#if you’re saying that you should be mindful of where things come from in your story but don’t have to put it in per se

[aimfor-theheart]

mafia au with bodyguard vi i am gnawing on the bars of my enclosure

anon i’m trying to distract myself on this flight so here take this little drabble bc i can’t get bodyguard!vi out of my mind 😖

***

You laze at your vanity, languid like a cat; taking your time to get ready. Your hair is half undone. You’re still in your sheer, dark tights and bra—some jewelry hanging from your bare skin, some still scattered on the vanity in front of you. Your martini glass gleams alongside the pearls in the lowlight of your bedroom.

You’re powdering your face when someone knocks.

“Come in,” You say, despite your state of undress.

When Vi enters, you catch her eyes in the reflection of your vanity mirror.

She curses a little, averting her gaze. You smile, slow and mischievous.

“You know, usually when people are undressed, they don’t tell someone to stroll into their bedroom.” Vi remarks.

“Oh, but I knew it was you.” You respond innocently.

She huffs a bit of a laugh. You see a muscle feather in her jaw. She’s still looking away from you, but there’s something in her face—it lurks around the edges of her expression, like she’s trying to keep it hidden.

(Hunger looks good on her.)

“I’m your bodyguard, princess. I should be standing outside your door while you get ready like this.” She says and you’ve found that she likes to tell you about what she should do with you. She likes to tell you what’s proper, as you lure her into something improper.

“Oh, relax. Have a drink, would you?” You retort, lifting your martini glass to her in the mirror as if to demonstrate. You take a sip, lemon twist and flowery gin hit your tongue in a cool burst. “I wanted company while I finish getting ready.”

She lets go of a hard sigh. “You’re trying to get me killed. Your father would have my head.”

“Good thing he’s not around tonight, then.” You hum, finally returning to your preening and powdering.

“Would you at least put on some clothes for me?” Vi asks the ceiling and really it’s almost—funny, how chivalrous she’s trying to be. Gentlemanly. She still hasn’t looked your way.

Well, that won’t do.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy.” You coo, finally turning from the mirror to face her. “Not with your reputation…”

She barks out a laugh.

“I’m being paid to protect you.” Vi reiterates and you think, at this point, she’s reminding herself more than you.

“So you can’t keep me company while I get ready?” You ask sweetly.

Her eyes cut to you before she can stop herself, a flash of blue lighting. When she takes you in, it’s with a hitched breath. Her eyes skip down the curves of your body. She looks away again.

“You’re not sly, sweetheart. I know your game.” Vi says, dragging a hand through her hair, tousling it further.

You let go of an overdramatic sigh, “Fine, fine. I’ll dress.”

And with that, you saunter to your wardrobe, where the slinky little dress you’ll be wearing tonight hangs. It’s midnight purple, shimmering like dark water at night. You pull it from the hanger and carefully slip it on. But in the back, it hangs open, zipper undone.

Your eyes cut to Vi—she’s still turned away and you trace the broad lines of her back. The sliver of her tattoo that starts at the nape of her neck.

“Vi,” You say her name so lightly, “will you help me?”

When she looks at you, it’s of the open back of your dress, all your bare skin and the silk. The lacy back of your bra—the shadow of your matching panties beneath the tights. You peek over your shoulder demurely.

Vi swallows hard.

But still, she approaches. Her footsteps are slow, heavy. And then she’s behind you and you can almost feel her, feel her warmth. You stay perfectly still for her—waiting, breath held—

The touch of her fingers against the bare skin of your lower back makes your lashes flutter. She takes the zipper in hand. With her other hand, she smoothes the fabric of the dress, palm open against the curve of your waist.

Slowly, she pulls the zipper up along your spine.

When she’s done, she settles that hand on your waist, too. Holds you.

“You’re such trouble.” She murmurs, squeezes a little into the soft give of your hips.

“I just needed your help.” You say, bedroom soft.

This little, frustrated groan works its way out of her throat. Your stomach flips, thinking of what it might sound against your throat, or inner thighs. She hangs her head and for a moment, you think she might close the rest of the distance, might let her lips fall to the nape of your neck, or press her chest all against your back—

Instead, she’s gone. Hands off you, held up like she’s trying to show she’s innocent, as she takes a few steps away from you.

She sinks into one of your loveseats—the one that faces the vanity.

“Finish getting ready, princess.”

And for once, you listen to her. You finish pinning your hair. You finish your makeup and add your jewelry. You drink the rest of your martini, the warmth of alcohol hitting you sweet and hot, somewhere in your chest.

When you’re finished, you nudge your stocking clad foot in her direction.

She knows, instantly and moves to you. She eases to one knee, and takes one of your heels in hand. She pulls your foot into her lap, then she deftly eases the shoe onto your foot. She buckles the strap around your ankle dutifully. She does the other one with the same, methodical devotion.

She looks up at you from her knees, your ankle still held in her rough palm. “Happy?” She asks.

“Endlessly.” Your smile is a cat’s curve, a crescent moon.

“You’re so spoiled.” Vi says, adjusting the strap of your heel, so it sits perfectly.

“I like to be taken care of, that’s all.” You say primly.

She snorts at that, and squeezes your ankle in her strong hand. “Princess?” She says, eyes dark and imploring, looking up at you—

It’s such a good look on her. Like this, on her knees.

“Hm?”

She stands slowly, now towering over you. You slowly tip your head back to look up at her. And she even takes your chin in hand, makes you hold her eyes.

“Don’t run off tonight.” She warns.

Your smile turns sharp—eyes dancing with mischief.

“But you always did love a good chase.”

(Hunger looks good on her.)

[fluentmoviequoter]

Anatomy of a Relationship

Requested Here!

Pairing: (established) Tim Bradford x fem!neurosurgeon!reader

Summary: When your friend comes over in the middle of the night to talk about guy problems, Tim finds out what your relationships really mean to you.

Warnings: brief angst, fluff, a Castle reference, Karah is loosely based on Regine from Living Single

Word Count: 1.8k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Rules/Info

“11.25 millimeters,” you read. “That’s not good.”

“What’s not good?” your best friend, Karah, whispers as she lays her hand on your shoulder.

“I just got an MRI with an 11.25-millimeter aneurysm attached to the basilar artery,” you answer. “What’s up?” you murmur, flipping the page.

“Nothing,” she sighs.

“That was convincing.”

“It’s not as important as a brain aneurysm.”

You set your clipboard on your desk and turn toward Karah, shaking your head as you smile at her. “Most things aren’t, but I’m sure I can manage it.”

Before Karah answers, your phone rings. You mouth an apology as you answer and say your name.

“Got it, on my way,” you assure before you end the call. As you gather your things, you tell Karah, “We will talk later. Promise.”

“Go save a life!”

“I have been looking everywhere for you!” you exclaim as you enter a supply closet.

Karah hums but doesn’t speak past the nail polish applicator held between her teeth.

“Pretty color,” you muse as you sit beside her on a gurney.

“Thanks,” she replies as she removes the applicator. “Want some?”

“Surgical board frowns upon painted nails,” you remind her.

“Hence, why I’m doing my toe-sies,” Karah singsongs. “What are you doing with Sergeant Bradford tonight?”

“As little as possible, I hope. What are you doing tonight? Another date with the mystery man?”

“Another date, yes. Mystery man, no.”

“What happened?”

“Have you ever watched a cartoon where the characters kiss and they just kinda…” Karah closes the nail polish and shoves her palms together in demonstration.

“Sure,” you answer, nodding. “The PG version with no emotion and no lips.”

“Yeah, that’s how he kissed.”

“Ugh.” You shiver for emphasis, and Karah nods emphatically.

“And his lips were chapped, too.”

“We can’t have anything in this life.”

Karah scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Right, because you have it so bad with a hot police officer.”

“A hot police officer who cancels dates weekly and has minimal emotional availability.”

“But you love him,” she reminds you.

“That I do. Look, I’ve got a consult call before I leave, but call me later, let me know how your date went, okay?”

“Will do. Enjoy your date, if it happens.”

You shove Karah gently as you slide off the gurney. Opening the door, you call, “Love you!” over your shoulder.

“Smooches!” she replies.

“Stop staring at me,” Tim demands as he locks your door.

“Answer the question!” you reply. “I can’t let you sleep here if you’re lying to me!”

“It’s fine.”

“Why? How do you know?”

Tim sighs and takes your face between his hands. “It’s fine,” he repeats.

You pout, pushing your lower lip out as you blink at him.

“My neighbor is watching Kojo, so it is fine if I stay tonight,” he assures you with a sigh.

Your brows furrow as you ask, “You asked your neighbor to watch Kojo? Presumptuous.”

“I… Never mind,” Tim murmurs, his hands still on your face.

“We should probably have some dessert,” you whisper, leaning into his touch. “Not like that, Tim, get your mind out of the gutter.”

Tim huffs a laugh, then kisses your forehead and drops his hands to your waist.

“Listen,” you request, not moving to get dessert. “Don’t take this the wrong way, I’m not asking you to make any big decisions or anything, but if you want to bring Kojo in the future, you can.”

“Thank you.”

“Although, he’d probably never want to leave because I’m nicer than you.”

Tim tightens his grip on your waist slowly, waiting until you grunt to smooth his palms against your shirt. He leans toward you, and you murmur, “Dessert can wait.”

Your front door clicks closed around midnight, and you sit up in bed. Tim shifts beside you but doesn’t wake as he rolls away. Soft footsteps pad down your hall, and you relax, recognizing the gait. Karah steps into your room with her hair pulled back messily and her cheeks red from scrubbing her makeup off.

“C’mon,” you invite her, patting the mattress.

Karah pulls back the comforter and sits beside you with a heavy sigh. You move closer to Tim and lay your hand on his back.

“Is it me?” Karah asks.

“I hope so, considering you’re in my bed,” you reply softly. “What’s going on? And don’t tell me nothing.”

“So, I went on a date with the vet, right? And the next day, he ghosts me. Then mystery man seems to be the one until we kiss and then there’s nothing there, no spark, no more mystery.”

“Tonight?”

“He wanted to move way too fast. Was I wrong for not wanting to? I mean, what if he was the one – or, at the least, the best I can get – and I ruined it because I asked him to slow down?”

“He wasn’t the one,” you assure her, wrapping her in a hug. “If he couldn’t respect that and made you uncomfortable, then he 100%, beyond a shadow of a doubt, was not the one. You’ll know when someone is the one or has a chance of being him.”

Karah looks over your shoulder at Tim’s back and asks, “Are you sure?”

With a smile, you promise, “I’m sure. When the right man comes along, things aren’t always comfortable, but you’re willing to fight to get back to that comfort.”

“Unless there isn’t a right man,” Karah adds, falling back against your pillow. “I try, I get out and date, but maybe it is just me.”

“Maybe.”

Karah’s eyes widen, and you argue, “Exactly. There is no way it’s you. There are nearly 4 million people living in Los Angeles, so what if you can’t find the one perfect person for you quickly?”

“That’s only 2 million men, and half of those are married or not interested. The pool is way down and I’ve been swimming.”

“49 people in every 10,000 have a brain aneurysm each year. Just because it’s a low number doesn’t mean I’m going to quit my job. The 30,000 people who have an aneurysm rupture every year wouldn’t have a neurosurgeon if we all thought like that.”

“I see your point,” Karah grumbles. “But I still hate it.”

“I get it. But maybe a break would clear out some of the wrong men.”

“How do I find what you have?”

“The way I did it? Pure luck. Besides, most of the cops we get in the hospital aren’t like this one.”

“Maybe I should call Rick and see if he’s still single.”

“Rick who let his ex-wife crash at his house and walk around half-naked while you were dating? I’m going to veto that option.”

“He was rich.”

“And a terrible person.”

You scoot back to sit against the headboard as Karah tells you more about what she’s feeling, and as the night goes on, you do your best friend duty and don’t notice that your hand strays to Tim every few minutes.

“Okay,” you interrupt after hours of talking. “We need a pick-me-up.”

“What?” Karah asks.

“Let’s go.”

You lead Karah out of your bed and into the kitchen. After placing your kettle on the stove to heat water, you unlock your phone and scroll through your music library until you find the perfect playlist. The Bluetooth speaker tucked under your upper cabinet plays the opening notes of 2000s pop before Kesha sings, “Hot and dangerous. If you’re one of us then roll with us.”

Karah gasps in excitement, then leans forward to do the handshake you made up during your first year working together. The music plays too loud for the early hour as you dance around the kitchen together, but you don’t care because it’s cheering Karah up, which is the goal. Each word makes you feel better, more upbeat, and ready to do anything and everything.

As the playlist moves forward to a Britney Spears song, you freeze. Tim stops between the end of the hall and the kitchen and looks from you to Karah and then back to you.

“Is this why I was so squished last night?” he asks.

You nod meekly, and he waves his hand at you as he moves toward the kettle and the cabinet where you keep your tea and coffee.

“Breakfast?” he asks.

“Please!” Karah answers.

“Yes,” you say as you dance past him. “Thank you.”

You turn the music down at the end of the song and ask Karah if she feels better.

“Mostly,” she admits. “Now I just need a guy who makes me feel like Hips Don’t Lie does. Sorry, Tim.”

“I’m not even here,” he encourages her. “And if I was, I wouldn’t get involved.”

You shrug and gesture for Karah to continue.

“There’s something I didn’t tell you yet,” she murmurs.

“Well now you have to.”

“I agreed to go on another date with Ryan, the guy from last night.”

“What?!” you exclaim. “Why?”

“He waited. I mean he made me feel awful for asking but he agreed.”

Tim turns and passes Karah a mug of coffee before he sets your favorite drink beside your hand. “Dump him,” he encourages. “He didn’t mean it, he’ll keep pushing and dishonesty of that kind almost always leads to a misdemeanor, minimum.”

You look at Tim with your brows raised, then agree, “He’s right. A guy like that will try to pressure into not waiting. Don’t let him make you do something you’re uncomfortable with for any reason.”

Karah’s phone buzzes, and she groans as she reads the message. “Jill called in sick again, so I’ve got to go. I’ll see you at the hospital?”

“If you’re lucky,” you tell her as you hug her. “And cancel on Ryan, or ghost him, but don’t see him again.”

“I will. Thanks, Tim!” she calls as she opens the door.

When you turn back toward Tim, he lays his palms on the counter and glares at you, but you can tell he’s hiding a smile.

“Thank you,” you tell him with a smile. “She needed to hear it from someone who wasn’t me.”

“Karah has a key. What would you do if one of my friends climbed into bed with us?” Tim inquires.

“Which friend?” you counter. “Because Lucy has a key to get in here too.”

Tim rolls his eyes and returns his attention to the food on the stove. “Make sure Karah leaves him and let me know if you need some help getting the message through to him.”

“Such a softie,” you muse as you raise your mug.

“What was that?” Tim challenges.

“I said will do, sir.”

Tim hums, so you stand and walk behind him. With your arms wrapped around his waist, you say, “I love you.”

“Then you’ll tell me how many people have a key to your door before I replace the lock.”

[mayanneaa]

always and (not) forever - ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ.

PAIRING : rafe cameron x reader

SUMMARY : rafe breaks up with you right after you get accepted to stanford university.

WARNING(S) : angst, swearing, not really proofread

A/N : can you tell i just watched to all the boys: always and forever? (divider by @roseraris )

WC : 0.7k

masterlist.

Your heart’s pounding more and more as you click on the email you just got.

It’s late at night, only the crickets outside accompanying your growing emancipation. You squeeze the hem of your pajama shirt, biting your lip almost to blood.

This is the moment you’ve been waiting for forever— the week of acceptance letters from Stanford.

You can’t really remember when exactly you decided that a university across the whole country was good for you. It just… happened.

Your boyfriend, Rafe, wasn’t particularly excited for you to study so far away since he wanted to go to the one in-state. You managed to convince him that you’ll be well.

The email is long, but after the first words, you don’t even bother reading more. You got in.

A scream escapes your lips, quickly muffled by your hands. You sit there wide-eyed, the faint light of your laptop’s screen falling on your face.

“Oh my God.”

You immediately grab your phone, trembling fingers dialing Rafe’s number. He answers faster than the first ding.

“What’s up, baby?” His voice’s a little raspy and low as if he was falling asleep.

“I got into Stanford,” you whisper, the words feeling unreal once they leave your mouth. “Can you believe it, Rafe?”

There’s a silence, followed by a hum. “That’s… great. I mean, you’re happy, right?”

“Yeah, of course!”

There’s a silence— a moment where you can let your emotions cool off a bit, followed by Rafe clearing his throat.

“Actually… Can we meet?”

You knit your eyebrows. His voice is steady but distant. Something you haven’t heard in a while. “Like, right now?”

Rafe hums in response, and you feel the confusion bubbling up. “Well, if you want to you can come over, but be quiet. My parents are asleep.”

“I’ll be there in five.”

You hang up the phone, your hand lingering as you glance at the laptop screen.

Was Rafe overthinking this whole ‘distance’ thing once again?

You’ve already told him a million times that it will work out. So why the sudden change of mind?

You slip your feet into your slippers and grab a hoodie you throw on on the stairs.

The light from Rafe’s motorcycle flashes through the windows, a quiet buzz filling the natural silence. You quickly open the door and get outside, a chilly breeze hitting your bare legs.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, crossing your arms on your chest.

Rafe takes off his helmet and looks at the ground. “I think we should break up before you go to Stanford.”

You grimace, scrunching your nose. “What are you talking about? Rafe, we’ve been through this. I know it’s hard to be this long distance, but we can do it—”

“No.” The word comes out of his mouth so quickly, you gasp under your breath. “Honestly, how do you see that? Going from what we are now, from me getting to your door in five fucking minutes to seeing each other once God knows how much time?”

“But… you agreed to that earlier…”

“I was wrong,” Rafe says as quietly as a whisper, his voice cracking. “I’m not going to watch it all fall apart in two, four, or even six months. It’s better if we just end it now.”

You squeeze your arms and clench your jaw so tight it almost hurts.

How dare he just stand there, not even looking at you, as your life seems to split in two?

“Don’t say that, Rafe. You don’t mean it…” You say, your voice is small, but you know better than this. Rafe doesn’t just say things.

“I do.”

Two words. Those two words were enough to let the tears pushing onto your eyelids fall.

“Are you serious? After all we’ve been through, you leave me because of some stupid belief that we will not make it?” You sigh, anger spilling out with each breath you take.

“Go, Rafe. I don’t want to see your face.”

He inhales sharply as if you just slapped him. Maybe you should’ve done that. Instead, you turn on your heels and storm into the house, not giving Rafe another glance.

All you hear is the engine running, and the quiet sound of your heart breaking.

taglist :

@amterasuu

[cutehoons02]

The Ice Prince loves the Ice Queen?

University series: Heeseung Jungwon Jake Jay

*pairing: pervy ice skating Sunghoon x queen ice skating Girl

*trope: Good boy/Bad girl - oppositive attractive

*synopsis: What would happen when the perfect world of the Ice Prince as well as one of the most famous, cynical and good skating boy of Korea must share its sanctuary as well as the ice chest with a "Bad girl" In all respects that she doesn’t care about the rules and that she likes to tease everyone especially Sunghoon? Sunghoon doesn’t want distractions but despite his ability to not mind those crazy rags, Y/n has a personality that defies every rule, attracting the attention of everyone, especially Sunghoon

*tags: Lots of tension between the two protagonists, they love to tease especially the female protagonist, sexual tension, Sunghoon stalked her on social media, possession, jealousy, fluffy, semi-public masturbation (massage room) (f. receives it) unprotected sex ( don’t horny ppl) pussy drink, pet names (noona,bad girl,doll) (ice prince,hoon,hoonie) Sunghoon is a little shy? a lot of kisses, suck, the girl is a bratty, Sunghoon is a little obsessed with her,Sunghoon is a bit territorial with her but slowly he understands that he likes it both physically and also carraterially because she’s the only one to keep them in front.

9.4k (⛸️)

(English is not my native language)

Sunghoon is already on the ice, as always at the perfect time. He slid with absolute grace, his face impassive while training. The few present observe him with admiration, but the attention of all shifts when the building doors are opened with a blow. A metallic sound echoes as a pair of skates are thrown to the ground with little grace. Sunghoon looked at the entrance of the arena and raised his eyes when he saw you "Y/n, The Ice Queen" the queen with dresses too short for judges, the social media queen while flirting with all her fans, and the queen of the ice rink for 5 years now, you won all the medals and competitions in the country but the only thing that was missing was the elegant behavior that all skaters had. Sunghoon was not at all happy to have to share his kingdom, especially with another "queen" because he was the ice Prince and would soon become the King of the track when he qualified for the Olympics.

"So this is where the legendary Ice Prince trains... What a bore, I was expecting something more impressive."

Sunghoon stopped and turned slowly. In front of him is a girl with her hair gathered in a high tail, the national team jacket thrown over her shoulders with carelessness, and a bold smile on her lips.

'And you would?' he said with a casual attitude, but inside, his heart was beating very fast. He knew who you were actually since he had seen you live five years ago when you were still a teenager stalking all your social networks. He saw all your races and, for a time, saved your TikTok.

"Oh, that’s polite. You should know that already. But let’s pretend... my name is Y/n. Your new training and college companion."

Sunghoon stared at you for a moment, then turned to catch up skating. You raised an eyebrow, amused by his indifference.

"Oh, wow. Not even a 'nice to meet you'?" you thought you were the ice prince, not an iceberg."

Sunghoon stops again, sighs, and looks at you with icy calm.

'If you’re here to train, put on your skates. If you’re here to waste time, the door is that way.'

You laughed at his bad joke, without breaking. You bent down calmly to put on your shoes, watching him from under your cloaks.

"Cold as they say, eh? Who knows if you’re so cold underneath even in more... intimate situations."

Sunghoon barely jerks, but he quickly comes together, clenching his jaw. For the first time, a shade of redness touches his cheeks. You laughed and were satisfied with his reaction.

'You’re here to skate not to flirt with me.'

"Oh, whatever you say, prince. Let’s see if you can keep up."

And with a fluid movement, you jumped on the ice, brushing it with confidence and lightness. Sunghoon watches you for a moment, then he squeezes the blades and leaves, determined to show you who rules on the ice.

He hated you, couldn’t stand you, you were his nightmare, he didn’t tolerate your behavior for 2 weeks now, your cheeky to always arrive late, to flirt with all the guys, and especially to be so beautiful at the same time.

He should not have been there that night.

Sunghoon had stayed longer than expected at the arena, mentally reviewing his routine, seeking perfection as always. But when the music had begun to resound in the empty arena, something within him had shrunk. He thought it was an intruder. An ordinary idiot who had snuck in to play on the ice or one of those idiots from the hockey team; but when his eyes were set on the figure that was gliding naturally under the dim lights, his breath had cut into his throat.

It was you.

Not only were you sneaking - which is already annoying enough and illegal for the rules of the arena - but you were doing it with a magnetic intensity, a raw energy that he had never seen in anyone else. Your blades cut the ice with frightening precision, your body moved with an innate confidence, fluid and dangerously sensual.

Damnation.

Sunghoon instinctively moistened his lips, hiding in the shadows of the grandstands as he watched you. He had seen a lot of your performances live but mostly for TV or on social platforms but you were something else. The outfit you were wearing was tight at the right point, leaving little room for imagination. The way the fabric adhered to your legs, the way your body bent into perfect curves...

He should never have looked at you like that. But he couldn’t turn away.

He always found you annoying. Too cheeky, too casual, too... everything. But on the ice, you were another story. At that moment there were no provocative jokes, nor arrogant smiles. Just you and the ice, one with the aggressive music that resounded in empty walls.

When you landed a triple lutz without the slightest effort, Sunghoon felt an adrenaline rush rushing down his back.

You were one of the best skaters of the new generation and maybe for him, you were the best. It wasn’t just admiration for your technique - no, it was something more dirty, more visceral.

How can she be so damn annoying out of the ice and so... charming on top of it? He wondered as he watched you as a stalker as you danced.

Sunghoon’s fingers clenched. He had to stop looking at you. He should have stopped you, maybe even reprimanded you for breaking the rules, for being a goddamn rebel again.

Yet he remained there, hidden in the shadows, with his heart beating a little too fast and thoughts that he should never have had.

Sunghoon had instinctively stooped behind the balustrade, his heart pounding in his chest. Damnation. He should not have been there. He should not have looked at her like that. And most importantly, he should not have had... that kind of reaction.

But it was too late, when the music stopped you looked up and found yourself a few meters away near the railing that marked the path to enter the ice rink. You whistled lightly and a sharp whistle broke the eerie silence in the cold air, followed by your much too amused laughter.

"Well... who do we have here? Maybe my number one fan pretending to hate and despise me?"

Sunghoon felt himself sinking. Slowly he looked up and found you staring down at him with a satisfied grin, hands resting on your hips as you swung your perfect hairstyle. The black suit stuck to your body after the forbidden skating session, and it did not help the situation in which Sunghoon found himself.

He tried to keep a cool air, but the redness on his cheeks betrayed him. And to make matters worse, he felt the pants become slightly... Luckily the balustrade provided a physical barrier between him and his decidedly uncooperative ego. He was very well equipped to do so.

'Don’t make me laugh. Why should I be a fan?' he mumbled, turning his eyes away from you.

You leaned against the railing, tilting your head slightly as you watched him with those eyes full of mischievous fun.

"Mmmh... I don’t know, maybe because you were staring at me with your mouth slightly open? Did you like the show, huh? Didn’t know you liked sneaking around, Hoonie." You got too close to him for his taste.

Sunghoon held his breath as you leaned over him, until you were a few centimetres from his face and then felt a very slight touch on his mouth. A shiver passed through him when your fingertip touched the bottom of his lips.

"You know while skating earlier, I noticed something nice..." you said whispering with a funny smile.

Sunghoon swallowed, eyes chained to his own, unable to move.

"Your mouth was slightly open... almost as if you were holding your breath." You slightly tilted your head, the finger just tracing the contour of his mouth "Or maybe..." you bit your lip, pretending to reflect

"Maybe you drooled a little? Mh, don’t tell me I left you breathless."

A heat wave hit him hard. Sunghoon felt his jaw clench as his pride was stabbed by those damn provocative words.

Sunghoon almost growling, tightening the balustrade with force not to react instinctively said: 'Do not say bullshit you did a simple performance, nothing special and that I had never seen.'

You woke up slowly, almost amused by his reaction and words. You touched the bottom of the lip with your thumb again, as if you wanted to check if there was something there.

"Nah, you’re fine. No slime... Shame. It would have been nice to see you so vulnerable, Ice Prince." you said in a sweet but mischievous voice.

Sunghoon felt his self-control crumble.

'Stop acting like a rebel you shouldn’t be here at this time, you’re here for 2 weeks and you’ve only brought chaos.'

You chuckled, getting even closer to him. "Hmmm? You didn’t seem like it. You look quite... upset."

Sunghoon swallowed. You were so close now, leaning on the railing with your face a few inches from his. He could smell your slightly sweet scent, in contrast to your bad girl attitude.

And then, without warning, your fingers crept into his soft hair, stroking it with an exasperating slowness. Sunghoon stood still, every muscle tensed like a violin string.

"They’re softer than I thought... very cute, Hoonie." Whispered, with a smile as sweet as it is.

Sunghoon cleared his throat, desperately trying to keep control.

'Stop it, Y/n.' But he didn’t seem to be very convinced by his own words.

And you, of course, did not listen to him and leaned even more, until your face was touched with a warm breath, causing a shiver along his back.

"We have a secret now... Woe to you if someone finds out, I like skating without those silly rules that I have to follow from how many jumps I do or the music I put on; it’s the only time of the day when I can be myself and release all the stress." You said whispering them near his ear now quite red maybe because of the glacial cold inside the arena or maybe because you had teased him enough

Then, with the same grace with which you had skated away. But before you left, you took a small step back and cast a satisfied look at him, purposefully shaking as you left the track.

Sunghoon stood still for a few seconds, unable to move, breathing slightly erratically.

Damn it. You were a problem. Big, damn problem no girl had taunted him so much in his life and who the hell did you think you were?

The party was lively, music resounded through the walls, and the boys laughed and joked while drinking something light. Sunghoon, for once, felt at ease with his friends; it was rare to see him relaxed out of the ice, but in the company of other members of Enhypen and TXT, He could forget for a while the pressure of the track and the upcoming race to qualify for the 2026 Olympics in Italy.

Sunghoon leaned against the counter, sipping his drink. Jake was next to him, talking to Heeseung about nerd video games. He was about to make a distracted comment when a familiar sound and laughter made him turn away instantly.

The voice and laughter of Y/n made him look up to heaven.

Sunghoon frowned, following the sound until he noticed a figure that should not be there. Y/n was friendly chatting with Jake’s girlfriend, laughing with that laugh he knew too well.

But it wasn’t his laughter that was driving him off the road, it was the way you were dressed. A black tight-fitting dress wraps your body perfectly, revealing more than he could bear without feeling the blood rise to his cheeks. Above, a short leather jacket that lets you see the shoulders and a black choker that seems to shout provocation. On the feet, high heels that made your legs infinite.

Sunghoon clears his throat, trying to look away, but his eyes seem to have a will of their own. It felt strangely hot, and it was certainly not because of the crowded pub.

<< Hey, are you all right? >> asked Jake noticing his mood change

Sunghoon looked up, trying to keep his cool

'All right. Just... her.' he nods to you, without hiding the annoyance in her voice.

Jake chuckled, amused by his reaction << Oh, Y/n, the ice queen? Yes, she’s friends with T/N. Didn’t you know?"

Sunghoon sighs deeply, trying to calm down.

How was your friend the sweet girlfriend of one of his best friends? You were the perfect representation of a "bad girl" always in search of rebellion and breaking the rules instead of Jake’s girlfriend was a vlogger where he made reviews of books full of love and cute things!

But when you turned and saw him, the smile painted on your lips made him even more nervous.

"Oh, look who’s here. My dear number-one fan! Don’t tell me you were following me here too, Sunghoon!"

Sunghoon approached with an impassive expression, but his cheeks revealed a slight redness.

'I wasn’t following you. It’s you who appears everywhere, like a problem that doesn’t want to be solved.'

You burst out laughing, completely ignoring his irritated tone "Problem? Interesting choice of words. But... you don’t seem so upset."

You approached him, pretending to fix a tuft of hair, but letting your perfume wrap it. Sunghoon clears his throat again, trying not to look at you, but the short dress and the way your leather jacket exposed your back didn’t make it easy.

Hoon clenched his jaw, looking down at you ' Don’t you think it’s a bit... too much for an evening like this?'

"Too much? Oh, honey, that’s just the minimum. I can’t go around in my skating suits, can I?" You chuckled, leaning nonchalantly against the counter, purposely showing the line of your leg.

Sunghoon felt a shiver down his back. He tried to think of anything else, but the mind played tricks on him, proposing the image of you on the ice, with those same provocative movements.

You came even closer until your fingers touched his arm

"So, Sunghoon. are you going to spend the whole evening sneaking around, or do you want to offer to keep me company? You know, just to show everyone how close we are... on the ice."

Sunghoon took a step back, trying to regain his composure.

"Stop playing and flirt with me is not your pastime. And cover yourself, you’re drawing too much attention," he said in a brusque tone.

You approached his ear, whispering in a low and provocative voice

"Jealous, Hoon? How sweet are you when you’re so protective of a girl older than you!"

You walked away, turning around with a satisfied smile, shaking as you approached the girls' table. Sunghoon follows you with his gaze, unable to decide whether he would like to shout at you and put you in your place or come closer to you again. Sunghoon to himself, biting his cheek

-It’s not jealousy. It’s... control. You just don’t have the slightest sense of decency. Right?-

But a fleeting thought crosses him, warming his face even more. 'Damnation... how can a party become a battlefield?'

Sunghoon couldn’t take his eyes off you, even if he wanted to. He watches you laugh and joke with a tall, brown-haired guy who seems too interested in you for his taste. Every time that idiot comes closer, you laugh louder, leaning towards him with mischievous. And Hoon knew it was obvious that you were doing it to tease him and drive him away.

Indeed, now and then your sparkling eyes would gaze upon Sunghoon, studying him with that brazen smile he knew all too well.

Sunghoon squeezes the glass harder than necessary. What the hell is she doing? And why do I care so much?

The boy leaned towards you, whispering something in your ear. You laughed again, letting your leather jacket slip off your shoulder, revealing your pale skin under the dim lights of the room.

Sunghoon feels the heat rising inside him, like a pressure cooker ready to explode, and in the end, he can’t take it anymore.

He gets up and goes across the room with long, determined steps. When he comes to you, you have understood that your beautiful game of provoking him was bearing fruit, he did not say a word while he looked at you badly: he grabs your wrist gently but firmly and drags you away, leaving the boy with whom you were talking slightly confused.

You were not entirely surprised by his reaction and you were amused, you let yourself be carried away without resistance with a satisfied smile on your lips.

"Hey, where are you taking me, Ice Prince? You don’t seem like the type to grab girls from the pub."

Sunghoon doesn’t respond until he drags you to a more secluded and isolated corner of the room, away from the eyes of others. Then, finally, he looks at you with eyes burning with frustration.

'Stop acting like that.'

You bowed your head, pretending not to understand. "Stop what?"

Sunghoon tightens his jaw. '

To act like this, you don’t need to get the attention of all the guys at the club. You don’t need to flirt with anyone who looks at you.'

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms with provocative air.

Flirting? Hey, it’s not my fault I’m beautiful and others notice me. Maybe you should get used to it, hoonie is my specialty flirting and getting everyone’s attention."

You came a step closer, the voice that was lowered to become a whisper.

"And then... who told you I wanted to get all the kids' attention?"

Sunghoon stops for a moment, his breath short as your words hit his stomach like a punch and he looks you in the eye, trying to figure out if you’re joking or not.

'Then what did you want to do?' You smile, this time more softly, and raise your hands to rest on his chest, sculpted tight in a black shirt, where he raises his toned chest. Your little fingers clasp on the tight black shirt, feeling Sunghoon’s irregular heartbeat beneath it.

"I wanted to attract the attention of only one boy... but it seems that he needs a little help to understand."

Before Sunghoon could answer you lifted your toes slightly and put your lips close to his neck. You felt a gentle scent of wild fruits and the smell of some mixed sweat from Hoon’s skin. You started with a light kiss, then another, until you felt him stiff under you, Sunghoon leaned against the wall, unable to move, as the heat spread over his whole body.

"Doll..." The word escapes him before he can stop, and is full of confusion, desire, and a touch of submission that irritates him.

Laugh softly against his skin. "So good, Hoonie. You know how to make me feel important."

Then you went back to leave another kiss on his neck, this time more forceful, sucking him slightly, Sunghoon clenches his teeth, trying to keep control, but every fiber of his body seems to betray him as he puts his big hands in your backside to draw you closer to him.

'N-Noona...' The voice is husky, almost appealing to him, invading you in all senses and you put your breasts into his chest and rubbed them slightly while you continued kissing him, giving little bites to Hoon’s ethereal skin. You wanted to brand him, you wanted them to understand that you understood that he had a little twisted obsession with you and you wanted him to find the next morning a nice gift in his neck, so he would be ashamed but also remember what you were doing.

"You like me so much, Hoon?" you ask, biting your lip with amused air.

Sunghoon looked away, the redness that warms his cheeks and it was lovely to see him so helpless, where was the cynical ice prince who spoke all in the pre or post-race. 'Be quiet.'

You woke up again, stroking his chest with a light touch. "Don’t worry, Hoon. It’s our little secret... remember?"

And with a last kiss on the neck, you slowly drifted away, shaking as you returned to the center of the room, and before you had gone away, you turned around and threw a kiss with your hand. Sunghoon remains motionless, with one hand still on his neck where you had left the mark. His breath is irregular, and in his head, there’s only one thought: I’m fucked.

University ice rink

Sunghoon skated with the usual elegance and precision. Every jump was calculated to the millimeter, every harmonic step. The ice was his kingdom, the place where he never made a mistake, his home, his outlet valve but at the same time of millimetric precision because if you were wrong the ice would not easily forgive you the mistakes. With the upcoming race for the Winter Olympics qualification, he had no time for distractions, had been raised by his family to win at least one Olympic gold medal and he had wanted her since he was 4 years old with all of himself and no one would be able to distract him from his n*1.

Or so he thought.

On the other side of the track you were doing your program, but the stern tone of your coach was getting more and more insistent throughout the block. Many boys and girls were giving you curious looks, all putting you on the pedestal except your coach and maybe the Ice Prince.

Your Coach exasperated yelled at you for the thousandth time that day -Y/n ! Your triple flip is completely off-axis! You have to close the rotation faster, otherwise you will keep landing on the wrong foot.-

Sunghoon turned to you to understand why for over an hour he only heard screams from the opposite side of the ice rink as you attempted to jump again. Your blades incised the ice with initial grace, but then, exactly as before, you misbalanced the rotation and landed in an unstable way, spreading too much the foot of support.

Your coach sighed heavily, reaching her forehead

-I can’t believe you’re still getting this item wrong. You had a perfect landing last week! You lack control and if you behave like this at the race next weekend they will beat all the newbies. Maybe you should look at how Sunghoon does it.-

At those words, Sunghoon felt all the glances on himself. It was not intended to intervene in your training, but certainly could not refuse to show you again who was the best and why everyone called him the ice prince of Korea. He was silent for a moment, then nodded slightly as if it were obvious.

With a fluid movement, he picked up speed and prepared for the triple flip. He had performed that jump countless times, and as expected, the landing was flawless. The dry sound of his blade cutting through the ice resounded in the track, and his posture remained perfect, without any hesitation and some children sitting in the audience looked at him with open mouths.

You crossed your arms, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Ugh, what a bore. Ice Prince is perfect as always."

Sunghoon turned to you, noticing the way you were passing your tongue against his lower lip with a pensive look. His coach immediately pressed you:

-Did you see it? It must be so! Try again until you do not exactly will not leave the hut.-

You sighed, then went back to the track and prepared for the jump and Sunghoon watched you carefully as he was speeding.

One Over. Three steps. Spin... and then a wrong landing again.

One more time.And again. And again. After the fourth consecutive mistake, your coach gasped exasperately and shook her head.

-What’s wrong today?! You’re distracted by nothing! Maybe Sunghoon should follow you step by step. Maybe his discipline will teach you something, I always told you that it is an extremely good example to take even if he is two years younger than you is the representation of perfection.-

Sunghoon felt a slight discomfort. He had never trained anyone and with you... it would not be easy. But then his eyes came on you, there was something strange.

You were wrong, of course, but the way you did it... it was not random. Your posture was too relaxed, your landing almost deliberately imperfect. Your mistakes seemed... controlled and Sunghoon opened his eyes.

Wait a minute... is she doing it on purpose? He thought as he looked at you, he looked better as you prepared for the umpteenth attempt, but there was a shadow of a smile on your lips and when you were wrong again, your gaze fell directly upon him.

Sunghoon crossed his arms, his eyebrow slightly ruffled as he watched you skate with an innocent air.

"Oops. I’m really bad today, huh?"

Sunghoon felt a shiver of discomfort mixed with... more. Why, damn it, were you looking at him like that? As if you were enjoying seeing his reaction?

He approached you slightly, lowering his voice in a barely audible tone.

'Stop acting like a child, you know I’ve figured it out you’re doing it on purpose right?'

You flashed your fake eyes surprised by his words, putting a hand on your chest with theatrical air "I? Why should I?"

Sunghoon looked at you. "Because you are impossible and love to attract the attention of everyone."

You chuckled, with a smirk as it bites your lip "Or maybe I like to attract the attention... of someone in particular."

Sunghoon felt a sudden heat rise to his head. His heart made a small leap in the chest, but immediately recovered and passed a hand through his hair, exasperated, while you threw him a last mischievous look before returning to the center of the track. Sunghoon turned to the coach, trying to look as impassive as possible.

-Can you follow her around for a few laps? Maybe learn something from yourself. -

Sunghoon nodded reluctantly but as he approached you, he couldn’t help thinking that once again you had found a way to make him play by your rules. And the worst? He was falling for it.

The hot shower water was running on Sunghoon’s skin, loosening the tension of his muscles after a grueling workout, the race for the qualifiers was close and he had to be perfect and flawless as always. No mistakes, no hesitation, no distractions, and with the head focused only on skating.

He passed a hand through his wet hair, sighing but nevertheless, his mind kept returning to something or rather, a person, you were now fixed in his thoughts and every day was a continuous struggle against himself not to fall into your trap.

You were the representation of the girl from whom he had to stay away because you were a rebel but also because you would mess with your problems.

You stayed to try the program even after everyone had left. Stubborn as you were, you wouldn’t give up until you had executed that damn double Lutz perfectly. Leaving the locker room Sunghoon with his hair still wet and a towel saw you there again, alone, your body moved towards the track to perform all the sequence of your race program: steps, transitions, trotters... Everything is perfect, except for that damn double Lutz.

Once again. And another time. And another time.

Unstable landing.

Wrong landing.

Failed to land.

Sunghoon leaned on the railing, watching you. You had your hair in a mess, your breath in a stupor and your eyes burning with frustration yet you kept going until you heard a dull noise: your body falling on the ice and then, the sound of a broken breath you were in the middle of the track, Collapsed on the ice with hands covering your face while you were breathing hard and crying like a little girl.

Without thinking twice, he ran to the locker room and quickly put his shoes back on. He returned to the track and slipped towards you, stopping by his trembling body, Sunghoon knelt beside you and with a firm but gentle tone said to you:   

'That’s enough for tonight.'

You looked up at him, your eyes bright with tears and full of frustration and with a broken voice, trying to keep control of the screams.

" It’s not your business, Hoon. I don’t need a babysitter, let alone a kid who thinks he knows everything."

Those words struck Sunghoon but they did not make him back, instead, he leaned down towards you and gently took your arms, trying to help you get up.

'Won’t leave you here to destroy you. No sense, tomorrow is another day and I’m sure you’ll do well.'

"I said I don’t need you!" Sunghoon wavered for a moment, but then his face hardened and he took you firmly by the hips, lifting you and you watched him with surprise as you tried to wriggle again but he wouldn’t let go.

'Stop treating me like a kid! I’m trying to help you, Y/n!' and he came closer, his face a few centimeters from yours. 'You’re not invincible. I know you’re tired. I know it hurts. But you don’t have to face it alone.'

You were stuck and your hands pressed weakly against Sunghoon’s chest but your voice seemed to have broken.

He looked at you with intensity, his dark eyes fixed on yours, and at that moment something inside it surrendered.

With a sudden surge of emotions - anger, frustration, but also a deep desire - he lowered his face towards you and kissed you.

At first, the kiss was hard, full of tension and anger. His hands were holding your hips tightly as if he was trying to make you understand how frustrated he was. But then, slowly, the kiss changed. He became sweeter, slower. His lips moved with a delicacy that contrasted with the initial fury as if he wanted to convey to you everything that he had not been able to say with words.

You were initially surprised but found yourself returning the kiss immediately and your hands relaxed on Sunghoon’s chest, sliding towards his shoulders and feeling the warmth of his body, the way he held you, and he understood that he was not only there to judge you or prove himself better. He was there for you. When you two separated, you were out of breath. Sunghoon looked at you and his breath was irregular and his cheeks were red.

"I’m not your enemy, Y/n. And stop treating me like one. I can be what you need... if you let me."

You looked at him for a moment, still confused by the emotions that had overwhelmed you. Then, with a light tired smile, you shook your head.

"You’re too perfect for me, Hoonie. I’m complicated and sooner or later everyone leaves."

But Hoon did not move from you and gently smeared a cheek on your face and pulled a strand of hair from your face.

'I like complicated things Y/n, otherwise, I would not have chosen to base my whole life on skating!'

Hoon came near you again and this time it was you who took him by the collar of the sweatshirt and slammed your lips in his, his hands went to lean into the tight of your leggings, Hoon wanted to hear you all by himself and he got a slight moan when you put your tongue in his mouth and at the same time pulled his hair. When you left for a moment you looked at him with a mischievous smile and whispers, with a roaring voice and full of intention:

"Hoonie... don’t you think this is a little too exposed?"

Sunghoon stared at you, puzzled, as his gaze wandered towards the empty runway.

"The massage room is right there. How about that?" you said with a slight whistle, pointing to the door behind them.

He hesitated for a moment. He had always followed the rules, and always kept control but with you every barrier seemed to collapse. At last, he nodded slowly, taking your hand and leading you to the closet.

The massage room was small and poorly lit, with a padded bed in the middle and some shelves full of towels and oils. The door closed behind you with a slight click.

Sunghoon turned to you, you quickly approached, holding his waist and pulling him for another kiss. This time it was you who took control, your lips moving with confidence as your hands slid under Sunghoon’s sweatshirt.

"This sweatshirt looks good on you, but... I think it’s better on the ground."

Before Sunghoon could answer you pulled the sweatshirt in one fluid movement, revealing his tight t-shirt and his well-defined chest, and wasted no time: your lips moved along his neck, Leaving small kisses and slight bites that made Sunghoon shiver.

'Noona...' The word slipped from his lips without him being able to control it you stopped for a moment, looking at it with a mixture of surprise and satisfaction.

"Noona, huh? You like to call me that, Hoonie?" you chuckled laying your hands on his chest and drawing little circles with your fingers.

Sunghoon determined not to let you have complete control, grabbed your legs and lifted you with ease, making you sit on the massage table. You looked at him surprised by the force with which he had moved it, but you did not have time to say anything. Sunghoon’s hands lay on your hips, squeezing them lightly as he approached you again.

'Do you think you’re the only one who knows how to tease, Noona?'

Smiles, but your breath was speeded up when he felt Sunghoon’s hands slipping into your leggings, stopping just above the fabric of your panties and you looked him in the eye, challenging him to continue.

"Prove it to me, Sunghoon."

Sunghoon did not make him repeat it twice. Your hands moved along Sunghoon’s shoulders, pulling his shirt up. When the shirt fell to the floor your fingers explored her chest with a light touch and full of curiosity.

"So perfect, like an ice prince, but with so much fire inside." You chuckled as your kisses descended on Sunghoon’s neck

Sunghoon shivered at his touch, but he was not willing to let you have the last word. With a sudden move, his hands fell on her hips and she took off your leggings with a brusque movement and found you only in panties.

'You... you’re the queen who knows how to make me lose my head but let’s see if today it will be you to lose your head for me, doll'

Hoon gently laid you in the cot and you obeyed immediately and leaned slightly lying on the edge of the cot he started to touch your thighs lightly until he touched the fabric of the panties and when he moved it slightly he saw that you were already Excited only for him.                           

'So pretty' cursed Hoon licking the finger he had just touched, 'Sweet as I imagined' moaned, fingers going on your clitoris to feel more of your moisture.

He moved slowly, sliding his finger over your swollen clitoris and rounding it through the fabric of her panties. There is an intense amount of heat rising between you two. The way you are positioned with him, his large frame that traps you between the edge of the cot, and his big hand pushing inside you doesn’t help you feel any less aroused. You can feel it becoming slippery the more pressure it puts on your clitoris. " Please...I need more", you murmured as if you were embarrassed by your own words.

'Since you’re so shy to ask this kind of thing Y/n?' Hoon has been looking at you and thinking about you like that for months. Let his finger get in and slide as you take off your panties, now pressing directly on your lump. Your back bows because it wasn’t the most comfortable position in the world but also because you were waiting for him to do more "Hoonie.." whimpering. He looks up from your pussy and is so happy to hear his nickname comes out of your lips in that position and sees your thighs twitch; you cried when he added another finger, Pushing it in and then pulling it out until only the tips of his fingers remained inside.

After a while he started making circles on your clitoris, repeating the action and licking his fingers before returning to work, he wanted you to come with lips that shouted his name because there would be no other guy and from that moment you were hers.

"Fuck" you moaned when he increased the pace of his fingers fucking you. His fingers worked so well, and you never doubted that he had talent when you looked at his beautiful hands with those super long, tapered fingers that were hammering you at the time and making you come.

Sunghoon saw your orgasm coming, your chest moving heavily up and down as tears stung your eyes, and he had to show you that even though you said he was smaller than you were he was the one making you have an orgasm in an almost semi-public area.

Your stomach was twitching and your legs were filled with chills, you felt your orgasm approaching quickly. You tried to warn him, but it took a clever movement of your bud with his thumb to push you over the edge. Your body trembled at the intensity of your orgasm, his nails stuck in his tufts of hair, Hoon put a finger around his lips and sucked it in front of you and saw how his smile was a little shy? But at the same time proud to have made you come, his big hands pushed you to sit down and he drew his forehead with yours while you were still breathing slightly exhausted.

You would never have imagined that he was so good and an unhealthy idea took hold in your mind and with courage you asked him: "Do you know what I think? We could be... friends with benefits. Would you like it, Hoonie? No complications, just fun."

The words came out as a challenge, but you didn’t expect the reaction that Sunghoon had, he stopped completely for an instant and then started to laugh, a deep and warm laughter that resounded in the closet. You looked at him in surprise and you punched him lightly on the chest.

"What’s so funny? I’m not serious enough for you?"

Sunghoon stopped laughing and leaned back towards you, this time taking your face in his hands and looking at you with a determination he had never seen before.

Sunghoon with a firm and serious voice told you. 'Noona, don’t get me wrong... but if you think for one second that I want to be just a friend with benefits, you’re mistaken.'

You slightly flashed your eyes, surprised by the strong tone of his voice.

'I want more. I want you. I want you to be mine and not of anyone else, if you can’t accept it, then tell me now but don’t ask me to be anything less because I know that underneath you like me and don’t make it difficult because I see how you look at me, Y/n."

Hoon’s words left you breathless. For a moment you just looked at him, trying to figure out if he was really serious. Then you smile, a sincere and slightly embarrassed smile something rare for you.

"I didn’t know you had so much passion, Hoonie, and that you were so territorial with me," you said in a whisper, as your hands slid down Sunghoon’s chest.

'Told you, doll. When I want something... I don’t give up and it must be mine and no one else’s.'

And with those words, your lips met again, but this time with a new intensity. There was no more hesitation, no more games.

The racing noise filled the arena you were sitting in a corner, on a bench with headphones firmly on your ears. The music was supposed to help you calm down but the knot in your stomach didn’t seem to melt.

That hateful little pastel dress made you feel out of place. It wasn’t dates, it didn’t represent who you were on the ice but to qualify for the Olympics that day you had to act like a doll. You wanted to dominate the track with intense colors, with clothes that spoke of your true essence: passion, strength, sensuality. Instead, here you are wrapped in a layer of blue dress that made you feel more fragile than you wanted to admit.

Immersed in your thoughts, you did not immediately notice the figure that had entered the room. Only when you felt a light touch to your ears, he pulled you back. The headphones slipped away, and there was Sunghoon in front of you.

'It seems that our Queen Ice is not so sure of herself today.'

You puffed crossing your arms, but the fast beat of your heart betrayed you, Sunghoon was beautiful with his impeccable black suit and some silver decoration on his shoulders, his hair was extremely fluffy and his sissy didn’t light up anything good. Sunghoon’s touch had been so gentle, almost affectionate, and now he looked at you with that typical ice prince expression: unflappable, but with a gleam in his eyes betraying something else.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m fine."

Sunghoon lowered his face a little, bringing it close to yours. One of his hands lifted and with the back of his fingers touched your cheek and you felt the heat rise immediately, but you tried desperately to remain impassive.

'Oh? Then why are your cheeks so red?' he said giggling

You stiffened for a moment and then, with your usual sharp tongue, I answered: "It’s just for the cold, stupid. You should know we’re an ice-box."

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by his reply. 'Really? Too bad we’re indoors, Noona.'

You felt your ears go up in flames. He was too close, too sure of himself that day, and it made you crazy. You tried to maintain your usual confidence, but couldn’t help biting the inside of your cheek, a sign that you were more nervous than usual.

Sunghoon watched you in silence for a few seconds, then with a sweetness that completely shocked you slid a lock of hair behind your ear.

'You don’t have to be nervous, you know? I bet you’ll beat everybody out there and qualify for the Olympics with an absurd score.'

His voice was so warm, so reassuring, that for a moment you forgot to provoke him and felt a shiver running down your back, but it wasn’t just because of the cold of the track.

"I’m not nervous. And I don’t need you to be my babysitter or my supporter anyway." Sunghoon smiled and walked away, leaving you with his heart gone mad. But then, with a suddenly darker look, he stared at you again, barely tilting his head.

'Okay, okay. But if you need me...' (came closer once more, his voice lowered to touch your ear) '... you know where to find me, Noona.'

You tried to answer with a sour joke, but he interrupted you with a lower, more dangerous whisper.

And Sunghoon with a sure smile continued saying 'And who knows... maybe, if you do well today...' (he stopped for a second, letting the silence full of tension make you crazy, then tilted his face even more, until he touched your jaw with his lips) 'and if you behave during the race, tonight... I’ll make you mine.'

You stared for a moment, the breath-stopping in your throat. Sunghoon’s voice had been soft, slow, insinuating. The way he said it, without any hesitation, as if it were a fact, made you vibrate inside.

You saw him lift his chin with a satisfied air before moving away, leaving you there, weak legs and heart pounding.

"Damn Ice Prince..." you said, biting your lip to hold a smile.

You were staring at the ceiling of your room, still incredulous. You had won. You had made that damn jump to perfection and qualified for the Olympics but what kept coming back in your head was not the echo of the public in delirium or the congratulations of the coach.

It was the voice of Sunghoon.

"If you behave tonight I’ll make you mine."

Those words had made you miss a heartbeat. Was it serious? Or was it just a provocation to motivate her?

You put a hand in your hair, still in the outfit from home: oversized sweatshirt and short shorts. You couldn’t deny it during the whole award ceremony you had looked for him with your eyes and you exchanged a friendly glance, but nothing more. Sunghoon had disappeared soon after, busy with the celebrations with his team.

"Tsk. I knew it, just a provocation." you thought, sighing."

You were about to get up to fetch water when the bell rang and you flashed your eyes. Who the hell could it be at that time?

With your heart beating harder, you approached the door and opened it without thinking too much.

And there, in front of you was Sunghoon.

Slightly damp hair, a sign that he had just taken a quick shower. The unbuttoned jacket and the suit pants fell perfectly on his athletic physique. But above all... that look. A look that instantly melted you.

You didn’t even give him time to say a word. Without thinking, you grabbed him by the collar of your jacket and lured him inside, closing the door with one foot before kissing him with all the intensity that you had held for days. Sunghoon was not surprised, but he kissed back without hesitation, immediately squeezing you by the hips and pushing you against the entrance wall.

The kiss was hungry, deep, full of all that had not been said until then and Sunghoon’s hands moved on your back, making you shiver.

You just took off, short of breath, dark eyes fixed in his.

"So it wasn’t just a phrase thrown there to motivate me, huh?"

Sunghoon smiled, looking down at your still-wet lips. Then he looked back at you intensely.

'Noona, do you really think I would say something like that without wanting it?'

Sunghoon wrapped your legs around his pelvis and you kept biting his neck and groaning him until he sat in your big bed you eagerly took off his sweatshirt and did the same with yours, his hands immediately went to tease your breasts full already turgid and began to tease the buds of your breasts now sensitive and you continued to run through his chest tonic with your hands and at the same time to lay kisses and mark it on the neck. An involuntary groan of satisfaction slipped from your throat as you felt Hoon tickling with one hand the entrance of your short, crisp shorts, feeling how his cold hands ran along the edge of your panties, and with a surge of safety you moved your hips, A light and insecure movement at first, but which made Hoon sigh against its length still fully covered. Hoon’s reactions were what you needed to continue and you turned your hips harder, making him throw his head backward against the padded keyboard of your bed; His eyes darkened when he saw you biting your lips and with glazed eyes he made you rise slowly from his legs and slid the short shorts down your legs.

"What are you planning to do me Park Sunghoon or Ice Prince" you said to ask between kisses and deep sighs.

'Thou shalt find out' murmur against thy lips. 'And thou shall love every second of what I will do to thee this evening. You felt your legs tremble and you rubbed against him even harder, making him moan softly and bite your lips hard. Hoon stopped your hips, pushing you down a little lower than it was enough to unlace his pants and a slight moan came out of your lips when you saw his Calvin Klein boxers slightly wet in the middle.

Hoon slipped his hand back into your panties, the tips of his fingers slowly crawling over the thin tissue tickling you.

"Hoon" moans.

'Tell me what you want' he mumbled against your mouth.  

'You must tell me, doll. Where’s the cheeky girl I met a couple of months ago?'

At that moment he liked to be a bit of a provocative asshole, finding fun in the way you react and your body trembled at his touches. Sunghoon slips your panties off and her finger finally makes contact with your clitoris.

"Please" you tried again, refusing to say it out loud.

'Doll I want you to tell me, use your beautiful little mouth to talk!'

"Hoon, please..." you started but failed again as he felt you now your shiny and excited pussy

"Poor ice queen, you can’t even use the words are you so desperate to have me?..." he made fun of you for all those times when he felt trapped with you

"Park Sunghoon, I swear to God if you..." your words were interrupted by a moan when he stuck his middle finger in your wet pussy, smiled when he saw you fight again with the words, Only because of him and was definitely a real booster for his ego.

'If I...?' suggested, provoking you again as he slid a second finger, bending it to hit that specific point that makes you tremble and writhe in his ears due to the stretching. You leaned forward, placing your hands on his chest and hiding your face in the hollow of his neck.

You felt a knot forming in the lower abdomen and bit his shoulder to relieve the sensation, moving your hips alone, chasing the peck he was giving you as he pumped and curled his long fingers against you.

Your groans became louder and more frequent, and Hoon took them as an incentive to go faster, always aiming for the point where you would react in the way he liked.

"Hoonie, more please" His name-related groans left your lips and you stuck your nails harder in his shoulders.

'Come for me doll' he whispered in your ear as you came, his name left your mouth like a song, while your body became even hotter and ready to have his cock inside of you. Hoon kept moving his fingers, slower this time to help you get off your high; When you relaxed a moment with slightly trembling hands you looked at him carefully and made a nod to you with the head and pulled out his cock that came proudly to his hips. His red tip shone for the pre-ejaculate, the veins sticking out on the skin, making you tighten your pussy excited, you were as unfocused as it was perfect his cock and you ran your tongue in your lips.

You grabbed his cock by aligning it with your pussy. You went down slowly, holding your breath as you felt it opening you inch by inch. His hands grabbed your hips harder, pushing you down to help you keep moving.

'Fuck you’re so tight, Y/n.' Groaned when he reached the bottom. Despite the urgency that Hoon felt to move, he remained motionless so you could adapt to his size. Groaning for the discomfort, not being accustomed to its size, but somehow the initial stretching was quite pleasant and you felt it already almost completely inside you have raised your hips, you waited a while trying to prepare yourself emotionally and you lowered yourself again slowly Hoon closed his eyes and bit hard on his lip. He wanted to take things at your own pace, but he seriously needed to take you and he roared slowly with the need to destroy you and have you all to himself.

You accelerated little by little, gaining confidence as you moved, but it wasn’t enough yet and your thighs were burning with effort. You tried to go ahead, wanting more grunts and whimpers from Sunghoon but you were extremely excited but at the same time tired when you felt him get inside your pussy all the way.

'What’s the matter, Noona?' he asked, caressing your hair to comfort you.

"Tired.... I need to have you inside me but you must take the reins" you whispered. After a few seconds of silence, you heard him laugh.

"The ice queen maybe a little spoiled wants me to do all the work? Where is the cheeky girl who teased me every day? '

"Please, Hoonie"

Sunghoon pulled himself out of you and he put you leaning on your pillows and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down so that you could kiss him again and surround his waist with your legs. Hoon can only think of how you will be his death, but that moment does not last long because he is pushing again inside you and this time he is seriously in charge and his pushes are not at all delicate.

Groaning louder, feeling it deeper than before until he felt his hand lay in your stomach and with a grin said to you 'Look how you’re taking me at this moment Noona, I’m hammering you so deep in' groans at his words and also by the intensity of how your pussy could take her cock divinely.

"More, Hoon" you asked and he happily acquiesced to your whining.

He holds your thigh, puts it over his shoulders, and places an arm on the bed’s keyboard to support himself, going even deeper. You feel your intoxication coming for the second time that night and unintentionally you get around him, making him growl and go harder.

You pulled his hair, coming again and this time Hoon followed you, pouring his sperm inside you. The feeling was overwhelming, something you had never felt before and did not imagine feeling so soon, much less not being in a relationship with this person that made you crazy every day.

You were lying beside Sunghoon, breathing still as you tried to recover, and could not believe how intense that moment was, like every touch, every look, and pierced heart. You sunflower on your side to look at him: he was leaning against the pillow, his hair disordered and his chest that rose and fell regularly, with an expression of satisfaction but also of quiet sweetness.

"You know... I didn’t expect you to be like this."

Sunghoon turned to you, eyebrow slightly raised.

'So how?' he said with amused

You looked down while playing with his hands.

"So... real. You were the only one who didn’t treat me like I was made of glass. As if I was something to protect, to keep away from too strong emotions or too intense moments."

Sunghoon looked at you intensely, his dark eyes looking for yours.

"With you, I felt human. You looked at me as if I wasn’t afraid to break. As if... as if I was enough, just as I am."

Those words struck Sunghoon more deeply than he had expected. He approached you by running a hand through your hair and then gently stroking your cheek.

'Y/n, you’re anything but fragile. You’re strong, stubborn and... honestly, you drive me crazy. But that’s what I like about you."

Blush, but do not look away, captured by the sincerity in his voice.

'It’s not now that I like you. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at you, thinking how different you are from anyone else. And... I’m glad you’re mine now. That we are... us.'

Those last words made your heart overflow and you came closer to him, clinging to his chest as you felt a heat enveloping you completely.

"I’m happy too, Hoonie. And... I promise I won’t stop driving you crazy." 'No doubt, Noona. But know that I will never back down. You are mine, and I’m not going to let you go.' he said with a smile.

Comments and rebblog are appreciated:)

©cutehoons02 all rights reserved 2025.

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[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 21

Wow! It always amazes me when story gets past 20 chapters. It makes it ending even harder. But ending it is. I completed the final chapter yesterday. It will have 24 chapters and then it one of the other fics I'm currently working will replace it.

Chrissy makes good on her promise to blow each of the kids' minds.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

~

By invite only is what Chrissy said. Holy shit. There were actual famous people here and Steve was freaking out.

Steve, Robin, and his kids were picked up in a shiny, black limo and taken to Wayne’s ranch. There the amphitheater was set up for Corroded Coffin to play. As evidenced by the black and gold drum kit with their logo slapped on the bass drum.

There were actors and other musicians there. Some pretty big names too. So that got Dustin and Mike sorted. They were freaking out and geeking out about each new person they spotted.

Then Max was tugging on Steve’s arm. “Steve. Steve I can’t believe it. He’s here.”

Steve looked over to see a man, maybe a little bit older than he was standing there talking to Jeff’s dad. He didn’t look like much, but the way Max was vibrating next to him, he knew the guy was famous in a way only see would recognize.

“That’s Steve Caballero,” she sighed wistfully. “When I was out in Cali, he was pioneering the skateboard scene. He’s so awesome.”

And then it hit him. What Chrissy met when she said that she could do something special for each of the kids with one event. And this was Max’s.

“Come on,” Steve said brightly, tugging on her arm. “We’re going to go say hello.”

Max stared at him in shock and tried to tell him she wasn’t going to do that, when Steve yanked on her arm and lead him over to Mr. Lawrence and Steve Caballero.

“Hey, you’re Steve right?” he said with his most charming smile. When the guy nodded, he continued, “My friend here is a huge fan. This Max Mayfield.”

Steve looked her up and down. “Long or standard?”

“Standard,” Max said immediately. “I’ve been working on my kickflip and I’ve almost got it down.”

Steve C. raised an eyebrow. “Where do you go to skate around here?”

Max chatted excitedly with him. “Doing street is the best I can hope for in Hicksville, but there is a quarry nearby where I go to practice my bigger stuff.”

“You should really show me while I’m in town...” Steve C. said as Steve wandered off.

Will was talking to a man and woman and so Steve started walking over that direction.

Will spotted him and pulled him over. “This is Stephen Cosgrove and Robin James. They do the Serendipity books.”

Steve turned his head to the side as he thought about it for a moment. “Is that the one with big pink and green sea dragon or whatever?”

Stephen smiled. “Sea dragon is a much nicer term than sea monster, but yes. That’s us.”

Steve snapped his fingers. “I’ve been meeting a lot of Steves today. First Steve Caballero who skateboards and now you.”

Robin and Stephen shared a glance.

“I’m a Steve too.”

They both “ooh’ed” and nodded.

“This young man was telling us that he wanted to illustrate children’s books,” Robin J. said with a smile.

Steve ruffled Will’s hair. “He’s really good, he was even teaching me a thing or two over the summer.”

“There’s children’s illustration exhibit in Indy while we’re here,” Stephen said brightly. “I think he’d be very interested in seeing it.”

Will looked up at Steve, hopeful.

Steve ruffled Will’s hair again. “We’ll have to ask your mom, but yeah that sounds great. If I can get the information from you.”

And both Stephen and Robin J. hurried to do just that with Robin J. handing Will her personal business card. “When you get a little older, give me a call,” she said with a wink.

Will waved dorkily at them and then let Steve lead him away. “This was so cool, Steve. Thanks for inviting me. I’m more of a ‘The Clash’ fan, but meeting my heroes is so mind blowing and to go to see the exhibit would be the icing on the cake.”

Steve smiled, putting his arm around the kid. “We’ll have to see. Your mom is still mad at me for the whole Eddie is a sugar daddy fiasco.”

“Which is bullshit,” Will huffed. “Even Jonathan thinks Eddie is sweet and this was before you got him that camera. As he pointed out Eddie was out of town and a lot of the gifts were cute and not over the top expensive.”

“I wish Jonathan had been successful,” Steve said dryly, “and the whole mess with Scoops would have been avoided.”

“Yeah,” Will said dourly. “Hop is still mad at her for the whole assault thing. Eddie was taking care of you and yes, she might have not have known who it was at the time, but the fact that you could come and go as you pleased, you were able to spend the money on whatever you wanted, and were really happy... like she should have let it go.”

They went to go find Mike and Dustin. It wasn’t long to find them, they were chatting away with Brian and Gareth.

Brian threw his arms out and cried. “Stevie! The man of the hour! Eddie was excited when you agreed to come out to this.”

Steve smiled at the bassist. “Like I could ever turn down a chance to see you guys play live. I did like the music when I heard it the first time.”

“Eddie told us about your musical indoctrination,” Gareth said with a huff of laughter. “You actually went out and bought heavy metal albums of your own accord, so I’ll give you that. Because I always assumed you liked us live because you liked the outfit Eddie wore.”

Steve quickly covered an ear each of Dustin and Mike and yanked them to his side. “There are children present!” he scandalized with a wry smile.

Brian and Gareth cackled as Dustin and Mike struggled to be released.

“Let me go!” Dustin huffed, pushing at Steve’s side. “I’m not a child!”

Steve let them both go laughing. “Yeah, than tell me what Gareth was referring to and maybe I’ll believe you, dweeb.”

Dustin shrugged. “Probably the same reason my likes Elvis. Young Elvis. The long legs and hips.”

Gareth and Steve shared a wide-eyed glance.

Gareth nodded appreciatively. “I can see why Robin calls you the genius child. Right in one, kiddo. How about you, Mike? You in it for the music or Eddie in tight pants?”

Mike stuttered and sputtered as he turned bright red.

“The tight pants for sure,” Brian teased, elbowing Gareth who was giggling.

“But I like girls!” Mike finally managed to spit out, his eyes wide and his fist clenched.

Dustin raised a confused eyebrow. “My ma is always talking about David Bowie and how he likes both men and women and doesn’t matter who his partner is, he’s not gay if he’s with a man or straight if he’s with a woman, he’ll always be bisexual.”

“I think I want to meet your mom, kid,” Gareth said with a low whistle. “I’d like to shake her hand. Sounds like the best mom, ever.”

Dustin blushed as he flashed a big grin.

“You can be both?” Mike whispered, suddenly shy. He ducked his head and picked at his nails.

Brian put an arm around his shoulders. “Let me introduce you to Jeff, he’s bisexual too. He’ll be able to answer all your questions.” Then he quietly led him away from the group.

“Congrats on blowing that kid’s mind,” Steve said with a huff of laughter. Gareth just grinned back.

Dustin scoffed. “I’ve known Mike liked boys since the fourth grade.”

Steve blinked at him for a moment. “Well then. Still he’s about to be opened up to a world of possibilities he’s never even considered before.”

“If he’s not as big an ass he likes to pretend he is,” Dustin said rolling his eyes, “then hopefully he’ll have asked Will out by the end of the concert.”

Steve burst out laughing. “I love you optimism, bud. But I think it’s going to take Mike a little bit longer than that.” He held up his finger and thumb and pushed them really closed together.

Dustin just shrugged and then started yapping poor Gareth’s ear off on whether or not the EP Kas’s Revenge counted as their first album or not, so Steve wisely made his escape. It was that he didn’t care about that sort of thing, but it looked like it was about to get into a lot technical stuff that would go over his head.

Lucas peeled away from Brian, Mike, and Jeff and spotted Steve. “Hey, man! Thanks for this! This is cool, too!”

Steve smiled. “You’re welcome. It might be a little unfair you getting two events like this, but I with all the stars and shit here, everyone is getting their own double dose!”

“Eh,” Lucas said, cocking his head to the side, “I’m not too bothered by that.”

Steve laughed. “You are such an asshole sometimes, you know that?” he said, squeezing Lucas’s shoulder.

“Hanging out with Dustin and Mike,” he said with a shrug, “it tends to rub off on you whether you want to or not.”

“That’s true,” he murmured looking around. “Hey, I thought your sister came, too. I don’t see her.”

Lucas looked around frantically. “Shit. I don’t see here either. I thought she was right there with me talking D&D with Jeff. I didn’t even realize that she had wandered off.”

Steve stopped looking for Erica and started looking for Eddie. He knew this place better than Lucas or him. He spotted him getting a drink at the buffet table and made a beeline for him, with Lucas hot on his heels.

“Hey, Eddie,” Steve said a little panicked as he neared the rockstar. “Have you seen Erica? Little black girl, pink dress, hair in corn rows?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie said with a grin. “Come follow me.”

Steve and Lucas shared a glance but did as they were told. Eddie led them around the house to a part of the property that Steve hadn’t seen before. Out here was more like what Steve had expected when he was told Uncle Wayne lived on a ranch. There were sprawling pastures and a beautiful bright red barn, like something out of the movies.

A little distance away Steve could see Erica with Uncle Wayne feeding a carrot to a blue roan, while a spotted brown and white horse tried to steal from it.

“Erica!” Lucas breathed out and he trotted up to her. “You need to tell someone before you wander off...”

Wayne looked down at her with a glare. “I thought you told me you had told Steve where you were.”

Erica turned back slowly to Wayne, wide-eyed. “Oh, maybe it was Eddie I told. Or, um...”

Eddie put his hands on his hips. “I know for a fact you didn’t tell me, the only reason I knew where you were is because I know a horse girl when I see one.”

“Uh-huh,” Wayne said eyeing her warily. “I’ll let it slide this time, Missy, but I catch you lyin’ to me again and I’ll revoke your horse visiting privileges.”

Erica pouted. “I’m sorry, Uncle Wayne. I’ll be sure to tell people where I’m going from now on.”

Wayne nodded curtly and went back to feeding the horses. “I don’t think you’ve met my horses the last time you were here, Steve.”

Steve smiled at him. “No, sir. Wasn’t even brought up.” He cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow to emphasis his point.

“Ah,” Wayne said pursing his lips together. “I guess I was a tad remiss in my duties then. These are two of my rascals. Jadis and Fledge.”

Steve snapped his fingers as he thought. “Those are from the Chronicles of Narnia, right?”

“Eddie came by his love for fantasy naturally,” Wayne said with a smile. “But why don’t you boys head back to the party, I’ll watch this one and make sure we get to the concert just fine.”

“With the promise I get to bring her back at later date so we can both see the horses,” Steve said with a grin.

Erica looked up at Steve with unbridled glee. “Oh can we?” she asked Uncle Wayne.

“As long as your parents say you can,” Wayne said with a solemn nod, “than that’s a promise.”

As soon as the three of them got back to the party Robin came dashing up to them all bright-eyed and excited.

“Ellie is talking to the Diane Von Furstenberg,” she said breathlessly. “Can you believe that?”

Steve only knew who that was only because his mother hated her.

Eddie lit up. “I’m glad she was able to make it. She’s Chrissy’s favorite designer. I hope Ellie gets a lot of good tips from her.”

“Can I run away with you?” Robin asked in wide-eyed seriousness. “I’ll continue to PA for you, I don’t care. But you know some of the coolest people.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “Turn eighteen and we’ll talk then.”

Robin jumped up and down clapping. “You coming with me.” She grabbed his arm and forced him to introduce her to some of the other greats that were there.

Chrissy came bounding up to him all smiles. “So did I win back the favor of the fair prince?”

Steve grinned. “Hell yeah you did! All of them have had their minds blown and then are going to be treated to one of the best live shows I’ve ever seen. And when I say that, that’s not hyperbole, me and my now ex-boyfriend went to a lot of concerts growing up. There is no doubt Corroded Coffin blows them out of the water.”

She grinned up at him. “Hell yeah they do.”

~

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[rosegolden13]

Of Bites and Bonds

Part 1 of a mini-fic series with vampire!Ghost x accidentally sired!reader

1.2k words cw: blood, mild gore, death(?) but not really, vampirism- biting and sire bonds, power dynamics, lots of swearing lol

You were meant to die. You weren’t meant to have bitten down on his hand when he covered your screams as he tore into your neck. In the thrill of the the feast, he had not even felt the way your teeth had managed to snag on the tough skin of his palm and draw blood. The frenzy brought on by drinking your blood was enough to block out any pain he would have felt. And when he finally pulled away from your limp body, the life sucked out of you, hardly a liter of blood left in your veins, he didn’t notice the nearly black crimson smudge by your lips, his venom already coursing through you, bringing you new life. He was far too busy admiring the wound on your neck, sparkling in the moonlight like liquid rubies. 

It was all a mistake. You were meant to decompose in that wood, not turn into a creature damned by God and abandoned by humanity. Do forgive him. He’s not even a century old, an amateur really. 

It takes the body a week to turn. A week of excruciating pain, the price to pay for cheating death. Only, you did not ask for this. You’re all too aware for those seven long days, senses painfully heightened beyond human limits. Body still rigid with death, you’re locked in place, forced to endure. The screeches of birds all too loud, the frantic beat of a deer’s hooves against the forest floor as it flees from your unnatural existence. When you’re freed from this delerious state of torment, an icy fever of a turning, it’s pure panic.

A vampire, that’s what you are now. But it should be impossible. They were ousted from your country years ago, policies put in place to send them all out and ensure they stayed out… Clearly, at least one did not get the memo.

Each movement is clumsy, too fast and strong. You’re stumbling on your feet when you finally manage to stand, leaving a dent in the bark of a tree when you reach out to balance against it. Scents and sounds are overwhelming- thousands of little heartbeats pitter-patter from the critters of the woods. There’s not much thought to your actions as you follow a feeling, a tug in your mind, lurching towards it. This strange pull is the only thing that feels right. Your teeth might ache, your body weak and starving, but this inexplicable tug, tug, tug feels like a compass guiding you home.

It only gets stronger when you tear into a clearing. The sounds of the forest seem to fade a little when you lock eyes with him. Him. 

He’s leaving a small cabin, heading down a gravel path towards a rusty pick-up truck, but he stops when he sees you. There’s a black baklava covering most of his face but you could recognize those brown eyes tinted with a slight sheen of red anywhere. They’re the only solid image you could conjure in your mind during your change. 

“You… You did this to me.” The words aren’t filled with as much bitter hatred as you hoped they would be. The memories race back all at once and the feelings along with them. Fear and anger battling with an instinctive knowledge that you need him. Where is this all coming from? 

“For fuck’s sake…” is the first thing he says to you, his accented voice thick and deep. He knows what you are, knows he made a terrible, terrible mistake. It would be the smartest choice to simply kill you. But just as you feel the connection, he feels the same. It would go against everything inside him to hurt you. “Jus’ my bloody luck. Why didn’ ya jus’ die?” His voice is a grumble as if he’s the one that has a right to be irritated by the situation.

“You killed me! You- you bit me and-...” The words are frantic and delerious as they come out of your mouth, the panicked confusion finally catching up to you. Before you can even get that far, though, he’s before you in a second and his large hand is gripping the back of your neck, pushing you towards his pick-up truck.

“Wait! You can’t just- I’m not going anywhere with you!” You try to duck out from his grip but he’s far too quick for you. He makes a fist around the roots of your hair, tight enough to keep you in place but not enough to hurt.

“Come on,” is all he offers as explanation, voice still carrying that annoyed quality. 

Fuck him. You raise your leg and then kick his ankle with as much momentum as you can gather. Given your new strength, his weight gives out and he lets go of your hair. Your eyes widen as you watch him land on his ass. Though it’s more than you intended, you take the opportunity to scramble away. 

“Goddamn, baby vamp… Come ‘ere.” He hisses as he gets up, brushing off his dark jeans with a quick and forceful swipe of his hands. You catch a glimpse of a flash of red in his eyes. His anger settles over you, crawling under your skin in a way that leaves you entirely unnerved. “I said, come ‘ere.” 

The words seem to reverberate through you and before you can even process why they felt like that, you’re walking towards him again. The actions are your own, but that compulsion to do what he says? That is instinctive. 

You shake your shoulders a little, trying to brush off the thick feeling his control. “What did you just do to me?” Your voice is quieter, resistance slipping through your fingers like you’re trying to grasp water. 

He doesn’t answer and it sends a fresh wave of resentment through you but this time, you don’t protest as he nudges you towards the car. Despite the fact that he killed you, seems to lack basic communication skills, and has some sort of sway over your mind, there’s a deep and seemly ancient part of you, beyond your rational mind, that trusts him wholly. And there’s an even deeper and illogical desire inside you to not upset him again, to make him proud. 

There’s no time to make sense of these bizarre feelings now, not as he basically carrols you into the backseat. Huffing, you settle into the seat, watching as he gets into the driver’s seat. You wait a beat for an explanation but when he just starts driving, you know one is not coming. 

Frustration building, you smack the shoulder of his seat, the leather easily tearing under your nails and the stuffing pushing through the torn leather in plush clouds. “You can’t just turn me into a fucking vampire, use some mind magic on me, and then not explain any of it!”

He doesn’t even react to your outburst, merely glancing at you in the rearview mirror before looking back at the road. “Buckle up.”

“Asshole…” you mutter, hesitating a moment but eventually doing as he says because not doing it leaves you antsy and jittery. You glare at his face in the rearview mirror and the scowl on your face causes your new fangs to prick into your lips. “Ow…” Reaching up, you rub the small hurt. 

You swear you can hear him let out a chuckle, the sound muffled by his mask.

Hope you enjoyed this because part 2 is being cooked up rn! Can you tell I love Twilight, The Vampire Diaries, and Interview with a Vampire lmao

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Collars Of Duty 5

MalinoisHybrid!Simon x reader Chapter 4 - (Chapter 6) Finally reunited again, Simon attacked you as soon as you met. Will this be the breaking point for you or can you work through it and help you both. ~ 8,8k words Content (might contain spoilers): biting, blood, attack, hybrid AU, mentions of torture, medical inaccuracies

A.N: I'm sorry it took so long. I'm pretty slow with updates. I hope you enjoy it. Although I am currently at the I hate it stage but I decided that I should consider it as good enough as it is. Enjoy. Also I suck at spelling so feel free to point out mistakes.

It’s absurd how the seconds stretch until they feel like minutes. The pain is excruciating but you can’t look away from Simon’s face. Your arm feels like it’s on fire, the stinging and burning sensation racing through it until you think you can’t bear it anymore and yet you have the mind to think about it. Instead of instinctively slapping at Simon or kicking him you stare. Is it normal to think this rationally in a moment like this?

It’s like your frozen in time. Neither of you moving, his vicious fangs embedded in your arm. His face is still scrunched up in a threatening display but you catch the flickering hint of fear glinting in his eyes. It makes you want to comfort him and you think you might be stupid, wanting to comfort a hybrid that’s hurting you.

Steps slowly draw closer and when you look to the side you catch sight of Nate’s lower body. He’s carefully, stealthily coming closer. In his hand that’s resting at his side he holds a syringe, thumb ready to empty the liquid into Simon.

It’s most likely filled with a sedative and instinctively you throw your free arm out and over Simon’s neck protectively. He flinches at the sudden movement , driving his teeth deeper into your arm and you wince at the way the movement rips at your flesh. A new wave of pain crashes through you and you can’t hold back a slight groan. Nate steadily creeps closer and Simon’s eyes widen with growing awareness at what’s about to happen.

“No.” You try to command Nate but it comes out like more of a pained wheeze. Still he stops sedative at the ready.

Simon’s eyebrows furrow his eyes flickering between yours, confused. He does not yield his hold on your arm and you breathe deeply through the pain. You wish it would just stop hurting.

“I need to sedate him, he’s dangerous.” Nate says resolutely.

“No!” You manage a bit louder. It might be only a feeling that makes you stop him but if Simon gets sedated right now it will only make things worse. Sure it will save you from this moment but you won’t be able to process it and work through it. It will be just like Phillip. Well maybe not exactly like it since Simon’s isn’t mauling you right now. He’s only nibbling on you. You almost make yourself crack up into hysterical giggles with that thought. His teeth hurt just as much as Phillips did. They’re just as sharp. But they’re not moving.

Forcefully removing Simon from you won’t truly help, you’re sure of it. Simon will freak when he wakes back up and you’ll be left with this memory of him. Attacking you, biting you. Even though his fangs are still sunken into your flesh the old scar in your shoulder throbs and you feel like laughing. Maybe you’re slowly going crazy from the pain. It seems to be everywhere.

Your head hurts where it cracked against the floor but you concentrate on Simon’s shallow breath. The way he holds your arm in his teeth. He’s not actively biting deeper and you consciously relax your body under him. Maybe it’s abnormal the way you assess the situation, thinking it through instead of fighting the large hybrid. But you can’t help but be thankful for it.

“It’s okay, Simon.” You say gently and watch his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. His growling stutters and maybe you imagine it but a hint of a whine builds up in his throat. He’s aware of you. You’re not sure why he hasn’t let go yet, but you’re determined to get this under control. With your current pain level you can still talk and think so maybe there’s a way for you to do this right, to do right by him.

“I know. I should have known better than to rush towards you. I don’t like that either. Forgive me for scaring you.” You continue on just following your instinct. Simon’s face betrays his surprise.

He huffs through his nose and looks at you almost pleadingly. What he’s pleading for, you don’t know. The aggression is gone but the fear in his eyes hurts almost as much as his bite.

“I know. I know. You didn’t mean it.” You’re not even sure what you’re saying but you don’t stop talking to him. His saliva pools on your skin, hot and sticky, or maybe it’s just your blood.

When his breaths get quicker and you decide to be more daring. Speaking helps but it’s not enough. The sight of the large hybrid evidently distressed breaks your heart. He’s growing more distressed by the second.

You need to try something. Anything. Slowly you move the arm that you protectively threw around his neck until you can lower your hand onto the back of his head. Burying your fingers in his hair carefully. It’s just a gentle brush of your fingers through his hair but a sudden wail tears from his chest like you hit him.

Once again it sinks his teeth deeper into your arm and you grit your own teeth against the pain. This has to work. You don’t know what to do if it doesn’t work and the pain is slowly fraying your nerves.

“I know. Shhh. It’s okay. You didn’t mean to, did you? I just spooked you. Nothing bad is going to happen. I won’t let them sedate you. I’m here now, Simon. Like you asked. Like you wanted.”

Once again you card your fingers through his hair, only a whisper of a touch until you reach the base of his left ear. He howls like he’s being ripped apart. Your eyes fill with tears. Maybe you should stop. Are you actually hurting him? But he shouldn’t have a wound on the back of his head. Your touch shouldn’t hurt him.

His eyes are wide and frightful but his jaw slackened lightly. Not hurting him then. Good, you have to continue.

“You can let go, Simon. You’re safe. I’ll keep you safe. You’re okay. I won’t even look if you don’t want me to.” The things you say barely make sense but you can’t stop, not when the hold he has on your arm loosens some more until his teeth are merely resting against your bloody skin. You’re not delusional enough to think he won’t bite down again at the sign of any threat so you keep holding still under him.

The base of his ear is unbelievable soft under your fingers as you rub it and he pants harshly against your arm an entire war happening behind his eyes. Another broken whine raises in his throat and you smile up at him. It’s wobbly and not really all that convincing but a smile non the less.

“No one will look at you. I’ll make sure you’re safe. We’re okay. I promise. It’s okay. You can let go. Nothing will happen.”

You swallow down the pain and nerves addressing Nate. “Right? You won’t sedate him. It’s okay. He’s okay.”

You cannot see Nate's face from your position but he shuffles a few steps back, clearing his throat. “Yeah uhm. Sure?”

Simon’s eyes search yours and ever so slowly he widens his jaw, his wet and warm tongue laving over the bite mark once, his breath cool against the wet skin when he whimpers. Some of the tightness in your chest dissipates as the pain lessens just the tiniest bit.

“There you go. You’re doing so well, Simon. You can relax. Will you let me sit up?”

He takes in your expression, scanning your face for something and you patiently wait. Slowly he pulls his head back until your arm is safe from his teeth. Then he closes his mouth warily. You match his pace and as he slowly retreats from over you, you push yourself up, wincing when you put your weight on your arm.

Finally you’re sitting in front of him, cross legged and he watches you for a long moment. He’s subtly shaking and you attempt to smile at him again but all it does it make the tears spill over. Still you push through even if you can’t see his expression properly through the blur. Smiling almost hurts.

“Well done, Simon.”

The sight or the words make something snap and he lunges forward. You violently flinch, throwing your arms up again freezing when you suddenly have a lap full of malinois hybrid. His big arms are wrapped tightly around your middle and his face is pressed into your stomach while he half lays on you, his shaking growing stronger.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” He’s shivering so hard your entire body is rocking with it. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” Your arms are still raised while he falls apart against you and you lower them slowly until you touch him. One hand presses on his back, which makes him in turn jump and bury his face harder against your stomach. The other hand finds his head again, petting him. He speaks through pained whimpers. “Forgive me. Sorry.”

You don’t know how long you sit there on the floor, your arm bleeding freely, soaking his shirt and your pants with your blood but at some point he stops shaking, stops apologizing through whimpers and simply holds onto you quietly. You don’t stop petting him through it all.

Nate is already looking at you when you look up at him. His eyes are wide, stressed and his tongue doesn’t stop tasting the air of the room. Your tears have run dry and your mouth curves up into a real smile.

“You’re insane.” He softly remarks into the quiet of the room but it doesn’t sound like an insult.

You blink at him slowly, protectively tightening your arms around Simon, drawing him in closer. He stiffens at that and then relaxes again. He’s awake, just not speaking anymore.

“Can you bring me something for my wounds?” You ask Nate and he looks at you long and hard in disapproval.

“You should go see a medical professional about it.” He advises and Simon curls more tightly around you his arms pressing him closer until his hold is almost painful. A second later he starts to extract himself from you, like he realizes what he just did but you hold him tight and he goes lax in your lap again.

“I’ll take care of the worst myself. I’ll see someone about it later.”

Nate shakes his head. “I don’t want to leave you alone with him not when…”

“I’m fine. You’ll be quick, right?” You interrupt gently. He nods but seems unconvinced. “Go Nate, or do you want me to lose more blood?” You ask with an almost teasing tone and he shakes his head again but begins moving.

“You’re insane.” He repeats and then he’s gone.

Your back starts cramping from sitting in your position for so long. Tenderly you stoke Simon’s hair. “Hey, big guy. Do you think we can move to the wall? Sitting like this is a little straining.”

He loosens his grip and it’s entirely ridiculous how you two scoot over the floor without changing the position you’re in until your back rests against the wall. You sigh with relief, relaxing some and your back stops screaming. That only making the uncomfortable pulsing of the wound in your arm more prominent.

Thank god that you have all the vaccines for dog hybrid bites. Courtesy of working with them and having been bitten not too long ago. Simon raises his head and you hold your breath. Somehow you expected him to cry but there’s no sign of it on his face. It’s dry and expressionless. He looks at your face, then your arm and slowly sits back up, examining it.

That’s how Nate finds you. He’s wary as he steps closer eying Simon like he’ll attack him any second and extends his hand with the little first aid kit towards you. You take it. Before you go to open it, Simon’s hand covers yours and you recoil like he bit you again, looking at him in shock.

His face is unreadable. “Let me?” He says it like a question and you nod mutely, watching him as his big hands open the kit and he gets started on cleaning the wounds.

Your heart jumps at every touch even though his movements are slow and steady. His big hands are surprisingly gentle as he takes care of the bite mark he put on you with practiced ease. Looking to Nate in bewilderment you catch him with his sight locked on Simon attentively. His tongue darts out every now and then but decidedly less hectic than before.

When he catches your stare he presses his lips together and you notice he’s still holding the syringe. Quietly you look at his face and then pointedly at the sedative and shake your head. He sighs audibly and Simon tenses again, like he’s bracing for something, even though he seems concentrated on wrapping your wounds.

You relax some more when Nate caps the needle. Simon raises your arm inspecting the stark white wrapping and the lets go, scooting back a bit and out of your personal space. Once again you’re locked into a staring match. Nate silently watches you two.

Soon enough the silence gets unbearable, uncomfortable and finally you need to say something, anything or you’ll implode.

“Hi.”

Simon’s expression settles back into a frown. Not in a talking mood it seems. Somehow that makes you grin. It brings you back to when he first woke up in the hospital.

“I just arrived. I wanted to see you as soon as possible and Nate was kind enough to take me to you.”

You give Nate a blinding smile and the snake hybrid shakes his head again. “You’re either insane or a saint.”

“I’m taking that as a compliment. Anyway, Simon, are you ready to move into our rooms with me? We have two rooms next to each other.” You offer and Nate takes half a step forward. Simon tracks the other hybrids movements out of the corners of his eyes.

“Now hold on. That’s nice and all but not happening. At least not today. I have to report the biting. If this was just about your relationship I wouldn’t object but we can’t move Simon into a populated wing if we don’t know for sure he won’t be a danger to everyone.”

 You can’t exactly argue with that, even if you’d like to. It makes sense and you just arrived. Maybe you missed something about Simon’s behavior that could be a threat. Even if you don’t think he is. He is pretty much exactly as you remember him. Although you have to admit to yourself that there’s some lingering fear at being in Simon’s presence, that wasn’t there before. You push it back down.

His attack was maybe a bit extreme but once again not the actions of a savage. If your judgement isn’t completely off, then it was simply an instinctive reaction to feeling threatened.

“Alright, I understand. Then…” You look around the barely furnished room. It reminds you a lot of ‘the cell’ at Rehybrid except it has an actual bed, a desk and chair and a door that leads to what you’d assume is a bathroom. Although the bare furniture is bolted into place as you notice.

“Simon.” You address the hybrid and his ears twitch in your direction. “Would you like me to stay the night here or go back to my room and come back tomorrow?”

You can see Nate open his mouth and level him with a flat stare which makes him promptly snap it shut. Simon cocks his head at you.

“He has a medical examination really early tomorrow, it’s more convenient if you…” Nate starts after all but Simon’s sudden and vicious growl makes him shut up.

You jerk around to look at the malinois hybrid. His expression is all threat again and aimed at Nate, his ears drawn back and fear clogs your throat. Maybe he is more aggressive than you thought. Maybe you’re a stupid softy and shouldn’t trust your judgement too much.

But except for the earlier attack he was relatively docile up to now. And his aggression isn’t aimed at you which makes it easier to judge with a level head.

Something isn’t right. He wouldn’t react like that for no reason.

“As his handler, I’d like to be present for that.” You state and Simon’s head whips back around to you his growl dying down his ears perking back up.

Nate sighs and drags his hands over his face. “Alright.” He glances between you and Simon and his face relaxes. “It’s getting late and I just want to go to bed. I’m getting irritated at all this because I’m so tired so stay or go back to your room but I need to sleep soon or I’ll pass out on you two or get mad and I don’t want that.”

You search his face and suddenly it hits you how obviously exhausted Nate looks. With everything that happened you didn’t pay any close attention to him. Sheepishly you look down and then at Simon again. It’s his call to make so you await his answer.

You two lock eyes for what feels like an eternity and finally you get to hear his rumbled reply.

“Stay.”

You nod your heart suddenly speeding up again but it’s not fear this time and you address Nate. “I’m staying here. Don’t worry about my stuff, I’ll take care of it tomorrow. Just go to bed Nate. I’ll be fine.”

The snake hybrid clearly has more on his mind but he doesn’t voice any of it, studying Simon and you who are still on the ground. A big yawn makes him finally leave for good but not before giving you his number so you can call in case anything happens.

The door clicks shut behind him and you’re alone with Simon.

Well, that was some reunion. You sigh deeply and let your body relax. Now that it’s just you two some of your nervousness returns and you have to remind yourself that Simon apologized for attacking you earlier. He also bandaged your wounds for you and had a breakdown in your lap so the chances of him attacking you to prove something are slim to none.

You’re glad you stopped Nate from sedating him. But even if everything went well in the end it doesn’t mean that your wounds aren’t rubbed raw. Now you try to hold all the ugly feelings that try to resurface down with rationality.

“Will you tell me what the growling was for when Nate mentioned tomorrow? What happened? Why did I get requested?” You find yourself asking. Skirting around the topic isn’t your thing and you need to know if you want a chance to do your job well.

Simon clears his throat and finally you can look him over calmly and actually take note of how his wounds look. The cuts on his face are mostly healed, leaving thin pink scars behind some still have a bit of crusting. You can’t exactly see the other wounds right now but his fingers aren’t in a cast anymore. Now they’re only taped together in a way that prevents him from using them too much and separately from each other.

“I trust you.” Simon says and that simple sentence slams into you like a sledgehammer. It makes you swallow against your tight throat and you blink a few times.

“What happened?” You ask again after collecting yourself and he huffs.

“Nothing.”

You raise one eyebrow unimpressed. “Oh really. Nothing has your hackles raised like that?”

He bares his teeth in frustration, gritting them and the sight has you leaning away from him slightly. He notices and lowers his lips looking at the floor.

“Nothing that warrants a reaction like mine.” He continues and you hum.

When he doesn’t go on further you gently encourage: “Listen Simon. I’m here for you. I came here to help you to be on your team. But if you want me to be able to do that you have to explain things to me so I know how to protect you best.”

He barks an unamused harsh laugh at that and you watch him as he stops and crumbles into himself, quieting down. “I should not need protection. I’m a soldier.”

Slowly, carefully you inch closer to his seated form. “I’m not talking about your strength. You’ve been MIA for months Simon. Whatever happened, you’re allowed to be affected by it. You’re allowed to be hurt and need help. It doesn’t make you weak or any less of a soldier to need help getting back on your feet. But I won’t know how to do that if you don’t speak to me.”

He looks back up and something in his face softens. He nervously licks his lips and begins forcing out words. “I was cuffed for the transport. As soon as I was here they wanted to do a medical exam. I was overwhelmed. I refused. They sedated me. But I was awake, I guess it only sedated my body not my mind. I was unable to move as they poked and prodded me, examined me. No one talked to me.” He shudders.

His explanation is short but it chokes you up and makes you clench your fist in anger at the same time. These fools. Fucking idiots and assholes. You start shaking and Simon looks at you concerned, notices your unshed tears and shakes his head.

“I don’t want your pity.” He almost snarls and if you weren’t so angry you’d flinch but your rage overshadows any other emotion, fills you to your fingertips until you don’t know where to put it anymore.

“I’m not pitying you.” You bite out and then breathe deeply to calm down. No need to raise your voice at him. “I’m angry.”

Simon jerks back, away from you and you quickly go on. “Angry at them! Your reaction is completely justified. I.... fuck I’m so mad I want to punch someone.”

That gets an actual laugh out of Simon and it startles you right out of your angry state. Genuine amusement dances in his light brown eyes and you can’t help but smile back. He has a nice laugh. It’s rough and very him.

“Do you even know how to throw a proper punch?” He teases and you lift your chin in mock offense.

“Of course I do.” You say your head held high. Simon chuckles warmly at that and you can’t help but grin at him. Some of the earlier heaviness finally lifting from the room.

A comfortable quiet settles over you two after that. The amusement lingers for a moment.

“I’m coming with you tomorrow. Just give me a sign if you’re uncomfortable. I’ll make sure they take it slow. I won’t let them touch you without your permission.” You say. It’s a promise.

“I didn’t mean to bite you.” Another hidden apology.

You look down at your neatly wrapped arm. It makes sense for him to be able to do basic first aid but you’re still surprised at how well and quick he did it. You shrug, your hand gently stroking over the bandages.

“I know that now. It’s not like it’s the first time either. I’ve had worse.”

A small growl builds in his chest but this time you manage to keep the fear back. It’s just a reaction to what you said. Not you. “What do you mean you’ve had worse?”

Instinctively your hand comes up to your shoulder pressing against the permanently scarred skin. Somehow that’s the scar you always go for as if it’s the only one Phillip left on you.

“Nothing important. You’re just not the first hybrid who bit me.” You try to keep it vague and you can see his eyes narrow but he doesn’t push. You’re not sure whether you’re relieved or disappointed.

Pointedly you look around the room taking in the little furniture. A small smirk settles on your lips as you look at Simon. “There is only one bed.”

Immediately a louder growl starts up in his chest and your smile vanishes. Okay that is definitely aimed at you and fear sinks it’s claws into your neck. “Hey, hey. I was only teasing. I will sleep on the floor. Don’t worry.”

He swallows down the threatening noise and looks to the side almost like he’s embarrassed by his own reaction. “No. You can have the bed.”

You shake your head and scoff. “Yeah right. I’ll take the bed when you’re the one still healing.”

His eyebrows furrow and you realize that that seems to be the expression he wears most of the time. He licks his lips his ears flickering up and down as if he doesn’t know what to express.

“We could share.” He says it so self assured you wouldn’t think he’s nervous about it if it wasn’t for his ears and his earlier growl.

“Only if you’re comfortable.” Your voice leaves no room for arguments.

He’s quiet for a long time mulling it over, frowning at the bed, and you almost tell him that you’ll sleep on the floor either way. When you open your mouth he grits out: “Don’t touch me.”

His tone is aggressive and not even a real answer but you simply nod. “I won’t. We can build a barrier out of the blanket, that way I can’t accidentally knock into you in the night. But only if you want that. I have no problem with sleeping on the floor.”

He doesn’t answer but he gets up and tugs the blanket off the bed. Silently he waits next to it and you guess that’s your sign to get in and sleep next to the wall. You’re not sure how you feel about the prospect of being caged between Simon’s large form and the wall but that’s probably the reason why Simon won’t slip in first.

You take off your shoes and crawl onto the mattress. The bed is obviously not meant for two so you press as close to the wall as you can. Simon puts one knee on the bed and then proceeds to spread the blanket over you in a surprisingly gentle gesture. Then he piles the rest next to you so it acts as a barrier.

For a moment he just looks at his work, then he grumbles something to himself, turns down the lights and gets in next to you. You note that he doesn’t turn the light off completely but that’s just fine by you. You prefer being able to see him and his intentions.

The quiet is tense but you don’t know what to say anymore so you just lay there staring at the ceiling and wait for sleep to claim you. It doesn’t help that your inner clock thinks it’s early evening.

Finally you can’t keep laying still like that and turn onto your side, craning your neck to look at Simon’s profile over the blanket barrier he build. His eyes are closed but you’re pretty sure he’s not asleep. His chest raises and falls too quickly for that and you watch the rhythm for a moment until it registers that he gave you the blanket.

“I’m not cold. You can have the blanket.” You whisper in case you’re wrong and he is asleep after all.

His eyes open and he keeps them on the ceiling. “Don’t need it. I run hot.”

You nod to yourself and tuck your knees in close so you don’t accidentally brush against him. Head relaxing back against the pillow so you’re left staring at the blanket. It takes forever but finally you do succumb to sleep.

You wake in the middle of the night with a gasp, sitting upright. You’re glad the light is on so you can see everything and your hand finds your painfully throbbing shoulder. It seems to have it’s own heartbeat and it’s beating in tandem with the new bite wound on your arm.

Guilty you look down at Simon’s stretched out form to find his golden eyes already fixed on you. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

He shakes his head and continues to watch as you press your hand to your chest and do your breathing exercise to calm back down. You don’t like that he sees you like this. Not when he signed for you to be his handler. You’re supposed to be his rock and have authority. Can he even take you serious when he gets to see you struggle like this?

Nothing on his face gives away what he thinks as you slowly find back to your own body. You check the barrier between you two and find it intact. You can’t help the sigh of relief that you let out at that and you catch the slightest movement of Simon’s ears.

Happy to escape his scrutinizing gaze you lay back down and once again you’re left staring at the blankets. How you wish you could reach out and touch him, reassure yourself and him but he asked you not to so you tuck your hands in close to your chest and close your eyes.

Movement of the fabric has you opening them again. You turn your head and see Simon peek over the barrier. He offers no comment but carefully arranges the blanket back over your body. In your panicked state you had thrown it off you. Again without so much as brushing his fingers against you. Once he’s satisfied that you’re covered properly he lays back down and you find yourself snuggling more into the blanket, pressing just the tiniest bit closer to the barrier. If you concentrate enough you can imagine that his warmth seeps through the thick fabric and settles around you.

You wake in the morning to a strange pressure against your front. It’s comforting but confusing because the blanket barrier shouldn’t be this unyielding. Your open eyes and don’t see anything besides the pristine white of the cover for a moment until your realize that you can see Simon’s shoulder rise and fall mere centimeters from you.

Now you’re wide awake, your breath hitching. The blanket is still firmly in place between the two of you and no part of you touches but Simon is curled up on his side too, pressed against the blanket just like you and although it separates you two you can feel his chest rising and falling against it. You can feel his legs against yours through it and for a second you think about getting up and putting as much distance between you and his sleeping form as possible.

A moment later you almost laugh at yourself while heat spreads through your cheeks. You crane your neck trying to see if Simon’s head peeks over the top of the barrier. It does.

Your eyes lock and you exhale on a rush. He’s awake.

Neither of you move and you can hear you blood rushing in your ears at his proximity. You’re sure if it weren’t for the thick cover between you you’d die of a heart attack. How his closeness can be stifling and comforting at once is a mystery to you but you don’t move either. Maybe it’s because you’re frozen in fear.

But the beat of your heart doesn’t spell out fear.

“Good morning.” You whisper. Instead of an answer the pressure against your front increases for a moment, then he rolls away from you and sits up, rubbing his palms over his tired face.

You find yourself doing the same and checking the time. It’s ridiculous how early you woke up but Simon’s already on his feet, tension in the harsh lines of his body and stretches for a moment his ears pressing flat against his head at his big yawn and you can’t help but smile. Definitely cute despite his size.

He catches your expression and seems confused. Instead of offering an explanation you fondly shake your head and get up too. Both of you silently wash up in the bathroom. It’s comfortable and you find only the faintest traces of yesterdays fear left in you. Somehow Simon manages to put you at ease, despite his attack.

It’s not long before Nate appears. He opens the door slowly and peeks inside. Once he sees you the relief is visible on his face and he steps in fully.

“Thank god, I was worried I’d find you in shreds.”

The way he says it so earnestly makes you giggle and Simon’s almost always present frown deepens. “It’s time for Simon to go to the doctor’s.”

Simon’s entire demeanor changes and he backs up against a corner. His lips peel back and Nate’s expression turns sad.

He opens the door wider and two more men step in. Apparently they also work at the center. One holds a muzzle the other one a collar and a leash and Nate once again has a sedative in hand. Your eyes widen and you step in front of Simon, very aware of him snarling behind you. Putting yourself between him and the men is probably stupid especially since you can’t see what he’ll do next but you can’t have them adding to his stress.

You raise your hands placatingly. “Gentlemen, please. This is hardly necessary.”

One of the guys scoffs. “Tell that to him. He’s not allowed out of this room without leash and muzzle but he won’t put it on. There is no other way. I sure as hell won’t suffer another attack from him. And we don’t have the time for discussions.”

Now it’s your turn to frown almost scowling at them. “Surely you can spare a few more minutes if it’s for the sake of one of the hybrids who’s supposed to heal here?” You say, some venom seeping into your tone.

You’re aware that you’re new here and hardly endearing yourself to your presumed co-workers but you’re here for Simon. Not for them. They roll their eyes but stay back and you mull over your options.

“Leave the leash and muzzle here and out. All of you.” You say in a commanding voice that you’re pretty sure you have no right to wield. Yet they listen and you catch Nate taste the air and nod at you a slight smile on his lips.

When the door closes you turn on your heels and meet Simon’s angry expression.

“You don’t want the leash and muzzle?” You question, voice soft once again.

He shakes his head his canines still exposed and you remember how they ripped at your flesh. The phantom pain shoots through your entire body this time and you square your shoulders. It’s time to be his handler. You don’t have the luxury of wallowing in self pity.

“I’m afraid there is no way around it at this point in time.” He straightens up further and his growl redoubles.

You raise your hands. “Simon listen to me.” He’s staring through you, he’s probably not really listening, trapped somewhere in his racing thoughts so you raise your voice slightly. “Simon!”

He starts, his ears coming forward for a moment before he goes back to his aggressive stance.

“I do not want them to hurt you. But I need you to let the doctor check up on you. I promise I will not let anything bad happen. I promise I will protect you. But if you want anything to go differently than before you’ll have to take the muzzle and leash.” You explain. You hate that there is no other way. You just arrived, you have no idea how necessary the check up is and you can’t refuse on his behalf when you don’t know whether he’s healed enough.

He considers you, hatred in his eyes and you try not to let it burn you. It’s such a heavy contrast to the way he looked at you earlier when he peeked at your over the cover. It’s such a difference to when you’re alone in a safe little bubble you two get to design by yourselves.

You exhale heavily and take the leash and muzzle in hand before turning back to Simon. He eyes the two devices like they’re meant to torture him.

You hold up the muzzle, showing it to him and he physically steps back. Instead of going after him, you open the muzzle at the back. “Look. This is how you get it open. It’s designed so you can take it off yourself. No one can force you to keep it on. It’s meant as a helpful device to keep you from hurting others in a stressful moment because often the biting happens on instinct and hybrids regret it afterwards.”

His eyes flicker down to your bandaged arm and then fixate back on the muzzle.

“I won’t even need to touch you to put it on. You can do it yourself.” You continue in the softest voice you can muster. Then you show him the leash. He doesn’t retreat further but the fire in his eyes burns even brighter.

You show him how the collar can be opened and closed. “You can also put this on yourself. I will not let anyone else hold the leash.”

It’s kind of pointless, you know he doesn’t want you to hold the leash just as much as he doesn’t want the men in front of the door to hold it. But at least you’ll hold it softly.

You hold the leather leash up. “I will not yank on it or choke you with it. I will only hold it so we’re connected and I can keep you from getting hurt. I will lead you with a gentle hand and never towards harm.”

Silence falls over the room and you realize that he stopped growling during your explanation. You said what you could, now it is up to him. You can feel your pulse thrum in your neck a silent plea. Please trust me. Let me lead you. Let me show you it can be different than what you experienced so far.

You offer it all to him in your outstretched hands and wait. There is nothing else you can do besides ask him to comply. Sure you’re the authority but only if Simon wants you to be. You hope he remembers that he signed the handler-hybrid papers first. You hope he remembers that he said he trusts you.

His legs carry him towards you and your breath hitches. There’s sweat on his forehead and you stay still as a statue while he takes the muzzle. Carefully he opens and closes the latch a few times, making sure it’s easy to operate. Then he slips it over his face locks and unlocks it at least five more times before he fastens it. His chest heaves with harsh pants as he takes the leash from your hands next and you lower them slowly so you don’t spook him.

Once again he tests the buckle and then fastens the collar around his neck. You notice that he left plenty of room which is technically not how he’s supposed to wear it but you decide not to address it.

His eyes find you but they’re slightly unfocused and you speak to him again. “Well done, Simon. Thank you.”

He jerks back at your words his eyes wide and his panting stops. You’re not sure whether it’s the praise or the fact you expressed gratitude but you leave it at that.

Slowly you hold out your hand, waiting for him to place the leash in your hold instead of taking it up yourself. It looks comically thin in his large palm as he grabs the end and clenches his fist around it. Patiently you wait giving him what you hope is a reassuring smile.

Tensing up even more he places the end in your hand and plants his feet as if he expects you to jerk him forward. Loosely you curl your own fist around the leather and let your arm rest relaxed against your side. The grin you gift him with feels silly with how bright it is but you’re incredibly proud of the big hybrid.

“Follow me.” You softly command testing how he’ll react to you expecting him to follow your words without making it a request. To your surprise he easily falls into step, walking towards the door and waits patiently when you open it.

You stay in front of him and address the men in the corridor who stare at the both of you like you suddenly grew multiple heads. “Do not touch him and stay in front of us, leading the way.”

Nate recovers first, grinning widely and in his slightly reptilian face it looks almost evil. “I knew it.” He hisses delighted and turns to lead the way, the two other guys following behind not even arguing with you at this point.

Simon walks behind you and you turn to him without halting your footsteps. “Come here. Next to me.”

His long legs eat the distance and he walks along beside you, the leash hanging loosely between you. Simon’s face is set into a frown and there’s still sweat beading at his hairline but his breathing is at a frequency that doesn’t worry you and you hum in satisfaction. The ear closest to you swivels towards the sound for a second.

It doesn’t take long until you’re in the doctors office and it makes you feel slightly ridiculous that you have two grown men in addition to Nate accompany you. The doctor gapes at you and Simon, eyes comically wide while looking between you two and the way the large hybrid follows your lead.

She stands up gives you a curt hello and snaps on latex gloves. “Let’s get this over with.”

You frown at her tone and as soon as she stands up Simon starts growling, like a ferocious beast, backing up a bit. The doctor sighs and nods at the men who accompanied you. “Sedate him.”

You straighten up. “Don’t!” You command. The men look between you and the doctor unsure who to listen to. Narrowing you eyes you take a small step in front of Simon. “There is no need to sedate him.”

She clicks her tongue at you and rests her weight on one leg, pushing out her hip. “You’re his new handler? You arrived when? Yesterday? I know how to treat my patients now step aside and let us do our damn job.”

Her tone almost makes you want to cower, not one for confrontation, but you remind yourself why you’re here. “I do not mean to disrespect but I brought him here of his own free will without any need for sedation so I’d really appreciate it if we could work together to make sure my charge is comfortable during the examination.”

She almost scoffs at you and takes a step closer, Simon flinches and you hold out your hand, stopping her from taking another step. Way to go. It’s your first day and you’re already pissing of personnel you’re supposed to work with. But you cannot let it slide, not with the way Simon reacts. After what he told you, you’re certain that there is a reason for it.

“You’re the one who isn’t working with me. So step aside and let me do my job. A job you know nothing about.” Her tone is sharp, biting and it makes your hand itch to slap the arrogance out of her.

You square your shoulders and gather all the leftover confidence you can find in your body. “No. Not when my charge is uncomfortable. Are there any other doctors at this center or do we have to find one who doesn’t work here?” You calmly answer and her mouth drops open.

Something flashes in her eyes and before she can respond Nate steps forward placatingly lifting his hands. “Hey now. It’s a perfectly reasonable and normal request. Yes there are other doctors. We’ll ask for someone else.”

The Doctor grits her teeth in displeasure but doesn’t argue against Nate and you raise your brows. Interesting. Nate seems to be in a position of authority. Breed wise he’d be supposed to be a companion hybrid. But he evidently works here and holds a higher position than some humans.

His hand finds your shoulder and squeezes briefly. Then he escorts the doctor out of the room, telling you he’ll be back soon with someone else.

The door closes behind the two of them and you’re left with Simon and the other two guys. You exhale heavily, your shoulders dropping and turn to Simon. His shirt is soaked with sweat on his chest but now that the doctor left he seems to slowly come back to himself.

Honey coloured eyes regard you as you ask him if he’s okay. The nod is slow but enough to reassure you and you don’t have to wait for long until the door opens again and Nate steps in with a middle-aged man. His hair is black and brushed back, some stray grays at his temples but his face is so kind it immediately puts you at ease.

“Welcome. You must be his new handler. I’m glad you could make it. Please take a seat. I’m Doctor Graham.”

You stay on your feet but give him a friendly smile and a nod. Mentally you pat your back for standing your ground because Simon’s staying quiet, seemingly not as stressed by him. “Yes. I’m happy I can be here. What’s the plan for today's exam?”

At that word Simon shifts on his feet. You wish you could put a reassuring hand on his shoulder but he doesn’t want you to touch him, so you don’t.

“I need to check his wounds for inflammation and their status of healing.”

You nod and the doctor gestures at the examination table. You look at Simon and try to seem as reassuring as possible. “Go on, sit down.”

It surprises you anew when he listens and parks himself on the table. The doctor blinks owlishly at the scene and something akin to gratification spreads in your chest. Look at this, look at what a well behaved hybrid he is and look how wrong you all judged him, you think grimly.

“Please take your shirt off, Simon.” The doc asks and to your surprise Simon looks at you his head slightly tilted.

The weight of his questioning gaze almost makes you crumble to your knees. It’s like he’s testing you. You think back to the hospital. How distressed showing skin made him and you look at Nate and the other two men in the room.

“Doctor Graham, I apologize for the trouble but could you be so kind as to send our audience away. I do not think it is necessary to let them witness the examination.”

The Doc startles in surprise looks around the room and then does as you say. Finally it’s just the three of you and you nod at Simon. “Can you take it off?”

He swallows audibly and slowly his hands go to the hem of his shirt. The hesitation makes you nervous and you wish you could prevent him from having to do this. Before he begins undressing you turn to the Doctor again.

“I’m sorry but is there another way we can do this? I’d like to keep him from harm. Is there a way for this to work without us watching him?” You pray the doctor won’t brush you off. Hopefully your continuous questions and wishes don’t annoy him.

He smiles, crow feet growing more prominent around his eyes and he thinks. Simon’s frozen with his hands on his shirt. It doesn’t look like you’re making an enemy here so you continue.

“If the wounds have been okay up to now maybe he could check them following your instructions without us watching and he can tell you what you need to know?”

Both the Doctor and Simon’s gaze weigh on you and you wish you could shrivel up and disappear but you promised Simon to protect him and you intend to follow through with it.

Doctor Graham looks over a file, scanning the information. You hold your breath and then the older man nods slowly. “Yes, that could work. But he’d have to speak to me for that.”

“Simon?”

His nostrils flare and he nods. “Yes.”

Once again the doctors blanks, then he seems to remember where he is and turns around with his chair. You step closer to Simon and let go of the leash. “I’ll be right here. Just do as the Doc says. No one will look at you.” You quietly instruct well aware that the Doctor can hear you anyway in the dead silent room.

You turn around and the sound of fabric rustling makes you clench your fist. You watch the doctor look at a chart. “Do you have any wounds that feel tender or hot?”

“No.”

He nods and writes something down then he proceeds to lead Simon through the process of checking every wound even instructing him how to check his ribs and fingers. Somehow they manage with Simon’s one word answers and you find yourself slowly relaxing.

Doctor Graham is professional but warm and it makes you feel like crying. It’s absurd how kindness makes your eyes wet but the female doctors harshness didn’t. Once Simon is dressed again you turn back around and give him an approving nod.

Doctor Graham looks up. “I need to rewrap your fingers, Simon.” He calmly states. You expect Simon to grow agitated but he simply nods, holding out his fingers.

The process makes him flinch whenever the doctor touches him but it barely takes a minute until it’s done. Expectantly you hold out the hand for Simon’s leash again and he drops the end into your palm so you can grab it again. You wait for the Doctors dismissal, instead he kindly smiles at you and points at the examination table.

“Your turn. Let me take a look at your arm.”

Bewildered you look at your neatly wrapped arm, having completely forgotten about it. Something about that makes you laugh quietly and you let go of Simon’s leash again. The big hybrid parks himself against a wall and watches as the Doctor unwraps your arm.

The bite looks angry, the wounds deceptively small but the skin and flesh are black and blue, bruised all over and tender to the touch. You can feel Simon’s eyes on the wound like a physical touch while the practiced hands of the doctor check the wound, put some ointment on it and rewrap it.

It’s honestly not surprising when he tells you that your bones probably took some damage too, although not enough to break and that you should take it easy on that arm for a while.

Finally you’re all done and Simon comes up to you, handing you the leash. Before you go, you address the Doctor once more. “Thank you so much for being so accommodating, doctor. And I’m sorry if I caused any trouble by asking for you.” You don’t know how to explain further without going on a tangent but his lips quirk up and he nods.

“It’s not a problem. We’re here to help. And please, just call me Graham without the doctor. We’re coworkers now.” His hand is warm as it engulfs yours when you say goodbye.

Nate is still waiting outside and before you know it you’re back in Simon’s little room. You let go of the leash and beam up at him. “You did so well Simon. I’m really proud of you.”

Before you can add anything he’s already ripped the muzzle off his head and unbuckled the collar letting it all drop to the floor. He takes a few steps back and shudders. You watch him concerned but he seems to calm down soon enough and once Nate deems it safe he turns to you.

“The handler management wants to talk to you. I reported the attack and initially they wanted to keep him locked up here but I took the liberties of telling them about this morning too and they want to talk to you before making their decision. We can’t keep him here forever and expect him to make any progress.”

[wordsofelie]

🔭mars

part of my observatory event, requested by @dearru <3

iwaizumi hajime x f!reader

summary: you have the biggest crush on your neighbour—turns out he goes to the same gym as you.

content warnings: time skip setting, fluff, iwaizumi hajime is too beautiful for this world

words count: 1.3k

“I swear I’ve never seen something so magnificent,” you say in a fierce whisper.

Your best friend groans on the other end of the call. “Are you talking about that guy again?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“What is ridiculous?” she asks, already exasperated, hoping you’ll finally change the subject.

“His awesomeness. This morning, he was on his balcony, hanging out the sheets and still he looked so cool and-”

“Oh god, I’m hanging up now.”

She should be used to it by now. For weeks, your not-so-subtle (and maybe slightly overdramatic) crush on your new neighbour has been the only thing on your mind—and on your lips. But you’re not the one to blame. The man is a pleasure to your eyes—in an unfair kind of way.

You first noticed him when he moved in two months ago.

His arms were stacked with cardboard boxes, his short hair was tousled from the summer heat and a few strands were clinging to his forehead. You were heading to the lift when he walked past, barely glancing up as he unlocked the apartment right next to yours. His brows were knitted in a frown, but the moment he noticed you, a quiet smile tugged at his lips. And you swore you’d never seen such beauty before.

You mumbled something like “good morning”, although you don’t even know if it reached his ears since you hastily turned your gaze away and stepped into the lift.

Then, you started noticing him everywhere.

In the hallway, where he nodded politely but never said much. At the mailboxes, where he always grabbed his letters with an effortless coolness. On his balcony, where he stretched after runs, wearing nothing but a tank top and shorts that should probably be illegal.

His balcony isn’t directly aligned with yours—it’s angled just enough that, from your couch, you can see straight into his living room. So really, it’s not your fault if you watch him sometimes. And yes, on the rare nights when you let curiosity get the best of you, you find yourself peeking through your window, catching glimpses of him under the soft glow of his apartment light. Tapping on his laptop. Making coffee. Just being there.

Not that you’re spying. That would be creepy. You’re just—observing.

The gym is the one place where you can let go. Since work has been demanding, you figured exercising might help you find some balance. Physically, maybe—but mentally? Not a chance. Because ever since you laid eyes on him, your mind has been an absolute mess.

Which is how you find yourself, mid-run on the treadmill, calling your best friend for the fourth time this week just to talk about your hot neighbour.

“Wait! Please, don’t leave me alone in this crisis,” you whine into your earphones.

Your best friend sighs. “Crisis? You’re staring at a hot guy and refusing to do anything about it. That’s not a crisis, that’s just cowardness.”

The thought alone makes your heart racing faster in your rib cage. “I am not refusing. I just- I don’t know where to start.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe by asking his name?”

“No, no, no. I could never.”

“Come on, you’ve been eating, sleeping, and breathing this guy for weeks, and you don’t even know his name. I told you—coward.”

You step off the treadmill and catch your breath. Your voice hovers somewhere between a whisper and a complaint as you wipe your forehead with a towel. “Excuse me, but I am not—”

“Hey,” a deep voice interrupts.

Your heart stops.

Your best friend is still talking in your ear, but you don’t hear a word. Slowly, so slowly, you turn your head—

And he’s there.

Right in front of you.

All lean muscle, sun-kissed skin, and olive-green eyes that are even more stunning up close.

Since when does he come to your gym?

“I, uh-hi,” you stammer, yanking out an earbud.

He nods toward the treadmill. “Are you still using this?”

"Yes-I mean no. I-I…"

The corner of his lips turns upwards. “Yes or no?”

Everything in your head seems to come out scrambled, in the wrong order. "No! I mean-I'm done! It’s all yours!"

“Is it your neighbour?” Your best friend, still very much on the call, says. She doesn’t wait for your answer to add, "Ask his name."

"Shut up!" you blurt out and you feel heat scorching your face when you realise what you said out loud. You wave your hands in panic and rush to explain, “Oh my god, not you. Sorry”

Your neighbour looks somewhere between amused and mildly concerned. "Uh… right. Thanks." He still remains polite, almost too kind even though you just made a fool of yourself.

And just like that, he steps onto the treadmill, setting up his workout while you remain frozen in pure, undiluted mortification.

You spin on your heel and flee.

And for the next week, you avoid the gym like the plague and close your curtains.

It’s late Friday evening when the universe decides to ruin you again.

You step into the apartment complex’s lift, pressing the button for your floor. Just as the doors begin to close, a hand shoots out, stopping them.

You don’t even have time to react before he steps in.

The hot neighbour, whose name still remains a mystery.

He barely spares you a glance as he enters—until his eyes flick toward you, lingering just long enough for a smirk to tug at the corner of his mouth.

"You quit the gym?" he asks after a moment of silence.

You nearly choke. "What? No! I’ve just been… busy. With work. I work a lot… these days."

His smirk deepens. "Right. Then that’s even more reason to go back. It's good not only for physical health, but also for mental health.”

You clear your throat, grasping for composure. “You talk like a true professional.”

His eyes widen, you’re not sure why but he suddenly seems uncomfortable. He scratches the back of his neck and his eyes fall to the ground. “Sorry, that sounded like I’m mansplaining or something.”

“Not at all.” You smile a little. “But I guess I don’t have much of a choice now, do I?”

He immediately lifts his eyes and there's relief on his face, the frown that had formed a few seconds earlier, go away. You can see him tilting his head slightly, considering you.

"I’m going tomorrow morning. You coming?"

You swallow. "I-yeah. Sure."

"Cool," he says easily. Then, after a beat, "Wanna grab a coffee after?"

Your heart stumbles.

"Like… together?"

He huffs a quiet laugh. "Yeah. I mean, no pressure, you can totally say no."

You open your mouth, then close it again. A week ago, you were a coward who wished to never bump into him again. And now—now—he’s standing in a lift, casually inviting you for coffee like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"I-yeah. That’d be nice."

The lift dings. He steps aside, letting you go first. It only takes a few steps to reach your door, but somehow, it feels incredibly long. You finally turn to wish him a good night, but his voice cuts through the quiet first.

“Oh, and I’m Iwaizumi, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

You take a second to breathe in his words, his name.

You say yours in return—and you swear you see his cheeks redden just a little.

"Then, see you tomorrow, neighbour." He exclaims, throwing you one last glance over his shoulder.

And just like that, he disappears into his apartment.

While you stand there, staring after him, pulse thudding in your ears.

You finally know the name of your hot neighbour.

And he just asked you on a date.

You call your best friend that night to tell her everything. “What should I wear? More like casual? Or classy?” You ask her at some point.

Though she’s away, you can sense the smile on her face. “Gosh, I really should get paid for this.”

a/n: writing for iwaizumi hajime 27 athletic trainer is the best therapy

special tag for @sahrii im glad i can share my iwa obsession with you <3

[goodlucktai]

I don’t know if you’re still taking the angsty dialogue prompts but if you are could I humbly request 18 and/or 25 with either the twins or Leo and Gio?

dialogue prompts

18. “Stop. No. Wake up. Wake up! I said wake up!”

x

When Donnie designed the broadhead arrow with an explosive tip, it was after a vision board evening with Mikey that someone definitely should have crashed before the peanut butter half of their iconic duo starting pitching chaotic and nefarious ideas to an audience of the only mad scientist in the greater Manhattan area willing to indulge him. 

A few of the trick arrows they came up with skirted the line of comic book fantasy and practicality neatly—the smokescreen and knockout arrowheads were things of beauty, to name a couple. The three hours spent in an abandoned grain elevator in Brooklyn testing the range of Gio’s brand-new arsenal was some of the most fun Leo could remember having post-invasion. 

But the explosive ones—those were unmitigated destruction in a tiny unassuming package. Gio considered one of them for all of two seconds before sliding it back into its designated sleeve. 

“Aww, what?” Mikey said. 

“We’re on the fourth floor of a derelict grain terminal,” Gio said, which was a very compelling argument. Raph looked a little greener than usual at that reminder, and glanced down at the floor beneath his feet as if visibly reliving the way the whole building had shuddered from the concussive force of the knockout arrow Gio had fired through the window into the overgrown field outside. 

Mikey still pouted about it until their eldest brother, physically incapable of not spoiling little siblings rotten whenever he had half a chance, notched one of the zipline bolts into the barrel of his bow and said, “Angie, how fast do you think you could get down to the field and back up on this?”

Brightening predictably, Mikey shouted, “Like, two minutes, probably!” 

It turned out to be more like eleven minutes, but Michelangelo was not the giving up kind of turtle. Leo had a stitch in his side from laughing by the time their youngest had clambered gracelessly back up the line, and Donnie was muttering about electric rope ascenders to add to their usual kits. That was about when a security truck rolled up to the grounds and they had to skedaddle, and those explosive arrows were left unassessed. 

Donnie built them because he could and because they sounded cool and because when Mikey says anything with stars in his eyes it makes you want to pluck it out of thin air and present it to him before common sense can elbow its way to the front of your brain and say, ‘hey, uh, is that, like, the best choice we could be making?’ 

He didn’t build them for this. 

Whoever the EPF are, they’re coordinated and heavily armed, and have the turtles backed into a corner in a manner of minutes. Fighting baseline humans isn’t really their bag—their bad guys tend to be Foot Clan goons, or mutants running amok in New York City, or any random yokai from the Hidden City they manage to tick off just by existing—and Leo’s heart thuds in his chest when he finds himself on the wrong end of a dozen guns. 

What the heck, he wants to ask, where did you guys come from and where were you ten minutes ago when the mutant silverfish outnumbered us ten to one?

He doesn’t ask, because he really doesn’t think this is a situation that can be solved with their words. 

His hand drifts toward his sword, just an inch, just to see. One of the men in riot gear fires a warning shot so close that Leo feels the heat of it on his thigh. It punches a noise out of Raph instantly, a chest-deep rumble of panic that sounds, to the untrained ear, like a dangerous snarl. Leo can practically see trigger fingers getting itchier around the room. The situation is spiraling out of his control by the second. 

I just need two seconds to reach my sword, Leo thinks, mind racing for a way to pull those seconds out of thin air. 

And then a bolt shatters through the window of the warehouse behind him and hits the floor right at the foot of one of the EPF agents. The room is filled with rolling curtains of thick gray smoke instantly and enthusiastically, and Leo has his sword drawn a second later. 

He teleports to Mikey first, and then opens a portal beneath their feet that deposits them in front of Donnie, and opens one next to them like a door that Raph’s huge hands reach through instantly to scoop them up and yank them in close to the armor of his plastron. 

“Get us back up to Georgie,” Raph says, and Leo has another door open to do exactly that almost before Raph has even finished speaking.

Something makes him look back over his shoulder. A tug on one of the strings tied around his heart. 

None of the humans have pinpointed Leo and his brothers yet, despite the light show Leo has put on, and in part that’s because Donnie designed this smokescreen the way he designs everything he puts his Genius Built stamp on, so it looks like it could be dense enough to bear Leo’s weight if he were to test it. 

But it’s also in part because those humans have someone else to gun down, and that’s the spotted turtle making a clear and present target of himself on the other side of this huge abandoned packaging plant. 

No, Leo thinks in the one corner of his brain that hasn’t shuddered to a stop like a cold-stunned reptile. 

Raph’s hand on his arm starts to pull him backwards, through the portal, and it shocks Leo into action, propelling him forward, body on autopilot. Something bad is about to happen. Something bad, something bad. Something like a Krang spike piercing through shell and shoulder, something like an escape pod that wasn’t his carrying him to safety, something like a big brother left behind in the hands of people who want to hurt him. 

Time slows to a crawl. The tableau burns itself into Leo’s mind. 

No, he thinks. 

Gio’s dark eyes swallow all the light in the room, unflinching when they meet Leo’s. He slips a white bolt from the quiver and Leo’s heart climbs right up his throat. He fights the hands grabbing at his shoulders and the arm wrapped around his middle but it’s three against one and he’s hauled through the blue light a second later. 

“Leo, what the hell was that?” Raph bites out, shaking hands gripping him by the arms as the snapper crouches to look him in the eye, searching Leo’s face for any clue as to why Raph had had to wrestle him to safety. “Why would you try to—”

The explosion cuts him off. It’s the loudest thing in the universe. Leo exists outside his body. His mind is the aftermath of a flash grenade, burnt white nothing. 

It feels like watching the portal close around the Technodrome, feeling the searing heat of it on his skin before the void vacuumed even that away. He’s floating. He’s back in the dark. It’s the end of the world again. 

“Wait, where’s Georgie?” Mikey says, loud over the sound of crumbling concrete and tearing sheet metal. He’s looking around the roof they’d left their eldest brother on when they noticed the mutant silverfish making a racket, their archer in overwatch position behind them as always.

Donnie notices the zipline first. The usual rich gold of his eyes is bleached with fear, neon yellow, when he turns to meet Leo’s. As always, they’re a perfect mirror of each other. 

Leo doesn’t remember saying anything. He doesn’t stick around to see understanding creep into his twin’s face, or to listen to his baby brother’s questions get loud and hysterical, or to watch his big brother’s expression slacken with horror. He clenches his fist, feels the familiar shape of a hilt beneath his fingers, and falls through a portal back into the warehouse. 

He has to pull the collar of his jacket up to breathe through the dust, squinting to see anything. There are still wafts of thinning gray smoke, and the disconcerting loose-gravel sound of broken concrete giving way. It’s disquieting to feel a structure made up of tons of concrete, among other things, wobble above and around him.  

“Gio!” he shouts. The call reverberates and goes unanswered. A first time for everything. 

Running footsteps thunder past him, too many and too heavy to belong to his brother. Leo slips around behind an upstanding pillar and watches the humans appear through the grit and gloom like spectres as they beat a hasty retreat. A few of them are supporting the weight of a few others, but a quick headcount proves more or less all of the agents are accounted for as they pile back into the armored cars outside. 

Leo wouldn’t lose any sleep if a few of them had been turned into pancakes, but he’s pretty sure of his math, and—and the warehouse is still standing. If Gio had fired it at the roof, or at the ground where the agents were standing, the building would have come down matter-of-factly. 

But, Leo thinks, heart remembering how to beat and doing a really messy job of it, all uneven and in his ears. But—if he’d fired it away from himself—if it went off outside—it would have been enough to scare the goons away without anyone getting hurt. 

Still a risk he shouldn’t have taken, still a call that was much too close, but better than the alternative. Better than the waking nightmare Leo almost had to live in.  

“GIO!” he screams, hands cupped around his mouth. 

His phone is ringing in his pocket, he realizes belatedly. The ringtone is Kesha’s We R Who We R, which means it’s his twin trying to reach him. He scrambles over a collapsed metal shelving unit with tinny synthpop blaring from his hoodie and feels detached from reality. He feels like a studio audience is waiting for the cue to laugh. It doesn’t feel like real life. 

Then he feels a tug again—that muted gray string in the multicolored skein of his soul, pulling him forward—leading him right to the crumpled form of his oldest brother. 

The music cuts off and starts up again. The strength goes out of Leo’s legs and he folds to the floor. He cuts his knee on something sharp, and as he crawls over to Gio’s side, the cut stings every time he puts pressure on it. It shakes him out of the strange haze he’s in. His hands tremble as he rolls Gio over. The music cuts off and starts up again.

Shaking fingers wrap around Gio’s wrist and find a pulse. Leo plants his finger at the pulse point beneath Gio’s jaw just to double-check. That stubborn heart is beating loud and clear. Leo has to blink a few times, because for some reason his eyes are all wet. He runs a careful hand over the back of Gio’s head and doesn’t find anything broken or bleeding. The facts are presenting a tentative case that the world isn’t ending after all, but the fear is loud and clear and shouting over everything else.

Gio’s face is slack and still manages to look tetchy, two spots on his forehead drawn low above his eyes. Leo has only known him for the better part of a year and he can’t imagine life without him. He can’t imagine waking up from a bad dream and not having Giorgio’s steady presence beside him at the dinner table at two o’clock in the morning, tireless and patient, like he had nowhere else to be when Leo needed him. 

“Stop,” Leo says thickly. He feels stupid. He knows better. It doesn’t stop him. “No. Wake up. Wake up!” His voice climbs into a shout, echoing around the empty cavernous room, “I said wake up!”

He’s not expecting it when the hand in his turns, and cold fingers close around Leo’s tightly. He’s startled into silence, staring down at the proof of life he’s holding. He doesn’t miss it when Gio’s expression twitches, brow furrowing, like he’s fighting sleep. 

“Oh,” he mumbles. “You’re okay. Sorry for shouting. You’re okay.” 

His ringtone goes off for the hundredth time. This time, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s voice pipes up over the music, announcing, “I’m pushing this one through, boss.” 

“Nardo,” Donnie says on speakerphone. 

“Tello,” Leo parrots automatically. “He’s okay,” he adds. 

There’s a loaded second of silence. He doesn’t have to hear his twin’s relief spoken out loud to know it exists. 

“Disappear like that again and I’ll disappear you,” the softshell bites. 

“Can you get the two of you out of there, big man?” Raph says with that forced calm that has never fooled Leo once in their lives. “Can you, uh, meet us back up here now? Please?”

Leo’s knee-jerk reaction is to respond to that particular tone with reassurance. To spring to his feet and create a solution. To banish his brothers’ fear with a dumb joke or a silly scheme. But when he tries to pull himself up, his limbs wobble like jello and he gets exactly nowhere.

“I, um,” he admits, embarrassed, “I don’t think I can stand up.” 

“Oh, buddy,” Raph says, his whole heart in it. “Raphie’s coming.”

“Yeah, sit tight, Lee,” Mikey’s voice rings through, force-of-nature cheerful. “I’m the master of this zipline thing now. I’ll be down in two shakes. Maybe a shake and a half.” 

Leo hums, grateful to have their overlapping chatter keeping him company. It’s not the end of the world. It’s not the prison dimension. It felt like it for a second back there, but he’s sinking slowly back into his body now. His knee stings from whatever he cut it on, and his eyes are itchy from all the dust and smoke, and Gio’s grip on his hand tightens as his eldest brother claws his stubborn way back into consciousness. 

They have a new bad guy to be on the lookout for, and since they don’t do anything by halves, this new bad guy is an entire evil organization. They have explosive tip arrows to dispose of, since clearly Giorgio can’t be trusted with that much firepower any more than Donatello can. Dad’s gonna have a conniption when he hears about the events of this evening—if they manage to make it past the part about the EPF agents drawing guns on them without being grounded until their thirties it’ll be a miracle. 

But they’re all okay. It could have gone so differently. It could have been a lot worse. 

Leo has a brand-new understanding of what that view from Staten Island had looked like for three of his brothers, and he hated every second of it. There has to be another way to do it. To keep them safe without hurting them. To be the kind of hero that comes home. 

Gio’s eyes finally open, two narrow slits. Usually so quick to alertness, his gaze skates muddily over Leo’s face for a few seconds before finally focusing. 

“You’re not allowed to disappear, Gigi,” Leo says quietly, feeling bruised and fragile and one harsh wind from coming completely apart. “‘Cause I’m not going anywhere without you. You made me your problem and now you gotta live with it.”

If Gio held his hand any tighter it’d probably hurt.

“You are my problem,” Gio mutters through gritted teeth. “All of you. And if anyone ever tries to tell you otherwise, I’ll blow them up next.” 

“Uh, we’re gonna have to have a serious talk about that one,” Leo says. “I don’t think it’s gonna be a viable option. Ever again.” 

“Hm,” Gio says, very clearly a ‘we’ll see about that.’  

The laugh that bubbles out of Leo is entirely involuntary, and probably makes him look like an insane person when their brothers arrive to extract them from the structurally unsound warehouse they’re hanging out in. 

But it could have been worse.

[seasaltandwisdom]

tips for tired hellenic polytheists

new or old

when first researching where to start, it’s very overwhelming with everything you need to do. autism and chronic illness were and still are a major hindrance to everything i do, worship included, not to mention i am still worshipping in secrecy. i was put off from worshipping for a year or so because of this. it doesn’t have to be so daunting, the gods aren’t here to judge how efficient you are in your worship.

starting with altars, you don’t need one, especially not a big elaborate one. they’re gorgeous and one day i aspire to have one, but that’s not ideal or even possible at the moment. if you plan on giving libations you can have a small cup or glass to hold the offering and sit it next to you or in any empty space until you’re ready to discard. same with food items, a small platter works. it doesn’t have to be a dedicated space, they understand your circumstances.

another thing i struggled with was knowing which god or gods to worship. you don’t have to wait for a god to call to you. pray to who you want and who makes you feel comfort and happiness to think about. the gods aren’t going to turn you away. you can start with more than one too. there’s no ‘beginner’ gods, just who you want to start with!

giving offerings doesn’t have to be so complex, especially if you’re worshipping in secret. a big one i do is offer a portion of my food to the gods while i wait for it to cool or find a video to watch. i tell them i’ll eat after and the first bites goes to them. they know if you have limitations, they know i can’t give them food and let it sit and afford to not eat it myself and that’s okay. i also buy a lot of trinkets from various places, if it reminds me of the gods they get to keep it and when i look at it i’ll whisper a small hello.

devotional acts are easiest for me, it’s things i’m already doing or should be doing. taking my meditation/listening to music in honor of apollo. cooking/spending time with family in honor of hestia. watching ocean related videos for poseidon. if it pertains to the gods, devote the act to them and it keeps me on top of things i need to do if i know i devoted it to the gods.

this may be my most controversial section, i don’t do khernips! if you do, more power to you of course. i just don’t have the means, and don’t see much reason for that to stop me from worshipping. i will wash my hands with soap and water before giving an offering, but for regular prayer of just saying hi or talking about my day with the gods, which i usually do in bed or while out and about, i don’t worry about it. they know im human, they aren’t going to shut me down or out for being such. this stopped me for awhile, i couldn’t make khernips so of course i couldn’t worship but truthfully the gods are understanding. even somedays when im too tired, depressed or sick to do anything, i used to feel bad for not being my cleanest while talking to the gods but if i can’t pray when im at such a low point, when can i?

the gods aren’t going to be disrespected or angry at you for praying or offering whilst you’re on your period. yes, i’ve seen that debated. just be clean on human standards, when you can, and they will understand. they’re old and wise, they’ve seen it all.

i’m just rambling at this point so i’ll wrap up soon! coming from christianity, it’s hard to not fear the gods, i get it and most others do too. religious trauma is hard to overstep, if it’s something you struggle with the gods won’t mind if you have to do a few things differently. good luck on your journey, whether new or just continuing. i hope my yapping helped with anything. your faith is personal to you, don’t let others push you away from it. be kind to each other and yourself.

as always, feel free to dm or send an ask if you feel inclined to! my word is just that, don’t take what i say as law and if you do things differently, that’s okay. i’d love to hear about that too!

[suushiiii]

Prologue

A kids dream being crushed, and it comes from the people who supposed to support it.

Word count: 800+

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everyone has dreams, kids, teenagers, adults and elderly people have them. You dream so you can escape reality for a little while, you can dream about being the best in school, getting a promotion you always wanted at the job where you worked for the last couple of years or you dream of having a good future with a husband/wife, kids, dogs, a house and enough money to do everything you literally dreamed of. Every dream is different, that’s the fun of dreaming and you get to experience different ones constantly. Out of everyone, kids dream the most; they dream of being a big brother/sister, being a police officer, getting a unicorn or even becoming a princess or a prince. When you’re a kid you don’t have to worry about anything, you can think about everything you want later in life and tell your parents about it. They would give you their sweetest smile and say; “Yeah, of course that’s possible. There is nothing that can be impossible,” or when you’re a teenager, they say; “We support you all the way.” Parents want the best for their children and give them the best future they can have, because they don’t want to fail as parents. But what if the reason your dreams shattered on the floor, are ‘because’ of your parents. What if your parents don’t support the dreams that you dream and they say; “Are you insane, that’s not possible.” Or “don’t say something ridiculous.” That would break the hearts of every child, when they realize that their parents don’t support their dreams.

Children will stop sharing things with people, because their parents never gave them the support that they needed. Some kids will get in trouble in school to get the attention of their parents, but some will just stop being social and keep everything to themselves. The child will fall to the background, even if they don’t want it, because they’ve so much to say and do. But because of their parents, they just assume that everything is wrong that they say or share. The worst thing is, that the parents will search for something that you can do, even if you don’t like it. But you stay quiet, because you don’t want to disappoint your parents again, by disagreeing about what they want. You just accepted your faith and would go do the thing that they asked you to do, but it would drain you so much, because you were doing something that just wasn’t you. Every time you got home, you probably would head upstairs immediately and not say anything to your parents, even if they would ask; “Hey, how was it?,” but you would pretend that you didn’t hear them and headed upstairs to your room. You would sit there forever, everything was better than sitting downstairs and getting interrogated by parents about how it was a place where you didn’t want to be. You just wanted to do what you’ve always dreamed of and what you love, but no, you’re sitting in your room killing time. You would lay on your bed and just think about what you could do, so your parents would change their minds. Become a rebel, so they have to keep their eyes on you? Or you should tell them you really don’t want to do what they want you to do, because that’s just not you, but you know your parents wouldn’t listen to that. Sometimes you just hoped that your parents would support you, even if they don’t agree with you, but that’s too much to ask. 

You keep sitting in your room, hoping to shake the disapproving looks of your parents off of you, but it feels like they’re engraved in your brain and don’t go out of your thoughts, no matter how hard you try. And then out of nowhere, your parents are standing in front of you. You find it difficult to read their faces, but they had their neutral faces on, well that’s what you assumed. Your parents begin their usual talk, that they need to talk to you about somethings, because you’re older now and make your own decisions. So, when the words flew out that you can do anything you want, you couldn’t be more excited. The dreams you had as a child became a reality, even though your parents still didn’t approve of the decision, they would try to get onboard with it. Your parents left you alone and you couldn’t feel more joy than you already did, because dreams do come true. If you fight for what you believe in and that you, yourself know it’s possible then nobody else’s opinion matters. You know for yourself what you can and can’t do, what for you is worth fighting for or what you should let go. Nobody should be in charge of the things that you dream, because everyone has their own thoughts on it, but only thoughts that matter on the dreams are your own.

[gullemec]

Dead Weight

Bitten - Part III

Bitten Masterlist ao3

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You and Joel try to navigate this bizarre, new reality you've found yourselves in. But as physical wounds heal, emotional ones begin to fester.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, gun use, description of injuries, misogyny (not from Joel), alcohol use, description of infected, death/dying, blood, loooots of angst!

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 7.7k

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who had kind words to say about this series so far. I'm so excited with where it's going and can't wait to share the next few chapters I have brewing!!

You sleep later than usual, the sun already halfway to its arc in the sky by the time you rouse. 

The cabin’s heavy curtains have cocooned you in a comforting darkness, granting you a rare reprieve from the searing brightness of the open wilderness you’re used to. A luxury, in theory. But it doesn’t feel like one now.

The cool, shaded quiet is suddenly suffocating when you poke your head out of the sleeping bag and find the cabin empty. For a sharp, panicked moment, your heart lurches. Joel has left you behind. Your chest tightens, breath catching in your throat as your eyes dart around the small space, desperate for proof otherwise. 

And there it is, his sleeping bag, neatly rolled and tucked into a corner. His pack, leaned against the far wall. Evidence of his lingering presence. Relief comes reluctantly, settling in like a stone in your stomach rather than lifting the weight off your chest. He hasn’t abandoned you, not yet. But the thought doesn’t soothe the way it should.

Instead, a gnawing guilt sinks in, colder than the morning air. You slept in. You wasted time. You were dead weight, a burden. Again.

You groan softly as you push yourself upright, the movement tugging painfully at your side. The stitches pull against the swollen flesh, a sharp reminder of yesterday’s outburst. You’d let anger and frustration bubble over, and now you’re paying the price, your body punishing you for every impulsive word and motion. Hobbling toward the small bathroom, you peel your shirt up gingerly, half-afraid of what you’ll see.

In the harsh light, the wound stares back at you, a gnarled mix of swollen purple and fading red. The worst of it, the undeniable imprint of the stalker’s teeth, is etched just above your hip bone, deep and accusing. Beside it, a smaller bite mark rests in its shadow, and yet it’s no less damning. Both are framed by long, jagged slashes left by its claws, torn through your flesh in its frantic quest to tear you apart.

But it’s not the bites or the gashes that make your breath catch in your throat. It’s the tendrils. Thin, branching marks radiate outward from the largest bite like delicate, spindly roots spreading beneath your skin. You’ve seen them before, on others, in the terrifying hours after they were bitten. Only theirs were red and angry, pulsating with infection, spreading death with every heartbeat. Yours, though… yours are different. Faint. Dormant. They just stop, like a vine that’s failed to grow. They don’t crawl toward your chest or creep into your brain. They just… sit there, frozen in time.

You can only look for so long before your stomach churns and your chest tightens again, a faint buzzing overtaking your ears. You grip the edge of the sink, squeezing your eyes shut as nausea wells up.

Forcing yourself to breathe through the panic, you focus on the facts. There’s no pus. No new bleeding. No spreading infection. These are the things you cling to, the only threads of logic in the mess that’s become your life. You try to convince yourself that these signs are good, even as the sight of the tendrils lingers in your mind, impossible to forget.

What are you?

Why are you still here?

Straightening up, you turn away from the mirror and tug your shirt back down, fingers trembling slightly. You need to move. You can’t afford to let your mind spiral any further. Whatever this is, whatever you are, it doesn’t matter right now.

Joel hasn’t abandoned you, and you’re still alive. For now, that will have to be enough.

You sling your pack over one shoulder and step out into the morning light, the chill of late fall biting at your exposed skin. The cabin is quiet, Joel nowhere to be seen, not chopping wood by the side of the building, not fishing down at the river. You stand there for a moment, scanning the small clearing for any sign of him. His absence twists at your gut, equal parts unease and irritation. You tell yourself you’re better off not facing him just yet, not with everything that happened yesterday still fresh and raw, but the silence gnaws at you nonetheless.

With nowhere else to go, you meander down the narrow trail that leads to the river, your boots crunching softly against frost-laden grass. The sound of rushing water grows faintly louder as you approach, but it’s a far cry from the thunderous roar you’d heard days ago. The river has calmed, its waters now a subdued flow that no longer crashes violently against the rocks. It’s shrunken in size too, exposing wide, rocky banks on either side.

You exhale, relieved. You don’t need another reminder of what happened. You have plenty of those already.

The water glimmers under the pale sunlight, inviting in its stillness. Bracing against the chill in the air, you set your pack down on a dry patch of rocks and strip down to your underwear. The bite of the breeze sends a shiver racing up your spine, and you hesitate for a moment, arms wrapped around yourself. It’s been days since you’ve had the chance to properly wash, and you can’t stand the feeling of grime clinging to your skin any longer. Still, it takes effort to will yourself forward, the cold air already sapping your resolve.

You step gingerly into the river, your toes curling against the slick, icy rocks beneath the surface. The shock of the cold water is immediate, seeping into your skin and pulling a sharp gasp from your lungs. You clench your jaw and keep going, one unsteady step at a time, as the water rises higher up your legs.

The riverbed is treacherous. Smooth stones shift under your weight, and the mud beneath them sucks at your feet. Your balance wavers, arms flailing slightly as you try to stay upright. Then your foot sinks deeper into the riverbed than you anticipated, throwing you off-kilter. You overcorrect, trying to stop yourself from falling sideways, but it’s too much.

Your knees hit the riverbed with a sharp, jarring impact, the bite of tiny, pinprick rocks breaking through your skin. Pain shoots up your legs and lances through your side where your stitches pull painfully taut. You stifle a shout, hissing sharply through clenched teeth as your palms slap against the water to steady yourself. The cold water rushes over your thighs and knees, soothing the sting almost immediately, but the ache remains, deep and persistent.

For a moment, you stay there, crouched in the water, the pain in your knees and side a dull throb that refuses to ebb. The river flows around you, indifferent, its quiet current a stark contrast to the chaos in your body and mind.

You tilt your head back, closing your eyes, and take a shaky breath. This wasn’t supposed to be this hard. Even the smallest things, washing off dirt, finding balance, have become impossible challenges, each stumble and misstep a cruel reminder of your limitations. Of what you’ve become.

When you open your eyes again, your gaze falls to the water, clear enough to see your distorted reflection staring back at you. The tendrils of the bite peek out above the waistband of your underwear. Stretching up your side, loud and unavoidable.

Your hand darts out, all frustration and anger, splashing the image away.

You push yourself up, ignoring the sting in your knees and the sharp pull in your side. You’re tired of feeling weak, of feeling inhuman. Gritting your teeth, you straighten your back and wade deeper into the river, determined to scrub away the grime of the last few days, no matter the cost.

Because if nothing else, you need this. A moment of clarity, a moment of control. Even if it comes at the cost of blood and bruises, it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to yourself in a world that feels increasingly unfamiliar.

The past few days have been a harsh lesson in checking your pride and sense of self. You've always been ruthless. Had to be, really. Merciless, some might even say. You made quick work of raiders and infected alike, never hesitating or showing remorse. You couldn’t afford to. Not in this world. Weakness means death here.

That, if you had to guess, was what first drew you and Joel together.

…

Disposal duty was where it began. Burning the corpses of infected and the unclaimed dead was the kind of work that stripped you raw. It was thankless and brutal, but necessary. It offered little dignity for the living or the dead. The stench of charred flesh clung to everything, your skin, your clothes, even the air you breathed. Still, you took the job because you had to. It was the only way to prove yourself in the Boston QZ, where your age and gender already painted a target on your back among the men who sneered at you, labeling you as dead weight from the moment you arrived.

You knew the drill. From your time in other QZs, you'd learned that no one handed out respect for free, you had to earn it. You worked with a single-minded determination, dragging shrouded forms across the yard, tossing them into the roaring flames without flinching. The oppressive heat, the smoke that stung your eyes, the silent weight of knowing these bodies had once been people, none of it stopped you. It couldn’t. You wouldn’t let it.

It was on your first day that Joel had approached you.

You were on your knees, sweat streaking soot down your face as you wrapped your arms around a shrouded figure, the fabric clinging to it in the damp heat. When the shadow of a man fell over you, you glanced up, squinting against the sun. Joel stood there, tall and imposing, his face half-covered with a bandana. His eyes were hard to read, but they were focused on you. For a moment, you thought he might be there to chastise you, to tell you to hurry up or that you were doing it wrong.

“Here, let me,” he said, voice low and gravelly.

At first, you thought it was a joke. A cruel one. Like a manifestation of every insecurity gnawing at you had stepped out of the shadows to taunt you.

“I’ve got it,” you snapped, your voice sharp enough to cut through the haze of smoke. You shot him a glare before heaving the body into your arms, your knees wobbling as you carried it to the pyre. When you tossed it in and turned back, you didn’t expect him to still be there, watching. His face was half-hidden, but his eyes crinkled slightly at the edges, and you could’ve sworn he was grinning beneath the bandana.

See? your glare seemed to say.

After that day, you noticed him watching you. Not constantly, but enough for you to feel the weight of his gaze. His expression was unreadable, and it irritated you. He didn’t offer help again, nor did he criticize. He just… observed. There was something steadying about it, though. It felt like a silent acknowledgment, like he saw what you were doing even when no one else did.

And the others certainly didn’t. They grumbled and slacked off, complaining about the smell, the heat, the weight of the bodies. They cut corners, dumped bodies improperly, and blamed anyone but themselves when caught. 

But not you. 

You worked harder than all of them combined, and Joel noticed. Even if he didn’t say anything, you could feel it in the way his eyes lingered on you.

This silent routine went on for weeks, the two of you bound together by the grim necessity of disposal duty. The stench of burning flesh worked its way into your hair, your skin, your soul. Every night you scrubbed yourself raw, trying to wash it away, but the smoke still lingered in your nostrils when you lay down to sleep.

And Joel Miller kept watching.

He wasn’t the only person who noticed you, though.

Your shift had been wrapping up, bringing a line of tired, soot-covered workers waiting for their ration cards. The stench of burnt flesh lingered on everyone’s clothes, mingling with sweat and exhaustion. Joel stood a few places behind you in the line, arms crossed and gaze distant, the hard mask of indifference firmly in place.

When your name was called, you stepped forward, wiping your hands on your pants before taking the cards from the FEDRA soldier. You’d stepped off to the side to count your cards when an agitating, grating voice sounded.

"What the hell is this?" the man behind you in line barked, stepping out of line. 

Greg. He was broad-shouldered and quick-tempered, the kind of guy who was used to throwing his weight around. He jabbed a finger toward you. "Why’s she getting more than the rest of us?"

The FEDRA soldier barely glanced up from his clipboard. "Rations are allotted based on work completed. She did more than you."

Greg’s face darkened, a vein twitching in his temple. "Bullshit. She didn’t do more. She’s just—" He sneered, looking you up and down. "She’s just spreading her legs for you guys, huh? That’s how it works?"

A beat of silence. The line shifted uncomfortably. In your periphery you saw Joel’s jaw tighten, and his gaze snap to you.

You knew you should ignore him, should just keep your head down and be on your way and stay out of trouble. Greg wasn’t the first insecure asshole to be sore about a woman able to outperform him, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last. And maybe it was the way your back twinged with pain or the way his whiny voice hit your ear, but there was something in your veins that day that emboldened you.

"You wanna say that again?" you said, your voice low and cold. You stepped toward him, not backing down an inch.

Greg’s bravado faltered for a second, but he doubled down.  “I said you didn’t earn those cards. You’re just—”

“Just what?” you cut in sharply. “Say it. Go ahead.”

He faltered, but only for a second. “You’re just some weak little—”

“Right,” you interrupted, stepping toward him. Your eyes locked on his, unyielding. “Because dragging bodies all day, breathing in smoke and rotting fucking flesh, that’s not real work, right? Maybe if you spent half as much time working as you do whining, you’d have enough rations to shut your damn mouth.”

His face flushed red with anger. "Watch it, bitch," he snapped, stepping closer, looming over you.

Joel’s fingers flexed at his sides, ready to step in, but he didn’t move just yet. He watched, measuring the tension like a coiled spring.

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you tilted your head, a sharp, defiant smile playing on your lips. "What are you gonna do? Hit me? Prove to everyone here that you’re not just lazy but pathetic, too?"

Greg’s hands balled into fists, but he hesitated. The rest of the line was watching now, and the FEDRA soldier shifted uneasily, hand drifting toward his weapon.

Joel stepped forward then, slow and deliberate, his presence a looming shadow. "That’s enough," he said, his voice calm but cutting through the tension like a knife. He didn’t look at you, his eyes locked on Greg. "Go back to your spot."

Greg muttered something under his breath but didn't push it further. He spat at the ground near your feet before turning back to the line.

Joel joined you on the walk back to your housing block wordlessly, the journey heavy with silence. He kept pace with you, not saying anything. The sun was sinking, casting an orange haze over the crumbling streets of the QZ when you finally broke the silence.

"You didn’t have to do that," you said finally, breaking the quiet.

"Do what?"

"Step in. I had it handled."

Joel glanced at you, his expression unreadable. "Yeah, I know you did."

You blinked, surprised. "Then why—"

"Because he wasn’t gonna back down," Joel interrupted. "Not until someone reminded him to."

You scoffed. "Well, thanks, I guess."

Joel didn’t respond right away. You walked another block in silence before he spoke again. "You drink?"

You raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. "What?"

Joel shrugged, looking straight ahead. "Got a bottle of whiskey back at my place. Thought you might want to share it."

You studied him, trying to read his intentions, but his face gave nothing away. Still, there’s something about the offer that felt… genuine. You hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Okay. Sure."

When you reached his apartment, Joel opened the door and gestured you inside. The space was sparse but clean, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. He poured two glasses of amber liquid, handing one to you without ceremony.

"To your first fight on the job," he said, raising his glass.

You smirked, clinking yours against his. "And to shutting up assholes."

Joel chuckled, a sound you hadn't heard from him before. It was quiet and fleeting, but it lingered in the air between you.

That night, you talked, just enough to lay the groundwork for something more. Joel didn’t pry, but he listened, and you found yourself sharing more than you expected. When you left, there was a strange sense of understanding between you, a fragile but undeniable connection.

…

“The hell are you doin’?” 

Joel’s voice cuts through your daydream, sharp and gravelly, pulling you out of your fragile reprieve. Your eyelids flutter open, squinting against the golden light of the dying sun as it bounces off the river’s surface.

You’re floating on your back, bobbing gently in the cool, weightless embrace of the water. For a few blissful moments, the world had felt still. The ache in your side had dulled, the constant churn of worry in your mind had quieted, and for just a little while, you’d found a truce with the chaos of your life.

But Joel’s presence shatters that peace.

He stands at the river’s edge, rifle slung over his shoulder, his face shadowed in the fading light but unmistakably irritated. His shoulders are tense, his stance rigid, and his eyes, dark and piercing, are locked on you.

You scramble upright, your feet slipping on the uneven, stony riverbed. The sudden movement sends a sharp pang through your side, but you grit your teeth and push through it, water dripping down your skin as you try to compose yourself.

You’re in only your bra and underwear, something Joel’s seen plenty of times before when circumstances demanded it. But now, with the weight of his gaze and the tension crackling between you, you feel uncomfortably exposed. Your arms instinctively cross over your chest, though the water obscures most of your body.

“I was just…” you start, your voice faltering under the intensity of his stare.

“Just what?” he cuts in, his tone clipped. “Floatin’ around, makin’ yourself an easy target?”

The accusation stings, sharp and unexpected. “I wasn’t making myself a target,” you snap, defensiveness flaring.

“No?” He gestures toward the surrounding woods with a sweep of his hand. “’Cause last I checked, the world don’t stop bein’ dangerous just ’cause you’re takin’ a goddamn swim.”

You bristle at his tone, your arms dropping to your sides as irritation rises to meet his. “I wasn’t wandering off or doing anything reckless, Joel. I was right here. You’re acting like I—”

“Like what?” he interrupts, stepping closer. “Like you don’t think? Like you don’t remember what happened last time you went off to the river alone?”

The words hit their mark, dredging up memories you’ve spent the last hour trying to suppress.

You awkwardly trudge out of the water, keeping your eyes down and away from Joel.

“That’s not fair,” you say quietly as you fish your folded clothes from the riverbank, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. You pull them on quickly, your still wet skin making it uncomfortable and difficult.

“Fair?” He scoffs, his voice rising slightly. “This ain’t about fair. S’about stayin’ alive.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the murmur of the river filling the silence. Joel’s jaw works like he’s trying to rein himself in, but his frustration simmers just beneath the surface.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he finally says, his voice lower now but no less cutting. “If somethin’ happened to you—” He cuts himself off, dragging a hand down his face, the movement almost weary. “Just… get your ass back to the cabin.”

You nod stiffly, biting back the retort that’s clawing its way up your throat. You trudge past him, water streaming from your clothes and hair, your chest tight with a mix of shame and anger.

When you reach the cabin, you find the deer he hauled back lying in the clearing outside, its lifeless eyes fixed on the sky. Joel follows shortly after, his boots heavy against the wooden steps as he steps onto the porch.

“What’s with the deer?” you ask, your tone sharper than you intended. This is way too much meat for the two of you to preserve for the road, and Joel’s never been the wasteful type.

He doesn’t look at you as he sets his rifle aside and kneels beside the animal, pulling a knife from his belt. “We’re stayin’ put for a while,” he says simply.

You blink, confused. “What?”

“You’re hurt,” he says, his voice matter-of-fact as he begins dressing the deer. “We ain’t goin’ anywhere ’til you’re healed enough to keep movin’.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you say, stepping closer. “We can’t stay here. What are we supposed to do with all this meat? We can’t preserve it. It’s going to spoil—”

“Doesn’t matter,” he cuts in, his tone final. “We’re stayin’.”

His refusal to even entertain your argument ignites a spark of anger in you. “You can’t just decide that without talking to me,” you snap. “I’m not some… some child you can order around.”

Joel looks up at you then, his expression unreadable. “You wanna keep pushin’ yourself? Get us both killed? Fine. But I ain’t movin’ from this spot until you’re good enough to handle the road.”

The words land heavy, each one driving home the gulf that’s grown between you. You want to believe his stubbornness is born out of concern, that his anger is just a mask for something deeper, but it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like disappointment. Like you’ve let him down again.

“Fine,” you say finally, your voice hollow. “Do whatever you want, Joel.”

You turn and head inside, the door creaking shut behind you as you leave him on the porch, alone with the deer and the quiet tension that now fills the air between you.

…

The cabin is quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fire Joel built just before sunset. Shadows from the flames dance along the wooden walls, casting the room in a warm but flickering glow. You sit on the floor by the fire, knees drawn to your chest, staring into the embers as they pulse and fade. Your side aches in dull, persistent waves, but you ignore it. Pain has become a constant companion, like the gnawing hunger or the chill that creeps in when the fire dies down.

Joel is at the table, his back to you, meticulously sharpening his knife. The rhythmic scrape of metal against stone grates on your nerves, though you’d never admit it aloud. You can feel his presence like a weight in the room, heavy and unyielding. He hasn’t said much since he came back from dressing the deer, and you haven’t tried to start a conversation. The distance between you feels insurmountable tonight, a chasm neither of you seems willing, or able, to cross.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he works, his movements precise and methodical. He’s always like this, all focus and discipline, as if distraction might kill him. Maybe it will. He pauses for a moment, tilting the blade toward the light to inspect his work. His eyes catch yours for a split second, and you look away, heat creeping up your neck.

An hour later the cabin is filled with the warm scent of cooked meat.

“Food’s ready,” he says finally, his voice gruff but quiet.

You glance toward the counter where a modest meal of roasted venison sits, steam rising from the plates. Your stomach twists, both from hunger and something else you can’t name. You push yourself up, careful not to strain your stitches, and join him at the table.

Joel slides a plate toward you without meeting your eyes. You mumble a thanks and pick up the fork, the first bite dissolving on your tongue with a flavor you haven’t tasted in weeks. It should feel like a luxury, but it doesn’t.

The silence stretches between you, thick and uncomfortable. You want to say something, anything, but the words won’t come. What is there to say, anyway? You’re here because you need to heal, and Joel’s here because… Well, you don’t know why. Because he feels obligated? Because he pities you? The thought makes your chest tighten, and you shove another bite of venison into your mouth to distract yourself.

“You’re gonna need more protein if you wanna heal up properly,” Joel says after a while, his tone flat but not unkind.

You glance at him, startled that he’s spoken at all. “I’m eating, aren’t I?” you reply, sharper than you intended.

He looks at you then, really looks at you, his brow furrowing like he’s weighing whether to press the issue. He doesn’t. Instead, he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You scared me today,” he says abruptly.

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“At the river,” he clarifies, his gaze dropping to the table. “Could’ve hurt yourself. Could’ve drowned.”

You bristle, the defensive wall coming up before you can stop it. “I’m not a kid, Joel. I can handle myself.”

His eyes snap back to yours, hard and unyielding. “That what you call it? Floatin’ around like you didn’t have a care in the world? We’re in the middle of goddamn nowhere, and you think it’s a good idea to let your guard down?”

Your jaw tightens, heat flooding your face. “I wasn’t letting my guard down,” you bite out. “I just needed—” You cut yourself off, unsure how to finish the sentence. Needed what? A moment of peace? A break from the constant weight of survival? A moment where you didn’t feel like an enormous burden on him? 

He wouldn’t understand.

Joel exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter what you needed. It’s not safe out there, and you know it.”

There’s something in his voice that gives you pause, not anger, exactly, but something close to it. Frustration, maybe. Worry. You want to believe it’s the latter, but your mind twists it into something darker, something uglier.

“Right,” you say bitterly, pushing your plate away. “I forgot. I’m just another thing for you to worry about, aren’t I? Another burden.”

Joel’s face hardens, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, guilt, maybe, or regret. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure it isn’t,” you snap, pushing back your chair and standing, the ache in your side flaring as you do. You don’t care. The urge to put distance between you and him is stronger than the pain. “Thanks for dinner,” you mutter, already walking toward your bedroll by the fire.

Joel doesn’t stop you. He just sits there, watching as you settle onto the floor and turn your back to him. The weight of his gaze is almost unbearable, but you refuse to acknowledge it.

The fire crackles softly, the only sound in the otherwise silent cabin. You stare into the flames, your chest tight and your mind racing. You want to believe that Joel cares, that his harsh words are his way of protecting you, but it’s hard to see it that way when all you can hear is the echo of your own insecurities.

A burden. A liability. A monster.

You close your eyes, willing sleep to take you, but it doesn’t come. Behind you, Joel shifts in his chair, the sound of his boots on the wooden floor breaking the silence. You hear him sigh, low and weary, before the chair creaks as he stands.

The sound of his footsteps fades as he moves toward the door, and then it’s just you and the fire and the distance between you and him that feels larger than ever.

…

The smell hits you first, cloying and putrid, like rotting meat left too long in the sun. It invades your senses, choking you, making it impossible to breathe. Then, a weight against you. Heavy, suffocating, pinning you to the ground.

You don’t know where you are. Somewhere cold and damp, the ground beneath you slick with mud. Your arms are trapped at your sides, your legs kicking uselessly against the crushing force above you.

The creature is on top of you. Its guttural snarls fill the air, hot breath washing over your face. You catch flashes of jagged teeth, glistening with saliva. Its hands, its claws, dig into your shoulders, sharp and unrelenting. Pain radiates through your body, but it’s nothing compared to the icy dread in your chest.

You try to scream, but no sound comes. Your throat burns with the effort, but the silence mocks you, amplifying the creature’s growls and the sickening sound of its teeth snapping inches from your face.

You thrash, your fists pounding against its torso, your legs kicking wildly, but it’s like punching stone. The creature doesn’t budge. Its strength is inhuman, its weight unbearable.

A sharp, searing pain erupts in your side, and you know—it’s over. You’re going to die here. The cold dread settles deep in your gut, heavier than the creature itself. This is it. This is the end.

And then, a voice.

“Get off her!”

Joel.

His voice cuts through the chaos like a blade, sharp and commanding. Hope ignites in your chest, fragile and desperate. You twist your head, straining to see him, and there he is. Joel, standing just a few feet away, rifle raised and steady.

“Joel!” you cry, but your voice still doesn’t come. Your lips move, but the words are swallowed by the oppressive silence.

Joel doesn’t hear you. He doesn’t need to. He steps closer, his jaw set, his eyes locked on the creature.

The weight on your chest shifts as the creature rears back, turning its attention to Joel. Relief floods through you, your lungs filling with air for the first time in what feels like forever. He’s here. He’ll save you. He always does.

But then you see it.

The creature’s face.

Your face.

It stares back at you with hollow, lifeless eyes, its features twisted into something grotesque and unrecognizable. Its mouth stretches into a snarl, blood staining its lips. Your lips.

“No,” you whisper, the sound finally breaking free. “No, no, no…”

But it’s too late.

The creature lunges at Joel, faster than you thought possible. He fires a shot, but it goes wide. The rifle falls from his hands as the creature slams into him, knocking him to the ground.

“Joel!”

You try to move, try to scream, try to do something, anything, but your body is frozen, paralyzed by fear and horror. You watch, helpless, as the creature—you—tears into him.

His screams echo in your ears, raw and agonized. Blood sprays across the ground, pooling beneath him, soaking into the dirt. You want to look away, but you can’t.

It doesn’t stop. The creature doesn’t stop. You don’t stop.

And then, silence.

Joel lies still, his lifeless eyes staring up at the sky. The creature, your monstrous reflection. turns back to you, blood dripping from its mouth. It smiles, a twisted, mocking grin that makes your stomach churn.

“You did this,” it says, its voice your own.

The weight returns, crushing you, suffocating you. You close your eyes, tears streaming down your face, but the image is burned into your mind. Joel, broken and bloodied. The monster, wearing your face.

“You did this,” it repeats, the words echoing in your head as the darkness swallows you whole.

…

No! No, stop, stop it!

Your voice tears from your throat, raw and jagged, as you writhe against the suffocating force pinning you down. You thrash and kick, your limbs flailing against an enemy you can’t see, can’t fight. The darkness is everywhere, thick, heavy, alive, pressing against your chest like a vise. Your screams are hoarse, broken, a desperate attempt to claw your way back to something, anything.

“Hey, hey. Shh. Calm down.”

The voice cuts through the chaos like a lifeline. It’s soft, steady, familiar in a way that tugs at your frayed edges. It isn’t your voice, not the guttural growl of the monster.

“You’re okay. You gotta calm down.”

Joel.

The name lodges in your mind, a single point of clarity amidst the storm. His voice, low and warm, anchors you. It’s not commanding, not sharp like it has been. It’s patient, soothing. Like he’s speaking to a wounded animal, coaxing it away from the edge of its terror.

The darkness loosens its grip, receding inch by inch, until the oppressive weight begins to dissolve. It’s still there, a shadow lingering at the edges of your consciousness, but it no longer suffocates.

The weight pressing against you shifts, no longer a force of dread but something solid, grounding. Arms wrap around you, holding you firm but gentle. The realization dawns on you slowly. Joel is holding you. His hands rub slow, deliberate circles on your back, the friction warm against your shivering body.

Your breathing is a wrecked staccato, each inhale catching in your throat, each exhale trembling with the effort. The screams that had ripped from your throat moments ago fade into croaking sobs, quiet but broken.

“That’s it,” Joel murmurs, his breath warm against your hair. “Just breathe.”

You try. The air is thin and sharp, your chest heaving as you attempt to match the slow rhythm of his breathing. His grip tightens slightly as if to remind you he’s there, that he isn’t letting go.

Your limbs feel like water, drained of strength, the fight bled out of you. Slowly, hesitantly, you relax into him. Your forehead drops against his chest, and you feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, a quiet metronome against the chaos still echoing in your mind.

The moment feels fragile, like glass balanced on a ledge, and you don’t dare shatter it. The warmth of his body seeps into your chilled skin, grounding you further. You’re acutely aware of the wetness on your cheeks, the way your tears have soaked into his shirt, but you don’t pull away. Not yet.

“You’re okay,” Joel says again, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand moves from your back to your hair, his fingers combing through it in a motion so tender it brings fresh tears to your eyes.

You stay like that, cradled in his arms, the silence between you heavy but not uncomfortable. Your mind is too fragile to process anything beyond the immediate sensation of his presence, the way he steadies you without asking for anything in return.

You want to say something, anything, but the words won’t come. You can’t look at him, not yet. The vulnerability feels too raw, too exposed, and you’re not ready to face the look in his eyes, whatever it might be.

The moment lingers, stretching out like an unbroken thread. For now, you let him hold you, let him be the solid presence you so desperately need, even if you don’t feel like you deserve it.

Joel doesn’t let go, not even when your sobs quiet to faint hiccups, not even when the cabin settles into silence, save for the faint crackling of the embers in the fireplace. The warmth of his chest against your cheek is steady, anchoring, as you feel the weight of reality creeping back in.

You shift slightly, your body sore and stiff from the strain of the nightmare. The movement causes his hand to still in your hair. Slowly, as though giving you the chance to pull away if you wanted, he loosens his grip.

“You back with me?” he asks, voice low, barely above a murmur.

You nod, though you still can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. “Yeah.” Your voice is a rasp, hoarse from screaming.

He lets out a long, heavy breath, like he’s been holding it this entire time. His hands fall to his sides, the absence of his tough leaving you cold and untethered.

“I didn’t mean to…” you start, but the words die on your tongue.

“To what?” Joel’s voice is calm, but there’s something underneath it, something guarded.

“To wake you. To… be like this.” You gesture vaguely to yourself, your chest tightening with shame. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop.” The word is firm, cutting through your shame like a blade.

Your eyes snap up to his, and the weight of his gaze pins you in place. His expression is unreadable, a mix of exhaustion, weariness, concern, and something else, something softer, something that tightens the knot in your gut.

“I was getting attacked,” you say, the words slipping out in a barely audible whisper. “And then it—it hurt you, too.”

Joel stiffens slightly, the tension in his frame palpable, but he doesn’t pull away.

“And it…” You stop yourself, the words dying on your tongue. What are you going to say? That you stood there, frozen, as a creature wearing your face tore into him? That it felt more real than the moment you share with him now? 

He doesn’t need another reason not to trust you, not right now.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says, his tone quieter now.

The sincerity in his words makes your throat tighten. You want to believe him, want to let those words sink into the cracks and empty spaces inside you, but the voice in your mind, the one that whispered to you in the dream, won’t let you.

“Joel…” you say, his name slipping from your lips like a plea, though you don’t know what you’re asking for.

He shakes his head, cutting you off before you can spiral further. His gaze falters, and he rubs a hand over his face, like he’s trying to scrub away the weight of his own exhaustion. When he looks back at you, his eyes are heavy with something raw and unspoken.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he admits, the words gruff but quiet.

The admission hangs in the air between you, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. “It was just a dream,” you say finally, though the words feel hollow even as you speak them.

Joel shakes his head again, his jaw tightening. “Sure as hell didn’t sound like just a dream.” His voice dips lower, quieter. “Sounded like…” He trails off, his fingers curling into fists on his knees. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, the lie automatic and instinctual.

Joel’s eyes narrow slightly, the weight of his gaze heavy with doubt. For a moment, you think he’s going to call you on it. But then he leans back, putting just enough distance between you to make the air colder.

“You’re not fine,” he says simply, matter-of-fact. “You don’t gotta be fine all the time.”

The words hit you hard, a lump forming in your throat. You want to tell him that you can’t afford to not be fine, that any weakness could be the difference between survival and death. But you don’t.

Instead, you swallow the lump in your throat and look away, your gaze falling to the flickering embers in the fireplace. “I’m not used to this,” you admit quietly.

Joel doesn’t answer right away, and the silence stretches out long enough that you begin to think he won’t respond at all. But then his voice comes, softer than before. “Used to what?”

“To… someone being there,” you say, the words feeling foreign and awkward, like they don’t quite belong to you.

His gaze lingers on you, and though you can’t bring yourself to meet it, you feel the weight of it, heavy and unwavering. Finally, he nods, like he understands, though he doesn’t say anything more.

“Get some rest,” he says after a moment, his tone gruff but not unkind. “You need it if you’re gonna heal.”

He rises to his feet, and for a fleeting second, you’re tempted to reach out, to ask him to stay. But the words catch in your throat, and you let him go, watching as he moves to the front door of the cabin and settles down on his bedroll.

The silence that follows is thick, but bearable. You lie back down, your eyes fixed on the ceiling, the ghost of Joel’s touch still lingering on your skin. The nightmare clings to the edges of your mind like a shadow, but the memory of his voice, steady and grounding, drowns it out.

You close your eyes and pray, to whoever might be listening, that when sleep comes, it will be kinder this time.

… 

You wake before Joel does, this time from a blessedly dreamless sleep. The room is quiet, save for the faint rustle of wind through the cracks in the cabin walls and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

He’s still where he was last night, propped up against the door, his rifle balanced across his lap, a silent sentinel even in rest. Your protector. Your watchman. The one who bears the weight of both your lives without complaint.

Well, mostly without complaint.

The pale light of early morning softens the hard edges of his face, painting him in cool hues. His brow, so often furrowed in worry or concentration, is smooth now, the tension melted away. His lips, perpetually set in a grim line, part slightly with each quiet breath. He looks younger like this. Peaceful, even. Human.

It strikes you how rare it is to see him like this. The apocalypse doesn’t leave much room for softness or vulnerability, and Joel wears his armor well. But now, in this fleeting moment, you can see the man beneath the layers of grit and survival.

You realize it’s the first time you’ve had a chance to really look at him since everything happened—since the attack, the bloody fight for your life that left you battered in more ways than one. Since your humanity was tainted and your relationship with Joel was irrevocably changed.

Since you told him.

The memory crawls to the surface unbidden, sharp and vivid, a wound that refuses to scab over. You were convinced you were about to die, that your life was seconds away from being snuffed out like the weak, flickering flame of a candle in a storm. And in those desperate, final moments, the walls you’d so carefully built around yourself came crashing down. You told him the truth.

That you loved him.

Even now, you don’t regret it. Not entirely. If death had come for you that night, at least you’d have gone without the weight of those unsaid words pressing against your chest. It had been a release, a final gasp of truth before the void swallowed you whole.

You can’t blame him for how he reacted, either. You hadn’t expected him to say it back—not then, not like that. Joel Miller wasn’t the kind of man to throw words like love around carelessly, and you wouldn’t have wanted him to. A lie, even one meant to comfort you in your last moments, would have been far crueler than his silence.

No, the regret you carry isn’t in what you said, but in the timing. You wish you’d told him sooner, before everything fell apart, before you became this hollow, fractured version of yourself. Would it have made a difference? If you’d reached out that night he lay beside you, so close you could feel the warmth radiating off his body, would he have taken your hand? Would he have pulled you closer instead of pulling away? Could you have built something out of the wreckage of both your lives?

The thought twists something deep in your chest, a sharp ache that feels dangerously close to hope, a feeling you’ve tried to kill in yourself a hundred times over.

And yet, another thought creeps in, darker and more insidious. Wouldn’t it have been easier for both of you if you’d just died that night?

Joel could have moved on, unburdened by the weight of you. You would have been just another ghost in his long history of losses, another name in a growing list of people he couldn’t save. He would have mourned, maybe—probably—but he’s used to mourning. It’s a rhythm he knows well.

And you… You would have been free. Free from this endless fight for survival, free from the gnawing guilt that eats away at you with every passing day. Free from the crushing weight of being both a danger and a burden to the only person who’s stuck by you.

Maybe there’s an afterlife. You’re not sure if you believe in heaven or any kind of promised land where the dead reunite in peace, but even the void of nothingness seems preferable to this. To waking up every day with the knowledge that your continued existence is a liability, a condemnation for some mortal sin you can’t remember committing.

But you didn’t die.

For some reason, some cruel, inexplicable twist of fate, you lived. Others might call it a miracle, a second chance. But in the harsh light of day, you can see it for what it really is.

A punishment.

You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, your gaze lingering on Joel’s sleeping face. He stirs slightly, a faint crease forming between his brows, and you wonder what he’s dreaming about. You hope it’s something good, something far away from this place and this life.

Because you know the truth.

You’re no miracle. You’re a curse.

Taglist:

@eviispunk

@javierpenaispunk

[jibbmanifests]

Don't “give up” on your manifestations.

You've probably heard a number of manifestation coaches and content creators say this, but, it's true - you shouldn't give up on your manifestations. If you want to because you changed your mind and want to manifest something else, go for it. What I'm saying - and what they're saying - is don't give up solely because you don't think you'll get what you're manifesting.

"...But why not?"

Well, you're going to be letting yourself down. Not to be dramatic, but, you're giving up on your dreams. You're not believing in yourself. You're telling yourself you can't manifest. Gonna be forceful when I say this, but, yes you can.

Also, referring to Taylor Tookes’ latest video, you “giving up” on manifesting is not you actually giving up on manifesting. You are manifesting 24/7, babe. So, all you’re doing is changing your manifestation. You’re instead negatively manifesting “I don’t have [this thing].” Considering you manifest all the time, you might as well make it beneficial for yourself.

"I'm not getting what I want. So, manifesting and law of assumption aren't real."

Bullshit. Pure bullshit. Do you think an actual philosopher just made this up and lied to everyone that he researched this? Do you think every person who knows and talks about it is making up stories for attention and money? Do you think "manifestation" is just some random word thrown into the dictionary?

Everyone - and I mean EVERYONE - manifests every single day, both good and bad things, whether they realize it or not. Like I said, you are always manifesting something to happen. You are always having others reflect you. That's a fact.

Just because you aren't seeing what you want in the 3D yet does not mean LOA and manifesting isn't real. I understand that it can be very discouraging when your 3D reality isn't reflecting what you're manifesting and that circumstances or your own limiting beliefs make this feel harder. But, when you start to get a better grip on it and improve your mentality to get to that wish fulfilled state, you will feel so much better about manifesting. It's worth it.

"I've been waiting for so long and doing everything right. Why should I keep going?"

Chances are you might be seeking validation from the 3D reality, letting circumstances get to you, focusing on timing, and/or not acting like the desired version of yourself, without realizing. OR, it could just be the 3D still catching up and you're pressuring yourself that it won't come if it's not there quickly or instantaneously. These won't completely stop your manifestation it its tracks, but it can slow it down if all of this is happening with very, very little persistence.

If you're not consistently telling yourself everyday that you have the thing(s) you want and are instead leaning too far into the negative things happening in your 3D realm, then you're not going to see your manifestation when you want to. But, when you do consistently affirm while ignoring circumstances and time, you will most certainly get what you want.

Also, when you have that mindset of “I have [this thing],” you aren’t “waiting” on anything. The idea of “waiting” on a manifestation isn’t true. When you’re manifesting, you already have what you want and you’re not focused on the time. Someone who already has something is not waiting and is not focusing on the time. If you act as if it’s a waiting game, you are making yourself wait. Understand that your manifestation is waiting on you to leap into that end state where you know you have it. Things are always unfolding and moving behind the scenes to work in your favor to whatever you’re manifesting. You just have to trust and believe that.

So, don’t make yourself wait. Take your focus off of time and what you’re seeing in front of you. Then, the dream you’ve been manifesting physically shows up. It truly is a paradox. When you don’t worry about the time and “getting” it (because you already have it), it shows up in the physical realm quicker than you could ever imagine.

"My manifestation is too big for me to manifest. It can’t happen.”

Yes, it can. You’re only limiting yourself. Anything - and I mean anything - is possible, despite what other people try to tell you. Nothing is “too big” for you to manifest.

Can it feel difficult to manifest? Yes. When you’re changing from, let’s say, a 9-5 office worker to a singer who tours internationally, that feels like a massive shift in your life. You aren’t used to a change like that. HOWEVER, this does not mean you can’t make that shift in realities.

Manifesting “That man in front of me treated me to a coffee” while you’re in line at Starbucks is just as easy to manifest as “My boyfriend proposed to me with the ring I’ve been wanting.” It just may not feel as easy as one another.

But, to simply put it, we tend to put these limits on ourselves when, in truth, the sky’s the limit. You can manifest something HUGE.

“…But I don’t want to take action and constantly affirm.”

Guess what? You don’t have to take action and constantly repeat words in your mind. Action is never required when you’re manifesting. Repeating phrases to yourself is helpful, but when it comes down to it, affirming is just stating that something is true. You can say it once and that’s enough as long as you believe you already have what you want. The only reason repeated affirming is encouraged is because stating what you’re affirming over and over again in your mind is what can make you believe it’s true.

[delugyu]

soooo i had a thought, who do you think best fits an exes au? 🎤

astrology anon btw also i saw that c3 pt2 is coming i’m going to die

AHHHHH!!!!! great question. i’m a lunatic so i am envisioning something for each member

yeonjun - staying as friends after breaking up w him, which works fine at first but eventually he starts missing the way things were. friendship isn’t enough anymore but he doesn’t have the guts to say anything cause he doesn’t want to know that you’re moving on. lots of silent pining until he feels suffocated by unexpressed emotion, then he’s rambling about how breaking up was a mistake that he regrets every day, he loves you and thinks about you more now than ever before, and he needs you to know this even if you don’t feel the same.

soobin - THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY!!! he’s the one i see most fitting for the exes trope… he’s the kind of person who never really leaves you, even when he’s gone he still lingers in your mind as a constant buzz. you see him again by chance and you can’t let the opportunity pass, and u find out he never really wanted to leave in the first place. reconnecting and being able to understand each other better now, more mature than you were back then, able to see now that your future was always him. he would have never dated anyone again, he would have spent a lifetime waiting for you, but he’s glad he didn’t have to wait quite that long.

beomgyu - the break up was mutual, but beomgyu realizes when he sees you dating some other guy that he wasn’t over you as much as he thought he was. the dude’s a prick, what on earth could you possibly see in him!!? beomgyu was literally better in every single way, he’s sure of it. he even texts you to make sure you’re actually you and not some alien clone of yourself, cause he’s so sure you’d never stoop this low. he wasn’t a jealous person in the relationship, but he sees red every time you walk across campus with that asshole on your arm. he should probably do something about this. yeah, fuck it. he’s going up to you.

taehyun - he will become your enemy once u break up… he doesn’t spare you a single glance anymore, refuses to talk to you, drops contact with all your mutual friends who took your side. his friends get the real story though: he’s a mess without you. he’s not sleeping the same, he’s drowning the pain with whatever routes of escapism he has access to. he can’t stand that you’re not miserable without him, but he doesn’t dare talk to u about it, cause that would mean he lost the break up. it gets to the point where one of his friends comes to you like “hey. can u talk to taehyun. he’s kinda going through it.” and you’re confused asf cause you thought he hated you now

kai - the one to try desperately to win u back, coming to your front door with apologies and a tender heart and red eyes from crying all night. you broke up with him yesterday, and you thought it was best for the two of you to go no contact, but clearly he thinks otherwise. there’s no hard feelings, you just wanted different things from the relationship. with him pleading at your door in the middle of the night, ready to do anything to get you back, you’d feel bad to not at least let him sleep here for the night. okay, maybe a part of it is also that you’re missing him too.

[lumiambrose]

~ ✰ UNSPOKEN ACCIDENTS ⋆｡°✩

featuring: reo x gn!reader (should pass as gn!, sorry in advance if it's not!)

summary: after months of unspoken feelings and an extremely tough match, he finally lets his deepest emotions slip...

request for nonnie xx

wc: 1.1k

tags: smut, little bit angsty i guess, friends with benefits, cumming inside, fluffy ending too i guess :)

Your fingers trace absentminded circles on Reo’s bare chest, his skin still damp from sweat, the air thick with his scent. The bed beneath you feels warmer than usual, but maybe that’s just him. Or maybe it’s you, pretending this means more than it does.

Reo is silently staring at the ceiling, his jaw clenched tight. You know this isn’t about you—not entirely. His team lost today—he lost today. A stupid mistake in the last five minutes cost him the game, and Reo Mikage does not take losing lightly.

Still, you hope… well, you’re not sure what you hope for. Maybe some sign that you’re more than a stress reliever, that you’re not just a warm body for him to sink into at a whim. But expecting anything is unfair of you. I mean, it goes without saying: no feelings, no expectations, just pleasure and the occasional bite of comfort when the world outside becomes too loud.

“Reo…” you start hesitantly, your fingers pausing over his heartbeat. He tenses under your touch, eyes snapping to yours. You’re not quite sure what’s going through his mind right now, but either way, you’re not sure whether you want to know.

“What?” his voice is sharper than anticipated, irritation bleeding through.

You bite your lip. “I just… you played well today.”

A bitter laugh escapes him. “Yeah, clearly. That’s why we lost, right?”

You sit up, pulling the sheet around yourself. “You’re being too hard on yourself.”

His jaw ticks. “You don’t get it.”

“I do, actually.”

“No, you don’t.” His voice rises. The frustration clear in his tone as he sits up abruptly, raking a hand through his hair. “You don’t understand how much this fucking means to me. How much I—” He exhales harshly, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, but your heart twists nonetheless at the rawness in his voice. “Reo, I—”

“I don’t need your pity,” he snaps.

That hurts. More than it should. You clench your fists, doing your absolute best to ignore the feelings surging up your body. “I’m not pitying you.”

He scoffs, running both hands through his hair. He looks wrecked—tired, angry, vulnerable in a way he probably hates. But you don’t judge him. You don’t think you even can. Knowing the weight of expectations he carries, the way he punishes himself for not being perfect.

So you do the only thing that crosses your mind. You reach for him.

At first, he resists, but when you pull him closer, his body sags against yours. His head resting against your shoulder, and his breath is warm against your skin, uneven.

“I hate losing,” he mutters, voice muffled.

“I know.” You run your fingers through his hair, lightly massaging his scalp. While it does take a while, you finally notice the tension in his body begins to melt.

And then, as if seeking something else—something more, his lips find yours.

It starts slow, but you both know where this is heading. His hands find your waist, your nails dig into his shoulders, and the weight of every unspoken thought between the both of you comes crashing down.

His kisses are tired and sloppy, a reflection of his current state, but the way he holds you makes you feel like you’re the only thing that matters right now. The way his palms roam from your waist to rubbing the small of your back and eventually making their way to the globes of your ass, you almost feel special.

It’s not long until he’s removing his boxers, freeing his cock before taking your lips to his once again. Placing you on top of him, his hands continue to roam once again, and once you can’t take it anymore, you take your own initiative. Aligning your heat with his cock before slowly sinking down on him, a breathy moan escaping your lips, only to be muffled by Reo.

You start slow—painfully slow. Adjusting yourself to his size as you slowly shift back and forth on his lap. Reo reciprocates, grinding up into your aching core. It’s slow but surprisingly sensual, extremely sensual.

His lips are latched to your neck, planting wet kisses and marks throughout your skin as he holds onto the soft flesh on your ass. If you didn’t know any better, you’d actually believe he wanted you. Though that’s not relevant, not while your body aches in pleasure as every thrust sends jolts through your body.

Reo can feel it too. He guides your movements, helping you bounce on his lap as he thrusts up to meet you, slowly increasing in pace. The room fills with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin and your mingled moans and grunts. And before you know it, you’re reaching that all-familiar high. The high only Reo can give you.

“Reo,” your voice strained. “I’m so close.” Your words come out slurred between a mix on moans and gasps, but he understands. He lifts you up slightly, allowing him a better angle as he continues to thrust inside of you, chasing both of your releases.

“Yeah? Go on, make a mess for me.” Even his own voice is strained, but that doesn’t change a thing as you find yourself trembling on top of him. Your high crashing over you as you moan out his name.

“Shit, you’re so tight,” he’s getting desperate too. “Gonna fill you up, ok?” Though he doesn’t give you time to reply as he reaches his own high. Hot seed spraying your insides as he finally slows down his movements, gently grinding his cum inside you as the two of you pant against each other's skin.

The air is thick—too thick, almost as if something is up. Maybe you’re just delusional, actually believing the impossible will happen. But as you rest against Reo’s chest, you hear the strangest words.

“I love you.”

Your body stills, your heart stopping mid-beat.

His eyes are wide, as if he himself can’t believe what he just said. But there’s no taking it back. His hands tighten around you, grounding you in this moment.

“You…” Your throat feels tight. “You love me?”

You look up, finally facing him as you try to comprehend his words. You’re not imagining things, are you?

“I do.” Short and simple, but everything you wanted to hear. The months of what you considered one-sided yearning, all to be reciprocated, and it feels like a massive weight has just been lifted off your chest.

The grin that spreads across your face is impossible to hide, even when you try and turn away; he pulls you back to him, reciprocating with a smile of his own.

And then, as if afraid you’ll slip through his fingers, he kisses you again—like he just won his greatest victory.

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©lumiambrose ─ do not translate, repost, copy any of my works

[tenwhiteandalusians]

pertaining to the idea of tenax’s band of strays i do think it’s touching that the kids are the ones who saved him and waited outside the door to make sure he’s okay. for all tenax claims to be harsh and cruel it’s a fine indicator of his character that the kids won’t rest without him and are there every time he’s in danger.