#if you can read music then i'm sure you can tell me what the notes are!!!!

[honeyhotteoks]

an innocent man doesn't stand a chance (j.yh)

summary: it's halloween and your boyfriend has a fantasy. he wants to be the masked killer and for you to be the final girl, and he wants you to run.

note: this was written in a feverish haze of ghostface yunho brainrot, you can thank this fanart and this edit for making this one about yunho, but i have to give all credit for the idea to the nsfw audio creator augustinthewinter who's masked hookup audio killed me. also please read the warnings, this one is potentially very triggering.

warnings: ghostface!yunho x final girl!reader, boyfriend!yunho, hard dom!yunho, girlfriend!reader, sub!reader, sadism, masochism, knife play, primal play/chasing, threats of violence, heavy cnc that really looks like noncon because part of the play is that he wants her to struggle and say no BUT there are consent checks explicit throughout, rough sex, fingering, gloves, masks, breath play, impact play, mirrors, finger sucking don't look at me, dry humping, clothed sex, ripping off clothes, size kink, ass play, lots and lots of degredation including use of sl*t/wh*re/fvcktoy/c*cksleeve, yunho is seriously mean in this i'm not kidding, fear, forced orgasm, orgasm denial, creampie, subspace, there's more i'm sure but this one is a doozy. also lots and lots of aftercare!! after a scene like this i had to write detailed aftercare and confirmation of limits, so that's there too! yunho is v sweet when not in the zone.

pairings: yunho x reader

genre: smut and more smut, no plot in sight

word count: 7.9k

The party is in full swing when you arrive. The house bumping with music and every corner decorated for Halloween. You’re late enough that you can just slip in through the back door, and that was the plan from the start. Yunho arrived first, nearly two hours ago, and made excuses for why you were late, for how you might not even make it to the party. No one would see either of you come or go together, so when you both disappeared to play your game no one would ever know. You had come up with the plan in bed, whispered fantasies and what-ifs between the sheets as he rewarded your willingness to try something new with his tongue. 

His fantasy is special, and to do it right you can really only do it on Halloween night. 

You weave through a throng of drunk acquaintances, searching the crowd for him, but it’s not as easy to find him as you thought it would be. You’re not sure how a six foot something Ghostface killer could hide from you in the crowd of your friend’s house party, but no matter how many rooms you check you can’t see him. Nervousness pits inside you as you check your phone and see nothing. He could be caught up with friends, he could be changing his mind, but you can’t tell if you can’t find him. 

Adjusting your very 90s costume, you dart away from the kitchen where a group of your girlfriends are pouring shots and weave your way into the back of the house. Maybe you can call him? Text him? Would that completely ruin the mood of psycho killer stalking? Maybe, but it’s been forty-five minutes and you haven’t so much as seen a sliver of his mask. 

You flick through your phone, checking for any new messages, and then scroll to find Yunho’s contact card in your phone. Your finger hovers over the call button as you lean against the quiet hallway wall, and then in your peripheral vision you see it. 

A dart of black, something looming, and when you finally turn your head, you see him. Ghostface, standing wide and imposing in the hall, blocking any way past him and back out into the party. 

“Spooky,” You sigh, tucking your phone away. 

Silently, Ghostface nods his head. 

The hair on the back of your arms stands up. This is it. 

“What? Are you looking for the bathroom or something?” You take a step or two towards him, leaning into the character you dressed for. 

He shakes his head. 

“Looking for me?” You bite the inside of your lip to keep from smiling. 

Slowly, he nods. 

“Mm,” You raise a brow at him, “what’s the line from that movie? You wanna play psycho killer?” 

His head tilts slightly to the side and he nods once again. 

“And who do I play?” 

He takes a step towards you and you fade back. 

Fear starts to spread through you, even with it all being pretend, you can’t fight the feeling that your subconscious drums up in your gut. 

He takes another step, and then another, and then you’re running. 

Spinning on your heel you push deeper into the house, away from the party and towards a line of doors down the hall. Your heart is pounding out of your chest, your stomach a bundle of nervous trembling knots, and your hands are so slick with sweat you can barely grab the door handle of the basement. It’s not as easy to run as it looks in the movies, especially not in a tight skirt and penny loafers, and you skid down the basement stairs taking them two at a time until you slip forwards and crash down onto your hands and knees. 

You don’t have time to assess the sudden sharp pain as the skin of your palm drags over the concrete floor though, so you scramble up in a flash and in a panic you weave your way deeper into the basement. 

It’s familiar enough to you, your best friend’s parent’s place. You know there’s a tiny half bathroom in the far back corner, a rarely used guest bed against one wall as you descend the stairs, a collection of old video games and movies, and then around the corner to the left more and more basement, more storage, more dusty nooks and crannies to hide. You’re frozen for a split second, trying to decide the best place to go where he won’t find you, but heavy footfalls on the stairs ring in your ears like drum beats and you don’t have time to weigh your options. 

You take off towards the bathroom, fumbling with the door again when you reach it. 

The masked man behind you doesn’t say anything, but you hear him moving. His feet are sure and quick, the heavy fabric of his robes making a whooshing sound as he darts forwards to try and close the space between your bodies. 

A panicked sound leaves your mouth as you tumble into the sink, clocking your hip hard on the porcelain and bracing yourself on the wall. Turning you reach back for the door, if you just get it latched maybe you can give yourself a second to think, to shimmy out of the very small, high set window. Pushing yourself into action you grab the door, he’s so close you can hear his breath, seconds away. Seconds away. 

The door stops abruptly as you throw your body against it, six inches from closing. You push again, but it doesn’t budge, and when you look down it’s clear you’ve lost this game. His heavy black boot is firmly set in the door’s path, and you know there’s no chance for escape. 

He crowds you instantly, leaving you no time to recover, his body pushing into the cramped space of the bathroom and flinging the door backwards into the adjacent wall. You stumble into the sink and he moves right up against you, the firm length of his body pinning yours in place. 

For a moment everything is still, completely and shudderingly still with only the sound of your hitched breathing and thundering heart filling the room. You’re not sure what you should do - beg? Plead? Stay silent and let him do what he wants? 

The masked man’s head tilts to the side as if he’s observing you, something you can’t tell through the ghostly plastic of his mask and dead black eyes. You’re trembling for real, hands shaking as they grip the cool porcelain. Ghostface leans into you, one of his gloved hands reaching for your face, a soft brush against your chin at first that turns to pressure as his fingers slide up your jaw to push you face to the side. It’s like he’s studying you, his hand slipping lower and dragging down your throat. 

Your breath comes faster, stomach tight. 

Ghostface closes his hand around your throat and your eyes widen. He holds you like this for a moment, his other hand locking down over your waist and gripping you tight, pinning you in place. 

When he squeezes, panic bubbles through your body. 

Yunho’s never choked you before. He’s never even suggested it, despite all your little jokes about how nice his hands would look around your neck. It seemed pretty clear to you that within the bounds of your relationship that was one thing he just wasn’t interested in, but whoever has you in the bathroom knows exactly how to hold your throat and where to press. Part of the fun is not knowing who’s beneath the mask, but your body still locks up, and an anxious voice inside you starts to wonder - what if? It’s not as if Ghostface is that rare of a costume choice, you see dozens of them on the street every year. It’s not inconceivable to think that at this party there would be more than one. 

Your heart beats in fluttering fits and starts in your ribcage as your mind turns over this possibility, and then he squeezes. The fight comes back into you full force when you hear him sigh, his hand tightening even more and cutting off your airway. You wriggle in his arms, pushing against his chest and trying to use your hips for leverage, a startled whine ripping from your throat, but fear laces through your body as you shove against him and realize just how immovable he is. 

Ghostface releases your throat, the same gloved hand slipping into the back of your hair to hold you steady. 

“No!” The word tumbles out of your mouth as soon as you can properly make noise again. 

He crowds you more, masked face dipping by your ear, “Shh, shh,” 

You freeze. 

“Safe word?” Yunho’s voice is a balm in your moment of sudden panic, his tone low and hushed. 

“T-treasure,” You manage it, the realization coming back into your body that this isn’t a total and complete stranger, it’s still him. Your fear starts to melt into anticipation. 

He gives you a squeeze, just one gentle pulse with his hand on your hip to communicate that he’s heard you, “Color?” 

You take a second to assess yourself. This game is intense in a way that you’ve never experienced. Yunho had tried to tell you how your body might react to this kind of manufactured fear, how it would play tricks on you, how even if you knew it was him your body would still have the urge to fight and flee. You knew it, but you didn’t really understand it until this moment. 

Yunho’s gloved thumb drags lovingly over your cheek for just a moment, “Color?” 

If he has to ask you a third time he’ll end the scene, you know he will, but the brief flicker of tenderness in his touch reminds you of everything you already know about him. He has you. You’re safe. This is a game. 

“Green,” You finally answer, “I’m green,” 

One more quick pulse to your hip, he’s heard you again. More than that, he’s pleased with you. 

His shoulders straighten as he draws to his full height, his body filling the space of the tiny bathroom and caging you in. You swallow tightly, audible in your ears and then he moves fast. 

His hands around your waist, lifting you up and then shoving you back until you’re sitting on the lip of the porcelain sink, uncomfortably balanced and pushed back flush to the mirrored wall behind you. You yelp when he moves you, hands scrambling for purchase on something, gripping the sleeve of his black cape in desperation. Fear and anticipation pulse through you, but he doesn’t give you a rest to get your bearings. 

He shoves your legs open wide and slots between your thighs and shoves your face to the side until your cheek is squished against the cold mirror, his hand a controlling brace from your jaw to the crown of your head. 

“You look so pretty running from me,” He strokes your face, but this time it’s not loving, it's possessive, it’s pure control. 

You grip the edge of the sink and whimper. 

“Should we play a little game?” He teases, “It’s Halloween, you must like scary movies,” 

Your breath quickens, “Y-yeah,” 

He drops his voice low, in a mimic of the movie, “What’s your favorite scary movie?” 

You’ve heard Yunho do that voice before, lazing on the couch last October when you had yourselves a movie marathon, the day he realized something about your favorite scary movie that turned you on, the day you called him out for being hard during a kill scene. It took a year for you both to work up the courage to actually act on any of those fantasies, but here and now with his mask on and his voice low, you feel that mix of terror and arousal bleeding through your body in a way only he can elicit from you. 

You can’t help the little smile that passes over your lips, “Scream,” 

“Meta,” He teases, pinching you hard on the thigh,  “for every question you get wrong, I’m taking something off you,” 

You swallow hard again. 

He reaches into his black robes and then you see it, shining in the reflection of the mirror and in your hazy peripheral vision. The glint of a real knife is unmistakable, the cool sharp edge of the steel crystal clear and you can’t stop the actual fear that jolts through you. You jerk in his hold, instinct driving you for a split second, and he pushes your face harder into the mirror. 

“Tch,” He makes a disappointed noise with his tongue against his teeth, “the game’s no fun if you don’t play.” 

He won’t hurt you, at least not in ways you don’t already like. You have to trust that. 

Settling yourself with a slow breath you summon the act he wants, find the fear within yourself and let it inform your words to give him what he wants. 

“Please, don’t,” You’re trembling is real, that you know. 

He shifts between your legs, drawing the knife closer, shifting it in his hand so he simply presses the cool flat side of the blade against one of your nipples. You hiss at the sensation, tightness building in your gut. 

“First question,” He drags the knife a little over your nipple, “What movie franchise is Jason from?” 

It’s an actual quiz, of course it is. At least he’s starting off easy. 

“Friday the Thirteenth,” You reply fast. 

“Correct,” He lifts the knife, and with the blade pointed away from you, he pushes up your tight tshirt until it’s bunched above your breasts. 

“I got that right,” You glance down at the way he’s touching you, breaking his own rules already. 

“Just getting a better view,” He insists, and then the cool knife is against your nipple again, only the thin fabric of your bralette between skin and steel. 

Your body is aching in this position, but you can feel the heat off his body, and the heady tone of his voice from under the mask still has you starting to ache in different places. 

“Let’s make this a little harder,” He taps the knife against you and you shiver, “what movie has a group of teenagers being stalked on an island by a killer fisherman?” 

“It’s,” You start to answer but he taps the knife again and you jolt, “fuck, it’s I Know What You Did Last Summer,” 

You watched it with him two weeks ago. You remember it, clear as day. 

“Wrong,” The knife twists, the tip gently skating over the swell of your breast. 

“Wait,” You start but he tips the knife under the center of your bra. 

“I Still Know What You Did Last Summer,” He clarifies the sequel, “they weren’t on an island in the first movie. I thought you liked scary movies,” 

“I,” You press back into the wall as the knife edge kisses your skin, “I… I do,” 

“You’re not very good at this,” He twists the knife and drags the sharp edge out so that it severs your thin bra in half, falling open and revealing your breasts to his wandering eyes. 

A little gasping sound leaves your lips, a desperate noise you try to bite back, but he hears it. 

He hums a soft, amused laugh and suddenly the knife is gone, sheathed and away and he leans into your space again, “You fucking like this, don’t you?” 

“No,” You insist, despite the way your stomach is in tight knots. 

“Did running away get you hot?” His gloved hand skims over your exposed body, “Do psycho killers make you wet?” 

“Fuck,” You whine, “no, no,” 

“Liar,” He whispers, and then he delivers a pointed slap to your thigh, “spread.” 

Your legs widen instinctively at his command, but he doesn’t reward you or praise you like he normally would, this is different. He reaches under the hem of your taut mini skirt, finding the apex of your thighs, and his fingers gently rub up and down from the base of your slit to your clit. A tiny gasp bubbles out of your throat. 

“Are you afraid?” He all but growls. 

Your stomach flips and his hand tightens in your hair, “Y-yes,” 

“Tell me you don’t want this,” He finds the edge of your panties and drags them to one side. 

“I don’t want it,” You answer him, body shaking now. 

“Tell me to stop,” One gloved finger presses into your entrance, the softness of the leather and the warmth of his skin beneath it making you tremble. 

“Stop,” You beg, “please, please, stop,” 

“Why would I?” He slowly pushes inside, stretching you around his finger, “When I know how wet being fucked by a stranger in a mask makes you,” 

A tense thready sound pulls from your throat as he adds a second finger. 

“If you don’t want this,” He pulses his hand once, forcing both fingers deep into your slick channel, “why are you panting like a dog in heat?” 

“N-no,” 

“If you don’t want it,” He whispers, “don’t come.” 

Your eyes shut as his hand starts moving, a steady pulse of his gloved fingers inside your aching cunt, curled just right in the way he knows gets you off fast. A pumping drag against your g-spot, the sound of his heavy breath, the unmistakable sensation of your own wetness making a mess between  your thighs. 

“Looks like you want it to me,” He adds the circle of his thumb against your clit and you jerk in his hold. 

“Stop, fuck,” Your nails dig into his forearm. 

“You don’t want me touching you, but you’re soaking my fingers,” 

“N..No, no,” You babble, heat pooling in your gut. 

“Fight it,” He pumps his fingers faster, drumming against your sweet spot, “don’t come,” 

You hiss sharply, pleasure dropping low in your belly, the sensation of his gloves and his hot hand too much to bear. 

“Moaning like you want it,” He laughs, pulling his hand suddenly out from under your skirt and yanking your head back to center. 

You yelp at the position change and the sudden lack of contact but he doesn’t make you wait for long. 

“Open,” He smacks your cheek lightly. 

Your mouth falls open and he shoves both gloved fingers between your lips. You choke against the suddenness, at the way he presses down on your tongue, blinking to clear the haze from your eyes. 

“Suck.” 

You shiver, your lips closing over his digits, the sharp taste of leather mixed with your fluids assaulting your senses and you can’t fight the moan, the way your eyes drift shut as you swirl your tongue. 

He hums, pleased, “Does it hurt?” He asks. 

His question doesn’t make sense, and you blink your eyes back open to look up at the cool passiveness of his ghostly mask. 

“Pretending you’re not a whore?” He clarifies and your mouth stills over his fingers. He pulls them out, delivering one more pointed slap to your cheek, and dives back down to plunge them back into your aching cunt, “Moaning like that, your nipples rock hard, and this pussy,” 

You choke, a bubble building in your core as he abuses your slick channel again. 

“Clenching around my fingers, sucking me in,” He chuckles, “I can feel you, baby,” 

“Fuck, fuck,” 

“Hold back,” He doubles his efforts between your thighs and you keen, “if you don’t want it, tell me to stop, don’t come,” 

“Stop!” You whine, giving him exactly what he wants, “Please, please,” 

“No,” His thumb rubs fast, his hand practiced at making you fall apart at the seams, “you come, you keep your eyes open, and you come all over my fucking hand,” 

Your breath is fast, heart pounding, and you feel the cord tightening in your belly in a way that makes you want to rub yourself back up into his touch but he has you pinned, stuck, at his mercy just like he wants. 

“Come,” His voice is clear, authoritative, and familiar. Like a trained response, your body releases and cracks open into a desperate orgasm, crumbling in his hands as you pitch forward onto his shoulder and grind your hips down to take the last little bit of what you need from his fingers. 

When his hand stills, you realize you’re still clinging to him and you jerk back, one hand over your mouth as you try to recover your breath. 

He steps back, his hands sliding off you and body slotting out from your thighs. You can’t see Yunho beneath the mask, but you know he’s looking. You can feel his hot gaze sliding over your body and taking in every wet and shaking inch of you. Your body is throbbing with need, but the game isn’t done, he hasn’t even made you touch his cock yet, and you know there’s no way you’re making it out of this basement without that. 

“Tell me again how you don’t like it,” He finally says. 

You shiver. 

“Cat got your slutty little tongue?” He prompts you again, voice hardening. 

You swallow hard, finding your words, “I didn’t like it,” 

“Mhm,” 

“I d-don’t want you to touch me,” You lie. 

“Yeah?” He teases, “Well then run,” 

“W-what?” Your eyes flick up to the impassive plastic of his mask. 

“If you didn’t like it, why are you still sitting there?” He takes a step to the side, clearing your path to the door and you slide off the edge of the sink, your loafers making a click onto the tile floor. 

You swallow hard, eyes darting out to the rest of the basement. 

“Come on,” He teases, and you can hear the sick smile in his voice, “try to get away,” 

You look between him and the room ahead of you again.

He leans forward and you shiver, his gaunt stretched mouth at your ear again, “I can’t fuck you if I can’t catch you,” his gloved fingers yank your top down over your exposed breasts and he chuckles, “better run fast.” 

You spring forwards, adrenaline pumping through your body and blood rushing in your ears. Leaping out of the bathroom he gives you a couple steps to get a head start, but he’s so much bigger than you, his stride so much longer, and he closes the distance with ease as you scramble in mock terror to get to the steps. 

Yunho’s arms close around you, hauling you up off your feet and against his chest, his touch rough and probing as he drags you up into the air. 

“No!” You shriek, “Fuck!”

“You think I’d really let you go?” He laughs, “After that?” 

“Fuck you!” The words bubble up out of your mouth. 

“That’s the idea,” His hand slides down your belly, closing over your cunt and cupping you tightly. 

Your body is reacting before your mind, and you jerk in his hold, kicking back your leg and catching him in the shin with the flat heel of your shoe. 

He groans and wrenches you higher in the air, “Keep struggling,” he pants, “I like it,” 

You twist again, trying to free one of your arms, but he has them pinned tightly to your body, “Get the fuck off me!”

“Not a fucking chance,” He takes two wide steps to the mattress and then tosses you down. 

You collapse onto the bed, the old and rarely used springs creaking under your weight, and your scramble forwards in some kind of an attempt to get your bearings, but he’s on you just as fast. He yanks you back with a hand around your ankle and in a flash he’s on top of you. 

He presses one hand firmly between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned face down to the bed, and then his body weight drops down as he straddles the backs of your thighs. Your hands curl into the bedding beneath you, rough sheets and scratchy camp blankets, nothing soft and soothing to take a moment of comfort in. 

His free hand wanders, searching your body slowly. The sound of the party raging upstairs drowns out any competing noise, but you can still hear his heavy breath against the mask and your pounding heart, the sound of anticipation thick in the air around you. 

Yunho presses his hips forwards and you feel the thick hard length of his cock through his costume nestled against your backside. 

“Look at you,” He palms your ass, “shaking for me,” 

A whimper leaves you as his fingers dig into your back. 

“Do I scare you, baby?” He delivers a harsh slap to the back of your thighs and you yelp, “Are you fucking terrified?” 

Another slap leaves you trembling and you hide your face in the mattress, pressing your eyes shut tight. You love when he touches you like this and he knows it. You bite down hard on your lip to keep from whining, wetness pooling in your core. He wanted you scared, he wanted you fighting, you can’t give in just because his glove on your stinging skin feels like sin. 

He groans, his cock pressing down harder to your ass and you feel both his hands slide from your hips up to your back and back down again until he has a grip on your waist. 

A whimper slips out from between your lips.  

Yunho freezes above you, his thumbs massaging a quick circle into your lower back, “Color?” 

“Green!” Your voice is muffled by the bedding but you know he heard it. 

He groans, pulsing his hips to rut his cock against you again. 

Even between layers of fabric, you can feel the heat of him, throbbing and ready for you. Your mouth waters as you picture it, cockhead leaking precum and Yunho’s familiar hand wrapped around the base as he directs it to your mouth. 

“Little slut,” He chuckles and it pulls you straight out of your mental fantasy, “rubbing that ass on a stranger’s cock,” 

Your stomach clenches, and you twitch under him. 

“That’s fucked up,” He drops his body weight over you, one hand pushing your head to the side as he leans over you, “you’re so fucked up, aren’t you?” 

Your breathing is fast, a thready sound in your throat. 

“Aren’t you?” His voice is low, a shade away from a growl, and he rocks his hips again to rub his cock against you. 

“N-no,” You try to shake your head but his hand tightens against your scalp. 

“Liar,” He keeps grinding against you, his free hand snaking underneath your bodies to grope your breast, “I know a needy whore when I see one,” 

You moan into the sheets as he tweaks your nipple, tears springing to your eyes as he palms you, taking you apart with every touch. 

“Let’s see how you like this,” He pinches your nipple once more and you squeal at the sharp sensation that rockets through your chest, a sharp line down to your clit, and then he slides back and shuffles back to sit up over your thighs. 

He pushes the stiff fabric of your mini skirt up over your ass and then you feel the cold metal again. 

You jerk underneath him, and he tuts softly, the sharp edge of the weapon gently dragging over the curve of your ass cheek. 

“Tell me,” He grips your flesh tightly with one hand, painfully pinching, “do you still like scary movies now that you’re in one?” 

You shake your head, a whimper on your lips when the knife slips under the edge of your panties, “P-please, don’t,” 

He yanks the knife up and splits one side of your panties with a taut snap of fabric, “Please?” He taunts, “Please?”

You sob softly in response. 

“Is ‘please’ all you can say?” He delivers a sharp smack to your exposed ass check and you jerk under him. 

“I can’t,” You shake your head into the sheets, “I can’t,” 

He sighs, and you feel the knife shred the other side of your underwear and then you hear the sound of the blade clattering to the floor. With both hands free he palms your exposed flesh, squeezing you almost painfully and inspecting your exposed body. 

Shivers run through you, and you try to hold yourself still for his touches. 

“Which hole should I fuck first, hmm?” His fingers search you, probe you. 

Your body locks up tightly, a gasp on your lips. You hadn’t discussed that, and you shake your head. 

“Scared?” He ghosts his fingers over your rim. 

“Please,” It’s all you can manage. 

“Beg me,” He presses down with his thumb, “beg me not to fuck your ass if you’re so scared.” 

You scramble in the sheets but he has you stuck, “Please don’t, don’t fuck me like t-that, you’re too big, it’s too,” 

He massages one cheek and hums, “What should I do then?” 

“What?” You crane to look back at him, at the masked man pinning you down. 

“Beg,” He says it like he’s bored, like it’s obvious, “beg me to put it somewhere else, or I will fuck this pretty ass open and make you say thank you.” 

Heat floods your belly, your body a sizzling live wire, and you fall right into step with a heady whine, “Please, fuck my pussy,” 

“Again,” 

“Fuck my pussy, please, I’m begging you,” Your voice sounds needy and strange even to your own ears, “I need it inside me, g-give it to me please, fuck my pussy, please,” 

“Better,” His hands disappear into his robed costume and then he pushes forwards, his cock finally free and sliding up and down your slit to find your aching entrance. 

“Y-yes,” You drop your head back down to the bed and in one sharp thrust, he pushes his thick length all the way inside you until his hips are flush with your ass. 

Yunho groans, bracing himself with one hand on the back of your neck and the other on the bed beside you, the mattress creaking with every shift, “Needy pussy,” 

“Fuck,” You moan. 

“Greedy,” He punctuates his words with a sharp thrust, starting to pick up the pace now in earnest, “gripping my fucking cock like that,” 

All you can do is hold on, bite down on the sheets and let him use you, focus on the sensation of his impossibly hard cock driving in and out and in and out. 

“Are you crying for me? Hmm?” He rolls his hips, the fabric of his costume dragging against you as he fucks into you faster. 

Your eyes are wet, pleasured tears bubbling up and you nod, a tiny sob passing through your lips. 

“Good cocksleeve,” He presses down harder with his hand on your neck, forcing you lower into the mattress. 

Your back arches instinctively, and you whine at the angle change. A few more thrusts and you’ll be done for, you know it. 

“That’s it,” He pants, voice muffled by the mask, “come for me,” 

“C-close,” The words tumble out. 

“Come for me,” He stays steady with his thrusts, pushing your orgasm closer and closer, “come for me, come for me,” 

“Ah!” You fist the sheets, legs starting to shake, “Ah, fuck, fuck!”

“Come on this stranger’s fucking cock,” He grunts, shuddering above you, his fingers digging into your skin and no doubt leaving a bouquet of bruises behind. 

So close to the edge, just a little more will tip you over, and you whine, “Harder,” 

He gasps, forcing his pace to clap harder, deeper, and it only takes two pointed thrusts of his cock into the deepest parts of you to send you careening over the edge. 

“Coming,” You twist beneath him, moaning into your fist, “oh, god,” 

“Fuck,” He curses as your muscles clench and flutter around him, “fuck, oh fuck,” 

Your orgasm has your body locked up and shuddering, but when he pulls free suddenly you gasp into the bedding, “N-no, no, please,” 

He yanks off any scrap of clothing you have on with frantic hands and then rolls you in the sheets so that you’re lying on your back spread open for him. You try to form a sentence, to ask what’s happening but suddenly he’s tearing off his mask and the world slows to a stop. 

Yunho’s sweaty, flushed pink in the cheeks eyes blown wide with need, his plush lips parted and his chest heaving with labored breaths. In a flash he’s stripping off the costume, peeling off his gloves and kicking off his boots. 

“Come here,” He spreads your thighs wider and presses down over you, his cock finding your entrance with ease as he sheaths himself again in one thrust. 

You moan sharply and wrap your arms around his shoulders as he collapses over you. 

“Need you,” He pumps his hips, “have to have you,” 

Pleasure crackles up your body, “Yours,” you nod, “I’m yours,” 

He presses his mouth to yours, kissing you hot and hard, “Fuck,” he groans. 

Yunho gathers you closer, your slick bodies now flush together as he rocks into the warm cradle of your hips, “never heard you moan like that,” 

Your walls clench around him. 

“You wanted me to do this,” He groans between messy kisses, “you wanted to run,” 

You nod, lips pressed together. 

“You’re so fucking perfect,” He pumps into you harder, like he’s desperate to get as deep as possible, “my dirty girl,” 

“Oh, fuck,” Your head falls back against the bed, a pleasured moan caught in your throat. 

“My little fucking slut,” He groans, tipping your hips open wider, his hands tight on your skin, “so desperate to come on stranger cock,” 

You whine sharply, nails digging into his back. 

“Say it,” He threads a hand through your hair and tugs your head back up roughly, “say it,��� 

“Yes!” You whine, “Yes, I-I need it,” 

His gaze darkens, the cool mask of your dominant returning, and he slaps your cheek sharply, just enough to give you a pointed sting, “Need what?” 

Your brain is soft, fuzzy with pleasure, but the slap focuses you and you blink, “Need to come,” you pant as he thrusts into you, “on a stranger’s cock, need you to… fuck, need you to take it,” 

He nods, lips parting open in pleasure, “That’s right,” 

Your stomach tightens, pressure dropping low in your belly and you can’t stop feeling the way his cock punches into the deepest parts of you over and over again. Your eyes close tight and you hold onto him, one of your hands slipping up to his neck to tangle into his black hair. 

“Oh,” You’re so close, almost there, “Y-Yunho, oh, god,” 

His hips thrust forward once more, burying his cock impossibly deep and then he stops. That’s when you realize your critical mistake. 

“Is my cock so good you forgot your manners?” He says and your eyes fly open. 

You don’t know what to say, you don’t know how to recover, your head is too mixed up to know what’s up and what’s down and you’ve never played a scene where he’s a stranger before. You’re used to your rules, you’re used to calling him sir or daddy or master, but now you feel unmoored. 

“Now you don’t get to come,” He leans back, taking your wrists in his hands and pushing them down flat to the bed. 

You know better than to protest, but you’re sure he can feel you shaking. 

He drops closer, pinning you open with the weight of his body, his head nudging yours to the side, “Maybe you’ve forgotten who’s in control here, baby,” 

Liquid heat spreads through your body and you shake your head just a little. 

“So drunk on cock,” He bites at your ear, “you forgot you don’t want this,” 

Your pussy tightens, and you hear him chuckle. 

“Filthy,” He maneuvers your arms above your head so that he can close both your wrists together in one of his large hands, “fucked up little fucktoy,” 

Your eyes roll back and you fight the urge to move your hips, his words enough to put you on the precipice. 

A sharp slap stings over your exposed breast, your nipple hardening even more and Yunho draws his hips back before slamming forwards, driving you deeper into the squeaking mattress. At the painful stretch, the sharp sting inside, you do cry out. 

“Does it hurt?” He thrusts again, just as hard. 

You struggle under him, a little for play and a little because it does hurt, but you love the way he groans when you please him and you can’t stop, “Y-yes,” 

“Too bad,” His hand claps over your mouth and then he starts to fuck you again for real. 

Pleasure and pain in equal parts spike through your body, a perfect combination to get you right up to the edge of orgasm, but you know you’re not allowed. You moan into his hot hand, the sound feral and taut, tears gathering in your eyes and slipping down your temples into your hairline. 

Yunho slides the hand on your wrists up to clasp your hands together palm to palm, still pinning you to the bed but offering you a line of communication you desperately need in a scene like this. He doesn’t stop, but his eyes find yours in the dim light of the basement and he squeezes your hand once. You squeeze back just once, your silent sign to keep going. 

He keeps driving into you, cursing every time you moan and clench around his thick length, the mask of dominance slipping again as he starts to rut into you with artless, needy thrusts. He’s chasing his own pleasure now, with no regard for your own release. 

“No one’s coming to help you,” He groans, “you’re mine,”

 You can’t hear everything he says, not with your mind spinning so close to a forbidden orgasm and his pants and groans punctuating every few words, but you hear it when he says he’s coming inside you. 

Thrusting deep, he spills himself hot in your belly, hips grinding into yours to milk himself dry as he moans into your ear. The bubble of your own pleasure builds with every rock of his body and you whimper into his hand, tears spilling over as you try not to let it take you. 

Yunho’s hand pulls away from your mouth and suddenly his fingers are rubbing fast and firm on your swollen clit, his cock still buried deep. 

“Ah, n-no, please,” You grip his hand tightly and lock your eyes closed, trying to pull yourself back from the edge, “please,” 

“Fuck,” He groans, overstimulated. 

You’re going to come, there’s no way to hold back if he’s going to torture you like this and you thrash under him, “I can’t,” you’re sobbing in earnest now, “I can’t hold it,” 

“Shit,” He curses sharply, “come, sweetheart, come, I’m so sorry,” 

At his permission, your pleasure rips through you, a hot slice of rapture rocketing up your body. Your ears are ringing, black dots over your vision, and your body wrenches up with tight shakes in a way that only a soul shattering orgasm could do. You vaguely hear your own voice, a babbled string of ‘thank-yous’ and sobs, but it feels like someone else. All you know is warmth, and the deliciousness of earned pleasure. 

When consciousness starts to creep back in, the first thing you feel is Yunho’s gentle hands on your cheeks. He’s murmuring something, but it takes your mind a second to process, and you blink your eyes open slowly to find his face. 

“Hey,” He’s back to soft and warm, your tender lover, “oh, there you are,” 

“Mm,” You manage. 

He looks you over slowly, warm brown eyes flicking over your skin, “Does anything hurt, sweetheart?” 

You shake your head, still boneless and trembling in the scratchy blankets. 

“Hmm?” He nudges you, pushing for a verbal response. 

“I’m okay,” You respond, but your voice is small. 

Yunho, so attuned to you, looks back up and shifts up the bed to meet your eyes, “Feeling floaty?” 

“Mm,” You nod, recognizing distantly that the intensity of your play tonight pushed you right into subspace. 

“Ah,” He smiles warmly, “come here,” 

He gathers you close, arms wrapping around you as he tucks you into his chest and pulls the plaid camp blanket up higher over both of your naked bodies. His skin feels so essential, a necessity like eating or breathing, and you nuzzle into his warm chest. 

“You’re okay,” He soothes you, stroking your back, “you’re safe, you’re safe with me,” 

A heavy breath releases from your chest. 

“That’s it,” He kisses your forehead, “breathe with me, relax with me,” 

Your muscles release one by one. 

“That was just a fantasy,” He soothes you, easing the knotted up feelings in your body with practiced words, “it was just pretend,” 

You nod. 

“Just pretend,” He murmurs, lips tender against your forehead, “none of that was real, nothing I said. I love you, and I will always keep you safe, sweetheart,” 

Your fingers relax, and you realize how firmly you were gripping his arms. 

“There you go,” He murmurs, “I’ve got you,” 

“Yunho?” You manage, your body feeling heavy once again as you start to center. 

He shifts, cupping your cheek as he leans back to get a good look at you, “Right here,” 

“H-hey,” You give him a lazy smile. 

He nods, brushing your cheek with his thumb, “Tell me where you are?” 

“Basement at the party,” You answer. 

“Good,” He nods, “now tell me who you’re with?” 

“You, Yunho,” You reply, practiced now at the routine he uses to help ground you out of the scene and bring you back into reality. 

“Good,” He continues, “tell me three things you can see,” 

You glance around the room, “Old playstation, bicycle,” you look back to him, “your necklace,” 

He smiles as you touch the silver chain around his neck, “Good,” 

You stretch your stiff limbs in his arms and try to snuggle back into his hold but he’s not done yet, especially after a scene that new and that intense. 

“Any pain?” His hands slide over your body. 

“No,” You assure him, “a little sore, but I feel good,” 

He nods, but keeps looking you over anyway. When he turns your hands in his and finds your scratched palms a little line forms between his brows, “What’s this?” 

You look down at the red skin, a few shallow cuts here and there, “I fell,” 

“Fell?” His brow goes high with alarm, “when?” 

“When I was running, I took the stairs too fast,” You tell him honestly, “but it doesn’t hurt, I promise,” 

His fingers trace over the broken skin and he nods, “You promised you’d call the scene if you got hurt,” 

For how rough this man can be with you, for how many times he’s bruised you and made you bleed, he never fails to surprise you at just how tender and soft he is outside of the bedroom. 

“Baby,” You close your fingers over his, “you promised you’d trust me to know my own limits, I’m not hurt, I got a little scrape,” 

His lips close as he considers your words and then he nods, leaning in to kiss each of your palms warmly, “I want to disinfect these at home,” 

“Okay,” You murmur. 

“Anywhere else?” 

“Mm-mm,” You shake your head. 

“But sore?” He confirms.

“A bit,” 

His fingers find your jaw, massaging the muscle there, “When we get home, we’ll run a warm bath. I’ll take care of all your aches, I know I was rough with you,” 

You sigh pleasantly, relaxing into the warmth of his hand and he nods, dipping his face towards yours and capturing your mouth in a soft kiss. 

“You did so perfect for me, sweetheart,” he says softly, voice threaded with emotion, “I’m so… is it too lame to say honored? I… you were so amazing, and you trusted me like that and I,” 

“Yunho,” You smooth back his hair and pull him closer, “I’m alright,” 

His eyes flick over your face, “Yeah?” 

“Yes,” You give him the clarity he needs to know he didn’t hurt you, “you made me feel very safe, even though I was kind of terrified,” 

He stays quiet, like he’s gauging the honesty of your words. 

“Even when I was scared,” You lean in, kissing him quickly, “I knew you wouldn’t take it too far, and you checked in with me. I’m okay, I liked it, I love you,” 

“You didn’t push yourself too hard for me?” He always worries about that, the double edged sword of a submissive who’s desperate to please. 

“No,” You smooth your hand over his cheek, “I liked it alot,”

He nods and snuggles you closer, his fingertips coasting up and down your back softly. He’s quiet for a few minutes, just letting you both come down as easy as you can with thrumming house music upstairs. 

“You liked it?” He finally confirms, carding his fingers through your hair. 

You nod, “A lot,” 

“What I said,” He kisses the top of your head, “during, about you liking it, that was fantasy too, you know that right?” 

You’re quiet, taking in his words. 

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” He continues softly, “there’s nothing wrong with you for wanting it, all of that was pretend, okay?” 

“I know,” You kiss his chest, nodding against his shoulder. 

“I love you,” He squeezes you, “you know that too, right?” 

You smile, wiggling up in his arms to see his face, “I do,” you kiss him softly, “I love you too,” 

He nods and sighs, “I lost my head a little at the end there,” he admits, “I didn’t communicate well when you needed it, I’m sorry about that.” 

Your brows knit together in confusion. 

“I should have given you permission sooner,” He explains, brushing your cheek with his thumb, “I forgot myself in the scene, I didn’t mean to push you so hard.” 

“Oh,” You smile, “Yunho, I’m alright,” 

“I know you are,” He dips in for a kiss, “but I’m still sorry,” 

“Thank you,” You murmur, pressing your lips back to his, staying warm and still and soft in this moment together, “I know you’ll always take care of me,” 

He nods, his broad hand brushing down your hair. 

“How was the party?” You nudge him a little. 

He smiles, “Fine,” he shrugs, “I was too focused on looking for you, I think everyone thinks something’s up with me.” 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” You laugh. 

“Mm,” He nods, “and now I disappeared and we made a mess of this basement,” 

“Fuck, I can’t believe you cut my underwear off, how am I supposed to get out of here,” 

“I brought backups,” He grins wide, proud of himself for thinking that far ahead. 

“You’re a genius,” 

“There is a back door out of the basement though, right?” He looks up around the room trying to find one. 

“Yeah,” You reach out, pointing around the back corner, “why?” 

“It’s extremely obvious that you’ve been fucked within an inch of your life,” He presses a quick kiss on your forehead and stretches next to you, so casual about the way he just rearranged your insides, “and I’m not so sure you’re going to walk straight,”

You laugh sharply and shake your head, “Take me home,” 

“Scary movies on the couch?” He squeezes your thigh as he rolls away, searching for his clothes. 

You shiver, “Maybe, that might be too close to home,” 

Nudging your knee he smiles, “Don’t worry, baby, it’s just a movie.”

[andvys]

The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ chapter six

⭐︎ The killing time. Unwillingly mine.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, post apocalypse, gore, mentions of death, killing zombies, mentions of blood

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: Another kind of tension starts building between you and Steve the longer you spend time on the road.

Word count: 10k+

Author's note: Things are getting interesting y'all. This is only gonna get better from now on hehe. And a quick reminder, @hellfire--cult helped me with this chapter as always (this is our baby) (Also, I think it's so easy to tell who writes what parts. Roe always writes in past tense, while I write in present tense and most of the time I'm too lazy to fix it oops)

⭐︎ series masterlist ⭐︎ previous chapter ⭐︎ next chapter

☀︎

Eddie bops his head to some 70s song as he drives on the lone and abandoned highway, tapping the steering wheel, he hums along. Nancy is in the passenger seat next to him with her feet on the dashboard and a book in her hands.

Steve sits on the bench across from you, his hands are on the table, fingers playing with his switchblade as he looks out the window. It’s raining today. Your eyes follow the raindrops that roll down the windows. 

There is a comfortable silence between all of you, only the sound of the music and the rain fills the big RV. It’s almost odd how normal this feels like you are just a group of friends going on a road trip and not one trying to survive while making it to the other side of the country after the world ended. 

It’s easy to pretend at certain moments. When you are driving through parts of the country that had been untouched by the upside down. Where nature is still blooming and alive, where the roads aren’t blocked by abandoned cars. In those moments it’s easy to pretend that you are just a group of friends doing this for fun. But those moments of pretend only last for a few seconds, until you take a look at your clothes that you can’t stand anymore or when you eat another bowl of something canned but worst of all; when you have to look over your shoulder after every step that you take, fearing something or someone creeping up on you and your friends. 

“Guys,” Eddie’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “There’s an exit in about two miles, should we try our luck or keep driving?” 

Nancy stops reading her book, narrowing her eyes as she looks outside. 

Your eyes meet Steve’s. He raises his eyebrows at you, knowing that you have been desperately looking for new clothes. 

“Yeah, we could try.” Nancy shrugs before she goes back to reading her book. 

Eddie’s eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror.

“What do you say, sweets?”

You don’t notice the way Steve huffs or the way he rolls his eyes as he sinks back into his seat. 

You nod, smiling at the metalhead. 

“Let’s try! We all need warmer clothes!”

“Alright, the exit it is,” Eddie grins. 

Steve watches the way your smile widens as you still look at Eddie, the way something glints in your eyes as you sigh in contentment keeping your gaze still locked on him for a few more seconds before you look outside again. 

Something in his chest stirs, something unpleasant. He suddenly doesn’t taste the mint flavor of his gum anymore as something sour settles on his tongue. His stomach twists in a way it always did when he was a teenager, when he watched others get what he wanted. 

You are not something he wants. He has no interest in you. You are a friend, that’s all. But annoyance bubbles up inside of him whenever he watches your interactions with Eddie. Whenever he sees how sweet he is with you and how his flirtations make you blush. 

He wonders if you like him. 

He isn’t sure if he would like it if you did. 

It troubles him more than he would like to admit and it brings up scenarios in his head that he finds unpleasant to even think about. 

Your squeal startles him and pulls him out of his thoughts. You jump up, wasting no time to grab your gear before you make your way out of the RV. 

Even though it’s Eddie and Nancy who call out to you, it’s Steve who runs after you first. With his rifle slung over his shoulder and his trusted bat in his hand. He gives Eddie and Nancy a stern look, “stay here, I’ll go with her. Keep the motor running.” 

Eddie frowns, shaking his head, “I was the one who saw the sign, dude–”

“You stay here, Munson.” He glares at him before he looks down at Nancy. “Both of you.” 

He doesn’t give them the chance to even utter a single word before he takes off after you, looking over his shoulder to give another pointed look at Eddie who rolls his eyes at him. 

Steve grumbles your name in annoyance as he watches you struggle with the crowbar. 

“You can’t just run out like this, just because the area looks safe doesn’t mean that it is safe!” He mumbles. Frustration built up in him. 

“Shush, Steve!” You say cheerfully. “I have hope that I will find clothes here!”

He scrunches his face up and squints his eyes as he looks at the sign above the store, it hangs loosely from the wall, broken and shattered and covered in dirt. The windows are still intact and the door seems to be locked. The mannequins are still clothed as well so yeah, maybe you do have a chance. 

“You don’t know what could be in there just because this door is locked doesn’t mean that there aren’t other ways to get in–”

A loud click echoes through the empty streets, followed by a cheerful squeal from you. You look over your shoulder, grinning at him proudly. 

“Only one way to find out,” you shrug. Putting the crowbar back into your backpack, you reach for your machete again. You press your palm against the dusty door but he stops you with his hand on your shoulder. 

“I’m going in first,” he sighs, pushing you behind him slowly. 

You give him an innocent smile, blinking up at him in satisfaction. 

“I won’t argue with that.”

Steve snorts, rolling his eyes yet again. 

“What a surprise,” he murmurs under his breath. He takes another look around, ignoring your eyes that are set on him. 

He gets that feeling. Every time something bad is about to happen, he gets that certain feeling that unsettles him. For the longest time, he couldn’t place it and he didn’t understand it until that bad thing had already happened and he realized too late that something was warning him. 

It changed after Robin’s death. 

But right now, he feels calmness inside of him, nothing unsettling. Yet, he is still careful when he takes the first step inside the abandoned store. His grip is tight on his bat, his eyes scanning the place as he tries to pick up on any sign that something is in here. He is quiet on his feet and he is on full alert. 

Just like you are. 

You are right behind him, ready to sling your machete at anything that may come running out of the shadows, ready to make you both its feast. 

But the store is clean aside from the dust that covers every surface. 

You make your way through every aisle. You check behind the cash register just to be sure. You look for any open windows or other ways inside this building. Steve insists on checking the break room by himself but you don’t let him. You follow him, covering his back just in case. 

“Alright, it’s clear in here,” Steve whispers. 

You watch the tension fall from his shoulders and from his face and you see the way his features soften after he takes a deep breath. 

Despite living in a world like this, so unlike from the one you grew up in. You don’t share this tension and this fear with him but you also didn’t lose your best friend and watch her get ripped apart before you. You understand him. Even if you don’t feel the same, you understand him.

He doesn’t want to see that happening again – to anyone. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have jumped out of the RV the way I did.”

Steve swallows, nodding in agreement. His hazel eyes glare a little into yours. 

“Yeah you’re right, you shouldn’t have,” he mumbles, sighing. He wants to roll his eyes again when you look down with a guilty look on your face. He hates it when you do that. “It’s fine, let’s get those clothes, sunshine.” He nudges your shoulder with his finger, giving you the smallest smile when you look up at him again. 

“Yeah.” You nod. “Please look for a new jacket, a warmer one!”

He chuckles softly. His eyes follow you when you walk away. 

“You too.”

Excitement rushes through you so strongly that you don’t even know what section to check first. It’s been so long since you had last stepped foot into a store that still looked so normal, like it has been untouched by this world. This store froze in time, just like the clothes in it, the fashion that was in trend while the world was ending. 

Bright colors you normally would have picked, you skip. They don’t fit into this world. 

You start by looking for a pair of new jeans before you move onto sweaters, picking some out for Nancy as well. You want to pick the pastel colors out for her so badly, thinking they will suit her but it’s always best to go for clothes that blend in better outside, ones that don’t attract unwanted attention. 

The items start piling up on your arm and you end up getting a cart, something that makes Steve chuckle when you finally bump into each other in the shoe section. 

“We need to gear up on winter clothes, how are you gonna survive with that?” You ask, frowning at the clothes in his basket. You see some knitted sweaters, t-shirts and wool socks but no sign of what you told him to look for. “You better get that jacket or I’ll get it for you, Steve.”

You glare at him and it only makes him want to chuckle even more – not because he is laughing at you. But because he thinks that the frown on your face is adorable. You threatening him is adorable. 

“Alright, alright.” He raises his hands up in surrender. 

Your eyes keep scanning the basket and they light up when you notice the socks he threw in there. The Garfield socks. 

A smug smile stretches across your face and you look up at him a little evilly. 

“You wear Garfield socks?” 

Steve looks down into his basket and his cheeks light up suddenly, blushing red. Though he shakes his head when he raises his head to look at you. 

“They’re not for me,” he mumbles, rolling his eyes. “They’re for Eddie. He’s like obsessed with Garfield. He had Garfield pajamas at home, I’m pretty sure he packed his Garfield mug into his box somewhere.” 

A giggle falls from your lips. You tilt your head to the side, pouting softly. 

“Aw! Eddie is so cute! I adore him!” You say before you turn around and continue your little shopping spree.

Oh, so you adore him now? 

The unpleasant feeling in his chest spreads even more as he stares at the back of your head. His eyebrows are scrunched together so strongly that there is almost no space left between them. 

A huff falls from his lips as he forces his eyes away from you. He gets up, glaring down at the socks in his basket. 

“Cute,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes again. 

“Get yourself a jacket, Steve!” You call through the store, reminding him yet again. 

“Yeah, yeah…” He mumbles as he finally listens to you and goes on a hunt for a warmer jacket. His thoughts are troubled though and he doesn’t even know why. He doesn’t like the thought of you liking Eddie. It’s not that he wants you to like him instead. It’s just that he thinks it would make things complicated in your group when you are all growing closer. 

He has been through that before and it only made things awkward. When he was so desperate to feel something again and he set his eyes on his ex-girlfriend again, almost ruining the friendship that just started blooming between them. He confessed his undying love for her when all he wanted was to feel something real. She was the only real relationship he had. Every other relationship was short lived, superficial and meaningless. No one ever bothered to actually get to know him and not the guy everyone liked; King Steve. 

He thought she was the exception, that she wasn’t like the others – and she wasn’t. But she never planned on sticking around either and he crashed hard when he realized that he was never something real to her like she was to him. 

When those old feelings came back, he didn’t realize that it wasn’t because he wanted her back. It would have been stupid to want someone back who hurt him like that. He was just desperate to feel something again after every failed date and every failed almost-relationship. He wanted to feel even if it was hurt. 

Now he knows how stupid it was to almost ruin the new connection that was growing between them – a genuine friendship. It took him a while to see that they were always better off as friends but when he finally did, it started to make sense why they didn’t work. 

If he could tell his 17 year old self that he would move on from Nancy Wheeler and lose all the feelings he ever had and become friends with her instead, that teenage boy would probably stare at him in horror. 

Steve stumbles around the store, lost in his thoughts as he throws more clothes into his basket. When he is done, he starts looking for you, going through one empty aisle after the other before he finally finds you. It takes him a moment to realize the section he walked into and when he does he freezes a little. A blush creeps onto his cheeks when he looks around the items. The soft colors, the lace, the frill. The mannequins dressed in lingerie. 

He scratches the back of his neck and takes a deep breath but it gets stuck in his throat when he finds you standing in the corner, holding up two different types of panties. A pink pair, laced. And the black one is a… thong. Steve blinks as he stares at you, unable to look away even though he knows he should. He knows he should give you privacy. Step away and pretend like he has seen nothing but he can’t. 

His blushing cheeks turn red, glowing like they haven’t since god knows when. His body heats up as his mind takes him to places it hasn’t been since years but when he watches you stuff both panties into your backpack, the boyish part in him just can’t help it. 

Steve never wondered what you wore under your clothes before, now he knows and it does little to mend the heat in his body. It awakens something in him that died a long time ago. 

God. He needs fresh air, he needs it now. 

He takes a few steps back, trying to be quiet and discreet but when he turns around, he walks face first into the poorly dressed mannequin, pushing it over and causing it to crash into the other one. It all goes so quickly, he can’t even reach out to catch them before they stumble to the ground loudly. 

“Fuck,” he curses through gritted teeth. He shuts his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath before he slowly turns around to face you again despite the blush on his cheeks. 

Your eyes are wide and by the expression on your face, he knows that you have flinched. 

You look between him and the two mannequins on the ground. Your heart is pounding in your chest from the sudden noise that startled you but you start calming down quickly when you realize that it wasn’t anything to freak out over but something to laugh at. 

You have never seen him like this – eyes wide, cheeks red, awkwardness written all over his face. He looks embarrassed and his hands are still frozen in the air after trying to catch the mannequins. 

He looks like a teenager caught staring at boobs in a magazine for the first time. 

You have to admit, it’s quite a sight, amusing to say the least. You just know that he is beating himself up over this and you can’t help but start giggling, wanting nothing more than to tease the poor guy. 

“Do you need me to leave you guys alone?” You ask, giggling as you point between him and the figures lying on the floor. 

“I-I’m what…?!” He shakes his head, not getting your joke. 

You snort and reach for your cart, you start pushing it towards him, smiling smugly as you stop beside him. 

“I thought you were some sort of playboy back in the day?” You smirk, blinking up at him. You want to giggle again when you realize just how red his cheeks actually are. “What kind of playboy starts blushing because of a few naked mannequins?” 

Steve knows you’re enjoying this, he can see it in your eyes, they’re flashing with mischief and the smirk on your lips might be a rare sight but it’s so strong right now. 

You don’t give him a chance to reply to your teasing comment. Your giggle echoes when you continue your way out of this section, beginning to hum in satisfaction while he still stands there. 

“I’ll be outside!” You say with a sing-song voice. 

Steve closes his eyes and he finally breathes again. 

If only you knew why he is blushing the way that he is. 

By the time he comes out of the store and makes his way back into the RV, Nancy and Eddie are kneeling on the floor, looking through the stuff you got for them and for yourself. He avoids your eyes when he walks in. His cheeks are still burning, he can feel that. 

“You know me so well, sweetheart.” Eddie grins at you as he holds up a Metallica shirt. “I don’t even have to go in there myself.”

You smile at him proudly. 

“Maybe to grab a jacket,” Nancy shrugs as she tries on the olive colored one you got for her. You reach over to her, fixing the brown color. 

“Thanks,” she smiles at you. 

Steve clears his throat and takes out a black jacket from the basket he carried the whole time, not giving the metalhead on the floor time to react before the jacket hits him in the face. 

A grunts leaves Eddie’s face as he catches it before it falls on the floor. 

“Give a guy some time to react,” Eddie mumbles as he unfolds the jacket, holding it up to take a look at it. “Fancy.” He squints his eyes as he looks at the price tag. “See, this is what I love about the apocalypse, we can just grab whatever the hell we want. This thing would’ve cost me a liver back then, now? I can just take that shit and go.” He chuckles to himself as he puts it on. “Fits perfectly, thanks man!” He finally looks up at Steve and his grins widens instantly when he notices the red cheeks. He raises his eyebrows at him, tilting his head to the side in question. 

Steve huffs at him which only makes Eddie more curious. 

“I got you a bunch of panties and socks as well!” You say to Nancy, taking the items out of your backpack and throwing them onto Nancy’s lap. 

Her blue eyes widen and she quickly puts the packs of panties away, hiding them from the male eyes’. 

Eddie furrows his brows. Amused he looks down at your lap to find the flimsy material, lace and ruffles. He doesn’t think anything of it, though his eyes instantly move back to Steve’s and realization rushes through him quickly. 

A smirk tugs at his lips when Steve starts glaring at him, threatening him with his eyes to keep his mouth shut. 

Steve knows that Eddie won’t let him live this down. Blushing over a few panties? Ridiculous. 

“And for you,” you say, throwing packs of socks towards Eddie and Steve. “For the cold nights, I know the most important part is to keep your feet hot. So we can just wrap them up in many socks. Oh! And–” You pause, shuffling through your bag with a determined look on your face. You fish out something else, something that makes Steve’s embarrassed face even worse. Boxers. 

He was so distracted by your underwear, he didn’t even think of getting some for himself and for Eddie. 

The metalhead grabs them, nodding. “Cool.”

Steve scratches the back of his neck as he finally sets the basket down on the floor. Taking a seat on the bench, he grabs them from your hands and gives you an awkward smile, not keeping eye contact for long as he looks down at the size. You even got the right one. 

And as if Eddie can read his mind – “how’d you know the size?” 

“My lazy brother would ask me to get some for him whenever I went shopping, you’re about his size. Steve’s a bit bigger,” you shrug, replying so nonchalantly before you get back to your clothes as you begin to fold them.

Nancy and Eddie share a look, holding back their laughter when Steve’s flustered face gets even worse. 

“I bet he is,” Eddie cackles, earning a punch to his shoulder. “Ow! Dude! Take that as a compliment–”

“Munson, I swear to god,” Steve glares at him. 

Nancy shakes her head at them, snorting quietly. To her surprise, you pay them no mind. 

Eddie rubs his shoulder, still laughing. His eyes widen when he looks down into the basket, a surprised gasp falling from his lips, “are these Garfield socks!? Oh, I love you so much, Harrington!” He says dramatically which makes you giggle loudly. 

Steve’s cheeks burn even hotter and he gets so incredibly flustered when you look up at him with lightened up eyes and a grin stretched widely. He tries not to stare but he can’t help it, not when your eyes shine like this and you look up at him so… happily. 

He can’t help but hate that feeling that rises up inside of him. He refuses to admit that it is there. 

Maybe he would feel better if someone told him that you would be in the same exact state only a few days later. 

-

Weeks have gone by since you left Hawkins and by now you have gotten into a routine. From the start, you quickly realized that Eddie and Nancy are somewhat inseparable and usually stick together – whether it’s perimeter checks, night watch or scavenging for food. It’s always Eddie and Nancy. 

You switch up sometimes and either you or Steve replaces one of them but usually it’s those two together. They’re simply inseparable. That’s how you imagine Steve used to be with Robin. 

At first you suspected that there was more between Eddie and Nancy. That they were in a secret relationship or that they were just friends with benefits but you quickly came to realize that those two could never see each other that way. They are best friends, it’s clear as day. Their banter is sibling-like, just like Nancy’s and Steve’s. – You never bothered to ask how those two met or how their friendship blossomed. You know that they have known each other far longer than they have known Eddie but you never tried to find out what made them become friends. 

They don’t seem to have much in common and Steve behaves more like a big brother around her than a friend. A grumpy older brother. 

You look over your shoulder, glancing at the RV. The golden light in the living room shines through the tiny window. You wonder if Steve is still napping. It’s yours and his turn to do night watch. 

You look back into the fire you have started, tugging your jacket tighter around you, you rub your palms together, trying to catch more warmth. 

The wood crackles before you, the wind blows softly against you. It’s still warm for fall. You have lost track of time but if you had to guess, you would say it’s october. The leaves are red and orange and the air still smells of fall. 

You squint your eyes when you notice the two figures in the distance. You don’t reach for your machete or your gun, recognizing your friends instantly. They both carry gallons of water from the stream down the hill. 

You push yourself up from the camping chair and make your way towards the RV to wake up Steve. You walk up the stairs and open the door, making your way inside and closing it softly behind you, not wanting to startle him.

You furrow your eyebrows when you don’t hear him snoring or moving around the RV. 

“Steve–”

A loud click echoes through the silent space and before you can even blink or move, the door to the bathroom opens and Steve walks out. Almost naked. Your eyes meet his and you see how wide they get when he sees you. His towel isn’t even around his waist, he barely manages to cover himself, quickly placing it in front of his crotch. 

You freeze. 

You should move. You should apologize. You should hold your hand up before your eyes and turn around again, leave the RV and pretend like nothing happened but you can’t. You are frozen in place, unable to move, unable to look away. In fact, you can’t stop looking. You can’t stop staring at him or at his wet skin. At the water dripping down his face and his hairy chest. At the flush in his cheeks from either the hot water or from running into you dressed in… nothing. His hair looks even longer when wet, darker too. His eyes are looking into yours intensely. 

You swallow harshly. 

Unable to keep your eyes from taking him in fully, from letting them run up and down his body. His arms are strong, his muscles aren’t huge but defined. There’s thick veins coursing through his skin, through his strong hands. 

Something in you stirs. Something in your belly heats up and starts to burn. 

He is handsome. 

You knew that much already but you haven’t looked at him in this light yet. He has a pretty face and pretty eyes. His smile is contagious. His hair is gorgeous. He is tall and his shoulders are broad. He is a handsome man, obviously. 

But he is also hot. 

Steve Harrington is hot. 

Maybe even the most attractive man you have ever set your eyes on, the longer you look at him now. Your body certainly never reacted this way before. You have never gotten weak in the knees and you have never stopped breathing over a man. Your belly never burned and your mouth never watered either. 

This is not good. 

This is so not good. 

You can feel your cheeks burning and your heart pounding and you can’t seem to snap yourself out of it. 

You don’t even notice how he is looking at you. 

It was embarrassment that flashed in his features first before he noticed your reaction. 

You are flustered. You are blushing. You are checking him out. He can see the way your wide eyes take him in. He can see how your throat bobs when you swallow. 

Something in his chest stirs and his lips curl into a smirk. He can’t help but feel flattered but also smug. He forgot what it’s like to be looked at like this. 

He fastens the towel around his waist, raising his chin up a bit as he gazes down at you. He clears his throat, pulling you out of your stupor. 

“Like what you see, sunshine?” 

You blink a few times before your eyes meet his face again and you notice the smugness in his features as he caught you eyeing him like you’re some animal, hungry over something you never tried before. 

You want the ground to swallow you whole. You can tell that he is amused. 

Your cheeks feel like they have been touched by fire. Shame fills you and panic rises up inside of you. Your eyes widen and you quickly take a few steps back. 

“I didn’t know you were taking a shower!” Your high pitched voice bounces off the walls in the RV. “I’m sorry!” You quickly turn around, not realizing how close you were to the door until you walk face first into it, your forehead hitting it harshly. 

As though you weren’t embarrassed already. 

“Oh my fucking god! Are you okay!?” Steve asks behind you, already taking a step forward. 

You scrunch your eyes shut, ignoring the sting in your head. You quickly open the door and make your way outside. 

“Yep! Yeah, I’m great!” You say loudly before you rush out and shut the door behind you loudly. Startling both Nancy and Eddie who just put the gallons of water down by the steps. 

Worry flashes in her features when she notices you rubbing your forehead while Eddie raises his eyebrows at you, squinting his eyes as he takes in the look on your face. 

“You okay, sweets?” 

“Mhmm,” you nod your head quickly, avoiding their eyes. “I’m okay, yeah. I’m fine.” You mumble as you make your way back over to your camping chair. Picking up your water bottle, you open it and raise it up to your lips. 

Nancy matches the confused look on Eddie’s face. She turns her head to look at him, raising her eyebrows at him when he looks between you and the door to the RV. 

Realization crosses Eddie’s face when Steve comes out a minute later. His hair wet, a flush to his cheeks, plaid shirt unbuttoned at the top, sweatpants and the smell of body wash fills the air. 

Oh. 

You have seen something you weren’t supposed to see. 

It isn’t hard to figure that out when he takes another look at you before he detects the smugness in Steve’s eyes. 

And even if he didn’t notice then, he certainly would have noticed all the days after. 

Not only do you avoid Steve’s eyes whenever you can, you are also clumsier. Way clumsier. Whenever you turn to look at Steve, you falter in your step and Eddie notices. Noticing you are in a very weird state around Steve, which Eddie kind of figures why by now, he takes the opportunity to patrol with Nancy while you and Steve do chores in the RV. Washing clothes, preparing foods, getting lumber, getting water, trying to spare you from spending time with Steve alone in the dark while walking.

Gladly, as the days pass, Eddie can see you becoming calmer, and it seems that your initial shock is gone, but you are still clumsy.

You are startled when Eddie comes up from behind you as you are cleaning your boots behind the RV. He clears his throat as he leans against it, facing you, shoulder against the cold metal and his hands in his pockets. You tilt your head in question, wondering why he suddenly approached you.

“What is it?” 

“Sweetheart… Did you see Steve’s dick?” You feel the earth swallow you whole as you stumble backwards and the boots drop from your hands. Your entire body heats up, sweat appearing on your fingertips as you quickly shake your head, almost breaking your neck.

“N-No! Why– Why would you think that!?” Eddie chuckles at you, shaking his head.

“You are fucking obvious. You are literally tripping over everything, princess. You can’t look the man in the eye. You saw something you shouldn’t have seen.” And your heart is beating out of your chest as you swallow harshly, looking down at the floor as your cheeks remain heated up.

“I– I didn’t mean to… He was only covered in a towel and I– I thought he was sleeping! I was only going to wake him up and–” You cover your face with your hands in shame. “I’m so fucking stupid! I should have, I don’t know, made some noise, or knocked or–” 

“Okay, calm down. So you didn’t see his dick.”

“No–”

“Then what’s the problem?” You uncovered your face, and rationally, there shouldn’t be any problems. There really shouldn’t. He was just a man… a very… handsome, hot, and attractive man.

“I– I stared a little too much because of the shock and… I feel like I invaded his privacy way too much…” You kind of lied. You are embarrassed to your core because you were caught red handed, staring without any restraint, checking him out completely and he even made fun of you for that. 

Eddie rolls his eyes and sighs.

“Princess, I bet it’s not the first male body you’ve seen. If anything, Steve probably felt flattered, and he doesn’t seem bothered by it. You’re worrying too much.” 

You take a sharp breath at Eddie’s words but somehow manage to calm yourself down a little bit more… way more. Eddie knows Steve, more than you do, and if Eddie tells you this, it’s because it’s truly what Steve is feeling. You give Eddie a small nod and he smiles at you, his fingers pinching your cheek, making you wince as you pull away.

“What was that for!?”

“For being an idiot. It’s four people in one single RV. We will run into each other either naked, jerking off, or changing clothes. We don’t have individual bedrooms or separated bathrooms.” And that makes a lot of sense, making you nod again, a small smile appearing on your cheeks.

“Yeah… you’re right.” He then smirks, looking out at the horizon where some buildings are spotted.

“Yep. So prepare yourself, cause it’s yours and Stevie’s turn to go scavenging.”

-

You found a neighbourhood that looked quite untouched compared to ones you have been in, in the past few weeks. You broke into old homes, trying to find canned food and some snacks, even if stale. But you had no luck, all you found were empty shelves and dusty storage rooms. 

This one looks quite promising. 

The windows are intact, no shattered glass is visible. The doors are closed as well. No monsters, people or infected are around. At first sight at least. 

Eddie looks back at you from his spot in the passenger seat, winking at you as he is chewing on some peanuts. 

“Good luck.” 

You hold onto the strap on your backpack, digging your nail into the material. You pick up your machete and take a deep breath. 

Steve looks down at you. With his backpack on, a rifle slung over his shoulder and a crowbar in his hand, he is holding onto the doorknob, waiting on you. 

“Ready?” His kind eyes meet yours. 

You nod, humming softly. 

“Don’t come back with expired chicken noodle soup, please.” Nancy says, earning a glare from the metalhead beside her. 

“We’ll try,” Steve chuckles as he gives her one last nod before he opens the door. “Let’s do this.” 

“Yeah,” you whisper, following him out. 

He closes the door again once you are out. You look around you, keeping a tight grip on your machete just in case. 

It is quiet between you both, you don’t make much conversation as you make your way through the abandoned neighborhood. You are both too busy looking out for any sign of life or death. 

You don’t notice the way Steve looks at you, the way he glances at you every once in a while. He isn’t blind or stupid, he noticed that shift in your behaviour after the incident in the RV. He couldn’t help but think that it’s cute how you suddenly turned into a klutz – all because of some naked skin. 

“Let’s check this one out,” you point out to the blue house with the huge front porch. 

“Lead the way,” Steve nods, flipping the crowbar in his hand. 

You and Steve continue to walk and work in silence. As you go into the first house, you cover each others’ backs as you clear the building first before you begin to scavenge. You split up once you deem it safe. Though you aren’t so lucky there, nor in the second or the third. All you find are some canned peaches and two cans of corn. One bottle of painkillers and an old first aid kit. 

You make your way through the neighborhood, going through one house after the other. But it isn’t until you make it to the last one, to the huge house right by the forest, that you get somewhat lucky. 

Just like in the ones before, you clear the building first. Covering Steve’s back as he walks ahead of you with the rifle in his hands, aimed at anything that could come running out of any room. 

Your steps are quiet on the floorboards, barely audible. You learned how to be resilient and quiet in this world, tiptoeing through it to save your life, to prevent unwanted attention. 

There is something eerie about this place. You can’t figure out what it is but there is something. The silence is nearly deafening. The energy is off. You can feel something in your chest but you can not tell what it is.

When you get to the last room and Steve opens the door with his rifle, he takes a look around before he finally allows himself to breathe again. He turns around to face you, nodding as he swallows. 

“It’s clear.” He mumbles, slinging the strap of his rifle over his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna check out the kitchen.” You whisper, looking down. 

He nods at you, trying to make eye contact, something you haven’t been so fond of lately. “Alright, yeah. I’m gonna check out the bathroom, see if there’s any medicine around.”

You take one last look at him before you part ways. You make your way downstairs, quickly. Determined to find some food and get out of here before it gets dark – you need to set up camp before that. You step into the kitchen and take a deep breath. 

You try to ignore that heavy feeling that is cursing through you the longer you are in here. 

You open the cabinets and find a pleasant surprise. Peanut Butter. Canned vegetables and fruit. Cans of meat and tuna. You want to squeal but you restrain yourself. 

Dropping your backpack onto the counter, you start throwing the cans in, putting in as many as possible. You go through each and every cabinet, filling up your bag in the process until there’s no more space left. 

You will be eating well tonight. 

A smile appears on your face when you open the door to the storage. Your eyes widen at the amount of snacks on the shelves. You grab one of the empty boxes on the ground and start filling it. 

Through all your excitement, you don’t hear the creaking of the floorboard in the hallway or the faint grunting sound coming from the basement. 

“We found a gold mine, Steve!” He hears you calling as he makes his way down the stairs. A smile appearing on his face. He opens his mouth to reply, though the words get stuck in his throat and his blood runs cold when his feet hit the ground floor again, just as the door to the basement opens and an infected comes stumbling out, sniffing the air and grunting as though in hunger. 

He realizes too late that he didn’t check the basement before. 

Steve’s heart is pounding in his chest. He doesn’t move, not yet. His face hardens as anger flashes in his eyes. It wasn’t an infected that killed Robin but he holds just as much hatred for them as he does for the monsters. 

He reaches for his crowbar, slowly, not wanting to startle it. The quieter and slower he moves, the less it will pay him attention. They don’t see but they smell and they hear. Just like Steve can smell the decay. He scrunches his nose up and tries to halt his breath. The skin is grey, almost blue. Bloody tear stains on its cheeks. The clothes are ripped and reeking, he can smell it from here. 

He takes a step forward, slowly bringing the crowbar up, aiming at the infected’s head, ready to take a swing and let it be over with. 

“Eddie is gonna flip out, I found Honeycombs!” 

The infected suddenly flips his head into the direction of the kitchen, startled and lured in by the sound of your voice. Steve’s heart falls to his stomach when he hears several footsteps running up the stairs of the basement. More infected. More sick ones ready to feast on you. 

Fear grips at him so strongly that his heart nearly beats out of his chest as he makes a run for the kitchen, knowing that the attention is on him now too. He doesn’t care. All he cares about is grabbing you and getting the hell out of here. 

But there is no time and he knows it. 

You are standing with your back to him, one foot inside the storage room and you turn around startled when you hear his fast and loud footsteps. Your eyebrows furrow and you open your mouth again to question him but he doesn’t allow you to. Steve takes the final step towards you and cups the back of your head, pressing his other hand to your mouth as he signals with his eyes to keep quiet. 

Only then do you register the other footsteps and your eyes widen. 

He jumps into action once more, pushing you further into the way too small storage and stepping inside with you, not wasting a single second to shut the door and lock you both inside, just in time before all the infected come tumbling into the room in search for the two of you, in search for fresh meat. 

He maneuvers you around until your back is pressed against his chest, until your whole body is pressed against his front. His hand is still over your mouth, his arm now fully wrapped around you as he holds you against him. You can feel his heart pounding in his chest, you can feel his hand shaking against your skin. 

Your own heart is racing, your knees threaten to buckle and if it wasn’t for him holding you, you are sure that they would. 

Fear rushed through you when you listened to the grunts and the screeches out in the kitchen. You didn’t hear them before, you didn’t hear them creeping up on you. 

A cold shudder ran down your spine when you realized what could have happened if it wasn’t for him. 

A shaky breath falls from your lips as you raise your arm up and you wrap your hand around his wrist, needing to hold onto something. In turn, he holds you tighter against him, pressing himself further into you, allowing you to feel his body heat, the warmth he always radiates. 

“Shh,” he whispers into your ear as though to reassure you, thinking that you are scared. 

You aren’t scared. You never are. 

You feel startled. 

You close your eyes for a moment and he removes his hand after a few seconds, allowing you to take proper breaths. He still keeps his arm around you and he tries to move back but there isn't much space in this tiny room. 

You listen to the infected outside, surprised they haven’t found their way to this door yet. You are in deep shit and you know that it will take a while until you will get the chance to sneak out, unless you decide to fight your way out but you know that there are too many. It’s too risky. Too dangerous.

And you hope, you really hope that Nancy and Eddie won’t come looking for you and stumble right into this mess you two have gotten yourselves into. 

You take another deep breath and you lean your head back into his chest as you keep your hand around his wrist, your fingers touching his skin. Through the adrenaline and the anxiety creeping up on you, you don’t even feel his breath on your neck or register the palm that has settled on your stomach. 

You are too focused on the sounds outside this room. On the footsteps. On the groans. On the hungry monsters. You don’t notice how there is barely any air left between your bodies. How your body is pressed against his fully. How his chest is on your back. How his chin is resting on the top of your head. His arms fully wrapped around you. Him. His crotch against your butt. His bulge.  

If only you snapped out of it and looked back. 

Steve’s jaw is clenched. His heart is pounding for different reasons now. His breathing is heavy and his skin is burning, worse and worse the further you press yourself against him, the more he feels you on him. 

It feels good. It feels nice. And he can’t help but curse at himself for feeling this in such a moment. 

He blames it on the lack of affection he felt in the past few years. It isn’t because of you. 

No, absolutely not. 

Your scent is sweet, soft, gentle. The touch of your hand is soft. You are curling into him, showing him that you feel comfortable with him, that you feel safe with him. He would be lying if he said that it didn’t stir something within him. 

You don’t know how many minutes pass of you standing stuck in this tiny room, listening to the groans and waiting for the right moment to make your escape but when the silence in the kitchen greets you again and their footsteps disappear further into the house. You tilt your head back and look into his eyes. You silently agree to make a run for it, to try your best to sneak out. 

You take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the fight you know will happen. There is no sneaking out and getting away so easily, ever. 

You lean down to pick up the machete you placed against the wall earlier and turn around to look at him once more and Steve gives you an encouraging nod. 

You turn back to the door again as his hands slip from your body. You close your eyes for a moment and take another deep breath before you wrap your hand around the cold doorknob. You twist it and push it open slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible. 

You step out, tiptoeing out of the room. You ignore the pounding in your chest as you look around the empty kitchen, keeping a tight grip on the red handle of your machete. 

Steve steps out right after, covering you instantly as you bend down to pick up your heavy backpack. 

He glances at you, brown eyes filled with anxiety when the cans clatter in your bag. 

You shrug at him. You won’t leave this here. You tilt your head into the direction of the backdoor in the kitchen, the one that leads out into the garden. 

Steve nods at you, motioning for you to go first. 

You twist the machete in your hand, taking one last look around before you turn around and creep over to the glass door. You unlock it as quietly as you can, squinting your eyes and cursing inwardly when the door creaks as you open it. 

“Come on,” you whisper as you look over your shoulder at him, glancing into the hallway to make sure that nothing heard you yet. 

“Go,” Steve whispers as he places his hand on your back and pushes you out of the house, quickly following and shutting the door quietly. Only as he breathes in the fresh air does he notice just how strong his heart is pounding against his ribcage, how shivers run across his whole body. 

While he needs a moment to recover, you are already making your way down the porch, securing the area before you look back at him. 

“Let’s get out of here,” you whisper, tilting your head at him. 

His eyebrows are furrowed as he looks at you, wondering how you are so… calm. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs under his breath. He tries to control the shakiness in his hands, holding the cold metal of the crowbar tightly as he makes his way down the stairs. His boots hit the grass and he steps up beside you. He takes another look at the haunted house before he turns his back to it and follows you away from it and closer back to the road where the RV is parked. 

You spot Eddie leaning against it with a cigarette between his lips as he swings his axe back and forth while Nancy kneels down beside him, looking up into the sky. 

“I left the box in the kitchen,” you frown, sighing loudly. “Eddie’s Honey Combs!” 

“I’m sure he’ll live–”

A loud crash echoes through the neighborhood, startling you both. You turn around just in time to see an infected jumping through the now broken window, screeching loudly as it runs straight towards you and Steve. 

Steve’s eyes widen and he presses his hand on your chest, pushing you away before he swings his crowbar at the infected. It hits the ground from the impact, grunting loudly, though it doesn’t take long until it jumps back into action, ready to pounce on him. 

Your heart skips from the adrenaline that curses through your veins. You throw your backpack on the ground and grab your machete with both hands as more infected come tumbling out of the broken window. 

Ready to make you and your friends their dinner.

You don’t have the time to count how many there are but the groans and the screeches fill the space around you quickly. You swing your machete at the infected that once was a woman, stabbing through her head with the sharp blade, the body falling limply to the ground. 

Eddie curses behind you as he finishes off the male infected with his axe – ‘motherfucker’ falling from his lips several times. 

Nancy’s shotgun goes off a few times and you already worry what kind of attention that sound must have attracted, what kind of things the sound has lured in just now, what kind of monsters are on the way here now. 

“Steve!” Eddie yells as he watches one of them jumping at him, taking him down and pinning him on the ground. It’s teeth clatter as it tries to take a bite of him. 

Steve grits his teeth and clenches his jaw as he tries to fight it off, though its hands are strong, way too strong. He hears the shots going off around him. He hears Eddie’s voice calling out to him. He feels his heart pounding stronger than ever. Everything stops moving for a moment, time slows down and he looks death into its eyes. 

The infected, a male, something that used to be a man, maybe a teenager. It’s struggling, fighting for his flesh, trying to lean down further, trying to take a bite out of him, craving his flesh, his blood. 

Though he notices something else. There isn’t only death in his eyes, there is something else – something like fear, something like grief, sadness. It looks at him like it’s hungry but it also looks at him like it's begging. Begging to do something, begging to make it all be over. 

And suddenly it is. 

A clear cut appears in his neck, black blood oozing out as its head tumbles off and the body stops struggling against him, though still twitching. He wastes no time to throw it off him, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath again. It takes him a moment to recover. He brings his hand up to his neck, his throat hurting from the inside as he continues to breathe in the cold air. He raises his head to look at his savior, expecting Eddie or even Nancy but not you. For some reason he didn’t expect you to save his life, let alone like this. 

Blood is dripping from the blade of your machete. Your chest is rising up and down heavily, worry flashes in your eyes as you look down at him. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, needing to make sure that he is fine. 

Steve nods, blinking in surprise. He furrows his eyebrows as he takes a look around, at the dead bodies on the ground, the twitching bodies. 

Nancy and Eddie are frozen in place as they both look at you, stunned. Eddie even more so than Nancy when the head you cut off rolls before his feet and he looks down, wide eyed. 

“Steve,” you whisper, eyes softening when you notice his heavy breathing. “Are you okay?” You ask again. 

He blinks a few times, clearing his throat as he slowly pushes himself up, nodding, wiping the blood of the infected that had fallen on his cheek with the back of his free hand. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” he mumbles, trying to smile at you. He ignores the weird feeling in his chest when it dawns on him that you have saved him. 

You have saved him. 

You nod, tearing your eyes away from him. You make your way over to Eddie. 

“The brain.” You clear your throat as you swing your machete, giving it a snap so that the excess blood leaves the blade. “You can cut off the limbs but the bastards regenerate. Their arms go all… gooey and reassemble. Like watching ground beef have a life of its own and just… dragging itself to other parts.”

Steve and Eddie stare at you like they can’t believe what they have seen and what they hear. 

Nancy’s eyes widen, her lips part as she tilts her head at you. 

“...Like the mindflayer in 1985…” 

You nod. You remember what they told you. You look down, scrunching your nose in disgust as blood seeps through the grass. You remember the first time you killed an infected. You remember it clearly… a kid… You had tried to talk to it. You had tried to sing to it, maybe a lullaby, but nothing worked. You had stabbed it in the heart and it still lived, cut off the arms and it regenerated and you were sobbing as you looked at it, at how many times you had to kill it.

You realized it was the brain you needed to kill when you desperately, in a panic attack, smashed the skull in. You were crying afterwards, but then it was just hatred. Hatred towards these things, these monsters, and now all of that was directed at a person. A person who caused all of this. Someone, something, that was already dead from what your friends told you… but hatred nonetheless… Because it didn’t spare anyone. 

“We can bring them peace like this…” You mumble as you stab through the head, causing the body to stop moving – even if decapitated. 

While Eddie huffs in surprise, looking up at you pleasantly surprised. Steve’s eyes are still wide. He is not only stunned by your action, he is also surprised by the way you handled your machete. 

You are swinging it the same way he swings his bat. 

“We have to move. My gun was loud enough.” Nancy speaks once again and you nod, bending down to wipe the blade on the grass, trying to get most of the blood off. They all knew the blood doesn’t infect or give you any sickness. It’s the venom. The venom in their teeth.

“... Do you guys think we can eat it?” Eddie suddenly asks, making everyone turn their heads completely stunned to look at him. When nobody replies, he looks up to all of you, shrugging with a frown. “What!? It’s an honest question!”

“Are you out of your mind, Eddie?” Steve asks, still trying to wrap his head around everything that happened.

“Look, it’s fresh, and it’s–”

“Human!” You yell as you all start making your way to the RV. Eddie scoffs at you all as he stands next to the door, waiting for everyone to get it.

“Nuh uh! Their bodies are all purple and some have those petal thingies the demogorgons have, pretty sure they’re not human anymore.” Eddie smirks at his train of thought and all he gets its a punch to the gut. A straight ass punch. Light, but still enough to make him bend over slightly. “Wheeler, what the actual flying fuck–”

“Stop saying nonsense.” She says as she finally steps in the truck, you follow, snickering under your breath but you almost fall over when the weight of your backpack throws you back down and onto Steve’s chest. You heard an ‘oof’ leave his lips as his arms grabbed you.

“You okay there?” And memories flushed to you. At the time, you hadn’t noticed it. At the time, your mind was occupied by the sounds of the infected outside. Now you remember it all. His body against yours, his chest against your back, his hands on your mouth, on your stomach, pressing you against him as if his life depended on it. Then, his hips and his–

You felt your entire body flush over again, and even if you didn’t have his chest against your back right now thanks to your backpack, this closeness was new. You moved away from him and gave him a nod, trying to avoid looking straight at him. 

“Yeah– Yeah, I’m fine–” Steve hummed and grabbed the straps of your backpack, and you gulped as you helped him take it off. Another grunt came out of his lips as he lifted it up a few times.

“What the hell are you carrying in here, Sunshine? A fucking machine gun?” His words caused you to look at him, a giggle escaping your lips as you shook your head.

“Better. Food! Lots of it!” Eddie’s voice chimed in, tilting his head to the side.

“See, if we tried to have some of that meat, we wouldn’t have to eat canned food–”

“Munson, catch.” And Steve threw the backpack towards Eddie, who was smiling with his dimples showing, his hands grabbing onto it, only for him to be slammed against the side of the RV with a thud. The weight of the backpack threw him back at the impulse, a surprised yelp escaping his lips. 

You started laughing with Steve as you both stared at Eddie who grunted when keeping the backpack up in his hands.

“You are both very mean… I was joking! It’s called ‘clearing the tension’.” He says as if matter of factly and he heads back into the van, groaning under his breath as he struggles to carry the backpack in. Steve stands next to the door, a soft smile on his lips as he nods at you and then at the RV.

“Ladies first.” 

And that shouldn’t have made your stomach turn the way it did. This was something common for men to do but– This was the first time it happened with Steve. Or at least, that he said that. Making it known he is letting you go first. Maybe he did it before but never spoke out loud of it, so you never noticed it… Now you do.

You cleared your throat and nodded, shooting him another small smile as you walked up inside the RV. His eyes followed you, his image of you having changed completely as he turns to look at the bodies you have killed, the decapitated smashed head that was about to bite him, to eat him, to turn him. 

Just when he thought he got to know you, or figure you out completely, you come up with something new. You startle him each time, but nothing stunned him as much as this one thing did. Your months of survival showed, letting him remember how you traveled alone for most of the time, and how you had to save yourself many times. 

You were new. Curiosity invaded him, something he should avoid. Questions he wants to ask, but the farthest he can be of knowing about you, every single detail, the better it will be. But the fucking curiosity, the want and the need to ask you so many things and get to know you entirely, to save him from surprises, like the one that happened just now.

Because these surprises impressed him. You are impressing him. And he doesn’t like that. He looks back to step inside the RV, closing the door behind him, and then seeing how excited Nancy and Eddie look as you beam, taking the cans out of your bag, the snacks, the beverages. You looked so proud as they praised you for finding a ‘jackpot’ and Steve couldn’t help but smile.

You are an enigma… and he hates that he wants to figure you out.

☀︎

taglist: @prettyboyeddiemunson @pretentious-blonde @thecreelhouse @tvserie-s-world @thesickestqrmydcll @crispystarfishhottub @sophal22 @definitionwanderlust @talkativecarnation @mysticalwoolenfroglegs @ariesandwolves @mortqlprojections @sattlersquarry @sherrylyn0628 @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @micheledawn1975 @keepingitlokiii @littleromanoff2005 @sunshine-mrk @xxladymjxx

[kaiyunsim]

best lover —

pairing : bf!taesan x gn!reader

summary : after taesan works hard for the newest comeback you wanted to get him a gift... something perfect. but you don't know what exactly to get him so you get help from his roommate.

warnings : fluff, angst (just a little bit), tense confrontation, some music references, taesan gets kinda jealous, kind of a continuation of this fic

a/n : this lowkey made me relapse into the emo/punk genre and now i'm actively listening to them again ! taesan so silly here.

queueing : best lover - bibi, and july - heize + dean

[requested]

— wc : 4.8k — not proof read —

you’ve always known taesan was cool.

not in the tryhard way, not in the way people force an image to seem untouchable. no, he’s effortlessly cool. the kind of cool that comes from simply existing, from being so unapologetically himself that it draws people in.

his aesthetic is proof of that—dark clothes, silver rings, an ever-growing collection of band tees that he claims aren’t a collection but still seem to multiply every time you see him. his playlists are filled with gritty guitar riffs and melancholic lyrics, songs that feel like they belong in a coming-of-age film.

you love it. you love the way he leans against walls like a movie character, the way his fingers tap out drum beats on tables when he’s lost in thought. the way his voice gets softer when he talks about music, when he lets his guard down just enough for you to see the warmth underneath.

so, when their comeback is finally announced, when you see the hours of training, late-night rehearsals, and exhaustion culminate into something incredible, you know you need to do something. something that says, i see you. i see how hard you’ve worked, and i’m proud of you.

but what do you get someone like taesan?

he’s never been the type to want extravagant gifts. he shrugs off praise, mumbles “it’s nothing” when people tell him he’s done well. but you know he keeps every little note fans give him, that he still has the random trinkets the members bought him over the years.

so it has to be something personal. something that actually means something.

you think about it for days, running through ideas in your head. clothes? no, too easy. he already has everything he likes. accessories? maybe, but he’s picky, and you don’t trust yourself to pick out something he’d actually wear.

and then it hits you.

vinyls.

taesan loves music in a way that’s deeper than just listening. he collects records, always talking about how certain albums sound different on vinyl, how the warmth and crackle make it feel more alive. you’ve seen the way he runs his fingers over the covers, the way he carefully places them on his turntable like he’s handling something sacred.

but you don’t know enough about it.

you know the bands he listens to, sure, but not the specific pressings, not which editions are worth having, not which ones he’s been searching for. you need help.

so, you text the only person who would know and would be the most help.

sungho.

—

you: hey, random question, but do you think you could help me with something?

he replies almost immediately.

sungho: depends. am i gonna regret saying yes?

you snort. typical.

you: no, it’s for taesan. i wanna get him some vinyls, but i don’t know which ones he’d actually want.

a pause. then—

sungho: oh. you’re going ot make him a happy boyfriend for sure. sungho: yeah, i can help. you free tomorrow?

relief washes over you.

you: yeah. thanks, sungho. seriously.

sungho: don’t thank me yet. wait till we actually find something good.

you smile, pocketing your phone.

this is a good plan. a perfect plan.

now, you just have to keep it a secret.

the next morning, you wake up with a nervous excitement buzzing under your skin.

taesan is still half-asleep when you see him, his hair messy from sleep, the collar of his oversized shirt slipping down one shoulder. he looks soft like this, different from his usual sharp edges and guarded expressions.

“morning,” you say, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before he can grumble in protest.

he mumbles something incoherent, eyes still closed, before reaching out and lazily wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

you laugh, poking his side. “i have to go out for a bit.”

that wakes him up a little. his eyes blink open, groggy but alert. “where?”

you freeze for half a second before forcing yourself to play it cool. “just running errands.”

his brow furrows slightly, but he doesn’t question it. instead, he just tightens his grip around you for a moment before letting go.

“be safe,” he mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

your heart squeezes at that.

you brush his hair out of his face, letting your fingers linger for a second longer than necessary. “always.”

—

meeting up with sungho feels like a mission.

he’s already waiting outside the taesan's dorm room, dressed casually but still effortlessly put together, a stark contrast to the slightly chaotic energy you’re bringing with you.

“you look nervous,” he says, amused.

“because i am.”

he raises an eyebrow. “it’s just vinyl shopping.”

“yeah, but it’s for taesan,” you stress. “i can’t mess this up. i need to find something perfect.”

sungho rolls his eyes but leads the way inside the vinyl store, hidden in the corners of the busy streets.

the moment you step in, you’re overwhelmed.

rows and rows of records stretch out in front of you, organized into sections you barely understand. the store smells like old paper and something nostalgic, a quiet hum of music playing from the speakers.

sungho glances at you. “you know what bands he likes, right?”

you nod. “yeah, but i don’t know what he already has.”

“then we start with the basics.”

he guides you through the aisles, pointing out albums that fit taesan’s taste. some are obvious bands you’ve seen on his playlists, artists you recognize from the posters in his room. others, not so much.

“this one’s a classic,” sungho says, pulling out a worn-looking album. “he’s mentioned it before, i think he even has a t-shirt of them.”

it was the black parade by my chemical romance

you take it from him, running your fingers over the cover. “do you think he already has the vinyl?”

sungho shakes his head. “nah, he would’ve bragged about it if he did.”

you smile at that. taesan isn’t the bragging type, not really, but when it comes to things he loves, he can’t help but share them with you. you can already picture the way his eyes will light up when he sees the gift, the way he’ll trace the album cover with careful fingers before hugging you in that quiet, deliberate way of his.

this is good. this is exactly what you wanted.

you glance at sungho. “i think we’re on the right track.”

he smirks. “told you.”

you roll your eyes but can’t hide your grin.

this is going to be perfect.

if you can keep it a secret long enough.

you flip through the stacks carefully, the plastic sleeves crinkling under your fingertips as you skim the selection. rows of album covers stare back at you, some bold and vibrant, others muted and mysterious, each one a different piece of someone’s story.

sungho stands beside you, already pulling out records with ease, flipping them over to check editions and pressings like it’s second nature.

“how do you even know all this?” you ask, watching as he inspects a black-and-white cover, his eyes narrowing slightly before he shakes his head and puts it back.

he smirks. “taesan’s not the only one with taste, you know.”

you roll your eyes. “yeah, but you act like this is your second home.”

he hums, running his fingers along the edge of a shelf. “it kinda is. when i first moved into the dorms, i’d come to places like this just to kill time. got to know a lot about music that way.”

that makes sense. sungho has that effortless, older-brother energy, the kind that makes you feel like he’s always been one step ahead of everyone else. but even so, you know there’s more to it. something about the way he says it, like music was a comfort rather than just a hobby.

you glance down at the album in your hands. the artwork is dramatic, painted in deep reds and blacks, the kind of thing you could easily imagine taesan leaving out on his desk just because it looks cool. it was titled a fever you can’t sweat out this time, by panic at the disco

you hesitate. “what about this one?”

sungho looks over, and to your relief, he nods in approval. “solid pick. taesan likes them. they have that whole raw, gritty sound he’s into.”

you exhale, setting it aside in the growing pile of vinyls you’ve picked out. “good. i was kinda guessing.”

sungho snickers. “if you were completely guessing, you would’ve picked something embarrassing.”

you give him a flat look. “i wouldn’t do that.”

“you sure? no boyband vinyls hidden in that stack?”

“why are you acting like that would be a crime?”

he laughs, shaking his head. “nah, but taesan would probably combust.”

you grin at the thought. he probably would. his whole tough, brooding image crumbling the second someone dared to associate him with anything remotely bright and upbeat. you’ve teased him about it before, played pop songs in his presence just to watch him pretend he wasn’t listening.

but this isn’t about teasing him. this is about him.

you glance around the store, taking in the dim lighting, the faint sound of a record spinning in the background. a few other customers linger nearby, flipping through vinyls with the same careful reverence, but none of them seem rushed. it’s the kind of place taesan would get lost in, taking his time with every shelf, soaking in the atmosphere.

you wish he was here.

you shake the thought away before it can settle too deep.

“okay,” you say, straightening up. “i think i need at least one more.”

sungho scans the shelves before reaching over and pulling out a record without hesitation.

“this.”

you take it from him, studying the cover. it’s striking… american idiot by greenday.

“he’s been looking for this one,” sungho explains. “i remember him complaining about how it’s always out of stock.”

your chest warms. “then that’s perfect.”

sungho grins. “congrats, you officially have a good gift… or multiple”

you roll your eyes but can’t help but smile. “thanks for the approval.”

“anytime.”

you head to the counter, placing the records down carefully as the cashier rings them up. the prices make you wince a little. vinyl collecting is not cheap. but you don’t hesitate. taesan is worth it.

when you step back outside, the air feels cooler, a slight breeze brushing against your skin. sungho stretches beside you, squinting up at the sky.

“so,” he says. “how are you planning to give it to him?”

you blink. “uh. just... give it to him?”

he gives you a flat look. “you’re really bad at this.”

“excuse me?”

“c’mon,” he says. “you go through all this trouble, sneak around just to surprise him, and you’re just gonna hand it to him like it’s a bag of chips?”

you frown. “what am i supposed to do? make a scavenger hunt?”

“i mean, that would be funny.”

“sungho.”

he chuckles. “fine, fine. but at least make it a moment, you know? like, put them in a nice box or something. set the mood a little.”

you consider that. he’s right. you don’t just want this to be a casual exchange. you want taesan to feel how much this means.

“okay,” you say slowly. “i’ll think of something.”

sungho pats your shoulder. “good. because if you don’t, i’m telling him i helped.”

you gasp. “you wouldn’t.”

his grin is downright evil. “try me.”

you groan, shoving him lightly as he laughs.

but despite the teasing, there’s a warmth in your chest that wasn’t there before. because for all the effort, all the second-guessing, all the overthinking. you know this is the right thing to do.

you just hope taesan sees it that way, too.

you and sungho are now wandering the streets, bags in hand, the weight of them a constant reminder of what you're keeping from taesan. there's a knot in your stomach, anxiety creeping in at the thought of what will happen once you return to the dorm.

sungho notices you fidgeting with your phone, eyes flicking between your screen and the road ahead. "you've been checking your messages like every two seconds," he says with a knowing smile. "taesan giving you trouble?"

"i... i don’t know," you mutter, glancing at your phone again. "he hasn’t texted yet. i think he’s mad."

sungho snorts. "he’s always mad."

you roll your eyes but can't help the tension building inside you. it's not like taesan to be suspicious like this. sure, he's possessive at times, but you’ve always been upfront with him. today, though, everything feels off. you know he’s probably wondering where you are, especially after leaving so abruptly.

after a few more moments of walking, your phone buzzes in your hand. it’s a message from taesan.

you open it quickly, your heart dropping when you read the text.

taesan: where are you?

you can almost hear the frustration in his words, even though they’re so short. you hesitate for a moment, trying to figure out how to respond. the last thing you want is to reveal anything.

“everything okay?” sungho asks, glancing at you with a raised eyebrow.

“yeah,” you say quickly, typing back a response. "just... running… errands…"

you: just out. why?

you hit send and try to push the worry away. but it doesn’t help when your phone buzzes again, another message from taesan.

taesan: are you by yourself?

your stomach tightens. it feels like he’s fishing for something, trying to confirm his suspicions. you swallow hard. taesan doesn’t know you’re out with sungho. he probably thinks you’re just alone, maybe out with someone else. the thought of him jumping to conclusions makes you tense up.

“you need to tell him the truth, man,” sungho says, half-joking but still serious. “it’s gonna be hard to keep it up much longer.”

you bite your lip, looking at the text again. taesan doesn’t like being kept in the dark. but if you tell him you're out with sungho, there's no way you can keep the surprise a secret.

you: yeah, just me. out by myself.

you send the message quickly, almost immediately regretting it. the lie feels wrong in your gut, but you can’t risk ruining the surprise.

as soon as you hit send, another text from taesan comes through.

taesan: you didn’t tell me where you went. it’s weird, you know. don’t lie to me.

your heart sinks. this is exactly what you were afraid of. you can feel his frustration radiating through the words, even though they’re brief. taesan might not say it outright, but you know he’s pissed.

“is he mad?” sungho asks, eyes narrowing as he watches you.

“yeah,” you say quietly, looking at the screen again. “he thinks i’m lying.”

sungho tilts his head, his expression softening. “well, you kind of are...”

you groan, feeling guilty. “yeah, but if i tell him the truth, he’ll know what we’re really doing.”

sungho sighs but doesn’t press. “you’ve got to be careful, though. taesan can’t stand being lied to. he might feel like you’re hiding something else.”

you take a deep breath, trying to push the anxiety aside. “he’s just overthinking it. i’ll deal with it when we get back.”

you walk in silence for a bit longer, and the weight of the lie is starting to feel unbearable. but then your phone buzzes again. it’s from taesan.

taesan: riwoo just told me you’re out with sungho. why didn’t you say that?

your heart stops. it feels like everything is crashing down around you. of course, taesan would hear from riwoo. he always does. but you didn’t think it would happen so soon.

sungho laughs lightly, though it’s more nervous than anything else. “i mean, it’s not like you didn’t want him to find out.”

you stare at the message, feeling a mix of guilt and frustration. “he’s so mad now...”

“you better fix it,” sungho says with a small chuckle. “he’s gonna blow up on you if you keep avoiding the truth.”

you sigh, rubbing your eyes. “i don’t know how to fix it. i’ve already lied twice.”

“well,” sungho says, “maybe you just gotta... tell him the truth at this point. no more hiding.”

but you’re not ready to do that. not yet. the surprise is too important to mess up now.

you type out a message, your hands shaking a little as you try to keep it steady.

you: i’m sorry. we just bumped into eachothee

you press send, waiting for taesan’s response with bated breath.

it takes a while, but finally, your phone buzzes.

taesan: it was a coincidence?

you let out a sigh of relief. it's not as bad as it could have been, but you still feel like you’ve messed up.

you: yeah, i went out to grab some stuff, and boom, sungho was there getting some stuff for the dorm too

you wait for a reply, and when it comes, it’s still not as angry as you expected, but you can hear the frustration in taesan’s words.

taesan: you know, you could’ve just told me. i don’t like when you hide stuff from me.

your heart drops, and you feel guilty again. you want to explain yourself, but you’re afraid it’ll make everything worse.

“he’s really pissed now,” you say quietly to sungho, who nods sympathetically.

“you should’ve just told him earlier,” he says, though his tone is more playful than critical. “now you gotta go back and fix it.”

you take a deep breath, realizing sungho’s right. you’re going to have to deal with the fallout when you get back to the dorm.

you decide on sungho’s dorm since taesan is rooming with woonhak and jaehyun so it would be perfect to wrap his gift all together and put final touched on it.

but once you open the door, you stand frozen at the door of sungho’s dorm, heart hammering in your chest. the moment taesan walks in, everything about the room shifts. his presence fills the space, and even though he’s not saying anything yet, you feel the weight of his gaze.

“so, this is where you’ve been?” taesan’s voice cuts through the silence. it’s sharper than usual, colder too. he looks at you, then at sungho, his eyes narrowing. “i thought you said you were by yourself.”

you feel your breath catch in your throat. his words hit harder than expected, but you force a smile, trying to keep your cool. “i was… i mean, i am.”

taesan tilts his head, his eyes scanning you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re lying. you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “i just bumped into sungho, we were talking, and i guess riwoo saw us leave together.” you’re already regretting how this sounds, but you can’t back down now. you have to keep the lie intact.

“bumped into sungho?” taesan’s voice drips with suspicion. “so it’s just a coincidence you were both out together?”

you nod quickly, hoping he buys it. “yeah, we were just… talking, you know? nothing serious. i just didn’t want to bother you while you were busy.”

taesan crosses his arms, studying you with a sharp gaze. “that doesn’t sound right.”

the air between you two feels like it’s crackling with tension. you swallow hard, knowing you can’t let him get too suspicious. “it’s really nothing, taesan. you know i wouldn’t lie to you about this.”

“you wouldn’t, huh?” taesan says slowly, his tone soft but with a dangerous edge. “then why didn’t you just tell me? why go through all this just to cover up some… coincidence?”

you flinch slightly at his words, the guilt gnawing at you. but you won’t break. you can’t spoil the surprise now. not when everything is so close to being perfect.

“i didn’t want to bother you with the details,” you say, hoping he buys it. “i just figured i’d spend some time with sungho, that’s all.” you glance at sungho for a moment, but he’s standing still, like he’s unsure whether to step in.

taesan watches you for a long beat, and you can see the wheels turning in his mind. his expression hardens. “so you thought it’d be better to lie to me, to sneak around?”

your chest tightens, the weight of his words sinking in deeper than you expected. “taesan, it’s not like that.”

“really?” taesan’s voice rises, a hint of frustration creeping in. “because that’s exactly what it sounds like. i don’t know, it’s just hard to believe that you’re not hiding something. are you trying to cover something up?”

you feel your heart race. this is spiraling out of control, and you don’t know how to stop it. the last thing you want is for him to think you’re doing something behind his back.

“taesan, please,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “you’re overthinking this. i didn’t want to tell you because i didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.” you force yourself to look him in the eye, trying to convey sincerity. “it’s nothing, really.”

taesan doesn’t respond right away. he’s still standing there, arms crossed, eyes cold as he studies you. you feel like he’s dissecting every word you’ve said, trying to figure out if you’re being honest or not.

“so what, this is all just some coincidence?” taesan asks again, voice dripping with doubt. “you just happened to be with sungho, and riwoo just happened to see you leaving together?”

you nod quickly, trying to sound convincing. “yeah, that’s it. it’s just a coincidence, taesan.”

taesan lets out a long breath, his frustration simmering just under the surface. he doesn’t seem convinced, but he doesn’t push further. yet.

“you’re making this harder than it needs to be,” you say, trying to change the subject. “it’s nothing. seriously.”

taesan stays quiet, his eyes narrowing, still unconvinced. “i don’t know if i believe you, but fine. if you say so.”

there’s a moment of silence between you two, and you can almost feel the distance growing between you. you want to tell him the truth, but you can’t risk it. not yet.

“you didn’t need to lie to me, you know,” taesan says softly, his gaze softer but still guarded. “you could’ve just told me where you were. there wouldn’t have been any problem.”

“i know,” you say, your heart sinking. “but i didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

the moment you say it, you regret it. taesan’s eyes flash with confusion, but he doesn’t say anything. he just watches you, waiting.

“what surprise?” taesan asks, the suspicion back in his voice.

you hesitate, panic rising. you can’t tell him, not yet. not when you’re this close.

“it’s nothing,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “i just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

taesan’s gaze sharpens again. “you’re lying. i can tell.”

you want to scream, to tell him the truth, but you stay silent, your heart heavy with the pressure of it all.

“you’ve been hiding something from me, haven’t you?” taesan asks, his voice quiet now, as if he’s piecing everything together.

you look away, unable to meet his eyes. you can’t keep lying, but you can’t give in either. not yet.

“taesan, please,” you whisper. “just trust me. i don’t want to hurt you.”

he sighs, his expression softening just a little. “i trust you, but it’s hard when you keep lying to me. i just don’t get why you couldn’t tell me what was going on.”

you open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. your throat feels tight, and your mind is racing, trying to figure out how to get yourself out of this mess.

“i’m sorry,” you finally say, your voice barely audible. “i didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

taesan looks at you for a long moment, his face softening a bit. “it’s fine,” he says quietly. “but next time, just tell me. no more lies.”

you nod, relieved but still filled with guilt.

there’s a long silence, and then you finally reach into your bag and pull out the vinyl and the trinkets you picked out for him. you hold them out to him, your hands shaking.

“here,” you say softly, voice full of apology. “i got these for you. i… i thought you’d like them.”

taesan takes the items slowly, his expression unreadable. after a few moments, he looks up at you. “you didn’t have to do this,” he says, his voice softening. “but… thanks.”

you smile weakly, still feeling the weight of everything. “i’m sorry for making you mad.”

taesan sighs, stepping closer to you. “it’s okay. just promise me no more lies, alright?”

“promise,” you say quietly.

and for the first time in what feels like forever, the tension begins to melt away. taesan pulls you into a hug, and you let yourself relax, knowing that you’ll have to make things right.

but for now, you’re just grateful that he’s still here.

taesan is silent for a long time, just staring at the vinyls in his hands. his fingers trace over the covers, his expression unreadable.

you shift nervously, waiting for some kind of reaction. was this too much? was this not what he would’ve liked? sungho had assured you it was a good choice, but now, standing here with taesan’s gaze locked onto the gift, doubt creeps in.

“you really did all this for me?” taesan finally asks, voice quieter now.

you nod quickly. “of course i did. you just had a comeback, and i wanted to get you something that actually fit your taste. something you’d really like.”

he exhales slowly, his grip tightening around the vinyls for a second before he looks up at you. his expression has softened completely, the cold edge gone. instead, there’s something else… something warmer.

“you’re an idiot,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to his words. in fact, his lips twitch slightly, like he’s trying not to smile. “you could’ve just told me.”

“and ruin the surprise?” you huff, crossing your arms. “not a chance.”

taesan sighs, shaking his head. “you made me worry for nothing.”

“i didn’t mean to,” you mumble, guilt creeping back in.

he looks at you for another long second before stepping forward, wrapping his arms around you. his hold is firm, secure, like he’s grounding himself in your presence.

you blink, surprised at the sudden affection, but quickly melt into the embrace. his scent is familiar, and the warmth of his body makes all the stress from earlier fade.

“don’t do that again,” he mutters into your hair. “just tell me next time.”

you nod against his chest. “okay. i promise.”

he pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, his dark eyes still holding a bit of lingering frustration. but it’s different now. less about suspicion, more about the fact that you worried him.

his eyes flicker to sungho, and his warmth disappears just slightly as he levels a glare at him. “and you,” he says, narrowing his eyes.

sungho raises his hands defensively. “hey, don’t look at me like that. i was just helping.”

“helping,” taesan repeats, clearly not convinced. “spending hours alone with y/n, keeping secrets, sneaking around.”

sungho rolls his eyes. “yeah, yeah, i get it. i’d be mad too. but it’s not like that.”

“doesn’t matter,” taesan grumbles, still glaring. “you still got too comfortable.”

you groan, tugging at his sleeve. “taesan, please. it’s not like we were on a date or something.”

taesan clicks his tongue but lets it go, instead looking back at the items in his hands. now that he’s actually processing it, his expression shifts, like he’s finally realizing what you got him, without the worry of why you were lying.

“wait,” he mutters, flipping it over. “this album… where did you find this?”

you grin. “special store sungho knew about. he helped me find the best ones.”

taesan pauses for a moment, then looks at you again, softer this time. “you really went through all this trouble just to get me something i’d like?”

you scoff. “of course i did. i love you, you idiot.”

his ears turn red. it’s subtle, but you notice it. he looks away, clearing his throat. “you’re the idiot,” he mumbles, gripping the vinyls like it’s the most precious thing in the world. “but… thanks.”

he pulls you into another hug, holding you tight, like he doesn’t want to let go.

and just like that, everything feels right again.

[rik0shii]

lads guys headcanons

(zayne,sylus,xavier,rafayel,caleb)

warnings :fluff

request: yes

thank you for requesting, I'm new to doing those things so pls tell me if it wasn't to your liking or if it wasn't what you imagined so that I can fix it and get better !

Zayne

• Super punctual—if you have a date set for 1 PM, he’s already outside at 12:50, waiting in his car just so he can call you at the exact time.

• Kids adore him. He has that calm, safe aura that makes even the shyest child want to hold his hand.

• ASMR king—his whispery, soft-spoken voice could put anyone to sleep. If he ever recorded voice memos for you, they’d be the most soothing thing ever.

• After a long mission, he welcomes you with quiet reassurances, hugging you from behind and murmuring, “You did great today. I missed you.”

• Loves holding your hand, whether it’s a quick squeeze of reassurance or intertwining fingers while walking.

• Soft, sleepy smiles—the rare moments when he’s tired but still awake enough to look at you and grin lazily.

• Would totally tuck a blanket around you if you fell asleep on the couch.

Xavier

• Definitely the “I know a spot” guy. And when he shows you? It’s breathtaking—some secret rooftop, a hidden garden, a quiet overlook.

• Hand-holding and forehead kisses in those quiet places where it’s just the two of you.

• If you’re on a mission and he’s not with you, he refuses to sleep. He’ll pace, check his phone, stare at the ceiling—anything but rest.

• CLINGS when you return. Arms wrapped around you, face buried in your neck, and a muffled, “Don’t ever leave me like that again.”

• Skilled with his fingers? Definitely means he can play the piano beautifully. Would learn your favorite song just to surprise you.

• Lowkey romantic in an effortless way. Always the guy to drape his jacket over you if you’re cold or tilt your chin up before a kiss.

Sylus

• Loves stargazing. If you ever go on a late-night drive, he’ll pull over just to sit on the hood of the car with you, pointing out constellations.

• Loves rainy days—the sound, the smell, the way it makes everything feel cozy. If it’s storming outside, he’s making hot drinks and pulling you onto the couch for a movie marathon.

• A big fan of sleepy cuddles. He’ll absentmindedly run his fingers through your hair while half-asleep.

• Writes little notes for you and leaves them in random places—inside books, on your mirror, tucked into your jacket pocket.

• Horrible at remembering dates but amazing at remembering tiny details—like the way you take your coffee or the song you hummed once three months ago.

• Unironically loves stuffed animals. If you ever give him one, he’ll pretend it’s no big deal, but you’ll definitely find it on his bed later.

Caleb

• Super protective but in a quiet way—he’ll walk on the side closest to the street, double-check locks before bed, and always notice when you seem off.

• Really good cook—if you’re having a bad day, expect a homemade meal that somehow tastes exactly like comfort.

• Loves fixing things for you. Broken zipper? He’s on it. Squeaky door? Fixed. Car won’t start? He’s already rolling up his sleeves.

• Acts grumpy but is secretly the softest. If you rest your head on his shoulder, he’ll pretend to sigh but won’t move an inch.

• Always warm. If you’re cold, he’ll just pull you into his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

• Reads a lot. Might not admit it, but he totally has a favorite book and will casually reference it in conversation.

• Loves slow dancing in the kitchen. No music, just the sound of your breathing and his steady heartbeat.

Rafayel

• Absolute charmer—he can flirt like it’s second nature, but when it comes to real feelings, he gets a little shy.

• Knows how to dress. If you ever need help picking an outfit, he’ll make sure you look stunning.

• Sends voice memos instead of texts. His voice is too smooth not to be used.

• Great dancer—whether it’s a fancy ballroom-style twirl or a goofy little move in the kitchen, he makes everything feel fun.

• Gives the best compliments—not just about looks, but little things like, “I love how your eyes light up when you talk about something you love.”

• Cuddling expert. His hugs are always just the right amount of firm, warm, and lingering.

• Loves learning about you. Your favorite color? Noted. The way you like your tea? Memorized. A weird fact about something you love? He’ll bring it up just to see you smile.

[totalswag]

midnight adventures — RAFE CAMERON

authors note here's a little something sweet for you guys. soft!rafe will forever have my heart. happy reading lovies.

— taglist if you want to be notified whenever i post leave a comment and you’ll be added.

summary having trouble sleeping throughout the night and text rafe if you can go on a drive to relax your mind

warning(s) trouble sleeping and rafe being the best boyfriend.

"Please sleep," you say to yourself, on the verge of tears, staring at the ceiling and running your hands through your hair with frustration.

It was three in the morning.

You've recently struggled to sleep at night, falling asleep around four in the morning, getting five hours of sleep, and yet feeling exhausted during the day.

Rolling over on your side, a huff escapes your lips as you reach your arm up to the nightstand, where your phones are plugged in. You take it off the charger and call your boyfriend, Rafe.

He responded within five seconds, sounding sleepy and worried. After you've finished stating your sleeping problems, he says he'll be there in ten minutes.

Rafe's truck can be heard from around the corner; a smile forms on your face. You put your slides on and one of Rafe's sweatshirt on then walk downstairs to the front door.

You snuck out of the house quietly and hopped into the passenger seat, greeted by the familiar perfume of Rafe's cologne combined with the subtle aroma of leather.

"Hey," he whispered softly, reaching over to offer your hand a comforting squeeze. "Ready?"

"Yeah," you replied, beaming warmly at him. "Thank you for this."

"Anything for you," he said, turning the truck into gear and driving away from your home turning out of the neighborhood.

He hands you his unlocked phone for music; you're usually on aux in his car. You pick the first song you liked and would set the mood.

You feel his right hand on your thigh, the thumb gently caressing. You let yourself relax under his touch.

"You want to grab something to eat?" He asks out of the blue, checking his shoulder before changing lanes and glancing at you for a response.

"Can we go to the store?" You recommended pointing to the store across the street. 

"Of sure, Baby.”

After getting some snacks, Rafe drove to your favorite spot, the beach. Generally this is your favorite spot to go whenever you want to get away from everything.

Rafe backed into the parking area so you could face the water in the dim light. You took the two blankets he keeps in the second row as he moved around to open your door.

Rafe drew you closer to him once the two of you had settled in. You looked up at him, admiring how blessed you were to have him.

"If you want to kiss me, just tell me," he quips, his eyes fixed on the water. You hit him in the chest, making him laugh, then kissed him.

"What's keeping you up all night princess?" He asks quietly, gently pushing your hair away from your face and examining your expression.

Rafe loathes witnessing you struggle to fall asleep or feel this way. Regardless of the circumstance, he has always been there for you in an instant. You find him most admirable in that regard. You are very fortunate to have him.

"I honestly don't know what's causing it," you shrugged, "stress might be the main factor or something else" was the only response you could give him right now. I'm not sure what is causing you to stay up late and never get enough sleep.

Rafe furrows his brows.

"You know I'd come sleep with you if you had problems falling asleep, and I don't want you to lose sleep. You value your sleep, I know that." You laugh at how much you value your sleep—you really do.

After a while, a few subjects are discussed. A cold breeze blows through the night, and the sound of the waves is calming. You can sense your own body becoming more at ease.

In silence, Rafe and you lay together covered by blankets. It seemed like the ideal moment. You drew closer to him— he also smells good.

"You almost ready to go?" Rafe asks curiously, "I don't want your parents waking up to you not in your bed" you stopped yourself after he finished his sentence, nodding. 

"Yeah we couldn't have that" you joke.

He turned on the ignition after the two of you got comfortable in the truck, allowing it to warm up for five minutes as you had been sitting on the bed with the truck turned off for an hour. 

It took ten minutes to make the drive back to your home. You didn't want to spend the remainder of the night apart from Rafe. Compared to before you saw him, you felt calmer and more content. 

"Can you stay?" If you think about it, what you're asking kindly amounts to pleading.

He replies sarcastically, "How can I refuse?" and then leans in to give you a kiss on the lips before turning off his truck.

Quitely entering your house with Rafe closely behind you. You turned your phone flashlight on incase of running into stuff and waking everyone up.

When you got to your room you took your slides and socks off your feet then flopping on your bed. Rafe took his shirt off along with shoes and socks. You opened your arms waiting for Rafe to get into bed with you.

"Don't worry, I'm coming," he says, placing his shirt on the desk chair across the room.

"Oh, that's what she said," you laugh.

Fake laughing, Rafe says, "Haha so funny" as he slides under the covers.

Snuggling closer to Rafe, you let out a sigh of relief as you kissed his naked chest several times and drew invisible hearts before feeling your eyes close.

You yawn with exhaustion, "Thank you for keeping me company tonight, baby, it means a lot, I love you."

"I love you too princess and that's what I'm supposed to do, take care of my beautiful girlfriend when she's in times like this."

You shared a final kiss with Rafe and then dozed out in each other's arms.

my taglist!

✰ if you would like to be added to my taglist and be notified whenever i post please let me know in the comments or in my ask box. if there's a line across your name that means i couldn't find your account.

@winterrrnight @chenslucy @rosezza @rafeyslamb @runningfrom2am @starkeyvhs @diqldrunks

[sargeteen]

𝒔𝒕. 𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒂 ! ˡˢ²

i ain't never had a doubt inside me 𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋

𝒍ogan sargeant x 𝒓apper!male reader synopsis: reader is an american rapper, one with a loyal, but small, fanbase. despite this, a formula 1 driver can’t help but love his music and pushes for him to visit a grand prix, but forgets to specify how.

genre: smau warnings: i’m using songs sung by black artists for readers album, so the faceclaim for reader in pics are going to be black, but anyone can read this!

requested: yes! author's note: i immediately thought of logan when i saw this request because of his love for eminem. songs used for second wind: squabble up, pride., duckworth, and the prayer by kendrick lamar. mutt by leon thomas. st. chroma, rah tah tah, and wusyaname by tyler, the creator

masterlist.

liked by logansargeant, userone, usertwo, and others

ynsmic second wind out now.

view all comments

userone the popularity of y/n needs to be studied this man deserves every single piece of hype he gets and more ⤷ usertwo that's what im saying!! this man has more talent than half of the rappers out on the hot 100

userthree going from squabble up right into mutt is crazy the vibe change was revolutionary

userfour the different vibes of this album is CRAZYYY i love it omg ⤷ userfive right?? like having mutt, squabble up, duckworth, and the prayer all on the same album is insane ⤷ usersix i like how it feels like they don't fit together. like the different vibes of the songs and topics don't fit together, but it feels like he's just having fun and sharing short stories and not only telling one story liked by ynsmic

logansargeant time to change my hype songs from lose yourself to st. chroma ⤷ userseven maybe lose yourself was making you lose yourself in the car that's why you aren't driving good ⤷ logansargeant bro...too far

usereight now what is logan sargeant doing here ⤷ usernine he mentioned y/n’s music like once in an interview back when he was in f2

userten alr now when is tour ⤷ ynsmic when a million+ people stream second wind ⤷ logansargeant i could probably manage that

♫ y/n l/n • st. chroma

liked by ynsmic, williamsracing, alexalbon, and others

logansargeant baku was good, but next week is when it gets good. going for a logan sweep for the home race. see you in miami.

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usereleven no eminem??

alexalbon a logan sargeant pole is in the near future ⤷ logansargeant please work your beautiful manifestation skills

ynsmic great song choice 🔥 liked by logansargeant

usertwelve RAHHHH WTF IS A KILOMETERRR LETS GO LOGAN 🔥🔥🔥🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸

userthirteen wait this song is like lowkey fire ⤷ userfourteen it really makes me think of logan fr like “promise im gon make it out” just makes me think of he’s gonna make it out of williams 😭😭

williamsracing our favorite american!! ⤷ userfifteen nobody cares ⤷ usersixteen gtfo man

userseventeen now who is y/n ⤷ usereighteen i'm not sure but i like this song

📍 miami, florida

liked by logansargeant, usernineteen, alexalbon, and others

ynsmic played at a local bar last night, met some cool people, got some even cooler news for you guys soon

view all comments

usernineteen second wind world tour ⤷ ynsmic not at that stage yet, soon though

usertwenty what is team williams doing here ⤷ usertwone right like ik logan is a fan of y/n but alex what are you doing here ⤷ usertwtwo hear me out, he's in miami, miami grand prix is next week ⤷ usertwone alright grandma lets get you to bed

logansargeant i think second wind is better on a stage ⤷ ynsmic i like your thought process

usertwthree i got a picture with you! it was great to meet you and i can't wait to see you live again soon! liked by ynsmic

f1 👀 ⤷ usertwfour alright what does this mean bro

♫ y/n l/n • MUTT

liked by williamsracing, alexalbon, logansargeant, and others

ynsmic and f1 second wind @ miami grand prix. see you soon.

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logansargeant williamsracing f1 while this isnt what i meant by inviting y/n to a gp but ill take it ⤷ ynsmic thanks for the invite man, even if it wasn't the right one ⤷ alexalbon sorry, logan is freaking out. he says your welcome liked by ynsmic

usertwfive bro this rapper is small as hell what is f1 doing inviting him to perform at a grand prix, the miami one no less 💀 ⤷ ynsmic i ask myself the same thing, but logan and i met at my gig the other night and he was going to invite me to a grand prix, but f1 thought he wanted me to perform, so here we are

usertwsix f1 and y/n fans how are we feeling ⤷ usertwseven im so glad i got tickets to the miami gp now only because of y/n

usertweight miami gp? more like y/n gp ⤷ usertwnine alright lets get you to bed

williamsracing williams is sorry for the mix up ⤷ userthirty nah my team is cooked theyre talking in third point of view ⤷ userthione nah your team is cooked by having logan as a driver this comment has been deleted by ynsmic!

userthitwo i need y/n and logan to interact at the miami gp please

userthithree my little rapper isnt so little anymore

liked by userthifour, userthifive, userthisix, and others

f1gossip before the miami grand prix weekend starts, logan sargeant and oscar piastri are seen on the streets of miami with y/n l/n, an up and coming rapper that is set to perform at the opening ceremony for the miami grand prix

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userthifour i've never heard of y/n before ⤷ userthifive neither have i, but i did look up his music and it's pretty good

userthisix man this dude has like 5k monthly listeners on spotify what is he doing performing at the miami grand prix 💀💀 ⤷ userthiseven y/n said that he was just supposed to visit the williams garage cause of logan, but there was miscommunication and they invited him to perform ⤷ userthieight or it's because nobody wants to perform at the miami gp so they picked out an artist nobody knows

userthinine im like lowkey excited for the opening ceremony

userfourty imagine logan gets pole and p1 because of y/n (his fav artist since f2) being there ⤷ userfourone i would bet real money on that because that's never going to happen ⤷ userfourtwo don't sleep on my boy logan alright ⤷ userfourthree i'll gladly sleep on logan slowgeant

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, lewishamilton, and others

ynsmic what a way to start the weekend. even though many people didn't know who i was, it was still a blast to perform second wind in my hometown on a large stage and spread my music to the world.

let's go logan sargeant sweep for miami.

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userfourfour y/n is a ls2? ⤷ ynsmic he's the reason why i got to perform, so i'm obligated to cheer him on

logansargeant if y/n has one fan, it's me. if y/n has no fans, i'm dead. ⤷ ynsmic my biggest fan

logansargeant i was screaming the lyrics from the williams garage ⤷ alexalbon can confirm this (i even got it on video) ⤷ ynsmic that was you? (send it to me?)

userfourfive i love this friendship that y/n and logan have ⤷ userfoursix the fact that logan was a fan of y/n for years and now he's friends with y/n. logan must fan boy every time they interact

userfourseven who else came here after watching the opening ceremony???? ⤷ userfoureight i did!! ⤷ userfournine me as well! might become a new fan of him...

♫ y/n l/n • squabble up - radio edit

liked by williamsracing, ynsmic, alexalbon, and others

f1 and logansargeant LOGAN SARGEANT TO START IN POLE POSITION TOMORROW IN MIAMI!!!!

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userfifty holy fucking shit

userfifone LOGAN SARGEANT SWEEEEEP IN AMERICAAAAA RAHHHHH

userfiftwo GUYS MY DRIVER DID IT HE DID IT LETS GOOOO

ynsmic am i allowed to take responsibility for this? ⤷ logansargeant maybe.

userfifthree OH MY GOD AMERICAAAAA RAHHH

alexalbon MY SEXY AMERICAN TEAMMATE THATS WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT OH MY GOD MANIFESTATION WORKS!!

♫ y/n l/n • st.chroma - radio edit

liked by ynsmic, lewishamilton, oscarpiastri, and others

f1 and logansargeant LOGAN. SARGEANT. WINS. MIAMI. After a rough rookie year and troubles with his car and races, the only American on the grid has officially done it, and at his home race.

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ynsmic THAT'S MY LOGAN ⤷ userfiffour your logan? ⤷ logansargeant Y/NNNNN LFGGGGG

userfiffive everybody who doubted my boy logan, i expect apologies with tears and a ukelele

userfifsix THATS RIGHTTT!! LOGAN DESERVES TO BE HERE!!

userfifseven OH MY GODDDD THIS IS REVOLUTIONARY HUGE DAY FOR THE LOGANG ⤷ logansargeant that can't be what you guys are called.

alexalbon went to the tom holland school of manifestation

williamsracing LOGAN. SARGEANT.

userfifeight USING Y/N'S SONG I CANTTTTT

liked by ynsmic, alexalbon, charles_leclerc, and others tagged: ynsmic

logansargeant miami 🤍

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userfifnine we get a logan first place and gay hard launch all in one weekend??

usersixty i was NOT expecting this holy shit

ynsmic forever proud of you logan 🤍 ⤷ logansargeant thank you y/n 🤍

usersixone not disappointed not surprised. congrats you two!

alexalbon and what do we say to alex? ⤷ logansargeant are we supposed to say thank you? ⤷ alexalbon who pushed you towards y/n after the podium ceremony?? ⤷ ynsmic thank you ... alex

usersixtwo oh i can tell these two are going to be insufferable

usersixthree imagine logan just gets infinitely better at driving now that he has a boyfriend ⤷ usersixfour the magic of significant others

charles_leclerc can you tell y/n i want to work with him on a song soon ⤷ lewishamilton seconding this ⤷ logansargeant am i just a connection to you now? ⤷ ynsmic ignore him-- i would be honored!

liked by logansargeant, alexalbon, lewishamilton, and others tagged: xnda, charles_leclerc

ynsmic wusyaname (feat. xnda, charles leclerc)

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logansargeant this is going double platinum in my house ⤷ ynsmic glad to hear it lover 🤍

a/n: OKAY! sorry this was so long, but i really hoped it managed expectations @darkestmrhyde !! i had a lot of fun making it :))

tags: @milessunflowers @lokisen @kevinlolwife @op-81-lvr-reblogs @kazanskied @481rosier

[eclairemaire]

Meeting the Missus pt. 2

Part 1 Part 3

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Wife! Reader

Category: Fluff

Summary: The Team finds out Bob is married and wants to meet the missus.

Warnings: Slight allusions to mature content(nothing explicit ever stated though), Reader is described very similarly to Rhea Ripley, Reader and Bob are very much in love, No mention of Y/N used, Southern Reader (she's like all southern ladies sweet like iced tea, but can knock you on your ass if she has too), Express mentions of reader and Bob's Child, Lemme know if I missed any.

Word Count: 1.9K

Notes: This is the second part of 'Meeting the Missus'. I highly recommend reading the first part before reading this. Please enjoy!!! And I will continue to update as I'm able.

After the first meet-up with the dagger squad at the Hard Deck, it became almost routine that every other week or so, you would meet up with them for an evening at the bar. Bob wasn’t all that surprised that the team liked you so much; what wasn’t there to like? All that southern charm wrapped up in a woman who had all the means to be anything but. The team had pestered him so much about what you even did all the time and why they only got to see you every other week, but working from home and being a full-time parent had taken up most of your time.

“So Bobby, when are we going to get to meet this kid of yours that you keep hidden all the time?” Hangman asked as the squad made its way to the locker rooms from the hangar.

“Probably soon,” Bob said, wiping sweat from his brow. ”The missus is planning to have a cookout soon, and I get the feeling that all of you will get invited, seeing as neither of us has family here in San Diego.” 

“Oh? An invitation to your home and free food.” Rooster sighed, “Man, are you sure that’s a good idea? We might never leave.”

Putting his helmet on the bench and starting to remove his flight suit, Bob sighed as well, “I don’t have a choice in the matter. She tells me what she plans, and I do what I can.” He shivers at the reminder of what happened when he didn’t do something you asked of him when you were pregnant; he’ll forever be haunted by the memory.

“I can’t tell if that’s because you love her so much or if you’re scared of your wife?” Fanboy says as he starts putting on his civvies.

“Can’t you tell it’s both?” Coyote states as he shoves something into his locker, “That woman is capable of folding any of us like lawn chairs if she wanted to.”

Bob looked at the rest of them with a look that said, ‘I’m not answering that question.’ Grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder, and shoving the truck keys into his front pocket starts to leave.

“I’ll see y’all tomorrow, and let you know when the cookout is,” he waved a hand over his shoulder and exited the locker room.

Pulling into the driveway, Bob sees the lights off in the house and hears music and laughter coming from the backyard. Unlocking the front door and putting his bag on the bench in the entryway, he’s greeted by one of the dogs. 

“Hey Nuggs,” he says quietly, squatting down to give the dog some pets. “I’m home!” He yells as he stands up and starts moving toward the back door.

“DADDY!” Little feet can be heard running toward him as the back door opens. Seeing his kiddo coming at him full speed, Bob braces himself for the incoming tornado that is his daughter. Picking her up and spinning her around, he smiles as he sees you approaching after shutting the back door. “Hi, Bug.” He tells Riley as he places her on his hip, turning to you, kissing you on your cheek. “My love.”

“Ewww..” Riley says, starting to squirm in his arms. “Daddy you’re gonna give Mama cooties.” He turns to her and starts peppering her face with kisses, and giggles erupt from Riley as soon as his attention his on her, making her squirm even more.

“Cooties? Mama can’t get cooties from me she’s got super powers” he giggles at her squeals, as you watch with a fond smile as you lean against the wall with your arms folded over your chest showing off the muscles that reside there. Riley turns to look at you from her dad's arms and smiles.

“Yeah, Mama’s got super strength and super love!” She exclaims, eyes bright with admiration for her mama. Bob sets Riley down with a warm smile.

“Bug, why don’t you go wash up before we eat dinner?” you ask her before she scampers off down the hall and up the stairs to get ready for dinner. Leaning off the wall and stepping into Bob’s bubble, you smile as you string your arms around his neck as his arms snake around your waist, hands resting on your lower back.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” It’s a quiet exchange before he leans down to kiss you on your lips, it’s soft, full of love, and longing after a long day apart. Pressing his forehead to yours, he asks, “How are you?”

“Good, it’s been a productive day, Riley had a good nap, and I got plenty of work done and dinner made on time with no major disasters. The only thing missing was my wonderful husband.” You say pecking his lips. “How was yours?”

“The usual, drills, reports, pushups. Told the squad about the cookout,” he said, noticing the furrowing of your brow, “Didn’t give them a date but a forewarning that it’d be happening at some point in the future.”

“Oh, ok, good, guess I’ll move up the date then.” You said, stepping back and turning toward your office through a pair of French doors down the hall, Bob follows silently. Going up to the big calendar on the wall, looking over the dates and what has good availability, for all the prep needed for what you were planning.

“It doesn’t have to be soon,” he says, observing you as you head toward your desktop to check your work calendar. 

“No, no, it’s all good. My current project should be done by next Wednesday at the latest. That’ll give me all of Thursday and Friday for prep and Saturday morning for last-minute arrangements if necessary.” Stepping away from your computer and heading to the exit of your office, you motion for him to scoot out of the way so you could close the office doors. Just as you head for the kitchen, you hear a thump from upstairs and then the sound of muffled cries from what could only be your daughter. Sharing a brief look at each other, you both rush up the steps to see Riley in the hall with what appears to be carpet burn forming on her forehead as she looks up at both of you with tears in her eyes. Her lip wobbles for half a second before she wails at the top of her lungs.

“Ma-Mama,” She sobbed as she reached out for you. Bending down and picking her up swiftly, she tucks her head under your chin and wraps her arms around your neck, as Bob starts to head to grab the first aid kit from the bathroom.

“Meet you in the kitchen,” you say as you turn down the stairs and go to the kitchen. Setting Riley on the island countertop, you grab a wash cloth and wet it with cool water to dab against her forehead. “What happened, Bug?” You ask, your tone soft. Bob is next to you, first aid kit set open on the counter, grabbing Neosporin and several band-aids for her to choose from.

“I tripped an-an-and fell on’ta floor,” she said, hiccups coming in strong as she tried to calm down. Bob had started to rub circles on her back as her hiccups continued and her tears started to slow. Wiping her tear tracks with the wash cloth and stepping away so Bob could apply Neosporin to her forehead.

“Oh, Bug,” Bob said as he finished applying the cream and wiped his fingers clean with the damp wash cloth. “How would you like to pick out a band-aid, then eat dinner and watch a movie after with me and your mama, does that sound good?” he asked, holding out the band-aids for her to choose from. She nodded her head as she reached for an orange one with dinosaurs on it, her eyes glossy as she looked up at both of you.

“Ok,” you say as you take the band-aid to put it on her forehead. Afterward, Bob picks her up and takes her to the dinner table, and you get everyone a bowl of food, and you all eat as soft conversation flows.

After all the dishes are put in the dishwasher, you all pile on the couch, Riley in between you and Bob, as the opening scenes for ‘Quest for Camelot’ play on the screen. By the end of the movie, Riley is having a hard time keeping her eyes open. Bob picks her up as you both go upstairs to tuck her into bed. Placing a kiss on both of her cheeks, you say, “Good night, Riley, I love you.” She snuggles up to her stuffed animal as Bob does the same.

“Night, muma, da’dy… love you,” She mumbles as she squishes into her blankets. You and Bob slowly back out of the room and close the door. Heading into y’all’s bedroom just down the hall.

Once inside, Bob shuts the door behind you, grabs your hand, and heads to sit at the end of the bed. Sitting down, he pulls you in between his legs, his arms wrapping around you, holding you there, and rests his head against your chest. Carding your fingers through his hair as you sway lightly. You both stay that way for a few minutes, just basking in each other's presence. You move to sit next to him on the bed, facing each other, you take off his glasses and set them aside. You lean your forehead against his and look into his eyes, they were a magnificent blue, as though they held all of the oceans within them, deep and filled with love. Tilting in to kiss him, deliberate, sensual, filled with all the love you carried for him, he returned the kiss with fervor, one hand on the side of your face, the other holding your hip as you leaned into him. Letting out a hum as you release him from the kiss.

Looking at his still closed eyes, “I’m going to wash up.” It was hushed, barely spoken above a whisper, moving to head towards the ensuite in an unhurried manner, he held onto your hand until you were out of reach. “You can always join me,” it was said in an unserious tone as you entered the bathroom. Bob just groaned from his spot on the bed.

The following morning, Bob woke up enveloped in your arms as your head rested on his shoulder. He was surrounded by your smell and your heat. Placing a kiss on your forehead, he started to unravel himself from you. As soon as he started to move, you started mumbling in your sleep, small, incoherent thoughts.

“Mhmm, ugh, sweetheart, is it time for you to go already?” You mumble as you try to pull him back into the bed. It was a good thing you didn’t have a good hold on him anymore ‘cause that would’ve been a losing battle for him.

“Yes, my love,” he leaned down to place a kiss on your head, before he started to get ready to head to base. Getting dressed in his khakis and heading downstairs, grabbing an apple and a protein bar to eat on the way to base, he started to dig through the fridge for some leftovers from dinner the night before to take as his lunch. Before leaving for the day, he went upstairs to hug and kiss you goodbye before going to Riley’s room to do the same and wish her a good day.

Part 1 Part 3

[buttercupblu]

Satoru's Psyche|Escalating

"Should I really have to suffer for my actions?"

Previous SessionSession 2 of 10|Next Session

🗂️Patient Chart Update: Patient Gojo displayed extremely flirtatious and unruly behavior during the first half of his visit. Mentions of escape and kid-napping were noted as well as enforced close proximity with his nurse. Threatening remarks were also made at the end of his lunch in response to mentions of disciplinary action. Patient is scheduled for a bath but is pending the possibility of negative punishment to instill corrective behaviors. 📋Length of Session (w.c): 8.3k out of "i said we will cross that bridge when we get to it 😊" 💊Intake Chart (tags): mild violence but no in-action descriptors, coercion, manipulation, drug use, angst, unwatched close contact and touch, nudity, mentally unstable Gojo, Nurse!Reader ✏️Doctor's angel’s note: i hope you know what you're doing, Nurse 🎼Waiting room music: Overheated|Billie Eilish

Choose wisely.

Hunger stirs in your tummy, and Gojo's words sit with you through lunch. Your spoon clinks around the bowl, stirring the soup growing colder by the second though the growls from your stomach are too obnoxious to be ignored. But your mind wanders.

You're stuck. Earlier, you were all for serving up justice on a silver platter, but now you're seriously second-guessing your "genius" idea to punish Gojo by making him someone else's problem.

As if anyone will be crazy enough to say yes.

Everyone already avoids his wing like the plague. It's kind of an unspoken fact that you are Gojo's one and only. The only staff he allows near him. Anyone else would be playing with fire.

And if someone is brave enough to willingly throw themselves into the lion's den, they definitely can't be new. New to nursing—new to the ward. High expertise is needed here. Someone seasoned—experience which you lack yourself—otherwise, they won't last a second with Gojo.

It'll be way too easy for him to make them snap, like tossing a bone to a dog.

"Persephone." Yuko brings you out of your coma.

You perk up, instinctively smiling. "Hey, what's up?"

"You tell me," she snorts. "You've been playing with your food like break isn't over in 10 minutes." She touches your arm. "Everything ok?"

It's written all over your face, huh? You could deflate right now.

This is why Yuko is your favorite co-worker. Always reading you like a book without you needing to say a word. Quick to call anything off out.

Leaning back in your chair, you huff, rubbing circles into your temples to relieve the headache you didn't know you had.

"Yeah, yeah," you begin, "It's just—" You stop, her eyes hold so much concern and you've barely opened your mouth. Not sure if you should now because you know what kind of person Yuko is.

And if she knew even half of what you don't tell her during your lunch breaks spent complaining about work, she'd hang Gojo out to dry if she could. She often makes it very clear she hates you have to deal with him at all.

"—I'm just a bit tired. Gojo's scheduled for a bath later, him and two others. Gojo's easy but...I don't know. I feel slower than usual today. Definitely won't get home until late, again, because of all these sponge baths." You cringe at the last part.

Aside from trying to keep Yuko cool, you also don't want to risk the news getting back to the Director who could take you off of Gojo completely. No one else can take your place. And who knows what would happen if you disappeared from his roster for good?

How would his threats manifest?

Yuko scoffs, waving her hand.

"Gojo and easy do not go together," and you both shake your heads and laugh. "But I get it. You did come in super early."

"Thought there'd be less of us," you sigh.

"Sonya's been on our asses lately, right? But hey, she finally got us all here."

"A little too late. The damage is done," you pout, resting your elbows on the table, realizing you've accidentally grown used to chaos and ever-changing schedule.

You routinely plan ahead to make sure you can stand up when people fall short. Constantly putting yourself on the back burner seems to be a thing that always set you back.

"Sooo, you just need rest, ya? Nothing else? Gojo—" there she goes "—been 'okay' with you lately?"

Your heart skips. "Ya. he isn't so bad today," you lie, "I'd just love to be home on time for once. Maybe even a bit early, I'm soo close. Overtime's been wringing my neck for weeks."

Yuko looks at you with puppy dog eyes. And not in a "I feel sorry for you" kind of way, but one that almost makes you feel bad for not telling her the whole truth.

"Here," she pushes your soup towards you, "How about I do Gojo's bath and you get an early start on my last two? That way you can at least binge that show you won't shut up about later." She smiles.

You immediately protest.

There's no way you can do that to her.

Yuko never even crossed your mind and was far from your first pick, not because she can't handle him but because she's your friend. Not just a colleague, but someone you actually care about more than anyone else in this run-down job even if she doesn't feel the same.

She's too good of a person, and you'd be the Devil Incarnate if you let her do something so risky. Especially when you can just suck it up and get it over with.

"Woah, woah, it's just a bath, calm down," she says, taking your hands in hers as you ramble on, trying to convince her that you'll be fine or that you'll find someone else. Burdening her is simply out of the question.

"Who else but me, Seph'?" and she tilts her head, "You don't you think I'm as good as you?" And the way she says it, giving you that look she does when you're being stubborn, dares you to challenge her.

Now you really have to think about what to say.

Goddamn it, you regret saying anything at all, but Yuko's so motherly, how could you resist? Hiding from her is impossible, she would've sniffed you out sooner or later.

Easing your pains when she can is her specialty—helping to calm and settle you down when you blow things out of proportion.

Could this be one of those moments? Or are Gojo's words more than just hot air?

The back and forth is killing you, but the combination of Yuko's reassuring touch and your gurgling stomach puts the final nail in the coffin as she reminds you of the time.

Eyes wide, you look at the clock, ticking away faster than you realized, then back at your lukewarm soup.

Denying that you need help would be silly because technically it's true. You probably should've asked the Director for a little Gojo break forever ago, even if just for a few hours a few times a week. It would be better than nothing because if you can't function, Gojo can't be cared for.

So, who better to help bridge that gap for you than Yuko?

The gutsy woman has been your rock ever since you started at the ward, having your back and sticking with you through tough times when staff constantly dips in and out of the facility like a rotating door, unable to handle the job.

Yuko's a real day one, and next to you, she's the most competent nurse in these walls, fully equipped with a "take-no-shit" attitude that routinely keeps her patients in check.

When you really think about it, it'd be silly, downright irresponsible to trust anyone else.

Her offer is simply too good to dismiss.

"Thank you, Yuko," you cave, grabbing your spoon and finally allowing yourself to enjoy your meal. "You're...amazing. I don't deserve you."

She looks on happily. "Just promise me you'll take some personal time after this," she insists, worry evident in her voice. "We both know how much you care, but even superheroes need rest." She's too kind and right in more ways than one. "Besides, I think Gojo will like me, ya? I'm cool. I'm fun. He'll like a friend of friend?"

You roll your eyes—ya, totally, cool people definitely say they're cool.

Not knowing whether to joke back or wave her off, you softly smile at her concern before nodding, vowing to make good on your promise and feel a bit lighter knowing your wish for early release will actually come true.

Maybe.

The latest threat to your miracle in the making is Mr. Hampton, who is personally making it his business to drag the already long day by its edges, almost bringing time to a standstill with the way he's handling his bath.

Enormous and lumbering, the man Yuko usually deals with took his sweet time gathering his things and even longer trekking down the seemingly endless halls leading to the bathing area. Occupying every inch of the space like those massive trucks that hog the interstate, yet inching along at a pace that makes a snail look like it's in a sprint.

All that was missing were the yellow hazard lights.

Oh no, please, take your time, you think, watching Mr. Hampton clean each limb painstakingly s l o w in a tub that's comically too small for him. You may have been able to rush through Yuko's first patient, but this one wanted all that time back.

His pace resembles a giant's, and his cheery, nonsensical hums echo around the hollow chambers and lull you to sleep, turning your eyes into bricks under the spell of his melody. Perfect timing for the energy drinks from early to crash you out, tag teaming with the chair beneath you that feels a bit too soft as you lean over the tub, willing the colossal man to hurry up.

Warm water flows over your skin as you scrub circles on his neck, deciding to bite the bullet and take over the bath so he can play with the bubbles and get out when you hear a blood-curdling scream.

Your entire body goes rigid, shock reverberating through your spine and forcing you to halt as your mind goes blank. But steamy water brings you back to life, drenching your shirt and upper thighs when Mr. Hampton jumps from the noise.

The rude awakening makes you lock in.

The scream. It sounds like...no, you know it came from the west wing...where Gojo is.

And Yuko.

Hurried steps rush past your door, sounds of multidirectional distress and frantic shouts echoing through the corridor—staff members and patients alike sweep into a whirlwind of panic.

You're number one, dropping the scrubber and scrambling to help Mr. Hampton out of the tub, hands shaking as he grips them.

A security guard bursts into the room, face ashen and jaw tight.

"Nurse! We need everyone in the west wing, immediately!" The command is sharp, laced with an urgency you've never seen before.

And immediately feel responsible for.

"There's been an incident."

Without another thought, you wrap Mr. Hampton in a towel, trying your best to assure him that everything is fine when your obviously trembling body says nothing is. His confused gaze follows you as you lead him back to his room, the commotion in the air moving him a lot faster than earlier before you rush back out and head straight for the west wing—where chaos reigns supreme.

The usually pristine floors, normally squeaky clean due to lack of traffic, are now barely visible. Staff members crowd the familiar hall for the first time since Gojo made it his own, filling the space with more bodies than you're used to and making it difficult to find the source of trouble.

Not like you need to. The truth is painfully clear, and it's disrespectful to even pretend you don't know exactly what went wrong.

You push through the masses, clumsily bumping shoulders, your heart beating into your ears and making the world seem quiet as you inch closer and closer to disaster. Dragging imaginary shackles on your feet until you all but collapse once you spot it.

Gojo—barely restrained by guards, straitjacket nowhere in sight—standing absolutely furious.

And for the first time today, time seems to slow down, your mouth suddenly becoming dry when you look past him.

Yuko.

Halfway out the door to his room. Sprawled out on the ground. Bruised, unconscious, and no signs of breathing.

Your hands fly to your lips, mouth agape. Murmurs from the crowd swirl around you before attendants rush to Yuko's side, knocking into your pathetic frame as you stand too frozen to move.

They gently pick her up, careful to handle her motionless body and place her on a stretcher. Her usually vibrant face is drained of color, twisting the dagger in your chest when you spot the subtle rise and fall of her chest. Fighting for breath.

Fighting.

It hits you like a train.

Someone as kind as her, always greeting you with warmth and empathy and capacity every time she sees you, should never have to lift a finger let alone fight for her life. The sight is too much to bear.

Waves of helplessness crash over you and you can't even look at her. Regretting with every ounce of your being that you sent her in your place. Knowing this could happen. Concerned only with your silly wants and needs.

But you're so confused.

The ward should have weakened Gojo—Yuko should have been fine. The only threat Gojo has up his sleeve is mental torture but Yuko might as well be Freud. Her mind is sound, strong.

And that's where you fucked up, forgetting that Gojo's pure strength, especially when he's lost his fucking mind and triggered, is stronger.

Even with his security system in place, the devil is still powerful enough on his own. And like this was some sick and twisted experiment to help you figure that out, Yuko was the one to pay the price.

"I warned, I WARNED YOU!" Gojo's words pierce the overlapping voices like a sword, breaking your shock and drawing everyone's attention to the strange interaction between the two of you. "I don't like to be touched by strangers, Nurse." Guards struggle to restrain him as he pulls away.

All eyes fall on you and the stares are intense. Confusion and judgment.

Why was Yuko here in the first place?Where was Seph’?How’d he get out?How did this happen? 

Whether the murmurs are real or in your head, the effect is all the same, and you wish you could just completely vanish. Standing like a deer in headlights—and they're so fucking bright.

But Gojo is brimming with malice and amusement, chaotic energy pulsing from the hellish man and threatening to send sparks flying. Daring someone to be brave and push the button.

But despite his outward display of dominance, the pure rage on his face that makes you feel sick to your stomach about every decision you've ever made, there's something...uncertain lurking behind those fiery eyes.

Something like...apprehension.

Like he knows he's done something wrong.

Yet, words escape you, as if anything needs to or even could be said. But soon, fear and guilt turn to anger, threatening to consume you. Ready to eat you alive and spit out the bones with disgust because you are not a victim.

You have no right to stand here, spineless, shocked, or feeling even a little sorry for yourself. Holding back tears because you know what you've done.

Your fists clench, unsure how to deal with it, but there's fire in your eyes because someone needs to pay.

But then you exhale, thoughts shifting to Yuko as you take a good look around at what happened the last time you decided to take things into your own hands. All of your actions, even now, are rooted in selfishness. Like you've learned nothing.

Pushing down the knot growing in your stomach, you turn away to follow the medics, deciding your friend needs you more than you need revenge. Gojo doesn't deserve any more of your attention, even if it means risking your job or life to turn your back on him.

And there's nothing Gojo hates more than being ignored.

Struggled and strained noises grow louder. Guards tighten their grip on the fuming man whose raw strength outnumbers thousands of them even without his cursed energy.

You look back, their determination to keep him contained making you nervous. You don't anyone else to get hurt and Gojo is fully exploiting that.

You're painfully aware that your decisions have put you in this position, watching the guards' valiant but increasingly pointless effort to prevent Gojo from causing further harm. But it's obviously a losing fight, and the unease on their faces is unmistakably clear.

You wonder why they don't just run like hell.

"Let's go," a guard barks, but Gojo remains fixed in place. Moving a boulder would be easier.

"No, I'm filthy," Gojo protests, smirking, "And if I don't have my bath soon, there will be hell to pay."

Seeing no one else in the room, his eyes are locked only on you, his expression a menacing promise that would send anyone else running for the hills. A look that says, "Try that shit again, and there will be casualties instead of mercy."

Reinforcements are called but it won't be enough. The goddamn military wouldn't be enough. Gojo is...the strongest, after all.

"Stop."

Your cry freezes the room. Everything goes silent.

You hesitate, fuck, what should you do?

What can you do? No one else can suffer—no one else should suffer. Because of you.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you silently apologize to Yuko, swallowing a lump instead of looking back.

"I'll do it," you say firmly, "Just stop this and...and I'll give you your bath. Please—" The sharpest pang you've ever felt cuts through you. "—just don't hurt anyone else."

Pathetic. But necessary.

He looks into your pleading eyes with surprise, amazement even, before smiling.

The submission in your voice sounds better than anything he could ever imagine. A sweet tones that feed his already inflated ego.

Unsure of how to proceed, the guards exchange uneasy glances.

Gojo's strength is undeniable, that much is evident, and restraining him forever is simply not possible.

You know offering to give him what he wants is risky as hell...but this is your doing. Your mess to clean up.

So you squeeze your sweaty palms and give a decisive nod, signaling at the guards to let him go. They hesitate a second, then reluctantly agree, stepping back and leaving Gojo standing smugly before you.

Closing your eyes, you breathe, hating to have to look at him, but needing to stay strong. For Yuko. For yourself. And everyone else in the ward.

But Gojo's satisfied grin says it all. He's won this round.

You're ready to get the next over with.

The squeaking of your shoes has never been this loud, each echo bouncing off the empty halls and reminding you of how alone you are.

Alone—with a psychopath.

A bit more docile, doped-up psychopath but, the man could probably still rip someone's head clean off if he wanted to.

Still, Gojo despises anything that alters his body—mentally, physically, all of the above. Alcohol, medication, coffee, energy drinks—anything that threatens his need for absolute control.

But he also needed to compromise, and you refused to be alone with him again unless he took something stronger. Otherwise, it would be you, all the guards in the ward, and a pay-per-view premiere of his bath time.

He knew he had to agree because his ass is not for free, but only if you took it as well.

You blinked, hard.

You knew he would be skeptical—hell, it could be poison, and he wouldn’t blame you. But to suggest something so ridiculous?

"Half, then," he said, as if that made his suggestion any less idiotic, but, as you waited for your supervisor to dismiss the insane idea, the back and forth with Gojo actually didn't save you. And you didn't need to ask why. The entire ward shoots daggers at you any time someone walks by now.

Your supervisor reassured you that you'd be fine, the mild tranquilizer would be out of your system by the end of the day, then she patted your back as if to say, "Lay in the bed you made."

It felt unreal, holding the familiar pill between your fingers, one you were used to dishing out but now had to take.

With a quick snap, you broke it in half, holding his half out to the leering man. Gaze unwavering as he leaned forward and parted his lips, waiting. Taking a deep breath, you placed them both on your tongues, in disbelief at your reality, but Gojo's focus was elsewhere, not wasting this prime opportunity to rattle you more and taste you, closing his lips around your fingertip with a quick lick before you snatched away.

But it wasn’t quick enough to avoid the tingles shooting up your arm as you swallowed, no longer needing the water you had set aside, and a confusing mix of emotions churned as the tingles spread throughout your body.

Making good on his promise, he swallowed his own, still watching you with a knowing glint in his eyes. Like he knows what he does to you. And despite just witnessing this man's violence firsthand, you'd give anything to deny that he still has an effect on you. Hating yourself for being more concerned with the way he looked at you and the lingering sensation on your skin than the tranquilizer now coursing through your system.

The guards carefully lead you and Gojo to his private bathroom—they're more there for show than for protection, but you'll take what you can get, and they keep a firm grip on his replacement straitjacket.

You trail behind, mind buried with thoughts of what to say once you're really alone with him.

The door shuts behind you, followed by the familiar sound of a series of locks clicking shut. "We'll be right outside," one of the guards mutters, eyes shifting between you and Gojo, a stereotypical warning lacing his voice, but even he probably doesn't believe it.

"Perv," Gojo sneers and laughs, but you don't find a damn thing funny, the keys to his jacket digging into your palms as you spin around and face him, furious. What would be better? Slapping him, kicking him, or knocking his teeth out. Or should you be particularly evil and just let him sit in the shower, fully restrained and drenched in cold water and you let it rain down. None of the above will do you any good, but it'll show him exactly how done you are with his shit.

"That isn't funny. None of this is funny," it fumes out before you know you're speaking, "You've hurt someone—you hurt my friend." Your rage echos through the vast bathroom.

Gojo's laugh fades, his smug expression slipping from his face. Even you're surprised.

...oh shit.

You're actually confronting him.

The intense words burn through his usual arrogance, leaving a heavy, uncomfortable silence between you.

Then, for a fleeting second, his face does something weird.

Something you haven't seen before as his eyebrows draw together. Is that...regret?

"I'm sorry."

The record scratches. You’re fully positive you must be dreaming.

But when he doesn’t make a joke or even crack a smile, you squint at him.

The words are muttered and reluctant, but there they are, hanging in the air between you.

"It...won't happen again."

And he's serious, the same seriousness you see when his heart races as you take his vitals...but why? Because an apology? From him?? Unheard of.

Gojo has said some nasty things to you in the past that you've immediately scolded him for, but he's never apologized. He'd make a note when certain jokes didn't land, but he never took them back, preferring to cut out his own tongue than to waste his breath being sorry.

You know better than to take anything Gojo says at face value, but...what the fuck??? You almost feel offended.

He has to be joking, fucking with you to dig even deeper under your skin.

Or is he?

Fuck, you don't know how to feel.

He's so good at that, stealing the air back and hanging his words in them. Tempting you to pause and even consider if he ever truly means them. If he could mean them. The mind games are endless.

But then, the familiar cockiness returns and overshadows your doubts, twisting your stomach into knots with that familiar smile of his.

"Now," he says, strutting towards the stalls, "let's get this bath started, shall we?" And his easy, but confident steps call you to follow, a stark reminder of who you're dealing with. But he never knows when to quit. "Or should I really have to suffer for my actions?" and the bastard pouts.

Though you know he's being sarcastic and not to feed into his taunts, you can't help but wonder—what would suffering even look like for someone like Gojo?

Violence? Physical pain? A slow and agonizingly painful death?

But the guy is damn near invincible. What on earth could hurt him?

Whatever it is, it would have to be his absolute worst nightmare, but nothing comes to mind at the moment other than frustration because you have to keep making choices.

Return his energy or keep it professional? Tolerance or revenge?

"Apologizing won't cut it," you snap and gesture at his jacket, wondering how the hell he slipped out of the first one without leaving a trace. "And no tricks, or those guards will be back in here faster than you can tell another lame joke."

Smooth.

Gojo sighs sooo dramatically, like he can see straight through your kitty claws. "Fine, fine. Loosen up," he drags, "I won't cause any trouble. Just don't go getting any ideas now, Nurse." and he winks.

He's insufferable—but despite your smoldering anger, tendrils of doubt still creep in.

Your fingers slightly tremble as you begin to unfasten his straps, but each click feels a bit like victory, a fragile illusion of your 'control'—at least for now—because at the end of the day, Gojo had chosen you to listen to. And after today, he's sure you won't forget there isn't room for anyone else.

The jacket falls with a heavy thud, your eyes immediately scanning his upper body in search of any signs of injury or stress. The cascading bruises on his arms surprise you.

They feel so feeble in your hands; the evidence of him not as invincible as he seems is jarring. Pale, weak, and resting between your fingers. Devoid of the power that makes him so feared.

"Never seen bruises before," he tilts his head, "at least not on me"

You hope Yuko was at least partly responsible for the marks on the villain, but they appear self-inflicted, and he's not as mobile.

Fuck, now you'll have to bathe him too. Still, it's strange, seeing him like this. Even weirder knowing that he could still do damage in this state and you can't shake the feeling of this temporary 'truce'. If it isn't obvious by now, you've learned that Gojo always has something up his sleeve.

Warm water soothes you a bit, flowing over your fingers as it fills the large white tub—pristine, imported from somewhere far away, and standing on decorative claw feet. Your eyes wouldn't stop rolling the first time you saw it, completely annoyed with Gojo's over-the-top alterations and sense of style, but you'd be a liar if you said you never thought about sinking your body into it.

The best you could do was cope with the little porcelain tub in your apartment, and you get lost thinking about how you'd love to take a long, hot, and steamy bath when you get home—if you'll even have the energy. There's no way you'll be leaving early now, not like you deserve it, and you feel sick for even thinking about it. You doubt you'll even have a job tomorrow.

You look so defeated Gojo thinks, sauntering forward and lifting the hem of his shirt. You turn away, focusing instead on the temperature of the water, but the rustling sound of his shirt being pulled overhead and pants falling to the ground warms your cheeks.

His physique certainly isn't lacking, even in his current state, but still, you wonder how such a slim but toned frame could be so...powerful.

Could you be more obvious? Your flickering eyes are so telling, shamefully darting between him and the water, but he catches your gaze from the corner of his eye as if he's read your mind. How cute, he thinks, trying to hide away your thoughts.

Clearing your throat, you toss in his loofah. "Well...go on. It's ready." But Gojo only grins, amused by your attempts to look away despite seeing his muscled frame a number of times. Relishing in the fact that he still manages to fluster you.

"Your shirt," he eyes your top, "Your pants. Looks like you've already started without me."

The water stains from earlier sit beautifully across your chest, not yet fully dry, and drawing his eyes to your semi-erect nips.

His teeth tug at his bottom lip, eyes shamelessly raking over your hefty chest. "Always such a tease, aren't you, Nurse?"

You grit your teeth, cursing the conflict swirling in your stuttering heart, fully aware of the thin line between professionalism and this game of intimacy he refuses to stop playing. Everything is always a game no matter the circumstances. And he loves to push your buttons.

"Just get in, Gojo," you order, and after what feels like an eternity, the silence is broken by the sound of splashing water as he steps into the bath.

He slowly sinks in, sighing at the warmth of the water. Ringlets of steam engulf him, almost making his silky white hair disappear with it.

His arms string over the rim of the tub, a look of relaxation resting on his face as if he's had a long, hard day. You resist the urge to slap it off.

Sudsy bubbles form from the solution you pour under the faucet, hoping to shield your eyes from his body. You've seen enough today and expect the mini-rebellious act to piss him off, but as the bubbles grow, so do his eyes. Picking up a handful, he actually starts playing with them.

"Nice touch," he adds, blowing them right into your face, and you watch with a tight lip as he decorates the bathroom with them, knowing you'll be the one to clean it all up.

He sits a crown on his head and gives himself a bubble beard, nipping your nose with some that you're quick to wipe away, and his pale eyes flutter and settle on you in a curious way.

His arms flex as he leans over the edge—steam-slicked sweat dripping down his face that he doesn't bother to wipe away. "I'm ready for my sponge bath," he says, and if it was hard to take him seriously before, it's damn near impossible now—especially with that ridiculous bubble mustache.

Sickening, him still being so playful, so unserious, at a time like this.

You know Gojo's unhinged, yeah, quote, "mentally unwell and a literal danger to society", but to nearly take someone's life and then make jokes afterward?

God, you feel so stupid, walking around him like you were the shit but with the wrong guard up the whole time, playing right into his hands and accidentally rewarding this grown-ass man who likes to play with suds.

The reality of your circumstances replays in your head, the story of how you ended up here, coddling this monster, and you're still confused as hell as to why it had to be you.

Then again, this is what you signed up for...right? To heal. To help those who can't help themselves. To offer redemption some sort of redemption no matter how sick and twisted the person in need is.

With your loofah in hand, you resist the urge to roll your eyes for the 400th time today and keep your morals in mind. "Keep talking like that and I'll stop, Gojo," you say, reluctantly drenching the tool in soap before proceeding to do your job.

Gently washing his back, he sinks into your touch, closing his eyes and letting his body completely rest on the cool cast iron, breathing. Feeling like he's won no matter what you say because your scrubs feel like magic.

Across his arms and over his broad shoulders, you work your way down, bubbles glistening in your trail as you're careful not to miss a single inch of skin but don't linger too long.

Every now and then, you catch glimpses of raised marks between the foam, and because you hate yourself, your brain absolutely refuses to give you a break. You have to give kudos to his dedication to his craft. The muscle definition, the scar tissue telling stories of battles won, the evidence of his past before corruption—everything it takes to be a hero.

It's unsettling, yet fascinating, the polarity between his beauty and his monstrous deeds.

You've never really noticed because this level of care is another first for you. Usually, Gojo just hops into the shower and takes care of himself while you wait outside—easy and thorough but always taking his sweet time, all while loudly singing some annoying song that inevitably ends up stuck in your head.

But after today, it'll be impossible to trust him or you again, and the hushed whispers as the guards walked you both to the restrooms made that abundantly clear.

The pitiful thoughts seep into the way you hesitantly clean him, moving down to his chest and abs while making sure to avoid more sensitive areas, but the malicious glint in his eyes is unmistakable.

"Whatsamatter, Nurse?" Gojo taunts, feeling you slow around his stomach, "Afraid of gettin' too close?" And you can't believe you're praying for a speedy recovery for this monster so he can handle this himself again.

You ignore his comment and try to get this over with as quickly as possible, feeling humiliated enough as it is and he can sense it, mocking you with a laugh.

"You're so uptight. Can't you just relax and enjoy the view?"

God, please make him shut up, begging for relief so you won't scrub his cocky brow right off his face. "Just doing my job," you mutter, twice squeezing the loofah that feels a little funny in your hand as the soapy water rinses his chest.

It feels heavenly on his skin, but the subtle change in your movements makes his brows furrow. Slowing, more deliberate, heavy as if you're wading through molasses. You keep adjusting your grip but the material feels so strange—the texture almost too soft like it could melt into your palm.

Your breath catches when you brush his skin, not realizing how close your fingers drifted to the edge of the sponge, and though it was only a second, it sends an unexpected jolt through his chest.

The muscle relaxers. How could you have already forgotten, you both think.

But Gojo, ever observant, doesn't miss a thing.

His eyes narrow slightly as he watches you. "Feeling a little funny, Nurse?" His velvet voice teases.

"I'm fine," you lie, though you couldn't be less certain as the muscles in your hands start to relax more than you intended, the sponge gliding over his abs, and down his sides, the rhythm almost hypnotic and making his head fall back. You try to push through the haze, to finish quickly and be free of him, but you're losing the battle against numbness and heightened awareness.

And fuck, he has to bite his lip at your touch that suddenly feels so intense, a sensation too good to keep to himself, and one that you obviously need to stop being such a tight-ass.

You need to loosen up in a way that medicine can't help. And Gojo knows just the trick.

He licks his lips, tongue curling over his canine before splashing a wave of water on you in one swoop.

Saying you gasp is an understatement as the steamy wash drenches your face and front once again, setting a new record as you're hit not once, but twice in a day. The loofah slips from your hand as you instinctively reach up to shield yourself, but Gojo is quicker, wrapping his hands around your wrists and holding you in place.

A scream is ready to surge from your body when Gojo maneuvers both of your wrists into one hand, placing a finger to your lips.

"Ssssh ssh ssh ssh ssh," he hushes, his voice a little too calm, "I'm not going to hurt you." A lone droplet hangs from your eyelash and he swipes it. "I just want you to listen."

You freeze, your nerves on fire as you're forced into close proximity with him for the second time today, inches away from his face that gradually softens.

Though you can easily call for help, you know better than to argue—he knows you know better too but he never felt threatened in the first place. Besides, he can feel your breathing slowing, the effects of the pill combined with his firm hold sending a faint buzz from your wrists to your stomach, and his finger remains on your lips as he brings his closer.

His eyes flicker to your bottom lip. "You're so good at your job, Nurse," smoothly pulling it with his thumb. "That's why I like you. You're thorough but real. Just what I need to keep me sane."

Sane?

"Sane," he repeats like he's heard your thoughts. "Believe it or not, you keep me grounded...like a good boy. Be proud, not a single soul here or anywhere else can compare to me, let alone deal with me, and yet...here you are." He looks at you like you're a marvel. "You can handle that...can't you?"

Words fail you. This feels rhetorical. Why does he keep torturing you like this? What is it about you?

You haven't really thought about it since your first few weeks with him but now he's forcing you to think about the little 'power' he's given you that he can easily snatch back.

What happens if he decides to go further than flirting?

You can't handle it, any of this.

Hesitating, you're unsure of what to say but know it could never be the truth.

Gojo must sense it because he leans closer, his breath warm on your cheek.

"If you leave, I just might crack completely, beauty." A breath you didn't realize you were holding slips. "How do you think everyone else will do against me then, hmm?" Gojo knows he's a prodigy, but still manages to surprise himself sometimes, his eyes lingering over the spots on your uniform soaked through just enough to make the fabric cling—perfect aim.

Ice shoots up your spine from the heat of his unadulterated gaze, but you refuse to let him see you falter, and he can almost feel a prick from the daggers in your eyes.

"Oh, don't be like that," he purrs, thumbs grazing your wrists in a mockingly gentle touch. "We all have our boundaries, right? I thought communication was key in a relationship."

"Let go of me," you find your voice, "We're done here."

His head slightly tilts.

Look at you calling the shots, he thinks. So strong, so very serious.

"God, I can't help it," he breathes, "You're so fun to mess with."

He could laugh in your face, have his way with you, and show you that your resistance means nothing, but instead, he slowly releases your wrists and lies back against the tub. "I know you think about it—there's nothing wrong with a little fun...right?" and though the connection is severed, you don't know if it's the drugs or just him that makes his amplified touch linger as you sheepishly rub your wrists.

Gojo watches you blush red—thoughts you didn't know lived within you rushing to the forefront as if he's pushed a button.

Grimy, raw, unwanted thoughts of forbidden fruit, wandering hands, and stolen touches in the dark, wondering what his idea of "fun" is like under the sheets. With a psycho named Gojo.

You feel like you should throw up in disgust but the nausea never comes, burning hot between your legs instead.

Fuck, you have to get out of here.

You draw a breath, forcing away the torturous daydreams and quickly finish his bath.

"You should rest," you firmly say and pull the plug to let the tub drain. "And don't expect any more favors from me."

He sits up slow, his expression stone-cold as he slicks back his wet hair. Then he smiles. "I promise. Now dry me off?" he quips.

You ignore his request, swiftly handing him a towel before he can flash you. With a gruff, you lower to your knees, beginning to dry the floor of his messes and hoping to distract yourself from your questionable sanity.

The sounds of rustling fabric fill the chamber as he dries off, and once you figure it's safe, you look up to find a nude Gojo. Dripping with bubbles, hair plastered to his derpy face, and toned muscles, all the muscles, presenting themselves in all their glory.

The only things dry are his damn hands.

He throws the towel over his shoulder, sauntering towards you with a wicked grin.

"Well, aren't you gonna help me put this thing back on?" He nods at the jacket he knows is more bullshit than security. "Don't want you getting all worked up again."

The first time your brain registered that Gojo was flirting with you was on your third day as his nurse.

"Well, aren't you a breath of fresh air?" Gojo was sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall. It was the second time he'd noticed how sluggish you looked while tending to him, suggesting with a grin that you must be quite the party animal.

Ha. If only.

You tsked, tossing his bedsheets into the hamper, and assured him that your sleepy eyes and dragging feet were the result of long hours and running on fumes. Having time for fun was just a dream.

"I don't get out much myself," he says, alluding to the situation he's in, wearing sarcasm like a necklace. "I love a good night in as much as anyone else but, I don't know. The stuffiness hasn't grown on me yet."

You tugged the collar of your scrubs—the air did feel a bit thick, like the room hadn't been aired out in ages and you couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been sitting in it—how he could. That alone would be enough to drive you up a wall.

Sunlight flickered in your eyes, and you raised your hand to block it, noticing the small window perched above his chair.

"Let's open this then," you said, walking over and wrestling with the ancient wood for a moment before finally pulling the creaky flap up to the ceiling.

A sliver of your midriff peeked out as you stood on your toes to reach it, but what captured Gojo's attention most was the way the sun rays washed over your face. You scrunched your nose, the breeze sending wisps of your hair to tickle it, and he imagined the feel of your strands between his fingers.

The view was beautiful, you thought, hands gripping the warm bars. Trees surrounded the vast area, stretching out as far as you could see, the pathway to civilization completely covered in dense forest from this angle.

You never realized how high up his ward was—or how long the drop was from here.

"Too bad I'm not small enough to slip through those bars." He rubbed his stomach. "But you know me, 'Mr. BigBack.'"

He joked around as he usually did, looking to trigger your defenses, but your reaction was...odd.

Not only was this the first time anyone cared to do something so simple for Gojo, but it was also the closest anyone had gotten to him without their knees buckling.

The first two days of your trial, the Director had guards posted right outside of Gojo's door, their presence a constant reminder to stay alert and maintain a safe distance from the convict. Gojo was positive the mental barrier would keep a wall between you forever.

But then, you laughed. A real laugh. Snickery and cute. Finding his joke funny instead of threatening.

It surprised him, that sound, so natural and pure without hesitation. And he wanted to hear it again and again and again. "Who knew you could bring so much light into this place?" he sighed.

Later at lunch, you sat with Yuko, having your usual midday catch-up. You never start with yours but she, like most people in the ward then, was absolutely dying to hear about how you were dealing with the villain of the century.

"He's actually not so bad...yet. Corny, but," you took a pondering breath, "He kind of thanked me today?"

She immediately scoffed and waved you off, and who could blame her?

You were an anomaly, Gojo already showed that he was capable of mercy and now he was thanking you??

Being polite was too far of a stretch to believe, you must have been mistaken. But when you gave her the deets on why he'd do such a thing, she nearly choked on her apple. "He said that??"

"Ya?" You patted her back with a concerned look.

"Watch out, Casanova," she teased, clearing her throat with a nervous laugh.

Her comment threw you off for the rest of lunch, but when you thought about it later that night while surfing for new shows, a light bulb went off.

He flirted with you.

Thinking it was just another one of those literal dry-humor jokes or simply gratitude for making his stay a little less crappy, it flew right over your head. You always feel warm inside when you help people so you didn't think too much about it.

To you, it was just a kudos. Nothing more.

But the way Gojo stands in front of you now is everything.

As bold and brash as it gets.

Fuck. Me.

And your body betrays you, sending all of the vulnerable sensations you've been fighting to suppress from your soaking chest, tingling wrists, aching thighs, and heavy breath, straight to your throbbing clit.

Air escapes you and you couldn't feel more conflicted, scrambling to grab your supplies and leave.

Enough is enough. The guards outside can restrain him and escort him back to his room for all you care. You just have to get out of there.

Away from him.

Away from temptation.

Hot, overwhelming, guilty, mentally and physically unstable temptation.

In the quiet of the hallway a level below Gojo's ward, you lean against a wall, taking deep breaths and completely disgusted with yourself.

How are you supposed to keep dealing with this, with him?

This force that keeps pushing and pushing and pushing you to the edge until there's nowhere else to go. You can only imagine the hell the nurses he didn't like went through.

Taking care of him isn't getting any easier, and now you were fucking up and making mistakes.

But you're the only one who can do this. Who must.

So suck it up. Play along, Stop thinking only of yourself. Pretend.

Pretend.

Pretend?

...

What terrifies you the most is the thought that you may not have to.

You keep your scrambled thoughts to yourself when you're called into your Director's office at the end of the day.

You tell him the same story you told Yuko and take full responsibility for what happened, blaming it on exhaustion and needing a break. Swearing to never let it happen again.

By some miracle, you get to keep your job, though your one wish to leave early ended up costing you an hour and a half of unpaid overtime, and almost a friendship.

When you finally get home, you collapse onto your bed—images of the day, the ward, and Yuko flooding your thoughts, refusing to be pushed aside. You tell yourself that it's just the guilt talking, just anxiety gnawing at your edges.

But then there's Gojo.

The most prominent one of all.

Staring you in the face with lifeless eyes and a ghostly smile. Tugging on your moral strings like a puppet.

When you close your eyes, you can't shake the feeling that he's waiting for you, a lurker in the shadows watching and anticipating your every move. Have you become predictable? Now you're wondering if you could do something he wouldn't expect.

Leave it. Leave it. Le—

You're scrolling through your phone on a deep-diving, scouring the web for any info on your tormentor.

His past, his affiliations, anything to tell you who Gojo was, and who he is now.

But the man is an anomaly.

Not much is known about him outside of mainstream news and internet rumors.

He's just this guy that kind of popped out of nowhere in the worst way possible, conveniently on the tail of what could have been the most devastating incident in the history of Tokyo.

The media says he's a hero gone rogue but not much else. They've damned him to hell and that was that. Even the Director disclosed very little about him during your briefing and you weren't allowed access to his files or records because it's all 'confidential'.

Nothing.

The more you search, you less that comes up. Not even silly conspiracy theories that you definitely thought would be riddling Reddit. The longer you scroll, the more you find yourself beginning to question your own mind. Your interest. Sweet little buds of obsession.

Even though you hated taking it earlier, you actually need the pill now more than ever to relax as sleep eludes you and your mind wanders to imaginary scenarios as you stare at the ceiling. 

Tomorrow, you'll have to face Gojo again. And the day after that and the day after that and every day after.

In between your nearly non-existent off days, you'll have to see him and decide what face you want to put on.

Because you simply cannot walk away.

After all, he's right—no one else can handle him like you can.

extended angel's note:

when i originally decided to make this into short story, i had no plans on using a y/n perspective. it was just going to feature an OC name i’ve used in stories before, named Persephone, buuuut i decided to wanted to keep it immersive and include no physical descriptors/personality specifics bc i knew i wanted to upload it to tumblr. 

to keep it reader-friendly, yk? 

alas, Persephone has had her claws in me the entire time i’ve been editing and said with her whole chest that i couldn't just dismiss her like that chile. so i decided changed the perspective but keep her name in place of y/n. 

you won’t see it too often in the story bc it’s not super significant or said a lot in general, bUT it is relevant for a certain moment later in the story. you’ll know when you know 🤭. 

anyway, hope it doesn't bother you guys too much. and def feel free to mentally plug your name when you see it to keep yourself grounded into the story.

tag list p.1: @reddiamondjazz @kiwismoother @rune1920 @blkkizzat @suguwife

@xerroe @enthyn @gloomuri671 @ressyshi @startatdawn

@khenanadeche @heijihatsutori @inluvkai @ixqiix @strawnanamilk

@rosso-seta @05-simply-06-simping @sims-4lifers @bratidol @rh-tg1

@hyunsuks-beanie @n1vi @luna-v-roiya @neteyamsluvr111 @supsiii

@natadecoco30 @chiyokoemilia @ririoutspoken @kyoxko @strawberrymilkshakes-posts

@nen-nyy @cinnamorochiroll @kazeniya @maybe7tommorow @sxnkuna

@misoyuh @lupitalove @sebastianlover @gojosatorubrainrot @sleepiebunniee

@mmmidkman @theonecrackhead @thathorsegotpoobrain @iveivory @samistar

@yuuan-66 @gojoslefttoenail @soyalovestoyap @winkwonks-world @thebiggestsimpforyou 

[creekfiend]

I wanted to make a bonsai kitten recovery post that outlines some of the stuff that I've been doing. Because I don't think that you need to ✨see a therapist✨ to start dealing with a lot of this stuff and I get really frustrated when that is the answer that everyone is constantly giving. Firstly a disclaimer, because I know what website I am on: this is a guide for things that have worked for me! I am not everyone and if there are things on here that do not work for you or even that you think are stupid, that is fine, but please do not make it my problem. If you are reading it and you're like "that sounds like it would actually be detrimental to my specific mental health because of my specific issues" then please disregard it. Use your critical thinking skills and do what you think is right for you!

My second disclaimer is that I didn't make any of this up myself; most of these are collected from various places either in therapeutic guide books or various websites about emotional regulation etc. Some of it is stuff that I have extrapolated from those places based on experience with what works for me or does not work for me. A lot of the way that I treat myself when I need to get my body and brain into a place where I can think about stuff productively is actually directly from gentle parenting guides, because frankly cptsd recovery stuff is very often like parenting a toddler. And the toddler is you. ALL THAT SAID,

The first skill that I had to get good at, that many of the other skills depend on, is to learn how to understand when I am Reacting to something. If I am Reacting it is extremely likely that that's going to only escalate the situation and make it much worse. I HAVE to be able to tell if I am Reacting emotionally to something in a way that is coming from a place of fear and panic. This is important because it involves not being prescriptive about your emotions. You could be Reacting to something that you do not logically feel is at all justified in making you feel that way and that doesn't matter! You can't be doing math equations to try to come to the answer of how you SHOULD be feeling; you have to be observing your mind and body to see how you factually ARE feeling and then respond to THAT. This can be really hard to learn how to do especially if you were abused as a child. (If you cannot think of yourself as someone who is abused as a child perhaps it would help to think of yourself as someone who simply was not taught various emotional regulation skills for mysterious reasons that have nothing to do with your parents' inadequacies.) I need to be able to glance inward and see what the physiological reaction that I'm having is and identify whether or not I feel like this is the biggest emergency in the world that needs to be addressed right now immediately! That is a sure sign that Mr Fight and Mr Flight are in the building and it is bad to make declarative statements or important decisions when that is the case. So, I have to work on dismissing them first. That is literally the first step to any of this. One of my friends calls this "fire mittens," which is to say, if you are wearing mittens that are on fire and you try to touch stuff, the stuff will also become on fire. You have to put the fire out first before you can touch other things.

Once I have determined that I am indeed Reacting and in a physiological state of fear, I have a document in my notes app that is a "what to do when you are in fight or flight mode" guide and it has several helpful things that I will try to outline here.

Firstly, the really important thing for me for trying to get back into an emotional state where I'm capable of making decisions and being thoughtful is to feel safe and comfortable. So I actually have some stuff in my document that is straight up just like "go in the blankie nest. put on this specific music album. light this specific scented candle." etc. You might want to have a specific food or drink that is comforting to you or some other sort of stim toy that helps you regulate. If there's any calming medication or supplements for anxiety that you take as needed, now is also the time to do that. Physical sensory grounding is really important for this. This is probably especially true if, like me, you are neurodivergent, but I think it is also true for everyone because we are animals! And you can't just think about it, you have to actually do it. Which sounds obvious but is the thing that has often tripped me up in the past. Once you start getting into the habit of actually physically doing this it DOES become easier though.

One of my rules is that if I want to respond to something but I am in fight or flight mode, I don't get to respond to it for at least 24 hours. I'm only allowed to respond once I've gotten myself out of fear mode. If it is some kind of comment on Facebook that has set me off, often this means that 24 hours later I realize that I actually don't want to get into it to begin with, which is great. If it's something that is pretty serious and interpersonal with a friend, sometimes that means I have to communicate to them that I'm going to take a while to process it and then get back to them. IMPORTANT: You CANNOT do this passive aggressively or else it undermines the whole thing. You can't phrase it in a way that will make your friends think that you are guilt tripping them for "making" you feel a way. It is VERY tempting to do this when you are in the first stages of trying to form this habit and you simply need to resist the urge because it will render this step worthless. I know. It sucks.

If I am feeling fearful and insecure about friends or loved ones, I also usually try to spend some time thinking about the people that I love and care about. Because often this stuff manifest for me as insecurity that the people that I care about do not care about me, or that they think that I'm being annoying, or that they are secretly thinking mean things about me. It's obviously not good for me to constantly be imagining that the people in my life who I care about are actually avatars of my own insecurity who are here to tell me that I'm secretly fundamentally unlovable! But crucially also it's ALSO not fair to those people to imagine them as that. They are not that guy, they are their own complex human beings with their own lives and experiences and interiority. So sometimes I do thought exercises where I will imagine my friends or loved ones doing things in their everyday lives and I will think about them as people and I will think about the things that they like to do and the things that they say and the places that they go, and I will try to imagine them fondly in those circumstances. This helps to remind me that they are just people and that the scary puppet wearing their faces is not real. To this end I sometimes will have a document of screenshots of things that they have said to me that I can use to reality check myself. I personally find reality checks to be essential for a lot of this. Things can feel true when they are not true at all. Things can feel wrong when they are actually true. The point of most of these exercises is to gently remind myself that those feelings are normal for me to be having, but that I do not need to let them dictate my responses.

It is crucial throughout all of this that you are nice to yourself. You can't talk to yourself in a mean way while you're doing this, or you will not get to a point where you are feeling safe enough to react from a place of not-fear. You can't make yourself feel ashamed or defensive for your emotional reactions. This is the particular area where I find gentle parenting protocols helpful. You HAVE to be patient with yourself.

Ok that's all for now bc I ran out of steam but I will try to think of more to add on another day maybe. Godspeed everyone

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

The Look of Love.

Synopsis - You, Buck and Eddie are absolutely, undeniably, head over heels in love with each other. It seems like everyone can see it except for the three of you.

Pairing - Evan Buckley x Female Reader x Eddie Diaz

Warnings - none!! just idiots in love.

Word Count - 1k

Author's Note - oh my buddie heart was bursting while writing this. whenever I watch 911, I always think about how easy it'd be to be friends (or more than) with eddie and buck. and then this was born!! hope you enjoy reading this sweetness as much as I enjoyed writing it <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Inbox.

Buck twirls you around, strong arms circling your waist. Your feet don't touch the ground as he spins you, the skirt of your dress billowing in the breeze. You lean back in his hold, and catch sight of Eddie throwing Christopher up in the air, both of them laughing.

Buck puts you down and grins at you, Cheshire cat smile bright and blinding. You smooth your hands across his chest, flattening out his crisp white dress shirt where you've crinkled it. You tug at his bow tie, straightening it gently. Your gaze meets his, and you beam at him.

"Have I told you how handsome you look tonight, Evan Buckley?" you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck to sway with him. There's a smooth, jazzy melody echoing through the huge backyard, illuminated by golden, twinkling lights.

He quirks a brow at you cheekily before answering.

"I wouldn't mind hearing it again."

"I'm sure you wouldn't," you laugh, shrieking as he dips you backwards quickly.

"Well, you look very handsome. I like you in a tux."

You swear you see him blush slightly, heat creeping across his cheeks. He finds his confidence again, sliding his hands across the exposed skin of your back slowly.

"You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen," he tells you sincerely, eyes never leaving yours. "I should tell you that more often."

"Yes, you should," you tease, grinning at him.

You take notice of his smile, his relaxed shoulders, the way he's swaying with you effortlessly.

"You love weddings, don't you?"

"Hell yeah I do!" he replies delightedly. "Everyone I love all in one place, dancing, music... what more could you want?"

You can't wipe the smile off your face. He's right. The entire 118 is here, together as a family. Everyone is happy, excited to be celebrating Bobby and Athena's vow renewal. It's not often you all get to leave work at work and enjoy yourselves completely. You plan to make the most of every single second.

You feel two warm hands find your hips from behind, instantly leaning back into the broad chest behind you, knowing who it is immediately.

"Hola, Mr Diaz."

"Hola, hermosa."

"You gonna keep her all to yourself all night, Buckley?" he asks, wrapping his arms around you, over the top of where Bucks are already resting. You're sandwiched between the two of them, completely content.

"We were avoiding you and your terrible dance moves," Buck jokes, the three of you swaying together now.

"Are you hearing this?" Eddie asks incredulously, chuckling into your ear. "My terrible dance moves?"

"Don't listen to him, Eds. His ego lies to him."

"It's called confidence! Sorry if I have faith in my dance moves!"

The three of you laugh, bodies and souls tangled and intertwined on the dance floor.

Across the backyard, Chimney and Hen are sat at their table, watching you, Buck and Eddie move to the music, arms wrapped around one another.

"They really love each other, don't they?"

"Oh, yeah," Hen laughs. "Wish they'd all just admit it."

Chimney looks at his best friend in confusion, brows quirked and face crumpled.

"... What?"

"Oh, come on, Chim," Hen chuckles. "It's twenty twenty three. Get with the program."

"You mean, like, love love," Chim confirms, still puzzled.

"Yes, Howie. Love love. In love. The three of them are completely in love."

Chimney processes for a moment, before a light bulb goes off in his head.

"Oh, shit!" he laughs. "They totally are!"

"Damn, men are oblivious. How am I the only one that's noticed?"

"You aren't," Bobby and Athena say in unison, pulling out chairs to sit at the table.

"But we can't rush them. Good things like this take time," Athena offers.

Bobby glances over at the dance floor. You're holding Buck and Eddie's hands, and Chris is too, the four of you dancing and laughing. He smiles for moment, before speaking.

"You know they basically live together?"

When he's met with confused faces, he continues.

"They all crash at Eddie's place with Christopher so often, they've practically moved in. Buck hasn't slept in his own apartment in months."

"I mean, how do you even... navigate something like that? The three of them? It's so complicated," Chimney asks genuinely.

"They'll figure it out," Bobby assures. "They always do."

With that, he rises from his chair and across the yard. He scoops Christopher up into his arms, promising him cake and soda, much to Eddie's dismay. He winks at Buck before carrying Chris away, leaving the three of you alone.

Eddie surprises you by grabbing your hand and then Bucks, pulling you both away from the crowd.

"Come on. I wanna show you something."

He leads you up and into the guest bathroom of the house, rolling his eyes at you and Bucks suggestive comments. He's first to climb out the window and onto the roof, making sure you get through safely in your dress.

The three of you sit and watch your friends in the yard below, quietly reflecting. You're suddenly aware of the way you're sandwiched in between them again, thighs pressed together. You lean left and rest your head on Eddie's shoulder, interlinking your right hand with Bucks.

"How lucky am I?" you breathe. "To be surrounded by so much love."

Eddie rests his head atop of yours, smiling as he watches Buck lean in to rest his on your shoulder. The three of you exhale.

"We're the lucky ones," Buck murmurs. "I never thought I'd have this."

"Well you do," Eddie reassures. "And we're not going anywhere, Buckley."

"He's right, Buck. We're not going anywhere. Ever."

Evan sits up to kiss you on the cheek, before leaning over you and doing the same to Eddie.

The three of you sit on the roof, bodies and souls intertwined, illuminated by the moonlight. How lucky you are, to be surrounded by so much love.

[pinkyqily]

ALL MINE - JUJU WATKINS X READER

Summary: school and life is stressing you out but your lovely girlfriend is here to calm the cloudy storm brewing up.

Contains: fluff, fool inlove, juju and reader are down bad for each other. Also ignore the mistakes in one of the text I'll edit it out later

A/n: another game day fic we cheer this is a date fic one of my favorite writing prompt i hope you guys enjoy this, I would have had this posted earlier but tumblr sucks and didn't save half of the ending so I had to redo it but here it's, and as always happy reading, feedbacks are appreciated or commenting in general 💕

It has been a while since you ans the basketball player hangout, with both of you being full time students athletes your schedule would always clash and you guys wouldn't be able to hang.

But that didn't stop your late night calls catching each other up about what is going on in your lives.

Juju could tell you where having a strees full week from your track week and juggling having a part-time job.

You where getting ready for the day that you had ahead of you until you heard your phone pig. Picking it up you saw a message from juju.

You weren't going to question what she had planned because one thing about ju was she stays planning.

Your whole day went well, practice went well your after a while you needed to meet up with a few friends for revision.

You got back at your apartment around three in the afternoon. You started by doing your wash routine that conceited of a coconut butter body wash, then gentility exfoliating any dead skin.

Getting out the shower, you wrapped your towel around you, moving onto your skincare routine and body care routine.

Once you were done, you started getting dressed, picking a black flared tube bodysuit, and paired it with a cropped puffer jacket. You wore your white and gold Jordan 4 that juju got for you, and for a final touch, you added your white Prada cross bag to finish your outfit.

With a final touch of using the Vaseline body oil and your kali perfume in vanilla candy rock sugar.

You picked up your phone to text juju that you were done and she could be coming. After a few minutes of waiting, you got a text from her saying she was outside, but before you left, you replied, Your perfume.

Finally making it outside your building you saw juju leaned back on the car.

"Hey baby." You said, making your way towards her.

"Hi, my love." She said once she saw you

"So where are we going?" You asked her, as you we're about to open the door for yourself she got to the handle before you beating you to it.

"Umm, thinking about me and you a little date night, driver around our area and get some food while we're at it, what do you think." She told you as she closed the door

"Sounds like music to my ears." You said

"Gald were on the same note, how was your practice?". She asked

"Wasn't bad went really well, I'm starting to think these coaches got sum up with them so much complaining before we even start, but things are well." You told her.

You started ranting as juju continued driving but still paid attention to what you we're saying.

"And can you believe that, telling me I'll come third behind some big headed fool."

"No baby, but all that matters is that you prove to her and everyone else that they are wrong, you're the one who knows your strength and weaknesses."She told you as she laid her on your thighs palming your hands together.

"You're right it just gets really irritating having to hear this." You sighed, needing to get that rant out of your system.

"You feel better getting that out?

"Yea how did you even know I needed a day off".

"You looked like you were going through withdrawals on your spam."

"Ugh, don't remind me was spam was meant to be mysterious vibes only." You said.

Taking off your seat belt as she already found a spot to park.

"Pretty sure I'm the mysterious one." She said, raising an eyebrow at you.

"Whatever miss nonchalant, bring your face closer for a sec." You asked her

All of a sudden ju was all in your personal space, you looked up at her getting lost into those dark brown eyes of hers.

You felt her hot breath on your neck.

Next thing you do is pull the neck of her hoodie and go in for a kiss. It caught her off guard, but she found herself grabbing your face, deeping the kiss a little longer.

The both of you move back, trying to catch your breath.

If humans were able to breathe into each other the both of you would be sucking the oxygen out of one another.

"You got me way off guard." Was what she told you as took out her car keys.

"What did you think was gonna happen when I asked you to come closer, big head!?"

"Welp, I thought I had sum on me guess I was wrong."

"Sure, now where are we?". You said with a sarcastic tone layed under it

"This new diner places I recently found, c'om let's get out". She said taking off her seat belt.

"They better have good food."

Walking into the place you and juju had your hand intwering, she wasn't huge on pda, but you never take them for granted whenever she displays any type of affection for you in public.

You both went to go find yourself a table, getting yourself sitted before the waitress came.

"Enough about me, how's basketball?." You asked her.

"Same routine, but everything nice getting ready for march, though." She said as a waitress started making her way towards your table.

"Hi, welcome to didi's diner what get I get for you two?". You heard the waitress say.

"Umm, I'll have your chicken burger combo with a chocolate milkshake." Was what ju ordered

"And you miss".

"I'll have your chicken and beef pizza sandwich with a cold lemonade."You said

"Perfect would you guys like to pay now or later". The waitress had asked you both.

"I'll like to pay now." You told her as you started getting your card out.

"You'll be paying, yea no baby I got that what our total".

"Your total is 105". The waitress said she found you and juju amusing.

"Your always paying for everything I got this one". You said to her.

"Nah I got this". Before juju could do anything you grab both her hands and handed the waitress your own card instead.

"Here you go". You said to the waitress who immediately grab your card before ju could get out.

"I'll be back with your food soon".

"Thank you".

"Bruh why wouldn't you let me pay". She said crossing her arms.

"Because you always pay". You told her

"I pay because I enjoy treating you out". She said lowering her back on the chair.

"Well this one is my treat". You told her as you laid your head on her shoulder.

"This was supposed to be a fun relaxing day for you". She said.

"It's fun and relaxing because being with you is the quality time I need, so don't be sour Judea." You told her.

"Using my government is crazy." She said, wrapping her arms around your waist.

"Girl bye it ain't the end of the world and you do have a pretty name so yea infact might just be calling you that". You told her

"Sure baby." the both of you found yourselves looking at each other anyone could tell y'all got tension and chemistry together as a couple.

Before you both could do anything the waitress was already making her way towards you both.

"Here's your food hope you guys enjoy". She said before leaving you guys.

Anyone around the two of you could tell you both had crazy tension and chemistry, the attraction you both have on each other was something natural and couldn't be replicated.

You found yourself digging in juju fries that came with her meal.

"You got a problem miss Judea". You asked her as you took another one of her fry.

"You just have a pretty face and smell so good that I could eat you instead". She said making you almost choke.

"Ju, we're in public". You said nugging her.

"So?". She asked, not really caring. One thing for certain was that juju doesn't shy away from a lot of things. "Whatever big head".

You guys date continued you feed juju a few bites if your sandwich, chatted more about your goals and what you both want.

And you guys ended your night with a drive back to juju places and getting all cuddled up with her and duce.

[fictoweirdoesten]

tw: self harm, use of the nickname 'pipsqueak' and 'baby'. Read at your discretion.

author's note: ...im tired, and I'm too tired to proofread this. If I wasn't a coward I'd make this nsfw, but I'd rather not embarrass myself anymore today. Be prepared for the cringe, and thank you for reading.

---

It was a long day today. You're lying on your bed listening to heavy music...but it's not working, none of it's working. You still feel this numbness in your chest, this pain that won't go away.

Why doesn't anyone like you? Why can't you get along with anyone?

Are you a freak? A monster? Do you have a sign on your back that reads, "Stay Away"?

The numbness in your chest grows stronger. Your tears start to fade, replaced by a sudden, impulsive urge to do something, to get rid of this irritating feeling...

You slowly make your way to the bathroom, dragging your feet against the wooden floors. Your eyes narrow at the bag of razors when you walk in, your hand instinctively reaching out to grab one.

You need to feel something, anything. This is the only way you know how.

You sit on the toilet lid and slowly move the razor to your arm.

It hurts, it burns.

Your arms shake, and your breathing starts to grow heavier.

The numbness goes away, replaced by a sudden anxiety attack that borders on full panic.

Why do you do this to yourself? Is it really any better than feeling nothing at all-

"Pipsqueak?"

Caleb...

Caleb

What's he doing here? He was supposed to be visiting you and Gran next week, not today.

"Pipsqueak? I know you're here, I can see your shoes at the door!"

Oh god, what were you going to do? How were you going to hide these scars?

You cut too much, and you cut in rows like an idiot. Blaming it on a cat wouldn't work this time.

You panic, hearing his footsteps slowly make their way up the stairs.

You run out of the bathroom and into your room. Yeah, totally not obvious at all, but you rushed as you quickly put on a long sleeve shirt, just hoping he didn't notice that you were wearing a short sleeve as you zoomed in front of him.

He knocked on your door gently, his voice hesitant and quiet:

"...Hey...are you alright in there, pipsqueak?"

"Y-Yeah, I'm alright...come in!"

So he did, slowly opening the door until his violet eyes met your face, immediately studying your expression as he closed the door behind him.

Then he looked down at your arms, and you freeze up. Did he figure it out already, surely not-

"Do you know how hot it is? What are you doing wearing a long sleeve?"

...You're finished.

"I...I just wanted to wear one today. I felt...a little insecure about myself..."

Caleb shook his head, letting out a sigh as he moved to sit next to you on the bed.

"Insecure? Pipsqueak, how many times do I have to tell you that you're-"

As he speaks, he gently moves his hand on top of your arm, causing you to jolt and yank your arm away from him.

That makes him pause.

You silently curse yourself for reacting that way, hoping he won't question you about it-

"...Show me your arm."

That's it. You're dead.

This wasn't the first time he caught you. He remembers when you were in 6th grade, suddenly very impulsive and sensitive, you self harmed for the first time. You acted the same way back then, jumpy and nervous, and the long sleeve you're wearing right now made it even more obvious.

When you sat frozen in place after awhile, he decided to reach his hand out and move you closer to him instead. He slowly revealed your scars, his breath hitching at the sight.

He let out a ragged sigh, his hand slowly making their way to your scars, his fingers gently rubbing over them as his violet eyes looked up at you in desperation, sympathy, but never pity.

"...You should clean them...come on," he muttered before grabbing you, his grip on your arm tightening a bit as the two of you made your way to the bathroom.

You grimaced at the burning as he poured peroxide on your wounds, before gently patting you with a cotton ball. He was right behind you, leaving no space between the two of you.

His eyes looked over your arm again, noticing the other, tinier faded scars. His frown deepened, wondering just how hurt you were over these past months when he couldn't see you. How much you needed him when he couldn't be there for you.

He'd text and call you every day, always asking the same simple question: "Are you okay?" You'd always reply with a 'yes' but never elaborated, never talked about what you did at school, anything interesting that happened, any drama even. Instead, whenever he even dared to ask you about anything else going on in your life, you suddenly got irritated at him, saying that he was being 'too nosy' and shut him down.

He should've known...

"Pipsqueak, you risk getting an infection if you don't take care of these, yknow," he whispered, leaning down closer to your ear. "Come here."

His voice was low and gentle as he took your hand into his and led you back into the room. Everything about him is gentle right now. How he sat on the bed. How his eyes looked up at you with a slight smile on his face as he pulled you down to his lap. How his arms wrapped around you. How he leaned down and rested his head on your shoulder, letting out a hum as his hand started rubbing over your scars again.

He was treating you very delicately, as if you would break in front of him at any moment and shatter into little glass shards on the floor.

"We only have bandaids, and that won't do. I'll get you some gauze wraps when you go to sleep tonight, okay?"

You nod, leaning your head against him as you feel yourself slowly dozing off in his embrace.

"Don't fall asleep yet. Tell me what's been bothering you lately," he whispered once more. You looked over and saw his eyes on you. They were pleading, begging you to open up to him. "...please?"

So you told him everything. How lonely you felt at school, how you can't get along with anyone, how terrible it is sitting alone at lunch watching everyone else hang out with their friends...

How much you miss him

He couldn't help himself, especially when he saw those tears roll down your cheeks. He leaned in and gave you a kiss on the forehead, his free hand moving down to your waist as he rubs your sides in a soothing pattern.

"Baby, why didn't you tell me any of this? Why keep this all to yourself? Do you not trust me?"

Baby. A petname you only hear him call you during moments like these, when either of you are at your most vulnerable. You can't help but admit how good it makes you feel when he calls you that, of course, you'd never tell him that.

Before you can respond, he interrupts you. You feel his hand on your waist pause, his lips moving to your cheek as he plants another kiss there.

"I love you, you know that? You're beautiful and so-so smart. I love you so much pipsqueak."

"Caleb-"

"Who cares what everyone else thinks, hm? Aren't I enough for you?"

"I-"

"I'm sorry you've been feeling lonely lately, baby, it's all my fault. I'm so sorry."

You're about to rotate around his lap and shut him up with your hand, but as you turn around to face him, you see it:

He's absolutely infatuated with you. His pupils are dilated to the point where you can barely see the color in his eyes. He's panting as if he just ran a marathon, and his face is flushed. He moves his hand from your waist to the back of your head, pulling you closer until your noses are barely touching.

You pause, struggling to breathe with how close the two of you are.

"Caleb..."

"Pip...squeak..."

He moves closer, his eyes narrowing down at your lips.

He's about to kiss you. Is he really going to-

You watch as he bites his lips and lets out a groan, appearing to be frustrated before he quickly pulls your arm to his mouth, kissing the scars on your arm feverly instead, letting out all of his supressed desires on your arm instead of your lips.

You hold back a frustrated groan yourself, wanting to crush this stupid boundary he has with you, but you can't deny how much you love the scene in front of you as well, how he looks at your scars with love rather then disgust.

He pauses, his eyes flickering up at you, seeing how flushed your face is before letting out a chuckle against your skin, causing a chill to run through you. He then slowly moves you away from his embrace, his hand lingering on your hips for a moment longer than necessary before getting up and stretching.

"Hungry? Let's go out to eat tonight, pipsqueak!" He turns around to look at you with a smile, evidence of his earlier frustration gone as he quickly pulled himself together.

You, on the other hand, are still very much flustered. He extends a hand out to you, and you grab it. He effortlessly pulls up up and moves to stand beside you, resting his hand on your waist once more as he looks down at you with nothing but love in his eyes.

"Ready?"

[chenlezip]

tell your friends ♡

⤷ summary : you tell your friends you hate him but you can't get enough.

warnings : smoker!reader + smoker!hyuck (my baddd), swearing, not proof read.. idk what else ngl.. >_<

annas note : literally just got this idea because im listening to music while writing and.. chase atlantic came on, heard that line and thought, hell yeah i know what i'm gonna write. also lil smau? idk? im also really craving a sex on the beach now.. *lets out a heavy sigh* beggars can’t be choosers..

and… here you are, stood outside a random club waiting for your friends to come meet you. you were clad in a cute jean mini skirt, a bralette with a small cardigan on and knee high boots; obviously paired with cute accessories and having your hair done nicely, what if you saw a cute boy? you had to be prepared.

as you waited, you had a look at all the people who were heading inside, they were dressed just as good. i guess this club is where all the attractive people go, huh? you thought to yourself before you noticed one man who looked oddly very familiar. fuck, it’s haechan.

haechan noticed you out the corner of his eye as he waited outside with a friend, smirking and nudging the boy beside him, eyeing your direction. the boy looked over and noticed you, he looked stunned almost, immediately turning back around to haechan and whispering. you wondered what they were talking about but before you could go over, you heard karina screaming your name.

“y/n! oh my god!” she smiled as she ran toward you, engulfing you into a tight hug. it’s been a while since you’ve all seen each other so it was nice to finally get to hang with your girls again. “i’ve missed you guys so much, ugh.. you all look so good!”

“as do you!! i can’t wait to get fucked up tonight, i’ve already pre booked a taxi so do nottt worry~ i’ve got us covered, it’ll be coming 2am so we should leave early just to make sure we get it alright,” giselle explained to you all as you nodded in return, “i can give you some money toward it when i’m not wasted - just let me know, okay?” you smile as she shook her head.

“no need y/n, it’s my treat, come on!” giselle dragged you and the girls inside, sitting in a booth and scouring through the drinks menu. “i don’t know what to get.. everything sounds good,” ningning mumbled as she looked at the rest of you, “anyone know what they’re getting?”

“i’m just gonna get a sex on the beach - always my go to,” you spoke up as you waited for the others to be done deciding. once you all were, you ordered and had them delivered to the table, thanking the waiter who brought them over.

──── ୨୧ ────

you excuse yourself from the girls for a moment, wanting some fresh air and to light up a cigarette. you were dying for one and the alcohol in your system wasn’t helping your case either. as soon as you stepped out the club, you felt the night air hitting you and you let out a soft sigh. the wind made you feel a little bit more sober. you spark up a cig and place it between your lips, inhaling and breathing in the smoke. oh, how you missed this.

“got a spare?” you recognise that voice from anywhere. you gaze up and see haechan standing just opposite you, a lazy grin on his face as he stared you up and down. you just give him the one you were just smoking and spark up another. “thanks.” he says as he leans against the wall beside you.

“no problem,” you respond coldly as you look away, trying to find anything other than him to look at but you can’t help your eyes from wandering back.. he looked good tonight. his floppy brown hair was slicked back nearly, his golden skin glistening under the street light that was outside the club, a leather jacket and his white shirt adorning his body. you swore to yourself the last time you saw haechan that you still hated him.. but he knows otherwise and deep inside, so do you.

“still claiming you hate me then?” he eyed you, turning to lean on his shoulder now. you cough, “what?” you didn’t expect him to ask you that out of the blue. “you tell your friends you hate me but i know you can’t get enough, y/n, you’re not very secretive with it, huh?” he blew smoke out into the air. you focused on the way his lips parted a little, his jaw.. his adam’s apple.

you shake your head, “you’re seeing things lee donghyuck, maybe you should see someone for these delusions?” he just laughed in your face and threw his (your) cigarette to the ground, “yeah.. maybe i should, huh? but i won’t if you come crawling back again tonight,” he says before stepping on it to put it out properly and walking back inside the club. you go on your phone after he’s left and quickly type something on twitter, posting it to your private account.

you decide to head back inside and you just can’t seem to get your mind off of him, your eyes wandering around the club to find him. you see he’s got a pretty girl slung around him, she’s pressing her body up against him. never mind, you definitely hate him, why were you even starting to like a frat boy anyway? hello?

[soleilpinto]

Huracán de Barcelona (Carlos Sainz) ♱ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🍷

“You’re not as different from me as you think,” 𐙚—🪽

Synopsis: Carlos Sainz, a devout church member destined for sainthood, finds his faith tested when he meets Y/N, a bold and beautiful woman known as Huracán de Barcelona or The Hurricane of Barcelona. Drawn into her world of defiance and temptation, Carlos faces a battle between his vows and his desires, questioning everything he once believed. Their forbidden connection will change both their lives forever.

Genre: Slowburn, Angst

AU: 1960s!au

Pairing: Priest!Carlos x Rebel!Reader

Warnings: Reader isn't exactly a good person, she's misunderstood. This fic is lowkey rooted in my religious trauma but we don't talk about that.

Note: I've been geeking out over Hilda Furacão for the longest time and decided to take my own spin on it because I thought, why not? I've tried convincing my friends to watch it so I'm no longer alone, and I hope you guys like it! Don't forget to + reblog if you enjoyed reading.

The warm glow of Barcelona’s neon lights cast vivid reflections on the rain-slicked streets of the red-light district. Carlos Sainz walked with quiet purpose, his simple black cassock stark against the gaudy opulence surrounding him. 

In his hands, a worn Bible—the anchor of his resolve, the symbol of his mission. He moved through the chaos of the night, determined to bring solace to those lost in the shadows of the city.

Inside La Rosa Negra, the district’s most infamous club, decadence thrived.

Music thumped, laughter rang out, and a haze of cigarette smoke curled lazily in the air. Among the revelers, you reclined on a velvet chaise, draped in a crimson gown that shimmered like liquid fire. 

A glass of champagne rested in your hand, its fizz catching the dim lights as your piercing eyes scanned the room. You were at home in this chaos, thriving in it, yet tonight her gaze landed on something—someone—who didn’t belong.

At first, you almost laugh. The man standing at the entrance, his black cassock and steady gaze, is a jarring contrast to the vivid world around him.

He clutches his Bible tightly, a solitary island of purpose in an ocean of indulgence. The faintest smirk pulls at your lips as you watch him step further into the club.

He begins to speak, his voice cutting through the din. It’s calm and firm, a steady current against the tide of indifference. But you can see it’s futile. Patrons glance his way with vague curiosity before returning to their drinks and conversations. Yet, he doesn’t falter.

His presence commands attention in a way that stirs something in you—curiosity, amusement, and perhaps a touch of challenge.

You lean back, taking a sip of champagne as an idea forms. The game practically writes itself. You set your glass aside and rise, your heels clicking against the polished floor as you move through the crowd. The familiar sound feels like a prelude to a performance, and the patrons part for you instinctively.

When you stop in front of him, you tilt your head slightly, letting your lips curl into a slow, knowing smile.

“You’re either very brave or very foolish, Padre,” you say, your voice laced with playful mockery.

His eyes meet yours for the first time, steady and unwavering. Up close, you notice the sharpness of his features, handsome in a way that doesn’t fit with his role—or this place. But it’s the strength in his gaze that holds you, a calmness that both intrigues and unnerves you.

“I come where I’m needed,” he replies simply, his voice measured.

You arch an eyebrow, amused by his composure. “And you think we need you?” you ask, feigning curiosity. A soft laugh escapes you as you shake your head.

“How noble. But tell me, Padre, do you even know what it is we’re looking for?”

His expression doesn’t waver. “I think you’re looking for more than this,” he says, gesturing subtly to the room around you.

You chuckle, the sound carrying a faint edge. “More than this? What makes you so sure?” You take a step closer, your voice dropping just enough to make it personal.

“You don’t know me, Padre. You don’t know what I want, what I need.”

For a moment, the distance between you feels like a thread pulled taut. His calm resolve remains, but you notice a flicker of doubt, so faint it’s almost imperceptible.

You lean in, catching the faint scent of incense on him, and let your voice drop further, almost conspiratorial.

“You think you’re different,” you murmur. “That you’re here to save me, to show me the error of my ways.” You pause, watching the tension build in his silence. Then, with a sly smile, you add, “But tell me, Padre—who’s going to save you?”

The weight of your words lingers, and his silence is an answer enough. Satisfied, you step back, your confidence surging as you give him one last knowing look. 

“Careful, Father,” you say, your voice light but tinged with something darker. “You might find yourself in need of saving after all.”

As you walk away, you feel his eyes on you, lingering longer than they should. A thrill courses through you, though you’re not quite sure why. Whether it’s the game itself or the strange pull of his presence, you can’t tell.

One thing is certain, though: this is far from over.

After your first encounter, Carlos couldn’t escape you. Even in the quiet solitude of his small, sparsely furnished room at the parish, your laughter lingered in his mind, like the faint echo of a song that refused to fade.

 He knelt in prayer each night, clutching his rosary tightly, seeking clarity and strength. He told himself that you were a test—an obstacle placed in his path by God to challenge and refine his faith.

But the memory of you was relentless.

It wasn’t just your beauty, though that alone was enough to unsettle him. It was the way you moved, the way you spoke with such confidence and defiance, as though the rules of the world—and of God—were mere suggestions to you. 

You had looked at him not with guilt or shame, as so many others in your world did, but with amusement, as though you held some secret he could never comprehend.

Carlos found himself questioning his resolve. Why had he been so affected by you? Why did your words, your presence, continue to haunt him? Every moment he spent thinking about her felt like a betrayal of his calling, a crack in the foundation of his devotion. But no matter how fervently he prayed, no matter how many scriptures he recited, your image remained.

For you, your encounter was less about faith and more about curiosity. Men like Carlos didn’t belong in your world—men with unwavering principles, who spoke with conviction about things like salvation and redemption. 

It fascinated you. 

He wasn’t like the others who passed through La Rosa Negra, indulging in its offerings while wearing masks of denial.

Carlos was genuine, and that made him an enigma you couldn’t ignore.

You found herself replaying the moment he had looked into your eyes, unwavering even as you pushed and prodded at his composure. There was strength in him, a quiet kind of power that she didn’t often encounter. Most men were easy to read and easy to manipulate. But Carlos was different. His devotion wasn’t a facade—it was real, and it intrigued you.

At first, you told yourself it was a game. He was a puzzle to be solved, a challenge to be conquered. 

What would it take, you wondered, to make him falter? Could you pull him from his pedestal of piety, or would he prove as unshakable as he seemed? The thought thrilled you, and yet, there was something deeper, something you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

For both of you, your encounter had created a ripple you couldn’t ignore.

Carlos returned to the district more frequently, under the pretense of his mission to save souls. But every time he stepped into the shadows of Barcelona’s neon glow, he found himself scanning the crowds, searching for you. And you, in turn, began to linger in places you knew he might appear, your interest growing with each passing day.

Carlos saw you as a test—a trial meant to strengthen his faith and reaffirm his commitment to his calling. But he couldn’t deny the unease you stirred in him, the questions you raised about his own humanity. 

You saw him as a challenge, a man who had built his life on principles you had long since abandoned. But as the days passed, you found yourself less interested in breaking him and more curious about understanding him.

Your worlds, so starkly different, began to orbit each other in a way that neither could fully control. And though neither would admit it, you were drawn to one another—not just by curiosity, but by the faint, undeniable pull of something neither of you fully understood.

Carlos found himself returning to La Rosa Negra more often than he would admit, even to himself.

He justified it as part of his mission—his duty to save those who had strayed farthest from grace. But deep down, he knew it wasn’t the smoky haze or the disillusioned patrons that drew him back. It was you.

Tonight, you were waiting for him, lounging at the same velvet chaise as though you’d expected his arrival. Your ruby-colored gown clung to you in all the right places, and your eyes sparkled with mischief as he approached.

“Back again, Padre?” You asked, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Starting to think you like it here more than you’d care to admit.”

Carlos stood tall, his expression calm despite the heat rising to his face.

“I will continue to go where I’m needed,” he replied firmly, clutching his Bible as though it were a lifeline.

“Needed,” you repeated, leaning forward slightly, your voice dripping with mockery. “And here I thought priests only stuck to the safety of their churches. But no, here you are, in the lion’s den once again. How noble.”

He ignored your tone, instead meeting your gaze with quiet resolve. “I’m here for you, Y/N,” he said simply.

Your laugh was soft and melodic, tinged with incredulity. “For me? Padre, you don’t even know me.” You gestured to the room around you. 

“What makes you think I’m any different from the others? Just another lost little soul for you to save?”

“You are different,” he said without hesitation, his voice steady. “You’re not like the others.”

You raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious now. “And what makes you so sure of that?”

“Because you’re not indifferent,” he replied, his words measured. “You challenge me. You question me. That tells me there’s a part of you that still cares—about truth, about meaning. Even if you hide it behind mockery.”

For a moment, your smirk faltered. The way he looked at you, with such earnestness, was disarming. But you quickly recovered, crossing your legs and leaning back with an air of practiced ease.

“Maybe I just like watching you squirm,” you say, your tone light but eyes probing. “After all, you’re so sure of yourself, so convinced you have all the answers. It’s fascinating, really.”

Carlos hesitated, unsure if you were taunting him or speaking honestly. 

“I don’t have all the answers,” he admitted quietly. “But I believe in something greater than this—greater than what you’ve settled for.”

“Settled?” You echoed, voice sharper now. “You think I’ve settled for this? Let me tell you something, Padre—I chose this life. I’m not some poor, helpless creature waiting for you to swoop in and save me.”

“I don’t believe anyone chooses this,” he said gently, his gaze softening. “Not truly. You’ve been hurt, abandoned, lied to—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, your tone icy. “Don’t you dare act like you know me. You hide behind your faith, Carlos. You’ve built your whole life around it because it’s easier than facing the real world. You sit on your little moral high ground, judging the rest of us for living in the mess you’re too afraid to touch.”

Your words hit him like a physical blow, but he didn’t back down. “And you?” he countered, his voice rising slightly. 

“You hide behind this life, this persona you’ve created. You pretend it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care, but I see it in your eyes. You’re lost, Y/N. You’re searching for something, and you think you’ll find it here, in the validation of strangers.”

Your jaw tightened, and for the first time, you didn’t have a quick retort. The silence between the two of you was heavy, charged with tension that neither could fully articulate.

Finally, you stood up, your movements deliberate as you closed the small distance between you and Carlos.

“Maybe I am lost,” you say softly, your voice carrying an edge of vulnerability. “But at least I’m not lying to myself about who I am.”

Carlos met your gaze, his expression a mix of frustration and something else—something he couldn’t name. “You’re not as different from me as you think,” he said quietly.

You tilted her head, studying him. “Maybe not,” you admitted, a ghost of a smile crossing your lips. “But I think you’re more lost than I am.”

With that, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone once again, his grip on the Bible tightening as he watched you disappear into the crowd.

Carlos had always believed himself steadfast, unshakable in his faith.

His life had been one of service, guided by the tenets of scripture and the quiet assurance that he was walking the path of righteousness. But you had become a thorn in his conscience, a contradiction that burrowed deeper with each passing day.

He told himself that his feelings were not desire but pity, not longing but righteous concern. He prayed fervently, his whispered words to God growing increasingly desperate. 

“Lord, grant me strength. Let me see her as you do—a soul in need of salvation, nothing more.” Yet, no matter how many hours he spent in prayer, your image returned to him unbidden: the curve of your smile, the defiance in your eyes, the way you looked at him as though you could see the thoughts he tried so hard to suppress.

When he sought you out again, he told himself it was for your sake. You needed guidance, and he was obligated to provide it. This was his calling, his purpose. But when he saw you, lounging in your usual spot at La Rosa Negra, his heart betrayed him.

“Back for another sermon, Padre?” You teased as he approached, your white dress catching the dim light and making you seem almost otherworldly. Devil in disguise.

Carlos hesitated, gripping his Bible tightly. “I’m here because I care about your soul, Y/N. I can’t stand to see you waste your life like this.”

You laughed softly, a sound that sent an unwelcome shiver down his spine. 

“My soul? You’ve got quite the fixation on it, don’t you? But tell me, Carlos—” you leaned forward, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper, “—is it really my soul you’re worried about?”

His breath caught, and for a moment, he was struck silent. He forced himself to look away, focusing on the floor rather than her piercing gaze. “You’re trying to distract me,” he said, his voice strained.

“Distract you?” You tilted her head, smirk widening. “From what, exactly?”

He didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Instead, he turned on his heel and left, his chest tight and his thoughts a whirlwind.

But he couldn’t stay away.

The next time the two of you met, it was outside the club, late at night when the streets were quieter. Carlos had been walking, lost in thought when he saw you leaning against a lamppost, smoking a cigarette.

“Carlos,” you greeted him casually, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Didn’t think I’d see you out here. Shouldn’t you be in a church somewhere, praying for all our souls?”

“I pray for you,” he admitted, his voice low. “Every day.”

Your expression softened, but only for a moment. “You shouldn’t waste your prayers on me.”

“They’re not wasted,” he insisted, stepping closer. “I believe you can change, Y/N. I believe God has a plan for you if you’d only let Him in.”

“And what about you?” You asked, tone sharper now. “What’s God’s plan for you, Carlos? To spend your whole life saving all these sinners while pretending you’re not just as human as the rest of us?”

“I don’t pretend,” he shot back, his voice rising. “I’ve dedicated my life to something greater, something sacred.”

“And yet here you are,” you say, stepping closer, your gaze unwavering. “Standing here with me. Tell me, Padre, is this sacred?”

Carlos felt his resolve crumble as you closed the distance between you. He could feel the warmth of your presence, and smell the faint scent of your perfume. His heart raced, every instinct screaming at him to leave, to run back to the safety of his church and his prayers. But he didn’t move.

“You’re testing me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m not,” you replied, your voice soft now, almost tender. “I’m just being honest. Maybe it’s time you were, too.”

At that moment, the weight of his denial came crashing down. He didn’t just care for you as a priest cared for a wayward soul. He wanted you, desired you in a way that defied everything he had vowed to uphold.

“I can’t—” he began, but the words caught in his throat as you reached up, your fingers lightly grazing his cheek.

“You can,” you say, voice steady, almost daring.

And then, against every vow he had ever made, every principle he had sworn to uphold, he gave in.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was both desperate and restrained, as though some part of him still tried to cling to the man he was supposed to be. But the floodgates had opened, and there was no going back.

When you broke apart, the silence between them was deafening. Carlos stepped back, his chest heaving, his hands trembling.

“What have I done?” he whispered, his voice laced with anguish.

You looked at him, your expression unreadable. “You did what you’ve been wanting to do since the moment you saw me,” you said simply.

He stared at you, torn between shame and something he couldn’t name. “I… I need to go,” he said, turning and walking away before you could respond, the weight of his actions threatening to crush him with every step.

Carlos shut himself away in the small, dimly lit chapel that had become both his sanctuary and his prison.

The once comforting scent of incense now seemed suffocating, the flickering candles casting shadows that danced mockingly across the walls. He knelt before the altar, his hands clasped so tightly in prayer that his knuckles turned white.

"Forgive me, Father," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I have failed You. I have strayed from the path You set for me. I let her pull me into darkness... I let myself be weak."

The memory of your touch, your voice, your eyes—everything about you—played on an unending loop in his mind.

Each moment felt like a dagger, twisting deeper into his soul. He had succumbed to temptation, and now the weight of his sin felt unbearable. He had been called to be a servant of God, to lead others to salvation, and yet he had fallen, allowing her to taint him.

"No, not her," he muttered aloud, his voice trembling. "She is not to blame. It’s me. I allowed it. I let her in."

But even as he tried to take responsibility, a darker thought lingered in the corners of his mind. Had you been sent to test him, or to ruin him? Had you been a temptation laid in his path by the devil himself?

Meanwhile, you stood outside the chapel, your arms crossed tightly over her chest. You had waited for days, hoping Carlos would come to you, that he would at least confront the feelings you both knew existed. But instead, he had disappeared into this sanctuary, avoiding you like you were some kind of plague.

Finally, your patience snapped. You pushed open the heavy wooden door, the sound echoing through the stillness of the chapel. Carlos flinched at the noise, his head snapping up to see you silhouetted against the light.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice hoarse and strained.

“What am I doing here?” You repeated, your tone sharp and incredulous. You stepped closer, your heels clicking on the stone floor. “What are you doing here, hiding like a coward?”

Carlos rose to his feet, his expression torn between anger and despair. “I am seeking forgiveness,” he said, his voice trembling. “For what I’ve done—for letting you... letting this happen.”

Your eyes narrowed, and you took another step toward him. “Letting me? Is that what you think this is? That I’m some kind of devil sent to tempt you?”

“You don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head. “This... this isn’t who I am. This isn’t who I’m supposed to be. I had a purpose, a calling. And now it’s gone.”

“Gone?” You snapped, your voice rising. “You think you’ve lost your purpose because of me? Because you kissed me? Don’t you dare put this on me, Carlos.”

“I’m not putting it on you!” he shot back, though his voice lacked conviction. “But you—” He paused, searching for the right words, but they escaped him.

“But what?” You pressed, your tone laced with hurt. “Say it. You think I ruined you, don’t you? That I’ve tainted you and ruined your chance at sainthood.”

Carlos looked away, his silence speaking volumes.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound cutting through the heavy air. “You know what your problem is, Carlos? You’re so busy trying to be a saint that you’ve forgotten how to be human.”

He turned back to you, his face a mask of anguish.

“I gave up being human a long time ago. I chose this life because I wanted to rise above it, to serve something greater than myself. And now—” His voice cracked, and he looked away again.

“And now you’re realizing that you’re just as flawed as everyone else,” you finished for him, your voice softening slightly.

“Welcome to the real world, Carlos. It’s messy and complicated and full of mistakes. But that doesn’t make you any less of a person.”

He clenched his fists, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “You don’t understand what this means to me. I’ve dedicated my entire life to this path. To fail now—it’s unforgivable.”

“Unforgivable?” You stepped closer, your voice firm but not unkind. “Do you really think God is up there keeping a tally of every mistake you make? Do you think He’s going to damn you for being human, for feeling something real?”

Your words struck a chord, but Carlos shook his head, unwilling to let go of his guilt. “I don’t know what to think anymore,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You reached out, your hand lightly touching his arm. He flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away. 

“Carlos,” you say, your voice gentle now, “I’m not your enemy. I never was. But you need to stop using me as an excuse to avoid your own doubts. You’re questioning things because you’re human, not because of me.”

He looked at you then, his eyes filled with conflict. “I don’t know how to move forward,” he confessed.

“Then stop trying to figure it all out at once,” you state simply. “Start with the truth. What do you want, Carlos? Not what you think you’re supposed to want. What do you want?”

The silence that followed was heavy, but for the first time, it wasn’t suffocating. It was a space for honesty, for something real to take root. And in that moment, Carlos realized that the answer he’d been running from was standing right in front of him.

The sting of rejection lingers longer than you expected. For days after Carlos turned his back on you, his absence felt like a void in the chaotic rhythm of your life. 

You’ve always thrived on your ability to stay in control and to hold the upper hand in any interaction. But now, for the first time in a long while, you’re left grappling with an uncomfortable truth—you’re not as unaffected as you thought you were.

You pace the length of your apartment, the sounds of the city filtering through the windows—honking cars, muffled laughter, the occasional shout. Normally, the chaos outside feels like an extension of you, a reminder that life never stops moving. But tonight, it feels distant, irrelevant.

In the silence, memories creep in. The way Carlos looked at you—not with lust, like so many others, but with something deeper, something raw. 

The way his voice wavered when he spoke your name as if he were afraid of the power it held. You think about the way he walked away, his shoulders heavy with guilt, his words cutting sharper than they should have.

It’s not your fault, but I can’t be near you.

You scoff aloud at the memory, though the sound is bitter. “Coward,” you mutter, but the word rings hollow. 

Deep down, you know his rejection wasn’t just about you. It was about him, his faith, his struggle to reconcile who he wanted to be with who he actually was. Still, knowing that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

The truth is, Carlos made you feel something you hadn’t felt in a long time—seen. 

Not for your beauty, not for your confidence, not for the role you play in a world that thrives on appearances, but for something deeper, something more vulnerable. And now that he’s gone, that vulnerability feels like an exposed wound.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, and for a moment, you barely recognize the woman staring back.

The black gown, the perfectly painted lips, the sharpness in your eyes—they all feel like a mask, a costume you’ve worn so long that you’ve forgotten what’s underneath.

“Who are you?” you whisper to your reflection, the question hanging heavy in the air.

The answer doesn’t come easily. You think about the choices you’ve made, the life you’ve built—a life of freedom, of defiance, of never letting anyone hold power over you. But now, for the first time, you wonder if that freedom has come at a cost. 

Have you been running all this time? And if so, from what?

Your thoughts drift back to Carlos, to the fire in his eyes when he spoke of his faith, of purpose, of something greater than himself. You didn’t agree with him—you still don’t—but you can’t deny the pull of his conviction.

It made you wonder if you’d been wrong to dismiss the idea of something more.

And yet, his faith had crumbled in the face of his desire for you. That should feel like a victory, but it doesn’t. Instead, it feels hollow, like you’ve won a battle you never wanted to fight.

You sit down on the edge of your bed, your head in your hands. The question lingers in your mind, persistent and unrelenting. What do you want, Y/N?

Not the fleeting thrill of the game, not the power you wield over others, not the endless nights of laughter that fade by morning. What do you truly want?

The thought scares you more than you’d like to admit because, for the first time, you’re not sure you know the answer.

The church is silent, save for the soft flicker of candlelight casting long shadows across the stone walls. It’s the same place where Carlos once knelt in devotion, where he first took his vows and pledged his life to God. But tonight, the sanctuary feels different—less holy, more human.

Carlos stands at the altar, his hands clasped in front of him, though not in prayer. His cassock hangs loosely on his frame, as if it no longer fits the man he has become. The weight of his inner turmoil is etched into his face, and for the first time, he looks like someone searching for answers rather than providing them.

The echo of footsteps draws his attention, and he turns to see you stepping into the church.

Your presence feels out of place here, yet oddly fitting, like a storm finding its way into a serene landscape. You're dressed simply, without the usual glamour that used to envelop you, but it only makes you seem more striking.

Neither of you speak at first. The distance between you feels vast, a chasm of misunderstandings, pain, and the undeniable connection that brought you here.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Carlos finally says, his voice quiet, almost reverent.

You walk closer, your heels clicking softly against the stone floor.

“I wasn’t sure I would,” you admit. Your gaze sweeps over the church, the stained glass windows filtering muted colors into the dim light. “But I needed to see you one last time.”

Carlos nods, his eyes fixed on you as if he’s afraid you might disappear. “I’ve been… thinking,” he begins, his words careful, measured. “About everything. About you. About me.”

He looks down, his voice faltering. “You changed everything, Y/N.”

Your lips curl into a faint, bittersweet smile. “I wasn’t trying to,” you say softly.

“I know,” he replies, meeting your gaze again. “But you did. I thought I understood faith. What it meant to be a man of God. I thought I knew who I was. But after you… I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

You step closer, the distance between the two of you shrinking. “And is that my fault, Carlos? Or is it because you were too afraid to question it before?”

He exhales sharply, the question cutting through him. “Maybe both,” he admits. “I convinced myself that my path was clear, that I was untouchable. But you showed me the cracks, the places I didn’t want to see.”

“And now?” You ask, your voice quieter, almost fragile.

Carlos looks around the church, his expression pained. “Now, I don’t know if I can call myself a man of God. I broke my vows. I doubted everything I believed in. And I—” His voice catches, but he forces himself to continue. “And I wanted you in ways I never should have. That’s not the man I was supposed to be.”

Your eyes soften, and you step even closer, close enough to touch him but holding back. “You’re not a saint, Carlos,” you say gently. “You never were. You’re just a man. And maybe that’s what you were running from all along.”

He stares at you, the truth of your words sinking in. For a long moment, neither of you speak, the silence filled only by the flicker of candlelight.

“What about you?” Carlos asks finally, his voice tentative. “What do you want now, Y/N? After everything?”

You look down, a faint tremor in your voice as you answer. “I want to stop running, too. I’ve spent so long living to defy everyone else, proving that I don’t need their approval. But I’m tired, Carlos. Tired of fighting battles that don’t even matter to me anymore.”

Your gaze lifts, meeting his, and for the first time, there’s no mockery or defiance in your expression—only vulnerability.

“I want something real,” you say. “Even if it’s not with you.”

Carlos flinches, your words hitting him harder than he expected. But he nods slowly, understanding. “I can’t give you what you need,” he says quietly. “I’m not even sure who I am anymore. But I hope… I hope you find it.”

You step forward, reaching out to touch his face lightly, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “And I hope you find yourself, Carlos,” you say softly. “Because whoever that man is, I think he’s worth knowing.”

You let your hand fall, and you both stand there for a moment longer, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you. Then, with a faint, bittersweet smile, you turn and walk away, your footsteps echoing through the empty church.

Carlos watches you go, his heart heavy but strangely lighter than before. As the doors close behind you, he turns back to the altar, unsure of what lies ahead but knowing one thing for certain—his life will never be the same.

Carlos left the church quietly, slipping away from the place that had been his refuge, his calling, and, ultimately, his prison. He carried little more than a small suitcase, the cassock folded inside as though packing away an old skin. 

For days, the road stretched before him, unfamiliar and daunting, each step taking him further from the life he thought he was destined to lead.

In the beginning, his prayers were desperate, pleading whispers in the night. “God, forgive me. Show me the way,” he’d mutter, clutching his rosary as though it could anchor him. But the words felt empty, bouncing back from a silence he couldn’t ignore. 

His faith, once unshakable, now felt fragile, brittle under the weight of his doubts.

He soon found himself in a coastal town far from Barcelona, where the salty breeze mingled with the scent of fresh bread from the local bakery. 

The town was simple, quiet, and unremarkable, but its stillness offered a balm to his restless spirit. He took a job at the bakery, learning to knead dough and shape loaves with hands that once held a Bible.

It wasn’t glamorous, but it was grounding.

For the first time in years, his work felt tangible, the ache in his muscles at the end of the day a comforting reminder of his efforts.

Carlos thought of you often, though the memories came with less pain over time. He recalled your sharp wit, the way your laughter could cut through the most solemn of moments, and the way your piercing eyes seemed to see through him. 

You had challenged everything he believed, not out of malice, but because you saw the cracks in the foundation he’d built his life on.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold, Carlos sat on a bench overlooking the sea.

A journal rested on his lap, its pages filled with reflections and unanswered questions. He thought of the arguments you’d shared, your voice sharp yet earnest as you tore into his defenses.

“You hide behind the church because it’s easier than facing the real world,” you’d said during one of your heated exchanges. “You call it faith, but it’s fear, Carlos. Fear of failure, fear of imperfection, fear of being human.”

At the time, your words had infuriated him, striking too close to the truth. Now, they lingered in his mind like an undeniable echo.

“You were right,” he murmured aloud, the waves crashing softly below. “I was hiding. I thought I was above the chaos, but I wasn’t. I never was.”

He closed his eyes, letting the breeze carry away his confession. For the first time, the weight of guilt seemed to lift, replaced by a fragile acceptance. He wasn’t the man he used to be, but perhaps that was the point.

In Barcelona, you wandered the city’s labyrinthine streets, your heels clicking against the cobblestones. The vibrant energy of the city felt muted now, a backdrop to your growing introspection. 

After Carlos left, you’d thrown yourself back into the familiar rhythms of your life—late nights, endless parties, and the intoxicating game of holding the world at arm’s length. 

But it wasn’t the same.

One afternoon, you passed a small, unassuming church tucked between two old buildings. Something about its modesty drew you in. The air inside was cool and quiet, the faint scent of candles and incense lingering.

You sat in the back pew, letting the stillness envelop you. It was the first time you’d stepped into a church without an agenda, without a performance to put on.

Carlos’ voice came back to you, unbidden, from one of your arguments. 

“You think rebellion makes you free, but it’s just another kind of prison,” he’d said, his gaze intense, his words cutting through your bravado.

At the time, you’d dismissed him with a laugh, but now, sitting in the quiet, you couldn’t shake the truth of his words. You weren’t free. You were running, hiding, masking the emptiness you were too afraid to face.

“Carlos,” you whispered, his name lingering on your lips like a prayer. You didn’t know where he was or if he ever thought of you, but you hoped he had found peace.

Months passed, and Carlos settled into his new life. The townspeople had accepted him as one of their own, though they never pried into his past.

His days were simple—early mornings at the bakery, evenings watching the waves, and nights spent reflecting.

One evening, after closing the bakery, Carlos sat at his small kitchen table with a pen and paper. He began writing a letter, not intending to send it, but needing to put his thoughts into words.

“Dear Y/N,

I don’t know where you are or what you’re doing, but I hope you’ve found what you’re looking for. I used to think meeting you was a test, something I had to endure to prove my faith. But now, I see it differently. You weren’t my downfall. You were the mirror that forced me to see myself clearly for the first time.

I’m still figuring out who I am without the church, but I think I’m starting to like this version of me. It’s messy and uncertain, but it’s real. Thank you for teaching me that, even if it was painful.

Take care, Carlos”

He folded the letter and tucked it away in a drawer, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Life wasn’t perfect, but it felt honest, and for now, that was enough.

Though your paths had diverged, you and Carlos carried pieces of each other forward.

His voice remained in your thoughts, not as a haunting, but as a reminder of the lessons you’d learned. You no longer lived solely to defy expectations, nor did he cling to the rigid ideals of his past.

In your separate journeys, you found something precious: the courage to face yourselves. And though you would likely never meet again, the bond you shared—tempestuous, transformative, and unforgettable—would remain a part of you both, a testament to the way two flawed souls could change each other forever.

© soleilpinto 25’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

[melodyanqel]

𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐘 ── ✶ b.kh (01. nervous wreck)

a freshly new face enters the world of the trauma unit who is sweet and pure, yet becomes everyone’s favorite surgeon. even her stern and tough rival has a soft spot. and possibly more than that.

⇢ pairing: baek kang-hyuk x fem!oc

⇢ genre/tags: fluff, angst, drama, suspense, developing relationship, trauma team as a family, humor, friendship, workplace romance, medical field, protective!tsundere!kang-hyuk, sunshine!soft!curvy!oc

⇢ note: this was honestly so fun to write and i'm actually proud of myself lol. have a happy reading!

⇢ wc: 1.7k words

⇢ text key: inner monologue

Are scrubs and badge on? Yes. 

Does she look like a nurse? Yes.

Is she mentally prepared? Not so much. 

Bo-ra has been anxious since the entire morning, and she hasn’t shaken off the tension. However, she knows what she signed up for because, as a little girl, she passionately thought about becoming a nurse when she got older. And now, after graduating with a bachelor's degree as a trauma surgeon, Bo-ra is committed to starting her first day at Hankuk National University Hospital. Even though the place has been notorious for lacking management, patient care, and support for the trauma unit, she hopes to bring improvement to save people’s lives. 

*Bark*

A cute corgi lets out a loud bark to help its human return to the real world. He can tell she is nervous because he is a smart boy. 

Bo-ra jolts from the sound and looks at Pudding in shock. “Don’t scare me like that!” She scolded the dog, who was smiling happily. Bo-ra groans and sits on the rug to pet Pudding. He licks her hand to give her comforting kisses. “I’m worried, Pudding. I might do something stupid and get fired on my first day.” She has been overthinking it like it’s the end of the world. 

Abruptly, Pudding tapped his nose onto her pouting lips. Bo-ra giggles at the sweet and innocent dog’s affection. He is trying his best to cheer her up and uplift her mood. “Thank you so much. I should start heading out now.” Bo-ra appreciates Pudding. He barks as a response to encourage her to run along and be a surgeon. 

Once she gathers herself, Bo-ra says goodbye to Pudding and leaves the apartment. She is praying she’ll make it through the day. 

While entering the subway station, she receives a text from her best friend, Yang Jae-won. He is also a doctor for HNUH with a kind soul and would never hurt a fly. Except he is a bit clumsy and wimpy sometimes. 

Bestie (Jae-won): Are you coming now?

Bo-ra: Yes, I’m on my way. Is it crazy over there?

Bestie (Jae-won): Not yet. However, we have a new experienced doctor whom you should be careful of. 

As she reads the message, it sounds concerning. Bo-ra isn’t sure if Jae-won was giving her a warning because it just added more pressure to her anxiety. When the subway arrives, she sits on an empty seat and texts Jae-won back.

Bo-ra: Nice to know. I hope I’ll survive.

Bestie (Jae-won): You’ll do great! I’m excited to work with you.

The young surgeon’s lips draw a smile, and her heart warms. Jae-won is always so generous that Bo-ra feels lucky to have him in her life. Two best friends working together at the same hospital is like an achievement. Bo-ra appreciates him through text before plugging in her headphones into her phone. Music soothes her mind and serves as a distraction from the doubts. Bo-ra was also thinking about Pudding because he was her only baby. 

𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐔𝐊 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋

After the subway trip, Bo-ra stands in front of the hospital like a statue. She has been like that for a minute now. The people passing by either mind their own business or give her glances as if she is lost. 

Jae-won texted her to go to the lobby, and they’ll meet there. Bo-ra inhales and exhales to ease the jitters. She remembers the first time she worked at a retail company, and she would stutter so much. The customers thought she was sick or had a bad speech impediment. Bo-ra moves her legs because it’s time to be a full-on doctor mode. 

Going inside, she notices a crowd of healthcare workers scattered in their white coats and scrubs. Then her chocolate brown gaze lands on a handsome man with round glasses that Harry Potter would wear—although he looks cute with them. 

Bo-ra yells, “Jae-won!” And waves her hand in the air.

Her calling caught his attention, and he immediately ran to her with open arms. “Bo-ra! You’re here!” Jae-won brings her into a big hug and lifts her off the ground to spin in circles. Bo-ra playfully demands, “Put me down, I’ll get dizzy!” Plus, people, especially older colleagues, are judging them. 

Jae-won obeys her and sets her back down. He pulls away to have a good look at his friend. She has been the same Bo-ra since elementary school; adorable, beautiful, and radiant like the sun. But it does feel strange to think that she is a surgeon. Girls like her would be scared of blood, open body parts, and anything grotesque. 

However, he doesn’t think low of Bo-ra because he has seen her working hard to graduate from college and medical school. So, Jae-won is looking forward to her efforts. 

He lends Bo-ra his arm, “Let’s go?” A gentle grin plays on his charming face. 

Bo-ra nods to indicate she is ready and takes his arm to hold. 

The duo starts making their way to the trauma station. They step into the elevator and go to the upper level. Jae-won looks at Bo-ra with interest. “Do you know your schedule for today?” He asked. She tells him, “Yes. I have to meet with the trauma doctor, who will be training me, and once I understand the logistics, I’ll be your colleague.” Bo-ra predicts she will have her hands dirty sooner or later. 

Jae-won chuckles when she calls herself his ‘colleague.’ He denies it. “No, you’re not just a co-worker to me. You’ll be my emotional support and savior in case something happens. Remember what we promised when we were kids?” He brings up the oath that they made years ago. 

Of course, Bo-ra would remember it. 

“We’ll stick together until the very end.” She recites their childhood promise. It may sound cheesy, but Bo-ra truly takes it to heart, and Jae-won does the same. 

The male doctor had a gleeful smile when she said it. “That’s right.” He simply spoke. Bo-ra snickers because Jae-won is too much, sometimes. 

*Ding*

The elevator doors slide open, and the two step out. Bo-ra watches multiple professions doing their jobs, like the nurses behind the desk, and patients being treated by the doctors. Like any other hospital, there are many injured people on ICU beds. This is now her second home. 

“Ugh, can it be lunch already?” 

A nurse with short hair tied up and wearing purple scrubs whines. She is typing away on her keyboard, almost like a robot. She is checking the time on her phone then and there. All she wants is food and a break. 

The young woman groans and stops typing to sit back in her chair. She was about to use her phone for a minute, but her eyes landed on Jae-won and a girl, a very pretty girl, to be exact. She has long, dark brown hair in a high ponytail with a small white bow, a round face with delicate features, and is petite with a curvy form. The nurse hops from her chair and runs around the desk to approach Jae-won and the unknown girl. 

“Yang Jae-won. You didn’t tell me you were taken. I thought you were too shy.” 

The nurse has her arms crossed and a sly smirk on her rosy lips. 

Jae-won becomes astounded with wide eyes like an owl. He shakes his head in panic. “N-No, Jang-mi! First off, this is my friend and the new doctor, Son Bo-ra. And second, I can date whenever I want to.” He pouts but hates to admit he is shy, yet he has some confidence. 

The nurse, Jang-mi, gapes her mouth. “Oh, my mistake!” She says and laughs it off. Jae-won is unamused while Bo-ra is intrigued to know more about Jang-mi. She lets go of her best friend's arm to introduce herself properly. She bows to Jang-mi, “Hello, I’m Son Bo-ra. It’s nice to meet you.” The new doctor greets her colleague. 

Silence.

It went quiet for a little bit. The next thing she knows, Jang-mi is squeezing the life out of her. 

“YOU’RE SO CUTE! YOU HAVE THE PRETTIEST VOICE, FACE, AND CHEEKS I WANT TO SQUISH!” 

Her outburst caused everyone to stop to see what was happening. Even the semi-conscious patients heard Jang-mi's loud voice. Jae-won gets worried because she is acting foolish. “Yah! We need to be professional, Jang-mi!” He repeatedly pats her right arm. 

Thankfully, the nurse listens to him and lets go of Bo-ra. She looks at Jae-won with a contented expression. “I couldn’t help it. She is like an angel sent from heaven.” Jang-mi speaks airily because she likes Bo-ra at first sight. 

“Thank you for the kind words.” The petite woman blushes with appreciation. Jang-mi hears her and coos. “Aww, you’re welcome.” She has the urge to put Bo-ra in her pocket. 

Jae-won sighs in relief. He was about to say something, but was interrupted by an aggressive voice. 

“Yah! Anus! Why are you standing around having a field day?” 

There comes a tall man with slick back jet-black hair, tan skin, and a stern look on his face. He is coming close to the trio with long strides like a panther. His intimidation is so intense that Jae-won instantly apologizes. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Baek! I was about to take Bo-ra to your office, but it didn’t happen.” He sheepishly looks down at his crocs. 

Dr. Baek, or Baek Kang-hyuk, rolled his sharp eyes. “Well, you and Gangster get back to work.” He commands them in a serious tone of voice. Jae-won nodded, and Jang-mi stayed quiet but would do as he said. 

“And you, Mandu (dumpling).” Kang-hyuk points his index finger at Bo-ra. “Meet me at my office.” He makes his last demand and leaves the area. 

Bo-ra didn’t know she was holding in her breath until Jang-mi pats her back. “Good luck with that.” She gives her an ounce of support and goes to the reception desk. Her words sounded unenthusiastic. But then, Bo-ra begins to realize what Jae-won mentioned earlier.

She turns to him. “Is he the doctor I should be careful of?” She wonders. 

Jae-won purses his lips and answers, “Yeah. He is Dr. Baek. He can be a little harsh. But you’ll be fine, okay?” He delivers a reassuring smile and a side hug. Bo-ra just nodded, but on the inside, she was utterly terrified. 

This is it. I’ll be seeing my ancestors. 

series masterlist | two

[pbxaf4life]

The Long Game: First Quarter, Chapter 1

Paige x Azzi asf

Read the prologue first!

Masterlist (read the notes here for more info about the story)

As a former wbb player who tore her ACL and was down bad for my best friend/teammate, I feel this so bad that I am absolutely projecting. Hope it helps 😁 Please let me know what you think, I'm looking for all the feedback I can get.

Summary: Paige is struggling to deal with her injury. Thankfully, her best friend Azzi is always there for her. Lately, a lot more than usual. Paige doesn't know how to describe it, but something is different.

Word count: (1699 words)

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Chapter 1: Get Back To You - Paige

Paige was never good at sitting still. She needed to be moving. Her hands, her arms, her legs. Because if she wasn't moving her body, she was moving her mind. More accurately, her mind was moving her.

Since her injury, Paige had all the time in the world to sit with her thoughts. On the sidelines, at physical therapy, lonely bus rides after wins she had no part of. She just thought. Sometimes she'd dribble a basketball, but every time she heard the soft thud against the court, she pictured the thud her body made when she hit the ground after tearing her ACL in practice in August. So she usually settled for silence and her thoughts. No matter how treacherous they may have been.

She thought about getting better, probably more than anything. She dreaded how exhausting it was and would be to heal. Cringed at how her left leg would be smaller than her right for a while. Worried about the fact that she had a higher chance of hurting herself again. Sulked about having to leave her team to play without her for that whole season and maybe some of next. Pushed herself to the verge of tears, thinking about leaving Azzi to play without her.

Azzi.

Azzi was Paige's person. At this point, they had been best friends for over half a decade, and they were closer than ever. When Paige went down, Azzi was the first one at her side and looked even more distraught than Paige did. When Paige had surgery, Azzi had to do 100 suicides for skipping two practices to make sure Paige was settling in okay. When Paige was going through the worst pain in her life, Azzi made her feel better.

Before Paige knew it, it was November, and she still had not seen the court. She saw plenty of the training room and PT office, but absolutely no action. Not for a long while. Doctor's orders. Paige hated that doctor. She hated everyone who told her she couldn't play, even though she knew they were just doing their job, and whatever happened to her knee was not their fault. Nonetheless, her injury grew to feel like a cage.

That cage was especially hard to handle when all of her closest friends played her game right in front of her, and all she wanted was to play with them. She watched Geno bark corrections at Nika and Ines. She watched Ice give dirty looks when the coaches weren't looking. She watched Azzi glance over at her any time she had a second. And she smiled every time.

"Hey, how you feeling?"

Paige had zoned out and missed when Coach Geno dismissed everyone from practice. Azzi walked straight over to the bench where Paige was sitting and sat down next to her. 

Paige smiled at her. "I'm feeling like I could play tomorrow."

Azzi tilted her head toward Paige. "Yeah, okay. Says the girl who was crying real tears last week trying to do leg lifts."

Paige chuckled a little. "Okay, maybe not. But I wish. So bad." She wasn't laughing anymore. 

Of all the physical pain Paige felt in her knee, which was really bad, she felt more pain in missing the game. She could tell Azzi saw that. 

Azzi placed her hand on Paige's good knee. "I know. It breaks my heart too."

Before Paige got hurt, her and Azzi joked and laughed much more than they talked about anything serious. Just basketball, music, shoes, things that any two hooper best friends would talk about. Not that they weren't close enough to talk about anything real. Azzi was always open about her mental health, and Paige helped her a lot. Paige walked around with what felt like the weight of the world on her shoulders and everyone's eyes on her, and Azzi was the only one who could understand what it was like. They both just got each other. And sometimes that was better than anything either of them could have said.

After the injury, things were just heavier. Paige didn't have the energy to make Azzi laugh every chance she got, and Azzi wasn't interested in pretending things were okay for Paige. For them both. So, they talked. A lot. About their future, their fears, their insecurities. And it drew them closer. If she wasn't before, Azzi was definitely Paige's rock after.

Paige didn't say anything for a few moments. She just let Azzi's hand rest on her knee like it gave her strength. In a way, it did. It made Paige feel safe. Like things would all be alright. 

"I miss playing with you," Paige blurted out of nowhere for no particular reason. Just to make sure Azzi knew. 

Azzi looked at Paige and gently squeezed her knee. "Me too."

Things felt heavier while they talked but also while they didn't. During those brief moments where they were looking each other in the eye and that was all the communication they needed. Time seemed to slow down for Paige. She just felt at peace when Azzi was looking at her. Sometimes, just for a second, Paige felt like it didn't matter if she got better or not. As long as she had her best friend at her side. 

They went quiet again for a moment before Azzi stood up and broke the silence. "C'mon. Let's go eat." She held her hand out to Paige to help her up.

Paige didn't need help. She and her brace were just fine standing up from a chair. But Azzi was thoughtful like that. Paige took her hand anyway and stood up. They didn't drop each other's right away. They let the touch linger but nothing either of them would be weird about.

"I have PT. I can't go right now," Paige said hoping Azzi would catch on that "right now" meant "I want to later."

Azzi caught on. She always did. "Okay then I'll go with you, and we can get food after."

Paige smiled and started walking toward the tunnel with Azzi at her side. Paige playfully bumped Azzi's shoulder with her own. Azzi bumped back. They laughed and continued walking. 

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

Azzi came to Paige's appointments a lot, which Paige was thankful for. It reminded her that she was putting in all that work for a reason. To get back to sharing a court with her best friend. The first time Azzi went, Paige expected Azzi to sit in the waiting room and play on her phone or whatever, but Azzi always went back with Paige and talked to her the whole time.

That particular time, Paige caught Azzi staring out the window sitting on the bench next to Paige, who was doing light leg presses. Paige wouldn't have admitted it, but she was struggling a little bit.

"You bored?" Paige asked trying to hide the strain in her voice. "You don't have to stay. I hate to make you sit here and watch me get tortured."

Azzi turned her head to look at her and grinned. "You don't make me do anything. I want to be here with you."

Paige paused in the middle of her leg press. That caught her a little off guard. It was sweet. She was still getting used to sweet. Her cheeks got a little red, and she couldn't think of anything else to say. 

Before she could, Azzi grinned again and added, "Have to make sure you're taking care of the knee that's supposed to get me a national championship next year."

Paige laughed, shook her head, and went back to her workout. It shouldn't have made her break a sweat, but the thigh of her hurt leg was now half the size of the other, and she had hardly any muscle. She was ready to go back to normal. She was tired of taking it easy. After her therapist Steve walked away, she sneakily added 5 pounds. And she was feeling it.

Azzi wasn't grinning anymore. She tilted her head at Paige, who was trying her damnedest to not make a face. 

"Does that hurt? You're scrunching your face," Azzi asked worriedly.

Paige shook her head. "All good," she said but not without her voice cracking. 

"I'm gonna go get Steve," Azzi said and went to stand up. 

Paige stopped her reps and grabbed Azzi's forearm. "C'mon don't be a tattletale. I added more weight. Steve keeps babying me."

Azzi folded her arms across her chest and tilted her head to the side. "He's 'babying' you because you are a baby. Why can't you just take it slow and trust the process?"

Azzi sounded annoyed, which annoyed Paige. But also told Paige that she cared. A lot. And that made Paige feel good.

Paige didn't really have an answer. It seemed obvious that she was in a rush to get back to playing, but it was also about getting back for Azzi. No one could keep up with her like Paige did. And Azzi deserved someone who could. 

"You know..." Paige's voice dragged. "I need to hurry up and get back to playing, get back to the team, get back to you."

She didn't really mean to say the last part. It kind of just came out. Not that she didn't mean it. Not that it was weird she said it. She hoped it wasn't weird. 

Azzi blinked. "Paige, I'm right here. The team is here, basketball is here. It's not like everything is gonna just up and leave you while you're trying to get better. We're in this together."

Paige got off the leg press machine and faced Azzi from a few feet away. "Exactly. We are in this together, and I left you. You deserve to have someone like me on the court. I'm trying so hard to be that for you." Paige's voice was passionate. Desperate almost.

Azzi didn't say anything. She stared at Paige. She took a step toward her. Then another. Paige swallowed. Azzi slipped her arms under Paige's. She rested her head on Paige's shoulder.

Paige was a little stunned and took a second to register that Azzi was giving her a hug. She wrapped her arms around Azzi and tucked her head into Azzi's neck. Neither of them said anything for a minute. Until Azzi did. 

"You don't have to earn me, Paige."