#i dropped something and it broke (and it was okay)

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Dog Tags (2)

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You're still keeping his Dog Tags safe.

Disclaimer: This is Part 2. Part 1 can be found here. Mentions of injuries and blood, Bucky helps carry you to safety (kinda), little angst/hurt/comfort moments, some fluff moments plus friendship moments with Wanda and Kate. Not Proof Read.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kate asked you for the millionth time. “It’s just that those arrows…I know I make them but sometimes I can put a little too much after kick- Clint tells me I need to find a substitute but the black market-”

“Kate,” you smiled and held your hand on her arm. “I promise you, I’m okay.”

“But that blast was big. Like, big big.”

You nodded. “I know. But I’m okay, I promise.”

“Kate!”

She turned and looked down the jet. 

“Go, I’ll be fine.”

She looked back at you, “You swear?”

You nodded, “I swear.”

Once Kate finally left, you let the wall drop for a moment. You didn’t blame her. The kick had been big, but it had also saved your life. Maybe you got a few bruises to remember it by, but you knew you’d be okay. 

It would just hurt in the meantime. 

“Here.” A voice spoke somewhere above you.

You looked around you until you found where the voice was coming from. Bucky. 

What the hell did he want?

You looked down at the hand where he was holding an ice pack. “Take it. For your ribs.”

You swatted his hand away, “I’m fine.” 

Bucky just stood and rolled his eyes. Even watching you lift your arm to swat him away looked painful. He’d seen the blast with his own eyes, which also meant he knew that if it was him in your position, he wouldn’t have walked out completely unscathed. 

“You’re not fine.” Bucky broke the ice pack before shaking it as he crouched in front of you. 

For a moment, you recoiled back. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m gonna help you. Would you let me help you?” 

This time Bucky didn’t fully wait for an answer before he placed the ice pack against your ribs for you. And, for a moment, you recoiled from the cold until your body melted into it. 

Okay. Maybe you were hurt, a little. But that still didn’t mean you needed his help. 

“I can hold it myself.”

“You can barely lift your arms.”

“I don’t need your help.”

Bucky shrugged, “You’re getting it anyway.”

“Why?” The question left your lips before you could stop yourself. But it was a reasonable question. 

Save for a few questionable moments outside of the ten minute window you and Bucky could be alone, you weren’t two people that helped each other. Fought with was probably the more likely statement. 

“Because you need it.” 

It was the best explanation Bucky could come up with at that moment. But it still gained him something. 

You were looking him in the eyes. It was rare he ever got to be this close to you and actually see the colour of your eyes. He didn’t quite know how the feud between you and him had started out. But what he did know was that he would happily drown in your gaze. 

And it was thoughts like that, that sent him into a spin. 

So, regrettably, he looked away. But even that gained him something. 

You watched as a smile ghosted its way onto his lips and you followed his eye line to the metal chain around your neck. 

“You’re still wearing them.”

The Dog Tags. The one’s he thought he’d lost nearly three months ago, only to work out you’d had them all along. It had nearly been almost two months, alone, since that night in the training room. 

You raised a hand to touch your chest. You could feel the outline of the tags underneath your clothes. “You told me to keep them safe.”

You watched as a corner of Bucky’s mouth slanted up slightly and, just for a moment, you let your mind wonder what it would be like if you kissed him right in that spot. 

You shook your head and this time, you looked away. You dropped the hand from your chest just before a rattle came over the jet. 

“We’re coming into landing.”

You just nodded, not trusting yourself to use words at that moment. But you gained them again when you stood to get off the jet only for Bucky to put your arm over his shoulder. 

“What are you doing? I can walk on my own, Barnes.”

“You’d only collapse three feet from here. Thought I’d save myself the trouble of catching you.”

You scowled, “Like I told Kate-”

“So help me, God, if you tell me you’re ‘fine’ I’m gonna call Sam. You’ve got a sprained ankle, a few fractured ribs, if not, broken, and a lifetime of bruises to remember today by. And that’s just what I can see.”

You just looked at Bucky, your arm still over his shoulder, his hand still clasping yours. You didn’t know how or why, but you let him help you off the jet. 

But when Wanda asked you about it later on, you just told her it was because you were too tired. 

“It was a moment of weakness.”

Wanda hummed as she sat on the edge of your bed. “Maybe.”

“Maybe? What do you mean, ‘maybe’? There’s no ‘maybe’ about it.”

Wanda chuckled, “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thank you, Shakespeare.”

Wanda hit your leg before climbing up the bed to sit beside you. She grabbed a pillow and crossed her arms over it. 

“Oh, come on. You and I both know you have feelings for him.”

You shook your head. “Yeah, he’s a massive pain in the ass.”

“Those aren’t the feelings I’m talking about.”

You stayed quiet for a few moments. “Stop reading my mind.”

Wanda was calm as she shook her head. “I don’t have to read your mind for this one.”

Your shoulders sagged for a moment and you looked at your hands, picking at your fingers. “It’s not like I meant to let it happen.”

“Nobody ever lets feelings happen. They just happen. It’s what makes you human.”

You just shrugged your shoulders. “He is still a pain in my ass.”

Wanda chuckled. “Have you ever thought to talk to him-”

“No! No. No, absolutely not. No. Never.”

Wanda hummed again. “Maybe it might help. Who knows? Maybe this isn’t a one sided love affair?”

You recoiled a little, again. “Love? Who ever said anything about love? I’m sure it’s just a stupid…work crush.”

Wanda looked at you. She didn’t have to read your mind to know that even you didn’t believe what you’d just said. 

“Hey,” Wanda tapped your leg. “Can I get you anything? You know, since Sam has banished you here for the next week.”

You chuckled. “I’m still allowed to leave…when he’s not here.”

When Bucky had taken you to the medical bay, you’d been given a full diagnostic. A sprained ankle, two fractured ribs, a little bruising around your internal organs that would heal itself, plenty of pulled muscles and, like Bucky had put it, enough bruises to make sure you remembered the day for a lifetime. 

Once Sam had found out, he’d doubled down on the Doctor’s orders to maintain bedrest. 

A few hours after Wanda had left, you were lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. And for a while, you just started thinking whilst absentmindedly fiddling with the dog tags still around your neck. 

You thought about the ending of the movie you’d just watched with Wanda. You thought about the pain in your side. You thought about the feeling of Bucky’s fingertips gently pressing at your side as he held the ice pack in place. 

He’d been checking to make sure nothing was broken. That was how he knew. 

Then you looked at the dog tags. Like every night, your thumb traced over the letters. 

Little did you know, the next time someone else traced their thumb over the letters, it was because your blood had been splattered across them. 

[bu3ck3r]

back in your arms

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: p surprises a in storrs

a/n: thank u anon for this request i had fun writing it. also lmk if there’s any mistakes. enjoyyy

azzi stood near the free-throw line, drenched in sweat, hair tied up in a messy bun, trying to focus. afternoon light poured through the high windows, catching on the glow of her skin. she launched another shot—net. another—miss. another—net. she didn’t even care about her percentage anymore. she just needed to distract herself.

her phone had been sitting on the floor for the past three hours, still no response from paige.

one day. that’s all it had been. twenty-four hours since paige last texted her, but azzi felt like she was unraveling.

paige never went a whole day without replying. not even during her busiest days in the wnba. they always found time, even if it was at 1 a.m. “i love you” voice notes or a 30-second facetime just to say goodnight.

so where the hell was she?

azzi gasped and grabbed her water bottle, chugging half of it before checking her phone again. still nothing. her heart was punching at her ribs with that all too familiar fear. was she okay? was something wrong?

she shot another three-pointer. missed.

“damn it,” she muttered.

she didn’t hear the door open.

meanwhile, near the campus, a car pulled into the parking lot behind the gym. paige leaned forward in the passenger seat, pulling her hood lower over her forehead.

“you are so dramatic,” said caroline from the driver’s seat, trying not to laugh.

“i told you i wanted this to be a surprise. she probably thinks i ghosted her,” paige said, her mouth twisting with guilt.

“i swear if you get mobbed before you even make it into the gym, i’m leaving your ass here.”

“you’re a terrible friend.”

“i’m the best friend. now go before she actually breaks up with you.”

paige grinned and hopped out, sneaking through the entrance like she used to.

her stomach was fluttering. she hadn’t seen azzi in three weeks.

and now, paige was here.

she opened the gym door quietly, slipping in through the shadows. her heart instantly bounced.

there she was.

azzi.

mid free-throw, breathing hard, focus written across her face. she looked tired. she looked pissed. she looked beautiful.

paige stood there for a moment and watched. she could’ve watched forever.

then azzi turned—and froze.

the ball slipped from her fingers. it bounced away, rolling toward the sideline. her eyes went wide.

“paige?” she whispered.

and then she ran and launched herself at paige so fast she barely had time to open her arms. their bodies collided, hard, azzi wrapping her legs around paige’s waist, arms around her neck. her face buried in paige’s shoulder, paige stumbled back with a laugh, holding her tight.

“damn,” paige breathed. “you missed me that much?”

azzi didn’t respond at first—just kissed her, hard. it wasn’t gentle or slow. it was all lips and heat and the bite of longing. her hands curled into paige’s hair, pulling her in closer. paige’s fingers dug into azzi’s waist, grounding them both. when they finally broke apart, azzi glared at her.

“you didn’t respond to me for a whole day,” she said, accusing.

“i know,” paige said, nuzzling her nose into azzi’s cheek. “because i was flying to you.”

“you suck.”

“you love me.”

“unfortunately.”

paige grinned. “caroline picked me up. she thinks you’re gonna kill me.”

“i might.”

“you were one more missed text away from a breakdown, huh?”

azzi lightly smacked her chest. “shut up.”

paige kissed her again. “i missed you too, baby.”

they didn’t even notice that someone had walked in until ice’s voice rang through the gym.

“okay, what is going on here?”

azzi whipped her head around, still clinging to paige, as ice and kk walked in.

paige barely managed to catch azzi’s legs and set her down.

kk stared for a beat. “wait is that p boogers?”

“surprise,” paige said with a smirk, arms still around azzi’s waist.

ice nearly dropped her water bottle. “what?!”

they both ran over, crowding paige with hugs and disbelief.

“you didn’t tell anyone?!” ice said.

“caroline knew,” paige replied.

azzi grumbled, tugging paige back to her. “okay, okay. y’all got your hugs. she’s mine. back off.”

“god, you two are so gay,” ice said, sipping her drink. “can y’all not touch each other for one second, like damn.”

“nope,” paige and azzi said in unison.

kk snorted. “insufferable.”

but they were all smiling.

later, as they walked back to the dorms together, paige held azzi’s hand tightly. the sun was dipping low, casting gold across the trees. azzi hadn’t let go of her since the gym. she kept brushing their arms together like she couldn’t believe paige was real.

paige leaned in and whispered, “so… how mad were you?”

azzi narrowed her eyes. “i was this close to calling your teammates.”

paige laughed. “would’ve been worth it.”

“only because i didn’t actually.”

“mmm i like when you’re clingy.”

azzi rolled her eyes. “oh please, you’re the one who flew here.”

paige stopped her and pulled her close.

“yeah. because i couldn’t go another day without you.”

she kissed her again, soft and lingering, right there in the path. azzi melted into her, arms around her neck. they stood there for a long moment, caught in a world only they understood.

azzi whispered against her lips, “don’t disappear on me again.”

“i won’t,” paige said. “i promise.”

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

the dorm was unusually quiet, but as paige and azzi stepped through the doors—still holding hands—there was an immediate shift in the air.

from around the corner, jana appeared, holding a bowl of cereal.

she blinked once. “wait, is that?”

before she could finish, ice and kk came walking down the hallway, still buzzing from the surprise.

“paige bueckers is in the buildingg,” ice announced to literally no one and everyone.

a door slammed. sarah’s voice floated down, “what?”

paige squeezed azzi’s hand tighter.

“oh my god,” jana muttered, mouth full of cereal.

azzi immediately stepped closer to paige, hand drifting from paige’s fingers to her waist, like claiming territory. “okay, okay,” she said coolly. “calm down.”

“i cant believe you’re here.” kk shouted.

“surprise,” paige said again, clearly enjoying the chaos.

“i literally cried last time you left.” jana threw her arms around paige dramatically. “welcome home, p.”

paige hugged her back, laughing. “missed you too.”

“alright,” azzi said, gently pulling paige back into her arms. “y’all got your moment. she’s with me now.”

“relax,” ice said. “no one’s gonna steal your girl.”

azzi didn’t let go.

kk raised an eyebrow. “damn, girl, we just want to say hi. you’re gripping her like she’s gonna vanish.”

paige turned to azzi, teasing: “i kinda like this new possessive you.”

“you’re never leaving again,” azzi mumbled, face tucked into her shoulder.

the girls all let out exaggerated groans.

“you two make me feel so single.” ice muttered, grabbing her cereal from jana.

“y’all are just mad we’re in love,” paige called after them.

“more like allergic to pda,” kk said. “bro can y’all not touch each other for a minute?”

paige grinned. “absolutely not.”

azzi looked at her with a smile.

they finally made it to azzi’s room—after paige was forced into one more group hug—and shut the door behind them.

the second it clicked closed, paige turned around and leaned against it.

“god, i missed this room,” she said. “smells like you.”

azzi raised an eyebrow. “you missed me.”

“well obviously,” paige said, reaching for her.

azzi practically tackled her onto the bed.

they landed in a mess of limbs and soft sheets. azzi hovered over her, arms braced on either side of paige’s shoulders. she looked down at her for a long moment, her expression softening. paige reached up and gently brushed a strand of hair from azzi’s cheek.

“you really scared me today,” azzi said quietly.

“i know,” paige whispered. “i’m sorry.”

azzi leaned down, forehead to forehead. “i thought something was wrong.”

“i just… i wanted to see your face when i showed up. i needed that reaction.”

“you needed me to almost lose my mind?”

paige grinned. “i was right though, huh?”

azzi sighed and kissed her. “shut up.”

their lips met again—slower now, deeper. the tension of the day began to melt into something warmer, needier. azzi’s body pressed flush against paige’s, hands roaming beneath the hem of her hoodie.

paige slid her hands beneath azzi’s tank top, thumbs tracing the soft skin of her waist. “been dreaming about this for days.”

azzi’s lips were hot against her neck now, teeth grazing lightly. “same.”

clothes started disappearing in quiet layers—hoodie tossed, shorts slipped off, tank tops lost between kisses. the room filled with the quiet hum of breathing, the creak of the mattress, the sound of two people desperate to feel every inch of each other after weeks apart.

paige took her time, lips and fingertips memorizing the curves she already knew by heart. azzi whispered her name like it was sacred.

after they finished, they stayed tangled together under the sheets, sweat cooling, hearts still thudding.

paige brushed azzi’s hair back and kissed her forehead.

“that was…”

“amazing,” azzi mumbled, lips against her collarbone.

“you trying to make me never leave?”

“is it working?”

paige laughed softly. “god, yes.”

an hour later, paige was half asleep when she heard it:

knock. knock. knock.

then ice’s voice from outside the door: “can y’all please be quiet next time? we could hear y’all loud and clear.”

kk added from the hallway: “i am so done with y’all.”

paige muffled her face into azzi’s shoulder, laughing.

“we weren’t that loud,” azzi protested weakly.

“baby i’m pretty sure you screamed my name. twice,” paige whispered.

azzi hit her with a pillow.

paige kissed her cheek. “i love when you yell.”

“oh my god stop.” azzi rolled her eyes, but she was blushing hard.

eventually, they got dressed again—barely—and cracked the door open. sure enough, kk and ice were on the couch playing fortnite, pretending they hadn’t just roasted them through a closed door.

“we’re getting food,” paige said. “y’all hungry?”

ice didn’t even look up. “starving.”

“but you two need to chill.”

paige smirked. “can’t promise that.”

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

the night air was warm, the breeze filtering through the open windows of azzi’s car. paige was driving. obviously.

they were barely two minutes into the drive when paige’s hand found azzi’s thigh.

“really?” azzi murmured, glancing over with a raised brow, though she made no move to stop her. she even shifted slightly so paige’s hand could rest higher.

“i need my hand to stay somewhere calm,” paige said, eyes still on the road. “and your thigh is the softest thing i’ve touched in three weeks.”

from the back seat, kk groaned. “you two are disgusting.”

“bruh i did not miss this at all.” ice added, head tilted dramatically against the headrest.

azzi reached over and turned the volume up a little just to drown them out. “we’re being normal,” she said, smirking.

paige nodded. “it’s just a hand on a high.”

“if you two start making out at a stoplight, i’m walking home.” kk muttered.

paige flashed a grin in the rearview mirror. “no promises.”

“i’ll throw myself out the window,” ice said flatly. “i mean it.”

ice and kk ordered enough food for a football team. azzi and paige split fries, giggling like middle schoolers over how long the mozzarella sticks took.

azzi kept brushing her foot against paige’s under the table. paige kept whispering things in her ear that made her blush.

at one point, kk leaned back with her chocolate milkshake. “so, when are you two getting married?”

azzi nearly choked. paige just smirked. “you wanna be the flower girl?”

“i’ll be the priest if it gets y’all to chill out,” ice deadpanned.

they ended the night back in the car, food wrappers rustling, laughter trailing off as paige drove them through sleepy storrs roads.

back in the dorm, ice and kk peeled off toward the common room with a final warning:

“if we hear anything again tonight,” ice called out, “we’re starting a gofundme.”

“we finna put y’all down for a noise complaint for real,” kk added. “good night.”

azzi rolled her eyes, dragging paige toward her room again. “they love us.”

“they hate us,” paige replied, laughing.

azzi closed the bathroom door behind them, locking it out of habit. the warm light made the tiles glow softly. paige sat on the edge of the sink, tugging off her socks while azzi reached into the shower and turned on the water. steam rose slowly.

“i don’t even care that we’ve only been apart for three weeks,” paige said, standing to lift her shirt over her head. “it felt like a year.”

azzi glanced at her over her shoulder, smiling. “it really did.”

soon enough they stepped into the shower together. paige immediately pulled azzi close under the stream, hands sliding down her back, lips pressing to her temple. azzi looped her arms around paige’s neck and rested her head on her shoulder.

“i’ve missed this,” azzi said quietly.

“same.”

they stayed like that for a while—just holding each other, letting the heat soak into their skin.

then, inevitably, hands started wandering. paige’s mouth drifted down azzi’s jaw and azzi arched into her with a quiet gasp, fingers tangling in her wet blonde hair.

there was nothing rushed about it. it was slow. intimate. needed.

after the shower they were wrapped in fresh towels and oversized shirts, as they got ready for bed together—brushing teeth side by side at the sink, laughing as azzi sprayed way too much detangler in paige’s hair.

they climbed into bed with legs tangled, the fan humming above them. paige was on her back, azzi sprawled half across her, head on her chest.

paige’s fingers played lazily with the hem of azzi’s l shirt. “i really wish i could stay longer.”

“you have like… three days off, right?”

“yeah. but i already wanna freeze time.”

azzi looked up at her, eyes a little misty. “i miss you every day.”

paige kissed her gently. “you have no idea how proud of you i am.”

“same,” azzi whispered. “every time i see highlights of you, i scream. like. out loud. in the gym.”

“i know,” paige smirked. “caroline told me.”

azzi blushed, hiding her face. “traitor.”

“you’re gonna be there soon,” paige said softly. “wnba. i can’t wait to watch you drop 30 on everyone.”

azzi traced little circles on paige’s stomach. “you’ll be in the front row, right?”

“always.”

they kissed again—slow and warm, no urgency this time. just love.

and when they finally curled up under the blanket, azzi whispered into paige’s neck: “don’t leave until you absolutely have to.”

“i won’t.”

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

the morning sunlight spilled into azzi’s room like it owned the place. paige groaned and rolled deeper under the sheets, burying her face in azzi’s neck.

“get up, sleepyhead,” azzi murmured, brushing her fingers through paige’s messy hair.

“no,” paige mumbled. “i’m retired.”

“you literally played a game last week.”

“exactly. let me live.”

azzi kissed her cheek. “i have practice baby.”

paige pulled her closer. “cancel it.”

azzi laughed. “you want me to get benched?”

paige shrugged. “then i’ll get benched too. solidarity.”

“you don’t even play for uconn anymore.”

“minor detail.”

azzi was in the gym with a few teammates running drills. her jumper was smooth as ever, but something in her posture said her mind was somewhere else—every glance toward the door, every pause between sets.

then the door creaked open.

“nice form,” paige called out, leaning casually against the wall in a uconn tee that showed off her muscles just right.

azzi froze. so did everyone else.

ice dropped the ball she was holding. “oh no.”

kk clapped dramatically. “here we go again.”

azzi jogged over to paige like she hadn’t already seen her all night and morning, like her body just moved on instinct. the moment she was close enough, she threw her arms around her and kissed her full on the mouth—right there in front of the team.

“wow,” jana muttered.

“you miss me that much?” paige teased when they broke apart, brushing her thumb over azzi’s cheek.

azzi grinned. “shut up. you’re the one who showed up looking like that.”

kk groaned. “i can’t be here.”

sarah pointed at the door. “take it to a room. this is a training facility.”

“you’re just mad we’re cute,” azzi called over her shoulder as she tugged paige toward the bleachers.

“i’m mad y’all are making me miss my girl,” kk shouted back.

later that night, paige and azzi were back in her room, sprawled out on the bed again, hair still damp from another steamy shower they’d taken “to cool down,” which was a lie and everyone knew it.

paige reached into her bag and pulled out a neatly folded t-shirt.

azzi’s eyes widened. “is that…?”

“my dallas warmup shirt,” paige said, handing it over. “figured you should have one. smells like me. you’re welcome.”

azzi held it to her chest. “i’m never taking this off.”

“please do, eventually,” paige said. “or you’ll smell like an actual locker room.”

azzi threw a pillow at her. “you’re so annoying.”

“you love it.”

“i do,” she admitted, smiling softly.

just before lights out, they wandered into the kitchen to grab snacks.

ice was sprawled on the couch with kk, both of them locked into a chaotic fortnite match. the second they spotted paige and azzi, they both screamed in unison:

“get a room!”

paige blinked. “we have a room.”

“y’all just came out of it,” kk said, tossing her controller down. “and now you’re back like nothing happened.”

“you two need supervision,” ice added.

“we’re literally just getting snacks,” azzi said, grabbing a bag of popcorn.

“y’all get snacks like you’re in a movie scene,” kk complained. “too much eye contact and way too much touching.”

paige slid an arm around azzi’s waist. “we’re just affectionate.”

“you’re menace-level affectionate,” ice muttered.

azzi just kissed paige’s cheek. “jealousy is a disease.”

kk gagged audibly.

back in azzi’s room, they climbed under the covers, the popcorn bowl between them, a movie playing softly in the background.

azzi wore paige’s dallas shirt. it hung down her thighs, barely covering her. paige stared for way too long.

“eyes up here.”

“you got it princess.”

they fed each other popcorn until paige started licking the butter off of azzi’s fingers, making her laugh.

azzi tackled her and they rolled around laughing until paige pinned her with a playful smirk.

“you’re so whipped,” paige teased.

“me?” azzi raised an eyebrow. “you flew across the country.”

“i came here for basketball,” paige joked.

azzi leaned down and kissed her, long and slow. “liar.”

paige smiled into the kiss. “you caught me.”

the next evening came too fast.

azzi lay on her back in bed, hair still damp from the shower they’d just taken together, paige resting beside her in nothing but an old uconn shirt and soft cotton shorts.

their skin still buzzed — from the warmth of the water, from each other.

they’d barely kept their hands to themselves while in the bathroom.

paige had been behind azzi the entire time — arms around her waist while they brushed their teeth, kissing her shoulder between swipes of the toothbrush, murmuring, “you’re so damn pretty,” through a mouth full of toothpaste.

azzi had almost spit hers out from laughing.

now, back in bed, it was quiet. paige’s hand was resting on azzi’s stomach, her fingers idly tracing small circles on her skin. her legs tangled with azzi’s under the blankets.

“you smell like my shampoo,” azzi whispered.

paige smiled. “you smell like heaven.”

“you’re such a cornball.”

“and yet, here you are,” paige murmured, nuzzling closer. “loving every second of it.”

azzi reached up and ran her fingers through paige’s slightly damp hair. “i really do.”

they kissed again — soft, slow, and lingering. like neither of them wanted it to end.

paige rolled onto her side, propping herself on one elbow so she could look down at azzi. her eyes were serious, warm.

“you know i think about you all the time when i’m in dallas, right?”

azzi nodded. “same. every single day.”

“i hate being away from you.”

“me too. but i think it’s also… making us stronger.”

paige smiled. “yeah. it’s like… no matter where we are, we’re still us.”

azzi leaned up and kissed her chin. “we’ll be together full-time soon.”

“i know.” paige gently tucked a strand of hair behind azzi’s ear. “when you get to the league… i hope we’re on the same team.”

“if not, i’m guarding you every time,” azzi smirked. “and i’m locking you up.”

paige laughed. “you wish. you’d foul out in the first half.”

“you’d fall in love again mid-game and lose focus.”

“unfair tactic,” paige grinned. “using my heart against me.”

azzi leaned up and kissed her deeply, then whispered, “you’re mine. always.”

paige kissed her again, slower this time, hands on azzi’s hips, holding her like she was everything.

because she was.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

the next morning, the sun wasn’t even up yet. paige had to head back to dallas.

azzi stood in the hallway, wearing one of paige’s hoodies, watching as paige zipped up her bag.

“i should sabotage your flight,” azzi said, arms crossed, pretending to pout.

“don’t tempt me to miss it.”

they stood at the door for too long. hugging. kissing. whispering promises they’d already made a dozen times over.

“i love you,” azzi said into paige’s neck.

“i love you more,” paige said, pulling back and brushing their noses together. “don’t argue. i win.”

azzi narrowed her eyes. “fine. but only this time.”

caroline arrived to drive paige to the airport, honking once from outside the dorm.

paige opened the door, bag slung over her shoulder, azzi clinging to her hand like it might be the last time.

ice and kk were on the couch — again.

as soon as they saw the two lovebirds in the doorway, they both said:

“thank god, we can finally have peace again.”

azzi flipped them off, still clinging to paige.

ice pointed to the hallway. “now kiss and go.”

paige turned to azzi and, right in front of everyone, kissed her like she meant it — like she always did.

azzi was breathless when they broke apart.

“be safe,” she whispered.

“you too. text me the second you get out of practice.”

azzi smiled, tears welling up. “i love you.”

paige cupped her face. “i’ll see you soon, okay?”

azzi nodded. “okay.”

azzi was still in bed, paige’s hoodie swallowed around her like a second skin. the sheets smelled like her. the silence was heavier now, like the room knew it was missing someone.

her phone buzzed.

she didn’t expect anything—paige hadn’t texted since she left—but when she opened it and saw the name, her heart caught in her throat.

leaving sucks. i hate every part of it. packing, airports, this stupid seat that isn’t next to you. but i just wanted you to know that i’m still carrying the way you looked at me this morning. i’m still hearing your laugh in my head. i still feel your hands on me, like they left a print only i can see. i left my heart in your bed. wrapped in your sheets. wrapped in you. so yeah, i’ll be back soon. because i don’t feel like me when i’m not with you. i love you, az.

azzi read it once, then again, slower. the ache in her chest swelled until it pushed tears from her eyes—quiet, stubborn ones she wiped away with the cuff of paige’s sleeve.

she buried her face in the hoodie and whispered into the cotton:

“i’m not me without you either.”

she didn’t cry.

much.

after a minute she decided to reply.

you’re the worst for making me cry this early. i miss you so much it physically hurts. the bed’s too cold. the room’s too quiet. i keep rolling over expecting to find you there. you really did leave your heart here. and i’m holding onto it like it’s mine, because it is. so don’t take too long, okay? i need your laugh in this room again. i need your hands, your voice, your everything. i love you more than i’ve ever loved anything. come back to me soon. i love you, p.

paige stared at azzi’s message, she hadn’t expected a reply so fast—definitely not one that hit her this hard.

her chest tightened.

she bit the inside of her cheek, trying to fight the sting in her eyes. it didn’t work.

she read it again. and again.

then, quietly, she smiled to herself.

she pulled her hoodie tighter, still faintly smelling like azzi, and typed with thumbs that shook a little more than she’d ever admit:

i’m coming back the second i can. im yours, az. always. i don’t know how i got this lucky, but i’m not letting you go. i love you. so damn much.

she locked her phone, leaned her head against the window, and whispered, barely loud enough to hear herself:

“im gonna marry her one day.”

[tobiosbbyghorl]

IN STITCHES | PSH | PART 2

pairing: grump surgeon! sunghoon x surgeon! reader

WC: 6k

synopsis: A grumpy, emotionally guarded surgeon and a sunshine-hearted resident collide in the high-stakes world of medicine-what begins with spilled coffee and sharp words slowly transforms into stolen glances, quiet care, and a love powerful enough to heal even the deepest wounds.

part 1

The hospital parking lot was already full when they pulled in, the sun just barely lifting over the horizon. She straightened her coat, tucking her hair behind her ears and sneaking a glance at her reflection in the rearview mirror.

“We can’t walk in together,” she said as she reached for the door.

“Why not?”

“Because you’ve got your strictest attending face on and I have ‘I-woke-up-in-my-crush’s-hoodie’ energy. They’ll know.”

Sunghoon leaned back, resting one hand on the wheel as he looked at her. “Then get out first. I’ll follow five minutes after.”

She paused. “You’re not even gonna tease me for being paranoid?”

“I’m being respectful, baby.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Say what?”

“Baby.”

He leaned in just a little, voice dropping into that smooth, amused register that always made her stomach flutter. “Fine. Yeobo.”

She gasped and lightly hit his arm before climbing out of the car, mouthing you’re so annoying before turning to make her escape.

But not before he smirked behind the windshield, eyes fond as they lingered on her retreating figure.

Five minutes later, when he stepped into the hospital looking every bit the composed, cold surgeon again, no one would have guessed he’d just been kissed goodbye in a parked car with a stray piece of pancake syrup still clinging to his collar.

Well—except for the observant nurse at the front desk who raised a brow and said with a smirk:

“You look unusually… rested today, Dr. Park.”

He didn’t respond.

But the faintest smile betrayed him.

Rounds were quiet that morning, but the tension between them buzzed like static in the air.

Y/N stood at the nurse’s station, flipping through patient charts, when she felt it—that prickling sensation of someone watching her. She glanced up to find Sunghoon across the hallway, mid-discussion with another attending, but his eyes were unmistakably on her.

The second their eyes met, he looked away, far too quickly. Like a schoolboy caught staring. Like he hadn’t just kissed her senseless twelve hours ago.

She ducked her head, smiling behind the edge of the chart.

Still, he was back to his usual self—curt, direct, the perfectionist. But now, even in the sharpness of his tone during rounds, there was a gentler rhythm to it when he spoke to her. No one else would notice. But she did.

During lunch break, she found an empty table in the back of the residents’ lounge, picking at her sandwich. He passed by behind her, pausing just long enough to drop something on the table.

Her favorite drink. No words, no glance.

She blinked.

Moments later, a second-year resident plopped down next to her, eyes narrowed in teasing suspicion. “Sooo… when were you gonna tell me you and Dr. Park have a thing?”

She choked on her bite. “We don’t.”

The resident smirked. “You mean you don’t officially.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re glowing. You never glow. You’re like… caffeine and chaos in human form, and today you’re soft.”

Before she could argue, Sunghoon passed the doorway. He paused—just a fraction of a second—and tilted his head toward her with the subtlest smirk.

The resident’s eyes widened. “Okay. Now I see it.”

Y/N groaned and buried her face in her arms.

⸻

Later that day, while reviewing scans together in a dimmed diagnostics room, their fingers brushed on the touch screen. She didn’t pull away this time. Neither did he.

He looked at her, voice quiet. “Lunch was decent?”

She looked up at him, eyes soft. “The drink made it better.”

A pause.

Their gazes lingered just a little too long.

Someone cleared their throat behind them, and the spell broke.

But not entirely.

They both turned back to the screen, acting like nothing happened—but their reflections on the glass betrayed a small, shared smile.

It was a rare Friday night where none of them were on call. One of the nurses was celebrating a birthday, so someone booked out the private back room of a cozy gastropub near the hospital. String lights twinkled overhead, laughter echoed, and the sound of cutlery against plates filled the space.

Y/N arrived first, dressed casually but warm, cheeks flushed from the cold. She was sipping something sweet when Sunghoon walked in—slightly late, still in a pressed shirt, no tie, sleeves rolled up like usual. The second their eyes met, something softened in him.

He didn’t walk over right away. He nodded to a few people, greeted the birthday nurse, made small talk with the chief resident.

But then, slowly, naturally, he found his way beside her.

Y/N didn’t say anything. She just smiled up at him, and he sat down like it was the most natural thing in the world—close enough that their knees brushed under the table.

Their friends exchanged glances.

It was subtle at first—him reaching for her glass to sip it absentmindedly, her nudging his shoulder when he teased her for not finishing her meal. Nothing scandalous. Nothing overt.

Until—

“Okay,” the birthday nurse said, raising a toast. “I just want to thank you all for being my favorite group of overworked zombies. I love you all—even the grumpy ones.” Her eyes landed on Sunghoon, pointed.

He raised a brow but didn’t deny it.

Someone from across the table chimed in, “Honestly, I thought someone would’ve mellowed him out by now.”

Y/N was mid-sip when someone added, “Wait, actually… you’ve been way less terrifying lately, Dr. Park. Suspiciously mellow.”

And then came the boldest one: “Don’t tell me it’s because of her?” Eyes flicked toward Y/N.

All eyes turned.

She froze slightly, glancing at Sunghoon in mild panic.

But to everyone’s surprise… he didn’t flinch. Didn’t deflect.

Instead, he reached out under the table, laced their fingers together, and casually lifted their joined hands onto the table in full view.

“I guess the rumors weren’t as subtle as we thought,” he said, tone cool but eyes impossibly soft.

The room went silent—then exploded.

“What—!”

“I KNEW IT!”

“Pay up! I told you they were a thing!”

Laughter erupted. The nurse threw a napkin in the air like confetti. A resident whooped. Someone actually dropped a fork.

Y/N just leaned into the chaos, covering her face in mock embarrassment while Sunghoon—smug as ever—sipped her drink again like it was just another night.

Later, as the group quieted down and conversations splintered into smaller circles, he leaned into her ear and murmured, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

She turned to him, glowing. “You planned that, didn’t you?”

He kissed her temple. “Only a little.”

The city buzzed around them, but their world had slowed to a calm hum. The gathering had finally wrapped up, and the streets were painted gold from scattered streetlights and the occasional passing car.

They walked side by side, his jacket now draped over her shoulders because he said she’d catch a cold otherwise. She hadn’t argued. Not this time.

The sidewalk was quiet, their footsteps in sync.

“Still embarrassed?” he asked, voice low, hands tucked into his pockets.

“A little,” she admitted, but she smiled anyway. “You didn’t even blink.”

He chuckled, soft and low. “I figured if we were going to get caught, I’d rather control the moment.”

She nudged him playfully with her shoulder. “Classic.”

Sunghoon glanced over, taking her in—eyes shining under the streetlights, lips slightly chapped from the wind, his jacket swallowing her frame. “You looked happy tonight.”

“I was,” she said honestly, then hesitated. “I think I’ve been happy a lot lately.”

There was a beat of silence between them before he responded.

“Me too,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

They stopped at a quiet corner, just outside her apartment building. She turned to face him fully, hands still tucked in the sleeves of his jacket.

“I meant it, you know,” she said softly. “Back there. Thank you—for letting me in.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. His hand lingered at her jaw, thumb grazing her cheek gently.

“You were patient,” he murmured. “Even when I wasn’t easy to read. You didn’t push.”

“I didn’t have to,” she whispered. “You found me anyway.”

And he kissed her—slow, steady, like a promise.

When they finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers, chuckling faintly. “You still doing that puppy eyes thing?”

She blinked up at him. “Maybe.”

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll stay over again. But only because I like the way your couch smells like lavender.”

“It’s not the couch you’re staying for and you know it.”

He smirked. “No. It’s definitely you.”

Hand in hand, they climbed the steps up to her door.

The city kept humming—but for now, it felt like just the two of them.

Six Months Later

Spring had settled softly over the city, painting the hospital courtyard in warm gold and gentle breezes. Inside, things were as busy as ever—stretchers rolling, monitors beeping, lives changing. But one thing had definitely shifted.

Dr. Park Sunghoon, the once sharp-edged, no-nonsense surgeon, now paused at a child’s bedside just a beat longer than necessary. He ruffled their hair, smiled when they clutched his finger tight, crouched down to explain procedures in calm, careful tones. His voice had lost none of its clarity—but it carried warmth now. Hope.

He still walked fast, still demanded excellence. But now, he also remembered birthdays. He brought coffee to overworked interns. He laughed, sometimes—low and rare, but real. And every once in a while, he’d hum softly in the hallway when he thought no one was listening.

Y/N was reviewing a patient chart when one of the older nurses sidled up beside her, slipping a piece of chocolate into her pocket like a secret.

“You’ve done something no one else could,” the nurse said, eyes crinkling. “You brought him back.”

Y/N blinked, confused. “Who?”

“Dr. Park,” she smiled knowingly. “He was brilliant before. But now? Now he’s also good. Kind. Human.” Her voice softened. “We thought we lost that part of him forever.”

Y/N’s heart ached a little at that—for what he had to lose to build his walls, and for how carefully they’d been taken down.

She turned slightly, glancing through the glass of the OR observation deck where Sunghoon stood, post-surgery, patiently explaining something to a wide-eyed young patient and their anxious parent. He placed a reassuring hand on the father’s shoulder before stepping back with a nod.

The father shook his hand like it was something sacred.

Y/N smiled to herself.

Later that evening, as they sat in the quiet on-call room with half a sandwich between them, she nudged his knee.

“You’re getting soft, Dr. Park.”

He gave her a look but didn’t deny it. “Only for my favorite people.”

She raised a brow. “Patients?”

He leaned in closer, brushing her nose with his. “You.”

—

It was a rare day off. No white coats. No pagers. Just them and the open sky above.

Sunghoon had told her to dress comfortably—“nothing fancy, just layers”—and drove her out of the city. She didn’t ask questions, just watched him steal glances at her the whole ride, his fingers drumming anxiously on the steering wheel, a small curve tugging at his lips like he was holding back a secret.

They pulled into a quiet town near the mountains, where spring flowers bloomed along the fences and children rode bikes with streamers in their handlebars. It felt like a pocket of time, untouched and slow.

He led her down a quiet dirt path, up a small hill—and there it was.

A tiny, unfinished cabin. Wooden beams, no windows yet, just the skeleton of a home—but she could already picture it in the warm light, filled with laughter and life. Their future.

“It’s not much,” he said beside her, slightly breathless, “but I’ve been working with an architect on and off. It’s not even built yet.”

She turned to him slowly, eyes wide. “Is this…?”

“For us,” he said. “Someday.”

The wind blew gently. She was quiet—processing.

“I know it’s early,” he continued quickly, hands shoved in his pockets. “But when I think about what I want—where I want to rest after long shifts, who I want to build this with, who I want to drink coffee with on the porch before surgeries… it’s always you.”

She blinked, her throat tight.

He stepped closer, pulling a small, velvet box from his coat. Not flashy. Simple. Honest.

“I don’t need to wait to know,” he murmured. “Will you marry me, Y/N?”

For a moment, neither of them breathed.

Then her hands flew to her mouth, eyes brimming. “Sunghoon…”

“I’m not asking for a wedding tomorrow,” he added gently. “Just for a promise. That you’ll build this life with me. That when the time’s right—we’ll already know it started here.”

She didn’t hesitate.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. You’re already home.”

He slipped the ring on her finger, pulling her into his arms as the sky turned gold behind them. He held her close—tight like a man who’d found his anchor—and kissed her like a vow.

Back at the hospital, the week rolled on like always—cases, charts, rounds. But there was a quiet buzz around them now. Something in the way Y/N hummed while updating files, in the way Sunghoon let his hand linger a second longer on her back when they passed in the hall. Something different.

And of course, Mrs. Kang noticed.

The elderly patient had been in and out of the general ward for months now, recovering from a stubborn heart condition and endlessly entertained by the unfolding drama of her favorite real-life hospital romance.

So when both Sunghoon and Y/N walked in for her morning rounds—Sunghoon holding her chart, Y/N holding coffee, both trying (and failing) not to look giddy—Mrs. Kang narrowed her eyes immediately.

“Well, well,” she said, voice raspy but smug. “There’s a glow in this room that’s not from the IV drip.”

Y/N laughed, ducking her head. Sunghoon rolled his eyes, but the edge of his mouth twitched upward.

Mrs. Kang squinted harder, then pointed at Y/N’s hand. “Hold on. Is that what I think it is?”

Y/N tried to play coy, lifting her hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. But the ring shimmered under the fluorescent lights.

“Hmm?” she said, voice teasing. “Oh, this?”

Mrs. Kang gasped, loud enough to make the nurse across the hallway peek in.

“You sneaky little lovebirds!”

Sunghoon chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “We were going to tell you.”

“Oh, I knew it,” she said proudly, eyes twinkling. “From the way he brought you soup that one night to how you glared at him like a kicked puppy the next morning—I knew it.”

Sunghoon cleared his throat. “She glared at me like that for months.”

“And you loved every second,” Y/N muttered with a grin.

Mrs. Kang reached out, taking Y/N’s hand in both of hers. “You take good care of each other, alright? It’s rare—finding someone who sees all your rough edges and chooses to stay anyway.”

“I will,” Y/N promised, eyes soft. “We will.”

Sunghoon didn’t say anything—but when Mrs. Kang winked at him, he smiled. For real. No restraint. No hesitation.

Just warmth.

And for the rest of her stay, Mrs. Kang insisted on referring to them exclusively as “the engaged power couple” whenever nurses came by.

It happened during lunch break the next day.

Y/N had stepped into Mrs. Kang’s room with her usual tea and a short visit before afternoon rounds, Sunghoon trailing in with a fresh update on her test results. It was supposed to be a quick check-in.

But Mrs. Kang had other plans.

As the nurse came by to check vitals, and a couple of residents lingered just outside the door with charts in hand, Mrs. Kang looked over her glasses at the small crowd, her voice deceptively casual.

“Well, since we’ve got an audience,” she began, tapping her spoon on the side of her tray like a gavel, “I think it’s time everyone knew that my favorite doctors are engaged.”

The room paused.

A silence fell so sharp you could hear the ECG beep.

Y/N blinked, halfway through handing her tea. Sunghoon stared for a beat. The door swung open wider as curious heads peeked in.

The nurse dropped her pen. “Wait, what?”

“They’ve been all smiles and shared glances lately,” Mrs. Kang declared proudly, pointing at Y/N’s hand again. “Look at the ring! You think I’d miss that kind of sparkle?”

Y/N turned a brilliant shade of pink, subtly slipping her hand behind her back. Sunghoon just… sighed. Then shrugged.

“It’s true,” he said calmly, slipping his hand into Y/N’s with the smoothness of someone who no longer had anything to hide.

Cue the chaos.

Gasps. Cheers. One resident screamed. Someone clapped. The pediatric fellow across the hall yelled, “I knew it!” while the neurosurgery guy slumped against the wall like he’d lost a bet.

Even Chief Min passed by, arched a brow, and muttered, “About time,” before walking off with her coffee.

Y/N covered her face with her hand, laughing through her embarrassment. Sunghoon just stood there, smug and soft all at once, thumb brushing across the back of her knuckles.

Mrs. Kang leaned back against her pillows, smugger than ever.

“Told you,” she whispered to the nurse. “I’ve still got the eye.”

The hospital was quieter than usual by the time they slipped away, the afternoon rush of patients and staff finally beginning to taper off. Sunghoon and Y/N found themselves in the small, secluded corner of the hospital rooftop, a spot they often retreated to when they needed to escape the chaos. The skyline stretched out in front of them, the city slowly fading into the orange hues of the setting sun.

Y/N leaned back against the railing, feeling the cool breeze tug at her hair, her heart still fluttering from the unexpected reveal in Mrs. Kang’s room. She glanced at Sunghoon, who had his hands tucked into his pockets, a rare calmness in his demeanor.

He was quieter than usual, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looked out at the city. After everything—the teasing, the surprise, the reactions from everyone—it felt like the world had shifted just a little bit. And for the first time in a long while, it was a shift that felt… right.

“Mrs. Kang really knows how to make an entrance,” Y/N said, breaking the silence with a soft laugh. She glanced at him. “I didn’t think she’d tell the whole hospital like that.”

Sunghoon chuckled, a low sound that seemed to warm the air between them. “She’s impossible to keep a secret from,” he said with a playful shrug. “But I’m glad she did.”

Y/N tilted her head, studying him for a moment. The calmness in his eyes, the softness in the way he stood beside her—he wasn’t the same Sunghoon who had first walked into her life months ago. She’d seen more than just the gruff exterior. She’d seen the quiet tenderness, the rare smile that made her heart skip a beat.

“I think… I think I’m still a little shocked,” she confessed softly. “It’s not exactly how I imagined telling everyone.”

Sunghoon turned to face her, the corners of his lips curling up slightly as he caught her gaze. “Yeah, well, you’ve got Mrs. Kang to thank for that. But… I’m okay with it,” he said, his voice steady but full of a warmth that made her pulse quicken.

There was something different in the way he looked at her now. The walls he’d so carefully built around himself, the ones he’d been reluctant to let anyone past—those walls were crumbling, piece by piece, and it felt like she was the one holding the sledgehammer.

“You know, I never expected to find someone like you,” Sunghoon murmured, his eyes softening, the playful smirk slipping from his face. “Someone who doesn’t just… fit into my world. Someone who changes it.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, and her chest tightened with an emotion she couldn’t quite name. “I never expected to fall for someone like you either,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I guess we’ve been doing a lot of unexpected things together, haven’t we?”

Sunghoon nodded slowly, taking a small step closer, his fingers brushing lightly against hers. The contact was brief but electric, the warmth of his touch sending a spark through her entire body.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, the words coming out like a secret shared between just the two of them. “A lot of unexpected things.”

For a moment, there was only the sound of the wind and the distant hum of the city below. Their hands were so close now, just a whisper of space between them.

And then, without thinking, Y/N closed the distance, slipping her hand into his, the contact familiar but still full of that soft magic that always seemed to linger when they were together.

Sunghoon squeezed her hand gently, his thumb grazing over her knuckles in the same quiet, reassuring rhythm that had become so familiar.

“I’m glad you’re with me,” he said quietly, his voice low but certain.

Y/N smiled, feeling the weight of his words settle in her chest, comforting and soft. “I’m glad too,” she said, her voice full of a tenderness she hadn’t known she was capable of before.

For a moment, there were no hospital corridors to rush through, no patients waiting for answers. Just the two of them on the rooftop, the evening light casting a warm glow over their quiet, shared space. No walls. No barriers.

Just the two of them, letting the world spin around them while they took a breath and simply existed, together.

Sunghoon chuckled softly, the sound rich with fondness. “You know,” he began, a playful glint in his eye, “you never mentioned how memorable our first meeting was.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile spreading across her face. “Oh, I don’t know if it was memorable for you,” she teased, nudging him lightly with her shoulder. “But I do recall that you were the one getting drenched in coffee.”

Sunghoon’s lips twitched, as if he were holding back a smile. “You spilled an entire cup on me. I was pretty sure you were the clumsiest person I’d ever met.”

Y/N laughed, the sound light and carefree. “And yet, here we are,” she said with a shrug, her eyes sparkling. “Guess that coffee spill wasn’t such a bad thing after all.”

The quiet rooftop moment was suddenly filled with the warmth of their shared memories. Sunghoon glanced down at their intertwined hands, his thumb absently tracing circles on her skin. “You’ve had a way of getting under my skin from the very beginning,” he said, his tone lighter now but still tinged with affection.

Y/N grinned, leaning in just slightly, her voice dropping to a more playful tone. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment. I’d say you’ve gotten pretty used to me spilling coffee on you by now.”

He let out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget that moment.” There was a beat, and then he added, almost as if it was a secret shared just between them, “But I’m not complaining.”

Y/N leaned back against the railing again, her hand still nestled in his. “Yeah, me neither,” she said softly, looking out at the horizon, a smile still tugging at her lips. “Funny how life works. We start with coffee stains and end up here.”

Sunghoon watched her, his expression softening. “Yeah… funny how life works.”

And for a long moment, neither of them spoke, both of them content in the quiet understanding that had grown between them, the kind of intimacy that wasn’t built in grand gestures but in the little, unexpected moments. Like spilled coffee, and the way their hands fit together so perfectly now.

Three Years Later

The hospital lights hadn’t changed, but time had softened the sharp edges. The corridors still hummed with urgency, the air still smelled faintly of antiseptic, but there was a different kind of energy now—one that came with stability, with growth.

Y/N walked slowly down the hallway, a chart tucked under her arm and her other hand resting lightly over her growing bump. She wore compression socks under her loose scrubs, a quiet rebellion against the swelling in her ankles. At seven months along, she was still stubborn about helping with the lighter patient loads—case reviews, check-ins, post-ops—but everyone knew better than to let her near anything remotely chaotic.

A few nurses passed her with knowing smiles.

“Doc Y/N, you’re glowing more than the fluorescent lights,” one teased.

She laughed, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “It’s probably just the ten layers of cocoa butter I slathered on this morning.”

She turned the corner into the staff lounge just as her pager buzzed. It was a short message.

ER - Code Yellow. Dr. Park in.

Her heart jumped—not in worry, just instinct. Even after all this time, Sunghoon being called to emergency meant high stakes. She knew he could handle it. He always could. But she also knew that he pushed himself harder than anyone else, always calm, always focused… except these days, his first glance was always to see where she was, or if she was resting.

She sank gently into a chair, setting down the chart. She absentmindedly rubbed her belly, murmuring, “Daddy’s probably elbow-deep in something serious, little bean.”

As if on cue, the door burst open. Sunghoon stepped in, hair tousled, gloves hanging out of his pocket, his expression still carrying the storm of the ER. But the moment his eyes landed on her, it was like a wave breaking.

“You’re supposed to be sitting down,” he said, not unkindly, just soft and breathless from the adrenaline still coursing through him.

“I am sitting down,” she replied with a grin.

He came over, crouching in front of her without hesitation. His hand went to her belly like a reflex, thumb brushing over the side as if grounding himself. “How are you feeling? You were up early.”

“Tired,” she admitted. “But good. Kicked me during rounds again.”

Sunghoon smirked. “That’s my kid.”

She combed her fingers gently through his hair, pushing a strand off his forehead. “Rough case?”

“Teenager. Motorcycle. Lucky to be alive.” He rested his head lightly on her lap for a second. “I hate that I get used to this.”

She held his cheek in her palm. “You don’t get used to it. You just grow around it.”

He closed his eyes, quiet for a beat. Then, “Come home with me after this?”

She tilted her head. “I wasn’t planning on doing a double shift, Park.”

He cracked a smile. “I mean it. Let’s just… disappear for the rest of the day. I’ll bring your favorite dumplings. Foot rub included.”

Y/N laughed, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Deal. Only because our kid might inherit your grumpiness and needs balance.”

“You say that like I’m not the softest person in this room.”

She raised an eyebrow.

Sunghoon stood and helped her up gently, his hand protectively bracing her back. They walked out of the lounge slowly, fingers linked, like the world had shifted around them and they were just walking through the new rhythm—one heartbeat at a time.

Bonus Scene: The Day Park Sungjae Was Born

The pain was something else. Y/N had always known childbirth was intense—she’d walked patients through it, held hands, whispered calm—but nothing quite prepared her for being on the other side of the curtain.

The hospital room was warm, bathed in that oddly sterile comfort only a maternity ward could offer. It smelled like peppermint oil and something floral that someone must have spritzed earlier in hopes of calming her. But all she could focus on now was the squeeze in her lower back and the warm, steady hand that hadn’t left hers since the contractions started.

Sunghoon.

He was by her side, masked up, hair messy, scrubs wrinkled from hours of pacing and worry.

His eyes never once left hers.

“You’re doing so well, baby. Almost there. Just one more push, okay?” he whispered, voice tight but gentle, as if every fiber in him was holding on for both of them.

She gritted her teeth and pushed—hard.

And then—

A cry pierced the room.

A loud, raw, beautiful sound that shattered the tension like glass.

Y/N collapsed back against the pillows, tears already gathering in her lashes as the doctor lifted their son and placed him on her chest. Tiny. Warm. Real.

Sunghoon froze.

His hand trembled as he reached out, fingers barely brushing over the baby’s soft hair. His chest rose sharply, and he let out a breath that caught halfway through. Y/N turned to look at him.

And that was when she saw it—the crack, the shift.

Sunghoon cried.

Not in silence this time. Not behind closed doors. He cried openly, eyes wet and red, voice gone hoarse as he whispered, “He’s so small… he’s

here.”

She reached up, cupping his cheek. “He’s perfect.”

He bent down slowly and kissed her forehead. “Park Sungjae,” he said softly, almost reverently. “You did it. You both did.”

Y/N smiled, exhausted but full. “You’re crying again, Dr. Park.”

“That’s the third time,” he admitted, laughing through his tears. “Wedding, pregnancy, and now this.”

“Wanna aim for four?” she joked weakly, a tease in her voice.

He chuckled, still brushing his knuckle gently across Sungjae’s cheek. “Let me survive this one first.”

Then the baby let out another tiny cry and instinctively grasped Sunghoon’s finger.

His breath hitched again. “Hi, little guy,” he whispered, eyes soft and overflowing. “I’m your dad. And I promise—whatever this world throws at you… I’ll be right here.”

And for a moment, in that room filled with quiet awe and lingering tears, everything stood still—like time had paused just to let them feel every second of their brand-new beginning.

First Night Home

The soft whimpering of newborn cries echoed gently through the apartment, but there was no panic, no urgency. Just soft footsteps, a lullaby hum, and the warm glow of the nursery light casting golden halos on the walls.

Sunghoon gently rocked Park Sungjae in his arms, the tiny bundle swaddled in mint green, resting against his chest like he belonged there all along.

“Shhh, baby. You’re home now,” he whispered, voice low, warm, and endlessly soft. He walked slowly in circles, bare feet padding against the wooden floor. Y/N watched from the doorway, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips as she leaned against the frame.

“You’ve been doing that for thirty minutes,” she murmured.

“I know,” he whispered, not stopping. “He likes it. He stopped crying.”

“You’re wrapped around his finger already.”

Sunghoon turned his head and smiled, tired but glowing. “It’s not even funny how fast it happened.”

Y/N stepped inside, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her cheek against his arm. They stood there like that for a while, the three of them in the soft hum of domestic peace.

Later, when Sungjae was finally fast asleep in his crib, they curled up on the couch with Y/N tucked against Sunghoon’s chest, a blanket draped over them, the soft sound of rain tapping against the windows.

“You’re a natural,” she whispered.

“So are you,” he murmured back. “But I think we made an overachiever.”

She laughed. “He gets it from his dad.”

Sunghoon pressed a kiss to her temple, his hand rubbing soothing circles into her back. “This… all of this… I never thought I’d get here. With you. With him.”

“You’re here now,” she said, tracing his knuckles. “And you’re not alone anymore.”

Time Skip: Sungjae, Age 2½

The hospital lobby was a little livelier than usual.

A giggle rang out across the nurse’s station as Park Sungjae toddled along the hallway with his tiny backpack bouncing and his little fists full of stickers. He was chasing after a nurse, determined to show off the drawing he made of a dinosaur—complete with messy crayon scribbles and hearts.

“He said it’s you,” Y/N called out to Sunghoon, who emerged from the elevator with a file in hand and a helpless smile spreading across his face.

Sungjae stopped in his tracks. “Appa!”

Sunghoon crouched instinctively, opening his arms. “Come here, little man.”

Sungjae ran and crashed into his father’s chest, giggling uncontrollably as Sunghoon picked him up and kissed his chubby cheek.

One of the nurses leaned over to Y/N with a smirk. “Dr. Park’s turned into a giant softie since Sungjae was born. You should see the way he talks to the kids now. You fixed him.”

Y/N smiled. “He was never broken. Just waiting.”

Just then, Mrs. Kang, who had been eavesdropping from her wheelchair nearby, pointed to their hands—matching silver bands glinting in the light.

“Told you they were endgame,” she declared proudly to the other patients. “Now look at them—ringed up, loved up, and with a mini-me who runs this place.”

Sunghoon heard her, glanced at his wife, and smirked. He lifted Sungjae’s little hand and flexed both their rings subtly toward Mrs. Kang.

She winked. “Show off.”

Y/N shook her head, laughing. Sunghoon pressed a kiss to her cheek in front of everyone, uncaring now of being seen, of being known like this.

Together. Strong. Soft. Home.

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

permanent taglist: @ijustwannareadstuff20 @hoonielvv @rjssierjrie @firstclassjaylee @morganaawriterr @rikifever @daisyintherainsposts @kkamismom12 @pocketzlocket @semi-wife @soona-huh

[viaxslz]

. 【 ARRANGED ℳARRIAGE 】

享受 ! .°. ݁₊ 𐙚 !reader, cw: arranged marriage au, slight angst, fluff (ig), kissing, strangers to lovers (if that’s what they call it), super duber long (ok might not disappear but who knows), not proofread :P, hyung line ver.

HAN

Han Jisung –(aka husband who swears he’s not panicking while definitely panicking) From the moment you said “I do,” Han Jisung looked like he was fighting for his life. He was sweating through his suit, grinning way too wide, and stuttering so much during the vows that the officiant asked him twice if he was under duress. You weren’t thrilled about the arranged marriage either. You didn’t know each other, didn’t choose each other, and for the first few weeks, it showed. The atmosphere in your shared home was polite but tense like two interns accidentally assigned the same group project, silently wondering who would flake first. Jisung tried his best. He’d attempt conversation over breakfast: “Do you… like toast?” “I mean, of course you like toast, who doesn’t like toast—wait, are you gluten-free? Should I die?” “Sorry. That was dramatic. I’ll stop talking. Unless you want me to talk. Then I’ll talk forever.” You stared at him like he was a sitcom character that got lost on the way to his own show. The man was nervous. Constantly. He’d bump into chairs and say “sorry” to them. He’d knock on the bathroom door even when it was clearly open. He’d rehearse things in his room before saying them to you. One night you overheard: “Hey, Y/N, how was your day? No, too fake. Try again. Okay—Hey, Y/N! How’s the weather in your heart tod—no. Ew. What the hell.” You almost laughed. Almost. But the truth is, Jisung wasn’t acting. He was just genuinely trying. Genuinely overwhelmed. Genuinely scared of screwing up something that had already started with zero consent or choice. One night, you came home exhausted from work, dropped your bag on the floor, and groaned into your hands. Jisung, who had been pretending to study something on his laptop, panicked. “Oh my god. Did someone yell at you? Did you eat today? Did a bird attack you again?” “…Again?” He scrambled into the kitchen like a sitcom wife from the ‘50s, muttering, “I can cook—I mean, I can microwave—no wait, I made eggs once without the shell—wait, do you like eggs??” You burst out laughing. You didn’t mean to, but it just happened. And Jisung froze, blinking like he’d just won a Grammy. “…Was that a laugh? Did I do that? Did I—should I bottle this moment? Is this my peak?” You couldn’t stop. You laughed until you cried, and he stood there, looking both victorious and deeply confused. That broke the wall. After that, everything became easier. You talked more. Shared dumb jokes. Started watching random shows together at night while Jisung made running commentary like: “If they kiss now I’m suing.” “I relate to this character deeply. He’s tired and scared and emotionally repressed. Sexy.” You noticed he was actually really smart. Quick-witted. Sensitive. And kind. Like the kind of kind that doesn’t make a show of it, he just does things. He once quietly fixed your phone charger without telling you. Left sticky notes on your notebook when you had a stressful day. Learned how to make your favorite comfort food just in case. But he never crossed a line. Never forced closeness. Just waited. Patiently. Softly. Then, one rainy night, you found him asleep on the couch. Hugging a pillow. Mumbling in his sleep: “Y/N… don’t leave…” You froze. The next morning, he woke up to you making breakfast. He shuffled into the kitchen, hair a mess, eyes still puffy. “Morning…” You turned around. “Why would I leave?” He blinked. “Wait. Huh?” You walked up, poked his chest gently. “You were talking in your sleep. You said not to leave.” Jisung turned red in real-time. “I—I—NO I—THAT WAS A DREAM—NO—IT WAS A QUOTE—I WAS REHEARSING A LINE—IT’S FOR A PLAY—SHAKESPEARE. YEAH.” You laughed and kissed his cheek. He stopped breathing. You whispered, “I’m not going anywhere.” He whispered, “I think I love you.” Then screamed into a pillow.

Now? Jisung still panics over toast. Still practices conversations in the shower. Still dramatically falls to the floor if you compliment him too sincerely. But he also wraps his arms around you at night like he never wants to let go. Says “I love you” like it’s a reflex. Like it’s the air he breathes. Your marriage may have been arranged. But the love? That part was his choice. And every single day, he keeps choosing you awkwardly, dramatically, wholeheartedly.

FELIX

Felix – (aka sunshine husband who has no idea how to act cold so he just gives you cookies instead) You expected a lot of things from an arranged marriage. tension, silence, maybe even mild resentment. What you didn’t expect was a man with a literal Tupperware container of homemade brownies on your wedding night, shyly holding them out like a peace offering.“Hi… um. I baked these. I don’t know how to start conversations so… chocolate?” You stared at him. He stared back, looking like a golden retriever that got dropped into a corporate meeting by accident. The beginning was awkward, of course. You weren’t strangers, but you weren’t close either. You tiptoed around each other in the house, always polite, always a bit too careful like roommates who accidentally got married and didn’t want to make it weird. Felix, for his part, was trying. So hard. Too hard, honestly. He’d overthink everything. “Do you want me to knock before entering the kitchen?” “Is it okay if I call you… uh… your name?” “I organized the pantry alphabetically. Is that weird? Should I undo it?” You: “I just wanted cereal.” But then came the baking. It started small, a cookie here, a muffin there. Then suddenly it was “surprise banana bread Tuesday” and “midnight croissant therapy.” You’d wake up to little notes by the coffee machine: “Today might be rough, so I made cinnamon rolls. You got this.” “Don’t forget to eat, okay? There’s matcha cake in the fridge. Love, not-so-legally-your-husband.” And that’s the thing about Felix. He wasn’t trying to impress you. He just cared. Genuinely, openly, maybe even recklessly. You caught feelings faster than you were willing to admit. How were you supposed to not fall for the man who learned your coffee order by week two, remembered your deadlines better than you did, and looked at you like the sun was doing him a personal favor by existing through you? Still, neither of you really acknowledged the shift. He stayed sweet. You stayed guarded. And your house became this soft little bubble of tension-filled domesticity, where nothing happened but everything was happening. Then one night, you had a breakdown. Work was suffocating, your family was pressuring you about the marriage, and you just… snapped. You stormed into the kitchen, tired and overwhelmed, and finally said it: “This wasn’t supposed to be real, okay? You weren’t supposed to be nice. You weren’t supposed to make me feel like this was a home.” Felix looked like you’d punched him in the chest. Slowly, he set down the cake batter he was mixing. “…Do you want it to be real?” You: “What?” “This marriage. Us. I… I know we didn’t choose this. But I wake up and think about you. I go to sleep hoping you had a good day. I bake because it’s the only way I know how to show you that I care without scaring you off.” You didn’t say anything. He smiled, sad and small. “I didn’t want to make this harder for you. But if being nice made it worse, I’ll stop—” You kissed him. You pulled back. “Sorry. Was that—” “Do it again.” Now? Felix still bakes at 2 a.m. Still writes notes on the fridge. Still organizes the pantry like a spreadsheet. But he also kisses your temple before you leave the house. Holds your hand during grocery runs like he’s afraid to let go. Whispers, “I know we didn’t choose this but if I had to do it again, I’d still choose you.” The marriage might’ve started with a contract. But the love? That came frosted, warm, and wrapped in a Tupperware full of effort. And you’ve been choosing him back ever since.

SEUNGMIN

Seungmin – (aka the emotionally constipated husband who shows affection by roasting you into submission) You didn’t expect him to be warm. Honestly, you would’ve been suspicious if he was. Seungmin greeted you on your wedding day with a polite nod and the emotional availability of a tax form. No smile. No small talk. Just a: “I’ll take the guest room. Don’t leave your dishes in the sink.” Romantic. At first, it was like living with a very tidy ghost who silently judged you for breathing too loud. You tried initiating conversation, but all you got were one-word replies: “Good morning.” “…Morning.” “How was work?” “Fine.” “Do you need anything from the store?” “Decency.” You were this close to throwing a pillow at him. Or a toaster. Whichever was closer. But you noticed something strange. Despite the deadpan sarcasm and constant eye-rolling, he… listened. Mentioned once that you liked strawberry yogurt? Magically appeared in the fridge. Said you had a meeting on Thursday? He reminded you like a snarky Google calendar. Offhandedly said your back hurt? There was a hot pack on your desk the next morning. But when you tried to thank him, he’d brush it off with: “I didn’t do it for you. I just hate hearing you complain.” Uh-huh. Sure. Over time, the silence shifted. It didn’t feel tense anymore just… calm. Comfortable, even. You started eating meals at the same time. Watching the same dramas on opposite ends of the couch. Bickering like a married couple without actually being one. You: “You know, if you smiled once in a while, you’d be kind of cute.” Seungmin: “If you talked less, I might live longer.” You: “You love me.” Seungmin: “Blink twice if you’re hallucinating.” But he didn’t move away when you scooted closer on the couch. Didn’t object when you started doing laundry together. Didn’t stop you when you fell asleep on his shoulder one night and mumbled, “Don’t leave.” He just sat there, tense for a moment… then relaxed, and whispered, almost too softly to hear: “I won’t.” That was the beginning. One night, you found him in the kitchen at 1 a.m., making ramen and quietly humming. You padded over in your socks, leaned against the counter, and mumbled, “Did you ever want this? Us?” He didn’t look at you right away. “No.” Ouch. “But now that I have it… I don’t want anyone else.” You blinked. “That was weirdly romantic for you.” He shoved a spoonful of ramen into your mouth. “Shut up before I take it back.” Now? Seungmin still teases you mercilessly. Still roasts you in front of your own plants. Still rolls his eyes when you do something mildly annoying and mutters, “This is why I should’ve married a cactus.” But he also tucks you in when you fall asleep on the couch. Picks up your favorite snacks without being asked. Keeps one of your hair ties on his wrist and pretends it’s not a big deal. He’s not loud with love. Not obvious. Not flowery. But he’s consistent. And in the end, being loved by Seungmin feels like this: No grand speeches. No dramatic confessions. Just someone who stays. Quietly, steadily. And never lets go.

JEONGIN

Jeongin –(aka the flustered baby husband who talks back but blushes when you talk nice) Jeongin walked into the arranged marriage like a man headed to war. Not dramatic at all. Except he was dramatic about it. Silently, of course. He was young, successful, trying to prove himself in his field and suddenly he was being told, “Surprise! You’re getting married to someone you barely know. Smile for the wedding photos!” He did not smile. He grimaced. Your first few days of married life were… quiet. Not hostile, just awkward. You felt like you were both house-sitting the same apartment with unspoken rules and polite small talk. You’d pass each other in the hallway like coworkers forced onto the same project. “Hey.” “Hey.” “Did you eat?” “Kind of. You?” “Cool.” Silence. But Jeongin wasn’t cold just reserved. You caught him staring sometimes. Not in a creepy way. More like he was trying to figure out how the hell he was supposed to be a husband when he still googled how to fix a leaky faucet and forgot to switch his laundry. He wasn’t emotionally constipated just emotionally under construction. And then the sarcasm kicked in. Jeongin, once he got comfortable, became the king of side-eyes and muttered jabs. “Oh wow, you’re cooking? Should I call the fire department now or later?” “You fell asleep watching that drama again. I took a picture. It’s blackmail now.” “Just because we’re married doesn’t mean I have to like your taste in socks.” But you noticed something interesting. He’d grumble when you asked him to do something but he’d still do it. He’d tease you for being forgetful but he never forgot your schedule. He’d pretend to be too cool but blushed like crazy when you complimented his shirt. And when you started teasing him back? Oh, he short-circuited. You: “You look good today, husband.” Jeongin: blinking rapidly “Wh—pft—I—shut up.” You: “Are you blushing?” Jeongin: “NO. You’re just standing near something red.” You: “i’m standing next to you.” Jeongin: “……” It became a routine. Casual affection buried in banter. Emotional intimacy hiding behind post-it notes and shared ramen bowls at midnight. He made a habit of waiting for you to get home before he went to bed. You made a habit of telling him everything you liked about him just to watch him get flustered. Eventually, something changed. One night, you were curled up on opposite ends of the couch, and you casually asked, “Do you still wish this never happened?” He stared at the ceiling for a long time. Then, without looking at you: “At first, yeah. I thought it’d ruin my life.” Pause. “…But then you walked in. And you didn’t try to change me. You just… stayed. And now, I don’t know what I’d do if you left.” You looked at him, heart thumping. He turned to you, cheeks pink. “This is the only time I’m being soft. If you bring this up tomorrow, I’ll deny everything.” You didn’t bring it up. But you did kiss him. And he kissed you back like someone who finally figured out what home felt like. Now? Jeongin still talks back. Still gets flustered when you say “my husband” too easily. Still pretends he’s too cool to cuddle until he’s asleep on your chest with his hand fisted in your hoodie like a security blanket. He’ll tease you in public. Laugh at your clumsiness. Say things like: “Wow, imagine marrying someone like you.” And when you pout, he’ll smirk and lean in real close. “…Lucky me.” He might not have chosen this at the beginning. But he’s choosing you now every single day.

PERM TAGLIST 📌🔖 ──── @the-sea-called-history02 @oc3anfloor @queenofdumbfuckery

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which this is the continuation

It’s nothing at first.

Just a tremor.

A flutter beneath your fingers.

You're plating dessert in the restaurant kitchen—dark chocolate torte, orange zest, vanilla bean cream—and when you reach to steady the plate, your hand slips.

The plate crashes to the floor. Shatters.

You flinch.

Not because it broke. Because you couldn’t stop it.

You stare at your hand. Still now. Fine, probably.

You flex your fingers.

They respond, a little slower than they should.

“Just tired,” you murmur to yourself. “Didn’t sleep enough.”

You clean it up and move on.

But it stays with you.

The slip. The feeling.

A week later, it happens again.

This time, it’s your arm—holding a sauté pan. Your grip gives for a second. Just enough to lose control of the wrist. You catch it, just in time.

But Paige sees.

You’re cooking for her at home, barefoot in your tiny kitchen, humming along to an old song playing from your phone.

She doesn’t say anything until you set the food down.

“Are you okay?”

You freeze. “Yeah. Just dropped it for a sec.”

“I saw your hand shake.”

You try to laugh. “Babe, I’ve been on my feet for nine hours today.”

She nods, slowly. “I know. Just...you didn’t look tired. You looked surprised.”

You smile, tight. “I’m fine.”

She watches you a beat too long.

Then lets it go.

That night, you wake up with your fingers numb.

They tingle like static.

You shake your hand out under the blanket, trying to coax life back into it. The feeling returns after a while. But your heart doesn’t settle as easily.

Paige is asleep beside you, breathing slow and deep. One hand curled against your hip.

You stare at the ceiling and don’t sleep for the rest of the night.

A few days later, you cut yourself during prep.

It’s a tiny slip. Barely a nick.

But you don’t feel it.

You look down at the blood on your finger and realize it’s there before the pain registers.

And that?

That terrifies you.

You excuse yourself to the back. Wrap the cut. Wash your hands twice. Grip the edge of the sink until your knuckles go white.

Something is wrong.

You know it.

But you don’t tell her.

Not yet.

Not when things are this good.

Not when she keeps showing up with new flowers. New books. New places she wants to take you.

You lie by omission.

It’s not fear of the truth.

It’s fear of what it will do to her.

You notice her watching you more now.

Out of the corner of her eye.

Lingering glances.

She never asks again.

But you can feel the question waiting in her throat.

And you keep pretending not to notice.

Because if you speak it out loud...

It becomes real.

It starts to become routine—the not-feeling.

At first, it's just your fingers. Slight numbness, a tingling sensation like they'd fallen asleep and never quite woke up. You start dropping things more often. Knives. Spoons. Your favorite mug from Barcelona, which shatters across the kitchen tile. You sweep it up in silence and tell Paige it slipped.

She doesn’t believe you.

But she doesn’t push.

Not yet.

Then it moves to your legs.

One morning, you wake to pins and needles down your right calf. You laugh it off—slept on it weird. It happens. But two hours later, in the middle of breakfast rush, your knee buckles.

You grab the counter. No one notices.

No one but her.

She’s there again, as usual, sitting at her spot by the kitchen, sipping coffee with one hand and tapping a finger to the rim with the other. Your eyes meet. Her face stills.

She doesn’t say anything then.

But that night, when she comes over, she doesn’t just kiss you hello.

She checks your knee.

You pull away too quickly.

“Don’t,” she says. “Let me.”

You do.

She rubs it gently, pressing in spots you didn’t realize hurt. When you wince, her eyes flash with worry.

“I’m calling someone,” she says.

“No.”

You say it too fast. Too sharp.

She sits back. “Then you call someone.”

You’re quiet.

She stands, pacing now. “You keep saying it’s fine. That you’re just tired. But you flinched when I touched you.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did.” Her voice trembles. “And I’ve been trying not to bring it up again, but you’re not okay. You haven’t been for weeks.”

You say nothing.

Because you have no argument left.

The next day, you call a doctor.

You don’t tell Paige the full truth. Just that it’s probably nothing. Just a precaution.

She insists on coming anyway.

You try to say no.

She looks at you like it breaks her to hear you say it.

“I’m going,” she says. “Even if I have to sit in the hallway.”

You nod.

You let her.

The morning of the appointment, your hands don’t stop shaking.

You can barely hold your toothbrush.

You press your palms to the bathroom sink and stare at yourself in the mirror.

You don’t look sick.

You look tired.

You look scared.

She finds you like that.

Wraps her arms around you from behind.

“You don’t have to be brave right now,” she whispers into your neck. “Just be honest.”

You close your eyes.

And for the first time, you let yourself fall back into her.

The waiting room is cold.

Sterile.

The clock ticks too loud.

Paige holds your hand the whole time, her thumb tracing the back of your palm in quiet loops. Neither of you speak. You’re both afraid of what you’ll say if you do.

The nurse calls your name.

You stand.

Paige starts to let go.

You grip her tighter.

“Come with me,” you whisper.

She nods, already moving.

And together, you walk toward the truth.

The exam room is cold.

Too white. Too clean. Everything smells like disinfectant and endings.

You sit on the padded table, hands clenched in your lap, fingers twitching from nerves or tremors—you can’t tell anymore. Paige sits beside you, elbows on her knees, her leg bouncing restlessly.

You haven’t looked at each other in minutes.

You don’t know how.

The door opens.

A neurologist steps in. Late 40s. Kind eyes. A clipboard she doesn’t look at because she already knows.

“Thanks for waiting,” she says, gently. “I know this isn’t easy.”

You nod. You feel like your body’s on mute.

She sits down across from you. No desk between you. No barrier.

Just truth.

“We ran a series of tests,” she begins. “Reflex responses, nerve conduction, blood panels, muscle response analysis. Based on the patterns we’re seeing and the progression of symptoms you’ve described…”

Her voice softens.

“…it appears that you have a rare degenerative neuromuscular disorder.”

The words fall like soft thunder.

You blink.

“I—sorry, I don’t… what does that mean?”

She nods like she expected the question.

“It means your nerves are misfiring. Gradually failing to communicate with your muscles. Over time, this can cause muscle weakness, numbness, difficulty with motor control. Eventually, it may affect your mobility. And in rarer cases—respiration.”

You feel Paige freeze beside you.

The floor tilts. The room stays still.

“How long?” you ask.

The doctor hesitates.

“We can’t give an exact timeline. But based on the current progression… twelve to eighteen months. Maybe less.”

You try to breathe.

You try to stay still.

You try not to fall apart.

“Is it curable?” Paige’s voice is barely a whisper.

The doctor doesn’t sugarcoat it.

“No.”

Silence.

Total. Crushing. Still.

You nod.

You don’t cry.

Not yet.

You just say, “What happens next?”

“We manage the symptoms. Physical therapy. Lifestyle adjustments. Support. There are experimental treatments, but I want to be honest—this diagnosis is life-altering. It’s okay if you need time to process it.”

Time.

You were just told you don’t have time.

The irony is so cruel it almost makes you laugh.

Almost.

You walk out in silence.

Paige’s hand never leaves yours.

You reach the parking lot and stand beside the car, unsure of what to do.

She turns to you.

And you say, voice low, “Say it.”

She doesn’t ask what you mean.

She already knows.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says, steady and sure.

You nod once, and then…

The tears come.

You try to hold them in, but they crash like waves—hot, hard, silent at first, then broken sobs. Your knees buckle. She catches you.

She holds you against her chest like she can protect you from the words that just changed your life.

She rocks you gently, whispering, “we’re not done. We are not done. You hear me?”

You nod into her neck, fists clenched in her hoodie.

She’s shaking too.

But she never lets go.

That night, you lie in bed, your head on her chest, and she reads the pamphlet they gave you.

Her voice doesn’t break until she gets to the line about quality of life.

You reach for her hand.

“Hey,” you say.

She looks at you.

“I want it to be a beautiful life. No matter how long.”

She chokes on a breath.

Then whispers, “Then let’s make every day count.”

And in that moment, the countdown begins.

But so does the rest of your life.

With her.

You don’t go back to the restaurant the next day.

Or the day after that.

You lie in bed with the curtains drawn, lights off, her sweatshirt wrapped around you like armor. The city moves outside your window, alive and indifferent. You stay still, afraid that if you move too much, everything might come undone.

Paige stays with you.

She makes tea she doesn’t drink and toast you don’t touch.

She doesn’t try to fill the silence.

She just stays.

The third morning, you finally speak.

Lying beside her, eyes on the ceiling, voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t want people to look at me different.”

She shifts beside you. “They won’t.”

“They will.”

She hesitates.

“Maybe,” she admits. “But I won’t.”

You nod, because she means it.

You believe her.

And yet, part of you still aches.

You go back to the restaurant on day five.

Only for a few hours. Only to touch the space again.

It feels different.

You try to chop onions, but your fingers twitch, and the blade slips again.

You stare at the cutting board, at the uneven mess you used to slice with your eyes closed.

Then you feel her.

Paige, stepping in behind you, steady hands wrapping around your wrists.

“Let me help,” she says.

You let her.

That night, she sets up a list on your phone. You don’t know why.

Until she shows you the title.

“Things We Still Get to Do.”

You scroll.

1. Slow dance barefoot in the kitchen 2. Watch the stars somewhere with no streetlights 3. Cook something with five ingredients or less 4. Take a picture every morning, no matter what 5. Laugh at least once a day 6. Fall in love every night like it’s the first time 7. Tell the truth, even when it’s scary 8. Let it be beautiful—even the hard parts

You blink at the screen.

“You made this?” you whisper.

She nods. “I want to make it count.”

Tears sting your eyes. You don’t try to hide them this time.

You reach for her, and she holds you so tightly, like she’s afraid if she lets go, time might take you sooner.

The next morning, you wake up to a Polaroid beside your pillow.

It’s you—messy hair, sleepy eyes, wrapped in her hoodie.

She’s scribbled something underneath.

#1: Still falling.

You laugh through tears.

And for the first time since the diagnosis, you feel it again.

Joy.

The days don’t get easier.

But they get fuller.

Paige makes you take walks, even when your legs feel like jelly.

You teach her how to make pasta from scratch, even when your fingers cramp halfway through and she ends up kneading the dough.

You start writing letters late at night, tucked away in a drawer.

Just in case.

But you don’t tell her that yet.

Because for now, she’s still looking at you like forever hasn’t changed shape.

And for now, that’s enough.

Your phone dings with a text.

Paige: Pack a bag. Three days. Somewhere warm.

You reply with one word.

You: Why?

She replies with three.

Paige: Because we can.

You fly out the next morning.

Paige insists on handling the tickets, the hotel, everything. She says you deserve to rest. To show up without a plan. To just be.

You haven’t been on a plane since the diagnosis.

There’s a small part of you that’s afraid—afraid your legs will fail walking down the jet bridge, afraid your fingers will cramp when trying to buckle your seatbelt.

But when you step onto the plane, she’s already waiting in your row, sunglasses on her head and your favorite snack in her lap.

“I got you the window seat,” she says, patting it like a secret.

You sit. Breathe. Let your hand rest on hers the whole way through takeoff.

And when the sky opens wide and blue outside your window, you let yourself believe, maybe there’s still time.

You land in Santa Fe.

Not a big city. Not loud. Just sunlight and desert and color. Paige picked it because she said you once mentioned it in passing—something about the food, the sky, the art.

“I remember the way your eyes lit up,” she said. “I wanted to see that again.”

You stay in a little adobe house tucked behind a row of sunflowers. No plans. No itinerary.

Just the two of you.

Just this.

That first day, you explore the streets slowly.

Paige lets you set the pace.

You walk arm-in-arm through art galleries and markets, pointing out ceramics and woven blankets and tiny painted tiles.

You laugh when she tries to flirt with you in broken Spanish to impress a street vendor.

You take a photo in front of a wall covered in butterflies. She says you look like you belong there.

That night, you eat on a rooftop.

The food is spicy. The air is warm.

Paige lifts her glass and says, “To us.”

You clink yours to hers and say, “To now.”

The next morning, your legs feel like stone.

You can barely lift yourself from the bed.

Panic blooms in your throat.

Paige notices.

She kneels beside you, helps you sit up, presses a cool cloth to your neck.

“It’s okay,” she says, steady as the earth. “We’ll move slow. Or we won’t move at all.”

Tears prick your eyes. “I don’t want to ruin this.”

“You can’t ruin this.”

She holds your face in her hands.

“You’re the reason this is happening in the first place.”

That afternoon, you sit under a mesquite tree outside your casita, heads resting together as the sun begins to dip.

You hold hands.

You don’t say anything for a long while.

Then Paige whispers, “Thank you for coming with me.”

You lean your head on her shoulder. “Thank you for bringing me.”

She kisses your hair.

And in that moment, you don’t feel sick.

You feel alive.

Not because the illness is gone.

But because you’re choosing joy anyway.

You fall asleep that night with the windows open, the stars overhead, and her whisper in your ear…

“We have time. Maybe not forever. But we have this.”

And this is everything.

You choose to do it all at once.

Not because it’s easier.

But because you know you can’t take repeating it. Not again. Not to every individual face. Not with the way it splinters you each time the words leave your mouth.

So Paige helps.

She organizes the dinner. Just a few people. Your chosen family. Your closest friends. People who deserve the truth because they’ve earned a place in your life.

It’s a small, warm night.

The food is homemade. Your hands tremble too much to chop, so Paige does most of the work, and you sit at the counter giving instructions, watching her move through your kitchen like it’s hers too now.

She catches you staring.

You smile, and she mouths, I got you.

They arrive around seven.

Laughter fills the room fast—your people are good at that. The kind of friends who fall into rhythm like no time has passed. You pour wine. Share plates. Talk about nothing.

You wait until dessert.

Because it’s easier to say something hard when people are still chewing. When their mouths are full and their hearts are open.

Paige squeezes your hand under the table.

You take a breath.

And then you speak.

“I have something to tell you.”

The room stills.

Your voice shakes at first, but you don’t stop.

“I’ve been diagnosed with a rare degenerative disorder. Neuromuscular. It’s progressive. It’s...already progressing.”

No one breathes.

You force yourself to go on.

“There’s no cure. Just management. Time is… limited.”

You don't say the number.

You can't.

One friend starts crying. Another grabs your other hand.

Someone says, “No. That can’t be right.”

Paige speaks for the first time. “It is.”

The silence stretches long.

Then someone says, “What do you need?”

You blink.

“I—I don’t know yet.” You pause, trying to find the right words. “Just...don’t look at me like I’m disappearing.”

One of your oldest friends leans forward.

“You’re still here. So are we.”

Another chimes in, voice thick, “you’re not alone in this.”

And just like that, you’re surrounded.

Hands. Words. Closeness.

You cry again.

This time, not from fear.

But from love.

Later that night, after everyone leaves, you and Paige sit on the couch in silence.

You're curled into her side.

She’s playing with your fingers.

“You did it,” she says softly.

“Yeah.”

“I’m proud of you.”

You nod.

Then, barely above a whisper, “I hated saying it out loud.”

She kisses your temple.

“I know.”

You shift so you're facing her.

Her eyes are glassy. Her breath shaky.

“Do you still want to stay?” you ask. Not because you doubt her. But because a part of you still doesn’t feel worthy of someone staying through the storm.

She doesn’t answer right away.

Then she cups your face in both hands.

“Not only do I want to stay,” she says, “I want to marry you.”

You freeze.

She laughs—wet and quiet, full of nerves.

“Shit. That wasn’t how I meant to say it.”

You stare at her.

She stares back.

“I want to marry you,” she repeats, steadier this time. “Not just because of the clock. Not because of fear. But because loving you is the best thing I’ve ever done.”

You inhale sharply, then nod.

“Yes,” you whisper.

And when she kisses you, it tastes like a promise.

Like a vow you haven’t spoken yet.

But will.

Soon.

Paige never thought she’d be the one to propose first.

But then again, she never thought time would become so precious.

It starts two days after that night on the couch—after your whispered yes, after the kiss that tasted like gravity and stars. She’s still holding the echo of your voice in her chest when she starts a list.

A real one. In her notes app.

Proposal Plan: For the Love of My Life

1. Ask their people. 2. Ask my people. 3. Do not freak out. 4. Make it feel like them. 5. Make it feel like home. 6. Remember: it’s not about the time left—it’s about the love we still get to live in.

She stares at that last line for a long time before hitting save.

She starts with your people.

She invites two of your closest friends to the apartment under the pretense of “catching up,” but she can’t keep the secret more than five minutes. She paces the living room while they sit on her couch.

“I want to propose,” she blurts.

They freeze. Then beam.

“Finally,” one of them says.

Paige exhales like she’s been holding her breath for months.

“She’s going to say yes,” the other reassures her.

“She already did,” Paige says quietly. “But I want to ask for real. I want to make it count.”

So they brainstorm. Over snacks. On napkins. With tears and laughter and old photos.

“She’s always loved the garden at that art museum,” one says. “You should start there.”

“And those little string lights she hangs every winter? You could recreate that. Somewhere quiet.”

“She’s been writing letters,” Paige whispers.

They both look at her.

“I haven’t read them,” she adds. “But I know. She hides them in a drawer under the record player. I just... I want her to have something, too.”

They squeeze her hands.

“She’s going to remember this forever,” one of them says.

“No matter how long forever is,” the other finishes.

Then she turns to her own circle.

She calls Nika first.

“I need backup,” she says.

“You’re getting married?!” Nika screams. “Wait—does she know?”

“She kind of knows.”

“She doesn’t know?”

“She said yes already. It’s complicated. I need help.”

So Nika ropes in Azzi. And KK. And even a very confused but deeply supportive Geno, who says, “As long as you don’t get married on the court before a game, I’m thrilled.”

Azzi helps coordinate music.

KK helps pick flowers.

Nika makes a joke about officiating, and Paige writes it down anyway.

She goes to the art museum by herself one morning.

Wanders the garden, fingers brushing the lavender, the stone benches, the little tucked-away arch you once called your portal to peace.

She sees it.

Feels it.

You.

She walks the whole space and says to no one, “This is it.”

That night, she builds it in her head.

The time. The lighting. The way the sun hits right before it sets. The table set beneath that arch. Candles. No music except the wind. Your friends hiding out of sight, waiting. Her jersey in your favorite frame, placed beside the table, just for fun. A quiet corner of the world dressed up in love, all for you.

And then the ring.

She doesn’t go for diamonds.

She picks something smaller.

A stone the color of early morning skies. A band carved with a single word inside, still.

Because that’s what you are.

Still here. Still loving. Still choosing.

No matter the countdown.

The night before, she sleeps at your place.

She holds you tighter than usual.

You notice.

“You okay?” you ask against her chest.

“Always,” she lies.

Because she doesn’t want to ruin the surprise.

Because this is yours.

Because tomorrow, she’s going to ask.

Not because time is running out.

But because love isn’t.

7:00 a.m.

You wake slowly.

The sunlight crawls across your sheets. The room is warm, familiar, safe. You reach across the bed, expecting to find her.

But she’s not there.

Just the lingering imprint of her warmth and a folded note on the pillow.

Your name is written across it in her looping, messy handwriting.

You sit up. Unfold the paper.

Good morning, beautiful. I had to step out for something. Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon. Wear something soft. Something you feel you in. I’ll come get you before sunset. No questions. Just trust me. –P

You read it three times before smiling.

You press the note to your chest.

Whatever she’s planning, you already know, it’s going to matter.

10:23 a.m.

Paige is in the garden.

She’s crouched under the arch with two of your best friends and Azzi, tying white fabric around the stone pillars. Nika is stringing fairy lights in the trees with Hailey, who keeps mumbling, “This better not short out.”

Your favorite wildflowers are being arranged in glass jars on a small wooden table in the center of the arch—poppies, lavender, sprigs of rosemary and mint.

A single chair waits beside it, facing the sun.

Paige stands back, breath caught in her throat.

“It’s almost too much,” she murmurs.

“No,” your best friend says behind her. “It’s exactly enough.”

She nods.

Then walks to the edge of the path and places the framed jersey beside the tree.

It’s your favorite one of hers.

The one from the first game you ever watched her play.

The one she signed and slipped into your bag when you flew back from Santa Fe.

Still. Always.

12:42 p.m.

You spend the day in quiet wonder.

You water your plants.

You make tea.

You almost call her, twice.

But something in your chest says wait.

It doesn’t feel like waiting in the sad sense.

It feels like holding your breath before something beautiful.

You take a photo in the mirror—just for yourself. Loose dress. Soft sweater. The necklace she gave you last spring.

The caption never gets typed, but if it had one, it would say…

I think today is going to change everything.

3:08 p.m.

Paige checks everything again.

The candles are in place.

The string lights flicker softly.

The music is cued, even if it won’t play unless you both want it.

Your friends are tucked away out of sight, hidden near the museum’s back entrance, watching with quiet awe.

Azzi hugs her.

“You got this,” she whispers.

“I just don’t want to cry before I say it,” Paige mutters.

“You’re gonna cry.”

Nika nods. “Absolutely.”

KK adds, “She’s gonna cry halfway through saying your name.”

Paige rolls her eyes.

Then turns toward the path.

She checks her watch.

Time to go get you.

4:15 p.m.

You open the door, and she’s there.

Standing in your favorite jeans and the jacket you told her she looked best in. Her hair is down. No makeup. Just her.

She smiles like she’s never been more certain of anything.

“You ready?” she asks.

You nod. “For what?”

She grins. “Come find out.”

The car ride is mostly quiet.

She reaches for your hand at every stoplight.

You squeeze it, because something inside you is swelling like a tide.

Not fear.

Not dread.

Something like... yes.

4:47 p.m.

You arrive at the museum garden.

She helps you out of the car and leads you by the hand through a side gate.

And when you turn the corner—

You stop breathing.

Candles.

Flowers.

The arch.

Your chair.

Your friends, hidden but barely, watching with hands over their mouths and tears already in their eyes.

And her.

Paige steps forward, lets go of your hand, and takes one trembling step back.

Her eyes are shining.

The sun is hitting the garden just right—golden, like blessing.

She takes a breath.

Then drops to one knee.

And says your name like a prayer.

You don’t breathe at first.

Not because you’re scared.

Because she’s beautiful like this.

On one knee, in the garden you once called peace, hands trembling as she opens her heart like it’s a letter she’s rewritten a thousand times.

The world stills around you.

All you can hear is her voice.

“I used to think love would find me in a big, dramatic way,” she begins, voice already unsteady. “I thought it would crash through the door and knock me over and leave me breathless.”

She smiles softly, eyes locked on yours.

“But you didn’t crash into me.”

Her hands shake, but she doesn’t look away.

“You showed up. You fed me when I didn’t know I was starving. You made me laugh when I forgot how to. You held space for me before I knew I needed it.”

She takes a breath.

And then another.

“You are not a big, dramatic love. You are steady. Fierce. Quiet in the way the ocean is quiet—you don’t make noise, but you shape the world anyway.”

Your eyes blur.

She presses her lips together, trying to hold it in.

Fails.

A single tear slips down her cheek.

And still, she speaks.

“I know what’s coming. I know we can’t pretend we don’t. But that doesn’t make this any less real. It doesn’t make what I feel any less infinite.”

She opens the ring box.

It’s simple. Beautiful.

The stone glows like the morning sky.

“I don’t want to waste a second. I don’t want to wait until it’s easier or longer or safer.”

Her voice cracks.

“I just want you. For however long we get. One year. One month. One minute.”

You’re crying now.

So is she.

But neither of you break.

“Will you marry me?” she whispers. “Will you be mine, for however long the universe lets us hold this?”

You step forward.

Your knees give a little.

She’s up instantly, catching you.

It makes you both laugh through tears.

You wrap your arms around her neck and bury your face into her shoulder.

You nod.

Hard.

“Yes,” you whisper.

And then louder.

“Yes.”

You pull back just enough to see her, and say it again.

“Yes. For every minute. Every breath. Every heartbeat.”

She kisses you—slow, shaking, sure.

And somewhere, behind the trees, your friends cheer and sob and clap through the heartbreak of something so beautiful, it hurts to witness.

You and Paige don’t move for a while.

You sit together on the garden bench, forehead to forehead.

No rush.

No next step.

Just breath.

Just hands intertwined.

She wipes your tears.

You wipe hers.

Neither of you says forever.

But you both say still.

And in that moment, it’s enough.

[shyoko]

Chapter 1: 𝐘'𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐄

The Heiress Of Darkness

The morning cold seeped through the seams of your coat, chilling you to the bone even though the sky was clear. You had arrived early at the university and were taking refuge in your notes, rereading paragraphs without really processing them. Your eyes followed the written lines, but your mind… was elsewhere.

Then, the sound of an engine sliced through the air. A police car.

Your body tensed instantly, a shiver running down your spine. You forced your mind to calm down, even though panic was beginning to rise in your chest.

Your thoughts started to drift. “Don’t let them see me. Please, don’t let them see me,” you thought as your eyes followed the officer. The memory of the party rushed back into your mind, fast and cruel. The images flashed through your head as quickly as you tried to shut them down. Anxiety took hold of you, and you wished with all your strength for everything to go unnoticed.

The officer walked confidently toward the entrance, but before going in, his eyes met yours. For a moment, you felt the weight of his gaze, the direct contact that made your breathing grow slightly heavier. However, before your body could react, he turned to give an order to the young man accompanying him.

He was a tall guy, about twenty-five. Attractive, the kind of attractive you can’t help but notice, the kind that makes you want to look at him longer than is appropriate. He smiled at you—a sticky kind of smile that, for some reason, made you want to smile back, despite how uncomfortable you felt in that moment.

Eventually, they disappeared through the entrance, leaving you alone with the echo of their footsteps. The anxiety still churned in your stomach. That’s when you felt a warm hand rest on your shoulder. It was Jake, a good friend from university—not close enough to hang out outside of class, but always there to keep you company.

“Y/n!”—Jake’s voice pulled you out of your head. He approached quickly, brow furrowed, expression more serious than usual—“I was looking for you… Are you okay?”

You blinked, confused by his intensity. Jake rarely showed anything beyond his relaxed demeanor. But today there was something different about him. His eyes shone with a mix of tension and concern.

“What’s going on?” you asked, trying to sound natural.

Jake looked around, as if making sure no one was too close, then lowered his voice.

“I can’t believe what happened…”—he swallowed, visibly shaken—“At the party on Saturday… someone… someone died, Y/n. They found him on the terrace. A guy. I don’t know who discovered him, but it was after midnight. They say it was horrible.”

His words hit like heavy stones. Your stomach twisted.

“A… body?” you repeated, the word barely leaving your lips.

Jake nodded slowly, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah. The police are already here. They’re talking to everyone who was at the party. Asking questions… they want to know who saw him last, if anyone noticed anything weird. They’re not saying it officially, but… you can tell they suspect everyone.”

He was silent for a moment, then looked at you intently.

“You weren’t there, right?”—His voice dropped even lower—“I didn’t see you… but with so many people, I’m not sure.”

“No, I didn’t go,” you answered immediately. Your voice sounded distant. Forced.

Jake nodded, relieved for a second, but his face hardened again.

“I’m glad. Because… damn, Y/n, it was really messed up. I was there, I saw the guy before everything went to hell. He was alive. And a few hours later…”—he broke off, running a hand down his face—“I’ve never been so close to something like this.”

You noticed his breathing quicken. His usual facade was cracking.

“Are you okay?”— you asked, feeling panic creeping into your voice too.

“I don’t know. I haven’t slept. Nobody knows what happened. They don’t know if it was an accident, a fight, something else…”—He brought a hand to his chest, as if trying to steady himself—“Just… be careful, okay? Don’t say anything that could be misunderstood. Even if you weren’t there, you know how rumors are. And if they call you, cooperate, but… be cautious.”

You nodded slowly, unsure if you could trust your own voice. The scene felt more unreal by the second. The world spun too fast.

Jake took a deep breath and tried to offer a half-smile, but it didn’t work. This time, he didn’t even pretend.

“This is going to change everything.”

Class began, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t concentrate. The professor’s words bounced around in your head without leaving a mark. Your whole body was tense, your mind trapped in dark thoughts, memories that made your skin crawl, and emotions you didn’t know where to place.

Then, a sound broke the constant murmur of the classroom: the door opened with a soft creak. Two figures entered. The same officers you had seen that morning. The air seemed to freeze in the room. Eyes locked on them—some curious, others afraid. You simply… stopped breathing.

They started calling students, one by one, calmly, as if nothing strange were happening. But every name they said felt like a countdown speeding up your heartbeat.

Until they called yours.

“Y/n” a deep, firm voice pronounced.

You stood up quickly, trying to seem calm, though your hands trembled as you closed your backpack. You walked toward the door. And then you saw him. Him.

The guy from the car.

His eyes met yours, and for an instant, everything seemed to stop. His face was serene, calm, almost kind, in contrast to the tension you felt. He nodded for you to follow him.

“Have a seat,” he said, pointing to a chair across from his.

You did, trying to control your movements. He settled into his seat, pulled a notebook from the inner pocket of his jacket, and with a soft smile, added:

“Just a few questions, nothing complicated. Answer honestly, okay?”

His voice was firm, but there was a warm tone to it, almost comforting. His uniform fit him perfectly, and although you tried not to look, it was hard not to notice how well it suited him. He had soft features, but with a firm structure. You didn’t know how to describe it, but he made you feel… safe.

“Did you know the victim?”

You shook your head immediately.

“Not personally. I’ve seen him in class, but nothing more. I’m sorry,” you answered softly.

He nodded, taking notes.

“Did you attend the party?”

Again, you shook your head.

“No, I didn’t go. I stayed home.”

“I see,” he said, and for a moment seemed to study you more closely—“Alright, in case you remember anything that could help, or if someone says something strange…”—He pulled out a small piece of paper and handed it to you—“This is my number.”

You reached out to take it, and for a second, your fingers brushed against his. The contact was brief, but enough to send a shiver through your skin. He smiled—one of those smiles that didn’t seem forced, but reassuring.

“Call me for anything. Information, questions, or if you just need to talk to someone who’s not part of all this chaos.”

You hesitated for a second, surprised by the almost personal tone of his offer, and before you could say anything, he added with a half-smile:

“I promise I don’t bite… unless absolutely necessary.”

A nervous laugh escaped your lips. He smiled too, wider now.

“See you, Y/n,” he said finally, with a voice so calm it almost promised everything would be okay.

The bell rang throughout the university, marking the end of classes. Most students hurried out, whispering among themselves—some nervous, others as if nothing had happened. But you didn’t move. You stayed in your seat a few seconds longer, silent, eyes lost somewhere beyond the window.

You slowly gathered your things, carrying that invisible knot in your stomach that hadn’t left you all day. The classroom nearly emptied. You walked down the hallway as if it didn’t belong to you, as if the world felt a bit farther away than usual.

The afternoon cold crept through your coat as you made your way home, but you barely felt it. Your mind was elsewhere. On him.

Evan, or that's what it said on the card with his number.

His eyes had been the first thing. So calm, so… attentive. Not cold, like the other officer’s, nor empty like everyone else’s around you lately. He truly looked at you, as if you were more than just a line in a report.

And his voice. Serious, but not harsh. Almost warm. As if he didn’t want to scare you. As if, in some strange way, he already wanted to protect you.

You slipped a hand into your coat pocket and pulled out the paper he had given you. “In case you remember anything, or need to talk.”

You had read it over and over in your mind. There was no special phrase written on it—just his name—Evan—and his number. But for some reason, just having it made breathing a little easier.

You tucked it away again as if it were something fragile.

You walked the rest of the way with your heart beating strangely. As if something had been lit deep inside you without your realizing it.

When you got home, you let your body collapse onto the soft mattress in your room, allowing everything that troubled you to slowly fade from your mind, just as the tension left your muscles. The warmth of the blanket against your cold body, combined with the silent and calming atmosphere, made it easy to close your eyes and surrender to the kind of rest you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Night had already fallen when you woke up. For some reason, that day had felt different, calmer. A day in which the only sound was the whisper of small animals moving through the dark alleys of the deserted street, until a growl from your stomach broke the stillness, demanding you eat something. You got up and went to the kitchen in search of something to eat. You rummaged through every drawer, but nothing. There was nothing in the fridge either, and the same happened with the pantry.

A big sigh escaped your lips. Why did you have expired yogurts from two months ago in the fridge? Good question, but that didn’t matter now. Still tired, you decided that, even though it was the last thing you wanted to do, it was time to go buy something. It was eight o’clock in the evening, and you had to hurry before it got any later.

You put on something warm and comfortable, and quickly headed to the door. When your hand touched the cold knob, a chill ran down your spine, accompanied by a persistent thought: “Don’t go out.” You ignored it, and before leaving, you grabbed your small purse, where you kept your keys, wallet, and phone.

...

You walked through the deserted streets, where only the shadows of some stray cats watched you curiously. You took the usual path to the store, the one you had walked a thousand times. Once there, you picked up the essentials: food, paper, some cleaning products. Just enough not to feel too loaded.

With two bags in your hands, you left the store and said goodbye to the clerk. The cold had intensified, and a light fog had spread through the streets. You quickened your pace to get home as soon as possible, but after a few steps, you heard a noise behind you.

A tall figure was walking a few meters away, and your heart began to race. A chill ran through your body, not from the cold, but from fear. Your steps quickened, choosing a slightly different route than usual. The figure followed you, and the wind picked up, rustling the leaves of the trees violently.

Without thinking, you ran. You didn’t dare look back, afraid of slowing down. But the heavy footsteps of the man behind you were clearly audible. Your breathing became erratic, and your legs began to ache to the point of giving out. Suddenly, you felt a strong hand grabbing your wrist, pulling you back. A scream of desperation escaped your throat as you struggled to free yourself from his grip. With a strength you never imagined you had, you kicked him in the stomach. A groan of pain escaped his lips, and his grip loosened, giving you the chance to drop the bags and run.

After a few minutes, you saw your house in the distance. The streets were increasingly covered by fog, and the lights in the homes had already gone out, leaving you completely alone in the deserted street, with someone still chasing you. You sped up, pulled the keys from your purse, and upon reaching the entrance, tried to open the door with trembling hands. The door made a faint sound as it opened, but before you could step inside, you felt the same calloused hand that had grabbed you before holding you tightly.

Another scream escaped your lips. "L-LET ME GO!" You struggled with all your strength, fighting to free yourself from his grip, feeling his fingers tightening more and more around your wrist. With a final shove, you managed to get inside the house, but the man’s weight stayed firm, preventing you from closing the door. Desperate, you found yourself wrestling against the door with all your might, but you couldn’t shut it.

The man’s hand pushed harder, and the fear grew with each second. The sound of the wind and the creaking of the door under the struggle filled the air, while you desperately tried to make it give. Panic took hold of you, increasingly aware that if you couldn’t close it, he would be inside again.

Then, with superhuman effort, you stopped fighting the door and ran toward the living room, knowing it was your only chance. He followed you quickly, his steps pounding with fury as he approached aggressively. You turned, fear taking over your body, and before he could reach you, you grabbed the vase from the table. Its weight in your hands felt heavy, but you didn’t care. With a swift motion, you threw it with all the strength you could muster at his head.

The impact was brutal, and a dull sound filled the room as the vase struck him. The ceramic smashed against his face, leaving a mark of fresh blood. The man staggered, falling to the ground with a groan of pain.

Blood began to gush strongly, splattering the living room floor. Your body, trembling and overwhelmed, stopped functioning clearly. Your legs gave out, and you collapsed to the floor as tears began to stream from your eyes. Had you just killed him? What were you going to do now? Would they accuse you of murder?

The questions didn’t stop, but none could change the fact that there was a lifeless body in your house—and you were the one who killed him. Suddenly, your heart skipped a beat, and a small spark of hope ignited inside you. You ran to the bedroom, desperately searching through your backpack. There were books, a laptop, your pencil case, and… there it was, Evan’s number—the police officer from that morning.

Maybe it was crazy and you’d end up in jail for murder, but he was the only person who had shown any concern for you. You knew maybe he had only done it out of courtesy, but something deep inside you had made you feel safe when he was around. His protective gaze, his soft voice whispering that he’d take care of you, the gentleness of his fingers when you took the paper with his number… all of that made you feel safe.

You grabbed the paper, dialed his number with trembling fingers, barely able to see the screen through the tears blurring your vision. You pressed the phone to your ear, your ragged breathing betraying the panic you felt.

"Hello?" —Evan answered naturally, as if he were taking any routine call. But it only took a second.

“E-Evan…” —you stammered between sobs, your voice broken and barely audible.

The pause on the other end was brief, but it completely changed the tone of his voice.

"Y/n… what happened? Are you okay?"

“No… I’m not… Something horrible happened… Please, I need you to come, I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do…” —your voice shattered into a thousand pieces.

"Calm down. I’m on my way. Don’t move, okay? I’ll be there in a few minutes."

He hung up without waiting for a reply.

You didn’t know exactly how much time had passed. It could’ve been ten minutes or thirty. Time didn’t exist. Only the weight of the body on the floor, the blood spilled near your rug, and you, trembling by the wall, knees to your chest and the phone still in your hand.

A few firm knocks on the door pulled you out of your trance.

You went to open it with trembling hands and red eyes. Evan was there. His face, usually relaxed and warm, now showed a mix of alertness, concern, and something harder to decipher.

Seeing the state you were in, he didn’t ask questions. He stepped inside quickly, looked around, and then saw the body.

He turned to you and took a step forward. “Are you hurt?” You shook your head, but the tears kept streaming down your face. You threw yourself at him, speaking in broken, senseless fragments. “He followed me from the store… came in… I couldn’t close the door… I fought him… I didn’t want to kill him… I just wanted… wanted him to go away… I didn’t know what to do… I—” “Y/n,” —he interrupted gently, gripping your arms firmly— “Breathe. It’s okay. I’m here. I’ve got you, okay?”

Without thinking, he hugged you. His arm wrapped around you tightly, and for the first time that day, you felt like you could let your guard down. You rested your forehead on his shoulder and let the tears fall.

“We’re going to figure this out. You’re not alone. I’ve got this.”

You stayed like that for a few seconds. When you finally pulled away, your face still wet and your heart racing.

“Thank you…” —you whispered.

He nodded seriously, already turning his attention to the body. His expression hardened again as he crouched to observe it without touching anything. “Now we’re going to call my colleagues. But don’t worry, I’ll be with you the whole time.”

And so, amid the blood, fear, and adrenaline, something inside you clung to the warmth of his presence.

Not long after Evan radioed in, two patrols arrived. The officers entered the apartment with measured steps, serious faces, and routines carved by protocol. Tape, photographs, gloves. The body was removed, wrapped in a white sheet, and the apartment was left filled with low voices, footsteps, and forensic camera flashes.

You remained sitting on a corner of the couch, a blanket over your shoulders that Evan had found nearby. Your fingers toyed with the edge as if that fabric was the only thing anchoring you to the present.

One of the officers approached Evan, glancing at you. “Can we?” —he asked quietly. Evan looked at you and shook his head, firmly. “No. I’ve got this. She’s in shock.” The other nodded, no argument. They trusted him.

One by one, the officers finished and left, the apartment a little emptier, though no less heavy. When the door closed and silence returned, you realized how late it was.

You looked at the microwave clock. 11:04 PM.

“Have you eaten anything today?” —Evan asked, turning to you as he picked up some of the mess in the room. You shook your head faintly. “I’m not really hungry after all this…” —you whispered. He let out a soft but steady sigh. “Me neither, but it’s important that you eat something. It’ll help, even if it’s just a little.” “I don’t think I could swallow anything right now.” “Then we’ll eat together. Something quick. I’ll make you if I have to.” —he tried to lighten the moment with a smile that barely curved his lips— “Come on. I can make some decent scrambled eggs.”

You cooked in silence, side by side. It wasn’t an awkward silence, but a heavy one. You tried to appear calm, but inside, your thoughts raced.

Why had that man come? How did he find you? Was he really connected to… to that?

A knot formed in your stomach, not just from what had happened, but from the fear that everything was starting to fall apart.

What if Evan knew? What if he suspected something?

But his face showed nothing but calm and focus. His gaze told you everything: “You’re safe.”

You sat across from each other, both with simple plates, barely hungry but pretending it was normal. “Do you remember exactly what he said before attacking you?” —he asked softly, not pressing. You hesitated a moment before answering, your fork spinning in your fingers. “No… he just… followed me from the store. He didn’t say anything. Just… tried to get in. I tried to shut the door, but he was faster…” Evan nodded, not taking notes or recording you. He just listened. He trusted you. “You did what you had to do. It wasn’t your fault, Y/n.” You nodded slightly, though inside you knew it wasn’t that simple. You couldn’t tell him the truth. Not yet. You couldn’t tell him that part of you did know why that man had come after you.

But he didn’t know. Or so you wanted to believe.

All you could do now was stay calm… and wait.

The sound of the fork against the plate was the only thing filling the silence in the kitchen. You ate without much appetite, moving slowly, your thoughts coming and going like gusts of wind. Evan, however, seemed to have all the time in the world. He sat across from you, elbows on the table, a calm expression on his face. “You know you’re not allowed to leave the edges of the omelet on the plate, right?” —he said with a faint smile, tilting his head. You looked at him with a mix of exhaustion and confusion. “I’m not hungry…” “I know.” —he replied softly— “Me neither. But if we faint from weakness, we’ll look terrible in the investigation photos. Trust me, it’s not a good look.” You let out a low laugh, somewhere between exhaustion and surprise. It was a dumb joke… but a necessary one. He noticed it, and his smile grew a little more. “There it is. First smile of the night. If I get one more, I get a promotion.” “Is that how promotions work in the police?” —you asked, glancing at him. “Of course. Whoever makes traumatized victims smile the most gets a medal. And a free pizza. State-sponsored.” You shook your head, but something in your chest loosened. Evan’s presence had that strange ability to ease your burdens without you noticing. “Do you feel a little better?” “A little.” —you admitted quietly— “It still all feels… surreal.” “It is.” —he said sincerely, lowering his gaze for a moment— “But you survive the surreal too. And you’re doing well. Really well.” You looked back at the plate. You hesitated a few seconds… and finally took another bite. You felt him glance at you subtly, but he didn’t say anything.

After a while, while he set his cup down on the counter, you gathered your courage and asked: “Hey… how did you know where I live?” He turned, as if he had expected the question. He stepped closer again with a smile you weren’t sure was reassuring or unsettling. “Are you asking if I’m a professional stalker or just one with a police badge?” You shot him a look. “That’s not funny.” “I know, I know.” —he raised his hands— “I’ve got my methods. I guess I… wanted to make sure you were okay. And also, well… I’m a cop. Even if I’m not always the most by-the-book one, I promise tonight I used my powers for good.” You pursed your lips, still slightly frowning. But you said nothing more. He noticed you were withdrawing again and quickly changed his tone. “Hey, if it makes you uncomfortable that I show up like Batman in the night, I get it. I can make it up to you by cooking better next time. Do you like decent ramen or are you more of a frozen pizza kind of person?” “Are you… inviting me to dinner again?” “No. I’m warning you that if you don’t eat, I’m going to keep showing up with food until you chase me away with a broom. That’s an official threat.” Another smile. Lighter this time. More sincere. “Thank you.” —you finally said. “Don’t thank me just yet.” —he muttered as he slipped on his jacket— “You still have to survive the police interview I’m going to give you tomorrow with instant coffee and annoying questions. Get ready mentally.”

Just as Evan was putting on his jacket, something fell from his pocket and slid across the floor. A soft thud, barely noticeable, but it instantly caught your attention. You reached down to pick it up on instinct. It was an old ID card, with slightly worn edges. You turned it instinctively, but just as you were about to focus on the image, a warm hand gently wrapped around your wrist. “Give me that, please.” —Evan murmured, his voice lower, almost like it pained him to speak. You stopped. He took the card delicately before you could really see it. You only caught one name. Lee Heeseung. “Who is he?” —you asked quietly, your heart pounding. He put the card away silently, in the inner pocket of his jacket. He didn’t seem angry, but neither was he relaxed. His eyes, for a moment, lost their warmth. “Someone who… is no longer with us.” —he finally said, looking at you with a strange seriousness.

You didn’t know what to say. You just nodded very softly, though you couldn’t get that name out of your head. Then he stepped toward you, and his tone softened again. “Seriously, try to get some rest tonight. If you can’t sleep, call me, okay?” You could only nod again. Your mind was elsewhere. “See you, Y/n.” —he said at last, with a half-smile, before closing the door behind him.

Silence filled your apartment again. You stared at the door for a long time, unmoving, while a sharp feeling pierced your chest.

Lee Heeseung. Who was he? Why did he have that card? And why did something inside you say it wasn’t the first time you’d heard that name?

You felt like you knew him. Like there was more to it. And you knew you wouldn’t rest until you found out.

You stood still for a while behind the closed door, as if your mind needed time to process everything. “Lee Heeseung”… that name kept echoing in your head like an ancient memory you didn’t know the origin of, but it made your stomach twist.

You walked slowly to your room, sat in front of your desk, and turned on the laptop. You hesitated for a moment, but curiosity burned inside you. You opened the browser and started typing.

“Lee Heeseung.”

At first, nothing. Just outdated social media, empty profiles, scattered mentions without context. You kept searching. You put the name in quotes, added words like deceased, news, accident...

And then you saw it.

A headline. “Young man named Lee Heeseung found dead in his apartment. Authorities have yet to determine the cause.”

The date was just two months ago.

The news article was barely a couple of paragraphs. No photos. No explanations. Just one final line. “The case remains open, though without progress.”

You shut the laptop, not wanting to think about it any longer. You took a deep breath. You needed sleep.

But sleeping… wasn’t easy.

The moment you closed your eyes, memories began to seep in like smoke under a poorly shut door. A black car parked outside your old house. Shadows moving where they shouldn’t. A sinister face behind a window. A hand reaching for you through a crowd. The sound of heavy breathing behind you on an empty street. A scream you didn’t let out. A door shut just in time. Another one that wasn’t.

You woke with a start. Cold sweat running down your back. You looked at the clock: 3:17 AM. You hugged your knees to your chest.

It wasn’t the first time this happened. It wasn’t the first attempt. It wasn’t the first threat disguised as an accident. You knew it.

He wanted to find you.

You squeezed your eyes shut. Tried not to think about the blood, the blow, the body hitting the floor.

The alarm went off, but you were already awake. You didn’t remember sleeping, at least not really. Your eyes felt swollen, your head heavy like you were underwater, and the unease didn’t go away—it stayed, hidden but constant. The cold clung to you, even though the sun was already starting to peek in timidly.

You got out of bed with slow, almost automatic movements, as if something invisible weighed on your chest. It was that feeling of being trapped, of not being able to escape. Every step took more effort, but you kept going.

You showered without really feeling the water. The fatigue lingered in your bones, like you had been running for days without rest. You got dressed in whatever you found first, not caring to choose, just wanting to cover yourself. You didn’t want to think about anything. You just wanted the day to go by quickly.

With your headphones on, you tried to get lost in music, but soon realized you couldn’t hear anything. You just couldn’t. The heaviness stayed with you. It was like a shadow stalking you at every step, and no matter how many times you turned around, there was nothing there—just the cold morning wind brushing against your skin.

People surrounded you, laughing, talking, as if everything was normal, but you felt like you didn’t belong to that world. It was as if you were watching life from the outside. As if everything was out of focus, yet you knew you couldn’t escape that feeling of being trapped.

You reached the university without knowing how. You hadn’t noticed the walk, just moved forward like an automaton, passing among students who glanced at you out of the corner of their eyes, unaware of what was really happening inside you. Did they notice? Could they see it?

When you entered the classroom, the usual noise greeted you, but none of it made sense. It was all meaningless noise.

The rustling of paper, murmurs, footsteps on the floor—all of it felt distant, far away. Like it was part of a scene in a movie where you didn’t belong.

Your eyes searched for Jake. He was there, with his usual smile, chatting with others. He seemed unaware of what was going on in your mind. But he saw you, and his gaze paused on you, slightly puzzled.

The pain in your chest didn’t go away, but you kept it hidden, like you always had. You didn’t want anyone to notice. No one should know what you were really feeling.

All you could do was keep going.

You sat at your usual desk, your gaze lost on the board while the professor’s words barely reached your mind. Everything seemed so far away, as if nothing in the class really mattered. The noise of voices around you slowly faded, and all that remained was the weight in your chest you couldn’t ignore. The fear was still there, lurking, though you didn’t know exactly why.

Jake approached you, gently touching your shoulder. You turned to him, and without meaning to, managed a smile. You knew he was worried about you.

"Are you okay?" he asked, noticing your distraction.

You nodded automatically, without words, as if everything was under control. But it wasn’t. You couldn’t explain what you really felt. You couldn’t explain why you felt so... strange, why the air was heavy, and why you had that sense of being watched.

Jake, as always, tried to chat a little, but the conversation passed without you really engaging in it. It was clear you weren’t really there. Your mind was still trapped in something you couldn’t get out of your head.

Class ended, and as you left, you felt a brief moment of relief. But at the same time, a growing discomfort. The fear kept creeping into your thoughts, like someone was waiting around every corner. The quick pace you took when exiting the classroom was almost automatic, as if something was pushing you to get out of there fast.

The cold air hit you the moment you stepped outside. It surrounded you, but at the same time made you feel more alive. Still, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder from time to time. There was no one, but the unease lingered. You felt something was wrong, that something was following you, though you couldn’t put a face to it.

When you got to your apartment, you couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. Finally. You were home, where you could at least feel safe. Or so you thought.

You closed the door behind you, and for a moment, stood still. The air no longer felt as heavy, but the weight on your chest didn’t go away. Something was still circling in your mind, and though you tried to push it aside, you knew you couldn’t ignore it. Something wasn’t right, and the thought wouldn’t leave.

You shook off the fear with a sigh, but the knot in your stomach remained. What was it that you couldn’t see?

You walked to your room. Sat on the bed, breathing deeply, phone in your sweaty hands. Anxiety filled you, but you knew you couldn’t keep hiding everything. You needed to talk. Someone had to hear you, even just for a moment. And you knew it, even if you didn’t say it aloud: Evan was the one you had to go to.

The phone rang once, twice… until finally his voice came through, clear and calm. "Y/n." He said your name with a tone that gave you a bit of peace, as if he’d been expecting your call.

"Evan," you began, taking a deep breath, "I know what’s happening… and I know why they’re after me. It’s not the first time… I’ve been in this situation before." Your voice trembled a little, but you said it. Even if you weren’t revealing everything, what you felt was real. You knew what was happening, even if you weren’t ready to share it all yet.

There was a pause on the other end. He seemed to be processing what you had just said. "Y/n," he replied afterward, with a calmness that surprised you, "I promise you’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out, but we need to talk in person."

You felt relieved, even though the fear was still there, waiting to be uncovered. You didn’t want to talk about everything on the phone. Not yet. "I need to see you," you insisted. "I’ll tell you everything, but not over the phone. I can’t explain all this like that." "I completely understand," he said without hesitation. "Four o’clock? You can come to my apartment. We can talk there, no pressure."

You knew he had picked up on what you were trying to say, and his response made you feel a bit calmer. "Thank you," you said, relieved that you didn’t have to keep hiding so much of what you were feeling. "See you at four." "Alright… thanks," you murmured. "See you then."

For a second, you thought the conversation would end there, but his voice came again, this time with a much lighter tone, almost playful: "Oh, and be prepared. I got promoted this week, so the new work suit is way sexier than the old one. I don’t want to distract you too much while you talk."

Almost involuntarily, you let out a small laugh under your breath. It was silly. A dumb comment, probably meaningless, but in the middle of everything you were carrying… it felt like a small breath of air. "See you at four," you said, still with a half-hidden smile.

You hung up. And for the first time in days, the loneliness didn’t feel so dark.

You ate without appetite, the weight of each bite becoming harder to swallow. The fear was still there, and although you tried to distract yourself, you couldn’t. You decided to get up, grab what you needed, and head to Evan’s house.

The walk was long, and each step felt heavier. The sensation of being watched didn’t go away. When you arrived at his house, the fear took over again. Without thinking too much, you rang the doorbell. The door opened almost immediately, and there he was.

Evan was wearing his new police uniform, and although the uniform was typical, it looked incredibly good on him. The fitted jacket accentuated his figure, showing the line of his shoulders and torso. The pants, perfectly tailored, only emphasized his height and presence even more. His hair was a little more disheveled than usual, but it made him look even more attractive, almost as if he had spent the whole afternoon working.

“Y/n?” —his voice, deep yet warm, made you feel like you weren’t alone. Before you could respond, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you. The hug was brief but comforting, something about him calmed you.

“It’s okay,” —he said, as if everything you had been holding in was evident. “I’m here, calm down.” You felt fragile, but his embrace gave you some peace. When he pulled away, he looked at you expectantly, as if waiting for you to say something more.

“How do you feel?”

The fear was still there, but in that moment, being with him made it feel like everything would be more bearable. You entered Evan’s house, feeling the tension build in your chest. Even though the place was cozy, nothing could fully calm the unease that invaded you. The air smelled of coffee and something warmer, a scent that seemed to try to soothe you. Evan appeared from the kitchen with a kind smile, but he quickly noticed that you weren’t comfortable.

“Everything okay?” —he asked while offering you a steaming cup of tea that looked soothing.

“Relax, Y/n. You’re in a safe place.” You appreciated his gesture and took a sip of the tea. Although the warmth of the drink helped a little, your mind kept racing with everything that had happened. You couldn’t stay silent any longer, not after everything you had been through. You had to tell him what was really going on. But you didn’t know how to do it, or even where to begin.

“Evan…” —you started, trying to find the right words. “There’s something I need to tell you. I don’t know where to start, but I have to do it.”

He looked at you, his expression serious but calm. “Don’t rush, Y/n. Speak when you’re ready. There’s no hurry.”

That calmed you a little, and although the knot in your throat didn’t disappear, you felt that at least you were in a place where you could be heard. But then something caught your attention.

When Evan stood up to go to the kitchen, something shimmered on the table. It was a brief flash, but enough for you to notice. You got up and walked over to the table. There, almost hidden among some papers, was something you hadn’t seen before.

An ID card. Your pulse quickened as you recognized it. The logo. The organization. The mafia. It was the same one that had been behind everything that had happened to you. The same one that had tried to kill you several times. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. Was Evan involved in this? You quickly put it away, but the sound of Evan’s footsteps approaching made you turn, and his eyes locked onto you instantly.

“What are you doing?” —he said, with a note of surprise that quickly turned into something more serious.

“Nothing.” —you said, your voice trembling. Your heart was racing, and your hands were shaking slightly. You tried to hide the card, but it was too late.

He took a step toward you, approaching slowly but decisively. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to snoop around other people’s homes?” —he asked, but his tone was no longer friendly. The joke was gone, and in his gaze, there was something darker.

“Evan…” —you began to say, but he cut you off.

“You’re so naïve, Y/n.” —his words pierced you, and you noticed how his voice had lost its previous softness. Now there was a coldness that you hadn’t noticed until that moment.

You tried to take a step back, but you couldn’t. “This isn’t what it looks like…”

“Do you really believe that?” —he interrupted you, stepping closer.

“You can’t run from who you are.” You tensed up. He was so close that you could feel his presence like a threat.

“Evan, please… let me explain.”

At that moment, he moved faster than you could react. Before you could stop him, he held you and whispered in your ear, “You think you’re so smart, but you still don’t understand anything.”

Suddenly, you felt a strong dizziness, as if your strength was leaving you. Everything around you began to spin, and although you tried to pull away, your legs failed.

“What… did you do to me?” —you managed to say in a whisper. Reality faded before your eyes, and the last thing you could see before losing consciousness was his face, now completely serious, and his barely audible words: “Sleep, Y/n. It’s the best thing you can do right now.”

You passed out in his arms, knowing, deep down, that you had been kidnapped. But there was something else, something that lingered in your mind as everything faded:

That’s why he knew your name so perfectly. That’s why he recognized your voice so well. That’s why he knew where you lived… He always knew who you were.

And this is just the beginning of what’s to come, this has only just started…

A/N: I know it hasn’t been very long and that many questions might arise, but in the upcoming chapters, you’ll begin to understand that this is just the beginning of the chaos, the hatred, and everything that’s about to unfold.

I'm sure you're going to love what's coming in the next chapter. I can't wait to finish it and for you to read it. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Love you!

✦Investigative Team (Taglist - open): @wonnielov3 @yeonmuse @usuallyunlikelyfox @rustymoons @firstclassjaylee @isagistar @tunafishyfishylike @niyzu @imzhouxinyu

✦ Regular Taglist : @lezleeferguson-120 @nuki-riki @ijustwannareadstuff20 @vvenusoncasual @miellette @enhacolor @xxkatsusjinsux @somieverse @ourshin @han-to-my-minho @douqhnxtss @nuggets4lifers @mitmit01

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[sweetdispatch]

hi!

i’d like to request 6 pieces of creme brulee with pineapple and salted pretzels :))

Drunk talk - Q. Hughes

v' bakery pairing: Quinn Hughes x fem!reader summary: Your confession during truth or dare lead to eventful morning with Quinn warning: NSFW, graphic sex (+18)

It was supposed to be a casual gathering. All of you met at your friend’ house and were drinking. Out of nowhere, your friend proposed to play truth or dare. You never understood why people are so obsessed with this game but you were already drunk to even think about this. First questions were easy. All of you had great laughter at the answers and dares. 

“Okay, Y/N. If you had to hook up with someone in this room, who would that be?” Your friend asked you and everyone's eyes were on you.

“Oh, Quinn. A 100% Quinn” You said without even thinking. 

The truth was that you had a secret crush on him. No one except you knew about it. You didn’t want to ruin the group dynamic so you kept the secret to yourself. Your friends started laughing at the answer but not Quinn. He was looking at you like he just got permission. He wasn’t that drunk like the rest of the people so he definitely will remember this. 

Everyone stayed for the night in your friend’ house. You fell asleep quickly but not Quinn. He was thinking about your answer. He wanted to ask you out earlier but now, he felt like this is the right moment. In his head, he was planning how to get you to talk in the morning because he knew that you’ll be pretending that this was just your drunk talk. 

When Quinn woke up, he went downstairs to grab a bottle of water and painkillers for you. He knocked on the door of your room and when he heard your quiet words, he walked in. He saw you laying on the bed only in your underwear. The duvet was on the ground and your head was in your hands. 

“I thought you’ll need this” Quinn said and placed the water with pills on the nightstand. 

“Thank you” You took a pill and drank water to swallow it. “Anything interesting happened yesterday? I don’t remember anything” 

“We played truth or dare and pretty much that’s it” Quinn told you and sat down next to you. 

“Of course we played this” You chuckled. “I see that you remember so spill it, what’s interesting they said” 

“None of them said anything interesting but you said something that stuck with me” You looked at Quinn confused. “You said that from our group, you would hook up with me” Your jaw dropped. 

“Look, it’s not…” Quinn didn’t let you finish. 

“I want that too. Well, I wanted to ask you out for dinner and later see where things will go but now, I want to ruin you” Quinn said and you sat down on the bed. 

Without thinking, you threw yourself into his arms and kissed him. You were laying on top of him and kissing him like there's no tomorrow. Quinn’ hands grabbed your ass and squeezed it which made you moan into his lips. You broke the kiss to look at him and saw the desire in his eyes. 

“Fuck me Quinn” You whispered.

In a quick move, Quinn changed the position and you were laying on your back. He was hovering on top of you. He got rid of the shirt when you unhooked the bra. He pulled you into another kiss and his hands started playing with your boobs. His thumbs were gently pinching your nipples. 

Quinn lowered himself with each kiss until his eyes met your panties. Slowly, he took them from your body and was standing in between your legs. He was obsessed with the way you body looked. He took his pants off and was naked in front of you. You looked at his dick and craved to have him deep inside you. 

You spread your legs even wider to show him that you want him. Quinn took it as a yes and entered your pussy. You arched your back from the pleasure. It was a new sensation for you and needed him to do something. He started moving in you and you were moaning with each thrust.

Quinn didn’t want you to wake up your friends so he kissed you to make you shut up. He was thrusting into you and covering your moans with his lips. You two become one body. Quinn grabbed your legs and placed them around his hips. You threw your head from the pleasure and he started kissing your neck when his hand went to cover your mouth. 

Quinn cum and your walls clenched around him and your orgasm overwhelmed you. You tried to catch a break when he connected your lips again. You smiled at him and he laid next to you bringing you into a hug. 

“Is dinner still an option?” You joked and heard Quinn’ laugh.

“Yes it is” Quinn told you. Both of you stayed in this position for a couple more minutes until you heard people wandering in the hallway, meaning that you two needed to go out of the room. 

[wosov]

Under the floodlights

word count - 1.5k

content warnings - mental breakdown, online hate

The locker room was too quiet.

Not the usual heavy silence of a tough match — this was the kind of silence that crushed you. That made every shuffle, every breath, feel like a spotlight.

The match had ended in a gut-wrenching loss. And the blame? The internet had already decided. All eyes were on the one between the posts.

You.

You barely made it to the huddle. Just stood there, silent, as the coach’s voice blurred into the static in your ears. Then you slipped away, ducking down the service hallway behind the physio’s room before anyone could stop you.

You didn’t deserve their comfort. Especially not hers.

Leila.

You could barely think her name without your chest tightening.

She always noticed. Always cared. Always came after you. But this time — after this performance — you didn’t want her to fix it. You didn’t deserve to be fixed.

The final goal replayed in your mind on a cruel loop: the slow motion of your fingertips just missing the ball, the sudden silence of the crowd, and then the distant, unmistakable sound of disappointment.

You were a keeper. But tonight, you hadn’t kept anything.

Your phone buzzed in your hand. You unlocked it without thinking.

And immediately wished you hadn’t.

“Joke of a keeper.” “Does she even know how to dive?” “Bench her. Or sell her. Just not this again.” “She cost them the whole season.”

The comments blurred. You dropped the phone. It clattered loudly against the pavement outside the facility — cold concrete under your boots as you stumbled to a quiet corner behind the building.

The floodlights didn’t reach here.

You curled into yourself, pressing your face into your knees, hands gripping your jersey like it might hold you together. But it didn’t. Nothing did.

And when the shaking started, it didn’t stop.

Back in the locker room, Leila noticed immediately.

She expected to see you in your usual place, going through your post match routines but your kit bag untouched. And you — missing.

“Where is she?” she asked, eyes sweeping the room.

A few heads turned until a voice spoke out. “Who?”

Leila could barely contain the irritation bubbling up through her voice as she spoke through gritted teeth. “Y/N, where is she?”

A teammate shrugged. “Think she left. Seemed upset.”

Leila's heart sank. “She left alone?”

“Didn’t say anything,” another player added.

That was all Leila needed to hear.

She was out of the room in seconds, heart pounding as she jogged through the stadium corridors. She checked the medical room. The storage closet. The staff hallway.

Nothing.

Then she heard it — faint, broken breathing echoing near the back exit.

She turned the corner.

You were there. Still in your full kit, curled in on yourself, shaking like your body couldn’t decide whether to freeze or fall apart. Your phone lay beside you, facedown, screen still faintly lit.

“Y/N…”

Your head snapped up. Eyes red. Shoulders tense.

“Don’t,” you said, voice cracked and small. “Just… don’t.”

Leila took a cautious step forward. “I’ve been looking everywhere—”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“I know,” she said gently. “But I still did.”

You stood abruptly, backing away, face twisting with something between shame and fury.

“I said don’t, Leila.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Why?” you snapped, voice rising. “So you can pretend it’s all okay? So you can pat me on the back and say, ‘It happens’? I cost us the match. You were right there, and I still—”

“Stop,” she said softly. “You’re not alone in this.”

You shoved her. Hard.

“Just stop trying to fix me. I don’t want your pity. I don’t want you to look at me like that.”

“I’m not here to fix you,” Leila said, stepping closer. “I’m here because I love you. Even when you’re hurting. Even when you push me away.”

You opened your mouth  to yell, to scream but the fight dissolved. Your voice cracked.

And then you broke.

A sob tore from your throat, your knees giving way as your fists hit her chest once, then fell limp. Leila caught you instantly, arms wrapping around you with no hesitation.

You collapsed into her, breath hitching, shoulders shaking, body curled into her chest like she was the only thing keeping you from splintering completely.

“I’m sorry,” you choked. “I’m so sorry…”

“You don’t have to be,” she whispered, holding you tighter. “You don’t have to be anything but here.”

She let you fall apart. Piece by piece, sob by sob until the only thing left was silence and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat in your ear.

__________

The walk back was quiet.

Leila didn’t let go of your hand. Didn’t ask questions. She just walked beside you, thumb brushing gently across your knuckles.

You were exhausted. Soul-deep tired. But her hand in yours kept you upright.

When you reached the locker room, the air was still heavy, but different now — curious, cautious.

All eyes turned.

You froze.

But Leila didn’t hesitate.

“Carry on, don't let us interrupt” she spoke out with a tone that was not to be crossed, and as the locker room slowly regained a level of normality your captain stepped forward - gaze level. 

“You alright?”

You stared at the floor before shrugging. “Not really.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “Tell us if you need anything.”

No pity. No passive-aggressive comments. Just quiet solidarity.

A teammate handed you a water bottle. Another placed your towel beside you.

Leila helped you sit, kneeling in front of you as she untied your boots.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice almost gone.

She shook her head. “You don’t need to apologize. You’re allowed to feel like shit.”

You nodded slowly, swallowing down another wave of emotion.

Leila smiled faintly. “Let’s go home soon, yeah?”

You nodded again. “Yeah…”

__________

The room had mostly cleared.

You were still sitting, picking at the edge of your wrist tape like if you peeled it off slow enough, the shame would come with it. Leila stayed close, her hand resting on your knee  steady, grounding, the only calm in your storm.

Then a teammate approached. Phone in hand. Hesitant.

“Leila,” she said gently. “I think… you should see this.”

You looked up.

Panic gripped your stomach like a vice.

Leila took the phone with a furrowed brow, confused. But the moment she started scrolling, everything about her changed.

Her fingers went still. Her posture stiffened. Her jaw clenched so hard the muscles twitched.

Her eyes - soft just moments ago - darkened with something sharper. Hotter.

She read aloud, voice low and venomous.

“Sell her. Bench her. I don’t care, just get her off the pitch.” “This is why they’ll never win anything.” “How the fuck is she still the starting keeper?” “Fucking joke of a keeper.”

She stared at the screen, her breath coming fast now. Like it physically hurt to read.

Then she looked at you and horror dawned.

“You saw all of this?”

You nodded, small and tired. “Before you found me.”

“Oh my god…” she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of it. “I didn’t know. I didn’t even think to check”

You shrugged, hollow. “Didn’t need to. I already believed it.”

That broke something in her.

Her fist slammed against the bench with a crack, making you flinch.

Leila surged to her feet, pacing a short line like she needed somewhere to put the fury boiling in her veins. Her hands trembled. Her voice shook with rage.

“They think they can say this? About you? Like you're not a human being? Like you're not the one out there giving everything you have in every damn match?” Her voice rose. “What kind of fucking coward hides behind a screen just to say something like that?”

You looked up slowly, trying to reach her — but she wasn’t looking at you. She was vibrating with anger, fists clenched, muttering to herself in rapid-fire Spanish too sharp to follow.

“I swear to god, I’ll find them. I’ll find every one of them and make sure they never…”

“Leila.”

She didn’t hear you.

“Leila,” you tried again, softer. More broken.

She spun toward you — ready to unleash more fury — and then froze.

Because your eyes were wide. Shaky. Pleading.

You weren’t asking her to fight.

You were asking her to stay.

And just like that, all the fire went out of her.

Leila’s chest rose and fell in jagged breaths. She looked at you, really looked at you, and saw everything: the red in your eyes, the exhaustion weighing down your frame, the fear you were still carrying.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, cariño…”

She dropped the phone like it burned her and fell to her knees in front of you, cupping your face with both hands. Her thumbs brushed beneath your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, guilt swallowing her anger. “You needed me. And I almost, I was so angry I almost forgot.”

“You didn’t,” you said, your voice quiet but certain. “You’re here.”

She rested her forehead against yours. “I should’ve known something was worse than just a bad match.”

You reached for her hand and squeezed. “You do know. That’s why you came.”

“I should’ve protected you from it.”

“You still can,” you whispered. “Just… stay. Please.”

“I will,” she said. “I promise. For as long as it takes.”

You leaned forward, and she caught you like she always did — not to fix, not to save, but just to hold.

You didn’t sob this time. You just held on, her arms wrapping around you like armor, as if to protect you from everything bad and evil in the world.

And later, when the room was empty and the lights had gone low, Leila kissed your temple, her voice barely more than a breath against your skin.

“They don’t get to have you,” she whispered. “Not like I do.”

You closed your eyes and finally — finally — felt safe.

[sturniololuvz]

can you do a fluff fic where y/n and the triplets are best friends, but she’s the closest to chris? maybe one night she’s been broken up with in a horrible way and she’s crying and she asks the triplets if she can come over and spend the night? chris maybe relates to her the most and is extra caring and loving towards her? (i love your work sm🩷)

thank uuu

“You Can Always Come Here”

It was just after 11 when the group chat pinged.

Nick was mid-scroll on TikTok, Matt was half-asleep, and Chris was getting water in the kitchen when he heard it first — the ding that made him instinctively check his phone. One glance at the screen had him freezing.

Y/N:

“Can I come over? I don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

Three dots danced at the bottom like she wanted to say more, but they disappeared.

Then came another:

Y/N:

“He broke up with me. Over text. Said I’m too much.”

Chris stared at the message for a second, heart sinking into his stomach. He didn’t wait. He was already grabbing his keys.

Nick and Matt read it too, voices low.

“I’ll make the pullout,” Matt murmured, already moving toward the guest blanket stash.

“I’ll get the snacks she likes,” Nick added.

But Chris was already out the door, hoodie half-zipped, phone clutched in his hand as he sent her a quick text:

Chris:

“I’m coming to walk you over. Wait outside, yeah?”

He found her sitting on the curb outside her apartment building, knees pulled to her chest, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands. Her eyes were puffy. She didn’t even look up when he approached — she just felt him before she saw him. And when he dropped down next to her, she crumpled into him without hesitation.

Chris wrapped his arms around her and let her cry.

“He didn’t even call,” she choked out, voice cracking. “Just… left. Said I care too much. That I’m exhausting.”

Chris’s jaw clenched. He didn’t say what he wanted to — about how cruel that was, how wrong, how someone who actually loved her would never make her feel like a burden for being soft, for feeling deeply. Instead, he held her tighter.

“You’re not too much,” he said softly, forehead resting against hers. “He was too little.”

She let out a breath that was half a sob and half a laugh, shaking her head. “You always know what to say.”

“Only with you,” Chris murmured, helping her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

⸻

By the time they made it to the triplets’ apartment, the couch was made up, her favorite tea was steeping, and Nick was pretending not to hover while Matt tossed her a fuzzy blanket.

“You can take the couch,” Matt offered. “Or Chris’s bed. We’ll make him sleep in the bathtub.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “She’s taking my bed. And I’m not sleeping in the bathtub.”

Y/N looked at him through red, watery eyes. “Where are you gonna sleep?”

Chris shrugged like it was the easiest answer in the world. “Next to you. If that’s okay.”

Her bottom lip wobbled again, but this time it wasn’t just heartbreak — it was gratitude.

⸻

Later that night, with the lights off and Chris’s room filled only with the sound of rain and their slow, steady breathing, she turned to him in the dark.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Chris didn’t speak at first. He just reached for her hand under the blanket, interlacing their fingers like it was muscle memory.

“You’ll never have to find out.”

She blinked up at him, barely visible in the soft light from the hallway.

“You’re my best friend, Y/N,” he whispered. “And I mean that in the realest way. You break? I break. You hurt? I hurt. There’s no version of this world where I wouldn’t want to be the person you call when everything falls apart.”

A tear slid down her cheek — but this one wasn’t heavy. It was light. Releasing something she’d been holding too long.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Chris gently wiped the tear from her face with the back of his hand.

“Sleep,” he said softly. “I’ll be right here.”

And for the first time that night, she believed it — that she was safe, that she was loved, and that no one could ever make her feel like too much again.

Because with Chris… she was exactly enough.

⸻

[withmyloveasyourgarden]

LIKE I SEE YOU

DIN DJARIN x F!READER

Request: Reader struggling with insecurities and being unable to look at Din because his beskar reflects them, Din realising and stepping in to help. CW: insecurities caused by shitty parents, angst, minor breakdown, mental health, Din being so soft and lovely. [4K. Re-uploaded from my old blog.]

It’s one of those days.

The days where your mind decides to be your worst enemy and spits insults like acid, firing up each and every insecurity you’ve ever felt in rapid succession like a never ending horror reel in your brain whilst you stare with too sharp eyes at the mirror. 

And shutting them doesn’t work. 

The image lingers, imprinted. Distorted. Your mind turning it to something monstrous to fit the words that blaze incriminatingly across your features. 

It’s the type of day where you compare yourself to everyone that goes by even though you know you’re only feeding the parasitic thoughts behind your self-loathing behaviour. 

But you can’t stop. 

You can’t snap yourself out of it with kind affirmations no matter how hard you try, positive mantras like I am enough - I’m perfect just the way I am - they sound weak in comparison to  the other things ramming against your skull. False even. 

You can’t even distract yourself with the job you’re supposed to be doing, you're that unfocused, and of course Din notices. 

He noticed the moment your mood shifted, the moment your smile became a tiny, hollow thing and the wild spark of your eyes dulled. 

He noticed the moment your shoulders sagged as if struggling under some colossal weight and he could almost sense you shrinking into yourself, trying to make yourself appear smaller, unnoticeable to everyone including him, even as the two of you leaned side by side against the sticky bar of a run-down cantina waiting for an informant. 

Din just doesn’t understand why.

You were born to burn, not fade to shadow. 

You burned right through him - his armour and his unimaginably high walls that he thought he would never lower for anyone until you came along and showed him it was okay to depend on another every once in a while. 

Before he had loathed the idea of sharing his work with someone, his home, but then he had found you.

You, who had stunned him from the first time he warily approached you. With your sweet expression and mischievous smile - the way your eyes glittered as light bounced off the dagger that you flipped so effortlessly in your hand. 

You who had immediately launched into a vividly detailed plan of how you and him could slip into the bounty’s hideout and rip it apart from within from the moment he reluctantly had suggested he might need some help.

You had been glorious, destruction in your veins and blood streaked across your face, your neck, your bruised knuckles as you sunk a blade into one man's spine and twisted. 

Together, they had broke against the bounty’s muscle with the force of a tsunami and by the time there was no one left, no one except the cowering heap that you dropped at his feet with a warm, buttery smile, Din had been fucking starstruck. 

He’s remained that way ever since. His awe flourishing, blooming, into something that takes his breath away even when he watches you do the most mundane things. 

Every move you make seems to hold a beauty to it, a whisper of lovely power, something unique he can only ever link to you that makes his heart seize behind his ribs. 

And he can’t understand why it feels like he’s now watching that flame that burns within you go out before his very own eyes. Why you’re trying to make yourself invisible and refuse to meet the dark gaze of his visor even though he knows you can sense his eyes on you.

“What’s wrong?” He prods quietly. 

You sigh then, a flicker of something pained passing over your features before you can hide it. “Nothing. I’m fine.” 

“You’re a terrible liar.” 

“And you’re not usually this fucking nosy.” You snap, muscles tensing, still refusing to spare him even a single glance. “I said I’m fine, Mando. Drop it.” 

His brow pinches in a frown, eyes narrowed to slits as he lets your sudden burst of anger crash against him. Tasting the defensiveness and frustration brushed through it. 

He knows this. 

He’s all too familiar with becoming aggravated when he doesn’t know how to get shit that’s bothering him off his chest, the way he would allow it to bleed out through rage or violence because trying to form it into words made him feel foolish. 

It seems like you’re both similar in that way, maybe you don't need him trying to gently coax it out of you. 

Maybe you need a fight to let it all come pouring out.

 ** 

You’re furious by the time he’s dragged you into the tiny bathroom. Baring your teeth like a snarling beast as you yank your wrist from his tense grip. 

The contact had thrown you. Your heart stopping before it broke out into a chaotic gallop that you could almost believe would be heard by the Mandalorian as he took an intimidating step closer. 

The blank slate of his visor had bore into you and you had felt it so excruciatingly - the weight of his assessment, the crushing force of your own insecurities as he crowded you. 

Close enough that everything you considered a flaw was laid before his eyes in startling clarity and reflected back at you in the mirror sheen of his helmet. 

It made your stomach churn, anxiety crawling through your chest, an icy hand that winds around your neck and grips tight until his sudden touch had shattered its hold. 

“Come with me.” He’d growled.

And temporarily stunned, you’d gone. 

Stumbling to keep up as he all but dragged you away from the roaring noise of music and clashing conversations to a room so quiet you could hear your blood rushing in your ears as your surprise gave way to anger.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You hiss, ripping away from him as he slams the door closed behind him. “We’re supposed to be waiting for someone.”

You make to push past him and he doesn't budge an inch, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he looms over you. An immovable wall of solid beskar. “We’re not doing anything else for this job until you tell me what’s going on with you.” 

You glare at him, fists clenched tight at your sides “I said it was nothing.” 

“And like I said, you’re a fucking terrible liar.” He shoots back.

Why do you even care, you want to scream. 

There’s a fierce energy building inside you, the volatile kind, self-destructive. Born from too many emotions spinning through your head.

You try and focus on the steady drip of the faucet to will it down, counting specks of mould on the worn tiles, how many times the light can flicker in between each uncomfortable breath you take. 

“It doesn’t matter.” You grit, attempting to assert some kind of authority of the situation. “All that matters is that we have a job to do and we’re wasting time.”

It doesn’t work. 

“No. We’re out. I’m calling it.” He advances on you slowly, his tone creeping towards irritation at the stubbornness of your denial. “You’re too distracted, lost somewhere in your own head. You might not give a shit that it could get you killed but I do.”

Suddenly there’s a wave of tears building, burning incessantly behind your nose, those nasty little voices beginning to purr through your skull as you gape at him.

Useless.

Can’t even do the one thing he keeps you around for, your job.

Why would he ever look at you the way you wish he would when all you are is a constant hindrance to him. 

And then you get defensive, that energy bursting hot and fast through your blood before you can choke it down and lock it up nice and tight. 

“You don’t get to make that decision for me Mando.” You snarl, swatting away his outstretched hand that reaches for you when expression threatens to crumble. “Don’t. You don’t have to keep pretending you care, I know I’m dispensable, if I die you can get another partner anywhere.”  

He reels back as if you’ve struck him. “You really think I’d do that?” 

“Why not! It’s not like I’m special is it? There’s heaps of other hunters out there, one’s more skilled, more reliable. Probably easier on the eyes too.” You laugh humourlessly, eyes stinging with salt as you begin to pace. Ignoring the gentle lilt of your name that he tries to offer as a grounding force, something to bring you back to him when you’re clearly beginning to spiral. 

“Hell you could replace me right here and now if it’ll make your life easier.” You babble and oh stars, it's like you can't stop. “Just think of all the credits you can rake in, not having to put up with my shit anymore.” 

Your breaths are starting to come quick and shallow and before you can say anything else Mando is immediately in front of you - his hands snatching at your shoulders before he drags you into a bone-crushing hug. 

You struggle against it for a moment, a fighter down to the last possible second, and then you fall apart. Harsh, ugly sobs wracking your frame whilst his gloved hand smooths over your hair, his helmet pressed to your temple as he makes soft mouthed sounds to try and comfort you. 

He waits until your cries quieten down, until the quake of your body lessens to a light shudder and then he tilts his head to look at you. “Look at me. Look at me, mesh’la, please.” He murmurs. 

You shake your head. You don’t want to see how pathetic you look, can’t bear the thought of what will stare back at you in the reflection of his beskar. 

“Please.” He repeats. 

You bury your face closer into his cowl, croaking “I can’t.”

There’s a beat of silence - disrupted only by the rhythmic drip drip drip from the faucet. And then he’s sighing, a desperately sad sound that twists something in your aching chest until you're sure you’ll feel a snap.

“Can you tell me why?” He murmurs, hesitance bleeding through him as you stiffen in his arms and he swallows thickly. “It’s not just now is it, you haven’t been able to look at me in days and if it’s because of something I’ve done - if I’ve made you feel this way - then I need to know. I need to make it right, because I can’t lose you.” 

Oh - oh no - he thinks it's his fault. 

Your throat closes up and for a moment you feel like you could cry all over again. 

He carries a guilt that has never been his to bear and it wounds you in some way, that this man who has only known you for such a short time takes your happiness so personally that he would beg to right a wrong that he’s not even sure he himself had made. 

He says that he can’t lose you like he refuses to entertain a scenario where you’re not by his side and you don’t even realise that you’re practically crushing him to you in another fierce embrace until you feel the gentle weight of his helmet resting against the crown of your head. 

"It's not you Mando." You blurt, a soft flutter brushing through your chest when he squeezes you tight as his body sags with relief. But only seconds later he stiffens again and you know he’s heard it. 

The implication. 

It’s not you. There’s someone else causing this.

You know he’s worked it out by the sudden change in how he holds you, the subtle shift from comforting to protective, his body all but curling around yours. 

He growls. “Who.”  And you shudder. 

You need to explain and fast before he decides to storm out of the bathroom and track down everyone who’s come into contact with you in the past few days. 

This job you’ve been on had required a lot of stealth so as to not tip off your target and if you were going to pick up where you left off after everything then the last thing you needed was your Mandalorian going on a vengeful rampage. 

He lets you untangle yourself from him reluctantly, follows like a shadow when you point to a spot on the floor and state lamely. “We should probably sit for this.” 

**

You can feel his eyes on you as you slide down the wall, as you fold your legs only to stretch them out in front of you not even a moment later. 

He’s not stupid, you know that, you know Mando is wisely giving you the time you need, refraining from pushing whilst you try and get your head together under the guise of making yourself comfortable on the grimy floor. 

When you’re as ready as you think you’ll ever be you take a deep breath to begin but suddenly find yourself hesitating. Were you really going to tell him? Could you let every sad little truth pour from you when you've spent so long plugging it up, shoving it down. Building a damn in your mind and your heart to keep it from making a mess for those around you. 

Hunters were meant to be strong, an undeniable, deadly force. 

They didn't do insecurities, self-doubt. Weaknesses. 

At least that's what you'd always been told. It's the impression you got from every one that you had ever met, including Mando. 

So how could you tell him that you were haunted by all of them. That every now and again they ripped into you and made you feel like your worth was less than nothing. How could you lay yourself emotionally bare like that and expect that he would still look at you the same after? 

…Except hadn't you already? 

You had spiralled before his very eyes. You had screamed and cried and shattered to pieces and yet… there had been no judgement. 

There had been nothing from him except comfort and patience. The press of his body against yours as he held you like you were infinitely precious, like he wished nothing more than to be a barrier against all these things he was clueless about except for the fact they were trying to hurt you.

“Did you know I always wanted to be a hunter?” You ask so suddenly that he jerks, surprised. 

It makes you smile when he softly shakes his head , when he shifts from his relaxed position against the wall and tilts his body towards yours as you offer a rare glimpse into the life you had before him. 

“I thought it sounded like the coolest job ever.” You recall. “Getting paid to chase down bad people and learning how to use a shit load of weapons? What more could I want? And it turned out I was good at it, better than a lot of other things I’d tried to force myself into growing up.” 

He makes a soft noise of agreement, like he gets it, and your lips twitch. “When I returned home after a really long time of taking pretty much every job that came my way, I thought my parents would be proud. I thought they’d be happy I had made some kind of a life for myself and that I wasn’t struggling for money like they had worried I would when I decided to make my own way instead of relying on them.” 

You close your eyes as the memory resurfaces.  “They weren’t. My dad basically said I was no better than a vulture, feeding off other people’s misfortune, but my mum…”

You swallow against the crack of your voice, fingers picking at a still healing wound on your hand before a gloved one stops you. Silently lacing thick fingers through your own as you struggle not to sob.

“My mum told me I had ruined myself. My face and my body. I had forgotten how obsessed she could be with our family’s image and legacy until she told me that no one would want someone who was covered in scars or who’s nose or teeth weren’t perfectly straight because they’d been damaged too many times fighting like some kind of wild beast.”

He sucks in a breath and you can feel it. His disbelief, his rage. His devastation.

It pours from him in waves as he visibly bristles beside you, drenching his voice when he rasps your name and you have to hurriedly continue. Shoving the rest of the story out of you because if you stop, if you let yourself wallow in the emotions clawing at the pair of you, then you may never fully get the weight of it off your chest.

“I told her I didn’t care.” You spit. “That if my appearance bothered people that much then maybe they were the type of people I didn't want to be around. And it had been the truth, I fucking meant every word.” 

 “But then I started noticing the way some people would look at me, the way they’d be scrutinising my face or my hair or what I was wearing and I’d hear her voice in my head again.” You don’t realise you’ve trailed off, gone distant, until the soft pressure of Mando’s thumb drawing circles on your hand brings you back. 

“I started wondering if they thought the same as her when they looked at me too and then it was like I couldn’t stop. Eventually it happened enough that when I was looking at myself, sometimes I started to think it too.” 

His fingers tighten around yours, the soft, aching sigh of “Cyar’ika” slipping through the modulator wrapping around the pain in your chest and dulling some of those sharper edges. 

You sniff and your voice comes out thin - watery. “There’s days where I still hear it and when I look in the mirror, or something reflective like your armour, it’s all I can see. But at least I’m still a good hunter right, I’ve got that left? Only, today I completely fucked that up too. So when I can’t look at you Mando, it’s not because you’ve done anything to hurt me or piss me off, it's because when I do, all I can see is how much I disgust myself.”

There’s silence between you as he digests everything. It stretches out and allows your thoughts to wander with it, undecided if what you feel after all that was said is relief or something else. 

It’s nice that you’ve been able to talk about something that has pained you for so long but now Mando has another piece of you that no one else does, the part of you that is most vulnerable, and you don’t really know what to do with that. 

“They don’t deserve you.” He mutters suddenly, so quietly that you almost had to question if you’d simply been hearing things.

You frown. “Who?”

He has your hand in his lap now, cradling it in his larger one as he traces nervous patterns with the other. His voice is steady however, utterly serious. “Your parents, the people who give you those looks. Anyone who can look at you and not see how incredible you are.” 

Your chest spasms and you look at him in surprise before your lips attempt to curve into a weak imitation of a smile. 

“I appreciate you trying to make me feel better Mando but–”

“Don’t do that.” He chastises you gently. “Whatever voice is telling you right now that you aren’t worthy of being told what I’m about to say to you, I want you to tell it to shut the fuck up and listen to me.” 

You snort and the way he tilts his helmet in your direction makes you pretty sure he’s currently got his eyes narrowed at you, an expression on his face that would probably say if you don’t listen, I’ll find a way to make you. 

You nod for him to continue. 

“You are incredible.” He reiterates. “You chose to make something of yourself when you could have had an easy life and you fucking excelled at it. You’re one of the best hunters I’ve ever seen even on your off days and you’ve saved my ass more times than I’d like to count.” 

You murmur a sly “seven” and quicker than you can react he pinches your thigh. A yelp bursts from your throat followed by a shaky laugh and it’s a quick reprieve from the way the pride in his voice was making your ribs constrict.

“You’re a genuinely good person, I have never seen you turn away a single person who’s come to you for help and you constantly go out of your way for people. Even those who probably don’t deserve it, like me.” He sees the way you open your mouth to argue and quickly holds up a hand to stop you, shrugging.

“I was an asshole when we met, don't deny it.” 

He had been.

But you had sensed that there was something underneath it all, that there was more than meets the eye when it came to this particular Mandalorian and you had been intrigued.

And also right. 

He shifts next to you and then there’s the brush of buttery-soft leather at your jaw. Hesitant fingertips tilting your face fully towards him as his helmet hovers just above your forehead and you gulp.

“Mando–” You whisper. 

“Your mother called you ruined but that’s not what I see when I look at you.” He breathes and you tremble as he palmes your cheek. “Every part of you is beautiful and there is nothing that black eyes, bruises, broken bones and scars can do to take that away. They only add to it. They prove that you’re a fucking warrior. That you’ve lived and fought and survived everything the galaxy has had to throw at you. How can your body be ruined when its remained strong and kept you alive despite the hell you’ve been through?” 

Something breaks inside you - you’re crying and you don’t even realise it until Mando’s other hand leaves yours to gently swipe away the tears with both thumbs. 

It’s the loveliest thing anyone has ever said to you and it seems to highlight the fucking number that those words from your mother have done on you, the fact that you have no idea how to take what Mando has said.

How you're supposed to believe it. 

But you want to. 

You desperately want to believe it so you can drown out the poison in your head with it. Take all those pretty words and lock them safe in your heart for when you next need them. 

And unsurprisingly, thanks to how adept you've become at reading the other, Mando instantly catches on to your internal struggle. 

"You don't have to believe me right now." He tells you softly, patiently. "I know it won't magically make everything go away and you'll suddenly see yourself the way I see you." 

He leans back and pulls you with him, tugging you into his chest as his arms wrap around your shoulders and waist. His chin notched at your crown and the venomous voice in your mind quiet for the first time in days as you ease into his comfort.

"But one day you will and until that happens I'll gladly be there to remind you as many times as you need me to." 

You choose to believe that.

A hopeful smile tugging at your lips before you lift your face from its place buried in his neck, pressing a sweet kiss to the cheek of his helmet as you whisper. "Thank you Mando."

You choose to believe that you'll always have him by your side. That the dark stain of your mother's words will eventually fade away. 

That one day you'll see yourself as the warrior you've always been. 

And that's enough for now.

[yvesssssssss]

hellowww sorry if my English was so bad cuz English wasn't my first language, I want to request about, guys who feel sad when they see us or y/n die in front of their eyes, like Gaku, Uzuki, Nagumo Shin, etc, just that have a nice day 🌷🩷

S/o dying Infront of their eyes

New personality unlocked for uzuki(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

Nagumo yoichi

The mission was supposed to be simple. In and out. Clean. Professional.

But nothing was ever simple when it came to you.

You were standing across from him, back-to-back in the middle of a crumbling warehouse lit by flickering light. Nagumo’s blade dripped blood, your gun empty, your breathing heavy. Enemies surrounded you both, and still—you smiled at him.

"One more day," you had whispered earlier that morning, curled up beside him. "Let’s survive one more day."

He had kissed your forehead and said, "With me? Always."

That made it even worse.

Because as the explosion rang out—sharp, fast, targeted—he realized the enemy wasn’t aiming for him. They were aiming for you.

You didn’t scream. You just turned slightly, looked at him with wide eyes, and fell forward.

He caught you. Of course he did.

He always said he'd catch you.

“Hey. Hey, no—” Nagumo’s voice cracked. His hands fumbled to stop the bleeding, pressing down on your chest. “That’s not funny. Y/N, come on, that’s not—this isn’t the kind of joke I make.”

But your eyes were fluttering. Your lips were pale.

“Nagumo…” you whispered.

“Don’t say my name like that. Say it the way you always do. Like you're mad at me for stealing the last dumpling. Say it loud. Please.”

Your hand lifted, just barely brushing his cheek. He leaned into it like it might keep you tethered here.

“I love you.”

And then your hand dropped.

The world went quiet.

His breath hitched.

He stared at your face, peaceful in a way that didn’t fit the chaos around you. And then—slowly—he let out a laugh. A small one. Almost gentle.

"Guess you beat me to the punchline, huh?"

But the laugh faded. And the emptiness took over.

He buried his face into your shoulder, not caring that enemies still watched from the shadows, that blood soaked through his uniform. All he could think was—

He promised he'd always be the one to die first.

And this time, he broke that promise.

Shin asakura

He felt it before he saw it.

That crushing, freezing wave of finality. The end of a voice he’d grown so used to hearing in his head, like background music to his soul.

You were still alive when the shot rang out. Shin had just turned the corner, sprinting toward the sound of your thoughts, toward the panic and pain he heard echoing from you.

“I’ll buy you time, Shin. Just go—”

The bullet caught you in the side. You were thrown into the wall, then crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

“No—no no no—” Shin’s voice cracked as he reached you, skidding to his knees, grabbing you before your head could hit the floor again. “You idiot, you weren’t supposed to—why would you—!”

Your thoughts were a blur now. Static. Slipping. He tried to read you, tried to connect, but your mind was too far already.

“Don’t you dare leave,” he begged, pressing his forehead against yours. “Not you. Not you.”

You blinked slowly, struggling to focus.

“Did I do okay?” you whispered, barely audible over the chaos around you.

Shin could only nod, because his voice was gone now too. Shattered.

Your lips curled into a soft, tired smile.

Then nothing.

No more thoughts.

No more words.

No more you.

Shin sat there in the silence, screaming your name over and over in his mind. But no reply came.

He was alone again.

And this time, not even his ability could save him from it.

Gaku

There was blood everywhere. The floor was slick with it, the scent metallic and suffocating.

Gaku didn’t panic easily. He was the calm in every storm, the cold that crept in when everyone else burned.

But seeing you, lying broken in the middle of that battlefield, your body unmoving—something cracked in him.

He didn’t scream.

He didn’t cry.

He dropped beside you, wordless, and pulled you into his arms.

Your eyes barely opened, lids trembling. “Gaku…” you breathed, as if saying his name was the only thing you still had the strength for.

“I’m here,” he said, voice low and tight. “I’m here. You’re gonna be fine. Just hold on.”

You coughed weakly, blood bubbling at your lips. “Liar.”

“Shut up. Don’t talk like that.”

But you smiled—soft, sweet, resigned.

“I wanted more time. With you.”

Gaku’s jaw clenched. He forced his expression to remain calm, even as his heart was in pieces.

“I know,” he whispered.

You let out a shaky breath. “I’m not scared. Just... stay with me?”

He nodded.

And when your hand fell limp in his, he stayed there. For hours.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

Because in a world that took everything from him, you were the one thing that made him feel like he could be human again.

And now even that was gone.

Uzuki kei

He knew it before he turned around.

The moment he heard the sound—that sickening crack of bone, that broken gasp of breath—Uzuki’s heart sank.

He turned, slow and heavy, like he already knew what he’d see.

You.

Skewered. A sword run through your stomach. Blood soaking your clothes.

His own weapon fell from his hand.

“No.”

He rushed to you, caught you as you slumped forward, hand trembling as it pressed to the wound. “No. No, no, no—this is wrong. You were supposed to live.”

You tried to smile through the pain. “That’s not how it works, is it?”

“Don’t talk like that,” he whispered, brushing hair from your face. “You’re gonna make it. You have to. I need you. I—”

“You never needed anyone.”

“But I need you.”

You reached up, touched his cheek with bloodied fingers. “Then live for me.”

And you were gone.

Uzuki sat frozen. Eyes wide. Mouth slightly open, as if still waiting for you to speak again.

But nothing came.

He looked around at the bodies, at the aftermath. He had killed hundreds. He had destroyed nations.

And still—it wasn’t enough to protect you.

He laughed quietly to himself.

“This is what I deserve, huh?”

He didn’t cry. He just held you, eyes empty, until the dawn came.

Because if anyone was meant to die, it should’ve been him.

[kathlare]

the shift

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie and Lando find themselves orbiting each other in the wake of a summer that’s shifting everything.

Wordcount: 2.5 k

Warnings: none

full masterlist // request over here!

July 7th, 2020 - Spielberg, Austria

The sun was just starting to dip low over the Styrian hills, painting the sky in golds and soft pinks. The paddel court behind the Red Bull Ring glowed faintly in the evening light, the echo of laughter still bouncing off its walls.

Amelie dropped her paddle with a dramatic groan and flopped onto the bench, pulling her mask down just enough to chug from her water bottle.

—That was so unfair, I call cheating. Checo totally elbowed me,— she gasped, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist.

—That was not cheating, that was strategy,— Checo called out smugly, helping Stella stretch beside the court. She was laughing, hair tied up, face flushed from the game.

Charles sank down beside Amelie, equally breathless, tugging his mask down to sip his own water. —Honestly, I thought we had them in the first round. But then...— he made a noise, throwing his head back dramatically.

Amelie snorted. —Then I choked. I'm fully aware, thank you.—

Charles glanced at her, giving her a subtle nudge. —You okay, though? You’ve been kinda quiet since Sunday.—

Amelie looked down, twisting the cap on her bottle. She didn’t answer right away.

—You remember the night after the race? In Austria?— she said finally, not looking at him.

Charles frowned. —Yeah...? What about it?—

She exhaled, chest rising with something heavier than post-match exhaustion. —I broke up with Joshua that night.—

Charles blinked. —Wait... what?—

She nodded, still not meeting his eyes. —After I got back to the hotel. I just... I knew it was time. I should’ve done it sooner, but I kept waiting for the right moment. And then there never was one. But Sunday felt like... I don’t know. Like the end of something.—

He stared at her, genuinely shocked. —Wow. I didn’t... You didn’t say anything.—

—I didn’t want to make it a thing. Not with everyone around. And I don’t even feel... sad. I mean, I thought I would. But I don’t.—

She finally looked at him then, her eyes tired but clear. —I think I stayed with him because I didn’t know how to be alone. After Cam... and after everything else... I didn’t want to deal with the quiet again.—

Charles’s expression softened instantly. —You don’t have to explain yourself, Amelie.—

—Yeah, I know. But I need to say it out loud.— She gave a small, sad laugh. —He was nice. Safe. But I kept pretending I liked shit I didn’t. I hate football, Charles. I hate it so much.—

Charles barked a laugh. —God, you’re so dramatic.—

Amelie smirked. —You love it.—

But before he could reply, his eyes narrowed and flicked sideways. —Oi. What the fuck are you doing?—

Amelie followed his gaze and nearly choked on her water.

George.

Standing just by the cooler, mask slightly askew, frozen with a bottle half-raised to his lips like a deer caught in the world’s juiciest gossip headlights.

—Seriously, George?— Charles said, arms crossed.

—I...—George’s voice pitched high with guilt—...I was just... getting water! I didn’t even hear that much! Just like... maybe three sentences. Max.—

—Bullshit,— Amelie said flatly, fixing him with a deadly glare. —I know you heard everything, George Russell. You’re the human version of a group chat screenshot.—

George winced. —I swear, I won’t say anything. You have my word.—

—No, no, no. Look at me.— Amelie stood now, sweaty and furious and intimidating even with her mask slipping under her chin. —If you say one word to anyone, not Lando, not Alex, not your mum, I will know. And I will end you. Like emotionally ruin you in ways you can’t even imagine.—

George held up both hands, water bottle still in one. —I swear on my fucking life. I won’t say anything. I’ll pretend I have amnesia. It’s gone. Deleted. Vaporized.—

Charles leaned back, watching with amused detachment. —You’re terrified of her. I love this.—

—You should be too,— George muttered, scuttling backward toward the other court.

Once he was out of earshot, Amelie collapsed back on the bench, groaning.

—Fuck. I should’ve whispered or something.—

Charles chuckled. —Honestly? That was kind of impressive. I haven’t seen him scared like that since the Nürburgring press conference.—

—Good. He better stay scared.—

They sat in silence for a moment, catching their breath, sweat drying on their foreheads.

—So what now?— Charles asked gently. —You good?—

She looked at him, eyes a little distant. —I think I will be. It’s weird, though. Like... this is the first time since Cam that I’ve been properly on my own.—

Charles reached out, squeezing her shoulder. —You’re not on your own. Not really.—

She gave a soft smile, covering his hand with hers for a second. —Thanks, Charlie.—

And in the distance, George tripped over a bench.

Amelie didn’t even look.

—Fucking idiot,— she muttered, sipping her water.

-------------

liked by lanmeliesupremacy, sunshinef1baby, and others

charlesleclegend: Charles was spotted playing padel earlier today in Austria — sources at the court say he was seen playing doubles with Amelie, Checo, and Stella 😭 the family-friend energy is STRONG

View all 29,007 comments

charleslemonade: charles, amelie, checo AND stella playing padel feels like a sitcom crossover i didn’t know i needed → gridgirlz: @charleslemonade give it a laugh track and a soft focus filter and i’m IN

lanlanfan23: LANDO WASN’T INVITED??? → softlanmelie: @lanlanfan23 he’s probably sitting in the garage refreshing her texts every 3 mins → f1.fairy: @lanlanfan23 they’re literally just friends girl be serious 😭 → tiffanyblueflame: @lanlanfan23 but like… so was harry and sally 🤭

dayman.dior: ok but imagine getting a padel invite before joshua bassett 😭 → paddock.barbie: @dayman.dior he’s lucky she even shares a timezone with him atp

lan.meliedreamer: i see the vision. i just don’t think joshua does. → f1.sluttycorner: @lan.meliedreamer she needs to break up with him and get back to emotionally destabilizing lando for sport

charleschaos: be honest do you think they let charles win

lanmelieupdates: lando punching the air in his simulator rn

bassettbabe22: joshua bassett watching this from a beach in ibiza like 💀 → 00slover: @bassettbabe22 he booked a studio session IMMEDIATELY → indiehotgirl44: @bassettbabe22 can’t wait for “padel with your ex’s sister” (acoustic version)

leclercsimp: this is my roman empire actually

charleslemonade: padel?? with his wife (amelie)?? and his in-laws??? this cast is insane → landozsupremacy: @charleslemonade checo third-wheeling his own wife is crazy 😭 → ameliecore: @charleslemonade nah bc joshua who?? she’s back with the real family 💅

-------------

The door clicked open with a soft creak, and Lando stepped into the familiar chaos of Alex’s hotel room—turned makeshift gamer cave. The air was thick with the smell of takeout, Red Bull, and the unmistakable hum of boys yelling over a group FIFA match. The curtains were mostly drawn, casting everything in a moody kind of blue, lit only by the flicker of the big screen and the glow from several controllers charging on the coffee table.

Charles, George, and Alex were already planted on the couch and floor like lazy cats, deeply focused, fingers moving rapidly on controllers, trash-talking like their lives depended on it. There was an empty space on the couch—probably meant for him, Lando figured—and another cushion on the floor, a spare headset tossed carelessly beside it.

—Well, well, look who’s late to his own funeral,— Alex grinned, not looking up from the screen.

Lando let out a sigh and plopped into the seat beside Charles. —Didn’t know I was dying tonight.—

George smirked without glancing away. —Only your pride. I just scored the most ridiculous goal on Charles. Replay worthy.—

Charles groaned. —It was an accident. My thumb slipped.—

—That's what she said,— Alex chimed, and they all dissolved into laughter.

It was easy, the way it always was with them. But something about tonight made Lando feel... fidgety. He didn’t know why.

Well. He did. He just didn’t want to admit it.

He rubbed the back of his neck, casually scanning the room. —Where’s Amelie? Thought she was coming.—

—Oh, she’s coming,— Alex said. —Late as usual. Probably trying on seventeen different outfits for a game night none of us are even dressed for.—

George chuckled. —Bet she’s still deciding what snacks to bring.—

—Or waiting for Joshua to finish getting ready,— Alex added offhandedly, not even realizing the hand grenade he just lobbed.

Everyone laughed. Everyone... except Lando.

His face twitched slightly as he reached for a can of soda. —Why is he coming too?—

That got their attention.

Alex blinked, turning to him. —I mean... it’d be rude not to invite him, right? They’re dating, mate.—

Lando didn’t answer, just cracked open the soda with an unimpressed hiss and rolled his eyes. The sound was louder than the game for a beat.

George glanced over, carefully neutral. —I don’t think he’ll come, though.—

The words sat there, weighted and a little sharp.

Charles’s foot shot out instantly under the coffee table, kicking George in the shin hard enough to make him yelp.

—Ow! What the hell was that for?!— he hissed.

Charles didn’t even pretend it was an accident. He just gave him that look. The one that said shut the fuck up before you ruin everything.

Lando frowned slightly but said nothing, eyes flicking between them. Something was up. But he didn’t push.

And then, like a chaotic gust of wind wrapped in Chanel No. 5 and nerves, the door opened again.

Amelie stepped inside, cheeks a little flushed like she’d rushed through the hallway. She was wearing one of her oversized sweatshirts that slipped off one shoulder, her mask still looped on one wrist, hair pulled up but messier than usual—like she'd changed three times and finally gave up. She stood in the doorway, frozen for a split second like she was stepping onto a stage she hadn’t rehearsed for.

The air in the room shifted.

She saw Lando and her stomach did a slow, traitorous flip.

Fuck.

She hadn’t seen him since that day. Since he stood on that podium in Austria and she felt her whole heart drop straight into her gut because suddenly—finally—she realized it.

She liked him. More than she wanted to. More than she should’ve. And she’d gone back to her hotel room, stared at her ceiling for five minutes, and ended things with Joshua.

And now here she was, trying to act normal. Totally. Completely. Normal.

—Hey,— she said casually, except her voice cracked on the 'y' like a preteen boy.

Alex grinned. —Look who decided to join us. We were placing bets.—

—Sorry,— she said quickly. —I... yeah. Sorry.—

She slipped in, walking past Lando like he was just part of the furniture, even though every part of her buzzed when she got close. Her knee almost brushed his. She nearly tripped over George’s stretched-out legs, and he made a stupid noise, but she didn’t even snap at him like usual.

Lando’s eyes followed her without meaning to.

She didn’t sit on the floor with her back to the couch like she usually did. She perched instead on the edge of an armchair, too formal, like a guest in her own life.

The boys had already resumed their game, but the energy had shifted. Just a little. Barely enough to name. But Lando felt it—this subtle current tugging under the surface, like static under his skin.

Amelie’s laugh came too late at their jokes. Her hands fidgeted with the drawstring of her hoodie. She didn’t banter back when Alex made a dumb comment about her dying in-game. She just smiled, thin and polite, and picked up a controller with the kind of quiet resignation that made Lando want to say something—anything—to make her look at him like she used to.

But she didn’t.

She didn’t even glance his way.

She played for two rounds, half-trying, barely speaking. At one point, Charles tossed a gummy worm at her head, trying to break the awkward spell. She giggled and chucked it back with forced sass, but even that felt off.

Lando tried not to stare. He really did. But it was hard not to. Her laugh wasn’t the same. Her shoulders were tense. And worst of all—she wasn’t looking at him.

Not once.

Alex started a new match, and everyone re-teamed. Lando found himself partnered with George, and Amelie was paired with Charles. They used to bicker like siblings when they were opponents. But tonight, she played quiet, like she wanted to disappear.

Even George noticed, nudging Lando during the loading screen. —She’s acting weird, right?—

Lando gave a tiny shrug. —She’s probably just tired.—

He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.

The game night stretched on, hours bleeding into each other. Someone ordered fries. Someone else put on a playlist. Alex kept trying to get everyone to do shots with water "for vibes." It felt almost normal.

Almost.

But Lando caught Charles watching Amelie more than once. Not the way he used to—just... watching. Guarded. Protective. Like he was waiting for something.

Eventually, Amelie stood, brushing her hands on her thighs.

—Alright, I’m calling it. I’m dead tired.—

Alex booed. George threw a pillow. Charles made a noise like a dying seal.

But Lando just stood up without thinking.

—I’ll walk you to your room.—

The room froze.

Then, chaos.

—Oh ho ho,— Alex grinned. —Look at Mr. Chivalry over here.—

—You gonna tuck her in too, Norris?— George teased.

Charles said nothing. Just watched.

Amelie blinked, clearly surprised, eyes finally meeting Lando’s for the first time all night. Her pulse jumped.

She hesitated. Just a second too long.

—Uh. Okay.—

Lando grabbed his hoodie, tossing it over his shoulder like it gave him something to do with his hands. The door clicked shut behind them a moment later, cutting off the teasing and the warmth of the room.

Silence fell between them like a heavy coat. The hallway was dim, hotel carpet muffling their steps.

Lando shoved his hands in his pockets. —So... game night was fun.—

It was the dumbest thing he could’ve said.

Amelie didn’t laugh. Just nodded, arms crossed tight over her chest. —Yeah. Totally.—

He glanced at her. She looked... closed off. Coiled. Like she might bolt at any second.

—You okay?— he asked quietly.

She nodded again. Too fast. —Mm-hmm. Just... long week.—

They reached her door far too soon.

She paused, hand on the handle.

Lando rubbed the back of his neck. He was never this nervous. Not even on race days.

—Hey,— he said softly, just as she was about to slip inside.

She turned, barely.

His voice was rougher than he expected. —I... I’m glad you came tonight.—

Her throat worked. —Yeah. Me too.—

Neither moved.

And then, with a boldness he didn’t quite understand until it was already happening, Lando leaned in—close enough to smell the lavender in her hair, the ghost of her perfume—and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek.

Not a friend kiss. Not a brotherly kiss. Something more.

When he pulled back, her eyes were wide.

She didn’t say anything.

Just stepped into the room, slowly, quietly.

And as the door clicked shut behind her, Lando stood in the hallway, heart pounding.

Inside, Amelie pressed her back against the closed door, breath shaky, fingers curling into her sleeves.

She touched her cheek where he’d kissed her.

Yeah.

She was totally, absolutely, fucking doomed.

[touchtheinvisiblestars]

Eyes on you

Part 4 to the Tethered and Torn series. I hope you all enjoy!

***

You sat at the edge of the couch, still damp from the shower, your hair tied back hastily. The sting of the night hadn’t left your skin yet—adrenaline still buzzing, heart still pacing like the mission wasn’t already over.

The front door opened, and Sam strode in, dropping a file folder onto the coffee table with a heavy thud. His gaze landed on you.

“Debrief. Now.”

You met his eyes. He looked tired. Angry.

Bucky hadn’t moved from his corner near the window, arms crossed tightly over his chest. You could feel the tension radiating from him even without looking.

“Agent Miller’s gone dark,” Sam began, flipping open the folder. “We’ve got eyes combing local safehouses. So far, nothing.”

“Because he planned it,” Bucky snapped. “He didn’t panic. That was a calculated move.”

“No kidding,” Sam said, not looking up. “Maybe if someone hadn’t let comms go dark—”

“I didn’t let anything go dark,” you said sharply, standing.

Sam’s eyes finally met yours. “You’re in charge of your team. That means when one of them betrays you and tries to drag you out of a gala at gunpoint, that’s your responsibility.”

Your chest burned. “He was vetted. He passed the checks. I trusted him.”

“And that almost got you killed.”

You flinched, but it wasn’t just the words. It was the way Bucky looked at you then—jaw clenched, eyes full of something unspoken but sharp.

“Okay, enough,” Bucky said, stepping forward. “This isn’t helping.”

“No, what’s not helping is the fact you should’ve pulled her out the second things felt off,” Sam snapped. “You felt it, Barnes. You said so. But instead, you waited until shots were already being fired.”

“I was following the goddamn mission parameters!”

You’d never heard Bucky raise his voice at Sam like that before. The room went still.

“I followed the rules,” he said again, quieter this time. “And they almost got her killed.”

You turned to him, arms folded. “So now it’s your guilt?”

He didn’t answer.

“Because let’s be clear—this doesn’t just fall on Sam or on you. It falls on me too. I ran the op. I chose the team. Yeah it wasn't my vetting, but he was cleared. And maybe I wasn’t watching closely enough because I was too busy worrying what you were thinking the whole damn time!”

"I-"

"You put it in my head that something was going to go wrong. Yeah I didn't think it was going to be Miller. He's done everything by the book. But you." You pointed at Bucky. "You should have said something before comms went dark."

Silence dropped over the room like a lead curtain.

Bucky stared at you, something like pain flickering across his face.

Sam finally broke the tension, dragging a hand down his face with a sigh. “Look. Emotions are high, I get it. But we need to focus. Miller’s out there. And he knows everything. We don't know who he's working for or why he's gone rogue.”

You sank back onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. “So what do we do?”

Sam looked between you and Bucky, the quiet weight of command settling into his shoulders. “We find him before he finishes what he started.”

And just like that, the mission wasn’t over.

It was just beginning.

[clovecloveangel]

Okay. Tim Drake deepdiving (send help)

SPECIAL MENTION TO JASON WITH OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE THAT GIRL (BOY) IS GONE BUT IIIIIII// THAT GIRL IS GONE BUT I STILL TRY//I MISS HIM, DONT YOU BLAME ME! THAT BOY WENT STONE COLD CRAZY! CAUGHT UP AND CANT RUN LASTING CHASING THAT HAPPY PIPEDREAM1!!!!!

New Money hehehehheehehhehehehehehe

WHO CAN IT BE NOW PAPAPAPPAPAPAPAAAAA PSHSGN THAT FITS HIM HE'D TOTALLY LISTEN TO THATHBRGTIVKFM

BANG BANG BANG HERE WE GO (already screamed im just gonna copy paste that

[BANG! FOR TIM DRAKE HHHRHEHHEEHH SO PUT YOUR BEST FACE ON EVERYBODY/PRETEND YOU LIKE THIS SONG EVERYBODY // AND IM UP TO SOMETHING (UP TO SOMETHING)]

EVERYONE TALK ABOUT - POP MUZICK!!!!!!1UBRHFD VJCKOVSI THIS IS LITERALLY HIS LOSER TASTE /VAFF/VSILLY

CAUSE WHEN THE SUN COMES DOWN AND THE MOON COMES UP//I TURN INTO A TEENAGE GOO GOO MUCK IHEUGRBJVDMIM MY BOYYY

I have not heard honeybee but im listennig to it rn and it fits the vibes!!!!!

Bruno is orange..... bruno is orange...

BRUNOOOO WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR GOOD SENSE? (RED ROBIN) THAT MANS GOOD I BET HE WORKS FOR THE GOVERNMENT//DID YOU HEAR ABOUT THAT MOTHER BROKE HER DAUGHTERS LEGS IN TWO AND SAID ITS TOO DANGEROUS TO WALK SO I HAD TO SAVE YOU//I THINK ITS REAL UNFAIR THAT YOU SHOULD PUT HIM THERE ALL WE DID WAS KISS ON MY GRAVE I SWEAR WHERE DID YOU FIND HIS SHOES? THE LOCK OF MY HAIR? ALL WE DID WAS KISS ON MY GRAVE I SWEAR (DIE DIE DIE) -> EVERYONE IN HIS LIFE WAS PUT INTO DANGER/DIED SO HE'S BEGGING THE WORLD TO STOP OH MY GOD

ANTHEMS FOR A SEVENTEEN YEAR OLD GIRL

USED TO BE ONE OF THE ROTTEN ONES AND I LIKED YOU FOR THAT (THIS COULD BE LIKE HIS PARENTS NOT BEING THE BEST IN THE WORLD/THE PEOPLE IN HIS LIFE USING HIM BUT HE STILL LOVES BECAUSE HE'S LOYAL HWUGRNI)

NOW YOURE ALL GONE GOT YOUR MAKEUP ON AND YOURE NOT COMING BACK (CANT YOU COME BACK?) -> SO MANY PEOPLE DIED/LEFT/BETRAYED HIM HE JUST WANTS TO BE HAPPYYYYYYY

BLEACHING YOUR TEETH SMILING FLASH TALKING TRASH UNDER MY WINDOW -> HE PLAYS THE ROLE TO BE THE PERFECT ROBIN TO MAKE EVERYONE ELSE HAPPY AUGHHHHH

PARK THAT CAR, DROP THAT PHONE, SLEEP ON THE FLOOR, DREAM ABOUT ME? -> THE MOMENT HE LEAVES HIS PHONE (VIGILANTE WORK) HE FEELS CRUSHINGLY ALONE BECAUSE ALL HE CAN THINK ABOUT ARE THE PEOPLE HE'S LOST

OKAY I NEED TO. STOP.

DING DONG THE WITCH IS DEAD I JUST WATCHED WICKED IM CACKLINGNNGNGGNG

GET HIM BACK HE'S SO OLIVIA CODED GODDD

COFFEEEEEE

DO I NEED IT? MOCHA - AM I UNDER CONTROL???? WAKE UP AND IT SWALLOWED ME WHOLE WOULD IS SEE IT? I CAN MAKE YOU FEEL ALIVEEEEEEE - I KNOW, BUT DO I NEED YOU TO SURVIVE? (I FEEL LIKE THIS IS TALKING ABOUT HIS WHOLE VIGILANTE WORK AND HOW HE USES IT TO STAY SANE/HIDE AWAY AND HE FEELS USELESS WIHTOUT BEINGNROBIN also the fanon coffee thing is cute oH8IROFGIJNFIOIJIM)

THE CULT OF DIONYISIS MATCHING WITH BERNARD PAHAHHAHAHH I LOVE IT AS A TIMBER/TIMBERKON SONG (IM FEELING DEVIOUS/YOURE LOOKING GLAMOROUS/LETS GET MISCHEVIOUS/AND POLYAMOROUS!!!!!!!!1) EVEN STEPH WORKS SDFHUGBYVHJDKCOMDI

YOU ARE AN IDIOT AHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHA OH TIM CAN I GIVE YOU THERAPYY??? JOKER JUNIOR REF?!?!

ITS GOING DOWN IM YELLING TIMBERRRRRRRRRRRR DIHFJCDKMJ OFC OFC ITS THEIR SONG

PAPARAZZI -> HIM AS A STALKER + HIM AS A PUBLIC FIGURE

rockin robin hheehhehe i see you

WASHINGTON ON YOUR SIDE HAMILTIOGNFVENUJCKM

BRUTUS????Q?

IVE BEEN WATCHING HIM FOR MY ENTIRE LIFE//THATS NOT TRUE I DONT WISH TO FORSAKE YOU SO SIMILAR LIKE BROTHERS FROM A DIFFERENT MOTHER OF THE SAME WOMB (i cant remember the exact lyrics forgive me) FRATE MEUS//ILL NEVER FORGET THE WAY YOU SHOWED ME HOW TO MAKE ART (BEING ROBIN) I LOVE YOU AND IF YOU WANT ILL CALL YOU KING (FATHER) //

SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES AND IM UNSURE SHOULD I EMBRACE IT SHOUDL I RUN? WHAT MOTIVATES ME HATRED? IS IT LOVE? (HIS WHOLE RED ROBIN ARC - IS HE RUNNING ON HIS LOVE FOR BRUCE OR HIS ANGER AT THE WORLD FORSAKIGN HIM????) MAYBE MY NAME COULD ALSO BE KNOWN (HE JUST LOVES BEING ROBIN)

MY WHOLE LIFE YOU WERE A TEACHER AND FRIEND TO ME, PLEASE KNOW MY ACTIONS ARE NOT MOTIVATED ONLY BY ENVY!!! -> HIM TELLING DICK ABOUT DAMIANN OHMY GODDD

MY NAME IS BRUTUS BUT THE PEOPLE WILL CALL ME REX!! (HIM AT THE END OF RED ROBIN BEING LIKE I AM MY OWN HERO I AM RED ROBIN AHDUNCJIJTI)

I NEED TO SHUT. UP.

Okay fuck i cant do the whole thing i dont have time but WE BOTH REACHED FOR THE GUN OH GOD OG GOD

ARMY DREAMERS OH NOOOO

WHAT A WASTE OF, ARMY DREAMERS! (BFPO, MAMMYS HERO)

BUT HE NEVER EVEN MADE IT TO HIS TWENTIES - NO ONE ALLOWS HIM TO AGE PAST 17

SARAHHHHH

'YOULL NEVER MAKE THE PLACE WHY DO YOU EVEN RUN THE RACE???? I CANT BE, WHAT YOU NEEEDDDDD I AM STUCKKK IN A DRE-EAM I AM STUCK, IN A DREAMMMMMMM//DONT YOU KNOW? SHES BEEN HERE ALL ALONG//HE LOVES ME LIKE A DOG AND WHEN WE MESS AROUND ILL LET HIM KNOW THE TRUTH I FOUND IN MY OWN HOPELESS HATE--

AND EVERY TIME I WAKE I SECOND GUESS THE GAME I PLAYED, DID I, MAKE A, MISTAKE??? -HIS LYRIC HIS LRYICS SODHGUBVJSCMLX

WHAT ELSE CAN I DOOOOOOO//(WHAT IF IT DIDNT NEED TO BE PERFECT? IT JUST NEEDED TO BE, AND THEYD LET ME BE?!?!?!?!!)

fuck ufck cuck okay okay i know some of the others but these are my standouts thank you this was great fonvkfmlp

formatted this because its such a mess that even colour coding still makes it insane lmafaoogunfidfdmkovfm

Batfam Spotify Playlists

(Because Tumblr won’t let me post all of my DC playlists in one post)

Alfred Pennyworth: Spotify Link

Bruce Wayne:

Barbara Gordon:

Dick Grayson:

Cass Cain:

Jason Todd:

Stephanie Brown:

Bernard Dowd:

Tim Drake:

Duke Thomas:

Damian Wayne:

Talia Al-Ghul: Spotify Playlist Link

Selina Kyle: Spotify Playlist Link

Normal link stopped working on the last two 😪

The boring links should still work but still

I think there’s a maximum limit of how many you can add

[astrolotte]

Genuinely intrigued by the potential of Peri and Irep's dynamic but only in a platonic way so I end up not vibing with the fandom's portrayal of it 😔😔😔

(No but listen LISTEN they were kinda-almost-friends when we last saw them in FOP, yeah? Now they're enemies, with both actively fighting each other, and Irep going so far as to try and kill Peri's parents. What happened? When? What influenced it? Did they ever become friends, or did it nosedive the moment the cameras turned off? What about Sammy? How do Irep's parents factor into this? Could it ever be fixed? There's just so much we haven't seen, and romance just feels like too easy a solution to me. Let their friendship be easy to break, fragile. Let them have to work to keep the connection. Fairies and Anti-Fairies are literally made to be opposites, so what happens when two genuinely and truly become friends?)

((and yeah I guess a lot of this could factor into a romantic angle but ALAS the fandom seems to be leaning heavily into the funny toxic yaoi angle 😔 I don't mind it! By all means, please have your very harmless fun! But it ain't my jam :P Perhaps I'll have to write a oneshot myself...))

(((see tags for more rambles i guess. whoops a bitch spoke too much in there as he always does)))

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

I think I am now getting the wondrous experience of having a media that I enjoy that is from a different region.