#heavy equipment air conditioning

[yourmomsawh0r3]

storm chasers

pairing: tyler owen’s x f! reader

warnings: NSFW, 18+

theme: enemies to lovers

During a particularly intense storm chase, Y/N's equipment malfunctions, putting her in a dangerous position. Despite their rivalry, Tyler spots her struggling and makes a splitsecond decision to help. He navigates his stormchasing vehicle through treacherous conditions to reach her.

"What are you doing here, Owens?" Y/N shouts over the howling wind, a mix of surprise and relief in her voice. "I thought you'd be halfway to Kansas by now, chasing your precious tornado!"

Tyler's jaw clenches as he helps her into his vehicle. "Even I'm not heartless enough to leave a colleague in danger," he retorts, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Besides, someone needs to show you how real storm chasing is done."

As they speed away from the approaching tornado, the tension between them crackles like the lightning illuminating the sky. Y/N finds herself studying Tyler's determined profile, seeing him in a new light for the first time.

Y/N crosses her arms, her eyes narrowing as she watches Tyler navigate through the storm. "I didn't ask for your help, Owens," she says, her voice sharp but with a hint of vulnerability. "I had it under control."

Tyler scoffs, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. "Right, because standing in the path of an EF3 tornado is the epitome of 'under control.' Face it, princess, you needed me."

Y/N's cheeks flush with a mix of anger and embarrassment. "Don't call me princess," she snaps. "And I don't need anyone, especially not some adrenaline junkie with a God complex."

Despite the tension, Tyler can't help but admire Y/N's spirit. Her fiery attitude matches the storm raging outside, and he finds it oddly captivating.

"You know," Tyler says, a smirk playing on his lips, "for someone who claims to hate me, you sure spend a lot of time thinking about me."

Y/N rolls her eyes dramatically. "Don't flatter yourself, Owens. The only thing I think about is how to prove I'm better than you at storm chasing."

As they continue their banter, the storm intensifies around them. Tyler's expert driving keeps them safe, but the close calls have them both on edge. In a particularly heartstopping moment, Y/N instinctively grabs Tyler's arm, her fingers digging into his skin.

Their eyes meet for a brief second, electricity crackling between them that has nothing to do with the lightning outside. Y/N quickly pulls her hand away, clearing her throat awkwardly.

"I... um, thanks," she mumbles, looking anywhere but at Tyler. "For coming to get me, I mean. Even if I didn't need it."

Tyler's expression softens slightly. "Anytime, Y/N. We storm chasers have to stick together, right?"

As the tension in the vehicle shifts from hostility to something more complex, Y/N finds herself reevaluating her feelings towards her rival.

Y/N shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes darting between Tyler and the raging storm outside. The silence between them grows heavy, filled with unspoken tension. Finally, she breaks it with a sigh.

"Look, Owens," she begins, her voice softer than before, "I... I may have misjudged you. A little."

Tyler's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Is that your way of saying thank you?"

Y/N rolls her eyes, but there's no real heat behind it. "Don't push it. I'm trying to be nice here."

"Well, it's a start," Tyler chuckles, his eyes briefly meeting hers before returning to the road. "You're not so bad yourself, when you're not trying to outdo me at every turn."

Y/N feels a blush creeping up her neck. "I don't try to outdo you," she mutters, then adds with a smirk, "I just naturally excel."

Tyler laughs, a genuine sound that makes Y/N's heart skip a beat. "There's the sass I know and lo— uh, tolerate."

The almostslip hangs in the air between them, neither willing to acknowledge it. Y/N clears her throat, desperately searching for a change of subject.

"So, uh, where exactly are we headed?" she asks, peering out at the stormravaged landscape.

Tyler's grip on the steering wheel tightens slightly. "There's a motel about 20 miles ahead. We'll hole up there until this storm passes."

Y/N nods, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach at the thought of being alone with Tyler in a motel room. She tells herself it's just the adrenaline from their close call with the tornado.

As they continue driving, the silence becomes more comfortable. Y/N finds herself sneaking glances at Tyler, seeing him in a new light. The determined set of his jaw, the confident way he handles the vehicle through the treacherous conditions, it's all suddenly very... attractive.

As the tension in the vehicle eases slightly, Y/N decides to make herself more comfortable. With a mischievous glint in her eye, she slowly lifts her feet, clad in wellworn cowboy boots, and props them up on Tyler's pristine dashboard.

Tyler's eyes widen in disbelief. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?" he exclaims, his voice a mix of annoyance and surprise.

Y/N smirks, wiggling her bootclad feet. "Getting comfortable. Got a problem with that, Owens?"

Tyler's jaw clenches as he tries to focus on the road. "Knock it off, Y/N. This isn't your beatup truck. I just had this vehicle detailed last week."

"Aww, is the big bad storm chaser afraid of a little mud?" Y/N teases, but there's a hint of fondness in her voice that wasn't there before.

Tyler reaches over with one hand, trying to swat her feet off the dashboard while keeping his eyes on the treacherous road. "I'm serious, Y/N. Feet. Off. Now."

Their playful struggle continues for a moment, the air between them charged with a new kind of energy. Y/N finds herself enjoying this lighter side of their usual banter, and Tyler can't help but appreciate her playful defiance.

As the storm chaser vehicle comes to a complete stop, Y/N's eyes light up with excitement. Without warning, she flings open the door and leaps out, camera in hand.

"Y/N! What the hell are you doing?" Tyler shouts, his voice barely audible over the roaring wind.

But Y/N is already sprinting towards the storm, her hair whipping wildly around her face. She raises her camera, desperate to capture the perfect shot of the swirling vortex.

Tyler curses under his breath and jumps out after her. "Are you insane? Get back here!" he yells, but Y/N ignores him, lost in her pursuit of the perfect storm footage.

In a burst of speed, Tyler reaches her. Without hesitation, he throws her over his shoulder, eliciting a surprised yelp from Y/N.

"Put me down, Owens!" she protests, but Tyler's grip is firm as he carries her to a nearby sturdy post.

Setting her down, he quickly ties a safety rope around both of them, securing them to the post. Y/N struggles against him, but Tyler's face is a mask of anger and concern.

"What part of 'dangerous storm' don't you understand?" he growls, his face inches from hers. "You could have gotten yourself killed!"

Y/N glares at Tyler, her chest heaving with adrenaline and frustration. "I had it under control! This is the shot of a lifetime, Owens. You of all people should understand that!"

Tyler's grip on her arms tightens, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and something else – fear? "No shot is worth your life, Y/N," he says, his voice low and intense. "Do you have any idea what it would do to m— to the storm chasing community if something happened to you?"

The wind howls around them, tugging at their clothes and hair. Y/N's anger begins to fade as she realizes the genuine concern in Tyler's voice. She looks up at him, really seeing him for the first time. His jaw is clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek, and his eyes... they're filled with an emotion she's never seen before.

"I... I'm sorry," Y/N says softly, her voice nearly lost in the storm. "I didn't think—"

"No, you didn't," Tyler cuts her off, but his tone has softened slightly. "You never do when it comes to chasing the perfect storm. It's what makes you brilliant, and also incredibly frustrating."

Y/N can't help but smile at that. "Sounds like someone I know," she teases, nudging him gently.

Tyler's lips quirk up in a reluctant smile. "Yeah, well, maybe we're more alike than we thought."

As they stand there, tied to the post with the storm raging around them, something shifts between Y/N and Tyler. The rivalry that has defined their relationship for so long seems to melt away, replaced by a new understanding – and perhaps something more.

As the storm continues to rage around them, Tyler's eyes soften, his gaze lingering on Y/N's face. The wind whips her hair wildly, and he finds himself reaching out to tuck a stray strand behind her ear. The touch sends a jolt of electricity through both of them.

"Y/N," he says, his voice barely audible over the howling wind, "I... I can't lose you. Not to a storm, not to anything."

Y/N's breath catches in her throat, her eyes widening at the intensity in Tyler's voice. She opens her mouth to respond, but before she can, a deafening crack of thunder startles them both.

Tyler instinctively pulls Y/N closer, his arms wrapping protectively around her. In that moment, pressed against his chest, Y/N realizes that the rivalry between them has been masking something far more powerful.

The ride home is tense, filled with an awkward silence as Y/N and Tyler sit in their soaking wet clothes. The only sounds are the squelch of their damp attire and the occasional rumble of distant thunder. When they finally arrive at Y/N's house, Tyler pulls up to the curb and cuts the engine.

"Goodnight," he says curtly, not meeting her eyes.

Y/N stares at him incredulously. "That's it? Goodnight? Tyler, what was all that about back there?"

Tyler's jaw clenches as he grips the steering wheel tightly. "I don't want to talk about it," he mutters, his voice low and strained.

Frustrated and confused, Y/N gets out of the car, slamming the door behind her. She starts walking towards her house, her wet boots squelching with each step. Tyler watches her go, conflict evident on his face.

Suddenly, as if pulled by an invisible force, Tyler jumps out of the car and rushes after her. He catches up just as she reaches her front door.

"Y/N, wait!" he calls out.

She turns, surprise etched on her features. Before she can say anything, Tyler closes the distance between them. His hands cup her face, fingers tangling in her damp hair, and he crashes his lips against hers in a passionate kiss.

Y/N freezes for a moment, shocked by Tyler's sudden action. Then, as if a dam has broken, she melts into the kiss, her hands gripping his soaked shirt. The rain continues to fall around them, but neither seems to notice.

When they finally break apart, both breathless, Tyler rests his forehead against Y/N's. His eyes, usually filled with competitive fire, now shine with vulnerability and warmth.

"That's what it was about," he whispers, his voice husky. "I've been fighting this for so long, Y/N. Fighting us. But I can't anymore. Not after today."

Y/N's heart races, her mind reeling from the intensity of the moment. She opens her mouth to respond, but before she can, a loud crack of thunder makes them both jump.

The sudden thunder reminds them of their rainsoaked state. Y/N shivers slightly, her wet clothes clinging to her skin. Tyler notices and gently cups her face, his thumb tracing her cheekbone.

"We should get inside," he murmurs, his eyes never leaving hers. "You're freezing."

Y/N nods, fumbling with her keys as she unlocks the door. As they step inside, the tension between them crackles like the lightning outside. Y/N turns to face Tyler, her heart pounding.

"Tyler, I..." she starts, but words fail her. Instead, she reaches out, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble there.

Tyler catches her hand, pressing a soft kiss to her palm. "I know," he says softly. "We've wasted so much time, haven't we?"

Their eyes lock, years of rivalry and unspoken attraction culminating in this moment. Without another word, Y/N pulls Tyler close, their lips meeting in another passionate kiss. As the storm rages outside, they lose themselves in each other, finally giving in to the feelings they've denied for so long.

Tyler's hands roam Y/N's body, his fingers tracing the curves hidden beneath her damp clothes. Y/N gasps as he presses her against the wall, his lips trailing hot kisses down her neck.

"God, Y/N," Tyler groans, his voice husky with desire. "Do you have any idea how long I've wanted this?"

Y/N's response is cut off by a moan as Tyler's hand slips under her shirt, his calloused fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake. She tugs at his wet tshirt, desperate to feel his skin against hers.

"Off," she demands breathlessly. "Take it off, Tyler."

Tyler obliges, pulling back just long enough to yank his shirt over his head. Y/N's eyes rake over his toned chest, her hands exploring the muscles she's admired from afar for so long.

Their lips crash together again, the kiss deep and hungry. Y/N's legs wrap around Tyler's waist as he lifts her, carrying her towards the bedroom. They stumble slightly, laughing against each other's lips, the tension of years finally breaking.

As they fall onto the bed, clothes are shed hastily, hands exploring newly exposed skin. The storm outside fades into background noise, drowned out by their gasps and moans.

Tyler hovers over Y/N, his eyes dark with desire. "Are you sure about this?" he asks, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

Y/N pulls him closer, her nails raking down his back. "I've never been more sure of anything," she breathes.

Tyler's eyes light up with a mischievous glint. He reaches for his bag, pulling out an old Polaroid camera. "You know," he says, his voice low and seductive, "I've always wanted to capture you in a different kind of storm."

Y/N raises an eyebrow, a mix of curiosity and excitement dancing in her eyes. "Oh? And what kind of storm would that be, Owens?"

Tyler's gaze travels appreciatively over Y/N's body. "The kind that involves you, some lacy lingerie, and this camera. What do you say, storm chaser? Up for a different kind of thrill?"

The tension in the room shifts, electric with anticipation. Y/N bites her lip, considering the offer. The idea of Tyler capturing her most intimate moments sends a shiver down her spine.

Y/N's lips curve into a seductive smile as she sits up, the sheets falling away to reveal her bare shoulders. "Well, well, Owens. I didn't take you for the artistic type," she purrs, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "But if you think you can handle it, I'm game."

Tyler's breath catches as Y/N saunters towards her dresser, her hips swaying enticingly. She rummages through a drawer, pulling out a delicate, lacy black lingerie set. "How's this for your little photoshoot?" she asks, dangling the garments from her finger.

"Perfect," Tyler manages, his voice husky with anticipation. He watches, mesmerized, as Y/N slips into the lingerie, the sheer fabric clinging to her curves.

Y/N strikes a pose, one hand on her hip, the other running through her tousled hair. "Ready when you are, storm chaser," she teases.

Tyler raises the camera, his hands slightly shaky with excitement. "Show me what you've got, Y/N," he says, a grin spreading across his face.

The room fills with the soft whirring and clicking of the Polaroid camera as Tyler captures Y/N's alluring poses. Each flash illuminates her curves, accentuated by the delicate lace lingerie. Y/N's confidence grows with each shot, her poses becoming bolder and more seductive.

"Damn, Y/N," Tyler breathes, lowering the camera for a moment. His eyes roam appreciatively over her body. "You're even more stunning than I imagined."

Y/N smirks, sauntering towards him. "Oh? So you've imagined this before, have you?" she teases, her fingers trailing down his chest.

Tyler swallows hard, his voice husky as he admits, "More times than I care to count."

As the Polaroids develop, Tyler carefully selects the most captivating one. With a mischievous grin, he slips it into his wallet. "Something to remember this night by," he murmurs, pulling Y/N close for a passionate kiss.

Y/N breaks the kiss, her eyes sparkling with a mix of desire and playfulness. She gently pushes Tyler onto the bed, straddling him as she reaches for the Polaroid camera. "My turn," she purrs, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscular chest.

Tyler's breath hitches, his hands settling on Y/N's hips. "What did you have in mind?" he asks, voice rough with anticipation.

Y/N grins mischievously, raising the camera. "Let's just say I want my own little memento of the great Tyler Owens," she teases, snapping a photo of his flushed face and tousled hair.

The air between them crackles with tension as Y/N continues to capture intimate moments, the roles now reversed. Tyler finds himself both nervous and thrilled under her intense gaze.

As Y/N lowers the camera, her eyes lock with Tyler's. The playful atmosphere shifts, charged with an electric intensity. She sets the camera aside, her hands splaying across Tyler's chest.

"You know," she murmurs, leaning in close, "I never thought I'd say this, but you're not half bad, Owens."

Tyler's lips quirk into a smirk, his hands sliding up Y/N's thighs. "Just not half bad? I'm hurt, princess."

Y/N's eyes narrow at the nickname, but there's no real heat behind it. "Don't push your luck," she warns, but her voice is breathy, betraying her arousal.

Tyler suddenly flips them over, pinning Y/N to the bed. His eyes darken with desire as he takes in the sight of her beneath him, still clad in the lacy lingerie.

"You drive me crazy, you know that?" he growls, his lips ghosting along her jaw.

Y/N arches into him, her fingers tangling in his hair. "The feeling's mutual," she gasps, pulling him down for a searing kiss.

Tyler's lips trail down Y/N's neck, leaving a path of fiery kisses. His hands roam her body, fingertips tracing the delicate lace of her lingerie. Y/N arches into his touch, her breath coming in short gasps.

"Tyler," she moans, her nails raking down his back. The sound of his name on her lips sends a shiver through him.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes dark with desire as they meet hers. "God, Y/N," he breathes, "you're incredible."

Y/N smirks, her confidence growing. She hooks a leg around his waist, pulling him closer. "Show me just how incredible you think I am," she challenges, her voice husky with want.

Tyler grins, accepting her challenge with enthusiasm. His hands slide under the lacy fabric, eager to explore every inch of her.

Y/N's breath hitches as Tyler's skilled hands explore her body, his touch igniting sparks of pleasure wherever he caresses. She arches into him, craving more contact.

"Tyler," she gasps, her voice breathy with desire. "Don't tease me."

A wicked grin spreads across Tyler's face as he looks up at her, his eyes dark with lust. "But teasing is half the fun, princess," he murmurs, his fingers tracing tantalizingly slow patterns on her skin.

Y/N's eyes narrow at the nickname, a mix of arousal and annoyance flashing in her gaze. "I told you not to call me that," she growls, suddenly flipping their positions so she's straddling him.

Tyler's eyes widen in surprise, then darken with appreciation as he takes in the sight of Y/N above him, her hair tousled and cheeks flushed. "Feisty," he comments, his hands coming to rest on her hips. "I like it."

Y/N leans down, her lips barely brushing against his as she whispers, "You haven't seen anything yet, Owens."

With a mischievous glint in her eye, Y/N begins to rock her hips slowly against Tyler's, eliciting a low groan from him. Her fingers trace the contours of his chest, nails lightly scraping against his skin.

"You think you can handle me, Owens?" she purrs, her voice husky with desire.

Tyler's hands grip her waist tighter, his eyes locked on hers. "Bring it on, storm chaser," he challenges, a smirk playing on his lips.

Y/N leans down, her lips ghosting along his jaw. "Remember," she whispers, her breath hot against his ear, "I always get what I want."

As the tension between them builds, the storm outside seems to fade away, leaving only the electricity crackling between their bodies.

Y/N's movements become more passionate as she rides Tyler, her body undulating in a sensual rhythm. Her lips find his neck, trailing hot, openmouthed kisses along his skin. Tyler groans, his hands gripping her hips tighter as the sensation sends shivers down his spine.

"God, Y/N," he gasps, tilting his head to give her better access.

Y/N smirks against his skin, her tongue darting out to taste him. She peppers kisses all over his neck and jawline, occasionally nipping gently. The combination of her movements and her lips on his skin drives Tyler wild.

His arousal intensifies, and he suddenly flips them over, pinning Y/N beneath him. His eyes are dark with desire as he looks down at her.

"You're driving me crazy," he growls, before capturing her lips in a passionate kiss.

The air around them is thick with the scent of desire a heady mix of Y/N's light floral perfume and Tyler's musky cologne with notes of amber. As Tyler's lips trail down Y/N's neck, he breathes in her intoxicating scent, a mix of rain from their earlier adventure and something uniquely her.

Y/N arches into Tyler, her skin tingling wherever he touches. His hands roam her body, exploring every curve and dip. When his lips finally meet hers again, the taste is intoxicating a hint of sweetness mixed with the saltiness of sweat.

"You taste amazing," Tyler murmurs against her lips, his voice husky with desire.

Y/N responds by deepening the kiss, her tongue dancing with his as she savors his taste a mix of mint and something distinctly masculine. Her hands explore his broad shoulders and muscular back, feeling the strength beneath his skin.

As their passion builds, every touch, every taste, every scent becomes more intense. The room fills with the sounds of their pleasure, punctuated by the occasional rumble of distant thunder.

Tyler's hands glide down Y/N's sides, tracing the curve of her waist and hips. His touch leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Y/N's breath catches as his fingers dance along the lace edge of her lingerie.

"Tyler," she gasps, her voice thick with desire. Her nails dig into his shoulders, urging him closer.

He responds by pressing his hips against hers, the friction eliciting a moan from both of them. The scent of their arousal mingles in the air, heightening their senses.

Y/N's lips find Tyler's neck again, leaving a trail of hot, openmouthed kisses. She breathes in his scent a intoxicating mix of amber, cologne, and the earthy smell of rain still clinging to his skin.

"God, Y/N," Tyler growls, his voice low and husky. "You're driving me wild."

Y/N's fingers tangle in Tyler's hair, pulling him closer as she arches into him. The lace of her lingerie creates a tantalizing friction against their heated skin. Tyler's hand slides down to her thigh, hitching her leg up around his waist.

"Tyler," Y/N moans, her voice breathy with desire. "I need you. Now."

Tyler's eyes lock with hers, dark with passion. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice husky and strained with restraint.

Y/N responds by pulling him into a searing kiss, her body pressing urgently against his. The last vestiges of their rivalry melt away, replaced by an allconsuming need for each other.

As they finally join, the storm outside seems to crescendo, mirroring the intensity of their passion. The room fills with the sounds of their pleasure, punctuated by whispered endearments and gasps of ecstasy.

Their bodies move together in a passionate rhythm, the intensity building with each passing moment. Y/N's nails rake down Tyler's back as she loses herself in the sensation. Tyler buries his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her intoxicating scent.

"God, Y/N," he groans, his voice muffled against her skin. "You feel amazing."

Y/N can only respond with a breathy moan, her mind clouded with pleasure. The storm outside seems to fade away, leaving only the sound of their ragged breathing and the creaking of the bed.

As they approach their peak, Tyler lifts his head to look into Y/N's eyes. The connection between them is electric, filled with a mixture of lust and something deeper, something neither of them is ready to name yet.

"Tyler," Y/N gasps, her body trembling on the edge of release. "I'm so close..."

Tyler's movements become more urgent, driven by Y/N's breathless plea. He captures her lips in a searing kiss, swallowing her moans as he pushes her closer to the edge. Y/N's body arches beneath him, her legs tightening around his waist.

"Let go, Y/N," Tyler whispers against her ear, his voice rough with desire. "I've got you."

With a cry of ecstasy, Y/N tumbles over the edge, her body shuddering with waves of pleasure. The intensity of her release triggers Tyler's own, and he groans deeply as he follows her into bliss.

As they come down from their high, Tyler collapses beside Y/N, pulling her close. Their bodies are slick with sweat, hearts racing in tandem. For a moment, they lie in silence, basking in the afterglow.

Y/N turns her head to look at Tyler, a mix of satisfaction and wonder in her eyes. "That was..." she trails off, unable to find the right words.

Tyler grins, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. "Yeah," he agrees, "it was."

The room falls into a comfortable silence, broken only by their gradually steadying breaths. Y/N's fingers trace lazy patterns on Tyler's chest, her mind still hazy from their passionate encounter. Tyler's arm tightens around her waist, pulling her closer.

"You know," Y/N murmurs, her voice still slightly breathless, "I never thought I'd end up here with you, of all people."

Tyler chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Life's full of surprises, isn't it?" he replies, his fingers playing with a strand of her hair. "Especially in our line of work."

Y/N props herself up on an elbow, looking down at Tyler with a mixture of curiosity and lingering desire. "Speaking of work," she says, a mischievous glint in her eye, "what do you say we make the most of this storm?"

Tyler's eyebrow quirks up, a slow grin spreading across his face. "What did you have in mind, storm chaser?"

Tyler's expression softens as he gazes at Y/N, his hand gently cupping her cheek. "You know," he begins, his voice low and tender, "I've got a confession to make."

Y/N tilts her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "Oh? What's that, Owens?"

Tyler takes a deep breath, his thumb brushing softly over her cheekbone. "I've been in love with you since we were kids," he admits, his voice filled with emotion. "I love the way you furrow your eyebrows and pace when you're confused. I love how you bite your lip when you're anxious. Even those days when your hair is all crazy especially those days."

Y/N's eyes widen, her lips parting in surprise. Tyler continues, his words tumbling out faster now. "I know we're on different teams, but baby, I notice everything about you. I fucking love you, Y/N. I always have."

The room falls silent as Y/N processes his words, her heart racing. After what feels like an eternity, a smile breaks across her face, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Tyler," she whispers, "I love you too. I think I always have."

Tyler pulls her close, capturing her lips in a kiss that's both tender and passionate. As they break apart, both breathless and grinning, the storm outside begins to calm, mirroring the peace that's settled between them. Their rivalry has transformed into something beautiful, something neither of them expected but both now cherish.

[ppssession]

Strong Men Gym

On a quiet night, Clyde is walking home from the gym on a lonely and scary path.

In the meantime, he felt eyes staring at him. He tried to run faster, but felt like he was running in the same place.

Suddenly, a large number of black hands grabbed him. Clyde, who was a strong man, felt weak. He tried to escape but failed.

Many hands grabbed him and ran their fingers over his muscles curiously. Suddenly, a voice whispered in his ear, “This is a good opportunity.”

Suddenly, Clyde woke up from his nightmare. His breathing became a little labored, but people outside could hear him. “Honey, are you okay?” Clyde’s young husband, Theo, who had lived with him for several years, greeted him with concern.

Clyde: It's okay, honey. I was just dreaming.

Theo showed a slightly worried look when he saw Clyde's tense expression. He said with concern, "Darling, are you sure you're okay if you're not feeling well? We can postpone our date."

Clyde smiled and pulled Theo into a hug. Our date today was going to be special. Clyde kissed Theo's neck like he always did. Just seeing your face made me feel so good.

Today Clyde and Theo are very happy, they dated in many beautiful places, it is a beautiful feeling for them like a flower in a beautiful field.

As they were heading home, he saw a new gym opening near their house. Remembering his nightmare last night, he chose to go to the gym here instead of the old one, which was quite far from home.

The next day he went to play at this fitness center. He was impressed when he found the modern, clean exercise equipment and the spacious area in the fitness center. There was a lot of air conditioning but there was no smell of sweat at all because of the special air conditioners.

When he finished playing, he decided to sign up for a fitness membership. It was great that this fitness center had a lot of options for people to exercise. He could play with people without being disturbed. Many of the rules were the same as his old gym.

But there is one rule that Clyde particularly likes: the gym offers free chicken breasts and protein for members, which saves him the trouble of having to go out and buy these items during his workout. Plus, the chicken breasts and protein here are of high quality.

After Clyde started going to the gym here, he really liked it. Whether it was the convenience or anything else, Clyde felt that his muscles looked noticeably better, even though it was strange that he always felt strangely comfortable after he finished going to the gym.

One day, while he was playing fitness as usual, he suddenly felt strangely unwell. He thought that it might be because his workload had increased, making him tired, so he decided to go to the fitness shower room and he didn't forget to take a picture in front of the mirror to post on social media as he likes to do.

When he took off his clothes to reveal his hot body, he slowly got into the shower and started to take a shower. He loved the feeling of the water running over his muscles, and the gym soap and shampoo had a very special smell.

When he finished washing his body, he was about to get out of the shower but he felt that his body was very heavy, causing him to bend down to the floor. When he felt that his body was getting heavier, his legs started to become uncontrollable.

His muscles visibly tensed, his arms became uncontrollable as if they weren't listening to his commands, his eyes rolled to the side, he started to groan, the vision gradually darkened, Clyde's body blacked out.

As time passed, Clyde's body slowly rose up as if nothing had happened, his face showing the utmost satisfaction. "This was worth the wait."

As time passed, Clyde's body slowly rose up as if nothing had happened, his face showing the utmost satisfaction. "This was worth the wait."

Clyde's body walked to the control panel for the staff to enter a special passcode for high-level members.

This is a top secret project of a rich man who has created a special nano cell that can penetrate every touch. This nano cell will enter the body of the person who touches it. It will gradually adjust the body and mind of the person who touches it to be ready for the possession.

However, due to the limitation that nanocells must be present in large quantities in the body, and the lifespan of nanocells is very short, in order for the host's body not to think that nanocells are a threat to the host's body, the host that will be possessed must receive nanocells regularly so that nanocells can still work effectively.When Clyde's body confirmed that he could possess Host's body, he received a message through the circuit board. He received, "Thank you for using our service. We will take care of your old body so that you can live comfortably. Please accept this."

Suddenly, a strange Sim popped up from the screen. Clyde pulled it out with a message that said, “A special Sim, if placed at the nape of its neck, will disintegrate. It will issue a command to the nanocell to access the host’s memories so that you can gain the host’s memories.”

He quickly did as the message said and soon he had all of Clyde's memories. He groaned in his throat as the memories flooded back to him.

Clyde, this body's name is Clyde, you have a cute little husband, I will take care of him. You probably don't know that ever since you came to this fitness center, you have received a large number of nano cells. Every machine you exercise, every chicken breast you eat, every protein you drink, every water you shower in the fitness center, even the soap or shampoo, everything in here has nano cells, even the air from the air conditioner. When he finished speaking, he noticed his erect penis.He began to masturbate by using his beautiful hands to quickly stroke his 13-inch cock up and down.Every time he touched a new cock, he felt like he was about to reach his climax. Soon, warm semen would shoot out from the tip of his cock and splash all over his chest. He used his tongue to lick the white liquid on his body. “It tastes so good. The taste of a real man.”When he cleaned himself up, the new Clyde was getting dressed. Instead of choosing the other clothes the real Clyde had prepared to change into after his workout, he called out to the original shirt that was sweaty and smelled like the real Clyde. He sniffed the sweaty smell of the shirt before putting it on. “This smells so manly.” When he was done putting it on, he walked out as if nothing had happened. Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Clyde turned to take a picture of himself in the mirror. “I didn’t forget to take a selfie, haha.”

When they got home, the new Clyde didn't hesitate to rush in and kiss Theo hastily. I'm sorry, honey. I need it so bad right now. Theo, although slightly shocked that his husband's day seemed rushed, didn't refuse. He pushed his body against Clyde's erect penis in his pants. "Start, honey."

After a hot night of sex, Theo hears Clyde getting ready to go out the next morning. "Honey, where are you going?" Clyde turns around and answers immediately, straightforwardly.

I want to go play some sports with my friends. Will you allow it, my love?… Not right away, Clyde could speak. Theo answered quickly. “Sure, my love, but don’t be too late.” Clyde walked over and kissed his husband goodbye. Thank you for the hug.

When he left the house, the new Clyde didn't forget to take another selfie to share on his social media channels.

I am the same person in a new body. I am so excited to use my new body to play sports instead of my old fat body. Suddenly, a message popped up from his account, “You have received $1,000,000.” Great, the company works very fast. Now I have pocket money for my new one.

Oh but before I go play sports with my friends I have to deal with the hard penis in my pants first and luckily there is a bathroom nearby I will have a lot of fun with my new dick hahaha

Thank you for reading until now. I tried to write longer stories and add more details because I got some advice from my friends. I hope you guys like it. I'll push for the next story.

[hayatheauthor]

The Arsonists’ Handbook: A Writer’s Guide To Igniting Fire

This comprehensive guide is crafted to assist writers in creating realistic and gripping depictions of arson scenes. We'll explore the psychological motivations behind arson, the different types of fires, and the intricate dynamics of how a fire spreads.

I personally wrote this blog due to a story I’m working on involving the Salem trials fires, thus the extensive research. I hope this comprehensive guide will help you out with your fiery (written) endeavours! (Heavy on the written). 

Understanding Fire: The Basics

How Fire Starts

At its core, fire is a chemical reaction known as combustion. For fire to ignite, three key elements must be present: heat, fuel, and oxygen. This trio is often referred to as the fire triangle. Removing any one of these elements will prevent or extinguish the fire.

Heat: The energy source that raises the temperature of the material (fuel) to its ignition point. Heat can come from various sources, such as an open flame, electrical sparks, friction, or chemical reactions.

Fuel: Any combustible material that can feed the fire. This can range from solid objects like wood and paper to liquids like gasoline and alcohol, and even gases like propane and natural gas.

Oxygen: Fire needs oxygen to sustain itself. Typically, the air around us provides the necessary oxygen, but in certain conditions (like in an oxygen-rich environment), fire can become significantly more intense and harder to control.

Fire Behavior

Once a fire ignites, its behavior is influenced by several factors, including the type of fuel, the amount of oxygen available, and the environment. Understanding how fire behaves is crucial for writing realistic scenes, especially when it comes to describing how quickly a fire spreads and the destruction it causes.

Spread of Fire

Fire spreads through three main methods: conduction, convection, and radiation. Conduction is the transfer of heat through materials, like when a fire heats up a metal door. Convection occurs when hot air rises and circulates, spreading the fire. Radiation is the heat that spreads through the air, setting nearby objects alight without direct contact.

Stages of a Fire

A fire typically goes through four stages: ignition, growth, fully developed, and decay.

Ignition: This is the beginning stage where the fire starts. It’s often small and contained, but the potential for growth is high.

Growth: As the fire consumes more fuel, it grows in size and intensity. During this stage, the fire spreads rapidly, and the heat increases, potentially igniting nearby objects.

Fully Developed: The fire has reached its peak intensity. All available fuel is burning, and the temperature is at its highest. This is the most dangerous stage, where the fire is hardest to control.

Decay: As the fire runs out of fuel or oxygen, it begins to die down. The flames reduce in size, and the temperature starts to drop. However, if there’s still some fuel or oxygen left, the fire can reignite.

Types of Fire

Not all fires are created equal, and understanding the differences between various types of fires can help you write more accurate scenes. The type of fire often determines how it spreads, how it's fought, and the damage it causes.

Class A (Ordinary Combustibles): These fires involve materials like wood, paper, cloth, and some plastics. They are the most common type of fire and are usually extinguished with water or foam.

Class B (Flammable Liquids): These fires involve flammable or combustible liquids such as gasoline, oil, and alcohol. They are more dangerous than Class A fires and are typically extinguished with foam, carbon dioxide, or dry chemical agents.

Class C (Electrical Fires): These fires involve electrical equipment, such as wiring, circuit breakers, and appliances. Water should never be used to extinguish a Class C fire because it can conduct electricity, making the situation worse. These fires are typically fought with non-conductive agents like dry chemicals or carbon dioxide.

Class D (Combustible Metals): These fires involve metals like magnesium, titanium, and sodium. They are very dangerous and are fought with specialized agents like dry powder designed to absorb heat and smother the fire.

Class K (Kitchen Fires): These fires involve cooking oils and fats, often occurring in kitchens. They are fought with wet chemical agents that cool the fire and create a barrier between the fuel and the oxygen.

The Stages of Arson

Arson, the act of deliberately setting fire to property, is a complex crime that involves planning, execution, and, often, a great deal of psychological motivation. Understanding the stages of arson can help you create more realistic and engaging scenes in your writing.

Planning and Preparation

Before an arsonist sets a fire, they usually go through a detailed planning and preparation phase. This stage involves selecting a target, gathering materials, and determining the best time and method to set the fire.

Motive: The reasons behind arson can vary widely. Common motives include revenge, financial gain (such as insurance fraud), psychological compulsion (pyromania), or even a desire to destroy evidence of another crime.

Target Selection: The arsonist will choose their target based on various factors, including the accessibility of the location, the presence of flammable materials, and the likelihood of the fire being discovered quickly. For example, an arsonist might target an abandoned building, a business with financial troubles, or a residence where they hold a grudge against the occupants.

Materials Gathering: The arsonist needs to gather materials to start the fire. This might include accelerants like gasoline or kerosene, tools to break into the target location, and possibly even timing devices to delay the ignition. Some arsonists use household items like matches, lighters, or candles, while others might resort to more sophisticated methods.

Timing: Timing is crucial for arson. The arsonist might choose a time when the target location is unoccupied to avoid detection or ensure maximum damage. Alternatively, they might set the fire at a time when the building is full of people to cause harm or send a message.

Ignition

The ignition stage is when the arsonist actually starts the fire. This is often the most critical and dangerous part of the crime, as it requires the arsonist to be physically present at the scene.

Methods: There are various methods an arsonist might use to start a fire. The simplest method is using a match or lighter to ignite flammable materials. However, more sophisticated arsonists might use chemical accelerants, timing devices, or even electrical equipment to start the fire remotely. In some cases, the arsonist might create a trail of flammable liquid leading to the target, allowing them to ignite the fire from a safe distance.

Initial Signs: The first signs of a fire are usually small flames and smoke. Depending on the materials used, the smoke might be thick and black (indicating the presence of accelerants) or lighter and less noticeable. The smell of burning materials is also a telltale sign, and in some cases, the arsonist might use scented materials to mask the odor of burning chemicals.

Fire’s Progression

Once the fire is ignited, it begins to grow and spread. The speed and intensity of the fire depend on several factors, including the type of fuel, the amount of oxygen available, and the structure of the building.

Growth: As the fire consumes more fuel, it grows in size and intensity. Flames spread to nearby objects, igniting anything that can burn. The heat generated by the fire causes nearby materials to reach their ignition points, further fueling the blaze. In a well-ventilated area, the fire can spread rapidly, engulfing the entire structure in minutes.

Environmental Effects: The fire’s heat can cause significant damage to the surrounding environment. Smoke and toxic fumes fill the air, making it difficult to breathe and see. The intense heat can cause glass to shatter, metal to warp, and wood to burst into flames. The fire might also create a backdraft, a dangerous phenomenon where a sudden influx of oxygen causes an explosion of flames.

Aftermath

After the fire has been extinguished, the aftermath reveals the full extent of the damage. This stage involves assessing the destruction, investigating the cause of the fire, and dealing with the legal and emotional consequences.

Destruction: The fire leaves behind a trail of destruction. Buildings are reduced to charred skeletons, possessions are destroyed, and in some cases, lives are lost. The damage caused by fire can be catastrophic, leaving victims homeless, businesses bankrupt, and communities devastated.

Investigation: Arson is a criminal act, and a thorough investigation is usually conducted to determine the cause of the fire and identify the perpetrator. Fire investigators look for clues like burn patterns, residue from

The Psychological Profile of an Arsonist

Arsonists come from diverse backgrounds, but their motivations often stem from deep psychological issues. Understanding the mind of an arsonist can help you create more complex and nuanced characters in your writing.

Common Motivations

Revenge: Many arsonists are motivated by a desire for revenge. They might set a fire to get back at someone who wronged them, such as a former employer, an ex-partner, or a rival. This type of arson is often impulsive, driven by anger and a need to assert control.

Financial Gain: Arson is sometimes committed for financial reasons, such as insurance fraud. The arsonist may set fire to their own property or hire someone to do it, intending to collect insurance money. This type of arson is usually well-planned and methodical.

Psychological Compulsion (Pyromania): Some arsonists are driven by a psychological disorder known as pyromania, where they experience an uncontrollable urge to start fires. For these individuals, the act of setting a fire provides a sense of excitement, satisfaction, or relief. Pyromaniacs often set multiple fires and may stay to watch the fire burn.

Attention-Seeking: Arsonists may set fires to attract attention, either to themselves or to a cause they believe in. This can be seen in cases where someone sets a fire to highlight an issue, make a political statement, or simply because they crave the spotlight.

Thrill-Seeking: For some, the act of arson is about the thrill of taking risks and the adrenaline rush that comes with causing destruction. These arsonists might not have any particular grievance or financial motive but are instead driven by a desire for excitement.

Psychological Traits

While not all arsonists fit a single profile, there are common psychological traits that many share:

Lack of Empathy: Arsonists often exhibit a lack of empathy, unable to fully grasp or care about the consequences of their actions on others. They may not consider the potential loss of life or property and are more focused on their own desires and needs.

Impulsivity: Some arsonists act on impulse, setting fires without fully considering the long-term effects. This impulsivity can be linked to other behavioral issues, such as a history of aggression, substance abuse, or other criminal activity.

Desire for Control: Arson can be a way for individuals to exert control over a situation or person. The fire represents a powerful force that the arsonist can manipulate, giving them a sense of power and dominance.

Isolation: Many arsonists are socially isolated, struggling to form meaningful relationships. This isolation can fuel their desire for attention or revenge, leading them to commit acts of arson as a way of asserting themselves.

Physical Signs and Symptoms of Arson

When it comes to describing a fire in your writing, the physical signs and symptoms of arson can add a layer of authenticity and vivid detail to your scenes. Understanding these signs not only enhances the realism of your narrative but also helps to convey the severity and impact of the fire.

Visual Cues

One of the most striking aspects of a fire is its visual presentation. The flames, smoke, and other visual cues can vary greatly depending on the type of fire, the materials involved, and the environment.

Flames, Colors, and Intensity of the Fire: Flames can vary in color depending on the materials burning and the temperature of the fire. For instance, a fire fueled by organic materials like wood or paper typically burns with orange or yellow flames. In contrast, fires involving chemicals or metals might produce blue, green, or even white flames. The intensity of the flames can also signal the fire’s progression, with small, flickering flames indicating the early stages and roaring, high flames signifying a fully developed fire.

Smoke Characteristics: Smoke is another key visual indicator of a fire’s behavior. The color, thickness, and smell of smoke can provide clues about the type of materials burning and the presence of accelerants. Black, thick smoke often suggests that the fire is consuming synthetic materials like plastics or rubber, while white or gray smoke might indicate burning wood or paper. The smell of the smoke can also vary, with a sharp, acrid odor suggesting the presence of chemicals.

Heat Effects

Heat is one of the most destructive elements of a fire, and it can have profound effects on objects, structures, and people. Describing these effects can make your arson scenes more visceral and impactful.

Effects on Objects and Structures: The intense heat generated by a fire can cause a wide range of damage. Wood and other combustible materials might blister and char, while metals can warp or melt. Glass windows might crack or shatter due to the rapid temperature change. The heat can also cause scorch marks on walls and floors, which are often key indicators in an arson investigation. Understanding these effects allows you to describe the aftermath of a fire with greater accuracy.

Scorch Marks, Blistering, and Charring: Scorch marks are darkened areas that indicate where flames or intense heat have come into contact with a surface. Blistering occurs when the heat causes materials to bubble and expand, often seen on painted or varnished surfaces. Charring is the blackening and partial burning of materials, typically seen on wood. These signs can be crucial in determining the origin of the fire and whether an accelerant was used.

Human Reactions

The physical and emotional responses of individuals during a fire are critical elements in conveying the terror and urgency of an arson scene.

Physical Responses to Heat and Smoke: The human body reacts dramatically to the extreme conditions of a fire. Heat can cause burns, ranging from superficial first-degree burns to more severe third-degree burns that destroy deeper layers of skin. Smoke inhalation is a common and often deadly consequence of being trapped in a fire. It can cause coughing, choking, and disorientation as the smoke deprives the body of oxygen and fills the lungs with toxic gases. Victims might experience blurred vision, dizziness, and confusion, making it difficult for them to escape.

Emotional Responses to Fire: The emotional toll of being caught in a fire can be overwhelming. Panic is a common reaction, as the instinct to flee overwhelms rational thought. Fear and anxiety can paralyze individuals, making them unable to act. However, some characters might respond with determination and resolve, driven by the need to save themselves or others. Describing these emotional responses can add depth to your characters and heighten the drama of the scene.

For a more detailed guide on burns, read how to write burns. 

Common Misconceptions About Arson

When writing about arson, it’s important to address common misconceptions that can lead to unrealistic or inaccurate scenes. Debunking these myths can help you create more credible and compelling narratives.

Fire Spreads Quickly

A common misconception is that fire spreads almost instantaneously. While fire can indeed spread rapidly, especially under the right conditions, there is often a progression that can be influenced by various factors such as the type of fuel, the presence of accelerants, and the structure of the building. In reality, a fire might start small and take several minutes to fully engulf a room, especially if there’s limited ventilation or the materials are slow to ignite. This progression allows for moments of tension and potential escape in your narrative.

All Fires Look the Same

Another myth is that all fires behave similarly, regardless of the environment or the materials involved. In truth, the appearance and behavior of a fire can vary widely. For example, a fire in a well-ventilated area with plenty of fuel will look very different from a smoldering fire in an oxygen-deprived environment. Additionally, fires involving different types of materials—like wood, gasoline, or chemicals—can produce vastly different flames, smoke, and heat. Recognizing these differences can help you craft more nuanced and realistic fire scenes.

Fire and Explosions

Thanks to Hollywood, many people believe that fires often result in dramatic explosions. However, explosions are relatively rare in most fires and usually require specific conditions, such as the presence of flammable gases or liquids in confined spaces. While a fire can cause small, localized bursts (like when a pressurized canister overheats and ruptures), full-scale explosions are uncommon. Incorporating this knowledge can prevent your scenes from falling into the trap of over-the-top sensationalism.

Easy to Identify an Arsonist

The idea that arsonists are easily identifiable or leave obvious clues behind is another misconception. In reality, arson investigation is a complex and challenging process. Arsonists often go to great lengths to cover their tracks, using methods that leave little evidence. The fire itself can destroy crucial evidence, making it difficult to determine the cause and origin. Investigators must rely on subtle clues, like burn patterns, residue from accelerants, and witness statements. Writing realistic arson investigations involves understanding the nuances and difficulties involved in linking the crime to a specific individual.

Real-Life Case Studies

Exploring real-life arson cases can provide valuable insights into the motives, methods, and consequences of arson, helping you to create more authentic scenes in your writing.

Notorious Arson Cases

The Boston Fire (1919): This fire, started by disgruntled city workers, caused extensive damage and highlighted how social unrest can lead to destructive acts of arson. The arsonists used a combination of accelerants and timing devices to ensure the fire spread quickly and was difficult to control.

The Happy Land Fire (1990): A tragic case where an arsonist set fire to a social club in New York, resulting in 87 deaths. The fire was started with gasoline, and the arsonist’s motive was personal revenge after an altercation with a club employee. This case illustrates the deadly potential of arson when combined with crowded, enclosed spaces.

The Oakland Hills Firestorm (1991): Although not initially an arson case, this firestorm was exacerbated by arsonists who set additional fires in the area. The fire destroyed thousands of homes and underscored the difficulty of controlling fires in densely populated areas with dry, windy conditions.

Lessons for Writers

Real-life cases like these offer important lessons for writers. They demonstrate the variety of motives behind arson, the different methods used, and the devastating impact that fire can have on individuals and communities. Incorporating these lessons into your writing can help you create more complex and realistic arson scenes.

Complex Motives: Arson isn’t always about destruction for its own sake. It can be motivated by revenge, financial gain, political statements, or psychological issues. Exploring these motives can add depth to your characters and their actions.

Diverse Methods: Arsonists don’t always rely on the same techniques. Understanding the different methods used to start fires allows you to vary your scenes and avoid repetitive or predictable narratives.

Realistic Consequences: The aftermath of arson can be devastating, with long-lasting consequences for the

Arson in Literature and Film

Arson is a powerful narrative device in literature and film, often used to create tension, drive plot, or explore character motivations. Understanding how arson has been portrayed in these mediums can help you craft more compelling and nuanced fire scenes in your writing.

Arson as a Plot Device

Arson is often used as a plot device to introduce conflict, create suspense, or catalyze a story’s events. It can serve as a turning point in the narrative, forcing characters to confront their past, make difficult decisions, or reveal their true nature.

Catalyst for Change: In many stories, a fire is the catalyst that sets the plot in motion. The destruction caused by the fire forces characters to adapt, overcome obstacles, or seek revenge.

Revealing Character: Arson can also be used to reveal a character’s true nature. A character who commits arson may be driven by anger, greed, or desperation, and their actions can expose underlying flaws or hidden motivations.

Symbolism: Fire is often used symbolically in literature and film, representing concepts like purification, destruction, or rebirth. The act of setting a fire can be a symbolic gesture, reflecting the character’s desire to destroy the past, cleanse themselves of guilt, or start anew.

Notable Examples in Literature and Film

"Jane Eyre" by Charlotte Brontë: In this classic novel, the character of Bertha Mason sets fire to Thornfield Hall, an act that is both literal and symbolic. The fire represents Bertha's madness and desperation, as well as the destructive secrets hidden within the estate. The blaze ultimately leads to the revelation of Mr. Rochester's past and serves as a turning point in Jane Eyre's journey, symbolizing the destruction of the old and the possibility of a new beginning.

"Fahrenheit 451" by Ray Bradbury: In Bradbury’s dystopian novel, fire is used as a tool of oppression. Firemen are tasked with burning books, a symbol of knowledge and freedom, to maintain societal control. The protagonist, Guy Montag, initially takes part in these acts of arson, but as the story progresses, he becomes disillusioned and eventually rebels against the system. The novel explores themes of censorship, conformity, and the power of knowledge, with fire serving as both a destructive and a purifying force.

"Carrie" by Stephen King: In King’s horror novel, fire is a key element of the climactic scene where Carrie White, after being humiliated at her high school prom, uses her telekinetic powers to set fire to the gymnasium. The fire is a manifestation of her rage and desire for revenge, and it leads to the destruction of her school and the deaths of many of her tormentors. The scene is a powerful example of how fire can be used to convey intense emotions and serve as a metaphor for uncontrollable anger and retribution.

"Rebecca" by Daphne du Maurier: The burning of Manderley, the grand estate that serves as the novel’s primary setting, is a pivotal moment in du Maurier’s gothic tale. The fire, set by the vengeful housekeeper Mrs. Danvers, symbolizes the destruction of the past and the erasure of Rebecca’s lingering influence over the characters. It also represents the liberation of the protagonist from the oppressive shadow of her predecessor, allowing her to finally step out of Rebecca’s shadow.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Quillology with Haya Sameer; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors! While you’re at it, don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[rainandandy]

Hiii, could you do a rain carradine x reader fic where they both survived the events of romulus and are safely brought to yvaga but yn is badly injured so she was in a coma and rain had to wait for her to wake up?

Warnings: Grief, Coma description, mentions of blood,

Word Count: 1883

Pairings: Rain Carradine x Fem!Reader

The cryopod’s hiss was the first sound that Rain heard as her consciousness slowly returned. Her limbs felt stiff, her mind foggy from the long sleep. As her senses sharpened, panic knotted her stomach— she remembered the dire circumstances they had left behind. The urgency to check on you and Andy propelled her from the pod. Rain’s heart pounded as she rushed to your side, her boots clanging against the metal floor of the Corbelan.

You were still unconscious, the dried blood on your forehead a stark contrast to your pale skin. Rain’s hands trembled as she traced the line of your jaw, whispering your name softly, her voice a fragile thread in the quiet of the medical bay. "Please, wake up," she murmured, each word laden with desperation. But you remained motionless, the steady beep of the heart monitors the only response in the sterile room.

After ensuring you were as comfortable as possible Rain then turned her attention to Andy, who was beginning to stir in his own cryopod. She quickly moved to his side, her movements practiced and efficient as she initiated the sequence to reset his chip. The familiar whir of circuits reactivating filled the air, a sound that brought a small measure of relief to Rain.

Andy’s optical sensors flickered to life, and he immediately fixated on Rain. "Is she okay?" he asked, his voice carrying an electronic tinge of concern.

Rain shook her head, fighting back a fresh wave of tears. "No, not yet, Andy. She’s still not awake." Her voice cracked on the last word, betraying her fear.

Andy sat up, scanning the medical equipment readings with rapid precision. "Systems analysis suggests significant trauma. Probability of recovery uncertain without further medical assessment," he reported, though his words were careful, calculated to avoid causing Rain more distress.

Rain nodded, absorbing his words with a heavy heart. "Just stay with me, Andy. Help me land us safely”

As Rain steered the Corbelan ship toward Yvaga, her focus was laser-sharp, every adjustment to the controls calculated and precise despite the emotional storm raging within her. The verdant hues of Yvaga loomed larger and brighter through the viewport, a stark contrast to the bleakness that had preceded this moment.

"We're almost there," Rain said softly, more to herself than to Andy, who was monitoring the ship's systems next to her.

Andy, always sensitive to her mood, replied, "It'll be okay, Rain. You've gotten us this far."

"I just need to know she'll be alright," Rain whispered, her voice carrying a weight that the vastness of space around them seemed to absorb.

As soon as the ship touched down on Yvaga's surface, Rain was a blur of motion, barely waiting for the landing sequence to complete before she was unbuckling and rushing toward the hatch. The ramp hadn’t fully deployed when she started shouting for help.

"Medical team! I need a medical team here now!" Her voice, usually so composed, cracked with urgency.

When the medical team finally burst through the ship's doors, their uniforms a blur of efficiency and urgency, Rain stepped back, allowing them to take charge. She watched with a mixture of fear and determination as they assessed your condition, their expressions giving away little as they worked swiftly and silently.

"Heart rate stable, but unresponsive," one of the doctors murmured, their voice a backdrop to the whirring of machines and the soft beeps of monitors. Another voice chimed in with medical jargon that Rain strained to understand, her gaze flickering between you and the medical staff.

"Will she be okay?" Rain finally managed to choke out the question that had been gnawing at her since they left Jackson's Star. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the doctors seemed to hear her nonetheless.

"We're doing everything we can," one of them replied gently, their eyes meeting Rain's with a mixture of sympathy and professionalism. "She's stable for now. We'll keep you updated."

Relocated to the stark, white room of Yvaga customs, Rain's heart continued to pound, now out of sync with the buzzing fluorescents overhead. Officials moved her from station to station, conducting thorough scans and taking samples, ensuring she carried no pathogens that could threaten their pristine colony. Despite their politeness, their masked faces remained impassive, heightening Rain's sense of isolation and worry.

"And what about the synthetic?" one official inquired, glancing over a digital clipboard as he scrutinized Andy, who stood beside Rain, his usual stoic self.

"He's my brother," Rain asserted, her voice firm despite the undercurrent of fear that he might be taken from her. "I know your laws about synthetics..."

The officer looked up, a slight frown creasing his brow, then relaxed. "Miss, that regulation has been repealed years ago. Your... brother is welcome to stay as long as he abides by our rules, just like any other resident."

Relief washed over Rain, brief but profound, and she squeezed Andy's hand, smiling at him. "Did you hear that? You’re staying." Her voice wavered with emotion, a stark contrast to her usual composure.

Andy nodded, a flicker of what might have been relief passing through his eyes. "I am pleased to remain by your side, Rain."

But as the customs official handed her back her documents, including a new ID card for her life on Yvaga, Rain's thoughts were already racing back to you, lying in the medical bay, your condition unknown. "Thank you," she muttered distractedly, barely hearing the officer’s instructions on local guidelines and curfew times.

With every step towards the medical facility, her pace quickened, driven by a mix of dread and urgency. Upon arrival, she was met by a cool blast of air and the antiseptic smell of the hospital that did nothing to ease her nerves.

"I’m here to see my girlfriend," she told the receptionist, her voice steady but her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

The receptionist typed something into a computer, then looked up with a neutral expression. "You may go in, but please prepare yourself. She hasn’t regained consciousness yet."

Rain’s breath hitched, her feet carrying her down the fluorescent-lit hallway to the room where you lay. The door swung open quietly, and there you were, just as she’d left you, surrounded by beeping machines and IV lines, your breathing steady but unnatural.

She pulled up a chair beside your bed, her hand finding yours, cold and still. "Hey, it’s me," she whispered, her voice cracking as she spoke. "I need you to wake up, okay? Andy’s safe. We’re both here... waiting for you."

Hours turned into days, with Rain talking to you about everything and nothing—her hopes for their new life on Yvaga, the garden she imagined they might cultivate, the quiet evenings they could spend watching Yvaga’s twin suns set. Occasionally, she'd be silent, just watching your chest rise and fall, each breath a small reassurance that you were still with her.

One particularly quiet night, Rain leaned close, her whisper barely audible. "You have to come back to me," she said, her tone a mix of plea and command. "Remember all those plans we made? I can’t do this without you. I can’t lose anyone else."

She stayed there, her head resting beside your hand on the bed, her tears not quite spilling over but close. The weight of everything they’d been through, everything they’d lost and hoped to gain, pressed down on her.

"Please," she murmured as she felt the first tear escape, tracing a warm path down her cold cheek. "I need you. We’re supposed to start over here. Together."

The sterile hum of the medical bay was punctuated by the quiet beep of machines, a constant backdrop to Rain's vigil by your side. It was during one of these long nights, her head resting close to yours, her whispered stories floating through the dimly lit room, that a change occurred. A subtle shift in the rhythm of your breathing, a small furrow in your brow—signs of emerging consciousness that Rain almost didn't dare to hope for.

After what felt like an eternity immersed in silence and darkness, you finally sensed the veil of unconsciousness lifting. Your eyelids fluttered open, meeting the stark brightness of the medical bay on Yvaga. Disoriented, you turned your head slightly, finding Rain's face close to yours, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and relief.

Your eyelids fluttered, a slow, uncertain movement, and then opened. Rain, who had been lost in her thoughts, looked up sharply, her heart skipping a beat. "Baby?" she said softly, her voice a mix of hope and disbelief.

You blinked slowly, disoriented, the shapes and shadows of the room coalescing into forms you recognized but couldn't quite place. "Rain?" Your voice was hoarse, barely a whisper, and you struggled to sit up, confusion written across your face.

"It's okay, take it slow," Rain soothed, her hands gentle on your shoulders, helping you adjust. "You're safe now. We're on Yvaga."

The name didn't mean much to you yet, not with your mind still grappling with the fog of long sleep and recovery. You looked around, trying to piece together the last fragments of memory—flashes of danger, of fear, of desperate actions. "What happened? The others—Kay, Tyler, Bjorn, Navarro... what happened to them?"

Rain's face fell, her eyes dimming with a grief she had held at bay. Taking a deep breath, she reached for your hand, squeezing it tightly. "There was an incident on the ship... there were these creatures" Her voice trembled, and she paused, gathering the strength to continue. "I managed to get you and Andy into cryopods. I... I dealt with it, but..." She swallowed hard, her other hand wiping away silent tears that began to stream down her face.

"The others weren't so lucky," she finished softly, the weight of the loss pressing down on her anew.

Your heart ached, both from your own physical weakness and the pain of the news. You remembered now—the fear, the chaos, the desperate rush to escape. And through it all, Rain, always protecting, always fighting. "You saved us," you whispered, your voice filled with a mix of sorrow for the lost and gratitude for the safety of those who remained.

Rain nodded, more tears falling as she tried to smile through them. "I did what I had to do. I couldn’t let anything happen to you or Andy." She took a shaky breath, trying to compose herself. "We're going to start over here, on Yvaga. Make it count, for them."

As you processed her words, the reality of your new beginning on this strange new world without some of your closest friends, you felt a profound sense of loss but also a deep, resolute determination. Rain was here, Andy was safe, and you were still together. In that, at least, there was some comfort.

"I'm glad you're here," you told her, squeezing her hand in return. "We'll make it count."

Rain nodded, a solemn promise shared between you two. As she settled back into the chair beside your bed, her vigilance unwavering, you knew that whatever challenges Yvaga might hold, you would face them together.

[nextchae]

pen and point – lee heeseung

word count: 28.9k

pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader

synopsis: Y/N is a dedicated fencing athlete whose life revolves around the sport, school, and her part-time job at a campus coffee shop. When Heeseung, a reserved journalism student with an eye for deeper stories, starts frequenting the shop, Y/N is intrigued but unsure of his intentions.

genre: 2521!modern au, slow-burn romance, college!au, fluff

You push open the heavy door to your dorm building, the familiar creak echoing in the dimly lit hallway. It's well past midnight—much later than you meant to be out—but time always seems to slip away when you’re at the gym. Practice had run long tonight. The fencing team had been working on speed drills, refining the quick, explosive movements that define saber. You stayed after, like you usually do, pushing yourself just a little harder, staying just a little longer. 

The sharp scent of sweat still clings to your clothes, mingling with the cool night air as you step inside the lobby. The fluorescent lights hum softly above you, casting harsh shadows that stretch across the worn carpet. The weight of your gear bag pulls on your shoulder, a familiar and comforting burden. Your muscles ache, pleasantly tired from the evening’s exertion, and a small, satisfied smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. 

You reach your room at the end of the hall and fumble for your keys, trying to be as quiet as possible. Chaehyun, your roommate, is likely asleep by now, and you don’t want to wake her. She’s always been an early sleeper, a contrast to your habit of staying up late, either at the gym or cramming for an exam. After a moment of fumbling, the door finally gives, and you slip inside, greeted by the soft glow of fairy lights strung up on Chaehyun’s side of the room. The faint scent of lavender from her diffuser lingers in the air, instantly calming your nerves.

Chaehyun is already in bed, her back turned to you, her breathing slow and even. You’re relieved—no need to explain your late return. You quietly close the door behind you and drop your bag onto the floor by your bed, trying not to disturb the peace of the room. The day’s events replay in your mind as you start to peel off your sweat-soaked clothes, the adrenaline from practice still coursing through your veins.

You head straight for the small bathroom attached to your dorm room, craving the feel of warm water to wash away the grime and tension from your skin. The tiles are cold beneath your bare feet as you step inside, and you quickly strip out of the rest of your gear. The sight of your fencing jacket and mask, now discarded on the floor, makes you pause for a moment. You’ll have to clean and organize your equipment tomorrow; it’s important to keep everything in good condition. But for now, all you can think about is getting clean and finally crawling into bed.

The shower sputters to life, and you step under the stream of water, letting it cascade over your sore muscles. The warmth relaxes you, easing the stiffness in your shoulders and back. As you lather soap over your skin, you notice a faint bruise blossoming on your collarbone, a memento from a particularly hard hit you took during a bout earlier. You smile faintly, the pain a reminder of how far you’ve come since you first picked up a saber. You remember the early days when you could barely keep up, your reflexes too slow, your strikes too hesitant. But now, each mark on your skin feels like a badge of honor, proof of your dedication and growth.

Rinsing off, you let the water soothe you, your thoughts drifting to the upcoming match at the end of the week. It’s your first real test since joining the team—a chance to prove yourself, to show that you deserve your spot. The pressure is immense, but you thrive on it. You know that each practice, each extra hour spent honing your technique, brings you closer to your goal. 

After a few more minutes, you turn off the shower and wrap yourself in a towel, the cool air hitting your damp skin as you step out. You quickly dry off and pull on your pajamas, your body feeling lighter, cleaner, as if the shower washed away more than just the sweat and grime. 

When you re-enter the bedroom, Chaehyun is still fast asleep, her breathing a soft, steady rhythm in the quiet room. You move carefully, not wanting to disturb her as you gather your discarded clothes and gear, setting them aside to deal with in the morning. Sliding under the covers, you finally let yourself relax, sinking into the familiar comfort of your bed.

The room is quiet, save for the gentle hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle of Chaehyun shifting in her sleep. You close your eyes, letting the exhaustion of the day finally catch up with you. But your mind is still buzzing, not quite ready to let go of the day’s events. You think about the footwork drills, the intense focus required to outmaneuver your opponent, the satisfaction of a well-executed strike. 

As sleep begins to pull you under, your last thoughts are of the upcoming match. You’ve worked hard for this, sacrificed sleep and social time to be at your best. You tell yourself you’ll be ready, because you have to be. The competition is fierce, and there’s no room for hesitation. But as you drift off, you can’t help but feel a small surge of excitement. This is what you’ve been training for—your moment to shine.

The blaring of your alarm pulls you from the depths of sleep, but instead of waking up fully, you groggily reach out and fumble to turn it off, pulling the blanket over your head in an attempt to steal a few more precious minutes of rest. The warmth of your bed is too inviting, the soreness from last night's practice still lingering in your muscles. You tell yourself you’ll get up in just a moment, but the weight of exhaustion quickly pulls you back under.

A gentle but firm shake at your shoulder jerks you awake. You blink, your vision still blurry, to see Chaehyun hovering over you, her face etched with mild concern. 

“Y/N, it’s already 8:30. You’re going to be late,” she whispers, careful not to startle you too much, but there’s a sense of urgency in her voice.

You bolt upright, the words sinking in like a bucket of cold water. Your first class starts at 9:00, and it’s on the opposite side of campus. Panic sets in as you scramble out of bed, the blanket tangling around your legs, nearly sending you crashing to the floor.

“Why didn’t my alarm go off?” you mumble, though you know the answer—it did, and you ignored it.

“You turned it off,” Chaehyun says, already moving to your closet to help you find something to wear. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to get out the door. Hurry!”

Grabbing the first outfit you see, you throw it on without much thought, barely registering whether it matches. You run a hand through your hair, hoping it looks somewhat presentable, then grab your backpack, still half-packed from last night. 

“Thanks, Chaehyun. I owe you one,” you say breathlessly as you slip on your shoes.

“You owe me more than one at this point,” she teases with a grin, but she’s already pushing you out the door. “Now go! I’ll see you after class.”

You sprint down the hallway, your heart racing not just from the exertion but from the anxiety of being late. The morning air is crisp as you step outside, and you quickly break into a jog, weaving through the throngs of students making their way to class. The campus is already alive with activity, but you barely notice, your mind focused on one thing: getting to class on time.

You make it to the lecture hall just as the clock hits 9:03. The door is slightly ajar, and you carefully push it open, slipping inside as quietly as possible. The professor is already mid-sentence, her back turned to the class as she writes on the board. Relief washes over you when you realize she hasn’t noticed your late entrance. 

Moving swiftly, you make your way to your usual seat in the middle of the room, where Taehyun is already settled. He raises an eyebrow as you slide into the chair next to him, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement. 

“Late night?” he whispers, leaning over so only you can hear.

“Something like that,” you mutter back, still trying to catch your breath. You pull out your notebook and pen, trying to look as though you’ve been there the whole time. The professor turns around, and you quickly avert your gaze to the front, pretending to be engrossed in her lecture.

Taehyun doesn’t let it go, though. “You’ve got bedhead,” he adds with a smirk, his voice just low enough that only you can hear. 

You resist the urge to groan, running a hand through your hair again in a futile attempt to smooth it down. “I overslept. Chaehyun had to wake me up,” you admit quietly, trying not to draw any attention.

He nods knowingly, but the teasing smile doesn’t leave his face. “You should start setting two alarms. Or three.”

“Noted,” you reply, rolling your eyes at him, though you can’t help but smile a little. It’s just Taehyun’s way—lighthearted teasing that helps take the edge off your morning’s chaos.

The rest of the class passes in a blur. You try to focus on the lecture, taking notes diligently, but your mind keeps drifting back to how close you came to missing it entirely. You’re grateful to have made it, but you know you need to be more careful. You can’t afford to slip up like this, especially with everything on your plate—classes, fencing, and trying to maintain some semblance of a social life.

When the lecture finally ends, you and Taehyun pack up your things and head out into the bustling hallway. The morning rush is in full swing, and you’re swept up in the tide of students moving from one class to the next.

“You heading to the dining hall?” Taehyun asks as you walk side by side.

“Yeah, I need some coffee,” you reply, still feeling the remnants of your rushed morning.

“Good call. Let’s go before it gets too crowded,” he says, steering you towards the main quad. 

As you walk, you mentally make a note to set multiple alarms for tomorrow. You’re not going to risk another close call like that again—especially not with the match coming up. It’s going to take everything you’ve got to stay on top of things, and you’re determined not to let anything slip through the cracks.

The cafeteria at your university in Seoul is bustling with activity as you and Taehyun navigate through the sea of students. The air is thick with the mingling scents of breakfast—steamed rice, kimchi, and a variety of side dishes that make your stomach grumble. Despite the rush, you manage to grab a tray, your eyes immediately seeking out the coffee station. You’re still groggy from your late wake-up call, and you need something strong to shake off the remnants of sleep.

As you pour yourself a cup of coffee, Taehyun leans in, his voice low but tinged with curiosity. “Did you hear about the mess in Professor Kim’s class yesterday?”

You shake your head, more focused on not spilling your drink. “No, what happened?”

“One of the new students—Jisoo, I think—completely froze during her presentation. She just stood there for what felt like forever before she managed to say anything. Everyone was cringing.”

You wince, imagining the awkwardness of the moment. “That’s rough. First-year nerves, I guess.”

“Yeah, but you know how intense Professor Kim can be. She just stared at her until she started talking,” Taehyun says with a slight shrug, clearly unimpressed. “I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes.”

You finally secure your coffee and follow Taehyun toward the seating area. You spot Chaehyun and Kai by a window, already seated with trays full of food. The sunlight filters through the glass, casting a warm glow over the table as you approach. Chaehyun waves you over, a subtle smile on her face, while Kai gives a nod of acknowledgment.

“Saved you a spot,” Chaehyun says as you sit down, her tone casual but welcoming. “How was the sprint across campus?”

“Exhausting,” you reply, setting down your tray and taking a sip of coffee. “Thanks for waking me up, by the way. I would’ve missed class if it weren’t for you.”

Chaehyun shrugs, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “You really should stop staying up so late. You’re not doing yourself any favors.”

“Right,” Kai chimes in, leaning back in his chair. “You’re going to burn out before midterms if you keep this up.”

You roll your eyes, though you know they’re right. Between fencing practice and trying to keep up with your classes, your sleep schedule has been all over the place. “I know, I know. I’ll try to get it together.”

The conversation shifts as you start eating, the atmosphere comfortable and unhurried. You’re only a few weeks into the semester, but already the rhythm of campus life has taken hold. The mix of early mornings, long lectures, and late-night study sessions is starting to feel familiar, even if it’s still a bit overwhelming.

“So, there’s some drama going on in the dorms,” Chaehyun says, her voice lowering slightly as if she’s about to share a secret. “You know Hyewon from our floor? She’s been caught sneaking into the guys’ side after curfew.”

Kai raises an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “For real? What’s she doing over there?”

“Rumor has it she’s been meeting some guy,” Chaehyun continues, her tone casual but clearly enjoying the storytelling. “Apparently, he’s a junior and in the film department. They’ve been trying to keep it quiet, but it’s not exactly a secret anymore.”

Taehyun snorts, shaking his head. “People need to be more careful. The RAs are cracking down this year, and everyone knows it.”

You listen, taking it all in, but you’re not as invested in the gossip as you might have been a few months ago. The newness of it all—new city, new school, new people—has worn off a bit, leaving you more focused on getting through the day-to-day challenges.

After a pause, Kai turns to you. “How’s training going? You’ve got that match coming up soon, right?”

You nod, finishing your coffee before answering. “It’s going well. Tough, but good. I just need to stay focused and not get distracted.”

“Easier said than done,” Chaehyun comments, but there’s no judgment in her tone—just a matter-of-fact acknowledgment of how things are.

“Yeah, but you’ve got this,” Taehyun adds, more sincerely. “Just don’t overthink it.”

You appreciate the support, even if you’re not entirely sure you believe it yourself. The competition here is fierce, and you know you’re going to have to give it everything you’ve got.

As you finish your breakfast, the conversation turns to lighter topics—an upcoming festival on campus, the latest drama on some popular TV show, and plans for the weekend. The weight of the morning’s rush has eased, replaced by the steady rhythm of another day at university.

When you finally leave the cafeteria, the four of you step out into the crisp morning air, the campus already alive with students heading to their next classes. Despite the lingering stress, you feel a small sense of contentment.

The coffee shop’s warm glow spills out onto the quiet street as you lock up your bike and make your way inside. The evening air is cool, and a slight breeze carries the scent of autumn leaves. The shop is tucked away just a block from campus, a cozy retreat where students often gather to study or unwind after a long day. You’ve been working here part-time since the semester started, and while the late shifts can be exhausting, there’s something comforting about the steady hum of the espresso machine and the soft murmur of customers in the background.

As you step behind the counter, your coworker Chaeyoung, a new friend who coincidentally is in the same major as you but one year older, gives you a quick nod before she heads out for the night. “It’s been pretty quiet today,” she says, pulling her jacket on. “Just a few regulars. You should have an easy shift.”

“Thanks, Chaeyoung. See you tomorrow,” you reply, tying your apron around your waist.

The evening crowd is usually a mix of familiar faces—students with their laptops open, working on assignments, and a few locals who stop by for a coffee on their way home. You recognize most of them, but there’s one regular who stands out, not because he’s particularly loud or noticeable, but because of the way he seems to blend into the background. 

He’s young, probably around your age, with dark hair that falls just slightly over his eyes. He always wears the same dark hoodie, the hood often pulled up, and he never lingers in the shop for long. He usually comes in during your late shifts, orders the same drink—a black coffee with a splash of milk—and leaves as soon as it’s ready. He’s yet to properly speak to you, other than the bare minimum required to place his order. 

Tonight, as you wipe down the counter and prepare for the next wave of customers, you hear the door chime softly. You glance up and, sure enough, there he is—standing just inside the entrance, his hands tucked into his hoodie pockets. His eyes flicker over the shop’s interior, as if checking to see how crowded it is, before he approaches the counter.

“Hi, what can I get for you?” you ask, slipping into your usual greeting, though you already know his answer.

“Just the usual,” he says, his voice low, almost inaudible beneath the hum of the shop.

You nod, moving to prepare his order. The shop is quiet tonight, with only a couple of other customers scattered at the tables, absorbed in their own worlds. As you work, you can’t help but wonder about him. He’s become a small mystery to you—a regular presence in your evenings, yet completely unknown.

The coffee machine hisses as you steam the milk, and within moments, his drink is ready. You place the cup on the counter, offering him a small smile as you do. “Here you go—black coffee with a splash of milk.”

He steps forward to take the cup, his fingers brushing yours briefly as he does. For a moment, you think he’s going to say something, but he just nods, murmuring a quick “thanks” before turning to leave.

“Hey,” you call out impulsively, surprising even yourself. He pauses, glancing back at you, his expression unreadable. “I see you in here a lot. Do you go to the university?”

It’s a simple question, but it feels like you’re breaking some kind of unspoken rule. He hesitates, his gaze meeting yours for a brief moment before he looks away. “Yeah,” he replies shortly. “I’m a student.”

There’s something in his tone—cautious, reserved—that makes you think he’s not used to small talk, at least not with strangers. You’re not sure if you should push further or let it go.

“Well, if you ever want to talk about classes or anything… I’m usually here during the late shifts,” you offer, keeping your tone casual, not wanting to pressure him. “It’s always nice to chat with someone who’s going through the same stuff.”

He nods again, more to himself than to you, before muttering, “Maybe next time.”

And with that, he turns and heads out the door, disappearing into the night as quickly as he arrived. You watch him go, the mystery of who he is lingering in your mind.

As the door swings shut behind him, you can’t help but wonder about the stories he carries with him—the ones he keeps locked behind that quiet demeanor. It’s strange, how someone can become a regular part of your day, yet remain so distant. 

The hours stretch on quietly after your regular leaves, with only a few more customers trickling in before the shop grows still. It’s late, and the usual rush of students has dwindled down to nothing, leaving you alone with your thoughts as you go through the motions of closing up. The steady hum of the espresso machine is comforting, almost meditative, as you wipe down the counters, restock supplies, and start counting the till.

Outside, the night has fully settled in, the streets almost deserted save for the occasional car passing by. The soft jazz playing through the speakers blends with the distant sounds of the city, creating a serene atmosphere that helps the time pass. You finish the last of your tasks, grab your bag, and turn off the lights, casting the shop into darkness before locking the door behind you.

As you step outside, the cool night air greets you, a welcome contrast to the warmth of the shop. You pull your jacket tighter around you and start the short walk back to your dorm. The campus is just a block away, and though you’re used to these late-night walks, tonight feels a little different. There’s a tension lingering from your earlier conversation with the regular, a curiosity about who he is and why he always seems so guarded.

When you finally reach your dorm, you enter the code and push open the door, the familiar warmth of the hallway enveloping you. The building is quiet, most students already asleep or buried in their textbooks. As you approach your room, you notice a faint glow seeping from under the door. Chaehyun, your roommate, is usually asleep by now, especially with her early morning classes.

You unlock the door and step inside, surprised to find Chaehyun still awake, sitting on her bed with her knees drawn up to her chest. She’s absentmindedly twirling a strand of hair around her finger, her eyes fixed on the wall as if lost in thought. A textbook lies open beside her, untouched.

“Hey,” you say softly, kicking off your shoes and dropping your bag onto your chair. “Didn’t expect you to still be up.”

Chaehyun glances up, offering a small, distracted smile. “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep.”

You can tell something’s on her mind. It’s not like her to stay awake this late, especially when she has classes in the morning. You grab your towel and some comfortable clothes, heading to the bathroom for a quick shower. The warm water helps wash away the fatigue from your shift, but when you return to the room, you find Chaehyun still in the same spot, her expression pensive.

As you sit down on your bed, drying your hair with the towel, you decide to ask. “What’s up? You look like something’s bothering you.”

Chaehyun sighs, her fingers still fiddling with the strand of hair. “It’s… it’s stupid, really.”

You raise an eyebrow, knowing that whatever it is, it’s clearly not stupid to her. “Doesn’t seem stupid if it’s keeping you up this late.”

She hesitates, biting her lip before finally letting out a deep breath. “It’s Minhee,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”

You nod, understanding now. Minhee—he’s in your grade, a quiet guy with a gentle smile who seems to have caught Chaehyun’s eye from the very beginning. You’ve noticed the way she looks at him in class, the way her eyes light up whenever he’s around. But Chaehyun has always been a bit reserved when it comes to her feelings, hesitant to make the first move.

“What about him?” you ask gently, knowing there’s more she wants to say.

“It’s just… I don’t know,” she starts, frustration lacing her voice. “Every time I think about talking to him, really talking to him, I just… I freeze. I don’t know what to say or how to act, and I end up avoiding him instead. It’s so frustrating.”

You can see the anxiety written all over her face. Chaehyun, who’s usually so composed and confident, is clearly struggling with this. “Have you tried just… being yourself around him? I mean, he seems like the kind of guy who’d appreciate that.”

Chaehyun lets out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s the problem. I don’t even know how to be myself when I’m around him. I get so nervous, like he’s going to see right through me and realize I’m just… boring.”

“Boring?” you repeat, incredulous. “Chaehyun, you’re anything but boring. You’re smart, funny, and you care about people. If Minhee can’t see that, then he’s the one who’s missing out.”

She looks at you, her expression softening a little, but you can tell she’s still not convinced. “I don’t know… Maybe I’m just overthinking it.”

“Maybe,” you agree, “but that’s okay. It’s normal to feel nervous when you like someone. But you won’t know how he really feels unless you give him a chance to get to know the real you.”

Chaehyun nods slowly, seeming to mull over your words. “I guess you’re right… I just need to figure out how to get past this… fear, I guess.”

“You will,” you assure her. “And when you do, I bet you’ll realize it wasn’t as scary as you thought. Just take it one step at a time.”

She smiles at you, a real smile this time, though still a little uncertain. “Thanks, Y/N. I know I’m probably being silly, but it helps to talk about it.”

“Anytime,” you reply, reaching over to give her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Chaehyun’s smile widens, and she finally seems to relax a little. “I’m just glad I have you to talk to. I’d be lost without you.”

“Same here,” you admit, lying back on your bed. “Let’s both get some sleep now. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?”

“Good night, Y/N,” Chaehyun murmurs, snuggling under her blanket, her earlier anxiety finally starting to fade.

“Good night, Chaehyun,” you reply, turning off the light.

As the room falls into darkness, you close your eyes, hoping that tomorrow will bring some clarity for both of you. The night is still, and for the first time in a while, you feel a sense of peace as sleep begins to pull you under. 

The gymnasium buzzes with energy, the air thick with anticipation as teams from various universities gather for the first fencing match of the season. The metallic clinks of swords being tested, the swish of warm-up jackets, and the low hum of conversation fill the space. You stand with your teammates, Ryujin and Gaeul, your hearts pounding in sync as the day you’ve trained so hard for finally arrives.

You can see Chaehyun, Taehyun, Kai, and the rest of your friends—Jay and Chaeyoung—up in the bleachers, waving when they catch your eye. Chaehyun looks especially excited, a wide grin on her face as she snaps a few photos with her phone, probably to send to you later with some encouraging captions. Taehyun and Kai are shouting something you can’t quite hear, but their support is clear. It’s reassuring to know they’re here, their presence a steady anchor amidst the chaos.

“Ready, Y/N?” Ryujin asks, her eyes sharp and focused, as always.

“Yeah,” you reply, adjusting your mask and gloves. “Let’s do this.”

The team match is up first. It’s a round-robin format, each of you facing off against fencers from the other school. The opposing team looks strong, their stances confident, but you know you and your teammates have been training hard. Ryujin, with her aggressive style, usually takes the lead, while Gaeul’s calm, defensive approach balances things out. Your job is to bring in the points where you can, using your speed and precision to outmaneuver your opponents.

The referee calls you to the piste, and you step forward, saluting your opponent before taking your position. The first bout begins with Ryujin, who scores several quick points, her movements fast and decisive. Gaeul follows, managing to hold her ground and earn a few more points, keeping the score close. Then it’s your turn.

You face off against a tall girl with a strong stance. She lunges first, testing your defenses, but you parry and riposte, landing a clean hit on her shoulder. The match continues, a tense back-and-forth as you try to anticipate her moves while controlling the pace. The sound of your heartbeat fills your ears, the rest of the world fading as you focus solely on the bout.

When the referee calls the match, it’s close, but you’ve managed to secure the final points your team needed to edge out the win. Your teammates cheer, and you exchange high-fives with Ryujin and Gaeul as you step off the piste. There’s a brief moment of relief before you remember that your individual match is still ahead.

You catch your breath and take a swig of water, mentally preparing yourself for what’s next. The individual matches are tougher; there’s no team to back you up, and the pressure is entirely on you. You glance toward the bleachers again, seeing your friends waving and cheering, and it gives you the boost you need.

As you’re about to head to the piste for your individual match, something catches your eye. Off to the side, near where the school journalists are gathered, you spot him—the regular from the coffee shop. He’s standing slightly apart from the others, a notebook in hand, scribbling something down as he watches the matches intently.

For a moment, you’re caught off guard. What’s he doing here? You’ve never seen him at any school events before, let alone at a fencing match. He’s always been a mystery, but seeing him here, in this context, only deepens your curiosity.

You shake off the distraction and refocus on the task at hand. There’s no time to wonder about him now; you have a match to win. But as you walk to the piste, you can’t help but glance in his direction one more time. He’s still taking notes, his eyes darting between the fencers and his notebook, completely absorbed in whatever he’s writing.

The referee calls your name, and you force yourself to push all thoughts of him aside. Your opponent steps up—a girl from another school, her expression serious and focused. You both salute, then take your positions, the tension palpable.

“En garde,” the referee’s voice cuts through the air. “Prêt… Allez!”

The match begins, and you spring into action, your body moving on instinct. Your opponent is quick, her attacks precise, but you match her step for step, finding openings where you can. The bout is intense, each point hard-fought, but you stay calm, remembering your training.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the regular glance up from his notebook, watching your match with what seems like more than just passing interest. You block it out, channeling all your focus into the fight.

The final exchange is a blur—a flurry of attacks and parries—until you see an opening and strike, your blade landing cleanly on her torso. The referee raises his hand, signaling the point in your favor. The match is over.

You remove your mask, breathing heavily as the adrenaline starts to fade. Your teammates rush over to congratulate you, their cheers mixing with those of your friends in the stands. You managed to win, both the team match and your individual bout, and the feeling of victory is sweet.

But even as you celebrate with Ryujin and Gaeul, your thoughts drift back to the regular. He’s no longer writing, just watching the scene unfold with an inscrutable expression. Then, almost as if he senses your gaze, he looks up and meets your eyes. There’s a brief moment where neither of you looks away, and then he nods slightly, almost as if in acknowledgment, before turning his attention back to his notebook.

You’re left wondering what that nod meant, if anything. But before you can dwell on it, your friends swarm around you, pulling you into their excitement. There will be time to think about him later. 

The weeks following the first tournament pass in a blur, your life consumed by the relentless demands of school, fencing, and work. Every day feels like a balancing act, trying to keep everything from crashing down as you juggle your commitments. Early morning practices, late-night study sessions, and shifts at the coffee shop—it’s a grind, and there’s little time for anything else.

Fencing practices have become more intense as the team prepares for the upcoming matches. Ryujin and Gaeul push you to your limits, honing your speed and precision with grueling drills. Coach keeps a close eye on everyone, always expecting more, demanding perfection. The victories from the first tournament are already a distant memory, replaced by the constant pressure to improve, to be ready for whatever comes next.

Classes, too, are piling on the pressure. Midterms are fast approaching, and professors seem determined to cram as much information as possible into each lecture. You spend hours poring over textbooks and notes, trying to keep up with the endless stream of assignments and projects. Your mind is a whirlwind of dates, formulas, and theories, each one more complex than the last.

The coffee shop offers little respite. The late-night shifts stretch on endlessly, and by the time you finish cleaning and lock up, it’s often past midnight. The regulars who once filled the shop now seem like a blur of faces, all blending together in your memory. The only person who stands out is the mysterious guy who hasn’t shown up since the tournament. His absence lingers in the back of your mind, a quiet distraction that you can’t quite shake.

Every time you work a shift, you find yourself scanning the shop, half-expecting to see him sitting in his usual spot, notebook in hand. But he never appears. You try to convince yourself that it’s nothing, that he was just a random customer who happened to catch your eye. But the truth is, you’re curious. There was something about him—something intriguing, something you can’t quite put your finger on—that makes you wonder who he is and why he hasn’t come back.

The days blur together, one after the other, as you push through the exhaustion and the mounting pressure. There’s no time to dwell on the regular or on anything else outside the immediate demands of your schedule. Sleep becomes a luxury, something you snatch in brief intervals between studying, practicing, and working. The stress builds, creeping into every corner of your life, until it feels like you’re constantly on the edge, just trying to hold it all together.

As midterms draw closer, the tension reaches a breaking point. Every day feels like a race against the clock, with too much to do and not enough time to do it. The nights grow longer as you stay up late, cramming for exams, only to wake up a few hours later to start all over again. Coffee becomes your lifeline, the only thing keeping you awake during the endless hours of studying and practice.

Despite the chaos, the absence of the regular still nags at you. It’s been weeks since the tournament, and you can’t help but wonder what happened to him. Was he just a one-time visitor? Did he find another coffee shop? Or did something happen that caused him to stop coming? The questions swirl in your mind, surfacing at the most inconvenient times—during class, while practicing, even as you try to sleep.

Chaehyun notices your distraction, but she’s too caught up in her own worries about Minhee to say much. The two of you share a mutual understanding—there’s too much going on, too many demands, to focus on anything else. Still, she tries to cheer you up when she can, dragging you to the campus café for study sessions with Taehyun, Kai, Jay, and Chaeyoung. But even in the midst of your friends, your thoughts drift back to the regular, wondering why he’s disappeared from your life as suddenly as he entered it.

One evening, after an especially grueling practice, you collapse onto your bed, your muscles aching and your mind racing. You know you should be studying, but the textbooks feel like they weigh a ton, and you can’t bring yourself to move. Instead, you lie there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to push the thoughts of the regular out of your mind. But they keep creeping back, slipping past your defenses, until you find yourself wondering if you’ll ever see him again.

Chaehyun glances over at you from her desk, where she’s furiously typing up a report. “You okay?” she asks, her voice tinged with concern.

“Yeah,” you reply, though you’re not entirely sure if it’s true. “Just tired.”

She nods, understanding. “We all are. Just a couple more weeks, and then we can relax. Or, you know, sleep for a week straight.”

You laugh, though it’s more out of exhaustion than humor. “Sounds like a plan.”

But even as you joke, the regular’s absence continues to bother you, a small, nagging feeling that something is off. You try to push it aside, to focus on the here and now—the exams, the practices, the never-ending stream of work. But it’s there, lurking in the back of your mind, a puzzle you can’t quite solve.

As the night wears on, you force yourself to get up and start studying, knowing you can’t afford to fall behind. But the thoughts of the regular linger, a quiet distraction that you can’t shake, no matter how hard you try.

The following week, the routine continues. Early mornings at the gym, afternoons in class, evenings at the coffee shop. The grind is relentless, each day a blur of exhaustion and effort. But you push through, knowing that you can’t afford to let up—not with midterms just around the corner.

The regular still doesn’t show up, and you find yourself growing more and more frustrated. It’s silly, you know, to be so preoccupied with someone you barely know. But there was something about him, something that made you curious, made you want to know more. And now that he’s gone, that curiosity has turned into a nagging itch, a feeling that something is missing.

The days grow shorter as autumn sets in, the air turning crisp and cool. The leaves on the trees outside the dorm begin to change color, painting the campus in shades of red, orange, and yellow. But even the beauty of the season can’t distract you from the growing pressure of midterms, or from the absence of the regular.

As the week wears on, you start to wonder if you’ll ever see him again. Maybe it’s for the best, you tell yourself. You’re too busy to be worrying about some guy you don’t even know. But the thought doesn’t bring you any comfort, and you find yourself hoping, just a little, that he’ll show up one more time.

You try to focus on your studies, on fencing, on work. But the regular’s absence looms large in your mind, a mystery you can’t quite let go of, no matter how hard you try. The routine continues, day after day, but you can’t help but feel like something is missing, something important that you can’t quite put your finger on.

And so, you push forward, determined to get through the next few weeks, to survive the grind and make it through midterms. But even as you do, you can’t shake the feeling that the regular’s absence is more than just a coincidence, that there’s something more going on beneath the surface.

The end of midterms brings a collective sigh of relief that seems to ripple across the entire campus. After weeks of cramming, late-night study sessions, and endless exams, everyone is ready to unwind. The first big party of the semester feels like a long-awaited reward, and the buzz around it is electric. You can feel the excitement in the air as you and Jay walk towards the off-campus house where the party is being held.

Jay is practically bouncing beside you, his usual energy amplified now that the weight of midterms is finally off his shoulders. "This is going to be good," he says, grinning ear to ear. "Everyone’s talking about it.”

You smile, though a part of you is still too tired to fully embrace the idea of a wild night. "I’m just looking forward to a drink and not thinking about school for a bit," you reply.

The house comes into view, its windows glowing with warm light, and the sound of music and laughter spills out onto the street. Groups of people are already gathered on the front lawn, red plastic cups in hand, talking and laughing as if the stress of the past few weeks never existed.

Inside, the house is packed, every room filled with people dancing, talking, and letting loose. The air is thick with the scent of alcohol and the faint sweetness of someone’s attempt at a spiked punch. You and Jay navigate through the crowd, heading toward the kitchen where you expect to find the rest of your friends.

Sure enough, Kai and Taehyun are already there, leaning against the counter, each with a drink in hand. They look more relaxed than you’ve seen them in weeks, their faces flushed from the warmth of alcohol and the relief of having survived midterms.

"Finally!" Kai exclaims when he sees you, raising his cup in greeting. "Thought you’d never get here."

"Had to drag myself off the couch," you admit with a laugh, grabbing a cup and filling it with soju. "But I made it."

Taehyun grins at you over the rim of his cup, his eyes slightly glassy. "You deserve a night off. We all do."

The four of you settle into an easy rhythm, chatting and laughing as the party continues around you. The tension of the past few weeks starts to melt away, replaced by the comfortable camaraderie of friends who’ve all been through the same things. For the first time in a while, you allow yourself to relax, to just enjoy the moment.

As the night goes on, you start to feel the effects of the alcohol—a pleasant warmth spreading through your body, making you feel lighter, more carefree. You drift through the party, talking to people you barely know, losing yourself in the music and the laughter that fills every corner of the house.

After a while, you decide to take a break from the noise and head towards the quieter hallway near the back of the house. The music is more muted here, and you find yourself grateful for the brief reprieve. As you turn a corner, though, you come to an abrupt stop, your eyes widening in surprise.

Chaehyun and Minhee are there, pressed up against the wall, completely absorbed in each other. They’re so caught up in their own world that they don’t even notice you standing there. A flush of embarrassment creeps up your neck as you realize you’ve walked in on them making out.

For a moment, you’re frozen in place, unsure of what to do. You don’t want to interrupt, but you also don’t want to just stand there awkwardly. Eventually, you decide to back away slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. As you retreat, you can’t help but feel a small pang of amusement. Chaehyun has been crushing on Minhee for so long—it’s about time something happened between them.

As you make your way back to the main part of the house, you spot a familiar figure out of the corner of your eye. You do a double-take, your heart skipping a beat when you realize who it is. Standing near the edge of the living room, engaged in quiet conversation with another guy, is the regular from the coffee shop.

He’s dressed more lively than you’re used to seeing him, as opposed to his dark hoodie, but there’s no mistaking him. The sight of him here, in the middle of the party, is so unexpected that you almost think you’re imagining it. The guy he’s talking to is vaguely familiar as well—it takes you a moment to place him. Sunghoon. Jay’s friend.

You watch them for a moment, your curiosity piqued. The regular seems different in this setting, more relaxed, though still maintaining that air of quiet intensity that caught your attention in the first place. The conversation between him and Sunghoon seems serious, their expressions focused.

Before you can decide whether to approach them or just slip away unnoticed, Jay appears beside you, nudging you with his elbow. "Hey, what’re you staring at?" he asks, his tone light but curious.

You quickly shake off the daze and force a smile. "Just people-watching," you say, trying to sound casual.

Jay raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but he doesn’t press the issue. "Come on," he says, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "Let’s get another drink."

You let him lead you back towards the kitchen, but your thoughts keep drifting back to the regular. What’s he doing here? How does he know Sunghoon? And why does he always seem to show up when you least expect it?

The night wears on, and the drinks keep coming. The atmosphere is infectious, the weight of midterms lifted, and the collective energy of the party propels you further into the evening. Kai and Taehyun are in full party mode, dragging you and Jay into a dance circle in the middle of the living room. The music thumps in your chest, the laughter and shouts of your friends blending into the rhythm, and for a while, you forget everything except the sheer joy of being free from stress.

But as the night deepens and the alcohol warms your veins, your thoughts keep drifting back to the regular. He’s still there, lingering at the edge of the party, talking to Sunghoon. You steal glances at him whenever you can, your curiosity growing stronger with each passing minute. The alcohol dulls your inhibitions, and soon you find yourself wondering why you’re just watching him from afar when you could be talking to him, getting some answers.

It’s a combination of the drinks and the sense of freedom from the night that pushes you over the edge. At some point, you lose count of how many cups of soju you’ve had, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re feeling bold, more so than you have in weeks, and the next thing you know, you’re making your way across the room towards the guy who’s been occupying your thoughts for far too long.

“Come on, Jay,” you say, trying to sound confident despite the alcohol fuzzing your words. “I want to talk to that guy over there.”

Jay looks at you, a playful smirk on his face. “Oh, you mean Heeseung? Alright, let’s go.”

Heeseung. That’s his name. He looks up as you and Jay approach and there’s a faint hint of recognition in his eyes as he raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and curiosity. Sunghoon, catching on to your intention, steps aside with a glance at Jay.

“Hey,” you say, louder than you intended, as you reach them.

Both Heeseung and Sunghoon turn to look at you, surprise flickering across their faces. You suddenly feel a bit self-conscious under their gaze, but you push through it, locking eyes with Heeseung.

“Hi,” Heeseung responds, his voice calm and even. Up close, you notice he has a gentle intensity about him, something that makes your pulse quicken. “Uh, can I help you with something?”

You swallow, suddenly unsure of what to say. What exactly did you plan on saying? You’re not entirely sure, but the alcohol gives you just enough confidence to keep going.

“I… I’ve seen you around,” you begin, your words slurring slightly. “At the coffee shop. You come in a lot.”

Heeseung’s expression softens, and you think you see a hint of a smile. “Yeah, I go there pretty often. You’re the barista, right?”

You nod, relieved that he remembers you. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Sunghoon glances between the two of you, looking slightly amused, before clapping Heeseung on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go find Jake,” he says, excusing himself with a knowing look and taking Jay with him. “See you around.”

Heeseung nods at Sunghoon before turning his attention back to you. “So, what’s up?”

You shift on your feet, the alcohol making you a little bolder but also a little less coherent. “I’ve been wondering about you,” you admit, a bit embarrassed. “You don’t really talk much. You just… come in, get your coffee, and leave. But you’re always writing or taking notes. What’s that about?”

Heeseung chuckles softly, the sound low and a little shy. “I didn’t mean to be mysterious. I’m just… focused, I guess. I’m in the journalism club, and I’m usually working on articles or notes for upcoming interviews.”

“Oh,” you say, nodding as if that explains everything. “That makes sense. But why haven’t you been in the shop lately? I mean… not that I’m keeping track or anything,” you suddenly splutter, face turning even redder than you knew it already was.

Heeseung seems to consider you for a moment, his gaze steady. “I’ve been busy with a project,” he says finally. “But I didn’t mean to stop coming in. Just got caught up in things.”

You hum in understanding, feeling oddly pleased with his answer. “Okay. I guess that makes sense. You… you’re always working, huh?”

“Pretty much,” he admits, his smile widening a fraction. “What about you? I’ve seen you at the shop, but I didn’t know you were on the fencing team. That was you at the tournament. You’re, you’re good. I’m writing a piece about your team in next month’s paper.”

His compliment catches you off guard, and you feel a flush of warmth that has nothing to do with the alcohol. “Thanks,” you say, a bit shy now. “I-I noticed you there. You should’ve said something.”

“I didn’t want to distract you,” he replies, his tone teasing.

You laugh, feeling the last bit of tension slip away. “Well, you could’ve at least waved or something.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” Heeseung says, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

There’s a brief pause, the noise of the party swirling around you as you stand there, just looking at each other. You’re not sure what to say next, but you don’t want the conversation to end. There’s something about Heeseung that draws you in, something that makes you want to know more about him.

“So… do you always just cover sports?” you ask, tilting your head curiously.

“Not always,” Heeseung replies simply, leaning against a wall. “So,” Heeseung says, leaning against the wall, “do you always get this bold after a few drinks?”

You laugh, feeling the warmth of the alcohol and the ease of the conversation. “No. It’s just… it’s nice to have a break from everything, you know?”

Heeseung nods, a thoughtful look on his face. “I know what you mean.”

You agree, feeling a sense of connection with him that goes beyond the casual small talk. The night has turned into something unexpectedly pleasant, and as you continue to talk, you feel like you’re finally starting to understand the enigmatic Heeseung.

As the party begins to wind down, you notice Jay and Sunghoon making their way back toward you and Heeseung. Jay, still wearing that ever-present smirk, gives you a knowing look.

“Everything good here?” he asks, his tone more genuine than teasing.

Heeseung nods, his expression relaxed but still somewhat reserved. “Yeah, we’ve just been talking.”

Sunghoon gives Heeseung a pat on the back, and there’s a brief exchange of glances between them—something unspoken that you can’t quite decipher. Jay shifts his weight, glancing at you as if he’s debating whether to say something or just let the moment pass. Glancing at his phone, he finally speaks. “We should probably get going.”

“Yeah,” you agree, feeling a mix of reluctance and contentment. “It’s getting late.”

Heeseung gives you a small nod, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll be back for coffee tomorrow, Y/N.” You glean that he learned your name long before you learned his, from his work in the journalism club.

“See you then,” you reply, feeling the weight of the words. There’s no need to force anything more out of the moment—it feels complete as it is.

As you and Jay walk away, you feel a sense of quiet satisfaction. And heading back to your dorm, you can’t help but wonder about Heeseung and what else you have yet to learn about him. 

As promised, Heeseung returned to the coffee shop the next afternoon. You’d wondered if the conversation at the party was just a fleeting moment, something that would fade by morning. But there he was, standing in line, that familiar reserved expression on his face, though his eyes carried a hint of something playful as he scanned the menu.

You were behind the counter, finishing up an order when you noticed him. A small flutter of nerves caught you off guard, but you quickly masked it with a professional smile. It was just Heeseung, you told yourself—a regular customer, nothing more. Yet the memory of your conversation from the night before lingered, making him feel like more than just another face in the crowd.

When Heeseung reached the front of the line, he gave you a smile that was a bit wider than his usual one. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey,” you replied, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze. “Back for another round of caffeine?”

He nodded, glancing briefly at the menu before meeting your eyes again. “Yeah, I think I’ll try that cappuccino you mentioned.”

“Straight up or with a flavor?” you asked, already moving to prepare the drink.

“Straight up. I trust your recommendation,” he said, leaning casually on the counter. As you started steaming the milk, he added, with a playful tone, “You seemed pretty confident about it last night, but maybe that was just the drinks talking.”

You felt your face warm, a mix of embarrassment and amusement bubbling up. Admittedly now, you had no recollection of recommending him the cappuccino at all. “Oh, so you’re going to tease me about that now?”

Heeseung chuckled, the sound soft and easy. “Just a little. You were pretty bold last night, but I figured it was the liquid courage.”

“Well, maybe it was,” you admitted, focusing on the cappuccino to avoid his eyes. “But I still stand by my coffee skills, drunk or not.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Heeseung replied, watching as you finished his drink. “You’ve got a good reputation around here.”

You handed him the cup, feeling a bit of pride at the compliment. “So, what’s on your agenda today? More stories to write?” You asked, happy to change the topic from your inebriated state during your last encounter with him.

Heeseung took a sip of his cappuccino, his eyes lighting up at the taste. “This is really good,” he said, before continuing. “Actually, yeah. I’m working on a few pieces. The one about the fencing team that I mentioned.”

Your stomach flipped as you remembered him telling you this last night. You had been so overwhelmed in just actually having a conversation with him that you hadn’t given any more thought to his mention about the story covering the fencing team. “What’s the story going to be about?” you asked genuinely curiously. 

Heeseung leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “It’s a feature on student-athletes and how they balance sports with everything else. Your team’s been doing pretty well, and I thought it’d be interesting to dive into what makes you all tick. I was going to reach out to some of your teammates for interviews.”

You couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness at the thought. “That sounds cool. Are you, planning to interview me too?”

Heeseung nodded, his expression thoughtful. “If you’re up for it. I think your perspective would be interesting—especially considering you’ve got work, fencing, and classes all juggled pretty well.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the flutter in your chest. “I’d be down for that. I mean, if you think I’d have something worth saying.”

Heeseung gave you a look that was both serious and slightly teasing. “Everyone has something worth saying. Besides, I’ve seen how focused you are at practice. There’s a story there, trust me.”

You smiled, feeling a bit more at ease. “Alright, you’ve got me convinced. Let me know when you want to do the interview.”

“Will do,” Heeseung said, taking another sip of his coffee. He paused for a moment, as if debating whether to say something, then added, “You know, you were pretty curious last night. About me, I mean.”

The comment caught you off guard, and you felt a blush creeping up your neck. “Was I that obvious?”

Heeseung grinned, his usual reserve giving way to something more playful. “A little. But I don’t mind. I’m used to asking questions, not answering them, so it was a nice change.”

“Well, I guess I’m just trying to figure out the guy who comes in here, gets his coffee, and disappears without saying much,” you replied, feeling a bit bolder now that the topic was out in the open.

“I’m not that mysterious,” Heeseung said with a soft laugh, though his smile suggested he enjoyed the idea. “I think I became dependent on the coffee from here. Without it at the end of last year, I genuinely don’t think I would’ve survived. But I was used to just running in and out of here.”

You nodded in understanding, gathering more information from his words that he was at least a year older than yourself. “You should try staying sometime. We’ve got other drinks besides just coffee too, you know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Heeseung replied, his tone lighter now. “Especially if you’re the one making them.”

Before the conversation could go any further, another customer approached the counter, pulling your attention away. Heeseung noticed and gave you a small wave.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” he said, stepping aside. “But thanks for the coffee, Y/N. I’ll be in touch about the story.”

You smiled, waving him away and watching as he left the small café, journal in hand.

On your walk back to the dorm, you replayed his words in your mind, particularly his comment about everyone having something worth saying. It stuck with you, making you wonder if there was more to you—more to your own story—than you’d given yourself credit for.

And then there was the story Heeseung was working on, the one about your fencing team. The thought of being featured in an article made you both excited and nervous. You couldn’t help but think about what he might write, how he might see you through his lens as a journalist.

By the time you reached your dorm, the day’s events had left you with a sense of anticipation. Things were shifting, slowly but surely. Heeseung’s presence in your life, however small it might be right now, felt like the beginning of something new—something you weren’t sure how to define just yet.

But for now, you were content to let it unfold at its own pace, curious to see where it might lead.

The weeks leading into winter passed in a blur, the chill in the air growing sharper with each day. With the end of the semester looming, your schedule became a tightrope act, balancing between academics, fencing, work, and the slow but steady shifts in your social life.

Your literature project with Taehyun was one of the first things to dominate your time. The two of you had been paired up to analyze a complex, multi-layered novel that was both fascinating and exhausting. It required countless hours in the library, pouring over pages and notes, trying to piece together a coherent argument that would satisfy your professor’s exacting standards.

“Honestly, I think I’ve read this chapter five times, and I still don’t get what the author’s trying to say,” Taehyun grumbled one afternoon, his head buried in his hands. You were seated in a quiet corner of the campus library, surrounded by stacks of books and discarded drafts.

You chuckled, though you felt the same frustration. “Maybe that’s the point—ambiguity as a narrative device or something.”

Taehyun lifted his head, a skeptical look on his face. “Or maybe the author just liked to mess with his readers. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Despite the long hours and occasional confusion, working with Taehyun had its perks. His sense of humor kept things light even when the material felt heavy, and the shared struggle somehow made the project feel less daunting. 

In between study sessions, you found yourself talking to Chaehyun about her new relationship with Minhee. The shift from pining to dating had happened quickly, and you could see how it had brought a new glow to her usually calm demeanor.

“So, how’s it going with Minhee?” you asked one evening, after you both returned from your respective activities. You were sprawled on your bed, exhausted from another grueling fencing practice, while Chaehyun sat at her desk, typing away on her laptop.

Chaehyun paused, a shy smile spreading across her face. “It’s... really good. Better than I expected, actually. He’s so thoughtful, you know? And sweet. It’s nice.”

You couldn’t help but smile at her happiness. “I’m glad. You deserve someone who treats you well.”

“Thanks,” Chaehyun said, turning to face you. “We’re still figuring things out, but I like where it’s going. It’s just... new, you know?”

You nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. “Yeah, new can be both exciting and terrifying.”

Chaehyun laughed softly. “Exactly. But I think it’s more exciting than terrifying right now.”

As Chaehyun’s relationship with Minhee deepened, you found yourself spending more late nights with the fencing team, the team growing stronger as you all pushed yourselves harder in preparation for the upcoming winter tournaments. Ryujin and Gaeul were a constant presence and the three of you formed a tight-knit unit on and off the piste.

“Are we fencing or just trying to survive winter at this point?” Ryujin joked one evening, her breath visible in the frigid air of the training facility.

“Both, probably,” Gaeul replied, stretching her arms.

You smiled at their banter, feeling a sense of belonging that you hadn’t expected when you first joined the team. The late-night practices were grueling, but they were also a refuge—a place where the stress of school and work melted away, leaving only the focus and adrenaline of the sport you loved.

And then, there was Heeseung.

Since that conversation at the party, Heeseung had become a regular fixture in your life, though in subtle ways. He continued to visit the coffee shop, usually in the afternoons when the rush had died down, and you found yourself looking forward to those moments more than you wanted to admit.

Each time he came in, you exchanged a few more words, small talk that gradually grew into something more substantial. He teased you occasionally about your drunken confidence at the party, but it was always in good humor, and you found yourself warming to his quiet, steady presence.

“You should try the caramel macchiato next,” you suggested one day, after he’d ordered his usual cappuccino.

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Is this you branching out from straight-up coffee recommendations?”

“Maybe,” you replied, leaning on the counter. “Or maybe I’m just trying to expand your horizons.”

Heeseung chuckled. “Alright, I’ll give it a shot next time. I trust your judgment.”

Outside the coffee shop, you occasionally saw him around campus, usually in the library or at the student center, often with his notebook in hand. He was always absorbed in his work, but he never seemed too busy to stop and chat if you crossed paths. You learned that he was a journalism major, passionate about uncovering stories that others might overlook. His feature on the fencing team was still in the works, and every so often, he’d ask you a question or two about your experiences.

“You mentioned you started fencing in elementary school,” Heeseung said one afternoon as you handed him his coffee. “What got you into it?”

You hesitated for a moment, considering how much to share. “It was kind of random, actually. I saw a demo at a school fair and thought it looked interesting. I liked the idea of a sport that was both physical and strategic, or maybe I just liked the pointy swords back then. But once I started, I just… got hooked.”

Heeseung nodded, jotting something down in his notebook. “It makes sense. Fencing isn’t just about brute strength—it’s about thinking ahead, reading your opponent. It suits you.”

You blinked, taken aback by the insight. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” Heeseung said, glancing up at you with a small smile. “You’ve got that kind of focus—like you’re always considering your next move.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you just nodded, a bit flustered by the compliment. It wasn’t often that someone saw you that way, and it left you feeling both exposed and strangely validated.

As the weeks wore on, winter crept closer, bringing with it a sense of both urgency and anticipation. The days grew shorter, the cold biting deeper, but there was also a certain excitement in the air—an awareness that something was building, both in your life and in the lives of those around you.

Chaehyun and Minhee’s relationship was growing stronger, the fencing team was gearing up for the winter season, and your literature project with Taehyun was nearing completion, the two of you finally starting to make sense of the novel’s tangled themes.

And Heeseung as present as ever, whose stance in your life continued to grow, even if it was still undefined.

As you stood in the coffee shop one late afternoon, watching the first snowflakes of the season drift down outside, you couldn’t help but wonder where all these pieces would lead. Winter was here, and with it came the promise of change—of challenges and new beginnings, of stories waiting to be written.

The gymnasium buzzed with the collective energy of two rival teams and their supporters. The cold winter air outside contrasted sharply with the warmth inside, where anticipation hung thick. Your breath was steady, your mind focused, but you could still feel the nervous excitement humming through your veins as you tightened the grip on your saber. This was your second big match of the season, and after the hard-earned victory last time, expectations were high.

Your team was up against another strong school, but this time, things felt different. Your preparation had been intense, the extra hours you spent with Ryujin and Gaeul paying off in how smoothly you moved together on the piste. There was no hesitation in your movements, no second-guessing your strategy. Everything you’d worked for was about to be tested again.

The first part of the match was a group event, just like last time. You, Ryujin, and Gaeul faced off against your opponents with a renewed confidence. The cheers from your side of the bleachers spurred you on, each point won driving you to push harder. Chaehyun’s voice was unmistakable, rising above the crowd with her usual enthusiastic support, while you could also make out Taehyun, MInhee, Jay, and Chaeyoung joining in.

By the end of the group match, your team was ahead by a comfortable margin. The final score was a significant improvement from the previous match, a reflection of your team’s growing synergy. As the referee announced your victory, a wave of elation swept through you, a mixture of relief and pride. You and your teammates exchanged high-fives, grinning from ear to ear.

“That was amazing!” Ryujin said, her voice slightly breathless as she unhooked her mask. “We were on fire today!”

Gaeul nodded, her face flushed with the exertion and excitement. “It’s like everything just clicked. We’ll be the same for the individuals.”

You smiled, feeling the truth of their words. The victory felt earned, the product of your collective effort. But there was still the individual match to go.

As the team celebrations began to wind down, you prepared for your own one-on-one bout. This time, you were facing a different opponent—a girl with a reputation for being quick and aggressive on the piste. The kind of challenge you thrived on.

The individual match was intense, every move calculated, every strike measured. But you held your ground, matching her pace, anticipating her next move. You could feel the rhythm of the fight, the give and take, the way you both adapted to each other’s style. And then, in a final, decisive moment, you scored the winning touch.

The crowd erupted into applause as you removed your mask, the rush of victory coursing through you. Your teammates were the first to greet you as you stepped off the piste, their congratulations adding to the euphoria of the moment.

“Yes!” Ryujin exclaimed, clapping you on the back.

“Great job, Y/N!” Gaeul added, her smile wide. Both girls had also won their individual matches making your school shoot up the ranks.

You basked in the team for a moment, letting the energy of the win wash over you. But out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Heeseung standing on the sidelines, his notebook in hand, his gaze fixed on you with a mix of interest and something else you couldn’t quite place.

He hadn’t been as close to the action as your friends, but he’d clearly been watching. After a moment, he started making his way toward you, weaving through the small crowd of spectators and teammates.

“Hey,” Heeseung said as he approached, his voice carrying over the noise of the gym. “That was a great match. Congrats, you deserve it.”

“Thanks,” you replied, still catching your breath. “It was intense, but I’m glad it went well.”

Heeseung nodded, his usual reserved smile in place. “If you’ve got a few minutes, I was hoping we could do that interview now—if you’re up for it.”

You hesitated, still riding the high of the win, but you knew this was something you’d been expecting. And honestly, you were curious about what questions he had lined up for you. “Sure, let’s do it.”

Heeseung led you to a quieter corner of the gym, away from the noise of the celebrations. You both settled down on a bench, the sounds of the ongoing matches and distant chatter forming a muted backdrop.

He flipped open his notebook, his pen poised, and gave you a reassuring look. “Don’t worry, this won’t be too formal. Just a few questions about the match and your experience so far.”

You nodded, already feeling more at ease. “Okay, shoot.”

Heeseung, after asking for permission, opened up his phone to record, stating his name and year, “This is Lee Heeseung, sophomore journalism major interviewing freshman L/N F/N, sports sciences major on the fencing team.” His first few questions were straightforward, focusing on the match itself—your thoughts going into it, how you prepared, and how you felt about the win. You answered easily, the details of the match still fresh in your mind.

Then he shifted gears. “So, Y/N, you’ve been balancing fencing with school and work. That’s a lot on your plate. How do you manage it all?”

You thought about it for a moment, considering how to articulate what often felt like a delicate juggling act. “It’s definitely not easy. There are days when it feels like too much, but I guess it’s all about priorities. Fencing is something I’m passionate about, so even when it gets tough, I remind myself why I’m doing it. And with school, it’s about time management. The job is a necessity, but I’ve found a rhythm that works for me.”

Heeseung nodded as he scribbled down your response, his expression thoughtful. “It sounds like you’ve found a balance, even if it’s not perfect. Do you ever feel like you’re missing out on other parts of college life because of it?”

You smiled wryly, recognizing the truth in his question. “Yeah, sometimes. I mean, I don’t get to go to as many parties or hang out as much as some of my friends do. But I’m okay with that. I’ve met some great people through fencing and work, and they make it worth it.”

Heeseung looked up from his notebook, meeting your eyes with a curious gaze. “Do you think fencing has changed you? Like, in terms of how you see yourself or how you handle things?”

The question caught you off guard, making you pause. “Yeah, I think it has,” you said slowly, choosing your words carefully. “Fencing’s taught me a lot about discipline and patience. It’s also made me more resilient. When you’re out there on the piste, it’s just you and your opponent, and you have to trust in your own abilities. That confidence carries over into other areas of my life.”

Heeseung’s pen scratched across the paper as he took down your words, nodding slightly as he wrote. When he finished, he looked back at you with a small, approving smile. “That was great, Y/N. You’re a natural. I might have to steal you for these more often.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, the kind of affirmation that felt both surprising and welcome. “Thanks, Heeseung. I appreciate that.”

He closed his notebook, signaling the end of the interview. “I think I’ve got everything I need for now. I’ll probably follow up with you later, once I start putting the article together.”

“Sure, anytime,” you said, standing up from the bench as he did the same.

As you walked back toward the main area of the gym, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. The match had gone well, and now you’d gotten through the interview, which, instead of being daunting, had felt more like a conversation with someone who genuinely wanted to understand your perspective.

Before you could say anything more, Heeseung spoke up. “By the way, I’m really looking forward to writing this piece. It’s been my favorite for the semester. I think it’s going to turn out well.”

You smiled, feeling a sense of anticipation mixed with curiosity. “I’m looking forward to reading it.”

With that, Heeseung gave you a small wave and headed off, likely to interview some of your teammates. You watched him go, feeling a strange mix of emotions—pride from the match, a sense of accomplishment from the interview, and something else, something unspoken, that lingered in the air between you.

As the day’s events began to wind down, you rejoined your friends, who were still celebrating the win. But even as you laughed and joked with them, your mind kept drifting back to that quiet corner of the gym, where Heeseung had asked you questions that made you think about yourself in ways you hadn’t before.

Winter was settling in, but for the first time in a while, you felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature outside. It was a warmth born from connection—both with your teammates and, increasingly, with the boy who was slowly becoming a regular part of your world.

The semester drew to a close like the final chapter of a long, exhausting novel. You could practically feel the collective sigh of relief that swept through campus as students completed their last exams and handed in their final projects. The late nights spent pouring over textbooks and notes, the endless hours in the library, and the nerve-wracking presentations were all behind you now. You’d managed to finish your literature project with Taehyun, and the fencing season had temporarily wound down, giving you a much-needed break.

With the academic pressures lifting, you found yourself with some rare free time. But rather than taking it easy, you decided to make the most of the lull by picking up extra shifts at the café. It was a chance to earn some money and keep yourself busy. The rhythm of work was comforting, almost meditative. The familiar sounds of the espresso machine, the chatter of customers, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee became the backdrop to your days.

One afternoon, as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue across the café, Heeseung walked in. He had become a more regular presence in your life, not just as the guy who showed up at the café but as someone who seemed to understand the balancing act you were constantly performing. Today, though, there was something different in his expression—a hint of concern.

He approached the counter, a small smile playing on his lips. “Hey, Y/N. How’s it going?”

You returned the smile, wiping your hands on a towel before turning your full attention to him. “Hey, Heeseung. It’s going. The semester’s finally over, so that’s a relief.”

He nodded, his eyes scanning your face as if he was searching for something. “Yeah, I can imagine. But shouldn’t you be relaxing now? You’ve been working pretty hard all semester.”

You shrugged, a light laugh escaping you. “Maybe, but I’d rather keep busy. Plus, I could use the extra cash.”

Heeseung’s brow furrowed slightly as he leaned against the counter. “You know, there’s such a thing as overworking yourself. It’s okay to take a break, especially after everything you’ve been through with school and fencing.”

His words were gentle, but they hit a bit too close to home. You’d been running on adrenaline for so long that the idea of slowing down felt foreign, almost uncomfortable. “I guess,” you said, brushing off the concern with a casual tone. “But I’m fine, really. I’ve got a rhythm, and it works for me.”

Heeseung didn’t push further, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t entirely convinced. Still, he let it go, changing the subject to lighter topics. The two of you chatted about the latest campus gossip, upcoming holiday plans, and the unusually mild winter weather. The conversation flowed easily, as it always did with Heeseung.

As the afternoon stretched on, the café began to empty out, leaving just a few lingering customers. You noticed Heeseung glance at his watch a couple of times, and you wondered if he had somewhere else to be. But instead of leaving, he stayed, sipping on his coffee and occasionally jotting something down in his notebook.

Finally, as you were wiping down the counter, he spoke up again, his voice tinged with hesitation. “Hey, Y/N, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

You looked up, curious. “What’s up?”

Heeseung rubbed the back of his neck, a small, almost shy smile appearing on his face. “So, a few of my friends and I are going out to dinner tomorrow night. Just a small thing to celebrate the end of the semester, and an excuse to drink of course. I was wondering if you’d like to come? I mean, if I can drag you away from this place.”

The question caught you off guard, but in a good way. You hadn’t expected an invitation, especially from someone like Heeseung, who seemed so composed and focused. “Oh,” you said, taking a moment to process. “Who else is going?”

“Sunghoon, Jake, and Jay,” he replied, listing off the names with ease. “You know Jay, right? He mentioned you guys have mutual friends.”

You nodded, recognizing the names. Sunghoon and Jake were familiar faces, mostly through Jay, though you hadn’t spent much time with them. Still, the idea of a night out with them sounded appealing, especially after the stress of the last few weeks.

“I’d love to,” you said, feeling a flutter of excitement mixed with nerves. “Thanks for inviting me.”

Heeseung’s smile widened, the hesitation in his demeanor dissolving into something warmer, more relaxed. “Great. We’re meeting at 7:00, at that new Korean barbecue place near campus. I’ll text you the details.”

“Perfect,” you said, returning his smile. “I’ll see you there.”

As Heeseung gathered his things and left the café, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of anticipation. It wasn’t just the idea of dinner with new people; it was the prospect of spending more time with Heeseung, of seeing him outside the usual confines of the café and campus. There was something about him that intrigued you, something that made you want to know more.

Later that evening, as you closed up the café, your mind drifted back to the conversation. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were allowing yourself to look forward to something that wasn’t related to school or fencing. The semester was over, the projects were wrapped up, and for a brief moment, you had a chance to just be.

The evening air was crisp, the winter chill biting gently at your cheeks as you stepped out of your dorm. You wrapped your scarf a little tighter around your neck, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling up inside you. It wasn’t often that you went out like this, especially with people you didn’t know well, but the prospect of spending time with Heeseung and meeting his friends felt like a welcome change.

You had taken your time getting ready, opting for something that struck a balance between casual and put-together—a simple sweater and jeans, paired with your favorite boots. Nothing too fancy, but enough to make you feel confident. As you walked toward the restaurant, your breath puffing out in small clouds, you couldn’t help but think about how different tonight felt from your usual routine.

The Korean barbecue place was bustling when you arrived, the warm glow of the interior lights spilling out onto the street. You spotted Heeseung immediately; he was waiting just outside the door, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. When he saw you approaching, a smile spread across his face, but there was something else there too—a hint of nervousness you hadn’t seen before.

“Hey,” he greeted you, his voice warm as he stepped closer. “You made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you replied, smiling back at him. “Are your friends here?”

Heeseung nodded, gesturing toward the door. “Yeah, they’re inside. I wanted to wait for you, though.”

His words made your heart flutter just a little, and you couldn’t help but notice how he held the door open for you, waiting for you to step in before following. It was a small gesture, but one that spoke volumes about his character.

Inside, the restaurant was lively, the sound of sizzling meat and laughter filling the air. The warmth of the room was a welcome contrast to the cold outside, and as you followed Heeseung to the table, you took in the scene around you. Sunghoon, Jake, and Jay were already seated, chatting casually as they waited.

Jay spotted you first, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Y/N, finally! We were starting to think Heeseung got lost on the way.”

You laughed, sliding into the seat next to Heeseung while Jay winked at you from across the table. “Not lost, just taking my time.”

“Good to see you again,” Jake said, his voice sweet and bubbly, as if the weight of the world had never touched him. He raised his glass in greeting. “Welcome to the party.”

Sunghoon, on the other hand, was more reserved. He offered you a polite nod, his expression guarded, though not unfriendly. You noticed that while he wasn’t as outgoing as the others, he had a quiet presence. He seemed content to let the others lead the conversation, though you caught him glancing at you a few times, as if he was trying to gauge what kind of person you were.

The first round of food arrived quickly, and the table was soon filled with the savory aroma of grilling meat and a variety of side dishes. Conversation flowed easily as everyone started eating, with Jay taking the lead, as usual, cracking jokes and keeping the mood light. Jake was quick to join in, his laughter infectious and genuine. Sunghoon remained mostly quiet, focusing on his food, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanor as the evening progressed. The alcohol, as it often did, seemed to loosen him up a bit, and he began to engage more with the group, his responses still measured but less reserved.

“So, Y/N,” Jake said at one point, leaning forward slightly, his eyes bright with curiosity. “Heeseung mentioned you’re on the fencing team. How’s that going?”

You paused, glancing at Heeseung, who was watching you with that same soft smile. “It’s been good. We had a couple of big matches recently, and the team’s been doing well. It’s a lot of work, but I love it.”

Jake nodded enthusiastically. “That’s awesome! I’ve always thought fencing seemed really cool. And tough. I can barely keep up with regular exercise, let alone something like that.”

You laughed, appreciating his genuine interest. “It definitely has its challenges, but it’s worth it. Keeps me busy, that’s for sure.”

As the evening wore on, you found yourself relaxing more, enjoying the company and the atmosphere. Jay and Jake kept the conversation lively, and even Sunghoon began to open up more, sharing a few dry, witty remarks that made everyone laugh. You could tell that he had a different sense of humor, one that was more subtle and quiet, but just as sharp.

Heeseung, meanwhile, seemed a bit more reserved than usual, though he was always attentive to you. He made sure you had enough to eat, refilling your glass when it was low, and asking if you were comfortable. There was a certain gentleness in his actions, a thoughtfulness that didn’t go unnoticed.

At one point, as you were reaching for a piece of meat, your hand brushed against his. Heeseung froze for a second, then quickly pulled back, his cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of pink. You glanced at him, amused by his reaction.

“Are you always this gentlemanly?” you teased, keeping your tone light.

Heeseung chuckled, though his eyes didn’t quite meet yours. “Only when it’s deserved,” he said quietly, his voice sincere.

You felt your heart skip a beat at his words, and for a moment, the noise of the restaurant seemed to fade into the background. There was something about Heeseung that drew you in, something that made you want to know him better, beyond the casual interactions at the café.

The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable blur, the food and conversation blending together in a way that made time slip by unnoticed. By the time you all decided to call it a night, the restaurant had quieted down, the tables around you mostly empty.

As you all stood up to leave, Jay clapped Heeseung on the back, a mischievous grin on his face. “See? I told you she’d fit right in.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, his expression softening as he looked at you. “I’m glad you came, Y/N. It was fun.”

“Me too,” you replied, genuinely meaning it. “Thanks for inviting me.”

The group stepped out into the cold night, the breath of winter once again wrapping around you. You shivered slightly, pulling your scarf tighter, and noticed that Heeseung glanced at you, concern flashing briefly in his eyes.

“Do you want to walk back together?” he offered, his voice quiet but sincere.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his offer chase away the chill. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

And so, as the others went their separate ways, you and Heeseung started the walk back to campus. The streets were quiet, the city settling into its late-night rhythm. The conversation between you was unhurried, comfortable, as you talked about everything and nothing.

When you finally reached your building, you paused at the entrance, turning to face him. Heeseung smiled at you, his hands still tucked into his pockets, and for a moment, you hesitated, not wanting the night to end just yet. The thought of going back to your empty dorm, now that Chaehyun had gone home for break, felt a little too lonely.

“Heeseung,” you started, the words coming out a bit more hesitant than you intended, “would you like to come in? I mean, if you’re not in a rush to go anywhere.”

He blinked, clearly surprised by the offer, but his expression quickly softened into a warm smile. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You both headed inside, the warmth of the building a welcome contrast to the chill outside. As you made your way up to your floor, the quiet between you shifted slightly, a subtle tension building, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was more like the anticipation of something unspoken, something waiting just beneath the surface.

When you reached your door, you fumbled a bit with the keys, your nerves suddenly getting the better of you. But Heeseung was patient, standing close enough that you could feel the heat of him, though he kept a respectful distance.

Finally, you managed to unlock the door and pushed it open, stepping inside. The dorm was just as you’d left it, neat and tidy, but the absence of Chaehyun’s usual clutter made it feel strangely empty. You glanced around, suddenly aware of how quiet it was without your roommate’s presence.

“Make yourself at home,” you said, gesturing for Heeseung to follow you in. He nodded, closing the door behind him as you kicked off your shoes and made your way to the small seating area by the window.

Heeseung settled onto the couch, his movements a bit more cautious than usual, as if he was still getting used to being in this more intimate setting. You sat down next to him, the space between you smaller than it had been at the restaurant. The proximity made your heart beat a little faster, the atmosphere between you charged with something unspoken.

“So,” Heeseung began, his voice softer now that you were indoors, “how does it feel to have the place to yourself?”

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light. “It’s nice, I guess. But it’s also kind of weird. I’m used to having Chaehyun around, you know?”

Heeseung nodded, his gaze drifting around the room before landing back on you. “I get that. It’s different when it’s just you.”

There was something in the way he said it, an understanding that made you feel less self-conscious about your earlier hesitation. You smiled, appreciating his ability to put you at ease, even in moments like this.

The conversation flowed easily after that, drifting from one topic to another as the night deepened. You talked about the upcoming break, your plans—or lack thereof—and shared stories about school and fencing. Heeseung listened intently, occasionally adding his own thoughts, but mostly, he seemed content to just be there with you.

At some point, without either of you really noticing, the distance between you grew smaller. You were sitting closer now, your legs almost touching, and the subtle brush of his shoulder against yours sent a warmth spreading through you.

The conversation began to slow, words trailing off as the comfortable silence returned. You could feel the tension building again, but this time, it wasn’t just anticipation. It was something more tangible, something that made your heart race and your thoughts scatter.

You turned to look at Heeseung, finding him already watching you. His expression was unreadable, his eyes searching yours as if he was trying to figure out what you were thinking. You swallowed, suddenly nervous, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you leaned in slightly, your gaze flickering to his lips, then back to his eyes.

Heeseung hesitated for a fraction of a second, but then he leaned in too, his breath warm against your skin as he closed the distance. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if both of you were testing the waters. But when you didn’t pull away, Heeseung’s hand gently cupped your face, deepening the kiss just a little, the warmth between you growing.

You kissed him back, your own hand finding its way to his arm, holding on as if to ground yourself in the moment. The feeling of his lips against yours, the closeness of him, sent a rush of emotions through you—nervousness, excitement, something that felt a lot like relief.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathing a little heavier, the air between you charged with something new. Heeseung’s eyes were bright, a small, slightly bashful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Sorry,” he murmured, though the apology seemed more out of habit than necessity. “I didn’t mean to...”

“Don’t apologize,” you interrupted, your own smile matching his. “I’m glad you did.”

His smile widened, the tension in his shoulders easing as he relaxed back into the couch. You stayed close, the earlier nervousness fading into a quiet contentment. Neither of you felt the need to fill the silence with more words; the kiss had said enough.

The two of you spent the rest of the evening in the soft glow of the dorm lights, your conversations quieter now, punctuated by the occasional shared glance or gentle touch. It was as if the kiss had opened a door, and now you were both stepping through it, unsure of what lay ahead but willing to find out together.

When it was finally time for Heeseung to leave, he did so reluctantly, his hand lingering on yours for just a moment longer. As he stepped out into the cold night, you stood at the door, watching him go, a warmth spreading through you.

You closed the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment, a smile tugging at your lips. The night had turned out to be something entirely unexpected, something that you hadn’t planned for but were glad had happened.

And as you got ready for bed, the memory of the kiss still fresh in your mind, you couldn’t help but wish he had stayed and was now occupying the empty spot in the bed beside you.

Winter break passed in a blur of quiet days and familiar routines. You spent the first few days at home, the warmth of your family’s company wrapping around you like a comfortable blanket. The weather was cold, snow lightly dusting the streets, but inside, your home was filled with the smell of home-cooked meals, the sound of laughter, and the comforting presence of those you loved.

Your parents were happy to have you back, asking about school, your friends, and the fencing team. They seemed proud of everything you had accomplished so far, though they didn’t press too much about your social life, content with the knowledge that you were managing well on your own. Your siblings, were also a constant source of joy and sometimes annoyance, as they teased you about how serious you seemed whenever they caught you daydreaming.

But no matter how comforting home was, there was a part of you that couldn’t stop thinking about what—or rather, who—you had left behind at school. The memory of the kiss you shared with Heeseung lingered at the edges of your thoughts, no matter how hard you tried to push it away. Every time your mind wandered, it found its way back to that quiet evening in your dorm, the warmth of his hand against your cheek, the softness of his lips.

Heeseung had texted you a few times over the break, nothing serious—just a funny anecdote here, a quick check-in there. His messages were casual, light-hearted, but you could feel the underlying tension in every word. It was as if both of you were tiptoeing around something unspoken, neither of you willing to be the first to bring it up.

The days slipped by in a comfortable rhythm—family dinners, catching up with old friends, cozying up with a book or a movie during the long winter nights. But no matter what you were doing, you couldn’t shake the knowledge that something had shifted, something that would need to be addressed once you returned to campus.

When the break finally came to an end, you packed your bags with a strange mix of excitement and apprehension. As much as you loved being home, there was a part of you that was eager to get back to school, back to your friends, back to the routine you had grown accustomed to. And, of course, back to Heeseung.

The campus felt different when you returned. The cold air was biting, the trees bare, and a layer of snow covered the ground. The holiday decorations were gone, replaced by the stark reality of winter. But there was also a sense of renewal in the air, as students filtered back in, ready for the new semester.

You settled back into your dorm, the familiar space welcoming you with its warmth. Chaehyun, who had returned a day earlier, greeted you with a hug, already bubbling over with stories about her break and her budding relationship with Minhee. The two of you spent the evening catching up, and although it felt good to be back with your roommate, there was still something very large and growing weighing on your mind.

The next day, you returned to your usual yet slightly new routine—classes, work at the café, and practice with the fencing team. Everything seemed the same, yet there was an undercurrent of something different. You saw your friends—Taehyun, Kai, Jay, and Chaeyoung—falling back into the old rhythms as if nothing had changed. Though Jay seemed to somehow knowingly keep asking her if she had seen Heeseung since her return to campus.

You didn’t see him immediately after your return, but you knew it was only a matter of time before your paths crossed. The thought made your stomach twist with a mix of anticipation and nerves. How would he act? Would things be awkward between you now, after what had happened? Or would everything go back to normal, as if that night in your dorm had never occurred?

The first time you saw him again was at the café, during one of your shifts. He walked in, just like he always did, his expression relaxed, though his eyes were searching, scanning the room until they landed on you. The moment your gazes met, something tightened in your chest, and you had to remind yourself to breathe.

“Hey,” Heeseung greeted you when he reached the counter, his voice as calm and collected as ever. But there was something in his eyes, a flicker of uncertainty that mirrored your own feelings.

“Hey,” you replied, managing a smile despite the knot in your stomach. “Back at it, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding as he glanced around the café. “I guess we all are.”

The exchange was simple, casual, the way it had always been. But beneath the surface, there was something else—an unspoken question that neither of you seemed ready to address.

As you made his usual order, you couldn’t help but wonder how things had gotten so complicated. One kiss, and now everything felt different. But different didn’t necessarily mean bad, and you had to remind yourself of that.

Heeseung took his drink with a small smile, his fingers brushing against yours for just a moment. The contact sent a jolt through you, and you quickly pulled your hand back, your cheeks warming despite the cold weather outside.

“I’ll see you around,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant.

“Yeah,” you replied, your own voice a little unsteady. “See you.”

He left the café, and you watched him go, your heart beating faster than it should have. The tension between you was thick, and it was clear that the kiss had changed things. But what that change meant, neither of you seemed ready to confront just yet.

The weeks that followed were a blur of activity—catching up on coursework, preparing for the upcoming fencing matches, late nights spent with your friends, and hours at the café. Your days were full, your schedule hectic, but through it all, your thoughts kept returning to Heeseung. You saw him often, both at the café and around campus, and every time, the same tension lingered between you.

There were moments when you almost brought it up, when the words were on the tip of your tongue, but each time, you hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. And Heeseung, for all his calmness, seemed to be in the same boat. The casual texts continued, the friendly exchanges at the café, but the subject of that night was never touched.

Instead, the two of you danced around it, waiting for the right moment to address the elephant in the room. But with each passing day, the tension only grew, the anticipation of what was to come hanging over you like a shadow.

Winter began to disappear, the days becoming longer and warming with the promise of spring around the corner. The campus was quiet, the energy of the new semester giving way to the steady grind of classes, assignments, and practices. You threw yourself into your work, into fencing, into anything that could distract you from the unresolved feelings swirling inside you.

But no matter how busy you kept yourself, the thoughts of Heeseung remained, a constant presence in the back of your mind. And with each encounter, each brief exchange, the tension between you became harder to ignore.

You knew that eventually, something would have to give, that the two of you would need to talk about what had happened. But for now, you kept it at bay, letting the weeks pass by in a blur, holding on to the hope that when the time came, you would both be ready to face whatever it was that lay ahead.

The cafeteria buzzed with the usual lunchtime energy, the clatter of trays and the hum of conversations filling the air as you made your way to the table where Chaeyoung and Jay were already seated. You spotted them easily—Jay’s animated gestures and Chaeyoung’s bright laughter were hard to miss in the crowd.

As you approached, Jay waved you over with a grin. “Y/N, over here!”

You smiled, sliding into the seat across from them. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Not much,” Chaeyoung replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just trying to convince Jay that he can’t live off ramen alone.”

Jay rolled his eyes, dramatically shoving a forkful of salad into his mouth. “You sound like my mom.”

The three of you laughed, the easy banter a welcome break from the usual stress of classes and fencing practice. As you dug into your food, you noticed Jay giving Chaeyoung a subtle nudge, his eyes flicking toward the entrance.

You turned to see what had caught their attention, and your heart skipped a beat when you spotted Heeseung walking toward your table. He was carrying a tray, his expression as casual as ever, but there was a slight uncertainty in his eyes, as if he wasn’t sure if he was intruding.

“Heeseung!” Jay called out, waving him over. “Join us!”

Heeseung’s gaze met yours, and he smiled, the uncertainty in his eyes fading as he approached. “Hey,” he greeted, setting his tray down beside yours. “Mind if I sit here?”

“Not at all,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “The more, the merrier.”

As Heeseung settled in beside you, Jay and Chaeyoung exchanged a quick glance, their expressions unreadable but not entirely innocent. You had a feeling they were up to something, but before you could question them, Jay spoke up.

“So, Heeseung,” Jay began, leaning forward slightly, “did Y/N tell you about her birthday this weekend?”

Your eyes widened, a mix of surprise and mild horror flashing through you. “Jay!”

“What?” Jay said, feigning innocence, though the glint in his eye betrayed him. “It’s a big deal, you know.”

Heeseung turned to you, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “It’s your birthday this weekend?”

You sighed, shooting Jay a mock glare before nodding. “Yeah, it is. But it’s not a big deal or anything.”

“Not a big deal?” Chaeyoung scoffed, shaking her head. “It’s a huge deal. We’re throwing you a party, whether you like it or not.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gave away your true feelings. “Okay, okay, fine. But don’t make it sound like some grand event.”

Jay grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Too late.”

Heeseung chuckled, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “A party, huh? Sounds like fun.”

There was a moment of hesitation before you spoke, a slight nervousness in your chest as you glanced at him. “You should come. If you’re not busy, I mean.”

Heeseung’s smile widened, the invitation clearly catching him off guard in the best way. “I’d love to. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Great!” Chaeyoung said, clapping her hands together. “It’s going to be so much fun. We’ll have food, drinks, music—the whole shebang.”

Jay leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a satisfied grin. “And now that Heeseung’s coming, it’s officially a party.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the earlier tension melting away as the conversation shifted back to more mundane topics. Despite Jay’s “accidental” reveal, you found yourself looking forward to the weekend more than you had expected.

As lunch went on, you noticed how easily Heeseung fit in with your friends. He was still a bit more reserved than Jay and Chaeyoung, but he joined in on the jokes, adding his own dry humor to the mix. And every now and then, you’d catch him glancing at you, a soft smile on his lips that made your heart flutter.

When lunch ended, and you all went your separate ways, Heeseung walked with you toward your next class. The conversation between you was light, but there was an underlying warmth that hadn’t been there before—a new level of comfort that you hadn’t realized you’d reached.

As you parted ways, Heeseung gave you a small wave, his smile lingering as he turned to head to his class. You watched him go, a strange mix of anticipation and nervousness bubbling up inside you. The thought of spending more time with him, of having him at your party, filled you with a sense of excitement you hadn’t expected.

The night of your birthday party at Ryujin’s off-campus apartment started with a mix of excitement and anticipation. Ryujin had outdone herself, turning the place into a cozy, festive spot perfect for a low-key celebration. Streamers hung from the ceiling, and fairy lights twinkled against the walls. The living room buzzed with the energy of your friends, some of whom you saw regularly, while others were more like friendly acquaintances. Everyone was in high spirits, eager to celebrate.

You moved through the room, a drink in hand, exchanging smiles and hugs. Gaeul, your teammate, had handed you a brightly colored drink that tasted suspiciously like it had more alcohol than fruit juice, and she watched with a grin as you took a sip.

"Careful with that one," she warned, winking. "It might knock you out before the night even starts."

You laughed, setting the drink down on a nearby table. "I’ll keep that in mind."

Chaehyun, your roommate, was nearby, introducing you to a couple of her friends from class, Chaeryeong and Yunjin. They were friendly and already deep in conversation with Kai and Minhee. It felt nice to have everyone together, the lines between different friend groups blurring as the night went on.

Jay, who had arrived early to help set up, was making his way through the crowd, chatting up anyone who would listen to his latest story. You caught his eye, and he grinned, making a beeline for you.

"Having fun, birthday girl?" he asked, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

"So far, so good," you replied, smiling up at him. "Thanks for helping with all this."

"Anything for you," Jay said with a wink, though his attention quickly shifted as he spotted someone new entering the room. "Oh, look who finally decided to show up!"

You followed his gaze and felt your heart skip a beat. Heeseung had just walked in, looking slightly flustered as he scanned the room. When his eyes landed on you, a small smile tugged at his lips, and he made his way over.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” Heeseung said, holding out a small, neatly wrapped gift.

“Thanks, Heeseung,” you said, accepting the gift with a grin. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

He shrugged, his smile easy. “It’s nothing big. Just thought you might like it.”

Before you could respond, Jay interrupted, nudging you both. “We’re about to start a game. You two in?”

“What kind of game?” Heeseung asked, his eyes narrowing with playful suspicion.

Jay’s grin was almost wicked. “Oh, just a little something to spice up the night. ‘Never Have I Ever,’ but with a twist.”

Heeseung looked at you, one eyebrow raised. “What’s the twist?”

“If you’ve done something, you take a shot,” Jay explained, his grin widening. “But if you haven’t, you have to answer a truth question. No dodging, no skipping turns.”

You exchanged a glance with Heeseung, who looked amused but not entirely convinced. “Sure, why not?” you said, giving Jay a challenging look. “This should be fun.”

Heeseung chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright, I’m in.”

Ryujin and the others had already started pulling chairs into a circle, setting out shots of soju. You and Heeseung found seats next to each other, with Jay taking the spot directly across from you, a mischievous glint in his eye.

The game started off relatively tame, with questions about skipping class and sneaking into movies. A few rounds in, and everyone was laughing, swapping stories of their more rebellious moments. You noticed Heeseung hadn’t taken a shot yet, answering truth questions with a cool demeanor that only made you more curious about him.

Then it was Jay’s turn again, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head. “Alright, let’s see… Never have I ever… skipped class to go on a date.”

A murmur of interest went around the circle. You glanced at Heeseung out of the corner of your eye, but to your surprise, he didn’t reach for his drink. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, looking almost smug.

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? Not even once?”

Heeseung shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Nope. But feel free to ask your truth question.”

Jay’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I’ve got a good one. What’s the most ridiculous reason you’ve ever skipped class?”

Heeseung thought for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “Well, there was that time I skipped because I was trying to catch this rare Pokémon that only appeared on campus at a certain time.”

The room erupted into laughter, and you couldn’t help but join in. “You’re kidding,” you said, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. You hadn’t clocked him of being a dork under his cool and mysterious exterior.

Heeseung shrugged, a little sheepish. “Hey, it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance.”

Jay was practically cackling at this point. “And did you catch it?”

Heeseung nodded, deadpan. “Yes, I did. Worth every missed lecture.”

The game continued, with the questions growing more and more outrageous. Chaehyun ended up confessing to a particularly embarrassing childhood crush, while Kai revealed that he’d once tried—and failed—to pull off a heist involving the school cafeteria’s dessert stash.

The night was filled with laughter and teasing, and it wasn’t long before everyone was a little tipsy. At one point, Ryujin suggested they switch to a different game, but you noticed Heeseung was looking a bit out of place, like he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the increasingly bold questions.

Sensing an opportunity, you leaned over and whispered, “Wanna get some fresh air?”

Heeseung looked relieved and nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

You stood up, motioning for Jay to keep things going without you. He gave you a knowing look but didn’t say anything, just raised his glass in a silent toast. You rolled your eyes at him before leading Heeseung out onto the balcony.

The cool night air was a welcome change from the warmth inside. The city lights twinkled in the distance, and the noise of the party was muffled out here, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of relative quiet.

“This is nice,” Heeseung said, leaning against the railing. “Thanks for the escape.”

“Anytime,” you replied, leaning next to him. “I figured you might want a break from Jay’s interrogation.”

Heeseung chuckled. “He’s something else, isn’t he?”

You nodded, looking out at the city. “He means well, though. Just likes to stir the pot.”

There was a comfortable silence for a moment, the kind where neither of you felt the need to fill it with words. You glanced at Heeseung, and he met your gaze, his expression thoughtful.

“You’re good at this,” he said softly, almost like he was thinking out loud.

“At what?” you asked, curious.

“Making people feel comfortable,” Heeseung replied, his voice warm. “It’s… nice.”

You felt a flutter in your chest at his words. “You’re pretty easy to talk to yourself, you know.”

Heeseung smiled, and for a moment, the distance between you seemed to shrink. You could feel the tension, the quiet pull of attraction that had been building over the past few weeks. Heeseung seemed to sense it too, his eyes flickering to your lips before he leaned in slightly, almost instinctively.

Just as you both started to close the distance, the door to the balcony burst open, and Jake stumbled out, laughing loudly at something from inside.

“Oh, sorry!” Jake said, not really sounding sorry at all. “Didn’t mean to interrupt!”

You and Heeseung quickly pulled back, both of you laughing awkwardly. Jake gave you a grin, completely oblivious to the moment he’d just ruined.

“Ryujin’s looking for you, Y/N,” Jake said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “Something about a cake?”

“Right, the cake,” you said, nodding. “Thanks, Jake.”

Heeseung gave you a small, understanding smile as you both turned to head back inside. The moment had passed, but the underlying connection was still there, unspoken but undeniable.

As you rejoined the party, Ryujin was indeed waiting for you with a cake in hand, everyone gathering around to sing happy birthday. The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter, drinks, and good-natured teasing, and though you and Heeseung didn’t get another moment alone, there was a new understanding between you, a shared secret that made the night feel just a little bit more special.

As the party wound down and people started to leave, Heeseung caught your eye one last time, giving you a small smile before he left with Jake and Sunghoon. You watched him go, feeling a mix of frustration and sadness about all of the unspoken and what could’ve been on the balcony just hours prior.

It started with the alarm that didn’t go off. The shrill beeping you depended on had decided to take a day off, and by the time you jolted awake, it was already half an hour later than you needed. Panic set in as you scrambled out of bed, tripping over the tangled mess of your sheets, and hurriedly throwing on whatever clothes you could find. Chaehyun was already gone, leaving you in the quiet chaos of your room, the day off to a rough start.

Fencing practice was the next disaster. You were already flustered by the time you arrived, barely on time, and it showed. Your footwork was sloppy, your attacks lacked precision, and the more frustrated you got, the worse it became. Ryujin noticed, of course—she always did.

“You’re out of sync today,” she said, her tone a mix of concern and criticism as she watched you flounder through another round.

“I know,” you muttered, teeth gritted as you tried to shake off the growing sense of defeat. But it was no use; nothing was going right. You kept messing up drills you’d mastered ages ago, each mistake a sharp sting of embarrassment. By the end of practice, you were practically shaking with frustration, and it took everything in you to hold back tears.

It wasn’t just fencing, though. Your grades, which you’d managed to keep steady despite your packed schedule, were starting to slip. The latest exam, one you thought you’d done reasonably well on, came back with a grade lower than you’d expected. The red ink on the paper felt like a slap in the face, the professor’s comments blurring as you stared at them, trying to make sense of where you went wrong. It was a blow to your confidence, and you felt the cracks in your carefully maintained composure widening.

Midterms loomed, casting a shadow over everything. The stress was building, a constant pressure in the back of your mind. You could feel the weight of it all, the expectation to perform well, to balance everything perfectly. But instead of rising to the challenge, you felt like you were barely holding on, the threads of your routine unraveling bit by bit.

Then came work. You were late, of course—stumbling through the door of the coffee shop a full fifteen minutes past your shift’s start time. Your boss, a stern woman with little patience for tardiness, was waiting for you behind the counter, arms crossed.

“Y/N, this is the third time this month,” she said, her voice clipped. “You can’t keep showing up late like this. We depend on you to be here on time.”

“I’m sorry,” you stammered, trying to keep the wobble out of your voice. “It won’t happen again.”

But she wasn’t in the mood for apologies. “It better not. We need reliability, Y/N. If you can’t manage your time, maybe you need to reconsider your hours.”

You nodded, biting your lip to keep the tears at bay. The scolding was just the cherry on top of an already terrible day, and you could feel yourself breaking down, the weight of everything crashing down on you at once. You threw yourself into your work, trying to distract yourself, but the knot in your chest only tightened as the minutes ticked by.

It was mid-afternoon when Heeseung walked in. He came in as he usually did, with that quiet, unassuming presence that made him easy to overlook—except you never overlooked him. Today, though, you barely registered his entrance. You were wiping down the counter, your eyes stinging with unshed tears, your thoughts a whirl of self-doubt and frustration.

You didn’t notice him until he was standing right in front of you, his usual order on the tip of his tongue. But when you looked up at him, the dam finally broke. The tears you’d been holding back all day spilled over, and you quickly turned away, hoping he hadn’t seen. 

“Y/N?” Heeseung’s voice was soft, concerned. He hesitated before speaking again. “Are you okay?”

It was such a simple question, but it was enough to undo you completely. You tried to brush it off, to muster some kind of excuse, but the words caught in your throat, choked by the sobs you were trying so desperately to suppress.

“Hey, hey,” Heeseung said, his voice full of concern now. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak. But Heeseung wasn’t deterred. He reached out, his hand gently touching your arm. The small gesture of kindness undid you completely.

“I’m just…” You managed to choke out the words between sobs. “It’s just been a really bad day.”

Heeseung’s brow furrowed with worry, and he glanced around the cafe. It was quiet, with only a couple of customers seated far from the counter starting to try and discreetly turn their heads to look at you. He took a deep breath, then leaned in closer.

“Let me take you for a quick walk,” he suggested. “You need a break.”

You hesitated, glancing toward the back room where your boss was probably busy. The thought of getting scolded again made you cringe, but Heeseung was already taking your hand, leading you out from behind the counter.

“Just for a minute,” he insisted, his tone leaving little room for argument.

The fresh air hit you like a slap, but it also helped clear your head a little. Heeseung guided you down the street, keeping a firm but gentle hold on your hand. He didn’t say anything at first, just let you cry, his presence steady and comforting.

When you finally managed to catch your breath, you wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, feeling embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess right now,” you muttered.

“Don’t be sorry,” Heeseung replied, his voice soft. “Everyone has bad days.”

You took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of his words. “It’s just… everything’s piling up. Fencing, school, work… I feel like I’m failing at all of it.”

Heeseung frowned, clearly troubled by your words. “You’re not failing. You’re just dealing with a lot right now.”

You tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. “I wish I felt that way.”

Heeseung squeezed your hand gently. “You don’t have to do it all on your own, you know. It’s okay to ask for help.”

The sincerity in his voice almost brought fresh tears to your eyes, but you managed to hold them back. You nodded, feeling a little better, though still weighed down by everything.

As you continued walking, the weight on your chest didn’t seem to lift entirely. The day wasn’t just bad because of fencing or school; it was deeper than that, a gnawing homesickness you hadn’t fully acknowledged. Your thoughts drifted to your family, the ache of missing them growing sharper with each step.

“I missed my brother’s birthday,” you confessed, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “He just turned six. I couldn’t even call him because I was too busy with exams and practice. I feel like a terrible sister.”

Heeseung stopped, turning to face you with a look of understanding that made your heart clench. “That doesn’t make you a bad sister. It’s hard being away from family, especially when you’re trying to juggle so much. But I’m sure your brother knows you care about him.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I just feel so… disconnected from everything. Like I’m here, but my heart is still back home with them.”

Heeseung’s expression softened, and without a word, he pulled you into a hug. It was the first time he’d hugged you, and the warmth of it took you by surprise. You hesitated for a moment before leaning into him, letting the comfort of his embrace wash over you. It wasn’t just about the bad day anymore; it was about everything you’d been holding in—the homesickness, the loneliness, the pressure to be perfect.

“It’s okay to miss them,” Heeseung murmured, his voice close to your ear. “And it’s okay to feel overwhelmed. But you’re not alone, Y/N. You have people here who care about you, too.”

His words, coupled with the steady beat of his heart against your cheek, made you feel a little less alone, a little more understood. You stayed like that for a few moments longer, until the worst of your tears had dried and you felt like you could breathe again.

You lingered in Heeseung's embrace a moment longer, taking in the warmth and steady reassurance of his hold. But as you began to pull away, the reality of the moment hit you, and suddenly, the air between you felt charged, different. When you looked up at him, you noticed that he seemed just as affected, his usual calm demeanor tinged with a slight awkwardness.

Heeseung's hands slipped from your back, hovering uncertainly at his sides as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. His gaze flickered away from yours, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Um, yeah,” he stammered, taking a small step back to create some distance. “We should probably get you back inside… before your boss sends out a search party.”

You nodded, feeling a strange mix of comfort and confusion as you noticed his hesitation. There was something unspoken between you, a tension that hadn’t been there before. It made you suddenly hyper-aware of how close you’d been, how natural it had felt to be in his arms, even though it probably shouldn’t have.

“Yeah, right,” you agreed, your voice coming out softer than you intended. You both stood there for a moment longer, the silence between you making it hard to move.

Heeseung cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Let’s, uh… let’s get back in there,” he said, offering a small, almost nervous smile as he gestured toward the cafe door.

You nodded again, trying to shake off the lingering tension. As you walked back inside together, you couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted, something you weren’t quite ready to name yet. And when you returned to your post behind the counter, you found yourself stealing glances at Heeseung as he quietly ordered his usual, both of you a bit more aware of each other than before.

You had known it was a setup from the moment Chaehyun suggested the theme park. She’d brought it up casually during lunch a few days earlier, her tone almost too nonchalant as she insisted it would be “fun to go as a group.” The twinkle in her eye had told you all you needed to know—this was no innocent group outing; this was a double date, carefully orchestrated with Minhee and Heeseung as the leading men.

Saturday came around with clear skies and a cool breeze, perfect weather for a day at the park. You stood in front of your dorm mirror, adjusting the hem of your sweater—a soft and creamy beige that complemented your dark jeans. Your hair was loosely tied back, a few dark strands escaping to frame your face. You’d opted for a casual, comfortable look, but there was an extra layer of care in your appearance today, and you couldn’t help but feel the familiar flutter of nerves as you thought about spending the day with Heeseung.

Chaehyun was already waiting outside, her usual bubbly self. She looked effortlessly cute in a pastel pink hoodie and a pleated skirt, her long hair falling in waves around her shoulders. When she saw you, she beamed, linking her arm through yours.

“You look so pretty!” she gushed, giving you a playful nudge. “Heeseung’s going to love it.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t suppress a small smile. “I’m not dressing up for him,” you lied, though the quickening of your pulse said otherwise.

Chaehyun didn’t buy it for a second, but she let it slide. As the two of you made your way to the entrance of the park, you spotted Heeseung and Minhee waiting near the ticket booth. Heeseung was dressed in a simple black pullover and jeans, his dark hair slightly tousled as if he’d run his fingers through it one too many times. He looked casual but undeniably handsome, and your heart did a little flip when he looked up and met your gaze, a small smile playing on his lips.

Minhee, standing beside him, was as well-dressed as ever. He wore a navy blue jacket over a white t-shirt, his expression relaxed and easygoing. He greeted you with a warm smile as you approached, his hand already intertwined with Chaehyun’s.

“Ready for a fun day?” Minhee asked, his tone light as he gave Chaehyun a quick peck on the cheek.

Chaehyun blushed, giggling as she nudged him playfully. “Yes! I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Heeseung, who shrugged, a knowing look in his eyes. “Guess we’re in for an interesting day,” he murmured, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

As you all headed into the park, the atmosphere was a mix of excitement and nervous energy. The sounds of laughter and screams from nearby rides filled the air, and the scent of popcorn and cotton candy wafted through the breeze. The four of you stuck together, moving from ride to ride, each one more thrilling than the last.

“So, do you only own black clothes? Is this like some sort of statement?” You poked fun at Heeseung’s typical attire.

“Just for you,” He teased back with a wink.

It wasn’t until you reached the ride with the large circular seating area—a notorious challenge to stay seated in—that things took a more interesting turn. The ride was infamous for its sudden drops and spins, designed to send everyone sliding toward the center, no matter how hard they tried to stay put.

You hesitated for a moment as you looked at the ride, the large circular rimmed seating area intimidating in its simplicity. “This is going to be a disaster,” you muttered under your breath, though you couldn’t deny the thrill of excitement that accompanied the thought.

Chaehyun, already seated with Minhee, shot you a grin. “Come on, Y/N! It’ll be fun!”

Heeseung was right behind you, and as you took your seat next to him, the ever-present tension between you seemed to magnify. The ride started with a slow spin, the deceptively calm beginning lulling you into a false sense of security. But soon, the speed picked up, and before you knew it, you were sliding uncontrollably toward the center.

You tried to brace yourself, but the force was too strong, and you found yourself being pulled off your seat. A yelp of surprise escaped your lips as you lost your balance, but before you could fall completely, Heeseung’s arm shot out, grabbing onto your waist.

The contact sent a jolt through you, the warmth of his hand on your waist grounding you in a way that was both comforting and electrifying. You clung to the edge of your seat, but the ride’s relentless spinning kept pushing you closer to Heeseung. Eventually, you gave up trying to fight it and let yourself lean into him, his arm still securely around your waist. Despite the electricity floating through your body, you couldn’t help but laugh. Throwing your head back, you looked at the boy pressed into your side, his widened eyes taking in your laughter and returning it.

When the ride finally came to a stop, you were breathless, both from the adrenaline and from the proximity to Heeseung. He helped you off the ride, his hand lingering on your waist a moment longer than necessary before he let go, a sheepish smile on his face.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.

“Yeah,” you replied, your heart still racing. “Thanks for the save.”

“Anytime,” he said, his tone light, though there was a flicker of something more in his eyes.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of laughter, shared snacks, and playful teasing. Chaehyun and Minhee were in their own world, holding hands and stealing kisses, while you and Heeseung found yourselves caught in a dance of subtle flirtation. There were moments when your hands would brush as you reached for the same snack, or when your eyes would meet across the table, the unspoken tension between you growing with each passing hour.

At one point, as you all gathered around a table to share a meal, Minhee nudged Chaehyun, whispering something in her ear that made her giggle. You shot them a suspicious look, but before you could ask what they were up to, Heeseung leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear.

“I think they’re planning something,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

“Probably,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “They’re not exactly subtle.”

Heeseung chuckled, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Well, whatever it is, I’m sure we can handle it.”

The day stretched into the evening, the sun setting in a blaze of orange and pink. As the park began to quiet down, the four of you decided to take one last ride on the Ferris wheel, the giant structure offering a perfect view of the park illuminated by twinkling lights.

You found yourself seated next to Heeseung in the small carriage, the ride slow and gentle compared to the chaotic one earlier. The height gave you a breathtaking view of the city beyond, but your attention was more focused on the boy sitting next to you, his profile highlighted by the golden glow of the sunset.

Heeseung turned to you, his expression softer than you’d seen all day. “Did you have fun today?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, your voice equally soft. “More than I expected.”

“Good,” he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m glad we came.”

There was a moment of silence, the air thick with unspoken words. You felt the urge to say something, to break the tension that had been building all day, but before you could, the carriage came to a stop at the top of the Ferris wheel, giving you both a moment of stillness.

Heeseung glanced at you, his gaze lingering on your lips for a fraction of a second before he quickly looked away, the tips of his ears turning pink. The sight made your heart flutter, and you couldn’t help but smile at his sudden shyness.

Just as you were about to say something, the moment was interrupted by Chaehyun’s voice, calling out from the carriage below. “Y/N! Heeseung! What’s taking you so long up there?”

The ride jolted back into motion, slowly lowering you back to the ground. You let out a small laugh, shaking your head at Chaehyun’s timing. When you looked back at Heeseung, he was smiling too, though there was a hint of disappointment in his eyes.

As the four of you made your way out of the park, the night air cool against your skin, you couldn’t help but feel that something had shifted between you and Heeseung. The day had been full of fun and laughter, but there was a deeper connection forming, one that you were both cautiously exploring.

As you parted ways at the entrance, Heeseung caught your hand for a brief moment, his touch gentle but firm. “Let’s do this again sometime,” he spoke softly, his voice sincere.

You nodded, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. “I’d like that.”

With a final smile, Heeseung let go of your hand and turned to walk away in the opposite direction from the one you were heading towards, leaving you to join Minhee and Chaehyun as they headed toward the bus stop. 

The sound of your blade slicing through the air echoes in the nearly empty gym. The rhythmic clang of metal on metal and the soft scuffle of your footwork are the only noises breaking the silence. It’s late, later than usual for practice, but you’ve been putting in extra hours, trying to perfect your technique before the upcoming tournament.

You’ve just finished a set of lunges when the gym door creaks open. You look up, expecting to see one of your teammates, but it’s Heeseung, hovering in the doorway with his usual quiet presence. His camera bag is slung over one shoulder, and he gives you a tentative smile, as if unsure whether he’s intruding.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you say, catching your breath.

Heeseung steps inside, closing the door behind him. “Thought I’d come by for some last-minute insights for the article,” he says, tapping the side of his bag. “But it looks like you’re flying solo tonight.”

You nod, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Yeah, everyone else is either cramming for exams or getting some rest before the big match. But I needed to clear my head.”

Heeseung watches as you place your saber on the rack, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. There’s something different in the way he looks at you tonight—more intent, more focused. It makes your heart beat a little faster.

“Wanna see what it’s like?” you ask suddenly, the idea forming as the words leave your mouth.

Heeseung raises an eyebrow, caught off guard. “You mean... fence?”

“Why not?” you challenge, already heading toward the gear closet. “You’re writing about it. Might as well experience it firsthand.”

He hesitates, but there’s a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “I’m not exactly athletic,” he warns, even as he moves to follow you.

You grin, tossing him a chest protector and jacket. “That’s okay. I’ll go easy on you.”

It takes a few minutes to get him suited up—chest protector, jacket, mask—and you have to suppress a laugh at how awkward he looks in the gear. But there’s something endearing about the way he fumbles with the straps, his usual confidence replaced with uncertainty.

“Ready?” you ask, holding out a saber to him.

Heeseung takes it, testing its weight with a cautious swing. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

You both take your positions on the piste, the lines on the floor suddenly feeling much narrower with Heeseung across from you. His stance is stiff, awkward—nothing like the fluidity and precision you’ve honed over years of practice. But you can’t help but admire his willingness to try.

You advance slowly, giving him time to adjust. He attempts a feeble parry, which you easily dodge, your blade tapping his chest protector with a soft thud.

“Point,” you say, grinning under your mask. “But don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it.”

Heeseung groans, adjusting his grip. “You sure you’re going easy on me?”

You shrug, preparing for another advance. “Maybe just a little.”

You move in again, a bit faster this time, and Heeseung reacts instinctively, swinging his blade up in a wild arc. It’s completely off-target, and in his attempt to recover, he loses his balance, stumbling into you.

Before you can react, you’re both crashing to the ground, Heeseung’s weight knocking you off your feet. You land with a soft thud, your sabers clattering to the floor beside you. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your combined laughter echoing through the empty gym.

You roll onto your back, still laughing, and Heeseung does the same, the awkwardness of earlier forgotten. Lying there on the cold gym floor, you’re suddenly aware of how close he is, his shoulder brushing against yours.

“You’re terrible at this,” you tease, nudging him playfully with your elbow.

Heeseung chuckles, turning his head to look at you. His hair is a mess from the mask, and his cheeks are flushed with exertion. “Guess I should stick to writing.”

You’re both still catching your breath, the amusement lingering between you, when the overhead lights suddenly flicker off, plunging the gym into darkness.

You both freeze, the sudden shift in atmosphere catching you off guard. The only light now comes from the emergency exit signs, casting long shadows across the gym floor. In the quiet, you can hear the faint hum of electricity and your own heartbeat, loud in your ears.

“Guess that’s our cue,” Heeseung says softly, his voice barely more than a whisper in the darkness.

But neither of you moves. The silence stretches, the moment growing heavier, more charged. You can feel the warmth of Heeseung’s arm against yours, the proximity sending a thrill through you that’s hard to ignore.

“Maybe,” you whisper back, turning slightly toward him, though you can barely make out his features in the dim light.

There’s a beat of hesitation, the air between you thick with anticipation, before Heeseung shifts closer, his hand brushing against yours, fingers almost—almost—entwining. But just as quickly, he pulls back, the tension breaking like a snapped thread.

“We should probably get up,” he says, voice low, and there’s a note of something—regret, maybe?—that you can’t quite place.

You sit up, the moment slipping away, but the feeling of his touch lingers, a ghost of what might have been. You help each other to your feet, the earlier playfulness replaced by a quiet, unspoken understanding.

As you strip off the gear and pack everything away, the silence continues, comfortable but charged, both of you aware of what didn’t happen but too uncertain to acknowledge it.

“Thanks for indulging me,” Heeseung finally says as you walk toward the exit, the gym door creaking open to the dimly lit hallway beyond.

“Anytime,” you reply, forcing a smile, though your thoughts are still back on the gym floor, replaying the almost-touch of his hand.

You part ways in the hallway, Heeseung giving you a small wave before disappearing down the corridor. You stand there for a moment, staring after him, before turning to head back to your dorm, the ghost of the evening’s events haunting your steps.

As you walk away, you can’t help but wonder what might have happened if the lights had stayed on just a little longer.

The gymnasium buzzed with energy, the air thick with excitement and tension. It was the third fencing tournament of the semester, and the stakes were high. You stood in the wings, your saber gleaming under the harsh gym lights, heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and nerves. Your team’s performance today would determine whether you advanced to the finals, and the pressure was almost tangible.

You took a deep breath, focusing on the rhythmic patterns of the bout you were about to face. Ryujin and Gaeul were already competing, their focused expressions and swift movements a testament to their skill and determination. You glanced over at them, offering a reassuring nod. They returned it, their expressions masked by their own concentration.

Heeseung was among the crowd, his usual spot near the fencing area where he could get a clear view of the matches. He had become a familiar presence at these tournaments, his keen eyes always scanning the piste with an almost analytical focus. Today, he was positioned just a few feet from the sidelines, notebook in hand, ready to capture the essence of the day’s action. You caught his eye briefly and offered a small, nervous smile. He responded with a warm, encouraging nod.

The whistle blew, signaling the start of your individual match. Your opponent, a formidable competitor from another school, greeted you with a determined look. The match commenced with a flurry of movement. You engaged with swift, practiced attacks and counters, each move precise and deliberate. The crowd’s murmurs and the rhythmic clang of sabers filled your ears as you focused intently on your strategy.

Minutes ticked by as the match intensified. Your opponent was relentless, pressing you hard, and you found yourself on the defensive. You could feel the strain in your legs and the tension in your shoulders as you fought to maintain your balance and composure. The energy in the gym was electric, and every touch was met with reactions from the audience—gasps, cheers, and murmurs of anticipation.

In a particularly aggressive exchange, you executed a move that you had practiced countless times. Your saber darted out, aiming for a decisive touch, but as you pivoted, your footing faltered. The floor, worn from numerous tournaments, betrayed you. Your right ankle twisted painfully, and before you could react, you stumbled and fell awkwardly. The world seemed to tilt as you hit the ground, a sharp, blinding pain radiating from your ankle.

The referee’s whistle pierced through the haze of pain, and the match was abruptly halted. The crowd’s noise faded into the background as you lay on the floor, clutching your ankle, struggling to steady your breath through the searing agony. Tears welled up in your eyes, the pain mingling with a deep sense of frustration and helplessness.

Heeseung, who had been taking notes at the sidelines, immediately sprang into action. His face was a mask of concern as he pushed through the crowd, his usual calm demeanor giving way to an urgent determination. His strides were quick and purposeful, his eyes locked onto you as he reached your side.

“Y/N!” he called out, his voice a mix of worry and desperation. “Are you okay?”

You could barely manage a nod, the pain overwhelming your ability to speak. Heeseung’s hands were gentle but firm as he examined your injured ankle, his concern evident in every touch. The athletic trainers arrived quickly, their expressions reflecting the seriousness of the situation. They assessed your injury with practiced efficiency, their movements careful as they wrapped your ankle and prepared you for transport.

As they carefully lifted you onto a stretcher and began to move you towards the exit, Heeseung remained by your side, his presence a steadying force amid the chaos. He stayed close, offering words of comfort and reassurance, though his own face betrayed his anxiety.

The drive to the university hospital was a blur of pain and worry. You were transported from the gym to the emergency room, the pain in your ankle throbbing with each bump in the road. The reality of your situation was beginning to sink in, and the frustration of being sidelined from the tournament weighed heavily on you.

Upon arrival at the hospital, you were quickly ushered into an examination room. The medical staff worked efficiently, but the pain was still intense, and your emotions were frayed. The room was filled with the quiet beeps of medical equipment and the murmurs of the staff as they prepared to assess your injury. The medical staff worked efficiently, but the pain and the stress of the situation left you feeling utterly vulnerable. As the minutes ticked by, you couldn’t help but feel isolated in your distress.

Then, through the haze of your own pain, you caught a glimpse of movement in the doorway. Taehyun and Kai appeared, their faces etched with concern and relief as they spotted you. The sight of them, familiar and comforting, was a balm to your frayed nerves.

Their worried expressions immediately softened into empathetic smiles as they hurried over to your side. “Y/N, we saw what happened,” Taehyun said softly, his voice filled with concern. “Are you okay?”

The moment their voices reached you, the dam broke. The tears that had been threatening to spill finally cascaded down your cheeks, the emotional release of seeing your friends overwhelming. You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. The pain and frustration of the day, compounded by the sight of your friends, brought a torrent of emotion.

Kai reached out, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice steady. “It’ll be okay.”

As you tried to compose yourself, you saw Heeseung standing just outside the doorway, his figure barely visible in the hallway. The sight of him only made the tears flow even harder.

Taehyun and Kai stayed by your side, offering comfort and reassurance. Some others arrived within the hour as you waited on the results from the X-Ray, Chaehyun was already near tears before entering the room and Jay attempted to joke with the small group, though there was evident difficulty. Heeseung, however, was nowhere to be found.

The bright lights of the hospital room cast an unyielding glare on your frustration. The pain in your ankle was relentless, a constant reminder of the day’s events. Your friends had been with you, offering their support, but they had left to grab dinner, promising to return soon. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor and the occasional footfalls in the hallway.

You stared at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the day’s events pressing down on you. The nurse had just delivered the news: a fractured ankle that would require a boot for a few months but no surgery. The immediate relief of not needing surgery was overshadowed by the crushing realization that you would miss the rest of the fencing season. The dreams and aspirations for the semester seemed to crumble in the face of this new reality.

The door to your room opened slowly, and Heeseung slipped inside. His usually calm demeanor was tinged with concern. Seeing you alone and clearly distressed, he approached your bedside with a quiet urgency. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice carrying a note of genuine care. “How are you holding up?”

You tried to muster a smile, but it faltered. “It’s not good. The X-ray showed a fracture. I have to wear a boot for a few months. It means I’m out for the rest of the fencing season.”

Heeseung’s expression softened with empathy. He took a seat beside you, a small weighted sigh leaving his lips. “I’m really sorry to hear that,” he said gently. “I know how much fencing means to you.”

You nodded, feeling a lump rise in your throat. The reality of missing out on the season was hitting hard. “I worked so hard for this. The season was everything to me, and now I’m just… done. It’s like everything I’ve worked for is just slipping away.”

Heeseung reached out, his fingers delicately brushing down the side of your hair as he smoothed away some strands that had been stuck to your face with tears. You involuntarily flinched at his touch, a gesture so sweet but entirely meant for something more than just friends or whatever line you had been dancing on for months.

As you fought to keep your composure, the door opened again, and Taehyun and Kai returned with takeout with Chaehyun and Jay trailing shortly behind. Their faces lit up with relief as they saw Heeseung. They set the bags down and greeted him with nods of recognition.

“Hey, Heeseung,” Taehyun said, his eyes flicking between you and the new arrival. “We didn’t expect to see you here,” he added in a tone that indicated that they had actually wholeheartedly expected him to be here.

Kai pulled up a chair and began unpacking the food, trying to lighten the mood. “We’ve got all your favorites. Maybe it’ll help take your mind off things, at least for a little while.”

The room began to fill with the comforting aroma of food as the group gathered around. The conversation shifted to lighter topics, but the underlying tension about your injury was palpable. Heeseung’s quiet support was a steady presence amidst the chatter.

As the evening wore on, the mood lightened somewhat thanks to Jay’s attempts at humor and the shared closeness. Yet, the reality of your injury and the impact it would have on your fencing career loomed large.

When the food was almost finished and the room was filled with the sounds of friends chatting and laughing, you caught a glimpse of Heeseung standing quietly by the doorway. His gaze met yours, and you could see the concern in his eyes. The sight of him, a reminder of the support and understanding you had around you, made it all the more difficult to keep your emotions in check. Your gazes continued their lock as everything around you, the increasingly serious conversation between Jay and Kai about a new video game and the steady beeping of the hospital machines in the room, faded out leaving only your heartbeat thumping in your ears and a million thoughts swirling around in your head about the boy across the room from you.

Spring had finally settled over the campus, bringing with it warmer days and a sense of renewal. The trees were bursting with blossoms, and the air was filled with the buzz of students eager for the semester to end. For you, the past few weeks had been a blur of classes, physical therapy sessions, and quiet moments spent reflecting on what could have been. The boot on your ankle had become a familiar part of your daily routine, though it was a constant reminder of the season you had lost.

Today, however, you were looking forward to something different—a chance to take a break from the weight of your injury and celebrate the accomplishments of your friends. The journalism club was hosting their end-of-the-year showcase, where they would unveil their final magazine. The event was a big deal on campus, a night where everyone could see the hard work and creativity that had gone into the club’s projects over the semester.

You, Jay, and Jake made your way to the event together. The three of you had been spending more time together lately, and their easygoing personalities made it easier to forget about your troubles, even if just for a little while. Jay walked beside you, his usual relaxed smile on his face, while Jake, as always, was full of energy and chatter.

“You excited to see the magazine?” Jake asked as you approached the auditorium where the showcase was being held.

“Yeah, I am,” you replied, trying to keep up with them despite the boot. “I’ve been curious to see how the article turned out.”

Jay glanced over at you, a teasing grin playing on his lips. “Or maybe you’re more excited to see Heeseung?”

You felt a blush creep up your neck. “He wrote about the fencing team, so I’m definitely curious,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant.

The auditorium was bustling with activity when you arrived. Tables were set up with copies of the magazine and other projects the club had worked on throughout the year. The walls were lined with posters, photographs, and pieces of art that highlighted the creativity of the journalism students. The room buzzed with excitement and pride as people mingled, admiring each other’s work.

As you and your friends entered, you immediately spotted Heeseung standing near one of the display tables, talking with a group of students. He was dressed casually, but there was an air of quiet confidence about him that made him stand out. You watched as he laughed at something one of the students said, the sound warm and genuine. He hadn’t noticed you yet, so you took a moment to observe him from a distance.

“He’s right there,” Jay said, leaning in close. “Go say hi.”

You gave him a playful shove. “I will, just give me a minute.”

Jake grinned. “Come on, let’s go check out the magazine. I want to see how we look in print.”

The three of you made your way over to the display table where the final magazine was laid out. There were stacks of the publication, each one carefully bound and designed. The cover featured a striking image of the campus, with the title in bold letters: “Echoes of the Semester”

You flipped through the pages, searching for Heeseung’s article. When you found it, you couldn’t help but smile. There, on the glossy pages, was the story of your team—the triumphs, the challenges, and everything in between. He had captured the essence of the fencing club with a level of detail and insight that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t expected.

The presentation started a few moments later, and you found yourself a seat close to the stage. The event had a relaxed, celebratory atmosphere, and you watched with interest as a few students gave brief speeches about their experiences in the club over the past year. The highlight was, of course, the unveiling of the magazine, and you were excited to see how the fencing club had been portrayed.

Heeseung was called to the stage to introduce his article. As he spoke, you couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride for him. He was articulate, confident, and passionate about the story he had written. He spoke about the hard work and dedication of the fencing team, about the perseverance required to compete at such a high level, and about how he had been inspired by their journey.

When he mentioned your name, a flush of warmth spread through you. Heeseung glanced your way, his gaze lingering for just a moment longer than necessary before he continued his speech. The room seemed to hold its breath, captivated by his words, and you found yourself unable to look away.

After the presentation ended, the crowd dispersed to explore the displays, and you were left with a strange mix of emotions—pride, excitement, and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Jay and Jake had wandered off to talk to some friends of theirs, leaving you standing near the stage, still holding a copy of the magazine.

You were about to head over to one of the displays when you felt a presence beside you. Turning, you found Heeseung standing there, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by something more serious.

“You were great up there,” you said, smiling up at him. “The article is amazing.”

Heeseung returned the smile, but there was a hint of something else in his eyes—something that made your heart skip a beat. “Thanks. I’m glad you liked it. But, actually… there’s something I want to show you.”

Curiosity piqued, you followed him as he led you away from the bustling crowd, down a quiet hallway that led to a small, dimly lit room at the back of the auditorium. Heeseung closed the door behind you, and you suddenly felt very aware of how close the two of you were standing.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice tinged with nervousness.

Heeseung didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his bag and pulled out a small, slightly worn notebook. He handed it to you, his fingers brushing against yours as he did. “This… didn’t make it into the magazine,” he said, his voice quiet, almost hesitant.

You opened the notebook, flipping through the pages. It was filled with handwritten notes, sketches, and rough drafts. As you skimmed through it, you realized that the entire notebook was about you—your fencing, your struggles, your thoughts and emotions. It was far more personal and detailed than the article that had been published.

Your breath caught in your throat as you read through the passages. Heeseung had written about moments you hadn’t even realized he had noticed—your determination during practice, the way you pushed through pain, the quiet strength you exuded even when you were at your lowest. He had captured the essence of who you were in a way that was both intimate and raw.

“Why didn’t you include this?” you asked, looking up at him, your voice barely above a whisper.

Heeseung met your gaze, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with tension. “It felt… too personal,” he admitted, his voice soft. “I didn’t want to overstep, but I wanted you to know that I see you—really see you.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you held the notebook, the weight of his words sinking in. There was something deeply vulnerable about this moment, something that made you feel both exposed and understood in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I don’t know what to say,” you murmured, your voice thick with emotion.

Heeseung took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said softly.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. Your fingers still rested on the notebook, but you were no longer aware of the paper beneath your hands. All you could focus on was Heeseung—the warmth of his body, the intensity in his eyes, the way his breath brushed against your skin.

Your breath hitched, and your heart pounded in your chest as the tension between you grew, thick and palpable. His eyes flicked to your lips, and you could feel the magnetic pull drawing you closer.

Before you could say anything else, Heeseung reached out and took your hand, gently tugging you closer to him. His fingers brushed over the magazine still clutched in your hands, the touch sending a shiver down your spine.

“I know this might be a little forward,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, “but… there’s an after-party at my apartment tonight. I’d really like it if you came.”

The words hung in the air between you, and you felt a flutter of excitement mixed with the nervous energy that always seemed to accompany your interactions with him. It wasn’t just an invitation—it was a promise of more time together, of peeling back more layers and discovering what lay beneath the surface of your growing connection.

You smiled softly, the corners of your lips curling up as you looked into his eyes. “I’d love to,” you said, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

The tension lingered as you stood there, neither of you moving, neither of you wanting to break the moment. And then, almost as if by instinct, Heeseung leaned in. His lips met yours in a kiss that was both gentle and intense, the kind of kiss that made your heart race and your knees weak.

The notebook slipped from your hands, forgotten as you reached up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Heeseung’s hands found your waist, and he held you as if you were something precious, something he didn’t want to let go of.

The kiss deepened, and you lost yourself in the sensation, in the way he made you feel—alive, desired, and seen. There was a quiet urgency in the way his lips moved against yours, as if he had been waiting for this moment just as much as you had.

When you finally pulled away, your breath came in ragged gasps, your heart racing in your chest. Heeseung’s eyes were dark, filled with a mixture of emotions that mirrored your own. Neither of you spoke, the silence heavy with the weight of what had just happened.

Heeseung suddenly backed away from you so abruptly that it took you a moment to register what had happened. One second, you were lost in the heat of the moment, and the next, he was stepping back, a mumbled apology slipping from his lips.

"Uh, the after-party..." Heeseung began, his voice barely above a whisper as he avoided your eyes. "I should, um, get ready for it. I’ll see you there?"

Before you could respond, he was already retreating, leaving you standing alone in the small, dimly lit room. The warmth of his touch still lingered on your skin, but the sudden coldness of the distance between you was unmistakable.

You stared at the spot where he had been, trying to process what had just happened. The kiss had been everything you'd imagined—intense, passionate, full of unspoken emotions—but now, it felt like it had been ripped away just as quickly as it had begun. Heeseung was always just out of reach, pulling you in close only to push you away the next moment.

With a frustrated sigh, you picked up the notebook from where it had fallen and clutched it tightly to your chest. You were upset, hurt, feeling like no matter how many moments the two of you shared, they always seemed to slip through your fingers, leaving you with nothing but the fleeting memory of something more.

The walk back to the main room was a blur. You found Jay and Jake talking with a few other students near the exit, their laughter and easy conversation a stark contrast to the storm of emotions brewing inside you.

"Ready to grab some dinner?" Jay asked, catching sight of you as you approached. His usual grin faltered when he saw the look on your face. "You okay?"

You forced a smile, not wanting to worry them. "Yeah, just... a lot on my mind."

Jake, ever the perceptive one, raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. "Come on, let’s go. Food will help."

The three of you left the auditorium, making your way to a nearby diner that was a favorite among students. The place was busy, filled with the chatter of people winding down after a long day. You slid into a booth, trying to focus on the menu in front of you, but your mind was elsewhere.

Throughout dinner, you found yourself distracted, your thoughts circling back to Heeseung. You barely heard the conversation happening around you, only nodding and offering the occasional comment when prompted. Jay and Jake didn’t seem to notice—or maybe they did, but they chose not to say anything.

You picked at your food, appetite long gone as your thoughts kept returning to the same question: Why was he keeping you at arm’s length? Every time you thought you were getting closer, he would pull away, leaving you more confused and frustrated than before.

By the time you arrived at the after-party, your nerves were frayed, and you felt like you were walking into the lion’s den. Heeseung was there, as expected, greeting everyone as they arrived, his easy smile and calm demeanor masking whatever he was truly feeling.

But when it came to you, he seemed to go out of his way to avoid any meaningful interaction. He was always just a few steps ahead, just out of reach, slipping through the crowd before you could approach him. It was as if that kiss—and everything that had led up to it—hadn’t happened at all.

Jay and Jake didn’t notice your growing frustration as they mingled with the other guests, Sunghoon, Taehyun, and Chaehyun playing some overly complicated drinking game off to the side, but you were a ball of anxiety, barely able to keep up with the small talk and casual conversation. The party was lively, filled with laughter and music, but you felt like you were trapped in a bubble, unable to enjoy any of it.

The hours dragged on, and your patience wore thin. As the party began to wind down and people started to leave, you found yourself more determined than ever to get answers. You couldn’t keep going on like this, caught in this endless push-and-pull with Heeseung. You needed to know where you stood with him—or if you even stood anywhere at all.

Finally, when the crowd had thinned out and most of the guests had left, you spotted Heeseung in the kitchen, cleaning up empty cups and discarded plates. His back was to you, and for a moment, you hesitated. But then, the frustration that had been building all night boiled over, and you found yourself marching over to him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Heeseung,” you called out, your voice firmer than you expected.

He turned around, surprised to see you standing there. “Oh, hey. I didn’t realize—”

“Why have you been avoiding me all night?” The question came out more accusatory than you intended, but you were too upset to care.

Heeseung blinked, clearly taken aback by your directness. “I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were,” you interrupted, crossing your arms. “You’ve been avoiding me ever since we kissed. And it’s not just tonight, Heeseung. It’s every time we get close, every time something happens between us, you pull away.”

You barely noticed the last remaining people, Jay and Taehyun, nervously exchanging glances before quickly exiting Heeseung’s apartment.

Heeseung opened his mouth to respond, but you weren’t done. The words came spilling out, a torrent of emotions you’d been holding back for too long.

“I don’t understand what’s going on between us,” you continued, your voice trembling with frustration. “We have all these moments together, these perfect, real moments, and then you just… you just disappear. I feel like I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you to pull away again, and I can’t keep doing this. I-I feel like I’m going crazy. I mean, what is this? Is this how you are with your friends? I mean you and Jake seem close but-”

“Don’t finish that,” he interrupted with a quiet laugh before looking down, his expression unreadable. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched at his sides, but he still didn’t say anything. The silence stretched on, and your heart sank, the fear that you had pushed him too far creeping in.

But then, finally, he looked up at you, and you saw something shift in his eyes—a determination you hadn’t seen before.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I have been pulling away. And I’m sorry. I’ve been scared… of what this means, of how I feel. But you deserve more than that.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he stepped closer, cutting you off as he continued. “You deserve someone who isn’t afraid to show you how much you mean to them, someone who isn’t constantly holding back.”

“Heeseung…” you started, but he shook his head.

“No, let me finish,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “I just, I know how busy you are and I don’t know I thought I was doing this whole selfless act by trying to keep distance, but I… find that hard around you.”

Heeseung took a deep breath, and then, in a voice filled with a mix of fear and determination, he finally confessed, “I like you. More than I’ve liked anyone in a long time. And it terrifies me because I don’t want to mess this up. But I can’t help it, Y/N, I want to be with you.”

The confession hung in the air between you, and for a moment, you were too stunned to speak. All the frustration, the confusion, the uncertainty that had been weighing on you for weeks melted away, leaving behind only the raw, undeniable truth of what you both felt.

Heeseung reached out, gently taking your hand in his. “I’m sorry for making you feel like you were always going to be kept at a distance,” he said softly. “That’s the last thing I want. I want to be close to you, in every way.”

Your heart swelled with emotion, and you squeezed his hand, feeling a warmth spread through you that you hadn’t felt in a long time. “I want that too,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

The tension that had been simmering between you all night reached its breaking point, and before you knew it, you were pulling him closer, closing the distance between you. Heeseung didn’t hesitate this time—his lips found yours in a kiss that was fierce, passionate, and full of all the things that had been left unsaid for too long.

It was a kiss that spoke of longing, of desire, of a connection that had been building for months. Your hands clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer, as if afraid that if you let go, he might slip away again. But Heeseung was there, solid and real, his arms wrapping around you in a way that made you feel safe, wanted.

He bent down, hands roaming through your hair and then down your arms to snake around your waist and pull you onto the counter top in front of him. Your boot knocked clumsily into his knee, but he seemed to pay no attention to it. Grabbing the collar of his shirt, you pulled him closer and heat blazed through your core at the sound of a small giggle that escaped him.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, you could see the same mix of emotions reflected in his eyes—relief, happiness, and something deeper, something that promised this was just the beginning of something more.

“Stay with me tonight,” Heeseung murmured, his forehead resting against yours.

You nodded, your heart racing as you ran your fingers and palms against his firm forearms, desiring to touch every inch of him you hadn’t been able to until now.

And as you spent the night together, wrapped in each other’s arms, you knew that this was the start of something real, something that you have only been dreaming about for months. The doubts and fears that had plagued you for so long seemed distant now, replaced by a certainty and feeling for the first time that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

thank you for reading!! <3

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | teen | 3.2k | tags: werewolf!Steve, Human!Eddie, hurt!Steve, Eddie taking care of Steve, minor characters death | @steddielovemonth prompt: Love is feeling safe by @novacorpsrecruit | AO3)

He runs for his life, his paws hitting the snowy ground with heavy thumps. His flank hurts where the bullet buried itself, but it's distant, drowned out by his instinct to survive. He can't afford to slow down, so he pushes through, letting his instincts carry him as fast as his legs will take him.

His pursuers are only human, not equipped to keep up with a nearly grown wolf. But he's hurt, and he's exhausted, and they have guns.

Part of him wonders why he's even trying to save himself.

They killed the whole village. His parents, his friends, his neighbors. They all burned to death, and those who managed to escape the flames were slaughtered by the hunters. All except him, who managed to escape through the secret tunnels beneath their home, while his parents stayed behind to fight off the invaders.

The Harringtons had been the alphas of their pack, and it was their responsibility to protect the pack with their lives.

None of them deserved to die. No one in their pack had ever hurt a human. They hardly ever saw one, choosing to live as far away from their settlements as possible while still being able to trade with them for the goods they couldn't produce.

It didn't matter to the hunters who came late at night and ambushed them in their sleep. In their eyes, they were monsters. His parents always warned him that humans would never understand them, would always fear them, and fear breeds hatred. Humans couldn't be trusted, they weren't safe.

Back when that meant he couldn't be friends with the daughter of the blacksmith his parents did business with, he refused to believe them. But now it seems that they were always right.

Humans are not to be trusted. They're not safe.

It feels like Steve has been running for hours and still he hears them following him, following his bloody trail. They're not even stealthy, branches snapping, shouts and the occasional gunshot. He's not sure how much longer he can keep going, the pain and exhaustion finally catching up with him.

He's so focused on listening to the hunters behind him that he doesn't really look where he's going, just runs and runs and runs.

Suddenly the world turns upside down, the pain in his flank flares up, white-hot, and then everything goes dark.

He comes to slowly, his senses catching up with reality one by one.

It's warm where he lies, the sharp smell of burning wood heavy in the air. Panic rises in his throat and he can't stop the whine falling from his muzzle, it must mean he didn't make it out after all, he's still trapped in the burning ruins of his home. He's going to die here, burned alive like everyone else he's known since he was a pup.

His ears pick up other sounds over the crackling of a nearby fire. Someone is here, Steve can smell them. Smell him. It's a human, a man. His scent is strong, clinging to the soft blanket Steve can feel beneath him. He's humming a familiar tune, his voice deep and melodic, and Steve can't believe he's about to die with the tune of a nursery rhyme stuck in his head.

Heavy footsteps are coming toward him, and Steve hasn't opened his eyes yet, but he thinks the guy is wearing heavy boots. It's winter, after all, and humans don't run as hot as wolves, completely unprotected from the harshness of the season.

His whole body aches, every limb is heavy, and exhaustion is trying to drag him under again. Steve knows he's in no condition to fight, that he won't last more than a few seconds before the human kills him, but he won't die without a fight. That's not who he is.

So when he feels the human stop in front of him and fall to his knees beside Steve's motionless body, Steve attacks.

Well, he tries. But his body won't cooperate, the pain makes him so dizzy that he almost loses consciousness as he tries to rise enough to sink his teeth into the human's soft flesh. He sinks back down, with pained whimpers he tries to suppress but can't.

"Shh, hey, it's okay, buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise. I'm trying to help you, but you are gonna have to stay still and let me, okay?"

It doesn't make any sense, none of it, but he's so tired and the voice talking to him sounds so nice, warm and soothing. It makes him want to lie still and let it wash over him. With the last of his strength, he blinks his eyes open to look at the man who is about to end his life, no matter what his alluring voice promises.

The last thing Steve sees before the pain and exhaustion pulls him back under are the man's eyes. They were a rich, dark brown, like melted chocolate under a gentle heat. Their warmth held a soft depth, inviting and comforting, reminiscent of a cozy fireplace on a chilly evening. With each gaze, it was as if the soft flicker of candlelight danced within them, creating an aura of quiet reassurance.

The next time Steve is awake, he feels better. He's still weak, but the bone-deep exhaustion has eased. So has the pain, a dull ache rather than a white-hot agony that sets his nerves on fire. As he comes more and more to himself, his brain clearing the haze of sleep, he takes stock.

He's still alive.

He's still surrounded by the scent of the man who found him.

He's comfortable, a soft surface and blankets beneath him.

He's starving.

As if he heard Steve's thoughts - or more likely his growling stomach - Steve hears the man approaching again. Opening his eyes blearily, Steve sees him standing in the doorway with a plate in his hand, and the smell that hits Steve's nose makes his empty stomach cramp with hunger, and saliva floods his mouth. Roasted chicken, Steve's favorite.

"Look who's awake," the man says, and Steve wonders if he knows who Steve is or if he's one of those guys who talks to animals. He really hopes it's the latter, because that makes his chances of survival at least a little better.

The man takes another two steps towards him, but then stops and looks at him cautiously.

"Okay, last time didn't go so well, huh?" He asks, but Steve thinks it's more rhetorical. "I've got food for you, so please don't bite me? God, it's a good thing Wayne isn't here or he'd think I'd finally lost it, talking to a wolf."

Shaking his head, the man comes closer and Steve takes in his appearance. He doesn't look particularly dangerous, rather slender with dark curls and a pale complexion. He doesn't carry any weapons, but he does have an ugly scar on his face. It must have been a deep cut, and it runs in a jagged line across his cheek.

Steve tries to lift his head when the man is close enough to strike, but he only manages a few inches before sinking back down with a soft whine.

"Hey, hey, hey, you shouldn't move yet, sweetheart. It's a miracle nothing's broken, as far as I can tell, but that bullet really did a number on you, almost like it was poisoned. Bastards to do this to another being."

Silver bullet, Steve thinks. That explains the intense pain and weakness.

Then he forgets all about it the moment the smell of the chicken intensifies as the man reaches out to Steve's muzzle with a large chunk of meat between his fingers. The man, if you can call him that, probably about Steve's age, looks terrified as he does so, but he doesn't stop until Steve can close his teeth around the meat and pull it into his mouth. When the meat is gone, Steve chewing happily and the guy still in possession of all five fingers, his host breathes a sigh of relief.

"Shit, man, that was scary," the man laughs, his dimples popping. He beams at Steve as he hands him another large chunk of chicken.

This human is so weird, Steve thinks. Talking to a wolf like it's a human, chastising hunters for wounding it with what he thinks is a poisoned bullet. Feeding it its own rations by hand, during a harsh winter, no less.

Whatever plan is behind this: Steve doesn't understand it. But he's too weak to think much about it, because as soon as the plate is empty and his stomach comfortably full, Steve sinks back under.

He dreams of soft hands stroking his fur, and of someone softly singing to him the lullaby that his mother used to sing to him when he was a pup and woke up from a nightmare.

It becomes routine as Steve's body fights off the effects of the silver bullet.

The man, whose name was Eddie, as Steve learned during one of the many times he was sort of talking to himself, fed him meat by hand, and sometimes broth and potatoes. Every two days he would also dress his wound, always clicking his tongue at the state of it and muttering about asshole hunters.

Eddie always talked while tending to Steve, at first telling him how his body was healing and what Eddie was doing to help him. But after a while, he began to tell Steve about his days and his chores, regaling Steve with tales of his adventures while gathering firewood or preparing meals for them. It was surprisingly comforting to listen to Eddie talk, his stories always funny and dramatic, with a hint of self-deprecation.

It didn't make sense to Steve why Eddie was doing all this until one night he started talking about his uncle, who had gone to the city to find work to better support them and hadn't been home in months.

It was then that Steve realized that Eddie was lonely.

He'd been alone in that cabin in the middle of the woods for months until he found Steve lying in a ravine and carried him home.

Steve was the closest thing Eddie had to a companion in months.

Knowing that eased some of the apprehension he felt toward Eddie, because it seemed that as long as the man didn't know that Steve wasn't an ordinary wolf, he didn't have to be afraid of him.

Three weeks after Steve first woke up in Eddie's cabin, he manages to get up on weak legs and take a few tentative steps before collapsing again.

Eddie is there to catch him and by then his hands are welcome on Steve's body.

They are always gentle with Steve, stroking his fur and snout, scratching behind his ears just right. Eddie touches him all the time now, and Steve has no idea how he feels about it.

That's not entirely true, he has an inkling of what the warmth means that spreads through his body when Eddie lies down behind him on the mattress he'd put in front of the fireplace so Steve would be warm while he healed. Every night, Eddie would bury his face in Steve's fur right at his neck, a vulnerable place only close members of a pack were ever allowed to put their snouts, and stroke Steve's side and belly with gentle hands until they both drifted off to sleep.

Everything smelled of Eddie. Steve smelled of Eddie.

And Eddie had begun to smell of Steve.

It made his inner wolf purr with satisfaction, and that was such a phenomenally bad idea.

That's why Steve is trying to get back on his feet as quickly as possible, so he can leave before these feelings that have started to grow in his heart get any worse.

Eddie is human.

Humans are not to be trusted. They are not safe.

But Eddie feels safe.

Worse, he is starting to feel a lot like mate, and Eddie has no idea what that even means.

"Careful, Koda. You're still healing. There's no rush, y'know. You can stay here as long as you want, okay? This is your home now, too."

Steve whines softly at the ache in Eddie's voice and licks his neck and face to comfort him. The wet tongue probably tickles because it makes Eddie laugh, and he buries his face in the thick fur at the front of Steve's neck.

And Steve just lets him, lets him press his mouth against his throat while he nuzzles behind Eddie's ear and breathes in his scent.

Steve is fucked.

It all comes to a head a few weeks later.

Steve is now back on his feet and uses his new mobility to follow Eddie around and keep him company while he does his chores, often dozing next to him while he cooks or chops wood or sorts through their rapidly dwindling supplies. Soon Eddie will have to go hunting to keep them stocked with meat, and Eddie hates the thought. He doesn't want to hurt another creature.

That's why Steve decides to go hunting for his human. He can provide for him.

A week later, he leaves in the middle of the night, carefully slipping out of Eddie's arms around him and trotting through the little door that Eddie built into his door so that Steve could relieve himself whenever he needed to.

It goes better than Steve expected, his muscles still not back to where they used to be, but stronger and faster than he would have thought after weeks of lying around. He follows the tracks of a deer for almost an hour before he finally finds it. The hunt itself is short, the wind comes from the right direction, and the deer clearly doesn't sense him until it's too late.

Steve kills it as quickly and painlessly as possible, sure that Eddie would want him to. He thinks he would do anything to make Eddie happy.

When Steve comes back from the woods, he's dragging the deer's body with his snout, wishing he could just shift back into his human body because it would be so much easier with his hands. But the shift takes a lot out of an already weakened body, and he can't risk it. In a few weeks it will be as easy as breathing again, he's sure of that, but right now it could be a serious setback in his recovery.

He can already see the cabin through the trees when he hears Eddie's voice calling for him. He sounds panicked and Steve immediately drops his prey to run to his mate.

Eddie is not even wearing a jacket, his breath coming out in clouds of condensed air as he stumbles through the glittering snow, calling for Koda.

He calls for his wolf with panicked tears in his voice and Steve barrels into him without a second's hesitation. Eddie falls to the ground, his arms full of Steve, his hands clutching Steve's fur as if he's afraid this is a dream and Steve will disappear again.

"Koda? Oh my God, where the hell have you been? I was worried sick. I thought you just disappeared." Eddie sits up, his arms never letting go of where they are wrapped around Steve, and Steve can smell the tears on his face. He carefully licks them away as more and more follow. "Please don't leave me, please, please, please," Eddie keeps begging him, his whole body shaking and Steve wants to shift so badly. He wants to take his mate in his arms and hold him, soothe his pain and fear and promise him that he'll never leave him.

So even though he knows better, he does.

One moment Eddie is holding a big, brown wolf in his arms, and the next he is holding a very human, very naked man in his lap.

If Steve wasn't scared to death of how Eddie will react, he would laugh at the high-pitched squeal Eddie lets out when he realizes what has happened.

"Hi," Steve says, waving at Eddie with fluttering fingers. Not his smoothest moment, but to be fair, this isn't how he usually approaches someone he's attracted to. For once he is usually wearing a lot more clothes.

"Uhhh, hi?" Eddie asks, stunned. "Who... Wait, not important right now. Where is my wolf? My Koda. I just got him back."

Steve is pretty sure that Eddie must be in shock and not thinking clearly, but it warms his heart how attached he is to Steve's wolf. He hopes he can get him to like his human side just as much.

Deciding it's best to just come clean with Eddie, Steve exclaims, "Tada," and does a very silly imitation of jazz hands.

Eddie just blinks at him with big eyes.

Okay, Plan B it is, Steve thinks. "I'm him. I'm Koda. Or, well, no, I'm Steve, but you couldn't know that. But, um, yeah, I'm your wolf?" Steve cringes at the your, but it's too late to take it back, and besides, he really wants to be Eddie's wolf.

He wants to be Eddie's everything.

"I knew it!"

Eddie's sudden outburst startles Steve so much that he almost falls off Eddie's lap before Eddie's arms tighten around him.

"Sorry, sorry. It's just... my mom told me about wolves that could turn into humans. She used to tell me stories about how they used to be the protectors of villages and towns, the friends and companions of humans, before some humans turned against them, jealous of the admiration and status they had with the villagers, and drove them away. Mama said that when a wolf chooses you as a mate, you are blessed for life. She always wanted to meet one of you."

Steve knows about Eddie's mother, another story he told Steve under the protective cover of night as they lay on their mattress, Steve's fur soaking up Eddie's tears as he talked about losing his mother when he was only ten.

"Aren't you afraid of me?" Steve still has to ask, his heart beating as fast as the wings of a bird taking flight.

Eddie looks at him as if the thought had never occurred to him. "Afraid of you? Koda... I mean, Stevie, can I call you Stevie?" at Steve's nod Eddie continues, "Are you going to hurt me?"

Now it's Steve's turn to look at Eddie in disbelief. "What? No! Never! Eddie, I promise I would never hurt you. I just thought that you..."

"That I would hurt you if I found out what you are?" Eddie asks quietly, his thumb stroking Steve's collarbone.

"Yes," Steve admits in a low voice. "But not anymore."

"No?" He sounds so hopeful when he asks this, so trusting in the way he holds Steve in his arms, even after learning of Steve's true nature. Steve smiles down at the man who saved him, who tended to him, who cared for him.

His human.

His mate, if Eddie will let him. Steve thinks he might.

"No, I feel safe with you."

Eddie's answering smile is blinding, and Steve has to kiss him, right here in the snow, sitting buck naked in Eddie's lap, the morning sun bathing them in its hopeful light.

[teeny-tiny-revenge]

Came across this in a fic again and I have to vent for a moment here: Ed's hair isn't unclean or not taken care of. Ever. Even at his lowest, in the first two episodes of season two, his hair is light and blows with the wind, it's got perfect waves, there is zero grime in it. Impossible Birds Ed hair has clearly been fairly recently washed, combed out and conditioned. Ed canonically loves soap, and you don't get that hair without owning a comb or brush and frequently working oil into it. He's at sea! The air is salty! It'll dry out your hair, but Ed's hair doesn't ever look dried out. The day he decides to commit suicide he puts his hair up into a lovely bun, with whispy stands framing his face. I have no idea what some people are watching, because Ed taking meticulous care (and most likely also putting pride and love) into his hair is clear, on-screen canon.

Like, if you want to write about how he was neglecting himself in his depression Kraken era? There's plenty there for you on screen as well! He sobs all night, probably sleeps on the floor if he sleeps at all. He doesn't wear his knee brace. He drinks and does drugs (and admits to that being poison to Frenchie!). He's pushing everyone away, he's pushing himself hard into a role that made him passively suicidal even before the breakup depression. He doesn't watch his back during raids At All. There's so much self harm there to address. If you want to, it would probably be plausible to add him not bothering to properly care for any wounds he might obtain during a raid. But he clearly doesn't neglect bathing and hair care. They're probably the only elements of self-care he actually still does during this dark time!

Even rock bottom Ed doesn't neglect his hair. And that says things about him! It's also something I'd love to see actually addressed in fic (will probably write it myself one of these days...): Taking good care of his hair, putting on jewelry, doing his makeup, these are things that seem to bring Ed joy or relief in his darkest moments. Where's my fic about these quiet moments of self-care being a straw he clutches to when everything else is terrible?

I love a good bathing together/doing each other's hair fic. It's intimate and loving! And Stede and Ed are prime material to write a mutual caretaking and bonding over it couple! Ed canonically loves soap and taking care of his hair! And Stede brought an entire fucking bathtub on a ship, the wonderful madman. S1 Stede's hair is always carefully curled, and we know that's not its natural state (it's wavy but not in this manner) from seeing him in S2, away from his certainly plentiful bath and grooming equipment. Stede probably has an hour of daily hair routine! We know he has nice smelling, probably expensive soaps. Where's the fic where they share in this?

There's so much potential! They can show each other their favourite care products! Sometimes they'll work on each other and sometimes not at all! Ed's rich hair oils will make Stede's hair all sticky and weird! Ed will think it's hilarious and adorable, he'll try to ruffle his hair and make it stick up worse and Stede will pout! 🥺 He'll look like this, just with weird spiky hair! One ill-advised day they try putting Stede's curlers in Ed's hair and then they almost can't get them back out because Ed's hair is so long and has lots of natural wave and it'll cling to the curlers and it's awful (they laugh about it afterwards, once Ed has very carefully brushed his hair out again and it no longer pulls at his scalp).

Makeup was a thing done by men and women at the time, especially for aristocrats (as seen in Episode 5), so Stede will know his way around hoity toity makeup, meaning rouges and whites (contained lots of lead, yuck!). Meanwhile Ed does pirate costume makeup for Blackbeard endeavours, that's a whole different thing. And both of these are makeups they don't actually enjoy doing (Stede avoids heavy makeup for the party, and Ed's Kraken makeup is part of his whole Everything Is Awful And I'm Making Myself Feel That look). But we see Ed do nice makeup that seems to be him! On his supposed to be final day on Earth, he cleans away all the Kraken coal, he cleans up his cabin, he gets rid of drugs, booze, Izzy (everything that was harming him), he does up his hair really nice and in a style that's very much Not Blackbeard, and he puts on a gorgeous bit of eyeliner that really brings out his eyes. And now that they're safe and happy together, when Ed decides he wants to look pretty today, not only can Stede lose his marbles over the look, Ed can also show him how to make his own eyes pop like that. They can stand in front of their mirror together, giggling and trying not to poke anyone in the eye.

Like. This is a fancy bathroom items for fancy bathroom items couple. They will bond over their love of bubble baths and nice smelling soaps and soft oils for hair and skin! They will learn each other's routines and how to do them just right for them. Let Stede learn that Ed loves his baths scalding hot (Stede has to wait a while for it to cool before he joins him in the tub because he'll get all pink and lightheaded). Let Ed learn how to put in Stede's curlers for him if Stede wants his hair to look extra fluffy the next day. Let Ed learn to massage Stede's back and Stede learn to massage Ed's knee. There's so much potential for loving caretaking with this ship. The trope doesn't at all require Ed to not know or not want to take care of his hair and hygiene. Fuck's sake.

[phoneuserhana333]

.°˖✧ part 2/3: neighbor!doctor!abby / neighbor!producer!reader headcanons .°˖✧

tags: NSFW!!!, sick!reader, mention of nausea and illness, hand on throat, cliffhanger, ellie appears.

i acc hate how this part turned out :( i hope it’s somewhat enjoyable, barely proofread</3 sorry :((((

PART1 — PART2 — NSFWHC — N(SFW)HC

• you successfully forced abby into a temporary truce. sort of. falling sick and losing your voice, motivation and strength left you low on groceries and medication. so you opted to sleep through the nauseating headaches and eat oatmeal for breakfast, lunch and dinner. it was bad bad.

• so bad, in fact, that you sought out abby’s help. sure, she was a seemingly pretentious, stuck up ER nurse with a mean streak and a hatred for anything fun, but she had the medical knowledge you desperately needed to get back on your feet. plus, she definitely had pain relief medication lying around her house.

• this lead to a strange deal to form between abby and you; nurse anderson agreed to get food and medicine and deliver it to you until you got better, in exchange for three weeks of peace and quiet. hesitant, but desperate, you agreed. this was a huge win for abby. all she wanted was you to be quiet, after all.

• on the first day of your deal, you didn’t let abby come inside, claiming that you were quarantining and demanding she leaves the tote bags full of groceries outside. you barely managed to pull them into your home and the heaviness made you break a sweat, causing your fever to worsen. you texted abby that you were feeling worse and she managed to convice you to come over tomorrow after work for a check up.

• the day after, a defeated patient greeted abby at the door, avoiding her questioning gaze. she sighed and entered your home with a smaller bag filled with medicine and her briefcase with equipment that her dad gifted her. abby was a keeping her side of the deal to a t, she was determined to get on your good side, hoping you’d tune your partying and constant noisiness down for good.

• upon entering your home, the blonde was stunned. bookshelves, a grand piano, papers everywhere, even a chess board. you were smarter than she gave you credit for. the woman let you lead her to your bedroom where the air was thicker and the blinds were pulled down, hiding a bed full of tissues and forgotten mugs in the dark. fuck, her condition might be worse than i thought, abby thought to herself as she stared at your messy floral sheets, or she’s lazy, which might be even worse.

• abby checked you with the care of someone who has been in the medical field for decades, taking her time with you. your temperature was high and you were shivering, claiming to be cold while burning up. abby telling you to pull your shirt up wasn’t helping your trembling state either.

“take me on a date first, w-why dontcha?”

“sorry, y/n. i don’t date neighborhood brats.”

• you pout, too tired to argue, jumping when you feel the freezing stethoscope abby placed against your bare back.

“ow, ow, ow- abby what the hell?! s’cold!”

“god, you’re such a crybaby! here-“

• abby pulled away and warmed the metal with her hot breath, rolling her eyes as she did. your pitiful appearance was only surface level, a cruel reminder to abby that you weren’t a doe-eyed, helpless girl next door she got to take care of and feed soup, much to her disappointment. her cute little face is hiding a literal devil, abby muses, listening to your irregular heartbeat.

• what abby wasn’t aware of however, was how often she thought of you as cute. it was always- “that cute brat”, “…kind of endearing if she wasn’t so annoying” or even “a handful”, complaining to manny on the phone with her darkened eyes glued to your ass, watching as you rushed past her home to catch a train. abby was getting lost in thought, her brain full of aforementioned handfulls and soft plump skin and maybe even her landing a rough spank on- fuck. no. that was wrong.

• … right?

• you, on the other hand, were wide eyed and choking on words. abby placed her warm hand on the small of your back, forcing you to straighten up. she was moving the chest piece around, occasionally telling you to breathe deeper, in a voice that your hazy mind registered as surprisingly hot.

• what really made your heartbeat skip, was her thumb rubbing your back, tracing the elastic waistband of your pajama pants and then slipping underneath to explore the hidden skin. was abby aware she was doing this?! why weren’t you saying anything?!

• … why did it feel so good?

• abby pulled your shirt down, packing away her equipment as she started to speak, offering you a final diagnosis (“you’re so dramatic, it’s just a cold”). the blonde was peeking at your shaking form from the corner of her eye, watching you pick up your tissues and mugs, trembling with barely open eyes. it may be just a cold, but you were obviously drained.

“… ugh. lay down, okay? i’ll take these downstairs.”

• abby rolled her eyes and took over cleaning up your cups. she ignored your protests as she walked downstairs to your kitchen to rinse your dirty dishes in the sink and get your dishwasher started. when she looked up, she saw a few photos on the cupboard above the sink, memories of you and your friends.

• on the one in the middle, you were hugging two girls, playfully kissing one on the cheek, caught mid laugh. her gaze softens. you were a good friend. but a horrible neighbor. for a second, abby lets herself get lost in her head, her eyes staring at the polaroids, unblinking.

• the next few days went by quickly with daily visits from abby. you started to get better, taking it easy and trying to cough quietly as to not bother your neighbor. abby was tired; december was coming up and she was unsure of her plans for the holidays. work was becoming more stressful and the ER was full of people- well, more than usual.

• abby stopped visiting as frequently when she noticed you were getting better, instead sending you wave and tell you off for not cleaning snow off your doorway or wearing a jacket she deemed to be too thin.

• until she stopped acknowledging you altogether. abby was purposefully ignoring you and you just couldn’t find out why. you were used to her eyes following you around, guarding you in some way, like some weird nurse-angel. why was she slowly becoming a ghost you could barely catch a glimpse of? had you done something wrong?

• instead of simply confronting abby, you chose to ignore her back, sending cold looks towards her whenever you crossed paths on the sidewalk. abby, on the other hand, would blush, thinking about how she saw you in only your tiny maroon panties a week ago, naked and on display in your window. since then, she couldn’t look at you, scared that you’d somehow find out that you were the reason she’s been moaning at night the past few days. seeing you on the street would make abby shut eyes shut tightly, fighting her mind as it conjured the image of your pussy and your hard nipples hidden by lacy curtains on a cold december night.

• one thing lead to another, and both of you ended up alone on christmas eve. abby swore she was just going to check on you, see if you were alright. the sight of you with puffy eyes and pouty lips, wrapped in a festive blanket made abby feel fuzzy. before she knew it, she invited you over.

• emotions running high and a somewhat romantic candlelit dinner resulted in you falling into abigail anderson’s bed. she fucked you until morning came, overstimulating you into oblivion and not letting you go until she was satisfied. and after that, she made you hot cocoa.

• despite pretending to be nonchalant, you were a goner. abby had wrapped her hand around your neck and reached down your throat to squeeze your heart. you wanted abby to be yours so bad.

• abby, however, was still hesitant to commit to you. you were the best sex she’s ever had in her life, your hot mouth and tight cunt left her aching for days after, running home to you every night after work, but did she like-like you? what if you didn’t like her back? abby was used to being non-committal, so why was she so enamored with the idea of sharing her life with you?

• this inner turmoil didn’t stop abby from eating you out on your counter top, fingerfucking you while taking a bath together, letting you grind against her thigh in her bedroom.

• god, why was everything so intimate all of a sudden? abby ground you harshly on her chiseled leg, moving your hips with force and pulling a nipple, anything just to hear you whine. with your forehead pressed against hers, you whispered “please, abby. need you-“ and she was gone. her pace quickened as she moaned “good girl, goooood girl…” over and over again. you truly were the best girl ever, abby thought, as you rode out your high on her, now wet, leg.

• sex this heavenly landed abby in your house on new years eve, attending one of your infamous (and unexpectedly fun) parties. she met your friends, dina and jesse. and… ellie. she recognized the two women- they were on one of the polaroids in your kitchen, ellie was the girl who’s cheek you were kissing.

• ellie was too close to you for abby’s liking, touching your back and brushing a finger against your lips after you took a shot of tequila. why was she telling you to “take it easy, babe”, why was she calling you babe? abby felt her blood boil as she rolled her eyes at the overly flirty tone ellie used, taking a sip of her favorite wine you made sure to get just for her.

• just when abby thought that it couldn’t get worse, ellie tried to make a move on you.

“so, y/n. any-uh, plans on who you’ll kiss tonight?”

[kyushiblast]

[Slam the table]

Your honor, I'd like a Grusha x reader (send help, I love this man so much) with a side of hurt and comfort where reader has always been with him during his prime snowboarding days, and even after the incident they just refuse to leave him. Stay until the very end, let's go.

⤷ 〝 by your side. 〞

➞ pairing : grusha x gn! reader

➞ summary : hurt & comfort with your favorite snowboarder.

➞ genre : hurt to comfort / fluff.

➞ cw / other : mentions of injuries

➞ a/n : thanks for the request! ~ glimpsed over for a proofread

life is indecisive at times. you can be riding high and easy, ready to overcome anything. but then it can send a hurdle too tall for you to climb over, and all of a sudden you’re toppling down from your proud stance.

before the incident, he’d been overconfident. so sure about everything, that it’d be fine and he could rest in the fact that he was the best. but overconfidence and immaturity often lead to dark roads, and that’s where he’d parked until the fatal day.

watching him race down the slopes, you could appreciate his abilities and could easily understand why he’d be so proud of his talents.

but no one’s invulnerable to the harsh conditions of the mountains.

your heart sank as you shouted from afar, his body lying still in the snow. some of his gear had landed elsewhere, while he himself was escorted onto an ambulance.

you’d hopped over the safety barriers and carefully slid down the snow, your boots acting as well enough stabilizers to arrive at the scene.

it wasn’t pretty. and yet, you found yourself grasping his hand the whole ride to the hospital. his bruised, damaged hand.

and stifling back tears as best you could, you simply wished for one thing: for him to stay alive.

it wasn’t till grusha woke up in a bed in an operating room that he felt regret.

the door creaked open, your head popping in. rushing in, you held back the urge to jump into his arms and squeeze him tightly.

the doctor followed you in, shutting the door with a light push.

you both sat on the chairs near the bed, you brushing your fingers over grusha’s hand. he weakly entwined his fingers with yours.

the doctor began listing all grusha’s injuries, including the talk about recovery periods and check ups as well as the topic of exercising and what things to do and not to do.

one question buzzed at the top of your tongue. you knew the answer, but wanted to hear him confirm it.

“will grusha be able to go back to snowboarding?”

the doctor sighed, as if worried one of you would inquire about the subject. you noticed grusha shifting his head away from your gaze.

“it’d be too much stress on your body right now, especially with the moves you’re usually equipped to do,” the doctor said, standing up from his seat. “that’s how i'll put it. i advise against it, unless you want to put your body in more risk.”

after some subsequent words passed, the doctor left, leaving you and grusha alone.

you held both his hands now in between yours. the air was heavy as you just stared at grusha’s eyes beginning to water up, his eyelids doing their best to blink the tears away.

“it’ll be okay...” you tried to reassure.

he shook his head. “no, it won’t!” he snapped back without thought.

you sunk your head, your chest feeling heavier than before.

“…sorry.” you muttered out of impulse. “if…if you want, i can leave…give you some space.”

grusha’s mind filled with more guilt. you’d just been trying to make him feel at least a bit better, and he’d practically yelled back at you in response.

“no, no. i’m sorry, please stay. i just—this is too much for me right now.” he looked down, his eyes shutting. “just a few hours ago, i was ready to win a championship. now…i’m being told i can’t continue professional snowboarding ever again—how am i supposed to move on from this?”

you awkwardly hugged him, careful not to put too much pressure on and hurt him. in the silence, you whispered, “no matter what happens, i’ll always be here, okay?”

he finally let some tears escape, doing his best to hold you despite his aching muscles screaming at him to stop moving.

grusha took a deep breath. “…i don’t deserve you, a-at all. you should leave me and find someone better—”

“don’t. i’m not leaving you, you’re already the best for me,” some tears began trickling down your face as well, your sleeve quickly wiping them away. “…no matter what, we’re going to get through this together.”

“i love you,” grusha’s voice was small, his head burying into your shoulder.

“i love you too,” you couldn’t help a small laugh leave your mouth at his unusual vulnerability. “and that’ll never change.”

when he was discharged from the hospital, you’d temporarily moved into his place. and true to your word, you’d stayed.

stayed with him despite his growing, cold attitude to others. stayed despite his seemingly dramatic and endless mood swings. and soon enough, your fifth anniversary of dating came by.

grusha was positioned sitting on the couch, not doing much. just sitting and half listening to the tv’s buzz. you’d noticed and sat next to him.

“deep in thought?” you asked, his concentrated face worrying you a tad.

“ah…don’t worry, it’s...” he trailed off.

“it’s…?”

“something. just don’t worry about me.” he fiddled with the nearby blanket. “actually…can you go with me somewhere?”

you smiled at his quick decisions, getting up from the couch to bundle up.

after mirroring your actions, grusha opened the door letting the chilly breeze waft through the house.

“okay…let’s go before it gets too dark.”

the snow was freshly fallen, your footsteps as well as grusha’s marking the path behind.

the destination was best described as beautiful, as if the area around were glistening due to the snowflakes falling.

a small lake flowed next to the clearing, its water sporting a crystalline look despite it all just being liquid.

but nothing, nothing could be more beautiful to you in that moment besides the action of grusha getting on one knee and proposing right there and then.

work of kyushiblast , please do not translate , copy , or repost here or on any other platform !!

[cardinalcanis]

CODEX: The Viridian Phantoms

Summary: I did a thing. Been wanting to write about the custom space marine chapter that has been eating my brain the last few days. The Viridian Phantoms, my loyalist Mortarion successor chapter. They have been SO much fun to write and will totally do more things with them in the future. They are my first ever custom chapter so I would LOVE LOVE LOVE your reviews and opinions about them.

TW: People WAY too comfortable with death.

Word count: 3314

"Can I make my own fanart/OCs/head cannons/fics about/with the Viridian Phantoms?" First of all I will die <3, second of all, of course! As long as you credit me as the og creator of them I have no issue with it!

Tag squad (let me know if you wish to be tagged on stuff): @druidwolf21 @wolf-feathers12 @artemisareia @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus

@gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @kit-williams @egrets-not-regrets @jaghatai-khock @horuslupercal @moodymisty

@sinistermojo @beckyninja @justallll @ms--lobotomy @pluvio-tea @lemon-russ

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

General information: 

“We are Death, so Humanity may live.”

-Chapter name: Viridian Phantoms. 

-Other nicknames and given monikers (at least the nice ones): Angels of Krieg, The Bone Collectors, Krieger Kites, Jumping Tanks, Climbing Banshees. 

-Loyalty: Loyalist. 

-Homeworld: Krieg. 

-Symbol: A ghostly skull wreathed in chains.

-Colors: Light viridian green accented with black and silver.

Origin: 

“Father, see your children, battle-worn and pale,

Holy Chains and hooks prepared, 

Father, see your children, dead but not failed, 

By their blood may the corruption be cleansed.” 

After the events of Baal and the Plague Wars Belisarius Cawl saw the necessity of having more resistant troops. Capable of weathering extreme conditions, facing bio-monstrosities and gargantuan enemies, and being Immune to plagues and other chaos or mortal-made maladies. 

The Viridian Phantoms were born from Cawl’s experiments, using a modified strand of Mortarion’s gene-seed to create warriors who could endure almost everything. They stand as an act of defiance to Roboute Guilliman’s will in the face of what he considers advancements in the name of the Imperium’s survival, magnificent discoveries that honor the Omnissiah.  Making them only female was the loophole he found to make their existence possible, even though kept in secret for many years.  Recruited and trained on Krieg for their innate resilience and loyalty, these Marines are honed to become the embodiment of human perseverance. 

They possess their gene father’s legendary resistance combined with an aspect of Mortarion not exploited by the previous Death Guard; his untapped psyker potential. The Viridian Phantoms are unyielding assaulters, designed to weather any blow; be it a plague, environment non compatible with life, or physical force. Their combat style is defined by their heavy armor, equipped with hooks and chains, allowing them to latch onto massive foes, scale them, and pull them down into submission so they can be butchered. Despite their heavily reinforced armor, their biomantic prowess allows them bursts of agility, enabling them to jump over large enemies and strike from unexpected angles. Even other Astartes speak about a sense of uneasiness seeing what in all senses is a terminator-like unit swinging in the air and climbing light as a feather. This makes them formidable in melee, where they wield chainswords and scythes with deadly precision. Learning from the Thousand Sons’ mistakes, they do not over rely on their psyker powers, biomancy is meant as another tool in their arsenal. Their uncanny resistance aided by biomantic regenerative capabilities make them the perfect unmovable wall for humanity. 

Made behind the primarch’s back: 

“Father, we are ready, take us if you must.”

Cawl’s unprecedented authority within the Mechanicus and his status as the architect of the Primaris project provided him with enough leeway to conduct this experiment. His known… quirks and disregard for strict Imperial protocol helped him fly under the radar. His projects are already known for secrecy, but even with the trust on his skill and status he couldn’t afford for Guilliman discovering the Phantoms before they were ready. 

The choice of  Krieg didn't only rest on its hardy loyal woman but also for its isolation, secrecy of what truly goes in their underground hives and lack of general scrutiny from the Imperium. Krieg’s conditions allow for secretive experimentation; the people of  Krieg, known for their discipline and loyalty never questioned nor revealed Cawl’s activities, they were ordered not to anyways. It is said that long lines are made to this day for parents to proudly offer their daughters for testing, even though they didn’t know what it was about, the Emperor was looking for female children so they served accordingly. 

Cawl carefully controlled who knew about the Phantoms’ existence and purpose, involving only trusted Mechanicus personnel and Kriegsmen who were at a need to know bases of their assignment and sworn to secrecy. Any record-keeping or tracking was obfuscated through a complex mix of bureaucracy and Mechanicus’ religious beliefs, already only revealing the biggest secrets to the worthy in the  Omnissiah’ eyes. 

The Phantoms were obviously kept isolated from other Astartes chapters and Imperial forces to avoid detection. In their deployments, the Phantoms engaged enemies with minimal support, focusing on missions that required little to no backup. Training and conditioning was completed in Mechanicus-controlled facilities under Cawl’s lock and key, keeping them away from inquisitive eyes. He implemented protocols restricting their interaction with other Imperial personnel, ensuring their knowledge and exposure remained minimal.

The Phantoms’ early deployments were limited  remote or particularly hazardous battlefields far from populated areas or Imperial forces, where only the toughest units were expected to survive. These are regions affected by warp taint, plague, or xenos threats, where the survival of any unit would be notable but not easily verified. 

Cawl specifically chose high-mortality missions where the Phantoms could demonstrate their resilience. By deploying the Phantoms to zones where no ordinary Astartes force could feasibly operate, Cawl ensured they’d operate in isolated conditions, where successful missions were difficult to track or verify independently.

Later on he made use of trusted Rogue Traders and Mechanicus explorator missions to test the Viridian Phantoms in the fringes of the Imperium. 

Reports and data on the Phantoms were  filed under vague terms or ambiguous classifications, described in ways that did not reveal their true origin or makeup. Listed as specialized Krieg regiments or other “experimental” Mechanicus units when deployed. These reports kept them concealed, making it appear as if they were simply part of a contingent of the Death Korps or other Mechanicus-approved forces rather than a unique chapter of Astartes.

Physical appearance, chapter culture and personality: 

“Through pain and flame, we fall

And if you can stay, sister, then we'll show you the way

To return from the ashes we call.”

Moration’s gene seed gives the Viridian Phantoms a formidable yet eerie appearance that sets them apart from other chapters. Considered some if not the tallest Primaris Marines, they are built like a block of muscle, needing great upper body strength to hold their full armored weight while hanging mid air. Their skin turns a pale white or slightly grayish hue with visible veins. Their hair typically ranges in shades of white, silver, or light gray. They tend to keep their hair very long and extensively braided. Their eyes are described as a ‘pale gaze’ and ‘lifeless’ or with an almost glassy appearance, people claim that the Phantoms' gaze is ‘detached’ looking through them rather than at them. The intensity of their gaze is increased by how little they tend to blink unnerving those unaccustomed to their manner. All of these add up into giving them their phantom-like appearance they are named after.

They barely speak, when they do, it is done with precision and brevity. There is no room for flowery language or embellishment; they say what needs to be said and nothing more. Their speaking cadence tends to be emotionless and unenthusiastic, not due to lack of emotion but their little interaction with non Phantoms. As very sensible biomancers, they are constantly in touch with the inner processes inside those around them, including emotional responses. Spoken and gestured communication is just a poor mockery of the higher level subtle, unspoken connections they share. This makes them seem distant or even cold to those who rely more on direct communication, this lack of visible emotion could create misunderstandings or discomfort.

The Phantoms struggle hard to connect with outsiders, as they find typical methods of bonding cumbersome or shallow compared to the natural closeness they share among themselves. When interacting with other chapters, they struggle to adapt to more conventional forms of camaraderie, finding it challenging to communicate complex intentions in ways others understand and at the same time making them highly aware of the moods or intents of others. Knowing of the fear, frustration, anger and paranoia they cause first hand; but without the skills to properly address other's concerns. 

This sensitivity fosters deep bonds between the Phantoms, allowing them to anticipate and understand each other in ways that most Astartes can’t. It creates a near-unbreakable trust, as they’re constantly aware of each other's emotional state, intentions, and even physical condition, reinforcing the idea of sisterhood beyond the individual. The electrical discharge in one sister’s muscles ordering to lift a bolter is sensed by the others, copying the same movements, making them capable of reacting to their environment like a well coordinated flock of birds. This gives them an almost meditative focus in battle. Their awareness of their sisters’ movements allows them to coordinate without spoken commands, making them seem eerily calm and united.

Krieg’s women to the core, their loyalty to the Emperor and their battalion is absolute. They see themselves as living tools of the Imperium, willing to sacrifice anything, including their lives, without hesitation. This unwavering dedication makes them reliable but can come across as suicidal, looking for death in death’s sake. Each Phantom believes their existence is expendable if it means the mission succeeds or the forces of humanity are protected. 

The Viridian Phantoms also hold a profound respect for their fallen allies, whether they are their own sisters, other Astartes, or even mortal guardsmen and civilians. They view these fallen as martyrs of the Emperor’s cause. As a tribute, unless the remains are corrupted by Chaos, Phantoms often collect small pieces of armor, bones, cloth, strands of hair, or even rubble from the battlefield and fashion them into beads and charms. These adornments are extensively braided into their hair or hung across their weapons and armor, serving as personal memorials and tokens of respect. Teeth, in particular, are a favored keepsake known among the Phantoms as "flesh pearls," close second to hair which they braid with their own.  

With so much of their time spent among the Mechanicus it is of no surprise that one of the most significant aspects of their culture is the ceremonial tending to their gear and weapons. Each battle-sister sees her armor and weapons as an extension of herself, considering them "bound" to her flesh and spirit. Outside of battle, Phantoms often spend hours in silent preparation, maintaining and blessing their chains, hooks, and weapons in a ritual that reinforces their connection. It has been reported that this strong belief on their gear as part of their flesh has ended into several occurrences where their biomantic powers also restore cracked ceramite or instances where guns keep shooting when it is obvious that the magazine must have been emptied. 

This meticulous care for their gear makes the Phantoms selective about who is allowed to handle it. They permit only trusted Mechanicus priests or highly skilled serfs with whom they have overseen working many times to assist in maintaining their equipment. These chosen few would be expected to respect the Phantoms' many rituals and understand the reverence the Phantoms have for their weapons and armor. These selected few granted the honor of working with the Phantoms' gear have to undergo bonding rites, long meditations and purification rituals to align with each specific Phantom that has chosen them to tend to this sacred part of themselves to the highest of standards. 

The Phantoms’ secret rites, meditations and mantras help them both handle their oversensitivity to all life around them and reinforce their religious adoration for death and sacrifice.  The Phantoms hold pre-battle rituals where they recite personal death vows. These vows are spoken in low, emotionless tones, acknowledging their acceptance of death and pledging to die honorably if it serves the Imperium. Followed by their well known Death Hymns which they sing in ritual and even during battle, Viridian Phantom Death Hymns are the only instance of them raising their voices and carrying emotionally charged statements. They most are directed to a figure they ‘Father’, if it refers to either The Emperor, Mortarion or both is unknown. These chants carry an ominous, almost haunting quality, blending grim acceptance, defiance, and reverence for their purpose. The chants are rhythmic, echoing through the battlefield and unnerving allies and enemies alike with their strange, almost theatrical longing for death. They possess sections where the volume crescendos to shouts or quiets to an eerie whisper, transitioning between powerful declarations and subdued, haunting verses.

Currently, the Viridian Phantoms have no official Chapter Master due to their uncertain experimental state. Leadership has fallen by the battle sisters consensus upon Revenant (Captain) Lena Arendt, a figure respected for her exceptional combat skill and biomantic abilities. She is often referred to as the ‘Ceramite Fae’, due to even amongst other Phantoms her seamless grace mid air while fully armored creates the illusion of effortless flight. A fatal flaw her and many phantoms inherit from Mortarion is how much of a hard time they have at asking for help from non Phantoms, maybe not much out of their gene seed but their desire to prove their chapter is worthy to exist.

Gear and unconventional battle tactics: 

“We are the scythe that reaps the corruption, 

We are the chain that bounds the monstrosity to a kneel, 

We are the knife that carves the names of the fallen onto our enemies, 

We are the Emperor’s unbroken might, 

We are his bleeding sacrifice so we could still have a light, 

We are to fall so the many may rise, 

We are the Viridian Phantoms, 

And we are Death, so Humanity may live.”

As mentioned, The Phantoms hold close reverence to their gear and decorate them extensively with allies’ remains, one of the most memorable are their oracles (librarians) and gravekeepers’ (chaplains) complex teeth veils. Their armor is modeled on the reinforced Mark X, heavily modified for maximum durability. The plating is reinforced to withstand corrosive environments, disease, and warp-tainted toxins, often appearing thicker and more robust than standard armor. It is painted in a ghostly viridian green with black accents on the trim and silver detailing. Their helmets’ visors emit a ghostly pale green glow, most of them are inscribed with small runes or faint biomantic symbols.

Each Phantom carries many sets of chains and hooks designed for their signature combat style. These chains are attached to their gauntlets or armor and can be used to latch onto large enemies, structures, or terrain. The chains have runic symbols carved along each link alongside attached beads and charms, and when combined with their biomantic abilities, they become unbreakable extensions of the Phantom’s will, allowing them to anchor enemies or secure themselves in chaotic battles. The hooks are often engraved with the names of fallen sisters or even fallen guardsmen or civilians whose names they find on dog tags and forgotten personal effects among the rubble. 

The Viridian Phantoms favor chain swords and most importantly scythes for close combat, weapons that symbolize their affinity for melee and their willingness to face foes up close. All of them also have the ability to extend into chain and grappling hooks. Their scythes are heavy, with blade edges honed to a sheen, used for sweeping attacks against larger foes. Made to grab, mutilate and disembowel in single clean swipes. Alongside their melee weapons they can also favor large shields that chained together create shield walls to push back at the latest of waves.

They are no strangers to range weaponry, which even if they aren’t their favored, each is shown equal love and customization as the melee does. Sometimes even consecrating every individual bullet in day or even week long rituals meant for deep meditation and calming their psyker abilities. 

Even though they may be great assets for them, The Phantoms shun the use of chemical and viral weapons of any kind in their fight to distance themselves from their genesire’s legacy and fall into nurgle’s claws. 

Appart to what they are known for, falling gargantuan monstrosities; the Viridian Phantoms' unparalleled resilience, little regard for their own lives and biomantic abilities would lend themselves to shockingly bold, almost reckless battle tactics and strategies. These tactics seem suicidal to other Space Marines and not Codex Compliant at all:

-Shield killbox: The Phantoms would march forward under heavy enemy fire interlocking shields with one another. Using their scythes they would pull and mutilate anything that comes closer, then throw the helpless bodies behind them where other sisters await to finish them up. Functioning as an efficient assembly line of carnage. 

-Fire on my position: In coordination with allied forces, the Phantoms move into a position where friendly heavy artillery or orbital bombardment is directed. Knowing their unique resilience, they would withstand the controlled onslaught that devastates their foes, emerging from the smoke and flames, most of the time.

-Living bait: Phantoms would feign retreat or send vulnerable looking single units, drawing enemy forces into pre-arranged kill zones laden with explosives. Then, they would walk on the trap while still in the blast radius, relying on their enhanced durability to survive. Phantoms might also herd unknowing enemies into the blast radius of allied tanks. Or charge headlong into fortified enemy positions or into the path of tanks, absorbing fire and drawing attention while the rest of the battalion encircles the distracted enemy.

-Suicide landings: Phantoms generally do not fight alone unless they have a strategic purpose. Like sending one charging (or jumping off flying vehicle) into enemy positions or even the heart of their formations with explosives strapped to their armor, activating them upon impact. This act would be often followed by the surreal sight of the Phantom emerging from the carnage, bloodied but alive. 

-Walking beacons: They do have a unique skill to escort survivors through dangerous zones normal humans would not survive. Making the helpless human stay close to them inside their auras so fire, disease or acid would not hurt them or would not feel the pain and heal quickly. They tend to cover the survivors' eyes and even ears so they feel no fear or run away in the presence of danger, as running away gets them out of the Phantom's aura, which means they will succumb to the factors the are being protected against. And the people's trust and faith that the Phantoms can protect them actually makes it easier to work their biomancy on them. 

Cawl’s secret brought to the light: 

“Hear hear, Father, we're all going to die

Father, we're all going to die

Do not sing me any farewells, for me you must not cry,

hear hear, Father, we're all going to die.”

The Viridian Phantoms' first encounter with Guilliman was intense and deeply scrutinized. After proving themselves time and time again completing dangerous missions in secret under Cawl’s direction, the Phantoms were finally brought to Guilliman’s attention as a fully-formed, specialized force created to withstand the most hostile environments and fight the Imperium’s most monstrous foes. Masking themselves as just another battalion of the Unnumbered Sons, with the help of voice modulators in their voxes making them sound masculine (aside from restricting their vox channels when singing). 

They were deployed alongside his forces in a brutal battle. Observing them, Guilliman noted their resilience and uncanny coordination as they maneuvered in unison, taking down enormous threats with sacrificial tactics. The Phantoms suffered grave wounds but continued to fight, showing an almost eerie selflessness that unsettled many nearby Ultramarines.

After the battle, Guilliman confronted the Phantoms directly, demanding to know their origins. Their leader, Revenant Lena Arendt, revealed their loyalty and their gene-sire without hesitation, asserting their purpose and loyalty to the Emperor, not to Mortarion’s legacy. Guilliman, appalled by Cawl’s audacity, proclaimed that their very existence was an affront to the Imperium and must be erased.

The Phantoms responded by raising their bolters to their own heads, ready to end their lives at Guilliman's command. Stunned, Guilliman halted them. They remain a battalion awaiting Guilliman’s final judgment, will they be eliminated? Given a suicide mission hoping they never return? Will they ever back their birthright as the 14th? The future looks bleak and uncertain for the Viridian Phantoms. But the primarch must hasten as talk is spreading.

[gummyfang]

♡♡♡ |   ˗ˏˋ Passing Stars || Chapter 1  ´ˎ˗

➳　【 C a p t a i n　Ｒ e x　ｘ　Ｒｅａｄｅｒ】

❧ Warnings: 𝐠/𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 / 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧 (𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐟𝐡), 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧-𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲/𝐰𝐚𝐫

[ 4.0𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 ]

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬:  first multi-part series. clone fever hit hard. i'm actually really happy with this for a change. This chapter is the set-up for the conflict at hand :) im currently on s6 of TCW and AUFHHGHH i just got past the Fives arc. im a bit insane atm. anyways ENJOYY

“I promise, you will get your rifle back when you leave the premises. It’s just procedure- you’re not authorized to carry any weapons into the Jedi Temple.”

You gritted your teeth at the Guard blocking your path as firmly held onto your sniper rifle, as if he’d have to pluck it from your cold dead hands if he wanted to take it from you. 

Despite your stubborn attitude, you knew your faux little display of rebellion was a losing battle. As much as you refused to trust the Jedi, you were left with little choice but to go to them for help. 

There was very little on your planet for you to return to, other than the remnants of the cities the Separatist forces had quietly seized for themselves. A sparsely populated planet circling a neutron star, right near the outer edge of the mid rim. Nothing remarkable on its own, but full of mining communities ripe for the Separatists to exploit for their excessive droid production.

For as far as you knew, you were the only one who’d been able to penetrate the blockade.

You sniffed, still agitated as you dropped the sniper rifle into the storage bin. The thought of the poor working conditions your people were being put through to mine materials for those bastards was enough to temporarily put yourself past your distaste for the Republic.

“Thank you.” the Guard responded dryly, unable to hide the hint of sarcasm in his voice. 

“Be careful with it.” you sneered, almost shoulder checking the man on your way past him. If you were being honest with yourself, you had to acknowledge you were being unreasonable with this poor man. He was only here to do his job and people like you did not make it any easier. But being subject to an invasion had clouded your sense of self, and maybe your ability to be reasonable. Just a little.

You were led to a woman dressed in robes, but you did not know enough about the clothing habits of the Jedi to tell whether she was one of them or not. She nodded, exchanging a few friendly words and beckoning for you to follow her. Your arrival was expected.

A sense of unease washed over you as you made your way through the towering hallways of the Temple. The air tasted warm and stale, the building’s age and the many people that passed through it permeating through its scent. The hallways were far from empty, used for conversation, and in some cases even training, judging by the bright light emitting from those unsettling trademark blades they carried.

Keeping your head low, you ignored the passing glances that were being sent your way. 

A morbid part of you wish you’d died and the torch of fate had been passed on to another unfortunate soul, one more equipped to deal with diplomatic matters such as these. But these were the cards you’d been dealt, and you had little choice but to play them now. 

The tapping of the lady’s shoes accelerated as she swiftened her step, opening the door for you. She moved out of the way, gesturing for you to head inside as she stood outside the door. It was clear she was not accompanying you any further, so you gave her a curt nod and stepped through the opening. 

When the heavy metal doors fell shut behind you with a loud thunk, you were met by several pairs of eyes fixated on you. As if you were a scared animal, you could feel the hair in your neck begin to rise. Despite your feverish thoughts of reassurance and weak attempts to ease your nerves, your sense of unease had failed to dissipate. 

There were three of them. None of their heads adorned the same mask as the woman that had guided you through the hallways, and two of them were sporting similar robes, though there were some differences in how they wore them. Jedi, you were sure of it. 

As soon as you’d entered the room, the taller of the two Jedi took a step forward. He had a striking appearance, eyebrows casting a shadow over his blue eyes. Across his right ran a scar, marking his experience in combat. His robes were black and reddish brown, much darker than those of the red-robed young togruta who stayed in her place by the table. You did not fail to take note of the weapons hanging off their hips, subconsciously feeding into your discomfort even more.

The man in the corner stood out from the two. He was clearly not a Jedi. In the absence of robes, his body was instead covered in full white armor painted with blue stripes. This included his head, covered by a broad helmet covered in markings. A clone, you realized, eyes widening slightly. Your life being mostly secluded to a neutral planet in a neutral system, you’d only ever see brief glances of them on propaganda posters and on the occasional business trip to systems under Republic control.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when the tall Jedi cleared his throat. When you gave him a good look a second time, you noticed he’d moved his hand to cover the hilt of his lightsaber, as had the younger one in the back. Right, Jedi. Mindreaders. 

“Welcome.” he began, giving you a small nod. You nodded back, waiting for him to continue. 

“My name is Anakin Skywalker. This is my Padawan, Ahsoka Tano.” He gestured towards his apprentice, who in turn also greeted you with a small nod. You briefly glanced at the clone in the corner, but he did not speak up to introduce himself, nor did Anakin make a move to introduce him. Oh well. Maybe he was not to be in contact with you directly, who knows what hierarchy they set up in these Temples?

“[Name].” you responded briefly, nothing more, nothing less. 

“[Name].” Anakin echoed your name back at you. “It was your distress signal we received last week, then. We know the basic details of the situation described, but following your message, the Council has been unable to make contact with any representative from your planet. Would you mind explaining what’s going on back there?” You scoffed.

“I would, actually. Having said that, I want to make it clear I am not telling you anything before we have laid down some ground rules.” Despite the hints towards their ability to read your mood and mind from earlier, this seemed to catch them all by surprise. Anakin’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and Ahsoka exchanged a glance with the clone behind him.

“Not telling u- But you’re the one who contacted us for help.” His voice was stern, but mostly laced with surprise.

“The only reason I visited this war-forsaken place was because this is the Jedi’s conflict to resolve! Nobody else’s!” you snarled, somehow working up the courage to jab him in his chest. “The Hakheen system has been a neutral system for the entire duration of the war that you started. We’ve done everything we can to keep ourselves uninvolved with the conflict- and a decade of hard work was undone when you decided to take over our only two neighboring systems! Your thoughtless actions are what put us on the Separatist radar which has now resulted in a full hostile planetary takeover!”

“What?” the togruta spoke up for the first time, giving you a wide-eyed stare. 

It was just as you feared. Hakheen’s takeover had been effectively kept a secret from the rest of the galaxy. Not only did that mean the Jedi Order would only have your word to go off, it also meant you really had been the only person to escape the droid suppression and the blockade around the planet.

“You’re sure? The entire planet has been subject to a takeover, not just your region?” Anakin chimed back in, putting himself past your hostile disposition towards him.

“Trust me, General, I don’t want to be here either. I’d rather have come groveling at the feet of anyone before I came licking the boots of the Jedi Order. But the scale of this invasion has left me with no choice but to come knocking at your door. Like I said, this is your responsibility and you are to fix this mess that you made. After we have been liberated, the Republic will leave us be and we can call this even.”

Ahsoka struggled to speak for a moment, the markings across her brow furrowing. “But that’s not a fair assessment to make.” she retorted. Your gaze met with hers, feeling your blood begin to run a few degrees hotter with building anger. “The Jedi Order only steps in when-” “Snips.” Anakin’s firm voice interrupted her. The Jedi had turned his head to face her, shooting her a warning glance. “Enough.”

This was difficult enough as is. You clearly did not trust either of them, which meant that any form of discussion or negotiation was going to be a struggle. Even if they didn’t agree with your point of view, there was no point in arguing against it. Letting the Separatists enslave the population of a planet being used for a large-scale assault against the Republic was not something they could ignore regardless. 

You were grateful for the intervention. Ahsoka was clearly younger than you, but given the situation and your emotional state, you don’t know how long you could’ve kept your cool.

“I agree that we should stage a counterattack. It’s in everyone’s best interest, from what you have described.” Anakin explained calmly. “But that doesn’t mean we can just blindly agree to your terms. Regardless of whether or not we believe you- and trust me, we do- we will need more concrete proof that what you are saying is true. And if we are to negotiate terms like this with you, you need some form of political status.” Averting your eyes, you stared at the ground. You didn’t have a proper response to that. Sure, you had political aspirations growing up, but the situation you grew up in did not allow many people from Hakheen to pursue their dreams. Despite your promising education, like most people, you were forced to sell animal parts you and your family hunted to make ends meet. There was no room and no budget to invest in some vague ambassadorial aspirations, and this was likely the furthest you’d come in that regard.

“There were others.” you decided to pivot, realizing there was no lying your way out of this anyways. “I was with a group of six escapees. Among them was our Minister of Intersystemary Affairs and two ambassadors to different planets in the Outer Rim, don’t know which.” For the first time in that conversation you looked desperate. You eyed Anakin questioningly, slightly hopeful your presumptions were incorrect.

“We… haven’t heard anything but your distress signal.” he responded quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You could feel your heart skin in your chest. That severely complicated the situation. Although you hated to admit it, Anakin was right. Nobody on Coruscant had any reason to take someone of your age and status, or rather lack thereof, seriously. 

After a moment of silence, Anakin took a step back. “Either way, this is enough information to alert the Council and to send people to look into the situation. Especially considering the urgency, this will be dealt with swiftly.”

You sighed, rubbing the bridge of your nose in thought and frustration. “Even with how long the Senate takes to allow, well… fucking anything?”

“For matters that impede our ability to defend ourselves we don’t have to run it by the Senate. Otherwise we’d be handing our asses on a plate to the Seppies at their every move.” He cracked a grin at his own joke before quickly steeling his expression again. “Considering what you told us about an imminent attack on neighboring systems, I consider that more than enough probable cause to take action.” You softly exhaled a breath you didn’t even know you’d been holding. Seems like something was going your way at the very least. Bitterly, you thought how the impending attack on the Republic was the only incentive they had to act so quickly. Still, you’d take their selfish help over waiting for your people to die anyday. 

“You two, with me.” Anakin turned around. “We will be right back.” The clone and the padawan followed right behind him, and you watched the door close, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Just as you were, Rex was also left to stew in his own thoughts as he followed the two Jedi out of the meeting room. The information weighed on his mind. He’d of course heard the stories of how the Trade Federation attempted to pressure Naboo into signing a treaty with a takeover and a blockade. It wasn’t entirely new territory for the Jedi Order to deal with. But he’d never heard of a successful quiet overtake to this extent before. This was on a whole new level, even for the Separatists. 

Furthermore, he was not entirely sure what to make of the character they’d just met. Although he had nothing against you personally, you did not present yourself as the easiest person to work with. They were going to have to find a way past that if you really were the only person who could testify about what the Separatists were carrying out on Hakheen. 

Still, there was a lot he admired about you, even from such a short interaction. 

Separatist blockades could be a serious hazard. Those things had cost the Republic a lot of men over the years, both regular pilots and clones alike. It was nothing short of a miracle you had managed to break through one, but was also undoubtedly a sign of skill on some level. 

He also had to admit he admired your resolve. For as far as he could tell, you weren’t military. Time and time again he’d seen that the challenge of stepping up for what was right was too difficult for many people, even if the situation forced them too. You’d proved well enough you were not a part of that group.

“Rex, a moment. Snips, you go on ahead.”

On queue, the clone captain straightened his back. “General Skywalker.” 

Anakin looked between him and Ahsoka rounding the corner at the end of the hallway before continuing. “I think you should stay with our guest. I was originally going to have Ahsoka stay with them while I discussed our plan of action with you, since she’s probably a bit better at small talk than the two of us. But, as you could see, our friend isn’t exactly comfortable around a bunch of Jedi.”

Your discomfort was hard to miss, even without the outright spiteful curses you spat at them. 

“Good point, sir. But don’t you think this discomfort extends to any aspect of the Republic?”

“Eh, not really.” Anakin shrugged. “But it’s worth a shot. It’s not what I sensed, anyways. And I don’t think they’re particularly eager to hang out with Snips after what happened back there. We need them around here in case the Council wants to question them. Just act relaxed, try to put them at ease.”

Rex hummed. “Alright sir. I’ll await further instructions.” he stated, nodding quickly before turning back around.

Though you couldn’t discern what they were saying, the fact you could hear their voices humming faintly through the thick doors made you uneasy. They were talking about you, you were sure of it. The General had sounded sincere enough when you explained your situation to him, but you had no way to tell whether he was being sincere or not. The Jedi had a reputation for being deceptive, and for likening themselves to heroes despite being warmongers. 

For all you knew, you’d done nothing but initiate a second territorial takeover with this stunt. But, then again, doing anything to try and fix the situation was worth trying over being complacent with the millions of deaths on your home planet. 

You were snapped out of your restless train of thought by the door sliding back open, revealing the clone captain from earlier standing in the doorway. The Jedi were no longer with him. Probably they’d gone off to relay your message to that Council they mentioned earlier, you figured. 

As the man headed towards one of the chairs on the other side of the meeting room table, your eyes followed him sharply, though it was more out of curiosity than distrust. Although you’d seen and heard a couple of clones distantly during your business trips to nearby Republic systems, this was the first time you encountered one up close and personal. 

Of course you'd seen that helmet plenty of times, whether it be on Republic propaganda posters or the holonet. It almost looked fake to be met with one in real life. Though you noted his was far more decorated than the ones you’d seen in illustrations before. Aside from the two deep blue markings glaring at you above his visor, the surface was absolutely covered in tally marks. You could only guess whether it represented the number of lives he took or the number of battles he’d fought his way through, but you didn’t doubt it marked his skill in combat. 

“Ah, right. Sorry. Where are my manners?” His modulated voice snapped you out of your gaze. You could feel the embarrassment rise up in your chest as you realized you’d been staring at him like a frightened lothcat.

Swiftly, the man removed his helmet, leaving it to rest on his hip under his arm. Once again, the face you were met with was one you’d definitely seen in illustrations many times before, but never had you seen it in person.

“No, no, I’m sorry.” you apologized with a dull tone, too flustered to keep looking him in the eye. “I was staring.”

Rex cracked a small smile as he placed his battle-worn helmet down on the table, taking a seat diagonally across from yours. Quietly, he still wondered how he was going to approach you, considering mediation was not exactly his specialty. However, it seemed that Anakin was right to a certain extent at least. They’d only just left the room and your attitude was already nothing like it was five minutes ago.

“I’ve never met a clone before.” you continued at his silence, feeling the need to explain yourself.

“Right. We don’t go to neutral systems unless we have a good reason to. Having our men on ground untouched by the war usually causes more unrest than it is worth. You don’t visit Republic systems often, then?”

“Not much, no.” you replied, slacking your shoulders a little. “Sometimes, though. To sell our stuff elsewhere. We're hunters.” Rex rested his elbow on his knee, leaning forward. “Hunters, eh?” he asked, interested. His position did not often require him to make small talk with civvies. 

“Yeah. Most of our planet’s exports are minerals. My family members from a few generations back or something decided to capitalize on something else. I mean- We sell most of our meat on Hakheen, but the horns and bones are sought after in other systems. But… yeah, that’s probably not something that’s going to draw any clones to our booth.”

“Guess not.” Rex chuffed, leaning back into his seat again with crossed arms. The captain was not exactly familiar with your planet or the wildlife it contained, but he figured it wasn’t a small deal if it was worth the transport to other systems to sell your products.

The room became quiet again as you both struggled to find something to say. You found the courage to look up at him again, giving his face a proper look. 

Beyond a shadow of a doubt you’d seen that face countless times online before, but there were a lot of details to his appearance that set him apart from the mental image of a clone you’d built up over the years. The most obvious was that his roots were blonde, as opposed to the trademark brown you were used to reading about. You vaguely wondered if he dyed it to stand out as an individual, or if it was a phenotypic abnormality he was born with.

The second thing that caught your attention were his eyes. They were nothing like the cold, battle-hungry stares you’d come to learn they all supposedly had. There was a certain tension to his posture that stayed present even as the two of you conversed about nothing, but his eyes carried a strength that was more reassuring than threatening. It honestly made him a lot more handsome than the faces you remembered from the posters.

Rex cleared his throat, thinking of a sensible way to ask the question that weighed on his mind.

“If you don’t mind me asking, sir… How were you able to penetrate the blockade? We’ve lost a lot of good men to those, no matter the size of the blockade. It might help us strategize on how to get through.”

You took a deep breath, your fingers interlocking nervously. You hated thinking back to that day. The trip to Coruscant had been a laborious traumatizing trip on its own, but it did not compare to the hell you had to endure to break through the Separatist army.

“Apologies. I shouldn't have asked that until General Skywalker is back.”

“No.” you quickly responded. “No, it’s fine. Honestly though, it’s probably not the answer you’re looking for. I just- I just got lucky.” Feet rubbing together in a nervous tic, you continued. “I know none of the crafts near the west of the capital did not even make it out of the atmosphere. My group all managed to overwhelm the droids stationed at the southeastern airport for long enough to hijack a few spacecrafts. From there on out I guess I just got lucky.”

“It takes more than just luck to survive something like this.” Rex reassured you gently. Though he sounded genuine, you couldn’t agree with him. 

“To a certain extent, perhaps. But I was panicking and I guess that ended up being in my favor. We all decided to split up to heighten our chances of one of us breaking through. I heated up my hyperdrive as soon as I passed the atmosphere and just prayed to whatever gods I could think of that I wouldn't blast myself through a star.”

“You didn’t do calculations?”

“No, none. I was right above a city south of the capital when I made the jump. Didn’t end up seeing any ships from the blockade, but they must have been there. Nobody else I left ever contacted me after I made it through.”

Rex made a mental note to ask you about the details of that location later. Identifying a potential weak spot in their blockade could be vital to a successful mission, but he sensed you’d been asked enough about this for today.

“It’s good that you took that risk. I promise your case is in good hands with General Skywalker. He personally insisted on tackling it as soon as he received your distress signal. We will do everything to ensure your planet will be free of Seppies when we leave.”

Despite sighing through your nose, you managed to flash him a weak smile. Even if you weren’t particularly fond of the Jedi Order and the factions it was allied with, you had desperately needed someone to just be kind to you after the horrendous situation you’d found yourself in for the past week. 

“Thank you, uh…” Your voice trailed off as you stared at him, questioningly. 

“Captain Rex. At your service.”

You gave him a proper smile this time, nodding. You were about to open your mouth to continue the conversation, when a high-pitched beeping started emanating from Rex’s wrist. His comlink. You stared as he pressed the button, a light blue hologram of the General you’d met earlier springing up from the device. “Rex, you should come over here. Both of you.”

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

Dodge Challenger R/T

This custom Challenger was originally a Plum Crazy Purple car. It has a Shaker hood TA spoilers and dual mirrors. During its custom build it was fully disassembled and blasted before it was finished in custom PPG paint. The custom 528ci all-aluminum Indy HEMI engine features a Maxx aluminum block Manley rods Wiseco custom dome pistons 426-1 Indy heads with Super Mod porting K-Motion springs and 10-degree titanium keepers. The engine is fed by a 950cfm Holley Ultra HP carburetor through a port-matched Indy 426-2 intake. It?s also equipped with an Indy Maxx oil pump and oil pan custom 24-gallon aluminum fuel cell with a Holley racing fuel pump MSD Pro Billet distributor custom 1-1/4 ceramic-coated headers flowing into custom 3 exhaust with X-pipe and ceramic-coated Holly Flo Tec mufflers. A Be Cool aluminum radiator with dual thermostatically controlled fans Meziere high-volume water pump and Indy reverse-flow water pump keeps the engine running cool. Richmond 6-speed manual transmission with a long shifter and McCleod dual disc clutch with Lakewood scattershield transfers the power through a Dennys heavy-duty aluminum metal matrix driveshaft and DTS custom-built Dana 60 rear end with Strange axles. This Challenger features a custom frame and suspension with a full roll cage Aldan coilover shocks and Magnum Force A-arms with 1-1/8? sway bar up front Aldan coilovers out back Modified Competition Engineering engine and mid-plate mounts and full aluminum tubs. Wilwood dual master cylinder and billet disc brakes at all corners provide stopping power to the one-off Boyd Coddington billet wheels and Nitto 555Extreme ZR tires. Additionally this Challenger was equipped with a Painless wiring harness Summit battery disconnect dual batteries mini starter variable speed wipers Electro-life electric windows Halogen headlights and custom driving lights. The restored interior features Legendary leather seats a Rim Blow steering wheel center console full Auto Meter Phantom gauges and tachometer a custom Autosound stereo with 5-disc CD changer Sony Xplod amp and Pioneer Aramid fiber speakers with IMPP cones electric antennae tinted glass and air conditioning. 

[girlactionfigure]

🟦 CEASEFIRE DREAMS, IRANIAN LIES - Real time from Israel  

ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

( VIDEO - IDF targeted airstrike in Beirut this morning. )

✡️Erev Shabbat - Parshat (Torah portion) Vayeira - Genesis 18:1 - G‑d reveals Himself to Abraham three days after the first Jew’s circumcision at age ninety-nine; but Abraham rushes off to prepare a meal for three guests who appear in the desert heat. One of the three—who are angels disguised as men—announces that, in exactly one year, the barren Sarah will give birth to a son. Sarah laughs.

▪️SPORTS AND JEW HUNTING.. in football / soccer, the Israeli national team held France to a 0:0 game.  In the stands battles from Arabs who attacked Israeli supporters, who came prepared to defend themselves.

🔸CEASEFIRE DREAMS.. Draft agreement: the US and France will arm the Lebanese army, which will destroy Hezbollah’s infrastructure south of the Litani river and prevent attacks on Israel, with direct American intervention in monitoring the Hezbollah organization so that they do not rearm, France and Great Britain have agreed to participate in maintaining the ceasefire.  The IDF will withdraw after 60 days.  

.. Ynet says minister Dermer met with Trump, who ‘hopes the deal will be closed before he takes office’. 

.. Commentary: The possibility of the Lebanese army restraining Hezbollah while Iran is army and backing them is a pipe dream, one that will only end up with another war.

.. Note: So far Hezbollah has not even been involved in the negotiations.  Making this ‘the appearance of negotiations’.

.. A senior member of Hezbollah, "The Israeli condition that will allow the occupier to operate militarily inside Lebanon is unacceptable.”

.. Lebanese Al Akhbar news: The American outline for the ceasefire agreement is an attempt at blackmail - either Lebanon will accept it or the war will escalate.  They also report that Israel is demanding international guarantees for the dismantling of all of Hezbollah's military infrastructure above and below the ground, as well as the deployment of the Lebanese army, "reinforced" with UNIFIL forces at all border crossings and airports and the sea.

🔹SYRIA - Eastern Syria: yesterday morning, 3 more trucks crossed from Iraq to Syria accompanied by the forces of the Iraqi Al Hashd Al Sha'abi (Shia militia) organization.

💩IRANIAN PRESIDENT’S LIE OF THE DAY - "We have never sought to possess nuclear weapons, and we will not do so based on the Iranian leader's fatwa on this matter."  (( Said with a straight face while enriching a TON of uranium to weapons grade. ))

💩TURKISH DEF. MIN SAYS - "We do not rule out the outbreak of a third world war and we are making the necessary preparations."

♦️LEBANON - day by day IDF ground forces are working through and combing the areas, capturing war equipment, destroying underground bases and caches, capturing and destroying rocket launchers. Heavy airstrikes on Nabatea, Hezbollah buildings.  The Air Force attacked more than 120 terrorist targets throughout Lebanon.

.. “But why are there still so many rocket launches?”  Because Hezbollah, with Iran funding and support, has been receiving and burying launchers for 20 years.  There is a LOT to work through.

⭕Hezbollah summarizes the previous day with 32 terror launches  against Israel, 20 of them against civilian towns and cities.  (( How many US, French, EU or UN statements have you heard against those 20 launches at civilian towns that Hezbollah clearly states they did (war crime)?  How many evac notices (zero)?  As Israeli children are directly targeted, how many human rights organizations, women’s and children’s organizations, have you heard speak out about targeting Jewish children?  …Exactly. ))

[mctvsh-sp]

Crossfire

Chapter 2 Chapter 1 here

Chapter contents: 141 finds themselves huddled in a cabin in the middle of Russia as they wait out a snow storm, and Soap takes the opportunity to get cuddly with Ghost.

CW: panic attack, lots of fluff, hurt comfort

Deep in the heart of Russia, the team trudged less than gracefully through the thick snow. Wind howled around them, and it seemed this storm would only worsen. Ghost had fallen in session with Price and Gaz ahead of him, with Soap tailing him. Tall pines stood around them, creaking unsettlingly as the wind whipped through the trees. It's tense and isolated, the constant threat of frostbite biting at their appendages. They were all wearing thick winter camo, though Ghost could still feel the chill to the bone. "My fingers are fallin' off back here!" Soap calls, half joking, trying to lighten the mood. "Hold it together, Soap," Ghost responds over his shoulder. They must be close by now. Ghost was having a hard time trading in the heavy snow as it caked his boots and weighed him down. He wasn't even sure Price knew where they were going.

-

They must have been walking for ages by the time they reached the "safe house", which turned out to just be a rickety cabin with a few beds and a fireplace. Price began to work on the fire, and in the mean time, Ghost shedded his equipment, basically leaving himself in the bare minimum, a t-shirt and pants. Everything else was soaked or caked in snow. Ghost shivered. The cabin provided shelter from the storm, but it sure wouldn't be warm until the fire was up. Ghost turned away to find Soap, who had also shed his gear and a few layers. Ghost approached him as he sat some feet away, huddled in on himself and shivering. "'Right, lets see the damage," Ghost murmurs, holding out his hands for Soap to reveal his. Soap did as told. His hands weren't in too bad of condition when he removed Soap's gloves. Soap complained when he did, whining that he was cold already, so... Ghost pulled up his mask, just enough to show his mouth, and drew Soap's hands to his lips. He breathed hot air over them and rubbed them between his own hands silently, which seemed to stun Soap into shutting up. He kept it up until he could feel Soap's hands warming, and by then, Price had got the fire going. They were both still shivering as they made it to the fire, Ghost gently leading Soap by his hands. Huddling close to the fire, Soap scooted closer to Ghost, until he was close enough so he could lean on Ghost's shoulder. And that he did. Ghost tensed, but as Soap gently rested one of his hands over Ghost's, he relaxed into the touch. They'd stay warmer if they shared warmth anyway. Price was eying the two of them from off to the side as he huddled with Gaz to Ghost's left. Price knew him the best, and this? Trusting Soap enough to hold his hand, to lean against his shoulder? Price had a sneaking suspicion that this wasn't the first time. It wasn't long before both Soap and Gaz had fallen asleep, and Ghost could feel price staring at him as he quietly sharpened his knives. "Proud of ya, son," Price's rough voice sounded. Ghost froze as Price leaned forward to pat him on the shoulder. Ghost slowly absorbed the praise, as he unfroze, returning back to his knives without a word.

-

Soap had woken a while ago. Now well rested, he was chatting away. Now that they were all warm, Ghost felt more comfortable engaging with him. They talked for ages, even as Price fell asleep, their whispers and giggles making Ghost feel like a teenager again. Soap was still leaning against him, his head on Ghost's shoulder as they whispered to each other. "Soap, how does a snowman get around?" Ghost started, a giddy grin on his face. "Bloody hell. Okay, how?" "An 'icicle'." Soap sat silently for a second before bursting out into giggles, Ghost smiling at his side. "That was the dumbest one yet," Soap groaned, looking up at Ghost. Ghost couldn't help but stop and stare back, those beaming blue eyes holding him there. Ghost can't stop himself from raising his hand, cupping Soap's face in his palm, pulling him closer and pressing his forehead to Soap's. Price and Gaz were asleep. Maybe he could just... Sneak one. Ghost raises his mask, still holding Soap's jaw as he guides him in, closing his eyes as they kiss. It's slow and tender, and Ghost doesn't pull away for a while, until they're fully making out. Ghost turns his body towards Soap, pulling him closer until Soap's suddenly clambering into Ghost's lap, cupping his jaw in a similar manner to the way Ghost is. But still, even with the familiarity and the trust he feels with Soap, Ghost freezes up. He flinches. Soap pulls back, watching him with concern. Ghost can't stand to meet his eyes. He didn't know what was happening, he just wasn't sure about having him in his lap. "Ye' alright?" Soap mutters. Bless his heart. Ghost just buries his face in Soap's chest. his arms snake around Soap's waist, and he's gripping the back of Soap's jacket. "Solid, Johnny," Ghost finally replies. Soap hums in response, resting his chin on Ghost's head and closing his eyes. "Don't be. Go to sleep," Ghost replies, his response making Soap frown. But he listens. He's drifting off in minutes, comfortable in Ghost's hold.

-

Soap awakes to a dark room, and him in bed. Ghost must have moved him. Soap scanned the room. Price and Gaz are asleep in beds, and Soap assumes they must have moved. And then he finds Ghost... still sitting by the fire. "Simon?" Soap calls softly. Ghost tenses. "Go back to sleep, Soap," Ghost's voice is shaking. When soap looks closer, Ghost is shaking. Soap frowns and climbs out of bed, approaching Ghost cautiously. Soap rests his hand on Ghost's shoulder, making him flinch under his touch. He's trembling. Soap sits down next to him. "Soap, go back to bed." "No, sir." Ghost won't look at him. He can't. Can't show him the tears dripping from his eyes. God, he's such a baby. Ghost flinches as Soap gently grabs his hand. He can't stand to look over to see the worried look on Soap's face. Soap leans against his shoulder again. Soap's thumb is softly brushing over his knuckles as he holds Ghost's hand. Ghost can feel his breath start to steady. There's something in the simplicity of Soap's actions that's more soothing than being barraged by questions. Soap's presence is soothing. God, he- oh. He... loves Soap. He trusts him. Maybe a bit too much. and that scares him. He's used to working alone, and now he needs Soap every time he needs to calm down? Ghost can feel his breathing pick up again. What happens if Soap dies? How is he gonna manage then? How will he manage even if Soap is just away on a mission? He's silently panicking, rough breaths becoming harder to suck in. his vision is blurry with tears. He can idly feel Soap wrap his arm around his shoulders, scooting closer until his side is pressed against Ghost's. Ghost's hand is drawn to his chest, clutching the front of his shirt. "Simon, it's okay," Soap whispers, his other hand coming to pull Ghost's hand away from himself and Soap's hold. Ghost instead clenches down on Soap's hand, and is thankful that Soap doesn't pull his hand away from how hard he's squeezing. Soap is gently rubbing his back. A rough sob is ripped from his chest, tears dripping down his face and soaking his mask. Soap continues to whisper reassurances and comforting words, and suddenly Ghost can't see himself living a life without Soap. What did he do to ever deserve someone like him? Eventually, Ghost calms down. His breathing slows into slightly labored but measured breaths, remembering his training. His tears have stopped and he's lessened the grip on Soap's hand. Ghost clears his throat. "Just a nightmare," He answers the unsaid question. The one he knows is on the tip of Soap's tongue. Soap nods. "Come to bed, Si. We can.. cuddle. If you want," Soap murmurs quietly. Ghost nods, and Soap gets up, lending Ghost a hand up before they head to one of the too-small cots. Soap lays down, lifting the covers in an invitation for Ghost to join him under. Ghost obliges, and instantly Ghost is clinging to Soap, wrapping his arms around Soap's torso and holding him tight. His face is buried in Soap's chest again, a leg slung over Soap's. Soap kisses the top of Ghost's head. Ghost can finally sleep soundly.

[roosterforme]

The Deployment Diaries Part 19 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Your fear that you did something to distract Bradley eats away at you while you wait to hear about his condition.

Warnings: Angst, swearing

Length: 4400 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots! Check my masterlist for the reading order!

From the second the mission started, Bradley had a bad feeling. He usually felt calm and peaceful once he was up in the air. He usually felt a connection to his father. But this time, he only felt anxious. 

As soon as the target had been destroyed, he and the other pilots were under almost constant fire from enemy fighters. It was literally the worst case scenario, as the F/A-18s weren't equipped with heavy weaponry. They were made for stealthy missions, ones where you hoped you weren't detected at all, ones where you shouldn't need to use more than your two allotted missiles. 

The dogfight was intense, and Bradley had to help Titan out not once, but twice as the other pilot had run out of flares early on. It was such a relief to Bradley when he was out over open water, heading back to the aircraft carrier. He breathed a sigh of relief as he was able to account for the other three Super Hornets as well. They were all just trying to limp back to safety.

"Tally, tally!" called Empress through the radio. As soon as Bradley was alerted to the position of the remaining enemy bogey, he regrouped. He was the only one with any ammunition left. 

"I got this," he informed the others, looping back for a better shot at the enemy fighter. For a second, all he could think about was your face. He pictured your lips as you begged him to be safe. He pictured the uncertainty in your eyes when you told him you missed a birth control pill. He pictured you in bed underneath him, laughing at a secret just the two of you shared. 

"I need her," he whispered, as he lay down a round of fire, getting a few hits on the wings. But the other pilot somehow managed to keep control, banked around to the right and tried to gain the upperhand. Bradley unloaded his last round of bullets, hitting the fuel line and starting a small fire. But instead of ditching out of the flaming aircraft, the other pilot fired back, and soon Bradley had lost his hydraulics and radio functions. 

"Shit!" he yelled, realizing he had no control over his throttle as every red light imaginable started flashing at him. Alarms were screeching everywhere, and he knew there wasn't a chance he would be able to save this F/A-18. Too bad he didn't have Hangman here this time to help him. If he did, he probably wouldn't have to punch out.

Now he was rapidly losing altitude. Based on his last known air speed calculation, he only had a couple more seconds to bail safely. So Bradley made sure everything was in order before he pulled the cables to eject. But he had waited too long, taken one more breath than he should have before ejecting. The aircraft started into a roll, and Bradley's torso slammed against the frame as he launched out, sending him in a trajectory where he hit his head as well. 

The last thing he thought about was how pissed he was that he didn't have time to grab his helmet bag containing the photo of you. 

--------------------------------------

You felt yourself on the verge of hyperventilating. You were listening to Admiral Priscilla Franklin, but her words weren't making sense. You'd barely been able to confirm your full name for her. 

"Lieutenant Bradshaw was involved in a mission related incident. I can't provide you with much more information than that."

Your eyes were filled with tears as you choked out the words, "Is he okay?"

The pause on the other end was too long. You got yourself sprawled out on your back on the kitchen floor, trying to get blood to your head so you didn't faint. Why wasn't she telling you if Bradley was okay?

"Is he okay?" you demanded louder, sucking air into your burning lungs.

Admiral Franklin sighed. "He's stable at the moment. We are waiting for him to regain consciousness. He has broken ribs, lacerations and most likely a grade three concussion."

He was alive. 

"What happened to him?" you asked, choking on your tears.

"I can't provide you with more information at this time. I'm sorry." She actually did sound sorry. She could probably hear you panicking through the phone. "When he regains consciousness, the medical staff will be able to do a more thorough examination. See what kind of head trauma we are dealing with. He's being stitched up at the moment. We are going to need to get him medically evacuated as soon as he's able to deal with the flights, and get him back home. I will personally call you back with details when I have them."

Once the call was disconnected, you rolled onto your side on the kitchen floor and cried hysterically, grabbing onto Tramp when he came to see what was wrong. You cried for such a long time, your cheeks were raw and one of your contacts had come out. 

Bradley was alive, but something terrible had happened to him. You started to search for information about grade three concussions on your phone. Some of the information was terrifying, and you prayed he would still have a fully functioning brain. And lacerations? He might need to have them surgically closed if they were too deep. Broken ribs could be interfering with his lungs working properly. And even though you would have done anything for him, there was nothing you could do to help at the moment.

How was he going to get home? Maybe Admiral Franklin would let you come get him and fly back with him. Did she mention when she was going to call you back? You could barely recall anything she said now. 

Then your phone rang, and it was your mom. You ignored the call. You couldn't get yourself up off the floor at the moment, let alone collect yourself enough to talk to your parents. You barely moved until the room started getting darker as the sun moved across the sky. You could hear Tramp's stomach growling, and you knew it had been hours since your phone call with the Admiral. 

Carefully you stood, but your body felt like it weighed a ton, and you were having a hard time walking. You gave Tramp a scoop of dog food and then went to sit on the couch. You quickly texted Phoenix and the guys, letting them know the scant details you had about what had happened to Rooster. 

Then you curled up into a tight ball and thought about Bradley. You wondered if he was in pain. If he was awake yet. Was this your fault? Had he been too focused on things here to be fully present during the mission? Was he more upset than he let on that it was a false alarm instead of a pregnancy? You pressed your lips together as the tears started again.

About an hour later, there was a soft knock at the front door, jostling you out of your stupor. It took you a full minute to figure out how to stand and walk to go see who it was. "Phoenix," you said, but your voice sounded foreign to your own ears. You let her inside and she gently wrapped you in her arms. You could tell that she must have been crying at some point too, but right now she was being strong for you.

"You guys should just give me a spare house key, okay?" was the only thing she said as she led you back to the couch and gently helped you lay down once more. She covered you in a soft blanket and picked your phone up from the table. "You need to close your eyes and take some deep breaths. I'll answer any calls. I'm just going to take Tramp out to the front yard."

You nodded vaguely as she clipped Tramp's leash on and took him outside. You tried to close your eyes, but all you could picture was Bradley, his face a bloody mess, floating around in the Pacific Ocean. By the time Phoenix walked back inside, you were crying again. 

"How long until they call me back? I need to know what's going on," you whispered. 

"I don't know," she told you as your phone rang in her hand. "It's your parents. Want me to talk to them for you? Let them know what's going on?"

"Please," you sobbed. She answered your phone and slipped out through the sliding glass door. After that, Nat ended up doing everything. She heated up a bowl of soup and sat with you while you ate it. She got the bathtub ready for you and took Tramp for a longer walk while you soaked. She helped you change into clean clothing for bed. 

"I'm so sorry," you whispered to her. "I know you're upset too. I know you love him too. But you're doing everything for me. And I didn't even ask if you're okay."

Nat pulled you into a tight hug, rubbing your back as she took a deep breath. "I love him, but I don't love him the way you do," was all she said before helping you into bed. "I'll plug your phone in right here on your nightstand and let Tramp out one more time before I go."

You nodded, feeling so exhausted, you thought you might actually be able to fall asleep. "The spare house key is hanging in the pantry on Bradley's UVA keychain. Take it with you," you told her as you closed your eyes. 

-------------------------------

"What the fuck," Bradley muttered, trying to make his jaw work. His head felt like someone had split it open with an axe. He had no idea why he couldn't open his eyes, and his thoughts were a mess. He reached for you across the bed, trying to find your body in the darkness. You must have gotten up already. Had he even slept? What day was it?

"Start the morphine drip. He's going to be in intense pain when he wakes up fully."

He didn't know who was talking. It sounded like there was a problem though. Did something happen to you? He needed to open his eyes and figure out where you were. 

He opened one eye a tiny bit, and he saw bright lights and movement. He closed his eye immediately. Then everything came back. He left for the mission. You took six pregnancy tests. They were all negative. He had to bail out of his fucking aircraft. 

He tried so hard to talk. He needed to know what was going on. He needed to call you and make sure you were okay, because something was telling him you weren't. But now the pain in his head subsided to a dull throb, and he thought it might be a nice idea to fall asleep for a bit. 

When he woke up again, he was finally able to open his eyes. "What the fuck?" he asked again, and this time someone answered. 

"Lieutenant Bradshaw, welcome back," came a cheerful voice that made Bradley want to punch someone. He looked around to see a man in scrubs examining his left arm, and when he examined it too, he jolted in surprise. 

He was covered in lacerations. They had been stitched up, but it was still a mess. 

"Where am I?" Bradley asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"The infirmary aboard the USS Ronald Reagan. I'm Doctor O'Connor. You had to eject from your aircraft, and you were recovered from the water. We are treating you for your injuries, which I'm sorry to say are extensive and numerous. However, you should be just fine in a few weeks."

Bradley stared at him in shock. "What day is it?"

"Tuesday afternoon."

"Holy hell. I need to call my girlfriend. Immediately." Bradley's heart rate spiked on the monitor, causing him and Dr. O'Connor both to check the screen. "She must be worried sick."

"Someone has already been in touch with your emergency contact."

Bradley had changed his emergency contact from his mom's cousin Brenda to you, after you and he had been dating for a few months. When Bradley asked you if that was okay, you'd seemed surprised yet really happy about it. And a few days later, you smiled and told him that you made him your emergency contact person as well. 

But he couldn't imagine you were too overjoyed at the moment. He wondered what you had been told about his condition. 

"When can I go home?"

The doctor hummed and looked at the computer screen. "Maybe tomorrow. You'll need access to a larger medical facility. You don't have any hemorrhaging or blood on your brain, but you did have extensive head trauma. Now that you're fully cognizant, I'll keep you updated on the plans."

"Thanks," Bradley muttered as he walked away. Extensive head trauma? Numerous and extensive injuries? He needed to talk to you, so badly.

-------------------------------------------

Admiral Franklin called you at four in the morning on Wednesday, and you jumped instantly out of bed. 

"Hello?!"

"This is Admiral Franklin. I have return flight information for Lieutenant Bradshaw."

You gasped. "You're sending him home? Is it safe for him to fly? How's his head?" You had heard from her one other time on Monday afternoon, with an update on his condition, but there had been some concern that he might have blood on his brain. You had no idea how you'd made it to work this week.

"His brain is fully functioning. He should make a full recovery with the help of some doctors on base in North Island and a lot of rest."

You screamed. Literally screamed with joy and jumped around the room and started crying. "Thank you!"

You could hear the smile in her voice. "Are you ready to take down his flight information?"

"Yes!" you reached for a pen in your nightstand, but couldn't find paper, so you wrote it down on your leg. 

Tomorrow night, just before midnight, you would be picking Bradley up at San Diego International Airport. He was coming in on a flight from Australia. You had literally no idea what had happened to him or how he had been injured, but it didn't matter, because you were going to pick him up tomorrow and bring him home! 

You decided to call Phoenix and wake her up with the news. "This actually is worth being woken up for in the middle of the night," she said, voice raspy with sleep. "Let me know when you want me to stop by this weekend. I'll bring food and Jake and the boys, and I'll make them be on their best behavior."

Next you called your parents to give them the good news, since it was a normal time to be awake on the east coast, and you listened to your mom cry over the phone. And that made you cry, and then you laughed and cried together. 

And when you got to work and told your boss you needed to use a vacation day on Friday, and possibly Monday as well, he told you, "Take as many days as you need to. Just let me know when you'll be back."

-------------------------------

Bradley was up and walking with help the following morning. But more importantly, he was allowed to eat and use the bathroom by himself. And most importantly, he had been informed that you would be picking him up in San Diego. 

Walking made him dizzy, and all he wanted to do was sleep, but the doctors told him to spend as much time moving around as he could. He was itchy and annoyed by the nearly one hundred stitches on his arm and neck, and all he wanted to do was take a hot shower. 

He would most certainly have more scars after this. It was just unclear how bad they would be, since he was still so bruised and swollen. And as he walked a lap around the small hospital wing, he couldn't help but think of his parents. Bradley had two bad ejections so far in his career, but nothing like the fate his dad had suffered. And the last thing he wanted to do was turn you into the kind of woman his mother had become after Goose died. So maybe his parents were somewhere, somehow watching out for him.

------------------------

You changed into jeans and Bradley's UVA tee shirt after work and started cooking. Your heart was lighter than it had been in days. Even if it was your fault, and Bradley was distracted because of you, at least he would recover. 

You made Marry Me Rooster along with several other things that could be reheated throughout the weekend. Bradley was going to need to eat plenty of good food and get a lot of rest. And after you took him to see a doctor on base tomorrow afternoon, hopefully you'd have even more information about what you could do to help him heal.

Bradley had emailed you from the airport in Australia. It was short and sweet. 

Baby Girl,

I love you. Will you please pick me up at the airport? I'm coming home on flight 731. I'll be the guy with the horribly bruised face and a big smile just for you.

You figured if he was making jokes, he was doing pretty fucking great. You had made plans for the other aviators to stop by on Saturday or Sunday, contingent upon how your boyfriend was feeling. Phoenix promised she would wrangle the boys if needed. But you didn't want to focus too much on that. You just wanted to pick him up in four hours and thirty-two minutes and bring him home.

His flight was listed as on time, so you got there about an hour early, just in case and found a bench. Without a boarding pass, you couldn't get past the baggage claim area, so you send a message in the group text you had started with Phoenix, Hangman and the other aviators. When you went to tuck your phone in your pocket, it started ringing. 

It was Jake. "Hey, did you see my texts?" you asked.

"Yeah, I did, Angel. Hey listen... if I know Rooster, the reason he told you ahead of time about his bruising is because he probably looks real bad. You understand?"

You paused for a second and thought about Bradley's pretty face and his perfect body. "Yeah?" you said to Jake. "What about it?"

Jake sighed. "I know you're going to nurse him back to health and do a great job, too. But Rooster is self-conscious about his scars."

Your brow scrunched up. He wasn't that way with you. Not really. But you'd told him right from the start how sexy you thought he was. That wasn't going to change now, no matter how he looked. "Jake, is this your way of trying to tell me to be encouraging about how bad my hot boyfriend suddenly looks? If so, I'm not going to think he's less hot now, I promise."

Jake chuckled. "Yeah, that's pretty much what I'm trying to tell you. Just make sure he knows that. I know would feel terrible if I came back to my girl looking anything less than my best, okay?"

You started to roll your eyes, but then you realized Jake was probably right. "I'll make sure he knows how I feel about him. Sound good?"

"Night, Angel."

You paced around, thinking about what Jake said. Maybe Bradley looked like a mess, but you didn't care. You just needed him to be with you, and then you would take care of everything for both of you. 

You heard an announcement about his flight number and the corresponding baggage claim. So you headed in that direction. But thirty minutes later, you had collected his duffel bag with the large Bradshaw patch from the conveyor belt, but there was still no sign of Bradley. You took his bag out of the way of everyone else and looked up and down the walkway for him. You got your phone out to call him, although you really didn't want to rush him. But you were dying to see him at this point. 

Then you saw him from a distance. Nobody else was that tall with such a graceful gait. Nobody else gave you goosebumps just from the way they moved. You knew it was him immediately, and you broke out into a smile. Bending down and hoisting his bag onto your shoulder, you took off in his direction as quickly as you could move. 

As you got closer, you started running, and when you could make out his smile, you started crying. 

"Bradley!" you called to him. 

"Baby Girl!" he called back and you tossed his bag to the floor and came skidding to a halt in front of him. 

"Oh, Roo. Oh, Bradley." You covered your mouth with your hands. He truly looked terrible. His face was swollen and bruised and you could see stitches peaking out all over the place. His left arm was bandaged and resting in a sling. But he was smiling down at you as you wiped tears from your eyes, and he ran his right hand through your hair.

"Can I touch you?" you asked softly, and Bradley slipped his right hand around your waist, slowly pulling you closer until your body was gently touching his. 

"Please touch me, Sweetheart. It's the only thing that will make me feel better."

You laughed through your tears as you let one hand rest gently on his chest. "You scared me," you whispered, throat tight with emotion. "Like a whole lot, Roo." You let your other hand trail up over his neck and swollen cheeks, avoiding the clusters of stitches when you could. 

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart," he whispered back, kissing the tears on your cheeks. 

You laughed as he made contact with your skin, and then you started sobbing harder. 

"Come here," he told you, wrapping his right arm tighter around you.

"I want to touch you, but I don't want to hurt you!" you blubbered, trying to pull out of his grasp. 

"You're not hurting me. Touching you could never hurt me," he whispered into your hair. "I love you. Plus, I'm taking a lot of pain medication." 

He held you and let you cry against his chest. "I love you, too," you managed between sobs. When you finally looked up at him, he bent down slightly and softly kissed your lips. 

"I'm so much better now, Y/N," he promised. "I just needed you. I'm so sorry I made you worry. And I know I look horrible right now."

You smiled up at him and shook your head. Jake's words bounced around your brain, but you didn't have to lie to Bradley when you said, "You're still the sexiest guy I've ever seen, Roo."

He barked out a laugh and tipped his head back before grimacing in pain.

"Now let me take you home and take care of you."

-----------------------------------

When Bradley tried to pick up his duffle bag with his good arm, you snatched it up off the floor and scolded him. "Absolutely not! Nothing strenuous until a doctor tells you it's okay!" Then you laced your fingers through his and guided him out into the cool July night air. "I brought the Bronco, because I figured you'd be more comfortable with more room."

Bradley kind of hated your little car, but he'd never tell you that. You were convinced the thing was invincible and would last you ten more years. Bradley on the other hand was hoping it would die next week so you and he could pick out something bigger. 

"Thanks, Baby Girl," he said, pulling your fingers up to his lips. He watched you smile as he kissed your hand. This was the hand the ring should have already been on. He knew he needed to talk to you about the skipped pill and what that meant between the two of you, but he didn't feel like getting into it right now.

Despite flying back in a first class seat, Bradley hadn't been able to sleep much. He was itchy and uncomfortable and exhausted, but he knew as soon as he was with you again, he would feel better. And he honestly did. He watched you toss his duffel into the back of the Bronco, and said, "My girl's so strong." That earned him another soft kiss on the lips. Then you guided him to the passenger door and opened it for him.

Bradley gingerly climbed in, cringing a bit as his cracked ribs got used to the seated position again. A look of panic flashed across your face. "I'm fine, Sweetheart. Just really sore."

"Okay," you whispered. And then you took the seatbelt in your hand and gently pulled it across his body and buckled him in.

"That's my job," he whispered against your neck as you clicked it into place. But you were shorter than he was, and now you were draped across his thighs. "Baby Girl, climb on my lap," he instructed.

Your eyes snapped up to meet his. You licked your lips and tried to read the expression on his face. "Mmhmm," he hummed.

"Roo," you gasped. "I don't want to hurt you." 

You were wearing his shirt and the necklace he gave you, and he was needy for you, and now you knew it. 

"Nothing hurts below my ribs. Climb on my lap. Please, just for a minute."

Slowly and carefully, you planted your palms on his thighs and eased yourself onto his lap, his right hand coming to rest on your hip. You shimmied up his thighs until you were straddling him, and then you placed your hands on either side of his head on the headrest.

"Bradley," you whined, letting your lips meet his. The kisses were so sweet, but your bodyweight on his thighs had him getting a little hard. He had missed you in every way. 

"I'm sorry I made you worry. I hate doing that to you."

"It's okay," you told him between the gentle kisses you planted on his lips, nose and forehead. "Don't do it again."

He smiled and rubbed your hip through your jeans. "I'll try my best not to."

------------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading along and loving them!

PART 20

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[anitalianfrie]

sesso e samba

(diggianini, 1.9k)

When Enea knocks on the door, Diggia doesn’t expect it. OR the paddock sex swap curse has hit Enea. How can he fix it? (With sex. It's always with sex)

When Enea knocks on the door, Diggia doesn’t expect it.

It’s rare, but sometimes it happens: overnight, one of them will be hit by some sort of curse, and wake up with tits and a pussy instead of their usual dick. It’s treaded like some sort of shameful affair in the paddock, hidden in the shadows, squirreled away in the dark, but everybody knows it happens. And everybody knows how to get it fixed. Most of them woke up at least once like that, maybe when they were younger and in the lower series, and did what they had to do to go back to normal.

Not Diggia.

When Enea knocks at his door, a good five centimetres shorter than usual, no beard in sight and the front of his tshirt stretching against an enormous pair of boobs, it’s the first time Diggia sees one of them turned into a woman.

His first reaction is just one: laughing. Big and loud, almost disbelieving.

“Yes, yes, laugh,  brutto stronzo che non sei altro. Now let me in.” huffs Enea, shoving him aside and entering his motorhome. “Sooner or later it will happen to you too.”

It has always been kind of a given for them, to go to each other in the case of those... particular conditions arising. Never spoken about, kept away, just like everything that has ever happened between them. But they know. And Diggia would be lying if he said he never thought about it, not even once, while drunk in his bed and with a hand shoved in his pants.

“So, how is it?”

Enea scrunches his face before answering.

“Fucking– weird dude. These things,” he says, squeezing the tits on his chest with both his hands, and Diggia tries and fails to ignore the jolt of electricity that the sight sends directly to his dick, “weight a fucking ton. And down there there’s like, nothing. And also, getting wet is super weird. You get drenched.”

Diggia can feel his mouth drying.

“How do you – uhm – know that?”

Enea raises his eybrows, putting on a smirk.

“Had to check out the equipment, didn’t I?”

Diggia finds himself making a step forward, closing the space between them. He wouldn’t do it, if Enea was normal, he wouldn’t feel so crazy at the sight, at his words. But he isn’t. It’s – weird, almost freaky, listening to the beautiful girl in front of him talking using Enea’s coarse words. Unnatural. He takes another step. And then another. Until he’s so close their chests are almost touching, and he can squeeze Enea’s meaty sides with the palm of his hands.

They’re feminine. Woman’s sides and curves, like her chest, and he starts feeling hot, skin burning, because he knows why Enea is here, what they’re supposed to do, what they’re going to do.

Enea bites his lips, pressing their bodies together, and Diggia looks transfixed at hi– her mouth, plump and red, at the tongue darting out to wet her lips. He can almost hear his thoughts echoing in his head, heavy, empty, and he tries to take a deep breath through his nose. Enea smells like soap and axe body spray, like he always does. Like a man.

But then he looks down, at the tits straining against the tshirt, pushing against his own chest, unlike anything a man could ever have, could ever be. Soft and sweet under his hands, so hot she could make his head spin.

He moves his eyes back on Enea’s face, lips parted, eyes dark. He pushes on of his knees between Enea’s legs, slowly, and he feels stupid, brain disconnected, looking at Enea’s lips, at his breath hitching. Hands digging into his sides, hot skin under his fingers, from where Enea’s tshirt rode up.

The air between them feels electric. Heavy. Suffocating. Stretched thin like a string ready to snap, and God, he fucking wants it to. Fuck.

Enea is so hot.

He pushes with his thigh against the crotch of her jeans, against her cunt – and the words Enea said before, about being wet, about trying, keep bouncing around in his head – and Enea grabs him by the face and smashes their mouths together.

The kiss is exactly like Diggia has always imagined it would have been: hungry, violent, biting, almost as if Enea was trying to eat him, with his kiss. Hot. He follows Enea’s mouth, the pushing and pulling, the sweetness of her lips, pressing her against the wall, crushing her with his weight, hands wandering on her skin, and then up, up, grabbing the soft meat of her tits.

Enea pushes back, making Diggia’s back hit the wall while trying to walk to the bed, mouth hot and hard, devouring. He breaks the kiss, trailing with his lips down her neck, wet and sloppy, and if Enea was normal he wouldn’t have to bend like this, but he’s shorter now. Enea pants under him, grabbing his hair with one hand while trying to get his tshirt off with the other.

If Diggia thinks he’s going to see her naked, to be inside her, to see her moan on his dick, he feels crazy. Stupid. He’ll feel her, he could, he –

“Wait-” he says, stopping for a second. He needs to ask, to know, if the thought that just crossed his mind is a possibility. Enea knows, how it feels. He’s a man. So he, he – he has to say yes.

Enea looks at him with his, her eyes wide, almost black, breathless, skin flushed.

“Can we do it without a condom? I’ve never come inside a girl.”

Enea bats her eyelids a couple of times, as if she is trying to process his words. Then, she shrugs her shoulder. “Uh... ok”

Diggia can feel his head spinning.

He pushes her on the bed, picking up from where he left, kissing her neck, licking and sucking, hoping to leave bruises behind. Who gives a fuck if people see them. It would even be better.

They pull the tshirts off each other, almost ripping them in between the kisses, and she doesn’t have anything under, soft and pliant under his hands, all on show just for him. He stops a second to look at her, lips wet and eyes wide and big tits, her chest all tanned without bikini lines, because Enea doesn’t need to cover himself while he sunbathes, and it transferred to her body.

He trails down with his mouth, reaching her tits, getting one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking, and Enea makes a small, strangled sound, that gets through Diggia’s body like electrical current, getting to his already hard dick.

Enea grabs him by the hair and pulls, bringing him up to kiss again, while reaching down to cup him through his sweats. She sneaks one hand in, grabbing him with her full hand, stroking him half outside his pants and half in, flicking her wrist.

Diggia’s brain short circuits.

He grabs her by the waist, getting her jeans and underwear off the way with only one motion, pulling her down the bed until her naked cunt is pushing against the crotch of his sweats, and her wetness seeps through the flimsy layers of what he’s wearing, and he can feel it, feel her on his skin. A small corner of his mind, momentarily not engaged in being turned on, thinks that Enea was evidently not lying about the wetness thing. Fucking hell.

She grabs his sweats and pulls them down, a litany of “come on come on come on” getting out of her mouth, and she sounds like she’s almost pleading. Diggia grabs her again, pushing her legs wide open, exposing her cunt, puffy and wet. He gets between them, his dick grinding against her folds while he bends down to kiss her, and fuck she’s so wet he wouldn’t surprised if she was dripping down on the sheets, drenching everything, fuck, he’s never fucked a girl so wet before. She grinds against him, her tongue pushing in his mouth, moaning.

“If you don’t get in right now,” she says, out of breath, in between the kisses, “I swear to God I’m leaving and finding somebody else to fuck.”

Diggia can feel his mouth drying, his head empty. He pushes inside, slow, his brain only statics, until he hears her gasp and he can feel the inside of her legs pressed against his own.

She’s so tight.

He starts moving, slowly first, until she starts scraping her fingers on his back, pleading in a litany, please please please, and he can’t think anymore, and starts setting a brutal pace, trying to get as deep as he can, lifting her hips. She whines at every thrust, a small, feeble sound, and when Diggia looks at Enea in the face he looks out of it, cheeks red, biting his lips so hard it looks he might draw blood.

He keeps going and going and going, his thrusts slowly losing their rhythm, become more frantic while he pushes inside her hole, stretched wide by his dick, and no one else.

“You’re so tight, fuck, all for me, right?” he says, and she moans and nods while he keeps going, getting closer, thinking of when he’ll come inside of her, his cum dripping out of her, making her his.

He bits down on her shoulder, “Mine”, he says, and she reaches down to touch her cunt, where she’s drenched, opening her legs even more, while she keeps moaning at his every thrust, and Diggia can see she’s getting close.

She throws her head behind while he keeps thrusting in, where she’s so hot and tight, and her hand starts moving frantically while she lets out a long, loud whine, and Enea looks like he always does, when he comes, eyes closed and mouth open, face contorted with pleasure. She squeezes around him, and Diggia tries to bury himself in deeper, head empty, moving frantically, and Enea keeps grinding against him, until she clenches again, and Diggia comes with a half moan, eyes rolling in the back of his head.

He collapses on Enea, crushing him with his weight. They stay like that for a bit, until Diggia has recovered his breath enough to get up and pull out. He stops to stare at the sight of her cunt, her hole spent and stretched wide by his dick, his cum slowly dripping out. He puts in two fingers, shoving it back inside, where it's supposed to be. Enea makes a content, sleepy sight at it, and his dick twitches, making a valiant attempt to get hard again. Maybe later.

He rolls on the side, staying there, his eyelids getting heavier while the high of the orgasm goes down. Enea pulls him closer, until their arms are touching, and Diggia turns his head and stretches to leave a kiss on one of the hickeys he left of her neck. He doesn’t know why.

Enea still smells like Enea, axe body spray and soap and a faint hint of sweat. His face still looks like him, lips and eyes and all, even if he doesn’t have a beard.

Enea lets out a small chuckle and Diggia gets back down, next to her, pushing his arm against hers, touching as much as he can.

He falls asleep like this.

When he wakes up, Enea has a dick again and is drooling all over his pillow. His face looks the same. Diggia pushes him down the bed to wake him up, and then they go towards the kitchenette in their underwear, to find something to eat.

Diggia thinks he’ll wank to the memory of this fuck for a long, long time.

In the back of his mind, he can hear Enea chuckling while she was a girl.

(He sounded the same as always.)