the pale green tint to her skin had faded, replaced by a healthy glow. My heart swelled with relief.

The driver behind me honked impatiently, snapping me back to reality.

"Does it hurt?" I asked, noticing her fingers curling around her injured wrist. 

She nodded, a pout forming on her lips that made my heart ache. I nearly missed a stop sign, cursing under my breath.

"God, I’m such a jerk," I muttered, guilt gnawing at me. I had messed up, all in the name of a stupid joke. I racked my brain for something else to say but came up empty.

"I don’t know any more jokes, but I was good at geeky pickup lines back in college," I offered, desperate to lift her spirits. Her smile returned, lighting up the car.

"This better be good," she warned teasingly.

"If I were an enzyme, I’d be DNA helicase, so I could unzip your genes." 

"Oh my God," she snorted, and I laughed, relieved to see her react. "Did you use that on anybody?" 

"Maybe," I hinted, my chest tightening with excitement.

"Did it work?" 

"No," I admitted, but I was laughing now, and she was grinning, even with her eyes still closed. I was determined to keep her smiling. 

"Oh! Do you like The Police?" 

"The police?" She frowned, confusion crossing her features.

"Yeah…" 

"As in the profession?" 

"No, you dork. The band. Sting's band?" 

"Oh, yeah. I guess." She shrugged.

And against my better judgment, I cleared my throat and began singing. "Every bond you break… Every electron you take…"

Finally, her eyes fluttered open, surprise and delight dancing across her face. I couldn’t help but wiggle my eyebrows, and her smile broadened, banishing the shadows of panic. "Oh, can’t you see, you’re covalently bonded to me…" I sang, pouring my energy into the ridiculousness of it. Nothing felt more beautiful than the light in her eyes. 

How had I never noticed how amazing her smile was before?

We pulled into the University’s Medical Center in under ten minutes, just like I expected. I parked quickly and rushed around to help her out, but she stumbled out on her own, nearly losing her balance. I caught her just before she could face plant onto the pavement—or worse, land hard on her injured hand.

I could feel irritation bubbling up inside me. Did she really think I wouldn’t help? Sure, I was an idiot sometimes, but I still had a decent sense of gentlemanly instincts. 

“Can you walk?” I asked, keeping my hand around her elbow as we approached the entrance.

“I think so,” she replied softly, but I kept my grip steady, guiding her into the emergency room. 

Inside, a flicker of relief hit me—the place was nearly empty, and we should get seen fairly quickly. “Hello,” I said to the front desk lady, who was glued to her computer screen. She glanced up, her expression completely bored, and didn’t reply. Instant dislike. 

“She cut her hand, and it looks deep,” I said, gesturing toward Y/N beside me.

“Name?” The front desk lady’s question hung in the air like a sword about to drop, and suddenly, I froze.

Goddammit…

She didn’t mean my name. My stomach twisted as I desperately searched my memory. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten her name again.

It starts with a B, doesn’t it? I racked my brain, stalling as the front desk lady’s eyebrows shot up impatiently.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” came the shaky voice next to me, cutting through my fog of embarrassment.

God, I was such an idiot! I wanted to punch myself for being so careless.

I looked at her—Y/N—and even though she shook her head, a grin crept onto the corner of her mouth. Maybe, just maybe, I was forgiven. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N… I repeated silently, determined that this time I would remember.

I was convinced that the “doctor” tending to Y/N wasn’t a real doctor—not yet, anyway. He claimed the cut wasn’t deep and that it hadn’t damaged any tendons or nerves. He even said it was clean enough to glue shut, which apparently was a thing now. But my gut twisted with doubt; something about him set off alarms in my head.

Y/N had her eyes squeezed shut, clutching my hand like it was a lifeline while this wannabe physician—Doogie Howser, I mentally dubbed him—cleaned her wound. She perched on the examination table, her injured hand resting on a tray beside her, as I stood behind her, anxiety tightening my chest. In the chaos of her injury and my desperate attempts to care for her, her ponytail had loosened, hanging low at the nape of her neck. A sudden curiosity gripped me: What would her hair look like, cascading down like a waterfall?

“Y/N,” I whispered, leaning closer, needing to say her name again, to engrain it into my memory. “Breathe through your mouth. It’ll help.”

I lingered near her neck, unable to pull away, drawn by something I couldn’t quite name. I tried to find the words to describe her scent—something fresh, like the morning air spilling through an open window—but words failed me. I’d caught a hint of it earlier when I held her close at the sink, but now, in the confined space of the ER, it enveloped me, bringing back echoes of happier times.

Y/N smelled good—no, different. Refreshing, like the world waking up after a long sleep. And I was trapped in this moment, lost in the intoxicating blend of her presence and the sterile smell of antiseptic.

Every time she flinched, my instinct was to lash out at Doogie. I wanted to punch him for every wince that slipped from her lips, but I knew that wouldn’t help; it might just make things worse. I fought against the urge to ask the nurse for someone else to help her, terrified to leave her side. So I stayed, fingers entwined with hers, trying to offer some measure of comfort in the storm of uncertainty.

When Doogie finished and began to bandage her hand, I felt a wave of relief wash over me as she released her grip. I stepped back, taking a breath that felt heavy in my chest. Tension still coiled inside me; I hated that she’d gotten hurt, but a part of me marveled at her resilience. Despite her aversion to blood, she had held herself together with a strength I hadn’t given her credit for. There was more to Y/N than I realized, and that realization struck me hard.

“Listen, I’m really sorry,” I said once we were back in the car, the weight of guilt pressing down on me.

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault I’m such a klutz.” She offered a radiant smile that twisted my insides with guilt all over again.

“So, what happened?” I asked tentatively, hoping against hope that this wasn’t really my fault.

“I was carrying a rack of test tubes when that thing started shooting vapor out. I freaked out. I thought it was going to explode! So I dropped the tubes and cut my hand trying to pick them up,” she admitted, embarrassment creeping into her voice as she stared down at her hands.

I should have known...

“Shit…” I thumped my head against the steering wheel, frustration bubbling up inside me.

“Hey, stop.” Her hand reached up to my shoulder, a gentle gesture that only deepened my self-loathing. “You couldn’t possibly have known that thing was going to start leaking, right?” I peeked at her, guilt etched on my face. She scrutinized me, her brow furrowing as realization dawned. “You did know, didn’t you?” Her hand dropped from my shoulder, and I felt the accusation hanging between us like a thick fog.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” I said earnestly, trying to convey the depth of my regret, how much I hated myself for her injury.

“You’re unbelievably cruel!” she shot back, eyebrows knitting together as she glared at me.

She was right, but I felt compelled to explain. “There wasn’t any risk of you getting hurt. The door just leaks a little vapor. I was going to close it after you got scared. It was a stupid joke, Y/N. You weren’t supposed to get hurt.”

“Well, excuse me for ruining your prank,” she snapped, rolling her eyes and turning away from me.

Sarcasm. Just lovely.

“I am truly sorry. Can you forgive me?” I asked, keeping my gaze on her even though she pointedly avoided me.

“Whatever, Yoongi.” She shrugged, irritation radiating from her as she stared out the window.

I wanted to tell her she was acting like a child, but I held my tongue, knowing that teasing her wouldn’t help my case. Instead, I focused on driving, ruminating on how to make this right again.

How the hell do I fix this?

“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” I said to Y/N, trying to sound calm even though a knot twisted in my stomach as I parked in front of the research building.

“This is really not necessary, Yoongi. I’m fine,” she replied, brushing off my concern.

“Y/N, can you please, just for once, not contradict me?” I shot back, frustration bubbling under the surface.

“I never contradict you!” she protested, eyes wide in disbelief.

I fixed her with a glare until the tension between us shifted, and a small smile broke through her pout as I climbed out of the car. Maybe I was getting through to her, even just a little.

I dashed into the lab to grab her bag, but was abruptly halted when I spotted Jimin hunched over her bench. An urge to warn Y/N about the mess brewing in the autoclave room hit me hard. 

“Jimin?” I called, feeling an unusual tension in the air as he turned to me, eyes wide like I’d just spoken an alien dialect. We rarely exchanged more than necessary pleasantries. “There’s a big mess in the autoclave room. I’ll be right back to clean it up.”

“And you’re telling me this why?” he shot back, still looking as confused as a cat in a dog park.

“There’s a bunch of glass… I don’t know. My undergrad—she dropped the tubes. I—” The words tumbled out in a jumbled mess, and Jimin continued to stare at me like I’d just pulled a rabbit out of a hat. “Never mind,” I muttered, eager to escape the awkwardness.

“How’s that for a change? First, you have her doing your chores, and now you’re cleaning up after her,” he called after me.

I spun around to glare at him, irritation sparking. Sure, he was right, but I had bigger problems than petty lab gossip. I left him behind, shaking off the encounter.

When I climbed back into the car, Y/N was waiting for me, eyebrow raised, holding a CD case. My stomach dropped as I recognized it—my mom’s treasured Carpenters album.

“Really, Yoongi?” she asked, her smile widening. “The Carpenters? Okay, cool.” She casually tucked the CD case back into the glove box.

She was teasing me—smiling at me. That had to be a good sign, right? Maybe she had forgiven me after all.

I couldn’t help but let my gaze linger on her face, how her smile lit up the whole car. It was stunning; how had I never noticed it before? A pang of regret hit me for all the moments I had let slip by.

“Are you okay?” Y/N’s voice broke through my thoughts, pulling me back to reality.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just—uh, how’s your living situation?” I mumbled as I started the car and drove off, reminding myself to keep it together. She’s just an undergrad, I thought, shaking off the flutter in my stomach.

As I parked in front of her building, my chest tightened again. I was still angry—mostly at myself—for letting her get hurt. I wouldn’t feel at ease until she was safely tucked inside her apartment.

“Are you still dizzy?” I asked, unable to hide the concern in my voice.

“I think I’m all right now,” she replied, a small grin dancing on her lips.

Would it be weird if I walked her to her door? Did guys still do that? It had been ages since I’d been on a date. What was the protocol these days?

What the hell am I thinking? This isn’t a date.

But she didn’t look a hundred percent. Maybe carrying her bag would help. I climbed out of the car, and she shot me a bewildered look as I opened her door.

“I’ll feel better once I know you’re safe inside,” I insisted, my voice firm.

“I’m fine. You don’t hav—”

“Please, humor me,” I interrupted.

Y/N hesitated, then took my hand as she stumbled out of the car. I grabbed her backpack, and we walked inside together, a strange sense of connection warming the air between us.

At her door, she paused, her hand hovering over the doorknob. When she turned to look at me, her brown eyes sparkled with something I couldn’t quite pin down.

“I’ll see you Tuesday then,” I said, handing her the bag.

“Yes. Tuesday.” Her gaze flickered up through her long lashes, and I was momentarily mesmerized. “Not Monday.” A playful grin crept across her face, and I felt my breath catch at the sight of her eyes crinkling with delight. “You know why not Monday?”

I was still entranced by her smile and completely missed the point she was trying to make. “Because rainy days and Mondays always get me down,” she said, and heat rushed to my cheeks.

Great… she’s making fun of me.

I took a deep breath and snorted, forcing myself to look away from her lips. “You’re such a dork, Y/N. How long have you been waiting to say that?”

“Too long.” Her giggle sent my heart racing, a rhythm I couldn't ignore.

“Good night, Y/N,” I replied, managing a smile despite my racing heart.

As I walked back to my car, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window and was horrified to find myself grinning like a fool. I frowned and climbed inside, but before I could drive away, I pulled my mom’s CD from the glove box, popped it in, and began to hum along.

Why do birds suddenly appear… every time… you are near?

I slammed on the brakes and hit the eject button.

Holy shit, what the hell is wrong with me?

Thankfully, when I returned to the lab, Jimin was gone. I started cleaning up the autoclave room, picking up shards of glass and mopping away the blood from the floor. As I worked, I spotted Y/N’s lab coat next to the sink, and my heart sank. It didn’t look festive anymore; it resembled a tattered Halloween costume.

Shit… She loved that ridiculous thing, and now it was ruined.

Before I knew it, I found myself washing the lab coat. I tried everything, even bleach. When I was done, the blood stains had vanished, but so had the whimsical bacteria drawings she’d painstakingly decorated it with.

Fuck my life...

When Hoseok called, I told him the chances of me making it to Serena’s party were slim. “I’m stuck in the lab and still have a long way to go,” I said, leaving out the details of my time spent doodling on a lab coat that now looked like a toddler’s art project. I also didn’t mention that I was starting Y/N’s experiment along with my own.

After inspecting the now-ruined lab coat, I realized I couldn’t give it back to her. Tossing it felt wrong, though—I’d just spent hours on the damn thing. So, I wrapped it in a plastic bag and tucked it under my desk, trying to forget it existed.

I left the lab after two in the morning, exhausted but restless. My mind buzzed with thoughts, not about experiments this time, but about Y/N—how she had gotten hurt because of me, and yet she hadn’t unleashed her fury. Somehow, she felt bigger than this. Bigger than me.

God, I’ve been such an asshole.

Images of her haunted me throughout the night. The way she smiled at my lame jokes, how she laughed at my terrible rendition of “Every Breath You Take.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sung to someone, not since my mom had forced me to sing The Carpenters with her. I turned over in bed, a smile creeping onto my face at the memory.

I didn’t have to be a jerk to Y/N anymore. I didn’t want to be. It wasn’t her fault grad school was a pain. If anything, having her around made it bearable. Maybe I could lighten up a bit… or maybe we could both learn something from this. No, I wanted to be nicer to her. I wanted to see her smile.

I want to make her smile?

First The Carpenters, now this?

When did I turn into such a marshmallow?

Monday night in the dingy gym felt like a scene straight out of a bad movie. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a harsh, sterile glow that did nothing to uplift the atmosphere. Hoseok and I were at the bench press, trading off sets like two battered soldiers in a war that would never be chronicled. I stood behind him, bracing for the weight, but my gaze was pulled away, caught in the orbit of something infinitely more captivating.

There she was—Y/N—effortlessly gliding on the treadmill like she was born to run. Her ponytail swung rhythmically with each stride, a pendulum marking the time as she jogged. My breath hitched, a tightening in my chest as I let my eyes wander down her back, tracing the delicate curve of her spine. And then—oh God—those shorts. Tiny and black, they hugged her body in a way that made my heart race uncontrollably.

The fabric didn’t just cling; it cradled her curves, indenting just enough in the middle to draw the eye downwards. I could almost feel the heat radiating off her skin, my mind spiraling into places I really didn’t want it to go.

“Dude! Hold the bar, would ya?” Hoseok’s voice jolted me from my daze. I blinked hard, shaking off the spell as I refocused on the weights pressing down on him.

“Right, sorry,” I mumbled, fumbling with the bar as I lifted it off him.

Hoseok wiped the sweat from his brow, the glistening drops catching the unforgiving light. I tried desperately to keep my thoughts in check, to suppress the smirk that threatened to creep onto my face, but my eyes betrayed me, fixating once more on Y/N’s ass as it bounced with every determined step on the treadmill.

“What is it?” Hoseok shot me a sideways glance, amusement dancing in his eyes. He knew. Damn him. “You look like a kid in a candy store.”

“Nothing,” I shot back, the word cracking like ice beneath my weight. I raked a hand through my hair, feeling more like a deer caught in headlights than a man. “That’s... um... that’s my undergrad.”

“Your undergrad?” He nearly shouted, and I winced at the volume.

“Shut up!” I hissed, heat creeping up my neck.

“She’s your undergrad?” He lowered his voice, his tone conspiratorial, as if we were discussing some top-secret mission.

“Yes,” I said, willing myself to tear my gaze from Y/N and muster some semblance of composure. “I don’t know why she’s here. This is the first time I’ve seen her in this gym.”

“Are you kidding?” Hoseok replied, incredulous. “She’s here all the time! You’ve just never noticed because you’re practically blind.”

My eyes darted back to her. She was still running, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing behind me. Could Hoseok really be right? Had I been so wrapped up in my own world that I hadn’t seen her before?

But then again, I didn’t recognize anyone else in this place. I came here every day—every damn day—and not one face looked familiar. Blind. I was completely blind.

And yet, here I was, rooted to the spot, entranced by the hypnotic sway of her hips, the way her legs flexed with each determined stride. It was as if she had cast a spell over me, one I didn’t want to break. But I had to; I was standing there like a moron, the weight of Hoseok’s gaze a smirk stretched across his face as he shifted to take his place on the bench.

“Yoongi!” he called, pulling me from my daydream. “It’s your turn.”

I shook my head as if waking up from a fog and stepped to the bench, but my mind remained tangled in thoughts of what I’d just seen. Y/N’s form, bouncing like it was teasing me, was too much. Too distracting. My body was responding in ways I hadn’t felt in years, and it took every ounce of willpower to focus on lifting weights instead of ogling her.

Then, as if she sensed my eyes on her, Y/N turned her head slightly, her gaze locking with mine. For a brief moment, the world melted away—the gym, the weight, the noise—all faded into the background as our eyes met. She faltered on the treadmill, her grip tightening on the bars like a lifeline before she recovered just in time.

What was I doing? I didn’t realize I was moving until I stood beside her, the tension thick enough to slice through the air.

“Hi,” I managed, the word slipping out like a confession.

“Hi?” Her smile lit up the stale space between us, brightening everything. “Who are you and what did you do to my bitter grad student?”

“What?” I stammered, disbelief knotting my stomach. “You’ve seen me here before?”

*Her eyes rolled in a way that was both exasperating and endearing. “Yes.”

“Well, I’m saying hi now. So, hi.”

“Hi…” she giggled, and I felt a low groan bubble up from my chest. What was happening? I hated how she made me feel, how she toppled everything I thought I had under control.

“How’s your hand?” I asked, grasping for something to anchor myself in this whirlwind of emotions.

“It’s fine,” she said, lifting her bandaged hand like it was a trophy. But I was lost, mesmerized by the way her lips moved, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, and how the sweat glistened on her skin.

I needed to leave before my body betrayed me further. “Um, I should go,” I interrupted, offering a shaky goodbye as I fled, a whirlwind of confusion and unwanted desire crashing over me.

What the hell was happening to me?

I ran home, my legs pumping, heart racing, trying to outrun the chaotic thoughts swirling in my mind. It had been four years since Estelle, and the memory felt as distant as a long-forgotten dream. But Y/N was everywhere now, invading my thoughts—her freckles, her laugh, those bangs that had once annoyed me but now framed her face like a masterpiece.

I stormed through my apartment, shedding my sweat-soaked clothes, bewildered by this tempest of feelings. I couldn’t fathom why it had taken me so long to notice her, why she had pierced through the fog of my indifference and settled in my mind like an unwelcome guest.

In the shower, the warm water cascaded over me, soothing yet insufficient to wash away the turmoil. She was a kid, for Christ’s sake! Nineteen? Twenty? Too young, too innocent for someone like me. I banged my head against the tiled wall, cursing my own weakness.

And yet, even as I stood there, I could feel her presence lingering, like a ghost clinging to the edges of my consciousness—a haunting I couldn’t shake. Was I becoming one of those men who pursued young girls, crossing lines drawn in the sand, sliding down that slippery slope of desire? The universe had a wicked sense of humor.

God, I hoped I wouldn’t see her again at the gym. The very thought sent a chill down my spine—a mix of longing and guilt. But there I was, fantasizing about her hands instead of my own.

When did I become such a creep?

I’m in a foul mood. Not a glimmer of sunshine inside me, just the dense fog of irritability that seems to thicken the air around me. Maybe it’s the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders, or maybe it’s just Tuesday. Either way, I know I’ll probably regret having lunch with Hoseok today, but deep down, I’m still holding onto the hope that, by some miracle, he didn’t notice my bizarre behavior at the gym last night.

As I step into the lunchroom, Hoseok’s voice slices through the stillness. “What the heck happened to you yesterday?”

Well, so much for miracles.

“Nothing. Why?” I try to sound casual as I toss my food into the microwave, but my heart races in protest.

“Nothing? You nearly killed me, bolted off to talk to Y/N, and then stormed out. That seems normal to you?” He raises an eyebrow, a mischievous grin stretching across his face.

I shrug, feigning indifference, but my stomach twists.

“We were supposed to have drinks with Serena and her friend with the—” he gestures dramatically, “the big personality.”

“Listen, you and Serena need to stop setting me up with her friends.”

“Why? Did you take a vow of celibacy or something?”

“I’m just not in the mood for this today, Hoseok.” I plop down in a chair, my food forgotten.

“Is it because of Y/N?” he asks, cheeks bulging with half-chewed food.

“No,” I reply, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “And her name is Y/N, by the way.”

“OH. MY. GOSH. It is! You’re totally crushing on her!” Hoseok leaps from his chair, fork aimed at me like a weapon. His eyes widen as if he’s just uncovered a major conspiracy.

“What? NO!”

“Dude, you remembered her name!” He plops back down beside me, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Hoseok, what does that—”

“Oh man. This is too good... like, really, really good.” His grin is the kind that makes me want to punch him—or maybe just smack some sense into him.

“Hoseok, please. Just for one day…” I rub my forehead, trying to ease the confusion tightening my temples. The last thing I need is Hoseok’s theories swirling around my mind like a chaotic storm.

“Okay, okay…” He continues to chew, stealing glances at me every few seconds. “So, when’s Yoonji coming?” he asks, smirking, and I shoot him a glare that could curdle milk.

So what if I remembered her name? It hardly means anything. I’ve been working with her for weeks now. I’m not some clueless idiot; I can remember a name. I don’t care what Hoseok or Yoonji think. This is nothing. This doesn’t mean anything.

Except it does. Because Y/N, not “the girl” or “the undergrad,” is going to be in the lab when I return. And I’m not just aware of it—I’m looking forward to it. I want to see her smile, to hear her laugh.

I want to hear her giggle? Jesus, I need to get a grip on myself.

My bad mood evaporates the moment I spot Y/N at my bench, scribbling away in her notepad. Her hair cascades over her shoulder, wild and free. It should bother me—should send alarm bells ringing—but it doesn’t. It looks soft and inviting, and suddenly, all I want is to run my fingers through it.

Okay… I’ve really lost it now.

And just like that, my bad mood crashes back in.

“I can’t find my lab coat,” she says, tying her hair up with an intensity that almost makes me envious.

I feel a spark of irritation at the safety rules that dictate her hair must be tied back. I find myself imagining the kinds of experiments that would allow her to leave it down, just so I could watch it flow freely.

“Do you know where it could be?” she asks, glancing up at me.

I’ve completely lost track of her words, staring at her blankly.

“My lab coat?” she repeats, tilting her head.

Right… the lab coat.

“Let me get you a new one. That one was all covered in blood.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll wash it.”

“We have lab coats here, Y/N—new ones. I’ll get you one,” I say, moving past her, determination pushing me forward.

She stops me, grabbing my elbow. “Please, can I have my old one back?” Her eyes are wide and earnest, as if I hold the key to some sacred treasure.

A flush of embarrassment rises in me, and instead of confessing, I lie. “I threw it away.”

“What? Why?” Her gaze pierces through my flimsy excuse.

“It was covered in blood!” I bark, frustration bubbling over.

“I could have washed it!” she snaps, defiance igniting her eyes.

“I’m getting you a new one.”

“I don’t want a new one. Is this some cruel joke? Because if it is, I’d really, really like my lab coat back. It means a lot to me.” The shift in her expression from anger to sadness tugs at something deep within me. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, like I’ve just crushed her puppy.

Realization washes over me like a cold wave: I’m making her cry. With a deep sigh, I relent. “Okay, I didn’t get rid of it.”

“Oh thank God,” she breathes, closing her eyes in relief.

“But… I tried to wash it, and the bloodstains wouldn’t come out. I thought it would be a good idea to use bleach. And it was. I mean, it got rid of the bloodstains, but it also erased your drawings.”

“Oh no…” Her eyes fly open, panic etching her features.

“I’m sorry. Can I please get you a new one?” I plead, hoping to smooth over this disaster before it spirals further.

“I would really prefer to have my old one back,” she insists, crossing her arms defiantly, her gaze unwavering.

Jesus! Why does she have to be so difficult?

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” I groan. She’s staring at me like she’s just won the lottery, and I can’t bring myself to back down. “Fine…” I reach under my desk for the bag containing her lab coat and hand it over, feeling like I’m offering her a corpse.

I should have burned the damn thing.

Her gasp as she pulls the coat from the bag makes my stomach drop.

“Oh my gosh!” She turns it around, inspecting the shapes I drew in a moment of misguided creativity. When she spots my pathetic attempt at rewriting “Bacteria Rule” on the back, she giggles, and I swear my heart stumbles.

How do I keep up with her?

One minute, she’s annoyed; the next, she’s crying; now, she’s laughing. It’s like watching a storm change directions on a whim.

“You… did you do this?” She glances up at me, her eyelashes still damp, and my chest tightens painfully.

“Yeah, it looks even more ridiculous now. Didn’t think that was possible. Would you please let me get you a new one?”

“Oh no. I’m wearing this one,” she chirps, slipping her arms into the sleeves like she’s donning a crown.

“Please say you’re kidding.”

“What? It’s perfect!” she beams, buttoning the coat closed, that radiant smile piercing through my irritation.

Even as she parades around in that god-awful coat, all I can think about is pulling her close and kissing her senseless. It’s ridiculous and utterly baffling, but I can’t shake it.

I really must have lost it now.

The morning air felt heavy, thick with a strange malaise that weighed on me like a thick blanket. "So, what's on the agenda for today, Boss?" Y/N chirped, her pen clicking in a cheerful rhythm as she flipped open her notebook, the sound almost irritatingly upbeat.

"Don’t call me Boss," I grumbled, trying to shake off the oppressive darkness that seemed to cling to me like damp fog.

"Okay, Grumpy. What are we doing today?" Her smile was a bright spark against the backdrop of my brooding mood.

I could tell she was trying to be funny, deliberately poking at my irritation. With an exasperated huff, I shoved the list of activities at her. "Try not to mess up this time, Becca."

She took the list with a theatrical pout, and I stifled a real smile beneath my carefully crafted mask of indifference—a skill I'd perfected over the years. 

Her brow furrowed as she scanned the list. "I thought I was starting from scratch."

"You are," I replied, trying to keep my tone as casual as possible.

"But you did all these steps already." She pointed to the initial tasks, her voice laced with disbelief.

"I was bored Saturday," I said, as if boredom were an acceptable excuse for taking the initiative.

Her eyes darted between the list and mine, a spark of awe lighting up her face. "You started my experiment for me?"

The way she looked at me made my skin crawl—a mixture of discomfort and something warmer I didn’t want to acknowledge. I clamped down on my tongue, suppressing the urge to explain myself. 

"You better get cracking, Y/L/N. There's a seminar at four I want to attend."

Her gaze lingered on me a moment longer before she shook it off, returning to her notebook. A sense of relief washed over me. 

We worked in silence, but I could feel her stealing glances at me like a kid peeking into a haunted house. I knew—I just knew—I had crossed some invisible line. What I felt was tangled, a confusion I was desperate to untangle.

"What’s the seminar about?" she asked, her voice light with curiosity as we carried bottles of growth media to the incubators.

"I don’t know," I said, holding the door for her as we entered the incubator room.

"Then why are you going?" She squatted to stow the bottles inside, her dark hair falling around her face like a curtain.

"Free food." I shrugged, trying to sound indifferent.

"Seriously?" She looked up at me, disbelief written all over her features.

"Y/N… if you go to grad school, you’ll learn to appreciate the majesty of free food."

When she stood up, she released my hand with a huff, her pride surfacing. "When I go to grad school, I’ll enjoy the seminars, even without the free food."

"Right…" I turned away, shaking my head.

"So, can I come?" she asked shyly, her voice nearly drowned out by the hum of the incubators.

"You want to come to the seminar?" I shot her a skeptical glance.

"Hells to the yeah!" 

I suppressed a snort, the surprise of her enthusiasm bubbling up inside me. "Why?"

"I might learn something."

"Okay, you can come, but the la-la-lab coat stays." 

The thought of her actually being excited about attending a seminar with me sent a strange thrill through my chest, one that both excited and unnerved me.

As we made our way to the seminar, Y/N rattled on about her dreams for grad school, her voice bubbling over with energy. I struggled to interject, her words flowing like a vibrant stream, full of life.

When we reached the seminar room, she shook her head at my heaping plate of food. I settled into my seat, grateful for the chance to hide from the annoyed glances of the people behind us. Y/N plopped down beside me, her nervous energy radiating from her.

"That one with the sweater vest is Prof. Waylon," I said, nodding toward him. "He has a serious case of narcolepsy. Snores through the entire talk but wakes up right on cue to ask the hardest questions."

She giggled, and the sound pierced through the fog that had settled around me.

"And over there, with the red bow tie, is Dr. Amun-Kebi. Brilliant but completely bonkers—he discovered Quorum Sensing, yet can’t make eye contact because he’s too busy staring at the ceiling."

She snorted, laughter bubbling up as she covered her mouth, her joy infectious.

"Then there’s Jin," I continued, "who dresses like he’s going to a board meeting every day. Knows more adjectives than a thesaurus, but his favorite is definitely 'fascinating.'"

I mimicked Jin’s exaggerated tone, and Y/N laughed again, drawing some disapproving throat-clearing from the folks behind us.

"Main point is, Y/N," I said, "science makes you lose your mind. You’ve been warned."

"Oh, I think I can handle it," she replied, winking at me, and my heart twisted painfully in my chest.

As the speaker began, I couldn't help but chuckle when I noticed her furiously scribbling notes as if her life depended on it.

Once the seminar ended, we returned to the lab. Y/N still had work to catch up on after being away for an hour. I’d finished my tasks long ago, but I lingered, a shadow in the corner, unwilling to leave her alone in this sterile, fluorescent-lit space.

She closed her notebook with a satisfying smack and turned to me, her eyes bright. "This is so exciting! I can’t wait to see if it works this time."

"Yeah, you’ll get over it," I said, trying to keep my tone light.

"Have you always been such a grump? Or was there a time when you actually liked what you do?"

Her question hit me like a punch to the gut, catching me off guard. I could feel her gaze piercing through my defenses.

"I like what I do."

"Do you love it?"

Her question hung in the air like a dark cloud, and I found myself lost in a maze of memories, the joy of discovery overshadowed by the weight of expectations. Had there ever been a time when I shared her enthusiasm?

"I don’t really remember," I mumbled, avoiding the truth. "It’s getting late, Y/N. How are you getting home?"

"I’m walking."

"I’m walking too. Let’s go."

Did I used to love what I did? The memory felt elusive, slipping through my fingers like water.

As we walked, Y/N asked, "Why did you decide to go to grad school?"

"Why does anyone?" I shot back, a cryptic smirk teasing my lips.

"To make a difference? To revolutionize the field?"

"Very cute, Y/N."

"It’s not cute. It’s true."

"Is that why you want to go to grad school?"

"Yes. I’ve always wanted to help people. Since medical school is out of the question for me—"

"You’ll get over the smell of blood, Y/N."

"It’s not just that. I get too attached. I’d rather contribute silently from the lab." She smiled, her eyes sparkling. "Plus, where would medicine be without science? They’d still be pouring hot oil into wounds!"

I chuckled, a genuine laugh bubbling up like warmth breaking through winter’s chill. "You’re funny." The words slipped out before I could think better of it, and before I could process my thoughts, my fingers brushed against her arm, lingering over the fabric of her hoodie.

She halted, her cheeks tinged pink, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

I froze, my hand dropping to my side, panic racing through me. That had to be inappropriate.

"I’ve been called worse," she joked, her smile radiating a warmth that sent shivers down my spine.

We walked on in silence until we reached her building.

"Do you live on campus too?" she asked, fishing for her keys from her bag.

"No. I live in Portage Bay."

"Oh… we passed that already."

"I know."

Suspicion flared in her gaze as she pieced things together, and I felt the weight of my own guilt creeping up on me. She would realize I was that gross old grad student trying to woo the sweet, naive undergrad—the very person I had mocked in others. The thought made my stomach churn.

"I know what you’re doing," she accused, crossing her arms defensively.

Here it comes…

"You feel guilty because I got hurt," she said, her voice steady. "You feel responsible. But you don’t have to do this."

Is that really what she thought?

"You think I’m walking you home out of guilt?" My voice was harsher than I intended, anger bubbling up inside me.

"I know you are."

"You don’t know anything," I spat, turning away, desperate to escape the rising tide of emotions threatening to drown me.

"Yoongi, wait!" she called after me, dread washing over me.

Keep walking… don’t look back.

I couldn’t believe she thought I was being nice out of guilt. I had done nothing but act like a jerk for too long, and now I was about to lose the only flicker of light stupid, lonely world.

God, she had no clue.

Wednesday morning felt heavy with an unsettling quiet when Y/N arrived at the lab a little earlier than usual. I was already there, lurking like a shadow in the corner, unable to shake off the ghosts of a sleepless night. I busied myself with the equipment, clinging to the hope that keeping my distance would somehow quell the anger simmering beneath my skin.

It was confusing, really. I was furious with her—not just because of the injury that haunted my thoughts like a ghost, but because she had twisted my kindness into something it wasn’t. Sure, I felt like a hollow shell, the guilt gnawing at my insides like a rat in a rotting wall, but that didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy walking her home. Yesterday’s seminar had been a strange kind of fun—the first I’d experienced in what felt like ages.

As I returned to the lab, pretending to check something in my desk drawer, I caught her gaze from across the bench. The way her eyes followed me stirred something deep inside, a mix of frustration and longing I couldn’t quite place. I tried to slip away, but as I turned to leave, her fingers brushed against my elbow.

“Hey, I’m sorry about yesterday,” she said, her voice soft and sincere, those puppy-dog eyes piercing through my defenses. Warmth rushed through me, a strange blend of emotions swirling inside. “It was really nice of you to walk with me. Thank you.”

With a timid smile, she released my arm, leaving me reeling, torn between the urge to pull her back and the need to retreat. Just then, I caught sight of Jimin, his piercing blue eyes wide with suspicion from the shadows of the lab. What the hell?

“You’re welcome,” I muttered dryly to Y/N, my voice almost a growl, before storming away, seeking refuge from the chaos in my head.

In the media preparation room, I paced like a caged animal, cracking my knuckles repeatedly to chase away the madness. This was absurd. I was losing it over a girl—an undergrad—who seemed blissfully unaware of the tempest she stirred within me. Deep breaths. Focus. But I knew this strange obsession wasn’t going anywhere.

When I returned to the lab, I found Jungkook leaning casually against my bench, chatting with Y/N. She wore that timid smile again, twisting something inside me. My hands curled into fists, rage and jealousy flaring up like a wildfire.

“I’ll see you Friday,” Jungkook said, flashing a grin as he sauntered past me. Did he just ask her out? The urge to grab him by the ponytail and shove him to the floor was overwhelming. “What did he want?” I spat, unable to contain the fury boiling within.

“Nothing,” she replied innocently, her attention flitting back to her notebook as if she hadn’t just tossed gasoline on my fire.

“Y/N,” I hissed, slicing through the air with my words, demanding her attention. “What did he want?”

“Nothing important,” she clarified, but her eyes locked onto mine, searching. My resolve wavered. What the hell was wrong with me? The desire to pummel Jungkook quickly transformed into an intense longing to press my lips against that bottom lip she kept biting. The confusion swirled around us, thick and suffocating, and I felt trapped.

Just then, Jimin reentered the lab, breaking the spell that had ensnared us. I stepped back, the tension snapping like a brittle twig, and Y/N sighed, disappointment heavy in the air.

“Are you done?” I asked, my voice cold, each word laced with the weight of my internal turmoil. “I need to use the bench.”

Hurt flickered in her eyes before she masked it, and guilt settled in my stomach like a stone. I tried to focus on my work, but her presence lingered, a distraction gnawing at my concentration until she finally left for the day. This is ridiculous! Why did she affect me so much? I couldn’t keep living like this.

Thursday afternoon arrived, and I maneuvered around Y/N like a ghost. I didn’t want to be a jerk, but the thought of her and Jungkook had me seething. It felt like every nerve in my body was on fire, irritation coiling tighter with every passing second. I tried to stick to succinct answers and instructions, but the tension thickened around us like fog.

As we received her sequencing results, I could no longer pretend she didn’t exist. She pulled a chair next to me at my desk, her presence suffocatingly close. My fingers twitched on the mouse, nerves sparking as I avoided glancing her way. She tapped her pen rhythmically; each tap a countdown to my sanity.

“Please, stop that,” I groaned, frustration spilling over.

She halted instantly, a sigh escaping her lips, and my heart sank. I hated feeling this way—trapped between annoyance and an attraction that sent shivers down my spine. How was that even possible?

Finally, the software loaded, and I opened her file. Y/N gasped, and I held my breath as she leaned closer, the tension between us palpable.

“Sample 1. Ran well. Sample 2. Ran well… ran well, ran well, ran well…” All fifty samples had run flawlessly. Impressive. I couldn’t recall a time when every single sequencing reaction had succeeded; there was always a failure or two. Y/N was undeniably skilled.

As I turned to her, a smile crept onto my lips despite myself. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and before I could process it, she squeaked, throwing her arms around my neck. Her warmth enveloped me, her hair brushing against my face, and the world narrowed to just her, the scent of her shampoo intoxicating. My body responded in ways I couldn’t understand.

I shot up from my chair, breaking the spell. “Sorry,” she mumbled, her cheeks a deep crimson, laughter spilling from her lips. “I’m just so happy! They all worked!”

My heart raced, shock coursing through me as I struggled to regain composure. The pull I felt toward her was almost unbearable, thrumming like an electric wire, demanding release.

“Good job,” I managed, forcing my voice to remain steady. But as she smiled at me, her joy tearing through my carefully constructed barriers, I knew I was in deep trouble. I wanted to hold her again, to kiss her until the world faded away. God, I needed help.

As I turned to her, a smile crept onto my lips despite myself. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and before I could process it, she squeaked, throwing her arms around my neck, her warmth enveloping me, her hair brushing against my face. The world narrowed to just her, the scent of her shampoo intoxicating, my body responding in ways I couldn’t understand. 

God, I needed help.

You know those days when nothing seems to go right? When you drag yourself out of bed, and it feels like the universe is playing tricks on you, pushing you back with every step forward? Yeah, today is one of those days. A downright miserable Friday, and I can’t help but feel that the promise of the weekend is just a hollow consolation.

This morning was a disaster. I tossed and turned all night, haunted by thoughts of Y/N. Her smile flickered in my mind like a candle caught in the wind—warm and inviting one moment, then snuffed out the next. The irony is, while I’m relieved I won’t have to face her today, the gnawing uncertainty of whether she’s out with Jungkook weighs heavily in my stomach. Anger simmers beneath my skin, bubbling over in waves I can’t seem to control.

As I step into the lunchroom, the emptiness greets me, broken only by the taunting hum of the microwave. I slam my fist against its cold metal side, frustrated when it refuses to cooperate. It beeps at me, a cruel mockery in the sterile silence. I slam the door shut again, and my temper flares.

“What did the microwave do to you?” A familiar voice cuts through my frustration. It’s Hoseok, ever the jester, his amusement practically radiating off him.

“It’s broken,” I mutter, fingers still mashing buttons like a madman.

“Step away from the microwave,” he orders, a playful yet firm tone in his voice. In two quick moves, he’s heating up my food. “What’s up your ass?”

“Nothing,” I groan, flopping down in a chair with a defeated sigh. “Just one of those days.”

“Why?” 

“It’s just one of those days…” I can’t muster the energy to say more.

“Like, ‘Everything’s messed up and everyone sucks’?” He turns his baseball cap backward, bobbing his head as if ready to launch into a nu-metal anthem.

“Great, Hoseok. Quote Limp Bizkit. That’s really going to help.” I cut him off before he can get into full swing.

“Dude, you’re in a mood. What happened?” His eyes reflect genuine concern as he rummages through the fridge.

“Nothing,” I insist, rising to retrieve my Tupperware.

“Bullshit. I’ve known you for four years. This isn’t just a failed PCR kind of mood.” He crosses his arms, blocking my path.

Part of me wants to spill my guts, but the words feel lodged in my throat. Still, they tumble out. “If I tell you, can you at least try to be mature about it?”

“Mature is my middle name,” he grins, but I can’t help but scowl.

“Fine. It’s Y/N.”

“I knew it! I fucking knew it!” 

I bury my face in my hands, feeling the weight of his excitement pressing down on me. “What happened?” he whispers, leaning in, all ears.

“She’s... I don’t know.”

“Come on, man. I’m serious.”

“Yeah, she’s out with Jungkook.”

“Jungkook?” Hoseok’s voice rises as if he’s just spotted a raccoon in the hall.

“Jesus, Hoseok!” I hiss. “Keep it down!”

“Sorry.” His whisper is tinged with amusement. “Jungkook fucking Jeon?”

“Yes.” I take a deep breath, frustration bubbling over. “And she’s my undergrad.”

“Puh-lease. Who cares?” 

“I’m at least five years older than her,” I retort.

“The younger, the better.” He waggles his eyebrows, clearly enjoying this way too much.

“Disgusting.”

“Stop brooding, dude. Jeon’s got nothing on you. Go get your girl. She’s fine, and she was always checking you out at the gym—like I told you a thousand times.”

Y/N checking me out? No way. Hoseok’s just being delusional. I shake my head, dismissing his words. This fixation has to end. She’s just my undergrad. That’s all she’ll ever be—at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Happy Hour. The name is ironic, a pathetic excuse for mingling—if you can even call it that. It never lasts an hour, and “happy” is a stretch, but hey, there’s free beer, so here I am. Alone in the corner, I down red cups like they might wash away the grime of the day. By the time Hoseok and Serena finally stroll in, I’ve polished off four.

“You’re here before us. That’s weird,” Serena quips as they approach.

“Thanks for the observation, Captain Obvious.” 

“What’s his problem?” Serena glares at Hoseok, arms crossed.

“He’s in a mood,” Hoseok replies, handing me another red cup that I chug.

“Why?” Her tone is whiny, as if I owe her an explanation.

“Lady problems,” Hoseok shoots back before I can stop him.

“Yoongi has lady problems?” Serena sounds incredulous, as if she’s just discovered a new planet.

“I’m standing right here!” My voice is louder than I intended, laced with irritation.

“So you like a girl, Yoongi. Not the end of the world. I mean, this self-imposed celibacy was bound to end someday. I just wish I knew who she is.” She twists the conversation back to herself, as always.

“It’s not just a girl. It’s his undergrad,” Hoseok interjects, unable to contain his enthusiasm.

“You old perv!” Serena playfully smacks my chest, and I can feel the heat rise in my cheeks.

“I’m going to get fired,” I murmur, tipping my cup back for the last drops of liquid courage.

“No, you won’t, drama queen.” She dismisses me with a wave, annoyance radiating off her.

“It happens all the time! PIs hit on post-docs, post-docs on grad students, grads on undergrads. What world do you live in?”

“It’s like a jungle,” Hoseok chuckles.

“Shut up, Hoseok,” Serena snaps. “Good news is, now that there’s this girl, you can stop with the emo bitterness. It’s getting old.”

“Fuck you, Serena.”

“Hey, hey now,” Hoseok says, grabbing my arm. “Let’s go get another round.”

When we return, my anger toward Serena simmers just beneath the surface, but I’m too tipsy to think straight. “For your information, Serena, this girl has a name. Her name is Becca. No, wait... it’s Y/N! Dammit!” My palm meets my forehead in a facepalm of pure embarrassment.

“Wow. She must be something special, Yoongi. You don’t even know her name.”

“Baby, stop. He’s drunk, and he’s having a shitty day.”

“Why?” 

“Y/N is out with Jungkook,” Hoseok explains.

“Jeon?” Serena’s expression shifts to one of shock, and they dive into speculation, completely oblivious to my presence.

I shut them out, groaning into my cup as I gulp it down. It’s true. I know it. Jungkook is with Y/N tonight, probably taking her to dinner and drinks, sharing laughs while I’m stuck here. My mind spirals into a dark abyss—what if he kisses her? What if she invites him in? God, I’m sick just thinking about it.

Of all the undergrads in this department, Jungkook Jeon had to go after mine. I hope Y/N gets drunk and spills her drink all over him.

Worst. Hangover. Ever.

Well, maybe not the worst, but it’s definitely up there. My head pounds like a jackhammer, and my stomach feels like a chaotic whirlpool of regret as I stumble into the shower. The hot water cascades over me, a fleeting relief, but all I can think about is how tempting sleep sounds right now. But I have things to do in the lab. Don’t I always?

The apartment is a total disaster zone—a messy tribute to last night’s antics. Red cups are scattered across the coffee table like the remnants of a forgotten battle, and chip crumbs litter the floor like confetti from a party that had long overstayed its welcome. Hoseok and Serena wouldn’t leave me alone last night, terrified I’d do something reckless, so we ended up bringing Happy Hour back to my place. I was just the third wheel, watching them get lost in their own world of laughter and flirting. By the time I woke up on the couch, blanketed by a pile of crumpled chips, they were long gone.

I shuffle into the library, desperate for my usual caffeine fix on the way to the lab, but my stomach is rebelling. Still, I know I’ll need that coffee to survive the day.

Inside, the library feels like a claustrophobic hive of undergrads buzzing around like over-caffeinated bees. It’s overwhelming.

What a nightmare!

I hurry to the coffee line, pouring sugar into my mug like it’s a lifeline. Just as I catch my breath, I spot her—Y/N—sitting at a table surrounded by a fortress of books. Her hair falls like a curtain, hiding her face from view. I can’t help myself; I’m drawn to her, like a moth to a flame.

“Hello, Y/N,” I say, sliding into the chair across from her.

She looks up, surprise flickering across her features, and for a moment, my heart races. 

“Oh, so I’m back to being Y/N?” There’s no hint of humor in her voice, only seriousness, and it feels like a punch to the gut.

What’s going on? Where’s the smile that usually lights up her face?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light as I settle in.

“What are you doing here?” she replies, her gaze cool and collected.

“Y/N, please go easy on me today. I’m not feeling great,” I admit, running a hand down my face, feeling every ache from the night before.

“Oh... what’s wrong?” Her stoic facade starts to crumble, replaced by genuine concern, and it warms me a bit.

“Too much beer,” I confess, and the word makes my stomach churn at the memory of my poor choices.

“I see... does that explain this?” She pulls out her phone and turns it toward me.

Grumpy: Becca, you’ve just revealed yourself to have absolutely no taste.

“Who the hell is Grumpy, and why does he call you Becca?” I blurt out, anger bubbling up before I can stop it.

Her eyes widen in disbelief. “You’re the only Grumpy I know.”

“Are you saying I sent you that text?” 

“Yes,” she says, sighing as her eyes drift away like leaves in the wind.

I pull my phone from my pocket, my heart sinking as I check my sent texts.

Well, great…

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, rubbing my eyes, wishing I could take back last night’s mistakes.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean either. No taste in what? Music? Food? Men?” 

“Men?” I let out a dry laugh. “Jungkook is not a man. He’s a tool.”

“So this is about Jungkook?” she says, gesturing to her phone.

“Yes.” My brain feels sluggish, like I’m moving through molasses.

“Why do you care?” 

“I’m uncomfortable with you dating my classmate,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to appear nonchalant.

“He’s not your classmate, and we’re not dating.”

“We both started our PhDs at the same time in the same program. That makes him my classmate… Wait… you’re not dating?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. We went out for coffee, talked, he asked me out again, and I kindly declined. I’m focused on my studies right now, Yoongi, and I really don’t have room for anything more.”

“Oh…” Relief floods through me, even as my hangover rages on. I might even be smiling.

“Yes, oh indeed. Which brings me back to why you’re sitting here distracting me from my study session.”

“What are you studying?” I ask softly, a smile creeping onto my face, hoping to steer the conversation away from Jungkook.

“I have an organic chemistry exam on Monday.”

“Oh, I see…” I hesitate, but the temptation of spending time with her outweighs my growing pile of work in the lab. “Well, it might just be your lucky day, Y/L/N, because I happen to be an expert in all things organic chemistry.”

“You are?” Her lips curl into a small grin, and I feel a surge of relief wash over me. She’s back.

“I am…” I smile at her. “So, do you want some help?”

“I could use some help.”

Help… yeah… that’s what I’m here for… help.

For the next two hours, I guide Y/N through her organic reaction problem sets, all while ignoring my cooling coffee. She’s a quick study, soaking up the information, and I’m confident she’ll ace her test on Monday.

I keep my hands clasped between my knees—except when I need to draw reactions for her—wanting to hide how my fingers twitch every time she brushes her hair behind her ear.

Y/N is focused on her notebook, but the third time I yawn, she looks up at me.

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, just tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Tell me about it… On average, I get about four hours a night.”

“Four hours? If I don’t get at least six, I get grumpy.”

“Grumpier than this?” she says, waving a hand at me, a smile teasing at her lips.

“This,” I gesture to my chest, “this is the five-hours-of-sleep me.” I stretch, feeling my muscles pull, and I notice her eyes trace down my torso before I quickly pull my shirt down.

Was Y/N checking me out?

“Anyway…” I scramble for a distraction. “It’s healthy to sleep eight hours. I’m all about being healthy.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re an old man.”

“Hey… I’m only twenty-five!”

She laughs, and before I can ask how old she is, her gaze shifts behind me, and I can sense her tension.

“Shit…” she whispers.

“What?”

“Remember that guy I told you about, Jonah Rodgers, the stalker?” Her voice drops to a near whisper, laced with panic.

I wrack my brain, trying to recall. Y/N had a stalker? She looks at me, and it’s clear she knows I’m lost.

“Just play along, please,” she whispers, scooting her chair closer to me. Her hand brushes my knee, and I’m startled by the tentative touch.

A vague memory flickers in my mind—her acting strange around me one day, but it’s obscured by the haze of regret and longing.

Y/N’s gaze is intense, making it hard to focus on anything else. She smiles shyly, then looks down before peeking at me through her thick lashes.

God, what is she doing to me?

I know she’s faking it, pretending for someone else—but I can’t help how my body reacts, how hyper-aware I am of her presence. My hand moves to her cheek, my thumb tracing her soft skin. She blushes, biting her lip, and it sends a jolt through me, a deep ache to pull her closer—bring her lips to mine.

Her hand slides from my knee, brushing my thigh, and I can feel a warmth stirring inside me.

This isn’t real… it can’t be.

She’s still staring at me, and I’m lost in her gaze, wondering what she’s thinking, if she feels it too.

But then, all too soon, her attention darts behind me again.

“He’s gone,” she breathes, relief washing over her. Her hand rubs my thigh one last time before she withdraws. “Thank you.”

I know I should let go, but I can’t. My hand remains on her face, my thumb tracing her cheek while my fingers tangle in the nape of her neck. Her expression shifts, confusion knitting her brow. She reaches for my hand, her fingers enveloping my wrist—her thumb brushing the top of my hand, once, twice—and then she smiles.

But she’s not looking at me seductively anymore. She’s looking at me like she doesn’t understand why I haven’t let go. And honestly? Neither do I.

I drop my hand from her face and stand abruptly.

“I better get to the lab,” I say, running a hand through my disheveled hair. “Good luck on your test.” Her eyes linger on me, confusion clouding her expression as I turn to leave.

I guess the show is over…

I spent the rest of the weekend in the lab, mostly because I had nothing better to do. It felt easier to throw myself into my work than to face the nagging thoughts of Y/N swirling around in my head. Pining after her felt wrong—she was just a kid, my intern, and whatever was brewing inside me needed to stop. I had to keep my distance.

When Y/N walked in on Tuesday, she looked a bit worn out. I wanted to ask her about the test, but I bit my tongue, forcing myself to act indifferent.

As the day wound down, she asked for my help, and I followed her into the dark room. She needed to cut different bands from an agarose gel to purify the DNA. Even though she knew how to use the UV light box, I guided her through the excising process.

Once inside the dimly lit room, Y/N flipped on the UV box and switched off the lights. I stood behind her, watching as her shaky hand hovered nervously over the gel, clutching the blade. 

"I think it’s safe to say that not going to medical school was the right choice for you," I teased, trying to keep the mood light despite the tension. "With those shaky hands, I wouldn't want you holding a scalpel near me."

"I had too much coffee today," she shot back, her tone sharp but playful.

"Right," I snorted, a grin breaking free.

"Shut up. You're making me nervous." I could almost hear her smile through her words.

"Here," I said, inching closer. I covered her hand with mine, steadying her fingers over the blade. "Relax," I suggested, hoping it would ease both our nerves.

Her proximity felt electric, as if the air around us vibrated with tension. The scent of her hair—fresh and unplaceable—danced under my nose, making my heart race. Y/N's hand trembled beneath mine as she turned to glance up at me. In the faint blue glow of the UV light, her features looked even more striking. 

"This is making it worse," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

I felt her warm breath against my neck, and everything inside me screamed that we were too close. I should step back. I needed to step back. But God, I wanted to kiss her. Nothing else mattered in that moment.

Her bewildered expression shifted as her eyes drifted from my gaze to my lips. My heart thundered in my chest as I watched her tongue trace the edge of her bottom lip before she began to nibble on it nervously.

Then, without thinking, I closed the distance and pressed my lips against hers.

I inhaled deeply through my nose, intoxicated by her sweet scent as my mouth enveloped her bottom lip. Y/N whimpered softly against me, turning her body to face mine. My hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

What was I doing?

I felt lost, unsure of how to proceed or how to stop. Reluctantly, I released her neck and gripped the bench for support, struggling against the rising tide of desire. All I wanted was to wrap my arms around her and pull her onto the counter, to lose myself in her warmth.

No, stop! This is wrong!

I broke the kiss, panting heavily. "Y/N…" I gasped. "Shit, I'm so sorry." I stepped back, needing space. She was breathing hard too. "I-I didn’t mean to do that. I shouldn’t have… Shit." My hands raked through my hair, searching for words that eluded me.

Then, with a single determined step, Y/N closed the distance. She grabbed my t-shirt and pulled me down to her level. Her lips collided with mine once more, and I felt her inhale sharply.

I was too tall, or she was too short; either way, I hunched over her as her legs wrapped around my hips, lifting her onto the countertop beside the UV box.

Her hands tangled in my hair, tugging in a way that made me groan into her mouth, while my own hands hovered uncertainly over her body, torn between desire and restraint.

Loud, insistent knocking on the door shattered the moment.

Y/N gasped, and her legs slipped from my sides. 

"I need to look at a gel, Yoongi. What’s taking so long?" Jimin's voice rang out.

Jimin… shit…

I groaned against Y/N's shoulder, gripping her thighs to steady myself. Her fingers remained tangled in my hair, and I felt dangerously close to losing it.

"We're cutting a gel, Jimin," I called out, taking a reluctant step away from Y/N. "Give me a fucking break," I muttered under my breath.

I heard Jimin huff through the door, and Y/N’s voice came low and tense. "What do we do?"

I didn't know about her, but I needed to get out of there. I was uncomfortable and desperately needed to regain control. I moved to the UV box, which was still glowing. Y/N jumped down from the bench as I grabbed the blade, cutting around the bands on the gel. I found it ironic that my hands were now shaking, yet I managed to do a decent job.

Once finished, I shut off the UV light and flicked the room lights back on. Y/N jumped a little, and though I was sure she was staring at me, I couldn’t meet her gaze—I wouldn’t.

I ran a hand through my hair and took a deep breath. "Take each piece of gel and put it in a single epi tube," I instructed, forcing myself to focus on anything but her. "You can follow the rest of the protocol at the bench."

"Yoongi," she whispered, urgency lacing her voice.

"I’ll be back in a bit," I said, my hand on the doorknob. I didn’t risk a glance at her, fearing that a single look would draw me back in. I opened the door and stormed out, nearly colliding with Jimin, who stood there with his arms crossed.

What the hell just happened?

A few moments later, I was outside the building. Rain hammered down, but I didn’t care. I wished I smoked, drank, or had any vice to help me calm down. I tried deep breaths to steady myself, but the rain only added to the chaos swirling inside me. I made it to the tree line behind the parking lot, leaning against a trunk with one hand while the other pressed against my chest, where my heart threatened to pound its way out. I was panting, sweating, and completely unraveling.

What the hell had I been thinking?

Well, clearly, I hadn’t been thinking at all.

God, I could still taste her on my lips.

I swallowed hard.

Y/N had the sweetest lips I’d ever kissed.

I was doomed.

This could ruin everything. I couldn’t let myself be distracted by Y/N like this. I had lost all control, and I didn’t know what would have happened if Jimin hadn’t knocked. Or worse, what if Y/N had opened the door without knocking? Thank God the light was off, and the “IN USE” sign was outside.

No one could know about this, especially not Jimin—he was Jin’s puppy! If Jin ever found out…

God, this was all so messed up!

I had to make it clear to Y/N—this had to stay between us. We had to pretend it never happened.

It would never happen again.

I could never have my lips on hers again—just the thought of it made my chest ache.

I had known kissing her would be good. She had the most beautiful lips I’d ever seen. They didn’t disappoint. Her kiss exceeded any expectation I had dared to dream. How could I endure not kissing her again, knowing how sweet she tasted?

If I thought it was torture to be around her before, now it was going to be hell.

And she had kissed me back. She had. It wasn’t just me. She wanted this too. Didn’t she know it was wrong? I needed to talk to her, to explain that this couldn’t happen again. We had to keep things professional, to work together without awkwardness. We had to manage that. I needed to manage that.

I wouldn’t look at her lips, or her smile, if that’s what it took. Maybe I could lie and say we needed to wear mouth masks for the rest of the project…

With a groan, I stepped away from the tree. I fisted my hair, realizing I was getting drenched, and walked back into the building. I shook my head to rid myself of some of the water, but I was still soaked when I climbed the stairs.

When I entered the lab, Y/N pretended not to see me, but I knew better. Her posture shifted, her back straightened, and the foot she had been tapping on the floor stilled.

I noticed Jimin was in the lab, standing at his bench across from Y/N, staring at her. It became clear to me that Y/N was putting on a show for him.

I sighed, feeling a little relief wash over me.

Y/N wouldn’t tell anyone—at least that much was clear.

But I still needed to talk to her. What happened was wrong and completely inappropriate. I couldn’t let her get the wrong idea.

I buried myself in my computer for a while, pretending to work by aimlessly scrolling and clicking, but my attention was entirely on Y/N. She seemed to move through the purification protocol without a hitch. What was going through her head?

Y/N strolled into the lab on Thursday, her smile cutting through the sterile, fluorescent gloom like a ray of sunlight. I gave her a nod—polite, detached—but that didn’t stop my heart from racing at the flicker of warmth in her gaze. As I turned back to my work, she let out a sigh that lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her glancing at Jimin's empty bench, and the reminder of his absence hung like a storm cloud between us. 

"Okay," she began, hands planted defiantly on her hips. "Should we talk about this?"

I forced myself to meet her gaze, focusing on those deep, captivating eyes while battling the temptation to let my gaze wander to her lips, which seemed to whisper promises that drove me mad with longing. 

"There’s nothing to talk about, Y/N."

"Well, are you going to go back to being mean to me?" 

"I was never mean to you."

Her eyebrows shot up in disbelief, and heat crept into my cheeks as I remembered all the stunts I’d pulled—the pranks that had hurt her, the lab coat I’d ruined...

"I won't be mean to you again," I muttered, letting out a heavy sigh and looking at the floor.

"Yoongi..." Her voice was soft, almost melodic, and it tugged at my heart. 

When I met her gaze again, it was a mistake—her lip caught between her teeth was a distraction I didn’t need. My hands clenched into fists, seeking refuge in my pockets as her eyes searched mine, wary but hopeful, like a deer caught in the headlights.

"It won't be awkward, all right? I promise."

That smile of hers struck me like a bolt of lightning, forcing a groan deep within my chest. I could see the words dancing on her lips, ready to spill out, but they vanished like smoke when Jimin walked back into the lab. Taking advantage of the reprieve, I buried myself in my work, fighting to act normal.

But normalcy felt like a distant memory whenever Y/N was near. She moved through the lab with quiet grace, while I stood like a rock in a river of uncertainty, drowning in my thoughts.

As the day wore on and shadows lengthened, I noticed her gathering her things. Instinct kicked in—I pretended to be engrossed in my computer, watching her shuffle and fidget until she finally took a step toward me.

"Hey, Yoongi?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes?" I turned to face her, masking the turmoil inside.

"Um, I was wondering... I know I’m just an undergrad here, and there’s really no room for me to... I-I mean, I know it’s really not my place to ask, but..." Her words faltered, and the crimson blush creeping up her cheeks sent my heart racing.

"Y/N, would you get on with it? I don’t have all day." My frustration boiled over, the energy it took to be normal around her fraying my patience.

Her frown was instant, a storm brewing in those beautiful eyes. 

Shit, that was uncalled for...

"Never mind…" she sighed, disappointment echoing in the air.

"Wait." I took a breath, willing myself to soften. "I’m sorry. Please, Y/N, tell me."

She sighed again, a deep, resigned breath. "I know there’s that recruitment party this Saturday. It’s for prospective students to meet the current students in the department. And I know, I’m just the undergrad, but I think it would be great if I could meet them. You know? Hopefully, in a year, I’ll be going through recruitment myself." Her fingers twisted anxiously in front of her, a sight that both amused and strained my patience.

"Is there a question you wanted to ask?" I barked, the irritation bubbling to the surface.

"Yes…" she snapped back, indignation rising. "My question is: do you mind if I’m there?" She crossed her arms, defiance written all over her.

Why would I care if she came? I hadn’t even planned on attending that stupid party. But suddenly, the thought twisted in my gut, a knot tightening as a realization hit me.

I shot up from my chair, startling her. "Who told you about the party?"

Her eyes dropped, a sigh escaping her lips, and just like that, the truth hit me like a freight train. I fucking knew it.

"You’re going with Jungkook, aren’t you?" I took a step closer, looming over her.

"No, I’m not going with Jungkook." Her voice was steady, but her gaze flickered to meet mine. "But I’m going."

"Well, I guess I’ll see you there, then."

"Okay," she said with a nonchalant shrug, but the smile that graced her lips made my stomach twist. She turned to leave, and I felt something unravel within me—my hands instinctively reached out, fingers curling into frustrated fists. I didn’t know if I wanted to strangle her or pull her into a desperate embrace. All I knew was that I was left staring helplessly as she walked away.

I didn’t need her to say it; I knew Jungkook was behind this. She might not be going with him, but the thought of him lurking at that party made my blood boil. For the first time in a long while, I felt the gnawing sensation of jealousy eat away at my insides.

Fucking Jungkook Jeon.

I couldn’t believe I was even considering this.

Why did it matter if Y/N went to the recruitment party? It shouldn’t. Yet here I was, battling an angry tide rising in my chest, all because of that idiot Jungkook. If she were going with someone more acceptable—someone who didn’t make my skin crawl—I’d be okay with it. I should be okay with it. The rational part of my brain knew that, but the irritation overshadowed everything else.

What did she even see in Jungkook? The guy barely scraped by on his Qual after taking it twice and hadn’t published a single paper. He was working with fruit flies for crying out loud! And his personality? A brick wall. I couldn’t trust him. I didn’t like him. I couldn’t stand him.

I had to go to this party.

At lunch, against my better judgment, I decided to bring it up with Hoseok. 

"Hey, where’s the recruitment party this year?" I asked, trying to sound casual as I stabbed my fork into the mac and cheese.

"You’re going to the recruitment party?" Hoseok dropped his fork, suspicion etched across his face like a roadmap to his thoughts.

"Yes," I groaned, already regretting bringing it up. Of course, he’d make a fuss.

"To our department’s recruitment party?" He pressed a finger to his chest as if I’d committed a heinous crime.

"Why is that so hard to believe?" I shrugged, pushing the macaroni around in my bowl.

"Let me think… maybe because I’ve organized every single one since I got here, and you’ve never attended."

"Will you just answer my question?" I snapped, frustration boiling over.

"It’s at the South Campus Center, bro." Even though he finally answered, his gaze lingered, scrutinizing me like I was a specimen under his microscope.

"Great, thanks." I tried to keep my tone light, rolling my eyes at his obvious scrutiny.

"I can’t believe you’re going." A knowing smile danced at the corners of his lips, and I loathed it.

I pretended not to care, shrugging off the comment as he took a seat next to me. 

"If only I had known all it would take was an undergrad to get through you."

"This has nothing to do with Y/N," I spat, defensiveness creeping in, my irritation sharpening with each word. Her name was Y/N, not ‘the undergrad.’

"Right, so it’s just a coincidence… this is just the year you happen to decide to attend this thing."

"Yes."

"Is she going?" His eyebrow arched, mischief glinting in his eyes.

I groaned and turned away, pretending to be absorbed in my food.

"Dude, I can see it. How she’s affected you. It’s kind of obvious. You can talk to me, you know? It might help."

The breath I took was deep and shaky, every nerve ending igniting with frustration. But before I could stop myself, the words came pouring out. "She drives me crazy, Hoseok. I can’t stand it. I lose all control when I’m around her. I kissed her… I kissed her, and she said she doesn’t want to jeopardize her work in the lab. And it makes sense for her to think that. But the worst part is now I can’t stop seeing her everywhere. She’s in the lab, at the gym, at the freaking library where I get my coffee—she’s everywhere! I need to go back to not seeing her, because I can’t handle this." I stared down at my lunch, the food suddenly unappetizing, a lifeless pile of carbs.

"So you don’t want to see her?" Hoseok asked, surprisingly calm, like he was dissecting a specimen on his lab bench.

"Exactly."

"You don’t want to kiss her again?" He pushed, an amused grin creeping across his face.

"I don’t know what I want!" I barked, irritation flaring.

"Sounds to me like you want to go to the party, see her, and kiss her again. The question is, how are you going to deal with Jungkook?"

My shoulders tightened at the mention of his name, a cold shiver running down my spine. "I don’t care about him."

"I don’t know, man. It’s weird. The vibes are strange. You’re talking about her with a lot of… emotion."

"Emotion?" I snapped, but deep down, I felt the truth behind his words. I was at the mercy of my own feelings, a trembling wreck in the face of Y/N’s smile. I hated it. I wanted to turn it off. I couldn’t afford to feel anything.

"Fine," I muttered, sinking back into my chair, wishing to be swallowed by it.

"You’re going to have to confront those feelings eventually, Yoongi."

I grunted in response, refusing to admit he was right. I didn’t want to think about Y/N, and I definitely didn’t want to deal with Jungkook. All I wanted was to escape this mess, but deep down, I knew I was already trapped.

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[loveesiren]

ㄒ卂ㄥҜ ㄒㄖ 爪乇

Kwon Jiyong x deceased!reader

a/n: i found this in my drafts, I've been trying my hand at horror and fantasy because horror is what inspires me most. I'm also Pagan and big into witchcraft and magick. I also love the movie Talk To Me. Lol so all around, I'm just trying something new. Idk if I'll do part two or not. But let me know what you think? If it's not your cup of tea, just keep scrolling lol

warnings: angst, drinking, fatherhood, widowed partner, supernatural, rough draft, probably poorly edited because I'm drunk so excuse the mistakes

wc: 2.2k+

“Daddy?”

Jiyong’s head snapped up, his red-rimmed eyes meeting the small, fragile figure in the doorway. Parker stood there, clutching his worn blanket in one hand and a mess of printer paper and a framed photo in the other. The soft glow of the hallway light cast a halo around Parker’s messy hair, making him look even smaller, even more innocent in that moment.

“Hey, buddy,” Jiyong croaked, his voice hoarse from crying. He quickly wiped at his face with his sleeves, but the evidence was still there—the tear tracks glistening on his cheeks, his long hair disheveled and hanging in his face. “What’s up? Did you have a bad dream?”

But Parker didn’t move. He stayed planted in the doorway, thumb in his mouth, his big eyes studying his father’s broken expression. At just four years old, he was sharper than most gave him credit for. He saw the sadness that lingered like a heavy fog around his father, especially today.

“Do you miss Mommy?” Parker asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jiyong’s heart clenched painfully in his chest. His head dipped, but a small, bittersweet smile tugged at his lips at the sound of his son’s voice—so innocent, so full of love.

“Yeah, buddy,” he murmured. “I do. I miss her a lot.”

There was a brief pause before Parker shuffled forward, his little feet making soft sounds against the wooden floor. “Want me to tell you a story ‘bout her?”

Jiyong’s throat tightened. Normally, it was Parker who begged for stories about Mommy before bed, eager to hear his father’s colorful tales of her as a strong princess who could conquer any monster. But today was different. Today was their anniversary—the second one without her—and Jiyong felt like he was drowning in the weight of her absence.

But Parker, sweet Parker, had noticed. And he had taken it upon himself to try and mend his daddy’s heart, one story at a time.

“Yeah,” Jiyong whispered, his voice trembling. “I’d love that. Come here, buddy.”

Parker climbed onto the bed with his tiny legs, settling himself on the side where she used to sleep. He handed Jiyong the photo, his little hands careful with the frame. It was the picture Jiyong had taken when she was pregnant—her long hair cascading over her shoulders, that lavender dress flowing around her as she stood in a field of wildflowers, cradling her swollen belly with a radiant smile. She had looked like a dream.

A single tear slipped down Jiyong’s cheek as he stared at the photo, his thumb tracing the outline of her face.

“I wrote a story about Mommy,” Parker announced proudly, pulling out a handful of crumpled papers covered in colorful scribbles and stick figures.

Jiyong smiled through his tears, setting the photo gently on the nightstand. “Lay down, Daddy,” Parker instructed, patting his chest with tiny hands. “So I can read it to you.”

Obliging, Jiyong leaned back against the pillows, his heart swelling with a mixture of love and sorrow.

“Okay, I’m ready,” he whispered.

“First, this is us!” Parker exclaimed, holding up a drawing with three stick figures. One was tall with long hair labeled “Mommy,” another a bit shorter with bright orange scribbles for hair—“Daddy”—and in between them stood the smallest figure with “Parker” scrawled above it in shaky letters.

Jiyong chuckled softly. “Wow, Mommy’s so tall!”

“She has to be tall so she can fight all the monsters,” Parker explained matter-of-factly, already flipping to the next picture.

He nestled closer to Jiyong’s side, the warmth of his small body a comforting presence against the cold emptiness in Jiyong’s chest.

“This is Mommy saving us from a big, scary T-rex!” Parker declared, showing a picture of a giant, lopsided dinosaur towering over their stick figure family.

Jiyong widened his eyes in mock horror. “A T-rex?! How did she save us?!”

Parker jumped up, stretching his arms as wide as they could go. “She had a big sword! Like this big!”

Jiyong laughed, the sound raw but genuine. “Wow, that’s a huge sword!”

Parker nodded vigorously, plopping back down beside him. “And this one is Mommy fighting a hundred spiders!”

Jiyong shivered dramatically, clutching Parker close. “Oh no! That’s so scary! Did she win?”

“Yeah!” Parker grinned. “Mommy stomped on them all! She’s super brave!”

“She really is,” Jiyong whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Parker’s head.

Parker continued flipping through his drawings, each one more imaginative than the last—Mommy building the tallest tower, Mommy making the biggest sandwich in the world. Jiyong listened to every word, his heart both aching and swelling with pride.

Finally, Parker held up the last drawing. “And this one… this one’s special.”

Jiyong sat up slightly, peering at the paper. In the bottom corner were two stick figures—one with orange hair and one smaller, labeled “Daddy” and “Parker.” Beside them was a stick figure cat, “Princess Zoa,” lounging lazily. But in the top corner of the page, drawn on a fluffy cloud next to a bright yellow sun, was another figure—“Mommy,” looking down at them with a smile.

“That’s Mommy in Heaven,” Parker said quietly. “She watches over us from there.”

Jiyong couldn’t hold it back anymore. A sob escaped his lips, and he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to muffle the sound.

Parker’s little hands tugged gently at his father’s wrists, his brow furrowed with concern. “What’s wrong, Daddy? Didn’t you like my story?”

Jiyong forced himself to breathe, lowering his hands to meet his son’s worried gaze. He cupped Parker’s face gently, his thumbs brushing away the little boy’s confused tears.

“I loved it,” Jiyong whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I loved it so much, buddy.”

Parker studied his father’s face for a moment longer before asking softly, “Do you still miss Mommy?”

Jiyong pulled Parker into his chest, holding him as tightly as he could without hurting him. His lips pressed against the crown of Parker’s head as he whispered, “I’ll always miss her, baby. But having you here makes it a little easier.”

Parker’s small arms wrapped around his father’s neck, and for a moment, the crushing weight of grief eased just enough for Jiyong to breathe again.

“I love you, Daddy,” Parker murmured into his chest.

“I love you too, buddy,” Jiyong whispered back, closing his eyes and holding onto his son like he was his lifeline—because, in so many ways, he was.

Jiyong gently tucked Parker into your side of the bed, pulling the covers up to his tiny shoulders with a tenderness that made his heart ache. He turned on Parker’s favorite cartoon—the one with the silly talking animals that always made him giggle. The soft glow of the screen bathed the room in a warm, flickering light, but Jiyong barely noticed. He sat on the edge of the bed, brushing Parker’s hair back from his forehead, feeling the weight of the world pressing against his chest.

It only took about twenty minutes before Parker’s breathing slowed, his small frame rising and falling in a steady rhythm as soft snores filled the room. Jiyong lingered for a moment longer, his eyes tracing the curve of his son’s cheek, the gentle pout of his lips. There was so much of you in him—your eyes, your smile, even the little wrinkle between his brows when he was deep in thought. It was beautiful and unbearable all at once. Parker was the last piece of you he had left, and he clung to that with everything he had.

Carefully, he slipped out of bed, his movements slow and deliberate to avoid waking Parker. The house felt too quiet as he descended the stairs, each creak of the wood beneath his feet echoing in the emptiness. He made his way to the kitchen, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for the bottle of whiskey. The amber liquid sloshed into the glass, and he took a long, burning sip before setting it down on the table.

For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the glass, at the reflection of his hollow eyes in its surface. Then the weight of it all hit him like a freight train. His knees buckled, and he leaned over the table, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The grief was a living, breathing thing, wrapping around his chest, squeezing until he could hardly breathe.

With a trembling hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out your ring—the beautiful diamond he’d spent weeks perfecting with the jewelers, wanting it to be just right for you. He remembered the way it sparkled on your finger, how you’d admire it with that radiant smile of yours, teasing him for being such a perfectionist. Now, it was cold and lifeless in his palm, a cruel reminder of everything he’d lost.

“God, I miss you...” he whispered, his voice breaking as he twirled the ring between his fingers. The silence that followed felt deafening, a void he couldn’t escape.

He downed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, the burn doing little to numb the pain. He poured himself another, and another, each glass blurring the edges of his sorrow but never quite dulling it. Six years ago today, he’d watched you walk down the aisle in that breathtaking dress, your eyes shining with love and promise. It had been the best day of his life. Now, it felt like a lifetime ago, a memory fading at the edges.

His sobs grew louder, echoing through the empty house as he buried his face in his hands. The realization that you were gone—truly gone—hit him over and over, a relentless tide of grief that never subsided. Two years. Two fucking years since he’d lost you, and the pain still felt as fresh as the day you left.

He was a man of science, grounded in logic and facts. But you? You had always believed in magic, in the unseen, in possibilities that defied explanation. He used to laugh at your silly spells, your whispered incantations in the attic. But now? Now he’d give anything to believe. To have even a sliver of hope that he could see you again.

The memory hit him like a ton of bricks—that one relic you’d been so protective of, the little black box you’d spent hours with in the attic, speaking softly to it as if it could hear you. He’d teased you about it back then, but now, desperation clawed at his heart. Maybe you weren’t talking to yourself after all.

With a newfound urgency, he finished his drink and stumbled up to the attic. The space was cluttered with boxes, dusty and forgotten, each one a time capsule of your life together. His heart pounded in his chest as he sifted through them, tossing aside old memories in his frantic search. Finally, he found it—the little black box, tucked away in a dark corner, hidden as if protecting its secrets.

His hands shook as he picked it up, the weight of it heavier than he remembered. He didn’t have the courage to open it yet. Instead, he clutched it to his chest and raced back downstairs, pausing briefly to check on Parker. His son was still sound asleep, blissfully unaware of his father’s unraveling.

Back in the kitchen, Jiyong poured himself another whiskey, trying to steady his nerves. He placed the box on the table, staring at it like it held the key to everything he’d lost.

“God, Y/N,” he whispered into the stillness. “You better not have been fucking with me.” His voice was hoarse, thick with desperation. He’d try anything at this point.

Taking a deep breath, he carefully removed the lid. Inside sat an intricate hand, carved with strange markings that seemed to pulse under the dim light. He’d never asked how you’d come by it—back then, it had just been another one of your oddities. But now, he prayed with everything in him that it was more than that.

With trembling fingers, he lifted the object out of the box, setting it on the table before him. He read over the simple rules you’d left behind, his heart pounding louder with each word. Pushing the box aside, he grabbed his lighter and lit the candle, the flame flickering like a heartbeat in the dark.

He downed his drink in one swift motion, the fear bubbling in his stomach almost unbearable. He’d never believed in this kind of thing, but grief had a way of making even the most rational man desperate.

With a shaking hand, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around the cold, carved hand. He closed his eyes, his voice barely a whisper. “Talk to me.”

When he opened his eyes, he saw it—a faint shadow sitting across from him. His heart lurched in his chest, fear and hope warring within him. But he couldn’t stop now.

Drawing in a shaky breath, he spoke the words you’d written in your neat, familiar handwriting. “Let me in.”

In an instant, the air shifted, the room growing colder. And then… you were there. Your body, your presence, materialized from the shadows, your soft hand slipping into his. His jaw dropped, his breath hitching in his throat as he took in your familiar features, your eyes shimmering with the same love he’d missed so desperately.

A tear slid down his cheek as he took in the sight of you.

And then, in that sweet honey soaked voice he loved so much, you spoke.

“Hi, Ji.”

© loveesiren 2025 - do not copy, translate, transfer, or repost my work without my permission. if you find my work on sites other than through links i've provided, please notify me.

Tags: @kaylieiskrazy04 @fr3akyyg1rll @heuningpie @sapph1r3x @moondooll @tranquilty @noharaaa @mariaxman @dear-satan @infinetlyforgotten @staryscorner @blu-brrys @come-as-you-are-111 @nicklet94 @vamplivivi @3mma-lovely @hanadulsetaad @sayugarper @forevervibezzzz1 @shieraseastarrs @mooonologyy @skzdreamz @stillpervert @seunghyunwifey @juliskopf @mirahyun @mattsturniolosbabymama @kai-277 @rotten-toenails @i-might-be-vanny @zzhengyu @petersasteria

[balrogballs]

The Tenth Hole: Tolkien Archive Dive 3/29

Many here know of my (equal parts academic and morbid curiosity) ongoing investigation into the portrayal, or rather, strategic omission of bodily functions in Tolkien. After my last failed archive-dive, I finally caught a second-wind and decided to look at the pre-print plates of the History of Middle Earth in the Bodleian Library. After a fruitless hunt through earlier plates, I came across Volume 8, where I chanced upon two pieces of curious marginalia buried within an early, mercifully abandoned draft of Fellowship.

[Scanned Plate – Early Draft Fragment, circa 1949, HoME Vol. VIII, folio 112b] Then Aragorn spake low to Legolas as they made ready to depart: “See that thou keep to the western side of the trail, where the moss lies thick—there the Rangers of Imladris have long kept to their manner. We must continue in our practice of the Hollowing, as was taught in Rivendell of old: to mark an additional hollow beneath the roots of trees, in remembrance of years past.” And Legolas nodded, saying only: “The trees remember.”

It is only in the following segment, however, that The Hollowing is properly explained, here presented in its scanned copy form directly.

A shite hole? An empty shite hole?

Obviously, this was the first I heard of the matter too. Turning to The History of Middle-earth, Volume X (Morgoth’s Ring: drafts), I began combing the Annals and linguistic appendices because, well, it sounded like an interesting practice even outside of my specific area of interest.

Buried (quite fittingly) in a nearly-legible margin of an abandoned draft of The Shibboleth of Fëanor, I came across what appeared to be a secondary reflection by another author, regarding the initial fate Fëanor had envisioned for the Silmarils. Once I located that specific tome, I realised the paper was smeared and dusty, and the page itself bound upside-down in the volume, but I managed to get a scan. It's presented quite tersely as simple dialogue, with F standing for, obviously, Fëanor and M for Manwë.

Elendil, R. & Galdor, M. (Eds.) (1956). “On the Secret Fire: Fragmentary Notes from Aman.” Uncatalogued Glass Plate MS, Shelf D-42b, Special Collections. Transcribed by author.

And there we have it, another potential version of the fate of the Silmarils. This act, though omitted in later editions of course, just might shed disturbing light on the oft-quoted line: “...and Fëanor perished, but his spirit was consumed from within.”

I also ended up thinking, well, had Fëanor consumed the Silmarils in advance, Morgoth would have found himself with little more to steal than constipation. And thus, the High King himself would have been spared. Perhaps in his obsession with possession, Fëanor could have inadvertently saved his father’s life, though at the expense of his own dignity. And yet, was his father not dearer to him than dignity too?

Unfortunately, when I presented my findings, the archivists at Special Collections were less than thrilled.

"Some knowledge is best left to circulate elsewhere, Dr. Balls," said the head librarian, and with that, I was promptly told to never return. But, much like Fëanor’s unfortunate gastrointestinal journey, I shall press on. After all, some things cannot be allowed to simply pass, without further probing.

[cryoculus]

— TRACK 04: GUILTY ⟢

aidonia is in the rearview, and the future is yours to take. but as your connections with the band deepen further, you find yourself toeing across the boundaries of what should and shouldn't be.

★ featuring; mydei x f!reader

★ word count; 8.5k words

★ tags; rock band au, found family, hostile acquaintances to friends to lovers, grief/mourning, angst, slow burn, eventual smut

★ notes; hi <3 i was supposed to have this up on here yesterday, but real life got in the way and i completely forgot lol!! as always, thank you saur much for the reception of the previous chapters!! really warms my heart.

★ header art cr; sarhiyu on x & ig

TRACKLIST ✧ READ ON AO3

The signal came back sometime that evening.

First as a faint flicker of bars, then solid enough to get a call out. Aglaea stepped out to contact the label the moment she was able, her voice tight but professional as she recounted everything for the higher-ups back home. Power followed not long after, humming back to life in a blink that felt both underwhelming and miraculous. The flickering panic of the blackout gave way to a tired kind of normal.

The show in Aidonia was officially pulled. There was no way to reschedule when the roads are covered in snow, and fans were promised full refunds. Tribbios handled most of the damage control, coordinating with local venues and media to get ahead of speculation. Come morning, the snow had let up a little, but it was enough for you all to get a move on.

None of you talked about what had happened in Tribbios’ suite. 

By the time the tour bus rumbled back to life and pulled out from the frost-stiffed hotel parking lot, Aidonia was just another name in the tour itinerary. Missed, marked. and moved on from.

You’re at your usual corner at the back of the tour bus, laptop balanced on your knees, and a weak signal blinking in the corner of the screen. The heater hums low beneath the bench, a small mercy against the cold that still clings to your bones. Everyone else is scattered in their own little silences—some pretending to nap, others just staring out the foggy windows.

You scroll through the band’s shared cloud, mostly looking for something to keep your mind busy. A setlist doc, rough rehearsal footage, old draft folders with half-named files and outdated timestamps. It feels safe here, in the admin side of things. 

But then it finds you again.

That file.

Not only did the person who edited this retain your horrible spelling, but he made sure to change the file format just to mock you. For a moment, your eyes flicker towards the front, where you know Mydei is sitting. He’s got headphones on with his eyes shut, but something tells you he’s far from asleep.

You dismiss the file with a flick and a huff of breath, shutting your laptop and stuffing it back into your bag. Now’s not the time.

The air still feels cracked open in places, too raw and brittle to touch.

So you’re surprised when Cipher plops down beside you with a cup of something hot clutched in both hands and a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She’s never been the awkward type. She grins through chaos, flirts with disaster like it’s her personal hobby, but right now she looks…uncertain.

“Hey,” she says, softly.

You glance over with a curious look, nodding in acknowledgement. 

She hesitates before speaking again, which is the second red flag. “I, uh… I wanted to say sorry. For what happened back at the hotel.”

“...To me?”

“Yeah.” Cipher fidgets, turning the mug in her hands. “I kind of…mentioned you like you were part of the problem. That’s not what I meant.” 

You don’t say anything just yet, letting your silence feel comfortable enough for her to keep talking.

“Being snowed in definitely fucked with my head, but... I was angry,” she admits quietly. “At Aglaea, the silence, the way we’ve all been pretending like we’re fine when we’re clearly not. But I shouldn’t have pulled you into that. You didn’t know about the whole rule, or whatever the hell it was.”

There’s a weight behind her voice that you’re not used to hearing. A sort of vulnerability that doesn’t dress itself up in sparkle or sarcasm.

You exhale, shifting your gaze to the window. “You didn’t pull me in. I was already there.”

Cipher nods slowly, biting the inside of her cheek. “Still. I made it sound like you were the reason no one talks about him. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You meet her gaze, finally. “Neither did Hephaestion, did he?”

Her eyes flicker, like the name hits her in the chest and scrapes on the way down.

“No,” she whispers. “He didn’t. Not to us anyway.”

Her voice is raw, stripped of all the usual luster. “Heph was kind. Stupidly kind. Even when he was tired. Even when it cost him. I think… I think part of me got used to believing people like that can’t break.” She swallows. “But they do, and it was too late when we realized.”

The guilt in her voice bleeds out slow and quiet, like a wound that never fully closed. Suddenly there’s pressure building in your chest.

Because you remember watching Cipher from afar. Chaos incarnate. The one who lit up every stage like a sparkler burning at both ends. Back when you were just a shadow behind a screen, she felt untouchable—louder, brighter, too electric to hold. You used to think that if she ever cracked, she’d do it with a punchline. Keep smiling through the smoke.

But most of her fire was real.

Cipher was the first to congratulate you after your debut show. The one who stayed up late with you, noodling through some half-formed song you both knew was going nowhere. The one who knocked on your door in Dolos and dragged you out for a night you didn’t know you needed.

Now she’s here beside you in the low hum of a darkened tour bus, grief softening her edges.

No jokes. No glitter. All that lingers is ember after the flame.

The distance you once felt seems to be dissolving. All that noise between who she was to you then and who she is to you now... It narrows into something small and human. For once, you see her clearly. Not as a firework, but a person left blinking in the dark, once the sparks have all faded.

“I didn’t know him like you did,” you murmur. “But I wish I had.”

Cipher nods again. “Hephaestion would’ve liked you. He always liked people who gave a shit.”

Her words sting just a little.

Because you hadn’t given a shit, not at first—not about him. You’d been too focused on hiding. On keeping your past fan-life buried deep, sealed off from this new, shinier present where you weren’t some anonymous handle obsessing over a band, but a real part of it. 

Yet here she is. Trusting you with a piece of a story you were never meant to be part of.

You turn to her again, eyes soft. “Thanks. For telling me.”

Cipher exhales, nods, and leans her head back against the seat. Her eyes drift shut, but not in sleep, only silence.

You both sit there in the lull between storms, the road stretched long and uncertain ahead.

The bus pulls into a highway gas station just past noon.

No more snow. Only wet roads and gray slush melting under a pale, forgiving sun. Everyone seems to breathe a little easier.

Garmentmaker powers down the anxiety alerts. Phainon hums something tuneless under his breath while Castorice carefully picks out snacks. Even Mydei wanders off toward the drinks aisle without that usual tension in his shoulders. You grab a pack of potato chips, a drink, maybe something sweet. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, and for a second, the world feels like it's unpaused.

Outside, Tribbios rounds everyone up.

She’s standing near one of the green plastic tables bolted to the pavement, paper bag in one hand, sunglasses pushed up on her head. Her voice cuts through the highway noise.

“Alright, gather up! I’ve spoken with Aglaea. We’re taking a detour.”

That gets everyone's attention as you all glance at her expectantly.

Tribbios continues, “Before we head to the next stop, we’re heading to a nearby town—small place, nothing fancy, but I made some calls. They’ve got a community center with an open recreation hall. We’re doing a little impromptu team-building.”

Groans ripple through the group, but she holds up a finger.

“Don’t even start. You don’t have to sing, you don’t have to play, you don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to. But we’re showing up. Together.”

Someone mutters, “Please say this doesn’t involve trust falls.”

She simply grins. “No trust falls. But it will be something grounding. The center’s hosting a lowkey open mic session. Locals only. No press breathing down our necks. No stage lighting that can render you clinically blind. It’s a place where we can remember how to be people again.”

A beat of quiet passes. Then Aglaea, still sipping coffee like it’s the only thing keeping her upright, gives a small, exhausted nod.

“Fine,” she says. “But we don’t stay long.”

Tribbios flashes a thumbs-up. “Three hours tops. Then we hit the road.”

The town’s only fifteen minutes off the highway, but it might as well be a different planet.

You’ve gotten used to glass towers and rhythmic traffic of bigger city states. Here, the buildings are squat and sun-faded, old bricks clinging to paint jobs from a decade ago. The roads curve softly around weathered homes and shuttered bakeries. Here, the trees aren’t ornamental. They simply grow.

Castorice leans over from her seat behind you, voice hushed. “Think we have fans out here?”

“If we do, they’re the kind that still burn CDs.” Cipher snorts, still sprawled across the aisle with a bag of marshmallow popcorn.

As the bus rolls deeper into the town, past the rusted gas pumps and schoolyard fences, something inside you twists. It’s not just the strangeness of being somewhere so quiet. It’s the fact that no one here seems to care who you are. Or what the hell just blew up back at in Aidonia.

It’s almost peaceful.

The recreation hall comes into view in seconds: wide, low-roofed, with flaking white paint and a notice board out front boasting yoga nights and bingo tournaments. The words COMMUNITY OPEN MIC are written in colorful marker on a taped-up sign by the door.

The bus slows. Someone stretches. Someone else yawns.

You clutch your jacket closer as you step off. The air smells like earth and trees. Like a place that doesn’t expect anything from you.

Maybe that’s exactly what you all need.

The floorboards creak beneath your boots as you step inside, worn lines from long-forgotten dodgeball games stretching across the scuffed wood. In the corner, someone strums an acoustic guitar, clumsy but heartfelt, the chords drifting lazily through the space. There’s coffee in paper cups, cookies stacked on fold-out tables, and someone’s grandmother knitting in the front row without sparing a glance toward the stage.

It’s far from glamorous. But in its own way, it’s charming.

Garmentmaker’s already unpacked their camera gear, moving with eerie, fluid precision between tables, adjusting tripods with a grace that makes even mundane angles look cinematic.

“Tribbios said this’ll make good ‘contrast material’ for the tour reel,” they say as they float past. “Aesthetic tag: Band Rebuilds in Rustic Amphoreus. Thoughts?”

You give a soft laugh. “You forgot emotionally devastated edition.”

Eventually, the band disperses. 

Phainon���s the first to strike up a conversation with a local, his easygoing charm folding neatly into the warmth of the room. Cipher, of course, is sampling cookies like it’s a formal competition. Castorice and Anaxa whisper over the sign-up clipboard, nudging each other toward it with half-hearted resistance. Mydei hangs back, still near the entrance, hands jammed in his pockets.

Then—Aglaea.

She’s at the edge of the room, looking wildly out of place in her pressed black slacks and blazer over a band tee. Her gaze is fixed on the wall of thank-you notes and photos tacked up near the old piano. She doesn’t see you approach, or maybe she pretends not to.

“Hey,” you say, quiet.

She doesn’t flinch. “This wasn’t part of the original plan.”

You nod. “Yeah, but maybe the original plan sucked.”

That gets the smallest twitch of her mouth. You stand beside her for a moment, both staring at the cluttered bulletin board like it’ll explain what the hell you’re supposed to do with all this—loss, tension, silence.

Then she murmurs, barely audible, “He’d have liked it here. Hephaestion. He was…always better with small rooms.”

You don’t say anything, but you give her an imperceptible nod.

The music pauses moments later. Tribbios claps twice from across the room, gathering the band like ducklings. “Alright, listen up!” she chirps, practically glowing under the twinkle lights. “Let’s make some magic today, shall we? Think of it as an emotional karaoke session with fewer regrets.”

She scans the group. Then her finger lands squarely on two people.

“Mydei. Diana. You’re first.”

It takes a second to register. Your name and his, spoken in the same breath, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You freeze. So does Mydei.

“Why us?” you blanche, sharp and stunned.

Tribbios simply grins. “I believe in symmetry.”

Cipher lets out a wolf-whistle. Castorice claps like someone just got engaged.

Mydei shifts his weight but doesn’t argue. He heads toward the stage with a slow, deliberate gait, the kind that buys him time. You trail behind with a skittering pulse. As you both climb the steps, your companion makes a move toward the mic stand until Phainon calls from where he’s leaning against the wall.

“Switch it up! Let Diana take the vocals, and get Mydei on the strings again.”

“Seconded,” Anaxa agrees with half a smirk. “We’re sick of hearing that bastard’s voice.” 

The small space erupts in quiet laughter from the rest of your bandmates, and the sound of it loosens the tension that’s been coiling around your ribs for days. You glance at Mydei, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he exhales through his nose, shoulders lifting in a subtle shrug. He takes the stool, and props the borrowed guitar on his lap without much thought.

The mic crackles as you touch it.

“Um, any requests?” you ask the room, a half-smile tugging at your lips.

One of the locals grins and shouts, “Surprise us!”

You stand there, trying to will your pulse to slow. The spotlight feels too hot, like it’s burning every thought and breath into sharp focus. Mydei, on the other hand, is already settled in. He adjusts the guitar with that casual precision you can never quite match, eyes scanning the room, and then, just as smoothly, he looks up at you.

“So,” he begins, fingers curling around the frets like they belong there. “How about we do workigntitledotmp3?”

Your stomach lurches. “Oh my god. Can you stop calling it that?” 

“Why? That’s what you named it.” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “I’ve listened to it on repeat a few times. Took a guess at the chord progression.”

You want the floor to swallow you whole. The laughter from earlier feels like it’s miles away now. Your palms sweat against the mic. While this is not the first time you’re hearing of Mydei’s knowledge about that stupid demo, finding out that he listened to it repeatedly is a different story. 

“Seriously?” you groan. “You’ve—?”

Mydei’s grin catches you off guard, like a rare sunrise breaking through clouds. 

“Come on. It’s your song, remember?” he says again, but the softness in his voice makes it feel like he’s not just coaxing you into playing. He’s handing you the moment, like he’s sharing a piece of his own truth.

That’s the worst part.

It is your song.  A relic from a night you couldn’t sleep, poured out like a secret. Now it’s here, about to be exposed under the stage lights and his fingertips.

Note to self: send that cursed file off to digital purgatory later. 

Seconds later, you nod. Just once.

Because what else is there to do, when someone hands your own heart back to you and asks you to sing?

The lights overhead hum faintly. Somewhere in the back, Cipher leans forward, popcorn paused midair. The mic is warm beneath your fingers, but your voice still catches in your throat. When Mydei plays the opening chord, your heart nearly stumbles.

He really did listen to it.

Then, your mouth opens before your fear can catch up.

 

I’m more than the silence I taught myself to keep A name behind glass, too careful to speak Built all these walls out of fear I’d break But a cage is a cage, no matter the shape

So let it fall, let it burn, let it echo inside Let the truth in my chest be the thing I don’t hide If I’m meant to shatter, then let it be loud— I’ve lived in the shadows, but I’m stepping out.

 

Mydei finds the rhythm quickly. It’s not flashy or polished. You can tell it’s been a while since he played something for himself, much less a song that barely existed until now. But each chord comes out steady, as if he’s anchoring the room to give you space to fly.

Your voice rises into the second verse, so much stronger now.

 

I wore my doubt like a second skin, Danced on the edge but never gave in. But I’m done with shrinking to make space for the storm, I’m not small—I’m a universe, still being formed.

So let it fall, let it burn, let it echo inside, Let the truth in my chest be the thing I don’t hide. If I’m meant to shatter, then let it be loud— I’ve lived in the shadows, but I’m stepping out.

 

You don’t dare look at him yet, even if you can feel Mydei beside you, catching every breath you take with the press of his fingertips against the strings. It’s like you're speaking in a language only the two of you know, and you don’t want to shatter the spell with a single glance.

 

I won’t apologize for the way I ignite, This voice was never made for staying quiet. I’m done pretending I don’t want more— My name’s not a whisper. It’s a roar.

 

The last chorus crests like a wave you’ve been chasing your whole life. Each word strikes clean and resolute, carried by the burn of Mydei’s guitar beneath you. He doesn’t push the melody. He just follows, like he’s always known where you were going.

Then, with no grand finale or perfect cadence, the song ends.

The weight of it settles around you like something earned. Your chest lifts with a breath you didn’t realize you’d held since the first note. Mydei sets the guitar down with care, a soft click of wood on wood. When he looks at you, you can still see the ghost of a smile beneath those warm, golden eyes. 

As the applause breaks, you realize this song never really belonged to you alone. It was always meant to be shared.

When you step down from the stage, neither of you says anything. But something passes between you anyway. It’s both quiet and electric, something that settles just beneath your skin.

You’re not sure if you want to give it a name. 

Up next on Tribbios’ itinerary is Cipher, who’s dragging a slightly reluctant Castorice behind her like it’s just another night in Dolos. They stumble through a sugary pop duet once they get around to it, giggling more than singing. Somehow, that only makes it better.

Phainon follows with a borrowed harmonica, joining a local girl in a surprisingly sweet back-and-forth that leaves the crowd swaying. Then comes Anaxa, half-speaking, half-singing a smoky story-song about highway ghosts and forgotten gods. It’s weird. But completely on-brand.

Even Aglaea steps up. Her song sounds like a long drive through rain. She doesn’t wait for applause when it ends, just walks off with her usual grace. Tribbios jumps in to lift the mood, belting a melodramatic power ballad and, halfway through, accepting a kazoo from a stranger like it’s a trumpet solo. 

During the interlude, your eyes catch on Cipher weaving around the stage, nervous energy radiating off her in waves. It’s the same jittery restlessness she had when she apologized to you on the tour bus. You start to wonder what’s got her wound up again, right up until she beelines for Aglaea with a tight-lipped smile.

You’re too far to hear their conversation, but the way their shoulders drop, the soft exhales, and the quick, relieved hug they share—it's enough to fill in the blanks.

Later, while the others finish a chaotic group cover of something vaguely punk and absolutely off-key, you settle into a folding chair with Garmentmaker’s tablet. You scroll: blurred mid-jump shots, wide grins, messy chords, fleeting glances.

But something makes you stop. 

It’s a photo of you and Mydei, taken just after the last note faded. He’s turned toward you in the soft wash of stage light, bangs framing the glow of his amber eyes. The look on his face is open in a way that feels rare. He isn’t smiling exactly, but neither are you. 

As you stare at the photo, something stirs deep in your chest. It feels like a sudden surge of warmth that spreads slowly, settling into the spaces that were waiting to be filled. Then your eyes lift to the scene before you: all the people who’ve welcomed you into this disaster of a band.

Loud and alive and indisputably yours.

Aidonia is behind you now, the snow, the silence, the fallout. Whatever waits on the next stage, the next road, the next night—

You’ll meet it like this.

Together.

[Original Tweet by @PulsePopDaily – now deleted]

EXCLUSIVE: Is The Flamechasers’ newest guitarist hiding a very devoted past? 👀

Fans are connecting dots between “Diana” and a once-mysterious mega fan who ran the largest account in the fandom. Full theory & receipts here 🔗 [link]

Top Replies:

@ GoldenDamselInDistress: y’all will accuse a girl of anything if she knows the setlist too well

@ NothingBurger123: not saying it's real but… that 2017 Tumblr post? uncanny

@ Hehehehehe: uhh am i the only one who thinks this is a red flag

@ GODNAXA: it’s giving Black Swan energy and I’m here for it

@ MydeisMic: okay but if it is her… that’s actually iconic??

Everyone is back in the game in no time. 

After that much-needed wind down, you play every song on the setlist with twice the confidence you had on the opening night. It doesn’t take a genius to know that your bandmates are faring much better now, as well. The next three stops fly by in a blur of sold-out crowds and perfect cues. Five weeks into the tour, you don’t just feel like you’re keeping up. 

You feel unstoppable.

Feedback from the label seems to be mostly positive. Aglaea finally looks less like she’s carrying the weight of the world and more like she’s just managing a band again. That’s partly thanks to Tribbios, who told Garmentmaker to force her into breaks the second her emotional readings dipped below a certain threshold. Still, no algorithm can fix burnout on its own. Aglaea only started breathing easier because the rest of you showed up and held the line.

The sixth stop is in Carmitis, a city cradled by pale green hills and washed in gold at dusk, where the horizon burns like molten steel when the sun begins to drop. You’ve never done a soundcheck half-dazed by the sky before, but there’s a first for everything.

When Tribbios told you this was Aglaea’s hometown, it made perfect sense. The place has her kind of presence—striking, composed, impossible to overlook. Not the type of beauty that sneaks up on you, but the kind that announces itself the moment it walks into a room. Just like her.

You can see that she’s at ease here. The band, too.

Everyone seems to know the local venue staff by name, and Aglaea makes a point of introducing you like you’ve always belonged. You try to wave her off, stammering that it really isn’t necessary, but she gives you a look that cuts through any excuse.

“Lest you forget,” she says, with that cool edge only she can pull off, “you’re part of the team too.”

For the better part of the evening, everything runs like clockwork. You tear through the setlist with your usual moxie, each note sharper than the last. But just as the final chords fade and you’re ready to launch into the closing act, the lights dim, and something unplanned flickers to life on the stage screen.

A surprise fan project.

None of you were briefed on this. Your bandmates exchange puzzled glances, clearly just as blindsided, eyes flicking toward the unfamiliar video rolling in front of a cheering crowd.

But when you spot Tribbios peeking out from backstage, she gives you a look that reads loud and clear: Just go with it.

The video fades in with a soft glow, met by an audible wave of surprise and delight from the crowd. Someone’s layered a slowed-down instrumental from the band’s debut single under the footage. It’s warm, nostalgic, full of reverb and care.

It opens with flickering clips of the band over the years: Cipher with shorter hair. Castorice clumsily adjusting her amp mid-show. A rare moment where Anaxa is the one laughing, and Phainon is mildly disgruntled.

Then comes a clip of Hephaestion. Larger-than-life as always, grinning wide as he throws his arm around Mydei mid-interview. The crowd cheers louder.

You’re not thrown off by it. You’d been a fan back then too. Before Diana, before the stage. Seeing Hephaestion on the screen doesn’t shake you. If anything, you find yourself smiling.

Part of you wonders if most of the fanbase has truly accepted you into this space yet. You know from experience how long fan projects take to put together—how they’re often in motion for months before they see the light of day. It wouldn't be unusual to find yourself absent from something like this, especially considering how much has changed in such a short time. You’d almost resolved to let the rest of the band have this moment, to simply smile and move on out of courtesy.

But then, the music shifts into a more upbeat track, the rhythm as infectious as you remember. The energy in the room pulses along with the song, and suddenly, newer clips start to flood the screen. More recent moments, clearly captured by someone who’s been woven into the band's orbit since the tour started.

There’s Mydei, grinning with the crew while setting up gear before the Okhema show. Phainon and Castorice, hilariously off-beat, attempting a terrible dance challenge onstage in Sabany. Anaxa with his mouth wide open in deep, oblivious sleep as Cipher tries and fails to drop a piece of chili into his mouth.

The crowd erupts in laughter, and it’s impossible not to smile. It’s so perfectly...them. These are the little moments between the chaos of shows, the kind that never make it into official footage but tell the real story of life on the road.

Then, there you are.

Your first show with the band. That solo where you leaned too far back and nearly toppled over—only to catch yourself at the last second, spinning the recovery into something that looked intentional. The crowd never knew, but they cheered like you meant it all along.

Then comes a slow pan: your silhouette framed in golden hour light during soundcheck in Dolos, fingers ghosting over frets as the stage hums beneath your boots.

Somehow, they even dug up a clip that moment. The one where you and Cipher are doubled over in laughter beside the tour bus, nearly wheezing, as Phainon mourns the tragic loss of his ice cream cone. The one knocked clean out of his hand by an oblivious Mydei, who still swears it wasn’t his fault.

You laugh at first. A soft, startled sound that slips out as the crowd roars with delight over Phainon’s theatrics. But as the next few clips play, the smile on your face starts to falter.

Because it isn’t just about the jokes or the spotlight.

They’re showing you.

Not just the polished moments, but the awkward starts—the missed notes, the way you used to grip the neck of your guitar like a lifeline. Candid flashes of quiet, caught when you thought no one was paying attention. The grit in your jaw when you pushed through another long rehearsal. The light in your face when the music took over and you forgot to hold anything back.

The way you kept showing up, not to prove anything, but because somewhere along the way, this stopped being a dream and started feeling like home.

Your eyes sting before you can stop it. One blink too long and the tears slip free, warm and fast. You try to laugh it off, to wipe at your cheeks, but your breath catches somewhere in your chest and refuses to come out steady.

Castorice is the first to notice. She nudges a hand into yours, fingers gentle and sure, like she’s grounding you without needing to be asked. Anaxa leans in from the other side, pretending not to look too directly at you, but the way he shifts his shoulder in front of yours feels like a shield.

You sniffle, try to hide behind the curtain of your hair, but it’s no use. 

The final montage begins to slow. The colors dim, the music softens to a hum. Then, across the screen in clean, glowing text, the last frame lingers:

Thank you for being our light in the dark.

The silence after the screen fades is thick with feeling. You can barely breathe past the lump in your throat. You don’t even try to wipe your tears anymore, but Anaxa begrudgingly pulls out a handkerchief from his tight leather pants for you to take. Of course, you blow your nose into it without a second thought. 

Just when the silence starts to feel like it might swallow you—

“Oh no,” Mydei says, with exaggerated gravity. “Looks like we’ve got a problem.”

You lift your head, just barely. The audience holds its breath with you.

“Our lead guitarist,” he goes on, pausing for effect, “is absolutely, completely inconsolable.”

Laughter ripples across the crowd, warm and easy. You hear a few awws sprinkled in. Someone yells, “We love you, Diana!”

You press a shaky hand over your mouth, a laugh escaping through the tears. Castorice squeezes your hand. Anaxa mutters, “You’re stealing the encore,” but his smile says he doesn’t mind.

Mydei walks over, unhurried and steady, his eyes locked on yours. He leans in just enough for his voice to reach you—low and private, meant for no one else.

Your brain short-circuits for a second.

Because, naturally, this is the show he decided to go shirtless. The stage lights catch the sweeping red tattoos that blaze across his chest and the curve of his arms, every line sharp and intentional. His torso looks sculpted—like something out of myth, all effortless strength and impossible detail.

And he’s looking at you.

“You feeling alright?” Mydei murmurs, his hand brushing lightly against your back.

You nod. Kind of. But the spot where he touches you burns even when he pulls away. 

“You sure?” Mydei tilts his head, smiling in that way that’s all quiet mischief and something gentler underneath. “I can tell them to roll the blooper reel next. That’d really finish you off.”

That makes you laugh for real. It’s breathless, a little cracked, but genuine.

He straightens up, raising his mic. “Alright, looks like we’re keeping the show after all. You ready for us?”

Once the heartfelt fan project wraps up, you deliver the last song for the evening. Your fingers move on their own, riding the music like a wave you were born to ride. The lights flare, the crowd sings louder than the amps, and for one breathless stretch of time, it feels like the universe exists only in this moment—sweat and sound and starlight.

Then the last note hits. Mydei throws his head back, letting the echo ring out as Phainon crashes the cymbals like a firework.

Silence, for just half a second before the crowd explodes.

People are on their feet, screaming, chanting, holding up phones and lightsticks and hand-painted banners. Some are crying. Some are laughing. But all of them are alive with the same wild current pulsing through your chest. You’re still catching your breath when Mydei turns to the crowd, hair clinging to his face, chest heaving.

“This—” he pants, gesturing to the sea of people, “This was one for the books.”

Castorice takes your hand. Cipher waves dramatically to the front row. Anaxa pulls off his jacket and throws it into the pit, because of course he does. Phainon lifts his sticks to the sky like he’s offering them to the gods. Mydei moves forward and you all fall into step with him.

“Carmitis, you’ve given us your voices, your hearts, your light. We’re gonna carry that with us to every stop ahead.”

The crowd screams back, thunderous and loving.

Then the band’s frontman turns to you with an unfamiliar glimmer in his eye, “Oh, and if you see our lead guitarist sobbing again, just know—it’s because you’re all too damn sweet.”

You cover your face, laughing into your hands as the others hoot and whistle and give you playful shoves.

Tribbios’ voice crackles through the earpieces. “Final bow, kids. Let’s make it good.”

And so you line up, shoulder to shoulder. Aglaea’s watching from the wing, her hand over her heart. Garmentmaker gives you a subtle thumbs-up from the lighting rig. Even the crew is beaming.

You all bow together. One movement, unified.

Something you wouldn’t trade for anything else in the world.

Backstage hums with movement. The kind of chaos that feels earned—high-fives from techs, congratulations from the venue crew, a water bottle pressed into your hand as someone passes. Your body’s still vibrating with leftover stage energy, but already you can feel it beginning to ebb, that delicate shift from performance to person, spotlight to shadow. 

The show’s just ended, your adrenaline still tapering off as you and the others trail toward the exit, weaving past venue staff and local press. The security detail usually handles this stretch well, keeping the band insulated from anything unscheduled. But tonight, someone slips through.

“Diana!” a voice calls, sharp and cutting through the din like a needle. “Is it true you used to run firescapes? The biggest Flamechasers fan account on Twitter?”

Your heart misfires instantly.

Your steps carry on, automatic and numb, but your breath hitches and the smile you’ve worn since the encore fades from your lips like steam on glass.

The reporter holds a phone up, recording whatever scoop he can get from you. The flash is off, but you feel the heat of it anyway. You don’t even have time to process what expression you’re making. Your past, the one you kept buried under layers of name changes, fake email addresses, and silence, is cracking open.

Your bandmates are a few steps ahead, laughing about something Castorice said. None of them hear it. None of them see you falter.

Except for one.

Fortunately, security peels the reporter away before it can turn into a scene and soon enough, you're all piling into the shuttle back to the hotel. The others are still riding the buzz of the show, laughter echoing, voices overlapping with excitement. But you can’t seem to match their rhythm.

Not when the question keeps echoing in your head.

Is it true you used to run firescapes?

You swallow hard. The name alone feels like a live wire.

How could he have known? You were careful, meticulous, even. Not even the current mods knew your real identity. You’d scrubbed every trace, buried it years ago, left it behind. At least, you thought you had. Fuck. You can already imagine the headlines once word gets out. 

“You good?”

Phainon’s voice hauls you back to the present. 

Your designated shuttle seatmate is staring at you with one part curiosity and two parts concern. His voice stays easy, laid-back as ever, but there’s a quiet weight beneath it. Like he’s giving you room to lie if you want, but hoping you won’t.

You shift, suddenly aware of the tension in your spine.

You want to say yeah, all good, or something breezy to match his tone. But even as he tosses in the occasional quip to whatever conversation is happening a row over, you know better.

He heard what the reporter had asked. 

The words don’t come easily. You’ve kept this part of yourself buried for so long that it doesn’t feel like a secret anymore. It feels like something anchored deep inside, always there, holding you steady but uncomfortably heavy. Part of you that wants to shove it all back down, and convince yourself the reporter was just guessing. That Phainon didn’t actually hear, and pretend none of it matters now.

But it does. Of course it does.

You half-expect him to pick at the corners, to pry something out of you. Any sane person who just found out their newest member could be a crazy fan would exercise that sort of caution. Yet, Phainon doesn’t breathe a word of it. He simply lets the question hang in the air like it’s your choice to answer. 

Ultimately, it’s his patience that helps loosen something in your chest.

Your fingers twitch in your lap, restless, and you trace the edge of a fold in your jeans, the way you used to ground yourself when you were nineteen, posting concert clips under a name no one knew. You remember the surge of excitement whenever a post caught fire. The way it felt like belonging. The way it made them—the Flamechasers—feel a little closer.

You press your lips together.

“You... You heard what that reporter said, didn’t you?”

Phainon doesn’t answer right away. His blue eyes shift to the window, watching the city lights blur past as if he’s lost in thought. When he finally speaks, his response catches you off guard.

“Do you want me to say yes or no?”

Your brows furrow. “Sorry...?”

He turns back to you with a small, lopsided smile. “It sounded like something that’s none of my business. So I’m giving you a choice: do you want me to say I heard it, or keep pretending I didn’t?”

You should want the easy out. For Phainon to just shrug it off and go back to chatting about setlists or late-night food runs. But the cat’s already halfway out of the bag already, and somehow, the idea of letting him believe a lie feels worse than the risk of the truth.

You sink back in your seat, the confession dragging behind your ribs.

“It’s true,” you murmur. 

Cipher shrieks somewhere in the back, and while that normally wouldn’t have fazed you, you visibly jolt at the noise. It’s a reaction that isn’t lost on Phainon, but he affords you enough grace not to point it out. 

“I see,” he says. “You haven’t answered my question though.”

...That's what he cares about?

“Aren’t you going to tell the others?” you ask with a frown. “We have all sorts of protocols set in place for obsessive fans, so—”

“Are you an obsessive fan?” he asks, cutting you off gently.

Your mouth opens, then shuts. “No? I mean—I don’t think so. I just... loved the band. A lot. In a maybe-slightly-too-intense-but-not-unhinged way? Ugh. I don’t know.”

Phainon chuckles under his breath, the sound soft and unbothered.

“That’s good enough for me.”

Part of you expected judgment. At the very least, some unease. Surely the universe would be demanding payment for all the secrets you’ve smuggled into this life by now. But instead, Phainon just leans back, like your confession weighed nothing at all.

When he casually shifts the conversation—I think I need to replace my snares, they’re starting to sound a bit off—you realize the moment’s passed.

No pressure. No expectations. 

But even with Phainon’s quiet acceptance, the unease doesn’t leave you.

It lingers in the corners of your chest, coiled tight, like a thread pulled taut but never snapped. You glance around the shuttle. Cipher is giggling at something Castorice said while Tribbios and Aglaea are talking in hushed tones. Anaxa’s got his headphones back on, staring out the window. Right next to him, Mydei is half-asleep with his head tilted back, the one who obviously poured out more energy than the rest of you.

They all look...unburdened.

That’s what makes your stomach twist. Because Phainon might be willing to let it go, but what about the rest? Would they be that easy? That kind? Or would they see you differently?

You swallow hard and look away, guilt settling in even as Phainon leans his head back, content to let the silence stretch. He’s already made space for the truth.

But you can’t shake the fear that the others might not.

You thought you’d feel better by now.

The adrenaline’s long gone, replaced with a hollow kind of quiet that settles deep in your chest. Outside your hotel window, the city hums softly beneath the dark—streetlights stretching into quiet halos, distant cars slipping by like whispers. Somewhere downstairs, the band’s celebrating, but you’re here alone, and that’s how you want it.

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

You were just about to crack open your laptop, fingers hovering over the keys, ready to finally wrestle with that unfinished demo. The awful file name seems to glare at you from the screen, a passive-aggressive reminder of how long you’ve neglected it. But tonight, you figured, was as good a time as any. You needed something to keep your hands busy. Something to keep your mind off everything else.

That was the plan, until you hear someone knock on the door of your hotel room.

You think about ignoring it. You’ve already passed on the group’s celebratory drinks—“just tired,” you told them, which wasn’t entirely a lie—and the last thing you want is Cipher trying to guilt-trip you into joining late. But of course you cave. Of course you open the door, but it’s not Cipher that’s standing on the threshold.

It’s Mydei.

But he looks different somehow. Loose in the shoulders, sprawling tattoos peeking through a half-unbuttoned shirt, one hand braced on the doorframe and the other holding a dark green bottle.

“Didn’t see you downstairs,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “Those bastards told me to make sure you didn’t get spirited away by the vending machine ghosts.”

“The what?”

“You know. Hotel haunts. Always by the vending machines. That’s what Phainon told me.”

You stare at him. “Are you... drunk?”

“Not yet.” He holds up the bottle: Velkaria Bloodwine. It’s smooth, easygoing, tastes better than it should for how dangerously drinkable it is. Expensive, too. “Wasn’t in the mood for a party either. Figured I’d share with someone less loud.”

There’s a pause. Long enough for you to wonder if this is pity, or worse: concern thinly veiled as company. Despite himself, Mydei doesn't push. He just raises a brow, waiting for your verdict. 

After a beat, you step aside and gesture him in. “Only if you let me keep working.”

“I’ll be a ghost,” he says, slipping past you with the kind of ease that always makes it feel like he belongs in whatever room he enters.

Mydei settles right next to you on the sofa, kicks off his shoes, and starts pouring out two fingers of wine into the glasses from your minibar shelf. There are no words for a while, just the sound of your keyboard tapping and the faint clink of glass.

You hate how comforting it is, the quiet, the company. Especially coming from him.

Because most of the time, Mydei is cool and remote, wrapped in that untouchable, quiet of his. You’re never quite sure where you stand with him. But tonight, he’d been unusually attentive in a way that caught you off guard. He asked if you were feeling alright while his entire damn chest was on display. And you, very valiantly, had to stop yourself from spiraling into one of your deranged ex-fangirl daydreams.

Now he’s here in your hotel room pouring drinks. Like this is some long-standing tradition between the two of you and not absolutely insane.

You don’t know what version of him this is, but it’s disarming. Maybe a little unfair.

“Are you finally going to name that file or are you just building a shrine to it?”

You shoot him a look, but it’s half-hearted at best. “It’s a work in progress.”

“Everything is,” Mydei says, bringing the rim of his wineglass to his lips. “But not everything can be performed as an impromptu duet in the middle of nowhere.”

For some reason, your heart skips at the fact that he remembers the recreation hall. That was weeks ago—you’ve already forgotten the name of the town. But not the way it felt to perform a song you wrote together. At the time, you brushed it off. Didn’t let yourself linger on it. But now, sitting here alone with him, the memory hits different.

The realization curls warm and awkward under your skin, and suddenly your face is burning with embarrassment.

You should tell him to go. You should guard this space the same way you do your secrets. But instead, you let yourself breathe in the silence that settles between you like warm smoke. It’s neither heavy nor sharp. You’re simply just two people too tired of the noise.

“Thanks,” you say quietly when you retrieve your own glass. “This is wine, isn’t it?”

Mydei grunts. “It’s fermented pomegranate juice.”

“So... Wine?”

He chuckles into his drink like he doesn’t know what to do with you. You sure as hell don’t know what to do with him. But the corners of your mouth tug upward anyway, and the silence that follows is easier now.

The project loads on your laptop, sluggish and messy, a patchwork of uneven synths and ghost track layers you’ve been too annoyed to clean up. It starts playing from a random marker. You wince.

Mydei leans forward, brow creasing. “That’s the chorus, right?”

“No,” you groan, scrubbing back a few seconds. “That’s the mess before the chorus.”

He hums, nods, then points at your screen. “Your mids are crowding each other. That guitar line could be cleaner if you isolate it.”

You blink at him. “I knew you were involved in producing our songs, but not to this extent.”

“I’m not. I’m just annoying.” He takes another sip. “Play it again.”

You do. Again and again, with a few tweaks each time. Mydei gives you his thoughts in single sentences—concise and thoughtful, never pushy. It’s almost infuriating how he speaks less than you do but still ends up being right more often than not.

Somewhere between exporting a new version and looping the second verse, your wineglass gets emptier. Then it’s refilled. And emptied again. The room softens. Your laughter spills easier. He says something about your synth patch sounding like a broken traffic light, and you almost choke from laughing too hard.

Time skips like a scratched record. You’re not sure how long it’s been when you realize how close Mydei has gotten. One of you must’ve leaned in. Or both. He’s angled toward you now, shoulder brushing yours, watching the screen from over your arm.

When you glance up, his face is right there. 

Your breath stutters, caught somewhere between your lungs and your lips. The distance between you could be measured in heartbeats. 

Up close, his features are unfair. Sharp in a way that still manages to feel soft, like how dusk blurs the edges of sunlight. His bangs fall just slightly into his eyes, that deep, burnished gold catching the glow of your screen, turning them molten. You hadn’t realized how long Mydei’s lashes were. Or how his mouth, usually so unreadable, looks almost gentle now, the faintest curve resting at the corner.

You should look away.

But instead, you’re cataloguing him like a fool: the way one brow arches more than the other when he’s focused, the way he smells faintly of old cologne and wine and something darker underneath, like cedar smoke or thunder about to break. The worst part? He’s watching you too. Not in the casual way people glance around a room.

He’s looking at you like there’s a question in his mind and you’re the only answer that fits.

The demo has stopped playing. The glass in your hand has gone warm. You can’t tell if the thudding in your ears is the leftover bass line or your pulse losing composure. You should move. Say something. Laugh it off, maybe. But the words don’t come, and your body won’t listen.

Then, Mydei tilts his head just slightly. His gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips.

Nothing about it is subtle.

“You’re staring,” he murmurs.

You swallow. “So are you.”

His mouth curves, just slightly. “Guess we’re both guilty.”

There’s a pause, light but loaded. The kind that stretches between two people suspended in a moment that might become something else if no one stops it.

It would be so easy. The room is quiet, the lights low, your skin humming from the wine and the proximity and the way his gaze doesn't waver. He’s close enough to count your breaths, to see the hesitation flicker across your face. Something waits at the edge of all this silence; something fragile, and bright, and irreversible.

But then you remember who you are. Who he is. And what crossing that line would mean for the both of you. 

Maybe in another life, you’d let it happen. You’d lean in. You’d chase the heat gathering between you until it tipped into flames. But your body moves before your heart can answer. A blink, a breath, a laugh that comes too fast and a little too loud.

“You make staring at someone sound like a felony,” you say, aiming for playful, missing by an inch.

That gives you room to shift back in your seat to put space between you. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough to breathe. Then, your eyes flick to the screen of your laptop, where the demo’s still frozen mid-loop.

“You gonna help me fix the synth patch?” you ask, quieter now. “It’s still clashing with the bass line.”

Mydei’s reply takes a second. “Did Cipher really help with this? She’s usually... more precise than this, even on her chaotic days.”

He laughs, but there’s something brittle underneath it.

You ignore it. Or try to. “Hey, you’re the one who said even the producers couldn’t tame this thing.”

The silence that follows feels heavier than the one before. Like something that had opened between you has quietly, carefully, closed again. Mydei doesn’t offer up a retort of his own. He simply leans forward, fingers finding the keyboard with practiced ease, as if that moment never touched him at all.

But as the track stutters back to life, you can feel it. In the way your pulse stumbles. In the way he doesn’t speak for a long time.

The music plays on. Everything’s back where it was.

Except it isn’t.

TRACKLIST ✧ READ ON AO3

© cryoculus | kaientai ✧ all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my work on other platforms.

[m0r1bund]

Things have been quiet lately on account of my house burning down. Nobody was hurt, and I haven't lost my physical / digital art pieces, but I have no way of working on them right now... which means I'm going a little stir crazy! haha! ha !!!

I had the foresight to draft a post with some of my favorite panels from my twine game, Threadbare. I was originally just gonna use them to promote the game, but this is all I can to work on right now, so you're getting the director's commentary reel I guess. but first

Play Threadbare!

Or don't, I can't control you.

I started making Threadbare so that I could weasel my way out of drawing comics. it was supposed to be a low-effort way of telling Frey and Kairos' story, which is, in the grand scheme of things, ancillary to everything happening on wasteland Earth.

(honks clown nose)

the art is also made to be low-effort, even if it doesn't stay that way. unremitting red/white/blue/black takes the guesswork out of painting in color, and also feels like propaganda art. mapping characters to certain colors makes simplifying them easier. Frey can be reduced to an angry blue smudge and Kairos can be a stupid red hat on a triangle.

I had already written out most of the Frey-Kairos scenes back in 2023. The holding cell scene is actually one of the first things I drew LOL. Everything else sprang up from the twine game format. I knew I wanted some buffer between Frey breaking out of the Abattoir and Frey confronting the Oracle, so that we could learn more about the two of them, and also the Archive, without rushing into prophecide. This ended up changing the structure of the story more than I thought it would... and created a lot of self-inflicted scope creep... which is for me to unpack at a later date (when I'm done) (girl help im not even done)

but probably the biggest addition is

her

and ES I guess.

ES and Rhodes were originally funnie little nature spirits, but I long suspected that Rhodes would make a kickass ex-secutor, and I needed some NPCs to explore the Archive with, so. here ya go. I promise I'm going somewhere with them. Rhodes is filling the shoes for another old character concept I had (which was partly cannibalized by the Oracle of Caeres, funny enough.)

<more spoilery stuff under the cut. play my twine game.>

The other characters like Petrei and the Undertaker were designed on the spot, which is to say I just opened a canvas and started painting and hoped for the best. because this was supposed to be low-effort. haha.

I want to go back and figure out Petrei's anatomy because the idea of doing horrible manweevil origami is fun.

The other big surprise in all of this was having sound and music figure so strongly into things. My last twine game, Killswitch, had maybe three little songs to set the mood, and no SFX. I guess something broke in me and I decided I wanted to make an ace attorney game this time. You're all getting bespoke vox files now. my gift to you. and part of why this took like 9 months

I feel lucky that I found the musician ROZKOL, whose work is featured prominently in the twine, just as I was dipping my toes into audio editing and really scripting the meat of things. I was not expecting to find a musician in the Creative Commons scene who had totally figured out what a ceaselessly grinding imperial death machine sounds like. I have a hard time thinking in music, even though it motivates so much of my work... sometimes I feel like I have aphantasia but for compositions LOL. So I really enjoyed this kind of post-hoc surprise collaboration, it was cool to watch the scenes start to mold themselves around ROZKOL's music.

The slideshow-quicktime-event-fight-scene is especially molded to ROZKOL's song "Good Soldier." A fun return to the fine tradition of warrior cats AMVs that I was raised on. bringing in player participation is something that I would like to explore in a more elegant way in the future, I really like the idea of a music video being an active, participatory experience and not a passive one. and honestly I just want other people to feel the same unhinged rush that I feel when I put a song on repeat 70 times while painting.

There's I think four different routes in the first part of that encounter, leading to some variant panels like these.

depending on your choices, Frey gets roughed up a little more or a little less, ES may or may not stick their neck out for you, and the Oracle has choice words for you if you're a good soldier dancing partner.

(fun fact: if you don't choose to act during this scene, Frey picks a route and acts at random.)

I'm still learning what does and doesn't make a meaningful player choice. is there a branch because the possibility of choosing to / choosing not to see it is compelling, or is there a branch just to be a branch? I don't really think that you need to fundamentally alter the narrative to have fun with it. little things like ES and Rhodes remembering your name still feel meaningful to me, even if they don't change the outcome of anything. but I'm also bending to certain limitations that I cannot fully discuss until I finish this damn thing.

Speaking of finishing, I made the denouement in a deranged fever haze. I got sick twice in the span of, like, a month. It was pretty miserable. but hey, at least I had time to finish my twine.

^^^ how it feels to finish your twine (she doesn't know her house is about to burn down)

further in the vein of things burning down, I'm glad I found the song "In Your Mind" and didn't get cold feet about keeping it in the tracklist. I was struggling to nail down the tone of the ending scene, until I gave it a few listens and things clicked. but at the last minute, I nearly swapped it for "Burn it All Down." It's a really good song, too, but it's probably for the best I briefly possessed Kairos' gift of prophecy and didn't pick the one about uhhhhh. burning.

I think that's all I got for now. thanks for playing and/or flirting with the idea of playing by reading this post. kill petrei for me. and try not to be on fire.

[mionemymind]

The Chosen One

Summary: How do you love the daughter of the evilest family in the galaxy? Just ask Wanda Maximoff.

Warnings: Death, Cursing, Blood, Killing, Angst, Evil

A/n: There is a lot of random fandoms in this one shot that inspired me. Let me list them off: Star Wars, Dune, Skyrim, A Court of Thorns and Roses, Fourth Wing. So if these are one of your fandoms, comment what you think I got from them. Also, please do not judge if lore ain't right. This is my version of stuff and god I'm struggling to remember all of it lmaooooo. Also, thank you @usersukuna for the amazing gif. And thank @hiiraya for reading the rough draft of this. Also, I wanted to get your opinion on it before I posted, but that was gonna take long lmaoooo. So if you see any plot holes bestie, let me know and I'll edit it in later. Also, I had intentions of make this more evil but I don't like the idea of Stockholm Syndrome so yeah.

Word Count: 13.3k

Masterlist

Loving the person that the galaxy was sworn to hate was not an easy task for Wanda Maximoff. She had come from a world that was known for its politics, her parents both being senators. Growing up in that scene allowed Wanda to see just how evil people can be when they seek power so recklessly. 

“I’ll never be like them,” Wanda vowed. She was as little as 10 when she first witnessed multiple assassins kill a mad hungry senator. “Those that are corrupt will only lead to a painful end,” Wanda’s father stated. He didn’t intervene or call for any help. Witnessing her father stand by at such a scene made Wanda question, “Was this a good thing or did my father help with his murder?” She was too scared to ask loudly. That was the moment she knew that fear was a powerful thing to have. 

<|>

Wanda was only 15 when her home planet was captured by the Aetos family. In just one night, she witnessed the destruction of the very thing she called home. She was separated from her family as they packed hundreds of young girls and boys in a spaceship. 

Crying her heart out, Wanda feared where they would take her. Soon they arrived at one of the many planets the Aetos family owned, Acrux. Shoving them in a line, Wanda saw many buildings of Greek inspiration. Not only that, she saw the many people who were enslaved there, all of them being no older than 18 years old. 

She was sorted to work at the Colosseum, one of the unluckiest things to do in Acrux. Every day she was tasked to fight a person, creature, etc. just to live another day. It was a brutal life but if she did survive, it would guarantee she would be able to leave at age 18. 

Two weeks after she arrived, she met Y/n. The kids were fighting for food when Y/n whispered to Wanda, “I know where they keep the food.” By then, she was starving to death and any ounce of awareness was gone at the mere offer of food. 

Y/n was talented and light on her feet, something Wanda quickly noticed. As they snuck around the darkly lit corridors, Y/n finally found the food pantry. “You go first, I’ll make sure to stay on the lookout. Try to eat the farthest batch from the front, that way they don’t notice that it’s gone.” 

Wanda didn’t question how Y/n knew this and simply followed her instructions. The pantry wasn’t massive but large enough that missing food would be hard to notice. Wanda first ate a few berries before heading to the bread. Just like Y/n said, Wanda focused on the stack near the back. 

While the bread was slightly cold, Wanda could tell it had been slightly fresh. One piece of it and she was already in heaven. Not able to contain herself, Wanda tried her best to eat as much as she could. It was selfish but she couldn’t help herself. 

Half a minute had gone by before Y/n opened the door and said, “Guards are coming.” Wanda stuffed the rest of the loaf in her pants pocket and followed Y/n out. They hid in a small opening in the hallway, dark enough that the guards hadn’t noticed them as they walked by. 

Wanda hadn’t realized how small the opening was until they were in it, chests almost touching each other. Looking closely at Y/n, Wanda never realized how close in height they were. She had dark hair and a small scar across her right eye. 

“I think they’re gone now,” Y/n coughed out. Wanda broke the stare she didn’t know she was holding. Quietly they made their way back. Wanda stopped Y/n before they entered the shared living quarters. “I appreciate you looking out for me back there. You didn’t have to - and if I’m being entirely honest, I don’t know why you did that.” 

Y/n smiled at Wanda, not knowing how to take her compliment. “But regardless, here is a piece of bread. I saved it because I knew you didn’t get a chance to grab something. I’m sorry I couldn’t get more but I didn’t know what would get noticed or not.” 

Y/n accepted the piece from Wanda and hid it in her pocket. No words were communicated as Y/n gave Wanda a small smile. They walked back into the quarters where everyone was too busy screaming and yelling to notice they were gone. That was the day Wanda started to look out for Y/n. 

<|>

A couple of days later, Y/n had woken up Wanda from her sleep. “Wake up,” Y/n whispered as she shook Wanda awake. Everyone was asleep by now. Y/n took extra precautions to make sure no one was awake. She didn’t need any snitches to ruin her plan. 

Wanda woke up disgruntled, “What? - What is it?” 

“I’ve been thinking.” 

“This late in the night?” Tomorrow was another designated battle for Wanda and she wanted to have as much energy as she could have for it. 

“Yes - I’ve been thinking a lot about you.” This had gotten Wanda’s attention. She sat up in her bed, scooting over to allow Y/n to sit. “Well, spit it out.”

“You and I can make a pack. I’ve seen you fight and you can carry yourself. But you do have your weaknesses.” Feeling defensive about the latter comment, Wanda said, “And you think you’re better? You haven’t even fought - you don’t even know if you can survive a day out there.”

“I know. I know. But hear me out. I have training and experience. My first match is directly after yours. Just watch me and see. And if you decide it’s worth your time, then you and I can be partners.” 

“What do partners mean to you?”

“It means I got your back and you got mine. If you have trouble, I’ll be there. Do you need something? Food, backup, or training, I’m there. Name it, you got it - just as long as you do the same for me.” Y/n looked around to make sure no one woke up to the sound of them talking. 

“What happens if you or I want more partners?” 

Y/n thought about it for a moment, carefully deciding what to say. “I’m only offering this deal to you and you only. If you decide to partner up with somebody else, I can’t be your partner anymore.”

“Does that mean you also won’t be partners with somebody else?”

“It will only be you Wanda - that’s if you accept.” 

Wanda was perplexed at the offer. She wanted to say yes, especially since Y/n had helped her before. Not wanting to seem eager, she said, “Let me watch your fight and think about it.” 

Y/n nodded in her response and got up. Before she could walk away, Wanda grabbed her hand and asked, “Why me?”

With all her truth, Y/n admitted, “‘Cause you’re the only one in here that has a chance of surviving like me.”

As Y/n walked away, Wanda felt hope for the first time on Acrux, hoping that maybe she’d actually leave this place alive. 

<|>

Today was Y/n’s first fight. Wanda walked away from her match victorious once more. On the way back inside, she passed by Y/n. “Good luck,” Wanda said. In her heart, she could feel that Y/n didn’t need luck. There was this energy that she displayed as if she knew she was going to win even with her eyes closed. 

“Thank you. You’re going to watch, right?” Y/n said while jogging backward. Her choice of weapons was two swords. “I will, probably from the gates though since I can’t run to the stands fast enough.” 

Y/n winked and turned around, she yelled back, “Then I’ll make sure it’s something worth watching.” 

<|>

Wanda and Y/n were 16 when Y/n first got hurt in the arena. A hired bystander had jumped into the ring on top of Y/n. Surprised by the attack, her opponent cut her arm. This type of corruption was something the Colosseum highly disapproved of. 

Within seconds, soldiers flooded the arena and arrested the opponent and bystander. Wanda was first among their peers to aid Y/n. The pounding in her heart and the ringing in her ears almost made her blackout with how worried and angry she was. If the soldiers hadn’t been there, Wanda was certain to have murdered them then and there. 

“Are you okay?” Wanda checked everywhere to see if there was more damage that she didn’t see. She didn’t calm down until Y/n held her hand and said, “It’s just a cut on my arm Wands. I’m going to be fine.” 

Wanda helped her up and walked with Y/n through the Colosseum back to their shared room. She immediately went to their first aid kit hidden in a compartment behind their pantry and grabbed all the necessary bandages and sterilization. 

Y/n sat at her bed staring at the cut that was slowly losing blood. “I don’t think it’s deep, thankfully. God that fucker just had to hire somebody.” Wanda grabbed a chair nearby and sat near Y/n’s arm. This was the first time Y/n had needed any type of bandage in their time at the arena. She didn’t want to show it, but it was scary. 

Back then, Wanda was the one to have gotten all the bruises and cuts before Y/n properly trained her. Nowadays, the two hardly have to use the first aid kit at all. 

As Wanda continued to stitch, Y/n noticed Wanda’s shaky hands. “Do you need me to get someone else? It’s okay if you can’t do it, Wanda.” 

“No!” Wanda hadn’t meant to yell but something about this was different. Afraid to say anything more, Y/n remained quiet as Wanda continued to stitch. Once it was done and Y/n was bandaged, Wanda was finally able to breathe again. The ringing in her ears finally stopped. She could feel her senses coming back to her. “Thank you,” Y/n said. 

“You’re welcome.” Wanda placed the first aid back into its hiding spot and got ready for bed. 

Night came and Y/n was quick to sleep while Wanda was wide awake. She laid on her side, paying attention to Y/n’s breathing. Logically she knew that it was just a cut and that nothing bad was going to happen to Y/n. But her heart just couldn’t stop worrying. 

It was then and there that Wanda knew that if Y/n died so would she. 

<|>

A batch of new kids arrived at Acrux. It was a mix of older kids at a range of 15-17. Wanda never had enemies this whole time she had been in the arena, which was only a year and seven months. That was until Emma had arrived. 

She was the same age as Wanda and Y/n. Nothing was special with her until she showed just how good she was at fighting. During her first match, she had beaten Y/n’s record of defeating an opponent in under a minute by a second. 

Emma came out of the arena without a single bruise or scratch. Wanda noticed this but she also noticed that Y/n did too. Wanda was never the type to worry about her place with Y/n, after all, they were partners. But it was the way she noticed Y/n watching Emma that something inside her triggered. 

For now, Wanda let the anger and worry remain inside her. “This will pass,” she thought. But it didn’t. 

Y/n and Wanda were sparing like normal when Y/n brought up the news. “Emma asked me to train her.” The confession caused Wanda to be distracted, allowing Y/n to disarm her with one swoop. 

“What did you tell her?” Wanda asked, ignoring that she was easily defeated in that small moment of distraction.

“That I only train with you.” Wanda released the breath she was holding. She picked up her sword and continued practice like normal. 

Wanda was on the way to dinner when she noticed Emma talking to Y/n again. The visceral rage that grew inside Wanda within a second could have destroyed everyone in her path. But she remained composed and hid nearby. 

It wasn’t that Wanda didn’t trust Y/n. She simply didn’t trust Emma. 

“I don’t understand why you only train with Wanda,” Emma huffed out. She knew that she and Y/n would work well together seeing as they’re part of the rare bunch that actually know how to fight on their own. 

“It’s not something you have to understand. I only train with Wanda. No amount of bargaining will change that.” Emma rolled her eyes at Y/n’s stubbornness. 

“Are you two dating or something?” Wanda’s heart dropped at the question. No one had ever asked her if she was dating Y/n. But that was something she never knew to be thankful for. Her face felt hot and her chest beat like crazy at the mere thought of someone asking her that. 

Wanda would never outright admit that maybe there were some lingering thoughts here and there about Y//n. But this was Acrux and all she could focus on was leaving this planet at age 18 hoping she could find her parents and twin brother.

But here she was, waiting anxiously for Y/n’s response. As if there was some secret she unfortunately wasn’t aware of. Maybe they were dating and she never knew till now. They were partners but does that mean more? 

“No…we’re not,” Y/n answered with some hesitancy. Wanda felt her heart plummet. She hadn’t meant to cry, but tears started falling. “Why am I crying? I already knew we weren’t dating,” she thought. 

There was no point in asking questions. Not when her heart knew…Wanda had fallen for Y/n. 

<|>

Wanda was 17 when she confessed her feelings to Y/n. Emma had been on Acrux for only five months and in those five months, she had constantly made moves on Y/n. Each time, Y/n had denied her offers. 

The more Emma pressed for clearer answers, the more Y/n walked away. And while Y/n would never admit it, Emma suspected that Y/n had feelings for Wanda. 

It was midnight. Wanda was asleep when she was woken up again by Y/n. Turning over, she slowly opened her eyes to a candle and a small cake. “Happy Birthday Wands,” Y/n whispered. “Make a wish.” 

She sat up and held the plate holding the cake. She thought about her wish for a second before blowing out her candle. “What did you wish for?” 

For months, Wanda had been wanting to confess to Y/n. There were multiple times during training, lunch, or even while they hung out that she had wanted to confess. None of them felt like the right time. There was never a right time according to Wanda. 

But it was the way that Y/n had looked at Wanda the whole time as if she was the only girl in the world. Maybe it was her imagination but God Wanda wanted to believe it so badly. And who was she to deny this anymore? 

Unable to hold back the urge, Wanda placed the plate down on her bed as she sat up to grab Y/n by the neck and kissed her. When Y/n did not kiss back immediately, Wanda broke it, afraid that she had messed up the most important thing to her. “I’m so sor-”

Y/n didn’t wait for Wanda to finish as she cupped her cheeks and kissed her back. There was nothing to deny anymore. Not when her knees felt like they could buckle at any moment. Not when the feeling in her chest grew with enticement. 

The desperation in each kiss grew as Y/n sat on Wanda’s bed leading to Wanda to crawl on Y/n’s lap. It felt passionate at first but quickly grew messy after each kiss.  Hardly coming up for air, Wanda grabbed the hair near Y/n’s neck and made a fist of it, unintentionally causing Y/n to moan. 

Feeling Y/n’s hands wrapped around her ass, Wanda moaned as well. She needed this girl more than anyone else in the world. And so be it if Wanda needed air, she needed Y/n more. Y/n broke their kiss, her eyes dilated with lust. While slightly heaving, Y/n confessed, “If you want me Wanda, I’m yours. Only yours.” 

“Show me then.” 

<|>

Y/n turned 18 two months after Wanda’s birthday. Although Wanda was eligible to leave, she stayed, not wanting to leave her girlfriend behind.

They were packing their things up, only carrying the basic necessities before completely leaving the Colosseum. They headed to the landing docks, waiting for the next transportation to arrive when a black spaceship, decked out with the Aetos family logo, arrived.

“Wanda let's go,” Y/n said as she tugged on Wanda’s hand. “That’s not our ride, dekta.” 

“Do you trust me?” Confused by the question, Wanda answered with, “Of course.” 

“Then let's go.” Not wanting to argue anymore, Wanda followed Y/n onto the ship. As soon as they went in, the doors closed, immediately lifting off. A droid entered the main area and stated, “Welcome back Master Y/n. Let me grab your things.” Y/n reached out with their things in her hand. As the droid grabbed their items, Wanda was perplexed at how the droid knew Y/n. “Master? Why did he call you master?” 

There was a worried look on Y/n’s face. The burden she had been carrying for three years was finally going to be free. “I need you to sit down Wanda.” 

“I’m not gonna sit down until you tell me the truth. Why did that droid call you master?” Wanda anxiously waited for Y/n’s response. Nothing was making sense and every single second without the truth only agitated Wanda even more. 

Y/n sighed. There was no way to hide from this. Wanda deserved to know the truth. 

“It’s because he’s my droid. My family gave him to me as a gift for my 5th birthday.” 

“Stop fucking around Y/n. There’s more to this story. Why are we on this ship?!” Wanda crossed her arms, unhappy with the secrets. 

“Before I tell you, I need you to know that I was only able to tell you once I turned 18. Had I told you before then, it would have cost me my life.” There was no response from Wanda, causing Y/n to stress even more. She sat down and continued, “My name is Y/n Aetos. I’m the eldest daughter of the Aetos family.” 

Wanda’s face dropped. “You’re lying. Please tell me you’re lying.” Tears came down Y/n’s face as she shook her head no. 

“This whole time you’ve been lying to me! I told you everything! I gave you every single part of me that was vulnerable just for you to be lying this whole time about who you are!” 

“Hear me-”

“I don’t want to hear it. Get me off this ship now!” Y/n got up and walked to Wanda. But for every step, Wanda stepped back. It was obvious that Y/n was hurt by the reaction. 

“Bab-”

“Don’t you dare call me that,” Wanda snarled. The love of her life had not only betrayed her but was the very reason she was in Acrux in the first place. “If you don’t get me off this ship right now, I will crash it into the nearest planet.” 

There was no point in calling out her bluff. Y/n knew that even if Wanda had tried, she would be unsuccessful. But that was not a route she was willing to take. Not when it came to her. 

“I will give you everything you want - you want off of this ship? Fine. But please let me explain myself.” Before Wanda could disagree, Y/n continued, “I was only 15 when my parents said I had to go to a planet of their choosing and survive until I was 18. It was a long-standing part of our family tradition. Those that survive lead well and those that fail never get to see another day again.” Wanda saw the pained expressions on Y/n’s face as she relieved through the harsh memories. 

“A chip was planted inside my neck on my 15th birthday that forbade me to ever say what my bloodline was. I could only go by my years of training and knowledge. Had I told you, the chip inside me would have blown up within an instant.” 

“No one in this galaxy besides my masters and servants knows what I looked like. For the very reason that if I don’t survive until I’m 18, they simply would not want their precious kingdom to know that I was a failure.” 

There was silence as Y/n pleaded for Wanda to look at her. When she didn’t, Y/n continued to silently cry. This was the day she got back her freedom but at what cost? 

Finally, Wanda spoke up, “Why did you have to rope me into this? I was fine by myself. Was it all a trick to you?” 

Shaking her head no, Y/n confessed, “I knew strategically that if I had someone to rely on then my odds of surviving would increase. In the beginning, you were someone I only looked at as a companion, an ally.” 

“It wasn’t until the day you almost died that everything had changed for me.”

Wanda remembered that day clearly. A bull had managed to stab her straight in the stomach after failing to dodge the attack. Causing her to bleed out in the arena. Thankfully it was a 2v2 match and Y/n was her partner. 

“I had never killed something as fast as that day. When I saw you bleeding, I- I-,” Y/n cupped her mouth to suppress a sob. That was one of the worst days of her life. “I used all my winnings and favors that day to save you. And I didn’t even know then if you were going to survive.” 

Wanda was surprised at the tears falling down her eyes. She didn’t know when it started but it didn’t stop. 

“So when you did, I vowed that I was going to get you out…even if it had cost me my life.” Y/n wiped the tears from her face. Wanda had finally decided to look at Y/n and was heartbroken at the sight. 

“So when you kissed me on your 17th birthday, I knew you were the one for me. It was selfish of me to have you to myself but you are my reason to live Wanda.” Y/n took one more step to Wanda. And when she didn’t back up, she walked even closer. 

“I did not mean to have fallen in love with you. And I certainly did not mean for you to have fallen in love with me.” Y/n cupped Wanda's cheeks and wiped her tears away. “And I’m sorry it was me that you’ve fallen for because you deserve better Wanda.” 

“Did you even want to tell me?” 

“More than you will ever know.” 

“What does this mean for us?” Y/n hardly felt scared in life. It was the way she grew up that if you were to be scared, you would be just like the weak. But today, Y/n felt scared not knowing what the future had for her and Wanda. 

“I will not force you to stay. But if you choose to go…just know my heart will always belong to you.” 

<|>

Two weeks have gone by since Wanda chose to leave Y/n. It was not an easy decision to make. Even her dreams constantly haunt her,  reminding her of the heartbroken face Y/n had when she left. But Wanda could not stay knowing what the Aetos family had done to the galaxy. 

True to her promise, Y/n did not force Wanda to stay. Instead, she used her family’s database to try and find the last rumored location of the Maximoff family. 

“It appears your brother has been in hiding according to these latest reports. He’s currently in the Andromeda fighting against the Blackbar army takeover.” Y/n wiped away her last tears as she moved from the holographic map to a storage unit on the other side of the room. She grabbed a backpack full of equipment, extra water, and a weapon that was in Wanda’s skillhouse. 

Y/n walked back to Wanda and gave her all the items. She tried her best to appear strong for what Wanda chose. “Here are all the items you could need. Inside the backpack is armor, food, water, and a tent. You’ll need to be careful as the armor has my family’s signet on it. Any person who will see it will automatically assume you're the enemy. The first thing you need to do is get rid of it. Take sap from the thick trees that inhabit Andromeda. It should help get rid of the logos.”

Y/n looked around the room for one last item and gave it to Wanda. “And here,” Y/n said while handing it out. “What is this?”

“A beacon. Right now, no location of it exists. But as soon as you press this red button, it’ll alert me of your location. If you ever need help, just press this button and I’ll be there for you. However, it will only be me who comes to your aid. I can’t send troops without my parents knowing about my actions. For now, I think it’s best if we avoid that.” 

“Master Y/n, we’ve landed in Andromeda.” Y/n nodded and looked at the back doors opening revealing the jungle. The hot atmosphere quickly invaded the inside of the plane. There was no clearing in sight as tall trees surrounded them. 

Y/n walked Wanda to the edge of the plane before stopping. “I hope you find your family Wanda.” 

Wanda didn’t know what to say. Instead, she gave Y/n a strong hug before walking away. At the last minute, Wanda turned around to see the door closing. She glanced at Y/n’s face to see a tear fall. 

“I hope to never see you again Wanda Maximoff,” Y/n thought, “You were the best part of my life.”

In an instant, the ship was gone and Wanda was alone again. 

<|>

Wanda was alone in the woods when Pietro had found her. She was preparing for the night as she took off her armor. No logos appeared on it. Wanda had followed Y/n’s advice by immediately removing any signet bearing the Aetos family logo. 

Preparing her tent, she was ambushed by a team. In seconds, soldiers came out from their hiding spots, pointing their guns directly at her. “It was calculated,” Wanda thought as there was no chance for her to attack back. They had been watching for a while now and she barely felt it. Wanda felt stupid but could hardly blame herself. She was exhausted and hungry. 

Wanda heard the leaves behind her ruffle as their Captain spoke, “Who are you?” Wanda waited for them to circle in front of her. She didn’t need to startle any of the team fearing that they might shoot at any sudden movements. 

“My name is Wanda Ma-,” before she could finish her sentence she came eye to eye with someone who looked very familiar. “Pietro?!” 

Pietro was stunned at the girl that knew his name. He got on high alert. He aimed his blue saber at her and almost demanded more information but the terrified look on Wanda’s face stopped him in his tracks. “Wanda?” 

Pietro retracted his saber and hugged his twin sister. “You’re here…you’re finally here.” Wanda hugged back, almost afraid to believe that he was right there. 

“We need to get you back to safety,” Pietro stated as he rounded up his men. “There are so many things I need to tell you but right now let's pack up your stuff and get back to my base. Night in Andromeda is not safe.” 

<|>

Pietro led Wanda back to a village in the trees. Many huts were placed high above the ground and all were connected by wooden bridges that allowed for easier travel. “This is my home,” Pietro said as they walked through the door. “I’ll let you freshen up in the bathroom. In the meantime, I’ll prepare us dinner.” 

Wanda walked into the bathroom and noticed all the dirt and sap that covered her face and armor. She quickly undressed herself and practically moaned at the feeling of hot water. After she finished washing herself, Wanda got dressed in some fresh clothes that Pietro laid out. 

“Dinners ready!” Pietro yelled from the kitchen. Wanda walked out of the bathroom and placed her armor near the front of the house, not wanting to get Pietro’s place dirty. Once she got near the kitchen, she could smell the richness of the meal, instantly making her stomach grumble with delight. “Dig in.” 

Wanda sat across Pietro and served herself a portion of the meal. They both ate in silence as Wanda devoured the food in front of her. It was hard to survive in Andromeda when she knew little of what could kill her or not. 

“Do you like it?” Wanda nodded in agreement as she stuffed herself. “That’s good to hear. I’ve been working on my cooking skills whenever I have free time.” 

Wanda ate a couple more bites before asking, “Are you a captain of sorts? It seemed like those soldiers responded to your commands.” 

“I am. Although there’s not much official order around here, I have managed to get respected enough to be followed as a captain.” Pietro collected their dishes and placed them in the sink. 

“Let’s talk more in the living room.” As Wanda and Pietro sat on the couch, Wanda was quick to ask, “Do you have any clue on where our parents are?” With a solemn smile, Pietro said, “Our parents are..away.” 

“What do you mean?” Pietro sighed as he readjusted his position, “Let me start from the beginning.”

Pietro cleared his throat, “During the invasion, the Aetos family had packed all the younglings on a ship. We were supposed to be sent to Acrux but my ship had crash-landed in Andromeda. Thankfully, there was a village nearby that helped all of us out and took us in.”

“For weeks, I tried my best to find a way to get back home. It wasn’t until I got access to our family’s money that someone listened to me.”

“They provided me with transportation back but once I arrived, it was like a different place Wanda. Within those weeks, the empire of Barlowe had taken over everything. It was like a planet that housed thousands of soldiers for miles.”

“I tried my best to get intel on what happened. Fortunately enough, the few native people left told me everything.” Pietro reached out and grabbed Wanda’s hand. “An invasion from the Barlowe empire happened. They disguised themselves as the Aetos family to manipulate the rest of the galaxy into thinking that they were taking over.” 

“They relocated all the children to many different places. As for the adults, those that weren’t captured fled and those that were captured had to work for the empire.” 

“I tried sneaking into one of their bases to find more intel on our parents but all I could find was that they weren’t captured and were in hiding. The next thing I did was look for you in the system but nothing about you popped up. I wanted to find out more but I didn’t know how. So I flew back to Andromeda and have been living here with the other kids from Fornia.” 

Wanda sat there and tried her best to take all of it in. “Do you think they’re still alive?” Pietro sighed once more as there were countless times he thought of finding them. “I wish they were but it’s been three years and none of the other kids have a clue on where their parents are at. We kind of stopped holding on to hope of seeing our parents again when the Blackbar army started their invasion on Andromeda a couple of months ago.” 

“What’s stopping you from fleeing?” Wanda was desperate to cling on to Pietro. The fact that he was still alive gave Wanda some hope that her parents were also alive. 

Pietro looked away as he glanced at the window showcasing the village. “In the three years I’ve been here, I’ve managed to find myself people that I trust and care about. In turn, they look to me to help defend Andromeda from this takeover. I know I could still flee using our family’s money, but where would I go? Invasions are happening all around the galaxy.” Pietro was momentarily lost in his thoughts as he remembered all the times he desperately wished his family would rescue him. 

“Not only that, there’s this girl that I’ve grown feelings for. She’s been with me since we crashed here. And I don’t have the heart to leave her.” Although Wanda wanted to feel disappointed in Pietro’s decision to stop looking for their parents, she too knew the feeling of not being able to leave without Y/n. She reminisced for a few moments before focusing back on the conversation.  

“There is more that I need to tell you but could you tell me what it’s been like for you?” 

With a heavy heart, Wanda sighed, “Where do I even start?” 

<|>

“How did we even get to this point?” Wanda questioned as she fought her best to stay conscious. Dry blood ran down her face, her hands were tied behind her back, and a gag was placed in her mouth. Pietro was passed out in the cell across from her, tied up in the same manner. 

The twins were barely united for two weeks before Blackbar’s army sent reinforcements to further the invasion of Andromeda. Pietro was stuck in the front lines along with Wanda who refused to leave his side. The village barely was able to make a dent in the enemy’s forces before being captured. 

That was three days ago and now the majority of the village was stuck in a cell each being tortured for information. “Get up,” the guard demanded as they opened Wanda’s cell. She proceeded to scream and kick the best she could, causing Pietro to wake up. 

“Let go of her!” He screamed into his gag. “Get the boy as well.” The guard had enough of Wanda’s theatrics and punched her in the face causing her to pass out from all the pain. They dragged the twins to the control area where the leader of the operations was, dropping them in the middle of the room. “Are you idiots? I need them awake.”

“Yes, sir.” Grabbing the syringe, the guards injected Wanda and Pietro with a serum that would help them stay awake. “Remove their gags.” 

Stirring awake, Wanda groaned in pain. Nothing in Acrux had compared to this aching feeling throughout her body. If she had the energy, she would have screamed from how much pain she was feeling. “Wanda Maximoff, just the girl we need. According to our intel, you were on Acrux around the same time a certain Aetos was inhabiting the planet.” 

Wanda was barely conscious as she saw General Tullius grab a knife and hold it to Pietro’s neck. “Tell me what you know or your brother is going to die.” Wanda’s eyes widened, “Please don’t!” She thrashed in her bindings as tears fell from her eyes. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know but please let him go.” 

“Wanda don’t-”

“Silence! If you want to live, I suggest you cooperate.” Pietro froze as the knife was pressed deeper into his throat. 

“General Tullius,” a different soldier entered the room with Wanda’s backpack in hand. “Here are the girl’s items.” General Tullius grabbed the bag and looked through it. The only thing that caught his eye was the small remote. 

He dropped the bag and observed it. “Tell me Ms. Maximoff, what does this do?” Wanda held her breath at the very thing that could save them. “Don’t press it,” she begged. He didn’t listen and pressed it anyway. He looked around and felt nothing happen. “It’s useless anyways - come with me now, you have information to share.”

“As for you,” General Tullius sliced Pietro’s throat as Wanda Maximoff screamed in horror, witnessing her only sibling die in front of her. 

<|>

Hours have gone by and Wanda has not given any information to the General. All she could focus on was the blood on the floor where Pietro’s dead body was once. 

“If you can’t provide me with the information, I will find someone who can,” General Tullius spat at Wanda. There was a different type of evil in his eyes. Only hot anger lay behind them. Which meant one thing, General Tullius was sent here to prove something, something his superior doubted. And any loss meant more than likely his life. 

Tired and barely clinging on to her life, Wanda prayed and pleaded with all her might that Y/n would come soon. But as minutes went by, her hope waned. Y/n could be anywhere in the galaxy, probably back with her family, which could be light-years away. How could Wanda believe that she’d drop everything to come? “God, please…please send me help.” 

“Sir, an unmarked ship is heading directly for us. How would you like to respond?” 

“Take it down!” General Tullius could not bother with the inconveniences as he headed back to Wanda. Before he could hurt her again, explosions rattled the building followed by the blaring alarm system. 

“What the?” More artillery exploded. A shiver ran down General Tullius. He could feel the raw power that landed in his fortress. The force inside him could feel that this was only one person but someone not to mess with. 

“Turn on the cameras! They’re inside the building.” Wanda paid attention to all the chaos. She could see the panic run through General Tullius. This was someone above his skill level, someone powerful. 

The camera feed played for everyone in the headquarters to see. A dark figure with all-black armor walked through the hallways. No effort was exerted as this figure force choked the troops in her way. The raw power caused the camera feed to go black as the lights flickered out. 

“What’s happening?! Give me a different angle now!” The officer did as told and tried their best to provide a different camera angle. In a different room, a new wave of troopers prepared for the enemy. Everyone could easily hear the terrifying screams coming from the other side of the door. 

“Hold,” the commander stated. The building shook as the door crunched slowly. Soon it was pulled off its hinges. No one could see what was happening. 

A bloody body came crawling out of the shadows, “Please…kill…me.” A trooper tried to reach out but the body was merely dragged out of sight. Soon, the rumble of a lightsaber was heard. The red color illuminated the shadow of the figure. “Fire!” 

Red lasers fired their way. None touched the figure. One was purposely deflected to hit the camera inside. The feed went to black and General Tullius knew what he was facing. 

Wanda almost smiled in delight at the scared look on General Tullius’s face. “It’s Y/n,” she thought. The General gathered all officers and troopers to aim at the door. “We need to be on lockdown! Now!” 

“That would never be enough,” Wanda thought. But the injuries were adding up, she could feel herself needing to sleep. Soon, she saw the door fly off its hinges, crushing the majority of those who guarded it. The smoke and alarms were too much to process. Wanda fainted from the pain. The last thing she saw was the color red. 

<|>

Not much time had passed before Wanda woke up. Everyone in the room was already dead besides General Tullius. The saber in his stomach was hard to miss. 

“My family’s name is carried through the innocents we kill, the horrors children sing, and the people we control,” Y/n’s helmet unveiled to show her face. The glow of her lightsaber made her eyes appear red with madness. Inch by inch, she pushed her saber further and further, wanting the burning sensation to feel like an eternity.

“Your death will be meaningless compared to the thousands of generals we’ve killed.” General Tullius felt his blood start to boil, the heat coming from the lightsaber was burning him inside out. “Your men will forever remember the day I single-handedly slaughtered them to the masses.” His blood started to spill out of his eyes, mouth, and nose. No words could escape as he continued to scream in horror. 

“And you will never know a day of peace as I will chase you in hell for all the crimes you’ve committed against her.” Y/n flicked her arm, slicing the general in half. The smell of his flesh burning was almost too much for Wanda to handle as she looked away. She could hear the body drop to the ground as the room soon became quiet. 

Y/n surveyed the room of her damages. Many troops lay dead all because of one call. But this was who Y/n was. The daughter of the most evil family in the world. And Wanda so happens to be the person she loved. 

Y/n retreated her lightsaber back to its hilt and clipped it onto her belt. She removed her helmet and slowly walked towards Wanda. Bruises were covering Wanda’s body as well as some dried blood coming from her forehead. The sight made Y/n choke in anger but she remained composed. 

“Wanda?” Y/n called out, hoping to not scare her off. This was a side that Wanda had never seen before. The killings in the Colosseum were mandatory. It was always the opponent you were against but this. This was different. Y/n killed mercilessly without hesitation. No one could even beg to live another day before she killed them off. This was the part of Y/n that held the Aetos family name. This was the evil that surrounded and consumed Y/n. 

There were a couple of feet between them when Wanda spoke up and said, “You killed them all.” Wanda looked around, unable to cope with how much death surrounded her in just one instance. “I know my love.” Y/n didn’t move any closer, allowing Wanda to process. “I’m sorry I took so long…are you okay?” 

When Wanda looked into Y/n’s eyes, she no longer saw the person she had just seconds ago. Here was the Y/n she fell in love with. The one that made sure she was okay at the end of the day. The one that would give up her food to make sure she ate. The one that would kiss away all the pain from being on Acrux. The one that just knew her. 

Wanda ran back into Y/n’s arm where everything clicked. She felt safe, wanted, and loved in her arms. Nothing would ever harm her here. Tears ran down Wanda’s face, exhaustion creeping up on her. “Everything is going to be okay my love, I promise.” Y/n continued to murmur soft affirmations, hoping it would calm Wanda down. 

“You don’t have to explain anything to me right now, but let’s get you somewhere safe.” Wanda nodded in agreement as Y/n wiped her tears away. Hand in hand, they walked out of the base without any interruptions. 

<|>

There was a small fire near the ship that Y/ n prepared. Using the force, she gathered two decent-sized logs to use as makeshift chairs. Heading back outside, Y/n held a pot filled with her meat soup recipe. She hooked it over the fire and stirred. Feeling satisfied with it, she sat next to Wanda who was finally bandaged up. 

“You look different,” Wanda commented. “Is that a good or bad thing?” Wanda took a decent look at Y/n. She still had the scar on her eye but her face looked more sharp and her skin was more tan. There was this slight glow surrounding her. 

“I would say good.” Y/n hummed in satisfaction. Hearing the soup boil, she prepared two bowls. “Here you go, Wanda. Be careful, it’s hot.” Wanda held the warm bowl and started to blow air towards it. Wanda grabbed the extra spoon from Y/n’s hand. The smell coming from the bowl was to die for. Not only that, Wanda was desperate for a warm home-cooked meal. Wanda didn’t wait for the soup to simmer to start eating. Together they ate in silence like old times. 

When they were done, Y/n gathered the dishes and headed back inside the ship. She placed them inside the washer and walked back outside. It was nighttime now and Andromeda had the clearest view of the sky. “Have you taken a look at the sky?” 

“It was one of the first things I noticed after we parted ways. Even though it’s been six months, I’ve always been blown away. It almost feels like I can reach all the stars in the sky.” Wanda held her hand out as she examined the sky, imagining what it would feel like to have it in the palm of her hand. 

Y/n laid down beside Wanda. They each had their own sleeping bag. “The stars looked different here compared to my home planet.” 

“What is it like?” 

“Well, my planet is mainly full of cloudy skies. I don’t go outside often enough since my home is underwater.” Wanda turned on her side to face Y/n. She was surprised at the new information since they never got to speak about Y/n's true life. 

“Why is your home underwater? Do you not have land to build on?” Y/n shook her head in disagreement. “We do have land but mainly use it for decoy purposes. Our true city lies at the bottom of the ocean. While we don’t quite have stars in the sky, the surrounding coral and fish are a different site to see.” 

“Did you miss your family?” Wanda didn’t know where the courage to ask these questions came from. Mainly, she had wanted to distract herself from the events before. 

“I did. When they saw my course for home, they called me to tell me they were proud of me.” Y/n thought for a moment before admitting, “I did miss you more though.” Y/n looked at Wanda. Not knowing what to say, Wanda gave her a small smile. 

“I know I said I’ll give you time, but I need to know what you want to do after this.” 

“I don’t have a clue right now.” It scared Wanda to know she had no plan. For the past three years, all she could focus on was coming back home to her family. It was foolish to believe that everything was going to be fine after three years, that they could go back to the way it was. But sadly, she couldn’t. 

“Do you want to come home with me?” 

“I-,” Wanda cut herself off after remembering all the tall tales of the Aetos family. “I know my family’s reputation scares you but I promise you there is nothing to be afraid of. I’ll be there to protect you. Not only that, I have a separate condo in the city. You can stay there as long as you like until you figure out what your plan is.” 

Wanda was silent for a moment. Too much change was happening in such a short amount of time. It was almost too much for Wanda to handle. But as she looked at Y/n’s pleading eyes, she couldn’t help but say, “You better protect me.” 

“I cross my heart.” 

<|>

“We’re on course to my home planet Vernak,” Y/n shouted from the cockpit. She flicked a couple more switches before setting the ship on autopilot. Y/n walked back to the main area of the small ship to find Wanda in deep thought. 

“I can set it for a longer route if you need more time to think.” Wanda broke out of her thoughts and smiled at Y/n. “It’s okay,” Wanda sighed, “As long as you’re protecting me, then anything is better than being captive again.” 

Y/n knelt in front of Wanda and slowly intertwined their hands. “Don’t be afraid to talk to me. I know that it’s been a lot of change since we left Acrux but I’m still the Y/n you know, the one that will never let anyone hurt you again.” 

Wanda wanted to believe Y/’s words. There was still a large part of Y/n that she never knew about and that terrified her. “How do I know that I won’t get hurt on Vernak?” 

“I’ll die before I let anyone hurt you, Wanda,” Y/n said with all seriousness. “I know you’ve seen me fight back in Acrux. That part of me only had access to my knowledge and not my powers.” 

Wanda’s eyebrows furrowed. “You have powers?” Y/n chuckled. “Wrong choice of words but I am force sensitive. I’m a Jedi.” 

“That explains why you have that lightsaber,” Wanda pointed to the lightsaber that was clipped to Y/n’s belt. “Yeah, it’s my preferred choice of weapon but I wasn’t allowed to have it when I was on Acrux.” 

The cockpit’s alarm signaled that they were close to Vernak. “We’ll have to strap in now for landing, but I do have to ask you a favor.” 

“What is it?” Y/n let go of Wanda’s hands and grabbed the blindfold from her pocket. She placed the item into Wanda’s hands. “I need you to trust me and put this on. I’m not binding you or anything, but when we enter Vernak, I need you to be blindfolded for it.” 

“Can I ask why?” Y/n gave a small smile, “I’ll explain more when we land. No more secrets, I promise.” Wanda felt reluctant to follow Y/n’s rules but as they sat back in the cockpit and buckled in, she did as told and blindfolded herself. “No more secrets,” she thought to herself. 

<|>

The ship floated above Y/n’s condo, allowing the two to be teleported into her home. The sensation made Wanda’s stomach queasy as she straightened her posture again. “We’ve arrived. You can take your blindfold off now.” 

Y/n walked away to the kitchen, hungry from the journey. “You must be hungry so I’ll cook us something. Is there anything in particular you want to eat?” 

Wanda removed the blindfold and was stunned by her surroundings. She didn’t know what to expect when it came to her ex-girlfriend’s condo, but it surely wasn’t this. 

There was slick black furniture with brown accents that filled the medium sized condo. Various framed photos were displayed on one wall, the biggest one being a family painted portrait of the Aetos family. A large floor to ceiling bookshelf divided the living room and kitchen. And from what Wanda could tell, many of the books involved war and culture. 

What captured Wanda’s attention the most was the view of the city. Ignoring Y/n’s question, Wanda got up and walked to the window. A spectacular city lay before them. A handful of  skyscrapers were spread around the land. Small buildings stood in between as well as an intricate river that wove around the city. Various foliage hung from the side of the skyscrapers as well as the natural beauty on the ground. 

“What do you think?” Y/n stood by Wanda’s side, her hands behind her back. She couldn’t grasp what was going through Wanda’s head but the fascination in her eyes excited Y/n. 

“I think I’m in a dream.” Wanda followed various sky trams that zoomed through the city. The technological wonders were beyond what she expected. But the view, it was drop dead gorgeous how the sun was casting on Vernak. The place looked like heaven. 

Y/n smiled and looked back at Vernak. The view was something she never grew tired of. More than anything, it was what she dreamed of during her days in Acrux. There were multiple times that Y/n cried silently in her sleep thinking that she would never make it back home. But the thought of never making it back kept her alive. 

“If you’re up for it, we can walk around the block after you’re done eating.” Wanda looked at Y/n, almost forgetting about Pietro. But the weight of it all crumbled. 

Almost falling forward, Wanda hugged Y/n and sobbed into her neck. She couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. Everything changed and Wanda feared what was going to happen in her future. But as Y/n held her tightly while rubbing her back, whispering soft affirmations, Wanda knew she was safe. 

<|>

The night came and Wanda cried herself to sleep in Y/n’s arms after confessing the tragedies that happened on Andromeda. From the torture to Pietro’s death, Wanda didn’t leave a single detail out. The amount of pain that Wanda had gone through in such a short amount of time enraged the young Aetos daughter. 

All Y/n could think of was her broken promise to protect Wanda from all harm. Had she fought harder to stay with Wanda would she be in the same predicament? Had she managed a way to tell Wanda about her situation would she still be with Y/n? Had she been quicker to arrive at Andromeda would Pietro still be alive? 

Regardless of the what if’s, Y/n was unable to take Wanda’s pain away. Revenge was something that would come later, that was certain. But for now, Y/n would stay at Wanda’s side, doing anything and everything to take away Wanda’s pain. 

<|>

After a week of being cooped up in Y/n’s condo, Wanda decided today was the day to step out and explore. Although part of her still thought the view was a mere trick, she was learning to trust Y/n again. 

Dressed up in some of Y/n’s clothes, Wanda pushed past her anxiety and walked to the front of the condo where Y/n waited. “You look good.” Something about Wanda being in her clothes made Y/n feral, but the small comment was all she uttered. 

Wanda blushed and grabbed the rain coat hung up in the foyer as a distraction. “I think I have everything.” 

“Great, let’s head out.” As Y/n tried to open the door, Wanda grabbed Y/n’s free hand and intertwined their hands. Y/n looked back, trying not to panic at the gesture. “Don’t let go,” Wanda whispered, feeling vulnerable under Y/n’s gaze.

Not knowing if it was crossing boundaries, Y/n kissed Wanda’s hand in the same way she did back on Acrux. “Never.” 

<|>

“I don’t understand,” Wanda says as she looks around the bustling city. There easily could have been a hundred people just on this street alone. Everyone looked so at ease with life. “You’re not supposed to understand,” Y/n lightly commented. 

Several people walked past them, all acknowledging Y/n. They spoke at such ease that it perplexed Wanda. “Was this the same Aetos her planet feared? Was this an act?” She thought. None of it made any sense. 

Intrigued by one of the market stalls, Wanda let go of Y/n’s hand and walked towards it. The sight of fresh fruit and vegetables made her stomach grumble. “What would you like, miss?” Wanda slightly backed off and said, “I’m sorry. I don’t have any money on me.”

The worker grew confused at her response. “It’s free, ma’am.” Y/n slid to Wanda's side and grabbed two apples, a banana, and a mango . “I think this will be all for us Ethan. Are the crops still looking good in your region?” 

Ethan grabbed the items and placed them into a brown paper bag. 

“There are small issues with the implementation of our water system, but so far it’s been great. The new technology has been helping us be more efficient.” Y/n smiled in delight while grabbing the bag. “That’s good to hear. I’ll try to see if there’s anything I can do when it comes to the new system though. It should have been smooth sailing. But you have a good day now.” 

Y/n grabbed Wanda’s hand once more and looked around the city. There was so much that Y/n had wanted to show Wanda from the art district, business district, and culture district. However, it was only Wanda’s first day out. Not wanting to add to her anxiety, Y/n led Wanda on a small walk through the heart of the city. She gave her an apple and Wanda took in all the new sights. 

“I’m guessing you have questions.” Y/n grabbed the second apple and started to eat. 

“You think? None of this makes sense.” Every story she’d ever heard about the Aetos family was nothing but horror. The planet was to have hosted the worst criminals in the galaxy. So why does it look like a fairytale?  “Follow me. I have the perfect spot to explain everything to you.” 

Y/n led Wanda to the nearest sky tram. “Hold on-,” the tram flew up from the streets, causing Wanda to stumble back a little. Quick with her reflexes, Y/n reached out and grabbed Wanda by her waist. “-they tend to be fast,” Y/n said sheepishly. Wanda held on to the same pole as Y/n.

Soon, they arrived at a floating garden. It was high above the clouds which allowed Wanda to get a good view of the sunset. “Come on. I know a private spot.” Still holding Wanda by the waist, Y/n led them to a familiar spot near the edge of the garden. There was a seat that saw the view of the city below as well as the clouds that sat right on top of it. 

“Welcome to my hideout.” Y/n watched as Wanda looked around awestruck at the view surrounding them. Nearby plants looked to be taken care of yet no caretakers were in sight. “Do you take care of them?” Wanda asked as she touched one of the plants. 

“I try my best. I’ve recently been learning more about herbology and gardening to expand on my skills.” Y/n hadn’t meant to boast but she desperately carved for Wanda’s approval or affirmation. 

“You never told me that you wanted to try learning about plants.” Y/n shrugged. There was more she wanted to tell but was never allowed. “If you have the time, I can tell you everything you ever wanted to know about me.”

Wanda walked towards the seat and beckoned for Y/n to sit beside her. “I want to know first about the history of your planet because where are all the crimes and murderers that I used to hear about.” 

“If I tell you, you must promise not to tell a soul outside this planet. If you were to spread the truth about my home planet, many people could get hurt.” The seriousness in Y/n’s voice struck Wanda’s attention. 

“I promise.” 

“Good. I’m holding you to that Maximoff.” Wanda smiled at the lightness that surrounded Y/n. It was all too different from the stoic nature Y/n had back in Acrux. “Probably was trying her best to stay alive,” Wanda thought. 

“Vernak, as you may have thought it to be home of all murderers, rapists, and thieves was actually home to the very first runaways.” Y/n wiped a hologram into view to showcase a family photo of a father, mother, and two sons. “Dain and Elizabeth Aetos and their sons Cain and Christopher. These are my ancestors.” 

“They’re a beautiful family,” Wanda admired. “Dain was a Jedi Knight while Elizabeth was a senator. In a farther part of the galaxy, these two were not allowed to love due to the rules of being a Jedi Knight.” Y/n swiped to show articles stating that Jedis were not allowed to have any relationship. 

“The goal of any Jedi is to defend and protect. They’re like peacekeepers of the galaxy. If they were to get into relationships, it may lead to biases to protect that individual over another. So when Dain was caught, he fled with his wife to a different part of the galaxy.” 

Y/n showed a map to showcase how far of a journey the Aetos family had to endure to get away from the Jedi counsel. “They landed in Vernak and built a home for themselves. For a while, it was just them four living on an inhabited planet.” 

“One day, Dain had gotten word of another couple that was also in the same predicament as them. While he was scared to leave his family, Elizabeth understood the importance of saving this couple and encouraged him to go. It was a long journey and Dain did get injured from it but thankfully the husband had a medical background.” 

“What would have happened if they were caught?” Y/n looked into Wanda’s eyes and sighed. “Back then it was a different culture, but the Jedi would have been killed for breaking this rule. As for their partner, they typically get banished.”

“Your ancestors knew the consequences of loving each other and still did?” Wanda didn’t mean to appear like she was judging but losing your life over loving someone was a big punishment to possibly face. 

“I would’ve done the same to be with you.” 

There was hope in Y/n’s eyes that Wanda felt the same way still, but when she hadn’t answered, Y/n cleared her throat and continued with the story. “Ever since that day, the Aetos family declared that they would help any people that needed refuge in any type of way. They grew and grew and grew. However, the boys were now in their late 20’s and pointed out that if they continued to rescue people, they would get caught.” 

Y/n swiped to show an updated family photo of the Aetos family and this time, the boys were now grown men with wives in the picture. “On this eventful night in history, the Aetos family forged a plan to fabricate what Vernak was. They sent out loyal soldiers to neighboring planets to spread rumors that Vernak was an evil planet filled with the worst that mankind has ever seen.” 

“It took a long time but people started to believe it. Because of this lie, generations of people taught it to their children and their children and so on. In the meantime, we still rescued many of those that needed it. Vernak was the planet for the forbidden people, the runaways. We vow to protect those in need in the name of love.” 

Wanda took it all in as she watched the sunset go down and stars in the sky appear. “So this whole time, Vernak has been a thriving place full of culture and life? If you have an army, what’s the point of still lying to the galaxy?” 

Y/n sighed, preparing herself for the harsh truth. “We lie to protect our citizens. Some have ancestors that were supposed to have been beheaded had we not stepped in and helped. Others have families that are still hunted to this day. If word gets out that these people are alive, who knows how many soldiers would come to try and defeat us.” 

Y/n held Wanda’s hand, “We lie so that our people can live peacefully.” 

<|>

Two months have passed since Wanda had first arrived in Vernak. In the short amount of time, Wanda had managed to learn more about the planet’s history, army, politics, and culture. One of the biggest differences was obviously the lack of evil that the planet hosted. 

If anything, there was close to zero crime committed on the streets of Vernak. This marveled Wanda even more to learn how their legislation worked. With the help of Y/n, she attended several conferences where bills and laws were passed. 

The lack of arguing or fear mongering almost made Wanda uncomfortable. The palace had too much peace. Even her home planet had its fair share of power hungry people. So to see people work together to achieve the betterment of their people was odd to see. 

Right now, Wanda sat in her room, writing in her journal about the things she learned today when she heard the sound of the front door open. Closing her journal, Wanda walked out to the living room to see Y/n stripping off her royal attire. 

Wanda leaned up against the wall as Y/n sighed from the long day.  “How was your day?” 

Y/n looked up and smiled. “Rough. I had force training and it was more strenuous than usual.” Wanda walked towards Y/n and gave her a small hug.

Things were still unclear on what the two of them were. But having Wanda around was more than enough for Y/n. As for Wanda, she liked that Y/n never pressured her to talk. For now, things were okay. Pulling back from the hug, arms still around Y/n’s neck, Wanda said, “I cooked for you today.” 

Y/n held on to Wanda’s waist, a smirk on her face. “You did? You didn’t have to do that.” 

Wanda poked Y/n’s chest. “Nonsense. Plus, I managed to get the right ingredients. We’re having a proper Fornia dinner tonight. So dress nicely and you need a shower, you stink.”

With a light shove from Wanda, Y/n walked to her room with a laugh. “Yes ma’am.” 

<|>

After cleaning herself up, Y/n walked out her room in an all black attire. The savory aroma of the meal was the first thing Y/n noticed as she walked closer to the dim kitchen.

Once she entered, Y/n was awestruck at the sight of a candle lit dinner. “Woah,” she muttered under her breath. Before she walked any further, Wanda snuck behind Y/n and intertwined their hands. 

“You like?” Y/n looked back, ready to compliment the dinner, but the sight of Wanda in an all black skin tight dress stopped her. It was like everything in the room stopped as she took it all in. Wanda’s hair was curled to perfection and her makeup made Y/n’s heart leap. 

Mouth agape, Y/n took a step back, spun Wanda around. “I don’t think there’s enough words to describe how beautiful you are Wanda.” 

Wanda was thankful for the dim lights as she blushed under Y/n’s gaze. “I’d say you look handsome tonight.” Y/n led Wanda to her seat and helped push her in. 

“This looks so amazing Wanda. I can’t wait to eat it.” Y/n sat on the other side ready to dig in but Wanda’s longing gaze stopped her. “Are you okay Wands?” 

“I want to say something and you can’t interrupt me, okay?” Y/n shook her head in understandment. Wanda shook her nerves away as she reached out once again to hold Y/n’s hand. Meeting her half, Y/n held Wanda’s hand, giving her a comforting squeeze. 

“I first want to thank you for being here for me. These past two months have been such a whirlwind and having you here with me has been such a relief.” Wanda started to tear up, feeling her emotions get the best of her. 

“I know you must wonder what I’ve been wanting to do or what my plan for the future is and for the first month, I honestly didn’t know what I wanted.”  Wiping away a fallen tear, Wanda continued. “But living here in Vernak with you. It’s given me something to look forward to.” 

Y/n smiled softly. She gave Wanda another gentle squeeze knowing the girl had more to say. “I thought that my life was over the moment I landed in Acrux. But life led me to you. And suddenly, it felt like my life finally started.” 

“I know we don’t talk enough about my decision to leave you but I do want to say I’m so sorry.” The moment replayed in both of their heads and all Wanda could feel was regret. “I should’ve heard you out but instead I left.” 

“Wanda, darling, I don’t blame you for leaving.” The sympathetic look on Y/n’s face broke Wanda’s heart. Here she was apologizing but entirely, there was nothing to apologize for. Y/n always understood Wanda’s decision to leave. “You chose based on information we purposely crafted for generations. There was no way you could have known the truth about Vernak.” 

Wanda continued to cry at Y/n’s generosity, feeling even more guilty on her decision to leave. Hating the sight of Wanda crying, Y/n got up and squatted in front of her. She cupped her face and wiped the tears away. “I wish I never left you.” 

Y/n’s heart dropped at the whispered confession. This was the first time that Wanda had remotely ever admitted anything like that. In turn, Y/n admitted, “I wish I stayed.” 

Vulnerability was something Y/n was hardly taught to give. It could lead to death, abandonment, or betrayal. But every single time Y/n chose to be vulnerable, it was for Wanda and no one else. 

“Do you think…” Wanda looked into Y/n’s eyes as she choked back her tears, “...if I were to ask for another chance…what would you say?” 

Y/n thought about it for a moment before saying, “I’d give you a thousand chances if it meant to be with you again.” 

Unable to hold herself back, Wanda leaned in for a kiss, hoping that Y/n could feel just how much she missed her. Hoping that it would be enough to apologize for all the countless lies she believed in. Hoping that she can prove to Y/n once more that she’d never leave again. 

And as Y/n deepened the kiss, tasting Wanda’s tears, she prayed that the only girl she’s ever loved will understand that no matter what, she will always choose her.

<|>

Evil was something Wanda hardly associated Y/n with. After a year of living on Vernak, she could only see the good Y/n and her family have done for the people. So when Y/n came home from a rough day at the palace, Wanda’s love changed. 

She sat at their shared bed when she heard the front door open and close. “I’m over here dekta!” It took Y/n a long time to get to their bedroom, a long look was on her face when she arrived. 

Immediately noticing that something was wrong, Wanda closed her book and opened her arms. With no words, Y/n fell into Wanda’s arms. The feeling of being with her instantly relaxed the young Aetos. 

For a while, the two laid in bed, tangled in each other's arms before Y/n spoke up. “Something happened today and I…I don’t know how to handle it.” 

Wanda ran her hand through Y/n’s hair, trying her best to comfort her girlfriend. She pressed a small kiss on Y/n’s temple before saying, “You can tell me dekta. I’m all ears.” 

Y/n sighed, not knowing where to even start. “There was intel that came to the palace about a bounty hunter that managed to torture information about Vernak.” 

“We managed to get our hands on them but…” Y/n grimaced as she remembered. “...we had to kill them as well as the rest of the bounty hunters that they told.” Wanda could feel Y/n start to cry. 

“I know death is something I’m used to but these people were different. They were hired for all the wrong reasons in order to make ends meet. Many of them had families and now they’re probably waiting for them to come home.” 

Y/n slowly sat up as she wiped her own tears. Wanda followed suit and sat on Y/n’s lap. “I just- I hate the tough decisions we have to make. When things don’t feel as black and white, it makes me wonder if what we’re doing is good.” 

Y/n looked into Wanda’s eyes with fear. “It makes me wonder if I’m good enough for you.” 

Wanda frowned at the confession. “Don’t ever question that. There’s nothing in this world that will ever make me think that you’re not good enough for me.” Wanda gave Y/n a quick kiss, hoping to take away some of the pain her girlfriend was feeling. “Everything you do is to protect me and your people. There’s not a single day where I ever felt like you hurted people just to hurt. You and your family make the hard decisions in order for us to be safe.” 

“What if I told you we were evil?” Wanda looked at Y/n confused. 

“Dekta, we’ve been over this. Your family being evil is a lie.” Y/n almost felt guilty for how much Wanda cared for her. For if she were to see all the decisions being made, would she still stay? 

Y/n looked away, unable to meet Wanda’s eyes. “They unveiled today the final secret…our family has a long list of people turning to the dark side in order to make sure our country is protected. Even my father has admitted to tapping into that side of the force.” 

Y/n clenched her eyes, unable to forget the moment that electricity came out of her father’s hands. “The red lightsaber was one thing but having the powers of the dark side is another. I fear that if I’m not strong enough, I’ll succumb to the thoughts of the dark side.” 

“...I fear to be the person you hate.” 

Silence surrounded the room as Wanda stayed in deep thought. There were so many questions in her head but as Y/n slowly looked up, Wanda knew what to say. 

“Fear has controlled me before and it led me away from you. So listen when I say this, do not let fear make you believe that you will be destined for evil. The dark side is powerful but so are the emotions they feel. And as long as I’m here, I will never let evil succumb to you.”

Wiping away the remainder of her tears, Wanda finished with, “You are destined to be a great leader my love. Evil may linger in your genes but your heart shows me everything I need to know. And I will love you enough for the both of us to make you see that you are good.” 

Leaning in for one more kiss, Wanda would never call Y/n evil. 

<|>

Wanda and Y/n were 25 the night before their wedding. 

Wanda was looking out the balcony when she heard a knock at her door. It was close to midnight. “No one should be up,” she thought. The hologram displayed Y/n’s image and Wanda immediately opened the door. “What are you doing? You know it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.” 

Y/n chuckled at the superstition and entered anyway. “I wanted to see you. Today has been long without you.” Y/n jumped onto the bed, feeling exhausted. Wanda followed suit as she dimmed the lighting in the room. 

They got under the covers and laid next to each other. Face to face, Wanda asked, “I know something’s troubling you.” Y/n still had her eyes closed when she responded with, “And how do you know that my love?” 

“I have a gut feeling. Or maybe the force has connected us.” The thought was sincere. What if they were fated soulmates? “Plus, anytime I’m wide awake this late at night, you always seem to be in distress. So tell me what’s wrong dekta.”

Y/n sighed and snuggled into Wanda’s neck. Wanda started to play with Y/n’s hair, waiting for her to talk. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us…and I wanted to tell you something.” Y/n sat up, leaning on her arm for support as Wanda remained lying down on the bed. 

They held hands as Y/n added, “Loving me is hard.” Wanda frowned at the statement. “It’s something I’ve thought about a lot. And sometimes I doubt if this is the right path for you.” Feeling Y/n’s insecurities rise, Wanda sat up and cupped Y/n’s cheeks. “You are my path Y/n. There’s no doubt about that.” 

“You say that but tomorrow is our wedding. There’s no going back after that. You’re going to be stuck with me forever.” 

“You act as if that’s such a bad thing dekta.” Y/n sighed not knowing how to formulate her thoughts. “I chose you when I came back to you. I chose you again when I said yes to engaging you. And I will say yes once more tomorrow to have forever with you.” Wanda kissed Y/n long and hard. It almost made Y/n forget about her worries. 

Y/n rubbed Wanda’s arms hoping her thoughts wouldn’t sound too jumbled. “Choosing me then is different compared to choosing me tomorrow.” Y/n looked into Wanda’s eyes with all seriousness and declared, “If you choose to love me, you will love the very person this whole galaxy will be known to hate. The very sound of my name will not only bring assassins to kill me but armies to destroy me.” Y/n invaded Wanda’s space inch by inch. Tension building in their eyes and body. “If you choose me,” barely any space was between them now, “you will be with the person that will bring generations of families to death as the galaxy will go through its darkest times with me.” 

Evil lingered in Y/n’s eyes. The very eyes that Wanda had fallen for.

“If you choose me,” swallowing her pride, Y/n confessed, “they will hate you.” There was no going back, but Wanda was a smart girl. She knew the consequences of falling for an Aetos, yet there was always part of her that willingly went back each time. Like a drug, she couldn’t quit. 

What does it mean to fall in love with the person everyone hates? It meant seeing them for something else. A different side only special to you. It meant power beyond their control just to make sure you were safe. It meant that they would choose you versus the world every - single - time. 

“Do you choose me?” There was no pause, no hesitation when Wanda replied. Her heart and mind were already set ages ago. 

“...I do.”

<|>

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[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

So, in addition to a preview of the Norm one-shot, I've got this look at part one of a long-form two-shot that's been sitting in my drafts since I was about halfway through my first run of the show. I have a (now quite old) ask that fit the vibe of it perfectly, and I've been whittling away at it when the inspiration strikes. I still have quite a bit of work to do on it, including edits, as I'm predicting a final length between 13k-15k words. Could end up more, as I'm really terrible at this sort of estimation, but I wanted to let everyone know I'm still hard at work in the smut mines even if posts have been light lately. Please enjoy a preview from this upcoming Cooper Howard/The Ghoul piece:

Faim Pour Deux

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

Warnings: smut (18+), angst, drug use, jealousy, mild violence, age gap, sexually rusty old men, amateurish strip teases, nipple play, fingering, dry humping, reader not-so-subtly trying to tempt Cooper to fuck her until he snaps.

"Why don't you get a little more comfortable, darlin'?" Cooper asked, his tone brighter now, a step closer to the normal, cocky timbre you'd known him to have, but still soft as the patter of the rain on the dilapidated roof as he gestured to your unzipped vault suit. "Hop up and take that off for me."

You didn't hesitate to follow his instructions, though you struggled to figure out how to back up off of his lap as your feet dangled off the floor. Cooper offered no assistance, sitting back to watch you slide yourself backwards towards his knees, your cleavage spilling out of your undershirt as you pushed yourself with your hands. Once you found your feet, cheeks already hot from your fumbling dismount, you toed out of your boots before clearing your throat, hands coming up to your navel to grab at the cool metal zipper where it hung, half-undone.

"Take a couple steps back so I can see all of you."

This command took you somewhat by surprise, but, again, you obeyed, double checking the floor behind you before taking two steps back, avoiding his eyes. Rethinking your approach, you grabbed your left sleeve by the wrist in your right hand, tugging it awkwardly to free your arm, jerking the tight material down over your sore bicep in a rather unsexy move before twisting to repeat the move on the right.

Twilight was quickly turning to night, and the few chem lamps you'd set up only provided enough light to see well a few feet in front of you. Shyly, you stole a quick glance his way, struggling to make out any details at this distance, save for the shape and slight glint of his flask as he lifted it to his mouth and took a long draw off of it. His entire upper body was almost completely shrouded in the deepening shadows, but you could see those eyes, sunken deep into that face, glittering darkly at you, trained on you.

"Slowly, now." came that rough voice once more, slightly muffled by the back of his hand passing over what remained of his lips. "Gimme a little show."

You felt your face instantly flame up twice as hot as it had been, your already fluttering heart shifting up another gear into a full-on thunder. You had no idea what he meant—undressing itself wasn't enough of a show? Were you supposed to sing and dance while you did it? Recite US Presidents?

A handful of heartbeats passed, and you realized you were hesitating, but the ghoul in the corner didn't say anything. Your focus shifted, warily, back to removing your remaining sleeve, choosing to work it down from the shoulder instead, this time, focusing on the "slowly" until you could figure out the "show" part. After a few moments, you'd worked the top half of the grimy vault suit down to your hips, letting the arms hang loose at your sides.

If Cooper objected to the way you were going about things, he kept quiet about it, which would be uncharacteristic. He sat, still staring at you, reclined back in the chair as he reached for something else on the table beside him. The familiar sound of a shaking Jet container filled the air as you grabbed the stained, barely-mended tank by the hem, peeling it over you head, leaving you in nothing but your now sad, ratty bra above the waist. The hiss of the canister buzzed down your spine as the material passed over your eyes, giving you goosebumps as you looked to him once more, feeling drawn to that gaze. Your hands moved back to your waist to push the garment the rest of the way down, brushing across your soft abdomen on the way.

The ghoul interrupted you, wordless, his mouth fixed in a sort of pucker as he held the hit of Jet deep in his lungs. He snapped quickly, sharply, his free hand raising up off of the scuffed chair arm, his sewn-on index finger pointed to the ceiling, drawing a series of tight, quick circles with it. You'd seen that gesture before, you realized, feeling that squirming feeling in your gut again. Quickly, you turned to face the door, your back now pointing at your companion.

The feeling of his intense stare still burned into your back, but knowing that, at least for a moment, he couldn't see your face, couldn't read every single thought and emotion off of your like he seemed to so often be able to, let you breathe slightly easier. The arousal that simmered between your thighs was rolling into a boil as you pushed your rear out, back towards him, bending forward ever-so-slightly at the waist as you slowly, slowly rolled the increasingly restricting suit down over your buttocks.

You could swear you heard him sigh in the dark.

Shimmying until the entire garment hit the floor, pooling around your ankles in a faint cloud of dust, you stepped out of it as delicately as possible, sliding it beside your bag with your foot. As you straightened back to your full height, you decided to turn and face him, making eye contact as he took another hit from the inhaler, setting it aside as he leaned back fully into the chair. He tilted his head sideways at you, studying you for a few quiet seconds.

"Let your hair down." he said, voice strained with exhalation.

It took a moment to wrestle your hair down from the old elastic that kept it out of your face, but when the tendrils tickled down your back at last, it made you shiver, your body tingling.

The old man was silent for several seconds, looking you up and down with an expression that was tough to decipher. You'd almost begun to worry that he didn't like what he was seeing before one of his hands snaked down from the arm rest into his lap, palming at his crotch visibly. The other hand extended towards you, that deadly trigger finger crooking towards you commandingly, his gaze never leaving you.

"C'mere, kiddo."

[writer-in-wonder]

the first step

platonic! reader x sam wilson (found family)

summary: sam finds you out on the boat in the middle of the night, and you both don’t expect where the conversation goes (post-tfatws)

a/n: okay guys. this is definitely the longest fic i’ve ever posted. i’ve had this sitting in my drafts for some time, and the idea and it’s original scribblings sitting in my google docs for even longer. i knew this was gonna be a dialogue-heavy fic, and i wanted to do it justice. this has been the main one i’ve been editing since i wanted it done well, and also because it’s one of the ones you all voted for a while back when i had my polls open. and also because it needed to be written before the last one from the polls. you’ll see why later (hopefully!)

this is just sam being found family and giving advice. we need to talk more about him being a counselor. he never stopped being one.

i hope you all like it! Jesus loves you, and may God Bless you all always!!!

——-

When Redwing alerted Sam that there was movement on the boat, he half-had a heart attack, because, after the notice, he realized the time. 3:38 AM.

There was no way it was Sarah.

Within minutes he was walking down the dock as quietly as he could, a jacket over his t-shirt as a rare cool Louisiana night had made its way to Delacroix. After calming down, he had looked at the reports to realize it was you. What you were doing out alone on the dock at this hour, he had no idea. Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary during the time you’d been staying with the Wilson family for your holiday break from classes. But, as always, he was determined to know what was going on.

You’d been lost in thought for the last few moments, scrolling on your phone as videos flashed across your screen. The captain’s seat in the front room had become a sort of comfortable place for you, being where you sat as Sam and Bucky continued fixing the boat. On top of teaching you basics in mechanics and repairs, they would entertain your stories of what was happening in New York or endure your watchful eyes as Sarah put you in charge of making sure they didn’t over-exert themselves to bring Paul and Darlene’s pride and joy back to her former glory. Another shiver ran through you, and you hugged yourself with your free arm, annoyed that you didn’t think to grab a sweater. Maybe if the closet door didn’t squeak so much, and you weren’t so worried someone would hear, you probably would have grabbed one-

Tap tap tap.

You jumped at the sound of Sam’s knocking, turning your head around to the side to see him standing at the door. He looked at you from its porthole glass, brows furrowed as he raised a finger to point at the doorknob. There was no way out. Standing, you kept recovering from the scare as you walked over and undid the lock.

“…Hey.”

“What are you doing out here?”

You couldn’t read that response well. Was he mad? His eyes were slightly narrowed in what looked like confusion. Or was it frustration? You hope it was more of the former than the latter, as the last thing you’d wanted was to worry anyone. That’s why you’d stepped away for some quiet in the first place.

“I, uh…was…just needed some space.”

That was close enough to the truth. Suddenly something else came to mind and it was your turn to look confused. “What are you doing up?”

“Redwing told me someone was on the boat. Then I realized it was you.”

Good going. Embarrassment flooded over you at the fact that you hadn’t even thought you might get caught by his tech buddy. “I’m sorry.”

The pause between the two of you grew as the soft breeze kept blowing and the water kept splashing against the hulls of the docked boats.

Sam gave a slight nod to the space behind you. “Mind if I come in?”

Obliging, you stepped to the side as he entered the cabin, flipping over an old utility bucket to make it into a makeshift seat. You joined him at your chair. The beginnings of his counselor-self were definitely coming through, which you’d been dreading. “It isn’t safe.” He continued after a moment. “You being out here alone.”

“That’s why I locked the door.”

“You know what I mean-wait. How did you even get in? I left it locked.”

You froze at your slip-up, seeing the wheels turning in his head.

“Y/N?”

“I…took Sarah’s key-” Your mumble was cut short as you tried to save face. “-borrowed it.” Another pause ensued, undoubtedly even more uncomfortable than before as you wondered how he’d take you basically stealing from his sister.

“Give it here.”

You turned on your chair to grab the silver key from the control desk, swiveling back to place it in Sam’s outstretched open palm. He sat back against the wall again and held it between his hands, looking at its shine in the moonlight as he turned it this way and that.

“What’s going on, kid?”

The worry etched on his face even so subtly was actually more obvious as he looked back up to meet your eyes. You crossed a leg over your other as you lightly hugged yourself, making more time to think of how else to word it.

“I said I just wanted to get away for a bit.”

“Really? So you just come to the boat at 4:00 AM cause you want to?”

“Yes.”

The questioning tone in your answer was obvious, which made him guess the hesitancy to be part of your “tell” when lying. But he didn’t know that for sure. Mostly due to the fact that you never had had a reason to lie before. The truth that you were doing so now was definitely concerning.

“Look,” he sighed. “I wanna help, kid.” He put the key in his pocket. “But it’s easier if you just tell me what’s going on.”

“Maybe there’s nothing going on, Sam.” Exasperation kicked up a bit as a tight smile was the next item in your arsenal that you sent his way. You really didn’t want to do this now. “Really-“

“And I think I know you better than that, so try again.” The interruption, though kind, was firm. You found yourself unable to retort. “You can either tell me what’s going on, or not. That’s your decision.” He sat back a bit as he kept his eyes on yours. “But please don’t lie to me.”

Something about that last part struck you. He was just trying to help. And you knew that.

But the whole thing felt too large. And when you said it, you couldn’t take it back.

So you both sat there, you opting to look at the wall behind him as the seconds ticked by. He could almost see the exercises your brain was going through, wondering what the best move was. And finally, you decided that saying something was better than living in a house where there was so much unspoken.

A deep sigh of surrender left your nose and a small pout crossed your lips again.

“I’m just tired.”

Sam frowned a bit, his arms still crossed over his chest. “From what?”

“I…” You hated the way you sounded as you began to voice what had been flooding through your mind for days. “I don’t know. I just…it feels like everything sometimes.” Your gaze fell to your knees that had become pulled up to your chest at some point in the conversation. “I’m busy with classes…and people want to know what I’m doing for the rest of my life. But…I don’t know that. I mean, I don’t think I know that for sure. I know I have a plan, but what if I’m not happy? And I spent so much time getting here…” That revelation crushed you more as you now heard it in your own voice, and you willed yourself to push down the tightness clenching at your throat. A sigh took its place instead as some relief from finally vocalizing your worries to someone came through to the surface. A last fear was spoken into the cabin.

“What if I’m doing this wrong?”

For a moment the only sound was nothing, seasoned with the occasional creaking from the boat rocking lightly as Sam took your words in. Out of all the things he assumed might take up your thoughts, this wasn’t one of them. Sure he thought you had a good plan for your life. You’d talked to him and Sarah about a graduate program and schools you wanted to apply to. You were gonna help people. You were gonna be the best of the applicants. And You were excited.

He never expected you to doubt that.

Hearing back the words you’d just said made you feel even smaller. You doubted anything he could say would make all these worries just dissipate. Shouldn’t you have just kept it to yourself? Because now he knows and there’s nothing he can do about it anyway-

“When I joined the military, I didn’t know what I was doing.”

That got your attention. You slowly looked up from your knees over at him, a slightly confused face put on. This was Sam Wilson. The man with a plan. He always knew what he was doing.

As if reading your thoughts, he gave a singular nod in your direction with a knowing smile. “Contrary to popular belief, I was nervous. I knew I didn’t want to stay here. I wanted to do something else. Something that could help people all over the world.” His face briefly had a small smile that was undoubtedly born from nostalgia at these recollections. Then it slightly fell as he met your eyes. “But I didn’t know if I would be any good. If I was supposed to do this.”

“But my old man told me something that saved me a lot of grief. He said to try. If it wouldn’t work, then that was fine. But if it did, how would I know if I hadn’t?”

You said nothing, and he continued. “I know that you’re scared Y/N. But that can’t stop you from making a decision.”

“I’m scared I’m gonna choose the wrong thing.” You rebutted, your tone half a big as when you both had first started talking. “It makes sense to be scared of that.”

“It does.” He agreed sincerely. “But if it’s the wrong thing, we’ll figure it out. And,” He looked at you meaningfully. “No one said you had to do it alone.”

Once again, he had shut you up. After a few seconds, you realized the best you could respond with was a quiet nod. “…yeah.”

“You gotta take that first step, Y/N. Just start there.”

You nodded again, now lost in thought. In the time you’d come to know the Wilsons, they’d been nothing but generous to you. You saw it in the way Sarah made sure you were taken care of and knew how to be strong. In the way Sam had taught you life skills. And how both of them ultimately taught you more about the real world and how to face it. They were there for you. And they would never intentionally steer you wrong.

That was enough for you right now.

After a few moments, you looked back at him as a small smile grew on your face. “Thanks Sam.”

He mirrored your response, happy to see how you already looked visibly lighter. “Of course, kid. You know can talk to me. Or Sarah. Or Bucky, if you’re super desperate.” The chuckle that came out of your mouth at his jab to the super-soldier was a complete win in his book. “We’re here for you. Whenever you need us.” With that, he took a glance at his watch. “Hm,” he said half to himself. “Almost 4:30.”

You sobered up at that, immediately feeling the same guilt from when he first arrived. “I’m really sorry Sam-“

“Hey, it’s fine. It’s not like I don’t get up early sometimes.” He looked out through the main windows and saw the darkness of the morning peering back. “You’re not tired?”

“Honesty? Not really.” You followed his gaze to the waves. “It’s so nice out here.”

“Yeah, I get why you’d wanna come out here.” He met your eyes. “But I don’t want you out here alone in the middle of the night, okay? If you need some space, you can take the living room, or kitchen. Where we can know where you are.”

You nodded. “I will.”

“Okay.” He gave you an understanding nod as he looked back at the water. You both said nothing for a few moments before he spoke up again. “I remember a lot of mornings like this. It’d be 4, 5, when my dad would take-wait, did I ever tell you about the times my dad took Sarah and I to the island?”

“What island?”

“Oh man, I haven’t told you about it? It’s the best. A little ways out, about twenty minutes. We’d go and we’d always catch the biggest fish…”

~~~~~~~~~

The next hour or so was spent with Sam telling you all these stories about him and Sarah growing up on the boat. You’d both lost count of the jokes and laughs you were each throwing around, and decided to call it a night (or morning?), when the sun finally shone peeking through the water, turning part of the sky a bold orange.

“We should probably get going.” Sam said as you both sat on the dock watching the day start. He stood, offering a hand to help you up. As you stood in front of him, he spoke again. “You can always talk to me, Y/N. I mean it.”

For the first time that week, you could give another honest smile again. “I know, thanks.”

“Let’s get some sleep, hm?” You both headed back to the boat so Sam could close the door, locking it with the key you had snagged. “When did you even get this off the key ring?”

“After dinner when she was putting the boys to bed.”

“Sneaky.” He retorted, testing the knob out before turning back to you. “Sure you weren’t gonna take it for a joyride?”

“You haven’t even taught me how to drive her yet.”

He gave you a raised eyebrow as you both walked back to the house, the orange sunrays kissing the aged wood of the dock. “And maybe that’s a good thing.”

“That’s fine. I’ll just ask Bucky.”

“You will do no such thing.”

~~~~~ if you made it to the end, THANK YOU.

feel free to comment/like - we writers love that 🤍

Jesus loves you, and may God Bless you always!!

[heartysworld]

Hope || Azriel × Fem!Reader

A/N: I decided to start posting some of my old ACOTAR fics here since I'm feeling nostalgic. Keep in mind that it's been 2 years since I wrote these, so they might be a bit shabby. I'll try and find time to edit them as best as possible, bit for now enjoy these rough drafts.

Also, tell me if you prefer them in 1st or 2nd POV!

W.C:1.6k

Warnings: childbirth

My entire body was hurting,ankles swollen,back sore and constant headaches. I couldn’t complain thought. That was the price you have to pay in order to create a new life inside of you.

Azriel and I couldn’t be happier when we found out. Both of us suffered a terrible childhood,and having a loving and stable family was one of the things we dreamed of the most.

Fae children are rare,that’s why when we found out we were expecting we cried and laughed together for hours.

Right now I was in the kitchen,preparing a cake for when Az returned from a month long mission. He left when I was in the seventh month and I have grown a lot since then. It was my birthday today too,so thr only thing I wished for was a big hug from my mate,and for us to have a nice,peaceful evening.

Evevrything was finally finished and so I waited and waited for my husband to return,only to go to bed alone that night with a heavy heart and a tear-stained face. He never came home. I was worried,he would have called out for me through our bond if something important held him,but I had no news from him.

Time skip

The next morning I was awoken from the sound of the front door opening and closing. It was Az, I could feel him. With a heavy sigh I got up,putting all my energy in as my baby bump was quite the big obstacle for me.

Paddling down the stairs I went in the kitchen where the noise was coming from. There stood my husband ,a smile on his face as he looked through the cabinets for something to eat.

‘’You’re finally back !’’- I exclaimed as I gave him a big hug as much as my belly let me.

"I am back, my love. Back to my family. How's our little princess been? She's grown I can tell." - he asked,loving tone in his voice as he put his hands on my lower stomach as our baby kicked.

"Both of us missed you dearly. Seems like she can sense her father is back too." - I smiled, giving him a small kiss.

"I expected you last night, Az. You had me worried. What happened that kept you for so long?" - I asked.

"Elained asked if I could visit her, when it was time to leave  it was already late so she offered me to sleep over and come back in the morning." - he explained, a smile still on his face.

My face faltered.

"You... You went to see Elain?" - I asked again, needing to hear that sentence one more time.

"Yeah, that's what I said." - he replied.

In this moment nothing but fury resided in my body. He left me alone on my birthday to go meet with another woman!

"You left me here alone last night so you can go see Elain!" - I shouted, making Azriel jump.

"Hey, calm down. I don't see a problem, love. I'm here now am I not." - he replied, trying to take my hands in his, but I shoved him away.

"Why are you mad Y/N. Elain is my friend, I have the right to see her." - he said.

"And I'm your wife! The woman pregnant with your child! And instead of coming home to us you went to another woman!" - I screamed now.

"You being my wife doesn't mean I can't visit my friends, Y/N. If you're jealous just say it. Don't act like a child." - he raised his voice.

"I have nothing against you meeting your friends, but not friends who you have a romantic past with. Ever since I got pregnant you have been away more time than you've been home. I'm staring to feel like you're not ready to become a father. In case you've forgotten it was my birthday yesterday. That's why I expected you to come back-you promised. "-I said, my voice was starting to crack as my hormones took their turns.

" Y/N... "-started Az. His voice was laced with pain and regred.

" There's food in the bottom left cabinet if you're hungry. I'm going to bed. You can do whatever you want, go give the cake to Elain if you wish. I don't care." - I murmured as I waddled up the stairs as tears started going down my cheeks.

A few minutes later I heard the front door open and close, indicating that Azriel left. He actually left. That was the last straw as more tears appeared and I crumbled down on our bed, crying.

As if once again being able to feel my pain, my baby started kicking energetically.

"Calm down, my love. Daddy loves you. I hope he will never abandon us, or at least he will never abandon you."-I said quietly as I patted my belly.

I have fallen asleep when I was awoken late at night by a sharp pain in my lower stomach.

Fear filled me as I got up from the bed and headed towards the bathroom.

I took off my underwear only to see a big spot of blood on it and more streaming down my legs.

"Azriel... Azriel please if you can hear me, something's wrong with our baby, there is so much blood. I'm scared. Please come back!"-I sent down for him as I came back to the ned holding my stomach as I cried.

There was no one else I could call for. The only thing I had for communication was my bond with Azriel, and he was Gods know where.

" Please baby, don't leave us so soon. We waited for you for centuries. Don't do this to us." - I cried more as I layed in our bed, pain shedding me into pieces.

I dont know how much time passed, I was barely keeping myself conscious, my breaths slow and shallow. It was then when I felt someone's presence in the room and someone else coming to my side.

"Y/N... hey look at me, love. I'm sorry it took so long to get here, I'm sorry. I brought Madja with me, everything will be alright. Please just hold on." - he said as he caressed my cheek with his rough hand.

"Azriel..." I barely got it out of me "Save our baby, if I don't make it-tell her about me..." I breathed out. "Let her know her mother loved her.... endlessly." - I finished, I was starting to see dark spots when I heard Madja speak.

"The baby's wing tore a part of the inside tissue, that's where the bleeding's from. Aside from that, it is too early for it to be born. The chances of survival are low,but I'm going to give my best." - she said as she got to work.

"Azriel."-I loomed into his beautiful eyes once again. "I'm sorry for screaming at you.... I love you. So much." - I said as I put my hand on his cheek.

"Stay with me,love. It's all my fault. I should've came back as soon as I could, and I shouldn't have left you in the morning. Stay with me, ans we'll see our beautiful girl very soon. You hear me?" - he said as he shook me so I could stay conscious.

Time skip

Hours went as I layed on the same spot in our bed as I pushed and pushed. Madja gave me some kind of tonic to keep me awake and make the pain bareable.

The rest of our friends winnowed in soon after Azriel arrived. Feyre was at my side, guiding me through the process. Azriel went out of the room after lots of convincing from me. He needed a break from the awful scene before him.

I have no idea how much longer it went before I heard a small cry echo in the room as I felt instant relief. My body healed itself hours ago, but our baby was still very small and hard to take out.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as they put her against my chest. She was so small, smaller than normal, but she was here and she was alive.

Both of us fell asleep before seeing Azriel, I was too tired to keep my eyes open, much rest was needed.

I don't know for how long I slept but when I woke up I was greeted by the beautiful sight of my husband holding our daughter, whispering sweet nothing to her as he showered her with kisses.

"Azriel." - I said as his head snapped in my direction. He slowly came to my side, nestling the small child in my hands.

"I am so sorry for what happened yesterday Y/N. I want you to know that I love you much. I never intended to hurt you. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me." - he said, giving my forehead a kiss.

"I'm sorry too, Az. I was tired and on edge. And when you told me where you went I lost it. I hope you can forgive me too." - I said, offering a small smile.

"So... have you thought of any names?" - he asked, looking at our daughter once again.

"Hope, I want to name her Hope. Because she's what will give us power and will to keep going. For her." - I said.

"So Hope be it." - he said as he kissed me again.

We spent the rest of the day enjoying our new addition to our family and thinking about tje bright future that waited for us.

If you're interested in more of my fics let me know!

[s1ater]

cherry pie.

pairings. louis partridge x fem!reader

summary. reader never would have thought about getting high until she seems to have lost all her morals in one night with a boy she had never met before.

warnings. swearing, underage drinking and smoking

ricky rocks. YALL PLEASEEE bare with me. you can probably tell this is an older story because of the format, but just disregard the first half, i know it’s the lower end of my writing. it kinda gets better 😬 (edit: this story is so mid, i’m just trying to clear my drafts)

the room danced with colors, so many colors and shades you seemed to have never seen before. unfamiliar with their cause and purpose, unsure why you couldn’t touch them; it frightened you with the way they moved around, the way they twirled around your head like little ballerinas.

you swallowed, dropping your head back against the grungy brown couch sat in the corner of one of the back rooms of connor’s house, a boy you found yourself calling on day after day for the past two months for fun, and by fun you meant sex.

but tonight, you hadn’t seen the boy for what you could count as hours. there were other things on his mind rather than a high off their ass you. other pretty girls with less clothing on their bodies and longer hair that was paid more attention to than your own.

you couldn’t care less at that point in time as you felt so deep in a haze, nothing could pull your attention. nothing, until the seat next to you sunk in from the pressure of bodyweight and another high body, seeing the same things you were seeing, feeling the same things you were feeling. 

he just had it more under control. 

“you going to stare at the ceiling all day, love?”

you rolled your head to meet the eyes of a crazed blonde with matching brown eyes. delight swirled in his irises while he looked at you with also dazed eyes, almost ceased shut from swelling of the high. you looked amazed right back at him despite sober you would have been disturbed, never seeing a person so out of their mind.

“who are you?” you stared at him, shocked. 

“your new boyfriend,” he wiggled his eyebrows, jumping and readjusting himself up against you, his arm now slinging up and over you shoulders. a new kind of energy swelling through his chest, “i say we go on a date.”

he stared in front of him focused full hearty, as if visualizing something at that moment. you squinted, looking to where he was looking as if trying to see what he was seeing, but not enough weed could put you on his level. 

“i say, we leave right now, get some pie, maybe some coke. whatever you like sweetheart, i’ll give it to ya.” “I think your sweetheart wants some space, jake,” your eyes looked from the boy who sat next to you, jake, to the boy who now stood before the two of you, an unimpressed look on his face. his arm reached out to jake, practically yanking him from your side. “alright pal, let’s go for a walk.”

you watched jake stumble into him, “but louis, she’s pretty.”

louis glanced back over his shoulder as he begun to pull jake away from the couch and toward the door, now really coming to your attention. his eyes raked you up and down before smirking a little bit, nodding to himself, “sure man, she is.” 

he begun to walk away with jake wrapped around his shoulder before you got up fast almost tripping over your feet, not wanting them to go, “wait, i want a pie.” 

he looked back at you and your disoriented self. your shoulders were slung low, making you smaller than you actually were. your hair was all staticky, hanging above your head like a crown, and your eyes; dilated and filled with innocence.

he smirked, looking you up one more time before nodding you over, cuing you to follow after him, his arm still holding jake to his toes.

the boy’s car was blue. louis’ car was blue. it was one of those old, nice, restored cars that must have been worth thousands. the interior had light brown leather seating that made noise every time you shifted and readjusted yourself due to the old springs lying beneath. it made you giggle as you sat next to him in the front seat, jake lying in the back due to him not being just high, but rather cross faded. louis had apparently found him completely plastered out of his mind once he had first arrived at the party, leading him to hand jake a blunt to finalize his out-this-world experience. it wasn’t smart, but it kept louis entertained to say the least.

louis had glanced at you multiple times as he drove through the silent streets. he seemed eager or maybe even a little irritated as he watched you bounce around, lacking the ability to sit still as your eyes darted everywhere, from street lights to stop signs to anything that’d fully occupied your vision.

“have you ever been high before?” he asked, stopped at a stop light with red lights shading upon both your faces.

“nope,” your eyes wandered across the ceiling of his car. you ran your fingers along the soft carpeted interior—strange, but very stimulating and soft—making you feel all fuzzy inside of satisfaction. “louis, i love you car.”

he chuckles lowly, directing his eyes back to the road, “a lot of people do,” his lips were turned upwards into a slight smirk. it made the fuzzy feeling in your stomach turn warm as there was something very satisfying about just the way he looked. “we’re here.”

your eyes flick to the front of you where your visions bursts with neon lights beaming from the large “diner” sign pinned against the small vintage looking building. you're quick to slip out of the car to the euphoric sight.

“y/n!"

you stopped in your tracks at the sound of your name, glancing over your shoulder where your eyes immediately find a group of boys congregating together with one single boy appointed to attention to you. 

louis. 

"hold on. give me a minute, guys," you watch louis from five feet away, brush his friends off despite the yearning looks of amusement on all of their faces, looking between the both of you. he’s far from bothered or just doesn’t notice; brushing them off before meeting you to where you stood.

it was a wednesday after school. the sweet sound of louis’ voice and sight of his captivating face was the last thing you thought you’d come across. it must’ve been a mutual feeling with the way he looked you up and down, all winded looking. 

"you're a hard person to find."

"you've been looking for me?"

"of course," he has a cigarette in his mouth.

"I almost didn't think you were real."

"of course i'm real, sweetheart," he grins harder at you. "that fucked up, were you?"

you snort. if not being able to remember half of what took place that night counted for being fucked up, you took the trophy.

"well, alright. i'll take that as you had a pretty good night."

"one of the best."

“good,” he grins, “that’s a rare occasion for girls like you.”

“girls like me?” you scoff, arching a brow. his sentence could easily be something taken for offence, but the lighthearted tone to his voice only proved he was looking to mess with you. 

“yes,” he laughs with you. “usually drinking is the only thing you’d catch a teenage girl doing for non-sober purposes.” 

you nod, agreeing, because he wasn’t wrong, “i’ve had a fair amount of experience with alcohol and let me just say, i’ll be steering clear of that for a while.” 

“ah,” he tips forward on his feet in amusement. “i could’ve guessed you’re a wild one with your liquor, y/l/n. make some questionable choices.” 

you feel your face heat up in thought, “i won’t say you’re wrong.” 

louis lets out a small huff of laughter, before pausing all movement. he stares at you for a moment with narrow brows, as if trying his best to read you, “you ever wanna smoke with me, just let me know, alright?” he patted your back before suddenly walking past and away from you. your back was to him now but you could hear pat pat pat of his feet in the grass.

you frown, your eyes finding the cracks of the sidewalk as you think of how brief and unusual that was. you feel a large hole in your chest of unfulfillment. 

“louis, wait,” you shifted around rather quickly as a reality hit you, but you didn’t make any moves to chase after him. he turned as well as if waiting for it. “you uh, you didn’t tell connor i was with you guys, did you?”

yikes.

that’s not what he wanted to hear. 

louis pinched the bud of his cigarette, nodding to himself, thinking contently to his answer before exhaling, a thick cloud of white swirling out into the air before your eyes. you feel dazed, still high from the days before, filled with such naïve joy and lost thoughts of things you couldn’t remember now.

he threw his cigarette on the ground, eyes meeting yours again, only they were hard now and filled with no light heartedness like all times before. and his voice wasn’t soft or full of amusement either but dry as he stared you dead in the eyes, “why, he your boyfriend?”

your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, your eyes not meeting his for a while until after you thought about your answer. and it was an easy answer, no, but it was never something you’d ever consider a question. 

“no, no he’s not.”

“you sure about that?”

“not my type,” you smile slightly, examining louis’ pale cheekbones and facial features, the cold of the weather turning his complexion slowly red. your eyes drag to reach his red chapped lips.

him, he was your type. 

“enough of your type for you to fuck him,” he gave you a pointed look as if he had caught you in the act of something, and almost immediately your cheeks burned, like you were caught for something you knew you shouldn’t have been doing. 

you didn't understand why or how he knew. louis was someone you didn't know at all and what you and connor did was something you didn't tell anyone.

"you're surprised?"

"yes."

"why do you care what he knows, let alone fuck him?" he doesn't say anything more on how he knows like you hoped he would. "if he's not your type?"

you bite into your bottom lip, wincing because you didn't know the answer to it, "I don't."

"but you do," he slightly smiles but it's only out of annoyance as his voice catches up to cut you off on your lie. "I think you do, y/n. and you just don't want him to know we kissed."

"your mouth tastes like cherry."

"so does yours."

fuck.

"no, louis..." you wince, immediately regretting stopping him. "that's not what I meant. he doesn't mean anything to me."

he scoffs, "funny."

he doesn't believe you. not even close.

"you know he has label on you."

"a what?" you frown immediately, taking a step forward out of instinct.

“i’m a fool to think you’d ever stop liking him,” he holds his face, running his fingers along the sharp lines of his jawbone as he thinks about his idiotic hope that’d you so fastly fall for him as you did with connor. “foolish to think you’d drop him over one night.”

you’re even more confused now, “it was one night, louis.”

“you act like there isn’t the possibility that i’ve known you even before that night, y/n,” he has a smile that comes on his face but it isn’t something genuine. it’s annoyed. “your jerkoff of a boyfriend isn’t as secretive about you as you think.”

“he’s not my boyfriend.”

he scoffs, “you keep saying that.”

“because it’s true.”

“do you know what he says about you?”

“obviously not, louis,” four steps forward, four steps closer. “you keep speaking of ‘labels’ and whatever, but why don’t you just say it. what does he say about me that is so crazy?”

he didn’t expect the sudden brief and assertiveness you pull with your movement and words. it knocks him into a slight revelation as all he can do is stare at you and breathing, memorizing this side of you. 

“did he say i was a whore?” that was the only possible thing that you could think of at that moment that could be so bad. “he tell you i was a slut?”

it’s silent. you watch him think and the way he unintentionally avoids your hard stare with the thought process.

“ask him yourself.”

**

“has anyone ever told you you have pretty eyes.”

you feel your face burn upon the comment. everything in your body felt as if was about to burst upon the simple company of louis. even though it had to of been hours since connor’s house, and the diner, and even dropping jake off at his own home, you still felt out of your mind in the best way possible. all of your sense were still high, but your vision was fuzzy and you felt lag in your movement.

how were you still high?

“you have,” you felt yourself giggle, to which he smiles with a tip of his head, watching you.

“cute,” his fingers rubbed against his mouth in thought before reaching to you. you felt yourself inhale sharply at his sudden movement and hold your breath once they reached their destination; raking through your hair. “how does he do that to you?”

“what?”

“nothing,” he shook his head, still twisting his fingers through soft strands of your hair. you feel yourself relax, watching him and the way he seemed so focused on just you. “you’re just very pretty, y/n.”

you feel your eyes slightly widen, but his face doesn’t shift at all. he’s calm, while you feel your entire body burst once more into heat. you’re itching to move, you can’t just sit still in that burning warmth beneath his stare. you feel yourself move, leaning forward on your knees so your lips meet louis’.

louis smiles against the pressure of your lips against his--he almost forgets to kiss you back because of it. 

almost. 

his hands rack up and down the front of your body, lightly pressing into the hold he had around your rib cage, as if willing to crush you beneath his grasp as long as that meant you wouldn’t leave. this contact isn’t enough even for you. you want to feel him all over and the heavy hands holding your body isn’t enough. 

you’re on his lap now, one of your hands holding the top of his shoulder while the other claps his cheek. louis feels as if his own body is about to burst beneath you... this is all he has wanted, for a while, and now that he’s got it, he feels it’ll destroy him. you’re ignorant to his feelings, but you feel just as feverish with your heart thump-thumping within your chest, as if speaking to his. 

“your mouth tastes like cherry,” your chest is heaving up and down as you pull away, your wide stare boring into his own eyes with something of delirium. 

he’s smiling wide, tipping his head back against his seat to see your face better, “so does yours.” 

now you smile, “i like you louis.”

he almost groans, rolling his head side to side at the sound of those precious words, “you’re killing me,” he pulls the sentence straight out of his mouth like it was sarcastic, but he meant it, “say it again,” he wanted it. 

“i like you,” you repeat, this time his hand is on your cheek. “please kiss me.” 

oh, jeez. 

he stares, breathless, “okay.” 

***

it was a week after your fallout with louis and you couldn’t think about anything other than that. you felt a sudden emptiness and need for something that you barely even had; louis. 

every little micro interaction you had with him ran through your mind like a record, over and over till you felt you were going to throw yourself off a cliff. and it wasn’t just the connor comment--which was something you really, really couldn’t stop thinking about--but the seemingly quick liking he had taken to you. 

it had caught you off guard, but the more you thought about it, the more curious you became as to the whole thing; which was what led you here; connor’s house, on a friday night where he was once again throwing. 

“what have you been saying about me?” you stood in front of him, connor, your vision narrowed as you stared at him, examining him as if his whole existence was strange. 

“what?” his confusion was genuine as this question was rather abrupt and you made no attempt to make introductions. 

“you know louis partridge?” 

connor looks between you and the people he currently stood with, confusion still reeking his features, “yes..?”

“what have you been telling him about me?”

“you want to talk about this somewhere else?” 

“i want a straight answer,” you feel his hand wrap around your bicep, pulling you away from his crowd without an answer from you. 

“which i can give you if you weren’t so vague... why are you talking to partridge?” 

“you got a problem?”

the two of you are stopped in front of a boy; jake. 

“no, man, i think we’re good,” connor pays him no mind, side stepping him fast with you still in grip, continuing to interrogate you. you ignore connor, watching jake the whole way you’re being pulled while he watches you. you feel as if the boy isn’t real, like he was someone you had made up when you were high, but there he was, staring just as shocked, but equally skeptical as you were pulled further and further from him. 

“are you listening to me, y/n?”

“what?” 

“i asked you what you were on about?” you’re now in an empty corner, secluded away from the rest of the party. “haven’t seen you in days and you’re on a tangent about a boy you barely know, what’s going on?”

you finally focus on him, barely processing the words he was putting in your ears, but you didn’t have to in order to hear the fake sympathy and concern. 

“how do you know louis?”

he shurgs, “see him every time i throw. gotta get to know my usuals.” 

“yeah, and how well have you gotten to know him?”

he shakes his head, feeling attacked, “why?”

“because i think it’s my right to know what you’ve been saying about me to him and whoever else,” the seal of your calmness breaks as you extend an arm out, ready to scold him for anything he was about to say. 

his expression drops in return, knowing any attempt to make you calm and make the situation subtle was out of his hands. connor knew you well enough to know you were too far into your frustration to calm you down. 

“what’re you talking about?”

but that didn’t mean he had to comply. 

“your new choice in men is obviously not working out for you. even they know i’m the best you’ll ever have.” 

“what?” your head drops forward, taken aback at the sudden escalation connor had taken to his approach in words. “what the fuck are you on about?” 

he smirks, pushing the red solo cup he had up to his lips, glancing around before looking back down to you, “why else do you think he lied to you about whatever it is you’re asking?”

“i can’t believe this,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “pull yourself out of that goddamn lie before you make yourself look even more like a fool. what have you been saying about me?”

“i find it best you don’t lie about this one, mate. you have an audience of witnesses,” there’s a hand on your back and a voice intervening. 

the two of you focus to louis who suddenly stands behind you, daring connor to push it. the boy looks confounded looking between you, louis, and the crowd of boys behind him. he doesn’t know what to do within the corner he had backed himself into. 

“whatever, this is my own fucking party. i don’t need to do shit,” he shoves past all of you. you all watch him storm away, not looking back, leaving you all to yourselves in the dust. 

“let’s talk,” louis says immediately the moment you look up to him, nodding off in a random direction. 

you slowly nod, following him. 

“i didn’t think you’d actually ask him.” 

a laugh gets caught in the back of your throat, shaking your head at the ignorance as he opens the passenger door to his car for you, “yeah?”

“yeah,” he slides into his own side of the car. “but then again, what would i know about you?”

“a lot, apparently. more than i would guess,” you lean your head against the palm of your hand, staring at him carefully. “you gonna tell me what he said now?”

louis looks hesitant, not even looking at you anymore as he thinks on how to answer. he doesn’t want to answer, it’s that simple, but he owes it to you to give you something sense he was the one who told you in the first place. 

“when i met connor, he talked about you a lot. a lot for someone i barely saw. it was like every party he had something new to say or nothing new at all. as long as it was you he was talking about,” he smiles to himself, thinking of all the bragging and praising he had put into you, all for connor to just... “you were like a prize to him, y/n--until you weren’t. he called you easy, but you were his. he said he could walk you like a dog because he was the only guy you thought of.” 

you feel rage and annoyance fume in the base of your chest as he speaks. he can see it form in your eyes, take over any look of calmness or subtlety from before. you make a move to push yourself back and out the door but louis is quick to grab your arm, pulling you right back to him, only closer. 

“hold on there, cowgirl,” your almost in his lap. “you’re better than that.”

“am i?” you’re squirming, almost pulling from the grasp his grasp if it weren’t for how warm he made you feel.

“yeah,” he’s smiling at you. “why waste any more of your time with him anyways when you could just be here with me?”

you couldn’t help but fall victim to the pulling sensation on your lips to smile at him. you feel that fuzzy feeling creep up into your stomach at his stare like the first time you were both alone in his car and suddenly all your anger at connor melts away.

“only if you offer me cherry pie.”

@aliyahsutherland @ioveisabel @multifandom-obsessed @remuslupinluvr @cryinginsanity @rebbyr @cc13723things @p-prettysour @sweeth0lland @heyitsmeimdead @ishwiya @thehuntress09 @Anushi @ss-tipton @black-rose-29 @rrosecar @thedeadlythoughts @amourtentiaa @instabull @rudypankowisdaddy @sunsetcurving @225786As @lukewearingbeanies @voiddtrinity @kiramdd @oliviasrodrighoe @s8xwz @highkeygolden @kitkat-mini @anicon_bby @itzstacie @spencybear @Msvrgs914 @whoreforsophialillis @w0nderr @deadbeatbarb @phantompogues @i-love-scott-mccall @alexmercer-reginaldpeters @greengarsstuff @rowena-ravenclaws-diadem @dayanaralight @felixulvr @demigirl-with-problems @hizziestial @whoreforpsychopaths @sunsetcurve-95 @siriusspuppyy @mxsmwndr @youdontlikethatdoyoucupcake @andrewgarfields-girlfriend @xivilivix @morganaah @eichenhouseproperty @confusedchildstuff22 @alliechickens @moonlighy @ancientimes @gabeisinluv @thelaststraw3 @i44nishi @navyabhatnagar @iluvt4ylorswift @liltimmyst @falcvns @alexxavicry @grxcisxhy-wp @esposadomd

[astro-nomaly]

Sword and Shield (greenflower)

jfc i feel insane. i had to get this au out of my head so i wrote this first draft thing in two days anyways this is probably all i'll write at least for a while bc i don't have an actual set storyline and i really need to write tkal lmao. this is technically 2 chapters but whatever they made sense together

anyways @morroodle this is for you dude and uh sorry if this crashes anyone's browser. no cw for this. Edit 3/2/25 @highbookwormofthecentury here you go man have at it

Brad Tudabone is 17 years old – almost 18 (if ‘in seven months’ counts as ‘almost’) - and is currently climbing the tallest mountain in Ninjago.  

Now, the Realm has its fair share of mountains. The Golden Peaks of the West (the existence of which is not confirmed) in the Endless Sea are supposed to be taller than the sea is deep. Less impressively, the Shintaro Mountain range in the Southern Province stretches dozens of miles high, and the Caves of Despair are the most treacherous peaks in the world. But Brad is conquering something a little more difficult - the Mountains of Impossible Height.  

Honestly, the name was an exaggeration. It was, at best, the Mountains of Incredibly Dangerous Do Not Attempt for Fear of Death. Brad had only almost died, like, five times. And his arm was probably fractured, but whatever.  

He huddled against the cave wall, wincing as the sharp edges dug into the thin fabric of his shirt. Dammit, he should’ve brought a coat. He scowled at his fraying boots, one cold toe poking through. Should’ve brought better boots, too. Who knew climbing the world’s tallest mountain was such hard work?  

Brad was taking shelter in a small cave carved into the side of the Mountain of Impossible Height, which was a mouthful, waiting for the rain to pass. This high up, a light shower could kill him. He was already freezing.  

Brad shuffled a little closer to the small fire he had going, huffing into his hands. Next time, he would bring gloves that covered his fingers. Man, fingerless gloves looked so cool though! Though, it’s not like anyone else he knew wore them.  

To pass the time as he warmed up, Brad pulled an ancient scroll from his bag of assorted supplies, most of which he needed more of. Climbing mountains sucked.  

The scroll was fraying, yellow and browning around the edges. The thing was only a few decades old, but hadn’t been preserved well. Brad had found it only a month or two ago while poking around a half-destroyed museum, courtesy of the Oni army.  

Ugh. Brad hated the Oni. They’d shown up, what, fifty years ago?  So far, the army had been kept at bay by the holders of the Golden Weapons - weapons people didn’t know even existed - and Wu, the son of the First Spinjitzu Master – supposedly. No one knew if the god was real or not, but the dragon demigod of creation pointed to ‘yes’. The army had come out of a strange portal from the First Realm, a place no one was sure even existed before the arrival of the four-armed demons. They were led by yet another legendary figure; Garmadon, the Oni demigod of destruction and the first son of the FSM.  

There was a running theme here. Fifty years ago, several ancient legends were confirmed to be true as magic and elements were thrust into their realm. So, Brad felt confident about this legend as well.  

The Sword of Sanctuary. The scroll Brad scavenged from the museum rubble illustrated a lustrous golden sword surrounded by elegant text. The sword was, supposedly, the legendary weapon of the FSM himself, and super powerful to boot.  

It made sense, didn’t it? If demigods of creation and destruction were real, and other realms were real, and the elemental Golden Weapons then didn’t it stand to reason that the guy who made those weapons and fathered those demigods existed? If the FSM was real, then the sword was too, and that meant it could be useful.  

Everyone Brad reported his theory to – his overworked mom, his friends, the cops – laughed in his face. After fifty years of war that went almost nowhere, no matter how many dragons showed up to help, people were tired and low on hope. Every day the Oni army got closer to capturing the capital city, and if they did, they’d have easy access to the other four provinces. People needed practical solutions, not fairytales.  

But Brad knew that this wasn’t a fairytale. The sword was real, he just knew it. Was it a little presumptuous to assume that he could use it? Maybe. Brad was a normal guy – he played basketball, he gardened, and he was self-taught in using any kind of weapon. He didn’t know a single martial arts form, and his go-to for winning fights was the kick the other guy in the crotch and run. (Which, by the way, totally worked.) But even if Brad himself couldn’t use the sword, couldn’t someone else? One of the elemental masters, or even Wu? It didn’t matter who had the sword - if Brad found it, he could find someone to use it and win the fight.  

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want the sword, though. Brad hated feeling so useless all the time. His mom worked day and night to keep their apartment and put food on the table, half of which Brad grew in their own house. All his friends were either enlisted or contributing to society somehow. But Brad... didn’t really want to be in the army. Sure, fighting demons sounded cool, but he wanted adventure, not barracks and boot camp.  

If Brad found the Sword of Sanctuary, not only could the humans win the war, but Brad would be a hero.  

Besides, how cool would a magic sword be? Brad’s thinking lasers.  

He traced the thin letters around the illustration. He should, if the scroll isn’t lying to him, find some sort of temple at the top of the mountain, and the sword inside. Just like the last few days on this mountain, the scroll strengthened his resolve. He wasn’t just doing it for the adventure – though, if Ninjago weren’t in such dire straits, he would probably still do this – he was also doing it for Ninjago. For his mom, for Gene, who worked all the time trying to develop better technologies, and for all the citizens of Ninjago City who wanted just one good day.  

He tucked the scroll back into his bag, careful to make sure it wouldn’t crease or tear, and settled on his side. The rain wasn’t letting up any time soon. Might as well sleep.  

Brad dreams of Green. Not green, like the color, but Green. It’s life, it’s beauty, it’s the forest floor dappled in sunlight and the tall field grass swaying in a gentle breeze. It’s the shine of a bright grin and the adrenaline of a race. The Green is everywhere, all-consuming and shining like a star. Sheer gold peeks through the cracks, brighter than the sun itself.  

It’s crying.  

“Let me out,” the Green and Gold begs. The words don’t exist. They’re a compilation of feelings, hopes and dreams and everything else the universe can’t quantify. It’s like Brad has been granted a window into the soul of the realm itself, only to find that it was looking back.  

The words come in a melody, sweet and bright and lulling him to an even deeper sleep despite the sheer desperation leaking through.  

“LET ME OUT!” The Green and Gold screams, but Brad can only dip further into sleep.  

For the rest of the night, he dreams of darkness. 

Brad hates mountains. He’s been on this damned mountain for five days, ran out of food two days and has been random fruit since, and has no idea where he is. He briefly entertains the thought of dying up here before shaking it from his mind. He knows he’s getting closer – this mountain can’t get too much taller, can it?  

He shivers, clutching his arms as he stalks up the natural pathway. It’s overgrown and treacherous, but he’s lucky nonetheless that a path exists at all. It only supports his mission – at some point, people were here.  

“’Course, they probably had coats,” he muttered. He’s been talking to himself lately, which isn’t ideal, but whatever.  

He cut through a particularly nasty bramble patch in his way with his katana. It was an old, chipped thing, supposedly belonging to his father at some point. He didn’t have any attachment to the guy; he died before Brad was born. Still, a sword was a sword.  

Not as cool as the Sword of Sanctuary, though. 

Surprisingly, though, today seems to be a good day for Brad. For the past five days, the mountain had only gotten more and more treacherous, trying its best to kill him at every turn. He’s had to dodge wolves, evil birds, navigate horrendously narrow pathways and climb vertical cliff faces. Nothing so far has been easy – except now. The path levels out, the jagged rocks become smooth- 

Water. 

Brad laughs in disbelief. There’s a river! Oh, he’s missed water. He bends at the bank, scooping water in his mouth. It’s cold as it slides down his throat, and he drinks greedily.  

He wipes his mouth, sated, and takes another second to look around. The mountain is starting to level out, and greenery fills the area. The trees are lusher than they have any right to be, bearing fruit that definitely isn’t in season. It’s warmer now, too, which is weird so high up. The ground is crawling with bright green vines, flowering in shades of unnatural gold.  

“...huh,” he says. The Mountain of Impossible Height has been inhospitable to a fault so far. Why is it suddenly so nice? A refreshing river, fruit-bearing trees, smooth pathways?  

“Either something is horrifically wrong or terrifically right,” Brad said, adjusting the strap of his bag as he stood. He followed the path, holding his katana cautiously. But nothing came out at him. Birds literally sang in the treetops, a few does bound through the increasingly thick trees, hell, a butterfly literally landed on his nose at one point. It was as if he’d crossed a threshold.  

Brad soon came to an actual pathway, made up of cobblestone overgrown with moss. He followed the winding road, growing more and more excited as lamps began to dress the grass along the path.  

Then- a monastery.  

Brad gaped at the sight. A large red Torii gate stood before him, and further down the path, a grand monastery. It was gated by a tall solid stone fence, overgrown with flowering vines and moss. Brad whooped, running along the path until he reached the entrance, throwing the double doors open with a laugh.  

He came into a courtyard with a golden dragon statue in the middle. If he wasn’t sure of this place before, he was now. This had to be it. The home of the Sword of Sanctuary.  

He stepped forward carefully, looking around the courtyard. It was wholly abandoned and overgrown in greenery. It was beautiful, yes, but eerie as well. Like a school at midnight, or a graveyard at night. Otherworldly.  

“Hello?” He called, just to be safe. He didn’t want to upset a possible deity or something.  

Nothing. He shrugged and poked around on the wrap-around porch. He slid open the doors inside and recoiled at the smell of dust. Yeah, this place hadn’t been touched for a while.  

He stepped inside, feeling as though he’d come into another realm entirely. Yeah, this had ‘school at midnight’ vibes. The halls were dark, lit only by the fading sunlight that shown through the aged walls and grimy windows. Every step he took made the floorboards creak and groan.  

He followed the hall, humming nervously. He poked his head in every door he came across but just found abandoned bedrooms and bathrooms. There was a large kitchen, a couch and TV – weird – and a small armory. He made his way around the entire monastery, and didn’t find anything of note.  

He sighed, flopping down on the couch. Dust rose up around him, settling on the disturbed surface.  

“Think, Tudabone,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, pulled back by a red bandana. There had to be something here that would lead him to the sword.  

“A basement!” He exclaimed, smacking his forehead. Of course! Who would leave a mega-powerful legendary sword laying around for anyone to nab? There had to be a hidden room or basement or-  

“Or not,” he said, staring at the ceiling. Outside, he’d made note of the way the roof accommodated what seemed to be two extra rooms stacked on each other above the entrance doors, featuring round windows.  

He vaguely recalled a faint light coming from the very top window, what he’d assumed to be sunlight.  

Well, he’s looked everywhere else.  

Brad quickly ran back outside, looking up at the extra two stories, rising into a tower. The sun was going down now, but the golden light remained in the uppermost window. He grinned and looked for a way to get up to it. The stone around the double gates was crumbling, revealing convenient footholds.  

He crossed the courtyard, hauling himself up the wall until he stood on the narrow shingles, balancing carefully. He slowly put one foot in front of the other, making his way over to the wider part of the roof. When he did, he scrambled over the roof to the second story, holding the red column that supported the roof.  

Brad stretched on his toes, trying to grasp the edge of the second story’s slanted roof. He was a tall guy, but damn! When he finally got his fingers over the edge, he jumped the extra few inches to grab on with his other hand. Brad breathed heavily, swaying lightly from the roof. He grunted as he pulled himself up, using the shingles as leverage until he could awkwardly kneel on the second story roof. The third story was small, and the window was too grimy to see through. But up close, he could definitely tell that the golden light was emitting from this room.  

He fumbled with the round window, searching for a latch. The latch was on the inside, but a little jiggling got the run-down window to slowly creak open. Brad tumbled through, landing on his knees and cutting up his palm with splinters. He hissed, drawing his hand to his chest.  

Inside the room, he felt warmth as golden light bathed his body. He looked up just for his breath to catch in his throat with a gasp.  

The Sword of Sanctuary.  

Brad didn’t need to reference the scroll to know that this was the sword. It gleamed in the sunset, emitting a soft golden light from its spotless blade. The blade seemed to be painted with every color of the waning and rising sun, thrumming with light. Warmth emanated from it, bathing the room in honey. The hilt curved inward elegantly, and in the middle rested a magnificent green gem. Brad couldn’t tell if it was emerald – it seemed too ethereal to come from the earth.  

The sword was held downward by a statue. The statue was a simple androgynous person with intricately carved feathered wings draping their body like a chiton, and a crown resting upon their brow. Otherwise, they were bare. Their eyes were closed, and their expression seemed to leak with sadness as they clutched the sword by the hilt.  

Brad stepped forward, enraptured by the sight of the sword. The green gem, originally inactive, pulsed and light up with light like it had sensed him. Brad stopped, holding his breath. The gem simply continued to glow.  

“Right, right,” Brad whispered, strangely short of breath, “watch out for boobytraps.” He looked around for tripwires or plates but found nothing. The walls were decorated with woven tapestries of the Golden Weapons, and behind the statue on either side were an Oni and a dragon. Otherwise, the room was empty.  

Okay. No boobytraps – maybe it was a test of character? He’d seen books like that.  

“Hey... sword,” he said, feeling a little dumb, “I’m not going to use you for, like, evil. I’m here to save people, so please don’t kill me.” 

He left his katana and satchel on the floor, slowly walking toward the statue. The green gem, somehow demanding more attention than the ethereal blade, thrummed in time with his footsteps, glowing brighter as he got closer. He hoped that wasn’t a bad sign.  

Brad hesitated, reaching for the sword. His hand curled, hesitant, before he used both hands to grab the sword by the curling hilt. The second he laid hands on it, the sword lit up even brighter, shining brighter than the sun.  

Brad shut his eyes against the onslaught of light, grunting, but didn’t let go. The sword was hot, now, but it wasn’t painful. It was like a melty cookie, or a space heater – warm, comforting, soft.  

He squinted, and tugged. The statue’s hands held the sword tightly. Brad braced his feet, trying to adjust for more leverage. “Come on,” he said, tugging again. “Please,” he whispered, “I need you.” 

With each increasingly hard tug, the sword somehow became brighter and brighter. It was audibly humming now, filling the air with a strangely familiar melody. The smell of flowers filled the air, wafting in the dusty room. Wind ruffled the tapestries as Brad pulled at the sword harder and harder.  

He grit his teeth, tightened his hold, and pulled as hard as he possibly could.  

The stone hands around the sword cracked and fell, releasing the sword. With one final burst of light, the sword fell forward, and Brad toppled from the momentum of his pull.  

He stumbled back, breathing heavily, as the sword dimmed, slowly ceasing the thrumming and humming. The wind died down, and the scent of flowers settled with the dust.  

Brad stared down at the sword, its blade gleaming like new, breathless. He laughed, little bursts falling from his mouth. “I did it,” he whispered, disbelieving, “I did it! I got the sword!” 

The winged statue crumbled to pieces. Brad flinched, jumping back, as the stone fell away in chunks. “Ooh,” he winced, “that’s... that’s not a great sign.” 

He waited for something else to happen, but nothing did.  

“...huh. Okay." He looked down at the sword. “You're not going to disintegrate me, right? We’re chill?” The sword did not respond.  

He grinned, readjusting his grip to hold the actual handle. He noticed, belatedly, that the pommel is a second, smaller green gem encased in gold. He holds the sword up high, tilting it back and forth to catch the fading light.  

“Heh,” he laughs, swinging it in a slow arc through the air. He hears an audible swish, and laughs again. He feels so cool! Him, regular old Brad Tudabone, wielding the legendary Sword of Sanctuary with ease! He even feels stronger for it, like he could sprint a hundred miles or punch straight through a mountain. “This is so cool,” he says, cutting another arc through the air. He twirls the sword, taking it the way the light creates a kaleidoscope.  

Brad wonders what the sword can really do. Does it shoot lasers? Is it telekinetic, somehow? Or- ooh, he saw an anime where the sword duplicated itself once, that would epic. He traces the blade reverently, imagining everything the sword could possibly accomplish against the Oni. He notices soft green vines, thin and fragile, curling up from the golden hilt against the sunset blade. He smiles.  

“I bet someone was real lucky to have this,” he thinks aloud, “you’re going to help so many people, y’know. Ugh, I wish you could talk. I want to know everything.”  

As if he’s said some kind of code word, the blade begins to shudder. Brad makes a startled noise, holding the sword at arm's length. The green gem begins to glow brighter than ever, thrumming violently. The blade itself warps, the previously soft hues becoming eye-scorching shades of burning violets and yellows. Brad feels nauseous just looking at it, but he can’t seem to let go.  

“No, no, no-” he gasps, arms shaking from the strain as the sword grows more violent by the second, “please, stop, no, no, no-” he begs, but the sword isn’t listening anymore. It’s gone from elegant and soft to nauseating as colors blend into each other. The hilt itself begins to warp, curling inward as the metal melts into itself. Glowing cracks emanate from the green gem as bright, scorching cracks appear in the sword. Brad gasps, frantically shaking the sword as if he can make it stop.  

Then light like a flashbang overtakes the entire room, blinding Brad, and he falls on his butt.  

Brad comes to slowly, still blinking rainbow spots out of his eyes. He’s pinned to the floor by something on his stomach and legs, and quickly realizes that the weight is moving. He rubs his eyes, propping his upper half up.  

There is a person on his lap.  

Brad gapes, once again speechless. By now, the moon is up, framing the person in a halo of cold light that only accentuates the sheer warmth leaking off of them. They have long golden hair that curls down to their shoulders, fluffy and soft and shining. A light gold and green diadem rests on their head, secured in their thick hair. They’re dressed in a white, sleeveless sort of shirt, ruffled and flowing at the end. The top folds over their shoulders, lined in green and tiny little emerald gemstones. Their legs are covered by a long white cloth that’s secured by another silky material with a gold chain. Their legs are otherwise bare and freckled. Their skin is a soft tan, golden in the moonlight.  

They’re really, really cute. And they’re on Brad’s lap.  

Okay Tudabone, don’t mess this up.  

The person groans softly, face twitching. Their eyelashes are as golden as their hair, and underneath their eyes are soft golden markings, curly and elegant. He can respect the color scheme.  

Brad watches as their eyes flutter open, confused and dazed. Their irises are a beautiful emerald green, shining in every shade Brad can think of. Their pupils are shaped like miniature twinkling stars, again golden. Golden pupils – strange. As they slowly adjust, making confused noises, their pointed ears twitch rapidly.  

That’s really cute, Brad thinks, face hot.  

They seem to realize that they’re sitting on Brad, and stare up at him with giant green doe eyes. Brad’s face gets even hotter the longer they make eye contact.  

“...hi,” they whisper softly. Their voice is oddly familiar, like a melody he’s heard before.  

He swallows thickly. “Hi,” he responds softly, not willing to break the strange spell over the room.  

The blonde looks around, and they don’t seem to recognize their surroundings. “Wh- who- where-” they mutter, and Brad starts to get concerned. He holds them by the arms gently, trying to corral them up off of him.  

“Are you okay?” He asks. The person nods vaguely, slowly wobbling to their feet. Brad notices that their feet are bare with a grimace. They could easily cut their skin on splinters.  

They stare down at their own freckled hands, inspecting their skin. Now that Brad’s had a few seconds to get his bearings, he’s getting really freaked out. Ten seconds ago, he was holding the Sword of Sanctuary when it suddenly began warping and glowing. Now there’s a blonde person dressed in oddly ancient-looking clothes, acting as if they've never seen their own hands before.  

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks again, because he might be freaked out, but this person is obviously not okay. They hum, twisting around to look at him with those giant green eyes. They’re practically glowing in the moonlight.  

“Where are we?" They ask. Brad blinks, surprised.  

“The- the Mountain of Impossible Height. Seriously, are you feeling alright? You seem confused.” 

They touch their forehead, eyes shutting like they’ve encountered a sudden headache. It draws Brad’s attention to the strange golden tattoo imprinted on their forehead like a little tiara.  

“How- who are you?” They demand.  

“Brad,” he answers gently. “Look, I don’t mean to push, but twenty seconds ago I was holding a magic sword. Now you’re here. Where did you come from?” 

“A sword?” They’re suddenly staring at him with intensity. “What do you know about the sword?”  

Brad holds his hands up, trying to calm them. “Hey, I just found it here. It freaked out and boom, here you are. I’m just as confused as you. Here, look.” Brad scooped his bag off the floor, brandishing the worn scroll to the stranger. “Look, this is what I was looking for.” 

They snatch the scroll, eyes raking over it. “...does anyone else know about this?”  

“No, no one else believed me. Why? Really, you just came out of no... where...” Brad trails off slowly. The sword was golden, inlaid with green gemstones that seemed to come from the stars themselves.  

This person speaks with a melodious voice, just as soft and ethereal as the sword. They’re dressed in white, yes, but marked with golden tattoos. Their eyes are such a pure, glittering green that Brad can’t stand to look at them for too long.  

His eyes inadvertently lock onto their chest. Two sparkling green gemstones are imbedded in their skin, softly thrumming.  

“You’re the sword,” he says dumbly.  

They stiffen, eyes wild like a deer in headlights. The two stare at one another, frozen. The blonde – the Sword of Sanctuary who is a person – goes from a terrified stare to a glare. “What do you know about this?” They demand, waving the scroll at Brad. “Why did you come looking for me?” 

“I just found it!” Brad defended, “I was looking for the sword- for you because you’re supposed to be really powerful! Look, you belonged to the First Master, right?” 

“I don’t belong to anyone,” they snarled. Brad nodded.  

“Okay, okay. But still, you’re all about justice and whatnot, right? Look, there’s this huge Oni army, and they’re hurting people. I came looking for you because you were supposed to help.” 

“Oni army?” They ask, their gaze intense.  

Brad nodded. “Yeah, and they’re close to taking over Ninjago City. Can’t you do anything?” 

They hum, tapping the parchment. “How long has it been?” 

“What?” 

“How long has the army been in Ninjago?” 

“Oh,” Brad hummed, “about... fifty years, give or take. It’s been a while.” 

Their eyes grow huge, pupils shrinking. “Fifty years?!” They cry, their harsh grip creasing the scroll. Brad nodded, confused. They clutch at their hair, breaths suddenly coming in sharp gasps. “It’s been fifty years?!” They whisper to themself.  

Brad steps forward, but they recoil as if he’d threatened them with a knife. “Don’t touch me!” They shriek. Brad freezes as they shake in place. Tears begin to grow in their eyes, and their shoulders fall as their face crumples.  

“Fifty years...” they mumble, holding their face in their hand.  

“Have... have you been in that sword this entire time?” Brad asks incredulously. “Why?” 

They shake their head. “I didn’t have a choice,” they mumble miserably, shoulders shaking.  

Brad makes an affronted noise. “Somebody did that to you? Why?! Did you do something evil?” 

“No, I’m not evil!” 

“Then I’ll punch them in the face,” Brad decided, punching his fist into his palm and looking around like the culprit would suddenly appear.  

They let out a startled laugh through tears. “Y-you definitely can’t do that,” they say, wiping their eyes. Brad scoffs.  

“Yeah? Why not?” 

“He’d probably kill you,” they mutter. Their expression crumbles all over again, misery etching their face. “Fifty years...” they mumble, sniffling. “And nobody came for me. Not my uncle... not my brothers and sister... nobody except you.” 

Brad grimaced. “...I do my best?” 

They make a sound between a laugh and a sob. “I-I’m sorry. Brad, right? You probably want an explanation.” 

He shakes his head, reaching out tentatively. When they don’t freak out again, he rests his hand on their arm. “It’s okay,” he says, “you’re upset. You don’t have to explain anything. Actually, I can just fuck off if I’m stressing you out-” 

They shake their head, wiping away any lingering tears. “It’s okay. You came all this way.” 

“Well... okay,” Brad pulls them to the floor so they can sit down. He lets go of their arm once he’s sure they’re not going to topple over. “So, how are you a sword? Or, I guess, how is a sword a person. Which came first, the person or the sword?” 

They shake their head, mixed between amusement and that ever-present misery. “It’s not like that,” they say, “I wasn’t always a sword. I used to be a person.” 

“Oh,” Brad says, “so someone turned you into a sword. But if the sword belonged to that Spinjitzu guy, shouldn’t you be... older?” 

“Nice to know I look young,” they joke. “But yeah, I’m only sixteen. I wasn’t turned into a sword so much as I was fused with it. Like a curse, kind of.” 

Brad nodded. So, this person, whoever they were, was fused with the FSM’s sword? Why the hell would anyone do that just to leave them in some dusty monastery? “Well, if you’re a person first, what’s your name?” Brad asks, tired of not knowing. They blink, surprised, like they hadn’t conceived that Brad would care to ask for a name.  

“...Lloyd Garmadon.” 

Brad gaped. “Garmadon? As in Emperor Garmadon?!” 

Lloyd made a face. “Is that what he’s calling himself? Ugh, my dad is cringy. Yes, I’m the son of Garmadon. He’s... actually the one that fused me with the sword.” 

“His own son? That’s- really fucked up,” Brad didn’t even know how to react. Who does that to their own kid? Was it some sort of twisted immortal being punishment? What could Lloyd have possibly done? 

Lloyd drew his knees up to his chest, resting his head in the soft white fabric of his tunic. “It’s complicated,” he mumbled, picking at the fine golden threads lining his clothes. “My dad was banished to the First Realm when I was four after he tried to steal the Golden Weapons. I grew up with my uncle and his students, the elemental masters. I became the Green Ninja when I was fourteen, and Garmadon returned when I was sixteen.”  

“You were a ninja? What’s your element?” Brad leaned forward.  

Lloyd smiled wistfully. “The Green element.” 

“What... what is that.” 

He laughed, and Brad blushed at the sound. “I can’t explain it to you. The words don’t exist in a language mortals can comprehend. The closest thing is... energy. The energy within everything.” 

“Wow,” Brad breathed, “it must’ve been epic.” 

“It was,” Lloyd agreed, “it was incredible.” 

Brad hummed, picking at the floor. “If you were so powerful, though, how did Garmadon... swordify? Is that the term? How’d he swordify you?” 

Lloyd’s face spasmed in a mix of embarrassment and regret. “It was my fault,” he mumbled, eyes downcast, “Uncle Wu didn’t want me to fight him. He wanted me kept far away from Garmadon. But after months of no progress, I... I confronted him. I thought I could get him to listen. Instead, he put me in a sword.” 

“But... how?” 

“I was stupid,” Lloyd said, “I refused to fight him. I let myself get tricked, and he... it doesn’t matter,” Lloyd fiercely wiped at his face, erasing any sign of tears before they could appear. “M-my uncle saved me, that’s the point. He stole me back, and changed the curse. Uncle Wu made sure that nobody could use the Green Element, and so long as I’m here, I have free will.”  

Brad’s face screwed up, confused. “Free will? What does that mean?”  

Lloyd’s expression spasmed again, and he stared at the floor, eyebrows furrowed. “I- okay. My father turned me into a sword to use my element. When he did, he stripped away my free will. Basically, whoever picks me up as a sword becomes my wielder, and they control whether I’m human. I physically can’t disobey them.” 

Brad struggled to wrap his head around it. “Like... Ella Enchanted?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“That movie! The girl has to obey everyone, and can’t say no. Like, the stepsisters-” 

Lloyd let out a dry laugh, sniffling. “Actually, yes. Except only my wielder controls me, and they turn me into a sword. I can’t switch by myself.” 

Brad snapped his fingers, “hey, doesn’t that mean that your uncle was your last wielder? Why’d he leave you like this? What a dick.” 

Lloyd shook with laughter. “Good question. Maybe he wanted to protect me, or make sure I didn’t run away again. Not that I could. If I get too far away from a wielder, I just turn back into a sword.” 

“Speaking from experience?” 

Lloyd bit his lip and nodded. Brad scoffed. “I’m going to punch Garmadon in the face.” 

“Good luck with that,” Lloyd said, smoothing out the creases in his tunic. “I, for one, would love to punch my father.” 

Lloyd’s words gave Brad a sudden idea, and he shot to his feet, pacing back and forth. Lloyd watched him from the floor, somewhat wary, but Brad was too caught up in his head.  

“That’s it,” he muttered, running a hand through his disheveled hair, “wait, that’s it!” 

“What is? Punching Garmadon? I’m all for it, but-” 

“No- well, yes, but no,” Brad turned back to Lloyd, who’s head was tilted to the side in confusion. Brad blushed briefly at the sight, before shaking it away. “Lloyd, I’m your new wielder, right? I picked you up, I think I made you human-” 

“It doesn’t work in here,” Lloyd snapped defensively, crossing his arms over himself protectively. “You can’t order me around in the monastery, and I’ll kick your ass if you try.” 

“No!” Brad waved his hands, “No, I wouldn’t do that! I mean, if I’m your wielder, and someone can only control you if they pick you up as a sword, what if I just never turn you into a sword? Loophole!” 

“For what?” Lloyd asked, exasperated. Brad grinned.  

“If no one – especially Garmadon – can ever steal you, then you’re free to use your element without anyone controlling you! I get that you can’t get too far away from me – so we’ll stick together. I’ll take you to Ninjago City, and you’ll kick Garmadon’s ass with your epic element! I can cheer you on in the background, it’ll be great!” 

Lloyd’s eyes grew big as his face went straight back to miserable. “I- I can’t.” He hugged his legs to his chest, looking at anything but Brad as if he was ashamed. Brad deflated, staring down at him.  

“But... why? You’re a ninja, aren’t you? Isn’t fighting evil emperors your whole thing?” 

“No, I can’t use my element,” Lloyd corrected in a small voice. “My element was sealed away in the sword. And since Uncle Wu made it so that nobody could use my element, that means that the Green Element is gone. Nobody, not even me, can use it anymore. I can’t even do Spinjitzu.” 

Brad’s shoulders fell as his excitement flew out of him. “...oh. Well, that sucks.” 

Brad sat back down across from Lloyd, who was curled into himself as if he could hide in the white swathes of clothing. Brad felt kind of silly, now. Like, no duh! Why would an evil warlord leave his prisoner’s power unchained?  

Lloyd sniffled. “I’m sorry, Brad,” he said quietly. “I wish I could help. But I- I can’t leave and let people use me. I can’t just give up my body so people can swing me around and kill people with me. I just...” 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Brad said, scooting closer to Lloyd. He laid a hand on Lloyd’s freckled shoulder, and froze when Lloyd fell into him, leaning on his side. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arm around the demigod, letting Lloyd leach off of his warmth. Lloyd himself was warm to the touch, and Brad’s skin reflected the glow, ever so faint. 

Brad sighed. He was fucked, wasn’t he? Well, at least this wasn’t for nothing. He looked down at Lloyd, and let a smile cross his face. At least Lloyd wouldn’t have to be trapped inside of that sword forever.  

“We might still win anyways,” he mused aloud, mostly just to fill the silence, “I mean, dragons show up all the time to help out, and we still have the Golden Weapons. We’ll be fine.” 

Lloyd hummed, tracing the wood of the floor idly. “Still... I hate to let you down.” 

“No let down here! I came here for a sword and found a friend. Uh... are we friends?” 

Lloyd turned his face up to smile at Brad, green eyes crinkling. The tattoo on his forehead glowed briefly, like Lloyd’s smile couldn’t be contained to his mouth. “Yeah,” he said, “we’re friends.” 

Brad’s face grew hot, and he coughed, looking away before he spontaneously combusted. Lloyd didn’t seem to notice, and drew himself up, dusting off his tunic.  

“Hey, I know I’ve been kind of disappointing-” 

“Not at all!” Brad jumped to his feet, and immediately felt stupid for yelling. Lloyd froze, eyes wide, before he laughed, a light blush covering his cheeks.  

“Anyways. Stay for a while? It’s lonely up here.” 

Brad hesitated. He’d left his mom, who was surely wondering where the hell he was, and Gene was probably worried as well. But looking at Lloyd’s hopeful expression, he couldn’t say no.  

“Sure. You have a garden?” 

Lloyd’s bright golden smile made it all worth it.  

Lloyd led him through the monastery, introducing him to a bedroom that once belonged to Cole Brookstone, the Master of Earth. Brad was astounded to learn how long Elemental Masters truly lived – the same ones Lloyd grew up with over 60 years ago were still kicking, wiping Oni ass.  

“Sorry for the mess,” Lloyd said, gathering the dusty comforter up, “ugh, I hope the washer still works.” 

Brad chuckled, shaking dust off of the pillows. “We’ve got some cleaning ahead of us. I can start on laundry.” 

Lloyd seemed surprised at the offer, before his eyes crinkled in a smile as the little gemstones imbedded in his chest glowed, twinkling like happy little stars. Brad couldn’t help the pink that spread across his cheeks. Man, if Lloyd continued smiling at him like that, Brad thinks he would do anything for him.  

Oh wow, he was whipped. Gene was going to make so much fun of him.  

That is, essentially, how Brad spends the next several days. He and Lloyd unearth ancient cleaning supplies and do their best tackling the dust and grime settled over the monastery. Lloyd, surprisingly adept with technology, tackles the appliances and power while Brad curb stomps the overgrown garden into submission. They both spend hours in the sun and crisp breeze cleaning the courtyard, and every night they do dishes together.  

Just two weeks ago, Brad was adrift. He didn’t know what he wanted from life – just that he wanted more. Now he spends his days in a monastery on the world’s tallest mountain with the oddest boy he’s ever met, and it’s the happiest he’s ever been.  

Lloyd is funny. He’s wry, and sharp, and through his hesitance is cheeky humor that Brad can’t help but find endlessly endearing, even when it’s used to dump buckets of water over his head.  

Somehow, Lloyd Garmadon has made this one of the best weeks of his life.  

Even if he has to leave soon.  

Brad splayed over a sofa in the library, idly flicking through scrolls and books. Lloyd was in the courtyard practicing katas and what Brad thinks might be Spinjitzu – minus the magic tornado.  

His thoughts are all over the place. On the one hand, he has to go. His mom and Gene will be worried, and he hates worrying them. On the other, all Brad wants is an adventure. Lloyd is quickly becoming a close friend, despite them not really sharing that much about themselves. Brad is just so easily drawn to him – or maybe that’s his raging ‘cute boy’ radar.  

He groaned, staring at the ceiling. If he left, he’d be doing more than leaving behind a close friend – he'd be leaving Lloyd all alone. In fifty years, Brad was the only person to come up here. Who would Lloyd talk to about Starfarer, or beat in Mario Kart, or do the dishes with? He’d be up on this tall mountain all alone.  

He wished there was a way to give Lloyd freedom. He saw the way the demigod looked at into the distance sometimes – like there was nothing he wanted more than to run out of this monastery as fast as possible and never look back.  

“I’m so punching Garmadon,” Brad grumbled, picking up the random scrolls he’d been looking through. Boring stuff, honestly. As he was setting them back in their respective nooks, his eye caught on one, seemingly disturbed. Curiously, he unfurled it.  

A sketch, done in quick, fluid pencil, of the four Golden Weapons. Those things were old news, but what interested Brad was the Sword of Sanctuary in the middle. His eyes roved over the words, and startled as he made out the characters spelling Lloyd’s name.  

“Holy shit,” he whispered, rereading the text in astonishment. He laughed, bouncing in place. “Lloyd! Lloyd, holy shit!” 

A few seconds later, the doors to the library slammed open, and Lloyd burst through the door with his fists up. He deflated when he saw Brad with the scroll.  

“Is... something wrong?” Brad grinned, holding out the scroll.  

“Lloyd, you’ve got to see this. It’s the solution!” 

Lloyd took the scroll, reading carefully. His eyes widened the more he read, clutching the scroll tightly. “This... oh, grandfather.” 

Brad grabbed Lloyd’s wrists, causing the blonde to look up at him. “Lloyd,” he breathed, “this is our answer. We can cure your curse and beat Garmadon.” 

“The Golden Weapons... can break the curse,” Lloyd whispered. A small, hesitant smile grew on his face as hope shined in his eyes. “They- they can get me out of the sword.” 

Hypothetically. The scroll was vague, and seemingly all hypotheticals, but it was hope. Hope for Lloyd, and Ninjago.  

Brad held Lloyd’s hands to his chest. “Then let’s go get them,” he urged. Lloyd shrunk away a bit.  

“But if I leave...” 

“Lloyd, please,” Brad begged. “I’m your wielder, aren’t I? Well, I promise, I will never make you shift. I won’t ever order you around, and I won’t ever ignore you if you don’t want to do something.” 

“But...”  

Lloyd was terrified of losing his free will. From his perspective, Brad could be lying. His words didn’t mean much when they’d known each other for a week.  

“Do you really want to wait around for your uncle to do it?” Brad pressed, desperate. He felt bad for pressuring Lloyd, but he also knew that if they could make this work, then Ninjago would be safe. “Lloyd, we can do this, can’t we? One kickass demigod and a swordsman!” 

Lloyd gave him an unimpressed look. “Are you even trained?” 

“I am... self-taught.” 

Lloyd drew back, staring down at the scroll. Brad sighed, and retracted his hands. “I won’t make you,” he said softly, “If you really don’t want to, then I won’t try to make you. But don’t you want to be free?” 

“And how do I know you won’t just turn me into a sword the second I step out that door?” Lloyd demanded. His voice cracked. “It’s what anyone would do! I- I'm not even a person to you.” 

Brad crossed his arms. “Okay, rude.” 

“What?” 

“Rude! Man, when I have acted like you’re not a person? I mean, you’re a mega powerful demigod, but that’s different than ‘not a person’. I mean it, Lloyd – I won’t force you to do anything.” 

Lloyd furrowed his brows. “I make a pretty kickass sword,” he warned, “you’ll be very sorely tempted. Not to mention all the people that will be after me.” 

“They can’t do anything to you,” Brad reminded with a smile, “not if I never turn you into a sword. Which I won’t, because you’re my friend.” 

Lloyd hummed thoughtfully. “...I’ve been wanting to kick my dad’s ass for a while,” he muttered vindictively.  

“Come on,” Brad said, “adventure of a lifetime!” 

“We’ll have to cross the entire continent.” 

“Road trip!” 

“We’ll be facing down my father’s worst soldiers, and neither of us have powers.” 

“We’ll be crafty. You’re a ninja, aren’t you?” 

Lloyd hesitated, and Brad could tell he was on the precipice. He softened his gaze. “Lloyd,” he said quietly, “you could wait for someone else to come along and free you... or you can free yourself.” 

“Why?” Lloyd muttered. He seemed genuinely curious. “Why risk your life for me like this? You realize that you’ll be in constant danger.” 

“Dude, why wouldn’t I? We break your curse, you get your powers back, and boom! Garmadon defeated, Ninjago saved. Besides,” he blushed, “an adventure? With you? Sign me up.” 

Lloyd fell quiet, his green eyes calculating. The gemstones on his chest betrayed his growing excitement as they began to light up, thrumming with their own melody.  

“Okay,” Lloyd breathed, his eyes brighter than Brad had ever seen them. The sight took his breath away.  

“Okay?” He said. Lloyd nodded vigorously, bouncing in excitement.  

“Yes! Let’s do it!”  

Brad laughed, tackling Lloyd in a hug. The shorter blonde startled, letting out a surprised laugh.  

“I am,” Lloyd said when they pulled away, “so ready to leave this monastery.” 

They find themselves, hours later, at the gate of the monastery. Brad shoulders the bulk of the bags, full to the brim with clothes and food they’d hurriedly packed. They were both itching to get out now. Maybe Brad hadn’t thought this over enough – but how could he deny the chance to stop the Oni army? How could he pass up such a big adventure?  

Lloyd hesitated on the steps, just within the boundaries of the monastery. Brad wordlessly held out his hand for Lloyd to take, smiling softly.  

Lloyd looked down at him, framed by the sunlight shining through his golden hair like a halo. He took a deep, shuddery breath, and grabbed the hand.