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devilish-cherry · 1 day ago

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ᨳ♡₊➳ how they react when you're sick

ᨳ♡₊➳ feat. gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, higuruma, shiu

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff

₊⊹. Satoru Gojo

₊⊹. The minute you so much as sneeze, Gojo gasps and grabs your wrist with faux urgency. "Your skin's warm. Feverish. Afflicted. Betrayed by your own biology."

You're 99% sure it's just allergies, but now you're being bridal carried like a tragic anime protagonist while Gojo yells, "GET ME THE HERBS, NOBARA!" like this is a feudal village.

₊⊹. Gojo decides he's your nurse now. This is a terrible idea. He shows up in an actual nurse costume that he definitely bought online for reasons he won't explain.

You ask, "Why are there fishnets?"

He winks. "Because healing is sexy."

You're too sick to process the emotional damage. He gives you medicine like he's feeding a toddler. "Open up, baby. Here comes the train! Chugga chugga choo choo! This one's grape flavor, mmm, yummy." You try to push him away. He makes you take it anyway. Then chucks in a strawberry candy "as a palate cleanser."

₊⊹. He raids your fridge and attempts to make soup. Attempts. What you get is three cup noodles and a piece of mochi floating in miso broth like an emotional support marshmallow.

"It's fusion," he says.

You stare.

He stares.

You eat it anyway and he gets cocky.

₊⊹. He keeps forgetting he's stronger than the average skyscraper and accidentally aggressively tucks you in.

"Cozy?" he chirps. You wiggle one arm out of the blanket tomb and give him a thumbs up. He beams. "Look at you. Sick and still trying. What a little hero."

₊⊹. You ask for one thing – just some tea. Next thing you know, Gojo kicks open the door, arms full of enough snacks and flu supplies to stock a fallout shelter. "I got you three types of pudding, five electrolyte drinks, thirty tissue boxes, and a lavender heating pad shaped like a turtle. It looked fun. Oh and these socks. They're fuzzy. They have lil sharks on them. Look at their teeth!"

You blink at him. "Did you get the tea?"

A pause.

"... No, but I got you Pocky. It heals everything."

₊⊹. When you're finally better, you groggily thank him for staying by your side the whole time. He raises an eyebrow and grins, brushing hair off your forehead. "Of course. Who else is gonna flirt with you while you're drooling in your sleep?" He then throws a tiny party in your honor. It's just the two of you and a single cupcake with a candle. He sings "Happy Recovery To You" off-key.

You don't know if you love or hate him.

₊⊹. Suguru Geto

₊⊹. When you first sneeze – like just one sneeze – Geto's entire face goes dark like a Final Fantasy boss intro. He's instantly convinced it's the work of "monkey pathogens" and not just, you know, pollen. He immediately bans all cult members from a ten meter radius of you, issuing a decree with the solemnity of a man announcing the end of days.

₊⊹. You're sick, not radioactive, but the man has thrown up actual barriers.

You hear one poor follower meekly ask if they can bring you tea and Geto's voice echoes from across the complex, "Step one foot near them and I'll feed your lungs to a cursed centipede spirit I keep for emergencies."

You're mildly alarmed and slightly flattered.

₊⊹. Mimiko and Nanako put little flower stickers on your thermometer. They say it's to "make the vibes better" and Geto allows it.

You catch him later sitting at your bedside, frowning deeply at the sticker and murmuring, "I'll find the monkey who raised your temperature this high and make sure they never know warmth again."

You cough. He looks at you gently. "Drink some water, love."

Then he goes back to plotting a small genocide.

Romantic.

₊⊹. Someone in the cult has the audacity to suggest you might have "caught something from the street," and Geto's face does that thing where he smiles but it's not a smile, it's a war declaration.

"Interesting hypothesis," he says coolly, cracking his neck. "Perhaps I should 'catch' something from your insides."

That guy is never seen again.

₊⊹. Later, when you're half asleep and wrapped in three blankets, you whisper, "You don't have to take care of me, y'know." He sighs, leans in, and presses a kiss to your temple with infuriating gentleness.

"Yes I do," he says, so quietly it sinks straight into your bones. "Because you're one of the few things that makes this disgusting world bearable."

₊⊹. When you finally recover, Geto acts like he totally didn't just wage war on every single possible microbe in a 100 meter radius.

"Next time, don't let the monkeys infect you," he says, offering you a bowl of soba like it's a peace treaty.

When you grin and reach for his hand under the table, he squeezes back, a rare, genuine smile tugging at his lips. "I suppose I'll allow you out of bed. For now. But you're not leaving my sight."

₊⊹. Kento Nanami

₊⊹. The moment you cough even once with just a hint of melodrama, Nanami deadpans, "Go lie down. You're clearly sick." He says it with the gravity of a doctor delivering terminal news.

You were about to argue, but then he left before wordlessly appearing with an ice pack and cough drops. "It's not severe yet. But I've cleared my schedule until you're back to baseline."

Baseline. Like you're a volatile stock market.

₊⊹. You're sniffling under three blankets, and he kneels beside the bed like you're a dying maiden from 1844. "You'll be fine," he mutters, brushing your forehead with the back of his hand, then grimaces. "… Hopefully."

When you start laughing at his overly serious expression, he simply sighs and mutters, "Illness is no joke. I once worked through a fever in Q4 earnings season. I hallucinated the spreadsheet tried to strangle me."

₊⊹. You try to flirt while sick. This backfires instantly.

"If I die," you rasp, holding your hand dramatically, "just know I always loved how firm your ass is."

Nanami doesn't blink.

"You're delirious. That's the fever talking." But as he walks out of the room, tugging his tie loose, he mutters, "... I'll take the compliment though, I suppose."

₊⊹. Nanami is not a man for grand gestures, but he quietly leaves little bread rolls from his favorite bakery next to your bed. He claims it's "for your recovery."

If you try to thank him, he acts like you've just complimented his shoelaces, "It's just bread. Don't make a fuss."

Later, you catch him watching you eat with the pride of a man who just landed a big merger.

₊⊹. You ask for cuddles. He goes completely still.

"… You're contagious."

"Yes."

"I'm not immune."

"You're also my boyfriend."

He stares at you. Then, with all the conviction of a soldier accepting death, he takes off his blazer, folds it neatly, climbs under the covers, and wraps an arm around you like you're a fragile ceramic plate. "Fine. But if I die, you're delivering my eulogy in iambic pentameter."

You promise. He does not sound like he's joking.

₊⊹. When you're finally feeling better, Nanami doesn't gloat. He just hands you a mug of tea and mutters, "Next time, tell me when you're getting sick. Advanced warning is optimal for planning." He sits next to you, book in hand, one arm sliding around your shoulders – efficient, understated, but so steady.

₊⊹. Choso Kamo

₊⊹. As soon as he finds out you're sick, Choso won't let you do anything. Literally anything. You so much as reach for your phone, and Choso materializes beside you with a mug of tea, a thermometer, and a stern, "No. Rest."

You protest. He just stares, unblinking. "You are on bedrest."

It's like living with a six foot nurse who moonlights as a bloodbender. You try to sneak to the kitchen for water. He appears behind you, silent as a shadow, picks you up bridal style – no warning, just straight to human burrito mode – while you protest that you're not that sick. He ignores you, sets you back in bed, and tucks the blanket around you so tight you can't move. "Do not resist treatment."

₊⊹. Choso gets you tissues, tea, and moral support... in complete silence... like a haunted nurse.

You wake up to find your tea already steeped, the tissue box moved closer, and Choso just... standing there. Watching you sleep.

"Were you watching me?" you ask.

"I was ensuring your lungs continued to function." He says it like this is a totally normal thing to do. Then pauses. "You wheezed at 4:36 a.m. I became concerned."

You're torn between blushing and calling an exorcist. "Thank you?" you try.

He nods, satisfied.

₊⊹. He refuses to sleep unless he's right next to you – even if you're contagious. You warn him he might get sick.

Choso doesn't blink. "I am not afraid."

You blink. "Of germs?"

"Of anything that keeps me from holding you." And with that, he scoots under the covers and immediately traps you in a blanket cocoon.

Is it romantic? Yes. Are you sweating like a feverish baked potato? Also yes.

₊⊹. Despite his utter seriousness, Choso's attempts at comfort are unintentionally hilarious. He tries to "distract you from your suffering" by reading you Wikipedia articles aloud in his monotone. It's not even relevant stuff. One minute it's the history of Japanese railways, next it's a dramatic summary of the world's deadliest mushrooms. At one point, he solemnly recites the entire Wikipedia entry for 'blanket' because "knowledge is healing."

₊⊹. One night, you're too hot, too cold, too nauseous, too achy, and you just start crying. The fever and frustration finally hit.

Choso panics.

Choso weeps with you.

Now you're both sitting on the floor in pajamas, sniffling together like two emotionally overloaded messes.

₊⊹. After you've recovered and try to go outside for the first time, he tries to pack you like you're deploying to war. He appears with a scarf, gloves, three hot packs, a thermos, and a solemn look of farewell.

"Don't forget your jacket," he whispers, pressing it to your chest like it's your only heirloom. "And remember… if the wind is too strong… return to me."

You blink. "Choso, I'm going to buy ramen."

He nods. "Exactly. The stakes are high."

You leave anyway. He stares at the door until you're back. You find him standing in the same spot. "Didn't want to miss your re-entry," he explains.

₊⊹. Toji Fushiguro

₊⊹. Toji finds out you're sick when you text him "help me. sick." and five minutes later, there's a hard knock on your door like the IRS came to repo your lungs. He barges in with a plastic bag of medicine, zero brand loyalty, and absolutely no understanding of dosages. Just a big man carrying two bags from a konbini like a disgruntled stay-at-home wife.

"I was winning at pachinko. You better actually be sick," he mutters while handing you a bottle of medicine that may or may not be for dogs.

₊⊹. Toji's idea of comforting you is biting insults laced with concern. "You look like shit," he says while tucking the blanket under your chin with military precision. "Don't die. I paid the rent already."

Then he sits down beside the bed, arms crossed, pretending to nap, but he flinches every time you cough like he's ready to throw hands with your sickness itself.

₊⊹. You ask for painkillers and he rummages through a bag of half expired meds "This is still good," he insists, holding up a pill bottle with a label that's extremely faded. You ask for proof and he squints, shrugs, and says, "Medicine doesn't go bad, it gets character."

He takes one with you just to prove it.

You both end up napping for three hours.

₊⊹. When you lose your voice, Toji suddenly becomes the most unhinged version of himself. He absolutely uses the opportunity to say the most out of pocket things just to watch your stunned expression. "Guess I'll just say all the horny shit now since you can't sass me back."

You try to slap him. He catches your wrist with a grin. "Still got some fight in ya. Maybe you'll live." Then he tucks you in and kisses your forehead like he didn't just verbally commit a felony.

₊⊹. You say you wanna watch something while you're sick, and this man digs out a dusty ass USB with three janky bootleg anime episodes from the early 2000s on it. "Brought this back from a job once. Good stuff."

The quality is 240p.

The subtitles are in Croatian.

You ask for Netflix and he squints at you. "A subscription? For TV? You payin' for that?"

₊⊹. He'll absolutely brag when you're better. "See? Told you that you'd bounce back. Tougher than you look."

You give him an unimpressed look.

"Oi, don't give me that look. Some people don't get that lucky twice." Something haunted flickering behind his eyes for just a second before it's gone, replaced by the lazy grin you know too well. "Anyway, let's go blow my last ten thousand yen on junk food. You pick."

₊⊹. Hiromi Higuruma

₊⊹. The first sign you're sick is when you dramatically cough and flop onto the couch, swaddled in blankets like a burrito that's given up on life. Higuruma, standing in the doorway holding a mug of black coffee and wearing that signature existential ennui expression, raises an eyebrow.

"You're unwell," he declares, voice flat. Two seconds later, he's tucking the blanket around you and checking your forehead.

₊⊹. Higuruma questions you like he's cross examining your immune system in court. "Have you taken your temperature? What's your current intake of fluids? Describe the cough. Wet? Dry? Allegedly dying or actually dying?" He says all this while standing there in his immaculate suit, looking like he's about to file a lawsuit against your white blood cells.

You sneeze mid interrogation and he just goes, "Hm. We'll proceed under the assumption that you're in need of care."

₊⊹. He tries googling 'home remedies for cold' but he gets distracted by articles about the legal ramifications of sharing prescription meds and suddenly you're being lectured on Japan's pharmaceutical laws while you sniffle into your tissues.

Romance.

₊⊹. When you ask him to pick up flu meds, he returns with a whole folder of research, a PDF of peer reviewed studies, and three different brands "in case one is pharmaceutical propaganda."

"Hiromi, I just wanted NyQuil."

"NyQuil's efficacy is statistically dubious in randomized trials. You'll be taking this one instead. It has a 3% higher recovery rate."

₊⊹. You're curled up in bed, congested beyond recognition, and when you reach for your phone, it's gone. Confiscated. "Rest is essential," he says, closing your laptop next. "If you die because of Twitter, that's not a dignified end."

You croak out a weak "boomer" and he doesn't even blink. Just pulls the blanket higher and mutters, "Your slander is noted."

₊⊹. When you tell him you're fully recovered, he nods, sets down his book, and says, "Excellent. Now I can stop bringing you tissues every five minutes." But later that day, you catch him automatically fluffing your pillow and reheating your tea.

"You don't have to," you say, amused.

He pauses. Thinks. "I know. I just… got used to the routine."

₊⊹. Shiu Kong

₊⊹. You sneeze once and suddenly Shiu's reappearing from the drugstore with enough supplies to open a pharmacy. Cold meds, heating pads, those stupidly overpriced vitamin C gummies shaped like bears.

"Pick one," he says, holding them out like he's offering cursed tools. "I don't know what works. I just bought everything that didn't say 'may cause hallucinations.'"

He only lets you see the tiny smirk on his face if you grumble about the taste and tells you, "You want candy or you want to stop sounding like a frog?"

₊⊹. You wake up to him whispering on the phone in the other room, "No, I'm not free. Partner's sick."

Pause.

"No, I'm not leaving them. What am I, Toji?"

Click.

You stare at him from the couch, tissues stuck to your shirt, nose redder than a stoplight. He walks in like he wasn't just talking about you like you're a wounded cat. "Client meeting's cancelled. You're my meeting now. And you look like shit, so we've got work to do."

₊⊹. You complain about your sore throat and he blinks slowly, then murmurs, "Can't believe I finally get a day where you're quiet and you're miserable through it."

You swat at him.

He dodges like it's muscle memory.

Later, though, you catch him watching over you from the kitchen, slicing yuzu for homemade tea.

₊⊹. Physical affection? If you're feverish and needy, he'll roll his eyes, but he sits on the edge of the futon, still in his business suit, tie a little loosened, and lets you flop your head in his lap like a dying heroine.

He tuts, "I didn't sign up to be a nursemaid, you know." Then absent mindedly threads his fingers through your hair while checking his work messages.

₊⊹. He claims he's "not the doting type," but when you fall asleep mid sentence, Shiu is the one making sure your water's full, your phone's charging, and your blanket is perfectly tucked. He sits nearby, flicking through the news, keeping one hand loosely tangled with yours.

₊⊹. The moment you bounce back to life, all smiley and chipper like nothing ever happened, Shiu is insufferably smug. "See? You survived. Thanks to my world class caregiving. All I ask in return is lifetime immunity to whatever hellspawn bug you just hosted." He smirks, but the way he presses a lazy kiss to your forehead is pure affection. "Don't ever do that again. I planned your funeral."

You raise an eyebrow. "Did it involve flowers?"

"No. It involved me selling your manga collection for cigarette money."

You gasp in betrayal.

He shrugs. "You wouldn't be using it."

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athenalvss · 16 hours ago

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Hi, I don't know if you've seen ATLA but could you write a Batmom x Jason one shot inspired by the Azula mirror scene, in which Jason shortly after returning to Gotham as Red Hood one night after having killed some criminals, being alone he hallucinates with Batmom and confronts her about how she didn't avenge his death either, she replaced him with Tim and that she thinks he's a monster but the hallucination only tells him that she loves him and that she always will, you can chose how it ends

WHY MOM? ( Jason Todd! )

summary: Jason is furious and disappointed with the entire family, but he is willing to forgive his mother because he just wants to feel loved again.

platonic Jason todd, batmom!reader

tw: ITS SAD OKAY? I warned you, I didn't watch atla either, so, sorry if it's not what you wanted

open request - Jason masterlist

The shed stank of gunpowder and blood .

Empty bullets were scattered across the concrete floor like broken teeth, and three bodies lay inert in the gloom, scum who deserved no compassion, who didn't deserve their lives. He walked away from the scene, abandoning the bodies with the intention of leaving a message, with the intention of making it clear that chaos would no longer reign here. Here was Redhood, the man they should respect if they didn't want to end up like this, the man who was in control of the city.

But even when Jason took off his helmet and threw it to the floor with a metallic thud, he felt no relief. Only the constant hum beneath his skin. His reflection was cut by the spiderweb of broken glass, perhaps a poetic way for life to remind him how broken he was, leaving him to see himself with the weary gaze of someone carrying more ghosts than ammunition.

Since he had returned it had been impossible for him to rest, everything looked so different from how he remembered it, from how everything had been five years ago, he couldn't keep his eyes closed for more than five seconds without remembering his traumatic last moments, life had been so hard on him, taking away the little he had, and there were no longer any traces of his past.

He had seen you, Batman with a new Robin, as if nothing had happened five years ago, he had seen you with that boy, together, laughing and spending time in a cafeteria where you could read books from the Library, he saw you do the things you did with him when he was a child, he saw you replacing him as if he had never existed, what kind of mother would forget her son if she loved him as much as you said she did? What kind of mother would replace her brutally murdered son?

His breathing became shaky. A silent rage crept up his throat, and when he looked back in the mirror, there you were.

You were there, your figure wrapped in that same dark coat you used when you waited for them to return from their night patrols, your hair tied up carelessly as always, your eyes big and soft, just as he remembered you, just like those nights in the cave, when you treated his broken knuckles without telling him you were scared, this time you didn't say anything either, you just looked at him with that tenderness that hurt.

"Don't look at me like that," Jason spat out, his voice harsh and cracking. "You have no right to look at me like that."

He took a step toward you, as if he could still push you, as if you were still alive. As if this weren't another damn illusion playing tricks on his mind. "You're not here," he growled, his eyes glassy. "You can't be here because you didn't come. Not when it mattered."

Your face didn't change. You didn't blink. You didn't interrupt him.

"I died," he continued, with a dry laugh that scratched his chest. "And you didn't lift a finger, you didn't care, you didn't force him to do anything, you let the Joker keep breathing... and you brought someone else in my place. You're as bad as Bruce, if not worse."

The words tumbled out like poison, but as soon as they left his mouth, they hurt him more than they hurt you. He stood trembling, his fists clenched, his breathing ragged. He waited for you to get angry. To scream. To prove him right with your silence.

But you just stared at him. With that expression of yours, soft, broken, as if you too were holding yourself together by threads. "Jay..." you said, barely above a whisper.

He squeezed his eyes shut. As if your voice alone was enough to make him bleed. "No, don't say my name like you care, you don't have the right."

Your face didn't change. But your eyes did. They shone with a reflection of still water. Of words that hurt to say. "I keep telling you this because I still feel it. Because I never stopped mattering."

Jason shook his head, furious, as if he wanted to tear the sentence out of his skin. “Lie!” he spat. “If you cared, you would have done something. You just kept quiet! You let it go on like nothing happened! I was replaced! I was forgotten!”

"I never forgot you!" you blurted out, breaking the silence with an intensity that made him take a step back.

"Then why did you let me die?" he cried, torn apart, his voice no longer that of hatred, but that of a lost child. "Why didn't anyone come? Why didn't you look for me? Why didn't you avenge me?"

You approached, your steps shaky. You knelt before him, without touching him. "Because I didn't know how," you confessed, your voice ashen. "Because I didn't have enough strength. Because the world shut down when you left, and I didn't know how to go on."

Jason was shaking. His breathing was erratic, shallow.

"I thought you were doing it right," he spat out. "That you just... let me go."

You shook your head, your eyes fixed on his. "I never let go of you. I stayed with you in every corner of that house, in every corner of my body. I only learned to live with the emptiness."

You took a breath, as if swimming against your own shipwreck.

"And when Bruce brought another boy... I didn't understand, I got angry" .you paused before continuing, trying to remain calm. "I didn't understand how he could risk another child, but he's a good boy, just like you, Jay..."

The silence that formed was different this time. It wasn't the same one that isolated him. It was deeper. More intimate. As if, for a second, they were breathing the same thing.

"I'm not the same boy" he murmured, looking up at you, but his eyes were broken. "I'm not your son."

"You are everything I love. Even if you don't recognize yourself in the mirror, even if you're covered in darkness."

"I'm a monster..."

"No, my love" you knelt beside him. Your hand hovered over his head, like when you stroked his hair as a child. "You're hurt. And I'm so sorry I wasn't there to protect you."

He cried then. Silently. In that way that makes no noise but breaks everything inside. He trembled. He sank to his knees. He brought his hands to his face. He didn't have the strength to keep fighting you. Or his pain. "I just wanted someone to come for me..."

"I would have gone through hell to do it," you said. "But I was late, I'm so sorry, honey."

You leaned in, and though your hand never touched him, Jason felt the phantom warmth of your touch. Of what used to comfort him when the world was less cruel. “I love you, Jay Bird. Always have. And always will.”

He shook his head. Tears filled his eyes without permission. "I'm a monster now. What I do. What I am. There's no redemption for me."

"You're not a monster," you whispered. "You're a heartbroken boy who was betrayed by the world, and so have I, even if I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry. I love you, Jay."

"Say it again please"

"I love you, honey"

Jason fell to his knees. He closed his eyes. As if that could get you out of his head. As if it could kill the image, the memory, the voice. But when he opened them again, you were gone. Only his reflection remained, and he was left alone and broken, kneeling there with his mother's voice echoing among the rubble.

He wanted his mom back, he wanted to be the light of her eyes again, he couldn't bear the regret of having decided to look for the woman who had abandoned him when he was a child, that woman who had betrayed him trying to save herself, he really wanted his mom, he wanted you back.

#dc masterlist #dc x reader #jason todd x reader #batmom #imagine batmom #batmom reader #jason todd x batmom #imagine jason todd #redhood x batmom #batfam x batmom #batfam #x reader

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cvldbones · 2 days ago

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do you take fanfic requests? cuz im eating your glorious kingdon content up and i'd love some ANGST! maybe mel crosses paths with an angry patient and frank goes insane protective mode??

love fic requests !! (if u like angst... this WIP is gonna be for you...)

When Mel thinks about it, there are three reasons she's wound up in this situation.

The first: the heat in her apartment is broken. She's called the landlord four times since the ancient unit sputtered and died last Tuesday, but he has been giving her vague, useless platitudes. Winter in Pittsburgh is not much different than it was back home in Kansas, but at least the HVAC worked in her mother's old house. She spent all night tossing and turning as she added more layers of clothes, scrounged for blankets, and desperately tried to contain her body heat by turning herself into a tiny ball. She thinks she might have managed three hours of sleep, but even that was fitful. (Becca, thankfully, has been at the center until Mel can resolve the situation. She struggles with temperature regulation on a good day. Plus, Mel really needed to steal her bedding.)

The second: it's flu season. It has been a busy shift even without being down three people: a shuttle bus carrying thirty drug and disorderly lawyers on the way back from a holiday party crashed into a concrete median, a man fell off his roof trying to hang last-minute Christmas lights and fractured most of the right side of his body, an unhoused man came in with severe frostbite and advanced pneumonia. But the fact that Heather and Cassie and Dana are all out have just made things much, much worse, especially since there is no one around to temper Robby's anxiety or calmly deal with the increasingly agitated patients in chairs. (Together, Cassie and Dana have successfully mitigated at least three fights out there in the last few weeks while maintaining enough composure to not tank patient satisfaction scores. A miracle, by all accounts.) Mel hasn't sat down in at least four hours, and the waiting room is overflowing, with people crowding onto the floor and even lingering in the open doors, so every time she goes to grab a patient, she's hit with a wave of cold air and the flurries from the encroaching snowstorm.

The third, and perhaps most important, reason: Mel is too nice for her own good.

She leaves Central 8 with a sigh. Her patient is attempting to sign discharge paperwork with heavily-bandaged hands - she singed her fingers pretty badly when trying to move a piece of firewood without a poker, which was so many levels of stupid that Mel struggled to lecture her with a straight face - so she hunts for an open computer to finally, finally try and input the backlog of notes from the day. She glances at the clock as she peels off her gloves and sanitizes her hands, grimacing a little when she realizes there's still three hours left in this shift.

But her fingers have barely grazed the back of the rolling chair when Perlah strides up to her, a harried expression on her face. "Mel, thank God," she says on a breath. "Football guy in South 15. Needs a re-up on his meds in the next five minutes or else he'll go berserk. Please tell me you can take him."

Mel's gaze slides to the room in question. "Football guy" was named as such because he came in wearing nothing but boxers and an oversized Steelers jersey, and he was in such a state of psychiatric distress that he couldn't tell anyone his name. They don't think he's unhoused; he had dirty, bare feet but was otherwise clean, and his body wasn't cold enough to indicate exposure to the elements for very long. He was also wearing a wedding ring, which was sign enough that someone was waiting for him. He responded to Haldol upon admission, so they're guessing he forgot to take his medication and left home in the middle of the night during an episode. Police haven't turned up any missing persons reports yet, but it's still early enough that his spouse might not be home to notice him gone.

She clenches her eyes shut for a second and steels herself. "Yes, of course," she tells Perlah, and the nurse's eyes go slack with relief.

"Thank you thank you thank you," she intones, gripping Mel's wrist before spinning off to tackle some other crisis. Mel is glad she doesn't flinch.

She allows herself a single moment to breathe in and out on a four count before she makes her way to the Pyxis and inputs the proper medication. She hears raised voices in Trauma 1 - Langdon and Santos working on the MVC patients they'd been warned about earlier - but doesn't pause to assess the situation. When she enters Football Guy's room, he's still prone on the bed, though he's twitching a little bit. Mel goes through the motions to ready the syringe: sanitize hands, re-glove, unpack the syringe from the cart, fill the needle to 1.5 mg.

And it really is a series of unfortunate events, she thinks. Because if she had gotten more sleep last night, her reflexes would have been stronger. If the shift hadn't been quite as nonstop, she might not have zoned out while preparing the medication. And if Mel was not just a little bit too nice, she would not have been in the room at all, and could have been sitting at her computer shoveling a granola bar in her mouth while she typed the stupid notes that she was still going to need to complete later.

Of course, that is not what happens.

What does happen is Mel spins, syringe in hand, and is greeted by a very much alert, awake, and agitated patient. With a scalpel in his hand.

"Oh," she says stupidly, almost dropping the needle in her panic. "Oh, uh - "

"Who the fuck are you?" he asks, voice low and scratchy, like he's been screaming. "What have you done to me?"

Mel raises her hands in surrender, the syringe still tucked between her fingers. "Um. I'm Dr. King. You're at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. You were found - "

"What have you done to me?" the man yells, and Mel tries to take a tentative step back. He follows her.

"Sir," she says slowly and calmly. "We're here to help. You, uh - you were found by the side of the Allegheny, and we believe you might have forgotten to take some medication today. Does that sound - "

"I don't know who you are," he snarls, stepping forward. The scalpel is in his right hand, fist clenching around the handle in a defensive posture. Mel swallows and takes another step back. She can't take him out of this room, that would be a different kind of danger. But if she can just reach the panic button on the wall, then security will know to come get her. If they can just restrain him, she can adminster the drugs and he'll settle down and it'll all be -

"I'm Dr. King," she tries again. "I'm here to help."

"You're just gonna - you're just like the rest of them," he seethes. "You're gonna try and get in my brain, is that it?"

"No, sir, I - "

He moves before Mel can even process what's happening, a strong arm clamping around her waist and pulling her against his back, the hand with the scalpel coming to rest along her throat. Mel holds tight to the needle and clenches her eyes shut, trying to breathe without touching the cool metal of the blade. "Okay," she says quietly, "okay, sir, we can - "

"Walk."

Mel doesn't nod - knife, throat, etc. - but she follows his instructions, putting one foot in front of the other carefully. At his command, she pushes open the door to go back out to the floor, hoping things are still busy enough that most people will be in patient rooms. It takes them seven steps before Donnie notices her, doing a double-take and cursing under his breath when he realizes what's happening.

"Mel," he calls, and she puts a hand up to stop him.

"Donnie, can you please go find Ahmad?" she asks in the most relaxed voice she can manage.

"But, Mel - "

"Now, please," she adds more urgently, and he pauses for a second before nodding and darting off. Princess is clutching her tablet to her chest, and Kim and Jesse are frozen near a patient in a wheelchair, gauze and bandages loose in their hands.

"You can't take me," the man says, and Mel feels the vibration of his anger. He jostles the scalpel a little bit when he presses forward, and Mel forces herself not to react.

"We're not trying to take you," she tries. "We're just - "

"Jesus fucking - Mel, you okay?"

Robby is barreling around the corner with Ahmad, Donnie hot on their heels. All three of them stop at the sight before them.

"Yes," she manages. "Yes, he's just a little - "

"I'm not gonna be one of your test subjects!" he yells out, shaking with the force of it, and Mel hisses between her teeth as the scalpel juts against her windpipe. "I'm not gonna - "

There's the sound of a door slamming open, the shock of the noise forcing the patient to grip Mel tighter. She winces a little. She hopes he doesn't leave bruises.

She knows who it's going to be before he speaks, but she's both grateful and terrified when Langdon barks, "What the fuck is going on?"

"I'm okay," she starts. The patient doesn't have her facing Langdon - she's pointed towards the charge desk - so she can only glance at him out of the corner of her eye. "I'm okay. The patient is - "

"Don't call me that!"

Mel flinches at the volume, and Langdon curses again, his footsteps hurried as he tries to approach. She goes to tell him to stop, but Robby grabs his arm, halting him in his path. They're muttering to each other so quietly that Mel can't hear, but then Langdon bursts out, "What the fuck else am I supposed to do?" as he gestures her way.

"Frank," she says, firm, and he turns his head to look at her. She never calls him that here - they get enough teasing comments and knowing looks as it is - but she can see his entire body is taut with tension, his hands fisted at his waist. She can still barely see his face, but she knows he's glaring. Distantly, she wonders when he had time to discard his gown and gloves. "I'm okay."

She is still holding the syringe in her right hand, though she's kept it lowered this whole time so it's out of the patient's eye line. She flicks her gaze down to it and waits for Langdon to track the movement, knowing creasing in his features as she repeats, "I'm okay."

Langdon lifts his hands in the air and takes a tentative step forward, slightly to her right. "Can you tell us your name, sir?"

"Fuck no," he spits. As Langdon moves again, the patient angles both he and Mel in that direction. "You're trying to take me."

"Where do you think we're trying to take you?" Langdon asks.

One step forward. One to the side.

"To the lab. You're gonna try and work on me. I'm not letting you do that shit."

"Okay," Langdon says. They shift again, like they're performing a bizarre dance, twenty feet apart. She can finally see his face, and his jaw is clenched tight. His eyes are hard and worried, and she can tell it is taking a great deal of effort for him to keep his gaze trained on the patient. Strangely, she feels calm for the first time in this entire ordeal. "That does sound scary. But we're not trying to do that, sir. I promise."

"Your promise doesn't mean shit, man. You're just - hey!"

The grip on her releases as Ahmad yanks his arms behind his back. The movement jostles the scalpel slightly, but she ignores the sting at her neck and spins so she can administer the shot in the man's upper thigh, narrowly avoiding his frantic kick. She stumbles back a little in her attempt to get away, but she immediately feels a new pair of familiar arms wrap around her waist. "I got you," Frank says softly, relief evident in his voice. "I got you."

Ahmad and Robby dip away to deal with the patient, and the rest of the floor seems to release a collective breath as soon as the doors to South 15 click shut. Perlah is shouting at people - get back to fucking work - and Mel is dimly aware of the whispers of the other nurses - wait till the union hears about this - but she isn't paying it much mind. Frank gently turns her in his arms, his hands clutching at her shoulders as he studies her entire body, looking for evidence of harm. "Are you okay?" he asks, and she tries to smile at him, though she thinks it comes across more like a wince.

"Yeah," she promises. "Yeah, I'm okay."

With careful fingers, he tilts her neck slightly so he can get a better look at the cut on her neck, one large palm cradling her face. His thumb swipes her cheekbone. "Let's get this cleaned up," he says softly, and she nods.

She doesn't argue as he leads her into one of the open rooms on the South corridor, and she waits for him to pull the curtain shut before she lets out a whimper, reaching for him with desperate hands. He crushes her against his chest, one hand on the back of her head as the other grips her waist. She fists the bottom of his scrub shirt between her fingers and keeps her forehead pressed against his sternum, letting out ragged breaths as his uneven heart rate begins to slow down. "It's okay, baby," he murmurs into her hair. It sounds kind of like he's trying to convince himself. She releases a stuttered sigh. "I'm right here."

"I'm so embarassed," she says, the sound muffled in his shirt. Frank laughs in surprise, squeezing her one more time before moving back so he can look at her. He crouches a little so he can make eye contact, and his gaze is fond and worried and exasperated, all at once.

"Why the fuck would you be embarrassed? You stayed calm with a scalpel at your neck, Mel."

"I shouldn't have been in that situation," she protests. "It was - it was stupid, and I - "

"Mel," he chides, feathering a kiss to her forehead before sitting in the stool between her knees, his hands on her thighs. "It would've happened to any of us. Seriously." He huffs. "Granted, it would be better for my blood pressure if it hadn't been you, but that's not your fault, either."

She laughs a little, and the sound seems to ease some of the lingering tension in his face. She drops her forehead to his, nuzzling the side of his face until he presses an almost chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Robby is totally gonna make us fill out paperwork now," he grumbles against her, and she smiles. She feels so tired, suddenly.

"I told you we should've just done it weeks ago."

"Yeah, yeah, you're always right," he mutters. Her grin widens. With another sigh, he asks, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes," she promises. She means it, this time.

"Okay," he breathes. He lifts one hand to her jaw so he can kiss her fully, and she relaxes into it, humming a little before he pulls away. "Abby agreed to pick the kids up today, by the way. So you're not sleeping in that fucking ice box again tonight. Also, I'm not even sure why you're so worried about her reaction to you staying over," he adds. "She likes you better than me."

Mel rolls her eyes. "Can you yell at me after you've fixed my neck?"

"Not even yelling," he mutters half-heartedly, though he does as she asks. He's good that way.

#hope this suits ur fancy #kingdon #the pitt #mine #messages

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arylleth · 2 days ago

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You do not truly love someone until they have hurt you—until the wound they open becomes the shrine you kneel to, until their silence rings louder than all the voices that once promised to stay. Love begins in rupture. Not in the soft overture of beginnings, but in the scream beneath the skin when they leave, lie, falter, and still you look at them as if they are the axis around which the world turns. There is no devotion more absolute than the one that survives its own destruction. "Where there is love, there is pain," wrote Freud, not as a warning but as an anatomy—because love is not tenderness, it is violence made sacred. It is the gentle fist that blooms within the chest, the daily crucifixion we consent to with every yes we speak in the presence of absence.

To love is to be undone with precision. It is to be unstitched by the hands we once trusted to hold us together. It is the knowledge that you will be broken, and still you go, barefoot into the fire, whispering more. "I knew it was love," said Anne Carson, "because I wanted to die." What else could it be? It is not kindness, not peace. It is the collapse of will, the sovereign surrender of selfhood. Love does not build—it consumes. It leaves ashes shaped like hope. It is the most violent act, because it wears the mask of beauty. It enters with light and leaves with shadow. It teaches you to crave the hand that strikes, the mouth that forgets your name, the echo that grows louder than the voice.

And yet we return. We crawl back to the altar of the one who fractured us, offering our ruin as proof. “You must love in such a way that the person you love feels free,” said Thich Nhat Hanh. But love does not free; it binds in blood. It ties your ribs into knots. It plants hunger in the marrow. It tells you this is meaning. It tells you this is divine. Even now, I carry him in me like a blade pressed under the tongue—sharp, silent, sacred. I do not want to be healed. I want to remember the cut. For in that wound, I am closest to the truth of him. And perhaps, closest to the truth of myself.

— unknown (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

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mytei · 2 days ago

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BRICK WALLS — mydeimos

mydeimos x gn!reader ⟢ reader wears lipstick/lipgloss, lazy writing/not proofread, reader is shorter than mydei, n false accusations ;) ⟢ mydei’s body is like a brick wall—great for combat, bad for clumsy people.

today, you can call yourself a pretty lucky person.

while yes, you are on the verge of being embarrassingly late to work, you’re lucky you haven’t kissed a wall in your haste.

sadly, just as you were about to claim victory over the misfortunes of clumsiness, a distraction from your teleslate has you slamming into what you presume was a wall. however, it was a softer blow than what you expected.

you aren’t met with the annoying sight of stone when you look up, it’s only flesh covered in red patterns—a man’s chest, bare.

“oh dear kephale! i’m deeply sorry . . . i wasn’t looking where i was going!” you almost get consumed by embarrassment and realize that it was probably better to get fired than to bump into a very . . . tall . . . intimidating . . . red . . . man . . .

only then do you realize you have made the very grave mistake of accidentally bumping into a chrysos heir—and arguably the most intimidating one, at that.

it’s an automatic response for you to shut up.

judging by mydei’s expression, he’s almost as bewildered by this as well.

he didn’t expect to be so caught off guard by a person bumping into him but their face was right up on his chest for a second, perhaps it was a consequence of him walking such a crowded street but his reflexes aren’t shit, he could’ve easily avoided it but it has already happened.

then, his expression turns to stone which makes you shiver in your shoes. “. . . it’s fine. look where you’re going next time.” he sighs. right now, you’d just love to be swallowed whole from the ground.

you’re nodding vigorously with his words, the words ‘sorry’, ‘i understand’, ‘it won’t happen again’ flowing from your mouth like a sad waterfall that flows with shame. “again, i’m sorry!” you clasp your hands together and slightly bow your head as soon as he’s done talking.

he only nods and you’re grateful he says nothing else.

with that, you both part separate ways.

you walk away with hopes and prayers that you’ll never meet him again (sadly, that was also your first personal encounter with a chrysos heir) and shame. mydei walks away with thoughts on what he’s gonna do after this chrysos heir meeting.

DURING THAT CHRYSOS HEIR MEETING . . .

mydei can’t ignore everyone’s stare.

“what are you all staring at?” he asks with crossed arms, obviously annoyed. phainon looks amused looking from mydei’s chest to his face to meet his gaze. “don’t act clueless, man!” phainon can’’t contain his laugh.

aglaea stays silently amused, castorice looks like she has seen her inner demons, and tribbie’s expression cannot be explained with words. “what are you babbling on about?!” his words are like a sword fighting against everyone here.

it’s the finger phainon raises that makes him realize he has been walking around with a sheer but visible mark in the shape of a kiss.

he’s looking down in absolute disbelief—how the fuck has he just let that slip? did he not notice it??? “quit starin’! someone bumped into me, i must’ve not seen it!” he yells, now in embarrassment while wiping his skin clean.

“sureee . . . “ everyone except mydei quietly say in unison.

he looks as though he is ready to kill somebody. “HKS.” he spits out.

at least he knows what he’s going to do after this meeting.

NOTE. compared to other characters getting hit in combat, mydei stays extremely still so thats where the idea came from. i’m lowkey going through writer’s block as we speak so mb if this 1.) makes no sense or 2.) it’s hard to read

#⟢#none of them are gonna get over that golden moment #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #mydei x reader #mydeimos x reader #x reader

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esther-dot · 3 days ago

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Dickon

As the Stars Have Decreed 1k

In the aftermath of Daenerys’ siege on the Lannister army, Winterfell offered the Tarly's sanctuary while Daenerys and Cersei waged their war, but Jon had never anticipated, never fathomed that in doing so he would have to watch as Dickon Tarly made eyes at Sansa. It burned the blood in his veins.

burn me like a wildfire (kiss me like a bruise) 1k

Looking up at him as he was thrusting into her, she couldn’t resist licking the sweat dotting the sharp curve of his jaw. He chuckled and looked at her, eyes dark as thunderstorms and promising as sin, and shifted his hips slightly. Oh fuck - she thought, and then could think no more.

Gifset: where jon meets someone brave gentle and stronger and immediately needs to fight him by @cindy-clawford

Jaime

What Once Was Sweet 5k by @justadram

Before they wed, things were sweet between Jon and Sansa.

Jealousies ficlet @justadram

Jon never liked Sansa’s choice of a Lord Commander and the feeling increased with every quarterly visit he made to Winterfell.

Words (series, 9k) @justadram

The words hang there in the air, thick with steam, exposing Jon’s heart for judgment.

You Don't Get Her, Kinglsayer 11k by @kittykatknits

From the tumblr prompt: jaime rides to winterfell and bends the knee to sansa and becomes an honorable advisor, Jon is very jealous.

are you hurting the one you love? series, 2k

Of course he doesn’t want Jaime Lannister around her. Sansa shouldn’t have to be around a single person who was responsible for her years in captivity, who pushed Bran out of a window for the gods sake. No if he was honest there’s more than just his rational side that wants Jaime Lannister no where near Sansa, his Sansa.

Willas

Kiss the Dusk 1k

Margaery asked what a man who’d once dedicated his life to celibacy could know of pleasing a woman. Sansa wanted to ask her what a maid could know of pleasure.

Robin

All I ever wanted and all I feel I cannot have ficlet by

“Are you insulting my cousin?��“Your cousin or your husband?” he asked, whirling around to face her properly.It shouldn’t bother him. It wasn’t any of his business who she was making stockings for, who would see her wearing them, who would get to peel them off and replace them with soft kisses.“You think I’m going to marry Robin?” Sansa retorted with a disbelieving laugh.He tilted his head towards the stockings. “Are they for someone else then?”

General

Let Them Lay Swords at Your Feet (I Just Want to Put My Sword in Your Sheath) 12k by @vivilove-jonsa

A completely satiric look at Jealous!Jon at Winterfell when he returns from his mission to gain a powerful ally and dragons.Jon Snow didn't expect things to go swimmingly with the Northern lords or his family when he returned North after having bent the knee. He was prepared for that. He'd do anything to keep them safe even if it had meant a thousand walks of shame through the streets of Kings Landing. However, what he wasn't prepared for was facing his feelings of extreme jealously when he returns to his fair sister again...and finds a lot of guys lining up to swear themselves to her service.

The Mad King 1k by @zarahjoyce

"They say only few things cause the King of the North to lose his head, and when he does it can be quite a spectacle.One of those things, they whisper, is when they concern the Lady of Winterfell."aka Sansa gets a lot of marriage offers and Jon... doesn't take it quite well.

Stay With Me ficlet

"Or perhaps," Tyrion drawled, leaning back in his chair. "Instead of running away from your feelings, you and Jon could just marry and sort the tension out the good old, naked way.""What?" Sansa squeaked, the letter falling out of her grasp and drifting to the floor."He needs a Queen," Tyrion stated simply. "As Lady of Winterfell, you can combine Winterfell's needs with the North's, a united front.""You're forgetting the most important part," Sansa scoffed. "He would have to want to marry me."Tyrion laughed, the sound echoing loudly around the room, startling Sansa in its ferocity. "Oh my dear, I don't think you need to worry about that."

Belong 1k by @amymel86

Sansa knows how to push Jon's buttons to get him how she likes him - possessive.

It Drives You Mad With Jealousy 1k

Jon hates when all men look at Sansa, especially Littlefinger.

Jon Snow Being Stupid Jealous ficlet by @graceverse

And don’t even get him started with Sandor Bloody Fucking Clegane.

And So He Waited 3k by @graceverse

Jon angrily stormed off from another council, where he had sat as an equal to the Dragon Queen but was so effectively ignored by Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North. No matter how hard he had stared at her, willing her too look at him, she remained regally stoic, not once acknowledging his presence. When the meeting was over, she stood up, statuesque and queenly in her dark furs, her pale solemn face sweeping across the room, nodding at Northern Lords before quietly walking away, sparing not even the slightest, smallest glance at his direction.This will end.Jon wasn’t going to let Sansa ignore him for another minute. He cannot endure it. Not anymore.

Simple but Smart/Complicated but Stupid. 4k

To the prompt: A Jon x Sansa prompt in spirit of a subject we've discussed in the past: Sansa and Gendry have a great amount of respect towards each other's craftsmanship and an understanding of the hard work behind it, the respect of an artisan towards an other. Arya is annoyed; Jon is jealous. You get chocolat chips cookies if he get to discuss it with someone else before the obligatory smut ;o)Basically, this ended up becoming a smut fest. Arya and Gendry. And Jon and Sansa.Gendry and Sansa start collaborating on Arya's name day present and spending time together. Jon act irrationally jealous and kind of douchey. His sister is just sick of this shit and wants her lover to bang her brains out so she doesn't have to think about her idiot brother. Sansa is observant and wants to remind Jon that he's the man she wants.

Jealousy, Thy name is Jon 6k by @asongforjonsa

Jon and Daenerys arrive at Winterfell. Sansa makes a new friend.

Ghost, the greatest wingman ficlet by @captainbee89

“Bloody roses,” Jon muttered breathlessly as he pulled the harp along the corridor.“Your Grace, I can help!” Brienne called, alarmed at his intention to pull the damn heavy thing himself.“No!” Jon barked, wincing at the less than convincing pant that followed his command. “No need Brienne. I shall deliver this to Lady Sansa myself.”Brienne’s lips twitched before she bowed her head respectively and left him to carry on down the hall to Sansa’s rooms.

Rumor has it 2k by @captainbee89

Jon overhears Sansa discussing Pod's…talents…and thinks there is something going on between them.

But I'm a man who needs hope 3k by @captainbee89

Sansa’s throne however, was a different concern. Bran had removed himself from the line of succession and claimed he would never marry or father children. Rickon had become too wild and they had allowed him to remain in Skagos with Osha. The fate of House Stark rested upon Sansa and Arya. And now that the White Walkers were defeated and peace was upon them, the Lords were rightly concerned about the future and the continuity of peace. Without an heir, chaos could easily rise up once more with distant relatives all vying for a claim of Winterfell and the North.Jon understood why Sansa was inviting Lords to Winterfell, the logical part of him agreed that securing a marriage and producing heirs was needed in order to stop panic and to stop any possibility of yet another war over the succession.He understood it but he didn’t have to like it.

Fights and Flames 3k by @castaliareed

Jon is jealous and wants to speak with Sansa about it. Their talk takes an unexpected turn when she begs him not to do anything stupid.

always loved a queen 27k by @jade-masquerade

When he catches word Sansa is set to entertain a certain Daario Naharis, styling himself as the “Prince of Meereen,” in Winterfell, Jon finally decides to return from beyond the Wall.

You Are All I Need 2k by @kittensjonsa

Sansa and Jon are K&QITN and are expecting their first child. Sansa is looking incredibly beautiful and gorgeous making everyone take notice and Jon isn’t too comfortable with that.

needle and fabric 1k

“You're jealous, Jon Snow!”No one has called him that in years and the way her eyes widen makes him think of a little girl, long locks of auburn hair chasing her brothers through the halls, before it was improper and unladylike.

Not on my watch 1k

His watch has just begun, Jon will not let this Northern man get close to Sansa at the Winterfell Feast.

Art: Kill Bill Sirens by wolvesofspring

Gifsets: Jealous of Aegon by deactivated - I'm not jealous by @cindy-clawford - She's got a type... by @cindy-clawford - Davos is too old for this shit by @cindy-clawford - your inner cesare borgia is showing by @dcbicki - Jon and Sansa Jealousy by @kitnjon - Jon and Sansa Jealous by @jonstarks - Jealous Jon parallels s3&7 by @jonstarks - Jealousy about Joffrey by @thewindsofwolves - Angry kitten Jon... by @melissa-blogs

BONUS: Video compilation of Jon being totally normal about men mentioning Sansa

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALE - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON SIX - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE - SALTY TEENS - POST CANON - RICKON LIVES - JON X ALAYNE - EDWARDIAN - VICTORIAN - OUTSIDER POV - FIGURE SKATING

#jonsa #jonsa fic #dot fic list #jealous jon au #thank you to all the writers and gifmakers for gifting the fandom with so much joy <3

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nullicaput · 3 days ago

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skinner and the rat. XIII

Pairing: Han Su-Gang x Reader

Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Obsession, Teacher-Student Relationship, Power Imbalance, Reverse Power Imbalance, Age Difference, Dark, Su-gang being deranged as hell

Summary: Familiar faces and familiar violence—you thought after almost ten years, the kid you left would never remember you, but you were wrong.

Word count: 1967

previous chapter.

"Don't call me with that nickname."

You snickered, finding his angered face amusing to no end.

"I can't even take you seriously when you're acting like this," you exclaimed. "But you don't care, do you?"

As you took his hands off of you, you held them tightly, the way a concerned adult would to a lost child.

"You think you're so amazing because you don't listen to others and don't follow the rules." You let him go, patting his shoulder approvingly. "Keep it up."

You left first, yet he did not follow you.

You came back to the faculty room with your hair smelling of artificial grapes.

"Teacher [Na—" The English Teacher gasped. "Oh, my goodness!"

"What happened?"

They got closer, examining the aftermath of your brief encounter with Su-Gang.

"Some kids thought it would funny to pour soda on my head."

A female coworker of yours gave you wipes to clean your neck.

"Why not wash your hair at the sink here?" Jae-Kyeong suggested.

If you do that, your hair would not dry in time and you would definitely go home with water dripping from it.

However, your hair was already wet anyway. What would be the harm?

"Unfortunately, you'd need to use my hand soap," she added apologetically.

"Don't worry, Teacher [Name]. It's mild to the skin!" the first-year English teacher assured you.

You do not think that her assurance could help your hair at all.

"Do it in the female teachers' washroom instead. It's roomier there, and you can change clothes," your male coworker said.

"I don't have any clothes with me," you replied.

"Here, use this spares," the Physical Teacher offered, handing you the white shirts. "Try to dry your hair with these, then wear this. It's slightly bigger than your size, but at least you won't have to ride the sub with your blouse, right?"

It was strange occurrence that they were being like this to you. However, you guessed that they were treating you this way because you were the one who receives misfortune in their stead. Perhaps, this was an act of relieving their guilt.

Well, this was better than nothing.

"Thanks."

You went to the washroom with the supplies and locked the main door. You lowered your head to a position that would make washing it easier and started working on your hair, which you know will likely die after being bathed with the juice and this handsoap. Next was your nape and face, and then you scrubbed your skin with the wipes.

You recalled the day Su-Gang almost killed someone over spilling cold juice onto you.

If he were to meet the current version of himself, would he rage? Would he help? Who knows? Who cares?

"Look at this sticky mess," you mouthed. "Those little punks."

Your lips pursed and tightened as you did your best to calm your nerves down.

"Si-Min would never let this get to her," you muttered like a mantra. "Think of Si-Min."

You wrung your hair like laundry, too aware that drying it with the shirts would not be enough. As you spent a twelfth of a clock's cycle getting rid of the liquid from your body, your mind flew to think of something else.

It was said that increasing the severity of a negative punishment can help in decreasing, if not removing, undesirable behavior exhibited by the specimen, but it is crucial to consider the ethical implications of the punishment to be used. From the less harmful consequence of not giving him the attention he craves to one that involves using verbal reprimands, you have already added intensity to the punishment. If he still does not act according to your wishes after your verbal reprimand, that means the method of using words could never work no matter the severity.

In that case, you would need to take out the reward the specimen wants from the picture. In normal circumstances, even the mere threat of removing the reward can work; however, Su-Gang, who technically still have the upper hand in terms of authority, would not let you just leave like that, which means threatening him that you will leave will not give you the reaction that you prefer. He knows important information about you, like your family, your current address, your contact number, and everything else, from your resume, and he would not let the opportunity pass once he put his mind to it.

Currently, you have no need to that.

You did wish that he would just stop with his unproductive and inhumane hobbies, so you would not need to commit such extreme punishments for him in the future.

"I need a shower—no, a bath." You went inside a cubicle and replaced your blouse with the shirt. "I need a whole career change."

Finally done, you returned to your colleagues, now significantly cleaner. You thanked them and tried to pay for soap and wipes, but they pushed your money back. They even had that look as if you were a kitten that was washed after getting all muddy.

"Are you going to stay for long?" Jae-Kyeong asked.

"No, I'm just drying my hair a bit more."

After what you think was half an hour, you prepared yourself to go home with your blouse and the shirts you borrowed. On your way to the stairs, you saw Jin-Hyung sitting near.

"Kid, what are you doing here at this hour?"

"Teacher [Name], why do you do this to yourself?" he asked instead of answering you first.

With no one else to see you aside from him, your mask broke down. Your facade of pure professionalism crumble into a more organic expression, your eyes filled with nostalgia.

"You ask me why I keep doing this?"

He stood up and sniffled.

"You keep protecting me—and you get—you get hurt. All the time." He sobbed. "The other teachers don't even do that."

He covered his face with his eyes, ashamed of crying in front of you.

Your eyebrows were knitted, but they softened almost immediately.

"My younger brother," you said.

That caught him off guard.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, confused.

Your brother, who was now twenty, used to be the moodiest mama's-boy ever known to mankind.

Even when your mama, your mother's friend, offered to take him in with you while your parent worked, he refused to be away. He insisted to be with her even when he had to wake up earlier so he would arrive to school on time. When your mama died, while grumbling, he comforted you while crying himself. He was four years younger, but he acted more grown-up.

After primary school, or the time when puberty began creeping in his system, he became distant, yet he stayed the same brother you know and watched grow up. While you were making your own name at a humble high-school, he got in in a school that you could only dream of becoming a part of. Your brother's school—the same high school where you tried applying but could not get in—was known for being one where only elites and highly intelligent students could study in. Your mother was overjoyed when she learned that he was at the top ten, while you were just glad that he could be in a school where is skills would be honed to almost perfection without your mother breaking the bank.

He was one of the brightest stars, and yet, he burned out too soon and quickly. To make it all worse, you were not by his side when the second biggest tragedy in your life transpired.

"I don't want you to turn out like him," you told Jin-Hyung.

The boy's breath was caught in his throat.

His eyes, which used to be so swollen, widened. He opened his mouth, only to close it once more. He gulped for something—anything—to stop his airways from drying. You, on the other hand, could only look away, not wanting to spill your heart to a kid who was almost a decade younger than you. To contain yourself, you closed your eyes and clutched the strap of your bag.

"What happened to him?" he choked.

Your eyes snapped open.

"What happened to my brother?" you trailed off.

Disfigured beyond recognition and drained of blood—your brother's facial bones were broken, and so were his hands. If it were not for his nameplate, which he kept inside his pocket, you would have thought that the doctors have mistaken him for someone else. Five of his teeth were missing, and his nose was cracked. You could still remember the shallow gasps of your brother as he cried in pain at the hospital. He cried for you—for your mother—yet not for the person who did those injuries to him.

He was so afraid—too terrified—to even utter the culprits name. You only knew that the maniac was apparently the same year and age as your brother, and he was known for his father's donation to the school—the kind of teenager without any achievements in life except for being born into a family of generational wealth. When you asked the witness—the person who made your brother's condition known to the teachers—the madman's name, he kept quiet, claiming to be fearful of what will come to him once he blows the whistle.

Then, the name remained hidden, until the tragedy was forgotten.

"Teacher [Name]?"

"Oh—that's a secret."

You let the golden ray of sun illuminate your glistening eyes, your tears glowing like crystals as they formed but never daring to fall while in front of a student.

"An adult shouldn't confide to a younger person, especially to a minor, about their problems," you reminded him. "Besides, if shielding you means you could freely spend your high-school life like your peers, then what I'm doing isn't a waste, is it?"

You inhaled, breathing in the coldness caused by air-conditioning.

"You should go home." Your lips stretched into the gentlest, most relaxed smile. "I'm sure someone's waiting for you."

He did not protest anymore and followed your words. You watched his back become smaller and smaller as he gradually approach the main entrance of the building.

"I should get home, too."

Talking to Jin-Hyung made you wonder about the person who did that to your brother.

To think that your brother's school covered up for that bastard and simply expelled him. They kicked him out of school just to appease your mother's grief, but he was not forbidden to transfer to a different school. They never even disclosed his or his parents' name.

They never paid for the damages their spawn caused your brother, either, while you had to give up your dream career to help your mother pay off her debts for your brother's treatment, which was not been pain fully yet. Your mother took countless overtime work, and you took a year off working part-time jobs so you could contribute to diminishing the cost of the money your mother owed the bank. You lied through your teeth, even in the present, that you merely gave yourself a break after high school, yet the truth was you worked your ass off for one, whole year.

Still, the worst of all was that your brother could not step out the house in fear of that person coming back to settle a score once and for all.

That monster was probably enjoying his time as a college student now without even thinking of the crimes he did to your poor sibling. Maybe, as your brother suffer after five years of his torment, he was partying with his friends, playing billiards, and smoking cigarettes. Perhaps, he was boasting about how he was never sentenced for his wrongdoings.

You do not think you could ever stop yourself from killing that bastard once you learn his name.

next chapter.

tag section.

@nickibunny23 @ghostedhymn @ashayein @yinyangcchii @ruruyiin @mirwors @crazyhead333 @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @san-axa0 @4ria790 @nijru @iiwsmr @littlebignoona @hisokaupbitch3525 @tevejola @inpainbecauseofkdj

author's note.

It was hard keeping this lore-accurate. I tried the maths, I swear!

#x reader #x yn #x y/n #x you #alternate universe #dark fanfiction #brave citizen #han su gang #han su gang x reader #han su gang x you #brave citizen x reader #age difference #fanfic #teacher student #unhealthy relationships

112 notes · View notes

iboozi · 2 days ago

Text

Songs of Us | Don't Judge Me | jjk

ᡣ𐭩 pairing: bf! jeongguk / gf! reader (established relationship)

ᡣ𐭩 summary: How can you let someone in, if you're too afraid of being judged?

ᡣ𐭩 warnings: angst? oral sex (f.receiving)

ᡣ𐭩 w/c: 5.6k

A/N: Sorry for dipping again... but I got really sick for a bit and couldn't really write. But here this is! As requested by anon. I know this isn't as long as my previous one but I hope you still enjoy it nonetheless!! I really tried to tap into the characters emotions, but alas I have not experienced this so I'm not an expert... (kinda sad lol). I tried to follow the vibe of the song (Don't judge me - Chris Brown) without directly referring to it and I hope it translated well! Also I had the random thought that Jeongguk is so Percy Jackson coded. Idk. Kinda?What do you think?

p.s I do not condone the actions of Chris Brown and will never support any acts that he has committed.

-Zoobi out 🪩

masterlist

Don’t judge me

They say you just know when you’ve found your other half. There’s a click that just snaps you into place and before you know it, years have passed and you’re looking back at when it all started.

You've been with Jeongguk for almost a year now. Nearly three hundred and sixty-five days. Eight thousand seven hundred and sixty hours. You find a sense of comfort in him that you once deprived yourself of for so long—something that used to seem like a laughable dream. The love he gives is patient, his touch, so gentle. He’s aware of the scars you carry beneath the dimpled smiles you give the world. But never has he once pushed you to force out the words, force out the pain that lingers in the back of your mind. It seems too good to be true, a dream curled up in the bittersweet shadow of a nightmare, aching to be thrown into the light.

You thought you knew him. You thought he knew you. But despite the countless nights you’d lay under the sheets together, whispering words of comfort—it still wasn’t enough to know him like you thought you did.

It’s a simple mistake, honestly.

Taehyung hadn’t meant to, but everyone knew — even Jeongguk’s mum— that when he had even the smallest sip of alcohol, any secrets you once surrendered to him would be released into the open.

“It’s just so crazy that you almost married Hana, man. Life’s kinda weird.”

The table falls into a short silence, interrupted by Jeongguk’s awkward cough and a sharp glare into the side of Taehyung’s head. The perpetrator doesn’t notice and continues rambling about relationships that he once had, sobbing at a particular heartfelt memory that everyone seemingly ignores, choosing to stare into their drinks instead.

You glance up from the table, gaze briefly meeting Jeongguk’s. His smile is tight—too tight to be comfortable— but it’s enough to cover the nervousness in his eyes. You’re not sure what it is—perhaps the way the conversation shifts so suddenly, or the way Taehyung’s voice just fades into a buzz, like whatever he’s saying is insignificant. You’re not sure you want to hear anything else come out of his mouth today anyway.

The air in the room seems to thicken as the dinner progresses. A thread of tension creeps down from the ceiling, dangling so tauntingly in front of you, waiting for you to take the bait. Waiting for you, or someone else to burst.

You know better than to ask. It’s not the time. Not the place. But the words are hanging so precariously from your tongue that all you can do is drink your cocktail in silence and hope your mouth doesn’t betray you and say something you’ll regret.

The feel of Jeongguk’s stare is heavy on you. He knows you’re aching to ask him. But he’s not ready. He doesn’t want to revisit those memories, not when he has you. Not when he’s been free of the ache that plagued him for years and has been on a steady incline of tranquility with you. Instead he claps a firm hand on Taehyung’s shoulder and laughs that he should stop drinking.

Taehyung doesn’t listen. Just huffs at Jeongguk and lifts his glass up to his mouth, sipping slowly and staring at Jeongguk over the rim. Jeongguk sighs at Taehyung's refusal and presses his tongue into his cheek before looking away, eyebrows furrowed in displeasure. He nibbles on the ring adorning his lip, a trait you once admired him do—but after Taehyung’s words, your mind is too busy racing with doubts and uncertainties.

Everyone continues to offer you remorseful glances throughout the night, but you can’t get yourself to respond to them, to look into their eyes and show the wavering in your smile. Even your boyfriend attempts to subtly catch your eye, but you ignore it, and instead focus on not tearing up at the dinner table. It’d be too embarrassing to get hot-headed at the words of a drunk friend.

But drunk words are sober thoughts, right?

Later, when you’re back from your night out, sitting on yours and Jeongguk’s sofa, you desperately try to ignore the gnawing feeling that’s decided to settle into your chest. You ignore how Taehyung’s little quip has grown roots and the only way you can get rid of them is if someone forcefully rips it out of you.

Jeongguk lingers by the window, back facing you as he stares out at the lights illuminating the city. He’s silent. Too still, and too quiet.

You feel the screws on the bridge connecting you to him loosen—the distance is small, but it could get worse if you don’t say something.

“Jeongguk?” you call softly, voice quavering more than you’d like it to.

He turns hesitantly, gaze finding yours. Time stretches and falters as you both simply look at eachother, the weight of unsaid words settling over you like a winter coat — but it’s unwelcoming, cold seeping through despite the thick layers you’ve both put on.

You wonder if he can see the unshed tears in your eyes. Maybe he’ll mistake it as a trick of the light. You’ve used that excuse on him countless times, and even though he sighs when you say it, he’ll let you cry into his arms nonetheless. It’s another thing you admire about him. He never pushes. Never makes you say things you don’t want to.

But tonight, any traces of that are gone. He’s not saying anything, and the wait is killing you.

“You’ve never mentioned Hana before,” you finally say, the question coming out like a whisper. It travels to him, a breeze filtering through the grates of a bridge. You’re not sure if it meets him, or diffuses out of the window he’s left open.

You watch his throat tighten, eyes flicking away before he’s even noticed that he’s doing so.

“It’s… she’s not important anymore, baby.”

Your heart jumps at his words, but you frown at the sensation. You’re not sure why he said it so quickly—so dismissively, but whatever it is, you don’t believe him.

“But it is,” you counter. You don’t mean for it to come out so sharp, but the words spill out like glass, shards scraping at your lips, leaving you with a grainy feeling on your tongue. “I thought we told each other everything. I thought we knew each other.”

Jeongguk’s face falls, a tenderness entering his gaze, and for a slight moment, he looks regretful— at you or because you found out?

“It wasn’t like that. I didn’t mean to hide anything from you. I just… didn’t think it was something you wanted to know about.”

“But it’s a part of you,” you whisper, standing up to reach for him. You falter as he takes a small step back. “...Jeongguk?”

There’s hesitation in his eyes, like he’s trying to choose his words carefully. He wants to say something, you can see it, but it’s almost like his memories are holding him back.

You breathe shakily—Jeongguk just rejected me— and collect your thoughts. “I-If we’re going to make a future, I need to understand your past. Do you think you could let me in?”

His eyes close slowly, lashes kissing the rounds of his cheeks as he exhales heavily through his nose. His arms slump to his sides, fingers twitching with tension that he hasn’t figured out how to release yet.

“Not… not today,” he murmurs. He turns away from you, lost in his head, lost in the lights of the city outside the window.

You nod, swallowing the tight knot forming in your throat. The words sting and you can’t keep the words from festering in your chest. It’s the first time Jeongguk hasn’t jumped in to talk with you.

It’s new with him, but it’s something you’re all too familiar with from before.

The silence between you elongates and curls around you, thick and suffocating. Your thoughts race, chasing after something, anything that could justify Jeongguk’s cold shoulder.

And yet, it feels like you’re grabbing onto a dream, one that's sliding out of your hands too fast. The screws have loosened once more, and they threaten to fall out of position, bringing warning to a crumbling bridge.

This can’t be fixed. Not tonight. Not at this moment.

Not when Jeongguk has given you a faint goodnight and retires to his bed without giving you a kiss. A kiss that’s an established routine, marking the end of the night, welcoming a new day with open arms. Even though it’s one night, one hair out of place… it feels monumental.

You’re not used to this version of Jeongguk. Someone who’s distant. Guarded. He’s always been your steady, your source of warmth, but now it feels like he’s nudged you out the door with nothing on your back.

You sit back down on the sofa and let your head drop against a cushion, ceiling swimming above in soft waves. The pit in your chest grows heavier, and you bring your knees up to your chest, arms wrapping around yourself the way his should have.

You fight the urge to follow him. To push the door leading to your shared room open. To force him to talk.

But there’s a part of you—shaped by your past— that tells you to stay put. Sit still and not be a burden. To stop being too much.

You end up lying on the couch all night, tear tracks drying on your cheeks from the wind of the open window, body curled in fetal position in quiet surrender.

You jolt awake to the sound of gentle shuffling. There’s a blue blanket—Jeongguk’s blanket— draped over your shoulders, the soft smell of clean sheets invading your nose. The kitchen light is on, a dim golden hue casting across the apartment.

Your heart pounds in your chest.

Jeongguk.

You sit up, back aching from the awkward sleeping position and rush over to where he is.

He’s moving around in the kitchen like nothing happened. You falter at his movements, and wonder if the conversation —if it could even be called that— from last night was real or just a figment of your imagination. A nightmare not plausible because the idea is so far-fetched.

But you know it was real. It’s real in the way Jeongguk’s smile is tight—barely there— and the way he offers a quiet ‘Good morning’. Nothing like the big hugs he’d give you, or the way he’d attack your faces with kisses, the faint smell of his coffee lingering on your (his) t-shirts.

Your face crumbles at his actions. You hate this. You hate how the silence is threatening. Hate how you can smell Jeongguk’s coffee but not on you. The smell lingers around him, and only him. A little bubble that you can’t break into, the walls an indestructible fortress that will only hurt you if you push.

The silence of the morning continues. You slam your mug into the sink with a little more gusto—but Jeongguk doesn’t bat an eye. You drop a spoon, the clink reverberating through the room—yet again, Jeongguk is too occupied with his phone, lazily scrolling through the morning news.

“Do you still think about her?”. Your tone comes off more aggressive than you’d hoped. But this isn’t the time for pleasantries and gentle words. You want answers, and this is the only way Jeongguk may let up.

Jeongguk freezes mid scroll. His thumb hovers about the screen, but you can see the slight shake of it. You’ve caught him off guard, and the slight bob of his Adam's apple confirms the idea.

He doesn’t answer straight away. Just blinks once. Twice. Looks at you before placing his phone down on the counter, the soft thud eliciting a wince from you.

“I already told you. She’s not important anymore.”

He’s calm. Too calm. This persona of his feels rehearsed. Like he’s been waiting for this question, waiting for the quiet to erupt. Maybe you didn’t catch him off guard. It seems the flames of this argument have only burnt you, whilst he stands in the corner, a fireproof

blanket secured around him.

You sigh and cross your arms, watching him carefully. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Do you still think about her?”

His jaw tightens. The slight movement is all the confirmation you need. It stings, but you push more.

“I don’t want to talk about this now.”

“Why not?” You’re inching closer to him, chest tight, voice rising. “Because I asked something you can’t answer? Because I’m confronting you with someone you never told me? Or maybe, she’s still in your life and you’ve been playing me a fool all along?”

His head snaps up at your last question.

“Don’t ever say that. It’s only been you, and it will only be you.”

You scoff at him, running a hand through your hair.

“Well it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.”

Jeongguk stands, breakfast long forgotten and his reticence filling the void of unsaid words.. Before you can say anything, he stalks back to the room and shuts the door with a resounding click.

You watch him leave. Watch him run away from the conversation for the second time. The screws of the bridge are dropping one by one and you just know that it’s a matter of time before you’re both submerged in water, severed from each other.

But you can’t fall. Not yet.

Sagging against the fridge, you bring your palms up to your eyes. Push against your face to relieve the pressure of the fight, but it does little to soothe the throbbing.

You need clarity. Closure. Something that Jeonggukk didn’t give you last night and certainly didn't give you just now.

So you call Taehyung.

He agrees to meet at a little café that you frequent with Jeongguk, but his voice carries hesitation—like he already knows this isn’t just about coffee.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Taehyung murmurs, eyes flickering around before finding yours. “I messed up.”

You sit opposite him, hands tightly gripping your coffee. You can feel the condensation dripping down your fingers, but can’t find it in yourself to rid yourself of the feeling.

You sigh. “I just… I want to understand. Who was Hana? What did she mean to him?”

But the frantic shake of his head leaves you confused.

“No.”

Your brows draw together.

“No? What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I mean I’m not the one you should be asking. This…this is Jeongguk’s story to tell.” He leans in, tone softening. “This isn’t the way to go about it. I know—god dammit— I know you’re hurting. But so is he. Talk to him. Don’t dig around through others.”

You don’t say anything. Because you know Taehyung is right. But you can’t help the knot in your chest tighten. All you wanted, all you needed was to feel included in Jeongguk’s life. You didn’t mind being second place to someone else, but you couldn’t be a placeholder for a woman he almost married.

Still, you push back your chair and whisper a quiet thank you, before leaving.

The sun is barely setting as you slink through the front door of your apartment. The amber hues spill through the windows, illuminating the walkway and spilling long shadows across

the living room floor. You’re exhausted—not from the trek back, but the progressive overload of what you carry.

Your coat hits the couch with a dull thud and before you can slip off your shoes, the door behind you swings open and hits the wall beside it.

“You went to Taehyung?”

Jeongguk’s voice slices through the air. It’s sharp. Accusing. You flinch and spin around, caught off guard. His keys are still in his hand, fingers turning white from the grip he has on it.

He doesn’t look like himself. He looks frayed. Eyes blown wide, chest rising and falling in small bursts.

“How do you even kno—”

“He called me. Told me that you asked about Hana.”

There’s a hushed quality to his voice. Tight. Caged. He’s obviously holding back and every bit of you knows this conversation isn’t going to be quiet.

“Because you won’t tell me anything,” you snap, folding your arms tightly across your chest, shielding yourself from the possible venom of his words.

He’s not a violent man. You know this. But still, luck has never been on your side.

“What did you want me to do, Jeongguk? Pretend it wasn’t killing me? Act like her name didn’t feel like a punch in the gut?”

He scoffs. It’s bitter and humourless.

“So going behind my back was the better option?”

“No. It wasn’t. But it was the only way I could find the truth you wouldn’t give.”

The room quivers with silence. But the ringing in your ears has never been louder.

Jeongguk stares at you, and for a moment it’s almost as if he’s looking right through you.

Then—

“You wanna know the truth?” he asks, jaw tight, ears blooming red from the contained words. “Fine. She almost became my everything. We… We were together for two years. I thought I was going to marry her. I knew her family. She knew mine. Slept in my bed. Wore my clothes. She said she loved me—” his voice cracks, and he catches himself, eyes squeezing shut. “And she—one day she just left.”

You swallow thickly, heart pounding. Finally, you were moving forward in this stagnant conversation.

“Why?” you ask gently.

“Because I loved her too much,” he says, with a harsh laugh. “Because I wanted more. But she said I was suffocating her. I asked for too much, too fast. And I… I believed her. Made me think there was something wrong with me. That maybe— if I was just less, then she would’ve stayed.

His words resound against the walls. Heavy. Exposed.

“Jeongguk…” you whisper, taking a cautious step forward.

But he looks up at you, eyes red-rimmed, begging you to let him continue.

“I didn’t tell you about her. Because I wanted to bury her. Bury the parts of me that she hurt. I didn't want that shadow to linger over me. Over us.”

You feel it now — his pain. Raw and untouched. A wound that he’s picked and picked at. But never let it heal.

Reaching a tentative hand out, you clasp his jaw in your hand, thumbing away the lone tear trailing down his face.

“You think I haven’t been broken too?” your voice wavers. “Do you think I don’t know what it feels like to give every piece of me to someone? Someone who only saw me as something to own? You know how I left him, Jeongguk. I’ve told you— or at least the parts I could manage. But you don’t feel it. What it’s like to wake up and pretend your relationship is love when it feels more like a cage.”

You move closer to him, chest brushing his. You see him breathe in sharply.

“I had to make him think I cheated,” you rasp. “Not because I wanted to. But because he wouldn’t have let me go any other way. I made him believe I did something wrong, so he’d finally stop hurting me.”

You can’t stop the tears welling up in your eyes. If Jeongguk was going to be vulnerable with you, you also had to confront your past.

“I took a gamble with my life. And I’m so glad that I did. Because then, I wouldn’t have met you.”

Jeongguk’s expression crumbles at your tears. It’s too much.

“I— I didn’t know,” he murmurs, voice hoarse.

“Because I didn’t tell you,” you say, lips trembling. “Because I was so afraid you’d judge me. Because even now, even after a year, I don’t know how to stop thinking I’m too much. I’m damaged. Too fragile. So if you’re still haunted by her, I just want you to know that I’m haunted too.”

The gap between you is long gone. The screws are back in place and the bridge is sturdy once more. Now what’s left is to make your way back to him.

Jeongguk pulls you into his arms like he’s terrified that you’ll disappear. Your fingers fist the soft fabric of his hoodie as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, again and again, voice muffled. “I’m so fucking sorry baby.”

You cling onto him, a lifeline that you’ll never let go.

“You don’t have to protect me from your past. I just want to be a part of it. All of it. All of you. Even the parts you’re scared to show.”

He pulls back—just enough to see your face— hands cradling your cheeks. He wipes at your tears, eyes red and glassy.

“Y—You’re not too much,” he says, voice shaking. “Never have been. You’re my Ha-na.”

You blink up at him, wondering if he was even present in the conversation you just had.

“What?”

He offers you a watery smile.

“Hana means one. You’re my one. The one and only for me. I don’t want anyone but you.”

Your breath catches in your throat. This is what you’ve needed. The confirmation. The thing you’ve craved your entire life. To be number one in someone's eyes.

He kisses you then—soft at first, like a question. Then deeper. Desperate. You kiss him back with the same ferocity, pouring all the pain and love and fear into the way your mouths meet. It’s messy. Imperfect. But it’s real.

When you finally pull apart, foreheads pressed together, you whisper to him, nose nudging against each others,

“I don’t want perfect. I just want you.”

Jeongguk nods slowly, eyes still closed. “I’ve always been yours.”

Not everything was fixed. But the broken pieces are on the table now, no longer hiding in the dark. And for the first time, it feels like you’ll rebuild the bridge stronger. Together.

It’s a few weeks after the initial incident when it blows up again.

Jeongguk’s late when you hear the key turn in the door, followed by an uneven shuffle of soft footsteps stumbling through the hallway. Your heart drops a little before he even comes into view—because you know. You know the consequences that come with a night out—when there’s too much alcohol coursing through his veins, a little too much pain hiding beneath the surface.

You’re perched on the couch, blanked haphazardly tossed across your knee, laptop open but forgotten, the soft blue light illuminating the dark living room. You’ve been waiting for him to come home, and tried not to think about everything. But it’s hard, and now that you can hear him, that feeling bubbles up in your chest again.

You sit up, eyes moving to the doorway as he wobbles into view.

Jeongguk doesn’t look at you right away. HIs eyes are glazed, unfocused and he sways unsteadily on his feet, but he doesn’t collapse, doesn't lose his balance. His hair is messier than usual, his hoodie is wrinkled and the smell of alcohol lingers around him like a fog.

The last time he came home like this, things had been very different. You’d hoped it wouldn't come to this again so soon.

“Jeongguk,” you say, tone softer than intended, but your concern is palpable. “What happened?”

He finally looks up at you, and the emptiness in his eyes takes you by surprise. This isn’t the steady Jeongguk you’ve always relied on. Nor is he the confident and easygoing boyfriend who always knows how to make you laugh.

No, this Jeongguk is fragile, broken, like the coils inside of him are unraveling, threatening to lash out at whoever is nearby.

And in this moment, you’re scared that it’ll be you.

“I—I fucked up again,” he mumbles, slurring his words. His eyes flicker to yours, but he quickly looks down, unable to maintain eye contact.

Your heart aches as you take in his appearance.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. His voice cracks as he lifts his hand to bat at the tears in his eyes. It doesn't work. The tears continue to well up, threatening to spill over down his puffy cheeks. “I didn’t want to hurt you again. I never wanted to be this person. But I—fuck, I’ve been pushing you away. And I…I’ve been scared that you’re gonna leave me. That I somehow made you feel like you weren’t enough.”

Your breath hitches, a mix of relief and fear filling your chest. How long has he been holding onto this? The same pain, the same fear, buried so deeply, yet festering nonetheless.

You make a move to stand up, but he backs away, shaking his head, chest tight at the thought of standing still.

“I…I don’t deserve you. Not after everything I’ve put you through. I just keep fucking up. I’ve hurt you and you've done nothing wrong. Even after I promised. I promised not to be that person anymore, but I still am. A fuck up.”

“Jeongguk,” you whisper. “You’re not that guy. You’re not. You’re—”

“But I am.” he interrupts roughly, voice strained with emotion. “I am that guy. The one that pushes you, trying to make up for the mistakes I made with her—trying to make you forget that I’m not perfect. Y-You deserve someone that knows how to love you right. Someone who loves you better.”

You can see the tremble in his shoulders, his body stiff with the pain of his words.

“I just wanted to make you happy. I wanted to be enough for you,” the break in his voice is the tipping point, a sob catching in his throat, and it’s like the dam has cracked, spilling everything onto you. He looks at you. Really looks at you. “Please don’t leave. Don’t leave me. Please baby, I’ll do anything.”

You’re unsure when it happened but he’s suddenly close to you, hands reaching out for you to steady him. He falls onto his knees in front of you and latches his arms around your waist, cries muffled by your lap.

“Jeongguk,” you say softly, fingers running through his hair, heart breaking all over again. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be you.”

He chokes on a sob, his emotions too overwhelming to contain any longer. His arms grip tighter, afraid to let go, as he burrows himself deeper into the crevices of your legs.

You reach down and cup his face in your hands. You tilt his head up and he looks at you from the floor and sniffs.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for hurting you. For even making you feel like you weren't enough. I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

You silence him with a finger to his lips and run your fingers through his hair. Tracing your nails down his nose, over the ring in his lip and back up to the bar in his eyebrow, you whisper to him,

“You’re so beautiful Jeongguk. So beautiful. And it hurts to think that you’re not enough, because you are. You’re so much more than that.”

You know his words are genuine, his apology coming from a place of deep regret and love. You just hope that he can feel the same with your words.

He nods, tears still falling down his face, but his hold on you loosens slightly. “I don’t know how to fix this. But I want to try. I want to be the person you deserve.”

You smile through your tears and wipe away his with your thumb.

“You already are.”

He looks down, a little embarrassed by the fresh tears still on his cheeks, but you can see the sincerity in his eyes. You can feel the weight of his words through the way he caresses your waist. He breathes out shakily, then pulls away slightly, wiping his face before looking at you.

“You mean everything to me,” he says quietly. “I know I don’t say it enough, but I love you. I love you so fucking much that it hurts to breathe when I think of you. I swear I’ll do better. My past won’t ruin our future.”

You extend your hands, holding his face gently, and pull him into a kiss. It’s unhurried, soft and not rushed like the ones from before. There’s meaning behind this kiss— a promise between the two of you. His lips are warm, still salty from his tears that linger, but the kiss transcends beyond that—the unspoken words, the shared pain, and the desire to heal together.

When you pull back, Jeongguk chases after your lips but you stop him and just stare. Stare at the beauty in his eyes and the freckles dotting his face. He smiles sheepishly, embarrassed by your gaze, but at more ease now than he was when he walked through the door.

He rests back on his knees as his arms come up to your thighs.“I’ll make it up to you,” he says again, trailing kisses up your legs. He’s confident in his actions, the way he parts your legs and leans in. “One day at a time.”

He kisses your inner thighs, nipping at the fabric. You shiver at the touch and pause his movements.

“Jeongguk…you don’t have to do this,” you breathe out. But your actions betray your words as a hand reaches out to grip his hair.

He smiles up at you knowingly.

“Just relax baby,”

And he kisses your thigh again. Except this time, there’s a bit more desperation to it. His hands come up to the point where your legs meet your pelvis and he rubs slow circles.

The little fuck. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

He presses one last kiss to your knee and leans his head forward, eyes on yours the entire time. You hold your breath, nervous at what he's going to do, but you can’t contain the moan when he eases his teeth around the zipper of your jeans. He slides it down slowly, teasingly, a hand coming up at the same time, loosening the button of your denim.

“Lift your hips, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with need.

You comply, rising slightly with the help of Jeongguk’s hands, and he pulls your jeans and underwear over your thighs and down your legs. He discards them somewhere to the side, an issue to be dealt with tomorrow, as he pulls you to the edge of the sofa, hands holding your legs open.

His eyes rake down your body, from your eyes all the way to your glistening core, and you can’t help but shiver at the intensity.

“What?”

It’s the word you only whisper in moments like this. When the voices in your head cease and the only thing you can hear are your shaky breaths.

Jeongguk looks at your lips.

“Nothing. I just love you.”

You roll your eyes at his cheesiness.

“Shut up. I love you more.”

He laughs.

“Impossible.”

And his mouth is on you. You flinch at the sudden action, but quickly relax as he licks a stripe up to your clit. You let out a low groan as your head falls back against the cushions.

You feel him dig his knees deeper into the carpet and he sighs as nudges his nose up against you.

“Keep your eyes on me.” he rasps, the vibrations sending tingles up your spine. You look down at him as he traces his tongue against your clit. One lick. Two.

You fight the urge to fall back and keep a steady hand in his hair. Well, as steady as you can be.

Jeongguk wraps his lips around your clit, latching onto you with a force that has you seeing stars. You cry out and push his head further into your pussy, aching for more.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan. “Jeongguk, fuck,”

He hums against you and pulls away, catching a quick breath. Glances up at you with those devastatingly gorgeous doe eyes of his.

“More?” he asks.

You nod frantically, fingers still tangled in his hair.

“Please. Don’t stop.”

Jeongguk doesn’t need to be told twice before he presses a kiss against you, tongue lapping up your slick. He delivers long, flat licks, fast and relentless, and slow teasing flicks, mixing up

his pace to keep you on the edge. He knows what you like. And he sure as hell is using it to his advantage.

You whimper something that he can’t quite make out and he hums in question.

“Use… Use your fingers,” you manage, head lolling back in pleasure.

And he doesn’t wait any longer. His middle finger pushes into you, raking against your insides.

“So good, Jeongguk,” you whine, free hand gripping the sofa. “So fucking good.”

A second finger enters you, stretching out whatever his tongue didn’t. He moans with you as you tighten your hold on his hair once more. He knows you’re close, he knows the pent up frustration has you reaching your high faster than usual, but he doesn’t slow his pumping.

He nudges his nose up against you once more pressing featherlight kisses against your clit. But a swift kick to his back urges him deeper. He laughs, shoulders shaking by your legs and slips his tongue into you.

Your hands give out from underneath you and you fall against the sofa as Jeongguk rubs circles on your clit with his other hand. This is the final stretch, as your legs begin to tremble.

“That’s it baby,” he husks. “Come for me.”

Like the falling of a bridge, the feeling of his hands and lips pushes you over the edge. You whimper in pleasure and your legs shake as you push through your orgasm. Your grip stays tight on Jeongguk’s hair but he doesn’t complain. He wonders what you’ll say if he mentions that he kinda digs it.

He presses a few more kisses to your thighs and makes his way up to your lips. Lips covered in your arousal, the city lights covering his face in a shine, but he’s pretty. So pretty.

He squashes his lips against your in an obnoxious smack and you laugh as he pulls back.

“Have I mentioned that I love you?”

You bring a finger up to your chin and tap as you think.

“Hmmm… a few times. But it doesn't hurt to hear it again.”

He grins and pulls you into his arms. You squeal as his jeans brush your bare thighs.

“Baby, I’ll tell you whatever you want me to. I’m all yours.”

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emeraldserenade · 3 days ago

Note

Imagine being raised in such a way the reader becomes submissive and a people pleaser and like just have an unhealthy way of living which Joaquin notices

Like at first its cute but after it just gets too much and he's getting more and more worried

Perhaps shes there like sugarcoating everything and if there's smth wrong or of shes struggling and all she doesnt say a thing and just tries to do everything herself like in an unhealthy way and she brushes off any concerns he has

Maybe shes surrounded by toxic people all the time to the point that even shes feeling so low, she just sticks to it and is terrified to lose them because she struggles to form other relationships with people aside from Joaquin

Maybe she gets too attached to him that she'll do anything he says because he's the only nice person shes with and doesnt wanna lose him

Or maybe perhaps he unintentionally raised his voice by accident and out of stress or smth and she gets scared and tries to hide her tears, looking down on the floor, and just holds it in

Maybe Joaquin tries to teach her a healthier way to live and what to not accept like "if someone ever says XYZ like the way I did just now, dont ever go near them again and cute them off" etc

People Pleaser ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: You were always a people pleaser and Joaquín promised to help you learn how to live without the toxic teachings of your parents

tw: fem!reader, reader has toxic parents and friends, Joaquín accidentally yells at reader, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

Hi!! As a chronic people pleaser, this was a little personal (thankfully I have a good relationship with my parents) so I hope this was what you wanted. I also wanted to add on that if anyone ever reads my stories and notices something that needs a warning but I didn't add it, you can tell me (nicely) that I need to add it and I will.

➽──────────────❥

You were raised by very traditional parents. The type to say women should be seen and not heard, that they were made for the kitchen, and to do whatever they're told you. You learned over the years that it wasn't true but it was hard habits to break. You found comfort in people acting like your parents, the type who step all over you.

But then you met Joaquín, it was a chance meeting. One day you were on a run and you twisted your ankle so you took a break. "Hi, are you ok?" Joaquín had saw you sitting on the side of the running path while holding your ankle.

"Oh, hi, yeah, I'm fine," you waved off his concern but it seemed he didn't believe you.

"What's wrong?" Joaquín had to ask again, he was a helper by nature.

"Just landed on my foot oddly, I'll be fine," you brushed is concern off again and Joaquín thought it was you just being polite.

"Are you sure? Because I can help you back to your car or something," Joaquín offered but you shook your head.

"I'll be fine in a few minutes," you assured him with a small smile.

"I'll stay then, just so you aren't alone," Joaquín sat down with you and you tried to tell him it was ok but he wasn't having it.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

Joaquín thought your willingness to help him out with anything was cute. That you just had a crush on him like he did you, and you did. So you two started going out and Joaquín started to meet the other people you surrounded yourself with.

Then Joaquín saw how you truly acted with others. You acted as if you weren't worth attention unless you were giving someone something or doing whatever they wanted. You would allow your so called friends to yell at you and push you around without so much as a grimace. Joaquín noticed you seemed to seek out the people who treated you horribly and he seemed to be the exception.

Then something changed, you started to distance yourself from people. You hated hanging out with people and Joaquín noticed, if he was with you, you no longer had someone else blowing up your phone for favors. In fact, you were doing everything Joaquín said. "I don't think you should be friends with them anymore. They aren't treating you like a friend, they're treating you like a servant," Joaquín casually told you one day and then the next day you were telling Joaquín that you were no longer friends.

If Joaquín told you that you needed to get something checked out, even if you brushed off his concern, you would automatically go to the doctor. If Joaquín suggested you try something new, you were trying it. It started to become concerning and when Joaquín brought it up with Sam, Sam asked about your childhood. Joaquín explained the small amount he knew and Sam asked if you were doing everything Joaquín said because you felt like this was how a relationship was supposed to work.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

When Joaquín brought it up you denied it, you knew Joaquín would be mad if you admitted. So you lied but he could tell you were lying. It made him mad, not at you, but at how you were raised. "God," Joaquín mumbled as you denied it again. "Can you just listen?" Joaquín accidentally yelled, he wanted to stay calm but you wouldn't stop lying. Joaquín automatically felt bad when you looked down and your shoulders went tense.

"Sorry," you whispered, it was clear you were trying not to cry.

"Hey, hey," Joaquín gently pulled you into his arms. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell, mi vida," Joaquín comforted you as you calmed down. "If anyone, and I mean anyone including me, ever talks to you like that again, you cut them off and never look back, ok?"

"Even if they didn't mean to?" You gently questioned, not trying to be difficult you were just trying to understand.

"If they truly didn't mean to, that's up to you," Joaquín told you, he knew if he said yes you would listen to it no matter the circumstances. You pulled out of Joaquín's arms and looked at him in the face.

"You make me feel safe," you told Joaquín. "It's why I want to do everything you tell me, I don't want to lose the one person I feel safe with," you admitted, voice shy.

"You're not going to lose me if you don't want to do something for me, ok? My love for you isn't circumstantial, it's unconditional," Joaquín assured you with a kiss to the forehead.

"You promise?" You didn't mean to sound insecure, but that's how you were raised.

"I promise, mi amor," Joaquín pulled you into a real kiss, one that promised that he would help you learn real love. How to make meaningful relationships that don't suck the life out of you.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests If you want to be added to the tag list, follow the directions on my masterlist

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #mcu #marvel mcu #cabnw #cabnw spoilers #danny ramirez #danny ramirez x reader

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suspicioustoads · 2 days ago

Text

I need you to understand three things.

Humans are, above all else, pack animals. We have a tendency to see something or someone, form an emotional connection with it, and add that to our little herd of misfits. This can range from wolves to rocks, and in my party's case, a rapidly aging cow that spawned from a wild magic mushroom.

When faced with a new character needing a voice, my default is sickly victorian child. Which means I put on my most frail, I'm-two-feet-from-deaths-door-and-I-brought-croissants voice in a higher pitch and use an awful lot of "mama's" and "papa's."

Despite the years of DnD history we have with each other, I still frequently underestimate my party's ability to derail the session.

I'm a big fan of using wild magic. It can make for a fun and exciting session when you haven't planned much else and trust in your party's ability to improv. Usually, I can guess pretty accurately what my party plans to do. The key word being "usually."

I presented my party with some magical mushrooms doused with a (homebrewed) wild magic potion. They knew what the mushrooms were. They knew what the potential consequences of eating a mushroom would be. I knew full well one of them would, without hesitation, eat a magic mushroom. I knew something funny would happen, it'd fill the remainder of my unplanned session, and we'd move on. And then this particular, dirt eating child, rolled a d100 and got #87.

Two sessions. Two whole sessions. I was a sickly victorian cow for two whole sessions. The dirt eating child adopted this cow as his beautiful, bovine daughter. They played dress up with The Cow. They fed The Cow copious amounts of apple pie. They took The Cow to a festival. They watched a parade with The Cow. When The Cow, withered and wrinkled, asked her adoptive father "was I a good daughter, papa?" he said "yes, the best daughter." When The Cow looked to the setting sun and closed her eyes for the last time, they wept for The Cow.

I cannot describe the level of relief it was to type "finally killed the fucking cow" into my post session notes.

And before you say "but sussy toad, why did you give the party this sickly victorian sounding cow if you so clearly regret it?" listen. Listen. Listen to me. There was a 1 in 100 chance they would get The Cow. I added The Cow as a joke. A little heehee that only I would know about. Only I knew that the party could spawn a cow that would die in 24 hours. I didn't think they would.

And what was I supposed to do, when they rolled to spawn The Cow? Lie? Fudge the roll? Say "you grew an extra eyeball, congrats!" No, no I will let them have The Cow. I'll let them enjoy their time with The Cow, make their fond memories, laugh with The Cow, and cry for The Cow.

And when the party returns to their inn, weary and weighed down, grieving the loss of their new companion, I'll be their friendly bartender. Empathetic, kind, well-meaning, who will sit them down and console them. I'll offer them a drink, perhaps some food. Perhaps tonight's special. "What's tonight's special?" they ask. Sweet children, didn't you hear?

The special tonight is steak.

#The cow didn't even live a full 24 hours #they accidentally poisoned her #It's been 11 sessions since then and they still talk about the cow #dnd

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sailorofmidnightseas · 8 hours ago

Text

Wife?!

Pairing: Sylus x MC

Summary: When you receive a call in the middle of the night after an exhausting mission and are met with overwhelmed twins and a drunk Sylus, you were tempted to kick the three to the moon. All you want is getting some sleep!

Luckily, a delicious apology awaits you in the morning.

************************************************************************

You had just fallen into your well-deserved sleep after a successful hunter mission when your dream was interrupted by a loud noise. Hoping it was merely a glitch in her brain, you ignored it, but it did not stop. The tune was all too familiar and with a groan, you rolled over to where your bedside table was. Your phone fell silent and upon checking, you noticed the missed call from Sylus. The nerve of that man! To call you at 3:40 AM, when you had gone to bed merely an hour ago!

“That will have to wait until morning, sweetheart.”, you mumbled and yawned. “Right now, sleep is the priority.”

Just as you rolled over again, the phone began chiming again and that was the last drop. Briefly, you saw it was Sylus again before answering the call.

“Sylus, do you know how fucking late it is?! You have a nerve calling at ass in the morning, when I just got back from a mission! I will not come over now, whatever it is can wait until morning when the sun is high in the sky, because that’s when I will be awake. Or find someone else to go to the auctions with!”

The line was silent for a second and you sighed inwardly. Just as you were about to end the call, an unexpected voice meekly answered.

“Um, I’m sorry for the disturbance, Miss Hunter.”, Kieran said and you almost dropped your phone.

“Kieran? Oh my God, I’m so sorry for shouting at you. What do you need? Why are you calling from Sylus’ phone? How do you even have his password?”, you asked and felt like crying. Before Kieran could explain anything, a loud commotion was heard from the other side of the call.

“Boss man, please calm down. Kieran, save yourself!”, you heard Luke distantly shout.

“What on Earth is going on?”

“Boss man was at an auction, ack, and we’re trying to - I thought you’re holding him back - get him to - boss man, please calm down - calm down. Hold him back!”

“I’m trying to!”, Luke wailed in the distance.

“Is he hurting you?”, you asked, wide awake and already on your feet. The question tasted wrong in your mouth. Sylus would never harm the teenagers, not even if he was mad with fury.

“I almost wish he was.”, Kieran grumbled. “It would be better than this. Ahh, the boss man has found me!”

“Kieran!”

“Hello, kitten.”, Sylus slurred through the phone and you froze.

“Are you…drunk?”, you tonelessly asked. You had never witnessed him drink more than one or two glasses. Sylus didn’t seem like the type of person to get inebriated.

“Only a little bit.”

“‘Only a little bit’ in a different reality, perhaps.”, you sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose.

“Do something, Miss Hunter.”, Luke shouted from somewhere in the back. You felt your irritation spike. Now was not the time for tomfoolery. You were exhausted and just wanted to go to bed.

“Sylus, are the twins still near?”

“Yes, kitten.”

“Where exactly?”

“On the floor and against the wall.”

You exhaled through your nose. You had to play your cards well.

“Sylus, dear, could you do me a favour?”, you asked sweetly. You cringed mentally at the knowledge that the twins were still present.

“Anything, sweetie. What do you need?”, Sylus eagerly asked and a pair of embarrassed groans were heard.

“Please free the twins from your evol. It is late and they should be in bed. And you, dearest, please get ready for bed as well.”

“...No.”

“What do you mean ‘No’?”, you sputtered. You were beginning to resign yourself to getting no sleep tonight.

“No to the latter.”, Sylus clarified. “I’ll come to you.”

“Absolutely not! Do you hear yourself? You cannot walk in a straight line!”

“I can.”, Sylus slurred.

“He can’t.”, Kieran laughed and you heard a smack followed by a grumbled “Ow” from Kieran.

“Sylus, be reasonable, okay? We can see each other tomorrow.”

“I’m coming now.”

“If you put your drunk ass on the motorcycle, you’ll get no kisses for a month.”

“Kitten!”, Sylus said, utterly scandalized. “You wouldn’t be so cruel.”

“Watch me.”, you grumbled. Somehow it was not going as well as expected.

“I’ll call the chauffeur.”, Sylus suddenly said.

“You. Are. Not. Leaving. Your. House. You’re wasted and an easy target for your enemies. Do you want me to worry, Sylus?”, you asked, sounding close to tears and not everything was faked. You would be terribly worried about him, and on top of that, you have always been an easy crier when you were frustrated and you blinked to keep the tears at bay. Any more of this and you'd break down crying and then there was no force in the world which could stop Sylus. Keep it together.

“I’ve had an exhausting mission.”, you started dangerously calm, “I went to almost two hours ago and had one hour of sleep when the twins called me. If you must, call a chauffeur to get me. You, Sylus, go to your room and prepare for bed. For sleep. When I arrive, I don’t want to see a soul walking around, am I clear?”

“Yes, Miss Hunter.”, Luke and Kieran simultaneously said.

“Fine.”, Sylus grumbled.

Done with the world, you fell back onto your bed. Who would have thought drunk Sylus was a chore to deal with? It’s probably because I’m sleep-deprived. I was a bit harsh. I’ll apologize tomorrow.

You packed only some essentials and spare underwear. The journey to the N109 zone was over quickly - probably because you napped in the back of the car. You thanked the chauffeur and bid him a goodnight.

The inside of Sylus’ home was quiet. Not one soul was in sight and you quickly made your way to Sylus’ bedroom. Carefully, you opened the door and spotted Sylus sitting on the bed. He had managed to rid himself of his shirt and shoes before seemingly falling asleep. You bit your trembling lower lip and inhaled shakily to get a grip before you would burst into tears of exhaustion and frustration. You'd just have to wake him, tell him to get rid of his trousers and use mouthwash for a semblance of dental and oral hygiene.

However, the universe seemed to hate you that night. Before you could reach out and shake him awake, his fingers closed around your wrist with the precision of sobriety.

“Don’t touch me.”, Sylus slurred, though he sounded a tinge more sober than before. You’ve got to be kidding me.

“What?”

“You…cannot touch me. Only my…wife can, so get…lost.”, Sylus mumbled almost incomprehensibly as sleep threatened to overtake the drunk man.

Wife? Wife?! For a second, you genuinely thought there was someone else out there, a secret you weren't supposed to know about. Sleep-addled brains were astonishingly susceptible to nonsense, for you knew there was hardly anyone more loyal than Sylus. The twins themselves had admitted that you were his first relationship and that it had seemed as if he had been waiting for someone.

This meant that there was only one candidate for this ‘wife’: you. Your face burst aflame at the implication and you hastily turned 180° to hide from him. He considered you his…wife? He wasn’t considering proposing already, was he? Your relationship was still relatively fresh and while you did date with the intention of settling down at some point, it was still far too early. Gods, would you have to reject Sylus’ proposal?

You fled into Sylus’ private bathroom and splashed cold water in your face. Calm down, don’t overthink this. He’s drunk. It’s a slip of the tongue of the drunk man who I am currently in a loving relationship with. Don’t overthink, don’t overthink.

Once you deemed yourself composed enough, you grabbed the mouthwash. Sylus opened a lazy eye. His wariness was the last straw. You burst into tears.

“Go fuck yourself.”, you sobbed. “I really don’t have the nerve to deal with this right now. Just let me go to bed.”

You threw the mouthwash at him, grabbed your bag and slammed the bedroom door shut. There were more than enough guest rooms, and tonight, you would have to use the one you had been unofficially assigned to in the beginning, before you and Sylus started dating. It was strange. The bed seemed too big for one person, but you didn’t think too much about it. Seconds after your head hit the pillow, you were out.

In the master bedroom, the alarm bells were ringing in Sylus’ head. He groaned as his head was swimming. You were crying. Why were you crying?

“Kitten. Sweetie.”, he mumbled and wobbly rose to his feet. He stumbled out of his bedroom through the corridor. His feet carried him to the guest room, but he didn’t enter. Clumsily, he slid down to the floor, his back resting against the door. Tucking his knees against his chest, Sylus let his head fall into the crook of his elbow and succumbed to the welcoming unconsciousness.

When he opened his eyes, he ran a hand over his face. His head was pounding and his body was stiff. With a quiet grunt, Sylus pulled himself to his feet. The fact that he had been in the same position meant his kitten was still asleep. Carefully, he opened the door and peeked inside.

You were sprawled out on the bed and seemingly still fast asleep. Sylus snuck into the room and knelt down next to the bed, simply admiring you. His crimson eyes were impossibly tender and he ached to kiss you, but he didn’t want to wake you and his mouth tasted filthy. His expression darkened when he spotted the remnants of dried tear tracks on your cheek catching the light. While his memory was fuzzy, he knew he was the culprit, the reason for your tears and Sylus loathed himself for it.

Sylus left the room and went to his own. His head was still pounding, but he ignored it and cleaned up. Once he was showered and his teeth were brushed, he went to the kitchen. The twins were already there.

“Morning, boss man.”, they simultaneously greeted him.

“Lower your voices, will you?”, Sylus groaned and downed a glass of water.

“Miss Hunter was quite aggravated yesterday…today.”, Kieran bluntly said and Sylus scowled at him.

“Very helpful, thank you.”, he sneered and grabbed the ingredients for waffles. “Where's the strawberry sauce?”

“We don't have any.”, Luke said and twirled his seat. “I think Miss Hunter finished it a few days ago.”

“Then go and buy a new bottle!”

“On it, boss man.”, Luke saluted and sprinted out of the kitchen.

Soon, the smell of fresh, warm waffles filled the kitchen and spread through the house. You blinked and your joints popped when you stretched. A glance on your phone showed you the time: 11 AM. You groaned and slumped over. It smelled so good, but you were still a little tired.

“Damn it.”, you cursed and got up. You brushed your teeth and combed your hair a bit to get rid of most of the bedhead. You stayed in your pjs when you left the room.

The sight you were met with melted your heart. The table in the dining room was decked with sweet-smelling waffles and every topping imaginable. A pot of coffee stood next to a pack of milk. One of the twins was attempting to fix the flowers in the vase standing at the centre of the table. The other was helping Sylus clean the kitchen.

“My, is today an important day? Or is this an apology for what my poor, exhausted soul had to go through a few hours ago?”, you snickered and the three men jumped.

“Miss Hunter.”, Kieran exclaimed and almost knocked over the flowers. “Please accept this as an apology for -”

“Any day with you is an important day.”, Sylus smoothly interrupted as he entered the dining room.

“Charmer.” you sighed and shook your head. Walking over to him, you cupped his face and planted a fat kiss on his lips. Stunned, Sylus dropped the clean bowl in his hands.

Embarrassed, the twins turned away. You really had their boss wrapped around your finger and as much as they liked the Hunter, they didn't want to see their boss this love-struck. They were still teenagers, after all.

Sylus chased your lips when you pulled back and caught your bottom lip with his teeth. He smirked triumphantly, and you blushed when he pulled you back into another kiss. Fearing he might get carried away, you tapped his cheek and Sylus huffed in annoyance, but complied. The small pout was adorable.

“Time for breakfast!”, you cheered and clapped your hands in delight. “Why is there only one plate, though? You cannot expect me to eat all of this?”

“These waffles are for you, of course.”, Sylus said, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He arched his brow at the glint in your eyes.

“Well, since they’re mine, I can do as I please, right? And since this is an apology, I can do as I please as well.” You patted the seat next to you. “You three, join me, please? There are more than enough for all of us.”

The twins cheered and before Sylus could say a word, they stormed into the kitchen, grabbed a plate and plopped on their seats. Despite their crow masks, they seemed more like happy dogs. You chuckled at the thought. At your expectant look, Sylus also took a plate from the cupboard, put the bowl back and sat down next to you.

The N109 Zone was dangerous and shrouded in darkness no matter the hour. People fended for themselves, for human bonds could be exploited. Sylus’ house was not a welcoming abode with its dark walls. Red was the only colour to be found beside black and perhaps grey. It was cold and empty despite the treasures along the walls.

Yet this morning, none of that cold and emptiness was to be found. The dining room was warm and happy and Sylus dazedly stared at you as you happily munched on your waffles. He still had to redeem himself, but it was a beginning.

However, duty called and the twins grabbed a few more waffles on their way out, ignoring Sylus’ glare in favour of your amusement. With you present, they knew nothing would happen to them. Sylus was aware as well and mentally grumbled at the growing cheekiness of the twins. They were being spoiled.

“Bye, boss man. See ya, boss lady.”, they shouted and slammed the door shut behind them.

“Oh my, another new nickname.”, you chuckled, a rosy hue on your cheeks. “That must be my…sixth, I believe.”

“Six?”

“Mhm. Kitten, Sweetie, My lady, Miss Hunter, boss lady and…wife.”, you coughed and Sylus almost choked on his spit.

“And where have you heard that last one?”, he asked, sounding relatively composed compared to the internal chaos. Your blush darkened.

“You called me that yesterday. You were asleep when I arrived and upon waking you, you didn’t recognise me. ‘You cannot touch me. Only my wife can, so get lost.’ Your words.”

Sylus ran a hand over his face and vowed never to get that drunk again. Meanwhile, you grew nervous and began rambling.

“It is reassuring that even in such an inebriated state, you would be faithful. Not that I doubted your loyalty - I would never, please, what a thought! - but I also have to admit you caught me off-guard. I mean, our relationship is still fresh, really fresh, and I do love you but I don't know whether I could marry already as it is a massive step in life -”

“Kitten.”, Sylus interrupted before your voice was the equivalent of a steaming teapot. “Breathe.”

“I am.”

“You weren't. Not properly.” Sylus sighed and sighed. You weren't sure whether you were imagining it, but it seemed as if there was a faint red colouring Sylus' cheeks. Suddenly, he grabbed your chin and forced you to meet his eyes.

“I do plan on marrying you, kitten. Be it tomorrow, next month or in 5 years. I don't care. However, you will be my wife one day - if it is your will.”

Your brain short-circuited. This man would give you a grey head in a few years. Gently, you took his hand off your chin and laced your fingers together.

“Well, I'm afraid that nickname will have to wait a bit.”, you softly said and Sylus smirked.

“That isn't a no, kitten. Why deprive me of calling you ’wife’ already?”

“Because we aren't married.”

“Unnecessary paperwork.” Sylus waved the argument away and leaned closer, your lips almost touching. Both exhaled in relief when the distance was bridged at last.

Wife, wife, wife…Please allow me to be your mate once more.

#sylus x reader #sylus qin #sylus x mc #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace #fluff #shenanigans #drunk Sylus #found family #established relationship

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