#it feels like it's made for kids but with swearing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

s1utla · 3 days ago

Text

NEIGHBORING NOISES | NOLAN GRAYSON x F READER x DEBBIE GRAYSON

warnings: 18+, age gap (reader is in her 20’s) threesome, oral, fingering, brief mommy & daddy kink, pet names, drunk sex kinda, slight hair pulling, fem on fem, creampie, belly bulge implied. reader is unaware of nolan being omni man but she’s suspicious.

summary: The attractive married couple you’ve been secretly crushing on since moving in across the street invites you over for dinner. wc: 2.8k

an: haven’t written smut or been on tumblr in over 2 years so this probably has a lot of errors. minors dni.

You’ve always felt… uneasy. About a lot of things. Your job, your daily routine, the way your voice sounded when you told the cashier “thanks” and they hesitated before responding. It’s like you’re always teetering on the edge of something—something nameless, something just out of reach. You could argue that it’s just who you are. Maybe you were born this way, wired a little too tight, always bracing for something to go wrong.

Lately, though, that unease has settled onto something new. Your neighbors. And for the life of you, you can’t figure out why.

You only just moved into the house across from them. It’s a nice place—nothing fancy, but cozy. The price wasn’t bad either, almost suspiciously reasonable, but you didn’t question it too much. A green lawn, a few sturdy trees swaying lazily in the spring breeze.

And the neighbors? Seem like good people. Normal. The mother—Debbie, you think—was the first to introduce herself. She even brought over a little welcome gift, something wrapped in cheerful paper with a neat little bow. She smiled the kind of smile that made your heart flutter a bit.

She’s pretty—almost effortlessly so. The kind of woman who still looks young despite having a 17-year-old son. But if you look closely, the signs are there. The faint lines that carve into her cheeks when she smiles, the dark circles smudged beneath her eyes, hints of exhaustion she probably tries to cover up. She mentioned, in passing, that she works in real estate. You imagine that kind of job wears on a person, the constant chase, the stress of closing deals. Maybe that’s what’s behind the tired look in her eyes.

Her son, Mark, seems like a good kid. You haven’t really talked to him—haven’t had the chance—but from what you’ve gathered, he’s always on the move. Traveling, going places, never lingering too long. Aloof, distant. He’s not that much younger than you, just six years. but something about him feels further away, like he exists in a different orbit altogether.

Those two seemed normal enough. Friendly, even. But the real source of your uneasiness? Debbie’s husband, Nolan Grayson.

There’s something about him. Something that sticks to the back of your mind like a song you can’t quite remember the lyrics to. You swear you’ve seen him before, but no matter how hard you try to place it, the memory won’t come. It’s like a name on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach, teasing you.

Maybe that’s all it is. Maybe the reason you feel so off about this otherwise lovely family is just your own frustration, your own mind messing with you. It wouldn’t be the first time. You wouldn’t put it past yourself to fixate on something like this, to let it fester into unease.

Whatever, It’s not really your business so you have no reason to dwell upon the matter, it’s not like you're getting paid for it. You stand up, sighing right before stretching your arms out. You’re exhausted, although working in marketing for a big company doesn’t involve physical labor, it comes with its own kind of exhaustion. Hours spent staring at a screen, wracking your brain for the next big idea, piecing together campaigns that will make people care, it’s draining in a way that sneaks up on you. You check the time, it’s 9:48 pm. You figure you should do your nightly routine and get to bed.

As you head to the bathroom to complete your nightly routine—the basics: brushing your teeth, washing your face, maybe even a nice hydrating face mask—an unexpected knock comes from your front door.

You pause in your tracks. It’s 9:48 PM. Who the fuck comes knocking this late?

You’re a young woman, alone in a new home, with no friends or family nearby. The thought sends a chill down your spine. You don’t know anyone well enough for a surprise visit, especially not at this hour.

You’re a little scared. And rightfully so.

Regardless, you push through the fear, forcing your feet to move as you walk toward the front door. Slowly. Carefully. Making sure not to make too much noise, just in case. You press your eye to the peephole.

A familiar face stares back at you.

“Debbie?” you murmur, confusion slipping into your voice as you unlock the door.

And there she is—the pretty woman from across the street, standing on your porch, smiling like she’s genuinely happy to see you.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart! I must’ve scared you,” she says, her warm voice laced with amusement as her gaze flickers over the worry still etched on your face.

You step back. “No! It’s okay,” you say, sighing in relief. “Honestly, I’m happy it’s you. I probably would’ve peed myself in fear if it were someone I didn’t know.” She laughs at your response, not a fake laugh but a genuine one. She looks beautiful smiling, you can’t get over it. It makes you nervous and makes your hands sweaty.

“Anyways, I just wanted to come over and ask if you’d like to have dinner with me and Nolan…” she pauses before continuing, “I know you moved here just a few weeks ago, and you don’t have any family or friends around, so it must get pretty lonely. And Mark is over at his girlfriend’s house, so it’ll just be us.”

You’re a bit shocked. You admire how mindful she is of others, but it feels a little invasive on your end—to just join them even though you’ve only known them for a couple of weeks….However, this could also be a chance to ask her husband if you’ve seen him before, so the nagging sense of familiarity that’s been bothering you for weeks can finally be put to rest. She looks at you, waiting for your response, her long, pretty lashes coated in mascara flickering every time she blinks. You even wonder if her husband, too, finds himself powerless under her gaze.

“Sure, it’s not like I’m doing anything anyway,” you say, smiling softly and willingly at her. “I’ll be over there in about seven minutes—I just need to change out of my pajamas and into something more presentable.”

She beams at your response and agrees, “I’ll see you soon then,” she says, leaving with a wink.

You changed into a pair of cozy sweatpants and a tight-fitting cami—basic loungewear, or so you assume. It’s not like you’re headed on a date; it’s just a casual dinner with your neighbors. Still, you can’t help but wonder: what do people even wear to dinner with their neighbors? Am I underdressed? with a wry chuckle at your own overthinking, you decide to shake off the doubts. The doorbell rings out with an obnoxiously loud chime that makes you question if you’re about to announce your arrival to the entire block, So you step up to the door and knock, the hard wooden surface echoing your tap.

Debbie opens the door, and there stands the tall, muscular man behind her—Nolan. She looks like an ant in comparison. Both of them make you nervous in a strange way; they’re so perfectly suited for each other—attractive and seemingly much younger than they actually are. Jeez, you sincerely hope you age as well as they do; those genes are insane. They both wear smiles.

“Come on in!” Debbie says, grabbing your arm and leading you through their well-decorated living room into the kitchen. The table has been set, and plates and forks are already laid out for you, Nolan, and herself. You all take a seat at the table.

“Thank you for inviting me. It was very considerate of you both,” you say, smiling prettily at them. “It has been a bit lonely.”

Debbie smiles back at you. “It was actually my husband’s idea,” she explains.

Nolan then looks at you, his handsome face turning serious. “I know how it feels to be in an unfamiliar place all alone—it’s nice to have some company,” he says, taking a bite of the well-prepared, seasoned steak. Honestly, it’s a bit awkward yet strangely comforting. The three of you continue to eat and chat as Debbie pours another round of wine and launches into a heartfelt account of the struggles of raising a child—which, honestly, makes you question ever having kids yourself. You notice lingering touches: Nolan’s hand rests on your shoulder a moment too long, and Debbie’s foot brushes against yours in a way that feels deliberate, not accidental. You can feel your face warming up; just how strong is that wine? Soon, your head feels fuzzy, and you’re babbling about your life, while Nolan and Debbie exchange secret, amused glances. Debbie’s cheeks are flushed—it seems the wine’s affected her as well. The only one who appears completely composed is Nolan. Tipsy and curious, you still can’t place where you’ve seen him before.

“Nolan,” you giggle, “where have I seen you from? You look oddly familiar.”

Nolan’s lip curls into a slight smirk, his face so attractive it sends a rush of heat deep inside you, making your thighs clench involuntarily. Debbie’s laughter rings in your ear. “Yeah, Nolan, where has she seen you before?” she teases, sliding her hand over his. “I’m not anything special—I’m sure you’ve seen plenty of people who look like me.”

“Awe, c’mon, don’t lie to our guest, Nolan,” Debbie slurs, now clearly drunk. How long has it been since you all started drinking? You can’t even recall exactly. “If I had seen men who looked like you, I guarantee I would’ve spoken to them,” you blurt out.

Nolan leans in closer, his warm breath fanning against your flushed skin until your pulse quickens and your breath catches. His deep, husky voice murmurs, “What’s that supposed to mean, doll?” The pet name sends a jolt of desire through you, making your pussy throb with a hungry intensity that you can barely contain.

Drunk, desperate, and utterly aroused, you feel every inch of your body reacting to the charged atmosphere between you. Debbie’s laughter rings out—light, teasing, and inviting.

With a playful giggle and a closed-eye smile, she chimes in, “Your name—are you attracted to my husband?” Before you can fully process her words, Debbie rises gracefully. She drifts behind you, her slender hands gliding over your neck and down your exposed collarbone, sending shivers of anticipation through your body. Every touch, every whispered word, blurs the lines between friends.

She nestles her face into the curve of your neck, her teeth grazing your sensitive skin with teasing bites, while Nolan seizes your jaw, pulling your lips to his in a needy kiss. A desperate moan escapes you, muffled against his mouth, as your mind blurs with lust, overwhelmed by the slick heat pooling between your thighs. Your drenched panties cling tightly to your swollen, throbbing cunt, outlining every needy curve.

Nolan rises to his feet, and without a hint of effort, he effortlessly lifts both you and Debbie as though you were weightless. His incredible strength is truly astonishing. Abnormal even. As Debbie trails a soft lick along her husband's jawline, you can’t help but drift your attention to the noticeable bulge forming in his pants.

He strides over and eases you both onto the bed, his touch gentle yet deliberate. You don’t hesitate, fingers deftly peeling away Debbie’s clothes. Her bra slips off in a swift motion, unveiling her perky nipples—stiff, rosy peaks that catch the light. They’re ‘real pretty , and she knows it, a flush creeping up her cheeks.

Her once-tidy bun has unraveled, strands of hair tumbling loose, framing her flawless face in a wild, messy cascade.

You lean in, your tongue tracing slow, wet circles around her nipple, coating it in a sheen of saliva. She lets out a soft, kittenish mewl—so adorably needy it sends a jolt through you. Your fingers find her other nipple, teasing it with light tugs and pinches, drawing out her quiet gasps. Fuck.

A pair of warm hands slide over your hips from behind. “I’m hard,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl in your ear, his rigid cock pressing insistently against the plush curve of your ass. Heat surges through you as you turn your attention back to Debbie, guiding her down onto the sheets with a gentle push. Her pants hit the floor in a discarded heap, revealing the glistening evidence of her arousal—she’s soaked, and it’s all for you. You press your lips against her swollen, dripping cunt, a throaty moan escaping you as your tongue flicks greedily over her clit, lapping up the sweet flood of her juices. “You taste so good,” you whisper, voice breaking with want, “so fuckin’ good, Mommy.” The pet name hits her like a spark—her pussy clenches around nothing, a desperate little twitch that makes you smile.

Behind you, Nolan hooks his fingers into the waistband of your leopard-print panties, dragging them down your thighs with a slow, deliberate pull. His hard, leaking cock nudges between your slick, soaked lips, and he lets out a rough grunt, sliding it back and forth, coating himself in the glistening mess of your arousal. The thick mushroom head grazes your clit with each pass, sending shivers racing up your spine.

“Such a sweet girl,” Nolan murmurs into your ear, his voice a low, gravelly tease as he drags the tip of his cock along your gaping entrance, tormenting you with shallow dips. His hands roam over the plump curve of your ass, kneading the flesh with firm, possessive squeezes that make your breath hitch.

You try to refocus on Debbie, but Nolan’s relentless teasing is clouding your mind. Fortunately, Debbie takes control, her fingers weaving into your hair—not harsh, but with just enough force to command your attention. She guides your face back to her dripping cunt, pressing you into her heat. Your lips find her clit again, nipping and sucking with hungry precision, while your tongue grazes the soft skin of her inner thigh. Her juices smear across your mouth, a sticky, squelching mess, and she squirms beneath you, her breathy moans filling the air.

Nolan doesn’t wait any longer. With a sudden, deep thrust, he buries his thick cock inside you, stretching you wide. The jolt rips a gasp from your throat, your body lurching forward into Debbie. “S—” you stammer, voice breaking, “slow down, please.” The plea spills out in a shaky moan, your walls clenching around him.

Debbie giggles, a playful lilt in her voice as she strokes your head soothingly. “Be gentle with our girl, Nolan,” she chimes in, her fingers threading through your hair with tender care, a stark contrast to the desperate way her hips grind against your mouth. Nolan grunts in acknowledgment and stops.

“You alright, pretty girl?” Nolan asks, his tone laced with gentle concern as he rubs your tummy in soft, caring circles. The tenderness of his touch sends a flutter through your heart—and a matching pulse deep in your pussy.

“Mhm, ‘m okay, Daddy,” you reply, a shy smile curling your lips as you glance back at him. Debbie catches Nolan’s eye, her gaze sparkling with amusement. His cock twitches inside you, a subtle throb you feel in your core, betraying how that little word sets him off. She smirks, clearly enjoying the effect it has, while you bask in the warmth of his hand and the steady stretch of him filling you. Nolan’s hips rock into you, slow at first, then building into a punishing rhythm that drives his cock deep into your guts. You can barely focus on Debbie, your senses overwhelmed as his balls slap rabidly against the plush flesh of your ass. Her hands clutch the white sheets in a death grip, fingers twisting the fabric, and it fuels you. Matching Nolan’s relentless pace, you thrust your fingers into her slick heat, pumping them in and out with rapid, sloppy precision, mirroring the way he’s fucking your pretty pussy.

Tears well in the corners of your eyes, the pleasure of his cock pistoning into your insides almost unbearable—sharp, sweet, and all-consuming. Debbie’s legs quiver under your touch, her messy, sloppy pussy clenching around your fingers as you work her mercilessly. The room fills with the obscene symphony of wet, lewd squelching—your drenched cunt, her soaked hole, and the rhythmic smack of skin colliding.

“‘m gonna cum,” you moan, voice trembling with desperation, “‘m gonna cum all over Daddy’s cock” The words spill out in frantic gasps against Debbie’s pussy as you double your efforts, determined to drag her over the edge with you. Nolan keeps his brutal pace, chasing his own release, his fingers digging into your hips with bruising force. “‘Gonna fill you up,” he growls, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You're gonna let me right?”

Debbie’s voice cuts in, a stammering, mindless mess, “Let him—oh, fuck—” Her words dissolve into a whimper as you push her closer. You nod frantically, lost in the haze, and then it hits—all three of you unraveling together. You gush around Nolan’s cock, Debbie’s pussy spasming over your fingers, and he spills inside you, hot and thick, just as promised. Synthetic moans and ragged gasps echo through the room, the sheets now a ruined mess beneath you.

#nolan grayson x reader #invincible #invincible smut #debbie grayson #nolan grayson #debbie grayson x reader #omni man #omni man x reader #omni man smut #debbie grayson smut #wlw smut #៹ archive !

231 notes · View notes

deadpanjisung · 2 days ago

Text

ʚ♡all your fantasies♡ɞ

pairing: bf!bangchan x afab!reader x hyunjin genre: smut, drabble, suggestive, angst

MDNI!!!!

wc: 2.8k cw: cockwarming, unprotected sex, hyunjin’s a third wheel for a sec, angst, swearing, alcohol, making out (sorry if I missed any ~) feedback is encouraged ◡̈ i hope you enjoy ♡

“Baby, c’mon. Just this once. The kids are in their rooms, they won’t notice.” Chris pouted at you, tugging at the blanket that covered both of your bodies.

You were cuddling on their dorm’s new sizable couch. The boys all chipped in to buy it after their latest comeback, which was a huge success as expected. The couch cost them a pretty penny as it was a modular sofa because they were especially adamant that their new couch must fit all eight of them at the same time. $4,000 and many add-ons later, they reached their goal. The sofa looked ridiculous in their small-ish living room; it wasn’t usually set up for them to sit side by side unless they were all visiting. With how the couch was arranged and your bodies lying down, only one more person could sit next to you, or two, at most.

At that moment, you prayed that none of the members grew bored of their hobbies and sought for yapping time, something you usually didn’t turn down. Mostly because you and Chris hadn’t had much alone time since weeks before their comeback. You were “watching a movie” which mostly consisted of small conversations and doomscrolling through TikTok edits of him, whilst Chris blushed. The movie blended with the background soon enough. Chris dragged his body closer to yours whenever you pushed him away, his face was hidden in your neck, peppering your skin with light kisses. His hard-on was pressed against your ass.

“Let’s go to your room and I’ll gladly let you hit.” You mused, looking back at him.

“But it’s so comfy here. We haven’t even christened the couch yet!” He chuckled. You playfully hit his arm.

“Okay. What if I cockwarm you now and we start the movie again. If you can keep still until the movie ends, we go back to my apartment, and I let you rail me.” His face lit up as soon as you said the words; mainly because Chris knew that, with you, cockwarming always leads to, at least, a quickie.

“Deal.” His hands were quick to lift your dress and pull down your panties as if it were his second nature. His fingers slid through your folds, which were embarrassingly soaked. Chris, despite his risqué performances, always leaned to taking the safer option when presented with such situations. When you had sex, it was always in his room or yours. He wouldn’t have sex in your apartment if your housemate was there either. The fact that he initiated a sexual encounter in a different setting aroused you more than it should’ve. You felt his now-naked erection press into your bare ass. You could feel him throbbing when he bumped his tip at your entrance. You were already pooling with arousal, and you could faintly hear Chris’ wet cock as he jerked himself off before starting to push in. Fitting his cock in you was always a stretch, his thick tip getting caught on your tight entrance.

“Baby. It’s been a while since we’ve fucked, right? You’re too…tight.” He grunted in your ear as he pushed more of his cock inside of you. You moaned at the feeling of slowly becoming full of him. Of your Chris, after what felt like forever. The stressful comebacks and tour dates frequently made you push back the wavering desires of your libidos. Chris grunted as his cock rested snug inside of you. “Feels so good. I’m so comfortable now.” At that moment, you realized your mistake. You knew he was teasing you, but you would not succumb so easily.

“Oh yeah. It feels nice, baby. I think we’ll enjoy the movie so much more like this.” You said, suppressing a moan as you shifted, and he pushed just a little deeper inside. You hit the restart button. The movie seemed interesting enough, Cleopatra, a nineteen-seventy-something animated film your housemate had recommended. You were in awe at the intricate animation when the sound of a door opening instantly froze both you and Chris. Chris stared at you as Hyunjin emerged from his room.

“Oh! Is that the Cleopatra movie?” He asked as he stood behind the couch. You nodded, as no words came out, terrified that Hyunjin would notice what you were doing. Chris was equally scared; you could feel a drop of sweat fall from his face onto your shoulder. “Nice. I’ve wanted to see it for like ages, but I was kind of not up for it.”

“Really? Why?” Chris perked up when he heard that. You went into watching it blindly, following your housemate’s recommendation without a second though.

“It’s supposed to be kind of… erotic? I think.” He started as he took his seat next to you and Chris, your head just inches away from his thigh. You attempted to pull away from Chris, he grabbed your hips. Hyunjin noticed. “Oh, don’t worry. I don’t mind you guys cuddling here. But no kissing, that’s disgusting.” Chris nodded with a sigh of relief, as Hyunjin seemingly hadn’t noticed you weren’t just cuddling. Chris’s hands found your hips once again and pulled you closer. You let out a moan, covered up with a cough. Hyunjin looked down at you.

“Sorry, I think the candle you lit earlier is sparking up my allergies.” You explained, a half true statement. The candle was in his room, only a faint scent of sweet peach managed to escape from his door left ajar.

“Oh, shit! I forgot to blow it out.” He stood up and descended the hallway in a hurry.

“Are you crazy?” You asked Chris in a whisper as he softly ground his hips against yours.

“Calm down, he has absolutely no idea what’s going on. Plus, we’re not really doing anything bad, kind of. At least not in front of him.”

“Chris…”

“What? Aren’t you the one who always asked to try this out?”

“Okay, yeah but I meant, like, having sex in an empty parking lot, not fucking in front of Hyunjin.”

“Well, good thing we’re not fuckin’, then.” His movements halted as he heard the door to Hyunjin’s room closing.

“Thank you for reminding me, Y/N-nnie. I could’ve burned down the whole dorm.” He chuckled, you gave him a half-smile and tried to focus your attention back to the movie.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Changbin and Jisung had quietly slipped out to have dinner, you hoped they’d ask you or Hyunjin to go with them because focusing on the film wasn’t helping. Despite the interesting themes that composed the film and some the depicted a romanticization of things that shouldn’t be romanticized, given the situation, the erotic nature of it was getting to you. The movie was half over, Chris had barely moved but you could feel him leaking a generous amount of pre-cum inside of you. Hyunjin, on the other hand, was very conversational about the art and composition of the film. He even took out his sketchbook and started drawing. You had grown to know Hyunjin pretty well during your relationship with Chris. He would only take his sketchbook out when he knew that he’d be alone or if he was feeling nervous. At first, you assumed he felt comfortable with you both. But his constant chattiness died down, and his hands started fidgeting with anything he could find. The movie’s lewd sounds were almost unbearable to you, the feeling of your wetness mixed with Chris’s didn’t help your discretion. Hyunjin kept looking from the screen to you and back to the screen.

“Hey,” You sat up a little whilst managing to keep Chris’s cock inside of you, making him jolt after apparently falling asleep. “We can watch something else if you’re not comfortable, okay?” You noticed Hyunjin pressing his sketchbook to his lap.

“Uh, no, it’s not that…” he started as he stared at you with widened eyes. You could feel Chris doze off behind you, trying not to mind his throbbing dick inside of you. Instead, you were worried about his younger friend’s sudden behavior. “Is this movie supposed to, like, turn you on?” A blush creeped onto his face. “Forget I said anything.” He lifted his hands and covered his face. You slipped off of your boyfriend’s dick and fully sat up, making sure that the blanket still covered you both.

“I mean, it is an animated erotica, so I do think it is supposed to make you feel kinda horny. I guess…”

“Okay.” He sighed as he uncovered his face, and you felt he was just reassuring himself more than anything else. He kept looking at the screen then, not even glancing at you. You took the opportunity to observe him. Hyunjin was surely a sight for sore eyes. You couldn’t imagine any human being finding him unappealing. He was sweet and shy but a little flirty when he wanted to. You stood up and walked towards the kitchen. Chris was deep in his slumber now and your dress covered you enough so that Hyunjin couldn’t see that you didn’t have underwear on. You grabbed two shot glasses and half a bottle of peach soju. Hyunjin helped you halfway through, unnecessarily grabbing the two shot glasses from your hands. You sat down and served them.

“Maybe this’ll help you relax a bit.”

“Actually, I’m afraid that soju and being alone with a pretty girl just makes me more anxious.”

“Well, then, I’m glad Chris is still here and that I’m not really that pretty.” You teased as you took your drink from his hands. You looked back at your boyfriend, his sleeping form always gave you a sense of peace. Chris was usually restless, there wasn’t a day that he wasn’t worried about his members, their new songs, how STAY would react to them exploring new sounds, how he looked-

“Baby,” Chris whined, mostly asleep. “I slipped out.” He still had his eyes closed, whereas yours and Hyunjin’s were wide open.

“What are you talking about?” You chuckled nervously as you shook him awake. Hyunjin looked away with deeply reddened ears.

“Huh?”

“Oh…Oh!” Hyunjin exclaimed in realization, looking down at the sketchbook that, once again, sat on his lap.

“Yeah…”

“You could’ve just told me and I would’ve left!” Hyunjin said whilst looking at you.

“We weren’t having sex, I swear.” Chris blushed, hiding his face with a pillow.

“And we didn’t mind you watching the movie with us either…” You added.

“Why was his thing inside of you, then?”

“Hyunjin, are you really asking me to explain myself?”

He shook his head, visibly embarrassed at his own questioning of your actions.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.” He apologized. “But that doesn’t make what you were doing any better! I mean, having sex in the dorm? In public?”

“We weren’t having sex.” Your boyfriend refuted, Hyunjin glared at him. “We’re sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Well, I’m kinda not. If there’s something that this movie taught me is that women are entitled to have their sexual liberation. I get that it’s inappropriate and I’m sorry about that. Though, I think it is unfair that you only questioned me instead of both of us!”

“I said I was sorry…” he muttered.

“Okay, then, this seems like something you two should sort out by yourselves. Peacefully.” Chris suggested as he stood up. “I’ll be back in, like, half an hour. I love you.” He kissed your cheek.

“Chris…”

“Hyung…”

“Work things out, please.” Chris said a bit more sternly as he took his car keys from the table. You both watched him as he stepped out the door.

You and Hyunjin stared at each other, his brows were furrowed. After a while, he looked away and started scribbling on his sketchbook. You took out your phone and scrolled mindlessly through social media. You knew that Hyunjin had a right to be uncomfortable with the situation, but you still stood your ground. He didn’t have any reason to target you instead of Chris or both of you. You registered movement from his side but didn’t pay mind to it until he scooted over, offering a shot glass full of soju. You took it from his hands and drank it, the sweet yet sour flavor was your favorite, a maladaptive form of comfort.

“I’m s-” you both said in unison. He gestured for you to go first.

“I’m sorry, Jinnie… I shouldn’t have gotten so defensive. You have all the right to be uncomfortable with what was happening. I just felt like you were only blaming me for it…”

“No, I mean, yeah. I am uncomfortable with what was happening and the fact that you couldn’t even tell me. Despite that, you’re right… I was angrier at you than hyung. I did take it out on you and…” he gave a frustrated sigh. “I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but I have to, right?” That question was directed at himself because once you opened your mouth to answer, he kept speaking, “Ugh. I was jealous. I think you’re pretty. I think you’re beautiful. I’ve told you billions of times and you keep pretending that it doesn’t happen, even today! And I know it’s wrong and that I shouldn’t be jealous because you’re his girlfriend not mine. But I am! I think you’re amazing and I have a huge, incomprehensible crush on you since before we really knew each other and you’re dating my hyung. Then I met you and everything about you is so fun and interesting and…I don’t know if it’s the fact that I’m so sexually deprived that I just cling onto you; or that you’re… No, I’m the reason why I can’t maintain relationships with anyone. It’s so fucked up. I’m so fucked up.” His brow remained furrowed, his face blushed, beads sweat fell from his neck to his shirt and he looked absolutely breathtaking.

“Okay, Jinnie, hold up.” You interrupted. “This is a lot. I need just a second to process this, okay?”

“I won’t mind if you hate me. I needed to get everything off my chest.” He announced with a stern voice, contrasting his worried expression.

“No, Jinnie. I don’t think anything could actually make me hate you. I think you’re so charming, and, just looking at you truly does take my breath away sometimes.”

“This isn’t making things better…” He pouted.

“I’m sorry to not have caught on to your flirting, I guess. I just never thought it was a serious advance… given the fact that I’m Chris’s girlfriend.”

“Wait, no. I don’t want to break you and Chan hyung up or anything. I think you’re great for him, better than you would be for me. It’s just… you love each other so much. Sometimes I think I could’ve been in his place instead and it makes me sad. I understand, though…”

“Does he know?” You interposed.

“Of course he does. The guilt was eating me alive during the first, like, year of your relationship.”

“He must really love you because he didn’t even hint at it with me.” You chuckled. “Jinnie, I love you so much. I’d do anything for you…except reciprocate your romantic feelings. I know you’re not expecting that, but I feel like I need to tell you anyways. I think you’re a beautiful person. Maybe in another universe we’d be together, I don’t doubt it at all. But I’m happy where we are here and I don’t want to lose our friendship…” He looked at you with glossy eyes and you heart couldn’t help but break.

“I really want you to stay in my life, Y/N.”

“I really want you to stay in mine too, Jinnie.”

“But I really really want to kiss you, so I don’t know if I can.”

“I think you’d better ask Chris about it, then.” You remarked as you heard the door unlocking.

“I did not just hear you telling my girlfriend that you wanted to kiss her.” Chris teased as he walked in with a few bags in his hands. “And I certainly did not hear my girlfriend tell my friend to ask me about it, right?” Hyunjin buried his head in his hands once again. “Just kidding. She can do whatever she wants. She’s a sexually liberated woman and I’m not going to stop her.” He shrugged. You smiled, knowing that your boyfriend was so accepting of your wishes. Hyunjin’s eyes widened.

“Do you think that’ll help you in any way?” You looked at Hyunjin and he shrugged. “Are you sure you don’t mind, Chris?”

“Nah, it’s just a kiss. You know we’ve had our fair share of experiences before you came into my life.” Chris replied as he walked into the dining room.

“Okay, then. Jinnie? Are you sure?” You asked, he nodded.

Your face inched closer to his as he remained static, eyes closed, and lips puckered. You pressed your lips on together, the plushness of his was as satisfying as you imagined. It took a second for him to kiss back, but once he did, the kiss deepened almost instantly. His hands took place on your hips, whilst yours tugged at his hair, earning a moan from him. You broke the kiss to stare at him, he sheepishly smiled, and you realized that this was probably a mistake. Mostly because you did, in fact, enjoy it more than you hoped.

“Baby, that was actually really, really hot.” Chris commented from the doorway. “You’re both attractive as hell.” You and Hyunjin stared at him in surprise. “You can keep going if you want, as long as I can keep watching…”

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・

#skz smut #skz x reader smut #skz x you #stray kids smut #stray kids hard hours #stray kids x you #bangchan x reader #hyunjin smut #bangchan smut #hwang hyunjin smut #skz x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #ginny writes!#my works!!

119 notes · View notes

mariespen · 1 day ago

Text

➸ Parent-Teacher Disaster

Sheriff!Rafe x Teacher!Reader

➸ Masterlist!

Requests open!

When an aggressive parent-teacher conference ruins your night, Rafe is always there to ground you. Warnings: Swearing, panic attack. Hurt/Comfort!

Late nights in your cozy first-grade classroom almost always meant one thing: parent-teacher conferences. Your eyes fought to stay awake as the final group walked in. With a bright, false smile, you greeted Salish and Nevan Hillian, the parents of Noah.

Noah was generally shy and quiet, but he got good grades and interacted well when asked to. In all reality, you weren’t concerned about the meeting.

However, your heart sped up when you noticed their body language—stiff, closed-off, practically radiating irritation.

Hesitantly, you forced your polite facade back on.

“Good evening! I’m Mrs. Cameron, and you must be Salish and Nevan Hillian!” you said, standing up from your desk, reaching out eagerly to shake their hands.

“Mhm.” Salish barely acknowledged you, her grip weak, her expression unreadable.

You swallowed hard, convincing yourself that they were just tired. Maybe they forgot to cancel and begrudgingly showed up anyway.

“Okay! Noah is really doing amazing in class—he’s ahead of the curve and is such a genuine little boy. Is there anything specific you’d like to go over?” You kept your tone professional, graceful, as you all returned to your seats—Salish and Nevan sitting stiffly across from you.

Salish’s lips pursed before she finally spoke, her voice sharp.

“Your methods of teaching are an utter disappointment.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

You sat frozen, stunned, as humiliation crawled up your spine.

“Noah is the smartest kid I’ve ever met in my life, and that’s purely because I made it that way,” she continued, her words laced with condescension. “You have no urgency with his education. He needs to be catered to.”

She was raising her voice now, her tone growing sharper. You struggled to choke back the inevitable tears stinging at your eyes.

“I’m so sorry you’re disappointed in the curriculum, ma’am. However—”

She cut you off with an aggressive flick of her hand.

“Shut up about that. This is your fault.”

A loud thump rang through your ears as she slammed a thick folder onto your desk. Papers spilled out, disorganized, demanding attention.

“Inside here, I have exactly how you should be teaching my son. I made it all myself.” A smirk pulled at her lips, as if she was proud of herself. It made you feel sick. “This is not a suggestion. It’s an expectation.”

You felt paralyzed.

Before you could gather your thoughts, they both stood abruptly. Nevan glanced back at you for a brief second, almost looking apologetic, but Salish was already striding toward the door—leaving him no choice but to follow.

The moment they disappeared, the dam broke.

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you sat frozen, the weight of their words pressing down on your chest. You had held it together as long as you could.

The walk to your car felt endless. The drive home was worse.

By the time you stepped into your house, the familiar silence told you Rafe had already put the kids to bed. A fresh wave of guilt twisted in your stomach. You stopped outside their rooms, listening to the soft sounds of their breathing, grounding yourself in the innocence of their tiny, sleeping forms.

Then, Rafe’s voice called to you.

“Sweetheart?”

You barely had time to process it before your body gave in.

You stepped into your bedroom, shut the door, and felt your bag slip from your shoulder.

“Rafe…” Your voice cracked.

“How was it?” he asked, toothbrush in hand, looking at you through the bathroom mirror.

Your lips parted, but instead of words, a choked sob escaped.

Your knees buckled before you could stop them.

In an instant, Rafe was there, catching you before you hit the floor.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, pulling you close as you broke down in his hold. Your body trembled with sobs, breath uneven, as if the room itself was closing in on you.

“Baby, it’s okay. You’re okay. I got you,” he murmured against your hair, his hands grounding you, his voice steady against the chaos in your mind.

You gasped for air, struggling to match his breathing, but his warmth—his presence—was enough to start pulling you back.

“M’sorry…” you managed to mumble against his chest.

“Don’t,” Rafe said firmly, but gently. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Minutes passed before your breathing slowed, the crushing weight easing just enough. When you finally lifted your head, you realized he had moved you onto the bed, his hands still tangled in your hair.

“Honey, tell me,” he urged softly, wiping stray tears from your cheeks.

“It was my last conference…” Your voice wavered. “They yelled at me, Rafe. Said I was a disappointment. A bad example.”

Rafe tensed immediately. “Fucking assholes.”

A broken laugh slipped past your lips at his instant response.

“I just… I don’t know what to do.” You swallowed hard. “She gave me a whole binder of separate work and concepts to teach Noah.”

Rafe frowned, trying to recall. “Noah? I thought he was doing great?”

“He is! He’s one of my best-performing students. Apparently, that’s not enough.” Your voice cracked again, frustration seeping through.

Rafe huffed, pulling you even closer. “Sweetheart, you’re amazing at what you do. That woman? She’s crazy. You knowyou’re doing the right thing.”

You sniffled, the knot in your throat loosening slightly.

“It’s okay,” Rafe murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “We don’t have to talk. Just rest.”

His fingers played lazily with your hair, his warmth pressing against you like a shield.

And, for the first time that night, you felt safe enough to close your eyes.

75 notes · View notes

soluversworld · 2 days ago

Note

i can't take back my vote can i have the angst please many thank

ᴅᴇᴀʀ ꜱᴇᴀ ꜱᴀʟᴛ - ᴋᴏɪ! ᴍᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴅᴀᴄᴛᴇᴅ x ɢ.ɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

14 DAYS WITH YOU is a 18+ visual novel Minors don’t interact!-

Words: long

Genre: Angst

If you find mistakes I'm sorry I did not proof read

(Reader is G.N)

Summary : You were a sacrifice to the ocean, that consumed your friend then why is the Koi God's features and movements represent him?

Trigger warnings

Death & Dying:

Grief & Loss:

Body Horror (Implied)

Unreliable Reality:

Existential Angst:

Poisoning:

Religious Themes (Sacrifice):

Violence:

Hopelessness & Despair

Most of the Koi fish! Lore was insipred from Momo's lore? It's there in discord I don't know if I'm good with angst so hehe...I hate this tho

A fairy tale’s supposed to end with something golden, something soft. Right?

Maybe.

…Oh my lord, Koi God.

Corland Bay is a town stitched together with salt and superstition. The sea takes, the sea gives back. Drop something screaming into the waves, and maybe—if it's feeling kind—it’ll spit out a miracle. Gills for lungs. Scales for skin. A promise that you'll keep breathing, long after you should’ve sunk.

You hate it. Have always hated it. But that's not something you say out loud. Violet chatters enough for the both of you, fills the silences you leave behind, swears she’s only doing it to keep you safe. Eleanor too, tucked behind her scripts, pressing the words into your hands so you won’t have to say them yourself.

But the village knows now. The weight of their eyes is a tide all its own. They ask why, but the answer’s got nothing to do with them. It never did.

You hate the Koi God. Always have. Always will. The village whispers it now, lets your name rot in their mouths like fish left too long in the sun. Blasphemy, they call it. Ungrateful. Foolish. But what do they know of grief? Of standing at the edge of a boat, wind cutting like knives, watching someone else drown in your place?

It was supposed to be you.

Not him.

But the sea doesn’t care for fairness. The village even less. They pried your hands from the wooden rails, from his wrist, from his shirt, from the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, and they let him go. You didn’t see him hit the water. Didn’t see him sink. Just the look in his eyes—blue, blue, blue—before he vanished into the maw of the waves.

He asked, once. Why the sea had to take. Why it couldn’t just be enough to live. You had no answer then. You have none now.

It’s nothing. You tell yourself that even now, with his name a ghost on your tongue. It’s nothing, nothing, nothing.

But you loved him.

Or maybe you didn’t. Maybe you couldn’t. Maybe love isn’t the right word, because it feels too soft, too breakable, too far from the raw thing gnawing at your ribs. But you liked him. You know that much. And now he’s gone, and you’re still here, and the only thing left to hate is the god that took him.

The only thing left was the wedding bands. Small, golden, imperfect in the way only a child’s hands could make them. He made them for you—back when you were just kids, back when the ocean was still a place to play, not a thing to fear.

You never wore yours. Not the way it was meant to be worn. Just looped it through a chain, let it rest against your chest, where no one could take it from you. Where it stayed, long after he was gone.

Gone. Because his father gave him up.

Because the village needed someone, and a child was easier to swallow than a guilty conscience. Because when the hands dragged him to the boat, when the chants began, when he cried for someone—anyone—to stop it, his father didn’t. Didn’t fight. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even flinch.

You still remember the way he looked at you. Not at the village. Not at the sky. Not at the water that was about to devour him. Just at you.

Like he was asking something.

Like he was waiting for an answer you never found in time.

And maybe that’s why it still hurts. Because you were supposed to be the one to go. Because he should have had a choice. Because you still feel the weight of his band against your skin, heavier than it should be.

Because his father didn’t feel anything.

And you feel everything.

The morning felt heavier than usual. Like the air itself had thickened, pressing against your skin, making it harder to breathe.

You had to get ready. Today was… one of those days.

The village had its ways—its rituals, its rules, its sacrifices. And today, like every season before, someone would be chosen. Someone would be taken. Someone would be swallowed by the sea, and the rest of them would call it a blessing.

You pulled on your clothing with stiff hands, the wedding band against your chest warm from your skin. Too warm. Like it still held something of him, like it still remembered.

A knock at the door.

Violet stood there, cradling a potted plant in her arms, its leaves swaying with the breeze. She tilted her head. “Y/N…?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. She already knew.

“Today’s…” She trailed off, but you could hear the rest of the sentence in the space between her words.

Yeah.

You knew.

Your throat tightened as you swallowed. The whole village knew what today meant.

Violet shrugged, shifting the plant to one arm. “You should just stay inside,” she said, too casual, too light. “Call it a sick day. No one would blame you.”

You shook your head.

She sighed through her nose, giving you that same small, apologetic smile she always did. “Of course, Y/N.”

She didn’t push. She never did. Just glanced at you one last time before stepping off your porch. "Take care," she said, already walking away.

And then she was gone.

You were alone again. The silence pressed against your ribs.

Outside, the village was waiting.

Work was exhausting.

Today was one of those days—the kind where the air felt too thick, where everything reeked of seawater and incense, where magic scripts stacked high on your desk made your head pound. The village didn’t just throw someone into the waves and call it a day—no, it had to be done right. The words had to be written. The offerings had to be prepared. The ritual had to be perfect.

And you had to work through it.

You groaned under your breath, slamming your forehead against the desk, wishing—just for a second—that you could not care. That you could be like the rest of them, scribbling their prayers onto parchment with steady hands, believing the Koi God would keep them safe as long as they fed it enough bodies.

“Y/N…”

A soft voice. Gentle. A little nervous.

Eleanor.

You turned your head just enough to see her. She was right beside you, as always, a sunball of warmth wrapped in clumsy hands and hesitant smiles. She had ink on her fingers again—smudged across her palms, dotting her cheeks like freckles. She probably didn’t even realize it.

She fidgeted with her sleeves, eyes darting to the stacks of scripts. “It’s… a lot, huh?”

You groaned again. “Understatement of the year.”

She giggled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I—I could help! If you want…”

“You are helping.”

“Oh. Right. I just—” She tripped over her own words, biting her lip before trying again. “I just mean, um, I could take a little more. So you don’t have to do as much.”

You sighed, stretching your arms over your head. “You’re too nice, El.”

She turned pink. “I—I just—! It’s not—!”

You smirked. “Relax. You’re my favorite clumsy workmate.”

That only made her blush harder. She grumbled something under her breath, but you caught the tiniest smile tugging at her lips.

Yeah.

Eleanor was shy, fidgety, and a walking disaster when it came to handling anything fragile. But she was also your friend. Your workmate. Your gossip partner when the rituals were too much and you needed something—anything—else to think about.

suddenly, you heard a voice.

Its time?!

The village reeked of incense and salt. A hundred voices murmured their prayers in unison, a tide of empty words washing over the docks, begging the Koi God for another season of safety.

At the center of it all stood the village chief, old and bent but still carrying himself like his word was law. You hated him. Hated the way he grinned through yellowed teeth, the way he lifted his hands like he was something holy, the way he spoke of death as if it were a gift.

“This is a day of sacrifice and rejoicing,” he declared, voice carrying over the crowd. “One life given—one thousand lives guaranteed.”

A family stepped forward. A mother clutching her husband’s arm, sobbing into his shoulder. A father who looked away, jaw tight, unwilling to meet the eyes of the child standing between them.

A small thing. No older than seven. Wide, terrified eyes, choked-back sniffles, fingers curled into shaking fists.

Something in you snapped.

“That’s a child.”

The words were out before you could stop them, sharp and cutting, louder than the chief’s speech. The crowd turned. The chief turned. And when his eyes landed on you, they twisted in disgust.

“Oh,” he sneered. “It’s you.”

The crowd rustled with whispers. You knew what they were saying. Knew what they always said.

The God’s disrespecter.

The miracle that you were even still alive.

“Keep your mouth shut.” The chief’s voice was steel. A warning. A threat.

You felt the weight of the gold pendant against your chest, warm against your skin. You clenched your fists.

And for the first time in years, you didn’t swallow the anger. Didn’t choke it down and let the ritual pass.

You looked at the child.

And you refused.

“It’s wrong,” you said, voice shaking, raw. “Killing them—it’s wrong. That’s a child. They have a future.”

The chief laughed, low and mean, like he was humoring something pathetic. “Still crying over that one, are you?” His eyes gleamed, cruel and sharp. “If you cared so much, why didn’t you offer yourself back then? When he was pushed off the boat?”

The words hit like a fist to the ribs.

You swallowed hard. The crowd was watching. Waiting. Like a pack of hungry things, eager to see you snap, eager to see you break.

“The ones we offer,” the chief continued, voice thick with reverence, “are the reason our village thrives.”

You looked at them all—faces you had known since childhood, faces that had never once flinched at the sight of someone sinking into the sea, faces that would go home tonight and sleep soundly while a child drowned in the dark.

Something inside you twisted. Made you sick.

You wanted to kill him.

You wanted to wrap your hands around his throat and squeeze until he understood what it felt like to be powerless. To be small. To be chosen by someone else’s hands.

But you didn’t.

You pressed your fingers to the pendant at your throat, gold warm from your skin, and you breathed.

“Don’t do this,” you said.

The chief smiled, slow and vicious. “What’s wrong? Would you rather take their place?”

You exhaled. Steadied yourself.

Then you met his gaze—steady, cold, certain.

“Yes.”

Silence.

“I’d rather be the one than that child,” you said, voice unwavering, fingers curled tight around the pendant. “I’m tired of this village. Tired of all of you. Except maybe…”

Your breath hitched.

Maybe some.

You heard Conrad’s voice and a few others...—sharp, calling your name—but it was already too late. The chief reached for you, fingers gnarled like old roots, but you swatted his hand away with a sharp tch and walked past him.

Laughter followed. Low, smug. Like they had already won.

"Today’s bad luck will bring us fortune," someone jeered.

"Let us pray to the Koi God," another intoned, voice thick with mockery. "That their death is peaceful and safe."

That they die believing.

The boat waited, rocking gently against the dock. The men stood ready. The priests trailed behind, draped in ceremonial robes, their eyes hollow with practiced reverence.

You stepped forward. Dressed in white. Your own funeral clothes.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

A part of you almost laughed.

Ahaha.

How sad.

The boat rocked, slow and steady, carving its path through the ink-dark water. The priests droned their prayers, low and rhythmic, a hollow chant that meant nothing. The air smelled of salt, of something old and watching.

You clutched the ring. Gold, small, warm from the press of your palm. The weight of it dragged you back—childhood, his hands, the promise that should’ve been yours to break.

It should’ve been you.

Not him.

The memory split open in your chest, raw and aching. The boy’s face, his black hair damp with sea spray, his blue eyes wide—scared. But smiling, just for you, like it was okay, like it didn’t hurt.

You almost cried. Almost let the tears slip down your face. But the sea churned, restless. The priests prayed. The Koi God loomed, unseen but there.

You swallowed it all down.

You hated this. Hated them. The god, the sea, these people who had never once cared.

You hated it all.

The plank stretched before you, slick with sea spray, creaking under your weight. The priests droned on, their voices weaving a tapestry of empty reverence, of worship born from fear.

One of them—face obscured by his hood—stepped forward, pressing a small cup into your hands. Hydrangea, moonflower, teardrop. The name meant nothing. The liquid shimmered inside, dark and still.

“Drink.”

You did. No hesitation, no question. Maybe you should have.

It slid down your throat like silk, like rot. Your limbs turned heavy. Your breath slowed. The world around you dulled—sounds stretched thin, the air too thick to breathe.

Your feet carried you forward. Slow. Unsteady.

The plank creaked again.

Your memories flickered, bursting behind your eyes like dying stars.

The boy. Standing where you stood. A step away from the edge, the sea roaring beneath him.

His face. His eyes. That look.

You blinked hard, the weight in your chest turning unbearable.

Ah…? Ah…?

You almost felt—

Sad.

The sea took you like it always meant to. Cold fingers wrapped around your lungs, kissed the back of your throat, whispered lullabies in the form of salt and suffocation. You sank, hair fanning, arms useless—until something moved.

A shadow. A shape. A tail, slashing through the dark like a blade through silk.

Then—hands. Not human. Not quite. Webbed, strong, dragging you upward as if you weighed nothing, as if you weren’t meant to die today.

Your lips broke the surface just long enough to suck in air—just long enough to see the boat above, to hear the shouts, to taste the panic before—

THWIP.

An arrow.

Your savior jerked, pulling you down so fast the water split around you. Your lungs screamed. Your throat burned. Not again. Not again. Not again.

The sea swallowed you whole, and for a moment, you thought—fine. Let it. Let it take what it was always owed. Let it carve out your lungs and replace them with water, let it bury you alongside the boy who should’ve never left—

Except he did leave. He left, and you stayed.

You stayed. And you hated the Koi God for it.

But this? The hands gripping yours? The pale, glowing eyes staring into you like they already knew all your sins, all your grief, all your ugly, rotting thoughts—

This was the Koi God.

Wasn’t it?

A laugh—soft, amused—bubbled through the water. And oh, weren’t you stupid, weren’t you pathetic, weren’t you just another fool in a long line of fools who thought they knew how the sea worked?

The sea—hungry, howling, a beast with no teeth but endless, grasping hands—took. It took like it had always meant to, like it had been waiting, like it had let them have their rituals, their prayers, their thousand blessings, only to remind them—

It was never theirs to command.

You gasped—sputtering, shaking—pulled half onto the boat, the wood slick with salt and sin. The wind carried screams, choked and desperate, of men who thought themselves gods but were only ever bones waiting to sink.

They went down.

Their mouths opened for breath, but the sea poured in instead. Their hands reached for salvation, but only found the cold, merciless grasp of the deep.

And you?

You curled into yourself, small and shaking, a thing that should not have been spared, a thing that should have gone with them. The ring—warm from your skin, wet with salt and sweat—pressed against your palm, a whisper of gold in a world of dark water.

Your throat tightened. Your chest heaved. The air came in ragged, ugly sobs.

"Ahhhhhhh!!!"

It tore from you, raw, ripped-out, half-cry, half-curse.

The boat rocked—tilted—mocked you.

The waves lapped at its edges, gentle now, as if the sea had already finished its feast.

You cried.

The sound clawed its way out of your throat, ugly, jagged, raw—like something that had been ripped from you. Your breath came in panicked gasps, too fast, too shallow, choking on itself, on salt, on fear.

The screams were gone. Gone.

Only the water spoke now.

It lapped at the boat, mocking. Whispered in your ears, soothing. It had taken them—taken them all—just like it had taken him.

Your fingers dug into the wood—splinters driving under your nails—not enough, not enough to ground you. Your body trembled, useless, shaking so hard your teeth chattered. The night was warm. The wind was still. And yet you shook, bones rattling, lungs heaving, because you could still hear them.

The splashing. The struggling. The wet, gurgling gasps as their lungs filled with seawater. Their hands clawing at nothing. The moment their screams stopped.

You pressed your hands to your ears, shaking, shaking, shaking.

It didn't help.

The boat was too empty. The silence was too loud. The dark water stretched in all directions, vast, endless, and somewhere beneath it—they were still there.

Sinking.

Watching.

Waiting.

The ring dug into your palm, cold, solid, real. You clutched it so hard it hurt, biting into your flesh, as if holding it tighter would stop the way your body curled in on itself.

A hiccuping breath—too fast, too fast, too fast—you weren’t breathing right, weren’t thinking right, weren’t here anymore.

The waves rocked the boat, gentle now. Gentle.

Like hands lulling you to sleep.

The world was too bright.

Your eyelids peeled open like old paint, heavy, unwilling. The sky above you stretched vast and endless, blue as the ocean that should have swallowed you whole. It was too still. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that felt wrong.

You should be dead.

You weren't.

A hollow feeling curled in your stomach. Like something had gone wrong—like some unseen balance had tipped in your favor when it shouldn't have. The air felt too thick. Your breath sat heavy in your lungs.

You swallowed around the weight in your throat and dragged yourself upright, limbs sluggish, aching. The wood beneath you creaked as you stood, the boat rocking gently under your weight. The ocean stretched in all directions, gleaming in the morning light—so deceptively calm—like it hadn’t devoured an entire boat full of men the night before. Like it hadn’t taken them.

Like it hadn’t taken him.

Your hands curled into fists. You took a step toward the edge, knees unsteady, half-dizzy from exhaustion. You needed to see it. Needed to look. The water lapped lazily at the boat’s side, dark and endless and—

A ripple.

A shadow.

Then—eyes.

Pale. Ghostly. Blue as drowned lungs.

You froze.

The face that surfaced was eerily still, save for the dark strands of hair that clung to high cheekbones, waterlogged and dripping. A face carved from memory. A face shaped from nightmares.

A face twisted in anger.

Anguish.

The weight in your chest turned to ice.

You stared.

It stared back.

And for a moment—for one long, breathless second—you were a child again, standing at the edge of the boat, watching him sink..

The world spun in a blur of salt and storm.

You hit the water hard, the cold sinking into your bones like teeth, stealing the breath from your lungs before you could even gasp. The sea churned around you, dark and endless, clawing at your limbs with greedy hands. The emergency boat bobbed just within reach, but your arms felt weak—too weak. The weight of exhaustion dragged at your body, threatening to pull you under.

Then—hands.

Cold, smooth, unearthly.

They closed around your wrist, pulling, lifting—saving.

You thrashed on instinct, wrenching away with a strangled sound, kicking up a spray of seawater as you pushed yourself back. The storm raged above, but in the water, everything felt too still. The figure before you—half-hidden by the murk of the waves—watched in silence, their long, dark hair floating like ink in water. Red eyes burned through the gloom, glowing like dying embers, framed by fin-like ears that twitched at your rejection.

Ethereal. Alien. Unfamiliar.

And yet—not.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. You sucked in a sharp, ragged breath, your chest burning, your mind screaming at you to move, move, move—

And then they reached for you again.

Fingers wrapped firm around your wrist, gentle but unyielding, guiding you back to the emergency boat. You tried to resist, but your limbs were sluggish, the fight draining from your body with every second you spent struggling. The storm howled overhead. You gasped, choked on salt and air as you broke the surface again, your vision swaying, dark spots creeping into the edges.

The last thing you saw before collapsing onto the boat was their expression—soft. Sad.

Like they had been waiting for you.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling from exhaustion, from salt, from something far worse. The boat rocked beneath you, the storm's wrath quieting into an uneasy lull, as if the sea itself was waiting.

And then—movement.

A head breached the surface, slow and deliberate. Pale skin, dark hair slicked back by water, eyes red like dying coals. Fin-like ears twitched, droplets sliding down the golden chains draped over his shoulders, catching the dim light like shattered stars.

"Angel… are you okay?"

The voice—human? No. No, it couldn’t be. It was too smooth, too soft, slipping into your ears like the tide, whispering something familiar, something dangerous.

Your stomach twisted. You pushed yourself up on shaking arms, glaring down at the figure in the water with a face twisted in revulsion.

"The fuck are you?" The words came out hoarse, scraped raw from screaming, from swallowing too much salt, from choking on fear you refused to name.

He blinked at you, unphased. His gaze—deep, all-seeing—held only concern.

"Angel?"

Your breath hitched. A cold chill coiled around your ribs.

"Who's Angel?"

The name clung to you, sticky, like something dredged up from the deep, something long forgotten. It wasn’t yours. It couldn’t be yours.

His brows knitted together, like you had just wounded him.

"You are."

A pet name. An endearment. A claim.

Your fingers curled into your palm, nails digging into the flesh to ground yourself, to keep from slipping further into the madness of this moment.

"Don’t call me that."

The command was sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.

But he—it—only watched you, unblinking, unmoving. As if waiting.

The creature—the Koi God, the siren, the whatever-the-fuck-it-was—didn’t flinch at your words. But something in its expression flickered. A quiet sadness, subtle, like ripples spreading across still water.

It stayed there, half-submerged, red eyes never leaving you. The golden chains on its shoulders shimmered with each slow movement, and when it finally spoke, the voice was softer. Careful.

"Are you hurt?"

You scoffed. "Am I hurt?" The laugh that left you was bitter, nearly a snarl. "You fucking drowned me. Your stupid ocean tried to eat me alive. Your stupid people threw me in like a goddamn offering. And now you wanna ask if I’m hurt?"*

Its fingers twitched. Like it wanted to reach out.

You glared, daring it to try.

Instead, it lowered its gaze slightly, mouth pressing into something close to regret. Still gentle. Still kind. Like it thought kindness could fix this. Like it thought kindness could change the fact that you wanted nothing more than to wrap your hands around its throat and squeeze.

"Do you need anything?" it asked instead, voice as steady as the tide.

You clenched your jaw, bile rising in your throat. The audacity.

"Yeah." You sneered, leaning forward. "I need you to fuck off."*

Silence.

It didn’t react—not in anger, not in offense. Just looked at you. Through you. The sadness lingered in its expression, quiet and endless, but it didn’t turn away.

You hated it.

You hated those fucking eyes.

Hated that it wouldn’t leave.

Hated that you were still here.

You felt it before you saw it. A dull, seeping warmth pooling around your ankle, trickling down in sluggish, sticky trails. Your leg throbbed—probably got cut against the wreckage or a sharp edge of the boat. Whatever.

You ignored it at first. Didn’t matter. You’d deal with it.

But then it spoke.

"Please... your leg."

The voice was quiet, careful, like it already knew you’d bite if it came too close. You froze. Looked down.

Blood.

Dark red, spreading slow.

You hissed through your teeth, already tearing at the hem of your clothing, ripping a strip of fabric to wrap around the wound. Your hands were steady, but the Koi God—the thing, the siren, the freak—reached out before you could tie it.

"Let me help."

You recoiled on instinct.

"The fuck do you mean, ‘let me help?’”

It didn’t answer. Just waited. Held its hand out, palm up, as if asking for permission. As if you owed it anything.

You hesitated. Only for a second. Only because the wound was worse than you thought.

Slowly, reluctantly, you moved your leg forward.

The Koi God exhaled—relief?—before lifting a hand to its own skin. Its fingers traced over the smooth surface of its arm, right where the dark, koi-like scales merged into its starry patterns.

And then—

It pulled one off.

You flinched.

The scale shimmered between its fingertips, reflecting a color you couldn’t name. The Koi God pressed it gently to your wound, and warmth surged through you.

Not burning. Not painful. Just—healing.

The bleeding stopped. The sting faded. You felt the skin knitting back together.

Your breath hitched.

Your stomach twisted.

Your eyes snapped up to meet its own.

The Koi God stared back, eyes heavy with something unreadable.

And in that moment, the realization slammed into you.

This wasn’t just some fish.

This wasn’t just some siren.

This was the Koi God.

The very thing you hated.

The very thing that shouldn’t be touching you.

Yet here it was. Holding you together.

"Go away."

You muttered it between bites, shoving a spoonful of cake into your mouth without looking at the Koi God. The chocolate melted on your tongue—dense, sweet, a little stale but still good. You barely even liked sweets, but this? This was cake. A rare find in the middle of nowhere. Probably belonged to one of the priests. One of the bastards who drowned you.

You chewed slower.

Tastes better knowing that.

Another bite. Then another. You ate like you had something to prove.

Then—

"Is that… c-cake?"

The voice wobbled. Soft. Hopeful.

You turned, spoon halfway to your mouth, only to see the Koi God’s head breaking the surface again. Wide, pale eyes flickered between you and the food.

"Must be delicious…"

He was floating, bobbing slightly with the movement of the waves, but there was something awkward about it—like he wanted to ask something but couldn’t bring himself to. Kept dipping below the water, then rising again. His tail swished beneath him, sending little ripples out toward the boat.

You stared.

Your grip on the spoon tightened.

Something about it—about him—itched at the back of your mind. A memory. Distant. Small.

A tiny hand reaching out.

A piece of candy, bright red, pressed into a dirt-smudged palm.

A boy looking up at you, hesitating—before breaking into the widest goddamn smile you’d ever seen.

Your stomach twisted.

Before you could stop yourself, you grabbed a chunk of the cake—more than you meant to—and shoved it toward the Koi God.

His eyes went huge.

"Ah—w-wait, I—"

You hissed, turning away.

"Just take it before I change my mind."

He hesitated. Then, slowly, carefully, he took it from your hand.

Held it like it was something precious.

Took a bite.

Then another.

His expression lit up.

"Oh—" He covered his mouth, eyes practically glowing. "It's… really good!"

The way he said it—like it was the first time he’d ever eaten something sweet—made something crawl up your spine.

You scowled, shoving another bite into your mouth, pretending you didn’t just share food with the thing you were supposed to hate.

"When are you going to kill me?"

Your voice cut sharp through the silence, cold and flat, like you were asking about the goddamn weather.

The Koi God blinked. His chewing slowed. Then stopped.

"What?"

You glared. "Kill me. When?"

A beat. Then he swallowed the last bit of cake, tilting his head like you’d just asked him to solve the meaning of life.

"Why would I—?"

"Like you killed all those sacrifices." Your fingers dug into the edge of the boat. "Each year. One by one. You think I don’t know?"

The Koi God’s expression flickered, confusion melting into something deeper.

"Isn’t it the priests who drop the people into the water?" he asked, voice careful, measured, like he was picking his words piece by piece.

You scoffed. "What’s the fucking difference?"

"The difference is—" He hesitated, eyes flickering with something unreadable. "I never killed them."

Your blood went hot.

Bullshit.

"Oh, so they just drown for fun?" Your nails scraped against the wooden edge of the boat. "You think that makes it better? They die because of you, because of this stupid goddamn ritual—"

"Because of them," he corrected. "Not me."

Your breath hitched.

Your anger wanted to lash out, wanted to scream that he was lying, that none of this changed a damn thing.

But something—something—itched at the back of your skull.

You clenched your teeth.

"People still died because of you," you snapped.

The Koi God’s lips parted slightly. Not to argue. Not to fight.

Your fingers tightened around the ring. The metal was cold, almost biting against your skin, and the more you stared at it, the more the rage twisted inside you, hot and pulsing.

"His life was cut short." Your voice came out rough, barely above a whisper, but packed with every ounce of fury you could manage. "Because of you."

The Koi God didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it. Didn’t defend himself. Just looked at you—looked—like he was sinking into something deep and silent.

Then his eyes flickered.

"What’s around your neck?" he asked, voice soft.

You exhaled sharply. "I just told you. A ring. One of the victims who died."

His expression shifted, something sad creeping into those pale blue eyes.

"What...features does he have?" he asked, hesitant, as if the answer mattered more than anything.

You scowled, barely thinking before answering. "Black hair. Blue eyes."

Silence.

Then—

"Angel?"

Your whole body locked up.

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a second, you swore the ocean itself stilled.

You snapped your head toward him. "Stop calling me that."

His gaze didn’t waver. His face was unreadable, but his lips parted slightly, like he was holding something back.

"Did you read my mind?" Your voice was sharp, accusing. "Is that it? You fucking with me?"

His hands clenched. He still looked so—so—sad. But then—

Then he giggled.

Soft. Delicate. A little broken.

"Ah, Angel... are you slightly dense?" he murmured.

Your chest tightened.

"It’s okay," he mumbled, half to himself. "It’s okay."

The Koi God looks at you like you are the moon, like you are a dream, like you are the answer to every question he never asked. It is sickening. It is cruel. It is fond.

And it aches.

It burns in the places where your anger lives, where your bones remember the weight of water and your lungs still scream with the memory of drowning. It burrows under your ribs, sharp and unbearable, because there is no reason—no reason—for him to look at you like that. Like you are his. Like he has found something lost.

Like he has missed you.

You want to spit in his face. You want to tear that softness from his eyes. You want to demand why—why, why, why—but your throat locks, because you already know he will answer in riddles and silence and that unbearable, aching gaze.

And gods, it is disgusting. It is unbearable. It is—

—making your eyes sting.

(And isn’t that the worst of it? That you cannot look at him without feeling something shake loose inside you? That his stupid, tender, infuriating eyes feel like a hand pressing against your chest, gentle and knowing and far too kind?)

Your nails dig into your palm. Your voice comes out raw, trembling on the edges of something ugly. "Stop looking at me like that."

But he just smiles, just tilts his head like the ocean is whispering to him, like your words mean nothing at all.

"Angel," he says again, like a promise, like a prayer.

And you hate him for it.

The words come out like knives, jagged and shaking, ripped from the deepest part of your chest.

"GET OUT! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

The air splits with your voice, raw and cracking, trembling with something too big to hold. You don’t know if it’s rage or grief or the sick, spiraling ache in your ribs—but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Because he’s looking at you. Looking at you like you’re something precious, like you’re worth something more than the salt in your lungs or the prayers that drowned you.

And that? That is unbearable. That is wrong.

"I’M DISGUSTED—" your breath shatters mid-scream, fists clenching so hard your nails bite deep— "DISGUSTED TO LOOK AT THE FACE OF YOU—OF YOU—"

The Koi God flinches. Just barely. A twitch, a ripple across the stillness of his face.

Then, quietly—softly, so soft it almost drowns in the waves—

"I’ll leave now."

The ocean shifts, the wind pulling at his hair, but he doesn’t look away. Not yet.

"If you want anything…" He hesitates, words caught like shipwrecks in his throat. "Please let me… know."

And then he goes.

Just like that. No fight, no resistance—just fading into the water like he was never there at all. Like he has always known his place. Like he has always expected this.

Like he always knew you would hate him.

And you—

You crumple. You break, shaking, gasping, collapsing in on yourself because you can’t—can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t stop.

And the name—oh, that name—

"REDACTED—"

It rips from your throat like a sob, like something torn straight from your soul.

"AHHHHHHHH!"

Your voice drowns in the waves. The wind. The space he left behind.

You curl in on yourself, clawing at the aching, empty hollows of your chest.

"I want to—"

Your breath shudders.

"I want to play again with you…"

And somewhere—deep, deep beneath the waves—

A boy with black hair and blue eyes stirs.

The words come out like knives, jagged and shaking, ripped from the deepest part of your chest.

"GET OUT! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

And that? That is unbearable. That is wrong.

"I’M DISGUSTED—" your breath shatters mid-scream, fists clenching so hard your nails bite deep— "DISGUSTED TO LOOK AT THE FACE OF YOU—OF YOU—"

The Koi God flinches. Just barely. A twitch, a ripple across the stillness of his face.

Then, quietly—softly, so soft it almost drowns in the waves—

"I’ll leave now."

The ocean shifts, the wind pulling at his hair, but he doesn’t look away. Not yet.

"If you want anything…" He hesitates, words caught like shipwrecks in his throat. "Please let me… know."

And then he goes.

Just like that. No fight, no resistance—just fading into the water like he was never there at all. Like he has always known his place. Like he has always expected this.

Like he always knew you would hate him.

And you—

You crumple. You break, shaking, gasping, collapsing in on yourself because you can’t—can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t stop.

And the name—oh, that name—

"REDACTED—"

It rips from your throat like a sob, like something torn straight from your soul.

"AHHHHHHHH!"

Your voice drowns in the waves. The wind. The space he left behind.

You curl in on yourself, clawing at the aching, empty hollows of your chest.

"I want to—"

Your breath shudders.

"I want to play again with you…"

And somewhere—deep, deep beneath the waves—

A boy with black hair and blue eyes stirs.

"I want to steal those strawberry puddings with you… I want to play… I want to sob—"

Your voice is unraveling, spilling out in choking, gasping breaths, curling in the empty space where he should be.

"AHHHHHH—WHY—"

Your nails dig into your skin, knuckles white, trembling.

"WHY DID YOU DIE?!"

The ocean doesn’t answer. The waves don’t care. They keep whispering against the boat, lapping against the wood like hungry mouths, like greedy hands—like the same hands that pulled him down.

You remember—oh, you remember—the way his fingers had curled around yours, desperate, slipping, slipping—

"Please—"

You shake your head, bite down on the memory until it bleeds, but it doesn’t stop. It never stops. The salt in your throat tastes like prayers, like the ones the priests chanted when they held you down, like the ones they spat as they dropped him in.

(And the Koi God—he had watched. Hadn’t he? Hadn’t he watched and let it happen?)

Your chest heaves, a sob clawing its way up, twisting, ugly, raw—because you don’t know.

You don’t know if the Koi God had let him drown.

You don’t know if the Koi God had even touched him.

But you know this. You know that your friend is gone, and you are here, and there is no justice, no balance, no fairness in this wretched, drowning world.

Only you. And the monster in the water.

And the ring in your hand—cold, pressing, circling your finger like a shackle, like a memory, like the weight of the dead.

The dream comes slow, thick, like water filling your lungs.

It starts with a boy—black hair, blue eyes, a lopsided grin sticky with stolen candy. His laughter, bright and clear, tangles with the summer air, with the rustling of leaves, with the hurried footsteps of two little criminals making their getaway.

You had grabbed his hand—run, run, run!—and he had laughed like you’d just given him the world.

But then—

Then—

The grip of hands too strong, too cold, wrenching him away from you. The priests, faces carved from stone, voices thick with empty prayers. His eyes, wide, wild, terrified—

And you—helpless. Screaming. Thrashing. Watching.

The boat. The water. The way he had stared at you, betrayed, heartbroken, furious, as they pushed him off the edge and the sea swallowed him whole.

The way you had reached—too late, too late, too late.

Your chest jerks, gasping, choking on saltwater that isn’t there, on a name you can’t scream—

And then you wake up.

The boat is quiet. The ocean is still.

Your face is wet.

You touch your cheek. Tears.

Your breath comes in sharp, broken pulls. The dream is still clinging to you, crawling under your skin, sinking into the marrow of your bones. You shake, curling in on yourself, pressing your forehead to your knees.

It’s just a dream. Just a dream. Just a—

The water ripples.

A head slowly surfaces.

Dark hair. Pale blue eyes, glowing soft in the moonlight. A face you know, a face you hate, a face you—

A voice, hesitant, careful.

"Angel…?"

And suddenly, you can’t breathe.

Your scream rips through the night, raw and jagged, shaking the fragile silence. The boat rocks beneath you, but the ocean—calm, endless—does not care.

"No, no, no—" Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your hands clawing at your chest, your throat. The salt in the air tastes like the salt of your tears.

And him. Him.

Dripping, glowing, not quite human, not quite monster—familiar.

Too familiar.

Black hair, heavy with seawater. Blue eyes, soft, searching, too gentle for something that should not be. For something that cannot be.

"Angel…?"

The name scrapes against your ears, against your ribs, against the walls you’ve built inside yourself.

You shake your head, shaking, shaking, shaking. No. No, no, no.

"Don’t call me that." Your voice is barely a whisper, barely a sound, but he flinches like you’ve struck him.

But you can’t stop looking. You can’t stop seeing.

The curve of his face. The softness of his features, delicate yet sharp, familiar yet impossibly wrong. The way his mouth quirks—nervous, hopeful, aching.

The way he used to look at you.

Before the temple. Before the sacrifice. Before—

Before you watched him die.

You feel sick.

"Why do you look like that?" Your voice is shaking, thin, breaking apart. You can barely hold it together, barely hold yourself together.

He stares, eyes dark with something heavy, something ancient.

He does not answer.

And somehow, that tells you everything.

You wake with a sharp inhale, air burning in your lungs like you've been drowning, like you are drowning, like you never stopped.

The world is too still. The ocean stretches, vast and empty. The sky is too blue. The air is too quiet.

And he is gone.

"Koi fish…?" Your voice wavers, raw from sleep, from screaming. You push yourself up, hands clutching the boat’s edge, scanning the water. Nothing. Nothing.

"God…?" The word tastes bitter, acid on your tongue, thick with something you don't want to name. The waves lap against the wood, gentle, unbothered. The wind hums. No answer.

A breath trembles out of you, shaking your ribs. Your fingers dig into your palm, nails pressing hard enough to hurt. He's gone. He’s gone. He’s gone.

Why does that hurt?

Your grip tightens around the ring—his ring, their ring, the ring of someone who died for this wretched ocean. For him.

It isn't fair.

You swallow. Swallow the lump in your throat, the pressure behind your eyes, the horrible, gnawing ache in your chest. You try to force the words out. The name. The name you haven't said in years. The name you buried in the salt and waves, along with everything else.

You hold your breath. You whisper.

"REDACTED…?"

The ocean stills.

A ripple, slow, deliberate, breaking across the surface. The water shifts, something moving beneath.

And then— a head, breaking through the quiet.

Black hair, slick with seawater. Blue eyes, wide, unreadable.

Your breath catches.

"Ah… ah?" His voice is hesitant, almost uncertain.

You choke on the sound of it. Choke on everything crashing into you at once.

"You're…?" You can't finish.

You don’t know what you were going to say. You don’t know what you’re looking at.

The ocean between you feels like a lifetime.

You cry.

"Why…?" Your voice shatters like glass against the waves. "Why do you look like the Koi God…?"

Your throat burns, your chest tightens, and the world tilts—no, you tilt—your knees buckle, the boat lurches—

And you fall.

The cold slams into you, salt filling your mouth, your lungs, drowning the sob that rips from your throat. Your limbs feel sluggish, heavy, but before you can sink, hands—his hands—grasp you, steady, firm, pulling you up.

The ocean spits you both out, the sky spinning above you. His arms are strong around you, holding you as if you’ll disappear if he lets go. You wish he would. You wish he wouldn’t.

"Don’t cry," he breathes, voice so soft, so pained. Like your grief is a knife in his ribs.

But you do cry. You sob against his shoulder, choking on gasps and salt, and he just holds you, his warmth steady against your shaking frame.

You clutch at him, fingers digging into the damp skin of his back, real and solid. Not a memory, not a ghost.

And slowly, through the blur of your tears, you see—

His eyes aren’t the empty, soulless gaze of a god.

They are warm. They are human.

You weren’t crying in despair.

You were crying in salvation.

And he realizes it at the same time you do.

The arms around you tighten, and—hesitant, uncertain—he buries his face in your hair.

You cling to him.

And this time, he does not let go.

"REDACTED… REDACTED…!"

You choke on the name like it's something sacred, something broken, something you were never meant to speak again.

But you do.

And he is there.

Your body shakes, sobs wracking through you, curling inward like you're folding in on yourself, like if you make yourself small enough, you can wake up and this will all be some cruel trick of the waves.

But the warmth against you is real.

His arms around you are real.

"You—" Your voice splinters, breath hitched and gasping. "You didn't die…"

The weight of it crushes you, presses down until you're sinking, but his grip is strong. Keeps you afloat.

He doesn't speak. He can't.

But his hands tighten on you, holding, steadying, grounding.

He doesn’t let go.

And you sob into his shoulder, into the space where his name used to be.

You sniffle, wiping your tears with the back of your hand as you climb onto the boat, the wood slick beneath your trembling fingers. Your chest still heaves from crying, but there’s something lighter in it now—something warm.

Your eyes land on another slice of cake. Chocolate again. Maybe meant for that bastard priest, maybe not, but it doesn’t matter anymore. You grab it without thinking, turning back toward the water.

Redacted blinks up at you, hesitant. He hasn’t moved from where he’s floating, his hands just barely gripping the side of the boat, half-submerged. His long, dark hair fans out in the water, slick against his shoulders, the scales of his tail shimmering beneath the surface.

He looks at you like he doesn't quite believe this is real. Like he doesn't believe you are real.

You roll your eyes. Dumb fish.

Without a word, you tear off a piece of the cake and lean forward, holding it out to him. His eyes flicker between you and the dessert before he opens his mouth slightly, letting you place it on his tongue.

You expect him to take it carefully. Instead, he hums—a soft, pleased noise muffled by the food—and his cheeks flush. His finned ears twitch, and the way his tail flicks behind him is almost cute.

You giggle. Giggle. What the hell?

Redacted looks up, startled, mid-chew. You blink at him, then at yourself, then at the cake in your hand.

When you look back at him, his lips curl into the smallest, softest smile you’ve ever seen.

And just like that, for the first time in forever, you smile back.

"Redacted… Redacted…!" Your voice trembles, hands gripping the side of the boat as you stare at him, really stare at him. His face—so familiar, so achingly familiar—framed by dark, wet strands of hair, those pale, ethereal eyes full of something that hurts.

He doesn’t answer at first. Just watches you with that same look, something in his throat bobbing as he swallows. He looks afraid.

"I don't… know," he finally whispers, voice hoarse. "Before I—before I died, I felt something. And then…" He exhales shakily, looking down at himself, at the glistening koi tail where his legs should be. "I woke up like this. Maybe the other Koi God chose me. Maybe the ocean just didn’t want to let me go."

Your fingers tighten on the wood. "Then why didn’t you—" The words come out too sharp, too raw. You inhale. "Why didn’t you look for me?"

Redacted flinches, guilt flashing across his face. His lips part, but it takes a moment before any words come.

"I tried." His voice is so soft, so small. "I swear, I—" His throat tightens, and he looks away. "I wasn’t… doing well. With oxygen. I couldn't stay near the surface long enough to search. I kept blacking out. I don’t even remember how much time passed before I could move properly. But I tried, Angel."

That name—that name.

You glare at him through the burning in your eyes.

"Don't call me that."

His shoulders tremble. He bites his lip, nodding. "Okay." But he doesn’t take it back. Doesn’t apologize for saying it.

You watch him carefully, the way his fingers grip the side of the boat like he’s afraid you’ll push him away again.

"...You really tried?" Your voice barely makes it past your lips.

His pale eyes lift to yours, red-rimmed. "So much."

And for the first time, you wonder if maybe, just maybe—

The ocean stole him from you, too.

You hold his face in your hands, the cool dampness of his skin against your warm palms. He blinks up at you, wide-eyed, mouth slightly parted like he can’t believe you’re real—like he’s scared if he moves too fast, you’ll disappear again.

"You’re my best friend, Redacted."

For a second, something in his expression cracks. His breath stutters. His lips press together like he’s biting back a reaction. And then—gone. He smooths it over with a soft, too-soft smile, but you saw it. The way his shoulders tensed. The way his fingers twitched against the boat. The sadness that flickered through his face like a ghost.

Oh.

Were you dense?

You stare at him. He stares back. Neither of you move, the ocean gently rocking between you, filling the silence with soft ripples.

Your gaze flickers down—to his hands, to the ring still looped around your neck. You remember how carefully he had made them. The way his fingers trembled when he handed them to you. The way he looked at you when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

You swallow. "Hey, um…" You clear your throat. "Why did you make these rings, anyway?"

Redacted stiffens. The tips of his ears—his **fin-like ears—**darken slightly, the gradient shifting warmer, redder.

"It's just…" He rubs the back of his neck, looking away, looking anywhere but at you. "I… wanted to."

Silence.

Just that? Just that?

His tail flicks beneath the water, his nervous energy bleeding into the surface ripples.

You stare at the ring in your palm. The realization hits like a truck. Oh. Oh. OH.

"IM SO SORRY, REDACTED!!!"

You explode into apologies, full-blown wailing, gripping his face tighter as you sob, forehead pressed against his.

"WAHHHHHHH, REDACTED, I’M SO STUPID, I’M SORRY!!!"

His ears are so red. His tail smacks the water. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

"Angel, w-why are you crying—"

"BECAUSE I’M SO DENSE, I’M SO—" You hiccup. "WAAAAHHH—"

He snorts. Actually snorts. And you—still sobbing, still hiccuping—squish his cheeks.

You’re an idiot. He’s an idiot. But at least you’re idiots together.

You throw your arms around him, burying your face against his damp, cool skin. Redacted freezes. Every muscle in his body locks up, his tail flicking wildly beneath the water, absolutely malfunctioning.

You don’t care. You don’t even notice. You’re just—happy. You sob into his shoulder, clutching him close like he might disappear if you let go.

"You’re really here," you whisper, voice shaking. "I—" You hiccup. "I thought I lost you forever."

Boom. Redacted explodes. Not literally, but inside? He is gone. Launched into orbit. He wants the earth to swallow him whole. He wants the sea to drag him under. He doesn’t know how to handle this—**you—**holding him like he means something. Like he’s real. Like you love him—no, no, don’t think about that. His tail flicks frantically, trying to vent the absolute wildfire inside his chest.

But then—your grip loosens. Your breathing shudders.

"Angel?" He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes darting over your face. You're pale. Too pale. A light sweat clings to your forehead, and—

You sway.

"Angel—"

You shake your head. "I’m just dizzy." A weak smile. "You should go for now. I’ll call you back later."

He hesitates.

He doesn't want to.

But you’re looking at him like that, with that same stubborn determination, and he’s always been weak to you.

"Okay." His voice is soft. Too soft. Like it hurts him to say. "I’ll come back soon, okay?"

You nod. He sinks into the water, those blue, blue eyes lingering on you until he disappears beneath the surface.

And then—

Pain.

A gut-wrenching pain tears through you. Your stomach churns. Your vision blurs. You stumble forward, gripping the edge of the boat as your throat tightens, burns—

You vomit.

The taste of metal floods your mouth. Red. Too much red. It splashes against the wood, thick and glistening in the dim light.

Your breath catches. Your hands shake.

Blood.

Your blood.

You cough, more spilling past your lips, your body rejecting whatever's inside you. And then—realization strikes.

The cake. The moonflower.

Your fingers tremble against your lips.

"No… no, no, no, no, no—"

Your vision tilts. Your knees buckle.

Somewhere beneath the waves, Redacted stills. Something is wrong. He can feel it. The ocean around him hums with unease.

And then—

A sound.

A choked, desperate sound that sends ice through his veins.

Your voice.

"No… no, no, no, no—"

You wipe your mouth. Your hands shake. Your body feels wrong—too heavy, too cold. But you force yourself to move, force yourself to clean up, force yourself to breathe.

You don’t sleep. Not really. Just crying until exhaustion steals you away.

And when morning comes, you wake up with a splitting headache, your throat raw, your stomach aching. The taste of blood still lingers in your mouth, copper and regret.

You don’t think about it.

You won’t think about it.

Instead, you sit up, take a deep, deep breath, and call out:

"Redacted?"

Silence.

You swallow down the bile, the fear, the everything.

"Redacted," you say again, voice steadier. "I wanna talk."

The water stirs. A ripple. A presence. And then—his head breaches the surface, those too-blue eyes locking onto you, scanning you, worried.

"Angel—"

You smile. Bright. Carefree. Fake.

"Aren't you gonna show me your new house?"

His expression flickers. Uncertainty, hesitation—hope.

You don’t let your smile falter. Not even once.

You just got him back.

You are not losing him again.

Even if your body is eating itself alive.

Redacted hesitates. His tail flicks beneath the water, slow, uncertain. His blue eyes search you, drinking you in, memorizing you, as if afraid you might disappear again.

"You can't breathe underwater," he says, voice gentle, almost apologetic.

You tilt your head. "Can I turn into a fish, then?"

He blinks. Startled.

"Like you."

He frowns. Lowers his gaze. "It’s... not possible."

"But you—"

"If you die," he interrupts, softer this time, barely above the waves.

Your breath catches.

"What?"

"If you die and you’re... unsatisfied with it—if your soul still lingers, if you refuse to pass on—you can turn into something like me." His fingers ghost along the water’s surface, uncertain, nervous. "But if you die happy... you won’t become anything at all. Just... pearls. Salt. The sea takes you."

You stare.

Your stomach twists.

Not in fear. Not in horror. But in—something else.

"Angel," he says, voice steady, determined. "It's okay. We'll do something about you. I won't let you die."

A foolish, impossible promise.

And yet... you smile.

"You won’t?"

"I won’t."

"Then," you say, grinning despite the ache in your bones, "I guess I better spend as much time with you as I can, huh?"

He explodes.

Not literally. But visibly, wholly, entirely.

His face burns red, his tail flicks so fast it nearly splashes you, his hands fumble over absolutely nothing.

"I—" he sputters.

You laugh.

You laugh so freely, so lightly, so happily that for a moment, you almost believe you’re okay.

"Redacted? Can you show me around your new house..?"

"But Angel, you're a human.."

"Shit, I forgot-" Redacted tore a piece of his scale and gave you.

"Do you trust me Angel?"

"...Of course."

"Keep this scale to your heart...and think, you will entre your celestial soul form..." You just have to sleep and let your soul free..

The ocean cradled you like a lullaby.

Your body felt weightless, untethered, like drifting silk in a current. You reached out, and the water didn’t fight you—it embraced you, pulled you further, deeper.

And then—him.

Redacted stood before you, but not as the koi god you had known. His face was sharp, elegant, almost inhumanly perfect, with glowing, pale eyes that pierced straight through you. His long, dark hair swayed like it was alive, dancing with the water.

You stared.

Your breath (if you even had any) hitched.

His fin-like ears twitched as he tilted his head. The delicate gold chains draped across his upper body shimmered, catching the light of the deep sea like stolen stars. His arms, patterned like the night sky, flexed slightly as he reached out, and you caught a glimpse of the koi motif on his flowing attire. The reds, the whites, the blacks—it was beautiful.

"You're—" the words tumbled out before you could stop them.

His gaze flickered to you, expectant.

"Beautiful."

For a moment, he froze.

Then he huffed, sharp and flustered, before schooling his expression into something obnoxiously smug.

"Oh? Am I?"

You rolled your eyes, but grinned as you reached out, patting his head.

He sputtered.

"What are you—"

"Good boy," you teased.

Instant regret.

His eyes widened, his face burned, and he nearly choked on the water surrounding him. You had never seen a fish have a full-body reaction before, but you swore you just did.

His fingers twitched before suddenly gripping your hand. Firm. Unwavering.

Your chest squeezed.

"Let's go, Angel," he said, voice lower than before, quieter, yet no less full of feeling.

And then—the world opened up before you.

You turned, and for the first time, you saw the ocean as he did.

A vast, endless abyss of color and life.

Schools of shimmering fish swirled past like liquid silver. Towering coral formations stretched toward the surface like cathedral spires. Bioluminescent creatures pulsed with eerie, dreamlike light, guiding your path deeper and deeper.

It was magic.

It was unreal.

It was his home.

And right now, he was sharing it with you.

The ocean trembled.

Redacted's hand tightened around yours.

"I like dreaming with you," he had whispered—just moments before, just before your fingers had brushed, just before the world had torn itself apart.

You had been floating together, weightless and timeless, like the moon and the sun caught in a silent eclipse. He had tilted downward, his luminous gaze locked onto yours, and for a fleeting second, the ocean had felt smaller, quieter, softer.

Then—pain.

A pit of red bloomed from your arm, rupturing the moment like a knife through silk.

And the voices came.

"There's that koi god who betrayed us!"

"He didn't give us anything this year!"

"The sacrifice failed!"

You gasped, the sting in your arm spreading like fire. The surface above was dark with the silhouettes of ships, and the water around you was stirring with motion, with hatred, with something ancient and heavy pressing against your chest.

The first arrow shot through the water like a vengeful whisper.

You barely had time to register it—because Redacted moved first.

He was in front of you before you could even blink, a dark shape in the water, all sharp motion and unwavering resolve. The arrow embedded itself into his shoulder.

His body jerked. His grip on your hand slipped.

"RUN, ANGEL!" His voice was fierce, desperate. "DON’T LOOK BACK!"

You couldn't move.

Another tremor wracked your body, and this time, you coughed—a deep, wet sound.

Blood.

It spilled from your lips, dark and viscous, twisting like ink in the water.

"The priest gave the poison!" A voice sneered from above.

"They'll die soon enough."

And then—they turned on their own.

A single scream cut through the waves as one of them—**the one who had struck Redacted—**was seized by cruel hands and hurled into the sea.

He sank.

Fast.

The weight of the ocean swallowed him whole, pulling him into the endless blue below.

And just like that—the boats were gone.

Leaving only you and Redacted.

Your vision blurred. Your limbs felt heavy.

The poison was working.

"No," you whispered, reaching for him.

But he caught you first.

Your body shuddered violently.

Each cough rattled your ribs, sending fresh waves of pain through you. Blood dripped from your lips, curling like ribbons in the water.

And yet—you smiled.

"Angel—" Redacted's voice wavered.

You could feel his arms tighten around you. Desperate. Shaking.

"No. No, wait—" He pulled you closer, pressing you against his chest. His heartbeat was frantic, hammering like war drums beneath your fingertips. "Angel, don't—don’t do that. Don't smile like that."

Like this was the last time.

Like you already knew.

Like you had already accepted it.

You blinked slowly, warmth pooling in your chest at the way he held you like you were everything.

"I just—" You tried to speak, but your voice cracked. A new, violent cough tore through you, and Redacted flinched at the fresh burst of red.

Panic flashed across his face.

"W-What? Angel? Angel, stop—"* He sounded breathless, like he was forcing himself to breathe for both of you. He pressed his forehead against yours, his voice barely a whisper. "Why are you hugging me like that...?"

Like you were saying goodbye.

"I guess..."

Your voice was barely above a whisper, carried away by the water between you. You coughed again, more blood curling into the sea, staining the soft glow of Redacted’s scales.

His arms tightened. Desperate. Unwilling.

"Stop talking like that." His voice shook, but he tried to keep it steady. To keep you here. With him. "You— You’re not dying, Angel. You’re not—"

You smiled weakly.

"I thought I’d die with regret." Your fingers curled into his golden chains, gripping just tight enough to feel real. To feel something.

"I tried to feel regret." You blinked slowly, the edges of your vision softening like a dream. The ache in your chest felt far away now, drifting.

"But… there’s nothing to regret."

Redacted sucked in a breath. His pale eyes flickered, wide, frantic—his hands trembled as they held you, trying to pull you back.

"No," he whispered. "No, don’t—"

You let your head tilt forward, resting gently against his shoulder. His warmth, his presence.

"Your arms…" Your voice was so quiet, so soft, as if the ocean itself were swallowing your words. "Inside your arms feels safe."

He shook against you, his grip fierce.

"This is what peace feels like, huh?" A small, dazed chuckle left your lips. "Peace to know that you’re alive… I never expected that."

You felt him shudder. His nails dug into your back, as if holding you tighter could keep you from slipping away.

"Then don’t leave." His voice cracked. "Stay with me, Angel. Just— just stay."

You coughed again. This time, it left a sharp sting in your throat.

"To die in your arms..." Your breathing was slower now. Softer. Lighter.

"There’s nothing to regret."

"I can't feel regret."

Your voice was soft—too soft. Like the final breath before the tide carries everything away.

Redacted felt his chest tighten. His hands trembled against your skin, gripping, holding, as if he could keep you here, anchor you before the current stole you from him.

And then—

You kissed him.

A fleeting press of warmth—salted with blood and tears—a whisper of something that could’ve been, something that never got the chance to bloom. But it was real. Real enough that his breath hitched, real enough that he froze, real enough that it shattered everything.

"I love you...?"

It was a question. A dream. A confession that came too late.

Maybe—

"Maybe in another life."

His world collapsed.

You collapsed.

Your arms, once weakly wrapped around him, began to slip—disintegrate. Like grains of salt melting into the sea. Like foam dissolving against the shore.

"No—"

His breath hitched—his hands clawed at you, desperate, shaking, trying to hold you together. Trying to stop what was already happening.

"Angel—!"

But you were slipping—breaking apart.

His hands closed around nothing.

His arms, once wrapped around you, were suddenly empty.

He gasped, choked on his own breath. His eyes burned. His vision blurred.

He looked down—his hands trembled. Nothing. Nothing.

The water around him shimmered, glistening under the light—not with blood. Not with pain. But with something soft, something almost beautiful.

Sea salt.

The ocean had taken you, swallowed you whole, made you a part of itself.

You were gone.

Redacted’s body trembled as he let out a shaking breath. His throat was raw, his chest a gaping wound that no blade had caused.

And then—he sobbed.

He sobbed harder than he ever had.

His arms curled around himself, holding nothing, and he let the waves crash into him.

You didn't die with regret. No, you cradled peace like a prayer, let it kiss your throat and call it mercy. Not a tragedy, no—not a tragedy if you chose it, if you embraced it, if you let the sea sink its fingers into your bones and name you soft, name you gone.

What a love it is. What a love to die in the arms of someone who trembles. To leave behind tears that taste like salt and let them pretend it’s the ocean. To press a final breath into his lips and watch him break apart, piece by piece, like a slow-burning housefire.

You didn’t die with regret. You died knowing he would carry you. Died knowing he would scream your name into the deep and wait for the echo. Died knowing he would call for you, call for you, call for you— and the only thing that would answer is the tide.

But did you realize, oh dear you, that the man you left behind would never move on? Did you think, in your final breath, that peace was a gift you could press into his hands like a parting favor?

You died gently. Softly. Like a whisper into the tide. But for a man who only ever loved you, only ever saw you, moving on isn’t a possibility. It’s not even a concept.

He still reaches for you. Still calls for you. Still sinks in the same ocean where you crumbled into salt, into nothing, into something he cannot touch.

He isn’t alone. Not really. Because if he’s alone, then you’re truly gone, and that—**that—**is the one thing he won’t allow.

You were supposed to be safe in his arms. Alive in his arms. But all he has left is the phantom weight of you, the ghost of your warmth, the cruel reminder that he held you only to lose you.

"Maybe in another life..."

And then— a voice.

Soft, uncertain. Cutting through the salt-heavy air like a dream you’re not ready to wake from.

“Excuse me? Are you okay?”

He saw his Anel, He signed a deal with the Witch for this moment/j

The world rushes back in, too bright, too loud. Water clings to your skin, the last remnants of something— someone— slipping away. And before you, a man.

He’s staring at you, wide-eyed, breath catching like a fishhook in his throat. His hand trembles as it touches his face, fingers ghosting over his cheek like he’s checking if he’s real. Or maybe if you are.

You know that look. Recognition.

Like he’s seen you before. Like he’s held you before.

And then, under his breath—so quiet you almost miss it—

“I won’t lose you this time.”

The words drip like a curse, like a promise, like the first notes of a song sung at the bottom of the sea.

And when he looks at you again, there’s something in his eyes—something deep, something ancient, something that remembers.

You don’t know why, but your heart beats like a wave crashing against the shore.

Like it knows.

"Are you looking for any books?"

#14 days with you redacted #14 days with you x reader #14 days with you ren x reader #ren 14 days with you #14 days with you ren #14 days with you #14dwy ren #14dwy #14dwy redacted #14 days with you redact #14dwy x reader #14dwy ren x reader #14dwy redacted x reader

70 notes · View notes

midweastindigo · 2 days ago

Text

haymitch is tasked with speaking to johanna mason about trying to break the machine because of the stunt she pulled after her name was called. she thanked the district 7 escort for pulling her, out of every other name in the bowl, because she's just weeks away from her 18th birthday, then flipped the capitol building off with both hands.

"fuck that!"

haymitch understands why. he understands why plutarch pulls him aside after all the tributes and mentors gather in the capitol, and tells him that johanna painted a poster at her reaping. he knows why plutarch shows him the unedited footage. he knows why it was edited, too. because half of district 7 flips the capitol building off as they drag johanna mason away, kicking and screaming. no final goodbyes.

a kid, no older than 10, running through a crowd parting for him in anguish, screaming her name. a girl, maybe 18 since she didn't seem to be part of the reaping, chasing after him, red-faced from trying to hide her grief. refusing to play their game.

lenore dove. sid. maysilee donner.

before he truly, completely fell off the wagon and into a downward spiral of the worst victor alive, merrilee donner paid him a visit. she brought him ham hock soup and strawberry ice cream. "it was her favorite," she said. "i much prefer chocolate." they eat in silence, haymitch clutching his stomach, merrilee rubbing her head. pinching the bridge of her nose. shutting her eyes tightly.

she tidies up his empty, lonely house. she sings the ladybug song. she sings nothing you can take from me, was ever worth keeping. haymitch watches her. and he drinks. his deep scar itching with pain every time their eyes meet. "itchy itchy haymitchy," maysilee sings from the corner, her teeth stained red. haymitch takes another swig.

merrilee tells him she won't visit again, because she knows what it's like to stare at a ghost every day. haymitch whispers an apology. "there's no need, haymitch. maybe no one else got to see what happened out there, but i did." she rubs her head again, flinching in pain. he wonders if she's okay, but of course she isn't. "she made you pinky swear." he has no idea how she could have gotten access to unedited footage. forbidden footage. maybe mags got it to her. or maybe it was plutarch. "i just wanted to make sure you got this," she holds out her palm. a golden chain messily braided into old leather cord. in the center of the necklace hangs a metal flower, similar to the one she wore into the arena, but this one is gold.

"tam amber made it for her. the copper one was mine. it's a primrose flower. she left me all her necklaces, and i noticed that you lost yours, so i wanted you to have this one." she places it on the table, right next to his twitching fingers. he's trying not to cry. he's failing. he brushes his finger along the flower petals. his sis.

"even if we never speak to each other again, i just wanted you to know that when she said she'd be your sister, it went for me too." she kisses the top of his head. "be the worst victor that you can be, brother, and i'll do the same. for her."

he never speaks to merrilee donner again.

haymitch knows that johanna mason does not have a token. he also knows the price she might pay for painting her own poster. he fiddles with the necklace he kept to wearing under his shirts; debating. since burying his precious flint striker with his love, this necklace has become his battle armor. he knows johanna mason will need it more than him now, if she accepts.

"i saw that girl with your brother. at the reaping. she's your girl, ain't she?" she freezes, for just a split second, before squaring her shoulders and steeling her gaze.

"fuck off,"

bad start. "hey, wait," he slurs, not helping his case. he tries again, "johanna, that's not-"

"what are you gonna do? hit me? feel me up? tell me all i need is the touch of a man? are you gonna-"

"no!"

her eyes widen in fear, then anger. "then why is the infamous drunkard of district 12 trying to talk to me like we're pals? shouldn't you be drinking away the loss of your newest tributes?" ice cold. just like his sis.

so he tells her about lenore dove and her painted words. about her uncle and his hidden love. he tells her about the newcomers, about wyatt and his odds, about wellie and ampert and louella and lou lou. then he pulls out his necklace of hope and tells her about his sister, maysilee donner. who refused to die begging. who slapped their escort and transformed each district's tokens and obliterated the crowd's fashion choices during her interview. how she never once faltered in her convictions. how she trusted him without ever knowing the full truth. he tells her how he accepted his fate in the arena and accepted the task of blowing it up. how maysilee donner's necklaces helped him do it. he tells her that he was spared, but everyone that he loved died because of it. that he was kept alive just to watch them die. and then he unclasps the necklace and cradles it in his hands.

"we promised each other that if one of us won, we'd be the worst victor that the capitol ever had." he gestures to his drink. "she made me pinkie swear it."

"so that's why you're a hopeless, bumbling idiot." he nods. "why me, though? why not your tributes?" this, he struggles to answer. district 12's tributes this year are both only 13 years old. one is halfway to starving, the other beaten and bloody from peacekeepers. they've got no fight. no fire. they're so young. so innocent. he suddenly thinks of burdock's girls, katniss and...what's her name again? he's seen her following behind her big sister through the hob like a lost little duckling.

he looks down at maysilee's necklace in his fingers. primrose. primrose everdeen. children. they're just children. johanna takes in his silence.

she accepts the token. "well, if i win, i'll be the second worst victor in history. because i don't plan on playing their game."

#thg #sotr spoilers #sotr #sunrise on the reaping #johanna mason #maysilee donner #haymitch abernathy #if anyone remembers my early tumblr days they'll know just how obsessed with johanna mason i was #she is my no 1

61 notes · View notes

a-mirror-of-memories · 2 days ago

Text

SCTIR omegaverse au

There’s no way to convince me that in a a/b/o jinjae au Han Yoojin didn’t ended up pregnant pre regression.

Some spoilers under the cut:

Post Song Taewon’s death Sung Hyunjae left the country not only taking with him Han Yoojin’s memories but also erasing (while fighting against his own instincts) the mating mark he left during one of Han Yoojin’s last heats they spend together. Unbeknownst to Hyunjae there was still a piece of him left on his former mate.

For several weeks Han Yoojin has been feeling nausea and with barely enough energy to move and it’s only while packing his things to move after another attempt of breaking and entering on his apartment that he notices that his heat was delayed and couldn’t even remember when was his last one (he’d also been scratching the back of his neck like crazy but that’s probably nothing important).

After a lot of deliberation he finally bites the bullet and buy a pregnancy test while using a disguise covering his steps as best of he could, because it was only matter of time until the media (and his brother) learned about his symptoms and he wanted to have in hand proof that it was something like the flu and not him screwing up once again and expecting a baby.

Only that he was expecting a baby.

Ignoring his second and third thoughts (denial, denial, denial and a I’m not capable of take care of another human being with a mix of terror an defeat) seeing that he was getting late for a raid Han Yoojin decides that after this dungeon he would make an appointment with a doctor and only then start thinking about his next steps. Seeing the state of his own life between keeping and getting rid of the baby the choice was easy to make.

He ignored his selfish and disgusting first thought of "he would have a family again", or how after a long time a flicker of light returned to his eyes.

If on the way to the dungeon he absentmindedly daydreamed about what things would need to change if he chose to keep the baby it was no one's business. Not entering anymore dungeons was a must and it would be best if he even managed to scrap his meagre savings and moved somewhere far away so his kid won’t be subjected to the media scorn. And as much as it hurt to admit it trying to contact Yoohyun was an awful idea, it would only bring more heartache for everyone involved.

Not a single thought was directed to the baby’s other parent, it was probably a one night stand (wrong) with a lots of alcohol involved (rarely) with someone who has no real interest in him whatsoever (very wrong) and they would run away at the mere thought of them having a kid together (very, very wrong).

One thing was sure, Han Yoojin thought unconsciously glancing down at his stomach with a soft smile, his life would definitively change after this dungeon.

This au can have two versions:

No regression, Han Yoojin miss the dungeon and disappears after the doctor appointment, Han Yoohyun loses his mind trying to find him and swears to kill the bastard who dared to touch his beloved hyung. Said one-armed lunatic took the first flight back to Seoul and with the aid of the matching mating mark still on his neck managed to track down his future wife and kid with the goal to whist them back to Switzerland with him (on theory Sung Hyunjae could return Yoojin’s memories but where’s the fun in that? Also knowing them it would only made his goal even harder).

Still regression but Han Yoojin brought the baby to the past with him but didn’t know that for a long while. Featuring no transcendental or other shenanigans, just Han Yoojin insisting that the identity of the baby’s other parent’s not important and Sung Hyunjae messing with everyone insisting that the baby’s his (even before learning about the regression, after it became even worse), how could his item be so cruel to deny those steamy nights they spend together? Someone please pray for what’s left of Song Taewon’s sanity, especially after Han Gyeol’s birth.

35 notes · View notes

hittmeandtellmeyouremine · 1 day ago

Text

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚 | 𝙣𝙤, 𝙞'𝙢 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨

pairing: bsf!rafe cameron x bear!reader

summary: you're labeled rafe's biggest distraction which hurts you more than he expected it to, but at least the girls are back!

warnings: swearing and suggestive content.

word count: 2.5k words

song: sweater weather - the neighbourhood

socials chapter two → chapter three → socials chapter three

©hittmeandtellmeyouremine | this is my only account across all social media platforms. please do not translate, copy, or repost any of my writing.

you slept like a fucking baby. this wasn't a surprise, somehow rafe's bed felt better than yours. especially when he was in it too. which was probably why you stirred in his absence until your body finally alerted your brain to wake up.

sure enough, you were all alone.

you frowned as you sat up in his bed, rubbing your eyes with one hand while the other felt around for him just in case. you huffed when you confirmed the bed was in fact empty. you even held your breathe for a second to hear if he was just in the bathroom but he wasn't.

you slipped out of the bed, making your way towards the door to go find him.

you opened the door slightly before your brain caught up to your body—slowly but surely syncing up and reminding you that you weren’t at your house. you couldn't exactly roam the cameron's house in one of rafe's shirts and your panties.

you frowned, going to close the door but rafe's voice made you pause.

at first, you thought it was your imagination but the sharp tone that followed clarified that it wasn't. you leaned against the door, pressing your face against it lightly as you listened to ward's sharp voice.

"i'm not a fucking kid anymore, dad" he spat, the frustration in his voice crystal clear.

"yeah? you're not a kid anymore, rafe? then start acting like it" ward snarled.

you could practically feel rafe's jaw clenching. you couldn't see him but you knew that's exactly what he was doing —holding back, fighting the urge to lash out.

"oh, i'm not acting like it?" rafe questioned. "take a look around, dad. who's the only who gives the slightest shit about this family out of your kids?? you think its sarah?"

"don't bring your sister into this" ward stated.

"stop treating me like i'm some kind of failure when i do nothing but right by you" rafe said.

there was a brief moment of silence that passed and you thought—just maybe—rafe might've finally shut ward up.

"right by me? is that what you call it?" ward laughed, a hollow sound. "spending all your time chasing around distractions and going to parties with her—wasting your time like you’re still a damn teenager"

it almost felt like he knew you were listening, like he was accusing you of all of it. ward cameron had mentally wrapped rafe's hand around your throat, testing to see if he would finally squeeze.

"don't talk about her like that," rafe hissed, his voice tight. "she's not the issue here."

"no, but her being your main priority is," ward said, tone cold as ever. "i was just like you once rafe, with your mother. do you see her anywhere?"

your stomach knotted up at that, you felt sick. you didn’t even know those feelings were there until now, and they made you feel raw, like you were being crushed from the inside out. it was a sickening feeling— the concoction of guilt and empathy. your chest felt tight.

"that's not the same thing and you know it" rafe stated.

"wake the hell up, rafe" ward said. you heard his bedroom door slam shut shortly after.

there was an overwhelming sense of guilt that started to suffocate you. you knew ward was an asshole, that he treated rafe terribly compared to the other two. the typical treatment of the oldest child. you knew that most of the time he said these things just to spite rafe.

so why did it feel like there some truth to his words? that you were to blame?

a creak on the stairs broke your focus, and you immediately snapped your head towards the sound. your stomach dropped when you saw him.

he slipped into the room, and you created some distance between you two. rafe closed the door behind him, leaning against it and looking at you.

"i didn't know you were up" he said.

he knew you heard, he had to. yet here he was, acting as if you didn't. as if his father hadn't just verbally assaulted the both of you.

you tilted your head at him.

"was that because of me?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

silence filled the space between you.

rafe didn't move, he didn't speak. the warmth his eyes held last night seemed to have faded away almost completely. his pretty blue eyes now showcased his sadness and anger. he wished you hadn't asked that, that you hadn't even heard the conversation at all.

but you did, and now he had to give some sort of answer.

"no" he said, stepping a bit closer to you. "he does that whether you're here or not, you know this"

"but he sai-" you started.

"lets not start this conversation, yeah?" he said, grabbing your chin. "he's just a shitty father. it has nothing to do with you"

"yeah, but its not fair" you protested.

"life's not fair, baby" he said.

you knew what that was, his way of getting you to stop pushing the subject. there was a small tension in his shoulders and, again, if it were anyone else you wouldn't have noticed it. but it was rafe, so you did notice it. how could you not?

he let go of your face.

"is nora coming to get you or should i drop you off?" he asked, changing the topic.

nora, the girls.

today was the day you had been counting down for the last few weeks, hyper fixating on it like no other. you should've been more excited than you were but ward's words lingered in your mind.

"uh, i don't know" you answered quietly. "let me check"

you sat on rafe's bed, grabbing your phone and opening up the unread messages from nora. he watched you from his position at the foot of the bed.

"she's already on her way" you mumbled, glancing up at him. "i left a bikini here right?"

"you have multiple" he nodded. "they're in your drawer, top left"

you were over all the time and had too many clothes to count. he doesn't remember exactly when but at some point in time rafe cleared out a drawer for you to keep your clothes in. he had actually been meaning to clear out another.

you stood up and went over to his dresser, sorting through the clothes in your drawer. you didn't realized just how much you had here.

he sat at the edge of the bed, watching you sift through the fabrics. you eventually picked a baby pink one out, going into the bathroom to change.

"rafe? come help me?" you called.

he made his way over to you without a second thought, standing behind you and grabbing the strings of your top.

"this good?" he asked, pulling them slightly.

"a little tighter" you encouraged. "yeah, that's good"

he nodded and began to tie a knot, double knotting it for extra measure. his fingertips brushed against your skin, leaving a trail of warmth where they did.

"i like this color on you," he mumbled. "you make it look so pretty"

your heart skipped a beat at his words, eye landing on him through the reflection of the mirror. his words shouldn't have had as much of an effect on you, he was just being nice. yet your heart swelled at that comment, yearning for more.

"thanks" you replied meekly.

he hummed in response, his gaze lingering on you for a second longer than necessary as he pulled back to look at his work.

"you need sunscreen?" he asked, columbia blue eyes finally finding yours.

you nodded, but the simple movement felt so much heavier.

he stepped away momentarily, and you caught the way his fingers twitched as he reached for the bottle of sunscreen on the counter. you turned your attention back to the mirror, desperately trying to steady your breath but the idea started to seem more and more impossible. the air around you felt thick, heavy.

he returned to his position behind you, his presence so close that it was all you could focus on. now your skin was the one that felt warm, burning with the anticipation of feeling his skin against yours. time seemed to slow.

the pop of the cap opening made you jump slightly, subtly snapping you out of your trance. your heart raced as you watched him squeeze the cream into the palm of his hand. he set the bottle down and rubbed his palms together, mentally calculating his route.

his hands offset your skin, the cream between you guys cold against your scorching skin. you mentally prayed that there wasn't steam radiating off of you as a result of the contact. his touch was soft, lightly applying pressure as he rubbed it into your skin.

an outsider looking in would be able to tell that his focus was more on touching you and less on the task at hand. he took his time, fingertips ghosting over your skin with careful precision. as if with one wrong move he'd break you into tiny little pieces, ones he couldn't glue back together.

"lift up for me" he mumbled, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

his thumb traced along the curve of your shoulder blade, then slid down your arm. his hand closed around your arm, sliding down before sliding back up. he repeated the action over onto the other one, making sure not to miss a spot.

"you're so fucking soft" he murmured.

his voice was quiet, barely a whisper. you caught the way his jaw clenched, like he was struggling to keep it together. as if he was struggling to remain fixed on his task. you don't know which one hurt more; his words or his actions.

"turn around"

you turned to face him, swallowing to saturate the growing dryness in your throat. your eyes flittered to meet his, just for a second. that second prolonged when his eyes didn't meet yours. instead he sunk to his knees, hands gliding over the skin of your calves.

you forced your eyes to look away from him, glancing up at the ceiling to try and compose your wandering thoughts. his hands slid up to your thighs, occasionally dipping under the strings of your bikini.

your breath caught in your throat as he rose, towering over you again. your eyes looked at him but he was focused on coating your body, hand lowering to your ribs.

every movement was so careful, slow and deliberate. like he was testing the waters of you, testing to see how close he could get without crossing a line. but every brush of skin, every lingering touch made it seem like that line was being crossed anyway.

his hands pulled back, gathering more sunscreen between them. his eyes locked onto yours for a split second, hand cupping your face. his thumbs smoothed over your cheeks, rubbing the sunscreen in delicately.

he held your face in his hands like it was the most important thing in the world.

"you good?" he asked softly, his voice almost raspy.

his eyes appeared darker now, a storm invading the blue. the question came out casual, at least, it was intended to. but it held so much more to it when he was face to face with you, caressing your skin like his life depended on it. this should've been a simple, casual task but it felt like so much more.

it didn't feel like he was asking just about the sunscreen.

you nodded again, but the words caught in your throat.

"yeah," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

he stepped back to observe, but the tension didn’t dissipate. it was still there, thick in the space between you. he lingered just long enough to make you question whether he meant to pull away at all.

“good to go,” rafe murmured, though the way his voice lingered on the last syllable told you that it wasn’t just the sunscreen he was worried about.

your eyes found him now, finally feeling the weight of everything hanging between you—everything unsaid, everything felt but never spoken. you met his gaze, your breath still uneven, trying to steady yourself. but his eyes were soft now, searching, waiting for you to say something.

"thank you"

"of course" he nodded.

your phone buzzed on the counter, cutting through the tension. you glanced over at it, seeing nora's message that she was five minutes away.

"she almost here" you mumbled avoiding eye contact with him.

you slipped on your jean shorts and rushed to brush you teeth. he watched you from his bed, tossing you a hoodie that you slipped over your top.

"are you gonna be busy later?" you asked him, putting your hair up.

"nah, i think i'm gonna go golfing with the guys in a little while" he shrugged.

"you wanna come to the beach later? they'll probably invite everyone"

"yeah, just say the word and i'll be there" he nodded.

"okay" you smiled, grabbing your phone and tucking it into your back pocket.

"see you later"

"see you later, baby"

you grabbed your keys and slipped out of his room. thankfully you didn't run into ward on your way out, you don't think you've ever been so happy to be out of the cameron's house.

nora was waiting in her jeep outside —her baby, as she liked to call it. her fully decked out, dark purple wrangler. the interior was all black, rimmed with led lights. she loved her truck more than anything.

"took you long enough" she teased as you got into the passenger seat.

"you've been waiting for like one minute"

the drive to the airport was quick, and the usual easy flow of conversation with nora helped ease the tension in your shoulders, even if your mind kept wandering back to the conversation you had overheard. she didn't ask you about it directly, but you knew she was keeping an eye on you, noticing the way you were a little quieter than usual.

you two impatiently waited before the gates for the girls to come. parker's flight had landed first, meaning she would come before lina. nora had even made cute little pick up signs for you guys to hold up.

"i'm so excited" she squealed, holding parker's sign between her fingers.

"oh my god is that her?!" you said, louder than you intended.

"oh my god, it is!" she yelped.

you guys locked eyes with parker and ran, practically tackling her in a hug. everyone in the airport gave you guys dirty looks, probably because the three of you were squealing and giggling like children. her million different luggages were discarded behind her as you all jumped around excitedly.

"you guys having fun without me?" you turned and saw lina standing there.

"leen!" you squealed, jumping into her arms.

she giggled, spinning you around. once she set you down the other two joined, the four of you holding hands and giggling.

"okay, we need to calm down before they kick us out" nora laughed, catching her breath.

"hurry up, i'm getting weird stares" parker recited.

"jesus, parker how many luggages did you bring?" you asked.

"there's two carryons, my personal, and three checked" she answered.

"that's our girl" lina smiled.

"hey, what's this?" parker asked, picking up the signs that had been long forgotten.

"oh, i made you guys signs" nora smiled.

"we're so cute" parker gushed.

a/n: this is lowkey a filler chapter, just to give you guys some context. things will start to pick up next chapter!

socials chapter two → chapter three → socials chapter three

series masterlist

tag list: @princesspeaxhh , @alphabetically-deranged , @malibuhearts , @yktayy9669 , @sideboobrry11 , @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account

either comment or send me an ask to be added to the tag list! must interact to stay tagged.

51 notes · View notes

littlejoyss · 2 days ago

Text

𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔬𝔬𝔫 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 7

Stray Kids - Non-Idol! Hyunjin x Reader

Twilight Inspired Fic (but major differences such as age)

𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 1, 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 2, 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 3, 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 4, 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 5, 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 6, 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 7, more to come!

You stepped out of the car, your legs shaky beneath you as you made your way up the driveway. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, but the air was still thick with the weight of everything that had happened. Your clothes were still damp and your hands ice-cold.

As soon as you stepped inside, the warmth of your house wrapped around you like a suffocating blanket. The dim lighting barely reached the corners of the living room, but you saw Charlie sitting on the couch. His eyes flicked up from the TV.

“Hey, kid.” His voice was gruff, but the moment he really looked at you, his expression changed. He sat up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

You hadn’t realized you were crying until then. The tears blurred your vision, burning hot down your cheeks as you tried to take a steady breath.

“I-” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard. “Hyunjin and I had a fight.” You lied.

Charlie’s brows furrowed. “A fight?”

You nodded quickly, dropping your bag by the door and wrapping your arms around yourself. “It was stupid. He just- he’s acting weird, and I don’t know what to do. And then we got into this big argument, and-” You broke off, covering your face with your hands.

Charlie let out a long sigh, rubbing his jaw. “You and Hyunjin… you’ve been spending a lot of time together.”

You nodded.

“I like the kid,” he admitted, leaning back slightly. “But if he’s treating you bad-”

“I need to get out of this damn town!”

Charlie’s eyes widened at your sudden outburst, his concern deepening. "Hey, hey, where is this coming from?" His voice was still firm, but there was a softness to it now. "Talk to me.”

You turned away, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from spilling over. "I just-" Your breath hitched as you ran up the stairs to your room."I feel trapped here, Dad. I need to go. Just for a little while."

Charlie stood up then, his boots heavy against the wooden floor as he crossed the room. "You know you can’t just run away from things, right?" His voice was quieter now. “Whatever’s going on with Hyunjin, with school- whatever it is, you can figure it out here. You don’t have to go anywhere."

A lump formed in your throat. I have to go, Charlie. If I stay, I might not get another chance.

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to look at him. "I just need space," you whispered. "Please."

Charlie exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "You’re scaring me, kid," he admitted.

You ran into your room and slammed the door behind you. You exhaled and looked at Hyunjin who was already packing your stuff.

Hyunjin barely spared you a glance, his movements quick and efficient as he stuffed clothes into your bag. His wet hair dripped onto your comforter, and his jaw was set, tense. He was moving with the urgency of someone who knew exactly how little time you had.

“You don’t have to do this,” you whispered, voice raw.

He froze for just a second before zipping up the bag and looking at you. “Yes, I do.”

Charlie’s voice came muffled through the door. “Hey. We’ll figure this out.” His voice was softer now, full of concern instead of frustration. “You don’t have to run.”

Your throat tightened as guilt clawed at your chest. You wanted to open that door. You wanted to tell him the truth. But how could you? How could you explain that there were vampires who now had your scent, that you weren’t safe here anymore, that staying might put him in danger, too?

Hyunjin crossed the room in an instant, his hands finding your shoulders. “You okay?”

You shook your head. “Obviously not.”

His fingers brushed against your cheek, pushing away a tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen.

Another knock, firmer this time. “I swear if he did something to hurt you-”

You took the bag from Hyunjin. “I’ll meet you in the car.”

Hyunjin hesitated for a moment, his gaze searching yours, but he didn’t argue. With a nod he moved toward the window, lifting it effortlessly. You watched him climb out with the grace of someone who’d done this far too many times before.

You stood still for a moment longer, your hands shaking as you clutched the straps of your bag. You could hear Charlie still on the other side of the door, calling your name, his voice desperate. The guilt pressed down on you, but you had no choice. You had to leave before it was too late.

“(Y/N)!” Charlie’s voice broke through the door. “Please, just talk to me. What’s really going on? You can’t keep running away from this.”

Your hand hovered over the doorknob, and then, with a burst of strength, you twisted it and threw the door open. Charlie was standing there, his eyes wide with concern, his face creased with worry.

“I’m not running away,” you said, voice shaking but firm. “I’m going back home.” You swallowed hard, the words tasting bitter in your mouth. “You don’t understand. I can’t stay here.”

“Home? You mean your mom’s house? She is on tour with Phil, you know this.”

You squeezed past him and ran down the stairs. “I’ll call her or something.”

"Wait," he pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation. "You’re really going to leave? You think running off is going to fix things?"

"You don’t understand," you snapped, your voice rising in fake frustration. "You never do!"

Charlie’s face hardened. "Don’t give me that. What the hell is going on, (Y/N)? You’re acting like everything’s falling apart and you won’t even tell me why!"

You turned sharply to face him. "It's not like you're home enough to see me anyway!" The words slipped out before you could stop them, a rush of emotion you couldn’t control. "You’re always gone, working, leaving me to deal with everything by myself."

Before he could respond, you bolted for the door. Charlie called your name again but you didn’t stop.

The cool night air hit you the moment you stepped outside, the weight on your chest lightening a little as you made your way to the car. You didn’t look back, not even once. You couldn’t.

You threw the car door open and slid into the passenger seat, slamming it shut behind you. The engine roared to life almost immediately, and Hyunjin slammed his foot on the gas pedal. The tires screeched against the wet pavement as he sped down the road, the night swallowed by the rush of wind and the sound of the engine.

Your heart was still pounding, a mixture of guilt and relief coursing through you. You stared out of the window, unable to shake the image of Charlie standing at the door, the hurt in his eyes.

Hyunjin didn’t speak for a moment, focusing on the road ahead, his grip tight on the wheel. The car zipped through the rain-slick streets, the world outside becoming a blur of lights and shadows.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low but oddly calm. "He’ll forgive you," he said, his tone so certain that it caught you off guard.

You blinked, turning to him. "What? How can you be so sure?"

Hyunjin didn’t look at you, but he tapped the side of his head to signal he was using his power.

“Ah, right.”

"He’s upset and confused, but he knows you’re not doing this to hurt him. He’s just scared." Hyunjin's voice was steady, and you could hear the faint hint of understanding in his words. "He’ll understand. He always does."

You swallowed, feeling a weight lift from your chest. "But I yelled at him," you whispered, the guilt starting to claw at you again. "I don’t know if I can take that back."

"You will," Hyunjin said, glancing at you for a brief moment, his eyes softer now. "You’re just… overwhelmed. And he gets that."

You nodded slowly, your fingers tightening around your bag. The car was speeding through the rain but at that moment it felt like everything was moving too slowly.

He then sighed. “Call Chan.”

“What? I thought you hated him-”

“His family would like to know that the coven knows about you.”

You hesitated, gripping your phone tightly. "I… I don’t even know what to say."

Hyunjin’s jaw tightened as he kept his eyes on the road. "Tell him what happened. Tell him about Adrian, about Dante." His voice dropped lower. "They need to know. If Adrian is interested in you, it won’t just be our problem."

You unlocked your phone with trembling fingers, scrolling until you found Chan’s name. The last time you’d spoken had been weeks ago when you confronted him.

You pressed call, putting the phone on speaker as it rang.

Then he picked up. “(Y/N)? What do you want?” His voice was alert like he’d already sensed something was wrong.

You swallowed hard. “The coven found out about me. Their tracker has my scent”

A curse fell from Chan’s mouth. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

Chan exhaled sharply. “Where are you now?”

“In the car. With Hyunjin. We’re leaving town.”

“You think running is gonna solve this?” Chan’s voice was low, cold.

Hyunjin scoffed. “It’s buying time.”

“Woah. Haven’t heard that voice in years. But, that’s bullshit,” Chan snapped. “They’re not just going to forget about her, Hyunjin. You know that.”

Hyunjin’s grip tightened on the wheel, his knuckles turning white. “We’ll figure it out.”

“You better,” Chan bit out. “Because if Adrian makes a move, we’ll be there before you can blink. You know what my family does to people like him.”

Hyunjin gulped. “Noted.”

Chan let out a slow exhale, clearly trying to rein in his frustration. “Where are you even going?”

You hesitated, exchanging a glance with Hyunjin, but he didn’t answer. You decided to tell Chan anyway. “I’m going back to my mothers.”

Chan spoke again, “No. That’s too obvious. Go somewhere they’d never expect and stay at a hotel.”

Hyunjin sighed, shaking his head. "We’re not taking orders from you.”

Chan scoffed. "Then make smarter decisions. Adrian isn’t stupid, he’ll expect you to run home. If you go there, you’re leading him right to you."

You swallowed hard. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, Chan was right. Your mother’s place was the first place they’d look.

Hyunjin drummed his fingers against the wheel, deep in thought. Then, without another word, he took the next exit off the highway.

"Hyunjin?" you asked hesitantly.

"We’re not going to your mom’s," he muttered.

"Then where?"

“We’ll still meet back with the rest of us and then split. They’ll take your things and trace your scent somewhere else. Then we’ll figure out where we’re going.”

Chan chuckled. “The Cold One actually has a brain.” He then returned to his normal tone. “I’m meeting you there. The Strays place?”

Hyunjin exhaled through his nose, clearly irritated. “Yeah.”

“Good. Try not to get yourselves killed before I get there,” Chan muttered before hanging up.

Hyunjin’s knuckles were still tight on the wheel as he drove in tense silence. The rain had started coming down harder, the wipers working furiously against the glass.

You swallowed, stealing a glance at him. “Are you okay?”

His jaw tensed. “No.”

“Baby-”

“I should’ve killed Dante when I had the chance.” His voice was sharp, edged with something dark.

A shiver ran down your spine. You had never heard Hyunjin talk like that before.

“You’re not a killer,” you said softly.

Hyunjin let out a humorless laugh. “You’re right, but I could try.”

The city lights blurred past as he took another turn, his driving more aggressive than before. You held onto the center console.

After a few beats of silence, you spoke again. “Chan was right. If we went to my mom’s, we would’ve led them straight there.”

“I know.”

You stared at him. “Then why were you so set on going?”

His lips parted, but no words came out at first. Then, finally, he admitted, “Because I wanted you to feel safe.”

“I feel safe with you,” you whispered.

His gaze flickered toward you for the briefest moment, something unreadable passing through his expression. Then he turned his attention back to the road, his features settling into quiet determination.

“We’re almost there,” he murmured.

₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

By the time you reached the house, the rest of The Strays were still there packing and Chan’s car had rolled up in the driveway. Hyunjin killed the engine, gripping the wheel for a moment before finally letting go.

Chan was already stepping out of his car, shaking out his damp curls as he strode toward you. “You took your time,” he muttered as you climbed out of the car.

“We weren’t exactly taking the scenic route,” Hyunjin shot back, slamming the door shut. His tone was edged with irritation, but you could tell he was holding himself back.

Inside the garage, the rest of The Strays were moving quickly, shoving bags into different cars, disguising scents, erasing any signs that you’d ever been there. The whole place reeked of urgency.

Felix was the first to notice you, his golden eyes flashing under the dim light. “You okay?” he asked, voice softer than the others.

You nodded, even though you weren’t sure it was true. “For now.”

He nodded back. “Can we have your jacket? It has your scent.”

You took off your jacket and handed it to him.

Seungmin passed by, barely sparing you a glance as he tossed a set of keys to Hyunjin. “You’re taking the back route out of town,” he instructed. “We’ve got a decoy car heading south. We’ll take her jacket with us. Adrian and his coven will follow the wrong trail.”

“Hopefully,” Han muttered from the corner, shoving weapons into a duffel bag.

Chan crossed his arms, leveling his gaze at you. “You’re not leaving alone.”

Hyunjin scoffed. “That wasn’t up for debate.”

“I’m coming with you,” Chan stated as if it had already been decided.

Hyunjin bristled. “Like hell you are.”

“You need backup,” Chan argued. “And having a werewolf on your side is more dangerous than any amount of Cold Ones.”

Changbin sighed. “Just call us vampires dude…”

Chan shot him a glare. “I don’t recall asking for your input.”

Changbin held up his hands in mock surrender. “Just saying, all this dramatic posturing is getting old.”

Jeongin snickered from where he was stuffing your jacket into a bag. “He’s got a point.”

Chan ignored them, his focus still locked on Hyunjin. “We don’t have time for this. If Adrian is tracking her, he’s already close. The longer we argue, the less distance we put between him and us.”

Felix spoke up, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “If it makes you feel better, I can come too.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Chan said firmly.

Felix pouted. “Why not? I can help with my visions. You need to know what’s coming next.”

Hyunjin let out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’re not turning this into a damn road trip, Felix.”

Felix grinned. “It’d be a fun one.”

Chan looked at Felix again. “You have a point. If Adrian changes course, you’ll be the first to sense it. We need that advantage.”

Felix cheered and ran to the car.

Hyunjin muttered something under his breath before looking at Seungmin. “You’re sure they won’t track the decoy?”

Seungmin zipped up another bag and shrugged. “Nothing’s ever certain, but we laid the best trail we could.”

Han threw the duffel bag into the trunk of one of the cars. “We should get moving. If Adrian’s close, we don’t want to be here when he figures out the trick.”

Hyunjin took your hand, squeezing it briefly before leading you to the car. “Let’s go.”

Chan climbed into the backseat without another word. Hyunjin slid into the driver’s seat. Felix sat in the back looking the happiest of all of them, but still serious.

As you settled into the passenger seat, Minho knocked on the window. When you rolled it down, he handed you a small, silver chain from his gloved hand. “For protection,” he murmured.

You took it reluctantly. “Thank you.”

He gave you a half-smile, stepping back. “You’re family now.”

You tucked the silver chain into your pocket, feeling a quiet warmth spread through you despite the situation.

Hyunjin started the engine, his eyes flicking to you briefly before focusing on the road ahead.

Felix’s voice broke the silence. “I’m not saying I told you so, but this is going to be an adventure.” His tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness, too.

You glanced back at him, managing a weak smile. “Yeah, an adventure... just not the kind I wanted.” You appreciated him trying to be optimistic.

Chan let out a frustrated sigh from the backseat, clearly not happy with how things were going. “We should have had a plan for this from the start. We’re flying blind.”

“You’re right.” Hyunjin’s tone was clipped, but his eyes never left the road. “But now we’re in it, and the only thing we can do is keep moving.”

Felix leaned forward, eyes sharp. “I’ll be keeping an eye out. If anything’s coming, I’ll feel it.”

“Good,” Hyunjin said with a nod. “We’ll make sure to put as much distance as possible between us and Adrian. The moment we stop, we’re a target.”

The city lights faded behind you as the car sped down the empty highway, rain battering against the windows.

₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

The rain continued to fall in sheets, the rhythmic pounding against the windshield almost hypnotic. The low hum of the tires on wet pavement was the only sound in the car, aside from Felix’s occasional quiet murmur.

It was late and you could feel the tension from the last few hours finally starting to catch up with you. Your eyes kept drifting toward Chan, who had fallen asleep in the back seat, his head resting against Felix’s shoulder. Felix had managed to keep his sharp focus on the road, but the exhaustion was evident in the slight droop of his eyes. He needed to hunt.

You adjusted in your seat, trying to make yourself more comfortable, but it was hard to relax when your thoughts kept circling back to the threat at hand.

Hyunjin’s voice broke through your thoughts. “We need to stop for gas soon. We’re running low.”

Felix’s voice was soft as he responded, his attention still split between you and the dark road ahead. “No more stopping yet. We need to get further away.”

Hyunjin sighed, but he nodded. “Fine. I’ll make it work.”

You turned to look at Felix. “How are you holding up?” you asked softly.

Felix glanced at you, his lips pulling into a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine. Just... keeping watch.”

You met his gaze for a moment before dropping your eyes. “I’m sorry for dragging you all into this.”

Felix shook his head, his voice warm despite the tension in the air. “You didn’t drag us into anything. We’re family, remember?”

You nodded, the words settling in your chest like a weight you didn’t realize you were carrying. You didn’t have to say anything else. Felix always knew the right thing to say when you needed it.

Hyunjin’s hand moved slowly from the steering wheel, his fingers brushing against your thigh in a gesture that felt strangely comforting amidst the chaos.

You shifted in your seat slightly, glancing at Hyunjin, who kept his hand in place. His thumb brushed gently along your leg. It was as if he was saying without words that everything would be okay.

Felix spoke again, “I know I just said we need to keep going but I don’t know how much longer I can handle the dog smell.” He shifted his face away from Chan on his shoulder. “And we need to hunt, Jin.”

Hyunjin's hand lingered for a moment before pulling away, a soft sigh escaping him as he nodded. "I know. We’ll stop soon,"

“Just give me a place to stretch my legs and find a good wild animal," Felix muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I'll be good for another few hours."

Hyunjin nodded. "There’s a gas station up ahead. It’ll have to do. We’re only stopping for a quick minute."

Felix’s lips curved slightly. "Fine by me.”

You watched him for a moment before turning to Hyunjin, meeting his gaze. You could tell he was doing everything he could to remain calm, to keep it together for the sake of the group.

“You sure you’re okay?” you asked quietly, unable to stop the words from slipping out.

"I’ll be fine. Just... stay with me." His voice was firm, but the subtle crack in it told you everything you needed to know. He wasn’t okay. But he was doing his best.

Felix’s voice cut through the moment, the playful tone back in his words. "You two are cute, you know that? But I’m just trying to get some blood soon.”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "We’ll make it quick."

The car rolled to a slow stop at the gas station, the neon lights flickering in the distance, casting a dim glow over the wet pavement. The night was eerily quiet.

Felix was the first to unbuckle. "I’ll fill up the tank with Hyunjin. You two go grab something to eat,” he said, stretching his arms overhead. His gaze lingered for a moment on the trees nearby as he stepped out of the car.

Hyunjin nodded, his attention focused on Felix for a brief second before turning to you. “Stay close. We’ll find a squirrel or something just inside the wood nearby.” He left the car also.

You nodded, feeling a slight flutter of unease at how quickly things had escalated since you’d left. The last thing you wanted was to draw attention, but the hunger in Felix’s eyes made it clear they couldn’t go much longer without feeding. You glanced back at Chan, still fast asleep in the backseat.

You leaned over to gently shake him awake. “Hey, Chan,” you whispered softly, nudging him gently. “We’re getting food. You coming?”

Chan groaned in response, rubbing his eyes as he stirred. “Food?” He blinked at you, clearly still groggy, and then he sat up a little straighter in his seat. "Alright, I’m up."

With that, you and Chan exited the car. The rain wasn’t as heavy here, but the wet pavement made every step feel slower. You tugged the collar of your jacket tighter around your neck, eyes scanning the area as you walked toward the station.

Inside, the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as you grabbed a few snacks from the shelves. A bag of chips, a bottle of water, and a few random pre-packaged sandwiches. It wasn’t the best, but it would have to do for now.

Chan grabbed a few snacks as well, his eyes darting around the store with a sharpness you hadn’t seen earlier. His usually laid-back demeanor was gone, replaced by the focus of someone on high alert. You couldn’t help but notice the slight edge to his movements as he moved toward the counter to pay.

“Got everything?” he asked quietly, his gaze never quite leaving yours.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice low. “Just some stuff to hold us over.”

Chan nodded, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder as he gave you a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s get back to the car. No reason to hang around longer than we need to.”

As you got back to the car, Felix and Hyunjin were already waiting, leaning against the side of the vehicle. Felix’s lips were stained red and he seemed happier than before. Hyunjin was cleaning his lips.

Chan sneered. “Bloodsuckers. I don’t know how you can possibly find that attractive.”

Your cheeks warmed.

Hyunjin looked at you with a smirk playing on his lips. “I don’t know, Chan,” he teased, his voice smooth. “Maybe it’s not just the blood that’s attractive.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up at him, caught off guard by his comment.

Chan rolled his eyes, clearly not impressed. “If you keep this up, I’ll start driving myself.”

Felix’s smile softened just a little. “Alright, alright, let’s get moving. We’ve got places to be and enemies to outrun.”

Taglist: @beewilko @darklove2020 @antiyoubutimkidding @cybergracie @hwangjoanna @skzstannie @lveegsoi @st4rv3lly @minhozskz

#stray kids #skz #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #kpop #fanfic #kpop fanfic #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #stray kids fanfiction #hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin x you #hyunjin x reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #hyunjin fanfic

28 notes · View notes