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Hide | Chapter Sixteen | Signal Lost

🏈 Joe Burrow x Riley Carter (OC) | 8.1k-ish words

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Author's Note:

Hey everyone - hang tight with me on this one. This chapter does some time jumps, and it took me forever to get the timeline right because I don't always write chronologically. Please show me some grace - I'm sick right now and my brain isn't firing on all cylinders, but I wanted to get this posted for you.

Fair warning: this one is heavy.

I also want to address something I've seen in comments and my wonderful beta mentioned, about Riley seeming like a pushover lately. You're not wrong to feel that way - she absolutely is being more accommodating than we're used to seeing. Here's what's happening in my head when I'm plotting her: Riley's never been in love like this before. With Ethan, everything was toxic from the start, so she had her guard up. But with Joe, she completely opened herself up, which changes everything.

She's dealing with trauma responses from her past. Ethan made her feel like she was "too much," so when Joe starts pulling away, she unconsciously shrinks herself because she's terrified of being abandoned again. Plus, she can see Joe is genuinely suffering - physical pain, career crisis, everything. She keeps thinking "this isn't the time to be demanding" and "he'll be himself when he heals."

The success guilt is huge too. Her career is exploding while his is falling apart, so she feels like she owes him patience. She's trying to love him through his worst moment, but she's hurting herself and them in the process.

Sometimes loving someone means we lose ourselves a little. Riley will find her voice again - but right now, she's drowning too.

Thanks for sticking with me through this messy part. ❤️

Thank you @crazytheoriststrawberry!

Joe stared at the ceiling at 5:47 AM, thirteen minutes before his alarm. His wrist was a constant throb, but that wasn't what kept him awake. It was the knowledge that in an hour, he'd be back in that sterile PT room, putting his body through hell for the second time in twelve hours.

"You're ahead of schedule," his therapist had said yesterday, like it was supposed to be encouraging. "Most patients at three weeks post-surgery aren't achieving this range of motion."

What she didn't say was that most patients weren't refusing pain medication. Most patients weren't treating every session like a playoff game they had to win.

Joe sat up carefully, cradling his wrist. The brace felt heavier each day, a constant reminder that his most reliable tool—his body—had failed him when it mattered most.

The 6 AM session was range of motion. Small movements that shouldn't hurt but felt like breaking all over again. Joe gritted his teeth through each exercise, sweat beading on his forehead as he forced his wrist through the prescribed rotations.

"That's excellent progress," the therapist said, making notes on her clipboard. "How's your pain level?"

"Fine." The lie came automatically. Fine was sitting on his couch. Fine was throwing a football. This was torture disguised as healing.

But he couldn't take the pills. Couldn't afford the fog, the distance from his own thoughts. If his body was betraying him, his mind had to stay sharp. Had to stay in control.

By 2 PM, he was back for strength training. Resistance bands and grip exercises that left his hand shaking. The therapist kept praising his dedication, his work ethic, but Joe heard something else underneath—surprise that he was pushing this hard.

Good. He'd rather overdo it than come back weak.

His phone buzzed during the cool-down stretch. Riley, texting from soundcheck somewhere in the Midwest: How was PT today?

Joe stared at the message. He could tell her about the pain, about how his wrist felt like it was being twisted in a vise for four hours a day. But she was two weeks into a sold-out tour, living her dream, and he was sitting in a medical facility wondering if his career was over.

Good. Therapist says I'm ahead of schedule.

That's amazing! I'm so proud of you lovey.

The pride in her text should have felt good. Instead, it sat heavy in his chest. Proud of what? Of doing the bare minimum to fix what he'd broken?

Joe drove home in silence, his good hand gripping the steering wheel. The house felt enormous and empty, too quiet after the constant noise of the facility. He stood in his kitchen, staring at the bottle of prescription painkillers on the counter.

Just one would take the edge off. Let him sleep through the night without the constant ache.

Instead, Joe left the bottle unopened and headed upstairs. Tomorrow was another 6 AM session, another chance to prove he could control at least this much of his recovery.

Even if it was killing him slowly, piece by piece.

* * *

The morning after "Pursuit of Happiness"

Joe woke to his alarm at 6 AM. His wrist was screaming—he'd slept wrong on it again, three weeks post-surgery and he still couldn't find a position that didn't leave him aching by morning. Joe sat up carefully, cradling his arm against his chest, and reached for his phone.

Twelve missed texts from friends and family.

Mom: "Saw Riley's cover on the news this morning! So sweet ❤️"

Ja'Marr: "Bro your girl just broke the internet"

Trae: "Kid Cudi cover was fire. She really did that for you? 😭"

Zac: "Turn on ESPN. They're talking about Riley's song"

Joe frowned. ESPN? He'd expected music blogs to pick it up, maybe some entertainment outlets. But sports media?

His phone buzzed with an incoming call. Mark.

"Joe, we need to talk."

"It's 6 AM."

"ESPN is already talking about Riley's cover. Have you seen any of the coverage?"

"Just texts from friends."

"I'm sending you some links. This is exactly what we were worried about. The narrative is getting away from us."

Joe put Mark on speaker and opened his texts. Screenshot after screenshot of headlines and social media posts. Most were positive, but the negative ones made his stomach clench:

"Must be nice to have your QB boyfriend as PR"

"How convenient that she covers his favorite artist right when she needs album promo"

"Bengals QB more focused on his girlfriend's career than his own recovery"

"This is why he got injured in the first place—too many distractions"

"It's not about the song. It's about what it represents. Your priorities. Your focus." Mark's voice was sharp with urgency. "The front office is already asking questions."

"What questions?"

"About your commitment to recovery. About whether you're taking this seriously enough to lead the franchise."

Joe felt something cold settle in his stomach. "I'm in PT twice a day."

"I know that. You know that. But the optics matter. Your girlfriend just told the world she loves you using your favorite artist, and now everyone's wondering if football comes first anymore."

After Mark hung up, Joe sat in his kitchen staring at his phone. Bill called twenty minutes later with the same concerns, couched in gentler language but carrying the same message: this was a problem.

His wrist throbbed as he made coffee one-handed. In two hours, he had his first PT session of the day. Range of motion exercises that would leave him sweating and shaking. Then another session at 2 PM. Every day for the next month, at minimum.

His phone lit up with a text from Riley: Safe in Denver! Still thinking about our call last night. I love you so much.

Joe stared at the message. Riley was flying high—literally and figuratively. Her album was climbing the charts, her tour was sold out, and yesterday she'd made a beautiful, public declaration of love that the music world was celebrating.

And he was sitting in his empty house, questioning whether loving her back was going to cost him his career.

Love you too. Have a great show tonight.

The response felt hollow even as he sent it.

Joe looked at the bottle of pain medication on his counter, then at his PT schedule stuck to the refrigerator. Six sessions this week. Twelve next week. Every movement designed to rebuild what he'd broken.

His phone buzzed again. Another social media notification. Another comment about priorities and distractions.

This time, Joe turned the phone face down and didn't look.

* * *

Three days later:

"How's Joe doing?" Pete asked during soundcheck in Phoenix.

Riley adjusted her guitar strap, frowning slightly. "Good. I think. He's working really hard in PT."

"You think?"

"He's just... I don't know. Tired, I guess. The recovery is taking a lot out of him." Riley played a few chords, not quite meeting Pete's eyes. "Our calls have been shorter."

"Shorter how?"

"Like, he seems distracted. Or maybe just in pain. I don't want to push."

Andy looked up from tuning his guitar. "Maybe he's getting weird about the attention from your cover?"

"No, he loved it. He said he was proud of it."

"That was three days ago. Sometimes reality hits later."

Riley's fingers stilled on the strings. She'd been trying not to think about the shift she'd sensed in Joe's voice, the way their FaceTime calls felt slightly strained. But Andy was right—the internet had been relentless about the Cudi cover, and not all of it was positive.

"I should call him," she said.

"After soundcheck," Pete said gently.

But when Riley called Joe that night after her show, his phone went straight to voicemail. And when he texted back two hours later, all he said was: Sorry, early PT tomorrow. Great show tonight.

He hadn't even asked how it went.

* * *

One week post-surgery - December 4th vs. Jacksonville

Joe stood on the sideline in Bengals streetwear, his surgical site screaming with every movement. The Jaguars had jumped out to a 14-0 lead in the first quarter, and Joe could feel the panic radiating from his teammates.

His wrist was encased in a hard cast, the incision underneath still raw and angry. Every time someone bumped into him on the sideline, white-hot pain shot up his arm. The prescription bottle in his locker remained unopened—he needed his mind clear, even if his body was falling apart.

Jake Browning threw an interception on the next drive, and Joe closed his eyes, fighting a wave of nausea that had nothing to do with his pain medication.

"The Bengals are struggling early without their franchise quarterback," the announcer's voice echoed through the stadium. "You have to wonder how much Joe Burrow's absence is affecting this team's identity."

Joe gritted his teeth and tried to focus on the game, but every play felt like watching his season slip away in real time. The team managed to rally—they always fought harder when he was watching from the sideline—but the 34-31 win felt hollow when Joe knew he should have been out there leading them.

Standing there in excruciating pain, watching his backup manage his team, Joe couldn't shake the feeling that everything was starting to unravel.

* * *

Two weeks post-surgery - Thursday Night Football vs. Pittsburgh

Joe stood on the sideline yet again, his wrist still months and months away from being cleared for contact. The surgical pain had shifted from screaming to a constant, gnawing ache that made it hard to concentrate. The Bengals were down 27-3 at halftime against the Steelers in front of a primetime audience, and the home crowd was restless.

His cast felt heavier each day, a constant reminder of his helplessness. Joe had skipped the pre-game pain medication again—the third time this week his trainers had offered, the third time he'd refused. He needed to stay sharp, needed to be present for his team, even if every movement sent lightning up his arm.

During a timeout, the camera found him on the sideline. Joe tried to look engaged, clapping for his teammates with his good hand, but he felt like an outsider watching his own life fall apart.

"There's Joe Burrow on the sideline," the announcer said as his face filled television screens across the country. "The franchise quarterback watching another Bengals collapse. You have to wonder if all the off-field distractions this season contributed to the injury that's keeping their franchise quarterback on the bench."

Off-field distractions. They didn't say Riley's name, but they didn't need to.

Joe's phone buzzed in his pocket. Probably Riley, texting from whatever city she was in tonight. He didn't check. The movement of reaching for his phone would send another wave of pain through his surgical site, and right now, he couldn't handle both the physical and emotional ache simultaneously.

Joe was icing his wrist after his morning PT session when his phone lit up with a notification from Billboard. Salvage had just hit number one for the third consecutive week.

He stared at the screen, remembering how excited he'd been when Riley first sent him the album. Now, all he could think about was Mark's graph showing his approval ratings plummeting while her career skyrocketed.

His phone buzzed again. Riley, FaceTiming from what looked like a hotel room.

"Joe! Did you see? Three weeks at number one!" Her face was glowing, hair messy from sleep, eyes bright with disbelief and joy.

"That's incredible, birdie." The words felt heavy in his mouth.

"And that's not even the best part. It went platinum yesterday. Platinum, Joe. In three weeks." Riley laughed, the sound pure and infectious. "Rolling Stone wants us for their cover. Can you believe that?"

Joe forced a smile. "You deserve all of it."

But even as he said it, he could hear Bill's voice in his head: Her career is exploding while yours is on hold. The contrast is... challenging.

"Are you okay? You seem tired."

"Just finished PT. You know how it is."

Riley's expression softened. "How's the pain today?"

"Better." Another lie. Everything hurt—his wrist, his shoulder from compensating, his head from the constant pressure. But he couldn't tell her that. Not when she was floating on cloud nine about achievements, she'd worked her whole life for.

"I wish I could be there to take care of you."

"You've got shows to do. People counting on you."

"You’re people too," Riley said quietly. "The most important people."

After they hung up, Joe sat in his kitchen staring at his phone. Riley's Instagram story showed clips from her soundcheck—sixty thousand empty seats that would be full in a few hours. The scale of her success was staggering.

He opened X without thinking, then immediately regretted it. The trending topics told the story:

#SalvageNumber1

#TheRamblesRollingStone

#PlatinumInThreeWeeks

But underneath the celebration, the other narrative was building:

"Convenient how Riley Carter's career exploded right after she started dating Joe Burrow"

"From opening act to Rolling Stone cover in six months... what changed? 🤔"

"The Kid Cudi cover was smart business. Get that NFL boyfriend clout"

"Joe Burrow went from franchise QB to WAG faster than anyone in history"

Joe's chest tightened. WAG. Wife and girlfriend. Like that was all he was—just some tagalong to her spotlight.

* * *

After the game - 34-11 loss to Pittsburgh

The locker room was a morgue. Joe sat at his assigned stall, still in street clothes, watching his teammates strip off their uniforms after getting blown out on primetime television. His wrist was throbbing—standing on the sideline for three hours without pain medication was taking its toll.

"This ain't on you, man," Ja'Marr said, sitting down heavily beside him. "We know you're doing everything you can to get back out there."

"I should be out there with you guys," Joe said, cradling his cast against his chest. Every word felt like an effort when his body was screaming for relief he refused to take.

"Nah, don't do that to yourself. You saw that hit—nobody walks away from that clean." Ja'Marr shook his head. "What pisses me off is all the noise people are making while you're laid up."

Joe looked at his teammate. "Yeah, I've seen some of it."

"Social media, some reporters. They're acting like you're not locked in or some shit." Ja'Marr shook his head. "Meanwhile you're out here every day grinding through rehab with that thing." He gestured at Joe's cast. "It's ridiculous."

Joe's jaw tightened. He'd seen more than "some of it"—Mark and Bill had made sure of that. "My team showed me the articles. The fan sentiment stuff."

"Well then you know it's garbage. The whole locker room sees you in here every day, sees you on that sideline in pain, refusing the pills so you can stay sharp for us." Ja'Marr leaned forward. "We got your back, Joe. Don't let the noise get in your head."

Joe felt some of the tension leave his shoulders, though the cold knot in his stomach remained. Even with his teammates' support, the criticism was still there, still building. And every day it felt harder to separate loving Riley from the narrative that was destroying his reputation.

"I just want to be back out there," Joe said quietly.

"We know, man. And when you are, we're gonna be ready. Until then, fuck what anyone else thinks."

* * *

Three weeks post-surgery - Home vs. Kansas City

The Bengals lost 25-17 to the Chiefs in what felt like their season finale. Joe watched from the sideline as his defense couldn't stop Mahomes in the final two minutes, their playoff hopes officially slipping away.

His wrist had finally stopped screaming—the acute surgical pain had settled into a deep, constant ache that he'd learned to live with. Three weeks of refusing pain medication had left him hollow-eyed and exhausted, but his mind was sharp enough to understand what this loss meant.

During the post-game coverage, Joe's relationship became a talking point again.

"Look, I'm not saying Joe Burrow isn't committed to football," the ESPN analyst said. "But his girlfriend's tour is breaking attendance records while his team just got eliminated from playoff contention. The optics are challenging."

"It's a difficult situation," another analyst agreed. "You've got a young quarterback dealing with his first major injury while his rock star girlfriend is having the biggest year of her career. That's a lot of competing priorities for a 27-year-old."

"The question is whether he can compartmentalize. Tom Brady was notorious for shutting out distractions during the season. Aaron Rodgers too. The great ones find a way to make football the only thing that matters."

Joe turned off the TV in the trainer's room and sat in his empty locker, his wrist throbbing in its cast.

The great ones make football the only thing that matters.

But Riley mattered too. She was supposed to matter.

Wasn't she?

Riley texted from the Phoenix airport: Landing in 2 hours. Can't wait to see you.

Joe stared at the message from his PT table, his wrist screaming from the morning session. The surgical site was still angry and swollen, and he'd refused the offered pain medication again. Twenty-four hours. She was squeezing him between Phoenix and Denver, flying across the country to see him for one day.

It should have felt romantic. Instead, it felt like pressure.

* * *

3:30 PM - Joe's House

Riley dropped her bag by the door and crossed the room to hug him, careful around his wrist but pulling him close with her free arm. She smelled like herself—that familiar scent he used to find so comforting.

"How was PT today?" she asked, studying his face.

"Fine."

"Just fine?"

Joe moved away from her, heading to the kitchen. "It's PT, Riley. It's not supposed to be fun."

She followed him, her heels clicking on his hardwood floors. "I know, I just—you look tired."

"I am tired." He opened the fridge without purpose, just needing something to do with his hands. "I'm tired all the time."

Riley leaned against his counter, watching him. "Tell me about the tour," he said, grabbing a water bottle. "How's Phoenix?"

"It was incredible. Sold out, amazing crowd." Her voice brightened slightly. "We did 'Pursuit of Happiness' and the entire arena sang it back to us. Even Pete got chills."

Joe's jaw tightened. That song—their song—being performed for sixty thousand strangers while he sat in physical therapy.

"That's great," he said, but the words came out flat.

Riley's smile faltered. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

His phone buzzed on the counter. A text from Mark. Then another from Bill. Joe picked it up without thinking.

Mark: "New article in The Athletic about QB recovery timelines. Sending link."

Bill: "ESPN mentioning the tour again. We should talk."

"Joe?" Riley's voice seemed far away.

He scrolled through the notifications, his chest tightening with each headline. The same narrative, over and over. His girlfriend's success contrasted with his struggle. Her achievements highlighting his absence.

"Joe." Riley's hand touched his arm. "Put the phone down."

"I can't." The words came out harsher than he intended. "Do you know what they're saying? About us? About me?"

"I don't care what they're saying."

"Well, I do." Joe set his phone down too hard, the sound sharp in the quiet kitchen. "I care that every article about your tour mentions my injury. I care that they're questioning whether I'm focused enough to lead a franchise."

Riley was quiet for a moment. "That's not my fault."

"I didn't say it was."

"Then why does it feel like you're blaming me?"

Joe didn't answer because he didn't know how to explain that he wasn't blaming her—he was blaming himself for not being stronger, for not being able to separate their love from the noise around it.

* * *

6 PM

They ordered dinner and tried to pretend everything was normal. Riley told him about the cities she'd been to, the fans she'd met, the way "Ego" had become an anthem at every show. Joe nodded and made appropriate sounds, but his attention kept drifting to his phone, dark and silent on the coffee table.

"The Rolling Stone photographer wants to do the shoot next week," Riley said, setting her coffee cup down on his glass table. "They're thinking something stripped down, more intimate than the usual glossy stuff."

"Mm-hmm."

"Joe, are you listening to me?"

He looked up from where he'd been staring at his phone. "Rolling Stone. That's huge."

"It is." Riley studied his face. "But you don't seem happy about it."

"I am. I'm happy for you."

But even as he said it, Joe could see the water ring her coffee cup had left on his table. A perfect circle marring the glass surface he kept spotless. It was such a small thing, meaningless really, but it felt like proof of everything wrong with this moment.

Riley followed his gaze to the table, then back to his face.

"Can you not leave shit on the table?" The words came out harsher than he'd intended, sharp and cutting.

Riley stared at him like he'd slapped her. "Excuse me?"

Joe's chest tightened immediately, the fight going out of him as quickly as it had come. "I'm sorry. That was—I didn't mean to snap like that."

"Then what did you mean?"

Joe stood up abruptly, walking to the kitchen to get paper towels. "Can you just... be more careful? This is expensive furniture."

The words hung in the air between them. Riley stared at him, something shifting in her expression.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Her voice was quiet, controlled, but Joe could hear the hurt underneath.

"I just asked you to use a coaster."

"No, you snapped at me for existing in your space." Riley stood up, watching him wipe the table with jerky, aggressive movements. "For leaving evidence that I was here."

Joe's chest tightened. "That's not—"

"What is this really about, Joe? Because I know you, and this isn't about furniture."

"I'm stressed, okay? The PT is brutal, the media won't leave us alone, and I—" He threw the paper towel in the trash harder than necessary. "I just need things to be... controlled right now."

"Controlled." Riley repeated the word like it tasted bitter. "And I'm messing up your control."

"That's not what I said."

"It's what you meant."

Joe looked at her standing in his living room—beautiful, successful, glowing with the kind of life he felt like he was losing—and felt something crack in his chest.

"I'm sorry," he said, the fight going out of him as quickly as it had come. "I'm sorry. That was shitty."

Riley's shoulders sagged. "I know you're in pain. I'm just trying to help."

"I know. I'm sorry."

She moved toward him, reaching for his good hand. "Talk to me. Please. What's really going on?"

But Joe couldn't tell her about Mark and Bill's presentations, about the approval ratings and the front office questions. Couldn't explain that every achievement she shared felt like evidence against him. Couldn't say that he was starting to wonder if loving her publicly was going to cost him everything he'd worked for.

So instead, he just held her hand and said, "I'm tired, Riley. I'm just really fucking tired."

* * *

The Next Morning

Riley's flight was at 11 AM. Joe drove her to the airport in silence, both of them careful around the bruise from the night before.

"I'll call you tonight after the show," she said as they pulled up to departures.

"Okay."

"Joe." She turned to face him. "We're going to be okay, right?"

He looked at her—hair falling in waves around her face, eyes uncertain in a way he'd never seen before—and wanted to say yes. Wanted to promise her that they'd figure it out, that love would be enough.

Instead, he kissed her forehead and said, "Have a good show tonight."

Riley studied his face for a long moment, then nodded. "I love you."

"I love you too."

But as Joe watched her disappear into the terminal, he couldn't shake the feeling that something between them had broken the night before. Something that might not be fixable with apologies and promises.

His phone buzzed with a text from Mark: Can we schedule a meeting this week? Some new developments we should discuss.

Joe turned off his phone and drove home to his empty, spotless house.

* * *

Four weeks post-surgery

Joe was reviewing his PT schedule when his phone rang. Mark's name on the screen made his stomach tighten—these calls never brought good news anymore.

"How are you feeling today?" Mark's voice was carefully measured.

"Sore. But the therapist says I'm still ahead of schedule."

"That's great to hear. Listen, Bill and I want to sit down with you this week. We've been monitoring some trends we think you should be aware of."

Joe set down his coffee. "What kind of trends?"

"Public perception data. Fan sentiment analysis. Nothing urgent, but we think it's important you have the full picture."

"Can't you just tell me over the phone?"

"It's better if we show you. There are some graphics, some articles. We want to make sure you have all the information." Mark paused. "Are you free Thursday afternoon?"

Joe looked at his calendar. PT from 9-11, PT from 2-4. Empty space in between that he usually used to ice his wrist and try not to think about how far behind he was feeling.

"I can do 12:30."

"Perfect. We'll come to you."

* * *

Thursday, 12:30 PM

Mark and Bill arrived with laptops, tablets, and a folder thick with printouts. They set up in Joe's dining room like they were preparing for a board presentation.

"Before we start," Bill said, settling into his chair, "we want to be clear that we're showing you this information because we care about your career. None of this is your fault, and we're not asking you to make any decisions today."

Joe's wrist throbbed. "Just show me."

He spread several articles across the table:

"Is Riley Carter Using Joe Burrow for Publicity?"

"The Real Reason Behind That Kid Cudi Cover"

"NFL Girlfriend or Attention Seeker? You Decide"

"From Unknown to #1: How Dating an NFL Star Changed Everything for Riley Carter"

Joe felt his chest tighten. "She's not unknown. Her band's been successful for years."

"Of course," Mark said gently. "But the narrative has shifted. Here's a timeline analysis from a popular Bengals blog."

He clicked to another tab showing a side-by-side comparison: Riley's career milestones on one side, their relationship timeline on the other.

"They're suggesting correlation," Bill explained. "Album release coinciding with your relationship going public. The Cudi cover happening right after your injury. Her tour announcement the week you started intensive PT."

"That's all coincidence."

"We know that. But perception becomes reality in the public eye." Mark clicked to another screen. "Here's what fans are saying."

A sampling of comments scrolled past:

"Love Joe but he needs to focus on getting healthy, not his girlfriend's career"

"Burrow better not pull a Russell Wilson situation"

"She seems sweet but football season is football season"

"This is why we can't have nice things in Cincinnati"

"He was fine until he started dating that rock chick"

Joe's jaw tightened. "Russell Wilson situation?"

Bill leaned forward. "Fans are drawing parallels. Wilson's performance metrics declined after he went public with Ciara. People started questioning whether his priorities had shifted."

"That's..." Joe paused, choosing his words carefully. "That sounds like some racist bullshit, honestly. Black quarterback gets successful, marries a successful Black woman, and suddenly his priorities are questioned? And Wilson's numbers didn't even drop that year—he had one of his best seasons."

Mark shifted uncomfortably. "We're just reporting what fans are saying."

"Fans who apparently don't know stats," Joe continued. "And Brady and Gisele were on magazine covers together for years. Nobody questioned his priorities."

"Different situations," Bill said quickly.

"How? Because Brady's white?" Joe's voice had an edge now. "Or because this was before social media turned every relationship into a conspiracy theory?"

"Joe, we're not making these arguments. We're showing you what's out there."

Bill opened his folder. "We've compiled some research on how successful quarterbacks have handled high-profile relationships. Manning kept things relatively low-key. Rodgers has been private about his relationships."

"What about Brady? You just said he was different."

"That was different," Mark said. "Brady was already established, had multiple rings."

"So I need to win Super Bowls before I'm allowed to have a public relationship, what are you asking me to do here?"

"Be strategic," Mark said. "Riley's tour runs through February. Your comeback timeline has you returning next season. This might be a period where you keep things quieter."

Joe felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Quieter how?"

"Less public interaction with her career. No appearances at shows. Limited social media interaction." Bill's tone stayed clinical. "Let your recovery be the story, not your relationship."

Mark pulled up another article. "ESPN ran this piece yesterday: 'The Modern Athlete's Dilemma: Balancing Love and Legacy.' It specifically mentions you and Riley."

Joe scanned the article, his heart sinking with each paragraph. It painted their relationship as a cautionary tale about young athletes getting distracted by fame and romance.

"The front office has been asking more questions," Bill said quietly. "Since we last talked to you about this. They're not saying anything officially, but the concerns are growing."

"What kind of questions?"

"About your commitment level. Your focus during recovery. Whether you're taking the franchise quarterback role seriously enough." Bill's voice carried a note of sympathy. "They see Riley's career exploding while you're struggling through PT, and they're wondering about priorities."

Joe's mouth went dry. "My priorities are fine."

"We know that. But optics matter. Right now, the story is that your girlfriend is reaching career highs while you're at a career low. The contrast is... challenging."

Mark closed his laptop. "Look, we're not asking you to end things with Riley. We're asking you to protect both of your careers by keeping things private until you're back on the field proving yourself."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you deal with whatever narrative builds," Bill said simply. "The questions about focus. The speculation about priorities. The possibility that your comeback gets overshadowed by relationship drama instead of football accomplishments."

Joe sat in silence, staring at the stack of articles on his table. Every headline felt like an accusation. Every comment like a judgment on his character.

"We'll let you think about it," Mark said, gathering his materials. "But Joe? The longer this narrative builds, the harder it becomes to change. Right now, you still have some control over how this story gets told."

After they left, Joe sat alone in his dining room, surrounded by the remnants of their presentation. His phone buzzed with a text from Riley: Just got off stage in Dallas! Crowd was incredible. How was PT today? Missing you.

Joe stared at the message. Riley was living her dream—selling out arenas, getting magazine covers, winning industry recognition she'd worked her whole life for. And somehow, that success was being used as evidence against him.

He looked at the articles scattered across his table, for the first time since they'd started dating, Joe didn't know what to say back.

PT was good. Glad the show went well.

The words felt empty, even as he hit send. But they were safer than the truth—that part of him was starting to wonder if loving her out loud might cost him everything he’d built.

* * *

Six weeks post-surgery - Chicago Surprise

Joe stared at his phone screen, thumb hovering over Riley's contact. She'd been on tour for several weeks now, and their FaceTime calls had gotten shorter, more stilted. Not because of anything she was doing—Riley was still Riley, all energy and stories and laughter that used to fill up every empty space in his chest. But something was off with him. The constant ache in his wrist, the sleepless nights, the way his own house felt like a prison.

He missed her. The empty house, the endless rehab sessions, the way every day felt the same—none of it felt right without her.

He pulled up her tour schedule on his phone. Chicago tomorrow night. He could make that work.

Joe called his assistant Sarah first. "I want to surprise Riley at her Chicago show tomorrow. Can you coordinate with her team? They'll need to know I'm coming for security, but ask them not to tell her."

"Joe, are you sure you should be traveling—"

"Sarah. Please."

He also shot a quick text to Pete: Flying to Chicago tomorrow. Don't tell Riley - want to surprise her.

Pete's response was immediate: Holy shit dude she's gonna lose her mind. I'll make sure security knows to expect you.

Twenty minutes later, Sarah called back. "You're all set. Her tour manager Mara knows you're coming and she's excited to help with the surprise. Security will bring you to her dressing room right before show time."

Soldier Field was massive—sixty thousand people, and from what Joe could see through the tunnel entrance, every seat was filled. Riley's crew had coordinated with his security detail to get him in through a side entrance, avoiding the main crowds. His arm was starting to ache from the travel, but seeing the scale of this—her name on the screens, her music echoing through the stadium—made everything worth it.

The security guard led him through a maze of concrete corridors to the backstage area. "She's in the main dressing room," the guy said, checking his watch. "Show starts in thirty."

Joe found her doing vocal warm-ups, already dressed for the show—black corset top with rose details, leather pants, her blonde hair in loose waves. When she turned and saw him standing in the doorway, her whole face went through about five different emotions before landing on pure joy.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Surprise," he said, and she was across the room in three steps, careful when she hugged him but pulling him close.

"Joe. How did you even—this is insane." She pulled back to study his face, and he could see her eyes getting bright with tears.

"Hey, don't cry, birdie," he said softly, brushing his thumb under her eye. "Your makeup."

Riley laughed, a watery sound. "I can't believe you're here. Are you okay? Should you be traveling?"

"I'm fine. Sarah coordinated everything." He kissed her forehead. "I wanted to see this. See you do this."

Riley's eyes were still bright but she blinked the tears back. "This is the best surprise. God, I can't believe you're here."

Mara appeared in the doorway. "Riley, we need to start getting you ready—oh." She grinned when she saw Joe. "Perfect timing."

"Mara helped coordinate everything," Joe said.

"And keeping this secret for the last six hours has been torture," Mara said. "She's been talking about missing you all day."

Riley blushed and shoved Mara's shoulder, but Joe caught the way she glowed.

"I can watch from backstage?" Joe asked.

"Side stage," Riley said immediately. "Best view in the house."

The show was electric. Joe had seen Riley perform before, but not like this—not in front of sixty thousand people who knew every word to every song. When she launched into "Mad Woman," the crowd's energy was so intense he could feel it in his chest.

He positioned himself in the wings where he could see her but stay mostly hidden. Riley caught his eye during "Daylight" and smiled, and for a moment, everything felt right again. This was what mattered—not the headlines or the speculation or his empty house in Cincinnati. Just her, doing what she was born to do, and him being here to witness it.

His phone had been buzzing throughout the show, but he'd ignored it. Riley was in the middle of her encore when he finally glanced down.

Seventeen missed calls from Mark. Twelve from Bill. A string of increasingly frantic texts.

Answer your fucking phone

Are you in Chicago?

There are photos

Joe's stomach dropped. He looked up at Riley, who was thanking the crowd, still glowing with post-show adrenaline. She hadn't seen any of this yet.

The last text from Mark was timestamped three minutes ago: Call me NOW

Joe stepped further back into the shadows, but it was too late. Whatever had happened, it was already happening.

"That was incredible," Riley said, finding him after she'd finished her meet-and-greet. She was still buzzing with energy, hair damp with sweat, eyes bright. "Did you see how they reacted to 'Ego'? I thought the roof was going to come off."

Joe managed a smile. "You were amazing."

"I can't believe you're here. This is the best surprise—" She stopped, noticing his expression. "What's wrong?"

His phone was ringing again. Mark's name on the screen.

"I should probably take this."

Riley's smile faltered. "Joe?"

"It's fine. Just give me a second." He answered the call, stepping away from her. "Mark."

"What the hell are you doing in Chicago?" Mark's voice was sharp, panicked. "Do you have any idea what this looks like?"

"I'm supporting my girlfriend."

"You're supposed to be in Cincinnati, in rehab, focusing on your recovery. Not traveling across the country for a rock concert."

Joe closed his eyes. "It's one night."

"It's never one night, Joe. There are photos of you everywhere. Twitter, Instagram, TikTok. You in a sling, looking like you should be in bed, not backstage at some concert."

"I'm fine."

"The narrative writes itself. 'Injured quarterback skips recovery to follow girlfriend on tour.' How do you think that plays in Cincinnati? How do you think it plays with the front office?"

Joe looked over at Riley, who was watching him with growing concern. She was still glowing from the show, still floating on the high of sixty thousand people singing her words back to her.

"I have to go," he said.

"Joe—"

He hung up and walked back to Riley, who searched his face.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah." The lie came easier than the truth. "Just team stuff."

But Riley wasn't fooled. "Joe, what's going on?"

He wanted to tell her. Wanted to explain that someone had taken a photo of him watching her perform, that it was already spreading across the internet, that his phone was full of messages from people telling him he'd made a mistake by coming here.

Instead, he kissed her temple. "Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow."

Riley studied him for a long moment, then nodded. But the light in her eyes had dimmed, just slightly.

As they left the venue together, Joe's phone buzzed with another text from Bill: We need to talk. First thing tomorrow.

The night that was supposed to remind him why their love was worth fighting for had just become ammunition for everyone who thought it wasn't.

* * *

Eight weeks post-surgery - Denver

Riley stared at her phone, thumb hovering over Joe's contact. The adrenaline from the show was still coursing through her veins—twenty-two thousand people had sung "Daylight" back to her tonight, and for a moment she'd forgotten about everything except the music.

But now, alone in her hotel room, all she wanted was to hear Joe's voice.

The phone rang four times before he picked up.

"Hey." His voice was rough with sleep.

"Did I wake you? I'm sorry, I forgot about the time difference."

"It's okay. How was the show?"

"It was incredible. The crowd was so alive tonight, and during 'Smallest Man' they were—" Riley caught herself, hearing the flatness in his response. "But you're tired. I should let you sleep."

"No, tell me. It sounded great."

But his voice carried that careful politeness she'd been hearing more and more lately. Like he was going through the motions of caring rather than actually caring.

"It's fine. It was just a good show."

"Okay." A pause. "I should probably get some sleep. Early PT tomorrow."

"Of course. I love you."

"Love you too."

The line went dead, and Riley sat in the silence of her hotel room, feeling more alone than she had in months.

* * *

Three days later - Kansas City

Riley sent Joe a photo from her dressing room: a bouquet of sunflowers from a fan with a note that read "Thank you for writing my feelings."

Joe: Looks amazing.

That was it. Two words.

She typed and deleted half a dozen responses before settling on: Miss you.

No response.

* * *

One week later

"You've been quiet," Pete said during soundcheck, adjusting his bass. "Everything okay?"

Riley played a few chords, not meeting his eyes. "Just tired."

"Tired or Joe?"

She looked up sharply. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You used to call him every night after shows. Now you barely mention him."

"He's going through a lot with rehab. I don't want to burden him with tour stuff when he's struggling."

Andy looked up from tuning his guitar. "Since when is sharing good news a burden?"

"Since it started feeling like work to get him excited about anything."

The words came out more bitter than she'd intended. Riley immediately felt guilty—Joe was in pain, dealing with career uncertainty, stuck in Cincinnati while she lived her dream on stages across the country.

"Maybe he's just having a hard time," Daniel said gently from behind his kit.

"I know he is. That's why I'm trying to be patient."

But patience was getting harder when every conversation felt like pulling teeth, when his responses to her photos were generic and brief, when he seemed more interested in getting off the phone than staying connected.

* * *

Riley's hotel room - 1:23 AM

Riley called anyway, knowing it was late in Cincinnati but needing to hear his voice.

"Riley? Is everything okay?"

"I just wanted to talk to you. I miss you."

"It's after 1 AM here."

"I know, I'm sorry. I just..." She curled up on the hotel bed, pulling the covers around her. "I feel like we haven't really talked in days."

"We talked yesterday."

"For five minutes. About physical therapy and weather."

Joe was quiet for a moment. "What do you want me to say?"

The question hit her like a slap. "I don't want you to say anything specific. I just want you to want to talk to me."

"I do want to talk to you."

"Then why does every conversation feel like I'm bothering you?"

"You're not bothering me, birdie. PT is exhausting, and by the time you call I don't have anything left at the end of the day."

Riley felt tears prick her eyes. "I know you're tired. I know this is hard. But I'm trying to support you and it feels like you don't want me to."

"That's not true."

"Then what is true? Because something's wrong and you won't tell me what it is."

Another long pause. Riley could hear him breathing, could picture him in his kitchen, probably icing his wrist and staring at nothing.

"I'm just trying to focus on getting better," he said finally. "Everything else feels... complicated right now."

"Everything else including me?"

"Riley..."

"Answer the question, Joe. Am I complicating your recovery?"

"It's not that simple."

But it was exactly that simple, and they both knew it. Riley closed her eyes, feeling the foundation of everything they'd built starting to crack.

"I'm going to let you sleep," she said.

"Riley, don't—"

"I love you. Get some rest."

She hung up before he could respond, then turned off her phone and cried into the hotel pillow until she fell asleep.

* * *

The Next Morning - Riley's text to her bandmates

Riley: I think I need to go to Cincinnati after the St. Louis show.

Pete: Everything okay?

Riley: No. But maybe I can fix it.

Andy: What do you need?

Riley: 48 hours. I need to remind him who we are when it's just us.

Daniel: We've got your back.

Riley stared at her calendar, looking at the two-day break between St. Louis and Nashville. She could fly to Cincinnati, spend real time with Joe, cook for him, take care of him the way she had after his surgery.

Maybe if she could get him away from his phone, away from whatever was poisoning his mind about their relationship, she could reach the person she fell in love with.

Maybe she could save them.

* * *

Nine weeks post-surgery - Cincinnati - Joe's perspective

Joe woke up empty. Riley's words still echoed in his head, sharp and unfinished. He felt raw. Guilty. And more lost than ever.

He wanted to want to talk to her. Wanted to feel excited when she called, proud when she shared her success, comforted by her voice instead of burdened by it.

But every interaction felt like evidence of how far apart their lives had become. She was flying high, living her dream, connecting with thousands of people every night. He was struggling through basic wrist exercises and wondering if his career was over at twenty-seven.

His phone buzzed with a text from Bill: Front office wants another meeting next week. They're asking more specific questions about your timeline and priorities.

Joe closed his eyes. Priorities. There was that word again.

When his phone rang with another call from Riley an hour later, Joe let it go to voicemail.

He told himself it was because he was heading into PT.

But really, it was because he didn't know how to love her and protect his career at the same time anymore.

She didn't deserve silence, but it was all he had left.

* * *

Ten weeks post-surgery - The Final Straw

Joe's phone rang during his lunch break from PT. His mother.

"Hey, Mom."

"Joe, honey, I just wanted to check on you. Your dad and I have been following the season coverage and..."

"And what?"

"Well, some of the things they're saying on TV. About your focus and your priorities." Robin's voice was careful, concerned. "Is everything okay with you and Riley?"

Joe closed his eyes. If his own mother was asking...

"Everything's fine, Mom."

"I know you love her, sweetheart. But maybe this is just a hard time to have such a... public relationship. With your injury and the team missing the playoffs..."

"Mom."

"I'm just saying, when your father was playing, we kept things quiet during the season. It made life easier."

After he hung up, Joe sat in his car outside the PT facility, staring at his phone. A text from Riley lit up the screen: Thinking about you today. How's the wrist feeling?

For the first time since they'd been together, Joe didn't want to answer.

Because how could he explain that every text from her, every headline about her success, every mention of their relationship felt like another weight on his chest?

How could he tell her that loving her was starting to feel like the thing that was going to cost him everything?

* * *

The Realization - Twelve weeks post-surgery

That night, Joe lay in bed scrolling through articles about the Bengals' season. The team had finished 9-8, missing the playoffs by one game. Every piece mentioned his injury. Half of them mentioned Riley.

"Despite some bright spots without Burrow, the Bengals' inability to close out games in key moments exposed their dependence on their franchise quarterback, but questions remain about whether off-field factors contributed to the injury that derailed their season."

"The timing of Burrow's relationship going public coinciding with his worst stretch of play raises uncomfortable questions about priorities and focus."

"Love him or hate him, Joe Burrow's 2023 season will be remembered as much for his girlfriend's meteoric rise as his own struggles on the field."

Joe set his phone down and stared at the ceiling. Whether it was fair or not, whether it was true or not, Riley had become part of the story of his career struggles.

And he didn't know how to separate them anymore.

Maybe he didn't want to.

Maybe that was the problem.

#joe burrow #jiley #hide fanfic #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow fanfiction #joe burrow fluff #nfl fanfic #nfl fan fic #nfl fanfiction #joe burrow smut #nfl smut #joe burrow series #joe burrow x oc #nfl x oc #nfl fluff #joeyb #Joe burrow series #nfl series

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bugsonthemind · 2 years ago

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Since it's been a while, I thought I'd repost this old meme I made from reddit to tumblr. Because I think it's still funny. I also added a four new entries, just for the value add.

WHAT YOUR FAVORITE WORM SHIP SAYS ABOUT YOU

Annette x Danny - You used to be a swinger, but these days you’re totally devoted to your spouse, who can do no wrong in your eyes. You read Worm on a lark after accidentally finding it in a search for a place where you could buy garden worms. You really fell in love with it, and Danny became a point of fascination after you read the Word of God about his potential powers.

Taylor x Greg - You consider yourself a geek, generally speaking, and you enjoy writing but not sharing fanfiction. You always tell your friends that you’ve got a “gamer-fic” coming that will really “shake things up” on Spacebattles, but really it’s just a measly two paragraphs. You know a few words in a notable conlang, but you don’t have the dedication to learn a grammar other than that of English.

Taylor x Emma - You are a 20-something sapphic woman with many, many things unresolved from highschool.

Taylor x Sophia - You’ve never read Worm.

Taylor x Brian - You’re a strict canonist. You don’t buy Taylor in a sapphic ship and you never will, given the Word of God on the matter. You also really like Brian as a character, and feel more than a little disappointed that he got shafted in terms of character development.

Taylor x Lisa - You’re into astrology and you have a fairly active Instagram where you frequently post images of people who you’re attracted to - usually those that are taller and more physically capable, or somewhat frazzled and “natural” looking - with repeated heart emojis.

Taylor x Rachel - You’re an avid reader of lesbian fiction - your favorite classic is Stone Butch Blues by Feinberg - and you genuinely thought that this was the romantic direction that Worm was going when you were reading it back in 2013, just after it had finished. You are, if not a dog person, an animal person in general.

Taylor x Alec - You speak French and frequently brag about it, and you’re a little too open about your interest in BDSM, which reflects all the more poorly on your choice of ship. You still doubt that Bill Cosby actually did anything wrong.

Taylor x Dennis - You are an even stricter canonist. You eagerly await the PHO post every Sunday, and you love staying in character.

Taylor x Amy - You are either a thirty-year old straight single man or a teenaged single lesbian, with no outliers. Either way, both womanhood and cleanliness are alien to you. Clean your room. Take a shower. Make better choices next time.

Taylor x Theo - You're a bit of an off-the wall kind of person, preferring to take a third option whenever available. You think of it as being quirky. You're art school, and picked up Worm in 2016 on a recommendation from a friend on Discord.

Lisa x Faultline - You like women in positions of power, but have no interest in conventional power structures. This paradox was what initially led you to Worm, but you kinda only continued on momentum after Taylor became a Ward. You sometimes like to pretend to be a libertarian.

Rachel x Brian - You think that Taylor is a piece of shit, and that everyone in the Undersiders deserves better than her. You’re really into tomboys.

Rachel x Alec - You have a complex of sexual fetishes, mental illnesses and gender hang-ups previously only thought possible under the rare conditions found in the center of distant stars, the Large Hadron Collider or a person from Florida.

Rachel x Biter - You prefer relationships that are kept on the down-low. You don’t have any social media, really, and you think that’s for the better. You are an ardent believer that quiet is good for the soul and that you shouldn’t say anything if it won’t add anything.

Alec x Aisha - You don’t know what an age gap is, and you’ve never cared.

Sabah x Lily - You adore Sanrio - maybe a bit too much for your age. You have a thing for athletes and jocks, and you really enjoy the whole “cottagecore” trend, regardless of your orientation.

Lily x May - You like knives, and have a collection of them in your closet. Sometimes you think about paying a prostitute extra so that you get an occasion to use them outside of your kitchen. Whether it's you on them, or them on you, you don't really care; you just want to see the blood.

Aisha x Missy - You figure this must have happened at some point, right? Based off of the few lines we get about her love-life it has to be right, right? You really like Mitski, and you’re kind of disappointed in the directions that Ward went, so you’re grasping at straws for a good ship.

Lisa x Victoria - You live somewhere in the Northeast megalopolis. You hate gentrification, and you feel guilty every time you visit a Starbucks - and secretly you like DDs better anyways, but your friends always want to go to Starbucks. You’re not out as bisexual because you feel like you’d be taking up too much room in other people’s lives to jut come out to them.

Amy x Bianca - You’ve tasted so much of boot and cunt and yet you still can’t decide which you like better.

Amy x Siberian - You've engaged with this as part of your general coquettecore, editing-images-of-Hello-Kitty-to-add-gore, hazy images of midwestern American homes and hotels with old decor or no furniture at all, traumacore, Nicole Dollanganger and Lingua Ignota styled online presence. How serious you are about all this is unclear, but you're really into the whole eating fingers thing.

Victoria x Bianca - You think you're really onto something with this. You're working in a new and innovative field of clone-fucking: fucking a woman who is your narrative foil and designed to resemble you in every fashion not by anything in universe but by the author.

Amy x Dean - You seriously thought this was how it was going to go down until Dean died, and that that was her secret. It’s been stuck in the back of your mind as ever since.

Amy x Lisa - You’re a strong believer in picking up a replacement goldfish whenever you exit a relationship.

Carol x Mark - You’re older than the average Worm fan, and severely depressed, but find solace in reading and perhaps a singular hobby. You’ve slowly been releasing a fic that you work on in your free time over the course of the last couple of years. It doesn’t get much attention but the little attention it does get feels all the sweeter.

Carol x Neil - You’ve had a pregnancy scare once or twice with your current partner, who is cheating on their spouse with you. You get why people don’t like cheaters, sure, but at the same time you find little space in your heart to blame them. That’s how you justify it.

Victoria x Dean - You wanted to marry your highschool prom date, and maybe you did. Your favorite show is Brooklyn 99.

Victoria x Ashley - You’re probably gay. You *used* to like Ward, and you were rooting for this ship for the entire run. You really didn’t like the ending but now you’re into Pale, which is a lot better for you, but still frustrating in many ways. You, also, hate Starbucks, and avoid them at all costs, instead opting for smaller, local coffee shops.

Victoria x Sveta - The line between friend and lover is tenuously thin for you, and you worry sometimes about that. In general, you are a very nervous person; when the world gets to be too much for you, you jump into learning a new skill or hobby instead of facing it head on. You’re currently trying to learn Swahili.

Victoria x Fragile One - You enjoy xenofiction and romance. You’re a stickler for canon, and enjoy having a solid knowledge of franchises so that you can help people when they ask for clarification on a part of a work. Secretly, you also enjoy writing smut.

Victoria x Etna - I know it’s you, Marco. Keep up the good work.

Victoria x Ethan - You’re interested in self-improvement. You listen to audiobooks on philosophy while exercising, then relisten once you’re less distracted. You always go down first.

Victoria x Moose - You pretend you're unironically into the whole "women/men who can beat the shit out of you" thing, but deep down you want somebody to bridal carry you. You just don't have the ability to be that vulnerable, so instead you pretend it's a manifestation of hyperviolent sexuality.

Sveta x Weld - You were really sad that they didn’t work out. You think Weld is kind of a pussy and should have stuck it through.

Byron x Missy - Whenever you see a couple in public, you get a little giddy feeling in your chest. You’re not even sure why you like it so much, or why you like this ship, besides the fact that it feels right. Your own love-life, on the other hand, is a mess worthy of its own story.

Byron x Moonsong - You’re homophobic, but you don’t want to be, and so you sympathize.

Byron x Furcate - You’re sweet. You really want the best for people and your goal in life is to do the best for people. You’re very vocal about trans rights, and you probably have at least one trans flag somewhere in your socials, even if you aren’t trans yourself.

Tristan x Venarum - You read Siken. You feel really, really tired of the way gay men are depicted in media, even with mainstream acceptance. You were really hoping this one would be different.

Tristan x Rain - You’re from down South. You’re a quiet type, too, and you keep to yourself when you can. Your favorite book is a well-worn copy of The Picture of Dorian Grey that one of your uncles sent you, before you even had it figured out. You got into Worm because of the powers, but by the end you were really in it for the characters.

Rain x Chastity - You listen to Cult of Dionysus by The Orion Experience on repeat, but when you’re working you prefer to listen to the soundtrack for Hotline Miami. You find a special joy in wordplay, puns and innuendo. You tried a lot of drugs in highschool, but they weren’t for you.

Kenzie x Candy - You never did get over that crush in middle school, did you?

Kenzie x Chris - You’re weird, and I don’t like you. Never go near children.

Darlene x Aiden - You’re an odd duck; you’re fascinated by how children develop senses of love and affection in imitation of adults. You may be a child psychologist, or a rather overbearing parent.

Dragon x Colin - You’re a straight white man from Central Canada who writes web serials for a living.

Assault x Battery - You really, really like enemies-to-lovers fics. You think that Worm should have had more romances like AxB and you’re absolutely wrong.

Miss Militia x Battery - You fantasize of seducing your neighbor away from her husband. She just seems so sad all the time.

Miss Milita x Chevalier - You’ve played through every Metal Gear Solid game, including Revengeance, and liked all of them, but your friends say you didn’t really understand them. You strongly believe in the case for Kurdish independence, but you also really like cops and you’re very pro-American interventionism.

Bakuda x Lung - When you’re not listening to true crime podcasts, you’re listening to Joe Rogan. You’ve experimented many times with a variety of uppers, downers, and hallucinogens. Weapons also fascinate you, so you regularly check in on Forgotten Weapons for a spell to admire their mechanics. Secretly, you think that the Unabomber was transgender, and the MKULTRA conditioning she was subjected to cheated her of a safe transition.

Leet x Uber: You've made some... less than appropriate fanfiction about lets players. Let's all be glad that you've found a new outlet.

Squealer x Skidmark - You consider yourself a party person, but the only reason you’re invited to parties is because you’re the hookup. You hate to admit you like web serials because you think it makes you look less tough.

Sidepiece x Disjoint - You've made small, voyeuristic and mean-spirited thrill-seeking into a full-time job; you regularly visit LiveLeak to get your kicks, and normal porn has started to bore you. Sometimes you make burner accounts online just to make inflammatory comments on your friend's social media. You think that it's a pretty funny prank.

Prancer x Moose x Velvet - You stand by the slogan “Be gay, do crimes,” perhaps a bit too much. You didn't like the Titan arc. You either live in the Pacific Northwest or want to.

Kaiser x Purity - You don’t get why people are so upset about the Proud Boys. They’re just keeping the suburbs safe. You regularly write E88-centric fics.

Night x Fog - You are, beneath everything, rotten - and it gratifies you to finally see someone so much like you on the page. It makes you feel normal.

Shamrock x Gregor - You're not so much a monsterfucker as a monsterlover. Your favorite show used to be Supernatural until you picked up Hannibal. You think Void from Berserk is actually kinda sexy.

Eden x Zion - You listen to Tool.

Eden x Abaddon - As above, but you also have a cuckolding fetish.

Apollyon x Eden x Zion - You’re into hard vore.

Shatterbird x Jack Slash - You’re an artist in a field that requires precision - portrait painting, weaving, diplomacy, or clinical psychology. You have a keen sense of smell, and enjoy fine dining when you can. You find Shatterbird’s hidden want for Jack cute - and you identify yourself with the latter, even if his murders are rather gauche.

Siberian x Jack Slash - You unironically find the words “mommy milkers” arousing and you regularly browse /r/guro.

Crawler x Siberian - You are a masochist because you believe yourself to be a monster. Nothing else can be read from this.

Contessa x Eidolon - You pay exorbitant sums to well-endowed Twitch streamers.

Contessa x Alexandria - You’re a well-put-together, organized person and you want someone in your life who matches that, something you live vicariously through this ship.

Accord x Citrine - You’ve like odd couples, especially those where one is a lot more odd than the other. Where you fall in that equation is 50/50. Your first celebrity crush was on Angelica Huston, 1991, in The Addams Family.

Number Man x Citrine - You’re a corporate climber who read Worm after reading Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality, which you read because you thought getting into fanfiction would be a quaint, quirky idea. You frequently theorize about power synergies on Spacebattles during your allotted ten minute coffee break.

Contessa x Number Man - You’re just curious as to what mathematically perfect sex would look like. Would they use toys? Bondage? Could they just-

#worm #ward #i've been meaning to repost this for a while now

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luminousjellyfishy · 7 months ago

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'TIS THE BLOOP

Blooper belongs to: @woaaahh-itz-caam

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tempests-bards-and-birds · 6 months ago

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just wanted to let you know someone reposted your hu tao skin gifs https://www.tumblr.com/kameal/770984725245476865/aghhg-i-still-cant-believe-hu-taos-finally . Idk if you care abt reposts etc and that kind of thing but just wanted to lyk. have a nice day

thanks for letting me know! i've asked them to take it down.

#what are the chances that they block me now lmfao #i don't massively care but like. there's a function that lets you repost gifs on tumblr while giving credit to the op RIGHT THERE #i mean sure maybe they didn't know about that but also like. it really isn't hard to cite a source anyway #idk. this is the first time i've been made aware of this actually happening so i'll see where it goes #thanks for letting me know again anon #asks

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sparklysung · 7 months ago

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✨SHARING IS CARING - l.d.h.✨

pairing – lee donghyuck x female!reader

genre – smut, fluffish | non-idol!au, roommates!au, friends (?) to lovers!au

warnings – oral (m. and f. receiving), face sitting, cum eating, squirting, exhibitionism (reader touches hyuck while he's on a call with his friends), unprotected sex (pls don't), lots of cursing, mentions of hyuck masturbating to the thought of reader), a little possessiveness at the end, panty thief!hyuck.

word count – 5.733 words

summary – where your roommate from hell is also hot as hell, and both of you enjoy annoying the hell out of each other.

note – so... i've been working –on and off but still– on this for about maybe 2 years? i just recently got inspiration to finish it lol any feedback would be greatly appreciated, just pls be kind <3 anyway, i hope you guys enjoy this!

“hey, y/n. have you seen my-.”

“how fucking rude of you to just walk in unannounced. what if i was naked or something? learn how to knock, you airhead.”

your face turned into an ugly scowl when your roommate and the cause of all your nightmares –and wet dreams–, lee donghyuck, completely ignored your complaint, looking equally annoyed as you.

“shut up,” the boy sneered, “is that my fucking shirt you have on right now? i’ve been looking for it for the past three days!”

you let your eyes trail down your body, the graphic tee barely long enough to cover your ass as your fingers toyed with the hem of the garment.

“oh, yeah. i found it while doing laundry and thought it looked good on me so i decided to keep it,” you shrugged carelessly, “don’t you agree, hyuck?”

the piece of clothing that was oversized on him fitted even bigger on you, drowning your smaller frame. you looked so soft and warm in it, so incredibly comfy the tip of his fingers itched to touch you. to feel your perky breasts through the soft fabric of his shirt.

he couldn’t deny it, you did look awfully good in his clothes.

but he would rather shit in his hands and clap than admit it out loud. especially to your face.

“i mean yeah you look good,” donghyuck mumbled under his breath, shamelessly licking his chapped lips.

when he noticed the sly grin etched on your face he had to pinch himself to force his eyes away from your alluring figure, careful not to get distracted by your smooth legs gracefully spread across the bed.

shaking his head, he tried to remember why he had almost left a dent on your wall from the way he had slammed your bedroom door open in the first place.

“but that’s not the point here. you stole my clothes!”

his words made you scoff loudly, clearly pretending to be offended by his accusation. “i still don’t see the problem. didn’t your mom teach you to share?”

your blank expression and unbothered attitude was so incredibly infuriating donghyuck felt like plucking his eyelashes one by one. and he had no doubt in mind you were well aware of it.

although most of your conversations consisted of you both bickering back and forth like two middle school kids fighting for the same toy, donghyuck had learned how that evil little mind of yours worked throughout the time you lived together.

your roommate may have not been the brightest lightbulb of all, but anyone with two working brain cells could agree that there was no activity in this world, nothing, that gave you as much joy as annoying the living hell out of him.

truth is, nothing could have prepared you –or donghyuck– for the turn of events your life would take in the span of 24 hours. the moment you opened the front door to your dorm apartment –fully expecting to see a fellow uterus-bearer–, to him, luggage in hand and ready to move into the room next to yours, you made it your ultimate goal to terrorize the poor boy.

and how could you not? your roommate-from-hell made it so easy for you to read him like an open book. one look at his face, at those big, expressive eyes and you could almost hear his thoughts.

“that’s my lucky shirt, i need it back. right now.”

“don’t you see i need it too? what am i supposed to wear if you take it away from me?”

“i don’t really care, y/n, that’s not my problem.”

“then come here and take it off yourself.”

the small gasp that tumbled out of his plush lips made a warm feeling pool at the pit of your stomach. if it weren’t because you were trying to fuck donghyuck and not fuck with donghyuck, you would have giggled.

“w-what?”

“you heard me. if you want it back you’ll have to come take it off with your own hands.”

“you’re fucking crazy. i-i, what the fuck, y’know i can’t do that!” donghyuck cried out, his skin beginning to prickle with frustration, heart rate spiked up to reach dangerous speeds. “c’mon, y/n, just give it back already. the guys are waiting for me.”

“too bad.”

your pouty lips had him clenching his fists. not only to stop himself from choking you to death, but also to ground himself. he could feel a droplet of sweat drip down the back of his neck, body temperature rising concerningly fast at your very clear attempt at taunting him.

if only he could have them stretched around him, struggling to fit the thickness of his dick…

but that was not the matter at hand.

donghyuck was known for always being late to everything. and usually it was for a good reason. like forgetting about an important assignment until the very last minute and having to stay home to submit it on time. or getting stuck in traffic. or maybe even finding himself in trouble for running his mouth too much for his own good.

all of them were pretty believable. things no one would ever have an ounce of a doubt could potentially happen.

but this, this right here was something donghyuck could never explain to anybody without them immediately calling him out for trying to bullshit his way out of trouble. even if it was indeed real, no one would believe him. ever.

and to be fair, it did sound like the plot of a bad porn movie, one probably titled something along the lines of ‘lucky guy fucks hot roommate’.

considering how big of an attention whore you were, he wouldn’t be surprised if you had your own only fans account and were seeking a helping hand. his hand.

“don’t you wanna fuck me, hyuck?”

if donghyuck wasn’t taken aback by your attitude before, he had to physically take a step back this time, jaw almost hitting the floor.

“why are you so horny all of a sudden?”

“wouldn’t you also feel horny if you had to constantly sit through your roommate getting off in the other room?”

donghyuck felt like a bucket of cold water was tossed over his head, and he couldn’t help the way his heart dropped to his feet. you could see him scrambling to think of something to say.

poor boy looked like he was caught committing a crime.

how adorable.

“okay, well, i’m sorry. i have needs, y’know? unfortunately i can’t control when my dick decides to get hard-.”

“i know you jerk off to the thought of me,” you interrupted abruptly, staring at him with a dangerous glint in your eyes. “i’ve heard you before.”

the blood instantly drained from donghyuck’s face. he suddenly felt lightheaded, having to lean against your door in case he fainted.

how did you even find out?

sure, he knew the walls were thin and not exactly soundproof. and yeah, your rooms were right next to each other, separated only by one of those thin walls he often joked about being made out of cardboard. but he always waited until you were out of the apartment to enjoy his much needed self care time. and he swore he was always quiet. as quiet as one can be when beating your meat to the thought of your sexy roommate.

“what are you-.”

“why don’t you just come fuck me instead of using your own hand?” you sounded as if you were offering him to wash the dishes, way too casual for the situation at hand. “i bet it doesn’t feel the same.”

donghyuck didn’t know what was going on. everything was moving too fast for his poor brain –rotten due to all the hours he had spent masturbating to hentai porn– to keep up, visibly struggling to process the situation.

“fuck, you can’t just say shit like that and expect me not to react.”

the thing is, that was exactly what you wanted. for him to lose his shit and fuck you into next week. shove his dick in your pussy without even bother to let you adjust to the stretch and take you to pound town for the next five hours.

“i’m not joking, hyuck. i meant what i said.”

someone pinch me, he thought.

was this a new way you discovered to toy with him? because if it was, then it was so fucked up.

“fine. i’ll call jeno over then,” you shrugged, reaching out for your phone at his lack of response. “i’m sure he wouldn’t mind sticking his big dick in my tight little pussy.”

your words hit donghyuck like a fucking truck. his jaw almost dislocated from how wide his mouth flew open, the tips of his ears turning a rosy color at the prospect of his friend. in bed. with you. fucking his huge dick –because everyone knew he was packing– into your needy hole. having you cream all over his cock, holding onto his strong arms as you cry out his name.

just the thought of your fucked out expression and loud whines had him salivating in his mouth.

donghyuck and jeno had been friends since forever, which meant he knew for a fact that his best friend would ditch him in a heartbeat if you did as much as look at him the way you were currently looking at your roommate.

“c’mon hyuck, i know you’re dying to touch me.”

the boy in front of you visibly struggled to keep himself together when one of your hands traveled down your body to rub yourself through the thin material of your pajama shorts. his knees felt weak, ears burning at the sound of your sweet moans.

“i need you.”

your words replayed in his head like a broken record. you said you needed him. not jeno. not anyone else. him. as in donghyuck. your roommate for the past year.

as much as he did want to touch you, feel every curve of your body, he was also scared you were just messing with him. he was scared that finally giving in to his desires would just embarrass him and ruin his almost nonexistent chance with you.

god, donghyuck liked you so much. his little crush on you had already become annoying the moment he realized it even existed.

you were the biggest tease he had ever met. and that says a lot coming from the lee donghyuck himself. you were always playfully flirting with him whenever you felt like it. or felt like giving him a hard time. and he could see it in your face you enjoyed every second of seeing him struggle to respond.

“i-i,” he gulped with difficulty, mouth dry as a desert. “i can’t.”

you watched the slim boy waddle his way out of your room. and you would’ve missed the tent growing in his shorts if he hadn’t almost tripped over his own feet and fallen next to you on your bed.

for around ten minutes, you remained frozen in place, figuring out how to get your roommate to break and give into his –and your– desires.

this was the closest you had gotten to crossing the line separating an innocent friendship –if you could call it that– between roommates from something more. something you both wanted but knew he was far too scared to try and make happen.

and how were you so sure about his feelings for you?

easy.

the boy wore his heart on his sleeve.

anyone could tell how enamored he was with you. how he visibly perked up whenever you were around. the way his cheeks would turn an adorable shade of red and his eyes alternate between staring at the floor, daydreaming about you, and sending heart eyes your way.

it had even become an ongoing joke within your own friend group. no one could –or wanted to– stop teasing you about his seemingly undying love for you.

“c’mon, just look at him,” chaewon once pointed out in the middle of the library, elbowing you while whisper-shouting, “he follows you around like a lovesick puppy. even to the library!”

as much as you wanted to shush her, she was right.

before he moved into your now shared apartment, he would remain at least a 100 miles radius from the library. it was as if he was allergic to knowledge, his handful of brain cells immediately going out of service at the smell of old books.

now, once you joined the picture, it was as if a switch was flicked. he became a regular at the campus library all of a sudden, so much so that even the old librarian tending the front desk knew him by name.

the end might be near, you thought when you first saw him sitting in a corner of the library, a variety of books sprawled across the table as he pretended to understand the book in his hands on quantum physics. you knew, of course, he didn’t. the boy was so busy looking around the building for something –or rather someone– to notice the book he was holding was upside down.

his blatant attempts at getting closer to you weren’t a complete fail though, as they had your heart skipping a beat every time you thought about the messy boy on the other side of your bedroom wall.

but before even thinking about how boyfriend material he was when he wasn’t trying to piss you off, you first wanted to test the waters. get a sneak peek at what dating donghyuck would look like without actually committing to it just yet.

and the only way you could think of to do so without forcing yourself into a vulnerable position and directly confessing was by fucking your roommate.

after taking a run for it out of your room, donghyuck decided he would have to do without his lucky shirt during this gaming session. hopefully only tonight. he knew the guys would not leave him alone if he was the reason for another loss, especially after boasting so much about his abilities the last time they played together.

sitting on his gamer chair, still shaken by the interaction, he ran his fingers through his hair to clear his reeling mind. he needed to forget about what had just happened in the other room and focus on the task at hand: winning rounds in pubg.

soon, donghyuck was able to immerse himself in the game, all thoughts about you drowning at the loud sound of firearms and the screams of his friends coming from his headset. so far he had been able to take down roughly a dozen other players, carrying the highest streak among his friends much to his delight.

however, the calm before the storm didn’t last long.

the boy tensed up, fingers stuttering over his gamer keyboard when you rested your warm cheek right next to the still noticeable bulge in his basketball shorts. instinctively, his legs parted to give you space to position yourself between them.

he hadn’t even noticed the moment when you had slipped into his room and quietly crawled under his desk, too deep into the game to sense the movement.

donghyuck would be lying if he said he had never thought about you on your knees for him before. so many, almost too many times. he wasn’t going to let this opportunity slide.

willing his heart to slow down a bit, he peered down at you. you looked so unbelievably beautiful with your long eyelashes fluttering delicately as you stared up at him, big eyes locked on his.

“keep playing,” your hot breath against his inner thigh had the hairs in his neck standing up.

he hadn’t even realized when exactly he had stopped playing, too busy engraving the visual in front of him in his head.

gulping with some difficulty, donghyuck did as he was told. usually it came easy for him to submerge himself in the game, tuning out everything but the loud voices of his friends.

“you’re so hard, hyuckie,” you snickered, licking your lips as your finger trailed the outline of his painfully hard cock with a feather-like touch that caused him to shiver. “is it all for me?”

he pursed his lips tightly and simply bobbed his head yes, afraid of his friends catching onto what was going on on his end of the call.

satisfied, you let yourself cop a feel of his length. your hand palmed him over his pants, squeezing around the sensitive head every so often. even through the material of his shorts you could feel the precum leaking out of his tip.

the view in front of you had you desperately rubbing your thighs together, thickened clit throbbing in excitement.

his silky hair, usually styled, was now messily framing his pretty face in the most beautiful way possible. his dark eyes were rolled back, slender fingers curling into fists as his hips raised from the chair, sloppily humping your hand. he looked fucked out already with sweat already dripping down his temple.

what a man.

“dude, what’s up with you? you sound like you just ran a marathon,” mark’s voice had donghyuck squirming in his seat, heart almost beating out of his chest. “are you alright?”

the boy’s head snapped to look at the screen in front of him, neck almost breaking from the aggressiveness of the movement.

“speak up,” you hissed through gritted teeth, tightening your fingers around the base of his cock.

his hips stuttered, hands holding on the edge of his desk as he swallowed the frustrated groan threatening to escape his lips. he heaved a shaky breath, summoning all his self control to not bust his load right then and there.

“i-i’m fine,” his voice sounded strained, as if he was struggling to make a sound. or more like to not make a sound. “shouldn’t have had taco bell for lunch.”

you could see the boy holding his breath, terrified his friends would see right through his weak excuse of a lie. and a sigh of relief almost slipped past his lips when they only hummed, quickly going back to their previous conversation, not very interested in digging into the cause of his unusual behaviour any deeper.

meanwhile, the pretty little devil between his legs got to work, releasing his dick by harshly pulling down his shorts. you blew air at the sensitive tip, making him shudder at the sensation. but it wasn’t until you placed a peck to his slit, fingers going to hold him at the base, pumping your fist up and down, when the boy gave into his primal desires.

“guys, gotta go,” donghyuck interrupted the conversation less than five minutes later, hurriedly clicking off the game and moving to end the call.

“what-,” renjun protested immediately, sounding nothing less than annoyed, and donghyuck was sure he would be getting nagged next time he saw his friend. “we’re in the middle of a round and getting our asses kicked because of you, you can’t just dip now!”

“i’m sorry,” was all he mumbled before turning off his computer.

donghyuck didn’t even bother taking off his headphones, opting for simply letting it hang around his neck. he was too close, too desperate for release to worry about getting sweat all over the –new and very expensive– device –that he had just acquired not even a week ago after months of hard work–.

he could feel how hot his face was, sticky skin burning under the intense heat of your gaze. the smug smirk that adorned your pretty face had his body on fire, a combination of embarrassment and need making his cock twitch uncontrollably.

being able to see the power you had over the lee donghyuck had you almost shaking with excitement, adrenaline pumping through your veins and leaving you out of breath. you would be lying if you said you had never thought about this, having him all to yourself, at your disposal, ready to take anything you gave him.

your hand never stopped moving up and down his length, giving kitten licks to the swollen tip of his cock.

he wanted to scream and smash his head against the desk, desperation clawing at his throat. he knew you were trying to break him, to make him beg for it, to fully give in to you.

the idea of pleading for your touch, for you to engulf his hard cock with that sweet little mouth of yours had his jaw clenching.

but fuck… he really wanted, no, needed more. to watch you gag as he fucked your throat, tears escaping the corner of your eyes at the discomfort. he wanted your soft hands gripping his strong thighs to hold yourself together, a mix of saliva and his precum making the lower half of your face glisten under the light of his screen.

“i,” he struggled to speak up, voice trembling from the intense pleasure. “i’m close.”

“i can see that,” you smirked, twirling your tongue around the head before gently poking his slit with the tip of your tongue.

“please, i need more.”

donghyuck finally broke, babbling incoherent words, urging you to fully take him in.

fortunately for him, you immediately obliged, pushing your head down until the tip of your nose hit his neatly trimmed pelvis. he really thought some more begging was going to be necessary for you to give him what he wanted.

“fuck, yeah. just like that,” the sigh of relief he let out quickly turned into a loud moan when you swallowed around him, nails digging into the skin of his thighs.

his orgasm hit him like a wrecking ball. his entire body began trembling, hands shooting to hold your head down –as if you were planning on pulling away–, fingers threading through your hair for a better grip. spurts of hot, salty cum painting the walls of your throat, and you eagerly swallowed everything he gave you.

the sound of his heavy breaths filled the dimly lit room, his body still trembling from the mind-blowing orgasm that had just rocked his world.

you pushed his gamer chair back by his thighs, climbing onto his lap with a satisfied hum. you allowed him some rest, aware of his shaky legs, and instead focused your attention on the tan skin of his neck. you placed a tentative lick right under his jaw, slowly moving down the expanse of his throat. the feeling had the boy’s adam’s apple bobbing aggressively, your fingers going to play with the hem of his shirt before pulling the fabric over his head and tossing it somewhere in the room.

once he stopped feeling like his legs were going to give up on him, donghyuck stood up from his place on the chair making you yelp in surprise, strong arms holding you against him. he then sat at the edge of his bed, head resting on your shoulder.

“i wanna taste you,” donghyuck pleaded, reaching for your waist to pull you closer. “please, sit on my face.”

you instantly nodded, quickly removing your pajama shorts, body tingling with anticipation as you pressed your palm flat on his chest to push him onto his back. he complied, not a single complaint coming out of his mouth at your display of dominance.

donghyuck swiped his tongue over his pretty lips, wetting them and leaving them glistening with spit as he patiently waited for your next move.

“so eager,” you teased, a smug grin on your face.

“stop playing and hurry up,” the boy whined, lifting himself from his place, holding himself up with the help of his forearms.

his eyes were barely open, pupils blown out. he looked so hot, laying shirtless on his messy bed. all hard and wet, ready for you to drop your panties and sit on his dick.

and oh how bad you wanted to sit on it.

swinging your leg over his body, you positioned yourself so your dripping pussy was hovering right over his mouth. you immediately felt his large hands grip at your ass, forcing you down to finally sit on his face.

“thank you,” you could clearly feel his lips moving against your panty-clad core, the breathy sound of his voice sending shivers down your spine. “god, thank you so much.”

you didn’t even get to laugh at him, or tease him about how desperate he looked sucking your juices off of your panties. all that died on your tongue when he used two fingers to push the crotch of your underwear out of the way and immediately latched his mouth to your pussy.

“look at you, what a messy munch, eating me out like your life depends on it,” you teased, biting your lip when you felt his tongue poke at your gaping hole, caressing your insides.

the dirty words coming out of your mouth had donghyuck physically shaking under your weight, urging him to keep going. he wanted nothing more than to see you cum, have your hips sloppily rocking into his pretty lips and leaving the evidence of your arousal all over his face.

“fuck, hyuck. just like that,” you sighed contently, harshly grinding against his mouth. “you’re such a good boy.”

donghyuck hummed appreciatively, relishing at the praise, eyes falling shut and hands reaching for your thighs, massaging the soft flesh.

he loved the attention you were giving him, and he let you know just how proud of himself he was when one of his palms slammed against your ass cheek before nipping at your clit, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.

it all happened so fast that your orgasm caught you completely off guard. you didn’t even have time to flinch at the stinging on your backside, the knot in your stomach suddenly snapping, and you melted into a puddle. your trembling thighs clamped around donghyuck’s head, your entire upper body folding forward, struggling not to collapse on top of the boy under you.

you must have blacked out for a second there, and once you regained consciousness you were left in a breathless, sweaty mess.

“shit, that was so fucking hot,” donghyuck mumbled, sounding breathless as he stared down at his body with hooded eyes, snapping you out of your daze. “when were you going to tell me you could squirt?”

“i can’t-,” you choked on a loud gasp when you saw his now glistening chest.

your cum had sprinkled all over the place, some of it even reaching his naked thighs. embarrassment washed over your face, making your cheeks heat up.

“this is so much better than what i had hoped for, fuck.”

his pretty cock stood tall, in all its glory once again, hard and leaking, twitching every time his eyes travelled back to the mess you made.

swallowing your embarrassment, you moved to straddle your roommate’s hips, teasing your wet pussy over his hard cock. but before you could fuck yourself with it, donghyuck’s arms wrapped around you before flipping you both on your side.

“what are you doing,” you scowled, a pout on your swollen lips. “i was about to ride you!”

“as sexy as that sounds, we can do that later.”

“but-.”

“just, let me, okay?” his voice sounded so soft, so soothing you couldn't find it in you to fight with him as you usually would. “do you trust me?”

“what? what are you gonna do?”

“answer me, please.”

donghyuck’s soft voice and tender gaze made a wave of warmth spread throughout your body, a fuzzy feeling settling into your chest.

“i do.”

one of his hands grabbed your leg, bringing it to rest over his hip before positioning the head of his cock at your entrance. donghyuck smashed his mouth against yours, swallowing the small whimper that fell from your lips when he teased your clit.

“hyuck, put it in already,” you whined, clenching around nothing at the friction.

and how could he say no when you sounded so desperate to feel him? when he had been waiting for this moment for so long?

nodding, he did as you wished, pushing his hips into yours. his thick cock stretched your pussy wide open with each delicious inch, filling you up in a way you didn’t know you needed. his mouth fell open as your velvety walls enveloped him. your head rolled back, holding onto his arms for support, letting him push himself in further, deeper.

it felt like heaven. your bodies fitting perfectly against each other, as if you were both made for the other; just like puzzle pieces.

low groans left his chest at the sound of your tiny mewls, enjoying the burning sensation of your nails digging into the flesh of his arms.

donghyuck liked the way you said his name, how you called out to him with pretty eyelashes decorating those big eyes of yours as you looked at him. he liked the frustration and raw desire swimming in your eyes, and the way it made your lips form into a pout and your eyebrows scrunch together.

“move, hyuck,” you pleaded, attempting to grind your hips into his. “please.”

a scream was forced out of your throat as donghyuck immediately began slamming his throbbing cock inside of you. your whole body trembled in his arms as the bulbous head hit your g-spot, and almost as if he had just pressed a button, your mind went blank.

“t-there, fuck, oh my g-god.”

the distant look in your eyes, lips parted into a silent moan, drool threatening to drip down the corner of your mouth, let him know just how good he was making you feel. his chest swelled with pride, a newfound passion taking over him and turning his thrusts into deep, precise strokes that had you reaching heaven.

“feels good? this is what you wanted, right? to have my dick fucking you full?” donhyuck grunted, repositioning you on your back and hiding his face in the crook of your neck. he could feel himself throbbing wildly inside of you, warning him about his up and coming high.

“yes,” you gasped, legs tightening around his waist in an effort to bring him closer.

you would be telling the truth if you said you had never gotten railed like this before. who would’ve guessed the hentai-crazed dork next door would be so good at fucking you dumb? if it weren’t for his now obvious experience in the matter at hand you would’ve confidently assumed he had never been touched by a woman.

oh how wrong you were.

“i’ve dreamed about this for the longest time,” the boy confessed, “every time you walked around the place, wearing only a large shirt and panties, ass in full display, i had to lock myself in this room to fuck my first, wishing it was you instead.”

donghyuck could feel your walls clamping down on his cock like a vice at the weight of his confession. with your orgasms quickly approaching, he propped your calves on his strong shoulders to reach even deeper, lips going to kiss your breasts and nibble on your nipples.

“i can tell how much you like to be treated like the dirty slut you are,” he groaned against your chest, feeling his vision blur. “you’re fucking dripping all over me, creaming my cock.”

“h-hyuck,” your body began convulsing under him, about to tip over the edge.

“cum for me, y/n, let me see how pretty you look falling apart on my dick.”

and that was all you needed to hear before a wave of overwhelming pleasure washed over your entire body, calves squeezing donghyuck’s head from the intensity of your orgasm.

before you were able to fully ride your high, donghyuck pulled out, drawing whines out of you at the emptiness he left behind. ignoring your complaints, he shoved your legs together, shoving his cock between your plush thighs as he picked up his pace once again.

“fuck, i’m almost there,” he moaned, breathless.

and you couldn’t help but do the same as you stared at his face, eyes struggling to stay open as he chased his high like a rabid dog, using your body for his pleasure.

it didn’t take more than three harsh thrusts before he was spilling his essence all over your lower stomach and thighs with a pornographic moan.

releasing his hold on your legs to let them fall back in place, he collapsed on top of you, almost crushing you with his body, completely spent.

fortunately –or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it–, donghyuck was unable to successfully commit homicide. and after showering together and going for another round, each of you went back to your respective rooms, moving on like nothing happened.

just like that, your lives quickly fell back in place and normality took over once again.

or so you thought.

“hyuck, have you seen my pink panti-.”

you audibly gasped when you saw the pink lace panties you were searching for discarded on your roommate’s bed, a huge cum stain you were sure was not there the last time you saw them messily smeared on the crotch.

“what the fuck?”

“oh, yeah, i saw them in the dryer the other day and thought they looked too pretty not to jerk off to them,” the boy shrugged from his place in front of his large monitor, not even bothering to look at you. “honestly, you should invest in satin thongs, i think they’d look hot as fuck.”

“you little thief! i’ve been looking for them for days!”

“need i remind you that sharing is caring?” you huffed, a scowl on your face. “what do you need them for anyway?”

“to go out with chaewon, obviously?” you scoffed, annoyed.

he finally turned to look at you, eyebrows scrunched up and a dark look in his eyes. “so? were you planning on showing them to her or what?”

the growing annoyance in his tone left you scrambling for an answer, equally parts surprised and turned on by the hint of possessiveness in his voice.

“so what if i was?” you challenged, arms crossed in defiance.

you barely got time to react when his chair suddenly swirled around, donghyuck’s full attention now set on you.

“only i am allowed to see you in them, so you better behave.”

–lia:)

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romanofftherealest · 21 days ago

Text

Mistake

Summary: You can't make the same mistake twice.

Pairings: Professor Natasha Romanoff x College Student Female Reader

Word count: 4.2k

Tags | Warnings: +18 smut, ANGST, vile, mean, obsessive, hurt and dark Natasha, AMAB!Natasha, hate fuck, crying during sex (not dacryphilia), kind of dubcon, noncon breeding, pregnancy

Author's Note: Scheduled repost

⧗

"Isn't Y/N your rival since like 8th grade? You always hated the girl man! How come you're confessing your feelings to her on our graduation day?!" Rhodey groaned while rubbing his entire face as he talked to his best friend who just told his deep shocking secret.

"That's when I started loving her too." Tony simply replied.

You and Tony were actually schoolmates since grade school. And you have always been a top performing student ever since, while Tony only got to show his skills and intelligence not until high school—late bloomer as they say.

Who would imagine that the shy weird kid back in grade school would turn into a big massive fuckboy slash science freak in high school until college?

"So what's the plan, man?" Rhodey can only ask. He and Tony have been side by side since forever so there is no way he will not support him in getting to you. "Tony, as much as I want to support you in this…thing. You know your reputation. First, you are Y/N's acads rival, as long as there are numbers and letters and numbers and letters mixed together you are enemies and everybody knows that. Second, you have a reputation of sleeping with so many women. You know you didn't have your name cleared about the sleep night with the entire cheerleading team two years ago, in fact you didn't want your name cleared because you liked having that reputation."

"That was two years ago, I'm different now, at least I am trying too."

"I can't believe this. But honestly, I'd hit that." Rhodey smirked, showing your beach photo wearing a maxi skirt, a crochet top and the black glasses you always wore.

"Okay, enough of that! That's…that girl is mine, man. Please bro code." He snatched his friends' phone away from him and turned it off. Tony doesn't need to look at your photos anymore since he had memorized each photo of yours because he had been checking on your Instagram for at least twice a day.

"I was just joking! Of course I wouldn't." Rhodey chased his phone and was able to get it before Tony put it in his pocket. "So what's the plan? How will you…you know?" he shrugged while looking intently at his friend.

"Don't worry, I'm never running out of plans and pick up lines." He let out a laugh while also flexing his biceps

"Hey, hey! Friendly advice man? Just cut with your bad pick up lines and be a man. You just told me she's the girl you want to marry and she looks like the type who wouldn't fall for jokes or pick up lines. This isn't any romcoms, if you want her to fall in love with you, compliment and admire her mind—her intelligence."

"O…kay…where did that come from? That was a good one, Rhodey. I never thought I would hear that from you." Tony tried not to laugh his ass off, but the words of wisdom his friend just told him was something he needed.

Rhodey just shrugged, a genuine smile on his face showing as he looked at his friend. "I've always had it in me, Tony. It's just you never asked for some advice. Besides, you're different and so am I. And now, seeing you genuinely in love with this girl? I just know you need some unsolicited advice from mister lover boy right here."

"Hey, I'm a mister lover boy too." Tony pouted.

"You can be. But first, we have 8 minutes to get to Mr. Coulson's class."

The two sprinted out of the cafeteria, not even noticing Professor Romanoff sitting in the corner, her nails grazing hard against her own coffee mug.

⧗

"You're not gonna run for Latin?" you asked Tony, you were frustrated, you expected him to be your rival up until the end but when you knew you were the only one who filed for latin honors in your class, you were infuriated. You should be thankful, really, because you have no more competition but…

"I had 2.75 in molecular dynamics in 3rd year, if you didn't know. So basically, I'm not eligible to run for latin since then." You huffed at his reply, you don't know if it's out of disbelief or relief because he had that grade that made him not qualified for latin anymore.

"Did you purposely fail that class?" you asked him suspiciously. "Because I don't want to have it if you just basically gave it away. Like what you did in our elemag quiz bee during 10th grade, you said I only won because you basically let me, because you were just forced to join."

Tony pinched his nose, trying to hold a giggle. You are so cute, he thought to himself. Always so competitive and he loved every bit of it.

"I sucked at the subject, I promise, princess." He replied sincerely, not teasingly and provoking like he always was when he talks to you. Like when he tells you to calm yourself down before you internalize everything you had reviewed for a quiz bee, because it's just him you're gonna have to contend in some stupid quizzes.

You hated the man, but he's like a part of your system. You wouldn't function without him infuriating you—without him always competing with you.

"So…congratulations, summa cum laude." You were shocked at his words and genuineness but you didn't let him notice. For once, he didn't annoy you—for once—he's not your rival.

Before Tony could hand you the bouquet of tulips he was holding, a student suddenly rushed up to you.

"Hey, Y/N," the student said, her cheeks blushing as her eyes darted between you and Tony. "Professor Romanoff is asking for you in her office."

Hiding the tulips behind his back, Tony feigned nonchalance while you fought back your irritation. You couldn't believe it—even after all this time, he still had an effect on the women in your school. Unknown to you, the student had glimpsed the flowers he was secretly holding in his hands where she thought were for you.

"R-right now?" you stammered and the student nodded before bidding goodbye to the both of you.

“Are you alright?" Tony asked, noticing you turned pale.

As Tony asked you if you were okay, you found yourself blurting out, "Can you come with me?" you immediately regretted your words, silently cursing yourself for asking for help from the one person you loathed the most.

Despite the tension between the two of you, Tony agreed to accompany you to Professor Romanoff's office. As you walked, he fidgeted awkwardly, still holding the bouquet of flowers behind his back. Whenever you stole a glance in his direction, he'd turn away, so you wouldn't notice the bouquet peeking behind him.

The walk was filled with an uncomfortable silence, neither of you uttering a single word until you reached the professor's office.

Tony was about to reach for the door handle to Professor Romanoff's office, you quickly stopped him, passing him your bag. He shot you a questioning look, his eyes filled with concern as he asked, "Are you okay?"

You just gave him a small nod. He took your bag without protest and offered a reassuring nod in return.

"I'll wait for you here." He said, awkwardly holding your tote bag and wiggling his fingers as you go inside. His other arm was tired from having to hold the bouquet behind his back.

He could give it to you after, he thought.

⧗

You closed the door, but you deliberately left it unlocked. After a moment, Professor Romanoff emerged from the bathroom, her eyes scanning the room until they landed on you.

"Professor." You said, your head bowed in respect. Despite your fear and trepidation, you couldn't bring yourself to meet her gaze.

She walked towards you, your heart pounded in your chest, and you felt a cold sweat breaking out on your forehead. Your lips trembled, and your shoulders tensed up as if preparing yourself for the worst. Your shoulders grazed onto each other as she locked the door behind you, trapping you inside with her.

"Is the pictorial done for graduation?" she asked, it came out soft but cold.

You took a deep breath, gathering what little ounce of courage you had left and managed to stammer out, "Yes."

Professor Romanoff's eyes traveled down your body, scrutinizing your outfit. You were wearing a skirt that teetered on the edge of being too short, paired with a fitted white top and a cardigan. You fidgeted, feeling exposed and vulnerable under her stare.

"May I ask why I was being called, professor?" you asked, you bit your lip after for trembling too much.

"You're the only candidate for the Latin in our program. I talked to Professor Coulson and others in the faculty, and all of them said that your position is already secured for it not to drop below a 2," she stated. "Many professors are rooting for you to deliver your speech in 5 months."

And you? You desperately want to ask but you hold yourself back, keeping the question locked inside your mind. You wanted to speak less to her as much as possible, so you just nodded.

The room was filled with silence for several minutes, and you just stood there while she was still sitting in her office chair.

"I missed you."

Your heart literally dropped. The last time you had heard those words from her was two years ago, when you both had been caught up in a dirty secret affair.

"Didn't you miss me too? Detka?" you begged in your mind for her not to call you that russian pet names again, well, it's one of your weaknesses still after so long.

You shook your head side to side in denial and screwed your eyes shut, as if trying to block out the words and the memories they stirred up. The mere thought of admitting to missing her was too much for you to handle—because you did, you missed her so much and you hated yourself for it. So every time your heart flutters when you see her along the hallways, you move to a different direction just to avoid her or if your mind starts to think about her, you immerse yourself in studying which most of the time failed to work.

You tried to be strong and you think you're doing good at it. You told yourself as long as you're not going to be alone with her again, you'd be fine.

And you are definitely not fine right now...

"After you came back from your immersion program, you didn't talk to me anymore..." her voice was dark and tinged with hurt that had festered over the time you had spent away. "What happened to us?" she asked again. The question hung in the air, demanding an answer that you know yourself wouldn't be willing to give.

Because you just want to forget it, forget it all—forget her.

Her words echoed in the air, a single tear slipped down your cheek, your breath growing more labored with each passing second. You couldn't bring yourself to answer her, your throat tight and your body trembling.

"Did you even lo—"

You didn't let her finish, you don't want her to ask you that question because you're afraid about the answer that you had kept hidden, locked in the deep, dark corner of your heart.

"What I felt for you was…genuine."

What a nice way to put it.

"Genuine?" she huffed, she could take that one for now, Natasha thought. "If it's genuine then why am I a secret?"

"It was a mistake!" you rushed as if you were correcting your first statement. What would people think if they knew? That the top student in the university only got her achievements because she was basically a professor's cock sleeve?

"Nat—Professor…what…what happened before was a mistake. I told you that, right? And you know it too! We talked about it after I went to my immersion, that we'll stop. God, please, you know how wrong it was!" you cried desperately, it's not loud but it's enough for her to hear.

"Mistake?" she snapped and you can see the hurt in her eyes. "The bar, yes. That could be a mistake."

You cleared your throat awkwardly, memories of that night suddenly flooding your mind. The way the two of you danced, the way she laughed, how her lips tasted like whiskey...and then, the realization that hit you both when you're both sobered up. That was the night you first slept with her, so much for being drunk you didn't realize it was your professor—the professor you had a crush on.

"What about here?" she pointed to her desk, where she had pounded you for dear life after class because you had joked to her that if you get a perfect quiz then you'll have a reward from her—and you did, she had made you cum twice for the recitation and quiz she had prepared for class, specifically for you. "And there?" You looked towards her sofa, where a lot of things happened between you two. You sucking her off when she gets so frustrated during a meeting, riding her if she's too tired from paperworks—all the dirtiest kinks were done on that thing. Even the softest ones where you both cuddled up after you didn't win the regional college quiz bowl or when you straddled her while teaching her how to tie a necktie.

"Motels, my car, my apartment, here again in my office during prom where you begged me to fuck your ass while wearing your prom queen crown." Her voice grew darker, matching the intense memories playing out in her mind. "Tell me baby, were those a mistake too? It would really hurt my feelings if you said yes."

You sobbed, shaking your head side by side, trying to dispel the memories and she can see the fear and denial in your eyes. You can just walk right now and end this torturous reminiscing. But you felt trapped in place, trapped in those memories, and she was too—she was trapped in the need to make you remember.

"Please, stop." You hiccup, trying to hold back a sob. You continue to shake your head over and over.

"You can't just go around, fuck me up and then say that's it's just a mistake afterwards." She spat, standing to walk towards you.

She loomed over you, her tall frame casting a shadow, making you feel small and vulnerable. She could see you shaking, hear your ragged breathing and it only fueled her frustration.

"Bent over my desk with that perfect little ass in the air, waiting..." she moved closer, her hand reaching out to trace your collarbone.

She watched you scramble to your feet, a dark satisfaction gleaming in her eyes as you approached her desk. She followed close behind, her heels clicking on the floor. When you reached the desk, she pressed a firm hand between your shoulder blades, bending you over it.

As she bent you over, you let out a soft moan, your face pressed against the cool surface of the desk. She could see your body relax, falling into the familiar position. Her hand slowly inched up your skirt, feeling the soft fabric bunch under her fingers.

"You still remember, don't you?"

She stepped closer, pressing her length against your backside, feeling the thin barrier of her pants between you two. You found yourself grinding back against her feeling she was growing harder.

"Fuck you're still such a slut for my cock." She smirked as she gripped your waist. "Is it still a mistake? Huh? Slut? You grinding your slutty pussy back against my cock?"

You shook your head side by side, biting your lip to contain your moans.

"I need you to say it, slut." She spat.

"N-no, it's…it's not a mistake, professor." You said in a shaky tone.

Without warning, she reached down and unzipped her pants, pulling out her thick, hard cock. She wrapped her hand around it, stroking it slowly behind your back, the tip rubbing against your ass through your panties.

"Fuck, I've missed this," she pressed the head of her cock against your ass, rubbing it against your panties. "Gonna fuck this tight little pussy again, just like old times." She pushed aside your panties, revealing your vulnerable entrance, "Missed how perfectly you take me." In one smooth motion, she thrust forward, burying herself deep inside you.

"N-Nat!" your back arched even further as you cried out a breath.

"I missed you calling me by my name." She said in a ragged breath, "I want you to shout it so Stark can hear it behind those doors." Her other hand reached around to grab your hair, tangling it in her fist as she pulled your head back, forcing you to arch your back further and to look at the door of her office where Tony was waiting. You were too dumb to think how she even knew Tony was just outside the door.

"Ugh, ugh-gu—" your voice and moans only seemed to spur her on. She began pounding into you, the rhythm steady and intense. She pulled out slightly, just the tip still inside you, before slamming back in with renewed ferocity that made you cry.

"You made me struggle, everyday, seeing you walk around in those fucking skimpy clothes...and letting anyone touch you, but not me." Each word was punctuated by a brutal thrust. "I didn't reach you because I respect you so much, love you so fucking much. And I know you will run back to me eventually…"

"But you didn't…fuck, you didn't come back to me. Am I…am I that easy to let go, Y/N?" she asked with so much vulnerability and hate. "Do you know how hard it is to watch you go on for a day without me? When I couldn't?"

You felt some hot liquid dripping down onto your bare back, your clothes being bunched up…are those tears? You are too dumbed down to think but you noticed how Natasha held back a sob, covering up trying to sound cold and resentful towards you.

"Natasha…" you called out to her, you wanted to hold her against you but she snapped forward continuously and sloppily, hitting a spot inside you that made you whimper. "F-fuck!" you cried, it was loud and that made you cover up your own mouth.

Her climax hit and she buried herself to the hilt inside you, holding perfectly still as she rode out her orgasm. Waves of her hot cum filled your pussy, coating your insides, but she didn't say a word, she didn't tell you or even warn you. She just stayed frozen, her body shaking with the intensity of her release.

She gazed down, biting her trembling lip as she observed her cock, slick with both your arousal and her release, still buried deep inside you. A shudder ran through her as she felt the last drops of cum seep out on the tip of her shaft. Slowly pulling out, she couldn't help but moan softly at the erotic sight of her thick cum slowly oozing out of your well-used pussy. You innocently wiggle your ass as you move and it only intensified the lewd display.

You stood all by yourself and she calmly situated herself back into her leather office chair, cleaning herself up, refusing to look at your trembling form.

"N-Nat?" you called, a tear running down your cheeks. You saw her reddened eyes and flushed cheeks—you were right—she was crying, but so are you. You slowly backed away, frantically tugging at your disheveled clothes, you could feel her cum still dripping slowly into your panties. "Nat? Can we talk?" you tried again, you didn't like the feeling of this. You felt used.

"You can go now." She said flatly, her voice devoid of any emotion.

You walked towards the door, desperation etched on your face, hoping for some kind word, any sign of affection. You hated yourself for expecting some that you wanted to slap yourself. You frantically swiped at your wet cheeks, trying your best not to break down in front of her. But no matter how hard you rubbed, more tears spilled out. You couldn't catch a break, each blink bringing forth a new wave of salty drops.

And her? She just sat there, staring at her computer screen, her expression cold and heartless as if nothing happened.

She has done her plan for you anyways. So there is nothing to talk about anymore, the last thing on her list is you running back to her.

As you rushed your way out, you saw your bag on the chair with a bouquet of flowers. "Hey, Y/N. This is for you, I had to leave for the chess team. I really hate doing this but I'd like you to be my date on senior night. —T.S."

You could only huff, your brows pinching together to hold the tears that are threatening to fall again. But you weren't able to help it, you ended up having a breakdown outside her office, with the flowers on your arm and the evidence of what she did to you still oozing inside of you.

⧗

"Ladies and gentlemen, faculty, family, friends..." your voice cracked slightly, betraying your nerves, but you steadied yourself, refusing to let the ghosts of the past dictate this moment. "We've worked tirelessly, overcome obstacles, and in some cases, experienced pain both personal and academic."

You glanced down at your notes, a faint smile playing on your lips as you continued. "I'd like to thank my family and friends for their unwavering support, my blockmates for turning sleepless nights into unforgettable memories, and lastly, I want to express my deepest gratitude to the professors who have molded us into the graduates we are today."

As you scanned the audience, your gaze landed on Professor Romanoff, who sat upright, her expression unreadable. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. With a deep breath, you concluded your speech. "Thank you, and congratulations to the class of 2025!"

The graduation ceremony drew to a close, and the air was filled with joyous cheers and the clicking of cameras. As you mingled with your fellow graduates, collecting well-wishes and hugs, you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. It seemed like everyone was drawn to you—your classmates, their families, even some of the professors. You were the center of attention, the summa cum laude, the valedictorian.

As you made your way through the crowd, congratulations ringing in your ears, a different sort of tension gripped you. You shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the growing pressure and the whispers that began to rise around you. Your swelling stomach was becoming more prominent by the second, stretching the fabric of your gown. You caught a few raised eyebrows and exchanged looks of confusion among your peers, their eyes glued to you.

The whispers grew louder, more urgent, as realization dawned on everyone. The batch valedictorian delivered her speech with a baby bump that had been concealed beneath flowing gowns and baggy clothes all semester, but now there was no hiding it. Exactly four months along, your secret was suddenly the most spoken topic at this joyous event.

Tony stood near enough to be seen by you, a bouquet of roses hiding behind his back. He had been about to confess his feelings, to tell you that your intellect and beauty had captivated him all these years you had been rivals. But now, as he noticed the unmistakable curve of your belly, while you noticed how he stepped back. His perfectly prepared speech shattered in his mind.

He walked away from you as if he was disappointed in you. At the same time you could feel the shift in the atmosphere, not just from him but the disappointment radiating off the crowd like a physical force.

You tried to smile at those around you to mask the dam that is going to break soon, but you still held your chin up with the little courage and confidence you had left in you.

"Mama, I'll just talk to someone. I'll meet you in the car." Your mother has been very supportive of you, yes, she scolded you when she got the news that you were pregnant. She always looked up and expected more from you, but still, she accepted and took care of you.

With a deep breath, you marched down the corridor towards her office. There were no people around and that's when it suddenly hit you. Tears started rushing down your cheek as your heels clicked urgently against the polished floor even though your OB gyne told you to stop wearing elevated shoes, you wiped them away frantically because you don't want to face her feeling vulnerable like this. The determination etched on your face chased away any lingering doubts. You were going to face this head-on, consequences be damned.

As you pushed open the door, she glanced up from her desk, surprise momentarily flashing across her features before smoothing into a smirk.

She leaned back in her leather chair, folding her hands atop the polished wood. "Y/N, to what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

"Natasha…" she is not your professor anymore, you are way past that now. Right at this moment, she is just Natasha. You stepped forward, your hand traveling down your stomach. Your built up mask breaks, feeling vulnerable and exposed in front of her. You held back your tears, shaming yourself. "I have never been with anyone but you. I'm pregnant…I-I think you got me—"

She got your message, of course she did. Because this is exactly how she planned it to be, her claiming you in a way you didn't expect, you running back to her all vulnerable, and her turn saying…

"It was a mistake."

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader

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heavyhitterheaux · 2 months ago

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Make Me

See Me Through You Blurb

Synopsis: Just as every other argument in the Burrow household, it ends with you telling your husband to "make you."

Pairing: Husband!Joe Burrow x Wife!Reader

Requested by: a beautiful anon

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Tensions were still high in the Burrow household because of an argument that had taken place mere hours before. Your husband was currently getting the silent treatment from you as well as an occasional eye roll here and there any time he said something.

It was getting closer to ten at night and it was a known fact that in this particular household, no one goes to bed angry or mad at their significant other. It was a rule that you two had established once the engagement ring was placed on your finger by Joe.

All you wanted to do was go to sleep, but you had to get past your husband in order to be able to do it and he was currently staring right at you.

Noticing this, you once again rolled your eyes and asked him what his problem was.

“Why are you in my face? Take a picture, it lasts longer.” You told him as you went back to playing on your phone.

“You still have that attitude I see.”

“I wouldn’t have it if my husband would listen to me. All I'm going to do is ask you over and over again. If your answer is no, I'll keep repeating myself because obviously you didn't hear me the first time. But now I'm finished asking. I've been doing it for literally two weeks.”

“Too fucking spoiled for your own good. If I tell you no, it's obviously for a good reason. And I never actually told you no! I hardly ever tell you no! I said not right now since I had so many things to do. When did you actually hear me tell you that my answer was no?”

“And WHOSE fault is that!? And no is not in my vocabulary. I don't know what that word means so it doesn't matter. You probably said it and I blocked you out.” You replied as Joe sighed while making a face at you.

“We aren't going to bed until we fix this and you lose that attitude. Because it's unnecessary at this point. We can still do both.”

“Not on the same day and the same time! My attitude stays until you fix that part.”

“Well it's going to be a long night then for the both of us. It's not like I can cancel this, its been planned for months.”

“Hmph.” Was all you said in response as you curled yourself tighter into your Bengals blanket.

“Baby, come here.”

“No. Don't try to sweet talk me. I just divorced you for five minutes. I'll let you know when your time is up and we're married again.”

“Why do you have to do all this? We can do both.”

“Joseph Lee, I will give you THREE seconds to reword that sentence. I have been asking you for two weeks to go to this restaurant and when you finally told me yes, I booked the reservation only for you to have an event on the SAME day and at the SAME time. THAT YOU KNEW ABOUT AND FAILED TO TELL ME.”

“Princess, I'm sorry. It was an honest mistake and I'm going to make it up to you. Now bring your spoiled ass over here. We're both tired and don't have time for this.”

“You still have three minutes until we're married again.”

“I'm only going to ask you one more time.”

“Come over here and make me because I'm not moving.” As soon as those words left your mouth, your eyes went wide as Joe raised his eyebrow at you.

“Uh oh.” You quietly said underneath your breath as you saw the look on his face.

“What did you say to me, Mrs. Burrow? I didn't quite hear you.” Joe asked as he got up from the couch opposite of you.

He was towering above you after three strides and was waiting for an answer.

“Oh, so we're quiet now? What happened to all that mouth you had before?”

“Two minutes.”

“Fuck all that. Repeat what you said.” He told you while still peering down at you.

“I will kick you in the forehead if you don't get away from me. And you know I'm flexible and can get my leg that high. One minute and thirty seconds.”

Joe grabbed his phone out of his pocket and opened up his clock to the timer and set it for one minute and thirty seconds as the two of you were having a stare down.

As soon as the timer went off, he promptly ripped the Bengals blanket off of you and threw you over his shoulder as you let out a yelp and a protest to put you down.

“Hey! Put me down!” You said as you were dangling.

“No.” Was the simple answer you got as Joe started climbing the stairs.

“It seems like you only listen when I'm in you so if it has to be like that then so be it.”

“Keep your dick away from me. I'm still pissed enough that I'll bite it.”

“I highly doubt that.”

The only response you gave was slapping his butt as hard as you could which made him stop halfway up the stairs.

“Oh, so that's how you want to play?”

“Don't know what you're talking about, Burrow. I'm innocent and you are now holding me hostage.”

“You are not hardly innocent and be careful what you wish for because I will tie you up and really be holding you hostage as I make you cum over and over again.” He told you as he gave your ass a slap in return making you hit his back.

He continued to walk up the stairs and once the two of you were finally in your bedroom, he gently threw you onto the bed and you sat on the edge of it as Joe stood in between your legs and leaned down to kiss you.

“Mrs. Burrow?”

“Yes?” You replied as you gazed up at your husband.

“Strip.”

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x black reader #joe burrow blurb #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow angst #joey burrow #joe burrow fanfiction #nfl imagine

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marvelseries19 · 3 months ago

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VANISHING POINT

Chapter One - Castaway

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x female agent reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: The mission was successful, however, your return home will not be as easy as you may believe. In fact, you're not sure you would be able to get back.

A/N: It's been a while since I've been excited about writing. So, here is the first chapter. I hope you like it. I rewrote a few times, but I think this is as good as it gets. I would appreciate feedback on it, and any comments, suggestions, questions, or just conversations about it are welcome. There are some posts that I would like for you to check out, there is some info and ideas that I wanted to let you know. If you saw a typo or something, no, you didn't. Enjoy :)

Warnings: +18, descriptions of injuries, language, etc.

Word count: 1.2k+

[You do not have permission to repost or translate any of my stories or claim them as yours.]

The Quinjet hummed steadily beneath your fingertips, the vast stretch of ocean below endless and unforgiving. The ride back to the compound was at least full of beautiful views.

It had been an easy mission, just surveillance on a suspected HYDRA base. It took a week to complete, and now you were on your way home.

You leaned back slightly, exhaling. Just a few more hours, and you would be back home. Back with her.

Your fingers idly reached for the chain around your neck, your thumb grazing over the cool metal of the ring that rested against your collarbone. Natasha’s ring. Your ring.

"So you don’t forget who’s waiting for you," she had murmured the night before, fastening the delicate chain around your neck, leaving a soft kiss at the nape of your neck. You had smiled, shaking your head, but you had worn it beneath your suit every day since.

You were still lost in thought when Control’s voice crackled into the cockpit.

"Quinjet 9, this is Control. We just lost your tracking signal. Do you copy?"

Your brows furrowed. That’s not good.

"Yeah, I’m here. Everything looks fine… But let me check." Your fingers moved swiftly across the controls.

"Check your navigation relay. We’re showing nothing on our grid." A knot of unease formed in your stomach.

"Navigation relay is showing an error," you reported, your voice tight. "Stand by. I'll reboot—" The comms crackled, then cut out.

Silence.

Your stomach dropped.

"Control, say again? I'm losing you—repeat last!"

A new sound sliced through the cockpit—a shrill, piercing alarm.

Your radar flashed red. Missile lock. Your blood turned to ice.

"Shit—"

The first blast struck the Quinjet’s side. The impact threw you forward, your head slamming against the seat as the ship lurched violently. The left engine flared and failed instantly.

Alarms screamed. The Quinjet spun into freefall.

"Unidentified hostiles—taking heavy damage! Engines failing—I’m going down!" You shouted into the comms, straining to regain control.

"09, respond! What’s your location?! Agent Sloane, respond!"

You gritted your teeth, forcing your shaky hands over the controls, trying to reroute power. But the ship was already lost. The only thing you could do was brace for impact.

Your fingers clutched the ring against your chest.

Another explosion. The world blurred.

The ocean rushed up to meet you.

And then... Nothing.

—

The tension in the command center was thick enough to suffocate. Maria Hill stood with her arms crossed, eyes locked on the central monitor where Quinjet 9’s tracking data had once been.

Now, just static. Nick Fury stood beside her, his jaw tight, watching the same feed with unreadable eyes. Agent Dawson swallowed hard, headset pressed to his ear as he scanned multiple screens, waiting for anything-any sign of life.

Then—a red alert.

Dawson’s heart dropped.

"No, no, no..."

He straightened, turning toward Hill and Fury. His voice was steadier than he felt.

"We lost Quinjet 9."

Hill’s eyes narrowed. This couldn't be happening. "What do you mean 'lost'?"

Dawson hesitated. "No comms. No signal. No trace. It’s just... gone. We don't know where it is."

Silence.

Fury exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. "Shit."

A muscle in Hill’s jaw twitched, but she gave a curt nod. "Start a search. Now."

Dawson hesitated. "Are we letting Agent Romanoff know?"

Fury and Hill exchanged a look.

Hill's voice was quieter now, almost resigned. "We'll tell her soon."

But Natasha Romanoff was already walking toward them, worried about not being able to contact you.

And the moment she saw their faces, she knew something had happened.

—

The first thing you felt was pain.

It dragged you from unconsciousness, a dull, throbbing ache that rolled through your entire body in relentless waves. Your head pounded, the world tilting dangerously even though you weren’t moving. The distant sound of waves crashing against the shore filtered through the ringing in your ears.

You forced your eyes open.

Blurry at first. Then, sharper—too sharp. Sunlight burned against your retinas, forcing you to squeeze them shut again. You tried to shift, but the moment you did, agony tore through your right side.

Your breathing hitched.

Ribs—definitely broken. You pushed through the pain, blinking against the light, taking in your surroundings.

Sand. Golden, coarse grains clinging to your skin. Your tactical suit was torn and streaked with blood and seawater. You were half-buried in the surf, the edges of the tide touching your boots. Further up, debris from the Quinjet was scattered across the beach—twisted metal, shattered glass, pieces of what was once your cockpit.

Shit.

You bit back a groan as you tried to sit up. A sharp, white-hot burst of pain shot through your right shoulder.

Dislocated.

Gritting your teeth, you cradled your arm against your torso, barely holding back a scream. Your ribs protested with every movement, but you had to keep going.

Your left hand found your chain, fingers fumbling until they closed around the ring.

You exhaled shakily.

Natasha.

She had no idea where you were. No one did.

The Quinjet had gone down off-radar. You had no comms, no signal, no way of knowing if anyone was even looking for you yet.

You’re on your own.

For now, at least.

Your forehead throbbed, and when you reached up, your fingers came back slick with blood.

You checked yourself over as best you could. Right shoulder, dislocated; ribs, at least two broken; head, bleeding, probably a mild concussion; and finally your legs, sore but not broken. Good. Small victories.

Breathing through the pain, you forced yourself to move. You needed shelter. Water. Some kind of plan.

But first—the shoulder.

You swallowed hard. There's no way around it. It had to go back in.

You found a rock near the treeline, rough and sturdy enough for leverage. Your breathing was ragged as you planted your feet, braced your body, and slammed your shoulder back into place.

White-hot pain was felt behind your eyes, swiftly dragging you into darkness. Resetting your shoulder—or other joints—was nothing new, but never under circumstances like these or with this many injuries.

The agony was too much for your body to handle. So to protect you, it shut off.

—

A few months ago

"You’re fidgeting."

Natasha’s voice was amused, but there was something softer in her tone, something fond.

You rolled your eyes, stuffing your hands in your pockets. "I don’t fidget."

She smirked, stepping closer, the city lights casting a glow on her freckled cheekbones. "You do when you're nervous."

You sighed, exhaling a shaky breath. It was a stupid thing to be nervous about. You’d faced assassins, HYDRA, and alien invasions, but somehow, this moment felt more terrifying.

You pulled the ring from your pocket. A simple band, strong, unyielding.

Much like her.

Natasha’s breath caught.

"I know we never really talked about it," you said, swallowing past the lump in your throat. "And I know we’re both terrible at normal, but—"

She cut you off with a kiss, her fingers curling around yours, closing them over the ring.

When she pulled back, her voice was barely a whisper.

"I was waiting for you to ask."

—

You were jerked back to reality by the sharp, relentless pain in your ribs and shoulder, the ache grounding you in the present. But the memory of your marriage proposal still lingered, a warmth that cut through the agony like a lifeline.

You flexed your fingers. It worked.

Barely conscious, body trembling, you let your fingertips brush against the ring resting against your chest. A reminder. A promise.

And with that, you forced yourself to your feet.

#marvelseries19 #marvel #mcu #reader insert #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff x reader angst #black widow x reader #black widow #black widow angst #castawayseries

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scarletwinterxx · 4 months ago

Text

chase the cut - jeon wonwoo imagine

hello~ i've been wanting to write a med au for so long, i tried my best here so i hope you like it!🤍

alsooo i opened an acc on x. you can follow me there, my un there niniramyeonie 😊🌻

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You bolt out of the room like your life depends on it.

Behind you, heavy footsteps follow, growing louder with each second. "Come back here!" Wonwoo’s usually calm voice has a sharp edge, but you don’t dare slow down

"It’s just a scratch!" you yell over your shoulder

"A scratch?!" Wonwoo sounds offended. "You’re a surgeon, and you’re bleeding! Do you hear yourself?"

Mingyu and Seokmin barely react as you sprint past them. Mingyu, sipping his coffee, raises a brow. "What did she do now?"

"She got a cut," Wonwoo answers, still in pursuit

Seokmin blinks. "A cut? We’re literally surrounded by scalpels and needles every day—why is he freaking out?"

You duck behind a chair, panting. "Because he’s a pediatric surgeon," you whisper dramatically. "He deals with tiny humans, not full-grown surgeons with minor injuries!"

Wonwoo rounds the corner, eyes locked on you. "You. Sit. Down."

Mingyu, ever the agent of chaos, casually blocks your escape route. "Just let him patch you up. Or keep running—I’m entertained either way."

Seokmin grins. "I say we take bets. Five bucks says he tackles her."

You glare at them. "Some friends you are."

Wonwoo takes a step forward, and you take a step back. It’s a ridiculous standoff in the middle of the hospital lounge.

"Do not make me chase you around the hospital," he warns.

You make a break for it. Seokmin and Mingyu laugh as Wonwoo groans and sprints after you. He catches you in less than five seconds. He’s faster than he looks, and before you can dodge, an arm wraps around your waist, effectively trapping you.

"Gotcha," he mutters, his breath warm against your ear

You squirm uselessly. "This is unfair! You have long legs!"

"You have terrible decision-making skills," he counters, steering you toward the nearest chair with ease. Seokmin and Mingyu watch like it’s their favorite reality show, Mingyu even grabbing a snack.

Wonwoo lets go just long enough to grab the antiseptic wipes, and that’s when the real panic sets in.

"Wait, wait, wait—just let me mentally prepare—"

"You had plenty of time to do that while you were running," he deadpans

The moment the antiseptic-soaked wipe touches your skin, you jolt like you’ve been electrocuted. "Ow, ow, OW—"

Wonwoo sighs. "You literally cut people open for a living, and you’re whining over this?"

Seokmin snickers. "Zero pain tolerance. It’s honestly embarrassing."

Mingyu nods sagely. "Every time she gets a paper cut, she acts like she’s been stabbed."

You glare at them through watery eyes. "This hurts—"

"It stings," Wonwoo corrects, holding your wrist firmly as you try to pull away. "Stay still before you actually make it worse."

You groan dramatically, but Wonwoo, ever patient, finishes patching you up despite your flinching and whining. When he’s done, he presses the bandage down with a little more force than necessary, just to be petty.

"There. All better," he says, finally letting go.

You cradle your injured hand and pout. "You’re mean."

Wonwoo exhales, exasperated. Then, softer, "You should be more careful."

For a second, something unreadable passes between you. Then Seokmin ruins it. "So, who owes me five bucks? I said he’d tackle her, but technically, it was more of a grab—"

"Pay up, Seokmin," Mingyu smirks. "A catch is a catch."

You groan, while Wonwoo just shakes his head, rubbing his temples like he regrets ever being friends with you three.

As soon as Wonwoo walks out, probably to regain some of his sanity before starting his rounds, you finally relax. Big mistake because the moment the door clicks shut behind him, you feel it—the shift in atmosphere. You don’t even have to look up to know that Mingyu and Seokmin are staring at you with that look. The one that spells trouble.

Seokmin grins. "Sooo…"

Mingyu wiggles his eyebrows. "Are you two dating, or is Wonwoo just your personal on-call nurse?"

You groan. "Oh my god, not this again."

"Look, I’m just saying," Seokmin continues, leaning back like he has all the time in the world, "Wonwoo doesn’t act like that with anyone else."

"Yeah, I mean, I literally saw him step over a crying intern last week," Mingyu adds. "But the second you get a tiny little cut—"

"A painful cut," you interject

"—he’s running after you like you just lost a limb," Mingyu finishes, ignoring you

You roll your eyes. "He’s just like that."

Seokmin scoffs. "No, he’s not."

Mingyu hums. "Do you ever see him chase me down when I get hurt?"

"You get hurt on purpose for attention," you deadpan.

"Fair," Mingyu concedes. "But still. Wonwoo’s different with you."

You shake your head, standing up. "Whatever. I have patients to see."

As you reach for the door, Seokmin calls out, "Hey, don’t run too fast—wouldn’t want to scrape your knee. Wonwoo might carry you to the ER next time." Mingyu cackles as you slam the door on your way out.

It’s way past midnight—closer to 3 AM, when Wonwoo finally walks into the on-call room. His hair is slightly disheveled, white coat draped over his arm, and dark circles under his eyes deeper than before. It’s been a brutal shift.

Seokmin, who’s sitting at one of the desks, barely acknowledges his entrance, too focused on some patient charts. But Wonwoo doesn’t need to say anything. He just walks over to the bunk beds, takes one look at Mingyu—who’s sprawled out, snoring on the bottom bunk—and wordlessly yanks him off. With a loud thud, Mingyu hits the floor.

"Huh—?!" Mingyu startles awake, flailing like a fish out of water. "What the—?!"

"Get up," Wonwoo says flatly.

Mingyu groans dramatically, rubbing his eyes. "Dude, what is your problem—"

Wonwoo ignores him, already turning toward you. You’re curled up awkwardly on the couch, using a rolled-up hoodie as a pillow, arms folded in a way that guarantees you’ll wake up with at least three different cramps.

Wonwoo sighs. Then, in a tone much softer than the one he used on Mingyu, he murmurs, "Get in the bed."

You don’t stir at first, still half-asleep, but then you mumble, "‘M fine here…"

Wonwoo doesn’t buy it. "You’ll complain about back pain tomorrow, and we both know it."

Seokmin finally looks up, watching the exchange with thinly veiled amusement. Mingyu, still half on the floor, blinks at Wonwoo, then at you. Slowly, a knowing smirk creeps onto his face.

"Ohhh," Mingyu hums. "This is why you pulled me off the bed."

Wonwoo doesn’t acknowledge him. Instead, he reaches down and lightly taps your arm. "Come on, just sleep on the bed."

You grumble but finally crack your eyes open, too exhausted to argue. Wonwoo steps back as you groggily push yourself up, stretching. You shuffle toward the now-empty bottom bunk, collapsing onto it with a sigh.

"See? Much better," Wonwoo murmurs, pulling the blanket over you without a second thought.

Mingyu and Seokmin share a look.

"Dude," Mingyu says once Wonwoo turns around. "You could’ve told me to move instead of dragging me off like a sack of potatoes."

"You wouldn’t have moved fast enough," Wonwoo replies.

Seokmin smirks. "So, she gets the ‘gentle tuck-in’ treatment while Mingyu gets yeeted off the bed? Interesting."

Mingyu nods, still rubbing his shoulder. "Yeah, Wonwoo. Interesting."

Wonwoo gives them both an unimpressed look before muttering, "I’m going to sleep," and heading toward the other bunk.

Even with his back turned, he can feel their teasing grins.

You’re pretty sure you’ve ascended to another plane of existence. Or maybe you’ve died and are currently haunting the hospital as a sleep-deprived ghost. Either way, you’ve been awake for way too long over 32 hours, to be exact and your body is done.

Mingyu isn’t faring much better. He’s slumped over the shared office desk, forehead pressed against an open patient chart, lightly snoring. You’re half-sitting, half-melting into the couch, cradling a lukewarm coffee that does nothing to fight the exhaustion clawing at your soul.

And then because life isn’t unfair enough already, Seokmin walks in. Bright-eyed. Energized. Well-rested. The worst kind of person.

"Good morning, besties!" Seokmin chirps, stretching like he didn’t just take a whole day off.

You don’t even look at him. "I will kill you."

"I second that," Mingyu mumbles into his chart.

Seokmin gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. "Why the hostility? I thought you’d be happy to see me!"

"We hate you," Mingyu groans.

"You’re dead to us," you add.

Seokmin grins. "Wow, so much love in this room." He walks over and purposefully ruffles Mingyu’s hair, making him whine in protest. Then he turns to you, poking your cheek. "You look terrible."

"Thanks," you mumble. "Exactly what I needed to hear."

Seokmin flops onto one of the chairs, grinning. "You know what I did yesterday? Slept a full eight hours. Went out for brunch. Touched grass."

Mingyu lifts his head just to glare. "Leave. Now."

Before Seokmin can keep being insufferable, the door opens again. Wonwoo walks in.

And unlike Seokmin who is obnoxiously loud about being well-rested Wonwoo looks just as exhausted as you and Mingyu. His coat is slightly wrinkled, his tie is loosened, and there’s an untouched coffee in his hand that he’s clearly forgotten about. He glances at Seokmin who looks too refreshed to be tolerable then at Mingyu, who is back to pretending to be dead.

Then his gaze lands on you.

You blink at him, eyes heavy with exhaustion. "Hey."

"Hey," Wonwoo murmurs. He steps closer, eyes scanning over you in that way he always does when he’s subtly checking if you’re okay.

"Did you sleep?" he asks.

You let out a weak, humorless laugh. "Did you?"

Wonwoo doesn’t answer. Instead, he sets his coffee down and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

Seokmin—who has been watching the whole thing like a spectator at a soap opera—leans back with a smirk. "Wow, this is so interesting."

Mingyu groans, flopping back onto the desk. "Not now, Seokmin. I’m too tired for this."

Wonwoo ignores them both. He looks at you again, eyes softer now. "Eat something and get some rest."

"You too," you mumble, already sinking further into the couch.

Wonwoo exhales through his nose, shaking his head. "You’re impossible."

Seokmin wiggles his eyebrows. "Ohhh, this is fun."

"You know what else is fun?" You finally turn your head to glare at Seokmin. "Murder."

Wonwoo just sighs again and walks over to the bunk beds, mumbling something about how all of you are hopeless. Mingyu groans like he’s been personally attacked when his pager starts beeping. He doesn’t even look at it just slams his forehead against the desk.

"No. No, no, no. I reject this," he mumbles against the wood.

You barely have the energy to process the noise until of course yours goes off too. You and Mingyu make eye contact, equally dead inside.

Seokmin, the only one without a pager going off, grins. "Wow. Couldn’t be me."

"I will end you," you mutter, already reaching for your coat.

Wonwoo watches silently as Mingyu sluggishly gets up, flipping his pager over to check the message. He sighs. "ER’s a mess. Multiple traumas incoming."

You check yours, blinking slowly as the words process in your sleep-deprived brain. "OR needs backup. Guess I’m heading there."

Mingyu looks at you, eyes drooping. "Want to switch? I don’t want to talk to families."

"Absolutely not."

Mingyu pouts but doesn’t argue. He drags himself to his feet, rubbing his face aggressively like that’ll give him the will to live.

Seokmin claps his hands together, looking way too cheerful. "Well, have fun, kids! I’ll be here. Rested. Thriving."

Mingyu flips him off on the way out.

You barely register Wonwoo standing beside you until he tugs at your sleeve. When you look up, he’s frowning slightly.

"You sure you’re okay?" he asks, voice quieter now.

You exhale. "No, but I don’t have a choice."

Wonwoo’s frown deepens like he wants to say something else, but before he can, a voice crackles over the intercom calling for additional surgeons.

You sigh, giving him a tired half-smile. "See you later."

Wonwoo watches as you head out, his jaw tightening.

Seokmin hums as the door closes behind you. "You know," he says, stretching out on the chair, "for someone who refuses to admit his feelings, you really don’t do a good job of hiding them."

Wonwoo shoots him a glare, but Seokmin just grins.

A few more hours later, Wonwoo rubs at his eyes as he shrugs on his coat, his shift finally over. He grabs his bag from the office, shoulders aching from exhaustion. Just as he’s about to leave, the door swings open, and Mingyu stumbles in, looking like he’s barely holding himself together.

"ER was hell," Mingyu groans, dropping onto the couch with a loud thud. "I think I aged five years."

"You already look thirty," Wonwoo says, deadpan.

Mingyu glares at him, too tired to argue. Instead, he waves a lazy hand.

Then Wonwoo asks "Where’s she? OR still has her hostage?"

The other doctor nods "She hasn’t come back yet. She’s probably running on caffeine and spite at this point."

Wonwoo hesitates for a second before speaking. "Make sure she eats and gets some rest when she’s done."

Mingyu cracks one eye open, a slow smirk creeping onto his face. "You like her."

Wonwoo stares at him blankly. "Make sure she eats, Mingyu."

"You like her," Mingyu repeats, grinning now. Wonwoo doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, he slings his bag over his shoulder and heads for the door.

"Hey, where are you going?" Mingyu calls after him.

"Home," Wonwoo mutters.

"Liar!" Mingyu shouts, but Wonwoo is already gone.

What feels like hours to Mingyu before you entered the room. You trudge into the on-call room, every bone in your body protesting. Your scrub top is slightly wrinkled, your hair is a mess, and you’re running on nothing but sheer willpower at this point.

Mingyu is already knocked out on the bottom bunk, snoring lightly. You barely spare him a glance before collapsing onto the couch.

That’s when you notice it.

On the small coffee table, there’s a neatly packed meal. Your favorite.

You blink, staring at it like it’s a mirage. There’s even a bottle of water next to it, condensation still fresh, like someone just left it there.

Curious, you reach out and poke at the food, half-expecting it to disappear. When it doesn’t, you frown.

"Who…?" you murmur to yourself.

Mingyu shifts on the bed, groaning. "Shut up and eat."

You glance at him. "Did you get this?"

He grunts, eyes still closed. "Nope."

You pause. "Then who—?"

Mingyu cracks one eye open, smirking lazily. "Who do you think?"

That stops you. Your brain, sluggish from exhaustion, takes a moment to process.

Then it clicks.

Wonwoo.

You stare at the food, heart doing something weird in your chest.

Mingyu snickers before rolling over. "Just eat, dumbass."

You don’t argue. But as you take the first bite, you can’t help but think about a certain pediatric surgeon who definitely isn’t as subtle as he thinks he is.

You exhale, shaking your head to yourself. Subtle, Jeon.

Mingyu shifts on the bed again, cracking one eye open. "You’re thinking too hard about this," he mutters, voice thick with sleep.

You stab at your food with your chopsticks. "No, I’m not."

"Yeah, you are."

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. "Go back to sleep."

Mingyu hums lazily, but then he adds, "He does this all the time, you know."

You pause mid-bite. "What?"

Mingyu smirks, barely awake but still committed to being a menace. "Making sure you eat. Checking if you’re okay. Wonwoo’s always been like that… but only with you."

Your stomach does something stupid at that. "That’s not true."

Mingyu chuckles, shifting onto his side. "Sure. Keep telling yourself that."

You open your mouth to argue, but Mingyu’s already passed out again, snoring softly. You sigh, leaning back on the couch. The food is warm, comforting, and frustratingly thoughtful.

You try not to think about it too much. You fail.

It’s another long shift for you.

After parting ways with Seokmin, you make your way to the nurses’ station, hoping to check on some charts before heading back to the on-call room. You’re running on fumes at this point, but the habit of making sure everything is in order before you crash is too strong to ignore.

As you approach, you hear a group of nurses talking in hushed but excited tones. You don’t think much of it until you catch a familiar name.

“Dr. Jeon is so amazing,” one of them gushes, practically sighing. “Did you see him with that little boy’s parents? He was so gentle and reassuring.”

“I know! And he’s always so calm, no matter how bad things get.”

“Not to mention how good he looks in scrubs,” another nurse adds, and they all giggle.

You freeze mid-step, blinking.

Are they seriously—?

“I swear, if he wasn’t so intimidating, I’d totally ask him out.”

“Right? But he’s always so serious. Like, have you ever seen him smile?”

“Only sometimes. But guess what?” The first nurse leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I did see him smile today.”

“No way. When?”

“When he was talking to Dr. Y/N.”

Your stomach drops.

Oh no.

“Oh my god, wait, you’re right! He actually looked... softer?”

“And she’s the only one he ever seems to talk to outside of work stuff.”

Another nurse sighs dramatically. “That’s so unfair. Do you think they’re, like, a thing?”

Your brain short-circuits. You have got to get out of here. Clearing your throat loudly, you step into their line of sight, making them jump. “Hey, uh… I just need to check some charts.”

The group scrambles, trying to look busy, but you can feel their eyes on you, filled with curiosity and knowing looks. Great. Just great.

As you grab the nearest patient file, you swear you hear one of them whisper, “Oh my god, she totally heard us.”

You pretend you didn’t.

You nearly drop the patient file when a rolling chair suddenly appears beside you.

“So,” Seokmin drawls, arms crossed as he lazily spins in the chair, “how do I break it to them that Wonwoo is a total softie for you?”

You glare at him, pressing a hand to your racing heart. “Can you not sneak up on me like that?”

Seokmin grins, completely ignoring your complaint. “Seriously, though. They think he’s this untouchable, brooding genius, but we both know he turns into a golden retriever when it comes to you.”

Your eye twitches. “He does not—”

Seokmin cuts you off with an exaggerated gasp. “Oh my god, you’re in denial.”

You slap his arm with the patient file. “I am not.”

He just laughs, rubbing his arm. “Y/N, I literally watched him rip Mingyu off the bottom bunk just so you could sleep comfortably.”

You open your mouth, then close it. Okay, fine. That was suspiciously caring behavior.

Seokmin smirks, clearly enjoying your inner struggle. “And let’s not forget how he tells Mingyu to make sure you eat and sleep. Or how he leaves food for you. Or how he only ever gets flustered when it involves you.”

You groan, dropping your head onto the counter. “I hate you.”

He pats your back like a supportive older brother. “No, you hate that I’m right.”

Before you can argue, one of the nurses clears her throat loudly, and you glance up to see them all very obviously pretending not to listen.

Seokmin leans in, whispering conspiratorially, “They’re totally listening.”

“I know, Seokmin.”

“Wanna give them a show? Maybe dramatically sigh Wonwoo’s name?”

You grab the patient file again and smack him with it. That’s when another doctor—Dr. Lee from orthopedics—walks up beside you.

"Dr. Y/N," he greets smoothly, offering a smile. "Haven’t seen you around much. Busy saving lives?"

You glance up, slightly caught off guard by the sudden conversation. "Uh, yeah. Something like that."

Dr. Lee leans casually against the counter, watching you with interest. "You should take a break sometime. Maybe grab a coffee?"

Oh. Oh.

Is he… flirting?

You don’t get the chance to react before you hear a loud, exaggerated cough from nearby. Seokmin is sitting just a few feet away, blatantly eavesdropping with zero shame. He’s pretending to look at a chart, but his expression is screaming Oh? What’s this?

You try to ignore him, forcing a polite smile at Dr. Lee. "That’s nice of you, but I’m actually running on negative sleep right now."

Dr. Lee chuckles. "All the more reason to step away for a bit. It’s just coffee, no pressure."

Seokmin lets out another obnoxious cough. "Thirsty, huh?"

You whip your head toward him, glaring. "Do you need medical attention, Seokmin?"

He grins. "Nah, I’m just—" he gestures vaguely between you and Dr. Lee "—observing."

Dr. Lee, bless him, is oblivious to the absolute menace that is Seokmin. "No worries. If you change your mind, let me know," he says with an easy smile before walking off.

The moment he’s gone, Seokmin wheels his chair over at full speed, stopping right beside you.

"So," he drawls. "Are you gonna tell Wonwoo, or should I?"

You groan, dropping your head onto the counter. "Seokmin, I swear to god—"

Of course it didn’t take long. Mingyu and Wonwoo are lounging in the on-call room when the door slams open. Seokmin bursts in, cackling like a maniac, running full speed across the room.

And right behind him. You.

"LEE SEOKMIN, I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

Before he can reach the safety of the bunk beds, you launch yourself at him, nearly tackling him to the ground. Seokmin barely stays on his feet, wheezing through his laughter.

Mingyu, sitting up from the bottom bunk, blinks in confusion. "…Do we want to know?"

Wonwoo, sitting at the small desk, doesn’t even look up. "No."

Seokmin, still trying to escape your grip, gasps between laughs. "I—I was just helping!"

"You were eavesdropping and causing problems on purpose!" you yell, tightening your hold around his waist as he tries to wriggle free.

Mingyu perks up at that. "Ooh, what happened? Spill."

Seokmin dramatically falls onto the couch, bringing you down with him. "Our dear Y/N here was getting flirted with."

Mingyu’s eyebrows shoot up. "What?"

Seokmin grins, panting slightly. "Dr. Lee. Ortho. Real smooth. Asked her to coffee."

Mingyu gasps like this is the most dramatic thing he’s ever heard. "And you tackled him over this?!"

"No, I tackled him because he ran in here to tell you two like a gossiping old lady!" you snap, still half on top of Seokmin, who is not helping by laughing even harder.

Mingyu turns to Wonwoo, who has yet to react. "Wonwoo. Thoughts?"

Wonwoo, still not looking up, simply flips a page in his book. Seokmin wheezes. You groan, letting your head drop onto the couch.

Mingyu clutches his chest, looking between you and Wonwoo with pure delight. "Oh, this is better than a telenovela."

You push yourself up from where you were half-crushing Seokmin, brushing off your scrubs as you glare at him. Before you can properly scold him for being the absolute worst, Wonwoo finally speaks—completely nonchalant, like this whole thing isn’t ridiculous.

"He asked if you wanted coffee?"

You pause. Seokmin and Mingyu do not. Seokmin looks thrilled. Mingyu straight-up leans forward, eyes sparkling with interest.

You narrow your eyes at Wonwoo. "Why do you sound like that?"

Wonwoo doesn’t even look up from his book. "Like what?"

Mingyu grins. "Yeah, like what, Wonwoo?"

Wonwoo flips a page. "Just asking."

You scoff. "You buy me coffee all the time"

Wonwoo hums. "Exactly."

Your brain short-circuits. "…Wait. What does that mean?*"

Wonwoo, still infuriatingly casual, finally glances up. "Nothing. Just seems unnecessary to get coffee with someone else when you already get it from me."

Seokmin and Mingyu explode.

"OH, THAT'S RICH—"

"DID HE JUST—"

You groan into your hands as they lose their minds. Wonwoo, unbothered, closes his book and stands. "I’m going to get coffee. You want one or not?"

Mingyu is on the floor laughing. Seokmin is gasping for air. And you—you are never going to hear the end of this.

Wonwoo, as unbothered as ever, grabs his ID badge and heads for the door.

Mingyu and Seokmin are still wheezing from his last comment, but you’re too busy processing to move.

He’s almost out when he pauses, tilting his head slightly. "Not coming?"

You cross your arms, still suspicious. "I think I’ll stay here and recover from whatever that was."

Wonwoo shrugs. "Suit yourself."

He steps out. You don’t follow but right before the door swings shut, you shout after him

"Caramel macchiato, extra shot, not too sweet!"

Seokmin and Mingyu stare at you. You stare back.

Then Mingyu loses it, laughing so hard he nearly falls off the bunk. "OH, SO YOU’RE NOT GONNA FOLLOW HIM, BUT YOU’RE STILL MAKING HIM GET YOU COFFEE?"

Seokmin clutches his chest, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Unbelievable. Absolutely shameless."

You sigh, rubbing your temples. "I hate you both."

Mingyu wipes fake tears. "No, you hate that you’re in too deep and we’re just here to witness it."

It’s your well-deserved day off, which means the hospital is not your problem for once. But unfortunately for Wonwoo, it means he is the problem of the two very nosy individuals stuck with him today.

Mingyu and Seokmin have been relentless since morning, waiting for the perfect opportunity to grill him—and the second they’re all in the on-call room, Seokmin strikes.

"So... you and Y/N."

Wonwoo doesn’t even look up from his tablet. "What about her?"

Mingyu flops onto the couch dramatically. "You know exactly what about her."

Seokmin leans forward, grinning. "You act different around her."

"I don’t."

"Oh, you absolutely do," Mingyu says, propping his chin on his hand. "You let her get away with things you’d never tolerate from us."

Seokmin nods enthusiastically. "Like running away when she has a cut?"

"Or demanding coffee like she’s a queen and you’re her personal barista?" Mingyu adds.

Wonwoo finally glances up. "She doesn’t demand. I offer."

Silence.

Mingyu and Seokmin gasp.

"HE ADMITS IT!" Seokmin nearly topples over. "HE VOLUNTARILY GETS HER COFFEE!"

Wonwoo sighs. "You two have too much free time."

"And you have too much denial," Mingyu shoots back. "Be honest, if she asked for your left kidney, you’d at least consider it."

Seokmin laughs. "He’d have it prepped and ready before she even finished asking."

Wonwoo rubs his temples. "You’re both insufferable."

"And you’re in love," Mingyu sing-songs.

"I am not," Wonwoo deadpans.

Seokmin smirks. "Would you say no if she asked you out?"

Wonwoo doesn’t answer immediately, making the two guys exchange another look.

"Oh my God," Mingyu whispers. "You wouldn’t say no."

"Pack it up, folks, we got him," Seokmin grins. "That’s a wrap."

Meanwhile it’s your day off, technically you were supposed to be having a relaxing day off. No pagers, no surgeries, no Mingyu whining for coffee or Seokmin launching into dramatic gossip. Just a simple grocery run—bread, eggs, maybe even some overpriced snacks if you were feeling indulgent.

But fate, as usual, had other plans.

The sound of screeching tires and the crash of metal on metal jolts you from your thoughts as you step out of the store. A small crowd is already forming near an intersection, the sight of two badly dented cars making your stomach drop.

Then you hear it—panicked voices.

"She’s pregnant!"

Your body moves before your brain fully catches up. Pushing past stunned bystanders, you rush toward the most damaged car, where a man is frantically trying to pry open the passenger door. Inside, a woman—clearly pregnant—clutches her stomach, her face contorted in pain.

"Ma’am, can you hear me?" you ask, voice sharp with urgency.

She gasps, nodding weakly. "M-My baby—"

You glance around. The fire department isn’t here yet, neither are the paramedics. The door is crushed in, and she’s stuck.

Your pulse pounds, but you push the panic aside. Focus.

You turn to the man still struggling with the door. "We need to get her out, but carefully. Do you have something I can use to break the glass?"

He nods shakily, rushing to his car. Meanwhile, you crouch by the woman, speaking in a soothing tone even as your mind races through possible complications.

"You're doing great. Just keep breathing, okay? Help is coming."

She nods again, but her grip on her belly tightens.

You don’t have your scrubs, your hospital badge, or even your gloves. But right now, none of that matters because doctor or not—you have to help her.

You refuse to leave her side. Even as sirens wail in the distance and bystanders are urged to step back, you stay crouched next to the woman, monitoring her breathing, checking for signs of distress.

"You're okay. Just hold on," you murmur, your hand steady on her wrist, feeling the rapid pulse beneath your fingers. The first responders finally arrive, moving quickly to assess the scene.

A firefighter rushes toward you. "Ma’am, we need to extract her now. You should move back."

"Not until she’s safe," you insist.

They're working on prying the door open when it happens—

An explosion.

A sudden BOOM rocks the area as flames burst from the wreckage. The force knocks you backward, and before you can react, shards of glass and debris fly straight toward you and the pregnant woman.

Your first instinct is to shield her. You duck, arms raised, making sure not a single piece touches her. She screams, but the paramedics quickly cover her with a thick emergency blanket.

You barely notice the sharp stings as glass embeds itself into your arm, your shoulder, a few grazing your cheek. The pain is secondary.

"She’s stable!" one of the EMTs shouts, carefully moving the woman onto a stretcher. "Let’s transport her now!" You exhale in relief, watching as they wheel her toward the ambulance. You step back, feeling a slight dizziness, but shake it off.

"Doctor?" One of the firefighters eyes you carefully.

"I’m fine," you say automatically.

The ambulance ride is a blur of flashing lights and hushed urgency. The paramedics work efficiently, monitoring the pregnant woman’s vitals as you sit beside her, keeping her calm. You press a gauze pad against one of the deeper cuts on your arm, but otherwise, you don’t acknowledge your injuries.

When the ambulance finally arrives at the hospital, the woman is rushed into the ER. You climb out right after them, rolling your stiff shoulders, determined to go check on her—

Only to run straight into Mingyu.

"Hey, we got a—" His usual laid-back tone vanishes the moment his eyes land on you. His brows shoot up. "What the hell happened to you?"

"I’m fine," you say immediately, waving him off. Big mistake.

The moment you move, dizziness washes over you. You stumble slightly, catching yourself against the wall.

Mingyu lunges forward. "Yeah, okay, fine people totally do that."

His eyes sweep over you. Your torn sleeve, the cuts littering your arm, the faint streak of blood on your cheek. "Are you serious right now?"

You sigh. "It’s not that bad—"

"Not that bad?" He gestures wildly at you. "You were supposed to be on your day off, not playing action hero in the middle of the street!"

Mingyu groans, already reaching for his pager. "Seokmin and Wonwoo are going to kill me."

Mingyu barely has time to react before your knees buckle.

"Oh, for—okay, nope, you’re done," he mutters, catching you before you hit the ground. His hands grip your shoulders, guiding you onto a nearby gurney despite your weak protests.

"I—I'm fine," you mumble, though the dizziness makes your head swim. The pain you’ve been stubbornly ignoring is very much making itself known now, sharp and stinging from every cut.

"Uh-huh, tell that to your blood loss," Mingyu huffs as he quickly assesses the wounds. "How are you this dumb?"

You try to glare at him, but it’s half-hearted at best. He just sighs, guiding you to the nearest vacant bed then grabbing antiseptics and bandages from a nearby tray.

"This is gonna sting," he warns, dabbing at the gash on your arm.

The burn makes you flinch. "Mingyu—"

But before you can complain, the door to the ER slams open.

"Where is she?"

Your stomach drops.

Wonwoo stands at the entrance, still in his scrubs, his chest rising and falling like he ran all the way here. His usual composed demeanor is nowhere to be seen.

The moment his eyes land on you—bruised, bloodied, and definitely not fine—his expression shifts into something dark.

"You have got to be kidding me," he mutters, storming over

Mingyu looks up but barely gets a word in before Wonwoo cuts in, voice tight. "What the hell happened?"

You open your mouth, but Mingyu beats you to it. "She was out running errands and decided to become a damn superhero. Got caught in a car explosion or something—"

"It wasn’t an explosion—" you try, but Wonwoo turns his glare on you so fast you shut up.

"You refused to tell anyone you were hurt?" Wonwoo’s voice is low, laced with barely contained frustration. "Do you even know how reckless that is?"

You blink at him, a little caught off guard. Wonwoo gets annoyed, sure—but this? This anger? This fear simmering under his words?

Mingyu shifts awkwardly. "Uh, so, I’ll just—keep cleaning these wounds?"

Wonwoo ignores him.

"You should’ve been treated immediately," he snaps. "You could’ve gone into shock, Y/N. You could’ve—" He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair.

You swallow, voice quieter now. "I had to make sure she was okay."

Wonwoo stares at you for a long moment. His jaw clenches. Then, without another word, he grabs the antiseptic from Mingyu’s hand and kneels down beside you.

"Hey, I was—" Mingyu starts

"You’re taking too long," Wonwoo says flatly, inspecting your arm.

Mingyu throws his hands up. "Oh, I’m the problem? Sure, yeah, okay."

But you don’t pay attention to Mingyu anymore—because Wonwoo is suddenly so close, his fingers gentle as he carefully tends to your wounds. The frustration is still in his eyes, but his touch is steady, precise.

You wince when he presses the gauze against a deeper cut, and his grip instinctively tightens around your wrist. His voice softens, just a fraction.

"I don’t care how capable you are," he mutters. "Don’t ever do that again."

You bite down hard on your lip, willing yourself not to cry. But the antiseptic burns, and the way Wonwoo presses down on your wounds with such precision makes it impossible to ignore the sharp sting.

Your eyes start to prickle. You will not cry. You refuse.

Mingyu, ever the observant one, notices immediately. He leans in slightly and mumbles, “Hey, man, she’s already injured. You’re making her cry.”

Wonwoo freezes.

Your head snaps up. “I am not crying.”

Mingyu raises an eyebrow. “You sure? You kinda look like you’re about to.”

You glare at him. “Shut up.”

Wonwoo sighs, rubbing his temple. “Mingyu, stop talking.”

Mingyu just shrugs, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m just saying, maybe be a little gentler? You know, since you care so much.”

Wonwoo pointedly ignores him, but his grip on your arm loosens just slightly, his movements becoming even more careful. He still looks pissed, but his touch is softer now, like he’s trying to make up for it.

You try to focus on anything other than the fact that your face feels ridiculously warm.

Mingyu stands, stretching with an exaggerated groan. “Alright, I’m gonna check on the woman since someone needs to be useful around here.”

You shoot him a half-hearted glare. “I’m useful.”

“Yeah, yeah, tell that to your blood loss.” He waves you off, throwing Wonwoo a quick glance before walking out, leaving the two of you alone.

The silence that follows is heavy. Wonwoo is still focused on cleaning your wounds, but his jaw is tight, and his movements though gentler now are still a little too precise.

You watch him for a second before speaking. “You’re really mad, huh?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “No.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

His grip tightens just slightly before he lets out a quiet, frustrated sigh. “…Yes.”

You shift a little, suddenly feeling weird under his gaze. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Wonwoo finally looks up at you, and the way his eyes darken makes you shut up real quick.

“Not that bad?” he repeats, voice low. “You were in an accident, Y/N. You got caught in a literal explosion.”

You try to brush it off. “It wasn’t that big—”

"You were bleeding and didn't even think to get yourself treated first."

You falter. His shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, like he’s trying really hard to rein himself in.

“Do you know how many times I’ve seen people come in, thinking they were fine, only to collapse later?” His voice is quieter now, but it’s laced with something heavier. “You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

Wonwoo’s gaze softens—just barely—before he looks back down, carefully placing the last bandage over your arm. His hands linger for a second, his fingers warm against your skin.

“…Just don’t do that again.” His voice is quieter now, almost pleading. “Please.”

You sniffle, trying to hold it in, but a few tears betray you, slipping down your cheek before you can stop them. Wonwoo notices immediately. His hands, still hovering near your arm, tense.

“Hey—”

You quickly wipe at your face, sniffling again. “I’m fine.” Your voice wobbles, completely betraying you.

Wonwoo exhales through his nose, and before you can react, he’s reaching for the tissue box nearby, wordlessly handing you one.

You take it, mumbling, “Thanks.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, in a small voice, you ask, “Is the woman okay?”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he watches you carefully before finally saying, “She’s stable. Mingyu’s checking on her now.”

You nod, squeezing the tissue in your hand. “That’s good.”

Wonwoo still doesn’t look away. His lips press together like he wants to say something else, but in the end, all he does is let out a quiet sigh.

“You should rest,” he says softly. “You lost some of blood, you might feel light headed”

You huff, forcing a weak smile. “You sound like me when I tell my patients that.”

He doesn’t smile back. Instead, he reaches out, hesitates, then gently presses his hand against your head, smoothing down a stray strand of hair. The touch is so light, so careful, that it nearly makes you tear up all over again.

“Then take your own advice for once.”

Before you can even process the warmth of Wonwoo’s touch, the door bursts open.

“OH MY GOD—YOU’RE ALIVE!”

Seokmin practically lunges toward you, arms wide like he’s about to hug-tackle you, but Wonwoo smoothly steps in his way, stopping him with a single hand to his chest.

“Seokmin.” Wonwoo’s voice is flat. “She’s injured.”

Seokmin blinks, then gasps like he’s just realized something. “YOU’RE INJURED?!”

You stare at him, deadpan. “Did you think I was just here for fun?”

Seokmin dramatically grips his chest. “I—I just thought maybe you were being dramatic again! But you actually got hurt?!”

Wonwoo sighs, stepping aside because, at this point, there’s no stopping Seokmin. Sure enough, he leans down, carefully inspecting your bandages like a concerned mother.

“How bad is it? Are you dizzy? Do you need water? Do you need me to spoon-feed you soup?”

You groan, pushing his face away. “I’m fine.”

Seokmin ignores you and turns to Wonwoo. “Doctor, will she survive?”

Wonwoo looks unimpressed. “She lost blood but nothing major. She just needs to rest.”

Seokmin gasps again, gripping your hand. “BE STRONG, MY FRIEND.”

You shove him. “You’re the worst.”

Seokmin sniffs dramatically, wiping an imaginary tear. “If you do die, can I have your favorite pen?”

Wonwoo pinches the bridge of his nose while you grab a pillow and throw it at Seokmin’s face.

After everything that happened, of course Wonwoo refused to let you out of his sight or atleast have someone watching over you while the three guys finish their shift.

After work, the four of you go to a barbeque place you're a regular at.

You’re all starving by the time you reach the restaurant, exhaustion from the day momentarily forgotten at the sight of sizzling meat and bubbling stews.

Mingyu and Seokmin are loud, bickering over who gets to grill first, while you just lean back in your seat, still pretending to sulk.

Wonwoo, sitting beside you, wordlessly places some meat on your plate before you can even lift your chopsticks. Then, as if it’s second nature, he reaches over and rolls up the loose sleeve of your hoodie, neatly tucking it to make sure it doesn’t dip into the sauces.

Mingyu pauses mid-bite, eyes flicking between the two of you.

Seokmin, in the middle of arguing over dipping sauces, suddenly stops and squints.

The most shocking part?

You don’t even react. You just pick up your chopsticks, casually eating the food Wonwoo put on your plate like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Mingyu slowly puts his chopsticks down. “Okay, hold on.”

Seokmin leans in. “Have you always been like this?”

You blink. “Like what?”

Mingyu gestures vaguely at you and Wonwoo. “That.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, sipping his water. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Seokmin waves his chopsticks between you two. “You’re basically a married couple and she doesn’t even blink when you baby her.”

You scoff, but before you can argue, Wonwoo speaks first. “She’d spill sauce on herself if I didn’t.”

Mingyu stares. “So you admit you’re babying her.”

Wonwoo shrugs. “She doesn’t complain.”

You shove a piece of meat in your mouth to avoid answering, but your reddening ears don’t go unnoticed. Seokmin and Mingyu exchange knowing looks before grinning at each other.

Oh, they’re never letting this go.

The two of you are crammed into the back of a small van, bumping along a dirt road on the way to the rural clinic. It’s too early, you’re running on barely any sleep, and Mingyu has already decided now is the perfect time to interrogate you.

“So.” He leans back against his seat, arms crossed, looking far too entertained. “You and Wonwoo.”

You groan immediately. “Absolutely not. We’re not doing this.”

Mingyu grins. “Oh, we’re definitely doing this. We have, like, four more hours to go.”

You glare at him, but he just continues. “I mean, come on. He feeds you. He rolls up your sleeves. He practically tracks your movements in the hospital without even trying. And you don’t even react anymore.”

“Maybe I’m just used to it.” You shrug.

Mingyu narrows his eyes. “That’s what I’m saying! You’re used to it. As in, it’s been happening for so long that you don’t even notice.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s just how we are.”

Mingyu scoffs. “Please. If Seokmin tried to do that for you, you’d stab him with your chopsticks.”

You snort. “Yeah, well, Seokmin deserves it.”

Mingyu ignores that. “Just admit it. You like him.”

You pause. Then, after a beat, you say, “Of course I like him. He’s my friend.”

Mingyu groans dramatically, flopping onto your shoulder. “You’re impossible.”

You shove him off. “And you’re annoying.”

He smirks. “I know. But I’m also right.”

You refuse to answer, choosing instead to look out the window. But you can’t shake the way your stomach flips at Mingyu’s words.

Mingyu stretches out his legs, looking way too comfortable for someone who’s supposed to be working. “Alright then, since you’re so sure it’s nothing—explain this to me.”

You sigh. “What now?”

He smirks. “Why hasn’t Wonwoo dated anyone since med school?”

You blink. “What?”

Mingyu tilts his head, looking far too smug. “I mean, Seokmin and I have dated around. You’ve had, like, two almost-relationships. But Wonwoo? Not a single girlfriend. No dates. No flings. No nothing.” He raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t that weird?”

You scoff. “Maybe he’s just not interested.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “Nah. I asked him once, and you know what he said?”

You hesitate. “…What?”

Mingyu grins. “‘I don’t have time for that.’” He leans in, lowering his voice dramatically. “But I think the real reason is that he’s been too busy looking after you.”

You open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out.

Because now that you think about it… Mingyu’s kind of right.

Wonwoo has never once shown interest in dating. Even during med school, when everyone else was either in relationships or at least going on dates, he never did. He was always around, always steady, always—

You shake your head. No. No way.

Mingyu watches you, eyes glinting. “Oh my god, you’re actually thinking about it.”

You shove him. “Shut up.”

He cackles. “I love being right.”

You groan, turning to the window to ignore him. But your heart is beating just a little too fast, and your mind keeps replaying Mingyu’s words.

Why hasn’t Wonwoo dated anyone?

And more importantly, why does the answer make your chest feel tight?

Once you’re done with the medical mission, you go back to the hospital. You push open the door to the on-call room, utterly drained from the long day. Mingyu had peeled off somewhere to check on the ER, but you went straight here, hoping to collapse onto the couch for at least a few minutes.

The room is dimly lit, quiet except for the faint ticking of the wall clock. At first, you think it's empty—until your eyes land on Wonwoo. He’s at his desk, head slightly tilted down, eyes closed.

You pause, debating whether you should leave him be. But before you can take a step back, his voice—low and a little rough from exhaustion—breaks the silence.

"You're back."

You blink. "I thought you were asleep."

He opens his eyes, looking at you with that unreadable expression of his. "Just resting my eyes."

You scoff lightly, stepping further inside. "You say that like it’s any better."

Wonwoo watches you as you drop your bag onto the desk, stretching your arms over your head with a tired groan. You don’t notice the way his gaze lingers, just for a second, before he leans back in his chair.

"Long day?" he asks.

You sigh, rolling out your shoulders. "Very. Mingyu was extra annoying, as usual."

Wonwoo hums, amused. "What did he do now?"

You hesitate, suddenly remembering the entire conversation about him. About how Mingyu basically implied that Wonwoo hasn’t dated anyone because of you.

You glance at Wonwoo, who’s waiting for your answer with a neutral expression. And for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to bring it up.

“Just the usual nonsense,” you say instead.

Wonwoo doesn’t press, just nods before looking back at his desk. There’s a brief silence—comfortable, familiar. The kind you only get with someone you’ve known for years.

Then, softly, he says, “You should eat before you sleep.”

You glance at him, arching a brow. "Did you just give me my own advice?"

A small smirk tugs at his lips. "You never follow it yourself."

You shake your head, but there’s something warm in your chest that wasn’t there before.

Damn Mingyu. Now you can’t stop noticing things.

You drop onto the couch, exhausted but still watching Wonwoo out of the corner of your eye. He hasn't moved from his desk, but now you notice the way he's rubbing his temples, his brows slightly furrowed.

His glasses aren’t on, which is rare. Wonwoo without glasses usually means one of two things—either he’s about to sleep, or he has a headache.

Judging by the way he keeps pinching the bridge of his nose, it’s definitely the latter.

"You okay?" you ask.

"Mhm." He doesn’t look up, still rubbing slow circles into his temples.

You frown. "Did you even rest today?"

"I did," he says, but you don’t believe him for a second.

With a sigh, you push yourself up and walk over to him. He barely reacts when you place a hand on his shoulder, but he finally opens his eyes when you gently pull his hand away from his forehead.

"You have a migraine, don’t you?" you ask, squinting at him.

Wonwoo blinks at you, then exhales through his nose—something between amusement and surrender. "Just a small one."

You roll your eyes. "Right. Small enough that you’re sitting here rubbing your head like an old man."

He gives you a flat look. "Thanks."

Ignoring his sarcasm, you reach for his desk, rummaging through one of the drawers. You know he keeps medicine in here somewhere—he’s always prepared for everyone else’s headaches, just never his own.

After a few seconds, you find what you’re looking for and shake two pills into your palm before grabbing his forgotten water bottle. You hold both out to him expectantly.

"Take these."

He doesn’t move at first, just stares at you with that unreadable look again.

"Wonwoo," you say, more firmly. Finally, he sighs and takes the pills from your hand, swallowing them with a sip of water.

You nod, satisfied. "Good. Now go lie down before you pass out at your desk."

He exhales slowly, then mutters, "You’re bossy."

You smirk. "And yet you listen to me."

He doesn’t argue. Just shakes his head with the smallest hint of a smile before standing up. And for some reason, as he moves toward the bunk beds, you feel that warmth in your chest again.

You leave the room after turning the lights off to let him rest. You find Mingyu, maybe grab some late night snacks. As you and Mingyu walk through the hospital corridors, making casual conversation, a familiar figure approaches.

It’s him—Doctor Lee, the one who had flirted with you before.

Mingyu notices the way your shoulders tense and immediately perks up, eyes darting between you and Doctor Lee with barely concealed interest. "Oh, this should be fun," he mutters under his breath.

You shoot him a look. "Shut up."

Before Mingyu can tease you further, Doctor Lee reaches you, flashing that same confident smile.

"Hey, fancy seeing you again." His tone is smooth, casual, but there’s something pointed in the way he looks at you.

"It’s a hospital," you reply dryly. "You’ll probably see me a lot."

Mingyu barely hides his laugh behind a cough.

Doctor Lee, unfazed, chuckles. "Right. Still, I was hoping I’d run into you. Thought maybe this time I could convince you to grab a coffee with me?"

Mingyu freezes beside you, his head snapping toward you so fast you think he might give himself whiplash. He is way too interested in this.

You open your mouth to respond—politely decline, of course—but before you can, a voice cuts in.

"She already has a coffee supplier."

You turn your head just in time to see Wonwoo standing a few steps away, arms crossed, looking completely unimpressed. His tone is calm, but there’s an edge to it, something just sharp enough that it makes both you and Doctor Lee pause.

Mingyu, of course, is thriving.

"Oh, do you now?" Doctor Lee glances between you and Wonwoo, one eyebrow raised.

You sigh, rubbing your temple. "Wonwoo, don’t—"

"She never has to ask. Her coffee order just appears," Wonwoo continues smoothly, ignoring you. "Sometimes with snacks too."

Mingyu wheezes.

Doctor Lee blinks, clearly trying to figure out if there’s something more to Wonwoo’s words. You’re pretty sure you know exactly what he’s doing, but before the other man can press further, you exhale and take a step back.

"Anyway, I have rounds to finish," you say quickly. "See you around."

Before Doctor Lee can respond, you grab Mingyu’s sleeve and yank him along with you, leaving the poor guy standing there confused.

Mingyu is absolutely dying.

"Wonwoo totally just alpha-blocked that guy," he laughs, struggling to keep up with your fast pace. "Like, not even subtle. That was lowkey territorial."

You groan. "Don’t start."

"Oh, I’ve already started." Mingyu grins, wiggling his eyebrows. "So… your coffee supplier, huh?"

You don’t answer. Instead, you walk even faster, pretending you don’t hear Mingyu’s continued teasing all the way down the hall.

As you speed-walk down the hall, Mingyu still snickering beside you, you hear the sound of familiar footsteps following behind. You don't even need to turn around to know who it is.

You sigh dramatically, slowing your steps just enough to glance over your shoulder. "Weren't you suffering from a migraine?" you ask, narrowing your eyes at Wonwoo.

Wonwoo, walking at a completely casual pace as if he didn’t just interrupt an entire conversation to assert his place in your life, simply shrugs. "It went away."

Mingyu claps a hand over his mouth, trying so hard not to burst out laughing. He fails.

"Ohhh, interesting," Mingyu chokes out between laughs. "So you had a migraine, but the moment Doctor Lee showed up, you were suddenly fine? Wow. Almost like it wasn’t that serious to begin with."

Wonwoo shoots him a blank look. "Or maybe I just recovered."

"Right, right," Mingyu nods, "or maybe you just didn’t like what you were seeing."

You groan, rubbing your forehead. "Mingyu, please—"

"No, because listen," Mingyu continues, fully ignoring you now, "if I had a migraine, I would not be up and walking this fast just to make sure my ‘friend’—" he even throws up air quotes, "—wasn’t having coffee with someone else."

"I wasn’t walking fast," Wonwoo deadpans.

"Okay, but you were there," Mingyu counters. "Like, right there. That’s suspicious, man."

You throw up your hands. "Oh my God, both of you, stop."

Wonwoo just blinks, completely unbothered. "Do you still want coffee?" he asks, as if the last five minutes of chaos didn’t just happen. Mingyu wheezes again.

You groan even louder. "You are so annoying."

Later Wonwo drove you and Mingyu home. The car ride is quiet after Mingyu gets dropped off, leaving just you and Wonwoo. The city lights blur past the window, and you drum your fingers lightly on your thigh before finally speaking

"Hey."

"Hm?" Wonwoo doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but you know he’s listening.

"That thing Mingyu said … about you not dating anyone since med school—"

Wonwoo glances at you briefly before looking back at the road. "What about it?"

"Is it true?" you ask, shifting slightly to face him. "You really haven’t dated anyone all these years?"

He doesn’t answer right away, but you notice the way his fingers tighten slightly around the wheel. "I was busy," he finally says, voice even.

"We were all busy," you counter. "Mingyu dated. Seokmin dated."

Wonwoo exhales softly through his nose. "And you?"

You blink, caught off guard. "What about me?"

"Did you date?" He doesn’t look at you, but there’s something in his voice, something careful, deliberate.

You hesitate, then shrug. "Not really."

That makes Wonwoo glance at you, just for a second. "Why?"

You huff a quiet laugh. "Why are you answering my question with another question?"

"Because you’re deflecting," he replies easily.

You frown, arms crossing. "Maybe I just didn’t feel like it."

Wonwoo hums, the sound low and thoughtful. "Then I guess we’re the same."

That makes you pause. He’s right, in a way. You never thought much about dating, always too caught up in the chaos of work, of life. But hearing that he was the same—that he never even tried—makes something uneasy stir in your chest.

"So…" you start carefully, "was there really no one? Not even someone you liked?"

The streetlights cast long shadows over his face, and for a moment, you think he won’t answer. But then, softly—so softly you almost don’t hear it—he says,

"I wouldn’t say that."

Your breath catches, but before you can press further, the car slows. You realize, belatedly, that you’ve already arrived at your place.

Wonwoo shifts into park and finally, finally looks at you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes, something deep and quiet and there.

You swallow. "Wonwoo—"

"Go inside," he says gently, cutting you off.

You hesitate. The air feels heavy, thick with something unspoken.

But in the end, you don’t push.

"Okay," you mumble, unbuckling your seatbelt. "Drive safe."

He nods, watching as you step out and close the door behind you.

As you walk up to your building, you don’t turn back snd inside his car, Wonwoo stays parked for a long time, staring at where you were.

You’re never like this.

You’ve known Wonwoo for years, been friends with him for so long that his presence has always felt natural, something you never had to think about. But now? Now, after what Mingyu said, after what Wonwoo didn’t say, you’re noticing everything.

The way he automatically sets a coffee cup in front of you in the morning, the way he subtly reaches out like he’s ready to catch you when you take a sharp turn in the hallway, the way his eyes linger when you’re talking—like he’s listening to every word, even the useless ones.

It’s worse in the on-call room.

Wonwoo’s at his desk, writing notes, glasses perched on his nose. It’s a normal sight, something you’ve seen a thousand times before. But for some reason, today, you can’t stop looking. The way his brows furrow slightly in focus. The way he absentmindedly taps his pen against the desk. The way he reaches up to push his hair back, exposing his forehead just a little more.

Seokmin, lying on the bottom bunk, suddenly snickers. "You good over there?"

You snap your head toward him. "What?"

He grins, flipping through his phone lazily. "You’re staring."

"No, I’m not."

"Uh-huh."

Wonwoo, completely unaware, flips to the next page in his notes. You glare at Seokmin before quickly grabbing your own chart, pretending to focus. But even then, you’re way too aware of the fact that Wonwoo is right there.

And maybe you have been staring.

The moment you walk out, Seokmin doesn’t even wait.

He turns to Wonwoo with a slow grin, tossing his phone onto his chest. "So…"

Wonwoo doesn’t look up. "So?"

"She was staring at you."

That gets Wonwoo’s attention. He finally lifts his eyes from his notes, blinking at Seokmin. "What?"

"She. Was. Staring." Seokmin emphasizes each word like Wonwoo is dense. Which, honestly, he kind of is. "Like, full-on eyes stuck on you. If I wasn’t here, she probably would've burned a hole through your head."

Wonwoo frowns, shifting slightly in his seat. "You’re exaggerating."

"Am I?" Seokmin smirks. "I don’t think I am."

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything to that. He just exhales through his nose and turns back to his notes. But Seokmin knows him too well—sees the way his ears go just the slightest bit red.

Seokmin grins. "Dude, I’m telling you, she’s noticing things. That’s a good sign."

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, flipping a page in his notes. "Go to sleep, Seokmin."

"Oh, I will. But just so you know…" Seokmin stifles a laugh. "I think you’re in trouble, man."

The rest of the day is… annoying. Not because of any difficult surgeries or unbearable patients, but because you are now painfully hyper-aware of Wonwoo. It’s stupid. Like when he rolls up his sleeves before scrubbing in for surgery, and you catch yourself staring at his forearms for half a second too long.

Or the absolute worst—when you’re eating lunch with the others, and Wonwoo absentmindedly pushes the side dishes you like closer to you. It’s such a small, automatic thing, and normally you wouldn’t even blink at it.

But today? Today, you almost drop your chopsticks.

"You good?" Seokmin asks, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Fine!" you say way too quickly, shoving food in your mouth to avoid talking.

Mingyu, the menace that he is, narrows his eyes at you. "Are you sure? You’ve been kinda weird today—"

"She’s fine," Wonwoo interjects smoothly, taking a sip of his coffee.

And just like that, you’re spiraling again. Because now you’re overthinking that. He just said you were fine. That’s normal, right? That’s just Wonwoo being Wonwoo. But now it sounds like he knows something, like he can see how much you’re overthinking him—

You hate this.

By the time your shift ends, you’re exhausted—not just physically, but mentally from all the overthinking. So when Wonwoo casually says, "Let’s go," and gestures toward the exit, you don’t even question it.

It’s routine, anyway. You don’t drive, and if Mingyu isn’t around to make you suffer through his questionable playlist, it’s usually Wonwoo who gives you a ride home.

The car ride is quiet at first, just the low hum of the engine and the faint sound of the radio playing some late-night ballad. You try to focus on anything else, but of course, you’re hyper-aware of every small thing he does.

"You were weird today," he says suddenly.

You stiffen. "No, I wasn’t."

He hums, like he doesn’t quite believe you. "If you say so."

You scowl, slumping in your seat. "You’re annoying."

"And you’re terrible at hiding things."

You whip your head toward him. "Excuse me?"

Wonwoo glances at you with the tiniest smirk before turning his attention back to the road. "You keep staring at me."

You nearly choke. "I— that’s not—you—"* You shut your mouth before you embarrass yourself even more.

"Don’t overthink it," he says, like he can hear your brain short-circuiting.

You glare at him, crossing your arms. "I’m not."

"Sure."

He pulls up to your place, and before you can even reach for the door handle, he beats you to it, leaning over to unlock it from the inside. You freeze for half a second because he’s too close, and you swear he hesitates too before leaning back.

"Get some rest," he says simply.

You step out, and just as you close the door, he rolls down the window. "And stop staring so much. It’s obvious."

"I WAS NOT—!"

But he’s already driving away, leaving you standing there, burning with embarrassment.

Wonwoo didn’t mean to say it.

But the way you froze, the way your eyes widened in sheer panic before you tried to deny it—yeah, that reaction was worth it.

He’s not stupid. He noticed the shift in you over the past few days. The way you’ve been watching him more, like you suddenly started paying attention. Like you were seeing things for the first time that have always been there. It would’ve been amusing if it wasn’t also kind of frustrating.

Because he’s been looking at you like that for years.

He doesn’t usually let things slip. He’s careful, measured. But with you? It’s always been a little different.

As he drives away, he catches a glimpse of you in the rearview mirror—still standing there, fuming, probably cursing him under your breath. He exhales through his nose, the closest thing to a chuckle he allows himself.

"Took you long enough."

He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he catches his own reflection in the mirror. And he definitely doesn’t realize that his fingers tap against the steering wheel the entire way home, like he’s buzzing with something he refuses to name.

After that you try to avoid him. Not in an obvious way, just enough to make sure you don’t end up alone with him again. It’s stupid, but you can’t help it. Unfortunately, Mingyu and Seokmin have noticed.

“You’re acting weird,” Mingyu says while stuffing his face with food.

Seokmin leans in. “Super weird. Suspiciously weird.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not acting weird.”

“You literally just turned around when you saw Wonwoo walking this way,” Seokmin points out.

Mingyu snickers. “Yeah, and you ran in the opposite direction.”

“Okay, first of all, I had places to be.”

“You went to a supply closet.”

“…Shut up.”

Mingyu and Seokmin exchange a look before turning back to you, both wearing the same smug expression.

“You’re doomed,” Mingyu says with a grin. Seokmin agrees.

Before you can threaten them, someone clears their throat behind you. You turn around—and there’s Wonwoo.

His eyes flick between the three of you. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you blurt out, grabbing your tray and bolting.

From behind you, you hear Mingyu snicker, “Yup. Doomed.”

Later after another very long shift, you all but crawl out. There you see him. Wonwoo is standing outside the hospital entrance, hands in his coat pockets, glasses perched on his nose, looking completely unbothered by the cold night air. His eyes flick up the moment you step outside, and your heart does a stupid little flip.

“I thought you went home,” you say, stopping in front of him.

He raises a brow. “You were gonna chase the bus, weren’t you?”

You cross your arms. “Maybe.”

He huffs out a small laugh, then tilts his head toward his car. “Let’s go.”

You hesitate for half a second before following him. Because, well—this is Wonwoo. And he’s always been there, hasn’t he? Even when you didn’t notice.

You freeze halfway to the car. Wonwoo stops too, turning to face you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a slight furrow in his brows, his hands still tucked in his coat pockets.

"Why are you avoiding me?" His voice is steady, calm—but you know him well enough to hear the shift in his tone.

"I’m not," you lie, immediately looking away.

"You are," he counters easily. "You barely look at me during rounds, you leave the on-call room the second I walk in, and you suddenly act like you're allergic to coffee when I offer."

Okay, maybe you were being a little obvious. You shuffle your feet, gripping the strap of your bag. "I—it's nothing."

Wonwoo doesn’t budge. He just stares, waiting, and you swear the silence between you feels louder than anything right now.

Then, quieter, he says, "Did I do something?"

That makes you look at him. His expression hasn’t changed much, but there’s something in his eyes—something careful, hesitant. You shake your head quickly. "No! You didn’t—You never—" You exhale sharply, running a hand through your hair. "It’s just… I don’t know."

That’s a lie. You do know. It’s because of everything—Mingyu’s words, Seokmin’s teasing, the way you suddenly can’t stop noticing every little thing Wonwoo does. And the way it’s making your heart act in ways it shouldn’t.

But how the hell are you supposed to say that?

Wonwoo studies you for a moment, then sighs, shaking his head. "Get in the car," he says, walking ahead. "We’re not doing this while you're sleep-deprived."

You stare after him, a little dumbfounded, before scrambling to follow. Because, well. This is Wonwoo. And he's always been there, hasn’t he?

The car ride is quiet. Not the usual comfortable silence, but something heavier. You glance at Wonwoo from the passenger seat—his fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel, eyes focused ahead, his expression unreadable. He looks deep in thought.

And so are you.

Something stirs in the back of your mind. A memory, hazy but persistent.

It was years ago, after a long semester. You remember celebrating—too many drinks, too many laughs. And then… nothing. Just the aftermath. A raging headache, and the strange shift in Wonwoo’s behavior.

The day after that night, he started avoiding you. At first, you thought you were imagining it, but it became obvious—he wouldn’t meet your eyes, he stopped sitting next to you in class, and any conversation felt painfully awkward.

It lasted for weeks.

You never knew why.

Now, sitting next to him again, the memory presses into your chest. You glance at him once more, debating whether to ask.

But before you can, the car slows to a stop in front of your place.

"We’re here," Wonwoo says, voice even. He finally looks at you, and for a split second, there’s something in his gaze—something almost hesitant.

You swallow the words sitting on your tongue.

"Thanks for the ride," you mumble instead, pushing the door open.

But even as you step out, the question lingers.

It’s been bugging you for days. You try to brush it off, but the memory keeps surfacing at the most random moments—during surgeries, in the on-call room, even when you’re just grabbing coffee.

So, on a completely random day, when it’s just you and Wonwoo in the break room, you finally blurt it out.

"Why did you avoid me back in med school?"

Wonwoo, who was in the middle of sipping his coffee, freezes for a second. He lowers his cup slowly, eyes flickering to yours. "What?"

"You know," you insist, leaning against the counter. "After that one night out. The next day, you just—" You wave a hand, frustrated at how much this has been bothering you. "You barely talked to me for weeks. I thought I did something wrong, but I never knew what."

Wonwoo stares at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you think he’s going to brush it off or change the subject. But instead, he exhales and places his cup down.

"You don’t remember anything from that night?" he asks carefully.

Your brows furrow. "Not really. Just that I drank too much, and I felt like death the next morning."

Wonwoo is quiet. Too quiet. Now you’re nervous.

"What did I do?" you ask cautiously.

He hesitates, then sighs. "You… said something."

Your stomach drops. "What did I say?"

"You were drunk. I didn’t think you meant it, but—" He rubs the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically unsure. "You told me you liked me."

Your brain short-circuits You what?

Wonwoo keeps going, voice softer now. "I didn’t know how to react. I thought maybe you’d forget, or that you didn’t mean it. So I just… avoided you." He exhales sharply, shaking his head. "It was stupid. I know that now."

You stare at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. You think your brain might actually shut down.

Wonwoo looks down at his coffee cup, almost like he's debating whether to continue. Then, with a small sigh, he says it—

"And you kissed me."

Your mouth opens, then closes. You blink at him, trying to process what he just said. You kissed him?

Wonwoo glances up at you, his expression unreadable, but you can tell he’s waiting for your reaction.

"I—" You swallow, scrambling for any memory of that night. But all you can remember is drinking too much, maybe laughing too loud, and then waking up with the worst hangover of your life. "I what?"

"You kissed me," he repeats, slower this time. "Just once. It wasn’t… it wasn’t a big thing. But you looked at me like—" He stops himself, shakes his head. "I don’t know. I didn’t think you meant it, so I thought it was better if I just avoided you until things went back to normal."

Your heart is hammering now. You kissed him. You kissed Wonwoo. And he never said a word about it.

"Why didn’t you ever bring it up?" you ask, your voice quieter now.

Wonwoo lets out a short, humorless laugh. "What was I supposed to say? 'Hey, do you remember kissing me that night?' You never brought it up either."

You stare at him, still trying to wrap your head around this. It’s not just the fact that you kissed him—it’s the fact that he’s looking at you now like this matters. Like maybe it wasn’t just a stupid drunken mistake to him.

And the worst part? You’re starting to think that it wasn’t just a stupid drunken mistake to you either. You hesitate for a moment before asking, "Is that why you weren’t dating?"

Wonwoo blinks, clearly caught off guard by the question. His fingers tighten slightly around his coffee cup before he exhales and leans back against the chair.

"I don’t know," he says slowly, like he’s choosing his words carefully. "Maybe. Part of it, yeah."

You feel something twist in your chest.

"What does that mean?" you press, your voice quieter now.

Wonwoo looks at you then, really looks at you. Like he’s debating whether or not to say what he actually wants to say.

"It means," he finally murmurs, "that maybe I was waiting."

Your breath catches. He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t need to. You can read between the lines. And suddenly, everything—the way he always looked out for you, the way he always made sure you ate, how he was always there—feels different. Feels heavier.

Like maybe you were supposed to notice a long time ago.

"I told you I liked you," you say, your voice sharper than you expected. "And you never told me."

Wonwoo doesn’t respond right away. He just watches you, unreadable, his grip tightening around his coffee cup.

"You were drunk," he finally says.

You let out a frustrated scoff. "And? That doesn’t mean it wasn’t true."

He exhales slowly, looking away. "I thought you wouldn’t remember. Or that maybe you’d regret it."

Your jaw clenches. "So you just decided that for me?"

Wonwoo rubs the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. "I didn’t want to risk losing you."

You let out a breath, your chest tight with something you can’t quite name. You’re mad—at him, at yourself, at the way this conversation is only happening now.

"That’s so stupid," you say, shaking your head. "That’s so—you’re so—"

You stop, because you don’t even know what you’re trying to say. You just know it makes you angry.

Wonwoo gives you a small, almost apologetic smile. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Maybe."

You push past Wonwoo, your head spinning with frustration, and storm out of the room. You make your way to the surgery ward, still replaying the conversation in your head. Your steps are heavy, your thoughts even heavier.

Seokmin is at the nurses’ station, casually flipping through a patient chart when he sees you approaching. He immediately notices your expression and sighs. “Alright, what did Mingyu do this time?”

You shake your head, dragging a chair and plopping down beside him. “Not Mingyu.”

Seokmin raises an eyebrow. “Then why do you look like you just found out your whole life was a lie?”

You groan, resting your forehead against the cool surface of the desk. “I did find out something. From med school.”

Seokmin hums in interest. “Go on.”

You lift your head slightly, hesitating before mumbling, “Apparently, I told Wonwoo I liked him back then.”

Seokmin freezes. Blinks. Then leans forward dramatically. “You did what?”

“I don’t remember, okay?” you hiss, slapping his arm. “I was drunk. But he remembered. And guess what? He never said anything.”

Seokmin lets out a low whistle. “Oof. That’s tough.”

You slump back in your chair. “I don’t even know why I’m mad. Am I mad at him? At myself? At the universe?”

Seokmin clicks his tongue. “I’d say all of the above.”

You glare at him.

He chuckles before getting serious. “Look, you’re mad because it meant something. Even if you don’t remember confessing, the fact that he never responded—never even acknowledged it—hurts.”

You bite your lip, looking away. “Yeah.”

Seokmin nudges you. “So, what are you gonna do?”

You exhale sharply. “I have no idea.”

Seokmin grins. “Well, this is gonna be fun to watch.”

And so, you do what any reasonable person would do. You avoid Wonwoo.

You’re not dramatic about it—at least, you tell yourself that. You’re just busy. Too busy to sit in the on-call room when he’s there. Too busy to grab coffee at the same time. Too busy to share a ride home.

Mingyu and Seokmin notice immediately.

Seokmin corners you first, casually blocking your way to the scrub room with a patient chart. “So, avoiding your not-boyfriend now?”

You groan. “I’m not avoiding him.”

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head. “Then why did you suddenly start doing your post-op notes in this hallway instead of the lounge?”

You cross your arms. “I like the lighting here.”

Seokmin snorts. “Right. Because overhead fluorescent lights are so flattering.”

Mingyu, on the other hand, doesn’t even bother being subtle. He slaps a tray of food down at your table during a late dinner break. “So, what’s the plan?”

You blink at him. “For what?”

“For whatever mess you and Wonwoo have gotten yourselves into.” He waves his chopsticks. “It’s been days. Wonwoo looks like he’s about to lose his mind, and you look like you’re trying to ascend into another plane of existence just to avoid eye contact.”

You scowl. “I just need time to think.”

Mingyu raises an eyebrow. “And what exactly are you thinking about?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know. Everything? The fact that I apparently confessed years ago and he never told me? The fact that he’s acting like it doesn’t matter? The fact that maybe it does matter, but I don’t know what to do with that?”

Mingyu chews thoughtfully, then points his chopsticks at you. “Sounds like you’re not over him.”

You groan, dropping your head onto the table.

He pats your shoulder. “Just talk to him. Before one of you explodes.”

The moment the hospital alert blared through the speakers, it’s like everything was put on hold. A mass casualty incident. Multiple vehicles. A bus, a few cars.

The ER instantly became chaos—stretchers being wheeled in, nurses and doctors shouting orders, the smell of antiseptic and blood thick in the air. Wonwoo moved on instinct, running toward the commotion just as Mingyu turned to him, face pale.

“She took the bus today,” Mingyu said.

Wonwoo’s stomach dropped. He didn’t even need to ask who she was. His feet were moving before his brain caught up. He barely heard Mingyu yelling for him as he shoved past people, making his way to the hospital entrance. Paramedics were still unloading patients. Some were conscious. Some weren’t moving at all.

He turned, gripping the arm of a paramedic. “The bus—where is it? Was everyone taken out?”

“There are still people at the site,” the paramedic said. “Some are trapped. First responders are working on it.”

Wonwoo didn’t wait to hear the rest. He ran.

The crash site was a scene of wreckage—twisted metal, shattered glass, the air heavy with smoke and the sharp scent of gasoline. Emergency lights flashed red and blue against the darkening sky, casting eerie shadows over the scene.

Wonwoo barely registered the shouts of firefighters and paramedics as they worked to extract victims from the wreckage. His mind had narrowed to one thing—you.

He scanned the scene frantically, his pulse hammering in his ears. People were being pulled from the bus, some dazed, some unconscious. His breath hitched when he saw a familiar figure slumped against the pavement, a paramedic crouched beside you.

"Y/N!"

His voice was hoarse, nearly breaking as he sprinted toward you. Your head turned sluggishly at the sound of his voice. Blood streaked down your forehead, a cut splitting just above your eyebrow. Your white coat was smudged with dirt, torn at the sleeve, and you had one hand pressed to your side, wincing.

“Wonwoo?” you murmured, blinking up at him, disoriented.

He dropped to his knees beside you, hands hovering over your face, your arms, as if afraid you’d shatter at his touch. “What the hell—why—why are you still here? You should’ve been in the hospital already—”

“Dr. Jeon?” The paramedic beside you spoke up, recognizing him. “She’s stable for now, but we need to move her. There might be internal injuries.”

Wonwoo clenched his jaw. He knew that but it was different when it was you, when he was staring at your bloodied form and realizing how close he’d come to—

No. He refused to think about it.

“Let’s go,” he said, voice tight, as he helped lift you onto the stretcher.

Your fingers curled around his wrist, gripping weakly. “Wonwoo,” you murmured.

His heart stuttered. “What?”

“Don’t look so sad.” Your smile was faint, barely there. “I’m okay.”

He exhaled sharply, gripping your hand. “You better be.”

Your eyelids felt impossibly heavy, the pain dulling into exhaustion. The sounds around you—sirens, shouts, the rustle of movement—were starting to blur together.

“Hey, hey—no.” Wonwoo’s voice cut through the haze, sharp with panic. His grip on your hand tightened. “Stay with me.”

You hummed, barely nodding. “Just… tired.”

“I don’t care. You’re not sleeping right now.” His other hand cupped your cheek, the warmth grounding you. “Look at me.” You tried. Really, you did. But the weight behind your eyes was unbearable. Your head lolled slightly, and that’s when his voice broke—

“Y/N, please.”

Something in his tone made you fight harder to stay conscious. Your blurry vision focused just enough to see his face—his usual calm was gone, replaced with pure, raw worry.

“You’re always… so bossy,” you mumbled, forcing a weak smirk.

“And you never listen,” he shot back, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “So listen now—stay awake.”

The paramedics lifted your stretcher, and Wonwoo moved with them, never letting go of your hand. “We’re almost at the hospital,” he told you, voice softer now. “You’ll be fine.”

You weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion, the pain, or the way he was looking at you, but for a moment, you believed him. Wonwoo’s heart nearly stopped when your body went limp. He swallowed hard, his mind racing even as his training kicked in. You’d lost blood. Too much. Your skin was too pale, your breathing too shallow.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath.

As soon as they reached the ambulance, he climbed in with you, pressing two fingers to your wrist again just to reassure himself that your pulse was still there.

"Stay with me," he murmured, more to himself than to you snd when the ambulance doors shut, sirens wailing as they sped toward the hospital, he didn’t take his eyes off you for even a second.

The ambulance screeched to a halt outside the emergency entrance, and the doors flew open. Wonwoo barely waited for the paramedics before he moved, helping guide the stretcher out.

“Female, late twenties, sustained injuries from the crash site,” one of the paramedics called out. “Multiple lacerations, possible concussion, and significant blood loss—she lost consciousness on the way.” Mingyu was already there, his eyes widening the moment he saw you.

“Shit—Get her inside. Now! Bay 7!”

Mingyu paled but immediately snapped into action, helping the nurses prep you for assessment. Seokmin rushed in a second later, his expression shifting from relief to worry in an instant.

“Her BP’s low,” a nurse reported. “We need fluids started now.”

Wonwoo knew he should step back, let the trauma team handle it. But his feet refused to move. His pulse was racing, hands clenched at his sides.

“You need to get checked, too,” Mingyu said, glancing at the blood on Wonwoo’s scrubs—not his own, but yours.

“I’m fine.” Wonwoo’s voice was tight. “She—” His words caught in his throat. “Just take care of her.”

Mingyu exchanged a glance with Seokmin, who rushed down the ER the moment he heard about the accident, before nodding.

“Wonwoo,” Seokmin said carefully, “let them work. She’s in good hands.” he pulls Wonwoo out the hallway to let Mingyu and his team do their work.

Wonwoo’s jaw locked. He knew that. He did. But watching you, lying there so still, covered in bruises and blood—he’d never felt this helpless before. His mind was a mess. He should have driven you home. He should have made sure you weren’t avoiding him. He should have—

The doors burst open. A nurse rushed past him. Then, through the small window of the ER, he saw Mingyu and the rest of the team working frantically around you. Something was wrong.

He stepped forward, but Seokmin was suddenly there, blocking his way. “They’re doing everything they can,” Seokmin said, his voice firm but laced with worry. Wonwoo barely heard him. His eyes were locked on the room, on Mingyu pressing down on your chest.

You had coded.

A sharp breath left him as he staggered back, hitting the wall. Seokmin’s hand tightened on his shoulder. Neither of them spoke. Wonwoo’s hands were shaking. He curled them into fists. He’d never been this scared before. Not once in his life.

Wonwoo tried to push past Seokmin, but Seokmin held him back, gripping his arm tightly.

"Wonwoo, stop," Seokmin said firmly, his voice steady despite the tension in his face.

"I need to be in there," Wonwoo snapped, his breathing uneven. "I need to—"

Seokmin shook his head. "Mingyu’s got this. Do you think he’d let anything happen to her?"

Wonwoo clenched his jaw, his entire body tense, but he didn’t push forward again. He knew Seokmin was right but knowing didn’t make it easier. All he could do was stand there, watching through the window as Mingyu fought to bring you back.

Mingyu gritted his teeth, his hands steady even as the tension in the room thickened. The sound of the flatline rang in his ears, drowning out everything else.

"Charge to 200," he ordered, his voice sharp and controlled.

The nurse complied, handing him the paddles. Mingyu placed them on your chest, his heart hammering. "Clear!"

Your body jerked slightly as the shock coursed through you.

He checked the monitor. Still flat.

"Again! 300!"

Another shock.

Nothing.

Mingyu refused to let panic settle in. His friend was on this table. No, not just a friend. You were family.

"Come on," he muttered under his breath, sweat forming at his brow. "You're not done yet."

He pressed his hands to your chest, beginning compressions. "Give me one milligram of epi!"

Time blurred. His arms burned from the force of CPR, but he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t.

Then A blip. Another. A weak, slow rhythm appeared on the monitor.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "We've got a pulse," he announced, his voice hoarse but firm. The tension in the room eased slightly, but Mingyu knew it wasn’t over yet. He looked at you, unconscious but breathing, and exhaled sharply.

"You scared the hell out of us," he muttered under his breath. Then, he turned to the nurse. "Get her to the ICU. I'll update the others."

As the team moved into action, Mingyu pulled off his gloves, exhausted but relieved. Now, he just had to face Wonwoo.

Mingyu stepped out of the ER, exhaling deeply as he ran a hand through his hair. The hallway felt suffocating with tension, and the moment he looked up, his gaze met Wonwoo’s.

Wonwoo was still pacing, his fists clenched at his sides, eyes dark with worry. Seokmin stood nearby, watching carefully in case he had to physically restrain him again.

The second Wonwoo saw Mingyu, he froze. "How is she?"

Mingyu sighed, pulling off his surgical cap. "She coded."

Wonwoo’s face drained of color.

"But we got her back."

The relief was visible—Wonwoo’s shoulders slumped for just a second before he straightened, jaw tight. "Where is she now?"

"ICU. We stabilized her, but she’s not awake yet."

Wonwoo didn’t wait for another word. He turned on his heel, heading straight for the ICU.

Seokmin let out a breath. "I’m going after him before he scares the nurses."

Mingyu didn’t stop him. Instead, he leaned back against the wall, exhaustion hitting him full force.

"You better wake up soon," he mumbled to himself. "Or he’s gonna lose it."

Wonwoo barely made it past the ICU doors before the nurses blocked his way.

"You can’t see her yet, Dr. Jeon," one of them said firmly. "She’s still unconscious, and we need to monitor her closely."

His jaw tightened. "I just need to see her—"

"Wonwoo."

Seokmin grabbed his arm before he could push past them. "Stop."

Wonwoo turned sharply, eyes flashing. "She almost died, Seokmin. I—" He clenched his fists, unable to finish.

Seokmin’s grip didn’t loosen. "I know. But you barging in there isn’t going to change anything. Let them do their job."

Wonwoo’s breathing was heavy, his body tense as if he was holding himself together by a thread. His gaze flickered toward the door, frustration clear on his face.

Seokmin sighed. "Come on, man. Let’s sit for a second. You’re no good to her if you pass out from exhaustion."

Wonwoo didn’t move for a long moment, but finally, he exhaled sharply and let Seokmin pull him back toward the waiting area.

Still, he kept his eyes locked on the door, like sheer willpower alone could wake you up.

Hours passed, dragging on painfully. Wonwoo sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, his fingers laced together so tightly they were turning white. Mingyu and Seokmin were on either side of him, equally exhausted but keeping watch.

No one spoke much. The weight of everything that had happened hung heavily in the air.

Then, finally, a nurse stepped out of the ICU.

"You can see her now."

Wonwoo was on his feet instantly, not even waiting for the others as he rushed through the doors. His heart pounded as he stepped into your room, his breath catching at the sight of you.

You were stil unconcious, but you were breathing. There were bandages wrapped around your head and arms, an IV hooked up beside you. But your chest rose and fell steadily.

"You’re an idiot," he muttered, voice hoarse. But even as he said it, his hand hovered over yours, hesitant, before finally resting gently over your fingers.

Hours passed before you finally regained consciousness. The first thing you notice is the hand holding yours. The weight of everything sinking in.

You gently squeeze his hand making Wonwoo sit up and look at you, “Hey you” you mumble at him. He didn’t say anything at first, just looking at you. Making sure he isn’t dreaming, he takes your warm hand pressing it against his cheek

“You scared me” he whispered

“Sorry”

He shakes his head. He stands up, leaning down to give you a kiss on the forehead. His lips lingering there for a while like he’s savoring every second. When he pulled back, his gaze met yours, filled with something unspoken.

“You should rest,” he murmured, voice still rough with emotion.

You gave him a small, tired smile. “Only if you do too.”

“I’m not leaving.” You already knew that. Even if he didn’t say it, you could see it in his eyes—he wasn’t going anywhere.

The door swung open, and Seokmin practically burst in, arms spread wide. “She LIVES!” he announced dramatically, as if you had risen from the dead.

You gave him a tired glare. “Was that necessary?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation, plopping down in the chair beside you. “Do you know how much stress you caused us?”

Mingyu walked in behind him, arms crossed. “You had me working overtime,” he said, half-joking, half-serious. “And I don’t even get paid extra for that.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was warmth in your smile. “Oh, I’m sorry. Next time I’ll schedule my near-death experience at a more convenient time.”

Mingyu clicked his tongue. “That’s all I ask.”

Seokmin gasped. “Excuse me? That is not all we ask! How about you don’t get into life-threatening accidents at all?”

You sighed, leaning back into the pillows. “Noted.”

Wonwoo, who had been quiet this whole time, just exhaled, shaking his head. “They’re never gonna let this go, you know.”

“Obviously,” you muttered, but your chest felt lighter. Because as much as they nagged, you knew it just meant they cared.

Your recovery days were… frustrating, to say the least. As a surgeon, you were used to being the one treating patients, not being the patient. And the worst part? Your own friends were your caretakers, which meant zero chances of slipping out of bed unnoticed.

Seokmin was the worst about it. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked one afternoon when you tried to stand up.

“For a walk,” you said.

He pushed you back down with one finger to your forehead. “You’re on bed rest, doctor.”

“I’m fine,” you grumbled.

Seokmin gasped dramatically. “You coded! You died for a minute, and now you want to go for a walk?”

Mingyu walked in just in time to hear that. “Wait, she tried to get up? I knew we should’ve strapped her down.”

You scowled at both of them. “I’m not a psych patient—”

“Then stop acting like one,” Mingyu shot back.

But it wasn’t just them. The nurses were in on it, too. They absolutely loved watching the usually stubborn and independent surgeon get bossed around. Every time Wonwoo came to check on you, you swore you saw them watching from the nurses’ station, whispering to each other.

And speaking of Wonwoo…

He was quiet but relentless. While the others nagged, he just watched you, making sure you ate, making sure you took your meds, making sure you rested. He didn’t have to say anything—his mere presence was enough to keep you in place.

But one evening, when the others had left, you finally had enough. “Wonwoo, I swear if you tell me to ‘take it easy’ one more time—”

“I won’t,” he said simply, sitting beside your bed.

You blinked. “Oh.”

He looked at you for a moment, then exhaled. “I just… I was really scared.”

Your throat tightened. “Wonwoo—”

“I almost lost you,” he murmured.

You stared at him, heart pounding. “…Okay.”

He gave your hand a light squeeze. “Good.”

“But that’s unfair, you can’t use that on me everytime”

Wonwoo’s lips twitched, barely holding back a smirk. “Use what?”

“You being all—” you waved your free hand vaguely, “—soft and serious. Making me feel bad for worrying you. That’s not fair.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. “It’s not fair that you keep scaring me either.”

You groaned, sinking further into your pillows. “Fine. Truce?”

Wonwoo tilted his head slightly, pretending to consider it. “…Only if you promise to stop being reckless.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Define reckless.”

He sighed. “I hate you.”

You smirked. “No, you don’t.”

“…No, I don’t,” he admitted, his voice softer this time.

You stretched your arms as you walked into the hospital, feeling a mix of exhaustion and relief. Being back at work after weeks of recovery felt oddly normal, except for the way your friends hovered around you like you were made of glass.

You sat across from Wonwoo at a quiet restaurant near the hospital, picking at your food while he watched you like a hawk. He had already subtly pushed a side dish closer to you twice, and when you slowed down again, he raised an eyebrow.

"Eat," he said simply, taking a bite of his own food.

You sighed, shoving a spoonful into your mouth to appease him. “Happy?”

He hummed in approval before sipping his drink. The meal went on in comfortable silence, but your mind kept drifting back to the last real conversation you had before the accident.

“Wonwoo.”

“Hmm?”

You hesitated for a second, then pushed forward. “Before the accident, when we were talking… You said I kissed you.”

His grip on his drink tightened slightly. “Yeah.”

“And you never told me,” you continued, voice steady but firm. “I told you I liked you, and you never said anything. Is that… is that why you never dated anyone?”

Wonwoo let out a slow breath, placing his drink down carefully. “I thought you were drunk.”

“I was drunk,” you admitted. “But I wasn’t lying.”

He leaned back slightly, eyes flickering with something unreadable. “I didn’t know that.”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “So what, you avoided me for weeks, pretended like nothing happened, and then just… never dated anyone because of it?”

Wonwoo didn’t respond right away. He stared at you for a long moment, like he was deciding something. Then, finally, he spoke.

“I didn’t want to ruin what we had.” His voice was quiet but firm. “I thought if I told you, it’d change everything. And I didn’t—I couldn’t—” He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “I just didn’t want to lose you.”

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest. “And what about now?”

He met your gaze, something softer in his expression now. “Now, I think I almost did anyway.”

The weight of his words settled between you, and for the first time in weeks, maybe years, you felt like you were finally getting somewhere.

You stared at him, processing everything he’d just said. The years of friendship, the silent moments, the things left unsaid—all of it led to this.

“So,” you started carefully, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass, “you spent all these years… what? Waiting?”

Wonwoo let out a short, breathy laugh. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “It’s not like I planned to. I just—no one else ever felt right.”

Something in your chest tightened. “Wonwoo.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you. “Do you regret it?”

You blinked. “Regret what?”

“Telling me you liked me back then.” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

“I don’t regret it. What I regret is not remembering anything”

He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “You really don’t?”

“Not even a little,” you admitted. “If I had, we probably wouldn’t have wasted so much time.”

“And now?”

You held his gaze. “I don’t want to waste any more.”

For the first time in weeks, Wonwoo smiled—not the small, fleeting ones he’d been giving you, but a real one, the kind that reached his eyes.

“Then let’s not.”

The moment stretched between you two, something unspoken settling into place. Wonwoo didn’t say anything else instead he reached for your hand across the table, his fingers brushing yours before curling around them. It was such a simple gesture, but your heart still stuttered at the warmth of his palm against yours.

“You’re really doing this, huh?” you murmured, unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips.

Wonwoo’s thumb traced lazy circles over your skin. “I should’ve done it a long time ago.”

You squeezed his hand, rolling your eyes playfully. “You should’ve.”

After your shift of course he waited for you to drive you home, the drive was quiet. Like how it usually is. But this this there's a sense of peace, something more comforting. Wonwoo made a thoughtful hum before, to your surprise, he reached over at a red light, fingers brushing against your hand. Then, in the most unexpected act of affection, he intertwined his fingers with yours.

“What—”

“I like holding your hand,” he admitted casually, as if this wasn’t the first time he was doing something like this outside of a life-or-death situation. “It’s warm.”

You blinked at him. This man. “Wonwoo,” you deadpanned, but your grip on his hand tightened, betraying you.

“Do you have any idea how confusing you are?” you muttered, squeezing his hand.

Wonwoo chuckled again, the sound low and warm. “I think I’m making it pretty obvious now.”

Your face heated up. You turned to look out the window, trying to hide the giddy feeling bubbling up in your chest. And just like that, the rest of the ride home was spent with your fingers still laced together, neither of you letting go.

You swallowed, heart stuttering in your chest at his words. Wonwoo's hand was still in yours, warm and steady

“If I’m reading this wrong,” he said, voice softer than before, “we can stop. I don’t want to force anything on you.”

You turned to him, watching how he kept his eyes on the road, his usual unreadable expression now laced with something else—something hesitant, something careful.

Your chest tightened.

“You think you’re reading it wrong?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

Wonwoo sighed through his nose, thumb unconsciously brushing against your knuckles. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t want to assume anything. And I don’t want you to feel like you have to go along with me just because…” He trailed off, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter with his other hand.

Just because he’s Wonwoo? Just because he’s been there always, in ways you never fully understood until now?

Your lips pressed into a thin line. You weren’t used to this—him being the one doubting things when it was usually you who overthought.

The car slowed as he pulled up in front of your place, but he didn’t make a move to let go of your hand. His fingers curled around yours loosely, like he was giving you the chance to let go first.

You didn’t.

Instead, you took a breath and turned to face him fully. “You’re not reading it wrong,” you said, firm but not unkind.

Wonwoo finally looked at you, the flickering streetlight outside casting shadows on his face.

“You’re not forcing anything,” you added, squeezing his hand. “I like this, okay? I like… us.”

Wonwoo just smirked, giving your hand a squeeze. “This is years in the making,” he murmured, like it was the simplest fact in the world. “Let me hold my girl’s hand for a minute more.”

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head, but your heart was doing something completely different—stumbling over itself at the way he said my girl.

You swallowed, feeling warmth bloom in your chest. Years in the making. You’d never thought about it like that, but now that he said it, you realized—he was right.

All those late-night study sessions, the quiet moments in the on-call room, the way he always made sure you ate, the way he was just… there. It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t new. It was just something that had always been there, waiting for the two of you to finally stop dancing around it.

“…Fine,” you muttered, fighting the smile but failing miserably. “One minute.”

Wonwoo chuckled, and instead of arguing, he just laced his fingers through yours, holding on like he never planned on letting go.

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ahqkas · 6 months ago

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hey goergous!! I've been BINGING your writing on the batboys and I absolutely love them!! Is there a chance you can do Costco runs with the batboys? Weird idea but I was just at Costco and was thinking about it hahaha!! Thank you!!! ❤️🦇

♯HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH WITH YOU ( the batboys accompanying you to costco ! )

— gn!reader, bruce & dick & jason ( separated ), i had to google what costco is so i hope i got it right !! fluff, this is so short i’m sorry 😣

. . . BRUCE WAYNE !

THE MERE IDEA OF BRUCE WAYNE IN SUCH A SHOP WAS AS SURREAL AS ENDEARING. it happened during a simple saturday morning, still when many people were busy sleeping in, when you got to the task at your hand: grocery shopping.

you glanced over at your company, noting how his well tailored black sweater and dark jeans contrasted with the whole place and its contents. his classy clothing looked so out of place among the sea of puffy jackets, hoodies, and sneakers. yet, as always, he didn’t seem to mind. he almost looked comfortable ( if you could call the expression on his face by that word ) by your side, but you had your suspicions it was only because he was with you.

he pushed the cart with one hand, his other resting warmly on your lower back as he guided you through the place like he knew exactly where to go. you’d begged him to come with you—not because you couldn’t do it alone, but because you were curious about him in such a place. the idea of bruce wayne, a billionaire who owned sprawling estates and could have groceries delivered with a snap of his finger, was far too good to pass on.

bruce picked up a bulk-sized box of protein granola bars and studied it like he was deciphering a riddle from the riddler himself. “do we eat these?”

you tilted your head towards him, eyes flickering between his handsome face and the bars in his hands. he managed to look good even under those fluorescent lights. “i eat them. you inhale them after your patrols.

a flicker of smirk danced on his lips while his free arm tightened around your waist, tossing the box into the cart with a nod of his head. “point taken, sweetheart.”

. . . DICK GRAYSON !

the idea to shop at costco was his.

it was funny to watch him move through the shop, one hand pushing the cart while he held your hand with the other. ( “costco? are you kidding? i love costco,” he’d said with excitement filling his voice, practically dragging you out the door before you could protest. ) . now, you were strolling through various aisles with your boyfriend. dick was dressed in his usual hoodie and jeans, although you knew he was hiding his suit under the casual clothes. his blue eyes sparkled whenever he discovered something that was ‘essential’ for your home.

“do we really need a 10 pound tub of peanut butter?”

“we do now.”

it was nice seeing him like this, doing normal things like shopping for once. he scanned the rows of fresh fruit like a normal guy instead of the acrobatic vigilante who swung through blüdhaven’s skyline every night. dick picked up a bag of green apples and tossed it into the cart. they’d bruise, no doubt. “do you approve of these?”

“i approve of anything that gets you to eat actual food instead of protein bars and instant noodles,” you pinched his biceps, feeling the muscle flex under your touch.

he swatted your hand away. “hey, i make a mean bowl of mac and cheese.”

“you mean you open a mean box of mac and cheese.”

dick shrugged with an ashamed smile on his face, hand reaching out and picking up a tub of pre-cut pineapple. “there. that’s balance right here. carbs and fruit. meal prep done.”

. . . JASON TODD !

THE TRUNK OF YOUR CAR GROANED UNDER THE WEIGHT OF WHAT FELT LIKE AN ENTIRE GROCERY STORE as jason hefted yet another bag onto his shoulder, the plastic handles straining under the bulk of sparkling water. his leather jacket creaked with the movement, and a few stray strands of his dark hair fell across his forehead as he turned to you with a playful look on his face.

“explain to me again,” he drawled out lowly, “why two people need this much stuff?”

you shrugged your shoulders and leaned casually against the car while sipping your iced coffee, looking far too pleased with yourself ( which you kinda were ). “because it’s costco, jay. you don’t go in for just a few things. you go in, black out, and come out with a year’s supply of paper towels and enough food to survive the apocalypse.”

your boyfriend huffed a laugh at that, shaking his head as he grabbed another bag, this one balanced with a carton of eggs and a bag of frozen chicken nuggets. “pretty sure you’re prepping for more than just the apocalypse. you’ve got enough granola bars in here to feed an entire boy scout troop.”

“don’t act like you’re not going to eat half of those on your next patrol.”

jason ate like he was the entire boy scout troop.

“fair point,” he admitted and you watched as his lips twitched into a smirk. jason had this way of making even the most normal activities feel like they were charged with a kind of electricity. the way he moved, the way he joked — it all carried that signature side of him.

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alllgator-blood · 1 year ago

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I call this one "found family but it goes horribly wrong in an irreparable way" :)

I've been doing a lot of cotl comics but I kinda lost my comic making endurance after not working on art since last september, so I made this to help me flex my art muscles. Apologies for the watermarks lmao they kinda kill the mood but I've already had people repost my art when I put it on reddit so...might as well get the credit if my stuff is gonna be reposted regardless. RAMBLE INCOMING!!

Thinking about how shamura was most likely the one to find + raise their adopted siblings and help them survive the mass deicide that happened thousands of years before....OUUGH. I have so many ideas for comics that take place when half the bishops were still lil kids. I have one in progress right now actually. But it just hurts when I remember how it all ends- they loved their family for so long and yet they credit their love as what caused it to fall apart!!! The lore of the bishops only sunk in when I was dealing with my own heavy sibling angst, and I was like wow....shamura supported the sibs so much they accidentally encouraged their brother into being a heretic, and couldn't close pandora's box in time to save him or the rest of the family. They blame themself for the past 1,000 years and seem to be totally okay with dying for what they did?? Like when they get sent to the shadow realm they tell you to "finish the job" instead of leaving them in purgatory. And despite being the bishop of war, they are the only bishop to not have a "desperate" phase where their attacks get more brutal. They're not desperate, they just want to get it over with. All their other siblings are dead by then anyway so it's not like they have anything to stick around for, even if they were healthy enough to win the battle. Plus I mean...narinder is the bishop of death so they probably just want to see him one last time. Owch

Don't get me wrong I love to hate narinder and his only role in my cult is the guy who cleans the outhouse, but I really like his dynamic with shamura vs. the other siblings. I kinda see him as the troubled kid that couldn't assimilate into the family and shamura took it upon themself to try and fix him. It's interesting thinking about how they're the only one he shows remorse for despite feeling the most betrayed by them. I don't think he 100% hates them, he's just been locked in gay baby jail for so long he's had nothing better to think about than "my sibling encouraged me to experiment with my godly duties, and then punished me for it!!". He's not wrong? But also is shamura that wrong either??? Idk it's complicated with no real answer and I like it a lot, I wish the game told us more about what the bishops were like before they got their shit rocked during the schism. I would've loved to see shamura before their brain was turned to mush by their tbi + 1,000 years of suffocating grief and crushing guilt :)

ANYWAY thanks for making it to the bottom of this rant, here is a sketch I did a while ago of shamura + baby leshy from a prequel au thing I don't have a name for yet:

#cult of the lamb #comic #cotl #cotl bishops #shamura #kallamar #narinder #the one who waits #heket #leshy

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waveoftheocean · 17 days ago

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so i have been seeing alot of "stop reposting" but i'm confused about what that means. does that mean y'all don't want people to reblog your art posts?

no, reblogs are totally fine (and are actually encouraged)!! tumblr reblogs are a great way of sharing a post on your blog while still retaining the source from the original poster. the op will still get notifications from any likes, comments, further reblogs, etc. made through your reblog of their post.

when artists say "do not repost", they're generally referring to someone downloading a piece of art and then reuploading it as their own post, thus removing the link to the original creator.

even if the original artist is credited (which they often are not), all comments, likes, etc. will go to the reposter, and not to the original artist. i've also seen a ton of reposters build huge followings off of accounts where they solely repost art because they can upload posts far more frequently than most artists can draw.

i totally understand your confusion though - back in the good old days (😂) tumblr had reblogs and twitter had retweets (both good), and the term repost was easily distinguishable from those terms. now that x (and bsky and tiktok) are calling their share function (the equivalent to tumblr's reblogs) reposts, it can be confusing to know what is what. personally i tend to use "do not reupload" now to avoid that confusion.

sorry this answer is so long but hopefully that clears things up!

#michelle answers #xiaokuer-schmetterling #genuinely facepalmed when x rebranded retweet to repost bc it made things so CONFUSING #and retweet just sounds way cuter smh #i mean ofc x had and still has way bigger problems but still. smh.

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reiinaissance · 1 month ago

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LUCIFER'S S/O TRYING TO TAKE A PICTURE OF HIM WHILE HE'S SLEEPING (BUT FAILS) ft. lucifer (obey me!) x gender neutral! reader

⟢ content warnings fluff, very slightly suggestive. lowercase intended.

⟢ notes this was when the mc asked to make a pact with asmodeus and he told us to take a picture of lucifer sleeping so he can agree lolll

reupload from my old account ☻

you knew the brothers would always think about a way on how to annoy their eldest brother lucifer (especially belphegor and satan, #antiluciferleague), and of course you were dragged into their mess even if you’re his s/o.

"c’mon, y/n! i wanna see what he looks like when he’s sleeping! i mean, you’re his s/o, right?! and sometimes ya go to sleep with him! HAHA! i bet there's drool dripping down the corner of his mouth!" mammon laughed out loudly.

"yeah, i've always wanted to see his sleeping face!" asmodeus' eyes twinkled in excitement.

you groaned, "it’s not that easy— what if he wakes up and sees me? and no, he doesn't drool."

"i'm hungry." beelzebub's stomach rumbled as he frowned, and his twin belphegor (who's listening to you and his other brothers) gave him a bag of chips which he accepted happily.

"oh! how about that tsl soundtrack that he's interested in? i don't think he'll wake up easily when it's playing LOOOL." leviathan lets out a mischievous giggle. that's rare coming from levi... they're really determined to see their eldest brother's sleeping face...

satan laughed along with him mischievously, "good one, leviathan."

"pleaseee, y/n?" belphie pleaded teasingly. you looked at beel, who nodded at you as he ate his chips.

"fine..." you sighed in defeat, although you know lucifer is going to find out anyway.

with the copy of the tsl soundtrack in your hand, you knocked on the door of lucifer's room. you waited... but he doesn't respond. you knocked a few more times and still, nothing happens. furrowing your eyebrows, you entered slowly to see him sleeping peacefully.

you smiled at the sight, but then you remembered what you had to do.

grabbing your D.D.D., you opened the camera and walked closer to lucifer to get a better view.

he doesn't look as intimidating as he usually is while he's sleeping...

you adjusted the angle of your phone and just as you were about to snap a picture, your wrist was grabbed by lucifer and pulled you into his chest, making you yelp in shock. "l-lucifer?!"

"now, who told you to take a picture of me while i'm sleeping?" his tone was stern but there was a hint of tease (and sleepiness?) in his eyes. you felt your face heating up as you realized you're on top of his body. oh gosh.

"i'm sorry... your brothers were curious to see your sleeping face and asked me to take a picture of you." you explained, smiling sheepishly.

he shook his head, wrapping his arms around your waist. "and you did it, even bringing a copy of the tsl soundtrack? good grief... what shall i do to you..."

a soft kiss on your forehead caught you by surprise, then a kiss on your left cheek. then right cheek. and then your nose. finally, your lips.

he's more affectionate than usual... not that you're complaining.

lucifer saw the flustered look on your face. "this," kiss. "is your punishment," he declared. even when it was quite dim in the room, the blush on his cheeks was visible.

"i... i see..." you whispered, trying to hide the smile forming on your face.

"while i'll be lecturing my brothers tomorrow for what they've been trying to do, you'll be stuck with me tonight..." a small smile appeared on his face, placing another kiss on your lips. "get ready."

#♡.ᐟ writing #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me x you #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me x y/n #obey me lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer x mc #lucifer fluff #lucifer obey me

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romancherry · 2 months ago

Text

caged in silk (5) — one month anniversary

pairings ➝ dark!joel miller x dark!javier peña x dark!marcus acacius x female!reader

summary ➝ the three men finally use you at the same time.

warnings ➝ dark!fic, explicit smut, stockholm syndrome, gangbang (3 on 1), triple penetration (mouth, pussy, ass), rough sex, unprotected vaginal and anal sex, blowjob, creampie, mean!marcus, submissive!reader, deepthroat, breeding kink, breast and nipple play, praise, degradation, pet names, daddy kink, sir kink, explicit language, dirty talk, 18+, MINORS: DO NOT INTERACT.

word count ➝ 5.207

author's note ➝ hello! finally i wrote an update. i'm sorry for the delay and the awful long time it took me to write this i've just been super busy and also i didn't have much inspiration for this really but i did it. hope you like it! 🥰

do NOT repost, reupload, translate or plagiarize my work.

the bacon sizzles in the cast iron pan, the sound crackling like firewood. a rich, greasy warmth fills the kitchen and mingles with the scent of coffee and something subtly floral; your shampoo, a cheap, powerful mix of chemicals that's so useful you need to wash your hair every two days and makes your hair feel caked up with dirt.

you hum under your breath as you flip a pancake with care, like this is a normal sunday morning in a house that isn't your gilded prison.

javier's already seated at the island, shirtless, hair messy, lean biceps and forearms on full display. he watches you with a lazy suspicion and a cigarette between his fingers. the other hand's spinning a butter knife.

joel walks in, still tying the string of his sweatpants. "the fuck is this?"

"good morning to you too," you reply with a faux-sweet smile.

joel stares at you like you've grown another head. "you... cooked?"

you turn, settling a steaming plate in front of him. "scrambled eggs, bacon, toast. and pancakes for marcus — he likes it sweet in the morning. remembered."

"since when do you care what marcus likes?" joel steps closer. "what's your angle, babygirl?" he touches your waist.

"i'm being good," you answer too quickly. "i mean — i am good. i've been trying. i deserve a reward."

marcus enters, buttoning up a black shirt, hair still damp from the shower. he looks around the kitchen slowly until his gaze lands on you like a blade. that's when joel parts from you and has a seat at the table.

marcus says nothing at first, just picks up his fork and cuts into the pancake. chews. swallows. watches.

you clear you throat, and suddenly you're that girl again — the one who used to scream and claw at locked doors. but not this morning. no. this morning, you're soft, sweet and compliant.

"i want to go out."

marcus tilts his head. "out."

"just for a little while," you say, trying not to rush. "to the store. maybe the bookstore? or the farmer's market. i want to pick my own shampoo. and candy. and maybe a dress. i've been good, haven't i?"

"define good," marcus murmurs.

you step closer, barefoot on the cold tile, looking marcus in the eye. "i haven't run. i haven't even tried. i let joel have his way with me. i listen when you give an order. i don't cry anymore when javier fingerfucks me in the living room."

joel shifts in his seat, jaw flexing. his fingers curl around his mug, knuckles white.

"i cook now," you say softly. "i sleep in joel's bed without being forced. i do the chores around the house. i even say thank you."

"you're not a prisoner anymore?" marcus asks.

you smile just a little. "i don't feel like one. isn't that what you wanted?"

javier leans back, arms crossed behind his head. "so let me get this straight — you wanna play housewife now?"

"i am playing housewife. you're just not giving me all the perks. i've earned a walk around the block. supervised. leashed, if you want," you meet javier's gaze. "i'd look good on your arm, wouldn't i?"

he chuckles darkly. "you're a menace."

"but a pretty one," you twirl, letting joel's shirt ride up your thighs. you pause just long enough to flash the band of lace panties underneath. "you could cuff my ankle if it makes you feel better."

joel scrapes his chair back and stands, moving toward you. you still at the way he stalks close — muscle, heat and heavy presence that makes your belly coil.

he brushes his hand along your jaw, his thumb over your lip. "if you run..."

"i won't."

"if you try..."

"i know what happens. i haven't forgotten," you say softly as flashbacks of marcus' rough hands landing on your ass appear in your head, making you stir slightly uncomfortable where you stand. your butt was sore for days. no numbing cream could wash away the shame and comfort the hurt.

joel looks at marcus. "your call."

marcus watches you, long and cold and assessing.

"javier goes. full escort. gun stays visible."

javier stretches and grabs his leather jacket. "fine by me."

you try not to let your relief show, but joel catches the flicker in your eyes. "you really think this is freedom, sugar?"

you grin. "it's a start."

joel leans down, whispering in your ear. "don't mistake a longer leash for wings."

you shiver. "maybe i just like the leash now."

javier throws you a pair of shorts to put on and grabs the keys. "let's go, muñeca. we'll see how long this good girl act holds up when you smell the street."

you get dressed and grab your coat, stumbling and bouncing lightly on your shoes. "i'm eeexciteed!"

marcus' voice cuts through the room, sharp and final. "if she so much as breathes funny, bring her back. naked. collared. in the trunk."

"understood," javier says coolly.

and just like that, the door opens, and the chance to a normal day playing pretend with the freedom you used to have in your life before them feels unreal; but it's happening. finally happening.

hope and excitement await for you up front.

but behind, three wolves are watching.

and they wonder if you're finally tame.

---

the mall hits like a drug.

bright lights. crowds. the air-conditioned chill of freedom. the scent of burgers and perfume. you blink under the sheer vastness of it — so many people; toddlers and distressed parents, teens, couples, elderly women with huge hats — none of them knowing who you are. who you're with. what's waiting for you if you step out of line.

what took for you to get here.

you throw these thoughts of self pity in the back of your head. you cried for too long feeling wronged and pissed off at the universe for dumping you in these psychos' arms and leaving you to deal with it. screams, curses and fights never got you in a good place. never ended well for you. not when they have so much patience. not when they have already decided that you're theirs and only death will separate you from them.

acceptance is the only way forward. live like a caged animal for the rest of your miserable life or gain control and take advantage of their twisted obsession with you and turn this nightmare into a dream.

so today, instead of trying to lose javier in the crowd and escape only to struggle to figure out how to get off the streets later...

you'll behave. like a princess.

"javi," you breathe, turning in place, eyes wide. "can we go everywhere?"

he grunts, sunglasses low on his nose, watching your hips sway as you dart toward the perfume shop. "don't make me regret this."

"you won't!" you call over your shoulder, already vanishing into the boutique.

you go wild.

you spray perfumes on your wrists, layering sweet vanilla over heady florals, moaning softly as you test each one. "smell this. smell this. tell me it's not fucking delicious."

javier sniffs your wrists, jaw tight at your foul language, thinking about scolding you, but he doesn't. "you're gonna kill me, muñeca."

next stop: books. you grab romance novels, thrillers, some weird indie poetry thing in a pink cover. you shove them in a bag javier's already carrying. one of many.

"reading makes me smart. you like your pets educated, don't you?"

"only if they know how to sit and beg."

you twirl around and drag him into a home decor shop. throw pillows, candles, fairy lights. you run your fingers along soft rugs and say you want the kitchen to smell like cinnamon again. like the night marcus almost kissed you before making you cry.

javier watches, amused and silent. he's not used to seeing you so alive. drenched in stimulation and freedom.

next, you dive into the body care store. new hair care, finally. and lotions, body butters, oils. shimmering, softening, hydrating. you rub a sample over your collarbone and make sure he watches the way it gleams on your skin.

"bet joel would like this one," you say.

"he'll like whatever i tell him to like," he replies.

you blow him a kiss and disappear into the makeup store.

by the time you reach the clothing store, javier's arms are full of bags, and you're bouncing in glee, grabbing sundresses in every shade. baby pink. lemon yellow. white with little embroidered daisies.

"try them on. all of them," he commands, dropping into the changing room bench so exhausted like he ran a marathon.

you do. and every time you step out in a new one, he stares harder. until you slip out in a white cotton sundress, thin and fluttery, hugging your curves just enough, delicate straps threatening to slide off your shoulders.

"fuck me," he mutters under his breath.

"want to?" you tease, twirling. "right here?"

"don't tempt me," he growls. "not unless you want me to bend you over in that cabin and make you scream loud enough for security to show up."

you bite your lip and disappear again, leaving him to groan and press a hand to his thigh, trying not to get hard in public.

you buy everything you like. dresses, tops, shorts, even stupid novelty socks with strawberries on them.

then —

you see it.

across the hall. lit up like a siren.

the lingerie store.

you gasp and break into a light jog, bags swinging from your arms. "JAVIER!!"

he sighs like a man walking into the gallows, trudging behind you with every bag you've bought.

"wait, coño, wait — let me at least — damn it — "

you're already inside, eyes glazed over with lust.

"slow down, princesa. i'm not your damn pack mule."

"you're my sugar daddy today. shut up and be pretty."

lace in soft peach and lavender. silks in emerald and ruby. black mesh, red satin. straps, leather, chains. there's a whole section of barely there things meant for private eyes only.

he watches you glide past thongs, bras, bodysuits, harnesses.

"this one," you say, holding up a red lace set. "and this one — fuck — look at this leather one."

"you want it?" he asks, voice rough now.

you nod eagerly.

"take whatever you want. it's your reward, after all. don't know when you're gon' get another chance like this."

you pause in front of a soft white floral set. so innocent and fragile, the king of thing a girl might wear to her first date for someone real special. not at all for her captors who wouldn't blink twice about shooting you in the damn leg if it meant keeping you where they wanted.

javier sees you zone out. he steps forward and brushes the lace between his fingers. takes the set into his hand with the ones you previously gave him and seemed much more confident about.

he goes to the cashier and pays for them all. in cash. just like everything before. undetectable, untraceable.

he glances behind at you to see you playing with your own fingers, waiting for him to finish. obedient, like a little puppy who's finally learned her lesson.

you behaved well out in society today for your first time. a part of him expected this from you, really. to go wild on their money and live the dream. feel like a spoiled princess while occasionally behaving like a little brat with nasty remarks here and there. with him being younger than his brothers and a little closer to your age, he understands your fire a bit better. maybe because he shares the same fire. wants to see it fuel and explode and melt with his own before he takes it out.

which is why he let you go wild on these innocent sundresses and bold, seductive lingerie.

plenty of options for the boys to choose from.

let's see if you'll keep the same fire, confidence and excitement when they make you try what you picked. in front of them. piece by piece. inch by inch.

god, he feels like he'll burst out any moment. been dreaming of this. for the first time he'll stuff you full with more than just his fingers.

joel had his turn with you. hell, marcus had barely touched you since he spanked your ass raw. and you've been in their care for a month.

exactly a month.

javier's good at keeping track of things. actually, all of them are. especially when it comes to you.

to take you on a shopping spree wasn't exactly what him and the boys had on their bucket list for your one month anniversary.

but hell, if you decided to play obedient little housewife on this exact holy day? who was he to judge? actually, it makes him think it was no coincidence. somehow, it's all become symbolic.

you're not just getting used to them. you're becoming one of them. slowly but surely, they'll corrupt every inch of you and consume the last bit of disgust and resentment you feel for them until all you will feel is their love.

---

the house feels too quiet. too dim. too heavy with expectation.

as soon as you cross the threshold, you feel it. the shift. the giddy blur o shopping fades. the freedom of public space disappears behind the front door.

you're back. back under their roof. their eyes. their rules.

you hesitate. but javier, still behind you and sweating under a mountain of bags, nudges your hip with his. "go on. they're in the living room."

you nod once, tight-lipped. the confidence you wore at the mall starts to slip off your skin like static. it was easy out there. easy to play the spoiled girl, the center of attention, the one calling the shots.

but here?

they're the ones who hold the leash.

you walk into the living room. marcus is the first to lift his head. he's sitting deep in the couch, arms spread across the back. imposing, intimidating, masculine. his dark eyes land on you first, then flick to javier, laden down like a damn beast of burden.

joel is beside him, legs wide with one arms slung over his knee and a beer in his hand. his gaze crawls all over you, slow and patient, like he's counting your heartbeats.

two incredibly gorgerous and infuriating handsome beasts of men who look like they want nothing more than to devour you whole and eat every part of you alive.

"what's all this?" marcus asks.

"she went a little wild," javier says, dumping the bags at your feet with a grunt. "i told her to take whatever she wanted."

joel smirks. "is that right, babygirl?"

you nod, voice soft. "i... i got some things for the house. and sum clothes."

marcus tips his chin. "tell us how today went."

you swallow. "it was... it was nice," you say quietly. "i forgot how loud it is. how crowded. i missed it... really much. but i was good, i didn't talk to anyone. i stayed close to javier. i — i behaved."

"she did," javier says with pride. "she was as sweet as she can be. polite. grateful. obedient."

you expected him to say that you were a bit bratty and mischievous too. but he keeps it a secret, locked with a small wink so his two older brothers can't see.

joel leans forward, elbows on his knees. "what'd you buy, sweetheart?"

you shift on your feet. "clothes, perfume, books. some decorations. candles for the kitchen."

"show us."

your hands shake slightly as you kneel beside the bags, pulling out a few items. a sundress. a tank top. a sheer robe in soft pink. you hold them up one by one.

marcus whistles low. "that dress is gonna be real pretty tangled 'round your waist."

joel nods at the robe. "that one's almost too innocent. didn't know our babygirl had such taste."

javier lets out a laugh as he lights up his cigarette, taking his seat next to joel on the couch. "just you wait."

you blink, a little breathless. not sure whether you should continue or stop.

javier cuts the silence. "tell them what else you got."

you hesitate. you glance at him and he raises a brow. a silent command.

you reach into the glossy bag with the black logo and their attention switches to full focus now. like they're a predator who's just seen their first meal wandering through the woods.

you pull out one set. black lace full of straps. vulgar, trouble, maybe even dominant and bold. used correctly, it could bring these three men to kneel and make them beg for a touch.

another. red mesh, sheer as fog. seductive, provocative, naughty. the kind who yells submission won through conquest.

then, the last one. the one you hesitated to pick. white, soft lace with tiny pink flowers embroidered into the cups. satin ribbons. sweet, almost bridal. an innocent virgin sacrifice to the gods.

you don't dare look up and see their gazes.

"show us," javier says. your fingers twitch on the delicate fabric.

"i — what if you don't like it?" you ask, voice small and unsure.

marcus leans forward. "put. it. on."

you nod. close your eyes for a bit, hoping to regain some of that damn nerve and confidence from earlier you so evidently lack now. where's security, where's control? self-respect, independence, conviction? was it... was it ever there in the first place?

when did the leash become a rope strangling your neck once again?

you don't go upstairs. because they didn't tell you to.

they don't want to see the result. they want to see the full process. the humiliation, obedience, submission. fear.

you reach for the hem of your shirt — joel's shirt — with your breath trembling, and you begin to undress right there, in the middle of the living room. before their very eyes.

eyes who do not look at you like a statue worth worshipping. eyes who do not yearn or know the concept of respecting a woman for her mind, her soul, her being. no. eyes overwhelmed with lust, greed and need. need to control, to overtake, to conquer and to break. to feel a pulse hammer, a hope shatter, a mind break.

your shirt lifts. you hear the faint shift of fabric as one of them adjusts in his seat. your gaze wanders anywhere but over them. anything but them.

your shorts are next. then your bra and panties.

you stand naked before them. nipples perked up from the chill, skinn prickling with nerves, clit throbbing, thighs rubbing.

your hands instinctively go to cover your private parts but you remember what you're here for. the show must continue until they're satisfied.

you start putting the set on. slowly. you hook the white lace bra, the cups soft against your skin and unexpectedly comfortable. the panties are high-cut, thin satin strings sticking to your hips. the garter belt clinches around your waist like a collar for your body. the ribbons dangle, useless without stockings, but you think that's the point.

you finally gather the courage to look up at them. and you see them all frozen — watching, starving.

joel's jaw is tight. marcus is staring like he's already imagining you on your knees. javier's tongue runs over his teeth wondering how that set looks from behind.

you clear your throat. your voice barely holds. "d-does it look okay?"

marcus speaks first. "looks like you need it ripped off of you."

"fuckin' damn right she does," javier says.

joel leans back, spreading his legs wider. "come closer, darlin'. let us see you proper."

you step forward slowly, arms folded over your chest.

"arms down. you don't hide," marcus warns and you immediately obey.

joel lets out a breath when you finally make your way and stop between his thighs, looking down at him. "bought this for us, babygirl? needed us to see how pretty you are? what a beautiful body you got?"

you nod, lips parted. "yes, sir."

he tsks. "no, baby. that's what you call marcus over there. what do you call me?"

"...daddy?"

"yeah, good girl. veery good girl," he drags his fingers up and down your thigh, stroking it gently.

"now, you listen to me carefully, babygirl," joel sits up, his huge frame making you stumble one step back. you don't take your eyes off him, don't break the eye contact, no matter how much it hurts keeping it. "we take you to the bedroom, okay? you be good 'n obedient 'n you let us have our way with you the way we want, alright? whether we take turns fucking your brains out or do it all together, you behave nicely and we'll make you the happiest girl. ever. okay?"

you nod. eyes wide. lips pouty.

may they have mercy on you.

---

the walk to the bedroom is slow. your bare feet move across the hardwood like you're walking towards your death sentence. white lace clings to you with every step.

you feel their presence behind you. three men pacing you like wolves. too patient and too silent.

by the time you reach the doorway, you're trembling.

joel steps in further and smoothes the bed. marcus shuts the door. javier stays right behind you, hands warm on your hips, lips brushing your ear.

"you wanna be ours, hermosa?"

you nod.

"words."

"yes, javi. wanna be y-yours."

he hums, satisfied. "good girl."

joel takes your hand and guides you to the bed. "on your knees, sweetheart. right in the center."

you crawl onto the bed slowly, heart pounding, the garter belt pulling snug against your waist as you move. the lace pantiest cling to your soaked core, and when you settle onto your knees, you know your ass is on full display behind you.

you don't dare look back as you hear the rustle of belts, the heavy sound of booth thudding to the floor. shirts pulled off, pants unzipped. the mere thought of having them rock hard just for you without even touching them feels so unreal it makes you arch your back more.

hands. hands everywhere.

marcus' fingers tilt your chin up and you meet his eyes. "so fuckin' pretty. all soft and obedient. you didn't used to be."

"i know," you whisper.

joel steps behind you. "but look at you now."

you feel him behind you, thick fingers stroking up your thighs, toying with the edge of your panties. he doesn't pull them down yet. just lets his knuckle press against your wet slit, making you jolt.

marcus brushes a kiss against your lips. the gentlest touch you ever got from him. it went by so sudden you didn't even get the chance to slip your tongue past his lips and into his mouth, making you pout slightly. "think you can take all three of us tonight?"

you whimper. "yes, sir."

"good girl."

he parts your lips with his thumb, and just as you open your mouth wider, he slips it in slowly, forcing you to suck and watching the way your tongue curls around it.

"you're gonna open all those holes for us. let us in," marcus murmurs. "just like this, just as sweet."

javier kneels beside you, pushing your hair back from your face. "wanna be used by us, hermosa? wanna be our little plaything?"

you nod desperately. "yes. i want — i wanna be yours. please."

marcus chuckles, low and dark. "hear that, boys? bitch finally knows where she belongs. wants to be ours."

that's the marcus you know.

joel finally pulls your panties down your thighs, slow enough to make you squirm. "then lets give our girl what she's been waitin' for, huh?"

he wastes no time.

his tongue takes a big, long and cruel drag from your clit all the way up to your ass, lapping at the excess of your juices which were on the edge of dripping down the bed. you moan loudly as you close your eyes and feel the men shift their positions around you, choosing their hole like it's a lottery.

you feel hot spit land on top of your pussy and cover your folds and before you know it you feel the blunt head of someone's cock pressing to your vaginal entrance, sliding through the slick with no obstacle. you're already soaked through and throbbing painfully, and when he pushes in slow, long and so enormously thick, your arms buckle and you drop to your elbows with a moan.

this isn't joel. you open your eyes to see it isn't javier either, as he now stands in front of you with a longer, slimmer and slightly curved dick, with a head so red it borders on painful. hard, dripping, and when he presses it to your lips, you open without question, keeping eye contact all the way.

"that's my girl," he growls. "eyes on me. shit — don't look away. show me how grateful you are."

your mouth wraps around him, taking him in deep. his hands tangle in your hair as you suck, your eyes never leaving his.

joel moves. taking his cock in his hand, stroking it slowly at the sight of you being used like a doll by his two brothers, one in the front and the other from the back. "you ready for all of us, babygirl?"

you choke around javier's cock while nodding. "mmhm — yes."

behind you, marcus has already set a delicious rhythm. deep, brutal strokes that drag your body forward into javier's cock with every thrust. the bed creaks. your moans fill the room as he fucks you harder and faster, his fingers digging into your hips like a man who never wants to let go as your body trembles between the two brothers.

marcus groans. "she's already fucked dumb on me, joel. might need help holdin' her up."

"i got her."

joel climbs onto the bed, kneeling next to you on the bed as marcus slowly pulls out of your pussy. joel takes his place under you as marcus helps him mold you to their will, your tits dangling in his face like gems.

joel's thick cock nudges against your wet entrance that's already been stretched out by marcus. he slides home very gentle, way gentler than his older brother. the familiar feel makes him moan in relief as he feels your pussy walls flutter around his shaft, recognizing and accepting him into her.

marcus spits on your asshole, smirking darkly at how your puckered hole tightens up. "gonna stretch that pretty ass next, darlin'. can you take it? yeah, i don't give a fuck if you can't. not a single. fuckin'. fuck. oh, shit," he pushes in, not even giving you enough time to prepare with his fingers or even more spit. you moan loudly around javier's cock as you struggle to take marcus' fat cock that's stretching your ass inch by inch while joel pounds into your cunt and sucks your nipples, easing you into orgasm, helping you relax and accomodate to marcus' dick seeing he doesn't care enough about making you comfortable.

you cry out, muffled, nearly sobbing from the fullness.

"shh," joel soothes, gripping your waist. "you're doing perfect."

javier fucks your mouth gently now, holding a steady rhythm as he holds your jaw open and moans at the way you swirl your tongue around the head as more spit dribbles down your chin.

the rhythm builds.

joel grunts with every thrust up into your cunt, nudging your sensitive cervix each time he slides in too deep. he's made you cum more times than you can count. made you roll your eyes in the back of your head as he pistoned in and out of you while sucking and mouthing greedily at your tits.

javier holds your face with reverence as you choke and gag around his cock. whispers spanish praises and chuckles in awe each time you gag a bit louder when the tip of his dick hits the back of your throat at the same time you cum on joel's cock.

and marcus? marcus is having the time of his life. having both your holes in the same night after waiting for you to come to your senses for a whole month. your pussy is a warm haven but your ass is completely something else. so much tighter and sensitive from the lack of preparation. he doesn't even care. didn't even bother. just uses you for what you were made for. doesn't miss the fact that you've been moaning and screaming a little louder since he started violating your ass. the image of you probably crying because he's so, so rough and mean makes him pound you impossibly harder with no remorse for your feelings.

you're gone. floating. fucked open and split wide and so full you can't think.

you moan, broken and wet. "yours, yours, fuck, i'm yours — fuck, so good, p-please don't stop, please n-never stop..."

"fucking dirty bitch. went dumb on cock she rejected in the first place. feel what you were missing on, hon'? huh? thinkin' bout leaving now? you fuckin' answer me when i talk to you," marcus snaps from behind you, taking a rough grab of your hair as he pulls you off javier's cock.

"no! i'm s-sorry — i'll, i'll never leave again! i promise, i promise, sir. only yours, only yours."

one by one, they finish.

javier fills your mouth. orders you to stick your tongue out as he fists himself and paints your tongue, lips, nose and cheeks with his cum, whispering praises all the way. "that's it, cariño. doing so well for me, bebe. doing incredible. what a good little girl you've become."

joel comes deep in your cunt, shuddering with a growl that rattles your bones. "ohhh, fuck, babygirl, that's it. thaaat's it. let daddy fill you up, put some kids in that womb of yours. want that, baby? wanna be our cute lil mama?"

marcus spills deep in your ass and grips your hips hard enough to bruise, using your hole to its best efforts as he watches his cum drip out of you. "finally did what you were told. see? you can be an obedient little whore when you want to. jus' needed sum training, that's all. sluts like you need a strong, capable hand leading them. show' 'em the right way of things."

they leave you there, trembling, dripping, shaking and gasping for air with a dizzy head, a trembling body and three holes filled to the brim and utterly spent.

joel and javier assist each other in helping you come down from your high and bring you down to earth. stroke your back, brush your hair, wipe you clean before taking you in the bathroom for a nice, well deserved shower.

you never stood a chance against them. it was always gonna end up this way. and now that it finally happened, now that you've finally been consumed by all three of them, you'll never leave.

you're theirs. and they are yours; and that, you'll realise soon.

happy one month anniversary, darling. cheers for the future and the more many months to come.

---

if you enjoyed this chapter please leave your thoughts in the comments down below or even be kind enough to reblog. i have a praise kink and it would make me very much happy 🥰

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