#i need more i need this series to be longer

[inkmonster21]

I Don’t Play Anymore

Hwang In-Ho / Frontman x Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

As the daughter of the American Frontman, your life takes an unexpected turn as you accompany him to South Korea, to witness the 33rd Annual Squid Games. Being a spectator to the violent events unfolds, and you find yourself unexpectedly connecting with the Frontman.

01. Red Light, Green Light

The American Frontman had traveled to Korea with a purpose: to observe and learn from the infamous underground games. He wanted to gather as much knowledge as possible, so he could translate those elements into the games hosted in the United States.

He was a sharp, cunning individual, drawn to the spectacle of carefully crafted games that challenged people's wits, morals, and will to survive.

The American game maker, accompanied by a small security team and his daughter, boarded the boat that would take them to the remote island where the games took place.

You were well-acquainted with the concept of these games, having experienced firsthand the high-stakes thrill of your father's smaller-scale games. These events, limited to no more than 50 players, unfolded at a rapid pace, often concluding in just one day.

The games held a dark legacy within your family, a tradition passed down through generations. You had participated in the games four years ago, and emerged victorious, a title that filled you with both accomplishment and guilt. Your father, the current game master, was proud, carrying on a legacy started by your great-grandfather. The competition held its price - the cost of taking lives - but the thrill and satisfaction of victory outweighed any lingering doubts and remorse.

You were accompanying your father on a journey to the annual games held in Korea. This trip was more than just a spectator's view; it was an opportunity for both of you to learn and gain insights from the complex and ruthless games that unfolded on foreign soil.

The boat swayed and rocked as it navigated through the waves, and you gripped the railing tightly, a mix of annoyance and slight unease present on your face. You had never been fond of boats, finding the continuous motion and the vast expanse of water beneath you unsettling.

Frustration tinged your voice as you raised your phone, attempting to catch a single bar of service. The signal was weak, barely catching the faintest hint of a connection.

"I can't even get a single bar out here!" you exclaimed, the lack of reception leaving you disconnected from the world.

Your father, observant as always, shifted his gaze towards you. His expression was serious, and he spoke calmly.

"Do you really need it anyway?"

He raised an eyebrow, subtly questioning the need for constant connection and the distraction that technology often provided.

You nodded in response, your response coming out in a confident tone.

"Um, yes. Anderson said he was going to send the address of his friends' club. There's supposed to be a big party, and I can not miss that."

Your father's face remained impassive, but a small flicker of amusement flashed in his eyes at your eagerness for the party.

Your father chuckled, “maybe you can make some new friends, tell them about the good opportunities we could offer,” a hint of amusement in his tone. However, your reply, about friendships being cut short by the nature of your upbringing, carried a touch of bitterness.

"Yeah, and then have them killed. I swear I haven't had a friendship longer than 2 years because of you assholes." Your voice held a mix of frustration and resignation.

Your father's response was curt, and he reprimanded you harshly. "That 'asshole' paid for the Louboutins you're standing in," he scoffed. "I'd fix that attitude before we arrive. You don't want to make me look bad here, (y/n)."

His words held a mix of authority and warning, subtly reminding you to maintain decorum and uphold the family reputation.

As the boat neared the island, your father's head of security handed him a black crystal mask, shaped with the features of the mythical jackalope, adorned with its own set of black shimmering jeweled horns. The mask was a masterpiece, exuding a sense of power and exclusivity.

Your father's head of security handed you a smaller, more delicate mask, its design resembling an innocent rabbit compared to the intimidating jackalope. You looked at the mask with a hint of disdain, a scoff escaping your lips.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" you asked, your tone tinged with a mix of stubbornness and skepticism. Your father's tone was terse, his words simple yet commanding. "Wear it," he instructed firmly, his gaze unwavering. Without hesitation, he placed the black jeweled mask onto his own face, the mask accentuating his features in an eerie way.

With a reluctant sigh, you followed suit, slipping on the elegant black jeweled rabbit mask. The coolness of the metal against your skin sent a faint shiver down your spine. The intricate design of the mask felt both elegant and concealing, a subtle reminder of the event you were about to become a part of.

The black masks placed on the security men's faces only heightened your sense of unease, solidifying the gravity of the situation. The cold realization hit you like a wave, and you couldn't help but feel a sudden surge of regret. A whisper of doubt echoed in your mind, questioning whether staying home would have been a wiser choice. The island loomed ahead, a silent harbinger of the events yet to unfold.

As the boat neared the island, your father's tone held a tinge of seriousness, his words a stern command.

"I want you to pay attention to these games," he stated firmly, his gaze firm. "Observe the players, observe their responses, and see what makes the mind break." The stern words of your father echoed in your mind, his authority unwavering. "Yes, father," you responded, a mix of obedience and reluctance in your voice.

The boat docked, the path ahead uneven and treacherous, especially given the choice of footwear you wore. The path was clearly unwalked and unsteady, making it difficult for you to navigate properly. As you cautiously made your way along the path, you stumbled upon a seemingly invisible hatch door, hidden from prying eyes. The head of security stepped forward, punching in a code and signaling to a hidden camera. The hatch door slowly creaked open, revealing a descending staircase.

As the hatch door opened, you were met with the sight of a man dressed in a striking pink jumpsuit, his mask featuring a distinctive square shape. Behind him were an entourage of four pink-masked guards, each adorning black masks lined with triangles. The contrast of the bright colours and masks against the dim lighting of the stairwell created an atmosphere of surrealism and foreboding.

The head of security's words cut through the silence, his tone low and guarded.

"These are the American game makers," he spoke, his voice holding a mix of neutrality and wariness. "They've been anticipating their arrival."

The man in the pink jumpsuit responded in a simple, yet eerie tone that sent a chill down your spine.

"Yes," he said simply, "please, follow me." Without a moment's hesitation, he turned and began walking down the dimly lit stairwell, his guards falling into a precise formation behind him.

As you followed the pink-suited man up the staircase, you couldn't help but observe the surroundings, taking in the bright colors and cheerful décor. The room was intentionally designed to appear playful and pleasant, a stark contrast to the darkness and mystery that shrouded the truth.

You were led towards a pair of imposing double doors, their golden handles gleaming beneath the lights. The pink-suited man stepped inside, his voice carrying a respect and formality. "Sir, the American game maker has arrived," he announced, his words carrying a weight of significance. The doors opened wider, revealing a grand room.

As you entered the grand room, your gaze fell upon the imposing figure across from you - a man clad in a sharp black suit, his distinctive black mask adorned with a hood. His presence immediately commanded attention and respect, and you couldn't help but make the connection - this must be the Frontman, the counterpart to your father's role.

Your father stepped forward and introduced himself to the Frontman, ignoring your presence. You were not the focus here; you were merely a spectator, a silent observer, your importance seemingly diminished. The sense of insignificance gnawed at you, but you remained composed, maintaining a stoic expression as you watched the encounter unfold.

The Frontman spoke, his voice authoritative and confident. "It is a pleasure to have you witness our 33rd Annual Squid Games," he echoed with a practiced smile, his gaze fixed on your father.

The words echoed in the grand room, a stark reminder of the gravity and spectacle of the events about to unfold - the annual game where lives were on the line, and the consequences were severe.

Your phone buzzed, interrupting the tense atmosphere. With a pleased smile, you reached into your purse and retrieved the device. As you sat down on one of the couches lining the wall, you muttered, "Finally," under your breath. Despite the gravity of the occasion, you couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction at the distraction, grateful for a moment of respite from the tension.

You scrolled through the texts from your friends, their pleas for glamourous pictures from your vacation with your father only fueled your growing urge to break away and explore. As you glanced up, observing the room and the ongoing conversation, you weighed the option of sneaking out to indulge in something exciting of your own.

Just as you stood, preparing to casually leave the room, your father called out to you, his command firm and unwavering.

"Sit," he ordered, his voice stern. You froze in your tracks, the words reverberating in your mind. Your desire to step away and explore was abruptly brought to a halt by his authoritarian command.

“I’m just going to go-,” The click of the gun echoed in the room, causing you to halt your words. Your father's stern glare and the sight of him pointing the pistol at you filled you with a mix of fear and resignation. You reluctantly walked to the designated chair diagonally across from him and sat down, your eyes locked on the gun. It was a tactic he had used before, but it never failed to send a wave of fear through you, reminding you of the consequences of disobedience.

Despite being his daughter, you couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that your father wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger. The tension in the room was palpable, and the cold, unwavering gaze of the gun sent chills down your spine.

You muttered your apology, the words leaving your lips with a mixture of guilt and resignation. Your father's glare softened slightly as he lowered the pistol, a hint of acknowledgment in his eyes. He said nothing, merely giving a subtle nod, acknowledging your apology but still keeping a watchful eye on you.

Your father turned his attention back to the Frontman, continuing the conversation with a casual tone.

"Kids," he remarked nonchalantly, referring to you with a subtle nod in your direction. "They can be quite a handful." You remained still in your seat, trying to blend into the background, silently absorbing the words exchanged between your father and the Frontman.

As the Frontman stared at you, his masked gaze fixed upon you, you couldn't help but feel a strange sense of acknowledgment. His gesture, the slight tilt of his head, conveyed a silent curiosity. Without fully understanding why, you responded with a subtle nod of your own, a silent acknowledgment passing between you.

The Frontman's curiosity grew as he observed you, his masked gaze now filled with deeper intrigue. There was a hint of concern beneath the hard exterior, a subtle indication of his genuine interest in your well-being. He couldn't quite pinpoint why, but there was an undeniable pull to ensure your safety and comfort.

The Frontman broke the silence, offering a gesture of hospitality. "Would you like a drink?" he asked, his voice calm yet with a touch of formality. The offer seemed almost casual, a small gesture amidst the tense atmosphere, but the underlying purpose remained clear - to maintain control and ensure everyone was comfortable while the games began.

With a grateful nod, you accepted the Frontman's offer of a drink. The nerves were building within you, and the thought of numbing the tension even slightly was enticing.

"Please," you replied, your voice carrying a mix of relief and anticipation, while your father remained stoic in his seat, observing the interaction with a guarded expression.

The guards moved swiftly and efficiently, providing you with a drink with remarkable speed. You couldn't help but appreciate the efficiency and the thoughtfulness of the gesture, offering a small nod to convey your gratitude, your smile tinged with a hint of tension. Your father watched the exchange with a guarded expression, his eyes scrutinizing every move you made, observing your every reaction.

The moment had arrived. The games were about to commence, and the first event was set to be red light, green light. A seemingly simple premise, yet the tension and anticipation hung heavily in the air. The atmosphere seemed charged with anticipation and the potential for both triumph and defeat.

As the screen lit up, the scene unfolded before your eyes. The field of players, clad in green tracksuits, moved forward, their movements slow and measured as they explored their surroundings. Their attention was immediately drawn to the large doll stationed at the far end, a sight that both captivated and unnerved.

The calm and cheerful voice echoed through the field, issuing the directive.

"Please stand behind the white line drawn on the field," it repeated, the words resonating in the air. "Once again, will all players please stand behind the white line and await further instructions."

The players, dressed in green tracksuits, stood in a line behind the white line, seemingly unaware of the danger that loomed ahead. They followed the instructions with obedience, showing no signs of comprehending the true nature of the games they had willingly entered. There was a sense of blind trust, oblivious to the impending chaos and violence that awaited them.

The phone on the small table beside you rang abruptly, catching your attention. The Frontman moved closer, answering the call with a sense of authority. "This is the Frontman speaking," he said, his voice carrying a confident yet somewhat chilling tone. "We can begin now," he confirmed.

The Frontman took his seat beside you, maintaining a respectful yet noticeable distance between you. However, you couldn't help but feel a subtle sense of unease as you felt his gaze on the small parts of your face that were left uncovered by the mask. There was an intensity to his gaze that felt almost disquieting, a mix of curiosity and observation, his eyes seemingly taking in every detail of your features.

The Voice's tone carried a blend of cheerfulness and authority, as it instructed the players on the imminent event.

"You will be playing Red Light, Green Light," the voice announced, a tone of gleeful anticipation evident in its words. The players, dressed in green, stood still, their expressions a mix of anticipation and tension, their eyes focused on the voice coming through the speakers.

The rules of the game were explained with a strange blend of innocence and coldness.

"You are allowed to move forward when 'it' shouts 'Green Light,' stop when 'it' shouts 'Red Light.' If your movement is detected afterward, you will be eliminated," the voice stated, its tone maintaining a mix of childlike playfulness and the harsh reality of the consequences they faced.

The voice continued, outlining the rules of the game with a matter-of-fact tone.

"Those players who cross the finish line without being eliminated within the five-minute playtime will pass this round," it explained. There was a pause, a dramatic moment of anticipation, before the voice concluded, "With that, let the game begin." As the words echoed in the air, the players braced themselves, the tension palpable.

The doll, with its childlike voice, issued the first command.

"Green light," it declared, its voice a mix of innocence and underlying menace. With those words, the game officially commenced. As the game began, a few players eagerly surged forward, attempting to make progress toward the finish line.

In an instant, the tension heightened as the voice announced, "Red light." The players, who had been moving forward, came to an abrupt stop, frozen in their tracks, their bodies gitty with anticipation.

You couldn't help but tense up at the sudden sound of a gunshot, the gunshot breaking the tense silence, causing your body to flinch involuntarily.

The voice, cold and unforgiving, announced the first casualty of the game. "Player 324. Eliminated."

The players, engrossed in the game, had yet to fully comprehend the true nature and danger of the situation. Despite the gunshot, most of them were still caught up in the excitement of the competition, their attention focused on the doll and the race to the finish line. The reality of the violence and life-or-death stakes hadn't fully sunk in for many participants.

As one player finally looked down at his dying friend, the reality and gravity of the situation became undeniable. Fear shot through their eyes, and realization dawned on their face. The cheerful facade shattered as they faced the brutal truth of the game's nature, a truth that left them shaken to the core. It was a moment of sobering clarity, the illusion of a simple game evaporating before their very eyes.

The chaos unfolded as panicked players rushed to the entrance doors, desperately trying to flee. However, their efforts were futile as one by one, they were shot by the hidden snipers in the walls.

The voice echoed through the loudspeakers once again, repeating the rules of the game with a chilling precision.

The remaining players, shaken and terrified, listened intently as the rules were reiterated, their hearts pounding in their chests.

"You are allowed to move forward when 'it' shouts 'Green Light' and stop when 'it' shouts 'Red Light.' If your movement is detected afterward, you will be eliminated," the voice stated, its tone cold and methodical.

Your father, visibly engrossed in the spectacle, couldn't contain his excitement. "Amazing first choice," he chuckled, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and enthusiasm. "We simply can't do it yet. We need more players on sight. But this is amazing!" His words showcased the twisted nature of the games and the satisfaction the game makers derived from the chaos and bloodshed.

Your father turned his gaze to you, seeking your opinion on the unfolding events. "What do you think, (y/n)?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone, as though he was eager to gauge your reaction to the unfolding spectacle.

Your words came out in a matter-of-fact tone, the practical aspect of the situation evident in your response.

"It's the best choice for the first game," you stated, a sense of realism lacing your words. "It gets rid of the mass amount of players and shows them the outcome if they don't listen. It's practical." Your father seemed pleased with your assessment, a subtle nod indicating his agreement and approval of your observation.

The Frontman, listening to your words, couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for your practicality and realistic approach. He appreciated the way you had analyzed the situation and made a rational observation. In a world where brutal violence was the norm, your sensible view stood out, and he respected it quietly.

The game continued, the voice's cold instructions echoing through the field as players met their fate. Each round of "Red Light" brought a new wave of eliminations, the remaining players trembling in fear and uncertainty. The game was a deadly, ruthless spectacle, leaving the players in a state of constant tension and anxiety.

Your attention was drawn to the small figurine band that came to life, playing a gentle tune. As "Fly Me to the Moon" filled the room, you turned to the Frontman, a surprised smile gracing your face.

The Frontman's gesture took you by surprise, his action a mix of playfulness and unexpected charm amidst the cold, violent world of the games.

Despite the tense atmosphere, the Frontman's decision to play "Fly Me to the Moon" softened the mood slightly. As the song played, you crossed your legs, your voice carrying a slight tone of contentment.

"I like this song," you remarked, a small, appreciative smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

The Frontman's eyes flickered, his gaze briefly meeting yours, as he acknowledged your comment. There was a subtle sense of understanding in his gaze, a glimpse of a shared appreciation for the song that created a brief moment of connection between you two.

The moment of connection and shared appreciation between you and the Frontman provided a sliver of hope that this trip could indeed become more enjoyable than you had initially anticipated. The games were still unfolding, and the tension in the room lingered, but there was a hint of warmth in the air.

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

It's accidentally been 3 months since I posted my last fic round up, so this post contains months worth of reading and so is much longer than normal. If you're curious, this round up includes the following fandoms (in this order):

ATLA

DC (Batman) & Danny Phantom Crossover

DC (Batman)

Star Wars (Prequels)

The Goblin Emperor

The Sunshine Court (AFTG series)

James Bond

Marvel (Spider-Man)

Red, White & Blue

Stranger Things

King Falls AM (Podcast)

ATLA

Academic Excerpts and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Studied by Scholars Who Make It Their Full Time Job by Vinces

Zuko and Aang conspired early to keep the Firelord’s identity as the Blue Spirit a secret. Zuko unmasked would only make his spot on the Dragon Throne more tenuous during a time of upheaval in the post-war Fire Nation.

Nevertheless, the post-war academics are on it. Who was the Blue Spirit?

Aang and Zuko try their best to play it cool.

Aang’s pretty successful…

Zuko? Well, he’s trying his best. -- Or where two-thirds of the story is historical “articles” set in and referencing the world of Avatar and one third is Zuko (and Aang) navigating a world where there are academic papers speculating about the prison breakout they did together.

In Utter Hones-tea by agooseinhiding

The Jasmine Dragon has been formally invited to join the Earth King's retinue as he takes the monumental first step onto Fire Nation soil since the start of the Hundred-Year War! Truly, an honor.

Unfortunately, "The Jasmine Dragon" includes Li, the owner's grumpy nephew with an outrageously bad haircut and a wardrobe that's solely green, who knows way too much about the Avatar and his teachers, and who swears on his honor that he's totally, definitely not the Fire Lord.

Somehow, the other tea servers don't believe him. But they've never gotten a chance to prove it (or disprove it, in some cases) until now.

The Jasmine Dragon is going to the Fire Nation, and Hua Ming is going to show once and for all that shop-famous enigma Li is Lord Zuko himself, or she's going to die trying.

(She is going to die on this trip.)

Ft.: General Iroh playing the biggest prank in Fire Nation history, a five thousand yuan bet, and the Jasmine Dragon tea servers.

Taking a Break (In) by Duckduck_Scribblerswan (Caellie_E_and_Vaye_R)

Part 1 of a little bit of monicker in my life (Zuko has too many secret identi-teas)

After a few agonizingly slow seconds of exhausted, confused pondering, Zuko decided there was only one logical conclusion. “You’re right," he told the assassins, "I’m here to help you kill the Fire Lord.” Like a genius.

Caldera City is holding a festival to celebrate finally having enough funds to hold a festival! Although Zuko originally deemed himself too busy to go, Sokka managed to cajol him into attending his own party, in a knock-off Blue Spirit disguise for security purposes. Zuko sneaks back into the palace right in time to catch a group of assassins sneaking out. They failed to find the Fire Lord and assume he's reinforcements.

Zuko needs to find who ordered a strike on him before they do something stupid, like order a second one. Obviously, the most reasonable thing to do is join the assassins and hope they don’t figure out who he actually is. Obviously. There’s literally no other option.

Feat. Zuko's only two coping mechanisms (mortal peril and improv theater), the world's most incompetent hit team, and another knock-off Blue Spirit who's determined to prove this "Li" isn't who he says he is.

Kindred Spirits (sent from my iphone) by Duckduck_Scribblerswan (Caellie_E_and_Vaye_R)

Part 2 of a little bit of monicker in my life (Zuko has too many secret identi-teas)

Zuko just wanted to take a breather after a stressful political summit in the Earth Kingdom. Unfortunately, some passerby with good eyesight spotted him entering an apartment through the door as Li and leaving through the window as the Blue Spirit, right before he left for the Fire Nation. The Earth Kingdom puts two and two together and, appropriately, gets four: the Blue Spirit has kidnapped Li, and presumably the other Fire Nation refugees who have been disappearing across Ba Sing Se. They must save Li and bring the Blue Spirit to justice!

Unwilling to reveal himself as either the Blue Spirit, wanted in both the Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom for treason and petty larceny, or Li, who'll draw attention to his uncle's teahouse, Zuko does the next most reasonable thing: he panics.

Meanwhile, Mai, Suki, and Toph are busy investigating who's really at fault for the disappearances of these refugees, King Kuei has realized he can get away with some truly ridiculous antics as king, and the newspapers are getting suspicious of how protective Fire Lord Zuko is of these two random people he apparently picked up in Ba Sing Se. What's up with that, anyway?

Relieved, with honors by redrobin1989

A Fire Lord’s duty is to his people; Zuko seeks out the last Fire Nation soldiers of the Hundred Year War to send them home.

ASYLUM by asfearlessasamango 

If Zuko was Azula, trapped in a golden palace with no family but Fire Lord Ozai for years. If Zuko was Azula, now trapped in a marble asylum with no way out that he can see. If Sokka visited. And the complications of a whole world followed.

DC/ Danny Phantom Crossover

Wanted: Dead and Alive by Astereae

“Hey, I do I... Do I know you?” Danny asks, a hand coming up to brush something off Tim’s cheek. “No,” Tim says. “We haven’t met.” “Oh, no, I do.” Danny says, and he smiles, teeth white and sharp. “You’re that guy who rearranged my guts!” Rearranged his- Tim glances at the knotted scars on the boy’s abdomen. He can see the shine and shadow of haphazard stitches that weren’t meant to hold forever, that tore and healed over. His- This- “WHAT!?” Nightwing shouts, equal parts confused and delighted. Tim’s fucked.

OR: Danny Fenton's been in GIW captivity for 4 months.

Tim Drake gets kidnapped by the GIW one Tuesday evening in May.

Considering how many of the Bats and the Birds have died and come back to life, it was only a matter of time for some people interested in the afterlife to come poking around. The detectives can't seem to uncover any information about the mysterious white vans, however.

And they keep losing the mysterious boy who seems to be the one person in Gotham to know anything at all.

DC

it's a long climb up the dusty mountain by whitegeraniums (puertoricansuperman) 

"The mission went," Dick echoes, a faint smile on his face. He's still in Bruce's arms, though he could easily escape if he wanted to. Something warm kindles deep, deep in Bruce's chest. Then he thinks of the other Dick, tense as a wire in his arms, shuddering at his touch.

"He had children." He says it without thinking. Dick's expression darkens. He knows where Bruce went tonight, and Bruce watches him piece together the implications of alternate dimension and evil Batman and children.

Or: When you've hit rock bottom, the only place left to go is up.

Star Wars

Misunderstanding Master by bgyeetusthefetus

“A beer please,” Obi-Wan said, his voice barely rising above the din. He placed the credits on the bar, his fingers shaking slightly as he did so./

The bartender looked down at him with a frown, his brows furrowing as he took in Obi-Wan's thin frame. “How old are you, kid?”

Obi-Wan shifted uneasily, suddenly aware of the attention he was drawing from the patrons around him. “It’s not for me,” he replied quickly, his voice steady despite the tremor in his fingers. “I’m just fetching it for my Master.”

Master is a bit of a loaded word in the wider galaxy.

The Goblin Emperor

Date With The Night by DontStopHerNow

Csethiro and Csevet conspire to give Maia a night outside the Alcethmeret.

Unfortunately, when Beshelar finds out, they have a lot of explaining to do.

queen of peace by astardanced

Csethiro broke abruptly free of the pack and came sweeping towards him with hands outstretched, probably hoping to do damage control.

“Serenity,” she said, ignoring her father, who seemed to be wanting to prompt her like a conductor. “We are honoured to have you here.”

Maia had very little experience with the specific social mortifications of an embarrassing family— his own having simply chosen to forget he existed— and it wouldn’t have been fair to make a judgement, but there was already an undeniable tinge of the ridiculous to the entire affair.

(Awkward dinners are part and parcel of the Emperor's role... but the Ceredada really are spectacularly embarrassing.)

The Sunshine Court (AFTG series)

i'm not the same as i was by perchancetosleep

The imminent return to Evermore has him jumping at shadows, and he is already at the end of his rope. Every ounce of energy every single day goes to pretending to be what is required of him—he has to override years of training (away, not towards) to perform adequately on the court, to uphold the Trojan standard, and he has to pretend that while he does it he is a functioning human and not simply a discarded toy too broken to be played with anymore.

It’s why he spent his time in Palmetto when he could walk watching every single Trojans interview and game he could, so he could memorize their speeches and their strategies and their game play so that he would not be a burden. Jean knows what he owes his new masters. And he will not fail.

(Or, Jean tries to fake it until he makes it at USC)

oh i was raised on little light by perchancetosleep

On the third Thursday of every month, Jean walks seven miles across town to visit his sister.

This is the deal that he’s struck with his sister’s foster—no, adoptive now—family. They used to claim that he could visit whenever he wanted, and it used to be Jean’s ability to sneak out of the Moriyama’s home that limited the frequency, but of course the Master had figured out where he was going, and now for years they’ve had him in their ear, telling them how Jean is unstable and disruptive and getting into fights and doing drugs, and of course they don’t want Elodie around that. She’s had a hard enough life as it is, and her good-for-nothing brother is just going to bring trouble and pain. But that won’t stop Jean from showing up, and so this is the deal that he had to make.

Jean will take whatever time he can get.

please i've been on my knees, change the prophecy by perchancetosleep

He can almost pretend, sitting in a warm house at the tiny kitchen table listening to Elodie talk about her dance lessons, that everything is normal. He can pretend that he can stay, that Elodie and him were never separated, and that everything is normal and he is good and he will get to keep this. But Jean had died in that fucking basement years ago, and he’s getting tired of forcing his body to keep going. Sure, Kevin had found a way out and made it to college and made a life, but he had a father waiting for him on the outside.

All Jean has waiting for him at home is a set of guardians that are going to be pissed off that he’s failing chemistry and that he didn’t do his chores and that he’s alive.

James Bond

Begin Again by Snoweylily

M held out the file in her hand and Q automatically took it. “It needs the new Quartermaster’s signature”. The reminder of the Major’s death, the kindly old beta who saw him for him, brought tears to his eyes, and he desperately hoped that the smoke would hide it. “... Okay. Who do I give it to?” “It’s quite a few years ahead of schedule, and quite frankly I’m not even sure if it’s going to work, but Boothroyd always spoke highly of you and you are one of the very few TSS workers still remaining. I’ve spoken to R, the only survivor with seniority over you, and she is quite adamant to remain in her current position with your approval... Which leaves you”. M held out a pen. “Quartermaster”.

Or, “I don’t just have one alpha”. Q grinned, bloody and feral. “I have nine. They’re called the double-0 program; perhaps you’ve heard of them?”

Red, White & Blue

darling, be gentle by SkyGem

In the time that he’s been dating Henry, Alex has been on the receiving end of no less than four shovel talks.

Or.

Okay.

That number may vary, depending on what exactly counts as a shovel talk.

Marvel

Intentions by MellarkandArt

“You’re just- you’re a really great kid and-“

“Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered, suddenly feeling very, very sick.

“Mhm?” Mr. Stark hummed, patting his knee.

“I- I don’t think I can do this. I’ve tried really hard to m-make myself want it, b-but I just don’t. I know you- but I can’t. I just can’t.”

Mr. Stark removed his hand and looked at Peter questioningly. “What are you talking about?”

Peter drew in a shaky breath, feeling the burn as tears fell down his cheeks. “I know you want me to be your- your- I don’t know, but I just can’t be that for someone again, it’s so- so much, and you’re married, you have a daughter, and it’s- I’m sorry. It’s just, it’s too- and I don’t even like you like that, I- I’m sorry.”

Now he’d done it, now Mr. Stark would be looking at him with a heartbroken expression, hurt and betrayed and…

Peter looked up at the man only to see nothing but shock and confusion on his features.

“Peter… Do you think that I have… romantic feelings for you?”

OR: Sometimes people’s intentions aren’t always clear, and Peter has been burnt often enough to know not to play with fire. Irondad, NOT ST*RKER, I promise!!

Stranger Things

Shovel Talks by unkreativstermensch (+ podfic)

“Oh,” Steve says. Then again, “oh,” a little quieter. His expression changes; from confusion to something pained almost. “Mr Munson, I don’t…” he takes a deep breath, his voice a little shaky as he continues. “I don’t think he…I don’t think he likes me like that.”

He doesn’t say “it’s not like that.” Neither does he say “I’m not like that.”

That’s the first thing Wayne notices.

or: Wayne decides to give Steve the shovel talk, only to realize he might not be the one needing one

King Falls AM

i can tell that we are gonna be friends by ace8013, flashsideways 

Part 1 of when the radio lights came on (This entire series would be on this round up if it wasn't so damn long)

“I’m graduating this week and I know this is weird and that I met you like a few days ago but… They like, give you tickets? And I don’t know who to invite.” Sammy blinks. “Oh,” he says. “Is this- are you inviting me to your high-school graduation?”

or, Ben graduates from college on May 13, 2015.

to a given standard of normal by neversaydie

Part 5 of cock it and pull it (This series too!!)

The first couple of weeks are… difficult.

Some things are the same. The Jack Sammy remembers sitting across the desk from him in their dingy college radio studio, rambling about the possibility that the math building was haunted; the guy who pushed him into any risky broom closet or empty office he could find to make out, because he was always an adrenaline junkie even if it gave Sammy a heart attack; the Jack who roasted Sammy for his dad jokes even though his were quantifiably worse - he's still there. Mostly intact.

Other things… other things have changed.

[Jack and Sammy start building a life after the void]

the only hoax i believe in by taizi 

“Sammy,” Ben says. “You gotta eat.”

Sammy opens his eyes. He isn’t hungry, but he pushes himself upright anyway. 

“You better not have tried cooking again,” he says, aiming for light-hearted, angling for a smile. 

He nails it. Ben’s eyes go bright and he scoots off the bed with a grin. Not so much fooled as willing to play along, grateful for the semblance of normalcy. 

Fake it till you break it, Sammy thinks with the same grim determination that got him through all of high school, and all of college, and every second of every miserable day without Jack and before Ben. 

He gets out of bed. 

Wish You All The Best by FoxGlade

“This is gonna sound like a stupid question,” Ben says suddenly, “but what year is it?”

Well, Ben has said stupider things. “2018,” Sammy answers. Ben looks to Jack, who looks to Emily, who narrows her mouth into a thin line.

“That’s… maybe a problem,” she says.

(The Christmas magic of King Falls strikes again, giving Sammy a firsthand account of his own future.)

for a higher love by helloearthlings (everything this author writes would also be in this round up if I could)

“Supreme Court legalized same sex marriage this morning, 5-4.”

Ron could tell in an instant that Sammy already knew; something about him crumpled when Ron said it out loud.

God, the guy was – sad about this? Ron’s quiet suspicion about which way Sammy swung was absolutely confirmed – the straight and narrow of King Falls might be all woe is me over the fact that they didn’t have a monopoly on marriage anymore, but no one looked this wrecked if the decision didn’t affect them personally. The question was why this had put Sammy in some sort of drunken stupor.

[Ron, Sammy, and Pride in King Falls.]

[ofbatsandballads]

pretty little birds

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: suggestive content, reader works at the Iceberg Lounge as a server/dancer/informant for Oz, slight objectification from Oz, reader described as having long hair but no other physical descriptions, slight implication of potential SA (nothing happens, just concern over it)

a/n: been thinking of Jason with a girl who works at the Iceberg Lounge ever since I watched The Batman and saw Selina’s gorgeous self working there. something about her and Bruce’s dynamic was very alluring and I realized how much better it would work with Jason so this was born. might make this a series, might not; who knows? not me! also if you want a nice visual aid for the club, I fully based it off the Gotham Knights version of the lounge.

divider credit: strangergraphics

Jason wasn’t a fan of the Iceberg Lounge. He’d been there plenty of times for missions, for reconnaissance, to beat the shit out of Oswald—it didn’t mean he liked it there. The club was ostentatious, loud and vulgar like everything that went on within it. He always scoffed when he saw it during patrol. An actual iceberg exterior; how corny could Cobblepot get?

He did have to admit that it was nicer inside. The marble floors, balconies, and columns lended an elegance to the place that it didn’t deserve. The neon blues and pinks of the lighting served to disorient, to intoxicate alongside the drinks that were served across the bar and the drugs that were passed behind it. The massive penguin ice sculpture in the center was tacky though. Jason could think of a million better design choices than that.

All this to say that he wasn’t thrilled to be sent to the club per Bruce’s orders of seeing if Oz was still as legit as he claimed. He wasn’t. They all knew it but B needed proof. Jason’s sure by proof Bruce meant that he wanted him to go undercover, but one of the advantages of being Red Hood is that he can go where the other Bats can’t. That distinction is how he finds himself stalking the club from his vantage point in the shadows.

It’s busy tonight. The main floor is crowded with people. Bodies push and pull to the rhythm of the music that blares from the speakers. As tightly crammed as the floor is, the servers still manage to weave through with a practiced grace. They’re all in various states of undress; short skirts, crop tops, some in straight up underwear. Jason recognizes the servers for what Cobblepot intends them to be: a distraction. They’re all young and beautiful—pretty girls and boys that are meant to draw your eye so you don’t see the money and the drugs that pass between their hands.

Jason zeroes in on the two working the floor for any indication of something illegal. Oswald’s been smarter since his last stint in Blackgate. He lets the filth of the city do their deals in his club while he himself is never caught up in it. The argument of “well I didn’t do it” usually wouldn’t hold up legally, but this is Gotham. His eyes track the man first. He’s weaving in and out, laughing with what must be the regulars. He’s charming them, plying them with more and more alcohol to stay longer, to spend more money. He’s not doing anything more than that, though, to Jason’s utmost disappointment. He turns his attention to the girl instead.

The difference between the two of you is so obvious it’s almost amusing. While the guy weaved fluidly through the throng of people like something unseen, the crowd itself seems to part for you. Recognition, some degree of respect, power—that’s what you’ve got over the drunken group of people. He immediately knows that his best bet will be with you. Everything about you echoes the pull you must have in the club. The way you walk, how you smile at the regulars, the drifting of your hands across shoulders and backs and jawlines. It’s even clear in the way you’re dressed. You look like something out of a cabaret show. Pink silk lingerie lined with black lace flowers, black fringe beads that form the idea of a skirt rather than an actual one, and those same beads hanging in alluring arcs across your arms, neck, and chest. You’re dressed up like Penguin’s favorite dream.

You’re also not doing anything illegal. Sure, he’s watched you take money from people, but all you bring back are drinks. He watches for over half an hour, eyes always trailing back to you. Nothing. It’s remarkable how much absolutely nothing he’s seen. His patience is wearing thin. It’s one in the morning and there are better things he could be doing, people he could be helping. But he can’t leave without something for Bruce. He tries to ignore the bile that rises in his throat when he thinks of why he still cares about disappointing him. His eyebrow twitches and he decides suddenly and definitively: fuck it.

So he kicks in Penguin’s office doors.

“Ah, Red Hood. If it ain’t Gotham’s least favorite vigilante,” Oswald mutters past the cigar in his mouth. “Shut the doors behind you, would ya?”

Jason kicks them shut. No one needs to see the bloody mess that Oswald’s going to be in about fifteen minutes.

“Ah ah ah. Before you get any ideas, I would advise you to consider how bad it would be for you to be caught assaulting a reformed citizen of this great city,” Oswald gloats, stubby finger pointing at the camera in the corner.

Fuck. Now Jason has to talk. He hates talking to Cobblepot. It gets you approximately nowhere fast.

“Reformed? We both know you’re full of shit, Oz,” Red Hood taunts.

“I’m on the straight and narrow. Scout’s honor,” Penguin laughs, coughing through the harsh inhale he took of his cigar.

Nowhere. Fast.

“You’re bringing in too much money for that to be true. Your parties aren’t that good, Cobblepot.”

“Eh, you haven’t seen my toys. Most of ‘em come for the pretty little things I keep around.”

“So you’re pimping them out? You see that I can work with,” Hood retorts.

It would make sense, Oz getting his servers into sex work. It’s not the worst thing he could do if they were all willing. And if they weren’t? Well, that gives Jason a nice excuse to finally put a bullet through The Penguin.

“You don’t listen too well, do you? I’m a changed man. People can look at my dolls, but they can’t touch. Everyone loves eye candy,” Oswald says.

The doors open just as Jason considers pulling a gun on Oswald, cameras recording him or not.

“And there’s my favorite. What do ya need, doll?”

Jason watches you saunter in. You move with an almost feline gracefulness. His eyes clock the sway of your hips and the way you toss your hair over your shoulder. Then he watches the way Cobblepot’s pupils dilate as his eyes lock on you. You plant your hands on the desk, bend over as you smile saccharine at the old man sitting behind it. Oh, you’re good. Very good.

“Nothing much. Just that DA wanting his usual,” you say.

Oswald’s eyes rake lecherously over your body. He looks at you like he wants to put you in one of the glass cases that decorate his office. It makes Jason’s stomach turn. Then he pulls a key out from a locked drawer and drops it into your open palm. Now that piques his interest.

“Thanks, Oz,” you say sweetly.

As you straighten up and spin around to leave, Penguin grabs your wrist and yanks you back. He leaves one kiss on the inside of your wrist and that pretty facade cracks. It’s only for a second, so quick that Oswald doesn’t see it. Jason does. Disgust. Pure disgust flashes across your face before it’s replaced by an alluring smile. Your eyes spark with something Jason can’t quite read.

“Mind if I get some too, Ozzie? You know how much I like it,” you ask as you play with the beads that dangle on your chest.

“Sure, doll. Take whatever you want,” Oswald acquiesces.

Your face lights up and you look almost victorious. Then you spin around and head towards the doors. To this point you haven’t acknowledged him, the known vigilante, at all. But just before you leave, you pause right next to him. Jason tries not to flinch as your hand runs up his arm.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed your night here. Next time, feel free to ask for anything you want. Wouldn’t want Oz’s guests to get bored,” you purr.

Your eyes lock with the white lenses of his domino mask and Jason feels the air leave his lungs. You’d seen him. You knew he was there the whole fucking time. And you hadn’t told anyone. If you had, Cobblepot would’ve sent security in guns blazing.

“Have a good night, honey,” you tell him as you waltz out the door.

“See, Hood? Eye candy,” Oz hacks.

Jason follows you. What else was he supposed to do? Oswald gave him nothing. But you? You gave him what felt suspiciously like a lead. Ask for anything you want, you’d said. What else could you think he wanted but proof of Oswald’s lingering corruption? So he follows you. He’s careful this time. Quiet, precise steps that give no indication he’s near. It’s times like these he’s grateful for all the stealth training Bruce made him do as a kid.

He trails behind as you head downstairs. You weave through the maze of corridors until you come to a mahogany door, elaborately carved with floral emblems. It’s got an old brass lock on it that you slot the key into. Jason waits one beat, two, three—then goes through the door where you disappeared.

He finds you inside, crouching in front of an open safe. A rainbow of jewels glitter within. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds—there had to be enough jewelry in there to cover the cost of a couple of Bruce’s tricked out sports cars. You pull a more modest sapphire necklace from the safe and place it into one of the grab bags that guests can take home at the end of the night. So that’s what the DA wanted. You grab a far more ostentatious diamond bracelet and slip it into your bra.

“Think it’s a good idea to steal from your boss?”

You jump. Jason doesn’t want to admit how satisfied he is by that. He was a little worried that he’d lost his touch. You twirl around, eyes locked on the vigilante leaning against the closed door.

“Hmm…when I’ve got him wrapped around my finger? Why not?” you smirk.

You’re brave. He’ll give you that.

“Must really be putting on a show for him if you’re not worried,” he presses.

Your smile drops and your eye twitches in annoyance. He’s hit a nerve. Good.

“A show. That’s all it is. If he’s stupid enough to think it’ll be more than that, that’s his problem,” you bite, tone dripping venom instead of honey.

“Not scared he’ll realize the trick? Or what he’ll do when he does?” Red Hood asks as he fiddles with a knife he keeps in his belt.

He asks with sincerity. It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. You could end up dead. Or worse. Jason’s no stranger to people taking what they want by force, and Oz clearly wants you.

“Oswald’s a coward,” you reply harshly. “He only fucks with people weaker than him. So no, I’m not scared of toying with him. He won’t do a goddamn thing to me.”

Jason cocks his head, sizing you up. A pretty girl in lingerie working in a club thinks she’s stronger than a crime lord. Well, you’re probably not wrong.

“You’re not weak?” he asks mockingly.

But it’s still fun to test your resolve. To your credit and Jason’s surprise, you just grin. A breathy laugh falls from your red lips and Jason can’t help the way his eyes flicker down to look at the curve of them.

“I got this without so much as a fight, didn’t I?” you gloat, grabbing the diamond bracelet and swinging it around your middle finger.

“He let you.”

“Precisely. What exactly are you missing here? He let me. Because he’s a fool. And to let me take this bracelet specifically? Well, he’s just about the village idiot,” you laugh.

Jason sees the bait. His stubbornness almost makes him want to not ask just to spite you. But it’s just too intriguing.

“What’s so special about that bracelet?”

You smile wryly. Jason’s reflexes are the only reason he catches the bracelet as you toss it to him from across the room.

“Oh, I think you’re smart enough to figure that one out yourself, baby,” you purr. “Now get the fuck out.”

Jason does as he’s told. He returns to the cave with no intel beyond a locked room with a safe full of jewels and a diamond bracelet. Imagine his shock when Bruce analyzes the serial markings of the bracelet and finds that it was part of a collection that got robbed from a boutique in the Diamond District. It had been months and they hadn’t found a single piece of jewelry from the robbery. There were no leads on who did it or how. And now one of the most expensive pieces is sitting on the Batcomputer. Jason can guess where the rest are.

“Who gave you this?” Bruce asks skeptically.

Always doubt with the old man.

“A friend. Maybe,” Jason ponders.

Bruce rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Jason grins at how exhausted all his kids make him. It’s a point of pride among them: who can stress out B the most?

“You should figure that out,” Bruce scolds.

“Yeah, I think I will.”

Jason’s suddenly got a very vested interest in the Iceberg Lounge, and he’s going to satiate that curiosity if it kills him again.

[flowersforthemachines]

Some facts about Taash (and also the Lords of Fortune, the Qunari, Dragons and other related things) gathered from the banters

Featuring Shathaan's stories about the Crows!

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Bellara, Davrin, Harding, Lucanis, Emmrich, Neve. I'm also planning a post about just the Lighthouse some time later

About Taash

General: 

Taash gets grumpy if they stay inside for too long

Taash may polish their treasure hoard or clean the dishes (even somebody else's) to get out of their head

When Taash is feeling sad, they ask somebody else about how they are doing, so they can focus on somebody else instead of themselves

Taash doesn’t like talking about their feelings because it makes them sad (Lucanis can relate)

Taash doesn't read books before bed because they have a tendency to stay up past their bedtime to finish the exciting parts

Taash seems to care quite a lot about fibre and digestive health (they are so real for that). For example, they enjoy the smell of coffee but don’t drink it because it’s bad for their guts

Taash drinks alcohol 

Taash once requested Bellara/Lucanis to cook them a demon (the suggestion was disregarded) 

Taash liked Lucanis’s deep-fried peppers 

Taash liked Bellara’s stir-fry 

(If Rook is in romance with Taash) A spirit of devotion appears next to Taash after they enter a relationship

Taash doesn’t want to look for more dragonfire tablets because “they are just more orders”, and they already have enough  

Taash doesn’t kill in cold blood and needs to get angry in order to kill someone

Taash has good taste in gemstones, knowing which colours match which (based on the banters where they recommend gemstones for Emmrich’s lich helmet). They say it’s a Lord of Fortune thing, they have to know how to make gems look good 

Taash isn’t afraid of the Fade, because the spirits there mind their own business and don’t try to possess anyone (or anything) 

Taash thinks that even if the Nevarrans almost brought their dragons to extinction, they will still come back eventually

Taash is extremely excited to hear that Morrigan can (potentially) turn into a dragon and wants to ask her about it next time they meet 

Taash doesn’t mind finding no loot when hunting dragons because as long as you survived an encounter with a dragon, you have a new story to tell 

Taash doesn't think of dragons as monsters since they are a natural part of the world and have been around longer than anyone else

On fire-breathing: 

Taash started breathing fire when they were a toddler

Taash needs to eat greens after breathing fire, or they get headaches 

According to healers, fire breathing hurts Taash’s lungs

Taash accidentally set their first female partner’s hair on fire during their first sex

Taash once tried to cook with their dragon breath and accidentally melted a pot and set the kitchen on fire 

On Taash’s sense of smell:  

Taash got their heightened sense of smell after they got sick and couldn't breathe through the nose for a couple of months. After they recovered they could suddenly smell everything

Tassh can smell when someone is ovulating. They can also smell who had been in the room before them, and who is hungover 

Taash could also tell Neve got together with Rook or Lucanis from the smell even before anybody told them

To Taash, Minrathous smells rainy and ‘like rich people hurting poor people’

Early life and the relationship with Shathann: 

Taash learnt to swim before they learnt to walk

Shathann sometimes wouldn't let Taash play/go swimming until they finished their studies (like being able to tell the difference between some pottery shards)

Shathann gifted Taash axes during one of the gift-giving holidays when they were younger. They were simple kindling choppers, but Shathann helped decorate them to make them look like Qunari weapons. During a conversation with Bellara, Taash realises that may be the reason they are still using axes to this day

Axes are also good at lodging between dragon scales and allows them to climb up

Taash grew up poor, though they didn’t realise it because Shathann always made sure they had enough food, even at her expense (like pretending she didn’t want to eat because “Rivaini food is too rich for her”)

Taash spent the money they made from their first job as Lord of Fortune on buying Shathaan a dress. Shathann didn’t appreciate it, instead urging Taash to buy themselves boots or some other useful things 

Shathann hated apples because their skin would get stuck in her teeth (“Evataash, that fruit is stupid!”)

If Taash chooses to pursue Rivaini culture and wear Shathann’s horn as jewellery, they have a blacksmith do runes in the old Qunari language along the edges and get a Seer to bless it

Shathann stopped telling stories about the Crows after Taash once climbed on the roof to play as a Crow

The things Shathann taught Taash about the Crows:

Antivan Crows make themselves invisible to dragons by imitating the dragon's shadow

Antivan Crows coat the beaks of actual crows with poison so that the crows can kill people by pecking

Antivan Crows can slow down their breathing until they become invisible

Antivan Crows come through houses at night and kill children who aren’t in bed

Antivan Crows can do a special move that stops their enemy's heart

Antivan Crows can strangle a Qunari with their own dar-saam (but only if it’s tied incorrectly)

Relationships with companions: 

Bellara gives Taash advice on cooking dinner for their mother

Davrin teaches Taash to use buckets filled with water and sand for lifting

Taash has never flown a kite before and asks Harding to teach them

Harding's mother sends Taash a letter with homemade candies after Shathann’s death, calling it “a hug from afar” (Taash appreciated the gesture and liked the candy) 

(If Rook is in romance with Taash) Taash asks Lucanis about what Rook likes to eat, and Lucanis offers to teach them how to make coffee/tea/chiocolata calda 

Taash isn’t scared of Spite, and even convinces (or more like intimidates) him not to talk about how other people smell without their permission

Lucanis agrees to teach Taash how to kill targets with flair (with varying degrees of success when it comes to cool one-liners) and then plans to ask Teia to make a Crow cape just for them (Taash is very excited about it, as they love crow capes)

Taash insists Neve should get some trophy from Aelia (a ring, or an amulet with her name) to show everyone she beat her, and doesn’t understand why Neve isn’t interested in something like that 

Taash offers their blood to Neve for blood magic purposes (Neve doesn’t take up the offer)

Taash thinks Neve’s ‘dresses’ are pretty

Taash thinks nobody can go toe-to-toe in magic with Neve

Taash offers to hook Neve up with their jeweller to get her a discount (in case she wants a new leg) because “Neve deserves nice things”

Lords of Fortune:

Lords of Fortune have a drunk game where they throw a goblet made from fool’s gold into the water for others to find. Whoever finds it gets free drinks for the rest of the night. The game has only one rule: no punching in the junk

There is also another drunk game where drunk Lords jump off a giant cliff. The only rule is not to hit the water face-first

Even if those are “drunk games”, you can participate in them sober, as long as you are willing to be as stupid as the drunk people

The Lords of Fortune pick new jobs by Isabela throwing daggers at a map or racing nugs (the winner picks the job - could be its owner, or the nug itself)

The lords used to blindfold Mateo (the faction merchant) and spin him around in circles until he tripped on something like a map. They stopped doing that because a Seer told them to quit (the whole thing gave Mateo headaches) 

After Shathann is gone, Taash is in charge of appraising Qunari artifacts for the Lords until they find a better expert

The Lords of Fortune work with a Dalish clan keeper Shivanas (Taash calls them ‘Shiv’) who appraises artefacts for them (tells them what’s okay to sell and not to sell etc.) 

After losing his hand, a Lord named Bernst got a lock-pick hand prosthetic decorated with gems

About Dragons:

Different breeds of dragons can mate and produce offspring. That’s how ice- and lightning-breathing dragons came about

The muscles of dragon wings’ are vulnerable behind. Another weakness is the underbelly

Fighting Dragons is all about making them come to you, either by having them see you as a threat (so they come down to assert dominance) or prey (so they come down to eat you) 

There is a dragon called Wildervale Spitter, which can breathe fire or poison gas. The “fire breath” is actually just poison that burns when the dragon breathes. Most dragons always ignite their breath. The Spitter's special for being able to choose whether to light it up.

Dragons have an extra eyelid that they shut while breathing fire in order to protect their eyes

About Qunari etc.:

Eb-ketarra means something like “growing memories.” When you graft someone’s horn onto yours, you also add their strength to yourself

Qunari food uses a lot of oil for frying

Qunari have a much better sense of smell than humans

Qunari can bury their dead with large jars inlaid with a flame pattern. It’s called ‘issalatar’ and is empty inside, representing that the deceased’s body is also empty now that their spirit is gone

The Rivaini armada can hold its own against the Antaam fleet, but only in good weather. They can’t match the Antaam in firepower, but they can outsail them

Isabela is apparently still a captain of the Siren’s Call 

[rivalsispunk]

The Interview (Chapter 1 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, (eventual) smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), more warnings added per chapter

Word count: 3.1k

Author’s note: Hello! Long time reader, first time poster! Please be kind but also let me know what you think! Proof read but probs still some mistakes. Not entirely canon, Declan still works for Corinium, Maud has disappeared to god knows where and the rest, well, you’ll have to read to find out :)

Chapter One: The Interview

You were going to positively kill Taggie once you returned to the Cotswolds. Only she, your closest friend since you relocated to the country after finishing your university degree six months ago, could convince you to cut your gap year short in favour of interviewing for a personal assistant job at Corinium. And, for her father, Declan O’Hara, no less.

“Oh, go on!” Taggie had pleaded with you over The Priory’s kitchen counter. “I know you’re getting bored out here. You can’t spend all of your days sitting around here, helping me peel the shite out of prawns for dinner parties.”

“Why not?” You plucked a grape from the fruit platter she’d just finished assembling for an event at Freddie and Valerie Jones’ that evening. “I happen to like spending all my time with you. Even if it does mean peeling shite out of crustaceans.” You eyed your friend with faux suspicion. “Are you getting sick of me already?”

“Of course not! I just think you’d be grand at it, that’s all, what with your journalism degree and all,” Taggie explained. “You’ve heard Daddy when he comes home. Always complaining about the sorts he’s had to interview. Plus, he already knows you. That’s ought to win you some points right there.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be all bad,” you confessed, mulling the opportunity over as you chewed through another handful of grapes. It would look amazing on your resume and you’d have a foot in the door at one of the biggest TV networks in the United Kingdom. Plus, it wouldn’t kill you to have a front row seat to Declan in all his glory every single day. You would never mention it to Taggie, but you fancied her dad a rather handsome sod.

“Say you’ll do it. At the very least, for me?” Taggie bat her thick eyelashes at you.

“Fine,” you eventually relented, a smile cracking over your face at the new possibility. “I’ll go in for an interview, but no promises. And I don’t want you convincing him of me either! I want to get this job on my own merit, okay?”

“Convince Daddy of you? Please, he already adores you.” The sentiment spread fire through your chest. Tag rounded the kitchen bench and grabbed you by the hand. “Now let’s find you an outfit! Mummy ought to have left something halfway suitable behind.”

Taggie nor Declan had said much about their absentee matriarch Maud in the recent weeks since she fled the countryside after yet another explosive argument between her and her husband. You knew better than to ask, but you could tell by the way Taggie’s shoulders sagged at the sight of her mother’s partially empty closet that her absence had a somber affect on her.

You’d only been into the main bedroom of The Priory once before, when the room was overtaken by Maud’s florally perfumes and extravagant evening gowns. This time, however, the space was so intrinsically Declan; all heady cedarwood and whisky and smoke. Shirts with patterns of plaid and tartan as well as numerous odd, natural-coloured socks were peppered across armchairs and vanities, while a stack of memoirs sat on his bedside with a full ashtray perched atop. Your heart swelled, and sunk simultaneously, at the thought of Declan being sat up here alone at night, or early of a morning, thumbing through a book while taking slow drags of his cigarette as he let himself be consumed by a life far different to the one he was currently living.

“How about this?” Taggie’s voice ripped through your daydream, forcing you away from thoughts of her father. You peered at the oatmeal-coloured dress she had retrieved from the closet, surprised that Maud owned something so…brown. You’d always known her to wear jewel tones that complimented her flaming red hair. You shook your head, and thus began a cycle of Taggie suggesting an outfit and you shooting it down. Eventually, you agreed to Taggie swapping out your creature comfort jeans and Wham! T-shirt for an old black pencil skirt that you were convinced had given you hives from the way your legs hadn’t stopped itching since you put it on, as well as a silky fuchsia blouse that stretched a little too tight over your breasts. While your friend had done a good job at assuring you that you’d fit right in at the Corinium offices, you weren’t as convinced.

The receptionists, all in latest season fashion with not a hair out of place, had looked you up and down as soon as you stepped foot in the marble foyer, snickering behind your back about your fashion fauxpas once you’d checked in. Sarah Stratton wasn’t as covert with her judgement. As you sat outside Declan’s office, waiting to be called in, Sarah outwardly guffawed when she spotted you across the floor. You’d met her several times in passing at parties and Corinium events you’d previously attended as Taggie’s plus one, and for the most part, she’d kept her observations to herself. But now, as her red heels clip across the carpet, her gaze set right on you with her matching rouge lips upturned. “I would never have expected to see you here, darling!” she coos down at you, reaching for a strand of hair that has slipped in front of your shoulder. “And playing dress ups, no less!” Another laugh tinkers out of her as she twirls your hair around her finger. “Interviewing for the assistant job with Declan, hm?”

You nod with a taut smile and try not to let her comment about you looking god-awfully out of place get to you. Sarah’s eyes shift to Declan’s closed mahogany door and tuts. “Well, good luck, sweetheart. Seems like you’ll need it with the way the rest of those interviews have panned out.”

“Oh, hop off it, Sarah!” an unmistakingly Irish voice barks from your left. Sarah jolts upright and despite the embarrassment that tinges her cheeks pink, still manages throw a sultry smile in Declan’s direction. Your posture matches her pin-straight stature as you side-eye his office. It hadn’t occurred to you that he wasn’t inside, preparing for your interview the way you had been all morning. You’d crafted your pitch of yourself perfectly, complete with ideas and suggestions for potential guests for Declan’s show, anything to set you apart, make you seem even a fraction less useless that the interviewees that came before you. “Don’t you have anything better to do? Where’s James?” he questions Sarah, alluding to the very common knowledge that she and her co-host James Vereker are having an affair. Declan makes a show of raking through his moustache - god, that moustache - then adds with a smirk, “James and better. Probably not two words that should be in the same sentence, eh?” Sarah’s smile plateaus at that, and that stiff upper-lip culture she was dying to marry into takes its place.

“I’m sure I can make myself busy, Declan. Got a show to prepare and all that. Ciao!” She doesn’t look at you again and you’re grateful that Declan starts to speak before you bumblefuck your way through the silence.

“Ciao,” he repeats once Sarah’s out of earshot . “Doubt that leech of a woman’s ever had a decent carbonara, let alone stepped foot in Italy.” he says, offering you the first genuine smile you’ve received all day. “Let’s get to it, shall we?” He swings open his office door and holds an arm out. “After you, love.”

“Thanks.”

You shuffle into the room ahead of him, completely oblivious to the way Declan’s eyes are trained on your arse in a skirt that’s familiar to him, but he’s unsure how. Right now, however, he doesn’t care, because it fits your body so magnificently, as if it were made for you. He fights to ignore the dull throb beneath his trousers while he watches you sit, the black fabric pushed to its limits as it stretches across the globes of your arse.

God, has she always been so… womanly? Declan wonders, then immediately chastises himself for leering so openly at his daughter’s best friend. Yes, she was a few good years older than Taggie, and always a beautiful girl, but he was glad his middle child had finally made a friend amid the shitshow that was the move to the country and his crumbling marriage to Maud. He didn’t need to muddy the waters with pervacious thoughts about the young lass’ curves. If only she’d shown up to his office in her usual ripped jeans and George Michael-adorned tees.

“Everything okay, Mr O’Hara? Should I sit somewhere else?” you ask when you notice Declan frozen in the doorway with a furrow etched in his brow. You immediately start second-guessing yourself and wonder if this was a bad idea after all. You can only imagine everyone else who lost out on this job before you faced that same expression. He shakes his head at you, at himself, then busies himself with straightening his maroon tie as he moves to sit behind his desk. You shift in your seat, trying to thwart of the lingering itch Maud’s skirt has buried into the back of your thigh. You think if you can wriggle just so, you can ward it off for at least the main portion of the interview. While you think your subtle movements go unnoticed by Declan because he’s perusing your resume - impressive, he’d earlier noted in black pen beside details of your internship at The Times - he’s been clocked onto your behaviour since he’d laid eyes on you across the office. Scared shitless, and he doesn’t half know that Sarah’s sneaky comments only added to it, thanks to the way you’re fidgeting with that damned skirt mere metres away from him. If Declan had any less sense in him, any less dignity, he’d have half the mind to tear it straight from your body. Of course, he decides against it and tries a less barbaric approach to settle your nerves.

“No band t-shirt today?”

Now it’s your turn for your brows to knit together. “I’m sorry?” Declan nudges his head in the general direction of your chest and your chin dips in response to see what he’s referring to. There, your vision is flanked with fluorescent pink and a tinge of flesh where the silky material doesn’t quite stretch to cover your breasts between buttons, and you silently curse Taggie for allowing you to wear something so borderline revealing at her father’s workplace. Plus, you were surprised he’d even noticed your usual attire.

“I thought it was best I grow up a bit in the clothing department if I were to go for a job at Corinium,” you confess. Declan doesn’t miss the way the swell of your breasts arch against your shirt when you take a deep breath and fold your arms across yourself. “But now I’m thinking the bright pink was a mistake.”

You peer across the expansive wooden desk expectantly, and Declan pitches his hands up in mock surrender. “Don’t ask me! Fashion, clearly, is not my strong suit. All I know is, according to my girls, leaving the house with ladders in your tights is a big no-no unless you’re a gothic or Winona Ryder.”

You chuckle at that, even more so for knowing that his youngest daughter, Caitlin, would be all for half-shredded tights.

Declan looks coy as he sips from his tea. “But if it counts for anything, you look lovely.”

“Well, I should hope you think so. These are your wife’s clothes, after all.” Your confession elicits a splutter from the otherwise put together man in front of you. Tea spouts from his lips across the desk, marring your resume and any other papers with brown stains. You immediately spring into action, scanning the room for a towel, handkerchief, anything that could mop up the mess.

“Sorry, love,” Declan says quietly, thumping a fist against his chest. “Wrong pipe.”

That’s when you see it, a pocket square the same colour as his tie poking from his breast pocket. Without thinking, you lurch across Declan’s desk and pluck it from its resting place, and begin soaking up the liquid. Declan ought to help you, it’s his mess after all, but he’s frozen at the view you’ve awarded him as you lean over. Your cleavage fights against the V cut of Maud’s blouse and Declan can just make out the ripple of a black lace bra below the neckline. He can’t even imagine Maud in that outfit. Right now it’s all so you. His cock stirs at the sight and he can’t help the pained groan that bubbles up his throat.

“Stop,” he breathes in barely a whisper. You don’t, of course, you can’t hear him, and you keep wiping at the desk, your breasts bouncing with every swipe up and down.

“Christ, girl, stop it!” Declan explodes, bolting up from his chair. Thankfully, the height of his desk hides his growing bulge, but it doesn’t matter. The look of pure fear painting your face has the same effect as a cold shower. You sink back into your seat and begin spluttering apologies, that you shouldn’t have used his pocket square, that you were out of line and another dozen variations of sorry, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Declan mirrors you by returning to his chair, raking a hand over his face.

“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he states eventually. “I don’t give a dying rats arse about the pocket square. It’s just… I’m a bloody fool just standing here while you clean up after me. I can’t have you doing that. You don’t even work for me.”

Despite the shock of Declan’s outburst, you manage to muster up a bit of cheek in response. “I don’t even work for you yet,” you correct him.

Your confidence juts Declan’s eyebrows to his curly hairline and a grin cracks across his face. “Cocky little thing, aren’t ya? Go on then.. tell me why I should hire you.”

You spend the next twenty minutes talking Declan through your university studies and experience, the tension from earlier already forgotten. When Declan mentions he once worked with your media law professor, the conversation detours into the pair of you sharing stories about your experiences with the man, far too senile and set in his ways to do the younger generation any good. The rest of the interview carries on like that, you and Declan laughing and exchanging anecdotes like two friends in the pub rather than an employer vetting a potential employee. You’re about to pitch the idea of getting Farah Fawcett on Declan’s show when the office door thumps open to reveal Corinium’s managing director, Tony Baddingham, at its entryway.

“O’Hara! If you’re done with giggling like a little schoolgirl down here, we’ve got a production meeting to get to,” he bites, barely glancing in your direction. You don’t miss the roll of Declan’s tawny eyes as he waves Tony off.

“Alright, Tony. Give me five, I’m just finishing up here,” he says before introducing you by name.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Baddingham,” you tell him, standing to shake his hand. He doesn’t properly look at you until your palms meet, and your spine stiffens when his beady eyes rake over you.

“One of Declan’s assistant candidates, I presume?” he wonders aloud.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, you’re far prettier than some of the other trolls we’ve had roll through here recently.”

“Tony,” Declan warns. The last thing he wants is another man leering at you like you’re a rite of passage for them.

“Right, well, lovely to meet you,” Tony clasps his other hand over the top of yours, careening his neck so he’s at your eye level. “Hope to see you around here. You’ll definitely be a much-appreciated addition.”

Offering a tight-lipped smile, you reserve the urge bawk in his face. You’ve worked with enough Tony Baddinghams to know his interest in you has nothing to do with your professional ability and everything to do with aesthetics. Fucking men.

For the most part, they sickened you and Declan all the same, but for the latter, he was mainly sickened with himself for wanting to pummel Baddingham for the way he was eye-fucking you. But who was he to talk? He’d been doing the exact same thing just minutes earlier.

When Tony leaves the office, he leaves the door ajar, a reminder that Declan is expected elsewhere. You’re about to ask Declan if Tony is always so…Tony, but he’s already got his briefcase in hand and is ushering you towards the door. “I have to admit, I was surprised when Taggie said you wanted to interview for this position, with you being on a gap year and all,” he confessed as you strolled out onto the office floor. “But you know your stuff. You’re bloody intelligent. Passionate. That’s rare these days.”

“Thank you, Mr O’Hara.”

“Please, call me Declan. Here, and at The Priory. Just Declan,” he smiles and you return it.

“Alright, then. Declan.”

“I’ve got to get going, but I’ll let you know about the job. There’s a couple more interviews on the books in the next few days, I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course.”

Declan gives you a curt nod, and you start for the elevator, but you barely make it five steps before he calls you back.

“For what it’s worth, I’d be lucky to have ya here. And like I said, you look great, but I prefer the jeans and t-shirts. They’re much more…you.”

His admission sends your heart thrumming against your ribcage, and red creeps up your neck and onto your cheeks. “Thank you, Mr O’Ha- Declan,” you correct yourself. “Thank you, Declan. See you around.” You turn on your patent black heel, leaving Declan standing there with an image that’s bound to haunt him for nights to come: you in that fucking skirt.

Please let me know if you enjoyed this, and if you’re feeling generous, a lil’ reblog won’t go astray <3

[potatoplace]

A Place In This World

The Afterthought: Chapter 5 | series masterlist

ACOTAR x Archeron!Reader

chapter 4 | chapter 6 | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: Working at Sevenda's is a welcome escape from the River House, where you've become little more than a ghost after Starfall.

Warnings: toxic family, depression, self deprecating thoughts (none of them are too terrible this chapter)

Words: ~8.4k

Author's Note: I never seem to get as far in the plot as I want to in every update... This chapter isn't too crazy exciting, but there's some sweet moments and a little bit of angst with the sisters. I hope you all enjoy this update! Title is of course from Miss Swift 🫶

18+ only pls

🤍🤍💔🤍🤍

Your neck was stiff when you came to, the beginnings of the morning sun spilling across your face.

The ground outside was glistening with a fresh layer of snow, nearly untouched at this time in the morning. It seemed even the early risers had chosen to sleep in today, after the revelry of Starfall last night.

You, however, wouldn't stay asleep any longer. Not with the cold numbness slithering through your chest, curling itself around your heart, your lungs, your ribs. An absent hand came to rub at your chest, to bring some semblance of life into your hollow heart once more.

No such luck.

A glance at the clock that had recently been placed above your bedroom door told you that it was half past six.

That gave you two and a half hours to bathe, drink tea, possibly eat something, dress, and make your way to Sevenda's.

You did just that, sinking down into hot water, a sigh leaving your lips as your body soaked in the heat. You could almost pretend you felt alive.

After forcing yourself from the bath, you dressed in a simple, dark green dress. It was made of cozy wool, and the long sleeves were easily pushed up to make whatever work Sevenda would give you easier. It fit you loosely and reached to just above the tops of your feet, something you were grateful for after last night.

The feel of all those males' eyes on you... It was unsettling then, and unsettling to think about now. You could hardly imagine wanting to be looked at like that by someone you actually liked, let alone by strangers... How could Feyre stand it? How could anyone stand it? You supposed each person was different...

You shook your head, clearing those thoughts away. No need to contemplate how inexperienced you are in the romantic world, despite what Nesta claims.

Quietly, you crept downstairs, keeping an ear out for anyone who might be awake, teapot in hand. Thankfully, no one was in the kitchen yet, and you were able to prepare a pot of tea with no interruptions. Safely ensconced in your room again, you sipped at the lovely orange and cinnamon tea you had made.

As you stared out at the still-sleeping city, your mind drifted to last night. How Feyre had had no time for you, and Mor hadn't appeared while you had been in the House of Wind. Feyre had been crowded by the citizens of her city, that was understandable... Mor not showing up worried you though, but you were sure there was an explanation. And your other sisters and their mates, well, you hadn't believed they would interact with you anyways.

Azriel had been... Surprising. Caring. Sweet, almost. Him noticing that you had left wasn't something you had even considered, with how close he had been with the pretty redheaded friend of Nesta's. And... You had become accustomed to not having your absence noticed.

Your eyes closed for a moment, a wave of sadness washing over you.

You still felt so alone.

The minutes continued ticking past as you stared blankly out the window, sipping on your tea when you remembered to.

Soon enough, it was fifteen minutes until nine, and you peeled yourself out of the armchair. Boots first, then the short cloak, scarf, and mittens Azriel had given you for Solstice- also the ones that he had draped around you last night in the cold.

You wondered how he had gotten them...

You just barely remembered to grab the cup that Sevenda had lent to you before you snuck out of the River House, into the snowy city.

The walk to Sevenda's was peaceful, quiet. Most citizens of Velaris seemed to still be sleeping, and the blanket of snow on the ground muffled everything. The silence of the normally bustling city matched the feeling in your heart.

Empty. Cold. Quiet.

Sevenda's was warm already, the smell of spices lingering pleasantly in the air when you pushed your way in through the door.

"Ah, Y/N! Lovely to see that you decided to come in," Sevenda's warm voice greeted you from the left, a hand waved in greeting.

"It's nice to see you too, Sevenda. And thank you, again. I really appreciate the offer. I brought back your cup," you added, raising your hand to show it.

"Thank you, dear," Sevenda said, taking said cup from your hands. "Would you like to get started?"

You nodded your head, and let the fae lead you to the back of the restaurant, into the kitchens. It was large, with multiple shiny, silver stoves along the back wall, three matching cold boxes, a wall completely taken up by pots, pans, anything that you would need to cook. There was also counter space galore, with two other fae already working dough in the far corner.

"For today, I'm going to see how you do with prep work, mainly with fruits, vegetables, and meats. If you do well, I'll keep you on full time, if you'd like," Sevenda said, her words sparking a bit of hope in your chest.

Chopping, dicing, cutting. You could do that.

"That sounds perfect, Sevenda. Thank you for giving me this chance."

Sevenda smiled warmly at you, and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Of course, dear. Now... Are you feeling alright?" She asked more quietly, a concerned look in her eyes.

You nodded. Even though you weren't, you didn't want to rehash last night's events. "Yes, thank you." You even shot her a smile that you hoped was at least half-convincing, relieved when she returned the expression. "What should I start with?"

"First, you'll need an apron and to wash your hands," Sevenda said, leading you to the large sink, which conviently had a plethora of aprons hanging on hooks next to it.

You did as she asked, scrubbing your hands under hot water halfway up your forearm, dress sleeves already pushed up to your elbows. You tied a dark blue apron around your neck and waist, and faced Sevenda, who was pulling a cutting board from a cabinet. You noted the location, wanting to be as useful as possible as often as possible.

"I'll start you off by demonstrating how I like everything to be cut, and you'll do the same thing right after. I know it will be a lot to take in, but most of it is fairly simple. Let me know if you have any questions, alright?"

"Alright," you said resolutely, nodding your head.

The hours passed quickly, filled with you absorbing the information that Sevenda was feeding you through her demonstrations, taking in every angle that she used the knife at. You did decently, your cuts a bit clumsier than Sevenda's but still accurate enough. She was kinda, reassuring you that in time, you'd gain confidence and surety in your movements.

It was lovely.

Feeling needed. Feeling useful. You had entirely forgotten how that felt over the last two years, being the extra sister with no magic to help in a way that someone else couldn't.

By the time your shift was finished, Sevenda had pulled you aside to speak with you, anxiety building in your gut even as she smiled warmly at you.

"I'd like to hire you on immediately, full-time if you'd like," Sevenda offered, a twinkle in her eyes. "You've already got the basics down, and you're on track to catch up with my other prep cooks so long as you keep at it with the same enthusiasm you showed today. So... Would you like to have a job?"

A smile- a true, unburdened smile spread over your lips. "I'd love to, Sevenda. Thank you so, so much for this opportunity."

"Thank you for solving my dilemma of hiring a new prep cook, Y/N! Now, do you have an account with the Bank of Velaris already?"

You thought for a moment before answering. "I do... But it's the one that Rhys and Feyre set up for me. Would I be able to make a new account?"

You still felt like such a child, knowing so little about how the city you lived in worked. You had spent so long wishing and longing to leave that you'd hardly taken the time to learn about Velaris. Seeing how you were stuck here, likely permanently... The thought sent a pang of sickness to your stomach. But still, since you were stuck here, you might as well start learning about the city in which you will die.

"I'm sure that could be set up... Would you like any help with it?" Sevenda asked.

"That would be amazing, but you don't have to," you said, hoping that she didn't feel forced to help you, after your breakdown last night.

"Oh, nonsense, I'd love to help you Y/N. We can go in a few minutes, I just have a few more questions for you. Now... Would you like to work five or six days a week?"

That was an easy choice. "Six days would be best, I think." Less time in that house, waiting to be left out of events and dinner conversations.

"Alright, and if you ever want to go down to five days, just let me know and we can work something out. Do you have a specific day that you'd like off?" You shook your head. "Would Mondays be fine with you?"

"Mondays would be just fine," you replied. "Do you..." You paused, rolling the question over in your head. "Do you know of any apartments for rent? You don't have to answer, of course, I just thought I would ask," you said quickly, already regretting the question.

Sevenda merely smiled at you. "I do know of a few close by. Once you have a week or two of pay in your account, we could go look at a few sometime, if you'd like?"

You nodded quickly. "That would be amazing, Sevenda. Did you have any other questions for me?"

Sevenda closed her eyes for a moment before fixing them on you once more. "None that I can think of at the moment, but you'll be back tomorrow in case I forgot anything. Now, let's go get you a personal bank account," she said cheerily, rising from the table you had sat at. You followed her lead, letting her take you to the large, white marble building that had a large matching sign with, presumably, its name written in the large gold lettering on it.

Making an account was easy enough, and within the hour you had a small metal card, magically linked to your bank account in hand, your first day of pay already deposited by Sevenda.

You walked back to her restaurant with her, parting with a brief hug, initiated by Sevenda.

"I'll see you in the morning, Sevenda," you said, the words repeated back to you by the kind, chocolate eyed fae.

And then your legs carried you without thinking, back to the River House. The snow had melted just slightly, and was significantly more trampled than when you had arrived this morning. The sun was nearly set already, casting a pretty orangey-pink glow over the city.

Pretty.

The River House was warm when you entered, and thankfully there was no boisterous laughter coming from the living or dining rooms.

A part of you still longed for someone to ask where you were, what you had been doing all day.

But you knew better by now. And you were proven correct when no one came to greet you, even while you made a small dinner of rice with grilled vegetables. You even ate in the dining room, a rarity for you in the past months, the tiniest part of you hoping that Feyre might come in to talk with you. Or that Mor would show up, and you could spend part of the evening together.

Neither happened, and soon enough you were back in your room, a fresh pot of tea in hand, soothing, calming lavender and chamomile again.

You had enjoyed your day at work, but it had exhausted you. All you wanted at the moment was to fall asleep, but you chose to do something else before crawling into your makeshift bed in the tub tonight.

You would try to read. With your gift from the twins in hand, you pulled the cookbook that Nesta had gifted you, filled with lovely illustrations of soups and stews from all corners of Prythian.

Slowly, you let the magnifying glass read out the title a few times, your brain trying to make sense of the letters on the cover turning into the words you were hearing. It was embarrassing, how long it took you to be able to understand a sentence, even with it being read aloud to you. Heat rushed to your face, even with no one in the room to witness your shortcomings.

You tried reading a recipe, going one word at a time with the glass. That... Sort of worked, though it was slow going. And you felt like the only reason you were mildly successful was that the words were being read aloud to you.

How pathetic.

You sighed heavily before draining your last cup of tea and shutting the recipe book. That was enough of disappointing yourself for the night.

You stripped yourself of the dress you'd donned the morning, changing into a soft, long sleeved white cotton sleep dress that met the skin of your ankles, swishing softly against them with each step.

Sleep came easily to you that night, your body tired from doing so much work when it had grown accustomed to sleeping all day and rarely moving. It was a pleasant kind of tired, though, letting you drift into a peaceful sleep.

The next morning went much the same, with you rising before the sun to bathe and have a soothing pot of tea. Work flew by, with you completely focused on improving your knife skills for the seven hours you were there, determined to not let Sevenda down.

Before you knew it, you'd already worked three days in Sevenda's homey restaurant, settling in comfortably, even with the other fae you now worked with. Josi and Torma were the other two prep cooks, and both of them had been warm and welcoming to you. Sevenda's sous chef, Wren, had been a little less friendly, but you'd noticed that he was like that with everyone except Sevenda. He wasn't rude, or anything, just quieter.

It was on your fourth morning of work, a Saturday, that your routine was interrupted.

Azriel was in the kitchen, patiently watching a pot of oatmeal cook, shadows playing around his wings and over his shoulders, a couple of them breaking away to crawl up to his ears.

"Good morning," you said quietly, going to the cupboard that housed the kettle.

"Good morning, Y/N. You're up early," Azriel remarked in a neutral tone, neither judging nor questioning.

"Mm, thought I'd have a cup of tea before everyone else was buzzing around..." You said, feeling mildly guilty that you hadn't told him the full truth. You set to filling the water and setting it on the burner next to the one Azriel was using, then turned to grab your teapot. "Would you like a cup?" You asked before you could stop yourself and consider the possibility of being rejected, even for a simple cup of tea.

"I would very much, Y/N, thank you. Would you like some oatmeal? I'm afraid I've made too much..." Azriel said softly, a tiny frown on his face as he stared at the pot before him.

A small smile grew on your face at his reaction. "That would be nice, thank you." You pulled two of your teacups out of the cupboard. A few minutes later, the two of you were sat on stools at the kitchen island, a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of tea in front of each of you. The oatmeal was delicious, flavored with cinnamon and brown sugar, which paired well with the apple cinnamon tea you had brewed.

You ate in a comfortable silence, occasionally stifling a giggle when a shadow brushed over you, their cool touch tickling the back of your neck and your ankles. Curious little things...

Soon enough, though, it was time for you to depart from the River House, and return to the one place that you felt wanted in this city. Azriel had finished his breakfast as well, so you grabbed his dishes, ignoring his protests in favor of washing them.

"You don't have to do that, you know."

You rolled your eyes playfully, even though he couldn't see your expression. "I know that, I wanted to." Bowls, cups, silverware were all placed in the dish rack, clean and shiny from the water dripping off of them. Once that was finished, you returned to your room for a brief moment to grab your scarf and hat, and when you returned downstairs Azriel was lingering near the front door.

"Going somewhere?" Azriel asked neutrally, only a bit of curiosity in his tone.

You blinked at him once, twice. Strange, that it would be him who would know that you were employed first. "Yes, I'm going to work," you said plainly, hoping that his neutrality would continue. While you wanted your sisters to know... You wanted them to find out because they paid attention, not because Azriel had.

"Oh? Could I walk you there?" His question caught you off guard- if anything, you had anticipated him asking if Feyre or Rhys knew or had approved of the job. In your surprise, you nodded in agreement, and moments later the two of you were out the door, walking through the fresh layer of snow that had fallen overnight. You noticed a few of his shadows moving in front of you, pushing some of the snow from your path.

Cute.

"How long have you been working?" Azriel asked from your right, following the path you were taking.

"Just a few days, so far," you replied, trying to give the minimum information so you wouldn't bore him... Starting a new job was hardly an accomplishment for a fae of his age.

"Are you liking it?"

You nodded immediately. "I'm loving it already, working with food is probably the most natural choice I could have made." Too many words...

"That's wonderful, Y/N. It's nice to see you smile again," Azriel said softly, drawing your eyes to him. He was wearing a small smile on his lips, one that you realized matched your expression. A light flush spread over your cheeks- was your happiness always so obvious?

"It's nice to feel like smiling again..." You said quietly, more to the air around you than Azriel himself.

Sevenda's was in sight now, and you slowed your pace. While Azriel may just be being nice... He was still being nice to you. And having someone be kind to you was something you craved nearly every second of every day, so you wanted to savor it, even if it was selfish.

"Do..." Azriel paused, as if he was considering his words carefully. "Does Feyre know that you're working? She hasn't mentioned it."

"Uhm... No, I haven't told anyone yet," you admitted.

You saw Azriel nod his head in your peripheral, and you hoped it was one of understanding.

"Do you want them to know?"

You hesitated. "If you're asking if you can tell them... I'd rather you not."

Another nod as you approached the door to Sevenda's, stopping in front of it. "I won't tell them, then. Sevenda's, hmm?" You bobbed your head in confirmation. "That's good, she's a great boss from everything I've heard."

"She's amazing, if I can be honest," you said, gratitude in your voice. And she was. She had been so kind to you, and so helpful.

"I'm glad, Y/N," Azriel said, his voice the warmest that you had ever heard from him. "I'll let you get inside. Have a good shift."

"Thank you, Azriel. Have a good day," you said, waving goodbye to him before entering the warm restaurant, a smile on your face.

Your day passed quickly, filled with the delicious smell of spices and fresh cut vegetables, the sounds of sizzling meats and bubbling stews. This job at Sevenda's was truly a blessing, distracting both your mind and body as you listened to the friendly chatter between your coworkers and focused on what you were doing.

The River House sounded empty when you returned, completely devoid of sound. No running water, or voices in the living room. The entire night, you saw no one, not even Nuala or Cerridwen. You even spent a few minutes sipping tea in the living room - though you left quickly, feeling out of place even while alone - hoping to see Feyre for a moment. You hadn't seen her since Starfall, and... You wanted to see her. You also would have been able to ask her where Mor was, but alas, the question would have to wait.

The next evening, after your final day before having a day off, you saw Feyre for the first time in five days. She was glowing with happiness, both naturally and from the magic you knew she had gotten from... One of the High Lords - you still weren't sure which.

"Y/N! Come, sit with me for a little bit," Feyre said, dragging you onto the couch in the living room with her. You had just barely gotten your boots and scarf off before she met you in the entryway. "I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

"It has been a bit," you agreed, settling in beside her. You glanced around, noting that Nesta and Elain were seated next to each other on the love seat, angry stares trained on you.

At least they weren't glaring yet...?

"So, how have you been?" Feyre asked you, drawing your attention away from your other sisters and back to her.

"I've been fine, Fey. Just..." You debated telling her about your job. That would also mean Nesta and Elain knowing... But... You wanted Feyre to know. "I've been... I've been working."

Nesta scoffed from where she was seated, whispering something to Elain. You frowned. What problem could she possibly have with you having a job?

"Really?" Feyre asked skeptically. "You... Where are you working?"

Her tone, the sheer disbelief in her voice had you regretting ever opening your mouth. Being honest was obviously not a good choice for you anymore. "At Sevenda's restaurant..." You said quietly, met with a dainty snort from Elain. Heat rushed to your face, especially when Feyre frowned at you, as though she didn't believe you.

"Really? That's... That's really nice, Y/N. I'm happy for you," Feyre said with a strained smile. You didn't believe her for a second.

Still... "Thank you, Feyre. What about you? How have you been feeling?"

"Tired," Feyre moaned dramatically, a hand on her forehead. "The little one seems to be draining all of my energy, I've had to start eating double what I normally do just to feel like I can function."

"Maybe you can stop by Sevenda's when Y/N is working," Nesta suggested in a snarky tone, causing Elain to giggle into her hand. "If she even works there... What Sevenda would need with you, I have no idea."

Tears pricked at your eyes, though you fought them. Why were they so mean to you?

Feyre glared at Nesta, but said nothing in your defense.

She probably agreed with Nesta's words.

"I'm sorry that you're feeling so exhausted Feyre. Maybe there's something that could be taken off your plate for a little bit, until you're feeling better?" Another scoff from Nesta.

"I don't think there is, Y/N. It takes a lot to run a court..."

You knew that. Of course you knew that. "Oh... Well, I hope that you feel better soon, then. I'm... I'm going to go take a bath. I'll see you later?"

Feyre nodded. "I'll see you later. At dinner?"

There was no way in hell you would be showing at dinner tonight. "Maybe," you said, standing from your place next to her. You made your way out of the living room, ignoring Nesta and Elain's glares, up the stairs and into your room.

Happy. You had been happy when you returned home. You were proud of the fact that you had gotten a job. And yet the three people that should have cared, should have shared in your happiness and pride? They couldn't care less. They didn't even believe you.

That only served to solidify your choice to leave this cursed house as soon as you could, to continue in your plan to have your own living space. And, of course, it put tears on your cheeks, on the blanket that you curled into as you laid in the bathtub.

🤍🤍💖🤍🤍

In your first three weeks of work, you never saw Mor. You did, however, receive a letter from her on your first day off, read to you by the glass the twins had gifted you. She had apologized profusely for not showing up to Starfall, though she had a good reason. The citizens of the Hewn City had demanded to have a member of the High Lord's Inner Circle stay with them through the celebration, and as the only one already there, that duty had fallen to her. And in the week since, she had been constantly fighting with Keir over the upcoming election that was planned, hardly having a moment to herself.

Which was why the letter had taken so long to be written.

You felt horrible for having thought she had abandoned you, though you knew there was a reason you had jumped to such a conclusion.

Every week since then, Mor had managed to find the time to write you a letter, each one asking about how you had been, informing you of the lastest bullshit her father had put her through. You looked forward to each letter from her, but wished that you could see her in person, or at least write a letter in response. You missed your friend. According to her most recent letter, the one that had arrived two days ago, she would be returning to Velaris for a few days in the next week.

You were excited to see her again, but more than that, you were excited to move into your apartment today.

Sevenda had shown you to two different available apartments last week, and on Monday you had signed your lease. The building was only a couple of blocks away from Sevenda's, and it was a cute little place on the third floor, with a balcony that had a decent view of the mouth of the Sidra and the harbor. You already knew that you would be taking your tea on it once the weather had warmed, the view was too amazing to pass up an opportunity to look over.

The walls inside had already been done in a shade of light pink the day before, the cabinets of the kitchen coated in a pale lavender, a move in gift from your new landlord. It was a small space, that was true. Besides the bathroom and built in closet, the apartment was one large room, with no walls separating the living room from the kitchen, the kitchen from the bedroom.

But you didn't mind.

Because it was yours.

And truly, how much space did you need? There would be enough room to have a small dining table, a loveseat and a couple of armchairs in front of the fireplace - which you had been absolutely delighted to see - and a large bed. You could even put up screens or curtains to partition off your bedroom, if you felt like it.

The possibilities felt endless as you lugged your small amount of belongings over to your new place, bursting at the seams with happiness.

Today, Sevenda had given you the day off so that you could move in, though you had tried to insist that you wouldn't need the whole day. Still, she had made it clear that you deserved the day to settle in and purchase whatever you needed, even going as far to give you a week of advanced pay.

Moving your belongings took you less than an hour, even in the snow, and only three separate trips between the River House and your apartment. The presents you had recieved for your birthday and Solstice, the clothing that you couldn't part with, skincare items, and your hairpin all went with you, but everything else in your old room stayed.

You had decided against informing anyone of your move, choosing instead to quietly remove your things. If they truly cared about you, they would notice your absence soon.

If they didn't... You would deal with that if it came.

By midday, you were shopping in the Palace of Hoof and Leaf, on the hunt for cookware. You already had the wonderful measuring cups and spoons that Nuala and Cerridwen had gifted you, as well as your tea set from Azriel, but you would need a bit more than that to be able to cook at home.

That lead to you entering a lovely little shop, filled to the brim with pots, pans, and cooking utensils in every color of the rainbow.

For now, you only bought one frying pan and one pot with a lid, both in a shade of pink that matched your measuring cups. You also purchased a set of three mixing bowls in the same shade, made of a light but durable clay. A spatula, wooden spoon, whisk, and a set of silverware also came home with you, along with a few cleaning supplies that the store happened to carry, but anything else could wait for now.

You carried your bounty home, arms sagging under the weight of your purchases as you climbed the stairs to your apartment. Everything was put away in a matter of minutes, and you allowed yourself to relax on the floor for a bit, letting your arms flop out to the sides.

You could hardly believe it... A smile crept across your face as you lay on the floor of your own apartment, that you had earned the money for. You had done this for yourself, all on your own.

Once your arms felt less weak and tired, you sat up and looked around the room. It was... Fairly barren. Your pink bedding set and blanket from Mor were in the far right corner of the apartment, the box of your clothing placed next to it. Near the door to the bathroom you had placed your box of toiletries, and in the kitchen you had already stacked your cookbooks and teas on the counter and placed your dishes in the cupboards.

You needed some kind of furniture tonight, if you could manage to find something your weak arms could carry home.

And towels! How had your forgotten about towels? Oh- and food, you would need something at least for tonight.

You let out a breath. Maybe Sevenda was right, that you would need most of the day to get settled. You got up after another moment and put your boots back on, along with your hat and scarf.

A trip to the Palace of Thread and Jewels provided you with the towels you needed, in an assortment of pastel shades and sizes, as well as a fluffy purple bath mat. You even remembered to pick out two fluffy pillows as well, just in case you slept on the floor or in the tub tonight. As you were leaving the Palace, you couldn't help but pick out a soft, sky blue blanket one of the outdoor stalls, the green skinned fae bidding you farewell with a kind smile. You walked home, snow beginning to fall just before you entered the building.

You deposited your bags on the floor to the left of your front door, and set down the stairs immediately after locking up. Before the snow started to accumulate, you wanted to get a chair or something so that you would have a place to sleep for the night. If you couldn't find anything... Well, the bathtub looked to be the same size as the one in the River House.

When you had been out earlier, you thought you had spotted a second hand store, filled with mismatched furniture. You retraced your steps, and found it to be in the middle of the Palace of Thread and Jewels.

Inside, it was cluttered, with small paths leading through the building. It was near the back of the store that you found something you might like- a tall backed, wooden chair with a pink velvet cushion and backing, the legs of the chair curved and elegant.

Why would someone ever part ways with this?

You continued to the back of the store, finding a pale, short fae male sitting behind a counter, reading a book.

"Hi, I'd, uhm... I'd like to buy a chair that you have?" You asked shyly.

"Which one?" He asked, without looking up from his book.

"The uh. The wooden chair with pink velvet on it."

"Fifty gold marks," the male said shortly, a hand extending to take your bank card and press it to his ledger, all while continuing to read. He handed it back a moment later. "Have a good day, miss."

"Thank you," you said quietly before leaving the counter, going to collect the chair into your arms.

The walk home was slow going, the chair decidedly too big for you to comfortably carry for more than a few steps at a time. But still, you made it, dragging the piece of furniture up the stairs and through your door. You managed to lug it in front of the fireplace, settling into it for a moment.

You almost decided to skip getting ingredients for dinner... But your stomach rumbled in protest, at the thought of continuing to neglect your health in favor of avoiding discomfort. So instead, you pulled yourself from your new chair, then went back down the stairs and into the snowy city one last time today.

The Palace of Hoof and Leaf was a bit further than the Palace of Bone and Salt, but you knew where to find what you were planning to cook for dinner. It was easy enough to find rice, chicken, zucchini, broccoli, and a small set of spices, a large enough selection to satisfy you for at least your first month. Snow had begun to fall heavily while you had been in and out of shops, already covering the tracks that had been on the bridge when you had crossed it earlier, and when you finally made it up the stairs and through your front door, you were feeling tired.

Tired enough that for the moment, you placed the chicken in your cold box then walked over your chair, and plopped down.

You would consider today a success, even with how tired you now were. After all, you were tired in your chair, in your apartment.

🤍🤍💙🤍🤍

Two days after you moved, you had an unexpected knock on your door, just a few minutes after you returned home from work.

Perhaps it was finally Feyre, realizing that you had moved.

You were proven wrong when you opened the door, however, to see Azriel standing before you, a cloth bag filled to the brim with little jars.

"I- Hello," you said, surprised at him being here, even if he had taken to walking you to work on the mornings he was in town. "Can I- Can I help you?"

"I just returned from Illyria, only to find one of my shadows to be very frantic over the sudden emptiness of your room," Azriel said, though there was no accusation in his tone. "And after I spoke with Sevenda, she... She directed me here. I hope that's alright?"

You were even more surprised by the efforts he had gone to to find you, than his presence at this point. "That's fine, Azriel. Was there a reason you wanted to see me?"

"I... Yes," Azriel said, somewhat shyly, and you swore that you almost saw a flush covering his cheeks. "You never did tell me which teas you enjoyed, so I brought you a jar of each. I thought you might like to have a bit more, now that you're living on your own."

That was... Incredibly sweet of him to do. You were running low on your tea stash at the moment, and knowing that he'd thought of you...

Don't get any feelings, or hints of feelings, you reminded yourself. Humans and fae don't belong together, no matter how kind and attractive they are.

"Thank you, Azriel," you said, stepping aside to let him through the doorway. It was only polite, after all, to let him in. "I'll take those," you said as you grabbed the bag from his hand, moving into the kitchen to take arrange the little jars on your counter.

"You don't have a bed," Azriel observed from behind you, a hand on your chair, where your blankets were still piled.

"Oh, I'm uhm... I'm still working on that," you said sheepishly, abandoning your task of organizing the jars. Your eyes darted over everything, looking for anything else he could find issue with.

"Let's go solve that, then."

"I- What?" You asked, thoroughly confused. He was offering to go shopping with you...?

"We can go find you a bed today, Y/N. You need something to sleep on, and while a chair is fine for a little bit, it really would be best for you to have a bed," Azriel said simply. You were still staring at him in shock, so he sighed lightly and said, "Think of it as a housewarming gift, Y/N. You can pick out whatever you want, and my shadows will bring it here for you."

"I- But... Why?" You managed to get out, even as you mentally kicked yourself for being so awkward.

Azriel's mouth turned up in the corners at your reaction. "You need a bed, and I'd like to know that you're sleeping comfortably."

"But... Why?" You repeated, still confused.

Azriel sighed and shook his head. "You're my friend, Y/N, I like to know that my friends are well taken care of. And that starts with a good night's sleep, which starts with a bed," he explained as he walked over to your closet, pulling out the scarf and hat that he had gifted you. He wrapped the scarf around your neck and put the hat on your head, lips turning up more as you stood there and let him. "Now get your boots on, unless you really don't want to go."

Your eyes narrowed playfully at him, but you did as he said, slipping your boots on and lacing them up. "Alright... Thank you, Azriel."

His lips turned up into a full smile this time, a beautiful sight on his face. "You're welcome, Y/N. Now, let's get going before it gets too dark."

You let him lead you across the Sidra, to a shop in the Palace of Flame and Steel that specialized in wooden furniture.

"Pick out whichever one you like most," Azriel had told you, with a pointed look telling you that he would know if you tried to pick the least expensive option.

He watched as you went from bed to bed, mattress to mattress trying to find the right combination. You had been in the store for nearly an hour by the time you made your choice, settling on a walnut frame. It had a nice headboard, with little creatures carved into the posts on both sides, a feature that was continued at the corners of the end of the bed. Some of them looked like little cats, a pet that you had always wanted to have but never could afford in the human lands, and when you had been able to, your family had firmly shut the idea down.

For the mattress, you had laid on one that felt like a cloud, supporting your body in a way that you had never experienced. Perhaps... Perhaps Azriel was right, after all.

You felt dreadful, though, as he paid for your new furniture, even as he reassured you that it was a housewarming present and he was more than fine paying double the amount if he had needed to.

He walked you back to your apartment, and, as promised, your new bed was already set up along the back wall, looking extremely inviting even without bedding on it.

"You should let me repay you," you insisted to Azriel, a hand on his forearm stopping him from leaving. "I can't... This is too much," you said.

Azriel's eyes shined with understanding as he read the guilt in your own. "It's okay, you know. To be given things, without the need to reciprocate. But... If you still feel that you need to repay me, I suppose you could make me dinner some time," Azriel suggested.

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Are you sure I can't pay you back?"

He shook his head. "The only payment I will accept is in the form of food, Y/N. Again, this is a housewarming present, it is a gift that I am giving to you of my own free will. I am, however, partial to your cooking, which is why I would accept that as payment."

You sighed, but nodded your head. You would pay him back with food, as often as he liked. "What days are you in the city?"

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

It took two more days before Mor was in town, which you found out about two hours into your shift when she burst into Sevenda's, speaking loudly enough that you could hear her in the kitchen.

A moment later Sevenda appeared, your blonde friend in tow.

"Y/N!" Mor exclaimed, pulling you into a hug once you had set down your knife. "Oh, girl, I have missed you so much!"

You squeezed her back tightly, overjoyed to see her again. "I've missed you too, Mor!"

Mor pulled away a moment later, her face serious. "Where are all of your things? I went up to your room in the River House to see you, and none of your stuff is there! Feyre had no idea either..."

A flush spread over your cheeks. "Oh, uhm... I moved out?" You said hesitantly.

Mor blinked at you a few times before a smile slid over her face. "You... Moved out?" She giggled. "And you didn't tell anyone? Was it this morning?"

You shook your head. "No, it was on Wednesday," you admitted softly, turning your gaze to the floor.

"And Feyre didn't... Oh, sweets," Mor cooed, pulling you into another hug and stroking your hair. You pushed her away after a moment, face bright red at being comforted in front of your coworkers.

"It's okay, Mor, really. I've already accepted that they don't notice me," you said, hoping that you had successfully hidden your pain. You may have accepted that your sisters pay you no attention, but it didn't mean your heart didn't hurt.

Mor frowned at you, but accepted your answer for the time being. "Well, when are you off work? I can stop by again, and you can show me your apartment!"

"I'm normally off right around five, you could come back then."

"Sounds like a plan, sweets!" Mor said brightly before leaving the kitchen, waving at you before being shooed out by Sevenda.

You quickly got back to work, determined to make the day pass by quickly.

And it did. The next five hours went by fast, filling you with a feeling of accomplishment as you finished everything Sevenda had asked you to do a few minutes faster than usual. Something as simple as that made your day so much brighter, easier to fight away the feeling of loneliness that followed you most hours of the day.

Mor met you outside as she'd said she would, a shining ray of sunlight even as the sun had begun to set.

"So- I leave town for a few weeks, not that I wanted to," Mor grumbled as you linked arms with her and began to lead her to your apartment. "And when I come back, you've already had a job for three weeks and you've moved into your own apartment? I am so proud of you Y/N."

You blushed at her words, but still allowed yourself to soak them in. "Thank you, Mor. I'm glad that you're okay with it."

Mor frowned. "Why wouldn't I be okay with it? I think it's amazing that you decided to move out, everyone deserves their independence."

You nodded, but your thoughts were on your sisters... What they surely thought of you, leaving without a word... "It's just... I don't know. My sisters... Weren't very supportive of me even having a job, let alone having my own apartment."

"Oh, hon, don't worry about them. I think they're just jealous of you having your own life outside of our little circle. Now, Nesta and Elain... They could certainly use a talking to," Mor hissed. "And Feyre isn't much better, letting them get away with their behavior."

You shook your head. What would they have to be jealous of? Being lonely? Having at most three friends, if you were being generous with the term? "It's fine, Mor, really. I've stopped expecting them to act any certain way, it's just... Easier."

Mor sighed next to you. "I suppose so... Anyways, tell me what's been going on!" Mor said cheerily, sensing your hesitancy to speak about your sisters.

"Well... Not much, beyond the moving out and getting a job. Although..." You thought about Azriel, how you now considered him a friend- and he thought the same of you. "Azriel has been very nice, he brought me some tea blends when he found out I moved. And helped me find a bed."

"Oh, I'm sure he did," Mor said suggestively, wiggling her eyebrows at you. You smacked her arm lightly and shot her as much of a glare as you could muster.

"Not like that Mor!" You exclaimed, blood rushing to your cheeks at her insinuation. "He helped me go to a store and his shadows brought it back to my apartment."

"Oooh," Mor laughed. "Okay, I misunderstood, Y/N. I'm glad that he's been a good friend to you while I've been away."

"I am too, Mor," you said softly, a hint of a smile on your lips.

You unlocked the front door of your building, letting Mor pass through the doorway before you, then led her up the stairs.

"Three flights? I must be spoiled, only having a flight to go up one at my place," Mor said by the time you reached the top, your fingers fumbling for the correct key.

"It's not all that bad, Mor," you giggled as you swung the door open, letting her go in first, and closing the door softly behind you.

"Oh, Y/N! This apartment is so you!" Mor said brightly as she looked around. "The bed looks amazing." She flopped down on it, sighing happily after she did. "You chose good, sweets."

"Thank you," you giggled, plopping down next to her. "I'm so glad the owner was willing to paint, it saved me from trying to do it myself."

"And it looks lovely too, and as I said, very you. So," Mor started, a hand flung onto your thigh. "I thought, if you have a day off while I'm in town, we could do a sleepover again! Either here or at my apartment, whichever you'd prefer."

"That sounds lovely Mor. If you're still here tomorrow, and you don't have plans tonight, I have tomorrow off," you offered.

"That's perfect! I'll go get a change of clothes and pick up some food on my way back, if that works for you, Y/N."

You nodded. "That sounds like a plan to me, Mor. I'll see you in a little bit?" The two of you stood from your bed, Mor's hair the tiniest bit rumpled from being squished against your mattress.

"Yep! Any preferences on food?"

You shook your head. "Anything is fine by me Mor, get whatever you've been missing while in the Hewn City."

Mor's face scrunched up at the mention of the Hewn City. "Don't remind me," she groaned. "I think I'll get some kind of pasta. Pasta sounds perfect for a sleepover."

"That sounds good to me. Walk safely, Mor, it's been slick out at this time recently," you warned, smiling when Mor winked at you playfully.

"I'm always careful, sweets. See you in a bit!"

You shut the door behind her, a smile on your face. You hadn't realized just how much you had missed your friend until you saw her again.

Not wanting to waste your alone time, though, you pulled yourself into the bath, determined to finish before Mor returned. While you didn't feel disgusting, you felt a bit dirty from work still, and if you're spending the night with Mor you'd like to smell decent.

Still, you let yourself relax in the steaming water for a few minutes, bubbles coating the water's surface. Your lungs expanded and collapsed rhythmically, lulling your heart into a state of peace.

Maybe... Maybe you could belong in Velaris.

Maybe it was your sisters that you didn't belong with, any more.

But with Mor? With Azriel? At work? You felt like you had begun to carve out a tiny little place for you to exist peacefully, if not happily.

A deep sigh left you.

You wished... You wished you could belong with your sisters once more. Your heart longed to see them, to share your joy with them. But... They never seemed to share in it with you.

So, you would settle for carving out a space for yourself.

No, it's not settling, you told yourself as you began to scrub at your body with a cloth. It's choosing to live, not to merely exist.

You may not know what you want out of life, but you're willing to find out now.

You willing to try your hand at living once more.

🤍🤍💝🤍🤍

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao

The Afterthought Taglist: @darkbloodsly @angelbunny222 @uniquedreamsblog @romantasyreader28 @that-one-bibliophole @idkmyoldonewasembarassing @deathtopistachios @saltedcoffeescotch @sleepylunarwolf @babypeapoddd @kingshitonly @bravo-delta-eccho @bluebries81 @liahaslosthermind @deepestmentalitypersona @historygeekqueen @hermajestysworld @marina468 @esposamultifandom @astrokitty18 @larissa01-blog2 @acourtofbatboydreams @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @thelov3lybookworm @weekendlusting @dxjaaaa @thejediprincess56 @casiiopea2 @butterfix @sirenpearldust @marrass @satiresunflower @mae-foster @boo-shalala @optimisticbabydreamer @sttvrdustt @bunnybella186

[hederasgarden]

The Price of Survival

Summary: Rescued by a stranger from a dangerous situation, you quickly find yourself thrust into an even more perilous one, forced to depend on him for protection in a world where survival means trusting no one. Pairing: Lucius Verus x F!Reader Word Count: 2.6K Rating: 18+ only, mature themes. Modern zombie AU, references to attempted SA, brief descriptions of violence and murder, and overall dark/gritty themes. Lucius is a little morally grey (perhaps soft dark?) in this story but he is not a bad guy.  A/N: I may turn this into a mini series if people are interested. Otherwise it can be read as a standalone fic. Thank you to @ryebecca, @writercole, @mayhem24-7forever , and @aliensupastar for their help! Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Gladiator Masterlist ♡ Masterlist

You’re making too much noise.

But you’re no longer concerned about the undead. The mindless, decaying monsters are a distant worry now. It’s the living men who are after you — the ones chasing you, the ones who want you back. Twigs snap underfoot, and leaves crunch with every hurried step you take. Your breathing is labored in the otherwise still air.

You push yourself harder, muscles screaming in protest. The scents of pine and damp earth fill your nostrils as the cold air burns your lungs. The zip ties around your wrists cut into your skin, tightening with each frantic movement, biting deeper the more you struggle. The blood beneath them stings, the friction leaving raw marks on your flesh. Still, you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

The voices of the men reach your ears, growing more insistent. Their words aren’t fully distinguishable, but the tone is unmistakable — hungry and malicious. They're closing in. You veer left, only to stumble as your foot sinks into an icy stream. Cold water rushes over your ankles, the shock of it halting your momentum for a brief, disorienting moment before you force yourself to continue.

As you run, the forest blurs around you, your heart pounding so loudly in your ears you can hardly hear anything else. You don’t see the figure emerging from the trees until it’s too late. You slam into them, the collision sending you both tumbling to the ground. A jarring pain shoots through your side where you hit the earth. You nearly miss the sharp intake of breath and grunt of surprise of the man beneath you. Though you’ve landed half on top of him, in the blink of an eye, he shifts, rolling you under him.

You try to scream, but his hand shoots out, clamping down over your mouth, silencing you before the sound can escape. Panic floods you and you twist away, instinctively trying to free yourself from his grasp. He holds you still, his body a solid weight pinning you to the earth. When you look up, the first thing you notice are his eyes: dark, intense, and unyielding amid the chaos of the forest. A sliver of moonlight cuts across his face, highlighting a rugged beard and wild curls. He’s not one of the men hunting you, but he’s still a man, and that fact alone gives you pause. 

For a heartbeat, the two of you just stare at each other, the tension in the air thick. His eyes move over your face, quick and assessing, before he seems to notice the zip ties binding your wrists. He tilts his head slightly, a flash of confusion passing over his face before glancing in the direction you came from. His brows knit in concentration as he scans the woods and you both hear the footsteps of the men as they grow closer, louder. You can almost hear their voices, too, faint murmurs cutting through the stillness of the forest. The stranger’s gaze snaps back to you and he stares at you as though weighing his next move. 

His grip on you loosens, but you can feel the tension in his body, the way he stays poised, ready to move if needed.

“Why are they after you?” he asks, quietly, so only you can hear. 

His question catches you off guard. For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, the panic still rising in your chest. His eyes remain locked on yours, his gaze sharp, waiting for you to answer. The longer you stay silent, the harder his expression becomes, a subtle edge creeping into his features. You shake your head and slowly tug your hands away from his to touch the torn collar of your blouse. His eyes follow the movement. 

“They want what all men want,” you murmur.

Your eyes lock onto his, searching for some hint of understanding or sympathy. You’re looking for something that might tell you what kind of man he is, whether he’s like them or not. His jaw tightens, and for a split second, his expression darkens in a way that makes your breath catch. He nods once, sharp and decisive, as though he’s made a calculation and found his answer. Then, without another word, he pulls you up by the arm.

“We don’t have much time,” he warns. 

“Who are you?” you ask, wariness threading through your voice.

He looks at you, his gaze steady and direct. “I’m someone who’s not here to hurt you,” he says simply.

The part of you that clings to the idea of how things were wants to believe there are still good people out there, who will help you survive. But you’ve learned the hard way that the world doesn’t work that way anymore. Everything good and kind about people died a year ago when the dead rose up and cities fell. Governments crumbled and everything you knew was replaced by a brutal, unforgiving reality overnight.

You started out with hope in a small group of survivors bound together by nothing more than circumstance. At first, it was almost comforting — traveling together, sharing food, and looking out for one another through the chaos that had engulfed the world. But that hope faded, slowly, painfully. One by one, they were lost to raider attacks, the relentless and unstoppable undead, and illness. Your world shrunk and the people you once trusted slipped away like sand through your fingers. And now, the same men who had slaughtered the last of your group were hunting you. 

You swallow hard, fighting the emotion rising in your throat. Trust is a weakness, a mistake you can’t afford to make again. But before you can find your voice the stranger is pulling you deeper into the trees, a firm hand locked around your bound wrist. He’s fast, moving with an efficiency you can’t match, his boots barely making a sound on the forest floor as he drags you along. You stumble after him but he doesn’t slow down until the brush opens to reveal a small, sheltered hollow between the trees. He pushes you into it and crouches beside you as his eyes scan the darkness.

“Stay low,” he directs, his hand firm on your shoulder as he guides you down onto the cold, damp earth. “And don’t make a sound.”

You nod, barely able to breathe as you sink into the shadows of the thicket, the chill of the earth seeping into your skin. The silence of the woods is loud, almost painfully so, but it’s shattered seconds later by the sound of heavy boots crunching through the underbrush.

A twig snaps. Another voice speaks, this time clearer. "She’s gotta be close. Keep looking.”

“I want the first crack at her, " a new voice adds.

Your eyes flick toward the man when he slinks forward slowly. For the first time, you notice the hatchet strapped to his waist, its handle worn from use, the blade gleaming faintly in the moonlight. He grips it tightly, his fingers brushing over the handle with an almost unconscious familiarity. Without a glance back, he disappears into the trees, a shadow among shadows.

A quiet rustling follows with a muffled thud, like something heavy hitting the ground. Your pulse spikes. Another noise, softer this time, a grunt, a brief, sharp inhale, then...silence.

Your heart races and your eyes dart to where he disappeared, your body rigid with fear. The men are closer now, their voices sharper, more urgent. One calls out again, “Where the hell is she?”

There’s another thud, followed by a sickeningly wet sound that makes your stomach churn. You can’t see what’s happening, but you don’t need to. You press yourself lower into the earth and try to make yourself as small as possible while the struggle continues. The smell of dirt and blood mixes in the air, filling your nose until it feels like you might choke. You can't move. You can’t even breathe properly, too afraid that a single sound will give you away. 

A voice, closer this time, shouts, “What is that? Who’s there, who —”

The words are cut off by another thud and a gurgling noise. It doesn’t take long for the sounds to die down, and when they do, the silence rushes in, swallowing you whole. It’s an oppressive kind of silence, heavy and suffocating. The absence of sound is somehow worse than the chaos that preceded it. Every nerve in your body feels raw and taut with the tension of waiting for something – anything – to happen. Minutes stretch on, each one thicker than the last, until finally, the stranger emerges soundlessly. Although his clothes are streaked with dirt and blood, his posture is calm, almost detached. 

The instinct to flee hits you with such force that you scramble back, your bound hands held out in front of you like they might somehow stop him. But you know they won’t. He stops an arm’s length away, crouching down. Before you can react, he produces a small blade and grasps your elbow, tugging you forward. He slices cleanly through the zip ties around your wrists and then releases you. 

Your throat feels dry, the words caught somewhere between panic and disbelief. Finally, you manage to whisper, “You...you killed them.”

He doesn’t respond right away, but after a beat, he simply nods. Your mind swirls with a thousand questions you don’t know how to ask. One thing is clear, though. This man, for all his brutality, just saved your life.

“You need to go now,” he says, helping you stand. “Head north. That’s your best chance.”

Your mind struggles to keep up with the fast turn of events. Even though you were scared of him seconds ago, the thought of walking into the unknown, alone again, churns your stomach, and a cold wave of fear settles over you. You think of the endless days of running, of barely surviving, and for a brief moment, the idea of leaving him is terrifying. What little supplies you had were taken by the men whose camp you have no hope of finding in the darkness. 

The stranger watches you, sensing your hesitation, and steps closer. His eyes are unblinking, focused on you. "There are worse things in these woods than those men." “The undead,” you begin, but before you can finish, he cuts you off, his lip curling back in a snarl that surprises you. 

"The undead aren’t what you should be worried about." His words are sharp, and dismissive, as though they mean nothing compared to what really lies ahead. “Go. Now." he urges, his grip suddenly tightening on your arm, pulling you away from the shelter of the trees and into the open.

You stumble as he shoves you forward. 

“Maybe we can stay together. I can be useful,” you promise him, the words leaving you in a rush. “I have medical training.”

A soft, almost imperceptible look crosses his face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. His jaw tightens and his expression hardens.

“Leave,” he grounds out. “Before it’s too late. Before-“

His voice cuts off and he looks away toward the dark trees, scanning the distance. Whatever he finds makes his posture go rigid and his breath leaves his lungs in a harsh exhale. You step closer to him, afraid of what you can’t sense but that seems to agitate him more. 

“My, my, Lucius, you’ve been busy. Macrinus sent you to hunt dinner, not men.”

The voice rings out from the edge of the trees where an unfamiliar man melds out of the shadows. Your rescuer, Lucius, tenses at the sound, and you can feel the shift in the air, the way the atmosphere thickens. He doesn’t respond to the man immediately. Instead, you watch his fingers move with practiced ease, slipping a slim, deadly knife from his belt. With a flick of his wrist, the blade is poised and ready.

For a brief moment you wonder if he means to kill this man too, but then, to your shock, two more figures emerge from behind the first. Lucius exhales through his nose, a quiet sound almost lost in the air between you, and you see the way he forces himself to relax. When you glance at his hand again, the knife is gone, as if it had never been there.

“Viggo,” Lucius greets curtly. “There are rabbits in the trap and a buck back by the stream. I did as he asked.”

The short but powerfully built man, Viggo, raises an eyebrow and glances at you, his grin widening. 

“You certainly did that and more. Looks like you found yourself a little something too, hmm?”

“A pretty little fawn,” another man comments with a smirk, reaching out, his hand extended like he intends to touch you.

Panic surges through you, and you instinctively take a step back, but you don’t get far before Lucius pulls you behind him. You wince as his fingertips brush over the torn skin of your wrist. 

“You know the rules,” Lucius growls, his voice low and deadly. “Take a step back if you want to keep your hand.”

Lucius’s stance doesn’t waver, still shielding you, but his expression softens for just a moment as he glances over his shoulder at you. In that fleeting look, you catch a hint of something else, regret or perhaps guilt? You blink and it’s replaced by a cold mask. You’re not sure what to make of him. Fear and appreciation tangle together as you consider his actions. You wonder what exactly he’s trying to protect you from, and why he seems so unsettled by the need to do so.

“Macrinus needs you back,” Viggo presses. "He’s waiting on the game. We can take her back to the settlement,"

“I don’t think so. I’ll bring her in,” he responds, jerking his head toward you, the motion sharp, dismissive. 

The words hang in the air, but it’s not just the command that catches your attention — it’s the hollowness in his tone. The men don’t challenge him, but they exchange a brief look before leaving. Lucius remains in front of you, standing rigidly, staring into the blackness. You get the sense you’re still not quite alone, something Lucius confirms when he turns to face you. He raises a finger to his lips and the warning is gentle but firm. Don’t speak.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice low and filled with a grief that sends a wave of unease through you. He takes a step closer and reaches for the rope hanging from his belt, uncoiling its length. 

 "What…?" you breathe, but the question trails off into the air, unfinished. 

You feel the panic rising in your chest as Lucius begins to wrap the rope around your forearms, the rough texture biting into your skin. Every muscle in your body screams to flee, to run from this situation, from him, but deep down you know that escaping would be futile. There’s nowhere to run, no one to turn to. The fear doesn’t stop you from trying, though, from taking a small step back, but Lucius’s grip on you tightens immediately, pulling you toward him again.

He doesn’t look at you as he works, lips pressed tight as he continues binding your arms, careful to avoid your torn wrists. When he finishes tying the knot, his hand lingers on the rope for just a moment, as though he’s second-guessing himself. Then Lucius shakes his head, a sharp, quick movement, almost like he’s clearing away his thoughts. His eyes flicker briefly to yours and he hooks his fingers under your new bindings, tugging you towards him. 

“You should have left when I told you,” Lucius says solemnly.

[opheliachoi99]

ᜊ 𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝐶𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 ᜊ

FEATURING : Itoshi Sae, Michael Kaiser, Oliver Aiku, and Itoshi Rin

ABOUT : Them as your long distance fiancé, which will unexpectedly becomes your husband in near time. In which you kept your pain, because you couldn't have the right time to tell them about you and your baby.

Note : These are short scenarios for each characters, I was inspired by the song "When She Cries" by Restless Heart. Enjoy reading!

=͟͟͞͞➳❥ Itoshi Sae

— You breathed heavily, as you felt nauseous all of a sudden. Timing, your fiancé Sae called. "Hello? Honey! How are you? Currently in Barcelona Airport, I was gonna surprise you that I was coming home, but I couldn't seem to decide what to bring, so gotta tell you instead! How's our new house in London—? H-hello? Baby? Are you there?" You couldn't respond as you were already in the bathroom puking on the toilet.

"Honey! Hello? Are you okay? Hello?" He kept bugging but you were already in the urge to grab a pregnancy test and took it quickly "Honey, this isn't funny. I hear some rattling in the background, what are you doing?"

You gasped as you saw the results. "Positive." You sternly spoke "Positive? What do you mean pos— oh. Oh. My. Gosh. BABY! PLEASE REST! I'LL BE HOME 6 HOURS IN TIME, PLEASE BARE WITH ME!" You suddenly cried because you couldn't bare the pain you're feeling right now.

Shit. Don't tell me she's..

— Timeskip —

Sae came home just in time, he was carrying a lot of stuff, but he dropped everything except a bottle of water and some pills.

"BABY I'M HERE! I KNEW I HAD TO TRAVEL BACK TO YOU FOR A CERTAIN REASON! I just had a feeling.." There you laid on the corner of the bed, still feeling nauseous.

"Sae, b-baby, I'm.." You stuttered. "Shh.. I know, I'm here. I got water, and some pills to reduce the nausea you're feeling."

He knelt down towards your belly level "So you're coming soon huh? Better take care of your mom here, she's getting dizzy and sick, I don't want that you know" You slightly chuckle "Love, you're so weird." You stated.

"Oh, if I'm weird, I wonder how the little one will be- I'll be teaching this little buddy how to play soccer the moment they come out- but- what if it's a girl— EVEN BETTER!" He ran around the room like a kid full of excitement, this wasn't his typical way of acting, but he was way too excited to be a father. You suddenly cried, "Baby, hey, why are you crying? I'm here now!" He gently sat next you "I-" You sniffled "I thought I was going to suffer alone.. I thought you wouldn't come back.. I thought I would end up being a single moth—"

"Shh" Sae placed his index finger on your lips, signaling you to no longer continue "Honey, I'm here. You're not suffering alone, You won't be taking care of this baby alone. I've been out of the country because of my career, but now, I can set aside my soccer career. Taking care of you and the baby is much more important, don't worry. I've cancelled all my schedules, I'm free the whole year. If I needed to go back to Spain, I'll make sure you'll come along this time. At least I can keep an eye on you" He pecked your forehead as reassurance.

"I will never leave you, so don't cry, it hurts seeing you cry and suffering with pregnancy. I love you okay?" He kissed you once again and you nodded as you felt reassured everything was alright.

=͟͟͞͞➳❥ Michael Kaiser

— You and Kaiser were happily talking with each other through the phone, as you were sipping tea in your balcony floor, admiring the view from there as you talked with the love of your life.

"Once our final game is done meine liebe, I'll come home straight to you and we'll binge watch your favourite series the whole night, how does that sound? Hmm?" His voice muttered from the other end of the phone "I'd love that schatz, I'll be wait—" "Baby? Liebe? Hello? You were saying?" Kaiser's eyes widen as he heard vomit noises from the end of your line "Baby? Are you okay? Hello?" Your voice echoed the bathroom as you cried, you hated the feeling when you puke, it was the worst "Liebe? Are you vomiting?" Kaiser was already too worried "Baby I think I'm—" You continuously vomited. "Ahh!! Where's the pregnancy test?" You yelled.

"Preg— PREGNANCY TEST?!?! SCHATZ DON'T TELL ME.. Fuck." He ended the call immediately.

You didn't noticed he ended the call because you were too stunned from what you saw right in front of you.

"P-positive? No way.. It can't be.. He's still away for three months.." You felt nauseous once again and went back to the toilet seat to puke.

— Timeskip —

"Shit, shit, shit" Kaiser cussed as he was packing stuff in his luggage. "Michael? Where are you off to?" Ness barged in without notice "I'm going back to Germany." Kaiser coldly spoke "Huh? But our training has not completed yet- besides, what's the rush? You told your fiancé that you'll be back after three months."

"Correction, my wife. And she needs me, soccer can wait. Tell Ego, I'm heading out, I'll make it all up, but cannot promise as well. For now, my liebe needs me." Kaiser seriously stated as he finishes packing.

"I'll be going now, tell Yoichi he's in charge now, ciao!"

"I- but-" Kaiser didn't let Ness finish and he slams the door from behind. Ness sighed "It's like he's having a baby or something-" He just shrugged and went off to tell everyone what happened.

— Timeskip —

Kaiser arrived just in time. He unloaded his luggages and extra stuff from the back of his car "Gosh, I hope these stuff will help her.."

He arrived towards your room, he sees you resting peacefully in bed. He caressed your cheeks and kissed your forehead "I'm home meine liebe." He scanned around the room, and saw your leftover tea outside the balcony, and he took it and closed the unclosed sliding door from the balcony.

He surveilled the bathroom as he saw what a mess it was, and he saw a pregnancy test lying on the bathroom counter "Fuck, it's positive?! YAHOO!!" His loud voice woke you up.

"Micha?" You swore you heard a familiar voice. "Liebe!" Your ears rang as you heard it clearly.

You jumped from startledness as Kaiser came out the bathroom with the pregnancy test in his hand. "SCHATZ?!? WE'RE HAVING A BABY!!!?" He jumped for joy as he immediately pounced himself in bed with you kissing you non-stop.

You suddenly cried. "Liebe, why are you crying? I'm here!"

You suddenly laughed "Micha.. It's just that, I thought you would come back much more later.. I did not expect you to come home so early.. I'm overwhelmed.." You spoke lightly.

"Oh my süßer Schatz, I can already sense, wait no, I felt you were in need, especially you're carrying our mini us. It's unacceptable if you're suffering alone" His words made your tears fall "Aww Micha.."

"Now now, you want ice cream? As soon as I landed, that was the first thing I bought for you" He proudly said, which made you laugh "That's the pretty smile I wanted to see, now I'll go get it okay? I'm sure little one wants one too hmm?" He spoke to your belly. He kissed your tummy and your lips "Ich liebe dich, schatz. Remember that. I'll go grab the ice cream and extra snacks and we'll watch the series? Like I promised" He winked at you as he left the room to grab the food he mentioned.

You simply laughed, too lucky to have loving fiancé, or should I say, husband, and a father of your future child.

=͟͟͞͞➳❥ Oliver Aiku

— You were cooking ramen for your dinner, as a way to stop your stress over your fiancé Oliver Aiku. He was quite a pain in the ass, but, despite your fiery anger towards him, deep inside you were wishing he would show actions as a proper fiancé.

As you were cooking, tears started to flow. Mood swings suddenly hit you out of the blue. You wiped your tears, turned off the stove and went to the dining room to eat. You were thinking your menstruation was coming up, so you didn't bother to worry.

You were alone, as usual. Aiku has been very busy with his soccer career, and he's always either with Shidou or Sendou. You didn't mind because both were also your friends and constantly updates you wherever they are when Aiku couldn't.

Sendou sent a voice message using Aiku's number saying; "Hey Mrs. Aiku~ your fiancé is at it again, so many people interviewing your bae, what a busy man he is, don't worry, his fangirls won't be able to approach him because I lead them to me and Shidou instead! And damn they're hot!"

You simply let out a small chuckle as you were listening to their update, but at the same time you sighed, wishing Aiku himself would update you instead.

You left your phone open as you went to the kitchen to wash the dishes.

— Timeskip —

You came out the bathroom looking fresh as you just came out from showering. You were about to grab your novel to read when your phone rang, it was Aiku's number, you prayed it was Aiku who was calling this time, but sighed as you saw Shidou instead. "What now?" You let out a tone of annoyance "Hey bae! Just wanted to call on behalf of your hubby, he asked how were you?" Shidou spoke.

"Eh? He could've just told me directly- is he really that bus—" You paused for a bit, as you swore you felt a painful twist in your stomach "Really that what?" Shidou asked "I said is he really that busy to the point he couldn't ask me direct—" You paused again.

"Bae, if you keep on pausing on a wrong timing for fun- stop it, it's not funny" He sassily rolled his eyes "Wait- I need to go to the bathroom real quick.." You went to the bathroom and leaned your phone near the mirror, still on video call with Shidou.

"Uhm- bae? You good— oh my goodness-" You vomited and cried "I'm not feeling well Ryu.. I don't feel good.." You vomited once again "Oh shit- SENDOU!! CALL AIKU IMMEDIATELY! HIS WIFEY IS PUKING RAINBOWS AND SHIT-" Shidou panicked.

You cared less on what's happening on call, you couldn't think straight because your stomach really hurt and the nauseous feeling is taking over, you suddenly cried because of the pain your feeling right now "Shit, must've been the ramen that I ate.." You gaslighted yourself "Bae! When was the last time you had your period?"

You paused for a moment..

"NO! IT CAN'T BE!" You yelled as it echoed around the bathroom as you intensely find a pregnant test somewhere in the room.

"Bingo! Shit, this can't be." You groaned as you took the test.

Silence took over the atmosphere "Uh- Bae? Hello? Sendou! She's quiet!" Shidou panicked again. "Huh? Hello? Our beloved Mrs. Aiku! You good there?" Sendou asked from the end of the line.

You suddenly let out a sharp scream "DAMN WOMAN- CALM DOWN!" Shidou yelled back.

"I'M FUCKING PREGNANT.. IT'S POSITIVE!" You cried "Well shit, I'm telling Aiku, if he ain't listening I'm going to smack the shit out of 'em" Sendou spoke as Shidou ended the call.

You sat there in the bathroom floor spacing out, you soon started crying, knowing that Oliver wouldn't be able to be by your side during your pregnancy days. You sighed and suddenly felt nauseous once again and felt to urge to vomit once more.

— Timeskip —

The front door has been slammed open, with running feet speeding up the stairs.

"My beloved!" Aiku barged in the room, looking for an nauseous fiancé. He checked the bathroom and saw how messy it was, and the smell of vomit was still a bit humid.

"Shit. Where is she?" He scanned every corner of the room until he spotted you spacing out on the couch of the balcony, your eyes being lifeless looking. He soon felt guilt all over him.

He slowly opened the sliding door leading outside the balcony "Baby? I-I'm sorry... I'm here now.." Silence. Silence was the only reply he got from you. "Is it true? It's positive? I-I'm going to be a father?" Still silence.

He sadly sighed and knelt down to see your eyes "My love? Please, talk to me.."

Your eyes soon teared up "You're the one to talk." You replied coldly. "Baby, I'm at fault here I know, I just wanted to clarify if I'm gonna be a fath—"

"WHO SAID YOUR GOING TO BE A FATHER? AFTER HOW YOU TREATED ME?" Aiku went silent. "You asked me to marry you and I said yes, and this is the treatment that I received?!! I feel the mockery Oliver.." You cried.

Oliver gulped "I'm sorry okay? I've been so busy, relying that I finally got a soon-to-be wife, but I forgot to give time.." Your tears continuously flowing.

"Hey baby, don't cry, it's not healthy for the baby.. I don't want to harm you and our child.. You want me here? I'll do it. I'll sacrifice my soccer career. I'll be a proper husband and a father." He stated.

"All you do is talk. Not a single action shown." You replied with a weak tone, tears still flowing.

A few seconds you felt surprised because Aiku is now carrying you in bridal style "Hey! Put me down!" You demanded "You said wanted some action, I'll show you what I just said, I mean it. Again, I'm sorry my baby, can you forgive me?" He asked in a pleading tone.

"Make me." He suddenly kissed you, a soft and warm kiss, which melted your heart. He pecked your cheeks, nose, and forehead after "Now can you forgive me?" You chuckled. "Fine, but I'm still mad at you. I only ate ramen for dinner just so you know." Aiku's eyes widened.

"Am I hearing it right? Ramen?! I don't think so, that's not healthy for the baby. I'll make you soup, it's much more healthier" He demanded "Pfft- since when can you cook?" "Pardon me? I can cook, I just couldn't show you because I was too busy, now I'm here, you'll know" He winked.

You couldn't help but to giggle over his cheesy expression.

A few minutes passed he came with the soup as promised "Here my love, served warm and tasty~" He said as he sat next to you on the bed. He soon fed you spoonful of the soup "Mmm! Tasty indeed! Wow honey, you do cook! Cook for me some time please!" You praised "From now on I'll cook for you everyday!" "Promise?"

"Promise."

— Timeskip —

Shidou and Sendou arrived with extra foods and drinks, "You almost lost the keys- we could've been locked outside-" Sendou said "Eh- they're here anyway, they can open up for us" Shidou replied.

"What if they're asleep-" Sendou added as he placed the paper bags filled with foods and drinks. "Nah they're still up, LOVEBIRDS WE'RE HERE!" Shidou yelled.

"Oh for crying out loud Shidou keep it down!" Sendou spoke sternly as they went up the stairs.

"I told you they're still— awake.." Shidou lowered his voice as he approached your room "See what I mean-" Sendou stated.

You and Aiku were comfortably sleeping in bed cuddling and Aiku continuously caressing your hair. Aiku slowly opened his eyes and spotted his friends and did the "shh" expression, as a sign to keep it down.

Both gave him a thumbs up and Shidou quickly took a pic of you two peacefully resting and swiftly went back downstairs.

Aiku had enough of his friends mischief, he checked up on you and saw you calmly resting, a smile plastered on his face.

"I'm never hurting your precious soul again.." He whispered and gently gave you a peck on the forehead, and he gently went back to sleep.

=͟͟͞͞➳❥ Itoshi Rin

— You finally rested as you've just finished your spring cleaning. You let out a sigh, opening your phone with no notifications from him.

"As usual, no update from him.." You closed your phone and decided to read a novel to pass the time.

The novel you read made your tears drop as you relate to the main character of the story, having a cold and airy fiancé is quite hard.

You closed the novel and stared at the ceiling blankly. You thought of something on how to get Rin's attention. But you suddenly remembered, he still has that caring and loving side. Suddenly your phone popped up an notification, it said;

Rin : [ Hello love, I'll be coming home later in the evening, what do you want for a souvenir? ]

You let out a small chuckle, you seemed so contented and happy from a single notification from him.

Your brows suddenly furrowed, as you felt nauseous and weird, you tried to brush it off with a smile. But as you were replying, that uneasy feeling came back again.

You felt the urge to vomit so you quickly went to the bathroom and threw your phone to the bed, but as you threw your phone out of impatience, you accidentally pressed the call button.

But, Rin immediately answered it. Which was a miracle, but he wasn't the type to really ignore you, he proposed to you for a reason, he loves you.

"Hello? Darling? Uhm- your camera seems to be facing the ceiling-" Rin felt confused "So- uhm- about my question- you kept typing, I expected a long message but—" He paused as he heard a vomit from the end of your line "Honey?!" His tone suddenly changed "Hello?!?" He kept calling your name but no response, instead he keeps hearing you vomit from a distance.

"Shit, never knew this time would be coming.." He said as he ended the call.

On the other hand, you tried to gasp for air. You couldn't help but sob "What is going on with me?!" You cried.

You spaced out for a bit and vomited again.

You went back to bed to see your phone laying on the spot, you noticed some notifications, so you continued messaging Rin without knowing what happened before.

You : [ Anything Rin! I'll accept anything! Thank you for asking! Your presence is what I need the most tho :( ]

After messaging Rin, you decided to take a nap.

— Timeskip —

Rin finally arrived, barging in as if someone was chasing him. "Darling?!! I'm home!" He yelled as he placed all his stuff down and running up the stairs panting.

"HONEY!"

"AHH-" You gasped as you immediately sat up from your slumber "Rin?! What happened?!" You worriedly asked.

Rin ran towards you with a worried face "Are you okay? I brought everything you need" You suddenly felt overwhelmed as his actions were different so suddenly. "H-huh? Rin? Is everything okay?" You seemed confused.

"Oh my gosh" He grabbed a pregnancy test from his pocket "Here take this." He said as he assisted you all the way to the bathroom "What is this? H-hey!" He shuts the door for you.

A few minutes passed as he was walking back and forth from the bedroom, waiting for you to come out, when you did, he immediately checked up on you "So?"

You gulped "I-I'm.." You cried "Shh.. Hey.. Tell me" He sweeps a stray tuft of hair off your face so he could see you clearly. "I'm pregnant.." He went silent for a moment and gave you some space.

You were scared, so you silently cried.

"WOOHOO!! I'M FINALLY GOING TO BE A FATHER! I'M TELLING NII-CHAN!!" He happily yelled as he hugged you tightly.

"Why are you crying? Hey, I'm happy.. Finally.. I'm sorry if I couldn't be here in time.." He kissed your cheek.

You cried even more now, your a crying mess "I just wanted you here!! I'm so lonely in this huge mansion.." He suddenly chuckled "I'm sorry, you know there's a reason why I'm always away right?" You nodded. "I missed you a lot too, I'm just- not good at expressing on what I feel. I'm sorry.."

You went silent for a moment. "I'm sorry for not knowing that.. Why don't let's help each other hmm?" You suggested.

"That's a good suggestion darling, great timing. I won't be away for awhile, so I'll be here doing husband and father duties." He coldly stated, but you felt the care in his tone at the same time.

"I love that!"

"I love you." He said as he cupped your cheeks to kiss you warmly.

[viiolyns]

abby anderson x reader

cw / somno. ass humping. kinda shit writing.

a soft moan slips past her lips as her small, perky tits press gently against your bare back; puffy, wet cunt grinding against the curve of your bare ass. you stir slightly, your eyebrows furrowing at the unexpected contact, but you don't wake.

you were asleep, and she found herself doing...this, she knew she shouldn't, but the urge was too strong to resist. she couldn’t wait any longer.

she hadn't seen you in weeks. recently, reports of infected had surged, with some even breaching the base's defenses. as a result, isaac had been sending groups out for extended missions, often leaving for weeks at a time. unfortunately, you were part of the last group chosen, and it had been nearly two frustrating months since you left.

frustrating for her and you, mainly her because she missed you like crazy, she loved you so much. you're one of the only people she had left in this fucked up universe. aaaaaaand because she couldn't fucking get off without you.

she wanted to deny the fact, she really did. and she tried, over and over, but nothing worked. not her fingers, not her pillow, not even the very few toys she had tried. nothing worked like you did, only you could make her come. it was humiliating, she couldn't believe she had been conditioned to need someone so badly. she was a grown woman not some child, and yet somehow you had found a way to have that much control over her.

now you were back, which was great. but you were exhausted, crashing almost the second you got back. barely giving abby any sort of attention beside a quick kiss and a promise to satiate her desires the next morning. but she needed more.

she needed you.

...even if this wasn't the right way to go about it.

her eyes are squeezed shut now as she pants, clit throbbing so hard it was almost painful. cheeks dusting a rosy pink as she heard the wet, sticky sounds coming from where you two were connected. shyness, humiliation even, eating away at her because she couldn't just wait a few hours for you to wake.

her nose was buried in your neck, breathing in your sweet scent with every shaky intake of breath. she bit down on her bottom lip, praying to whatever gods above to keep you asleep.

she eventually found a steady rhythm, pussy thinking first as she sped up, any self restraint she had long gone. your body racked with her harsh thrusts and, unfortunately for her, she didn't notice you moving just a bit too much.

"fuck." she whines, chasing that warm feeling in the pit of her stomach. her hand comes up to palm at her breast, squeezing and fondling herself as she imagines it was your touch instead of her own. she presses open-mouthed kisses to your neck, leaving a series of dark bruises behind.

she’s not being very subtle right now.

as abby moved on top of you, her toned muscles quivered with each movement, sending shivers down your spine. her breath came in shallow gasps, each one a high-pitched whine on her lips. it was clear she was close now, so fucking close.

her grip on you tightens, her blunt nails digging crescents into your thighs. that’s when you started to wake up.

“the fuc—abby?” your words cut through her impending orgasm and she freezes. it's when you start to shift some more that she finally starts to scurry off of you.

“i’m so-sorry…you were asleep so..” she muttered sheepishly.

“i was, yeah.” you grumbled, propping yourself up some, taking in the sight in front of you. she was fully naked, tank top hanging around her neck. her braid had come undone, loose pieces of hair framing her pretty face.

you sat up completely, turning to face her fully. your hand came up to cradle her face. “why didn’t you just wake me up, abs?” god, she was mortified. her eyes didn’t meet yours, ashamed of what she’d done. “you know you could’ve.”

she knew this. she nods weakly, attempting to ignore the intense throbbing between her legs, getting increasingly wetter at the sound of your thick, sleepy voice. "didn’t wanna wake you. i’m sorry, baby.”

poor thing…so weak and pathetic. she couldn't help herself. not when it came to her wants, her cravings. she needed you, craved your touch, your control. you could see it in the way her body trembled, her eyes begged. "you just can't get off without me, can you?"

she nods, unable to find any words.

"you want more, don't you?”

another nod.

you lay back down in your spot, eyes closing as you edge back into sleep. "go on then. clean my ass off when you're done."

booooooooo. boringggg and rushed ending. i forgot about this account whoops

[cosmiccrushes]

A Crow Underwater

Rook x Lucanis || 5.5k words

on ao3

summary: Crow Rook and Lucanis' first meeting during the Sea of Blood quest, from Lucanis' perspective.

notes: I have half a mind to keep writing this Rook (my og mage Crow Rook) and Lucanis into a longer form fic (maybe a series?) I do have a whole backstory planned for her that I think could be fun to explore but ahhh idk

also humongous shoutout to @ datvtranscripts on tumblr for their incredible work cataloging datv dialogue, massively helpful for this fanfic writer <3

~~~

Lucanis snaps the neck of the last Venatori cultist, letting their body thump to the stone at his feet. Spite’s wings dissipate at his back. 

Someone speaks behind him, voice lilting in an almost playful manner. “I’m guessing you’re the reason we’re here.” 

He turns to the two individuals who are entirely out of place in this underwater prison cell. Their unexpected arrival provided him with just the distraction he needed to burst from the crystal the Venatori had come to him in and dispatch them. He studies the new arrivals through narrowed eyes. One, a dwarf and the other, a Dalish elf, judging by the tattoos feathering around their eyes. 

“Who are you? Who sent you?” His voice is gruff with disuse. A year locked away with nothing but a demon for a conversation companion would do that. 

It's the elf who speaks again. “My name’s Rook. House de Riva. I’m here to bring you home. She’s Harding,” the elf jerks their head towards the dwarf whose hands tighten on her crossbow. 

A fellow Crow? House de Riva. That makes them one of Viago’s. Has his grandmother sent them to retrieve him? The day's surprises continue for Lucanis. “House de Riva. You're a Crow.” 

“Last time I checked.” The elf peers over their shoulder at an ominous groan from the prison’s walls. It appears the sounds of clashing Venatori and demons that Lucanis heard echoing through the Ossuary have resulted in a bit of structural damage. “We need to escape. Then we can talk.” The Crow, Rook, says, bringing their attention back to him. “I’m here to help. I’m breaking you out of here.” 

“Only one of you’s a Crow?” Lucanis is baffled by this situation.  

“And you’re possessed by a demon.” They sound curious, not judgemental, as their eyes trace the empty space around him where Spite's wings had been moments ago. 

“It's complicated.” Lucanis supposes he should get used to people looking at him like he's an abomination. Only, this Rook…doesn't. Their gaze stays open and curious. Their partner's discomfort goes unhidden. But if Rook is alarmed by the presence of a demon-possessed assassin, they don't show it.

“Caterina promised us a mage-killer if we broke you out of here.” Rook says mildly. 

“I can still work.” 

“Good. Because I’m pretty sure more Venatori are on their way. We have to get moving.” 

“Rook…” The dwarf looks to the Crow, her mouth pulled taught with wariness. “He's possessed.”

“It's fine, Harding.”

“Rook-” Harding tries again.

“I said I can work.” Lucanis bites out. 

Harding glares at him. “And I’ll listen to whatever she says,” she gestures with her crossbow at Rook. “But I don’t trust him.” The last bit she addresses towards the elf. 

“Understood.” Rook nods. “And we can discuss that later. Right now, I’d really prefer not drowning at the bottom of the sea.”  

“I can’t leave yet. The Venatori have a vial of my blood. I cannot leave it in their hands.” He notes the staff at Rook’s back, marking her as a mage. She will understand better than any the gravity of a mage who owns your blood. 

“Okay.” 

“And I had a contract when I was captured. One of my targets is here. Calivan.” Lucanis locks eyes with Rook. “You know what that means. Crows don’t break contracts.”

“All right. We'll help,” she agrees easily. “But in return, I want help killing some things.” 

“I’ll owe you.” Lucanis vows, noting the vagueness in her request. But a contract is a contract. Whatever things need killing, Lucanis would oblige. And if Caterina had sent her for a deal, Lucanis would never refuse. 

“I’m sure we’ll owe each other before this is all over.” She pulls blades from her own belt, tossing them to Lucanis. “Let’s go. So, first order of business?”

“Blood first, then my target. Calivan. The prison warden.” Rook immediately takes the lead as they exit his prison cell. Lucanis follows and this provides him with a chance to study his mysterious Crow rescuer.

She's a wisp of a woman. Lucanis does not mean this derisively- he himself is of small stature and it serves him well as an assassin. But he has entire inches on her. She must make deadly use of that in their line of work. As they slink through the corridors of the Ossuary, Lucanis observes the fluid lightness of her steps and knows he’s right. A target would never hear her coming. Her long, silvery blonde hair falls over her shoulders in two, tightly woven braids.

“Where do we find them? Calivan?” 

“In the tower. There’s a bridge.” 

“Not anymore,” Rook replies and Lucanis wonders just how bad of a state the Ossuary has fallen into. “We’ll have to find another way across.” 

A flurry of motion ahead of them as Venatori mages descend upon them in the chamber outside of his former cell. Lucanis refuses to even harbor thoughts that they will not escape this watery hell. He will not go back to that cell now that he is free, even if he must die instead.  

“Good. Mages. My specialty.” Lucanis is so eager to have a blade back in his hand, to cause pain to the Venatori that Rook and Harding are barely needed in this fight. Spite lends his wings and Lucanis stretches his muscles for the first time in a year. He gets the distinct impression that Rook is deliberately hanging back– whether to study his abilities or to offer him a bit of vengeance, he is unsure. 

Rummaging through the pockets of the slain Venatori, Rook raises a key, her triumphant smile spreading wide. “All right! One of them has a key. Must be my lucky day.” 

Lucanis raises an eyebrow. “You have an odd idea of luck.” He glances pointedly at their surroundings. 

Rook shrugs. “Well, I’m not dead yet. Neither are you. And actually, given the circumstances, that probably makes your luck better than mine.” She winks at him. Lucanis is suddenly very aware that these are the first true conversations he’s had with anyone in months. He’s not quite sure he’s doing it right. Is it possible to forget how to talk to people? 

They move forward through the Ossuary. Lucanis wonders how his grandmother finally found his location and why it was this particular Crow she sent to retrieve him. Not a Crow from House Dellamorte. Not a Crow he had even met before, as far as he could remember. And despite the brevity of their acquaintance, Rook imparted a feeling that she was not easily forgotten.  

“So, the Crows sent a mage to free their mage-killer?” 

“No. They sent their best.”

“Did they?” Lucanis is genuinely curious how things may have changed within the Crows during his absence. Who has risen in the ranks, who has fallen. Had his cousin, Illario, moved closer to First Talon?

Rook raises one eyebrow at him, the other scrunching with what must be amusement as her lips curl up at the edges. “No. They sent who needed you and who came looking at exactly the right time. Although I am good.” She winks at him yet again. Lucanis searches his memory trying to recall what it means when people wink at you.   

“Why were you looking for me?”

“Two blighted elven gods have broken free of their Fade prison and want to blight the whole bloody world. You're the Demon of Vyrantium. You're the mage-killer. Hopefully god-killer is in there somewhere too.”

“Blighted gods?” Lucanis must have heard her wrong.

“Yeah. I know, it's a lot. Just what the elven people need.” There’s a hard edge pressing against her words. “So about your target?”

“Calivan. The warden of the Ossuary. He oversees everything here.” 

“Where do we find him?” The dwarf– Harding– asks. 

“He’ll be in the most fortified part of the Ossuary, but first, we have to find where they’re keeping my blood. I cannot touch Calivan until it’s dealt with.” 

Their conversation is interrupted when they enter a new chamber and a swarm of Venatori pop into existence around them. Even as they fight, Harding keeps one eye trained on him, her distrust evident. Still, she is deadly with her bow– her arrows do not miss. 

And Rook– Rook is an artist, raising her staff like a brush against canvas. She paints death over the Venatori and effortlessly falls into step beside him, no longer holding back. Perhaps Lucanis has grown poetic during his isolation. Or maybe, he is simply moved by the welcome familiarity of fighting alongside another Crow. It has been too long since he had a taste of home. Regardless, it is apparent that Rook wasn't being overly braggadocious about being good. She wields her magic with all of the finesse and grace expected of a Crow.

They proceed. Striking down Venatori as they go. Rook pauses when they move through a chamber that served as a workshop for Zara’s tormented creations. She examines the evidence strewn across tables, a strained expression on her face. “Wait… Were they torturing demons? How? Why?”

“They didn’t all start out as demons. Zara made sure they ended up that way.” Lucanis states bluntly. The blood stains would explain his point well enough.  

“Zara?” Rook hasn’t looked away from the workbenches. 

“Zara Renata. There might be a higher-ranking Venatori somewhere, but I don’t know of one. This place is all her.”

Rook stares solemnly at the tables a moment longer. The stillest Lucanis has seen her yet, like the suddenly smooth surface of a lake that normally ripples with currents. Abruptly, she turns her attention to the Venatori crystals blocking their path. She smashes them, her mouth set in a harsh line, her eyes gleaming with a stony anger. A dam broken, an undulating eddy of motion as she cuts through the Ossuary. 

“Corpses possessed by demons. Watch out.” Harding warns, nodding to the undead shambling up the path ahead. 

“Zara Renata’s work. This place exists just for her to make new, worse kinds of demons.” 

“I think I’d very much like to meet this Zara. Show her some of my work.” Rook watches the undead as they take a diverging path around. Attention snapping away as she states, “Venatori ahead.” 

“Mine.” Lucanis steps up, determined to take his pay in blood today. Rook makes space for him. More blood mages crawl out of their rat holes behind them. “Mierda. These guys. Let me hit him first, then you can take him down.”   

“With pleasure,” Rook hums beside him. They fall into sync again, Lucanis’ pulse racing with the adrenaline of long overdue kills. 

Rook steps over the corpses of the dead Venatori and Harding quickens her pace to walk alongside Rook. “Rook. You sure about this? Abominations…” Harding's tone conveys her feelings on abominations. 

“We made a deal with the Crows to bring him back. And don't forget that it's gods we're up against.” 

“Right. Well, abominations never end well. Just remember I warned you.” 

Rook doesn't respond. Lucanis grits his teeth at the way they discuss him as if he's not here. One thing he can say he knows about Rook now though, is that she will complete her contracts– regardless of what she finds on the other end of it. 

The ground shakes beneath them and a macing creak echoes through the Ossuary, stopping them in their tracks. 

“I don’t like this!” Harding exclaims. 

Rook has her arms held out at her sides, steadying her feet. “Can’t say I’m a fan either.” 

Lucanis watches a stream of water trickle down a wall. “We may not have much time.” 

They reach a chasm where a bridge must have once been. Rook stares frustratedly at the open air they need to cross. “Damn it, there’s no path through here.”  

I. Can make. A path. From the Fade. The demon speaks in Lucanis’ head. 

“What?” Lucanis forgets that speaking out loud will draw attention. 

Let. Me. Pull from the Fade. 

“What are you-” NOW, Spite yells. “Fine.” 

“What is it?” Rook asks, considering him with a softness in her eyes.

“He says he can get us across.” 

“Who is ‘he’?” Rook leans slightly to the side to peer around Lucanis, eyes flicking back to him in question. 

“The demon. He says there’s something here. Something he can grab hold of in the Fade. It’s close.” 

“By all means.” Rook waves her hand and stands aside, looking distinctly unmoved by the fact that Lucanis has just confirmed speaking to a demon inside his head. 

Lucanis allows Spite just enough rein to reach out. He’s shocked when the demon’s magic manifests an entire chunk of stone as a makeshift bridge for them. 

“Wow.” The awe in Rook’s voice mirrors his own. “The demon pulled all of that from the Fade?”

“I’m as surprised as you.” Lucanis tries not to think too much about all the demon could do if left unchecked.

They enter another workshop area where Venatori mages and demons brawl. 

“They’re fighting? But the Venatori made all these monsters, didn’t they?” Harding asks. 

“Blood mages. They never learn. Zara can summon all the demons she wants, but they don’t have to obey her.” 

“And it doesn't look like they plan to,” Rook quips before plunging into the fray. 

The ghost of a smile flutters across Lucanis' lips before he charges after her. 

Rook rolls her head side to side, stretching out her neck after the last blood mage– the Fabricator, Lucanis recalls their moniker– drops to the ground, lifeless. “What did Zara want all these undead for?”

“Nothing. Those are the failures.” So many failures. Lucanis' stomach turns at the innocent life lost within these damp halls. He may not be innocent, but he lost life here too. 

“If those are the failures, what does success look like?” Rook questions. 

“She took the ‘best’ results out a few days ago. But some of the demons she created are still here.” 

“Calivan. You said he’s the one in charge?” Rook pauses her exit from the room to look back at him. 

Lucanis shakes his head. “No. He’s a lackey. He runs this place for a powerful magister. He was my target a year ago. Now we both want him dead.” Again, Lucanis feels compelled not to hide what he is now. It almost feels like he's challenging her. This Rook says she needs him to fight elven gods, says she's here to bring him home. But what home could a demon-possessed assassin hope to have? The fighting he could do, but he would have her clear about what exactly it is she's bringing back to Treviso.

“‘We’” meaning…?” Rook trails off expectantly. 

“Demons don’t forgive.” 

Rook’s eyes roam over him. “Neither do Crows.” She pivots, resuming her quick, sure pace. 

They draw nearer the chamber with Lucanis’ blood vial. “We're getting close.” 

“How are we supposed to find this thing?” Harding asks him. 

“I know it’s here. We can smell it.” The thing lurking within him has heightened his senses. 

Entering into an expansive room, Lucanis identifies that the vial of his blood is locked behind a Venatori crystal ward. He informs Rook. 

“If I never see another Venatori crystal…” Rook says darkly. She immediately begins to wind through the room, smashing crystals with a swipe of her staff. Lucanis gets the impression that she is not a very patient person. He imagines that it has probably earned her reprimand in House de Riva. No Talon would allow actions borne of recklessness, but especially Viago.    

In the center of the room are more tables strewn with corpses. 

“Look at what's left of these people… they were tortured. What a terrible way to die.” Harding shakes her head. 

“Very few people survive Calivan’s ‘rehabilitation.’” 

“You did.” Rook says simply. 

Lucanis peeks at her, but she continues her prowl around the room, hunting for crystals.

Rook smashes the last crystal warding the room. She sweeps out a hand in a grand gesture to Lucanis, bowing slightly at her waist. There is a mischief about her that again has Lucanis' lips twitching on the hint of a smile, such a strange feeling after a year of only horrors.

Lucanis’ eyes lock onto the blood vial at the far end of the chamber. “There. That’s the one. It has to be.”

Rook’s graceful steps lead her to the container. Lucanis joins her. She looks at him, shrugs, then shatters the vial with her magic. “All right then, that’s done. Now for our contract.” Lucanis doesn’t miss the way she says ‘our’ contract. Since she appeared before him, she has been fully committed to assisting him. She hasn’t questioned his motives or monitored him out of the corner of her eye like Harding does. Is she reckless? Or has he simply earned her trust so easily because he is a fellow Crow? And not just any Crow. Lucanis is well aware of the weighty pull associated with the House of the First Talon, House Dellamorte. 

Lucanis guides them through the Ossuary’s halls to its heart– where he believes the warden to keep office. His fingers itch to put a blade through Calivan’s heart. They reach a lift, filing inside. 

Harding again voices her concerns in a low, warning tone. “Rook…” The two must know each other well for Harding need not say more to express her thoughts to Rook.

“It’s us against gods Harding-”

Lucanis doesn’t particularly want to hear what Rook will say next so he interrupts. “I am right here, you know.” 

“It’s fine. We can talk about something else.” Rook shoots a pointed glance at Harding. “What’s Caterina like?”    

Lucanis is surprised by the question, even more surprised that he doesn’t know how to answer it. “After so long in this pit… I barely remember.” 

“You’ve been down here for a year?” Rook cranes her neck to speak to him behind her. Her braids slide against her leathers. 

“Mmm,” Lucanis grunts in response. What else is there to say?

“Is there anything we need to know about Calivan?” Harding asks. 

“You want to hear about his torture methods or something else? We didn’t chat.” 

“He might be turning those torture methods on us very soon, so,” Rook’s shoulders shrug noncommittally. She doesn’t rise to Lucanis’ spiteful bait tossed at Harding, though Harding glowers at him.  

The lift stutters to a halt and they are emptied into a cavernous room. 

A voice echoes across the space as they step fully inside. 

“Ugh, this was entirely unnecessary. Zara and her little jests. ‘He’s already the Demon of Vyrantium! Won't this be ironic?’” The man scoffs. “Hilarious. And now look at the mess you’ve made of my facility. She always leaves me to clean up.” 

“So this is Calivan.” Rook sounds unimpressed. 

“He is.” Lucanis confirms. “The target I was sent for a year ago. A Crow never abandons a contract.” His fingers tighten around his blade, well, Rook’s blade. He looks forward to reuniting with some of his own.  

Rook calls out. “Calivan! We’ll help you with the clean up. I think we’ll start by taking out the trash.” A vicious smile twists her lips and then she strikes.

Lucanis falls into the rhythm of the fight. A dawning awareness crests over him that if he is to continue working with Rook, he may have to get used to racing into battle after her. He might be more disgruntled about it if she didn’t wield herself so masterfully. 

Lucanis ignores the savage jabs Calivan attempts to distract him with. What words could hurt him more than the horror of having a demon possession forced upon him? 

Rook, on the other hand, grows increasingly annoyed with Calivan’s incessant insults– despite none of them being directed at her. Upon realizing the need to destroy the barrier protecting Calivan and beginning their coordinated efforts to do so, the prison warden screams at Lucanis, “You will return to your chains!” 

Rook snarls as she toils to bring down the barrier. “Ma halam! You will return to dust!” 

Calivan’s barrier falls and his enraged shouts summon a flood of demons to the chamber. Rook meets Calivan’s rage blow for blow. And despite Harding’s obvious misgivings about him, she too fights fiercely. When a Pride demon stands before them, they do not falter. 

Calivan’s desperation grows as he weakens and their group gains ground. “No! I will not be defeated!” 

“Sorry! We took a vote-” Rook snaps between swings of her staff. “-decided you die today! I’m sure you understand. Being an arrogant prick and all!” Spite guffaws against his skull and a grim satisfaction grips Lucanis. He’s never been particularly crafty with his words and finds that he relishes Rook’s lashing tongue. 

With a final blast of Rook’s magic and Lucanis’ blade through his chest, Calivan is no more. 

Lucanis releases a long held breath as he stands over his contract. “The Crows send their regards.” 

Rook breathes deeply beside him, tucking her staff at her back. “So, we got your target.” 

“Yes. The job’s done.” Lucanis has waited so long to say that. 

Beside him, Spite inhales. Smells like blood. Ashes. Not done. Not yet. 

Lucanis grinds his teeth, staring hard at the demonic manifestation. He must not hear Rook attempting to get his attention.  

“Lucanis… Are you all right? Lucanis? What are you looking at?”

When Lucanis finally registers Rook’s question, he turns to her. She is watching him, head tilted inquisitively at an angle. 

Careful. They know. We’re not right.

Lucanis looks back to Spite, then at Rook. “You cannot see him. I wondered.” So, the disturbing likeness of Lucanis that the demon manifested as was only visible to him it seemed. Mierda. Was that a gift or a curse? 

Rook’s head is still tilted at him. Her eyes shift from Lucanis to the vacant air beside him where Spite stands hidden from her sight. But she doesn’t look afraid nor concerned. “We clearly have things to discuss. Somewhere else.”

Harding nods vigorously. 

“Agreed. I think…it’s time I got some air.” Lucanis feels a nervous thrill run through him at the thought. 

Rook offers him a small smile. “Agreed. A Crow underwater… “ A shiver runs through her. “No thank you. I’m ready to get out of this place.” 

Lucanis returns her smile, the muscles in his cheeks twitching. He cannot recall the last time he used them. “Imagine how I feel.” 

***

The boat glides through the canals of Treviso. Lucanis' heart is in his throat as his city unfolds around him. He had been so close this whole time… He looks back to the rest of the boat's occupants and discovers Rook already watching him.

She smiles, gentle and friendly. “Welcome home.” 

The first warmth Lucanis has felt since being locked in the Ossuary floods through him. Home. 

They climb the steps to the Canatori diamond and he knows from the tense set of Rook's shoulders that he's not alone in sensing something is wrong. Rook glances at him, eyes tight with worry. He gives her a sharp nod. 

Teia’s voice reaches his ears first. “Maker…” 

Lucanis steps into a mess of a room. Broken furniture, strewn papers. Viago notices them first.

“Lucanis?” The Fifth Talon’s eyes flick over him and then to Rook at his side. Viago's clenched fists relax. 

“What happened here?” Lucanis has never seen the Diamond so disheveled. 

Illario slams his fist on a table. “A message. From Zara Renata.” His anger softens as he adds, “I can't believe it. You're home.” 

Lucanis can't reconcile Illario's former words. “Zara… Her people got this close?” 

“The woman who runs the prison?” Rook looks up at him for confirmation. 

“The Venatori witch who captured me.” 

“Revenge for the breakout, maybe?” The skepticism in Rook's tone matches Lucanis' own. How could Zara have moved so quickly? 

“Where's Caterina?” Lucanis searches the faces in the room, but finds his grandmother's missing. His stomach roils with apprehension.  

“She's…” Teia bows her head, her voice thick with emotion.

Viago steps up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulder. “The Venatori got her in the confusion.” 

“I get one of you back, only to lose the other.” Illario sighs.

His grandmother… the mighty, unshakeable First Talon… no, it could not be. 

Rook's tender voice at his elbow grounds him. “Lucanis… I'm so sorry.” 

Lucanis is grateful for her simple words, spoken with earnestness. Her presence also reminds him of Caterina's last request of him. “I need to work.” 

“Are you sure?” Concern squeezes Teia’s eyes. “You should take some time.” 

“I don't need time– I need a target,” Lucanis says harshly. 

His cousin addresses him. “You just got here, and already you want to leave again?” 

Lucanis meets Illario's eyes, willing his brethren to understand. “Caterina gave me a contract. I'm not breaking the last deal she ever made. And I owe Rook. Once that's done… I'll come home.” If his home would still have him, when they learned what he has become.

“I'll return him in one piece.” Rook tells Illario. She sounds as though she wholeheartedly believes it, that she will act as a protector to the, now literal, Demon of Vyrantium. This Crow is a peculiar one. 

“Thank you.” Illario inclines his head towards Rook. Then says to Lucanis, “Cousin, when you find Zara, I want– I need– to be there.” 

Viago interjects. “We’re under attack. Antaam on one side and now Venatori on the other? Forget revenge, we need you-” 

Teia stops him with firm words. “No, Viago. Zara came for us here. She took Caterina from my house. You find her and cut her heart out, Lucanis. VI and I will hold down the fort.” 

“I'll give her your regards, Teia.” 

Teia lifts her chin. “For Caterina.” A chorus of “for Caterina” sounds around the room. Teia's eyes drop to Rook. “And you be careful. Or this one-” A nod towards Viago. “-will lose his head over revenge, whether he admits it or not.” 

Viago huffs but doesn't deny Teia's words. “Do not make a mess of this contract,” he throws at Rook. 

Rook rolls her eyes at the Fifth Talon. Lucanis’ eyes widen at the sight and he waits for Viago’s reprimand but it never comes. “Yes, Viago.” Rook’s tone borders on disrespectful, but still Viago does not react. Lucanis stares between the Fifth Talon and Rook in confusion. 

Viago scowls at Rook momentarily, then directs his frown at Lucanis. His mouth opens like he’s going to say something to him. Instead he glares at Rook one more time, his mouth clamping shut in a hard line before shaking his head and walking away. Teia smiles at Rook before following Viago.

Lucanis very much wants to ask Rook what vital piece of information he’s missing that allowed her to walk away from that interaction unscathed, but Rook’s already moving away. “Let’s go. It’s time for you to meet everyone else.”   

*** 

Lucanis isn’t sure what to make of the Lighthouse. The eluvians were a fascinating bit of magic and the Crossroads were downright bizarre. There’s a confounding peace about the Lighthouse, but Lucanis does not trust a place borne of the Fade. Spite is far less wary, seemingly comforted by the closeness of the Fade– if a demon could even be comforted.

Lucanis’ introductions to the rest of Rook’s team had been made and he had, predictably, been met with skeptical looks and guarded expressions. Bellara– the Veil Jumper and ancient elven artifact expert– seems the least distrusting of him. Her and Neve– a Shadow Dragon detective from Minrathous– sit at the large dining table behind him discussing his possession. Lucanis leans against the fireplace mantel, staring into the crackling flames. 

“They’re the same thing. Mostly. Kind of.” Bellara is explaining. 

“Except one will manipulate you. Or kill you. Or both.” Neve replies. 

“But how do you get rid of them?” Lucanis attempts to not sound as frustrated as he feels.  

“Um…” Bellara’s hands flutter against the table. Lucanis suspects he already knows the only answer the Veil Jumper will be knowledgeable of. He’d come to the same conclusion himself while locked in the depths of the Ossuary.  

“What’s everyone talking about?” Rook draws his attention– and the demon’s, he notes with interest– as she enters the dining hall. 

“Spite.” Lucanis answers through clenched teeth. 

“The demon in Lucanis.” Neve clarifies. “When a person gets possessed, the demon usually takes control.” 

“And they turn into a monster. The spirit just…molds them. However they want.” Bellara adds. 

“I’ve heard of abominations being cured by killing the demon in the Fade. That’s not a sure bet, though.” Spite bristles at Neve’s words. 

“Well, there’s one way. But it’s..well…we’d have to, um…” Bellara stammers nervously. 

“You’d have to kill me.” Lucanis finishes. 

“There’s got to be another way. That can’t be the only solution.” Rook’s hands come to rest on her hips and an unyielding glint sparks in her eye. She looks as if she dares the world to disagree with her declaration. “Can’t we reason with Spite, maybe? Persuade it to leave?” Spite perks up at Rook’s question.

Lucanis gapes at the Crow mage who wants to have a chat with a demon. “Talk doesn’t work on Spite.” As the words leave his lips, Lucanis beholds with horror Spite manifesting beside Rook. He has never had to deal with the reality of Spite around other people and fear freezes him in place. 

Spite leers at Rook, a scathing smile on his face. She won’t hurt you. How sweet. The demon’s derision drips through his sentence like honey, sticking unpleasantly to Lucanis’ skin. 

No. Not sweet, dangerous. Lucanis stares into the determination solidified in Rook’s eyes. Very dangerous. If this partnership is to work, he needs Rook to be willing to stop him. Spite moves to Lucanis’ side and he tears his gaze away from Rook in relief. 

I want to talk to them. Spite demands. Lucanis ignores the demon. 

Bellara goes on. “Before we do, well, that. Let’s think this through some more. There has to be a solution.” 

“I have people in Minrathous I can ask, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up.” 

Rook nods at Neve. “All right. So what’s next?” Rook asks the room at large. 

Spite growls in frustration. Let me talk to them! I want. To. Talk. To Rook! Spite lashes out in Lucanis’ mind and his head cracks to the side. He feels blood wet his nose and he grunts in pain. 

“Lucanis!” Bellara exclaims as she and Neve spring out of their seats. 

Lucanis holds up a hand to them. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine.” 

Rook’s fists are curled at her sides. “Don’t pretend this is all right. It wouldn’t be fine if another person did it.” 

She’s angry for him, Lucanis registers. He softens at this. “No, but there’s nothing I can do about it. If it were another person, I could solve this with a knife.” 

“Why did he do that?” She asks. 

Lucanis will absolutely not tell her that the demon wishes to speak with her. His skin crawls at the familiar way Spite said Rook’s name. The demon has never said anyone's name before, not even Lucanis’. “Throwing a tantrum when he doesn’t get his way.”

“Perhaps he needs to learn what happens to Crows who throw tantrums,” she threatens. 

Lucanis smiles. “I would prefer not to relive those lessons.” Rook’s closed fists loosen. “Just… give me a minute. He’ll get bored once everyone leaves.” 

Rook’s eyes jump back and forth between his own. “I don’t like leaving you alone with a demon. I…” 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Lucanis reassures her, though he’s not sure it’s entirely true. 

“Lucanis..” 

“Please.” He needs to get her– and everyone else– away from Spite until the demon calms down. 

Rook nods and gathers the others to leave.

As the door to the dining hall falls shut behind them, Lucanis addresses Spite. “You’re not speaking to any of them so forget about it.” 

Rook. Wanted to. Talk. To me!

There’s her name again. It grates on Lucanis’ nerves. “Yes. To ask you to leave.” Lucanis spits. 

Spite hisses, but falls silent. Lucanis closes his eyes, the fire in the hearth warming his eyelids. It’s true. Rook had thought to reason with a demon on his behalf. Lucanis sighs, peeling his weary eyes open. He heads towards a door at the back of the dining hall, opening it to find a long, narrow pantry. Oddly, a cot is already tucked into the far corner. Lucanis sinks onto it, letting his head rest against the stone wall at his back.

Rook will have questions for him eventually. But for now, he soaks in the fact that she respected his request, that she trusted him enough to leave him alone. He mulls over his own questions of what that could mean for a man who has truly become a demon.  

[somber-sapphic]

Undignified

〖Summary: Caitlyn wakes up in Vi's bed with a nasty fever.〗

〖Word Count: ~500〗

〖Pairing: Caitvi〗

〖Notes: Wow would you look at that, I wrote something! This is super short because I don't know the characters well yet. So sorry for any inaccuracies, I've only seen the show once. Please be nice, I haven't actually written anything in over half a year.〗

☾Masterlists☽

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Caitlyn woke with gasp, followed by a series of rough coughs that shook her to her core as she tried to claw her way out of the blanket tucked around her. She didn't fully recognize her surroundings, the room was dark and small, but cozy in a way. She certainly wasn’t in Piltover, the lack of glistening white marble and sounds of fighting outside were enough to tell her that. So she was in the Undercity, that could only mean one thing.

“Easy there cupcake.” Vi murmured, a calloused hand settling on her forehead. Caitlyn stilled, the sound of her voice instantly calming her. It didn’t matter where she was anymore, she knew that she would be safe with Vi. The pink haired woman would keep her out of any real danger. With the question of her safety settled, Caitlyn allowed herself to look inward to her aching limbs and foggy head. 

“I’m ill?” She croaked, blinking up at the blurry figure of her girlfriend. No matter how hard she blinked she couldn’t manage to clear her vision, it was irritating. Being ill was irritating. She had so much to do, she had no time for this. Unfortunately frustration was not enough to stave off the fever that was keeping her practically nailed to the bed. She could barely keep her eyes open. 

“That's an understatement. I found you half conscious in an alley, figured it’d be better to take you here. That way I can keep an eye on you.” Vi brushed a strand of navy blue hair behind Caitlyn’s ear, studying her face with careful scrutiny. The enforcers skin was paper white, the fever flush on her cheeks making her appear even more frail. Her eyes were sunken, filled with anguish. 

The past few weeks had been tough on her, tougher than she’d ever truly let on. Vi knew to some extent, understood the wordless looks and touches that lasted longer than they needed to. There was never any doubt about the internal struggle Caitlyn had been waging, but also no conversation. There was no time for that conversation.

A barking cough tore itself from her lungs, the grating feeling scraping across her dry throat. She was too tired to lift a hand to cover her mouth, but she still tried to muffle the fit into the blanket. She was a woman of status after all, she needed to hold onto some decorum. 

She felt a cool glass press against her lips, a hand propping her head up so that she could drink. She took large, grateful sips, the liquid soothing her throat. 

“Thanks.” She mumbled, turning towards the hands that were holding her up. She wanted to be nearer to Vi, she felt alone without her touch. It was undignified, but there was no fight left in her. She needed comfort, the strong warrior had gone and replaced her with a weak, sick woman.

“Will you…lay with me? I’m cold…” Caitlyn murmured, emphasizing her point with a painful shiver. Her body couldn’t even do her the kindness of allowing her to be cold in peace, the body aches were enough to make her tear up. Vi grunted quietly and made her way under the blanket, wrapping the taller woman up in her arms. Caitlyn shifted so that she could place her head on Vi’s chest, taking comfort in her rhythmic breathing and steady heartbeat. She could allow herself this peace for a little while, just until her fever broke. 

〖Join My Taglist!〗@goldenempyrean

[harunade]

moots . zhang hao

pairing: camboy!zhang hao x camgirl!reader

synopsys: the drought in your wallet made you start being a camgirl. not only did you never expect it do go so well, you never expected a camboy to donate a large sum of money to you and ask you to collab.

wc: ~1.2k

warnings: mdni!! no smut, fingering, not that much written smut lmao.. simp zhanghao lowkey

a/n: slightly modified version of my anon’s ask!! This is very different frim my usual type of writing so i hope you will love it :’)) if this gets love i might post a part2 :)) stay tuned!!

Nobody particularly knew about your side hustle of being a camgirl, but you didn’t have the heart to tell anyone either. It had started off with you needing some extra cash, and your friend sarcastically suggesting it.

“Your body is tea, Y/n. If i were you i would definitely post that ass online and get my money up” it was supposed to have come as only a joke from Heejin, the friend that has been with you through your ups and downs, but you actually started considering it.

You could vividly remember opening the erotic site and signing up. “that should be good” you murmured as you created your account. lovelyyn it read.

—

For the next few days, you started at your blank account with 0 followers. Creating it was supposed to be the hard part, right? Well, no, you actually had to post on it as well. Nobody was going to donate to a ghost.

With hair rolls in your hair, you got ready to post your first picture on said account. Your makeup was flawless, and it accentuated your features. The red lipstick that sat boldly on your plump lips matched perfectly the lingerie set that you planned on wearing.

The flash snapped in your mirror, capturing a picture of you. A very teasing one, at that. You were in a sitting position, your thighs exposed and red lace barely covering the rest of your body. Your face wasn’t that visible, but that was okay. You didn’t want anyone to know it was you, yet.

Uploaded!

—

The next morning you naturally woke up before your 8 am alarm. Although you had classes to attend soon, there was something else on your mind that kept you from sleeping any longer.

Hurriedly opening your laptop, you opened the site and checked your stats.

10 followers 12 likes and 3 comments

“That’s not too bad for my first day” you thought to yourself. Deciding to read the comments, all of the complimented you and suggested that you would go live

Unbeknownst to you, going live was definitely better than posting pictures. That way, people can comment in real time, you can talk to them and they can donate! That was certainly next on your to do list.

—

It felt as if the planets had aligned for this very moment, because you had a very rough day at uni. Everything that could have gone wrong did in fact go wrong. That meant that your car ran out of gas in the middle of the road, you were late to the first class which just happened to be the most important one, and you forgot to pack a lunch, so you starved all day. But you decided to make the most out of this unfortunate series of events. Yes, you were stressed, but that stress had to be relieved somehow, right?

“Going live in 30 minutes!!! Join & see me play with myself xxx “ you wrote and posted on your account.

You had 30 minutes to get ready. You could already see notifications popping on your phone and laptop, so you took it as a good sign.

“Would it be weird if i wore the same thing twice?” you wondered as you slipped in your red lingerie once again. Even your make up was similar to the one from the previous day, but nobody would notice it anyway.

—

“hii guys” you shily waved at the camera. While people were still joining the livestream, you checked yourself in the camera. The slightly lower resolution your laptop made you stick out even more, because of the contrast of colours and what else.

Shortly after, you got to work. Your camera was adjusted slightly, so it could fit your whole figure that laid in your undone bed. As soon as you shoved two of your fingers in your pussy, the donations started coming in. The rage varied. Someone would done $1, someone else $5 and someone even gave you $20. This sure wasn’t hard!

Things were going smoothly until you glanced at the chat. So far, messages were calling you beautiful or suggested that you changed the angle. Now, they were full of something else

@/ilovemarklee: omg hes here!!!

@/orbittillidie: i cant believe it TT

@/randomuserjwnsn: HES ASKING TO COLLAB???

You were a little confused to say the least. Who was asking to what? You stopped your actions mid way, and although the sense of loss was present, your curiosity took over. “What are you guys even talking about?” you chucked as you scrolled up and read comments you had missed. Then you saw it.

@/sheloveshao: wanna collab, pretty? ;)

You were intrigued by this person’s appearance. You weren’t that familiar with this website yet. Sure, you browsed once or twice (or thrice..) before, but never really memorised anyone’s username. You only had one guy that you like and that was about it.

—

After the live ended, you checked the balance. You were pretty confident, donations kept coming in, so you must have made at least $100. Even if it was a little less, that would be okay. You only needed $50 to assure gas for the next 2 weeks. “$324” ????? You couldn’t believe your eyes. When did it even get to that point? You had to see it for yourself.

Donation list:

@/ilovehaechan sent $10

@/loonaforever sent $1

@/sheloveshao sent $200

“What?? This is insane” who was this guy? and how could he afford to send you so much money?

After scrolling in his account, your mouth was left hanging open. He had a community of 100 thousand followers… and he was fine as hell. Not only was he very beautiful and fit, he was very familiar to you. Oh. He was the guy you liked. And he sent you basically this month’s rent? What was going on..?

After pondering for a bit, you decided to message him. The worse he could say is no, right?

@/lovelyyn: hi there :) saw you commenting on my livestream earlier && your donation. thank you so so much!!

@/sheloveshao: don’t mention it dear. are you new here? don’t think i’ve seen you before

@/lovelyyn: yeah actually!! this was my first livestream:’) started yesterday

@/sheloveshao: i see~~ maybe we can collab one day ;)

@/lovelyyn: well.. i definitely wouldn’t oppose! keep in touch?

@/sheloveshao: you know it

After the conversation ended, your cheeks were burning with heat. This guy had a way of talking that shot right through you. You were sure you would spend the next hours binge watching his account. Said and done, you weren’t surprise to see he was like a Greek god, and possibly one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen.

This arose a question in you. Will you actually collab with him? What would that even mean?

[eunseoksimp]

is there going to be a part two of west coast 🥲🥲🥲 i need them to finally get together or reader to move on and wonbin realize what he lost

after months of deleting and rewriting and an absurd amount of overthinking, part 2 is finally here. i love this fic so much and i’m glad you guys enjoyed part one, here’s to hoping you enjoy this too :)

p.s this is now a three part series because this part was way longer than i expected it to be

Pairings: Lead Singer!Park Wonbin x Bass Guitarist!Reader

Genre: Angst, Songfic

Description: falling for park wonbin was inevitable—like chasing a song you’ll never finish. he’s magnetic under stage lights and even more dangerous when they dim, leaving behind glances that linger too long and touches that feel too much like promises. you told yourself that night meant nothing, but some things don’t stay buried. now, every song you write feels like him, and you’re not sure how much longer you can pretend otherwise.

Warnings: alcohol consumption (again), gut wrenching heartbreak (you have been warned), a tension filled kiss, wc is somehow 24k.

read part 1 here

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the final show of the tour should’ve been electric—alive with the roar of thousands, the kind of rush that settled deep in your bones and lingered long after the last note faded. the crowd’s energy surged forward in waves, pulsing beneath the weight of the stage lights, each scream carving itself into the air like static desperate to cling to something solid. 

but tonight, it felt distant, hollow in a way that no amount of sound could fill—like trying to chase the echo of a song that no longer belonged to you.

your fingers flexed around the neck of your guitar, the strap digging faintly into your shoulder, but even the familiar weight felt wrong—too heavy, too much, yet not enough all at once. every movement was automatic, drawn from muscle memory you couldn’t shake, but there was no spark beneath it.

 not when he was there, standing just feet away, the bright stage lights catching in the tousled strands of his hair, painting him in hues of gold that felt blinding and unreachable.

park wonbin.

even in the middle of a stage, with thousands of eyes on him, he made it seem like the whole world had narrowed to fit the edges of his silhouette. his head dipped low, fingers curling around the mic stand as the rough edge of his voice slipped into the air, wrapping around the crowd and pulling them under as easily as breathing. 

every note felt deliberate, the kind of performance that left no room for hesitation, and you hated the way your eyes traced the lines of his frame as if tethered there, unable to look away.

wonbin stood at the very edge of the stage, the crowd stretching endlessly before him, but it felt as if the entire room funneled into that single point—him. 

the mic dangled carelessly in one hand, his fingers curling around the metal with the same ease he wore in everything he did. his other hand raked through the damp strands of his hair, pushing it back just enough for the stage lights to catch along the sharp curve of his jaw, painting him in fragments of silver and gold. 

he looked untouchable—impossibly perfect, as if he existed just a breath outside of reality, shimmering at the edges like something your mind could only conjure at night, in dreams you wished you didn’t have.

his smile was a weapon—bladed and bright, slicing through the thick air and leaving a trail of casualties in its wake. you could see it in the way the crowd responded, how the front row leaned in just a little closer, how the sound of screaming filled every hollow part of the room. it shouldn’t have reached you, shouldn’t have cut so deep, but it did and you felt it settle somewhere beneath your ribs, sinking into the fragile parts of you that you’d thought were buried beneath layers of stage lights and sound.

this was the man you’d written everything for—the melodies, the lyrics that spilled from your hands late at night when sleep felt too far away. the chords you’d strummed until your fingertips were raw, hoping the weight of your heart might somehow carry across the strings. you had poured yourself into each note, crafting the very shape of him through the songs you bled onto paper, driven by a love that tangled itself so deeply into your music that it felt inseparable from who you were.

but he hadn’t seen it.

not the way you saw him.

wonbin existed just beyond reach, lingering at the edges of every song, every glance that held for too long in the quiet spaces between rehearsals. and when you had dared to close the distance—to lay your heart bare in a way that felt terrifying and inevitable all at once—he hadn’t crushed it with words or sharp rejection. no, that would’ve been easier.

instead, he’d met you with the kind of indifference that left deeper scars. it wasn’t cruelty. it wasn’t malice. it was worse.

because he didn’t know.

he hadn’t seen the depth of the wound he left behind, hadn’t realized the songs he sang now—so effortlessly, so obliviously—had been born from that ache. and as his voice spilled into the air, filling the space between you, it felt like he was singing those songs back to you.

but not for you. never for you.

this was the song.

the one you had written for him—about him—in the stillness of the night when the only sound was the soft hum of the tour bus and the ache in your chest you couldn’t put into words any other way. it wasn’t just a song, it was your confession, your breaking point, every jagged piece of your heart laid bare in the form of melody and chords.

wonbin stepped forward, mic in hand, and smiled faintly, his voice warm as it washed over the crowd.

 "this one’s special, written by our incredibly talented guitarist and our very own goddess of words—give it up for her."

the audience roared, their applause crashing like waves, but the sound barely registered. the stage lights felt too bright, bearing down on you as if they knew too much, as if they could see straight through the cracks you were trying so hard to hold together. you gave a small nod, barely enough to acknowledge the cheers, but your throat tightened when your fingers hovered over the strings.

your hands trembled, just faintly, as you picked the first few notes, the soft, aching melody stretching out over the venue like a secret you hadn’t meant to tell.

the crowd swayed, lights flickering softly like fireflies in the dark, but the only thing you could focus on was him—the way his head dipped slightly, the microphone close to his lips as he sang the opening verse.

and then it was your turn.

your voice slipped in beneath his, weaving through the melody like a breath you couldn’t hold back, soft and fleeting but impossibly intimate. it threaded through his effortlessly, your harmonies clinging to his in ways that felt too heavy, too raw. every word felt like reopening an old wound, pressing into the places you thought had long since scarred over.

his gaze stayed locked on the crowd, his eyes reflecting the sea of faces that stretched endlessly beneath the glow of the stage lights—hungry for him, devoted to him. you hated the ease with which he held them, how effortlessly he poured himself into their open hands like sunlight spilling through cracks, leaving nothing untouched. 

wonbin was a force—bright, untouchable, impossible to contain—and you felt like one of the thousands standing beneath him, trapped in his orbit but forever out of reach.

you strummed the final note, letting it hang in the air, suspended and bittersweet like a breath you didn’t want to release. for a fleeting second, the room seemed to pause with it, as if the sound could tether you there a moment longer, but the illusion shattered beneath the eruption of applause.

the crowd swallowed everything, their cheers crashed against the stage, drowning out the fragile rhythm of your heart still echoing in your ears.

wonbin grinned, flashing it out across the room like a weapon, and they ate it up—falling apart beneath the weight of his smile, their voices rising higher, feeding into the glow that surrounded him. he basked in it, soaking in their adoration like he belonged there, while you stood half a step behind, your guitar slung low and heavy in your hands. the strap dug faintly into your shoulder, but the weight pressing against your chest felt far worse.

you didn’t feel like you belonged here anymore. your stage, your music, only served of a reminder of him, of the pain it caused you.

the realization settled uncomfortably beneath your skin, tightening around you as the set barreled toward its inevitable end.

rhe closing anthem roared to life—loud and blistering, the kind of song that lit the crowd on fire, shaking the foundation beneath their feet. wonbin leaned into the mic, his voice molten with charisma, the kind that made hearts leap and arms reach toward the stage like he was something divine, just barely within their grasp.

"thank you for an unforgettable tour," he called out, his grin widening as the noise swelled impossibly louder. "we love you!"

and they loved him—loved him so loudly it felt as if the stage itself could barely contain it.

the cheers were deafening backstage, a chaotic symphony of laughter, clinking glasses, and the low hum of exhaustion masked by the adrenaline of finishing a tour. bottles of champagne popped open like firecrackers, sending golden arcs of champagne cascading through the air, dripping off fingertips and pooling in half-empty glasses as your bandmates whooped loud enough to shake the ceiling. 

it was the kind of scene that was supposed to feel triumphant, the culmination of months of hard work, sleepless nights, and endless miles on the road. but you couldn’t bring yourself to celebrate. the celebration drifted around you, filling the spaces you didn’t occupy.

you sat perched on the armrest of a worn-out couch in the corner of the room, your guitar resting against your thigh, the familiar weight grounding you even as the world spun around you. the energy in the room was infectious, but it didn’t reach you.it couldn’t.

 not when he was standing there, oblivious to the way his mere existence unraveled you, threaded into the heart of it all, like the entire room had shifted to revolve around him.

wonbin was at the center of it all, as he always was. his easy laugh cut through the noise, rich and melodic, the kind of laugh that made people gravitate toward him without even realizing it. he had a drink in one hand, the other slung lazily around the shoulder of the waitress from earlier. the one who’d been lingering at the edge of the stage, her eyes glued to him like so many others.

she clung to him now, her fingers curling possessively around his arm, her smile bright and adoring as she looked up at him. he didn’t seem to mind. in fact, he leaned into her touch, his posture relaxed, his face a picture of effortless charm.

the sight of it twisted something sharp and unwelcome inside you, settling heavily in the hollow of your chest like stones sinking into water, squeezing the air from your lungs.

you tore your gaze away, eyes dropping to the scuffed floorboards as if their worn, splintered surface might offer some kind of refuge. but it didn’t. the image of them—wonbin and the girl—was already burned there, seared into the backs of your eyelids like an unwanted tattoo, impossible to scrub away.

the weight of it lingered, gnawing at the fragile edges of your composure, until a familiar voice cut through the fog.

“hey, you good?”

yunjin’s tone was soft, but there was a sharpness beneath it—the kind of sharpness that saw too much. she dropped down beside you with the kind of casual ease only she could manage, her dress rumpled slightly from the night, cheeks still faintly flushed from the heat of the stage lights and the champagne. 

but her eyes—clear and steady—searched your face with quiet precision, narrowing faintly when you hesitated a beat too long.

“yeah,” you said, the lie slipping from your lips before you had time to soften it. you forced a smile, tugging the corners of your mouth upward until it felt tight, stretched thin enough to break. 

“just tired.”

her gaze lingered, weighing the answer as if she could peel back the surface of it with nothing more than silence. she didn’t believe you, not entirely, but she didn’t press.

instead, she nudged your shoulder lightly with hers, a small gesture that somehow felt grounding, her voice dipping low—soft enough that it barely carried over the thrum of conversation filling the room.

“it’s okay to let loose, you know,” she whispered, her tone light but edged with the kind of quiet sincerity that made your throat tighten. 

“we made it. the tour’s over, and we killed it.”

you nodded once, grateful for the attempt, but the words felt hollow—empty, like an echo swallowed by too much space.

across the room, hongjoong’s laughter rang out, bright and unrestrained as he draped an arm over gunil’s shoulders, both of them swaying slightly as they stumbled toward the makeshift bar.

“to the best damn tour we’ve ever done!” hongjoong shouted, lifting his glass high above his head in a triumphant toast.

 the declaration earned a loud chorus of cheers and whistles, someone banging a fist against the table in agreement as the bottles clinked together in celebration.

the energy swelled around you, infectious and warm, but it slipped right past you—like standing outside in the cold, watching a fire through the glass but never stepping inside.

and even as you smiled faintly, nodding along to yunjin’s words, your heart remained fixed elsewhere—still lingering in the shadow of someone who didn’t even know you were waiting there.

wonbin’s voice rose above the noise, effortless and warm, and somehow it carried more weight than the rest—cut through everything, even when you wished it wouldn’t. his laugh followed, low and rich, spreading through the room like wildfire, igniting smiles and drawing every eye toward him as if he was the very center of the world.

and maybe he was.

the waitress at his side laughed too, tipping her head back in that familiar way—the one you’d seen a hundred times from countless girls in countless cities. she leaned into him, her arm brushing against his, and the sight of it made your stomach twist violently, like something fragile inside you was curling in on itself, recoiling from the scene playing out just a few feet away.

you couldn’t look.

you couldn’t not look.

the knot in your chest coiled tighter, pulling so sharply it felt like it might snap if you stayed here any longer. the room shrank around you, the air growing thick and suffocating with each passing second, pressing in until the walls felt too close—until everything felt too loud.

every laugh grated against you, scraping raw against nerves already frayed at the edges, the clinking glasses and echoing cheers rang hollow, amplifying the ache beneath your skin, deepening the storm that had been quietly brewing in the pit of your stomach since the show ended.

your hand slipped to the guitar resting against your thigh, fingers grazing lightly over the strings, desperate for the familiar feeling beneath your touch. it grounded you, offered something steady in the middle of all the chaos. it didn’t hurt. it was the only thing that didn’t.

“hey rockstar, you’re way too quiet for someone who just killed that stage.”

minjeong’s voice cut gently through the haze, her hand finding your arm, warm and steady—a tether pulling you back down to earth. her eyes were soft, concerned but not prying, and for a moment you wanted to lean into that warmth, let her pull you from the edge.

“come on,” she added, giving your arm the faintest squeeze. “let’s get you a drink.”

“i’m not sure if i—“

“come on, one drink won’t hurt—“

“i’m fine,” you answered, but the words came too sharp, cutting the space between you like glass.

her hand slipped away, leaving behind a cold, hollow trace where her warmth had been, and guilt flared instantly beneath your ribs. you opened your mouth to apologize, but the words wouldn’t come—not when your throat was already too tight, not when it felt like the moment you spoke, everything might shatter around you.

instead, you rose abruptly, the movement sudden and graceless, pulling a few wandering glances from across the room. wonbin’s eyes never strayed from the girl beside him, but somehow that made it worse.

the noise—their laughter, his laughter—stretched thin, brittle against the edges of your mind until you couldn’t bear it any longer.

“i just need some air,” you mumbled to the two girls, the excuse barely audible as you slipped past minjeong, past the bodies filling the room, desperate to escape before the weight of it all swallowed you whole.

you didn’t stop until the door closed softly behind you, sealing the noise inside like a distant memory.

the hallway was a sanctuary of silence, the muffled echoes of laughter and celebration dissolving into the background like distant thunder. you leaned heavily against the cold concrete wall, letting it press into your spine, sharp and grounding. 

your palms slid up to your face, fingertips dragging along your skin as if the simple act of touch could smother the ache blooming relentlessly beneath your ribs. the chill bit into you, seeping through your fingers, but it wasn’t enough—not against the weight that had settled deep in your chest, heavy and unmoving.

he didn’t know.

not about the songs—the ones you’d written when sleep felt like an impossible thing, when the darkness outside the tour bus windows felt too heavy to bear alone. every lyric had been carved from the raw, unrelenting ache that he had unknowingly left behind, each melody a confession too fragile to say out loud. the words had poured out of you like blood, as if spilling them onto paper might ease the burn lodged beneath your skin. 

but none of it reached him.

not the sleepless nights. not the way your gaze clung to him on stage tonight, silently pleading for his eyes to meet yours, only to watch him look past you—through you and at the crowd. as if you weren’t there. as if you’d never been there at all.

your arms folded tightly across your chest, knuckles pressing against your ribs like that could hold the storm inside at bay, but the tremble had already started—deep and uncontrollable, unraveling you thread by thread. the cold wall against your back was solid, grounding in theory, but it did nothing to steady the shaking that crept beneath your skin.

the faint hum of celebration seeped through the door behind you, distant but persistent, bleeding into the quiet that wrapped around you like a shroud. the contrast felt unbearable—they were celebrating but you were breaking.

his voice echoed in fragments, replaying uninvited in your mind as he came to a stop next to you as the group exited the stage.

you were great tonight.

it should have been enough. hearing it from him, feeling the brief flicker of his attention—it should have been enough. but the hollowness in his tone, the effortless way he’d said it, twisted something sharp and unforgiving inside you.

he didn’t know. he didn’t feel it. not any of it.

the realization sliced through the haze like cold steel, quick and merciless, knocking the breath from your lungs. your fists curled at your sides, nails biting into your palms—deep enough to sting but not deep enough to drown out the ache curling tighter in your chest.

the air felt colder now, slipping down the corridor and winding around your body, tugging at the hem of your jacket, curling against the bare skin of your neck. it stung, but the cold was nothing compared to the raw, gnawing emptiness clawing at you from the inside, threatening to spill over if you stayed here too long.

and then, the door creaked behind you, soft footsteps breaking the fragile stillness, echoing faintly against the floor.

you didn’t look up, every part of you silently willing it to be someone else—anyone else, but you already knew. you felt him before he spoke.

wonbin.

his presence lingered just behind you, heavy and unmistakable, and even without seeing him, you could feel the weight of his eyes trailing over you, searching for something you weren’t sure you could give.

“you’ve been doing this a lot lately.”

his voice was low, just barely cutting through the quiet, like he was afraid to shatter the fragile stillness that hung between you. the weight of his words curled around the empty space, soft but certain, and something inside you twisted painfully at the sound.

your stomach flipped, and you swallowed hard, willing the sudden tightness in your throat to ease as you dragged your gaze up to meet his.

wonbin stood a few steps away, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, his head tilted slightly as he watched you. his hair, still damp from the stage lights, hung in loose, uneven strands over his forehead, the kind of careless perfection that felt maddeningly effortless. the soft glow from the hallway lights caught along the edge of his jaw, tracing his profile in faint gold, making him look more like a daydream than someone standing right in front of you.

his face was unreadable, calm in a way that felt impossible for the moment unraveling between you. but his eyes—those eyes—they didn’t waver. they stayed locked on you, steady and searching, as if he was peeling back every layer of silence and holding each fragile piece up to the light.

“doing what?” the words scraped against the walls of your throat, but you managed to keep your voice level, even though your heart hammered violently beneath your ribs.

“disappearing.”

he stepped forward, slow and deliberate, his movements careful—like he was approaching something fragile, something that might break if he got too close.

“you vanish right when everyone’s celebrating.” his gaze didn’t leave you, and the way he said it felt heavier than it should’ve. “it’s the last show, and you’re... here.”

“i needed some air.”

it came out clipped, harsher than you intended, as you shifted your focus to the floor, eyes trailing over the scuffed lines along the concrete. anywhere but him.

wonbin repeated the word under his breath, almost like he was trying it out for the first time, as if the concept itself was strange to him. the disbelief in his tone was faint, but it still brushed against you like an accusation.

a long pause stretched between you, thick and suffocating, until the weight of it pressed hard against your chest.

“you feeling okay?”

the question should have been simple, casual, even, but it wasn’t. it hit with the force of something heavier—something that cracked through the delicate balance you’d been desperately holding together since the show ended.

you forced a laugh, light and brittle, hoping it would break the tension. but it didn’t. it only made the ache sharpen, coiling deeper beneath your skin.

“i’m fine.”

“...you don’t seem fine.”

his voice softened, and damn him for that—for the quiet way his concern slipped into the space between you, for the way it made you want to crumble right there and let it all spill out at his feet, like it always did.

“what do you want me to say, wonbin?”

the words snapped out of you, harsher than you meant, but you couldn’t pull them back. they tore through the silence before you could stop them, unraveling like frayed edges you’d tried so hard to keep tucked away.

“that I’m tired? that i’ve got a headache and would like to go home? would that satisfy your curiosity”

his brows furrowed, and for a moment, he just stood there, letting the silence stretch between you—not reacting, not recoiling, just looking at you. his eyes softened slightly, but the weight of his gaze didn’t lift. it pressed harder, as if he was turning your words over in his mind, trying to decide what to do with them.

“no,” he said quietly, his voice dropping lower. 

“i just wanted to know that you were doing okay. that nothing was bothering you.”

you bit down on the inside of your cheek, hard enough that you tasted copper, hoping the sharpness of it would ground you—hoping it would keep the tears pricking at the edges of your vision from spilling over.

the silence after that felt heavier, stretching long enough to become unbearable, long enough for the ache in your chest to morph into something suffocating.

“you should go back.”

the words barely made it past your lips, forced through clenched teeth like glass, cutting on the way out.

“everyone’s waiting for you, the star of the show”

wonbin didn’t move, barely reacting to what you said. instead  he stayed where he was, his head tilting slightly, but his eyes never left yours.

“and you?”

you couldn’t answer.

the words dissolved on your tongue, swallowed by the storm tangled inside your chest—the love, the pain, the unbearable weight of everything you hadn’t said, all crashing and colliding like waves threatening to pull you under. the silence stretched, taut and unrelenting, pressing hard against your ribs until you thought you might drown in it.

so you did the only thing you could. you shook your head, turning away before the crack in your composure betrayed you. the movement felt stiff, like each muscle resisted the urge to stay, to let him see the fractures spreading beneath the surface. but you couldn’t—you wouldn’t.

wonbin lingered, his presence anchoring the space behind you. you could hear it—the soft rhythm of his breathing, uneven and quiet, weaving into the faint hum of celebration filtering through the door. the distant echoes of laughter and glass didn’t reach him, didn’t touch this fragile moment suspended between you.

for a second, you thought he might say something else—something that could undo everything, something that could slip beneath the walls you’d spent months fortifying. the air felt too thick, as if the weight of whatever was left unsaid could break apart the fragile stillness hanging between you.

“you were great tonight. if anyone’s the star of the show it’s you.”

and then he turned, the slow fall of his footsteps fading into the distance, each one pulling him further away until the hallway emptied and the weight of his absence settled hard against your chest.

you exhaled sharply, the breath leaving your lungs in a trembling rush, but the cold air did nothing to ease the ache burrowed deep beneath your ribs. it filled you instead, stretching wide and endless, hollow in all the ways that hurt the most.

your hands trembled, slipping down to press against your thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of your dress until your nails dug sharply into the material. the sting grounded you—barely—but it wasn’t enough to pull you back from the edges of the unraveling.

the hallway seemed smaller now, the shadows creeping in at the corners, the walls pressing closer as if they might collapse under the weight of everything you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

you leaned back against the wall, the rough texture scraping faintly against your skin, and let out a breathless laugh—brittle and sharp, but too hollow to hold any real amusement. it barely passed for anything other than the shape of a sob, thin and cracking apart at the edges before it faded entirely.

the ache in your chest didn’t fade, but you swallowed it down, the pain, the heartbreak, the love that burned inside you like a wildfire as you pushed off the wall, making your way back to the noise and the lights and the man who would always be just out of reach.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the studio hummed with a low, ambient quiet—the kind of stillness that seemed to hold its breath, its walls thick with the scent of aged wood and metal strings, the kind of smell that clung to your clothes long after you’d left.

you sat alone in the corner, your fingers brushing absently over the strings of your guitar, coaxing out soft, mournful notes that dissolved into the air like exhaled secrets. 

it wasn’t deliberate; it never was. the music always found you in moments like these, seeping through the cracks in your resolve, filling the empty spaces with sounds that carried everything you couldn’t say aloud.

the light spilling through the high windows was pale and muted, catching the floating dust motes in a quiet dance. it painted the room in a palette of grays and golds, softening the sharp edges of the equipment scattered around the studio. the low light from the hanging bulbs painted the room in muted golds and ambers, casting elongated shadows that stretched and swayed with every shift of your body.

you let the weight of the guitar anchor you, its familiar curve resting against your body like a second heartbeat. each note you plucked seemed to pulse in your chest, resonating deeper than the strings, like the music was reaching into the raw, aching center of you. the hum of the guitar strings vibrated softly beneath your fingers, a muted melody that felt more like a heartbeat than a tune.

and then the door creaked open, shattering the fragile cocoon of sound you’d built around yourself. hongjoong walked in first, his expression a blend of practiced calm and sharp observation. his eyes flicked to you, lingering for a beat too long, as though he was trying to gauge the exact temperature of the storm you were hiding behind your carefully composed face.

“figured i’d find you here early.”

hongjoong’s voice was soft but carried a warmth that filled the room. you glanced up to see him standing in the doorway, a to-go coffee cup in each hand. his dark eyes held a flicker of amusement, but there was something else beneath it—a quiet understanding he didn’t voice. he crossed the room with deliberate steps, the soles of his sneakers barely making a sound against the hardwood floor.

“i brought you this. thought you might need it,” he said, setting the cup down on the edge of the amp beside you. 

his tone was casual, his expression carefully neutral. he didn’t press, didn’t ask why you were here so early or why your eyes looked a little more tired than usual. instead, he gave you a small smile, the kind that said he’d noticed but wouldn’t say anything until you were ready.

“thanks,” you murmured, wrapping your hands around the warm cup. the heat seeped into your palms, grounding you in the present moment. you took a tentative sip, the rich bitterness of the coffee cutting through the haze that clung to your mind.

before hongjoong could say anything else, the door swung open with a cheerful creak, and gunil strode in, his presence as loud and unapologetic as ever. 

“man, two days off and we’re already back here? this has to qualify as workplace cruelty,” he declared, tossing his bag onto the couch in the corner.

hongjoong let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “complain all you want, but you’re here, aren’t you?”

“barely,” gunil shot back, his grin infectious as he walked past you, ruffling your hair without a second thought. 

“you look extra broody today. what, the strings giving you a hard time?”

you swatted at his hand half-heartedly, a faint scowl tugging at your lips.

 “ever heard of personal space?”

“nope,” he replied breezily, collapsing onto the couch with a dramatic sigh.

hongjoong rolled his eyes but didn’t bother hiding his smile.

“you’re impossible.”

as the three of you settled into a comfortable rhythm, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway. minjeong appeared in the doorway, her hair still slightly damp as if she’d rushed to get here. she offered a small smile as she entered, her gaze flickering to you briefly before she headed to her usual spot by the keyboard.

“hey, you didn’t reply to my text yesterday” she said softly, her voice carrying the same quiet strength that always managed to put you at ease.

“sorry, fell asleep early” you replied, your fingers idly plucking at the guitar strings. 

she didn’t push further, but her eyes lingered on you for a moment, a silent acknowledgment that she’d noticed the shift in your demeanor but said nothing as yunjin burst through the doors, taking the attention away from you.

the new quiet was broken by the sound of the door opening once more, and this time, it was wonbin. his presence seemed to fill the room effortlessly, his sun-kissed skin glowing under the warm light, and his tousled hair somehow managing to look both messy and perfect. he moved with an easy confidence, the kind that wasn’t overbearing but commanded attention nonetheless.

he held a coffee cup in one hand and a bag of pastries in the other, his smile disarming as he approached. 

“morning,” he greeted, his voice smooth and warm like honey. he handed the cup to you without hesitation. 

“thought you might need this.”

you blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “uh, thanks. but hongjoong already…”

for a moment, his gaze drifted to hongjoong, something unspoken flickering behind his eyes—there and gone in an instant, smoothed over before you could grasp its meaning.

“guess you’ll have two, then,” he said with a shrug, his smile never wavering. “never hurts to have extra caffeine, right?”

the room seemed to hum with his presence, the air shifting subtly as he took the seat across from you. his gaze was steady, a mix of curiosity and something softer, something you couldn’t quite place.

“have you been working on anything new?” he asked, gesturing to the guitar in your hands, attempting to make conversation with you.

“a little,” you admitted, your voice quieter than you intended. 

“just messing around really, drawing from some inspiration”

“messing around or making magic?” he countered, his tone light but the compliment sincere. 

“you always come up with the best stuff when you’re ‘just messing around.’”

you felt a faint heat rise to your cheeks and quickly turned your attention back to the guitar. 

“it’s nothing special.”

before the conversation could go any further, gunil’s voice rang out from the couch. “

“are we actually going to practice today, or are we just going to sit around complimenting each other?”

“leave it to you to ruin the moment,” minjeong muttered, earning a chorus of laughter from the others.

you couldn’t bring yourself to join in, the weight in your chest making it hard to muster even a faint smile. instead, you focused on the strings beneath your fingers, letting the vibrations seep into your skin, grounding you in the one thing that always made sense: the music.

the room settles into a quiet hum as everyone takes their places. the faint scent of coffee and the lingering warmth of laughter begin to dissipate, replaced by the raw anticipation of creating something new. yunjin taps a steady rhythm against the edge of her keyboard, her fingers moving in a dance of idle precision, while hongjoong adjusts his microphone with the care of someone about to bare his soul.

your guitar rests in your lap, its polished surface reflecting the muted studio lights. the strings feel like a lifeline beneath your fingertips, taut and ready to carry the weight of your unspoken emotions. you let out a slow breath, the cool air filling your lungs as you begin to strum, the first notes blooming into the space like ink spreading through water.

the melody you play is haunting and raw, a reflection of the turmoil churning within you. each chord is deliberate, resonating with a depth that makes the others pause and glance your way. 

wonbin is the first to speak, his voice warm but tinged with curiosity.

"that’s new," he says, leaning slightly forward, his attention fixed on you. "what’s it called?"

you shrug, keeping your gaze on the strings as your fingers continue to move. 

"it doesn’t have a name yet."

"it’s beautiful," he says softly, and there’s something in his tone that makes your heart clench. 

"play it again."

you do, this time letting the notes unfurl with more confidence. the melody builds, a cascade of sound that fills the room, weaving through the space like a story yearning to be told. your fingers press into the strings with a force that’s almost desperate, as if each note is a piece of the pain you’re trying to expel.

hongjoong picks up on the rhythm, his voice slipping in seamlessly to complement the haunting tune. his lyrics are improvised, raw and unpolished, but they carry an emotional weight that anchors the song. minjeong follows suit, her keyboard adding a delicate, ethereal layer that lifts the melody, while gunil’s drumsticks tap against his thighs, testing out a beat.

the room comes alive, each member adding their own voice to the burgeoning song. but for you, it’s not just music—it’s a lifeline. the guitar strings bite into your fingertips, the faint sting grounding you in the present. the vibrations hum against your chest, echoing the ache that refuses to leave. you close your eyes, letting the music guide you, each strum a step further into vulnerability.

"that’s it," hongjoong says suddenly, his voice breaking through the spell. "let’s build on this."

the band falls into rhythm, the synergy between you all palpable despite the undercurrent of tension. gunil’s drumming grows bolder, a heartbeat that anchors the song, while minjeong experiments with harmonies that dance around the melody. wonbin’s bassline is steady and grounding, a quiet strength that ties the disparate elements together.

his presence, however, is anything but quiet to you. every time you catch sight of him—his fingers moving deftly over the strings, his brow furrowed in concentration—you feel the music falter, your emotions threatening to spill over. he looks up at you occasionally, a small smile tugging at his lips, and you force yourself to look away, focusing instead on the guitar strings and the way they seem to vibrate with your pain.

as the practice continues, the song begins to take shape, its edges smoothing out as the band finds its groove. the room fills with sound, a cacophony of creativity and collaboration, but for you, it’s more than that. it’s a battlefield, each note a weapon you wield against the ache in your chest.

the last chord hung in the air like an unfinished thought, trembling before dissolving into silence. the room should’ve felt full—buzzing with the energy of creation, the satisfaction of crafting something raw and unpolished—but all you felt was emptiness. the kind that crept beneath your skin and stayed there, curling around your ribs like smoke that refused to dissipate.

gunil’s voice cut through it first, loud and buoyant, shattering the delicate quiet you were trying to lose yourself in.

"we’re geniuses. i mean, honestly. did you hear that?"

he stretched like a cat, tossing his drumsticks onto the floor with the lazy confidence of someone entirely at ease in his own skin. the grin on his face was radiant, wide enough to outshine the dim studio lights overhead.

hongjoong snorted softly, rolling his eyes, leaning casually against the edge of the soundboard.

 "yeah, it’s almost like we’re supposed to be good at this."

"i’m just saying," gunil countered, grinning at the ceiling like the notes were still floating up there, just waiting for him to catch them.

 "that was some top-tier stuff. and you know what top-tier stuff deserves?"

there was a collective pause.

"celebration." gunil grinned, flashing his teeth like he’d been holding onto the word just for this moment.

the room stirred at the word, faint murmurs of agreement rising like sparks, drifting slowly toward ignition. hongjoong raised a brow, though the amusement tugging at his lips betrayed his resistance.

 "didn’t we just drink enough to drown a small village on tour?"

"and yet, here we are. alive and well," gunil shot back, undeterred.

"you of all people should not be saying that," minjeong muttered under her breath, shaking her head as she reminisced all of the times she had to beg him to get into the van after a long night of partying hard.

but the room was already stirring with the promise of a night out. the hum of conversation grew louder, and even minjeong’s faint amusement tugged at the corners of her mouth. gunil’s enthusiasm was infectious, spreading like wildfire as the others chimed in.

"come on, hongjoong," gunil pressed, his voice rising above the chatter. "we earned this. final show was killer, the album’s practically writing itself… one night won’t hurt."

the suggestion hung there, and despite hongjoong’s half-hearted protest, the atmosphere began to shift. the idea of a party swirled like a low flame, licking at the edges of the room, spreading through the rest of them with ease. gunil thrived in these moments—the instigator, pulling everyone into his orbit until they were caught in the gravity of whatever whim struck him that day.

hongjoong sighed, but the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him. 

"fine, fine. if it means you’ll stop talking, I’ll go."

a cheer erupted, loud and unanimous—gunil’s voice carrying the most weight, echoing playfully around the room. the excitement gathered like a tidal wave, pulling everyone along with it.

you, however, remained rooted. their excitement drifted past you, ghostlike, as if there was an unspoken barrier between their laughter and the hollow ache that had settled deep within your chest.

celebrate?

the word tasted strange. foreign. how could they be so light when everything inside you felt heavy—when every glance at wonbin during practice felt like swallowing glass? the weight of it all hadn’t lessened in the days since the tour ended. if anything, it had thickened, pressing against your ribs until breathing felt like an effort you had to remember to make.

your grip tightened around the neck of your guitar, the strings humming faintly beneath your fingertips as if the instrument was the only one listening. you tried to disappear into that—into the comfort of its weight in your lap, the way the cool metal bit against the soft skin of your palms.

"you’re thinking too loud."

yunjin’s voice drifted in softly, cutting through the fog. her presence was quiet but grounding, standing just beside you. she hadn’t been there moments ago, but she always knew when to appear.

"you don’t want to go."

it wasn’t a question.

you let out a slow breath, your fingers absentmindedly trailing over the strings, pulling faint, broken notes from the guitar. 

"i just don’t know if i can handle it tonight."

the words were quiet, almost drowned by the sounds of the others still talking across the room. but yunjin’s eyes softened, catching on the slight tremble hidden beneath your voice.

"maybe that’s why you should," she said simply, her gaze steady but not forceful. 

"you’ve been carrying this for too long. sometimes a little noise helps."

the ache in your chest curled tighter.

if only it were that simple.

you wanted to tell her that noise didn’t distract you—it amplified everything. the lights, the sound, the closeness of it all made wonbin’s presence impossible to ignore, his absence impossible to forget, but you said none of that.

"i don’t know," you whispered, as if the uncertainty might shrink into something smaller if you spoke it softly enough.

yunjin offered a small smile, brushing her shoulder lightly against yours in a way that felt more comforting than words ever could. 

"i’ll stick by you. if it sucks, we’ll leave."

her voice carried the kind of certainty you wished you had, and somehow, that was enough to loosen the grip of hesitation just a little.

"fine," you exhaled, feeling the weight of the word settle somewhere deep, somewhere heavy.

yunjin’s grin softened the blow. 

"that’s all i needed to hear."

you glanced up, just long enough to see hongjoong’s gaze flicker in your direction. he hadn’t said much, but the way his eyes lingered told you he’d noticed your reluctance. hongjoong always noticed.

"meet at nine at my place," he said casually, as if your answer was inevitable. 

"don’t be late,” he directed the last part towards you, discouraging you from having any last minute change of heart.

gunil’s grin widened. "i’ll drag you there if i have to."

you offered a faint nod, though the words felt distant in your mouth.

as the others began to filter out, wonbin lingered near the door. his bass case hung from his shoulder, his tousled hair catching faint light from the overhead bulbs, glinting like dark gold. he paused for half a breath, his gaze catching yours.

you thought he might say something—maybe offer one of his casual comments, the kind that tugged on the strings of your heart more than it should have.

but he didn’t. he just smiled, small and unreadable, before stepping out after the others. the studio was quiet again, save for the soft hum of amps cooling down. you sat in the silence, the ghost of his smile still lingering in the room like a faint echo. 

maybe a little noise will help, you thought, but the ache in your chest whispered otherwise.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

yunjin’s suitcase had become an extension of the room itself, its contents spilling onto the bed in a cascade of silk and satin. the fabrics caught the dim light like oil slicks, shifting hues with every turn of her hand as she rummaged through the pile with the focus of someone convinced salvation lay at the bottom. 

dresses pooled across the sheets in soft waves, some half-folded, others left to spill over the edge onto the floor. her hands skimmed through them with surgical precision, sifting through the cascade of black and silver, each piece discarded with growing dissatisfaction.

“you’ve got to have something in here that doesn’t scream nun,” yunjin muttered, tossing aside a long black dress that pooled onto the floor like liquid shadow.

he room hummed softly with the sound of minjeong’s playlist, drifting in and out like waves lapping against the shore, but the music felt distant, as if it belonged to another place entirely. minjeong sat by the window, one leg tucked beneath her, hair falling in loose sheets over her shoulder as she watched with idle amusement.

she didn’t bother scrolling through her phone, the faint glow of the city outside enough to occupy her gaze, but you could feel her attention linger, settling quietly on the two of you from the corner of her eyes. she hadn’t contributed much to the dressing-up process beyond the occasional hum of agreement or head shake, but her presence was grounding. It was comforting in the way only minjeong’s quiet support could be.

“it’s not supposed to be this hard,” minjeong replied smoothly, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “you’re just impossible to please.”

yunjin ignored her, rifling deeper through the pile, undeterred by the jab.

you sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, tugging at the hem of the oversized t-shirt that still hung loosely off your frame, trying to shrink into its comfort as you hadn’t found the energy to part with it yet. the worn fabric felt safer than the glossy array of dresses before you. each option seemed louder than the next—demanding attention in ways you didn’t want.

“i don’t need anything flashy or revealing,” you murmured, trailing your fingers over a silky slip dress before quickly pulling back.

“you’re not hiding tonight. you deserve to feel good… even if it’s just for a few hours.”

you didn’t respond, not because you disagreed, but because part of you wondered if you even remembered how to feel that way. it had been easier during the tour—easier to let the music fill the spaces where your feelings threatened to seep through. but now the quiet was suffocating, leaving nothing to drown out the weight pressing against your chest.

yunjin didn’t wait for your answer. she pulled something dark and slinky from the pile and held it up with a triumphant gleam in her eyes. 

“this is it.”

"maybe I should just—"

"—not finish that sentence," yunjin cut in, raising a hand to silence whatever excuse was on your lips. "you’re not skipping out on tonight."

"i wasn’t going to skip."

"mm-hm." yunjin’s eyes narrowed in challenge.

"then you’re wearing this."

minjeong arched a brow, her gaze flicking between the two of you with amusement. "are we trying to start wars tonight, or…"

"if we have to," yunjin replied, her lips curling into a mischievous grin.

“no.”

“yes.”

“yunjin, i’m serious—”

“so am i.”

minjeong let out a quiet laugh, propping her chin on her hand as she watched the two of you. 

“you’re fighting a losing battle. just try it on.”

you slipped into it reluctantly, the silk cool against your skin, fitting in ways that made you hyper aware of every movement—the soft brush of fabric against your thigh, the subtle shift when you walked, as if the dress was designed to remind you of its presence.

the dress felt unfamiliar, even as it slid over your skin, molding to your shape like it had been waiting for this moment. the black fabric clung to you in waves, the high slit brushing against your thigh with each subtle shift, teasing glances at your legs as you moved.

yunjin hummed softly behind you as she swiped a thin layer of red over your lips, the color blooming beneath her careful hand, rich and bold against the softness of your skin.

“perfect,” she whispered, stepping back to admire her work.

you stared at the reflection in the mirror, the familiar slope of your collarbone catching the low light, the soft fall of your hair framing your features. it wasn’t a transformation—it was still you. only sharper. like someone had peeled away the softer edges and left behind something more defined.

it’s not someone else in the mirror, but the version of yourself you use sparingly—the one you keep tucked away, for moments like this.

minjeong had been careful with the makeup, blending shadows at the corners of your eyes until they smoldered just enough to draw focus, but not enough to overwhelm. the person looking back is still you. but sharper, guarded. as if every detail has been edged in something dangerous.

minjeong watched quietly from the bed, her gaze steady, arms crossed as if to say i told you so.

“wonbin’s not ready for this,” yunjin added, smirking knowingly.

your chest felt hollow at the mention of his name, an ache curling beneath your ribs that hadn’t fully subsided since the end of the tour.

you could still see him—wonbin, leaning against the edge of the stage, the low sweep of his hair falling into his eyes as he tuned his bass, completely unaware of the way your gaze lingered. he never noticed the way your breath hitched when his hand accidentally brushed yours during practice, or how your fingers fumbled over the guitar strings when he laughed, loose and careless, his arm slung over another girl’s shoulder at some party you didn’t want to remember.

“it’s not about him.”

yunjin’s gaze softened, but her grip on the dress remained firm. 

“maybe not. but it wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

minjeong rose from her spot by the window, crossing the room with the same quiet grace she always carried, but her gaze lingered when she stopped beside you.

“he’ll notice,” she said simply.

and somehow, that terrified you more than the thought of him looking away.

the rain had stopped long enough for the streets to dry, but the dampness still clung to the air, curling in the spaces where warmth had no business lingering. yunjin’s arm looped easily through yours, her body angled closer than usual, like she could sense the weight pressing down on you, even if you hadn’t said a word since leaving the hotel.

the dress hugged tighter than before, each shift of your hips against the silk like a reminder of how exposed you were beneath the thin layer. the heels felt too high, the cold biting at the sliver of skin where the slit along your thigh dared to catch the wind, and with each step toward hongjoong’s apartment, the gravity of the evening pressed harder into your chest.

your heart pounded—not from excitement or anticipation, but from something heavier, like dread disguised in a prettier shape. the kind of ache that curls inward, weaving through the cracks until you can’t tell if it’s even possible to separate the pain from yourself anymore.

you could already see wonbin in your mind—the way he’d sit with one arm slung over the couch, his head tilting just enough to push his hair from his eyes, that smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. effortless. like everything about him had been carefully crafted to draw people in without ever letting them get close enough to matter.

and yet, you could never seem to stop yourself from standing just close enough to get burned.

“you okay?” yunjin’s voice was softer now, breaking through the cold silence that wrapped around the both of you.

you forced a nod, the lie settling between your ribs, heavy and sharp.

but the truth was lodged deeper—no, i’m not okay.

you weren’t okay when the tour ended, when the final show’s lights dimmed and you watched him from the side of the stage, knowing that no song, no applause, could drown out the ache blooming inside your chest.

you weren’t okay when he laughed with another girl at the last party, her hand curling over his forearm like it belonged there, his gaze never once flicking in your direction.

and you weren’t okay now, knowing that by the time this night ended, nothing would have changed except the depth of the wound you were already carrying.

the apartment building loomed ahead, the faint glow of hongjoong’s window spilling out onto the street below, shadows of figures moving behind the glass.

gunil’s voice was the first thing you heard when the door cracked open, his laugh low and careless as he leaned one shoulder against the frame, beer bottle dangling lazily from his fingers.

but the second his eyes flicked over you, something shifted—his posture straightening just enough to notice, his grin faltering as his gaze trailed slowly down the length of you, lingering where the dress slipped over your hips before snapping back up to meet your eyes.

“damn.” the word left him like a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. he stepped aside, waving you through but not before shaking his head with a disbelieving smile. “i mean—wow. somebody went all out tonight.”

you felt the heat crawl up the back of your neck, cheeks warming under the weight of his gaze, but yunjin just grinned, giving him a playful shove as she followed behind.

“don’t start drooling, gunil. she’s way out of your league.”

“i’m just saying,” he defended, holding his hands up as if to surrender. his eyes flicked to you again, softer this time. “you look great. like, seriously.”

the warmth in his voice felt genuine, enough to tug at something beneath the ache that had settled in your chest long before the night started.

the room was warm—warmer than it should’ve been with the windows cracked and the faint brush of night air curling in from the streets below. the soft thrum of music pressed against the walls, low enough to dissolve into the hum of conversation, laughter trickling in from the far side of the apartment where gunil was already making himself at home.

but none of it touched you.

your glass hovered halfway to your lips, fingers curled loosely around the cool edge as you stood by the farthest corner of hongjoong’s kitchen, barely skimming the edges of the gathering. it wasn’t crowded, but it felt like it was. the apartment stretched thinner, the walls pressing in, shrinking the space between you and the one person you were trying so desperately not to focus on.

wonbin.

he was leaning against the counter near the window, one hand cradling a glass that he hadn’t touched since you walked in.

the soft glow of the string lights draped across the ceiling spilled over him, illuminating the angles of his face—the soft curve of his mouth resting in that easy, half-smile he wore like second skin, dark hair falling over his eyes in lazy strands that framed him too perfectly.

he wasn’t doing anything remarkable, just existing. and somehow, that alone had the power to hold the entire room in orbit around him.

the space he occupied seemed heavier, pulling at you like some unrelenting tide, tugging at the threads that already felt too frayed to hold. you could feel him without looking—his presence crackling at the edges of your awareness, magnetic in that quiet, dangerous way that made you want to step closer even when you knew it would only hurt.

gunil said something loud enough to pull laughter from the others, his voice rising over the rest like a spark in dry air, but it didn’t reach you.

because wonbin’s gaze had found you.

it was slow at first—a fleeting glance that should’ve passed over you like it did everyone else, but it didn’t.

his eyes lingered, trailing over the dip of your shoulder where yunjin’s necklace rested against your collarbone, skimming the soft curve of your waist before settling on the slit of your dress that shifted with the subtle sway of your weight.

and in that moment, the room dissolved.

everything blurred into the background—gunil’s voice, the music, the quiet murmur of hongjoong’s conversation with minjeong—all of it faded into static.

because the only thing anchoring you to this moment was the weight of wonbin’s eyes holding yours.

your breath hitched, catching in your throat like fragile glass, and the ache you thought you’d buried months ago pressed itself sharp against your ribs, curling tighter the longer he looked, he wasn’t smiling now, his expression was unreadable, but the intensity in his gaze was enough to set your skin alight, each second stretching thinner, pulling taut until it felt like you might break beneath it.

you didn’t move and neither did he but the space between you felt electric, charged with something unspoken that neither of you dared to reach for. you wanted to believe—for just a second—that maybe this time it was different, that maybe he was looking at you the way you always caught yourself looking at him.

but hope was a fragile thing, and it shattered the moment he blinked and his gaze dropped, falling away like the air had been sucked from the room, leaving behind the hollow echo of what could’ve been.

his attention shifted easily, sliding toward gunil as if nothing had happened—as if you hadn’t just felt your entire chest cave in beneath the weight of his stare.

you tried to breathe, but the air felt thick, and the whiskey in your glass did nothing to chase away the cold settling beneath your skin but it hurt—worse than you expected because it was always the same.

wonbin saw you, but he didn’t see you.

you were just another part of the room—another fleeting glance that didn’t stick, another shadow he’d forget the second he turned away. your heart twisted painfully, but you masked it with a slow sip of your drink, letting the burn scrape down your throat in the hopes that it would drown out the ache swelling in your chest.

yunjin was by your side before you even registered her presence, her shoulder brushing lightly against yours, grounding you in the only way she knew how.

“you’re doing that thing,” she murmured, leaning in close enough that her words barely carried past the rim of her glass.

“what thing?” you asked, though the faint tremble in your voice betrayed you.

“staring.”

your grip tightened subtly, the cold sweat of the glass slick against your palm.

“i’m not—”

“you are,” she interrupted softly, but there was no judgment in her tone—just quiet understanding.

she followed your gaze for a beat too long, watching the way wonbin’s head tilted back as he laughed at something gunil said, his hand lifting to brush through his hair.

you hated how easily he could exist like this—untouched, unaware of the way he held pieces of you you’d never been brave enough to hand over.

“it’s exhausting, isn’t it?” yunjin’s voice was low, but the weight behind it hit you square in the chest.

you didn’t answer, because there was no point in denying it. the ache had already carved itself so deeply into you that it felt permanent, like something you’d have to carry long after this night ended.

wonbin hadn’t glanced at you again, but that didn’t stop you from feeling the ghost of his gaze trailing along your skin, burning even when it was no longer there.

you wished you could stop caring, but no matter how much you tried to untangle yourself from him, he was woven into the fabric of you, threading through your veins like a quiet, persistent ache..

“we should head out soon,” hongjoong said, glancing at the time. he reached for his jacket slung over the back of the chair, slipping it on without urgency. “party won’t wait forever.”

gunil raised his bottle in mock agreement tilting it in your direction. “i’m just saying, if we’re bringing her like this, we might as well show up late and make an entrance.”

“you’re not subtle,” yunjin shot back, but the laughter in her voice softened the edge of her words.

the group began to gather near the door, the slow shuffle of jackets and boots filling the quiet that had settled over the apartment. hongjoong slipped into his usual role—organizer by default—moving between conversations as he rounded up stray belongings and gently nudged everyone toward the van waiting outside. his movements were easy, practiced, like someone who’d done this a hundred times before without thinking.

wonbin hung back, lingering near the window, the rim of his glass brushing against his lower lip as he took his time finishing the last of whatever he’d been drinking. his gaze drifted somewhere far beyond the street below, unfocused, almost thoughtful, before he finally set the empty glass down with a soft clink against the table.

the keys flashed silver as hongjoong pulled them free from his pocket, tossing them toward wonbin with a flick of his wrist. the metallic glint caught faintly in the streetlights seeping through the blinds, and for a moment, the apartment felt still—like something hanging in the air between the exchange.

wonbin caught them easily, fingers curling around the keyring with practiced grace, the jingle sharp enough to pull your attention back to the room.

hongjoong, already halfway into his jacket, hesitated just long enough to cast him a sideways glance. 

“you sure you’re good to drive?”

wonbin’s gaze shifted, meeting hongjoong’s with the faintest quirk of his brow, a soft half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“haven’t had a drop. you’d know if i did.”

the way he said it—smooth, unbothered—made your pulse stutter for reasons you didn’t want to dissect.

“it’s true,” gunil chimed in with a lazy grin, draping himself over hongjoong’s shoulder.

“i watched him sip on mocktails the whole time. the man’s practically a saint.”

hongjoong snorted. “right. saint wonbin.”

“if we crash, at least we’ll die with the prettiest driver in town,” gunil added with a grin, earning a chorus of laughter from yunjin and minjeong as they pushed their way out the door, the laughter echoing faintly as the group spilled out into the cool night air.

the weight in your chest only deepened when you stepped outside, the cool slap of night air rushing in to fill the empty space around you, the cold biting harder now as the wind curled around your legs where the dress left your skin exposed, but you said nothing, hugging your arms across your chest as you followed the others to the van.

the van waited just down the curb, parked beneath the hazy flicker of a streetlamp that buzzed faintly against the quiet. yunjin and minjeong made their way inside first, their laughter softening as the doors slid shut behind them, leaving only you, gunil, and wonbin lingering on the sidewalk.

gunil leaned against the van casually, taking his time finishing off the last sip of his beer.

you were already moving toward the open door, the quiet creak of hinges cutting softly through the night as you stepped toward the backseat. the city lights flickered faintly along the car’s surface, casting pale reflections that rippled like water beneath the curve of your fingertips. you didn’t think much of it—didn’t have to—until the faintest brush of warmth skimmed across your wrist, halting you mid-step.

the touch was featherlight, barely more than a flicker against your skin. but it burned. your breath stilled as your fingers hovered over the car door handle, the sudden weight of the moment crashing down as if time itself had narrowed to this—just the soft heat of his palm, the space between you, the silent pull that tugged at the edges of your resolve.

you turned, pulse thrumming at the base of your throat, each heartbeat painfully loud as your eyes lifted—slowly, hesitantly.

wonbin stood just behind you, his gaze already fixed on yours, steady and unreadable beneath the faint glow of the streetlights.

he didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to.

there was something in the way he looked at you—anchored you there, like gravity pulling you to him with an inevitability you couldn’t fight. the quiet hum of the distant city softened to nothing, the sound dissolving beneath the sharp, suffocating awareness of how close he was. his hand lingered just over yours, loose but present, the warmth seeping into your skin in a way that felt impossible to ignore.

wonbin’s eyes didn’t waver and neither did you. the silence stretched, threading itself tightly between you until the weight of it settled in your chest, thick and unrelenting.

then finally—finally—he spoke.

“sit up front. with me”

his voice slipped into the narrow space between you, low and quiet, curling around the inches that separated you. the words weren’t a request—soft but firm, threaded with something just beneath the surface that you couldn’t quite place. His head tipped faintly toward the front seat, the smallest tilt, but it was enough to unravel you.

your breath caught, heart slamming painfully against your ribs as the edges of the night seemed to press in closer, drawing the world smaller until it was just this.

just him.

gunil’s head tilted lazily, his eyes flicking between the two of you as something flickered across his face—a slow, knowing smile that spread like molasses, unhurried and far too pleased with itself.

“ah,” he drawled, crossing his arms over his chest with exaggerated amusement. “i get it now.”

The playful lilt in his voice dragged your attention sideways, but the hold of Wonbin’s gaze didn’t loosen.

“she looks too good to be admired from the backseat, huh?” gunil teased, his grin growing sharper as he leaned casually against the side of the car.

you barely heard him, the blood rushing in your ears was deafening, a steady thrum that drowned out everything but the weight of wonbin’s eyes still holding you in place but gunil didn’t seem to notice as he continued.

“can’t blame you,” he added with a carefree shrug, gesturing toward you with an easy nod. 

“she looks good enough to distract the whole damn car. might as well keep her up front where you can admire her properly, right?”

his words floated somewhere at the edge of your awareness—light, harmless, nothing more than the usual banter gunil was known for. but the tightness curling low in your stomach refused to ease, no matter how playful the intent.

wonbin didn’t laugh, he didn’t even glance at gunil his gaze remained anchored to yours, dark and steady, as if nothing else in the world existed in that moment but the space between you.

the silence stretched long enough to feel suffocating. and then, just when the weight of it threatened to press too hard against your chest, wonbin spoke again—soft, but unyielding.

“sit up front with me, please..”

the words slipped through the tension like silk, smoother this time but still leaving no room for argument. there was no teasing edge to his voice, no trace of the lighthearted indifference he so often carried. the usual glint in his eye, the careless charm—all of it was gone.

it wasn’t a question, it wasn’t even a request. it felt like a decision he’d made long before gunil ever opened his mouth—long before you had stepped toward the car at all and somehow, that realization made your heart stumble harder.

gunil hummed under his breath, a low, teasing sound that might have tugged a laugh from you on any other night but now, it barely registered—a distant echo drowned beneath the quiet hum of something far stronger.

the faint trace of wonbin’s touch still ghosted along your wrist, lingering like the remnants of a fading flame, delicate yet searing in its absence. it shouldn’t have felt this way—shouldn’t have meant anything, but it did.

your head dipped in a small nod, but even that felt heavier than it should have, as if the simple motion pulled at some invisible thread stretched taut between the two of you, tightening with a quiet inevitability.

a flicker crossed wonbin’s face—so quick, so fleeting—that you almost missed it. the slightest crease at the corner of his mouth, the shift in his eyes, something unreadable that dissolved the moment you caught it, vanishing as if it had never been there at all.

but you saw it, or maybe you only wanted to.

either way, he released your wrist, his fingers slipping away with a slowness that felt deliberate—like he meant for you to notice the absence, to feel the space left behind.

you swallowed, the heat rising beneath your skin at odds with the cool night air, and stepped forward. the soft thud of the passenger door closing behind you cut through the quiet as you settled into the seat. the leather pressed cool and smooth against your thighs, grounding you just enough to remember how to breathe.

funil slid into the back with the others, his laughter trailing softly behind him, though the grin he wore lingered—persistent, even in the faint reflection of the rearview mirror.

wonbin said nothing.

instead he slipped behind the wheel, the slow, fluid motion unnervingly calm, his hand hovered briefly over the ignition, but he didn’t start the car right away.

the soft click of his seatbelt broke the silence, the sound small but cutting in the closeness of the space, and somehow, it made the air between you feel even thinner.

the drive wasn’t long, but the silence stretched it thin, pulling the minutes like thread unraveling beneath the weight of something unspoken. the low hum of the engine beneath your feet seemed louder than the voices drifting lazily from the backseat—soft, distant, dissolving somewhere in the space between.

wonbin sat just inches away, his hands loose on the steering wheel, gaze fixed ahead, but his presence filled the van in a way that made the air feel heavier. the others kept talking, their laughter rising and falling in soft waves behind you, but it might as well have been static—background noise swallowed by the steady loop of your thoughts.

you hadn’t stopped thinking about it—the way he looked at you.

it wasn’t the brush of his hand against your wrist, though the ghost of that touch lingered somewhere beneath your skin, light but inescapable. no, it was the eyes that met yours in the moments after—the quiet weight in them, dark and searching, like he was trying to find something he couldn’t quite grasp.

it hadn’t left you.

even now, as the van eased to a stop and the low rumble of the engine faded into nothing, the weight of that look sat with you still, pressing into your ribs like an ache that refused to dissolve.

gunil was the first to move, his shoulder bumping into hongjoong’s as he twisted toward the door, hands planting against the seat as he shoved it open with one easy motion. the hinges groaned softly, the cool air rushing in like a breath of relief as gunil climbed out, stretching with the exaggerated groan of someone who had no right to be as energized as he was.

“finally,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders back. “felt like we were in there for hours.”

you didn’t follow—not yet.

your fingers curled around the handle, but the metal beneath your palm felt colder than it should have, grounding you in place even as the others began to filter out. the van felt safer somehow, quieter, like it might anchor you if you sat there long enough. the air, sharp against your bare arms, made you shiver, but you stayed rooted to the seat, watching the way the night folded softly around the edges of the open door.

wonbin didn’t move either.

his hand slipped from the steering wheel, falling to his lap, but he didn’t make any effort to climb out. instead, his gaze flickered toward you, lingering for just a second longer than it needed to—long enough for your breath to catch at the back of your throat.

but he didn’t say anything and neither did you.

his hands rested loosely on the steering wheel, fingers relaxed but unmoving, as if he had no intention of starting the car just yet. his head tipped slightly toward the window, eyes half-lidded beneath the faint wash of streetlights that crept through the windshield. the soft amber glow caught on the sharp lines of his profile—the slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw—illuminating him in fragments that felt too fleeting, like something slipping just out of reach.

the slow drag of his thumb across the leather beneath his palm was the only motion, tracing faint, absent-minded circles against the steering wheel. there was something deliberate about it, like he was grounding himself, tethering his thoughts to the sensation beneath his skin.

“everything okay?”

his voice slipped through the quiet, soft but clear enough to cut through the distant hum of laughter echoing from the house behind you. it wasn’t intrusive—barely louder than the rustle of leaves stirring in the night air—but there was something careful in the way he asked, like he’d been holding the question back until now.

you nodded once, quick and automatic, but the weight pressing against your shoulders told a different story. wonbin didn’t shift, but his gaze slid sideways, cutting through the thin space between you, lingering just long enough to steal the air from your lungs.

“you look good tonight.”

the words didn’t fall lightly. they weren’t tossed carelessly into the dark, the way gunil’s playful teasing had been, or wrapped in laughter the way yunjin’s voice had sounded when she zipped you into the dress hours earlier.

no—wonbin said it like it meant something, like it was a quiet truth that had pressed too long against the edge of his tongue and slipped free before he could stop it.

and just like that, the world inside the car shifted.

the compliment slipped beneath your skin, warm and unsettling, curling in the spaces you tried to keep untouched. you felt it settle low in your stomach, heavy and relentless, refusing to let go even as you glanced away, fixing your gaze on the house glowing faintly through the windshield.

but his eyes stayed. they lingered, pressing against your profile, unwavering in their weight. even as yunjin’s voice echoed from the front door, her bright laughter cutting through the night as she called for you to hurry inside, the heat of wonbin’s stare didn’t fade.

it lingered—burned—long after his gaze finally drifted away.

you followed the others toward the entrance, but the sound of wonbin’s footsteps trailing behind you felt louder than the music bleeding out from the house.

“now this is what i call a party,” gunil mused, the grin evident in his tone even as his back turned toward you.

the music throbbed low beneath your skin long before you even crossed the threshold, the bass a steady pulse that seemed to bleed through the walls and out into the night. the house was already alive, windows cracked open to let the heat spill out onto the damp street, but it did little to temper the weight pressing into your chest—the kind of heaviness that sat just beneath the surface, quiet but impossible to shake.

the house is alive with movement and sound, the heavy throb of bass reverberating through the floorboards, puling beneath your feet like a second heartbeat as laughter spills out in waves that stretch and ripple through the warm, hazy air.

 there’s a weight to it, something tangible in the press of bodies that slide past one another in the narrow hallways, something that clings to your skin like the faint, sticky sheen left behind by too much heat and too little space. the low hum of conversation ebbs and flows, mingling with the faint trace of smoke curling out from the back porch and the sweet, syrupy tang of alcohol that seems to settle on your tongue without warning, as if the air itself is thick with it.

hongjoong and gunil were the first to drift off, their footsteps already echoing toward the kitchen before the door had fully shut behind them. gunil’s laughter trailed after them, his arm still draped casually over hongjoong’s shoulder as if the two had done this a hundred times before. they slipped through the crowd with ease—comfortable, familiar—like the night belonged to them, stitched into their skin long before this moment.

yunjin and minjeong didn’t follow.

yunjin caught your wrist gently, keeping close as the current of bodies pushed past, her gaze flickering across the room before she leaned in, voice barely louder than a whisper. 

“we’re staying with you tonight. no vanishing acts.”

minjeong hummed her agreement beside you, arms crossed as she glanced toward the thick crowd gathering by the bar, unimpressed but unwavering. she didn’t need to say anything to confirm it—the weight of her presence at your side already spoke volumes.

wonbin lingered near the door, his hand brushing against the frame as he stepped inside, but his eyes were already on you. he didn’t move further, instead, his gaze shifted slowly, skimming over the crowded room as if he was searching for something—or maybe waiting.

the soft glow from the living room stretched across the sharp lines of his face, casting half of him in warm gold while shadows dipped beneath his jaw, the faint spill of light catching in his dark hair.

you felt the moment his attention flicked back toward you.

but yunjin’s arm looped through yours then, tugging you gently toward the living room. minjeong trailed just behind, a silent shadow at your side.

you didn’t look back, but you didn’t need to. wonbin saw the two of them anchored beside you—one glance, and his posture shifted, subtle but telling. his hand slipped from the doorway, and without a word, he disappeared into the crowd, the flicker of his presence folding into the blur of people before you could even exhale.

time blurred beneath the steady thrum of music, the house growing warmer with each passing hour as more bodies pressed into the narrow spaces, their laughter rising and falling in waves that seemed to crash against the walls. you stayed anchored near the edge of the room, where the lights didn’t quite reach, the condensation from your untouched glass pooling against your palm, forgotten.

yunjin’s arm looped comfortably around your shoulder, her weight pressing lightly into your side, while minjeong leaned against the wall next to you, arms crossed and gaze sharp as ever. they had barely left your side, brushing off invitations and whispered suggestions with casual ease, their presence unwavering like a pair of quiet sentinels.

you tried to appreciate it—tried to let the comfort of their loyalty settle somewhere beneath the ache still blooming in your chest—but the guilt curled in anyway, creeping up your throat as the night stretched on.

“you guys don’t have to hover, you know,” you said, forcing a faint smile that felt thin even as you tried to keep your tone light. 

“i’m not going to combust if you leave me alone for five minutes.”

yunjin’s eyes flicked toward you, her head tilting slightly in mock consideration. 

“no, but you might slip out the back door if we’re not paying attention. remember that thing you do?”

minjeong snorted softly, barely concealing her amusement.

“i swear i’m fine.” you laughed under your breath, nudging yunjin’s arm with your elbow. 

“seriously. go have fun. those two guys haven��t stopped staring at you since we got here.”

yunjin glanced toward the dancefloor, where two boys stood awkwardly pretending not to be watching your group, their heads dipping closer to each other every time yunjin looked in their direction.

“not really my type,” yunjin mused, but her gaze lingered a second longer than necessary.

“mine neither,” minjeong added, though the flicker of curiosity in her expression didn’t quite match her words.

you shook your head, rolling your eyes playfully. 

“okay, maybe not, but you can still dance with them for a bit. go. i’ll be right here when you get back.”

yunjin hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around your shoulder, but minjeong was already tugging at her wrist, urging her toward the floor.

“we’ll be close,” yunjin relented, but the teasing edge to her voice had softened, and she gave your arm one last squeeze before letting go.

you tilt the glass loosely in your hand, watching the way the condensation pools along the edges before slipping down your fingers in slow, deliberate rivulets, the coolness of it sharp against your palm, grounding you in a way that feels fleeting at best. 

the drink sits half-forgotten between sips that burn just enough to keep you anchored, but not nearly enough to dull the ache that coils deeper with every passing second spent in this room, in this house, in this night that stretches endlessly ahead of you.

this was supposed to be enough.

you told yourself the music would drown it out, that the drinks yunjin kept sliding into your hand would blur the sharp ache sitting just beneath your ribs. that if you stayed in motion, if you stayed laughing and moving and tilting your head just right when someone leaned in a little too close, it would feel like the version of yourself you tried so hard to convince everyone you were.

but it doesn’t. nothing about this night fills the hollow space curling tighter inside you.

not the taste of liquor that lingers too long on your tongue, nor the glittering haze of strangers’ smiles catching faintly in the flicker of the lights overhead.

your focus drifts, unraveling itself from the music and the crowd until it finds him, as it always does.

wonbin stood at the far end of the bar, the faint glow of low-hanging lights casting him in soft, uneven shadows that stretched long across the counter’s edge. he leaned against it with the kind of ease that looked practiced but never forced, like the moment bent itself around him, settling to fit the sharp cut of his frame as if he’d always belonged there. one hand rested loosely along the curve of the counter, fingertips tracing faint circles against the glassy surface, while the other curled around the neck of a drink he hadn’t touched in what felt like forever.

it was the posture—that posture—that made it impossible to look away.

relaxed but deliberate, as if even the smallest shift of his weight could ripple through the room unnoticed but not unfelt. there was something magnetic in the quiet stillness of him, something that tugged at the edges of your awareness, making the noise around him feel like static.

his hair—still damp from the heat inside—fell across his forehead in careless strands, sticking just enough to hint at the lingering warmth beneath his skin. the collar of his shirt dipped low, the fabric loose where it sloped along his collarbone, revealing the faintest sliver of skin that seemed to catch the light in a way that made it impossible not to stare. the shadows chased the curve of his throat, dark where the soft dip met his chest, and you hated the way your gaze lingered there—drawn to the movement of his hand as it flexed gently against the glass.

he hadn’t even taken a sip, and yet, he seemed perfectly content to let the moment pass him by, standing there like the night revolved around him—like he could shape the room without lifting a finger.

there were girls—there always were—hovering just close enough to brush against him, their eyes bright, shoulders angled inward as if pulled by the steady gravity that followed wherever he went. one leaned in closer than the others, her arm barely grazing his as she tipped her head to say something, the soft lilt of her voice swallowed by the music but somehow still there, threading through the low hum of the bar like the faintest echo of something familiar.

you told yourself not to look. not to watch the way her fingertips skimmed along the inside of his wrist, lingering longer than they needed to, or how his head dipped just slightly—just enough to catch the words she pressed into the space between them.

but your gaze betrayed you, it always did. and the worst part?it shouldn’t have mattered, but it did.

you’ve told yourself that a hundred times before, whispered it like a quiet mantra beneath your breath on nights just like this one, nights when the room feels too small and the space between you stretches impossibly wide, no matter how near he stands. but the truth is, it does matter—more than it should, more than you’ll ever let him see, and the realization of it settles deep in your chest, heavy and unrelenting as you swallow another mouthful of liquor that does nothing to soften the edges.

the music shifted, the tempo rising like the pulse of something urgent, threading through the thick air in heavy waves. for a fleeting second, you thought about leaving—letting the crowd pull you under, dissolving into the blur of bodies where faces became indistinct and the weight of your thoughts might slip away beneath the noise.

the idea curled at the edge of your mind, tempting in its simplicity, and your feet hesitated, the first step backward already sinking into the crowded floor. but before you could disappear into the current of people, his eyes lifted—like they had been waiting for yours to follow.

the connection is immediate, electric in a way that catches you off guard, locking you in place as the noise and the heat and the blur of the party around you fades into something distant, something small and irrelevant beneath the weight of his gaze.

there’s nothing hurried in the way he looks at you, his attention trailing slowly from the slope of your shoulder down to the dip of your collarbone, lingering there for just a second too long before sliding lower to trace the curve of your waist beneath the silk that clings faintly to your skin, each movement deliberate and measured, as if he’s committing the shape of you to memory in a way that feels far too intimate for a crowded room.

your breath catches, heart stuttering painfully beneath the pressure of his stare, and even as the weight of it pulls tighter around your chest, you hold it, unable to move, unwilling to look away as something unfamiliar and unsettling flares quietly in the narrow space between you.

but it doesn’t last.

and then it broke.

the shift was subtle but absolute, the moment fracturing as one of the girls beside him leaned in, her fingers curling softly around his wrist. whatever she whispered barely stirred the air, but it reached him, tugging at his focus until his gaze slipped from yours—falling away like the last flicker of a dying ember.

cold washed over you in its absence.

it’s almost laughable, the way your chest aches in his absence, as if he’d been standing beside you rather than across the room, but the feeling remains, gnawing steadily beneath the surface even as you lift your glass and down what’s left of it in one long, desperate swallow.

yunjin’s gaze flicked toward you, cutting through the blur of the crowd with the kind of precision that made it impossible to pretend you hadn’t been caught. her eyes, warm but sharp, searched yours as if peeling back the thin veneer you had tried to layer over your expression.

you felt the weight of her unspoken question—the slight tilt of her head, the pause in the way her hands moved as she danced—like she was already preparing to step away, to make her way back to your side the moment you needed her to.

but you wouldn’t let her, not tonight.

you forced a smile, light and easy, lifting your glass just high enough for her to see, as if the gesture alone could convince her. it barely touched your eyes, the strain tugging faintly at the corners of your mouth, but you held it there anyway, willing it to settle long enough for her to believe it.

yunjin’s gaze lingered, doubt flickering behind the soft glow of party lights, but after a moment, she nodded, her attention shifting back to the boy in front of her—the one who hadn’t stopped trying to make her laugh since the music started.

her laugh rang out a second later, bright and careless as she twirled beneath his arm, and relief washed over you in slow, cooling waves. you wanted that for her—for all of them.

even if you couldn’t quite reach for it yourself.

you let the smile drop the second her back was turned, the faint ache pressing back into place, familiar as the pulse that thrummed low beneath the music.

and even as you try to follow her lead, try to let the music and the drinks and the night pull you back into the moment, your attention drifts, seeking him out once more, as it always does.

because no matter how much you tell yourself to stop, no matter how much you try to bury the feeling that festers low and bitter in your chest, you know the truth of it. it’s always him and it always will be.

the bass seemed to sink beneath your skin, rattling through your bones in slow, pulsing waves, each throb heavier than the last as it settled low in your chest. the music wasn’t just sound anymore—it was weight, pressing against your senses until the edges of the room began to blur, the faint hum of overlapping voices weaving together into something indistinct, hollow, and distant. 

the warmth from the alcohol you’d downed earlier lingered in the back of your throat, burning faintly as it mixed with the stagnant air thick with perfume, sweat, and the sharp bite of something metallic that curled at the edges of your tongue. you blinked against the haze, but it didn’t help, the dim lights scattering in soft halos across the glossy floor beneath your feet, and for a moment, the entire club felt like it was spinning in slow motion—tilting just slightly off its axis. 

someone brushed past you, their laughter loud and sharp in your ear, but it dissolved as quickly as it came, melting back into the crowd that swayed and pulsed in time with the relentless beat. the room felt too small, too close, the bodies pressing in around you until your breath came shallow and uneven, and suddenly the need to escape was undeniable, coiling tight beneath your ribs until it was all you could focus on.

your grip tightened briefly around the edge of the table, fingertips sliding against the slick surface as you steadied yourself, but even the contact felt fleeting—like you weren’t fully anchored in the moment. the room was shifting around you, or maybe it was just the alcohol catching up, burning low and slow beneath your skin, trailing through your veins in a way that made the lights smear at the edges. 

the crowd stretched out ahead of you, bodies tangled together in clusters that swayed lazily with the rhythm, and for a moment, the space between the exit and where you stood felt impossible to cross. the music pressed down harder, vibrating through the soles of your boots, each beat crawling up your legs and settling uneasily beneath your ribs. your heart thudded in sync with the bass, every pulse a sharp reminder of the weight you couldn’t shake.

you started moving without fully realizing it, your body threading instinctively between the groups that filled the room. each step felt too quick and too slow all at once, the ache in your chest urging you forward, while the drag of the alcohol in your bloodstream blurred everything else, dulling your senses. the faces around you drifted past in streaks of warm skin and glittering eyes, laughter blooming somewhere to your right, but the sounds were muted—faint echoes that faded the further you pushed through the crowd.

the air thickened the closer you got to the staircase, curling against the back of your neck, hot and stifling, until the ache sitting low in your chest unfurled into something sharper—more desperate. the throb of the music swelled, loud enough to rattle through your teeth, and by the time you reached the edge of the room, it felt like the floor itself was vibrating beneath your feet, threatening to pull you under if you stopped for even a second.

the stairway stretched upward in front of you, narrow and half-lit, the kind of forgotten corner of the house that felt colder—untouched by the heat and pulse of the party below. each step creaked faintly beneath your weight, the sound swallowed quickly by the bass that still throbbed through the floor, echoing distantly in your chest like an unwanted second heartbeat. 

the further you climbed, the heavier the air seemed to grow, thick with the lingering scent of alcohol and something sharper—regret, maybe, or the remnants of disappointment clinging stubbornly beneath your skin.

it wasn’t just the crowd pressing too close or the warmth prickling along the nape of your neck that drove you here.  was the way wonbin hadn’t looked at you—*not really.* the brief flicker of his gaze had slipped past you too easily, and the hollow ache it left behind had settled deep, curling into a shape you couldn’t shake.

climbing the stairs felt like trying to outrun it, though you knew you wouldn’t. still, the slow burn of each step beneath your feet offered something—distance, if nothing else. distance from the music, the stifling heat, the soft edges of laughter curling out of mouths that weren’t yours.   

the hallway was hushed, the faint thrum of music filtering up through the floorboards like a distant storm, softened by layers of wood and space. the air felt sharper here, cooler against the back of your neck, slipping beneath the collar of your shirt in a way that made your skin prickle.

it was a relief—a stark contrast to the heavy, suffocating warmth that lingered downstairs, where bodies pressed too close and the weight of Wonbin’s absence felt louder than the music itself. one of the doors stood slightly ajar, pale light spilling out in a thin, uneven line across the hallway, and without thinking, you slipped inside. 

the room was small and sparse, walls bare except for faint smudges where posters once hung, the faintest scent of something sweet—cigarette smoke, maybe, or someone’s forgotten perfume—still hanging in the air. you leaned back against the door until it clicked shut, the latch settling quietly, and for a long moment, you simply stood there, the cold seeping in through the soles of your shoes. 

eventually, the weight in your chest pulled you down, and you slid carefully to the floor, knees bent loosely in front of you as your shoulder pressed into the wall’s smooth surface. the floor was cool against your thigh, grounding you in a way the alcohol couldn’t, and the pressure of your head tipping back against the wall felt like the only thing holding you together—fragile, maybe, but steady.

his name felt like an echo that refused to quiet, reverberating through the hollow spaces inside you, filling the cracks you hadn’t realized were there until he slipped between them. it didn’t matter how much you tried to push him out—the memory of him was woven too tightly into the fabric of your thoughts, unraveling only when the night stretched long and sleepless.

you hated how easily he occupied the quiet, how the shape of him still pressed against the edges of your consciousness even now, as if the ghost of his touch lingered beneath your skin. wonbin had always been like that—effortless. the way he moved, the way he laughed, the way his eyes softened in fleeting moments that weren’t meant for you but still burned when they landed there.

even after he’d left you splintered, after his gaze had flickered past yours like you weren’t worth lingering on, some part of you remained tethered to him, as if your heart hadn’t gotten the message that it no longer belonged to you. It ached in the worst ways—quietly, but persistently, like a dull bruise beneath the surface. 

you told yourself it wasn’t love, but that felt like a lie too fragile to hold. whatever it was, it kept you restless, fingers curled into the sheets at night, wide-eyed beneath the ceiling, counting the faint shadows cast by distant headlights that slipped through the blinds. the weight of it pressed into your ribs, deep and aching, refusing to be ignored, and even now, in the stillness of this room, he lingered—always lingering.

you’d told yourself a hundred times that he was never yours to begin with, but somehow the words never felt true enough to settle. they sat heavy and sharp on your tongue, cutting deeper each time you whispered them beneath your breath, but they never bled the ache from your chest. 

the truth was colder than you expected, more merciless in the way it wrapped around you at night, curling tight until it became something you couldn’t shake. he had always belonged to everyone—his smiles, his laughter, the fleeting glances that seemed to rest on strangers more easily than they ever landed on you. 

and yet, there had been moments, soft and fleeting, that felt like they were carved out for you alone. the way his eyes lingered just a little too long during late-night rehearsals, or the gentle brush of his hand against your arm as he passed by—small, thoughtless things that shouldn’t have mattered but stayed with you long after they happened. you tried to convince yourself it was imagined, something you stitched together in the dark corners of your mind when sleep wouldn’t come, but it didn’t make the ache any easier to bear. 

accepting that he would never be yours felt less like letting go and more like tearing something vital from the hollow beneath your ribs, leaving behind only empty space and the echoes of what could have been.

you barely registered the creak of the door over the hum in your head, too lost in the tangle of your own thoughts to notice the subtle shift in the air. the weight in your chest had grown familiar by now, wrapping around you like second skin, and the idea of him was as constant as your breath—so much so that when you sensed him, it felt like just another manifestation of the way he lingered behind your eyelids when you closed your eyes. 

you didn’t look up, unwilling to break the fragile thread of distance you were clinging to, even if it was only in your mind. but then the faint scent of him swept in, heady and unmistakable—the sharp bite of leather softened by something warmer, something that made your stomach twist in ways you wished it wouldn’t. it settled around you slowly, wrapping itself into the cracks like it had every right to be there, and for a moment you thought maybe you were imagining it.

but then the air shifted again, and you felt it—the briefest brush of his sleeve grazing against your arm, the supple texture of worn leather skimming over your skin like a phantom touch that lingered long after it passed. the heat of him followed, subtle but undeniable, radiating outward in soft waves that melted into the space between you until the room felt smaller, more intimate in a way that made your pulse stutter unevenly beneath your ribs. 

your eyes flickered open, slow and hesitant, and there he was—real. wonbin had slipped into the room quietly, his figure half-shadowed by the faint glow of the hallway behind him, but even in the dim light, there was no mistaking the way he filled the space. he didn’t say anything, not right away, but the weight of his presence alone was enough to unravel the careful threads you’d tried to pull around yourself, leaving you exposed beneath the quiet intensity of his gaze.

the silence between you felt fragile, stretched so thin that you swore he could hear the erratic stutter of your heart as it climbed higher into your throat. each beat seemed louder than the last, pounding relentlessly beneath your ribs, and you hated how impossible it was to quiet the tremble lingering just beneath your skin. 

wonbin hadn’t moved, but the space between you felt smaller with every second that passed, his proximity dissolving the delicate barrier you were clinging to. he was close enough now that you could make out the faint scattering of beauty marks that traced a path along his neck, each one as familiar as the chords of a song you’d memorized by heart. 

your gaze lingered there longer than it should have, following the subtle curve of his throat to where his collar dipped slightly, exposing just enough skin to remind you how many times you’d pretended not to notice. his hair had grown since the last time you were this close, strands falling in soft waves just past the nape of his neck, curling slightly at the ends in a way that made your stomach twist. 

it was such a small detail, but it ached—the memory of the last time you’d been beside him like this unraveling in your mind without permission. you remembered the heat first.

the way it pooled low in your stomach, twisting tighter with every soft press of his lips against your skin, with every inch of space he closed between you until his weight pressed fully into you, warm and grounding. the air had thickened, heavy and languid, settling between each breath like honey—stretching time, making every second feel slower, sweeter, as if the night itself didn’t want to end.

his touch wasn’t hurried.

it lingered—each drag of his palm along your waist deliberate, like he was memorizing the curve of you beneath his hands, mapping the distance between your ribs and the dip of your hip with reverent care. his fingers curled against the small of your back, tugging you just a little closer, until you could feel every shift of his body, the subtle ripple of muscle beneath smooth skin as he moved.

and god, the way he looked at you.

dark eyes half-lidded, heavy with something that felt almost fragile in its intensity, like he wasn’t quite sure if he should hold you tighter or let go before he lost himself completely.

the weight of it all tugged at something sensitive beneath your ribs, sharp and tender in the same breath, and before it could spiral further, you forced your eyes away, grounding yourself in the faint cracks along the floorboards instead. The ache dulled, but it didn’t disappear, settling into a quiet hum that you tried to ignore as the seconds stretched on.

the silence continued to stretch unbearably thin, so fragile you thought even the sound of your breath might shatter it. his presence filled the room so effortlessly, as if he belonged there, while you sat pressed against the wall, arms wrapped loosely around your knees in a dress that suddenly felt too thin for how exposed you felt beneath his gaze. 

the weight of it lingered, dragging over your skin like static, and before you could stop yourself, the question slipped out—soft but edged with something you couldn’t quite name.

“what are you doing here?”

your voice felt small in the stillness, cracking slightly at the edges, but he caught it anyway. wonbin’s head tilted just slightly, dark hair falling messily into his eyes, but he didn’t answer right away. instead, his gaze traced the soft curve of your shoulder, dipping lower to where the thin fabric of your dress stretched delicately over your knee. 

his eyes lingered there—too long. it sent a flicker of heat curling under your skin, the air between you growing heavier, suffocating in the worst way.

“thought you might need some company,” he said at last, his voice low but light, like he hadn’t just unraveled something fragile inside you.

the corner of his mouth lifted, almost teasing, but it didn’t meet his eyes.

he shifted closer then, slow and deliberate, until his thigh rested faintly against yours, the leather of his jacket brushing against the bare skin of your arm. the touch burned—not enough to hurt, but just enough to stay. you couldn’t ignore the heat radiating off him, seeping through the space between you, making the thin straps of your dress feel insignificant.

you swallowed hard, but it did nothing to loosen the ache curling deep in your chest.

“i’m sure those girls downstairs won’t be too happy you left them behind,” you muttered, forcing your gaze down to the floor, watching the way the shadows stretched long beneath the soft pool of light overhead.

his chuckle was soft, breathy—almost like he wasn’t supposed to let it slip.

“they’ll survive,” he said casually, but the weight in his voice was anything but.

you could feel him watching you, the intensity of his stare drawing heat to your cheeks, and the longer you sat there, the more suffocating the quiet became. his shoulder grazed yours once more, subtle but intentional, and the faint pressure of it sent a shiver down your spine, your body betraying you in ways you wished it wouldn’t.

the worst part was that he didn’t even have to try.

wonbin existed in a way that made the space around him feel smaller, tighter—like he could pull someone in without even meaning to, and you hated how easily you slipped under that gravity. even now, with him sitting just inches away, you felt like you were falling all over again, even though you swore you’d stopped letting yourself trip over him a long time ago.

but here you were.

and there he was—close enough to touch.

you kept your gaze trained somewhere near the floor, fixated on the shadows stretching beneath the doorframe, but it did little to steady the fragile rhythm of your breath. the warmth radiating off wonbin, so close yet still untouchable, felt like it could unravel you if you weren’t careful. 

you could already feel it—the delicate thread of composure fraying at the edges, pulled tighter by the way his thigh rested just against yours, the soft brush of his jacket sleeve lingering faintly on your arm like an imprint you wouldn’t be able to shake. you told yourself not to look at him, not to indulge the ache curling low in your stomach, but your body betrayed you.

before you could stop it, your eyes lifted—drawn to him like the ocean dragged toward the shore, inevitable and unrelenting.

he was beautiful in the most dangerous way, and you hated how easily the thought slipped into your mind, settling there like it belonged. the faint glow of the light softened the edges of him, pooling along the curve of his jaw and catching faintly on the strands of hair that brushed past his eyes, longer than you remembered.

his lips, slightly parted in the kind of breathless stillness that felt unintentional, twisted faintly into something that wasn’t quite a smile but held the same weight. the soft dip in his collarbone was visible just beneath the open neckline of his shirt, and you caught yourself lingering too long there, following the path down to where his arm rested loosely against his knee, his fingers tapping thoughtlessly at his jeans. 

every small movement felt amplified in the silence, each rise and fall of his chest leaving you breathless in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol burning low in your veins.

he hadn’t said a word, but he didn’t need to. the flicker of his gaze—the way his eyes slid just slightly toward you without fully turning his head—was enough to confirm what you already knew.

he felt it. he knew you were staring, drinking him in piece by piece as if you could commit him to memory, as if looking at him long enough would soften the hollow ache sitting low in your chest. but he said nothing, and somehow, that made it worse.

your throat tightened, heat crawling up the back of your neck until you had to look away, forcing your gaze back down to the floor as if grounding yourself to something steady might keep you from unraveling entirely, but it was too late.

wonbin had always known how to linger in the spaces between, how to slip beneath your skin without trying—and even now, even in the heavy quiet of that room, he was everywhere.

his voice cut through the stillness, soft but steady, curling around you in the quiet like he’d been waiting for the right moment to speak. 

“everything’s good with us, right?"

the words felt too careful, too deliberate to be anything but intentional, and for a fleeting second, you forgot how to breathe. your heart lurched, betraying you in the worst way—loud and erratic, hammering against your ribcage with a force you were sure he could hear in the silence that followed.

his eyes remained fixed ahead, but the weight of his question hung between you like a thread pulled too tight, stretched to the point of snapping. you wanted to say something, to let the answer slip from your lips in a way that felt casual, indifferent—yes, of course, why wouldn’t it be?

but the words caught somewhere deep in your throat, tangling with the mess of thoughts you’d been desperately trying to ignore all night. had you been too obvious? had your eyes lingered too long, or had the silence stretched a little too thin, leaving just enough space for him to notice the way you’d withdrawn without meaning to?

you forced yourself to stay still, afraid that even the slightest shift might betray the storm unraveling beneath your skin. his gaze flickered sideways, catching the faintest movement in the corner of his eye, and your body tensed instinctively under his attention.

the moment stretched endlessly, the pulse in your neck thrumming painfully as you tried to gather your composure, but your heart wouldn’t cooperate. it never did when it came to him.

wonbin shifted slightly, the movement soft but deliberate, like he was giving you space to speak. when you didn’t—when the silence held firm between you—he exhaled quietly, his gaze dropping to where his hands rested loosely on his lap.

“i just mean… you feel far away lately. like you’re here but not really present.”

his voice dipped softer, low enough that it barely cut through the faint thrum of music bleeding from downstairs. the kind of softness that didn’t belong to him—like he wasn’t used to carrying words that fragile, as if he wasn’t sure how they’d land but couldn’t bring himself to swallow them.

his eyes lingered on you, dark and steady, searching for something he wasn’t even sure he’d recognize if he found it. there was a quiet weight there, the kind that settled in the spaces between what was said and what wasn’t, stretching taut between the inches of air keeping you apart.

his fingers twitched absently against the zipper of his jacket, tugging it up halfway only to drag it back down again, the faint metallic rasp echoing louder than it should have in the heavy silence that had started to press in around you both.

the way he fidgeted—restless and distracted—felt out of place, a subtle unraveling at the edges of someone who was always so composed, so maddeningly effortless in everything he did.

“you’ve been slipping away.”

the words came quieter, like they almost weren’t meant to be said aloud, but once they were, there was no pulling them back. his gaze never wavered, pinning you in place as if daring you to deny it. there was no accusation in his voice—just something heavier, something that sat low in his chest, threaded through the spaces between each word.

“i see it even when you think i don’t.”

his brows knitted together, barely, as if the distance between you was something tangible, something he’d been measuring long before this moment. when his gaze dipped, it wasn’t aimless—it followed the worn path of your footsteps, tracking every inch of space you put between him and the truth you refused to say aloud, before finally settling back on you, sharp and searching..

and for the first time in a long time, he looked… bothered. like the distance between you had started to gnaw at him too. like maybe, just maybe, he felt it too.

the words pressed into your chest, sinking deep, and for a brief second, you wished he’d left them unsaid he always had a way of noticing the things you thought you hid well, and somehow, it made the walls you’d tried to build feel thinner, like he could see right through the cracks you’d been so careful to ignore. 

his eyes lifted then, searching yours for something you weren’t sure you could give, and you felt it again—that unbearable heat creeping up the back of your neck, curling under your skin until you had to grip the hem of your dress just to keep your hands from trembling.

you could feel him watching you, waiting for some kind of reassurance, but the words sat heavy in your throat, unwilling to rise.because what were you supposed to say to that?

that he was the reason you felt far away? that you were retreating not because you wanted to, but because staying too close—letting him see too much—hurt more than you knew how to explain?

you swallowed, forcing the breath caught in your throat to steady itself before it could betray you. 

"i’m fine," you said, and somehow, the words slipped out smoother than you expected—so smooth they almost felt real. 

your voice didn’t crack, didn’t waver, but it sat uncomfortably in the air, stretched thin like a wire ready to snap

“i’s just the tour. long nights, long drives… it’s catching up to me, i guess." you tacked the last part on casually, adding a faint shrug for good measure, hoping the ease in your posture would sell the lie well enough to make him stop looking at you like that.

but he didn’t. wonbin’s eyes narrowed slightly, just enough for the weight of his gaze to press heavier against your skin, and you felt the shift before he even spoke.

"that’s not it," he said simply. there was no hesitation, no room for you to slip through the cracks of false reassurance. 

“you’ve been different since… that night."

the words hung in the air, suspended like smoke, curling between you until it felt like they left shadows against the walls. you wished he hadn’t said it, hadn’t pulled the memory from where you buried it because now it was here again, sitting just between your ribs, burning slow and steady like it never really left.

you stiffened involuntarily, your fingers tightening around the fabric of your dress as you glanced down at the floor. 

“i don’t know what you mean.”

you meant for it to sound light, dismissive, but the words landed wrong—strained and thin, like they didn’t quite fit into the space they were meant to fill.

“yeah, you do.”

his voice wasn’t confrontational, but firm.

“it was just a night, wonbin. it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

wonbin leaned forward slightly, enough that his knee brushed against yours, and the faint press of it left your pulse stumbling over itself. his eyes searched yours, flickering with something unreadable—something quiet, but not distant.

"you didn’t hate it, did you?"

the question lanced through you, cutting clean and sharp, and for a second, you felt like the breath had been stolen from your lungs. your fingers curled tighter against the hem of your dress, twisting the fabric slowly between your knuckles as if that might somehow keep the frustration bubbling beneath your skin from rising to the surface. 

how could he not see it? the thought pulsed, loud and sharp in your chest, echoing in the spaces he left bare with his questions. was it really that impossible for him to imagine the truth? that the weight sitting between you wasn’t regret, wasn’t confusion, but something far worse—something you’d been carrying alone for far too long.

you shook your head, slow and deliberate, eyes fixed on the faint cracks spidering along the floorboards, unwilling to meet the gaze burning quietly into the side of your face. you didn’t trust yourself to speak.

wonbin exhaled softly, the sound barely more than a breath, but the subtle shift in his posture was unmistakable. his shoulders relaxed, the tension unwinding from where it had been coiled, and for a fleeting second, his relief settled over the room like the soft hum of static.

it felt like a weight pressing deeper into your chest.

"so… what is it then?"

the question sliced through the stillness, pulling you apart in ways you didn’t expect.

there was no teasing lilt in his voice this time, no quiet smugness lingering at the corners of his mouth. he wasn’t brushing it off, wasn’t laughing or letting the moment slip through his fingers the way you thought he would.

he was waiting, and that made everything worse.

"i won’t push," he said finally, his voice dipping low, rough at the edges but laced with something gentler. "but… i’m here, you know? if you ever feel like talking."

the words settled heavily over you, pressing into the ache sitting just beneath your ribs, and for a second, it felt like the air in the room had grown thicker—almost too much to swallow. you nodded faintly, the motion small and fragile, but even that felt unsteady beneath the weight curling in your chest.

a hum slipped from your throat, soft but strangled, and you hated the way it felt—how it barely held together when the edges of your composure were already splintering. your fingers tightened against the thin fabric of your dress, nails biting faintly into your palm as if the sharpness might keep the burning behind your eyes from spilling over.

you forced it back—swallowed it down—until the ache dulled into something manageable, something small enough to keep hidden just beneath the surface.

wonbin didn’t look at you after that. he let the silence linger, stretching wide enough to give you space to gather yourself, and somehow that made it both easier and harder all at once.

the silence between you didn’t dissolve; it thickened, coiling tightly in the narrow space that separated you—if it could even be called that. his knee still brushed faintly against yours, a point of contact so small it shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. 

it felt like everything. 

the warmth radiating from him seeped beneath your skin, clouding your thoughts, tangling them into a haze that made it hard to remember how to breathe it was overwhelming—the way your pulse tripped over itself, the way the air felt too hot despite the coolness pressing through the wall at your back. and then he looked at you.

not in passing, not like before. this time, his eyes dipped low, slow and deliberate, dragging over the shape of your shoulders, the soft curve of your collarbone, before resting somewhere just below your chin.

his gaze lingered, dark and steady, tracing the delicate slope of your collarbone and the faint rise and fall of your chest as if committing each subtle detail to memory.

“you look pretty.”

the words slipped out quietly, but they landed like stones, rippling through the space between you, heavy in a way that felt irreversible.

it wasn’t the first time he’d said it. you remembered the low murmur of those same words in the soft, dim light of his car—the way his hand brushed the steering wheel as if the compliment had been an afterthought, something so simple yet lingering long after the moment passed. but even then, there had been sincerity tucked beneath the calm curve of his voice, no trace of jest or casual charm.

and now—now it was different.

his voice carried the weight of something that had been pressing at the edges of him for too long, something unspoken that finally bled through before he could stop it. the words tumbled out like he’d been holding them back, and there was no disguising the way they sat, raw and unpolished, between the two of you.

he wasn’t teasing. there was no faint curl of his lips to soften the blow. just the faintest flicker of hesitation in his eyes, the briefest pause that felt too fragile, too intimate, like even he hadn’t meant to let it slip.

your breath caught, shallow and uneven, and you felt it—the shift in the air, the slow unraveling of the fragile thread you’d been clinging to since the night began.

his eyes hadn’t left yours, hadn’t strayed from the subtle tremor in your hands as they twisted absently against the hem of your dress, the silk wrinkling beneath your fingertips in a way you couldn’t stop.

you wanted to speak, to downplay it, to offer something light that might untangle the knot tightening low in your stomach, but the words wouldn’t come. and he just kept watching, his gaze unwavering, like he was daring you to look away first.

his gaze dipped lower, lingering at the curve of your mouth, and the breath you’d been holding slipped out too sharply, catching in your throat. the words you wanted to say—the easy, dismissive ones that would push him away and smooth over the crackling tension—froze somewhere between your chest and your tongue, heavy and unmoving. His eyes stayed there, dark and unreadable, following the slow press of your teeth as they sank into your lower lip, and for a fleeting second, you thought he might say something—might do something to ease the tension.

but he didn’t.

the air between you felt electric, like a wire pulled too tight, thrumming with an energy that could snap at the slightest movement. you knew you should look away, should peel yourself from the wall and put distance between you, but you couldn’t. your body wouldn’t cooperate, no matter how hard you willed it to listen and his proximity rooted you in place, the heat radiating off him felt like it was soaking into your skin, holding you there.

you swallowed thickly, heart rattling against your ribs, and before the moment could spiral further, you tore your gaze away, dropping your eyes to the floor as if the sight of scuffed floorboards could cool the warmth burning its way beneath your skin. your fingers twitched faintly at your sides, brushing against the soft fabric of your dress, and you bit down harder on your lip, the faint sting grounding you—reminding you.

you can’t do this.

you told yourself to leave—you knew you should. the thought rang loud and clear, rattling through your head with every agonizing second that passed, but your body betrayed you, anchored stubbornly to the spot as if your limbs no longer belonged to you. every inhale felt heavier, weighted down by the intoxicating pull of him, and no matter how fiercely you urged yourself to step back, the space between you felt impossible to cross.

you could already see it—the disappointment written plainly across yunjin’s face, the way her eyes would narrow knowingly, sharp but sympathetic as if she’d been waiting for this moment. minjeong wouldn’t say anything, but you could hear her sigh in your head, that quiet exhale that spoke louder than words, echoing with disapproval she wouldn’t bother to voice.

they were right, you knew they were right.

but it didn’t matter. not now—not when wonbin was this close, his presence consuming every inch of the space around you until it felt like there was nothing left but him. his warmth melted into yours, heady and overwhelming, drowning out the faint hum of music bleeding through the walls, drowning out the echo of reason whispering at the back of your mind.

your pulse betrayed you, thundering beneath your skin in frantic bursts, and you hated how easily he unraveled the parts of you you’d worked so hard to protect. it was overpowering—he was overpowering, and the sheer force of him kept you frozen in place, as if stepping away would only pull you deeper beneath his gravity.

wonbin hadn’t moved, hadn’t said a word, but somehow that made everything worse. the absence of distance between you pulsed like a live wire, charged and dangerous, and no matter how hard you tried to focus on anything else—on the scuffed floorboards, on the faint draft creeping in from under the door—your eyes still gravitated back to him, helpless against the current that pulled you under.

the moment unraveled in slow motion, the weight of the silence folding in on itself until there was nothing left to hold it back. wonbin’s eyes flickered down—barely, but enough for you to feel the shift in the air, thick and electric, like the seconds before a storm breaks. your breath caught, lodging somewhere between your chest and throat, but you didn’t pull away. 

you couldn’t.

his gaze lingered there, heavy and deliberate, tracing the soft curve of your mouth with an intensity that sent heat rushing to the tips of your fingers.

and then he leaned in.

it wasn’t sudden—not really. his movements were slow, careful, as if giving you space to slip away, to stop this before it crossed the line you’d danced around for so long but you didn’t. you stayed.

and when his lips finally brushed against yours, it was like something inside you cracked open.

the kiss wasn’t soft—it was fire, burning hot and immediate, pouring out of him in a way that stole the breath from your lungs, akin to that night. his hand slid along the side of your neck, fingertips grazing the line of your jaw as if to anchor you there, and you melted beneath it, pressing closer until the space between you no longer existed. his other hand curled loosely at your waist, the warmth of his palm seeping through the thin fabric of your dress, and the sensation made your skin ignite, trembling beneath his touch.

your fingers found the collar of his jacket, clutching at the leather like it might steady you, but nothing felt stable—not with the way his lips moved against yours, slow at first, teasing, before deepening with a hunger that left you dizzy. every brush, every tilt of his head felt deliberate, as if he’d been holding back for far too long, and now there was no reason to.

the kiss twisted something inside you—tight, aching, and impossible to ignore.

your heart raced, thrumming wildly in your chest, but none of it felt overwhelming. if anything, it felt right, as if this was the only way the night could’ve ended, as if every glance, every touch, had been building to this moment, to the way his hands mapped out the curve of your back, pulling you further beneath the weight of him.

and for once, you let it.

you let him drown out the thoughts, the voices, the lingering regret that whispered too loudly in the quiet, because right now, there was only him and that was enough.

the kiss deepened, unraveling slowly but with an urgency that set your skin alight, each brush of his lips coaxing you further under. there was something reckless about the way he kissed you—like he wasn’t thinking, wasn’t holding anything back, and you matched him without hesitation, your body arching instinctively into the pull of him. 

his hand splayed wider against your waist, fingers curling slightly as if to draw you impossibly closer, and the pressure sent a rush of heat spiraling down your spine. every point of contact felt amplified—the firm press of his thigh against yours, the way his thumb traced faint circles along your jaw, tilting your face just enough to deepen the connection.

the world outside of this room—the party still thumping below, the haze of alcohol humming faintly in your veins—faded into nothing, drowned out by the slow drag of his mouth against yours. it was intoxicating, the way he kissed you—like he wasn’t just taking his time but memorizing every second of it, and it left you breathless, every part of you humming beneath his touch.

your fingers tightened in the collar of his jacket, nails grazing the cool leather as if anchoring yourself there might keep you steady, but there was no steadiness to be found. the kiss was all-consuming, and you found yourself chasing it, letting him tilt your chin higher as his lips parted slightly, teasing the line between too much and not enough.

a soft, involuntary sound slipped from your throat, and you felt him smile faintly against your mouth, the curve of it somehow making everything worse—because he knew. he knew exactly what he was doing to you, but you didn’t stop him.

his teeth grazed your lower lip, tugging just enough to send a shiver through you, and the low, quiet exhale that followed only fueled the fire blooming steadily in your chest. his touch, light but sure, traced the dip of your spine, fingers ghosting over the thin straps of your dress, and the sheer intimacy of it made your breath hitch, your body pressing flush against his without thought.

the heat between you burned hotter, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew you should stop—that this was dangerous, that nothing about this could end neatly—but the thought flickered and died as quickly as it appeared.

right now, with his mouth on yours and his hands steady against your skin, you didn’t care about consequences. all you wanted was him.

when wonbin finally pulled away, it was slow—like he didn’t really want to, like something tethered him to you even as his lips parted from yours. his forehead brushed against yours, faint and fleeting, but he stayed close, so close that you could still feel the warmth of his breath fanning lightly across your skin, each exhale shallow and uneven. his chest rose and fell in rhythm with yours, as if the kiss had unraveled something in him too, something he wasn’t ready to let slip away just yet.

his eyes, wild and dark beneath the faint glow pooling in the corners of the room, searched yours like he was looking for something—confirmation, maybe, or reassurance that you weren’t about to disappear beneath the weight of it all. but you didn’t move, didn’t dare break the fragile thread tying you to him, even as the faint tremble in your hands betrayed the storm still rolling beneath your skin.

wonbin’s gaze flickered, dropping briefly to your lips—swollen and tingling from the heat of his kiss—before trailing back up, locking onto your eyes with an intensity that made your pulse trip over itself. his breathing, still ragged, filled the small space between you, and you could feel the hesitation crackling in the air, as if neither of you could decide whether to pull back or dive in all over again.

but he didn’t move. instead, his thumb brushed faintly over your waist where his hand still rested, light but grounding, as if the smallest shift might break the moment apart completely.

wonbin’s eyes held yours in the dim hush of the room, and there was something there—something fragile, unspoken, pooling beneath the surface in a way that made your chest ache. he looked at you like he wanted to say something, the words balanced on the edge of his tongue, trembling under the weight of the moment that neither of you had fully grasped.

the soft glow of his stare left you breathless, and you felt it—the way your heart tripped violently over itself, as if it could shatter apart at the force of his attention alone.

but before the silence could break, before whatever hung so delicately between you could find the space to bloom, the door creaked open.

your breath hitched, shoulders stiffening instinctively as the soft glow from the hallway spilled in, stretching long shadows across the floor. and there she was—the girl from downstairs, the one who had been tucked neatly beneath wonbin’s arm not long ago, her hair slightly tousled, lips still tinted the same shade of deep red they’d been wrapped around the neck of a bottle earlier.

she arched a brow, leaning casually against the doorframe as if she hadn’t just stepped into something she wasn’t supposed to witness, her gaze flickering between the two of you with barely concealed amusement.

“there you are,” she drawled, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. 

her eyes lingered on where wonbin’s hand still rested against your waist, the faint trace of a smirk tugging at her mouth. 

“i was just looking for the bathroom, but i guess you found something else to keep you busy.”

the words stung more than you wanted to admit, slicing through the haze of warmth that had settled over your skin like cold water. wonbin subtly pulled away, severing the last thread of contact that tethered him to you.

you felt the absence immediately.

the version of him that had been so close just moments before—the one whose eyes held too much softness, whose breath still lingered faintly against your skin—slipped away just as easily as his hand did. his expression shifted, carefully, subtly, into something more familiar—something easy, like sliding on an old jacket.

“you left pretty quick, you know,” she added, tipping her head as her eyes lingered on him. “i thought you told me to hurry back, that your lips were aching to be kissed.” 

her voice dripped with teasing, but there was something sharper hidden beneath it, something that made the air feel heavier than before.

you dropped your gaze, swallowing hard as you willed the heat crawling up your neck to settle, but the damage had already been done. the kiss still lingered on your lips, but now it felt fragile, as if it might slip away entirely beneath the weight of her presence.

and somehow, that silence said more than you wanted it to.

it sank in slowly at first—like ice creeping beneath your skin, cold and unforgiving, before spreading out in sharp, jagged edges that left you raw and exposed. the kiss that had left you breathless, that had ignited something fragile and aching inside you, was nothing more than a fleeting indulgence to him. a moment without consequence. you could see it now, clear as day in the casual way he stood there, unmoved by the intrusion, his hand slipping from your waist with an ease that made your stomach twist.

the bile rose fast, hot and bitter at the back of your throat, chasing the slow-burning alcohol that had once been your only companion tonight. the room tilted slightly as you lurched forward, unsteady on your feet, but the sudden need to get out propelled you before the ground could catch up to you. 

the floor felt too solid beneath your heels, yet somehow it still shifted, your legs buckling beneath the weight of disappointment that seemed far heavier than your body could carry.

your fingers grazed the wall, trailing against the plaster for balance, but it did little to steady the frantic thrum of your heart, the erratic pulse thudding painfully beneath your ribs. you didn’t look at him—couldn’t look at him. not when the aftertaste of the kiss still lingered on your lips, mixing bitterly with the sourness rising in your chest.

how could you have been so naive?

the thought struck hard, splintering through the haze clouding your mind. of course, it hadn’t meant anything, not to him.

wonbin shifted in the absence of  your closeness, the faint sound of his breath catching like he wanted to say something, but the words never came.

you felt him hesitate, the weight of his indecision thick in the space between you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze—not when the version of him standing there now was the same one you’d always known. the one who smiled too easily, laughed too freely, and kissed you like it was nothing more than a passing moment.

his hand twitched at his side, barely noticeable, but you caught it—the faintest movement, like he wasn’t sure if he should reach for you or let you slip away entirely.

you made the decision for him.

“i should go,” you muttered under your breath, though it hardly mattered if anyone heard you.

a desperate attempt to keep yourself from breaking apart in the same room where you’d just let yourself believe—even for a second—that maybe you were something more than just another girl passing through his night.

your hand barely brushed the doorknob when you heard it—soft, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he should say anything at all. he called your name, just your name. nothing more.

but it sliced through the air, cutting straight to the fragile, aching part of you that was already splitting open beneath the weight of it all. his voice carried that same softness he always seemed to wear around you, the kind that could unravel you if you let it, but you couldn’t afford to let it reach you. not now—not when the bitter taste of disappointment still lingered on your tongue, and the heat of his kiss felt more like a bruise than a memory.

your fingers tightened around the doorframe, knuckles pale as if you could somehow ground yourself through the sheer force of it. for a brief second, you swore you felt the room shift again, the pull of his voice tethering you there like a thin thread you were barely holding onto.

but you didn’t turn around. instead you pushed forward, slipping out the door before the sound of your name could latch onto anything deeper—before the storm swirling behind his eyes could drag you back under.

the hallway stretched endlessly ahead, dim and empty save for the faint thump of music still pulsing distantly beneath the floorboards. each step felt heavier than the last, your pulse thundering in your ears, but you didn’t stop. 

if you stayed—if you met his eyes now—you knew you’d fall apart right there in front of him, and that wasn’t something you were willing to let him see.

the hallway blurred around you, the edges folding in on themselves as you stumbled forward, each step heavier than the last, like the ground beneath you had shifted into something unsteady—something that no longer belonged to you. 

the pulse of the music from below thudded against your ribs, each beat knocking the breath from your lungs as if the house itself was trying to hold you back. your hand slid against the banister, the cool wood biting into your palm, but even that felt distant, as if your body was moving on instinct alone—driven by the desperate, suffocating need to get out, to breathe air that wasn’t laced with the faint scent of him still clinging to your skin.

the staircase stretched endlessly beneath you, spiraling down into the haze of bodies pressed too close, of laughter that felt like it belonged to someone else’s night, not yours. your ankle wavered on the last step, the heel of your shoe catching for just a second, but you barely noticed—barely cared—because the ache curling deep in your chest burned hotter, tighter, until it was all you could feel.

you pushed through the front door with trembling fingers, the cool night air rushing over your skin like a slap, sudden and sharp, yet not enough to ease the knot twisting violently inside you. the quiet outside was jarring, the absence of music leaving nothing but the thrum of your heartbeat ringing loud in your ears, each pulse a brutal reminder of what you already knew but refused to say out loud.

wonbin would never belong to you.

the realization struck harder beneath the glow of the streetlights, seeping into the cracks you’d been trying to ignore for far too long. no matter how many glances lingered, no matter how many fleeting touches made your heart stumble, you were just another part of his night—a brief distraction, nothing more. 

and now, standing alone beneath the cold stretch of sky, the weight of that truth sank deep into your bones, settling there like it had always been waiting. you wrapped your arms around yourself, the wind tugging at the hem of your dress as if trying to pull you apart piece by piece, but there was nothing left to unravel.

you had already come undone.

[yeonmuse]

BLUE HOUR | Day 15

PAIRING lyricist/soloist Joong x stranger reader

WORD COUNT |

GENRE Smut, Escapism

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ‼️

SUMMARY wanting to escape the nuisance of his fame and clear his head Joong goes for a stroll through the sleepless city. What he hadn’t expected was he’d meet someone as daring as you.

MORE | Day 15 of the Groupie Love Series

Fame always came with a price, whether it was those that sold their soul or those that worked all on their own to get there, life was never easy. No matter how you achieved it it never became easy, the stress or anxiety never went away, and privacy the one thing you’d wish to have would slip through the cracks of your fingers.

Hongjoong knew that better than anyone, there had been many days where he wished he hadn’t entered the rock scene, yes he loved the music but the constant attention on him wasn’t exactly something he craved. Tonight was the one night where he had finally found some sort of peace, a heavy silence washed over him as he walked along the beach after what felt like hours upon hours of being on his feet performing. He had been walking for so long that the stars and the mood had begun to take the place of the sun and the clouds, blue hour had fallen upon the city.

“You look like you had a rough day.” Someone's voice draws him out of his inner thoughts, he mentally curses himself for not having realized their presence ahead of time but they had seen them now and it was too late to not acknowledge them.

“A tiring one for sure, this is the first time I’ve gotten peace in the last week.”

“You chose the perfect time then, blue hour, it's always beautiful when you catch it at the right time, there’s something surreal about it.” As he finally turned to fully acknowledge the presence of the woman beside him, he fell silent, she herself was also surreal.

“yn, I come here often around this time, and you are?” She didn’t know him? Though hongjoong was relieved to finally be talking to someone that had no idea who he was, after seeing you he couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed that someone as beautiful as you had no idea who he was.

“Kim Hongjoong.”

“Well hongjoong, there's more to the city than just the beach, if you’re looking for more to see. When life gets tiring and you need something to make you feel anything other than that.”

“If I take your word then how about you show me, lead the way.”

“You’ll let a complete stranger show you around the city?”

“I met completely strangers everyday and trust them with far more.”

“Well the Hongjoong, let me show you my city.”

Hongjoong honestly didn’t know what the fuck he was thinking letting a complete stranger show him around the city, knowing his managers would throw a complete fit but in all honesty he didn’t care in that moment. You were like some sort of beacon of light that attracted him to you, and the longer the night went on the more that attraction grew. He didn’t even know if what he had been doing at that moment was legal nor did he truly care. He watched from down below as you ascended the ladder of the apartment building and he wasn’t too far behind, he found howls staring at your ass as he climbed up behind you, how could he not when it was right there on display before him, that of course didn’t go unnoticed by you.

Once the two of you finally made it to the rooftop, Hongjoong was stunned to say the least, by the view of the city. Though he could easily access a view like this in a penthouse or plane, there was something different about seeing it this way, out in the open. Blue hour was a magical time. His gaze then shifts from the view to you, he wonders how you yourself even knew how to access a view like this, his wondering then turned into admiration as he once again drank in the view of you.

“You’re staring again.”

“Again?”

“You gonna pretend you didn’t stare at my ass the entire climb up here?”

“Can’t exactly resist when it’s in full display in front of me, besides it’s kind of a hard sight to miss.”

“Well which view is better then?” Hongjoong was taken back by your sudden boldness, though he was used to women throwing themself at him or acting desperate, she was the complete opposite, you hadn’t once tried to throw yourself at him, and perhaps that was the reason he found himself attracted to you even more.

“I honestly think I prefer the city.” He responds, simply wanting to tease you though that may have backfired on him in the best way possible.

“You prefer that view over this one?” You respond giving a full spin, stopping with your back facing him. Tension between the two was now building, this night had been turning into something he had absolutely not been expecting, but he didn’t hate it.

“This view is also very tempting.” He responds, his eyes now glued to you, you had him hanging on your every move.

“Tempting? Does it tempt you?” You respond finally turning to face him again.

“Should we head back down? You still have more to show me right?” He wanted to end things here, to change the subject because he knew if they got caught you’d be dragged into the life that he himself was growing tired of, but you were making that hard.

“Tell me then what’s so tempting about me?” He watched as you bent your body over the edge of the building, your arms resting on the concrete balcony.

“Fuck.” He mumbles under his breath at the sight.

“Are you tempted to touch it? Or was your mind going further than just a touch?”

“Yn I shouldn’t-“

“Touch me then, go on.” He fell silent, you were giving him a clear invite and as much as he wanted to refute, the way you looked bent over that balcony made any possible self control leave his body.

“Fuck this.” In less than a few seconds he had his hand around your throat and your body pressed to his as he kissed on your neck.

“Can I? Fuck, please say I can?” Hongjoong wasnt used to this, he had never in his life pleaded to fuck anyone mostly because it usually came easy, but here he was aching to have you, to taste you, hear your moans.

“Yes.”

He wasted no time then and there ripping through the fabric of your jeans , it was then that he had gotten the most satisfying view, your legs spread wide as he had you bent over. Once he lifts your shirt and unlatches your bra he lets out a curse at the way your breasts fall loosely from your lifted shirt. It made for all the more satisfaction once he filled you up from behind. His eyes traced your every curve. From the dip in your back to the curves of your waist, but the main visual was getting to watch the way his cock so easily pushed past your folds until he was completely bottomed out inside of you, your tight grip around him immediately pulling a groan from his lips.

“Fucking hell If you keep clenching so much you’ll be full a lot faster than you should be sweetheart.’’ Hongjoong groans as he rests his hands on your waist and his head falls back. His hand wraps around your throat from behind and the other rest easily on the small of your back.

He gazes down at you, eyes full of hunger, he wanted to ravish you, to make sure every time you walked the next week all you would think about was him and the things he was now doing to you. A complete burst of pleasure overwhelms your body and you’d have sworn you saw stars as Hongjoongs fingers meet your clit, he rubbed rough circles against you as he watched how his entire cock pushed in and out of you. He didn’t miss the way your legs trembled or you’d occasionally fuck back against him which needless to say brought a smirk to his lips.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, you keep sucking me in?’’ His gaze had lingered on you long enough to know that you were reaching your limit, too bad even when you surpassed that limit he wouldn't be done with you.

“Shit just hold out a little longer pretty.” He grunts, his nails digging into the skin of your hips earning a soft cry from you which set a fire in his eyes. As the two of you were reaching your climaxes it seemed his thrusts grew rougher, Each thrust getting less merciful, he pushed into you with feverish movement, and he didn’t let up until your cunt was completely full to the brim with evidence of his doing. The two of you came at the same time, he gave a proud smile at the feeling of your legs trembling under him.

He loved the way you seemed to fall apart completely, that. He now had you leaned against the balcony struggling to catch your breath, your hair a complete mess and makeup ruined, the remnants of this encounter lingering all over your body.

[benispunk]

Who's That Girl?

Chapter 14: Taking Care Of You

Y/N is really sick and her knight in leather jacket comes and saves her.

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, D&W, this part is a sickfic!!.

A/N: oh hi! wait? is that a chapter where nobody cries or thinks bad things of themselves? I think it is...also, happy new year!!!! we're more than halfway through this series with around six chapters left...I swear there's a light at the end of the tunnel!! anyway, hope you enjoy this one!! (you should, the next one isn't as nice and cute...oops...)

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist /Previous Part

Y/N was curled up on the couch, her body trembling despite the heavy blanket draped over her. Every muscle ached, her head throbbed relentlessly, and the fever made her skin feel like it was on fire. She had tried to get up earlier to grab some medicine but gave up after nearly collapsing. Wade wasn’t home—off at one of his gigs again—and Logan had disappeared hours ago. She didn’t know where he was or when he’d return. The thought of being alone in this state left her feeling even weaker.

The sound of the front door unlocking barely registered in her mind. Logan stepped in, his boots thudding softly against the floor as he put down his keys and phone. He was about to shrug off his jacket when he spotted Y/N curled up on the couch. Something was wrong. Her face was pale and damp with sweat. Her eyes, half-open, looked distant and glassy.

“Y/N?” Logan called softly, crossing the room in a few long strides. She didn’t respond. Kneeling in front of her, Logan reached out, his large hand brushing against her forehead. Her skin burned under his touch.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, the worry in his voice unmistakable.

Her eyelids fluttered weakly, and she leaned into his hand instinctively, her body seeking the coolness of his touch. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.

“Hey,” Logan said, lowering his voice. “Can you hear me?”

A faint sound escaped her lips, but it wasn’t coherent. Logan’s stomach twisted. He pressed the back of his hand to her cheek for a moment, then against her neck, confirming what he already knew. She was burning up.

“Stay here,” he murmured, though she clearly wasn’t in any state to move. “I’ll be right back.”

Y/N barely understood what was happening as he left. Her head lolled to the side as she struggled to focus, but the pounding pain behind her eyes made it impossible. It felt like only a few seconds before Logan was back, though it must have been longer. He carried a glass of water, some fever medicine, and a damp cloth in his hands. Setting the items down on the coffee table, he knelt beside her again.

“Y/N, you need to sit up for a minute,” Logan said, his voice gentle as his hand lightly caressed her arm, his thumb brushing over the blanket she clung to.

She groaned weakly, her body unwilling to cooperate. Logan hesitated for only a second before sliding an arm beneath her shoulders, carefully lifting her into a sitting position. She whimpered at the movement, her head rolling against his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he murmured, adjusting his grip. “Just for a second, okay?”

He pressed the glass to her lips, tilting it gently. “Drink,” he urged.

She managed a few small sips before turning her head away, the effort seeming to exhaust her. Logan didn’t push. Instead, he handed her the pills.

“You need to take these,” he said.

With shaking fingers, she tried to take them from him but fumbled. Logan caught her hand and steadied it, guiding the pills to her lips.

“Attagirl,” he said as she swallowed them down with another sip of water.

He set the glass aside and grabbed the damp cloth, folding it neatly before pressing it to her forehead. Y/N’s eyes closed as she exhaled softly, the coolness offering a small reprieve from the relentless heat coursing through her body. Logan stayed like that for a moment, silently observing her as she seemed to drift in and out of consciousness.

“Logan,” she murmured suddenly, her voice so faint he almost missed it. Her eyes cracked open, searching for him.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She gave a small nod, her head barely moving. Logan sighed, brushing a few stray strands of hair away from her clammy face. He knew he couldn’t leave her on the couch like this. Standing, he bent down and slipped his arms beneath her. She let out a startled gasp as he lifted her effortlessly.

“Flying…” she murmured deliriously, her head resting against his chest.

Logan chuckled softly. “Not quite.”

As he carried her toward her room, she blinked up at him, her eyes catching on his jacket. Even in her disoriented state, she recognized it. Her gift.

“Looks… good on you,” she whispered, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Logan’s heart stumbled in his chest, but he forced himself to keep his expression neutral. “Let’s get you to bed, okay?” he said, ignoring the warmth spreading through him at her words.

He nudged her bedroom door open with his foot and carefully laid her down on the bed. The motion was so gentle it didn’t even jostle her. He pulled the blanket up over her, tucking it around her shoulders. Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut almost immediately, her body finally giving in to exhaustion. Logan sat on the edge of the bed, watching her for a moment. Her breathing was shallow but steady. Reaching out, he brushed his hand over her forehead again, frowning at the heat still radiating from her skin.

“You’ll be okay,” he murmured quietly, more to himself than to her. He stayed there, his hand resting lightly on her forehead, until her breathing deepened and her body relaxed into sleep.

Even then, he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

———

She stirred about thirty minutes later, her mind slowly dragging itself from the fog of fever-induced sleep. The pounding in her head had lessened slightly, but her body still felt like lead. As she blinked against the dim light of her room, she became aware of the faint scrape of a chair against the floor. Turning her head, her eyes landed on Logan, seated at her desk. His jacket was slung over the back of the chair, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He held his phone in one hand, occasionally swiping at the screen, but when he noticed her move, he was immediately at her side.

“You’re awake,” he said, moving to her side in one swift motion, his face shadowed with concern.

Before she could reply, his hand was on her forehead again, his touch cool and grounding. His brow furrowed as he assessed her. “Still too hot,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“How long was I out?” she rasped, her voice scratchy and weak.

“Not long,” he assured her, pulling his hand back reluctantly. “Maybe thirty minutes. How’re you feeling?”

“Hot,” she said with a faint attempt at humor, though her words lacked energy. As if on cue, a shiver suddenly ran down her spine, and she involuntarily drew the blanket tighter around herself. Her body was at war with itself, burning and freezing all at once.

Logan’s lips pressed into a thin line, his frustration evident— not at her, but at his inability to fix this for her. “I’ll get more water and medicine,” he said before disappearing from the room.

The room felt quieter and colder when he left. She closed her eyes, her head throbbing again, but before she could fall back to sleep, he returned.

“Here,” he murmured, placing a fresh glass of water and another dose of medicine on her bedside table. His movements were methodical, careful, like he was afraid to startle her. He sat down on the edge of her bed, his presence reassuring.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, his voice dipping into a softness she rarely heard from him.

She shook her head slowly. “You don’t have to do this,” she whispered, her throat tight with a strange mix of gratitude and guilt.

Logan tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing with something close to exasperation. “Why not?”

“Because…” Her voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “There’s probably a thousand things you’d rather be doing than looking after me. And you’ll get sick.”

Her words hung in the air. Logan’s expression softened, his gaze steady. For a long moment, their eyes met—hers filled with uncertainty, his with quiet intensity.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he said finally, his voice steady but soft, like he was afraid she might not believe him. His gaze didn’t waver from hers, the weight of his words sinking deep into her chest. “And I don’t care if I catch whatever this is.”

Her heart skipped, warmth spreading across her cheeks that had nothing to do with her fever. She bit her lip, trying to suppress a small, stupid smile. “Damn fever,” she muttered, burying her face slightly into the blanket to hide her expression.

His lips twitched, but he didn’t let the moment linger too long. “Do you want to eat something?” he asked again. 

He rested his hand on the bed beside her, his fingers brushing hers as he shifted slightly. The warmth of his hand against hers sent a flutter through her chest, but neither of them moved until she gave him a small nod, though the thought of food seemed distant.

“Alright,” he said, standing with a quiet determination. “I’ll be right back.”

———

Logan returned with a simple bowl of leftover soup, steam curling softly into the air. He placed it on the bedside table and helped her sit up, his hand steadying her back as she shifted against the pillows. She leaned into his touch instinctively, her body still weak and achy.

“Eat,” he said gently, handing her the bowl and a spoon. “There was still some soup from yesterday.”

She managed a faint smile as she took the spoon with trembling hands. The soup was warm and comforting, and as bland as it was, it didn’t upset her stomach. He stayed by her side, his gaze steady and unyielding, watching her like she might crumble if he looked away.

“You’re hovering,” she said with a tiny smirk, though her voice was still hoarse.

“Yeah, well, I don’t trust you to not pass out mid-bite,” he replied.

When she finished, he took the bowl from her hands and stood. “Stay put,” he said, heading to the kitchen. The sound of running water and clinking dishes drifted faintly into the room, but it wasn’t long before he returned, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel.

“You should sleep,” he told her, his voice low but firm as he stood at her bedside. His presence filled the small room, grounding her in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

She looked up at him, her eyes heavy but still shining with a hint of vulnerability. “Logan,” she murmured, her voice soft and unsure.

He stopped, his hand resting on the back of the desk chair. “Yeah?”

Her fingers reached out, trembling slightly, and brushed against his wrist. She looked at him like she was searching for something she wasn’t sure she’d find. “Can you… stay? Just for a little while?”

Logan’s breath hitched, his chest tightening at the simple, fragile request. He hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

She shifted on the bed, making room for him, and he lay down beside her with careful, deliberate movements. He kept a respectful distance, his body stiff with the effort of not leaning too close.

She turned toward him, her head sinking into the pillow as her eyes fluttered half-closed. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice so faint it almost disappeared into the quiet of the room.

Logan swallowed hard, his throat tight. “Don’t mention it,” he muttered, his voice gruffer than he intended.

Her breathing began to even out, the exhaustion and fever pulling her back toward sleep. He watched her, his gaze softening as he allowed himself a moment of quiet reflection. Her face, even flushed and weary, held a certain peacefulness that tugged at something deep inside him.

As the minutes ticked by, her hand unconsciously brushed against his arm, the small contact grounding them both. He shifted slightly, his body relaxing by degrees, until he found himself lying closer than he intended.

When she stirred again, barely thirty minutes later, he was still there, his hand resting near hers on the mattress. Her feverish eyes opened slowly, and she found him watching her with a quiet intensity.

“You’re still here,” she murmured, her voice tinged with surprise.

“Yeah,” he said simply, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. “Figured you might need me.”

Her chest warmed at his words, her heart skipping a beat.

“Logan,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You’re all I need.”

He blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected comment, but before he could reply, her eyes closed again, and she drifted back to sleep.

This time, when he reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face, he didn’t stop himself.

———

Her breathing deepened again, signaling that she’d drifted back into sleep. Logan stayed there, watching her for a moment longer. The rise and fall of her chest, the soft sound of her breath—it was strangely calming.

He told himself he’d leave in just a minute, that he’d give her space to rest properly. But his body betrayed him; the weight of the day, the emotional toll of seeing her so vulnerable, and the quiet warmth of the room all worked against him.

Before he realized it, his head dipped forward, his body sagging into the mattress. His eyes fluttered shut, and he fell asleep right there beside her.

When morning came, the soft light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. Logan stirred first, his senses slowly sharpening as he registered the warmth pressed against his arm.

His heart skipped a beat when he realized where he was—and who he was with.

The faint light of morning crept across the floor as Logan blinked awake. He shifted slightly, careful not to disturb Y/N. Her breathing was steady, her face peaceful in sleep, and he felt an odd pang of reluctance to leave.

But he knew better than to linger.

With a careful hand, he pulled the blanket up to her shoulder, tucking her in. Then he rose from the bed, his joints stiff from sleeping in an awkward position. He glanced back at her one last time before quietly slipping out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

The apartment was still, the early morning air cool and quiet. Logan made his way to the kitchen, running a hand through his tousled hair. He’d barely stepped inside when he froze.

Wade was already there, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee in one hand and a smirk that could only mean trouble. His eyebrows shot up in exaggerated surprise, and Logan instantly knew he was doomed.

“Well, well, well,” Wade drawled, setting his mug down with a flourish. “If it isn’t Sleeping Beauty, emerging from the princess’s tower.”

Logan groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t start.”

“Start? Me? Never!” Wade raised his hands in mock innocence, though his grin betrayed him. “I’m just wondering, how was it? Cozy? Romantic? Did you guys hold hands and share your deepest secrets before you dozed off?”

“Wade.” Logan’s tone carried a warning, but it only made Wade grin wider.

“Oh, come on,” Wade teased, circling the kitchen island to stand closer. “I’ve got questions, man. Did you sweep her off her feet? Or, wait, no—don’t tell me—you spooned all night like a couple of lovesick penguins, didn’t you?”

Logan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s sick, Wade. I was just—”

“—being the knight in shining armor,” Wade cut in, clasping his hands together and batting his eyelashes. “Gallant Logan, tending to his fair maiden in her time of need. Truly heartwarming.”

Logan shot him a deadly look. “Are you done?”

Wade tilted his head, pretending to think. “Not even close.”

Logan shook his head, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and pouring himself some coffee. He could feel Wade’s eyes on him, the silence practically crackling with anticipation.

Then Wade leaned against the counter again, his smirk softening into something more knowing. “You’re a good guy, you know that?”

Logan paused mid-sip, frowning. “What are you talking about now?”

Wade shrugged, his usual theatrics dialed down just a notch. “I know it’s not just a tiny little crush. You care about her. Hell, I’m pretty sure you’d go back to war for her. So, stop all your brooding and self-deprecation and fucking admit it.”

Logan set the mug down, his jaw tightening. “She’s our roommate.”

“Uh-huh,” Wade said, dragging the syllables out like he’d heard this a thousand times before. “And I’m your roommate. And we’re like brothers. Come on, man. I’ve been watching this slow-burn romance play out for months now, and let me tell you, it’s both entertaining and painful. Mostly painful. For me. And the readers.”

Logan huffed, trying to focus on his coffee. But the truth Wade was poking at made his chest tighten.

“Look,” Wade continued, his tone softening again, “I’m just saying, you’ve been through a lot, man. And maybe it’s about time you let yourself be happy. You deserve that.”

Logan rolled his eyes before finally meeting his gaze, and for all of Wade’s teasing, there was genuine care in his expression. It caught Logan off guard, leaving him unsure of what to say.

“Anyway,” Wade said, breaking the moment with a grin that was back to full mischief. “Just remember—when you two eventually get married, I’m calling dibs on being the best man. Or officiant. Or both. I’m flexible.”

Logan groaned, setting his mug down with more force than necessary. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Too late,” Wade quipped, grinning like he’d just won a prize. And well, maybe he did.

Logan shook his head, muttering under his breath as he turned to leave the kitchen. Wade’s laughter followed him down the hall, a constant reminder that no matter what he said, Wade wouldn’t be letting this go anytime soon. And as much as he wanted to deny it, he couldn’t shake the quiet thought that maybe Wade was right.

As Logan had just started rinsing out his coffee mug, his phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at it, and he frowned.

Wade, still leaning against the counter with a sly grin, raised an eyebrow. “What’s that? The love doctor calling to check up on their patient?”

Logan didn’t respond. His jaw tightened as he stared at the screen, the name flashing there like a warning. Without a word, he grabbed the phone and walked a few steps away, his back to Wade as he answered.

“Yeah,” Logan said, his tone clipped.

Wade sipped his coffee, watching with mild curiosity that quickly turned into concern. Logan’s posture stiffened, his free hand curling into a fist at his side. The voice on the other end of the call was too faint to hear, but whatever was being said had Logan’s entire demeanor shifting. His shoulders tensed, his face darkened and his frown deepened.

“Fine,” Logan said after a long pause, his voice low and guttural. “Yeah, I’ll be here.”

He ended the call abruptly, the phone still clutched tightly in his hand. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at nothing, his breathing slow but heavy.

Wade set his mug down, his smirk gone. “Uh… that wasn’t Doc Love, was it?”

Logan turned, his expression unreadable but with a shadow of something darker lingering in his eyes. He slid the phone into his pocket and exhaled through his nose. “It’s Victor.”

The name hit the room like a dropped stone. Wade’s face immediately fell.

“He’s coming here. Next week.”

For once, Wade didn’t have a quip or a joke. His brow furrowed, and he let out a long, slow breath. “Shit.”

Logan didn’t respond. He just turned back to the sink, gripping the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles went white. Wade watched him carefully, the silence between them heavier than it had been in years.

And as the quiet stretched on, one thought circled Wade’s mind like a warning bell: Chaos was coming.

[sunmaylight]

Shazam/Captain Marvel (DCU) x FGO Idea

Something I’ve been on and off writing plot points of is a DC Comic x FGO crossover idea where Billy Batson (Captain Marvel/Shazam) is the Master of Chaldea.

Now my knowledge of Billy Batson isn’t that great but I’ve done some research on this character to think he would be a good idea. Plus his connection to the Rock of Eternity and Shazam/Captain Marvel transformation opens up a nice can of worms. Even if my knowledge of Fate Series is mostly FGO and watching some of the Fate shows.

Anyways, Chaldea Master Billy Batson but he doesn’t transform into Shazam during the Singularities except for the Final Singularity. Also Constantine is there cause I like the fanfic author’s dynamics between him and Billy.

Some info of this crossover idea below

Premise is that Billy has been a Justice League member of the Justice League since he was 10 and been Shazam since he was 9 years old. His age and identity has been revealed when he is 12 because of a mission going wrong.

Here is a very small blurb of the Prologue (Singularity F) Section I wrote when I was writing this idea. It explains a the reason Billy is at Chaldea

Billy was 12 years old when he was chosen as the last Master of Humanity. 12 when he started a long battle to save humanity, 13 when he was bestowed the ranking of Cause, 14 when the last Epic of Remnant was taken care of. The battles he faces as Captain Marvel and Billy are nothing compared to what he experienced during the time spent with Chaldea.

Three years of war, hardship, struggle, death, life, joy, experience, companionship, and love.

This is his story of his time with Chaldea.

——

It’s been about a month since Billy revealed his true identity to the Justice League, two years since he was recruited into the Justice League, and three years since he was given the powers of Shazam. Yet, ever since they found out about his true age, Billy has been treated as- as a kid! Instead of a respected Superhero and “co-worker”, as the others put it, before his reveal.

At first he didn’t mind, but the longer it went on, the more he became sick of it. He needed a break.

His answer came as a call from John Constantine about requesting assistance for a job outside Fawcett City. Not as Captain Marvel, but as Billy Batson. Billy was curious about the distinction between the two identities, but agreed to it in the end. Fawcett City and the Justice League would be fine without him for a couple of days. Right?

If Billy could jump back to this exact point in time, he would have told his past self that it is actually longer than a couple of days.

In this AU, Zatanna is the on originally tasked by the Justice League Dark to observe Chaldea’s First Rayshift and give back a report. However, something comes up for her as the days dwindle down to the First Rayshift. She contacts John Constantine to go to Chaldea in place of her and he accepts.

Constantine remembers how Billy isn’t doing so well after the identity reveal and decides to bring him along. He contacts the boy under the guise of needing assistance that Captain Marvel can only help with. Billy agrees and the respective parties of Justice League Dark and Chaldea are contacted about this change. Which is also verified by Zatanna to avoid any breaches of security.

As John Constantine and Billy Batson prepare for the trip to Chaldea. Constantine stresses to Billy that he is at Chaldea as his ward and not Captain Marvel. The adult also tells Billy that he shouldn’t transform into Captain Marvel unless strictly necessary.

“Think of this as a learning experience for when you need to go to some magic place as Billy instead of Cap. You need to build some rep, kid. Here is a great place to do so”

Which Billy begrudgingly accepts the reasoning.

Which then leads to Billy and Constantine in Chaldea. Where Billy is immediately separated from Constantine somehow and is whisked away by Chaldea Staff to the Simulation Room. John Constantine lowkey panics over his ward’s disappearance while Billy goes through the FGO demo fight after realizing that he can’t get out any other way without exposing his Superhero alias.

Billy exist the Simulation Room and has the canon prologue interaction with Mash, Fou and Lev. Except that Lev gives Billy a piggyback ride to the entrance Rayshift Room. Lev’a reasoning is that it is faster than waiting for Billy’s short legs to keep up. It has nothing to do with the faintly familiar feeling of Solomon that the demon inside of him feels towards the young boy

Upon entering the Rayshift Room, Billy and Constantine meets each others eyes and is basically this

Then the meeting starts and Billy feels the magical exhaustion on him. The young boy is kicked out and is told to rest. Constantine volunteers to help Billy “like a Hero would do”. Which is instead a stressful conversation between the two on the way to Billy’s room on how did Billy end up in this situation.

After dropping Billy off, Constantine heads back to the Rayshift Room. When Billy is about to enter, he feels a pulse of familiarity on whoever is waiting on the other side of the room and when it opens to reveal Dr. Romani, Billy is relieved, disappointed, and a foreign feeling of surprise not his own.

Then the whole Rayshift disaster happens but Constantine survived it with a bit more of Chaldea Staff than FGO canon because of Constantine’s quick reactions.

When Billy ends up at Singularity F, he realizes that he can’t transform into Captain Marvel and scrambles to learn how to play the support role as a Master Candidate.

Lots of events happen and in the end, Billy realizes that he has to help Chaldea with the Singularities as himself instead of Justice League member Captain Marvel. Anticipation, excitement, fear and worry flood his veins as he goes on a journey of self-discovery and what it means to him to be a hero and magic user Billy Batson.

——

That is basically what I have for the beginning of it all without divulging into the main story of FGO.

Few other things I want to mention about this AU/Crossover idea

Billy can’t transform into Captain Marvel during the Singularities.

This is to make sure that Humanity is judged by themselves and not through the “Blessed Human of the Gods”. Also if Captain Marvel is in a Singularity for a prolonged period of time, the Singularity may destabilize and that would be an entirely new threat that no one is equipped to deal with. Plus Billy hasn’t made a contract with Shazam at any point when the Singularities happen. So no transformation but the Gods can send messages into Billy’s head/influence him to an extent.

The Gods look at Billy during the Rayshifts as “Ah, yes. Master of Chaldea. How can we assist you and have fun on your journey to restoring Humanity’s growth past 201x?” and “Who is this child that feels like blessings we don’t remember gifting? He feels nostalgic and anticipated. We shall send impressions on him to know that he has our support”

During the present day, Billy can transform into Captain Marvel whenever he pleases.

Summoning Servants

When Billy can perform his first summoning, Medea is the first Servant to answer his call. Then later in Chaldea, Heracles is able to answer and followed by Artemis-Orion after the dumpling event. Chaldea notices how Greek Servants flock to Billy and wonder why.

When Billy reveals himself to be Captain Marvel with the blessings of Greek Gods, then Chaldea understands that this boys is a walking catalyst for any Greek Servant.

State of John Constantine

John Constantine is in a coma after the explosion. He doesn’t wake up until the middle of the Okeanos Singularity. Has an internal breakdown when learning about the state of the world. Swears a storm when he realizes that Billy is going through Singularities as himself and can’t transform into Captain Marvel for extra protection.

When he recovered enough, he sets himself up as the main Justice League representative and starts building a report to give to the League. Hopefully this will help Chaldea from being perceived as a threat under the eyes of the Justice League and give them some protection. Everyone at Chaldea deserves it when (if) they are able to clear the Singularities and restore Earth to how it was before.

In the meantime, Constantine helps out where he can around Chaldea. But mainly watches over Billy to make sure he is doing alright outside of Singularities. During Singularities, he observes with the rest of the Chaldea Staff. Takes over for Dr. Romani and Da Vinci when there are pockets of travel/downtime in the Singularities for the two to rest a bit.

In the Minute Singularities, Constantine is sometimes dragged into them if the Threat level isn’t too high. Why? Completely by accident via Chaldea Servant chaos. He would be also traumatized by the Halloween Singularities if it wasn’t for the good alcohol in them.

Situation with the Watchtower

Since the Watchtower is in space, and farther away from any satellites, it isn’t affected by the mass sleeping effect on Earth. But in turn, anyone on Earth is affected by the sleeping effect. Meaning Superman, Impulse, Martians, etc. are affected. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem, but when the phenomenon on Earth happened, most of the Superheroes and vigilantes are on Earth to deal with a major problem.

Who is left in the Watchtower while Chaldea clears the Singularities depends on the writer. For me, I think Black Canary, Dolphin, Martian Manhunter, Donna the Outlaws (old and new), and most if not all of the Earth Lanterns. Plus some Heroes who have future vision/clairvoyance high enough to notice a disaster swiftly approaching and have enough time to get to a Zeta Tube.

—

Well this is it for now. Might make a part two depending on how I feel.