#it's been like 2 months from the last one of these

[hoonieyun]

he(e) would ₊˚⊹♡

pairing: lee heeseung x reader genre: established relationship, boyfriend!heeseung, romance, fluff, loverboy!heeseung, downbad!heeseung, downbad!reader, lovergirl!reader, heeseung and yn are MADLY in love warnings: not much tbh, kissing, 18+

synopsis: a collection of instances where heeseung continues to raise the bar when it comes to love and romance. now, remember ladies! "if he wanted to, he(e) would!"

wc: 1458

you’ve had your fair share of boyfriends and situationships, much of which were with guys who definitely didn’t meet your standards and where you probably stayed longer than you should have. your luck in relationships was almost non-existent, some would last a few months before you’d realize he wasn’t the one or sometimes– most of the time, honestly– you’d realize it wasn’t a match before the first date was even over. 

enter: heeseung. 

heeseung, your now boyfriend of 2 years who has not only set the bar for your standards of what your partner should be like but continues to raise the bar over and over again. 

whenever you’d fly back home to him from being out of town whether it be visiting your family or a work trip, heeseung would always pick you up from the airport no matter the time with fresh flowers in hand and a sign for you that would range from phrases like: 

“welcome home, my love.”

“looking for the love of my life.”

“future mrs. lee heeseung” 

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡ 

you were typically the one to always cook for the two of you, mostly because you were a much better cook than heeseung, but heeseung would constantly prove to you that he’s getting better at cooking. heeseung would convince you to let him take care of dinner for the night and that he’s been practicing a recipe for you being your favorite meal. 

however, it doesn’t turn out the way he wants, resulting in you having to jump in and help. 

but, heeseung would show you how greatly he appreciates you and your superb cooking abilities. telling you that he’s sorry over and over again for ruining dinner and fighting you to do the dishes because he feels so guilty for burning the food. 

“i promise, honey. next time! for sure! i will get the recipe right and you’ll be sooo impressed.” 

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡ 

typically, you’re always on top of things. you breathed and lived your planner, it kept your days in tact and you on track but having dated heeseung for so long, he’s noticed that for someone who is as organized as you, he’s realized that you often forget things even if it's on your planner. 

you’d realize that you forgot something at home right as you’re in the middle of a 10 hour roadtrip, your home several miles away. 

fidgeting in your seat, chewing on your lip as you get too afraid to tell heeseung that you had forgotten something very important at home. but heeseung would notice that right away and knowing you, you were probably too anxious to tell him about something. 

“what’s wrong, babe?” heeseung asks and you slowly turn towards him, blinking your eyes several times as you muster up the courage to tell him you left something behind back at your home that was now 6 hours away. 

but heeseung would already know what’s on your mind. 

“let me guess, you forgot something at home?” 

“don’t worry, i already packed that because i knew you’d forget it.” 

“you don’t have to be scared to tell me, ok? i know we’re far from home now but i’d turn back around in a heartbeat if you needed something.” 

“thank god i grabbed it though, right?” 

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡ 

you had quite the habit of picking up a new hyperfixation every week. 

a few weeks ago it was the creepy yet cute looking plushies called “labubu”.

last week it was an earl grey latte from a local cafe that you visited every day. 

this week it’s a song that you just can’t seem to get out of your head. you’d hum the song or mutter the lyrics to yourself while doing random chores around the house. thankfully the song itself wasn’t annoying so you didn’t find yourself cringing whenever you’d sing it. 

but heeseung would hear you sing the song as you walked around your home. humming the song while your laundry basket hangs off your hip, belting the chorus as you’re in the shower, and whispering the lyrics as you focus on cutting up vegetables for dinner. 

heeseung would watch and try his best to figure out the song and once he’s identified it, heeseung would learn the song in full, even going as far as learning the song on the guitar and playing it for you one night when you least expect it. 

“you really learned that song?? for me???” 

“of course, babe. you’ve been singing it all week, it’s practically stuck in my head now.” 

“well now it’s going to be stuck in our heads even longer because you sounded like an angel singing it!’ 

“i’ll sing any song for you, whatever song you want, my love.” 

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡ 

house chores never end especially when you and heeseung are such busy people. there’s always a large pile of laundry ready to be washed, dishes piling up all the way from breakfast, and your unmade bed that is probably going to remain undone because what was the point of fixing your bed when it was just going to get ruined again when you and heeseung go to sleep.

but heeseung would notice the way you’d sigh every time you’d enter a room and there’d be another chore yet to be done. 

the two of you have split your home responsibilities as fair as you could but heeseung couldn’t bear seeing how tired you were and still push yourself to make sure your home is clean. heeseung also has his fair share of work and even if he’s tired, he’d rather be tired himself instead of you. 

heeseung would try to complete as many chores as he could before you got home from work. the laundry neatly folded and put away, dishes are now squeaky clean and in their rightful spots, and your shared bed tidied up like it was from an ikea showroom. 

“hee? did you clean up all of this?” 

heeseung would nod proudly before patting the spot next to him on your bed. 

“you’re always doing so much around the house so i thought i’d clean up so you could just rest when you get home.” 

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡ 

a common date between you and heeseung is watching a new movie at the theaters. 

you’ve been wanting to see this certain movie for a while now but with the showtimes and your work schedules, it never matched up– but heeseung would do everything he could to make sure you got to see this movie because he knows how much you’ve been wanting to watch it since the first trailer had come out. 

“babe, get ready; we’re going out.” 

you’d look at him weirdly because you don’t remember making any plans with him. you thought that the both of you had agreed to just take it easy for the night since you both had a long day at work but heeseung would explain that he got two tickets to that movie you’ve been wanting to see. 

your eyes would light up as he encourages you to get ready while he stuffs snacks from home into your purse. 

but knowing him, heeseung would still end up buying you a large popcorn and large drink if you asked for it. 

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡ 

heeseung would watch you as you get ready at your vanity that he had built for you. 

you turn towards him after applying the last coat of your lipstick, “hee? does this color look good on me?” 

heeseung would already be watching so he was already thinking about how good the color looked on you, how it complimented your skin tone and how it accentuated the shape of your lips. 

heeseung would nod immediately, like an eager puppy being asked “who’s a good boy?”

you’d walk over to him, sitting in his lap before pressing a kiss on his cheek.

and then another on the other side. and also on his chin, forehead, and nose, before pressing a longer kiss on his lips. 

heeseung’s face was now covered in kiss marks, causing you to giggle at how cute he looked. 

“sorry, you have lipstick all over your face now.” you’d say with a pout. 

but heeseung would just let out a breathy laugh because he couldn’t care less. 

“think this color might look better on me to be honest.” heeseung would say before pulling you in for another kiss. 

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡ 

whenever you think about your past relationships and how they constantly let you down, usually you’d frown and roll your eyes– but now? all you could say is that those guys didn’t do it for you in the past and probably wouldn’t for you now. 

but he(e) would. 

ᡣ•.•𐭩♡ @pagemiah @jiiyen @jnysaln @xh01bri @rairaiblog @laurradoesloveu @manaah02 @zorange13 @firstclassjaylee @kristynaaah @17ericas @heeseung64 @leipforggy @s1rawb3rry @ddeonuswife @orxngebloods

copyright 2025 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned. if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

[cressidagrey]

What's in a Name?

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Part of the The mysterious Mrs. Piastri Series.

Summary:  Oscar tends to forget to tell his family about major life moments. Or: How Nicole Piastri found out that her granddaughter was named after her. 

Warnings and Notes: I have been working on this for weeks and I have finally given up on trying to make it better. So here it is, in all its glory. Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

It was a rainy Tuesday, the kind of afternoon where Melbourne felt more like London—grey skies, misting rain, and a house quiet enough to hear the fridge hum. 

Nicole sat at the kitchen table, shoulders draped in her oldest cardigan, a half-finished crossword in front of her and a cup of peppermint tea cooling untouched at her elbow. The mail was stacked neatly beside her: the usual suspects—an electricity bill, a newsletter from the council, a catalog she didn’t remember subscribing to—and one envelope that stopped her short.

Cream-coloured. Heavy paper. Sealed with wax.

Her heart caught.

She knew that handwriting. Elegant, almost old-fashioned cursive. Felicity.

Nicole reached for it carefully, fingers brushing over the embossed return address in one corner. She broke the seal with a letter opener, slow and reverent. Inside was a card—no, stationery—thick and matte, with delicate wildflowers inked around the borders in soft watercolours. Pinks and purples, sprigs of lavender, daisies tucked into corners. Hand-drawn, clearly. Felicity’s touch was unmistakable.

A birth announcement.

Months late, of course.

But Nicole had never minded. They’d all understood.

Bee had been born in July—smack in the middle of winter in Australia and summer in London and chaos and COVID-era restrictions. The beginning had been terrifying: the rushed C-section, Felicity’s haemorrhaging, Bee’s heart surgery, the NICU admission. Machines that beeped too loud. Oxygen tubes. Monitors flickering through the haze of exhaustion. 

They’d prayed. Waited. Called. Texted. Watched from a distance as their son clung to hope like a lifeline.

Nicole remembered the first time she’d seen her granddaughter—through a pixelated video call at 2:43 a.m., after two sleepless nights. Oscar’s voice cracking off-camera. He’d kept repeating, “She’s so small, Mum. But she’s here.”

Nicole had cried then. Silently, so she wouldn’t worry them.

The last thing anyone expected was proper stationery.

Nicole hadn’t pushed. They’d promised to send proper announcements eventually. 

Nicole had video-called. She’d cried when she saw Felicity eventually, pale and exhausted, holding a tiny baby against her chest, wires and monitors flickering. She’d prayed harder than she ever had. She knew her granddaughter had made it, had healed, had come home.

Still, the card made her heart catch.

A soft floral design, hand-drawn. Felicity’s unmistakable attention to detail.

And at the center, in black ink:

Welcome to the World, Beatrice Nicole Piastri

Nicole blinked.

Read it again.

Beatrice… Nicole.

Her name. Not just as a nod or a casual reference, but there. Written, printed, declared.

She hadn’t known.

Oscar hadn’t said. Not in any of the hospital updates. Not in any of the late-night phone calls from London when Felicity was still recovering from the C-section, when Bee was fighting her way through post-surgery oxygen dependency. Not during the photos and videos and the grainy FaceTimes where Bee was curled like a comma against his chest, breathing steadily. 

Not when Felicity sent thank-you messages for the baby blanket, the muslin wraps, the tiny hand-knitted cardigan that had been Nicole’s own when she was born.

Not once had anyone told Nicole that Bee was named after her.

She pressed a hand to her mouth. A quiet gasp escaping before she could stop it.

It was such a small thing. A few letters printed in black ink.

But to her—it was everything.

Oscar had never said anything. Not a word. He probably didn’t even think of it. Probably assumed she knew.

And of course he hadn’t—he was Oscar. Her brilliant, focused son who forgot to eat on race days and got distracted by suspension schematics while tying his shoes. He’d sent updates. Photos. He’d FaceTimed with Bee curled on his chest and Felicity gently teasing him in the background.

But he’d never told her her name.

She looked back down at the card, eyes suddenly stinging.

Beatrice Nicole.

She’d never expected to be honored that way. Never needed it. She was proud of all her children, proud of the life they’d built, proud of the woman her daughter-in-law had become. She had watched Felicity grow from the shy teenager, always polite, always too quiet—into a woman of strength. One who had come through fire and come out steady, composed, fierce.

Nicole wiped at her cheek with the sleeve of her cardigan.

There was a photo tucked into the card as well—Bee at a few months old, round-cheeked, eyes bright. She was lying on a muslin cloth covered in bees, one tiny fist raised, her other hand clutching a green plush frog to her chest.

Oscar’s daughter.

Her granddaughter.

Nicole smiled softly, brushing her fingers over the card.

Then she picked up her phone, opened the family group chat, and typed. 

***

Group Chat: Piastri Fam ❤️

(Members: Nicole, Chris, Oscar, Hattie, Edie and Mae)

Nicole:OSCAR JACK PIASTRI YOU NAMED HER AFTER ME?!?!?!?

Hattie: wait WHAT

Mae: Hold on hold on hold on what is happening

Edie: Named WHO after WHO

Nicole: BEE. BEATRICE NICOLE. I JUST GOT THE BIRTH ANNOUNCEMENT IN THE MAIL

Hattie: EXCUSE ME???? YOU GAVE YOUR DAUGHTER MUM’S NAME AS A MIDDLE NAME AND TOLD NO ONE???

Oscar: oh, yeah we did that

Chris: ...Son. You named your child after your mother and forgot to mention it?

Mae: THAT’S ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY??? “oh yeah”????

Oscar: i didn’t think it was a big deal

Edie: NOT A BIG DEAL????

Hattie: YOU IMMORTALIZED MUM IN YOUR CHILD’S NAME

Mae: AND YOU’RE OUT HERE ACTING LIKE YOU JUST BOUGHT A NEW TOASTER

Chris: It’s… kind of a massive deal, Oscar. You named your daughter after your mum. That means something.

Oscar: … yeah. I guess it does.

Nicole: I’m crying. I have actual tears in my eyes. And you’re in here like, “oh, yeah” 😭

Oscar: It just felt… natural?

Nicole: I— I’m going to go lie down. With my framed announcement. And my feelings.

Edie:YOU NEVER MENTIONED IT

Hattie: YOU LITERALLY LET ME CROCHET HER NAME INTO A BLANKET THAT JUST SAID “BEE”

Oscar:It is what we call her

Edie: I’m losing my MIND

Mae: He’s too emotionally repressed to realize he just gave Mum the greatest compliment of her life and did it casually via post

Oscar: you’re all very dramatic

Chris: And you are very casually sentimental. It’s unnerving.

Nicole: I am crying in my lemon tart and also deeply offended

Oscar: …thanks?

Nicole: No thank you. For naming your little girl after me. Even if you forgot to mention it for FOUR MONTHS.

Oscar: it was hectic!! there was the NICU and the surgery and the no sleeping and—

Edie: You’re not getting out of this with logistics.

Mae: YOU had time to send aesthetic baby announcement cards with pressed flowers and wax seals but not to casually text us “btw named her after mum”????

Nicole:You’re lucky I adore you. And that Bee is already my favorite grandchild.

Oscar: she’s your only grandchild

Nicole: Exactly. And I will name-drop “Beatrice Nicole” at every social event until the day I die.

Hattie: I just can’t believe you didn’t tell us. Like? We are your siblings? We texted you every day during that month?

Oscar: i know i didn’t mean to keep it a secret it just… slipped through the cracks we were so focused on keeping her alive, you know?

Nicole: Oh, sweetheart. We do know. And I wouldn’t change a thing. But I want you to know—this means the world. You didn’t have to do it. But you did. And I will never forget it.

Oscar: …you were always there for me always even when things were messy or quiet or hard felt right to honour that not just because you’re Mum but because you’re you

Nicole: Okay. Now I’m really crying.

Mae: He’s emotionally stunted and accidentally poetic. It’s unfair.

Nicole: Thank you. For her. For the name. For the reminder that family doesn’t have to be loud to be deeply, stubbornly, painfully loving.

Edie: Are we hugging in the group chat? Are we… feeling things?

Mae: Shut up and cry with us.

Oscar: i’ll send a picture of bee in her little bear onesie as a peace offering

Nicole: Bless you. Also she looks exactly like Felicity. Thank god for that.

Hattie: Family roast unlocked. Let’s goooo.

***

The flat was quiet, in that sacred hour between baby bedtime and parental collapse. Outside, the London rain tapped against the windows with soft insistence, and inside, the only light came from the low-glow lamp by the couch and the faint blue wash of the baby monitor on the coffee table.

Oscar sat on the floor, legs stretched out under the coffee table, chin resting on his fist as he stared at his phone with the haunted look of a man who had just survived a particularly emotional family group chat.

Felicity padded out of the bedroom barefoot, hair in a messy braid, sleeves pushed up, two mugs in hand. She handed him one without a word, sitting cross-legged beside him with her own, her shoulder brushing his. The silence between them was easy. Familiar. Worn in like a favorite hoodie.

After a long minute, Oscar cleared his throat.

"Hey."

Felicity hummed in reply, sipping her tea.

"So…" He winced. "Funny thing."

Felicity glanced sideways at him, eyebrow raised.

"I might’ve…" He trailed off. Rubbed the back of his neck. "Forgotten to tell Mum that we named Bee after her."

She blinked. "What?"

"I didn’t mean to!" he said quickly. "I thought I had. Or maybe I assumed she figured it out? I don’t know. Things were... insane. There was the surgeries and the lockdown and you couldn’t walk properly and Bee was the size of a loaf of bread and wouldn’t sleep unless I sang The Beatles whole catalogue —"

"—which you only knew half the words to."

"Exactly!" he said, relieved she remembered. "It was chaos."

Felicity set down her mug. "Oscar."

"I know." He groaned and dropped his head into his hands. "I’m the worst."

"You’re not the worst," she said softly, nudging his leg with her foot. "You’re just… Oscar."

He lifted his head. "She got the card today."

"Oh no."

"She cried. Like, actual tears. Into a lemon tart, apparently."

Felicity’s mouth twitched. "That’s poetic."

"And now the whole family’s acting like I revealed a state secret. Hattie’s offended on behalf of her crochet. Edie threatened to make Bee a full ‘Beatrice Nicole’ sweater as penance. Mae’s yelling about my emotional repression. Chris is quietly disappointed."

"And your mother?"

Oscar leaned back against the couch, head thudding softly against the cushions. "She’s thrilled. Emotional. Plotting social dominance via name-dropping. Said she’s going to tell everyone at the farmer’s market."

Felicity laughed. Quiet and fond. "Well. We did mean it."

“I meant to tell,” he muttered. “I swear I thought I did. Like, I could’ve sworn I said something in a voicemail or one of those late-night calls when Bee wasn’t sleeping.”

Felicity raised an eyebrow. “You also once thought you’d put the sterilizer on, but it turned out you boiled two bibs and a remote.”

Oscar groaned and leaned his head back against the couch, careful not to disturb Bee. “I’m an idiot.”

“You’re a tired idiot,” Felicity said gently. “You’ve had a lot on your plate.”

He looked down at Bee, one tiny hand curled into the fabric of his hoodie. “I just… I wanted to name her after Mum because it felt right.”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Felicity said softly. “I knew the moment you said it after we found out we were having a girl. The way you looked at Bee—like you already knew who she was.”

“She deserved a name that meant something,” Oscar said. “Not just cute syllables. Something solid. Something that would… anchor her, I guess.”

He paused, chewing the inside of his cheek. “I just didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”

Felicity laughed under her breath. “Oscar. You named your daughter after your mother. And forgot to tell her.”

“I forgot,” he groaned. “I’m the worst.”

“You’re not. You’re just very you.”

“She sent, like, twelve texts in a row. And then threatened to put the announcement in a shadow box.”

“I’m surprised it’s not already framed and hanging in her hallway.”

Oscar blinked at Bee’s face, so peaceful in sleep. “I didn’t mean it to be—like, some grand gesture.”

“I know. That’s why it mattered.”

Oscar looked down at Bee, asleep in her Moses Basket.  She shifted in her sleep, little nose scrunching, one leg kicking softly.

Oscar smiled. “She’s going to be trouble.”

“She already is.”

They sat there in the soft hush of late-night domesticity, their daughter asleep between them. Oscar didn’t always have the right words at the right time. But Bee had the right name.

And maybe that was enough.

***

Text Messages: Nicole Piastri & Felicity Piastri

Felicity: Hi Nicole — I saw the group chat 😅I am really sorry, I thought Oscar would have mentioned it.  I just wanted to say something privately too.

Felicity: He might have forgotten to mention it, but I thought you should know that he was the one who insisted on “Nicole” as soon as we found out we were having a girl.

Felicity:He didn’t even hesitate. He said, “If we’re lucky enough to have a daughter, she should carry a name that means something. And no one’s steadier than Mum.”

Felicity:He said it so simply, like it was obvious. Like it had always been the plan. He didn’t even blink. It was always going to be your name.

Felicity:I just wanted you to know that. He might’ve forgotten to tell you (🙃), but he meant it. Deeply. And so did I. We love you. So much.

Nicole:Oh Fliss 😭 I’m already crying again and it’s not even 9 a.m here.

Nicole: I’m just sitting here staring at this message with tissues in my lap and a cup of tea that’s gone cold. I never would’ve expected it — but it means the absolute world.

Nicole:That boy… He says so little. Always has. But somehow he still manages to break my heart wide open when I least expect it.

Felicity: Welcome to my life 😌 He forgets to mention where he put the car keys for 3 days, but then says something like, “I hope Bee knows the way you smile when you’re reading to her, because that’s what safety looks like,” and ruins me.

Felicity: Truly, though — thank you. For raising a man who loves softly, and completely. Who lets kindness be his backbone, not just something on the surface. You gave me the kind of partner I didn’t think existed.

Nicole: I hope you know how deeply we love you too. You’ve given him so much joy.

Felicity: I just didn’t want you to think Bee’s name was a last-minute decision or some afterthought. It was never that.

Felicity: It was a choice made out of love. Out of gratitude. Out of every night you answered his calls when he was a world away. Every time you stood by him when things got hard.

Nicole: Thank you for telling me. Thank you for letting me be a part of her, even in just a name. It’s more than I ever expected.

Felicity:She already adores you, you know. Every time we show her your photo, she reaches for the screen.

Nicole:Stop it 😭😭 You’re going to ruin me. I’m going to frame that birth announcement. And possibly embroider “Beatrice Nicole” onto every blanket I can get my hands on. And refer to her full name as often as possible. Oscar will hate it.

Felicity: Good. He deserves it 😌

Nicole: Now go cuddle Bee for me. And tell Oscar that I’m not mad. Just... Emotionally devastated in a joyful way. And that he’s grounded for four to six business days.

Felicity: He says, and I quote: “I deserve that.” 😅 We love you, Nicole. Truly. So much.

Nicole: I love you both more than words. Now please stop making me cry before breakfast.

[that-one-girl2020]

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader Pt. 7

A/N: Thank you for 1,500 followers!

Okay, this is the last official part of this short series but I have more ideas for headcanons and one-shots for this series! Like, first kisses with the boys, maybe a smut, the Saja Boys and Mira and Zoey confronting Celine about how she raised the mc and Rumi, etc. So if you have ideas about headcanon or one-shot ideas tied to this series, you can send it to my inbox or add it in the comments!

I hope this is as satisfying as you guys hoped it would be!

TW: Grief, mourning, etc.

Word Count: 3,718

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6

(Reminder: Baby = Jum, Romance = Chungae, Mystery = Hyeon, Abby = Kwan)

Rumi sighed pleasantly, sinking deeper into the hot water as steam wafted around her. “Wow. This feels amazing.”

“We’ve been saying that for years,” Mira groaned contently, her eyes barely slipping open to look at her.

“Right? See what you’ve been missing?” Zoey mused, a loopy grin on her face.

“Oh yeah. I wanna come here every day of our three month hiatus…”

“Girls, I’m so glad you and (Y/n) didn’t, like, die…?” Zoey suddenly brought up, grimacing at her own words.

“Wow Zoey, way to be super literal,” Mira smirked, peaking her eyes open to look at their maknae lazily. “But same.”

Zoey started blubbering, sniffling and trying to stop but it was pointless, “I just… you guys just mean so much to me, and I don’t really know what I’d do without you…” Zoey descended into incomprehensible tearful babbling.

Zoey’s tears began Mira’s own crying and then Rumi followed right after them.

You couldn’t help but chuckle and shake your head from where you sat between your sister and Mira as the three blubbered.

How did you get to this point again…?

~~~

Rumi gripped your sword tighter in her hands, not minding if the blade cut her hand. She refused to let go of it as the three girls silently made their way back to the tower after leaving Namsan tower. They had reassured Bobby that everything was okay and that they would actually be taking that break now. But, they still had a lot to talk about—Rumi’s past, the Saja Boys, their fight… you.

There was a space besides them that felt achingly empty as they went up the elevator.

The three silently traipsed from the elevator, their steps heavy as they sat on the couch. They sat in mournful silence, gathered around the sword that had come from your soul.

Eventually, Mira set a hesitant hand on Rumi’s shoulder. “Rumi…” she sighed, her heart clenching at what she would have to say. “You have to let it go at some point.”

Rumi held your sword tighter in response, a drop of blood staining the rug beneath them. A tear fell from her eye. “No.”

“Rumi…” Zoey sighed softly, resting her hand on Rumi’s other shoulder, leaning her head on Rumi’s sadly.

“No,” Rumi shook her head adamantly. “I won’t let her go.”

“But, the sword isn’t her, Rumi,” Mira tried to tell her. Logically, she knew this. But a part of her didn’t want Rumi to let go of the sword either.

“I know,” Rumi choked out. “I know that, but… it’s the last part of her in this world. How can I let that go?”

Mira and Zoey were quiet, unable to say anything because there wasn’t anything to say in this situation. All they could do was offer comfort to each other as they mourned the loss of their sister, Rumi’s cries filling the silence.

Rumi knew she would have to let the sword go and once she did, it would dissipate into the rainbow Honmoon. She couldn’t think of sleeping or eating or doing anything if it meant there was a chance of her letting go of your sword.

But she had to let you rest.

“(Y/n)… I’m so sorry for the way I treated you,” Rumi told your sword, your soul humming through it. “I wasn’t a good sister for you and I wasn’t there when you needed me. I should’ve done better for you… Thank you for protecting me when I needed it most, and I hope you can forgive me someday… I love you…”

Zoey set her hand over Rumi’s on the blade of your sword, “(Y/n), I’m sorry for not hearing you out. You’ve always listened to me and the one time it counted, I didn’t return it… From now on, I’ll do better at listening. And I’ll write a super sweet song in your memory! Just… I hope you know that you were like a sister to me, (Y/n).” Zoey wiped her eyes, laughing wetly as she rested her head on Rumi’s shoulder.

Mira sighed, placing her hand over Zoey’s on your sword blade, “I’m… sorry (Y/n). I jumped ahead and called you a traitor without even hearing you out… I’ve never been great at expressing myself, but… you always just accepted me, even when I was being prickly. I’m sorry I didn’t return the favor. I hope you know that you’ll always be family to me.”

The three girls were silent. They knew the time had come to let you go but they held on just a little bit longer. Just a little bit more time with you…

“Goodbye… (Y/n)…” Rumi whispered tearfully. Slowly the girls let go of your sword. They watched as it floated from Rumi’s lap, the sword dissipating in a cruel reflection of the way you died, bit by bit fading out until it was a floating orb of light purple, pink and blue hues.

The girls were breath taken but their hearts were heavy as they watched. They had never seen something like this before. It was more beautiful than the Honmoon itself, watching your soul depart.

They blinked when the one orb suddenly split into several. Five orbs of different shades of light purple and pink and blue circled around a single orb in the middle, flying and swirling around it… happily. Then the orb in the middle seemed to shake itself, perking up as it joined the joyful dance around each other, dipping and spinning and chasing each other faster and faster until the girls had to close their eyes as the lights combined and got too bright.

“AH!”

The girls’ eyes popped open when they heard the sudden yelp and several thumps. Their eyes widened at the sight before them, latching onto each other in shock, “Ahhhh!”

“Ahhhh!”

“AhHHHH!”

“AhHHHH!”

“Why are we screaming!?”

“(Y/N)!” The girls scrambled off the couch in a rush of tangled limbs and tackled you. The breath was knocked out of your lungs and your back hurt from landing so harshly on the ground, not once but twice.

You honestly had no idea what happened. One moment you were singing with the Saja Boys and then Rumi arrived and reunited with Mira and Zoey. And Rumi was buckling under the force of Gwi Ma and then you were shielding her. After that, your memories were vague. You had some fuzzy memories of… being a sword…? Had you been dreaming?

“Wait, (Y/n)?!” You heard Kwan’s voice and then the bundle of four girls was being lifted so you could be squished by five more people.

You were confused for a moment as you were surrounded by eight sobbing young adults. But then you felt your heart warm and you smiled, tears trailing down your own face at the feeling of being so loved.

“We thought you were dead!”

“Never do that again!”

“You stupid idiot!”

“Don’t scare us like that…”

“I’m so sorry, (Y/n)!”

Yeah… You wouldn’t trade the world for your eight blubbering babies.

“Sorry for worrying you guys…” You apologized, offering comfort in whatever way you could with your arms squished to your sides.

“Wait a minute,” Mira’s eyes were suddenly dry, snapping open to look slowly at the Saja Boys that were in their group hug. “What are you doing here?!”

The group hug suddenly dispersed, the Saja Boys on one side, Mira, Zoey, and Rumi on the other with you in the middle of the two groups, whipping your head back and forth between the two groups with wide, confused eyes.

‘Did they… not work together after you… died…?’

The Saja Boys awkwardly side-eyed each other.

“Didn’t you guys die or something?!” Zoey yelled.

Your head whipped around to look at the boys who sheepishly avoided your gaze, “Wait. You guys died?! How?!”

“Uhm,” Rumi started, “After you… died, they kinda just surrendered and started flaking away Thanos style.”

Your eyes widened at Rumi’s explanation. Then your head whipped back around to look at the guys who were slowly backing away. “You guys just gave up?!”

Jinu shrugged awkwardly, his shoulders going up to his ears as he avoided your eyes with a grimace, “Well… You died and…”

“We swore to follow wherever you wanted to go,” Hyeon explained more bluntly, the slightest bit of a whine in the tone of his voice. Not a childish whine, more like the whine of a scolded dog.

“So you decided to follow me into death?!” You couldn’t help but wave your arms incredulously. You sighed and facepalmed, closing your eyes in defeat. “We all need therapy. Like, now.”

“Might be hard with your current look,” Mira smirked, looking you up and down pointedly. “You look sick though.”

You blinked, looking down at yourself. Oh. You still had a lot of your demon features. Your skin color was back to normal, if a little more gray than before, and the patterns were a lot lighter. But your fingers were a normal length now, your claws weren’t as long now. But you could feel that your teeth were still sharper than a normal human’s and your eyes still glowed amber at you in your reflection in the window.

You looked back at the boys and their appearances had changed as well. Their reaper clothes were gone, back in their human clothes now. Their skin tones weren’t the dark lilac they had been before, more of a gray now as well. Their patterns weren’t purple anymore, they looked closer to black now, more like tattoos. Other than that, most of their other features were still the same.

“Oh,” You blinked. “I think I’ll be alright once my eyes chill, but the boys…” You trailed off. “Can you guys still use your demon powers?”

“Maybe. It feels a little limited though…” Kwan responded.

“We can try though,” Jum chimed in. One by one a ripple of demon energy pulsed over the boys, leaving them with normal skin tones and eyes, no claws and their teeth much less sharp.

You tilted your head at them though, “You guys kept your patterns?” You noted. The black markings were only a light purple now but still covered their arms and necks, their faces the only things they had cleared of patterns. (Like how Jinu looked when Gwi Ma summoned him after the bathhouse fight).

The boys simply smiled, “We couldn’t let you and your sister have all the fun,” Jinu smirked cheekily.

Your heart warmed and you blushed, wanting to coo over the sweet gesture. You stepped towards them, raising your hands to cradle Jum and Hyeon’s faces as the five boys gravitated towards you. “I love you boys. So much.”

The boys’ eyes teared up, their emotions crashing through them leaving them feeling too much all at once. You had died. And they thought you weren’t coming back. You are their hope, their guiding light. So they had followed you.

And now you were all here again, with them. And the Honmoon had been sealed. They hadn’t planned for that.

They were in the human world for good now. There would be no more second chances for them, this was officially it. So, for you, they would do their best to choose better. They had no doubts that you would accept them, flaws and all. But you deserved better than they were.

The six of you would need time. The things you all did, for each other and for themselves were things that they couldn’t just forget or accept as part of themselves just yet. Maybe that was why you all retained so many demonic features.

However, for now? They clutched you tight, wrapping you in their arms as they clutched at whatever part of you they could reach. They closed their eyes as tears dripped down cheeks, leaning their heads against yours as they felt your warmth, breathed in your scent, swallowed back their fading grief.

“Please don’t leave us again…”

The six of you stood together for a long moment, basking in each other’s presence to reassure each of you that you were all there and all alive.

Rumi stepped forward and the boys tensed around you, still weary of the Hunters. You moved to stand in front of them, a barrier between your sister and the boys. Rumi ignored them though, taking your hands in hers, “(Y/n), I’m so sorry for how I treated you. Nothing I say could ever make up for what I did, the lack of appreciation I’ve shown you in the past few years… But I hope you can forgive me someday and we can rebuild our relationship.”

Mira and Zoey joined, adding their hands on top of yours to make it a little huddle as they rested their free hands on your shoulders. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to what you had to say, (Y/n). You’ve always listened to me and I should’ve done the same,” Zoey added softly.

“And I’m sorry for calling you a traitor and… saying we’d kill you…” Mira added slowly, looking down in shame and guilt. “I should’ve heard you out and accepted you like you’ve always done for me…”

You smiled gently, cursing internally at your watering eyes. “Thanks girls…” Your smile fell into a small frown as you looked at your joined hands. “I don’t know if I can forgive you three yet, and I’ll definitely never forget, but I do love you guys and want to rebuild our relationships.”

The girls smiled sadly but they accepted your words easily. Whatever you needed. The four of you would have to talk more, there was still the conversation of how you and Rumi had kept your patterns hidden hanging over them. But that could be another time.

“So…” Jinu broke up the tender moment. “Can we stay the night?” He gestured to the other boys and himself.

The girls blanched. “Uhm. No.” Mira refused bluntly.

“Come on,” Kwan groaned, crossing his arms with a frown, “You’re not the only ones who lost (Y/n) when she…”

“Yeah,” Chungae swooped in, covering up how Kwan trailed off. “We were asking more out of courtesy than anything.”

Mira growled, the two fellow pinkettes grating on her nerves. But Zoey, ever the chipper girl, gasped excitedly as she had a realization, “We can have a sleepover! We can all sleep out here and order food and eat a bunch of junk food and get to know each other!”

And that was how you ended up at a sleepover with your five demon… boyfriends? Well, no one really wanted to leave your side that day.

Or any of the days that followed.

~~~

After that, the girls and the guys had gotten at least… a little more comfortable with each other.

It got better when the boys helped the four of you find the returning souls of the fans. They would just appear in different places around the city, lost and confused, having no memories of what had happened to them or how much time had passed.

During your sleepover, the nine of you had brainstormed and made a statement that you had a health scare which raised tension within Huntr/x, especially since you had wanted to debut as a solo performer, but the boys had supported you even through the health scare. This statement would explain to fans why the pallor of your skin had shifted just a little and also mention how you and Rumi had been born with birth defects that you both had tried hard to hide up till now.

The fans were supportive, glad that the group was taking a hiatus to rest and recover. A lot of fanart of you and Rumi with your patterns and supportive captions filled social media. The fans were especially giddy when the Saja Boys had explained when asked by a fan that they had gotten tattoos in support of their girlfriend, making it official. More fanart came after that.

After the girls and you had talked it out, it seemed like Rumi, Zoey, and Mira were much closer. It was only a matter of time in your opinion, until the three became Polytr/x. The boys agreed with you.

“Couch, couch, couch!” The four of you chanted as you left the bathhouse.

“(Y/n), are you sleeping at the tower tonight?” Rumi asked you.

“Mira’s cooking tonight!” Zoey cheered.

“I’m gonna burn your taste buds off,” Mira smirked proudly. There was a reason people called her the ‘Spice Queen.’ After what happened and you spending more time out of the tower, the girls had started trying their hands at cooking and taking up more chores.

You chuckled, “Sorry girls, I told the boys we could have a movie night. I’ve kinda gotten them hooked on Disney and Ghibli movies…”

Mira snickered, “Good. Don’t be too surprised if I pop in tonight. Gotta get my revenge on Chungae and Kwan,” she punched her hand, the fire of competitive determination flaring in her eyes.

Yeah… Chungae, Kwan, and Mira were having some kind of competition every other day it seemed. Lately, they had taken to surprise Nerf attacks, gaining and losing points based on successful hits assassin style. Last weekend, Jum had joined their spicy food contest and trumped all three of them smugly.

Zoey and Hyeon got along surprisingly well when her fangirling over him had died quickly. You would often see Zoey rambling excitedly as Hyeon nodded along, a small smile on his lips as the younger girl painted his nails.

And Jinu and Rumi acted like the siblings that neither ever wished for. After Jinu apologized and the two talked it out, the two went back to building their friendship. Jinu found amusement in poking at Rumi’s buttons, the two often bickering or debating over little things. But they also often had deep talks or talked about music ideas.

You didn’t wanna think about the shovel talk the girls gave to your boys… You weren’t supposed to overhear, but you were trying your hand at baking in the kitchen and the girls didn’t really know how to be very discreet…

“Oh!” Zoey gasped in remembrance, shaking your arm excitedly, “We gotta work on that collaboration song soon! I have so. Many. Ideas!”

Oh yeah. You had also decided to debut as a solo artist after the whole ‘Your Idol’ fiasco. Fans had accepted the ‘Your Idol’ x ‘What It Sounds Like’ concert as just another show, but had started flooding the internet with theories of who the female singer with the Saja Boys had been. Since you were under dim, red lighting and in demon form, no one had been able to recognize you—although there were some theories that it was you.

Even after those events, it wasn’t hard for you to realize that you wanted to keep performing—keep singing and dancing on stage. Both Huntr/x and the Saja Boys had offered for you to join their groups, almost fighting each other for the right to have you, but you ultimately decided to be a solo artist. You felt like if you had joined either of the groups, you would fall into old habits and become too passive. But you had accepted Bobby’s offer on being your manager since you two had worked together for so long.

Bobby still grumbled about how the Saja Boys didn’t have a manager or anything yet but was satisfied when they had signed under the company so they had access to the billions worth of resources.

You chuckled, nodding, “Yeah, I’ve got a lot of ideas to share too.” You kinda blinked when you realized Zoey was wearing an oversized yellow hoodie with Derpy the Tiger’s face on it. ‘Where had she gotten that…? Was Jinu making Derpy merch…?’

The four of you stopped when you noticed four girls in Huntr/x merch meeting up just up ahead. “Aw, look at them. They’re so cute.”

“You know, I feel like we got a nice little break,” Rumi mused with a smile.

“Yeah, I definitely feel recharged,” Mira agreed easily, crossing her arms.

“Me too. I thought I wanted couch, but I think couch can wait,” Zoey leant on Rumi’s arm. “(Y/n)?”

You smiled, “I got time ‘till the boys will start feeling withdrawal,” You shrugged.

Together, the four of you walked over, “Hi everyone!” Rumi called, the four of you waving at the shocked girls. You weren’t surprised when you kind of fell to the wayside of things as the girls started gushing over Rumi, Zoey, and Mira.

You were surprised when one of the girls turned to you, “And (Y/n) too! There’s rumors going around that you’re gonna debut as a solo artist soon! I just finished a drawing of you and the Saja Boys, would you please sign it?”

You blinked. You had never been asked to sign something unless it was paperwork. You were shaken from your thoughts by an arm resting on your shoulders. You looked up to see it was Kwan, “Wouldn’t you like to have the full set?”

“Guys? What’re you doing here?” You asked curiously with a fond smile.

Arms wrapped around your waist from behind, a nose pressed to the crook of your neck, “Missed you,” Hyeon murmured simply.

“I’ve only been gone a few hours,” You jokingly rolled your eyes. You rested your hands over his, leaning back against him affectionately.

“Even a few minutes away from you is too much, darling,” Chungae smirked at his smooth line while you shook your head at his antics.

“A few seconds is more like it,” Kwan pouted dramatically.

“You’ll let me choose the movie tonight, right, beautiful?” Jum tugged on your sleeve to get your attention.

“You and Chungae picked ‘Howl’s Moving Castle’ last time, Jum, let someone else pick,” Jinu chided the maknae with a little smirk, smiling at you fondly. He turned to look at the girl who looked like she was about to erupt, shaking with excitement and a huge grin on her face, “Is it alright if we signed your drawing too?”

“Of course!”

Yeah, there were still things you needed to do. Therapy being one of them. But for now, you were safe, loved, and comfortable. You were happy.

A/N: Yeah, so the mc and the Saja Boys don’t kiss or anything here, that’ll be in the parts I write later because it just didn’t feel right…?

Outtakes:

*During Part 6*

The Saja Boys, Huntr/x, everyone: *Battle ready* “We are going to protect/save (Y/n)!

You: “I’m going to hold your hand when I tell you this…”

(This one was by @ph1lo-s0ph1a and I thought it was great!)

…

*Inside the Sword*

You: *Looking around at the rainbow glow, sparkles, and constellations floating around you* “…Am I high…?”

The Saja Boys: *Somewhere* “(Y/N)!? WHERE ARE YOU?!”

Mystery: *sobbing*

Abby: *trying to swat sparkles out of his face so he can find you*

Jinu: *Habitually trying to summon Derpy and Sussie to search for you*

Baby: *squinting from the too bright rainbow glows* “I can’t see her…”

Romance: *Using the stars to spell out your name to try and signal you, sobbing* “(Y/n)…”

…

*Back during Part 3*

The Saja Boys: *Trying to decide who gets to spend time with you in what order* “Okay… Rock Paper Scissors!” “Ah, NO!” “Betrayed!” “Damn.” “Hehehe!”

…

You: *Looking at Rumi, Mira, and Zoey seriously* “Look. Rumi is my twin sister. But you two are also sisters to me.”

Mira and Zoey: *touched and teary eyed* “Awww…”

You: “Therefore. If any of you hurts one another, I will, objectively, have to kill all of you in the most gruesome way I can manage—which is a lot because I have five demon boyfriends and my own demonic abilities now.”

Polytr/x: *grimacing* “Oh, yeesh…”

…

Romance: “(Y/n) will you be the Sophie to my Howl?”

You: “I don’t know, are you gonna get me a flying castle and a talking fire demon?”

Romance: *Getting Gwi Ma flashbacks* “Uhmmmm…”

…

Tag list: @brights-place @itmechaosartist @reni502 @chin-chii @cultish-corner @enerofairy @mama-m1na @akariis4snowball @gremlinartstudio @shynotded @shadowmoonlight0604 @omgsuperstarg @neigesprincess @sleep-7372 @hurts-my-brain @kiwibackie @gh0stied3ath @naysha140 @theferretkids @lelantyuu @sexyindependentdowntospendit @hornehlittleweeblet2 @moonymoo1 @moochiwoochi @cheolright @crescent-z @prorpy @mey-archive @cami1qx @nerdalicios @xxsadlovexx @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @blackheart34 @anonymousewrites @scarletrosesposts @justanindiangirl12 @beexboo @tatsuri-zomushiki @call-me-nyxx @queenofviolenceandnerds @randomfan218-blog @jaybbygrl @unholycheesesnack @ocean-mochi @iviorienne @confusedparticle @otakusimp1 @nosbaby07 @fries11 @ri-eveowe @1950schick @libdarkheart @yourjustassaneasiamx @the-bookish-artist @anduinandwrathionlover @eternallyrosyfire @lysira340 @lansy-4 @strayharmony943 @maximumtrashchild @bleufu1 @minepugs @valeriele3 @arieslucy @nisarelle @suzieq1948374 @esposamultifandom

[r66dusthewriter]

Fallout

Pairing: Simon Riley x fem!reader

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

a/n: Been working pretty consistently on these so i thought i could spare some extra fics this week 😙

Genre: Angsty fluff

Warnings: suggestive comment

Word count: 1k

You sat on the other side of that table, spine straight and face blank, as though your entire career hadn’t just been put under a microscope. Simon stood across from you, the skull mask making him unreadable but you didn’t need to see his eyes to know the storm behind them. 

“I didn’t leak shit,” you repeated quietly, arms folded. “And you know it.” 

Ghost didn’t answer, only stood perfectly still with his arms behind his back like a soldier awaiting orders, except he was the order now. Your badge of CIA clearance sat on the table between you, useless now.

“Laswell tried to stall,” you added. “Said it was external but I was benched anyway and then someone with a personal vendetta against me changed the orders.” You leaned forward, voice sharp. “That someone sent you.” 

Ghost didn’t deny it either and you let out a breath, leaning back. “Jesus Christ, Simon. If they think I’m a mole, why send you specifically? They think I’ll crack under your gaze or something?” Still nothing from him, just breathing in a slow, methodical way, like he was buying time or bracing. “Say something!” you bit out. 

“You’re not the only one being watched,” he said finally, voice low and steady. “They’ll be listening.”

“Should I sign the confession now then, so you can take me to a cell and let me rot?”

“No,” he said, something like strain curling at the edges of his words. “I’m here to find the truth.” 

A bitter laugh escaped you, that was never within his obligations or orders. “That’s rich, coming from the man I’ve slept with for the last six months.” 

He flinched, just barely but you saw it. “Fuck it,” you added, voice low and accusatory. “You want the truth, Lieutenant? We both have secrets, yours just come with a balaclava…but that wasn’t me. You have to believe me”

He finally moved, pulling out the chair and sitting across from you. The gesture made your stomach twist. It was too normal and too intimate, the way the room felt like it was closing in. 

“I’ve been through the files,” he said, accent thick. “The breach happened through a secure CIA node in Jordan. Yours was the only login used in the last 24 hours.” 

“I was in London,” you snapped. “Ask Laswell, hell, ask Price… I was in a fucking debrief.”

“They scrubbed the logs.”

You stared at him expectantly despite the obvious continuity this situation would follow. “So that’s it then.” You shrugged, “You’re gonna take me to a shadow site, interrogate me…break me like a fucking twig and watch me die!?” 

“No,” he barked, voice dropping. “I’m going to prove it wasn’t you.” 

Silence spread between you, thick and pressurized. You watched him closely, trying to understand what was going on in his head.

“You’re not authorized to do that.”

“I don’t give a damn.” For a moment, the mask didn’t matter, his voice did. You felt it settle beneath your ribs, somewhere between fury and relief. 

“What’s the plan then?” you asked. 

Ghost leaned forward, lowering his voice. “In 2 minutes, Soap and Gaz are going to simulate a containment breach. While everyone’s distracted, I’m getting you out.” 

“You’re going AWOL.” you whispered, shocked.

“I’m gettin’ answers.” he corrected.

“You’ll get court-martialed.” you said, every word deliberate while looking into his eyes.

Simon’s gaze didn’t waver. “If I fail.” 

You stared at him for a long time, something clenching in your chest. “Why risk it?” 

He didn’t blink. “Because if they break you, they break me too.”

The lights cut before you could say anything else. It was a flicker and then pure darkness for seconds before the emergency lights turned on, barely bright but enough to shroud the room in shapes and outlines, enough to make your pulse skip.

You heard the shift of his boots first, slow and sure, then the quiet clink of the cuff key in his hand. Your wrists stung as the metal shifted, the weight of suspicion falling away with it. You didn’t say thank you, didn’t say anything at all.

His gloved hands brushed your skin, steady, methodical but you could feel the tremor anyway, beneath the practiced calm, the soldier’s mask…he was furious, not at you, not really but at them. At the idea that someone thought they could put you in a box, tie a noose around your name and make him the one to deliver it.

"You’re risking everything,” you whispered, breath catching. “For me.”

Simon didn’t answer at first as he fiddled with the key in the dim light, getting angrier by the second. 

“I thought we agreed,” you say, softer now, “we weren’t… this.”

“This what?” His voice was a murmur, barely audible above the hum of emergency lights outside the door. “Stupid? Attached? In too deep?”

You exhaled, shakily. “Whatever this is. It doesn’t belong in debriefings and holding cells.”

Another beat of silence and then suddenly, the cuffs tighten back around one wrist.

Not locked, not harsh. Just enough pressure to make your eyes widen and your breath hitch.

Your head jerked toward him. “Need help with the fucking key?”

In the near-dark, you heard a breathy low chuckle before the cuffs slipped free from one wrist, then the other, the metal clinking to the floor like a secret dropped too loud.

“I thought you liked it when I took control.”

You blinked, standing and rubbing your wrists to ease the pain from having them on too long. Your voice came out flat. “You’re an asshole.”

“Mm.” He hummed, handing you a gun, holding it for just a second longer between you before letting go. “Takes one to love one.”

The word love landed heavier than it should have. You didn’t flinch but you felt it and chose to ignore it. You stepped back, tucking the gun into the back of your waistband but he followed, just a fraction too close.

The air between you simmered with misplaced heat, unresolved tension and all the things neither of you ever said out loud, but that conversation wouldn’t happen anytime soon because whatever this was, you’d just stepped into something far bigger than either of you.

[yoiisa]

hiii i really loved your bllk boys reacting to you having a nightmare and was wondering if you could make a part 2??? maybe with isagi (i love him sm). only if you want too of course :)

hope you have a wonderful day/night <3

bllk characters reacting to you having a nightmare .𖥔 ݁ ˖

w/ ISAGI YOICHI, SAE ITOSHI, AND KAISER MICHAEL

Tags: TW for depictions of a car crash in Isagi's fic!! slight angst, hurt/comfort, this is part two to this fic i wrote a little bit ago!!

ISAGI YOICHI ⋆˙⟡

It most definitely wasn't a good idea for you to go to bed right after seeing the news about the car accident in downtown Shibuya. To add onto all of this, Isagi hadn't responded to any of your messages, but here you were.

To be fair, you weren't sure if your brain could handle all the stress while you were awake. You figured that you'd be able to cope better with your worries in your dreams.

Yeah, right.

The lights of the famous crossing flicker in your mind, painting the world in technicolor beauty. Isagi's hand is gripped tight in yours as he silently leads you through the city.

"Yoichi, are you okay?" you ask, the sound a bit distorted by your dream. He doesn't respond though, just continues trailing ahead of you with your hands linked. You try a few more times to get his attention, but nothing works.

It isn't until you give up on calling him that you realize the two of you have trailed straight into the middle of the crossing when all the stoplights have the red hand brightly displayed. Horns start honking, and your heart rate increases.

"Yoichi, stop! There are cars coming!" you shout, but once again it falls on deaf ears. You're left with only one choice.

Summoning all your strength, you wrench your arm from his grip and fall back into the crowd just in time to see Isagi get-

No, no, no!

There are a few shouts as people call for ambulances and help, but you can't seem to rip your eyes away from the horrific sight in front of you. There's so much blood. The sounds all around you muddy into the background. Your eyes are blurred as hot tears roll down your cheeks. This can't be happening. This can't be happening!

This is a dream you vaguely recall, but it all feels so real that your brain feels like it's short circuiting. You feel directionless, unsure of what's up and what's down.

"Ma'am, ma'am! [name]! Hey, can you hear me? [name]!"

You gasp as your eyes dart open. You're in your bedroom, with Isagi hovering over you. His blue eyes are wide and terrified as his thumbs stroke your cheeks, wiping away tears.

"It's- woah there!"

You shoot up in bed and hug him desperately, your hands and fingers digging into his shoulders. You sob into his neck, fat and hot tears stubbornly falling from your eyes. You want to stop crying, after all it was just a dream, but you can't. Your body feels like it's buzzing, the terror of your nightmare refusing to ebb. He nuzzles into your neck as his arms wrap around your waist.

"Shh, shh, don't cry," Isagi whispers as he rubs your back. "It's okay, I'm here."

SAE ITOSHI ⋆˙⟡

When the two of you first started living together, you told Sae upfront that you talk in your sleep. Sae seemed slightly annoyed, but it wasn't enough to deter him in any serious way. It'd been around five months since you moved in with him, and he told you that he hadn't heard anything, so that was relieving.

Well, at least until last night.

The night had started out simple enough, with you and Sae going to bed around the same time. What he hadn't anticipated though was the small squeaks that started leaving your mouth later on. They were barely audible at first, but then started growing in urgency and volume.

Sae groggily pushed himself up and checked his phone. 1:32 A.M. He cocked his head over to look at you. Your eye brows were furrowed and your face was red. You looked like you were having trouble breathing. Were you sick? Sae rested a hand on your forehead, but you weren't hot enough for it to be anything worse than a mild cold.

"[name]?" he calls, shaking your shoulder. "Hey, wake up."

"No," you moan, and he quirks his eyebrow. You sound like you're . . . in danger?

"[name], love, hey," he shakes you a more roughly, but you shy away from his grip.

You whimper and Sae feels himself growing more troubled.

"Don't go," you sob and Sae feels his heart shatter. He feels absolutely helpless. You won't wake up, and he doesn't know what to do.

With not much else direction, Sae lays himself over your body, pulling you into his chest. He lays kisses along your shoulder and neck, whispering sweet nothings.

"It's okay," he coos. "I'm here."

Eventually, you fall silent again. The crease in your eyebrow flattens, and your face isn't red anymore. Sae brushes a few strands of hair back from your head and kisses your temple. He gets out of bed and fills a glass of water, setting it on the nightstand after he comes back into the room. He climbs under the sheets again and presses himself against you as he drifts off to sleep himself.

KAISER MICHAEL ⋆˙⟡

Kaiser loves sleeping with you- in both meanings of that phrase. Sex with you is fun, for sure, but there's something special in the non-intimate nights as well. Pulling you into his chest or nuzzling his face into your chest. Every time the two of you fall asleep, Kaiser has to be touching some part of you. So obviously, when you get out bed, he notices within two minutes.

The sheets are cold and Kaiser lifts his head as soon as all his hand meets is blanket. His two-toned hair is messy and his eyes are only half open as he scans the bedroom, trying to find you. He blinks a little and pushes himself out of bed. He opens the door of the bedroom and walks out into the hallway, seeing the light in the kitchen glowing.

"[name]? Are you out there?" he yawns as he pads sleepily down the hallway.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, I just wanted some water," you call back.

Kaiser stops at the entrance to the kitchen, leaning against the wall. He watches you with hooded eyes as you gulp down the rest of your drink. You rinse the glass and set it in the dish rack before walking over to him. You come to stand in front of him. Your shoulders slump and you rest your head on his chest.

"Misha," you whisper.

"Yes?" he asks, but you stay silent. He stares down at the top of your head and sighs. His arms wrap around your shoulders and pull you into his chest fully, your body molding against his.

"If you don't wanna talk, don't," he says, one hand coming up to pet your hair. "Let's go to bed, yeah liebe?"

You nod and he chuckles. He gently guides you back to the bedroom, his hand on your lower back. When you get back, you try to sit down and crawl under the covers, but Kaiser stops you.

He smirks as he pulls you back and shakes your head, "Nuh uh, liebe. Warten."

He pulls the sheets back and then picks you up. He lowers you into the mattress and with slow, deliberate movements, he tucks you in. He kisses your forehead and gently rubs your face with his thumb. The action is so sweet but somehow also over the top that you can't help but laugh.

Kaiser smiles as he watches you. "There she is," he mutters.

[tomriddlehyperfixataion]

From birth - Tom Riddle(son of voldy edition) x Reader - Part 1 of 2

Summary; you'd been promised since birth, the both of you-to each other. marriage, children, the works, all before you were even born; you were set to marry the dark lords son. Tom. Both of you arent quite sure how to do it, any of it, but...you'll make it work.

First time writing Tom as voldys son les goooo

=

It was set in stone, a marriage between you and the dark lords son, it had been written since birth-an agreement between Voldemort and the Selwyn family, their only daughter signed away to marry the dark lords eldest son when they were both of age, being only a few months apart.

Voldemort wouldn’t stand for anyone but a pureblood being his son’s wife or mother to his heirs, and while Voldemort planned for his reign to last forever, it didn’t hurt to have backups.

And so, in the fall of 1997, you were in the Malfoy manor, getting dressed in the silky fabric of your wedding dress, a veil placed over your head, the train reaching several feet back.

The dress was beautiful, one you’d picked out, if just to have something under your control, to make this day just a bit better. You took a long, deep breath, clenching your hands, looking at your pearl-painted nails and the engagement ring on your finger-a copy of the gaunt family ring, of which the dark lord had remade just for this.

Not that anyone but Voldemort knew that, the real ring-or so Voldemort believed-was still hidden in the gaunt shack.

“it’s time (y/n),” your mother said from behind you, her voice quiet. Your father stood at your other side, behind the house elves helping you get ready, he was quiet, face cold but full of turmoil within his eyes. Years ago he’d made the deal with the dark lord to marry off his then-unborn daughter to the dark lord's then-unborn son, but back then; he thought the world would be different, that everything would be different.

Now it felt like he was sending off his baby girl to a death sentence.

“Okay,” you murmured, stepping off the pedestal into your elegant heels-fabric wrapping around your ankles and calves for support, taking your fathers arm as he stepped to your side. The precession was quiet, like you were walking to death instead of a new life.

You made it to the grand doors that led out into the Malfoy’s grand garden, the aisle leading to the gazebo in the middle of it all, black stone covered in dark vines and shimmering faint light-death eaters lined each side of the aisle, and at the end, the dark lord, his snake-like eyes gleaming with satisfaction as his oldest son stood to his left, Tom; who looked undeniable handsome in his dark formal robes, shimmers of green and silver catching the faint light.

Your father took a deep breath, your mother clutched your hand, and they walked you down the aisle, towards your fate. Tom’s eyes caught yours and they imperceptibly softened, not noticeable by anyone who didn’t know how to read his micro-emotions.

You reached the end of the aisle, handed off to Tom-stepping up the black stone steps of the gazebo, your other hand taken by Tom. Voldemort smirked, his red eyes gleaming as your parents took their spot behind you, Bellatrix and Mattheo-Tom’s mother and younger brother-stood behind Tom.

Voldemort stepped back to allow the officiant into place, the older wizard dressed in dark robes and holding a black shimmering braided rope, which he lifted up in view of the death eaters. “we gather here today to sanctify the union between the son of our lord, and the daughter of the Selwyn family. Long may they flourish and their heirs reign strong.” The officiant said, lowering the rope as the death eaters muttered in unison.

With your hands intertwined with Tom’s, the officiant bound the rope around your hands, over, around, and over again, the dark rope shimmering. “Do you, lord Tom, take lady (y/n) to be your bride?” The officiant said and Tom answered, calm and calculated-showing no emotion.

“I do,” he said, much to the satisfaction of his father, whose smirk grew creepier as the ceremony went on. The officiant turned to you. “Do you, lady (y/n), take lord Tom to be your husband?” he asked and you swallowed, eyes locked onto the rope bound around yours and Tom’s hands.

“I do,” you murmured, and Voldemort stepped forward, waving his wand with a silent incantation, golden threads swirling down from our left arms to our hands, glowing once and disappearing, bonded together, till death did we part.

you looked up at Tom, he stared at your intertwined hands, ever so slightly squeezing yours. you squeezed back.

You grabbed the end pieces of the rope and pulled-creating a knot and you held it between you. “you may now kiss the bride,” the officiant said and Tom looked up at you, there was a long moment before he leaned forward and you closed your eyes, feeling his lips against yours-it was chaste, a business exchange.

You both pulled away and Tom led you back down the aisle as death eaters applauded, Voldemort looking smug; all too satisfied.

Tom led you back into Malfoy Manor, and up the stairs, to his room. The door clicked shut silently and you both stood in his room-quiet…unsure. “You look beautiful,” Tom said softly, looking at you, his lips lightly pursed. you sighed, looking down at your dress, you did like it, you just wished the wedding had been more…real.

“Thank you, you look handsome,” You murmured back, Tom nodded in thanks, ever so slightly shuffling on his feet. “They have another dress for me, a black one, to…symbolize,” You said, and Tom’s ears flushed-understanding the implication.

“I’d rather that happen later.” Tom said, uncomfortable and you couldn’t help but agree, your parents had given you the vacation manor up in Scotland, where you’d go with Tom for the honeymoon after the reception. “agreed,” you said stiffly, but either way, you would have to change into the black dress-if only to appease the dark lord.

As such, it was already hung up on the closet door of Tom’s room. You walked over to it, and Tom admired it, it was nice as well-fit for the situation. Just as you were about to change, he spoke up. “wait,” Tom said, walking closer to you, holding up the knot that had been made during the ceremony. “if…if were going to do this, lets do it right,” he said, encouraging you to take one end of the rope again and you did, a bit confused but curious.

The knot was held between you and Tom took a slow breath, and he let his emotions show-nervous, his fingers tapping against the black rope. “…” he goes quiet again. “you have no clue what to say, do you?” you murmur, humor growing in your voice as Tom looks up to glare at you, its lightly playful, the emotions he shows reminding you while he apparently was the carbon copy of his father, he wasn’t him.

He was Tom, the nerdy Slytherin boy you grew up beside at Hogwarts who cared way too much about potions and old books and hated carrots but loved Brussels sprouts.

And now, your husband…

“ill start,” you murmured softly, holding the rope with him and he nodded, staring at you. “while this was forced upon us, we don’t have to resign ourselves to a meaningless marriage. I wish to try, to make this the best we can, despite our circumstances,” you said softly, looking up at Tom and his gaze had softened in agreement. “I will stand by you, as a friend and confidant, and whatever children we have-they’ll be more than means to an end, they’ll be ours.”

Tom stared at you, as if waiting for you to say more but he realized that was the end of your ‘vows’ and cleared his throat. “I was expecting this day since I was a child, when my aunt told me I was betrothed to a daughter from one of my fathers followers. I grew up resenting someone I didn’t know, and when we finally met at school, I still did.” A memory flashed in your mind from nearly 17 years ago, when you met Tom and he gave you the meanest glare an 11-year-old could. Back then, you had no clue why but as you grew and understood the meaning of betrothal, you understood why he glared.

“I learned to get over my bitterness at you, it wasn’t your fault, so I saw you as you are, just someone forced into this marriage our parents arranged. I saw you in your dress and i…I realized this might not be so bad.” Tom squeezed your hand, his gaze lowered to your intertwined hands. “I’ve grown up with you, and while I haven’t known you as I should’ve, I will know you. ill stand by you, protect you from harm, protect whatever children we have from harm, and be your friend above else, even if we never grow past friendship.”

Tom said and you both tightened the knot on the rope, solidifying the marriage in your own way. You smiled, and Tom stepped close, raising his hand to caress your cheek, glancing at your lips-looking for permission. You nodded, and you both leaned in, joining in a softer kiss, a promise to make the most of it, no matter what happened.

-

You and Tom joined the reception, your hand around Tom’s arm as you walked down the staircase into the ballroom of Malfoy manor. Tom wore the same fancy dress robes from the ceremony while you’d changed into a black dress, it was flowy and wrapped around your torso like a twisting flower, the skirt bouncing softly with each flared step down the stairs.

Voldemort looked pleased, assuming you’d ‘consummated’ the marriage as that’s what the dress was supposed to represent, you losing your innocence and becoming apart of the dark lords plans. You squeezed your hand around Tom’s arm and he tightened his elbow, he couldn’t hold your hand right now, but he’d try to show that he was with you in what ways he could.

The reception started, it felt quiet for you and Tom, but for death eaters, it was a celebration; all drinking, laughing, eating-masks scattered about on tables, several too drunk and taking about you in such a way that made tension rise and Tom very much allowed to take his wand and cast a few curses; all under the guise of protecting ‘what was his’ against such fowl language.

Hours later, your feet hurt and the two of you were utterly exhausted, stepping into the floo of Malfoy manor and transported to the Selwyn vacation manor, it was dark, and freshly cleaned for the honeymoon-but neither of you cared. Tom cut off the floo connection as you kicked off your heels and let down your hair-taking off jewelry and leaving it on a random table near the living room.

You scratched your head with both hands, tiredly looking up the stairs that led to the bedrooms. You knew the master suite was decorated for your honeymoon night, but you didn’t want to face that right now, preferring to head straight to your childhood room that you’d spent every summer for every year of your life.

Tom followed you up the steps, his shoes in his right hand as his formal outer robes hung off his arm in his left, yawning as you took a right at the top of the stairs, finding the large double doors of the master bedroom. Indeed, the room had been decorated for a honeymoon night, including lube and fertility potions.

Tom made a face, his ears turning pink. You stepped in, finding your sleepwear already in the dresser and grabbing it, leaving the master bedroom. Tom watched, not exactly sure what was going on but he stepped into the master bedroom, finding his clothes and taking a shower, drying his hair as he walked through the manor, looking for where you’d gone off to. He found you in your room, already showered and changed, hair leaving trails of water down your face and neck.

He swallowed a bit, he’d already admitted it earlier in your…vows, but he did find you attractive, since 5th year actually; back then he berated himself for even thinking about you that way but now…you were his wife-he was supposed to be attracted to you.

“What now?” he asked, his voice quiet, a bit raspy. You looked at him, combing your fingers through your hair, shrugging a bit.

“I dunno, your father expects us to…start making heirs right away, but I’m exhausted,” you murmured and Tom couldn’t help but hum in agreement, making his way to your side, sitting next to you on the end of the bed.

“I’ve never had sex,” He admitted and you choked on your spit; now you knew why he just admitted that but damn if it didn’t throw you through a loop. “me neither,” you said after you finished choking. He laughed a bit, glad you were in the same boat, then you both went quiet-unsure how to go forward, unsure of what to do…at all.

“So,” he murmured, looking at you as you looked at him at the same time, hands pressed between your thighs. “what now?”

You let out a soft breath, looking at your bed, no romantic decorations, plain sheets you chose for it two years back, and fluffy pillows. “lets just…go to bed, we can think about the more personal stuff later,” you murmured, drying your hair with a spell and crawling onto the bed, Tom sat at the edge for a moment longer before nodding, standing to go find a room to sleep in but you grabbed his hand. “c’mon,” you murmured, tugging him towards your bed.

He hesitated, then crawled in beside you, sliding under the covers. It was awkward at first, the two of you laying stiffly in the thankfully large bed, you both had room to stretch out, but still close enough to feel body heat.

Exhaustion took you both before overwhelming awkwardness could and when morning came-you were tangled together, your back against Tom’s chest as he held you tight, face smooshed against your pillow, lips against your head, breathing softly.

It was comfortable, easy, good. You looked at the clock, still early. You turned over, wrapping an arm around Tom, falling back asleep as his grip tightened further around you.

-end of part 1-

this was suppooosed to be a oneshot but i got work tomorrow and really didnt wanna wait on this any longer, so there will be more to this! with smut included, hopefully.

@serenamultifandom

also @anawritez-posts cuz this was inspired by your Tom x reader death eater wedding 🥰

[thewinter-eden]

You Live Like This? - pt II

Series master list PART 2 INFO

pairing: Bang Chan x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: home invader!Chris makes good on his promise to rob your ex to avenge your painful breakup, only to find that you're already there trying to collect your belongings. In order to keep your ex-bf from including you as an accomplice in his inevitable police report, you have to pretend you don't know the robber who keeps flirting with you. (plus like a lot more)

warnings: camping, murder, Ateez mentioned, mature

word count: ~5k

It’s nearly four in the afternoon when the worn green sign comes into view, peeking out from overgrown tree branches on the side of the road.

Blue River Campground written in faded white letters, and dangling beneath it, a removable panel reading —no vacancies.

Reaching into the mess of your passenger seat, you push a disturbing collection of empty Red Bull cans and McDonald’s coffee cups into the floorboard, fingers blindly scrambling for the familiar plastic cover of your binder.

A handful of granola bar wrappers and the chicken nugget carton from your lunch later, you have the thick blue book in hand. Your eyes are firmly planted on the road when you drop the binder into your lap, steering your car off the back country road and onto the paved driveway of the campground.

As the park ranger booth appears around a bend of trees, you reach over and turn down your music.

After a long day on the road, entertaining yourself with a mixture of a dozen hand crafted playlist and a few chapters here and there of some audio books you’d struggled to find interesting, you’re eager to get out of your car and stretch your legs under the open sky.

When you drive up, a female park ranger slides open the window of the booth and grins down at you, folding her arms over the sill.

You hit the button to roll down your window, shooting her a polite smile as you flip open your binder and reach for the first printout that’s safely tucked inside a clear sheet protector.

“Hi there!” She greets you cheerfully. “What can I help you with today?”

You produce the piece of paper and hand it to her. “I’m checking in for a campsite. This is my reservation.”

She beams at you with far too much enthusiasm for someone who clearly doesn’t have air conditioner in the cramped little station. “Great! Lemme get you checked in.”

As she turns away from you to clack away at a keyboard that sounds like it’s had one too many sodas spilled over it, your eyes fall to the binder in your lap.

Taped to the inside cover, words faded from time and sun exposure, is that little Post-It Note.

‘Had a great time last night. Coffee later? Also, text me your ex’s address. - Chris.’

It’s been six months since that terrifying and strange evening, where a lunatic had broken into your house to rob you blind, only to end up on your couch, with you asleep in his arms.

Sometimes you can’t believe it wasn’t just a dream that you’d concocted after enduring the perfect storm of finding your boyfriend cheating on you, losing your job, and having to sell your house all in seemingly one fell stroke.

But you know it wasn’t.

You know it was real.

Because that hadn’t been the last time you’d seen him.

“Alright!” The park ranger chirps, distracting you from the confusing amalgamation of emotions that the little yellow sticky note always sets off. “I’ve got you all checked in! Check out is no later than 2pm tomorrow. Here is a map of the campground,” she passes your reservation back with a sheet of printer paper that bears a grainy black and white map. “You’ll hang a left down there at the gate, and then a right at the bathrooms. The campsites are numbered, you should be able to find yours, no problem. Camp hosts will be floating around until 9pm if you have any questions!”

Taking in the bubbly onslaught of information with an awkward smile, you wait until she leans back into the booth and stops for a breath. “Okay, thank you,”

“You can purchase firewood if you need to, but it’s cash only.”

“Okay.”

“Obviously gathering or cutting down your own firewood is prohibited.”

“Yes, of course.”

“And there’s fresh water outside the bathrooms.”

“Okay, great.”

“Alright! Have a great time!”

You’re not even sure which polite response you manage to rattle off before you urge your window all the way back up and pull away from the station before you even bother to slide the reservation and the map back into their designated sheet protector.

The forest drive is winding and beautiful, and soon enough, the campsites appear. You roll through the spots, passing dozens of campers already there and setting up or completely finished and working on dinner until you roll up to spot 25.

You park in your own personal little gravel lane and take a deep breath. You’re a little nervous. You’ve gone on a few experimental camping trips to teach yourself how to get into the routine of it, but this is the first time you’ve committed to a multi-day roadtrip without any hotel reservations to fall back on until you reach your destination.

To calm yourself, you focus on sliding the pages into your binder, your eyes falling on that sticky note again.

Six months since Chris broke into your house and scared the bejeezus out of you and your dogs.

And as monumental a memory as that is, it’s not the only absurd memory you have of Chris.

Not in the slightest.

There hadn’t been coffee after. In the mess of waking up in disbelief that you had nearly been robbed, but had a movie night with the criminal instead, and being unable to dwell on it because you had to focus on having somewhere to live after your house sold, the events with Chris kind of disappeared into a hazy memory.

You’d sent the address as requested—facetiously. In all honesty, you’d just thought he was flirting. That the address was an excuse to get a conversation going, and you’d find yourself merely teasing about his criminal endeavors until he got up the nerve to properly ask you out for coffee.

But you’d sent the address, your own little private joke, and he had sent a thumbs-up emoji.

Just that.

Like you were some stranger confirming an appointment.

A thumbs-up, nothing more.

You didn’t reach out to him again. Mortification had prompted you to delete his number and pretend you’d never met him, and that’s exactly what you did. For about two weeks.

FIVE (AND A HALF) MONTHS AGO

If anything good can come out of this absolute crap show that your life has turned into, it’s that your superhero of a realtor somehow got your house closed on in less than two weeks. She’d warned you that you would probably have to dump a couple thousand dollars into sprucing up the place to increase interest, and you’d been drowning your financial sorrows in a cup of old tea, wishing it was a dry red wine, when she called you back.

In less than eight hours, she had news for you. Somebody wanted your house at face value, for not a dime below your asking price.

House sold, as is.

You spent the next two weeks on pins and needles as all the paperwork went through, waiting for the buyers to back out of the deal. Your realtor warned you not to get your hopes up. First attempts usually dry up when they see the monthly payment and sales tax.

But it never happened.

The paperwork went through.

The deal closed.

Twelve hours later, there was money in your bank account.

Mortgage deducted, realtor paid, closing costs settled, you were still left with a sum you’ve never before had behind your name.

Things were looking up.

Until the text came in.

‘Come get your shit before I throw it out.’

Woosung.

The ex who slept with your best friend when he decided you were too emotionally unavailable for him.

You considered sacrificing your belongings to the garbage, except you know you left a bracelet and a pair of earrings there that were handed down from your grandmother. He has clothes that you don’t necessarily care for, but he also has your favorite mug—gifted by a coworker—that says ‘Today’s Yoga Pose is a Downward Spiral’.

Everything else, the various books and toiletries and overnight kits, you can do without.

You tried to avoid the interaction.

‘Just mail it to me.’

‘I’m not paying for postage to mail your crap.’

‘I’ll pay for it. Or leave it at the front desk of the spa.’ You don’t work there anymore, but your friends do, and they’ll accept your belongings for you long enough for you to come pick them up.

‘I’m not going to pick through the apartment to find your stuff. Come get it tomorrow.’

You don’t know why he’s being so hostile about the whole thing, when he’s the one who threw your relationship down the drain, but you know him well enough to recognize when he’s not going to be talked out of (or into) something.

So you begrudgingly make a plan to swing by tomorrow, leaving off all the choice words you want to punctuate the message with, and resign yourself to a miserable day that you will have no chance at salvaging once you’re surrounded by all of those memories again.

You’ve been in his apartment building a million times. Enough to exchange passing greetings with his neighbors, to call one of their dogs by name when they scoot by you in the hallway, headed out to the parking lot for a walk.

You say the usual prayer when you stand in the struggling elevator and stare at the expired safety inspection certificate, and mimic the familiar strangled ding as it arrives at his floor with a shudder.

He opens the door after three knocks and about ninety seconds of awkward silence.

And then he’s there.

Standing in front of you.

Your perfect boyfriend, who, with all his little faults, only ever indicated that you weren’t quite working out when you found him in your best friend’s bed.

He kicks the door open and stands aside, a can of Coors in hand and a distracted look on his face. “Be quick about it. I don’t have all day.” He mutters, and promptly leaves you in the entry way to return to a well-dented spot in the couch to stare at an ESPN rerun booming through the TV set.

You were wrong.

This isn’t as painful as you thought it was gonna be.

He’s slouched on the couch, one sweatpants leg hiked up over his knee, covered in chip crumbs, and instead of being flooded with sweet, loving memories, you’re looking at the future you almost had.

Pulling a number of reusable grocery bags out of your backpack, you don’t bother taking off your shoes and cross the room to the kitchen. “It’s ten AM, Woosung.”

“Thanks, mom.” He doesn’t even look at you.

It occurs to you that this may be some form of grief, some part of him heartbroken by you ending your long term relationship, but it’s none of your business all the same.

You pull open the cupboards and begin your search for your favorite mug. After shuffling through a collection of beer glasses and novelty cups from movie theaters and sport events, you find the familiar red ceramic shoved in the back.

Next, you make your way to his bedroom.

It’s a disaster zone of dirty laundry and half empty pizza boxes and enough aluminum cans to single handedly win World War II, but you push down your distaste at the squalor and the smell of body odor and pick your way through stale jeans and takeout boxes to what used to be your side of the bed.

You remember his life being cleaner.

Or maybe it had been your presence that had kept the laundry in the hamper and the trash in the garbage can.

At some point in the two weeks since you left him, he’s filled your personal drawer in the nightstand to the absolute brim with condoms.

Unimpressed and somewhat disgusted, you delve your hand into the avalanching pile of foil packets and can’t bring yourself to care when they spill out over the sides. In your blind search for the little satin drawstring that holds your jewelry, your fingers touch something lacy.

A pair of women’s panties, pink and sexy and not yours is hooked on your thumb when you draw your hand out.

They’re not your size, not your color, and absolutely placed there on purpose.

He made sure you came, made sure you had to get your belongings from that very drawer, and planted an entire nightclub vending machine in there for you to find.

You toss the offending lingerie carelessly onto his pillow and keep searching.

Surprising even yourself, the only thing that truly bothers you about all this is the disturbed sense of worry that those panties belong to your former best friend, which disgusts you on too many levels to count.

So, all in all, it’s a good week. You sold your house, got some money in your pocket, retrieved your valuables, and got all the proof you needed that losing your boyfriend is likely the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

The hurt and betrayal and anger leftover from the breakup is fodder for your therapy sessions and nothing more.

The moment you have your grandmother’s jewelry in hand and headed for your pocket, you hear a panicked shout from the living room.

Dismissing it as some masculine indignation towards whatever fight he’s watching, you move to the closet and push through the hanging shirts to find one of your nice evening dresses and one of your coziest sweaters.

As long as you’re here, you might as well grab the things you’d wear again.

Some of the other things that have been defiled by memories of Woosung—your red nightgown, the lacy shirt you’d worn to his promotion ceremony at work—you leave on their hangers.

He can give them to his next conquest for all you care.

“What are you doing in my house?”

That shout doesn’t sound like something aimed at the TV.

“Get out before I call the police!”

There’s no way.

You drop your slowly filling tote bags at your feet and hurry to the doorway just in time to hear the anger in your ex-boyfriend’s voice crumble into terror.

“No, wait! Okay, okay, take it easy.”

Peeking around the door frame, you see a figure shrouded in black facing away from you, and in front of him, Woosung still on the couch like he’d been shoved.

His eyes are wide with panic, darting from the person’s face to his waist, where you can only assume the man is holding a weapon.

“Please,” Woosung starts. “Please, my girlfriend is here. Please don’t hurt me, just take what you want.”

While you’re struggling with the insinuation of that attempt at bargaining, the figure in the living room turns towards you.

Black hoodie.

Mask over his face.

A gun in gloved hands.

Goddammit.

He really meant it.

And you gave him the fucking address.

The man surges towards you.

“No!” Woosung lurches forward. “No, wait! Don’t hurt her!”

Well, that’s something, you guess.

The man in black pauses and twists around to flash the gun at him again. “Don’t move.”

When Woosung falls back against the couch with his hands up, a panicked squeak crossing his lips, the man spins back to you and reaches out his empty hand, shoving you forcefully back into the bedroom. Before he slams the door shut in your face, he shows you the gun. “Stay here,” he snaps. “Don’t make a sound.”

You have no intention of calling for help.

If he’s going to make you wait in the dirty bedroom while he scares the shit out of your ex boyfriend, you’re happy to practice your fake tears until he’s finished.

The door bangs shut and latches.

Beyond, you hear Woosung utter another frightened shout, and then the sound of duct tape ripping off a roll.

Woosung’s proceeding arguments are comically muffled by tape obviously being stuck over his mouth.

Approximately five minutes later, the bedroom door opens again and you utter a short, loud cry just for good measure.

“Shut up!” His hissed voice carries down the hall before he shoves the door closed. The moment he’s locked inside with you, the man throws off his hood and yanks his mask off.

Chris.

Big surprise.

His eyes are laughably wide. “What are you doing here?” He whispers, dropping the gun and the roll of duct tape on the bed. “I thought you broke up with him!”

“No, please, stop!” You should be an actor.

Theatrics tabled for the moment, you cross your arms and narrow your eyes at him. “I did. I’m picking up my stuff.” You nod to the bags on the floor. “I can’t believe you’re actually robbing him.”

He studies the grocery bags at your feet, the ambivalent tension in your posture. “Oh.” He scrubs his hands through his hair with a wry laugh. “I told you I would. Somebody’s gotta defend your honor.”

That single thumbs-up emoji stands in jarring opposition to the sweet smile he’s giving you.

“Really?” You quirk an eyebrow. “Because you seemed so committed to our night together.”

He shrugs almost bashfully and checks his watch. “I had to get some things in order and plan the heist before I could offer my heart and soul to you, babygirl. I couldn’t have you thinking I deliver only empty promises.” The smirk he flashes at you is dangerous.

You’re unimpressed. “And you had to do it the day I show up here?”

He throws his hands up helplessly. “What was I supposed to do? I went to your house three days later and it was empty.”

Instead of informing him that he could have texted you, which he was fully capable of doing, you form a sly smile and give him a simple thumbs-up.

Chris stares at your hand with sheepish recognition. “I was gonna text you,” he says. “As soon as I finished up here, I was gonna take you for that coffee and give you the good news.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, now you’re in a pickle. What did you do with him?”

He blinks, like he’s not sure what you’re talking about. It sinks in a second later. “Oh! He’s duct taped to the furnace. He’s not going anywhere, trust me, I know how to tie people up.” He shoots you another wink, which lands without impact.

“What’s the plan now, hot shot? Now I’m an accomplice.”

Chris watches you stare him down, awe blooming in his expression. “You’re a whole different person when you’re not scared of me. God, you are hot like this, anybody ever tell you that?”

The rather flattering moment is somewhat dampened by the fact that it’s between you and an armed home invader. “I don’t want to go to jail tonight, Chris. Clean this up.”

He scoops the duct tape and the gun of the bed, nodding calmly. “Don’t worry, I have a plan. I’ll keep you in here, use you as leverage to keep him compliant, and make it seem like we don’t know each other. Make it good, alright? Put your hand over your mouth and make scared noises.”

This is not how you expected your morning to go.

You can’t believe he decided to rob your boyfriend in broad daylight.

When he just stands there, waiting for you to agree to pretend to be a victim of his egregious crimes, you utter a long sigh.

So far, your survival rate with altercations involving Chris is 100%. Last time had been surprisingly decompressing in its own way, and if this time involves scaring the dirty sweatpants off your ex, you’ll happily call it a two for two.

“Fine. Is that real?” Nodding to the gun in his hand, you feel only the slightest bit of apprehension over the fact that somebody could be accidentally shot in the middle of all this.

He’d convinced you that murder and battery were charges too hot for his lifestyle, but you can’t be sure that he or Woosung won’t unintentionally do something stupid. You can just imagine your ex boyfriend, day-drunk and high on delusions of grandeur, grabbing the gun out of Chris’ hands and trying to be a hero.

He waves the weapon at you. “It’s a real BB gun.” A cheeky grin. “Airsoft. Harmless. Don’t worry.”

Eyes rolling to the ceiling, you sit yourself on the unmade bed and glare at him. “Whatever you’re gonna do, do it fast. I have appointments this afternoon.”

He nods and dons his mask and hood once again, like a misguided version of Batman, and puts his hand to the doorknob. “Let me hear you, babygirl.”

Your responding deadpan is lethal.

Bringing your hand up to cover your mouth, you pray for your poor vocal cords and do your best impression of Weepy Girl Held Hostage.

“Shut up! Stay still!” He snaps in a genuinely good Christian Bale, which only furthers your Robber Batman agenda, and amuses you to no end.

All in all, it’s the best possible outcome for having ventured into a den of painful nostalgia to collect your things.

Chris disappears into the hallway, letting in the sounds of Woosung’s enraged terror, and closes the door behind him.

The next series of noises tell their own story.

Drawers scraping.

Picture frames falling off the wall.

Cabinets banging.

Woosung’s muffled screaming.

“I told you to keep it down.” Footsteps nearing. “I guess you don’t care about your girlfriend.”

Muffled groaning.

The door opens and Chris reappears. You give a theatrical yelp and shove a stack of comic books off the bed for good measure.

“I got his Play Station and his laptop.” Chris tells you, showing you his backpack. “What else should I grab?”

Now you really are an accomplice. “You’re actually robbing him?”

He shrugs. “He has more stuff than you did.”

At your offended sneer, he laughs and shakes the backpack at you. “Come on, tell me how to hurt this asshole. He’s in there crying all over his duct tape. I’ve only got like ten more minutes before I wanna be out of here. Give me something good.”

Taking a second to think, you mentally catalogue all of the things in this apartment that Woosung might bitterly miss. It is true that he has more irreplaceable valuables than you did, and part of you wonders if you should be the bigger person and protect the things that matter to him.

Unfortunately, the bigger part of you isn’t that virtuous. “He’s got a bunch of signed sports paraphernalia. There are display cases in the dining room with signed baseballs. They’re legit and he never stops bragging about them.”

Chris’ eyes light up over the top of his mask. “Perfect! Be right back!”

The door slams shut on your embellished cries of fright.

Furniture shoved across the floor.

Something banging against the wall.

Glass shattering.

Woosung pleading stupidly past his gag.

You should be sympathetic. You should be thinking of when Chris broke into your own house and scared the life out of you, when you thought you were going to be assaulted and robbed.

But you’re not.

You know this is mostly harmless.

And Woosung deserves this.

He’d stepped out on you with your own best friend and blamed you for it.

When are you ever going to get the chance to avoid the sweet taste of revenge like this again?

All you have to do is sit comfortably in this nasty pig pen of a room, scrolling through your Pinterest feed with mild disinterest.

You use your time to relax a bit and enjoy a moment of online retail therapy while your ex shits his pants at the mercy of your masked avenger. With a comfortable sum in your bank account, you allow yourself exactly two frivolities—Ateez is having a comeback.

You put their latest album in your cart and scroll through tour dates.

Woosung screams.

You pick a seat and add the ticket to your cart.

The pathetic cry you give when the bedroom door opens again is a little distracted but seems to do the trick well enough. Woosung keeps pleading pathetically as the door closes.

“Having fun in here?” Chris asks lightly.

You hum a noncommittal response, still staring down at your phone. “You almost done?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a couple thousand in here for sure.” Chris zips up his backpack. “Thanks for the score.”

Finishing your checkout before the vendor times out, you manage a smirk. “You can settle my fee with my bookkeeper.”

“Oh, funny.” He rolls his shoulders, stretching his arms before slinging the bag across his back. “I’ll go back in there and do my whole threatening routine and then I’ll head out. I hope my services have been satisfactory?”

You pocket your phone and finally give him your attention. “Yes, Chris.” You respond dryly. “Thank you for robbing my ex of his valuables and his dignity. How can I ever repay you?”

In the face of your unconcerned wit, he just chuckles down at you with almost a look of fondness in his crinkled eyes. “You’re a gem, babygirl. Just say yes.”

Confusion wrinkles your nose. “To what?”

“Coffee. Later. I’ll text you.”

“Oh, you will?”

He lifts his hands defensively. “I will. I’ve kept my promise. I can approach you, all deals settled now. I’ll text you.”

A short laugh scrapes up your raw throat. “What makes you think I want to get coffee with a seasoned criminal?”

“Just my bad boy charm and devilish good looks.” He says with a wink, and then his cocky self-assurance melts into a series of awkward chuckles. “I hope you will. I’d like to see you again. You’re the most interesting girl I’ve ever robbed.”

“Well, take me now, sailor.” You utter flatly, but there’s a rebellious fluttering in your chest that assures you that you will be accepting his invitation if it ever comes. Even just for the sake of the experience.

How often are you gonna go on a date with someone who breaks into your house and helps you punish your ex?

“Coffee, then.” You agree. “Later.”

Before he leaves, you tell him your name. It’s dumb, foolish, to hand a criminal personal information, but he already has your phone number and he doesn’t exactly knock to enter anyway. And you can’t have him calling you babygirl in public, no matter how much it seems to tickle him.

He gives you one last long look and repeats your name back to you. “Take care of yourself,” he says. “I’ll see you soon.”

He leaves a few strips of duct tape for you to cover your mouth with for appearances, and then he’s gone.

When Woosung comes in to rescue you moments later, you snatch up your tote bags and make a show of fleeing his apartment in a rush of frantic distress.

The police contact you a few hours later to request a statement, which you politely decline on the basis of being traumatized and having no interest in enduring a criminal case with your cheating ex boyfriend.

They don’t bother you again.

Chris texts you a few days later, when you’re interviewing for a new apartment, and the coffee date comes and goes. He shows up in jeans and a button down, no mask in sight, calls you babygirl in public anyway, and is the perfect gentleman.

You share flirty banter over his tea and your mocha, trading relationship horror stories back and forth; he hears all about your adventures in getting back on your feet, you learn about his dreams to become a personal trainer and outdoors enthusiast. He pays the bill, kisses your cheek, and promises not to sully your good name with ties to his criminal lifestyle.

It ends, just like that.

You get a few texts here and there over the next few months—checking up on you, offering humorous anecdotes as he passes various milestones towards getting certifications and experience for training, and offers interest in your own responding updates about your life.

Nothing more than that.

He lives on the second page of your messages, the banner of his rare text notification ranging in impact from excitement to disinterest as time goes on.

You’d liked him, in a thrilling sort of way that promised no commitment, but he was right—his past (and current) indiscretions aren’t good for your future.

And the heart racing excitement of seeing his name appear on your lock screen always spirals into disappointment when his flirty tone is undermined by a three-day-old read receipt and only revived by a “Hey! How’s it going?” five weeks later.

It gets old.

It turns sour.

Sometimes you ignore him.

He’s friendly and sweet, but uninterested in forming an actual connection, so all you can do is stop letting yourself think about him as you fall asleep, stop imagining running into him again, stop daydreaming about him rescuing you from Woosung’s occasional “been thinking about you” texts.

Time passes, and Chris becomes nothing more than the occasional painful tug on your silly little heartstrings.

NOW

Camping is a new hobby for you. After finding out what it feels like to have nothing, to wonder where your next meal is coming from, bouncing from friends’ couches to family’s guest beds, your slowly accumulated life feels like a luxury that can be yanked from you at any moment.

You get a new job and develop an obsession for managing your finances. Half a dozen savings accounts, allowances for hobbies and expenses, long term goals and short term goals and a healthy padding for emergencies.

You get a comfy little apartment and furnish it sparingly. You don’t need excess. You want to appreciate living minimally, to learn how to survive without frivolous comforts, just in case you ever have to lose everything again—and one day it dawned on you.

What better way to appreciate the little things in life than to sleep under the open sky and make your own food over a fire you started with your own hands and gaze at the stars instead of just doom scrolling?

You invest in camping as your new exploration of self. You teach yourself basic wilderness skills. You booked a few local campsites to learn the ropes.

And then, when it came time to hammer out travel plans for the Ateez concert you had booked while Chris was exacting revenge on your ex, you found the perfect opportunity.

An app, called ShowTripper, that let you turn your destination into a journey. When you selected camping as your preference, it showed you a route of sites and allowed you to book them right there, all at once, neat and organized.

So here you are.

On a four day roadtrip to a concert you’d booked on impulse, camping all along the way.

Your gear is minimal and easy to set up. Once you’re out of your car and working through your mental checklist, it’s only twenty minutes before you’re standing back, hands on your hips as you proudly scan your small tent, folding table, and camp chair.

There’s plenty of time before nightfall to get a fire started and make something light for dinner. Fortunately, considering your subpar culinary skills—none of which naturally translate to open fire cooking, by the way—you’re not especially hungry after your fast food lunch and gas station snacks throughout the day.

And you know it’s only because it’s your first day on the road, but you’re not too tired yet, so instead of digging your food supplies out of your car, you fasten all of your tent zippers with tiny colorful padlocks and use a bike lock to secure your table, chair, and tent to each other.

No one has ever bothered your campsite before, but in your defense, you have been robbed on occasion.

It helps you find some peace of mind every time you venture to wherever the bathrooms and showers are if you know that your site is an inconvenient one to burglarize.

Pocketing your little bundle of keys, you sling your backpack over your shoulders, grab your vintage film camera from your passenger seat, and take a hike through the campground.

The sky is big and blue overhead, obstructed by a sparse tree cover, and the sun is just starting to make its colorful descent. Birds chirp pleasantly above you, squirrels darting through the bushes in search of dropped food, the occasional strolling camper shooting you a friendly nod as you pass by.

It’s a nice space.

You like one of your local camp grounds a little better, only because it sits on a lake instead of a river, but this one is no less beautiful.

Gradually filling your film roll with shots of your surroundings that you know will develop with sun spots and discoloration due to a light leak somewhere inside the old camera, you take your time exploring.

The techs at the drugstore where you develop your film always leave a note about the poor quality, informing you that your camera is broken and needs repair, but you’re ridiculously fond of the defect. You found it on a shelf in your local thrift store, greasy and grimy and hailing from the eighties, and you’d instantly fallen in love with it.

The unique spills of color and lens flares that cut through every photo give each image a touch of genuine character that could only be replicated by modern manipulation.

Ever since you found it and cleaned it up, it’s been your favorite method of documenting your outdoor excursions. You already have a small bookshelf of photo books littered with notes and memories from your few adventures, and it’s one of your most motivating ways of unwinding some evenings just to sit and flip through them.

By the time you circle back to your campsite, your neighbors have arrived. They’re parked on the other side of a cluster of bushes in a van, appearing to be a group of rowdy young men who are loudly rushing their way through setting up a number of large tents.

Paying them no mind, comforted by the shrubs and trees that separate you, you focus on starting a fire in the pit. A bundle of store bought firewood, a handful of kindling, and two matches later, you have the beginnings of a cozy little cook fire.

Within half an hour, you’re settled in your folding chair with a steaming plate of canned ravioli.

The sun is nearly set. Once you finish your dinner, you’ll grab your toiletry Kit and head for the bathrooms to wash up, and then you’ll be cozied up in your sleeping bag, drifting happily to sleep with the first leg of your solo adventure successfully under your belt.

You are self sufficient, independent, and brimming with satisfaction.

“There’s no. Way.”

You are fucked.

to be continued

< last part | next part >

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[demie90s]

MASTERLIST | Part 2

ᴏᴠᴇʀᴠɪᴇᴡ: ᴛᴡᴏ ᴇxᴇꜱ. ᴏɴᴇ ꜱɪᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ. ᴢᴇʀᴏ ᴍᴏʀᴀʟꜱ. ɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ɪɴ ʜᴇʀ ᴄɪᴛʏ—ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴜꜰꜰᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ʀɪɢʜᴛ.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ⚠️: ᴛᴏxɪᴄ ᴄᴏᴅᴇᴘᴇɴᴅᴇɴᴄʏ, ᴘᴏꜱꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ, ꜱᴛʀᴀᴘ, ꜱɴᴇᴀᴋʏ ʟɪɴᴋ, ᴘᴜʙʟɪᴄ ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱʏ, ᴅᴏᴍ!ᴋᴡɴ, ꜱᴜʙ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴅᴇɢʀᴀᴅᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ᴄʜᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ~ 4.6k

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ᴍᴇꜱꜱʏ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ.

ᴠɪʙᴇ: “ɪ ᴍɪꜱꜱ ʏᴏᴜ” ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛᴇᴇᴛʜ, ᴛᴇᴇᴛʜ ᴍᴀʀᴋꜱ ᴏɴ ᴛʜɪɢʜꜱ, ʜᴀᴛᴇ-ʟᴏᴠᴇ-ʜᴀᴛᴇ, ꜱʜᴇ ꜱᴘɪᴛꜱ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀʟʟꜱ ɪᴛ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴜʀᴇ.

Flashback: Last Night in Her City

We were laying on her bed, half-dressed, legs tangled, mouths dry from yelling and kissing too hard. The fan hummed low above us, one of the blades clicking every few rotations like it was tired of us too.

Her room still smelled like that same damn body oil she used to steal from her older sister. Coconut. Vanilla. Something I’d never find in a store without thinking of her.

“You done sulking?” she asked, low voice cutting through the silence. Her accent was thick when she was tired. Lazy. Sexy. I hated that it still did something to me.

I didn’t answer. Just pulled the sheet higher over my chest and stared at the cracked ceiling like it was gonna offer me peace.

She exhaled through her nose. “You love actin’ like you don’t care when you care too much. It’s mad annoying.”

“And you love actin’ like you’re always right,” I muttered, not even looking at her. “Also mad annoying.”

She shifted beside me, turning onto her side. I felt her eyes on me.

“You always do this when you get scared.”

That made me turn. Slowly. “Scared of what?”

“Of me. Of this. Of how deep it is.”

I scoffed. “Deep?” I pushed myself up onto one elbow. “KWN, you’ve been out every night the last three weeks—parties, studio, whoever the fuck’s tagging you in blurry pictures. I’m over here losing my mind tryna hold us down and you—what? You pop in with a blunt and a smirk like that makes it okay?”

She didn’t say anything. Just stared. And that pissed me off more.

“Say something,” I snapped.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, bruv. You knew who I was before all this.”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “That’s the problem. You don’t know how to be with somebody. You just know how to be wanted.”

Her jaw tensed. “So now I’m the villain.”

“No,” I sighed, pulling the sheet off and swinging my legs off the bed. “You’re just not enough anymore.”

The silence behind me was loud. I stood, grabbing my jeans from the floor, one leg in, then the other. My phone buzzed. I didn’t look. I already knew it was my homegirl downstairs.

“You leaving?” Her voice was smaller. Still rough, but softer.

“I should’ve left a long time ago.”

She sat up behind me, knees pulled to her chest. “So that’s it? Just like that?”

“You always say that like we haven’t been breaking up every other week.”

“I thought this time we were good.”

“You always think we good until it’s convenient to fuck up.”

“You’re the one leaving me,” she bit out.

“And you’re the one that made it easy.”

Her mouth opened like she wanted to argue. Then shut again. She looked like she might cry. I knew she wouldn’t. She never did when I was around. But I could tell she felt it.

I bent down to grab my hoodie, her old one, the faded one with the little bleach stain on the sleeve. She watched me put it on, and I saw it click.

“You always come back, though,” she said under her breath. “You always do.” I paused at the door.

“Not this time.”

She blinked. I watched her throat bob like she wanted to scream something—beg, curse, something—but she didn’t.

So I walked out.

Didn’t slam the door. Didn’t make a scene. I just left her there, sitting in that messy-ass room with her pride and her music and her ego.

I didn’t cry until the cab pulled off. Didn’t cry again until I saw a clip of her first music video six months later, rapping to a girl that looked like me, dressed in the shirt I never gave back.

Yeah. That was the last time I saw her in person. But somehow, she never left.

Present Day

It’s a welcome back cookout—folding chairs, paper plates, chicken legs on the grill, uncles playing dominoes like it’s life or death. The type of family function where your aunties ask too many questions and somebody brings the wrong potato salad, but it’s home. Familiar. Loud. Warm.

I hadn’t even planned to bring her. My girl. She invited herself. Popped her gum and said, “I wanna see where you came from, babe.” I should’ve said no. But I didn’t feel like arguing, and honestly, part of me liked the idea of her seeing what she could never be. Liked the idea of her seeing too.

KWN.

I heard she might pull up. My mama had dropped it in my ear earlier with that sly-ass smile she only gets when she’s meddling.

“Baby, you know K coming by. She in town. I told her you was here…”

Of course she did. Of course.

So now I’m posted in the backyard, leaned against the fence with my phone in hand, iced drink sweating in my palm. Baby tee hugging me just right, no bra—because I look good. And when I look good, I feel bold. Unapologetic.

My “girl” She’s inside, being loud. The kind of loud that draws attention but not in a good way. She’s sweet, I guess. Just not… me. Not for me. I don’t know what I saw in her. Maybe the quiet. Maybe the fact that she wasn’t KWN.

But KWN’s the reason I keep glancing at the gate. And then, She walks in.

Black tee. Baggy cargos. Buzzcut. Chain glinting in the sun like it’s part of her aura. And that walk..Like the whole party’s just a runway to wherever I am.

I blink slow. Sip my drink. Look back down at my phone like I ain’t just felt my heart drop to my stomach.

She sees me, though. Of course she does. And she don’t even play it cool. Nah—KWN locks eyes with me like she owns my gaze. Smirks. Real slow. Like she been waiting on this.

Then my girl notices her. Loud as hell. “OMG?! Babe, that’s KWN—the singer I was telling you about!”

I bite my cheek to keep from reacting. KWN’s already headed our way, arms loose at her sides, smile playing on her lips. She’s trouble in a black tee, and everybody in a ten-foot radius knows it.

When she stops in front of us, my girl immediately launches into her “I’m a fan” script. I zone out halfway through.

“She’s so talented, babe. Like, her voice? It’s just…ugh. I told you she was fine too, right?” I sigh. Smile polite. I want her to shut up. She’s trying too hard.

KWN raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh yeah?” That deep London drawl rolls out like smoke. She tilts her head at me. “So how’d y’all meet?”

My girl giggles, all fake eyelashes and acrylics, grabbing my arm like it means something. “College. Same psych class.”

“Right, right.” K nods, eyes still on me. “How was that? I mean… I know she a bit all over the place.” That made me blink. Slow.

“Don’t start,” I mutter, lips twitching.

“My fault.” She grins, sharp and slow. “Couldn’t help it.”

She’s eating this whole thing up. Taking bites out of my patience. Testing me with every glance, every word laced in history. Meanwhile, my girl keeps going, asking about the music, the tour, the studio like she’s genuinely interested. Like she didn’t just say last week that KWN was overrated.

K humors her, eyes soft, voice deeper than it should be for this setting. “You ever been to one of my shows?”

“No,” she says, “but I want to. Babe, can we go?”

KWN chuckles under her breath. “Y’all should come by the studio instead. More private.”

I shoot her a look. She knows what she’s doing. I clear my throat, trying to shut it down smooth. “Nah, we—”

“Of course!” my girl cuts in, voice bright. “Babe, don’t be hostile.”

Hostile? I double-take, laughing bitter under my breath. I glance at KWN. She’s just watching me, eyes low, biting her bottom lip like she’s trying not to laugh too.

“I just meant it’s not really her vibe,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Nah, I get it,” KWN says, shrugging. “Too many flashing lights. Too many distractions. Not the best place if you like to keep things lowkey…”

She trails off, and her eyes hold mine for a beat too long. My girl doesn’t even clock it. And for a second, I forget how to breathe.

She turns to my girlfriend, cool as ever. “But you should definitely come. Bring her. I’d love to catch up.”

She’s lying. She don’t give a damn about catching up. She wants me in that booth, in that seat, in her line of sight. She wants to say shit with her eyes and her lyrics like she always did.

She wants to remind me I was hers first.

My girl keeps chatting, her hands moving fast, showing off her nails, asking about collabs. I’m quiet. My drink’s almost gone, and my patience is thinner than the gold hoops in my ears.

KWN nods along, acting interested. Then she leans a little closer. Just enough for her arm to brush mine. Just enough to make me freeze.

“Still wear the same perfume,” she murmurs.

I blink. Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Then she leans back, smirking. “Nice to see you again.” She walks off. Just like that.

I’m stuck. Standing there next to a girl I don’t even like like that, while the only person who ever made me feel like mine disappears into the crowd.

The hotel room’s dark but not quiet. Some traffic noise hums low outside, and the AC kicks on in spurts like it’s fighting for air. The bed’s king-sized but feels small, ’cause she won’t stop talking.

My girl—half-covered in the duvet, face buried in her silk bonnet and attitude—has been mid-rant for the past seven minutes. Her voice has that dramatic whine it gets when she’s trying to play victim and still be cute.

“I just can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” she says for the third time.

I’m laid out on the opposite side of the bed, hoodie on, legs stretched, scrolling on my phone. KWN’s Instagram is open. Of course it is. I’ve been on her page since we got back from the function. Post after post. The tour flicks. The videos. That one where she’s smirking under red lights in the studio, eyes heavy, lip tucked. I know that face. I used to see it up close.

“Like…seriously? You let me go on and on about her. I was literally playing her songs for you in the car. And you ain’t say nothing?”

“You talked about her every damn day,” I mutter, not looking up. “Of course I didn’t say nothing.”

“What—so you mad at me now? ’Cause your ex just so happens to be someone I stan? That’s not my fault.”

“I’m not mad,” I say, dry as hell. “I’m annoyed.”

She scoffs. Loud and performative. “Why? Because you got caught being messy?”

“Caught?” I finally glance at her. “Girl, please. Ain’t nobody trying to be sneaky. You asked how we met. I didn’t answer. That’s not a lie.”

She sits up a little, blanket sliding down her back. “So that’s your ex?” I stare at her.

“Like…real ex?”

“Yeah,” I say flat. “So?” She stares like I just slapped her with a KWN vinyl.

“This is insane. You’re insane for not telling me. Like, I post her lyrics, I wear her merch, I been waiting on her to drop a new EP—and the whole time you’re over here, what, acting like y’all don’t have history? That’s crazy.”

I’m done talking. KWN just posted a story—boomerang of a drink clinking against a studio board, captioned “working through it.”

I smirk. I know what that means. My thumb hovers, then drops to the DM button.

@/Y/nnnnnn: really

She replies immediately.

Kwnway: what did I do? 🙃

Y/nnnnnn: I have a strong dislike for you

Kwnway: I think you should come deal with whatever issue that is the proper way, love.

My chest tightens, but I don’t stop.

Y/nnnnnn: don’t play with me

Kwnway: then don’t let your girl talk to me like she wanna be me next. She touched my arm like she knew what it feel like to be held by me. That’s your type? Nah you bored.

My hand clenches the phone tighter. My girl’s still talking but it’s background noise now. Something about respect and boundaries. Something about how I made her look stupid. Meanwhile I’m biting my lip. Typing back.

Y/nnnnnn: You doing too much.

Kwnway: And you not doing enough.

Kwnway: Slide. No pressure. Just conversation.

I pause. My girlfriend grabs the remote and flops down with her back to me like that’s supposed to end the argument. “Whatever. I’m over it.”

And I’m still smiling at my phone. Because she texted again.

Kwnway: Missed you tonight. Should’ve been you on my arm. Not her.

I stare at the message long enough to memorize it.

Then hit the “Save” button on her story. Slide the hotel blanket off my legs like I already made my choice.

It starts with her mouth. Your girl’s, that is.

“You’re not going alone. I don’t care where it is,” she snaps, arms folded, attitude heavy like her synthetic lashes.

I sigh. Loud. Annoyed. I don’t even hide it anymore. “It’s a studio. You’ll be bored.”

“I don’t care. You think I’m stupid? You acting real funny since that cookout, and now all of a sudden you wanna go out late? Miss me.”

“You really think you can stop me?”

“I think you won’t try me.” I blink slow, grab my keys, and walk out. She follows. Of course she does.

The ride is quiet. I play nothing. She nags the whole way.

“You acting weird. Like what’s really going on? Are y’all still talking? I’m not dumb.”

I don’t answer. I just drive. KWN already knew I was coming. I sent a simple “be ready” text earlier and got a thumbs-up with that same damn smirk emoji. The same one she used to send after fucking me up, emotionally or otherwise.

We pull up. Small studio. Discreet. One of her favorites. The door’s cracked like she expected me to walk straight in. I do.

She’s in the booth. All black. Chain dancing on her chest. Buzzcut fresh. Eyes tracking me before the door even shuts behind us. The bass from whatever beat she’s working on pulses in the walls like it knows what’s coming.

My girl’s already eyeing the liquor on the console like it’s hers. KWN gives her that same fake charm she always pulls out when she wants someone to crash and burn without even realizing it.

“Drink?” she asks with a smirk.

“Don’t mind if I do,” my girl chirps, popping the cap like this ain’t a setup.I just sit. Quiet. Cold. Watching.

She folds quick.

Two shots in and my girl’s halfway through a third like she’s tryna prove something. I hear her say “I’m not even drunk” right before she lays down on the studio couch and closes her eyes.

KWN glances over at her, then at me. “She good?”

I look down at my keys in my palm. “I should probably go.”

KWN’s voice cuts through the glass. Smooth. Sharp.

“Damn, you just got here. Why you in a rush, baby?”

I stop mid-step. Turn around slow. She’s leaned in the booth doorway now, like she owns the whole studio. Red light soft behind her, casting shadows on her cheekbones and that damn buzzcut. Arms loose at her sides. Mouth barely curved.

KWN don’t rush nothing. She don’t gotta.

I walk back like I’m not sure why. But my body knows. Every step feels like pulling gravity. And she don’t move—just watches me walk up slow and sink back into that chair like she told me to.

“You still talk like I won’t fuck you up,” I murmur, legs crossed, trying to breathe steady.

Her smirk is disrespectful. “Shut the fuck up,” she says calmly. “You talk too much when you miss me.”

I don’t say anything back. Just stare. She walks behind me slow, dragging two fingers across the top of the chair like she’s tracing my memory into the leather.

“I like you quiet,” she says near my ear. “Means I got you nervous.”

I laugh once under my breath. “Nervous ain’t scared.”

“No,” she whispers, hand sliding over my shoulder, “but it’s close. And that’s my favorite place to keep you.”

Then she moves in front of me. Stands right between my legs. We don’t say shit for a minute. Just breathing. Looking. It’s the longest no-contact we ever made it. I feel it. In my chest. In my thighs.

“You cuffed to someone who can’t even make you wet,” she says, voice soft, dead in my face.

“You sound mad,” I fire back, mouth twitching.

She leans in closer. “I am mad. You wasting my pussy on people who ain’t got shit to offer. Mad you ever let me go when you knew damn well you couldn’t stay gone.”

She kisses the side of my jaw. Just once. Then pulls back like she didn’t do it. I look at her. Hard.

Her hand’s already on my thigh again, but it’s slow. Slow like she’s savoring it. Like she missed it. She spreads my legs open with a single nudge of her knee and just stands there. Between me. Towering. Calm.

Her fingers trail up the inside of my pants like she’s thinking about something. But she already knows what she’s doing.

When she finally dips under the waistband, it’s with two fingers and zero hesitation.

“Still soft as ever,” she whispers, eyes locked on my face. “Still mine.”

I gasp a little, unprepared. It’s too deep too fast. She moves slow, but intentional—just enough to tease, not enough to let me get used to it. Not yet.

Her forehead touches mine. That pressure again. Real close, real intimate, like we ain’t two minutes from crossing a line we never respected in the first place.

“Relax,” she says when I shift.

“I am—”

“Stop lying,” she cuts me off, smirking. “Let me in.”

My mouth falls open. She curls her fingers once. Just once. I blink fast. That breath hitch wasn’t a choice.

“Damn…baby…”

“Yeah, I know,” she says, cocky and soft. “I got you.”

She kisses me slow this time. Tongue and lips. Her mouth moves like she missed mine. She moans into it a little when I pull her closer by the front of her shirt. And her fingers?

Still moving. Worse now. Cruel even. She drags them out, lets them press right against that one sensitive spot and just—circles.

“I hate you,” I whisper, pulling back to breathe.

“No you don’t,” she whispers, kissing under my jaw now. “You just love me too much.”

“I got a girl.”

“You got a placeholder.” She flicks her wrist and I flinch. “This mine. Always was. Always gonna be.”

I’m gripping the chair again, hard. Trying to stay quiet but failing every third breath. My body’s hot, trembling. That familiar ache building slow as hell in my gut. I don’t even wanna cum. I wanna stay like this.

Her fingers slide deeper. Then she pauses. Looks at me.

“I could spit on it, make it easy,” she says, voice lower. “But you like it when it hurts a little first.” My whole body tenses.

She leans down and licks her thumb—slow, messy—then brings it down between my legs and rubs soft over my clit while her fingers start moving again.

“You gon’ cum for me or what?”

I shake my head fast. “I’m not ready.”

“Yes, you are.” She smiles, real close to my lips. “You been ready.”

Her thumb speeds up. Fingers deeper. Pace mean now. I’m trying to stay upright but my body’s twitching.

“Ouu…shit—fuck—”

“Mmm. Yo stingy ass like that,” she coos, nuzzling my cheek.

I nod, jaw tight, chest heaving. My legs clamp but she don’t stop. She pushes them open wider and whispers, “Nah. Don’t run.”

“KWN—fuck—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. Look at me.”

I do. And it happens. Face-to-face with her, chest pressed to hers, hands flying to grip her wrist like I need something to hold onto. She don’t stop. Not yet. She slows it, but stays inside. Real still.

“Mmh,” she hums, watching me ride it out. “There go my girl…”

When my head drops to her shoulder and I shake from aftershocks, she finally pulls back, fingers slick, mouth hovering near mine.

“You good?” she asks. I nod slow, dazed.

“You done?”

“…no.”

She grins.

“Good.” She drops to her knees.

My whole body’s still trembling. Skin slick, heartbeat loud in my ears.

KWN’s fingers are soaked. Her chest is rising steady, mouth parted like she ain’t even breathing right—but her eyes. They’re on me.

Focused. Intense. Fucking devoted. Then she moves.

Drops to her knees slow, like she got all the time in the world to undo me. Her hands slide up the outsides of my thighs, thumbs rubbing in circles, chin tilted like she’s about to pray between my legs.

That red light hums low. The booth is thick with heat. But I blink— Suddenly remembering.

“She’s…she’s right there,” I whisper, eyes darting to the studio couch, voice barely there. “I can’t…”

I press my hand to her forehead, trying to hold her back. Not ’cause I don’t want it. God knows I want it. But because my girl—whatever the fuck she is—is still passed out on the couch not ten feet away, half-snoring with a Solo cup in her hand.

KWN doesn’t move. Just stares at me, hands resting heavy on my knees.

I try to speak again, but she grabs both of my wrists. Gently. Holds them like she’s done this before. Because she has.

And she just smiles. That fucking smile. Then leans in—slow—and kisses me. Deep. Soft. Controlled. Like I’m something she’s been starving for. Like I owe her this moment.

Her forehead presses to mine. Her breath is warm. Voice low.

“I’m gon’ fuck the shit outta you,” she mumbles against my lips, eyes fluttering half-shut. It sounds like a promise. Feels like a threat. I shiver.

“KWN…”

“Mm-mm. You got me fucked up if you think I ain’t tasting what’s mine just ’cause she here.” She leans back enough to look me in the eye, hands sliding up under my shirt again. “She don’t even know your body.”

“I can’t handle your mouth right now,” I whisper, chest rising fast. She kisses me again. Harder.

“Then don’t handle it,” she murmurs, sliding her hands beneath my thighs, dragging me forward in the chair. “Just hold still. Be a good girl.”

My breath hitches as she drops lower, grip locked around my hips.

“You act like I ain’t ever had you moaning with her in the next room before,” she says, tone almost amused. “Stop playing with me.”

I shake my head weakly, hand still pressed to her shoulder like that’ll stop her. “I’m serious…” ahe grins, teeth flashing.

“So am I.”

She kisses the inside of my knee first. Then the other. Her thumbs rub lazy circles right where my thighs start to tremble again. And when she slides her mouth where I need her most—finally—I grip the edge of the chair so hard my knuckles pop.

My back arches. Her tongue is soft and slow, then firm and deep. She moans into it like I’m feeding her.

When I gasp too loud she reaches up, grabs my chin with one hand, and holds my mouth shut with her palm—just enough pressure to warn me.

Then she goes right back to it. I try to speak. Moan. Breathe. Anything. But I’m not in control anymore. She lifts her head once, eyes wild, lips glistening.

“You make one more sound and I’ma make you cum twice back to back. Don’t fucking play with me.”

Then she dives back in. I forget I ever had a name. My mouth’s open—no sound. Nothing comes out but air. Shaky, broken, useless air.

She’s down there, tongue moving like she invented the alphabet and every letter spells mine. Tongue flat, tongue pointed, tongue swirling then flicking.

“Ouu fuck—”

I barely catch the noise. I clamp my lips shut, back hitting the chair, legs twitching while she stays right where she’s needed.

She don’t rush. She just eats. Like it’s her last meal and her first taste all over again.

Her hands slide from my waist to my thighs and push them wider like I wasn’t already shaking. Her grip firm, thumbs rubbing soft while her mouth turns ruthless.

She moans into it—moans, like I’m the one feeding her. Like this is more for her than it is for me. And honestly? I think it is.

The pressure changes—tongue drawing figure eights, then that flick. That fucking move. Fast. Right on the spot. I arch. She grins. I feel it against me.

I try to push her away—just a little—because my legs are twitching too much and my breath is gone and my whole soul is trying to escape through the top of my head.

But she just grabs my thighs tighter. Holds me there.

Then pulls back—barely—to suck on my clit, soft and slow, with the kind of patience that makes your brain melt.

My fingers fly to the back of her head. Nails in her scalp, gripping tight.

“Ouu…yes…yes eat this p*ssy, baby…” I whisper, finally cracking. My voice broken. Desperate. She hums against me.

I lose it. My hips buck, and she just follows me, mouth locked in, hands pinning my thighs like I’m hers to hold down.

I’m trying to be quiet. Really trying. But I start whispering again—her name, please, breathless shit I don’t even remember saying.

And then— Her tongue does something. Then slow circles, tongue flat again, lips dragging against me soft as silk. My whole body folds forward.

No warning. My hands grip her head like she’s air. My legs locked around her shoulders now, body twitching from the inside out.

She’s still licking. Still drinking. I bite my wrist. Cry into it. Face red. Chest heaving. And she doesn’t stop. She slows.

But she doesn’t stop. Just lets me breathe. Then starts again.

“You can cum again,” she mumbles against me, voice deep and wet and evil. “You ain’t done yet.”

And I ain’t. Not with her mouth on me. Not with her hands holding me like a prize. Not when I been starving this long.

I lift my head, eyes wild, lips parted.

“…don’t stop.”

She smirks. Doesn’t even look up. Just flattens her tongue—And starts over.

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[yoongissweetdream]

Surprise | S.coups

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x GF!Reader

Requested by: @rainyday-daydreamer for my blogs 1st Birthday Celebration. I'm sorry it took so long to get to.

Synopsis: Y/N surprises her boyfriend at his last show on tour.

Warnings: none. Established relationship. There is some happy tears. Short and sweet.

Word Count: 745

Requests: Closed.

Seungcheol Masterlist | SEVENTEEN Masterlist | Taglist Sign-Up

SEVENTEEN’s final show in their tour being in Korea made it easier for Y/N to surprise her boyfriend. It also coincided with her weekend off. Y/N feels her heart race with excitement as she stands backstage. She had been planning this surprise for weeks, meticulously coordinating every detail with his fellow members to ensure that Seungcheol wouldn't find out. As far as he was concerned she was having a night out with her sister who was visiting for the weekend. What he didn't know was their night out was SEVENTEEN's final show.

Y/N took a deep breath, the buzz of the crowd outside creating an electric atmosphere that thrummed through her veins. She peered around the dimly lit backstage area, her eyes darting from one familiar face to another, each member of SEVENTEEN buzzing with excitement as they exit the stage. Jun, Dino, DK and Hoshi made sure to give her a hug as they briefly greeted her on their way to the dressing room.

Y/N's heart fluttered as she caught a glimpse of Seungcheol through the crack in the curtain. He was laughing with Woozi, his bright smile lighting up the room. The way he carried himself so confidently made her stomach flip. But, she could see the tired look in his eyes mixed with a hint of pain, letting her know his knee was hurting.

Her heart swells with a mix of love and admiration. She's always admired her boyfriends dedication to the group. It was always unwavering despite the physical toll it took on him. She couldn’t help but wish that she could take away the pain he was feeling, even if just for one night.

Just then, a voice broke through her thoughts. "Hyung, Noona is here!" Seungkwan, his eyes sparkling with mischief, calls out to his leader. He knew how much this meant to her and had been instrumental in keeping Seungcheol oblivious to her plans.

Seungkwan held open the curtain and steps aside, revealing her to the man who holds her heart and soul. The moment their eyes met, time seemed to stand still. Seungcheol’s laughter faded, his expression replaced by a look of disbelief before it turns into one of happiness.

"Surprise," she says unable to hide her smile and tears. It had been a couple months since she last saw him in person and being the emotional person that she is, she fully expected herself to cry as soon as she laid her eyes on him.

“You’re here!” He smiles rushing over to her and pulls her into a tight embrace, burying his face in her hair.

Y/N's whole body melts against his, feeling the warmth of his body and his familiar scent engulfing her senses. For the first time in 2 months she feels complete again. She could feel her tears slipping down her cheeks, but this time they weren't tears from missing him. They were happy tears because her home was finally home.

"I thought you were spending the weekend with your sister," his voice comes out muffled against her neck, as he squeezes her a little tighter. The chaos of the backstage area faded away, leaving just the two of them wrapped in their own little world.

"She came with me tonight. She went home after the show finished," she tells him. "I couldn't miss your last show." Pulling back enough to look into his eyes, she moves aside some hair that's fallen onto his face. "And I wanted to surprise you."

He brushed away a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb. “this is the best surprise I've ever had,” he said, a soft smile on his face. He looks at her like she's the only person who matters in this moment causing Y/N's heart to flutter even more. "I love you so much," he says leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips.

"I love you too," she whispers against his lips, kissing him again.

The sound of something crashing down the corridor brings them back to reality. Seungcheol lets out an annoyed 'Yah!' ready to confront whoever ruined his moment with his girlfriend. Y/N giggles as DK and Hoshi poke their heads around the corner, Mingyu joining them a few seconds later looking guilty and apologizing for the interruption.

Seungcheol rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress the smile tugging at his lips as he throws his arm around Y/N and leads her towards the back of the venue.

© 2025 yoongisssweetdream - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. reblog instead.

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[peanutpinet]

Hello again,

I have come up with another idea. Can we do a Sylus x reader where the reader gets injured protecting him when a meeting in his office goes wrong. And like she gets shot. She lives, but could we see how sylus would react and what he would do to the ppl in the meeting👀

Thanks

Pain - Sylus x MC Reader

Another request: I have come up with another idea. Can we do a Sylus x reader where the reader gets injured protecting him when a meeting in his office goes wrong. And like she gets shot. She lives, but could we see how sylus would react and what he would do to the ppl in the meeting👀

A/N: Hi so um it's been 2 months since I last posted. Apologies for that but life has been a bit much and since I didn't get Sylus' birthday card, I was a bit sad and didn't feel like writing but I've been trying.

Also, I had another request to have MC gets ambushed in their home and Sylus comes to rescue her so I thought that I’d combine these two requests together. Apologies but this might be a short one :')

I hope that everyone has been well and hopefully you enjoy reading this fic <3

Warnings: ambushed, injured reader (aka you), a little angsty (well sad), Sylus loving you because you're the only person he cares about (also the twins and mephie).

Dislcaimer: This work is completely fiction. I do not own the images nor the characters or you (the MC). All images were taken from Pinterest.

It all happened too quick. One minute you were just sitting around, waiting for Sylus to be done with his meeting and the next thing you knew, the lights were off, there was gun fire all around, and smoke was covering the penthouse.

Had you not been a hunter, you would’ve panicked in an instant which would cause you to cough your lungs out. You quickly covered your nose and mouth, preparing your gun that you always bring around ever since you were a hunter and calmed yourself for what’s to come.

You were skilled, yes, but even you had your limits. It was just too much. Adding an explosion of some kind of gas that not only limited your eyesight but also your breathing. But you couldn’t give up now, you had to keep going. Just long enough until you find Sylus or the twins.

You tried your best to get around his penthouse and find him, but you were ambushed, the assailant nearly taking you down, had your instincts not kicked in quicker. You heard them talk, along the lines of “We need her alive. She’s the only thing that could tame that monster.”

“No” you thought to yourself. Getting hurt was one thing, but being used to hurt Sylus, you won’t allow it. Luckily enough, you managed to break free from the assailant and fought back. In the middle of the fight, you were not only outnumbered but also taken by surprise.

Mid-fight, several gunshots were fired, but ultimately, the fight broke off as the entire scene was covered in black and red mist that swirled around the assailant’s body, wrapping around them like a snake as they were being lifted.

On the contrary, your body, knowing who had arrived, felt that it didn’t need to keep up with everything and slowly, your body was shutting down to rest after holding up for so long. While you could hear the assailants being muffled as the black and red swirls tighten their grip on them, the swirls instead held your body with tenderness that followed with a warm arm that replaced the swirls.

“Sweetie…” you didn’t need to open your eyes fully to know who it was that held you. The man who was feared by many, the man who people saw only do destruction, held you as if you were the most priceless thing in this world. The one thing, person, that he would fear for.

“I apologise for not acting sooner from the moment I sensed these vermin lurking around. I’ll make it up to you, I swear it” Sylus softly talks with you in contrast as his power was still holding the assailants like a piece of meat and threw them on the ground while he ordered Luke and Kieran to handle them for the time being.

“Deal with them but keep them hanging on a thread” Sylus stated and both Luke and Kieran went on to handle the assailants while Sylus took you to one of his many other manors.

Sylus tend to your injuries with the utmost gentle touch, worried that any slight pressure might hurt you further. Once he had handled your injuries, Sylus took his time to wipe your face, arms, and legs with a clean, warm cloth, making sure he cleaned you up from any blood or dirt.

“Sylus…” you croaked out

“Don’t talk, sweetie. Just rest” Sylus replied softly, continuing to tend to your weak form

“Don’t blame yourself. Couldn’t have known…” you trailed off, but Sylus shook his head. “Even if it was an ambush, I should’ve known. Should’ve been faster. Should’ve abandoned that stupid meeting the second you entered our home. No one should have even breathed the same air as you in our home, our sanctuary. This will be the last time, sweetie. I promise you. No one will ever come close to where we lay our head to rest anymore”

“Sy…stay” you mumbled as Sylus ever so gently tightened his hold on your hand. “Always, sweetie”

It was only when you were fast asleep did Sylus quietly slipped out into the night and arrived at a pleasant scene that he was pleased to see. The assailants who ambushed you in his home were hanging for their dear lives. Their bodies and faces were barely recognisable after what Luke and Kieran had done, but they were still alive nonetheless.

With what little voice they had left, the assailants tried to reason with Sylus that they were just doing their job but Sylus didn’t care. They had dared to enter his home, which was yours, the home that he built and ensured would be safe for you. For both of you where only the twins and Mephisto were allowed in. The home that was made to be a sanctuary, a place of warmth and welcoming, a place where you could be vulnerable and seek him.

Sylus wouldn’t allow this to pass. He would ensure that not only would the assailants’ employers know not to cross him, but he would make it known to everyone in the N109 zone that if any of them dared to so much as tracked you, entered his home, or even bumped into you, he wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate them and make them feel pain for he would not even touch you without your permission.

Sylus took his coat off and rolled his sleeves up, his evol enveloping his fists as he came face to face with the assailants. “It’s too late for apologies now. I may be considered a villain, but I’m not heartless” Sylus’ aether core glowed in his eyes, making the assailants cower in fear. “You’re going to help me send a message. If any of you so much as dares to look at her way ever again. I’ll make sure you get the first-class seat to feel what true pain and agony feel like”

By the early morning, just a few hours before dawn strikes, Sylus gently slips back in where he had left you. Seeing you asleep peacefully and unharm was all he could ask for every time you visit him. Sylus had showered and changed before coming back to you because even if he couldn’t leave his position in the N109 zone, he would always make sure that he didn’t bring any of that when he was with you.

Slowly, Sylus got under the covers and gently pulled you closer to him. Your body, instinctively knowing that it was him, relaxed further into the bed; your head slowly lay on his chest right under his chin as both of you lay together in each other’s warmth in the early morning.

A/N: thank you again for reading and to the one that requested, thank you for requesting and for being patient :') hope you all have a great day and manifesting everyone gets the LI they want for the upcoming 4.0 update xoxo peanutpinet

[wayeasier]

COUNT TO TWENTY-TWO — part ten

⋆˙⟡ robert (bob) reynolds x reader (thunderbolts*)

summary: From missions across the States to a mission in Europe. The weight of words that went with you lingered by, stuck like a shadow that follows you. And there really is someone that lights your whole life. But even with them beside you, you’re beginning to see that this really isn’t over. Not yet. And maybe not for a long time.

warnings: canon-typical violence, swearing, mention of kissing (nothing major), thunderbolts* spoilers (obviously)

author's note: english is not my native language, so i apologize for all grammatical errors / mistakes in my writing (if there are any!)

author's note 2: ...well. the last chapter is there ;,)

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX | PART SEVEN | PART EIGHT | PART NINE | PART TEN

You're on a mission.

You're not on a mission in the States this time. Most of them were in the States. This is the first one in Europe. You're in Montenegro. The exact name of the city never made it past your ears. It didn't really matter. It was a small city. The kind of city that people just drive through without caring. It looked almost like the whole city itself was forgotten, especially by the people living there.

There was silence. Not a silence when people are scared or when they're trying to hide. It's too complete, too hollow, like the buildings themselves forgotten that they stood there. That kind of silence that doesn’t belong to the living, to being alive.

The apartment block you were in looked like it should’ve fallen years ago. Damp and gray. Graffiti on the outside was in a language you didn’t speak. The whole city looked tired. Powerline hung from one roof to another, a few disheveled and dirty pigeons sitting on them if you leaned just well out of the window to see them. It was greying and mold was growing on the ceilings. It was rusting too. And the inside of the apartment was looking even worse. The wallpapers on the walls were peeling and the colours were nearly drained, very plain and almost depressive looking. Mold and despair are everywhere.

You were the only one from the team right now. The others are spread out inside the building too, checking different apartments on each floor.

You were not completely alone, though.

Across from you are four men tied up on the floor. Their backs are pressed against the peeling wallpaper of the apartment you're in. Their legs are stretched out in front of them and their wrists are bound tightly behind them, just against their backs.

You stood there before them, your hands on your hips with one leg slightly bent. Staring down at the four men with complete silence.

And they stared back. One with a scowl that you wanted to rip off his face. He looked at you like you had ruined his whole day. Maybe even the whole month. The two others were staring at you, but not like him. They were observing, you couldn't even pinpoint what their expression was. They were just staring at you, blinking slowly at each time. It wasn't hostile. Not exactly. The last one was staring at his outstretched feet, not daring to meet your gaze. He wouldn't meet your gaze at all. He looked the youngest out of them, his knee twitching slightly as he sat on the floor.

It's been quiet for a while. You tilted your head slowly, still staring at them, "I know that all four of you understand English. So, do me a favour and answer my question."

Even after that, none of them moved. None of them spoke, they just stared and blinked. So; you crouched down. Slowly. Your elbows on your knees, bringing yourself down to their level.

“I’m not really in the mood to start breaking each of your fingers until you speak,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders, your gaze moving from one to another, "but if you wanna stay quiet and scowl at me some more, I can start... I won't really mind."

The man with a scowl stared at you and it looked like his expression deepened even more. They were still quiet. You fought the urge to roll your eyes at the stubborn four men.

You stood up slowly again. Straightening back to your full height, your arms folding loosely over your chest, you now back to towering over the four very quiet men.

“The transmitter,” you repeated once again, "that little transmitter... the one that’s been sending signals to places all over Eastern Europe and Balkans then all the way to the States from this rat-hole of a place, "you gestured around the apartment as you mentioned the place you were in, "the one that sent those messages.”

Your eyes glanced over the four of them again, "and hell," you said to them, "I know that you know what messages I mean.”

You stared down at the four tied-up men. The silence was taking over again, like it was silence's own palace. But then the silence cracked suddenly.

It was the quiet one who spoke first. The one who had kept his eyes fixed to his feet and didn't even lift his gaze up. He didn’t look up at first when he spoke. His voice came so utterly quiet and his voice was slightly different by the accent of his.

“The vent,” he muttered under his nose, "in the bathroom.”

You tilted your head at him, eyes narrowing slightly. Then he lifted his head and his gaze finally met yours. First time.

“You need to check the vent in the bathroom,” he repeated. His accent was unmistakably Balkan, each word heavier and flavored with the Montenegrin accent.

And then came the outburst.

The man with the scowl snapped towards the quiet man so fast that you didn't even notice his head turn. He shouted something harsh at the man in his language. The man with a scowl trashed and his shoulder slammed against the quiet one as he barked out words in Montenegrin. He might've cursed, warned him, or threatened him. It didn't matter, he was going wild at the man. Like a beast was unleashed.

The quiet man didn’t flinch. Didn’t even glance at the aggressive man's way. He kept his eyes on you, unblinking and staring.

That made you smile. You offered him a little nod and then you turned on your boots towards where the mentioned bathroom was. Then you walked down the short hallway where the small bathroom was. You flicked on the light switch that was at the outside of the small bathroom. You entered the small space of the bathroom and the light on the ceiling buzzed and blinked a few times before it then stayed lit.

As you entered, just in front of you was a mirror that had a huge crack in the middle, nearly not showing your reflection. You tried to glance at yourself in the mirror, though there wasn’t much to see. It was all distorted. You let your eyes linger over the old-looking space. There was mold in the corner of the ceiling just above the mirror. On the floor, just in front of the sink was a rusted vent.

You crouched down, your knee against the tiles of the floor. Your finger traced the edge of the rusted metal and then you found the small part where you could slip your fingertips in. You popped it and took the opening out, setting it beside you. As the metal rattled against the tiles, you leaned forward and narrowed your eyes at the inside of the hole.

Settled just inside the small hole where the vent was, was a small black transmitter half-hidden by an old ripped paper box.

There was a black, long antenna tucked into a bend over its top. On the front was a small display, blinking at you with an off-green colour. The exact item that got Valentina barking at you about for weeks for you to retrieve it.

You reached in with your gloved hand and grabbed the transmitter into your hand. Pulling it out of its hiding spot. You could still hear the man yell in Montenegrin at the other one in the living room.

You turned the black transmitter over in your hand, examining the device from each side. You then stood back up and your eyes caught the cracked reflection of yourself, then you turned around and went back to the room where the shouting was coming from.

As you stepped into the living room, all four of the men turned their eyes on you again. The quiet one stared at your face and then his eyes fell on the small device in your hand and then back up, a small smirk on his lips. The man with a scowl muttered something low under his breath in Montenegrin as his eyes fell upon the device in your hand.

You raised your left hand up near your mouth and pushed the small button on the side of your pointer with your thumb, the comms very quietly clicking into work, "found the transmitter. It's still active. Apartment on the fifth floor. Four men, tied up."

"Copy that!" a voice you didn't expect answered you the first.

It was Bob.

"What are you doing on the comms?" you chuckled as you brought your hand back up to your mouth and clicked the small button.

"Um... nothing," he muttered back and you shook your head.

"Shut up, Bob—I'm on my way, Twenty-Two. Stay put," sounded another voice, cutting off Bob. It was John this time who answered.

Boots then thudded just outside of the apartment and then you heard the doors slam against the wall as they were opened. John entered the apartment, scanning his surroundings before coming into the living room where you were with the four tied up men. His gaze fell on the young first, then the men, then on the device in your hands.

He smirked at that and raised his gaze back up, "nice work."

He came closer to you and he grabbed the transmitter out of your hand, observing the small device in his own, "this... this is the thing that got Valentina like a raging dog? What a surprise."

"A dirty tech that's pretty effective... for guys like these," you nodded towards the men in front of you who were all staring at you and the shielded man.

John took his gaze up from the device in his hands and looked at the scowling man in front of him on the floor, "oh. This one’s definitely a charmer,” he muttered at the man. His scowl deepened and that made John grin.

"Well... Let’s get it back to Valentina before either she or the scowly-guy over here spits in my face," John muttered and gave the transmitter back to you. You unzipped a pocket on your tactical vest and slid it into the inside of it. Zipping it back to secure it against your chest. John goes around the apartment, dipping into each room to check the old space around.

"So,” Bob’s voice comes through the comms, “when you say four men tied up, should I be concerned or… impressed?”

You rolled your eyes, your thumb brushing the comms button on your pointer, "concerned that I’m going to tie you up next?" you joked.

"Okay. Woah? No," Bob's voice cut through the comms, "that was not where I thought this was going!”

You smirked, staring down at the four men who were still blabbering to each other in Montengerin. You clicked the button and raised your hand back up, "where did you think it was then going, Bob?”

There was a pause until Bob then spoke, "honestly? Somewhere between bragging about it and you explaining how you got four men down. Not some—"

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," came another voice from somewhere in apartment behind you.

The man came back into the living room with the most disgusted expression drawn on his face, "hi, John.”

“No. No. No. You don’t get to hi, John me," he pointed his finger at you, his eyes narrowed, "I just walked into this rat-hole and you two are out here flirting like a pair of weirdos," he said with heavy voice as he stopped just beside you, his shield on his back brushing against your elbows as your hands are on your hips. You gave him a look over your shoulder.

"You're both disgusting," he deadpanned at you.

You were quick to respond to him, “you're just mad because no one flirts with you over the comms.”

Before John could let another threat or something similar go out of his mouth, a tied-up man in front of you spoke. It wasn't the scowly one or the quiet one. It was another who didn't speak yet.

"You—you letting us out?" one of the men spoke, his voice laced with the same accent the other man had. His voice was rough, almost like he hadn't breathed in a while.

John turned to him and grinned, "oh! Absolutely!" John said as he slowly stepped towards the man on the floor. He crouched down a little, "just as soon as you tell me why you’re transmitting signals all over the Eastern Europe and the Balkans. And two of them that had pinged within two miles of a NATO base last week?"

The man stared with his mouth open slightly. John tilted his head, still crouched in front of the man. That fake grin of his was still plastered like a shining badge on his face.

"Come on, buddy," John leaned closer with a grin, "we will be quiet now?" he stared at the now quieted down men on the floor who were just blinking at him.

"Alright. You wanna try the tie people up and flirt with Bob while you're staring at them method again? Might work faster because they're just blinking at me like some fish," he turned his head over his shoulder to look at you behind him. He then stood upright, slapping his palms onto his knees which made all four men flinch like hurt puppies.

"Nothing?" you asked them, staring at the four men on the floor. Then you saw a small movement by the quiet man on the floor.

The quiet one hesitated. It was there. You could see his eyes flicker over your face and then back at his feet.

He swallowed thickly before speaking, "they just pay us," he muttered, voice thick with that Balkan accent, "they don’t tell us names. Just locations where the signals are sent to. We just transmit it. That’s all. They pay us very good for it. Euros in cash. Every second Friday."

"We just transmit it. That's all," John mocked the man's words with also mockery of his accent, "just? Are you hearing yourself?"

The man slightly flinched at the mockery and his eyes snapped from you to the shielded man who was standing just beside you now.

“Please... We—We only did what we were told," the man on the opposite end spoke, he hadn't spoken before. His pronunciation was so far the best, the native accent almost gone.

"If I told you to jump out of the window. Would you?" John pressed, his eyes moving towards the man who spoke.

"How much would you pay?" the man grinned at him with a sly smile that showed off his yellowing teeth.

From the comms, Bob piped in, "he is funny," and then you were quick to drag your thumb over the small button on your pointer to mute him.

"Fucking dickheads..." John muttered under his breath and rolled his eyes with a shake of his head.

"They told us to send the signals, messages, everything... And to not ask questions," the quiet man continued, his voice lowering slowly at each other word he spoke.

“And you didn’t?” you asked the man.

He looked at you with a tilt of his head, “you ever tried asking questions when you know they will kill you?"

"Alright. I'm done," John turned around with a loud sigh and started thumping across the wooden floor of the living room toward the front door to get out.

“Wait! Wait!” the man who was beside the man with a scowl lifted his bound hands. Or at least tried to, "you... you can’t just leave us! If they find out we told you—"

John glanced over his shoulder as he neared the door of the apartment, "then I suggest you to pretend that you didn’t."

As you moved to follow John, the quiet man spoke again, "you’re not so different from us, you know..."

You turned to him at that, "really?”

He nodded, "we just follow orders like you do."

The flight back home was long, quiet, and dragged slowly. Ava was somewhere in the front talking with Yelena about some terrible smell in one of the apartments in the apartment block they'd been in just a few hours before. Alexei was asleep, his head hung at his shoulder, his mouth parted slightly. Bucky was sitting alone near the two women, but he was listening to their conversation about the smell in the apartment. His lips twitched sometimes, fighting the urge to let the smile come up.

But your mind wasn’t on that. You weren't listening to any conversation around you. You were somewhere quite different. You were thinking about something quite different.

Your mind was stuck. It was stuck on what the quiet man had said to you back in that old apartment. He had a point.

The transmitter felt heavy in your hands. You looked down at it, turning the small thing in your hands.

John was sitting next to you, arm slung lazily over the edge of his shield that was propped up between his outstretched legs. He glanced over and saw you fiddling with the transmitter in your hands. He snatched it before you could even notice, "you're not going to be turning that thing over and over again in your hands until it explodes," he muttered. The device now in his hands. The display was still blinking in green colour.

"Jesus, this thing is small... Weird, right? All this mess from something this small," he turned the transmitter in his hand, inspecting the size of the small device.

You didn't answer him. You just stared at your hands where the small device was moments before.

"You good?" John glanced over at you, not turning the device in his hands anymore.

"He had a point", you murmured quietly, eyes unblinking. You thought about that sentence that man told you. It was stuck in you.

“Who?” John's body shifted as he turned to look at your sitting figure just beside him.

“The quiet one.”

John blinked at you twice before he asked, “the one who ratted out where this thing was?”

You nodded once at his question, confirming who you meant, "he... he said we’re not so different. That we just follow orders like they do... like they did."

"You think that makes us the same?” he asked you. You sighed lowly and leaned your head against the wall of the jet you were in. Letting your eyelids flutter shut, closing them for a moment to get it all in.

"If you—" you started to say, but you were just then cut off by John snapping back to not let you defend your point of view. You opened your eyes back, eyes moving towards the man beside you who was so eager to explain the situation to you.

"We are not the same. They follow orders to keep their heads attached. We follow orders hoping we can stop something worse before it happens," John said, his voice was different from when he jokes with you, when he throws around remarks and makes you want to slap his forehead. He was serious right now. He wanted you to listen to him.

"What we do now... it is not about orders. Not really... Well, it is about orders, but it is different. We are different," He turned in his seat to face you more closely, "it's about the people. It's about stepping in before—" he trailed off, shaking his head and dropping it forward in between his shoulders. One blonde strand was falling over from where the others were brushed back. That stupid beret hat was on the seat next to him on the seat he was sitting on top of.

You breathed in through your nose slowly. You didn’t respond. But your eyes stayed open now, staring at the transmitter as it blinked between you, "I'm just wondering.. what's the difference there. Between what they’re doing and what we’re doing."

John glanced at it, then over at you, "they are doing it for money... or fear. They do those things because someone had promised them something," he explained softly. His voice was low, but yet so tender and understanding.

"And us?” you asked softly, lifting your head to look at the man with the shield beside you. You have your own answers to your own question, but you had to hear it come from the man's mouth. To confirm whatever idea had made itself up in your mind, if it was the same as the truth you'd been holding onto. It was something you had trusted yourself in believing.

"We do it for the people we may never meet. We save them. And why?" he asked himself the question and he soon then answered it himself, "because we both... we all know what it feels like when no one shows up. When no one saves you."

"Feels like both sides still leave bodies behind,” you murmured, looking down at the empty space in your hands. It felt as if the empty space was not in your hands, but in your chest. Like it was without anything to hold onto, like it wasn't you inside.

John didn’t deny it. He didn't nod, he didn't shake his head, he didn't say anything. He just stayed quiet and just stared at you, unblinking.

"So we’re not the same," you repeated, slowly lifting your head back up, your gaze following the trail up to his face.

“No,” John answered sternly, his jaw visibly clenching, "no. We're not.”

John sat back with a sigh, finally brushing that strand of his blonde hair away from his forehead. The shield between his legs was digging into the inner side of his knee as he leaned backward slightly.

“You want it back?” John nudged your shoulder with his, holding the transmitter in his hand and motioning it towards you.

You shook your head, "I’ve held it long enough. Thanks."

And then, the conversation eased. You let your eyes linger closed for a moment more and you don't even remember falling asleep. But you did.

The return to the States had been fast. At least for you. By the time you touched the land of the other continent, you were back awake. Your eyes fluttered open when the jet made contact with the Watchtower's heliport. You were then back from the Montenegro's small city that you couldn't even name or point on a map, back in the United States' big New York City.

The post-mission briefing was a blur.

It was late at night when you came back. And it still is. You are tired, and your eyelids were fluttering close every few minutes while she was speaking during the briefing. Valentina had talked like a madwoman. That woman did not need to yell at anyone, she didn't even need to raise her voice. She only spoke like she stood on top of the world.

She went over everything. Every single thing on the mission. Every small detail that you even forgotten that happened. There were so many details. Too many details that you couldn't even focus on.

You're not even sure how long the briefing was. For how many minutes she had talked. Maybe it was half an hour, maybe a whole hour. You don't know and you rather don't even want to know. Then, eventually, at the end of the briefing, she had called in a man from her team. She passed the transmitter to this man who was a tech operative. He looked as exhausted as the rest of you were. It was a deep night after all. People wanted to sleep right now. Not to do whatever Valentina thought was good to pull out in the middle of the night.

Then, it was finally over.

You even heard Alexei let out a small cheer when Valentina finally left the briefing room, Mel, her assistant, and the tech operative guy hot on her heels. Following her just a step behind. Both tired-looking too.

You barely remembered walking the halls after that. You don't remember walking to your room, but you were there. And you were glad you were. You took a shower right after you went into your room, took off that now-sweaty grey tactical suit, and took the shower that should've woken you up a bit. It didn't really. You felt even more tired somehow. The tiredness grabbing onto your shoulders with an even stronger grip now, pushing you down and down.

Now, you were just staring. Into the wall on the opposite side.

Sitting on that way too comfortable bed, your legs pulled up to your chest, arms wrapped loosely around them as you just stared.

You didn’t know what time it was. Didn’t care. You were tired. You are still tired. But you don't want to sleep, you don't want yourself to be pulled back into that darkness. You were not just tired.

You were worn out.

A knock broke through the staring haze. Just one. Not too hard. Not too soft. It was his knock. A knock you recognize too well.

You didn’t even look up at the sound. You didn’t need to.

Then the door opened slowly. Quietly. Then Bob slid into your room, stepping inside like he’d done it a hundred times before. Like it was his own space. ‪He shut the door quietly behind him when he slipped into your room. He then lingered near the closed doors for a moment. Almost like he was not sure if he was intruding on you right now. But it didn’t matter, he was never intruding really. You didn’t tell him to leave. You never told him to.

You didn’t look up at him when you heard his feet shuffle closer to you. He stepped even closer and you still didn’t lift your head. Then, you felt him even closer. Then he sat down. The bed dipped beside you as he lowered himself. His shoulder brushed yours, his warmth radiating off him as he was pretty close to you.

"Hey... You're not asleep," Bob softly said.

"I noticed," you let a small smile find its way onto your face, but your eyes didn't move from where you were staring ahead of you. It was hard to move. Bob didn’t say anything to that. Not right away, he just breathed out and stared at you from where he was sitting beside you.

“Do you want me to go?” he asked after a moment, hesitation lacing his words like a new flavor. You noticed his fingers brushing over the edges of his sleeves.

"No," you shook your head just as he asked that question. Your eyes were burning. Like they were so dry. From how long they’d been open, staring at the same place on the wall before you.

You turned your head to the side. Finally looked at him. He turned his head too slightly. He was looking at you the whole time. But now he met your gaze. Neither of you said anything. Just stared.

“I didn’t know if you would... if you would want company tonight," Bob murmured quietly, his blue eyes staring right down at you, "but I didn’t want you to be alone.”

His hand then reached forward, the tips of his fingers slowly moving over your knuckles until his palm was against the top of your hand. A gentle gesture. A soft one.

Then, just around you. The light drained out and so did the colour. The world around you was no longer your room. It wasn't the Watchtower. You were not in New York.

Everything shifted. Everything was different now. The bed you were on was gone. Your entire room was gone. Bob’s warm hand in yours was gone.

The air was freezing. Painfully freezing. Wind was screaming against you. It was pushing you around, making you stagger backwards each time. The cold was pushing at your body like you didn't belong here. The world around you was so bright, so white. You couldn't tell where you were.

But you knew where you were. You recognized it too well.

Snow was everywhere, You couldn't do anything against the cold now. You were not in your tactical suit like you were before. You were just in a plain shirt that hung loosely on your frame. It was way too big. There was a pair of tactical pants with pockets that did nothing to warm you. No warmth to you. No jacket. No gloves. No gear.

This cold bit at you. It got into your whole body. Into your bones, everywhere. It hurt. Blades made out of ice scraping against the skin of your face, on your cheeks, and almost everywhere. You sank into that cold, wet snow below you, your feet hurting from the cold. Starting to feel numb with each passed second.

And then you heard it. Just a small bit of a noise. It was quiet, but it was there. Just somewhere in that snowstorm that was happening around you.

An engine. Tires against the crunching snow. There was a truck somewhere. It looked blurry through the veil of snow in your vision. But it was there, moving forward. Headlights lighting its snowy path in front of itself.

But you just stared. You didn't yell out at it like before. But you just tried to walk forward, pushing your legs through the snow. You moved forward, pushing your way through.

You squinted as you looked for that figure. For that certain figure. For the younger you. Your muscles cried as you made your way through the pain and suffering. But you had to.

You stumbled forward, your knees sinking into the snow. But then you saw it. You saw the silhouette just there.

It was a teenager, maybe sixteen. And it was you. Tactical pants with pockets empty and boots were frozen and buried in the snow. Then a shirt that was far too big for the teenager's frame. A plain t-shirt in the freezing cold. Own thin arms wrapped tightly around own chest, arms trembling violently in the coldness surrounding the figure. The head of the teenager was bowed slightly, looking like the figure was asleep, but standing still in the depths of snowy death.

"Hey,” you called, voice muffled by the whipping snow and wind around you.

The younger figure of you didn’t move. Didn't even lift their head or turn towards you. Just stayed like before.

You tried again, "hey! Are you okay?" but the figure didn't move. When you were there before, the teen looked at you. But this time, it was almost like the younger you was ignoring you. So, you let your hand fall gently against the teen's ice-cold shoulder.

The teenager's head lifted. Those eyes that looked up were yours. It pulled at your chest. You were looking at yourself.

You found yourself gazing at the same person. You were staring at yourself. The younger version of yourself. Maybe, sixteen. Those eyes that were looking into yours were yours, you recognized them from anywhere. It was you. You then slowly let go of the teenager's shoulder, your fingers brushing over the cold shoulder.

"Are we going to die?"

The teenager spoke. You blinked at the younger self, your mouth parting slightly. You looked around instead of answering the teenager. Looking at the flat white around you, scalding you with cold and snow. Like you were a hostage in your own worst memory.

You didn’t answer the teen's question. Because you already did before. You’d answered the teen's question before. It was just repeating and it was not real. That's what you told yourself as you stood there, cold ripping into you like a killing venom. Nothing but white was in your vision. Just the flying snow and cold itching at your skin. And the silhouette of the teenager.

"Why do they like hurting us?” the teenager asked quietly. Asking the same question that the younger you asked the last time you were there. It was the same. The teenager stared ahead now, looking into the snow before, "what did we do wrong?”

You still didn't answer. But you saw something in those eyes. It was different from before. Like the memory was changing, like the younger you felt something different. The question stung at your chest, it fell hard on you. You remembered how it felt the first time you heard it. When it came from your own, but a younger mouth.

The teenager then turned their head towards you, "can you… can you stay with me? Until I… until I leave?”

You stared at the teenager. At yourself. At the figure before that was you. The cold wind raged around the younger figure, but the teen stood still, arms still wrapped around own chest. Same as before.

You closed your eyes and let out a deep breath.

"Bob. This is enough."

You opened your eyes as you let those words leave your mouth. Just as you opened them, next to the younger figure of you was standing Bob. Looking right at you, the snow whipping around him too. He just stood there, next to the younger you like he belonged in your memory. In this memory.

His eyes were on you. Not the teenager. Not the snow. Just you.

"You answered the questions before... You stayed last time," he watched you as he spoke through the snow around him. The teenager stayed, almost like the teen couldn't see Bob there.

"Bob,” you said again, this time lower than before. Bob didn't reply, but he turned his head to the side, looking down at the younger you beside him. Trembling in the cold, nearing own end against the merciless coldness.

"Bob..." you said again, this time your voice was firmer. His eyes met yours as you spoke, he took one last look at the younger you beside him, and by the next blink of your eyes, you were gone.

The coldness was gone, the snow around was good, and the bright white was gone. And you were not cold anymore. Your right hand was much warmer than other parts of your body. Bob’s hand was still in yours,

“Hey…”

A voice. Bob’s voice.

You were back in your room, sitting on your bed and Bob was right next to you.

“You shouldn’t have seen that,” you muttered as you slowly pulled your hand away from his that was on top of yours. Your hand slipped from under his warm palm and fell right into your lap. You didn’t look at him as you did it, you stared down at your lap where your hands were now. Bob felt something shift inside him at that gesture, but he didn't need to speak.

"You stayed with... stayed with yourself last time," Bob finally spoke, voice careful like he wasn't sure if the choice of his words was right.

You turned your head slowly, eyes finally locking onto his blue ones, "I had to."

Bob nodded slowly, his gaze never wavering from yours. The quiet understanding flowing in his eyes.

"Why were you... there?" he asked after a moment, wondering how the younger teen got into a snow blizzard like that with nothing but a pair of pants and a loose shirt.

You breathed out with a noise, moving your eyes away from him and letting your head fall between your shoulders down.

"It was a mission. Or rather an experiment. They were still trying that reappearance system for me. I was sixteen, I think... I can't remember," you didn't look up at Bob when you spoke, "they dropped me off somewhere in northern Russia. Away from civilization or any close cities. They haven't modulated the time yet. It wasn't where I was twenty-two minutes before. It was ten, it was twelve, it was four. It kept changing."

"I froze to death that night. Over and over and over again. Twelve times that night, I remember it. I just died and then came back into that cold. They didn't pull me out, they didn't stop it until the test was over and until they were satisfied," you continued, you could feel your fingers twitching in your lap.

Bob didn’t say anything. He just listened to every single word that left your lips.

"I started counting how long it took each time... Sometimes it was fast. Sometimes so slow that you even tried to kill yourself with your own hands.

Bob’s voice finally sounded out after a moment of quietness, "you were sixteen.”

"Maybe even fifteen."

"I kept waking up in the same fucking place,” you said, lowering your head even lower, "the same damn spot in the snow. I didn't even try to move because I knew I'd still be in that snow. That I'd die again."

"I think they then got bored. That car that drove past came back after... I don't know how many hours. But they came back and took me back to Sokovia and continued like everything was normal," you shook your head, still unbelieving what those freaks could do to a living person. A child.

"Nobody really cared,” you said with a deep breath, "I was a tool. My life was their system. A system to be tested... and when that system worked... They celebrated.”

"They celebrated your death..." Bob whispered, his brows furrowing, and you felt his knee moving up and down. A habit of his. Something he didn't even realize that he was doing. A motion that did not make a move past his mind. He blinked a few times, hard blinks that scrunched his whole face before he spoke again, "they just wanted you to survive the death."

"They didn’t want me to survive. They just wanted me to come back. There’s a difference, Bob."

Bob’s lips parted, then closed again. He didn't want to say anything, he didn't know what would actually leave his mouth. He ran his hand down his face and over his mouth, his palm warmer now.

He stared at you for a moment after that, his hands now trembling slightly. Then, without thinking, he reached forward and placed his hand back over yours. Right where it was before. You swallowed at the movement, expecting to be pulled back into that memory again.

But you didn't pull away, nor did he. But you were not pulled back into that memory. You stayed there. In your room, on the edge of your bed with Bob by your side.

He was there.

You were there.

You were both there. Together. Just like those two ghosts on your two cards.

Your eyes dropped to the two connected hands in your lap, then you lifted your eyes back up to his face. He was already watching you, like he was the whole time. Like his eyes were made for watching you.

Bob slowly turned your hand in his, slipping his fingers beneath yours so he could hold them properly. Hold you properly.

“I don’t think I know how to do anything else,” you admitted softly, looking down at your hands. Fingers laced together. You were talking about what you were supposed to be. Rather a reappearance system, taken from death every single time, a joke at life's rules. Not a person, holding hands with someone you care about. Like a normal person.

“You do,” he said with a soft tone, his fingers moving slightly in your hold, "you're doing it right now..."

Your eyes met his again as you lifted your head to look at him, "what am I doing?"

"Living."

Just the way he said that made you want to cry. You were living. You were really living. And you were doing it with someone beside you. Someone you've grown to care about. More than you could even imagine.

You blinked a few times as your eyes were full of him. Just then you looked down at your hands again. At those same hands that had been numb because of that snow, broken on many occasions, burned, maybe even cut off, you don't remember and you rather don't even want to. Those hands that had killed people, those that held a gun in them as the bullet took another person's life. Those same hands that choked people until their memories repeated in front of their eyes at their last moments. Too many moments where those hands weren’t yours. They belonged to them. The people who trained you. Those who sent you to die.

Your hands. They were cursed.

But now. Those same hands were holding another person's hands. They were holding warmth. Those same fingers that had held death before like it was nothing, were now curled gently around someone else’s.

They were holding what they needed. What you needed. They were holding love.

It wasn't just another person's hands. It wasn't just another person. Someone else. It was him. It was Bob. It was Robert.

You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve any of this. But here it was. Almost like it was waiting for you. Like he was waiting for you.

“Living? I don’t know how to be a person... How to be a living human. I died so many times, Bob," you whispered the last sentence under your breath. It was pushing against you. Everything was pushing against you. Your own mind was crushing you and pushing you around like it was not you in your own head.

“You are one.”

“I don’t feel like it," you said back to the man.

“Doesn’t mean you’re not one."

You blinked at him and he blinked back at you, his fingers laced through yours like it was a missing puzzle to yours. His thumb moved and brushed gently over your skin.

“I don’t know how to feel human either,” Bob admitted to you softly. He had gone through much too. Not just the experiments in Malaysia, but also before. His life wasn't easy, and it wasn't happy either. Both of you had something to offer about your own experiences.

“Bob…” you whispered, unable to think of anything else to say at the moment. You stared at him the way you never did before, "I think I love you,” you said before your brain could stop you.

Bob froze at that and you saw how his eyes widened a little more and how his fingers stopped moving while they were laced with yours.

"You think... or do you know?" he asked. It was not in a way that he was trying to make fun of you or to tease you. But he was curious.

"I know I love you."

“I didn’t think anyone would ever say that to me,” he softly admitted his thoughts, his fingers once again moving in your grasp, his thumb brushing over the skin of your hand gently, "and I didn’t think I would ever say it back to someone.”

You both stared at each other for a moment, silence filling in the blanks. Then he spoke again, "but I do now," Bob continued, “I love you.”

And that was the first time you said those words out loud. When you both said those words out loud and actually meant them.

You had been together for a while now. You didn't have an official calling of yourselves as partners, you didn't say that he was your boyfriend.

But you were his.

And he was yours.

And it was painfully obvious that you were together, you were his other half and he was your other half. The missing piece in you. There were and anre shared moments like holding hands, kisses on skin and lips, laying next to each other in silence, and many other moments that brought you the comfort that you never had. But it was never quite like this. It was not how ordinary couples do it. How ordinary couples act.

Because you and Bob weren’t ordinary.

You are both not ordinary.

And you were not trying to be ordinary either.

You were two broken souls stitched together by similarities of pain and suffering that wrote itself over your scars. You had both tasted pain and stared into the eyes of death. But yet, somehow you were there. Together and alive. Trying to live again. Trying to know what it means to be living. It was complicated, you knew that. You both were not perfect, and it wasn't perfect. Nothing was ever perfect.

The feelings you shared were something you didn't know you needed. Those feelings were bruised, broken, but mutual. They were yours. It wasn't perfect. It was the piece for that empty space deep inside you that ached to not be alone. That single part in you that refused to be swallowed in the darkness and pain. That one that waited for the right moment.

For the right person.

And that right person was with you every day. Every day, he stayed there. And you did too.

He stood by you even when the world tilted again. And you stood by him when his world tilted again. When the darkness tried to pull him back. You stood together.

Even when someone somewhere thought it would be clever and so marketable to slap the New Avengers onto a box of cereal. On a box of Wheaties.

The bright orange packaging with bold white lettering. The very perfect heroic group photograph of the New Avengers. John on the left, then Yelena, Bucky with his hands on his hips, and Ava with her chin up in the middle, and then you and Alexei on the right. Alexei did a dramatic pose where he was fixing his gloves, his helmet on. You stood still with your head tilted, nothing major.

You went to get groceries with Alexei because he insisted on getting cereal for breakfast and you didn't have any. And you just realized why the old man really needed to get cereal. Specifically Wheaties. You stood in that grocery store aisle staring at the bright orange box. At around eight in the morning.

You were still tired, and sleep was still clinging to you from all sides. On the other hand, Alexei was beaming.

"Look at us!" he boomed so loudly that it made you want to wince, “Look a that Wheaties box! We look... we look glorious!"

You didn’t answer him. You just kept staring at the box in front of you.

"I need to get it. Get four," he grinned and grabbed four boxes of the same cereal, dropping them into the empty cart that hung in your hands. Now with four cereal boxes.

"Do you want... anything else?" you asked after a few seconds of staring at the box, turning your head towards the big Russian man to your right.

"Eh—I don't think so. You can take something, Twenty-Two... I'll be there," he muttered with that toothy grin of his. You nodded and moved around Alexei, walking towards the end of the aisle you were in.

You took two juice bottles. You didn't know what brand it was, what flavour it was, but you wanted to get something sweet for this morning. One was reddish-pink and the other one was yellow or rather golden in colour. So, probably an apple flavour. You then dropped both bottles into the cart that hung on your arm.

Then, you turned around and started to walk back towards that Russian man. But when you lifted your gaze from the tiled floor of the grocery store, you froze.

There was someone standing beside him.

A woman. She stood with a half-full cart in front of her, staring at the wall with cereal boxes. Alexei was beside her, speaking to her. Or at least trying to.

You stepped forward slowly. Observing the two people in front of you.

"Oh, look, Wheaties. Wow. With its toasted wholewheat flakes, wholegrain, vitamins," he started describing the cereal that he had in his hand, showing it to the dark-haired woman next to him, "give you energy. Good for kids, huh?"

"Okay..." she awkwardly laughed at that, staring at the man and the cereal box with confusion.

Alexei then slowly, almost robotically, raised the hand where the cereal box was and put it right beside his face. Giving out the most awkward smile ever. It almost looked scary. The woman reached for the cereal box and tried to rip it out of the man's hands and then got it out after a moment. Alexei's eyes widened as the woman ripped it from his hands.

"Thanks..." she awkwardly said, hiding her face behind the cardboard box of cereal and moving quickly away, pushing the cart in front of her and her back now turned towards the man.

"You're welcome," Alexei smiled from under his now very well-kept beard, not bushy like before. Now a mustache.

The woman quickly pushed her cart away and hurried from the aisle. Before she could leave, she dropped the cereal box nearby and left it there. The orange Wheaties box staring back at you and Alexei. Then she was gone.

"That's me on the box," yelled Alexei after the woman, standing still.

You stood just a step behind him, head tilted. He turned around and he finally noticed that you were standing there too. He sighed and shrugged his shoulders, "maybe she was allergic to Wheaties."

You let out a laugh and shook your head, “maybe you just scared her.”

“She scared me! Who takes Wheaties cereal out of a man’s hands like that? Huh?" he said, stepping around you and picking up the discarded box nearby at the end of the aisle. Looking down at the bright orange cardboard for a moment before putting it back from where he had taken it.

"Well—we have four. We can go back. I'm hungry," Alexei announced and patted you on the shoulder with that big grin of his. You chuckled and moved just a step behind him.

Later that day, at least an hour later, Alexei barged into the Watchtower like he had just fought with a dragon. He was very much alive at this hour of the morning, running around the Tower.

You walked behind him much quieter with two juice bottles tucked under your arm and a plastic bag in your hand where three boxes of cereal peeked out. One was in Alexei's arms already. When you got into the kitchen, you noticed the half-asleep others.

And Bob.

He was sitting alone by the kitchen island, looking down at his hands until he heard the loud noise coming from the doorway and then the big man running inside.

The second he saw you, his head tilted slightly. In a confusion. Then he glanced at the cereal box poking out from the bag in your hands and even bigger confusion laced his features. And you noticed that his hair was a mess, he didn't even try to tame those stubborn curls that adorned his head.

Alexei then practically threw the cereal box on the counter where Ava and Yelena were standing by and spun it to let the box face them, "look at this!"

Ava rolled her eyes and pushed herself away from the counter, moving to get something from the fridge nearby. John came closer, looking down at Alexei's orange cereal box, "at least I look good."

“Yes, Walker! That is us and we look good! Look, that is me!” he said, jabbing a finger at his photo, and then he started pointing at others," and then there is you and you and you too... Yelena! Lena! Look, you look like a hero! So cool."

Bob blinked slowly, slightly amused by the early morning scene about a box of cereal. You set the bag with three other boxes on the counter beside Alexei and dropped the two juice bottles in front of you and Bob.

One was for him and one for you.

You sat down on the stool beside him, close enough that your knees bumped beneath the counter as you dropped yourself onto the stool.

“You went to the grocery store with him?” he asked pretty quietly under his breath, staring at the man behind him who was showing off the cereal box and then at the two juice bottles in front of him, "at nine in the morning?”

"We went at eight," you corrected the man and then you shrugged, "he said we were out of cereal and that was the only thing he wanted to eat for breakfast."

"And you went with him because... he was hungry?" Bob leaned closer, his voice a bit and amusement at the edge of it.

You rolled your eyes, "I did not know that he only wanted to see his face on a cereal box.”

"And your face, Yelena! And hers, he pointed at Ava with a huge grin, his finger jabbing at the woman's face printed on the box, "and Walker's and Bucky’s... and Twenty-Two!” he jabbed his finger straight into your face printed on the box.

"Alexei!" sounded out Yelena's voice that made her father stop for a short moment, "why did you get four of them?"

She finally noticed three more identical cereal boxes on the counter beside Ava. She blinked a few times and then turned towards her father. The Russian man's grin widened even more and he gave the most innocent-looking shrug ever.

"Alexei... four boxes of the same cereal. The same exact box. With the same stupid picture. Of your stupid face!" Yelena yelled out, putting her hands on her face and dragging them down with a loud groan.

“Our faces,” he corrected his daughter, and shook with the orange box in his hands.

Bob’s knee brushed against your own knee under the kitchen island again. You didn’t pull away, you never did. Even when you thought that you might get pulled back into your nightmare.

Bob's head tilted slightly closer to you, his eyes on the two juice bottles in front of him, "you went with him. At eight in the morning. Voluntarily. Because he was craving cereal for the breakfast."

"I didn’t know I was going to someone who is an obsessed Wheaties cereal celebrity,” you replied with a chuckle, turning your head over your shoulder to look where Yelena and Alexei were arguing over the cereal boxes, "I thought we were just getting cereal and juice.”

"Oh..." he nodded a few times, his knee brushing against yours again, "can... can I have the apple one?" he nodded towards the golden-like colored bottle in front of him on the island table.

You smiled softly and touched the side of the golden-colored bottle, "of course. I got it for you, Bob,” you said, sliding it gently across the top of the island closer to him.

He leaned in before you could say or do anything else. His lips pressed a brief kiss to your temple and he whispered a quiet thank you against your skin there. His lips stayed there for a second before he slowly peeled away. He reached for the golden-colored bottle and opened it with a quiet twist. You then watched him take the first sip and see how his lips moved into a small, appreciative smile.

“You know what I like most about this?” he asked after he took another few sips from the bottle, he then clasped it back shut and put it on the spot where it was before.

You raised an eyebrow, slightly confused about what he meant, "...about the juice?”

“No!" he smiled again, shaking his head and making those stubborn untamed curls fall over his eyebrows, hiding his face, "I meant... this. Us. Sitting there together, nothing really happening. Just me and you."

"And us, Bob! Do not forget me and the others!" suddenly yelled out the Russian man from behind you. You chuckled and Bob's cheeks turned slightly pinkish, the curls hiding his eyes a bit.

It had been over a year of mornings like that.

Some mornings were nice.

Others were... bad. Like really bad.

Just like this one on a random Wednesday after an unexpected encounter on your mission.

You and Ava were on a mission, just the two of you. You were doing exactly what your assigned duties were and suddenly, out of nowhere in a flicker of a moment. You were dead. You heard Ava's yell before you completely blacked out and the old friend took you back into the death's arms. A terrific pain shot through your entire body, from legs to arms to your head. Everywhere at the same time. A pain so insufferable.

Then you woke up back to life. A tearing snap back into life, pulled from within the death's reach. You were standing just outside the building where the mission was.

You had died.

Again.

Someone, who you're pretty sure you know who it was, used the Pulse system. Out of nowhere and for no reason.

"Twenty-Two? What the hell just happened?" Ava's voice sounded from the comms, you shook your head and quickly brought your hand up to your mouth, your thumb pressing against your pointer so you could speak.

"Someone used the Pulse system."

"Fucking Valentina!" Ava roared into the comms. You then heard her exhale loudly, her breath shaking slightly, "oh my—you were dead, Twenty-Two. You died again! I saw—"

“I know,” you quickly jumped into her words, cutting the woman off, "I know. But I’m here now. Go finish the mission, please. My job is done already..." you breathed out, stepping away from the building. Staring at the walls and then up at the sky above.

“I’m heading back,” you told Ava after a moment of silence that stretched on uncomfortably. You were utterly confused as to why she had done this. And why does she still have the system with her? You need it gone. Gone from her hands.

"Kill her for me," Ava said into the comms and then clicked herself off, muting herself before continuing her job on the mission. It wasn't a major one. There was no killing, no people to hurt. Real nothing, just clean up.

And those words that Ava said, that's what you had on your mind when you stepped through the doors to Valentina's office.

"What the hell was that, Valentina?"

There she sat behind her table like nothing ever happened, Mel was standing beside her with a clipboard in her arms.

"What was what?" Valentina didn't even raise her head from where she was looking down at some files. You stepped forward and moved through the room right in front of the table.

You slammed your palms against the wood, which made the whole table rattle. Mel flinched at that, stepping back from the scene. Valentina raised her head slowly, her eyebrows raising. Her expression looked bored even.

“I asked you a question,” you said loudly, your palms digging into the wood of her table, "don't play stupid, Valentina. You know damn well what happened.”

Valentina’s fingers delicately pushed the files in front of her to the side and Mel was quick to grab them and hurry to leave. Valentina tilted her head, "well. Please do enlighten me, Twenty-Two—”

“You killed me.”

“I wasn’t in danger,” you growled at the woman angrily, "and you just decided to what? To fucking kill me? You wanted to test how it felt to push the button again? See me dead again? You wanted to see me dead again?”

"Oh, don’t forget what you are, Twenty-Two!" Valentina rolled her eyes, standing up from where she was sitting behind her table. She slowly came around her table, nearing closer to your angered form.

"Give me the Pulse."

Your voice was firm. A growl from behind your clenched teeth, a ripping sound from your throat.

"Valentina,” you repeated, sharper this time. Sharper than ever.

"Give me the fucking Pulse.”

This time, Valentina really did stop. That was when the smile on her face froze. She tilted her head in an almost childish manner. You stepped closer, eyes narrowing at her in anger, "you have the only fucking way to end my life. You decide when I live or die... And that ends now.”

"What? You think you can just take it and then—" Valentina leaned forward, crossing her arms over her chest and smiling at you.

"I think I can take back my will to live."

"Valentina. I’m not asking anymore," you said with finality to her. You did not say it, you nearly growled it at her. You were angry, you were livid. You felt maddened, this was not what you had expected this day to go.

Valentina then gave you that look of hers that told so many stories and thoughts. She didn’t speak, she just walked around the table once again, coming to where she was sitting before. She crouched slightly and then she opened a drawer just beneath the table, slowly reaching inside of it. She then pulled out a small black device.

She held it in her palm like it was nothing. But both of you knew it wasn’t nothing. It was life. It was death. It was control over both of these things. It was your life.

"Hand it over—" you said lowly, stretching your hand forward to her, towards the small device in her hands. Valentina's sly eyes flicked down at the device in her own hands and then up to your eyes.

"Listen. It's not that simple, you—" she starts to say, but you quickly cut her off.

"It is that simple. Hand it over," you said sharply at the woman, stepping even closer. Valentina took a step back. She was afraid.

She then slowly extended her arm. Then she held out the device. It was almost like she was daring you to take it. And you accepted the dare.

Your fingers wrapped around the small device that holds your life and death.

A quiet tension hung in the air after the device was finally in your hand. Valentina's eyes were locked onto yours, her eyes boring into yours like fire.

You didn’t say a word then, just stared at her. You then took a slow, deliberate step back, the device secure in your hand, "never fucking again, Valentina."

Valentina’s lips pressed into a thin line, "never... But you are still under my name, Twenty-Two."

You gave a short, curt nod. Not really caring about the choice of her words and her statement. You turned towards the doors where you came from and where Mel ran off. Without looking back at the woman, you stepped out of the room, the Pulse system in your palm. The door clicked shut behind you. Shutting away Valentina's right to your life and death. Now it was in your control.

Just like it was written before. Some days are bad. Really bad. Heavy like this one.

But not all days were like that. This was just one different and really bad day in a span of a few months. A few months that went by a little over a year.

Fourteen months to be exact.

During these fourteen months, everything had shifted, moved, and changed. Took other particular turns and paths. It was just all so differing from everything.

And today was no different.

The rest of the team had left that morning for a mission. Yelena, Ava, John, and Bucky. All of them went out on a mission that Valentina had assigned them. Before the mission, you spoke with John about how Bucky met up with Sam Wilson as the other man with the shield was not very happy that he had formed a new team. Sam Wilson was not very thrilled about it.

Now it was just you and Bob in the Tower... and Alexei too. He was somewhere else in the Tower.

You were curled into the plush of one of those oversized, probably not cheap, armchairs that were scattered all over the Tower. There are wide, wall-length windows stretching just in front of you, showing off the long skyline of the New York City. And you were also flush against Bob. Your hip to his hip, his shoulder to your shoulder, and your head was comfortably resting against the space between his jaw and collarbone as he quietly read one of his many books. His arm was looped around the back of your shoulders, his fingers resting against your arm.

The Creative Act: A Way of Being by Rick Rubin.

He had brought that book when he was staying with you at your apartment, along with other books and a very ridiculous Rolling Stone magazine.

You watched his blue eyes move slowly across the page, reading each word like he wanted it to be stitched up in his mind. He occasionally furrowed his brows, let the tip of his tongue peek out, or scrunched his nose while he read those words. You smiled at those small details, "you look like you’re enjoying it.”

“I am," he answered softly just as he turned another page of the book. He shifted just a little, adjusting the way his arm rested around your shoulders slightly.

Beyond the long and clean glass windows, New York City buzzed. Stretched endlessly and kept its loud character, but here in this little corner of the Tower, there was a stillness and comfort. A quiet space.

"Sometimes the mistakes are what makes a work great. Humanity breathes in mistakes."

Bob read out a line from the book. He just sat with the sentence. And you sat with it too. You tilted your head slightly up, your eyes moving from the book to his jaw, you softly murmured, “that's nice.”

“Rick Rubin writes like… I don’t know. I would say he writes like... like he’s forgiving things you didn’t even know you needed to be forgiven for? You get what I mean? He's just saying what we need to hear in this book," Bob's thumb held the place in the book, unmoving for a moment.

Your lips curved faintly, "you're saying that you need forgiving, Bob?”

“I think we all do," he replied softly, his eyes moving to another page, but nto reading as he spoke, “everyone needs forgiving. For something. Maybe their past selves. Bad days... things they've done," his eyes flickered in front of him, at the New York City's skyline. His mind moved to something that was hidden, the day the Void took over. When New York City fell into its shame and nightmare. When people ran; screamed and disappeared to face their own fears. When Bob wasn’t Bob, not entirely. Not himself. The dark part that lived deep inside him.

You didn’t speak for him, you didn't say anything now. You didn’t need to. The way his jaw tightened told you everything you had to know about what he was seeing. What he was thinking about. And what he wasn’t saying.

"Maybe the best idea is the one you're going to come up with this evening."

You read from a line on the opened page he was on. His gaze moved from the cityline to you, his eyes not even considering falling upon the book in his hands.

"I have an idea," you said, staring at the book and then up at the man beside you. His gaze already lingering on you like his eyes belonged just to you and you only:

"You do?" he softly murmured. Quiet and curious like he always was, "what's your idea?"

"The best one.”

And then you leaned in. Your lips found his in a gentle way. He didn’t pull back at all, his breath just hitched once and then he leaned back into you. His lips are familiar to you and your lips are familiar to him. His hand, the one that was resting along the back of your shoulders for the whole time, pulled you a little closer to him. There was no hunger in the kiss, there wasn't any desperation or hope of something more to add. It was just warmth and love. Just comfort between two people.

Then you slowly drew back, your lips parting from his. Both of your eyes opening as you leaned away, lips still warm. His eyes opened to meet yours, fluttering open.

“That’s…” he murmured quietly, a bit breathlessly, "a really, really good idea," he smiled when he said it.

Then you heard footsteps and the door to the main room turning open, the others were back from the mission most likely.

"But we are the Avengers. The government said so!" you heard Yelena muttering loudly from behind the doors and then they finally opened. Their voices were a contrast to the quietness that you and Bob had been holding a moment before. Everyone came through, looking nice as ever in their new suits that Valentina had given them.

"How does Sam Wilson not understand that?" Yelena continued, walking down to the main room, with others just behind her.

"Well, he does have the shield..." Bucky told the blonde woman in the front. John smirked from where he was beside the dark-haired woman and the blonde woman, "well, I got a shield too."

"It's not a shield," Bucky shot the man a glare, his eyes not even bothering to look down at that bent piece of metal on John's arm. You chuckled quietly from where you were sitting with Bob further away. The sound was low enough that only Bob really caught it. He smiled softly at you and then picked up the book again, reading the page you had read a line from for him.

"Yeah, it's a shield," John muttered stubbornly back at the metal-armed man.

"It's a shitty shield," Bucky said to the other super-soldier. The man shot those words at him without any second thought.

"It's a great shield, Bucky!" John's voice grew louder as he spoke about his bent metal piece. Almost barking out at the other super-soldier.

They all made their way a few steps down into the sunken lounge of the main room in Tower. It was sleek and modern. Like every other room in the Tower. Too modern-looking with too many buttons.

"Okay, if he puts together a team... and then the team is called the Avengers, who are the real Avengers?" Yelena was still on her feet, and the others were already scattered around the space on the couches around. She was pacing around with her hands flying in the air, gesturing.

John flopped onto one of the couches in the space down and threw his legs up on the table like it was his own living room and no one else's, "well, that’s the question the Internet has been asking and judging by the very nasty memes that I’ve read... they don’t think that it’s us."

"Weren’t you going to talk to him?" Yelena turned towards the other super-soldier in the room, pointing her hand at him. Her eyes narrowed at the metal-armed man.

Bucky rolled his head and nodded with a loud exhale through his nose, "I already did."

"And?" Yelena asked, moving closer to him

It went poorly. Bucky didn't even look up before he flatly answered, "it went poorly."

"I don’t know what any of these buttons do... It’s unbelievable they didn’t mark any of them," John started pushing the many buttons embedded on the armrest of the couch he was so comfortably sitting on. Leaning in slightly to see if there really are not no markings. There indeed are none. Just plain, identical-looking buttons.

"You know he’s filed for copyright of the name?" Yelena said as she finally sat down on the nearest free space on the couches around. Leaning slightly forward to sit comfortably.

"Did he?" Bucky made a face at that. His own best friend did not tell him that.

"We’re losing credibility," Yelena remarked again. The dark-haired woman decided to join the conversation as well, "which we had very little to begin with..." she shrugged from where she was sitting.

"And now there’s this huge space crisis and no one’s telling us about it..." Yelena groaned and gestured vaguely into the air with her hand.

"We’re running out of space? It’s impossible. This building is... enormous," John moved his legs on where they were propped up on the table, staring around the main room to see where the space crisis supposedly was. Looking genuinely confused.

Yelena slowly turned toward him. She didn't speak at all, didn't throw any remark at him. She just stared with disbelief.

"What?" John asked with confusion.

"Outer space!" Yelena shouted at the man, pointing at the ceiling above as if the space was visible through it somehow. Furiously pointing up and up.

"Outer space..." John then did a big nod and repeated what the blonde woman had said. Finally getting what she meant.

You chuckled again from where you were curled up against Bob, "oh, he cannot be serious,” you murmured quietly for only Bob to hear, shaking your head.

Bob didn’t laugh, not exactly. But there was a faint smile on his lips. His gaze was on the book in his hands, his fingers gently moving over your arm and shoulder.

"Run a threat analysis. I want a full report," Yelena lifted a small tablet from the table and put it near her mouth, speaking to it to get the analysis out.

"Hello, team!" Alexei suddenly announced himself as he came into the room. Finally showing himself from where he was hiding the whole day. He stretched his hands out to show himself off.

"...The hell are you wearing?" Bucky squinted at the other super-soldier. Wrinkling his nose at the sight of the colorful jumpsuit that Alexei was currently sporting like a proud man.

"I heard about Sam Wilson. He’s dumb, litigious man, but I am smart man. I've a smart solve!" he grinned and pointed at the ridiculous jumpsuit that he's wearing.

"Avenge—z... Avengerz. With a Z, there is no copyright," he tapped the letter Z on his chest. It looked like the last letter was glued or stitched into the original jumpsuit that had the letter S. Splashed across his chest was the name, New Avengerz.

"No," his daughter shook her head and looked down at the tablet in her hands that was currently running the analysis.

"So soft. Feel like the bottom of a... baby seal!" he stretched his arms in front of him proudly, showing off the soft material of the jumpsuit. He grinned and stepped closer to his daughter. Outstretching his arm to her, so she could try out the soft material of the suit, "you want to… you want to savor that?"

"I don’t want to touch a baby seal butt," Yelena said flatly and did not even look up from the device in her hands, ignoring her father's arm next to her face.

"I have one for you," Alexei recalled and pointed somewhere behind himself with his finger.

"I don't want it," the blonde woman dismissed her father's arm next quickly without looking up from the tablet in her hands.

"I have one for you," he pointed at Bucky and the metal-armed man was quick to dismissively wave at him, not wanting to own a merchandise jumpsuit that felt like a butt of a baby beal.

"I got you one!" the Russian man turned his attention to the dark-haired woman and pointed his finger at her. She was quick to throw a thumbs-up and nod to let him know she heard him.

"I got you one!" Alexei turned towards the man with a taco-like shield and John was kind enough to give him a fake thankful smile.

"And for you, Bob! In the corner hiding, pretending to read the book!" Alexei's voice rose slightly as he pointed at where you and Bob were further away from them, sitting hidden on one of the armchair couches. You and Bob were not hiding. You were simply at a safe distance from the chaos happening near Alexei and his uncopyrighted jumpsuits.

"And for you, Twenty-Two cuddling there with him! I have one for you too!" Alexei's eyes lit up from behind his glasses when he noticed you with Bob.

"We’re all matching! All part of the super team!" Alexei declared loudly, grinning from an ear to ear. He was so excited about these jumpsuits, which nearly all of them, most likely, won't be worn by the others.

Then, a sudden and sharp alarm blared through the main room and then a sterile mechanical, female voice sounded out through the speakers, "unidentified craft entering orbit.”

Yelena’s head snapped up, her brows knitting together at the announcement that echoed around. She raised the tablet back up and looked at the screen.

From beside her, Bucky stepped closer. He sat down next to her, eyes already trained on the screen over her shoulder, "you should get a satellite image.”

Yelena looked up at the man next to her and nodded, raising the tablet up to her mouth, "uh... get satellite image."

From beside her, Bucky leaned closer again and helped her again, "and fire up..."

Yelena turned her head slightly to give him a look for a brief second before she was already saying it to the tablet which was angled to her mouth, "and fire… I was gonna say that,” she muttered under her breath, "and fire up the jets,” she added to it.

"We wouldn’t need to fire up the jets if we had a Sentry... who could fly..." Alexei added, turning around and staring at the man who was now awkwardly shuffling on the armchair couch next to you. Holding the book between his fingers, not reading anymore as he had mentioned. Or a part of him was mentioned.

"I know... I'm sorry, I'm sorry, guys..." Bob gestured with his hand in the air as he said that, the book he was reading falling onto his lap, "can't be the Sentry without the... you know, other s—side."

Alexei stared at him. Unimpressed.

"I did the dishes though!" Bob then added, a smile filtering up on his face. He did only half of them, the other half was cleaned by you. But he also broke two plates while he was cleaning them. But thankfully, none of your other teammates who usually sit in the kitchen have noticed that two plates were missing.

"And what are we gonna do? Just ride Bob into the sky?" John asked from where he had his legs kicked up on the table in front of him. The bent shield still on his arm.

"Ahh... Yes! Can you imagine... Red Guardian riding on top of Sentry, cresting over the clouds?" Alexei started to imagine the best way of travelling, right on top of Bob. Bucky was shaking his head, disbelieving that this was the team he was in.

Yelena was looking at her father, disbelief drawn on her face, "This is why we are Avengers with a Z."

Before Alexei could defend himself, the mechanical voice interrupted everyone.

"Satellite image populating. Extradimensional ship entering the atmosphere," the mechanical, female voice announced with a loud noise.

"Extradimensional? What does that mean?" Alexei asked as everyone in the main room, apart from you and Bob, walked up the few steps to the screen which flickered to life, showing a footage of a ship in the space. A huge ship. Its scale impossible to estimate, but it was breathtaking.

"It’s a… it’s a cool ship," John muttered slowly as the live footage of the spaceship showed up on the screen before him. All of them leaned forward toward the screen, squinting at the footage. All eyes were locked on the screen, the extradimensional spaceship turning slowly around until a bright logo appeared on the screen.

A giant logo with the number four just in the middle of the circle. Centered and painted in blue.

“What is... that?" you muttered from where you were looking at it from a distance. You pushed yourself carefully off Bob. Taking in the very surreal footage just on the screen before you. Bob quickly slipped a bookmark in between the pages of his book while you finally got onto your feet.

You jogged swiftly across the room towards where the others had already gathered in front of the huge screen. You slipped in just beside John, who was already squinting at the projection with narrowed eyes. Looking at something so out of this world.

Bob moved quietly behind you, his chest nearly pressing against your back. You didn’t need to turn around to see that he was watching the screen just as intently as you were just now.

It was not just a spaceship. It was a presence. There was someone. And whatever it's planning on bringing, it definitely won't be easy. It won't be simple. It is coming with a purpose, you can feel it.

This wasn’t the end of something. This wasn't the end you thought would come. It was only the beginning.

And more awaits you.

hope you liked this! if yes, comments and feedback are very appreciated ! <3

100k words later, ten chapters out of ten. the whole thunderbolts* movie + twenty-two !!

this was so fun to write! if you got to the end there—thank you so much for reading! it means the entire world to me. 22 and bob i love uuu and readers i love u more <3 see u at the next fic wohooo

TAGLIST: @qardasngan , @one17 , @ren-ni , @werewolfgirl1995 , @mysticdelusionengineer , @lauryn2theelectricboogaloo , @mewmew222 , @badbishsblog , @lovely-foxes-exe , @funkyfable , @melvin333 , @sunflower-0180 , @witch-of-letters , @articel1967 , @kazamys , @ch-3-rry , @blackstabbath6 , @buckvoidsyy

[omaano]

SW Hades AU MAY-JUNE Update

Some links and previous updates: May - June - July - August - September - October/November - December - January - February - March-April - everything else in this AU

Would you look at that! I managed to put together an update post with more than just May the 4th Boba :D Happy Pride, happy last days of June, and please enjoy the fact that I finally added 2 more ladies to the Hades AU. Full renders will come.... eventually ^^; I feel like I'm really super overdue to one though...

We're making this a girls thing >:3

I've drawn a younger, cockier Boba in the style of Hades 2 (instead of the usual Hades (1)) for May the 4th, because I am very much obsessed with the game and I desperately wanted to draw Boba again.

It's been deeply unfair to him that I had drawn him way back in 2022 (Jesus Christ! am I taking my sweet time) and never again ever since in this style. But when he wears it so well!

I also have a surprise Leia! And Satine as well!

If you recall I'd had the hardest of time for months to come up with anything for Leia, which I can only partially blame on whatever shape of artblock/burnout/exhaustion I had been feeling recently. Then one night - BAM! I was just messing around, looking at pose references on my pinterest boards and sketching and all, and suddenly I had a "businesswoman in a rush between meetings not having enough time for your shit" pose and look for her that I was very happy with. Might have been shortly after I watched (and had a great time while doing it) The Phantom Menace. Or the end of Andor. One of these two.

Originally I wanted her to appear as if she was on a holo call with Din, projected by R2, because she is busy and in a rush (like Hermes), but I'm undecided if I will want to go through with that in the end. Mainly because I'm not very thrilled by the idea of having to draw a portrait for R2 as well for that.

I also had a surprisingly great time coming up with a getup for her!

I believe that I finally started slipping along the double edged sword of how it's both a hindrance and liberation that I don't have to come up with character designs of my own for this AU to most characters. It takes a lot of pressure off me that I can treat this as a style and coloring exercise, but at the same time it's very limiting. I think I have already bemoaned how Star Wars character designs can be so grey and same-y at times (especially in the Outer Rim, and seriously, why is everyone so blue? Or black and grey) whereas Hades is so beautifully and colorfully designed!

I did a tiny bit of research on Wookiepedia - nothing major, as this was still just a past-midnight-waste-some-time sketch - and set out to merge some design and wardrobe elements from Breha, Bail and General Organa. If you can make out my handwritten notes, you might see some of these design elements, and to whom they shall refer to (like the bracers and belt to Bail, the braids and bun for Breha and Leia's own future). Ultimately more of the "Bail" elements won out if you wanted to weigh them against each other. I feel like that would fit Leia, her fierceness, and pragmatic strictness and determination best.

I'm a little regretful about the veil, but I worried that it would be too much flowy fabric next to her sleeves/cape. Very sad.

So it really was a relief to get into some designing with Leia, and to add some more colors and intricate details to Satine.

I don't have that much more to say about Boba and Satine tbh. Mostly because Boba is still a bit of a miracle I'm still unsure how he happened and how he looks so good (although not shiny enough compared to the latest update of Hades2 where all the gods, and really all the characters, are suuuuuper shiny. like. seriously). While with Satine my only goal was to make her look less willow-y (because it drives me insane how everyone in TCW is so damn thin), and might have fallen off on the other side of the horse (I'm pretty sure that's not the actual English idiom, please excuse me), and she's got some real massive shoulders and sleeves XD also how does she keep her head up with all that on her head? ^^;

Anyways, I love her with all her faults, and I just really wanted her to look beautiful and sad, and Mandalorian, and let her wear beskar heart elements in her design.

-

.

Taglist of anyone who wants to be pinged once a month for these updates <3 If you want to be added to the list send me a message, or just reply to this post (a 👀 would do, nothing fancy required ;))

@elwinged @yeehawgeek @velsayshi @lionsaint @hastalavistabyebye

@ribbonkandy @nalase @schrodingers-cosmic-abomination

If you want to be taken off the list just message me and I’ll take you off, no hard feelings :)

[formulafanfics13]

Another day, Another Trauma - Toto Wolff 🔥

Masterlist || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

The paddock was always loudest on Saturdays. Fans pressing against the gates. Tyres being wheeled in like sacred relics. Espresso machines hissing behind every hospitality door. Camera shutters. The flutter of sponsor flags in the spring wind.

But as she walked in ,black sunglasses, fitted white dress, her hand tucked loosely in Toto’s as they strolled side-by-side through the chaos — the sound seemed to sharpen.

Not louder. Just… directed. All of it pointed at them. All of it seeing her, really seeing her, for the first time not just as Kimi Antonelli’s older sister, not just as that girl in the Mercedes garage, but as the woman walking beside the man in charge.

Toto, of course, didn’t flinch. Didn’t glance once at the cameras. Didn’t smile for anyone except her. He led her through the paddock like it was his living room, team radio still crackling faintly from his comms band, phone in one hand, VIP access badge swinging from his belt loop. He didn’t slow down. Didn’t bother with greetings.

He only stopped once, when she paused to greet one of the engineers from Ferrari, someone she’d worked with years ago while shooting in Maranello.

Toto had waited. Watched. Then, once the smalltalk was done, wrapped a single hand around her waist and resumed walking like he hadn’t just claimed her in full daylight, in front of her ex-colleagues, in front of everyone.

He didn’t take her to the guest suite. Or hospitality. Or the pitlane fence. He took her straight to his station in the garage.

Slid a chair beside his own. Placed a fresh set of headphones on the desk. Said nothing.

But when she looked up at him, cocking one brow, he just leaned in and murmured: “You’re staying with me again today.”

And that was it.

Meanwhile, across the paddock, chaos was blooming. Kimi was already mid-media block, standing beside George in front of a Mercedes sponsor wall, both boys in fresh race suits, answering questions on FP3 strategy and tyre compounds and the psychological pressure of first-time qualifying.

George, to his credit, was in full PR-mode. Smiling. Engaging. Hitting his talking points like he was gunning for an employee of the month certificate.

Kimi… less so. The kid had barely slept. His jaw was tight. His hands kept adjusting the cuffs of his suit. And every time a journalist even hinted at the word quali, his answers got sharper.

But then came that question. “Before we let you go, one last one, it’s been a pretty exciting first weekend for the Antonelli family, right? Your sister’s been spotted in the garage with Toto Wolff more than once. There’s been a lot of speculation -”

George actually laughed.

Kimi did not. “She’s my sister,” he said flatly, “not my problem.”

“Oh come on,” the Sky Sports guy grinned. “No thoughts on your boss dating your sister?”

“I have lots of thoughts,” Kimi replied coolly. “Most of them not safe for broadcast.”

George clapped a hand over his own mouth. Kimi didn’t blink. “She’s a grown woman. She can do what she wants,” he added with a hint of sharpness. “I’m just here to drive the car.”

George leaned in like a dickhead. “Do you think she’s distracted Toto?”

Kimi shot him a death glare so pure it could have cracked carbon fibre. “George.”

“I’m just saying-!”

“She’s not the one who spun yesterday.”

George turned to the camera. “I love working with Kimi.”

Back in the garage, she watched the media feed on a muted monitor. Saw the question come in. Saw Kimi’s face freeze. Saw the way George immediately got that glint in his eye. She pulled her sunglasses down her nose, narrowed her gaze, and muttered, “They’re lucky I’m not out there.”

Toto didn’t turn. But he did smirk. “You know you’re causing chaos,” he said, toggling something on the screen.

She shrugged. “I’m sitting here doing nothing.”

“You’re sitting here,” he said lowly, “with me. That’s enough.”

She leaned closer. “Are you distracted?”

He finally turned. Met her gaze. And said, “Dangerously.”

FP3 passed in a blur. George led the timesheets.

Kimi placed solidly midfield, still learning, still improving, the car clean, the team satisfied.

She didn’t leave Toto’s side once. Every now and then someone glanced at her. Cameras hovered. But Toto didn’t flinch. Didn’t move away. His hand brushed her thigh under the desk twice. She didn’t stop him.

And when FP3 ended? He reached across the desk, lifted her headset off for her, and said, softly: “Come with me.” Like he always meant to. Like she always would.

She didn’t question it. She never did when he looked like that, chin high, sunglasses on, headset off and tucked under one arm like he’d just conducted a ballet and now wanted to stroll through the applause. The air was already thick with Quali tension, but Toto moved through it like he was immune.

And when they rounded the curve toward the media pen? She spotted George and Kimi immediately. Both boys were just stepping off the branded Sky Sports platform, pulling their race suit collars down. George was already halfway through his post-interview snack, a green juice and a protein bar, which he held like a toddler mid-tantrum. Kimi was glaring at the floor like it had personally offended him.

She lit up. “Oh, perfect timing.”

Toto smirked faintly beside her but said nothing, just watched her step forward, heels clicking lightly against the asphalt, sunglasses still perched on her nose like armour.

“KIMI,” she called sweetly.

He turned. Too late. She was already wrapping her arms around his neck. “Don’t,” he muttered, squirming.

“Too late,” she grinned, hugging him like the world’s most annoying older sister, tight, chaotic, all weight and no warning.

He tried to wriggle out of it. Failed. George watched like it was Netflix. 

“Oh my god, you were so good in that interview,” she said dramatically, kissing his cheek as he physically recoiled. “First question about me fucking your boss? You handled it like a seasoned professional.”

George howled. Kimi groaned. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m proud.”

“I’m traumatised.”

“Oh please,” she snorted, stepping back but still ruffling his hair. “You loved it.”

“I hated it.”

“Admit it,” she said, lowering her sunglasses with a grin. “You love being the little brother of the woman who’s blowing your boss.”

George choked. Toto looked away briefly, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “this was a mistake.”

Kimi turned fully to face her, deadpan. “I’m not mad about it,” he said slowly. “I never was mad about it.”

She blinked. “Oh?”

“I’m serious.”

“Then what are you?”

“I’m disturbed,” Kimi clarified. “Because he’s older than our parents.”

George spat green juice onto the tarmac. Toto, to his credit, didn’t blink.

She, however, gasped. “He is not-”

“He is closer in age to Papa than to me, and that’s all I’m saying.”

Toto finally spoke. Calm. Controlled. But deeply amused. “I’m closer in IQ to your sister than you, and that’s all I’m saying.”

Kimi blinked. George screamed. She high-fived Toto.

The cameras, of course, caught all of it. Unintentionally. They weren’t supposed to be filming at that moment, the segment had wrapped, the crew were packing up. But one Sky cameraman kept rolling, caught the entire exchange, and uploaded it to the Sky Sports internal system under the tag Antonelli_Wolff_SiblingSmackdown_FINAL.mp4.

It wouldn’t air. Yet. But word travelled. By the time they made it back to the garage, half the engineers were smiling at her like she’d just dropped a race-winning strategy. One of them even whispered, “Respect,” as she passed.

She didn’t reply. Just looked at Toto. He looked at her. And in his eyes, she could already see it: the hunger, the chaos, the quiet admission that he didn’t regret a single second of letting her into this world. Even if Kimi did.

It started like every qualifying did. Three segments. One shot. Chaos disguised as structure. Q1 was all nerves.

Kimi nearly binned it in Turn 6, corrected just in time, came back with a time that scraped him into P14. She flinched. Toto didn’t. His hand tightened on her shoulder instead, grounding.

Q2 was cleaner. Kimi placed P10.

George flew into P2. Q3 was breathless.

She could barely sit still by then, the soft plastic of her headphones biting into her cheek, the air in the garage thick with tension. The engineers around her barely blinked. Bono had his mic hot at all times. Marcus was already calculating tyre temps and whispering options under his breath. Toto stood behind her chair the entire time, one hand on her shoulder, one at his chin.

Kimi pulled out his best lap with thirty seconds to go. P9.

She exhaled so hard she nearly sobbed.

George slotted into P3.

The garage exploded. And Toto? He leaned down. Kissed the top of her head, slow and deliberate, and said, “He did it.”

She blinked fast, biting her lip. “He really did.”

The next part was a blur. Engineers clapping backs. Mechanics yelling stats. George bursting in with his helmet half-off and a grin like he’d won the fucking championship. Kimi walked in after him, flushed, exhausted, twitchy with adrenaline, and the moment he saw her, he froze. Then, barely a moment later, he grinned. Small. Real. “P9,” he said.

“P9,” she echoed, pulling him into a hug before he could pretend he didn’t want it.

“I didn’t crash.”

“I noticed.”

He pulled back. “That last sector was for you.”

She ruffled his hair again. “Stop being sweet or I’ll cry.”

“Don’t be gross.”

“Too late.”

Toto gave them space. Only for a moment. But when the chaos faded, when the debriefs started and the cameras began to circle, that’s when he returned to her side.

Wordlessly. Hand at the small of her back. Guiding her out of the garage. They barely made it to the pitlane before a familiar voice called out. “Toto! Over here-”

Natalie Pinkham. All perfect cheekbones and tailored jumpsuit and the kind of warmth that made you feel like you’d known her since childhood. She was flanked by Karun Chandhok, mic already up, Sky Sports camera team practically bouncing with glee.

Toto didn’t blink. He turned toward them. Adjusted his shirt collar. Nodded once. But what he didn’t do? He didn’t let go of her. He kept his arm around her waist, standing tall, eyes steady, posture relaxed — and as Natalie’s team stepped in with cameras and light reflectors and all the humming tension of a live broadcast, he just… kept her there.

Right next to him. Right in frame.

“Big smiles in the Mercedes camp today,” Natalie began, her voice sunshine and strategy. “George Russell, second row. And Kimi Antonelli, in his very first ever F1 qualifying, making it to Q3 and landing P9. We’re here with Mercedes Team Principal Toto Wolff to talk us through it.”

Toto gave a practiced nod. “Yes, very proud of the team. Both drivers executed well under pressure. George delivered, as expected. Kimi showed remarkable composure for someone so young.”

“You didn’t look surprised,” Karun said with a grin.

“I never am,” Toto replied, glancing briefly down at her before looking back to the mic.

“And speaking of surprises…” Natalie turned, eyes twinkling. “It’s lovely to see you here,” she said, addressing her now. “We’ve seen you around the garage before, but this is the first time we’ve caught you mid-quali. You must be so proud of your little brother.”

She blinked. Smiled. Heart thudding.

“I’m incredibly proud,” she said, stepping half a pace forward, letting her hand rest lightly on Toto’s arm. “He’s worked for this since he was basically in nappies. Seeing him put it in Q3? Watching him hold that pressure? It’s surreal.”

“Did you cry?” Karun asked, teasing.

She laughed. “Almost. But I didn’t want to smudge my eyeliner. He’d never let me hear the end of it.”

Natalie smiled so warmly she almost cried then. “Well, I think I speak for all of us when I say the Antonelli family just gained a whole new chapter of F1 legacy. Thank you both.”

Toto nodded. She smiled.

And when the cameras cut and Natalie leaned in, mic off, sunglasses perched up, she whispered, “He really does adore you.”

And all she could do was smile wider.

*

The room was dim, but not silent. Laptop fans hummed. Data screens glowed with sector times and brake temps and delta overlays. George was huddled over his telemetry with Marcus, hands moving as he pointed out patterns in the long run sim, brows furrowed with full focus. Kimi was slightly more slumped, one arm thrown across the back of his chair, eyes scanning a corner display where Bono was breaking down tyre degradation curves from FP3.

She was beside him. Legs crossed, slightly bored, chewing the edge of a pen cap she’d found on the table. Her hair was up. Her shoes were off. She wasn’t technically supposed to be there, but no one had told her to leave. She’d kissed her brother’s cheek after dinner and flopped beside him like she belonged there. Bono hadn’t blinked. The other engineers didn’t care.

Kimi kept pretending to be annoyed. But he hadn’t told her to move. She was scribbling something on a spare notepad, nothing relevant, just shapes, when the door clicked open behind them.

And he walked in. Toto. Fresh from post-Quali media. Still in black slacks and that tailored dress shirt with sleeves rolled sharp and a slight rumple in his collar that gave him away — not tired, not dishevelled, just done pretending for the day.

He scanned the room once, nodded to Marcus and Bono, then let his gaze settle on her. She smiled. He walked over like he’d done it a hundred times before. Said, “Hi,” in that low voice, soft and close.

And then just sat down beside her. No warning. No preamble. Just a hand on her hip and a low, “Come here,” as he pulled her gently, lazily, into his lap like it was nothing.

Like they weren’t in the fucking data room. Like Kimi wasn’t right there. She gasped. Laughed.

Kimi groaned, slumping deeper in his seat, hands thrown up in dramatic protest. “Noooo-”

Bono burst out laughing. George didn’t even look up, just called out from the other table, “If he starts kissing her, I’m unplugging the telemetry.”

Toto chuckled, one arm wrapped comfortably around her waist, hand splayed across her thigh. He looked like a man who owned the room, not because he was team principal, but because she was in his lap and he didn’t give a single fuck who saw it.

“I came to say I’m proud of you,” he said casually, eyes on Kimi now.

Kimi blinked. “Oh,” he said.

Toto nodded. “You held your nerve. You didn’t panic after Q1. You listened to Bono. You kept the car clean.”

Kimi shifted in his seat. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

“I’m not worried for tomorrow,” Toto added. “You’re going to do well.”

Kimi scratched the back of his neck. Then let out a long, theatrical sigh. “I have a serious question.”

Toto raised a brow. “Alright.”

Everyone turned. Bono leaned forward slightly. George peeked over his laptop. Even Marcus looked up.

Kimi narrowed his eyes like he was in court. “If you two get married-”

Toto’s brows actually lifted.

“-will she technically become my boss in any way? Because listen,” Kimi continued, gesturing between them. “I can deal with you two doing… whatever this is.”

She opened her mouth. “Excuse you-”

“No no no,” he cut her off, waving a hand. “I’ve come to peace with it. You’re… weirdly happy. He’s not a total demon. It’s gross but fine.”

Bono choked on his water.

“But,” Kimi pressed, “if she marries you and then tries to tell me what to do in a professional capacity, like, officially, I will riot.”

George had fully abandoned the data. He was howling. Marcus was openly smirking. Toto, though? He didn’t laugh. Didn’t deny. Just looked Kimi dead in the eye and said, completely calm, “She already tells you what to do.”

Kimi blinked.

“Yeah,” she said sweetly, curling closer to Toto’s chest. “And you listen, baby brother.”

“Suffering,” Kimi muttered.

“You love us,” she beamed.

“I tolerate you.”

“You adore me.”

“You were dropped as a child.”

“You’re going to miss me when I honeymoon in Italy.”

“OH MY GOD.”

Toto kissed her temple. Bono wiped tears from his eyes. And George leaned back in his chair and muttered, “This is my favourite team debrief ever.”

The laughter was just starting to fade. Toto’s fingers were resting lazily on her bare thigh, drawing slow circles without thinking. Her legs were still draped over one side of his lap, one arm hooked around his neck, the other fiddling with a leftover telemetry pen. His chest was warm beneath her shoulder blade. His mouth brushed her temple every now and then, subtle, grounding, like he forgot anyone else was still in the room.

Kimi was trying not to combust. His screen had gone black. His data sheet was abandoned. He’d taken to muttering “suffering is temporary, but trauma is forever” under his breath while Bono pretended to work and absolutely failed to hide his grin.

George was still smirking. A little too quiet. A little too entertained. And then, “So, Kimi…”

Kimi looked up. “No.”

George grinned. “I didn’t say anything yet.”

Kimi narrowed his eyes. “It’s never good when you start like that.”

George leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head, like a man who knew exactly what he was doing. He nodded toward Toto’s lap, toward her body curled into him, the way Toto’s hand sat high on her thigh now, the way she was humming under her breath while ignoring everything.

“You ever think,” George said, dragging the moment out, “how it might feel to be an uncle?”

The room went dead silent. Bono’s water bottle slipped out of his hand and hit the floor. Kimi choked so hard on air he actually grabbed his own chest. Marcus blinked, turned, left the room. She stopped humming. Toto didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look up. He just kissed her neck, soft and slow, one single press of lips to skin like yes, like of course, like and what of it.

She smirked. Kimi blanched. “I will actually die,” he said flatly, staring at George with horror. “I will fucking drop dead if you ever suggest that again.”

George was wheezing.

“Oh my god,” Kimi muttered. “I just came to do a data review. I didn’t come here to hear about my sister’s womb.”

“Not yet,” George said under his breath.

Bono leaned into the table, face in his hands. “This is going to be the greatest season of my life.”

“I hate all of you,” Kimi announced.

“Too late,” she said brightly. “You’re already stuck with us.”

“No. No. No.”

“Christmas is going to be so fun,” George added.

“Shut up.”

“Matching pyjamas, Kimi.”

“SHUT UP.”

Toto still hadn’t said a word. Still hadn’t so much as blinked. Just stroked her thigh like it was a reflex, like it helped him focus, like he’d already made the decision a long time ago and wasn’t even slightly bothered that it was on the table now.

She leaned into his ear. Whispered, “Should we fuck with him?”

His mouth twitched. “Yes.”

She turned to the room. Cleared her throat.

“I just want everyone to know,” she said sweetly, “that if and when I ever get pregnant-”

“NOOOOOOOOOO,” Kimi screamed into his own elbow.

“-It will not be wearing a Mercedes onesie. That’s tacky. However, I will be designing custom race suits for the entire family.” 

George was sobbing. Bono was crying real tears.

And Toto finally, finally spoke. “One of them,” he said calmly, “will say Team Principal in Training.”

Kimi stood up and left the room.

[reavesluv]

Between sessions

“You’ll come back, stronger than ever.”

Paige torn her ACL during her junior year in Uconn. Rehab and therapy sessions were a must— You’ve been working in sports medicine for years, and you became her only hope.

part 1. part 2. last part!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Paige hated how much she looked forward to the sessions.

Not because she didn’t like rehab, she liked the ache of rebuilding herself, the discipline of it. That part was fine. Familiar, even.

But she hated that it wasn’t just about recovery anymore. Not really.

It was about you. And maybe it always was about you.

Sessions were fun, or at least that’s what Paige used to tell you every time.

You could tell Paige was watching you. Not just as her therapist, she looked at you like she knew you.

It had been six months since surgery. Five and a half since that awful stretch of pain meds and silence. Two since you understood—quietly, between looks— that Paige wasn’t there just for her knee.

Paige was stretching on a therapy mat, her scar faint beneath the sleeve of her compression shorts. The room smelled like sports tape, but mostly like her. She’d just wrapped up her final set of single-leg Romanian deadlifts.

Your eyes followed her every movement, but this time, you didn’t correct form. Instead, you stood close by, hands folded loosely.

Paige dropped the weights and sat up, she grabbed her water bottle, regaining her breath.

You were kneeling beside her, checking her knee, light pressure, careful, intimate.

“You’re good,” You said. “Your knee looks and works incredible.”

Paige leaned into your touch. “What happens after tomorrow?” she asked, though she already knew.

Tomorrow, the evaluation. After that, no braces, no rehab, no appointed sessions. No you guiding her through each step.

You wiped off one drop of sweet of Paige’s forehead, she felt it personal. “Then you’re cleared.” You said softly. “Back to practice, back to your team, back to your life, Paige.”

A warmth spread through Paige’s chest. Relief. But deeper than that, a flicker of sadness.

“So… then what?” she whispered.

“Then you can tell me what the fuck is going on with you and those eyes you give me every time.”

Paige’s throat felt dry.

“But,” You added in, before Paige could speak.“tomorrow, we focus on your evaluation.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Later, moments before Paige left, the clinic empty and quiet.

She packed up her things, glancing back at you, you were organizing resistance bands behind the desk. The sun had dipped; only lamplight remained, intimate and still.

She stopped a few feet away from you.

“Thank you,” she said simply. “For the months of support, the painful stretches that felt survivable because of you. The times you sat with me when frustration bubbled. The late nights. The unwavering care.”

You looked up. “Paige, i’m proud of you. Not just the physical progress though. But how deeply you trusted this process. And me.”

Paige swallowed.

“We’ve held a balance, therapist and patient, so I could heal. But tomorrow..” Paige said. “I’m not longer your patient. And i want us to try something else, as equals.”

You closed the distance. Your breaths mingled in the quiet light.

“I’ve been dying to kiss you.” Paige confessed in a whisper.

Your eyes opened in surprise. She reached up, one hand cupping your jawline; the other slipped around your waist.

“Then do it.” You answered. Soft and demanding.

She kissed you, bringing you as close as her as she could.

Paige deepened the kiss, quiet and full of longing she’d been clutching for months. Both hands in your waist.

Your arm wrapped around her neck. Time slows. No rehab. No boundaries. Just presence.

You pulled apart, foreheads resting together, soft breaths like calm waves.

“I’ve wanted this,” You murmured. “For so long…But i didn’t–”

“Me neither.” Paige interrupted you.

You smile against Paige’s lips. “I can’t believe you’re real.”

“I am.” She ended.

You stood like that, in a silence that felt brimming with everything you were about to build together.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Im sorry i’ve been so inactive, i really don’t have any ideas☹️

[santae-salt]

Hey, this is former artist (and briefly art director) Keshi. My anxiety over how I had to leave has prevented me from speaking up about anything, and has even prevented me from publicly interacting in Sancord or anyone affiliated with Santae (I really do miss a whole bunch of you though). With the current events, and the many times the teased breeding mechanic has been brought up, I’d like to finally break my silence, and share my experience.

First off, the situation CJ has put Ember in is horrifying, I do not wish to take attention away from this appalling selfish act with my post. I cannot fathom what would bring a person to do this to someone they call their friend. CJ should truly be ashamed of himself, this is going way too far. I never really got the chance to interact with Ember, but I am so sorry you are going through this and I hope things work out for you soon.

A little background on me, I have worked for Subeta and MisticPets in the past, and done commission work for various petsites and games. This experience is spread over the last 18 years, so I’ve seen my fair share of drama on these sites. I’ve never witnessed this level though.

I was willing to (and did) put a lot of time and heart into the egg and hatchling art. I was aware of the amount I’d need to draw, and was ready to commit to what I thought was a desired fun feature with really cute art. I had no idea that this mechanic was not wanted, that it had been stated it would never be a feature on this site. And while I know it wasn’t my decision to make this happen, I am so sorry that money was spent on me creating those images. I am saddened that the feedback on this feature wasn’t respected and listened to. At one point, the AI art incident was brought up during a discussion with CJ, and that the NPCs were being revamped. I am strongly against AI art, and I offered to help fast track the revamps by working on some myself. This was turned down, and I was only to focus on the breeding images.

When it was made aware that Whixy was to sadly step down, I was surprised to be offered the position to take over. I probably triple checked that there definitely wasn’t another artist who had been there longer, who wanted to role, and was reassured no one was interested. I accepted the role, and was excited to be closer to the team and feel I was actively contributing more to current events and features. With access to the calendar and full trello, I could see how many events were planned, the artwork we needed, and that we were, in my eyes, quite behind schedule. I want to preface that this was in no part, Whixy or the previous and current artists fault. They are all amazing, and were doing the best with what they could. I expressed my concerns on how much we needed in a short time. I had offered that I could help get us ahead by working on some items, but I was reassured that we were doing fine and once again the breeding artwork was to be my focus. (Despite this claim, CJ then proceeded to assign/reassign tasks last minute to various artists, and I was informed after the decision was made. So I can only imagine what staff members like Ember, Whixy and Ermineleader would have been through during their time, so much respect from me there)

After realising how much CJ continued to mismanage the site and staff, and witnessing his public conduct in front of users on the discord server and beyond (just in the 2 months I was there), I knew I couldn’t align myself with him. I finally looked into this blog and read the staff letter+ the statement on toyhouse, and my heart was heavy. This, along with many long days/late nights dedicated to drawing for the site, and working on my new art director roles, my body and mind kind of gave up. I won’t go into detail, but it was a sign I had to leave. I know I chose to work as much as I did, but I’m a chronic people pleaser/overachiever (and I also needed the extra income).

The art team was not informed that I had left, and it took almost a week before I had the strength to come back and let them know. I still feel some guilt, like I let everyone down during an already rocky time. I’m so sorry I couldn’t help more.

I have my fears in talking openly about this, but I’d love to lift this weight off my shoulder and finally move on. I know my experience is a small fraction compared to what others have endured, but thanks for allowing me the space to share it. An emotional breakdown over a virtual petsite was not on my 2025 bingo card. I hope everyone left on staff, and those negatively affected by the site both past and current are doing okay.

💜 Keshi

☁️

[antithetical-bolter]

Out Of The Woods

Chapter 1

Shoutout to @antisocialfiore for helping me with the title!! This is my first fic I’ve posted to tumblr so any tips on how to keep chapters organized and whatnot would be lovely. Hang in there while I figure it out lmao. Chapter 2 is written and will be posted shortly <3

5.0k words | Seasoned ER nurse Iris McDowell finds herself pregnant after a one night stand with Robby, who is predictably handling things very poorly.

Warnings: unplanned pregnancy, discussion of abortions, excessive use of the word fuck, commas, and em dashes.

Tag list: @antisocialfiore @snowflames-world @eviemonroeer

Page dividers by: @cafekitsune

Next

Iris

Well, shit.

That is most definitely two pink lines.

On three different tests. Iris Elizabeth McDowell, you fucking idiot.

Just my fucking luck, that getting tipsy and fucking the very hot and very emotionally unavailable attending would result in a god damn pregnancy. I’d been blissfully ignorant the last 3 weeks - my periods have never been all that regular but as soon as the nausea and the sore boobs hit I knew it was time to face the music. And sure enough, the music was telling me that I was pregnant. With Michael Robinavitch’s baby.

Robby, who has barely made eye contact with me past what was required for patient care since it happened. Robby, who let it slip at the bar that he had been interested in me for months now. Robby, who I was unfortunately in love with. Had been for an embarrassingly long time now - so him up and leaving the morning after the best sex of my life triggered a full blown crisis. Almost a decade of pining, all for one (admittedly spectacular) night. The whole debacle had me briefly considering finding a new ER to work at, but I decided I wouldn’t let a man dictate my life. Even if it was that man.

Do I want to keep it? I think so? Should I want to keep it? Probably not.

It’s not like I’m some young new grad nurse who doesn’t have a career. I’ve been an ER nurse for more than ten years now, working at the Pitt for all but the first two. I’m damn good at my job, so much so that I occasionally fill in for the charge nurses, and I have a great support system. But the thought of having to tell Robby that I’m carrying his child? Genuinely makes me want to puke. Again.

I have money, a 2 bedroom condo, a regular enough schedule that daycare wouldn’t be an issue. But do I really want to be a single mom? Put my body through the fucking wild ride that is pregnancy? Oh god. Pregnancy scrubs? The absolute worst. Not to mention actually giving birth.

Thankfully, the universe has seen fit to give me a single win in all this, and I have the next 4 days off to figure out how to be normal at work again. First order of business - call my OB. A brief phone call later, I have an appointment for 9:45. Just over two hours from now.

Fuck, I could really use my mom right now. Not like we were ever super close, with her living on the west coast and me getting the fuck out of my tiny ass hometown right after high school, but I’d like the option to call her and freak out. Both her and my dad were killed in a car accident just over three years ago, and somehow this scenario had never crossed my mind. I have an older brother who lives back home in Washington, but we have very different works views and I highly doubt he would be a good source of familial support. Cue the tears - but they feel cathartic. A release I desperately need right now.

My therapist is going to lose her ever-loving mind. A quick look on her patient portal reveals that she has an opening this afternoon, so I guess that makes 2 wins from the universe for me today. I’ll take what I can get.

I am very picky about my medical providers. Working in the field myself means I have seen some shit doctors, and I just flat out refuse to put my care in the hands of someone I don’t trust. My OB is the best of the best, and she’s really earning her copay right now.

The transvaginal ultrasound was quick, confirming that I definitely have something cooking in there. The tech asked if I wanted to hear the heartbeat - but I said no. I’m right at the six week mark so a heartbeat can be heard at this point but I am not ready for that just yet. Not until I decide what I want to do. My OB, bless her, ran me through all of my options. She knows I know them, I’m an ER nurse after all, but it’s like all my schooling and experience fell out of my brain the second the stick(s) turned pink.

She encouraged me to take my time making a decision, since I have a few weeks to make a choice either way. We went through what it would look like to keep, terminate, and adopt. Having all the information laid out in front of me makes me feel both better and far, far worse.

She also tells me that no matter what the father wants, this is my choice. That I should lean on my people, and find someone I trust to tell. That if I do decide to terminate, I need to have someone with me after I take the medications to make sure everything progresses as it should.

I leave the appointment armed with 4 different pamphlets and 3 sonogram images that I have yet to look at.

Therapy is significantly harder. Erica, bless her, has been my therapist since I moved to Pittsburgh for college when I was 18. She knows me far too well - immediately clocks that it must be hard to be dealing with all of this without my mom’s support, which triggers a crying spell. Once I’ve recovered from that we move on to how I’m going to tell Robby.

“I don’t know, Erica. He’s barely looked at me since we slept together, I can count the non-patient related words he’s said to me since then on one hand and none of them were particularly nice.” That man needs therapy more than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s an incredible doctor and great to his friends, but ever since he fucked up his relationship with Collins so badly that she left the state he’s been especially moody.

“How do you think he’s going to react to this?”

“Not particularly well. He’ll freak out, not speak to me for a few days, and then inevitably come back around and say that he’ll help me with whatever I choose. I know that if I decide to keep it that he would help, but that it would be out of obligation and that is not what I want. I would never keep him away from his kid but I can almost guarantee that I would be eternally fucked up over it.” Erica nods thoughtfully, taking a pause to formulate a reply that won’t send me over the edge.

“Maybe you should start by telling someone else, then. Maybe Samira, or Dana? Someone who will support you unconditionally without any emotional baggage taking up space in the back seat. They could help you decide what to say when you tell him, and support you if it goes as poorly as you think it will.” She gives me a very pointed look before continuing. “Also, and really think about this before brushing it off, maybe this conversation between you and Robby will help you both. A push that requires communication where there is a gap right now.”

“I - I, ugh. I just really, really don’t want to have to do this with him. He really hurt me when he just up and fucking ghosted me. Especially because he spent the whole night prior telling me that he’s been wanting to kiss me for months, and a whole bunch of other shit that he clearly didn’t mean.” He doesn’t seem like the type to spout bullshit to get a woman into bed with him, but I really cannot come up with another reason for him to be acting this way.

“It’s fair and reasonable for you to be scared. And if he screws this up, you have my blessing to tell him to fuck off. But no matter what you choose, you will be okay. It might suck for a while, but you will come out the other side.” The unspoken words are loud - that I will be okay but that it’s going to take a while for me to get there.

“I know you’re right but it’s hard to see right now.” Pretty much impossible, actually.

“That’s okay, I’m here to remind you. Your homework this week is to tell someone you trust.” Sad that I don’t consider the father someone I trust, but he definitely is not making that list right now.

“I’m going to call Dana literally as soon as we hang up - Samira’s working right now.” She nods in response, flashes me what I’m sure is supposed to be a reassuring smile but it just doesn’t land. We schedule an appointment for next week and then we hang up. I give myself 10 minutes to spiral before I pick up the phone and call Dana.

Dana picks up her phone on the third ring.

“Hey, kid! Where are ya?” I can hear the sounds of what is likely a bar or restaurant in the background and belatedly realize that there’s ER social plans today - most of day shift is gathered at the sports bar near the hospital to watch the first Penguins game of the regular season. Hockey is one of the few sports I will watch voluntarily, and I definitely told Dana I would try and make it out tonight.

“Shit, Dana. I totally spaced, had a bit of a personal crisis. Can I call you later? When you aren’t surrounded by our coworkers?” I hear a booming laugh in the background and immediately place it as Robby’s. Because of course he’s there. “Can you just, uh - text me when you leave the bar?”

“Hold up, Iris, wait. Are you okay?” Her voice changes, drops lower and sounds muffled. Like she’s covering her mouth while she speaks in an effort to afford me some privacy. She knows something happened between Robby and I, and has had a front row seat to whatever the fuck is going on right now so she’s sensitive to the fact that I might not want him knowing about said personal crisis. Little does she fucking know that he’s going to be quite privy to the details when I’m no longe actively in a state of crisis.

“I mean, okay is not really the word I would use but I’m safe and not currently in any physical danger.” Very much not okay, but I don’t want to make her change her plans for me. It’s so rare that we’re all able to see each other outside the Pitt and I know she values this time with her friends.

“Iris, honey. What’s wrong?” I don’t answer, but I do start to cry. My best efforts at keeping my sobs quiet are unsuccessful. “Oh fuck, you know what, never mind, I’m just gonna come over. Hang tight, okay?” I hear the screech of a chair as she presumably scoots back and stands up. Her voice is quieter as she speaks next, having moved the phone so she can talk to whoever else is at the table. “Change of plans, guys. I have to go. Enjoy the game and I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

The crying has not slowed in the thirty seconds it takes her to get outside.

“Dana, really, I appreciate it but you can stay and finish the game. I can wait.” I must not convince her, because she laughs at me. Fairly so, given that my words are very much broken up by sobs.

“Absolutely not. I’m on my way, I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

She arrives in eight.

I’m waiting by the door, and open it before she has a chance to knock. I’m still crying - no longer sobbing, but a pretty steady stream of tears track their way down my cheeks. I see the question forming on her lips but I beat her to it and hold out my three positive tests for her to see.

“Are we happy? Shopping? Making an appointment at the clinic?” Classic Dana - no big reaction, just thoughtful statements of action. Unfortunately I don’t know what I want.

“I don’t know yet. Took the tests early this morning and was able to get in last minute to see OB to confirm it. I’m just about 6 weeks along and I have no fucking clue what I want to do.” She closes the door behind her and immediately pulls me into a tight hug. Rubs my back with one hand and runs the other through my hair, tells me that it’s okay to not know what I want and that she’s here for me no matter what. Does not ask me who the father is. Unfortunately that is the biggest piece to this puzzle and I know I need to tell her.

We move to my couch and she makes me drink some water before continuing to fill her in. I decide it’s best to just fucking do it - no preamble and no backstory.

“Robby’s the father.” That stops her in her tracks for a second. Her eyes go wide and I can tell she’s working extremely hard to keep her own emotions under wraps.

“Well, shit. So that ‘thing’ that happened between you guys in September was sex?” I nod. “And, let me hazard a guess here, he freaked the fuck out and now he’s unable to act normal around you.” I nod again.

“That about sums it up. He left before I woke up and any effort I made to talk to him about it ended with him getting snippy and walking away from me. My texts went unanswered so I just stopped trying.”

“What an asshole - I’m so sorry, Iris.” She leans over to pull me into another hug. “Are you going to tell him?”

“I mean I kinda have to, don’t I? Would be a real dick move of me to not tell him about this. Even if he doesn’t deserve me speaking to him ever again.”

“I think that depends on what you decide you want to do. If you want to keep it, then yeah you’re gonna have to tell him. But if you don’t, then we go to the clinic this week and he remains none the wiser. Either choice is okay, whatever you decide to do will be the right decision for you.” I take a deep breath, enjoying having her here to support me.

“See that’s the thing, my first instinct is that I want to keep it. I’ve always thought that I could go either way on having kids, but now that it’s staring me in the face I can’t imagine not going through with it.” Saying it out loud all but confirms my decision - this is happening. I’m going to have a baby. And I’m going to have to tell Robby.

“Then that’s what will happen. I’ve got your back through all of it, and if you want me to hide upstairs while you tell Robby I can do that. I’ll even chase him out if he acts a fool.” She’s serious, and I love her for that.

“Might not be a terrible idea. The last thing I want is for him to be involved purely out of obligation.” I debate stopping there, not divulging the depths of my (extremely unadvised) feelings for him, but I’ve already gone this far so what’s the harm in spilling the whole story. “I’m like, stupidly in love with that man. Have been for a long time, and I was happy to have it kinda live in the background of my life up until recently. He approached me at that party we had for Jesse and we hit it off, and he was really sweet. Told me that he’s been wanting to kiss me for months and that he hasn’t been able to get me out of his head. We each had a few drinks, but I wasn’t drunk. A little tipsy for sure, but sober enough to consent and be smart about it. We even used a fucking condom! Then he was gone when I woke up and you’ve seen how he’s been since then.” She grimaces a little before responding.

“Yeah, he’s been in rare Robby form. Very broody. But, Iris, I really think he meant what he told you. Handled it terribly for sure, but he’s so thoroughly fucked up in the past that his ex literally left the state. He’s probably just trying to protect you in his own, very fucked up way.” I laugh and try to wipe away the tears staining my face, but they just keep coming.

“Well he’s doing a terrible job. Is it crazy of me to make him go to therapy before I let him really be involved? Is that, like, blackmailing?” The last thing I want out of all this is for my kid to be hurt in the same way - their dad hot and cold, unable to really make a commitment to be present in their life.

“Maybe a bit, but I fully support you in that. I actually think that’s plenty reasonable, and if he gives you pushback then he’ll hear about it from me.” So quick to jump in and support me, even when the problem is one of her best and longest friends. “If it makes you feel any better, the second I said your name at the bar earlier he looked like he was two seconds away from taking my phone and checking on you himself.” A mirthful laugh escapes me at that - it does not make me feel better.

“Then blackmail it is. Now, how the fuck am I supposed to have this conversation with him when I can’t even get him to say three consecutive words to me that aren’t directly work related?”

We spend the next hour brainstorming, and by the time she leaves I feel better. I have a loose plan, my tear ducts have long since run dry, and I no longer feel like I’m about to majorly fuck my whole life up.

I make myself a list before I go to sleep - things I need to buy for first trimester health, food I should avoid, and symptoms I’ve been experiencing so I can be as informed as possible.

My list exhausts me (that, and the tiny human I’m currently forming) and I fall into a blissful, dreamless sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

I spend the next few days making more lists. Baby names, furniture, birth plans. If there’s a relevant list to be made - it’s currently up on my fridge.

My first day back at work since The Event (TM) is fine, I guess. Dana greets me with a hug and a quiet check in, and while this isn’t that out of the ordinary it is unusual that she pulls me off the floor to do it. I feel Robby’s eyes track us as we walk back in from the ambulance bay, especially when we get closer and Dana does not smell like she’s just come back from a smoke break.

I treat Robby to his own taste of the silent treatment. No niceties, no attempts at small talk. Strictly patient care and work related conversations, and honestly conversations is a generous word. Terse exchanges is more accurate. Not even a polite smile in his direction. I don’t let it get in the way of my job, and if I do say so myself I really knock it out of the park nursing wise. Even escaping to the bathroom a few times per shift to puke doesn’t get in the way of my determination to keep up my ‘everything is fine’ facade.

Three shifts pass in this manner, three shifts where I can feel him fucking watching me like he knows something is up. Thirty-six hours of me sitting on the biggest fucking secret I’ve ever kept when all I really want to do is yell “Hey, fuckface! You ghosted me and it sucked, and I’m fucking angry about. By the way, I’m pregnant with your child. Get some god damn therapy if you’d like to be involved!” And then walk out, middle fingers up, leaving him to stand with the aftermath of his actions.

But, unfortunately, I am a professional adult so I don’t do that. I do heavily fantasize about it though.

Samira notices that something is up right away, but she is also on a long stretch of shifts so we agree to hang out when our work weeks are both done. We meet for breakfast (at 8pm) at the closest Denny’s and she spits out her coffee when I tell her that not only did I sleep with Robby, but that there’s going to be literal life long consequences for it come early June.

“Oh my god. I would ask if you’re okay, but I think I can answer that myself. When are you going to tell him?” I shrug as I finish my bite of French toast.

“Great question. He’s been fucking frosty with me lately and it doesn’t have me feeling very generous towards him. I know he deserves to know but god the thought of that conversation makes me want to punch a wall.” Another bite of toast. “I know that a few weeks after we slept together was the anniversary of Pitt Fest and Adamson’s death, but the way he’s been treating me does not make me want to tell him. It makes me want to be spiteful and keep it from him until the last possible second, so he can be as blindsided as I feel right now. Very immature of me and I won’t do that but it’s nice to entertain it for a bit.”

“He’s clearly fumbling the bag pretty hard right now, but you and I both know he’s going to do the right thing.”

“I know, and that’s almost worse. If he’s going to be all emotionally constipated while attempting to be present I am going to lose my shit. Dana said she thinks I am well within my rights to threaten him with therapy, so I think that’s my game plan.”

“That’s - that’s actually a great idea. If anything will get that man into therapy it’s the threat of potentially fucking up his child’s life.” She chuckles a bit. “Can I tell Jack? I will obviously swear him to secrecy but it might be nice to have him in your corner.”

“Please do - but if he tells Robby before I do I will kill him.”

“And I will help you hide the body. Also, he’s picking me up from this meal so if you’d like to fill him in yourself you’re about to have your window.” Like she summoned him, Jack Abbot walks in the door. He immediately finds Samira and she waves him over.

I decide that I do not have another long, emotional story in me and just spit it out.

“Hi, Jack.” He looks at me a little weird, we’re friendly at work but I don’t think I’ve ever called him by his first name before. “Welcome to the party, you’re about to hear some very classified information so prepare yourself.” He stares at me, a little stunned, but I just keep on talking. “I’m pregnant and keeping it. Robby’s the father, but I haven’t told him yet.” His jaw drops open, and he has to open and close it a few times before actual words come out.

“Uhhh, wow. Fuck. Are you, uhm, are you going to tell him?”

“I mean, yeah. Not sure when or how, but yeah. What’s your opinion on me using this as an opportunity to threaten him into therapy?” This gets a loud, genuine laugh from him.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea. You want my therapists number? I’ve given it to him multiple times but he’s clearly never used it.” Abbot doesn’t wait for me to answer, just pulls a card out of his wallet and hands it to me. “Are you doing okay? Managing symptoms alright?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks. Freaking the fuck out, but okay.” With that, I decide I’ve had enough social interaction for the day. “Now that all that’s out of the way, I’m going to head home. Samira, love you, thanks for the support, and Jack I’m a little sorry to drag you into all this but thankful that you’re here anyway.” I leave them at that, dropping enough cash to cover my meal and all but running to my car so I can have my next meltdown in peace.

I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I let another two full weeks pass before I even consider telling Robby. Erica, Dana, and Samira are all on my case a little bit but ultimately don’t push me too hard. My OB and therapist have both been informed that I’ve decided to continue the pregnancy, and the appropriate follow up appointments have been scheduled.

It takes an extra long session with Erica, complete with roll play and multiple outcomes of the conversation for me to feel even slightly ready to broach the subject with him. We decide that I’ll attempt to talk to him after our next shift together, a rare night where neither of us have to be in the next morning.

Dana knows, and as she leaves out the ambulance bay doors she shoots me a very encouraging thumbs up and a ‘call me!’ While I wait for him to leave. I don’t have to wait much longer. 10 minutes pass before I see him walk out, backpack slung over his shoulders and thick winter jacket thrown on like it’s armor. He doesn’t turn his head to look at me as he passes.

I parked at the very end of the lot today, hoping to use my car as an excuse to follow him for a bit. As we approach my green Honda CRV, I know it’s time to bite the bullet.

“Hey, uh, Robby? Can we talk for a sec?” He pauses, takes an AirPod out, and turns to face me. He looks like shit. Tired, like he hasn’t had a good sleep in weeks. I feel mean for thinking it, but I’m glad he’s getting just as much (little?) rest as I am.

“I’ve got somewhere to be, Iris. Now’s not a good time.” He may be facing me, but he’s not really looking at me. Fucking infuriating.

“It won’t take long, please. It’s kinda important.” Fuck him for making me plead to have a conversation - this is starting to feel a little humiliating. I can feel the tears forming and threatening to spill out, but he isn’t looking at me so he doesn’t see them.

“Not now. There isn’t really anything for us to talk about. I have to go, I’ll see you later.” And with that, he’s got his AirPod back in and is walking away. Fucking dick. The hot sting of rejection sits heavy in my chest, and I have to take a few minutes before I feel steady enough to drive home.

I work myself up pretty well on the way home, moving from shame to anger. I kick my shoes off in the entryway and slam my bag down, feeling like I need to scream. I decide a run will suffice and quickly change into my running gear. As I slip on my shoes and grab my running belt I decide there’s something I need to do first, and pull my phone out to send the riskiest text I’ve ever sent.

Iris (7:58pm)

Hi, asshole. I have been working up the nerve to talk to you for weeks, but since I apparently don’t deserve even five minutes of your time I guess this is how you’re going to find out.

I attach a picture of the tests and hit send, and then immediately send a follow up.

Iris (7:59pm)

Before you have the fucking audacity to ask, yes it’s yours and I’ll be keeping it.

I immediately put my phone on do not disturb and start my watch so I can track my run. I hit the pavement with a vengeance. My feet feel heavy beneath me, and it takes me longer than usual to feel warmed up enough to really run. I blast my angriest playlist, and run until I no longer feel like murdering the father of my unborn child.

I hit my favorite smoothie place on my way home, and call Dana as I walk and warm down.

“So I told him.” She gasps. “But, uh, over text. I tried to talk to him as he left but he blew me off and I was just so fucking angry and maybe jumped the gun a little, but it’s done now. I went for a run as soon as I got home, I’m walking back to my place as we speak.”

“How are you feeling about it, hon?”

“Terrified. Have not checked to see if he’s responded. Maybe a little elated? But like, in a manic way so maybe that’s not a good thing.” Dana laughs and reassures me.

“It’s alright, kid. That’s a big step you just took and you tried to do it in person, so fuck it. You want me to come over?” She asks, just as I turn the corner onto my street. My heart all but stops as I see an unfortunately familiar suburban parked in front of my house, and my breathing stops with it when I see that the man himself is sitting on my front steps.

“Oh fuck.”

“He’s at your house, isn’t he?” She’s far too smart for her own good, or maybe she just knows him too well.

“Yup.” God dammit, past Iris. Did you really have to send those texts?

“I can still come over if you want.” Seriously considering taking her up on that.

“No, I’ll handle him. But, maybe later? If and when I need to cry about this?”

“I’ll be waiting by the phone. You’ve got this, kid. Give him hell.”